"That I spend my days helping handsome strangers in fancy suede loafers get to where they're going."

He raised an entertained eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Daisy blushed as it suddenly occurred to her that she was flirting with a man she didn't even know. She never flirted with men she didn't know. Truth be told, she almost never flirted at all anymore. After Matt, there didn't really seem to be much of a point.

"I'm Ethan." The man crumpled his map together haphazardly and tucked it under one arm. Then he put out his hand. "Ethan Kinney."

"Daisy." She shook the proffered hand and was surprised by its strength. Ethan Kinney's shoes may have been big-city flimsy, but his grip was definitely country-tough.

"Daisy? I like that. What's it short for? Dorothea? Danielle?"

"No. It's not short for anything. My given name is Daisy. Daisy Luck Hale."

"Well, Daisy Hale, I'm sure glad to have met you, because I could use some luck tonight."

There was a sufficient hint of reciprocal flirtation in his tone so she figured she had better set the record straight.

"It's Daisy McGovern now."

Ethan blinked, but just slightly. "Either way, I'm still hoping you've got some luck to share."

"I don't know about that." Daisy sighed wistfully. "But I do have a new pot of coffee if you're interested."

"Sounds like a good way to start." He glanced around the diner. "Where should I sit?"

"Wherever you like. But"a"she gestured toward Hank and Carlton Watersa"aka the wet poodlea"who were engaged in a lively discussion regarding the resale value of used cooking equipment between the grill and the countera""it'd probably be a lot quieter in a booth than on a stool."

Ethan nodded. "I can see that. And hear it too."

"Pick a table then, and I'll get the coffee. You want a piece of pie to go with it? We have apple-blackberry and chocolate-pecan. They're both fresh."

"Seriously?" This time he blinked twice. "You've got fresh pie? Fresh as in homemade?"

"Technically this place isn't my home, but yes, I did make them."

"Wow." Ethan grinned. "Has an awesome accent and makes pies. Your husband must guard you with his life."

The wistful sigh repeated itself as Daisy turned toward the counter. She poured a large cup of coffee, cut a slice of each pie, and topped them off with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream. Ethan Kinney may have been no more than a stranger passing through on the road to somewhere else, but he had complimented both her name and her accent. That didn't happen to her very often these days, so it deserved two types of pie, with a little something extra on the side.

When she carried her loaded tray to the green vinyl booth that Ethan had selected, Daisy found him leaning studiously over his map. Spread out, it took up nearly the entire table. In his hand was a portable GPS device. Her lips curled in amusement when she saw it.

"I hope you're not looking for anything around here with that," Daisy said, motioning toward the glowing screen with its flashing coordinates and arrows, "because you won't find it."

Ethan looked up at her questioningly.

"It might be wonderful for getting you to the perfect sushi bar in Manhattan, but in this part of the world, it'll just keep taking you in circles. After four hours of driving, you'll finally realize you've passed the exact same haystack, sitting in the exact same field, next to the exact same church eleven times."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly. And I'll give you an honest example. If you type in Tosh, it will come up with a city in southwestern Virginia named Tosh. The only problem is that after you follow the meticulous directions to get there, you'll discover the electronic cartographer's version of Tosh is a collapsed barn across from a bleached-out STOP sign without an intersection to actually stop at."

"Huh." Ethan frowned. "Well, that would explain the trouble I've been having all afternoon."

"And I would guess," Daisy commiserated, setting down the steaming cup of coffee, "you spent about half the time cursing and pulling over to the side of the road because you kept losing the satellite signal in between the mountains?"

He nodded and moaned.

"Don't feel bad. Even the professional delivery guys in this area get confused sometimes. We always have people coming in to ask for directions."

"I can see why," Ethan replied appreciatively as she placed the plates of pie and ice cream before him. "With service like this, I'd bet a lot of guys get lost around here on purpose."

Ordinarily Daisy would have gone back to refilling the mustard bottles, but curiosity kept her at the booth while Ethan sampled her creations. He took a bite of the apple-blackberry first.

"Daisy Luck Hale McGovern," he purred, barely swallowing before digging into the chocolate-pecan, "has anyone ever told you that you make a damn fine pie?"

He was answered with a smile.

"Won't you take a seat?" he asked. "Just for a minute?"

She hesitated. Daisy rarely sat down while she worked, even when she chatted with one of her close friends. But it was quiet that evening. She looked once around. Brenda was engrossed in the previous day's receipts. Hank and Carlton were still engaged in their used cooking equipment discussion. There were no other customers.

"So you never told me," she said, sliding into the seat across from Ethan.

"Told you what?"

"Are you looking for some place in particular, or are you just looking?"

It was Ethan's turn to smile. "Definitely some place in particular. And I'm hoping you can help me find it."

Daisy raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I'm looking for Chalk Level."

CHAPTER.

9.

The hush fell like an anvil. Up until that point neither Brenda nor Hank had paid any attention to the arrival of Ethan Kinney, but that changed the instant the words Chalk Level rolled off his tongue. Even though he said it in a normal tone, the name carried such power that a whisper would have had the same effect as a shout. They turned toward the stranger with stunned fascination. Hank's gaze was steely and suspicious. Brenda's mouth hung open like a confused eel. No one uttered a syllable. The only sound in the diner came from Carlton as he chomped on his supper.

"Why?" Daisy asked after a long minute.

Ethan's brow furrowed. "Why what?"

"Why are you looking for Chalk Level?"

His quizzical eyes moved from her to Brenda and then to Hank. The furrows deepened. "I get the feeling I'm missing something here."

Daisy repeated her question with a tinge of sharpness. "Why are you looking for Chalk Level?"

"I assume that means you know the place?"

She didn't answer. She wasn't about to give any further information until she got some further information. Another long minute passed as the tension in the room grew thick like smoke. Ethan set his fork down quietly on one of the plates and leaned back against the green vinyl of the booth.

"So what happens now?" he said, his gaze changing from quizzical to shrewd.

Daisy sucked on her teeth in annoyance. It was mostly annoyance with herself. She had been friendly to him, talked about his shoes and the neighborhood. She had even flirted with him a bit. But thena"after two slices of pie with ice creama"the truth finally came out. Ethan Kinney was no mere stranger passing through on the road to somewhere else. He was looking for Chalk Level. And from the marked change in his demeanor, it was clear that he knew there was something special about Chalk Level.

"I'll tell you what happens now." Hank's grim face disappeared from the opening above the grill. It reappeared a moment later as he strode out of the kitchen with quick, purposeful steps. He pulled off his grease-smeared apron and flung it next to the mustard bottles.

"Hanka"" Brenda began anxiously.

Daisy understood her concern. Hank rarely removed his apron while at the diner, and when he did, it always meant serious business.

He cut her off with a stern glance as he proceeded to the far end of the counter, where Carlton was sitting. "I'm sorry," he said to him, "but we're going to have to finish our conversation some other time."

Carlton raised his head from his plate of chicken livers and onions. "Huh?"

"We're shutting down early tonight," Hank informed him.

"I'm still eating."

"I'm sorry," Hank said again, "but we're closing. Now."

With the expression of a slightly daft sheep, Carlton scratched his silver shock of hair. "Now? It's not even dark out yet."

"Now." As he repeated it, Hank's tone grew hard.

Shrugging, Carlton rose from his stool and reached for his wallet.

"It's on the house today." Hank gestured toward the door.

"Really? Okay. Thanks, Hank." Digging into his pocket, Carlton pulled out two quarters and set them on the counter. "For Daisy."

She gave him an acknowledging nod as he walked past her booth, although she couldn't help thinking to herself that the wet poodle's tips were quickly slipping from mediocre to lousy. Evidently auctioneering hadn't been so lucrative of late.

Hank followed Carlton to the door and clicked the lock behind him. He flipped the red diner sign from open to closed.

"All right," he growled, spinning around. "Now we can talk."

Daisy glanced at Ethan. He didn't say a word during Carlton's departure. He barely moved. He was sitting casually on his side of the booth, with slack shoulders and his hands resting loosely on top of his thighs. Even his jaw looked relaxed. Hank's gristly behavior would have made many men nervous, but if Ethan Kinney was sweating beneath his starched dress shirt, he didn't show it.

"Ducky," Brenda whispered, crooking a finger toward Daisy as a signal for her to come over by the cash register.

"Ducky?" Ethan echoed. His mouth twitched with a hint of a smile. "Where does Ducky come from?"

"It's none of your goddam business where it comes from," Hank spat. "It's none of your business what any of us doa"or saya"or are called."

The hint of a smile switched swiftly to a frown. "I don't thinka"" he began.

"I don't care one lick what you think." Hank marched to the counter, stopping directly across from Ethan and Daisy's booth.

"I don't think youa"" Ethan began again.

"And you sure as hell better not assume what I think!" Hank folded his tattooed biceps over his chest in a formidable manner.

"Ducky," Brenda whispered once more, this time waving her whole hand in an effort to get Daisy away from the booth.

Ethan chuckled. "Apparently I'm of the dangerous variety, Daisy, and you shouldn't be sitting by me."

"Are you of the dangerous variety?" she drawled. "Should I be sitting by you?"

She didn't say it to flirt or to be flip. Daisy was trying to get him to talk. She wanted information from Ethan Kinney, and although she knew that Hank did too, he was going about it all wrong. She could see that as clearly as a black fly floating in a pitcher of lemonade. Hank was trying to bully Ethan, but it wasn't working. From what Daisy could discern, it was never going to work. Ethan's behavior was far too controlled and confident. Even with Hank flexing his muscles and thundering like an angry bear in front of him, he was still lounging calmly in his seat with not the slightest hint of apprehension.

"If you need protection," he answered smoothly, "it's not from me."

"If anybody needs protection around here," Hank snapped, "it's you."

Ethan looked at him. "I hope that's not a threat."

"Call it what you want, but I'm just stating facts. Daisy's got plenty of friends in this place. You don't."

"You sure know how to make a guy feel welcome."

"That's because you're not welcome," Hank retorted sharply. "You can get the hell out anytime. H & P's doesn't need your business, and we don't want your business."

Although Ethan had been in the process of packing up his map, he stopped abruptly. "What did you just say?"

"You can get the hell out anytime," Hank repeated with irritation.

"No." He shook his head. "After that. The name. Did you say H & P's?"

Hank scowled. "What if I did?"

Ethan turned to Daisy. "Is this H & P's Diner?"

"It is," she responded, a bit hesitantly. It was the truth. That was the official name of the restaurant, so there was no point in concealing it. But there was something about the way Ethan had reacted to it that put Daisy on guard.

He gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, then his eyes traveled slowly around the diner. She shifted in her seat, growing increasingly uneasy. First Chalk Level. Now an unexplained interest in H & P's. That couldn't be good.

"You got a problem with the name?" Hank demanded.

"Ia""