LITMIR.BIZ

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friend’s younger sister had grown up quite nicely in the years since he’d last seen her. She’d been sixteen to his eighteen then. The eyes that had been a sort of vague color then were an amazing mix of green and gold and darker flecks, a combination that he supposed would be called hazel. Her hair was the same medium brown, but with lighter streaks that spoke of days in the sun even here, where it was usually only a summer visitor. Her nose still had that slight upward tilt, but her mouth was fuller. So were the curves—

      Damn.

      Cory’s laughing words, spoken more than once, came back to him. She’s the brain of the family—I got the looks.

      That might have been true then; quiet little Cassidy Grant had been a bookish girl who likely would have faded completely into the background for him had it not been for one thing; she had ever and always been able to make him laugh. That brain Cory had always joked about was indeed present, and part of it was a knack for retorts to her brother’s teasing that left Jace roaring both at what she’d said and the look on Cory’s face.

       She’s the brain of the family—I got the looks.

       And if the world ever finds a useful purpose for long eyelashes and dimples, they’ll beat a path to your door.

      Poor Cory never could figure out if she was complimenting or insulting him. Jace had just grinned at her and said he hoped she never got that mad at him.

       I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

      It came back to him, the way she’d looked at him so earnestly. And how Cory had later rolled his eyes and said, “Are you really that dense? She’s crushing on you.”

      He shook off the memories. “Looked in a mirror lately?” he asked her.

      Cassie blinked. Drew back slightly. Slowly, she smiled. “That was very nicely done. Thank you.”

      “Wasn’t nice. Just true. But that aside,” he said with a glance at Rafe, “do looks really have much to do with the way a stalker’s brain works, who he fixates on?”

      “Not always,” Rafe said. “It might start that way, looks or fame, but often it’s something else that sends them down that path. Almost always driven by the delusion that there’s a connection between him or her and the victim. A personal one. And that if they only knew it, they of course would want to be together. Or they do know it but are being forced to deny it by other, outside forces.”

      Cassie looked at the man curiously. “Were you a cop before you worked for...whoever you work for?”

      “No. Just learned a lot along the way with Foxworth.”

      “Foxworth?”

      Jace grimaced. “I’ll leave that one to you,” he said to the other man. “But I’d suggest leaving the dog out of it. She’s pretty empirically minded.”

      Rafe glanced at Cutter, then back at Cassie. “So am I. Accepting Cutter is...what he is was a tough go. But I also know he’s never been wrong.”

      “Wrong?”

      “When he brings someone to us.”

      Cassie gave Jace a sideways look. With a sigh, he told her the story of their rainy encounter. But when it came to explaining Foxworth, he left it to the man who was taking it all with an utterly straight face. And he left out the part where he knew darned well Rafe had checked him out before they’d headed back out into the rain; that phone call he’d made was too pointedly out of his earshot. He pretty much knew what the guy would find, so he didn’t worry about it.

      “So,” Cassie said slowly when they’d finished, “you work for this Foxworth Foundation, helping people in the right turn lost causes into wins, for nothing, and then your boss marries the woman who owns this dog, and you discover he’s got a nose for finding those people? Is that about it?”

      Rafe grinned at that, and it changed his entire countenance. “Best summation I’ve heard. I’ll have to remember it, because I’m not the best at explaining it.”

      Cassie looked inordinately pleased, and Jace was irritated that that irritated him.

       Irritated squared, which makes it even bigger than irritated twice over.

      Cassie’s long-ago explanation, which had been about her being angry at both her brother and him over...something, echoed in his head.

      “And,” Rafe added, “everybody else is off for the holiday, so you’re stuck with me.” Jace saw him reach down and scratch behind the dog’s right ear. “And this guy, who’s worth about three of any of us.”

      “Who decides who’s in the right?” Cassie asked, and Jace’s gaze shot back to her; he had asked exactly that himself. Rafe gave her the same answer.

      “That’s the best part. We do. Nobody decides for us.”

      “About this stalker,” Jace said, dragging them back to the subject. “You said you didn’t have a description.”

      “No,” she said, “but I swear, someone’s been following me.”

      She looked at Rafe, as if doubtful he’d believe her. As if he’d read her thought, he said quietly, “And watching you?”

      Her breath caught audibly. “Yes. How did you know?”

      “Saw some sign under the trees out there.”

      Jace’s jaw clenched as Cassie paled. “He’s been hiding in my trees?”

      “Someone’s been in there. Enough to leave a sign. What can you tell me about him? It is a him?”

      “Yes. I don’t know who, have no idea why, or even what he looks like, but...”

      “Is that because he hasn’t gotten close enough, or because he’s masking himself somehow?” Rafe asked.

      “Both,” she said. “I mean, he does stay back, but he wears hoodies with the hood up, or knit hats with a scarf wrapped around his neck and face like it was thirty below. Oh, and gloves. The thin, stretchy kind.”

      “Interesting,” Rafe observed. “A bit overkill.”

      “Maybe he’s not from here,” Jace said. “I grew up here, never thought forties were cold, but people in California would be dragging out ski wear.”

      Rafe nodded. “Could be.”

      Cassie looked at Jace. “You were in California?”

      He nodded. “That’s what took me so long. I—”

      He stopped abruptly. He had just noticed the photograph on the shelf behind her. A family photograph, taken on a sunny summer day on the beach at the lighthouse a few miles away. He remembered going with them that day, vividly. And he remembered this picture. Mrs. Grant had asked someone walking by to take it, and Jace had edged out of the way.

       And where do you think you’re going, Jace? Get over here!

      He remembered gaping at Cassie’s mother in disbelief. And then her father had come over and grabbed his arm to pull him into the shot. He stared at it now, saw the two loving parents, Cory next to his mother, Cassie next to her father, and...him. In between both adults, with both their arms around his shoulders. As if he were theirs. As if he, of the three kids, was the one who needed them most.

      He found himself blinking rapidly. Because that had been nothing less than the truth.

      * * *

       That’s what took me so long.

      Cassie felt a twinge of guilt at her earlier assumptions, that he wasn’t coming at all. She should have known. This was Jace, after all. Not her brother, who didn’t quite seem to understand what a promise was. Like his promise that this or that batch of trouble was the last one, when in fact he’d skated on the edge of trouble most of his life.

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