he already knew he was too late. A man sprang out of the darkness, wielding a snow shovel. Nick raised his arm in an effort to minimize the blow, the shovel glancing off the side of his head. He landed a fast, hard, low kick, striking his attacker below the knee, catching the soft tissue just above a thick boot, forcing him to drop the shovel.
The man groaned and leaped down the steps, bolting onto the driveway.
Nick felt blood trickling into his mouth, tasted it. He jumped off the steps but saw headlights through the trees and heard an engine. He grabbed the shovel, reaching the bottom of the steep driveway just in time to see the rear lights of the car disappear on the narrow, twisting road.
He swore and turned back up to the house. The driveway seemed icier and more treacherous than on the way down. His head throbbed as he mounted the stone steps and checked the front door.
Yes, indeed, Rose had locked it this time.
He descended the steps once more and got back in his car, turned on the engine for the heat and dialed Sean in California. He didn’t give his friend a chance to speak. “What’s A.J.’s number? Never mind. Call him.” Nick wiped blood off the side of his face. “Tell him not to let Rose come home alone. I’m at her house. I don’t want her on the road by herself.”
“Nick, what the hell—”
“I just surprised some jackass breaking into her house. We scuffled. He took off. He had a car parked out of sight. I’m calling the police next.”
“Got it.”
“Do you know where Rose keeps her spare key?”
“She usually doesn’t lock up.”
“I know.”
“The gutter by the back door,” Sean said. “Stay in touch.”
Nick got out of the warm car. He hadn’t switched on the headlights, and his eyes had adjusted to the dark. He found the key stuck in the base of an icy gutter, above another bright green tennis ball. He let himself in through the back door, flipping on lights, checking for any sign the intruder had gotten inside.
He dialed 911 as he moved into the kitchen. He dug a dish towel out of a drawer and pressed it to his bloody head. He got ice from a small freezer and explained the situation to the dispatcher, who clearly knew Rose.
The dispatcher instructed him to stay in a safe place.
Yeah, good idea.
Nick put ice on his scrape and sat on a chair in front of the cold woodstove. It was a cute house. Little. Nice location, except some SOB could walk in and toss the place without worrying about nosy neighbors. Rose didn’t have an alarm system. His condo had twenty-four-hour security, cameras, proper locks, alarms.
Rose felt safe here because this was her hometown, and because until Lowell Whittaker had picked Black Falls for his country home, she
The ice was damn cold. Nick pulled it off his head and considered standing up, but what if he passed out? What kind of rugged smoke jumper would he be to the Vermonters about to descend? He’d fit Rose’s stereotype of some rich Southern Californian who couldn’t make it in the mountains of northern New England.
He heard her at the back door. “Nick? Nick, where are you?”
And A.J. “Hold on, Rose.”
She ignored her brother and ran into the living room, immediately checking the bloody scrape just above Nick’s right cheekbone, her hands soft, warm. “You’re bleeding. Damn it, Nick, what happened?”
“I got hit in the head with a shovel. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Who was it? Did you see—”
“I didn’t get a good description. He was six feet tall, lean, white. Black gloves. Black hat and ski coat.” Nick concentrated on Rose’s face, her blue eyes as she stood back from him. She wore a sleek dark burgundy sweater and slim jeans, her tawny hair shining as she studied him. He forced himself to stay on task. “He had a ski tag on his jacket.”
“Robert Feehan,” she said without hesitation.
Nick wasn’t surprised. A.J. eased in next to her, looking grim as the first of the police arrived.
Ten
R ose did her best to keep her emotions in check with Scott Thorne and the two police officers from town who responded to Nick’s call. Her house hadn’t been tossed. The man who’d jumped Nick, presumably Robert Feehan, hadn’t gotten inside.
As Scott and the two officers left through her front door, she could feel their mounting urgency to find Robert and talk to him. If he simply was in a panic, terrified because of Derek’s death, then why? If he believed he was in danger, all the more reason to turn himself in to police and tell them what he knew.
Nick had refused even the idea of an ambulance, never mind a trip to the E.R. Rose wasn’t worried about him. He was an EMT. He knew he hadn’t been seriously injured. He’d started to build a fire, but A.J. had gruffly asked him to stay on the couch and was tackling the woodstove himself.
Her brother and her former lover were a strong presence in her little house, she thought as she went back to the kitchen. She pulled more ice out of the freezer and wrapped it in a fresh, soft towel.
“Maybe Robert thought you were breaking in,” she said, returning to the living room.
Nick took the ice-filled cloth from her. “Why would he think that?”
“He’s scared, on edge, because of Derek.” She stood back from Nick and added, “Because of you and why you’re here. Maybe he’s afraid you’re Jasper’s firestarter, or one of Lowell’s killers.”
A.J. glanced back from the woodstove but said nothing. Nick placed the ice to his bloody scrape for half a second, then set it on the coffee table. “I don’t need more ice, but thanks.” His voice was even, unemotional. “How would either Cutshaw or Feehan have known about Jasper?”
“I didn’t tell them if that’s what you’re asking,” Rose said, not defensively.
“Just wondering if you have a theory. I didn’t see his car on the road when I turned up your driveway.”
“Scott says he must have parked in the small turnaround just past my driveway. You can’t see it coming up the road. I use it when I can’t get up the hill because of freezing rain, sleet or whatever.”
Nick settled back against the soft cushions of her couch. “Feehan knew I wasn’t an intruder,” he said. “He didn’t want to have to explain what he was doing here. I surprised him, and he smacked me with a shovel and took off.”
Rose sat on a chair at the end of the couch. Ranger had taken the men in the house in stride and was curled up on his bed by the woodstove. Nick didn’t look that bad for someone who’d just been ambushed on icy steps. She frowned at him. “You’re lucky you weren’t hurt worse.”
“It wasn’t luck,” he said lightly. “Feehan just wasn’t as good as I am.”
“Ah. I see. So you don’t have a concussion or need stitches right now because of skill.”
“You got it. If he wasn’t here for trouble, why didn’t he go up your driveway?”
“A lot of people don’t like going up my driveway in winter.”
“The guy teaches people how to downhill ski. He must be used to driving up mountains in snowy weather.” Nick studied her a moment, his injury having no apparent effect on his ability to focus. “Why are you defending him?”
“I’m not. I’m trying to figure out what just happened. I have to keep an open mind.”
A.J. adjusted the dampers on the woodstove. “You can’t stay here alone, Rose.”
She bristled. “The police are looking for Robert. He won’t be back.”
“Non sequitur,” her brother said.
She shifted to Nick and attempted a smile. “A.J. gets even gruffer and bossier when he’s worried.”
“He’s had a lot to worry about lately,” Nick said quietly.
Rose jumped to her feet, ignoring both men as she sighed down at Ranger. “Well, fella, looks as if we’re back at the lodge again tonight.”
Nick rose smoothly, steady on his feet, and stood next to her. “You can stay here. I don’t need to make the drive back to the lodge. I’ll camp on the couch out here by the fire.”
A.J. turned from the woodstove. “Is this okay with you, Rose? You know you’re welcome to stay with Lauren and me at the house.”
“I’m used to being on my own,” she said. “It’s probably a good idea for Nick to have someone within yelling
