"What do you know about the boy?"

"Nothing," she stammered. She pushed back her blond hair. "Well, not much," she amended. "He's very handsome, and rather nice. He left a paid position as a senate intern to work for Sam's campaign. He came highly recommended..."

"By whom?"

She stared at him. "I don't know by whom. Mr. Hewett said he was. I didn't double-check because I didn't have a reason to." She frowned. "Listen, if Haralson's a friend of yours, then you're no friend of ours. That man is dirty. Really dirty."

"No kidding?"

She glowered at his exaggerated surprise. "Come on, what are you really trying to do, get us to throw out an essential staff member on the word of somebody from the enemy camp?"

"That's the problem. That's what it sounds like, doesn't it?" He leaned back in his chair and his dark eyes studied her with a rather unnerving, unblinking scrutiny. "I can't help noticing that you very much resemble a young woman I met in Charleston recently...an archaeology student named..."

"...Phoebe?" She laughed at his look of surprise. "Yes, she told me. It's very natural that she'd have made a beeline for you. She's fascinated by Native Americans."

"So I noticed."

"I hope she didn't embarra.s.s you. She doesn't mean to insult people. She's only eager and enthusiastic about her studies."

"How do you know her?"

"She's my niece," she said, smiling.

He snapped his fingers. "You're the aunt!" He shook his head. "I must not have been listening. She said her aunt worked for a politician, but I never made the connection."

"She told me all about you," she returned. "She's my brother's only child. He was killed in Lebanon a few years ago. Remember the Marine barracks that was bombed during the Reagan administration?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"So were we. My parents are still alive. They live in Georgetown. My sister-in-law remarried, so Phoebe comes to see me fairly often. We do resemble each other, don't we? But she's very pretty..."

"She's very young," he said, smiling back.

"She'll mature."

He didn't want to think about the college girl. He crossed one long leg over the other. "If you know anything about Haralson, you'd better tell me."

"Said the fox to the chicken."

"I'm not directly involved in this," he said. "And I don't want to be. But if Haralson's mixed up in something illegal, I'm not going to be caught holding any bags. I did him what I thought was a simple favor. I found a toxic waste dump. But I didn't know he was going to use it to destroy a local businessman. That wasn't a civic duty, it was an a.s.sa.s.sination attempt. Lombard isn't a polluter, for G.o.d's sake, he's a card-carrying environmentalist."

"I didn't know that, but I never approved of what Clayton did. In fact, that's why I'm working for Mr. Hewett."

"I know," he returned. "I work for the government."

"The Justice Department, you said. What part of the Justice Department?"

"I'm a spy."

"Right."

"No, I am."

"Go on," she said, turning her head slightly away from him. "Spies aren't real. They're figments of Ian Fleming's imagination."

A corner of his mouth tugged up. "Sorry to disillusion you. They're not." He took out his wallet, opened it, and tossed it across the table to her.

She read the credentials, her eyes softening as they lifted back to his. "Jeremiah Cortez."

He shrugged. "My mother was studying biblical history when I was born. I have a brother named Isaac."

She handed the wallet back. "If Haralson is your friend, why are you checking up on him?"

"Force of habit. Even friends aren't exempt. I think Haralson set the thing up. I can't prove it, but that's what I think."

"Wouldn't it make more sense to tell Kane Lombard?"

He made a disgusted sound, deep in his throat. "Right. I tell him and he tells his father and the next day I read in the tabloid, Comanche Spy Accuses Senate Aide Of Desecrating Ancestral Burial Ground."

Derrie almost fell out of the chair laughing.

He glared at her. "That's right, chuckle, but that's what they'd say. I'm not going to be a human interest story. Don't you know anything about spies? We're supposed to keep a low profile."

"That's why you wear your hair long and dress in a suit in Charleston in midsummer."

He pursed his lips and one eye narrowed. "If I cut my hair and wore jeans, do you really think I'd fit in any better here?"

"No, you'd just look as if you were trying to be something you're not," she replied honestly. "I like the way you look," she added, smiling.

"You and your niece are unusual," he said thoughtfully. "You're very honest."

"So are you, and I think that's going to be a real problem when you start pointing fingers at Haralson, because he's not. That picket mob at Lombard's was his idea."

He was suddenly intent, every trace of amus.e.m.e.nt wiped from his face. "Can you prove that?" he asked.

She shook her head. "He talked to Clayton. All I heard was what Clayton said to him, and my ex-boss wouldn't admit that in public in a million years. Haralson has him well-trained," she added bitterly.

"Apparently he has Senator Torrance well-trained, too," he said. "Because what I'm finding out about Haralson is that he's been given a more or less free hand to do what he likes. Until the past year or so, he was on the borderline of legality in his methods, but in this campaign he's crossed the line."

"What do you think he's up to?" she asked.

"I don't know. I'm going to find out."

"Do you think Senator Torrance has put him up to it," she persisted.

He scowled. "Torrance has a nasty tongue and he's probusiness all the way, but he's as honest a man as I've ever heard of. No, he wouldn't use that sort of underhanded method to win his own election, much less to help Seymour win his."

She hesitated. "Seymour's sister Nikki didn't seem to think so. She didn't seem surprised at the tactics."

"She doesn't know everything that's going on," he returned.

Plots. Plots within plots. There was something in this man's face that was secretive, careful. "Are you really just on vacation?" she asked slowly.

He answered her with a question of his own. "What do you know about Torrance's marriage to Seymour's sister?"

She hesitated.

"Derrie," he said, using her name for the first time, "I understand loyalty. If we're going to do anybody any good, you're going to have to trust me."

"That's hard."

"I know."

His eyes were without guile, without secrets. He didn't look away or fidget, and she read his body language very well.

"It's something to do with his marriage to Nikki," she said finally. "I never knew what, because n.o.body ever talked about it. All I know is that Nikki doesn't date or get serious about men since then." She paused, searching his face. "Don't hurt Nikki. She's an independent woman, but she's so fragile."

"That won't be necessary. Haralson is who I'm after." Dark lights flashed in his eyes and she got a glimpse of what it would be to have him for an enemy. The look made her nervous, even though it was meant for someone else. "He's up to his neck in this, but what I don't know is how and why. It has to be more than just making sure Seymour wins the election."

"Does Senator Torrance know more than you do?"

His dark eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure that he does. The senator doesn't follow Haralson's movements too closely. That's an error in judgment, surely, but I don't think he's malicious enough to deliberately discredit someone. Haralson, now, he is."

"You're his friend, aren't you?" she asked.

"I was a casual friend," he corrected. "I collect old coins. Haralson found out and we traded a time or two. He offered to sell me a piece I've been coveting for my collection in return for finding an illegal dumping site for him." He leaned back again. "I didn't know what he was up to at the time. When I realized it, it was too late. Now I'm plenty sore and out to settle the score."

"What can you do?"

"What can we do," he corrected.

She gaped at him. "Oh, no! I'm not getting mixed up in this," she said abruptly, standing up.

He got up, too. He was tall, muscular, powerful-looking. "You're already involved. Your boss stands to lose the election if that double-dealer gets his way. Seymour should stand or fall by his platform and its relevance to the voters, not by dirty tricks."

She grimaced. "The Seymours are still my friends."

"That won't change."

"Yes, it will. Haralson is helping Clayton. If I go against him, I'll hurt Clay," she said, wincing involuntarily.

"Are you in love with him?" he said quietly. "Or is he just a habit you can't quite break? Of course, love erases all faults, doesn't it?"

She lifted her eyes and found a sudden stark bitterness in his face. "You aren't quite as carefree as you pretend, are you?" she asked bluntly.

His thick eyebrows shot up. "My life is none of your business."

The curt, short remark made her smile. Poor Phoebe, if she got mixed up with this man. "Fair enough."

He picked up his jacket and shouldered into it. Then he straightened his tie, pausing to loop the rawhide around his hair again.

"Are you going to help me?" he asked.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked with resignation.

"Watch Curt. That's all. Nothing heavy."

"For how long?"

"A few days. I've only got another week of vacation."

She didn't want to do it. It seemed so disloyal to Nikki and Clay. But if Haralson was up to no good, it was just as well to find out the extent of it.

"All right." She looked up at him curiously. "You aren't going to get in trouble for doing this, are you?" she asked.

He seemed to withdraw, although he hadn't moved. He turned away. "I told you, I'm on vacation. If I want to watch people, so what? I'll be in touch."

She watched him walk to the door, intrigued by that somber remoteness when he seemed at first acquaintance like a clown.

"You're a very complex man, Mr. Cortez," she said quietly.

He opened the door and turned, his dark eyes meeting hers. "I think you ought to know that the rumors are flying about Seymour and Bett Watts. Gossip has it that she's setting a wedding date."

Her pain was almost tangible. Her eyes glittered with it, but she smiled nevertheless. "Thank you. I needed that."

He scowled. "Yes," he agreed, "you did. Bett is a lady with her eye to the main chance. She's no goldfish, she's a barracuda. If you care about Seymour, why don't you do something about breaking up that relationship?"

"You're very personal for a man I've only just met," she pointed out.

"You're the kind of person I feel comfortable with-you and Phoebe," he said. "A man can't have too many friends."

She relaxed her outraged stance and smiled sheepishly. "Well, no one can," she agreed. "Maybe you're right. But Bett's got a lot going for her."

"So have you," he said, and smiled.

She smiled back. "Thanks, pal."

He shrugged. "De nada," he murmured in Spanish. "Don't let Morgan know you're watching him, will you?"

"I'll be very careful." She c.o.c.ked her head. "You're very intelligent for a spy."

He smiled amusedly. "Am I? Good night, Derrie."

"Good night."

He was a curious man, she thought as she went to pour herself a cup of coffee. He'd shown her some credentials, but Phoebe had said he was FBI, and the identification Derrie had seen simply said Justice Department. What if he was neither? What if he was mixed up with Haralson and trying to get something on Sam Hewett? Or what if he was really after Clayton?

She picked up the telephone and dialed Phoebe.