briefly met her gaze, then Rosie’s, before peeling off the sweatshirt. ‘‘That’s a strange question for a nurse.’’
‘‘That’s not why I’m asking,’’ she said, reaching for her bag. From it she pulled out a wallet and handed it to him.
Ian opened it, revealing a law enforcement shield.
She smiled. ‘‘The island’s only nurse, Mr. Ian Stearne, and the local law. Now, then. About the man who shot you.’’
‘‘Marco’s about five-ten or five-eleven. Wiry build, a narrow face, and a scar on his cheekbone. Since it was dark, who knows what color his hair and eyes are.’’
Without speaking, Hilda tipped his head to the side, her touch firm as she prodded the flesh around the wound at the base of his neck.
‘‘How do you know his name?’’ Rosie asked.
‘‘Heard his buddy call him that right after they shot me.’’ Ian answered. ‘‘The other guy is about Rosie’s height.’’
‘‘This man. Does he have an accent?’’
He looked up at Hilda. ‘‘Yeah.’’
Hilda prodded the flesh around the wound. ‘‘This is quite a bruise. Almost looks like somebody kicked you.’’
‘‘Somebody did,’’ he returned, glancing at Rosie. He’d been expecting…hoping for…Marco. When he realized the person beneath him was a woman, surprise had frozen him. ‘‘She did a neat scissor kick, getting me right there.’’ He pointed at the wound.
‘‘That musta hurt,’’ Mama Sarah said.
‘‘It did.’’ He figured he didn’t need to add that the kick to his shoulder was the lesser of the two injuries Rosie had given him.
‘‘The man with the scar arrived yesterday…ate his meals at the Tin Cup,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘He was meeting friends here, he said, so they could hike up the glacier.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘Everybody’s been laughing at him about that.’’
‘‘Why?’’ Ian asked.
‘‘There aren’t any glaciers on the islands this far south—only on the continent side of the fjords.’’
‘‘Ah.’’ A chill crawled down Ian’s spine.
‘‘Plus,’’ Mama Sarah added, ‘‘he wears city-slicker shoes.’’
Like ones that could have left the footprints up on the hill. The shoe that had left the print had a smooth sole.
Chapter 4
‘‘Keep the wound clean, and you’ll live to be shot at again.’’ Hilda squeezed an antibacterial ointment onto some gauze, which she laid over the wound.
‘‘Enough talk about getting shot,’’ Rosie said sharply.
‘‘Does anyone work for you who likes to have lunch up on the hill?’’ Ian asked. ‘‘Someone with a foot about the size of mine?’’
‘‘No one works for me right now.’’ Rosie rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if she were suddenly cold.
Ian had seen fear often enough to recognize the gesture for what it was.
‘‘That guy is plumb crazy about bologna and cheese sandwiches. That’s what Jane down at the diner told me.’’ Mama Sarah said. ‘‘Keeps ordering them to go.’’
That was confirmation Ian could have done without. Regrets never brought you anything but more regret, but he still wished he had followed his first instinct—to disappear with Annmarie until the trial was finished and Lily had her life back. Despite himself, he yawned.
‘‘Let me see if I’ve got this straight,’’ Hilda said, pinning him with a long glance. ‘‘The whole idea of coming here was to get Annmarie out of sight until after her mama has testified.’’
He nodded, in agreement that the plan was as flawed as Hilda made it sound.
‘‘And you’ve already been found out.’’
‘‘You can’t stay here, then,’’ Mama Sarah said. ‘‘I think you should take little Annmarie to the village.’’
Rosie shook her head.
‘‘What village?’’ Ian asked, immediately catching that she hadn’t referred to Lynx Point.
‘‘We’d stick out like sore thumbs,’’ Rosie said. ‘‘We need someplace we can blend in with the scenery for two or three weeks. Lily thought she would be called to testify next week, two weeks from now at the latest.’’
‘‘What village?’’ Ian asked again.
Rosie glanced at him. ‘‘A Tlingit village—’’
‘‘Where your uncle Raymond lives?’’ Ian’s gaze rested on Rosie’s blond head. She was right. She would be as conspicuous as a nun on Sunset Strip.
Rosie nodded.
During one of her melancholy periods, Lily had shown him pictures of the village, and he had been fascinated with her stories of family. She had given him a glimpse of the kind of family he had always dreamed about, who stood up for one another and cared for one another. Despite being one of six children, he’d never had that.
Ian’s oldest brother, Eric, had looked after Cara, both children from his mom’s first marriage. Eric had taken his anger and his frustration of losing his father out on Ian, an unwanted baby who was the result of a fling his mom had after Eric and Cara’s dad was killed. The twins, Adam and Aaron were the result of a short-lived marriage that ended soon after they were born. Ian always figured he was the most like Micah, the youngest and also the result of an affair. But ten years separated them. Hard to imagine the scrawny nine-year-old brother he remembered was now twenty-three.
Lily’s stories of her eccentric aunts and rowdy cousins seemed to help her through the grieving for her husband, and they’d been a balm to Ian—that not all families self-destructed in times of crisis.
He looked from Rosie to Hilda and realized the conversation had gone on without him. They were back to making plans that didn’t include him.
If anybody thought he was leaving, they were in for a surprise. The morning that Lily had shown up on his doorstep with Annmarie and a bag that she had already packed, she poured out the whole story. The murder, the secrecy that had surrounded her and then the threats she hadn’t wanted to believe were real. In that moment Ian felt as though he’d fallen backward into an abyss that held his darkest secrets. Fifteen years earlier he had run with a gang, and one night rivals came to his street looking for him. When they hadn’t found him, they had taken their revenge out on his sister and one of the twins. His sister had survived, but his brother hadn’t. It was the final straw in his tenuous relationship with his mother and his older brother. Fifteen years between then and now.
Aware that
