A black SUV pulled into the driveway behind T.J.’s car, and Rook recognized the grim-faced driver, Nate Winter. Winter was damn near a legend in the USMS. T.J. had run into him during an investigation in the spring, confirming Winter’s reputation as a serious-minded, impatient hard-ass – and ultraprofessional.
He got out of the car. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Nate,” T.J. said by way of greeting. “I’ll be in my car. You want Rook here, right?”
Winter gave a curt nod, and T.J. slid into the car, immediately starting up the engine, the windows shut tight for the air-conditioning. Rook didn’t blame him. Winter was from the same New Hampshire town as Bernadette Peacham and Mackenzie Stewart. In the past thirty-six hours, since learning Mackenzie was friends with Judge Peacham, Rook had done a little research on her. Never too late, he thought.
“Heading somewhere?” Winter asked casually.
“Airport.” Rook had no intention of playing games with this man. “I’m flying up to New Hampshire.”
“I’m from New Hampshire.” It wasn’t an idle statement. “My sister Carine lives there. She has an eight-month-old baby boy.” He kept his focus on Rook. “She and Mackenzie Stewart are friends. They’re planning a ‘girls’ night out’ at Judge Peacham’s lake house tonight – toasting marshmallows, catching up.”
Rook said nothing. He glanced back toward his house. He could bag his trip and wait for his nephew, work on his motorcycle, deal with the gold faucets and the Cupid wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom. He’d considered how to explain them to Mackenzie when she came for dinner.
He turned back to Winter. “I’m not seeing Mackenzie while I’m in New Hampshire.”
“Did you know she’s headed there?”
“I’ve heard.” But he hadn’t mentioned the fact to T.J., although he’d planned to get to it on the ride to the airport. “She’s not my reason for going.”
“You want to find Harris Mayer,” Winter said.
There was no reason for him to know the details of the preliminary investigation into J. Harris Mayer’s ramblings and whether they meant anything, but it wouldn’t surprise Rook if Winter did. He was one of the most trusted and capable federal agents in the country, and Rook had no real desire to go up against him. But he supposed he already had, given his behavior toward Mackenzie. The way he’d backed out of their relationship. Dating her in the first place.
“That’s the main reason,” he said. “I’m also trying to figure out if he’s on the level with me.”
“And going to New Hampshire will help?”
“I hope so.”
“Cal Benton stopped by to see Mackenzie last night. He asked her if she’d seen Mayer lately.”
Rook kept any reaction under wraps. “Had she?”
“No. Cal saw you and Harris at the hotel on Wednesday.”
“Is that what he told Mackenzie?”
“Not in as many words. She doesn’t know, but she’ll figure it out soon enough.” Winter paused a moment before going on. “My uncle is taking Carine’s baby overnight. Should I figure out a way to get Carine and Mackenzie to cancel their plans at Judge Peacham’s?”
“There’s no need for that. I don’t know what Harris is up to, but I can’t see how he’d be a threat to an evening on a New Hampshire lake.” Rook glanced at his watch. “If I make my flight, I can get out to the lake and be gone before Mackenzie and your sister arrive. They don’t need to know I’m even in town. I don’t expect to find anything. I’m just covering all my bases.”
“Where are you staying tonight?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“See my uncle if you get in a jam. Gus Winter. He’ll be discreet.”
“Thanks,” Rook said, then added in a more conciliatory tone, “I’ll be in touch.”
Winter didn’t soften. “If not, I’ll be in touch with you.”
He climbed back into his car without another word.
When Rook settled into T.J.’s car, his partner and friend shook his head. “Winter will bury you in his uncle’s backyard if you cross him.”
“Nah. Too much granite up there. He’ll toss me in the Potomac instead.”
“In pieces, Rook. Lots of little pieces.”
Five
Mackenzie set a new flashlight and a package of batteries on the old wooden counter at Smitty’s, a well-known outfitter in her hometown of Cold Ridge. Its owner, Gus Winter, had never had much patience with her, but she smiled at him. “I’m not taking any chances if we lose power up at the lake.”
Gus looked at the price tag on the flashlight. He was a tall, lean man in his late fifties, widely respected for his knowledge of the White Mountains, and for the duty and courage he’d shown first as a soldier in Vietnam, then as the young uncle who’d raised his nephew and two nieces after they were orphaned on Cold Ridge, which loomed over their town and gave it its name.
He pulled a gnarled ballpoint from a mug. “Doesn’t Beanie have flashlights?”