Cold Pursuit by Carla Neggers

life in Black Falls.
    “Beth…”
    “It’s nothing. Never mind. Have you figured out what to do with your cabins yet?”
    Jo went along with the change in subject. “Besides hope for a fire? No.”
    “What about your neighbor?”
    “Elijah? I haven’t seen much of him.”
    “He’s at a loose end. You’re at a loose end.” Beth shook her head. “A soldier and a federal agent with nothing to do. My definition of dangerous.”
    Jo smiled. “We can’t get into too much trouble out on our quiet Vermont lake.”
    Her sister was serious again. “He should be dead, Jo. He tied a tourniquet on his leg and expected to fight until his last breath and save his men. Instead—he lived.”
    “He says he’s fully recovered.”
    “He probably is. Physically, at least. He’s lucky. You’ve had advance medical training as a Secret Service agent—you know how dangerous femoral artery injuries are. I can’t imagine one in the middle of a firefight in the remote mountains of Afghanistan. It’s a miracle he lived. An absolute miracle.”
    “Was anyone else injured?”
    “Rose tried to pry what she could out of him and his doctors. It’s not much. He was part of a joint special operations team that came under attack. A Navy SEAL was killed. Another was grievously wounded. Elijah spent a month in the hospital. He did rehab and supposedly got some kind of staff assignment for a while. Now he’s home.”
    “Permanently?”
    “Who knows? There are lots of rumors about Elijah, as you can imagine. Including that he’s not satisfied with the official explanation of his father’s death. Scott helped with the search.”
    “Tough time.”
    Beth nodded. “The worst. It’s not Elijah’s fault his father died, but in my opinion, he’s looking to assuage his own guilt for not being here. Of course, that wasn’t his fault, either.”
    “Maybe he has legitimate unanswered questions.”
    “And maybe his questions have no answers. Uh-oh. Speak of the devil.” Beth pushed back her chair and made a face. “He’s all yours, Jo.”
    Jo glanced back toward the street and saw that, in fact, Elijah had arrived at the café. She grinned at her sister. “Chicken.”
    “You bet. He scares me when he comes in here and orders a scone. Can you imagine, Elijah Cameron sitting down with a scone and butter?”
    “You’re bad, Beth. Honestly.”
    Her sister laughed. “Scott would agree with you. I’ll have to tell him you two have common ground after all.” She got to her feet and gathered up her plate and mug. “My hamstrings are on fire. I need at least a day’s rest before we go for another run.”
    “It felt good, running up here instead of in the city—”
    “And running with your out-of-shape sister instead of all your buff Secret Service friends.”
    “You’re not that out of shape, Beth.”
    “Ha,” she said as she dumped her plate and mug in a dishpan on a side table and scooted out, passing Elijah on his way in. No Red Sox cap today—the sun caught the ends of his close-cropped tawny hair, reminding Jo, somehow, of him at nineteen. But she knew it would be a mistake to fall back on old habits.
    Plus, he was obviously in some kind of cantankerous, rotten Cameron mood.
    He didn’t say a word to Beth, then ignored Jo, or maybe didn’t notice her, and headed straight for the glass case, where Hannah Shay was unloading cookies from a big metal sheet onto an evergreen plate. She had on a frumpy skirt, and her fair hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail that emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face.
    She gave Elijah a cool look. “What can I get you? The cookies are still warm. I have peanut butter, chocolate chip—”
    “Is Devin here?”
    More coolness. “No, Elijah, he’s not.”
    “Where is he?”
    “I’m sorry.” Hannah tucked the empty tray under one arm. “I don’t have time to talk. I have to study.”
    She set the tray on the spotless counter, peeled off her apron and walked calmly out