Buchanan glanced behind him, then scanned the trees and bushes on either side of them.

'I don't mean just the threats,' Holly said. 'Why didn't you keep questioning him? How do you know he was telling the truth?'

'His eyes,' Buchanan said.

'Your eyes looked as if you were a maniac.'

'I'm good with them. I practice with them a lot. They're the key to being an operative. If somebody believes my eyes, they'll believe everything else.'

'Then how can you be so sure about Maltin's eyes? Maybe he was pretending.'

'No. It takes one to know one. Maltin's a single-role person. A shit who crumbles as soon as his power is taken away. It's no wonder Maria Tomez divorced him. He told me everything I needed to hear. I could have cross-examined him, but that would have wasted time. I already know what we have to do next.'

'What?'

They left the park and entered the din of traffic at the Avenue of the Americas exit.

'Be practical. Check into a hotel,' Buchanan said. 'Get some food and rest. Do some research.'

'And after that?'

'Find Alistair Drummond's yacht.'

5.

After using a subway and three taxis to make sure that they weren't being followed, they ended in the general area where they had started, managing to find a vacancy at the Dorset, a softly carpeted, darkly paneled hotel on 54th Street between the Avenue of the Americas and Fifth Avenue. There they brought Holly's car from the parking garage and left it with the hotel's attendant, then registered as Mr and Mrs Charles Duffy and went to their room on the twenty-first floor. Buchanan felt reassured that the room was near the elevators and the fire stairs. They were in so public an area that it was unlikely anything threatening would happen. More, the location gave Buchanan and Holly access to several close escape routes.

They ordered room service: coffee, tea, salads, steaks, baked potatoes, French bread, plenty of vegetables, ice cream. While waiting for the food, Holly showered. Then Buchanan did. When he came out of the bathroom, wearing a white robe supplied by the hotel, Holly -also wearing a robe - was using a hotel hair dryer.

She turned it off. 'Sit down. Pull your robe down to your waist.'

'What?'

'I want to check your stitches.'

His back tingled as her fingers touched his skin.

She circled the almost healed bullet wound in his right shoulder, then moved her fingers lower, inspecting the knife wound. 'You did pull a few stitches. Here.' She took antibiotic cream and bandages from his travel bag. 'There doesn't seem to be any infection. Hold still while I.'

'Ouch.'

'Some tough guy you are.' She laughed.

'How do you know I'm not acting? How do you know I'm not trying to get your sympathy?'

'You test people by checking their eyes. I have other ways.'

'Oh?'

She ran her fingers up to his shoulders, turned him, and kissed him.

The kiss was long. Gentle. A slight parting of the lips. A tentative probing of the tongue. Subtle. Sensual.

Buchanan hesitated.

Despite his protective instincts, he put his hands behind her, holding her, feeling her well-toned back beneath her robe.

Her breath was sweet as she exhaled with pleasure and pulled slowly away. 'Yep. You definitely want sympathy.'

Now it was Buchanan's turn to laugh.

He reached to kiss her again.

And was interrupted by a knock on the door.

'Room service,' a man said from outside in the corridor.

'You're corrupting me,' Holly said.

'What do you mean?'

'I'm beginning to think your habits are normal. Here.' She reached beneath the pillow. 'Doesn't everybody need this when room service arrives? Tuck this into the pocket of your robe.' She handed him his pistol.

6.

It was sunset when Buchanan wakened, dusk thickening behind the closed draperies. He stretched, and enjoyed the feeling of having had a good meal, of having slept naked beneath smooth sheets, of having Holly's body next to him. She wore her robe. He'd discarded his own after making love. Exhaustion had been like a narcotic that made them stretch out and doze. She attracted him: her humor, her sensuous features, her tall, slender, athletic grace. But he had always made a point of never allowing his personal life to interfere with his work, of never becoming physically and emotionally involved with anyone on an assignment. It clouded your judgment. It.

Hell, you never had any personal life. There wasn't any 'you' to have it. All you had were the identities you assumed.

And that's why you're here right now. That's what brought you this far. Because you kept that rule of being uninvolved when you worked with Juana, no matter how much you wanted her, and now you're searching for her, trying to make amends.

Are you going to make the same mistake again, this time with Holly?

What's wrong with me? he thought. Searching for one woman while I'm becoming attracted to another?

Get your mind straight.

He got out of bed, put on his robe, and walked over to a chair next to which he stacked the books and files that Holly had given him. Setting a lamp on the floor where it wouldn't cast much light and wake Holly, he leaned back in the chair and began to read.

Two hours later, Holly raised her head, rubbed her eyes, and looked over at him.

'Hi.' She smiled, lovely even after having just wakened.

'Hi.'