Deep Freeze (West Coast 1)

“Damned mutt never has warmed to me,” Harrison said, but tried to reach down and pat the dog’s head. The growling ceased, though the hairs on the back of Critter’s neck never quite laid flat and his tail remained motionless. He accepted the touch, but kept his head down, his eyes watching Harrison’s every move. “Hell, he’d like to bite my hand off.”

“Ignore him. Come on in,” she invited, then shot the dog a warning glare. “You. Be on your best behavior. Go to your bed.”

Critter shuffled off to his favorite spot under the table, and Carter, as if to give her some privacy, said, “Mind if I look through the house…I’d like to check out the layout.”

“Anything you need to do,” she said, waving him off and grateful that he was taking her threats as seriously as she was. It felt safe to have him in the house and she relaxed a little, even though Harrison was fit to be tied. As Carter moved from one room to the next and eventually up the stairs again, Jenna shepherded Harrison into the den, fending off his questions out of Allie’s earshot, then explained what had been happening over the past few days.

With each turn in her story, Harrison grew more grim, his jaw tightening, his thumbs rubbing restlessly against his forefingers. But he didn’t say a word, just stood in the den, staring at her with intense blue eyes, his lips compressed tightly.

When she was finished, he rubbed his chin and glared at her. “You mean you’re telling me you had someone leave a threatening note in your house and you didn’t call me?”

“I thought the police could handle it,” she said, hearing the creak of footsteps on the stairs.

“Or me. I’m next door,” he pointed out, his eyebrows knotted together. “And I’ve got connections. The FBI should be in on this!” He shoved one hand through his short, bristly hair, making the silvery strands stand straight on end. “Just what the hell is going on here?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Carter said.

Brennan was agitated. Face flushed, he turned his anger on Carter. “So do you think she’s safe here?”

“I’m fine, Harrison,” she cut in.

“But the security system. It’s been a mess. I’ll call Seth. If he can’t fix it, I’ll find someone who can.”

“Already done,” she said. “Wes Allen was over earlier.”

Beside her, Carter tensed. Brennan snorted through his nose. “What does he know? He tinkers around with sound systems and the like. This is serious.”

Jenna snapped, “Believe me, I realize that.”

“I’ll double-check the system. Get someone who knows wiring. If not Seth Whitaker, then Jim Klondike—he’s a helluva handyman.” She started to argue, but Harrison wasn’t about to be put off as he turned his attention to the sheriff. “What are you and your department doing about this?” he said, pointing a finger at Carter’s chest.

“Everything we can.” The sheriff folded his arms over his chest and didn’t give an inch.

“Humph.” Harrison lifted disbelieving silver eyebrows, then faced Jenna again. “You need protection. A woman all alone with kids out here. I don’t like it.”

“This is my home.”

“And it’s not very secure.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I could stay over.”

Carter’s nonchalance dissipated in a heartbeat, and Jenna said, “That won’t be necessary, Harrison. I’m hiring a bodyguard.”

“A bodyguard? Who?” he demanded.

“I’m not sure yet. I’m hoping to start interviewing today. Sheriff Carter came up with some names—”

“Jake Turnquist,” Brennan said quickly, his blue eyes narrowing. “I’d feel better if it was me staying here, but if not, then contact Jake. He’s a friend of mine and an ex-Navy Seal. Has done P.I. work after a stint with the Portland Police. He lives in Hood River now, and single—no wife or kids to tie him down, so he could probably move in.”

Jenna felt every muscle in her back tighten as she tried to keep her temper in check. She was dead tired and scared, hadn’t eaten for nearly a day, and she wanted to jump down Harrison’s throat. What was it about her that made Harrison Brennan think he could run her life? Was she such a wimp? “Look, Harrison, I’ll see what I want to do,” she said, her jaw locked, quiet fury shooting through her bloodstream. “But first I’ll talk to the people the sheriff knows.” Slowly she unclenched fists she didn’t even realize had curled.

“Turnquist’s on the list,” Carter said, staring Harrison Brennan down. “Harrison’s right. Turnquist is a good man. I worked several cases with him before he retired.”

Brennan’s expression lost a little of its rigidity. “Then it’s decided.”

“Not yet,” Jenna said, wanting to strangle the man. “But I’ll give him a call.”

“Good.” Carter glanced around the house one more time. “I’ll stay in touch. Call me if you have any hint of trouble or need anything.”

“I will,” she promised, and felt more than a little trepidation as she walked him to the back door. Then she was waiting, staring through the panes on the back door and watching as the sheriff drove through the open gates. That warm feeling of safety she’d felt in his presence dissipated in his wake. She was left with Harrison and the bald fact that he was becoming a nuisance. A concerned nuisance, but a nuisance nonetheless. She didn’t push the button to close the electronic gates that, Wes had promised her, were working again. She’d lock them once Harrison left.