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was the tremor that rippled down her spine. Forcing the disquieting reaction aside, she lifted the upper containers and slid out the bottom one. When she pried off the lid, she found several unopened packages of batteries. Quickly, she turned them over to look at the size. “What do you need?”
    “The Cs.”
    Rooke stayed very still until Adrian moved away, then straightened and carried the batteries to the table where Adrian had lined up three flashlights. “Here you go.”
    “Thanks,” Adrian said, unsettled and confused. When she’d rested her hand on Rooke’s back just now, she’d had the physical sensation of a door slamming closed. The abrupt absence of the intensity she’d experienced during their earlier touch left her feeling unexpectedly hollow, as if she’d lost something critical. She shook her head. She’d been hypersensitive the entire day, and she could only imagine it was because she’d been so barricaded against her family’s emotional and verbal barrage that now she was rebounding—letting every stimulus in. That she’d allowed two women in the same day past her defenses was like a warning clarion ringing in her mind. She felt vulnerable and exposed, and she automatically threw up a shield.
    “Let’s get this over with,” Adrian said sharply.
    “Where’s the attic access?” Rooke was anxious to finish up so she could get back to the safety and security of her shop. Being around Adrian reminded her of just how much she hated interacting with strangers. Usually she didn’t care what kind of impression she made. She was used to being dismissed, or worse. But from the instant she’d seen Adrian emerging from the snow, coming after her as if she mattered, she’d cared what Adrian thought of her. And that was just a setup for disappointment, because she knew what Adrian’s reaction would be when she knew the truth.
    “There’s a staircase at the end of the hall on the second floor,” Adrian said. “I’ll take you up.”
    “I’ll find it.”
    “I’m not going to let you go wandering around up there by yourself.” As much as she wanted to stay downstairs in the brightly lit, warm kitchen rather than climb around in the frigid, dark, cobweb-ridden attic, Adrian couldn’t just let someone else take care of her problems.
    “What? You think I’m going to steal the silver?” Rooke cursed herself for momentarily forgetting the sharp divide between the extremely wealthy members of the community, many of whom only summered in Ford’s Crossing, and the locals like her grandfather and her, who lived in the village year-round. Many of the year-rounders worked as domestic or grounds staff for the rich New York City families, and the villagers were grateful for the work. But the social classes did not mingle, as Adrian had just reminded her. How she could have forgotten, considering her family history, was just another sign of how off balance she really was. Ever since she’d first heard the message from Adrian Oakes, she’d been acting and thinking completely unlike herself.
    “Right,” Adrian scoffed, certain Rooke was joking. “My grandmother never throws anything away. The attic is crammed with God knows what. I don’t want you tripping and breaking your neck up there.”
    Rooke wasn’t certain what bothered her most—that Adrian didn’t trust her or that she didn’t think she was competent. Either one was an affront to everything she prided herself on. Stung, she shot back, “You might think it’s a national tragedy if you break a nail, but a few bumps and bruises won’t even register for me.”
    “Break a nail?” Adrian exclaimed. “Why you arrogant, condescending…” She poked a finger at Rooke. “Let me tell you something, Ms. Macho Stonemason. I just spent two months dodging IEDs and suicide bombers in the middle of a…” Adrian clamped down on her anger. She couldn’t believe she’d let Rooke get under her skin so much that she lost her temper. She never