Carla Neggers - Abandon

She walked back across the street and got in her car.

T.J. glanced up at Rook. “Want me to find a reason to cuff her?”

“Tempting.” Rook joined him on the sidewalk, a slight breeze stirring up the street smells. He just felt hotter. As she pulled out into the roadway, Mackenzie waved at them, then hit the gas and took off. “Think she knew we were here?”

“Hard to say. She didn’t look too beaten up from this past weekend.”

“Says she heals fast.”

“Deputy Stewart’s a wiseass,” T.J. said with some amusement. “I’ve always seen you ending up with a wiseass, Rook.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Let’s go.”

“You know, your redheaded marshal didn’t exactly shake in her shoes talking to me. Then again, people like me. I have a sense of humor.”

Rook ignored him, leading the way back to their car.

T.J. didn’t take the hint. “You’re not going to let yourself trust her, are you? I can’t say I blame her for wanting to know what we’re up to. She’s not a suspect. She’s not under surveillance. She’s just friends with Bernadette Peacham, our new favorite federal judge. Who is also not a suspect. Her ex-husband -”

“Isn’t a suspect,” Rook finished.

“Officially.”

“Harris Mayer isn’t, either, but we can’t find him.”

“Yeah. I don’t like that one.” T.J. opened the driver’s door and looked across the steaming roof of the car at Rook. “Deputy Stewart moves well for someone with a knife wound in her side. I wouldn’t want to underestimate her.”

“I haven’t,” Rook muttered, getting in the car. He and T.J. had a long day yet ahead of them. Time to get on with it.

It was dark when Rook finally quit work and drove out to Arlington, detouring to the historic house where Mackenzie was living. He parked behind her car and got out, remembering his optimism the first time he’d stood in that same spot a few weeks ago. He’d picked her up for dinner in Washington – nothing fancy, just an evening out to get to know each other better.

A light shone on the back porch, and a misting rain had begun to fall, forming a fine film on the steps. Rook debated turning around and heading on home. What could he do here but get himself in deeper with a woman he’d met for all the wrong reasons?

The porch door opened, and Mackenzie stepped out, her hair pulled tight into a curly ponytail, as if she’d tried to tame it once and for all in the high humidity. She was barefoot, wearing shorts and a T-shirt that, somehow, made her seem even smaller than she was.

She tilted her head back, eyeing her visitor. “I could have winged you, Rook, and nobody would have said boo. Here I am injured, alone in a haunted, isolated house, and you know it, yet you sneak up on me anyway.”

“Did I scare you?”

“No. I thought you might be a ghost for a second.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts,” he said.

“Stay here a couple nights. You’ll believe in ghosts.” She took in a breath, putting up a hand as color rose in her cheeks. “Alone, I mean. Stay here a couple nights alone, and then talk to me about ghosts.”

“Nate and his wife didn’t seem to mind the ghosts.”

“Sarah wouldn’t. It’d take a lot for Nate to believe he was in the presence of any ghost, never mind the ghosts of Abraham Lincoln and Robert E. Lee.” Mackenzie crossed her arms over her chest, her shirt rising just enough to reveal the bandages on her left side. “Would you like to come in for a minute?”

Rook took a step toward her. “I won’t stay long.”

He followed her into the cool kitchen. The small table was crowded with dishes and odds and ends, as if she’d just unpacked one of the boxes stacked along the wall. He wondered if she had plans for the evening, or if she would stay here, alone with her ghosts.

“Mac, about this afternoon at Harris’s house -”

“Not much to say, is there?”

“We want to find him.”

“Understood. If I knew where he was, I’d tell you. If I even had a clue, I’d tell you. I take it New Hampshire didn’t pan out, and you didn’t find him there.” She yanked out a chair at the table and plopped down. “He’s not wanted, officially. Is he providing you with information? He’s such a bottom-feeder. I can just imagine what all he knows.”

“We have no reason to believe he had anything to do with the attack on you.”

“Glad to hear it.” She didn’t seem to make any effort to hide her sarcasm, but bitterness wasn’t in her nature. She sighed. “Damn it, Rook. What’s going on?”

He noticed a six-inch length of spent packing tape on the floor and scooped it up, dropping it into an empty box set against the wall, next to the full ones. “Last night at Judge Peacham’s…Mac – you were holding back on her. She knew it. She just didn’t want to pressure you in front of me.”

“You FBI mind readers.”

“If it’s something I need to know, I want it. Now would be a good time.”

Mackenzie jumped to her feet, but gave a small moan and reached for her side. “Okay, so I can’t do sudden moves to throttle FBI agents just yet. Give me a couple more days.”

“Mac -”

“Whatever I told or didn’t tell Beanie last night is personal.”

“Are you sure?”

It was a simple, pointed question that made her snap her mouth shut. “ Cal stopped here and asked me about Harris before I left for New Hampshire. Have those two cooked up something that’s got the attention of the FBI?”

“Mac,” Rook said, then sighed. “I shouldn’t have come.”

An awkward silence descended between them.

She started for the door, presumably to see him out, but Rook touched her arm, felt the same spark of attraction he’d experienced when they’d first met, and acted on it. He curved his fingers under her chin and traced her lower lip with his thumb. “Mac.” He sighed once more, shaking his head. “Damn. I wasn’t going to kiss you again.”

She didn’t resist or tell him no or shove him out the door when his mouth found hers. Instead, she kissed him back. He could feel her eagerness – the spark of desire in her. If not for her bandaged side, he’d have slipped his arms around her and drawn her closer to him, let her feel his reaction to her, her touch, the taste of her.

“You’re complicating my life, Rook,” she said, then kissed him again.

He felt a shudder of arousal. “You’re not exactly simplifying mine.”

As she stood back from him, her very blue eyes met his. “I don’t like setting myself up to be hurt.”

He smiled. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”

She opened the door for him. Outside, the rain was steady now, falling softly, without wind, thunder, lightning. There was no front moving through to push out the heat and humidity. The light from the porch hit her face, bringing out the dark smudges under her eyes. It had only been five days since Mackenzie Stewart had found herself in a fight for her life – not enough time, Rook thought, for anyone to expect her to be back to normal, especially with her attacker still out there.

He walked past her and stepped onto the porch.

She remained in the doorway. “I’ve known Beanie Peacham all my life. I don’t trust many people, but I trust her.”

“What would you do for her?” Rook asked.

“She’s never asked anything from me.”

“Maybe she knows she doesn’t have to ask.”

He expected a hot reaction, but Mackenzie didn’t rise to his bait. “You mean because I anticipate her wishes? That’s not the case. It just isn’t. I’m not being defensive, and I’m not in denial.”

“Fair enough.”

“You don’t like her.”

Rook smelled earth and some kind of flowers on the rain, and he thought of ghosts, wondered if they ever ventured out across the plush grounds, among the tall, old trees. Man. What’s wrong with you?