TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

by Sharon Mignerey

  Her faint smile returned. "That's honest, at least."

  "Did Jones and Sawyer head back to the hospital?"

  "I don't know."

  Ian glanced down, then back at the officer. "Somebody needs to go. Rosie needs protection."

  "Why?"

  "Because there are bad mens all over," Annmarie said as she continued to play with the kitten.

  Officer Higgins looked down at Annmarie, then back to Ian. "She sounds pretty sure about that."

  "Yep." Annmarie picked up the kitten and petted it. "They shot Mr. Ian, and that's when he hid me. It was very scary, but I promised I wouldn't cry, and I didn't." She looked at Ian. "Did I?"

  "You were very brave." Until her tantrum of the last hour, she had been perfect. Since her tears and screams had brought her here, the safest place she could be, she was still perfect.

  "That's when Sly Devious Beast found me." Annmarie looked at Officer Higgins. "He's a very funny-looking dog, did you know that?"

  The officer shook her head.

  "And then we went to Aunt Rosie's house, and we had blueberry pancakes for breakfast."

  "I see," the officer said. She nodded toward Ian and indicated a chair. "You were brought in because of a report you abducted this little girl and her aunt."

  Ian nodded. "We saw the same report on the news. It's not true. Go back to the hospital and talk to Rosie, then stay with her."

  "Why?"

  "There's bad mens all over," Annmarie contributed from the floor. "They came to Aunt Rosie's house and broke a window and we went into her basement and through a scary tunnel and saw them because they had flashlights and we didn't."

  "You didn't?"

  "Nope." Annmarie shook her head, then smiled when she realized the kitten was purring. "But Mr. Ian did, and he found us."

  "Why are these guys after you?" Officer Higgins asked, returning her attention to Ian.

  "Annmarie's mother is testifying in a murder case in California. She's in protective custody—you can verify that, too. She's supposed to be testifying today."

  "And these 'bad men' are after her relatives to stop her."

  "That's right."

  "But, they couldn't find us," Annmarie added. She continued to pet the kitten without looking up. "That's because we stole a boat."

  Ian choked back a groan, and the officer glanced at him, clearly struggling not to smile.

  Annmarie looked up. "Aunt Rosie said we were borrowing it, isn't that right, Mr. Ian?"

  "That's right."

  That faint smile on the officer's face grew a bit wider. "You're being held on a couple of charges—do I need to add stealing a boat to the list?"

  "No." He intended to pay whatever rent Mike Eriksen asked. That couldn't be considered stealing.

  "And then?"

  "We hid out in a cove a day's sail from here."

  "You left out the part about the Santa Claus airplane," Annmarie offered.

  The officer raised an eyebrow.

  "You might want to check on a man named Kyle Lamont," Ian said.

  "One of the bad men?"

  He shook his head. "He's Rosie's cousin, and he was shot in Kanwau."

  "Did you kill him?"

  "No. God, no. And I wasn't the one who shot him, either."

  "But you did shoot at the Santa Claus plane," Annmarie said. "The plane, it swooped down like this." Annmarie motioned with her hand. "And then there was a big kaboom, and it fell down and made a very big splash in the water."

  Ian hadn't known Annmarie had seen all that, and he would have worried if he had. Feeling as though he had failed to shelter her, he folded his arms across his chest.

  "And then," she continued, looking at him, "that's when it started raining really, really hard, and the big waves splashed all around and you threw up, right?"

  "Right," he agreed, his glance skittering away from Officer Higgins.

  "Is what she said true?"

  Ian nodded. "They were dropping dynamite on us."

  "You make all this sound like something out of a movie." She pushed a yellow pad toward him. "Write everything down in the order it happened."

  Ian stared down at the yellow pad, again swamped with memories. Finally he glanced back at the officer. "I'm not confessing to anything."

  "I just want to understand everything that's happened and in what order," she said.

  Ian knew from firsthand experience that if there were a way to put a negative spin on anything he wrote down, a prosecutor would find it. He pushed the pad back to the officer. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, but I'm not writing it down."

  Concisely, he related everything that had happened from the day Lily told him that she was the prosecution's star witness in the Franklin Lawrence case, to being picked up at the hospital by Jones and Sawyer.

  "You left out the part about collecting seashells," Annmarie said. She looked at the officer. "Maybe you could come with us sometime. My Aunt Rosie, she knows a lot about all that stuff. Except, she fell down and got hurted."

  Annmarie's expression grew somber, and she looked at Ian. "She's at the hospital, and Mr. Ian, he promised that we'd stay. That's what he said. I think we should go now. Can I have this kitten?" Annmarie gazed at the officer. "I'll take real good care her and everything."

  Officer Higgins brushed a hand over Annmarie's hair. "You'll have to ask Mr. Ian."

  Annmarie beamed, and looked up at him. "I've named her. She is Sweetie Pie. And I bet she'll like Sly."

  "Petunia—"

  "Mr. Thistle." Annmarie gave him a big pretend frown, then giggled. "Mommy wants me to have a kitten."

  "She does, huh?" He knew she was pulling a fast one, but he didn't care. She had been through so much, and if a kitten made her happy, then she could have it.

  Officer Higgins promised that she'd contact the state police to verify their knowledge of the attack on Rosie's dad and see if Jones and Sawyer had gone back to the hospital.

  With each minute that passed, Ian became increasingly antsy. To the bottom of his gut, he knew she wouldn't be at the hospital when he got back there. If Marco and his thugs stayed in Juneau, Ian would find them. If they took off by boat or plane … Ian shook his head against the possibility. The idea that he might not find Rosie was unacceptable.

  Deliberately he pushed his morbid worry away and focused on what he would do, one step at a time, when he got out of here. Officer Higgins came and went a couple of times, and each time she returned, Ian asked if anyone had been to the hospital to check on Rosie. Her vague statements that they were checking out his story and not to worry only served to increase his worry.

  Despite Officer Higgins assurance, there was no hurrying the process, and he didn't get a definitive answer about whether anyone had acted on his report.

  When the kitten got tired of playing and fell asleep in its box, Annmarie again climbed into his lap. She, too, fell asleep, and Officer Higgins left. Alone with his own morbid thoughts, Ian's worry increased exponentially with the passage of every single second. He seethed with the knowledge that he could do nothing. Not until Rosie's parents and their police escort arrived and could take Annmarie. Officer Higgins continued to come and go, and Ian hoped that she was making the phone calls that would get him out of here.

  Each minute felt like ten. Hours later she came back with a clipboard and the large manila envelope that held his possessions. "Everything checks out, and we're dropping all charges," she said. "You're free to go."

  Ian shifted Annmarie, who slept soundly in his lap. "What about Rosie?"

  "The officers who brought you in did return to the hospital." He couldn't decide if that was double-talk or if she really didn't know whether Rosie was still there.

  "Someone is here to see you," she added, going to the door. For an instant he imagined Rosie coming through the door. Instead her parents, Dane and Patty, came in. Dane looked haggard and angry. Patty's usually serene expression was hidden by worry.

  "You've been to
the hospital?" Ian asked.

  "How the hell did you manage to get yourself arrested?" Dane advanced toward him, his big hands clenched into loose fists.

  "Rosie—"

  "Is gone, dammit."

  "How? When?" The news didn't surprise Ian, but it stabbed through him, anyway.

  Patty reached for Annmarie. "Oh, sweetie, look at how you've grown since I last saw you."

  "Hi, Gram," she said sleepily, and wrapped her arms around her grandmother.

  "How the hell could you leave her?" Dane swung at Ian.

  The blow caught Ian square across the jaw, and he stumbled back. Dumfounded, he stared at Rosie's father who bore down on him ready to take a second swing.

  "Dane, stop it." Patty stepped in front of her husband and handed him Annmarie. "Say hello to your granddaughter."

  Automatically he took the child, his anger softening into a certain bewilderment as he looked at her.

  "Now, then." Patty came toward Ian, absently brushing her long, nearly white hair over her shoulder, her long broom skirt swirling around her legs. She looked every bit the earth mother who had named her three daughters after flowers. "The only question is what do we do next."

  Ian straightened and rubbed his jaw. He couldn't fault Dane for blaming him—not when the man had cause. Ian glanced from Dane to Patty. "You two still have your police escort?"

  Patty nodded. "John Lindquist is right outside."

  "You need to take Annmarie, and I'll look for Rosie."

  "Where?" Dane wanted to know. "You don't know the town, the people or one other damn—"

  "Dane," Patty warned.

  Ian nodded. "I can't argue with you, but I do have a search-and-rescue dog."

  Annmarie turned her grandfather's chin so he would look at her. "He's talking about Sly Devious Beast." She looked at Ian, then her grandmother. "He found me just by sniffing with his nose like this." She demonstrated. "And I bet he can find Aunt Rosie, too."

  "I bet he can," Patty agreed.

  Annmarie looked at Ian. "You should go right now."

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  "Right now" turned out to be two hours later. When Ian pushed open the door to the police station and followed Rosie's parents outside, the sun was up and the streets around them had the bustle of weekday activity. A couple of small, covered boats were hauling passengers between the huge cruise ship in the middle of Gastineau Channel and the Welcome Center next to the dock. As always the scent of rain was in the air. Ian had no doubt the streamers of clouds caught in the steep hills on the other side of the channel would thicken until it rained.

  Annmarie held her grandmother's hand, and in her other arm was the kitten, Sweetie Pie. As usual, she was accepting of the moment. Having her leave with her grandparents was best, but letting her go was surprisingly hard. He had the fleeting thought that being a parent must feel like this.

  At the bottom step, Dane turned toward Ian, his thick hair looking more white than blond in the sunlight. The man looked years older than he had the last time Ian had seen him—no doubt the result of his worry about Lily and Rosie, which was as evident in his dark eyes that were so like Rosie's.

  "Lindquist says we should go back home. Nothing we can do to help find my girl." A muscle in Dane's jaw bulged as he glanced toward the large cruise ship. "I suppose he's right, but I don't like it."

  There was no point in stating the obvious, so Ian merely nodded his agreement.

  "You're going to look for her—even though the cops told you to stay out of it." He said it as if it was a fact.

  "You and Lindquist and his backup can keep Annmarie under wraps." Ian met Dane's gaze. "You take care of your granddaughter, and I'll do everything I can to find your daughter."

  The older man's eyes glinted. "Then, we'll talk later."

  "Count on it."

  Ian thrust his fingertips into the front pockets of his jeans and watched them head for the car where Lindquist stood waiting. Just when he was sure that Annmarie would leave without saying goodbye, she suddenly turned around and looked for him. She gave her grandmother the kitten and flew the five yards back toward him. He knelt and hugged her tight when Annmarie threw her arms around him.

  "You're not coming with me to Grandma's house?"

  "Somebody's gotta take care of your aunt Rosie," he said gruffly.

  She leaned back to look at him. "I can help you. We're partners."

  He smiled. "That we are, petunia. But right now the thing you can do to help me most is go with your grandma and grandpa."

  She hugged him again, her little arms fierce around his neck. He scooped her up and carried her to the car. "Don't you be dressing that kitten in doll clothes, now."

  "You're being silly."

  "I'll see you in a day or so." When he set her down, her eyes were bright, and her chin wobbled with the effort to hold back the tears. He tousled her hair and winked at her, then turned away before anyone noticed that his own eyes were just as bright.

  He got his bearings and headed back toward the marina where he had left the yacht moored, a scant half mile away. According to Sawyer and Jones, he was supposed to wait there, cooling his heels and trusting somebody else to find Rosie. Not real damn likely.

  In a conversation that almost sounded like an apology for arresting him, the two officers had reminded Ian that he was a civilian and they were the police. They'd find Rosie, and he was to stay out of the way. At the time Ian had made agreeable noises though he was pretty sure that Sawyer, at least, knew there was no way he was going to sit and wait.

  By the time Ian reached the boat, he had a plan, which began with getting some wheels and beginning his search at the hospital. When he unlocked the door at the stern of the boat, Sly greeted him like a long-lost relative. Ian found the dog's leash and headed back toward the middle of town, intending to take a taxi to the airport, the most likely place to find a car to rent. When he passed a tiny storefront with a sign "Motor Scooters for rent, day or weekly rates," he came to a halt, remembering that first morning at Rosie's house. One of the boys had ridden a scooter with Sly, and the dog seemed to like it. A scooter might give him better mobility, Ian decided, if the dog would be as cooperative with him as he was with Hilda's kid. After a test run around the block to make sure Sly would ride okay with him, Ian paid the rental for a couple of days, then took off for the hospital.

  To his relief the dog sat perched between his legs and leaned his tailbone against the seat, his ears flapping in the wind and his mouth open in a wide, doggy smile.

  Ian had just turned onto the road leading to the hospital when he caught the flash of police lights in the mirror. Jones and Sawyer. He pulled to the side of the road and shut off the motor.

  "You're supposed to be at your boat," Sawyer said. "How are we going to get news to you if you're running all over town?"

  Ian met his gaze without standing up, bracing one foot against the ground. "You have news?" They both knew the answer to that one. A flat no.

  After an almost imperceptible pause, Sawyer shook his head.

  "Don't you guys ever go home?" Ian figured their shift had to have been over hours ago.

  The two officers glanced at each other, then Jones laughed. "It's past time."

  Ian made a point of checking his watch. "Don't let me keep you."

  "We could cite you for reckless driving," Sawyer said, nodding to the dog.

  Ian scratched Sly's ears. "Might as well get it over with then."

  Unexpectedly the officer grinned. "In other words, 'get out of my face so I can go.'"

  Ian returned the smile, deciding that under other circumstances he might like the man. "Something like that."

  "Hang on." He went back to the cruiser, popped the trunk and returned a moment later with a handheld radio. "If you don't have sense enough to do as you're told…" He held it toward Ian. "It's my off-duty radio, so it's set to the right frequency. If anything comes up, you'll know as quick as
we do." He motioned toward a button on the side of the radio. "And I know you're not the kind of guy who goes looking for trouble. But, if you find any … just press the button to talk."

  Surprised, Ian took the radio from him. "Thanks."

  "And you didn't get the radio from me."

  "Found it on the sidewalk."

  "That would be just like a cheechako."

  "Are you insulting me, man?"

  "Yep." Sawyer laughed, then explained, "It's what the newcomers call themselves—their way of pointing out the obvious and trying to sound like a native. Keep your nose clean, buddy." He motioned to Jones, and the two of them got back into their car.

  Jan clipped the radio to his belt, started the motor, checked traffic, then eased back onto the road and finished the short distance to the hospital.

  Everyone who had staffed the emergency room in the middle of the night was long gone, so Ian didn't come away with a bit of information about where Rosie might have gone or with whom. He knew only three things for sure. She had been released at about 5:15 a.m., she had a mild concussion, and she had been issued a sling to support her arm and shoulder.

  And he knew one more thing. Since nobody had noticed her leave, she had either gone under her own steam alone or appeared to have left willingly with her escort.

  When he came back outside where he had left Sly tied to a bicycle rack, he scratched the dog's ears and unlooped the leash from the metal bar. "Time to do your thing, Sly Devious Beast." He pulled one of the shirts Rosie had worn from his jacket pocket. The dog sniffed it and whined. "Find Rosie."

  The dog merely looked at him.

  "Search, boy."

  The dog sniffed at the shirt again, then raised his nose into the air. He then put his nose to the ground, sniffing all around the open doorway and completely ignoring the people who came and went, his leash dragging behind him. Without any warning the dog suddenly took off at a lope, following an invisible trail to the parking lot. Ian ran to catch up, belatedly deciding that he probably should have been holding the leash. By the time he reached the motor scooter, Sly was casting around one of the parking spaces. The dog took off again, this time at a slower pace. Ian caught up with him, grabbed the leash and followed along behind the dog, who left the parking lot and headed down the drive toward the four-lane road that led back to Juneau.