t's after midnight," Sloan said as she strolled along the beach toward Carter's house, her hand held in Noah's warm clasp, his long fingers entwined with hers. Her senses were alive to his touch, his nearness, even the sound of his deep, rich voice.

"I had fun," he said.

"I'm glad."

"You make everything seem like fun."

"Thank you."

Quietly, and without emphasis, he added, "I'm crazy about you."

Sloan's heart slammed into her ribs. I love you, she thought. "Thank you," she whispered, because she couldn't tell him the truth.

He slanted her a sidewise smile. "Is that all?" he asked, sounding a little disappointed.

Sloan stopped. "No, it isn't," she said softly, and leaning up on her toes, she told him with her kiss what she dared not tell him with words. His arms closed around her, kissing her back, his body hardening quickly against hers.

He loved her, too, she thought.

They were partway across the back lawn, near Carter's putting green when Sloan belatedly remembered the infrared beams and her hand flew to her throat. "I forgot about those things!"

"What things?"

She laughed at her nervous fright. "The infrared beams—If the security system had been on, we'd have tripped the beams when we started across the lawn. Dishler must have seen me go out and bypassed the beams so they wouldn't be activated when the security system was armed."

"Either that," Noah joked, "or the cops are pulling up to the front door right now."

"No," Sloan reassured him. "Paris told me that when the alarm is tripped, all the house lights go on and the sirens go off."

"What?" he joked. "Haven't you ever heard of a silent alarm that goes straight to the police station?"

Not only had Sloan heard of that, she could have told him how to wire and install one. Rather than add one more thing to the list of items he was going to feel deceived about later, she said brightly, "I know all about that stuff."

He tightened his hand in a playful squeeze. "I'll just bet you do," he said, and Sloan was immediately wary.

"Why do you say that?"

"Simple logic and brilliant insight. Combined, they lead me to conclude that a woman who learns self-defense to protect herself when she's walking on the street would undoubtedly have a very good security system to protect herself when she sleeps. Am I right?" he said with smug superiority.

"I can't deny—" Sloan began, just as a shadowy figure on an upstairs balcony called softly, "Hi, you two!"

It was Paris, wearing a robe, standing at the railing.

"How are you feeling?" Sloan asked.

"Much better. I slept all day, though, and now I'm wide awake. Paul and Father both came in around eleven, but they went straight to bed. I was thinking of going down to the kitchen and making some hot chocolate. Do you want some?"

Sloan said yes; she would have said yes if she was falling asleep on her feet, but Noah shook his head and stopped at the back door. "I'm a little tired, and I couldn't ingest another molecule of anything." He wasn't too tired to give her a long and very thorough kiss good-night, or to continue to hold her in his arms afterward, which gave Sloan the thrilling feeling that he didn't like to leave her. Leaning forward, he unlocked the back door with the key she gave him and swung it open. "I'll call you in the—"

Paris's scream cut him off. "Great-grandmother!—No—Help me!"

Sloan whirled and raced through the doorway and down the back hall in the general direction of Paris's scream, with Noah right behind her. Beyond the kitchen was a cozy study where Edith had been watching television earlier, and the scene that greeted Sloan struck terror in her heart. Edith was lying slumped over on the sofa with Paris bending over her, trying to turn her over. "Oh, my God, oh, my God," Paris was moaning. "A heart attack. No one here with her…"

"Call nine-one-one," Sloan ordered her sister, taking over. Sloan gently rolled the elderly woman onto her back. "We'll start CPR and—" Sloan broke off when she saw the gunshot wound in her great-grandmother's chest. She sprang to her feet. "Get Paul!" Sloan shouted over her shoulder, already running. "Don't touch anything! Turn on the house lights—"

For a split second Noah thought she was running for a telephone, but there was one on the desk, and then he heard the back door crash open against the house.

"Call nine-one-one!" he shouted at Paris, charging out of the room in pursuit of Sloan. He couldn't believe the impulsive little fool was actually outside looking for a murderer.

He ran out the back door, his gaze flying over the deserted lawn; then he turned right, running along the back of the house because that seemed like the most logical route. He rounded the corner just as she dodged into the shadows up ahead. When he saw her again, she was flattened against the side of the house at the very front, looking around the corner. "Sloan!" he shouted, but she was already on the run, streaking across the front lawn, dodging shrubbery and jumping over obstacles as if they were hurdles in a footrace. He ran after her, gaining on her, too furious and frightened for her to appreciate the efficiency and agility of her movements—or to register why what she was doing looked uncannily familiar.

She stopped near the front gates. Her head drooped forward in defeat, and her shoulders began to heave with silent weeping. Noah caught up to her, grabbed her arms, and spun her around. "What the hell—"

"She's dead," she sobbed. "She's dead—" The tears streaming down her cheeks doused his wrath over her recklessness, and Noah pulled her against him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

In the distance, sirens were wailing, moving closer, and Noah noticed the electric gates beginning to open. He moved Sloan out of the driveway as two police cruisers arrived from opposite directions, sirens wailing, light bars flashing.