This was not good.

Dew had collected on the mums and the grass and glistened in the morning sun, and she could hear the wash of the waves down on the rocks. It was cool enough for a jacket, even over her sweater, but she didn't want to take the time to go back for one-she wanted to get to the café and join other people as soon as possible. She didn't need to be alone with J. B. McGrath for one minute longer than was absolutely necessary.

She was feeling awkward and out of control this morning, but it wasn't just him. It was last night, too. She'd talked with Donna Jacobs, the acting chief of police, a former captain with the Portland Police Department-very good, but wary of having Zoe back in town, especially with two break-ins within twenty-four hours of her return.

The water was choppy in the harbor as they walked along Ocean Drive, no sign of fog or mist or rain in the clear air. The bright reds and oranges of the huge, stately maple trees in yards above the harbor were breathtaking against the blue sky. Soon the leaves would start to fall, the reds first, the rusts and burgundies last.

Zoe had to choke back a tug of emotion. Autumn was her favorite season in Maine. She used to associate it with cooler weather, beautiful scenery, plentiful lobsters, hikes and Olivia's birthday-for years, they'd all wondered if she would make it to her next birthday, never realizing that she'd die on her birthday. Her one-hundred-first.

"I think you should probably find a different place to stay," she said.

J.B. shrugged. "Let me get more information onTeddy Shelton first. Then you can decide what to do with me. You don't go armed anymore, ex-detective. I might come in handy."

"I'm going to let you think you're funny."

"Who's trying to be funny?"

"McGrath, you're not armed. You're on vacation-"

"I can be armed. Just watch me."

From her own experience in law enforcement, Zoe knew that FBI agents could carry a weapon in any state, without a local permit, on duty or off. "How long are you on this vacation of yours?"

"It's open-ended."

"Meaning they don't necessarily want you back?"

"Of course they want me back. They just aren't sure what to do with me."

"No more undercover work?"

"I never said I worked undercover."

"Stick-"

"Judge Monroe can say what he wants." He glanced over at her, his very blue eyes unreadable. The more agitated she got, the calmer he seemed to get. "I can't talk about it."

"He says you were almost killed. Your throat-" "Your friend Stick must have good connections."

"Excellent connections." Zoe narrowed her eyes on him, aware not only of her quickening heartbeat but of just how damn sexy he was. It was nuts. She had to be going out of her mind. "I've got enough going on in my life right now without hanging around with a loose cannon of an FBI agent."

"You'll have to draw your own conclusions about me," he said quietly. "Yes, I'm just off a rough investigation. Yes, I'm on vacation to help put it behind me. I did my job. It wasn't easy. End of story."

"Bruce thinks you're just obnoxious. Christina says the guys all want to throw you overboard and set fire to your boat."

"That's because I know more and can do more ocean stuff than they think an FBI agent born and raised in Montana should."

Zoe smiled. "Like Bruce said. Obnoxious."

The docks were quiet at this hour. The working boats were already out, the pleasure boats-fewer of them in October than during the summer months-were still in. A handful of walkers and runners cruised the waterfront streets, but most of the tourists were still tucked in bed or having scones and muffins at their inns.

Pulling her hands up into her sleeves, Zoe looked across the harbor and saw two lobster boats churning out to sea.

J.B. hunched his shoulders against a sudden gustingbreeze. "You can almost see Jen Periwinkle crawling around on those rocks, can't you? I've only read a few of your aunt's mysteries, but her fictional Maine is a lot like the real one."

"All Jen Periwinkle's mysteries get solved," Zoe said.

"No DNA labs, either. She does it with her wits and clues scattered through the book. It's fun, a puzzle to be solved. Real life-"

"Real life's different. Aunt Olivia knew that."

J.B. nodded, as if he'd known her himself. "I'm sure she did."

"She never took anything here for granted. That's why she created the nature preserve and left most of her money for its protection and continuing work." Zoe glanced out toward the head of the harbor and her aunt's famous house, a Maine landmark. Hers now. An honor and a burden, but a problem for later. "She was born and raised in Goose Harbor and lived here her whole life, but she didn't assume that everything she loved would automatically be here for future generations."

J.B. moved on toward the café. "Did people mind when she bought up that much prime coastal acreage and set it aside as a nature preserve?"

"At first it was controversial, but you can't develop every single inch of coastline. People know that. And it turns out the preserve attracts tourists and ultimately makes money for the town."

"Even with two break-ins in two days, there was a lot more crime in Jen Periwinkle's Goose Harbor."

Zoe looked out past the mouth of the harbor at the endless blue horizon, where sky and water seemed to meet. "At least the crimes Jen had to deal with only affected fictional characters, not real people."

Eleven

Christina's Café was between crowds. The lobstermen had grabbed their coffees and muffins and gone, and the tourists hadn't arrived yet. On his first few days in Goose Harbor, J.B. wandered in with the lobstermen, then went out on his rented boat and stayed out of their way-at least his definition of out of their way. The lobstermen wanted him back in Washington.

He didn't know about his next few days in Goose Harbor.

He sat with Zoe at a small table overlooking the water. The busted lock on the door was the only evidence of last night's break-in. Christina was in a cranky mood, slamming around behind the counter and barking orders at her waitresses. She completely ignored her older sister.

Finally, she put her hands on her hips, exhaled loudly and apologized. "I didn't get enough sleep last night." She smiled over the glass-front counter at Zoe, who'd gotten up to inspect the muffin offerings. "Hey, break-fast's on me. What'll it be?"

Zoe grinned. "Since it's on you instead of your unemployed sister, I'll have blueberry pancakes with sausage and coffee."

"Orange juice?"

"Sure."

Christina leaned over the counter and called down to

J.B. "What about you, Agent McGrath?" "Same thing, except I'll pay my way. And you can call me J.B."

She held up a hand. "J.B. I can do, but you should seize the moment about me paying. I'm usually not this generous." Her crankiness had disappeared so fast and so completely, he wondered if he'd imagined it. "Give me a sec and I'll bring over two coffees."

Zoe returned to her seat, and when she gazed out at the sunrise, J.B. saw the pain in her eyes, fleeting, not meant, he thought, for him or anyone else. It couldn't be easy for her to be back here, with the onslaught of memories and unanswered questions, her uncertainty about her own future.

Christina swooped out from behind her counter and set two mugs of coffee on their table, pulling up a chair and sinking into it as if she'd been on her feet all night instead of just a couple of hours. "Kyle didn't want to come back here last night," she said. "He insists he wasn't spooked, but we ended up having a couple of drinks and talking for hours about his documentary. He's really into it. Obsessed, I'd say."

Zoe poured milk into her coffee from a pottery pitcher painted with a sprig of wild blueberries. "I hope it works out for him."