Abandon (Cold Ridge/U.S. Marshals #6)

Mackenzie remained on her feet. She didn’t plan to stay long. “I don’t blame you. When do you head for New Hampshire?”


“Friday. I know it gets hot there, but not like this. And if it’s hot, I have the lake right outside my door.”

“Are you worried about being there -”

“With this lunatic on the loose? No, of course not. He’ll be long gone by then, or in custody, one would hope. I’ve never worried one second when I’ve been at the lake on my own, and I don’t intend to start now. You needn’t fret. Gus will check in on me, no doubt. He’s like a mother hen sometimes.”

Of all the images that came to mind when Mackenzie thought about Gus Winter, a mother hen wasn’t among them. Not even close. “I left some food in the refrigerator. Nothing that would spoil before you get there. There’s a half bag of marshmallows in the bread box -”

“Marshmallows? Mackenzie, you know they’ll attract ants.”

“I wrapped a rubber band around the bag. It’s so tight an ant can’t possibly get in.”

Bernadette waved a hand, dismissing the subject of marshmallows and ants. “You’re the one who was attacked. We should all be worrying about you.” She softened slightly, sinking into a wingback chair. “How are you? I heard you were lucky the knife didn’t penetrate deeply.”

“It’s a superficial wound. Painful, but it’ll heal. Every day’s better.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t just luck that you weren’t hurt worse. You’ve always been a good fighter.”

Mackenzie was aware of Rook lingering in the doorway, but he didn’t seem eager to jump into the conversation. “I had him, Beanie,” she said, “but I couldn’t hold him.”

“You’d been stabbed. Even more experienced officers have faltered in similar situations.” Bernadette’s tone was matter-of-fact more than reassuring. “Give yourself time to heal. Don’t push yourself, or you’ll end up delaying your recovery.”

“That’s why I didn’t head back here until tonight.”

“Good. Now, this man – you recognized him?”

“He seemed vaguely familiar.”

“Vaguely? That’s not the kind of thing one wants to hear in a courtroom.”

The state police detectives, FBI agents and deputy marshals investigating the two attacks in New Hampshire hadn’t wanted to hear it, either. They wanted specifics, and Mackenzie couldn’t provide them. The eyes, she’d said. They’d solidified the sense that she’d seen him before. She hadn’t been very helpful – and she was convinced they’d all downplayed, if not totally disregarded, her statement because of her knife wound and initial round of pain medication.

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Bernadette asked.

“I’d know it was the same man. I’m not sure it’d help me figure out where I’ve seen him before.”

Mackenzie didn’t flinch as Bernadette studied her with a frankness that anyone who knew the exacting judge got used to. Bernadette was blunt and straightforward, but also unfailingly generous, intelligent and fair-minded. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I wish this attack hadn’t happened. I wish I could at least help find the perpetrator. I’ve seen enough lowlifes come through my courtroom. But I’m clueless. I’m not good with sketches. I don’t think I’d recognize myself in one.”

“What about Cal?”

“ Cal?” An edge came into Bernadette’s voice at mention of her ex-husband. “Why would he know anything?”

Mackenzie gave Rook a sideways glance, but he remained impassive. She turned back to Bernadette, shrugging. “No reason.”

“I hardly ever see him anymore, although he’s still living here.” She added quickly, “He has the downstairs guest suite.”

Mackenzie had stayed there often enough herself on her visits to Washington over the years. Bernadette had always been a welcoming hostess, although less so after her marriage to Cal Benton. Mackenzie wasn’t sure if he didn’t like company or didn’t like her; perhaps he’d just sensed she didn’t like him.

“When’s he moving out?” she asked bluntly.

Bernadette seemed to take no offense. “This weekend. When I get back from New Hampshire in September, he’ll be out of my life for good.”

“Did you talk to him about the attacks in New Hampshire?”

“Of course. He suggested your assailant could be someone I’ve helped out at some point.”

“One of your ‘three-legged puppies’? Isn’t that his phrase?”

Mackenzie’s cool tone drew a glance from Rook, but he didn’t comment. Cal, who hadn’t known her as a child, nonetheless had made it clear he considered her one of his wife’s “three-legged puppies.”