“I know. I saw.”
“I have to call the police.” She noticed she had a signal and hit 911. “Why are you here?”
“I was looking for you. I stayed at the lodge last night. A.J. gave me directions here.”
“A.J.?”
“Your brother.”
“I know who he is. In Vermont—why are you in Vermont?”
“Later.”
“Is Sean with you?”
“Sean’s in California.”
Her call went through and the dispatcher came on. Rose gave him the details, her voice crisp, professional, even as her mind raced with the possibilities of who the victim could be—of why she was standing in Nick Martini’s shadow on a cold, bright Vermont morning.
“The police are on the way,” she said as she disconnected. She debated calling A.J. but dropped her phone back into her pocket. She’d wait for the police and the firefighters, get through their questions, before she tried to talk to her brother. “Do you know who the victim is?”
Nick shook his head, his eyes still on her, as if he were taking in every movement she made, every breath she took. “What about you? Any idea who it is?”
“No, none.” She slipped her gloves back on. “He had a sleeping bag and backpack. He must have planned to camp out in the shed. It looks as if he didn’t have much time to get settled before the fire.”
“The fire’s been out for a while,” Nick said, not casually but not with a lot of emotion. “It looks as if a kerosene lamp exploded.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but kerosene wouldn’t just explode like that.”
“Maybe the lamp wasn’t filled with kerosene.”
Rose blinked against the bright sun and tried to accustom herself to Nick’s presence. He was dressed warmly, but not for an extended period in cold winter conditions. As if to remind her of the weather, a gust of wind struck her full in the face, numbing her cheeks. Nick had his back to it and seemed not to notice.
“When did you get here?” she asked him.
“Just before you did. I parked at the guesthouse. Another car’s parked there. A black Volvo. It has Vermont tags and a several alpine skiing bumper stickers.”
Rose’s stomach lurched, and she could feel her legs buckling under her.
A Volvo. Ski stickers.
Derek.
“Rose?” Nick’s arm shot out, and he grabbed her by the shoulder, hard, steadying her. “Who does the car belong to?”
“I can’t say for sure.”
“Who, Rose?”
Her jaw ached from tension. “A private ski instructor named Derek Cutshaw.”
Nick’s intense dark eyes narrowed even more.
She eased herself from his grasp. “I don’t know it’s Derek. He could have loaned his car to someone. It could be stolen. We can’t jump to conclusions.”
“If it is this Derek?”
“We’re not friends, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Nick made no response. He kept his gaze pinned on her, assessing, probing. He was a skilled firefighter and a highly successful businessman in a very tough, competitive world. He was used to scrutinizing people, seeing through them—gauging what was in their minds, if not, Rose thought, in their hearts.
“He’s not local,” she added in a half whisper. “He’s not from Vermont.”
Rose didn’t tell Nick that if she’d seen Derek’s car, she’d have turned around and gone home without stopping.
“Where’s he from?”
She looked down past the main driveway to the quiet road, avoiding eye contact with Nick. “Colorado, I think.”
“What else?”
“Nothing,” she said. “There’s nothing else.”
“Did he know you train Ranger out here?”
His tone edged close to inquisitorial but she ignored it and gave him a straightforward answer. “It’s not a secret. Ranger’s very familiar with my house and the surrounding area. There are good challenges for him here—the river, the woods, ledges, open ground and, frankly, the fire damage.” She shifted back to Nick and added, keeping her own tone neutral, “And it’s quiet. No disruptions.”
“Until today.”
The wind gusted again, blowing through his short hair. His skin was California-tanned. Rose imagined her own was red from the cold. She knew the basics about him, mostly from Sean. Nick’s father was a retired navy captain. His mother was a geology professor. They lived in San Diego. He had one sister, a navy officer. Nick had served on a submarine for six years. After the navy, he’d trained and then worked full-time as a smoke jumper. He and Sean had pooled their resources, bought a run-down building in L.A., renovated it, sold it and turned a profit, thus launching Cameron & Martini. They both continued to fight wildland fires.
That was how Rose had seen Nick last June: as a firefighter. Only when she’d entered his condo in Beverly Hills had she remembered that he was also a multimillionaire…and her brother’s best friend.
At least at first. Once Nick had kissed her, she’d forgotten everything else.
Ranger rubbed against her leg, as if he knew she needed to get her head back in the game.
Nick touched her chin with a gloved finger, moving her head gently so that she was facing him and couldn’t avert her eyes. “You’re not in good shape, Rose. No BS, okay? Were you meeting this guy, Derek Cutshaw, here?”
“No.”
“Were you seeing him?”
“No, Nick, I wasn’t seeing him.” Not now, she thought. She wished she could say not ever, but it wasn’t true. “Ranger and I have been coming out here at the same time, on the same day, for the past six weeks.” She pulled back from Nick, and he lowered his hand, although his intensity didn’t lessen. “That doesn’t mean Derek—or whoever is back there in the shed—was here to meet me.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
“A few weeks ago. In town. We didn’t talk. I hadn’t realized until then he was even in Vermont.”
A town cruiser barreled around a curve and turned into the main driveway, closely followed by a fire truck and ambulance. Rose felt her mouth and throat go dry as she watched Zack Harper, a firefighter she’d grown up with, jump down from his truck and glance in her direction, as if to say not again.
A state cruiser pulled in behind the town cruiser. Rose was surprised to see Scott Thorne behind the wheel.
She glanced at Nick. “I thought Scott was in California with Beth Harper.”
“He came home early.”
“When?”
“Monday night. He only stayed the weekend.”
Rose frowned. Why hadn’t Beth told her? But that was her friend Beth, a paramedic who was closemouthed about her love life if about nothing else.
Then again, Rose thought, she was standing next to a man she’d made love to on one wild night, and another man who hadn’t wanted to take no for an answer was likely dead a few yards from her—and almost no one knew about her association with either of them.
She watched Scott walk up the driveway, grim and ramrod straight in his trooper’s uniform. He was a fair, strongly built man with little sense of humor. Rose hated to see him and Beth go their separate ways, but the violence of the past months had been hard on everyone.
She wondered if the FBI and the ATF would be next to descend on the scene, perhaps even the Secret Service. Vice President Preston Neal and his wife and five children had visited Black Falls in early February and planned to come for the winter festival at the lodge in a couple of weeks. It was meant to celebrate the last days of winter and to put the violence of the past months behind them.
Everyone believed Lowell Whittaker’s arrest had put his killer network out of business.
Rose felt Nick standing close to her. Did he believe it? She remembered him sweeping her into his arms last June, holding her tight as he pushed back the memories of a friend who’d died earlier that day in a wildland fire.