"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not. If I were a cop and saw Riley St. Joe in front of Sam Cassain's burning house, I'd pounce."

"You did pounce," she muttered, and slipped quickly onto the sidewalk.

Straker was right behind her. He slammed his door a bit harder than seemed warranted. She glanced at him. The sexual energy was still sparking between them like a dangerous downed wire. If she didn't do something to dissipate it, she couldn't possibly let him back into her apartment. She'd have to be mad.

"Matt Granger was there," she said.

"At Sam's."

He grimaced.

"Hell."

"He could have been following Emile, too. Or me."

"Or the damned Pied Piper. Who knows?"

She unlocked the door to her building. The apartment on the first floor was occupied by three medical students, the second floor by a young couple with jobs in Boston's financial district. Riley wondered if they'd seen her in the car with Straker.

She pushed open the door, glanced back at him as he followed her in.

"Did Emile tell you he was headed to Sam's place in Arlington? Is that how you ended up there?"

"Emile didn't tell me a damned thing, Riley. I let him go on his way because I was going to have to use bodily force to stop him. And because he asked me to." Straker sighed, obviously trying to make sense of his own behavior.

"He's a persuasive old cuss."

"It's his one-track mind. He just exhausts you."

They started up the stairs. Riley finally kicked off her shoes and walked in her stocking feet.

"To answer your question," Straker said from close behind her, "I heard about the fire on the radio. I drove out to Arlington and looked for the action."

"Did you expect to find me there?"

"No. I knew I'd find you."

Her message machine was full and her telephone rang thirty seconds after they entered her apartment. Reporters. Riley had no intention of talking to any of them. Straker turned on the television to a regional all-news channel that was covering the fire. It was under control, and early reports from eyewitnesses suggested it might have been caused by an explosion. Investigators suspected arson. No one had been inside the house. "The Encounter fire was caused by an engine explosion," Riley said for no reason. Her mind was skipping around, trying to make connections where none necessarily existed.

"It was an old ship. A refitted minesweeper from the fifties. I just figured it was one of those things. But Sam blamed Emile."

"Riley, we're not going to make sense of this tonight."

"It's so..." She threw up her hands, let them fall to her sides as she felt her frustration build. At least for a few minutes, with Straker in the car, she'd been unable to think.

"It's unbelievable Emile was heading for Sam's place right as it went up in flames."

"But you didn't see him there," Straker said. "I wonder if he was set up, if someone tipped him off...." She stopped, her stomach twisting.

"What about Matt? Why was he there?

Damn. If you hadn't come along, I might have caught up with him. "

"And done what?"

"I don't know. Made him tell me what's going on. He must know something. What if Sam said some 5 thing to him on Mount Desert last week? " She paced, another call coming in; she ignored it.

"I suppose I should tell Sig."

Straker flipped off the television. "And what would that accomplish?"

"Matt's her husband" -- "So?"

Riley didn't answer. Straker headed into her kitchen, his calm a distinct contrast to her growing agitation. So many questions, fears, countless stabs of doubt. What if she made the wrong decision? What if she did the wrong thing? She stood in the kitchen doorway and watched as he filled a kettle with water.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you tea. If you don't settle down, you're going to blow a gasket."

"I'm not going to blow a gasket."

Not just agitated, she thought. Contrary, too. Argumentative.

Straker ignored her and rummaged through an assortment of teas she had in a basket on her counter. It was an older kitchen, charming, serviceable.

He seemed as at ease there as he did anywhere. He chose a chamomile tea bag and dangled it in a mug.

The phone rang. She snatched up the portable and hurled it across the room.

Straker eyed her knowingly.

"See?"

She could hear her message machine taking the call in the next room.

Her mother's voice came on.

"Riley? Are you there? Your father just phoned. He told me about the fire at Sam's. He's worried about you. I am, too. Call me" -Riley grabbed the portable off the floor where she'd hurled it.

"Hi, it's me. Mom, I'm fine. There's no need to worry."

Straker arched a brow at her.

Her mother gasped in relief, half sobbing.

"Riley! Oh, thank God. I was afraid you were caught in the fire.

After the Encounter..." She couldn't go on.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes." She made an instant decision not to give her mother all the details about her evening. Emile, Matt, her presence at the fire.

Kissing Straker in his beat-up Subaru.

"Thanks for checking up on me."

"I hate the thought of you being there alone."

In her mother's view, having Straker camped out on her futon might be worse than being alone. He poured boiling water into her mug.

Naturally he was listening. He was on alert at all times, never mind when a suspicious death and a suspicious fire were at hand. It was his nature. His training.

"Riley?"

"Sorry. I'm a little distracted. The past few days haven't been easy, that's all."

"You can always stay with your father." He had a studio apartment in the North End of Boston, getting up to Camden when he could.

"You know that, don't you?"

"Of course."

"And me--you're welcome here."

"Thanks."

Her mother sucked in a breath, and Riley could predict what was coming next.

"Your father told me about Matt's behavior tonight. It's inexcusable.

Was John Straker outside?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, he was."

"But that was none of your doing," her mother said.

"No." It was the truth, as far as it went.

"Good. I know he's an FBI agent, but I can't..." She paused.

"I have my doubts about him, that's all. I can't help it. He's been living out on that island for months and months, and he's in tight with Emile."

And he was making her chamomile tea.

"Right. I'll be careful." But Riley felt an immediate tug of regret at deceiving her worried mother--and she'd learned the hard way over the years that bad news was best delivered early and completely. She had to get this over with.

"Mom, John Straker's staying here."

"In your apartment? With you? Riley."

"It's okay. I can handle him." She ignored another arched brow.

"Mom, Emile will be okay, too."

"I don't give a damn about Emile. I'm past caring about him."

But this was a lie, or denial. He was her father, and Riley was convinced that for all her frustrations and fears, Mara still loved him. It wasn't a point they could argue.

"You haven't told Sig about Matt showing up at dinner and being such an ass, have you?"

"No, I don't see the need. You just be careful, Riley St. Joe. I came close enough to losing you last year. I won't go through that again." Her tone softened, lost some of its vehemence.

"If you need me, I'm here."

Riley thanked her, and after they hung up, she sank onto a chair at the kitchen table. Straker shoved a mug of fragrant, calming chamomile tea in front of her.

"Your mother wasn't comforted by my presence?"

"I'm not, why should she be?"

She crossed her ankles. One foot kept jiggling. Her hands had started to shake again. She could see the tea jumping around in her mug as she tried to take a sip. Straker had given it to her straight, no honey, no milk, no sugar. He sat on another chair, watching her with those cool gray eyes. He wasn't shaking. The only indication he'd been through any kind of ordeal was a slight frown.

"I suppose tonight was nothing to you," she said.

He shrugged.

"You weren't in the fire. Emile wasn't in the fire. I managed not to kill anyone despite all provocation. I'd say I got off light. You, on the other hand, had Matt Granger go berserk on you, then made the mistake of following Emile instead of minding your own business."

"So I got what I deserved?"

"I think you did."

She used both hands to grip her mug. He was the most obnoxious man on the planet. Yet not even an hour ago, she'd all but had sex with him in his car. It was the fire, of course. Sirens, flames, the crush of people, adrenaline. On an ordinary Thursday night, she wouldn't have let him touch her, much less touch her where and how he had.

He smiled.

"Wishing we hadn't stopped when we did?" "What?" She shook off her thoughts as his words sunk in.

"What are you doing, reading my mind now? You really do have a lot of gall, Straker."

"You were looking distracted."

"Because of the fire," she said.

He smiled in that confident, disbelieving, know-it- all way.