Marisa hesitated.

"Grits? Slaw relish? Chips?" he said.

"I'll take the jacket," Marisa answered, shaking her head at his nonsense.

He slipped it around her shoulders and she snuggled into its silk lined warmth. Jack pulled his tie loose and unb.u.t.toned the top b.u.t.ton of his collar.

"Look at those stars," he said, as they walked down the deserted street back to the dock.

"I've never seen so many."

"At home, when you camp out on the prairie, you see more stars than you ever could in the city because there's no compet.i.tion from artificial light. It makes me wonder what my ancestors saw when they roamed the plains before..."

"We came and ruined everything?" Marisa suggested.

He picked up a stone and tossed it away aimlessly. "I don't blame you for it personally."

"You shouldn't. My relatives always lived in Maine."

"Then they were killing off the Pen.o.bscots instead of the Blackfeet. Only the location changes."

"Does that bitterness keep you going?" Marisa asked softly, studying his grim expression.

"If I don't let it show too often." He shrugged. "n.o.body likes a whiner."

"Justifiable anger is not whining."

"Yeah, but anger has to be controlled to be productive," he said. "Sometimes the control slips."

"I don't blame you."

"I blame myself." He stopped when they reached the dock and gazed out across the water. "I don't want to be a cliche. You know, wild Indian. It's what they expect, and I won't be what they expect."

"Traveling all the time, no fixed home, moving from case to case and cause to cause. It must make for a hard life," Marisa said.

"'We cannot expect to be translated from despotism to liberty in a feather bed,'" he said, quoting.

"Thomas Jefferson," Marisa said.

He looked at her sharply. "Yes."

"My idol," Marisa said. "I was devastated in junior high when I found out he kept slaves."

"He was a Southern planter in the late eighteenth century," Jack said cynically. "Who did you think was doing all the work while Thomas wrote those fine letters you were reading?"

"I guess I was naive."

He snorted.

"You were just quoting him," Marisa pointed out defensively, folding her arms.

"There were flaws in his lifestyle, common to all those of his cla.s.s and culture. I can still appreciate the brilliance of his mind."

"The control you just mentioned before, will it slip if you lose this case?"

He turned and looked at her, his face set. "We won't lose," he said flatly.

Marisa felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. "Let's not talk about it," she said quietly. "I promised myself that we wouldn't talk about the case tonight."

"Good idea." He jumped down into the boat and readied it for the trip, then held up his hand to her. She stepped onto the runner and when she paused he bent and slipped his arm under her knees.

"Hold on," he said, as he lifted her into the well. In a second she was deposited on the seat and he was moving toward the wheel. She pulled his jacket closer around her as he undid the lines, and then they were moving swiftly through the water.

Jack's mood seemed to have changed, perhaps because reality had intruded with their discussion of the case. He concentrated on piloting the boat and they were back at the marina too soon.

"Are you just going to leave it there?" Marisa asked, looking back over her shoulder as they walked away from the boat.

"That's where it belongs. It's the regular slip where my friend keeps it," he said.

"Who's your friend?"

"The husband of the redhead you saw with me in the hotel dining room," he replied.

"She was a decoy, wasn't she?"

"Decoy?"

"You were trying to make me think she was your date."

"Did it work?"

"No."

He burst out laughing. "Liar."

"Well, maybe it worked a little," she admitted, and he put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her.

The traffic in the area of the hotel had died down considerably because of the late hour. They walked through the deserted lobby and took the elevator up to Marisa's floor alone. Their feet made no noise on the plush carpet as they walked to her room.

"I had a lovely time," Marisa said, giving him her hand as he turned to face her.

"If a bit unusual?" he said.

"That's part of what made it lovely."

He took her hand and placed her palm against his cheek. He closed his eyes.

"I don't want to leave you here," he said.

Marisa said nothing. At that moment she would have gone anywhere with him.

"When you come out in the morning you should find an arrow by your door," he said, smiling slightly.

"What?"

"Old Blackfoot custom," he replied. "When a brave picked out a special maiden, he would leave an arrow with his identifying feathers by her hogan as a proposal. When she found it, if she then ignored it, his proposal was considered rejected. But if she took it back to him they got married."

"I wouldn't reject you," Marisa said softly.

"I don't suppose I can come in," he said.

"You know what would happen."

"I want it to happen."

"Jack..."

"I know, I promised to behave. Can I see you tomorrow?"

"I have to work tomorrow."

"Court's not in session."

"I have to prepare, Jack. That's why I'm here. A court case is ninety percent preparation, and it's my responsibility to make sure I'm ready."

"Let Tracy take over."

"I can't."

"All right, all right. Tomorrow night, then."

"Where do you want to go?" she asked.

"Anywhere."

"What do you want to do?"

"Anything."

She sagged against the door, defeated. "Okay. I've been wanting to see that gallery that shows Seminole art..."

"Good, we'll go there. What time can I call for you?"

"Seven."

"Fine."

"Jack, let's not drag this out. You'd better go."

"Am I permitted to kiss you good night?"

She was reaching up for him as his lips met hers. He tried to kiss her lightly, but it was no good; they were both too hungry. In just seconds Marisa was backed against the wall and he was pressing into her, his body hard and urgent as she clung to him.

Then he stepped back abruptly. "I can't do this," he said. "I'm too old to make love in hallways. Either let me come in or send me away."

"Jack..."

"All right. I'll see you tomorrow evening. Good night." He turned and almost ran off down the corridor, as if afraid that he would turn back to her.

Marisa leaned against the wall dreamily, then unlocked the door of her room. She walked through it in a daze, then stopped short.

Tracy was sitting cross legged on her bed, wearing an oversized football jersey and eating a m.u.f.fin.

So?" she said, looking up. "How did it go? Tell Mother."

Chapter 5.

Tracy," Marisa said wearily, "why aren't you in bed?"

"I am in bed," Tracy replied through a mouthful of crumbs, gesturing at her surroundings.

"You're in my bed," Marisa said, dropping her purse on a table.

"Details. Was the dress a hit?"

"It was."

"I knew it! He must have thought he was hallucinating after seeing you in those Mother Hubbards you wear to court."

"He was very complimentary."

"Where did you go?"

"Leduc's."

"Wow! That's a fancy place."

"How do you know?"

"Unlike you, I watch television. That place is always advertising on the local station. What did you have? Pheasant under gla.s.s?"

"A hamburger."