I grabbed the remote and switched on country music videos. Clint Black wandered across the screen, staring at me with his soulful black eyes, crooning his heart out. I fixed on him for all of two seconds and then had to hit the MUTE button. What if someone was outside and I couldn't hear them coming? I checked the phone again. I jumped out of bed and peered through the back door window. The yard glowed in the fight from the back door.

The phone rang. I jerked it from its stand.

"Hello?"

Nothing, then a click.

The hairs stood up on my arms and the fingers that still clutched the phone began to tingle and sweat. "It was a wrong number," I muttered dully. The phone rang again and without thinking, I answered.

"Hello?"

"What are you doing there?" Jack demanded.

"Did you just call me?"

"No, and don't dodge the question. Why are you there?" I sank down on the edge of my bed, my knees too weak to hold me.

"Jack, it was time. I couldn't keep staying with you. Sooner or later, I had to come home. I'm fine." As I talked, I wandered out into the kitchen and grabbed the knife holder that sat out on the counter, clutching it with one arm and walking back into the bedroom. It looked good on my bedside table.

"I don't like you being there by yourself," he said.

"Hey, I don't particularly love it either, but like I said, it's home and I needed to come back. Besides," I said, working to keep the panic out of my voice, "think of Evelyn. It couldn't look good for you to have another woman staying at your place."

"What makes you think I told her?" he said, laughing.

"Well, I guess in your shoes, I would figure the less said the better. But see, Jack, that's what I mean." I looked at the bedside clock. It was almost four in the morning. "Jack, what are you doing calling me at this hour anyway?"

"I just got in," he said. "I was worried." There was a slight pause. "Hey, you don't sound too sleepy. I mean, it doesn't sound like I woke you up."

"Guess that's why we're night owls," I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move outside.

"Yeah, hard to go to bed early on your night off. It'd only screw up the schedule." I was wandering over to the window and lifting a slat in the blinds while he talked. The backyard seemed empty, but who knew?

"Well, if you're sure this is what you want, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing." Jack sounded a little lonely. "I'm gonna miss having you around. Kinda got used to another body in the bed."

"Thanks, Jack. I really appreciate all you did."

"You got a place in my bed anytime." He laughed. "Take it easy."

I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the dead phone, listening to the dial tone humming out into the still room.

"It's four in the morning," I said aloud. "People don't break into houses at four in the morning. Too close to dawn." I stretched and stood. Might as well turn out some of the lights. I walked back through the house one more time, turning out all but one light in each room. In the living room, I hit the overhead light, forgetting I'd unplugged the lamp when I moved the table against the door. The room was completely dark.

Outside a streetlight glittered off the parked cars, and I stared through the front window curtains. The street looked deserted. No cars moved. My college student neighbors had finally called it a night. In another hour or two, it would begin all over again. People would walk out of their houses and start off for work or class, and no one would think twice about the night behind them.

I started to drop the curtain and stopped. Someone was outside. A shadow had passed around the side of the house. I was certain this time. I dropped the curtain and listened in the darkness. Something banged up against the trash cans I kept in the narrow pathway between my house and my neighbor's. A dog started to bark, and then another, until there was a chorus of howls and bays. The neighborhood alarm system had gone off.

I jumped off the couch and ran back for the bedroom. The phone. I had to get to the phone and call 911 before he got inside or cut the wires. I tripped coming into the bedroom, hitting the leg of my bedside table. As I reached to steady myself, the tiny table toppled, sending the lamp, the phone, and the knife holder crashing to the floor.

The lamp crashed and broke. The phone skidded across the floor, into a dark corner, and the knives flipped out of their holder, dropping in all directions.

"Damn it!" I said, trying to find the phone and coming up empty-handed.

My fingers closed on the heavy butcher knife just as a shadow crossed the back deck. He was out there, moving toward the back door.

I jumped up, the butcher knife clutched in my hand, and began to walk softly toward the door.

The door handle started to move, ever so slightly, just as I reached it. I made myself stand just to the side of the door. I could flip the light switch and find the phone, but if I did, wouldn't I be an easier target?

I stretched up on my tiptoes and leaned quickly toward the window at the top of the door. Maybe it was a dog, or my imagination. But it wasn't. A man was bending over my outside doorknob. As I peered down at him, he suddenly jerked uptight and I screamed.

Marshall Weathers stood eye to eye with me, glaring in through the back window.

I twisted the dead-bolt handle and jerked the door open. Weathers was still glaring, his eyes bloodshot and his face grim.

"What in the hell are you doing, trying to break into my house?" I demanded.

"Breaking into your house? I'm not breaking into your house! What are you doing slamming lamps around and making all kinds of noise at four o'clock in the morning?"

We stood there, staring each other down, neither one of us budging. Then slowly he began to smile.

"What the hell are you smiling at?" I said. "I asked you a serious question."

He laughed. "You always sleep in them oversized britches?" he asked.

I looked down. In my rush to get to the phone, my pajama cuffs had come undone and my sleeves were now hanging six inches below my fingertips. I must've Looked ridiculous.

I pulled myself up as tall as I could and tried to look dignified. "Well, what are you doing, lurking around my house?" I asked.

"I couldn't sleep. I got to thinking about you in here, with nothing but a chain on your door, and I felt like I might as well drive over and check you out."

"So what were you doing picking my lock?"

He gave me a disgusted look, a this-ain't-TV look. "I was checking your door when I heard all hell breaking loose in here. You're lucky I didn't shoot the lock off!"

I looked down then, and saw the gun in his hand.

"God! Put that thing away! You could've shot me!" I couldn't stop staring at the huge gun.

"Maggie, I am a professional. I wouldn't have shot you!"

It was cold outside, even for a late September dawn and the air smelled of rain. I started to shiver, wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the breeze that had started to blow, bringing with it the first raindrops.

"Well, this is ridiculous," I said. "At least come inside." I turned around, without waiting to see if he followed, and immediately tripped over a knife.

"Ow, damn!" I swore.

Weathers reached over and flicked on the light switch by the door.

"You always keep your knives in the bedroom?" he asked, studying the disarray before him.

"No," I muttered, bending down to study my big toe. "I do not. Now look what you did," I said. "My toe's bleeding."

"What I did?"

"Well, if you hadn't decided to slink around my bedroom, I would never have tripped over the bedside table. And if I had never tripped over the table, then the knife holder wouldn't have fallen, now would it?" I stood upright and scowled at him.