He opened the cupboard over her head, and his fingers clamped the Glock's grip while Caprice remained motionless. As he released the pistol’s safety, his brows jammed. Was this a trick to draw him outside? On the other hand, how likely was it that Montero had found them? He kept the pistol pointed at the floor and left her. At each window he used the fingertips of his free hand to partially pull the blinds and curtains aside. A large raccoon crept through their campsite and foraged under the picnic table. Holt searched the shadows among the silhouettes of trees for movement, or the moonlight’s glint on a hand-held weapon. When a gust bandied the trees, a limb thumped the unit, and Caprice’s sharp inhalation revealed her tension. “The winds are picking up. It’s just a branch. Nothing else,” he soothed and returned to her. He imagined her smooth flesh under the borrowed shirt. When he reached behind her and set the pistol on the counter, she stiffened. "Still afraid of me?" "I'm not,”
