appreciate that. Thank you.”
Gunter stepped in, changing the topic, breaking the subtle tension that had settled around his friend. “Tell me, Mark, the toxicology conference, is there anything in particular, any specific speakers you are interested in?”
Mark turned to Gunter. “I plan to attend most of the sessions, see what grabs me. Will you be there?”
“Ja, but of course. It’s not every day one of these things comes to your doorstep. You are covering this for a newspaper?”
“Magazine. Spectra.”
Hannah knew of it. High profile. “Nice gig.”
“Not bad. Now that you mention it, you had a pretty good one yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I realized, after I met you yesterday, you’re Mac McGuire’s daughter.”
Hannah tensed. She felt instantly cornered, always did when anything about her past sneaked into the present she’d so carefully carved out for herself and Danny.
“Yes. Mac was my dad.” She forked a piece of lettuce from her Caesar salad but couldn’t find the impetus to bring it to her mouth.
“You were following in his footsteps for a while there, McGuire. One of the best. They were even calling you Mac, Jr.”
“You been checking up on me?”
Mark laughed. “Mac’s a legend in media circles. So why’d you quit? What brought you here?” To this media backwater. The words hung unsaid.
She forced a smile. “I needed a change. And I like the skiing.”
Mark raised his brows, studying her. She had an uneasy feeling about him. Like he could see into her, like he knew something. She forced the lettuce into her mouth.
Al was watching her, too. She’d never spoken to him about Mac. But she figured he knew she was the daughter of the famous Canadian international correspondent. She loved Al for the fact that he never pried, that he sensed her need to put the past away. That he just let her be while the scabs of her wound grew strong.
She saw Gunter Schmidt studying her, too, as if the fact she was Mac’s daughter suddenly meant she had to be judged by new standards. But the plastic surgeon made no comment. He pushed his empty plate to one side. “Well, that was good.” Gunter dabbed the corners of his mouth neatly with his napkin. “But my patients, they are waiting.” He called for the check.
Rex watched as the man with gray-flecked hair called for the bill.
So, Hannah knew Ken Mitchell. No matter how he looked at it, he was not going to be able to avoid her. She was working her way into his investigation. He’d need to ask her about Mitchell. And the other man, the one tugging at his memory.
He watched them stand, say their goodbyes. Hannah shook Mitchell’s hand. She looked unhappy. It tore at him.
Do you remember me, Hannah McGuire? Do you hate me? What is making you sad, my lovely? God he wanted to ask her those questions. He’d have to shelve those for another life. Right now he needed to ask her about Mitchell. But how to approach her after all these years? For the first time in his adult life, Rex Logan felt lost. Helpless. He hadn’t planned for this. The cold, calculating, fearless agent was not only lost, he was afraid. But with the anxiety that sloshed in his belly was a sharp little zing. A spike of adrenaline. Unwanted, but there. It hummed through him at the thought of coming face-to-face with Hannah McGuire, hearing the smokiness of her voice, seeing those tiny forest-green flecks in her gold leonine eyes.
But not now. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. Right now he’d tail Mitchell. He watched them make for the exit, giving them time.
Mark Bamfield held out his hand. “Good to meet you, Al, Gunter. Thanks for inviting me to join you.”
He turned to Hannah and took her hand in his. “Nice to see you again, Hannah. Maybe dinner sometime?”
She just nodded and watched him go. He’d left her unsettled, off-kilter.
“You okay, Hannah?”
“Yeah, Gunter. Just tired. Thanks for lunch.”
“Anytime. You look after Al now, ja?”
“Ja, Ja.” Al jokingly waved his friend off, mimicking his raspy German accent. “You go back to your filthy-rich patients. I can take care of myself.”
Hannah affectionately took Al by the arm as they made their way down the pedestrian walkway back to the office. Sometimes she felt he was the father she never really had. “So you can look after yourself, huh?”
“Damn right. Just need a little time.” To find out what really happened to Amy. The words went unsaid. Hannah knew Al wouldn’t heal until he had the answer.
The sun was warm on their backs as they strolled through the summer crowds. Much warmer than an hour ago when Hannah had needed the extra comfort of her sweater. She realized suddenly it was missing.
“Oh, Al, my sweater. I must have left it at the restaurant. You go on ahead. I’ll see you back at the office.”
“No, no. I’ll come with you. Too nice out. Any excuse to extend my break is welcome.” He fell in step with her as she headed quickly back to the Black Diamond.
Al waited at the restaurant entrance as Hannah stepped up onto the patio and made her way back to the table. They had been gone only minutes. Her sweater was still draped over the back of the chair.
She gathered it up, turned to head out.
Then froze.
He stood in shadow at the far end of the patio.
He was looking directly at her.
The world around her faded away. Hannah reached absently for the back of a chair as her vision narrowed. She needed to steady herself. Her chest was like a vise. She couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t move.
She told herself it couldn’t be. It was someone who looked like him. But she knew. In her gut. She knew the lines of him, the stance, like she knew her own son. Her mind reeled. Irrational panic licked through her blood and gripped at her throat. For so long he had lurked in the shadows of her mind. Now he stood, in flesh and blood, in the shade of the patio.
Here, in White River.
The shock of it was too much. She wasn’t ready to deal with seeing him.
She turned, walked woodenly toward Al, clutching her sweater.
“Hannah, what’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He grabbed her elbow in support.
“I…I think I am coming down with something. I just need to get out of here. I…I’ll see you back at the office.” She pulled away from Al and started to weave quickly through the groups of tourists thronging the walkways.
She headed for the park with its network of trails that ran along the White River.
She broke into a run when she reached the gravel path, ignoring the sharp little stones that slipped into her sandals. Usually running eased her pain. Now the air rasped in her lungs.
She stopped only when she reached the little waterfall.
She sat down on her rock, close to the water’s edge. Daniel called it Mommy’s Rock. The little one beside it was Danny’s Rock. They would often come to the park and picnic here beside the river. They would watch the whitewater churn over the boulders and throw a fine mist into the air. Danny liked the way the droplets would catch the sun and spin the light into a myriad of rainbows.
Hannah turned her face toward the raging water. She let the sound wash over her and the fine mist kiss her cheeks.
The knot in her gut slowly loosened, unraveled and bubbled up through her chest, threatening to spill