He froze in the act of putting on his striped necktie.

She went on: "I'm supposed to think you saw me across the student cafeteria and became entranced by my s.e.xual magnetism?" She smiled ruefully at him. "I don't have any s.e.xual magnetism, Berry, not for someone as superficial as you. You had to have an ulterior motive and it took me about five seconds to figure out what it could be."

Berrington felt a fool. He did not know what to say.

"Now in your case, you do do have s.e.xual magnetism. Buckets. You've got charm and a nice body, you dress well and you smell good. Most of all, anyone can see that you really like women. You may manipulate them and exploit them, but you love them too. You are the perfect one-night stand, and I thank you." have s.e.xual magnetism. Buckets. You've got charm and a nice body, you dress well and you smell good. Most of all, anyone can see that you really like women. You may manipulate them and exploit them, but you love them too. You are the perfect one-night stand, and I thank you."

With that she pulled the sheet over her naked body, rolled onto her side, and closed her eyes.

Berrington finished dressing as quickly as he could.

Before he left, he sat on the edge of the bed. She opened her eyes. He said: "Will you support me, tomorrow?"

She sat upright and kissed him fondly. "I'll have to listen to the evidence before I make up my mind," she said.

He ground his teeth. "It's terribly important to me, more than you know."

She nodded sympathetically, but her reply was implacable. "I guess it's just as important to Jeannie Ferrami."

He squeezed her left breast, soft and heavy. "But who is more important to you-Jeannie or me?"

"I know what it's like to be a young woman academic in a male-dominated university. I'll never forget that."

"s.h.i.t." He took his hand away.

"You could stay the night, you know. Then we could do it again in the morning."

He stood up. "I've got too much on my mind."

She closed her eyes. "That's too bad."

He went out.

His car was parked in the driveway of her suburban house, next to her Jaguar. That Jaguar should have been a warning to me, he thought: a sign that there is more to her than meets the eye. He had been used, but he had enjoyed it. He wondered if women sometimes felt that way after he seduced them.

As he drove home he worried about tomorrow's hearing. He had the four men on the committee on his side, but he had failed to win a promise of support from Jane. Was there anything else he could do? At this late stage there did not seem to be.

When he got home there was a message from Jim Proust on his answering machine. Not more bad news, please, he thought. He sat at the desk in his den and called Jim's home. "This is Berry."

"The FBI f.u.c.ked up," Jim said without preamble.

Berrington's spirits sank further. "Tell me."

"They were told to cancel that search, but the order didn't get through in time."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n."

"The results were sent to her by E-mail."

He felt afraid. "Who was on the list?"

"We don't know. The Bureau didn't keep a copy."

This was insupportable. "We have to know!"

"Maybe you can find out. The list could be in her office."

"She's locked out of her office." Berrington was struck by a hopeful thought. "She might not have retrieved her mail." His mood lifted a little.

"Can you do that?"

"Sure." Berrington looked at his gold Rolex. "I'll go in to the college right now."

"Call me as soon as you know."

"You bet."

He got back in his car and drove to Jones Falls University. The campus was dark and deserted. He parked outside Nut House and went in. He felt less embarra.s.sed about sneaking into Jeannie's office the second time. What the h.e.l.l, there was too much at stake for him to worry about his dignity.

He turned on her computer and accessed her mailbox. She had one piece of mail. Please, G.o.d, let this be the FBI list. Please, G.o.d, let this be the FBI list. He downloaded it. To his disappointment, it was another message from her friend at the University of Minnesota: He downloaded it. To his disappointment, it was another message from her friend at the University of Minnesota: Did you get my E-mail yesterday? I'll be in Baltimore tomorrow and would really like to see you again, even if only for a few minutes. Please call me. Love, Will.

She had not got yesterday's message, because Berrington had downloaded it then erased it. She would not get this one, either. But where was the FBI list? She must have downloaded it yesterday morning, before security locked her out.

Where had she saved it? Berrington searched her hard disk for the words "FBI," "F.B.I." with dots, and "Federal Bureau of Investigation." He found nothing. He searched through a box of diskettes in her drawer, but they were just backups of the files on her computer. "This woman even keeps a backup copy of her G.o.dd.a.m.n shopping list," he muttered.

He used Jeannie's phone to call Jim again. "Nothing," he said abruptly.

"We have to know who is on that list!" Jim barked.

Berrington said sarcastically: "What shall I do, Jim-kidnap and torture her?"

"She must have the list, right?"

"It's not in her mailbox, so she must have downloaded it."

"So if it's not in her office, she must have it at home."

"Logical." Berrington saw where he was heading. "Can you have her place..." He was reluctant to say "searched by the FBI" on the phone. "Can you have it checked out?"

"I guess so. David Creane failed to deliver, so I guess he still owes me a favor. I'll call him."

"Tomorrow morning would be a good time. The hearing is at ten, she'll be there for a couple of hours."

"Gotcha. I'll get it done. But what if she keeps it in her G.o.dd.a.m.n handbag? What do we do then?"

"I don't know. Good night, Jim."

"Night."

After hanging up, Berrington sat there for a while, looking at the narrow room enlivened by Jeannie's bright, bold colors. If things went wrong tomorrow, she could be back at this desk by lunchtime, with her FBI list, charging ahead with her investigation, all set to ruin three good men.

It must not happen, he thought desperately; it must not happen.

FRIDAY.

[image]

38.

JEANNIE WOKE UP IN HER COMPACT WHITE-WALLED LIVING room, on her black couch, in Steve's arms, wearing only her fuchsia pink terrycloth bathrobe. room, on her black couch, in Steve's arms, wearing only her fuchsia pink terrycloth bathrobe.

How did I get here?

They had spent half the night rehearsing for today's hearing. Jeannie's heart lurched: her fate was to be decided this morning.

But how come I'm lying in his lap?

Around three o'clock she had yawned and closed her eyes for a moment.

And then...?

She must have fallen asleep.

At some point he had gone into the bedroom and taken the blue-and-red-striped quilt off the bed and tucked it around her, for she was snug beneath it.

But Steve could not be responsible for the way she was lying, with her head on his thigh and her arm around his waist. She must have done that herself, in her sleep. It was a bit embarra.s.sing; her face was very close to his crotch. She wondered what he thought of her. Her behavior had been very off the wall. Undressing in front of him, then falling asleep on him; she was behaving as you would with a longtime lover.

Well, I've got an excuse for acting weird: I've had a weird week.

She had been ill treated by Patrolman McHenty, robbed by her father, accused by the New York Times, New York Times, threatened with a knife by Dennis Pinker, fired by the college, and attacked in her car. She felt damaged. threatened with a knife by Dennis Pinker, fired by the college, and attacked in her car. She felt damaged.

Her face throbbed gently where she had been punched yesterday, but the injuries were not merely physical. The attack had bruised her psyche too. When she recalled the fight in the car, her anger returned and she wanted to get the man by the throat. Even when she was not remembering, she felt a low background hum of unhappiness, as if her life were somehow of less value because of the attack.

It was surprising she could trust any man; astonishing that she could fall asleep on a couch with one who looked exactly like her attackers. But now she could be even more sure of Steve. Neither of the others could have spent the night like this, alone with a girl, without forcing himself on her.

She frowned. Steve had done something in the night, she recalled vaguely; something nice. Yes: she had a dreamy memory of big hands rhythmically caressing her hair, it seemed for a long time, while she dozed, as comfortable as a stroked cat.

She smiled and stirred, and he spoke immediately. "Are you awake?"

She yawned and stretched. "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you. Are you okay?"

"The blood supply to my left leg was cut off at about five A.M. A.M., but once I got used to that I was fine."

She sat upright so that she could see him better. His clothes were creased, his hair was mussed, and he had a growth of fair stubble, but he looked good enough to eat. "Did you sleep?"

He shook his head. "I was enjoying myself too much, watching you."

"Don't say I snore."

"You don't snore. You dribble a little, that's all." He dabbed at a damp spot on his pants.

"Oh, gross!" She stood up. The bright blue clock on the wall caught her eye: it was eight-thirty. "We don't have much time," she said in alarm. "The hearing starts at ten."

"You shower while I make coffee," Steve said generously.

She stared at him. He was unreal. "Did you come from Santa Claus?"

He laughed. "According to your theory, I come from a testtube." Then his face went solemn again. "What the h.e.l.l, who knows."

Her mood darkened along with his. She went into the bedroom, dropped her clothes on the floor, and got into the shower. As she washed her hair, she brooded over how hard she had struggled over the last ten years: the contest for scholarships; the intensive tennis training combined with long hours of study; the peevish nit-picking of her doctoral supervisor. She had worked like a robot to get where she was today, all because she wanted to be a scientist and help the human race understand itself better. And now Berrington Jones was about to throw it all away.

The shower made her feel better. As she was toweling her hair, the phone rang. She picked up the bedside extension. "Yeah."

"Jeannie, it's Patty."

"Hi, sis, what's happening?"

"Daddy showed up."

Jeannie sat on the bed. "How is he?"

"Broke, but healthy."

"He came to me first," Jeannie said. "He arrived on Monday. Tuesday he got a little ticked off because I didn't cook him dinner. Wednesday he took off, with my computer and my TV and my stereo. He must have already spent or gambled whatever he got for them."

Patty gasped. "Oh, Jeannie, that's awful!"

"Ain't it just. So lock up your valuables."

"To steal from his own family! Oh, G.o.d, if Zip finds out he'll throw him out."

"Patty, I have even worse problems, I may be fired from my job today."

"Jeannie, why?"

"I don't have time to explain now, but I'll call you later."

"Okay."

"Have you talked to Mom?"