She walked down the gravel path to the dock and out on the lake. She looped the strap around her neck and looked through the binoculars to the other side of the lake where the floatplane had gone. Twisting the focus knob, the trees and bushes suddenly sprang into view. Scanning along the shoreline she saw a few cabins, and to the right of them a little building with a windsock flying from a pole. For the floatplane? She took down the binoculars and looked at them. Never had she had a pair with the power of these. Putting them back up to her eyes, she peered at the cabins again. The low thrum of an engine came from the north. Taking the glasses away from her eyes, she looked up at the sky she spotted a tiny speck coming toward the lake. Using the glasses, she searched the sky for the plane, found it and focused in on it. Through them, the plane looked large. She could clearly see the two props high on the wings and the pontoons under the fuselage. She watched it wobble back and forth, lining up with the lake, getting lower and lower.

Soon it was skimming over the water, barely touching it, and then spray shot up behind it as the pontoons made full contact with the water. The noise from the engines grew louder and louder until the plane passed right in front of her and turned toward the opposite shore. She watched through the glasses as it taxied across the water, maneuvered up next to a long wooden dock pointing out from shore at an angle and stopped the engines. Someone, a young woman, came out of the building and tied it to the dock. She couldn't see the side of the airplane facing the shore, but soon two men in orange hats and vests walked from the plane up to the building. "See anything interesting?" said a man's voice at her side.

"Aahhk!" Brooke jerked back, lost her balance, grabbed for a rail that wasn't there and felt herself going over the dock's edge. The glasses swung wildly around her neck. A strong hand grabbed her arm and steadied her, preventing her from falling into the lake.

Brooke regained her balance, pulled her arm free and turned to see a tall man with dark hair and wrap around dark glasses wearing a black baseball style hat. His blue shirt hung loose over his slacks and his black soft–soled shoes explained why she hadn't heard his approach. By his side stood a large dog. She recognized what he was at once. Cop.

"You idiot! I almost fell in the lake!" She pulled her arm free. "Don't you know any better than to sneak up on people? I almost fell in the water!" She wanted to push past him and go back up to the house, trying to hide the fact that she was shaking, but with the lake at her heels and the man and dog in front of her, she was trapped.

Standing with his legs apart, one leg slightly behind the other, arms loose at his sides, he watched her. The dog looked a little like a German shepherd, but had a blacker face and sleeker body than the shepherds she had seen. The silence became demanding. He finally said, "Do you live here?"

Brooke looked up at him, no small feat since she stood five feet nine inches in her stocking feet. She didn't want him know how nervous he made her. "Does that usually work for you?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"What?" he said.

She took a deep breath, "The silent stare. Does it usually work for you?" He looked down at the dog that looked back up at him. "It has been known to," he said.

"Do you have some ID?" she asked. After a moment of adjusting to the fact that he had temporarily lost the initiative in this conversation, the man took a badge holder from his back pocket and opened it. He flashed a gold badge and started to return it to his pocket.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't see that clearly. May I?" Brooke held out her hand, it still trembled a little. He hesitated, took a step closer and placed the leather holder in her hand. She opened it and saw a gold badge with ‘Homeland Security Investigations, Special Agent' imprinted on it with an eagle in flight on the top. The other side held a card with his name, ‘HSI/ICE, Jack Strickland, Special Agent.' She gave the credentials back to him.

"Thank you Agent Strickland. What in the heck is I.C.E?"