It cost himanother twenty to look at the paperwork, but it gave him the exact date of Nell's departure. Armed with that, and a reasonable assessment of her finances, Harding scouted out the bus station.

He tracked her to El Paso, nearly lost her, but then dug up the man who'd sold her a car.

He followed her trail by day, read, over and over, every news article, interview, statement, and commentary that had been written since Remington's arrest.

She'd worked in diners, hotel restaurants, coffee shops, rarely staying in one spot longer than three weeks during the first six months of flight. There seemed little rhyme and no reason to her route.

And that, Harding thought, had been the point. She would head south, then east, then overlap her own tracks and drive north again. Even so, she'd always, eventually, headed east again.

Though he didn't put much credence in Lidamae's opinion of her own insight, he did find a thread of consistency throughout his interviews with employers and coworkers.

Nell Channing was a lady.

How much more she was, he'd have to judge for himself. He couldn't wait to meet her face-to-face. But before he did, he wanted more. He wanted Evan Remington's story.

Unaware that herlife was currently under a microscope, Nell took advantage of her day off and a break in the weather. The February thaw offered a teasing hint of spring, with warmth that required no more than a light jacket.

She took Lucy for a walk on the beach and toyed with the idea of going into the village to buy something foolish and unnecessary. The fact that she could toy with the idea was one of her daily miracles.

For now, she was content with the beach, the sea, and the big black dog. While Lucy entertained herself chasing gulls, Nell sat on the sand and watched the waves.

"Lucky for you I'm in a good mood, or I'd have to write you up for having that dog off the leash."

Nell glanced over as Ripley dropped down beside her. "You'd have to write yourself up, too. I didn't see a leash when the two of you went for a run this morning."

"I used the invisible leash this morning." Ripley wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees. "God, what a day. I could take a few hundred of these."

"I know. I couldn't stay in the house. My to-do list is as long as your arm, but I ran away."

"It'll keep."

"It's going to."

When Nell continued to stare at her, Ripley tipped down her sunglasses, peered over them. "What?"

"Nothing. You look ... pleased with yourself," Nell decided. "I haven't seen much of you in the past couple weeks, but whenever I have you've looked quite smug."

"Is that so? Well, life's good."

"Uh-huh. You've been spending some time with MacAllister Booke."

Ripley trailed her fingers through the sand, drawing little curlicues. "Is that your polite way of asking if we're doing it?"

"No." Nell waited a beat, exhaled. "Well, are you?"

"No, not yet." Content, Ripley leaned back, braced her elbows in the sand. "I'm enjoying this pre-sex interlude more than I figured I would. Mostly, I've always figured if you're going to dance, just get up and dance. But ..."

"Romance is a dance of its own."

Ripley's look was sharp and quick. "I didn't say we were having a romance. Like hearts and flowers and cow eyes. He's an interesting guy to hang out with, that's all-when he's not caught up in spook patrol. He's been all over the place. I mean, to places I didn't even knowwere places."

He'd known the capital of Liechtenstein, she remembered. Imagine that.

"Did you know he graduated from college when he was sixteen?" she continued. "Is that brainy or what? Even with all that, he gets into regular stuff. Like movies and baseball. I mean he's not snooty about, what is it, popular culture."

"No intellectual snobbery," Nell commented, enjoying herself.

"Yeah, that's it. He's into Rocky and Bullwinkle, and he listens to regular music. It's like he's got this enormous brain capacity so it can hold on all the E-equals-MC-squared junk, but it still has room for the Barenaked Ladies. Plus, he's totally buff, and he's got excellent form in the water, but sometimes he just trips over his own feet. It's kind of cute."

Nell opened her mouth to comment again, but Ripley was already plowing on. "Sure, he's a complete geek, but it's sort of handy. He fixed my headset when I was going to pitch it. And the other day ..." She frowned when she caught Nell's wide grin. "What now?"

"You're smitten."

"Oh, please. What kind of a word is that?" She snorted, crossed her legs at the ankles. "Smitten. Jesus."

"It's the perfect word from where I'm sitting. And I think it's wonderful."

"Don't get on that romance boat of yours and sail, Nell. We're just hanging out. Then we'll have sex and hang out. We'll keep it friendly as long as he doesn't shove the witch angle down my throat. Then he'll go back to New York and write his book or paper or whatever. We're not stuck on each other."

"Whatever you say. But in all the months I've been on the Sisters, I haven't seen you spend this much time with anyone else, or look as happy doing it."

"So, I like him better than most." Ripley sat up again, shrugged. "And I'm more attracted to him than most."

"Smitten," Nell said under her breath.

"Shut up."

"Bring him to dinner?"

"Huh?"

"Bring him home to dinner tonight."

"Why?"

"Because I'm making Zack's favorite, and there'll be plenty."

"We're having Yankee pot roast?" Ripley's mouth began to water.

"I'm sure Mac would appreciate sitting down to a home-cooked meal instead of eating takeout or eating in a restaurant, or heating up one of my deliveries." Nell stood up, brushed sand off her pants.

"Sure, he likes to eat. Nell, you're not going to try any matchmaking deal, are you?"