Abandon (17 page)

“No kidding?” Rook cuffed his nephew on the shoulder. “Good for you.”

M
ackenzie almost backed out of Bernadette’s driveway two seconds after pulling into it. But the house was lit up, suggesting whoever was there—Bernadette alone, or Cal, or both of them—hadn’t gone to bed yet.

By the time she climbed the steps to the side entrance, the door was open. Bernadette, barefoot in a flowing black caftan, stepped aside. “You can talk to me upstairs. I’m packing for New Hampshire. I leave in the morning.” She turned, then stopped abruptly, glancing back at Mackenzie. “Stairs won’t bother you, will they?”

“Not at all. Is Cal here?”

A coolness came into her eyes. “No.”

Bernadette about-faced and headed down the hall, leaving Mackenzie to pull the door shut behind her and find her way to the front of the house. She took the sweeping staircase to the second floor, remembering how much she used to love to visit Bernadette in Washington—especially before Cal. Mackenzie had tried to be neutral about him, although none of Bernadette’s other friends seemed to bother. Certainly no one in Cold Ridge did. He just wasn’t a favorite. But everyone wanted Bernadette to be happy, and if Cal made her happy, who were they to criticize?

She had a suitcase open on the floor at the foot of her four-poster bed, the custom-made, champagne-colored comforter pulled back, as if she’d tried to sleep but had given up and decided to pack. “I’m going to drive,” she said, grabbing a stack of lingerie out of the top drawer of an antique dresser. “I’d planned to fly. Gus offered to pick me up at the airport, but driving should help clear my head.”

“Beanie, I don’t know that driving is wise right now.”

“Don’t worry about me. For heaven’s sake, I’ve been at this job for a while now, and I’ve never had a thing happen until…” She waved a hand in dismissal and dumped the lingerie into her suitcase. “Never mind.”

“Until I became a federal agent, you mean.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not the least bit concerned about my own safety.” She turned back to her dresser and pulled open another drawer. “But you’re not here to talk about my travel arrangements, are you, Mackenzie?”

Mackenzie stood on the soft, cream-colored carpet, took in the champagne brocade drapes, the simple elegance of the room. Should she have come here, disturbed Bernadette’s preparations for her vacation in New Hampshire? But Mackenzie knew better than to try to back out now. She’d never get away with it. Bernadette knew her too well and would insist on an explanation.

She didn’t even try to be subtle. “Why would Cal stop at an FBI agent’s house?”

“Why would Cal—what?” Bernadette spun around, cradling a trio of hiking socks. “You’re talking about Andrew Rook, aren’t you? Cal stopped to see him?”

“That’s right. A little while ago.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And why would this be of any concern to you, might I ask?”

“Beanie…” Mackenzie fought to find the right words. “Talk to Cal.”

“I talked to Cal from the day we met three years ago until the day our divorce was finalized eight weeks ago. Now, I only talk with him when I have no other choice. I’m done, Mackenzie. I can’t do it anymore. I married the man I thought he was—maybe the man he wanted to be. That’s over now. We’ve gone our separate ways. When I get back here in September, at most I might run into him at a cocktail party.”

“Talk to him, anyway.”

“I’ll change the locks on the house if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

“That’s not it.”

She tossed the socks into her suitcase. “Then what is it, Mackenzie? What would make you barge into my house at this hour? Do you
want
to upset me?”

“Harris Mayer and Cal know each other. Harris has disappeared—”

Bernadette straightened, adopted her courtroom manner. “Choose your words carefully, Mackenzie. ‘Disappeared’ is a rather strong one.”

“Taken off, then.” Mackenzie couldn’t pretend that she could dismiss the friendship between her family and Bernadette and adopt some kind of manufactured objectivity. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’re one of the kindest, most generous people I know.”

“And that makes me weak and stupid?”

It sure didn’t make her easy, but Mackenzie kept to her point. “No, it makes people like me care about you.”

Bernadette sank onto the edge of the bed, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I just know—oh, Mackenzie. I just know I’ve brought this awful mess onto your shoulders. That man. That disgusting man who attacked you…” She shook her head, using the back of one hand to wipe her tears. “I just know it’s my fault that he was on my property.”

“If you know anything specific—”

“
Damn
it, Mackenzie, I know what to do. I
don’t
know anything.”

Mackenzie almost smiled. “Okay.”

Bernadette sighed through her tears. “I swear you are the most resilient person I’ve ever encountered. I didn’t mean to bite your head off.” She got to her feet, waved a hand at her suitcase. “I’m not even sure what I’ve packed. Scarves and mittens, for all I know.”

“I should go,” Mackenzie said.

“If I see Cal before I leave, I’ll talk to him. Promise. But right now I don’t have a clue why he’d turn up at Andrew Rook’s house.”

When she returned to her car, Mackenzie fought an urge to head north, back to New Hampshire. She could fulfill everyone’s expectations and just drop out of the Marshals Service. Go write her dissertation. Carine had offered her the use of her studio, a tiny place just up the road from the 1830s brick house where she, her husband and their baby lived.

“You’re going to pass out, Deputy Stewart. Think of what I’m going to do then.”

How long would she be looking over her shoulder for this man? Moving back to New Hampshire wouldn’t solve anything. He’d still be out there, and she’d still have to wonder when he’d jump out of the bushes again, when he’d call her in the middle of the night, when he’d leave her some creepy present.

What she had to do was find him.

She took two wrong turns on her way back to Rook’s house.
Denial,
she thought when she got there, raising her hand to knock on his front door. But it opened, and he stood there in jeans and a T-shirt, looking so damn handsome she had to give herself a mental slap. Falling for him all over again wouldn’t help her find her attacker.

“Save me any pizza?” she asked.

T.J. was at the kitchen table with Brian Rook, who immediately excused himself and headed upstairs. He referred to his uncle as Andrew. Not Andy or Drew—just Andrew—and Mackenzie supposed she’d gotten herself into a bad habit, calling him Rook.

He put a slice of pizza on a plate and handed it to her at the table. “It’s warm, not hot.”

“It’ll be fine. Thanks.”

T.J. pushed back his chair but didn’t get up. “We got hold of Cal Benton and talked to him. We’ll talk more tomorrow. He apologized for not giving Brian his name.”

“Did he say why he decided to stop here?” Mackenzie asked, taking a bite of her pizza. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. It seemed like a week ago that she, Juliet and Ethan had stopped for a quick bite before checking out house listings in semiaffordable neighborhoods.

“He said it didn’t occur to him that coming here would be a problem.” T.J. shrugged. “He was married to a federal judge. He didn’t think twice about knocking on Andrew’s door.”

“Was Brian unnerved?”

Rook came into the kitchen and shook his head, taking the chair between his partner and Mackenzie at the round table. “Brian doesn’t have nerves, I swear. He could have called his father or one of his other uncles—or me—if he was scared. He wasn’t.”

“Cal’s not a particularly scary guy. What did he want?”

The two men were silent. Finally, T.J. said, “Harris Mayer knocked on our door about a month ago insisting he could help us break open a case involving blackmail, extortion, fraud and bribery. Money exchanging hands illegally among rich Washington types. People threatened with exposure of secrets.”

“Threatened with violence?” Mackenzie asked.

Rook answered. “Harris hasn’t indicated violence is a factor. We’ve met a few times, but he’s always vague. It’s been hard to gauge whether he just wants to be part of the action again and is making up stuff to get our attention, or if he’s for real.”

“He likes pulling people’s strings,” T.J. added. “Pulling our strings—he knows we’re not going to hurt him. That doesn’t mean someone else won’t.”

“If whoever’s behind the blackmail and whatnot realized he was talking to the FBI…” Mackenzie didn’t finish; she didn’t need to. “A good reason to disappear. What’s Cal’s involvement?”

“We don’t know,” Rook said. “He and Harris met through Judge Peacham and have gotten together a few times in recent months. By itself, that’s nothing. Put it together with everything else that’s gone on in the past week, and who knows.”

Mackenzie thought a moment, pictured the man leaping out of the brush next to Bernadette’s shed. His colorless, soulless eyes. “Do you think my guy—the man who attacked me and presumably left me the little gift on my porch steps—is part of this blackmail and extortion scheme?”

Rook’s gaze stayed on her, but T.J. was the one who spoke. “We don’t know.”

“Bernadette?”

“The same,” T.J. said.

“I’ve known Beanie Peacham all my life, and I can remember Harris coming to the lake with his wife and kids when I was nine or ten. I attended Beanie and Cal’s wedding.” Mackenzie sighed, no longer in the mood for pizza. “Well, Rook, no wonder you dumped me.”

She thought she saw T.J. smile, but he quickly got to his feet. “I wish we could have happened along tonight just as this SOB was leaving that knife and flower for you, Mackenzie. Whether he’s mixed up with our business with Harris or not, the guy’s a creep. We’ll get him.”

“Damn straight.” Mackenzie smiled. “Thanks, T.J. Maybe the neighbors saw something that’ll help. The house is tucked back on the property, but—well, who knows. I’m just glad Sarah wasn’t there.”

At the mention of Nate’s wife, T.J. visibly gritted his teeth, his look sober. “A bunch of crazy-assed vigilantes tried to take Sarah out in the spring. Something about that house, I swear. Time to improve security there, if you ask me.”

Mackenzie remembered the uproar in the spring. Nate, Juliet Longstreet and undercover marshals from California had been involved. She’d just started her training and couldn’t wait to get her first duty assignment. But she said, “I don’t suppose security will help much with Sarah’s ghosts.”

T.J. rolled his eyes but managed a grin. “I’m out of here. See you two tomorrow.”

After T.J. left, Rook poured Mackenzie a whiskey and set it in front of her. “You look like you could use a drink, Deputy Stewart.”

“A couple sips, anyway.” She picked up the glass, staring into the amber liquid. “I want to find the bastard, Andrew. And Harris. And Cal—”

“It’s not your fault he showed up here. Just do your job, Mac. That’s all anyone’s going to ask of you.”

She took a swallow of the whiskey, remembering her attacker’s colorless eyes. She set the glass down and looked at Rook, on his feet now, leaning back against the counter. It was a comfortable house, with homey remnants of his grandmother and the masculine touches he’d added.

And a nephew upstairs, she thought.

“Leaving the knife was this bastard’s way of telling me he could have killed me last Friday.”

“He didn’t kill you.”

“Maybe he could have and was just—I don’t know.”

“Just letting you think you’d kicked his ass?”

“I disarmed him. If I’d kicked his ass, he’d be in jail right now instead of wherever he is.” She took another swallow of the whiskey, then asked abruptly, “Where did you do your first assignment?”

“South Florida.”

She kept her eyes on him. “Did you have doubts?”

“I come from a family of cops. Doubts were never my problem.” He smiled at her. “The opposite. I was pretty cocky. I was always in a hurry, didn’t like to question myself.”

She drank more of the whiskey, pointing the glass at him. “You’re still cocky, Rook.”

“But I’m more measured. Mac, you didn’t hesitate last Friday. If you’d hesitated, you wouldn’t be getting stitches out tomorrow. Everyone who knows what you did realizes that you’ll have their back in a fight. You won’t run when the action gets real.” He shrugged. “Armed and in your marshal’s duds, you’d be tough to beat.”

She got up and brought her glass to the sink, turning to him. “Thank you—and T.J., too. Calling you after I saw the hydrangea and the knife seemed like the thing to do.”

“I’m glad.” Rook touched her mouth, looked into her eyes and smiled. “You’re beat, Mac.”

He kissed her softly, without any of last night’s hunger and fire. But the longing was there, she knew. She could feel it in herself, too.

He smiled. “Get some sleep.”

The kiss, his touch—the few sips of whiskey—only added to her overall sense that she was on the verge of spinning out of control. She grabbed her backpack, grateful when Rook didn’t follow her up to the guest room.