was followed by something even more unsettling. He saw her gaze drift in the direction of the place where he kept his pistol in the belt holster under his coat. The pistol that was no longer there. Then that same gaze flew back to his face in horror.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t kill him.”
She shook her head, not in denial but as if to throw off the initial shock. “I—I’m sorry. It was just that for a second I thought—” She paused to clear her mind. “Then, why did we run like that?”
“It was necessary. Look,” he explained, “I knew something was wrong when I got to the back door. I could see someone lying facedown on the floor of the kitchen. That’s why I went into the house with my gun drawn. It was Neil on the floor. I was kneeling beside him, checking for life signs, when something heavy came down on the back of my skull. By the time I came to, the pistol was no longer in my hand, and Neil had a bullet hole in his head that hadn’t been there before.”
“What are you saying?” Madeline whispered. “Are you telling me—”
“Yeah, the bastard must have used my gun to kill him, because I don’t think Neil was dead when I knelt beside him. I think he was just unconscious, knocked over the head like I was. I don’t suppose you heard the shot?”
“Nothing. I had the radio on. What about the gun? What happened to it? Do you think the killer took it with him?”
“What I think is that it’s still in that house, hidden someplace where I wouldn’t easily find it but where the police are certain to after a thorough search.”
“Did you look for it?”
“Yeah, and without luck. I would have looked a lot further if she hadn’t waltzed into the kitchen with a casserole in her hands.”
“Who?”
“Claire, his next-door neighbor. She was forever doing favors for Neil, trying to win his attention.”
“And when she found you like that with his body—”
“That’s right, she figured I killed Neil. I could see that much in her face. And she wouldn’t listen. Too scared to stop for any explanation. The next thing I knew, the casserole was all over the floor and she was out of there. By the time I got outside, she was back at her own house barricaded inside—and you can be sure she was calling the cops.”
“But if you had stayed there and waited for them to come, then explained—” She broke off in sudden understanding. “But, of course, you couldn’t, could you. The gun that killed Neil would be registered in your name.”
“Not to mention my fingerprints on it. The murderer would have made sure of that. All the evidence is there, pointing straight to me. I had no choice but to run.”
“And we can’t trust the police, anyway, can we? Any one of them could be the man or woman in Griff’s pay.”
And if I’m arrested, sweetheart, that leaves you at the mercy of the enemy. I have to stay free, because right now I’m all you’ve got.
Mitch hated this. Hated suddenly having to behave like a guilty fugitive. All he had wanted was to be rid of this woman, give her back to Neil—but that could never happen now. Neil was gone, leaving Mitch with the maddening memory of the promise he had made. That he would protect Madeline, make sure she stayed healthy until it was reliably safe for him to do otherwise. It was a promise he continued to owe his friend. No choice, then. Madeline Raeburn was still his responsibility.
She was still gazing at him, looking more troubled by the moment. “Who could have killed Neil? This—this bad cop?”
“Don’t know. But it must have been someone he knew, someone he even invited into the house. He was too good an officer to let a stranger take him by surprise.”
“But why kill him?”
Mitch didn’t answer her.
“Oh, yes,” she said in a small, shaken voice, “I see. It was because of me, wasn’t it. Because Neil refused to tell him where I was, and once he’d revealed himself to Neil, exposed his identity like that, he had no choice but to—”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“But it’s the most likely explanation.”
Mitch could see that probability deeply distressed her, maybe just because it emphasized her own danger. He wasn’t ready to credit her with any less self-interested motive than that.
“And all the time,” she murmured, “what he was after was sitting out there in the driveway.”
“Yeah, and if he hadn’t slipped out the back and across the yard without looking around the corner of the house—which is how he must have made his exit—then…”
“I’d be dead.”
In the silence that followed, those incredible eyes of hers, thick-lashed, beautifully shaped, remained fastened on him. Then she asked him slowly, softly, “What are we going to do?”
Before he could tell her, they both tensed in alarm at the sound of a siren far down the block. The siren could have been in response to any emergency, and even though the wail receded in the distance, it was a grim reminder to Mitch that they couldn’t go on sitting here in this exposed lot.
“We need to go someplace where we can think this thing through and not be caught while we’re doing it.”
“Where?” she demanded, as he backed the pickup out of the parking space and headed for the street.
He had an idea. He’d once accompanied Neil and his grandson to the spot. “There is a place,” he said. “It’s not far from here. Providing I can find it.”
The weather didn’t help. Even if he’d been comfortably familiar with the area, the swirling snow hindered his vision while the streets grew more treacherous with every mile.
Madeline was quiet while he concentrated on the route. She waited until they were stopped at a traffic light. And then in that low voice that never failed to stir his senses, even when he knew it shouldn’t, she said something completely unexpected.
“I’m sorry. Deeply sorry.”
She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t have to. Mitch knew that she was offering her sympathy for the loss of his best friend. He wasn’t sure how genuine her expression was until he turned his head and saw that those alluring amber eyes were misty with sorrow.
All right, so it surprised him that in this moment, when she had to be frantic about her plight, she could grieve for Neil. It still didn’t make her an angel, even if she had the face of one.
“Yeah,” he muttered hoarsely. It was all he could manage by way of acknowledgment. Any further effort would have cost him his self-control. He was already torn up inside—and he meant to keep it there.
Faye, he thought as the light changed and the traffic moved forward again. It was going to kill her to hear about her father. And there were Neil’s friends on the force back in Frisco. The news would be hard on them.
But Mitch knew he had to stop worrying about Neil’s daughter and his friends. Had to put his own grief on hold. All he had time for now was to get them out of this mess.
A PLOW HAD BEEN THROUGH HERE recently, Mitch noticed, so the snow wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. He was able to negotiate the winding lane without difficulty. The lot was understandably empty when they reached it. He parked the pickup facing the lagoon.
On any other occasion Mitch would have admired the setting. The dark waters of the lagoon, which for some reason was still unfrozen, were rimmed with evergreens. Their somber green boughs drooped with snow, making a scene that an artist might have effectively borrowed for a Christmas card.
But all he could appreciate was the seclusion of the place. Nothing stirred in the vicinity