“That may be the biggest miscalculation he’s ever made in his life,” I said.

“And he wanted to know if I was married.” Her eyes were shadowed as porch lights shone on one side of her face.

“I worry about what his interest really is,” I commented.

She glanced at me as she cooked. “The usual.” She shrugged it off, for she was surrounded by men and paid no attention to their comments or their stares.

“Lucy, he made a reference to you in my office today,” I said. “A veiled reference.”

“To what?”

“Your status. Your roommate.”

No matter how often or delicately we talked about this, she always got frustrated and impatient.

“Whether it’s true or not,” she said, and the sizzling of the grill seemed to match her tone, “there would still be rumors because I’m an agent. It’s ridiculous. I know women married with kids, and the guys think all of them are gay, too, just because they’re cops, agents, troopers, Secret Service. Some people even think it about you. For the same reason. Because of your position, your power.”

“This is not about accusations,” I reminded her, gently. “This is about whether someone could hurt you. Ring is very smooth. He comes across as credible. I expect he resents that you’re FBI, HRT and he’s not.”

“I think he’s already demonstrated that.” Her voice was hard.

“I just hope the jerk doesn’t keep asking you out.”

“Oh, he already is. At least half a dozen times.” She sat down. “He’s even asked Janet out, if you can believe that.” She laughed. “Talk about not getting it.”

“The problem is I think he does get it,” I said, ominously. “It’s like he’s building a case against you, gathering evidence.”

“Well, gather away.” She abruptly ended our discussion. “So tell me what else went on today.”

I told her what I had learned at the labs, and we talked about fibers embedded in bone and Koss’s analysis of them as we carried steaks and wine inside. We sat at the kitchen table with a candle lit, digesting information few people would serve with food.

“A cheap motel curtain could have a backing like that,” Lucy said.

“That or something like a drop cloth, because of the paint-like substance,” I replied. “The spinach is wonderful. Where did you get it?”

“Ukrop’s. I’d give anything to have a store like that in my neighborhood. So this person wrapped the victim in a drop cloth and then dismembered her through it?” she asked as she cut her meat.

“That’s certainly the way it’s looking.”

“What does Wesley say?” She met my eyes.

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.” This wasn’t quite true. I had not even called.

For a moment, Lucy was silent. She got up and brought a bottle of Evian to the table. “So how long do you plan to run from him?”

I pretended not to hear her, in hopes she would not start in.