Echo Lake

by Carla Neggers

  “You’re not up to anything with me except making soup in the freezing rain.”

  He peeled the loose skin off a yellow onion. “Is that what you’re telling yourself or telling me?”

  “Stating a fact.”

  “Evidence for this fact?”

  “Carrots, onions, paring knives and the weather.” She pointed with her knife at the stove. “Big soup pot on the front burner.”

  “That’s solid evidence, but you don’t know what’s going on in my mind. I could be thinking about this onion, or I could be thinking about...” He set his onion on his cutting board. “Other things.”

  “Nope. I’d know.”

  “The five-brothers thing again?”

  She shook her head. “You’d cut your finger if you were thinking about other things. Also, you’re a federal agent. You can’t let your mind wander.”

  “Ah, yes. I’m on home leave, though.”

  “Technically, maybe, but you wouldn’t be here if Vic wasn’t worried about someone messing with his head.” When Brody didn’t respond, she finished chopping a carrot and turned to him. “Well, am I right?”

  “I’d have come back here sooner or later, because of my five acres on Echo Lake that no one wants.”

  “If you built a lake house there, someone would bite.”

  “Volunteering Sloan & Sons?”

  “It doesn’t have to be us. I think it would be easier to sell your property if it had a house on it. Your original house had a well and a septic system, didn’t it?”

  Brody hacked his onion in two. “Yes, but we’re making soup. We’re not talking about septic systems.” He leaned toward her. “Even if that is routine talk at the Sloan house.”

  “Better than talking about lace and sequins.”

  “So you say.”

  There was a sexy huskiness to his voice that launched her heartbeat into another fit. Heather tossed her chopped carrots into a colander and rinsed them in the sink. Brody made short work of his onion. Together they chopped, sliced and rinsed the vegetables and got them simmering in the soup pot. He indicated they would add white beans and herbs later.

  “If I tried to throw stuff together like this,” Heather said, “I’d end up feeding it to Elly O’Dunn’s goats.”

  “That’s because you’d be throwing it together. I have a plan.”

  She shook her head at him. “No, you don’t.”

  He grinned. “A rough plan, then.”

  “That I can believe.”

  He went to the back door and flipped on the outside light. Heather stood next to him and saw that the walk and driveway were encased in ice from the freezing rain. “I can handle sleet,” she said. “Freezing rain is downright treacherous.”

  “We won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Brody said. His phone dinged on the table, and he grabbed it, glancing at the screen. “Vic says not to bother with dinner. It’s not worth risking a broken wrist trying to make it to the house. He and Adrienne will have grilled cheese.”

  “We could make it without falling,” Heather said. “I imagine you’ve been in more dangerous situations than carrying hot soup and bread in an ice storm.”

  He was tapping keys on his phone. “But we don’t have to carry soup and bread in an ice storm, and I just told Vic it was a good idea, and he and Adrienne should enjoy their sandwiches.”

  “You haven’t hit Send yet.”

  He popped a key with his thumb and grinned at her. “Now I have. Shall we put another log on the fire while we wait for the soup?”

  * * *

  The wintry mix continued while the soup simmered and the fire settled into a slow, hot burn. Heather sat on the sectional—well down from Brody’s blanket and pillow—while he stood at the tall windows and looked out at the lake. She wasn’t sure what he could see given the bad weather.

  “No moon and stars tonight,” she said.

  “No.” He turned to her, his eyes as dark as the night sky behind him. “A friend of mine has been looking into Adrienne’s background.”

  Heather sat up straight. “Why?”

  “A precaution.”

  “Has he been looking into my background, as well?”

  “No need.”

  “You’ve done it yourself.” She sank deep into the soft cushions. “Well, that’s annoying. Did you look up my bank accounts and discover I have an insatiable appetite for—” She stopped, waved a hand. “I thought I’d think of something on the fly, but I can’t. Chocolate, maybe, but I buy most of it with cash. I’m not in debt. There you have it. As I’ve told my brothers countless times, I have no secrets. Now you can tell them it’s true.”

  “I didn’t look up your bank accounts, Heather.”

  She thought she detected a hint of humor in his tone but there was none in his expression. She picked up a throw pillow that felt as if it’d been on the couch for at least as long as Brody had been away from Echo Lake. “Did you tell Adrienne you’ve been checking her out?”

  “Not yet, no.”

  “So these incidents Vic told you about—they’re enough to warrant an official investigation?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” He walked toward her but didn’t sit down. He fingered her sweatshirt on the back of the chair next to the couch. “Adrienne’s mother was in Paris on business when Vic was at the embassy there. That’s how they met. She was Sophia Cross then. She and Adrienne’s father were engaged, but he didn’t go to Paris with her.”

  “Sounds straightforward. Nice the three of them have stayed in touch all these years.”

  Brody didn’t react to her comment. “Adrienne tapped into her parents’ connections this past year while she’s been wandering the world studying and writing about wine. She got in touch with Vic when he was winding down his last assignment in New York and ended up house-sitting for him here in Knights Bridge.”

  “None of that’s a secret,” Heather said. “She’s told me that from the start.”

  “Has she mentioned any friends?”

  “Anyone who might want to mess with Vic’s head, you mean?”

  Brody waited a beat before he responded. “Anyone at all.”

  “Adrienne seems to have a lot of friends, but I don’t know of any who’ve stayed here. She’s treating house-sitting like her personal retreat—a chance to strip away distractions and focus on her work and what comes next for her. I got the impression she’s doing well but is a bit overwhelmed.”

  “Does having Vic here change things for her?”

  Heather shrugged. “I imagine it does. It’s not something we’ve talked about. He’s figuring out what to do with himself when we start tearing up the house for renovations. He could stay here or at his apartment in New York, travel, visit friends.” She took a breath, trying not to look agitated. “Did you decide to take advantage of the storm so you could interrogate me?”

  “I’m not interrogating you. We’re just talking.”

  “Just talking wouldn’t make me break out in a sweat. Damn.”

  His mouth twitched. She thought he might smile outright, but he didn’t. “I’m here to help a friend. That’s all.”

  “Well, you can be intense, you know.”

  “I’m not trying to be intense,” he said calmly.

  “I’d hate to see you try. I don’t mind if you need to ask me questions. I mind...” She shook her head, stopping herself. “I’m just going to leave it there is what I’m going to do.”

  He came around from the back of the chair and sat next to her, patting her thigh and, finally, smiling. “Why censor yourself now?”

  “A good a time as any to start thinking before I speak.”

  He laughed. “Might as well give it a shot.”

  She angled a look at him. “You haven’t laughed
much recently, have you, Brody?”

  “I suppose I haven’t. It’s been a busy few months.”

  “I won’t pretend I can imagine what busy means to you. This friend who’s helping you—he’s a DSS agent?”

  “For now. He’s recovering from injuries. Helping me gives him something to do.”

  “What happened?” Heather asked quietly.

  “A bad day at work.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Brody glanced at her, no sign of laughter now, just the return of his intensity. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Greg—that’s my friend’s name—was securing a site and ran into guys with guns. He took a bullet in the shoulder, but he’ll be fine. He is fine.”

  “He’ll be able to return to work?”

  “Physically, yes. The rest is up to him.”

  “And you? Were you there?”

  Brody rose and walked over to the windows, staring out at the storm. “We got him out.” He looked back at her. “That’s all that matters.”

  “This is why you’re on home leave? At least part of why you decided to come back to Knights Bridge?”

  “Maybe. I haven’t thought much about it.”

  “Not a time for deep thinking, I suppose. You do what you have to do and let the emotions sort themselves out later.” Heather got to her feet and walked over to him at the windows. She could hear the crunch of ice outside as the freezing rain changed to sleet. “You have a dangerous job, Brody.”

  “Construction can be dangerous.” The glint of humor was back in his dark eyes. “Ever drop a hammer on your toes?”

  “Brody...”

  He stood close to her and brushed a few stray hairs off her face, tucking them behind her ear. “Everything’s good, Heather. No problems. Okay?”

  “Sure thing. Dropping a hammer’s right up there with bullets flying.”

  “You can trust me,” he said softly.

  “Trust you how? No...never mind.” She reined in her reaction to him—to his touch, his intensity. “I’m sorry about your friend Greg, and I’m sorry you went through a tough time. If there’s more you want to say, I’ll be happy to listen. I’m not going to wilt.” But she knew he wasn’t going to say more, not tonight, maybe not ever. “Seeing you in action, though—even just over a door that swung open—you can be very scary, Agent Hancock. I mean, seriously.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “A good thing I’m not up to anything.”

  “I suspect you’re up to a lot.”

  “You keep suspecting.” She pointed a finger at the windows. “Sleet’s changing over to snow now. That’s a good sign. In the time we’ve been chatting, my brothers have all texted me to see if I got home all right.”

  “Did you tell them I was just about to fluff up the comforter?”

  “I did not.”

  He laughed and kissed her on the forehead. “Soup’s ready.”

  Twelve

  With the changeover to snow, Heather was able to get out after dinner. The soup wasn’t half-bad. Brody didn’t detect any reluctance on her part to leave. She had on her sweatshirt and vest and was on her way to the door, telling him she didn’t need a shovel or sand to get to her truck, it was just a couple inches of snow, the ice underneath was no longer a problem...

  “I’ll go with you,” he said, interrupting her midstream.

  She stopped at the door. “Thanks, Brody, but I live here. I deal with storms all the time. It’s okay—”

  “You’ll manage. I know.” He grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. “I’m heading up there, anyway. Figured I’d see if Vic and Adrienne need a hand with Rohan. Vic will have to get used to storms if he’s retiring here. I’m guessing he hasn’t gotten them down yet.”

  “I saw to it he has sand. I didn’t want to get stuck out here, but I didn’t think about stocking the guesthouse.”

  “What little sand there is here wouldn’t have helped in the freezing rain, but it will get us to your truck.” He pulled open the door, standing back to let her go first. “You’ve already fallen in a brook this week.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Never.”

  “I think I like that about you.” She stepped past him then paused, turning to him with a smile. “Think means I’m not positive.”

  He grinned and followed her outside. She grabbed a number-ten can of sand and he grabbed a shovel, trying to remember the last time he’d shoveled snow.

  Over dinner, they’d talked about Knights Bridge, people they knew in common, the changes in the area since his departure. Elly O’Dunn’s goats, her first one purchased after the death of her husband ten years ago in a tree-cutting accident. Patrick O’Dunn had taught Brody how to use a chain saw. Brody had never been a part of town the way Heather was, but he appreciated their conversation. For one thing, it kept him from telling her more about what his world was like now. She didn’t need to know.

  It also kept him from carrying her into one of the bedrooms. The beds weren’t made, but that wouldn’t have stopped him. Her, either. He was confident she had gone on about the schoolteachers they’d had in common to distract herself from conjuring similar images of him sweeping her off to bed.

  Not that the living room floor wouldn’t have done.

  He smiled at the thought.

  He was fairly certain she’d exaggerated about the text messages from all five brothers.

  The walk to her truck was a notch under treacherous, but the plow had come and gone and the driveway was in decent shape. Vic had left the back door light on. The snow had dwindled to fat, intermittent flakes.

  Heather got her scraper out of her truck and started clearing off the windshield. Brody got another scraper out of Vic’s car and helped with the opposite side of the windshield. The sleet and freezing rain had left a crust of ice under the snow, but it had been a fast-moving, relatively light storm, not as bad as predicted. Heather would have no trouble returning to Thistle Lane.

  When they finished cleaning off her truck, he opened the driver’s door for her. She tossed her scraper in back. “Thank you for your help,” she said, turning to him. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and exertion, her eyes a midnight blue in the dim light. “And thank you for dinner. The soup was great.”

  “Your carrots made all the difference.”

  She laughed. “It’s hard to screw up a carrot. See you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll still be here.”

  “Brody...” She put out a gloved hand and caught a few snowflakes then smiled at him. “I never get tired of studying snowflakes. Thank you for tonight. It was a good idea for me to wait out the worst of the storm.”

  “Be careful driving home.”

  “Always.”

  He returned the scraper to Vic’s car and waited until Heather was safely out onto the back road. If not for the quick improvement in the conditions, tonight could have ended quite differently. What if she’d been stranded with him in the guesthouse until morning?

  No point going there in his mind since not only hadn’t it happened, it wouldn’t have, either. It would have to be a hell of an ice storm to keep the Sloans from coming to the rescue of one of their own, whether or not Heather was stranded with him.

  Brody sighed and went inside, passing Rohan lapping water in his bowl in the mudroom and headed to the front room. He found Adrienne sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire.

  She smiled up at him. “I’m glad the freezing rain and sleet changed to snow. I’d rather have a foot of snow than a quarter-inch of ice. Where’s Heather?”

  “She’s on her way home.”

  “Vic went upstairs after dinner. Headache. He thinks it’s the low pressure from the storm, bu
t I think it’s the pressure of retirement. He wants to matter, and he isn’t convinced he does anymore. That’s what these incidents are about, isn’t it? He’s ratcheting up normal occurrences so he can feel important again. I guess it can happen to any of us.”

  Brody said nothing as he sat in Vic’s vacated chair.

  Adrienne stretched out her legs and wiggled her bare toes in front of the fire. “If you’d told me this time last year—when I was in Portugal, mind you—that I would be sitting here in wool socks, I’d have laughed in your face.”

  “It’s an odd time of year to choose to be here,” Brody said.

  She shook her head without hesitation. “Not for me. I’ve never experienced a New England winter, and it doesn’t get better than here on Echo Lake. You should see Knights Bridge decorated for Christmas.” She made a face, catching herself. “Never mind, I forgot that you have seen it.”

  “Not in a long time.”

  “I doubt it’s changed.” She planted her palms on the floor behind her and leaned back, her eyes on the flames. “Keeping up this place is a lot of work. I wonder if Vic realizes how much. It’s one thing to air it out a couple times a year for a quick visit. It’s another actually to live here. He’s going to need more help.”

  “He’s lucky he can afford whatever help he needs,” Brody said. “Tell me more about how and why you contacted him. Why now, Adrienne?”

  She frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I assume you had other options besides house-sitting for Vic Scarlatti. What prompted you to get in touch with him versus someone else—another of your parents’ friends, a friend of your own?”

  “I’m not responsible for freaking Vic out.”

  Her tone was neutral, but Brody sensed she was struggling not to come across as defensive, someone with something to hide. He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just making conversation.”

  She gave him a weak smile. “It doesn’t sound like making conversation. It sounds like asking questions.” She sat up straight, tucked her knees under her chin and wrapped her arms around them. “Sorry. I’m not used to people asking me questions. My parents never do, and I don’t have any brothers and sisters looking over my shoulder. Not like Heather. I can’t imagine having five older brothers. Were you all friends growing up?”