Smiling, he gently touched her face. "The ever-suspicious M. J. Novak. Will you trust me to keep you safe tonight?"

She nodded.

"Good. Because I will." He took her face in his hands and gently kissed her on the forehead. "I'm right in the next room if you need anything," he said, and rose to leave.

"Adam?" The name was said softly, so softly he might almost have imagined it.

He looked back. "Yes?"

"You're not at all what I thought."

"I take it that's a compliment?"

"The very best."

For a moment they gazed at each other, each of them seeing things they'd never seen in the other's eyes before.

He turned off the light. "Good night, Mariana Josefina," he said. Then he went downstairs to call Lieutenant Beamis.

M. J. was still asleep when Adam rose the next morning. He had glanced in on her several times during the night, just to reassure himself that she was safe, that she was really there in the next room, that she was more than just some lingering ghost of a dream. And there she was, snug in the sleigh bed, her hair a black thicket against the pillow. Quietly he sat down in the chair beside her.

Sunlight winked through the curtains, the beams dancing around the walls and the polished furniture. He'd forgotten how charming this guest room could be, how lovely it looked in the morning light. Or perhaps it never had been this lovely before; perhaps, with this woman sleeping beside him, he was seeing the room's charm for the very first time.

There was a knock on the door. He turned to see Thomas poke his head in.

"I thought perhaps she would like some breakfast." whispered Thomas, nodding at the tray of food he was carrying.

"I think what she'd really like," said Adam, rising to his feet, "is to be allowed to sleep." He followed Thomas into the hall and softly closed the door behind him. "Did you collect her clothes?"

"I'm afraid they're quite beyond repair," Thomas said with a sigh.

"Then would you arrange to have some things sent up to the house? She'll probably need her entire wardrobe replaced. I doubt anything survived the fire."

Thomas nodded. "I'll put a call in to Neiman-Marcus. A size six, don't you think?"

With sudden clarity, Adam remembered how slender she'd felt against him last night, climbing the steps to the guest room. "Yes," he said. "A six sounds about right."

Downstairs, Adam lounged about the dining room, sipping coffee, picking at his breakfast without much appetite. He listened with amusement as Thomas made phone calls in the next room. A complete wardrobe, Thomas said. Yes, undergarments as well. What cup size? Well, good heavens, how should he know? Thomas hung up, and came into the dining room, looking distressed. "I'm having a problem with, er… dimensions."

Adam laughed. "I think we're both out of our depth, Thomas. Why don't we wait until Dr. Novak wakes up. She can give them a better idea of her, uh, dimensions."

Thomas looked relieved. "An excellent idea."

They heard the sound of tires rolling over gravel.

Adam glanced through the window and saw a blue Chevy pull up in the driveway. "Must be Lieutenant Beamis," he said. "I'll let him in."

He was surprised to find both Beamis and Shradick waiting at the front door. Apparently they came as a matched set, even on Saturdays. They were even similarly dressed in strictly nonregulation golf shirts and sneakers.

"Morning, Mr. Q.," said Beamis, pulling off his sunglasses. He held up a briefcase. "I got what you wanted."

"Come in, please. There's coffee and breakfast, if you'd like."

Shradick grinned. "Sounds great."

The three men sat down at the dining table. Thomas brought out cups, saucers, a fresh pot of coffee. Shradick tucked a napkin in his shirt and began to adorn a bagel with cream cheese. Not just a dab here and there, but giant slabs of it, topped with multiple layers of lox. Beamis took only coffee, heavily sugared-a favorite energy source, he said, from his patrolman days.

"So what do you have?" asked Adam.

Beamis took several files from the briefcase and laid them on the table. "The files you asked for. Oh, and about the explosion last night-"

"Not a gas leak?"

"Definitely not a gas leak. Demolitions went over what was left of the house," said Beamis. "It appears there was a pull-friction fuse igniter, set off when the front door opened. The igniter gets pulled through a flash compound, lighting a sixty-second length of fuse. That in turn leads to a blasting cap. And a rather impressive amount of TNT."

Adam frowned. "A sixty-second fuse? Then that explains why it didn't go off right away."

Beamis nodded. "A delay detonator. Designed to blow up after the victim is in the house."

"They aren't fooling around. Whoever they are," Shradick added, around a mouthful of bagel.

Adam sat back, stunned by this new information. Until now he'd hoped for some simple explanation. A faulty furnace, perhaps; a natural gas leak whose odor he hadn't detected. But here was incontrovertible evidence: Someone wanted M. J. dead. And they were going to extraordinary lengths to achieve that goal.

He was so shocked by the revelation that he didn't realize M. J. had come down into the dining room. Then he looked up and saw her. She seemed swallowed up in one of his old bathrobes, the flaps cinched together at the waist. She brought with her the scent of soap, the sweetness of shampoo. Gone was last night's look of defeat; this was the M. J. he knew, back again. She glanced around the table at Beamis and Shradick.

"You heard what Lou said?" asked Adam.

She nodded. Then she took a deep breath. "So I guess it's time to face the facts. Someone's really trying to kill me."

After a silence, Adam said, "It does appear that way."

Hugging her arms to her chest, M. J. began to move slowly around the room, thinking as she paced. The picture of calmness, thought Adam. Except for her hands; he could see they were trembling. She stopped by the window and gazed out at the sunwashed lawn and trees.

"Believe me, M. J.," said Beamis. "Bellemeade Precinct's got all cylinders going on this. I've spoken with the detectives. They're checking all the possibilities-"

"Are they really?" she asked softly.

"There are a lot of angles to consider. Maybe it's someone you gave expert testimony against in court. Or an ex-boyfriend. Hell, they're even questioning Ed."

"Ed?" She laughed, a wild, desperate sound. "Ed can't even program a VCR. Much less wire a bomb."

"Okay, so it's probably not Ed. Not him personally, anyway. But he has been questioned."

She turned to look at Beamis. "Then everyone agrees. It's a bona fide murder attempt."

"No doubt about it. It only takes one look at your house. Or what used to be your house."

She looked out again, at the trees. "It's because of them."

"Who?"

"Nicos Biagi. Jane Doe. It's because of what's happening in the Projects."

"You could have other enemies," said Beamis. "And you lost your purse, remember? One of those punks could've gotten into your house-"

"And set a sixty-second delay detonator?" She shook her head. "I suppose they picked up a case of TNT at the corner grocery store. Lou, they were kids. I grew up with kids just like them! They wouldn't fuss with flash compounds or blasting caps. And what's their motive?"

"I don't know." Beamis sighed in exasperation. "They did rough you up-"

"But they didn't kill us! They had the chance, but they didn't." She turned to Adam, her eyes alight with green fire.

God, she was fearless, he thought. Magnificent.

"Well, say something, Adam!" she snapped.

He looked at Beamis. "I have to agree with her. She's right, Lieutenant. Those kids wouldn't know about fuse igniters. This bomb sounds like a sophisticated device. Built by someone who knew what he was doing."