Carla Neggers - Cold Ridge

"Maybe I'll go take pictures of stupid birds and flowers."

"You're not going to let him get to you, are you?"

Her mouth twitched, her eyes sparking with sudden irreverence. "If I did, would you fly through the door and kick his teeth in?"

Ty shrugged. "Sure."

"Probably get in trouble with some general, wouldn't you?"

"Nah. I'd get a medal."

She sighed, releasing some of her tension. "He was rude and obnoxious, but he's hurting."

"He's not hurting, Carine, at least not in the way you mean. He's pissed that someone else played with his toy without his permission."

"Shoot-the-messenger time."

"Yep. And he doesn't like not being able to control you."

She gazed out at the beautiful view, the seemingly endless cascade of mountains-blue, white and gray against the November clouds. "Maybe it was selfish of me to come. I didn't make anything better."

"Not your job."

One of the garage doors hummed open, and Gary Turner walked out onto the parking area. "I failed in my mission, so now I'm on clean-the-SUV duty," he said with a self-deprecating smile, gesturing back to an expensive white SUV parked in the garage. But his smile didn't last, and he shook his head regretfully. "I overheard you all. Obviously I should have handled this situation differently."

"It's okay," Carine said. "At this point, what's done is done."

Ty opened his truck door, hoping Carine would take the hint and realize it was time to go, but she didn't. "Did Jodie Rancourt use my key yesterday and search my apartment for the disk?" she asked casually, as if it was only of passing interest to her. "The locks are tricky. She must have gotten frustrated or nervous, because she left the door open."

Turner gave an almost imperceptible nod. "She didn't take anything? No one took advantage of the situation?"

Carine shook her head.

"Then I hope we can leave what she did as an act of poor judgment on her part, nothing more. Since you did give her a key-"

"How did she know there were pictures?"

"I can't say. I'm sorry. There's nothing more I can tell you. The police asked us not to discuss our statements with anyone else."

"I understand."

She probably did, Ty thought, but it wouldn't stop her from listening if anyone wanted to talk. But he kept his mouth shut and climbed in behind the wheel. Turner led Carine around to the other side of the truck and opened the door for her. Ty noticed the missing fingers, mentally ticked off various possibilities of how people lose fingers. But mostly he noticed Turner's attentiveness toward Carine. He knew it shouldn't make a damn bit of difference to him, but it did.

"Coming up here was a mistake," Turner said, still very focused on Carine, edging in close to her as she climbed in the truck. "I'll encourage the Rancourts to head back to Boston as soon as possible. We all need to be patient and let the police conclude their investigation. Then we'll know what went on the other day."

"The Rancourts have as much right to be here as I do," Carine said.

"You could use the peace and quiet. I'll see you sometime. Take care of yourself."

"You, too. Thanks."

He shut her door, and Ty started back down the mountain way too fast. He almost two-wheeled it on a curve and slowed down, aware of Carine getting quieter and paler beside him. "You're not going to be sick, are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Good, because I just cleaned my truck."

She lifted her eyes to him, but it was obviously an effort to pull herself out of her thoughts. "You did not. It's filthy."

"It's not filthy. I got out all the wrappers and crud-"

"Look at the dashboard. Dust, grime. And you didn't vacuum."

"Vacuum? Babe, if I vacuumed, I might suck out something this thing needs to keep running. There's a certain balance of nature at work here. It's my New Hampshire truck. My truck on base is spotless."

She let a small smile escape. "Isn't there some general who can call and send you somewhere?"

He grinned. "Am I getting under your skin?"

"Underfoot," she said, "not under my skin. Maybe I miss Boston."

"The cockroaches or the kitty litter in the front hall?"

"There are no roaches in my building."

"I saw one the size of an alligator."

"Watch it, North. Once I've mastered the PAST, I'm going to become a marksman. Try my hand at tactical maneuvers."

"Soon the generals'll be calling you."

She shook her head. "You didn't hear me say I was planning to take up parachuting, did you? That's an unnatural act, jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft." She settled back in her seat, watching the passing scenery-rocks, evergreens, birches. No wild turkeys. Wherever they went on late November afternoons, presumably they were there. "At least I don't mind helicopters. Antonia hates them."

"And here she is married to a helicopter pilot."

"Life can be funny that way, can't it? She still says she's never going to be the doctor in the helicopter with the patient, not if she can help it. She'll be the doctor waiting at the hospital for the patient."

"Have you been on a helicopter?"

"A number of times, on various photography assignments." She sighed, adding dryly, "But I guess that wasn't in the 'real world.'"

"You don't have anything to prove," Ty said, slowing down for a series of ruts and potholes, "you or your sister."

She glanced over at him. "Neither do you."

In the village of Cold Ridge, November was a time between seasons. The leaf-peepers had gone, and the winter sports crowd hadn't yet arrived, leaving the shops and restaurants more or less to the locals for a few short weeks. When Ty parked his beat-up truck in front of Gus's outfitting shop, Carine jumped out first, although by now she knew she wouldn't go far without him. He was definitely in Musketeer mode, her own personal d'Artagnan shadowing her wherever she went-because she'd found a dead man, because his friend had asked him to.

But it didn't seem fair. He was on leave after months leading his pararescue team in combat and training missions that were the subject of speculation and rumor around town but seldom got fleshed out with specifics. Special operations, unconventional warfare. It was all something that happened far away, removed from their northern New England village.

Except Tyler North was one of their own-even if, Carine thought, he didn't see himself that way, but as the outsider, the boy with the weird mother.

Regardless, he should be hiking and fishing, sitting by the fire with a book, puttering in his rambling house, not traipsing around after her.

But they'd had that discussion on the way into town. "Relax, babe," he'd said. "I haven't fared too badly hanging out with you."

Meaning the sex and the kisses.

That'd teach her to open her damn mouth.

The alternative to having him on her tail-running around on her own-had its appeal, but Carine thought if she could just make the leap to Tyler North as a Musketeer, she wouldn't feel so hemmed in. But it wasn't just his presence, it was that every time she looked at him, a part of her remembered that he was the man she'd loved so much last winter and almost married.

She eyed him as he joined her on the sidewalk and wondered what they'd think of each other if they were meeting for the first time now. He was thirty-seven, she was thirty-three. They weren't kids. She tried to look at him objectively, pretend she hadn't known him forever-hadn't gone to bed with him just yesterday. She took note of his superfit physique, his military-cropped tawny hair, his green eyes and bad-road face. The jeans, the battered brown leather jacket.

She'd be attracted to him, no doubt about it.

Just as well she knew better, experience ever the hard teacher.