Lincoln was just on the other side of Charlottesville when fat flakes began to fall from the sky. The snow wasn’t sticking to the road, but it was enough to cause a Southern-fueled panic, traffic slowing to a crawl on the interstate. By the time he reached the exit for Apex, it was almost ten and his three-and-a-half-hour trip was closing in on six. He slowed further and flipped on his high beams as he drove the unfamiliar road into town. It was dark and deserted, just him and a couple of deer on the winding two-lane road. The lack of students he understood. They would return later this weekend, the new semester starting Monday. But where were the rest of the townsfolk on a Friday night? Had the snow chased them all inside? Was everyone asleep already?
He had begun to worry that either the GPS had led him astray or this was indeed the Deliverance nightmare of Elena’s teasing when finally civilization appeared, street lights aglow on Main Street ahead. He reached the top of the hill and what greeted him was more than mere civilization. It was a winter wonderland.
At the first stoplight, a cluster of retail storefronts were decked out with Welcome Back, Students and Welcome, Winter displays. Warm light tumbled through the plate glass windows of cozy-looking restaurants, and more of the same stretched down the intersecting street. A giant mansion across the intersection was likewise decorated for winter.
Halfway down Main Street, at the next light, four statues on either side of the road marked the entrances to two massive quads. Winter-bare trees dotted the twin lawns, and flickering lampposts lit the shoveled paths that bisected the snow-dusted grass. Campus buildings, Gothic in style, hemmed in each of the quads, the light gray stone, pitched slate roofs, and stained glass windows reflecting the lamps, moonlight, and snow, giving it all a surreal snow globe quality.
At the last stoplight, the road forked in three directions. Signs in blue and gold, Apex’s school colors, pointed left for the sports complex, ahead for the student dorms, and right for town hall. The GPS directed Lincoln right, and he recalled from his quick overview of town maps that Apex’s residential district lay north of campus, past the cluster of government buildings and secondary commercial district, down the hill toward Lake Sardis.
The light turned green, and Lincoln followed the suggested route. Civilization dimmed once more, the government buildings empty, the strip mall dark but for the grocery store and movie theater on either end, and the sprinkling of other commercial ventures along the way closed. That damn Deliverance song flitted through his head again. Where the fuck was everyone? He’d spent summers in Chapel Hill, most of his holidays too. He was used to the college town downshift when half the population went missing, but this felt more like a post-apocalyptic wipeout.
Or, Lincoln thought, as he finally came upon the residential area, everyone really had been chased inside by the snow. Numerous houses were lit, smoke billowed from chimneys, and cars passed on the other side of the road as he wound deeper into Sardis Woods, one of several neighborhoods around the lake with Sardis in their name. Because creativity was apparently in short supply in a town anchored by a university. As he drew closer to his destination, the cars parked at the curb seemed to multiply. In a neighborhood like this, with its stately homes, uniform mailboxes, and pristine yards, there was surely a tyrannical homeowners association that wouldn’t tolerate this sort of chaos.
Unless there was a party for said neighborhood—“You have reached your destination,” the GPS announced—at the house where Lincoln was supposed to be staying.
He double-checked the address on the GPS against the numbers on the mailbox against the address in the email from Beverley. They all matched. The GPS had not lied and neither had his eyes. This was the right house, but everything about it was wrong. All the ground-floor lights in the two-story brick colonial were blazing, a Welcome, Winter banner like the ones in town hung between the columns on either side of the front steps, and inside, visible through the big bay windows, people mingled and danced with champagne glasses in their hands.
A lot of people.
What the actual fuck? Was this where most of the town was? At a party at the new home of “Professor Lincoln Polk”? Without Professor Polk in attendance? Not that Lincoln wanted to be attending—that much peopling was the last thing he ever wanted, especially tonight after the drive from hell—but a party without the host? And this was clearly not a parents-are-away situation. Those weren’t teenagers inside, and his teenager was back in Dumfries. So what the hell was going on here? And where the hell was he supposed to park?
Three blocks away, he finally found a spot at the curb, pulling in behind a departing SUV. He shot off a quick text to Gabby and Elena, letting them know he’d arrived, then climbed out of the Wrangler. Certain the Jeep would be towed, he hauled out his belongings—luggage, gun case, messenger bag with laptop, and guitar case, the last he slung over his back—and patted down his jeans and coat pockets—wallet, phone, keys. Assured he had everything important, he took off toward the house, trudging through the slush. By the time he reached the front porch, he wished like hell he’d traded his Chucks for the winter boots in his luggage. His toes were numb and his socks soaked through, and as if that wasn’t insult enough, that damn Welcome, Winter banner hung over the front porch, mocking him. He shot it the bird just as the door swung open.
To the last person Lincoln expected.
The last person he ever wanted to see again.
Special Agent Carter Warren—the trainee of his nightmares and of the occasional fantasy—stood over the threshold of Lincoln’s “home,” dressed in jeans and a blue cashmere sweater.
Suddenly the party all made sense. Classic Carter Warren. The loudest, brashest kid in class. Always had to be the center of attention. And by that megawatt smile stretched across his face, the flush that softened the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the mischief that sparkled in his green eyes, and the artfully messy mop of dark curls atop his head, he was eating it up tonight.
“Is that any way to greet your new partner?” Carter smirked as he flicked his gaze to Lincoln’s raised middle finger.
Lincoln was tempted to thrust it more directly in his face. “What the hell is going on here?”
Carter tugged at the V-neck of his sweater. “I need you to roll with this.”
Lincoln snapped his gaze up from where it had strayed to the dark curls peeking out from beneath Carter’s collar. Roll with what? “The party?”
“Carter?” a woman called from behind them, her high heels clicking on the hardwood as she approached. “Is that your husband finally? I’m dying to meet him.”
Lincoln dropped his messenger bag. “Your what?”
Reflexes lightning fast, Carter caught the bag before it hit the ground, and Lincoln was grateful for the save. Until Carter, in a booming voice, announced, “Honey, you’re home.”
Appreciation flew out the window on the wings of honey.
Carter lightly bussed his cheek. “Go with it, please.”
Would this night of what-the-fuckery just quit already?
Carter drew back and tugged the gun case and luggage from Lincoln’s hands. “Here, let me take these too.” He set the computer bag and gun case atop the rolling suitcase and moved them to the foot of the stairs.
What was that about being cold? Lincoln’s ice-blocks-for-feet were quickly overshadowed by the wave of angry heat that scorched his skin and brought him to the edge of explosion. Not the good kind. He tore out of his coat and chucked it at the overtaxed coat rack in the corner. He was leaning on the guitar case, propped at his side, when Carter turned back around, his eyes widening, though not as big as the approaching woman’s.
“A musician too?” she said, brown eyes big, her blond topknot accentuating her doe-like features.
Lincoln had had enough of deer tonight. He especially hated being made to feel like one caught in the headlights.
