“That’s what I mean. She wants to keep up with them, when it really isn’t possible. You know how she is.” I gave him my eyes again. “She’s always got to prove herself. If the guys are fast-roping and running through the mountains wearing sixty-pound packs, she thinks she’s got to keep up, when she should just be content with her technical abilities, her robots and all the rest of it.”

“You’re missing her biggest motivation, her biggest demon,” he said.

“What?”

“You. She feels she has to prove herself to you, Kay.”

“She has no reason to feel that way.” What he said was piercing. “I don’t want to feel I’m the reason she takes her life into her hands with all of these dangerous things she feels she must do.”

“This is not about blame,” he said, getting up from the table. “This is about human nature. Lucy worships you. You’re the only decent mother figure she’s ever had. She wants to be like you, and she feels people compare her to you, and that’s a pretty big act to follow. She wants you to admire her, too, Kay.”

“I do admire her, for God’s sake.” I got up, too, and we began clearing dishes. “Now you really have me worried.”

He began rinsing, and I loaded the dishwasher.

“You probably should worry.” He glanced at me. “I will tell you this, she’s one of these perfectionists who won’t listen to anyone. Other than you, she’s the most stubborn human being I’ve ever come across.”

“Thanks a lot.”

He smiled and put his arms around me, not caring that his hands were wet. “Can we sit and talk for a while?” he said, his face, his body close to mine. “Then I’ve got to hit the road.”

“And after that?”

“I’m going to talk to Marino in the morning, and in the afternoon I’ve got another case coming in. From Arizona. I know it’s Sunday, but it can’t wait.”

He continued talking as we carried our wine into the great room.

“A twelve-year-old girl abducted on her way home from school, body dumped in the Sonora desert,” he said. “We think this guy’s already killed three other kids.”

“It’s hard to feel very optimistic, isn’t it,” I said bitterly as we sat on the couch. “It never stops.”

“No,” he replied. “And I’m afraid it never will. As long as there are people on the planet. What are you going to do with what’s left of the weekend?”

“Paperwork.”

One side of my great room was sliding glass doors, and beyond, my neighborhood was black with a full moon that looked like gold, clouds gauzy and drifting.

“Why are you so angry with me?” His voice was gentle, but he let me know his hurt.

“I don’t know.” I would not look at him.

“You do know.” He took my hand and began to rub it with his thumb. “I love your hands. They look like a pianist’s, only stronger. As if what you do is an art.”