“Thanks for the ride,” she told Rook. “I mean it. It was decent of you, even if you had ulterior motives.”

But he didn’t make a move to head back to his car. He nodded toward the porch. “I want to make sure your place is secure before I leave.”

“It’s not secure. It’s a leaky haunted house. Who knows what I’ll find in there?”

He didn’t laugh. Mackenzie gave up and mounted the steps to the porch, fumbling in a pocket of her backpack for her keys. She unlocked the door and motioned him inside. “Help yourself.” She followed him in and switched on lights as he checked the windows and closets. “I’d give anything for Abe Lincoln to pop out from under a bed right now.”

“The Rooks are Virginians.”

“Bobby Lee, then.”

“Mac…”

They were in the small kitchen, and she fought an image of him getting up with her in the morning. He sighed through his teeth, his eyes dark, his body tensed as he visibly repressed all emotion. But he cupped her chin, catching her by surprise, and traced one finger along her jaw. She didn’t pull back, and he kissed her – not lightly, either. She responded, grabbing his arms and steadying herself as her mouth opened to his tongue, the heat of him.

But he was a man of supreme willpower, and he pulled back. “You make me crazy, you know that?”

She smiled, a little breathless. “It’s good for you.”

“Probably is,” he said, straightening. “If you didn’t have twenty-five stitches -”

“Only twenty.”

“Sleep well, Mac. If the ghosts bother you, give me a call.”

That’d be the day, she thought. She watched him head out, trotting down the steps as if he had all the energy in the world. When he was out of her driveway, she went into the living room, with its cozy, antique furnishings. Except for the loud ticking of an old grandfather clock, the house was quiet. No ghosts, no Andrew Rook, no deranged hiker with a knife.

Mackenzie’s eyes felt scratchy with fatigue. She hoped being back in Washington would help her remember where she’d seen her attacker before. She was convinced, still, that she hadn’t just conjured up a sense of familiarity because of fear and adrenaline.

But whoever he was, she wouldn’t be satisfied until he was in custody, unable to hurt anyone else.

She suspected it was one goal she and Rook shared.

As she headed to her bedroom, she touched a hand to her mouth where he’d kissed her. Damn.

The man made her crazy, too.

Mackenzie poured herself a cup of coffee and headed to her desk at the district U.S. Marshals office in Washington, D.C. After less than two months, she didn’t feel settled in yet, but it was her first duty assignment and she was committed to a three-year stay. She had managed to get up early and lift a few free weights and stretch, avoiding any doctor-forbidden moves that would pull on her stitches. Every day was an improvement, but that didn’t mean she was patient with her progress.

On her way downtown, she’d touched base with a New Hampshire state trooper working on the investigation into the attack on her and the hiker.

He’d had no news. It was as if her attacker had crawled out of a cave in the White Mountains with his assault knife and gone hunting. Members of the public were being urged not to hike alone, but not to panic, either. There’d been no other attacks, and any sightings of black-bearded, solitary men hadn’t panned out.

Maybe their guy was back in his cave, Mackenzie thought, setting her coffee on her desk and noticing a Saks Fifth Avenue box. There was no card on top. She opened up the box, unfolding tissue paper with a mixture of dread and amusement.

Inside was a new pink swimsuit. A very pink two-piece.

She quickly replaced the top. “Smart-asses.”

Nate Winter materialized next to her. Since he worked at USMS Headquarters in Arlington, Mackenzie assumed he was in D.C. because of her. Impending fatherhood, she noticed, hadn’t made him any less cut-to-the-chase.

“Hey, Nate,” she said, hoping he hadn’t seen the swimsuit or heard her muttering. “Here on business?”

“Here to see you, Mackenzie. I couldn’t get away or I’d have flown up to Cold Ridge.” He nodded to the Saks box with the barest twitch of a smile. “You’d have to worry if you got here this morning and didn’t find a little present on your desk.”

“I’m never living down the pink swimsuit. Never.” She tucked the box under her desk. “I’m going to exchange it for a solid black one-piece. One with a high neckline and a matching skirt.”

“You don’t think they really bought that suit at Saks, do you?”

She should have thought of that one. She laughed, shaking her head. “I get sliced, and these bastards pawn off a cheap swimsuit on me.” She sat down, spinning her chair around to face Nate. “So, what can I do for you, Deputy Winter?”

“How’s the wound?”

“Healing. I’m not on any pain meds. It was just one of those things. Stupid.”

“Not stupid. Give yourself a little credit.”

She sighed. “At least I wasn’t attacked while I was on duty, not that I’d ever go swimming on the job. I’d been telling all my doubters – of which there are many – that I’m more likely to get hurt off the job than on, and now we have the proof. If I’d been working at the college and gone for a swim at Beanie’s on Friday afternoon, this guy would have attacked me. I just wouldn’t have had a prayer.”

“I don’t know. You were feisty as a college professor.”

“But not as well trained,” she said.

Nate shifted slightly. He wore a dark gray suit, a contrast to the street attire of most of the field agents filling up the office. Mackenzie had rummaged around in one of her unpacked boxes for stretchy pants and a dark, lightweight pullover – and her shoulder holster. Carrying her weapon in a belt holster pulled on her stitches.

“This guy didn’t kill the female hiker,” Nate said.

“She says he told her he wanted her to suffer. If Gus hadn’t found her, she would have died of exposure.” Like Gus’s brother and sister-in-law, Nate’s parents, Mackenzie thought, then added, “I don’t know what he had in mind for me.”

“Maybe nothing. Maybe you just surprised him and he reacted. My point being we don’t know, and until we do -”

“Beware of speculating,” she finished for him.

“Stick to the facts. How’s Gus? I’ve talked to him, but it’s hard to gauge his state of mind. He wasn’t happy about seeing you bloodied – he made that clear.”

Mackenzie leaned back in her chair, comfortable with Nate Winter despite his senior status, his seriousness, his notorious impatience. With the attack in Cold Ridge, more people would become aware of her connection to him, and their mutual connection to Bernadette Peacham. Mackenzie didn’t know how Nate would react. Find a way to send her to Alaska, maybe?

“Gus is Gus,” she said. “He tried out a new recipe on me while I was up there. Some kind of marinated, grilled fruit over couscous. He says it’s Beanie’s influence. She was at the lake earlier in the summer and had him and Carine and little Harry over for dinner, said she’d been taking cooking classes here in Washington.”

“Beanie Peacham’s taking cooking classes?”

“I know. Worrisome.” But Mackenzie couldn’t maintain her humor, and seeing Nate brought the reality of what had happened on Friday – what could have happened – to the surface. “Nate, if anything had happened to Carine or Harry because of me…”

“It wouldn’t have been because of you. The worst thing you can do right now is let your mind spin around what might have been. What happened is bad enough in its own right.” His gaze rested on her, critical, appraising. “Are you sure you should be back here?”

“The doctor said it’d be fine. I just have to avoid heavy lifting for a bit.” She paused to give Nate a chance to reassure her that she was absolutely right, she’d be up for fieldwork in no time, but he didn’t. She got up, relieved there was no tug of pain to cause her to wince in front of him. “Coffee?”