Cold Dawn

“I’m sorry about this, A.J.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She didn’t respond, but she couldn’t help wondering if somehow it was her fault. She watched her oldest brother head down the steps and get in his car, his movements brusque, his concern—his fear—palpable. He’d been quiet during dinner. Even Lauren had been unable to get him to laugh and join in on their talk about winter fest, the sugar shack, the Neals’ return to Black Falls and when Jo Harper and Elijah would get married.

Suddenly aching with the cold, Rose quickly ducked back through the mudroom to the kitchen.

Nick was at the sink, rinsing a bloodstained dish towel. “If the blood doesn’t come out, I’ll buy you a new towel.”

“I don’t care about that,” she said, kicking off her boots.

He grinned back at her. “Mountain woman Rose.”

“I can still take you to the E.R.”

“Nah. I’m fine.” He left the towel in the sink. “I’m glad you weren’t the one who surprised him.”

“Me, too, unless he just wanted to talk to me.”

“Yeah. Talk. He grabbed you this morning, pinned you against a tree and shoved you in the snow.”

“He could have done worse, or tried. I’d have defended myself. I know the woods up here better than he does.”

Nick shook his head. “Not buying it.”

She came closer to him and took a look at his injury, noticing the dark stubble of beard on his jaw, two small scars, his tanned skin. She tried to focus on where he’d made contact with the shovel. “It’s a pretty good scrape,” she said, “but there’s not much swelling. Damn, Nick. You really were lucky.”

“Good,” he amended with a wink. “I was good. I landed a solid kick—”

“It wasn’t hard enough,” she said, amused. “He still was able to run.”

Nick put a palm to his heart in mock hurt. “Cut to the quick.”

Rose laughed and pulled open the refrigerator door. “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? I have orange, grapefruit, tomato, pomegranate juice.”

“So you weren’t kidding about pomegranate juice in your martini. You like that stuff?”

“Yes, especially in a martini.”

“Ha-ha. I’ll just stick with water. I should call Sean back and fill him in.”

“I’ll call him.”

She shut the refrigerator and went into her small back office. She’d arranged her desk to take advantage of the view of a giant, old sugar maple in her side yard. Ranger wandered in and sat at her feet, as if he were mystified as to why Nick hadn’t left yet. She dialed Sean from her landline. Of her three brothers, he was closest in age to her but had left for Southern California ten years ago. She’d been out there more than a dozen times and understood its appeal. Her father never had, but he’d always kept Sean close in his heart and hadn’t treated him any differently from his other children.

Not until last month, when she’d watched him fall in love with Hannah, who’d never lived anywhere but Black Falls, had Rose realized that he’d come to feel as if he stood apart from their family and his hometown. But he didn’t stand apart and never had. She, Elijah and A.J. knew that, even if Sean didn’t.

Elijah had left Vermont at nineteen, but for different reasons. He’d spent long months in war zones, risking his life. He’d butted heads with his father forever, but on some level they’d understood each other. Elijah had always wanted to come home to Black Falls. He’d never felt alienated from his family or his hometown.

Of course, Rose thought, she and her brothers had never discussed any of this among themselves.

Sean picked up immediately, clearly relieved as she updated him. “If Nick just got hit on the head, all’s well. He’s got a hard head.” But her brother’s gallows humor didn’t last. “Do you have any idea what Feehan would want with you?”

“No, I don’t,” she said, aware of Nick leaning against the doorjamb.

“Does Feehan know about whatever went on between you and Cutshaw?” Sean asked her.

She took a sharp breath. “Sean—”

“Elijah and I guessed in January that something happened between you two. Rose, come on. Relax. No one expects you not to have lived. Why should you be perfect?”

“Maybe after this past year we’re not as hard on ourselves as we once were.”

“Or on each other.”

She noticed Nick’s eyes were half-closed as he watched her from the door. She wondered what secrets she was betraying simply by how she stood, how she looked at him.

She smiled into the phone to help keep any self-consciousness out of her tone. “How’s Hannah?”

“Worried,” Sean said. “She’s got on her prosecutor’s face.”

Rose doubted her friend would ever become a Vermont prosecutor. It was the path taken, then changed by circumstance—namely, falling in love with Sean. “I’d like to talk to her.”

While she waited for Hannah to come on the line, Nick withdrew back into the kitchen, giving her privacy. Ranger glanced at her, then, his tail wagging, followed Nick as if they were now best friends.

“Rose,” Hannah said. “What on earth is going on?”

“You don’t have to keep secrets from Sean,” Rose blurted. “Tell him what you know about Derek.”

“He’s already guessed most of it, and I don’t know much. If you’ll recall, you didn’t go into detail.” Her friend sighed. “You’re a very private person, Rose.”

“It’s one reason you and I get along so well.”

“Beth and I can come back—”

“No, enjoy the bougainvillea and the pool. Beth needs a break, and you and Sean have waited a long time for each other.”

Hannah hesitated, then said, “Beth’s hurting over Scott, but she’s doing her stiff-upper-lip thing. We’re having a good time. Devin and Toby are coming by to see her. You should see Devin—he’s getting downright buff. He’s determined to become a smoke jumper. It’s a long route but wherever it takes him, it’ll be better than where he’s been. He has his own apartment now. Toby’s doing well with his host family. He’s in mountain-biking heaven. I think he’ll stay and graduate out here.”

“Going out to California’s been good for all of you,” Rose said.

Hannah had become her brothers’ legal guardian after their mother died when they were ten and eleven and Hannah just twenty-one. Their father had been dead for years. She remembered their lives in the isolated hollow, just downriver from Bowie O’Rourke, better than Devin and Toby did.

“During the bar fight last year,” Rose said thoughtfully, “did you get the feeling Derek was deliberately trying to provoke Bowie?”

“Maybe. Bowie didn’t care. He wanted to shut Derek up.”

“How did Bowie take it when Lowell Whittaker tried to frame him for the pipe bombs?”

“Bowie just wants to get on with his life, Rose.”

“That’s what I thought.” She remained on her feet, restless. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to imply I suspect him of anything.”

“I’m sorry if I sound defensive.”

“Do you know what precipitated Nick coming out here?”

“No, but I can guess.”

“What? The investigation into Jasper Vanderhorn’s death? Did something come up after you and Sean got back last week and Nick decided to head to Vermont?”

“Not that I know of,” Hannah said. “Rose, I think Nick’s in Vermont because of you.”

She looked out the window but saw only her reflection against the black night. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to.”

“Does Sean have any idea?”

“Not a clue.”

Rose could sense her friend’s smile but wasn’t smiling herself. “Please don’t do anything that would jeopardize their friendship on my account.”

“That’s not your problem. You have to figure out what you want. Who you want. Nick and Sean live in a big world. Private planes, money.”

And women, Rose thought, but now she made herself smile. “Does that mean the prospect of bicoastal living in Vermont and California doesn’t scare Sean?”

Hannah laughed softly. “Not in the least.”

“What about you, Hannah? Does it scare you?”

“It did for about five minutes. Sean and I can make this work,” her friend said. “I’ve never been so happy. I hope you can be happy, too, Rose. No one deserves it more.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Easier said than done. But you should go. You must be exhausted.”

“Thanks. Say goodbye to Sean for me.”

Nick had stretched out on the couch, leaning back against pillows he’d arranged behind him. “This’ll work. Hurts less to sit up, and I’ve got a strategic view of the door should anyone else pay you a visit.”

“You’re not armed.”

“I could go find your snow shovel,” he said lightly, then nodded to a pair of her shoes by the fire. “Or I could throw one of your shoes. What are those things?”

“Waterproof running shoes. They’re good in the snow.” She felt hot, but was amused. “I can wear starlet high heels, you know. Christian Louboutin, Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo. I can’t buy them in Black Falls, but I get to Boston on a regular basis. I know what they are.”

“Can you walk in four-inch heels?”

“Not on my driveway in the snow, but I could manage quite nicely at a Beverly Hills cocktail party. In fact, I have. Sean took me once.”

Nick was clearly unimpressed, as well as skeptical. “You’ve never worn four-inch heels in your life.”

She grinned. “All right, two inches.”

“Where would you wear heels around here?”

“More places than you obviously think. For instance, there’s a dance at the lodge during winter fest.”

“Hell, shoot me now.”

“Why, Nick Martini, what a snob you are.” Rose lifted a log out of the woodbox. “I don’t care if you’re a hotshot smoke jumper, you’re actually more Beverly Hills these days. I can see you waltzing into some cocktail party with a babe on each arm.”

He settled deeper into the pillows. “I might have a few pictures of me just like that.”

She set the log on its end on the stone hearth and lifted the lid on the top of the stove. “If I’m just one of the guys—some mountain woman in sensible shoes—why did you sleep with me?”

“We needed each other that night.”

He spoke softly, his tone even and unemotional, as if he were stating a simple, indisputable fact. Rose dropped the log on the fire, almost choking it out, and reached for the poker. “I know why I needed you,” she said, shifting the log, rekindling the flames. “Why did you need me?”

“You just asked and answered your own question.” His voice was steady, and she could feel his eyes on her. “I needed you because you needed me.”

She shut the lid on the fire and returned the poker to its rack. “That’s it, huh?”

“That’s it.”

She dusted bits of wood off her hands and turned around, feeling an immediate jolt at the unbridled sexiness of the man on her couch. His dark eyes, his flat stomach and long, muscular legs. She felt the heat of the fire behind her and decided it wasn’t helping. Moving away from the woodstove, she pushed back a faint sense of irritation at herself that she was still attracted to him.

She sat in her favorite knitting-and-DVD-watching chair. “Then why are you here now?”

He grinned at her. “Because my head hurts.”

“In Vermont, Nick. Why are you in Vermont?”

He glanced at the fire blazing behind the glass doors of the woodstove. “Unfinished business.”

The dim light from a floor lamp by the couch caught the raw scrape on the side of his head. As tough and accustomed to pain as he was, he nonetheless looked a little ragged and hurt, and he had to have a screaming headache. Rose knew she’d gone too far as it was. Did she really want to go further and press him about what he meant by “unfinished business”?

She launched herself to her feet and marched down to her bedroom, flipped on the overhead and pulled open her closet. She dug out a pair of dressy black heels. She’d worn them to an event Sean had dragged her to in Beverly Hills last summer. Did they just prove Nick’s point? They were heels, but they weren’t four-inch or expensive.

She shoved them back into her closet. “What am I doing?”

But she dug out a pair of nude-colored sling-backs with two-inch heels. She’d worn them to A.J. and Lauren’s wedding five years ago. They weren’t even close to sexy. They were…utilitarian.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of her closet door. She’d changed into jeans and a dark burgundy sweater for dinner with her brother and sister-in-law. She hadn’t fooled with her hair—it looked okay, maybe a little wild. Of course she’d worn boots. It was winter.

Definitely not starlet material.

It wasn’t as if no one in Black Falls was. Lauren was elegant and beautiful, always perfectly, if simply, dressed for her days at the lodge. She had a natural sense of style. Hannah was pretty with her delicate features. Jo Harper, Elijah’s love, the Secret Service agent, had amazing turquoise eyes and that great copper hair.

Rose had never paid much attention to her appearance—well, she had. She just hadn’t done much about it. Spas, manicures, pedicures, hair treatments. They all took time and money she didn’t have. She’d been known to have her hair flop into her face, get irritated, grab scissors and hack off a hunk over the sink. One of her best friends from high school owned the one salon in town and would lament Rose’s self-cuts and recommend regular hair appointments. But how could she with her schedule?

Nick Martini had slept with her because she was there, and now he wanted to absolve himself of any guilt that would intrude on his friendship and business with Sean. That was all there was to it, and it wasn’t such a bad thing. She had to be smart and not set herself up for an emotional fall.

Or another night of hot sex with a man who’d walk away from her in the morning. They’d just had another adrenaline dump, and here they were—attracted to each other, restless, alone.

Who was she kidding?

Nick was a type A, mission-oriented man. He wasn’t in Black Falls because of her. He was in Vermont because he wanted answers. The possibility that Jasper’s death was linked to Lowell Whittaker was Nick’s only “unfinished business.”

Rose returned to the living room. Nick had pulled a knitted afghan over him. “Your handiwork?”

“Penny Hodges. She owns the only flower shop in town. She and my mother were friends. My dad used to say they spoiled Elijah.”

“Did they?”

“You’ve met Elijah,” she said, dropping back onto her chair, the fire bright orange inside the glass door. “He’s impossible to spoil.”

Nick crossed his ankles under the afghan. He’d taken off his boots, set them next to her snow sneakers. “You flew to Germany after he was wounded.”

Rose pushed back a wave of memories of those hard days of fear and grief last April. “He was recovering at Landstuhl. I could get there faster than Sean or A.J.”

“Sean said Elijah was shot in the femoral artery. If you don’t bleed to death in the first few minutes, you can make a full recovery.”

“Which he did.”

“You told him about your father’s death.”

“Yes.”

She could see Elijah in his hospital bed, her tough, impossible-to-hurt soldier brother bandaged and in pain. The doctors and nurses had been as helpful to her as they could be, but she’d insisted on being the one to tell him that their father had died of exposure on the mountain he loved.

“A.J. had to tell Sean and me,” she said.

She saw that Nick’s eyes were shut. He wasn’t asleep, but, she thought, he didn’t need to sit there and listen to her. She felt the strains of the past two days catching up with her. “You can keep the fire going overnight or just let it go out. Up to you.”

She thought he was at least half-asleep, but he eased out from under the afghan and got up, standing close to her. He took her hand into his kissed her softly on the cheek. “Sleep, Rose,” he said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She squeezed his hand. “I can do heels and sequins, you know.”

“Baby, you’re sexy in those wool socks of yours.”

She laughed. “I think you might have a concussion after all.”

“Not a chance.” He slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her on the lips this time, again softly, as if he wanted to prove he could restrain himself after their mad, wild encounter last June. “No concussion.”

She let herself lean into him, put her arms around him and feel his warmth, his strength—and her undeniable, uncontrollable physical reaction to him. She forced herself to pull back and stand up straight. She smiled. “Go on and get back under your afghan,” she said. “You’re in no shape to figure out what’s going on between us. I’m not sure I am, either.”

“Rose—”

She saw car headlights on her driveway and dropped her hands from Nick’s hard middle. “That must be your stuff from the lodge.” How fortuitous, she thought.

While Nick went outside, Rose fetched sheets and a proper pillow and blanket from the linen closet. She dumped them on the couch as he returned with a small suitcase and set it on the floor.

She watched him put another log on the fire. As a smoke jumper, he had a different relationship with fire than most people. He reached for the poker and she made her exit. She locked the front and back doors and ducked into her bedroom.

She pulled off her clothes, still able to feel Nick’s solid chest and abdomen, taste his lips on hers. She sank into her bed, her sheets cold.

Ranger looked at her from the threshold, then lay down just out in the hall. Rose smiled. Her own d’Artagnan—her own Musketeer.

Who needed a multimillionaire smoke jumper?

Eleven

Washington, D.C.

G rit Taylor thought he was free and clear of the U.S. Secret Service when he got through security at Reagan National Airport and arrived at the gate for his late-evening flight to Los Angeles.

Except Jo Harper was there.

No Elijah. Just Jo standing by a floor-to-ceiling window with her Special Agent badge and look.

Grit sat on a vinyl chair with his carry-on bag. He was in his dress blues. On his way through the airport, people had thanked him for his service. He’d responded the same every time: “It’s a privilege to serve.”

Jo just glared at him. “What’re you doing, Grit?”

“Getting ready to board a flight to California.”

“I like how you say ‘California.’ You’re obfuscating the issue.”

He grinned at her. “Obfuscate, Jo?”

“You know what it means.” She dropped her arms to her sides. She was pretty with her dark copper hair and turquoise eyes, but she was all federal agent right now. “You’re flying to Los Angeles. You’re supposed to be flying to San Diego.”

“Cheaper to fly to L.A. I’m saving the taxpayers.” It was the truth, he thought, as far as it went.

Jo continued to glare at him.

“You do that to Elijah?” Grit stretched out his legs, not really noticing his prosthetic. “What does he do, throw you over his shoulder and—”

“Has Charlie Neal been in touch with you?”

Grit wasn’t surprised by her question. He’d anticipated it the moment he’d spotted her at his gate. “I’m his new role model.”

“He’s called you on the sly with one of his theories, hasn’t he?”

“Why, is he missing?”

“I’m asking the questions.”

“Sit down, Agent Harper. We’re good. All’s well. No worries. Charlie likes to share theories with me. I listen. Sometimes I indulge him. I have a number of reasons to go to California, including navy business. They all coalesced and now I’m going. Coalesced,” he added, “is one of those words like obfuscate. It sounds like what it means.”

“Onomatopoeia.” She seemed more relaxed and sat down, if on the edge of the seat. “Charlie’s going to get me fired yet.”

“That’s not what he’s after.”

“The fire in the Shenandoah Mountains in October…” She paused, clearly not eager to discuss the matter with Grit. “It wasn’t bad but we got it out fast. If it’d spread, it could have killed Marissa. But we went over everything. We brought in all the pros. The ATF. The best people, Grit. Nothing points to a deliberate fire.”

“What about the ex-boyfriend in California?”

Jo showed no reaction to his question. “Trent Stevens is an actor and an aspiring screenwriter and director. He didn’t want the distraction of dating the daughter of a vice president. He thought it would affect his brand, as well as his work.” Jo was silent a moment. “Trent’s very serious about his work.”

“You keep tabs on him since the breakup?”

“You know I’m not going to answer that.”

Grit shrugged. “Have you ever been to Sean Cameron’s place in Beverly Hills?”

“I stopped in once when I was out there on assignment.”

“Checking out Marissa’s ex-boyfriend?”

“You’re relentless, Grit. Did you interrogate Taliban and Al-Qaeda fighters?”

“That’s classified.”

She gave him a grudging smile. “Have a safe flight. Don’t encourage Charlie. Say hi to Sean and Hannah. My sister Beth’s out there, too. Say hi to her.”

“Should I tell them when the wedding is?”

She unconsciously fingered the engagement ring on her finger that Elijah had bought for her at nineteen. She narrowed her turquoise eyes on Grit. “You do know how to cut to the heart of things.”

“You can move into Myrtle’s place while I’m in California.”

“If that’s one of the things that had to ‘coalesce’…”

“Three’s a crowd. I was in one of your cabins at the lake, right under your noses. Now I’m in D.C., down the hall. It’s awkward.”

“I have my own apartment, Grit. It’s not awkward.”

“Myrtle’s stuck in Vermont. I think she’s suffering from Stockholm syndrome or something up there. We might have to mount a rescue mission.”

“Maybe she likes Vermont.”

“This is what I’m saying. She’s identifying with her captors.”

Jo scowled and shot to her feet, then glared at him again. “Is obtuse one of those words that sounds like what it means? Because you’re being obtuse, Grit.”

He crossed his real ankle over his prosthetic ankle and wondered if anyone in the waiting area had guessed he was an injured SEAL, but he realized he didn’t care one way or the other. He grinned up at Jo. “We all want to hear wedding bells.”

“You’ll hear them for Hannah and Sean sooner than you will Elijah and me. Elijah’s waited for fifteen years. What’s another year or two?”

She didn’t wait for Grit to respond—she obviously didn’t want him to—and left. Once she was out of sight, he called Elijah: “I think you should buy Myrtle’s house and turn the back bedroom into a nursery. A zoo theme would be cute.”

Elijah ignored him. “Nick Martini was attacked at Rose’s house. He took a snow shovel to the side of the head but he’s fine.”

“Ouch. That’s what he gets for going out there in the dead of winter. Who attacked him?”

“Robert Feehan, most likely. Whoever it was got away. The police have been looking for him since Derek Cutshaw’s death yesterday. He jumped Rose that morning.”

“She didn’t get a shovel to the head?”

“He said he wanted to talk to her. Nick showed up, and Feehan took off.”

“Lots of places to hide up there in the snow. All right. Thanks for the intel.” Grit got up. “When I’m in San Diego, I’ll stop at the zoo and buy a stuffed giraffe for the nursery.”

But Elijah was gone. Grit heard his seating area called. It was almost a six-hour flight across the continent.

Anything could happen while he was in the air.

Twelve

Beverly Hills, California

B eth Harper took a late-night swim in Sean Cameron’s heated pool. The temperature in Beverly Hills was cool by Southern California standards, but by Vermont standards—even in the summer, never mind late February—it was just fine.

She climbed out of the clear azure water and quickly dried off with a large beach towel and pulled on a soft terry-cloth robe. She was alone on the expansive patio, red bougainvillea trailing down a privacy wall.

She didn’t mind. Alone, she thought, was good.

She went through French doors into the quiet, spare house, heading into the guest room where she was staying. She thought she just might chuck going back to Vermont and apply for a paramedic’s job here.

Except Vermont wasn’t the problem.

She changed into a T-shirt and flannel boxers and climbed onto her bed, sitting against the pillows with her knees tucked up under her chin. Late nights were the toughest. That’s when she’d obsess about Scott stiffly packing his things and clearing out, the cab he’d called already waiting in the driveway. No warning. No discussion. He’d had enough of Beverly Hills and was going home.

What he’d meant was that he’d had enough of her.

They hadn’t talked since. A state detective had called to ask her about Derek Cutshaw’s death and Robert Feehan’s possible whereabouts, but nothing from Trooper Thorne.

“Bastard,” Beth muttered, sniffling back tears as she reached for her cell phone and dialed her sister in D.C.

“Beth, are you okay? What’s happened? Did Grit—”

“Everything’s fine. Sorry. I forgot about the time change. It’s late there.”

“It’s late in Beverly Hills, too.” Jo breathed out in relief. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Maybe, Beth thought, but Jo didn’t scare easily. “Elijah called a couple hours ago and asked Sean to fetch Grit at the airport. He’s there now.”

No response from Jo. After several beats, she said, “Just as well Grit’s not there on his own. Elijah won’t admit it, but Grit’s potentially out of control. He’s had a long recovery from his leg amputation, and he’s a Navy SEAL—he’s not used to being idle. I’d hoped this new job at the Pentagon would help.”

“I’m sure it will,” Beth said.

“Anything weird happens, you call me.”

“Are you asking me to be a federal informant?”

“I’m not speaking officially. Elijah and Grit are friends. I’ve become fond of Grit myself. He’s…different.” Jo changed the subject. “How’re you doing out there? Getting in much shopping?”

“Lots of window-shopping.” Beth smiled, trying to ease her tension—and her sister’s. “I bought socks and underwear on Rodeo Drive.”

Jo laughed. “Even that must have set you back. I wish I could be there with you and Hannah.”

“I’ve been thinking about heading home. Jo, you’ve heard—”

“Yeah. Poor Rose. I’m glad you didn’t have to respond to that fire yourself. You could use a break.”

“We all could,” Beth said.

Jo didn’t take the bait. “Did you call just to talk, or is there something on your mind?”

“Why is Grit in California?”

“Navy business, he says.”

“You think Charlie Neal’s been in touch with him again, don’t you?” Beth knew her sister wouldn’t give a direct answer and didn’t wait for one. “Charlie will be with his family for winter fest at Black Falls Lodge. I guess you know that, though.”

“I plan to be there myself.” She added, “For fun.”

“Are you keeping on top of yesterday’s fire? Could Derek have been involved in Lowell’s network? Do you think Robert’s just frightened—”

“Anything’s possible.”

Beth heard Sean arriving back at the house and hung up with Jo, then slipped into her robe and headed down the hall to the kitchen, all stainless steel and spotless chrome. It had a masculine feel despite the presence of Hannah’s raspberry-colored sweater on the back of a chair and Beth’s handbag on the kitchen floor.

Sean, tall and good-looking, walked in from the garage with Grit, black-haired, dark, wiry and relaxed, both men exuding masculinity and restraint.

“Hi, Grit,” Beth said cheerfully. “How was your flight?”

“Good. The plane landed.”

Beth noticed he moved a little unevenly as he set his bag on a stool at the breakfast bar. She suspected his injured leg had given him trouble on the long flight. It had to be his first since his medical evacuation to Bethesda last April.

He showed no sign of being in pain, or even noticing his difficulties. He glanced around the expensive house. “Not bad, Sean,” Grit said. “Life could be worse.”

“Help yourself to anything you need,” Sean said.

“Who am I to argue with a Cameron?”

“You wouldn’t win, anyway,” Beth said.

Grit directed his black eyes to her. “Good point. How’d you all find out about my flight? I figure Jo told Sean, or she told Elijah, who told Sean—or maybe told A.J. or their sister—or Jo told you, her sister.” He shrugged. “Lots of ways news travels among the Black Falls crowd.”

Sean paid no attention. “We’ve got a houseful,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind the small bedroom in back.”

“I thought I’d be on a chair at the airport bar until morning.” Grit remained standing. “Any news from the Green Mountain state?”

“I assume you know about the attack on Rose this morning and on Nick tonight,” Beth said.

“Sean filled me in. No stitches. No concussion. No deaths. I’m not minimizing, but I wouldn’t want to go up against his sister. Everyone in town loves her. Martini’s capable, too, right?”

“He’s good,” Sean said.

“Submariner.” Grit gave a mock shudder. “Submarines aren’t my favorite place to be.”

Beth had a feeling Grit had been on his share of submarines and had done fine. He was a man who took life as it came. She couldn’t say the same for herself. She was always trying to push life into what she wanted it to be. Was that why Scott hadn’t stayed with her?

She shook off the thought. “I just hope this mess isn’t all starting again.”

“Not starting again,” Grit said. “Continuing. Those your brother’s boxers?”

She rolled her eyes. “They’re mine. They’re comfortable. Flannel.” She drew her robe shut, knotted the tie. “I’m not discussing my damn boxers with you, Grit.”

“You’re more like Jo than you think,” he said, matter-of-fact, and looked back at Sean. “Want to join me in a glass of whiskey and walk through this thing?”

“It’s five o’clock in the morning your time,” Sean said.

“Okay. So I’ll have two glasses of whiskey.”

Hannah entered the kitchen. She was dressed in a flowing coral nightgown and robe that Beth knew she hadn’t brought with her from Vermont. She eased onto the stool next to the one where Grit had left his bag and stared at her hands.

Sean seemed to struggle not to say anything, but Beth didn’t have that problem. “You seem preoccupied, Hannah. What’s on your mind?”

She looked up. “Rose is so proud. Bowie knows that, too. If our keeping her secret has endangered her—”

“Cutshaw’s the one who’s dead.” Grit stood back, obviously gauging the reaction in the room. “Ah. I see my comment isn’t going over well.”

“Your bedside manner sucks,” Beth said.

“Pot, kettle,” Grit said, unperturbed. “You really are a lot like Jo, never mind that you stayed in Black Falls and she left the first chance she got.” He turned back to Hannah. “So, what happened? Did Cutshaw sexually assault Rose?”

Hannah went pale and didn’t answer. Sean tensed visibly as he got out a bottle of whiskey and glasses and set them on the counter. Beth forced herself to keep her mouth shut. She’d had inklings of something between Rose and Derek, but only inklings—not enough to raise the subject with Rose, who was even more private than Hannah.

Hannah twisted her hands together. “Rose said that what went on between her and Derek…that his behavior wasn’t criminal.”

Sean ripped open the whiskey but didn’t respond.

Clearly uncomfortable speaking about her friend, Hannah nonetheless continued. “Rose said Derek was a mistake that she wanted to keep to herself. I wouldn’t be talking about it now except she said to.” She raised her pale blue eyes to Sean. “I don’t think she wanted to have to tell you and your brothers herself.”

“When did you find out?” Grit asked.

“In January, after Lowell’s arrest.” Hannah reached down the counter for the glass of whiskey Sean had poured for her. She pulled it toward her but didn’t drink any. “I figured it out. Rose didn’t tell me. She never would have said a word if I hadn’t confronted her. As it is, she didn’t tell me much.”

Beth picked up an empty glass and held it out to Sean. “Just a splash.”

He complied, but she could see his jaw was clamped tightly shut, presumably with thoughts of his sister, and probably Nick, too. Beth took a too-big swallow of the whiskey. It was smooth, smoky and expensive.

Grit looked over the rim of his glass at her. “How much of this mess with Rose and Cutshaw did you know or guess?”

“Next to none of it,” she said truthfully. “Derek always struck me as a bastard, but I didn’t know him that well—just to say hi to. I didn’t want anything to do with him after the fight at O’Rourke’s.”

“Rose never mentioned him?” Sean asked, his voice low, tense.

Beth shook her head. “She never said a word to me. She’d been burning the candle at both ends. Maybe she was vulnerable to a guy like Derek. Good-looking, great skier, partier. He didn’t care about anything more serious than snow conditions and having a good time. There’s nothing wrong with that, but he was also a self-absorbed ass.”

Hannah stared into her drink. “I don’t see him camping out in a cold, uncomfortable shed in the middle of winter. He must have had a compelling reason.”

Sean remained quiet, sipping his whiskey. Grit tried his and nodded with satisfaction. “Good stuff. How long were Rose and this Cutshaw character together?”

“I don’t know that she’d describe them as ever having been ‘together,’” Hannah said.

“Think they could have been meeting at the shed, seeing each other on the sly—”

“No.” Hannah’s tone was curt to the point of unfriendly. “Why are you here, Grit?”

He shrugged, no sign that Hannah’s irritation with him affected him at all. “Navy business.”

Yeah, right, Beth thought, but she could tell no one else in the room believed him, either.

“What about Rose and Nick Martini?” Grit asked.

That was too much for Sean. He sprang to his feet and collected Beth’s empty glass and his own and brought them to the counter.

Beth realized she was gaping at her friend. Hannah, who had barely touched her drink, was even paler now. Her expression said it all. “Hannah—you’re kidding.” Beth couldn’t contain her shock. “You mean there’s something between Rose and Nick?”

“I don’t know anything. Nothing. I just…” She looked at Sean. “It’s none of our business. They’re adults.”

Sean obviously had to pry his teeth apart to talk. “I’d trust Nick with my life. I have trusted him with my life.”

“That doesn’t mean you’d trust him with your sister,” Grit said.

Sean didn’t respond.

“Would you trust anyone?” the Navy SEAL asked.

“Not the point,” Sean muttered, and moved down the hall.

Hannah exhaled and picked up her whiskey. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s guessed about Nick and Rose. He’s just in denial. Rose would only tell me that Nick was a sexier mistake than Derek.” She winced. “It’d just kill her if she knew we were here discussing her love life over whiskey.”

Beth pushed to her feet. “Not her love life. That’s the problem. Maybe she’s the smart one. Have a fling and walk away. Not everyone has a soul mate out there.” She retied her robe. “Back to bed with me.”

She marched down the hall, shutting her bedroom door hard behind her. She wasn’t the crying type but she found her eyes brimming with tears. She blamed the late hour, the news from home, the whiskey, but she knew it was Scott.

She glanced at her cell phone. He worked odd hours as a trooper. He could be up for all she knew.

“He can call me,” she muttered, brushed the tears out of her eyes and climbed into bed.

Grit finished his whiskey alone in the kitchen. The house was quiet. While he had regarded all the women of Black Falls as sisters since first venturing to Vermont in November, he did entertain a moment’s surprise at his reaction to Beth Harper as she’d tightened her robe over plaid boxer shorts and a tight little T-shirt.

All that up and down the mountains of northern New England had kept her in shape.

But she was clearly worried about what was going on in Black Falls.

He headed to his assigned bedroom in the back. It wasn’t that small. It had its own bathroom. He was used to rats and cockroaches at the apartment he’d given up in D.C. before moving to Myrtle’s place. Before that…

Before that, he’d been someone else.

His leg ached when he took off his prosthesis. The long flight had taken its toll, and probably the whiskey, too. He distracted himself by thinking about firebugs and Beth Harper in her flannel boxers.

Just because he’d thought of her as a sister before didn’t mean anything. She wasn’t his sister.

No, she was the sister of Elijah’s fiancée and on the rebound from her state trooper.

Out of reach. Out of bounds.

Didn’t mean she didn’t have great legs.

“Give it up,” Grit whispered to himself, and emptied his mind. Time for sleep. He had work to do after daylight.

Thirteen

Black Falls, Vermont

R ose stood at the top of her driveway in the soft, gray morning light and watched Ranger run into the snow after a tennis ball. She noticed he looked stiff in his hindquarters. He was a good dog, eager and fit, but, in-arguably, he was slowing down. She couldn’t face his approaching infirmities now, and whatever his future as a search dog, he still had plenty of life left in him.

A dusting of snow overnight had freshened up the landscape. While Ranger searched for the ball, she shoveled some sand onto the more treacherous sections of her front walk.

Nick came out of the house, his coat open, his hair tousled. Rose hoped he couldn’t see her reaction to him—not that it would be a surprise. He knew. She’d made it plain in June that she found him physically irresistible.

He headed down the steps, not looking as if he’d been attacked twelve hours earlier or had slept on a couch. “Damn,” he said with an exaggerated shiver, “spring didn’t come overnight, did it? It’s still winter.”

“The sunrise is earlier. It was a gorgeous one this morning. The entire sky turned shades of pink and lavender.”

“You have a beautiful spot here.”

“I do. I feel very fortunate.” She emptied her shovel onto a slick spot at the bottom of the steps. “How are you this morning?”

Nick grinned. “I feel like I got hit in the head with a shovel last night.”

She saw that the bloody parts of his scrape had scabbed over and were healing nicely. “I’m glad you weren’t badly hurt. You kept whoever it was—”

“Feehan.”

“You kept him from doing serious damage to you.”

Nick hunched his shoulders against a sudden breeze. “If he’d landed a clean hit, he had time to stuff my body in a snowbank and wait for you to come back from your brother’s place.”

Rose leaned the offending shovel against the garage. “The odds were against him. That’s why he ran. He knew he couldn’t win.”

“I made coffee,” Nick said, not arguing with her. “I figure we can go to the lodge for goat cheese omelets.”

She didn’t know if he was being sarcastic. “They’re good. Goat cheese, fresh chives—”

“I’m sold.”

“You’re just cold.”

“That, too.” Ranger leaped out of the snowbank and catapulted to Nick with a bright green tennis ball in his mouth. He laughed. “If there’s a ball within a mile, a golden retriever will find it. I had a golden as a kid. Bo. He was great company when my dad was at sea.”

“Most of the time Ranger’s all the company I need.”

“I’m not going there,” Nick said, taking the slobbery ball and tossing it into the snow. Ranger leaped after it, more agile now that he’d warmed up.

For a few seconds, Rose let herself imagine that this sexy, confident, successful man had come to Vermont just to see her, with no other agenda. Would she want such a man in her life? Her life would change, that was for sure.

Her golden retriever returned with the tennis ball. She took it from him, lavishing praise as she glanced at Nick. “I want to go back out to the Whittaker place later this morning,” she said.

He gave a curt nod. “I do, too. We can go together.”

Ranger led the way up the front steps, the wind blowing hard now, the sunlight gleaming on his golden coat. Rose paused and smiled back at Nick. “The air feels good, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“At least you don’t have to worry about a wildfire sparking out here in the snow. That fire last June—I just happened to be in Los Angeles working with firefighters on canine searches. I could just as easily have been here.”

“But you weren’t,” Nick said.

“You never said anything to Sean about us, did you?”

“I kept my promise to you.”

“Ah. A gentleman.”

Nick stood next to her at the front door. “If I’d been a gentleman, I’d have taken you back to his place that night.”

She turned and looked out at the mountains in the distance, felt Cameron Mountain looming behind her. She was quiet for a moment. Finally she said, “Derek didn’t like to take no for an answer.”

“Rose,” Nick said, his voice dark.

“I made him take no with me. Not soon enough, but I did it. He was a mistake. A short-lived, stupid mistake. He was a mean drunk, and he wasn’t nice when I refused him. We’d been seeing each other, quietly. Never here.” She kept her tone even, as if she were giving a post-search report. “We went skiing, had dinner together a few times. I thought he was…I don’t know. Interesting. Action-oriented. He wasn’t one of the usual suspects involved in my search-and-rescue work.”

“A fresh face,” Nick said.

She nodded, determined to get this over with. “He was fascinated by what I do, or pretended to be. He loved Vermont. I was in the mood for a little romance in my life.”

“That’s not how it worked out.”

“It never does work out that way, does it?”

“Flowers, chocolates. Romance isn’t that hard.” Nick patted Ranger and shrugged. “It might get tough if I had to write a poem.”

She smiled at him. “I’ll settle for flowers and chocolate.”

“Cutshaw?”

“He was about conquering and control. He assumed I’d go along with him without question, but I said no. He didn’t like it. He was nasty. Threatening, belittling, abusive. He didn’t physically hurt me. He wouldn’t have dared.”

“Verbal abuse can flatten people.”

“Yes, it can. He was very manipulative. Moody and mercurial. I never knew if I would get the Bad Derek or the Good Derek. I didn’t put up with it for long, but I put up with it for too long. I was in a tough place and I wanted to believe in the Good Derek.” She was aware of Nick’s eyes on her, but she concentrated on the view of the mountains she loved. “I don’t like talking about this.”

“Understood.”

“Derek went from calling me at inappropriate times to being openly hostile after I told him I didn’t want a relationship with him. He never left a trail, and I wasn’t sure who’d believe me that he was as awful as he was.” She shifted her gaze to the evergreen shrubs, the trampled snow from last night. “Vivian Whittaker was psychologically abusive toward her husband. I’m not saying that’s why he did what he did.”

“You got away from Cutshaw. Lowell stayed with his wife.”

“Derek and I saw each other for less than six weeks. He thought he was doing me a favor by being interested in me at all. He was used to women falling all over him. He couldn’t believe I would walk away.” She turned back to Nick. “He made sure I knew he didn’t think I was anything special.”

Nick tucked a few windblown strands of hair off her face, out of her eyes. “You’re beautiful, Rose, and you’re sexy as hell.”

“Sure, Nick. I’m out here in one of my father’s old flannel shirts.”

He grinned at her. “With your blue eyes standing out against the snow and your cheeks pink with the wind and the cold.”

She groaned. “Sure, Nick.”

“Cutshaw was a fool if he treated you as anything but a strong, desirable woman.” Pain flashed in his eyes. “Me, too.”

“You’re nothing like he was.” She tugged open the storm door. “I told you about Derek because of what’s happened in the past forty-eight hours. The rest doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

She felt her throat tighten. “You’re good-looking, rich, rugged. You can have any woman—”

“No, I can’t. No one can, and who’d want to? Come on. Give me a break. Some guys would say one woman’s plenty.”

“Some women would say no man is fine.”

“From what I remember, that wouldn’t be you.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Bastard.”

He slipped an arm around her middle and drew her close to him. “I’m sorry Derek Cutshaw was such a son of a bitch, but he’s in the past. He was in the past when you and I got together.”

“Got together, Nick?”

“Yeah.” He kissed her on the top of the head and tightened his hold on her. “Very together.”

“We had a one-night stand.” She didn’t wait for him to respond and pulled away from him as she entered the house. “We can grab something to eat at the café on our way out to the Whittaker place.”

He waited a half beat before responding. “All right. Sounds good.”

“Sorry if I was prickly.”

“That was nothing. You forget I’ve been friends with a Cameron for ten years. I figure you held back. I’m lucky.”

Rose laughed as she dug the tennis ball out of her pocket and set it in the closet along with a dozen others. “You wanted to make me laugh, didn’t you?”

“Always.” But Nick was serious now. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You got away from Cutshaw. That’s what counts.”

“I thought of myself as so strong…”

“A hit to your ego like that undermines your confidence. Only thing to do is to get back up and carry on.” His voice was quiet, his eyes on her. “Being strong doesn’t mean you never get hurt.”

“Or do something stupid.”

He smiled. “That, too.”

She took one of Ranger’s leashes from the closet. “Nick, what if Derek somehow knew about us and went into a jealous rage and arranged to kill himself so that I’d find his body?”

“From everything I’ve heard, he wasn’t even remotely suicidal.”

“I keep asking myself why was he out there. What did he want with me?” She started back to the door but stopped abruptly. “Why now, Nick? Why are you here now? Is there anything you haven’t told me?”

“The timing was right. That’s all. Nothing more.”

“Right for what?”

“To make sure you were okay, and to see if there was any indication Jasper was killed by Lowell’s network. Informally,” Nick added. “I’m not part of any investigation.”

Rose yanked open the front door again. “We can take my Jeep out to the river.”

Nick touched her upper arm, stopping her. “Rose,” he said, “I haven’t told anyone about us because I promised I wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean I regret making love to you. I don’t.”

She held on to the doorknob, letting cold air seep into her house. “Hannah suspects.”

“Hannah knows. She’s good at reading people, especially her friends,” Nick said, obviously liking her. “A prosecutor in the making.”

“I told her she didn’t have to keep any secrets from Sean.”

“Yeah, I know. I had a text message from him waiting for me this morning.”

“What did it say?”

“My sister?” Nick winked at her. “Sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Rose pulled the door open wider. “I guess it does. I probably should be more embarrassed than I am. I’d hoped he didn’t have to find out.”

“Hell, so did I, but not for my sake. Sean and I have covered a lot of ground together.”

“I can assure him you didn’t take advantage of me.”

Nick shook his head. “He won’t ask. He was just telling me he knows. The rest is none of his business. He understands that.”

“Then Hannah told him about Derek, too.” Rose groaned. “I said she could, but I hate this. Derek was already at the Whittaker place when you arrived. Could he have known or guessed you were on your way and just got there first? Maybe he wasn’t there to see me at all.”

“I didn’t know until I woke up at four-thirty that I’d head out there. I was lucky A.J. gave me directions. Derek was dead by then.” Sunlight angled through the door, shining on his striking hair, his dark eyes. “We’re speculating.”

“Which can lead to trouble—just as it does in a search.” She motioned for Ranger to come to her and clipped the leash onto his collar. “I’m neutral about you, Nick.”

“Neutral? What’s that mean? You didn’t want to crawl under my hand-knitted afghan last night, or you didn’t even think about it?”

She’d thought about it. She’d wanted to. Had he thought about knocking on her bedroom door?

She said nothing and headed back outside with Ranger.

“So neutral means you’re resisting being attracted to me,” Nick said as he trotted down the steps behind her.

She glanced back at him. “Could I say the same about you?”

“I’m not neutral, and I’m not resisting.”

“Then you’re—”

“Restraining myself. You’re under duress. We already did that. It didn’t work out so well.”

“We were both under duress in June.” She stopped at the bottom of the steps, choking on her words, then forced herself to continue. “If one of Lowell’s killers created that hot spot and lured Jasper Vanderhorn into it—”

“Don’t jump ahead.”

“Nick, could Jasper’s serial arsonist be in Black Falls?”

“Jasper’s serial arsonist might not even exist. He never could prove his theory. One thing at a time, Rose,” Nick said quietly, winking at her as he opened the back of her Jeep for Ranger. “Let’s go to Three Sisters Café and see what’s cooking.”

Ninety minutes later, Rose let Ranger out of the back of her Jeep. He leaped onto the snow-packed driveway of the sprawling Whittaker estate, which, she thought, had to occupy one of the most scenic stretches of the shallow, twisting branch of the Black River.

Nick went ahead of her onto the shoveled walk. She tried to relax, but sitting next to him on the drive into the village, then across from him at the café and again on the drive out to the river had nearly done her in.

He was the sexiest man she’d ever met.

Telling him about Derek—giving Hannah permission to tell Sean and Beth—had been difficult but also a relief. Her past with Derek had turned into a secret that rapidly had taken on a life of its own. Derek’s lies and exaggerations and the fight at O’Rourke’s had only made matters worse.

For months, Rose had wondered if she’d have fallen into bed with Nick if not for her brief, awful relationship with Derek Cutshaw.

Ranger looked up at her, as if he remembered that their last visit here hadn’t gone well. The wind whipped the dusting of snow into the cold, clear air.

Nick eased close to her, putting a hand on her hip. “Hold on.”

“I see,” she said, noticing a man coming down the walk from the boarded-up farmhouse, then recognized Brett Griffin.

Brett waved as he approached them, his camera hanging from his neck. “I heard the investigators were done here and thought I’d stop by and see for myself.” He gestured down the slope toward the stone guesthouse. “I parked in the turnaround and walked up the road. It’s windy as all get-out. Took me by surprise.”

“Did you come alone?” Rose asked.

He nodded. “The police came to see me last night to ask about Robert. I heard he tried to break into your house.”

“That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it doesn’t matter. He should stop sneaking around and talk to the police.”

“I think so, too. I told him as much yesterday morning. Whatever he’s hiding, it can’t be as bad as having the police think he was involved in Derek’s death. That’s what’s going on, isn’t it?”

“I wish I knew,” Rose said. Another strong gust of wind blew up from the river. She felt a spray of snow in her face and could see Nick, who remained at her side, was hit with it, too, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Brett looked up toward the boarded-up farmhouse, his face pale even in the wind. He seemed to force himself out of his thoughts. “I ran into Bowie O’Rourke at the guesthouse when I got here. He was checking on the work he did for the Whittakers in January. You two aren’t meeting him, I take it?”

Rose shook her head. “No, we’re not. Is he still there?”

“I don’t know. Bowie and I don’t exactly get along. We only exchanged a few words.” Brett raised his camera and eased the strap over his head. He had on layers that were well suited to the conditions, and he could easily spend the day in the cold. “I thought I’d take some pictures of the river while I was here. It’s therapeutic.”

“Did Feehan mention coming out here?” Nick asked.

“Not to me. I’ve tried his cell phone a few times but it goes right to voice mail. He hasn’t called back.” Brett grimaced as he squinted past Nick toward the shed. “I don’t know why Derek or Robert would want to come here. They had nothing to do with the Whittakers.”

“Was there any tension between them?” Rose asked. “They were housemates. It’d be understandable if they got on each other’s nerves.”

“To the point of Robert setting Derek on fire?” Brett turned ashen, obviously taken aback. “Damn, Rose. No.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He started up the walk, leaving footprints in the light snow, but stopped after a few steps and looked back at Rose. He seemed pained, but also resigned, as if he’d come to terms with what they were thinking about the man he’d once called a friend. “There was tension between Derek and everyone. He and I got along okay because I didn’t cross him. That’s why I finally backed off. I didn’t need all that drama. The guy had no sense of his own limits. No boundaries. He was a great skier, though. Confident. I’m not nearly as good as he was. Robert’s better than I am, too.” Brett nodded to Nick. “Did he give you that scrape on your face?”

“Yes, he did,” Nick said.

“This is crazy,” Brett said half under his breath. “I don’t even know why I’m here. Just couldn’t stop myself, I guess.”

Rose watched him continue tentatively up to the farmhouse, as if every step were torture. Nick edged closer to her. “More company,” he said, pointing down to the driveway.

She noticed Zack Harper’s pickup truck pull behind her Jeep. Ranger bounded to her left side, and she stroked his broad back, settling him down and combating her own uneasiness.

Zack clearly wasn’t expecting to find anyone there. “What’re you all doing,” he said as he ambled up to them, “setting up for a winter picnic?”

Rose grimaced at his sharp tone. “Just wanted to have another look now that the police are done here. What about you, Zack?”

“The same.” He glanced down the snow-covered slope. His jacket was open, and he wasn’t wearing gloves, a hat or a scarf. He seemed unaffected by the cold and the wind. “Bowie and Dominique left, huh? I saw them down by the guesthouse when I drove by about an hour ago.”

“Dom Belair?” Rose couldn’t contain her surprise. “She was with Bowie?”

“She was in her own car. Bowie had his van.”

Rose frowned. “I didn’t realize she even knew her way out here.”

“I didn’t stop,” Zack said. “I had a call to make down in the hollow. I was on my way back to town when I saw your Jeep.”

“Brett Griffin’s here, too,” Rose said.

“Yeah, I saw his car.” Zack turned to Nick. “Want to take a look at the fire damage with me?”

“Sure,” Nick said.

Rose let Ranger poke around in the snow and went with Zack and Nick to the farmhouse. Brett seemed frozen in place by Lowell’s woodpile and said nothing to the two firefighters as they headed onto the narrow path behind the shed.

“You okay?” Rose asked Brett.

He sucked in a breath. “Those two will look at the scene differently than either one of us. I understand that Nick and your brother Sean are elite smoke jumpers. Do you think Zack feels inadequate?”

“Zack? Not a chance.” Rose smiled. “He’s a Harper, for one thing.”

She noticed Brett had pulled off his gloves. He fiddled with a knob on his camera and chuckled. “There’s that. I heard all four Neal sisters have a crush on Zack.”

“They wouldn’t be the first. It’ll be interesting to see if they all turn up for winter fest.” Rose realized there was still a faint smell of smoke in the air. “Unless Derek’s death isn’t resolved by then.”

“Why should that make any difference? The Neals live in Washington. Imagine all the ongoing death investigations there. They’re under Secret Service protection. They’ll be fine wherever they are.”

“Good point. Brett, did you see Dominique when you arrived?”

He shook his head. “Just Bowie, unless they came together—”

“She came in her car.”

“I didn’t see it when I arrived.” Brett abandoned his adjustments to his camera. “Coming out here’s harder than I imagined it’d be. I thought I wanted to see for myself where Derek died. Now I don’t know if I can look.”

“You don’t have to look,” Rose said sympathetically.

He raised his gaze to her. “It really was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. I’m sorry.”

“Have you talked to Elijah and Jo yet? I don’t know them myself. I saw Elijah at O’Rourke’s last year when Derek got drunk and said those things to Hannah. We didn’t chitchat, obviously. He’s very controlled, isn’t he?”

“When he needs to be, I guess.”

“Spoken like a true baby sister,” Brett said with a strained laugh. “I’ve heard that Jo and Trooper Thorne don’t get along.”

“That’s too strong.”

“She’s a federal agent, and he’s a state trooper. It’s not surprising there’s a bit of a rivalry between them, is it?”

“There’s no rivalry on Jo’s end, and I doubt there’s one on Scott’s. It’s nothing they couldn’t work out if he and Beth decide to stay together.” Rose straightened sharply. “Brett? Are you and Beth—”

“No, no. I’m just an observer. There’s nothing between us—on her side or mine.” He seemed taken aback by any suggestion he might have a romantic interest in Beth Harper. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s the classic curse of the outsider in a small town.”

“I guess I wouldn’t know about that, since I’ve lived here all my life.” Rose nodded to his camera. “You’re also a photographer. An observer. I’d love to see some of your photos one day.”

“That’d be great.” Watching Ranger wander over to the shed, Brett quickly snapped his picture, then lowered his camera. “Trooper Thorne’s on the state police search-and-rescue team. Are you and he rivals?”

Rose got Ranger back to her side. “I don’t think of what I do in those terms. I doubt he does, either.”

“Sorry. I’m saying all the wrong things.” Brett edged onto the narrow path that led to the back of the shed. “I’m just blurting out whatever pops into my head. Being here…” He sucked in a breath. “I think I can do it. I think I can look. I’d hate myself for being a coward if I didn’t.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“All right, but you don’t have to. Zack and Nick have experience with fires. They’ll be objective. They’ll help if I can’t handle being there.”

“There’s not much fire damage to the shed, Brett.”

He looked grim. “So Derek took the brunt of the flames.”

“If Coleman fuel was in that lamp, it’s highly combustible. The flash and fire—”

“He didn’t stand a chance if he was standing close, didn’t know.”

Rose remembered every detail of walking into the shed. The smell, the cold, the stillness. Seeing Derek’s coat on the back of the chair. The shed wasn’t heated but he’d had on layers. He could have been warm from hiking up from his car.

She signaled Ranger to follow her as she and Brett went around to the ell. Even with the fresh snow, the area in front of the door was still visibly trampled from the investigators. The smell of charred wood was stronger here, but the shed blocked the worst of the wind. The rough wood door was propped open with a brick.

Brett hesitated, gripping his camera, and jumped, visibly startled, when Zack exited the shed.

“It won’t be easy to figure out exactly what happened here,” Zack said.

Nick was right behind him. “It often is with a fire. Arson’s one of the hardest crimes to prove, solve and prosecute.”

“Too many of these bastards get away with setting their little fires,” Zack said, his disdain clear. “You can’t generalize about arsonists. Each one’s an individual. They have their own methods, their own reasons, if you want to call them that, for doing what they do.”

Brett’s breathing was rapid, shallow. “Do you know for sure this even was arson?”

Zack’s turquoise eyes seemed lighter in the brightening sunshine. “You’d have to talk to the lead investigators.”

“First they have to rule out a natural or accidental cause,” Nick said. “In this case, that’s going to be difficult because of the circumstances. Coleman fuel is easily accessed and commonly used. If it works under pressure in a little camp stove, why not in a kerosene lamp? I can see someone thinking like that, just making a stupid mistake.”

Brett shook his head. “Not Derek.”

“It could have been one of the Whittakers, even one of their guests.” Zack bent down and rubbed Ranger’s front. “That was a rough morning for you, wasn’t it, buddy? You come out here to play fetch and get put to work.” He stood up again and looked at Rose. “I promised Beth I’d fill in for her tonight at the café. It’s cleaning night.” He grinned. “Feel free to take my place.”

Rose knew his good humor was as close as she’d get to an apology from him for his earlier surliness. “I’ve done cleaning night with you, Zack. Mostly you just eat leftover brownies.”

“Dom’s brownies are the best,” he said. “See you all later.”

He took the path around to the front of the shed. Rose sighed at his retreating figure. “Zack hasn’t changed since fifth grade.”

Brett had stepped just inside the shed, his gaze fixed on the spot where his friend had died. He backed out suddenly, stumbling, dropping his camera in the snow. “I knew this’d be hard, but—” He broke off, looking agonized, and scooped up his camera. “Why didn’t the whole damn place didn’t catch fire?”

Nick answered, his tone neutral, professional. “It looks as if your friend Derek put out the flames when he hit the floor.”

“He probably wasn’t killed instantly, then.”

“Probably not, no,” Nick said. “If this was arson, his killer undoubtedly intended for the shed to burn down. There’d be even less evidence for investigators to go on.”

Brett held his camera in a bare hand, staring at it as if its familiarity gave him comfort. “I can’t imagine what it was like to find him. I’ve never seen a dead body. I’ve dealt with a few injuries skiing and giving lessons, but nothing like what Derek must have suffered.”

“I know it’s difficult,” Rose said quietly.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to get out of here.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you two were here. I thought I wanted to do this alone, but I see now I was wrong.”

“I can drive you down to your car.”

He shook his head. “It’s not far. The walk will do me good.”

Nick waited until he was out of earshot around the other side of the shed before he spoke. “Griffin seems to get along with you. Does he know about you and Cutshaw?”

“There was no me and…” Rose stopped herself, hearing the defensiveness in her tone. “Some. Not as much as Robert.”

“Either one of them date local women?”

“Not that I know of. I thought from something Brett said that he might be interested in Beth but he said no. I don’t know him or Robert that well.”

Nick picked up the brick that had been propping open the shed door and set it inside, then shut the door. “You’d all let a newcomer like Brett in?”

“It’s not a question of ‘newcomer,’” Rose said. “Most of the people I know in town take newcomers one at a time, if that’s where you’re going with this. Derek, Robert and even Brett hurt their chances by what they did last year at O’Rourke’s, but nobody would hold it against them forever.”

“Bowie and his cousin Liam would,” Nick said without hesitation. “So would Sean. What about you?”

“I told you. I wasn’t there.” She looked through the woods, down at the frozen river, and noticed deer tracks disappearing down the hill. “Derek found me up at the falls on Cameron Mountain about this time last year. I was training Ranger. It wasn’t as cold and as windy as it is today. It was one of those mild late February days that make you think spring is closer than it is.”

She could feel Nick behind her. “What happened?”

“He was in a rage because I’d told him I didn’t want to see him again. Saying we broke up is too strong, at least in my mind. I always knew we weren’t meant to be together forever.” She shivered, then turned to Nick. “Anyway, Derek stomped and swore at me and got nasty and pathetic. Then he left.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“He tried to grab my arm. I backed off and tripped, and Ranger jumped between us.”

Nick came up next to her. “Good for Ranger.”

“When I picked myself up out of the snow, Derek was gone. I wasn’t hurt. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Did he stalk you? Threaten you?”

She shook her head. “He more or less left me alone after that,” she said.

“What does ‘more or less’ mean?”

“It means he didn’t do anything that would have made me go to the police.”

“Or tell your family and friends,” Nick said.

She didn’t answer.

He didn’t back off. “Bowie knew?”

Snow blew off the shed roof into her face. “He ran into Derek when he was still raging about my having stood up to him at the falls. Derek bragged about things that never happened between us. He wanted to get under Bowie’s skin because he knew we were friends.”

“So Bowie was ready for a fight that night at O’Rourke’s.”

“He thinks his presence provoked Derek to start in on Hannah in the first place. Derek was spoiling for a fight.” Rose signaled Ranger to come to her side. “It’s complicated.”

“Not that complicated,” Nick said. “It’s a small town. Your brothers were there. Cutshaw wanted to hurt you. You’re a trusted canine search-and-rescue expert. All he had to do was lie or exaggerate, and you’d be hurt.”

“What happened between Derek and me was bad enough without him making up stuff.” She glanced back at the ell of the shed where he’d died, smelled the burned wood. “I told the police everything.”

“Was Cutshaw interested in search-and-rescue work?”

“He wanted to get into mountain rescue, but he wanted it for his ego, which is exactly the wrong reason.”

Nick studied her a moment. “Did your father know what went on between you two?”

“I don’t know. He asked me if I was okay not long after Derek came after me at the falls. It wasn’t like Pop. I said yes, and that was the end of it.”

Her throat tight with emotion, Rose signaled to Ranger to heel and headed briskly with him around to the front of the shed.

Nick kept up with them and eased in next to her behind the farmhouse. He nodded to the boarded-up back door. “Did Sean run in through the back when he saved Bowie from the fire?”

“Yes.” Rose crossed her arms against the cold. “Bowie grabbed Vivian Whittaker after Lowell set off a bomb on the second floor and ran downstairs with her. She thanked him by tripping him and leaving him to burn to death. Who’d ever know? She wanted him to take the fall for Lowell.”

“Sean got Bowie out of there,” Nick said, pensive. “That’s not as easy to do as it looks in the movies. It’s an older house. Always a nightmare for firefighters.”

“It was built by a wealthy New York couple who loved Black Falls and were nothing like the Whittakers. It’s always been owned by people from out-of-state. Not many people here could afford it.”

“The Camerons?”

“Not unless we turned it into something that could produce an income. It’d be a risky investment.”

“A challenge.”

Rose smiled, her tension lessening. “Maybe that’s why you’re a multimillionaire. Do you love any of the buildings you and Sean have bought?”

“We don’t invest in a property we don’t love. We’ve refurbished some historic beauties. We’re looking into a grande dame of an old hotel in Beverly Hills right now. Hannah loves it.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“But it’s still business,” Nick said.

“It has to be. You and Sean had a fire in a building last winter. I hadn’t thought about that. Did Jasper investigate?’

“Not at the time. Afterward.”

“Because of his serial arsonist?”

A strong gust of wind howled and whistled in the trees. “It’s cold,” Nick said, heading back onto the walk. “Let’s go.”

They returned to her Jeep. Ranger hopped in the back, agile and eager, no sign of stiffness.

A mile down the riverside road, Nick settled back in his seat. “What’s on your mind, Rose?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” he said skeptically.

She gripped the wheel. “I was thinking about driving up to Killington to check out the house Robert and Derek rented together.”

“Bad idea.”

She sighed, the emotion of being back at the scene of Derek’s death—reliving the weeks they’d seen each other—still weighing on her. “I have some work to do at my house. I’ll drop you off at the lodge.”

“I can keep myself busy at your place. I’ll chop wood.”

“When’s the last time you chopped wood?”

He grinned at her. “You just forgot I’m a rugged smoke jumper, didn’t you? I can wield an ax. You insist on always imagining me in a tux at a five-star Beverly Hills hotel.”

“Wrong, Nick.”

“Ah. So you also imagine me in the shower.”

She felt a jolt of pure sexual awareness. The shower. Great. Just what she needed. If she hadn’t been imagining him naked thirty seconds ago, she was now, which, she suspected, had been his goal.

Was he imagining her naked in the shower?

She ground the gears turning onto the main road into the village and tried not to look at him. So much for being a private person. Now Nick knew about Derek, and Sean, Hannah and everyone else knew about Nick. She had no secrets left.

Maybe it was just as well, she thought. Maybe now she could put the pain and mistakes of the past year behind her.

She glanced at Nick, saw the scrape and bruise on the side of his head and realized that nothing would be behind her, nothing would be over, until he had his answers. Until he was satisfied that Jasper Vanderhorn’s serial arsonist—his killer—wasn’t in Vermont.

Fourteen

Beverly Hills, California

G rit woke up and checked his BlackBerry. He didn’t have any emails, text messages or voice mails from anyone but Admiral Jenkins, his boss, who’d left one of each at around one in the morning East Coast time. Grit eyed the email subject heading: Los Angeles?

Apparently the admiral didn’t like Grit’s choice of airport.

Nothing anyone could do about it now. Grit deleted all three messages.

He went through his routine to put on his prosthesis and headed down the hall to the kitchen. It was a bright, beautiful morning in Beverly Hills. No one was around. He figured Sean was off making money or putting out fires, but he noticed Hannah and Beth were out by the pool. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was just after ten. Later than he thought.

He ventured outside for coffee, fruit, cheese and cute mini-muffins at a sunny table by the pool. While he was listening to Beth describe a discussion back in Black Falls between foodie Dominique Belair and Washington reporter Myrtle Smith over the virtues of different varieties of peaches, Grit received a series of text messages—one after another—from Charlie Neal. They came through under an obvious alias, but Grit wasn’t even curious how Charlie had pulled them off.

Each message included a piece of the address for his sister Marissa’s actor ex-boyfriend, Trent Stevens.

Grit didn’t text Charlie back.

Hannah and Beth were dressed in shorts and T-shirts, Hannah’s legs slightly less pale than Beth’s. Both had obviously slathered on sunscreen. Grit, who was in civilian cargo pants and a polo shirt, didn’t bother. He wasn’t spending the day by the pool.

“It was cool last week,” Hannah said.

“It’s cool this week,” he said. “You two just think it’s warm because you’re used to it being four degrees.”

“You did your SEAL training out here,” Beth said, holding a bunch of grapes in her lap.

“Not in Beverly Hills.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know not in Beverly Hills.”

“I don’t scare you, do I?”

“What?”

He grinned and helped himself to a strawberry. “Never mind. I trained down the road on Coronado. What’re you two doing today?”

“Hannah’s studying this morning,” Beth said. “I’ll hang out here. Then we’re doing a ladies’ lunch at the Beverly Hills Hotel. You’re welcome to join us.”

“I’m not a lady.”

Another roll of the eyes. Grit figured Beth Harper deserved sunlight, warmth and time away from Vermont, given the stresses of the past winter. She’d been on the search team that had hiked up the remote north side of Cameron Mountain when one of Lowell Whittaker’s paid killers had pinned down Jo, Elijah, Hannah’s brother Devin and another teenager—the stepdaughter of a murdered ambassador—in a tiny cabin.

By the time Beth arrived, the killer, a brutal type named Kyle Rigby, was dead. Elijah had shot him while Jo provided cover from the cabin and kept the two teenagers alive.

Trooper Thorne had been on the team that morning.

Beth was the second daughter of a Black Falls retired police chief, one of the co-owners of Three Sisters Café and, from what Grit had seen during his days in Black Falls, close to her firefighter brother and federal agent sister. But right now, Beth looked very alone to him.

Hannah gave Grit a bright smile. “What are you doing today?”

“I have a few errands to run before I head to Coronado. Should be interesting. I haven’t been this far from my physical therapist since they wheeled me into Bethesda.”

Beth plucked a grape off her bunch and popped it in her mouth. “You’ll be fine.”

“You’re a hard-bitten Yankee woman, Beth Harper,” Grit teased her, good-humored, as he got to his feet.

“I was being encouraging.”

He laughed and headed back inside. It was a nice house. Generally it took a lot for him to notice such things. He was digging out his phone to call a cab when Beth appeared at his elbow. “Sean’s loaned me a car,” she said. “I can take you where you want to go.”

“What about your ladies’ lunch?”

“Hannah said she can use the extra study time. We’ll go tomorrow.”

“You could just give me the keys,” Grit said.

“Nope. Can’t. The idea of driving the streets of Beverly Hills with a disabled Navy SEAL scares the hell out of me.”

“No, it doesn’t. You’re looking for distractions. In my experience, that, combined with car keys, is a recipe for problems.”

“Add jet lag and unfamiliar roads and it all cancels out,” Beth said. “I’ll have to concentrate.”

Who was he to argue with such logic?

Grit followed Beth to the garage and took the passenger seat of an expensive sedan while she got behind the wheel and snapped on her seat belt. He thought about getting her to talk about Rose Cameron, but she hadn’t been kidding about the jet lag and unfamiliar roads. Even after a week in Southern California, she said, she wasn’t used to the three-hour time difference. He had a feeling she just didn’t want to admit she’d been sleeping badly since Trooper Thorne had gone back to Vermont early.

“Didn’t you think Beverly Hills would be flatter?” she asked as she careened around a sharp, downhill curve.

“No. It’s got ‘hills’ in the name.”

“There are hills and there are hills. Where are we going?”

Grit checked the directions Charlie had obsessively provided. “Two lefts and a right.”

They came to a square, three-story stucco apartment building off Wilshire. Beth pulled into a small parking area out back. Grit got out. His left leg was doing better after his flight but still ached. He had instructions from PT on what to do about any kind of discomfort, rash or swelling that flared up.

“You can wait here,” he said to Beth.

“I get bored fast.” She pushed open her door and got out. “Who are we going to see—some SEAL buddy of yours?”

He glanced back at her. He really should have told her to keep her lunch date with Hannah. She didn’t need to be with him. “An actor,” he said. “A friend of a friend.”

She looked skeptical. From what he’d seen of her, she had good instincts about people, undoubtedly including him. Her big sister, Jo, was the same, although Charlie had gotten the better of her with his prank last fall.

Then again, Charlie got the better of most people.

Grit went ahead of Beth to a rear apartment on the corner of the first floor. A little hybrid car was in what appeared to be the apartment’s designated parking space. On the cracked concrete landing, a basket with dried-up red flowers poking out of it hung from a hook.

“Is that a flower that needs a lot of water?” he asked Beth.

“How would I know? I’m a paramedic.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t know flowers.”

“They’re red,” she said. “They look like they need more water than they’ve been getting.”

He glanced back at her. “You’re not going to be much help, are you?”

She didn’t answer. He stepped onto the landing and reached to press the rusted doorbell, but Beth grabbed his arm.

He knew why. He’d smelled it, too. It wasn’t strong, but he recognized the sickly, tangy-sweet smell of rotting human flesh.

“Call 911,” Beth said. “Someone’s dead in there.”

“You call.” Grit turned to her, serious now. “Okay? Do it now.”

He tried the doorknob. The door was unlocked. He heard Beth’s sharp breath behind him but ignored her and went in.

A woman lay sprawled on her back on the kitchen floor. She was young, about five-four, with wide hips and a flat stomach and long, straight hair as black as Grit’s.

She’d been dead for some time, at least a couple of days.

“Looks like she was electrocuted,” Beth said, tight. “See her hands? Burned.”

Grit pointed at a stainless-steel electric kettle turned over on the tile floor by the counter. Bare wires poked out of the bottom of the pot. “Well, well. Some son of a bitch stripped the wires, set them between the heating element and the pot…. She grabs the pot for a nice cup of tea and she’s toast.”

“Literally.” Beth was grim as she nodded to a sponge mop standing in a bucket of water. “She’d been cleaning the floors, too. Water and electricity don’t mix.”

Not an accident, Grit thought.

Beth called 911, identified herself and calmly, professionally described the emergency, but when Grit started into the adjoining living room, she waved frantically at him. He ignored her. They’d already contaminated the crime scene, and how did they know there wasn’t another victim—someone who might be alive and need their help?

No one was in the living room. Grit ducked down a short hall and checked the one bedroom and bathroom, then returned to the living room and checked the door there, which led to a hall and the building’s front entrance.

There were no other victims and no obvious signs of an intruder.

The apartment wasn’t neat. It was decorated with white shag carpets and bright, cheap artwork, with a state-of-the-art media setup.

The dead woman hadn’t gotten far with her cleaning. Grit considered that she might not be an outside housekeeper. Maybe she was bunking in with Trent and it had just been her turn with the mop.

So where was he?

A corkboard above the dining table was covered with photos of a very good-looking, fair-haired man in his earlier thirties. Grit helped himself to one and tucked it in his back pocket as he dialed Jo Harper on his cell phone.

She didn’t bother with a hello. “How’s California?” she asked him.

“Well, it’s like this, Jo. I’m in a small, stuffy apartment in Beverly Hills. The tenant’s not here but a dead woman is.”

He heard her breathe in through clenched teeth. “Damn, Grit. You weren’t supposed to go out there and find a body.”

He decided to get it over with: “Beth’s with me.”

“My sister? Beth? Why? Is she okay? Where is she?”

“She’s in the kitchen calling 911. She’s a pro. She’s my driver.”

“Grit, what the hell were you thinking?”

“She was bored. I can drive okay with the leg, but I don’t have a car.” He returned to the kitchen. Beth was still speaking with the dispatcher. Grit glanced again at the dead woman. Were her family and friends looking for her? Did they have any idea she was here?

“Grit,” Jo said.

“Your people are going to get involved, aren’t they?”

“Describe the woman.”

“Long, straight black hair. Pretty. Light brown skin. Probably about thirty.”

“I don’t recognize the description.”

“So she wasn’t in Trent Stevens’s life when Marissa Neal came under the care of the Secret Service?”

No response from Agent Harper.

“The woman was mopping the kitchen floor when she was electrocuted,” Grit said. “A lot of aspiring actors do odd jobs to make ends meet while auditioning. House-cleaning, for instance.”

“Not your problem, Grit,” Jo said sharply. “Don’t touch anything. You and Beth are observing crime scene protocols, aren’t you?”

Grit could feel the photo in his pocket. “Sure. As best we can.”

“Did you break in?”

“Door was unlocked.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“There was a plant that needed water and the distinct smell of death. We felt compelled to see if anyone was in distress and needed our assistance.”

“Dead people aren’t in distress. They’re dead.”

“Could have been someone else alive in here.” Grit scratched the side of his mouth. “I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I’m about to. Damn it, Grit.” Jo sighed, but she seemed less irritated. “My boss was just starting to like you. How was this woman electrocuted?”

“Someone rigged the electric kettle. Once she grabbed it to make herself a cup of tea, she was done. She probably never knew what happened. She’s here in the kitchen, mop and bucket right beside her.”

“Any guess how long she’s been dead? Ask Beth.”

Grit didn’t need to. “At least two days. Maybe longer. We’re in the right place, Jo. There are photos of the actor everywhere.”

“Everywhere? Grit, what the hell? Did you search the place?”

“As I said, I was concerned there might be someone in distress. Your sister’s a paramedic. If someone was injured on the bathroom floor, she could help.”

“Trying out that line on me before the homicide detectives get there? Grit, a killer could have been hiding in the closet.”

“Even better,” he said.

“My sister isn’t a SEAL.”

“She was never in danger. I’m right here with her. I’d have protected her, but I didn’t have to.”

“Did she see you help yourself to a photo of the tenant?”

“What makes you think I did that?”

“Elijah would. You would, and did.”

“He’s good-looking. The tenant. We’re not saying his name in case your boss or any bad guys have tapped this place or your phone, right?”

“Describe him.”

Grit eased the three-by-three photo out of his pocket and held it in his palm. “It bothers me that I’m predictable.”

“You couldn’t care less, Grit, and you know it. What does he look like? I want to be sure it’s the same guy.”

“Blond hair, green eyes—hazel, maybe. Slight cleft chin. Straight nose. He’s wearing a suit. Tie and everything. Your guy?”

“Probably, yes,” Jo said. “Do you recognize him? Have you run into him in the past few months? In Black Falls, here in D.C. Anywhere?”

“No. He’s good-looking but he’s sort of an everyman.” But Grit knew what Jo was asking. “If I’d seen him in D.C. or Vermont, or anywhere near my genius teenage protégé, I’d remember.”

“Beth?”

He glanced at Beth, who was off the phone now. She had the back door open and was pale but composed as she stared out at the wilted flowers. “I don’t think so,” Grit said. “She’s more out there than you, Jo. She’s not used to keeping secrets. She didn’t recognize the dead woman or this guy. This guy’s got his own pictures are all over the refrigerator, too.”

“Actors,” Jo said, as if that explained Trent Stevens’s apparent self-absorption. “Your young friend in D.C. is going to run with this.”

“Maybe you should let him.”

“If he finds a way to be in touch, you let me know. Understood?”

“You or the Secret Service?”

“We’re one and the same.”

“I’ll let you know.” Grit slipped the photo back in his pocket. “Jo, whatever’s going on, you need to find this guy. He could be dangerous, or in danger himself.”

“We’ll take care of what we need to on our end.”

Meaning he should butt out and let the Secret Service do their job. They’d keep the vice president’s family safe. “Do you want me to put your sister on?”

“I want you to get her out of there and sit her by Sean’s pool with a mojito. Tell her to have one for me. And you,” Jo said. “No more bodies.”

“Aye-aye, Special Agent Harper.”

She ignored him and disconnected. He heard a buzz in his ear, and for a split second thought she’d found a way to zap him from D.C., then realized it was another call coming in.

He checked the screen. Elijah. Great.

Grit took the call. “You didn’t find a body on Myrtle’s patio, did you?”

“No. What are you talking about?”

His friend didn’t know yet about the dead woman.

“Never mind,” Grit said. “What’s up?”

A half beat’s pause. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it? That explains it. Charlie just called. He said to tell you he’s checking for aliases. That you’d know what he meant.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Study his calculus.”

“That’s the problem. He doesn’t need to study. He knows the answer before the question’s asked.” Grit watched Beth stiffen by the door and then heard sirens. “I have to go. Talk to your fiancée.”

“Jo? What’s she got to do with—”

Grit pretended not to hear and clicked off his phone and slid it back in his pocket. He felt a sharp arrow of pain in his left foot, but not even for a split second did he think he still had a left foot.

By then, the police were descending.

Ninety minutes after Beth had walked into the small apartment, she and Grit were standing in the parking lot in the Southern California sun. She had a tight grip on her emotions. Either Grit did, too, or he wasn’t all that bothered by the scene they’d come upon, which she didn’t believe. He just had the ability to take one thing at a time.

She could see the muscles in her wrists and forearms tighten as she crossed her arms over her chest and eyed the array of law enforcement vehicles that had gathered at the scene.

The police she’d expected. The FBI and Secret Service agents had unnerved her.

The victim was identified as Portia Martinez. She’d worked part-time as a sound technician and cleaned houses for actor friends for extra cash. She didn’t live in the apartment. She and the tenant, Trent Stevens, apparently were friends. Stevens didn’t look as if he had the money for a housekeeper, but, on the other hand, he didn’t look as if he were someone who’d clean his own house. He’d get someone else to do it and exchange favors or run up his credit cards.

Beth glanced back at a stern FBI agent standing under the wilted flower basket. “We’re cleared to go, you know.”

Grit put a hand out to her. “I’ll drive.”

She started to protest but dropped the keys into his palm. She wasn’t in the mood to argue.

An unmarked black SUV backed out of the way so they could leave. Grit got behind the wheel. Beth, feeling surly, slid into the passenger seat. “Have you even driven a car since you got your leg blown off?”

Grit seemed to take no offense at her rudeness. “I drove around Vermont, seeing the mountain vistas.”

“Vermont isn’t Los Angeles.”

“No, it’s not.”

He remembered the way back to Sean’s house, which was good because Beth didn’t. She sat looking out her window as Beverly Hills slid past her.

When they pulled into Sean’s driveway, she turned to Grit. “I’m sorry about the crack about your leg.”

“What crack? It was blown off. No one came and stole it while I was sleeping.”

She scowled at him. “Are you ever serious?”

“I was serious just now.”

He parked, and Beth flung herself out of the car. Hannah and Sean came out to the driveway. They’d already heard the difficult news and were expecting them.

Grit got out of the car and tossed Beth the keys but was focused on Sean. “I want to see where Jasper Vanderhorn was killed. I want you to tell me about that day.”

Sean nodded. “Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

Beth headed inside, slamming the door behind her. She went straight out to the pool and stared at the clear, turquoise water. She’d reached for her cell phone a dozen times to call Scott. He’d want to know about the dead woman, if only from a professional point of view. From a personal one, Portia Martinez’s murder would just be another sign to Scott that he’d fallen for the wrong woman.

Beth was too close to the violence of the past year.

“You served the Whittakers muffins,” he’d yelled at her, utterly irrational.

Muffins? As if she’d had any choice. As if she’d known Lowell Whittaker was a killer and his wife an abusive lunatic who’d leave Bowie O’Rourke, an innocent man, to burn up in a fire so that she could avoid the embarrassment of having her husband’s murderous activities come to light.

Beth had irritably countered that Three Sisters Café had also served the two paid assassins who’d left Drew Cameron to die in a snowstorm, run down an ambassador, poisoned a Russian diplomat and nearly killed two teenagers.

That was when Scott had packed up and gone back to Vermont.

Hannah opened a French door and came out onto the patio. “Beth?”

“I’m good. Please don’t worry.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. She felt terrible, and alone. “I’m ruining your time with Sean. Grit never should have come. He said so himself.”

“Don’t start with that. He and Sean have gone out to the canyon where that arson investigator was killed. His death’s been weighing on Sean’s mind. Nick’s, too.” Hannah stood next to Beth at the edge of the pool. “It’s good that you and Grit found that woman, Beth. Her family and friends must have been looking for her and had no idea she was there.”

“Assuming they even realized she was missing. Sometimes people don’t, not for a while. If she was new in town, if she…”

“It must have been awful,” Hannah said.

“It wasn’t great.”

“What can I do?”

Beth turned to her friend. “Tell me if I should call Scott.”

“Beth—”

“I know you can’t,” she whispered. “I know it wouldn’t help if you could.”

“I’m sure of one thing. Scott wouldn’t want you to be afraid and hurt right now.”

“No,” Beth said, “my dear, uptight Trooper Thorne would want me hiding under a rock for the rest of my life, so I wouldn’t do anything or have anything happen to me that might interfere with his next promotion. I don’t even blame him.”

“We’ve all had a run of bad luck.”

“Not bad luck, Hannah. We’ve been targeted by a bunch of murdering sons of bitches. I’d like to haul Lowell Whittaker out of his jail cell and make him tell us who electrocuted that poor woman.”

“He might not know. So much of his work was done anonymously. His killers weren’t even aware he was the one arranging their hits. It’s possible he didn’t know the identities of all of them, either.”

Beth raised her eyebrows at her friend. “I see your prosecutor’s mind hasn’t been baked by the California sun.”

Hannah gave a small smile. “I’ll make us sandwiches. We can sit by the pool, and you can tell me everything. In the meantime, call Scott, will you?”

“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to interfere.”

Hannah was already through the door, and Beth pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open, debating what to do—and there was a text message, already, from Scott: Call me. Tell me you’re okay.

The feds would have been in touch with him, maybe even her sister.

Beth stared at the message, seeing Scott right here by Sean’s pool just a few days ago, pacing, tense, unable to articulate what he was feeling. She hadn’t done any better. Neither of them was particularly introspective, but the past few months of their lives demanded at least some insight and understanding.

She dialed his number but got his voice mail. “I’m okay,” she said. “Thank you for calling. I—” She almost said she loved him, but stopped short. “Call me anytime. I’m here.”

When Hannah returned with the sandwiches, Beth opened an umbrella at one of the tables at the edge of the pool and sat down, keeping her phone close in case Scott—or anyone else—called.

Fifteen

Black Falls, Vermont

R ose fingered squares of the soft, old fabric left over from the quilt that she’d helped stitch over the past month. She was at a riverside table at the café, which had just closed for the night. She remembered how she and Hannah had discovered the fabric, which seemed to be from the 1940s, neatly stacked inside the nineteenth-century trunk up they’d hauled up from the cellar. Hannah had given the trunk to Dominique to refurbish for the house she was renovating in the village.

Nick was down in the cellar now. He’d already checked out the struggling gallery next door, with its offerings from New England artists. Rose knew he was giving her a chance to regroup. There’d been no news of Robert Feehan. For all anyone knew, last night had been an outburst—a frightened, nervous man caught off guard and overreacting.

The square Rose held in her hand now was obviously from a man’s blue oxford-cloth shirt, much worn in its day before being cut up. Some of the pieces hadn’t survived decades in the trunk, but enough had for a simple, authentic, beautiful quilt. Rose welcomed the distraction after talking with Beth Harper in Beverly Hills, the impact of her discovery of the murdered woman evident in the strain in her voice.

“I’m glad Hannah didn’t find a murder victim in January,” Beth had said. “That’s one thing, anyway, don’t you think, Rose? You and I have more experience with injuries and death because of our work.”

Rose hadn’t known how to answer. Hannah had almost become a murder victim herself. Was that any better? But Rose understood that Beth had been grasping for something positive to hang on to—some reason she’d been with Grit Taylor that morning and found a woman dead.

Was Portia Martinez’s murder connected to Derek’s death and Nick’s presence in Vermont?

How?

Rose knew she’d be better off contemplating leftover quilting pieces than speculating.

Myrtle Smith came out from behind the glass case and joined Rose at her table. “Are you thinking about starting your own quilt?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. There’s enough fabric here for a pillow or a wall hanging, anyway.” Rose set her square back on the table. “My mother loved to quilt.”

“Mine, too.” Myrtle plucked a blue calico square from the pile and held it to the fading afternoon light in the window. “I swear this could be from one of her dresses. My mother, my sister and I would sit under a pecan tree in summer, with a pitcher of tea and a plate of pimento cheese sandwiches. Granny would be there when she wasn’t coughing up a lung in the back room. She lived with us until she died.”

Rose smiled. “I can just see you. Where are your sister and mother now?”

“Still in South Carolina. Mother’s in assisted living. Gorgeous place.”

“Do they still quilt?”

“I doubt it. Mother has arthritis in her hands, and my sister’s a high school principal with four kids—two in high school, two in college. Husband’s a doctor. They’re on the go all the time.”

“But you’re the one who left home,” Rose said.

“I am. No husband, no kids. No house these days, either. Well, it’s still there but I’m not. Grit and Elijah are minding things for me. A SEAL and a Special Forces soldier.” Her lavender eyes sparked with unexpected humor. “Couple of macho guys, the two of them.”

“I don’t think of Elijah that way.”

“Of course not. He’s your brother. Maybe he and Grit will change the chi in the house. I tried burning sandal-wood incense. That’s supposed to help, but it just reminded me of the fire. I’d have burned up if Grit hadn’t rescued me. I don’t like to admit that. I was in shock. Stunned. Frozen in place.” Myrtle carefully placed the calico square back on the pile. “Classic, huh? I never thought I’d be like that, completely useless.”

“You don’t know what you’d have done if Grit hadn’t come along,” Rose said. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed about getting rescued by a Navy SEAL. You’re a reporter. Grit would probably freeze in place if he had to interview someone.”

“I don’t think Grit freezes in place for any reason.”

“He’s a Southerner, too.”

“I don’t get the impression he ever wants to go back.”

“Do you?”

Myrtle seemed startled by the question, although Rose couldn’t imagine she hadn’t considered it before now. “Washington’s far enough south for me.”

“It’s home,” Rose said.

“I didn’t say it’s home. I said it’s south enough. You’ve never lived anywhere else but here. If you did, wouldn’t Black Falls still be home?”

“I guess it would be, but I’m almost thirty. How old were you when you left South Carolina?”

“Twenty-one. I’ve been based in Washington for thirty years, but I’ve traveled a lot, spent long stints overseas. A tumbleweed.” She seemed to make an effort to pull herself out of the past. “I told the police to find out if Derek Cutshaw and Robert Feehan were in Washington around the time of the fire at my house.”

Rose felt a sense of dread deep in the pit of her stomach. “What do you think is going on, Myrtle?”

“No idea. I just keeping asking questions. I know I won’t relax until I find out who set my house on fire.”

“It’s a leap to get to Derek or Robert as the arsonist.”

“It was a leap to get to Lowell as the mastermind of a network of killers.” Myrtle sighed and looked out the window, the snow and ice on the river cast in late-afternoon shadows. “I’ve been trying to think back to that week in November. Grit was in town. We ran into each other outside the hotel where the ambassador was killed in the hit-and-run—on orders from Lowell Whittaker, we now know. The same two who killed your father did that hit.”

“We know Melanie Kendall and Kyle Rigby didn’t set the fire at your house,” Rose said. “Is there any concrete evidence that could point to Derek or Robert?”

“Not that I know of. Have you talked to Beth since she and Grit found the woman in Beverly Hills?”

“Dom and I both have.”

“Dom’s a mess. This is all finally getting to her. She’s been so cool, cooking, keeping the café running while you all hunt killers.” Myrtle picked up the oxford-shirt square that Rose had abandoned but immediately placed it back on the table. “I hope that didn’t sound callous. Gallows humor is sometimes my way of coping. Scott Thorne stopped by just before you got here. He’s hurting. I can see it, but he won’t say anything.”

“Neither will Beth,” Rose said.

“Ah, yes. So true. I don’t have to be born and raised in Black Falls to see that. Do you know what happened between the two of them? They seemed to be getting along great. Then all of a sudden, he comes back from Beverly Hills without her.”

Rose shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe Scott doesn’t have a lot of room in his life for someone else with a demanding job.”

“Not to mention someone whose sister is a Secret Service agent,” Myrtle said.

“I suspect Jo’s been an issue, too, if not the main one. Scott’s solid and decent, but he’s insecure.”

“Who isn’t these days? Does he want a woman who’ll worship him?”

“I don’t think that’s what he’d say, but Beth—”

“The Harpers all say what’s on their minds. Dominique’s convinced Beth and Scott have been on the skids for longer than most of us realize. They got together after your dad died. In my opinion, they talk shop too much. Their work’s become the focus of their relationship. It’s all they have in common.”

“Jo’s a federal agent and Elijah’s a soldier.”

“Totally different worlds. They’ve also known each other since you all were kids. Didn’t she cut the rope on his tire swing? When they’re together, you can see they’re for real. Scott doesn’t have that depth of history with Beth.”

Rose thought about Nick. They had no history. She’d seen him maybe a dozen times on her trips to California. She’d always envisioned herself with someone from Vermont, or at least from New England. But a former submariner? A smoke jumper? Her brother’s best friend and business partner?

Myrtle waved a hand, her nails bright red. “Scott and Beth can figure out their own relationship. I’m lucky I know where I’m sleeping tonight. By the way, I talked to the owners of the gallery across the hall. They’d love to get out of their lease and move to a smaller place down the street. I’ve been trying to convince the ‘sisters’ into expanding and starting a dinner service.”

“So I’ve heard,” Rose said, welcoming the change in topic. “Dominique’s for it.”

“She’s not sure Hannah will want to stay involved in the café.”

“Sean still owns the building.”

“He’ll approve of my plan,” Myrtle said confidently. “He’s a businessman. I more or less ran it past him in January and again last week. O’Rourke’s would benefit from bringing more people into town at night. The lodge, too. People like a lively village.”

“You have big heart,” Rose said with a smile.

“More likely I’m meddling in matters that don’t concern me. Where’s Nick Martini off to? Didn’t he come in with you?”

“He’s in the cellar last I checked.”

“Your Nick’s another macho, testosterone type.” Myrtle grabbed the corner of a square of faded fabric at the bottom of the pile. “Gingham. My goodness. I haven’t thought about gingham in years. So, Rose. Any idea why Grit Taylor is in California?”

It wasn’t an idle question, Rose thought. Idle questions weren’t in Myrtle Smith’s nature. “Beth says he’s there on navy business. He arrived late last night.”

“What kind of navy business brought him to that apartment this morning?”

“I haven’t talked to him. Beth said he had Sean take him to the spot where an arson investigator died in a fire last summer.” Rose added quietly, “His name was Jasper Vanderhorn.”

“Charlie Neal,” Myrtle whispered, then waved her fingers again at Rose. “Forget I said that.” She patted the pile of fabric squares. “I’d love to know the history of these pieces, wouldn’t you? They look as if they’re all from men’s old shirts, ladies’ dresses. Well. They won’t have belonged to anyone I know.”

Nick entered the café through the center hall door. He tucked his cell phone into a jacket pocket, and Rose envisioned him making deals while he paced. He clearly wasn’t used to small-town life and her fits-and-starts work schedule. He was used to being on the go all the time. She could work for long stretches, at home or in the field, but she appreciated her downtime—her solitude, she thought.

He walked over to the window by her table and looked down at the river. He obviously had no interest in quilting, and Rose doubted he was particularly curious about the building since it wasn’t a Cameron & Martini property.

Myrtle stood up. She had on one of the café’s evergreen canvas aprons over a white shirt, slim, pricey jeans and impractical boots. “You’re a suspicious sort, aren’t you, Mr. Martini? I’ll bet we’re all under your scrutiny. I wouldn’t be surprised if you suspect me of setting fire to my own house.”

“Has it been ruled arson?” he asked.

“Suspicious in origin,” Myrtle said curtly.

Nick glanced out at the river, more shadow on the ice formations now than sun. “It must bother you that the police have no idea who started that fire.”

Myrtle grunted. “This all bothers me.”

He was silent a moment before finally turning to Rose. “I’ll be outside.”

Myrtle waited for him to cross the hardwood floor and go out the main door before she spoke. “He’s stir-crazy. I get that. Think he’ll stay here through your winter fest? Get him to demonstrate swinging an ax.”

“Ha, right,” Rose said, although she could picture it.

“He is a bit of a rogue, isn’t he? I imagine he can be ruthless, too. Is he reckless?”

“Sean wouldn’t continue to fight fires with him if he were.”

Myrtle nodded, thoughtful.

Dominique burst out from the kitchen, still in her hat and coat, her face red from the cold. “Ever have one of those days you just want to bury yourself in work?” She pulled off her hat, her dark hair filled with static. “I stopped by my house for a few minutes. I don’t know what possessed me to choose the bathroom tile I did. I’m installing it myself. It’s a total pain and looks so…wrong.”

“Sounds like a case of cabin fever to me,” Rose said with a smile. “Don’t change a thing until the maple sap is running full force. It’s a rule I swear by.”

Dominique laughed. “It’s a good one.” She unbuttoned her coat. “I’m going to make something with lemons. Cheerful, yellow lemons. Pie, pudding, cupcakes, chicken, salmon. Something.”

“You miss having Beth and Hannah here,” Myrtle said, retying her apron. “Nothing bothers Beth. She’s like a mood stabilizer, unless she’s fighting with Trooper Thorne. Then it’s not so pretty.”

Rose debated how to raise the subject of Dominique’s presence at the Whittaker guesthouse that morning and decided the only choice was to be direct. “Dom, Zack Harper says he saw your car and Bowie’s van at the Whittaker place this morning.”

“Zack must have happened along at just the right moment.” Dominique walked over to a window, adjusted a lock that probably hadn’t been touched since cold weather had settled in for the winter. “I saw Bowie and stopped to say hi. I didn’t stay long.”

“What were you doing out there?” Myrtle asked.

“Curiosity.” Dominique stood back from the window, her dark eyes impossible to read. “Aren’t we all curious about what happened there? It’s a beautiful spot. I hope one day it’ll be filled with life instead of memories of violence and death.”

Myrtle scooped up a paper napkin that had fallen onto the floor. “I imagine the Whittakers or someone acting on their behalf will put it up for sale as soon as possible.”

Dominique moved to another window, adjusted another lock for no apparent reason except to have something to do. “The police came by here first thing this morning and asked me if I’d seen or heard from Robert Feehan. I hate the idea that the violence isn’t over—that there’s still someone out there….” She finally shrugged off her charcoal wool coat and draped it over one arm. “Business was slow. I knew Myrtle could handle things. I so seldom get involved in anything in town. I cook. I work on my house.”

“Dom,” Rose said, “I’m not criticizing you for going out there.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She gave a feeble smile. “I just know how a little thing like being seen with Bowie O’Rourke at an isolated guesthouse can get blown into something it wasn’t. Never mind. I’m not making any sense. By the way, he said he’d be stopping back there this afternoon. He wants to get the last of his stuff cleared out.”

Before Rose could respond, Dominique bolted back across the café and swung behind the glass counter and into the kitchen.

“Maybe she has a soufflé in the oven,” Myrtle said drily. “Everyone adores Dom, but she is something of a mystery, isn’t she? Any chance she and Bowie are seeing each other?”

“I guess there’s a chance, but I’d be surprised if they were.” Rose got to her feet and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair. “Even if Bowie didn’t tell me—and I think he would—he’d have told Hannah.”

“Not if Dom wanted to hide their relationship. I swear there are more secrets in this one little town than in all of Washington, D.C.” Myrtle nodded out to the street. “Mr. Southern California is pacing. He’s too rugged to admit he’s cold. He’ll just say he’s impatient.”

“I have to put away the fabric.”

“I’ll get it. You go on.”

Rose thanked her and went out into the center hall, Ranger already up and eager to get moving. He led the way down the steps to the sidewalk. Nick had stopped pacing and was leaning against her Jeep, his jacket open, his arms crossed on his chest. Rose sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him, the sun glinting on his hair, the casual, sexy way he stood. All day, she’d kept remembering him making love to her. It might have been yesterday instead of eight months ago.

“Myrtle can run you up to the lodge,” she said as she opened up the back for Ranger. “I have something I want to do.”

“You’re going back out to the Whittaker place to check on Bowie. I’m going with you.” Nick eased up next to her and reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out her keys. “My turn to drive. It’ll be fun navigating all the potholes and curves around here.”

“What if I want a private moment with Bowie?”

“You can have one. I’ll make myself scarce.”

“Oh, sure. Make yourself scarce where? Behind a snowbank?” Ranger hopped up into the back of the Jeep. “All right, Nick. Go right ahead. Drive.”

Nick had no trouble with her Jeep or the roads, not that Rose had expected he would. When they reached the Whittaker estate, he continued down to the guesthouse turnaround and pulled in next to Bowie’s van.

Rose released Ranger from the back and let him run off into the snow, down to a small, frozen pond. “This is such a beautiful place,” she said as Nick joined her. “I hope the Whittakers weren’t here long enough to ruin it for someone else.”

“People will remember the good more than the bad.”

“I hope so.”

“You all rose to the occasion and rooted them out.”

They went around to the other side of the van. Bowie had the side door open and was rummaging in a wooden box on the floor. He stood up, watching Poe charge down to the pond with Ranger. “Maybe Ranger will rub off on him. Better than the other way around, I guess. What’s up?”

“Dom said you’d be out here,” Rose said.

He glanced at Nick, then at Rose again. “I haven’t seen Feehan, if that’s what this is about. I’m not getting sucked into this business. I want to get my stuff and be gone.”

Nick watched the two dogs roughhouse with each other, but Rose knew his attention was focused on her and Bowie. She wasn’t even sure why she’d come out there. Maybe Bowie had a point. Maybe she was worried he’d get sucked into whatever was going on. “Actually,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d like to help with winter fest at the lodge.”

Bowie’s eyebrows went up. “Quick thinking, Rose. All right. What could I do?”

“You could help with sugaring. We have trees to tap and more to do on the shack. There’s an old stone fireplace you could look at for us.”

He slid the van door shut. “Yeah, sure, put me to work.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m serious. I can do sleigh rides, too.”

Rose smiled. “I thought you’d find a way to be out of town that weekend.”

“That was the old Bowie.” He grinned back at her. “The new Bowie is downright sociable.”

“Does that mean we’ll see you at the dance at the lodge?”

“In a suit with shiny shoes?” He laughed. “Well, you never know.”

“I’ve seen Dominique’s dress. It’s gorgeous. She has a great sense of style.”

Nick headed onto the walk to the stone guesthouse. Poe charged for him. “Poe!” Bowie yelled. “Get your four-legged self over here!”

His dog abandoned Nick and came running. Rose made a hand signal for Ranger to come, too. He responded immediately. Bowie just shook his head in amazement, opened up the van’s front passenger door and got Poe inside.

Bowie sighed and nodded toward Nick. “What’s with you and this guy?”

“Nothing.” As if that explained everything. “I assume you have a key to the guesthouse?”

“Yeah. I’m leaving it for the lawyers after I clear out trash and a few tools and supplies I left behind.”

She followed him onto the walk and mounted the steps to the guesthouse porch. The strong winds had blown snow into the corners. Shades were pulled on the front windows.

Nick had the storm door open and tried the solid main door, which wasn’t locked, either. He glanced back at Bowie. “You didn’t lock up after you left this morning?”

“I never went in,” Bowie said, moving to one side of Nick. “Dom distracted me when she stopped by. I only had a few minutes. I had to get out to the lake. I figured I’d come back this afternoon.”

“What about Dom?” Rose asked. “Did she go in?”

“No. We both were here and gone within fifteen minutes.”

“Wait out here,” Nick said, entering the guesthouse.

He stiffened, stopping abruptly in the entry. Bowie grimaced. “Something’s wrong,” he said.

Rose slipped past him into the entry. Nick grabbed her and pulled her close to him. The guesthouse had been divided into two side-by-side apartments, the door to the one on the right half-open. She could see a sleeping bag unfurled on the hardwood floor. Arranged next to it were packets of freeze-dried camp food, a water bottle and a small camp stove.

Next to it was a metal canister of liquid fuel for the stove.

White gas.

“My stuff’s all in the other apartment this morning,” Bowie said, stepping inside the guesthouse. “I didn’t do any work in here.”

Rose eased back from Nick’s embrace and turned to Bowie. “There was snow overnight,” she said. “Did you see footprints when you and Dom were here this morning?”

“I don’t remember. I was focused on making a quick stop and getting to work.” Bowie pointed at an old, dusty glass kerosene lamp on the floor just inside the apartment. “Some sick son of a bitch set Derek on fire.”

Nick directed his hard gaze at the stonemason. “If you know anything else, now’s the time.”

“Rumors. That’s it.” Bowie rubbed the back of his thick neck. “I’ve heard talk that Derek and Robert have been providing illegal prescription drugs to some of their ski students. Pain pills, mostly.”

Rose bit back her shock. “Bowie, you’re not—”

“No. I’m not involved. I told the police everything I know.”

Nick pulled her even closer, his dark eyes intense. “We need to get them back out here.”

Sixteen

W ind howled down from Cameron Mountain, as if Drew Cameron himself were up there, trying to warn his only daughter—about dangers, Nick wondered, or about him? It was dark by the time they arrived back at the lodge. Small white lights draping the evergreens along the walk twinkled, casting long shadows as he and Rose headed to the main entrance.

“Do you trust Bowie?” Nick asked quietly.

Rose seem startled by his question. “Yes, I trust him. Did you think I didn’t?”

“I hadn’t thought about it one way or the other.”

“Do you trust him?”

“I don’t know him. I have no reason to trust or not trust him.” Nick paused at the door and looked out at the sky, clear and black against the stars and moon. The air didn’t seem as cold as last night. “Bowie and Hannah grew up together in difficult circumstances. Have you always been close to them?”

“Hannah and I have been friends since junior high. She’s not that easy to get to know. Then she was so busy with school, work and raising Devin and Toby. She’s very smart and driven. She and Sean have that in common.”

“And Bowie?”

“He was like another big brother when we were kids. I guess he still is in a way.”

“Then you and he—”

“No, never,” Rose said, not letting Nick finish. She reached past him and pulled open the lodge’s heavy door.

He didn’t take the hint. “Have you left any broken hearts here in Black Falls?”

She pretended not to hear him and went into the warm lobby. A half-dozen guests were gathered in front of the roaring fire, reading books, playing Scrabble, drinking hot cocoa.

Lauren Cameron rushed out from behind the front desk. Nick left Rose to explain their discovery at the Whittaker guesthouse and headed upstairs to his room. Half his things were still at Rose’s house. He had a feeling she wouldn’t want him sleeping there again tonight. Or she would, but wouldn’t admit it, which amounted to the same thing.

Not that he had any intention of letting her stay at her house by herself.

He was restless, not even remotely tired when he entered his room. He hadn’t talked to Sean since he’d called on his way with Grit Taylor to the canyon where Jasper had died. Nick gritted his teeth and dialed his friend’s number.

The heat was clanking and hissing, the room too hot.

As soon as Sean picked up, Nick said, “I’ve been out to the river three times now, and I’m still trying to picture what happened in January. Hannah really flung herself into the snow a split second before the bomb went off in the backseat of her car?”

“That’s what happened,” Sean said, tight.

“What a spitfire. She’s lucky. If the bomb didn’t kill her, the snow, cold, rocks and tree roots could have.”

“Nick,” Sean said, “what’s going on?”

Nick stood by the double windows and filled him in on the scene at the Whittaker guesthouse, then said, “It’s possible Feehan camped out there last night and took off first thing this morning, before any of us arrived.”

“And he killed Cutshaw over drugs?”

“No one’s going that far. Not yet.”

“His story about Cutshaw taking off when he found out you were in town could all be BS meant to mislead the police.”

Nick had considered that possibility, too. “How’s Hannah holding up?”

“She’s worried about Rose more than ever. Beth is, too.”

“And you,” Nick said. “Would you be less worried if I came back to L.A.?”

“I’d be less worried if Rose wasn’t so—” Sean broke off with a small grunt. “I don’t need to tell you.”

“Rose is as hardheaded and independent as the rest of you. What’s going on there? Where’s Grit Taylor now?”

“Staring at the pool trying to figuring things out. He’s Elijah’s friend. He’s self-confident, and he doesn’t quit. He didn’t like finding that woman today. Jo’s not happy with the situation, either.”

“Are she and Elijah on their way out there?”

“I won’t know until they show up in my living room. Everyone’s being tight-lipped.”

“You can use my place for spillover company if it gets crowded. That’d give Jo a handy excuse to have a look around and make sure I’ve been straight with everyone.”

“She doesn’t need an excuse. She’ll get a warrant.”

She would, too, Nick thought.

“Is anything Jasper told you making sense now, or setting off alarms?” Sean asked.

Nick moved back from the windows and sat on the edge of the bed, the comforter folded up at the foot. “No, but something about my trip out here’s triggered what’s been happening. Any news on the actor?”

“He hasn’t turned up. I emailed you a photo of him. He hasn’t had much of an acting career. Apparently he’s working on several screenplays.”

“What did Marissa Neal see in him?”

“I’m not in the loop with the Secret Service,” Sean said stiffly, “but as far as I can tell he was something of a departure from the straight-and-narrow for her. High energy, big dreams, big ego. Good-looking, too.”

Nick knew the type. After he disconnected, he checked his email, but he didn’t recognize Trent Stevens from the photo Sean sent. He took his BlackBerry and headed back to the lobby. A woman at the front desk informed him Rose was in the ballroom.

Ballroom?

He got directions and went down a hall and around a corner to a large room that jutted out of the main building, windows on three sides with what in daylight would be breathtaking views of the meadow and the surrounding mountains.

Rose, A.J., Zack Harper and Myrtle Smith were gathered at a long table.

Lauren was on her feet, her daughter on one hip as she welcomed Nick. “Help yourself,” she said, nodding to the end of the table, which was spread with glasses and bottles of wine.

Nick thanked her and splashed wine into a glass. A.J. and Zack’s concern for Rose was evident, but they were circumspect with him, as if the white gas and old kerosene lamp at the guesthouse had confirmed he’d brought an ill wind and bad luck to town.

Maybe he had.

He showed Lauren the picture of the missing actor, without saying who it was.

“A.J. and I see a lot of people in our work,” she said. “I don’t remember this man.”

Her husband joined them and glanced at the actor’s smiling face. A.J. didn’t recognize Stevens, either. “We have the Secret Service breathing down our necks as it is with the Neals coming for winter fest.” His expression turned flinty. “Unless they cancel, given this latest violence.”

Nick slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I hope the police will have some definitive answers by then.”

The flintiness didn’t let up. “You attend fancy parties in Beverly Hills. Could you have run into this actor at one of them?”

“Possibly, but I don’t have any specific recollection of ever having met him. I’m not great with faces. Sometimes Hollywood types come to us for information on smoke jumping and wildland fires.” Nick sipped his wine and observed Rose, her eyes a deep blue in the ballroom’s soft light as she, Myrtle and Lauren went over logistics for the silent auction. He turned back to A.J. “I wish I could be more help.”

“I spoke to Sean. He and Grit Taylor went up to the site where the arson investigator was killed. His death is the reason you came out here, isn’t it?” A.J. didn’t give Nick a chance to answer. “Could Robert Feehan be this serial arsonist you’re after?”

“I’m not with law enforcement, A.J.,” Nick said. “I’m not here on any kind of official business. If my presence is putting anyone in danger, I’ll clear out. I won’t stay.”

The eldest Cameron seemed satisfied. “Fair enough. If Feehan’s mixed up with illegal prescription drugs, that could explain why he’s avoiding the police.”

“He could also be afraid he’s next on the killer’s list.”

A.J. sighed heavily. “If he’s innocent, running only makes his situation worse. He needs to talk to the police and get it over with.”

The two little Camerons were now racing around in circles in the wide, open space. Lauren kept a watchful eye on them. A.J. went to them, handing his wife a glass of wine. Nick watched the young family, pushing back a wave of regret and guilt that he knew would get him nowhere. He had anticipated a certain amount of awkwardness on his trip to Black Falls, given his situation with Rose, but he hadn’t expected to run into violence. He’d figured he’d talk to the lead investigators into Lowell Whittaker’s network about Jasper’s death, check out the Whittaker estate and Cameron Mountain.

Instead not only had he run into violence, he could very easily have caused it just by coming here.

Zack Harper scooped up a glass of wine as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Looks as if your theory about Coleman fuel in a kerosene lamp’s right on target. Some poor unknowing bastard wanders by with a match and that’s it.” He drank some of his wine. “Not pretty. Feehan must have figured the Whittaker guesthouse was the last place anyone would look for him.”

“Assuming what we found wasn’t planted there,” Rose said, holding a glass of wine in one hand as she joined them.

“Is that what you think?” Zack asked.

“I’m just trying to keep an open mind.”

“You don’t have to. You’re not investigating the case.”

Brett Griffin entered the ballroom, still wearing his parka. He looked tentative, his fair cheeks and nose red from the cold. “The woman at the front desk said you all were down here. I just finished talking to the police. I was taking night shots up at Four Corners.” He didn’t seem to be addressing anyone in particular. “I’d heard rumors about drugs but I had nothing to go on. No evidence to take to the police. I didn’t want to get anyone into trouble over rumors.”

Zack drank some of his wine. “Think that’s what all this is about? A fight between friends over drugs?”

Clearly it wasn’t what Zack believed. Nick glanced at Rose, but she just kept a tight grip on her wineglass and said nothing.

Brett shifted to her. “There’s one more thing I wanted to mention. I didn’t want to get into it before—but now…” Red spots blossomed high on his cheeks. “Derek told me he blamed you for how he lost control last year at O’Rourke’s. The fight hurt his reputation. He felt bad Bowie got arrested. I didn’t want to say anything before now because it just didn’t seem to matter. There was no point.”

“Are you suggesting he wanted to get back at me for what happened?” Rose asked quietly.

Brett glanced around the ballroom as if he were looking for someone to help him.

“Brett,” Rose said, prodding him.

“If Derek felt under pressure—threatened for some reason—I think he’d have tried to strike back at you if he could.”

Rose maintained a neutral expression. “Yesterday morning Robert said Derek didn’t want to hurt me. He said Derek was upset because Nick was here.”

Brett’s cheeks reddened even more. “He would say that, don’t you think? He’d want to divert attention from himself. Never mind. I’m not making any sense.”

Nick noticed perspiration on Brett’s forehead but he kept his coat on. “Does Feehan have the knowledge and capability to pull off the fire that killed Cutshaw?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know,” Brett said in a low voice.

“What about Cutshaw?”

Brett turned ashen and didn’t answer.

Zack Harper shrugged and polished off the last of his wine, setting the glass on the table. “How much knowledge does it take to set yourself or someone else on fire?”

Rose turned to Brett, and Nick noticed she was slightly pale herself. “Do you have any idea where Robert could be now?” she asked.

Brett wiped his sweaty brow with the heel of his hand and shook his head. “I told the state detective who interviewed me that I’d let them know if Robert contacts me, or if I remember anything else—friends, favorite spots.”

Rose stayed focused on him. “How well did you all know the Whittakers?”

“I didn’t know them at all. I’m not sure about Derek or Robert.”

“I suppose it’s possible Robert stayed at the guesthouse but the Whittakers left the old kerosene lamp there, and he just used it. Did any of you have a key?”

“I didn’t,” Brett said.

“The apartment where we found the camping gear is the one Kyle Rigby used in November. Could Rigby have given Robert or Derek a key?”

“I don’t remember ever running into Rigby,” Brett said, frowning. “The police asked me about him. Robert, Derek and I talked about what happened in November. Of course we did. I don’t think they knew Rigby, either.”

“What about contacts in California?” Nick asked.

Brett seemed surprised by the question. “We all know people in California. We’ve all taught skiing out West. I’ve taken up enough of your time. You all have a good night. I’m sorry about all this. I wish I’d known what was going on and had found out a way to stop it from happening.”

Nick set his wineglass on a tray as Brett Griffin and Zack Harper left together. Rose rejoined Myrtle at the table and consulted drafting paper they had unfurled with drawings for how to set up the ballroom for the winter fest auction and dance. Nick had no doubt Myrtle had listened in on as much of the conversation as she could.

Lauren Cameron smiled faintly next to him and nodded to her husband across the room, their children chasing him, giggling as he let them catch him. “A.J. hates for any of us to be out of his sight.”

“Understandably,” Nick said.

“Maybe so,” she said, “but I refuse to live in fear. I did that before I moved up here. A.J.’s actually the one who helped me get past my fear. I was escaping a difficult relationship. I thought I had it well behind me, but it had an insidious effect on my ability to trust myself. Here I was, a strong woman…” She didn’t finish. “Matters of the heart sometimes require the greatest strength of all.”

“You fell for a bastard?”

A twitch of humor played at the corners of her mouth. “I did, yes.”

“And we’re talking about Rose here, too, aren’t we?”

“Could be,” she said diplomatically.

“Wasn’t your fault. Sometimes you can’t see a bastard coming. The really good ones know how to charm you, reel you in. You just have to fight your way out of the net and move on.”

“You’re not terribly controlling, are you?”

“Only person I can or want to control is myself.”

“Rose is strong, but she’s also very proud,” Lauren said, her eyes warm with emotion. “Her missteps seem magnified with three older brothers. I had no idea about her and Derek. A.J. didn’t, either. Nick…are we safe? You’d tell us if you had reason to believe we weren’t, wouldn’t you?”

He wanted to reassure her, but wasn’t sure he could. “Law enforcement knows everything I know.”

She acknowledged his words with a quick intake of breath, then a nod as she continued. “Beth was with Grit this morning.” Lauren seemed to struggle to find the right words. “I saw Scott earlier. He was as stoic as ever, but Beth discovering that poor woman with Grit can’t have gone over well with him.”

A.J. had scooped up both children and perched one on each arm. Lauren mumbled something to Nick and returned to her family. A.J.’s expression softened as she approached him. He looked less flinty, less fearful and angry.

Nick saw Rose noticing, too. Her eyes connected with his, and she quickly grabbed her coat and moved out into the hall.

Her brother’s gaze lifted over the towheaded curls of his daughter, and Nick saw that the eldest Cameron was ready to go after her. Nick left A.J. with his wife and children and followed Rose.

He caught up with her in the parking lot. “I figure you didn’t wait just so you could get me out here in the cold without a coat.”

“Why would I wait for you? I’m going home.” She nodded toward the lodge. “Go back and enjoy the fire. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow. You deserve a bed tonight.”

“So I do.”

She obviously realized her mistake and got out her keys. “I’m not a target if Derek and Robert were fighting over drugs. I’ll lock my doors. Ranger will alert me if anyone tries to get in.”

“And what will you do, hide under the bed? You’re alone up there.”

“What difference does that make? Robert’s had his chance if he wanted to hurt me. Maybe he just wanted to hurt Derek and now that he’s succeeded, he’s on the run.”

“Rose.”

She sighed and shook her head at him. “Remind me never to sit across a conference table from you. All right. Thank you for your concern for my safety.” She seemed to make an effort to smile. “Go get your coat. Take your car. That way Ranger and I don’t have to come back here.”

“You’re in denial about what’s going on.”

“I’m not in denial.”

Nick didn’t argue. He returned to his room and grabbed his coat. He could be on a plane in the morning and in his condo by tomorrow night.

He headed back outside to his cold car.

A state cruiser was in Rose’s driveway when Nick pulled in behind her Jeep. She had Ranger at her side and was talking with Scott Thorne at the bottom of the front steps. The trooper glanced at Nick but was grim, distracted. “I tried calling Beth,” Thorne said. “Have you talked to her, Rose? I just want to know she’s all right.”

“I spoke to her, Sean and Hannah earlier this afternoon,” Rose said. “Beth’s okay.”

“Grit Taylor’s still there?”

“Yes, as far as I know.”

Thorne kept his attention on Rose. “I wish Beth had gone shopping with Hannah instead. She went out there to enjoy the so-called good life. Beverly Hills is fine for a visit, but I have no desire to live there. I don’t know much for sure, but I know I’ll never be rich, or live in Southern California.”

Nick wasn’t offended. He’d said the same thing when he’d enlisted in the navy a year out of high school.

“Do you think that’s what Beth wants?” Rose asked.

Thorne shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” He sighed, clearly uncomfortable with his reasons for being there. “I should go.”

“Beth’s coming back.” Rose gently rubbed Ranger behind an ear. “Black Falls is home for her. Beverly Hills isn’t what’s come between you two, anyway. You think you both work in the same sandbox. Jo being back in town just brought it all home to you, but she’s a federal agent—Beth’s a paramedic. Her work’s not the same as yours.”

“Thanks for the analysis,” Thorne said through gritted teeth.

Rose wasn’t intimidated. “You’d prefer if Beth were a kindergarten teacher, or just worked at the café full-time.”

“Good night, Rose.”

Thorne nodded curtly at Nick, returned to his cruiser and drove off.

Rose sputtered at the retreating cruiser, then spun around and marched up the steps. Ranger waited for Nick and walked up with him. Once inside, the golden retriever yawned and flopped onto his bed by the woodstove.

Rose peeled off her coat, hat and gloves and kicked off her boots. “I should wipe Ranger’s paws and brush him, but I’ll do it in the morning.”

Nick kept his coat on, remained standing as she started a fire in the woodstove, her movements sure, automatic. As she added kindling, got it going, then laid on some small sticks, he could see her alone on her hilltop on quiet winter evenings.

“You’re self-sufficient,” he said. “You don’t need anyone, do you?”

“I manage.” She turned to him, her cheeks flushed from building the fire. “Any plans to quit as a smoke jumper?”

“Not yet. I only work seasonally or when needed. I’ll keep it up as long as it makes sense to.”

“You’ll know when it doesn’t make sense when—what, you fall out of a plane or catch your hair on fire?”

“Already caught myself on fire.”

She blanched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. It was a while ago. I did something stupid and paid for it with a few skin grafts. It could have been worse.” He smiled. “I haven’t fallen out of a plane yet.”

“Do people think you’re reckless?”

Jasper had asked Nick the same question. “My fellow smoke jumpers don’t think so,” he said, repeating the answer he’d given Jasper. “If they did, I wouldn’t last as one.”

“Sean’s not reckless,” Rose said.

The scars on Nick’s right arm and side suddenly felt as if they were still burning. “Sean’s as good as they come. I screwed up as a young smoke jumper and I paid for my mistake with a lot of pain and some permanent scars. Fortunately I was the only one who got hurt or was ever in danger that time.”

She knelt down in front of her dog and stroked his golden fur. “Ranger can’t tell me when it’s time for him to retire. I have to tell him.”

“You two have made a good team.”

“He has a hard job, but he’s done it well.”

“You both have,” Nick said.

Ranger yawned and stretched, and Rose stood, looking down at him. “I’m as careful and as responsible as I can be, but sometimes I wonder if I asked him to do too much.”

“Think he’d be happier if Bowie O’Rourke had adopted him?”

“Maybe.”

“You’ve had a long day. You’re beating yourself up for no good reason.”

She grabbed a log out of the woodbox, added it to the fire. She shut the lid on the woodstove and stared at the flames through the glass. “I have a hundred ‘what-ifs’ floating in my brain, Nick. Derek and I got together and broke up all before my father was killed. What if Derek was involved with this serial arsonist after all? What if everything that’s happened this past year ultimately leads back to him—to me? To something I did or didn’t do? What if I’m responsible for bringing this violence to Black Falls?” She turned to Nick, her eyes a blue-black in the shadows. “What if Lowell Whittaker chose Black Falls for his country home because of me, my work, Derek?”

“You didn’t kill anyone or hurt anyone,” Nick said.

“When did Jasper get on the trail of his guy?”

“Rose.”

She hesitated, then said softly, “I know I’m leaping ahead of the facts. Nick, what if my distractions helped lead to Jasper’s death? I was out there in the canyon—I was searching for the boy who’d wandered off. What if I missed something that could have saved Jasper?”

“It wasn’t your job to save him. You know that. You’re not a firefighter, and Jasper was a man with a mission.”

“And now you are,” Rose said.

Nick forced a quick smile. “I’m always a man with a mission.”

She gave him only the slightest smile.

He unzipped his coat, the house quickly warming up with the fire. “Jasper was pursuing a firebug theory that every other professional considered far-fetched. He was trying to connect suspicious wildland fires, structural fires and explosions to the same arsonist. Different types of fires like that are rarely connected. He was convinced a serial arsonist was at work setting fires for his own pleasure and drama as well as hiring himself out as a contract killer.”

“To Lowell.”

“Possibly. Jasper died before anyone knew Lowell’s network existed.”

“What if he got too close to Lowell?” Rose was very pale now. “My father did, and Lowell had him killed. Did Jasper give you anything, Nick, anything at all?”

He stared at the flames through the woodstove’s glass doors. When he looked at Rose, she’d shifted just enough that fiery colors reflected in her eyes. “You and I were both in tough spots emotionally in June. We didn’t save Jasper. It was a bad fire. Everything was out of control.”

“It’s okay, Nick,” she said. “I’m not holding you to any romantic entanglements. I didn’t then, I haven’t in the past eight months. I’m not now.”

“No regrets, then?”

“None.”

“Good.” He grinned at her. “But that’s what I am? A romantic entanglement?”

She almost smiled in return. “Go back to the lodge,” she said. “Relax, have a nice dinner and sleep well. I’ll be here. I’m fine.”

He stepped closer to her and noticed her lick her plump lower lip. He remembered the taste of her mouth that hot, frantic night. He’d let his emotions get away from him. He’d been raging, out of control. He’d wanted Rose Cameron more than he’d ever wanted any woman.

Sean’s sister. The forbidden woman.

Except it was all so much more complicated than that.

“Rose.” Nick said her name quietly, gently, and touched his thumb to the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t mean to hurt you then and I don’t want to hurt you now. But I do want to kiss you.”

“You’re asking my permission?”

“I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed her lips to his in a perfunctory kiss.

Almost as if she were kissing a friend.

She stood back and smiled. “There. All done.”

Nick tilted his head back and studied her a moment. “Was that enough for you?”

“For me? You’re the one who wanted to kiss me and asked permission.”

“You make it sound as if you needed a permission slip to be excused from gym class.”

“Well?”

“We moved too fast before.”

“We’re not moving at all now, are we? Nick, I’m okay. You don’t owe me. You don’t have to pretend I ever meant anything to you on a romantic level. Nothing will change now that Sean knows about our fling. I didn’t want him to find out, but he’ll never ask me for details.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t ask me.”

“I’m not going to come between you and your friendship with Sean. You two have known each other longer than I’ve known you. I never should have allowed myself to get involved, even for one night, with my brother’s best friend. We’re all adults, but that notion is still tough, at least for a Cameron.”

“Back up,” Nick said. “Fling?”

“That’s what it was.”

“Then that talk before about possibly having been attracted to me for a long time—”

“Just talk.”

“Ah. Just talk. Well, then this is just a kiss.”

His mouth found hers. He was deliberate, giving her a chance to decide how she was going to react. He felt her take a step back, but she couldn’t go too far with the woodstove right there. She stumbled slightly, grabbed him by the hips, steadying herself. Nick wasn’t distracted. He relished the taste of her, the feel of her. She was strong and soft in all the right places.

“Is this what you mean by romantic entanglement?” he asked, amused, even as he kissed her again, forcing himself to resist doing more—carrying her off to bed, for instance.

She tightened her grip on him, and he wondered if she was doing the same—resisting, holding back.

Finally he released her and stood back.

She took a shallow breath. “I guess you had to get that out of your system. Maybe we both did. It’s good. The romantic entanglement stuff is behind us. Now we can be…” She considered a moment. “Friends and colleagues.”

“Ah. That’s what I was thinking. Couldn’t you tell? Is that what you want, Rose, for us to be friends and colleagues?”

“It’s what has to be.”

“Not what I asked.”

“I wanted that kiss,” she whispered.

“Which kiss? The chaste one you gave me or the one I gave you?”

“Chaste?” She laughed, her eyes sparking. “That’s not a word I expected from Nick Martini, submariner, smoke jumper and multimillionaire, ass-kicking businessman.”

“What word would you use?”

“Careful. Repressed.” She pushed both hands through her tangled hair. “I’m not good with emotion.”

“You wanted more than a kiss,” he said, then added, “You do now. So do I.”

Color rose in her cheeks.

He decided he’d made his point. “It’s not a good idea for you to stay here, Rose.”

She nodded. “I know. I’ll get my things. If you can grab Ranger’s food and dishes, I’ll pack.”

Nick was already on the way to the kitchen.

She took her Jeep. Nick understood. She wasn’t going to be stranded. She was independent, and she was afraid. Having her own transportation gave her confidence. He was unsettled himself as he walked into the lodge under the starlit sky, the unfamiliar landscape spread out around him. He could do snow and cold and all that, but Black Falls was a small New England town and new turf. He knew the players only from stories from Sean and trips west by various friends and family members.

He’d met Rose several times but hadn’t considered sleeping with her until fate had thrown them together in June.

At least in the lodge there was no question of sharing a bed or even a room.

Maybe that was why she’d agreed to spend another night there.

As soon as he arrived at the lodge, Nick went up to his room and checked the phone messages, but there was nothing new on Portia Martinez or the missing actor.

He met Rose in the dining room. She wasn’t wearing a badly hand-knitted sweater tonight. Instead she wore a black knit dress with her hair up. She even wore makeup, her eyes smoky, her lips glossy and very pink.

She could fit in anywhere—on a mountaintop, a wilderness rescue or at a Beverly Hills party.

“We’re expecting snow tonight,” she said as she sat across from him. “Just a few inches.”

“Great,” Nick replied with a wry smile.

She ordered handmade wild mushroom ravioli and a salad. He ordered the same. The discovery in the guesthouse and the murder in California weren’t far from his mind, nor, he thought, hers, but both had experience compartmentalizing such things and pretending otherwise.

Seventeen

Beverly Hills, California

G rit stood by Sean Cameron’s glistening pool and remembered his first days of SEAL training, with the Pacific Ocean glistening before him. He hadn’t considered he might fail. He’d entered the weeks of difficult training not with cockiness but with absolute certainty. He’d known he’d be a SEAL.

That was over a decade ago. He’d had two whole legs back then, and he’d only imagined what combat was like.

Hell, he’d only imagined what life outside the Florida Panhandle was like.

Now he’d experienced both combat and life outside of his hometown and the Taylor world of tupelo honey. He wondered if he was certain about anything anymore.

He settled for appreciating the sunshine and his pleasant surroundings.

He was back to thinking of Beth Harper as a sister again. She and Hannah were doing laps in the azure water, their way, he suspected, of combating their fears and frustrations.

Beth came up for air and hugged the side of the pool. She was in a tank suit two tones darker than her eyes. Grit figured Thorne was an idiot for getting into a snit and leaving her in California. “What did you and Trooper Thorne do while he was out here?” Grit asked. “You had a couple days together, right?”

She glowered at him. “Scott’s not your firebug.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“We hung out. He was preoccupied. We argued. He went home.”

“Your firefighter brother?”

She tilted her turquoise eyes up to him. “Don’t even go there.”

“Just curious. He was here for a few days, too. Also went home.”

“As planned,” Beth said. “We all hitched a ride out here on Sean’s plane. Zack and Scott flew back commercial coach. That’s it. No drama, no mystery.”

“Your brother attracts the women, right? The Neal sisters have been to Black Falls. Maybe one or more of them has a crush on Firefighter Zack.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Not that it’s true.”

“I get on your nerves, don’t I, Beth?”

She sighed. “Isn’t that your objective?”

He truly had no idea what she was talking about. “My objective?”

She scowled and kicked out her legs behind her, splashing water before going still again. “I didn’t mean ‘objective’ in the military sense.”

Grit still didn’t have a clue and abandoned trying to figure out what she meant.

Beth plunged backward into the water and swam a few yards to the end of the pool. She jumped out, grabbed a big towel off a lounge chair and wrapped it around her. “You should go for a swim.”

“It’s not that warm out,” Grit said.

“The pool’s heated, and like you care given the places you’ve had to swim.”

Pure conjecture on her part. “You’ve got goose bumps. You’re missing Trooper Thorne, aren’t you?”

“He’s not missing me,” she muttered, dropping onto the lounge chair.

Grit eyed her from his position at the pool’s edge. Somehow she’d managed to sound objective, not whiny. “Things are happening again, Beth,” he said.

She spread her towel over her legs and didn’t respond. Hannah continued swimming laps on the other side of the pool. Her brother Devin had stopped by after work at Cameron & Martini and had gone for a run, determined to stick to his training program. Grit recognized the kid’s enthusiasm and drive. Devin Shay was committed to becoming a smoke jumper.

He hadn’t had that drive in Black Falls. He’d been haunted by the death of Drew Cameron, who had taken the orphaned teenager under his wing, and by his own brush with Lowell Whittaker’s killers.

Grit was still figuring out the people of Black Falls, Vermont. The ones who’d stayed, the ones who’d left. He was sure Sean and Hannah would end up back there, at least on a part-time basis. Grit had no illusions he could live again in his hometown. His family would welcome him back, but he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

Not that he knew what to do with himself now.

Beth grabbed a second towel off a pile next to her and arranged it over her torso. Grit smiled. “See? I said you had goose bumps.”

She ignored him. “Did you see what you wanted at the canyon today with Sean?”

“That must have been a hell of a wildfire last June. High winds, low humidity, dry brush and canyons. It was a fast-moving fire. Firefighters thought they had it out but there was a hot spot. No one knew. It flared up, and the flames jumped the line, trapping Jasper Vanderhorn.”

“Nick and I didn’t miss anything,” Sean said as he came out of the house. “None of us did. It was arson. Someone set that fire.”

His and Nick Martini’s quick actions had saved other people, but Vanderhorn hadn’t stood a chance. Grit knew that Sean didn’t want or need to hear any platitudes. “It would have taken some skill as an arsonist to target Vanderhorn that way. Why not just wire his teakettle or put a bomb under his car seat?”

“To prove he could do it. The drama.” Sean watched Hannah steadily swimming her laps. He was in jeans and a polo shirt, no swimming for him. “Jasper could have made a mistake and this bastard got lucky.”

“Or he’s that good,” Beth said.

“And you two were on the fire,” Grit said. “You and Martini. A couple of hotshot smoke jumpers. That’d only raise the stakes for a committed arsonist.”

Sean and Beth both gave Grit a dark look, but his observation couldn’t have been anything they hadn’t considered. His cell phone rang. He saw Admiral Jenkins’s number on the screen and decided to answer. “Yes, sir, Taylor here.”

“Where’s ‘here’?”

“Southern California.”

“You found a body this morning.”

Grit didn’t respond because no question had been asked of him.

“The Secret Service has already been in my office,” Jenkins said.

“Jo Harper?”

“Her boss, Mark Francona. I told you to be careful out there.”

“I’m trying not to fall into the pool at the moment. No one’s shooting at me.”

“I’m not worried if someone does.” Jenkins paused, as if debating whether to say the rest of what was on his mind. Finally he added, “I’m worried people who aren’t as straightforward as you are will end up throwing you under the bus.”

In his weeks at the Pentagon, Grit had learned that Jenkins wasn’t big on people who weren’t straightforward. He was professional and did his job well, but he’d rather be thrown into a viper pit than attend a D.C. political cocktail party. He wouldn’t care that the Neals were a regular family except for Preston Neal being vice president. Jenkins would only care that Grit was in position to be the fall guy if there was any political blowback from Porita Martinez’s death.

“Coronado,” Jenkins said. “Tomorrow. Be there, Petty Officer Taylor. Do your job.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty seconds later, another call came in. A private number. Grit figured it was Charlie Neal and answered.

“I don’t have much time,” Charlie said without preamble. “I’ll go fast. Don’t interrupt. I talked to my sister. Her ex-boyfriend likes to immerse himself in research, whether it’s for a part or a screenplay he’s working on. He’s also good at disguising himself, going into character. I’m looking at all the parts he’s played, and my sister’s trying to remember what his screenplays are about. Maybe there’s something there. She doesn’t remember if they were ever at any events with Sean Cameron or Nick Martini.”

“What about Jasper Vanderhorn?”

“I asked her about him back in November when his name first surfaced in my investigation—the investigation. She’d read about the fire. That’s it. I’m doing all the cross-referencing I can.”

“Just on the internet, right? Nothing top secret.”

“I can’t access top secret sites. Well, I probably could, but—”

“Don’t.”

“Right. I won’t. How’s Beverly Hills?”

“Beverly Hills is fine,” Grit said. “This morning was difficult.”

He watched Hannah pop out of the pool and adjust her swimsuit, her skin still pale after months of winter in Vermont. She smiled at Sean. She wasn’t demonstrative but she wasn’t shy, either, about being totally in love. They both sat at a table by Beth’s lounge chair.

“My sister met Portia once,” Charlie said. “She told the Secret Service. It’s sad, what happened to her. I wish I could have figured this out before she died. I hope I can before anyone else dies.”

“Charlie, it’s not your job to figure out anything. If someone’s killing people, that’s the person responsible for any deaths. No one else.”

“What about you?”

“I went out to where Jasper Vanderhorn died.”

“What’s it like?”

“The land’s being reborn.”

Charlie was silent a moment. “Don’t think because I’m smart that I have no feelings.”

“I don’t think that. I think you want to matter, and I think you’re afraid this firebug is coming after your family.”

“What if he’s a Secret Service agent?”

Grit gripped the phone tighter. “Charlie.”

“I can speculate all I want. It’s not Robert Feehan, unless he’s operating under an alias.”

“How do you know about Feehan?”

Charlie didn’t seem to hear him. “He’s on the run but he’s innocent. He didn’t kill Derek Cutshaw.”

“Charlie.”

“Internet. That’s how I found out.”

“I can’t stop you from theorizing, but don’t do more than that.”

“I’m not. How could I? The Secret Service is all over me. You’d think I was vice president, not my dad. I ran for class president in ninth grade. You know how many votes I got?”

Grit wanted to throw his phone in the pool. “No, Charlie, how many?”

“Two. My cousin Conor and me. Nobody likes me.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Two votes, Grit. Two. That’s why.”

“What would happen if you ran now?”

“I doubt even Conor would vote for me.”

“That’s because you’ve gotten him in trouble with the Secret Service.”

“And the school,” Charlie said.

“Charlie, just because your classmates didn’t want you as their president doesn’t mean they don’t like you.”

“Yeah, whatever. Think about it, Grit. Portia Martinez was murdered in Beverly Hills probably the day before Derek Cutshaw was murdered in Vermont.”

“Maybe Robert Feehan is the firebug, using an alias.”

“I can’t find any connection between him and Marissa,” Charlie said, loosening up on using names. “Trent isn’t a bad guy. He’s just a self-absorbed prick.”

“Language.”

“Jackass? Son of a bitch? Lout?”

Grit gave up. “Any idea where Trent could be now?”

“No. On your end?”

“No. Is he immersing himself in Vermont for some screenplay or acting role? Never mind. I’m starting to think like you. If you make any connections using that 180 IQ of yours, call me. Don’t do anything else. Got that?”

“Got it. There’s something here, isn’t there?”

“I don’t know. I just know I found a dead woman today.”

“Marissa…Grit, she’d fall for you if she got to know you.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“I’m serious,” Charlie said.

“Hell, so am I. Hang in there, kid. You can’t have everything. You have to live in the world as it is, not as you want it to be.”

“Are we talking about your leg?”

Grit gripped the phone. “No, we’re talking about you.”

“Oh.” Charlie seemed oblivious. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

He was gone. Grit sighed. In some ways, Charlie Neal was thirty. In other ways, he was twelve. Rarely was he a regular sixteen-year-old. He had a good family, tight-knit and strong, but they were in the limelight, which was difficult enough without adding a genius IQ and four older sisters to the mix. Marissa was attractive and intelligent, but she wasn’t getting involved with a disabled SEAL from the Florida Panhandle.

Grit looked over at Beth Harper, still under her towels. “Getting back in the pool?”

“Not right away.”

“Have you talked to Special Agent Harper?”

“Yes.”

“Want to tell me what she said?”

Beth pulled the towels off her upper body and her long, strong legs. “She said you’re trouble.”

“Ah.”

“I came out here to relax. Everything was supposed to be over. Then you show up.”

“That woman was dead before my flight was even in the air.”

“But we found her, not the neighbors, not her family, not her friends.”

“Just as well, don’t you think? Someone had to find her, and we’ve both seen dead bodies before. You’re just out of your element and you’re here to swim and buy shoes.”

“I’m not buying shoes.” She sighed at the slowly darkening sky. “I’m taking my emotions out on you. I’m scared, Grit. If one of these killers slipped through the cracks or some other killer’s attracted to Black Falls because of Lowell Whittaker and what he’s done…”

“Don’t do that to yourself. We have to deal with the facts as they are.”

She shivered as a breeze hit her wet swimsuit. Grit figured she thought of him as a brother. He wasn’t sure he liked that. It was one thing to think of her as a sister, another for her not to even consider that he might be checking her out.

It was Thorne, Grit decided. Beth was preoccupied with their romantic issues, on top of the murder scene they’d walked into and the goings-on in her hometown.

“Have you always been a one-thing-at-a-time, let’s-not-jump-ahead type?” she asked. “Or did your injury force you to take things a day at a time?”

“I move forward. I don’t dwell on what I can’t control. It gets me nowhere. You’re the same, or you couldn’t do the work you do.”

“I’m resentful because I don’t want any more violence,” Beth said.

“Trooper Thorne resentful, too?”

“I wouldn’t know. Are you trying to counsel me, Grit? Because you don’t have to. I’m fine. If Scott wants to check in with me, he knows how to reach me.”

“Think you’ll quit as a paramedic?”

“And do what?”

“Help Myrtle Smith open a dinner service at the café.”

Beth’s laughter seemed to catch her by surprise as much as it did Grit. “We’d kill each other within two weeks,” she said. “Myrtle’s not staying in Black Falls no matter what she’s telling herself right now, and I’m not cut out to run a restaurant. I like the mix of what I do at the café and as a medic. I often know the people I respond to, but I’m not burned out.”

“If you’d been in Black Falls, you could have ended up checking out Derek Cutshaw.”

“Possibly. Anyway, this isn’t about me.” She directed her attention to Sean at the table next to her. “Do you trust Nick Martini with your sister?”

“Nick’s solid.”

“Rose has—”

“Rose is solid, too,” Sean said. “Whatever they have to work out between them is none of my business.”

“Ha,” Beth said.

“Do you think Martini told you the whole story about why he picked now to go to Vermont?” Grit asked, not for the first time.

Sean leaned back, his gaze on the clear, heated water of his pool. “There was no precipitating incident that I knew of, not a recent one, anyway.”

“It’s Jasper Vanderhorn, isn’t it?”

“It’s a lot of things.” Sean got up abruptly. “Let’s have dinner and give what happened today a chance to simmer.”

Hannah paced at the side of the pool. She was reserved but visibly shaken by recent events. Beth was surly, but their emotions felt the same. Grit wished he hadn’t come to see them. He had to be on Coronado tomorrow morning. He could leave now, but Sean had offered him the small guest room for the night. He probably wanted Grit and Beth both to clear out so that he and Hannah could have time together.

But they would, Grit thought. They’d have a lifetime together.

“I’m not hungry,” Beth said. “I’m going for another swim.”

Sean grimaced but made no comment. Grit saw a little of Elijah in him. From what he’d observed over the past few months, Rose was the same—which boded well for her. The Camerons were pure granite.

But they’d bleed if cut, Grit thought. Everyone did.

Beth swam until she thought she’d drown if she took another stroke, then bundled up in a dry towel and headed for a long, hot shower in her private bathroom.

She wanted to be back in Vermont, cleaning the café with her friends on a dark, cold winter night. She’d checked the weather. It was snowing in Black Falls.

“Damn you, Scott,” she muttered, slipping into a soft, fluffy robe and pacing in her spacious room. “Why don’t you call?”

She finally dialed Jo’s cell phone. “There’s no emergency,” Beth said as her sister picked up.

“Good. I can’t talk right now,” Jo said. “Give me an hour, okay?”

Beth disconnected, feeling agitated, ready to put on a dry swimsuit and go back outside for more laps. The temperature was dropping, but she didn’t care. She just couldn’t stand being still, obsessing, waiting.

She hit Scott’s number on her cell phone but didn’t let it dial. Where would he be now? What would he be doing? What did he know about Portia Martinez?

She could call her father, the Black Falls retired police chief. The Harpers were solid, predictable types. Wasn’t that what Scott wanted?

It was what he was. Was it what she wanted?

Finally she let Scott’s number ring. She realized her hand was shaking and her eyes were filling up with tears. There’d go her reputation with Grit Taylor as a rock-ribbed New Englander, an experienced paramedic who’d seen it all.

The call went right to Scott’s voice mail.

Beth didn’t leave a message.

Eighteen

Black Falls, Vermont

R ose ducked into the woods on the edge of the meadow behind the lodge, moving well on her snowshoes, avoiding the cross-country ski trails. Ranger, accustomed to searching out ahead of her, was up by a large boulder. He, too, steered clear of the groomed tracks.

Nick was a few yards behind her. He was smooth and strong on snowshoes he’d borrowed from A.J. Several inches of snow had fallen late last night and into the morning. The sky was beginning to clear, a few streaks of blue breaking through the white, the late-morning sun beaming through in a thin ray of light. There’d been a brief alert overnight for a pair of hikers lost on state land, but they’d turned up unharmed.

Ranger paused just past the boulder, his golden coat standing out against the white landscape. Rose caught up with him, then looped behind a hemlock, its branches laden with snow, onto a shortcut to the sugar shack.

Nick eased in next to her. She smiled at him. “It’s a beautiful day. I’d love to head down to the lake after we’re done at the sugar shack. The trail’s steep. It’s a little tricky even on snowshoes.”

“You can manage?” he asked her.

“Of course, but I’ve done the trail practically since I could walk.”

“No worries, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

She grinned. “All right, we’ll do it.”

Rose took the lead again in the soft, undisturbed snow. She had strapped her ready pack to her back, standard whenever she was out in the woods. If either of them fell, she had basic supplies for repairs and first aid, as well as food and water.

Last night after dinner, Nick had gone straight up to his room at the lodge. Rose had stopped in the bar for a drink with a few friends. She hadn’t wanted to go to her room too early. She’d needed time to put their kiss out of her mind, to cool her reaction to him and to convince herself they’d had to get that out of their system and it wouldn’t happen again.

Nick hadn’t surfaced again until after she’d had breakfast and met with Lauren to work on winter fest. Rose had struggled to focus. She’d slept badly, preoccupied with Nick and whether Derek’s death and Robert’s whereabouts could be connected to the murder of the woman in Beverly Hills.

She glanced back at him gliding through the snow and felt the sparks between them all over again. Nothing had cooled. He was strong, athletic and very sexy. She could still feel his kiss and her response to him.

Utter madness, and she wasn’t the mad type.

Everything about Nick Martin was wrong for her.

The path curved along the edge of a finger ridge. Rose noticed prints in the snow a few yards down through the trees. Boots, she decided. Not skis or snowshoes. Given the fresh snow, the prints had to be relatively recent.

Ranger paused, his head in the air. He’d obviously picked up a scent and looked back at her, expectantly. She motioned for him to stay.

Nick came up beside her. She pointed out the tracks. “For all we know,” she said, “they’re from a guest on the trail of an owl.”

“Stay close to me.”

He adjusted his ski poles and pushed through the snow. Ranger stayed at Rose’s side on her command. This wasn’t a search, at least not yet. Nick moved deliberately, his strides controlled, neither aggressive nor tentative as the prints led into the woods toward the lake. The ground was uneven under the deep snow, the going difficult, requiring concentration and skill.

Finally they picked up a trail with enough switchbacks to keep the trek from getting too steep. Ranger grew excited, agitated and barked, looking up at Rose, eager for the command to track. “Ranger, heel,” she reminded him.

Rose spotted an orange dome tent, designed for winter conditions, pitched on a level spot amid white pines, just above a stream encased in snow and thick, opaque white ice.

A black scarf lay in the trampled snow in front of the tent.

Nick put a hand on her hip. “Hold on,” he said.

She noticed now. The air smelled of gasoline.

A small canister of what appeared to be Coleman fuel was turned over, its contents spilled out into the snow.

Nick dropped his hand from Rose’s side and checked the tent, its flaps up, its opening unzipped. He peered inside, then looked at Rose as she eased her pack off her shoulders. “Is anyone in there?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s empty.”

“It’s Robert Feehan’s tent, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Do you have a radio? I imagine there’s no cell service out here.”

She nodded and dug her handheld radio out of her pack. She contacted the lodge and alerted A.J. to the presence of the campsite and described its location.

“You’re with Nick?” her brother asked.

“Yes. It’s just the two of us. No one else is here.”

“All right. I’ll get there as soon as I can—”

“No, A.J., you need to stay there. You know you do. Call the police. I’ll radio you the second I know more.” Even as she spoke, the smell of smoke mixed with the gas in the still, cold air. “A.J.—” She caught her breath. “A.J., there’s a fire.”

Nick pointed through the trees, past the stream. “There.”

“It’s at the lake,” Rose told her brother, then gave him what information she could and switched off the radio. Thick, gray smoke was drifting up above the trees now. Nick clearly was anxious to get moving. “How far to the lake?”

“Five minutes if we move fast.”

“Let’s go.” He shifted his gaze to her as a slight breeze stirred in the evergreens. “Stay close to me.”

“I’ve been on this trail a million times, and someone could need our help.”

“Rose—”

“It’s okay, Nick. This is what I do.”

He nodded. “All right. Lead the way.”

Rose returned to the trail, heading down a sharp curve in the deep snow. Ranger bounded just ahead of her. She was less aware of Nick behind her but wasn’t concerned he couldn’t manage the conditions.

Smoke became more noticeable, thicker in the air as it rose in the trees on the hill above the lake. Rose reminded herself that the cabins were unoccupied and Jo and Elijah were out of town.

Bowie.

She almost stumbled. Was he working at the lake?

Someone else could have seen the smoke by now and called 911. Fire trucks could already be en route.

Nick moved next to her as they reached one of the most run-down of Jo Harper’s dozen cabins on the edge of the lake.

Ranger barked, on full alert. Rose saw what had him upset. The small cabin that Grit Taylor had occupied before his return to Washington was on fire, fully engulfed in flames.

No one inside could have survived.

Rose told Ranger to sit. She couldn’t let him plunge into a dangerous situation. “We need to make sure no one’s in any of the cabins,” she said to Nick, forcing herself to remain calm, professional.

“I’ll do that,” Nick said.

She knew she didn’t need to tell Nick Martini what to do in a fire. He kicked off his snowshoes and was on his way. She removed her own snowshoes and peered down the hill, trying to see if Bowie’s van was on the access road.

A scream—a woman, terrified—rose up from a cabin closer to the frozen lake.

Jo? Was she here after all?

“Ranger, stay,” Rose said, then ran through the snow behind Nick.

He charged to the cabin’s only door, but it was padlocked from the outside. He grabbed a splitter from a woodpile and smashed through the door. He raced inside. In two beats, he came out again, with Dominique Belair over one shoulder.

He shoved her into Rose’s arms. “This place could be rigged,” he said. “It could go up in flames. Move back. Now.”

Rose didn’t hesitate and half carried Dominique, sobbing, gulping in air, down to the road. Dominique sank onto a snow-covered rock between the road and the lake. She was shaking with fear, shivering with the cold. She had on a winter jacket over leggings and running shoes, but she wasn’t wearing a hat or gloves.

Rose didn’t see Bowie’s van anywhere on the road.

She squatted down in front of her friend. “Are you hurt?”

Dominique shook her head. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

“Dom, what happened? What are you doing here?”

“I came for a run. I arrived about twenty minutes ago. I saw a man.” She was panting, as if she couldn’t get a decent breath. “I just got a glimpse of him. I thought it was Bowie, because he’s been working out here.”

“His van isn’t here.” Unless it was up at Elijah’s, Rose thought with a jolt of panic. “Did you see him, Dom? Is he in one of the cabins?”

She looked up at Rose in terror. “I don’t know.”

Rose saw Nick charging for a second cabin that had started on fire. He crashed his splitter into the door.

“The man had on a black ski mask and parka.” Dominique’s lower lip trembled, but she was regaining her natural composure. “I didn’t notice until I got closer that he was too thin to be Bowie. He grabbed me. He threw me into the cabin. I fell. I hit the wall.”

“Were you knocked unconscious?” Rose asked.

Dominique shook her head. “I just had the wind knocked out of me. I was so stunned. Oh, Rose. I couldn’t get out. He locked me in. I smelled smoke.” She shivered, her teeth chattering. “I thought I was going to die.”

Nick burst into the cabin and immediately backed out again, dragging a man into the snow. Even from where she stood with Dominique, Rose could see the man was badly burned and not readily identifiable.

He was clearly dead. There was nothing anyone could do.

Her heart almost stopped. It couldn’t be Bowie, she told herself. She saw bits of a black ski mask, a black parka, just as Dom had described. And the victim was lean. Too lean to be an O’Rourke.

Rose remembered that Robert Feehan had been wearing a black parka when he’d grabbed her out by the sugar shack.

Was Bowie in the cabin that was fully engulfed, orange flames shooting through the roof now?

“Dom,” Rose said, “did you see Bowie at all?”

“No. I left Myrtle in charge at the café and came out here for a run. Just a short one along the lake. Bowie said he’d be here. I thought I’d be safe. I saw someone up by the cabins. I called….” Dominique started shivering uncontrollably again. “I had no idea.”

“Was he alone?”

“I didn’t see anyone else. He didn’t say anything. He just threw me into the cabin and locked me in. He seemed to be in a hurry.” Her voice faltered. “I was terrified. Then I smelled smoke.”

“You need to stay warm.” Rose rummaged in her pack for a bottle of water. “Here, try to drink some.”

Dominique took the bottle. “I’m okay. I just can’t stop shaking.”

Rose pulled an extra pair of gloves from her pack and handed them to Dominique as she strained to see if Bowie’s van was up at Elijah’s house. He could be working at a different site, or he could have already come and gone and Dominique had missed him.

Nick covered the body with a tarp from the woodpile and started checking the rest of the cabins before flying embers or a bomb could ignite more of them. He’d gone in and out of two, finding no other victims, when the first fire trucks, ambulance and police cruiser arrived.

Zack Harper was in the lead truck. He glanced at Rose and Dominique but said nothing as he and the other firefighters quickly got to work.

The ambulance crew ran toward Dominique. Rose left her friend in their care and got Ranger’s attention, signaled for him to come to her. When he was at her side, she went with him up the slippery road to Elijah’s house.

“Don’t go in,” Nick said, materializing next to her. He must have come through the trees that divided Jo’s property from Elijah’s. “This place could be rigged with some kind of explosive device.”

She looked up at her brother’s deck. The steps hadn’t been shoveled. There were no prints in the snow. “The man is Robert Feehan, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure it is,” Nick replied. “It looks as if he couldn’t get out of the cabin fast enough and got caught in his own scheme.”

“Or that’s what we’re supposed to believe.”

“Exactly.”

“I should call Elijah and let him know what’s going on. He can tell Jo.”

Nick didn’t argue. She walked down to the lake for better cell reception but it took several tries to get through to Elijah in Washington. When she did, she tried to be as clear and succinct as possible in informing him about the fires.

“I’m on the next flight up there,” Elijah said grimly. “Was this show meant for you and Martini?”

“I don’t know.” Rose ran the toe of her boot over snow that clung to a low rock. “Either Robert accidentally got himself killed setting these fires or that’s what we’re supposed to think.”

“Could he have known you two were out snowshoeing and rushed his plan?”

“It’s possible. It must be his campsite we found. Maybe he was past caring about his own safety and got reckless.”

Her middle brother was clearly tense. “Your voice is shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“Once you’re sure my place is safe, go inside. Get warm.”

She almost smiled. “Yes, Sergeant Cameron.”

He sighed. “You know what to do. I forget. Be careful. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“What about Jo?”

“I don’t know if Jo will be with me. She’s got her own problems.”

The death of Portia Martinez and the whereabouts of Marissa Neal’s former boyfriend, Rose thought, but Elijah had disconnected.

She saw that Nick had returned to the cabins. He would want to talk to the firefighters about exactly how the fires had started.

Two state detectives intercepted her as she started back to Elijah’s house. They asked her if she wanted to talk to them inside where it was warm, but she answered their questions in the driveway. Once she finished, they headed back to the cabins.

Scott Thorne walked slowly up the icy road to her. “Hey, Rose.” His emotions were under tight control. “I’m glad you’re okay. We checked out here last night and didn’t see anyone.”

“Robert could have been keeping an eye out for you.”

“We didn’t see a trail, a light or footprints, but the snow was steady by then,” he said curtly. “Visibility was lousy. Jo’s cabins are a wreck, but this isn’t how anyone wanted to get rid of them. How many burned?”

“Just the two. Grit’s and the one next to it. The one Dominique was locked inside wasn’t rigged. Robert, or whoever did this, might have planned to get to it next and wanted her to know what was in store for her.”

“Elijah’s house?”

“It’s okay,” Rose said. “Elijah and Jo haven’t been here in several weeks. Neither has Grit. Robert had to know that.”

“Bowie’s been working out here,” Scott said.

“It doesn’t look as if he’s been by yet today.” Rose noticed a few white clouds on the horizon across the lake, even as the sky cleared directly above her. “I used to think Derek and Robert were just a couple of fun-loving ski bums who wouldn’t hurt anyone. I learned about Derek’s darker side a year ago, but Robert…”

“None of us knew them that well.”

“Any idea how he started the fires?”

“Martini says he thinks there was some kind of accelerant used.”

“White gas? There was a canister at the campsite Nick and I found up behind the cabins.”

“The investigation’s only just started, Rose,” Scott said. “Be patient, okay?”

She noticed Nick coming up the road, moving smoothly. The physical demands seemed to have had no effect on him. “How did Robert get caught in a fire of his own making?” she asked Scott. “Did he trip?”

“It’s tempting to speculate,” he said, “but you know better.”

Nick joined them, standing close enough to Rose that his arm brushed hers, but his eyes were on Scott. “Did Feehan have an alibi for the death of Portia Martinez in California?”

Scott shook his head. “Not going there, Nick.”

He didn’t give up. “Do you know for sure he was in Vermont when she was killed? Did he know this missing actor?”

“Feehan worked with a number of private students at various ski areas and didn’t keep good records,” Scott said. “It’ll take some time to sort everything out and work a timeline.”

“What about Marissa Neal?” Nick asked.

Scott clearly didn’t like Nick’s questions. “Not going there, either.” He shifted back to Rose, his expression blank, impassive. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

She watched him bypass an unsanded section of glare ice as he walked back to the cabins.

Nick pulled off a glove and zipped up her jacket. “Don’t let adrenaline fool you,” he said, his hand lingering at her collar. “It’s cold out here. You’ll cool off fast now that you’re still.” He smiled slightly. “Which I realize you know.”

“It’s easy to forget the basics when you’re emotionally involved. I don’t know why Dom’s cabin wasn’t set on fire.” She swallowed, her throat dry, tight. “Maybe because Robert didn’t get to it.”

She called Ranger and they went up the snow-covered stairs to Elijah’s deck. He had someone plow and shovel while he was away, but the three inches of snow that had fallen overnight could wait. She heard Nick on the stairs behind her and slipped inside through the slider. Snow fell off her boots onto the hardwood floor of the comfortable main room, but her brother wouldn’t care.

While Ranger sniffed out the place, Rose pulled off her hat and gloves and looked out the wall of sliding doors at the view of the lake. Nick entered the house through the slider next to her. She could feel his intensity, smelled the fire on him as he took in her brother’s house.

“Elijah loves this place,” she said. “He left home at nineteen. I was fourteen. I wrote to him almost every day that first year. I’d made it my goal. Three hundred sixty-five letters to my soldier brother.”

“Did he write back to you?”

“Some, but I didn’t expect an answer to every letter. Even if he hadn’t been a soldier, that would have been unrealistic. The long silences didn’t come until later, when he became a Green Beret.” The sky had cleared and was a bright winter blue against the white and gray landscape. “He bought this land three years ago and worked on this place whenever he was home.”

“He did a good job.”

“Pop would come down and help. He knew Elijah always wanted to return home to Black Falls. I think Pop left Jo the lakefront property because he believed she and Elijah were meant to be together. He discovered them in one of the cabins. Running off with Elijah was the only time Jo veered off the path she’d set for herself and did something crazy. Elijah says he’d have ended up in jail if he hadn’t gone into the army when he did.”

“But your father felt guilty,” Nick said.

“Not in the beginning. He came to believe he’d interfered with something that was meant to be. I think leaving Jo the cabins was a way for him to make amends. She wouldn’t have been here in November if he hadn’t. Who knows if or when she and Elijah would have gotten back together again.” Rose glanced at Nick, realized his gaze was on her, not the view. “Do you have a place you want to be? A place you think of as home?”

He shrugged as if he had never really considered such a question. “My father was career navy. We bounced around when I was growing up. I’m used to making a home where I am.” Humor played at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t grow up in a small New England town where my family had lived for generations.”

“Not all Camerons stayed. For instance, some took off for Ohio after a brutal winter in the early nineteenth century.” Rose wasn’t letting him off the hook. “If you closed your eyes, clicked your heels together three times and whispered, ‘There’s no place like home,’ where would home be?”

“It’s not a place. It’s an attitude. It’s the people who’d be with me.”

His tone made her breath catch, but she saw more police cars arrive on the narrow lake road. “I should go check on Dominique. Nick, I was so scared. First Dom. Then…I thought it was Bowie in the burning cabin.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He slipped an arm around her. “I know.”

She leaned her head against him, his muscles taut, still tensed from wielding the splitter, carrying out first Dominique and then Robert. “I can’t imagine what Robert was thinking. None of this makes any sense. What about you? Are you okay?”

“No worries.” He drew her closer still and brushed his lips over the top of her head. She hadn’t even realized she’d pulled off her hat. “I’ll snowshoe back up to the lodge. I want to take another look at the campsite. The police are there now.”

“Dominique can’t be up to driving. I’ll take her back to town in her car. Someone there can give me a ride back to the lodge. Would you mind taking Ranger with you?”

“Sure. Ranger and I have bonded.”

“Say his name, then give a one-word command. Stick to basics.” Rose smiled. “Be the alpha dog. He’ll behave.”

“I love being the alpha dog.”

The humor helped her to absorb the events of the morning. “Nick…”

He slipped her hat out of her pocket and tucked it onto her head. “Soon, Rose,” he said softly. “We’ll figure all this out soon.”