TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

by Sharon Mignerey

  When Sly would have headed directly into the traffic, Ian hauled him up. They waited impatiently for the traffic to clear, Sly pulling at the leash and Ian hoping the dog was able to keep the scent, no matter where it led.

  They crossed the road, and Sly cast again for the scent, then took off again, back toward Juneau. When they reached the bridge that crossed over Gastineau Channel, the dog chose that direction. They reached the other side, and Ian glanced over his shoulder. Behind him he could see that Juneau was nestled between the steep, high mountains behind it and the deep water in front of it. It was as pretty a city as he'd ever seen. The streamers of clouds from earlier had thickened into a misty blanket that alternately hid and revealed the mountain above the city.

  The dog led the way along the Douglas Highway, keeping a brisk pace that Ian wouldn't have been able to keep up with if he had been on foot. They turned off the main thoroughfare at some point, following roads whose names Ian didn't take time to notice. At each intersection Sly led the way, sometimes turning, sometimes continuing on, and usually without much pause. Rain began to fall, thankfully more of a mist than a downpour.

  They left the shoreline and began to climb, the houses becoming farther apart and more hidden within the trees. With each turn in the road, Ian was glad he had rented the scooter—if he had been on foot, he would have had to hold the dog to a much slower pace, and the search would have taken much longer.

  They crossed over a small stream that tumbled down the mountain, and Ian pulled the dog to a halt. He got off the bike and encouraged Sly to drink from the stream. Around them the air was still, and far below them he could hear the traffic, both from cars and boats. Up here, within the clouds, even the birds were silent, except for an occasional call that echoed through him.

  After Sly drank his fill, they were on the way again, and they turned onto an even more narrow road, clearly a driveway. At each turn, Ian kept expecting a house to come into view. None did for the first five turns, which took them half a mile from the road. The dog pulled harder on the leash as Ian slowed the bike even more.

  Ahead the driveway took another turn and opened into a sheltered bowl where much of the foliage had been cut away. A totem, reminding him of the one in Rosie's yard, sat square in the middle of the clearing. On the other side was another incline, this one not so steep, where the driveway ended and several vehicles were parked in front of a dilapidated building. Next to that was a house, badly in need of painting.

  Ian got off the bike and rolled it into the brush next to the road. He stood hidden in the brush for a moment, trying to decide whether to let Sly go. If the dog showed up, whoever was in there might be willing to think that he'd come alone. At least then Ian would know exactly where Rosie was.

  He took off the leash and stuffed it in his pocket Sly glanced at him, and Ian whispered, "Search. Find Rosie."

  He could have sworn the dog smiled before he took off at a fast lope, his nose to the ground. He came to a stop at one of the vehicles, a pickup truck, and bayed. Then he ran, following the scent to the back door of the house. Ian followed, keeping as close to the trees as he could. He was still farther away than he would have liked when the dog barked and jumped on the door.

  A second later the door opened, and Sly disappeared inside. Ian remained hidden within the brush, his senses on full alert. A short, plump woman with dark hair stepped onto the stoop, looked around, then went back inside, shutting the door behind her.

  Ian glided out of the brush and ran toward the house, trying to stay low enough so he wouldn't be seen from any of the windows. When he reached the house, he crept toward the first window, his back against the wall. He peeked inside.

  A small feminine-looking bedroom met his gaze. At the next window he found another bedroom, this one with an unmade rumpled bed. He came to the corner of the house, checked to make sure no one was outside and silently crept toward the next window. This one was covered with café curtains, too high for him to see in. Inside he heard voices, one of them Rosie's who was praising Sly for being such a good boy.

  Ian had been so sure she had been kidnapped that the ordinary sounds coming from inside the house almost didn't make sense. He moved toward the next window—the kitchen, which was as empty as the two bedrooms.

  Just as he was about to come around the last corner of the house, he heard a twig snap. Without thought he pulled his weapon from the holster at the small of his back. He flattened himself against the wall of the house and waited. One second. Then two. The long barrel of a shotgun appeared at the corner of the house.

  Ian grabbed the barrel of the weapon and pulled hard on it, then shoved it back into the chest of whoever held it. A man grunted. In a single move Ian came around the corner of the building and barreled into the man with his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. The shotgun came free, and Ian wrenched it away and tossed it to the ground behind him. He straightened and pointed his gun at the man.

  Kyle Lamont. Rosie's traitor cousin.

  "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Kyle sat up and pressed a hand against his shoulder. "Trying to make sure that the man prowling around my sister's house isn't one of Marco's friends."

  "Leading the way with your weapon is a sure way to be spotted," Ian replied as the man got to his feet. "You don't look too bad for a man who was shot."

  Kyle, his color pastier than Ian remembered, returned, "It's an experience I don't care to repeat." He motioned toward the door. "Come on in."

  "Oh, I'll come in. But first you're going to tell me exactly who's in there—"

  "As in, Marco and company?" Kyle shook his head. "Hell, if I never see that bastard again—"

  "That didn't keep you from helping him," Ian returned. "We found the bugs you left behind."

  "Nobody was supposed to get hurt," he said.

  "Says the man who brought Rosie the news that they had assaulted her dad." Ian motioned with his gun. "If you're so squeaky clean why is Rosie here?"

  "My sister, Eva, works at the hospital, and she was on duty. When she saw Rosie's name on the admittance list, she went looking for her, then brought her home after she got off work. This is her place." He took a couple of steps toward the house. "Rosie's not my prisoner, believe it or not."

  Or not was Ian's gut reaction, but the story at least explained why Rosie had left the hospital without anyone noticing anything strange. What it didn't explain was why she hadn't called the police to find out what had happened to him and Annmarie or why she hadn't called her folks. "So what are you doing here? I thought you lived in Petersburg."

  "I just got out of the hospital yesterday. My sis told me she'd take care of me for a couple of days before I headed home."

  That seemed reasonable enough, but Ian didn't buy the answer. Somehow somebody had known he, Rosie and Annmarie had come to Juneau. Otherwise he wouldn't have been picked up by the police. "And Marco—"

  "I haven't seen the bastard since he shot me."

  Ian retrieved the shotgun from where he'd thrown it, automatically checking to see if the weapon was loaded. It was. Both barrels. He emptied the chamber and put the shells into his pocket. "Nobody's in there except your sister and Rosie?"

  "That's all." Kyle motioned toward the door. "Rosie's going to be glad to see you."

  "After you." Ian followed him into the house. The kitchen was just as small as it had appeared from outside. One doorway led to a bathroom, the other to the living room.

  "Since you're back so quick, I take it nobody is out there," Kyle's sister said from the living room when Kyle stopped in the doorway.

  "Not anymore." Kyle glanced back at Ian.

  Ian leaned the shotgun against the wall next to the back door and reholstered his own weapon before coming to the doorway. He spared Kyle's sister a quick glance—the woman who had come to the door a few minutes ago. She was years younger than he'd first thought, probably not much older than Rosie.

  "Oh," she said. "Who are you?"

 
"This is Ian—the friend Rosie's been talking about, sis," Kyle said.

  "Nice to meet you," she said, standing up and offering her hand. "I'm Eva Lamont."

  "Nice to meet you, too," he responded with a perfunctory handshake. But his attention had already shifted to Rosie. "Hi." The standard greeting, but it sounded stupid to him. After all they had been through together, she deserved more than just "hi."

  "Hi," she returned without getting up.

  The huge dressing that he'd wrapped around her head had been removed—he remembered that—and the bandage that covered her gash was partially hidden by her hair. She had one arm around Sly, who sat on the floor in front of her. A bright-blue sling supported her other arm.

  Ian leaned against the doorjamb, putting a name to the huge feeling that erupted through his chest and made him want to cross the room and sweep her, literally, off her feet. He loved her.

  He loved her.

  Every annoying, stubborn, sweet, generous thing about her. Lust—he knew that feeling, and this wasn't it. Infatuation—he'd had that, too, and this was something deeper, more complex. Something that could make him crazy and could break his heart.

  He loved her.

  And that quite suddenly scared the hell out of him. He didn't have what it took to help her through the problems she had, and if he tried and failed…

  A slow smile lit her face, filled with such welcome that it punched him in the middle of his abdomen. Blinding and irresistible. He crossed the room, knelt in front of her next to the dog and gathered her close.

  "I'm so damn happy to see you," he whispered the instant before he kissed her.

  She kissed him back, her mouth soft and yielding beneath his, inviting him in and then consuming him. He simply absorbed all he could, the antiseptic smells of the hospital sharp but not masking the aroma of roses that he would forever associate with her. The resilient strength of her body that was so much smaller than his. The feel of her fingertips against his neck. And her mouth—her sexy soft mouth that could make him lose his mind.

  He loved her.

  Again the thought nearly bowled him over, and he trembled. Beneath him, she sighed, and somehow he ended the kiss.

  "So you two are only friends," came Eva's observation.

  "Would you like some coffee?" Kyle asked.

  "Are you okay?" Ian wanted to know, looking deeply into Rosie's eyes.

  She nodded.

  "Yeah," he said in response to Kyle's question. "Some coffee would be good."

  Rosie touched his cheek. "You look like hell. Have you been staying up all night again?"

  He covered her hand with his and held her palm against his face. "Jail isn't my favorite place to sleep."

  Her smile faded. "Annmarie—"

  "Is with your folks. I called them last night when you were getting X-rayed. They flew up, went to the hospital, couldn't find you—we've got to call them—and came to the police station. They've already gone back to Petersburg, probably on a plane belonging to the state police." He squeezed her hand. "And your sister was scheduled to testify today."

  "Here you go," Kyle said.

  Ian stood up and accepted the mug from him, still bothered by the knowledge that somebody had tipped off the police to their arrival in Juneau. He glanced from Kyle to his sister.

  "Thanks for taking care of Rosie," he finally said.

  "She's family. Of course, we took care of her," Eva responded.

  Ian sat down next to Rosie. She kept petting Sly, who had pasted himself against her leg. Kyle retreated to his own chair, and the silence stretched awkwardly.

  "Did you know that Ian is Lily's neighbor down in California?" Kyle asked, glancing at Eva.

  At that same moment she was saying, "I suppose you're not too happy with my big brother."

  Ian was long past being polite, and he met her gaze. "That's one way of putting it." Ian's attention slid to Kyle. "Every man has his price. What was yours?"

  A fleeting smile chased across Kyle's face. "I'm not—"

  "Going to defend yourself?" Eva interrupted. She stood and paced in front of the window. "Our mother has cancer. There's this experimental treatment that insurance doesn't cover and that costs the moon—"

  "And you made your bargain with the devil," Ian said to Kyle. "Were you Marco's spy? Letting him know that Rosie and Annmarie were here?"

  "No." Kyle surged to his feet. "No."

  "You're scaring me," Rosie said, touching Ian's hand. "Kyle wouldn't—"

  "Somebody told Marco when we got to the hospital," Ian said without taking his attention off Kyle. "Otherwise the police wouldn't have arrived at the hospital an hour after we did, and I wouldn't have been arrested for abducting her and Annmarie."

  "You're kidding," Eva said, turning to face him.

  "Do I look like I'm kidding?" Ian shook his head. "So, Kyle, you tell me, are you the one?"

  Kyle shook his head. "I can see why you'd be thinking so, but no."

  "I believe him," Rosie said.

  Ian glanced down at her, his gaze softening. "And you said you'd trust him with your life, babe. Look where that got us."

  "Looks like we have company," Eva said.

  Kyle stood and joined his sister at the window. "A van. Who do you know with a van like that, sis?"

  She shrugged. "It could belong to anybody."

  When Rosie would have stood, Ian pushed her back on the couch. "You stay put."

  He glided to the window and stood to one side looking out. The vehicle slowly made the last turn, then stopped directly in front of where Ian had hidden the motor scooter. At the time, he'd been concerned with it being seen from the house, so he hadn't given much thought to whether it would be visible to someone coming up the road.

  A man got out, nodded and waved, then nearly disappeared into the underbrush.

  Ian went to the kitchen where he'd have a better view. Kyle was already there, standing to one side of the window much as Ian had. "We've got at least two guys in the van and the one on foot," he said. "I haven't spotted Marco yet, but the guy walking—that's Sid. Where he goes, Marco goes."

  The van came to a halt about thirty feet from the house.

  Kyle flipped open the barrels of the shotgun. "I'm with you," he stated. He nodded toward outside. "Not them. You're gonna need all the help you can get in about two seconds flat."

  Ian made his decision from the place where he made all the important ones. His gut. He tossed Kyle the shells.

  "Do you have a cellar where you and Rosie could hide?" Ian asked Eva.

  "No."

  "You two climb into the closet in the front bedroom," Kyle said. He tossed his sister the cordless phone. "And call 911."

  Rosie stood. "Are you sure you don't want help?"

  Ian shook his head. What he wanted was to have her safe where nobody could ever harm her again.

  "That's your cue to order me to stay or go or sit—" He met her glance, and instead of giving him that schoolmarm expression with her one eyebrow lifted, she grinned.

  How could she smile at him like that when he was afraid that his luck had finally run out? "Go, Rosie." He didn't add the other important things on his mind. That her life was valuable, precious to him. That loving her was the most terrifying and exhilarating thing that had ever happened to him.

  "Just go?"

  "Yes, dammit."

  The smile faded, almost as though he had the power to hurt her. But she did as he asked and followed Eva toward the bedroom.

  The driver's door of the van opened, and a man stepped out. He had on a tan jacket and cap that looked like a repair uniform for almost any company. Ian wouldn't have bought the disguise even if the man hadn't had a scar that zigzagged across his face.

  Ian unclipped the radio that Sawyer had given him and turned up the volume. Pressing the transmit button, Ian spoke into the radio. "Requesting backup at—" he released the button "—what's the address?"

  "It's 2929 Crow Creek Lane," Kyle said. "Our guy's j
ust about at the back door."

  Ian repeated the address into the radio and added, "There are three men approaching the house who are armed and dangerous."

  "Who is this?" came the response back.

  "J.D. Sawyer," Ian lied. "I need backup, and I need it yesterday."

  He turned off the radio and set it down just as Marco knocked on the back door.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  « ^ »

  The knock resounded through the house, and Sly barked his watchdog bark. From Eva's bedroom Rosie felt a clutch of fear, remembering too well other knocks at the door—the night she was raped, the night Marco and Josh had come to her house and their flight that had led to this moment.

  She glanced back to the living room, feeling she should be doing something—anything instead of waiting like some helpless female. Despite the smile she had given Ian seconds earlier, she was terrified. She should have known better than to think this would somehow just fade away. When Eva had suggested she come here until Ian had things sorted out at the police station, it had made sense. Now Rosie wished she had made other choices, and she regretted bringing her troubles to her cousin's doorstep.

  Eva sat down on her bed next to the nightstand and dialed the phone as though she had all the time in the world instead of reporting a life-threatening emergency.

  "Hurry," Rosie urged.

  Eva caught her glance, then looked away.

  Sly continued to bark, and Rosie ventured to the doorway, wishing she could see what was happening in the kitchen. What if Ian was right and Kyle couldn't be trusted? What if the men outside somehow gained the upper hand? What if something happened to Ian?

  The last thought brought tears to her eyes, surprising her.

  "He's in the kitchen," Eva was saying into the receiver. "And Rosie's friend is with him."

  Rosie turned around to look at Eva, her statements not sounding at all like a call to 911.

  She pulled a gun from the open drawer and pointed it at Rosie.