him.
“Because you are.”
Dumb question. “How did you find out?”
“I know people.”
He was matter-of-fact, not smug. After yesterday, she couldn’t blame him for checking her out. She’d hauled him to Den Bosch, on the pretense of seeing where Nick Janssen had been picked up, only to come upon a murder and a bizarre rendezvous with a man who was, at best, an eccentric.
That she’d let Raleigh go without a fight couldn’t have helped Dunnemore’s early impression of her.
“You’re not going to give me your source?” she asked him.
“No, ma’am.”
“You think that Southern charm’s going to work on me, don’t you?”
He smiled. “What Southern charm?”
“It’ll only get you so far when you’re sticking your nose into someone else’s business. Is the source who finked me out someone you know because you’re friends with President Poe, or someone you know because you’re a marshal?”
“Could be someone who’s worried about you and called me.”
“I doubt that.”
A very short list of names came to mind, any ofwhom could be charmed by the fair-haired U.S. Marshal.
When they reached the airport, Rob offered to carry her suitcase. Maggie refused, politely, trying not to let his easy manner and good looks get to her—or to go overboard in the opposite direction and be a witch. Either way, he won. She didn’t need a well-connected marshal following her, especially when she was on her way to check out a dubious tip from a man anyone else might have dismissed as mentally ill. But William Raleigh had brought up her father, and he’d been in Den Bosch the same morning Tom Kopac had been killed. If she could be sure going to New York was smart, having Rob as a witness might be more appealing.
But she told herself it wasn’t just a matter of sparing herself a little embarrassment. If this escapade blew up in her face, she didn’t want Rob getting caught in the shock waves.
There it was, she thought. She was being altruistic.
“ You can’t tell anyone about me, Maggie. No one. That’s very important for your own safety.”
Histrionics. If she really thought safety was a serious concern, she’d have had more reason to let Rob in on Raleigh’s tip, or at least given Bremmerton more details.
When they boarded the plane, it turned out Rob had the seat directly across the aisle from her.
For the next seven hours.
He’d probably planned it that way, Maggie thought. All feelings of altruism left her. If he wanted to interfere in her business and call in favors to find out what she was up to, fine. Let him. If he wanted to track her to Ravenkill, that was fine, too. His neck, his choice.
Trying to ignore him, she thought about Ravenkill. The Stone Hollow Inn’s Web site had a picture of the room she’d reserved. It had forget-me-not wallpaper, a private bath and a view of a sunflower garden.
And it had a four-poster, queen-size bed.
Maggie felt a jolt of heat and awareness so powerful and unexpected she glanced across the aisle at Rob to see if he’d noticed. But as good as his sources were, he couldn’t read minds. Thank God.
He gave her a half smile. “Long flight ahead of us.”
A very long flight. She hoped she got a grip before they landed in New York.
Sitting across from Wes Poe at the White House was just about the last place Nate Winter wanted to be on a Sunday morning. But the visit was Sarah’s idea, and he’d promised to go along with her. Slowly but surely, he was getting used to her relationship with the president.
Sarah sat forward on her chair across the dining room table from the president. Her honey-coloredhair was pulled back simply, and she’d put on a sundress for her trip to Pennsylvania Avenue. She was happiest digging through musty diaries, old family attics and backyard dumps, piecing together the lives of ordinary people. But Nate knew it was a mistake to forget that Sarah, like her twin brother, had the blood of the Dunnemores of old running
“Because you are.”
Dumb question. “How did you find out?”
“I know people.”
He was matter-of-fact, not smug. After yesterday, she couldn’t blame him for checking her out. She’d hauled him to Den Bosch, on the pretense of seeing where Nick Janssen had been picked up, only to come upon a murder and a bizarre rendezvous with a man who was, at best, an eccentric.
That she’d let Raleigh go without a fight couldn’t have helped Dunnemore’s early impression of her.
“You’re not going to give me your source?” she asked him.
“No, ma’am.”
“You think that Southern charm’s going to work on me, don’t you?”
He smiled. “What Southern charm?”
“It’ll only get you so far when you’re sticking your nose into someone else’s business. Is the source who finked me out someone you know because you’re friends with President Poe, or someone you know because you’re a marshal?”
“Could be someone who’s worried about you and called me.”
“I doubt that.”
A very short list of names came to mind, any ofwhom could be charmed by the fair-haired U.S. Marshal.
When they reached the airport, Rob offered to carry her suitcase. Maggie refused, politely, trying not to let his easy manner and good looks get to her—or to go overboard in the opposite direction and be a witch. Either way, he won. She didn’t need a well-connected marshal following her, especially when she was on her way to check out a dubious tip from a man anyone else might have dismissed as mentally ill. But William Raleigh had brought up her father, and he’d been in Den Bosch the same morning Tom Kopac had been killed. If she could be sure going to New York was smart, having Rob as a witness might be more appealing.
But she told herself it wasn’t just a matter of sparing herself a little embarrassment. If this escapade blew up in her face, she didn’t want Rob getting caught in the shock waves.
There it was, she thought. She was being altruistic.
“ You can’t tell anyone about me, Maggie. No one. That’s very important for your own safety.”
Histrionics. If she really thought safety was a serious concern, she’d have had more reason to let Rob in on Raleigh’s tip, or at least given Bremmerton more details.
When they boarded the plane, it turned out Rob had the seat directly across the aisle from her.
For the next seven hours.
He’d probably planned it that way, Maggie thought. All feelings of altruism left her. If he wanted to interfere in her business and call in favors to find out what she was up to, fine. Let him. If he wanted to track her to Ravenkill, that was fine, too. His neck, his choice.
Trying to ignore him, she thought about Ravenkill. The Stone Hollow Inn’s Web site had a picture of the room she’d reserved. It had forget-me-not wallpaper, a private bath and a view of a sunflower garden.
And it had a four-poster, queen-size bed.
Maggie felt a jolt of heat and awareness so powerful and unexpected she glanced across the aisle at Rob to see if he’d noticed. But as good as his sources were, he couldn’t read minds. Thank God.
He gave her a half smile. “Long flight ahead of us.”
A very long flight. She hoped she got a grip before they landed in New York.
Sitting across from Wes Poe at the White House was just about the last place Nate Winter wanted to be on a Sunday morning. But the visit was Sarah’s idea, and he’d promised to go along with her. Slowly but surely, he was getting used to her relationship with the president.
Sarah sat forward on her chair across the dining room table from the president. Her honey-coloredhair was pulled back simply, and she’d put on a sundress for her trip to Pennsylvania Avenue. She was happiest digging through musty diaries, old family attics and backyard dumps, piecing together the lives of ordinary people. But Nate knew it was a mistake to forget that Sarah, like her twin brother, had the blood of the Dunnemores of old running
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