“Kyle…”
He was like a rock. “Meet me at my hotel in an hour. Room 257.”
She glanced around the restaurant. “If we’re seen together-”
“I’m one of your decorating clients. Nothing more.”
Melanie hesitated. “Kyle…why did we kill Alex Bruni?”
“He had enemies. One of them wanted him dead enough to pay to make it happen.”
The equation was always so simple and direct for him. “I don’t like it that Bruni vacationed in Black Falls. He knew Drew Cameron. I don’t understand why we killed him, either. Who wanted Bruni dead? Who hired us? It wasn’t his wife-his ex-wife?” Or Thomas. It couldn’t have been Thomas.
“You know as much as I do.”
Melanie doubted that. Kyle dealt with their employers. Their transactions were conducted entirely over the Internet-no names, no faces. Just codes and passwords. He claimed even he didn’t know who paid them to kill people, who served as the middleman between them and the enemies of their targets. She executed her part of Kyle’s plan and asked no questions. She was paid well and accepted that nothing short of perfection was expected of her.
But soon none of that would be of any concern to her. “I haven’t changed my mind,” she said. “I’m still retiring.”
“Sure.”
“I’m willing to give up the thrills for what Thomas can offer me.”
“No, you’re not.”
His sarcasm-his certainty-bothered her. “You don’t know me. You think you do, but you don’t. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to marry a man like Thomas.”
“One with a trust fund.”
“You don’t understand. I’m talking about my destiny.”
“Doesn’t matter right now, does it?”
He leaned toward her, and his eyes narrowed into slits, making him look more like the coldhearted killer he was. Part of Melanie expected the handful of well-dressed Washington elites at some of the other tables to notice and quietly exit the restaurant. But no one paid any attention to her or to Kyle.
“We still have work to do,” he said.
Her stomach lurched. She’d hoped he’d just used the threat as leverage to get her to focus on the Bruni hit, but his mind didn’t work that way. From the moment they’d met in the middle of the murder of her client, Melanie had been drawn to his straightforward simplicity.
She nodded, picked up her coffee, her hands steady now. She’d pushed back any irritation-any desire, even, at least for the moment. “Yes. I know.”
Nora Asher.
Melanie’s future stepdaughter was a spoiled, headstrong college dropout who was asking too many questions-questions that cut too close to the truth for Kyle’s comfort. Or hers. Nora hadn’t put together what she’d gathered on Melanie into a coherent whole that posed a danger to her or to Kyle-or their employers-but it could happen. With Bruni’s death, Nora could become emboldened, frightened, perhaps more determined.
And that was a problem.
“Nora’s just jealous of me. Thomas unconsciously looked to her for reassurance after Carolyn left him for Alex. Nora got used to being needed. There’s no reason to think she’s discovered anything that would get us in trouble.”
“She’s a time bomb.”
Melanie said nothing.
“Jo Harper is in Black Falls,” Kyle said.
“She’s from there.”
“Perfect cover. Send the hometown girl back to Vermont in damage-control mode and let her nose around.” He got to his feet. “One hour.” He eyed Melanie without a hint of a smile. “Enjoy your oatmeal.”
The desire returned stronger than that first tingle. Melanie trembled, hot now. Her waiter set a bowl of steaming, steel-cut oatmeal and a smaller bowl of fat, perfect blueberries and raspberries in front of her.
She smiled, thanked him, even as she thought she would melt.
“Your friend’s not staying?” he asked.
“No. Just leave the muffin, anyway.”
He set the plate on the table and retreated.
Melanie smelled the muffin’s sweetness, felt the steam from it.
One hour.
Using her fingers, she lifted a plump blueberry to her lips. She wouldn’t let anyone or anything spoil her life with Thomas. Not his daughter-and not Kyle Rigby.
He walked past the restaurant window without making eye contact with her.
“Don’t get in my way,” Melanie whispered.
It was as if her partner in killing heard her through the window. He paused suddenly, took a half step back and smirked at her.
She pretended not to see him and ate the blueberry.
Five
Jo unzipped her fleece jacket as she entered the breakfast-lunch café that her sister owned with two of her friends. They called it Three Sisters, in honor of their tight friendship. It was located across from the village green on the first floor of a graceful 1835 brick house owned by Sean Cameron, arguably the most charming of the Cameron siblings. Not, Jo thought, that it took that much to be more charming than A.J. or Elijah-or even Rose. And since Sean was a multimillionaire developer in southern California these days, Jo suspected he was as exacting in his own way as his siblings, just with smoother edges.
The café wasn’t crowded. It was late for breakfast and early for lunch. Jo was meeting her sister there after their five-mile run that morning, Beth griping every inch of the way. They’d gone along the lake road past Elijah’s house, then doubled back out to the main road. Jo had enjoyed the run. Her airsoft welts had calmed down and didn’t ache as much, and she and Beth had encountered deer, wild turkeys, squirrels, chipmunks, crows, chickadees and one woodpecker.
She nodded to Scott Thorne, a state trooper Beth was dating, as he added cream to his coffee-to-go, but he pretended not to see her as he headed for a riverside table on the back wall. So she called to him. “Hey, Scott.”
He sighed. “Jo.”
Her sister rolled her eyes as she slipped on an apron in dark evergreen-the café’s signature color-behind the glass case. She was a paramedic as well as co-owner of the café, two years younger and slightly taller than Jo, and the copper highlights in her dark hair were natural. “Don’t pick on Scott,” she said cheerfully. “What’s your pleasure, Agent Harper?”
Jo surveyed the tempting array of treats and pointed at a plate of buttermilk-currant scones. “I want one of those. I know I should go for the nuts-and-seeds bread, but we ran five miles this morning.”
“You ran five miles. I slogged.”
But when she reached into the case, Beth grabbed two scones-one for Jo, one for herself-and set them on small evergreen-colored plates. Jo got mugs and filled them at the coffee bar.
They joined Scott at his table overlooking the river. He was in uniform, and Jo recognized the prestigious silver ram’s horns insignia that identified him as a member of the Vermont State Police search-and-rescue team. He gave Jo a quick glance, then got up and addressed Beth. “I have to run.”
Beth didn’t look the least bit offended. “Dominique’s making leek-and-goat-cheese tarts,” she said, referring to Dominique Belair, one of the three “sisters.” Beth grinned. “I can snag one for dinner-”
“That’s okay,” Scott said with the barest flicker of a smile. “I’ll see you later, though.”
Once he was back on the street, Jo sighed. “Looks as if I ran off your trooper boyfriend.”
“Scott,” Beth said. “His name is Scott. I guess he could have been nicer to you, huh?”
“Nah. He did what I’d have done in his position-be polite and scoot.”
“He’ll like you once things settle down with you and that Internet flap. But he really is good-looking, isn’t he?”
“Very. I think I saw dimples when he smiled at you.”
“Don’t tell him he has dimples. He’ll never warm up to you.”