locked；　though　she　wished　fervently　for　the　dead　bolt　she　had　in　New

York。

〃Open　up！　It's　wet　out　here！〃　The　voice　was　deep；　gruff；　and　angry。

〃Open　the　damn　door！〃

Anne　didn't　budge。　This　was　her　cottage　for　the　week；　and　she　had　the

papers　to　prove　it。　She　didn't　have　to　open　the　door。

But　the　banging　went　on；　hard　knuckles　on　wood。　〃e　on；　whoever　you

are；　open　the　door！　I'm　getting　soaked　and　I　can't　reach　my　key。〃

His　key？　Was　this　a　mon　visiting　place？　Had　the　realtor　forgotten　to

tell　her　something？

Feeling　vaguely　guilty　at　being　warm　and　dry　while　someone　was　out　there

wet　and　cold；　she　approached　the　door。　〃Who　is　it？〃　she　yelled；　resting

her　forehead　against　the　smooth　oak。

〃It's　Mitch；　dammit。　Open　up！〃　An　impatient　hand　jiggled　the　doorknob

from　the　outside。

〃I　don't　know　any　Mitch；〃　she　shouted　over　the　storm。　〃What　do　you

want？〃

What　came　back　was　a　menacing　growl。　〃I　want　to　get　dry。　For　God's　sake；

open　up。　I　do　have　a　key；　but　if　I　have　to　put　these　bags　down　to　get

it；　I'll　be　madder'n　hell　when　I　get　in　there！〃

Assuming　she　could　believe　him；　he　had　a　point。　If　he　did　have　a　key　and

would　eventually　open　the　door　whether　she　liked　it　or　not；　she　could

save　him　the　effort　and　spare　herself　his　anger。　Cautious；　she　reached

for　the　knob。　She　opened　the　door　a　few　inches；　leaving　her　weight

agai