loan had been too miserable during the drive back to Bell Harbor to worry about what impact the news of her arrest would have on her life and job in Bell Harbor, but within hours of her return, she had no doubt.

When Sloan called her mother at Lydia's shop to tell her she was home, Kimberly ignored Lydia's complaint and actually took the rest of the day off "for personal reasons." Sara terminated a meeting with an important client and arrived immediately after Sloan's mother; then they both doted on her as if she were ill, bringing her small treats and favorite foods in attempts to restore both her mood and her appetite.

Sloan didn't realize they were doing this because she looked ill. With her arms wrapped around a throw pillow, she sat curled tightly into a corner of the sofa and told them what she knew about the murder.

They'd both recognized Paul aboard Noah's boat when they saw him on the news, and Sloan saw no reason not to tell them the truth about her relationship with Paul. Rather than upset her mother, however, Sloan let them believe it was Noah Maitland that Paul had gone to Palm Beach to investigate, and she left Carter out of the picture. She told them about Paris and Carter and people she'd met and things she'd done, but she left out her brief love affair with Noah. She didn't know how to discuss him or if she could do it without breaking down.

When she ran out of things to talk about, Kimberly went into the kitchen to make Sloan a cup of tea while Sara made an attempt to lighten Sloan's mood that backfired badly. "Did you see any Mr. Perfects anywhere?" she teased.

Sloan had to fight to control her expression. "I… well… yes."

"How many?"

"Not many. One."

"Only one? Palm Beach is the gathering place for an awful lot of Mr. Perfects. You must not have been looking around."

Sloan closed her eyes and saw a tanned male face with a square jaw, beautiful gray eyes, and an insistent mouth leaning toward her. She swallowed. "He was as perfect as it gets."

"Did you meet him?"

"Oh, yes," Sloan said weakly. "I met him."

"And did you go out with him?"

"Yes."

"And?" Sara prodded.

Sloan's voice dropped to a whisper, and she had to clear her throat "We liked each other."

"How much did you like each other?" Sara's smile wavered as she watched Sloan's face and listened to her voice.

Sloan laid her cheek against the pillow she was holding and swallowed. "A lot."

"Do we have a name?" Sara asked.

"Noah Maitland."

"Noah Maitland?" Sara uttered. "Noah Maitland?" Like many residents of Bell Harbor, Sara subscribed to the Palm Beach Daily News and kept up on the social whirl there. "Listen to me. Even if he weren't an arms smuggler, you wouldn't want him. He has a different rich, glamorous woman with him in every picture I've seen of him, but he never sticks with any of them."

Before Sloan could reply, her mother returned from the kitchen with the tea and spoke up, her voice gentle but firm. "I don't think Sloan should give up hope that all this will work out. Edith's murderer will be found, and then Paris and Carter will realize she was innocent, and they'll forgive her. And so far, no one has said that anything illegal has been found on Noah Maitland's boats. I'm sure he's innocent or Sloan would never have—" She glanced tenderly at her unhappy daughter and said with certainty, "Or else Sloan would never have fallen in love with him. The truth will come out about his innocence, and Sloan can apologize to him. I'm sure he's a kind, gentle man who will understand and forgive her." She looked at Sloan. "Isn't that true, darling?"

Sloan thought of her last phone call with Noah and lifted teary eyes to her mother. "No."

A few minutes later, Sloan realized she had to take immediate steps to help her get over all this. She reached for the phone and called the police department. "Matt, this is Sloan," she told Lieutenant Caruso. "I'd like to come back to work tomorrow instead of Monday, if you can use me."

"Are you back in town?" he asked, and when she said she was, he told her to report for duty in the morning. Caruso hung up the phone and strolled over to Jess Jessup's desk. "Sloan is home. I told her she could come to work tomorrow. I hope that's okay with Captain Ingersoll. I mean, she's been charged with murder…"

Jess stood up. "Caruso, you're an ass."

"Where are you going?" Caruso called after him.

"You can reach me on the radio if you need me," he replied, but before he left, Jess stopped at the dispatcher's desk. "Sloan is back," he told the dispatcher. "She's at home."

Before Jess reached his car, the dispatcher had put the word out to the officers on duty around Bell Harbor.

Within ten minutes, a parade of police cruisers began to arrive in front of her house.

Jess arrived first, and Sara answered the door. They had not seen each other since he'd appeared at her house after the barbecue on the beach, and Sara faltered when she saw him standing there. "Come out here a minute," Jess ordered, drawing Sara forward onto Sloan's porch. "How's she doing?"

"She's fine," Sara said firmly. "She's terrific."

Jess wasn't deceived. "How is she really doing?"

"Fair."

He nodded as if he expected that; then he did the last thing Sara expected him to do or wanted him to do. He reached out and tipped her chin up, and his smile was without mockery or flirtation. "Do you think we could bury the hatchet for her sake for a while?"

Sara nodded warily, taken aback by the gentleness in his face as he looked at her. "I'd like that, Jess."

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, a steady procession of police cruisers arrived at Sloan's house and disappeared after a little while. Boxes of pizzas and sandwiches from fast-food restaurants accumulated on the living room table as Sloan's friends on the force invented excuses to come by and say hello.

Sloan knew better.

They had come to show their support and to cheer her up. It worked until Sloan went to bed that night. Alone in her bed, there was nothing to distract her from remembering Noah. She fell asleep thinking about the times she'd lain against his side after they'd made love, her head on his shoulder, his hand idly caressing her, until they both slept. Or made love again.