“Damn straight.” Garcia reached inside his coat, took out his Glock, and pocketed it. “I suppose we’re going to have to hop the fence,” he grumbled.

“Pretty much.”

The two of them jogged across the street and were almost to the gate when a man and a woman exited. Bernadette caught the gate before it closed shut. The couple didn’t give a glance to the man and woman in trench coats. Bernadette waited until she and Garcia were going down the steps before she said anything. “They didn’t recognize me.”

“Who?”

“The couple leaving through the gate—they were the ones who took me in last night. Lor and Wally. Nice folks.” She pointed to their houseboat. “That’s their place. The Three-Hour Tour.”

“Cute name.”

“I can’t believe they didn’t recognize me.”

“You did look pretty scary last night. In fact, your skin still has a toxic sort of glow this morning. A greenish vibe. Is it the river or the Jack Daniel’s?”

“I don’t care to talk about it.”

As they stepped onto the boards, Garcia ran his eyes over the moored boats. “Which one?”

“Matthew’s is near the end of the dock,” she said in a low voice. “It’s the one with the lawn chairs topside.”

“The Ruth?”

She’d missed the name of the craft last night. “Yeah. The Ruth.”

“Must be the name of a girlfriend.”

“Not last night’s girlfriend. That boat would be called the Harpy.” She stopped and stared at the Good Enuf. It was dark, and she saw no signs of activity inside. Its window shades were in the same position as the night before. “This was where I was camped out last night, until Matt or another asshole pushed me overboard.”

“No rails around the deck,” observed Garcia. “You were an easy mark.”

She nodded toward the massive planter sitting on the Good Enuf. “Want to crouch down behind that?”

“That wouldn’t hide one of my butt cheeks.” He stepped onto the small houseboat. “I’ll hide along the far side of this tub’s cabin and watch from around the corner.”

“That side walkway is pretty narrow, and it isn’t railed either,” she warned. “Watch your footing.”

“Same to you.” He took his place at the far corner of the smaller houseboat’s cabin and nodded. She walked up to the Ruth and turned her ear to the door. She couldn’t hear a thing, but she wasn’t surprised. Even during the wild domestic spat, the boat had remained soundproof. She tapped twice while glancing over at Garcia. After waiting a minute or so, she knocked harder. No answer. She banged on the door with her fist.

The door popped open, and she stepped back. Matthew was standing in the doorway barefoot and in a bathrobe. “Agent Saint Clare,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“Sorry to get you out of the shower,” she said.

He tightened the belt around his robe. “It seems like we saw each other just twelve hours ago.”

“You got home all right, obviously.”

He folded his arms in front of him and said indignantly, “I wasn’t that intoxicated.”

“I was afraid you were going to fall in, and the river this time of year is so cold,” she said evenly, and watched for his reaction.

He didn’t bat an eye. “How did you figure out where I … Oh, never mind. Stupid question. You’re the FBI. You know everything.”

His door was wide open, and she could look into his kitchen, but she didn’t see anything except stainless steel and granite. “May I come in?”

He buried his hands in the pockets of his robe. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have someone staying with me and my guest is asleep.”

“I’ll keep my voice down,” she said.

“If this is about my brother’s files, I haven’t even had a chance to talk to him about them yet. I promise I’ll badger him later today.”

“This isn’t about Luke. I have a few questions for you.”

“Kyra Klein was my brother’s patient. I only know about her through Luke. I am so sorry I volunteered even that bit of information. Let’s not forget who called whom.”

“That was damage control done on your brother’s behalf.” She brought her fingers up to her cheek. “What happened to you?”

He put his hand over the large bandage slapped across his face. “I … cut myself … shaving,” he mumbled.

“What did you do? Use a machete?”

“Are you always this charming so early in the day?”

She heard a thump and looked past him into the houseboat. “I’d really like to have a cup of coffee and talk. I’ve never seen the inside of one of these.”

Reaching behind him, he grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door closer. “What is this really about, Agent Saint Clare?”

“What did you do after you walked home last night?”

His brows came together. “What in the world does that have to do with Kyra Klein?”

“Please answer the question.”

“I had a nightcap and went to bed.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” A motorboat sped by on the river, gently rocking the houseboat. Behind him, the door swung open.

“What about your guest? The girlfriend? Didn’t you have to stay up and entertain her?”

“I never said my guest was female, now did I?” He smiled. “It’s a good assumption, though.”

Bernadette heard another bang from inside the houseboat, and music playing. “It sounds like she’s awake. If I could speak with her a minute and get her to vouch for you …”

“Leave her out of this.” He turned around and snapped the door closed. “She’s not feeling well this morning and I can’t imagine how talking to an FBI agent is going to improve her disposition.”

“What are you hiding, Matthew?”

“Hiding? Give me a break.” He pulled the collar of his robe tighter. “You come banging on my door at the crack of dawn on a Sunday, rousing me from the shower. I have a hangover. I have a guest I need to expel. I apologize if I’m not prepared to ask you inside and make you a plate of waffles.”

“This won’t take long.”

“I’ll talk to my brother about the files today. If you want something more from me, call me at a more civilized hour. I’d be happy to meet for drinks. I’m just not ready for you at present.” Dripping blond bangs fell across his forehead, and he combed them back. “Believe it or not, I am not a creature of the daylight.”

“Matthew—”

“We’re finished,” he said, turning around and opening the door.

“I don’t have your phone number,” she said after him.

“Right,” he said dryly. He disappeared inside, slamming the door in her face.

She went down the dock, meeting Garcia as he hopped off the deck of the Good Enuf. “What did he say?” asked Garcia.

The two of them walked side by side. “Not much. The crazy girlfriend is still there. I heard her thumping around. He didn’t want to let me in.”

“You think he hurt her?”

Bernadette grinned crookedly. “I think she beat him up.”

“Think he’s the one who pushed you in?”

They stepped off the dock and headed up the stairs. “He didn’t flinch once. Didn’t seem shocked or pissed to see me alive. He was aggravated to be bothered so early in the morning. He had a hangover, but so do I.”

“Did he lawyer up?”

“Hardly. He said I could call him later for drinks.”

Garcia opened the gate and held it for her. “Was he making a pass at you?”

She stood on the sidewalk while Garcia closed the gate. “I think Matthew is one of those men who can’t help himself. He probably flirts while he’s at church. Stands too close to women while riding the elevator. Peeks down blouses. It’s like breathing to him.”

They crossed the street and walked toward the parking lot. “Is the serial flirt a serial killer?”

“I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure he’s the one who knocked me in. Not sure he’s the murderer.” They stopped and stood in front of her truck. As she rubbed her throbbing forehead with the tips of her fingers, an idea pushed past the hangover. “I just thought of something.”