She seemed to be having trouble with the front door.

That wasn't it. Her keys were in her hand. She hadn't touched the door. She glanced back at him, her eyes wide, her mouth partly open, and Ty was out of his truck in an instant. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. Nothing, probably." She took a breath, pushed back more hair that had escaped from her ponytail. "The door sticks. I'm sure that's all it is. People leave it open all the time."

"Let's take a look."

Ty took the sagging steps onto the porch. The door to her building had dirty glass and peeling white paint that had grayed with neglect and the onslaught of city soot and grime. It was open slightly, about six inches.

"I don't want to overreact," Carine said.

"It's okay, Carine. Anyone would be on edge after what happened to you yesterday. Why don't I check your apartment, make sure everything's okay?"

She hesitated, long enough for him to push the door open the rest of the way and enter the outer hall. It was poorly lit and smelled like cat litter. Dirty steps led up to the second floor. Carine fell in behind him, then gasped and lunged forward, but Ty grabbed her wrist, keeping her from shooting past him. He saw what she obviously had already seen-the door to her apartment was also open.

There was no sign of forced entry-no ripped wood, no broken locks.

"I locked up this morning," she whispered. "I know I did."

Ty released her. "It was a rough morning for you. You were off your routines. Anything's possible."

"Anything's not possible. I locked my door. It's not something I even think about anymore. It's routine-"

"All right. You locked your door. Do you want to call 911 and let the police check it out?"

She grimaced, then sighed heavily. "Not yet. I'd feel ridiculous if they're just going to tell me I forgot to lock up. I'll have a look first." She glanced at him. "It's my apartment, so it's my responsibility."

"Suppose someone's in there?"

"I'll yell."

Ty rolled his eyes. "Right."

"Don't argue with me. It's not like you came down here with an M16 strapped to your back." She lowered her camera bag. "Hang on. I'll get out my cell phone-"

"If someone hits me over the head, you'll call 911?"

"I might," she said, but her smile didn't quite make it.

While she dug out her cell phone, North slipped inside her apartment, moving quickly down a short hallway into the kitchen. The other rooms all connected to it. Bathroom, living room, bedroom. The doors were open, the apartment was quiet, still and, he thought, very bright. Yellow, citrus green, lavender blue, dashes of raspberry. Some white, but not much. Not enough.

He snatched a paring knife out of the dish drainer, Carine behind him, her cell phone in hand. She got her own knife and followed him as he entered each room and looked around, seeing no sign of a rigorous search or any obvious missing valuables. Television, laptop and stereo were all intact. What else there was to take, he didn't know. Carine had never been into jewelry. He remembered she'd wanted a simple engagement ring. When he pulled the plug on their wedding, she'd offered to feed it to him.

She led the way back into the kitchen and sank against the sink and its citrus-green cabinets, her arms crossed, the last of her ponytail gone. She chewed on the inside corner of her mouth. "Maybe you had a point and I did forget to lock up."

"Is that what you think?"

"I don't know that I can think. I'm a damn wreck. I keep expecting any minute I'll just put it all out of my head and be fine-" She broke off with another sigh. "It doesn't look as if anyone got at the door with a crowbar-I suppose it could have popped open on its own. This place is old, and the landlord doesn't fix anything until it's absolutely necessary. But why would it pop open today?"

"Who else has a key?"

"Antonia. When she started spending more time in D.C. I gave one to the Rancourts in case I ever lose mine. And Gus. He has one."

Ty returned the knife to the dish drainer and stood back from her, taking in her pale skin, her tensed muscles, her shallow breathing. A thick covered rubber band clung to the ends of a small clump of hair. He pulled it out and handed it to her. She'd had enough. She'd reached her saturation point. Time for him to break through. "Ten minutes," he said.

"What do you mean, ten minutes?"

"You've got ten minutes to pack up. We're leaving."

She straightened. "Says who? What about the police?"

"You're not even sure there's been a break-in."

"You don't want to explain why you're here to them, do you? You'd have to tell them about Manny-"

"You're under nine minutes. Keep talking." He settled back against the sink next to her, noticed the photograph of a red-tailed hawk above her table. It was one she'd taken-he remembered she'd had to lie on her stomach and hang off a ledge to get the angle she wanted. "If you don't have time to pack, I can always run into Wal-Mart with you for new undies."

She didn't budge. "What if I tell you to go to hell?"

He smiled, leaning in close to her. "Eight minutes."

Her arms dropped down to her sides, and she scowled at him. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. You need to get out of here and clear your head. Anyone in your position would, so don't take it as a knock on you. You just can't see it. I can." He glanced at his sports watch. "I'm counting."

She disappeared into her bedroom without further argument. His head was pounding. Maybe it was all the cheerful, bright colors, so different from the warm, dark colors of her log cabin in Cold Ridge. It wasn't the same, not having her across the meadow, waking up to the smell of smoke from her woodstove on cold mornings. She was down here, finding dead people and painting things lavender.

A wave of nostalgia and regret washed over him, and he wondered if they could ever go back to the easy friendship they'd had before he'd decided he was in love with her, or recognized that he was, had been for a long time. Whatever it was.

He walked over to her bedroom doorway and watched her load things into a soft, worn tapestry bag opened on her bed. "Need some help?"

"No, thanks."

Cool. A hint of irritation. She womped a pair of jeans into her bag. North smiled. "Give it up, Carine. If you didn't want to go with me, you'd make me hit you over the head and carry you out of here."

She fixed her blue eyes on him. "Being an experienced combat medic, you'd know just where to hit me so it wouldn't inflict permanent damage, wouldn't you?"

"Actually, I would. But you want to go home. Admit it. You don't want to stay here by yourself-"

"Fine. You're right. So let's do it. Let's go home."

She zipped up her bag, slung it over her shoulder and marched across the shaggy blue rug to him, but when she started past him, he caught one arm around her waist. "Are you going to be mad the whole trip?"

"I knew I'd have to face you again one of these days," she said. "I just didn't think it'd be under these circumstances. No. I won't be mad the whole trip. I can't stay here. I know that."

She let her bag fall to the floor, didn't move away from him. He didn't know why, unless she was remembering, as he was, what it was like when they'd made love. "Ty-" She broke off, a warmth in her tone that hadn't been there before. "I don't know anyone else who'd do what you've done, come down here, follow me around, let me come close to shoving you into oncoming traffic."

"It wasn't that close."

But she was serious, sincere, and didn't respond to his stab at humor. "Here you are, trying to look after me, whether I want you or need you to or not, even wheny ou know-well, never mind what you know. Thank you."

"You were going to say even when I know what I did to you."