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She paused at the door, her hand on the crystal doorknob.
‘‘I have her number. Lily’s, that is. You can call her.’’
She nodded before returning to the kitchen.
Ian shook a couple of tablets into his hand and swallowed them without water. She talked to him as though he was something foul the dog had dragged in. But her touch…that was a whole different matter.
He could hear her in the other room, talking…on the phone.
He rushed from the bathroom, heard her concisely describe his injury. He snatched the telephone from her and yanked the cord from the wall.
‘‘Damn, don’t you get it?’’ He shook the end of the phone line in her face. ‘‘This isn’t a game.’’
‘‘I didn’t think it was.’’ Calmly she replaced the receiver in the cradle, took the cord from him and plugged it back into the socket. In the next instant the phone rang.
Not taking her eyes from him, Rosie picked up the receiver. ‘‘Sorry about that, Hilda,’’ she said. ‘‘Now, like I was saying, I found that hiker you called me about earlier, and he needs a little first aid. If you’d like to bring the kids out for a visit that would be good, too…. I knew you’d understand…. Yeah, that’sright. See you in a bit.’’ She replaced the receiver, then said, ‘‘Do you want eggs with your pancakes?’’
‘‘You’re nuts,’’ he responded. ‘‘You can’t just—’’
‘‘The eggs, Mr. Ian,’’ she interrupted, the steel in her voice matching her posture. ‘‘How do you want them?’’
‘‘Over easy,’’ he snapped. ‘‘Three, if you have enough.’’
‘‘No problem.’’ She made a point of looking at his bare chest, then added, ‘‘I’ve got a sweatshirt that will probably fit you if you don’t want to put that bloody shirt back on.’’
‘‘I don’t,’’ he said.
She half turned, then caught his glance once again. ‘‘What happened to your luggage?’’
‘‘We had to leave it on the ferry,’’ he answered.
She gave him another thorough glance, then moved to the refrigerator, where she took out a carton of eggs. Ian watched her move around the kitchen, her expression softening when she looked at her niece.
He hoped the aspirin would kick in soon. His head pounded worse than a hangover from a three-day drinking binge. His groin was killing him, and his shoulder hurt like fire. Worse, he had completely lost control of the situation. To regain it, he needed to start thinking like the men chasing them—that was the key to a good, flexible plan that would put them a step or two ahead of the criminals that Lily was testifying against.
Rosie, though, seemed to have her own plan. But then, why wouldn’t she? She’d had the upper hand all morning. And now, someone named Hilda was on the way—a nurse, if his hunch was right. Why in hell would Rosie have told her to bring kids for a visit? None of it made a bit of sense.
He returned to the bathroom where he drained the water out of the sink and rinsed the washcloth as best he could. By the time he was finished, the aroma of pancakes and eggs wafted from the kitchen, making his stomach rumble. He could hear Rosie and Annmarie talking, becoming acquainted with each other.
When Lily’s husband died, Ian had met her parents and her sister Dahlia. Rosie hadn’t come, but if that bothered Lily, she’d never said. In fact, she always spoke highly of Rosie, and Ian remembered that she had visited Rosie shortly after John’s death. Still, he wondered why Rosie had never come to California in the almost three years he had lived next door to Lily. He cocked his head to the side, listening to their conversation.
He finished drying his hands, then folded the towel and hung it up. Without conscious thought, he picked up the .38, checked its ammunition and slipped the gun back into the waistband holster at the small of his back and left the bathroom.
One thing was sure. This woman might not have visited Annmarie, but there was no mistaking her affection. Rosie knew the child’s preferences, touched her affectionately, listened in a way few adults did with children. The dog lay in the middle of the floor, where she had to step over him as she moved around the kitchen.
Seeing a gray sweatshirt hung over the back of one of the chairs, Ian moved into the room. Rosie spared him a passing glance when he grunted as he pulled the shirt over his head.
Then he made a quick exploration of Rosie’s house, finding it laid out the way he’d expected. Upstairs there were a couple of bedrooms and a bath. Downstairs there was another bedroom, clearly Rosie’s, a cozy living room and a den.
When he came back to the kitchen, Annmarie was still sitting on the counter, her face and voice animated as she told Rosie how they had played hide-and-seek with some scary men. Rosie smiled, encouraging her niece to continue, but there was no mistaking the rigid set to her shoulders. The lady was not amused.
At the time he hadn’t been pleased, either. Ice had replaced the blood in his veins when he discovered they were being followed, especially after using all the precautions he could think of. Traveling under an assumed name. Taking a circuitous route, which hadn’t been hard to do. There was no other way to reach remote communities in Alaska, including Lynx Point. He had paid close attention when they boarded the ferry in Seattle, and he was 99 percent certain they hadn’t been followed. Which meant somehow Marco knew where they were headed and had probably been on the ferry ahead of them.
‘‘Are you going to scowl those eggs into submission or eat them?’’ Rosie asked.
Ian focused on her, then on the table, discovering a steaming plate of eggs and blueberry pancakes in front of him. He managed a smile. ‘‘Could I talk you out of some more coffee?’’
That eyebrow of Rosie’s raised again. ‘‘In front of you. Next to the orange juice.’’
He glanced back at the table. Sure enough, coffee and juice. He sat down.
Rosie picked at her food as she watched Ian and Annmarie consume their breakfast as though they hadn’t eaten in days. Annmarie’s chatter and Ian’s gentle and affectionate teasing with her were rooted in deep familiarity. Aware as she was of Annmarie, Rosie found it impossible to ignore Ian.
His easy smile did nothing to hide his watchfulness. She would bet he heard every sound from the furnace when it kicked on to the birds chirping outside. His quick exploration of her house had made her think of a warrior checking his defenses. Everything about him reminded her that he was a man who could attack with chilling efficiency. That frightened her far more than she cared to admit.
She longed to give voice to her questions, but the things she wanted to ask were hardly appropriate to voice in front of Annmarie. Who was this man who had been entrusted with Annmarie’s care? How could Lily have witnessed a murder?
Rosie had no one but herself to blame for the fact that her sister didn’t call. Inwardly Rosie cringed, thinking of their last conversation. Lily had wanted her to come visit, and Rosie had flatly refused to return to California. It was a refusal that had cut Lily to the quick, and Rosie found herself wishing she could have given a different answer.
Before she’d finished eating, Annmarie began to look drowsy, her head nodding, then jerking upright. Each time she snapped awake, she gave Rosie or Ian a sweet smile and put another piece of pancake in her mouth.
‘‘She looks like I feel,’’ Ian said.
‘‘She’s beautiful,’’ Rosie murmured.
‘‘Thanks,’’ he murmured. ‘‘It’s all this beauty sleep I’ve been missing lately.’’
Rosie looked up in time to see him stroke a lean hand down his cheek in an exaggerated gesture of a preening male. In spite of herself, her lips twitched.
It was on the tip of her tongue that she could tuck him in for a nap, too. Like every other man she knew, he’d take that suggestion as an invitation. All she said was, ‘‘Not to mention getting hit with an ugly stick.’’ Nothing could have been further from the truth.
‘‘Always knew I was a good-looking guy.’’
‘‘Conceited, too.’’ She stood up and rounded the table to where Annmarie was sitting. ‘‘How about a nap, sweetie?’’
Annmarie nodded and held her arms up. Around a giant yawn, she said to Ian, ‘‘We’re safe now, huh?’’
‘‘As safe as we can be, petunia,’’ he returned.
She smiled sleepily and focused on Rosie. ‘‘Mommy said we would be.’’
Rosie picked up the child. Looking over Annmarie’s head, she met Ian’s gaze. ‘‘You stay put.’’
He lifted his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. ‘‘Hey. I’m not going anywhere.’’
Rosie carried Annmarie toward the bedroom, hearing the soft jangle of Sly’s tags on his collar as he followed her. In the bedroom Rosie lay the child on the bed, still rumpled from her interrupted night’s sleep. She slipped off Annmarie’s shoes and tucked the covers around her.
‘‘Aunt Rosie?’’
‘‘Hmm?’’ She sat down on the bed.
‘‘Will you sit with me till I fall asleep?’’ Annmarie swallowed. ‘‘Sometimes I get scared, ’specially since Daddy went to heaven.’’
A lump rose in Rosie’s throat as she brushed Annmarie’s hair away from her face. ‘‘I’m here as long as you want, sweetie.’’
‘‘Mommy said you were nice. She said I’d like it here.’’ Another smile followed, this one with heavy eyelids.
‘‘I’m glad she thinks so,’’ Rosie whispered.
‘‘Will Sly stay with me?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
Annmarie snuggled deeper under the covers. ‘‘Good. Later I’ll play ball with him.’’
Rosie continued stroking Annmarie’s hair. The child’s breathing changed, and between one breath and the next, she fell asleep. Rosie sat there a moment longer, studying the child. Regret, heavy as heartbreak, stole through her. How could she have stayed away so long? It wasn’t as though Lily hadn’t wanted her to come. She had.
Rosie closed her eyes. Like the coward she was, she had stayed away. How could she have thought an old, old hurt was important compared to spending time with and cherishing a child?
Silently she rose from the bed. Sly stood up to follow her from the bedroom. Pointing toward Annmarie, Rosie commanded, ‘‘Guard.’’
Sly lay back down, and Rosie studied him a moment, wondering if he really would guard Annmarie or if he simply thought guard was another word for stay. Since he hadn’t protected her out there in the clearing, she had serious doubts. She had taken him to guard dog training when she first got him, liking the idea of a watchdog. He had loved attack training, but she doubted he would attack anyone not wearing a padded suit. She had soon discovered that he liked tracking better, and he had taken to that like a spawning salmon to a rushing stream.
When she returned to the kitchen, she found Ian at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes and putting them on the drain board. He looked surprisingly at ease, which brought Rosie to a complete halt at the doorway. The table had been cleared and wiped down. Somehow he had figured out that the embroidered cloth and basket of flowers belonged in the middle.
‘‘There are a couple of cups of coffee left in the pot,’’ he said without looking at her. ‘‘Ready for another?’’
Resisting the temptation to clear her throat she said, ‘‘Yes.’’
He took one of the mugs from the drain board, filled it and offered it to her.
It was a simple gesture of appeasement. The man had made a lot of those overtures since he walked through her door. For the life of her, though, she couldn’t cross the few steps to take the mug from him.
‘‘It’s going to take more than doing a few dishes to get on my good side,’’ she said, hating the words the instant they were out of her mouth.
‘‘So you have a good side,’’ he murmured. Deliberately he came toward her, extending the coffee cup toward her. She didn’t move, though she had the strongest urge to turn and run.
She accepted the cup from him, noting the teasing glint in his eyes. His hands were loose at his sides as if to reassure her he was harmless. Harmless? Not this man.
To her chagrin, he skirted slowly around her. He came to a stop in front of her, his eyes dark with an emotion she couldn’t name when he met hers again.
‘‘You have more than one good side, Rosie Jensen.’’
She took a sip of the coffee, which wasn’t nearly as hot as the flush that crawled up her cheeks. Flirting was something she hadn’t allowed herself since she came to Lynx Point. Forbidden or not, she had forgotten how exhilarating that initial dance between a man and a woman was. It had been years since she had been tempted to flirt back, to give a man any opening gambit at all. She wasn’t about to start now, especially with this man.
‘‘Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t particularly like you, and I don’t want you here. The sooner you’re gone, the better.’’ She cringed when she realized the tone she heard in her own voice was fear instead of anger.
He returned to the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee, then turned off the switch to the drip coffeemaker. He faced her, leaning against the counter and crossing his ankles. ‘‘I take it the truce is over.’’
Chapter 3
Rosie’s grip tightened around the cup of coffee. ‘‘I want to know everything.’’
Ian sat down on one of the chairs next to the table, stretching his long, denim-clad legs out in front of him. Absently she noticed saltwater stains below the knees, indicating he had waded through ocean water at some point. His posture was deceptively relaxed, at odds with the anger in his eyes. Gone was the affectionate man who had teased Annmarie through breakfast. Her apprehension grew as she watched him lift his mug to his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a couple of swallows of coffee.
He set the cup down and met her gaze. ‘‘The man who was killed was an assistant D.A. in San Jose.’’
‘‘Oh, my God.’’
‘‘It gets worse,’’ Ian said.
Rosie wasn’t sure how it could be worse. She sat down and set her mug on the table, then realized she was trembling when coffee sloshed over the top.
‘‘The D.A. who was killed…he was working on a big case with organized crime connections.’’
‘‘This Marco person?’’
Ian nodded. ‘‘Indirectly. Marco works for Franklin Lawrence. At least, that was the gist of what I overheard right after he shot me.’’
Rumors had floated around the Silicon Valley for years that Lawrence, like his daddy before him, had mob connections going clear back to Bugsy Malone. The sort of thing you heard about but never paid much attention to. Now she wished she had.
‘‘How…when?’’ Rosie asked. Lily was a research scientist at the University of California, a genius in a field of microbiology Rosie barely understood. How could Lily have witnessed a murder?
‘‘She was on her way home one night. There’s an empty stretch of winding road—’’
‘‘You mean just beyond the country club?’’ Rosie asked, mentally following Lily’s path home. Lily’s neighborhood was tucked in the hills between an office park and exclusive neighborhoods that included a vineyard and the country club.
‘‘That’s right,’’ Ian said. ‘‘I didn’t know you’d ever been there.’’
‘‘I used to live in Los Gatos. Get to the point—she was on her way home.’’
Ian nodded, a flicker of surprise chasing across his face. ‘‘She just had the pure dumb luck to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Because this was such a high profile case, the D.A. kept her identity a secret, which worked out just fine until about ten days ago.’’ Ian’s voice grew rough. ‘‘Excerpts of her grand jury testimony were leaked to the press. With the clues they were given, it didn’t take them long to figure out the top-secret witness was your sister.’’
‘‘Oh, God. Lily—’’
‘‘—is fine,’’ Ian said, reaching for Rosie’s hand. ‘‘She’s safe. I promise.’’
She knew his gesture was an offer of comfort, but she flinched, anyway.
His hand dropped to his side. ‘‘Lily thought Annmarie would be better off with you.’’
Rosie shook her head. ‘‘Not with some maniac out there looking for you…’’ Except, to have any leverage with Lily they didn’t want Ian—they wanted Annmarie. In the back of Rosie’s mind that was a fact she had known all along—known and pushed aside.
Suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself and surged to her feet. She moved to the window and stared outside, imagining a foe behind every tree.
Without facing him, she said, ‘‘In the middle of the night, Hilda got a call. The guy was looking for a missing child. He said he was from the Bay area.’’ She turned around and searched his face, knowing the answer but asking anyway, ‘‘It wasn’t you?’’
He shook his head.
