Carla Neggers - Abandon

Forcing herself to stand up, she chose a hammer – it wasn’t nearly as heavy as the crowbar – and stepped out of the shed, squinting in the bright sunlight. The breeze made her teeth chatter.

I can’t pass out.

“Mac.”

What?

She blinked, trying to focus, trying to keep her head from spinning. She had to be hallucinating. She just couldn’t be this unlucky. Attacked out of the blue, stabbed, humiliated…and now Andrew Rook, special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, black-haired, black-eyed and humorless, had materialized in front of her?

His gaze narrowed on the blood dripping down her side. He was controlled, focused. “What’s happened?”

“I was attacked. Not by a shark, either.” She pointed behind the shed with her bloody hand. “The man who sliced me is in the woods. He doesn’t have a big head start. You can catch him.”

“You need a doctor.”

She shook her head. “My friend Carine is up on the road with her baby. I can’t go after her myself.” She coughed – a mistake; the pain was so intense, she saw white and almost dropped her hammer. “Go, okay?”

Rook reached into his jacket pocket. “I’ll call the police.”

“Your cell phone won’t work out here. There’s a phone in the house. I’ll call, you go.” Mackenzie raised her eyes as she held her bloodied side and tried to keep from shivering. “Why are you here, anyway?”

He sighed through clenched teeth. “Later.” He drew a pistol from his belt holster and held it out to her. “I’ll go after your friend. Take this.”

“It’s not necessary.” She raised her hammer. “I’m all set.”

“Take the damn gun, Mac.” He plucked the hammer from her and pressed the 9 mm into her hand. “I’ve got another.”

She didn’t argue and straightened, suddenly aware again that she was in pink, a bright pink tankini.

Hell.

She started toward the house, but after two steps her stomach lurched. She went still, feeling dizzy, her thoughts jumbled. How had this happened? She’d been swimming on a beautiful summer day, and now here she was, woozy, knifed and arguing with the man she’d come to New Hampshire to get out of her mind.

“He knew my name,” she said, letting the wave of nausea pass.

She thought she heard Rook swear under his breath. “Keep compression on your wound and get warm. Don’t risk hypothermia.”

She glanced back at him. “Are you trying to piss me off or are you just oblivious?”

Rook ignored her and took off into the woods.

Hanging on to his Browning, Mackenzie staggered to the porch and into Bernadette’s kitchen. She found the land line and dialed 911, pushing back her pain – her concern for Carine – as she told the dispatcher everything she knew.

“Notify the teams hunting for the missing hiker that the man who attacked me could have found her first.”

“Ma’am, you need to get off your feet and find a safe place -”

She’d forgotten to identify herself as a federal agent. She did so now and provided Gus’s name as a contact.

When she hung up, she found a clean dish towel and pressed it to her wound, which was still bleeding freely, as she pushed around bags of hamburger buns and chocolate bars in search of Carine’s car keys. She would drive up the road, go after Carine herself.

She was shaky and sweating, and her knees were unsteady beneath her. “I hate this,” she said under her breath, slipping into her flip-flops, the dish towel pressed against her wound.

With Rook’s gun in her free hand, she charged back to the porch. She wouldn’t pass out and drive into a tree. She refused.

But when she reached the gravel driveway, Mackenzie knew she wasn’t getting into Carine’s car. She wasn’t driving anywhere. Never mind the risk to herself – she’d end up running over someone. Rook, maybe.

She tensed to keep her teeth from chattering. Based on what she’d told the dispatcher, she had a fair idea of the array of cops that would be en route to the lake. She couldn’t have them show up while she was standing there with chattering teeth. No cop would get away with it, not with a relatively superficial wound like hers.

And no one with any sense – cop or not – would get behind a wheel, dripping blood and clad only in a cold, wet swimsuit.

She had to trust Rook to get Carine and her baby boy back safely.

Jesse Lambert hocked a loogie onto the side of the quiet, narrow dirt road that encircled the picturesque lake. He wondered if the cops would swab it for their forensics lab, or if it’d be dry before they got out here. No matter – he’d be long gone.

Would Mackenzie Stewart pass out before she could call for help? He didn’t know how badly he’d cut her.

What if he’d just nicked her and she was after him now?

He liked that idea. Being back in the mountains exhilarated him. A few weeks of hiking would sharpen his mind, body and spirit, dulled somewhat by result of the lifestyle he led in Washington, D.C. He’d be back in top-notch shape in no time. But he didn’t have a few weeks, not right now.

His knee ached where the freckled girl deputy had kicked him.

Bitch.

But he’d been energized by the conflict between them, her fight, her spirit. He hadn’t expected her. It must have been fate, he thought, that had brought her there.

“ New Hampshire…it’s the only place I can think of where Cal might have stashed your money…”

Poor Harris, trying to make good on one last gamble. But New Hampshire was a reasonable answer, and Jesse had flown in late last night, crafting a bold but well-structured plan. He’d considered Cal and Harris both associates – they’d profited from their relationship with him. How had they returned the favor? They’d double-crossed him.

First thing this morning, he’d set out into the mountains.

His mountains. They comforted him, soothed him. He was never more at peace than when he was in the White Mountains. He would never live here; to do so would diminish their power to restore him. But after a violent outburst, he would always return to them.

The gurgling cry of a baby snapped him out of his thoughts.

A woman came around a bend in the road, a baby in a little red hat bouncing in a pack on her back. She gave a start, then smiled. “Oh, hello. I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

This, Jesse thought, was crap. Seeing how she held a fist-size rock in one hand. She had to have heard him or spotted him. These women up here. She must have heard him in the woods. Meeting her eyes, he felt recognition dawn.

“Nice afternoon for a walk,” he said conversationally.

She drew a shallow breath. “Definitely. I’m meeting a friend -”

“You’re Carine Winter, right? The photographer?”

Her hand tightened visibly on the rock. What was she going to do, bash him over the head with it? She had a baby with her, and she was thinking about beating a man to death. Him.

But she gestured vaguely up the road. “I’m running late.”

“Sure. No problem.” Jesse stepped into the shade of an oak on the edge of the road, letting her pass. “I ran into Mackenzie Stewart a few minutes ago. She scared the hell out of me. I was just hiking, and all of a sudden, she was there.”

Without saying a word, Carine picked up her pace. She had to have all sorts of questions about him, but wasn’t going to linger and ask any of them. Jesse watched the baby’s red hat bob up and down as his mother hurried on, moving as fast as she dared without hurting her son or drawing attention to her fear.

She was a Winter, and all Winters in the White Mountains were legendary hard-asses.

Mackenzie Stewart was the one who’d shocked him.