retreat. But, of course, this winter it’s being rented to—” He broke off to negotiate a particularly rough stretch of the driveway.
Madeline silently finished the explanation for him. The man you’re being taken to. She was beginning to feel like a waif. Dumped for the holidays with whomever would take her. Not very cheerful holidays, either, she thought. She had just observed not only that the farm lacked animals, but that it was missing any evidence of the approaching Christmas. There was no welcoming wreath on the front door, no decorated tree mounted in the bay window. It was probably foolish of her to have expected them. Or, considering her perilous circumstances, to even yearn for them.
The car rolled to a stop at the edge of the front yard. The man at her side checked the lane behind them, making sure it was deserted. All the way out from Milwaukee, Madeline had watched him repeatedly glance in the rearview mirror to be certain they weren’t followed. Neil Stanek was that sort of cop—conscientious, thorough. And considerate.
He demonstrated that now by turning to her with a concerned “You all right?”
He feels guilty, Madeline thought. Blames himself for what happened, even though it wasn’t his fault.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. She wasn’t, of course, and they both knew that. But it helped to pretend otherwise.
“You’ll be okay, then, if I leave you here in the car for a few minutes?” he asked, releasing his seat belt and opening the door on his side. “Just long enough for me to explain all the particulars to him.”
Madeline was suddenly worried. “He is expecting me, isn’t he?”
“Oh, sure, sure, no problem there. And, like I said, he’s got all the right skills and instincts for this. You just sit tight. I’ll leave the motor running so you’ll have the heater. Keep the doors locked, and lay on that horn if you see or hear anything you don’t like. Not that you will. No one now but us knows where you are, and we’re going to keep it that way.”
Madeline had no choice but to accept his word. Setting the lock, he slid out of the car and slammed the door. She watched his stocky figure trudge up the ragged path to the porch. The front door opened as he neared the house. A man stepped out and stood there in the dimness of the porch, waiting for Neil. She couldn’t tell much about that figure at this distance, only that he was tall and lean. But there was another impression Madeline had. Maybe it was the way he stood there by the door, hands buried in his pockets in an attitude of detachment. As though he didn’t mind the desolation of this place. As if it suited him because he, too, was using its seclusion to hide himself. Or was it merely her imagination, which lately had been working overtime?
MITCH WAS IN NO MOOD for visitors. These days he preferred his own company, rotten though it was. After all, that’s why he had buried himself out here. He’d needed to get away from people—friends with their sympathy that had driven him crazy, his loving, well-meaning family offering a comfort he didn’t want. Even strangers, who were apt to be curious, troubled him. That’s why he’d resented the sound of a car arriving in the driveway, and why he had gone so unwillingly to the door.
Mitch had been relieved when his caller turned out to be Neil. He didn’t mind Neil, didn’t regard him as an intruder. The cop never asked questions to which, these days, Mitch had no answers. Never expected more of him than he was capable of being.
But Neil wasn’t alone this time. Mitch could see someone else waiting in the car. That’s why he hung back on the porch. All he could tell was that the figure was a woman, nothing else. Must be Neil’s daughter, he figured.
“That Faye with you?” Mitch asked when the cop joined him on the porch, adding a reluctant, “She doesn’t have to sit out there. Ask her to come in.”
“It’s not Faye,” Neil said, shaking Mitch’s hand.
Who else? Mitch wondered. Maybe that neighbor of Neil’s, the widow who was trying to be more than just friends with him. What was her name? Claire Something-or-other. But Neil wasn’t prepared to name his companion.
“How about we go inside,” he suggested, “before one of us turns blue out here?”
Mitch led the way into the big farm kitchen with its sparse country furnishings. “Coffee?”
Neil shook his head and opened his coat. But he didn’t remove it, and Mitch noticed that he stood near the window where he could keep an eye on the car in the driveway. Mitch was beginning to have an uncomfortable feeling about this unexpected visit.
“Something up?”
Neil replied by removing a business card from his pocket and slapping it down on the sturdy table, his action like a challenge. Mitch had only to glance at the prominent logo of a golden hawk to recognize it. And why shouldn’t he know it, since it was one of his own business cards?
The Hawke Detective Agency. That’s what it read. Neil’s silent message to him was very plain. This time his friend did expect something from him. Mitch was immediately resistant.
“Whatever it is,” he said firmly, “you can forget about it. I’m out of the business. Anyway, I don’t have a license to practice here in Wisconsin.”
“You don’t need a license for this. It’s a simple matter of protection. Your specialty, remember?”
Mitch laughed. It was a brittle laugh without a trace of humor. “Yeah? Like I protected Julie, huh?”
“You weren’t responsible for what happened to Julie. When are you going to stop beating yourself up over that?”
“I wasn’t there for her, Neil. I wasn’t there.”
“And that wasn’t your fault, either. All right, I know you’re hurting, but it’s been five months. Hell, Mitch, when a man starts feeling sorry for himself, it’s time to stop grieving.”
“What would you know about it?”
The angry words were out of Mitch’s mouth before he could stop them. Damn it, how could he have said something like that to Neil, of all people? Because, of course, Neil did know all about losing someone who mattered.
“Sorry,” Mitch mumbled.
“Forget it. Look, I wouldn’t ask, but there is no one else. No one I trust, anyway. I need you.”
He would have been justified in saying that Mitch owed him, but Neil would never do that. It wasn’t his way. Mitch would probably regret this, already did regret it, in fact, but how could he send Neil away without at least listening to him?
“Okay, who are we talking about? The woman out there in the car? Who is she?”
“A murder witness. A vital one. If we can keep her alive long enough for the accused to come to trial, we stand every chance of convicting the bastard for cold-bloodedly icing an undercover cop.”
“Why come to me, when you’ve got the whole Milwaukee police force to guard her?”
“That’s the problem.” Neil turned his head to check on the occupant of the car before continuing. “We did have her in a safe house, only it turns out it wasn’t so safe. She came close to swallowing a bullet last night. Guy got away. Probably a mob assassin. The bastard has some powerful connections. Anyway, they
