Carla Neggers - Abandon

Had her attacker meant to kill her?

Had he just wanted to scare her, humiliate her?

Had she stopped him, or had he let her stop him?

Her mind drifted, and she saw herself diving into the lake, swimming underwater, recalled the feel of the sun and wind on her face when she’d surfaced. Then climbing back onto the dock. Hearing the rustling sounds. Her utter lack of any sense that she was in danger.

Wild turkeys, squirrels. That was what she’d thought she’d heard.

“Time for you to call it a night.”

She opened her eyes, realized that she’d zoned out. It was Rook who’d spoken. He was sitting in the Adirondack chair next to hers.

“Where’s Gus?”

“He left ten minutes ago. You’re done in, Mac.”

He was right. The adrenaline and meds had drained her, more than any loss of blood or the brief, futile fight with her attacker had. “Yep, bedtime.” But she smiled at Rook. “I’ll toast one last marshmallow and head in.”

She thought he would argue with her, but he took Gus’s abandoned stick and stabbed a marshmallow. “I’ve never been much on marshmallows.”

“What? How’s that possible? Everyone likes marshmallows.”

“Too sweet.”

“Ah. Now that makes sense. Nothing too sweet for our Special Agent Rook.” She handed him her stick, and he skewered another marshmallow and returned the stick to her. “You want to tell me what you’re doing up here?”

“Mac, you know I can’t.”

“Anything to do with J. Harris Mayer?”

He looked at her. “Cal Benton stopped by your place last night and asked if you’d seen him.”

She sat up straight. “How the hell do you know -” She broke off, shoving her stick straight into the fire Gus style. “Nate Winter told you. So that cinches it. You’re looking for Harris, too.”

“You know him well enough to call him Harris?”

“Not necessarily. I just do.”

“Have you had any contact with him since you came to Washington?”

She shook her head. “No.” She yanked her marshmallow out of the flames just as it was about to catch fire, and turned to him, trying to summon the strength and focus to figure him out. “Rook, are you interrogating me?”

“I’m toasting a marshmallow.” He let it puff up with blackened blisters, then winked at her, pulled it out of the fire and ate it in one bite. “Perfect.”

“Bet the inside was still hard.”

Her marshmallow fell off the end of her stick into the fire.

Rook got to his feet. “I’d say that’s a sign.”

She looked up at him from her chair. He was so damn good-looking. And his eyes…In the dark, with the stars sparkling overhead, they seemed to see right into her soul.

He was probably just trying to decide if she was holding back on him.

The man was in Cold Ridge because of his work. Not because of her. She had to remember that, regardless of how attracted she was to him.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know,” she said.

“It’s me or the local cops, or one of your fellow marshals. You’re not in any shape to defend yourself if this guy comes back. You’d be lucky to wake up.”

“And if you’re investigating Beanie’s connection to J. Harris Mayer – if Harris is up to no good – then you can sneak around in the middle of the night and search her house.”

“Not without a warrant.”

Without a warrant, anything he found while deliberately searching Bernadette’s lake house would be subject to suppression in a court of law.

Although he didn’t exactly deny that he wouldn’t like to take a look around.

The police had checked the house for any sign of an intruder, but that was as far as they could go, too, without any evidence to justify a wider search.

Of course, Mackenzie was Bernadette’s houseguest and friend. She could poke around in the house without a warrant. But Rook would never ask her to, and she wouldn’t know what to look for without his help.

What are you thinking? She gave herself a mental shake. Bernadette was a respected federal judge who happened to have known J. Harris Mayer for decades, long before his downfall.

“Need a hand getting up out of that chair?” Rook asked.

“Nope. Thanks. I can manage.” But Mackenzie reeled slightly as she stood up. Rook had the grace – or the good judgment – to let her steady herself, and she blew out a breath. “Not one of my finer days.”

“See how you feel about that tomorrow.”

She started to argue with him, but saw he was serious and wasn’t patronizing her because she was less experienced in law enforcement. “I’ll do that.”

He waited for her to take the lead back to the house, but she turned to him, the darkness and the dim light from the screen porch casting his angular face in shadows. Sexy shadows. “Thanks, Andrew. For helping out today. For staying tonight.”

“Not a problem.”

“All in a day’s work?”

“Mac -”

“You could have just told me that our relationship was interfering with your work. At least you could have thought up a good lie. Told me there was someone else.”

“There isn’t.” His gaze on her was unwavering. “I shouldn’t have left that voice mail. I should have at least stopped by to explain things.”

“Then you might have caught Cal Benton knocking on my door, and could have asked him why he was looking for Harris Mayer. He thought I’d seen him at a fund-raiser I attended with Beanie – Judge Peacham – on Wednesday.” Mackenzie frowned at Rook. “Ah-hah. Now it makes sense. Cal saw you and Harris together at the hotel, didn’t he?”

Rook stepped up onto the porch with her. “None of that matters. I cut things off with you because I didn’t want to put either of us into a situation we’d regret.”

She surprised herself with a laugh. “Hard for me to think I’d regret sleeping with you, even if you dumped me ten minutes later. I might kick myself on a certain level, but another, no way.”

He smiled. “Still feel that way?”

“I rarely change my mind.”

“Mac.” He brushed a few stray curls off her forehead and let a knuckle drift across her mouth. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt any worse today. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner to back you up.”

She tried to smile. “You’re not making it any easier for me to think you’re a snake in the grass.”

He kissed her softly. “Good. I’m not big on snakes.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, and moved past her, opening the door to the lake house. Mackenzie walked in, grateful that she didn’t fall flat on her face, and he didn’t end up carrying her, after all.

Jesse washed the dried blood off his hands in the brown-stained sink of a gas station bathroom more than an hour’s drive from the lake where he’d slashed Mackenzie Stewart. He’d taken a little-used trail out to a side road before the cavalry could hunt him down. An organic farmer who supplied area restaurants with fresh produce picked him up. Jesse got the spiel about eating organic.

The blood mixed with the hot water and the crud in the sink.

“Hey, at least blood’s organic.”

His voice sounded hollow, and his reflection in the dirty mirror made him look like a cadaver. Violence wore him out, drained him in a way nothing else did. The level of brutality he could summon at will shocked him every time. He didn’t know where it came from. His well-to-do, respectable family in Oregon had seen the propensity for violence in him early, how a violent outburst would settle him down, calm him. He hadn’t had anything to do with them – or they with him – since he’d dropped out of high school and headed east.

Until today, he’d never hurt anyone in the mountains. But the conniving Harris and Cal had left him with no other choice. Jesse was so pent up with anger, he needed to blow off some steam. He wanted his money, along with their little insurance policy to get him out of their lives and never to return – whatever it contained. Pictures, DNA, fingerprints, bank accounts, addresses of properties he owned, names. His life.