Abandon

Fifteen

Mackenzie pulled her backpack out of the small plane’s overhead compartment and slung it over her right shoulder. The tight quarters and the rough skies had jostled her just enough to make her feel every millimeter of her wound, but she’d resisted reaching for pain medication. She hadn’t taken any since Saturday. It was late Tuesday now, four days since the attack that had slit open her left side.

Four frustrating days, she thought as she disembarked, trying not to look too grouchy in front of the flight attendant, pilots and her fellow passengers.

Time to return to her ghosts, fall into her own bed and get back to work in the morning. Her attacker’s trail was stone-cold dead. The search teams hadn’t turned up any evidence of his identity or whereabouts in the mountains, and prints the police got off his knife didn’t match anyone in the system. Mackenzie had done what she could to help with the search, but she’d been too optimistic about diving right back into work.

She melted into the line exiting the Jetway. Her side ached, but as much as she wanted to go straight home, she had one stop to make first.

Bernadette Peacham had asked to see her.

A taxi was in order tonight, Mackenzie thought as she made her way into the crowded terminal. She could have called any number of people for a ride, but she’d kept her flight arrangements to herself. She was bedraggled and wobbly. If she had a good night’s sleep, she was confident she could be her usual kick-ass self by morning.

But as she stopped to figure out which way to turn to reach the terminal exit, Andrew Rook eased in next to her, catching her totally by surprise. He was in jeans and a lightweight jacket, and he was heart-stoppingly sexy, looking neither bedraggled nor wobbly.

“Allow me.” He took Mackenzie’s backpack from her shoulder. “All those pink swimsuits and dolphin towels get heavy, don’t they?”

“Rook, if you told anyone it was a pink suit -”

“I didn’t have to.”

“It’s all over Washington, isn’t it?”

“The suit. Not as many people know about the dolphin towel.”

Small comfort, she thought. “What are you doing here? How did you find out what flight I was on?” She stopped herself and sighed. “Damn FBI.”

He smiled. “We aim to please.”

Although he was dressed casually, it was a Washington crowd at Reagan National Airport. Anyone paying attention would peg him as an FBI agent. That she hadn’t the night they’d met still stuck in Mackenzie’s craw. No one would see her and think, Deputy U.S. Marshal. Certainly not tonight, with her hair yanked back in a loose ponytail and her baggy, casual attire covering up her bandages for the flight. She had dark circles under her eyes from pain and four nights of near sleeplessness as she’d tried to figure out who her attacker was, and rehashed all she’d done wrong.

Free of the backpack, she picked up her pace and said good-naturedly, “I liked you better when I thought you worked for the IRS.”

He ignored her. “My car’s in the parking garage. Do you want me to get you a wheelchair?”

“Since you have zero sense of humor, I assume you’re serious. No, I do not want you to get me a wheelchair. If you want to do something for me, flag me a cab.”

“Not a chance, Deputy.” He glanced at her, his eyes darker than usual. “If I let you take a taxi and you tripped in the dark and loosened a couple of stitches, I’d be in big trouble.”

She stopped abruptly. “Who put you up to this? Gus? Did he call and tell you I was on the way?”

“I called him.”

“Why?”

“To check on you.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she resumed walking, telling herself not to expend any energy trying to figure out Special Agent Rook. “Maybe that was your cover story with Gus, but you have an agenda that has nothing to do with my health and well-being.”

With his free hand, Rook dug his car keys out of his jacket pocket. “Were you this cynical when you were a college professor?”

“Instructor. I was never a professor. And I’m not cynical. I’m realistic.”

When they reached his car, Mackenzie was out of breath, which irritated her. But four days of a downsized workout or none at all had taken its toll. She’d get up early and do some kind of exercise before she went into work, stitches or no stitches.

Rook tossed her pack onto the backseat of his car. “If it’s any consolation, Gus didn’t suggest I pick you up. He said if I did, I should treat you right.”

“He raised two nieces – he has a good eye for men like you.”

“Men like me? Carine’s married to a pararescueman. Antonia’s married to a U.S. senator and former rescue helicopter pilot.”

Mackenzie frowned at him. “You’ve done your research. Do you know Antonia? She lives in Washington.”

“I think she might have checked me out for a concussion once.”

Mackenzie wasn’t sure what to believe. Antonia, the middle Winter sibling, was an emergency room physician. She and her husband, Hank Callahan, the junior senator from Massachusetts, had invited Mackenzie to their house in Georgetown twice since her arrival in Washington. Had Rook checked out all the Winters because of his investigation? Because of the attack? Because of her?

“I’m in good company, if you ask me,” Rook added. “And Nate’s a decent guy -”

“Thanks to Gus, or so he’d say.”

“You stayed at his house after I left?”

She nodded. “Just at night. It was easier than having him on my case or, worse, insisting on staying up at Beanie’s with me. He’s a fabulous cook. That helped.”

“They treat you like one of the family.”

“But I’m not,” she said, stepping past him to the passenger door. “I have both my parents.”

Rook pulled open the door for her. “You were a hellion as a kid, pretty much on your own after your father was hurt. Your sense of humor and red hair and cute freckles must have kept you from getting throttled on a regular basis.”

She hustled in front of him and got in the car. “You have been talking to Gus.” She looked up at Rook, who might have been grinning, but it was difficult to tell in the dark. “Were you questioning him as part of your investigation?”

Without answering, Rook shut the door and walked around to the other side of the car.

When he got behind the wheel, Mackenzie, eyes focused straight ahead, said, “I have one stop to make.”

“Mac -”

“Bernadette summoned me to see her. She’s not someone easily put off. It’s up to you whether or not you want to drive me there.”

She thought she saw the muscles in his forearm tense as he stuck the key in the ignition. “It’s not a problem.”

“She lives off Embassy Row.”

“I know where she lives.”

Mackenzie sank back into the comfortable seat. “Of course you do.”

Bernadette Peacham’s elegant 1920s house on a quiet street off Massachusetts Avenue always made Mackenzie think of garden parties with its ivy-covered brick and lush landscaping. Rook parked under a massive oak, and when she climbed out of the car, the humidity almost took her breath away. The night air and massive shade trees hadn’t cut the stifling heat.

An outside light came on as she and Rook took the moss-lined brick sidewalk to the side entrance. Bernadette, still in a wrinkled, gray suit she’d obviously worn to the courthouse, opened the door and gave Mackenzie a sweeping, critical once-over. “You don’t look as bad as I expected. A little pale. I’m so relieved this lunatic didn’t stab you to death.”

“Me, too,” Mackenzie said, then motioned behind her. “Beanie, I’d like you to meet -”

“Special Agent Rook.” She stood to one side and smiled coolly, eyeing him. “Am I right?”

“A pleasure to meet you, Judge Peacham,” he said, his tone neutral.

“Yes. Well, come inside.”

She led them past the kitchen and down the hall to the family room. Her Washington house was the polar opposite of her simple lake house in New Hampshire, and if Mackenzie hadn’t known better, she’d have thought this was the wrong Bernadette Peacham. Expensive antiques from various periods mixed with traditional fabrics and colors, and artwork from her travels all over the world. Cal had taken his favorite pieces from Peru and Japan, but most were from Bernadette’s life before their brief marriage.

“I can’t wait to be out of here,” she said. “It’s so damn hot!”

Mackenzie remained on her feet. She didn’t plan to stay long. “I don’t blame you. When do you head for New Hampshire?”

“Friday. I know it gets hot there, but not like this. And if it’s hot, I have the lake right outside my door.”

“Are you worried about being there -”

“With this lunatic on the loose? No, of course not. He’ll be long gone by then, or in custody, one would hope. I’ve never worried one second when I’ve been at the lake on my own, and I don’t intend to start now. You needn’t fret. Gus will check in on me, no doubt. He’s like a mother hen sometimes.”

Of all the images that came to mind when Mackenzie thought about Gus Winter, a mother hen wasn’t among them. Not even close. “I left some food in the refrigerator. Nothing that would spoil before you get there. There’s a half bag of marshmallows in the bread box -”

“Marshmallows? Mackenzie, you know they’ll attract ants.”

“I wrapped a rubber band around the bag. It’s so tight an ant can’t possibly get in.”

Bernadette waved a hand, dismissing the subject of marshmallows and ants. “You’re the one who was attacked. We should all be worrying about you.” She softened slightly, sinking into a wingback chair. “How are you? I heard you were lucky the knife didn’t penetrate deeply.”

“It’s a superficial wound. Painful, but it’ll heal. Every day’s better.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t just luck that you weren’t hurt worse. You’ve always been a good fighter.”

Mackenzie was aware of Rook lingering in the doorway, but he didn’t seem eager to jump into the conversation. “I had him, Beanie,” she said, “but I couldn’t hold him.”

“You’d been stabbed. Even more experienced officers have faltered in similar situations.” Bernadette’s tone was matter-of-fact more than reassuring. “Give yourself time to heal. Don’t push yourself, or you’ll end up delaying your recovery.”

“That’s why I didn’t head back here until tonight.”

“Good. Now, this man – you recognized him?”

“He seemed vaguely familiar.”

“Vaguely? That’s not the kind of thing one wants to hear in a courtroom.”

The state police detectives, FBI agents and deputy marshals investigating the two attacks in New Hampshire hadn’t wanted to hear it, either. They wanted specifics, and Mackenzie couldn’t provide them. The eyes, she’d said. They’d solidified the sense that she’d seen him before. She hadn’t been very helpful – and she was convinced they’d all downplayed, if not totally disregarded, her statement because of her knife wound and initial round of pain medication.

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Bernadette asked.

“I’d know it was the same man. I’m not sure it’d help me figure out where I’ve seen him before.”

Mackenzie didn’t flinch as Bernadette studied her with a frankness that anyone who knew the exacting judge got used to. Bernadette was blunt and straightforward, but also unfailingly generous, intelligent and fair-minded. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I wish this attack hadn’t happened. I wish I could at least help find the perpetrator. I’ve seen enough lowlifes come through my courtroom. But I’m clueless. I’m not good with sketches. I don’t think I’d recognize myself in one.”

“What about Cal?”

“ Cal?” An edge came into Bernadette’s voice at mention of her ex-husband. “Why would he know anything?”

Mackenzie gave Rook a sideways glance, but he remained impassive. She turned back to Bernadette, shrugging. “No reason.”

“I hardly ever see him anymore, although he’s still living here.” She added quickly, “He has the downstairs guest suite.”

Mackenzie had stayed there often enough herself on her visits to Washington over the years. Bernadette had always been a welcoming hostess, although less so after her marriage to Cal Benton. Mackenzie wasn’t sure if he didn’t like company or didn’t like her; perhaps he’d just sensed she didn’t like him.

“When’s he moving out?” she asked bluntly.

Bernadette seemed to take no offense. “This weekend. When I get back from New Hampshire in September, he’ll be out of my life for good.”

“Did you talk to him about the attacks in New Hampshire?”

“Of course. He suggested your assailant could be someone I’ve helped out at some point.”

“One of your ‘three-legged puppies’? Isn’t that his phrase?”

Mackenzie’s cool tone drew a glance from Rook, but he didn’t comment. Cal, who hadn’t known her as a child, nonetheless had made it clear he considered her one of his wife’s “three-legged puppies.”

“ Cal doesn’t realize how offensive he is sometimes,” Bernadette said. “I think it’s just his way of trying to be funny. He doesn’t recognize this man, from the sketch or the description, either. The police seem to think he’s a deranged drifter, and I tend to agree. Maybe you just saw him buying something at Gus’s store one day.” She gave Mackenzie a pained look. “Or an assault knife.”

“Gus doesn’t carry that kind of knife at the store.”

“I didn’t mean that literally.” Bernadette rose, kicking off her flats and standing in her stocking feet. “I can see you’re tired. I wish I knew something that could help you find this man.”

“The police aren’t giving up yet,” Mackenzie said. “Are you okay here? I don’t want to scare you, but the man was on your property.”

“Your marshal friends swing by from time to time. I hate having anyone at my elbow day and night. In any case, you’re the one who was knifed, even if it was on my property. Do you have round-the-clock protection?”

Mackenzie almost smiled. “I’m not a federal judge who can’t shoot.”

“I hate guns. Your point’s well taken, but I’m not worried.”

Mackenzie wanted to ask her about Harris Mayer but resisted because of the FBI agent standing in the doorway. Let Rook ask if he wanted to. She didn’t have enough information, but if she barreled her way into an ongoing investigation, she would be back in Cold Ridge and out of the USMS before she got a scratch on her badge. Even Nate Winter wouldn’t be able to help her.

Bernadette walked past Rook and into the hall. Mackenzie noticed how closely he was observing the judge, but he continued to maintain his silence. She followed Bernadette, brushing by him. “Where’s Cal now?”

“I have no idea.” Bernadette’s mouth tightened as if she was trying to hold back unwanted emotion. “Why all your questions?”

“Just making conversation.” But that wasn’t entirely true, and Mackenzie wondered if both the federal judge in front of her and the FBI agent behind her realized she was holding back. Yet blurting what she knew about Cal Benton and his final affront to his wife and their marriage would do no one any good. Mackenzie said carefully, “ Cal will miss the lake, don’t you think?”

“If he had his way, he’d cut up the land into lakefront lots and tear down the house and build a new one. He says it’s only a step above camping.”

“When was he in New Hampshire last?”

Rook said something under his breath, and Mackenzie realized she’d pushed too hard. Bernadette reached the side door off the kitchen and spun around, arms crossed on her chest. “Mackenzie, I’m a judge. Before I was a judge, I was a prosecutor. I know when I’m being grilled. I’ll make allowances because of the circumstances, but otherwise, enough with the questions.”

“Sorry. Long day. Enjoy the lake. It was beautiful there this past weekend.”

Bernadette smiled wistfully, her irritation fading quickly. “It always is. I didn’t let what happened to your father stop me from appreciating it. I won’t let what happened to you stop me.” She gasped, obviously horrified by her own words. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it to. Not at all. Mackenzie, I’m sorry. I’m not unfeeling.”

“I know, Beanie. Forget it. I’ll see you later.”

“I don’t know anything about the man who attacked you. Neither does Cal. He takes care of himself. I know he does. From what I’ve learned about him these past three years, he always has. And he’s very good at it.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

Her pale green eyes leveled on Mackenzie. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

“I only have questions, Beanie. No answers.”

She didn’t respond right away. “I know the feeling,” she said finally. She opened the door, the hot night air immediately oozing into the cool interior. “Special Agent Rook, it’s good to meet you.”

“Likewise, Judge Peacham.”

“You’re very disciplined, keeping your mouth shut all this time.”

He smiled at her. “Good night, Judge.”

Mackenzie started to speak, but Bernadette held up a hand. “I’ve kept you long enough. Take care of yourself. Thank you for stopping by.”

“Always good to see you, Beanie.”

Rook’s car was still relatively cool when Mackenzie returned to her seat, but she could feel fatigue gnawing at her – and his gaze on her, probing, as if she’d tried to hide something from him, too.

“Where’d she get the nickname Beanie?” he asked, starting the car.

“I think Gus gave it to her in first grade, and it stuck.”

“But she’s beloved? She’s known for her kindness and generosity?”

“That doesn’t mean she’s a pushover. She’s smart, and she’s dedicated to her work as a judge.”

“No kids?”

Mackenzie shook her head. “She was married for a few years after law school, but it didn’t work out. No kids.”

“Just you,” he said.

“I have a mother. Beanie knows that. People might say I got lost in the shuffle after my father was injured, but we all cared about each other. That was never a question. And everything turned out all right.”

“How did Judge Peacham help you?”

“She kept Gus from hanging me by my thumbs, for starters. Mostly, she let me into her library and let me use her house as a refuge. I never went into the shed, though. I’d sit on the porch and read – just that break from the difficulties at home made a difference. My father didn’t need me underfoot when he was in such pain.”

“Tough times.”

“People have faced worse.”

Rook was silent a moment. “We’re not talking about what other people faced.”

Mackenzie decided to change the subject. She didn’t want Rook picturing her as a lonely, troubled eleven-year-old. “Anything new on Harris Mayer?”

“He hasn’t turned up yet.”

“Are you actively looking for him?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She let Rook drive a couple miles without pressing him further, hoping he might take the initiative and elaborate. But he didn’t. Finally, she gave him a sideways look. “Talking to you is like getting blood out of a stone sometimes.”

“Only when you ask about matters that are outside your area of concern.”

“I should expect to get shut down. Got it, Rook. Nate Winter gave me the same lecture.”

“Smart man.”

When they arrived at her borrowed quarters, Rook didn’t ask if she needed help, he just climbed out of the car and opened the back door before she’d gotten her seat belt unhooked. He grabbed her backpack and walked to the porch, the heat apparently having no effect on him.

Mackenzie joined him, feeling drained. Before she’d left New Hampshire, she’d retraced her assailant’s path through the woods and up to the road above the lake, not so much looking for clues the search teams had missed but hoping for something – anything – that jogged her memory. She’d probably pushed herself a bit too far.

“Thanks for the ride,” she told Rook. “I mean it. It was decent of you, even if you had ulterior motives.”

But he didn’t make a move to head back to his car. He nodded toward the porch. “I want to make sure your place is secure before I leave.”

“It’s not secure. It’s a leaky haunted house. Who knows what I’ll find in there?”

He didn’t laugh. Mackenzie gave up and mounted the steps to the porch, fumbling in a pocket of her backpack for her keys. She unlocked the door and motioned him inside. “Help yourself.” She followed him in and switched on lights as he checked the windows and closets. “I’d give anything for Abe Lincoln to pop out from under a bed right now.”

“The Rooks are Virginians.”

“Bobby Lee, then.”

“Mac…”

They were in the small kitchen, and she fought an image of him getting up with her in the morning. He sighed through his teeth, his eyes dark, his body tensed as he visibly repressed all emotion. But he cupped her chin, catching her by surprise, and traced one finger along her jaw. She didn’t pull back, and he kissed her – not lightly, either. She responded, grabbing his arms and steadying herself as her mouth opened to his tongue, the heat of him.

But he was a man of supreme willpower, and he pulled back. “You make me crazy, you know that?”

She smiled, a little breathless. “It’s good for you.”

“Probably is,” he said, straightening. “If you didn’t have twenty-five stitches -”

“Only twenty.”

“Sleep well, Mac. If the ghosts bother you, give me a call.”

That’d be the day, she thought. She watched him head out, trotting down the steps as if he had all the energy in the world. When he was out of her driveway, she went into the living room, with its cozy, antique furnishings. Except for the loud ticking of an old grandfather clock, the house was quiet. No ghosts, no Andrew Rook, no deranged hiker with a knife.

Mackenzie’s eyes felt scratchy with fatigue. She hoped being back in Washington would help her remember where she’d seen her attacker before. She was convinced, still, that she hadn’t just conjured up a sense of familiarity because of fear and adrenaline.

But whoever he was, she wouldn’t be satisfied until he was in custody, unable to hurt anyone else.

She suspected it was one goal she and Rook shared.

As she headed to her bedroom, she touched a hand to her mouth where he’d kissed her. Damn.

The man made her crazy, too.