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I glanced at Edward, but his face was all open and cheerful for the child and gave me nothing.

“That’s right,” I said.

“Ted says that you’d hurt someone to protect me just like he would.”

I met her big brown eyes, and nodded. “Yes, I would.”

She smiled then and it was beautiful, like sunshine breaking through clouds. She reached out her free hand to me, and I took it. Edward and I walked back to the parking lot, holding the child’s hands while she half-walked, half-danced between us. She believed in Ted, and Ted had told her that she could believe in me, so she did. The odd thing was that I would hurt someone to protect her. I would kill to keep her safe. I looked across at Edward and for just a moment he looked back at me from the mask. We stared at each other over the child, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to get us all out of the mess that he had made.

Becca said, “Swing me.”

Edward counted out, “One, two, three,” and swung her up and out, forcing me to swing her other arm. We moved across the parking lot, swinging Becca between us while she gave that joyous, full-throated laugh.

We sat her down laughing in front of her mother. Donna was composed and smiling. I was proud of her. Becca looked up at me, shining. “Mommy says I’m too big to swing now, but you’re strong, aren’t you?”

I smiled at her, but I looked at Edward when I said, “Yes, I am.”

15

DONNA AND EDWARD DID a tender but decorous good-bye. Peter rolled his eyes and scowled as if they’d done a lot more than a semi-chaste kiss. He’d have had a cow if he could have seen them smooching earlier at the airport. Becca kissed Edward on the cheek, giggling. Peter ignored it all and got in the car as soon as he could as if afraid “Ted” might try to hug him, too.

Edward waved until the car turned onto Lomos and out of sight, then he turned to me. All he did was look at me, but it was enough.

“Let’s get in the car and get some air conditioning going before I grill you about what the hell is going on,” I said.

He unlocked the car. We got inside. He started the engine and the air conditioner, though the air hadn’t had time to cool yet. We sat in the expensive hum of his engine with the hot air blowing on us, and silence filled the car.

“Are you counting to ten?” he asked.

“Try a thousand and you’ll be closer.”

“Ask. I know you want to.”

“Okay, we’ll skip the tirade about you dragging Donna and her kids into your mess and go straight to who the hell is Riker and why did he send goons to warn you off?”

“First, it was Donna’s mess, and she dragged me into it.”

My disbelief must have shown on my face because he continued, “She and her friends are a part of an amateur archeology society that tries to preserve Native American sites in the area. Are you familiar with how an archeological dig is done?”

“A little. I know they use string and tags to mark where an object is found, take pictures, make drawings, sort of like you do for a dead body before you move it.”

“Trust you to come up with the perfect analogy,” he said, but he was smiling. “I’ve gone with Donna on weekends with the kids. They use freaking toothbrushes and tiny paint brushes to gently clean the dirt away, or dental picks.”

“I know you have a point,” I said.

“Pot hunters find a sight that is already being explored, or sometimes one that hasn’t been found, and they bring in bulldozers and backhoes to take out as much as possible in the least amount of time.”

I gaped at him. “But that destroys more than they can possibly take out, and if you move an object before its site is recorded, it loses a lot of its historical value. I mean the dirt it’s found in can help date it. What is found near an object can tell all sorts of things to a trained eye.”

“Pot hunters don’t care about history. They take what they find and sell it to private collectors or dealers who aren’t too particular about how an object was found. A site that Donna was volunteering on was raided.”

“She asked you to look into it,” I said.

“You underestimate