He didn’t smile back. “Mackenzie, I know you’re new in town, but you have to trust me.”
Obviously, he knew something was up with her. He started to go on, but she raised a hand. “I appreciate your help and support, Nate. Don’t think I don’t. I just…Give me this weekend, okay?”
Even that didn’t satisfy him. “Your parents are house swapping with an Irish couple. You’re staying at Beanie’s place on the lake?”
“Do you know everything, Deputy Winter? Beanie offered—”
“When?”
“I stopped by her office after work.”
Mackenzie didn’t explain further. She hadn’t mentioned Rook’s voice mail, but Bernadette had obviously sensed something was wrong and immediately invited Mackenzie to stay at her place at the lake. “I’ll think of you while I’m sweating here in Washington and falling asleep at my desk.”
Sweating, Mackenzie believed. Washington was in the middle of a heat wave that was brutal even by its standards. But Bernadette Peacham’s work ethic—her ex-husband would say workaholism—would never permit her to fall asleep at her desk.
Nate ran the toe of his running shoe along the bottom edge of Mackenzie’s backpack, as if it might yield some of her secrets. “I’m not going to lecture you,” he said.
“I appreciate that.”
“You’ve been here only six weeks. Any sense that you’re distracted—”
“I’m not. I’ll be back at my desk first thing Monday morning, hunting fugitives.”
Her stab at humor didn’t seem to register with him. “Sarah wants to have you over to dinner.” He gave a half smile. “She has a new casserole recipe she wants to try.”
His wife, a native Tennessean, was famous for her southern casseroles. Mackenzie smiled in turn. “So long as she makes fried apricot pies for dessert, I’m game.”
Nate started to say something else, but broke off. “All right. I’ll keep my powder dry for now and see you back here next week.”
Mackenzie took a breath, debating whether to press him on what he wasn’t saying. Did he know about her involvement with Rook? Possible, but unlikely. She hadn’t told Nate she was seeing someone. Not that she was hiding it—the subject just hadn’t come up.
Still, Rook was a hotshot FBI agent, and Nate had been around a long time and knew everyone.
“Nate—” She stopped herself, deciding there was no point in dredging up a few dates with a guy who’d just dumped her. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Anytime, Deputy.”
After he’d left, Mackenzie checked the air-conditioning. It was cool in the house. She turned the temperature up slightly, then listened for ghosts. “Abe? Bobby E.?” She whistled as if calling them. “I sure could use your advice right now.”
Yeah, she thought. About why I’m talking to ghosts.
Because it kept her from thinking about Rook.
At least she didn’t have to worry about him blabbing to a senior federal agent who treated her like a third sister. Rook was ambitious, as well as humorless, and a snake, and he’d keep mum about having given her the boot.
She’d be more careful next time some good-looking man got out of the rain with her, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret the movies and dinners with him—and the kisses, she thought. The brush of his fingertips on her breasts, her back…
What had prompted him to cancel—correction—to dump her altogether? Had he learned something about her that he thought would hurt his career? She hadn’t been on the job that long. She was closely supervised. She hadn’t had a chance to screw up or develop a bad reputation.
Bernadette? Did Rook not approve of her friendship with a federal judge? But that made no sense. Bernadette was a solid, fair judge with an excellent reputation.
A knock on the back porch door startled Mackenzie out of her obsessing.
Cal Benton, looking awkward, gave a curt wave through the glass panel.
She opened the door. “Hey, Cal. I’m glad you’re not a ghost. You had me worried there for a second.”
“A ghost?” He seemed to have no idea what she was talking about. “Mackenzie, are you all right?”
“Never mind. Please, come in.”
She stepped aside, and he strode past her into the small kitchen. He was in his late fifties, tanned, healthy, aging well—and not a man anyone who knew Bernadette would ever have expected her to marry. Before their relationship had soured, they’d said they admired each other’s intellect and experience. They could laugh together, and they enjoyed each other’s company. Apparently, something was missing, or something had gone wrong.
“I won’t keep you.” Cal was dressed in a pale gray suit, crisp-looking in spite of the heat. “Bernadette said you were going home for the weekend.”
“I’m flying into Manchester at the crack of dawn.”
“She said—” His cheeks reddened, and he sniffed awkwardly, then continued, “I understand you’re staying at her house on the lake.”
Mackenzie yanked a chair from the table and sat down, stretching out her legs and suddenly feeling tired, even more out of sorts. “I haven’t told her, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
He glared at her as if she hadn’t done him any favors. “Bernadette and I are divorced. Who I see is no longer any concern of hers.” He paused, obviously for effect. “Or yours.”
In the three years since Bernadette had met and married Calvin Benton, Mackenzie had tried to like him. Now, she didn’t bother. “Unless you and one of your ladies of the hour sneak onto Beanie’s property for a little skinny-dipping on the sly—”
“We didn’t skinny-dip.”
“Close enough.”
Earlier in the summer, before she’d left for Washington, she’d accidentally caught Cal and a woman at least thirty years his junior at Bernadette’s lake house. They weren’t officially divorced at the time, but it didn’t matter. Divorced or almost divorced, he still had betrayed Bernadette by using her home for an illicit romantic weekend.
“I’ve never liked the lake.” He spoke through half-clenched teeth, his tone acidic. “The water’s always cold. The house is run-down. Bernadette would never listen to me about improvements. It was a bad idea to take a friend there.”
“You don’t want her to find out, but you like knowing how hurt and angry she’d be if she did.”
“Maybe so, but don’t be too quick to judge me. You don’t have a clue what it’s like to be her husband. The sainted, brilliant Judge Peacham.”
“If you’re here to convince me to continue to keep my mouth shut, you don’t have to worry. I have no intention of telling her about your little liaisons at the lake. But they have to stop, Cal. No more.”
“They’ve stopped.” He inhaled through his nose, and for the first time, Mackenzie sensed he was embarrassed. “And that’s not why I’m here.” He seemed suddenly to notice the heat, still oppressive despite nightfall, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you seen Harris Mayer?”
Mackenzie tried to conceal her surprise. J. Harris Mayer was one of Bernadette’s longtime friends, but not someone Mackenzie knew well. “Recently?”
“Since last night.”
“I didn’t see him last night. Was he at the party?”
“No, but he was—” Cal stopped himself,