A man stood just beyond the beveled glass, a dark silhouette against the gathering dusk. She made a sound, high and surprised, and took an involuntary step backward.

"Kate?" The man rapped on the door. "It's Joe, from around the corner."

She brought a trembling hand to her mouth and laughed, feeling both relieved and foolish. Old Joe, as everyone in the neighborhood called him, was eighty if he was a day and more than a bit of a busybody. He was also about as harmless as a person could be.

"You startled me," she said, crossing to the door. She opened it. "I was just leaving."

"Sorry about that." He glanced past her, into the house. "Nothing wrong, is there?"

As he asked the question she realized how silly she had been behaving, how she had let her imagination run away with her. The house creaked and she'd been ready to run for the hills. "Of course not." She laughed again, her cheeks warming. "Come on in."

He stepped across the threshold and glanced around. "Richard's not home from his golf game yet?"

She bit back a smile. "Not yet. He was going into work straight from the course. Did you need to speak to him?"

"Nope." He drew his bushy eyebrows together. "How's the baby?"

"Fine." She motioned toward the carrier. "Sound asleep."

"Sorry to hear the pretty little thing was ill. What did the doctor say?"

Kate shook her head, confused. "She hasn't been… Where'd you hear that, Joe?"

"From your friend. This morning. She said you'd gone to the doctor with the baby."

"Friend?" Kate repeated, searching her memory. "Someone from The Uncommon Bean?"

"The friend who was visiting. She was on your swing, waiting for you to return."

The hair on the back of Kate's neck stood up. "There was a girl on our swing?"

"A pretty young thing. Maybe twenty. She looked mighty surprised when I called out to her." He cocked his head. "I asked her what she was doing in your yard."

The missing photo. The tousled bed.

The sense of being watched. Of not being alone.

Kate began to shake. She worked to hide it from Joe. "What did she say when you confronted her?"

"That she was a friend of yours, visiting from the city. Said you'd taken the baby to the doctor. She didn't say her name, and I figured it was none of my business and didn't ask." He frowned. "Maybe I should have?"

"She wasn't a friend of ours." Kate swallowed hard. "About what time was this, Joe?"

"I was walking Beauregard." He scratched his head. "It was about noon, I suppose."

By noon, she had been in the city and Richard deep into the second nine.

Joe made a sound of frustration. "I knew something about her wasn't right. At the time, though…I mean, she knew your names and that you had a baby. So, I figured she was on the up-and-up. Sorry I didn't do more."

She forced a smile, not wanting to worry him. "I'm sure it was nothing." "That's what I thought. But I just wanted to let you and Richard know, just in case."

"Thank you. I'm glad you did." Kate walked him to the door. She saw Richard's Mercedes pull into the drive. "I feel safer knowing you're in the neighborhood, Joe."

He beamed at her, pleased with himself. "I'll keep my eyes open and let you know if I see her hanging around again."

Kate thanked him once more and said goodbye, then waited at the door for Richard. From down the walk, she heard Richard greet Joe; a moment later he appeared at the door. "Hi, hon." He bent and kissed her. "How was your day? Everything go okay?"

She looked at him, surprised. "Excuse me?"

"The Bean, was business good?"

She stared at him, heart beginning to thrum. She opened her mouth to tell him about her meeting with Luke. Instead, she murmured, "You know The Bean, Saturdays are always good."

As soon as the evasion, the lie it represented was out of her mouth, she regretted it. But to take it back, she feared, would be worse.

Let sleeping dogs lie, she told herself, even as guilty heat crept up her cheeks. Why upset Richard over something that was done and over with?

"Are you all right?" he asked, crossing to the refrigerator for a beer. "You look a little strange."

Tell him about Luke. Tell him now. "Do I?"

"Mmm." He popped the top and brought the beverage to his mouth. "What did Old Joe want?"

Joe. The woman on the swing. The missing photograph. Coming home to change; the feeling of being watched. It all came tumbling out. As she filled him in, her unease returned, her feeling that something was terribly wrong.

"I thought I heard someone in the house, Richard. I'd convinced myself my imagination was playing tricks on me, but now…"

"Is anything besides the photograph missing?" he asked, frowning with concern.

"I…I don't know." She hugged herself. "I was too spooked to look around. Then Old Joe arrived."

He set down his beer, went to his golf bag and pulled out his new Ping putter. He met her eyes, the seriousness of his expression sending a chill down her spine. "If you ever even suspect there's a stranger in the house, get out. Do you understand, Kate? Take Emma and leave. Go to The Bean or a neighbor's and call me or the police."

She nodded, her mouth desert dry, her pulse fast. She was more frightened now, by his concern, than she had been before, alone in the house. "I understand."

"Good. Now, let's take a look around."

Richard, armed with the putter, Kate with Emma in her carrier, they made their way through the house. They went from room to room, looking under beds and in closets, checking the silver, Kate's jewelry, Richard's office.

They found nothing missing or out of place.

Back in the kitchen, Richard slipped the golf club back into the bag. "Well, nothing looks amiss. Was the side door locked when you got home?"

"I don't know." Emma began to stir, sucking in her sleep-a sign that she was not only about to wake up, but that she was hungry. Kate went to the pantry for a can of formula. "I came in the front."

"I'll check it."

A moment later he returned. "Door's locked. Key's in its hiding place."

Kate filled a bottle with the formula, popped it in the microwave, then turned to Richard. "Why would anyone break in only to steal a photograph?"

"Good question. Could you be mistaken? I mean, a hanger on the floor, a few wrinkles in the bed, none are particularly sinister. And we both know, this old house creaks and groans more than a ninety-year-old spinster."

Kate frowned, frustrated. The truth was, at the time it had seemed so real, so chilling. Not at all like her imagination running away with her. But now, it all seemed rather far-fetched. "I'm not usually flighty like that, Richard. You know I've never been one to let my imagination run away with me."

"I know. But you've had a lot on your mind lately. Sleep deprivation has been known to cause some pretty far-out behavior."

Emma picked that moment to wake up and fret; Kate lifted her out of her carrier and crossed to the microwave to retrieve her bottle. He had a point, no doubt about it, though something kept nagging at her as she fed Emma her bottle. Something dark and disturbing. A thought, a fear, more terrifying than any she had ever experienced before.

As she rocked her daughter, gazing down at her perfect face, it grew, took shape. And then she saw the fear for what it was.

That Emma's birth mother had somehow sought them out. Because she wanted Emma back.

By the time she had finished giving Emma her bottle and had changed her into her pajamas, Kate had worked herself into a state of complete terror. Afraid the child would pick up on her distress, she tucked her into her swing, then went in search of Richard.

She found him in the kitchen, seasoning a steak for the grill. "Richard?" She stepped into the room, hands clasped in front of her, barely able to speak so great was her fear.