He grinned at her. “You will, and you know it. You liked me before Ty bailed on you. You have a soft spot for us military types.” He took a step toward her. Tyler North was one of the bravest men Hank had ever known—except when it came to Carine Winter. She was without a doubt the one woman Ty would ever love, and the dope had skipped out on her. Hank knew it still hurt. “Give Ty a little time—”

“I’m not giving him anything. He’s out of my life. I don’t even think about him anymore, unless people like you insist on bringing up his name.”

She was such a liar, but Hank decided not to tell her so. “Anyway,” she said, “he’s got nothing to do with what’s going on with Antonia.”

That was his confirmation. He was right. There was something.

Carine turned on the faucet and filled a mason jar with water. Her cheeks were red, but her underlying color was pale, the strain of the last months evident. Despite the bright colors she’d used on the walls and furnishings, the place was still old and run-down, a testament to her hand-to-mouth existence. Hank didn’t know if she lived the way she did because of the temporary nature of her life here or because she didn’t have any money—or because she was just too tight-fisted to part with it. She could always sell her log cabin in New Hampshire, but Hank knew she hadn’t even rented it out.

And she thought of herself as an artistic type, a sensitive soul, not a typical risk-taking Winter. Something about her tended to bring out people’s protective urges. But as Hank watched her gulp down her water, he knew he had to keep up the pressure. “Tell me what you know, Carine.”

She turned on the tiny television on a shelf above the table. Hank had no idea what she was up to. The TV was tuned to the Weather Channel, which was giving the latest coordinates on Hurricane Hope, a menacing Category 3 storm working its way up the east coast. Its maximum sustained winds were 120 mph, with even higher gusts. No watches or warnings had yet gone up in New England—Hope was expected to turn out to sea before it got that far north.

Carine glanced back at him with a studied nonchalance. “What do you think of naming a hurricane Hope?”

“I hadn’t thought about it at all.”

“We Winters are mountain types ourselves. We’ve been in the White Mountains since Madison was president. One of the high peaks is named after him, did you know that? Mount Madison.”

“Carine—”