by Nora Roberts
“Hup!”
Without hesitation he climbed up, navigated the slide down.
Amazed, Simon started over as Fiona turned Jaws to a lower platform. At her command, he jumped over it and, at the next, scrambled up a pile of logs.
“Call the circus,” Simon said. At his voice, Jaws broke ranks and charged over.
“Morning.” Fiona gave her dogs the release signal.
“Yeah.” She’d done something to her hair, he noticed. Some kind of braiding deal at the sides that merged into one at the back.
Where the hell did she find time to do that stuff ?
“What are you doing up and out this early and playing recess?”
“I have morning classes, including a one-on-one with a behavioral problem.”
She stepped in to him the way she did, kissed him the way she did—light and easy. He liked light and easy well enough, but . . . He pulled her back in for stronger.
“Off.” She held a hand down to Jaws as he jumped, skimmed the other through Simon’s hair. “Your hair’s still wet. So you found the shower and the coffee.”
“Yeah.” She smelled like spring, he thought, with just a hint of heat. “I’d rather have found you in bed, but I settled.”
“The dogs needed to go out, and since we were up and out, I thought I’d work with Jaws. That was his third round with the obstacle course this morning. He thinks it’s great fun, and he’s picked up several skills. If you want to leave him here today, he can hang with the boys, and I’ll work with him some between classes.”
“Ah . . .”
“Or if you want him with you, you can just drop by later and we’ll work in a session.”
Stupid, Simon thought, that he’d gotten so used to the dog he’d hesitate over the offer of a day without the responsibility of him.
“Keep him if you want. Any special time I should come back for him?”
“Anytime. Play your cards right and you could get that steak dinner out of it since I know you’ll be back. If I’d known you were coming by yesterday . . . Why did you come by yesterday?”
“Maybe I wanted sex.”
“Mission accomplished.”
He grinned at her, ran a finger over one of those fancy braids. “The sex and pizza were a bonus. I had a reason, but I lost it with everything.”
“There was a lot of everything. I’m glad you were here, whatever the reason.”
“It’s in the truck. I’ll get it. Here.” He pushed the empty mug into her hand.
“What’s in the truck?”
“The reason.” Jaws grabbed a stick and bounded along with him. “We’re not going for a ride yet.” To keep his legs from being bashed and poked, he took the stick. “Give.” Then tossed it.
The entire pack of dogs gave merry chase.
Simon lowered the tailgate, climbed in and tossed aside a tarp. He muscled the chair out of the truck.
“Oh my God, is that mine? Is that my chair?” Fiona scrambled over as he hauled it to the porch.
She lit up, he thought, as if he’d given her diamonds. “It’s mine. I’m not sitting on that piece of crap when I’m over here.”
“It’s beautiful. Look at the color! It’s, what, Caribbean Vacation, maybe? It’s fun!”
“It works with the house, the trim.” Though he shrugged, her reaction brought him ridiculous pleasure. “It won’t look half bad around you.”
“It’s so smooth.” She ran a hand along the side arm. The minute he set it on the porch she plopped into it. “Oh, and it’s comfortable.” Laughing, she rocked. “An easy ride. So, does it suit me?”
“Yeah, it suits you.” He picked up the old chair.
“What are you going to do with—Oh, Simon!” She winced when he snapped one of the rungs—which also gave him ridiculous pleasure. “Someone could use it.”
“It’s crap.”
“Yes, but, I should at least recycle so—”
He broke off another rung. “There. Recycled crap into kindling. Or”—he tossed it, and sent the dogs into another mad dash—“dog toy.”
He needed to go, he thought. If he was up this early, he ought to be working.
“When’s your first class?”
“The one-on-one’s first. They ought to be here in about a half hour.”
“I’m going to get more coffee. Is there anything around here that resembles breakfast food?”
“Simon, you don’t have to stay. I’m going to be alone here sometimes.”
“I make you a chair and you can’t spare a bowl of cereal?”
She rose, laid her hands on his cheeks. “I have Froot Loops.”
“That’s not a cereal. Frosted Flakes is a cereal.”
“Out of stock. I do have Eggos.”
“Now you’re talking.”
IT TOOK A few days, but in the middle of her last afternoon class, Fiona spotted the mid-level American-made car easing down her drive—and thought, The feds.
“Keep working on bringing your dogs to heel. Astrid, you’re hesitating and tensing up. You have to show Roofus you’re pack leader.”
She stepped away from the class, turned to walk to the car. Her own tension eased when she saw the driver get out.
He wore a dark suit over a stocky build, and the flecks of gray in his hair had multiplied since the last time she’d seen him.
“Special Agent Tawney.” Fiona held out both hands. “I’m so glad it’s you.”
“Sorry it has to be anybody, but it’s good to see you. My partner, Special Agent Erin Mantz.”
The woman wore a suit as well, trim over a compact build. Her hair fell in a sleek blond tail, leaving her strong, serious face unframed.
“Ms. Bristow.”
“If you could wait? I have about another fifteen minutes to go. And, no offense, but I’d rather not announce to my clients that the FBI’s on the premises.”
“No problem,” Tawney told her. “We’ll have a seat on the porch, watch the show.”
“I’ll wrap it up as soon as I can.”
Mantz stood where she was for a moment. “She looked pretty happy to see you. Not our usual reception.”
“I was with her after she escaped from Perry. She felt comfortable with me, so I was on her during the trial.”
Mantz studied the terrain, the house, the setup from behind dark glasses. “And here you are again.”
“Yeah, here I am again. Perry’s in this, Erin, there’s not a doubt in my mind. And if there’s one person in this world he hasn’t forgotten, it’s Fiona Bristow.”
Mantz watched, cool-eyed, as Fiona supervised owners and dogs. “Is that what you’re going to tell her?”
“Let’s hope I don’t have to.”
He walked to the porch and, a gentleman to the core, sat on the toy chest to leave the rocker for his partner.
“She’s pretty isolated out here,” Mantz began, then reared back, hands out, when Bogart bopped up to say hello. “Stay back. Go away.”
Tawney patted his knee, inviting Bogart over. “Good dog. What’s the problem, Erin?”
“I don’t like dogs.”
They’d only been partners a few months and were still learning each other’s quirks and rhythms. “What’s not to like?”
“Dog breath, shedding, big, sharp teeth.” Bogart’s tail whapped her legs as Tawney rubbed him. Mantz got to her feet, moved out of range.
Peck sauntered up, glanced at Mantz, got the message. He bumped his nose on Tawney’s knee.
“These must be her dogs. You read her file, didn’t you?” he asked Mantz. “They’re S-and-R dogs. She has three. Trains them, too. She started her own unit out here.”
“You sound like a proud daddy.”
He glanced up, cocking his eyebrows at the edge of sarcasm. “I find her a tough, admirable young woman, one who helped us put a monster in a cell by standing up in court, hanging in, even after her fiancé was murdered.”
“Sorry. Sorry. The dogs make me nervous, and being nervous makes m
e bitchy. I read Greg Norwood’s file, too. He was a good cop. Came off solid. A little old for her, don’t you think?”
“I’d say that was up to them.”
“Proud and protective daddy.”
“Is that you being nervous and bitchy?”
“Just me observing. Jesus, here comes another one.”
She moved over another foot as Newman trotted onto the porch.
By the time Fiona finished class, her three dogs were sprawled happily at Tawney’s feet, and his partner stood rigidly at the far end of the porch.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Did you make friends with the boys?”
“I did. Agent Mantz doesn’t like dogs.”
“Oh, sorry. I’d have kept them off the porch. Why don’t we go inside? They’ll stay out. Stay out,” she repeated, and opened the front door.
“You’re not fenced,” Mantz observed. “Aren’t you worried they’ll run off ?”
“They’re trained not to go past certain boundaries without me. Please, sit down. Why don’t I make some coffee? I’m nervous,” she said before Tawney could respond. “Even though it’s you, even though I was expecting someone and I’m glad it’s you. I’ll make some coffee and settle down.”
“Coffee’d be good.”
“Is it still coffee regular?”
He smiled. “It still is.”
“Agent Mantz?”
“Same for me, thanks.”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
“Nice place,” Mantz commented when she was alone with her partner. “Tidy. Quiet, if you like quiet. I’d go nuts.”
“Deb and I talk about getting a quiet place in the country when we retire.”
Mantz glanced back at him. They hadn’t been partners long, but she knew enough. “You’d go nuts.”
“Yeah. She thinks we could take up birding.”
“Does that mean watching them or shooting them?”
“Watching them. Jesus, Erin, why would I go out and shoot birds?”
“Why would you watch them?”
He sat a moment. “Damned if I know.”
When Fiona came back, she carried three mugs on a tray. “I’ve got these cookies Sylvia baked, which means they’re disguised health food, so I can’t promise anything.”
“How is Sylvia?” Tawney asked.
“She’s great. Her shop’s doing really well, and it keeps her busy. She helps me out here, taking classes if I get called out on a search. She’s huge into organic gardening, heads up a monthly book club, and she’s making noises about starting yoga classes—teaching them, I mean. I’m rambling. Still nervous.”
“You have a nice place here. You’re happy?”
“Yes. I needed to move, the change, and it turned out to be the best thing I could’ve done for myself. I love my work, and I’m good at it. At first, I think it was just escape, immerse myself in something so I’d have a reason to get up in the morning. Then I realized it wasn’t escape, it was finding my place, my purpose.”
“You’re not as easily accessible here, for your business, as you would’ve been in Seattle.”
“No. I started out slow, and small. The Internet and word of mouth helped me grow, and starting the unit, building a reputation. I’m still pretty small, but it’s the right fit for me. And that was all a way to ease me into saying I live in a fairly remote location and spend a lot of time either alone or with people I don’t really know—at least not initially.”
“Do you do any sort of screening before you take on a client?” Mantz asked.
“No. A good chunk of my business comes from referrals. Friends, family, coworkers recommending me. I do offer personal behavior training, but that’s a really small percentage of my business. Most are classes, ranging from about five dogs to a max of twelve per class.”
“How about anyone who’s signed up for your class who gave you trouble? Wasn’t satisfied with the results.”
“It happens sometimes. I usually offer them their money back, because it’s better business. A pissed-off client’s going to trash you to friends, family, coworkers, and that could cost me more than a refund.”
“What do you do when a client hits on you? You’re a young, attractive woman,” Mantz continued. “It’s a pretty sure bet it’s happened.”
She hated it, hated the intrusion into every corner of her private life. All the questions they asked of victims and suspects. She was neither, Fiona reminded herself.
She was something else entirely.
“If a client’s single and I’m interested, I’d consider seeing him outside class.” She spoke briskly, almost carelessly. “It doesn’t happen often. If he’s not single, or I’m just not interested, there are ways to discourage and deny without causing friction.”
Fiona picked up a cookie, then just turned it in her fingers. “Honestly, I can’t imagine anyone I’ve discouraged or who hasn’t been satisfied with my work mailing me a red scarf. It’s cruel.”
“Someone you broke off a relationship with?” Mantz continued. “Angry exes can be cruel.”
“I don’t have any angry exes. That’s not being naive. After I lost Greg, and then my father, I wasn’t interested in dating or relationships. It must’ve been close to two years before I so much as had dinner with somebody who wasn’t a close friend. I haven’t had a serious relationship in a very long time, until recently.”
“You’re involved with someone now?”
“I’m seeing someone, yes.”
“For how long?”
Resentment tightened her belly. “Altogether, a couple months. He lives here, on the island. I’m working with his dog. He’s not connected to this.”
“We’ll need his name, Fiona, just so we can eliminate him.”
Fiona looked at Tawney, sighed. “Simon Doyle. He’s a wood artist. He made the rocker on the porch.”
“Nice chair.”
“The scarf was mailed from Oregon. Simon hasn’t been off the island. Agent Tawney, we all know there are two possibilities. The first is somebody following the news reports of the murders, somebody who read the article that brought me into it, sent me that scarf as a sick joke or for some prurient thrill. If that’s the case, it’s unlikely you’ll ever find out who it was. The second is whoever’s following Perry’s pattern sent it to me as a warning, a tease. If that’s the case, I have to hope you find out who he is and stop him, really soon. Because if you don’t, at some point he’s going to come at me and try to correct Perry’s mistake.”
“You hung tough through everything that happened before. You’re going to need to hang tough again. The scarf mailed to you is the same as those used on the three victims. The same manufacturer, the same style, even the same dye lot.”
“So.” Her skin went cold, numbed under a sheath of ice. “That’s probably not a coincidence.”
“We’ve traced the outlets, and we know this specific scarf, this dye lot, was shipped to those outlets at the end of October of last year for distribution in the Walla Walla area.”
