"And where will you be?" Burrows asked.

"I'll be here,": she said. "I'm staying for the trial, and so is the camera crew. You work it out with Don or whoever."

"Chris, don't you think you're pushing it just a bit on your first assignment?"

"I know a good story when I see one," she said. "You can explain that to them in New York. I think the network might want a feed for the evening news, too.

Check on that, will you?"

"Sure."

Stone began to feel good about this. Now all Allison had to do was charm Chris Wheaton out of her socks, and that might not be easy.

CHAPTER.

After dinner Stone said good night to the 60 Minutes people and walked back toward the marina. He had no sooner set foot on the dock when he found himself grabbed from both sides by two shadowy figures. He made a point of not struggling.

"Is one of you Thomas Hardy's brother?" he asked the darkness.

"Both of us is," a deep voice replied.

"My name is Stone Barrington; I live on the smaller of the two yachts over there. I'm the one who asked Thomas to find some security." The pressure on his arms relaxed, but he was not let go.

"You got some ID, then?" the voice asked. "Right-hand rear pocket,"

he said. "My New York driver's license." He felt some fumbling, and a flashlight came on.

"Okay, then, Mr. Barrington, we'll know you next

"Gentlemen..." Stone began.

"Henry and Arliss," the voice said.

"Henry and Arliss, I think our purposes would be better if you stood over there under the lamp by the gate,

instead of lurking in the dark. You can do the most good by being seen to be keeping people away from Mrs. Manning."

"I see your point," Henry replied. "You expecting i anybody else?

Anybody at all?"

"Not until early tomorrow morning, when some people, including a camera crew, will be coming down here. Please keep them at the gate until you've called me. Just rap on the hull; I'll be awake."

"Of which boat?" Henry asked.

Stone decided to pretend there was no meaning in the question. "The smaller one."

"Good night, then, Mr. Barrington."

"Good night, Henry, Arliss; see you in the morning."

Stone walked down-to his boat and went aboard. The lights aboard the big yacht were out. He undressed and climbed gratefully into his berth, just in time to hear a dim scrambling in the cockpit. A moment later, Allison was crawling into bed with him; she was naked.

"I take it you met Henry and Arliss," she said, snuggling up to him.

"I did, and I hope to God you didn't meet them on the way across the pontoon."

:. 4.

"Nope. They're standing up by the gate now; I could see them."

"Were you naked when you left your boat, or after you arrived on mine?"

"The whole time."

Stone laughed in spite of himself. "Allison, while your craving for my body may be perfectly understand-able--even admirable--you have to remember that there is now on the island a camera crew for the most popular television news program in the United States of America, and we don't know yet how powerful their lenses are."

"I'm glad you understand my craving," she said. "On Sunday night, your interview may be preceded by a shot of you, naked in the moonlight, climbing aboard your lawyer's boat. That might not exactly get the American public behind you."

She turned over and pushed her buttocks into his increasingly active crotch. "Why don't you get behind me?" She reached between her legs, found him, and guided him in.

Stone pushed into her sweet depths. "Oh, God," he breathed. "When this is over, remind me to talk to you about your interview tomorrow morning."

"Shhh," she whispered, helping him.

Stone jerked awake. Sunlight was streaming through the port above his head. He heard voices and footsteps on the dock. "Allison," he said, shaking her, "wake up."

"What is it, baby?" she asked, snuggling her warm body closer.

There was a sharp rap on the hull, and Henry Hardy's booming voice called out, "Mr. Barrington, you up?" "60 Minutes is here," he whispered. Allison's head came off the pillow. "What?"

He glanced out the port and saw legs standing next the boat. "I'll try to get rid of them," he said. He got of bed, tried to rub some color into his face, and his hair back with his hands. He got into his swim trunks, which were lying on a seat next to the berth, went into the main cabin, climbed the ladder, and emerged, waist high, from the hatch. Jake Burrows and i Chris Wheaton were standing on the dock next to the bow of his boat. "What time is it?" he asked. "Aren't you a little early?"

"It's seven-fifteen," Burrows said. "We have to set up for our eight o'clock interview."

Stone shook his head. "I haven't finished breakfast yet, and I don't know if Allison is even up." Suddenly he felt a worked body slither between his legs and up the ladder behind him. "Why don't you go back to the Shipwright's Arms, have some breakfast, and come back at eight?"

He heard Allison sneaking across the cockpit behind him, then the rattle of his boarding ladder, followed by a tiny splash. He stepped off his boat, crossed the pontoon, hopped into the cockpit of the larger yacht, and yelled down the hatch. "Allison, you up yet?" He pretended to listen for a moment, then looked up at the television crew. "She's up, but nowhere near ready," he said. "Come back at eight."

The disappointed crew turned and began walking back toward the pub. As Stone stood in the cockpit, Allison climbed up the stern ladder into the cockpit and, soaking wet, slipped past him and down the companionway ladder.

"I don't know if I can be ready by eight," she said, laughing.

"You'd bloody well better be," he muttered, refusing to look at her.

"If we hurry, we could get in a quickie before they come back," she said, pulling the hair on his legs. "Ouch! I'm getting back to my boat right now. You get yourself together." He fled the yacht and went back to his own. At eight o'clock sharp he emerged, dressed, to find the crew standing on the dock, waiting. "Just a minute," he said, I'll see if she's ready. As he spoke, Allison climbed into her own cockpit, wearing a sleeveless cotton dress that showed off her tan, yet made her look like a high school senior. "Good morning!" she cried, delivering a dazzling smile. "I'm Allison; come aboard, all of you."

As the crew climbed aboard, Stone took deep breaths and tried to get his pulse rate back down to normal.

CHAPTER.

must be crazy, Stone thought as the interview began. I've let this girl go on TV, before an audience of millions and at the mercy of a reporter on her first assignment who would kill for a success, which she might not define as I would, and with no preparation whatever. He watched from the pontoon as Chris Wheaton tossed Allison a few softball questions to relax her, then tensed as the real questioning began. Jim Forrester from The New Yorker had shown up and was sitting quietly beyond camera range, listening and taking notes.