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that pot of soup, aren’t you?” she asked him. “Well, you were sick and nobody else was going to feed and look after you. I’m a social worker. I like taking care of the underprivileged.”
    “I am not underprivileged.”
    “You were sick and alone.”
    “I wouldn’t have starved.”
    “You didn’t have any food in the house,” she countered. “What did you plan to do, eat your dog?”
    He made a face. “Considering some of the things he eats, God forbid!”
    “Well, I wouldn’t eat Meriwether even if I really were starving.”
    He glanced at the cat in the window. “I don’t blame you. Anything that ugly should be buried, not eaten.”
    She made a sound deep in her throat and opened the car door.
    “Go ahead,” he invited. “Tell me he’s not ugly.”
    “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of arguing,” she said smugly. “Good night.”
    “Lock that door.”
    She glowered at him. “I’m twenty-five years old.” She pointed at her head. “This works.”
    “No kidding!”
    She made a dismissive gesture with her hand and walked up onto the porch. She didn’t look back, even when he beeped the horn as he drove away.

Three
    J essica unlocked her front door and walked into the familiar confines of the big cabin. A long hall led to the kitchen, past a spare bedroom. The floor, heart of pine, was scattered with worn throw rugs. The living and dining areas were in one room at the front. At the end of the hall near the kitchen was an elegant old bathroom. The plumbing drove her crazy in the winters—which were almost unsurvivable in this house—and the summers were hotter than blazes. She had no air-conditioning and the heating system was unreliable. She had to supplement it with fireplaces and scattered kerosene heaters. Probably one day she’d burn the whole place down around her ears trying to keep warm, but except for the infrequent cold, she remained healthy. She dreamed of a house that was livable year-round.
    A soft meow came from the parlor, and Meriwether came trotting out to greet her. The huge tabby was marmalade colored. He’d been a stray when she found him, a pitiful half-grown scrap of fur with fleas and a stubby tail. She’d cleaned him up and brought him in, and they’d been inseparable ever since. But he hated men. He was a particularly big cat, with sharp claws, and he had to be locked up when the infrequent repairman was called to the house. He spat and hissed at them, and he’d even attacked the man who read the water meter. Now the poor fellow wouldn’t come into the yard unless he knew Meriwether was safely locked in the house.
    “Well, hello,” she said, smiling as he wrapped himself around her ankle. “Want to hear all about the time I had?”
    He made a soft sound. She scooped him up under one arm and started up the staircase. “Let me tell you, I’ve had better nights.”
    Later, with Meriwether curled up beside her, his big head on her shoulder, she slept, but the old nightmare came back, resurrected probably by the violence she’d seen and heard. She woke in a cold sweat, crying out in the darkness. It was a relief to find herself safe, here in her own house. Meriwether opened his eyes and looked at her when she turned on the light.
    “Never mind. Go back to sleep,” she told him gently. “I think I’ll just read for a while.”
    She picked up a favorite romance novel from her shelf and settled back to read it. She liked these old ones best, the ones that belonged to a different world and always delivered a happy ending. Soon she was caught up in the novel and reality thankfully vanished for a little while.
     
    At nine o’clock sharp the next morning, McCallum showed up in Jessica’s office. He was wearing beige jeans and a sports jacket over his short-sleeved shirt this morning. No tie. He seemed to hate them; at least, Jessica had yet to see him dressed in one.
    She was wearing a gray suit with a loose jacket. Her hair was severely confined on top