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'I'll take your word for it.'

Hilary Bradley sat down next to him on top of the bench. She stared at the horizon, where the blue sky deepened into night. She took off her glasses and brushed a wisp of her blond hair from her eyes, a simple gesture that Cab found oddly erotic. He was uncomfortably aware that he found this woman attractive. He knew what Mark Bradley saw in her. Strength. Determination. Depth.

Even so, her face was troubled. Something was bothering her.

'Are you all right?' he asked.

She gave him a look that said: Why do you care?

'I'm fine,' she replied. 'Why do you ask?' 'I assume I would be about the last person on earth you'd want to talk to,' he said.

'Sometimes when you live out here, you just find yourself wanting to talk to someone, no matter who it is.'

'You have a gift for flattery.'

She realized what she'd said. 'Sorry.'

'Don't worry about it.'

Hilary looked as if she was grasping for something innocuous to say. He suspected that was because she didn't want to say whatever was really in her head. 'What do you use in your hair?' she asked.

He was amused, it's a molding gel. My mother sends it to me from London.'

'I like it.'

'Thank you.'

'You're not exactly a typical cop, are you?'

'Not exactly,' Cab acknowledged.

'Speaking of your mother,' Hilary said, 'I didn't realize at first who she was. It took me a while to put together the name. I don't think I've ever seen any of her movies. I go for chick flicks.'

Cab cocked an eyebrow. 'You?'

'No,' Hilary said, smiling. 'I already told you, I'm not the girly type.'

He was almost willing to believe she was flirting with him.

'It's an artificial life, isn't it?' she asked. 'Hollywood, I mean.'

'Very.'

'Is that why you're not in it?'

'Yes.'

'You don't like to talk about yourself, do you?'

'No.'

She nodded. 'Me neither. I apologize for that crack I made on the island. About a woman messing with you. It's none of my business.'

He wondered if she expected him to open up and admit the truth. You were right, he would say. Let me tell you about Vivian Frost. Instead, he didn't say anything at all. He felt it again, the old instinct to shut himself off from women. He wondered, as he had with Lala, if it was worth trying to get past it. If circumstances were different, Hilary Bradley was the kind of woman he would have enjoyed getting to know. But circumstances weren't different. Not for her. Not for him.

'Do you mind if I make a cop-like observation?' he asked her.

'Go ahead.'

'You don't strike me as a woman who misses a ferry.'

She looked uncomfortable. 'It happens all the time.'

'If you say so.'

He gave her a minute of silence. He knew she was tempted to get up and leave. Whatever was bothering her, it made her feel vulnerable, and she was obviously a woman who didn't enjoy that feeling.

'I didn't miss the ferry,' she admitted. 'I decided not to go home tonight.'

'I see.'

Her face was haunted, which only made it prettier. He disliked women who wanted you to take care of them, and that wasn't Hilary Bradley at all. She looked as if she could barely get the words out to admit what was in her head.

'Be honest with me,' she said. 'Do you really have a witness who saw Mark kissing Glory Fischer on the beach?'

Cab understood. The foundation on which she'd built her life suddenly felt weak. Normally, he wouldn't have said a thing about the evidence in the case, but he found himself unable to say nothing. He hedged his words.

'I haven't talked to the witness myself,' he said. 'I'm going to do that tomorrow. I can't tell you exactly what he saw or didn't see.'

'It was dark on the beach. It could still be a case of misidentification.'

'I can't say yes or no.'

'Things aren't always what they seem,' she said forcefully, and he thought she was talking to herself as much as she was talking to him.

'I realize that. For what it's worth, Mrs Bradley, I hope your husband is innocent. I'd like to think there are a few strong relationships left in this world.'

'I thought