Free Face the Fire by Nora Roberts Page B

gray sweatshirt ragged at the hem, he was tall, with a strong, lean face shadowed by a night’s growth of beard. Dark blond hair blew in the frisky breeze, and friendly brown eyes squinted against the flash of sunlight. He had a tough, disciplined build that Sam could admit he hadn’t expected from a scholarly spook hunter.
    He’d imagined a thin, pale, and nerdish bookworm. Instead, he thought, amused with himself, he was getting Indiana Jones.
    “How’s she handle in the rough?” Sam asked.
    “Oh, like a charm.”
    They spent a few minutes, thumbs tucked in front pockets, admiring and talking about the boat.
    “I’m Mac Booke.” Mac held out a hand.
    “Sam Logan.”
    “Thought so. Thanks for the house.”
    “It wasn’t mine, but you’re welcome.”
    “Come on inside, have a beer.”
    He hadn’t intended to socialize, but the offer was so easy and unstudied that Sam found himself heading toward the house with Mac. “Ripley around?”
    “No, she’s on duty this afternoon. Did you want to see her about something?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    Mac only laughed, and after they climbed the steps to the main deck, opened the door. “I guess that feeling’s going to be mutual for a while. Until it all settles in.”
    The deck led into the living room. Sam remembered it as being polished, full of pastels and pale watercolors. Time hadn’t stood still here, either, he mused. The colors were bold and bright, the furnishings tailored for comfort. There were homey, untidy piles of newspapers, books, shoes.
    One of which a busy puppy was currently gnawing.
    “Damn it!” Mac leaped in, tripped over the unmauled mate of the sneaker, and made a grab for the other. The pup was faster, and with the shoe in his mouth he scrambled for cover.
    “Mulder! Give me that.”
    Sam angled his head as man and pup went into a little tug-of-war. The pup lost, but didn’t look put out by it.
    “Mulder?” Sam asked.
    “Yeah, you know— X-Files guy. Ripley said she named him after me. Her little joke.” He heaved out a breath. “She’s not going to think it’s a joke when she sees her shoe.”
    Sam crouched, and the pup, thrilled at the prospect of company, raced over to leap and lick. “Pretty dog. Golden retriever?”
    “Yeah. We’ve only had him three weeks. He’s smart, and mostly housebroken, but he’ll chew through rock if you don’t watch him, which I wasn’t.” Sighing, Mac scooped the pup up and went nose to nose. “You know who’s going to take the heat for this, don’t you?”
    The puppy wriggled in delight and licked Mac’s chin. Giving up on the lecture, Mac tucked Mulder under hisarm. “Beer’s in the kitchen.” He led the way back, got two bottles out of the fridge. On the table sat a number of electronic devices, one of which seemed to be gutted.
    Idly, Sam reached over to pick one up, and set off a series of beeps and blinking red lights.
    “Sorry.”
    “No problem.” Mac’s eyes narrowed, a speculative look. “Why don’t we take these out on the deck? Unless you want to look around. You know, the old homestead and whatever.”
    “No, thanks anyway.” But as they started back out, Sam glanced toward the stairs, imagined his room as it had been, and himself watching the sea, or watching for Mia, out the window.
    From the second floor a new beep sounded.
    “Equipment,” Mac said easily, and had to squelch the urge to dash upstairs and check readings. “I’ve got my lab set up in one of the extra bedrooms.”
    “Hmmm.”
    Once outside, Mac set Mulder down, and he immediately bounded down the steps and began to sniff along the yard. “Anyway . . .” Mac took a swig of beer, leaned on the rail. “Ripley didn’t mention that you were a witch.”
    Sam opened his mouth, closed it again, then just shook his head. “What, am I wearing a sign?”
    “Energy readings.” Mac gestured toward the house. “And actually, I’d wondered about it, as I’ve done a lot of research on the