"I'm not implying anything." He got to his feet, his mood difficult to read. "Let's have a look at that cut. There's a first-aid kit here?"

"On top of the fridge."

He retrieved it, a shoebox that Betsy had stuffed with first-aid basics. He set it on the table and dug out a roll of gauze, tape, a gauze pad, scissors and antibiotic ointment. "I'm assuming you're not going to a doctor."

"I want to look for my car."

"Yeah. Your car. You'd love to find it with Teddy Shelton inside." He lifted her hand onto the table and unwrapped her makeshift bandage of paper towels and a dishcloth. "If I think you need stitches, you're going to the emergency room."

"You can handle it, Dr. McGrath."

He eyed her with just the barest hint of a smile. "Don't mind me touching you, do you?"

She felt herself flush at the sudden memory of his hands on her hips, her body pressed into him. "Awfully cocky, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Some things are obvious."

He dumped the bloody cloth in the sink and dampened a fresh one, which he used to dab at her cut. She didn't pull back. He was gentle but unrelenting.

"See," she said, "it's not that bad."

"Ever been shot at?"

She shook her head. "First time. There were a lot of bombs and guns this summer in Connecticut, but none directed at me. You?"

"Yep. Shot at, knifed, kicked, bit. Well, one guy tried to kick me. He did not succeed."

"I've been drawn on," she said. "Lots of people have screamed at me. Maine 's a low-crime state. Bluefield 's a small town. Like I said, there were the bombs this summer-ouch."

"Sorry."

He set down the wet cloth and squirted on a dab of antibiotic ointment, using his finger to spread it over the cut. It stung, but more from the pressure than anything in the ointment itself.

He snipped off a length of gauze. "Did you tell yourself not to fall for anyone in law enforcement?"

"Never thought about it."

His look was disbelieving. "Right."

"My last date was with an organic farmer in Connecticut. Great guy. We went to a goat show together."

J.B. tore open the gauze pad, lifted her hand andplaced the pad on the wound, then wrapped it with the length of gauze he'd cut. He tied and taped his bandage. "There you go. Does it hurt?"

"It's throbbing, but it's okay."

He winked. "You tough Mainers."

"What about you?" she asked. "No law enforcement types in your romantic life?"

"I haven't had much time for romance in the last year."

His tone was neutral, but she knew better. "Losing your father and barely surviving a dangerous undercover operation-that's a lot."

"Yep."

She could see he wasn't going to talk about it. "I'm not a cop anymore."

"I can see that. Otherwise you'd have had a gun."

"Not necessarily. If I was off duty, I wouldn't have had a gun. If I was still working in Connecticut, I couldn't just waltz into Maine -"

"All right. You win that point. Even if you'd been armed, Shelton still could have shot you."

"He shot at me," Zoe corrected. "It's the glass that hit me."

But J.B.'s teasing mood had ended, and with one finger he tilted her chin up, his eyes locking with hers. "I heard the shot. I saw Shelton scream off in your car, and I grabbed Kyle. He told me you weren't dead."

His intensity-his fear-unsettled her, and she tried to cut it with humor. "You knew I wasn't dead? Then why'd you come here? You should have followed my car!"

It didn't work. His intensity didn't ease. "Kyle had seen the blood from your cut." J.B. traced her lower lip with his thumb. "I'm glad you're okay."

Before she could even get her breath, he was back on his feet, collecting up the first-aid materials. He returned the box to its spot on top of the refrigerator, and Zoe, watching him, realized the kisses and touches, the awareness, weren't fleeting, meaningless, of the moment. She didn't know where they'd lead, or if they stemmed from their mutual need for distraction-J.B. because he was running from his bad memories, her because she was running from herself.

Coming home hadn't settled anything. If anything, it had triggered more questions, more problems, more danger.

She didn't like it. Something had to give.

"Do you think Teddy Shelton's responsible for the other break-ins?" she asked. "I'd suspect Kyle, too, but he doesn't need to break into the café or Chris's house."

J.B. leaned against the sink and smiled. "I suspecteveryone." He nodded at the window by the table. "Your pal Stick is here."

Zoe hadn't noticed him walking up the driveway. He knocked on the side door, but didn't wait for her to respond before he came in. "I heard what happened," Stick said. "Good Lord, Zoe. What can I do to help?" He glanced into the front room, shattered glass still all over the floor and dining room table. He paled visibly when he turned back to Zoe. "Christ in heaven. This is getting out of hand."

"Kyle and I are both okay, Stick."

Behind her in the kitchen, J.B. dropped onto his chair and said nothing. Stick was her friend. This was her house. She supposed it was possible J.B. was acknowledging her role, but decided he was just playing the observer and keeping his own theories to himself.

Stick was clearly worried and shaken. She invited him to sit, but he shook his head. "Zoe, I don't know- I don't like how close you came to getting killed today."

"He wasn't trying to kill me."

"But he could have. You know that. Maybe you should consider asking for police protection until he's caught."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry, okay?"

She might not have spoken. Her old friend raked a hand through his thinning white hair. "Christina should have round-the-clock protection, too. Zoe, I'm serious. It's been quiet all year. Then these break-ins, and you show up-" He broke off. "I'm not blaming you, of course."

Zoe sank back against her chair. "I know that."

J.B. poured himself a glass of water at the sink. "Have you had anything to do with Teddy Shelton since he got to Goose Harbor?" he asked Stick.

"I've seen him around town. That's it. Why?"

"You'd think you'd want to keep an eye on a man you sentenced to seven years." J.B. leaned back against the sink again and drank his water. "At least you'd be curious about why he decided to come here."

Stick sighed. "I should have known you'd check. Yes, I sentenced Shelton. I was the judge at his trial. For a long time, I didn't make the connection-I just wasn't paying attention, I suppose. Then we ran into each other on the waterfront, and he seemed as surprised as I was."

"After Patrick West's death-"

"There's no connection between Teddy and Patrick. Don't try to make one."

J.B. set his water glass in the sink, his reaction difficult to read. "You didn't mention your connection to Teddy to the police?"

"No, why should I? He served his time. I'm retired. We're living in the same town. There's nothing more to make of it. If Shelton wanted revenge, he's had plenty of time-he's been here over a year." He shifted his gaze to Zoe and smiled, but she could see he hadn't liked J.B.'s questions. "I just wanted to check on you."

"Thanks. I don't know, Stick, maybe we're all on edge for no real reason. Kyle's so obsessed with his doc-umentary-he's managed to annoy me about it. He could have gotten under Teddy Shelton's skin and that's all this is."

"You mean he could have put Shelton on the defensive," Stick said, but shook his head. "You don't believe that."

It was true. She didn't. She glanced at J.B., but he'd thrown his stick of dynamite into the conversation and backed off.

Stick kissed her on the forehead, squeezing her uninjured hand. "This was too close, Zoe. Please be more careful." He shot J.B. an unfriendly look. "Where were you?" "Obviously not here," J.B. said. "Obviously." Zoe watched Stick walk back down the driveway and hated the idea that she worried her friends, that her old mentor had to hear that someone had shot at her. But she smiled at J.B. "Stick's hard on you because he's worried about me. You know that, don't you?"