Maggie rolled her head back and forth on her neck, hoping to work the kinks out. Maybe she should get a massage tomorrow or go to Harry Wong's dojo for a good workout. She leaned forward and scribbled a note to herself, a note she would probably end up ignoring when she arrived back in the office the next morning.

She knew she was delaying her departure because she hated going home to an empty house and an empty refrigerator. There was a note someplace on her desk reminding her to stop at the grocery store. That note was at least two weeks old, which meant she'd have to stop for some takeout if she wanted to eat tonight.

The empty house was three doors away from Jack Emery's house in Georgetown. A find, really. Jack had clued her in when one of his neighbors had told him he was going to rent out his house because he was being transferred to England, and had asked if Jack knew anyone interested in leasing it for two years, fully furnished. She'd snapped it up before Jack was finished with his spiel, and the Post had picked up the lease. She paid half the rent, and the Post paid the other half.

The house was a bit on the masculine side, but with a few of her treasures set about, some plants, and colorful rugs on the shiny oak floors, the Tudor became hers in short order. The funny thing, though, was that she'd been in the house almost a year and had yet to bump into Jack. Maggie grimaced. She'd rather thought they would pop in on each other, shoot the breeze, and maybe have a beer once in a while. It never happened. Yet it was comforting in a way to know he was just three houses away in case she needed him in the middle of the night for something or other.

Maggie sighed again as her stocking feet sought her heels under the desk—though she hated high heels, she wore them at the office every day because she had an image to present to her staff. The designer jacket was another thing she wasn't fond of. The truth was, she hated getting dressed up. Reporters never got dressed up, and they wore running shoes all the time.

The only thing that hadn't changed was her old backpack. She still carried it every single day, and there was no way she was going to stuff her life into some crocodile briefcase that cost more than most people earned in six months. Her L.L. Bean backpack suited her just fine, thank you very much.

Maggie was reaching for her coat when she heard a knock on the door of her office. She whirled around, her breath catching in her throat. Ted Robinson. She tried to take a deep breath and almost succeeded by the time she motioned for him to come in.