Cy only stared, afraid to hope for so much. "I'd do anything you told me. I wouldn't cause you trouble."

"We'll look into it. I guess I'd better come up with some rules so you can see what you're getting into." To give Cy time to compose himself, he heaped more pate on a cracker. If he'd done nothing else right this day, he'd taken the boy's mind off his misery. "No drinking till you're of age."

"No, sir."

"No wild parties unless you invite me."

A chuckle escaped Cy, and the sound had him blinking. "No, sir."

"No flirting with my woman." Women, he corrected himself silently. He'd meant women. Hadn't he? But he was thinking of Caroline.

Cy's color rose again, "No, sir."

"And I won't flirt with yours." He winked at the boy and grinned. "Got yourself a girl, do you, Cy?"

"No, sir. Not exactly. I just look sometimes, is all."

"You've got plenty of time to do more than look. Any girl in particular?"

Cy wet his lips. There was no way he could lie to Tucker. It wasn't fear, he realized. Not the way it had been with his father. It was love. "I, ah, well, I kind of look at LeeAnne Hardesty. She grew breasts last year. It sure does make a difference."

Tucker choked on the pate. "By Christ, it does," he agreed. He tiptoed onto boggy ground. "You're just looking?"

"Well…" Face burning, Cy ducked his head. "Once in the lunch line she was behind me and somebody shoved her. Her breasts pushed right into my back. They sure were soft. And she put her arms around my waist a minute, just to get her balance back. And I…" He swallowed the shame. "I couldn't help it, Mr. Tucker. I just couldn't stop it no matter what."

Tucker had an image of Cy tossing LeeAnne Hardesty down on the tiles of the cafeteria and tearing in. "What was it that you couldn't stop?"

"Well, you know. It just happens sometimes, no matter how I try to stop it. It just gets… you know. The tool of Satan."

"The tool of Satan," Tucker repeated slowly. He would have laughed. In fact he was damn sure he'd have rolled on the ground and laughed fit to kill if Cy hadn't had that guilt-stricken look in his eyes.

Austin Hatinger strikes again, Tucker thought, and blew out a long breath.

"I never heard it called that." To hide the grin, Tucker spent a lot of time stroking his chin. "It seems to me since the good Lord put it between your legs, it has more to do with Him than the other one."

"Evil thoughts and wicked women make it hard."

"And thank God for it." Tucker poured more lemonade and wished it were bourbon. "Listen, son, there isn't a man alive who hasn't had his pecker stiffen up on him at an inopportune moment. It's natural." He took a slug and said a quick prayer. "You know, ah, about how babies get hatched and all that, don't you?"

"Yeah." Jim had told him all about it, and he had it from his dad. "She's got the egg and you've got the sperm. It's best if you're in love and all."

"Right." Tucker felt a wave of sweet relief. "It's better, too, if you wait till you're responsible." And wasn't he a fine one to talk? "Looking at LeeAnne and thinking about her breasts, and doing something about it, those are two different things."

"I guess I know." It was fascinating to Cy to say forbidden things right out loud and not get walloped. He edged in a little deeper. "But sometimes, especially at night… I even do all the states and capitals to keep my mind clear of it, but it don't always work. And it gets, you know. It feels like if I don't do something about it, I'll just explode." He shot Tucker a quick look. "Sometimes I do. It's evil, isn't it, to work on yourself that way?"

Tucker scratched his head. "Seems to me a man's got to take matters into his own hand- so to speak- now and again. I don't know that I'd recommend it as a habit, but when an itch just won't go away, it makes sense to scratch it."

"But don't things happen to you if you do?"

"You don't go blind or grow hair on your palms, if that's what you mean."

"You sure?"

This time Tucker had to grin. He lifted his hands, examined the palms with care. "Positive," he said, and was gratified when Cy grinned back.

Burns's room in Innocence was small and spartan. As accommodations went, it was merely adequate. He was pleased that Nancy Koons kept it spotless, though. And since he always left a few telltales, he was satisfied that no one came in without his knowledge or went through his things. Everything pertinent to the case was locked in his briefcase unless he was actively working.

He had a twin-size bed, a chest of drawers, and a chifforobe. It had taken him three days to convince Nancy Koons to find him a desk and a sturdy chair. The ceiling fan puffed at the hot air. This inadequate system had prompted Burns to procure an electric fan from Larssons's. Since he'd been fortunate enough to be given one of the two rooms with an adjoining bath, he concluded that he had everything necessary for his stay.

He hadn't expected the bonus.

Stretched beneath him on the iron bed was Josie Longstreet. Burns was still shuddering from their second bout. For the life of him, he wasn't sure how they'd gone from sharing a lemonade at the diner to bouncing on the squeaky mattress. But he wasn't complaining.

He hadn't had that kind of wild, ripping sex since… Actually, he supposed he'd never had that kind of sex. The women he dated were cool and composed in bed and out. Five seconds after Josie had dashed up the back stairs ahead of him, she'd been pawing at his clothes.

Over his head, Josie held up her newly painted nails. Scarlet Sin this time. She found it wonderfully appropriate. Experimentally, she raked her nails down his back, watching the red enamel flow over his white skin like blood.

"Honey," she said, "you just about wore me out. I knew there was a tiger inside that suit."

"You were fabulous." Burns knew women expected compliments at such times, but words nearly failed him. "Incredible."

"I've had my eye on you, Special Agent. Something about a man with a badge turns me on fierce." She thought of Burke and frowned at the ceiling. "You think I'm sexy?"

"I think-" He lifted his head. "You're the sexiest woman alive."

That made her smile and grant him a nibbling kiss. "And pretty, too?"

"No, not pretty," he said, too busy playing with her hair to see the flash in her eyes. "Gorgeous, like some wild Gypsy."

The flash died into pleasure. "You're just saying that because I'm stark naked and your pecker's twitching."

Normally, his sensibilities would have been offended, but she was quite right about the state of his tool of Satan. "I'm saying it because it's true. You're dazzling, Josie."

"I sure like the way you talk." She sighed as he began to nuzzle her breasts. Sweat and sex made her skin sticky, though the fan was aimed directly at the bed. Still, Josie had always figured the best way to beat the heat was to lie down naked. And if you were going to lie down naked, you might as well do something about it.

"Not all men know how to say what women like to hear. You take my first husband, Franklin? After we'd been married a month or two and the bloom had worn off, so to speak, he'd finish up, grunt, then start snoring.

Lots of men are like that. They just take what they want, then pass on."

His response was muffled against her breast. She let him enjoy himself. "A woman's entitled to pretty words. Course, all women don't care about that. Some're just after the same thing some men are after. Appreciating pretty words is the difference between a tramp and a lady, I think."

"You're an incredible lady."

Her smile glowed. "And you're a real gentleman. Smart, too. I love hearing you talk about your cases." Lazily, she stroked his flanks. "But I guess you'll be going back north soon." She snuggled down to find his lips with hers. "It's an awful shame that you and I got together right before you have to leave."