“How long will she be gone this time?”

“Another week, maybe two.” Sarah got a pet bowl out of the dish drainer beside the sink and filled it with kibble, then set it on the breakfast bar in front of the stool beside Tucker’s. He watched in silence as Pendragon leaped up on the stool, sat down, and began eating delicately from his bowl, then looked at Sarah.

She met his quizzical gaze and smiled for the first time in genuine amusement. “I found out quickly that Pendragon likes to sit up and eat like people. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No. It’s more his house than mine.”

She nodded, the smile fading, then said, “I think I’ll go change. If the coffee’s ready before I come back, help yourself. Cups are in that cabinet, and the sugar and cream are already out on the counter.”

“Thanks. Take your time. I’ll be fine.” He watched her leave the room, then absently reached over and scratched Pendragon behind one ear. The cat made a faintly disgusted sound, which Tucker took to mean he disliked being touched while eating. “Excuse me,” he told the cat politely, drawing back his hand.

Pendragon murmured something in the back of his throat, the sound this time so obviously mollified that Tucker blinked in surprise.

Peculiar cat.

The coffee was still dripping down into the pot, beginning to smell good but not quite ready to drink. Restless, Tucker left the bar stool to prowl around the room, studying the decorations and furniture without really seeing them. After only a slight hesitation, he turned on the gas-log fire, which immediately made the room seem more cheerful but didn’t do much for the little ripple of coldness chasing up and down Tucker’s spine.

That unnerving sensation drove him to one of the two narrow dormers that provided a view out the front side of the building, and he found himself cautiously drawing aside filmy curtains so he could see the street below without calling attention to himself.

But the caution was wasted, because the tall man in the black leather jacket seemed to have a sixth sense of his own, vanishing into the shadows of an alleyway across the street before Tucker could catch more than a glimpse of him.

“Shit.” Brodie straightened from the crouch holding a piece of charred wood in his hand, his lean face as grim as the curse. He turned the wood in his hands—it had, once, been a piece of decorative porch railing—then dropped it and rubbed his hands together angrily.

“We don’t know they did it,” Cait Desmond reminded him.

“We don’t know they didn’t,” he retorted. “I prefer to err on the side of past experience.”

His partner looked at him for a moment, then looked back at the ruins of what had been Sarah Gallagher’s home. It was nearly dark now, but the devastation was still obvious. A cold wind whined miserably past the chimney that still reared up in a stark silhouette above the dead house, and Cait shivered as she turned up her collar and thrust her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

“Did you find out anything?” Brodie asked her, the anger muted now in his brisk tone.

Cait moved closer to him and kept her voice low even though there seemed to be no one else about and certainly no one within earshot. “Yeah. I talked to one of the neighbors while she was out walking her dog a little while ago. Arson is definitely suspected; a couple of people reported a stranger hanging around today.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me.” It wasn’t a question. Brodie sighed, his breath misting in the cold air. “Well, they didn’t get her, or you would have said so by now. So where is she?”

“According to the neighbor, Sarah Gallagher left here with a tall blond man who ‘looked vaguely familiar.’ Not another neighbor, and not a cop. He was driving a late-model Mercedes.”

Brodie whistled in surprise. “That doesn’t sound like our guys. Their wheels tend to be very unobtrusive.”

Cait nodded. “That’s what I thought. Unfortunately, the neighbor didn’t get a license plate, so that’s no good. She did, however, say that she thought the cop in charge talked to both Sarah and the blond stranger before they left, so there’s a solid chance the locals know where Sarah’s supposed to be. Especially since she probably hasn’t been ruled out as a suspect herself.”

“Yeah, they will check the obvious first.” Brodie nodded slowly.

“So we need eyes and ears inside the local police department,” Cait said. “They probably wouldn’t know me, so—”

Brodie was shaking his head. “I don’t think so, Cait. We need to move too fast; planting someone on the inside takes time. But…I might know someone who already has eyes on the inside.”

“Someone you can trust?”

He smiled faintly, as though he found the question amusing. “I don’t deal with people I can’t trust. Come on—we need to get out of here before that squad car makes its next scheduled pass by here. And let’s find a landline; I don’t want to use the cell for this call.”

When Sarah came out of her bedroom wearing a bulky sweater and jeans, Tucker didn’t mention the watcher outside. It was not out of some outdated—and no doubt unwanted—sense of chivalry that he kept silent, but simply because he was convinced Sarah would not be surprised by the knowledge. She knew she was being watched; he thought she knew why, or had some suspicion why—and it had nothing to do with frightened neighbors.

It was an answer he wanted.

Sarah glanced toward the fire without comment as she passed through the living room, then turned on a couple of lamps and went into the kitchen area.

“I didn’t know how you took yours,” Tucker said, lifting his coffee cup in a slight gesture.

She poured a cup of coffee for herself, taking it black. “No problem. Look, it’s after six; I have some ready-made stew and bread in the freezer, if you’re planning to stay for supper.”

Tucker had to smile at the wording. “I’d hate to impose.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, either another shrewd guess or certain knowledge. Whichever, it was accompanied by a slight smile as Sarah began getting out a pot and the frozen stew, and turning on the oven for the bread.

Tucker reclaimed his stool at the breakfast bar, sitting beside a cat who was neatly washing his paws and face after his own meal. “Okay, so I wouldn’t hate it. I’ve got the nerve of a burglar, according to most of my friends. But I was trained right; if you’re going to do the cooking, I’ll do the dishes.”

“Suits me.” She put the bagged stew into the microwave to thaw, then leaned back against the counter and sipped her coffee, looking at Tucker across the space separating them. “Are you planning to spend the night?”

That question would have bothered Tucker, except for the fact that she sounded totally uninterested in the subject. “That depends on you.”

“I told you I didn’t mind being alone. There are no monsters in the closet or under my bed; I just checked.” She wasn’t smiling.

Neither was Tucker when he said, “There’s one outside. Watching. Wearing a black leather jacket.”

Her eyes seemed to flicker slightly. “You saw him?”

“Yes. A few minutes ago, before it started getting dark. Who is he, Sarah?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is he watching you?”

“I don’t know.”

Tucker shook his head. “And yet you aren’t worried about it? I don’t buy that.”

“Why worry about something you can’t change?” She shrugged.

“Then you do know why he’s watching.”

Sarah hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I—I don’t know the why of any of it. Just the fact of it.”

Baffled, Tucker frowned and watched her turn to get the stew out of the microwave and put it in a pot on the stove. “So what is the fact of it?” he asked her.