"Kyle, I know it must be so tempting for you, but you have to realize that Aunt Olivia took great care to make arrangements for when she was no longer around. She left nothing to chance. If there's anything in her attic, it'll only be what she wanted her family and any ghouls to find-"

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Is that what you think I am? A ghoul? This is a serious documentary."

"Of course it is," Zoe said. He looked so hurt. "I didn't mean to imply you were a ghoul. Look, let me think about it, okay?"

"Fair enough." He grinned suddenly, cuffed her on the shoulder. "Hey, it's good to have you back. I'll see you around, okay?"

He turned and trotted back down toward the docks, apparently delighted with her response. Zoe had the feeling agreeing even to consider his request was more than he'd expected. Feeling the cold, she knotted her hands into fists and slipped them up inside her sleeves again, picking up her pace as another cold breeze gusted off the water. She hadn't counted on the wind.

"That kid isn't doing a scholarly documentary," J.B. said. His tone was matter-of-fact, not critical. "He's looking for drama, titillation, scandal."

Zoe nodded. "You're probably right, but I hope not. Christina isn't worried-she knows him better than I do."

"Blinded by her feelings for him."

"That's cynical."

"Just stating the obvious." He wasn't argumentative, and he looked at her without expression. "Your father's death will be in it."

"It has to be, doesn't it?" She didn't mean for him to answer, and he didn't. "Aunt Olivia died the next morning."

"You blame yourself?"

"I shouldn't have told her." She pictured her great-aunt that afternoon, her thin white hair sticking out in soft white waves, like angels' wings, as she tried to remember the name of whoever it was she believed had killed her only nephew. Zoe pulled her lips between her teeth, fighting for self-control. "I thought she'd find out and it'd be better to come from me, but I should have had her doctor with me-"

"Everyone says her doctor told you it wouldn't have made any difference. That wasn't what killed her."

I know who killed Patrick. Oh, Zoe, why can't I remember anything anymore?

"Damn."

She shot ahead of McGrath, then started to jog, her legs aching almost immediately, the wind whipping tears out of her eyes. She'd been on a run on a morning just like this a year ago, an incredible future ahead of her, everything she wanted, everything she'd worked so hard for, at her fingertips. All of it had evaporated the moment she'd spotted her father's body in the wet, cold sand.

J.B. fell in beside her. He wasn't running, hadn't made a sound. He was just suddenly there, inches away from her as she slowed to a walk. "I thought I could handle being back here." She was breathing hard, not just from running but also from the tension and swirl of emotions-grief, fear, anger, frustration. An FBI agent in Goose Harbor, the break-ins, Teddy Shelton. Did they have any connection to her father's murder? Crazy to think so. Yet she couldn't stop herself. "I've been away a year and haven't resolved anything-I know that. But I thought-I thought at least I could get up this morning and have a nice breakfast, go out kayaking-"

"You had a nice breakfast. You can still kayak." A hint of humor came into his tone. "Might want to wait for the wind to die down."

She stared down at the gray, jagged rocks, a short stretch of pebble-and-gravel beach. The tide was out. Two seagulls picked at an exposed clump of dark green, slimy seaweed.

She'd gotten to her father before the gulls had. She remembered that.

J.B.'s calm was a counter to her sense of frenzy, her uneasiness. "How many people knew you liked to run in the nature preserve?" he asked abruptly, quietly.

She didn't hesitate. She'd answered this question before, at least a dozen times. "I don't know. Everyone. No one. I never thought about it."

"No way someone would mistake your father for you."

She shook her head as if he were asking a question. "No. I can't believe that. There's no evidence-nothing to suggest whoever killed him was gunning for me. Technically-" She broke off, shaking her head. "Technically it's possible, but it doesn't seem likely."

"Any leftover cases from your state police days?"

"CID looked into it, and I've racked my mind for months. No, there's nothing." She breathed out, smelling the low tide now, wondering how she'd stayed away for as long as she had. "You'd think there'd be a record if my dad was investigating Teddy Shelton. You sure that guy was keeping tabs on me?"

"No. Could be a coincidence."

"But you don't think so."

"I'm keeping an open mind."

Her own smile took her by surprise. "You're on va-cation-you don't need to keep an open mind."

He glanced at her. "Like being a civilian, don't you?"

"It has its advantages."

He acknowledged her words with a small nod. His nose, she noted, was red, too, but she still had that sensation that he belonged out here, on the Atlantic, Montana or no Montana. He had the hard-bitten look of a man who'd spent his life at sea.

"Teddy Shelton could have an innocuous reason for being here, you know," she said.

"He's not your problem, Zoe. I got into it with him. I'll play it out."

She tilted her head back and eyed Special Agent

J. B. McGrath, decided he was very serious for someone on vacation. "You're supposed to be relaxing and having fun."

He smiled. "I am relaxing and having fun."

His smile eased the tension between them and seemed to go straight through her, penetrating her natural reserve when it came to men. The way it brought a sexy gleam to his blue eyes, the way it tilted up one corner of his mouth and not the other-she found herself licking dry lips.

Without thinking, without even knowing she was doing it, she put one hand on his hard shoulder and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

He could have stopped her. He was a trained FBI agent.

She could have stopped herself, except she hadn't stopped herself from doing anything insane in a year.

He tasted like salt, and she wanted more.

Then she realized what she'd done and jumped back, swearing under her breath. "Oh, damn. I must be going nuts."

"I don't know." His voice was that studied calm, laced with amusement. "Nuts can be good."

She bolted. She called on all her mental and physical training, her ten years of experience in law enforcement, and got the hell out of there, pushing herself hard and not even feeling the wind now.

When she reached the house, she was gasping for air and had a sharp stitch in her side. She staggered up the driveway, thinking she might throw up her blueberry pancakes.

That'd be just great. Kiss an FBI agent, then throw up.

Everyone in Goose Harbor would know by noon. She'd never hear the end of it. She'd have to move back to Connecticut and stay there for good.

She could feel the exertion in her calf muscles and had to slow down when she hit the stairs to the second floor. Not in as good a shape as a year ago. Definitely. She'd tried to keep her body fat below twenty-two percent.

When she reached her bedroom, she shut the door and thought about barricading herself in, but that seemed a little over the top. She'd reacted to the moment. She was entitled. No one would blame her for being just a tad out of control her first days home.

Except maybe the man she'd kissed out of the blue.

His footsteps sounded on the stairs. "I'm going for a boat ride," he said calmly, as if nothing had happened. By his standards, maybe nothing had. "Wind's dying down. Need help getting out your kayak?"

"No. Thanks." She sounded relatively calm and normal herself.

"Water's fifty-eight degrees in the harbor."