Keenan, with the curiosity of an active five-year-old, had already discovered him. From the kitchen doorway, he grinned up at Ry.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself." Curious to see just how Natalie handled things, Ry strolled out of the kitchen.

"Want to see what I can do?" Keenan asked him before anyone else could speak.

"Sure."

Always ready to show off a new skill, Keenan shinnied up Ry's leg, scooting up and around until he was riding piggy-back.

"Not bad." Ry gave the boy a little boost to settle him in place.

"That's Keenan," Cilia explained, running her tongue over her teeth as she considered. "Our youngest monkey."

"I'm sorry. Ah..." Natalie dragged a hand through her damp hair.

She didn't have to look at Boyd to know he'd have that speculative big-brother look in his eyes. "Boyd and Cilia Fletcher, Ry Piasecki." She cleared her throat. "And this is Allison, and Bryant."

Now she sighed. "You've already met Keenan."

"Piasecki," Boyd repeated. "Arson?" Just the man he wanted to see, Boyd thought. But he hadn't expected to find him barefoot in his sister's kitchen.

"That's right." Brother and sister shared strong good looks, Ry mused. And, he thought, an innate suspicion of strangers. "You're the cop from Denver."

Bryant piped up. "He's a police captain. He wears a gun to work.

Can I have a drink, Aunt Nat?"

"Sure. I-" But Bryant was already darting into the kitchen.

"Well, this is..." Awkward, she thought. "Maybe I should get some plates before the food gets cold."

"Good idea. All she has is eggs." Ry eyed the bag Boyd still carried, recognizing the package. "Maybe we can work a deal for some of your french fries."

"You're the one investigating the fires, right?" Boyd began.

"Slick," Cilia said, glaring at her husband. "No interrogations on an empty stomach. You can grill him after we eat. We've been on a plane for hours," she explained when Bryant came back in and tried to wrestle the ball away from Allison. "We're a little edgy."

"No problem." Ah instant before Boyd, Ry s.n.a.t.c.hed the ball that squirted out of flailing hands. "Like to shoot hoop?" he asked Allison.

"Uh-huh." She gave him a quick, winning smile. "I made the team.

Bryant didn't."

"Basketball's stupid." Sulking, Bryant slouched in a chair. "I'd rather play Nintendo."

Ry juggled Keenan on his back as he turned the ball in his hands.

"It so happens I've got a game in a couple of hours. Maybe you'd like to come."

"Really?" Allison's eyes lit as she turned to Cilia. "Mom?"

"It sounds like fun." Intrigued, Cilia strolled toward the kitchen.

"I'll just give Natalie a hand."

And, she thought, pump her sister-in-law for details.

Chapter 7

The last place Natalie expected to spend her Sat.u.r.day afternoon was courtside, watching cops and fire fighters play round ball. She sulked through most of the first quarter, her elbow on her knee, her chin on her fist.

After all, Ry hadn't mentioned the game to her, hadn't directly invited her. She was there to witness what was obviously an important annual rivalry only because of her niece.

Not that it mattered to her, she a.s.sured herself. Ry was certainly under no obligation to include her in his personal entertainment.

The pig.

Beside her, Allison was in basketball heaven, cheering on the red jerseys with a rabid fan's pa.s.sionate enthusiasm. Her brandy- colored eyes glinted as she followed the action up and down the court of the old west-side gym.

"It's not such a bad way to spend the afternoon," Cilia commented over the shrill sound of the ref's whistle. "Watching a bunch of half-naked guys sweat." Her eyes, the same warm shade as her daughter's, danced. "By the way, your guy's very cute."

"I told you, he's not my guy. We're just..."

"Yeah, you told me." Chuckling, Cilia wrapped an arm around Natalie's shoulders. "Cheer up, Nat. If you'd gone along with Boyd and the boys to unload at Deborah's, your big bro would be grilling you right now."

"You've got a point." She let out a sigh. Despite herself, she was following the action. The cops were double-teaming Ry consistently, she noted. Not a bad strategy, as he played like a steamroller, and lad already scored seven points in the first quarter.

Not that she was counting.

"He didn't mention this game to me," she muttered.

"Oh?" Fighting back a grin, Cilia ran her tongue over her teeth.

"He must have had something else on his mind. Hey!" She surged to her feet, along with most of the crowd, as one of the blue jerseys rammed an elbow sharply in Ry's ribs. "Foul!" Cilia shouted between her cupped hands.

"He can take it," Natalie mumbled, and tried not to care as Ry approached the foul line. "He's got an iron stomach." She struggled between pride and resentment when he sank his shot.

"Ry's the best." Allison beamed, well into a deep case of hero worship. "Did you see how he moves up-court? And he's got a terrific vertical leap. He's already blocked three shots under the hoop."

So, maybe he looked good, Natalie conceded. Those long, muscled legs pumping, those broad shoulders slick with sweat, all that wonderful hair flying as he pivoted or leapt. Then there was that look that came into his eyes, wolfish and arrogant.

So, maybe she wanted him to win. That didn't mean she was going to stand up and cheer.

By the third quarter, she was on her feet, like the rest of the crowd, when Ry sank a three-pointer that put the Smoke Eaters over the Bloodhounds by two.

"Nothing but net," she shouted, jostling Cilia. "Did you see that?"

"He's got some great moves," Cilia agreed. "Fast hands."

"Yeah." Natalie felt the foolish grin spread over her face. "Tell me about it."

Heart thumping, she dropped back on the bench. She was leaning forward now, her gaze glued to the ball. The sound of running feet echoed as the men pounded up-court. The cops took a shot; the Smoke Eaters blocked it. The ensuing scuffle left two men on the ground, others snarling in each other's faces as the ref blew his whistle.