“Dream on, kid. See my man on third? He’s about to score.”

She stepped farther into the room, but neither of them noticed her as the ball whistled toward the plate and the bat cracked against virtual cowhide.

“He’s got it, he’s got it, he’s got it,” Simon said in a kind of whispered chant. “Yeah, yeah, shagged that sucker.”

“And the runner tags,” Brad said. “Watch him fly, heading for home. Here comes the throw . . . and he slides, and . . .”

Safe! the home base ump decreed.

“Oh, yeah.” Brad gave Simon a quick elbow nudge. “One to zip, pal.”

“Not bad. For an old guy.” Simon chuckled. “Now prepare to be humiliated.”

“Excuse me. I brought you some ginger ale.”

“Time out.” Brad twisted around to smile up at her. “Thanks. Do you mind if we play out the inning?”

“No. Of course not.” She set the glass on the coffee table, and wondered what she should do now. “I’ll just be back in the kitchen. I need to start dinner.”

When his eyes stayed so direct and easy on hers, she heard—with some horror—the words tumbling out of her mouth. “You’re welcome to stay. It’s just chicken.”

“That’d be great.”

He swiveled back around to resume the game.

Mental note, Brad thought: Forget the roses and champagne. Home improvement supplies are the key to this particular lady’s lock.

WHILE Zoe was standing in her kitchen wondering how the hell she was going to turn her humble chicken into something worthy of a more sophisticated palate, Dana was soothing her ego with takeout pizza.

She hadn’t meant to tell him. Ever. Why give him one more thing to smirk at her about?

But he hadn’t smirked, she admitted, washing down the pizza with cold beer. In fact, he’d looked as though she’d put a bullet dead center of his forehead.

Neither could she claim he’d looked pleased or puffed up about the knowledge that she’d been in love with him.

The fact of it was, he’d looked shocked, then sorry.

Oh, God, maybe that was worse.

She sulked over the pizza. Though she had her evening book open on the table beside her, she hadn’t read a single word. She was just going to have to deal with this, she told herself.

She couldn’t afford to obsess about Jordan. Not only because she had other things that should occupy her time and her thoughts, but it just wasn’t healthy.

Since it was clear he was going to hang around for several weeks, and there was no avoiding him unless she avoided Flynn and Brad, they would be seeing each other regularly.

And if she accepted all that had happened in the last month, all she’d learned, she was going to have to accept that Jordan had been meant to come back. He was a part of it all.

And damn it, he could be useful.

He had a good brain, one that picked up on and filed away details.

It was one of the skills that made him such a strong writer. Oh, she hated to admit that one. She hoped her tongue would fall out before she spoke those words to him.

But he had such talent.

He’d chosen that talent over her, and that still hurt. But if he could help her find the key, she would have to put that hurt away. At least temporarily.

She could always kick his ass later.

Mollified, she ate some more pizza. Tomorrow she would get a fresh start. She had the whole day, the whole week, the whole month to do whatever she felt needed to be done. There’d be no need to set the alarm, dress for work.

She could spend the whole day in her pajamas if she wanted to, digging into her research, outlining a plan, surfing the Net for more data.

She would contact Zoe and Malory and set up another summit meeting. They worked well together.

Maybe they’d start to work on the building. Physical labor could spark mental acuity.

The first key had been hidden, in a manner of speaking, in the building they were buying. Of course, Malory had had to paint the key into existence before she could retrieve it from the painting.

Maybe the second, or at least the link to the second, was in the house as well.

In any case, it was a plan. Something solid to get her teeth into.

She shoved the pizza aside and rose to phone Malory first. With plans to meet for a full day’s painting set, she phoned Zoe.

“Hey. It’s Dana. Just got off the phone with Mal. We’re going to start the great transformation at the house tomorrow. Nine o’clock. Malory voted for eight, but there’s no way in hell I’m getting up that early when I’m not drawing an actual paycheck.”

“Nine’s fine. Dana.” Her voice dropped to a hissing whisper. “Bradley’s here.”

“Oh. Okay, I’ll let you go, then. See—”

“No, no. What am I supposed to do with him?”

“Gee, Zoe, I don’t know. What do you want to do with him?”

“Nothing.” Her voice went up a notch before lowering again. “I don’t know how this happened. He’s out in the living room playing video baseball with Simon, in a suit.”

“Simon’s wearing a suit?” Dana tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Boy, things’re pretty formal at your house.”

“Stop it.” But she laughed a little. “He’s wearing a suit. Bradley. He came to the door with a stepladder, and before I knew—”

“With a what? What for? To clean out your gutters? That was not a euphemism, by the way. But, come to think of it, it’d be a pretty good one.”

“He gave it—the stepladder—to me—to us—” she corrected quickly. “For the painting and stuff. He thought we could use it.”

“That was nice of him. He’s a nice guy.”

“That’s not the point! What am I supposed to do with this chicken?”

“Brad brought you a chicken?”

“No.” There was helpless, hooting laughter over the line. “Why would anyone bring me a chicken?”

“I was just wondering the same thing.”

“I have chicken br**sts defrosted, for dinner. What am I going to do with them now?”

“I’d try cooking them. Jeez, Zoe, relax. It’s just Brad. Throw the chicken in a pan, rustle up some rice or potatoes, whatever, add something green and toss it on a plate. He’s not fussy.”