“To check on you.”
Her mouth snapped shut, and she resumed walking, telling herself not to expend any energy trying to figure out Special Agent Rook. “Maybe that was your cover story with Gus, but you have an agenda that has nothing to do with my health and well-being.”
With his free hand, Rook dug his car keys out of his jacket pocket. “Were you this cynical when you were a college professor?”
“Instructor. I was never a professor. And I’m not cynical. I’m realistic.”
When they reached his car, Mackenzie was out of breath, which irritated her. But four days of a downsized workout or none at all had taken its toll. She’d get up early and do some kind of exercise before she went into work, stitches or no stitches.
Rook tossed her pack onto the backseat of his car. “If it’s any consolation, Gus didn’t suggest I pick you up. He said if I did, I should treat you right.”
“He raised two nieces – he has a good eye for men like you.”
“Men like me? Carine’s married to a pararescueman. Antonia’s married to a U.S. senator and former rescue helicopter pilot.”
Mackenzie frowned at him. “You’ve done your research. Do you know Antonia? She lives in Washington.”
“I think she might have checked me out for a concussion once.”
Mackenzie wasn’t sure what to believe. Antonia, the middle Winter sibling, was an emergency room physician. She and her husband, Hank Callahan, the junior senator from Massachusetts, had invited Mackenzie to their house in Georgetown twice since her arrival in Washington. Had Rook checked out all the Winters because of his investigation? Because of the attack? Because of her?
“I’m in good company, if you ask me,” Rook added. “And Nate’s a decent guy -”
“Thanks to Gus, or so he’d say.”
“You stayed at his house after I left?”
She nodded. “Just at night. It was easier than having him on my case or, worse, insisting on staying up at Beanie’s with me. He’s a fabulous cook. That helped.”
“They treat you like one of the family.”
“But I’m not,” she said, stepping past him to the passenger door. “I have both my parents.”
Rook pulled open the door for her. “You were a hellion as a kid, pretty much on your own after your father was hurt. Your sense of humor and red hair and cute freckles must have kept you from getting throttled on a regular basis.”
She hustled in front of him and got in the car. “You have been talking to Gus.” She looked up at Rook, who might have been grinning, but it was difficult to tell in the dark. “Were you questioning him as part of your investigation?”
Without answering, Rook shut the door and walked around to the other side of the car.
When he got behind the wheel, Mackenzie, eyes focused straight ahead, said, “I have one stop to make.”
“Mac -”
“Bernadette summoned me to see her. She’s not someone easily put off. It’s up to you whether or not you want to drive me there.”
She thought she saw the muscles in his forearm tense as he stuck the key in the ignition. “It’s not a problem.”
“She lives off Embassy Row.”
“I know where she lives.”
Mackenzie sank back into the comfortable seat. “Of course you do.”
Bernadette Peacham’s elegant 1920s house on a quiet street off Massachusetts Avenue always made Mackenzie think of garden parties with its ivy-covered brick and lush landscaping. Rook parked under a massive oak, and when she climbed out of the car, the humidity almost took her breath away. The night air and massive shade trees hadn’t cut the stifling heat.
An outside light came on as she and Rook took the moss-lined brick sidewalk to the side entrance. Bernadette, still in a wrinkled, gray suit she’d obviously worn to the courthouse, opened the door and gave Mackenzie a sweeping, critical once-over. “You don’t look as bad as I expected. A little pale. I’m so relieved this lunatic didn’t stab you to death.”
“Me, too,” Mackenzie said, then motioned behind her. “Beanie, I’d like you to meet -”
“Special Agent Rook.” She stood to one side and smiled coolly, eyeing him. “Am I right?”
“A pleasure to meet you, Judge Peacham,” he said, his tone neutral.
“Yes. Well, come inside.”
She led them past the kitchen and down the hall to the family room. Her Washington house was the polar opposite of her simple lake house in New Hampshire, and if Mackenzie hadn’t known better, she’d have thought this was the wrong Bernadette Peacham. Expensive antiques from various periods mixed with traditional fabrics and colors, and artwork from her travels all over the world. Cal had taken his favorite pieces from Peru and Japan, but most were from Bernadette’s life before their brief marriage.
“I can’t wait to be out of here,” she said. “It’s so damn hot!”