Too Close For Comfort

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.

‘‘Lily was wrong.’’ Agitated, Rosie waved a hand toward the window. ‘‘What we need is a SWAT team or a platoon of marines or the National Guard.’’ She frowned, deciding she had been too hasty in telling Hilda to bring her kids.

‘‘We’ll figure a way out.’’

We? She didn’t intend for there to be any we where this man was concerned. ‘‘What’s your connection to my sister?’’

‘‘I’m her next-door neighbor.’’

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what Lily had said about her neighbors. Only two came to mind: an elderly couple and a guy who always mowed her lawn. As she remembered, her dad liked the guy, a real compliment since he was usually suspicious.

According to their mom, Lily would have been lost without the guy’s help when her husband died. Since Lily hadn’t mentioned him by name—at least not that Rosie remembered—Rosie hadn’t given him much thought, other than to dismiss her mother’s assertion that the man was wealthy. Her mother also thought it was too bad that the two of them weren’t attracted to each other. Rosie knew how in love her sister had been with her husband, and she knew that Lily believed she would never re-marry. Rosie studied Ian, trying to imagine him in the role of the helpful lawn-mowing neighbor. Not likely.

‘‘The one who mows her lawn?’’ she asked anyway.

Ian grinned. ‘‘The same.’’

‘‘The one who doesn’t have a job because he’s supposedly as rich as Midas?’’ She still didn’t believe it.

‘‘Yep.’’

‘‘What do you do when—’’

‘‘I’m not traipsing around in the woods in the middle of the night?’’ He shrugged. ‘‘A little of this. A little of that.’’

‘‘No job?’’

‘‘No job.’’ Abruptly he stood up, scribbled on the pad next to the phone and handed it to Rosie. ‘‘Call your sister. She’ll fill you in.’’ He headed toward the back door.

‘‘Where are you going?’’ Rosie asked, glancing at the unfamiliar phone number on the sheet, then back at him.

‘‘To scout around the house and figure out how many different ways we can be ambushed.’’

‘‘By Marco?’’ She hated the nonchalant way he talked about the danger.

He nodded. ‘‘Smart girl. Call your sister.’’

Rosie stared after him as he went outside. Smart girl. It was the sort of comment that got her dander up. Swallowing the immediate retort that came to mind, she went to the phone and dialed the number.

On the porch Ian glanced back through the window, reassured to see Rosie with the phone to her ear. Good, he thought.

Technically he had told Rosie the truth about not having a job. Ian sponsored an intervention program for kids who reminded him of himself as a kid, who lived in neighborhoods that bred predators the likes of Marco. Ian’s involvement was hands-on and included his dream for an Outward Bound type of program.

Lily’s request came in the middle of negotiations to buy a ranch, where Ian hoped to establish a working environment that would provide a final chance for those kids most at risk. His option to buy it had expired yesterday. Given the chance, he would make the same choice again. He’d find another piece of property—after Annmarie was reunited with her mom.

Some things were worth any cost. As a child, he had been part of a family constantly moving from one crisis to another. His mother hadn’t dealt well with any of them. Ian was never sure whether his mother hadn’t had a shoulder to lean on or if she had simply never asked. Lily had become his surrogate little sister, and she needed help. He couldn’t turn his back on her.

Ian stepped off the porch. The misty streamers of clouds had dissipated into a high overcast. There was no doubt about it— Rosie Jensen had the best view anyone could want anywhere.

As he gazed out over the water and the steeply rising mountains, a profound sense of homecoming swept through him. The scenery in front of him moved him as little else ever had.

To his surprise the water was glassy smooth and a deep-jade green. Mountains stretched in the distance, rising from the water, cast in varying shades of blue, snow hanging in the high gorges. Directly across from the inlet less than a mile away, a scarred monolith of rock soared, stretching hundreds of feet above the water. A crumpled silver stream fell out of a steep canyon where dark pines grew, the water splashing into the inlet from a waterfall. Only the tall fins of a cruising pod of orcas reminded Ian that he looked out on an ocean, not a mountain lake.

He inhaled deeply, thinking of his dream for a ranch that would provide a wilderness experience and an opportunity for physical work. This place was even better than the ranch in northern California that he’d hoped to buy. With the water and the pine scent of forest, a boy might forget his anger while here—at least for a little while.

It was a dream that wouldn’t happen if he failed at keeping Annmarie and her aunt out of harm’s way. That thought in mind, Ian methodically explored the perimeter of Comin’ Up Rosie. Despite the whimsical name, he discovered it was a well-organized, working nursery where thousands of baby trees grew. Seedlings were protected within the shelter of a large greenhouse. Outside, larger trees grew—if they could be called that when they were little more than a foot tall—in orderly rows. After seeing the thousands of clear-cut acres of timber as they had sailed north from Seattle, Ian was glad to know that some of those trees would be replaced.

As for the compound itself, defending it wouldn’t be easy, but it wasn’t as bad as he had feared. From the porch of the house, much of the inlet was visible, and anyone approaching by water would be seen for a long while. The winding road that led toward the small town of Lynx Point disappeared into the forest a quarter mile beyond the gate. Ian would have liked it better had the road been visible for miles. The steep mountain that rose behind the house was the same scoured rock as the one across the inlet. No easy access to Rosie’s property in the direction. Not without rock-climbing equipment.

The place that worried him most was a steep slope on the hill behind the greenhouse. He climbed it, checking where he was visible from the compound below and where he wasn’t. He climbed higher, hoping to see more of the road. A huge boulder jutted out from the hillside, bright green moss growing at its shaded, moist base. Spotting a couple of footprints in the earth, he dropped to his haunches.

They sure weren’t Rosie’s. The boot belonging to the print was close to his own size twelve. Ian stood, matching his stance with the angle of the prints. He looked around for anything that might have been left behind. Beneath a shrub, he found a wadded-up piece of wax paper. From the smell of it, it had recently held a lunch meat sandwich.

Ian stood and gazed down at the tranquil landscape. From this vantage, only Rosie’s nursery and the lake-smooth water between Kantrovich Island and the next one was visible. He could only imagine two reasons anyone would be up here watching.

One. Someone knew this was where he and Annmarie were headed. If Lawrence couldn’t get Annmarie to use as leverage to keep Lily from testifying, maybe some other member of her family would do just as well.

Ian frowned, not liking that conclusion.

Two. Rosie or maybe one of her employees simply liked climbing up here for the view. A more benign reason for the footprints.

Damn. There was no other choice but ask her if she came up here. If this was all innocent, it would give her an unnecessary scare. If it wasn’t—hell, then she really would have something to be scared of.

Ian cocked his head to the side, listening, acquainting himself with the hum of noise that belonged to the island. Compared to any place he had ever lived, the island was quiet. The faint lap of water against the shore, the occasional chirp of birds, the steady chug of a fishing boat as it sailed up the channel…the sound of a vehicle coming up the road. Ian turned toward the gate and watched an ancient Volkswagen bus approach. Whatever color it might once have been was indistinguishable beneath layers of dirt and rust.

It wasn’t likely to be the sort of approach Marco would make. Besides, the nurse Rosie had called was due soon, so this was probably her.

In another minute the minibus came through the gate and rolled to a stop in front of the house. Doors opened, and no less than half a dozen children piled out, followed by two women. Both had long, dark braids, and both were dressed in jeans. The smaller of the two carried a black bag. Indeed, the nurse had arrived.

Rosie stepped onto the porch. ‘‘Hi, Hilda,’’ she called. ‘‘That was quick.’’

Her voice carried to Ian, and he frowned, again looking at the footprints in the ground. If voices always carried this far this easily, whoever had been watching her could hear as much as he could see.

The taller of the two women, a robust woman with jangling earrings and bracelets, laughed as she approached the porch. ‘‘You wanted me to take my time getting here?’’

‘‘No,’’ Rosie said, giving her a quick hug. ‘‘But I didn’t expect that you’d hurry, either.’’ She held a hand out to the other person. ‘‘Mama Sarah, how are you today?’’

‘‘Same as yesterday,’’ she responded.

Rosie hugged her, too, a smile on her face. ‘‘Old?’’ she quipped.

‘‘Not so old that I can’t keep you in line.’’

‘‘Where is this wounded, gun-packing stranger?’’ Hilda asked. ‘‘Did you follow my advice and lock him in the storage shed?’’

Rosie shook her head and held the door open. Whatever her reply might have been was lost to Ian as they went inside. One of the kids threw a Frisbee to another. Another couple of the kids emerged from a shed, their arms laden with squirming kittens that they carried to the porch.

One of the older kids came out of one of the storage sheds pushing an old motor scooter, which started right up. A second later, Rosie’s dog came flying out the door and down the steps, prancing next to the scooter. The kid stopped, then helped the dog onto the scooter, where he sat on the seat in front of the kid, paws resting on the handlebars. They took off again, the dog’s ears flapping and his mouth opened in a wide doggy grin.

Ian watched them a moment, liking the fun and wondering how you went about teaching a dog to ride a motor scooter.

Descending the slope, he decided the reinforcements were good. If Marco stayed true to form, he wouldn’t try anything while other people were around. There wasn’t much likelihood he would mistake one of these kids for Annmarie—her towhead was nothing like the dark ones of the kids playing in the yard.

One of the children opened the door to the kitchen and asked, ‘‘Hey, Rosie, can we have some milk for the kittens?’’

Ian couldn’t hear her reply, but it must have been affirmative because the kid smiled and said, ‘‘Thanks.’’

A moment later she came onto the porch with a bowl of milk. She set it down, laughing at something one of the children said. She glanced around the compound, and her laughter died when her gaze lit on him. She watched him cross the compound, her expression frankly appraising, a look that left him feeling as though he hadn’t measured up in some way. He hated the feeling and the defensiveness that came with it. Annoyed with himself, he smiled…a defense he’d learned over time that hid his real feelings and that had the added benefit of making others believe he didn’t let much of anything bother him.

‘‘How’s your sister?’’ he asked.

‘‘Worried about Annmarie,’’ she said.