TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

by Sharon Mignerey

  "Legit and a bonafide hero aren't exactly the same thing."

  "That's right. But this guy had a big article written on him in his hometown of Detroit. I left a copy of the fax for you on the kitchen table. Darn near got himself killed trying to get refugees to safety in Kosovo."

  Probably how he came by the scar on his chest, Rosie thought. "And he runs something called Lucky's Third Chance for kids. I left you an article about that, too," Hilda said. "Your sister knows how to pick 'em."

  Rosie wondered if Lily had ever seen Ian handle a gun.

  "I don't like the idea of leaving you alone," Hilda said.

  "I'm not sure we have any other choice. We're all set for my cousin to meet us at the north end of Frederick Sound tomorrow afternoon. He can't get there much sooner than that."

  "I still don't like it."

  Rosie didn't, either. "Unless we were watched this morning when I got back here with Ian and Annmarie, nobody but you and Mama Sarah knows they're here."

  Hilda faced her. "You'll call if you even hear an owl screech."

  "Or a mouse peep," Rosie promised.

  * * *

  Rosie couldn't have said what she expected dinner with Ian and Annmarie to be like, but it certainly hadn't included the playful man who whooped and laughed and gently teased Annmarie into forgetting she was in a strange place. He sang to her, deliberately getting the lyrics wrong, accepting the child's impatient corrections in a way that made Rosie think this was an old and familiar game with the two of them.

  "We'll wash the dishes, won't we Mr. Ian?" Annmarie said as Rosie began clearing the table. "Just like we do at home."

  "We don't do dishes while we're on vacation," he returned with a grin. His sharp glance rested a moment on the shade covering the window. No one would mistake his silhouette for hers.

  Annmarie pondered Ian's statement a moment. "We can't just leave the dishes dirty."

  "We could let the dog lick them," he suggested.

  She giggled. "You're so silly. There would be germs."

  "Are you sure?" He held the plate up as if to inspect it. "I don't see any germs."

  "That's 'cause you need a mic…" She puckered her brow. "What's the name of that thing Mama uses at work?"

  "Microscope?" he offered.

  She brightened. "That's right."

  "I'll wash the dishes," Rosie said, picking up the plates and carrying them to the counter. "I bet there's a movie on the TV." The den was the one room in the house where there were thick drapes. The first winter Rosie had spent here, it was the only room in the house where she had felt truly safe.

  "I think she's trying to get rid of us," he said, scooping Annmarie into his arms.

  "You'll come watch with us, won't you?" she called as Ian carried her out of the kitchen.

  "Just as soon as I get my chores done."

  As Rosie cleaned up the dishes, she listened to their muffled laughter coming from the den. She both envied and admired the easy rapport between them. She had only herself to blame that she didn't know Annmarie as she now desperately wanted to.

  She turned off the light in the kitchen and quietly let herself out of the house, Sly following her. He padded into the yard as he usually did, and she felt a moment's relief from the day's tension. Sly didn't seem to smell anything unusual. She went to the edge of the porch and peered up the hillside where Ian had said someone had watched the house. From down here, Sly would probably never pick up a scent unless the wind came off the mountains at the center of the island instead of off the water.

  Her relief vanished. Who did she think she was kidding with all her carefully made plans? The totem in the middle of her yard might be great for scaring away evil spirits, but would be useless against the men after Annmarie.

  When Sly joined her back on the porch, she went into the house, carefully closing the door behind her. She heard a snicking sound and looked up in time to see Ian with the gun in his hand, putting the safety back on. Meeting her glance, he slipped the weapon in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

  She couldn't decide whether to be relieved or terrified that he'd heard her and Sly go outside. Turning her back to him, she locked the door, her fingers lingering over the lock.

  "Everything okay out there?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "You okay?"

  She turned around to face him. "I've had better days."

  "But you got to see your niece on this one."

  "Yeah."

  "She's a beauty. As innocent and sweet as her mom."

  "Yes, she is."

  "But you haven't seen her since—"

  "Eighteen months ago," Rosie finished. The last time Lily and Annmarie had been to the island. Then Rosie had imagined being the favorite aunt who shared secrets and special times. She hated knowing she was more stranger to Annmarie than this man. She lifted her gaze to Ian's, unwilling to let him see her regret. "I don't imagine you're too sleepy, since you slept the day away, but we ought to be going to bed soon."

  His gaze sharpened, and she swallowed, once again caught within a delicate web of attraction, too aware of him, too aware of herself, disliking herself and him because of it.

  "Tomorrow's going to be a long day," she added. The pang of regret that he'd be going his way, she'd be going hers, surprised her.

  He nodded.

  "Well, then…" Relieved that he didn't say a word about beds or what to do there if a person wasn't sleepy, she turned off the light in the kitchen and made her way toward the den.

  An instant later someone rapped loudly on the glass of the kitchen door, and a man called, "Open the door, Rosie. I can't believe you've locked me out."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  The doorknob rattled again. "C'mon, Rosie. I know you're in there."

  Ian glanced at Rosie. "Who the hell is that?"

  The dog stood in front of the door lazily wagging his tail. Ian would bet his new SUV that whoever stood on the other side of the door was someone the dog knew. Even so, he wasn't reassured.

  "It sounds like Hilda's brother," Rosie returned, her own voice in a whisper.

  "Josh?" Ian asked, coming up with a name from earlier in the day. A man who came and went. When Rosie nodded, he added, "What happens if you ignore him? Will he go away?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know."

  "Trust him?"

  A long second passed before she shook her head. "He's probably drunk—sometimes he comes out here to sleep it off. There's a cot in one of the sheds—if he stays he'll crash there." She frowned. "When he's drunk, though, he never comes to the house. He doesn't cause any trouble—just sleeps it off."

  The man outside knocked on the glass again. "I just want some coffee." The door shook as though he'd put his shoulder against it. "She ain't here," he said, his voice muffled as though he'd turned away from the door.

  The hair on the back of Ian's neck rose.

  "Nobody…" The man continued to talk, but what he said couldn't be understood.

  Ian drew his weapon and crept toward the door. Flattening his back against the wall, he peered through the thin sliver between the gauzy curtain and the glass. At first he saw nothing. Then one of the shadows moved, and he realized there was a man on the outside wall, standing just as he was, his back to the wall by the door. The shadows outside moved again, and one more time there was pounding against the door.

  Ian pulled Rosie away from the front of the door and pushed her toward the den.

  "Mr. Ian. Auntie Rosie, where are you?" Annmarie called, her high voice sounding unnaturally loud. The patter of her footsteps faltered, then her voice became even more plaintive. "Mr. Ian?"

  His muscles tensed as the ominous shadows outside shifted. From the corner of his eye, he watched Rosie silently cross the kitchen toward her niece. Without taking his attention off the shadows, he assessed his options, which were damn few.

  In the next instant the window in the door shatter
ed, and an arm reached through the window frame to unlock the door.

  "Rosie, get out of here," Ian commanded.

  He grabbed the arm and jerked hard. The bone snapped, and the man cried out.

  To Rosie, the breaking glass sounded like gunfire, but no less so than a man's howl of pain. She scooped up Annmarie and ran into the den. Only half aware of the soothing words she gave the child, Rosie grabbed Annmarie's jacket and shoes. From the kitchen there were grunts and the sound of a scuffle.

  She didn't have to wonder who had just broken into her house. She knew. Marco somebody. And Josh was with him.

  Rosie took a shaky breath and turned off the light in the den, carrying Annmarie through the dark room.

  "I want Mr. Ian," the child said plaintively.

  "Shh," Rosie murmured.

  Within a heartbeat, he had turned into a deadly predator—lethal in his intent, his gun appearing in his hand as though it had always been there. He scared her to death. She could only hope he'd buy the time they needed to escape.

  "He'll be along in a minute." She opened the door to a coat closet, the interior looking darker than she ever remembered. Reaching through the hanging garments, she pressed on the rear wall, and it opened. She fumbled for the light switch, found it, and turned on the light above a steep, hidden stairwell. She set Annmarie down and held her hand. "Come on. You, too, Sly."

  Rosie heard a crash in the kitchen, the sound of breaking furniture, then a gunshot. Swiftly she retrieved her backpack from the closet floor plus one other that she used when she was gone overnight.

  "Mr. Ian," Annmarie cried.

  "Shh," Rosie whispered, urging the little girl down the steep steps. At the bottom she set down the packs, knelt and thrust Annmarie's arms into the jacket, put on her shoes and tied them.

  "It's those bad men again, isn't it?" Annmarie looked up at Rosie. "I want them to go away." Her chin firmed. "And I want Mr. Ian."

  "He'll catch up." Rosie put on a jacket, then guided the child toward the steel door at the back of the room. She didn't know whether he would or not, but nothing was more important than getting Annmarie to safety.

  She unlatched the door and pulled it open. Sly preceded her into the tunnel, his nose to the cold concrete floor. She took Annmarie's hand. "Come on, sweetie. It will be okay."

  "Rosie, where the hell are you?" she heard Ian call directly above them.

  Rosie kept walking, but Annmarie came to a firm halt. "Mr. Ian," she called.

  Rosie frowned and let go of the child. She went back to the hidden stairwell. "Down here."

  An instant later he appeared at the top of the stairs. "Well, I'll be damned." He turned around and pulled the door closed behind him. Then he hit the light bulb with the heel of his hand, shattering it and thrusting the stairwell into darkness. He clattered down the stairs. "A secret passage. Just when were you going to trust me enough to tell me about this?"

  "It wasn't a matter of trust." She turned on the flashlight she'd already put into her pocket and thrust one of the backpacks into his hands. "And it isn't a secret. If that's Josh out there, he knows about this. Everyone on the island does."

  "Everyone?"

  "Yep." She went to the doorway of the tunnel and turned to wait for him.

  As much as she wanted to know what had happened, something in his expression kept her from asking. When his gaze lit on Annmarie, who stood in the dark tunnel with Sly, the lines around his mouth softened.

  "Hey, petunia," he said. "I see you're keeping Sly company."

  "You don't have to pretend," she said, her voice solemn. "I know it's those bad men."

  Ian glanced back Rosie, casually taking the flashlight from her. "How long is this?" he asked, walking away from her. "C'mon, Annmarie."

  "About a hundred feet. It comes out just below the greenhouse." Rosie pulled the steel door closed behind her.

  "I saw your boat earlier today." He glanced over his shoulder, the shadows from the flashlight making him look huge. "It's all gassed up?"

  "Of course it is," she responded, feeling more annoyed by the second at his presumptive tone.

  "Excellent."

  She hurried into the cold tunnel, noting that Annmarie was right on Ian's heels.

  "Are we almost there?" the child asked. "I don't like this place."

  "Talk real quiet," Ian commanded softly.

  "Okay," she whispered, then repeated, "Are we almost there?"

  "Yes," Rosie answered softly.

  Ian suddenly flicked off the flashlight, plunging the tunnel into total darkness. "C'mere, petunia," he whispered.

  Though she couldn't see him, Rosie knew that he had picked up Annmarie. A second later she saw a wavering light hitting the bushes that hid the entrance to the tunnel.

  "Tell me about the end of the tunnel," Ian commanded softly, bending his head close to Rosie's ear.

  Oddly aware of the scent of his clothes that she had washed earlier, Rosie thought a moment, trying to visualize the area as it had been last fall when she checked it to make sure that the gate was secure. "There's a chain-link gate," she answered. "And on the other side there are several big bushes. You can't even see the gate unless you know where to look."

  "Any obvious path?"

  "No."

  "Okay. That's good."

  He handed Annmarie to her. "You wait here while I check things out. If you hear anybody coming down the tunnel, hide in the bushes."

  "We're coming with you," Rosie said, taking a step after him.

  "Now's not the time to argue." His voice was still in a whisper, but it was filled with steely resolve. He leaned down, his face so close she could see the glitter of his eyes despite the dark. "You will wait here. That's—"

  "An order?" she returned.

  His answer was a moment in coming. "Yes. If that's how you want to put it."

  She hadn't expected him to admit he was ordering her, and no ready reply came to mind.

  He brushed a hand over Annmarie's hair, then turned away and a second later pulled open the gate. The sound of metal against metal was faint—Rosie knew what it was, but it still sounded loud to her, especially as she again saw the wavering movement of a flashlight beyond the edge of the bushes. One moment Ian's silhouette filled the entrance of the tunnel and the next he was gone.

  Darned if she was going to wait here where they were likely to be caught.

  The instant he was out of sight, she thought of a retort. This isn't the army, and I've been making my own decisions, thank you, and doing just fine. The man expected that she'd stay put just because he said. Not likely.

  She crept to the end of the tunnel, and she stood a moment, wishing she could see beyond the bushes. She glanced at Sly, who was alert and listening. Nothing in his posture suggested anyone was near. She moved out of the tunnel, shielding Annmarie's head from the branches of the surrounding bushes with her arm. Sly followed close on her heels.

  The brush beyond was even thicker than Rosie remembered. Of course, she had never once been here at night. She moved away from the gate, wondering where Ian had gone. Her own movements sounded loud enough to awaken a hibernating bear.

  The wavering light came closer, and whoever was on the other side was obviously searching, the light pattern sweeping up, then down. A nearly silent growl rumbled through Sly. Rosie pressed a hand against his muzzle, signaling him to be quiet.

  "Shh," she whispered against Annmarie's ear, relieved when she felt the child nod and press more tightly against her.

  However noisy Rosie thought she'd been, the man carrying the flashlight was louder, his footsteps crunching against the rocky shoreline. A scant second later, the light passed within inches of their feet and someone walked past. Footsteps tromped a bit farther, then paused. Again a beam of light was aimed slowly over the brush, once again missing them by inches. Rosie's heart pounded so hard it hurt.

  Then she heard faint voices from inside the tunnel.

  Quietly Rosie lifted Annmarie into her
arms, then slowly moved farther away from the gate, resisting her urge to take the path of least resistance. She moved up the slope, hoping she didn't slide, hoping nothing in her movements would give away their location. She was in the business of finding people, not hiding them. She would have given nearly anything to run to the boat, and if there had been more cover … and if she had been alone … she might have risked it.

  She had carried Annmarie a scant ten feet when the voices in the tunnel became more distinct.

  "You out here, Sid?" someone called from the tunnel.

  "Down here." The flashlight beam was aimed in their direction again, this time hitting the spot where they had been. "Only thing I've seen out here is a skunk."

  "They got out of the house somehow. You took care of the boat?"

  "Oh, yeah. Nobody'll be using it again."

  An instant later the gate opened with a loud squeak, and Sid chuckled. "I would have heard that. Ain't nobody come this way."

  "There's no other way they could have gotten out of the house. They've gotta be here."

  Another arc of light joined the first one and made a slow sweep around the tunnel entrance. "Find them."

  The beams of light came closer and closer. The temptation to run was overwhelming. Instead she sat still, holding Annmarie more tightly, and keeping her eyes on the ground so they couldn't possibly catch the reflection of light if it skimmed over her again. The light hit the tip of Sly's tail, swept suddenly up and beyond them. They sat perfectly still and watched the play of light as the two men moved back toward the house.

  "They ain't here," Sid said. "It's like I told you, nobody came through that gate but you."

  "Hey, fellas." Josh's voice. "I searched the house like you wanted. She's not there. You guys didn't find her, either?"

  "Nope."

  "Well, I did what you asked. I want my money."

  "After we find her and the kid," Marco said. "We've got bigger problems."

  "Like the guy bleeding all over the kitchen floor," Josh interjected.

  Bleeding? Rosie thought. She'd almost forgotten about the breaking glass and the arm that had suddenly appeared through the window.