"No."

He looked up at Dean. "Come on, buddy, give me a break, eh."

Claire snapped her fingers under his nose, drawing his attention back down to her. "What part of no don't you understand?"

"Okay. Fine. You're responsible for Ms. Moore not getting her flowers, then."

"I can live with that." It was nice to have a responsibility so well defined.

"Yeah, well, thanks for the help." Lip curled, he spun around and missed his step on the uneven stairs. Flowers flailing, he began to fall.

"Boss!" Dean's exclamation prodded at her conscience. "He could get hurt!"

Reminding herself of where temptations came from, Claire sighed, took her time reaching for power and, just as he began to pitch forward, set the deliveryman back on his feet.

He never noticed. Stomping down the remaining steps, he flung the flowers into his car and, tires squealing, drove away.

Claire watched until he turned onto King Street. "I wonder who the flowers were from?"

"A fan?"

"I guess." She reached out and gave the small bra.s.s knocker an investigative flick. When the resulting boom faded, she followed Dean back inside. "But how did they know she was staying here?"

"Maybe she told them."

"Maybe," Jacques put in, rematerializing, "they were from the one last night. Flowers to say. Thanks for the memories."

"I don't think so; she wouldn't have told anyone she was staying here."

"Why not?"

"Because she told me she valued her privacy."

LIAR, a triumphant little voice announced in her head.

A lie to protect another. Claire pointed out. Circ.u.mstances must be weighed. And get out of my head!

THE LIE INVITED US IN.

Fine. Now I'm telling you to leave.

"Claire?"

Her eyes refocused. "Sorry, what were we talking about?"

"Ms. Moore's privacy."

"Right. We're going to respect it." She looked pointedly at Jacques. "And that means all of us."

Later that afternoon, as the last flat bit of counter emerged from under the twenty-seventh layer of paint. Baby could be heard barking furiously in his area.

Dean glanced up to see Austin still sprawled out on top of Claire's monitor. "Mailman must be late today."

"Only if he's out in the parking lot."

"What?"

The cat leaped down onto the desk, knocking a pile of loose papers and a pen to the floor. "According to Baby, who functions remarkably well on only two brain cells, there's a stranger in the parking lot."

"My truck!" Springing to his feet, he raced toward the back door, peeling off another pair of gloves as he went.

Claire, on her way up from testing the dampening field, stepped in his path. "Hold it! Remember the urethane!"

He spun on the spot, retraced his steps, and flung himself out the front door.

By the time Claire reached the back of the building, having paused in the lobby for a brief explanation, Dean was disappearing over the waist-high board fence to the west. To the south. Baby continued barking. Dean's truck, a huge white gas-guzzling monster named Moby, and Sasha Moore's van both seemed untouched.

"Carole! Carole, dear!" Mrs. Abrams voice didn't so much rise over Baby's barking as cut through it. "What's going on? What's happening?"

Slowly, Claire turned. "We had a prowler, Mrs. Abrams."

"What's that? Speak up, dear, don't mumble."

"A prowler!"

"What, in the middle of the afternoon? What will they think of next? You don't suppose it's that same ruffian who was lurking about the other night?"

"No, I..."

"We'll all be murdered in our beds! Or a.s.saulted. a.s.saulted and robbed. That'll show them!"

Just in time, Claire stopped herself from asking. Show who? She didn't really want to know.

"Has that nice young man of yours gone after him?" Mrs. Abrams didn't actually pause for breath let alone an answer. "How I do miss having Mr. Abrams around, although to be honest with you, dear, he was never what I'd call a capable man; had an unfortunate tendency to wilt a bit in stressful situations. He pa.s.sed away quite suddenly, you know, with such a queer little smile on his face. I'm sure he's as lost without me as I am without him. Never mind, though, I get on. As a matter of fact, I can't stand and chat, I have our local councilman on the phone. The dear man depends on my advice in neighborhood matters." A beringed hand lightly patted lacquered waves of orange hair. "He simply couldn't manage on his own. Baby, be quiet."

Baby ignored her.

"That's Mummy's good boy."

As Mrs. Abrams returned to her telephone. Dean vaulted back over the fence and dropped into the parking lot. "I'm sorry. I lost him. He had a car on Union Street. Got into it and away before I got around the corner." Frowning like a concerned parent, he quickly checked over both vehicles. "Seems like Baby chased him away before he could do any damage. Good dog!"

To Claire's surprise, the Doberman wuffled once and fell silent.

"I wonder if this is his?" Dean pointed to a handprint on the van's driver side window.

Staring at the greasy print, Claire felt her own palms tingle and was suddenly certain she knew who the prowler had been. "It's the deliveryman."

"Pardon?"