“It’s not like I committed a federal offense-”

“Actually, yes, it is. Interference in a federal investigation.”

“You’re not investigating-” She stopped herself. “Anyway, Juliet says you had to have known I was following you. You could have stopped me, and you didn’t.”

Leave it to Juliet to open her big damn mouth. “Deputy Longstreet is welcome to her opinion.”

Sarah tilted her head back, the gray eyes cool now, intelligent and not particularly apologetic-she didn’t regret what she’d done. “I’m not always that impulsive.”

Nate didn’t give her an inch. “From what I’ve seen so far, I’ll bet you are.”

His conversation with Sister Maria-Hector’s death-had thrown him. Rob’s certainty that he was the shooter’s target, his determination to get his sister out of New York, her friendship with the president and Nate’s own growing conviction that Dr. Dunnemore, with her pretty eyes and blond hair and her sexy southern accent, was trouble.

It made sense to put her on a plane.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said stiffly. “I thought I was following a man who’d gone through a terrible ordeal and had just heard some upsetting news. I wasn’t thinking about you as a federal agent.”

“Your mistake.”

“What, are you going to arrest me?”

“I might.”

She didn’t seem especially intimidated. “You eat, sleep and drink your work, don’t you, Deputy Winter?”

“And you don’t, Dr. Dunnemore?”

“My work doesn’t involve guns and bad guys.”

“Precisely why you’re going home.”

She bristled. “I want to see my brother.”

“Go ahead.”

She walked stiffly out of the room, but Nate was impressed. He’d done his best to wither her, and she hadn’t withered. People far more accustomed to him in a kick-ass mood would have.

He’d have to make sure he didn’t touch her again. Catching her when she’d tripped on his feet yesterday, then when she started to go down in the park, this morning when he’d marched her out the door at Sister Maria’s-no telling what would happen if he got hold of that slip of a body again.

He told himself it wasn’t the reason he was sending her home.

Sarah rode up front with Nate with her knees pressed together, her hands on her thighs and her eyes straight ahead, making no pretense that she liked one damn thing about being sent home. But it was what Rob wanted-it seemed to be what he needed-so she was going.

She didn’t care what Nate wanted. His threat to arrest her was a lot of hot air-he wouldn’t dare. Like Rob, he needed a place to put his anxiety over the shooting and Hector Sanchez’s death, and it was on her shoulders.

Having reporters shouting questions at her about her relationship with the president as she and Nate had left the hospital hadn’t helped her case, either.

Rob was fully on board in the conspiracy to get her out of town.

And maybe it did make sense. He was improving, at least physically. Their parents would be there soon and could help get him back to Night’s Landing to complete his recovery. In the meantime, Sarah would make him a prune cake and fix up the downstairs bedroom for him.

When he got home, she’d take him out on the river in the boat. They’d read books on the porch and drink gin and tonics and catch up with each other. It’d been ages since they’d had a good stretch of time together. She was between projects. She didn’t know what to do with herself-she could easily stay in Night’s Landing until Rob was back on his feet.

But she’d made it clear to her brother that she was returning to Night’s Landing to put his mind at ease, and for no other reason.

He’d been amused. “I can just see you going toe-to-toe with Nate, but I’d put money on Nate. You still care what people think. He doesn’t. He’s a good guy, but you’re not going to win with him.”

She didn’t want to win. She just wanted her brother safe and well, and if going home helped him in his recovery, even in a small way, then she’d go home.

Nate negotiated the city traffic with no indication that his injured arm bothered him in the least. “Mad?” he asked, unconcerned.

“Resigned to my fate.”

His laugh surprised her. “Is that a touch of the infamous Dunnemore drama?”

Sarah glanced over at him and saw that his color was off slightly. He had to be in at least some pain. “You’ve been researching my family?”

“Ten minutes on the Web last night. If all those reporters can do it, so can I. I found some paper you wrote on southern historical archaeology sites.”

“Did you read it?”

He gave her a quick, wry smile. “I only had ten minutes.” He made a turn into LaGuardia Airport, impervious to the crush of traffic. “Anyone else in Night’s Landing?”

“The property manager. Neighbors, friends. I won’t be alone.”

“This property manager lives in your house?”

“In a separate cottage.”

“Fancy.”

She smiled. “My grandmother used to live there. The place is lovely, and it’s very special to my family, but I wouldn’t say it’s fancy.”

“My uncle’s redecorating the house I grew up in. He did up the half bath like it’s a tropical paradise. It’s god-awful.”

Sarah laughed in spite of her determination to stay irritated. She didn’t want to let him off the hook for pressuring her, threatening her with arrest. “Why don’t you go up there to recuperate?”

He turned to her without warning, his eyes almost a navy blue in the afternoon light, then shifted his gaze back to the congested traffic ahead of him. “I wasn’t seriously injured.”

“But the trauma of being shot-”

“I’ve been shot at before.”

She didn’t push her point further. “The distinction being that the bullet didn’t actually hit you.”

“I don’t need to recuperate.”

“You want to find the real sniper before he tries again,” she said quietly, without any hint of accusation.

“Everyone does.”

“But you’re one of the victims. The FBI and your bosses can’t want you intruding-any more than you wanted me following you this morning.”

He kept his eyes pinned on the road. “I’m not worried about getting into trouble with the FBI or anyone else.”

“In a way, we’re in the same position.”

“No, we’re not.”

She decided to abandon that approach. “Does Special Agent Collins believe Hector Sanchez is their man?”

Nate didn’t answer. She started to point out the signs directing them to her gate, but he’d already made the turn.

“I see. Wrong question. You’re not going to or you can’t tell me. If the shooter, whoever it is, actually targeted you and Rob, he had to know you were going to be at that news conference. You can’t just pull off a sniper attack in Central Park without advance planning. Was Hector Sanchez capable of that kind of detailed planning?”

More silence.

“Then the real shooter-the guy who set up Mr. Sanchez-must have known he was one of Rob’s informants, manipulated him somehow because of it, and then killed him when he no longer needed him.” Sarah thought a moment. “No one’s going to think Rob slipped up, will they? Blame him because the real shooter found out about Sanchez?”

“Sarah, I’m not discussing the investigation with you.”

“Why not? I’m about to fly to Tennessee and spend the next few days baking prune cakes and fluffing pillows in anticipation of my brother’s arrival. I’m not going to meddle in the FBI’s and the Marshals Service’s business. Even if I wanted to, how could I?”

Nate glanced at her. “Time to change the subject.”

She wasn’t getting anything out of him. “How far did I really get before you were onto me this afternoon?”

“Not an inch. I saw you get into your cab.”

Sarah believed him. She told herself she wasn’t surprised and had no reason to be embarrassed, but felt a jolt of heat that, after he parked, prompted her to try to talk him out of escorting her to the gate. “I’ve got an hour. There’s no chance I’m not going to make my flight.”