I reached into my pocket to fish out money, but Tony wouldn't take it.

"Wombat likes meat pizza," Sheila announced.

"Dogs don't get pizza. Dogs eat dog food."

Sheila was right back at him. "Wombat eats whatever I say he eats."

They argued all the way to the truck and were still fighting as they drove off. I watched them until they were out of sight, standing on my porch as the late afternoon sun dipped below the horizon. In the early evening dusk, the world seemed more sinister than it had a mere thirty minutes before. For a moment I felt as if someone were watching me, standing just outside my line of vision, following my every movement.

I shook it off, turned, and went inside, switching on every light I came to. The shades were still pulled down, the blinds and curtains closed. No one could see inside. No one could watch me here, but still I felt ill at ease. I walked through the house, into the living room and opened the front door. The cop car was gone.

"Okay," I muttered. "You were just here a minute ago. Where are you?"

It couldn't matter. I couldn't let this matter. Wherever he was, he'd be back. "It's probably just shift change," I said. "There'll be a new guy here any second. Go on, take your shower. Tony's picking up a pizza, but his bike's here. People will think he's here and I'm not."

But I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I closed the front door, locked it, and leaned against it. It was five fifteen by my watch. Outside people would be returning home from work or their classes at the college. Lights would start to pop on all over the neighborhood. No one would bother me now. It would be stupid to make a move now.

I walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and left to take my clothes off and grab my robe. I opened the closet door and felt the panic hit. I remembered him coming up behind me, throwing me against the far wall, his knife biting into my neck.

I raised my fingers up to touch the thin scab and felt myself begin to lose it. I froze, trembling, and crossed my arms to grab at my stomach.

"No, no, no," I moaned, rocking back and forth. "No. Stop this. It's okay. He's gone. It's okay." But nothing I said helped. I sank down onto the floor, aware of the sound of the shower, knowing that it ran on and on and I was powerless to stand up and go turn it off. The fear swept over me in wave after wave of icy nausea. I couldn't breathe.

As I sat, trying to regain some control, the back doorknob rattled, twisting slowly back and forth.

I screamed, drawing air deep into my lungs and pushing the sound out like a wall to keep the intruder away. I barely heard him call my name. I stood up, grabbed a knife from the butcher block in the kitchen, and turned back to face the door, and as I did so, I realized it was Weathers calling to me, shaking the door in his attempt to reach me.

I dropped the knife and half-ran across my bedroom to turn the lock and let him in. His face was raw with concern, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.

"Maggie, what is it? Did I scare you? I knocked first but I wasn't sure if you were here. Didn't you hear me?"

I shook my head numbly. "No. I was… I went… and then I…" But I couldn't form the words that went with the thoughts.

He stepped inside the room and held me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me into him and just standing there. After a minute or two he pushed back enough to look into my face.

"Is that your shower?"

I nodded and the panic began to subside, ebbing as quickly as it had surged.

"Yeah." I tried to laugh, but it was a hollow attempt. "I, um, I was going to get ready for work, you know, but I looked out the window and the patrol car was gone. And then I came in here and, I guess that was that." My voice drifted off and I just stood there for a moment before I remembered the shower. "I'd better go turn that off."

"Go take your shower," he said. "I'll be right here."

Part of me wanted to send him away, to tell him that I was fine now and didn't need anyone watching out for me. But the rest of me shook inside and my nerves felt like Jell-O.

I wound up not saying a word, just grabbing my robe off its hook in the closet and walking into the bathroom. What was wrong with me? I'd been home since the shooting. I'd been inside the closet. I hadn't panicked then, why now? Probably because it was my first time alone. It would be better now. I wouldn't panic the next time. But when I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, the feeling returned. The steam covered the mirror and thickened the air so I couldn't breathe. The window, tiny and shuttered, seemed an open portal for intruders.

I had to step over to the door, open it, and look out into the hallway. Weathers was right there, his arms folded across his chest, an easy smile on his face.

"You were thinking maybe I'd join you?" he asked.

That took the panic away. I took a deep breath and tried to smile. "No, actually, it's just a little bit close in here, I was just going to let some cool air in."

I didn't fool him. His eyes softened, but the smirk remained. He wasn't going to baby me.

"Well," he drawled, "maybe while you're in there, you might compare your shower to mine. You didn't seem to mind the steam over at my place."

"I didn't mind it at all," I said, before I could stop myself. He'd done it again, charmed me into forgetting that he was only in it for the game.

"Hey," I said, unknotting my bathrobe slowly and letting him watch. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" The robe started to slip open, just a little bit.

"No," he murmured. "I've got all the time in the world."

I smiled. "Oh, that's funny. I thought you had to ran car-pool for the junior police auxiliary."

His face reddened and I closed the bathroom door.

On the other side of the door I heard him chuckle. "Funny, Reid, real funny."

I jumped into the shower and pulled the curtain. It was my shower again, my bathroom, and my home.

I stood under the hot water until I felt it begin to cool off, reluctantly turning it off only when I knew I had to. I stood behind the curtain and reached out for my towel, feeling around on the rack and realizing that it was gone.

"Real funny," I yelled. "Bring my towel back."

I waited a second and was rewarded with the sound of the door opening. My towel flipped up over the shower curtain and I grabbed it, pulling it down and wrapping it around my body.

"So you had to resort to stealing my towel?"

I whipped open the curtain and came face to face with Tony Carlucci. He was standing there with a broad smile on his face and his finger to his lips.

"Shhh," he whispered. "Wouldn't want Sheila to hear you, would you? She and your friend are out on the front porch. I believe she's uninviting him to dinner."

"Oh no!"

Tony grinned. He was enjoying the situation. He stood there, staring at me, his eyes covering every inch of my body, slowly examining.

"Get out!"

"Looks like you missed a spot on your back," he whispered.

"Get out!"

Tony shrugged and held up his hands. "Whatever you say. I was just trying to help out." He slipped out of the room just as I heard the front door slam and Sheila come storming back through the dining room, her footsteps stopping just outside the bathroom door.

"Mama!" she cried. "How could you let that jerk inside our house?"

"Sheila, were you rude to him?"

"Well, I should hope so," she huffed. "And then I told him all about that girl and Nosmo King. You know, I think he actually was forced to listen to me. See, I told you I'd be a big help!"

I sighed into my towel and looked at myself in the mirror. "Whatever," I muttered.

"What did you say?" Sheila demanded.

"Nothing, honey, just go set the table."