Chapter Two

      Rain fought every instinct to try to free herself of his hold, and stood very still. “What, do you want me to thank you for not braining me with that lamp? Or do you want me to do a spirit dance around you while you try to correct your very-out-of-whack Karma?”

      He almost smiled, and she had a flashing knowledge that he was a man who didn’t smile easily. “Neither,” he said and let her go. “I just wanted to know who you are.”

      She stayed where she was, not moving at all and definitely not rubbing her arm where he’d gripped her. “I’m an idiot who thought I was rescuing a cat. I even gave him some dolphin free tuna to eat, and he turned his nose up at it. Then you came after me with that lamp.”

      “I never threatened you with the lamp or anything else, and as far as my karma goes, it’s just fine.”

      “Rainbow!”

      She heard George calling from somewhere beyond the entry door and his voice cut through the loft with a boom even from that distance. “I’m in here, George!” she called back, not taking her eyes off the man in front of her. “I’ll be right there.”

      “Okay,” he called back and she heard their loft door close with a soft clang.

      “Rainbow?” Jack asked, the way so many people had said her given name over the years.

      “Rain is fine,” she muttered. “George just likes to use the full version.”

      “George?”

      “Your neighbor. The guy Zane gave the key to in case Joey showed up?”

      “Joey?”

      “The cat.”

      “You were talking to the cat earlier?” he asked.

      “Sure. I was trying to coax him off the wall to start with, then tried to get him to eat very expensive tuna.”

      Jack kept watching her, a tiny woman who talked fast, moved with real ease and whom he’d felt against him on the floor. He took a breath, but wished he hadn’t. She carried the scent of…something…sweet and soft…but elusive. And she lived next door. And all he knew about anyone else on this floor was what Zane had said.

      “There’s a middle-aged hippie next door to the loft, George Armstrong. He’s a good man, but he’s beyond eccentric and if you let him, he’ll give you hours of lectures about corporate greed. He paints, I think, and comes and goes on whims, apparently. He never got past the ‘do your own thing’ or ‘if it feels good, do it,’ era,” she said.

      “You said you live next door?”

      “I moved in a few weeks ago. George is my—”

      “I know all about George,” he said before she could go into their relationship. He understood all too well from what Zane had told him. But it bothered him that she was involved with the man.

      She frowned, then cocked her head to one side and her hair moved in a soft veil. “Oh, sure, of course, you know.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “Just more labeling. Since George doesn’t conform to what you think he should, you’re sure that he’s some irresponsible hippie living like some flower child.” She bit her lip. “Gad, you’re a snob.”

      A snob? “Now I’m a stuffed suit and a snob?”

      She shook her head, then went past him into the main living area that was deep in shadows except for the light slicing in from the hallway. He followed her, watching her silhouetted against the light coming in the door. She was at the entrance before she stopped and turned back to him. In that fleeting moment, the light behind her softly exposed her slender figure. “Sorry for the intrusion. I’ll let that Zane person know the cat’s back.”

      “Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it,” he said.

      “Oh, sure, the responsible one,” she muttered.

      She was going back to that middle-aged hippie and he felt vaguely sick. “I’ll take care of it,” he repeated.

      “Of course, and, oh, by the way, my name’s Rainbow Swan, for the record. Good night, Jackson Ford.”

      With that, she left, quietly closing the door behind her. Before he could do more than absorb the fact that she’d obviously had the last word, the door opened again and this time he could see through the thin cotton of her T-shirt. “I’ve got the key,” she said. “Tell Zane that he can come get it any time he wants to. But until then we’ll guard it with our lives so that you’ll be safe from any and all undesirables who might be in the area.” And she closed the door after her.

      Jack crossed to the door, opened it and heard another door shut firmly. Rain was gone. And she’d had a double last word. He hated that. He closed his door, threw the bolt lock on it, then saw the cat. The animal was walking silently along the shelf on the top of the partial wall. He got to the bedroom area, looked at Jack, then leaped in the opposite direction and disappeared. A cat. A hippie. He looked at the clock. The whole thing had lasted fifteen minutes, tops. It had seemed to last forever.

      The middle-aged hippie and Rain. It sounded like the title of a bad novel, or some crazy song. But it knotted his stomach with distaste. Instead of going to the bedroom, he crossed to the work station, turned on two lights and sat down in front of the computer. As the monitor warmed up, he heard the cat somewhere close by mewing softly in the darkness. Then a heavy thump came from somewhere beyond the wall across the room that was shared with the next loft.

      He looked at the computer screen, logged onto the Internet and went to the mail program. There were several notes from Mrs. Ferris, and a single note from Eve. He opened Eve’s note quickly. All thoughts