Eames sat in her car and stared at the motel. It was five o'clock in the morning. What the hell had she been thinking? Sighing, she went to the office and read the sign. For nighttime service, dial 88. She picked up the phone and dialed '88'. A sleepy voice answered, "May I help you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I need a room."

"Not a bother. I'll be right down."

Within a few minutes, a door to the side of the lobby opened and an attractive woman in a bathrobe came to the desk. Her hair was gathered on top of her head in a bun and her face was careworn, making her look older than she probably was. She smiled kindly. "Hello. I'm Martha Rasden. We have so few guests this time of year. During the summer I hire a night clerk, but it's just not worth it now. You said you need a room?"

"Yes, but first I need to know if someone checked in here earlier in the week."

"I've only had one guest check in this week."

"From New York?"

"Yes. A police officer."

She pulled out her badge and showed it to her. "Can you tell me what room he's in?"

Martha looked worried. "What has he done?"

Other than being a stupid ass? "He hasn't done anything. He's my partner and I'm meeting him here. He just doesn't know it yet, and I would really appreciate it if you didn't say anything to him when you see him."

She smiled and relaxed. "He's kind of private. We don't see him much, to the dismay of my children."

Eames returned her smile. "Yeah, he has that effect on people. Kids love him. He's good with them."

Martha leaned toward her. "My daughter is diving into her history project because of him."

That was Bobby. She smiled fondly. "I'm sure he'd be glad to know that. He loves history, and he thinks everyone else should, too."

The innkeeper laughed. "I can put you in an adjoining room, if you'd like."

"That would be perfect."

She handed her a card to fill out and said, "Just fill that out. The rate is $50, including tax. How long will you be staying?"

"Just till Sunday."

"That will be $150."

She handed her a credit card and filled out the registration card. Martha came back with the card and the credit slip, both of which she handed to Eames as she gave her the filled-out card. She signed the slip and put her credit card back in her pocket. Martha handed her a key. "Your room is 206. Mr. Goren is in 204."

"Thank you."

She left the lobby, parked her car and went up to her room. She was pleased. It was a really nice room, clean and well-kept. She went out onto the balcony and looked toward the sea, where the pre-dawn glow illuminated the sky. "I'm watching the sunrise. I swear I'm going to kick your ass, Goren."

She looked over at the adjoining balcony, about five feet away. An open pack of cigarettes and a tall bottle of very dark beer sat on the table. She leaned forward over the railing to look toward the door. The curtains billowed out the open door. She looked down at the ground below and sighed, deciding against balcony hopping. "I am so not an acrobat."

She sat down and rubbed her face. She was exhausted. He wasn't going to be waking any time soon, so she decided it wouldn't hurt for her to get a few hours of sleep. She doubted he'd be up much before the sun set anyway. What worried her was how he was going to react when he saw her. She knew him better than anyone did, but she could not even guess what his reaction would be. Her money was on one of two scenarios. He would be furious or he would be relieved, and she prepared herself for one of those reactions. But she knew fully well that with Bobby, making predictions was dangerous because if he was anything, it was unpredictable. She sighed. She was nervous about this, but she knew it had to be done. He couldn't go on like this, and neither could she. The eastern sky was a brilliant explosion of reds, oranges, pinks and purples. She'd forgotten how beautiful the sunrise over the sea was. Taking a deep breath of the cold, moist air, she went into her room, pulling the curtains shut so she could get some sleep.

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A few hours later, she woke on her own. She glanced at the clock. 11:48. No wonder she was hungry. Stretching, she went to the balcony and looked over at his door. It was still open and nothing was disturbed. He would probably drink that beer when he got up to try to kill the hangover, and as drunk as he had been...well, he wasn't up yet.

She went down into the office, where Martha was working on her books. "Dreary work, isn't it?"

"A necessary evil," Martha smiled.

"My dad hates just doing his taxes. I couldn't imagine him running a place like this."

"This inn has been in my family since the mid-1800s. I'll pass it on to my children."

"How many kids do you have?"

"Just two. Carrie is sixteen and Freddie is nine. Your partner made a big impression on both of them. I know they would love to meet you."

"Really? Why?"

"He spoke highly of you. Freddie is at an age where anything 'police' is the greatest thing in the world. He was a little disappointed to find out it's not all about shooting people."

Eames laughed. "No, we try not to shoot anyone. Bobby is especially good at talking people down. He rarely has to resort to his weapon."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Not yet. He's still sleeping. I talked to him early this morning and he was having a rough time."

"Is something wrong with him?"

Nothing a good smack in the head won't cure. "He's just been under a lot of stress lately. He'll be fine. I was wondering if there's a place to grab a bite to eat nearby."

"There's a diner down the street. The food there is pretty good."

"Thank you. Good luck with your books."

Martha smiled again. "I was glad for the distraction."

Eames left the inn and headed down the street in the direction Martha had indicated. After eating, she walked around. She was impressed by the place...all the charm of a New England coastal town, tall ships...no wonder he liked it here.

By the time she got back to the inn, it was dark. Walking around town had been so pleasant, she'd lost track of the time.Quietly, she slid the balcony door open. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted past her nose. He was awake. She had been thinking about how to approach him all day, and she had no idea what approach would be best. She heard him take a deep breath and cough, then the balcony door slid closed. A few minutes later, she heard his door close. She stepped out on the balcony and was surprised, a few minutes later, to see him walk across the beach toward the sea. Well, that option had never occurred to her. Confront him on the beach. She liked that one. She headed out the door and down toward the beach.

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He groaned and rolled over in the bed. His head was pounding and he felt like shit. Slowly, he got up, still a little unsteady. Damn. He looked toward the balcony and frowned. Who left the damn door open? Closing the door, he rubbed the back of his neck and winced. Well, he had slept. He felt like a train wreck, but he'd slept. Since there was no dawn glow in the sky, he could only assume he'd slept through the day and that it was now twilight out there. After a hot shower, he was steady again, and he felt a little better. Stepping out onto the balcony, he sat down, opened the beer that was on the table and lit a cigarette. He was almost done with the beer when he thought he heard a sliding door. He wasn't sure which rooms the other guests were staying in, so he just assumed it was one of them stepping out onto their balcony. He put out the cigarette, drained the beer and decided to go for a walk on the beach. He'd been right about one thing yesterday. A night of heavy drinking did nothing to solve the dilemma that had sent him here. Four days now and he was no closer to a resolution than he'd been when he arrived. What the hell was he going to do?