Why couldn’t he just forget about Erin O’Toole and her crazy connection with the embezzling scam? Why did he continue to torture himself with the memory of the gentle curve of her neck, the slim, feminine contour of her legs or the longing way that her near-violet eyes could reach out and touch him?

Damn it, Webster, his persistent mind scolded, control yourself! For all you know that woman is just another two-bit thief, and you’re letting her rip you to shreds! She’s destroying your objectivity! Erin’s a witch, his mind warned, the less you have to do with her, the better!

Kane shifted his weight uncomfortably on the prim blue cushions of the couch and took another long dissatisfying swallow of the potent warm liquor. He needed to break away from Erin and the spell she was casting over him, he reasoned.

Then, why the hell couldn’t he convince himself to leave her alone?

Ten

Sunday morning dawned as gloomy as the rest of the Seattle weekend had, but Erin felt somewhat lighthearted at the prospect of seeing Kane again. It seemed like forever since he’d been gone. She stretched out on the bed, and discovered that she ached all over. The muscles in her arms and legs seemed to be all knotted and twisted this morning, but she smiled to herself in spite of the pain. In order to keep her mind off Mitch’s indictment and Kane’s absence, Erin had run out on Friday night and purchased several gallons of paint. That night and all day Saturday she had spent repainting Mr. Jefferies’ old apartment and the massive entry hall. This morning her aching muscles rebelled.

Against the silent protests of her body Erin got up and showered. The new paint job had been such an improvement to the building that she had decided to continue the project. She had almost finished with the entry hall, and today she planned to tackle Mrs. Cavenaugh’s apartment. Ever since the repairmen had insulated the flooring and the windows, parts of the little old lady’s apartment had suffered, and a new coat of paint would hide the dirt and chips of paint that had been loosened during the repairs. Erin shuddered when she realized that she had nearly depleted her savings with the insulation and painting projects. But it just had to be done!

Mrs. Cavenaugh had embraced the idea of repainting her apartment, and by the time Erin had swallowed a cup of coffee, looked over the headlines and nibbled on a bit of toast, it was only eight thirty. Yet Mrs. Cavenaugh was already up and ready to help Erin with the task at hand.

For as long as Erin could remember, she had never seen Mrs. Cavenaugh in anything other than a prim housedress and a single strand of pearls. But this morning the half-bent figure of Mrs. Cavenaugh sported a garishly loud green-and-purple scarf that was wound tightly over her hair, oversize trousers and tennis shoes that were presumably antiques. She was a comical sight in the outlandish outfit, but her blue eyes sparkled with eagerness, and against Erin’s protests, the elderly woman grabbed a brush and began to tackle the job at hand, only pausing to grumble about working on the Sabbath. Erin ignored her complaints and to her amazement found that Mrs. Cavenaugh was handy with the brush and had the endurance of a woman half her age.