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to sell out to Peters and were angry that Mr. MacFaber had blocked the plan.
    She felt a surge of excitement as she considered her next move. She had the perfect opportunity to observe her next-door neighbor. Having him in proximity meant she could watch him. She could find out who his associates were, where he went, what he did. She could be—Maureen Harris, secret agent. She giggled. If only she had a trench coat.
    She drifted off into a very satisfying fantasy. She’d just uncovered the saboteur and saved MacFaber’s company. They were pinning a medal on her. It hurt!
    She gasped, looking down to the big beak that was sinking into her sneaker.
    â€œBagwell!” she muttered. She offered him a shirt-clad arm and he climbed aboard with happy little mumbles. So much for fantasy, she sighed.
    She carried Bagwell back to the kitchen, frowning thoughtfully. Of course, she’d have to be careful about her observation. It wouldn’t do to let her sneaky neighbor see her watching him. Now she began to wonder if his moving in next door was really a coincidence, after all. Perhaps he’d known beforehand that she was Mr. Blake’s secretary and thought that he might find out things about the jet from her. But that wasn’t realistic, she decided with a sigh. What did she know about jet designs? She’d seen the blueprints only once, and her job involved less exciting things than the actual design of airplanes.
    She pursed her lips thoughtfully. Her new neighbor might actually be a struggling mechanic, but he had some ritzy friends—if that car was anything to go by. She went to feed Bagwell, visions of trench coats and spy cameras running rampant in her bored mind. That was the trouble with living such a dull life, she told herself. It would get her into trouble one day.
    The next week went by quickly, with only glimpses of her neighbor. Very cautiously, she kept an eye on him. She found subtle ways to question people, and she found out that his name was Jake Edwards and that he was from Arkansas. He hadexcellent credentials, but he kept very much to himself and nobody knew anything about him.
    She felt guilty because of her snooping, even though she felt a sense of accomplishment that she’d found out so much. But her conscience and the mechanic’s evident dislike of her made her keep out of his way as much as possible. After all, he’d already accused her once of chasing him. God forbid that she should display any interest.
    She’d started eating lunch in her office to make sure she didn’t run into him in the canteen. And the next weekend was a repeat of the one before. She darted out to do her gardening when he wasn’t home, otherwise never venturing outside. She had a post-office box, so she didn’t have to go out to a mailbox, and she only subscribed to the weekly paper, which came in the mail.
    The only unpleasantless was when she tiptoed outside to the trash can very early Sunday morning, with her long hair tumbled to her waist, wearing the men’s pajama top that came to her knees. It was a shock to find her neighbor at his trash can, staring blatantly at her. She’d been too embarrassed even to speak. She’d darted back into her apartment and closed the door. After she got back from church, she hadn’t ventured out in the yard even once. She and Bagwell had spent the day in front of the television, watching old war movies together.
    She seemed to spend her life avoiding her new neighbor, she thought ruefully. But it never occurred to her that he’d notice, or that it would matter to him. So she got the shock of her life the following Monday when he came into her office at lunchtime to find her eating a bowl of canteen chili with some crackersshe’d brought from home along with a thermos of coffee. She paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth and stared at him.
    He stared back. He looked even bigger at close range. He had the kind of