“Was Brian unnerved?”

Rook came into the kitchen and shook his head, taking the chair between his partner and Mackenzie at the round table. “Brian doesn’t have nerves, I swear. He could have called his father or one of his other uncles – or me – if he was scared. He wasn’t.”

“Cal’s not a particularly scary guy. What did he want?”

The two men were silent. Finally, T.J. said, “Harris Mayer knocked on our door about a month ago insisting he could help us break open a case involving blackmail, extortion, fraud and bribery. Money exchanging hands illegally among rich Washington types. People threatened with exposure of secrets.”

“Threatened with violence?” Mackenzie asked.

Rook answered. “Harris hasn’t indicated violence is a factor. We’ve met a few times, but he’s always vague. It’s been hard to gauge whether he just wants to be part of the action again and is making up stuff to get our attention, or if he’s for real.”

“He likes pulling people’s strings,” T.J. added. “Pulling our strings – he knows we’re not going to hurt him. That doesn’t mean someone else won’t.”

“If whoever’s behind the blackmail and whatnot realized he was talking to the FBI…” Mackenzie didn’t finish; she didn’t need to. “A good reason to disappear. What’s Cal’s involvement?”

“We don’t know,” Rook said. “He and Harris met through Judge Peacham and have gotten together a few times in recent months. By itself, that’s nothing. Put it together with everything else that’s gone on in the past week, and who knows.”

Mackenzie thought a moment, pictured the man leaping out of the brush next to Bernadette’s shed. His colorless, soulless eyes. “Do you think my guy – the man who attacked me and presumably left me the little gift on my porch steps – is part of this blackmail and extortion scheme?”

Rook’s gaze stayed on her, but T.J. was the one who spoke. “We don’t know.”

“Bernadette?”

“The same,” T.J. said.

“I’ve known Beanie Peacham all my life, and I can remember Harris coming to the lake with his wife and kids when I was nine or ten. I attended Beanie and Cal’s wedding.” Mackenzie sighed, no longer in the mood for pizza. “Well, Rook, no wonder you dumped me.”

She thought she saw T.J. smile, but he quickly got to his feet. “I wish we could have happened along tonight just as this SOB was leaving that knife and flower for you, Mackenzie. Whether he’s mixed up with our business with Harris or not, the guy’s a creep. We’ll get him.”

“Damn straight.” Mackenzie smiled. “Thanks, T.J. Maybe the neighbors saw something that’ll help. The house is tucked back on the property, but – well, who knows. I’m just glad Sarah wasn’t there.”

At the mention of Nate’s wife, T.J. visibly gritted his teeth, his look sober. “A bunch of crazy-assed vigilantes tried to take Sarah out in the spring. Something about that house, I swear. Time to improve security there, if you ask me.”

Mackenzie remembered the uproar in the spring. Nate, Juliet Longstreet and undercover marshals from California had been involved. She’d just started her training and couldn’t wait to get her first duty assignment. But she said, “I don’t suppose security will help much with Sarah’s ghosts.”

T.J. rolled his eyes but managed a grin. “I’m out of here. See you two tomorrow.”

After T.J. left, Rook poured Mackenzie a whiskey and set it in front of her. “You look like you could use a drink, Deputy Stewart.”

“A couple sips, anyway.” She picked up the glass, staring into the amber liquid. “I want to find the bastard, Andrew. And Harris. And Cal -”

“It’s not your fault he showed up here. Just do your job, Mac. That’s all anyone’s going to ask of you.”

She took a swallow of the whiskey, remembering her attacker’s colorless eyes. She set the glass down and looked at Rook, on his feet now, leaning back against the counter. It was a comfortable house, with homey remnants of his grandmother and the masculine touches he’d added.

And a nephew upstairs, she thought.

“Leaving the knife was this bastard’s way of telling me he could have killed me last Friday.”

“He didn’t kill you.”

“Maybe he could have and was just – I don’t know.”

“Just letting you think you’d kicked his ass?”

“I disarmed him. If I’d kicked his ass, he’d be in jail right now instead of wherever he is.” She took another swallow of the whiskey, then asked abruptly, “Where did you do your first assignment?”

“South Florida.”

She kept her eyes on him. “Did you have doubts?”

“I come from a family of cops. Doubts were never my problem.” He smiled at her. “The opposite. I was pretty cocky. I was always in a hurry, didn’t like to question myself.”

She drank more of the whiskey, pointing the glass at him. “You’re still cocky, Rook.”

“But I’m more measured. Mac, you didn’t hesitate last Friday. If you’d hesitated, you wouldn’t be getting stitches out tomorrow. Everyone who knows what you did realizes that you’ll have their back in a fight. You won’t run when the action gets real.” He shrugged. “Armed and in your marshal’s duds, you’d be tough to beat.”

She got up and brought her glass to the sink, turning to him. “Thank you – and T.J., too. Calling you after I saw the hydrangea and the knife seemed like the thing to do.”

“I’m glad.” Rook touched her mouth, looked into her eyes and smiled. “You’re beat, Mac.”

He kissed her softly, without any of last night’s hunger and fire. But the longing was there, she knew. She could feel it in herself, too.

He smiled. “Get some sleep.”

The kiss, his touch – the few sips of whiskey – only added to her overall sense that she was on the verge of spinning out of control. She grabbed her backpack, grateful when Rook didn’t follow her up to the guest room.

Brian Rook met her in the hall. “I put some towels out for you in the bathroom and, uh, cleaned up a little.”

“Thanks.”

He shrugged, heading off to his room. He was obviously shaken by Cal’s visit and the reaction to it – and he had doubts. Tough to admit to doubts about anything to an uncle as confident as Andrew Rook. Mackenzie started to follow Brian and talk to him, but stopped herself. The kid was nineteen. Doubts, even for a Rook, were probably a good thing.

Twenty-Three

When she heard Cal stumbling into the house, Bernadette threw off her covers and ran downstairs, pleased she’d had the good sense to wear her L.L. Bean pajamas to bed.

She confronted her ex-husband as he poured himself a large glass of Scotch in the kitchen. She remained in the doorway, arms crossed on her chest, but she’d never been able to intimidate Cal. Whatever his faults, she’d always admired that about him. “Where’s Harris?”

“Harris Mayer? I have no idea.” Cal took a long drink, eyeing her with a frankness that she used to find appealing, sexy even. “He’s your friend, not mine.”

“He’s taken off.”

“So? He’s a grown man. He can take off without telling anyone.”

She could see she wasn’t going to get anywhere asking Cal about Harris directly. “Why did you stop at Andrew Rook’s house tonight?”

He faltered only slightly. “Nothing you need to concern yourself about.”

“No? Where are you right now, Cal? You’re in my house. I have a right to know if you’re mixed up with something that’s going to backfire on me.”

“You’ve done nothing. You’re pure, Bernadette.”

“Do you think it’ll matter if I’ve done nothing and you have? Do you think anyone will care? Appearances -”

“Appearances won’t land you in prison.” He gulped the Scotch and banged the glass on the counter, refilled it. “I’m going to bed. I’ll be out of here this weekend. Then you can start pretending we were never married.”

“I’ve already started,” she said, regretting her acidic comment immediately, if only because it would put him more on the defensive. “Cal – please. I don’t want to argue with you. If you’re in trouble, you know what to do. You’re a capable attorney.”