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were by lovely Mirror Lake, twenty-six miles north of Anchorage. She was tired after the morning’s ride, but the crisp freshness of the summer breeze ruffling her hair revitalized her and she took a deep breath.
    Turning back to him, she was surprised to see how dark and direct his eyes had become. Lowering her lashes, she answered, “I’ll be glad to help if I can.” She felt a flash of uncomfortable color warm her cheeks at his reminder of their meeting in the hospital. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. With grim determination, she decided that rather than avoid this man for a month, she might as well clear the air once and for all. Swallowing several times before trying her voice again, she finally spoke. “Since you brought it up”—she lifted a shoulder in an apologetic shrug—“I’m really sorry about thinking you were … a …” She stuttered to a halt as his expression opened in a friendly grin.
    “A felon?” he helped. “A crook?”
    Her lips quirked into a small smile. Shecouldn’t help it in the face of his guileless expression. “Yes.”
    He shook his head. “Don’t apologize, Silky. I was working undercover. It was my job to look like a thug.” He ate the last of his Granola bar before running a fist across his clean-shaven jaw. “Worked on that scruffy disguise for two days.”
    Silky’s eyes widened as he went on. “You aren’t supposed to tell a cop by his cover, you know. By assuming I was the bad guy, you complimented me.”
    She was looking down at her hands, now full of apple and Granola bar. A long finger lightly touched her chin, lifting her face to meet dark, soft eyes. “Thanks.” His expression was encouraging as he lowered his hand to his bent knee, adding, “Now, you say, ‘You’re welcome,’ and finish that lunch.”
    His offhand dismissal of something that had been so disconcerting to her put her at ease, and for the first time, she smiled a legitimate smile. “You’re welcome.” Following orders, she took a bite of her apple and began to relax. She watched the languid sweep of a willow ptarmigan, the Alaskan state bird, as it skimmed the lake for food.
    “Say,” Wade began conversationally, “how come two people who seem to like each other as much as you and Rex do got divorced?”
    The Granola she’d just swallowed became a cloying obstruction in her throat and Silky doubled over in a fit of coughing.
    Wade helped with a couple of sharp raps between her shoulderblades. “You okay?”
    She waved away his concern. “Ye—yes.” She cleared her throat. “How—how did you know about Rex and me?”
    He leaned slightly toward her. “Rex Overbridge?
Mrs.
Silvia Kay Overbridge? What kind of a detective would I be if I couldn’t figure that out?” After a brief pause, he added with a wide grin, “Besides, Annie told me.”
    Silky grimaced, her green eyes narrowing. “Figures.”
    Undaunted, he asked again, “So if you like the guy so much, why the divorce?”
    Silky could see that Wade didn’t mean to be hurtful. Still, his directness was unsettling. Abruptly, she changed the subject. “I’m glad to see how much your leg has improved since I last saw you. How is this trip going to affect it?”
    He chuckled. “You’re right. Your divorce is none of my business. Forget it.” He straightened the leg in question in front of him. The movement caught Silky’s eyes and she watched as he flexed it several times.
    “I started riding a stationary bike for therapy after my … accident in Detroit. Got hooked on the real thing later. Leading the ‘Sag’ is therapeutic.”
    She stretched her legs out too, crossing them at the ankles. With a tired sigh, she said, “Therapy for you, assault and battery for me. My seat must be made of concrete.”
    She looked up in time to catch his gaze sliding to her hips, clad in white nylon shorts, as he took a slow, careful survey of her softly curving anatomy. A half-smile played across his lips as he remarked, “That