Zoe walked over to the picture window. She couldn't see the view, just her reflection and that of the flickering kitchen light. She thought she looked shaken and ragged, a ghost of the law enforcement officer she'd been even just a few months ago.

"Forget it," she muttered. "You look around. I'll wait in the Jeep."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She turned abruptly, running into the solid wall that was J. B. McGrath. She was so preoccupied, she hadn't noticed him move toward her. That wasn't good. What if he'd been Shelton? Someone else? She was out of practice. Her head wasn't in the right place. She glanced away, trying to quash her agitation and uneasiness. "I don't think I can handle being back here."

"You are handling it. It's just not as easy as you'd like it to be."

"If I cause anyone to get hurt-"

"Zoe."

She held up a hand. "It's okay. I'll snap out of it. It's been a long day." Being that close to him got to her, and she shot across the ancient linoleum floor to the door out to the deck. "I'll take a look outside and meet you back at the Jeep."

She walked out onto the deck, its floorboards soft and sagging, but the below-freezing temperature quickly penetrated her cotton sweater. Crossing her arms for added warmth, she ventured down the steps to the narrow footpath cut through the tall grass. The shallow cove was straight ahead, the water was so far away now, just past low tide, that she could barely hear it. She could smell the salt-drenched mud and sand, the seaweed. The stars and moon were breathtaking sprinkled across the night sky.

J.B. had followed her, his tall figure casting a long shadow across a stretch of moonlit path. The kitchen and porch lights in back didn't do much out here. Zoe paused, letting her eyes adjust to the unrelenting darkness.

"I don't suppose you undercover FBI agents have built-in night vision equipment?"

"I've got some goggles in my Jeep."

She glanced back at him. "You know, I have no idea if you're serious or not. I'm going to guess not. Why would an undercover agent need night vision?"

"We like our toys."

"What about a simple flashlight?"

She saw his smile. "I have that, too."

But he reached out suddenly and touched her arm, his other hand on the grip of his pistol, his eyes focused on the stretch of light woods between the cottage and the lobster pound.

"Did you hear something?" Zoe whispered.

Then she heard it herself, a rustling sound. And a moan.

J.B. drew his pistol, touched her shoulder in unspoken communication she recognized-he'd investigate, she'd stay put. Basic. He was the armed law enforcement officer. She wasn't.

Then came a pained, male voice. "Ah, hell. Zoe? Zoe, is that you? It's me, Kyle. I could use a hand before I freaking freeze to death."

Zoe lunged forward, but J.B.'s grip tightened on her elbow. He shook his head, and she understood. She'd responded like a friend, not a cop. "Are you alone?" he called to Kyle.

"Yeah. I think so."

"Can you walk?"

"I just got the crap beat out of me-ah, shit. I'm covered in mud." But they could hear him moving in the brush, making his way toward them. "What a cesspool."

J.B. didn't budge. "Just keep walking."

Zoe could see Kyle now, a solitary figure emerging from behind a nearby spruce. He stumbled onto the path, and she caught him around his thin waist, taking most of his weight. He wasn't wearing a jacket and was cold to the touch. When he looked up, a ray of moonlight struck his face. It was battered, bruised and bleeding. A mess.

"Good God, Kyle," Zoe said, "what happened?"

His lower lip was split, his nose was bloody, his left eye was swollen. His right cheek looked bruised and raw. J.B. kept his hand on the grip of his 9 mm. Kyle managed to hold up a shaking hand. "Relax, okay? Both of you. He's gone. That guy, Shelton. He punched me out and took off."

"How long ago?" J.B. asked.

"Awhile. I don't know." He brushed at his bloody nose with the back of his hand. He'd started to shiver uncontrollably. "I've been pretty out of it."

"Come on," Zoe said. "Let's get you inside and get some ice for these cuts, although you'd think you wouldn't need any as frozen as you are. J.B. has a cell phone. He can call an ambulance and the police-"

"I'm okay. I don't want to make a stink. Shelton overreacted, but I had it coming. He caught me sneaking around his truck-he wasn't in the mood to ask questions. I don't blame him. For all he knew, I was going to shoot him and steal the damn thing."

Not likely, Zoe thought, but she let it go. This wasn't the time to push him for answers. He was in pain and cold, his teeth chattering. She helped him onto the porch, aware of J.B. behind her, on high alert.

Once she got him inside, Kyle sank onto Bruce's duct-taped couch and moaned again, drool oozing over his cut lip as he continued to shiver. His khakis were soaked and muddy at the knees, his sweatshirt smeared with blood from his lip and nose.

J.B. took a musty blanket off the back of a chair and laid it on Kyle's lap. "Looks like Shelton hit you more than once."

"Twice that I remember. I don't know, maybe three times." His speech was slightly slurred, but Zoe attributed it to his swollen lip and shivering. She found an ancient ice tray in the freezer, whacked it on the counter and dumped the ice in the sink, then scooped a half-dozen cubes into a dish rag and handed it to him.

"You should have that lip and eye looked at," J.B. said. "Your nose might be broken, but I doubt it. What about your teeth?"

"I didn't lose any." Kyle placed the ice pack on his lip. "I'll be fine. It was stupid, the whole thing. I mean, the guy saw me and went apeshit."

"Did he say anything?" Zoe asked.

"Yeah. He said, ‘Get the fuck away from my truck.'"

J.B. didn't smile. "Then what happened?"

"I told him, ‘Yeah, man, cool, I'm moving,' but he had me by the arm. Jerked me around and pounded my face. I mean, shit. I'm no fighter. But I told you, I'm not messing with him-I'm not pressing charges."

Zoe sat next to Kyle on the couch. He seemed nonplussed more than angry or scared, as if he still didn't quite understand, couldn't absorb, what had happened to him. "Christina missed you at dinner, and Bruce saw you out at the lobster pound shortly before dinner. Was that when you ran into Shelton? Around dinnertime?"

"I guess. I don't know. I think I was knocked out." He yawned, more a reaction to stress and exposure, Zoe thought, than tiredness, but she could see the simple motion caused him pain. He winced and moaned in pain, licking along the edge of his lip where it was cut, the blood mostly dried. "You know, one minute Shelton's beating the shit out of me, next thing, I'm facedown in the mud."

Zoe frowned. "Kyle, if you lost consciousness or were incoherent for even a few minutes, you need to see a doctor."

"I don't know, maybe I was just in shock or something." He moved the ice up to his eye. "How bad do I look?"

"Pretty bad," Zoe said.

She could feel J.B. taking in every word, every nuance as he stood motionless in the middle of the room. He'd returned his pistol to its holster. "Did you hear Shelton leave?" he asked.

Obviously losing energy, Kyle sank back against the couch. "I don't think so, no."

"Where was his truck when he saw you?"

"In the driveway."

"The cottage driveway?"

"Yeah."

J.B. didn't relent, but his tone was steady, nonthreatening if not gentle. "What were you doing here?"

"I was filming-" Kyle paused, bolting up straight as if he had a fresh surge of energy. "That's right! I dropped my camera. The fucker came at me, and I dropped it-I didn't even think of hitting him with it. It must still be out there. I was filming at the lobster pound, then I walked over here, because I-I don't remember. I saw a hawk or something."