"I'm not that good."
He kissed her on the cheek. "Take care of yourself."
"Gary—"
"It's all right."
"I hope things turn out well for you."
He blew her a kiss as he jumped down from the deck. "They will."
When she returned to the kitchen, North was there, chair pushed back, his boots on her small table. She noticed his thick thighs, his flat stomach, the soft color of his eyes as he watched her pull out a chair. "Turner's had a hell of a week, too," he said. "Don't feel bad for him because he took a liking to you."
"I'm not. I just—what just happened isn't a typical experience for me."
"What, guys wanting to take you to dinner? That's because you don't see that many guys. You're always hanging off a cliff somewhere. You might not run fast, babe, but I'd hate to have to chase you up a mountain."
"I haven't hung off a cliff, as you put it, in months. It was good getting out in the woods today. Ty—"
But he caught her by the wrist, throwing her off balance just enough that she landed on his lap, and his arms came around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should never…Carine, I've loved you for a long time. I love you now. I can't help it, but the thought of another man—"
"Ty, don't."
"I didn't pull out of the wedding because I didn't love you."
"I know. That just makes it worse."
But he didn't let her go, didn't stop. "I hoped you didn't love me as much as I loved you and I'd hurt more than you did, or at least that I'd spare you more pain in the end."
She felt tears coming and turned away so he wouldn't see, then slipped her arms around him and lay her head on his shoulder. "It's easy to love you, Ty. It's the rest that isn't so easy. There's too much going on right now for either of us to think straight." She sat up, and he touched a thumb to a tear that had escaped, but she slid to her feet, then nodded toward the back window and managed a smile. "Gus is here with the lasagna."
He pounded on the back door and walked in, grunting at them knowingly. "Thought I might catch you two up to monkey business."
Carine groaned. "Gus, don't you think we're old enough—"
"Old enough, just not smart enough. Age's got nothing to do with it. People do crazy things in their eighties when it comes to romance. Turns you stupid." He set the foil-covered lasagna pan on the stove. "I'm telling you two right now, I'm not going through again what you did back in February. Get your heads screwed on straight before you drag your family and friends through another drama like that."
"You two?" Carine gaped at him. "I didn't do anything!"
"You did plenty."
Ty rolled to his feet. "Relax, Carine, he's just irritable because he's sweet on the local egg lady, and he knows it's stupid."
"Stupid—hell, it's insane. She's got hanging beads for doors." He sighed, switching on the oven to Preheat. "Do you know how many different kinds of chickens there are? Ask her. She'll tell you."
Carine went over to him, slipped her arm around his lean waist and hugged him. "I love you, Uncle Gus."
"Yeah, kid, I know. It won't stop me from chopping your head off if you and North here—"
She changed the subject. "Bats and mice moved in whileIwasoutoftown.Ty'sbeeninstallingpest-chasers."
"They're not working. He's still here."
Ty rolled his eyes without comment.
Gus put the lasagna in the oven, then went to the back door and yelled for Stump. "Come on, boy. Come inside."
"Gus!" Carine charged to the door, hoping to head off Stump before he got into her kitchen. "There's not enough room in here for Stump—"
But the big dog burst into the kitchen, excited from his romp outside, and he slid on the wood floor all the way into the great room, then crashed into the unlit woodstove. Once he regained his balance, he jumped on the couch and panted.
"I'll get a bottle of wine," Ty said into Carine's ear. "You negotiate house rules with Gus and Stump."
"Stump hasn't been here in a while. He's forgotten," Gus said, then snapped his fingers. "Stump! Off the couch, boy!"
Stump ignored him, and he ignored Carine when she ordered him off the furniture. She finally had to get him by the collar and drag him down to the floor. Abruptly calmer, he slunk under the kitchen table and collapsed.
"He likes to push the limits," Gus said as he returned to the kitchen. "Antonia and Nate both called. Antonia said to tell you Hank would check on Val Carrera tonight. Nate was making sure I knew he'd told you to go mountain-climbing today. He's flying up here tomorrow. I think he knows something."
Carine sank against the counter. "Gus, how did we end up with a doctor and a U.S. marshal in the family? Why not three nature photographers?"
He smiled. "Because you all three were pains in the ass and each had to be the best at something. Come on. Relax. You look like the weight of the world's on your shoulders. It'll be good to have your brother up for a visit. It's been a while. Hey, here's North with the wine."
"I grabbed a merlot." Ty gave a mock shudder. "I won't tell you what I found down in the cellar, but bats and mice—they're nothing."
Twenty
Sterling picked up the phone several times to call Carine Winter and Tyler North and try to make up for his abysmal behavior yesterday. He was embarrassed. Whatever had possessed him? But he didn't make the call, and now Jodie was crying nonstop, ripping his heart out because he could, again, after all, feel sympathy for her. He was shocked by how quickly he'd switched from blaming himself for her infidelity to blaming her. Now he didn't know who—what—to blame.
She staggered into the living room, trembling, visibly weak and overwrought. Her face was red and raw from tears, her eyes puffy, her nose running. She joined him in front of the bank of windows that looked out to the mountains. They could see for miles, but it was dark now, the glass reflecting their own images back at them.
Sterling hit the remote control that shut the shades, their hum the only sound in the sprawling, empty house.
Jodie sank onto the sectional couch. She looked ugly to him, pitiful. He turned away, wondering what in God's name had happened to them. How had he come to this state of affairs? A murdered employee—a man who'd tricked them, lied to them, betrayed them. Sterling wondered, now that he was calmer, if Louis San-born or whoever he was had played on Jodie's weaknesses, used herinone of the worst ways possible.
And Turner. That stupid bastard. Asleep at the switch at best.
Manny Carrera wasn't technically an employee, but there was no doubt the police suspected him of murder. Sterling had read that in the faces of the Boston detectives last night when they interviewed him and Jodie about the pictures. Separately, of course.
Pictures of his wife with another man were now in the hands of the police. They'd promised to be discreet, but he and Jodie were a wealthy, prominent couple— the media would eat up the pictures.
"Dear God," he whispered.
Carine and Tyler…two people he admired. They had to hate him now. Hank, Antonia. They'd have nothing to do with him after his behavior, after this horrible scandal.
Once again, Sterling thought miserably, he'd failed to rise to the occasion.
"Manny Carrera did it." Jodie spoke quietly, stoically, as if she didn't have the strength for any more emotion; but her voice was hoarse from crying. "He killed Louis. All these people—Tyler North, Hank Callahan, Carine Winter. They'll ruin our lives in an attempt to prove Carrera's innocence."
Sterling stared at the blind-covered windows. "They want the truth to come out, Jodie. That's all."
She shook her head, adamant. "No, no, Sterling, you're being naive as usual. The truth, maybe, but how much of it? How much of our privacy will be sacrificed in their effort to deny the reality that their friend killed a man in cold blood?"
"Jodie—Jodie, please don't do this. I'm too tired."
"They'll rip our lives open, just because they can't deal with the fact that Manny Carrera murdered a m
an."
"That's why we have an attorney."
"It won't matter." She cleared her throat, but her voice remained hoarse. "Manny's a pararescueman. A war hero. He doesn't commit murder. If he kills, it's justified."
Sterling shifted to look at her and wondered if it would be cathartic to cry and scream, fall down on the floor and thrash as she had. Then maybe he could come to this place of calm and certainty. "For all we know at this point, it was justified. We don't have enough information."
"Don't we?"
She tucked her feet under her, her robe falling open and revealing the swell of her breasts. Were the police, even now, examining his wife's naked breasts under a magnifying glass? How much of her could they see in the pictures?
"Sterling?"
With an effort that was almost physical, he shook off the image of gloating, drooling detectives. Of Louis Sanborn banging his wife. It was a beautiful, old house with a long history. Were they the first to have illicit sex in the library? Louis was the first murder to occur there. That much Sterling knew for certain. It was a blot—a permanent stain that he knew he and Jodie would never overcome even before he'd learned about her affair.
"Sterling!"
With her voice as hoarse as it was, she hadn't managed much more than an annoyed croak. He sighed. "I'm sorry. What were you saying?"
"I'm saying that Manny was at the house on Wednesday. He was in Boston to get you to fire Louis. What if that wasn't good enough? What if he saw—" She hesitated, placing her hand on a polished toe peeking out from her robe, staring at it as if it had her total attention. She took in a breath, then went on. "He could have decided to capitalize on the situation and grabbed Carine's camera, took those pictures, called me—"
"How could he have called you? He was under police surveillance."
Her brow furrowed, but she didn't let go of her theory. "He'd make it look like an innocent call. The guy's not stupid, Sterling. He'd figure out a way."
He sat on a chair at a diagonal from her. "You're jumping way ahead of yourself."
"No, I'm not. What more do the police need? Why don't they arrest him?" She fought back a fresh, sudden wave of tears, sobbing hoarsely at the ceiling. "I can't stand it! I can't!"
"Jodie…dear God…" What if she were losing it, having a nervous breakdown? Sterling couldn't make himself move toward her. "Jodie—please. Pull yourself together. You're not doing either of us any good."
"Louis used me, and now Manny Carrera and his friends are using both of us." Her voice was angry, bitter, belying the tears that spilled down her cheeks. "We'refairgamebecausewehavemoney.Nobodycares what happens to us. We don't mean anything to them."
"Don't say things like that," he said softly.
"Why not? It's true. You know it is. They resent us." She dropped her feet to the floor and jumped up, fire in her eyes as she sniffled and brushed the sleeve of her robe across her tears. "That idiot Turner—how could he not know about Louis? He'll try to shift the blame. Don't let him."
"Jodie, listen to me. It'll take time. It'll take patience and perseverance." He got to his feet and held her by the elbows, feeling how bony she was under her silky robe. "But I promise you, I'll get to the bottom of what's happened. Who failed us. Why. All of it."
All the heat and anger went out of her. She looked scared, he thought. Old and scared. "Sterling? What are you saying?"
"I think you're right, Jodie. I think we've been used. By everyone."
He saw her in thirty years, a whining old woman, and couldn't stand it anymore. He had to get away from her. He ran downstairs, out through the front door, not bothering with a coat or hat. The night air was cold, clouds blocking the stars, and even in the darkness, he could see fog swirling in valley pockets.
He'd loved this place. If someone had asked him a month ago if he had to give up one, this house or the one on Commonwealth Avenue, which would it be, he wouldn't have hesitated. The Boston house. No question.
But now he wished he'd never stepped foot in Cold Ridge.
He'd never felt so damn inadequate in his life as the night he and Jodie were rescued by Tyler North, Manny Carrera and Hank Callahan, something he'd never acknowledge to anyone. It wasn't their fault. He admired them.
He was fascinated by their training, their incredible range of skills, everything from emergency trauma medicine to combat maneuvers, scuba diving, parachuting, high-altitude mountain climbing—and he couldn't even do a challenging but popular ridge trail in the White Mountains without getting into trouble.
The cold air drove him back inside.
He and Jodie would pack up and leave Cold Ridge in the morning. Once the police made an arrest for Louis Sanborn's murder, he'd put this place on the market. Then, after a decent interval that gave people time to forget the horror and scandal of what happened in the library, he'd sell the house on Commonwealth Avenue.
He and Jodie might even leave Boston altogether. People moved all the time. So did companies.
In the meantime, he'd soak in the Jacuzzi for twenty minutes and go to bed early. Without Jodie. Until he decided otherwise, she was sleeping in the guest room.
Twenty-One
When the phone rang, Val pounced, hoping it was Manny, or Tyler, someone—anyone—with news. It'd been a long damn day, and she could feel herself creeping past the point of rationality, past her capability to resist her impulses to get off her butt and do something. Act. Waiting. Damn, she'd never been good at it.
"Do you want to help your husband?"
She sat up straight on the couch. The voice on the other end was toneless, dispassionate, not one she recognized. "Of course I do. Who is this?"
"The police are about to arrest your husband."
The voice didn't change—there was no emotion, no way, even, of telling for sure whether it was male or female. Male, Val thought. "How do you know?"
"I know.Trust me. The evidence against him is stacking up. The police can't continue to ignore it. He'll be convicted of murder—"
"No, he won't, because he's innocent."
There was a wry laugh. "Ah. True love. I know he is innocent, Mrs. Carrera—Val. But I also know what will happen if you don't act. I can help him."
"How?"
"I can't do it without your help. You must do exactly as I say. Remember, I know more than you do, and I'm on your side. It won't be easy, but you must follow my instructions."
"This is nuts."
"Don't hang up." The intonation didn't change. "I understand your skepticism. You've seen it all, haven't you, Mrs. Carrera? The wife of a career military man, the mother of a sick son—"
"What do you know about my son? You leave him out of it!"
Again, there was no obvious change in the voice of the other end of the phone. "Listen to me. I'm a friend. I can help."
"The police were here today with a search warrant. Maybe they bugged my phone while they were at it. I hope they're out on the street in some van, listening to you, tracing this stupid-ass call—"
"Quit the tough-girl act, Val. Or is it always Valerie?" This time, she thought she sensed a smile, a touch of kindness. "Here is what you need to do. It's simple, but it's not easy. I need you to bring Hank Callahan to Cold Ridge. Tonight."
"What? Are you out of your goddamn mind? He's a senator. I can't just—"
"You can. You have to. Senator Callahan is the key to proving your husband's innocence. He likes you, Val. He believes in your husband. He'll want to help you. Talk him into driving to Cold Ridge with you tonight."
"Then what?"
"Everything will be fine. Trust me."
She licked her lips, squeezing her eyes shut as if that might help her figure out what to do. "I don't even know where he is. I can't—"
"You have one chance to help your family. Don't squander it. It's time to trust someone. Trust me, Val."
"But who are you?"
"I told you. A friend."
She shook her head. "No way. I know all of Manny's friends
."
"No, you don't."
She took a breath, unable to speak. Was it possible this call was legitimate? At this point,was anything possible?
"Hank and your husband performed dangerous combat search-and-rescue missions when they were in the military together. Play on Senator Callahan's sympathies, his sense of loyalty."
"Nothing will happen to him? You won't hurt him?"
"Val, I'm a friend. I'm not going to hurt anyone. I just have to be very careful. The forces against your husband are—let's just say the deck is stacked in their favor."
"The Rancourts, you mean?"
Silence.
"The police? Do they have the police in their pockets?"
"I'll call back when you're on the road and give you further instructions. You can do it."
"If I don't?"
"Then I can't help you."
Click.
Shaking, sobbing, Val dialed 911, then slammed down the phone. What if the caller wasn't screwing around? What if powerful people wanted Manny to take the fall for murder?
And how could she just call 911? She needed to call the FBI or something.
She tried Manny's cell phone, but didn't let it connect. Then Nate Winter's number and Tyler North's number, neither time letting the call connect.
She dialed Eric on his cell phone. He answered on the third ring, sounding sleepy. "Eric—it's Mom. Did I wake you?"
"Yes."
"Everything all right?"
He coughed. "Yes, ma'am."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
It was a conversation they'd had dozens of times. She'd tiptoe onto his room at night and stand over his bed, check to see that he was breathing. Sometimes he'd wake up, and she'd scare the hell out of him, standing there like some ghoul.
To him, this was probably the same. Reassure his crazy mom, then go back to sleep.
"I'll call you in the morning when you're more awake, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am. Good night."
She hung up and burst into tears, because there was no way—no way—Eric could bear to lose his father.
Fifteen minutes later, a car pulled up in front of her apartment, and Hank Callahan, the junior senator-elect from Massachusetts, got out and walked up to the front of her building.
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