US Marshall 01 - Cold Ridge Read Online Free

constraints. The Rancourts hadn't just hired her out of the blue. They weren't part of her horizon-expanding. They'd hired her, Carine knew, because she was from Cold Ridge, friends with the three men who rescued them the year before. Hank Callahan and Antonia had started dating in Boston after that first meeting in Carine's cabin. He was now her brother-in-law. As of a week ago, the voters of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts had made him their junior senator-elect. Since he was friends with Ty and Antonia was a fiercely loyal sister, their relationship had suffered after Carine's aborted wedding. Then Antonia found herself trapped on an island off Cape Cod with a violent stalker and with a hurricane about to blow on shore; Hank had come after her, ending any doubts either of them had. The media-and voters-lapped up the story. But it was clear to everyone that Hank hadn't been thinking about their opinion when he'd headed to the Shelter Island.
    No, Carine thought, she had no illusions. As much as she liked them, Sterling and Jodie Rancourt had their own reasons for asking her to do the job.
    She walked slowly, in no hurry. Her hair was pulled back neatly, and she wore jeans, a black turtleneck, her barn coat and waterproof ankle boots, comfortable clothes that permitted her to go up and down ladders, trek over drop cloths and stacks of building supplies and tools, do whatever she had to do to get the particular picture she wanted. She was used to climbing mountains and edging across rock ledges to get the right light, the right color, the right composition. Negotiating house renovations didn't seem that daunting to her. It had been a quiet morning-she hadn't even taken her camera out of its bag and had left it at the Rancourt house while she was at lunch. She was using her digital camera today, at Jodie Rancourt's request-Jodie wanted to get a better idea of the technical differences between digital and film.
    A shiny black sports car pulled alongside her, and Louis Sanborn, also newly employed by the Rancourts, rolled down his window and flashed his killer smile at her. "Hey, Ms. Photographer, need a ride over to the big house?"
    Carine laughed. "Thanks for the offer, Mr. Security Man." Louis was tall and, despite his prematurely gray, scrub-brush hair, younger than he looked, probably just a year or two older than she was. The Rancourts had hired him two weeks ago as the assistant to their chief of security. "I don't mind walking. We won't get many more days like today. It's beautiful out."
    "Only according to you granite-head types."
    "It's in the fifties!"
    "That's what I'm saying. Having a good lunch hour?"
    "An excellent lunch hour."
    "Me, too. See you over on Comm. Ave. "
    His car merged back into the Newbury Street traffic. Carine continued on up to Exeter Street, then cut down it to Commonwealth Avenue. With its center mall and stately Victorian buildings, it was the quintessential street of Boston 's Back Bay, all of which was on reclaimed land that used to be under water-hence its name.
    Still in no hurry, she sat on a bench on the mall, famous for its early springtime pink magnolias, now long gone. A toddler ran after a flutter of pigeons, and Carine tried not to think about the babies she'd meant to have with Ty, but, nonetheless, felt a momentary pang of regret. The toddler's mother scooped him up and swung him in the brisk November air, then set him back in his stroller. He was ticked off and started to kick and scream. He wanted to chase more pigeons. Two months ago-a month ago-the scene would have made Carine cry, but now she smiled. Progress, she thought.
    She walked across the westbound lane to the historic brick-front mansion the Rancourts had snapped up when it came onto the market eighteen months ago. It was a rare find. Its longtime owner, now dead, had never carved it up into apartments, in fact, had done few renovations-many of the house's original features were still intact. Hardwood floors, ornate