“Are you going to tell me about your crank calls?” he asked abruptly.

“Sure. If you want to hear.”

“I want to hear.” He didn’t want to upset her again by making her talk about it, but she had no choice. Whether or not she appreciated the interference, he wasn’t about to go across the hall and unpack without first getting answers to a few questions. “Exactly how long have you been getting the calls? When did they start? Have you called the police? The phone company?”

Greer smiled and reached over to pat his arm reassuringly. “Why am I getting the impression you think I haven’t handled the problem?” she asked wryly. “Now, I know I made a bad first impression, but I’m twenty-seven years old and have been managing my own life for some time now. Of course I’ve called the police and phone company.”

“And?”

“And nothing. The police were nice, but they take action only if the caller’s potentially dangerous. Mine’s a mere breather. They tactfully referred me to the phone company, which puts breathers in the nuisance category. Nuisance calls just aren’t worth the same attention as abusive or obscene calls.”

“So they haven’t done anything.” Ryan’s eyes darkened.

“They’ve done lots. They changed my number and gave me piles of forms to fill out. For a couple of weeks they even put a tracer on my phone; and they’re extremely sympathetic. But it is silly to get upset, you know. Crank callers, I gather, are like flashers. They get a perverse thrill out of upsetting women, but no one’s getting physically threatened or hurt.”

“Honey…” Ryan started irritably. She’d done her share; he heard that. He’d never had anyone hand him a problem that didn’t have a solution. Mountains were probably put there to climb. And where he grew up, a man didn’t abandon a woman who was seriously afraid and simply hand her some forms.