She set the log on its end on the stone hearth and lifted the lid on the top of the stove. “If I’m just one of the guys—some mountain woman in sensible shoes—why did you sleep with me?”
“We needed each other that night.”
He spoke softly, his tone even and unemotional, as if he were stating a simple, indisputable fact. Rose dropped the log on the fire, almost choking it out, and reached for the poker. “I know why I needed you,” she said, shifting the log, rekindling the flames. “Why did you need me?”
“You just asked and answered your own question.” His voice was steady, and she could feel his eyes on her. “I needed you because you needed me.”
She shut the lid on the fire and returned the poker to its rack. “That’s it, huh?”
“That’s it.”
She dusted bits of wood off her hands and turned around, feeling an immediate jolt at the unbridled sexiness of the man on her couch. His dark eyes, his flat stomach and long, muscular legs. She felt the heat of the fire behind her and decided it wasn’t helping. Moving away from the woodstove, she pushed back a faint sense of irritation at herself that she was still attracted to him.
She sat in her favorite knitting-and-DVD-watching chair. “Then why are you here now?”
He grinned at her. “Because my head hurts.”
“In Vermont, Nick. Why are you in Vermont?”
He glanced at the fire blazing behind the glass doors of the woodstove. “Unfinished business.”
The dim light from a floor lamp by the couch caught the raw scrape on the side of his head. As tough and accustomed to pain as he was, he nonetheless looked a little ragged and hurt, and he had to have a screaming headache. Rose knew she’d gone too far as it was. Did she really want to go further and press him about what he meant by “unfinished business”?
She launched herself to her feet and marched down to her bedroom, flipped on the overhead and pulled open her closet. She dug out a pair of dressy black heels. She’d worn them to an event Sean had dragged her to in Beverly Hills last summer. Did they just prove Nick’s point? They were heels, but they weren’t four-inch or expensive.
She shoved them back into her closet. “What am I doing?”
But she dug out a pair of nude-colored sling-backs with two-inch heels. She’d worn them to A.J. and Lauren’s wedding five years ago. They weren’t even close to sexy. They were…utilitarian.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of her closet door. She’d changed into jeans and a dark burgundy sweater for dinner with her brother and sister-in-law. She hadn’t fooled with her hair—it looked okay, maybe a little wild. Of course she’d worn boots. It was winter.
Definitely not starlet material.
It wasn’t as if no one in Black Falls was. Lauren was elegant and beautiful, always perfectly, if simply, dressed for her days at the lodge. She had a natural sense of style. Hannah was pretty with her delicate features. Jo Harper, Elijah’s love, the Secret Service agent, had amazing turquoise eyes and that great copper hair.
Rose had never paid much attention to her appearance—well, she had. She just hadn’t done much about it. Spas, manicures, pedicures, hair treatments. They all took time and money she didn’t have. She’d been known to have her hair flop into her face, get irritated, grab scissors and hack off a hunk over the sink. One of her best friends from high school owned the one salon in town and would lament Rose’s self-cuts and recommend regular hair appointments. But how could she with her schedule?
Nick Martini had slept with her because she was there, and now he wanted to absolve himself of any guilt that would intrude on his friendship and business with Sean. That was all there was to it, and it wasn’t such a bad thing. She had to be smart and not set herself up for an emotional fall.
Or another night of hot sex with a man who’d walk away from her in the morning. They’d just had another adrenaline dump, and here they were—attracted to each other, restless, alone.
Who was she kidding?
Nick was a type A, mission-oriented man. He wasn’t in Black Falls because of her. He was in Vermont because he wanted answers. The possibility that Jasper’s death was linked to Lowell Whittaker was Nick’s only “unfinished business.”
Rose returned to the living room. Nick had pulled a knitted afghan over him. “Your handiwork?”
“Penny Hodges. She owns the only flower shop in town. She and my mother were friends. My dad used to say they spoiled Elijah.”
“Did they?”
“You’ve met Elijah,” she said, dropping back onto her chair, the fire bright orange inside the glass door. “He’s impossible to spoil.”
Nick crossed his ankles under the afghan. He’d taken off his boots, set them next to her snow sneakers. “You flew to Germany after he was wounded.”
Rose pushed back a wave of memories of those hard days of fear and grief last April. “He was recovering at Landstuhl. I could get there faster than Sean or A.J.”
“Sean said Elijah was shot in the femoral artery. If you don’t bleed to death in the first few minutes, you can make a full recovery.”
“Which he did.”
“You told him about your father’s death.”
“Yes.”
She could see Elijah in his hospital bed, her tough, impossible-to-hurt soldier brother bandaged and in pain. The doctors and nurses had been as helpful to her as they could be, but she’d insisted on being the one to tell him that their father had died of exposure on the mountain he loved.
“A.J. had to tell Sean and me,” she said.
She saw that Nick’s eyes were shut. He wasn’t asleep, but, she thought, he didn’t need to sit there and listen to her. She felt the strains of the past two days catching up with her. “You can keep the fire going overnight or just let it go out. Up to you.”
She thought he was at least half-asleep, but he eased out from under the afghan and got up, standing close to her. He took her hand into his kissed her softly on the cheek. “Sleep, Rose,” he said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She squeezed his hand. “I can do heels and sequins, you know.”
“Baby, you’re sexy in those wool socks of yours.”
She laughed. “I think you might have a concussion after all.”
“Not a chance.” He slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her on the lips this time, again softly, as if he wanted to prove he could restrain himself after their mad, wild encounter last June. “No concussion.”
She let herself lean into him, put her arms around him and feel his warmth, his strength—and her undeniable, uncontrollable physical reaction to him. She forced herself to pull back and stand up straight. She smiled. “Go on and get back under your afghan,” she said. “You’re in no shape to figure out what’s going on between us. I’m not sure I am, either.”
“Rose—”
She saw car headlights on her driveway and dropped her hands from Nick’s hard middle. “That must be your stuff from the lodge.” How fortuitous, she thought.
While Nick went outside, Rose fetched sheets and a proper pillow and blanket from the linen closet. She dumped them on the couch as he returned with a small suitcase and set it on the floor.
She watched him put another log on the fire. As a smoke jumper, he had a different relationship with fire than most people. He reached for the poker and she made her exit. She locked the front and back doors and ducked into her bedroom.
She pulled off her clothes, still able to feel Nick’s solid chest and abdomen, taste his lips on hers. She sank into her bed, her sheets cold.
Ranger looked at her from the threshold, then lay down just out in the hall. Rose smiled. Her own d’Artagnan—her own Musketeer.
Who needed a multimillionaire smoke jumper?
Eleven
Washington, D.C.
Grit Taylor thought he was free and clear of the U.S. Secret Service when he got through security at Reagan National Airport and arrived at the gate for
his late-evening flight to Los Angeles.
Except Jo Harper was there.
No Elijah. Just Jo standing by a floor-to-ceiling window with her Special Agent badge and look.
Grit sat on a vinyl chair with his carry-on bag. He was in his dress blues. On his way through the airport, people had thanked him for his service. He’d responded the same every time: “It’s a privilege to serve.”
Jo just glared at him. “What’re you doing, Grit?”
“Getting ready to board a flight to California.”
“I like how you say ‘California.’ You’re obfuscating the issue.”
He grinned at her. “Obfuscate, Jo?”
“You know what it means.” She dropped her arms to her sides. She was pretty with her dark copper hair and turquoise eyes, but she was all federal agent right now. “You’re flying to Los Angeles. You’re supposed to be flying to San Diego.”
“Cheaper to fly to L.A. I’m saving the taxpayers.” It was the truth, he thought, as far as it went.
Jo continued to glare at him.
“You do that to Elijah?” Grit stretched out his legs, not really noticing his prosthetic. “What does he do, throw you over his shoulder and—”
“Has Charlie Neal been in touch with you?”
Grit wasn’t surprised by her question. He’d anticipated it the moment he’d spotted her at his gate. “I’m his new role model.”
“He’s called you on the sly with one of his theories, hasn’t he?”
“Why, is he missing?”
“I’m asking the questions.”
“Sit down, Agent Harper. We’re good. All’s well. No worries. Charlie likes to share theories with me. I listen. Sometimes I indulge him. I have a number of reasons to go to California, including navy business. They all coalesced and now I’m going. Coalesced,” he added, “is one of those words like obfuscate. It sounds like what it means.”
“Onomatopoeia.” She seemed more relaxed and sat down, if on the edge of the seat. “Charlie’s going to get me fired yet.”
“That’s not what he’s after.”
“The fire in the Shenandoah Mountains in October…” She paused, clearly not eager to discuss the matter with Grit. “It wasn’t bad but we got it out fast. If it’d spread, it could have killed Marissa. But we went over everything. We brought in all the pros. The ATF. The best people, Grit. Nothing points to a deliberate fire.”
“What about the ex-boyfriend in California?”
Jo showed no reaction to his question. “Trent Stevens is an actor and an aspiring screenwriter and director. He didn’t want the distraction of dating the daughter of a vice president. He thought it would affect his brand, as well as his work.” Jo was silent a moment. “Trent’s very serious about his work.”
“You keep tabs on him since the breakup?”
“You know I’m not going to answer that.”
Grit shrugged. “Have you ever been to Sean Cameron’s place in Beverly Hills?”
“I stopped in once when I was out there on assignment.”
“Checking out Marissa’s ex-boyfriend?”
“You’re relentless, Grit. Did you interrogate Taliban and Al-Qaeda fighters?”
“That’s classified.”
She gave him a grudging smile. “Have a safe flight. Don’t encourage Charlie. Say hi to Sean and Hannah. My sister Beth’s out there, too. Say hi to her.”
“Should I tell them when the wedding is?”
She unconsciously fingered the engagement ring on her finger that Elijah had bought for her at nineteen. She narrowed her turquoise eyes on Grit. “You do know how to cut to the heart of things.”
“You can move into Myrtle’s place while I’m in California.”
“If that’s one of the things that had to ‘coalesce’…”
“Three’s a crowd. I was in one of your cabins at the lake, right under your noses. Now I’m in D.C., down the hall. It’s awkward.”
“I have my own apartment, Grit. It’s not awkward.”
“Myrtle’s stuck in Vermont. I think she’s suffering from Stockholm syndrome or something up there. We might have to mount a rescue mission.”
“Maybe she likes Vermont.”
“This is what I’m saying. She’s identifying with her captors.”
Jo scowled and shot to her feet, then glared at him again. “Is obtuse one of those words that sounds like what it means? Because you’re being obtuse, Grit.”
He crossed his real ankle over his prosthetic ankle and wondered if anyone in the waiting area had guessed he was an injured SEAL, but he realized he didn’t care one way or the other. He grinned up at Jo. “We all want to hear wedding bells.”
“You’ll hear them for Hannah and Sean sooner than you will Elijah and me. Elijah’s waited for fifteen years. What’s another year or two?”
She didn’t wait for Grit to respond—she obviously didn’t want him to—and left. Once she was out of sight, he called Elijah: “I think you should buy Myrtle’s house and turn the back bedroom into a nursery. A zoo theme would be cute.”
Elijah ignored him. “Nick Martini was attacked at Rose’s house. He took a snow shovel to the side of the head but he’s fine.”
“Ouch. That’s what he gets for going out there in the dead of winter. Who attacked him?”
“Robert Feehan, most likely. Whoever it was got away. The police have been looking for him since Derek Cutshaw’s death yesterday. He jumped Rose that morning.”
“She didn’t get a shovel to the head?”
“He said he wanted to talk to her. Nick showed up, and Feehan took off.”
“Lots of places to hide up there in the snow. All right. Thanks for the intel.” Grit got up. “When I’m in San Diego, I’ll stop at the zoo and buy a stuffed giraffe for the nursery.”
But Elijah was gone. Grit heard his seating area called. It was almost a six-hour flight across the continent.
Anything could happen while he was in the air.
Twelve
Beverly Hills, California
Beth Harper took a late-night swim in Sean Cameron’s heated pool. The temperature in Beverly Hills was cool by Southern California standards, but by Vermont standards—even in the summer, never mind late February—it was just fine.
She climbed out of the clear azure water and quickly dried off with a large beach towel and pulled on a soft terry-cloth robe. She was alone on the expansive patio, red bougainvillea trailing down a privacy wall.
She didn’t mind. Alone, she thought, was good.
She went through French doors into the quiet, spare house, heading into the guest room where she was staying. She thought she just might chuck going back to Vermont and apply for a paramedic’s job here.
Except Vermont wasn’t the problem.
She changed into a T-shirt and flannel boxers and climbed onto her bed, sitting against the pillows with her knees tucked up under her chin. Late nights were the toughest. That’s when she’d obsess about Scott stiffly packing his things and clearing out, the cab he’d called already waiting in the driveway. No warning. No discussion. He’d had enough of Beverly Hills and was going home.
What he’d meant was that he’d had enough of her.
They hadn’t talked since. A state detective had called to ask her about Derek Cutshaw’s death and Robert Feehan’s possible whereabouts, but nothing from Trooper Thorne.
“Bastard,” Beth muttered, sniffling back tears as she reached for her cell phone and dialed her sister in D.C.
“Beth, are you okay? What’s happened? Did Grit—”
“Everything’s fine. Sorry. I forgot about the time change. It’s late there.”
“It’s late in Beverly Hills, too.” Jo breathed out in relief. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Maybe, Beth thought, but Jo didn’t scare easily. “Elijah called a couple hours ago and asked Sean to fetch Grit at the airport. He’s there now.”
No response from Jo. After several beats, she said, “Just as
well Grit’s not there on his own. Elijah won’t admit it, but Grit’s potentially out of control. He’s had a long recovery from his leg amputation, and he’s a Navy SEAL—he’s not used to being idle. I’d hoped this new job at the Pentagon would help.”
“I’m sure it will,” Beth said.
“Anything weird happens, you call me.”
“Are you asking me to be a federal informant?”
“I’m not speaking officially. Elijah and Grit are friends. I’ve become fond of Grit myself. He’s…different.” Jo changed the subject. “How’re you doing out there? Getting in much shopping?”
“Lots of window-shopping.” Beth smiled, trying to ease her tension—and her sister’s. “I bought socks and underwear on Rodeo Drive.”
Jo laughed. “Even that must have set you back. I wish I could be there with you and Hannah.”
“I’ve been thinking about heading home. Jo, you’ve heard—”
“Yeah. Poor Rose. I’m glad you didn’t have to respond to that fire yourself. You could use a break.”
“We all could,” Beth said.
Jo didn’t take the bait. “Did you call just to talk, or is there something on your mind?”
“Why is Grit in California?”
“Navy business, he says.”
“You think Charlie Neal’s been in touch with him again, don’t you?” Beth knew her sister wouldn’t give a direct answer and didn’t wait for one. “Charlie will be with his family for winter fest at Black Falls Lodge. I guess you know that, though.”
“I plan to be there myself.” She added, “For fun.”
“Are you keeping on top of yesterday’s fire? Could Derek have been involved in Lowell’s network? Do you think Robert’s just frightened—”
“Anything’s possible.”
Beth heard Sean arriving back at the house and hung up with Jo, then slipped into her robe and headed down the hall to the kitchen, all stainless steel and spotless chrome. It had a masculine feel despite the presence of Hannah’s raspberry-colored sweater on the back of a chair and Beth’s handbag on the kitchen floor.
Sean, tall and good-looking, walked in from the garage with Grit, black-haired, dark, wiry and relaxed, both men exuding masculinity and restraint.
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