Hannah was sleeping. Rex wasn’t. Couldn’t. He’d tried, lying there in the next room with the connecting door open, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing.
It hadn’t worked.
He’d come, instead, to look for Mitchell at the Fireside Lodge after bribing the front desk clerk at the White River Presidential to call him on his cell should anyone come looking for him or a Hannah McGuire.
Rex shifted slightly in the brown leather chair. It was almost midnight and still no sign of Mitchell.
He had intended to surprise the CIA agent in his hotel room while he slept. Picking the lock was a cinch, but the room was empty. Nothing in it to give him away, either. All Rex found was a scrap of paper with Hannah’s address scribbled in pencil. Under it was the name Grady Fisher and another White River address. Who was Grady Fisher and how was he connected? That would be the next step. Find Fisher.
The flames in the monstrous circular stone fireplace crackled in spite of the fact it was late August. The nights in these mountains were cool and the flames friendly, especially at this hour. The fireplace dominated the lobby. Rex had chosen his seat for its clear view of the front entrance.
He lifted his newspaper to cover his face when he saw Mitchell come in through the door. The CIA agent crossed the slate-tiled floor, making his way slowly toward the elevator. Rex saw he was limping, favoring his right leg. His face was battered, a puce colored gash under his right eye.
Rex stood up, casually folded his paper as Mitchell punched the button calling for the elevator. He crossed the lobby, still hidden from Mitchell’s line of vision. He waited for the CIA agent to get into the elevator and pick his floor. As the doors started to close, Rex slipped in between them.
It was just him and Mitchell now, in the confined space. The elevator started its climb.
Mitchell said nothing. He simply turned to watch the lights flick above the door. But Rex had caught the slight flare of recognition in the man’s eyes.
“Haven’t seen you since Marumba, Agent Mitchell, or is it Mr. Mark Bamfield?”
Mitchell tensed but remained silent, watching the floor numbers light up as the elevator slowly climbed. The muscle in his neck twitched. Rex leaned casually back and hit the emergency stop.
The car jerked to an abrupt halt.
He stepped forward. Mitchell took a small step back.
“So what happened to your face, Mitchell, and what’s with the limp? You take a bullet yesterday?”
“Would’ve gone to the cops if I had, Logan. Canadians don’t take kindly to citizens brandishing firearms.”
“You’re real funny, you know, Agent Mitchell. What’re you doing in White River?”
“Same as you Agent Logan. Here for a conference.”
Rex lifted his hand to touch the surgical tape covering the neatly stitched slash on Mitchell’s face. He pressed slightly. Mitchell winced.
“What happened here, huh? Got a bit of a gash?”
“Fell off my rental bike. Now get out of my face, Logan, before I have security haul your ass out of here.”
“Neither of us wants to draw attention to ourselves, now, do we?” Rex turned and released the emergency button. The elevator jerked, sputtered and started to hum. The doors opened on the seventh floor.
Rex held them open as the CIA operative hobbled out. “Oh, just a word of warning, Mitchell, I’m watching you. You stay clear of Hannah McGuire.” Rex watched the flicker of interest cross Mitchell’s eyes before they shut down. The subtle stiffening in his posture did not go unnoticed, either.
“Yes, she’s still alive. I find you within a two-mile radius of her and you get hurt, buddy. Real bad.”
“Don’t threaten me, Logan.” But Mitchell’s voice was weary. Rex watched him turn and limp down the passage. The man looked tired, spent.
* * *
Hannah felt a little more like herself after having showered and combed the wild tangle of knots from her hair. It was Tuesday morning. She’d lost yet another day, having slept off most of Monday. But she had to admit, it had done her a world of good. Despite the pain in her ribs and a general stiffness, her energy was coming back. Rex had found her a change of clothes, another pair of track pants and a sweatshirt, a white one. It was fleecy inside and soft on her skin, but huge. She really needed to get some of her own clothes, yet she was absurdly comforted by the voluminous warmth of his garments against her skin.
Rex had ordered breakfast and was serving it alfresco. Hannah pulled a chair up to the small round table on the balcony. Rex lifted the silver dome off a golden cheese omelette. There were small rounds of herbed tomato on the side. The steam curled up and was swallowed by the crisp morning air. Hanna pushed her hair back from her face and inhaled the warm, savory scent. “Looks good, Rex. I must admit, I’m starving.”
He slipped half the omelette onto her plate and poured two cups of Earl Gray before taking his seat at the little round table opposite her. The French doors behind them were open, and the curtains sighed gently with the wafts of cooler air coming in off the slopes of Powder Mountain.
Hannah drank it in. It had a different smell. She imagined she could smell the ice and snow of the glacier. She was sensing everything so keenly this morning. It was as if her world had been altered, a veil lifted to reveal crisper edges. She cut into her omelette and lifted a forkful to her mouth.
Rex was studying her, his gaze intense. “Hannah, I can get you into a safe house until we have this thing sorted out.” He sipped his tea, eyes unwavering over the cup.
She halted, fork midway to her mouth. She set it slowly down. “It’s that serious?”
He nodded.
She suddenly didn’t feel so hungry anymore. She pushed the food around her plate. “What do mean a ‘safe house’?”
“A place out of province where you can lie low until this is over.”
“Where?”
“I can’t say. But we could get you in there by tonight.”
This was bigger than she ever imagined. And she was slap-bang in the middle of it. But there was no way she could go to a safe house. Not without Danny. And she certainly didn’t want to tell Rex about her boy now. She wanted to keep him right out of this. He was safe with her mom on the island. She just had to make sure he didn’t return before things were back to normal.
Yet, deep down, she had a nagging feeling things would never quite get back to normal.
“Shall I make the arrangements?”
Hannah swallowed against the tightness in her throat. She reached for the sugar bowl and spooned sweetness into her tea. She stirred. Then looked up into his eyes. “How is it, Rex, that a pharmaceutical company can organize a safe house?”
“Hannah, these guys mean business. Someone tried to kill you.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“Hannah—”
“It’s not Bio Can Pharmaceutical, is it? You work for some other agency, don’t you? The Bio Can thing, it’s just a cover.”
He sighed, set his teacup deliberately on the table. “Yes. You’re right, but I can’t tell you more. I’m sorry.”
He looked so damn proper. A British rogue. Hannah blew her breath out in frustration. “Forget the safe house.”
“It’s for the best—”
“Forget it.”
“Whoever killed Amy probably tried to kill you, Hannah.”
“Why’re you so sure she was killed?”
“I’m not. It just adds up.”
“Well, I’m in the middle of this now and I’m going to see it through.” She reached for her cup and took a sip of the sweet warm tea.
He leaned forward, dropping his voice. “Okay. You don’t want a safe house, you got it, no safe house. But you stay here, with me. Got that?”
Hannah drew the cool air deep into her lungs, drawing down resolve. “No. I told you, I’m not leaving my home.” It was her sanctuary. Where she felt grounded.
“Hannah, you really only have two choices. If you don’t stay here, at the hotel with me, I’m going to start making arrangements to get you out of province and into that safe house. And believe me, once I get the ball rolling, you’re not going to have any say in the matter.”
He meant it. She could see it in the frightening intensity of his eyes. She hesitated. It was the lesser of two evils, staying with him. At least she could maintain some kind of control over her life. At least she could leave Danny out of things. But the thought of being so close to Rex terrified her.
She cleared her throat. “If I stay here, will you at least tell me who you think tried to kill me?”
“I don’t know who it was.”
“Right.”
“It’s the truth, Hannah.” He leaned forward. “So what is it, safe house or me?”
She didn’t like the way he put it. But she really had little choice. This way she could buy time, keep Danny out of the picture, and maybe find out what happened to Amy.
“All right, Rex. I’ll stay here. But only for a while.”
“Good,” he said. “Now, tell me what you remember about the attack.”
She nodded, took a slow, steadying sip of tea, and called to mind the traumatic series of events. She told him about the bridge, the way the man had come over it, jerked and swayed it, about the mirrored glasses she had shattered, about the gash under his eye, the thick oozing black blood, the bandanna, the baggy pants and gray hooded sweatshirt.
“Then he just let go of my ankle and let me drop into the river.” Just talking about it had her chest tightening up again. She hugged her arms into her waist. “I don’t remember anything after that.”
“So you wouldn’t recognize him if you saw him again?”
“No, not for certain. Anything that might have distinguished him was hidden.”
* * *
Rex mulled over the facts. The man he’d seen bending over Hannah, the one he’d fired at, could have fitted that description. He must have tossed the hooded shirt, though. He wasn’t wearing that, or glasses from what Rex had been able to see in the dim light. As far as he could tell, it had been Mitchell hunched over Hannah on the riverbank. It had been Mitchell he’d shot at. Mitchell with the gash under his eye, the limp. The bastard had probably gone downriver to finish her off.
But Rex had to bide his time, be sure. At the same time, he needed to keep Hannah from further harm.
She looked so fragile, so small and pale in his huge clothes. Yet she was so strong. He’d do anything in this world to keep her from getting hurt. But, Christ, he was hurting inside. He couldn’t bear being so near, not being able to take her in his arms, not being able to share the truth of his life with her. This was torture. But he had to bear it. Move forward. “Hannah, do you know a Grady Fisher?”
Surprise lit her eyes. In this light they were luminous pale gold. And he could see those pricks of forest green.
“Grady Fisher, he’s the one who signed out those books you found in Amy’s apartment. I haven’t had a chance to tell you.”
“Do you know him?
“No, and the librarian wouldn’t give me his address. Why?”
“Found his name in Mitchell’s room. I think Fisher’s address is number 10, 256 Hillside Road.”
“You were in Mitchell’s room?”
Rex shrugged. “Technically.”
Hannah looked away. He could see she was struggling. He reached forward to touch the smooth skin on her hand.
She pulled away, turned to him, her eyes bright. “I don’t know you at all, do I, Rex Logan?”
A band tightened instantly across his chest. He felt his cold mask slip into place. He didn’t want to go there. Couldn’t.
“It was all a lie, wasn’t it? In Africa?” The moisture pooling in her wild honey eyes tore at him.
“Hannah—” He reached out to her.
“Don’t.” She stood. “I have my pride, Dr. Logan. As much as I need to know, I’m not going to prostrate myself, beg for answers. If I was worth it, you’d tell me.”
She’d thrown down the gauntlet. Lanced him to the core. She turned, walked back into the room. But not before he’d seen the emotion in her eyes overflow and tears slide silently down her cheeks.
He got up to follow her. But she was in the bathroom. Door closed. He could hear her soft sobs.
His gut twisted with self-loathing. He lifted his hand to knock, dropped it, stalked across the room. “Christ!” He stormed out onto the balcony, gripped the railing, turned his face up to the sky. “Lord, help me here.”
By the time she came out, her face was wan, her eyes rimmed with red. But there was a steel resolve in the line of her mouth, her posture. She walked straight up to him.
“Let’s go, Rex. We’ve got work to do. I need to get this over with.”
“Go where?”
“The Mad Moose. If anyone knows who Grady Fisher is, it’ll be Amy’s friend Cindy. She runs a café in the village.”
He nodded. Yes, they needed to get this the hell over with. “Fine. We’ll go there as soon as we’ve picked up some clothes from your place. And as soon as you’ve phoned Al Brashear and told him you need a few days off work.”
* * *
Rex pulled up in front of Hannah’s condo and started to climb out of the SUV.
She turned to face him. “Please, wait out here in the car. I’ll be quick.”
“What’s the deal with your house, anyway?”
Her home, her belongings, Danny’s things, they were like her last frontier. “Please, just give me this space.”
“Not this time, Hannah.”
“You have to. Or you can forget my cooperation. I’ll go to the cops.”
“Christ, woman.” He dragged his hands through his hair in exasperation.
She didn’t budge from the car.
“All right. Take the phone and leave the door open. And make it snappy this time. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to grab some gear, otherwise I’m coming in after you.”
Hannah left Rex in the car and unlocked the door to her condo. It wasn’t the same. That familiar warmth she used to feel coming home was not there. The hallway seemed empty, cold. In spite of her earlier spurt of renewed energy and hard-won bravado, Hannah felt suddenly lonely and sapped in her own home, her sanctuary. Her world really had changed since Friday.
She climbed the stairs, feeling tired and sore. She walked into her room and looked at the double bed with its pale-green duvet and matching pillows. She hadn’t shared that bed with anyone. She had not had a love interest since Rex, not since Danny was conceived.
She pulled open her closet doors and sifted through her belongings, tossing clothes into her bag.
She told herself the emptiness, the loneliness she felt deep in her bones was because Danny was away. When he came back, when Rex finally left town, she could get her life back on an even keel. She’d almost drowned in that river. Maybe she should expect to feel different. But she didn’t like it, this new sense of vulnerability.
She shrugged out of Rex’s comfy sweats and pulled on an old pair of faded denims and a pale-pink T-shirt. She preferred to wear light, pastel colors when she felt down. Bright colors took too much energy. Black depressed her further. She gathered up a few cosmetics, zipped her bag shut and made for the downstairs hallway.
Hand on the doorknob, Hannah stopped, turned and looked around her condo, at her belongings, at the sunken living room that led off to the left, with its picture-window vista of Alabaster Lake and the mountainous range beyond. And she made a vow. She promised herself that the next time she came back, she would have things under control.
She pulled the door shut behind her.
* * *
The Mad Moose was hopping. Reggae music mingled with the scent of coffee and spice and spilled from the doors out onto the small stone patio. Voices fought to be heard over the Jamaican beat.
From the entrance Hannah could see Cindy, blond dreadlocks hanging from a thick ponytail high on her head, busy at the espresso machine. She turned to Rex. “Why don’t you grab the table out there on the patio and I’ll see if I can get Cindy to spare us a minute.”
Cindy looked up as Hannah approached the Mad Moose counter. Hannah loved her sparkle. She could see why Amy and Cindy had been such close friends. They came from very different backgrounds, but they had a common zest for life in the mountains. When not working at the Mad Moose, Cindy was practicing to be a pro snowboarder.
“Hey, Hannah. How’re things?”
“Good. Cindy, I need a minute of your time. I need to talk about Amy, can you take a break in the next few minutes?” She had to raise her voice above the music.
The bright smile, the dimples faded. “Sure, right away. Matt, dude,” she called to the dark-haired guy clearing tables. “Can you take over here for me, thanks.”
Cindy wiped her hands on her dark-green apron before untying the strings and stepping out from behind the counter. “Can I get you a cuppa Joe or anything?”
“No, thanks.” Hannah led her to the table outside. “This here is Rex. He’s, ah, an old acquaintance of mine.”
Rex smiled, a devilish slash of white against his strong, square jaw. Again she saw the impact he had on women.
“Hey.” Cindy held out her hand to Rex.
He stood up, took Cindy’s hand and pulled out a chair for her.
She sat. “Thanks. Hey, Hannah, trust you to have a real gentleman friend. I haven’t had a White River dude stand up for me since I been here.” She ran her eyes over Rex. “And, it’s been almost five years now.” She smiled, eyes bright, dimples creasing her cheeks. “Maybe it’s the hair, huh?” She tossed her dreadlocks. “Whaddya think?”
Rex said nothing. He was leaving this to Hannah.
“Cindy, you know the coroner has ruled Amy’s death accidental?”
She nodded.
“But Al and I are still trying to find out why she went up the mountain so unprepared, without telling anyone—”
“Man, don’t I know it. Amy used to love hiking alone. Knew it wasn’t the smartest thing, but she always left me this, like, list of where she would be going and what time she figured she’d be back.”
Cindy turned to Rex. “Amy and me, we used to share a place when she first came to White River. I always figured she was kind of obsessive when it came to stuff like that. Girl Scout stuff. You know, she would pack in the bear spray and bug spray and sun spray and the maps and the flashlight and warm gear and everything.” She looked down, picking at a loose thread on her shirt. “She used to say to me, ‘Cinds, just in case.’”
Hannah placed her hand on Cindy’s arm. “I know. That’s why we’re still trying to figure it out. Cindy, did Amy have a friend called Grady Fisher?”
She looked up. “I don’t think so. She never mentioned nothing about him to me.”
“You sure? I thought maybe he was a new boyfriend of hers or something.”
“Sven Jansen, the mountain dude, he was the last guy she went out with, so far as I know. Amy dumped him not long before she went missing. She never talked about a Grady. But Sven, he was still, like, having trouble taking no for an answer.” Cindy leaned forward, dropping her voice in a conspiratorial tone. “You know, Hannah, Sven was always, like, so possessive over Amy he was scary. I always figured he could hurt her. He’s such a big powerful dude. When she went missing, I have to admit I thought about him.”
Cindy sat up as another group of people entered the Mad Moose. She waved a greeting before turning back to face Rex and Hannah. “People say Sven has been real weird since Amy disappeared. And he just took off into the mountains after her body was found. You know, he was there when they found her. But hey, Hannah, I must go, work calls. Let me know if I can be of any more help. I knock off at six.” She nodded at Rex.
“Thanks, Cindy. We’ll be in touch.”
Cindy pushed her chair back and bent over to whisper in Hannah’s ear. “He’s got the coolest eyes. They’re, like, not human.”
Hannah laughed and waved Cindy off.
“What’s the secret?” Rex asked.
“Nothing. Just girl talk. What’s next?”
“We go find this mountain guide, Sven. Perhaps there’s nothing more to this than a love triangle.” Rex stood up, offering Hannah his arm. “Can this dude escort you?”
Hannah stood up, hesitated, then took Rex’s arm. “The accent doesn’t become you, Dr. Logan. I prefer the James Bond sound. Besides, you have to say ‘deeuwd,’ like you’re holding your nose.”
“Deeuwd.”
Hannah laughed. The movement sent pain sparking through her chest. Reality shot back with the pain. She was getting swept into the moment with Rex, like before.
She dropped his arm. “The best place to start looking for Sven is at the ski patrol cabin up at Base One on Powder. The search-and-rescue guys work out of there in the summer as well as winter. There’s a dirt road that leads up to it. We’ll have to take your four-by-four.”
She strode out a step ahead of Rex, making her way across the village square for the parking lot. If she held her upper body stiff, she could minimize the pain in her ribs. The painkillers Rex had given her were wearing off.
“Whoa, there. Wait up, Hannah, what’re you running from?”
You, that’s what—away from Rex Logan and his secrets. She slowed her pace as he caught up to her.
He grabbed on to her elbow, turning her around with a chuckle. “Look.” He gestured with his eyes. “Looks like you have company, Hannah.” She followed his gaze and saw the garish red nose first. It was set against a paste of chalky white. A clown. He had ridiculous striped pants swimming around his legs and he had a polka-dot shirt with enormous lapels. He was mimicking her painfully stiff walk.
An irrational anger started to boil inside Hannah as she watched the stupid clown make fun of her in the village square. A small crowd was starting to gather, laughing at his antics. At her.
Then a Japanese couple walked by, and the clown abruptly shifted his attention to them, imitating their tiny quick steps, stopping every time they looked behind them. The crowd was lapping it up.
At the far end of the square a juggler was spinning skittles and flame. The sights, the sounds of the village square suddenly crowded into Hannah’s head, competing for space. Her ears started to buzz. She was losing it. Her life was one big joke, a farce.
She turned and stalked out across the cobbles. She was being oversensitive. She knew it. But she didn’t seem to have any control. Hot tears pricked her eyes. She reached the trees and a little strip of lawn on the opposite end of the square.
“Hannah.” Rex came up behind her, grabbed on to her, forcing her to face him. She looked away, trying to hide her raw emotion.
“Oh, Hannah.” He took her face gently in both hands. His voice was soothing, his large hands protective. “Look at me.” She opened her eyes into his, clear as the sky behind him.
“You’re still in a state of shock. Don’t push yourself, don’t overdo it. You can’t rush the healing process. Give it time.”
She wanted to melt into those strong, beautiful, doctor’s hands. She wanted to bury her hot tears in his male chest. She wanted to seek cover there, refuge from the madness, breathe in the warm scent of him.
Their eyes locked. The crazy laughter faded around her. She could hear nothing, see nothing but those blue eyes. She was losing herself in them, falling into them.
Rex bent slowly and let his lips touch hers. It was tender, nonthreatening. It was a question.
Her answer was hungry.
She pressed into him, her mouth crushing against his. She could taste him, the warm saltiness.
She invited him in, teasing with the tip of her tongue, and he came. His tongue rough in her mouth, urgent, demanding. Hannah felt herself melt somewhere inside. She felt his hand on her behind, pulling her up toward him. He was hard. She could feel his male need pressed against her pelvis. Her breasts were up against the solidness of his chest. And deep, deep down, she was swollen with warmth and aching for him.
He deepened his kiss, pulling her into him, and pain sparked across her rib, a sharp lightning cracking through her haze. She gasped out in pain.
He pulled back instantly. “Oh, God, Hannah, I am so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She was disoriented. She held her hand up against her rib, under her breast. She felt suddenly self-conscious. Stupid.
“Rex, I—”
He covered the hand on her ribs with his own. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I never wanted to hurt you. Never.” His voice was gentle but it was out of step with a depraved hunger, a wildness still swimming in his eyes. She was both drawn by it and afraid of it. And she was terrified of how her own body was betraying her.
The noise of the crowd was seeping back into her brain. The laughter. The crowd was laughing at the clown who was now passionately smooching an imaginary lover in the middle of the cobblestone square.
Rex grunted. “Well, we sure gave them a show.” He placed his hand in the small of her back and gently escorted her from under the shelter of the trees toward the parking lot. “What’s with the circus acts, anyway?”
Hannah was still stunned. She’d been sideswiped. Her lips were still swollen from his kiss, the taste of him lingered there. “The circus stuff.” She marshaled her thoughts. “There’s a festival that comes into town each year, with a circus, for the last weekend of summer before school starts. It gets crazier and busier until after the weekend, when things should get back to normal.”
Normal. She wanted normal.
He opened the car door for her. She climbed in. “I hate clowns.”
Rex looked at her, brow raised in question.
“They disturb me. They’re macabre. Like they’ve got some hidden grim message.”
“Yes, sometimes they cut a little too close to the bone. The mirror they hold up to reality can be a little too stark.”
He shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side.