The Cabin

by Carla Neggers

"Tell me everything Alice told you," Jack said.

  Susanna nodded. "Gran was there, too. She can help fill in any blanks. Jack—" She added her snow to his snowman-in-progress. "There's something else I haven't told you. I don't know if it has any role in what's been going on—I've told myself a million times that it can't possibly, but…my God, Jack, that man followed me before his wife's death."

  He slid that hot, dark-eyed gaze at her.

  She jumped back, as if she'd been seared. "You already know?"

  "I told you. I always know."

  "Damn it, Jack. You know?"

  He lifted his snowman's middle off its base, adjusting it, patting the snow smooth. He focused on his work, as if the damn snowman had his full attention. "Ten million dollars isn't that easy to hide."

  "I wasn't hiding it—I was just not telling you about it."

  "Sam's been guessing five million. I think he has a pool going."

  "But you knew?"

  He scooped up a palmful of snow and dumped it into a crack in the middle section. "It's an educated guess. I take it I'm not far off?"

  "No."

  His eyes lifted to her. "Miffed?"

  "Miffed. What kind of word is that?" Her throat was tight, and she could feel tears welling. Not this time. She was not going to cry this time, not when someone had just ransacked her cabin and scared the hell out of her daughters. She had to stay focused, like Jack on a case. "It trivializes the importance of how I feel."

  "Sort of like saying I'd taken your virginity."

  "What? Where did that come from? We're talking about money—" She took all of him in, this tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man in his western-cut suede jacket and his new insulated gloves and boots. No hat. He was the only man who'd ever made love to her, the only man she'd ever wanted in bed with her. She didn't know what she'd have done if she'd lost him at nineteen, if he'd gone home to south Texas without her. But she shook off the thought, because he was here, twenty years later. "Forget it, Jack. You're not going to distract me by talking about sex. Why didn't you say something if you knew?"

  "You're the one who made this fortune." He took a step back and admired his handiwork, still as if his snowman were all he had on his mind. "You're the one who turned it into a problem for yourself. So, I figured you could be the one to decide when you were ready to tell me about it."

  "But you knew—"

  "That's beside the point."

  "Jack, that is the point. Damn it, you left me to agonize over how to tell you—"

  "As I told Sam this morning, you don't agonize, Susanna." He scooped up more snow, building a head for his snowman. "You strategize. You were waiting for the right strategic moment to tell me, and this was it."

  "Oh, it is, is it? When my cabin's just been ransacked?"

  "Apparently so."

  Susanna felt blood rushing to her cheeks. He was being deliberately maddening. "It's our money. It's not just my money. I invested a chunk of your paycheck every month.You signed things. And we're still married."

  "Yes, we are."

  "Once it started happening, it happened fast."

  He shrugged. "You're good at what you do."

  She stood still in the snow, aware of the silence around her. She needed to go into the cabin and see what had been done to it, talk to Maggie and Ellen. She didn't know what she and Jack could accomplish now, with the pressure of a break-in and Beau McGarrity's disappearance on them. "Money's never been the most important thing in my life. I enjoy investing, and I enjoy working with my clients, helping them figure out their relationship with money, what they want it to do for them. People always come first." She glanced at her cabin. It was the first big thing she'd done with her money, and the police had just been here. "I didn't follow my own advice. I amassed a fortune without knowing why, what I wanted to do with it. What we wanted."

  "Not having money was never a problem for us," he said. "Why should having money be a problem?"

  "I don't know." Her eyes connected with his. "You tell me."

  "No, ma'am." He held his oversized snowball—his snowman's head—at arm's length in one hand, assessing it. "I'm not the one with the problem. You are. That's why I haven't said anything. I decided you needed the space to work this out for yourself."

  "Oh, I see. You were being nice."

  "Damn nice, I think."

  "You know what I think? I think you just didn't want to say out loud that you have a rich wife. I think you didn't want to have to think about what having money might mean to you. I was wrong not to ask you if you wanted to get rich, it was easier for you to ignore what I was up to—"

  "You're not the easiest woman to ignore, Miss Susanna." He added more snow to his snowman's head, but the way he patted it suddenly struck her as remarkably sexual. No doubt he intended it that way. He went on, his voice steady, "My life hasn't changed because of the ten million. Yours has. You moved north, you bought a cabin. It wasn't all Beau McGarrity and the tape. It was the money, too." He set his oversized snowball on the middle section of his snowman. "He's kind of a pinhead, isn't he? He needs more snow."

  That did it. Susanna shook her head at him. "Oh, no, you don't. You're not going to do this. I've been working this out on my own for months, trying to figure out—"

  "Trying to figure out who you are," he said. "Not who I am. I'm the same."

  "Only because you're pretending you don't know we have money."

  His gaze, very dark against the snow, settled on her.

  "I'm not in any kind of denial. I know you're rich. I

  know you haven't told me."

  "You haven't asked."

  "I know that, too."

  "Ten million dollars is a hell of a lot of money."

  "I could quit," he said.

  Susanna stared at him. "What?"

  "I have a rich wife. I could quit." His voice was very quiet now, deadly. "Turn in my badge and go fishing."

  "Why would you do that?"

  "People would expect it."

  "Not me—"

  "No?"

  "No way. I don't get to tell you what to do with your life. You know you're doing the work you were meant to do. You're good at it."

  "But in these last months, haven't you grown to hate it?"

  She refused to cry. Alice Parker, the cemetery, the cabin—now him. She knew she was overwhelmed. She fought an urge to grab Gran and the girls, jump in the car and drive away. They could go to Canada and stay there until Jack gave them the all-clear. Easier than standing here having this conversation with her husband.

  "Jack, do you really think I'd tell you not to be a Texas Ranger?"

  He smiled, not that nicely. "Any more than I'd tell you not to make ten million?"

  "You wanted to," she said suddenly. "Didn't you?"

  Nothing about him softened. "I thought about breaking into your computer and figuring out ways to get rid of every dime."

  "Because you didn't want it affecting what you do, who you are—"

  "Who we are," he said.

  "The money's what we make of it. Nothing more, nothing less."

  "It's not changing me," he said. "I've decided that."

  She nodded. He fiddled more with his snowman's head, saying nothing.

  "I should kick your snowman to bits," she told him.

  "You should."

  "Jack, damn it, you knew. You knew everything."

  "Admit it, darlin'." His voice deepened, and he laid on the Texas drawl. "You'd have been disappointed if I hadn't."

  She couldn't remember ever being so frustrated—so completely thrown by this man. He set the snowman's head on top of the two larger snowballs and admired his handiwork. Without thinking, Susanna swept the head off with one arm and snatched up a chunk of it, charging Jack, fully intending to stuff it down his neck. But he made one little defensive move, and next thing, she was on her back in a snowdrift, with him on top of her with his own handful of snow.

  "I swear, Jack, if you put that snow down my bac
k—"

  Too late. Down her front it went, but even as she felt the rush of cold, she reached out with one hand and flipped snow into his face, kicking at his damn snowman.

  He responded by bringing his mouth onto hers, which, she realized, was exactly what she wanted. There was no pretending otherwise. His lips were cold, but the wet heat of his tongue made her forget the snow melting on her chest, under her breasts.

  "I've spent too much time thinking about the damn money." His voice was low and intent, very calm, but there was no studied self-control in place now. He was holding nothing back, and it made her breath catch. He kissed her again, furiously, then said, "I'm not going to stop loving you if you lose the whole ten million tomorrow, or make another ten million. I don't give a damn."

  "You did."

  "I'm not going to change on you, Susanna. I am what I am."

  "Everything's changing on me," she whispered. "Sometimes I feel I can't keep up. I thought if I moved in with Gran for a little while, I could stop time and catch my breath…" She blinked back tears, even as she felt a surge of love and straightforward, unabashed physical desire for this man kissing her in the snow. "Then a few weeks turned into a few months, then more months, and now Maggie and Ellen are getting ready to hear from collages, and here we are, with you bonked on the head, my cabin ransacked, Alice Parker and Beau McGarrity on the loose—"

  "We'll sort it out, Susanna."

  "I love you," she said. "I've always loved you."

  He touched her mouth, let his fingers trail across her cheek and into her hair. "I know. It'll be all right."

  "You're always so sure of everything," she said, caught his fingers in one hand and kissed them. But with her free hand, she grabbed a handful of snow and, catching him off guard for once, shoved it down his neck. "You're a bastard for not telling me you knew about the ten million."

  He shot up off her and dug the snow out of his neck. "And what do you think I should do to you for not telling me?"

  He tossed a clump of snow at her, and it thudded off her hip as she rolled away, very aware she was at a disadvantage now that he was on his feet—and on his guard—and she was still on her back in a snowdrift.

  "I felt guilty," she said, "when here you were, wondering how it'd affect your damn work and your man's man reputation—"

  "You wrecked my snowman."

  She gave up. They'd talked as much as either of them could manage at this point. "I'll help you rebuild it."

  She started to get up, and he offered her a hand. She took it, not sure he wouldn't pop her headfirst into a snowbank—or maybe drag her off somewhere and make love to her. But she could see from his expression it was back to the business at hand.

  She brushed the snow off her arms and front, felt it melting into her hair. She breathed up at the sky, the clouds pinkish above the tops of the trees. "Destin wasn't at the inn today with Alice," she said. "It was probably about the time the cabin was broken into."

  "I should have known McGarrity followed you before his wife was killed." Jack stepped on a chunk of snow, pressing it down under his boot. "I knew there was more. I knew Alice hadn't told me everything."

  "There was nothing you could have done—"

  "There was a lot I could have done."

  Susanna didn't argue. She wasn't going to make him feel any better.

  He took her hand, brushed the last of the snow off her shoulder. "Let's go inside and drink something hot, make sure Gran and the girls are okay. Then I want to hear everything Alice Parker said to you."

  Sixteen

  Another Texan had come into Jim Haviland's bar. This one sat on a stool and ordered the nightly special. Jim put a plate of vegetarian lasagna in front of him, another new recipe he was trying out. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say you're from Texas."

  "Yes, sir, I am." The man was dark and black-eyed, and he eyed the lasagna as if he wasn't sure he wanted it, after all. Then he grinned, and the female Tufts graduate students at one of the tables damn near went into a swoon. "How could you tell?"

  "The white hat. The boots." He tilted his head back and stared a moment. The black leather jacket threw him off, but he suspected he was right. "You're a Texas Ranger?"

  "Only in Texas. In the great state of Massachusetts, I'm just a regular guy."

  Jim didn't think there was anything "regular" about this guy. In addition to the cowboy hat and leather jacket, he was wearing a tie and a holster with a gun in it. "You know Jack Galway?"

  "Yes, he's my lieutenant, Mr.—"

  "Haviland. Jim Haviland. I own this place."

  "Sam Temple. I'm a sergeant with the Texas Rangers. I'm in Massachusetts on official business, duly authorized."

  "That's why they let you in armed?"

  "I don't do business unarmed, Mr. Haviland."

  Jim thought he heard one of the graduate students make a choking sound, but he gave her a warning look. One of her friends was pretending to revive her by waving a cocktail napkin in front of her face. Jim figured they all needed spring to get there. Cabin fever was setting in. He was fairly sure that Sam Temple wouldn't give a damn about a couple of smart-assed eavesdropping anthropology students going ga-ga over him.

  Temple produced a color photograph and set it on the bar. "Have you seen this man by any chance?" he asked.

  Jim took the picture and frowned at it. "He was here yesterday. Early evening. I remember, because I was burning pies and he commented on my daughter. Didn't say much else. Who is he?"

  "Texas real estate developer."

  It wasn't a straight answer. Jim could see Davey Ahearn squirm at the other end of the bar. He had the vegetarian lasagna in front of him. He'd already complained about finding a carrot stick. The graduate students had told Jim they wanted to have his baby, they loved his vegetarian lasagna so much. This was the problem with a diverse clientele, but it kept his work interesting. He could probably do without armed Texas Rangers, though.

  Davey suspended a forkful of lasagna midair and looked over at Sam Temple. "Is this the son of a bitch who shot his wife and stalked Susanna Galway?"

  The Texas Ranger set his fork down. His black eyes settled on Davey, and there was more napkin-waving at the Tufts table. "Susanna told you that Beau McGarrity stalked her?"

  "Uh-oh. Me and my big mouth," Davey backtracked, which wasn't his style. Usually when he put his foot in his mouth, he just made things worse. "It was New Year's Eve. She was drinking margaritas. Maybe she was exaggerating."

  "Susanna doesn't exaggerate," Sam Temple said.

  Jim laid a towel on his shoulder. First, Audrey Melbourne, aka Alice Parker, the ex-con, then Jack Galway, the break-in at Iris's and the guy last night. Now, Sergeant Sam Temple. "You want to tell me what the hell's going on?"

  The Ranger paused a beat, and Jim could see he was all business, a total professional. Which meant he wasn't telling anyone anything. "Jack said you know about Alice Parker, the woman who came in here under the name Audrey Melbourne and befriended Susanna's grandmother. Any idea where she's been staying?"

  Jim shook his head. "The local police want to talk to her about the break-in the other night."

  "I imagine so. I haven't talked to them yet." He smiled. "Thought I'd stop in here first, before they give me a shadow."

  The bar was small, and the grad students were noisy—but Jim had a feeling Sam Temple was deliberately including them in what he had to say. If he'd wanted to, he'd have asked to talk in private.

  From the table behind him, one of the graduate students said, "I know where Audrey lives." Temple looked around at her. She was an anthropology major Davey liked to tease about doing digs on Lake Titicaca in Bolivia. They all knew he could be an idiot. The kid added, straightforward, "She lives in my building, about two blocks from here. She has a rat-hole apartment just like mine, except she's on the third floor and I'm on the second."

  Sam Temple eased off the bar stool, his lasagna barely touched. "Can you give me directions?"

&nbs
p; The grad student had almost stopped breathing, and Jim could see her friends kicking her under the table. Davey scratched the side of his handlebar mustache with his little finger. "I know the building. I can take you over there."

  As disciplined as Sam Temple was, Jim could sense the man's intensity. "Much obliged."

  Davey swung to his feet, nonchalant. Wyatt Earp could walk into the place, and Davey Ahearn wouldn't give a damn. "I haven't had anything to drink. I've just been trying to choke down this vegetable lasagna. Jimmy, curried corn chowder and now this? Stick to the basics."

  Temple stayed focused, not distracted by Davey's wisecracks. He turned to Jim. "Last night when Beau McGarrity was here—did you happen to mention that Susanna Galway had gone to the Adirondacks?"

  The Texas Ranger spoke in a measured, steady drawl, but Jim understood every word. He wished he hadn't. He nodded. "He was at one of the tables while I was talking to my daughter. We mentioned Susanna's cabin. Damn."

  "Draw me a map of how to get there, will you, Mr. Haviland?" Temple's manner was pleasant, but no one within five yards of him would miss the underlying sense of urgency. He shifted back to Davey. "I'm ready whenever you are, sir."

  For once, Davey Ahearn didn't have a quip. He got his hat and his coat, and he and Sam Temple left.

  The door shut, and the Tufts graduate students all slid onto the floor in unison, faking a group swoon. One of the firefighters at another table said, "I bet he eats meat," and the place erupted.

  * * *

  Jack could see it now.

  He dumped a load of wood in the wood box and looked at his wife and daughters bundled up under a blanket together on the couch, watching the fire. They had the place picked up, and they'd talked, he and Susanna filling in the gaps of what Maggie, Ellen and Iris knew about Beau McGarrity, Alice Parker, Destin Wright and the unsolved murder of Rachel McGarrity.

  Susanna was steady and straightforward, a rock for her elderly grandmother and teenage daughters. And for her husband, Jack thought. He'd never had his work infect his family to the point they were huddled in an isolated cabin in the Adirondacks, frightened and confused.

  So much for his fucking fire wall.