"No."

He stopped in front of the interview room. It differed from the interrogation room in that it had windows, and the table and chairs weren't bolted to the floor. "How are you getting home?"

"I'm walking."

"To Burgoyne Street?"

She finally looked up at him. "It's not the other side of the moon, Flynn. It'll take me thirty minutes, tops."

"Come with me. I'll drop you off after I run this guy to St. Alban's."

She shook her head. "No, thanks."

"You're angry with me. About what I said to the chief."

She set the edge of her jaw. "Forget what you said to the chief. It's just… Look. Last night was an emergency. I'm not letting you take me anywhere if I can get there on my own."

"Why not?" He meant it to be civil, inquiring; instead it steamed out, frustrated and perplexed. "It's not like I'm asking you out. I'm not trying to steal a march on your spectacular career in the department. I'm just trying to be friendly, for chrissakes. That's all. Why do you keep blowing me off?"

She looked at him as if he had donned a hockey mask and fired up his chain saw. "My spectacular career in the department?"

He erased the words in midair. "I didn't mean to say that. Forget it."

Her lush lips thinned, and two angry red blotches marred her perfect skin. "Are you making fun of me?" She didn't look so beautiful now, and it was a relief, because for the first time it felt like maybe they might belong to the same species. "Because I haven't been studying to be a cop since I was in diapers? Which for you was, like, four weeks ago."

He could feel it, in that second, a fault line running through his head and heart as his blind adoration cracked and fell away. "I'm not making fun of you. I'm trying to be friends. I'm starting to guess you don't recognize the concept because you don't have any."

She held up her hands as if framing a camera shot. "Let me set you straight. I didn't come here to make friends. I came here to do a job, get paid, and go home."

"Where your life is so perfect, no doubt."

"Where my life belongs to me. And my children. And I don't have to explain, or justify, or meet anyone else's expectations. So, no, Flynn, I don't want to be your friend. If you thought otherwise because you caught me in a weak moment last night, I'm sorry, but that was your thought, not anything I said or did to encourage you."

She swung the door to the interview room open and stepped in, hanging off the doorknob. She rattled off a long sentence in loud Spanish, then swung back into the hall, pulling the door with her. Her eyes went round. "Sir," she said.

Kevin whirled around. The chief was a few feet behind him, his expression a blend of irritation and weariness. "Kevin," he said, "are you bothering Officer Knox with unwelcome and unprofessional attention?"

"No! I mean, I didn't think I was. I didn't mean to."

The chief's eyes cut to Hadley. "Officer Knox?"

She jerked her chin up. "I was just setting down the ground rules for Officer Flynn, sir. No offense taken."

"Then let me set down the ground rule. Singular and simple. There will be no fraternization among members of this department. Failure to observe this rule will result in administrative notice, disciplinary action, and possible suspension. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, Chief."

"Good. This is a police department, not a high school dance." The chief pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "Appearances sometimes to the contrary."

"I don't know why he seemed nervous." Janet tucked the phone more firmly beneath her chin and lifted the lid on the pot. The water had come to a boil. "Maybe because he's a stranger in a strange land? Maybe because when you come over all cop you can be as intimidating as hell?" She ripped the top off a bag of egg noodles and dumped them into the water.

"I didn't try to browbeat the kid," her brother said. "For chrissakes, you sound like Clare-Reverend Fergusson."

Interesting. Should she pursue that line of-

"I just want to know if you've observed anything, anything at all, that might account for his twitchiness."

"Not here," she lied. "He spends most of his time working at St. Alban's. I suggest you ask Clare-Reverend Fergusson." She plunged a slotted spoon into the pot and stirred while listening to Russ breathe. He had this certain way of doing it when you pushed his buttons just right. She smiled to herself.

"I'm going to bring Amado back to your place-the new place-after he finishes up tonight. It'll give me a chance to check out the house he's living in. Just to get a feel for things."

Oh, shit. "Aren't you supposed to get a warrant before you search people's property?"

"Well, it sort of depends, Janet. Do I need to get a warrant on you and Mike?"

She dropped the colander in the sink, letting the crash disguise her hiss of frustration. "Of course not," she said, when her voice was under control. "By all means, bring him home and check out the house. Maybe you'll find he's got a box of Playboys under his bed and he feels guilty about that."

His voice was dry. "If I do, I'll hand him over to Mom. Since she's already had experience with that sort of thing."

The doorbell dinged. "Emma!" There was no answering yell from her thirteen-year-old. The bell dinged again. "Hang on," she told Russ. "Somebody's at the door."

God. She was going to have to call over to the bunkhouse and have all the men clear out. Their stuff, too. Where was she going to put them, the barn?

She yanked the door open. A tall heavyset man in shit-kicker boots stood there. He wore a barn jacket and blond hair that had escaped from 1983. " 'Scuse me, ma'am," he said, "but I'm looking for Amado? He works for you?"

She shook her head. "He works at St. Alban's Church, in town. He just rooms out here." She'd seen this guy before, but she couldn't place where. The IGA or the Agway? "I'm sorry. Have we met before?"

He stuck out a grubby hand. "Dunno, but I've met your husband at the auctions. I'm Neil." He pumped her arm like he was trying to get water from a well. She resisted the urge to rub her shoulder when he finished.

"How on earth do you know Amado?"

"Hah. How I know Amado. Well. It's like this."

"Mom!" Oh, of course, now Emma was around. "Uncle Russ is on the phone and wants to know if you're going to be all night?"

"What are you doing picking up the phone?" She glanced at the guy. "Sorry."

"I wanted to know if you were using it! I'm waiting to get on line! If we had cable I wouldn't have to wait!"

"Oh, God," Janet muttered. Emma could go on in that vein for an hour.

"I can see you're busy, ma'am. If you could just let me know when he's getting home?"

Oh, sure. The last thing she needed was another stranger roaming around by the bunkhouse, ready to stumble over seven illegals. "He's at St. Alban's late tonight, cleaning up after their concert. Your best bet is to catch him there."

"Thanks, ma'am." He stepped off the porch and was vanishing into the dusk by the time she had the chance to close the door. She wondered again, for a second, how another local farmer had met up with their church-cleaning boarder. It teased at her, but then Emma started up again with her tirade against dial-up Internet access, and she remembered Russ was waiting, and she thought, How am I going to hide my employees from my brother? And the thought was gone.