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"Hey, Snater, Cole, get that fire hose put away, yea?" Rylan's voice rose above the bustle as he gestured to the two firefights in question. He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under one arm, the other hand moving to push his hair off his sticky forehead. The suit? Always hot.

"Oh, yes ma'am, of course," he said, turning to her. That little dog in her arms seemed awfully quiet, for a creature in such close proximity to a fire. "Is this your car?"

"A condition?" Rylan echoed, instantly concerned. "Make sure you keep an eye on that, ma'am. Health, you know." Was important.

Then he paused and gave her a look. "Well. I guess? I don't know if it's odd per se, but a raccoon or something's taken to bringing its dead treats to my window lately. Why? Are they becoming an epidemic around Ashdown?" The raccoons, he meant of course. Not the odd, dead things.

He wasn't sure how much faith he ought to put in Lara's words. The frenetic way her gaze shifted about unnerved him a little. The tiny, silent Cerby unnerved him probably more than it should. But any theory was better than no theory, he supposed. "What is it then?" He'd play along. And after that, maybe, start to wonder how she knew his name if she wasn't the one who'd made the call about the car.

Rylan took a second to mull it over. Following a strange, possibly not entirely sane woman to a less public spot so she could share her conspiracy theory? Probably not the smartest move.

Then again, she looked to be about half his size.

"We can chat near those boats over there, away from the crowd, but I can't go far. The engine can't leave without me," he said.

"And, no... well. I just put out the fires. The police are the ones who have to figure out who did it," he added, nodding to a pair of detectives who had arrived on scene. In spite of himself, a wicked grin crossed his face. Inter-departmental rivalries and all.

But he stopped smiling, replaced the grin with a frown at Lara's next words. "What Russian girl?"

Rylan followed, trying to puzzle out her cryptic questions. "The part where he gets shoved out a window, or the part where he controls animals with his mind?"

She probably didn't mean the part where the poor kid had just gone through the most awkward puberty ever televised.

"You think... someone, through an animal, is bringing me dead mice? Or... someone is dreaming dead mice onto my windowsill?" Poor Lara seemed battier by the minute. But Rylan looked down at little Cerby, and thought...

No. There was no way.

"What makes you think that? Is it happening to you?"

"You think... WHAT?" Rylan's brow creased into a full-on frown that was entirely uncharacteristic for his face. Mostly, it was one of confusion. "Why would you think that? How? Also, how do you know my name?"

So many questions, and he didn't seem inclined to take the theory at face value any time soon. You couldn't just dream things onto windowsills like that.

"Why would there be all that tapping if I was doing it myself?"