Cold Dawn

Nineteen

D ominique put on an evergreen-colored canvas apron in the café kitchen. She’d wanted to go right back to work. Rose hadn’t argued and watched her friend hop onto a stool at the butcher-block worktable. Dominique was visibly trembling, still ashen from her ordeal at the lake.

Rose stood across the worktable from her. “Dom, what’s going on?”

“We’ll have a late lunch spurt because of the fire. It’ll bring people out.” She placed her hands on the clean wood and splayed her fingers, as if she weren’t sure what to do with herself. “I just have to think a minute.”

“The police want to talk to Bowie.”

She nodded. “Of course. It only makes sense.”

“Were you meeting him? Is that why you chose the lake for your run?”

Dominique looked up, her dark eyes clear, shining. “I wouldn’t say I was meeting him. I knew he’d be there. Excuse me, Rose. I really have to get busy.”

“Sure.”

As Rose started out of the kitchen, Dominique jumped off the stool and gave her a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank Nick Martini for me, too.”

“Dom…”

She stood back, smiling, trembling even more. “Cooking’s my refuge.”

She returned to the worktable, and Rose went out through the swinging door to the dining room, where, in fact, business was picking up. Myrtle was behind the glass case, filling an order for fruit salad and house-made yogurt. “Dom’s back?”

“Yes,” Rose said. “Thankfully she wasn’t seriously injured. She’s more shaken up than anything.”

“She’ll make soup. It’ll be good for her.”

Rose noticed a coffee spill on the counter and grabbed a cloth and wiped it up. “Myrtle, did Dom tell you why she was going out to the lake?”

“She said she was going for a run.” Myrtle handed the fruit and yogurt to a teenager from town, took her money and turned back to Rose with a sigh. “If Andrei could see me now.”

Andrei Petrov was the Russian diplomat whose death Myrtle had looked into, bringing her to Lowell Whittaker’s attention. The result was the fire at her house—and, ultimately, her presence at Three Sisters Café on Main Street in Black Falls.

Myrtle fussed with the tie on her apron as she continued. “You’d think a serial arsonist who sets fires for his own pleasure and contracts out as a paid killer wouldn’t end up burning himself to death in a falling-down Vermont cabin.” She straightened, her lavender eyes clear, incisive. “I suppose it could have been suicide, but he didn’t exactly go out in a blaze of glory, did he?”

“Good points.” Rose helped herself to an apple from a plate on the counter. “Any idea what Dom’s hiding?”

“She might not be hiding anything. She just might be keeping her business to herself. She’s pleasant to everyone, but she’s reserved. She doesn’t blab about her private life.”

“Myrtle, are Dom and Bowie seeing each other?”

“I don’t know,” Myrtle said as a couple from town walked up to the glass case.

Rose ate her apple as she walked down to O’Rourke’s. She found Liam out back, taking off his winter gear. “I was out snowshoeing,” he said. “If it’s above zero, I like to get out before work. Just has to be above zero. I heard sirens and called a friend. I heard what happened.”

She leaned in the doorway, every inch of the tidy back room lined with shelves and hooks for supplies, tools and Liam’s personal outdoor gear. “Where were you snowshoeing?” she asked him.

“Cameron Mountain.” He leaned his snowshoes and poles against the wall. “I ran into Lauren, as a matter of fact. She was on the way to the sugar shack. She seemed preoccupied.”

“Was anyone with her?”

He pulled off his coat and shook his head. “She was meeting the guys delivering the new evaporator for the shack. I can’t believe you all are getting into sugaring.”

“It’s more for fun than profit.”

“Impractical,” Liam said.

Probably true. Rose thought. “Did you see any smoke from the fires at the lake?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know what was going on. I drove straight back here.” He frowned at her, his face still red from the cold and exertion. “You interrogating me, Rose?”

“Dominique was attacked, Liam.”

He went very still. “Dom? Is she okay?”

Rose quickly explained what had transpired earlier at the lake. “Dom says she was meeting Bowie. He wasn’t there.”

“I haven’t seen him today.”

“Robert was camping up in the woods. You didn’t run into him?”

“No. I didn’t snowshoe in that direction.”

“When the Neals were in town—”

“Damn, Rose, you think I had anything to do with the Neals when they were here?”

She reined in a burst of impatience. “Did anyone ever brag about seeing them? You know, tales told to the bartender?”

“No one said anything to me about the Neals, beyond talk about Charlie Neal’s prank on Jo Harper last fall that got her back up here. Everyone thought that was hysterical.”

Which would mortify Jo. “What about me?” Rose asked quietly.

“You mean has anyone been crying in their beer to me over you? There was gossip about you, but you’re a Cameron. There’s always gossip about you all. You’re out there, Rose. You do search and rescues all over the country.”

“My work’s not glamorous, Liam,” she said, feeling defensive. “I’m doing more and more training and consulting these days. I don’t want to give up the volunteer work, but Ranger’s getting on in years. I haven’t decided yet if I want to train another dog for myself. I think he prefers wilderness work. Disaster work is hard on both of us.”

“It’d be hard on anyone.” Liam seemed to relax slightly and hung his jacket on a metal hook. “A lazy life with a bone by the woodstove is in Ranger’s future. Was he a help this morning?”

“He’s always a help.”

Rose stood up straight. “I wish someone had whispered a secret in my ear that would explain everything and stop more violence and tragedy.”

“Did you think Derek was getting his act together?”

“I’m not sure he was capable of reforming,” Liam said, changing out of his winter boots to regular shoes. “I don’t know what to say, Rose. Getting pounded by Bowie may have helped Derek get some perspective. He hadn’t been in trouble since then that I know of.”

Rose thanked him and went out the back door and around to Main Street, debating a moment before heading to the café. She entered the building through the center-hall door and peeked into the dining room, where Myrtle Smith was still alone behind the glass case, dealing with the lunch crowd and looking restless. Rose continued down the hall to the ladies’ room.

Her reflection made her grimace. She peered into a mirror that Hannah and Beth had found at a yard sale and saw that she had smudges of soot on her face. Her skin was windburned but pallid, with dark shadows under her eyes that showed the strain of the morning.

Figured no one had told her she was a mess.

She cleaned up and slipped into the kitchen. Dominique was alone, her cheeks flushed as she pulled a pan of steaming roasted vegetables from the oven.

Rose tried to stay out of the way. “How are you doing?”

“How am I doing?” Dominique slammed the pan onto a cooling rack on the counter. “A man is dead, Rose. I’m lucky I’m not dead.”

“Dom, you and Robert weren’t—”

“We weren’t anything. He’d come in here. I’d see him. Same with Derek. Not often.” She tossed her pot holders onto a pile by the stove. “I told the police.”

“Were you friends?”

“Friends? What’s a friend? Lowell and Vivian Whittaker used to come in here, too. They acted as if we were their friends. We were all taken in.” Dominique washed her hands in the stainless-steel sink. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“Something’s going on with you, Dom,” Rose said quietly. “Whatever it is was there even before you went out to the lake this morning.”

Dominique briskly dried her hands with a soft cloth. “Nothing’s going on. Forget it. I have work to do. Please excuse me.”

“Dom—”

“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time this morning. I surprised Robert. He panicked.” She snatched up a long-handled spoon and stirred the vegetables. In summer, she’d use fresh local produce when she could. “If he and Derek were preying on vulnerable young people, selling them prescription drugs…”

“Were you trying to expose them?”

“I’m not a police officer. I’d heard rumors. Bowie had, too. I told the police everything I know, which, fortunately or unfortunately, is very little.”

Dominique set the spoon on the counter and returned to the worktable, making it clear she didn’t want to talk, but Rose continued to press her. “You were at the Whittaker place yesterday and the cabins this morning—”

“I know where I was,” Dominique said irritably.

“Why were you there, Dom? I’ve never known you to run out at the lake.”

“I signed up for a half marathon in June. Jo and Beth Harper run there. Beth showed me their route.” She stared down at her hands on the butcher-block table. “And because I wanted to talk to Bowie. I wanted to see if we could figure out where Robert was.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to convince Robert to talk to the police before he ended up like Derek.”

“Then you don’t think he killed Derek and accidentally killed himself?”

Dominique, calmer, shook her head.

“Robert could have fooled everyone,” Rose said. “He could have pretended to be a carefree ski instructor when, in fact, he was one of Lowell Whittaker’s killers. He could have realized he was caught and went out the way he wanted to.”

“I don’t know whether it’s more frightening to think that Robert was one of Lowell’s killers, or that he wasn’t. If he wasn’t, there’s someone else still out there.”

Rose leaned back against the counter. “You tend to stick close to home.”

“I’ve been working on my house.”

“You hardly ever go out, Dom.”

She raised her brown eyes. “Are you suggesting I’m hiding something?”

“Asking.”

She twisted her hands together. “Nothing that matters.”

“Whatever you’re hiding, Dom, people are going to find out. It’s hard enough to keep secrets around here when things are normal.”

Dominique shut her eyes briefly, then spoke without looking at Rose. “I was married for about five minutes four years ago.” She paused, rubbing her fingertips over the butcher-block tabletop. “He had money. Has. He’s not from around here. Cleveland. He’s an alpine skier, though. He loves Vermont. He took lessons from Derek. I did, too.”

“Dom, as far as secrets go…”

“I got involved in prescription drug abuse,” she said quietly. “I’m clean now. I have been for four years. Belair’s my maiden name. I found myself in cooking—and here,” she added, her voice cracking, “with you all.”

Rose steadied herself against Dominique’s admission. “Bowie knows?’

She gave a small laugh. “Bowie knows everything that happens around here, I swear.”

“True,” Rose said, still not satisfied. “Where’s your ex-husband now?”

“Still in Cleveland. He’s remarried. He’s not a bad guy, we just weren’t right for each other. We were both spoiled.”

Rose saw it now. “You come from money.”

Dominique’s eyes lowered. “I’m what you all would call a ‘trust fund baby.’ I didn’t want anyone to know. I wanted to be known for myself, for who I am.”

“Don’t we all, Dom? Give us a little credit.”

“I do now. It just became easier to keep not saying anything.”

Rose felt her energy sagging. “I can’t argue with that,” she said softly. “The police know?”

“Everything, yes.”

“Bowie?”

“He guessed,” Dominique said.

“He’s good at keeping other people’s secrets.”

“Maybe we ask too much of him, or he asks too much of himself.” She stood back from the worktable. “I really do have things I need to do.”

Rose smiled. “Cook to your heart’s content, Dom.”

When she reached Main Street, Rose noticed the air was warmer, above freezing. Nick would be back at the lodge by now.

No sooner did she have the thought than he called. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

She spotted Bowie’s beat-up van down the street. “Thanks, but I’ll get a ride. Be back soon. What are you doing?”

“Thinking and making calls. I brushed Ranger. He didn’t like it.”

“He never does.” Rose didn’t ask any follow-up questions and disconnected, walking down to Bowie’s van. He was climbing in. “What’re you doing in town?” she asked him.

“Stopped to see Liam to see what he knew about the fire. He said I just missed you.”

“Have you talked to the police?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you know Dominique was attacked?”

“I stopped by to check on her, but she was busy. I talked to her for two seconds, probably while you were with Liam. She’s pretty shaken up.” Bowie narrowed his eyes on Rose for half a beat. “You are, too.”

“I don’t deny it. Can you give me a ride up to the lodge?”

He nodded. “Where’s Ranger?”

“Nick hiked back up to the lodge. Ranger went with him.”

Rose shoved stuff off the van’s front passenger seat and got in. The interior smelled like mud and cold, wet stone—at least not like gas, she thought.

They passed the police station. “Every cop in town must be out at the lake,” Bowie said.

“Probably so.” She stared out the side window at the familiar landscape of her hometown. Snow had melted into her wool socks. She’d unzipped her coat, but she was still too warm. “When you were in that fight at O’Rourke’s, did you ever imagine Derek and Robert would be dead in less than a year?”

“I wasn’t thinking about the future. I was locked in to the idea that I needed to punch Derek in the head.”

She couldn’t help but smile at Bowie’s irreverent tone.

But his eyes were serious when he glanced over at her. “That fight’s in the past, Rose. It’s not why Derek and Robert are dead.”

“You protected me last year.”

“You can look at it that way, but I wasn’t really thinking. I was mad. Derek was out of control. I reacted.”

“I keep wondering if I’d confronted my problems, maybe things would have gone differently this year.”

“Don’t go there. We are where we are. Whether or not it’s where we would be if we hadn’t dealt with these bastards doesn’t much matter.”

They drove up the mountain in silence. As they came to the lodge, Rose said, “I miss Hannah.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“I miss her, but I’m glad she’s with Sean and not here now, for this.”

“You’re her friend. I talked to her earlier. She wants to be here for you. Beth, too.”

“You told them to stay in California, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Do your work, Rose. Let the police do theirs. You’re a can-do type, just like your brothers, but sometimes you have to know your limits. We all do.”

“It’s easier on a search than with something like this. It all feels so out of control, with no rules.”

“There are rules. Rule one—you don’t get to kill someone. Rose, you okay with this guy?”

“I can handle him.”

“Could he have set the fires? It only takes a cell phone to detonate a simple homemade bomb.”

“It wasn’t Nick, Bowie. Absolutely not.”

Bowie grinned at her. “See? There’s an attraction there.” He pulled into the lodge parking lot and glanced in back at Poe. “Look at him. Not a peep out of him. Ranger’s influence.”

“Ranger’s not perfect, you know,” Rose said. “Poe looks tired. Did you have him out running this morning?”

“He charged around while I was working. He’s in good shape. He’s just lazy. The vet said he needed to lose weight, so I’ve been getting him out more. It’s good for me, too.”

“Dominique said she was meeting you at the lake this morning. What happened? Where were you?”

“Late,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.

“Why?”

He threw the van into Park and looked over at her. “I made a stop to give an estimate. It took longer than I expected. The police have all the details. You want them, too, Rose?”

“I’m not doubting you. Don’t get defensive. I just wanted to know.”

“Maybe you want to know too much. Maybe you should get on a damn plane and go train dogs in Alaska or something. I worry about you, Rose.”

She let his worry roll over her. “Thanks for your concern. Bowie, are you and Dominique seeing each other?”

“She and Poe are both trying to get in shape. She wants to run a half marathon this summer. Nothing more than that.”

“I grew up here. I can be private all I want and it won’t do me any good. Everybody’s always sticking their noses in my business.”

He grinned at her. “Like you’d have it any other way.”

“You’re a good friend to have, Bowie. Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.”

“Want to come in?”

He shook his head. “I have work to do. Call or come find me if you need a friend.”

Rose promised she would and thanked him as she got out of the van.

She spotted A.J. down by the shop and walked in that direction. He was pacing, clearly agitated, and she assumed it was because of the scene at the lake. He shoved a hand through his hair. “I can still smell smoke,” he said. “Damn.”

“I’m sorry, A.J.”

“Yeah. Me, too. I’ve been trying to sort everything out in my own mind. I don’t see how a couple of ski-bum drug dealers had anything to do with the death of that woman in California and this missing actor.”

“We can come up with a thousand different scenarios if we want to.” Rose recognized a middle-aged couple ski from the lodge on the groomed trails in the meadow. “Most guests won’t associate what happened at the lake with the lodge. It’s far enough away—”

“They could see the smoke from the dining room.”

“A fire in the middle of winter, down in the valley. It’s understandable they’d look.”

“A fatal fire on top of another fatal fire just the other day.” Her brother stared at a display of winter sports gear in the shop window. “I’d hoped winter fest would be a fresh start for everyone in town.”

“It still can be,” Rose said. “There’s time to figure out what’s going on and put an end to it.”

“That’s what we keep saying. It’s what we said in November when Jo and Elijah confronted those two killers. It’s what we said in January when Hannah and Sean figured out Lowell Whittaker was behind this network of assassins.”

“The lodge is busiest in the warm-weather months. By then, most people aren’t going to remember if this all happened in another town, or even know that it happened at all. We’re in the middle of it. We’ll know. I’ve been to the scene of so many disasters—”

“This isn’t a natural disaster.”

Rose sighed. “I’m not helping, am I? Okay. I’m going to find Ranger.”

A.J. shifted back to her. “Lauren panicked when she heard sirens and saw smoke. I don’t know how much more of this she can take.”

“She’s strong, A.J. So are you.”

“She’s scared.” He let out a breath, shook his head. “Never mind. We’ll get through it. You just concentrate on staying safe yourself. When you radioed this morning and I saw the smoke…” He stood up straight and managed a small smile. “I was glad Nick was with you.”

She grinned at him. “Ha, the faith my brothers have in me.” She touched his arm. “We’re going to be okay, A.J. You know that, right? Whatever happens.”

“Yeah,” he said, and followed several guests into the shop.

As she headed back up to the main lodge, Ranger bounded toward her with the energy of a puppy. Nick’s influence, she decided, her heart jumping when she saw him ambling toward her.

She believed what she’d said to A.J. They’d be okay. What other choice was there?

Twenty

Beverly Hills, California

G rit could tell the Black Falls women were restless, frustrated that they were on the other side of the continent while so much went on at home. Sean was more accustomed to not being in the eye of his hometown storms but the events of the day had clearly disturbed him, too.

The fire at Jo Harper’s cabins on the lake—Robert Feehan’s death, Dominique Belair’s near death—bothered everyone.

The cabin Grit had stayed in had burned, but he wasn’t nostalgic. He figured the accursed woodstove had probably made it through just fine.

Devin and Toby Shay arrived at Sean’s house, and Grit was of a mind to leave them and Beth there while he and Sean drove out to the Cameron & Martini building that had burned a year ago.

Beth had other ideas. Testy and silent, she climbed, uninvited, into the back of Sean’s car and put on her seat belt.

Sean glanced at Grit, as if seeking his wisdom on what to do. Grit shrugged. “How far is this place?”

“Twenty minutes, longer if traffic’s bad.”

As far as Grit could see, traffic was always bad. He figured he could handle thirty minutes with Beth biting her nails in back. Let Sean be the one to kick her out. “Drive on.”

Sean gritted his teeth and steered his expensive sedan out of the driveway.

Grit turned to Beth in the backseat. “Have you talked to Trooper Thorne?” She just stared out her window. He tried again. “Your brother? Your sister? Rose? Dominique?”

“I don’t want to talk.”

That could work, Grit decided, and turned back around. Seventeen minutes later, they pulled into a small parking area by a three-story Art Deco building that Cameron & Martini had saved from the wrecking ball, refurbished and still owned.

There’d been a fire during renovations. Nick Martini’s quick actions had almost certainly saved the building.

Sean led Grit and Beth into a cool, elegant lobby, no indication that there’d been a fire or that the place had ever needed renovating. Sean said, “The fire was last January, months before Jasper Vanderhorn was killed.”

“Your sister was just getting involved with Cutshaw then,” Grit said.

Beth stiffened visibly, but Sean was calm. “I don’t see how the two could be connected.”

“Me, either.” Grit looked up at the Art Deco ceiling. “Vanderhorn investigated this fire?”

Sean shook his head. “Not officially. He looked into it on his own after the fact.”

“He was trying to connect this fire to his serial arsonist?”

“I suspect so, yes,” Sean said, diplomatically.

Grit noted the list of businesses with offices in the building but none struck him as being related to Hollywood and their missing actor. Advertising, digital media, financial planning. He turned back to Sean. “How’d the fire start?”

“Electrical short,” Sean said. “The work crews missed it.”

“No arrests?”

“No. There’s no proof it was arson.”

“But you think it was,” Grit said.

Sean shrugged without answering.

Beth wandered over to the elevator but was obviously listening in.

Grit continued. “The police will be looking into whether Robert Feehan was or could have been in Los Angeles then. Cutshaw, too. Maybe they worked together and just had a falling-out.”

Sean considered Grit’s comment. “Why target Nick and me? The Whittakers were already in Black Falls, but my father wasn’t suspicious of Lowell yet. No one was.”

Something Drew Cameron’s four offspring now had to live with, Grit thought. He said matter-of-factly, “Lowell didn’t like you. You’re everything he isn’t. His crazy bitch wife threw you in his face. Why not target you and your smoke jumping buddy?”

“Nick was only here by accident. I wasn’t here at all. The fire couldn’t have been meant to kill us.” Sean looked around the lobby, as if imagining the flames a year ago. “Most arsonists work alone.”

“Okay,” Grit said. “So it’s Feehan, and Cutshaw wasn’t involved. Feehan finds out a Cameron is a rich Californian and locates one of your enemies or one of Martini’s enemies to pay to mess things up for you. Was construction delayed?”

“For a few weeks.”

“Maybe that was enough. Maybe this fire was about profit. How’d Martini find out about it?”

“Nick was out that night and got a call from the security guard that there was a fire. He arrived before the fire crews.”

“Could he be the arsonist himself?”

Sean cast Grit a cool look. “No.”

“Is that friendship or your head talking?”

“Both.”

Beth stalked over to them. Her turquoise eyes showed the strain she was feeling, but she still glared at Grit. “What happened to your navy business?”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

They headed back out, the air warm, the light now a filtered brownish color. This time Grit took the backseat. Beth got in front without a word.

Sean was pensive as they drove to his house.

“I have to go home,” Beth said, watching Beverly Hills slide past her.

Sean nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. We’ll all go.”

Once at Sean’s, he and Beth went inside to make plans. Grit stayed out in the driveway and took a call from Charlie Neal.

“Anything new?” Charlie asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind. I’d have heard. I’ve been looking into Portia Martinez—all on the internet, so don’t worry. She grew up in Fresno. Her parents are school-teachers. Totally ordinary and normal. She wanted to work in Holly wood from the age of four.”

“The police must know this, Charlie.”

“They must, but here’s what I’m thinking. What if Portia somehow got wind of this firebug and his plot to kill my sister?”

“Jasper Vanderhorn’s the only one who had this theory about a serial arsonist. How would she have found out? And your sister’s fire was months ago, and it was an accident. If Ms. Martinez knew anything about it, she’d have reported what she knew to the police or the Secret Service, don’t you think?”

“She might have only just found out, and there could be a new plot. It’s unfinished business. Killing Marissa, I mean.”

Grit sighed. He was getting used to Charlie’s labyrinthine way of thinking. “You think Jasper Vanderhorn was onto the plot and that’s why he was killed?”

“Maybe Portia was his confidential informant.”

“There any evidence of that?”

“How would I know? I’m in high school in northern Virginia.”

“You’re maddening.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. You’re a big pain in the ass, Charlie.”

“Good.” He sounded relieved. “How’s the leg?”

“Which one? All’s well.” Grit watched a car edge past the house on the quiet street. “Go back to class.”

“Jo and Elijah are upset about the fire this morning—Agent Harper and Sergeant Cameron, I mean.”

Grit had wondered if Charlie would get to that part. “You’ve talked to them?”

“I saw Jo and called Elijah. They didn’t want to talk to me.”

“You weren’t surprised, were you?”

“No, but it’s okay. They told me to butt out, which I expected, but I got my point across. What do you think the fire on Jo’s property means? Is the firebug mad at her for foiling his attack on Marissa last fall?”

“Evidence, Charlie. Speculation just gets you tangled up.”

“That’s what Elijah said.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“Two fires, Grit—Petty Officer Taylor,” Charlie said. “That’s evidence.”

Beth was in the shade by the front door when Grit disconnected. He’d seen her come out but hadn’t done anything about it. She shook her head at him. “Jo would skewer you.”

“For what?”

“For talking to Charlie Neal. That little devil caused Jo big problems and almost got her fired, and now he’s going to get you arrested.”

“Jo might not have hooked up with Elijah again if Charlie hadn’t shot her in the butt with those Airsoft pellets.”

“They’d have found a way back to each other.”

Grit noticed a flicker of what he interpreted as sadness and regret in Beth’s eyes. “You’re a romantic.”

“Not me.” She almost smiled as she stepped out of the shade. “I’m a hardheaded, repressed New Englander.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not a romantic. It’ll be a while before you get over Trooper Thorne, won’t it?”

“I’m not talking about my love life with you, Grit. What about yours?”

“Too busy learning to walk again.”

“It’s been almost a year.”

“You’d expect more of me?”

“A strapping Navy SEAL? It was just your lower leg you lost.”

Her bluntness was refreshing. “Man, you’re tough.”

She didn’t seem at all embarrassed or chagrined. “Tell me about Charlie.”

After Grit went back inside, Beth stifled her guilt at having been surly with him and dialed Scott’s cell number. He’d left her a message to call him. She had no idea what to expect. She only knew that she wanted to talk to him in private, not where Hannah, Sean or Grit could scrutinize her for her reaction.

She stood in the warm sun and steadied herself when she heard Scott pick up. “It’s me,” she said.

“Hey, Beth.” He sounded tense but not angry, and not, she thought, unpleased to hear her voice. “You okay?”

“I am, yes. You?”

“Just doing my job.”

“You called me—”

“I called to find out how you are. I meant that’s how I am—I’m just doing my job.” He sighed. “Don’t complicate everything.”

Beth smiled in spite of her tension. That was Scott: literal, no-nonsense, a man of clarity and purpose. “I talked to Rose,” she said. “Dominique’s been concealing an ex-husband and a trust fund. How long have you known?”

“Awhile.”

But he couldn’t and wouldn’t tell her. She appreciated that about him. He wouldn’t torture himself. He’d just put the information under “secret work stuff” in his mind and not go there when they were together. “Jo knows?”

“Ask her.”

Beth took that as a yes. “So how the hell rich is Dom?”

“She’s from a Midwest manufacturing family. Old money.”

“And here she is, living in a little fixer-upper in a small Vermont town and baking scones and grilling salmon for a living.”

“She just does her own thing, which you, she and Hannah all share.”

“Scott—”

“When are you coming back?”

“As soon as I can figure out how to get there.”

“Plane,” he said.

For Scott Thorne, that was a major display of humor. Beth felt tears hot in her eyes, the anger draining out of her. She tried to laugh. “I kind of miss winter.”

“No, you don’t. You miss being in the middle of things.” He paused and sucked in a breath. “I miss having you in the middle of things. Going out to the lake this morning…knowing you wouldn’t be there to help…” His voice was lower, almost tentative. “It wasn’t what I thought it’d be.”

She knew he’d said all he meant to and if she pushed for more, she’d only make him uncomfortable. If she’d learned anything in the past twenty-four hours, it was to hold her damn tongue once in a while.

“You law enforcement types don’t think Dom could be your firebug, do you?” she asked him. “Because that’d be nuts—”

“Go swimming.”

She could hear the relief in his voice. She smiled into the sun. “I love you, Scott.”

“Yeah,” he said, and it was enough.

Beth quickly shut her phone and headed back inside.

Twenty-One

Black Falls, Vermont

N ick was on Rose’s couch, welcoming the quiet and coziness of her little house after the long, tense day. She lay stretched out in front of her woodstove, with Ranger asleep, one ear flopped off the side of his bed. It was dark, the promise of warmer temperatures in the forecast for tomorrow.

He could see the white on Ranger’s undercoat. “Will you train another search dog after Ranger retires?” he asked.

“Not right away,” Rose said. “Maybe not ever. Ranger has time. Another year, I think.”

“You’re both on the road a lot.”

“Especially this past year.”

“How much was volunteer and how much was for pay?”

“My search-and-rescue work is on a volunteer basis. I’m a member of a team that responds to disaster calls around the country, but most of our work’s in New England. I’ve been doing more and more consulting in search management. That pays, but I still need to do projects at the lodge to make ends meet.”

Nick watched her run her palm over Ranger’s golden coat.

She added, “I can’t take on the intense commitment to train another dog anytime soon.”

“You and Ranger are still a team.”

“We have more work to do together. We could drop back to local wilderness searches. The disaster work’s intense and demanding for both of us.” She glanced up at Nick, the effects of the fire on the lake that morning—the needless death of a man she knew—less evident in her eyes, her mouth. “Enough about me.”

“You’re driven,” Nick said.

“This from Nick Martini,” Rose said, amused, and sat up, stretching out her legs in front of her. She’d changed into slim pants and a soft sweater and was barefoot. She seemed aware he was watching her every movement. “Sean’s driven, too, but he’s more subtle about it. Not you. Submarines, smoke jumping, making money—you dive into whatever you’re doing with absolute commitment. What’s your family like?”

He smiled slightly. “Intense but likable.”

Rose laughed. “You’re intense. ‘Likable’ remains to be seen. I know your father’s retired. For how long?”

“Five years. He misses the sea, even if he was under it most of his career. He has a number of different irons in the fire as a military consultant. My mother’s a geologist. She teaches at a local college. I have a sister, too. Diana. She’s career navy.”

“You enlisted. How’d that go over?”

He grinned. “It went over.”

“You were impatient. You still are. It can be a virtue. You didn’t hesitate today. You did well.”

Again his gaze settled on her. “So did you.”

“I’m not an adrenaline junkie,” she said, not defensively. “Maybe at first I had visions of drama and heroism and adventure, but canine search and rescue requires teamwork and a tremendous amount of dedication, training and practice, practice, practice. People who go into it for the glory usually don’t last.”

“It’s similar with smoke jumping.” Her toes almost touched his boots. “Training weeds out most of the people who are there for the wrong reasons. It weeds out those who have the right attitude, too, but just can’t do the job, for whatever reason.”

“I remember what Sean went through. It’s a grueling process.” Rose glanced at the fire blazing behind the glass doors of the woodstove. “Some firebugs are frustrated glory hogs.”

Nick didn’t respond. He knew her statement wasn’t a non sequitur.

She turned back to him. “They set fires out of an inflated sense of vanity. They like watching the fire itself, but they also like to watch the crews charge in to put it out—the feeling of power it gives them.” The fire glowed in her tawny-colored hair. “I don’t know what kind we’re dealing with. A glory hog mixed with a cold-blooded killer?”

“Not a good mix,” Nick said.

“No.”

He shifted the subject. “Ranger loves it here, doesn’t he?”

She smiled, slipping on her socks and boots. “You can tell, can’t you?”

“He’ll have a long, good retirement.”

They left him by the fire and headed out. They’d been invited to dinner at A.J. and Lauren’s house.

Summoned was more like it, Nick thought, but he understood. A.J. was worried about his sister, and not for no reason.

Rose didn’t protest when Nick suggested they take his car. He appreciated the short, easy drive to a white clapboard farmhouse on Ridge Road, just past Harper Four Corners. The driveway was crowded with cars. It had been a bad day in Black Falls, and Lauren and A.J. had also invited Dominique Belair, Myrtle Smith, the O’Rourke cousins, Zack Harper and Scott Thorne.

The little Camerons were already in bed. The house was simply decorated with a lot of bright, cheerful colors. Children’s finger paintings hung on the refrigerator. Guests were helping themselves to a simple buffet of cold meats and cheeses, salads, rolls and cookies.

The O’Rourkes and Dominique, clearly exhausted, didn’t stay long. Zack pulled Nick aside in the dining room and talked fires. The youngest Harper was a heartbreaker, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Black Falls was home. They discussed the emerging timeline of Robert Feehan and Derek Cutshaw’s actions over the past few days in particular. Zack commented that Feehan could have locked Dominique in the cabin and set the other two on fire and still have made it back to his campsite without burning up himself.

“I don’t think he meant to get killed,” Zack said. “It wasn’t suicide.”

“What was he doing at the lake?” Rose asked, sitting next to Zack at the pine table. “His tent was cozy, well hidden. Why not stay up there?”

Zack leaned back in his chair. “He could have been meeting someone, and Dom surprised him.”

Rose wasn’t satisfied. “Why the ski mask?”

“Maybe he was cold. Maybe he didn’t want a casual observer to recognize him. He knew the police wanted to talk to him.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Rose said. “Dom was a casual observer, and she got locked in a cabin. Why didn’t Robert just take off for Miami or someplace? Why stay here in town?”

A.J. and Lauren stood arm in arm in the doorway of the dining room. “He had unfinished business,” A.J. said.

Rose frowned. “What, lighting Jo’s cabins on fire?”

“Who knows?” A.J. shrugged, but he was anything but casual or relaxed. “We all want this to end here. It’d be easier if Feehan and Cutshaw were having a personal feud over their drug dealing that had nothing to do with Lowell Whittaker and his killers.”

“And no one else was involved,” Lauren added.

Myrtle came in with a plate heaped with salad and nothing else. She sat next to Nick. “Could either one of them have set my house on fire and taught Lowell how to build a pipe bomb and detonate it with a cell phone?”

Silence descended over the gathering. Nick bit into a slice of cucumber. “From all I’ve heard, Lowell Whittaker hired very competent people.”

“That’s right,” Myrtle said, “and this guy Feehan just burned himself up in a run-down cabin.”

“Maybe he knew he was caught and chose how to go out,” Zack said. “Maybe it wasn’t a calculated move and he just acted on impulse.”

“Let me repeat,” Scott Thorne said from the arched doorway to the living room. “The investigation’s only just started. We should resist speculating when we don’t have all the facts.”

Myrtle waved her red nails at him in dismissal. “I like how you say ‘we,’ Trooper Thorne. You mean the rest of us. I’m just saying if these two bastards were in D.C. in the hours before my house caught fire, it’s a cinch. If not, we still don’t have all of Lowell’s contract killers.”

Scott eyed her. “We might never be able to prove who started the fire in your house.”

“I refuse to accept that,” she countered.

Nick leaned back, appreciating Myrtle’s determination. “You don’t want to go back to your house until you know what happened,” he said.

She raised her lavender eyes. “Unlike some of us, fires scare the hell out of me.”

Lauren, looking drawn and tired, changed the subject to plans for winter fest and an uptick in bookings at the lodge for that weekend. Nick sat back, observing the interplay among people who’d known one another all their lives and newcomers to Black Falls. He’d been Sean’s friend for ten years but understood him better now. Sean was a part of this. He thought he’d left, but he still had a place here with his family, his hometown. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had never bought property in Black Falls.

Nick ate another cucumber, not really hungry.

What if one of these people was a killer?

What if he ended up being the one to point that out?

Everything would change. Better that two ski bums had unraveled over drugs and one had set the other on fire and then killed himself, whether on purpose or by accident.

Better, even, that Robert Feehan was a skilled arsonist who’d worked for Lowell Whittaker and now was dead and out of the picture.

Nick didn’t think either was the case, and he doubted Rose or anyone else in the room did, either.

Rose was quiet on the drive back to her house. Nick could guess why. “You don’t want me near you tonight,” he said as he turned off the engine.

“Are you reading my mind or warning me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I can’t keep worrying that some masked man might come through my window. Derek and Robert were around long before this week, and now neither one is a threat.”

“They’re not why you want to kick me out.”

“I’m not kicking you out. You’re staying at the lodge. I live here. If you were my guest, that’d be different. Besides, my couch is lumpy and short.”

“I managed fine.”

“I haven’t vacuumed in days. The dog hair’s piling up.”

“Keep talking. Maybe you’ll convince yourself.”

She sat next to him in the dark. The car hadn’t had a chance to warm up on the short drive back from her brother’s house. “You think this is about you?”

“No,” Nick said. “It’s about you. You’re not sure you want a man in your life right now. You like living alone on your hill with a dog.”

“Dogs are easier than men.”

But he was serious and so was she. She was distancing herself, and he thought she knew it. She stared at her house, dark but for a light in the entry.

“I have to regroup,” she said.

“At least let me check inside first,” Nick said.

She nodded. “Sure.”

He followed her up the front steps, noting the shape of her hips, remembering her legs wrapped around him as she’d pulled him deeper into her, clawed at him in the throes of her climax.

Not good, he thought. He should do some distancing of his own.

Ranger barely stirred from his bed by the fire when Rose entered the house. He certainly wasn’t alarmed at Nick’s presence.

She went to the stove, grabbed the poker and stirred the fire. “Nick.” Her voice was hoarse, soft. “I’m used to being around intense, masculine men, but you—damn. Now it does feel as if I’m kicking you out.”

He slipped an arm around her and turned her to him. “I’ll take the poker,” he said with a smile, setting it on the hearth. He kissed her on the forehead. “It’s been a long day. Neither of us wants a repeat of last June. That worked out great on some levels but not others.”

“I’m as attracted to you as I was then. I can’t help myself.”

He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He tucked his finger under her chin and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Sleep well.” He winked at her. “Lock your doors.”

Headlights shone down on the driveway. Rose frowned and went to the window. “It’s Jo and Elijah.” She glanced back at Nick. “You knew. That’s why you’re being so cooperative.”

Nick was amused. “A.J. might have said something to me.”

“Coconspirators,” she muttered.

She opened the front door for her brother and his fiancée. Elijah struck Nick as being more like Rose than either A.J. or Sean, but the Camerons were all down-to-earth hard-asses who loved the mountains and their small hometown.

Jo looked every inch the Secret Service agent she was. She and Elijah were grim and circumspect. “We thought we’d stay here tonight,” Jo said to Rose. “It still smells like smoke down at the lake.”

Elijah patted Ranger and looked at his only sister. “I’ll sleep out here on the couch. Jo can take the futon in your office.”

Nick smiled to himself. No way were Jo and Elijah sharing a bedroom under Rose’s nose. It was a question of sensibility and nothing else—Nick was sure of that much.

Elijah went with him down to the driveway. “You want to give me your gut on what’s going on?” he asked, his tone a sharp reminder of his experience as a Special Forces soldier.

He was falling in love with Rose? Nick smiled to himself, imagining where that would get him. He pulled open his car door, the lights of the lodge visible in the distance. “Jasper Vanderhorn was on the right trail. He wasn’t crazy, and he wasn’t wrong.”

“You think whoever he was after hooked up with Lowell Whittaker.”

“A paid assassin who is also a firebug,” Nick said. “Not a good combination.”

Elijah was silent a moment, thoughtful. “All right. See you in the morning.” His eyes narrowed on Nick. “Jo and I will take good care of Rose.”

“Just don’t tell her that,” Nick said with a small grin, and climbed into his car.

Twenty-Two

J o and Elijah were up early. Rose didn’t have to tiptoe past her brother. He hadn’t lasted on the couch and had moved to the floor. She had no doubt he’d slept fine. He was a Special Forces soldier and could sleep anywhere. Jo ducked in the shower while Rose made coffee. “You two—”

“We’re not talking about Jo and me,” Elijah said.

Rose smiled, filling the pot with water. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m not a ‘sir.’” Her brother moved out of her way as she turned from the sink. “Rose, what’s with Nick Martini? He’s a rich smoke jumper. What the hell’s he doing here? With you?”

“We’re not talking about Nick and me,” she said lightly, throwing his own words back at him.

Elijah scowled at her.

She dumped the water in the coffeemaker. “He and Sean have been friends for ten years. Sean trusts him.”

“With you?”

“Just because I messed up with Derek doesn’t mean I can’t be trusted to make up my own mind about men.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

“No one. I imagine Nick will be heading back to California soon, so you can forget what you’re thinking.” She opened a cupboard, remembered she was out of coffee, and shut the cupboard again, abandoning her task. “I don’t have anything for breakfast. I meant to go grocery shopping yesterday.”

“A.J. can feed us at the lodge.”

Jo joined them in the kitchen, showered and dressed. From the way she and Elijah looked at each other, Rose had no doubt they were fine as a couple. They’d come together again in November in a mad rush of adrenaline, but they’d known each other all their lives. They’d loved each other, run away with each other, as teenagers.

Unlike her and Nick, Rose thought.

Elijah drove by himself to the lodge. Rose went in her Jeep, with Jo up front and Ranger in back.

“I’m sorry about your cabins,” Rose said.

Jo shrugged. “Now I can’t keep pretending I can renovate them. The two best ones burned.”

“Have you decided what to do with the land yet?”

“Give Elijah some waterfront,” she said with a smile. But she was clearly in a serious mood.

“You’re here on official business,” Rose said, pulling into the lodge. “You’re working.”

Jo smiled. “I’m here for buckwheat pancakes.”

Nick was in the dining room, seated at a table by the fireplace, not looking at all like a guest enjoying a few days at a Vermont mountain resort.

Elijah and A.J. fell in on either side of Rose. “Not that there’s anything between Nick and me,” she said, “but has it ever occurred to you two that you scare guys out of my life? Now that you’re back in town for the most part, Elijah, it’s worse. All I need is for Sean to move back to Vermont. The three of you, glowering every time a guy looks at me.”

Elijah was mystified. “Are you blaming your messed-up love life on us? Hell, Rose, you scare guys off all by yourself. You don’t need us.”

Jo groaned. “They don’t get it, Rose. They never will. It’s a good thing you’re a Cameron yourself.”

They invited Nick over to their larger table. Lauren arrived, subdued but resilient. A.J. looked agonized as he watched her go about her normal routines. Rose knew he hated his helplessness. Everything he and Lauren had worked for, the life they’d created together, had now been touched by violence and more fear. Luckily, the guests seemed to regard yesterday as a local matter that had no impact on their Vermont getaway. A local matter that was over.

Rose got up and joined her sister-in-law by the windows that looked out on the meadow and the surrounding mountains. Lauren glanced back at the table. “Is it over, Rose, finally?”

“We all want it to be over.”

“But you don’t believe it is. I don’t, either.”

Rose was spared having to respond when Myrtle arrived to help sort items that were coming in for the silent auction. Lauren withdrew to set up in the ballroom.

Myrtle helped herself to coffee and a muffin and came over to the windows. “Bowie’s helping Dominique with the morning rush. I think he’s just worried about her after yesterday.” She sighed at the view, the meadow quiet now, not a soul visible between where she stood and the edge of the woods. “Scott Thorne stopped by the café first thing this morning and tried to tell me it feels like spring today. This is not spring.”

“Welcome to northern New England,” Rose said with a laugh.

“I have a feeling it won’t feel like spring when it is spring. I think Scott misses Beth. You can see it in his eyes, but he won’t talk about it.”

Scott’s reticence, Rose thought, was something she could understand. “Some great items are coming in for the auction. The quilt came out even better than I thought it would. It’s beautiful.”

“Every stitch reminds me of home. I tell myself it’s soul work, but it’s more like torture.” Myrtle glanced back at the dining room. “Where’s your dog?”

“Asleep by the fire. He’s tired today.”

“I had a cat, but I haven’t gotten another. It’s just as well. A cat would have been in my office when the fire started. I’d have stayed behind looking for her. We’d both have burned up. Grit Taylor saved me. I tell him I’d have saved myself, but I don’t know. I don’t like being saved. I mean, the guy’s sexy as hell—a Navy SEAL, never mind the leg—and there he was, carrying me out of a burning house. All that damsel-in-distress stuff isn’t for me.”

“You legitimately needed help,” Rose said.

“Maybe, but I think my work’s made me believe that most people end up in trouble because they screw up. That’s harsh, don’t you think?”

“My job is search and rescue. I leave judging to others.”

“Doesn’t it annoy you when some idiot bungee jumps off a bridge into a ravine, doesn’t calculate the pendulum effect of his little bungee cord, slams into a rock wall and you have to go rescue him?”

“That’s a technical rescue. It’s not what I do.”

“A lost hiker, then. Some idiot in the wrong clothes, with no compass, no plan, out alone. I’ll bet you’ve rescued a ton of hikers like that.”

“Yes, I have, but you can also do everything right—do your best—and you still can end up in trouble.”

“I had no idea Andrei—Andrei Petrov, my Russian friend who was killed by Lowell Whittaker’s assassins.” Myrtle paused, her lavender eyes distant as she stared out at the meadow. “I had no idea he was a target until he died on the bathroom floor after those idiots poisoned his toothpaste. But I knew I was onto them when they targeted me. I’d been researching similar unexplained deaths. My notes were in my office. That’s what burned.”

“You did the best you could,” Rose said.

“Did I?” Myrtle turned from the window and fixed her gaze on Nick, Jo and Elijah at their table. “What if Grit Taylor had been killed that day? What if some firefighter had had to scrape my remains off the walls and then live with that image?”

“Myrtle, what if the police never know for sure who set your house on fire?”

She smiled knowingly. “Ask Nick Martini the same question. Ask yourself.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m off to help Lauren. I hope you have a chance to enjoy the springlike air.”

After breakfast, Rose went down to the maintenance shed with Jo and Elijah and collected drills, mallets, taps and measuring sticks and threw them in the back of her Jeep. They wanted to capitalize on the above-freezing temperatures and tap trees for maple sugaring. Rose knew, too, that it was a chance for her brother and future sister-in-law to take another look out by the sugar shack. They would snowshoe across the meadow while she drove the equipment.

As she stuck her key in the ignition, Nick jumped into the passenger seat and grinned at her. “Tapping trees for maple sugaring?”

“You’ll love it.”

She headed down Ridge Road to the dead-end lane. Jo and Elijah met them and they went in search of appropriate sugar maples to tap. Rose had to admit Nick didn’t seem intimidated at all by Elijah, or Jo, for that matter. In fact, the opposite. He was natural, at ease with them and his surroundings. As they plunged through the snow to a trio of old maples, Rose noticed he didn’t make an effort to distance himself from her. He also didn’t do anything provocative, like put an arm around her or wink at her.

Not that he had a chance.

Jo dived in with questions. “Tell me about Jasper Vanderhorn,” she said as she adjusted the strap on one of her snowshoes. “How convinced was he that he was after a serial arsonist? How’d you two meet?”

Nick rubbed the rough bark of an old maple with a gloved hand. “This guy must have been here when Lincoln was president,” he said. “I ran into Jasper a few times smoke jumping, but I got to know him better when he looked into a fire at one of our buildings.”

“What was he like?” Jo asked.

Rose made her way to the middle of the three maples, which she remembered tapping with her father as a child. Elijah looked up at its bare limbs, and she wondered if he were remembering, too.

Nick continued. “Jasper was quiet, measured, systematic.”

Jo pulled a metal tap from her pocket. “Obsessed?”

“He was trying to connect the dots on a number of different fires. He believed a clever killer was at work, not some yahoo.”

Elijah eyed Nick, but it was Jo who spoke. “Some of his fellow arson investigators thought he was a little wacky, creating a mythical bogeyman instead of following the evidence. There’s a reason half of all arson cases are never solved. It’s tricky. He didn’t have what he needed to make his case that there even was a firebug at work, never mind who it might be.”

“He’d been a firefighter,” Nick said calmly. “He’d caught arsonists before. He said this one was different. He was working on a profile.”

“Did he share any details with you?” Jo asked.

“Someone very skilled, not impulsive or purely opportunistic—not just about wildland fires and massive conflagrations, or structural fires, or murder. Someone who did it all.”

“A hybrid,” Elijah said.

“Man, woman?” Jo asked.

“He didn’t know. He was convinced he was after a cold-blooded killer who wouldn’t stop until he was captured or dead. Jasper wasn’t given to hyperbole. That doesn’t mean he was right.”

Rose realized she had gone still. Elijah had, too, and she was aware of him watching her, gauging her reaction to Nick, to what he was saying.

Jo closed her fingers around the metal tap. “Do you think Vanderhorn was targeted by this guy? Was he the victim of premeditated murder?”

Nick gave her an unflinching look. “Yes.”

“This all has to be hard for you.” Jo’s tone softened slightly. “You were friends, and you knew he believed he was after what amounted to a serial killer. But you couldn’t protect him. You couldn’t save him.”

“We tried. Sean and I both did. We weren’t the only ones, either.” Nick glanced at Rose, his expression giving nothing away, then added, “It was a bad day.”

Jo turned to Rose. “You were in L.A. then. What all were you up to?”

She’d been anticipating the question. “I was training firefighters in advanced dog handling techniques. I’d been there several days.”

“Were you staying with Sean?” Jo asked.

“Yes.” She carefully avoided meeting Nick’s eye, knowing Jo as well as Elijah would notice. “I had Ranger with me. I volunteered to help search for a boy who’d gone missing during a mandatory evacuation because of the wildfire.”

Jo leveled her gaze back on Nick. “You and Sean were in big trouble out there, weren’t you?”

“It was a close call, but we were prepared to handle the conditions.” Nick shrugged. “We had backup.”

“Vanderhorn wasn’t prepared?”

“He shouldn’t have been there.”

“Why was he?”

Nick paused before he answered. “I think he was lured.”

“It had to be tough,” Jo said. “Knowing a friend was trapped. Finding him.”

Rose thought of Nick that night as he’d pushed back his emotions and focused just on her, or at least on making love to her. He hadn’t wanted to talk, or to think. Looking at him now, she could see he wasn’t the same man he’d been then. He was under tight control, and he was thinking, putting the pieces of the past months together. He didn’t respond to Jo’s comment and moved around to the other side of the old maple.

Elijah positioned his drill at a spot for a tap. “Vanderhorn was off duty?”

“Yes,” Nick said, stepping into snow that had drifted against the base of the maple. “He went out to the canyon on his own. He shouldn’t have, but he wasn’t reckless. The fire should have been out.”

Jo tossed Elijah another metal tap before turning back to Nick. “Is it possible Vanderhorn wasn’t lured out to that canyon but instead let his obsession get away from him and put you, Sean and others in danger as well as himself?”

Nick met her gaze straight on. “Yes, that’s possible.”

“What about Sean?” Elijah asked.

“Sean didn’t know Jasper that well.”

Jo leaned against the tree, watching Elijah drill the tap hole. “Do any of you have a candidate for this killer?” she asked Nick. “Could it be one of your own?”

“Another smoke jumper? No.”

“What about Feehan?”

“Jasper didn’t go over names with me.”

“Feehan look familiar to you? Could you two have run into each other in California?”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t recall ever having met him, but I meet a lot of people.”

“Trent Stevens?” Jo asked.

“Sean and I have actors and screenwriters come to us for help with research on a fairly regular basis. Stevens could have been one. I don’t remember him specifically. He might not have used his real name.”

“Grit Taylor and my sister discovered a dead woman in his apartment,” Jo said. “Did Vanderhorn say anything that in retrospect might tie his investigation to Portia Martinez?”

“Not to me, no,” Nick said without hesitation.

“We want to find him,” Jo said, stating the obvious.

“Is there any chance that Derek Cutshaw or Robert Feehan knew him?”

She didn’t answer.

Rose helped Elijah finish placing taps in their tree and moved to the next one. Jo showed Nick where to drill on their maple, the placement and number of taps determined by the size of the tree. When they finished, they headed up the hill to the sugar shack. Rose and Nick, who were in boots and not on snowshoes, fell in behind Jo and Elijah.

The air was warm, more like late March than late February, but Rose doubted Nick even noticed. He moved silently next to her, preoccupied, she thought, with his conversation with Jo. When they came to the sugar shack, Jo and Elijah took off their snowshoes and went inside to check out the new evaporating pan.

Brett Griffin walked up from the stream below the small clearing. “I was taking pictures of this place. Classic. I want one of a galvanized bucket hanging from a maple tree.” He was on snowshoes, without poles, his camera around his neck. “The light’s perfect right now—moody but serene.”

Rose stood next to Nick by the fireplace. “Are you spending all your time taking pictures these days?” she asked.

“As much as I can, but I still teach skiing.” Brett seemed slightly out of breath as he raised his camera. “I’ve had the police all over me now that Robert’s dead, too. I don’t blame them, but it’s good to be out in the woods, away from all that.”

“It’s hard to think of Robert as an accomplished arsonist,” Rose said.

Brett snapped a picture of the sugar shack. “How accomplished was he considering the way he died? Maybe there is no arsonist and Robert made all this happen to cover up his involvement in drugs, or for his own amusement. Maybe he mixed truth and fiction to suit his purposes and instigated fights, took advantage of the situation.”

Rose hadn’t heard Brett speak so articulately about what had happened, but he seemed almost embarrassed and quickly focused his camera on the fireplace and took another picture.

Nick scooped up a handful of wet snow and patted it into a small snowball. “Do you think you’ll stay in Black Falls?” he asked.

“Not past spring,” Brett said, calmer. “Once the snow melts and the daffodils pop up, I’m on to Colorado to teach wilderness skills and work on another photography project there.”

“A fresh start,” Rose said.

He gave her a feeble smile. “Yeah, I guess. I wish I’d done more to figure out what was going on with Derek and Robert. That’s going to be hard to put behind me. I can’t tell if the police think Robert was actually one of Lowell Whittaker’s paid killers.”

She couldn’t, either. “If he was, did Lowell choose Black Falls because of Robert—or vice versa?”

“The police aren’t going into that kind of detail with me. It’s unnerving to think Robert was a paid killer.” He averted his eyes. “At least he and Derek can’t hurt anyone else. Then again, they can’t provide answers, either.”

“It’s been a difficult few days,” Rose said quietly.

“Yes, it has.” Brett suddenly seemed overwhelmed with emotion. “I’ll leave you all to your get-together.”

“Good luck with the photos. I hope you got some great ones.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He moved well on his snowshoes, heading back through the woods to the path out to the lane and Ridge Road. When he was out of sight, Rose smiled at Nick. “Going to start a snowball fight?”

He tossed his snowball into the fireplace and grinned back at her. “I’d be outnumbered.”

“It is a gorgeous day, though, isn’t it?”

“Any nicer and you’ll be having a mud fest instead of a winter fest.”

She laughed, but she could see Nick was tense. Jo had to have stirred up difficult memories. “Mud season hasn’t even started.”

“Ah. Mud season.”

“You’ll be long gone back to Beverly Hills by then.”

His eyes settled on her, but he said, “Tell me more about maple sugaring.”

Twenty-Three

San Diego, California

G rit pulled in front of a cream-colored stucco house in an attractive, upscale San Diego neighborhood. Unless he’d screwed up the directions, he was at the house where Tony and Regina Martini, Nick Martini’s folks, lived, with a partial view of San Diego Bay. A sticker on a nice car parked in front of a two-car garage indicated they were members of the San Diego Zoo.

He followed a curving brick walk to the arched front door. He’d left Beverly Hills before light, borrowing one of Sean’s cars and managing not to have Beth with him. He got to Coronado in time for a long, highly classified meeting that wasn’t as boring as he’d feared. Admiral Jenkins was proving to be an interesting naval officer with far-reaching tentacles, and he obviously wanted Grit back fighting the enemy in whatever capacity he could.

After the meeting, Grit had grabbed a sandwich on the fly and punched the Martinis’ address into Sean’s GPS.

Captain Martini opened the door and gave Grit, who was in his service uniform, thirty seconds to explain what he wanted, then led him back to a softly lit tiled sunroom overlooking a backyard of carefully maintained citrus and avocado trees.

“Have a seat,” Captain Martini said, remaining on his feet. He was wearing neatly pressed, expensive golf clothes. “What do you want to know about Nick?”

Grit didn’t sit down. “I’m friends with Elijah Cameron, Sean’s brother. I was in town on navy business and figured I’d stop by. You know Nick’s in Vermont, right?”

“Skip the small talk, Petty Officer Taylor. Get to the point.”

“Yes, sir. Did Nick always want to be a smoke jumper, or did he want to be a multimillionaire businessman—”

“He’s my son. Whatever he decided to do was okay with me.”

“Enlist? You didn’t want him to be an officer?”

The captain had no visible reaction to Grit’s intrusive questions. “Petty Officer Taylor, why are you here?”

Grit didn’t have a clear answer. Atmosphere? Background? Instinct? He wasn’t sure about Sean’s best friend and business partner?

He shrugged. “Admiral Jenkins sends his best.”

The older man’s eyes narrowed. “You know him?”

“I work for him now.” As Grit had expected, that went over well. “Nick and Sean met and became friends as smoke jumpers. Was Nick still in the navy then?”

“Early on. We’re proud of all his accomplishments.”

“Was he into fires on the sub?”

“He was a weapons specialist.”

“He set fires as a kid? I did. I just wanted to see what would happen if I lit a trail of gunpowder. Nothing good, I can tell you. It worked better in the old Westerns.”

“I’m sure you want to get back to L.A. before the traffic gets even worse.”

That was it. Captain Martini pointed out his favorite avocado tree and walked Grit back outside. Grit wasn’t surprised he hadn’t gotten much out of the retired senior officer and absorbed as much of his surroundings as possible. Even if Nick had never lived in this house, it would reflect his family and their feelings about their world, him—which seemed pretty good from what Grit could see. He wondered if Nick had bought the house for his folks and decided that would be an impolite question.

“Thank you for your time, sir,” he said.

“Good luck with your rehab.”

The captain went back inside. As Grit opened his car door, a woman in a little red sports car pulled in next to Grit’s borrowed car. She was in civilian attire, and she had dark hair and eyes and looked a lot like the man he’d just left. “I think I just saw your kindergarten picture. Nick’s sister, right? Diana Martini? I’m Ryan Taylor. Grit. I’m friends with the Camerons.”

“I know all about you, Petty Officer Taylor. I’m Lieutenant Martini.”

“No kidding? They let navy officers drive red cars?”

She almost cracked a smile. “Nick’s not here, but I assume you know that. No games, okay?”

“Has anyone else been by looking for him?”

“When?”

He appreciated her need for precision. “In the past year or so.”

“Think I’m going to remember?”

“Yes, Lieutenant, I do. You remember.”

“Why would I tell you anything about my brother?”

She had a point there. “Are you friends with Sean Cameron?”

“Of course. My entire family knows Sean. That’s how I found out about you, Petty Officer.”

Grit let her suspicion, if not outright animosity, roll over him. “Ever date Sean?”

Her eyes were half-closed now. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Anymore than for Nick to get involved with Sean’s sister?”

“I have to run.”

Ta-da. “You know Rose Cameron.”

“I only have a few minutes to say hi to my folks—”

“Are you stationed in San Diego?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Did Rose stop by to check on Nick while she was out here last June? Did you approve of them seeing each other?”

“I’m not discussing my brother with you.”

“What about Jasper Vanderhorn?”

She stopped abruptly, her expression under tight control. “You should go.”

“Lieutenant, if you don’t tell me, I’ll tell Sean Cameron. He’ll tell the task force that’s looking into multiple explosions, fires and murders. Someone will come out to your nice, tidy office on the base—”

“I’m on a ship.”

“Even better.”

She sighed. “I met Mr. Vanderhorn once. Here. My folks weren’t home.”

“Did he suspect Nick was his firebug?”

“We didn’t discuss Nick or arson, but of course not. What a ridiculous thing to say, or even to ask. Why are you asking? You’re a SEAL. You’re not law enforcement.”

Grit pretended he hadn’t just been asked a question by a superior. “When did Vanderhorn come down here?”

“About a week before he died.”

So, June of last year. Same time Nick was lusting after Rose Cameron. “Do you know Trent Stevens?”

“Who?”

“Portia Martinez?”

“No. Go, okay? Say hi to Sean for me. He’s very charming. I must remember that not all his friends are.”

Grit laughed. Diana Martini darted inside.

Interesting. When it came to Cameron & Martini, the sisters—Diana and Rose—were mustn’t-touch and, Jasper Vanderhorn had looked into Nick Martini’s background, despite their friendship.

Grit called Elijah on the way back to Beverly Hills. “I’ll be quick. I think it’s illegal to talk on a cell phone in California while driving. Did Sean and Nick sign a contract or take a blood oath not to sleep with each other’s sisters?”

“Why?”

“You notice anything going on between Nick and Rose?”

Elijah sighed. “They’re fighting it.”

“Ask Jo if the task force has looked into Nick’s travels and considered if he could be an arsonist, one of Lowell’s killers for hire.”

“Grit.”

“All this California sun is getting to me. You’re Special Forces. You wouldn’t understand the appeal of Coronado.”

“Are you nostalgic, Grit?” Elijah didn’t wait for an answer. “If my sister is in danger from Nick Martini—if there’s even a shred of a possibility—I want to know.”

“Heroes with scars worry me.”

“That describes you and me, too, Grit.”

“I worry me. You don’t worry me now that you’ve got Jo.”

“We’re both solid. Nick is, too. None of us has targeted innocent people.”

“Derek Cutshaw and Rob Feehan weren’t innocent.”

Good point, Grit thought, and disconnected.

He was back in Sean’s driveway when Charlie Neal called with a similar theory about Jasper Vanderhorn suspecting Nick Martini, but Charlie didn’t really believe it, either. “We’re running down blind alleys and into brick walls,” the vice president’s son said.

Grit didn’t even bother correcting Charlie’s use of we. Let the kid be a part of something.

“How are your sisters?” Grit asked.

“We’re all going to Black Falls for the winter fest weekend at the lodge. Marissa in particular can’t wait to be back there. She’s signing up for cross-country ski lessons and a sleigh ride. I hope the sap will be running so I can make maple syrup. Did you know it takes about forty gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup?”

“That’s a lot of sap.”

“Real maple syrup and tupelo honey have a lot in common.” Charlie hesitated. “Marissa won’t tell me anything. I think the Secret Service got to her. You’re not reporting back to them every time I call, are you?”

“That’s not my job.”

“Because my calls are innocent. Totally. I’m not making any progress. I can tell Marissa’s upset. I think she still has feelings for Stevens. Did you notice? Could you tell?”

“I met her for about seventeen seconds three months ago.”

“Are you getting transferred to San Diego?”

Grit was almost used to the pinball machine that was Charlie Neal’s mind. “No.”

“But you like it there.”

“What difference does that make? Anything else you want to tell me?”

“I wish I could do more to help.”

“You’ll have your chance to do your own thing before you know it. Right now think about that maple sap.”

Grit hung up and went inside. The Vermonters were pacing.

Beth shoved her hands through her hair. “I can’t stand this anymore. I’m booking my flight back to Vermont. I don’t care if it’s twenty degrees and a hundred-fifty miles to the nearest Saks.”

“Forty-two degrees today,” Hannah said. “I checked.”

“Spring weather,” Beth said.

Which right there was why he’d never fit in there, Grit thought. He could be subtle if he had to be, but that wasn’t now. “Are you worried about Rose being with Nick?”

Both women glanced at Sean. It was his question to answer. “Nick’s a lot of things,” Sean said, “but he’s not an arsonist.”

“Did Jasper Vanderhorn suspect Nick was his serial arsonist?”

“Jasper suspected his own mother by the end.”

Sean didn’t elaborate and walked out to the patio. Grit glanced at the two women, then followed Sean outside to see what more he could get out of him. It wouldn’t be easy. The man was a Cameron.

Twenty-Four

Black Falls, Vermont

J o Harper and two of the Cameron brothers came to dinner at Rose’s house. Nick didn’t know when or if she’d invited them. He watched her toss a handful of chopped fresh parsley into a soup pot, the steam rising into her face. She’d spent the afternoon holed up in her back office, leaving him by the woodstove with his laptop. Ranger would peer up at him occasionally as if he figured he had to start getting used to having him around.

Now Elijah and A.J. had the same look.

Suspicious Cameron eyes.

Rose had kicked Nick and her brothers out of her work area in the kitchen. They all had beers and stood by a small peninsula that separated the kitchen and living room. She was animated, focused, professional and determined, easily holding her own with her brothers. Nick had sorted out the major players in her life in Black Falls.

Jo pulled off her coat and draped it on a chair by the woodstove. “I’ve talked to some people,” she said vaguely, standing next to Elijah. “Robert Feehan flew from Boston to Los Angeles last Thursday and returned on Tuesday, the day before Nick arrived in Black Falls and two days before Derek Cutshaw was killed.”

Even with the steam from her bubbling soup, Rose’s cheeks lost their color. “Then Robert could have killed Portia Martinez,” she said.

Jo’s turquoise eyes narrowed on her fiancé’s only sister. “Placing Feehan in Los Angeles is an important piece of circumstantial evidence, but it’s not enough.” She walked over to the sink just down from Rose at the stove. “Anything I can do to help?”

Rose grinned at her. “Where were you an hour ago?” But she pointed to the peninsula and a tray of drinks and snacks. “Grab a beer or something and relax. I’m just waiting for the bread to warm up.”

A.J. kept his gaze focused on his sister. He’d come alone. Lauren was still at the lodge with their children. “If Cutshaw found out Feehan was in California and started asking questions, that could explain why he was killed.”

“They both knew Sean lives out there,” Elijah said.

Rose snatched up a long-handled spoon and dipped it into her soup pot. “If Robert was a serial arsonist—a serial killer—then he could have been drawn to Sean because of his smoke jumping. So why not go after him? He foiled Lowell’s attempt to frame Bowie and avoid arrest.” She yanked her spoon out of the soup and set it on the counter. “Why go after this woman mopping floors for Marissa Neal’s ex-boyfriend?”

Jo leaned back against the peninsula, her arms crossed on her chest. “Let’s focus on Robert and Derek right now. If Derek suspected Robert was a killer and the two of them were also into pushing pills, maybe he went out to the Whittaker place to talk to you and figure out what to do.”

“Why would he? I hadn’t seen him in so long. We didn’t part on good terms.”

“But you’re a Cameron,” Jo said.

Elijah and A.J. both grunted. Elijah said, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Jo glanced back at him. “You all have been in the thick of this mess from the start. If Robert Feehan’s our guy, he was out of work as a paid arsonist because of you.”

“Jo, we had nothing to do with the Neals until you came back home,” A.J. said quietly.

“Fair point, A.J.” Jo lowered her arms, looking tired but no less focused. “We’ve got a lot to untangle.”

“All right,” Rose said. “Let’s say Derek was about to go to the police with what he knew about Robert, and Robert found out and followed him to the Whittaker place and killed him—set up the lamp, rigged it so that it would explode when Derek lit it. He could have had a backup plan in case Derek didn’t do as predicted. He could have hid in the woods—” She stopped herself and switched off the heat under the soup. “It doesn’t explain Nick.”

Nick waited two beats before he responded. “I came out here because the timing was right for me. I’d been wondering for some time if the serial arsonist Jasper was dogging was involved with Lowell Whittaker’s network. The police knew about my concern.” He felt the scrutiny of the three Camerons and the Secret Service agent, but his gaze was focused entirely on Rose. “My trip wasn’t a secret.”

“So Feehan could have found out about it.” Jo picked a cube of cheese off a plate and popped it into her mouth. “I’m hungry. Let’s save all this speculating for dessert, at least.”

Ranger needed to go out, and Nick seized the moment and escorted the golden retriever out the back door. Good dog that he was, Ranger dutifully headed halfway down the driveway and into the adjoining woods to do his business.

Nick hadn’t put on his jacket. He could feel the temperature dropping with nightfall, but the air wasn’t frigid. He dialed Sean in California. “This missing actor is connected to me. I don’t know how, but he is.”

“Yeah,” Sean said. “Maybe to both of us.”

“And Jasper.”

“The police are still searching for Stevens. They must be wondering if whoever killed Portia Martinez got to him and he’s dead, too. When are you coming back?”

“Soon,” Nick said, although he hadn’t thought about the question. What the hell was he doing? Rose had a life here. She didn’t need him complicating it. “The investigation here is in capable hands. I’ve told law enforcement everything I know. They’re going over Jasper’s case files. There’s nothing more I can contribute.”

“Your voice is off. What’s going on?”

Ranger bounded out of the dark woods, a tennis ball in his mouth. Nick smiled. “Snow and a wet dog.”

“You’re at Rose’s, then.”

“Jo and your brothers are here for dinner.”

“Lucky you,” Sean said.

Nick pulled the slobbery tennis ball out of the golden retriever’s mouth and flung it down the driveway. Ranger leaped after it. Nick said, “I want to know why all this happened the minute I got here.”

“Everyone does. That kind of coincidence—no one’s buying it.” Sean paused. “Rose doesn’t tell anyone much about her private life. Nick, I don’t get involved in your personal life, but Rose has had a tough year.”

“You all have, Sean.”

“She’s a professional when it comes to her search-and-rescue work, but fatigue can set in with anyone. She had a lot come at her at once. We’ve all been preoccupied and didn’t pay attention to how much she withdrew.” Sean’s voice was laced with regret. “She was already vulnerable before Pop died.”

“She’s got you all focused on her now.” Nick watched Ranger return with the ball, drop it in front of him. “Sean, I’m not going to do anything to hurt Rose or your family.”

“Hell, I hope not.”

Nick quickly shifted the subject. “I’ve been thinking about the Hollywood types who came to see us to find out about smoke jumping. I’ve made a list of every conversation, every person who contacted me that I can think of.”

“I’ve done the same. Grit Taylor’s all over this.”

“If Trent Stevens isn’t dead, maybe he’s playing smoke jumper.”

Nick disconnected and skirted a glistening section of the driveway that was slick with black ice from snow and ice that had melted and then refrozen.

Go ahead, he thought. Fall. Get your butt all bruised and broken.

At least a trip to the E.R. would keep him from making love to Rose Cameron tonight.

Because that was what he wanted to do.

He’d spent the afternoon working—answering emails, sending instructions to his assistant, brainstorming new projects—and staring at the woodstove, trying to figure out how Derek Cutshaw and Robert Feehan had ended up dead and what his decision to come to Vermont had to do with their deaths.

All the while he’d fought the same burning desire for Rose that he’d felt last June and hadn’t resisted. He might be a rogue and a snake for having done it, but he couldn’t imagine not having made love to Rose then—or not having kissed her last night.

She knew her own mind. All three of her brothers had to have that through their rock heads by now.

But she’d been reeling for months, and Derek Cutshaw had done a number on her sense of confidence with men. His death had put her right back in his emotional grip.

Nick’s BlackBerry notified him he had a text message. It was from his sister: SEAL stopped to see us.

Grit Taylor.

So Elijah Cameron’s SEAL friend had looked into him and his family. Nick wasn’t offended. Jasper Vanderhorn had done the same thing last year shortly before the fire that killed him.

Nick heard someone on the back steps. In a moment, Elijah joined him. He had on a thick sweater, no coat, hat or gloves. “We’re not as trusting and as open as we were a year ago,” the Special Forces soldier said.

“I get that.”

Elijah didn’t respond at once. There were stars out now, sparkling in breaks in the milky clouds. Finally he said, “When we were kids, we’d hike up here. Rose was upset when this house was built, but it works with the land. She bought it, made it her own. She travels a lot, but she always comes home. That’s one thing we all have in common.”

“You Camerons have more in common than you think some days, I imagine.”

“Maybe so.” Elijah picked up the tennis ball and tossed it into the snow, but Ranger wasn’t as quick leaping after it. “Why are you so determined to find this arsonist?”

“Because he killed a friend of mine, and I don’t like arsonists. I’ve dealt with them often enough. So has Sean.”

“You don’t think it was Feehan,” Elijah said.

Nick shrugged. “We need to know more.”

“Is it possible Vanderhorn was wrong and there is no serial arsonist?”

“Possible. Not likely. He went by his gut as well as evidence.”

“So we might never have clear-cut answers.” Elijah almost smiled. “Jo won’t like that. She likes clear-cut answers.”

“If Feehan didn’t set those fires, then someone else did,” Nick said, stating the obvious. “Feehan and Cutshaw could just have been targets of convenience.”

“Eliminate a threat and provide a fall guy at the same time.”

Nick had no trouble visualizing Elijah Cameron on a combat mission.

Ranger returned and headed up the dark back steps, the tennis ball still in his mouth. Nick grinned. “Guess he’s done,” he said, and he and Elijah followed the dog back inside Rose’s little Vermont mountain house.

Rose walked Jo and her two brothers out after dinner. They were off to the lodge for drinks and more talk. Jo and Elijah would spend the night there. They hadn’t bothered to argue with her about staying another night at her house.

They knew Nick would be there, she thought, and they trusted him.

She headed back inside and found him filling the woodbox. “Jasper didn’t suspect you,” she said without preamble. “I thought you knew.”

Nick set the last of his armload of logs into the box that her father had helped her make one snowy afternoon.

Rose grabbed the afghan off the couch and folded it. “If he did suspect you, it wasn’t for long, and it was because he suspected everyone. He sought me out because he’d seen the sparks between us.”

“When?”

“The day before the fire. I’d stopped by Sean’s office. You and Jasper were there, remember?”

Nick nodded, his eyes almost black in the dimly lit room. “Jasper had a follow-up question about the fire in our building in January.”

“You took that as a sign that you were on his list of suspects.”

“It crossed my mind.” He stepped away from the woodbox and angled a look at her. “Sparks, though? I thought the sparks didn’t start until I got you into my condo.”

Heat surged to her face. “Well. I don’t know. He was an arson investigator.” She set the folded afghan back on the couch. “Maybe he was tuned in to those things.”

She remembered that day, before Jasper’s death. She’d been thinking about how good-looking Nick was in his sleek, expensive suit. He was hard-edged and self-aware, every inch a sexy rogue of a man. She’d dismissed her reaction as all mixed up because of Derek, her father’s death, Elijah’s near death, her nonstop work.

And because she’d thought it useless to lust after a man she could never have.

“You’ve been afraid Jasper died wondering if you were the one who killed him,” she said. “He didn’t. He knew you were his friend.”

“I couldn’t save him—from himself or from the fire.”

“Sometimes that’s how it works out.”

He put a log on the fire, stirred the hot coals, adjusted the dampers. He didn’t have a fireplace or a woodstove in his contemporary high-rise condo in Beverly Hills. But he had views, she thought, as incredible as hers, if different.

Finally he turned and eased his arms around her. “How do you know Jasper saw the sparks between us?”

“He said so.”

“Those exact words?”

“Not exactly.”

“Rose, what did Jasper say?”

She smiled. “He pulled me aside and said, ‘Nick’s not the playboy he pretends to be. You’re not the mountain woman you pretend to be. The two of you together…’” She felt tears form in her eyes but sniffled them back. “He stopped there, and winked. Then he left. That was the last time I saw him. I’ll never forget that knowing wink.”

“Rose…”

She placed her hands on his sides, splayed her fingers so that she could feel more of his taut muscles. His body was warm and firm under her touch. “You weren’t a mistake, Nick.” She let her hands drift down to his hips and tried to ignore the instant rush of heat that spread through her. “Not then, and not now.”

“We can go back to the lodge now,” he said, his voice hoarse as he drew her tight against him, “and have whiskey with your brothers. Or we can—”

“Or we can not go back to the lodge,” she said, smiling.

His mouth found hers, or hers found his—she didn’t care. She just shut her eyes and gave herself up to the heat that burned deep into her. She felt as if she would melt.

Nick lifted her up onto his hips as if she weighed nothing. He was fully aroused, every inch of him hard and taut. She opened her eyes again. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw his dark eyes riveted on her, as if she were the only person in the universe.

“Nothing’s changed.” He slipped his fingers into her waistband. “I want you as much as I did in June. Even more.” Slowly, he moved his hands over the bare skin of her hips. “I know what’s in store for me.”

He kissed her throat as he skimmed her jeans down over her hips. His hands were strong, rough against her smooth skin. He cupped her bottom, curving his fingertips lower. She felt her legs open for him and heard herself moan softly.

He lowered her onto the floor, drawing her jeans down to her knees, then off altogether. For all she knew he cast them into the fire. He tugged her socks off next, then coursed his hands up the inside of her legs, working his way higher. Naked from the waist down, she ached for his touch.

But he stopped, and in the stillness, she heard herself breathing rapidly. Her heart was racing. She shut her eyes and gave herself up to the sensations crackling over her, through her.

“Nick.” Her voice sounded strangled. “What are you doing? If you’re having second thoughts—”

“No second thoughts.”

She felt a hot, moist touch between her legs and her eyes flew open. Her only contact with him was his tongue. He flicked and teased, probed and lapped. Without warning, he grabbed her by the hips, his grip strong, firm, and lifted her, driving his tongue deep, thrusting into her. She shut her eyes, giving herself up to the fire raging through her.

She raked her fingers through his hair and cried out his name.

He drew back, leaving her gasping, aching.

She had no idea what was next. In another moment, she’d be a molten puddle on the floor. She heard a belt buckle, a snap. Her mind had only barely registered what was happening when he returned to her, settling between her parted thighs, his erection free, probing in the wet heat where his tongue had just teased and tormented her.

“I’ve thought about this moment for months. I knew I shouldn’t…”

“You were wrong.”

“Rose…”

He shifted, and in one swift motion, he was inside her, no hesitancy, no tentativeness. Her body responded, as if it’d been waiting, begging, for months for Nick Martini to be back inside her. She caught him by the hips and pulled him deep into her, matched his pounding rhythm.

He raised up off her, paused and searched her face in the glow of the fire. When he moved inside her, she was lost, clawing at him as the climax overtook her.

Spent, aware suddenly of the rug, the woodstove, poor Ranger dead asleep in his bed, Rose rolled onto her side, facing Nick as she smiled a little raggedly. She brushed her knuckles over his hard jawline, feeling a faint stubble of beard. “It’s still relatively early,” she said.

He kissed her fingertips. “So it is.”

They showered together and made love again in her bed, with the curtains open to the mountains and the cold, starlit winter night.

Twenty-Five

R ose appreciated the bright, cold morning as she drove up Ridge Road and pulled over at the trail leading to the falls. She, Nick, Jo and Elijah had loaded galvanized buckets and more taps and drills into the back of her Jeep. They were all meeting on the dead-end lane in a few minutes. Temperatures had fallen precipitously overnight but would climb above freezing again by midday. Why not take advantage of the continued warm spell and tap more trees?

She had Ranger up front with her and let him out the passenger door. They would wait for Nick and hike with him up the near-vertical hill below the falls to mark a half-dozen big maples for gravity tubing. Hanging buckets and emptying them every day on foot would be too difficult. The sap would run through the tubing into large plastic containers placed discreetly at the bottom of the hill. It was a practical, efficient system, if not as picturesque or quintessentially Vermont as sap buckets.

She noticed footprints and wondered if Elijah or Jo had gone ahead of her. She heard a moan and slowed down. Ranger’s head jerked up. He’d picked up a scent. Rose motioned for him to track anyone in the immediate vicinity, and he charged ahead of her, bounding up the steep hill. She followed him. She was in boots, not snowshoes, and the snow was deep, but she was still in sight of the road.

Ranger took her past a misshapen pine tree and stopped suddenly, barking eagerly.

Brett Griffin was sitting in the snow by a series of boulders. “Whoa, there.” He laughed nervously at Ranger. “Easy, boy.”

Rose came around a boulder. “Ranger, heel,” she said, and he immediately came to her side.

“Man,” Brett said. “I took a hell of a spill. There must be a spring under the snow. I hit ice and went flying.”

Rose knelt down in front of him. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah. I got the wind knocked out of me. I landed on my side against this boulder. I’m lucky I didn’t hit my head. I’ll have a nasty bruise.” He sank back against the boulder, his hat crooked on top of his head, and grinned at Ranger. “I’ve never owned a dog, but if I did, I’d have you help train him. He’s a beauty, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Rose said. “What are you doing up here?”

“Taking pictures and checking the conditions. I thought I’d get some shots when you all run tubing up here. That’s what you’re doing, right? I was at the lodge earlier and thought that’s what I heard.”

“My brothers, Jo Harper and Nick Martini are on the way. We want to have everything ready for winter fest weekend.”

“The place I’m house-sitting is just up the road. I’m out in the woods all the time. I keep thinking…” Brett sat up straight, wincing in pain. “Maybe I will stick around after the daffodils start popping up.”

Rose laughed. “Maybe you did hit your head.”

He looked more sheepish and self-conscious than amused. She felt bad about her joke, but he rallied. “It’s not anything I’ll rush into. I know I’m still reacting to the fires. I saw Scott Thorne a little while ago.”

“Did he want to talk to you?”

“No, no. I’ve cooperated fully with the police. I meant I saw him drive by. I was already up here on the hill.” Brett’s hands shook visibly. “I saw a deer. It startled me. I think that’s why I missed noticing the ice. Usually I’m pretty careful.”

Rose stood up. “Which direction was Scott headed?”

“Up this way.”

Rose hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t stopped at the lodge as far as she knew. She frowned down at Brett, noticed that his pants were already wet with melting snow. “You don’t want to sit in the cold snow for too long.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You might be hurt worse than you think. Adrenaline can fool you.”

“I’m okay, really. Sorry for the drama.” He reached for his camera in the snow. “My pants are soaked. I know better, but I was so excited by the prospect of warm weather that I put on a pair of corduroys. Sort of mistake a rookie would make, huh? Elijah would have a fit. You aren’t as tough on people.”

“I don’t know about that. We both focus on what we have to do.”

Brett blew snow off his camera. “I don’t think I could do what you do, Rose. I have basic first aid training, but I’ve never dealt with anything more serious than a ski student falling face-first in the snow.”

“But you could,” Rose said, “and you would if you had to.”

“Maybe. You Camerons, though. Whenever I think about relocating here permanently, I don’t know. I don’t think I’d ever measure up, never mind fit in.”

“Make a place for yourself and don’t worry about the rest.”

Ranger moved to the edge of the rocks and barked. Brett looked slightly panicked. “Careful. There’s a cliff there. It’s hard to see. The Neals will want to avoid this section when they’re here for winter fest.”

Rose knew the spot well. She felt a breeze blowing through the trees, down the mountain. “The Neals?”

“Aren’t they coming to winter fest?”

“They are, but I don’t know that they have plans to hike up to the falls again.”

“Oh. I thought you would know.”

“Do you know their plans, Brett?”

“I’m hoping to be their guide. Actually, I was up here when they hiked up to the falls a couple of weeks ago. Marissa Neal in particular loved it. It’s so quiet this time of year.”

“It is,” Rose said, edging closer to Ranger.

Brett was shivering. Every other time she’d run into him, he’d been dressed for the conditions. It was no secret she’d been headed in this direction. Had he rushed to get here ahead of her?

“Jo Harper will be here for winter fest?” he asked.

“I would think so.”

“Marissa Neal must be forever in Jo’s debt for saving her from that fire when she was camping last fall. You heard about that, right?”

Rose nodded. “It wasn’t widely reported, though. You must be tuned in to the Neals. Did Robert or Derek mention them?”

“Yeah, probably. I don’t remember. There’s been a lot of talk about them because of Jo and their trip up here.” Brett dug a glove out of the snow and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I didn’t bring dry gloves. Another rookie mistake. And here I’m supposed to be a wilder ness expert.”

Wilderness expert? “I thought you were a ski instructor and photographer.”

“I am.” His eyes narrowed. “What’s on your mind, Rose? You look nervous. That’s not like you. I don’t scare you, do I?”

She’d maneuvered herself to where he’d fallen. There was no spring under the snow. No ice. She gave Ranger a subtle hand signal, and he immediately jumped up. “Ranger’s onto something,” she said. It wasn’t true but she wanted to get back down to the road. “I’ll see what he’s up to. Catch your breath.”

“Aren’t you going to help me?”

She moved to the edge of the cliff. “If you need help, give a shout. I’m right here.”

He stared at her. She saw he didn’t believe her. He and Robert were of a similar build. Had it been Brett in the ski mask, Brett who’d shoved Dominique into the cabin and left her to die? Brett who’d killed Robert—and Derek?

And Jasper Vanderhorn. Was Brett Griffin the clever, elusive arsonist the California investigator had been hunting?

“Rose.”

She heard Brett’s undertone of intimidation and anger.

“It’s okay. I understand,” he said, getting to his feet, wobbling slightly. “You’re afraid given all that’s happened.”

She had to act. She had no choice. She could stand there and be killed or take her chances and jump. Get away from him. Ranger was already charging down through the trees toward the road. Nick would be there by now. Elijah and Jo would be right behind him.

Rose pretended to slip and threw her arms up as if trying to regain her balance. She stepped off the edge of the cliff, doing her best to control her half dive, half roll in the deep snow.

She came to a hard, sharp stop against a tree.

Under ordinary conditions, she would focus on staying warm and wait for help, not take on the elements, but Brett Griffin would come find her.

Alive, he could pretend she’d been hysterical and he was innocent.

Dead, she wasn’t a problem at all.

Twenty-Six

North of Los Angeles, Southern California

G rit entered a large, square room at a remote training site for elite smoke jumpers. Sean Cameron was with him. They approached a good-looking, fair-haired man sitting alone at a cafeteria-style table.

“Trent Stevens?” Grit asked.

The man turned sharply. He looked scruffier than in the picture. “No. Don’t call me that. Who the hell are you?”

“My name’s Ryan Taylor.”

Two minutes ago, as Grit and Sean had arrived at the training area, Charlie Neal had called with a message that his sister Marissa had finally admitted she’d sneaked off to California last fall to see her ex-boyfriend.

Trent wasn’t happy about having company. “Damn. You’ve pulled me out of the zone. I’m immersing myself in this world.”

Sean gritted his teeth visibly. This was his world. He knew the ground, the people, the stakes of the work done here. “You went to see Nick Martini last fall, didn’t you? To ask him how you could go about doing research for a screenplay you’re writing.”

“Nick? Yeah, sure. I looked him up.” As if they were best friends. “How is he?”

“Nick’s fine,” Sean said, barely containing his irritation.

Grit pointed to Sean and said to Trent, “This here is Sean Cameron.”

“Nick’s partner? No kidding. Wow.” Trent laughed in amazement. “Incredible. Sorry I was abrupt. I get into what I’m doing. What can I do for you?”

“Even your family doesn’t know where you are,” Grit said.

Trent shrugged. “No one does. That’s the whole idea. It’s the only way for this to really work.”

“The police don’t know where you are, either,” Sean said. “They’ve been looking for you. Don’t you read the papers, listen to the news?”

“Some but—the police?” Trent frowned, sitting up straight. “What do they want with me?”

“I found your friend Portia dead the other day,” Grit said.

“Portia? Dead?” Color drained from the actor’s face. He seemed genuinely shocked. “What happened?”

Grit didn’t spare him. “She was electrocuted while she was mopping floors at your apartment.”

Trent turned ashen, clearly horrified. “She was fine last time I saw her.”

“When was that?” Sean asked.

“Two weeks ago. I got into this smoke jumping thing. I’ve been up and down California, learning the ground, immersing myself in this life. I didn’t want anyone to know the difference between a real smoke jumper and me. Portia was staying at my place. I swear, she was fine when I saw her.”

Grit believed him. “Have you been in touch with her since you started playing smoke jumper?”

Trent didn’t like that. “Playing? That’s insulting. This is research. Actually, it’s more than research.”

Sean looked ready to throttle the guy. Grit said, “Since you started more-than-researching smoke jumping, then.”

“No. I haven’t been in touch with Portia at all. That would have taken me out of the zone.” Trent shuddered. “I can’t believe she’s dead. Electrocuted? That’s nuts.”

“The Secret Service wants to talk to you, too,” Sean said.

“Why? Because of Marissa Neal? I haven’t seen her in months.”

Grit thought Trent was on the verge of panic. “Did you talk to her about this smoke jumping thing when she slipped off to see you in October?”

“You know about that? No. I got her the hell out of my life. Think I wanted to get in trouble with the Secret Service?”

“Who else knew about her visit?”

“Portia. That’s it. I swore her to secrecy.”

“What about Jasper Vanderhorn?”

“The arson investigator? People talk about him with reverence here, and frustration, because of how he died.” Trent rallied, stretching out his legs. “I’m tuned into everything I hear, see, smell, do. It’s all fodder for the script I’m writing.”

“Fodder,” Sean said, toneless.

Trent was oblivious. “Yeah. I got the idea because of Marissa, actually. When I saw her, she was still jumpy about the fire at the camp in the Shenandoahs. You know about that, right? She was grateful to Jo Harper for saving her, but then Jo had to deal with the prank Charlie played on her. Marissa felt guilty because of what her brother did. Little jackass that he is.”

Grit redirected Trent before he could go too far off course. “So Marissa Neal got you interested in fires?”

“Yeah, sort of. I broke up with her before the election. Once I got a taste of the Secret Service, I was out of there. I couldn’t function. I know I broke Marissa’s heart, but it’s what had to be. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend I could, not with Secret Service agents crawling all over us. I was honest.”

“What was your next step?” Sean asked. “Once you decided to learn more about fires?”

“Actually, I’d decided before Marissa broke free for a day. I’d read about her close call. Then I ran into a wilderness buff who works as a consultant on sets. I figured it was meant to be. Portia introduced us, actually.”

Grit felt a coolness run through him. “Did this wilderness buff point you in the right direction with smoke jumping?”

“Yeah. He knew about me and Marissa. He told me about Jo Harper and how she was from this little town in Vermont and a guy she grew up with is a smoke jumper out here.” Trent’s color deepened as he glanced at Sean. “I went to your offices. You weren’t there. Nick was, but I didn’t get to talk to him.”

“Does your script have anything to do with arson?” Grit asked.

“No. It’s a tragic love story. Deep.”

The guy was full of himself, Grit gave him that. “What’s this wilderness buff’s name? Where’s he from?”

“I don’t know where he’s from. Here, I thought. His name’s Feehan. Robert Feehan.”

“And he sought you out,” Sean said.

Trent nodded. “That’s right.”

“When did you see him last?” Grit asked.

“It’s been a while.” The actor and would-be screenwriter didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been up here living the life.”

Grit didn’t let up. “And Portia Martinez? When did you talk to her last? Did you call her, email—”

“I called her on Monday or Tuesday. I don’t remember which. She said Feehan was there and had asked about me and smoke jumping, if I’d ever talked to Sean Cameron or Nick Martini.”

“What did she tell him?”

“That she didn’t know where I was. Which she didn’t. Portia’s impulsive. I can just see her showing up here—” He stopped himself, going pale again. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

Grit figured Trent’s grief wouldn’t last long. “What else did you tell her?”

“Nothing.”

“Nah, come on, Trent,” Grit said. “There’s more.”

He squirmed in his seat. “I told her I’d heard Nick was on his way East. Other smoke jumpers mentioned it.” Trent’s color quickly returned and he shrugged, proud. In the know. “Everyone here’s tuned in to what went on in Vermont with the bombs and fires and stuff.” He glanced up at Sean. “They know what you did.”

Sean had lost any patience with Trent Stevens. Grit said, “This guy probably killed Portia that night. You’re lucky he didn’t know where you were and come up here kill you, too.”

“He’s not a movie set consultant?”

Grit shook his head. “Nope. Not a movie set consultant. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Probably.”

Sean produced color printouts of photos Nick had sent him of Derek Cutshaw and Robert Feehan. He handed them to Trent.

Trent laid out the photos side by side on the table and frowned. “Wow, this is weird. Neither one is Feehan. Who are these guys?”

“They both were just killed in fires in Vermont,” Sean said.

“The Feehan I met is about the same age as these two.” Trent suddenly seemed to be a little in shock, trying to absorb the bad turn his morning had just taken. “He’s tall, thin. Quiet. Kind of tentative. I was surprised he knew as much about wilderness skills and firefighting as he did.”

Sean turned to Grit. “Whoever this guy is, it’s not the Robert Feehan who died yesterday. We need to get in touch with Jo. Marissa Neal’s in danger.”

Grit nodded. “So is everyone else in Black Falls.”

Twenty-Seven

Black Falls, Vermont

N ick stood next to Rose’s Jeep and squinted up the steep hill at a trail of footprints. Then he saw a streak of gold, and Ranger leaped off a boulder to him.

“Where’s Rose?” He had no idea what the dog understood and opened up the Jeep, grabbed a scarf she’d left on the front seat and let Ranger smell it. “Find Rose.”

The dog ran up into the dense woods. Nick grabbed a mallet from the Jeep. It was old, chipped. It had seen a lot of use among the waste-not Camerons. He tucked it in his jacket pocket. The mallet wasn’t a gun but it would do as a weapon if he needed one. He’d talked to Sean on his way out there: “Whoever passed himself off as Robert Feehan had to be close in build and have access to Feehan’s ID, as well as the have the freedom to move around the country.”

Nick had pulled Robert Feehan’s body out of the burning cabin. He’d been tall and lean, with long hair with a bit of a wave.

Very much like his and Derek Cutshaw’s quiet friend.

“We need to find Brett Griffin,” he’d told Sean.

Nick followed Rose’s retriever. They were off-trail, but footprints led in several different directions. Ranger bolted away from the tracks, down a narrow ravine. The snow was deep, and evergreens predominated. Sunlight didn’t hit this part of Cameron Mountain often. Nick moved through the still shadows, the golden retriever taking him over the rough ground he and Rose knew so well, as focused on finding her as Nick was.

He refused to allow his fear to get hold of him. Brett Griffin was house-sitting nearby. His photography work allowed him to go anywhere in Black Falls without anyone thinking twice about running into him. He knew Derek Cutshaw and Robert Feehan, had manipulated them and used their failings to advance his own agenda.

And Brett had killed them.

A disorganized, impulsive arsonist was hard enough to track. An intelligent, patient sociopath who chose and planned his operations with detail and care would be damn near impossible.

Ranger paused, looking back at Nick.

Snow on a sheer rock face had been disturbed, as if something had rolled down from the top of the cliff. An icicle had broken off, just its base hanging from a chunk of jutting granite.

Nick didn’t breathe. “Find Rose, Ranger,” he said quietly. “Find her.”

The dog barked again. Nick realized he was missing something.

Then he saw it—a glove in the snow under a hemlock. He picked it up.

A woman’s glove.

“Rose,” he called. “Where are you?”

She came around the hemlock then, her face red from cold, snow and exertion, her hair wet, dripping as she shivered. “I’m okay,” she said. “I’m not hurt—”

Nick caught her in his arms. He didn’t want to let her go. Not ever.

She clung to him. “You’re so warm,” she whispered, but stood back from him. “We have to find Brett before he kills anyone else.”

“I know,” Nick said.

“He’s going after Marissa Neal. I’m sure he is. He plans to do it at winter fest. Maybe he still thinks he can pull it off.”

“He knows how to take over someone’s identity and disappear.” Nick ran the tip of his finger under a scrape on Rose’s forehead. “Did he hit you?”

“No. It’s nothing. I think I took out an icicle when I jumped from up there.” She glanced up at the rock cliff. “I didn’t have many options. Brett faked a fall to get me to come to him. He didn’t admit anything. He’ll say I’m being hysterical.”

“Is he armed?”

“I don’t think so. He didn’t have a pack with him. He could have hidden one, though.”

“Elijah and Jo are right behind me. They’ll have talked to Sean by now. He and Grit Taylor found Trent Stevens, the missing actor.”

“Alive?”

Nick nodded. Ranger barked, the ridge of hair on his spine standing up. He growled, uncharacteristically. Nick saw the branches of another hemlock stir and immediately put himself between Rose and whoever was coming around the tree.

“Nick,” she said, getting Ranger back to her side.

He eased the mallet out of his pocket. “I see.”

Brett Griffin emerged from behind the hemlock, stumbling—pretending to—in the snow. “Rose, thank heaven. Are you all right? What happened?”

“Keep your hands where I can see them, Griffin,” Nick said, raising the mallet. He wondered what this murderous pyromaniac had on under his jacket, in his pants, his gloves, his shoes. He’d want to get them close and then make his move. “I’m a real firefighter. I’ll nail you in a heartbeat if you so much as breathe wrong.”

Brett seemed mystified. “What did Rose tell you? I took a tumble and she was kind enough to come help me. Then she fell and I came down here to help her.”

Rose was having none of it. “You bastard, you came down here to make sure I’d bashed my head against a rock and wouldn’t get in your way anymore. Were you going to set me on fire if I wasn’t dead?”

Brett straightened, wincing as if he were in pain. “I think I banged my knee pretty good. Rose, yeesh. What’s got into you? I thought you were dead. You’re damn lucky you’re not. Was it something I said?”

Nick pointed the mallet at him. “Just stay still.”

“Rose is hysterical.” Brett sniffled as if he were winded. “I can see now that my friendship with Robert and Derek has finally come back to haunt me. I was afraid it would. I never should have come back to Black Falls.”

“You can tell your story to the police,” Nick said.

“Fine, I will. I’m not even insulted. Tell them I’ll meet them at my house.”

Nick couldn’t detect any odor of gas in the crisp air. “You’re good, Griffin. Jasper said you were. He said you know how fire works.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Fire moves to find oxygen. It’s like it’s alive, isn’t it?” Out of the corner of his eye, Nick noticed that Ranger had eased off into the woods, back down toward the road, undoubtedly on Rose’s command. “To control fire and make it do what you want it to do takes real skill.”

“I’m a photographer,” Brett said calmly. “I don’t know anything about fires. I’m not even that good at lighting a woodstove.”

“Jasper Vanderhorn was a friend of mine,” Nick said. “He was an arson investigator. You killed him. He was closing in on you, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just an irritant. He was a threat.”

Brett continued playing his role as the meek, injured, misunderstood photographer. “I’m going home before I come down with hypothermia.” He nodded to Rose. “You should, too. We can talk after you’ve had a chance to calm down. I know how jumpy everyone is around here. I am, too.”

“We have you, Griffin,” Nick said. “We know you stole Feehan’s identity.”

“You’re talking crazy.”

“You killed Robert Feehan and Derek Cutshaw. They were fools to you, weren’t they? Nuisances who interfered with your plans.”

“Just because you’re a rich smoke jumper doesn’t mean you can bully me.”

“I’m not bullying you. I’m telling you. You were in California earlier this week. You killed Portia Martinez. You knew she’d figure out you weren’t who you said you were. Had she already? Did she threaten to call the police?”

Brett steadied his gaze on Nick. “I’ve never heard of Portia Martinez.”

“You’ve been worried about me for a while. Once Trent told Portia I was on my way East, you knew you had to act. But you always knew you’d kill Derek and Robert.”

His eyes went cold. “I have work to do. I’m glad Rose is safe. Now leave me alone. I’ve tried to ignore the paranoia of the people here, but I’m done.”

“Uh-uh,” Nick said calmly. “Stay right where you are.”

Brett turned to Rose. “Tell him, Rose. Tell him you don’t suspect me of anything.”

“Why did you come back to Black Falls?” she asked.

“I don’t know now. It was a stupid move on my part, obviously. I don’t recall any of you people asking about me or my life.”

“You were here originally to keep an eye on Lowell, but you came back because of the Neals,” she said. “How obsessed are you with Marissa? Enough to have pictures of her in your house up the road? I hope so. They’ll be all Jo needs.”

His eyes settled on her. “Just stay away from me.”

She didn’t relent. “Were you already a serial arsonist when you hooked up with Lowell? How many fires had you set? How many people had you killed already?”

Brett laughed. “You are such fools.” His eyes gleamed. “Do you think I don’t have a contingency plan? There’s a bomb at the café. It’s just like the ones I taught Lowell to build. Not in person, of course. He has no idea who his fire and bomb expert is. You let me go about my business and I don’t set off the bomb. I let you find it. Be heroes.”

Nick stepped toward him. “How do you plan to set it off?”

He held up his left hand. “Dead man’s switch in my glove.”

Nick knew it was possible. He saw that Rose knew, too. She gulped in a breath. “Nick.”

“Don’t get too cocky, Griffin,” Nick said and decided on his own bluff. “Elijah Cameron’s at the café. He headed straight there after Grit Taylor and Sean reported in about Trent Stevens. Think a Special Forces master sergeant is going to miss your little bomb? Other people know about bombs around here. You’re not that special.”

He knew that would get Brett. “Trent Stevens is a self-absorbed idiot. He knows nothing about fires. He was happy to brag about Marissa Neal. Her fire was an accident. Jo Harper’s heroics saved the day.”

“That’s how you became obsessed with Marissa Neal,” Rose said.

Brett inhaled through his nose. “Don’t think you’ve won.”

“What’re you going to do,” Nick said, “set yourself on fire?”

Brett snapped his elbow against his side. Nick smelled gas and realized Brett had broken open some kind of container under his jacket.

He remembered Jasper’s words a year ago: “This guy will want to go out in a blaze of glory. No prison for him.”

Moving fast, Nick leaped to Brett just as flames erupted from inside his jacket, flashing brightly against the white and gray landscape. He locked his eyes on Nick in defiance.

Unimpressed, Nick dropped Brett with the mallet and shoved him facedown into the snow, snuffing out the fire in a matter of seconds.

There was no dead man’s switch in Brett’s glove.

Rose was barely breathing. “You knew he was bluffing.”

Nick winked up at her. “Myrtle Smith survived one of this bastard’s fires. She lives above the café. Think she doesn’t sweep the place for bombs?”

“She told you?”

“Yep.”

“That Myrtle,” Rose said, just as Ranger reappeared along with her two brothers and Jo Harper, her gun drawn, right behind him.

Twenty-Eight

Beverly Hills, California

T hree days later, Nick was stretched out on a lounge chair at Sean’s pool in the Southern California sun. Grit Taylor was there. Sean and Hannah. Beth Harper, still.

Grit stood at the edge of the pool in his cargo pants and lightweight sweatshirt and glanced back at Nick. “The mountains of northern New England call, don’t they? You and Rose are a smart and dedicated pair, and you’re rich. You’ll figure it out.”

“What’s rich got to do with it?” Nick asked him.

Grit shrugged. “The transcontinental thing. Vermont and California. Long way between them.”

“You must have been hell on a battlefield.”

“Us navy boys,” Grit said with a grin.

Sean was more pensive. “Jasper didn’t screw up. Neither did we. He got beat by a bad guy.”

“Jasper was right about a serial arsonist,” Nick said. “Brett enjoyed setting fires, but he was never a firefighter or tried to become one. It wasn’t that he could or couldn’t cut it.”

“Jasper never suspected you, Nick,” Sean said. “Or at least not for more than three seconds.”

Three seconds too many, but Nick didn’t blame Jasper. He blamed Brett Griffin. “Griffin was from Chicago. Abusive father, narcissistic mother.”

Grit glanced around at them. “So? No excuses.”

Nick nodded. “His photography allowed him to move freely. He started passing himself off as Feehan last year. He’d already been contracting his services as part of Lowell Whittaker’s network. Griffin’s the only one of Lowell’s killers to figure out who he was.”

“Griffin knew the Whittakers had a place in Black Falls,” Sean said. “He’s why Lowell panicked. Lowell knew he had a committed arsonist on his hands who’d kill him if he left any loose ends. I doubt Lowell had any idea who it was.”

“Griffin manipulated Derek Cutshaw and Robert Feehan.” Nick pushed back images of their two burned bodies. “Scott Thorne and Jo found pictures at Griffin’s house that he’d taken of Rose with me last June. We figure he used them to get under Cutshaw’s skin. He and Feehan were asking too many questions, becoming a problem with their drug-dealing.”

“Griffin used your arrival in Black Falls as a way to get rid of them and give you Jasper’s firebug,” Sean said.

Grit looked up from the pool. “Griffin had an excuse to set those fires. More fun for him.”

Nick rolled to his feet, restless. “He liked being apart, watching the action.”

The SEAL stared again at the clear water of the pool. “He loved the drama he created.”

“He made sure that boy wandered off last year.” Nick remembered the alert going out, having no idea then, that Rose would be the one who found the boy, or even would be a part of the organized search for him. “He wasn’t supposed to survive. He and Rose were supposed to die in the same fire as Jasper.”

“Brett liked the drama,” Grit said, “and he liked showing up you smoke jumpers. You two played a key role in stopping that fire from spreading.”

Beth finally spoke. “Jasper Vanderhorn died, but Brett didn’t want what he saw as a partial victory. You and Rose spoiled his fun.” Her turquoise eyes leveled on Nick. “When do you go back to Vermont?”

He didn’t answer, just picked up his keys and left.

He drove over to his condo in a high-rise just off Wilshire Boulevard.

They’d caught Lowell’s most elusive and mysterious killer. It was over.

Nick walked into his bedroom and everything there reminded him of Rose.

Hell, he thought. Nothing was over.

Grit drove with Beth Harper down to Coronado, showing her where he’d trained. “I was a different man then. A kid, really.”

“You got the name Grit here?”

“Yeah.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“Another SEAL. We trained together. Michael Ferrerra.”

Beth’s eyes were clear, and she didn’t look away. “He’s the SEAL who died in the firefight that almost killed you and Elijah.”

“We called him Moose.”

Grit took winding roads to a simple neighborhood in San Diego. Moose’s widow was on the front steps of her stucco bungalow, waving a bubble wand for a baby boy, less than a year old, sitting on a blanket. The baby grinned and tried to catch the bubbles as they floated above him.

“His name’s Ryan Cameron Ferrerra,” Grit said as he slowed the car.

When he looked at Beth this time, she was crying.

He continued past the house and on to Beverly Hills. He and Elijah would visit Moose’s widow when the time was right.

Finally he glanced over at Beth, still red-eyed from her tears. “You’re finally going home, aren’t you?” he asked her. She nodded.

“Charlie Neal found out his sister Marissa has a crush on your brother Zack,” Grit said.

“Are you bothered?”

“Nope.”

“There’s someone out there for you, Grit.”

“I believe that. I didn’t a while ago. I do now.” He smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Beth flew back to Black Falls with Sean and Hannah the next day. Grit stayed in San Diego to finish his navy business. She wasn’t sure anyone would figure him out, but someone, surely, would fall in love with him. She’d never met a better man.

She entered Three Sisters Café. It was cleaning night. Bowie, Dominique, Myrtle and Rose were there. Myrtle was going home to South Carolina. Her niece was having a baby. Myrtle wanted to be there. She insisted she only stayed in Black Falls as long as she did because she liked being around other people who were home.

She was trying to talk Jo and Elijah into buying her house in D.C., furnishings and all—except her teacup collection. That would go with her to South Carolina.

Jo had finally decided that the cabins on the lake had to come down.

Not everything was meant to last forever.

Beth dipped a sponge into a bucket of hot water. Scott would sometimes join her for cleaning night.

In the past, anyway.

Liam O’Rourke walked into the café. He was hesitant at first, but then Dominique smiled as Beth had never seen her smile before and ran to him.

Rose’s jaw dropped. “Bowie! You let us all think—”

“I was running interference for them. They’re buying the Whit—the estate on the river, turning it back into a working farm. Cows, pigs, chickens, horses and gardens.” The big stonemason grinned. “Life.”

Dominique already had spoken to Beth and Hannah about starting the dinner service Myrtle had been pushing for. Maybe, Beth thought, her friend and Liam were already planning for their “farm” to provide meat and produce for Three Sisters Café and O’Rourke’s.

Beth was sponging down a table by the river when the main door to the café opened again. Scott came inside, dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket. She could tell he was holding his breath. He had no idea what she’d do, which had caused tension between them. Now, she didn’t care. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

She threw down her sponge and started to run to him, but he got to her first and lifted her off her feet, kissing her right there in front of everyone.

Twenty-Nine

Black Falls, Vermont—early March

R ose heard laughter and smiled as she snowshoed across the meadow to the sugar shack. Winter fest weekend had begun, and a crowd had gathered over an outdoor fire in the old stone fireplace. After a cold spell and a major snowstorm, the sap had been running for the past few days. They’d collected it and now were boiling it down, most inside in the new evaporating pan but some in a big pot outside.

All just for fun on a bright, gorgeous late-winter day.

Grit Taylor had arrived back in Black Falls, at least for the moment, and was by the fire with Elijah. All the Neals were there, including Charlie, who looked smug and pleased as he watched Marissa sneak looks at Grit.

The Neal entourage of Secret Service agents kept a close eye on Charlie especially.

Sean, Hannah, A.J. and Lauren were running things inside the sugar shack, taking turns keeping an eye on Jim and Baylee.

Rose eased in next to Jo in front of the sugar shack. “It’s the second-eldest sister with the crush on Zack,” Jo said, sighing. “As if my life’s complicated enough. Charlie was very clever in his misinformation campaign with Grit and Marissa. He made them both see what was in front of them. Where’s Nick?”

Rose didn’t try to contain her surprise. “Nick? Why are you asking me?”

Jo gave her a slight smile. “You’ve changed in the past few weeks, Rose. It’s subtle, but we’ve all noticed. I have a feeling there’s less solitude in your future.”

“And you think that has something to do with Nick Martini.”

“We all do. You’ve always been content living on your own on the mountain, doing your work, but you withdrew this past year. You needed to, I guess, to cope.” Jo directed her gaze at the people laughing in the steam of the bubbling maple sap, but her attention was still on Rose. “A.J., Elijah and Sean are there for you.”

“I know that,” she said quietly.

Jo turned to her again. “And you’re there for them. You all are still a family. You’re just not demonstrative.”

“Which you understand, being a Harper.”

“True,” Jo said with a laugh.

“None of this has anything to do with Nick.”

“It has everything to do with him. You’re in love with him, Rose.”

She smelled sweet maple in the late-winter air and smiled. “Yes, I am.”

Jo seems satisfied. “Good for you.” Her expression softened. “I want you to be among the first to know. Elijah and I are getting married this spring up at the falls. Reverend McBane’s agrees to perform the ceremony.”

“That’s terrific news, Jo,” Rose said. “I can’t wait.”

“I can’t, either. Between my friends and Elijah’s, we’ll fill up the lodge. It’ll be good for business—”

“It’ll be a lot of fun.”

Jo looked pleased. “That, too.”

Rose heard Hannah’s laughter inside the sugar shack, then Sean’s, and smiled at Jo. “I have a feeling yours won’t be the only Cameron wedding this year.”

Nick got a different room at Black Falls Lodge, one with a view of Cameron Mountain.

Maybe the Cameron brothers were trying to send him a message.

He gave the ghost of Drew Cameron a little salute and changed into the suit he’d brought with him from California. It was black, expensive and appropriate for Beverly Hills or the Black Falls Lodge ballroom.

He hoped it’d rock one Rose Cameron back on her heels.

When he entered the ballroom, he had no trouble spotting her in the crowd. She was standing by a window looking out at the starlit meadow behind the lodge.

He was aware of all three Cameron brothers watching him as he made his way to their sister. He liked that they were a strong family and looked after each other.

Rose was wearing a sleek dark blue dress that outlined her shape and would work just fine in Beverly Hills as well as at Black Falls Lodge. She turned, and broke into a smile as he came closer. “Nick,” she said. “Couldn’t resist bidding on the quilt, could you?”

Nick had noticed several Black Falls locals gathered at the quilt, hanging at the entrance to the ballroom, and overheard them swearing they recognized this or that piece of fabric from a grandmother, a grandfather, an old uncle or aunt.

He winked at Rose. “I think it’d go just fine in my condo.”

Those Cameron blue eyes fastened on him. “You’re not here for the quilt.”

He smiled. “No, I’m not. May I have this dance?”

She lifted the hem of her dress, and he saw she was wearing black high heels. He was more interested in the shape of her ankle. She laughed, sounding just a little breathless. “If I trip in these things—”

“I’ll catch you,” he said, and whisked her onto the dance floor.

After two dances, Rose went off with Lauren, Beth, Hannah, Dominique and Jo to help with the silent auction. She saw Nick slip out of the ballroom. She had no idea what he was up to next but couldn’t take her eyes off him.

The man was as rugged and sexy as ever, and he had her head spinning.

After the auction and everyone started to leave, her friends and family all but threw her out and told her to go home. They’d take care of any cleaning up.

When she arrived at her house, there were no other cars in her dark driveway.

“Looks as if it’ll be just Ranger and me tonight,” she said to herself.

She went in through the back and noticed the warmth.

Someone had lit the woodstove.

She walked into the living room, and Nick was there, stretched out on her couch with Ranger on his bed by the woodstove.

“Locks, Rose,” Nick said, shaking his head. “Locks.”

He was in jeans and a soft-looking sweater, and he had her head spinning even more. But she frowned at Ranger. “Some watchdog you are.”

Her golden retriever yawned at her, then rolled onto his side and went back to sleep.

Nick was on his feet. “All these months, I beat myself up for taking advantage of you last June.”

“You didn’t—”

“I know.” He locked his eyes with hers and smiled. “I didn’t take advantage of you. I fell in love with you.”

“Nick.”

It was all she had a chance to say as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. Outside her window, Cameron Mountain was outlined against the stars, and she pictured Jo and Elijah and Hannah and Sean, and herself now, with Nick, and she knew that her father was at peace.

“I belong with you,” Nick said as he laid her on the bed. “That’s all that matters to me.”

“I love you, Nick,” she whispered. “Always and forever.”

ISBN: 978-1-4268-7435-2

COLD DAWN

Copyright © 2010 by Carla Neggers.

All rights reserved.