Jack Stone’s face darkened, and Grey once again stifled a smile. “No offense, MacKeage,” Jack said in a growl, “but Megan is my responsibility now. She is carrying my child.”

Grey made a point of letting his gaze travel over Jack’s battered body. “No offense, Stone,” he growled back. “But ye seem to be having trouble defending yourself.”

“I am aware of my track record here in Pine Creek, but maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge me. I can be surprisingly effective when I put my mind to it.”

“Can ye, now?”

Jack’s eyes darkened to the color of tempered steel. “Pacifism is not the same as defenselessness, MacKeage. When push comes to shove, I am more than capable of protecting what’s mine.”

With his door closed and a request that Ethel send his phone calls to Simon, Jack sat in his office tucked in the back corner of the police station. The citizens of Pine Creek, Frog Cove, and Lost Gore had spared no expense in remodeling the hundred-year-old storefront on Main Street. They reasoned that by putting an impressive face on law and order, criminals would think twice about targeting their tiny resort communities.

Too bad their plan wasn’t working.

Not that his own plan was doing any better. In winning back Megan, he had gone from being optimistically hopeful to suddenly desperate last night at dinner. What in hell was Mark Collins up to on the tundra, and what was his connection to Megan?

Jack laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his plush leather chair as he stared at the four yellow pads of paper lined up on his desk. Each pad represented a problem he was dealing with; four seemingly unconnected issues occurring simultaneously.

Why, then, was his gut telling him a common thread held them together?

Lord, he hated puzzles. He didn’t care how hard his military superiors had tried to persuade him that he belonged in covert intelligence; Jack had no patience with puzzles as a kid, and he hadn’t grown any fonder of them since. And despite having a sixth sense, as they’d called it, for seeing threads running through the information he’d gathered for them, puzzles still drove him crazy.

Jack studied the first pad, where he’d written LITTLE BASTARDS in bold letters across the top. This was the problem that had gotten him hired, and likely the only one that wasn’t connected to the others.

Pad two, THE BREAK-INS, denoted much more serious offenses. Definitely criminal. Though nothing of great value was ever stolen, the last break-in had resulted in physical contact. Jack wondered just how far his attacker would have gone if MacBain hadn’t shown up. As for whatever the hell had run out of that store, he’d swear it had flown off into the night.

And that’s where the first thread appeared, linking pad number two with pad number three, which he had titled MEGAN. Topping Megan’s list was Kenzie Gregor, sublisted by secrets, designs on Megan, hermit boy, right size for attacker, and possible odor link to break-ins.

Next was MacBain: why had he been in town that night?

Camry: how to ditch her long enough to get Megan alone again.

Win over Megan’s family: he was making progress there.

Turn some of Megan’s anger back into some of that mind-blowing passion. Yeah, like that was going to happen anytime soon.

And then there was the thread linking Megan to pad number four, MARK COLLINS. Collins headed some sort of environmental organization that attracted runaways with the promise of an education, possibly brainwashing their altruistic young minds to help him…do what? Then there was the murder, which was tied to Billy Wellington, who was tied to Collins.

But what did any of it have to do with Megan? Had she seen or done something that might have interfered with whatever Collins was doing on the tundra? Could she have something he wanted? Data? Notes? Samples of…whatever?

Jack looked back at the other three pads. There was something else linking everything together. Something he was overlooking. His gaze moved from pad two to pad three, and his mind’s eye saw another thread slowly weaving between them.

Well, hell. Jack grabbed a pen and flipped the page on Megan’s pad, where he added magic to the list, followed by a question mark. Under that he wrote shaman, then wizard…and then he hesitated. Finally he wrote baby, followed by another question mark.

He set down his pen, closed his eyes, and rubbed his face with a tired sigh.

His office door suddenly burst open, and Megan stormed right up to his desk and planted her hands on her hips. Jack casually piled the legal pads on top of each other and folded his hands over them with a smile. “It’s okay, Ethel,” he called. “Beautiful women can disturb me anytime.”

Ethel snorted and closed the door.

Megan’s gaze narrowed. “What did you and my father talk about last night?”

“You, mostly.”

“You told him you’re Wayne.”

“Wasn’t I supposed to? Sweetheart, you’ve got to give me a plan book to follow if you don’t want me making things up as I go along.”

“Then how come you’re still alive?”

“Because your father is rather old-fashioned. He seems to think parenthood is a team effort.” Jack smoothed down the front of his uniform. “And he thinks being a police officer is a noble profession, and he’s pleased that I want to settle down here in Pine Creek.”

Her scowl deepened. “What other lies did you tell him?”

“Not a one,” he said, placing a hand over his heart and holding the other one up in a scout’s salute.

Megan set her palms on the desk and leaned closer. “Then why, when I stopped into Gù Brath to let him know that I’m heading up the lake to start my survey tomorrow, did he insist that I had to speak with you first?” she asked with lethal softness. “And that if you say no, I can’t go?”

“That’s why you’re breathing fire? Because your father told you to come ask my permission?” Jack leaned back in his chair with a whistle. “How do he and MacBain do it?”

“I am not asking permission for anything,” she growled. “I’m here to find out what important thing you have to tell me.”

“It appears there’s a connection between Collins and Billy Wellington, which now seems to be connected to you. Mark Collins was paying for Wellington’s education.”

She straightened and crossed her arms under her breasts, over her bulging belly. “My, my, you just keep embellishing your little tale, don’t you? You’ve even managed to tie in my new job to make my father believe I’m still in some sort of danger.”

Jack knew that on some level she actually believed his “tale,” but apparently her pride—and obvious need to indulge in a bit of revenge—was stronger than her desire to forgive him. He stood up. “Yeah, like I’m foolish enough to lie to your father.” Just to rile her further, Jack mimicked her stance by crossing his own arms over his chest. It was time to bury the nerd. “How are you planning to get up the lake tomorrow?”

She was momentarily caught off guard by his question, but quickly recovered and lifted her chin defiantly. “By snowmobile. There’s a state ITS trail that runs up the east side of the lake, and a local spur at the north end that goes right through the area I’m studying.”

Jack knew she was expecting him to argue that she shouldn’t be snowmobiling when she was five months’ pregnant. Instead he asked, “How long a trip is it?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Two hours up and two back, and a few hours to look around the north end of the lake.”

He nodded. “We should leave no later than nine, then, so we can be back before dark.”

Her arms fell to her sides. “We?”

Jack rubbed his hands together excitedly. “I’ve been dying to try my new sled on the trails around here. And since this is your turf, you can be my guide. It’s a win-win opportunity for both of us.”

“I do not need a babysitter.”