Cold Dawn

by Carla Neggers

  “Vanderhorn wasn’t prepared?”

  “He shouldn’t have been there.”

  “Why was he?”

  Nick paused before he answered. “I think he was lured.”

  “It had to be tough,” Jo said. “Knowing a friend was trapped. Finding him.”

  Rose thought of Nick that night as he’d pushed back his emotions and focused just on her, or at least on making love to her. He hadn’t wanted to talk, or to think. Looking at him now, she could see he wasn’t the same man he’d been then. He was under tight control, and he was thinking, putting the pieces of the past months together. He didn’t respond to Jo’s comment and moved around to the other side of the old maple.

  Elijah positioned his drill at a spot for a tap. “Vanderhorn was off duty?”

  “Yes,” Nick said, stepping into snow that had drifted against the base of the maple. “He went out to the canyon on his own. He shouldn’t have, but he wasn’t reckless. The fire should have been out.”

  Jo tossed Elijah another metal tap before turning back to Nick. “Is it possible Vanderhorn wasn’t lured out to that canyon but instead let his obsession get away from him and put you, Sean and others in danger as well as himself?”

  Nick met her gaze straight on. “Yes, that’s possible.”

  “What about Sean?” Elijah asked.

  “Sean didn’t know Jasper that well.”

  Jo leaned against the tree, watching Elijah drill the tap hole. “Do any of you have a candidate for this killer?” she asked Nick. “Could it be one of your own?”

  “Another smoke jumper? No.”

  “What about Feehan?”

  “Jasper didn’t go over names with me.”

  “Feehan look familiar to you? Could you two have run into each other in California?”

  Nick shook his head. “I don’t recall ever having met him, but I meet a lot of people.”

  “Trent Stevens?” Jo asked.

  “Sean and I have actors and screenwriters come to us for help with research on a fairly regular basis. Stevens could have been one. I don’t remember him specifically. He might not have used his real name.”

  “Grit Taylor and my sister discovered a dead woman in his apartment,” Jo said. “Did Vanderhorn say anything that in retrospect might tie his investigation to Portia Martinez?”

  “Not to me, no,” Nick said without hesitation.

  “We want to find him,” Jo said, stating the obvious.

  “Is there any chance that Derek Cutshaw or Robert Feehan knew him?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Rose helped Elijah finish placing taps in their tree and moved to the next one. Jo showed Nick where to drill on their maple, the placement and number of taps determined by the size of the tree. When they finished, they headed up the hill to the sugar shack. Rose and Nick, who were in boots and not on snowshoes, fell in behind Jo and Elijah.

  The air was warm, more like late March than late February, but Rose doubted Nick even noticed. He moved silently next to her, preoccupied, she thought, with his conversation with Jo. When they came to the sugar shack, Jo and Elijah took off their snowshoes and went inside to check out the new evaporating pan.

  Brett Griffin walked up from the stream below the small clearing. “I was taking pictures of this place. Classic. I want one of a galvanized bucket hanging from a maple tree.” He was on snowshoes, without poles, his camera around his neck. “The light’s perfect right now—moody but serene.”

  Rose stood next to Nick by the fireplace. “Are you spending all your time taking pictures these days?” she asked.

  “As much as I can, but I still teach skiing.” Brett seemed slightly out of breath as he raised his camera. “I’ve had the police all over me now that Robert’s dead, too. I don’t blame them, but it’s good to be out in the woods, away from all that.”

  “It’s hard to think of Robert as an accomplished arsonist,” Rose said.

  Brett snapped a picture of the sugar shack. “How accomplished was he considering the way he died? Maybe there is no arsonist and Robert made all this happen to cover up his involvement in drugs, or for his own amusement. Maybe he mixed truth and fiction to suit his purposes and instigated fights, took advantage of the situation.”

  Rose hadn’t heard Brett speak so articulately about what had happened, but he seemed almost embarrassed and quickly focused his camera on the fireplace and took another picture.

  Nick scooped up a handful of wet snow and patted it into a small snowball. “Do you think you’ll stay in Black Falls?” he asked.

  “Not past spring,” Brett said, calmer. “Once the snow melts and the daffodils pop up, I’m on to Colorado to teach wilderness skills and work on another photography project there.”

  “A fresh start,” Rose said.

  He gave her a feeble smile. “Yeah, I guess. I wish I’d done more to figure out what was going on with Derek and Robert. That’s going to be hard to put behind me. I can’t tell if the police think Robert was actually one of Lowell Whittaker’s paid killers.”

  She couldn’t, either. “If he was, did Lowell choose Black Falls because of Robert—or vice versa?”

  “The police aren’t going into that kind of detail with me. It’s unnerving to think Robert was a paid killer.” He averted his eyes. “At least he and Derek can’t hurt anyone else. Then again, they can’t provide answers, either.”

  “It’s been a difficult few days,” Rose said quietly.

  “Yes, it has.” Brett suddenly seemed overwhelmed with emotion. “I’ll leave you all to your get-together.”

  “Good luck with the photos. I hope you got some great ones.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  He moved well on his snowshoes, heading back through the woods to the path out to the lane and Ridge Road. When he was out of sight, Rose smiled at Nick. “Going to start a snowball fight?”

  He tossed his snowball into the fireplace and grinned back at her. “I’d be outnumbered.”

  “It is a gorgeous day, though, isn’t it?”

  “Any nicer and you’ll be having a mud fest instead of a winter fest.”

  She laughed, but she could see Nick was tense. Jo had to have stirred up difficult memories. “Mud season hasn’t even started.”

  “Ah. Mud season.”

  “You’ll be long gone back to Beverly Hills by then.”

  His eyes settled on her, but he said, “Tell me more about maple sugaring.”

  Twenty-Three

  San Diego, California

  Grit pulled in front of a cream-colored stucco house in an attractive, upscale San Diego neighborhood. Unless he’d screwed up the directions, he was at the house where Tony and Regina Martini, Nick Martini’s folks, lived, with a partial view of San Diego Bay. A sticker on a nice car parked in front of a two-car garage indicated they were members of the San Diego Zoo.

  He followed a curving brick walk to the arched front door. He’d left Beverly Hills before light, borrowing one of Sean’s cars and managing not to have Beth with him. He got to Coronado in time for a long, highly classified meeting that wasn’t as boring as he’d feared. Admiral Jenkins was proving to be an interesting naval officer with far-reaching tentacles, and he obviously wanted Grit back fighting the enemy in whatever capacity he could.

  After the meeting, Grit had grabbed a sandwich on the fly and punched the Martinis’ address into Sean’s GPS.

  Captain Martini opened the door and gave Grit, who was in his service uniform, thirty seconds to explain what he wanted, then led him back to a softly lit tiled sunroom overlooking a backyard of carefully maintained citrus and avocado trees.

  “Have a seat,” Captain Martini said, remaining on his feet. He was wearing neatly pressed, expensive golf clothes. “What do you want to know about Nick?”

  Grit didn’t sit down. “I’m friends with Elijah Cameron, Sean’s brother. I was in town on navy business and figured I’d stop by. You know Nick’s in Vermont, right?”

  “Skip the sm
all talk, Petty Officer Taylor. Get to the point.”

  “Yes, sir. Did Nick always want to be a smoke jumper, or did he want to be a multimillionaire businessman—”

  “He’s my son. Whatever he decided to do was okay with me.”

  “Enlist? You didn’t want him to be an officer?”

  The captain had no visible reaction to Grit’s intrusive questions. “Petty Officer Taylor, why are you here?”

  Grit didn’t have a clear answer. Atmosphere? Background? Instinct? He wasn’t sure about Sean’s best friend and business partner?

  He shrugged. “Admiral Jenkins sends his best.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed. “You know him?”

  “I work for him now.” As Grit had expected, that went over well. “Nick and Sean met and became friends as smoke jumpers. Was Nick still in the navy then?”

  “Early on. We’re proud of all his accomplishments.”

  “Was he into fires on the sub?”

  “He was a weapons specialist.”

  “He set fires as a kid? I did. I just wanted to see what would happen if I lit a trail of gunpowder. Nothing good, I can tell you. It worked better in the old Westerns.”

  “I’m sure you want to get back to L.A. before the traffic gets even worse.”

  That was it. Captain Martini pointed out his favorite avocado tree and walked Grit back outside. Grit wasn’t surprised he hadn’t gotten much out of the retired senior officer and absorbed as much of his surroundings as possible. Even if Nick had never lived in this house, it would reflect his family and their feelings about their world, him—which seemed pretty good from what Grit could see. He wondered if Nick had bought the house for his folks and decided that would be an impolite question.

  “Thank you for your time, sir,” he said.

  “Good luck with your rehab.”

  The captain went back inside. As Grit opened his car door, a woman in a little red sports car pulled in next to Grit’s borrowed car. She was in civilian attire, and she had dark hair and eyes and looked a lot like the man he’d just left. “I think I just saw your kindergarten picture. Nick’s sister, right? Diana Martini? I’m Ryan Taylor. Grit. I’m friends with the Camerons.”

  “I know all about you, Petty Officer Taylor. I’m Lieutenant Martini.”

  “No kidding? They let navy officers drive red cars?”

  She almost cracked a smile. “Nick’s not here, but I assume you know that. No games, okay?”

  “Has anyone else been by looking for him?”

  “When?”

  He appreciated her need for precision. “In the past year or so.”

  “Think I’m going to remember?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant, I do. You remember.”

  “Why would I tell you anything about my brother?”

  She had a point there. “Are you friends with Sean Cameron?”

  “Of course. My entire family knows Sean. That’s how I found out about you, Petty Officer.”

  Grit let her suspicion, if not outright animosity, roll over him. “Ever date Sean?”

  Her eyes were half-closed now. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Anymore than for Nick to get involved with Sean’s sister?”

  “I have to run.”

  Ta-da. “You know Rose Cameron.”

  “I only have a few minutes to say hi to my folks—”

  “Are you stationed in San Diego?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Did Rose stop by to check on Nick while she was out here last June? Did you approve of them seeing each other?”

  “I’m not discussing my brother with you.”

  “What about Jasper Vanderhorn?”

  She stopped abruptly, her expression under tight control. “You should go.”

  “Lieutenant, if you don’t tell me, I’ll tell Sean Cameron. He’ll tell the task force that’s looking into multiple explosions, fires and murders. Someone will come out to your nice, tidy office on the base—”

  “I’m on a ship.”

  “Even better.”

  She sighed. “I met Mr. Vanderhorn once. Here. My folks weren’t home.”

  “Did he suspect Nick was his firebug?”

  “We didn’t discuss Nick or arson, but of course not. What a ridiculous thing to say, or even to ask. Why are you asking? You’re a SEAL. You’re not law enforcement.”

  Grit pretended he hadn’t just been asked a question by a superior. “When did Vanderhorn come down here?”

  “About a week before he died.”

  So, June of last year. Same time Nick was lusting after Rose Cameron. “Do you know Trent Stevens?”

  “Who?”

  “Portia Martinez?”

  “No. Go, okay? Say hi to Sean for me. He’s very charming. I must remember that not all his friends are.”

  Grit laughed. Diana Martini darted inside.

  Interesting. When it came to Cameron & Martini, the sisters—Diana and Rose—were mustn’t-touch and, Jasper Vanderhorn had looked into Nick Martini’s background, despite their friendship.

  Grit called Elijah on the way back to Beverly Hills. “I’ll be quick. I think it’s illegal to talk on a cell phone in California while driving. Did Sean and Nick sign a contract or take a blood oath not to sleep with each other’s sisters?”

  “Why?”

  “You notice anything going on between Nick and Rose?”

  Elijah sighed. “They’re fighting it.”

  “Ask Jo if the task force has looked into Nick’s travels and considered if he could be an arsonist, one of Lowell’s killers for hire.”

  “Grit.”

  “All this California sun is getting to me. You’re Special Forces. You wouldn’t understand the appeal of Coronado.”

  “Are you nostalgic, Grit?” Elijah didn’t wait for an answer. “If my sister is in danger from Nick Martini—if there’s even a shred of a possibility—I want to know.”

  “Heroes with scars worry me.”

  “That describes you and me, too, Grit.”

  “I worry me. You don’t worry me now that you’ve got Jo.”

  “We’re both solid. Nick is, too. None of us has targeted innocent people.”

  “Derek Cutshaw and Rob Feehan weren’t innocent.”

  Good point, Grit thought, and disconnected.

  He was back in Sean’s driveway when Charlie Neal called with a similar theory about Jasper Vanderhorn suspecting Nick Martini, but Charlie didn’t really believe it, either. “We’re running down blind alleys and into brick walls,” the vice president’s son said.

  Grit didn’t even bother correcting Charlie’s use of we. Let the kid be a part of something.

  “How are your sisters?” Grit asked.

  “We’re all going to Black Falls for the winter fest weekend at the lodge. Marissa in particular can’t wait to be back there. She’s signing up for cross-country ski lessons and a sleigh ride. I hope the sap will be running so I can make maple syrup. Did you know it takes about forty gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup?”

  “That’s a lot of sap.”

  “Real maple syrup and tupelo honey have a lot in common.” Charlie hesitated. “Marissa won’t tell me anything. I think the Secret Service got to her. You’re not reporting back to them every time I call, are you?”

  “That’s not my job.”

  “Because my calls are innocent. Totally. I’m not making any progress. I can tell Marissa’s upset. I think she still has feelings for Stevens. Did you notice? Could you tell?”

  “I met her for about seventeen seconds three months ago.”

  “Are you getting transferred to San Diego?”

  Grit was almost used to the pinball machine that was Charlie Neal’s mind. “No.”

  “But you like it there.”

  “What difference does that make? Anything else you want to tell me?”

  “I wish I could do more to help.”

  “You’ll have your chance to do your own thi
ng before you know it. Right now think about that maple sap.”

  Grit hung up and went inside. The Vermonters were pacing.

  Beth shoved her hands through her hair. “I can’t stand this anymore. I’m booking my flight back to Vermont. I don’t care if it’s twenty degrees and a hundred-fifty miles to the nearest Saks.”

  “Forty-two degrees today,” Hannah said. “I checked.”

  “Spring weather,” Beth said.

  Which right there was why he’d never fit in there, Grit thought. He could be subtle if he had to be, but that wasn’t now. “Are you worried about Rose being with Nick?”

  Both women glanced at Sean. It was his question to answer. “Nick’s a lot of things,” Sean said, “but he’s not an arsonist.”

  “Did Jasper Vanderhorn suspect Nick was his serial arsonist?”

  “Jasper suspected his own mother by the end.”

  Sean didn’t elaborate and walked out to the patio. Grit glanced at the two women, then followed Sean outside to see what more he could get out of him. It wouldn’t be easy. The man was a Cameron.

  Twenty-Four

  Black Falls, Vermont

  Jo Harper and two of the Cameron brothers came to dinner at Rose’s house. Nick didn’t know when or if she’d invited them. He watched her toss a handful of chopped fresh parsley into a soup pot, the steam rising into her face. She’d spent the afternoon holed up in her back office, leaving him by the woodstove with his laptop. Ranger would peer up at him occasionally as if he figured he had to start getting used to having him around.

  Now Elijah and A.J. had the same look.

  Suspicious Cameron eyes.

  Rose had kicked Nick and her brothers out of her work area in the kitchen. They all had beers and stood by a small peninsula that separated the kitchen and living room. She was animated, focused, professional and determined, easily holding her own with her brothers. Nick had sorted out the major players in her life in Black Falls.

  Jo pulled off her coat and draped it on a chair by the woodstove. “I’ve talked to some people,” she said vaguely, standing next to Elijah. “Robert Feehan flew from Boston to Los Angeles last Thursday and returned on Tuesday, the day before Nick arrived in Black Falls and two days before Derek Cutshaw was killed.”