"Sandini and McPherson. I don't know any more than that. They're big money real estate players, though. At least I think they are. And perhaps a little on the shady side."

Owen took a sip of his wine. The bouquet was excellent, with just a hint of blackberry. He set the gla.s.s back down on the table. "And who, may I ask, is this client you're so worried about?"

"I-I'd rather not say. At least not yet. Not until I know a little bit more about what's going on."

He smiled. He liked the idea of having Julie in his debt. He liked having just about anyone obligated to him. It made getting what one wanted far simpler in the long run.

And for several frustrating years, he had wanted Julie Ferris.

"I'll see to the matter first thing in the morning. I have people who are very good at this sort of thing. I'm sure we'll have the answer in a couple of days."

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, her fingers small and feminine against the white linen cloth. "Thank you, Owen. I hope you know how much I value our friendship."

Friendship, indeed, he thought. He was determined to have far more than that, but he didn't say so. He didn't want to frighten her away and he knew without a doubt that he would. Timing was everything. He had waited this long. He could wait a little longer.

Perhaps giving her the information she wanted would do the trick.

Coupled with the fact he also intended to discover exactly what men like Sandini and McPherson had to do with Julie Ferris.

Jealousy. Val knew what the word meant. In theory. He also knew it was an emotion Patrick Donovan had rarely experienced and never over a woman. Which meant there was nothing for Val to go on. In this, he was on his own.

It was almost midnight. He had been pacing the floor in front of the sofa for more than an hour. For the third night in row, Julie had been too busy to see him. She was avoiding him, plain and simple. But why?

The only thought that came to mind was Owen Mallory. The man was handsome, intelligent, and rich as Croesus. Why shouldn't a woman like Julie be attracted to a man like that? He knew very well that Mallory was attracted to her.

Which was where, he supposed, the jealousy came in.

It was an ugly emotion. A gnawing sort of anger with no definable source. It felt like a fist to the stomach, tied him up into knots and wouldn't let go. The thought of Julie with Mallory made him want to shout with rage, to storm over to Julie's and beat down the d.a.m.nable door.

It wasn't like Patrick to behave that way, and it certainly wasn't like Val. Jealousy was far too volatile an emotion to have survived through the ages on Toril. So where had it come from? How could it even exist? And what the h.e.l.l should he do about it?

Val glanced at the clock. By now, Julie was probably in bed. He could try to call her again, but she wasn't answering her phone. At least she wasn't picking up for him.

Maybe she's with Mallory. Maybe they're sleeping together. He didn't want to think it, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Patrick wouldn't have had a qualm about involving himself with more than one lover. Maybe Julie felt that way, too.

d.a.m.n it, he needed to know.

He was supposed to be studying Julie Ferris, he rationalized. To do that he needed to understand how that mind of hers worked. As a scientist, if their relationship was over, he needed to understand why.

Logic was the final prodding he needed. Val grabbed his camel-hair sport coat off the back of a chair, s.n.a.t.c.hed up his car keys, and headed out the door. One way or another he was going to end this ridiculous behavior.

At least once he knew the truth, he wouldn't be jealous anymore.

She meant to wait for word from Owen, she really did. She had successfully avoided Patrick for three days, but Owen still hadn't called. When Patrick appeared at her front door just minutes before midnight, his jaw set and refusing to leave, she had no choice but to let him in.

"I want to know what the h.e.l.l is going on," he demanded. "I want to know why you've been avoiding me. Is it Mallory? If it is, at least have the decency to say so."

Julie eyed him a moment, saw the turbulence in those stormy blue eyes and something more. She had hurt him, she saw with a bit of amazement, wishing she had been honest with him from the start. He might be involved in shady business dealings but so far he had played fair in his dealings with her.

"It isn't Owen. Owen and I are just friends. I told you that before."

"Then what is it?"

Her head came up. She looked him square in the face. "In two ugly words-Sandini and McPherson. I know you're involved with them in some sort of crooked real estate deal."

For a moment he just stood there. Then the tension drained from his shoulders and a faint smile curved his lips. "That's it? That's what you're mad about?"

She felt like slapping his face. "This might be funny to you, but it's deadly serious to me. Innocent people are involved in this. How could you do it, Patrick? How could you sell yourself, sell everything you've worked for down the drain for a few lousy bucks?"

"I take it you were listening when my 'a.s.sociates' came in the other day."

"I didn't do it on purpose, but yes. I heard most of what they had to say."

"Then you realize the reason they came to see me is that I wasn't cooperating with them."

"I gathered that, yes. I also heard you tell them you'd be happy to cooperate in the future-more than happy, since you're in for a share of the profits."

"I told them that, yes. Put simply-I lied."

"What!"

He made a sound. She could swear it was a chuckle. "I never intended for that deal to go down the way it did. I borrowed money from Sandini and McPherson with every intention of paying it back. When Brookhaven failed and I wasn't able to pay back the loan, they took over the project and formed the Westwind Corporation. Once I understood the fraud they were planning, I've done everything in my power to be certain that they fail."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said. I told you-I lied. I'm not going to convince the Teachers' Pension Fund to buy those worthless notes. I'm going to convince them not to."

Julie said nothing. She wanted to believe him. She wanted it more than anything in the world. She searched for the truth in those beautiful blue eyes and there was nothing furtive, nothing insincere in the steady look he gave her.

"If you don't do what they say, what will happen?"

"I'll lose a lot of money, but I've already done that. The business is running in the black again. I'll survive."

"And?"

Patrick glanced away, for the first time looking uneasy. "They won't be happy about it, but they'll still own Brookhaven. Sooner or later the market will change and the units will sell. They'll be able to recoup their money."

"Not all of it."

"No, not all of it."

She wondered what he wasn't telling her. She would find out, she vowed. Perhaps what Owen discovered would fill in the blanks. "Is that the truth, Patrick? You're really not involved in this? You're not going to help them?"

"You can go with me when I talk to Sarah Bonham. I'm going to advise her against buying those notes."

Relief rushed through her, so strong tears p.r.i.c.ked her eyes. Her heart ached in an odd, throbbing cadence that went far deeper than relief. "Oh, Patrick." She reached for him and he hauled her into his arms. She could feel the bands of muscle across his chest and the solid, rea.s.suring rhythm of his heartbeat.

He nuzzled the side of her neck. "G.o.d, I've missed you. Next time you get mad at me, promise you'll tell me the reason. I can't stand this thing you call jealousy. I don't know how anyone can."

Julie laughed. There were times since his illness Patrick had the oddest way of phrasing things. Julie found it strangely endearing.

"I should have come to you," she said. "Next time I promise I will." She leaned toward him and he kissed her, a fierce, possessive kiss that made her blood heat and her body tingle all over. Then he was lifting her up, carrying her off to the bedroom, pressing her down in the middle of the bed and coming up over her. He didn't stop kissing her; he couldn't seem to get enough.

They made love wildly, till both of them were physically and emotionally drained. Julie slept soundly till just before dawn, then woke up in Patrick's arms, one of his long legs thrown possessively over hers, pinning her to the mattress. Her body felt sweetly sated, pleasantly battered.

She smiled as she lay beside him.

As the minutes crept past, only the persistent nagging worry about Patrick's intention to oppose Sandini and McPherson kept her from returning to sleep.

Eighteen.

Val leaned back in his chair, surveying the computer screen in front of him. He was working on a listing for Fred Thompkins, trying to establish the value of a Hollywood Hills estate that had once belonged to Errol Flynn, but he couldn't seem to concentrate. His mind kept straying to Julie, to the scene he had made at her house.

He had barged into her home in the middle of the night, been demanding and overbearing-all in all, behaved like a complete and utter madman. What was happening to him? Where was Valenden Zarkazian, scientist, leader-rational, logical, always in control? Even Patrick had never behaved so insanely.

But then, Patrick had never been in love.

Val winced as the word popped into his head. Between Patrick's perceptions, the television shows he had watched, and the books he had read, he knew the symptoms.

It was like a disease, he believed. An Earth disease, and Val was certain he had somehow unwittingly contracted it. It occurred to him he might administer some form of medical relief in the hope of curing himself, but he was fairly certain it wouldn't work.

He wondered if the disease would go away when he returned for good to Toril, but in the back of his mind, he was afraid that it would not.

It was an odd disease, wondrous in some ways, making a man feel like he could leap buildings, or perhaps even fly.

Like Superman, he thought with a smile, dragging a boyhood memory from the back of his mind. The smile slowly faded. Pain went with love. He had sampled a bit of that pain when he had thought he'd lost Julie to Mallory. It hurt, d.a.m.n it. A physical ache down deep inside.

How many months would he carry that ache when the time finally came for him to leave her? How many years?

Would the ache stay with him forever?

And there was Julie to consider. She cared for him, he knew. He didn't know exactly how much. Would she suffer as he would, after he was gone?

He had promised not to hurt her.

Now it seemed very clear that he would.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. The door swung open and Nathan Jefferson Jones stuck his big bald head through the opening.

"Say man, what's happenin'? You real busy?"

Val smiled. "Not that busy. What's up?"

The door opened wider and Nathan wheeled Alex Donovan into the room. "It's his first trip out of the house since his stroke. Man's lookin' real good, ain't he?"

Val smiled as he rose from behind his desk and started toward the frail man seated in the wheelchair. His thick snowy hair was freshly trimmed, his face clean-shaven, his slacks and yellow short-sleeved shirt perfectly pressed.

"You look terrific, Father." He had almost said Dad. Patrick hadn't called him that in years. Not since before his mother died. "I've been meaning to get out to the house. I'm glad you stopped by." Amazingly he was. Even if it could be dangerous. No one else had questioned Patrick's subtle ongoing personality changes, but Alex always seemed to look deeper than anyone else.

"Julie's been by fairly often," the old man said as Nathan discreetly backed out of the office and closed the door. "I was hoping you would come with her."

"We thought we might come out this weekend. I didn't realize you'd be up and about, able to leave the house."

Alex smiled, gouging grooves in his thin cheeks that had once been dimples. "Amazing, isn't it? The doctor says it's some sort of medical phenomenon. He wants to write it up in one of his journals."

Val just nodded. "You know what they say, the Lord works in mysterious ways." It was all he could think of to say. He certainly couldn't admit his part in the old man's recovery. He was happy to give the credit to G.o.d, who rarely got as much as He deserved.

"Shirl says Julie isn't in."

"She's out with a client. She'll be sorry she missed you."

Alex studied him in that shrewd way of his. "Maybe it's for the best. I really came to see you." He leaned back in his wheelchair, an imposing figure even in his weakened condition. "What are your intentions toward her, Patrick?"

Val blinked several times. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. I asked you about your intentions. Do you plan to marry the girl?"

Marriage. The thought had never crossed his mind. Of course he couldn't marry her. He couldn't marry anyone. He was leaving, returning to Toril.

"I realize you're concerned about her, but I think that's a matter best left to Julie and me."

The old man grunted. "That's what I thought. You haven't the least intention of marriage. You wanted her in your bed. You have for years. As soon as you tire of her-"

"You're wrong, Father. We haven't talked about it, but if I could marry Julie, I would."

A thick white eyebrow shot up. "You're saying you're in love with her?"

He didn't want to say it out loud. He had only just faced the fact himself, but he owed Patrick's father the truth. "Yes. Unfortunately, at present, marriage isn't an option."

"Why the devil not?"

Val sighed. "Business reasons. Brookhaven is still up in the air. Money is tight. Besides, I'm not even sure Julie would marry me if I asked her."

Alex didn't respond to that. He seemed to be studying Patrick's face. "Thank you for your honesty," he finally said. "I was worried about her, is all. From now on, I'll leave things up to the two of you."

Val simply nodded.

"You've changed since your heart attack," Alex said. "Mostly for the better."

"Mostly?"