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his feet and dug a set of car keys out of the pocket of his jeans. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
    She hesitated.
    He glanced back at her over his shoulder as he went toward the door. "Don't worry. I'm not planning to invite you to view my etchings again. I learned my lesson six months ago."
     

CHAPTER FOUR
    She was still seething with resentment fifteen minutes later when Jack brought the car to a halt in front of the nondescript little house. She hated the fact that he could put her on the defensive so easily. Just a single, pointed reminder of their one-night stand, that's all it had taken. How was it possible that he could still have this effect on her? He was the one who should have been mortified by the reference to the short-lived affair, not her.
    She studied the dirty windows, the unkempt, overgrown front yard, and the chipped and flaking paint on the porch.
    "This is Dr. Page's home?"
    "Yes. As you can see, he's not big on the details of household maintenance." Jack shut off the engine, removed the keys from the ignition, and climbed out. He leaned down to speak to her through the opening. "I came here looking for him last night as soon as I realized that Soft Focus was missing. He was already long gone."
    She slowly got out of the car. Jack walked around the hood to join her. Together they went up the cracked sidewalk. She watched him remove a key from his wallet.
    "Where did you get that?" she demanded.
    "You are a suspicious woman, Miss Cabot."
    "Some things I learn the hard way, but I do, eventually, learn them. I've come to understand, for instance, that it pays to ask questions first where you're concerned."
    He acknowledged the unsubtle accusation with a slight inclination of his head. "I know what you mean about learning things the hard way. Take me, for instance. I haven't ordered ice water in a restaurant in six months."
    She eyed him sharply. This was the second nasty crack he had made concerning lessons learned. Surely he was not hinting that he considered himself the injured party in that debacle six months ago? Talk about raw nerve.
    "It sounds as if you may have developed some type of phobia," she said with saccharine-sweet concern. "Perhaps you should see a therapist."
    "Haven't got the time." He inserted the key into the lock and twisted the doorknob. "Besides, bottled water is cheaper than therapy."
    "Are you going to tell me how you came by Page's house key?" She cringed inwardly when she heard the prim edge in her own voice. It was Jack's fault, she thought. He had a way of bringing out her least endearing qualities.
    He shrugged and opened the door. "Page keeps a second set of keys in his office desk. He's the classic absentminded scientist. Always locking himself out of his own house and car."
    "So you just helped yourself?"
    "Yes, ma'am. In the same spirit in which he helped himself to my Soft Focus specimen."
    "Our Soft Focus specimen," she corrected automatically. "You're going on the assumption that Page stole it?"
    "That's my current working hypothesis, yeah." Jack stood aside to allow her to enter the heavily shadowed living room.
    "Given the fact that he's missing and that he's the only one who had motive, opportunity, and the technological know-how it would take to remove it from the lab, I'm going with it for now. Unless, of course, you've got a better one."
    "No, I don't." She came to an abrupt halt as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. "Good grief. You're right. Page isn't much of a housekeeper, is he?"
    The room had a shabby, neglected air. Faded cushions adorned a sagging sofa covered in cheap orange fabric. There was a film of dust on virtually every surface. The threadbare carpet looked as if it hadn't been vacuumed in at least a decade. There were crumbs on a plate that had been left balanced precariously on the arm of the plump, overstuffed sofa. A cup with dried brown residue in the bottom sat on the coffee table. Something green was growing in it.
    The room