She didn’t think about armed bodyguards and undercover federal agents and kidnapping survivors and a troubled friend who was dead.

Opening her porch door, she welcomed the fresh breeze coming in through the screen, the smell of the water-and more than a hint of lilac. She put aside her questions and her ghosts, her fears, and danced barefoot out to the kitchen.

When she danced back into the living room, she stopped abruptly, noticing a figure in the doorway, and recognized Huck Boone/McCabe just in time to stifle a startled yell.

He wore a work shirt and jeans, and he shook his head at her. “You must have nerves of steel, Harlowe, dancing by yourself out here in a skimpy cocktail dress, your front door wide open.”

“My dress is not skimpy, and my door-I was letting in the evening air.” The shawl fell off her shoulders, landing in the crook of her arms. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long enough.” He smiled. “I was hoping you’d do a couple dips before you saw me.”

“No dips. I’m not that good a dancer.”

He made no move to come inside. “You’re not that bad, either.”

She took a breath, her heart pounding from exertion and the start he’d given her, showing up on her front porch. “What are you doing here?”

“I was driving past and saw your door open. Thought I’d stop and say hi.”

“You didn’t walk-”

“I’m in my Rover.”

“It’s a dead-end road.”

He shrugged. “I needed to turn around.”

Quinn stood on the other side of the screen door, giving him a skeptical look, but she noticed that nothing about him was relaxed. The humor-the irreverence-was just a facade. But she tried not to react, and said, “I think you’re checking up on me.”

“Do you?”

“Did you follow me here?”

“If I did, you’d never know it.”

She managed a smile. “Cocky, aren’t you?”

“You’re in your own little world here. You’re not even playing music, but you didn’t hear me walk up onto your porch.” He tapped the screen, in front of her nose. “A screen door’s not much protection.”

“It’s locked.”

He just raised his eyebrows.

“I keep the doors and windows open as much as possible.” She slipped the near-useless lock on the screen door and pushed it open, stepping out onto the porch. The floorboards were cool under her bare feet. “Otherwise, I might as well stay in Washington. I like the bay breeze.”

Some of the guardedness in his eyes receded, although he didn’t relax. “Kind of cool tonight, isn’t it?”

With a rush of heat, Quinn remembered she’d tried on her dress straight from the shower and hadn’t bothered with undergarments. The filmy fabric and cold air left little to the imagination. And Huck had noticed-he couldn’t not have noticed, even if he hadn’t been trained to take in everything around him.

“Maybe it’s cool by California standards,” she said. “I think it’s gorgeous. I was just trying on my dress for the open house tomorrow-”

“You’re not going to the open house,” he said.

“No? Did Oliver Crawford rescind his invitation?”

“Quinn-”

“Because I can call him and ask.” Without giving Huck a chance to respond, she took a step back, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her breasts. “I think my outfit works okay. If it didn’t-well, then I might not go.”

His gaze drifted from her head to toes and back as he smiled. “I don’t know about the bare feet.”

“I’ve got strappy heels.”

“Ah. Thank God.”

She lifted her shawl back over her shoulders, subtly covering her breasts. “Gerard Lattimore’s going to be at the party tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“Your buddy Special Agent Kowalski says you like to play with fire.”

“So, you two have talked. I see.” She tried to keep her tone neutral. “And Clemente?”

“Quinn, we’ve had one body wash up onto shore-”

“I’m aware of that.” She tried to ignore the rush of images of the gulls at Alicia’s body, the sudden jolt of mixed emotions. “I think it’s best for me to do what I would normally do. If I don’t-that would just draw more attention to me.”

“You have plenty of attention on you as it is.”

“Then all the more reason for you not to interfere.”

He shook his head. “Don’t even think you can help me. You’re a historian. You might like playing with fire, but it’s not real to you-”

“Did I say I could help you? If I do something wrong, you guys in the field can get hurt. I’m aware of my responsibilities, as well as my limitations.”

“I’m not belittling you.” His tone didn’t soften. “I’m saying-”

“Anyone in my position would jump at the chance to go to a Crawford social function.” Quinn tightened her shawl around her. “It’d look more suspicious if I didn’t go tomorrow.”

Huck sighed suddenly. “You must be hell in a meeting. Do you ever let yourself get sidetracked?”

“Not when I know I’m right. I listen, of course.”

“Ha.”

“I’m not arrogant, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It’s not.” He smiled, and, with one finger, touched her shawl, just below her collarbone. “You’ve got a moth hole.”

“Only a tiny one. It adds character.” She felt a little breathless, and self-conscious, as if she’d just exposed too much of herself to this man-too many of her weaknesses. “Our grandmothers might have worn a shawl like this one to a pre-World War Two dinner dance. Have you ever been to a dinner dance?”

“Several.”

“Not in your present line of work-”

“As a kid. My parents like that sort of thing.”

“It sounds fun-I think. I’d wear a shiny, elegant dress-long, with a wide skirt so I wouldn’t trip when I danced.” She couldn’t believe she was talking about dinner dances, but it was better than arguing about tomorrow’s open house, having him probe her motives. “But then, I’d have to learn to dance.”

“You’ve never taken lessons?”

“Not in my family. If I wasn’t wandering through Civil War battlefields and hiding in musty corners of the Society headquarters with a book, I was supposed to be learning to dive, climb mountains, whitewater kayak, navigate, fly planes-not dance.” She tilted her head back at him. “What about you? Did you ever learn to dance?”

“You bet.” Without warning, he draped a muscular arm around her middle and swept her across the porch. “Follow my lead.” He spoke softly into her ear. “A simple waltz step. One, two, three, one, two, three-”

“Should I ignore your holster and gun?”

“Sure. I’m not in a shooting mood.”

Huck seemed to hold her closer, or she’d leaned into him without realizing it. He picked up his pace just enough that she tightened her hold on him, her shawl trailing down her arms and back. “I’m not all that coordinated…”

“You can do it.” Settling his arm low on her back, he moved more smoothly than she’d have imagined for a man of his build and profession. “There you go. Easy, isn’t it?”

“I’m going to step on your toes-”

“So long as I don’t step on yours. I’d break a few.”

Somehow, he managed to get the screen door open and waltz her into the living room, gracefully, nothing about him self-conscious or awkward or stiff. Her head seemed to spin, and yet she didn’t falter, didn’t trip over her shawl-and she only stepped on his toes twice.

In a low, sexy voice, he hummed a waltz tune into her ear, almost as if he were in another world.

“Huck…”

“It’s okay. I’m not wired. Your cottage isn’t bugged. No one will catch me singing and waltzing.”

With a final swoop, he lifted her off her feet and dropped her effortlessly onto the couch.

Quinn gulped in air. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“My mother tried to make a gentleman out of me. She said I can never go wrong being a gentleman. I know how to tie a bow tie, do six different ballroom dances, eat with the right utensils, make small talk. And I learned not to drink the finger bowl.” He sat beside her. “I don’t look that civilized, do I?”