Cassie Miles - Mountain Blizzard

“Toward the end,” he said, “I thought she was beginning to come around.”

“It was never about you personally,” she said. “I was too young, and you were too old. And Mom didn’t really like that you did dangerous undercover work in the FBI.”

“And what does she think of your current profession?”

She took a long swallow of the dark beer. “Hates it.”

“Does she know about the murder?”

“Oh God, no.” She cringed. If her mother suspected that she was actually in danger, she’d have a fit.

Emily opened the older of the two albums. The photographs were arranged in chronological order with Emily and her sisters starting out small and getting bigger as they aged. Nostalgia welled up inside her. The Petersons were a good-looking family, wholesome and happy. In spite of what Sean thought, they weren’t really rich. Sure, they had enough money to live well and take vacations and pay for school tuitions. But they weren’t big spenders, and their home in an upscale urban neighborhood in Denver wasn’t ostentatious.

Like her older sisters, she had tried to be what her parents wanted. They valued education, and when she told them she was considering becoming a teacher, they were thrilled. But Emily went to UC Berkeley and strayed from the path. She was a poet, a performance artist, an activist and a photographer. Her marriage and divorce to Sean had been just one more detour from the straight and narrow.

Aunt Hazel was more indulgent of Emily’s free-spirited choices. Hazel approved of Sean. She’d invited him to be a bodyguard. Maybe she knew something Emily hadn’t yet learned.

He stopped her hand as she was about to turn a page in the album. He pointed to a wintertime photo of her, wearing a white knit hat with a pom-pom and standing at the gate that separated Hazelwood Ranch from public lands. She couldn’t have been more than five or six. Bundled up in her parka and jeans and boots, she appeared to be dancing with both hands in the air.

“This picture,” he said. “You put a copy of this in the journal you gave me. I must have looked at it a hundred times. I never really noticed the outline of the hills and the curve in the road, but my subconscious must have absorbed the details. Seeing that photo is like being here.”

His déjà vu was explained.

She asked, “What are we going to do to protect Hazel?”

“How does she feel about Willis? Do they have a little something going on?”

She and her aunt hadn’t directly talked about who Hazel was dating, but Emily couldn’t help noticing that Willis had stopped by for a visit every day. Sometimes twice a day. “Why do you ask?”

“We could hire Willis to be a bodyguard for Hazel. They might enjoy an excuse to spend more time together.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said. “His performance tonight—tromping around in the snow looking for a house key—wasn’t typical. Usually he’s competent.”

“I wouldn’t want to throw him up against an army of thugs with automatic pistols,” he said, “but that shouldn’t be necessary. If you settle here and keep a low profile, there’s no reason for Wynter to track you down. You’re sure he doesn’t know you’re the witness?”

“I was careful, bought my plane tickets under a fake name, blocked and locked everything on my computer, threw away my phone so I couldn’t be tracked.”

“How did you learn to do all that?”

“Internet,” she said. “I read a couple of how-to articles on disappearing yourself. Plus, I might have picked up a couple of hints when we were married.”

“But you didn’t like my undercover work.” He leaned back against the sofa pillows and sipped his beer. “You said when I took on a new identity, it was a lie.”

At the time, she hadn’t considered her criticism to be unreasonable. Any new bride would be upset if her husband said he was going to be out of touch for a week or two and couldn’t tell her where he was going or what he was doing. She jabbed an accusing finger in his direction. “I had every right to interrogate you, every right to be angry when you wouldn’t tell me what was going on.”

His dark eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look menacing. He was too handsome. “You could have just trusted me.”

“Trust you? I hardly knew you.”

“You were my wife.”

It hadn’t taken long for them to jump into old arguments. Was he purposely trying to provoke her? First he mentioned the age thing. Now he was playing the “trust me” card. Damn it, she didn’t want to open old wounds. “Could we keep our focus on the present? Please?”

“Fine with me.” He stretched out his long legs and rested his stocking feet on the coffee table. “You claim to have covered your tracks when you traveled and when you masked your identity.”

“Claimed?” Her anger sparked.

“Can you prove that you’re untraceable? Can anybody vouch for you?”

“Certainly not. The point of hiding my identity is to eliminate contacts.”

“Just to be sure,” he said, “I’ll ask Dylan to do a computer search. If anybody can hack your identity or files, he can.”

“It’s not necessary, but go ahead.” She was totally confident in her abilities. “I’ve always liked your brother. How’s he doing?”

“We keep him busy at TST doing computer stuff. You’ll be shocked to hear that he’s finally found a girlfriend who’s as smart as he is. She’s a neurosurgeon.”

“I’m not surprised.” The two brothers made a complementary pairing: Dylan was a genius, and Sean had street smarts.

“I’ll use my FBI contacts, namely, Levine, to keep tabs on their investigation.” He drained his beer and stood. “That should just about cover it.”

“Cover what?”

“Ground rules,” Sean said as he crossed the room toward the wet bar. “You and Hazel will be safe if you stay here and don’t communicate with anybody. I’ll need to take your cell phone.”

“Not necessary,” she said. “I’m aware that cell phones can be hacked and tracked. I only use untraceable burner phones.”

“What about your computer?”

She swallowed hard. In the back of her mind, she knew her computer could be hacked long distance and used to track her down. There was no way she’d give up her computer. “All my documents are copied onto a flash drive.”

“I need to disable the computer. No calling except on burner phones. No texting. No email. No meetings.”

Anger and frustration bubbled up inside her. Though she hadn’t finished her beer and didn’t need a replacement, she followed him to the bar. She climbed up on a stool and peered down at him while he looked into the under-the-counter fridge. When he stood, she glared until he met her gaze.

To his credit, Sean didn’t back down, even though she felt like she was shooting lightning bolts through her eye sockets. When she opened her mouth to speak, she was angry enough to breathe fire. “Your ground rules don’t work for me.”

He opened another zombie beer. “What’s the problem?”

“If I can’t use the internet, how can I work?”

“Dylan can probably hook up some kind of secure channel to communicate with your employer.”

“What if I don’t want to stay here?”

“I suppose I could move you to a safe house or hotel.” He came around the bar and faced her. “What’s really going on?”

“Nothing.”

“You always said you hated lying and liars, but you’re not leveling with me. If you don’t tell me everything, I can’t do my job.”

The real, honest-to-God problem was simple: she hadn’t given up on the Wynter investigation. One of the specific reasons she’d come to Colorado was to dig up evidence against Frankie. She swiveled around on the bar stool so she was facing away from him. “I don’t want to bury my head in the sand.”