“We’ve spoken at your mercantile, Mr. Van Scoyk,” Chad smiled as he stood and extended his hand.

“Marty, please,” he replied with an unenthusiastic shake. “Mr. Van Scoyk was my father. And yes, I remember you now. Bought a place up here about a year ago.”

“The Graeters house, yes, eight months ago.”

“Sit down,” she pushed him toward a chair. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, no, I’m not staying. Actually, I would have called if you had a phone like normal people but since you don’t and you keep that damn gate locked, I had to bring the little boat up here. If you’re not going to have civilized communication up here, the least you could do would be to dredge out a channel big enough for me to bring the motor runabout up. It takes absolutely hours by sail.”

“It takes less than forty minutes from your dock to mine,” she teased. “And one of the reasons I come up here is to get away from telephones. Not to mention that I love having you come to visit. Now come sit down and have some coffee and look at these wonderful sketches Chad does.”

“I really can’t stay.”

“You can spare me enough of your valuable time for a cup of coffee,” she continued. “And I think you really ought to look at these sketches. I think they’d be a wonderful item for you to carry in the mercantile. Original, one-of-a-kind sketches of the lake, signed by the artist? You know as well as I do that these Yuppie tourists would eat them up with a spoon. You could have a whole display on that back wall where you keep all your other overpriced tourist crap.”

“Well, maybe just half a cup. And I suppose I could look through the sketches. You know I absolutely adore art.”

He’d made a complete circuit of the property, moving silently through the heavy pine forest along the rocky shoreline to a barbed wire fence where her property ended just short of Eagle Point, following it up to the top of her property, across the gated road and down to the other end. Hiking back toward the house, he felt surer than ever that he’d stumbled onto the perfect layout for his snare.

The first detector would be at the gate. A young man, athletic and determined would have no trouble getting over the gate but there he’d have no place to leave a vehicle on the main road or anywhere along this road. Anyone arriving, would have to leave his or her car at the gate and proceed on foot.

Where the fence had been cut into the forest, a narrow band of scrub oak, thorny weeds and man-high Poison Oak bushes had taken over making the barbed wire doubly difficult to get over or through. Still, he’d make sure that detectors were positioned on each side of the road, just in case his quarry had an adventurous streak.

He’d seen nothing on either side of the barbed wire fence on each side of her property but thick pine forest. Following his exchange of e-mails on his PDA late the preceding night, he knew the agency was busily running down all the information he needed about the owners of the adjacent property and Martin Van Scoyk. When he turned on his mini-computer at the appointed hour tonight, he’d be able to download that information and give detailed instructions for the motion detectors’ placement.

That left only the lake itself.

Except for the little sandy patch and dock in front of Moon’s End, there didn’t seem to be anywhere a person could bring a boat, even a small one, ashore. The trees grew down to the shoreline; in most places the bank had eroded to sharp, almost vertical bluffs. A strong, determined swimmer in a wetsuit against the cold water might make it and he’d picked a couple of potential landing sites for detectors, but only to cover all bases.

A motion detector would be placed just where the dock met the land and in a tree overlooking the little stretch of sand. Several in strategic places around the house and the electronic trap would be set.

Of course, he’d have to get her out of the house for most of a day so that his people could come in and set things up. Perhaps a day’s hike to show him the land. Or a picnic. Or even a day spent sightseeing on that ridiculous little boat. Whatever, it would have to be done in the next day or two. As soon as he received word that the men and equipment were ready.

Harm heard the laughter even before he emerged from the trees into the parking lot. Not just Elgin’s warm, feminine laugh but a deeper, baritone guffaw. Sprinting just short of a run, he heard unfamiliar voices as he closed the distance to the deck.

“So anyway, I said, ‘Well what did you expect, Bill? Didn’t I always tell you never trust a woman with a big mouth?’” Gales of laughter met him as he reached the deck, stopping dead at the sight before him.

Elgin, the little gay guy from the mercantile and a large stranger sat around the table, coffee cups and a half-empty tray of breakfast pastry in front of them. The man sat next to her, the arms of their chairs touching, his arm draped casually over the back of her chair.

“Hmm…hmm,” he cleared his throat.

Immediately, the laughter died away and all eyes turned nervously to him. He flashed back to his days as a beat cop, catching couples in parked cars. Anger and something else flickered inside.

“Oh, Camp, I didn’t know you were back.” Her face turned beet red and she could barely look at him.

“Hmmmp,” he grunted.

“Camp, you remember Marty Van Scoyk from the mercantile?” Her voice fairly quivered with anxiety. “Marty, my…my secretary, Campbell Harm.”

“Mr. Harm.”

“Hmmmp.”

“And this is Chad Comstock. He’s one of my neighbors from up the road. He’s an artist. He’s been using the place to do some wonderful sketches of the lake.” She pointed nervously to a large sketchbook on the other side of the table.

“In fact, Marty liked them so much, he’s going to put them up for sale in the mercantile. I think I might like to have a couple for the cabin.”

Comstock stood up and extended his hand, a skin-deep smile flashing. “Harm, nice to meet you.”

“Hmmmp,” punctuated this time by a single shake.

“Would you like some coffee?” she offered, “or a bear claw? You must be famished after your walk. You’ve been gone for ages.”

They stared at each other for several long, uncomfortable moments. Finally, Marty roused himself.

“Well, I really must be running along,” he told them, rising to his feet. “I’ve got absolutely tons of work to do and I have to spend the afternoon babysitting with Byron. You won’t forget now, will you Elgin darling?”

“No, Marty, you can count on it.”

“Good. Well, ciao everyone.” Turning, he stumbled right into Harm who took a single step to his left to allow the little man to make his escape. Harm watched him trundle quickly down to the dock, untie the little boat, set sail and turn for home.

The shallow water around the dock rippled and the sailboat didn’t make any noise as it maneuvered nimbly back toward the lake. He filed it in his brain under ‘potentially useful information.’ Then he turned back to the stranger.

“Well, I guess I better be getting along, too,” he announced, reaching for his book and box. “I’ve got a lot of things I need to do and I’ve gabbed the morning light away.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him, gazing up into his face. “I feel bad for keeping you from your work.”

Comstock smiled; a genuine smile this time. “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself more. And now that I know I’m welcome, you’ll probably get tired of having me around.”

She laughed again, a warm sound filled with real joy. Harm felt his stomach tighten and his mouth turn down even further.

“I’m sure that won’t happen. Feel free to bring your easel and oils down anytime. Maybe if I’m nice to the artist, he’ll give me a break on a sunset painting for the fireplace.”