K ing quietly waded to shore, put his clothes back on and was now squatting in the darkness behind some bushes. The light still swung back and forth as someone moved through the area that ringed the eastern perimeter of his property. King made his way toward the front of his house shielded by a wall of trees. There was a blue BMW convertible parked in the driveway that he didn't recognize. He was about to go over to it when he decided the best course of action was to get some hardware. With a nice big pistol in hand, he'd feel a lot better about things.

He slipped inside the dark house, got the gun and went back out a side door. The arc of light had disappeared now, and that had him worried. He knelt down and listened. The sharp crack of a fallen branch reached his ears. It had come from his right, barely ten feet away; then came a footstep and then another. He braced himself, his pistol ready, safety off.

He launched himself, hitting the person low and hard and landing on top of him, King's pistol right in his face.

Only it wasn't a him. It was a her! And she had a pistol out too. It was pointed at him, the barrels of the two guns almost touching.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" he said angrily when he saw who it was.

"If you'd get off me, I might have the breath to tell you," she snapped.

He took his time climbing off, and when she reached a hand out for him to assist her, he ignored it.

She was wearing a skirt, blouse and short jacket. The skirt had slid up to nearly her crotch during the collision. As she struggled to regain her feet, she tugged it back down.

"Are you in the habit of mugging all your visitors?" she said testily as she put her gun back in the waist clip and brushed herself off.

"Most of my visitors don't go sneaking around my property."

"Nobody answered the front door."

"Then you go away and call another time. Or didn't your mother teach you?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "It's been a long time, Sean."

"Has it? I hadn't noticed. I've been kind of busy with my new life."

She looked around. "I can see that. Nice place."

"What are you doing here, Joan?"

"Came to see an old friend who's in trouble."

"Really? Who's that?"

She smiled demurely. "Murder in your office. That's trouble, isn't it?"

"Sure it is. I was talking about the ‘old friend' part."

She nodded toward the house. "I've driven a long way. I've heard about the southern hospitality around here. Care to show me some?"

Instead, he contemplated firing a round over her head. Yet the only way he would find out what Joan Dillinger was up to was to play along. "What sort of hospitality?"

"Well, it's almost nine o'clock and I haven't had dinner. Let's start with that and then go from there," she said.

"You show up unannounced after all these years and expect me to cook you dinner? You've got some guts."

"That shouldn't surprise you by now, should it?"

A s he fixed the meal, Joan explored the main level of his home, carrying the gin and tonic he'd given her. She perched on the counter in the kitchen while he worked away. "How's the finger?" she asked.

"It only hurts when I'm seriously ticked off. Sort of like a mood ring. And just so you know, it's throbbing like hell right now."

She ignored the barb. "This place is spectacular. I heard that you built it yourself."

"Gave me something to do."

"I didn't know you were a carpenter."

"I worked my way through school building things for people who could afford it. Then I decided what the hell, I'd do it for myself."

They ate at the table off the kitchen that had a commanding view of the lake. With the meal they drank a bottle of merlot he'd fetched from his wine cellar. Under different circumstances it would have been a very romantic setting.

After dinner they carried their wineglasses into the family room, with its cathedral ceiling and walls of window. When he saw she was shivering some, King turned on the gas fireplace and tossed her a throw blanket. They sat across from each other on leather couches. Joan kicked off her heels and curled her legs up under her and then placed the blanket over them. She raised her glass to him. "Dinner was fabulous." She breathed in the wine's bouquet. "And I see you've added sommelier to your list of credentials."

"Okay, your belly's full, you're suitably buzzed. Why are you here?"

"When something extraordinary entailing a major criminal investigation happens to a former agent, everybody's interested."

"And they sent you to see me?"

"I'm at a level where I can send myself."

"So this is unofficial on your part? Or are you just here to spy for the Service?"

"I'd characterize it as unofficial. I'd like to hear your side of things."

King cradled his glass, fighting an urge to throw it at her. "I don'thave a side of things. The man worked for me for a short time. He was killed. Today I found out he was in witness protection. I don't know who killed him. End of story."

She didn't respond but just stared into the fire. She finally rose, padded over to the fireplace and knelt in front of it, running her hand along the stone facade.

"Carpenter and stonemason?"

"I subbed that out. I know my limitations."

"That's refreshing. Most men I know won't admit to having any."

"Thanks. But I still want to know why you're here."

"It has nothing to do with the Service and everything to do with you and me."

"There is no ‘you and me.' "

"Well, there was. We worked together at the Service for years. We slept together. Given different circumstances we might have moved on to a more permanent arrangement. And I would like to think that if you heard that a man who happened to be in witness protection had been murdered at a place where I worked and my past was being dredged up again, you might come and see how I was coping."

"I think you'd be wrong about that."

"Well, that's why I'm here. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm glad my miserable situation afforded you this wonderful opportunity to exhibit your compassionate nature."

"Sarcasm really doesn't suit you, Sean."

"It's late, and it's a long drive back to D.C."

"You're right. It's too long a drive actually." She added, "Looks like you have lots of room." She rose and sat down next to him, uncomfortably close.

"You look fit enough to qualify for the FBI's Hostage Rescue," she said, running an admiring eye over his trim six-foot-one-inch frame.

He shook his head. "I'm an old man for that stuff. Bad knees, bum shoulder and all."

She sighed and looked away, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear. "I just turned forty."

"Consider the alternative. It's not the end of the world."

"Not for a man. Forty and unmarried for a woman, it's not so pleasant."

"You look great. Great for thirty, great for forty. And you've got your career."

"Didn't think I'd last that long."

"You lasted longer than me."

She put her wineglass down and turned to him. "But I shouldn't have." There followed an uncomfortable silence.

"It was years ago," he finally said. "Water under the bridge."

"Obviously not. I see the way you're looking at me."

"What did you expect?"

She picked up her wine again and finished it in one long sip. "You actually have no idea how hard this was for me to come here. I changed my mind about ten times. Took an hour to decide what to wear. It was more nerve-racking than securing a presidential inauguration."

He had never known her to talk this way. She was always the ultraconfident one. Bantering with the boys like she was not only one of them but the ringleader to boot.

"I'm sorry, Sean. I'm not sure I ever said that I was sorry."

"Bottom line, it was my fault. Case closed."

"That's very kind of you."

"I just don't have the time or energy to hold a grudge. It's not that important to me."

Slipping into her heels, she rose and put on her jacket. "You're right, it is late and I should be going. I'm sorry if I interrupted yourwonderful life. And I apologize for being so concerned about you that I came here to see how you were doing."

King started to speak, hesitated, and then as she headed toward the door, he let out a sigh and said, "You've had too much to drink to drive these back roads at night. The guest room's at the top of the stairs, on the right. There are pajamas in the bureau, and your own bath, and whoever gets up first makes the coffee."

She turned back. "Are you sure? You don't have to do this."

"Trust me, I know that. I shouldn't be doing this. I'll see you in the morning."

She looked at him with an expression that said, "Are you absolutely sure you won't come see me before the morning?"

He turned and headed away. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"I've got some work to do. Sleep tight."

Joan went outside and got her overnight bag out of the car. When she came back in, he was nowhere around. The master bedroom looked to be at the far end of the hall. She slipped across and peeked inside. It was dark. And empty. She slowly went to her room and closed the door.