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the damage.
    "Nothing I can find missing," Eleanor said. "There's not a lot of value, as I told you earlier. My books, some research. As you can see, the television and stereo are still here. I don't think robbery was the motive."
    Peter picked up the cushions from the sofa and put the undamaged ones back. "If not robbery, what?"
    Standing by the kitchen door, she stuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "I don't have the faintest idea." She shrugged. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and a curl had escaped to touch her cheek. "Last night that man. Today, this." Her lips tightened into an angry line as she brushed her face with the back of one hand. "I haven't done anything to anyone. I don't understand."
    Peter squelched the urge to ask her directly what she was involved in. It wouldn't do a bit of good. If she was part of some illegal scheme, she'd never admit it. Not knowingly. Animal liberators were dedicated to the bone.
    "I'm not much of a detective, but I am a darn good listener," he said. "How about I make some hot tea, grab a broom to help out, and you can tell me everything that's happened to you in the last week? Maybe you saw something or bought something in a store or checked out the wrong book at the library. Together there's a chance we can find out what's going on."
    Together. The word seemed to echo in Eleanor's head. She'd been alone for the last nine years. Completely on her own. The very idea that someone might share her fears was unique, even a little frightening. But Peter Curry already had her broom, and he was making a successful effort to gather up the feathers that covered the living-room floor.
    "My life is as boring as reading a text on insomnia, but I'll try and remember the past week," she agreed. "You and Familiar are the only two unusual things that have happened to me in the last year! Except for the obvious, of course."
    "A cat, a vet and sudden suspense," he said, leaning against the broom and giving her two raised eyebrows. "Diagnosis— you need more pets!"
    Eleanor's laugh was soft, but heartfelt. The cloud of depression and fear began to lift. She put the water on to boil for tea and began helping Peter with the cleanup.
    Two hours later they were sitting on the sofa in a rearranged living room. With the broken dishes, plants and trash cleaned away, the damage wasn't as bad as it had first appeared. In fact, Peter was taken with the muted mauves and aquas, the subtle but rich decor. Though he'd tried every possible approach, he'd been unable to link her directly with the cat's escape or any knowledge of Evans. He was beginning to wonder if he'd been completely off base with his suspicions. But he didn't believe in coincidences like the cat, her attack, and now her apartment.
    Slightly uncomfortable with Peter's helpfulness, Eleanor had told of her life in Tennessee, her parents, her friends, the fun she'd had growing up near the Great Smoky Mountains. She'd carefully avoided all mention of her years with Carter Wells— her disastrous marriage to a gambler, gangster, liar and cheat. She'd played down the destruction of her apartment as another coincidence, another loop in a string of bizarre and unrelated experiences. She wasn't certain he believed her, but he was gentleman enough not to show too much doubt.
    He was, in fact, a witty conversationalist who made it easy to talk and listen. He'd shared anecdotes from vet school with her and amusing stories about animals he owned and treated.
    As he squeezed a lemon into another cup of hot tea, he continued with his easy banter. "While you were studying the fine points of language, I was up to my ears in fur, feathers and flea shampoo." He stood, stretching tall. "When I was a kid, I always thought I'd live a life of adventure. You know, James Bond, solving crucial secrets, that kind of stuff. Haven't you wanted to be involved in some secret mission?" He'd dangled the bait skillfully, he thought.
    "Never." Eleanor looked up at