gave me that look.

But I glanced toward the fire again anyway, and I heard him sigh. ''Jo. Let go. I know how hard

it is for you, but you need to let other people handle their jobs. That's why they have them.''

''Three days!'' I said, pointing an accusatory finger toward the smoke. ''Come on, you don't

think they could have been a little more aggressive about it?''

''You know as well as I do that sometimes managing how a fire burns is more important than

putting it out,'' he said all too reasonably, and stepped between me and my view of the

conflagration. Not that he wasn't, you know, burning hot himself. Because he definitely was, and

I felt myself inevitably getting distracted.

''Stop that,'' I said, not with a lot of strength.

''Stop what?'' He reached for my hands, and I shivered as a breeze moved across my back,

which was left mostly bare by my sky blue halter top. Florida had been kind to me, for a change,

with lots of sun, lots of untroubled, cloud-free beaches. It was as if the Wardens themselves had

conspired to make my vacation uneventful, at least on the weather front, until this fire thing had

popped up.

And that had been okay for the first couple days. And then it had just kept on coming. I know it

sounds crazy, but I'd gotten a little bit too rested.

Not that David couldn't make that haunting feeling of uselessness go away; he was promising to,

just with the gentle pressure of his fingers moving up my bare arms.

''Stop making me want you,'' I said. That got the eyebrows again, and a slightly wounded

frown.

''Making you?''

''You know what I mean.''

''No, I don't, actually. You think I'm manipulating you?''

''You're Djinn,'' I said. ''Manipulating people is basically built into your DNA. I'm not really

sure you can help it. But-I didn't mean that. I'm just-I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm

thinking. I just-''

''You want to be taking action,'' he said. ''Yes. I know. You really do need to learn how to let

go.''

''What I don't need is even more vacation.'' I stepped back from David and dropped grumpily

into a deck chair, stretching my long, bare legs out in front of me. The tan was coming along

nicely. Great accomplishment. Everybody else is saving the world; you're golden-browning.

''Oh, I think you definitely do,'' David said, and draped himself over the other chair, chin

propped on his fist. ''I have never met anyone who needed to learn to relax more than you do.''

And that was saying a lot; he'd met a lot of people-millions, probably. I still didn't have any

clear idea of how old David really was, only that his birth date was so far back in history that the

idea of calendars had been newfangled. He'd been around, my lover. The fact that he was

hanging around here, letting me be bitchy to him, was kind of amazing.

Before I could apologize to him, the phone rang again. I picked up the cordless extension,

pressed the button, and said, ''Paul, I swear, I'm not-''

A businesslike voice on the other end said, ''May I speak with Joanne Baldwin?''

''Speaking.'' I rolled my eyes at David. Another attempt to sell me flood insurance or steel

hurricane shutters. I readied the I'm-in-an-apartment speech, which usually served to put a stop

to these things.

''Ms. Baldwin, hello, my name is Phil Garrett. I'm an investigative reporter with the New York

Times. I'd like to speak with you about the organization known as the Wardens. I believe you're

one of its senior members. Could I have your title?''

I blinked, and my expression must have been something to behold, because David slowly

straightened up in his chair, leaning forward. ''You-sorry, what? What did you say?''

''Phil Garrett. New York Times. Calling about the Wardens. I have some questions for you.''

''I''-my voice locked tight in my throat-''got another call, hold on.'' In a panic, I hit the END

CALL button and put the phone down on the table, staring at it as if it had grown eight legs and

was about to scuttle off. ''Oh my God.''

''What?'' David asked. He looked interested, not alarmed. Apparently, I was amusing when

panicked.

The phone rang again. I didn't move to pick it up. David took it and said, pleasantly, ''Yes?''

There was a pause while he listened. ''I see. Mr. Garrett, I'm very sorry, but Ms. Baldwin can't

speak to you right now. What's your deadline?'' His mouth compressed into a thin line, clearly

trying not to smile at whatever my face was doing now. I could hardly breathe, I felt so cold. ''I

see. That's fairly soon. Ms. Baldwin is actually on vacation right now. Maybe there's someone

else you can-'' Another pause, and his gaze darted toward mine. ''You were given her

number.''

I mouthed, blankly, Shit! David lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. This could not be happening.

I mouthed, By who? David dutifully repeated the question.

''Not at liberty to divulge your sources,'' he said, for my benefit. ''I see. If you want my

opinion, I think you're being used, Mr. Garrett. And you're wasting your time.''

He listened. I felt my heart hammer even faster. Mr. Garrett wasn't going down easy.

''I'll have her call you back,'' David said, hung up, and put the phone back on the table. He

leaned forward, watching me, hands folded. ''You're scared.''

I nodded, with way too much emphasis. ''Reporters. I hate reporters. I hate reporters from little

weekly papers in One Horse, Wyoming, so how much do you think I'm going to hate somebody

from the New York Times? Guess.''

''You don't even know him. Maybe this is a good thing. Good publicity.''

''Are you on crack? Of course it's not a good thing! He's a reporter! And we're a secret

organization! Who the hell gave him his info? And my number?''

''Jo, he's a reporter. He didn't have to get your number from anyone inside the Wardens. He

could have gotten it through simple research. As to what put him on to the whole topic . . .''

David shrugged. He was right. With all the disasters and potentially life-destroying events that

we'd had the last few years, the Wardens had been a little more public than anyone liked.

And so had I.

I grabbed for the phone and dialed Lewis's cell. It rang to voice mail. ''Lewis, call me back. I've

got reporter troubles. Look, if this is your idea of a joke and you staked me out as the sacrificial

goat for the media, I am not going to be the only one on the altar when they get out the knives-

''

David took the phone and hung it up, very calmly. ''That's enough of the metaphor,'' he said.

''Look, you don't need to flail around. You know what to say. Deny everything. They won't

have proof. They never do. And even if they do have something, refer them to the government

and the UN. It'll go away.''

''What if it doesn't?'' I chewed my lip in agitation, tasting tangerine gloss. Great. Now I was

destroying my makeup, too, and the whole purpose of lip gloss was to stay interestingly kissable.

''Look, it's the Times. This is different. I'm worried.''

David cocked his head, looking bemused now. ''I've seen you face down monsters, hurricanes,

and tornadoes, and you're scared of a phone call?''

''It's bigger than that.'' I felt it in my gut. ''There was a reporter a few months ago. When I was

on my way to Sedona with Venna. She knew things. It was just a matter of time, I guess, before

word got around and people got to digging. Dammit! I should have known this was coming.''

He leaned forward and took my hands. His felt warm, strong, calming. ''I have a question that