Now she was the one who was frightened and fighting for control. He could feel it, see it in her stiff movements, in the way her dark auburn hair hung in her face and her eyes tried to avoid focusing on him for too long. But he’d had years of training and experience, too, that had taught him to push back his own fears and focus on the job at hand, to stay calm when it was necessary. Then later, when he was alone and safe and the job was done, he could fall apart.

He wondered if that was why Antonia hadn’t told him about Shelter Island. She’d held herself together because she knew she had these days here coming up, and she could be alone and safe and let herself fall apart now that the job was done.

Had she screwed up with a patient?

No—she was afraid. It wasn’t regret he was sensing, or self-doubt, or second-guessing. It was fear.

She nodded curtly at him, her tension palpable. “You’ll want to check yourself for ticks. You don’t want to get Lyme disease.”

“Thanks, Doc. I’m from the Cape. I know about ticks and Lyme disease.”

“And mosquitoes. Did you get bit on the way over here? West Nile virus can be a nasty business.”

He pointed at her and smiled, trying to break through her tension. “A good role model would be in long pants, not a little pair of shorts. At least you’re wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt.”

“I know the symptoms of Lyme disease. And West Nile.” She seemed to try to go lofty on him, just to tweak him, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Most people who get bit by a mosquito don’t get West Nile, and most people who get West Nile don’t get its severest form—”

“I’m not worried about getting bit while I’m here,” he said. “By a tick or a mosquito.”

She gave him a halfhearted scowl. “Do you know how many times I hear something just like that every day? I didn’t think I’d get hit, bit, knifed, shot—”

“And you didn’t think I’d come after you.” He stepped toward her, not in any kind of menacing way, just to be closer to her—to get into her space, maybe, and get her to relax with him. “Did you, Antonia?”

Her eyes lifted to him. “Why did you?”

“Because something’s wrong, and I want to help.”

She nodded. “Fair enough. Thanks for coming.” All at once her tone was formal, even awkward, as if he were a fellow doctor on a consultation. She added, in a near mumble, “It really is good to see you.”

Bullshit, he thought. But she seemed to sense he was about to pounce and shot over to the cottage’s ancient sink, tossing her beach towel over the back of a chair.