Too Close For Comfort. Sharon Mignerey

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      ‘‘Lily was wrong.’’ Agitated, Rosie waved a hand toward the window. ‘‘What we need is a SWAT team or a platoon of marines or the National Guard.’’ She frowned, deciding she had been too hasty in telling Hilda to bring her kids.

      ‘‘We’ll figure a way out.’’

      We? She didn’t intend for there to be any we where this man was concerned. ‘‘What’s your connection to my sister?’’

      ‘‘I’m her next-door neighbor.’’

      She closed her eyes, trying to remember what Lily had said about her neighbors. Only two came to mind: an elderly couple and a guy who always mowed her lawn. As she remembered, her dad liked the guy, a real compliment since he was usually suspicious.

      According to their mom, Lily would have been lost without the guy’s help when her husband died. Since Lily hadn’t mentioned him by name—at least not that Rosie remembered—Rosie hadn’t given him much thought, other than to dismiss her mother’s assertion that the man was wealthy. Her mother also thought it was too bad that the two of them weren’t attracted to each other. Rosie knew how in love her sister had been with her husband, and she knew that Lily believed she would never re-marry. Rosie studied Ian, trying to imagine him in the role of the helpful lawn-mowing neighbor. Not likely.

      ‘‘The one who mows her lawn?’’ she asked anyway.

      Ian grinned. ‘‘The same.’’

      ‘‘The one who doesn’t have a job because he’s supposedly as rich as Midas?’’ She still didn’t believe it.

      ‘‘Yep.’’

      ‘‘What do you do when—’’

      ‘‘I’m not traipsing around in the woods in the middle of the night?’’ He shrugged. ‘‘A little of this. A little of that.’’

      ‘‘No job?’’

      ‘‘No job.’’ Abruptly he stood up, scribbled on the pad next to the phone and handed it to Rosie. ‘‘Call your sister. She’ll fill you in.’’ He headed toward the back door.

      ‘‘Where are you going?’’ Rosie asked, glancing at the unfamiliar phone number on the sheet, then back at him.

      ‘‘To scout around the house and figure out how many different ways we can be ambushed.’’

      ‘‘By Marco?’’ She hated the nonchalant way he talked about the danger.

      He nodded. ‘‘Smart girl. Call your sister.’’

      Rosie stared after him as he went outside. Smart girl. It was the sort of comment that got her dander up. Swallowing the immediate retort that came to mind, she went to the phone and dialed the number.

      On the porch Ian glanced back through the window, reassured to see Rosie with the phone to her ear. Good, he thought.

      Technically he had told Rosie the truth about not having a job. Ian sponsored an intervention program for kids who reminded him of himself as a kid, who lived in neighborhoods that bred predators the likes of Marco. Ian’s involvement was hands-on and included his dream for an Outward Bound type of program.

      Lily’s request came in the middle of negotiations to buy a ranch, where Ian hoped to establish a working environment that would provide a final chance for those kids most at risk. His option to buy it had expired yesterday. Given the chance, he would make the same choice again. He’d find another piece of property—after Annmarie was reunited with her mom.

      Some things were worth any cost. As a child, he had been part of a family constantly moving from one crisis to another. His mother hadn’t dealt well with any of them. Ian was never sure whether his mother hadn’t had a shoulder to lean on or if she had simply never asked. Lily had become his surrogate little sister, and she needed help. He couldn’t turn his back on her.

      Ian stepped off the porch. The misty streamers of clouds had dissipated into a high overcast. There was no doubt about it— Rosie Jensen had the best view anyone could want anywhere.

      As he gazed out over the water and the steeply rising mountains, a profound sense of homecoming swept through him. The scenery in front of him moved him as little else ever had.

      To his surprise the water was glassy smooth and a deep-jade green. Mountains stretched in the distance, rising from the water, cast in varying shades of blue, snow hanging in the high gorges. Directly across from the inlet less than a mile away, a scarred monolith of rock soared, stretching hundreds of feet above the water. A crumpled silver stream fell out of a steep canyon where dark pines grew, the water splashing into the inlet from a waterfall. Only the tall fins of a cruising pod of orcas reminded Ian that he looked out on an ocean, not a mountain lake.

      He inhaled deeply, thinking of his dream for a ranch that would provide a wilderness experience and an opportunity for physical work. This place was even better than the ranch in northern California that he’d hoped to buy. With the water and the pine scent of forest, a boy might forget his anger while here—at least for a little while.

      It was a dream that wouldn’t happen if he failed at keeping Annmarie and her aunt out of harm’s way. That thought in mind, Ian methodically explored the perimeter of Comin’ Up Rosie. Despite the whimsical name, he discovered it was a well-organized, working nursery where thousands of baby trees grew. Seedlings were protected within the shelter of a large greenhouse. Outside, larger trees grew—if they could be called that when they were little more than a foot tall—in orderly rows. After seeing the thousands of clear-cut acres of timber as they had sailed north from Seattle, Ian was glad to know that some of those trees would be replaced.

      As for the compound itself, defending it wouldn’t be easy, but it wasn’t as bad as he had feared. From the porch of the house, much of the inlet was visible, and anyone approaching by water would be seen for a long while. The winding road that led toward the small town of Lynx Point disappeared into the forest a quarter mile beyond the gate. Ian would have liked it better had the road been visible for miles. The steep mountain that rose behind the house was the same scoured rock as the one across the inlet. No easy access to Rosie’s property in the direction. Not without rock-climbing equipment.

      The place that worried him most was a steep slope on the hill behind the greenhouse. He climbed it, checking where he was visible from the compound below and where he wasn’t. He climbed higher, hoping to see more of the road. A huge boulder jutted out from the hillside, bright green moss growing at its shaded, moist base. Spotting a couple of footprints in the earth, he dropped to his haunches.

      They sure weren’t Rosie’s. The boot belonging to the print was close to his own size twelve. Ian stood, matching his stance with the angle of the prints. He looked around for anything that might have been left behind. Beneath a shrub, he found a wadded-up piece of wax paper. From the smell of it, it had recently held a lunch meat sandwich.

      Ian stood and gazed down at the tranquil landscape. From this vantage, only Rosie’s nursery and the lake-smooth water between Kantrovich Island and the next one was visible. He could only imagine two reasons anyone would be up here watching.

      One. Someone knew this was where he and Annmarie were headed. If Lawrence couldn’t get Annmarie to use as leverage to keep Lily from testifying, maybe some other member of her family would do just as well.

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