Realizing it was not a trap, and that a walk was actual y afoot, Boyd raced around the sofa, ran back to me and jumped up with his forepaws on my chest, dropped, spun, jumped up again, and began lapping my cheek.

“Don’t push it,” I said, clipping the leash to his col ar.

A fine mist floated among the trees and shrubs at Sharon Hal . Though I felt reassured by the presence of a seventy-pound chow, I was stil fil ed with a formless apprehension as we moved about the grounds, kept watching for a flash, or the flicker of light on a camera lens.

Four squirrels and twenty minutes later, Boyd and I were back at the annex. Ryan was at the kitchen table, ful mug of coffee and unopenedObserverin front of him. He smiled when we entered, but I saw something in his eyes, like the shadow of a cloud passing over waves.

Boyd trotted to the table, placed his chin on Ryan’s knee, and looked up with the expectation of bacon. Ryan patted his head.

I poured myself coffee and joined them.

“Hey,” I said.

Ryan leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth.

“Hey.” Taking both my hands, he looked into my eyes. It was not a happy look.

“What’s happened?” I asked, fear pricking my stomach.

“My sister cal ed.”

I waited.

“My niece has been hospitalized.”

“I’m so sorry.” I squeezed his hands. “An accident?”

“No.” Ryan’s jaw muscles bulged. “Daniel e did it on purpose.”

I could think of nothing to say.

“My sister is pretty fragmented. Crises are not her forte.”

Ryan’s Adam’s apple rose and fel .

“Motherhood is not her forte.”

Though curious to know what had happened, I didn’t push. Ryan would tel the story in his own way.

“Daniel e’s had problems with substance abuse in the past, but she’s never done anything like this.” Boyd licked Ryan’s pants leg. The refrigerator hummed on.

“Why the hel —” Shaking his head, Ryan let the question die on the air.

“Your niece may be crying out for attention.” The words sounded clichéd as I said them. Spoken solace is not my forte.

“That poor kid doesn’t know what attention is.”

Boyd nudged Ryan’s knee. Ryan did not respond.

“When is your flight?” I asked.

Ryan blew air through his lips and slumped back in his chair.

“I’m not going anywhere while some brain-fried psycho’s got you in his viewfinder.”

“You have to go.” I couldn’t bear the thought of his leaving, but wouldn’t let on.

“No way.”

“I’m a big girl.”

“It wouldn’t feel right.”

“Your niece and sister need you.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’ve outwitted the bad guys before.”

“You’re saying you don’t need me around?”