I dismissed Posten and Lacone.

"No one else? I find that hard to believe. I wasn't actually kidding when I mentioned men lined up around the block." Her pheromones had practically pole axed me. Surely they affected other males the same way.

"Thank you." Accepting the oblique compliment.

"I'll tell you the truth, Brew. I think you've been honest with me, and I want to do the same.

"I'm an ambitious woman. If I have my way, I'll end up running Watchdog Insurance. And " She hesitated.

"Oh, how should I put this? I don't usually talk about it." For a moment she studied the tablecloth. When she raised her eyes again, they were full of complex colors.

"Sex works for me," she said carefully.

"I don't mean I'm 'sleeping my way to the top." But I like sex a lot.

"Oh, it helps me along. The men I want to work with pay more attention because they find me attractive. I'm comfortable with that. But I don't confuse pleasure and ambition. If I find a man attractive, I keep it to myself unless who he is and what he does are irrelevant to my career. When I'm clear on that point " She hesitated again, but for a different reason this time. The smile that spread across her face radiated enough heat to make me sweat.

"What can I say? I like men who really are men.

"And I don't meet many." Chuckling at the expression on my face, she explained, "I think most of them are afraid of me.

"I don't mean of me personally," she added quickly.

"I mean of women in general. Or of sex. In public they act like walking erections. But most of them are cowards around women.

"Mr. Sternway is one example," she mentioned in a private murmur.

"He's a famous martial artist, respected everywhere. But he lets his wife treat him like dirt." Then she laughed again.

"I mean, if you listen to the gossip which of course I never do."

I tried to play along.

"Me neither. Heaven forfend." But I couldn't keep it up. Apparently she thought that I was different somehow. If I let that pass, we'd both regret it.

"But I'm not sure you're right," I countered.

"I can't speak for Sternway, so let's take me as an example. I'm not afraid of women. I'm afraid of myself. Nothing gets inside me faster than a woman I want." I didn't try to pretend that I wasn't talking about her.

"I don't just drape my coat across the mud for a pretty face. I toss in my whole body. And that scares me.

"Maybe," I suggested, "Sternway has the same problem."

In response, her gaze shone as if I'd just said something wonderful.

"So I was right about you."

She confused me.

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. Private Investigator," she pronounced softly, just for me, "it takes real courage to know what you're afraid of, and admit it. I don't mind fear. Everybody is scared. I'm scared myself." She smiled ruefully.

"Or I would be if I were brave enough to tell the truth. But I'm tired of men who hold me responsible."

Behind her assertion I heard loneliness, a deep well of it hidden away where most people never noticed it.

I knew what that felt like.

Mostly in self-defense, I asked, "Since we're being this honest, do you mind if I change the subject?" For once my own gracelessness didn't make me flinch.

"Please do." She flapped her hands in front of her face.

"I was about to blush."

I wanted to thank her. Effusively. But if I did, I'd forget my question, so I blundered ahead.

"Tell me more about those chops. I'm no expert on insurance. I know just enough to wonder why Watchdog hasn't insisted on an appraisal. How can you insure them if you don't know what they're worth?"

With no apparent strain, Deborah shifted to a more detached tone.

Nevertheless her eyes continued to glow.

"You're right," she answered, "we can't. But we haven't had time to arrange a formal appraisal. Mr. Nakahatchi brought the chops back from Japan only a few days ago. And he doesn't have enough documentation on their provenance to authenticate them.

"Purely as a temporary solution, we've all agreed on a compromise.

Until we can have the chops appraised to Watchdog's satisfaction, they're only covered for the current price of the ivory itself. No doubt that undervalues them dramatically. As both exquisite antiques and historical documents, they're worth far more. But at least this way we can insure them. Otherwise Mr. Nakahatchi would have no coverage at all."

Obviously this involved Lacone. Nakahatchi's school was in Martial America, so Lacone couldn't avoid some of the risk.

"Still, I'm worried," Deborah went on.

"We'll have our appraisal in a week or so. If the chops turn out to be genuine, Alex's premiums will rise substantially, and Mr. Nakahatchi's will go through the roof. I'm sure Mr. Nakahatchi won't be able to afford his. Even Alex will be in trouble.

"Despite the way he talks about it," she confided, "he's stretched to the limit with Martial America. He needs more schools, and much more media attention, to attract the kind of investors who can keep his 'dream' afloat."

Then she finished, "I don't know how any of us will solve that problem, but I'm working on it. In fact, that's the subject of the report I wrote this afternoon. I'm trying to design a deal that gives everyone enough protection to keep them going."

Her answer helped, but I wanted more. Pushing my luck, I asked, "What kind of deal?"

There she pulled back.

"I'm sorry, Brew. I can't tell you that." Her smile took the edge off her refusal.

"Our clients have a right to a certain amount of confidentiality."

I grinned back.

"My mistake." She was right, of course.