And she was new to law enforcement, he remembered.

He hoped her relative inexperience would help her deal with yesterday’s trauma rather than make it more difficult, but he realized he didn’t know her well enough to gauge her reactions. Maybe Gus Winter did. Or Carine. Or, back in Washington, Nate.

Rook was well aware he was the outsider among the people of Cold Ridge.

Mackenzie rose stiffly and pulled open the refrigerator. “Have you ever been in a knife fight?” she asked without looking at him.

“No. Not a knife fight.”

She glanced back at him. “Other kinds of fights?”

“None I didn’t walk away from.”

“And not all on the job, I’ll bet.” She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a glass bottle of milk from a local dairy, setting it on the table. “I don’t like knives. The idea of stabbing someone – anyone – bothers me. But this guy yesterday? He likes knives. He likes being up close and personal.” She returned to the refrigerator for orange juice. “He liked seeing me cut.”

The coffee bubbled and Rook turned down the heat even more. “He stabbed the hiker and ran. He didn’t stick around to make sure she was dead or to savor the moment. With you, he had no choice but to run.”

“I don’t know, I got wobbly after I kicked him,” Mackenzie said. “He could have found his knife or grabbed a hammer from the shed – I’m not sure I could have stopped him.”

“You’d have found a way. He probably realized that.”

“I just don’t think I looked all that scary.”

Rook wasn’t fooled by her matter-of-fact tone. Now that she was safe, the stark reality of what had happened was starting to hit her. “Maybe you should talk to someone,” he suggested.

“Maybe we should find this guy.”

“No argument from me, but you’re hurt, Mac. At least give yourself today to rest.”

“I do better when I stay busy.”

He didn’t respond. She poured orange juice into a small glass and drank half in a single gulp. He remembered how he’d noticed her red curls on that rainy night in Georgetown. Then her blue eyes. Her freckles. And her shape, he recalled. She worked at her conditioning – running, weights, martial arts – and was at a high level of fitness, but she’d never carry a lot of muscle.

Not for half a second had he pegged her as a marshal. On that warm summer night, chatting while the rain pelted on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop, he’d just thought the pretty redhead across from him had been destined to cartwheel into his life. In some ways, he still did.

“I have a tentative doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” She sounded barely resigned to the idea. “When’s your flight back to D.C.?”

“Tonight.” He could easily reschedule, but she’d know that. “It was supposed to be an uneventful, quick trip up here.”

“Feel free to go about your business.”

He checked the clock above the stove. Another two minutes before the coffee was done. “Trying to get rid of me, Mac?”

“There’s no point in wasting more of your weekend up here, and if you still want to find Harris – well, he’s obviously not hiding out here at Beanie’s.”

“What about the man who attacked you?”

“If he’s mentally unbalanced, he could have forgotten he stabbed me by now.” She looked out the side window, the shade shifting in the light morning breeze. “I’m not as woozy as I was yesterday. If he has anything else in mind for me, I can defend myself.”

When the coffee was ready, Rook filled two mugs, handing one to her. She thanked him, then headed out to the screened porch, hesitating a moment before making her way down to the dock.

He debated his options. Give her space? Follow her?

It was a beautiful morning, and she needed a few days to rest and get back on her feet. But she wouldn’t want to take them. She’d want to get out into the woods and find the man who’d attacked her and the hiker, and who’d scared the hell out of her friend.

Carrying his coffee with him, Rook walked out onto the porch and down through the cool, dew-soaked grass to the dock. He hadn’t slept well, and he needed a shower, not to mention at least a half a pot of coffee.

“Nasty stuff, this brew,” he said as he joined Mackenzie at the end of the dock.

She squinted at him and smiled. “It is pretty bad.”

“Any snakes in this lake?”

“Not poisonous ones.” She drank more of her coffee, shifting her gaze back to the water. “Rook, am I part of some FBI investigation?”

“Mac…”

She looked at him again. “I’m serious. Am I?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Bernadette?”

He took another sip, wondering how old the can of coffee was.

Mackenzie sighed audibly. “Not answering. Okay, fine. I understand. Thanks for sticking around last night, but you can go on back to D.C. Take an earlier flight.” Her tone wasn’t harsh. “There’s nothing for you to do here.”

“I have a few people I should see while I’m here.”

“FBI buddies?” She dumped the last of her coffee into the lake. “Maybe it should only have perked for six minutes. I forget.”

Taking her mug with her, she walked back to the porch, stumbling on the steps. If he pointed out her unsteadiness, Rook figured she’d just tell him she needed a second cup of coffee. Or breakfast. Or more marshmallows. Anything to keep him at bay.

But she’d be like this anyway, he realized. He had nothing to do with it. She was independent, determined, impatient with her own vulnerability and her reduced capacity to get out there and hunt their fugitive – a frustration he could well understand.

When he returned to the kitchen, she was cracking eggs into a cast-iron frying pan on the stove. “Carine brought enough food for a week, never mind a weekend. If there’s one positive about yesterday, it’s that I was here, not her.” She grabbed another egg, cracked it, tossed the shell back into the carton. “And Harry. Nothing happened to him.”

“I can finish up breakfast.”

“My turn to wait on you.”

She rinsed her hands at the sink and dried them on a dish towel hung on a drawer handle. Rook eased in behind her and grasped her right wrist, avoiding her injured left side. “Mac.” He didn’t know what else to say. “I’m sorry. I was a damn heel.”

She sucked in a breath, which made her wince in pain. “Apology accepted.” She angled a look up at him and grinned suddenly, a flash of pure mischief in her very blue eyes. “Bastard. So, where were you and Harris on Wednesday? I figure you were in the hotel bar, and you saw Bernadette and me together, realized we were friends and decided then and there you had to dump me.”

Rook kissed the top of her head. “You’re going to burn the eggs.”

“I’m going to burn you,” she replied. “Am I close to describing what happened? If I hadn’t gone to that damn party, we’d have had dinner together. I probably wouldn’t even have been here yesterday to get sliced.”

“You’re speculating.”

“So? I’m on pain medication. I’m entitled. And you’re not going to confirm or deny that you canceled dinner because you found out that Beanie and I are friends.” She flipped the eggs, which were fast turning to rubber. “So, are you going to reschedule your flight and leave early?”

“Not going to let up, are you?”

She just smiled at him.

Rook made toast to go with the eggs, which were at least as bad as his coffee. He wasn’t leaving early. He’d check with the investigators for any new lead on their fugitive slasher. He’d told them yesterday to let him know if J. Harris Mayer turned up anywhere. But it was a long shot, and they had to look at the evidence. Harris wasn’t their priority.

Rook wasn’t even sure if his missing judge was his priority. But Harris had left many loose ends, and the timing of his disappearance was, if nothing else, provocative. Rook’s job wasn’t to investigate the attacks yesterday; it was to locate Harris.

Time to get back to Washington and step up the search for his AWOL judge.