Lulu nodded. “Just feels better to have somebody agree with me. Go eat. Soup’s black bean today.”

“That’ll hit the spot. Oh, Lu?” Ripley paused on her way to the stairs. “If you write Jane back, tell her not to say anything about this. You know.”

“Already done.”

That, Ripley told herself, was that. Three good deeds in one day. What more could anyone ask? She strolled up to the counter, started to ring the bell. Then saw, through the kitchen door, Nell serving soup and a sandwich to Mac.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, a place reserved for friends. She’d taken two long strides toward the end of the counter before she stopped herself.

This wasn’t the way, she thought. Going in guns blazing—metaphorically—wasn’t the way to deal with the man, the situation, or her own annoyance.

She gave herself a moment to calm, then walked around the counter, into the kitchen.

“Hi, Nell. Mac.” Doing everything she could to radiate goodwill, she sniffed the air. “Smells great. I’ll have what he’s having. Okay if I eat back here?”

“Of course. Coffee with that?” Nell asked her.

“Let’s jazz it up and go with a latté.” Ripley unbundled her coat, hung it on the back of a chair. And sent Mac a slow, warm smile. “Don’t mind a little company, do you, Professor?”

“No. You look great today.”

“Thanks.” She sat across from him. “What’re you up to?”

“I asked him to come back, Ripley.” Nell squeezed Ripley’s shoulder before setting down a bowl of soup. “To talk.”

Annoyance clawed up in her throat, and was dutifully swallowed. “If you’re all right with it, I’m all right with it.”

“Actually, Mac’s been entertaining me with some stories of his travels, and his work. It’s fascinating. I’m going to order those books you recommended,” Nell added, tossing him a glance as she made Ripley’s sandwich.

“I hope you’ll tell me what you think, after you’ve read them.”

“I will.” She served the sandwich. “I’ll get your latté.”

When she was out of earshot, Mac leaned forward. “I’m not pushing her.”

Ripley held up a hand. “Truce. Nell’s in charge of her own life, makes her own decisions.” You miserable son of a bitch.

“Okay. But I want you to understand that I know she’s been through more than anyone should ever have to go through. I won’t push, whatever the circumstances.”

The fact that she believed him didn’t change a thing.

She ate with him, listened to his laugh when she told him about the dog, the boy. It irritated her to realize she liked talking to him, hearing him laugh.

The man was good company, even if he was a slug.

Under other circumstances she’d have enjoyed spending time with him. Getting to know him better. Finding out all the stuff that went on inside of that high-voltage brain.

His smarts weren’t boring. She’d already figured out that much. Then there were those terrific brown eyes, the long, slow smile, the really superior body. To say nothing of the moves—which were past excellent.

Then she imagined him using those moves on Mia only hours, hours after he’d danced with her. There was only one recourse. He must be annihilated.

“So,” she said, “you must be keeping pretty busy, hunting spooks and searching for, what is it, vortexes or whatever.”

“Busy enough. I’m getting my bearings, getting to know the island.”

“And the natives,” she said. Sweetly.

“Sure. You know, my day’s still pretty flexible,” he told her. “I can wander over to the gym almost anytime. I’d enjoy the workout more with company.”

Why don’t you ask Mia to come sweat with you? she thought. “What time do you usually go over in the morning?” She knew, of course. She knew everything that went on under her own damn nose.

“About seven-thirty.”

“That could work for me.”

In fact, she decided, it would be perfect.

She walked into the gym at seven-forty-five. He was already on the stepper, and just working up a sweat. He hadn’t shaved again. When he shot her a quick grin, she could only think it was too damn bad she had to crush him like a bug.

He was working out to music instead of TV. Wasn’t it just like him to try to be obliging?

She set the weight on a leg machine, slithered onto the bench on her belly, and began to work on her hamstrings. The added benefit was to give him a good view of her butt. Look and dream, pal, she thought. Look and dream.

“I heard we’re in for more snow.”

She counted off reps. “The sky’s full of it. Did you get that wood?”

“Not yet. I lost the name.”

“It’s in your coat pocket.”

“It is?”

He looked cute when he was baffled. “That’s where you stuck it after I wrote it down for you. Right pocket of your long black coat.”

“Oh.”

“Nobody seems to be thinking of health and fitness this morning,” she commented.

“Actually, there was a guy in here before. He finished up right before you came in. Great legs you’ve got there, Deputy Todd.”

“You think?” She slid a flirtatious smile onto her face, gave him a deliberate once-over. “Yours aren’t so bad, either, Dr. Booke.”

“You should’ve seen me at eighteen. Well, twenty,” he corrected. “Any time up to twenty I was the model for the guy who gets sand kicked in his face at the beach.”

“Skinny, were you?”

“A toothpick with a sign on his back saying ‘Please, pick on me.’ ”

There was a little tug of sympathy for the skinny, undoubtedly awkward boy. Remembering her mission, she ignored it. “So you decided to get cut.” She switched to work her calf muscles.

“A guy with my body type doesn’t get cut unless he devotes his life to it. I just wanted to get in shape. I read up on bodybuilding.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh. “Read up on it?”

“That’s my approach,” he said with a shrug. “Then I experimented with different programs until I found what I could do.” Obviously amused at himself, he grinned over at her. “I made charts.”