Look. There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’ve been through all this before…

Yes. Rationally, Greer gathered up Truce, her silverware and her TV dinner in organized fashion. Then, irrationally, she fled out her apartment door.

The hall was deserted, just one harmless front door and four equally harmless steps leading up to the two first-floor apartments. When Mrs. Wissler lived next door, Greer had generally taken sanctuary in her neighbor’s kitchen after one of her telephone calls and stayed there until the shaky feeling passed. Unfortunately, Mrs. Wissler had moved three weeks before. Except for Greer, the whole building was deserted. The two single men in the upstairs apartments were rarely home on a Friday night.

She didn’t need anyone to hold her hand anyway. What good was a degree in psychology if it didn’t help you deal with a simple problem in a logical, rational manner?

Still mentally scolding herself, Greer settled on the third step, folded open the foil covering on her dinner and tucked her white robe around her legs. She was just putting the first bite of lasagna into her mouth when the front door flew open. Her fork stayed suspended in midair.

The man was a rapid blur of yellow hard hat and short sleeves and grocery bag. Greer caught only a quick glimpse of tanned square face and blue eyes before he turned rapidly. Unfortunately, Truce chose that instant to leap at him from the steps. The stranger couldn’t see over his grocery bag, and the next thing Greer knew, an orange had settled on her lap, a head of lettuce was sitting next to her, the hard hat was on its last bounce at the door, and a most irritated man was draped half on her legs, half on the stairs.

“Good Lord. Are you all right?” Greer exclaimed.

Very blue, very furious eyes squinted dazedly in her direction. “Is that your cat?”