LITMIR.BIZ

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waste had been neatly packed in color-coded recycling bins.

      The men had introduced themselves, and when Hector asked what he did for a living, Peter mentioned that he was retired. Then he’d chuckled and added, “My grandfather worked hard, so I don’t have to.”

      Hector, who’d pulled himself up by his bootstraps, hadn’t found the comment the least bit funny.

      From then on, he’d nodded politely at Peter whenever they passed on the street or spotted each other in the yard, but that was about it. Besides, Hector didn’t have time to socialize, especially with a man who didn’t value hard work.

      Then, a few weeks later, Hector was retained in a high-profile case involving a big corporation and a group of environmental activists. The tree huggers had been making false accusations and stirring up trouble for the businessmen. And, it turned out their financial backing came from Peter Keating.

      The next time the men met at the curb, Hector couldn’t help saying something to Peter about his over-zealous environmental stand.

      Okay, to be honest, Hector was concerned about the environment, too. He did whatever he could, but he didn’t obsess about it. Besides, he had great respect for the corporate officers who’d worked their butts off to become successful.

      Peter had bristled, tossing out a barb of his own about greedy corporations and the barely passed-the-bar shysters who catered to them. From then on, Hector had taken his trash out the night before, just to make sure he avoided Peter.

      He didn’t have anything against Samantha—other than deciding that she had poor judgment when it came to men. For the record, he’d always found the tall, statuesque blonde attractive. And he remembered the day she’d dropped her groceries in the drive, breaking a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and ripping open a bag of oranges that rolled all the way to the street. He’d never been what you’d call gallant, but without hesitation he’d headed next door and helped her clean up the glass and pick up the stray oranges. And then he’d helped her carry the rest of her groceries into the house.

      She’d had a nice lilt to her voice and a pretty smile.

      And in appreciation, she’d sent him home with a plate of homemade brownies—the best he’d ever tasted.

      If she hadn’t been married, he might have asked her out right then and there. But she was married. And to a guy he didn’t like, although he had to give Peter Keating credit for having damn good taste when it came to women.

      So, needless to say, when Samantha glanced at him from the driver’s seat of the Jag, smiled and gave him a fluttery little wave, it had set his heart strumming and his curiosity reeling.

      Had she stopped to say hello or been the least bit warmer or friendlier, he might have crossed the lawn to her house, welcomed her back to the neighborhood and worked up to asking a few questions—for example, “How have you been? Are you seeing anyone?”

      But she’d used the remote to open the garage and parked inside, shutting herself off from the world around her.

      Too bad, he thought.

      He couldn’t help wondering if she was still as pretty and shapely as he remembered.

      Looked like he’d have to wait to find out.

      Two hours later, Hector drove through the pouring rain on his way back home, his windshield wipers swishing at high speed.

      He’d had a meeting with a client who’d been hospitalized with a serious heart condition, a meeting he’d tried to postpone to no avail. The stress of discussing an upcoming multimillion-dollar litigation couldn’t possibly be good for him, but the CEO had insisted, much to the dismay of his wife and doctors.

      And much to Hector’s dismay, too. He’d heard the weather report and hadn’t wanted to be outdoors when the storm hit. But here he was—on the road and finally headed home.

      The wind had really kicked up while he’d been inside the hospital, littering the city streets with leaves, twigs and other green debris.

      According to the forecast, the storm was going to be a bad one, and several inches of rain were expected. So he would have preferred to stay inside today, to watch the Golf Channel on TV and to kick back where it was dry and warm. But thanks to Bradley Langston, he’d had no such luck. And the guy wanted another meeting on Monday morning.

      As a crack of lightning flashed in the east, followed by a boom and shudder of thunder, a branch from a maple tree crashed to the sidewalk, a large portion of it jutting onto the asphalt.

      Hector swerved around it and swore under his breath, frustrated about being forced to go out in the storm and having to cater to the whims of a client with the proverbial type A personality, a CEO who was also a control freak.

      Hector could understand Langston’s concern about false allegations of sexual harassment, but most people would have put off business concerns until after their discharge from the hospital. Langston hadn’t been the least bit worried about adding to his stress levels. So Hector had obliged him, reiterating what he’d already told the CEO over the phone, that both he and the entire law firm were on top of the litigation, that neither Langston nor the other members of the board of directors had anything to worry about.

      Of course, Hector wasn’t entirely sure that things would be that cut-and-dried. The case might not get thrown out of court, as he’d implied to Langston and the other executives who’d gathered at the hospital upon the CEO’s request. Hector figured it was more likely that they’d end up settling, unless Langston hadn’t been completely forthcoming about the details and something unexpected came out during the deposition stage.

      But right now, Hector was more concerned about getting off the city streets before they became any more hazardous than they already were.

      When he turned onto Primrose Lane, it appeared as though the entire neighborhood was battened down and waiting out the late-spring storm.

      The moving van was gone, too.

      Earlier today, when Hector had set out for his meeting with Langston, he’d been surprised to see it lumber down Primrose Lane and park in front of the Keating house. After all, Samantha had packed her bags and disappeared the day after her husband’s funeral, leaving the property vacant for ages.

      Hector could understand why a grieving widow might want to escape the memories of all she’d lost. In fact, if Samantha had sold or leased out the place, he wouldn’t have given it any thought at all. But as far as he knew, she’d never actually moved out completely.

      Every Thursday evening, after Hector got home from the office, he could see that the gardeners had come by and manicured the lawn and yard. And during the summer, the automatic sprinklers kicked on regularly around 4:00 a.m.

      He was glad she hadn’t let the place run down, but keeping up an empty house for the past five years seemed like an awful waste of money to him. But then again, he’d never truly understood people who had such an abundance of disposable income.

      Peter Keating had been a trust-fund baby, so apparently there hadn’t been any financial reason for his wife to put the place up for sale.

      Still, Hector had been surprised to see her back.

      He didn’t see any lights on inside the house now.

      Was she even home?

      He made a quick scan of the other homes on the street, noting that all the windows were dark.

      Had the power gone out in the neighborhood? He wouldn’t be surprised if it had. With as much lightning and thunder as they’d had near the hospital, it was definitely possible that a transformer had been hit.

      As Hector pulled into his driveway, he pressed the button on the remote to open the garage, only to find it not working. Okay, so the power had gone out.

      He left the car outside and entered the house through the front door, leaving his wet umbrella and shoes in the entry. Then he proceeded to the

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