"Which in every other instance you do." She looked at him. "It's what I do, isn't it?"

"It's what you've taken on, almost as long as I can remember.

Reuben was the big demarcation, but there was stuff before that. In the blurry before time."

She leaned her head against his shoulder a moment. "Everything changed when Daddy died. For me, before that's the blurry time. She could've helped us then, you know. Cousin Bitch. There might not've been a Reuben if she'd done the right thing by Mama then. But she didn't, and there's no point speculating on what might've been."

She sat silent awhile, drinking wine, studying the fountain. "Mama came through for us, every day."

"I know it."

"It must've been so hard. When I think about it, I can't fully imagine what it was like for her. The worry, the work, the grief. The fear. But she always came through for us. Then, she takes a chance on someone who makes her think she's special, and who starts off treating her so well. And it nearly kills her and her children. Hardly a wonder she started closing doors."

"I never blamed her for that."

"No, no, you never have, and sometimes I do. God, it shames me that sometimes I do. It doesn't matter what I know, sometimes it just pisses me off she won't walk outside, go down to the market, go to the damn movies. Anything. It doesn't matter I know she can't. Sometimes…"

She shook her head, took another sip of wine. "I think about now, this situation, and how I can't send her and Carly away somewhere. I wouldn't have to worry so much if I could put them on a plane to anywhere else until this is over."

"We need to talk to her about therapy again. Not now," he said before Phoebe could answer. "Not when she's already tied up. But later, when… like you said, this is over. Josie and I could move in. Not just temporarily."

"You wouldn't be happy."

"Phoebe-"

"You wouldn't. And I am happy here, most of the time. I'm just having a champion pissy spell. I got all these wires crossed in me right now. Arnold Meeks is clear on Roy. I knew that before I went down there to observe. But observing got me twisted up and mad and scared all over again. I'd rather be pissed than scared, so I'm out here concentrating on that part."

"Doing a good job."

"That's the important thing."

Across the courtyard a hummingbird, bright as a jewel, flirted with the riot of morning glories climbing the iron trellis against the wall.

Free to choose any blossom, Phoebe thought, free to fly on. People weren't birds.

"How's Mama?"

"Crocheting. Before he left, Duncan had her working on ideas for stock and cost analysis. God knows. Just the right thing to keep her mind off all this. He's good at that. Working people."

She lifted her eyebrows. "Compliment or complaint?"

"I like him. He got Carly in on the discussion about stock. Fashion consultant. She was completely into it."

"As a future personal shopper should be."

"Knowing what buttons to push, well, that's a talent, and he's got it in spades. How and when and where you push them shows what you're made of, to my way of thinking. So yeah, Phoebs, I like him just fine."

"I more than like him fine."

"Oh. Really?" Eyes narrowed now, Carter took a long look at her face. "And that worries you because?"

"I didn't say I was worried."

He rolled his eyes, then tapped a finger on the faint line dug in between her brows. "Right there says you are."

She shrugged, then rubbed the line away. "Come on, Carter. Crappy track record."

"Roy was a jerk. Everyone's entitled to screw up with a jerk once. And I'm sorry I said that, sort of, because I just remembered he's dead. Still."

"A jerk, dead or alive. True. Crappy track record," she repeated. "Demanding career that often messes up personal plans."

"A guy's dating a cop, he's got to figure on that already. I don't buy either worry. Sorry. Try again."

"A seven-year-old daughter. I'm not saying she's a problem or a worry. She happens to be the love of my life. But she's a factor. Her happiness is first. And forging a serious, lasting relationship with someone when they have to accept someone else's child as part of the package is tricky."

Carter flicked that away with his fingers. "People do it every day. Several times a day. I could do a Google search and get you stats."

"They do, but those people aren't me, or Carly, or Duncan for that matter. Add in this house. He has this fabulous place out on Whitfield Island. He built it. I couldn't-say if things went to a much higher level-ever live there. I can't move. And there's Mama. Take me on, take her on, too.

"Now, maybe one of those factors isn't such a deal, just one thin string. But add them all up, that's a big, messy ball of sticky twine. And tying it all up? I don't know if he more than likes me fine." I

"Could ask him."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You man you." She blew out a breath. "Well, I've succeeded in depressing myself on that score, which has nicely distracted me from my brood, which distracted me from this horrible situation. Now it's time to leapfrog back to horrible situation." She got to her feet. "I need to work awhile." She leaned down, kissed Carter's cheek. "Thanks for the wine, and the rest."

"It was your wine but the rest is always available."

It could have been worse, Phoebe thought. With Ava and Josie huddled in the kitchen and her mother and her daughter closeted with designs and yarns, Phoebe had a solid chunk of time to work undisturbed.

For a house under siege, she decided, theirs was clicking along at a remarkably normal pace.

In the morning, she thought, she'd contact the FBI, relay the situation and request copies of files where she was a part of a crisis team. Long time gone, she mused as she opened more current files. But she'd take no chances.

Every case file she read took her flying back. Amazing, she realized, how every detail popped clear. Four years, five, it didn't matter how long ago. Once the log was in front of her, she remembered.

Suicides, domestic disputes, robberies gone wrong, custody battles, embittered employees, revenge, financial gain, grief, mental or emotional instability. Any and all could and did arrow toward hostages.

And sometimes, no matter what was done, negotiations failed. She failed.

She organized by year, and started with the first year she joined the Savannah police.

By the end of that year she'd lost three. One suicide, one hostage and one hostage-taker. It didn't matter that there'd been dozens more she'd talked down, or talked out. She'd lost three, and now each was fresh in her mind.

So fresh she began second-guessing the steps she'd taken, the words she'd spoken, the tone used. Too long a pause-not enough of one. Fruitless to do so, she knew. Even dangerous.

Still, three lives had slipped out of her hands. Was Roy dead because of one of them?

She started a fresh file with the names of the dead, the year, the place, the nature of the crisis. Then began to chart the names of those connected to them personally, professionally. And added the names of team members.

She was halfway through the second year when Ava gave her doorjamb a knuckle rap. "You've got to come up for air. And a meal."

"I'm fine, Ava. Promise."

"You're not. None of us are. But we need to breathe and eat and sleep." She crossed to the desk. "Your mother and your daughter need to see you doing those things, even if it's only for a bit here and there."

"All right, I'll come down. Ava, I know you're planning to take a couple weeks with Steven out West later in the summer. I was thinking you ought to bump that up. The semester's over in just a few days anyway. You could head on out, hook up with him early, then-"

"Be out of harm's way, if by any chance I'm in it? Seeing as we're all stuck in this house for however long that might be, it's pretty shortsighted of you to make me mad on day one."