the future,” Viggo said. “And when that happens, of course I will defend myself. But until then…no. I don’t wish to go over and over the matter with you. I don’t wish to spend the next several days or weeks obsessing over my arrest, over the possibility of being charged with this crime I didn’t commit.” He raised his eyebrows. “Is there any reason we need to discuss it?”
“I suppose not,” Francesca admitted. “If that’s what you want.”
In all honesty, it was probably best. She didn’t want to take the chance of finding out information about him in some illegal way that would then be inadmissible in court, and she certainly didn’t want to accidentally reveal anything about the investigation to him.
“All right,” he said. He looked her up and down. “You were wearing those clothes yesterday under that fake uniform?”
“Of course,” she said.
“I might have some things I could loan you,” he said. “They would be big on you, of course, but you might like it better than nothing.”
“I have a suitcase out in my car,” she said. “I thought I would go out and try to bring it in this morning.”
He frowned. “Might be a bit difficult,” he said. “That snow’s going to be up to your waist at least. What part of the car is your bag in?”
“The trunk,” she said.
He nodded. “You’ve got a chance, then,” he said. “I wouldn’t think there would be any possibility at all of opening the doors.” He popped a piece of bacon into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I’ll help you get it,” he said. “Once we’ve finished breakfast.”
“You don’t have to do that.” She felt funny about the way he kept being nice to her. Was he trying to manipulate her somehow? What did he think was going to happen?
He’s probably thinking that I’ll become less committed to the idea of arresting him, she thought. Maybe he thinks that if he can get me to like him, I’ll give up on bringing him to justice.
It was the kind of thing she had encountered before. Perps trying to play on her emotions because she was a woman. She had lost count of the number of men who had broken down crying at her feet that they had children who would grow up without a father, only to peek up at her and see if she was buying it.
That kind of thing never happened to Laird. And she was sure it never happened to Chuck Stevens.
Viggo was in for an unfortunate surprise if he thought it was going to work on her now.
“The snow is too deep for one person to go out in it alone,” Viggo said. “People get themselves in trouble. You could sink and get stuck, and then you wouldn’t be able to get back to the house. People freeze to death that way.”
“I’m not going to freeze to death,” she said. The idea seemed preposterous.
He raised his eyebrows. “Do you have snowshoes?” he asked.
He knew perfectly well that she didn’t. Francesca said nothing.
Viggo got to his feet. “Where are your car keys?” he asked. “I’ll go out there now and get your bag out of the trunk.”
“I thought it wasn’t safe to go alone,” she shot back.
“For you it isn’t,” he amended. “I grew up here. I know what I’m doing.”
She sighed. It went against her instincts to give him the car keys, but after all, the car was buried in a snowbank. It wasn’t as if he could drive away. She fished them out of her pocket and placed them on the table.
He scooped them up in one fluid motion. “Finish your breakfast,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
He left the room, and a moment later she heard the front door open and shut.
She went to the living room and peered out through one of the panes of glass at the front of the house. There he was, snowshoes strapped to his feet, carefully picking his way across the white landscape, hardly making a dent in the piles of snow.
He was so perfectly adept at it. There was something graceful, almost beautiful, about the way he moved over the snowy ground. He was like an animal in its natural habitat.
She watched as he pulled her suitcase from the trunk of the car. He had to hold it up over his head on the way back to the house—he couldn’t exactly wheel it on the ground—and she saw the way his muscles flexed. He hadn’t even bothered