Riley suddenly leaned against him, her arms still tightly crossed on her chest, her gaze still on the bay. Her body was warm, and her hair smelled of ocean and a citrusy shampoo. The months of isolation welled up in him, seized him with an urgency so ferocious it took his breath away. He wanted her. He ached with it, burned with it.

She turned into him, draped her hands around his neck, and he knew she couldn't possibly know what he was feeling, thinking, fighting back.

She whispered, "Straker, I swear I don't know what I'm doing," even as she let her mouth find his, tentatively, as if she were testing her own resolve, or sanity.

The taste of her seared through him, but he knew he was dangerous, knew he had to exert his considerable willpower over the rest of him.

One slender hand drifted over his shoulder. It might as well have been on fire. His pulse raced; need surged through him. He wanted to make love to her there, then, on the old wooden dock. His head, his soul, ached with the taste of her, the possibilities.

But he controlled the urge to push and push hard, sensed that what she wanted from him was tenderness, softness, a kiss that restored and gave, when all he wanted was to take and demand, end this pounding need.

She opened her mouth to his, took herself onto very dangerous ground.

Restraint was impossible. Her fingers intertwined with his, and she placed his hand on her breast, a soft swell covered in layers of fabric he imagined tearing away. In another two seconds, he would. The sand had run out of the hourglass.

Instinctively, she must have known. She pulled back. She was breathing hard, her dark eyes shining. He was thinking about the fire in Emile's woodstove, the long, comfortable couch, the blankets and cush long, the braided rug on the floor. Plenty of places to make love.

They could go on all night, into the morning, until whenever Sig staggered down from the loft.

Riley smiled, touched a finger to the scar she'd given him above his eye.

"I was a pretty good shot, wasn't I?"

"I let you hit me."

Finally a spark of humor lit her eyes. But it faded quickly, and she kissed him lightly, softly.

"I'll take care of Sig. You find Emile, find my brother-in-law." Her eyes were black now, deadly serious.

"Stop them."

She turned abruptly and ran off the dock, up the dark road. She didn't glance back, didn't hesitate. Straker kicked a loose board in the dock. He could have ripped out every board and nail and post, flung the whole damned mess into the ocean.

Honor and restraint, he thought bitterly, had got him exactly nothing.

A perfectly good fire, a perfectly good woman, and here he was, standing alone in the cold and the dark.

Sig awoke in a panic. Her heart was racing, and she couldn't breathe.

Nightmares. She'd dreamed of Matt. Dangerous dreams, frightening dreams. She needed air, a drink of water. Her head ached.

Dehydration.

She'd thrown up everything in her stomach.

Straker. he'd been damned decent. Riley was such an ass about him.

Obviously he was smitten with her, even if she drove him crazy.

Air. she needed to breathe.

"Sig."

"Huh?"

"Sig."

Riley's voice. Determined, fighting panic. She was shaking her.

"Stop," Sig said, feeling cranky.

"That hurts."

"Sig, we need to get out of here. The place is on fire."

"Fire?" She sat up, her head spinning, pounding, her stomach reeling.

Her sister stood close, her fear palpable.

"Riley, you must be having a nightmare. There's no" -- "We don't have time! Get up. I can't carry you. You're too tall."

"Carry me--why would" -She stopped, could smell the smoke, could see it curling up the stairs. She saw Riley's desperate look in the dark.

Heard the crackle and spark of flames downstairs. She was wide-awake now. This was no nightmare.

"Oh my God."

Riley yanked the quilts off her.

"We can make it through the window."

"I don't know ... I.../?;7ey, / can't breathe!"

"Come on, Sig. You can do it."

Sig dropped her feet to the floor. She had on socks. Straker and Riley had put her to bed in her clothes. She could feel the pull of skin over her bulging stomach. The babies were quiet.

"I don't want to faint," she mumbled, and rose carefully. Riley had one hand on her elbow, steadying her.

"I've got to push the screen out."

Sig gave her a shove.

"Go."

She followed her sister, crouching down, feeling the fire sucking the oxygen out of the small cottage. It was like a being, oozing, terrorizing. She heard the screen crash onto the woodshed roof below the loft window. The cold, clean air drew the smoke.

Riley coughed, grabbed Sig.

"You first."

"No!"

"Don't argue with me."

Sig choked for air.

"My babies... I'm so big...."

"You're not that big. You have to do this, Sig. Your babies won't have a chance if you don't. Jump onto the woodshed. Then slide off.

Like when we were kids." Riley squeezed her.

"Go."

If she didn't, they'd both die up here. Staving off her panic, Sig pulled herself up onto the sill window- washer style, then dragged one leg over, until she was three-quarters out, the woodshed six or seven feet under her. She had to get the other leg out. Any further along in her pregnancy, any taller, and she wouldn't have fit. Riley was there, helping her.

"Stand back," Sig said.

"I don't want to kick you in the head and knock you out."

Riley took a step back. Sig could hardly make her out with the dark, the smoke.

"You're next. You understand me, Riley?"

"No, I'm going to stay up here and fry."

In a single, unartful movement, Sig forced her stray leg over the sill, and before she could get tangled up, sprawled forward, landing hard on her feet on the cold, scratchy shingles of the woodshed roof.

Pain shot up from her ankle, and her knees buckled, but she rolled out of the way, waiting for Riley to drop beside her.

Sig heard glass exploding, saw the glow of flames, smoke pouring from the loft window. She coughed, tasting the acrid smoke. Where the hell was her sister?

"Riley!"

"I'm coming. One, two, three..."

And she landed like a panther, her dark eyes gleaming and wild. She was totally focused, just as Sig remembered on the few times she'd joined her at a whale stranding.

"You have to jump to the ground now, Sig."

Her head spun, sparks of light flashed, followed by passing waves of darkness. Everything seemed far away. You have to jump off this woodshed. It was a voice. She didn't know where it was coming from.

Riley? Where was Riley?

"Matt."

Suddenly her sister's face was in hers. She was screaming at her.

"You are going to jump off this fucking roof." Riley almost never swore.

"Do you hear me? If you don't, I'm going to push you."

"Something's wrong," Sig mumbled.

"I know. Emile's cottage is on fire."

"With me. Something's wrong with me."

"It'll be okay, Sig." Riley had her by the shoulders, was scooting her down to the edge of the roof. "Listen, I can hear the fire engines.

Music to our ears, isn't it? Someone must have spotted the flames.

"I can't jump. I can't think...."

"Sig, listen to me. I'm not going to count. I'm i going to say 'jump!" and you're going to jump. " She gave her half a beat. " Jump. " , Sig could feel the roof disappearing under her. She didn't know if she'd jumped, if Riley had pushed her, t if she'd simply fallen.

They landed almost simultaneously. Sig felt an; other sharp pain shoot up from her ankle and she sank to the ground.

The grass was cold, damp, smelled of earth and ocean.

Riley, little sister Riley, tried to lift her from the hips, was crying, cajoling, "Sig, goddamn it, we have to get away from the cottage, it's on fire," until a voice--a man's voice, not Matt's--told her to move aside.

Sig couldn't stay on her feet.

Strong, firm hands took hold of her. She could smell smoke, her own acrid sweat, could hear the fire, thought she could even hear the smoke. She tried to claw her way to full awareness, kept losing her grip, ; falling back. : "My babies," she whispered, sinking again. ; Eleven -^Q >^~ 1 hey took Riley's car to the hospital in Ellsworth. Straker drove.

Riley sat rigidly beside him, unable to make herself look back at Emile's burning cottage, cry, even speak. She'd managed to pull on hiking pants before clearing out of the loft with Sig, but there'd been no time for car keys, pocketbooks, anything. Luckily, she had an extra key taped inside her glove compartment.

Sig was already on her way to the hospital by ambulance. Lou Domnan was meeting them there. He had questions, he'd said when he arrived at Emile's with the volunteer firefighters. A lot of questions. Sig had collapsed, semiconscious, incoherent, when Straker had carried her off.

The woodshed had caught fire seconds later.

"If you hadn't shown up..."

Riley's words sounded unintelligible to her, but Straker, his eyes pinned on the long, dark, straight road, said, "I did show up."

The EMTs had taken over, put Sig on oxygen and an IV as Riley hung over them, warned them her sister was almost five months pregnant with twins, aching to do something to help.

Her hands were blackened from smoke and soot, felt cold and stiff as she clasped them together on her lap. She stank of smoke. Her heart was racing, but she was very still, every muscle tensed against shaking, against a rush of emotion she knew she would never control if she let it slip through her defenses. She couldn't fall apart. Not now. Her sister needed her.

"How did you know to come?" she asked.

"I saw the glow of the flames in the sky. It had to be a fire."

"You called it in?"