"Victoria insists on an orchestra," she said, "but I don't usually dance."

"Don't know how? Or haven't had the right partner?" Jack asked.

"Of course I know-Maybe it would be better if I tell Victoria your plans changed, and you couldn't make it." Maggie was distressed at the way the teasing laughter in his eyes tied her up in knots, like a homemade grass rope on a cold, wet morning. She stared at him, tongue-tied for maybe the first time in her life.

"Dancing. Saturday. I know a good opportunity to hold you in my arms when I see it."

"Mr. Kittrick-"

"Jack," he said. "We'd better get moving, Maggie. We're late for the meeting."

"You aren't invited, Jack."

"I had a talk with your hospital administrator, Mr. Delgado, and I have the run of the place until my investigation is complete. Shall we?" he said, gesturing toward the conference room door.

Maggie turned her back on him and stalked off, then waited at the door and motioned for him to go in first. As he sauntered past, he shot her a suggestive, lopsided grin that made her insides clench.

Maggie stood frozen beside the doorway. When it came to matters of the heart, she set the rules herself. No dating. No involvement, because involvement led to commitment. She had proved ten years ago that she wasn't capable of committing for the long haul. Three strikes and you were out. Maggie had retired to the dugout, but Kittrick kept dragging her back onto the field, demanding she play.

And God, she wanted to play.

Maybe it was some mid-life crisis thing. She had turned thirty-five last month and been forced to acknowledge her life was nearly half over. Maybe she wanted one last, desperately romantic fling before she hit middle age.

That must be it. She missed the romance. Hell. She missed the sex.

Maggie pursed her lips. What was wrong with that? It meant she was normal. If only she hadn't ended up sprawled on top of Jack on Saturday. If only he hadn't given her that toe-curling, early morning kiss. If only he hadn't pressed his body against hers at the door and let her feel the irrefutable evidence of his desire.

Maggie sighed inwardly. She was going to have to make some sort of decision about Jack Kittrick. But not right now. Right now she had business to attend to.

Maggie hadn't realized how long she'd hesitated at the door. The minutes of the previous meeting had already been read and approved by the time she took her place at the foot of a large, rectangular conference table. She set her black leather briefcase on the polished surface in front of her and opened it to retrieve a yellow legal pad and the silver Tiffany pen that had been her law school graduation gift from Uncle Porter. He had made her dream of becoming a lawyer come true, but his generosity hadn't come without strings. She was paying him back every penny . . . with interest.

Jack took a chair in the corner and winked when he caught her peeking at him. She was appalled at the way her body tightened inside. She averted her eyes, focusing on the pad in front of her. She doodled a daisy, something she used to do in college when she was daydreaming about the future. She clutched the pen, took a deep breath, and concentrated on what was being said.

Once odds and ends of business had been dealt with, Roman introduced visitors to the meeting, including Jack.

Then they went to work.

Whenever a serious ethical dispute arose over treatment of a patient, the SAG Bioethics Committee, composed of doctors, nurses, social workers, and interested members of the community like Victoria, listened to the facts given by the doctor, the family, and whatever legal counsel might attend on behalf of the family, and came up with a nonbinding recommendation for action. The committee served as an arbiter of community feeling about medical procedures and hospital policy and helped to keep the hospital functioning within acceptable ethical parameters.

This morning Joe Ray Belton and his mother sat near the head of the conference table, waiting for the committee's recommendation on whether Joe Ray's father, Sam, should be removed from life support.

"Eighty-three-year-old Sam Belton suffered a heart attack at home and was put on life support in the emergency room at the hospital," Roman began, stating the facts of the case. "Unfortunately, Mr. Belton suffered a stroke later that same day and slipped into a coma. Tests revealed the patient has no brain activity, and I recommended life support be discontinued. Mrs. Belton agreed."

It should have been a simple matter to turn off the machines at that point, except Joe Ray Belton had objected.

Normally, this sort of decision never got as far as the bioethics committee. Texas law was pretty definite on the subject of unplugging folks who could be sustained on life support. The wishes of the patient were followed, or if those wishes weren't known, the doctor and the family made the decision at bedside.

Only, sometimes the doctor and the family didn't agree what should be done. Or, as in this case, the doctor and one family member agreed, while another family member didn't. Those cases were presented to the hospital bioethics committee for discussion and a nonbinding disposition that usually helped families come to some agreement.

"I can understand Joe Ray's concern for his father," Roman said. "But I concur with Mrs. Belton in this matter. Machines are keeping Sam Belton's body alive. The rest of him, the thought processes that made him who he was, are already dead. It's time to let him go."

Maggie watched Joe Ray's face as Dr. Hollander put the weight of his medical opinion on the side of Joe Ray's mother in the decision to unplug his father. The forty-seven-year-old plumber's mouth twisted in an agonized grimace. His eyes looked tortured, as though his own life were at stake.

Maggie looked away to avoid his pain.

"Maybe he'll get better," Joe Ray pleaded. "Maybe-"

"I'm very sorry," Dr. Hollander said with authoritative finality. "Your father is legally dead, Mr. Belton. The machines keeping him alive are needed for other patients who can survive only with their help."

Joe Ray made a sound in his throat like a wounded animal. It was obvious he didn't want to let go, and just as obvious he wasn't being given much of a choice.

Maggie's job at the meeting was to make clear what legal options were available to the doctors and the hospital and to avoid legal pit-falls where they threatened. No legal issues were involved here, only the moral and ethical . . . and human ones.

The committee didn't take long to make its recommendation.

"So we're all agreed," Dr. Hollander said. "Life support should be discontinued."

Joe Ray hissed out a long, rattling breath that sounded a lot like a dying man. "All right," he said. "I give up."

"It's all right, Joey," Mrs. Belton said. "He's with God already."

Joe Ray rose slowly, tears visible on his cheeks, and helped his mother from her chair. They left the meeting clinging to one another.

"I'll arrange for Joe Ray to have some time with his father before we turn off life support," Roman said.

Heads nodded and voices murmured assent for the doctor's compassion.

Maggie shot a sideways glance at Jack. Surely Roman's consideration for Joe Ray Belton had convinced him the doctor was no murderer.

"Since there's nothing else for us to consider today," Roman said, interrupting her musing, "this meeting is adjourned."

As the committee members dispersed, Maggie was surprised to see Jack approach Roman-his prime suspect-directly.

"Doctor, may I have a word with you?"

Maggie eavesdropped without feeling the least bit guilty. She had a stake in making sure Jack didn't arrest the wrong man.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions about the death of Laurel Morgan," Jack said.

Maggie's jaw dropped. She closed her mouth and ogled the Texas Ranger. If Jack was just going to come right out and ask like that, why was it necessary to hide his identity?

Jack identified himself as an insurance investigator for MEDCO and thanked Roman for his examination at the ballfield.

"How's your head?" Roman asked.

"Still attached to my shoulders," Jack answered with a friendly smile. "I need to know everything there is to know about the Morgan case, doctor, if I'm going to save you a big malpractice claim."

Roman smiled. "I'd appreciate whatever you can do, Mr. Kittrick. I did everything I could to save Laurel Morgan. I treated her as carefully, as skillfully, as though she were my own daughter."

As the two men walked out the door engrossed in conversation, Maggie realized why Jack wanted to stay incognito. She couldn't imagine Roman talking so freely with Jack if he'd announced he was a Texas Ranger who wanted to question Roman as the prime suspect in a murder case. Maggie supposed she had a lot to learn about the police business. She intended to ask Jack plenty of questions when he returned to the conference room for the scheduled 10 A.M. meeting between MEDCO's insurance investigator and SAG's attorney.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

Maggie looked up to find Victoria staring after Jack as he walked down the hall with Roman. "That's none of your business."

"Make sure he wears a decent tuxedo on Saturday. I imagine he'll have to rent one, so send him to Anthony's."

Maggie felt the heat rising at her throat. Embarrassment on Jack's behalf? She had wondered herself whether Jack had his own tuxedo, and, to her chagrin, had been thinking about having a tux from Anthony's delivered to him. Had she really become as class-conscious as her mother-in-law? What had become of poor, good-hearted Cinderella?

"I'm sure Jack will be able to come up with something appropriate," Maggie said. "Anything else, Victoria?"

"You're missing a button."

Maggie looked down. All that remained of the accent button on the upper left-hand pocket of her power suit was two black strings. "Thank you for pointing that out," she said.

"Don't mention it," Victoria replied.

Victoria continued looking at her, and Maggie asked, "Is there something else?"

"Be discreet."

Maggie lurched from her chair. "My personal life-"

"I can see why you find Mr. Kittrick attractive, Margaret. There is something coarse and primitive about the man-the possibility of being carted off by a barbarian in civilized clothes?-that is quite appealing."

Was that why she found Jack so attractive? Maggie wondered. Because he would take all the choices out of her hands?

"But really," Victoria continued, "Jack Kittrick is not at all the sort of person you should be associating with."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," Maggie said. "What difference could it possibly make to you whether I dance, date, or sleep with the man?"

"You're a Wainwright," Victoria said. "Wainwrights have a certain position to up-hold in this community."

"I've never done a thing to cause gossip since I came here," Maggie said between clenched teeth, furious that she felt the need to defend herself, but unable to resist doing so. "What makes you think I'm going to start now?"

"I recognize that look, Margaret," Victoria said.

"What look?" Maggie demanded.

"Although one can hardly blame you," Victoria murmured. "He looks at you the same way."

"What way?" Maggie asked, wanting Victoria to name what it was she saw in Jack's eyes.

"Don't be coy," Victoria said. "You know perfectly well 'what way.' Satisfy your craving for the man if you must, Margaret, but beware your sexual prey doesn't tum and gobble you up, along with your reputation."

Sexual prey? Maggie was too stunned by Victoria's use of such a term to make any sort of reply. It had never crossed her mind to wonder what Victoria had done to satisfy her own sexual urges over the ten years she had also been a widow. Maggie had never even considered Victoria as a sexual creature, probably because children-and she and Woody had been the children-never imagined their parents "doing it."

How did Victoria satisfy her baser urges? she wondered. Did Victoria take lovers? Who were her sexual prey?

"It is difficult sometimes to make the choice that duty requires," Victoria said. "But that choice must be made."

Maggie gritted her teeth to keep from giving Victoria a pithy, one-word response. Instead she said, "I'll bear that in mind."

"Remember what I said," Victoria cautioned as she headed out the door.

Maggie snorted. Jack Kittrick as sexual prey. That wasn't something she was likely to forget.

Chapter 6.

Victoria drove south, then east across town from the hospital and finally north again to the Menger Hotel, leaving her car to be valet parked at the side entrance on East Crockett. The Menger had been built in the 1860s but had been renovated to preserve its detailed historical lushness while offering the most up-to-date amenities. The hotel was famous for its discreet staff. For over a century, cattlemen, oilmen, and financiers had conducted their affairs-business and personal-without worrying that word would get back to the wrong parties. The Menger served Victoria's needs perfectly.

Enough committee meetings were held at the Menger to make it possible for her to explain her presence there if someone saw her. But there was no need for her to go into the lobby, because she already had a key, and once she left her car, the elevator was no more than five steps through the sliding glass doors.

A young man stood at the window in the elegant second-floor room which overlooked the Alamo, another precious bit of Texas history that had been preserved, incongruously, in the midst of downtown. The shrine to the heroes of Texas freedom stood across the street from the Cowboy Museum, with its life-size replica of Trigger out front on the sidewalk. Hungry tourists could leave the Alamo and stroll over to Wendy's or Burger King or Pizza Hut, then visit another antiquity-an F. W. Woolworth featuring an unbelievable array of tasteless Texas souvenirs.

"You're late," the young man said as Victoria closed the door behind her.

"I am never late," Victoria replied. "Since I never agree to be anywhere at a specific time."

"You said to come early."

Victoria unfastened her Piaget and set it on the table beside the bed. "Did I?"

The young man already had his shirt and shoes off and Victoria admired the muscles in his shoulders and arms, the triangle of dark curls on his chest, and the well-defined abdominals separated by a line of black down leading into his trousers. "Come here, Tim."

"Tom."

She had reached beneath her skirt to readjust a garter and asked distractedly, "What?"

"My name is Tom."

He crossed to her and stood by the bed, staring at her legs. Victoria had very fine stems for a woman of fifty-three. She hesitated as Tim-no, it was Tom-settled on his knees before her and slid his hands up under her skirt. She set her manicured hands on his strong young shoulders and felt him quiver.

It was only the second time they had been together. She didn't use them often, these young men. She didn't keep them long in her web. But sometimes she needed to feel the warmth, the closeness of another human being. It was appallingly easy to lure them here: a smile that promised everything, the suggestion of influence. Never money. She didn't want to taint what happened between them with money. Besides, it wasn't necessary.

She slipped off her Chanel jacket and carefully laid it across the arm of a nearby chair.

Tom shoved her skirt above her hips and put his face between her legs. She could feel his moist breath against her naked pubis and spread her legs to give him freer access. His tongue was hot and mildly abrasive and the feelings delicious. Her knees quickly turned to jelly.

She took a step back, unzipped her skirt, and slipped it up over her head, laying it neatly beside the jacket, leaving her wearing a lacy black bra, garter belt and stockings, and three-inch high heels.

"Tom," she murmured, brushing his springy black hair away from his forehead. "Let's lie down on the bed. I would like to return the favor."