"There's nothing to do." Marisa got up and set the box of tissues firmly on the nightstand. "And I am through feeling sorry for myself. I have to resurrect my career from the ashes of this firestorm, and that's going to be my priority from this moment."

"Glad to hear it," Tracy said, brightening.

"And now I'm going to take a very long, very hot shower," Marisa announced, marching toward the bathroom.

"I'm glad to hear that, too," Tracy added, grinning.

Marisa threw her a dirty look over her shoulder.

"Well, water could only cause an improvement," Tracy said, shrugging.

Marisa pushed open the bathroom door and glanced in the mirror. "I see what you mean," she said glumly.

"I'll order dinner in the room," Tracy went on, cheering up at the prospect of food.

"I couldn't eat anything," Marisa said, turning on the taps.

"Chicken Marsala?" Tracy suggested.

"Oh, G.o.d," Marisa whispered, leaning against the tiled wall, her gorge rising at the thought of wine sauce.

"All right," Tracy said, peeking in the door as steam billowed out of the shower stall. "Bad idea. But you can't keep on starving yourself. You're losing weight already and you can't spare it. How about a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"Yes, Mother," Marisa said, smiling weakly.

"And a gla.s.s of milk," Tracy added, as Marisa shut the door firmly in her face.

Marisa stepped under the streaming water and picked up the bottle of shampoo, wishing that she could wash away her troubles as easily as she washed her hair.

It happened as Marisa had predicted. Judge Lasky declared a mistrial and the Indians kept their land. Marisa was recalled to Maine where she was kept very busy filing papers to answer collusion charges on the attempted bribery. She was placed on suspension and reduced to the status of law clerk while the state bar a.s.sociation awaited the outcome before inst.i.tuting disbarment proceedings against her. She was miserable, but she had to bide her time until she was able to show that Block was lying.

About two weeks after Marisa left Florida, Jack flew to Washington and entered the familiar building which housed the Bureau of Indian Affairs. He went up in the elevator and strolled down a corridor lined with offices, looking for a particular cubicle. When he found it he looked up and down the hall to make sure that no one else was around, and then he entered quickly, startling the room's occupant.

"Hi, Randall," Jack said briskly. "Remember me?"

Block dropped his pencil.

"We're going to have another little talk," Jack announced, and kicked the door shut behind him.

Chapter 8.

Marisa peered out the window of her house in Maine and gauged the acc.u.mulation of snow on the ground. It was enough to cause trouble but not enough to bring traffic to a standstill. She would be able to make it in to work.

She switched on the radio in the kitchen and was rewarded with the blaring sound of "Deck the Halls," reminding her that it was Christmas Eve. She turned the k.n.o.b abruptly, cutting off the sound. She had never felt less festive in her life.

The coffeepot was disa.s.sembled on the drain board, and as she put the pieces together and fitted the filter into the cup she tried to remember whether she had sent her gray wool skirt to the cleaners. The navy shirtwaist was probably clean, but there was a b.u.t.ton missing from one of the sleeves.

She sighed. She would wear whatever was easiest. She didn't have the heart, or the interest, for a wardrobe a.n.a.lysis. She plugged in the pot and wandered over to the front door to see if the paperboy had left the morning edition on the porch.

A blast of wintry air greeted her as she opened the door. Icicles were hanging from the eaves and Mr. Henderson across the street was already clearing his property with a roaring snow blower. Marisa regretted not pulling her car into the garage the night before; now she would have to sc.r.a.pe the frost off its windows.

Marisa looked in the direction of the driveway and froze. There was an object planted in a shallow drift just beyond her porch. Shielding her eyes against the glare, she saw that it was an arrow decked out with colorful feathers.

Her heart beating faster, Marisa glanced around quickly and saw Jack leaning against her car in the driveway. Arms folded, ankles crossed, he was watching her steadily, his only concession to the weather a red woolen m.u.f.fler wrapped around his throat and stuffed into the collar of his fringed jacket.

Marisa's hands went to her sleep disordered hair and the collar of her striped wool robe. The man did have a knack for catching her in disarray. Even so, she had to restrain herself from running barefoot across the frozen lawn and into his arms. Then she remembered how angry she was with him and forced herself to remain where she was.

Jack sauntered toward Marisa as she stood planted like a tree on her front steps, too amazed to move. Then he stopped a few feet away from her and held out a manila envelope.

"What's that?" she asked flatly, looking at it intently, then back at his face.

"Please take it," he said.

After a second, she moved forward and did.

"Open it," he said.

"Jack, I'm not in any mood for games. You'd better tell me what's inside."

"It's a full confession from Randall Block, taking sole responsibility for the attempted bribe and clearing you completely."

Marisa exhaled a long, slow breath, studying Jack's fixed expression. Then she flung the envelope in his face, whirled, and slammed the door behind her.

"Marisa, open up!" Jack shouted, pounding on the door. "Come on, this isn't fair!"

"Fair!" she yelled back at him through the solid oak door, shooting the deadbolt home with a flick of her wrist. "Who are you to talk to me about fair? Go back to Florida!"

"I came from Oklahoma."

"Then go back there. Just leave me alone."

"Marisa, please. Can't you listen for a minute?"

"Just like you listened to me? I remember how patient and understanding you were about Block's accusations. How dare you show up here with that thing in your hand and expect me to forget your inexcusable behavior?"

"I don't expect that. I just want to talk to you."

Marisa hesitated.

"Marisa, it's Christmas. Are you going to leave me out here on the lawn, peering in the window like the Little Match Girl?"

Marisa sighed heavily.

"I will let you in," she called, "but once you've said your piece I expect you to leave without any further discussion."

There was a profound, extended silence from the other side of the door.

"Well?" Marisa demanded.

"I don't suppose I have any choice," Jack replied.

Marisa opened the door cautiously. Jack was waiting with his arms behind his back, his expression wary.

"Come in," she said, belting her robe tighter around her waist. He stepped past her, looking around her living room curiously.

"Great old house," he commented, and deposited the arrow he'd left on her lawn on the entry hall table.

"Did you come here to discuss New England architecture?" Marisa asked frostily.

"You're not going to give me a break, I see," he said.

"Do you think I should?" she countered.

He thrust the envelope back into her hands. "Just read it, will you please?"

Marisa broke the seal with her fingernail and removed the two sheets of typewritten paper. She read them through quickly and then looked up at Jack. "How did you get this?" she asked.

"Randall and I had a little talk."

"What does that mean? You beat him up?"

"I...encouraged him to be truthful," Jack said flatly.

"I would have bought a ticket to that," Marisa said dryly, thumbing her hair behind her ears.

"Does that mean I get a cup of coffee?" he asked, sniffing the aroma that was drifting in from the kitchen.

"All right. One cup, and then you go." She marched into the kitchen and he trailed after her, looking around at the family pictures on the walls in the hall.

"You were a cute kid," he observed.

Marisa got a mug from the cupboard, filled it with coffee, and handed it to him.

"Are you going to watch and time me while I drink it?" he asked defensively.

Marisa indicated the wall clock. "I have to be at work at eight-thirty," she said pointedly.

He sat the mug on the counter resignedly. "Aren't you even going to thank me for getting Block's confession? It's already on its way to the Justice Department."

Marisa stared at him stonily. "Thank you."

He sighed. "This isn't going the way I planned. When I showed you that confession you were supposed to scream for joy and throw yourself into my arms."

"I haven't forgotten your behavior when you first heard Block's lies," she replied.

Jack looked at the floor. "Marisa, I'm sorry."

"I accept your apology. Now you can go."

He looked up. "Don't I even get a chance to explain why I acted the way I did?"

"I know why. You have no faith in me."

"I have no faith in me," he said quietly.

"Jack..."

"Yeah, I know. You have to go to work." He took a breath, then said, "Can I see you for dinner?"

"I don't think that would be such a good idea."

"You really do want to punish me, don't you, Marisa?" he said miserably.

"I just can't take any more, Jack. I've had enough. I want my life to go back to the way it was before I met you. Maybe it was dull, but it wasn't painful."

"Wouldn't you have dinner with any friend who came to town and wanted to see you?"

"We're not friends."

"We're lovers," he said softly.

"Were," Marisa said quietly. "We were lovers."

Jack nodded. "Okay. I'll tell you what. I'll call on you tonight and see how you're feeling then."

"I'll probably be feeling the same."

"Tough as nails, aren't you?"

"If I am, you made me that way." She looked at the clock significantly again.

"I'm going," he said.

Marisa escorted him through the hall. "Goodbye, Jack," she said evenly.

He looked at her for a long moment, then walked through the door. Once it was closed behind him, Marisa sagged against the wall and burst into tears.

She was cleared, and Jack was here. It was all too much to take in at once, and the extreme restraint she had exercised while he was with her gave way to a storm of weeping that left her feeling exhausted.

She hadn't even asked why he had arrived at dawn or where he was staying. All she could think of was getting rid of him before she collapsed into his arms. She mustn't forget that there was a serious problem with their relationship or he wouldn't have treated her the way he had. To pretend that it hadn't happened would be a mistake.