The Harbor

Ten

Despite the cold night, Zoe slept with the window open and awoke to the sounds of the ocean and the seabirds, and for a moment, she felt as if her life was normal again. Then she remembered she was in the twin room because McGrath had the big bedroom, and she could hear him in the shower down the hall. Picturing him naked was enough to propel her out of bed. She pulled corduroy pants and a fisherman's sweater out of her backpack and jumped into them, bolting downstairs before she could bump into her houseguest coming out of the shower.

It had been a long-enough night as it was, just knowing he was in the next room.

She ended up telling J.B. about her year in Connecticut while they carried her belongings upstairs. How she'd asked questions about the governor's drowning death that the state detectives were slow in asking or not asking at all. In Maine, she'd have been one of them, so she'd tried not to step on toes-but she was persistent.

Then it had all, literally, blown up. Bombs, shootings, national Breaking News happening right in the tiny Connecticut town where she was the sole detective.

J.B. had surprised her. He'd stood in the hallway and said, "I'm sorry about your father, Zoe. It must still be very hard for you and your family."

Then he went into his bedroom, shut the door and left her alone.

She'd failed her father. He'd have expected more of her. At the very least he'd have expected her to stand and fight until his killer was brought to justice.

Except that wasn't true.

He'd have wanted her to mourn him and then go on with her life. Leave the investigation to CID. Go to Quantico. She could almost hear his soothing voice… It's okay, Zoe, it's okay, you don't have to worry about me.

It had been one long damn night, she thought, pulling open the freezer. Only one Toaster Strudel left in the box.

"Ah-ha," J.B. said from the doorway, "so the Toaster Strudels are yours. I thought you were the flax-seed type."

"I am. I sprinkle ground flax seed on the Toaster Strudels. You can't even taste it."

"That, ex-Detective West, is disgusting."

He smiled, and that just made everything worse. She'd noticed how good-looking he was again last night while he was carrying boxes and trying not to bug her about the break-in at the café and Stick Monroe being such a jerk and Christina and Kyle and all of it. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed, but it was the first time she'd admitted to herself she was attracted to him. Physically, in a kind of elemental, rock-you-to-the-core way that generally only led to trouble.

She didn't trust her reactions. Responding to his blue eyes, his irreverent smile and his long, lean legs and scarred hands, his shoulders and flat stomach, could just be an unconscious ploy to keep her from confronting why she was even in Goose Harbor. Maybe even why he was.

He came up next to her and shut the freezer door. He had on a navy pinwale corduroy shirt and jeans. If he was physically aware of her, he gave no sign of it. Probably just didn't want to split the Toaster Strudel with her.

"Wait," she said. "I almost forgot. I have cider doughnuts-"

"Save them. Why don't we have some of your sis-ter's wild blueberry muffins? We can see how things are at the café this morning."

She nodded. "Make sure the police didn't miss anything."

"I'm not second-guessing them."

"Right. Of course not." She smiled, and for an instant, she wondered where she'd be now if she'd followed through and gone to Quantico. "We can walk. On the way I'll tell you how I've come to my senses and decided you shouldn't stay here, after all."

"Why not?" His voice was low and amused, and he stood very close to her, making her think he might actually be physically aware of her. He said softly, "I behaved."

Oh, God.

She darted past him to the side entry and pushed open the door, welcoming the gust of brisk autumn air, the sparkle of the sun on the water and the gleam of brightly colored leaves. But J.B. was right behind her, and she had to fight an image of him in the shower. The ends of his hair were still damp.

This was not good.

Dew had collected on the mums and the grass and glistened in the morning sun, and she could hear the wash of the waves down on the rocks. It was cool enough for a jacket, even over her sweater, but she didn't want to take the time to go back for one-she wanted to get to the café and join other people as soon as possible. She didn't need to be alone with J. B. McGrath for one minute longer than was absolutely necessary.

She was feeling awkward and out of control this morning, but it wasn't just him. It was last night, too. She'd talked with Donna Jacobs, the acting chief of police, a former captain with the Portland Police Department-very good, but wary of having Zoe back in town, especially with two break-ins within twenty-four hours of her return.

The water was choppy in the harbor as they walked along Ocean Drive, no sign of fog or mist or rain in the clear air. The bright reds and oranges of the huge, stately maple trees in yards above the harbor were breathtaking against the blue sky. Soon the leaves would start to fall, the reds first, the rusts and burgundies last.

Zoe had to choke back a tug of emotion. Autumn was her favorite season in Maine. She used to associate it with cooler weather, beautiful scenery, plentiful lobsters, hikes and Olivia's birthday-for years, they'd all wondered if she would make it to her next birthday, never realizing that she'd die on her birthday. Her one-hundred-first.

"I think you should probably find a different place to stay," she said.

J.B. shrugged. "Let me get more information onTeddy Shelton first. Then you can decide what to do with me. You don't go armed anymore, ex-detective. I might come in handy."

"I'm going to let you think you're funny."

"Who's trying to be funny?"

"McGrath, you're not armed. You're on vacation-"

"I can be armed. Just watch me."

From her own experience in law enforcement, Zoe knew that FBI agents could carry a weapon in any state, without a local permit, on duty or off. "How long are you on this vacation of yours?"

"It's open-ended."

"Meaning they don't necessarily want you back?"

"Of course they want me back. They just aren't sure what to do with me."

"No more undercover work?"

"I never said I worked undercover."

"Stick-"

"Judge Monroe can say what he wants." He glanced over at her, his very blue eyes unreadable. The more agitated she got, the calmer he seemed to get. "I can't talk about it."

"He says you were almost killed. Your throat-" "Your friend Stick must have good connections."

"Excellent connections." Zoe narrowed her eyes on him, aware not only of her quickening heartbeat but of just how damn sexy he was. It was nuts. She had to be going out of her mind. "I've got enough going on in my life right now without hanging around with a loose cannon of an FBI agent."

"You'll have to draw your own conclusions about me," he said quietly. "Yes, I'm just off a rough investigation. Yes, I'm on vacation to help put it behind me. I did my job. It wasn't easy. End of story."

"Bruce thinks you're just obnoxious. Christina says the guys all want to throw you overboard and set fire to your boat."

"That's because I know more and can do more ocean stuff than they think an FBI agent born and raised in Montana should."

Zoe smiled. "Like Bruce said. Obnoxious."

The docks were quiet at this hour. The working boats were already out, the pleasure boats-fewer of them in October than during the summer months-were still in. A handful of walkers and runners cruised the waterfront streets, but most of the tourists were still tucked in bed or having scones and muffins at their inns.

Pulling her hands up into her sleeves, Zoe looked across the harbor and saw two lobster boats churning out to sea.

J.B. hunched his shoulders against a sudden gustingbreeze. "You can almost see Jen Periwinkle crawling around on those rocks, can't you? I've only read a few of your aunt's mysteries, but her fictional Maine is a lot like the real one."

"All Jen Periwinkle's mysteries get solved," Zoe said.

"No DNA labs, either. She does it with her wits and clues scattered through the book. It's fun, a puzzle to be solved. Real life-"

"Real life's different. Aunt Olivia knew that."

J.B. nodded, as if he'd known her himself. "I'm sure she did."

"She never took anything here for granted. That's why she created the nature preserve and left most of her money for its protection and continuing work." Zoe glanced out toward the head of the harbor and her aunt's famous house, a Maine landmark. Hers now. An honor and a burden, but a problem for later. "She was born and raised in Goose Harbor and lived here her whole life, but she didn't assume that everything she loved would automatically be here for future generations."

J.B. moved on toward the café. "Did people mind when she bought up that much prime coastal acreage and set it aside as a nature preserve?"

"At first it was controversial, but you can't develop every single inch of coastline. People know that. And it turns out the preserve attracts tourists and ultimately makes money for the town."

"Even with two break-ins in two days, there was a lot more crime in Jen Periwinkle's Goose Harbor."

Zoe looked out past the mouth of the harbor at the endless blue horizon, where sky and water seemed to meet. "At least the crimes Jen had to deal with only affected fictional characters, not real people."