Sarah debated grabbing one of the ammunition boxes in case he tried anything, but what would she do? Throw a couple of bullets at him? She walked over and shut the trunk. "And I see you're not above lying. The woman in the pictures-who is she?"

He took another step closer to her. "My wife."

There was something in his eyes. He glanced away.

Sarah's heart twisted. "Ethan?"

"She was killed last fall."

"I'm so sorry."

"She always wanted me to try my hand at songwriting." He leaned back against the small dining table, where Granny used to sit and watch the cardinals in the pecan tree and the boats on the river. "Charlene thought I could do anything. I should have told you, but it's not easy for me to talk about her. I wanted a fresh start. I didn't want to answer a lot of questions."

"The bullets?"

"Your parents told me they don't like having guns on the premises. I had a nine-millimeter I liked. Legal, of course. I sold it, but I didn't think to sell the ammo."

"There are bullets for a thirty-eight, as well."

"I got rid of that gun a while ago."

Sarah decided not to ask to frisk him.

"With all that's been going on around here," he went on, "I wouldn't mind having a weapon right now. Your brother getting shot, the feds showing up, reporters snooping around-it's a lot. Legit reporters are one thing, but that Conroy Fontaine's a weasel. You know he is."

"Well, he's a charming weasel." Sarah didn't know what to say-she wasn't the one who'd hired Ethan. "My parents like giving people a second chance. Excons and recovering alcoholics and drug addicts who're trying to pick up the pieces of their lives-some have worked out better than others. A bereaved husband is different."

"Not so different." His eyes seemed to bore right through her. "You're in danger, aren't you? Something happened to bring Deputy Winter down here besides falling for your pretty gray eyes. The feds yesterday. They went through your house. What's going on?"

She didn't answer.

"I live here, Dr. Dunnemore. I have a right to know."

Dr. Dunnemore. No more Miss Sarah. "Did you go and pound Conroy last evening because you were concerned about me? Or did you have your own reasons?"

He ignored her. "I was in the army for a pretty good stretch. I can tell when someone's hanging by their fingernails. That's you, Sarah."

Now it was Sarah. "Fair enough. I found a threatening anonymous note in my mail. It's why the FBI and the marshals were here sweeping for bugs and taps. But you know that already, don't you? You've been keeping pretty good tabs on what's been going on around here."

"That's my job. Think the snake in the house was part of it?"

"Part of what?"

"This campaign to scare the h.e.l.l out of you."

"Me? There's no evidence that I'm the focus."

"You look at it the way you want to." Ethan's tone took on an extra edge. "Makes no difference to me."

She stared again at the picture of the silver-haired man. She'd thought nothing of him or the man who'd approached her until she'd gone to Central Park, until she'd come across the threatening letter. "You're sure you don't know who this man is?"

"Ask your marshal friend. He's standing at the back door."

Sarah turned abruptly, even as she thought that Ethan might be trying to distract her, but Nate was there, rigid, alert. She couldn't manage the slightest smile. "I see you're done with your shower."

He put out his hand. "Let's see the picture."

"Ethan said he got it from Conroy."

"I heard."

He gave it a quick glance and dropped it on the table. He shifted to Ethan. "What's Mr. Fontaine's interest in this man?"

"I told Sarah what I know. You heard."

"Was it everything?"

But Ethan wasn't the least bit intimidated. "Fontaine's looking for a connection between the man in the picture and the president. Whether he's a reporter or a political hack, he's a total sc.u.mbag." Ethan pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, grabbing an almost full pack of cigarettes and tapping one out. "You recognize the guy in the picture, don't you?"

Sarah took a breath, then spoke. "I don't know his name. He stopped to talk to my mother a few months ago at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam."

Nate tensed visibly. "His name's Nicholas Janssen. He's a wealthy businessman from northern Virginia who was supposed to stand trial on federal tax evasion charges last year but took off to Switzerland, instead. He's a fugitive. Failure to appear."

Ethan didn't seem surprised.

Sarah's throat was dry, tight. "My mother said he was someone she knew from college."

Neither man responded.

"Tax evasion-it's not a violent crime. It doesn't mean he's involved in the sniper attack." She felt slightly nauseated. "I can't be sure the man who spoke to me at the museum was with him or even was who I saw in Central Park."

"Where are your parents now?" Ethan asked seriously.

"On a plane to New York, I hope."

Nate shifted to him. "Show me some of your songs."

Ethan tapped the side of his head. "They're all up here."

"Recite a few."

"Can't. That'd ruin them. It'd be like picking fruit before it's ripe. But if you wait too long, it rots on the tree. I don't want that to happen, either." Ethan stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lifted a book of matches, tore off a single match and struck it. "I know, Sarah. No smoking in the house. Indulge me this one cigarette." He didn't wait for her to respond, just lit the cigarette. "Look, Deputy, you can lighten up. I'm just mowing lawns and picking bugs off the rosebushes."

"What do you know about Conroy Fontaine?"

"Nothing. Sc.u.mbag looking for dirt on the president."

"Stay where I can find you." Nate turned to Sarah, his blue eyes as no-nonsense and incisive as she'd seen. "Let's go."

She started to protest his dictatorial tone, but he was in marshal mode and in no mood. She might as well have been a suspect he was marching off to jail, although she decided his manner was for Ethan's benefit more than for hers.

When he fell in beside her on the way back to the house, he didn't relax. He remained tight, rigid. Sarah picked up her pace. "I figured since you're an official federal law enforcement officer, you'd need a warrant to search Ethan's cottage. I had a feeling he was going to bolt."

"You knocked on his door, you realized he was gone, you slipped inside and had a look." He glanced at her. "You're impulsive. You said so yourself."

"You watched me from the bathroom window?"

"I got to the back door just as Brooker got to the front door. If he'd tried anything-"

"You were there. Thanks." She smiled. "I think."

"Sarah..."

She looked out at the lush spring gra.s.s, the azaleas and roses, the first vegetables poking up in the garden, the river glistening in the morning sun. She thought of her father and Granny sitting out on the front porch when she and Rob were kids. Her mother cutting flowers in the garden. "It'll never be the same here."

"Sarah, listen to me-"

But she ran inside, suddenly not wanting to hear what he had to tell her. She wished she could close up the house, shutter the windows, hide-stop time. Stop Nate from telling her anything else that she didn't want to hear.

Only she'd never been one to run from the truth.

She waited for him in the front hall.

He entered the house slowly, and when she saw his expression, the air went out of her. "What? What's happened?"

"Collins called while you were in the cottage. Juliet Longstreet was pulled into a car at gunpoint early this morning. She escaped by jumping out into traffic."

"Is she okay?"

"Sc.r.a.pes and bruises. She was almost roadkill." He managed a half smile. "Leave it to Juliet to jump out of a moving vehicle."

"If it was her only chance-"

"It was. She was unarmed, out for her morning run. The car got away. There were two attackers. One up front, one in back. The one up front had blond hair-that's all she remembers." He paused, his gaze connecting with hers. "The one in back was dark haired with a slight foreign accent."

Sarah tightened her hands into fists and sank against the wall. "It can't be-Nate, it just can't be the man I saw in the park, the man I saw in Amsterdam-"

"Tell me what happened at the museum, Sarah. Everything. Start to finish."

"Nothing *happened.'"

"You flew in from Scotland, Rob flew in from New York?"

She stared at an old framed map of Tennessee on the wall opposite her.

"Rob was there first?" Nate prodded her.

She nodded. "He got there a few days ahead of me. I came in for the weekend. I was finishing up my doc.u.mentary and totally preoccupied, but we don't get many opportunities to be together as a family. I felt I had to seize the moment. I arrived on Friday. Sat.u.r.day morning, we did a ca.n.a.l tour like every other Amsterdam tourist. Sat.u.r.day afternoon, we went to the museum. Rob and Dad don't linger. My mother and I do. Especially my mother."

"Where were you and Rob staying? With your parents?"

"Yes. They've rented an apartment on one of the ca.n.a.l streets."

"They went on the ca.n.a.l tour with you?"

"That was the whole idea. We did everything together. It was a great few days. Amsterdam's a beautiful city, especially in the spring."

"Then lunch?"

He wasn't in a mood for distractions. Sarah stood up from the wall. "We had Dutch pancakes at a restaurant near the museum."

"Recognize anyone there? Did your parents talk to anyone?"

"No. No, I don't think so. We walked over to the museum from the restaurant. It was fairly crowded-we just did the Dutch collections. We didn't run into anyone or speak to anyone until we got to The Night Watch."

Nate leaned against the wall, studying her. He bit off a sigh. "Sarah-Christ-"

"As I've told you, Rob and my father had already moved ahead to the antique Delftware." She spoke briskly, stating the facts. "My mother can take forever with a painting. The crowds got to me, and I wandered into an adjoining collection. That's when the man I thought I recognized in the park spoke to me."

"What did he say?"

"He just talked about the painting. Something about how he was surprised that the old paintings of Amsterdam didn't look all that different from the new paintings of Amsterdam. I think he was trying to be funny. Then he left. I moved on to another painting. I was getting a little impatient for my mother to join me so we could go find Rob and my father. I finally went back to The Night Watch and found her talking to another man."

"Nicholas Janssen," Nate said softly.

"I didn't know. He was handsome, well dressed, silver haired. I didn't think much of it."

"Did he see you?"

Sarah shook her head.

"Your mother-"

"She didn't mention him. I didn't mention him. There was no reason." She looked off, remembering that day. "My mother was a little distracted, but nothing that concerned me. She wasn't sweaty or upset or put out-or excited and happy. I a.s.sumed she'd met an acquaintance."

"What did you do after you caught up with your brother and father?"

"We finished up at the museum and walked back to my parents' apartment on one of the ca.n.a.ls. It's a long walk, but it was a beautiful afternoon. We took our time. My father does well, but his stamina isn't what it used to be."

"How old is he?"

"Seventy-eight. And my mother's fifty-six." With a burst of energy, Sarah moved into the kitchen. "I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. My mother is not having an affair with Nicholas Janssen or anyone else."

Nate followed her without comment.

She turned on the water in the sink and filled a teakettle. "The people who make judgments about my parents based on their age difference don't know them. They're devoted to each other. It doesn't mean my mother's not aware that she's more than twenty years younger than my father and likely to outlive him."

"Back to Janssen. Did your mother ever mention him? He was in the news when he skipped out?"