Abandon by Carla Neggers Page B

see that fact had her more off balance than she wanted to acknowledge. She’d had an encounter with her own mortality yesterday. Her training as a marshal had helped her survive the attack, but it would only help so much in dealing with the emotional aftermath.
    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