The next morning I rose at six, put on clean khakis, brushed my teeth, dabbed on blush, and drew my hair up under a Charlotte Hornets' cap. Good enough. I headed downstairs, intending to ask Ruby about laundry arrangements.

Andrew Ryan occupied a bench at a long pine table in the dining room. I took a chair opposite, returned Ruby's cheery 'Good morning,' and waited while she poured coffee. When the kitchen door swung closed behind her, I spoke.

'What are you doing here?'

'Is that al you ever say to me?'

I waited.

'The sheriff recommended this place.'

'Above al others.'

'It's nice,' he said, gesturing around the room. 'Loving.' He raised his mug to a message above our heads: Jesus Is Love had been burned into knotty pine and varnished for posterity.

'How did you know I was here?'

'Cynicism causes wrinkles.'

'It doesn't. Who told you?'

'Crowe.'

'What's wrong with the Comfort Inn?'

'Ful.'

'Who else is here?'

'There are a couple of NTSB boys upstairs and a special agent from the FBI. What makes them special?'

I ignored that.

'I'm looking forward to guy-bonding in the bathroom. Two others are on the main floor, and I hear there are some journalists squeezed into a bonus room in the basement.'

'How did you get a room here?'

The Viking blues went little-boy innocent. 'Must have been lucky timing. Or maybe Crowe has pul.'

'Don't even think about using my bathroom.'

'Cynicism.'

Ruby arrived with ham, eggs, fried potatoes, and toast. Though my normal routine is cereal and coffee, I dug in like a recruit at boot camp.

Ryan and I ate in silence while I did some mental sorting. His presence annoyed me, but why? Was it his supreme self-confidence? His custodial attitude? His invasion of my turf? The fact that less than a year ago he'd prioritized the job over me and disappeared from my life? Or the fact that he'd reappeared exactly when I'd needed help?

As I reached for toast I realized he'd said nothing about his stint undercover. Fair enough. Let him bring it up.

'Jam, please.'

He passed it.

Ryan had gotten me out of a nasty spot.

I spread blackberry preserves thicker than lava.

The wolves weren't Ryan's fault. Nor was the crash.

Ruby poured refils.

And the man has just lost his partner, for God's sake.

Compassion overrode irritation.

'Thanks for your help with the wolf thing.'

'They weren't wolves.'

'What?' Irritation boomeranged back.

'They weren't wolves.'

'I suppose it was a pack of cocker spaniels.'

'There are no wolves in North Carolina.'

'Crowe's deputy talked about wolves.'

'The guy probably wouldn't know a wombat from a caribou.'

'Wolves have been reintroduced into North Carolina.' I was sure I'd read that somewhere.