She glanced up at Rook, still on the steps, then shifted her gaze back to T.J. “Harris Mayer and Judge Peacham go way back. I don’t really know him.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She gestured broadly toward the house. “No sign of him?”
T.J. hesitated a moment, as if he expected Rook to intervene – but Rook had no intention of diving into the middle of their exchange. Let Mackenzie wriggle her way out of this one. T.J. could handle her. “No,” he said. “No sign of him. The house is secure. He’s not in it. You know where he is?”
“Not a clue.” She squinted at him. “Well. I guess you answered my question for me. Again, T.J., nice to meet you.” She made a point of looking up at Rook on the steps. “Mind the heat, you two. It sneaks up on you.”
She walked back across the street and got in her car.
T.J. glanced up at Rook. “Want me to find a reason to cuff her?”
“Tempting.” Rook joined him on the sidewalk, a slight breeze stirring up the street smells. He just felt hotter. As she pulled out into the roadway, Mackenzie waved at them, then hit the gas and took off. “Think she knew we were here?”
“Hard to say. She didn’t look too beaten up from this past weekend.”
“Says she heals fast.”
“Deputy Stewart’s a wiseass,” T.J. said with some amusement. “I’ve always seen you ending up with a wiseass, Rook.”
“Yeah. Whatever. Let’s go.”
“You know, your redheaded marshal didn’t exactly shake in her shoes talking to me. Then again, people like me. I have a sense of humor.”
Rook ignored him, leading the way back to their car.
T.J. didn’t take the hint. “You’re not going to let yourself trust her, are you? I can’t say I blame her for wanting to know what we’re up to. She’s not a suspect. She’s not under surveillance. She’s just friends with Bernadette Peacham, our new favorite federal judge. Who is also not a suspect. Her ex-husband -”
“Isn’t a suspect,” Rook finished.
“Officially.”
“Harris Mayer isn’t, either, but we can’t find him.”
“Yeah. I don’t like that one.” T.J. opened the driver’s door and looked across the steaming roof of the car at Rook. “Deputy Stewart moves well for someone with a knife wound in her side. I wouldn’t want to underestimate her.”
“I haven’t,” Rook muttered, getting in the car. He and T.J. had a long day yet ahead of them. Time to get on with it.
It was dark when Rook finally quit work and drove out to Arlington, detouring to the historic house where Mackenzie was living. He parked behind her car and got out, remembering his optimism the first time he’d stood in that same spot a few weeks ago. He’d picked her up for dinner in Washington – nothing fancy, just an evening out to get to know each other better.
A light shone on the back porch, and a misting rain had begun to fall, forming a fine film on the steps. Rook debated turning around and heading on home. What could he do here but get himself in deeper with a woman he’d met for all the wrong reasons?
The porch door opened, and Mackenzie stepped out, her hair pulled tight into a curly ponytail, as if she’d tried to tame it once and for all in the high humidity. She was barefoot, wearing shorts and a T-shirt that, somehow, made her seem even smaller than she was.
She tilted her head back, eyeing her visitor. “I could have winged you, Rook, and nobody would have said boo. Here I am injured, alone in a haunted, isolated house, and you know it, yet you sneak up on me anyway.”
“Did I scare you?”
“No. I thought you might be a ghost for a second.”
“You don’t believe in ghosts,” he said.
“Stay here a couple nights. You’ll believe in ghosts.” She took in a breath, putting up a hand as color rose in her cheeks. “Alone, I mean. Stay here a couple nights alone, and then talk to me about ghosts.”
“Nate and his wife didn’t seem to mind the ghosts.”
“Sarah wouldn’t. It’d take a lot for Nate to believe he was in the presence of any ghost, never mind the ghosts of Abraham Lincoln and Robert E. Lee.” Mackenzie crossed her arms over her chest, her shirt rising just enough to reveal the bandages on her left side. “Would you like to come in for a minute?”
Rook took a step toward her. “I won’t stay long.”
He followed her into the cool kitchen. The small table was crowded with dishes and odds and ends, as if she’d just unpacked one of the boxes stacked along the wall. He wondered if she had plans for the evening, or if she would stay here, alone with her ghosts.
“Mac, about this afternoon at Harris’s house -”
“Not much to say, is there?”
“We want to find him.”