Abandon (7 page)

B
ernadette Peacham hated that her ex-husband had caught her eating a frozen lasagna for dinner. She hadn’t even bothered to put it onto a plate or make a salad. She’d simply stuffed the single serving into the microwave, peeled off the film cover and dug in, and there was Cal, as handsome as ever, standing in her kitchen doorway.

And it was
her
kitchen. Not his. Despite their divorce, she’d hung on to both her house here in Washington, just off stately Massachusetts Avenue, and her lake house in New Hampshire. Her first marriage had smartened her up about protecting her financial interests, if not about improving her taste in men.

“I just heard about Mackenzie,” Cal said. “An FBI agent stopped in my office. I came straight here. Have you talked to anyone?”

“The FBI just left.”

He looked truly upset. “Bernadette—thank God you weren’t at the lake this weekend. The police say the man who attacked Mackenzie might have camped on your property.”

She shoved the lasagna container into the trash. Cal had always been disdainful of her benevolence. “For the record, I didn’t let him.”

“Do you have any idea who it was?”

“No.”

Cal ran a finger across the round, white-painted table, a habit of his when he was stressed and trying not to show it. He’d taken off the ten pounds he’d put on in the last six months of their marriage, and he looked good. His hair was a little thin on top, and what he had left was all gray now, with no hints of the dark blond it used to be. Bernadette had met him three years ago, and it was as if she’d waited her entire life for him. Now, she could hardly stand the sight of him.

The feeling, she was quite sure, was mutual.

He was getting ready to move into the condominium he’d bought in an expensive complex on the Potomac. In the meantime, she’d agreed to let him stay in a guest suite at the house they’d once shared. He was a successful corporate attorney who needed nothing from her, but he would never see it that way. Cal, Bernadette knew, was a man who always wanted more, more, more.

It hadn’t always been like that, she recalled. When they’d first met, he had talked longingly of living out at the lake full-time. Fishing, kayaking, growing a garden. But their marriage had opened up new doors for him, and Bernadette had watched as his income, his stress level, his tolerance for risk, his love of action—the game—all skyrocketed. The lake had lost its appeal for him. For a brief time, he had viewed the lake house as quaint and charming. Now, he regarded her house and land on the lake a waste, when she could sell lots, make a fortune, tear down, rebuild. He had any number of plans for what she could do with the property that had been in her family for generations.

She simply hadn’t seen him changing until it was too late and their marriage was beyond repair.

“You and your three-legged puppies,” he said.

“I told you that I didn’t let him camp—”

“I was talking about Mackenzie.”

Bernadette gasped, taken aback. “I can’t believe you just said that. What a callous prick you’ve become, Cal. Mackenzie barely escaped with her life today. At least let her heal before you start demeaning her.”

“I’m not demeaning her. I’m just being truthful. Where would she be now without you?”

“I imagine she’d be doing exactly what she’s doing.”

“No, you don’t. You know what you did for her.”

“What did I do? I hired her father to build a shed and damn near got him killed. That’s what I did.”

Cal sniffed. “It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. He was careless, upset because of his wild daughter—”

“For God’s sake, Cal, Mackenzie was eleven. She wasn’t wild—she’d just wandered off. Later on, she got a little wild, but—
please.
Let’s not do this. I know you resent the help I’ve given to people along the way, but it’s just a part of who I am. I don’t think about it. I’m not looking for anything in return. So just let it go.”

“I’m not as good as you are.” His tone held no plea for understanding, no regret, only condescension. “Living in your shadow has never been easy.”

So much, Bernadette thought, for their mature, civilized divorce. It had gone the way of their mature, civilized marriage. She had finally come to realize that he believed she was lesser for her generosity. Weaker.

She leaned back against the counter, feeling the cool granite through the thin fabric of her skirt. “Don’t blame me for your insecurities,” she said, hearing the exhaustion in her voice. She was just so damn tired of sparring with him.

“I never asked you to be less than the good person you are,” Cal said. “I just got tired of being reminded every day that I don’t measure up—if not by you, then by your deeds, your friends, your colleagues. My own clients.”

Bernadette checked her impatience. They were divorced; she didn’t have to wear herself out trying to pump him up. “Let’s not rehash our problems. What do you want, Cal? Are you hoping to benefit in some way from what happened today in New Hampshire?”

“That’s not fair.”

She sighed. “No, it isn’t.”

“Are you happy as a federal judge?” Cal asked.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t think about happiness anymore. I’m not sure I even know what it is. A good meal? A pretty sunset? The fleeting moments when life is good? I don’t think happiness even matters in our lives. It’s not something I strive for.”

He looked away from her. “I’m a decent man, Bernadette. I’m not a perfect one. I hope you’ll remember that.”

“I never asked or wanted perfection, Cal.”

“Maybe not. I’m glad Mackenzie wasn’t hurt any worse today. I know how fond of her you are. I’m sorry I was insensitive. I didn’t mean to be. She’s done a lot with her life, more than anyone thought she would after what she had to face. She blames herself for her father, you know. It doesn’t matter how much time goes by. She blames herself.”

Bernadette nodded. “I know.”

“She’ll blame herself for not getting this guy today, too. At least she wasn’t hurt any worse.” He walked over to Bernadette and touched her hair. “You’re beat—you look as if you fended off a criminal with a knife yourself.” He pulled his hand away. “We had some good times together, Beanie Peacham.”

“We did, indeed.”

“Are you planning to date once I’m out of here? I know it’s none of my business, but if you’re not, you should. You’re still an attractive woman. You have a lot to offer a man.”

She smiled coolly. “And what does a man have to offer me? I like my life right now. Don’t patronize me by suggesting I need a man to be happy.”

“God forbid anyone suggest you need anything. Maybe if you’d needed me even a little bit—” He stopped without finishing his thought. “Never mind. They’ll catch whoever attacked Mackenzie. She’s indestructible. I’ll say that for her.”

He retreated down the hall, and a moment later, Bernadette heard his footfall on the stairs. She flopped down at the kitchen table, picturing Mackenzie fighting off an attacker—and twenty years ago, at age eleven, angry, guilt-ridden, neglected and frightened. Her father’s recovery had been long and painful and uncertain, consuming all of them. He still had terrible scars from his gruesome injuries.

And poor little Mackenzie had found him, mangled, near death, his blood splattered all over the shed.

If ever a child had needed a role model and a friend in those difficult days, it had been curly-haired Mackenzie Stewart, so ebullient by nature, so filled with humor and fun, but traumatized by her father’s accident. Bernadette had never considered herself up to the task of helping Mackenzie. She was a workaholic with one divorce behind her and zero interest in children.

She wasn’t nearly as good as Cal believed.

There was a knock on the side door. Everyone had been urging her to improve her security, both here and in New Hampshire, but she never had. She got up, her hip aching from fatigue and from years of sitting in a courtroom.

She saw Nate Winter standing on the steps. Her first thought was that he was looking more and more like Gus, his uncle, whom she knew would see to Mackenzie just as he’d seen to his orphaned nieces and nephew more than thirty years ago.

Nate would know that, too. He was one of the most respected federal agents in Washington and it was no secret he felt responsible for Mackenzie’s decision to go into the Marshals Service.

Bernadette opened the door. “Nate, it’s good to see you.”

He had on a dark suit and must have come straight from work. Life was good for him right now, with a new wife, a new home and a baby on the way. But Bernadette could see the tightness around his mouth, the only hint of any emotion.

He stepped into the kitchen. “We need to talk.”

T
he police had released the shed as a crime scene, after finding no clear evidence that the man who’d attacked Mackenzie had been inside, although, given the open door, he must have either been inside or on his way in. She stood on the threshold, the cool evening air on her back. The wind had died down, and she could hear crickets chirping in the nearby brush. Her girls’ night out with Carine was postponed indefinitely, but it would have been a nice night for laughing and telling stories.

Rook returned her hammer to its spot among Bernadette’s tools. The police hadn’t found any obvious clues to the identity of her attacker. “I had to explain you to my chief,” Mackenzie said. Inside the shed, the air was close, smelling of dust and grease. “I told him we saw each other a few times, and I don’t know why you’re in New Hampshire. He threatened to come up here. Not because of you. Because of the attack, although I suspect it and your reasons for being here are not unrelated.”

“You talked him out of coming up?”

“Apparently, Nate did.”

“Ah.”

She crossed her arms on her chest. Even with pain medication, any abrupt move hurt. The E.R. doctor had sewn her up with a layer of absorbable stitches in the fat and a layer of regular stitches in the skin. She had to go back in twenty-four hours to get the dressing changed, and in seven to ten days to get the top sutures removed. She was prescribed antibiotics as a precaution against infection. Pain medication she could take as needed.

“Nate called, too,” she said. “Having Carine in danger again scared him. She came upon a murder scene a while back, when she and Tyler North were still deciding whether or not they were meant for each other.”

“Tyler is her husband?”

Mackenzie nodded. “He’s a pararescueman. He’s deployed right now.” She thought a moment. “Carine hasn’t told him about today yet, but when she does, he’ll want to know every detail. I’ll probably have to explain you to him, too.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve had to explain myself to people around here all afternoon. You have a lot of friends in Cold Ridge.”

“How
did
you explain your presence?”

“I said I was here to see you.”

“Rook.”

He smiled mysteriously but didn’t elaborate. He started toward the door, and she stepped back from the threshold. He joined her on the soft, cool grass. “Maybe you should call it a night.”

“As I said, I wouldn’t be surprised if the attack on me and your reasons for being here are connected,” she said. “You’re here because of an investigation.”

He didn’t respond.

“I’ve been thinking. I was in Georgetown the night we met because of Beanie Peacham. I had a drink with her before Cal got there, then I walked around outside, and it started raining and there you were.” When she tried to latch the shed door, her head spun. “And now here you are again.”

He pulled her hands from the door. “You’re cold.”

“I guess I got used to the heat in Washington more than I realized.”

“Did the doctors want to keep you for the night?”

“Yes, but I talked them out of it. I told them I had to come back here and toast marshmallows.” She found the padlock in the grass and started to pick it up, but decided she didn’t want to risk passing out in front of Rook. “It’s a little late to be locking the shed.”

Rook swooped up the lock. “Can’t hurt, in case our guy decides to double back here.”

“Of all places,” Mackenzie said quietly. “Beanie’s philosophy is waste not, want not. She wouldn’t have had this shed built if the previous one hadn’t basically fallen apart. She hired my father to do the job.”

“Mac—”

“He was working out here alone one day. His table saw malfunctioned. The blade—” She stopped, pushing back a wave of dizziness, then resumed. “I don’t know what happened, exactly. I was eleven. I found him. I was supposed to be helping him, but I was goofing off, chasing this toad that had caught my eye.”

“You were a kid.”

“He lost an eye, parts of several fingers. He had severe internal lacerations.” She cleared her throat, staring at the shed door. “It was a mess in there, I can tell you that much. I didn’t want to leave him, but I remember thinking that if I didn’t, he would die. I ran up to the house and called the police.”

“Where was Judge Peacham?”

“She was in town. It was just my dad and me here most of the day. When I hung up after talking with the police, I didn’t want to come back down here. I thought he was dead. I didn’t want to see the blood.”

“But you did come back, didn’t you, Mac?”

She nodded. “I stayed with him until the ambulance arrived. I was so covered in blood, the paramedics initially thought I’d been injured, too.”

“That’s a tough memory to have.”

“It could be worse. At least my father lived. He had a long, painful recovery, and he’s never really worked again. But he and my mother have a good life. They’re doing a house swap with an Irish couple—they’re in Ireland right now. All’s well that ends well, right?” She smiled. “That’s one of Beanie’s favorite sayings.”

“Today ended well, Mac. The police will find this guy—”

“I don’t like the shed. I used to have nightmares that monsters lived in there.” She snatched the padlock from Rook and snapped it into place on the latch. Dusk was coming fast now, and the lake was still, mirroring the darkening sky. “I should have nailed that bastard before he got near me.”

“Do you think he intended to kill you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. He didn’t hurt Carine, but he didn’t have his knife with him, either.”

“Thanks to you. Carine—she was fully prepared to defend herself and her baby with a rock.”

“That’s Carine. The Winters are all like that.” Mackenzie couldn’t summon the energy even to smile. “If anything had happened to her, because of me…”

“Nothing did,” Rook said.

“You don’t recognize his description?” she asked.

“No.”

Then maybe her attacker wasn’t someone involved in whatever investigation had brought Rook to New Hampshire after all. Or Rook hadn’t identified him yet as anyone of interest. Or Rook was lying, but somehow she didn’t think he would be a good liar. “I know I’ve seen him before, but I can’t pin down where, who he is. Maybe I just saw him in line at the grocery.”

“He recognized you.”

“I haven’t been in Washington that long. More likely he knows me from here.”

“He referred to you as Deputy Stewart.”

“My career change has been a topic of conversation around town for several months. ‘The college instructor who heads off to train as a deputy marshal.’”

Rook slipped an arm over her shoulder. “You did well today, Mac.”

“I got in one good lick. Big deal.”

“You also got his knife away from him.”

“My training kicked in. If he’d attacked Carine, or if Bernadette had been up here and he’d attacked her…” But Mackenzie knew better than to spin off into what-ifs, and didn’t go further. “Next time I go swimming, I’m wearing jeans and sneakers.”

“Not as much fun as your little pink swimsuit.”

“Rook, just because I’ve got twenty stitches in my side doesn’t mean I can’t elbow you in your gut.” But she appreciated his humor and felt herself leaning against him as they headed to a trio of Adirondack chairs and Bernadette’s open fireplace. Even if he’d dumped her and was a snake, at least he could be a friend. “The police have my swimsuit and towel. They’re checking for trace evidence. Can you imagine if I have to testify in court, and they hold up my dolphin towel and slashed tankini? I’ll never live it down.”

“You never will, anyway.”

“You’re a big help.”

He grinned at her. “Welcome to law enforcement. No one will criticize you for what you did today, Mac. If I’d been caught by a knife-wielding lunatic out here in my swim trunks—”

“Ouch, Rook. I don’t need that image in my head.”

“No? What kind of swim trunks do you have me in?”

“Baggy, snot-green plaid ones that hang down to your knees.”

“Lovely.”

Except it wasn’t true. The swim trunks Mackenzie pictured him in fit him perfectly, and nothing about them—or him—was ugly. But she didn’t dwell on the image. “I’m lucky. He didn’t cut through muscle or nick any vital organs. I’ll be fine in no time. I’m a fast healer.”

“What about the next twenty-four hours?”

“I have to keep the dressing dry and I can’t do jumping jacks. Why?”

Just then Gus’s truck pulled into the driveway, sparing Rook from having to answer.

Carine jumped out of the passenger side and waved cheerfully. “We’re here for marshmallows.”

But there was something off in her voice, and Mackenzie slipped from Rook’s embrace and narrowed her gaze on him. “What’s going on?”

“I was getting to that,” Rook said. “Gus Winter and his team found their missing hiker. Your instincts were on target. Your attacker got to her first. She’d been stabbed.”

“Dead?”

Rook shook his head. “Doctors say she’ll make a full recovery. She’s lucky they found her when they did. A night out in the open wouldn’t have been good.”

Mackenzie visualized the assault knife, but forced back the image. “Her attacker fits the description of the guy who came at me?”

Rook nodded. “She said he seemed deranged.”

“A deranged hiker slashing women in the mountains.” Mackenzie bit off a sigh of frustration, her earlier dizziness gone now. “I should never have let him get away.”

“Which brings us to the next twenty-four hours.”

“What?”

“Carine and her baby are staying at her uncle’s house in town tonight. She needs time to pull herself together. You’re welcome there—”

“I’m not staying at Gus’s.”

Rook gave her a faint smile. “That’s what he said you’d say.”

“I’m staying here. Honestly, Rook. First I get knifed. Then I let the guy who knifed me get away and scare the living daylights out of my best friend.
Then
I have to face a million cops while I’m wearing a pink swimsuit, which is confiscated as evidence along with my dolphin towel.” She wanted to stop herself, but was on a roll now. “So don’t try to talk me out of staying here, because it won’t work.”

“You’re drugged. Once you hit a pillow, you’ll be out for the night.”

“I hope so.”

“What if this guy comes back? I’m not trying to talk you out of staying here. You have a choice.”

“What—” She snapped her mouth shut and studied Rook, noted the spark of humor in his eyes. He had killer eyes, a killer smile. “Why do I feel as if I just painted myself into a corner?”

“Because you did.”

“You’re staying here tonight?”

He smiled at her. “That’s the plan.”

All Mackenzie could think was that with Rook under the same roof, it was just as well she had twenty stitches in her side.