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time.”
    The coldness gathering inside him got a little worse. At eight-thirty his time last night, he had been hard at work on the project. Did that mean the man and woman had already been in his house? Speaking to Louise and telling her—?
    “Chris, for God’s sake,” she said.
    “Listen to me,” he told her. “I don’t know who called you last night but it wasn’t me.”
    “What do you mean it wasn’t you?” Louise said, exasperated now. “Don’t you think I know the sound of your voice?”
    “
It wasn’t me
, Louise,” he said. “Something very strange is going on. When I got home last night—”
    “Are you at home now?” she interrupted.
    “No,” he said. “That man is, and—” He broke off as what she was saying hit him. “Maureen?” he asked. You said me and
Maureen
?”
    “I think I better talk to her,” Louise replied. “Maybe she can make more sense—”
    “
There’s no Maureen in my life!
” he cut her off. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    There was a heavy silence on the line. Then Louise said quietly, “Who is this?”
    The vise was closing on his skull again.
    “Oh, my God, you’re the man who’s terrorizing them,” she said.
    “Louise, for God’s sake—!”
    “You listen to me, mister, and you listen good!” she cried. “Get away from them and stay away! There are laws in this country!”
    “Louise, for God’s sake,” he repeated, pleading now. It felt as though the floor was moving under him. “I don’t know what’s going on but
please
—”
    “I’m calling the police now,” she said.
    He stood there with the handset to his ear, listening to the dial tone.
Reality
, he thought. His shiver was convulsive.
    “
What the hell is going on?!
” he cried.
    You’ve been working too hard, you need a rest;
another cliché movie line was spoken in his mind. He grimaced in fury.
Yes, I
have
been working too hard
, he answered the voice.
But I’m not out of my mind.
    Something was being done to him.
    He nodded jerkily. His work. Someone out to penetrate the project. Simple and direct: a plot. He tried to hold on to that even though he knew it made no sense whatsoever. If anyone wanted to know what he knew, they only had to pick him up, inject him, hypnotize him, whatever. This insanely intricate cabal was totally unnecessary. Which left him with—
    He snapped his head around, seeing a movement from the corner of his eye. A dark blue car had just pulled up in front of the house. He picked up the coffee cup and backed into the kitchen, stepping behind the wall and peering out, his heartbeat quickening.
    A man in a gray tweed suit was getting out of the car; he had red hair and a dark red mustache. As the man circled the car and started toward the house, Chris pulled back sharply. Jesus God, what now? he thought.
    He started as the doorbell rang, drew in a shaking breath. Thank God he’d parked his car around the corner. He leanedagainst the wall, feeling the thump of his heartbeat, twitched as the doorbell rang again.
    He waited in silence, listening for the sound of the man’s car starting up again. It didn’t come. What was the man doing? Was he—?
    Chris caught his breath, looking aside to see the man moving past the kitchen window. Despite the curtains, if the man turned his head, he’d spot Chris. For several moments, Chris stood, frozen, not knowing what to do. Then abruptly, he stepped back into the dining room, turned right, and moving to the corner, sat on the floor and slumped down so his head was below the level of the window sills.
    He swallowed, saw the coffee cup still in his hand and set it down. He looked at his right hand, wincing. Have to get those splinters out, he thought.
Yeah, that’s important right now
, his mind snapped back.
    He stiffened as he heard the man trying the knob of the kitchen door. What if the man had a ring of keys? What if he could open the door, come in and find him slumping here? Did he have a gun?
    Chris