"I'm going to check on Rob," Sarah mumbled.

Given her track record, Juliet followed her down the hall and made sure Sarah was inside the I.C.U. before retreating back to the waiting room.

Juliet was fidgety and jumpy from too much bad coffee and her prolonged high state of tension. She knew Hector Sanchez. Most people in the district office did. Rob had reeled him in as an informant three months ago. He'd provided good information that had led to several high-profile arrests, ones the news conference yesterday had underscored. There'd been rumors Rob had tried to get Hector into the witness protection program, but Hector had balked. He didn't want to leave behind his neighborhood. Someone had told Juliet that Hector was a peripheral figure who was too chicken to be a real criminal and too stupid to be a real player.

And he was a drug addict who always vowed he was going to stay clean.

The idea of Sanchez figuring out that Nate and Rob were at the news conference, where it was being held, where he should hide to get a couple of shots off-the idea of him even owning a rifle that could do the job- None of it washed.

Juliet cleaned up the beverage area and found herself staring into a half-filled mug of cold coffee, gray and filmed over, seeing a dead Hector Sanchez, an AR-15 and a stash of cocaine next to his body. The cocaine she could believe. A drug overdose. Hector dead at twenty-nine. All that made sense. But the AR-15? The silencer? Executing the difficult shots to hit Rob in the gut and even Nate in the arm?

She dumped the coffee into the trash.

Not a chance.

Eleven.

R ob looked better and sounded more alert, less hoa.r.s.e and confused, but he was still tethered to various tubes and monitors. He gave Nate a weak grin. "I can't believe Sarah followed you. Holy s.h.i.t. What was she thinking?"

"She wasn't thinking." Nate hadn't ratted Sarah out to his younger colleague-she'd done it herself before Nate got in there. But if he were in Rob's position, he'd want to know what was going on. Even if he were at death's door, he wouldn't tolerate anyone coddling him. He expected Rob was of a similar mind. "We can get her a counselor if you'd think that'd help."

"Nah. She's just like this. Where did you go?"

"I checked in with someone I know in Spanish Harlem."

It was all he could give Rob. Nate had already talked to Joe Collins about his visit with Maria Rodriguez, a Puerto Rican ex-nun who'd moved to New York three years ago. Within a month of her arrival, she contacted Nate with information that had exonerated a man the USMS was looking for. She'd become a regular informant, but only on her terms, only when she could save someone.

She knew Hector Sanchez, not as a street thug or the confidential informant who'd helped Rob Dunnemore take down a USMS Top Fifteen Most Wanted fugitive-Rob's biggest coup as a deputy-but as a young man who was trying to put his life back together. Sister Maria, as she was known on the street, had encouraged him to listen to Rob and talk to the U.S. attorney, pursue entry into WITSEC. But Hector couldn't bring himself to fully give up the life he'd known since he was thirteen.

Now he was dead.

Sister Maria insisted he hadn't tried to murder Rob and Nate in Central Park. That he couldn't have. She was adamant, and her certainty had nothing to do with her faith in him as a person. She was a realist-she knew Hector would have setbacks, would lie, would disappoint her. He'd done it before. But she was convinced he hadn't committed the sniper attack two days ago because he couldn't. He'd cut a tendon in his right hand a year ago and couldn't pull a trigger, much less manage a sniper rifle.

Hector Sanchez was physically unable to fire an AR-15.

Nate had suggested Joe Collins make sure the autopsy on Sanchez included a check of his right hand. Not that Collins needed any advice-and he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't thrilled when Nate refused to tell him his source.

But that was the way it was-he wasn't putting Sister Maria through an FBI interrogation. She worked in her neighborhood and believed in its people, and no matter how many times one or another of them betrayed her trust, she would never betray theirs.

The FBI had the wrong man. In her mind, it was that simple.

Except Joe Collins wasn't yet convinced. He had solid witnesses who put Hector in Central Park with an AR-15 at the time of the shooting.

He had the weapon.

He had the silencer.

Collins, in his mild-mannered way, had reminded Nate that he was supposed to be recuperating, not meddling in an FBI investigation.

Rob tried to sit up. "I'm supposed to be blowing in that air thing more. For my lungs. Keeps me from getting pneumonia. It wears me out." He sank back against the bed. "Christ. I'm a mess."

"Give it time."

"Hector was my guy. Is this going to come back and bite me in the a.s.s?"

"I don't know." Nate didn't bother with niceties, but there was no point in Rob dwelling on what he couldn't change. "I think you were right about getting your sister out of here."

"She's pretty, isn't she?"

She was pretty. Very pretty. Nate had come in contact with her three times in less than twenty-four hours, and he wasn't immune to the feel of that slim body. But talk about a mustn't touch. A seriously wounded marshal's twin sister, the president's surrogate daughter-an attractive academic who wanted answers to the shooting as much as any of them.

"I'm lowering the boom on her before she does something stupid," Nate said. "She's upset about you. It's making her reckless."

"Send her back to Tennessee."

Rob obviously hadn't changed his mind now that he was more lucid. "Why do you want her out of here?"

"Because she does things like follow senior deputies."

"Rob, if there's something else, now's the time-"

"My parents," Rob said weakly. "They're coming?"

"That's what I understand. I don't have the specifics. Rob-"

"They can take over family duty. Get Sarah out of here. Wes Poe-that's out, right? That he and my family are friends?"

"It's out."

"Sarah can't stay here. At home..." His eyes were half-closed, and he was fading fast, sinking into the bed. "Tell her I'll be there soon. Tell her she can make me a prune cake."

A nurse came over and checked Rob's IV line, glancing meaningfully at Nate. He took the hint. "Take care of yourself, Rob. Don't worry about anything else. I'll look after your sister myself."

He managed a wry smile. "Why am I not rea.s.sured?"

Nate found Sarah chatting with Juliet Longstreet in the waiting room. He thought he heard his name mentioned, and when he walked in, even Juliet went red. "Looks like I should have eavesdropped," he said. "What did I miss?"

"Don't mind him," Juliet said to Sarah. "You have to pa.s.s a jacka.s.s test to become a senior deputy."

Nate pointed at her. "One day, Longstreet, someone's going to take exception to that mouth of yours."

She gave him a big, phony smile. "Just kidding, Deputy Winter." She shifted her attention back to Sarah. "I'll see you in a bit."

Sarah made a move to go after her-to escape, Nate thought-then gave it up and cleared her throat, fixing her gray eyes on him. "I apologize for following you."

"Apology accepted." He decided not to waste any time on niceties. "Here's the deal. I've talked to Rob. You're going home to Tennessee. I'm putting you on a plane myself."

She didn't seem surprised and just shook her head at him. "I'm staying here until Rob's better."

Nate could feel himself responding to her obstinacy with a touch of his own. If they were going to get into a power struggle, he planned to win. Plus, he knew he was right. Rob was right. The woman needed to get out of the thick of things.

"I told him that," she added.

"Your brother wants you out of here. I want you out of here. So guess what? I can pack your bags, or you can. Make up your mind."

"It's not like I committed a federal offense-"

"Actually, yes, it is. Interference in a federal investigation."

"You're not investigating-" She stopped herself. "Anyway, Juliet says you had to have known I was following you. You could have stopped me, and you didn't."

Leave it to Juliet to open her big d.a.m.n mouth. "Deputy Longstreet is welcome to her opinion."

Sarah tilted her head back, the gray eyes cool now, intelligent and not particularly apologetic-she didn't regret what she'd done. "I'm not always that impulsive."

Nate didn't give her an inch. "From what I've seen so far, I'll bet you are."

His conversation with Sister Maria-Hector's death-had thrown him. Rob's certainty that he was the shooter's target, his determination to get his sister out of New York, her friendship with the president and Nate's own growing conviction that Dr. Dunnemore, with her pretty eyes and blond hair and her s.e.xy southern accent, was trouble.

It made sense to put her on a plane.

"You don't know anything about me," she said stiffly. "I thought I was following a man who'd gone through a terrible ordeal and had just heard some upsetting news. I wasn't thinking about you as a federal agent."

"Your mistake."

"What, are you going to arrest me?"

"I might."

She didn't seem especially intimidated. "You eat, sleep and drink your work, don't you, Deputy Winter?"

"And you don't, Dr. Dunnemore?"

"My work doesn't involve guns and bad guys."

"Precisely why you're going home."

She bristled. "I want to see my brother."

"Go ahead."

She walked stiffly out of the room, but Nate was impressed. He'd done his best to wither her, and she hadn't withered. People far more accustomed to him in a kick-a.s.s mood would have.

He'd have to make sure he didn't touch her again. Catching her when she'd tripped on his feet yesterday, then when she started to go down in the park, this morning when he'd marched her out the door at Sister Maria's-no telling what would happen if he got hold of that slip of a body again.

He told himself it wasn't the reason he was sending her home.

Sarah rode up front with Nate with her knees pressed together, her hands on her thighs and her eyes straight ahead, making no pretense that she liked one d.a.m.n thing about being sent home. But it was what Rob wanted-it seemed to be what he needed-so she was going.

She didn't care what Nate wanted. His threat to arrest her was a lot of hot air-he wouldn't dare. Like Rob, he needed a place to put his anxiety over the shooting and Hector Sanchez's death, and it was on her shoulders.

Having reporters shouting questions at her about her relationship with the president as she and Nate had left the hospital hadn't helped her case, either.

Rob was fully on board in the conspiracy to get her out of town.

And maybe it did make sense. He was improving, at least physically. Their parents would be there soon and could help get him back to Night's Landing to complete his recovery. In the meantime, Sarah would make him a prune cake and fix up the downstairs bedroom for him.

When he got home, she'd take him out on the river in the boat. They'd read books on the porch and drink gin and tonics and catch up with each other. It'd been ages since they'd had a good stretch of time together. She was between projects. She didn't know what to do with herself-she could easily stay in Night's Landing until Rob was back on his feet.

But she'd made it clear to her brother that she was returning to Night's Landing to put his mind at ease, and for no other reason.

He'd been amused. "I can just see you going toe-to-toe with Nate, but I'd put money on Nate. You still care what people think. He doesn't. He's a good guy, but you're not going to win with him."

She didn't want to win. She just wanted her brother safe and well, and if going home helped him in his recovery, even in a small way, then she'd go home.

Nate negotiated the city traffic with no indication that his injured arm bothered him in the least. "Mad?" he asked, unconcerned.

"Resigned to my fate."

His laugh surprised her. "Is that a touch of the infamous Dunnemore drama?"

Sarah glanced over at him and saw that his color was off slightly. He had to be in at least some pain. "You've been researching my family?"

"Ten minutes on the Web last night. If all those reporters can do it, so can I. I found some paper you wrote on southern historical archaeology sites."

"Did you read it?"

He gave her a quick, wry smile. "I only had ten minutes." He made a turn into LaGuardia Airport, impervious to the crush of traffic. "Anyone else in Night's Landing?"

"The property manager. Neighbors, friends. I won't be alone."

"This property manager lives in your house?"

"In a separate cottage."

"Fancy."

She smiled. "My grandmother used to live there. The place is lovely, and it's very special to my family, but I wouldn't say it's fancy."

"My uncle's redecorating the house I grew up in. He did up the half bath like it's a tropical paradise. It's G.o.d-awful."

Sarah laughed in spite of her determination to stay irritated. She didn't want to let him off the hook for pressuring her, threatening her with arrest. "Why don't you go up there to recuperate?"