When I let myself into my apartment at 11:25, the light was blinking on the answering machine, a tiny red beacon in the dark. I flipped on the overhead light. I set my shoulder bag on the countertop and dumped my shopping bags on the floor. I crossed to the desk and stood there, staring at the blink, blink, blink as though it might be a message in Morse code. Either it was Cheney or it was not. The fact of the matter had already been entered into evidence so I might as well find out. If he hadn't called, that didn't necessarily mean anything. And if he had called, it didn't necessarily mean anything, either. The problem in the early stages of any relationship is that you don't know where you stand and you don't know how to interpret the other person's behavior.

So okay. All I had to do was push the button and I'd know.

I sat down. If he hadn't called, I sure didn't want to be the one to call him, though I was panting to tell him what had transpired between Beck and Reba. I could touch base with him for that purpose. In fact, I'd have to call him soon so he could set up the meeting between Reba and Vince. But aside from business – on a personal level – he'd have to make the first move. He looked like the kind of guy women called all the time – too cute and too sexy to have to expend much effort himself. I didn't want to place myself in the same category with his other women, whoever they were. How was it, though, that after only one day I was feeling insecure? Ruefully, I remembered my cockiness of the night before.

I pushed the button and listened to the brief high-pitched squeal as the tape rewound. Beep. "Kinsey, this is Cheney. It's ten-fifteen and I just got off work. Give me a buzz when you get in. I'll be up." He left his number. Click.

I checked the clock. Over an hour ago. I made a note of his home number, then suffered a fit of indecision. He said to call, so I'd call. Nothing tricky about that... unless he was already in bed and asleep. I hate waking people up. Before I felt any more squirrelly, I punched in the number.

He picked up on the first ring.

I said, "If you're asleep I swear I'm going to slit my wrists with a butter knife."

He laughed. "Not at all, babe. I'm a night owl. How about you?"

"Not me. I'm an early bird. I usually get up at six for my run. How come you were working so late? I thought you got off at five."