The Alvarez & Pescoli Series. Lisa Jackson

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      Balanced against the counter, Jillian observed MacGregor as he went through the motions of making coffee “the old-fashioned way.” He started by tossing some ground coffee into a lined basket that he balanced over the glass pot from the coffeemaker. Then he grabbed a tiny saucepan, dipped it into the hot water in the pot on the stove, and poured slowly streaming scalding water through the ground beans and filter.

      Within seconds, dark liquid dripped into the waiting pot.

      “Camp coffee,” she said as the scent of brewing coffee filled the room.

      He glanced over his shoulder at her, a spark of humor in his eyes. “I do this on the trail a lot. It impresses all the city women.”

      “Of course it does,” she said, and couldn’t help but smile. “I’m impressed.”

      He chuckled and for the first time she saw a different side to this intense man. When all the water had soaked through the grounds, he poured them each a cup. “I’ve got sugar and powdered creamer.”

      “I’m good with black. Cheers,” she said, and clicked the edge of her chipped mug to his.

      “Here’s lookin’ at ya.”

      The tension of the last few days seemed to evaporate for a few minutes. Even Harley, who had been ever-watchful, relaxed in a ball on the kitchen rag rug and closed his eyes. “I think he’s accepting me,” she said of the dog, and bent down to pet his scruffy head. The dog opened tired eyes and yawned, but didn’t growl or pull away.

      “He’s really just a lover,” MacGregor said, then, as if noticing her balancing on her crutch, added, “let’s go into the other room. I’ll carry this for you.” He took the cup from her hand and followed her into the main living area of the cabin.

      “Did you check outside again when you took out the dog?”

      He nodded. “Nothing to indicate anyone was out there.”

      “You’re sure?” she asked, and stared for a second through the icy panes. The storm had abated, the snow in thick drifts, even having blown onto the porch.

      “I’m not sure of anything. If someone was there last night, the snow would have covered their tracks. But yeah, I think we’re alone.”

      Which didn’t mean she should be comforted, she reminded herself. She had to trust him. Damn but she wanted to trust him, but she still had to be wary. Harley, toenails clicking on the hardwood and stone, returned to the living room and his spot near the hearth.

      MacGregor handed her back the mug of coffee and she cradled it in both hands, its warmth seeping through her skin and into her bones. She propped her foot on the coffee table.

      He nodded toward her bound ankle. “It’s not broken.”

      “So you said.”

      Their eyes locked as she remembered the one-sided conversation when she’d feigned sleep.

      “So you were awake,” he prodded.

      “Yeah.” She saw no reason to lie now; he knew the truth.

      “I thought so.” He took a long sip, but his gaze, over the rim of his cup, never left her. “But you did a pretty good job of faking sleep.”

      “Years of practice as a teenager.” She cringed inwardly as she remembered how many times she’d sneaked out while pretending to be asleep. She’d pushed the car out of the driveway and cruised around with her friends. It had been foolish and stupid, and her older, uptight, do-everything-by-the-book sister, Dusti, had never stopped reminding her of what an idiot she’d been.

      “A rebel?”

      “Or just a moron. Take your pick.”

      He grinned and she found herself warming to him all the more. Maybe they did have something in common, a rebellious streak that couldn’t quite be tamed. “You left me the crutch,” she said, bringing the conversation back to the here and now, where the fire crackled, the dog snored and the warm scent of coffee permeated the room.

      “So you could get up if you woke. I knew the ankle wouldn’t support you and I keep a set of crutches in case anyone gets hurt on one of my expeditions. Just until I can get them to a clinic or hospital or call for help.”

      “Speaking of which, have you tried to call out lately?”

      He sent her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “What do you think?”

      That’s the problem, I don’t know what to think.

      As if reading her thoughts, he walked to his jacket and unsnapped a pocket.

      “Here.” Retrieving a small phone, he pushed a button to turn it on and tossed it to her. She caught it with her good hand.

      “Give it a try. As I said, cell service is spotty here at best, and the battery’s low, but if you can get through, more power to you.”

      She held the phone as if it were a ticket to heaven, but as the tiny cell turned on, a picture of Harley on the screen, she saw the lack of service, and try as she might, no pushing of any buttons worked. “Dead as a doornail,” she admitted, and tossed the useless piece of technology back to him.

      “Your family is probably going out of their minds with worry.”

      She nodded slowly, thinking of her mother. Linnette, when she finally figured out Jillian was missing, would be on the phone to the city, county and state cops. Only after having already called the FBI. But, of course, her mother probably didn’t know she was missing. Yet. A fact she decided to keep to herself. There was just no reason to tip off MacGregor that no one was looking for her. Better to let him think there was a national search going on.

      “As soon as we can establish some kind of communication or are able to get out of here, we’ll call them.”

      “I’ll call them.”

      “However you want to do it.” Again the smile, though this time there was the tiniest bit of hardness to it.

      She thought of the photographs she’d found in the boot vase, the snapshots of a blond boy. “So, while you were out earlier, I did a little looking around.”

      One dark eyebrow cocked, encouraging her.

      “You don’t have any pictures displayed around here.”

      “The СКАЧАТЬ