ONE

“NOT GUILTY.”

Mallory Thane sank back in her chair, dizzy with relief as the foreman of the jury pronounced the verdict. She became vaguely conscious of the buzz of the spectators in the courtroom behind her, the encouraging squeeze of her attorney, James Delage’s hand on her own, the judge thanking the jury, but it was all on a subliminal level. She was free!

James leaned forward, his intelligent face furrowed with concern as he whispered, “Okay?”

She nodded and tried to breathe slowly and evenly. She knew very well she was not at all okay. She was so exhausted and strained she could barely sit there without trembling. “Terrific. Thanks, James, for a while I thought I’d had it.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about. That damn district attorney just wanted a little free publicity to launch her new election campaign. Any other official would never have brought you to trial with such scanty evidence.”

“She was a barracuda.” Mallory shuddered, averting her gaze from the table across the courtroom where the sleek, commanding figure of the district attorney still sat. “I felt naked when she had me on the stand. She … flayed me.”

“It’s over now.” James gathered up his legal pads and briefs and put them in his leather briefcase. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We still have the gauntlet of the paparazzi to run—and fast. I intend to get you into a taxi with the speed of light.”

“What more can they do to me?” Mallory asked bitterly. “They’ve already painted me as the premiere vamp of the eighties. Haven’t you read the headlines? ‘Glamorous actress seduces poor lovesick lad, leads him to the altar, accepts expensive presents, and then shoots him when he goes broke.’”

“No newspaper in existence has room for a headline that long.” James grinned. “And not many people have memories that long either. Next week you’ll be old news.”

“I hope so.”

James looked at Mallory’s pale, drawn face. “Look, why don’t you go to Europe for a while? Give the press a chance to forget.”

“On what?” She grimaced. “I still owe you money for my defense, and the offers haven’t exactly been pouring in since I was arraigned for Ben’s murder. I was just beginning to get a few good film roles when Ben Wyatt wandered into my life.”

“I can wait for my fee.”

“You’ll have to.” She stood and picked up her purse from the table. “But not for long. You’ve worked yourself into the ground to clear me, and I won’t see you cheated.” She shook her head wearily. “Somebody has to come out of this mess with something besides bruises or there’s no sense to anything.”

“Like the not-so-honorable district attorney I’ve gotten a lot of free publicity.”

“That doesn’t pay the bills when you’ve got a wife and a baby on the way. I’ll get some kind of job even if I have to wait tables again until …” She trailed off. Until what, she wondered in discouragement. She had never felt so damned helpless in her life. Despite this acquittal, the press would still malign her, and she would be forever associated with scandal. Perhaps not. If Ben’s murderer were caught … She sighed. A black widow had publicity value, but not the kind a producer believed would sell tickets.

“I’ll pay you back, I promise. You’ve been my good angel, James.” Her smile lit her face as she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s not every day that a woman has her life handed back to her on a silver platter.”

“A pretty tarnished platter,” James said soberly. “That’s the problem with these days of mass communication. When mud’s thrown, it splatters all over the world.”

“But I’m free.” She linked her arm with James’s as they turned away from the table and started toward the courtroom door. “Stop worrying about me. I’m a survivor. If my acting career’s down the drain, I’ll find another career.”

“If Ben’s big brother will let you,” James said. “Sabin Wyatt’s one of the world’s financial heavyweights and judging by the way he stared at you during the trial, I got the distinct impression he wanted you locked up and the key melted down and thrown into the sea. He’s not going to like this acquittal.”

Mallory tensed at the memory of Sabin Wyatt’s grim face in the courtroom yesterday. She had never even seen Ben’s stepbrother until the trial, and yet he had been in the courtroom every single day since it had begun. That publicity-shy Wyatt was willing to come out of seclusion to see his stepbrother’s wife tried had served to create even more of a feeding frenzy among the paparazzi. The presence of Sabin Wyatt, one of the richest men in the world, brought a touch of mystery and golden luster, the only ingredients absent in the proceedings.

She could have done very well without those particular ingredients. The first time she had seen Sabin Wyatt across the courtroom, it had been like a physical shock. The force of his personality overwhelmed everyone around him, and she had felt panic. He had met her gaze directly, demanding her attention, demanding … what? She had hurriedly turned away and said something inane to James to escape from answering that demand.

There was no escape. She had felt those cool gray-blue eyes fixed unceasingly on her, and with every day of testimony she had grown more conscious of his silent intensity. She had the odd feeling he wanted her to be as aware of him, that he was willing her to be even more conscious of him than of this trial that could cost her her life. The instinct was totally illogical but then so was the compulsion that had driven her to glance at that sixth-row seat when she first came into the courtroom. She suppressed a shiver as she realized how disappointed she had been when he hadn’t appeared in the courtroom today for the verdict. She should have been grateful to be free of him. Maybe these weeks of strain had turned her into one of those kooks who develop a relationship with her captors. “I’ve never even met the man. He and Ben weren’t close and he was out of the country for the entire length of our marriage.”

James looked relieved. “Maybe I was mistaken. I sure as hell hope so. You don’t need Wyatt against you.”

She nodded in complete agreement. Sabin Wyatt wielded more power than many heads of state, and he wasn’t shy about exercising his clout. She knew that Ben had both admired and feared his stepbrother. That ambivalent love-hate relationship had been characteristic of Ben, she thought sadly. “I’m not going to be around to antagonize anyone. As soon as I get back to the apartment, I’m going to pack and get out of New York.”

“Where are you going?”

She smiled crookedly. “How do I know? I’ll get on a bus and get off when the mood strikes me. Any place is bound to be cheaper than the Big Apple. Then I’ll get a job and wait for the world to forget me.”

“You’re not easy to forget. That’s why our eager beaver district attorney latched onto you with both hands. A chance to score with Wyatt Enterprises and a victim who has a face as haunting as the Mona Lisa’s.” As they moved down the crowded corridor toward the front entrance of the courthouse, James’s hand protectively cradled her elbow. “You’ll let me know when you get settled? Gerda will have my head if I let you go without keeping tabs on you.”

She nodded. “You and Gerda have been wonderful to me. Tell her I’m sorry I can’t wait to say good-bye in person, will you?”

“I’ll tell her.” James stopped at the front entrance and made a face as he looked through the glass doors at the long flight of stone steps leading down to the street. “Brace yourself. Your taxi’s at the curb but there are three TV cameras and at least ten reporters on the steps. It’ll be like running a gauntlet.”

Her gaze followed James’s and she involuntarily flinched. The reporters were milling around like restless tigers waiting for their prey to appear. She squared her shoulders and forced a smile. “Wish me luck.”

“Always.” James’s hand gently tightened on her elbow. “I’ll try to run interference while you go, but we may not be able to pull it off.” He paused. “Remember, it’s over, Mallory.”

She nodded and opened the door. “It’s over.” She hurried down the stairs and was immediately engulfed by the questioning stream of humanity pouring up the steps.

“Miss Thane has no comment,” James shouted as she fought her way through the mob. “She’s very happy that justice has been done, but you’ll understand the past three weeks have been a grueling experience and she’s exhausted.”

Mallory had almost reached the sidewalk. She pushed a microphone away from her face and ran down the last few steps to the taxi.

Gray-blue eyes glittering in a sun-browned face.

She stopped, frozen in place as the reporters crowded around her again. Her gaze focused only on the tall, powerfully built man standing beside the long, dark blue limousine directly across the street. It was the first time she had seen Wyatt standing. He was close to six five and as tough and muscular as a longshoreman. There was no earthly reason that he should look like Ben since the two men were only stepbrothers, but the contrast still struck her. Ben had been one of the handsomest men she had ever met and had had an endearing boyish quality. Sabin was totally mature, totally male and obviously made no attempt to endear himself to anyone. The bone structure of Sabin’s face looked as if it had been hewn with a hatchet from a block of sandstone, yet the sheer brutal power of the deep-set eyes and broad cheekbones gave it a mesmerizing fascination. Sun streaks threaded his dark brown hair and, though she knew him to be only thirty-four, she noticed the faintest touch of gray silvering his temples.

His gaze held her effortlessly with the enigmatic demand she had become accustomed to. He was half-leaning against the limousine, his stance almost carelessly indolent, but she knew that was only a pose. Men of Sabin Wyatt’s ilk did nothing without a purpose, and she knew very well what his purpose was that day.

He was here to let her know that no matter what the jury had ruled, it was not over.

As soon as the taxi bearing Mallory Thane pulled away from the curb, Sabin turned and quickly opened the door of the limousine. He locked the door in time to avoid the onslaught of reporters Mallory had just escaped. Thank heaven for the darkly tinted windows, he thought. He could see out but he knew that Carey and he were invisible to those outside. “Get out of here,” he called to the chauffeur as he settled down beside Carey.

“Very tasty, that lady,” Carey Litzke said. “I’ve seen her on screen a couple of times in bit roles, but I didn’t realize just how gorgeous she really was. Most screen stars are a disappointment in person. No wonder Ben went bonkers over her.” He glanced sidewise at Sabin. “She looked pale as death, didn’t she? She’s had a tough time this past year since Ben’s murder.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for her?”

“Maybe.” Carey leaned back on the cushioned leather seat. “She’s been torn apart by the public, the press and the law. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“No.”

Carey sighed. “She’s got guts, Sabin. It’s a quality you usually admire. Why don’t you give her a break?”

“Because she doesn’t deserve one.”

“You said yourself that you didn’t think she murdered him. He was in debt up to his eyebrows to the mob. Your own investigators dredged up that information.”

“And he spent a fortune on buying gifts for Mallory Thane.” Sabin looked straight ahead. “He inherited at twenty-one, and he blew his trust fund in only three years. Where do you think he got the money to spend on her?”

“From you,” Carey said mildly. “I write the checks, remember? The first six months they were married you sent him over two hundred thousand dollars. Then all of a sudden you stopped.”

“I don’t like to throw good money after bad.” Sabin’s expression was impassive. “So I told him no more handouts.”

“I’m curious. Why did you decide to give him anything at all?” Carey glanced at Sabin speculatively. “You swore you were through with him after he embezzled from that account at the firm in London.”

“We grew up together.” Sabin shook his head. “Maybe if my father’s will had divided the companies equally instead of giving the lot to me he wouldn’t have—”

“Turned out to be a jealous, conniving bastard,” Carey finished. “You must be feeling maudlin if you’re giving away half of Wyatt Enterprises in retrospect. You know as well as I do that Ben would have run it into the ground and flitted off with the capital.”

Sabin smiled grudgingly. “Probably.” His smile faded. “I admit I wasn’t overly fond of the bastard, but he didn’t deserve to be turned into a whimpering, besotted slave by Mallory Thane. She may not have shot him, but she caused him to go to the mob for money after I cut him off.”

“You don’t know he gave her presents. Ben mentioned them to his friends but the prosecution never located them.”

“I know.” Sabin’s lips tightened. “I’ve seen them.”

“How did—” Carey broke off as he saw Sabin’s expression become shuttered. He had kept both his job as Sabin’s personal assistant, and the man’s friendship, by knowing when to push and when to hold his peace. He valued both, and now instinct told him to back off.

Still, Sabin’s entire attitude toward Mallory Thane struck him as odd. In fact, from the moment Sabin had received the first communication from his stepbrother after his marriage two years earlier, his behavior had exhibited little resemblance to the hardheaded, ruthless business man Carey knew him to be. The two hundred thousand dollars paid out in monthly increments during the first six months of Ben’s marriage had completely mystified Carey. A lump sum for a wedding present he could have understood: Sabin was a generous man and the challenge of the acquisition of money meant more to him than keeping it. No, it was the way the money was given rather than the giving itself that had bewildered him. “You want Mallory Thane’s hide?”

A faint smile touched Sabin’s lips. “Very well put.”

“Okay.” Carey shrugged. “How do we go about it?”

“You’re going to offer her a job.” Sabin gazed out the dark-tinted window at the streets passing by. “I’ve set it up with Global Cinema. A small part in a low-budget movie called Breakaway. She’d suspect anything but a minor role with an independent outfit after the notoriety she’s suffered. I figure she’ll jump at the chance.”

“No doubt. She’s dead broke according to Randolph’s investigators,” Carey said. “Then what?”

“Breakaway is to be filmed in Sedikhan.”

Carey gave a low whistle. “And Alex Ben Raschid owes you a favor for helping expose that chemical warfare plant in Said Ababa. The poor kid’s going to be walking into a set-up.”

“Poor kid?” Sabin’s gaze turned icy as it shifted to Carey’s face. “You seem to be as taken with Mallory Thane as my late stepbrother. Perhaps you’d rather I send someone else to bait the trap.”

“I didn’t say that,” Carey said quietly. “I’ve never known you to be unfair in all the years I’ve worked for you, Sabin. If you think she took Ben for a ride and deserves to be taken down herself, that’s good enough for me.”

Sabin was silent a moment and then a rare smile lit his craggy face with warmth. “Sorry. I’m a little on edge. This thing has me tied up in knots.”

“I’ve noticed,” Carey said dryly. “You’ve been barking at everyone for months.” Longer than that actually. Carey recalled Sabin’s temper had been uncertain since he’d received Ben’s first letter after his marriage. “Randolph’s last report said she’d sublet her apartment effective next week, but my bet is that she’s going to leave town as soon as possible. If you want her right away, I’d better move fast.”

“Oh, yes, I want her right away.” Sabin opened a compartment on the convenience board in front of him and pulled out a light blue jacketed manuscript and a manilla envelope and handed them both to Carey. “The script, a synopsis of the story, and the role we’re offering her, contract and airline tickets, also an advance that will permit her to settle outstanding debts.”

“And put her in debt to you.”

“Exactly. The airline reservation is for the day after tomorrow. That will give her time to settle her affairs and yet not enough time for her to start to wonder why Global’s willing to take a chance on her when no other studio is.”

“Very clever,” Carey said. “And when am I to deliver these twenty pieces of silver?”

“We’re on our way to her apartment now.” Sabin lifted a brow. “You can still back out. I’ve never seen you so reluctant to do a job.”

“She’s got guts,” Carey said simply. “For the last three weeks I’ve been watching her every night on the evening news, and she’s taken everything they’ve thrown at her and never lost her dignity. She may be a bitch, but you still have to admire her.”

“Speak for yourself.” Barely contained savagery tinged Sabin’s voice. “I don’t admire cheats. I only collect from them.” He drew a deep breath and when he spoke again his voice was even. “Tell her you’ll meet her at Marasef airport. We’ll take the Lear Jet to Sedikhan tonight.”

Carey nodded as he placed the script and the envelope in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “She impresses me as being very intelligent. She’ll check with Global to be sure it’s on the up and up.”

“She’ll get the right answer. I bought Global last week.”

Carey’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sabin smiled sardonically. “Because every night when we watched the evening news I noticed just how enthralled you were with her.”

“You thought I’d betray you? For Pete’s sake, Sabin. She’s not Helen of Troy.”

“Close enough. I didn’t want to take the chance.” He looked out the window again. “Is she sleeping with James Delage?”

“I told Randolph you’d inquired. He said he didn’t think so. Delage seems devoted to his wife.”

“I didn’t ask what Randolph thought. I asked if she was sleeping with that damn shyster lawyer.”

“Easy,” Carey said. “Randolph said he’d have a report on your desk by five this evening.”

“Good.”

The limousine pulled up in front of a brown-stone and the chauffeur jumped out and hurried around to open the door.

Carey got out of the car and stood in the street looking hesitantly at Sabin. “I don’t suppose you’d change your mind?”

“No way. Come back to the office when you’re through.” Sabin’s expression suddenly softened. “You’re doing the right thing, Carey. Believe me, she’s the kind of woman who can turn any man inside out before she’s through with him.”

“I believe you.” Carey still hesitated. He had the feeling there was something more behind all this. “It’s just hard to—” He broke off and took a step back. “I’ll stop and have lunch before I come back to the office. I may need to wash the bad taste out of my mouth.” He wheeled and started up the steps of the brownstone.

The chauffeur closed the car door and soon the limousine was gliding through the tree-lined streets of Greenwich Village en route to the Wyatt building.

Sabin leaned back and closed his eyes trying to control the anger and impatience surging through him. Even though he’d known Mallory Thane would be acquitted, it had been difficult waiting until the trial ended. In fact, he had assisted her defense. His investigators had turned up a piece or two of the evidence linking Ben to the mob and sent it to Delage. But knowing she would soon be free hadn’t quelled the temptation to whisk her away during the trial. Such an abduction was easier to arrange than most people could imagine, and he’d wanted to be done with the waiting.

He had sat in that courtroom day after day and watched Mallory Thane face her accusers, watched her grow thinner and more finely drawn before his eyes, and felt a raging need to end it. If she was to be punished, he should be the one to do it. He had grown fiercely protective of that right in the last months.

Lord, he was acting like a nut case, he thought in disgust. She was becoming as much of an obsession to him as she had been to Ben.

No … in his own way Ben had been wildly in love with her, he reassured himself quickly. What Sabin felt for Mallory Thane was lust. Lust was tolerable. He could use lust, but pity and admiration were totally unacceptable.

He wouldn’t think of Mallory’s expression as she’d flown down the stone steps pursued by reporters. He wouldn’t think of the quiet dignity she’d shown in the courtroom, the dignity Carey had so admired.

But he was thinking about it.

Sabin impatiently reached into the compartment that had held the script, drew out a videotape and slid it into the video recorder beneath the television screen.

He switched on the machine and smiled sardonically as Mallory Thane’s face appeared on the screen. Voila, the magic formula. Instant lust.

But lust wasn’t the emotion engendered by these first shots that showed only her face. Helen of Troy. Carey’s words had been sarcastic but his own had not. In his opinion the great beauties of the world were the women who displayed not only beauty but character: Mallory Thane had been blessed with both. On the tape she was laughing impishly, her face alight with mischief. Her features were as close to perfection as any he had ever seen, but what was truly noticeable was the spirit and vitality illuminating them. The wide-set eyes were an incredible blue-violet shade framed by long, dense dark lashes, and her blue-black hair was drawn severely back from her face to reveal the startling beauty of her bone structure and then allowed to fall in a long silky mass to the middle of her naked back.

Not that he could see her back now. That would come later when she took off the full-length ermine coat and revealed that long elegant naked spine that was more erotic than most women’s breasts.

He could feel himself harden at the thought, and desire brought a welcome end to pity.

She was lying down on the chaise lounge now, carelessly showing glimpses of long legs and beautifully formed shoulders as the ermine coat fell away from them. Then, slowly, seductively, she took off the coat revealing she wore nothing beneath the fur but her own glowing, silken flesh.

She smiled lovingly at the camera, and then slowly raised her hand to shake back her long hair.

Sabin could feel the heavy, hot throbbing between his legs and wondered why he didn’t shut the machine off. The tape had accomplished its purpose, and he knew if he continued to watch he’d be in a fever for the damn woman.

The tape was both graphic and explicit—a woman displaying herself in the most intimate ways imaginable for her lover. Yet there was nothing obscene about the way Mallory Thane tempted the viewer. She was as natural as Eve and as exquisite as man’s first dream of woman. Sabin knew every movement, every toss of her head by heart and still he couldn’t stop himself from watching in fascination even though the sight of her was enveloping him in a hot haze of need.

“Lord, it’s …” He didn’t know what he had been about to mutter as he reached out with a trembling hand and switched off the tape.

It didn’t help. After he reached this point, it seldom did anymore.

The scene on the tape still played out its beautiful, erotic exhibitionism in his mind.

Mallory’s gaze searched Carey’s lean, freckled face. “Why me, Mr. Litzke?”

“Your face,” Carey said simply. “We know you’re a competent actress but that’s not what Global is buying. You have a very memorable look and that’s what we need for this role. Peter Handel, the director, saw you on television two nights ago and said he had to have that face.”

“I see.” Mallory stood up and wandered to the window and stood looking blindly down at the street. Litzke’s proposal sounded logical and she liked the man. At first glance his curly red hair, bright brown eyes and freckled face gave an impression of Huckleberry Finn charisma, but he hadn’t been in her apartment for more than ten minutes before she realized that his charm was accompanied by a forthright manner and shrewd intelligence. “‘That face’ carries a considerable amount of notoriety with it. Global’s taking a chance.”

“We’re banking on your bad press dying down by the time the picture’s in distribution.”

She looked back over her shoulder. “It’s only my face? No nudity?”

He looked surprised. “The film doesn’t call for it.”

She smiled ruefully. “The only offers I’ve gotten lately are for less than respectable films. I don’t do porn, Mr. Litzke.”

“Carey.” Carey’s face lit with amusement. “No porn, I promise. Though after meeting you, the idea is certainly titillating. Let me tell you a little about the script. Breakaway takes place during World War II in North Africa. You play Renee Salanoir, a café singer and member of the resistance movement. The film’s targeted at being a sort of cross between Top Gun and Casablanca.”

“Sounds like a winning combination.”

Carey’s smile faded. “You don’t seem too eager to accept our offer. Isn’t the money good enough?”

“The money’s a lifesaver.” She turned to face him. “The job’s a lifesaver. I just want to be fair to Global.”

Carey’s lips tightened as his gaze slid away from her own. “That’s admirably ethical but Global can take care of itself. Is it a deal?”

She hesitated. “Will the role be physically taxing?”

Carey’s gaze shifted back to her face. “You’re not well?”

“I just need rest. I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

“Or eating either, I’d bet.” Carey’s gaze went over her slim figure. “Have you been to a doctor?”

“I’m fine.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I’m not up to rough location shooting, and I don’t want to get sick and force you to have to stop production.”

“Stop worrying about Global.” Carey’s voice held a strange note of suppressed anger. “Worry about yourself.” He looked away from her again. “The role doesn’t call for any rigorous desert treks.”

“Good, then it’s a deal.” She crossed the room, picked up the pen, and quickly signed the contract on the coffee table. She put down the pen and held out her hand. “I’m going to enjoy working with you, Carey.”

He rose to his feet, took her slim hand and shook it gravely. “I hope you’ll still feel that way once you reach Marasef.”

She smiled. “I will. I’m usually a good judge of character and I think you’re a man who’s definitely true-blue.”

“What an old-fashioned term.” He dropped her hand and turned away. “I’ll meet your plane and drive you to the location. I’m leaving tonight for Sedikhan. If you have any problem with arrangements, contact Global.”

“I can handle everything. I’ve been on my own for a long time. It breeds a certain independence.”

He nodded absently as he moved toward the door. “I heard you were orphaned when you were fifteen.”

“Was that in the papers too?” She made a face. “I thought they’d concentrated on my marriage.”

“I must have read it somewhere.” Carey opened the door and turned to face her. “You’re sure you want this role? Sedikhan’s half a world away and its reigning sheikh, Alex Ben Raschid, is an absolute monarch. You’ll find things very different there.”

She gazed at him, puzzled. “Of course I want it.” She paused. “If Global wants me.”

“They want you.” Carey’s smile was forced. “I just thought you might like an opportunity to back out. Everyone deserves a last chance. See you in Marasef.”

The door closed behind him, and Mallory stood there a moment gazing at the stained walnut panels. The adrenaline that had kept her going through the interview drained away leaving only the familiar, chilling exhaustion in its place.

Litzke’s offer was almost too good to be true, she thought. She now had a job, money to pay James’s legal fees, a safe haven, and a nice guy like Carey Litzke to smooth her way. Maybe things were ready to take an upturn. She had always found that life moved in cycles of darkness and light, and even when things were darkest there was usually something bright to hold on to. In the year since Ben’s death, she had been hard put to find that light, but now life was beginning to look more promising.

She just wished she had been more honest when Carey had asked her about her health. Her lips twisted ruefully as she realized she hadn’t dared tell him what the doctor had told her last week. This job meant too much to her. She’d rest after it was done and the picture was in the can. Carey had said the picture shouldn’t be strenuous and she could …

The phone rang on the table beside her.

She tensed, her gaze flying to the cream-colored receiver.

It might not be him.

The phone rang again.

She whirled and picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.”

A moment of silence. Then the receiver was quietly replaced on the other end of the line.

Mallory shivered as she hung up the receiver. If the phone rang again, she wouldn’t answer it. She shouldn’t have answered this time, but she had hoped once the trial was over he would stop calling. But why should the caller stop now when the phone calls had been going on since the week after Ben’s death?

The phone rang again and Mallory gazed at it in fearful fascination before turning away and hurrying into the bedroom. Thank God, the day after tomorrow she would be half a world away from New York. She would begin packing and keep busy and eventually the ringing would stop.

The person on the other end only wanted to remind her he was still there, waiting for her.

“It’s done.” Carey dropped onto the visitor’s chair and glared at Sabin across the width of the desk. “She took the bait.”

“You’re upset.” Sabin’s gaze raked his face. “Why?”

“Why?” Carey asked. “Because she’s a damn nice woman. Because she spent most of the time worrying whether Global was getting a fair shake, and because I felt like Judas all the time she was telling me how ‘true-blue’ I was.”

“Did you get her to sign the contract?”

He nodded. “She didn’t even study it. She thinks she’s a good judge of character and I’m ‘true-blue,’ remember?”

“That seems to have rubbed you raw,” Sabin said. “She’s a good actress.”

“Not that good. She wasn’t playing a part.” He frowned. “Look at what Randolph’s found out about her. She’s always worked hard at her craft, she’s well liked by everyone, and before she married Ben there was no evidence of lovers or sugar daddies. I think you’re wrong about her, Sabin. The pieces just don’t fit together.”

A smile tugged at Sabin’s lips. “And everything has to fit or it drives you crazy.” His smile vanished. “If I’m wrong, then we’ll have the opportunity to discover that in Sedikhan.”

“Before or after she gets hurt?”

Sabin didn’t answer. “You’re out of it. I’ll send a car to pick her up in Marasef. I think you’ve—”

“Had a bellyful,” Carey finished tersely. “You’re damn right I have. You’d better be right, Sabin, or you’re not going to be able to live with yourself.” His gaze fell on the paper in the middle of Sabin’s desk. “Is that Randolph’s report?”

Sabin nodded. “Just a preliminary one. Randolph said he’d send a complete dossier later, but this has the information I wanted. She’s not sleeping with Delage. She and his wife went to acting school together.”

“That must have been a big disappointment to you.”

“No.” Sabin’s expression was shuttered as he looked down at the report. “On the contrary.”