“My lands, you’re soaked to the skin, child. Maude’s not home right now, but I could fix you a cup of tea. Jeopardy! is about to start, and you can watch it with me as you dry out.”

Eleanor made her way toward the voice, but it was only when she encountered the rough, peeling paint of a picket fence that the tension building inside her breast eased.

Had someone really been following her? Dogging her steps? The hairs at her nape prickled in warning, but there were no sounds to substantiate the suspicion. Nothing that the rain didn’t completely obscure.

As soon as her toe touched the bottom step to the brownstone’s stoop, she asked, “Minnie, is there anyone behind me on the sidewalk?” Her voice much weaker than she would have wished.

If Minnie thought the request was odd, she didn’t say so. Eleanor caught the scent of geraniums as Minnie leaned forward. “No, dear. There’s no one there. Let’s get you inside.”

When Minnie offered her elbow, Eleanor took it, stepping into the vestibule of the old building and shaking the rain from her coat.

Even so, she knew she hadn’t imagined anything.

Someone had been out there.

Someone had followed her home.

“How about that tea?” Minnie asked.

Still shaken, Eleanor headed for the stairs. “Thanks, Minnie, but I think I’ll head up to my own apartment. After the day I’ve had, I’m ready for a long soak in the tub.”

“Very well. You call if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

But even as she climbed the steps, Eleanor couldn’t push away the feeling that she was being watched.

Jack MacAllister remained in the shadow of a doorway directly across the street, mere yards from where he had first encountered Eleanor Rappaport.

Less than twenty-four hours had elapsed since Jack had decided to see Eleanor. To his surprise, she’d been easy enough to find. A search of the Internet had resulted in his learning she resided in Denver, and a look at the Yellow Pages had revealed an E. Rappaport. After silently debating with himself, Jack had made a quick call…

The moment he’d heard her voice, he’d felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. He’d become suddenly tongue-tied—and feeling like an adolescent fool, he’d hung up without saying a word.

Eleanor Rappaport.

His head was pounding, but this time the sensation had nothing to do with a concussion and everything to do with stunned disbelief. He had seen this woman only once before, at the scene of a horrible accident. He had been there to help drag her from her car, he had cradled her head in his lap as he’d waited for the emergency teams to arrive.

He’d been there to watch the light grow dim in her eyes.

Jack’s knees became weak, and he sank onto the top step of the small, family owned grocery store. Bowing his head, he took huge gulps of rain-soaked air in an effort to calm his erratic thoughts. Wave upon wave, the nightmares he’d been experiencing for months inundated his senses, but that was nothing compared to what he had just seen in the flesh. The living embodiment of his dreams.

Growling to himself, Jack stood, striding into the rain and into the night. Whatever internal need had dragged him to Denver had been satisfied, and now he was leaving. For good. He’d seen Eleanor Rappaport. She was still blind, but apparently coping.

And pregnant. Very, very pregnant. Why hadn’t he known she was pregnant?

A strange, twisting sensation gripped his chest. The accident had occurred six months earlier, so she couldn’t have been too far along when she’d lost her sight.

Jack wrenched his thoughts back into line. Eleanor Rappaport’s pregnancy was none of his business.

“What’s up?” One-Eye asked from the passenger seat of the too-small rental car.

“Nothing.”

“Is that the girl?”

“Yeah.” His brief reply discouraged any more questions. “I’m ready to head to L.A. now.”

“You what?” One-Eye blurted. “But we just got here. We’ve checked into a hotel, laid out our dainties—”

“We’re going home, One-Eye,” Jack said sternly.

One-Eye shrugged and settled back in his seat. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me what brought you all the way to Denver—”

Jack remained silent.

“You know that Rappaport woman is nothing but a stranger.” One-Eye grimaced. “’Course, you weren’t looking at her like a stranger.”

Jack shot the older man a scathing look, but his irritation bounced off the man’s weathered hide.