was incendiary at the time, or they’d have gone to the police.”
“It was enough for my father to drive to D.C.”
“But it wasn’t enough for Bruni not to blow him off. Nora doesn’t know what they talked about, but she says her stepfather wasn’t very nice to your father. It wasn’t until she started asking questions about Melanie Kendall that he took another look at what Drew had told him that day back in April.” Hannah stared down at the twisting trail the rabbit had left behind before scurrying out of sight. “Then he was killed.”
Sean was very still next to her. “You’ll make a good prosecutor.”
“Your father wasn’t protecting you,” she said. “He would have protected you, but he wasn’t. You know what kind of man he was. He went to Alex Bruni because he thought that’s where he could get the answers he was looking for. He saw Jo in D.C., too, and didn’t say a word to her about what was on his mind.”
A sudden wind blew down from the summit and cut through her thin jacket and layers. Sean didn’t seem to notice. “Bowie was in jail in April,” he said.
She pretended she hadn’t heard him and pushed off through the snow, following his tracks when they diverged from hers. She came to the steep trail down to the old logging road. Fine snow blew off a six-foot rock outcropping next to her. The wind was steady now, harsh, numbing her face. She lifted her jacket collar to better cover her chin and mouth.
Sean pulled off his gray wool scarf and handed it to her. “Take it,” he said. “I don’t need it. We can finish this discussion later.”
Hannah didn’t argue. The scarf was soft and still warm from him. She draped it around her neck, pulled it up over her mouth and nose, wishing suddenly that she hadn’t come up here at all. She thought of Bowie standing out at the oldcellar hole on the river when she and Drew had traipsed through the snow and mud to find him. Had Bowie already been up to see the old cellar hole Drew had found? Had the two men already talked about the work involved in rebuilding an old foundation?
Hannah plunged down the steep trail, knowing Sean would be right behind her if she tripped—or if she decided to tell him her real reasons for finally hiking up to see his father’s cabin.
Six
S ean had his hood off and his jacket unzipped even before the heat in Elijah’s truck kicked in. Hannah had already unwound his scarf from her neck, letting it dangle down her front. She sat stiffly next to him, her eyes pinned straight ahead as if she were trying to pretend she really wasn’t driving the ten miles back to the lodge with him. She’d moved fast on the mountain trail, sleeker, more lithe and agile, than he was comfortable noticing.
Just keep driving , he told himself as he navigated the rutted, icy, one-lane logging road at the bottom of the trail. Ordinarily it would be closed to vehicles by December, but after the violence five weeks ago, law enforcement saw that it was kept plowed. It led to a back road, almost as narrow, that wound through the hills and the isolated hollow where Hannah Shay and Bowie O’Rourke had grown up.
Sean remembered his father talking about the Shays. “They’ve always lived hand-to-mouth,” he’d said on one of his rare visits to Southern California. “It’s what they know. Hannah and her brothers could be different, but they won’t be if they don’t want to be. I guess it’s easy for me to say. I’ve never had to leave behind what I’ve always known.”
As he drove down close to the river, Sean glanced at Hannah, her cheeks rosy, her eyes a pale gray-blue against the winter landscape. He’d always recognized that she was attractive. There’d never been any doubt about that. She was just impossible. She had a wall up around her as impenetrable as a force field, and never let anyone in.
“I can imagine your father’s excitement when he found that old Cameron cellar hole,” she said.
Sean could, too. “I
“It was enough for my father to drive to D.C.”
“But it wasn’t enough for Bruni not to blow him off. Nora doesn’t know what they talked about, but she says her stepfather wasn’t very nice to your father. It wasn’t until she started asking questions about Melanie Kendall that he took another look at what Drew had told him that day back in April.” Hannah stared down at the twisting trail the rabbit had left behind before scurrying out of sight. “Then he was killed.”
Sean was very still next to her. “You’ll make a good prosecutor.”
“Your father wasn’t protecting you,” she said. “He would have protected you, but he wasn’t. You know what kind of man he was. He went to Alex Bruni because he thought that’s where he could get the answers he was looking for. He saw Jo in D.C., too, and didn’t say a word to her about what was on his mind.”
A sudden wind blew down from the summit and cut through her thin jacket and layers. Sean didn’t seem to notice. “Bowie was in jail in April,” he said.
She pretended she hadn’t heard him and pushed off through the snow, following his tracks when they diverged from hers. She came to the steep trail down to the old logging road. Fine snow blew off a six-foot rock outcropping next to her. The wind was steady now, harsh, numbing her face. She lifted her jacket collar to better cover her chin and mouth.
Sean pulled off his gray wool scarf and handed it to her. “Take it,” he said. “I don’t need it. We can finish this discussion later.”
Hannah didn’t argue. The scarf was soft and still warm from him. She draped it around her neck, pulled it up over her mouth and nose, wishing suddenly that she hadn’t come up here at all. She thought of Bowie standing out at the oldcellar hole on the river when she and Drew had traipsed through the snow and mud to find him. Had Bowie already been up to see the old cellar hole Drew had found? Had the two men already talked about the work involved in rebuilding an old foundation?
Hannah plunged down the steep trail, knowing Sean would be right behind her if she tripped—or if she decided to tell him her real reasons for finally hiking up to see his father’s cabin.
Six
S ean had his hood off and his jacket unzipped even before the heat in Elijah’s truck kicked in. Hannah had already unwound his scarf from her neck, letting it dangle down her front. She sat stiffly next to him, her eyes pinned straight ahead as if she were trying to pretend she really wasn’t driving the ten miles back to the lodge with him. She’d moved fast on the mountain trail, sleeker, more lithe and agile, than he was comfortable noticing.
Just keep driving , he told himself as he navigated the rutted, icy, one-lane logging road at the bottom of the trail. Ordinarily it would be closed to vehicles by December, but after the violence five weeks ago, law enforcement saw that it was kept plowed. It led to a back road, almost as narrow, that wound through the hills and the isolated hollow where Hannah Shay and Bowie O’Rourke had grown up.
Sean remembered his father talking about the Shays. “They’ve always lived hand-to-mouth,” he’d said on one of his rare visits to Southern California. “It’s what they know. Hannah and her brothers could be different, but they won’t be if they don’t want to be. I guess it’s easy for me to say. I’ve never had to leave behind what I’ve always known.”
As he drove down close to the river, Sean glanced at Hannah, her cheeks rosy, her eyes a pale gray-blue against the winter landscape. He’d always recognized that she was attractive. There’d never been any doubt about that. She was just impossible. She had a wall up around her as impenetrable as a force field, and never let anyone in.
“I can imagine your father’s excitement when he found that old Cameron cellar hole,” she said.
Sean could, too. “I
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