“What if she hadn't just disappeared, as Rojas made people think?"
“As Buzz reported in that article."
“What if she escaped my boss alive with one of his hitmen for me, who brought her here?"
Laurel shuddered. “But why here?"
“To lure me out. Rojas used women and I suspect this is part of the game. When John discovered all of Rojas's girlfriends have been blondes or redheads, Wiley picked up on it..."
“How does a drunk know so much? I noticed he was quoted an awful lot in that article in this morning's paper."
When Cole averted his gaze to the shoreline again, she pressed, “What about Wiley?"
“He's turns out to be the man in my photo."
“The young officer?” She could barely believe it.
“Wiley knows Senator Goetz."
“Who?"
“From Florida, anchors an expensive yacht in our marina, next to Rojas's. Heads the CIA oversight committee in Congress. Wiley's been digging. He found out that Goetz and Rojas are buddies."
The dizzying information befuddled Laurel. “But do power brokers in D.C. let an old drinking buddy resurface to swap war stories?"
“Smart woman. Wiley soon got phones slammed in his ear. Word spread like wildfire that he was fishing for information about Rojas. That's when Wiley got mad. He knows there's something big they're hiding, something so big about Rojas that the CIA oversight committee wants to keep hush-hush."
Laurel recalled Mike's note. “Your brother said not to take this to the CIA. Do you think he said that because they'd somehow tip off Rojas before we catch him?"
“We?” He scowled.
“Yes, we.” She squared her shoulders to mask the icy tremors racking her. “But why wouldn't your boss have sent men here to do his dirty work, to just..."
“Snuff me out?” Cole picked up the fishing rod she kept in the bottom of the boat, flicked it, watching the spoon with its several hooks strike the water's surface. “Oh, he likely has sent somebody. Maybe a whole army lurking in the woods, but the problem is, a man of his stature won't openly kill me when I'm with you."
“Me?” Lightning bolts skipped through her nerves.
“Like it or not, you're well-known enough in the environmental fields, what with your governor's awards, that Rojas must know taking me out means risking his own hide."
“You mean I've been your shield all this time?” Tremors radiated through her blood, stilling her heart almost.
“I only guessed it when John and Wiley began putting together pieces about Rojas and Goetz. Of course, Mike may have thought about that, too. It's probably why he thought this would be a safe place to hide whatever evidence he has against Rojas. It's why he probably sent me here."
The boat rocked with a wake rippling from a water-skier and a boat maneuvering off in the distance.
Laurel fingered the throttle, thinking. “But something doesn't add up, Cole. If your Mr. Rojas is truly scared we'll reveal some illegal thing he's up to, certainly he'd have his people find a way to do away with us without anyone finding out."
“Maybe he wants us only toyed with long enough so that he can figure out a way to meet me face to face. Mano y mano."
“He's the bullfighter, and you're the poor animal.” Her teeth chattered.
“Don't worry,” he replied, his gaze scouring the shoreline cabins and woods. “I might be the bull in the ring that he wants to face, but remember, bulls have sharp horns. We need to work with the sheriff to make sure we lay a quiet little plan to snare our bullfighter."
“Then we have to make sure we have an army planted in the woods, waiting for him."
“John's working on it with the FBI."
Somehow, that news didn't allay her fears. “Let's talk to my friend David Huber. He's back from Madison, and attorneys have connections in high places. Maybe he could find out more about Senator Goetz for us through some Supreme Court judge."
Cole wiggled an eyebrow.
“I like that idea,” he said, surprising her. He wound in his fishing line. “There's still a missing minnow cage in all this."
“One big enough to hold a person."
“Don't think about it."
She shivered anyway.
* * * *
BECAUSE OF THE investigation, the sheriff couldn't meet privately with them until Monday afternoon. After an agonizing weekend with the both of them pacing her cabin, Laurel sat with Cole in the sheriff's office, her heart pumping full and fast, her thoughts oddly on Tyler somewhere off in Florida. Would he have a father when this was all through?
“Deputize us,” Laurel said to the sheriff, “and we'll do a house to house search."
She and Cole had agreed expediency was the only way to end this and get their lives back, and those of the people of Dresden.
John glared at them, his face puffy red from little sleep lately. “I'm in hot enough water as it is keeping that lady's body here, against the vile threats of her family in Texas. And the mortician did not appreciate the hint of scandal invading his quiet place of business. And Buzz has all his buddies calling me for exclusive interviews he promised them. Now you want me to let you two knock on doors up and down Spirit Lake? Asking people if they've seen a shady character dragging a dead woman around?"
Laurel winced. “Just call the FBI then and send reinforcements."
“You've already got me faxing the FBI every time I turn around. I've also faked stories, duped our editor, and I've got Wiley living in my house to keep his mouth shut."
Cole griped, “It's that last one that's really gotcha mad."
Laurel caught the glint in Cole's eyes and marveled at it, despite the gravity of things. She offered, “I don't have much use for Wiley either, John, after what he did in my livingroom to fake that story, but it's done and there's no escaping what Wiley's set in motion. He's the ‘W’ file in David's office and there's no stopping his trying to recapture his Naval spying days."
John scowled. “I thought you blamed Cole for all this."
Blame. It pitched into her stomach like an icy snowball, tearing away her oxygen. She felt the questioning in Cole's dark eyes landing on her, but she stared straight at John, giving herself time to reach into her heart. Was there room in that proverbial house for blame right now?
When she could breathe again, she said, “Tyler needs a father. That's what's at stake here."
“And you two want to play police partners now?"
As a heated flush crawled up her neck, Cole's hand squeezed hers, sending electricity through her. Together, they were a storm of energy that could not be defeated. They had to be. She hoped.
Cole moved forward in his chair. “The article ran in the paper to lure Rojas, but nobody's heard from him. The body showed up the same day as the story. So Rojas probably didn't kill her. This guy in Madelyn's cottage probably did. It's the same guy I chased out of Laurel's house, I'm sure. Probably hired by Rojas. He's not real bright, just faster than me on foot. If we can flush him out, he might give us the information Mike was onto that caused his death."
The sheriff grimaced. “I'm sorry, but my hands are tied. Until we have something more solid to go on, I can't issue a search warrant for properties along Spirit Lake."
Laurel's blood sparked to a slow simmer. “My mother's involved now because of this guy renting her cottage. You have feelings for her, don't you? Don't you want to resolve this quickly, to protect her? To protect everyone in Dresden?"
Babbling something about blackmail, John set about getting them deputized and gearing them with search warrants on behalf of the sheriff's department.
* * * *
TWO DAYS LATER, on Wednesday, with the big July holiday looming only a few days away, Cole came down with a nasty case of the worries about Laurel.
Cole knew her sleep had been sacrificed. Watching her closely while he helped her check the rabbits and possum babies, she appeared wan, not her usual self around her animals.
He knew h
e was the root problem. Stress. Her mother had nearly fainted after learning Cole was Atlas. Laurel had spent long hours with her mother, talking over old issues. Then there was the prospect of them actually fighting off unknown stalkers. Being brave in front of the sheriff was one thing; acting brave in your own home was another. They had also spent several hours already visiting at least six cottages along the lake on the search warrant, until the rath of the last two renters forced Cole to call off the search for the day. He regretted the dull shock in Laurel's eyes as she seemed to be making enemies of her neighbors because of their activity. He refused to allow that.
After plunking the baby rabbit back in the nesting box and putting the formula dropper aside, he caught up with Laurel in three long strides that stretched his torn leg muscle mercilessly.
A haunted shadow flickered across her eyes.
Cupping her chin, the trembling there caused his heart to skip a beat. “You don't have to act strong for me,” he said. “Nobody's watching."
She planted a quick kiss against his skin, but even her lips proved weak, cool. “I'm fine. Thanks."
“Liar,” he said, and she squeaked when he scooped her up in his arms. “I'm tucking you under that quilt on the sofa while I finish the chores."
At that, her lips curled into a smile, and she gave in, wrapping her arms around his neck where they felt mighty fine to him. She whispered, “I'm also beginning to appreciate what a man could do for me around here."
Icy reality stormed his gut. “Then take my advice and find yourself a good one."
Sinking against him even more, she said, “Consider staying."
For an instant, but only that, he entertained the thought of staying on in Dresden. She curled like a baby rabbit against his chest, tugging at his heart. How could anyone abandon a wounded, wild thing? He was beginning to understand why Laurel stayed here. To be needed by a helpless animal was primal, not to be denied.
His mind explored what he could do for Laurel if he stayed. Build the new wildlife clinic. Set up his own marina in Mike's name and finally flex his boating skills beyond racing. He'd keep her boats and Jim Swenson's running smoothly for all those wildlife and lakewater inspections they needed to do.
Maybe with his income, Laurel wouldn't have to worry about scrounging for money all the time. He'd also set up more water sports for the area's kids who adored her. Tyler could help. They could relieve Laurel of the tedium of being tied to this place. She could travel, give more of those talks in schools that she liked to do so much, find more sponsors for it, maybe even bug the governor more about grants. Hell, maybe she'd even run for office herself, what with him and Tyler taking care of the homefront. And she'd make a good politician. People liked her.
All a pipe dream, he realized. For him anyway.
After tucking Laurel in and stoking the fireplace into red flames to warm her, Cole planted a kiss on her pale forehead and escaped back to the shed.
Somewhere between feeding Owlsy and petting Rusty—Laurel's two favorites—the idyllic images blossomed again. They ebbed forth first in sepia tones, then grew brighter, with voices of laughter, with sunshiny days and Laurel in the meadow. Children played around them, their children.
It struck like an arrow. Their children.
He wanted more children.
Maybe he was just missing his son Tyler too much, missing being part of a family. His had disintegrated, what with his parents somewhere across the globe all the time, his sister-in-law in hiding and Tyler a teenager already, about to take wing. Cole had flung everyone far and wide.
But he had the power to pull them back together again! Didn't he? The thought of it—the challenge—scared him to his marrow.
Snatching up a baby rabbit from the nesting box, Cole held it tight against his cheek. It nuzzled against one ear and into his hair. It was so soft, alive, needy and wondrous—like Laurel. Just as he cared about this baby against his cheekbone, Cole was afraid for Laurel. The feeling clawed at his insides, shredding his good sense even. He had to do something for Laurel that meant something, that would last and please her. Sure, he could make something of his no-nothing life, but that wasn't personal enough.
Holding the baby rabbit out in front of him, Cole smiled on the little animal's wiggling, button nose and said, “She loves you, you know. I want you to grow up big and strong in our meadow, you hear? When she takes walks, or visits Jonathon, I want you hopping right alongside, watching out for her, okay?"
The rabbit's ears twitched, sending rivers of delight through Cole. “What do you think if I did this for Laurel?"
When he whispered his idea into the baby rabbit's ear, it nuzzled in reply against his own whiskery cheek.
Cole chuckled. “So you like that notion, huh? Let's hope she'll be pleased."
Soon after, Cole tiptoed past a sleeping Laurel. Picking up the portable phone, he went into the bedroom to quietly ask the sheriff to send someone out to park in her driveway as guard while he went on an errand.
* * * *
COLE SWUNG Gary's maroon pickup into Laurel's long driveway, mindful that the box of yellow roses didn't slide off the benchseat and onto the floor. Laurel said she preferred wildflowers, but he'd seen the roses in the shop window and they made him think of velvet sunshine. Whenever he thought of Laurel, sunshine came to mind.
But bone-chilling fright took over when Cole soon found himself reaching in around the deputy's body, grabbing the receiver, punching 911. The operator sent the call on through to Sheriff John Petski.
“The son-of-a-bitch is here!” he yelled at the sheriff.
“Where?"
“At Laurel's! Your Hayward buddy fell asleep on the job. Send an ambulance. Damnit, John, where is everybody? The woods are supposed to be crawling with feds."
“Shit. Something's wrong. What about Laurel?"
“I'm heading for the cabin now. Just get the backup."
“You got anything on you?"
“Yeah.” Cole spotted the pistol still in the deputy's hand. It would come in handier than the knife sheathed inside his jeans.
He tossed the mouthpiece down beside the comatose deputy, snatched the pistol, then began a crooked canter along the shadowy side of the gravel driveway. His leg hurt bad, but paled to the cutting grief splicing open his heart right now.
Oh, my Laurel Lee. Please be alive.
* * * *
LYING TRUSSED IN the bottom of a small runabout boat, Laurel fought against the terror strangling her. The boat weaved and bobbed. On the floor behind the driver's seat, she could only glimpse the back of the dark-haired man's head. The hair struck a memory chord. It was the man from behind the menu at the restaurant. Was he Rojas?
“Why?” she spat out, glancing down at her bonds, “why kidnap me? What do you want from me?"
Too easily this stranger had broken through her breezeway and trussed her like a turkey while she struggled to wake from a deep sleep. Where had Cole been? Did this man have him too? Or ... was Cole dead already? Chills sprinted across her body. She needed to believe he was alive, or she wouldn't have the strength to survive herself. She refused to become fish bait.
She stared at miles of rope looped around her body. Her hands ached from the extra knots tightened at her wrists. Fear mounted.
Flopping one arm down behind him, he grazed her cheekbone with a gloved hand. Like a vulture, the man cackled from his perch, “My red-haired mermaid, you're all I want."
Laurel wanted to wretch. “You're Marco Rojas?"
“That common thief?” he scoffed.
So this was the hired gun of Cole's boss.
“Where're you taking me?"
“Sweet love, we're going on a nice, long ride so we don't have to worry about your nasty boyfriends."
“Like who?"
“Damn Wescott,” the man growled, “Rojas plans to catch up with him."
So Cole must be alive. But how could she save herself? What would Cole do in this predicament? How did he survive being
shot at before? He stayed focused! She suddenly rued the first time she condemned him for that. Staying alive was worth focusing on.
“You said Rojas was a thief,” she ventured, wriggling at her bonds. She winced at the numbness crawling into her hands. “What did Rojas steal?"
“Everything. Every piece of junk brought up on the dives ended up with black marketers. Even women. He got rich, and I never saw a dime he promised. Neither did the fool Wescott boys."
Laurel shuddered. “What about the women? What do you mean?” Keep him talking.
“My little mermaid, if you only knew how lucky you are to have me rescue you. Wescott would never keep you from the likes of my boss."
“What would Rojas do with women?"
“Not treat them with respect. Not like me. I'd never sell you to any foreigner."
“Sell?” A frigid sheen of fear enveloped her.
The boat sputtered along. “See, I told you Wescott was dumb. He never knew all the years he worked for Rojas that blondes and redheads like you brought more than pleasure to the boss. You'd bring six figures on the international market, sweetie."
She wanted to wretch again, but raised her voice above the engine noise. “What if Cole's brother did find out? What if that's why he was killed? If you can help us get Rojas, you'll be free."
The man laughed louder. “Wescott was too damn cocky for his own good. He never tumbled to anything Rojas was doing. He always wanted to make a name for himself, kept saying his son would be proud of him for the next dive and the next, for the next race."
Laurel's heart ached for Cole.
Trying to sound sweet, she asked, “What's your name?"
“Broderick. Just Broderick."
“You have any children, Broderick?"
His gloved hand reached back to stroke her temple. “You gettin’ ideas for us already? I knew we'd be good for each other."
The cool wind did nothing to bust through the fear flushing down her body. “Where's this nice place you're taking me?"
“I was thinking of Canada."
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