She found her bra and shirt. Her curls were tousled, her skin luminous, the blue flecks in her eyes standing out against the gray early dawn light.

J.B. had on his pants and boat shoes and headed forthe door, his shirt in one hand, his gun and holster in the other. "I'm not waiting. Meet me down at the docks."

He saw the flash of her rose tattoo as she threw back the covers and reached for her pants. His chest muscles seemed to clamp down on his lungs and heart, constricting his breathing, and it was as if every moment of last night came at him as a whole.

It had been good, but insane.

He slipped out into the hall. Just as well he had a grenade explosion to deal with.

No one could ever say Olivia West was haunting the place. If she were, she'd have flung him onto the cliffs or struck him with a bolt of lightning before the night was over.

Maybe that was what the boat was. Maybe her aim was just off.

By the time he reached his Jeep, he was normal again. Making love to Zoe had been natural, perfect, what they both wanted. No need to feel guilty or worry about ghosts or any of it. His mind was focused, and he concentrated on the task at hand. Get to the docks. Talk to Bruce. Talk to law enforcement. Most likely he'd be explaining himself to the Boston FBI field office before the day was out. They covered Maine. They wouldn't like grenade explosions of any kind.

The dampness penetrated his shirt and jacket. He could taste salt on the drizzle. It was cold out, the air still and very quiet.

A marine patrol boat was down by the docks. Police and fire truck lights penetrated the gloom. It was a low ceiling, not that foggy-which wouldn't last. There was more fog and rain coming.

As he climbed into his Jeep, Zoe ran out of the house barefoot, carrying her shoes, and jumped in next to him. "Luckily all my clothes were right where you threw them."

"So were mine."

As he drove, she pulled on socks over her painted toes, then tucked her feet into her sneakers and tied them. Just over a week ago, he'd had to refer to a map to get here, and when he'd driven down Main Street, he'd thought…how quaint. He'd found the perfect place to do nothing for a couple of weeks. Boat, walk, look at gravestones, eat lobster and blueberry pie and let his demons depart out of sheer boredom, out of disgust with the cloying charm and beauty of Goose Harbor, Maine.

One murder in thirty years. J.B. couldn't pretend it wasn't part of what had drawn him here.

"A grenade explosion will bring on the feds," Zoe said. "Bruce must have told the police by now that you rented the boat. They'll love that. I worked with marine patrol on a boat explosion once. A guy tried to off his wife by blowing up his boat with her in it. Wanted to make it look like an accident."

"She survived?"

"Yes. Not a happy woman."

J.B. parked next to Christina's café. State and local police cars and a couple of fire engines had pulled in as close to the docks and his boat as they could get without going into the water themselves. If it'd been a destructive grenade of any kind, the entire area could have caught fire-the boats, the docks, the buildings. Bruce Young was standing by himself a few yards from a group of cops, his big arms crossed on his chest as he grimly surveyed the scene.

Zoe got out slowly, her Maine cop eyes taking in who all was down at the waterfront. She'd know people, names. J.B. didn't. He met her in front of his Jeep. Bruce spotted them and waved, and they walked down to the dock. He was still in the parking lot-the police weren't letting anyone on the docks.

"How do you like this?" he asked. "I was in my truck on my way here when-boom! Jesus, it scared the hell out of me."

Zoe shoved her hands into the pockets of her fleece vest. "You called it in?"

He shook his head. "Your sister did."

"Christina? She's here?"

"Making muffins for us rise-at-dawn types." But Bruce obviously didn't like it, either. "The cops are in with her now."

Zoe absorbed his words with a small, tense nod. "She's okay? Did she see anything?"

"She's fine, Zoe. I don't know what she saw. I haven't talked to her." He glanced at the cluster of law enforcement officers, the stretch of yellow police tape, and sighed heavily. "You don't think these guys are telling me anything, do you?"

J.B. noticed Donna Jacobs and what he guessed was a state detective exiting the café. "What about Kyle Castellane?" he asked Bruce. "Was he in his apartment?"

Bruce shook his head. "No idea."

Jacobs joined them, quickly explaining that she had no information on who'd tossed the flasher in the boat or why. "We're still looking for Teddy Shelton. Maybe he can help us." She glanced at J.B. "FBI and ATF are on their way. I told them I've got a fed here."

"I'm on vacation."

"Yeah. That's what I told them." She turned to Zoe, and J.B. thought her expression softened slightly-but not much. "Talk to your sister. She can fill you in on some things. I just don't have the time."

She didn't wait for an answer.

Zoe glanced at J.B., then Bruce. "You two want to come with me?"

Bruce rubbed a big palm over the top of his head and heaved another sigh. "Nah. I want to see about my boat. Geez, it was an eyesore on a good day." He turned and gazed out at the harbor, the horizon all gray now, sky and sea indistinguishable. "Weather sucks. Hey, if I learn anything, I'll let you know, okay?"

J.B. nodded. "I'm sorry about the boat."

"So long as it wasn't some scumbag who followed you to town. If that's the case, we won't be letting any more vacationing cops in town, fed or otherwise." But his stab at humor didn't last. "I bet it's that dumbass Teddy Shelton. I gave the guy a break, and this is what I get. A torched boat. What if a spark'd touched off a fire? The boats in close like this, you'd get a chain reaction, they'd all go up in flames. It'd be my boat that started it, a guy I helped. I'd have to leave town."

Zoe put out a hand toward him. "Bruce-"

He gave a curt wave. "Forget it. Go talk to Christina."

They found her behind her counter. A half-dozen lobstermen had gathered at the tables by the harbor-front windows to drink coffee and watch the show. There was no teasing this morning.

Without a word, Christina filled three mugs with coffee, set them on a tray and carried them to a table away from the lobstermen. She pulled out a chair and sat down, then J.B. and Zoe did likewise.

Christina looked drawn and tired, but her hands were steady as she held her mug and stared at her steaming coffee. "Do you ever feel like bad things start happening and they just keep happening, and there's nothing you can do to stop them? You don't want to be along for the ride, but there you are. And there's just nothing you can do."

Zoe nodded. "I've felt that way a lot this past year."

Her sister bit off an angry sigh. "I hate being a whiner."

"What happened this morning?" J.B. asked.

"I was in here working. I heard Kyle go out, and then I looked up and there was this awful explosion and the harbor was on fire. That's what it looked like. It was still dark, that gray light you get just before dawn. I didn't even know it was your boat." She paused, but neither

J.B. nor Zoe interrupted her. "I ran out-I don't know why. I wasn't thinking." She stopped again, blinking back tears, and she had to set her mug down. "Kyle's BMW careered right at me. I thought it was going to run me over."

Zoe said nothing, but J.B. was becoming more aware of her reactions, her defenses. She was shaken by what her sister had said. He added sugar into his coffee. Normally he drank it black, but having a stun grenade explode in front of her must have made Christina heavy-handed with the coffee measure. It was almost too strong to drink.