"I can feel them moving. Most of the time it's this little nutter."

"You're okay? After the fire" -- "Yes."

He kissed her again.

"I remember when we made these babies. I don't know how I've done without you for so long." He curved his hand slowly back up to her breast, found her nipple, circled it with one finger as he deepened their kiss.

"Just let me sleep beside you tonight."

"And then what?"

His eyes flashed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what happens in the morning?" She fought past her longing for him, called upon all her convictions, her determination that she had to stand her ground. For her sake, for his, for their babies' sake.

"I'm expecting twins. Matt. There's too much at stake for me. For us.

I need to believe in you--I need you to believe in me. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on with you, Emile, Sam. Let me in. "

"Sig..."

"No half measures, Matt. I won't be a sometimes wife. I can't be.

Either you let me in, let me help you through this, or you walk out of here. " She gave him as hard a look as she could.

"Or I do."

"I love you. I'd die for you. I'd die for our babies. Isn't that enough?"

He was so persuasive. So handsome. Her body burned with wanting him.

She hated being alone. She liked having him in bed with her, liked waking up to the rub of his beard on her, liked hearing him thrash around in the kitchen. She desperately wanted their life back. But how much could she give?

"I know you asked me to give you space and let you work this out for yourself, and I was willing-for a time. I've been more than patient.

And I never expected. " She blinked back more tears, squashing a rush of conflicting emotions.

"Sam Cassain was murdered. Riley and I were nearly killed. Matt, this isn't about you and your grief anymore."

"It never was. That's why you have to let me do this on my own."

"What if you're next? What if Riley finds your body washed up on the rocks? I know you gave Sam the money so he could probe the Encounter.

You must have left a trail. The police are bound to find out"-- " They already know. I called and told them this afternoon. It wasn't a crime, Sig. " He stood back, and she could see the impact she'd had on him.

"If not me, Sam would have found someone else. He'd have stolen the money."

"I'm glad you've finally told the police." She held up her head, refused to give him one damned inch.

"But I don't see why you couldn't see your way through to telling me."

He didn't answer.

"Because of Emile? Or because you knew I'd try to stop you?"

"Because it's not your fight."

As much as his words hurt, she didn't wither.

"Your fights are my fights."

"Not this one." His voice hardened, more against his own conflicting emotions, she thought, than against her.

"I thought you understood."

"Understanding doesn't mean I'm patient, and it doesn't mean I'm going to sit back and passively let you do whatever you want to do, get yourself killed, end up in jail. I won't. We're partners."

"No, Sig. Not on this we're not partners. We can't be. It's too dangerous."

She stood her ground.

"If it's too dangerous for me, it's too dangerous for you."

He hissed through his teeth.

"Damn it, what kind of man would I be if I didn't see this thing through? If it's my fault Sam's dead" -He broke off, raked a hand through his hair. His eyes were a searing blue, radiating all his frustration, anger, grief, fears, everything he tried so hard to keep banked down. "This is my doing, Sig. My problem. The fire at Emile's, your pregnancy--how much more reason do you need to stand back?"

"How much reason do you need?"

Suddenly he looked exhausted, defeated. She ached for him. But she couldn't back down.

And neither could he.

"It's more reason for me to redouble my efforts."

She clenched her fists, refused to cry. "Damn you, Matt."

"Don't ask for what I can't give." He sighed, his expression softening slightly.

"Let's not fight. You look tired. Can I get you anything?"

"A good lawyer."

He swore under his breath and stalked across the room, slamming the front door on his way out. Sig didn't have the energy to go after him.

She collapsed onto the couch, her body still hot with the feel of his touch, his kisses. She sobbed, cried, swore and finally threw the needlepoint pillows across the room one by one.

She should have let him stay the night. At least then she'd know where he was. So much, she thought miserably, for taking action. All she could do was sit in her empty house, wait and worry.

Riley picked up a few things at her favorite market in Porter Square and almost deluded herself into thinking her life was normal. Which it wasn't and maybe never would be again. Murder, fires, sabotage, a crazy grandfather and a shot-up FBI agent coming off a self-imposed exile.

"Phew," she said, walking up the shaded street with her bag of groceries.

When she turned the corner onto her street, she saw Straker sitting on her front steps. He didn't get up. It was a warm evening, and he wore jeans and a dark navy pullover that made his eyes seem darker, duskier.

"You beat me here," she said.

"I thought that might be a wise move."

"It wasn't wisdom," she told him, "it was luck."

"You have a lousy track record, St. Joe. I don't trust you to mind your own damned business for a change."

She climbed the steps with her groceries. He still hadn't gotten up.

He seemed at ease, thick legs stretched out, his back against the steps.

"I haven't been sneaky. I just haven't been particularly lucky," she said. "Did you stop in Camden on your way back?" She nodded.

"Sig left for Boston this morning. She's back at her house on Beacon Hill. I don't know if that's smart--Mom didn't, either. But there's not much either of us can do about it. I'll call her, make sure she's okay."

She glanced down at Straker.

"How'd it go with Lou?"

"Our good and true sheriff is still hoping he'll get me into his jail before this is all over. He's on the case. I don't know how long he and CID can sit on the pictures before word gets out."

"The sabotage of the Encounter is big news."

"The suspected sabotage.

It hasn't been proven. "

He got to his feet, and she felt a warm shudder, knew that yesterday and last night had settled nothing between them.

"You're looking a little spooked, St. Joe. Does that mean I get the futon tonight?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Straker. I'm not spooked by you." Unraveled, maybe, but not spooked. She balanced her grocery bag in one arm and whipped out her keys.

"And you can stay at the Holiday Inn." "Not a chance. Emile asked me to look out for you. I'm a man with a mission." He stood next to her as she unlocked the door; even in the night light, she could see the scar above his eye, his wry smile. Shot up, six months on a deserted island, and he was as confident as ever, as sure of who he was.

"You wouldn't want to come between me and my mission."

She pushed open the door, let him walk in ahead of her. "Are you going to check my place for bombs and booby traps?"

"For starters."

So much for normality.

Her apartment almost seemed to belong to another person, as if she'd taken a quantum leap in her life since she'd left for Maine. She eyed the clutter, the work that meant so much to her, the little things that soothed her soul and just made her smile. She didn't know how she could go back to being the person she'd been before she'd found herself trapped in the fog and had stumbled on Sam Cassain's body, before she'd made love to John Straker.

"I'll put the groceries away," she said.

"You make sure nobody's been fooling around with my lightbulbs."

She was just kidding--she told herself she was just kidding--but when Straker started poking around in the corners of her apartment, she couldn't deny a sense of relief. Nobody'd blow up her apartment tonight, anyway.

She set her bag on a cleared stretch of counter and unloaded the milk and juice. Her phone rang, and she shut the fridge, debating whether to let her machine take the call.

She picked up the receiver, and Sig said, "Riley? Just checking in."

Riley frowned.

"You sound terrible." "Physically terrible or emotionally terrible?"

"Both."

"Well, not to worry. I've got my feet up and a talk show on the tube.

I'll be fine. "

"But you're not fine right now," Riley said.

"Matt was here a little while ago. We" -She seemed to choke back a sob.

"I've never felt so helpless in my life."

"What are you going to do?"

"Take the night off. When I'm painting and run into a brick wall, I find it best just to stand back, abandon the project for a while, then come back to it fresh." She inhaled, sniffled.

"I know you'd find a way to go through the brick wall if you had to, but I have to" -- "Sig, do you want me to come over?"

"No, no. I'm fine. Are you alone?"

Straker appeared in the kitchen doorway and gave her a thumbs-up. No linseed oil rags draped over her lightbulbs. Riley sighed.

"No."

"John Straker's there? Riley."

"It's not what you think." Well, it was, but she wasn't getting into it with her sister.

"There's something you need to know. Be discreet, okay? It's not public yet."

She told Sig about the Encounter's engine, Sam's pictures, Emile's theory of sabotage. Straker didn't look too happy about it, but he didn't jerk the phone out of her hand or rip it out of the wall. Riley left out nothing, not even the parts about her brother-in-law's role in bringing up the Encounter's engine.