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unmade, almost as if Jake had just stepped from them. Abruptly, she glanced away from the bed. It reminded her too much of last night and how she’d almost ended up there...with him.
    She saw an odd black case on the dresser. Still rubbing at her arm, she walked over to it. Sheer curiosity, nothing else, had her opening the box. Two empty vials rested inside curved, cloth holders. She slipped one from its bed and held it up to the morning light.
    “Miracell.”
    Margot frowned. Strange. She’d never heard of it, but that didn’t say much. Unlike her brother, she’d never had any interest in the medical field. She tipped it to the side. A few clear drops still remained. She raised it to her nose. Odorless.
    How strange. Was it some type of penicillin? Maybe Jake had diabetes. Or did the vial have something to do with his sensitivity to light? He didn’t strike her as a drug addict, especially after the way he’d reacted to her drinking. Johnny might have been able to tell her the vial’s contents. Sighing, she carefully replaced the tube and closed the case. Only one person could tell her the truth.
    Jake. Such a mystery. After a week, she didn’t know anything more about him other than the fact he’d worked for the same company as Johnny. Miltronics. A company no one would talk about. A company where Malcolm, the most secretive of them all, still worked.
    Something rustled behind her. Almost like a soft sigh. Quickly, she turned. No one was there. The cushioned chair in the corner sat empty, the thick rust drapes lay motionless. A stillness settled over the room. She shivered. Not again. She was not going to think of ghosts, or things going bump in the night or, in this case, the day.
    Shaking off her wild imagination, she hurried out of the room, went into the kitchen, and then had a quick breakfast. Jake hadn’t eaten. Usually, he’d leave his dishes neatly stacked by the sink or rinsed and in the dishwasher. He was a model tenant.
    Sometimes, it was almost as if he wasn’t even here. A ghost. Silent and—
    There she went again. She exhaled heavily. Ghosts. She glanced at the bottle of Merlot on the counter. No, too early for a drink. Even for her. Maybe after lunch. Instead, she tied the garbage bag and hefted it to the front entrance. Setting it aside, she opened the door.
    Malcolm stood in front of her, his hand raised to the doorbell.
    “Malcolm!”
    “Is that all you can say?” His lip curled up at one corner, but he stared back at her with remote, blue eyes.
    “Go away.” She stood in the middle of the entrance, having no intention of letting him past.
    “Margot, really. Is that anyway to welcome your husband?”
    “That’s ex, as in ex-husband.”
    “A technicality.” He shrugged and offered her a large bouquet of mixed flowers, their fragrance teasing her nose. “Aren’t you going to at least let me in?”
    She ignored the flowers. “Why should I?”
    “I want to talk.”
    He dropped the flowers back to his side and stepped toward her, pushing into her space, closer, even closer until she smelled the tang of coffee on his breath.
    Lifting her chin, she didn’t step back. “We don’t have anything to talk about anymore. Why can’t you just go and leave well enough alone?”
    Something flickered in the back of his eyes. She’d annoyed him. “But I’ve missed you.”
    Margot laughed harshly. The flowers and the smile didn’t fool her. Malcolm’s clean-cut, tanned, boyish looks might have blinded her years ago but no longer. His light brown, almost sandy hair, cut close to his head suited his clean, almost beautiful features. Little crinkles at the sides of his light blue eyes and tiny brackets at his mouth were the only lines that marred his smooth complexion. His Armani suit accented his tall, lean form, while the padding in the shoulders masked his narrow body. Even though Malcolm was thin, she’d learned all too quickly how much strength his frame held.
    He might look picture