Cold Pursuit

by Carla Neggers

  “You don’t want to.”

  He grinned suddenly. “No, actually, I don’t.”

  That got her, and she let go. “Fifteen years in the army turned you into a real wiseass.”

  “Your nose is red. Been crying?”

  She sighed. “You don’t let up, do you? It’s the cold. I’m not used to it anymore. Did you know Ambassador Bruni?”

  He shook his head. “I know he stayed at the lodge a few times. Not much impresses A.J., but an ambassador checking in got his attention. Then Bruni and the Whittakers became friends. What about you? Did you know him?”

  “Not really, no. I’m not sure I was ever in town the same time he was. Elijah, the Whittakers said Nora took a wilderness-skills class you taught at the lodge. A.J. must have blackmailed you into that one, but never mind. It’s supposed to get into the low twenties tonight. Is she prepared to handle a hike in these conditions?”

  “She bought all the right equipment, and I taught her what to do.”

  “But she’s never actually pitched a tent on a frigid mountain.” Jo stated the obvious, then bent and picked up a small stone, rubbing it between her fingers. “I tried calling her cell phone, but I just got her voice mail.”

  “Her father’s worried?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Elijah picked up his own stone, immediately skipping it out across the cold, quiet water, away from the two ducks on the far shore. It skipped once, twice, three times. “What’s with you and Nora’s father?”

  “Thomas? Nothing, really. We ran into each other cross-country skiing in February and realized we’re both from Washington.” She continued rubbing her stone, as if it might suddenly produce a genie and grant her three wishes. “We stayed in touch.”

  “He’s from a prominent Virginia family.”

  “Yes, he’s quite the gentleman.”

  “Ah. No wonder you two didn’t stick. You like your bad boys.”

  She ignored him and tried skipping her stone across the pond, but it went straight in. “I never have gotten the hang of skipping stones. You must have shown me how to do it a million times.” Using the toe of her running shoe, she scraped another stone free from the dirt. “Just to set the record straight, there was never anything between Thomas and me.”

  “So you didn’t hit the self-destruct button because he got engaged?”

  “I fell for a prank and intercepted a barrage of airsoft pellets. If I’d wanted to self-destruct, I could have picked a more efficient way than getting nailed with a fake gun.” She scooped up her stone and rubbed the dirt off it. “Elijah, if what you’re up to has anything to do with Ambassador Bruni’s death, I need to know.”

  “Why?”

  She narrowed a look at him and didn’t answer.

  He asked, “Have you checked with your friends in Washington about what happened this morning?”

  He noted a thinning of her lips as she curved her arm, reared back and tried again, flinging her stone with ferocity if not much finesse. It skipped once. An improvement. But she still didn’t meet his eye.

  Elijah put two and two together. “You tried checking with friends. No one took your call.”

  “It’s not that simple.” She rubbed her hands together, brushing off the dirt from her rocks. “Elijah, people in town say you’re not satisfied with the official explanation of your father’s death. If you have reason to suspect it wasn’t an accident—”

  “I’m just here skipping stones.”

  She steadied her gaze on him. “Take whatever questions you have to the police, Elijah. Let them get the answers.”

  Her words hit him in all the wrong places. He picked up another stone and shot it across the water, getting close enough to the ducks for them to move toward the opposite bank.

  He turned to Jo, looked her straight in the eye. “Maybe I’ll buy your dad a cup of coffee and tell him I’m thinking about sleeping with you again.”

  She shoved her hands into the pockets of her fleece jacket. “Go ahead, Elijah. Give me your best shot. I’m not a besotted teenager anymore.”

  “Not a teenager, Jo. Still besotted.”

  “Ha. Don’t you wish.” But he thought he heard just the slightest catch in her voice. She glanced around at the stone guesthouse, which, like everything on the estate, was bucolic, perfect. “Nora’s sense of trust must have taken a hit when her mother had an affair and then married one of her father’s best friends.”

  “It couldn’t have helped when her father didn’t do anything about it.”

  “Like what, shoot him?”

  “He was passive.” Elijah started up the slight incline to a stone walk. He’d parked his truck in the turnaround on the side of the road. Time to get out of there, before he really did something he regretted. But he turned back to Jo and finished his thought. “Nora needed to see him stand up for himself. He didn’t have to fight. He could have forgiven her mother and Bruni. Instead he weaseled out of doing anything.”

  Jo cocked her head back and gave him a knowing look. “Elijah. It wasn’t the same for us—fifteen years ago we were kids.”

  “I should have fought for you, Jo,” he said suddenly, not exactly sure where the words came from. “Think of what might have been if I had. Even if I’d ended up in the army and you in the Secret Service—”

  “We’d have split up in six months.”

  “That’s not what you believe.”

  “Forgiving yourself is a lot harder than forgiving someone else.”

  He took two steps back to her and touched her hair, silky under his cold fingers. “Jo. Don’t. You didn’t do anything you need to forgive yourself for.”

  “Neither did you.”

  He leaned toward her, kissed her lightly on the lips. “Yes, I did,” he said, then dropped his hand from her hair and pulled back before he went further. Being around her was firing him up in ways that were dangerous—intrusive. He needed to stay focused on his own mission, not get mixed up with a Secret Service agent angling to get back to Washington as fast as she could.

  “Elijah,” she said. “We can’t—”

  He cut her off. “Nora’s bumping up against the difference between reality and fantasy. Sometimes that’s no damn fun.”

  “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing out here?”

  He shrugged. “Following you.”

  “You’re a lousy liar. You didn’t follow me. You got here first.”

  “I’m clairvoyant. I knew you’d be here. See you later, Jo.”

  She reached for him but seemed to think better of grabbing him by the arm again. She tilted her head back, scrutinizing him with those deep, suspicious turquoise eyes. “What’s going on, Elijah?”

  “Nothing that concerns you, Agent Harper.”

  He thought he saw a twitch of irritation at one corner of her mouth. “Tell me about Devin Shay,” she said. “Why are you looking for him?”

  “If you want to show me your badge and interrogate me, have at it. You can even slap on handcuffs and haul me off somewhere. It won’t be the first time a Harper’s nailed my ass. Otherwise, I’ve got things to do and places to go. I’m sorry about Ambassador Bruni, but I didn’t know him.”

  She looked as if she was, in fact, debating showing him her badge, slapping him in handcuffs and finding a hot light somewhere to interrogate him. “Where are you going now?”

  Elijah didn’t answer. Jo had always hated being ignored, and from the rock she threw at him, he guessed that hadn’t changed. She missed him by two yards. He grinned back at her. “Your arm still sucks.”

  “I missed on purpose.”

  “Right.”

  “I should have gone into exile in New Zealand after all. Having me here after what you’ve been through in Afghanistan and your father’s death isn’t helping.”

  “It’s better than your Secret Service friends. That last bunch was scary. Big hairy guys. No yoga pants.” Elijah laughed as she threw another rock and missed him again. “See you back a
t the lake, Agent Harper.”

  Maybe it was the sun or his imagination—or not enough to do—but he thought he saw her give a hint of a smile as he climbed into his truck.

  There was no chance she wouldn’t follow him. She was a Harper, and there hadn’t been one born who knew when to give up.

  Elijah drove up to the high, open ridge above the village of Black Falls. Old, graceful maple trees and stone walls lined the narrow road. He found a spot with passable cell service and called Ryan Taylor, a Navy SEAL who’d fought and bled with him in Afghanistan. Everyone called him Grit, which made sense once people met him.

  Grit didn’t appreciate chitchat, so Elijah got straight to the point. “Hit-and-run of Alexander Bruni this morning. What do you know?”

  “It’s a big deal,” Grit said in his smooth north Florida accent. “No national security implications at this point. No ID of car or driver. No consistent witness reports—it’s not as if people stand around on the streets waiting for a car to hit someone. By the time it happens, it’s over.”

  “All right.” Elijah wasn’t surprised that Grit was on top of the situation, even if Grit himself was, at least apparently, still in rehab seven months after the firefight that had left him without his lower left leg. But Grit wasn’t accustomed to telling anyone what all he did in a day. “That’s what’s known. What’s suspected?”

  “It was a hit.”

  “Why?” Elijah asked.

  “Rich, powerful, well-connected men don’t get run over by accident. I haven’t heard any talk, in case you’re wondering. Bruni’s been in this town too long not to have enemies. Hell, he married his best friend’s wife. You heard about that?”

  “I did.”

  “Figured,” Grit said. “He leaves her and two grown sons by his first wife. There’s also a college-age stepdaughter.”

  “What, have you been searching the Internet on this guy?”

  “Not hard to find stuff. Obits are all over the place already. Gives me something to do.”

  “You could go to the theater.”

  Grit didn’t respond for a half beat. “I could. I like the theater. What’s your interest in Bruni?”

  “His stepdaughter dropped out of college and is living in Black Falls.”

  “Ah.”

  “See what else you can find out about Bruni’s death. Unless you decide to go to the theater after all.”

  Grit had hung up.

  Elijah started up his truck again, Cameron Mountain looming out across a wide, grassy field. He imagined his father up there in a sudden April snowstorm. Thomas Asher had been in Black Falls then with his daughter.

  Now Nora’s stepfather was dead.

  And Jo had met Bruni and knew Thomas Asher, the betrayed friend, and she was in town.

  Elijah tightened his grip on the wheel, still feeling the softness of her lips. He considered putting the question of Jo Harper to Grit Taylor next. Grit had contacts in Washington. He could ask about Elijah’s Secret Service-agent neighbor.

  Not a good idea, he decided, heading down the road toward Black Falls Lodge. He doubted Devin was back at work. If Devin knew Nora was up on the mountain, coping by herself with her stepfather’s sudden, suspicious death, he’d go look for her. It would be a simple equation for him. Nora was upset. He’d want to be there for her.

  Elijah figured he’d get up on the mountain and see if he could pick up either teenager’s trail. Alone. Without the Secret Service.

  He’d tell A.J. that Jo was on his heels. A.J. was stubborn and closemouthed by nature, and he’d never been one of Jo Harper’s biggest fans.

  His brother would stall her and buy Elijah time to handle the situation his way.

  Eight

  When she was twelve, Jo had fantasized that Black Falls Lodge was straight out of The Sound of Music and one day she might meet her own Captain Von Trapp there. Then Elijah told her The Sound of Music gave him dry heaves, which ended that bit of fun.

  The Von Trapp family had settled in Stowe, farther to the north, and started a resort that was still one of the most beautiful and popular in Vermont. Black Falls Lodge wasn’t as big an operation, but its location along an open ridge, with stunning views of the endless mountains, was nothing short of breathtaking—enough, Jo thought, to get Elijah’s kiss out of her mind. On the drive up to the lodge, she’d decided it’d been inevitable. Now that it was out of the way, she could concentrate on other things.

  Like what was going on with the Camerons.

  She parked next to Elijah’s truck and soaked in the scenery as she got out of her car. The air was colder, the breeze stiffer. She crossed the parking lot on the edge of a wide meadow that, in spring and summer, would be afire with wildflowers. Evergreens and rust-colored oak leaves provided color in the otherwise bare, gray landscape.

  A corner of the lake was visible down in the hollow below.

  Her red-tailed hawk was patrolling the graying sky.

  It was the slow season—even the mountain bikers weren’t out. The leaf peepers had gone home, and the cross-country skiers and snowshoers hadn’t arrived yet. Snow was in the forecast, but it was still early for winter recreation.

  The lodge would do a good business over Thanksgiving, but it was quiet now. The property consisted of the original rustic-style lodge, a new recreational building with an indoor pool, racquetball court and health club, a half-dozen separate cottages and a shop that sold and rented bicycles, cross-country skis, snowshoes, canoes and kayaks—never mind that the lodge wasn’t on a lake or river frontage.

  Jo followed a stone walk to the back of the lodge and stepped up onto a terrace, its tables and chairs unoccupied on the chilly November afternoon. Drew Cameron had pulled together parcels of land to reclaim Cameron Mountain and get Black Falls Lodge started, but what it was today was A.J.’s doing—his hard work, and his dream, now shared by his wife, Lauren, who, according to Beth, had talked A.J. into agreeing to build a top-notch spa on the premises.

  A.J. came out onto the terrace from the French doors that led into the lodge’s main dining room. His hair was a shade darker than Elijah’s, and he was a little shorter—but he had the Cameron blue eyes. They all did, including Rose.

  “It’s been a long time, Jo,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “How are you?”

  She was immediately suspicious. “Did Elijah tell you to stall me?”

  He grinned at her. “You two. Nothing ever changes.” He nodded toward the doors. “Come inside.”

  Jo didn’t budge. “What’s he up to, A.J.?”

  “It’s cold out here, and I’m not wearing a coat. You’re used to Washington temperatures.” He motioned for her to go in ahead of him. “Let’s go inside and talk in front of the fire.”

  Definitely he was stalling, but Jo acquiesced and went ahead of him into the dining room. It, too, was unoccupied. A.J. led her down the hall to the lobby, where, indeed, a fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace. The furnishings were sturdy, done in mountain colors—dark green, burgundy, brown. A huge stuffed moose—fake, not real—stood in a corner.

  Jo welcomed the warmth of the fire, but she remained on her feet. She hadn’t run into A.J. since learning his father had left her the lakefront property. If he was bitter about his father’s will, he didn’t let it show as he reached for a black-iron poker. “I heard you were in town,” he said.

  “I figured you had. That’s Elijah’s truck I’m parked next to, isn’t it?”

  “You know it is.”

  “He’s here, then.”

  It wasn’t a question, but A.J. shrugged. “Looks that way.”

  She recognized the flicker of stubbornness in his eyes. When Camerons didn’t want to talk, they didn’t. They were independent, tight-knit and honest, but that didn’t mean they played by the rules.

  “Okay. So is he in here somewhere? Is he preparing another wilderness-skills class? Hiking? Teaching your little ones to light fires with their fingernails? What?”

  A.J. seemed
to realize she was being only half sarcastic. The other half was totally serious. He pulled back the screen on the fire. “You got yourself into a mess in Washington. I hope you’re not here looking for ways to restore your reputation.”

  “I’m not worried about my reputation. Where’s Elijah?”

  “You were always relentless, Jo. I actually liked that about you—”

  “But it’s bugging you right now, isn’t it?”

  He gave her a grudging smile. “It’s not helping. Elijah didn’t take to teaching, by the way. One class was enough for him.” The fire made A.J.’s eyes seem darker. “I heard about Alex Bruni. That’s a hard one, Jo. Lauren and I enjoyed having him here. We weren’t friends, but he loved being in Black Falls. I hate the thought that someone could have killed him.”

  “I’m sorry, A.J.”

  “I haven’t seen Nora Asher, if that’s why you’re here.”

  “What about Devin Shay?”

  A short pause. “He’s not here.”

  “What does he do for you? Sweep floors and that sort of thing, or does he get out on the mountain, work on trails—what?”

  “Maintenance.” A.J. obviously didn’t like being asked questions. Jo was undeterred. “As in digging holes and moving big rocks, or something he could turn into a career?”

  “That’s between Devin and me.”

  None of her business, in other words.

  He lifted a burning log with his poker, the fire popping, re-kindled flames rising up. “You should relax, Jo.” He pulled the poker from the fire and set the screen back in place. “Sit here by the fire. Find a good book to read. Have you had lunch? There’s apple pie in the dining room. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. As you can see, we don’t have a crowd.”

  The Whittakers had invited her to lunch, but she wasn’t hungry. She reined in her impatience, reminding herself that, for all intents and purposes, she was the outsider here. “What’s going on, A.J.?”

  “Nothing that involves Ambassador Bruni’s death or concerns the Secret Service.”

  “That you know of,” she said.

  He didn’t respond. If any Cameron had reason to resent her, it was A.J., who was responsible for keeping the lodge competitive, an attractive option to visitors to Vermont. Direct access to the lake would help. She hadn’t gotten so far as to think about selling or leasing her property, let alone broaching the subject with him.