A beep indicated an incoming call. When I lowered the phone, the LCD panel glowed the digits I'd been hoping to see. Montreal exchange.

"Gotta go, Pete."

I clicked over.

"Phoning too late?"

"Never." I smiled my first smile since uncovering the skeleton in three-east.

"Lonely?"

"I posted my number in the men's room at Hyman's Seafood."

"I love it when you go all mushy missing me."

Andrew Ryan is a detective with the Major Crimes Division of the Quebec Provincial Police. You get the picture: Brennan, anthropologist, Laboratoire de sciences judiciaires et de médecine légale; Ryan, cop, Section de crimes contre la personne, Sûrété du Québec. We've worked homicides together for more than a decade.

Recently, Ryan and I had started working other things, as well. Personal things.

One of them did a wee flip at the sound of his voice.

"Good day digging?"

I drew a breath, stopped. Share? Wait?

Ryan picked up on my hesitation.

"What?" he encouraged.

"We found an intrusive burial. A complete skeleton with vestiges of soft tissue and associated clothing."

"Recent?"

"Yes. I called the coroner. She and I exhumed it together. It's now at the morgue."

While Ryan is charming, thoughtful, and witty, he can also be annoying as hell. I knew his response before it left his lips.

"How do you get yourself into these situations, Brennan?"

"I submit well-written resumes."

"Will you do the consult?"

"I have my students to think about."

Wind ruffled the palmetto fronds. Across the dunes, surf pounded sand.

"You'll take the case."

I didn't agree or disagree.

"How's Lily?" I asked.

"Only three door-slamming incidents today. Minor league. No broken glass or splintered wood. I take that as a sign the visit's going well."

Lily was new to Ryan's life. And vice versa. For almost two decades father and daughter knew nothing of each other. Then Lily's mother made contact.