Carla Neggers - Abandon

But she’d seen this man before, somewhere. She was sure of it.

Last night, she’d found a pad of paper and a pencil in her nightstand, and had jotted down everything she could think of about the attack. She didn’t censor herself. Whatever came into her mind went on paper. Colors. Thoughts. Smells. Tastes. Where she’d felt the breeze. How she’d thought it was wild turkeys she’d heard in the birches.

The exact moment she’d realized she’d been cut.

When she’d felt the blood. The pain.

The lapping of the lake water on rocks and sand, and the chirping of birds in the distance – and nearby, too. Something else. Not birds – a red squirrel, chattering in one of the hemlocks.

She wrote down a description of the spit on her attacker’s beard. The touches of gray in his dark hair.

His eyes.

Had he guessed he seemed familiar to her?

Did he know where they’d seen each other before?

Mackenzie had a good memory, but nothing she did helped place the man who’d jumped her with an assault knife. She understood that the investigators suspected her attacker had seemed familiar to her because of some kind of life-and-death defense mechanism.

In other words, that she’d unconsciously made up any recognition.

But she hadn’t.

As Mackenzie reached the clearing, the lake sparkled through the trees, a view she’d always loved. “I used to camp out here.”

Rook stood next to her. “On your own?”

“Sometimes. I was never afraid. I don’t know why, because I’d hear animals out here at night.” She smiled. “Of course, my parents and Beanie weren’t far away.”

“Did you always want to go into law enforcement?”

“Never, actually. That came later, when I was working on my dissertation and realized I yearned for something different for myself. You?”

“Always.”

“I can go back to academia if the Marshals Service kicks me out.” She started to pick up a small stone and flip it into the water, but her bandaged side reminded her that probably wasn’t a smart idea. She sighed. “There’s nothing here. He’s probably hiking in Wyoming by now.”

She turned back. When they reached the stream, she didn’t try to cross it in a single leap, but jumped to a rock in the middle, then to the bank. Rook again made it across in one long stride.

Gus and Carine were waiting for them on Bernadette’s porch. Carine had Harry, who was cooing to himself, tucked on her hip. She seemed more herself after their recent scare. Rook quickly excused himself and ducked inside.

“Just checking on you,” Gus said. “There’s nothing new. Beanie called last night. She didn’t want to disturb you. She said to use the house as long as you need to.”

“I appreciate that, but I’ll be getting back to work as soon as I get the okay from the doctor.”

He didn’t argue with her. “Rook’s leaving?”

“He has a flight tonight. Mine’s not until tomorrow -”

“You won’t be ready to fly tomorrow,” Gus said.

Carine grinned suddenly. “You two. I swear you’ve been arguing since Mackenzie could talk. We can’t stay, but if there’s anything you need, just let me know.”

“There isn’t right now, but thanks.”

After they left, Mackenzie sat in a comfortable wicker chair on the porch, closing her eyes and smelling the clean air, enjoying the relatively low humidity. She could have had this life: a house on a quiet lake, a job that would allow time there. But she’d walked away from it, and now she wondered if the attack yesterday meant that her new life had intersected, somehow, with her old one.

That was a problem for another time, she thought, unable to stop herself from drifting off.

On his way to the airport in his rented car, Rook took a detour to the small private college where Mackenzie had taught before she’d headed to FLETC, the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Georgia. Its secluded campus was typical New England, with ivy-covered brick buildings and lush lawns that were relatively quiet in these weeks before the start of classes. A huge handmade sign welcomed incoming freshmen for orientation.

Of all the people in Cold Ridge, New Hampshire, who could have followed Nate Winter into federal law enforcement, Rook suspected Mackenzie Stewart hadn’t been on anyone’s short list of candidates.

He lingered in the shade of a giant oak. Why give up this life? What had compelled her? He pictured her on one of the pretty walkways, rushing to class, smiling at students who weren’t that much younger than she was.

“You’re crazy,” Rook muttered to himself. “Go home.”

Less than four hours later, Rook was back in Washington. T.J. met him at the airport, and Rook filled him in. But T.J. already knew all about the events in New Hampshire.

“Other than walking into the middle of a knife attack on a federal agent, how was it up in the woods?” T.J. asked. “Any sign of our missing informant?”

“Harris can’t even qualify as an informant. He’s been playing games for three weeks. I’ve got nothing.” Rook stared out the window. Even from the air-conditioned car, he could tell the Washington heat wave hadn’t let up. The city looked hot and steamy. “New Hampshire’s one of the safest states in the country, and a knife-wielding lunatic just happens to turn up at Bernadette Peacham’s lake house the day I show up looking for Harris. Never mind Mac and why she was there.”

“It’s a curious world,” T.J. said.

Rook laughed in spite of himself. Nothing ruffled T. J. Kowalski. When he pulled into Rook’s driveway, T.J. shook his head. “Another thirty grand, and this place will look like a hard-ass FBI agent lives here instead of a sweet little old grandmother.”

“Shut up, Kowalski.”

“Used to stop here for homemade cookies after school, didn’t you?”

“I’m armed.”

But what T.J. said was true. Rook had grown up within walking distance of his grandmother’s house, and as a kid he’d stop by for cookies, to help her with chores, to tell her his tales from school. When he joined the FBI, he’d never expected to end up back in Washington, living in his old neighborhood – the Rook neighborhood. His seven years in Florida had given him distance from his tight-knit family, provided a perspective he’d never have if he’d stayed. When his grandmother died, he’d intended to fix up the house and sell it, but once he’d started working on it, he’d found himself staying. He added skylights on the stairs and in the kitchen, stripped the carpet to reveal hardwood floors. It was looking less grandmotherly, but the dogwoods and bird feeders in the garden still reminded him of her.

She knew he’d go into law enforcement. It was the Rook destiny. He couldn’t see himself switching careers the way Mackenzie had, after all she’d invested toward earning her doctorate.

He noticed his nephew’s car in the driveway. The kid was a casualty – with any luck a temporary one – in the ongoing battle between Scott Rook and his wife. To please one, he had to disappoint the other. To please them both was impossible – and not, they knew at some level, Brian’s responsibility. They loved their oldest son more than life itself, but every day, they woke up thinking about how they could motivate him, focus him.

“I saw the sketch of this guy with the knife,” T.J. said. “He could be anybody. If the police up in New Hampshire think he’s a deranged hiker who slashes women for kicks, who am I to argue?”

“I don’t like coincidences.”

“Life is full of them. I asked around about Deputy Stewart. Word is she’s cute as a button, smart as a whip and could kick your ass – provided she got half a chance. She’s hard on herself. Her fellow marshals are protective of her, which she hates, and word’s getting around that some FBI asshole broke her heart.” T.J. looked over at Rook. “That would be you. I could get good money for turning over your name.”