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enjoying the view, elated by the sense of power and danger surging through her veins.
    “Yeah. I think he could,” she said, the little critters in her belly belying the sanguine smile on her lips. It was also a bit Vi-like to be so obvious about her attraction to him but ... in for a penny ... why shy away now? “Does he like Italian food?”
    “Yes.”
    “Does he know where Amherst Street is?”
    “He can find it.”
    “Seven-twenty-one West,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Apartment 2B. At eight?”
    She gave her name, rank, and serial number without making him ask. She set the time so he didn’t have to worry about giving her enough to get ready. Picked the restaurant even. Could anything be simpler than that? He was falling fast and hard for this woman. She was all the good things a woman was supposed to be, with a simple uncomplicated mind like a man’s.
    “I’ll be there,” he said, grinning his satisfaction at his fantastic find. “With or without cloak and dagger?”
    She returned his grin. “Your choice,” she said, sliding into the car and swinging the door closed.
    He’d never known anything like the feeling in his chest as he watched her start up the car, put it in gear, and drive off with a quick wave. Was this love? This I-don’t-care-if-I’m-not-breathing-I’ve-never-felt-better feeling that was making him light-headed and weak—was that it? Or was it the pressure building underneath it? The overwhelming fear of both winning and losing at once.
    He forced himself to breathe deeply as he strode across the lot to the car he’d leased when he’d first arrived in town. A provisional act that now clashed with a strange, isolated desire for some sort of permanence in his life. He frowned and shook his head. Permanence? What was happening to him?
    Ellen couldn’t recall the drive home as anything but a blur of hazy what-if’s and should-I’s. What if she’d been too forward? What if, now that he’d spoken to her, he was rethinking his interest in her? Should she use more or less attitude when he showed up that night? Should she get all dressed up or play it casual? What if she slipped up? What if he really was some sort of mercenary killer? Should she tell him the truth and forget this charade? What if he found out that she was simply too nice, with hardly any attitude at all? What if ...
    “Oh no.” She groaned aloud as she approached the old Victorian house on Amherst Street. She occupied one of the four apartments the elegant old place afforded, with its single turret and scalloped friezes and porch brackets. A dented, paint-chipped, rear-taillight-hanging Mazda was parked out front, one wheel well over the curb and twisted into the lawn.
    A small nagging headache commenced as she pulled into her parking space behind the house. A sort of sad frustration filled her as she rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. Her brother, Felix, was the single greatest drain on her patience and goodwill. As the only son and most beloved youngest sibling in her family, Felix looked like a twenty-three-year-old man but often acted like a spoiled twelve-year-old.
    “Can we help you with those groceries, dear?” came Mrs. Phipps’s weak but still shrill voice from the screened porch that served as the back entrance. “We’ve been watching for you. We feel just awful asking you to pick up so much this time. We were out of everything. You are such a dear, sweet girl.”
    It never mattered if it was a box of frozen broccoli or eight bags of groceries, Mrs. Phipps stood on the porch and said the exact same thing every evening.
    “No, Mrs. Phipps. You stay put. I can handle this. There’s not much here,” she said, as she always did. “How are you today?”
    “Well, we’re better now that we know you’re home safe and sound. We heard on the news about a woman in Lafayette who had her car stolen while she was still in it. Can you imagine? They put a pistol in her face, told her to