Текст книги "Native Affairs"

Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 37 страниц)

“Why?”

He sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I grew up on a reservation in Oklahoma. My father was killed when I was five and I was raised by my mother and older sister, whom you met.”

Marisa nodded.

“You cannot imagine the hopelessness, the emptiness of the life there. Through a combination of circumstances I was able to escape it, but I never forgot it. I resolved to do what I could to change things for my people.”

“But do you really think that the preservation of this cemetery is crucial enough to warrant spending eight million dollars to bypass it?” Marisa asked him.

His mouth tightened. “It’s the principle involved, and anyway, the government can afford it.”

“Eight million dollars?”

He stood up so swiftly that Marisa flinched. He began to pace the room and she watched him silently, noticing how the lamplight reflected off his seal black hair and threw his strong profile into relief against the wall.

“Do you think that any dollar amount can make up for the abuses of the past?” he demanded. “There isn’t enough money in the U.S. treasury to repay Native Americans for what they’ve suffered, for being robbed of their homes and their land and being herded onto reservations like cattle. What do I care if it costs eight million or ten million or twenty million? They’re not going to get one more yard of Indian land under any circumstances, and especially not this land, which has been sacred to the Seminoles for centuries.” He ran out of breath suddenly and fell back into the chair, his face drained.

Marisa leaped to her feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up tonight, you’re obviously in no condition to discuss it.”

“I’m fine,” he said, irritated.

“Can I get you anything?”

He glanced around the room. “Do you have any coffee?”

“I’ll order it from room service,” she said.

“No, don’t bother...” he began, but Marisa was already on the phone. When she hung up and turned back to him he was studying her intently, his dark eyes unfathomable.

“Coffee will be here in a few minutes,” she announced.

“You must think me an awful bore,” he said wearily, passing his hand over his eyes.

“Why do you say that?”

“I show up at your door, fresh out of the hospital, and even with one foot in the emergency room I can’t stop berating you about my noble cause. Why haven’t you thrown me out of here?”

“Jackson, you may be many things, but boring is not one of them,” Marisa replied lightly.

“I like the sound of that,” he said quietly, after a moment.

“What?”

“My first name on your lips. You’ve gone to great pains to avoid saying it.”

“That was before you threw yourself in front of a bullet meant for me,” she said.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said dryly. “Reality isn’t quite as heroic. I was trying to shove you out of the way and I tripped. That’s the truth.”

“The result is the same. You saved me.” She leaned against the footboard of the bed. “How did you know what Jeff Rivertree was going to do?”

“His mother came to me and told me he had taken her husband’s gun from the house. He had been sounding off about you in the bar the night his brother was killed and it didn’t take much ingenuity to put two and two together.”

“Sounding off about me?” Marisa asked.

“Yes.”

“Saying what?”

Jack shifted uncomfortably.

“Tell me.”

Jack met her eyes and then looked away.

“Hotshot gringa lawyer on the Washington payroll sent to overpower the impoverished Indians and deprive them of their inheritance?” Marisa suggested.

“Something like that,” Jack confirmed.

“Isn’t that what you think?” Marisa inquired evenly.

“Not any more,” he replied, holding her gaze.

There was a knock at the door and the coffee arrived. Silence reigned as Marisa poured for both of them and Jack drained half his cup in one swallow. “That’s better,” he said, sighing.

“You really should be home in bed,” Marisa said worriedly.

“I’ve spent the last four days in bed,” he said darkly.

“How is your shoulder?”

“Not bad. A little stiff.”

Marisa watched him as he flexed the fingers of his injured arm and then looked up at her.

“So how did you get off the reservation?” she asked. “If you don’t mind telling me, that is.”

“I don’t mind. It was the usual story. A teacher took an interest in me, helped me get a scholarship.”

“To college?”

“To a prep school first, then to college.”

“I can’t imagine you at a prep school,” Marisa said, before she could censor herself.

“Cochise at Choate?” he said, raising one dark brow.

“I didn’t meant that,” she murmured, unable to meet his eyes.

“That was about the size of it. I didn’t go to Choate, but the school was similar.”

“Was it awful?” Marisa asked softly.

“I didn’t exactly fit in with the preppies, but I endured it. I knew that it was my only chance and I took it.”

“And college?”

He grinned. “Oh, college was different. I had a great time.”

Marisa could imagine the swath he cut through the coeds. Her expression must have reflected what she was thinking because he said, “I became a significant minority experience for a number of female undergraduates, until I realized what was motivating them.”

Marisa looked at him inquiringly.

“Curiosity,” he said flatly. “Not very flattering certainly, but accurate. They weren’t interested in me, but in something, or somebody, different.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t true of everyone,” Marisa said quietly.

He tilted his head to one side. “How have you remained such an innocent, in your job?”

“In my job? I like that. I’m not exactly a hit woman for the mob, you know.”

“But you’ve seen a side of life many women never encounter. Hasn’t it changed you?”

Marisa thought about it. “I guess my experiences haven’t exactly made it easy for me to trust people,” she admitted.

He burst out laughing and the sound was so infectious that she had to smile, too.

“Tell me about it,” he said, chuckling. “That first day when I tried to warn you there might be trouble you thought I was running you out of town.”

“You wouldn’t have been the first to try it,” she said.

“So you’re tough, eh?”

“Tough enough.”

“You don’t look tough. Right now you look like a tomboy about to play third base in a sandlot game.”

Marisa’s hand went to her hair self-consciously.

“Oh, leave it alone, I’m teasing you. You don’t take much to teasing either, do you?”

“I guess not.”

“It’s time someone loosened you up, took some of the steel out of your spine. Does that sober air come along with your sturdy New England roots?”

“You make me sound like some Puritan marching around in a mobcap and starched apron. Am I really so forbidding?”

“No,” he said softly, his eyes lambent.

She had to look away.

“Have you always lived in Maine?” he asked in a normal tone, pouring himself more coffee.

“Yes, I was born there, in Freeport. I went to the University at Augusta. Now I work in Portland and live in Cumberland Foreside, a suburb a few miles out.”

“Foreside?”

“Oceanfront.”

“I see. So you’re a real Yankee, the genuine article. With that accent and a name like Hancock, who could dispute it? Are you one of John’s descendants?”

“The family claims so, but who knows? I have an aunt who’s always doing genealogical charts. It’s a cottage industry in the ‘colonies’. They draw them up for the tourists.”

He smiled. “And where did Marisa come from?”

“My mother is French.”

“An interesting combination.” He put his cup aside and yawned. “I’m sorry,” he said, rising. “The coffee did not have the desired effect, I feel...” He reached out suddenly and Marisa rushed to take his arm.

“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

“Little woozy,” he mumbled. She led him to the bed and he sat on its edge.

“Is it time for some of your pills?” she asked.

He glanced blearily at his watch. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” she said, alarmed.

“Two, I think.”

“Let me get you some water from the bathroom,” she said, moving toward the door. She had trouble locating a clean glass and finally found a wrapped one in the medicine cabinet, then ran the water until it was cold. When she emerged with the drink in her hand she found him sprawled across her bed, fast asleep.

Marisa froze, staring at him, then crept closer. She was loath to disturb him. She felt guilty for keeping him talking to her when he was just out of the hospital, but the temptation to be with him, find out more about him, had been too great.

She set the glass on the lamp table and sat next to him on the bed, studying the sharp planes of his face, the hard line of his mouth now relaxed into sleep. He was not pretty, his individual features were bold and arresting rather than handsome, but somehow they worked in combination to make him the most attractive man she had ever met.

And now the most attractive man she had ever met was asleep on the bed in her hotel room.

What was she going to do?

She could try to wake him and take him back to wherever he was staying, but in his condition that would be a project, and his exhaustion was so apparent that she could not bear to wake him.

Making up her mind, Marisa drew the coverlet over his sleeping form and then hung the Do Not Disturb sign out for the staff. Remembering that Tracy would return later, she went through the connecting door to Tracy’s room and left a note for her, asking her not to come through and saying that she would explain in the morning. Then she went back and checked on her charge.

Jack was sleeping peacefully, a slow pulse beating in his throat. Marisa found his jacket on the chair and rummaged in the pocket, locating his pills. They were a commonly prescribed painkiller, and since he seemed to be in no discomfort Marisa decided he could do without them. When she shoved the plastic vial back into his pocket a crumpled piece of paper fell out onto the floor.

Feeling ashamed of her snooping, she nevertheless smoothed it out and read it.

“Rm. 232, ex. 1545” was scrawled on it in a boldly flowing, masculine hand.

It was her room number and telephone extension at the hotel. He had been carrying it around with him.

Marisa sat in the chair he had vacated, clutching the scrap as if it were a talisman.

This was all wrong, and she knew it. Jack was involved with her case and furthermore, he was the opposition’s staunchest supporter. So why didn’t any of it seem to matter? Why was she willing to jeopardize case and career and future for a man she’d spent barely a few hours with, under the most unfavorable circumstances? It seemed to be the question of the hour, of her life, in fact.

Meanwhile, she had a guest.

Mama took the clip out of her hair, switched off the lamp and locked the door of her room, and then slipped onto the bed next to Jack. She was sure she wouldn’t sleep, but of course she did, too worn out from her emotions to stay awake. The last thing she remembered was the sound of Jack’s breathing in the dark.

* * *

Jack woke first in the morning, grainy eyed and disoriented, squinting at the unfamiliar curtains on the windows. He turned slightly, gasped at the pain in his shoulder, and then caught sight of Marisa, sleeping on her stomach beside him. It took him several seconds to sort out what had happened; then he sat up slowly to get a better look at Marisa, being careful not to shake the bed and disturb her.

Marisa’s face was crushed into the pillow with one flushed cheek exposed, a tendril of fine blonde hair trailing over it. She was fast asleep, lips parted to expose a row of teeth, one fist clutching the sheet like a child. Jack held back from touching her as long as he could, but the temptation was just too great. He slipped his hand under the weight of her hair and cupped the back of her neck.

Marisa stirred, then rolled over as he increased the pressure of his fingers. Her lashes fluttered and then lifted. She woke to find Jack leaning over her, his good arm beneath her shoulders.

His whiskey-colored eyes seemed to fill the world. The yearning in them so closely matched her own that no words were needed. She put her arms around his neck as he bent his head to kiss her.

His mouth was softer than she would have guessed, but his body was hard, lean and muscular, as he pressed her into the bed. She kept telling herself that she should pull away, but the delicious contact, so often imagined, was too wonderful to end it. His shirt parted from his belt as he moved and her hand found the naked skin of his back, smooth and warm and supple. He groaned as she touched him and his lips traveled from her mouth to her neck; Marisa arched to expose more of her flesh to his caress. He pulled her tighter against him and she sighed luxuriously; not even the crackling of the bandage beneath his shirt gave her pause. She was too hungry and he was too expert, too eager. When he drew back and pulled her top up she was submissive until his hand slipped beneath it and found her bare breast. Then she gasped and stiffened, but he mastered her immediately, rocking her gently, his breath fanning her cheek.

“Please,” he muttered. “Oh, please.”

Marisa was undone. She was no match for him, especially when she wanted him so much. She lay back and lifted her arms; he was tugging her shirt off over her head when the telephone rang.

They both froze, like blowzy characters caught in the act in a French farce.

“Ignore it,” Jack murmured, tightening his grip.

“It might be the office,” Marisa said, coming to her senses, color flooding into her face as she glanced down at her disordered clothes. She struggled away from him and sat up, tucking her shirt into her jeans.

“Oh, damn the office,” he muttered, falling back on the bed with his arm over his eyes.

Marisa grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” she said hoarsely.

“Marisa, is that you?” Charlie Wellman said.

She coughed, clearing her throat. “Yes.”

“Are you coming down with a cold?” Charlie said.

“No, I’m fine. What is it, Charlie?”

“I sent you the files you requested by overnight mail, they should be there by noon. If they don’t come to your room check at the desk.”

“Thanks, Charlie. I’m going over to the courthouse this morning and I should be able to give you the final figures on the cemetery removal plan in a couple of days.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Marisa,” Charlie said gently, “it’s Saturday.”

“Oh, right. Well, let’s say by Wednesday, then.”

“Is something wrong, kid?” Charlie said.

Marisa glanced at Jack, who was watching her through narrowed eyes, propped up on his good arm.

“No, of course not. Events have been moving so fast I’m just losing track of time.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t come home? Every time I think about that boy taking a potshot at you I want to put you on the next plane. We’ll find somebody else to take over down there.”

“I want to finish what I started, Charlie.”

“Okay. I can understand that. How is Bluewolf?”

“Out of the hospital,” she said. And on my bed, she thought.

“All right. I won’t keep you. Give my best to Tracy.”

“I will.”

“Goodbye.”

“‘Bye.”

“The long arm of Portland?’‘ Jackson said dryly as she hung up the phone.

“Yes,” Marisa said shortly.

“Oh, oh,” Jack said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Is it my imagination or has the temperature in here dropped suddenly?”

“Please don’t be glib. I don’t think I could bear it,” Marisa said, blinking rapidly. She was horrified to discover that she was on the verge of tears and turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see.

Jack wasn’t fooled. He took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him.

“Hey, hey, what’s all this?” he said, concerned.

“I’m... confused,” she said, wiping at her eyes.

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “I wanted you ten minutes ago and I want you now. What’s the problem?”

She stared at him. “What’s the problem?” she echoed. “Does the term ‘conflict of interest’ have any meaning for you?”

“That’s an excuse,” he said dismissively.

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you outside the courtroom,” she went on, “much less...” She trailed off unhappily.

“Much less what? Engaging in illicit sexual activities?”

“Oh, you really are vile,” Marisa said disgustedly.

“I see. What happens now? Do the lady lawyer police show up and cuff me to the headboard?”

“I think you should go.”

“Just like that.”

“Yes, just like that. What else is there to say?”

“You might say you enjoyed our night together, and what followed this morning,” he said calmly.

Marisa maintained a stony silence, not meeting his eyes.

“Marisa, what do you expect?” he demanded. “I’m not going to apologize for finally doing what I’ve wanted to do from the first moment I saw you.”

“I’m not asking for an apology,” she said.

“Then what? For me to act like last night never happened?”

She met his angry gaze squarely.

“Oh no. I’m not going to play ‘let’s pretend’ with you,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s pretend that Marisa is a legal robot, let’s pretend that Marisa is an innocent little virgin without an active hormone in her body...”

Marisa slapped him, and then stared at her hand as if it had taken on a life of its own.

“Great,” he said tightly, the imprint of her fingers still on his cheek. “Thanks a lot.” He picked up his jacket and brushed past her, reaching for the doorknob.

“Wait,” she said miserably.

“For what? Another smack?”

“Don’t forget to take your pills, you missed the dosage last night,” she said inanely.

“You’re crazy, do you know that?” he said, his back still to her. “You wallop me for telling you the truth and then you remind me to take my medicine?”

“I’m sorry I hit you,” she whispered, her eyes swimming again.

He turned to face her, his jaw set. “Look, lady, I don’t know why you can’t admit it, but you want me. You want me as much as I want you, and the sooner you face that fact the happier we both will be.” He yanked open the door and bolted through it, slamming it behind him.

Marisa collapsed on the bed, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. She could still see the imprint of Jack’s head on the pillow next to hers.

It was several moments before she heard the insistent tapping coming from the next room.

“Marisa?” Tracy’s voice said tinnily. “Are you all right?”

Marisa hid her face in the crook of her arm. Please God, she thought, no more. Then she got up and faced the inevitable.

Tracy was standing on the other side of the connecting door with her hands on her hips when Marisa opened it.

“Well?” Tracy said, waving the note Marisa left for her in the air. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Tracy said, peering over Marisa’s shoulder. “I heard voices, a man’s voice and yours. Who was here?”

“Jack Bluewolf.”

“What a surprise,” Tracy said sarcastically, moving into Marisa’s room. “Is he the reason I got this little missive?”

Marisa was silent.

“He spent the night here?” Tracy asked, her voice rising into a little squeak.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, of course not. You played board games all night.”

“He had just gotten out of the hospital and he was a little shaky. He fell asleep on my bed and I didn’t want to move him. He needed the rest. That’s all there is to it.”

“Not all, from the expression on your face, sweetie. You look shell-shocked.”

“We had sort of a fight before he left.”

“I heard. And why did he come here to see you straight from the hospital?”

“Well, we had sort of a misunderstanding when I visited him there,” Marisa explained awkwardly.

“I see. You had sort of a misunderstanding then and sort of a fight this morning. You know what that means, don’t you?”

“I’m losing my mind?” Marisa suggested feebly.

“Sexual frustration,” Tracy said sagely.

“Oh, please.” Marisa sat in the chair and contemplated her bare feet morosely.

“What, am I wrong? You’re wildly attracted to him, aren’t you? Why deny it?”

“I can’t do anything about it, Tracy, you know the position I’m in! And he’s so...”

“Aggressive?”

“Yes.”

“Good for him,” Tracy said firmly, and picked up the room service menu.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, dearie. A man like this one is what you’ve needed for a long time.”

“Counseling without a license again, Tracy?”

“What do you want for breakfast?” Tracy said, ignoring her.

“How can you think about food at a time like this?” Marisa demanded, outraged.

“A time like what?”

“I’m having a crisis here!”

“What’s the crisis? You’ve finally met a man who can melt the icy reserve that’s kept everybody else at a distance for as long as I’ve known you. More power to him. How about blueberry pancakes?”

“There’s more, Tracy. He was trying to get me to admit how I felt this morning and I...uh...I slapped him.”

“You!” Tracy hooted. “Miss Cool, Calm and Collected? I would have paid good money to see that.”

“I’m not going to get involved with him.”

“You’re already involved with him.”

“I don’t have to make it any worse. Aside from the ethical considerations, he’s a ladykiller. I don’t want to be used and then tossed away like a facial tissue.”

“Uh-huh. What’s the real problem?”

Marisa blinked. “What do you mean? I just told you.”

“What did he say that made you hit him?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do.”

“He said I was pretending to be an innocent little virgin.”

Tracy burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny.”

“Don’t you know that’s the sort of thing men always say when they don’t get their way? Forget it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not pretending, I am one.”

“One what?” Tracy said, still reading the menu.

“Haven’t you got that thing memorized by now?” Marisa snapped. “Are you listening to me? I’m not pretending. I am a virgin.”

She had Tracy’s full attention now. “You’re joking,” Tracy said, gaping at her.

“I’m not.”

“You must be the only twenty-seven-year-old virgin in captivity,” Tracy said, awed.

“Twenty-eight,” Marisa said mournfully.

“I can’t believe it.”

“He’ll laugh at me,” Marisa said quietly.

“Oh, honey, no,” Tracy said, putting the menu aside. “Don’t think that way. It just makes you special, that’s all.”

“Specially odd.”

“Haven’t you ever been in love?”

“I was always so busy, with school and then work,” Marisa said lamely.

“But some men must have tried.”

“Oh, sure, but they never seemed... I don’t know. Wonderful enough, somehow.”

“But this one is.”

“He must be. I can’t stop thinking about him and it’s complicating this case no end.”

“Well,” Tracy said briskly, “you can’t go on like this. You’d better deal with it, and fast.”

“Charlie telephoned this morning and asked if I wanted to be recalled. He was worried about the shooting, and I could have taken the opportunity to extricate myself from this mess.”

“What did you say?”

“No.”

“Then you must want to stay.”

“I can’t bear the thought of not seeing Jack again,” Marisa whispered. “But I’m so scared.”

“You know,” Tracy said thoughtfully, “Bluewolf is not opposing counsel and he’s not the nominal plaintiff either. He’s just an adviser. Technically there’s no reason you can’t see him socially.”

“I’m not sure Charlie would view it that way,” Marisa commented dryly.

“You’re as familiar with the ethical rules as I am. You know I’m right. You’re using all of that bar association mumbo jumbo as an excuse because you’re afraid to deal with your feelings for this guy.”

“That’s what Jack said. More or less.”

“He’s right. You should call him.”

“Perish the thought.”

“What are you going to do, march back into court in ten days and act like none of this ever happened?”

“I have no choice.”

“Boy. I’m going to have a ringside seat for this one.”

“You, my dear, are going to be up to your ears in Florida reporters at the library.”

“Oh, come on, you have to let me audit in court sometime.”

“We’ll see. And in the meantime, we’re driving over to Crystal River today to depose the ex-custodian of the Seminole cemetery. He lives in a mobile home park there with his granddaughter.”

“Busy, busy,” Tracy said, picking up the menu again.

* * *

Marisa did not have to wait for the resumption of court proceedings to see Jack again. She and Tracy were having dinner in the hotel restaurant on Sunday night when he walked in with a statuesque redhead on his arm.

“Don’t look now,” Tracy confided over her chicken cordon bleu to Marisa, “but himself just arrived with Brenda Starr.”

“What?” Marisa asked, taking a sip of water.

“I said, Don’t turn around but Jack is here.”

Marisa stiffened but kept staring straight ahead. “Where?”

“Over your let shoulder, heading for a table in the corner. And he has a six-foot, auburn haired Amazon with him.”

“Tracy,” Marisa said in exasperation.

“It’s true. Well, five ten anyway, and she’s wearing flats. Who the hell is that?”

“How should I know?” Marisa said testily.

“What a coincidence that he brought her here for dinner,” Tracy said cynically.

“This hotel has one of the few decent restaurants in town,” Marisa pointed out evenly.

“Oh, and I suppose it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re staying here. Seems like he decided to let you know you had some competition.”

“How does he look?” Marisa asked.

“Has he ever looked bad?” Tracy countered. She speared a slice of ham and then dropped her fork on her plate. “I’m going to find out who this new arrival is,” she said decisively, rising.

“Tracy!” Marisa hissed, but it was already too late. Tracy was halfway across the room. Marisa briefly debated the merits of a flying tackle and then subsided, contemplating murder instead. She pushed pieces of lemon sole around on her plate for an eternity until Tracy returned.

“I am going to flay you alive,” she said flatly, as Tracy resumed her seat.

“Tut tut. Don’t you want to know what I found out?” Tracy replied smugly, picking up her napkin.

“What did you do, get her to fill out a questionnaire?”

“Certainly not. I went over there and presented myself, expressing my regret about the Jeff Rivertree situation. Mr. Bluewolf, gentleman that he is, of course then had to introduce his companion.”

“Well, who is she?”

“Aha. So you are curious.”

“Tracy, you are close to getting my knife in your nose,” Marisa said in a dangerously calm voice.

“All right, all right. She’s a reporter from the Miami Herald. He’s doubtless giving her a biased earful on the situation here.”

“Doubtless.”

“Anyway, they seemed real chummy. I think he knew her before this, maybe from some of his previous work or something. I wouldn’t worry too much about her. I think she’s had a nose job.”

Marisa had to laugh. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“A nose that perfect never existed in nature.”

“What about Catherine Deneuve?”

“Well, there couldn’t be two. And I’m sure she dyes her hair. Lovely Lady #32, Gentle Auburn. I detected roots.”

“Did you take her blood pressure while you were at it?”

“And that dress is a knockoff, you can always tell.”

Marisa stared at her balefully.

“What’s this?” Tracy said brightly. They looked up to see the maitre d’ bearing down on them with a wine bottle deep in a bucket of ice and a towel draped over his arm.

“Compliments of the gentleman over there,” he said courteously, gesturing, and then displayed the bottle.

Marisa couldn’t look, but Tracy waved enthusiastically in the direction of Jack’s table.

“Stop that,” Marisa said to her in a low tone.

“Good stuff,” Tracy observed, examining the label.

“Please tell the gentleman, no, thank you. We don’t drink,” Marisa said primly.

“I drink,” Tracy said.

Marisa kicked her under the table.

“But madame...” the maitre d’ protested.

“Take it away,” Marisa said firmly.

The man departed.

“You’re no fun,” Tracy said.

“I am not swilling down that man’s liquor after he...” she trailed off into silence.

“You’re just in a jealous snit because he showed up here with Miss Tallahassee,” Tracy said. “Or Miami.”

“I am not jealous.”

“Uh-oh,” Tracy hissed.

“What now?” Marisa said despairingly.

“He’s coming over here.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?”

Before Marisa could gather her wits Jack was at her elbow.

“Don’t you like Chardonnay?” he inquired mildly. He was wearing a beige raw silk jacket with tailored slacks and an open shirt.

“I have no intention of drinking your wine,” Marisa said flatly.

“Why not? It was just a friendly gesture.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Some people might say that sending it back was the graceless impulse of a spoiled brat,” Jack said flatly.

“Some people might say that sending it over here in the first place was the flamboyant gesture of a self satisfied prig,” Marisa replied.

Tracy was transfixed, her head moving back and forth between Jack and Marisa as if she were observing a tennis match.

“Your assistant here could teach you some manners,” Jack said.

Tracy sank a little lower in her chair.

“An ape could teach you some manners,” Marisa observed crisply, shoving her chair back from the table.

“Where are you going?” Jack inquired.

“You’ re the mystery writer, you figure it out!” Marisa stalked past him and he followed her out into the lobby. From their respective tables, Tracy and Jack’s erstwhile companion stared after the two of them in amazement.

Marisa charged into the ladies’ room and Jack was right on her heels. A blue haired matron gasped as Jack appeared in the mirror behind her. She dropped her lipstick into the sink.

“Relax, madam. I’m harmless,” he said to the woman, holding up his hand.

“Don’t you believe him!” Marisa snapped.

The old lady retrieved her lipstick and hurried to the door. “I’m calling security,” she said huffily.

“You, madam, are perfectly secure,” Jack said dryly.

The woman departed hastily after favoring Jack with a withering look.

“You’re making a fool of yourself,” Marisa said to him.

“Like you did yesterday morning?”

“I see that you recovered from that episode pretty fast,” Marisa countered.

“What does that mean?” he demanded.

“Why did you choose to dine here this evening?”

“I suppose you think my coming here had something to do with you,” he said.

“A suspicious woman might come to that conclusion.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Drop dead.” Marisa swept around him and through the door into the lobby once more. He shot out onto the tiled floor right behind her. Tracy was leaning against the wall outside the rest room and observed their passage with interest.

“Stop following me,” Marisa said, rounding on Jack furiously. She caught sight of Tracy and added, “I’m going up to my room. Would you take care of the check?”

They both watched as Marisa rounded the corner for the elevator. A uniformed man wearing a badge labeled “hotel security” approached Jack and looked him over carefully. Since Jack was standing innocently in the hall, the security guard merely hesitated for a moment and then walked over to the desk.