Abandon (8 page)

G
us Winter stabbed a fat marshmallow with one of the half-dozen or so sharp sticks Bernadette kept at her outdoor stone fireplace, and handed it to Mackenzie, then sank into an old, comfortable Adirondack chair. Gus had built the fire, as if the simple ritual was what he needed to put the events of the day into perspective.

Mackenzie sat forward and held her marshmallow over the flames, careful not to let it get too close. She liked a gooey center and a crisp exterior, which required a certain level of patience and marshmallow know-how.

“Beanie’s helped a lot of people over the years,” Mackenzie said. “I wasn’t the only one.”

“Not by a long shot. And you’re a neighbor. She’s helped perfect strangers.” Gus reached for another stick. “Are you suggesting this nut today was someone she helped?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just casting a wide net.”

“Are you supposed to be casting any net? You’re one of the victims.”

As if she needed reminding, with her bandages, her wooziness from medication. The cool air and the familiarity of the fire, the marshmallows, the sounds of the dark night, all helped center her. She could feel her fatigue, even as her mind spun with the images of the day, the scraps of information she had, the possibilities they presented.

“I don’t mean officially. It’s not my investigation, but that doesn’t mean I can’t speculate. Everyone in town is speculating.”

“Point taken,” Gus said.

She glanced at him as he picked up a second stick for himself. “Overkill?”

“Always with you, kiddo.”

She smiled. “I thought I might irritate you less now that I’ve been knifed.”

He took two marshmallows and impaled them on his stick. “Nah.” He grinned at her. “You’re the same Mackenzie I’ve always known and loved. At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“Hey, someone around here has to have a sense of humor.” This reminded her of Rook, who was either in the house or else off with other FBI agents—she didn’t know which. He wasn’t by the fire toasting marshmallows. “The attack on the hiker this morning suggests this man wasn’t here specifically because of Beanie. The lock on the shed wasn’t broken. She probably just didn’t bother with it.”

“So he seized the moment and ducked in there to hide, or planned to?” Gus asked.

“Maybe. Carine left the house unlocked when she and Harry headed up the road. If this guy was looking for a place to rest, or stuff to steal, you’d think he’d go into the house.”

“He might not have had the chance. We don’t know how long he was here. He could have stumbled into the brush right from the woods while you were underwater.”

Mackenzie felt the heat of the fire on her face as her marshmallow browned. Her eyes felt as if they’d been rolled in sandpaper. Sitting close to the flames probably wasn’t helping. “Just as well he didn’t crawl out from under a bed in the middle of the night.”

Gus plunged his two marshmallows into the blaze. “This FBI agent, Rook. What’s his story?”

“I don’t know. He just showed up.”

“Uh-huh. Friend of yours?”

“Someone I know.”

“Who is he?”

She could tell Gus was growing impatient. Understandably. “Well, when I first met him, I thought he was a Washington bureaucrat.”

“But he’s not,” Gus said unnecessarily.

“Seems so obvious now.”

“You let him call you Mac. Last time I called you Mac, you told me in no uncertain terms it’s Mackenzie.”

“I told Rook the same thing.”

Gus’s marshmallows caught fire. He let them burn for a few seconds, then blew them out—his own ritual. “Anything personal between you two?”

She didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“You’re not working a case together or something, are you?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“So there
is
something between you two.”

Mackenzie bit into her marshmallow, testing to make sure it was soft throughout, but not so gooey it would fall off the stick. She had a tendency to lose marshmallows in the fire if she wasn’t careful.

Gus continued to char his. “Does Nate know this Rook?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”

“I’m asking you.”

The marshmallow was perfect, and she popped the whole thing into her mouth, enjoying the sweetness. She sat back in her chair and debated whether she had the energy to roast another.

“Nate’s been decent to me since I moved to Washington,” she said. “He’s so well respected, I doubt anything I could do would have an impact on him—”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

She sighed. “I know, Gus. Okay. Rook and I went out a few times. That’s it. Story over.”

“How’d he manage to show up here just minutes after you were stabbed?”

“I don’t know—and I wasn’t stabbed. Stabbing is when the knife goes straight into you.” She looked over at him, silhouetted against the fire and dark night. “This was a cut.”

The missing hiker, on the other hand, had been stabbed in her lower abdomen. She had come out of surgery, and her prognosis for a full recovery was excellent. Everyone—Gus, especially—would hate seeing a woman who’d come to the White Mountains to hike with friends end up stabbed, fighting for her life. That she’d survived the attack was a miracle, but the profilers, Mackenzie knew, would add it to the mix. Why hadn’t their perp stabbed the woman repeatedly? Why had he done so once, and run?

Was
he deranged?

Mackenzie thought of his eyes. The eyes of a man in the midst of a psychotic breakdown?

She set her stick in the grass. “Have you talked to Beanie?”

Gus pulled his blackened marshmallows out of the fire. “No, why would I?”

“Because you’ve known her since kindergarten.”

“Before that. I didn’t go to kindergarten.”

He ate the top marshmallow, his prickliness more pronounced than usual. Gus and Bernadette both had deep roots in Cold Ridge, and as different as they were, they each planned to spend their last days there.

Mackenzie stared up at the starlit sky. If she sank any deeper into her chair, she’d become a part of it. “You and Beanie are going to end up in the same nursing home, you know. It’d serve you right.”

He gave Mackenzie a quick grin. “Probably would.”

“The police and the FBI don’t think this guy had anything to do with her.”

“What’s your gut say, Mackenzie?” Gus leveled his gaze on her. “Think it was random, him showing up here?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

He turned back to the fire and lowered his remaining marshmallow into the flames once more, presumably to char the one square millimeter he’d missed. “Wishing you’d stayed in academia right now?”

“I’m wishing I’d worn a black swimsuit today.”

He laughed, but Mackenzie couldn’t summon the energy to respond in kind. She closed her eyes, trying to listen to the crickets and the soft lapping of the lake against the rocks. Instead, she heard the rustling in the brush from this afternoon, and chastised herself for thinking it was an animal, harmless, normal.

She felt the smooth edge of the assault knife cut across her skin. She hadn’t done so at the time—somehow, her mind hadn’t let her feel it—but she did now.

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.”