"Do you like it, my dear?"

"Lovely, yes lovely." Her trembling hand cling to the heavy red velvet drapes attractively framing the wide veranda of the window. "Is this a Victorian?" she muttered in amazement. "Must be from the high ceilings." Ann raised her eyes to the high ceiling, decorated with crisscrosses of wood beams.

"I'm rather proud of it, myself," he admitted with no hint of modesty. "Why don't you sit down and have a drink with me?" he smiled crookedly.

"Oh, no thank you," Ann touched the back of her slender hand to her aching forehead. "An aspirin and a glass of water, no… coffee… please," she said politely, not forgetting her etiquette ingrained from two years of riding the skies.

"Nonsence," he growled teasingly; "how about some juice, and an aspirin," he added coolly.

He motioned for her to sit back down on the huge red lipped sofa that smiled across the room at her. "Have a seat, and I shall return immediately."

Ann sat stiffly, reassessing her situation. She was in a strange town, in a strange house, with a very strange man. With a deep heave of her chest, she scanned the room for a telephone. If nothing else, she could call her stewardess friend, Janie, and stay overnight at her apartment which she guessed was not far away. But before she could gather the strength to search for the hidden instrument, Mike had returned with a tray in hand.

"I'm sorry, but I neglected to introduce myself," he said with merry eyes. "My name is Mike Boston. Please call me Mike." A hint of animal desire in his eyes made her think she might not be leaving the confines of Mike's lovely trap.

"And I am Ann, Ann Bailey."

"Are you married, Ann?"

"No, no, I was… for a few days and then…" her voice trailed off into inaudible mutterings.