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“Yes.”
    “Good.” He sat straighter. “So. Where were we?”
    She saw no point in discussing the possibility of a trial, which was sure to depress her, or in discussing her social life, which was sure to depress Sam. Much as she had to force it, her only out seemed to be in humoring him. “You were telling me that this pregnancy’s been tougher for Ellen and that you really ought to head home.”
    “I never told you that. How come you know so much?”
    “I have three sisters-in-law and ten nieces and nephews. It was a safe guess.”
    “And a definite hint.”
    She apologized with a tremulous smile. “I really shouldn’t keep you any longer. Besides, even if Ellen’s not tired, I am.” Emotionally, she was beat.
    With a sigh of lighthearted defeat, Sam pushed back his chair and stood, taking her arm when she joined him. “Then I’ll leave you to your sweet but lonely virgin dreams,” he drawled in her ear.
    “You’re terrible,” she chided. “No wonder Ellen’s pregnant again, and Sara not yet two.”
    “Did I tell you that?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. But before she could answer, the doorbell rang. Both heads flew its way. Both smiles faded. “Were you expecting someone?” It was nearly nine o’clock.
    “If I was, I’d never have let you razz me as you did,” she murmured under her breath. “I have no idea who it could be.”
    The bell rang again. Sam spoke softly. “It’s not the intercom. Perhaps one of your neighbors?” He put an eye to the tiny viewer he’d had installed in her door and stared for several long seconds. Then, reaching a tentative decision, he held up a finger for her to wait while he nonchalantly took a seat in the living room. Then he motioned for her to answer the door. When she hesitated, he repeated the gesture more forcefully. Turning, she put her own eye to the viewer, and froze. But when she looked back Sam was vehement. “Trust me,” his eyes said. The palms with which he patted the air told her to be calm, to act as she normally would.
    Cautiously she released the upper bolts, leaving only the chain in place as she opened the door those scant few inches. In an involuntary flash, she relived the terror she’d felt in the courtyard earlier that evening. Her knuckles grew white, her knees weak. She was helpless to stem the race of her pulse. For before her, seeming to dominate that narrow slice of hall, stood the tall, dark stranger into whom she’d so unceremoniously barreled in her farcical escape from an imaginary hunter.

Three
     
     
    “y ES?” SHE ASKED SOFTLY, UNSURELY.
    His voice was deep and as strangely lulling as it had been in the courtyard. “Uh, I’m sorry to bother you, but I wonder if I might use your phone. I’ve just arrived with another load of things and—” he grimaced in chagrin “—it seems that I’ve locked my keys in the car.”
    Unhinged, Carly stood stock-still. She had assumed him to be a delivery man, though why, she wasn’t sure. Her mind drew up the fleeting image of a carton propped against the door. But it was Friday night. Another load of things? In his car?
    Reading her confusion, seeing lingering traces of the fear that had so gripped her earlier, the man smiled. She was lovely. “I’m Ryan Cornell. We’ll be neighbors. I’m moving into the apartment just under yours.”
    “The Amidons’s?” She was perplexed. She hadn’t known they’d been seeking a buyer, much less sold their place.
    “That’s right. Actually, I’m renting until they decide whether to live in Sarasota year-round.” When she still seemed wary, he elaborated. “They’d been toying with the idea of moving. A place came through unexpectedly, and they felt they had to grab it. It was furnished, so they left most of their things here. If they decide to buy down there, they’ll send for the rest.”
    Carly nodded, wondering how he could possibly have fabricated such a tale. She wanted desperately to believe him, yet she was, by