Fast Courting by Barbara Delinsky Page A

at finding a tall interloper on her dark front porch. It took her a minute to catch her breath.
    “Daniel!” she cried. “You frightened me.”
    The dull glow of the nearby streetlamp illuminated his damp khaki trenchcoat. “I’m sorry. I was about to leave when I saw you running down the street. Where’s your umbrella?”
    She cocked her head toward the door. “Inside. Keeping the hall closet dry.”
    His face was in the shadow of the overhanging roof, but Nia could feel his wry smile. “Makes sense. Have you got a key?”
    Groping in her pocket for the large brass ring, she handed it to him. “The yellow one.”
    “You can see it in the dark?”
    “Yes.”
    So did he, quickly singling out the key with the rubber identifying ring glowing yellow around its head. As soon as the door was opened Nia rushed inside, shaking the rain from her sleeves as she flipped on the light and climbed the stairs.
    “Next one’s green,” she called over her shoulder. Directly behind her, Daniel skimmed the key ring, found the proper one, and let them, at last, into her home. Dropping her things onto a chair and draping her sodden coat over its back, Nia ran her fingers through the dampness of her hair, then turned to face Daniel. Having taken her lead, he had thrown his own coat over a chair to dry. Now he stood across the room, with two chairs, a sofa, and a glass coffee table as buffers between them. He looked unconscionably handsome in a gray tweed blazer and darker charcoal slacks. His black vee-neck sweater contrasted with the white of his oxford cloth shirt, both extremes tempered by the very gentle expression he wore.
    For an instant Nia didn’t know what to say. Was this a business call…or a personal one? “I…I never expected to find you here.” She finally forced herself to break the vibrant silence.
    “I tried calling,” he explained softly. “There was no answer, so I thought I’d take a ride over.”
    She smiled shyly, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Lovely weather you brought.”
    “How far did you have to walk?”
    At the mention of walking she grew suddenly aware of her wet feet. Without thought of the consequence, she stepped out of her shoes and knelt to pick them up. It was only when she straightened that she realized the disadvantage she had unwittingly emphasized. At five eight she was above average in height and willowy, but flat-footed before this man she was nearly petite.
    “Uh…it wasn’t far. Just from the top of the street.”
    “I’m sorry.” He offered a second apology, though he neither moved nor looked away. “If I’d known, I could have picked you up there.”
    “No problem.” She scoffed away its import with a crinkle of her nose, all the while wondering where they were to go from here. “How…how did you know where I live?”
    He shrugged. “The book.”
    “The phone book? There must be at least eight A. Phillipses listed.”
    The corner of his mouth quirked knowingly. “Six. Three in Cambridge, two in Boston, one in Charlestown.”
    He stood with one hand in his slacks pocket, the other hanging casually by his side. On the surface he was relaxed, yet Nia couldn’t help but sense his alertness. Was he, too, recalling their last meeting and its finale?
    “You stopped at the other two Cambridge addresses?” She pursued the potentially inane line of questioning only for lack of sure footing. Her ground was truly shaky when it came to Daniel Strahan.
    His smile spread in slow accompaniment to his approach. “No,” he crooned, rounding the sofa to stand before her. “I checked with our book.”
    His proximity forced her to look more sharply up. “ Your book?”
    “The one kept by the PR man with names, addresses and phone numbers of, among others, the sportswriters. This address may have been crossed out, but it was still legible.”
    “I see.” So the contact had indirectly been traceable to David. How fitting. And ominous. “No game tonight?” she asked