Abandon

by Carla Neggers

  An outside light came on as she and Rook took the moss-lined brick sidewalk to the side entrance. Bernadette, still in a wrinkled, gray suit she’d obviously worn to the courthouse, opened the door and gave Mackenzie a sweeping, critical once-over. “You don’t look as bad as I expected. A little pale. I’m so relieved this lunatic didn’t stab you to death.”

  “Me, too,” Mackenzie said, then motioned behind her. “Beanie, I’d like you to meet—”

  “Special Agent Rook.” She stood to one side and smiled coolly, eyeing him. “Am I right?”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Judge Peacham,” he said, his tone neutral.

  “Yes. Well, come inside.”

  She led them past the kitchen and down the hall to the family room. Her Washington house was the polar opposite of her simple lake house in New Hampshire, and if Mackenzie hadn’t known better, she’d have thought this was the wrong Bernadette Peacham. Expensive antiques from various periods mixed with traditional fabrics and colors, and artwork from her travels all over the world. Cal had taken his favorite pieces from Peru and Japan, but most were from Bernadette’s life before their brief marriage.

  “I can’t wait to be out of here,” she said. “It’s so damn hot!”

  Mackenzie remained on her feet. She didn’t plan to stay long. “I don’t blame you. When do you head for New Hampshire?”

  “Friday. I know it gets hot there, but not like this. And if it’s hot, I have the lake right outside my door.”

  “Are you worried about being there—”

  “With this lunatic on the loose? No, of course not. He’ll be long gone by then, or in custody, one would hope. I’ve never worried one second when I’ve been at the lake on my own, and I don’t intend to start now. You needn’t fret. Gus will check in on me, no doubt. He’s like a mother hen sometimes.”

  Of all the images that came to mind when Mackenzie thought about Gus Winter, a mother hen wasn’t among them. Not even close. “I left some food in the refrigerator. Nothing that would spoil before you get there. There’s a half bag of marshmallows in the bread box—”

  “Marshmallows? Mackenzie, you know they’ll attract ants.”

  “I wrapped a rubber band around the bag. It’s so tight an ant can’t possibly get in.”

  Bernadette waved a hand, dismissing the subject of marshmallows and ants. “You’re the one who was attacked. We should all be worrying about you.” She softened slightly, sinking into a wingback chair. “How are you? I heard you were lucky the knife didn’t penetrate deeply.”

  “It’s a superficial wound. Painful, but it’ll heal. Every day’s better.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t just luck that you weren’t hurt worse. You’ve always been a good fighter.”

  Mackenzie was aware of Rook lingering in the doorway, but he didn’t seem eager to jump into the conversation. “I had him, Beanie,” she said, “but I couldn’t hold him.”

  “You’d been stabbed. Even more experienced officers have faltered in similar situations.” Bernadette’s tone was matter-of-fact more than reassuring. “Give yourself time to heal. Don’t push yourself, or you’ll end up delaying your recovery.”

  “That’s why I didn’t head back here until tonight.”

  “Good. Now, this man—you recognized him?”

  “He seemed vaguely familiar.”

  “Vaguely? That’s not the kind of thing one wants to hear in a courtroom.”

  The state police detectives, FBI agents and deputy marshals investigating the two attacks in New Hampshire hadn’t wanted to hear it, either. They wanted specifics, and Mackenzie couldn’t provide them. The eyes, she’d said. They’d solidified the sense that she’d seen him before. She hadn’t been very helpful—and she was convinced they’d all downplayed, if not totally disregarded, her statement because of her knife wound and initial round of pain medication.

  “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Bernadette asked.

  “I’d know it was the same man. I’m not sure it’d help me figure out where I’ve seen him before.”

  Mackenzie didn’t flinch as Bernadette studied her with a frankness that anyone who knew the exacting judge got used to. Bernadette was blunt and straightforward, but also unfailingly generous, intelligent and fair-minded. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I wish this attack hadn’t happened. I wish I could at least help find the perpetrator. I’ve seen enough lowlifes come through my courtroom. But I’m clueless. I’m not good with sketches. I don’t think I’d recognize myself in one.”

  “What about Cal?”

  “Cal?” An edge came into Bernadette’s voice at mention of her ex-husband. “Why would he know anything?”

  Mackenzie gave Rook a sideways glance, but he remained impassive. She turned back to Bernadette, shrugging. “No reason.”

  “I hardly ever see him anymore, although he’s still living here.” She added quickly, “He has the downstairs guest suite.”

  Mackenzie had stayed there often enough herself on her visits to Washington over the years. Bernadette had always been a welcoming hostess, although less so after her marriage to Cal Benton. Mackenzie wasn’t sure if he didn’t like company or didn’t like her; perhaps he’d just sensed she didn’t like him.

  “When’s he moving out?” she asked bluntly.

  Bernadette seemed to take no offense. “This weekend. When I get back from New Hampshire in September, he’ll be out of my life for good.”

  “Did you talk to him about the attacks in New Hampshire?”

  “Of course. He suggested your assailant could be someone I’ve helped out at some point.”

  “One of your ‘three-legged puppies’? Isn’t that his phrase?”

  Mackenzie’s cool tone drew a glance from Rook, but he didn’t comment. Cal, who hadn’t known her as a child, nonetheless had made it clear he considered her one of his wife’s “three-legged puppies.”

  “Cal doesn’t realize how offensive he is sometimes,” Bernadette said. “I think it’s just his way of trying to be funny. He doesn’t recognize this man, from the sketch or the description, either. The police seem to think he’s a deranged drifter, and I tend to agree. Maybe you just saw him buying something at Gus’s store one day.” She gave Mackenzie a pained look. “Or an assault knife.”

  “Gus doesn’t carry that kind of knife at the store.”

  “I didn’t mean that literally.” Bernadette rose, kicking off her flats and standing in her stocking feet. “I can see you’re tired. I wish I knew something that could help you find this man.”

  “The police aren’t giving up yet,” Mackenzie said. “Are you okay here? I don’t want to scare you, but the man was on your property.”

  “Your marshal friends swing by from time to time. I hate having anyone at my elbow day and night. In any case, you’re the one who was knifed, even if it was on my property. Do you have round-the-clock protection?”

  Mackenzie almost smiled. “I’m not a federal judge who can’t shoot.”

  “I hate guns. Your point’s well taken, but I’m not worried.”

  Mackenzie wanted to ask her about Harris Mayer but resisted because of the FBI agent standing in the doorway. Let Rook ask if he wanted to. She didn’t have enough information, but if she barreled her way into an ongoing investigation, she would be back in Cold Ridge and out of the USMS before she got a scratch on her badge. Even Nate Winter wouldn’t be able to help her.

  Bernadette walked past Rook and into the hall. Mackenzie noticed how closely he was observing the judge, but he continued to maintain his silence. She followed Bernadette, brushing by him. “Where’s Cal now?”

  “I have no idea.” Bernadette’s mouth tightened as if she was trying to hold back unwanted emotion. “Why all your questions?”

  “Just making conversation.” But that wasn’t entirely true, and Mackenzie wondered if both the federal judge in front of her and the FBI agent behind her realized she was holding back. Yet blurting what she knew about
Cal Benton and his final affront to his wife and their marriage would do no one any good. Mackenzie said carefully, “Cal will miss the lake, don’t you think?”

  “If he had his way, he’d cut up the land into lakefront lots and tear down the house and build a new one. He says it’s only a step above camping.”

  “When was he in New Hampshire last?”

  Rook said something under his breath, and Mackenzie realized she’d pushed too hard. Bernadette reached the side door off the kitchen and spun around, arms crossed on her chest. “Mackenzie, I’m a judge. Before I was a judge, I was a prosecutor. I know when I’m being grilled. I’ll make allowances because of the circumstances, but otherwise, enough with the questions.”

  “Sorry. Long day. Enjoy the lake. It was beautiful there this past weekend.”

  Bernadette smiled wistfully, her irritation fading quickly. “It always is. I didn’t let what happened to your father stop me from appreciating it. I won’t let what happened to you stop me.” She gasped, obviously horrified by her own words. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it to. Not at all. Mackenzie, I’m sorry. I’m not unfeeling.”

  “I know, Beanie. Forget it. I’ll see you later.”

  “I don’t know anything about the man who attacked you. Neither does Cal. He takes care of himself. I know he does. From what I’ve learned about him these past three years, he always has. And he’s very good at it.”

  “I’ve no doubt.”

  Her pale green eyes leveled on Mackenzie. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

  “I only have questions, Beanie. No answers.”

  She didn’t respond right away. “I know the feeling,” she said finally. She opened the door, the hot night air immediately oozing into the cool interior. “Special Agent Rook, it’s good to meet you.”

  “Likewise, Judge Peacham.”

  “You’re very disciplined, keeping your mouth shut all this time.”

  He smiled at her. “Good night, Judge.”

  Mackenzie started to speak, but Bernadette held up a hand. “I’ve kept you long enough. Take care of yourself. Thank you for stopping by.”

  “Always good to see you, Beanie.”

  Rook’s car was still relatively cool when Mackenzie returned to her seat, but she could feel fatigue gnawing at her—and his gaze on her, probing, as if she’d tried to hide something from him, too.

  “Where’d she get the nickname Beanie?” he asked, starting the car.

  “I think Gus gave it to her in first grade, and it stuck.”

  “But she’s beloved? She’s known for her kindness and generosity?”

  “That doesn’t mean she’s a pushover. She’s smart, and she’s dedicated to her work as a judge.”

  “No kids?”

  Mackenzie shook her head. “She was married for a few years after law school, but it didn’t work out. No kids.”

  “Just you,” he said.

  “I have a mother. Beanie knows that. People might say I got lost in the shuffle after my father was injured, but we all cared about each other. That was never a question. And everything turned out all right.”

  “How did Judge Peacham help you?”

  “She kept Gus from hanging me by my thumbs, for starters. Mostly, she let me into her library and let me use her house as a refuge. I never went into the shed, though. I’d sit on the porch and read—just that break from the difficulties at home made a difference. My father didn’t need me underfoot when he was in such pain.”

  “Tough times.”

  “People have faced worse.”

  Rook was silent a moment. “We’re not talking about what other people faced.”

  Mackenzie decided to change the subject. She didn’t want Rook picturing her as a lonely, troubled eleven-year-old. “Anything new on Harris Mayer?”

  “He hasn’t turned up yet.”

  “Are you actively looking for him?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She let Rook drive a couple miles without pressing him further, hoping he might take the initiative and elaborate. But he didn’t. Finally, she gave him a sideways look. “Talking to you is like getting blood out of a stone sometimes.”

  “Only when you ask about matters that are outside your area of concern.”

  “I should expect to get shut down. Got it, Rook. Nate Winter gave me the same lecture.”

  “Smart man.”

  When they arrived at her borrowed quarters, Rook didn’t ask if she needed help, he just climbed out of the car and opened the back door before she’d gotten her seat belt unhooked. He grabbed her backpack and walked to the porch, the heat apparently having no effect on him.

  Mackenzie joined him, feeling drained. Before she’d left New Hampshire, she’d retraced her assailant’s path through the woods and up to the road above the lake, not so much looking for clues the search teams had missed but hoping for something—anything—that jogged her memory. She’d probably pushed herself a bit too far.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she told Rook. “I mean it. It was decent of you, even if you had ulterior motives.”

  But he didn’t make a move to head back to his car. He nodded toward the porch. “I want to make sure your place is secure before I leave.”

  “It’s not secure. It’s a leaky haunted house. Who knows what I’ll find in there?”

  He didn’t laugh. Mackenzie gave up and mounted the steps to the porch, fumbling in a pocket of her backpack for her keys. She unlocked the door and motioned him inside. “Help yourself.” She followed him in and switched on lights as he checked the windows and closets. “I’d give anything for Abe Lincoln to pop out from under a bed right now.”

  “The Rooks are Virginians.”

  “Bobby Lee, then.”

  “Mac…”

  They were in the small kitchen, and she fought an image of him getting up with her in the morning. He sighed through his teeth, his eyes dark, his body tensed as he visibly repressed all emotion. But he cupped her chin, catching her by surprise, and traced one finger along her jaw. She didn’t pull back, and he kissed her—not lightly, either. She responded, grabbing his arms and steadying herself as her mouth opened to his tongue, the heat of him.

  But he was a man of supreme willpower, and he pulled back. “You make me crazy, you know that?”

  She smiled, a little breathless. “It’s good for you.”

  “Probably is,” he said, straightening. “If you didn’t have twenty-five stitches—”

  “Only twenty.”

  “Sleep well, Mac. If the ghosts bother you, give me a call.”

  That’d be the day, she thought. She watched him head out, trotting down the steps as if he had all the energy in the world. When he was out of her driveway, she went into the living room, with its cozy, antique furnishings. Except for the loud ticking of an old grandfather clock, the house was quiet. No ghosts, no Andrew Rook, no deranged hiker with a knife.

  Mackenzie’s eyes felt scratchy with fatigue. She hoped being back in Washington would help her remember where she’d seen her attacker before. She was convinced, still, that she hadn’t just conjured up a sense of familiarity because of fear and adrenaline.

  But whoever he was, she wouldn’t be satisfied until he was in custody, unable to hurt anyone else.

  She suspected it was one goal she and Rook shared.

  As she headed to her bedroom, she touched a hand to her mouth where he’d kissed her. Damn.

  The man made her crazy, too.

  Sixteen

  Mackenzie poured herself a cup of coffee and headed to her desk at the district U.S. Marshals office in Washington, D.C. After less than two months, she didn’t feel settled in yet, but it was her first duty assignment and she was committed to a three-year stay. She had managed to get up early and lift a few free weights and stretch, avoiding any doctor-forbidden moves that would pull on her stitches. Every day was an improvement, but that didn’t mean she was patient with her progress.

  On her wa
y downtown, she’d touched base with a New Hampshire state trooper working on the investigation into the attack on her and the hiker.

  He’d had no news. It was as if her attacker had crawled out of a cave in the White Mountains with his assault knife and gone hunting. Members of the public were being urged not to hike alone, but not to panic, either. There’d been no other attacks, and any sightings of black-bearded, solitary men hadn’t panned out.

  Maybe their guy was back in his cave, Mackenzie thought, setting her coffee on her desk and noticing a Saks Fifth Avenue box. There was no card on top. She opened up the box, unfolding tissue paper with a mixture of dread and amusement.

  Inside was a new pink swimsuit. A very pink two-piece.

  She quickly replaced the top. “Smart-asses.”

  Nate Winter materialized next to her. Since he worked at USMS Headquarters in Arlington, Mackenzie assumed he was in D.C. because of her. Impending fatherhood, she noticed, hadn’t made him any less cut-to-the-chase.

  “Hey, Nate,” she said, hoping he hadn’t seen the swimsuit or heard her muttering. “Here on business?”

  “Here to see you, Mackenzie. I couldn’t get away or I’d have flown up to Cold Ridge.” He nodded to the Saks box with the barest twitch of a smile. “You’d have to worry if you got here this morning and didn’t find a little present on your desk.”

  “I’m never living down the pink swimsuit. Never.” She tucked the box under her desk. “I’m going to exchange it for a solid black one-piece. One with a high neckline and a matching skirt.”

  “You don’t think they really bought that suit at Saks, do you?”

  She should have thought of that one. She laughed, shaking her head. “I get sliced, and these bastards pawn off a cheap swimsuit on me.” She sat down, spinning her chair around to face Nate. “So, what can I do for you, Deputy Winter?”