Two Faced Woman
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

One

Debbie Harker strode into the hotel room without knocking. The man inside looked up quickly. He was middle-aged and wore a perpetually alarmed expression, which deepened when he saw her. “I’m just checking that everything’s all right, ma’am,” he said hastily.

“No need to call me ‘ma’am,’ George,” Debbie told him, tossing her purse onto the bed and moving around to study the room. She had a brisk, purposeful manner that instantly dominated her surroundings and her companion. “I’m not in the police anymore. I’m a private investigator now.”

“Yeah, so you told me on the phone. You could have knocked me down with a feather when you said you wanted to hire me to take some photographs.” George became awkward. “After all, you know my specialty...”

“Rude pictures,” Debbie confirmed.

“Artistic studies,” George tried to protest.

“Knock it off, George. I’ve seen your work, remember. That’s why I had to ask you to recommend a venue. I want some pics that will place a gentleman in a very awkward situation.”

George’s alarm deepened. “You mean, blackmail?”

“In a way. We’re going to blackmail a blackmailer, a nasty piece of work called Elroy Speke. He specializes in women who did a bit of nude modeling when they were young but have put it behind them now. Speke buys up the old pictures and threatens to publish them. My client is one of those women. I aim to put a stop to his little game once and for all. Are you sure this place is suitably equipped?”

“Perfect. That mirror behind you is two-way. My stuff is on the other side.”

Debbie regarded the large mirror on the front of the wardrobe. From this side it looked perfectly normal, but George showed her the inside of the wardrobe that was actually a tiny, concealed room where his camera had been set up. Debbie stepped inside and closed the door. She found she had a good view of the bedroom, which was comfortable in an anonymous fashion. Apart from the double bed there was a wardrobe, a table, a small refrigerator and an armchair. The tones of the carpet, curtains and bedspread were variations of brown and biscuit, and there were no ornaments anywhere.

She stepped back into the bedroom and glanced out of the window, enjoying the sense of anticipation that a difficult job always gave her. It was a longing for that heady sense of excitement that had made her join the police force ten years ago, at the age of eighteen. But she’d soon found that police work had its share of dull routine. She’d climbed the ladder as far as detective sergeant, where her propensity to ditch routine in favor of inspiration had made her superiors tear their hair out.

“And just who the hell are you to chuck the book aside whenever it suits you?” Chief Superintendent Manners, her mentor and guide, had bawled. “The book is there for a reason.”

“If I’d stuck to the book you wouldn’t have Slasher Gibbs in the cells now,” she retorted with spirit.

“No, and I wouldn’t have the chief commissioner breathing down my neck about your unorthodox methods, either. Detective Sergeant Harker, this is your last chance. I’m taking you off the streets and putting you behind a desk until you cool down.”

Debbie set her chin. “I didn’t join the force to do paperwork, sir.”

Manners breathed hard and his face turned a dangerous puce. “You will do paperwork if I say so. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. And I quit.”

She left that day and set up in business as a private investigator. In six months she’d enjoyed some modest success, helped along by a few crumbs sent her way by Manners. But this was her most challenging assignment yet and she was looking forward to it.

Despite her confident manner she’d experienced a few initial qualms about going in for blackmail. But after hearing Jane Quinlan’s full story she had no doubt that right was on her side. “I was nineteen years old when I posed for those damned pictures,” Jane had told her in despair. “I was a student. I needed money for food and to pay the rent.”

She’d gone on to make a successful career as a lawyer and was now preparing for her marriage to a prominent politician. But the news of her engagement had brought Elroy Speke crawling out of the woodwork, flourishing photographs that Jane had long forgotten about.

“I’ve tried offering him money,” Jane said wretchedly. “But he’s not interested. He wants ‘favors.’”

They’d been sitting in the cubbyhole Debbie called her office. It was just big enough for a table, two chairs and a coffee percolator. Debbie filled another cup and offered it to Jane. “You mean, he’s such a worm that he can’t get women any other way?” she asked.

“No, it’s not that. If he wasn’t such a rat I’d say he’s quite good-looking. But he seems to get his kicks from women who are afraid of him. Also, I think he’s trying to revenge himself on his wife.”

“What’s he got against her?”

“She’s rolling in money and he hasn’t a penny of his own. He’s got a flashy car, plus a wardrobe full of silk shirts and handmade shoes, and she paid for the lot. He hates being dependent but he hasn’t got the guts to walk out and live off his own wits. So he ‘evens the score’ by using her money to buy these pictures and then sleep with his victims.”

“You mean, she knows?”

“Goodness, no. He gets back at her in his head. She’d chuck him out like a shot if she found out.”

“Then why not tell her?”

“I threatened to. Speke just laughed and said, ‘Prove it. It’s your word against mine.’ And he’s right.”

“Then we have to get some proof that he can’t deny,” Debbie had said thoughtfully. “And there’s really only one way to do it.”

So the plan was born. Debbie had contacted Elroy Speke, offered him a set of “very interesting pictures,” and asked him to meet her at a discreet hotel in a quiet part of London. She’d gotten the name of the hotel from George, who was a mine field of information about dubious premises. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

“When will she get here?” George asked.

“She? Who?”

“Well, you’ve got a stripper to set him up, haven’t you? Off with her clothes, into the fancy poses, that kind of thing.”

“The ‘stripper’ is me, George.”

George’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to do it yourself?”

“I thought the fewer people involved, the better.”

“But do you know what you’re doing?” he demanded with outraged professionalism. “It’s an art, you know. It ain’t just taking your clothes off any old how.”

“I know that. I’ve had a lesson from one of your own models. What’s the matter? Don’t you think I’m up to the job?”

She laughed as she said it for she knew that she brought first-class equipment to the task. She was five feet nine inches tall and slim but curved. Her pale, almost silvery blond hair added a touch of glamour. She wore a short, tight, black leather skirt, and a black leather jacket that was designed to be provocative. It was skintight, emphasizing the swell of her breasts and her tiny waist. There were no sleeves and the shoulders were cut away almost to the neck, but the neck itself was high and the edges kept in place by a zipper. “Yes—No—Try your luck!” That was the message that it sent. Debbie knew she looked dramatically effective, and when George regarded her with a critical eye she met his gaze unafraid. “You’ve got some very nice assets there,” he said at last, judicially. “If you ever need to earn a bit extra—”

“Cut it out, George,” she told him with a chuckle. “Save the spiel for someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

He sighed. “Can’t blame me for trying. What about this bloke? Is he photogenic?”

“No idea. My client didn’t have a picture of him. She says he’s tall and dark, late thirties. I’ve given him a description of myself. As far as he knows I’m called Esther Bridges.” She checked her watch. “I’m meeting him downstairs. If you’re sure everything’s all right here, I’ll go down and wait.”

“I’ll put some music on,” George suggested. “I’ve got a very quiet camera, but a little extra noise doesn’t hurt.”

It was twenty minutes before Speke was due but she preferred to be there early. It was part of being on top of the job. And she was glad she’d done it when after five minutes a sleek sports car drew up outside the hotel and a tall, dark man in his late thirties leapt out. Debbie’s soul burned at the sight of that car. She knew how much it cost. She’d sighed over it, yearned for it, twisted her budget every which way in a fruitless attempt to convince herself that she could afford that high-priced beauty. And this man had bought it with money from the wife he was deceiving.

But none of this appeared on her face. She was regarding the door with a cool expression as Speke strode into the hotel lobby. He glanced around and met her eye. There was a question in his face and his eyebrows lifted slightly. She answered with a nod and sauntered forward. “I believe I’m the person you’ve come to see?” she said.

“If you’ve got something for me, then you’re the person I’ve come to see,” he agreed.

“Oh, yes,” she said sweetly. “I’ve got something for you, something you’re really going to like.”

“Well?” he said impatiently.

“You don’t expect me to have it down here, surely? It’s upstairs in my room.”

“Then let’s go and get it.”

Debbie led the way upstairs, concealing her surprise. He wasn’t exactly as she’d expected. The car fitted Jane’s picture, but apart from his shoes, his clothes didn’t. As Jane had said, the shoes were handmade and, like the car, they gleamed with costly quality. But everything else about his looks took her aback. He wore old jeans and a leather jacket that might have been expensive when it was new, but that was a long time ago. Nor did he have any of the smooth charm of the con man. His manner was rough and almost irritable. But perhaps that was his method, she reflected. Maybe smooth charm was a played-out commodity and he’d calculated that roughness looked more like sincerity.

But in one thing Speke fitted her mental picture. He was as attractive as Jane had suggested, with lean features that might have been almost too handsome if they hadn’t become weather-beaten along the way. His voice had a melodious bass beauty that had given her a shock, and beneath the shabby clothing his body had a powerful athleticism that nothing could hide.

The room was empty as she led him in. Cool, sultry modern jazz came from the radio. Debbie didn’t even glance at the mirror. All her attention was focused on what she was about to do. “Let me get you a drink,” she offered, swaying over to the refrigerator.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t have much time. You know what I came for. Why don’t we get straight down to business?”

“Because there are things we haven’t discussed yet,” she said in a soft, husky voice that was calculated to melt his bones. “Besides, you don’t mind spending a little time with me, do you?”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, then something seemed to arrest his attention. Debbie was surveying him in a languid manner that was full of invitation, and a smile just touched her curved lips. “That might be—interesting,” he agreed.

“Oh, I’m a very interesting woman,” she promised. “Wouldn’t you like to find out just how interesting I can be?”

His eyes narrowed. “Is this how you normally do business?”

“That depends on who I’m doing business with. With some people I take more trouble than others.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. It wasn’t a smile exactly, certainly not a friendly smile. There was something wary and suspicious about it, but it also made his face disconcertingly attractive. “And you plan to take trouble with me?” he queried.

“I think I’ll enjoy taking trouble with you,” she agreed. “Don’t you find it a little hot in here? Why don’t you take this off?” She indicated his jacket, and he didn’t resist when she slipped it off his shoulders. “That’s better,” she purred.

He put his head on one side and regarded her cynically. “I guess the next step is for you to take something off?” he suggested.

She gave him a wide-eyed gaze. “Do you think I should?”

“I think you should do whatever you want,” he told her. “This is your party. I’m just fascinated to see how it’s going to develop.”

Without answering, Debbie began to pull down the zipper that secured the tight leather jacket. Her companion didn’t move a muscle as it went lower and lower, but she could hear the soft rasp of his breathing that had suddenly grown faster. His eyes were fixed on her as her pale, silky skin came into view inch by inch. At last she shrugged off the jacket, revealing beautiful breasts, barely confined in a wispy black lace bra. She smiled at him with confidence. She knew her body was beautiful.

She was swaying in time to the music now, infusing her movements with a sensuous, erotic grace that she could see was having its effect. Her companion was watching her, riveted, and the jeering smile had died on his lips. She unfastened her skirt and let that, too, slip to the ground. She wore no tights beneath it, only skimpy black panties that matched the bra. She pushed her fingers up into her pale blond hair and let her head fall back as she sashayed about the room in time to the music. The movements were intended to suggest ecstasy and display her shape to the fullest advantage.

“Now, what about you?” she murmured, beginning to finger the buttons of his shirt.

He closed one hand over hers. “Before we go any further, there’s something we should get straight,” he said in a husky voice.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t play games, and I won’t stand for a woman playing games with me. Do you understand me?”

Now she could believe that he was a ruthless blackmailer, for there was hard intent in his eyes that boded ill for his enemies. A man without a heart, she thought, capable of anything.

“Do you understand me?” he repeated. “If you turn out to be a tease, you’ll be sorry.”

There was something merciless about him that almost made Debbie afraid. His hand held hers in a light grip, yet through it she could feel sinews of steel and a strength that owed as much to nerves as to muscle. For the first time she wondered if she was wise to arouse passions she had no intention of satisfying. But there was no turning back now. She’d given her word to a client and she wasn’t a quitter. When it came to putting him off, she’d just have to rely on the self-defense techniques she’d learned on the force.

“Why do you talk so much?” she purred. “There are so many more interesting ways of spending our time.”

He released her hand. “Just as long as we understand each other.”

Button by button his shirt came undone. His chest was smooth and lean, positively inviting her to run her fingers over it. She accepted the invitation, and received a shock of pleasure at the feel of his firm flesh. “Why don’t you take your shirt right off?” she murmured.

“Why don’t you do it for me?” he asked with a grin.

She tossed the shirt aside. At once she felt his arm snake around her waist, drawing her close so that her almost-naked body was pressed against his bare chest. “Do you read your stars?” he asked.

“I—well, no—” she managed to answer. To her dismay and annoyance she sounded confused, but that was nothing to how she felt. The feel of being held close to him was disturbingly thrilling.

“You should,” he assured her. “I read mine every day. This morning they said I was going to have a wonderful surprise. And they were right.” He put his other hand beneath her neck, holding her while he dropped his head to brush his lips against the line of her jaw. Debbie set her teeth, trying not to gasp out loud. His mouth had touched her only lightly, but that was enough to send sparks of fire glittering through her. While she tried to fight her reaction he did it again, letting his lips linger this time before trailing them slowly down her neck. The sensation was so poignantly pleasurable that she clutched her hair. Her mind was telling her to end this now but her body was urging her to throw back her head in abandon.

It was all wrong, she told herself frantically. Everything she knew about this man was bad, but that seemed to have faded to the back of her consciousness. The front was occupied by the frenzy of pleasure that was making its way inexorably through her.

Fighting to collect her wits, she began to work on the fastening of his trousers. She needed him as nearly naked as possible, then George could get his pictures and she could bring this to an end. But she didn’t want it to end. As she cast his trousers away she yielded to the temptation to run her hands over his flanks, enjoying the discovery of their lean tautness and the sense of power ready to spring. There was power in his arms, too, as they drew her down onto the bed and pressed her back against the pillows, propping himself on elbows to look down at her. “You’re a very beautiful woman,” he said.

Suddenly she couldn’t speak. His closeness and the sensations coursing through her had caused a constriction in her throat. If he discovered that, he’d know she was losing control and that would be fatal. So instead she smiled at him, slowly, enticingly. She didn’t know it but that smile was full of the mad pleasure that was pounding in her veins. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of desire that had begun to beat insistently through her. He looked down at her breasts, softly moving against him, barely covered by the tiny bra. He slid his fingers inside and gave the flimsy item a quick jerk that destroyed it. He tossed the pieces into a corner and enveloped one breast in a shapely hand, letting the ball of his thumb rasp across the nipple.

Debbie gasped at the poignant sensation, and flung her hands out. But instead of pushing him away she found she was clinging on to him, running her fingers through his springy hair. She just managed to suppress a groan. Nothing in her life had felt as good as that. He repeated the action more slowly, and although she choked back the gasp of pleasure, she couldn’t control her body, which had developed a life of its own. It arched instinctively against him, reveling in the contact of their skin and the soft friction as she moved against him. Her arms wound around him of their own accord, pulling him closer. He paused a moment to look searchingly into her face. Then, with tantalizing slowness, he lowered his head and laid his mouth on hers.

It was as though a flaming torch had touched her mouth. In the very first moment she knew that this was more than a kiss. It was a baptism of fire, and she was ready, eager for it. One tiny part of her mind, that was still professional, found time to hope that George was getting all this. The next moment all common sense was engulfed in the flames of excitement that were consuming her. His lips were hard, determined, seeking, intruding, commanding and enticing all at the same time.

His hands were at work all over her body, touching, teasing, thrilling. They were like no other man’s hands had ever been, possessing the skill of the devil, knowing how to drive a woman to madness. She’d meant to half seduce him, keep everything under control and bring matters coolly to a conclusion when it suited her. But all that was slipping away now. She had no control left, only the yearning for this to go on, never stopping until it reached the perfect conclusion.

Her blood thrummed in her veins as she thought of that conclusion. Some distant corner of her brain, where sanity still lived, shouted a desperate warning. This was a bad character, a criminal—apart from that, he was a total stranger to her and she had no right to be naked in his arms. But her body knew better. Her flesh sang and told her that this was the man she’d been made for, and he’d been too long finding her. It was monstrous, crazy— and inevitable.

His face was before her eyes, and now she saw that the look of cool cynicism was gone and he was as thunderstruck as she. He, too, was caught up in something that made a mockery of calculation, and which could have only one appointed end.

Then a shudder went through him and he seemed to control himself by sheer force. “Well?” he rasped. A pulse was twitching near his jaw and his whole body seemed to be made of steel. Debbie could feel him fighting to master his own desire while he eyed her narrowly.

“Well?” she gasped.

“Are you ready to go through with it?”

She looked at him wildly. Was she ready? Was she crazy? This was a man whose control over himself was awesome, terrifying. Could she match it, or would she yield to the wild thrumming in her blood, the craving need in her loins to feel him there?

“Answer me,” he said in a voice that was almost a snarl.

She drew a long, shaky breath. “I—”

But before she could say more there was a crash from inside the wardrobe. Debbie turned wild eyes toward it and saw the door swing open, revealing George sitting on the wardrobe floor, tangled up in the legs of his tripod. The man also looked at him sharply, uttered a profanity, and began to rise. Quick as a flash Debbie tightened her arms about him. For a few mad moments they struggled, he trying to get free, she restraining him, while George frantically grabbed his gear and headed for the door. At last the man’s greater strength prevailed, but Debbie had delayed him just long enough to give George a head start. As the door slammed behind the terrified photographer the man raced across the floor in pursuit, but Debbie launched herself after him and brought him down with a flying rugby tackle. Her advantage lasted only a moment. With a swiveling movement of his entire body he managed to get on top of her, seizing her wrists and holding them above her head. For a long moment they gazed at each other, breathless, angry, infuriated by their own desire.

“It’s too late,” Debbie said, gasping. “You won’t catch him now.”

“You made very sure of that,” he said grimly. “And you’re going to be sorry that you did.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s you that’s going to be sorry. How would you like those pictures to go to your wife?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Don’t try to fool me. I know you’re married and you live off her. But the game’s up, Mr. Speke—”

“What nonsense are you talking?” he demanded. “My name isn’t Speke and I don’t have a wife. My name is Jake Garfield, Detective Inspector Jake Garfield. And you’re under arrest.”

Two

“Arrest? What do you mean, arrest?”

“You know what arrest means, Miss James. I doubt if it’s the first time you’ve been behind bars.” He leaned back and pulled her up, still holding her wrists. “Elizabeth James, I arrest you on a charge of obstructing a police officer in the course of his duty, of attempted blackmail, and anything else I can think of when I get my clothes on. Whatever you say may be taken down and given in evidence.”

Some of the horrible truth was getting through to Debbie. “You’re a policeman?” she demanded, aghast.

“Come on, save the wide-eyed innocence. It doesn’t go with the performance you’ve just been putting on. You lured me here on the promise of information and then tried to set me up for blackmail.”

“Not you,” she managed to say. “Elroy Speke.”

“Who the hell is Elroy Speke?”

“You are—aren’t you?”

“I’ve already told you who I am, and my colleagues at the station will be delighted to confirm it. Then you can have a long session in a cell telling yourself it’s true,” he informed her grimly.

True? Of course it was true! It was all so obvious now that this authoritative man could never be the miserable worm she was after. Her instincts had told her that from the first, but she hadn’t listened to them. Now she’d failed in her job and gotten herself arrested into the bargain. Oh, what a mess!

“Will you kindly release me so that I can get dressed?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Modesty now, is it? I don’t recall that modesty was much in evidence when you were inviting me to have an interesting time.” But he loosened his grip and got on with his own dressing, taking care to keep between her and the door.

Debbie grabbed frantically at her clothes. The bra was beyond repair so she stuffed it into her purse and fastened the leather jacket up to the neck. Now the shortness of the skirt horrified her and she tried to pull it down, but it was no use. The skirt had been designed for provocation, and provocative it remained. “Why do you keep calling me ‘Miss James’?” she asked.

He groaned. “Surely we’re past that stage? Why go on pretending?”

“I’m not pretending. I don’t know anyone called Elizabeth James. My name is Debra Harker, ex-Detective Sergeant Harker. I left the force to become a private investigator. I’m on a case. Now, who are you?”

“All right. We’ll play the game to the finish. I’m Detective Inspector Jake Garfield, and you are Elizabeth James. Pretending to be a policewoman was a neat idea but—”

“There are a dozen people on the force who can tell you who I am,” she interrupted in exasperation. “Starting with Chief Superintendent Manners.”

“Manners?” He looked at her curiously. “Now that you mention it, I have heard Manners bellyaching about a Debbie Harker on his staff—wild woman, pain in the neck.”

“That’s me,” Debbie said without hesitation.

Jake studied her through narrowed eyes. “I had a meeting set up with Liz James who was going to spill the beans about a nasty character called Lucky Driver. All I know about her appearance is that she’s blond, and they don’t come much blonder than you. You really expect me to believe you’re not her?”

“That’s right. Because I’m not.”

Jake drew a sharp breath and snatched up the telephone and called the desk. “Is there a young woman with fair hair waiting down there?” he barked.

Debbie could just hear the male receptionist’s voice. “There was someone answering that description but she’s gone now. If you’re Mr. Garfield, she left you a verbal message.”

“I’m Garfield. What did she say?”

The receptionist cleared his throat awkwardly and repeated the message. It was extremely vulgar, very explicit, and left no doubt that Jake would be wasting his time trying that source of information again. Jake swore and slammed down the phone. “Now see what your interference has done!” he snapped.

“Just a minute,” Debbie muttered, and seized the phone in her turn. “Hello, reception? This is Room 18. Has a Mr. Speke been asking for me?”

“No, madame.”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s been only a young lady and she’s gone.”

“Thank you.” She replaced the receiver, chagrined.

“So much for Mr. Speke,” Jake said ironically.

“He exists. He’s making my client’s life a misery.”

“So you were going to strip off by way of persuading him to stop?”

Debbie ground her teeth. “He’s a blackmailer—”

“He’s a blackmailer?” Jake demanded with angry hilarity.

“I was trying to compromise him to get him to stop his nasty activities but you fouled it all up.”

“I— Now wait! You approached me in the lobby, not the other way around. There were no names. You just assumed—on no evidence whatever—that I was Speke.”

“Not ‘on no evidence.’ There was the way you looked at me, raising your eyebrows.”

“Raising—”

“As if you were asking me if I was the right person.”

“I was asking if you were the right person. But you weren’t.”

“How was I supposed to know that? And then there was your car. It’s a rich man’s car.”

“No need to tell me that. I live in poverty just to keep up the repayments.”

“You’re not too poor to afford handmade shoes.”

“I have bad feet,” he said through gritted teeth. “I need handmade shoes. So that’s enough to convict me of blackmail, is it? I wish I could sit through one of your cases in court. It must be interesting.”

“You played along,” she said indignantly. “You didn’t use any names, either, and you didn’t try to stop me stripping off.”

“I was fascinated to know how far you were ready to go.”

“Oh, yes?”

“And I was riveted by the performance, I don’t deny. You have some very special skills there. In fact...” He stopped and looked at her speculatively. “Very special,” he repeated slowly. “So special, in fact, that you might be the one woman I need.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s assume that you really are ex-policewoman Debbie Harker. I’m not convinced but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“You’re so kind,” she murmured ironically.

“Once you worked on the side of the law, but who knows whose side you’re on now?”

“Hey—”

“Let’s say that you’ve had no success as a P.I.—a reasonable assumption after today’s fiasco. Let’s say that you’re desperate, that you’ll take any job without asking too many questions.”

“No, let’s not say that,” she said angrily. “Because it isn’t true.”

“So you claim. But suppose you were sent here by Lucky Driver, who maybe suspected that his girlfriend might be about to rat on him? Your job was to distract me so that she never got the chance to talk.”

“Rubbish,” Debbie said trenchantly. “If he thought that, it would be simpler for him to prevent her coming here at all. You don’t believe a word you’ve just said.”

“You miss the point, Miss Harker. I could choose to believe it, thus giving myself an excuse to dump you in the cells. Couldn’t I?”

“If you want to be unpleasant about this, yes.”

“But I am unpleasant,” he informed her affably. “Ask around. You won’t find anyone with a good word to say for me. And I don’t just mean the crooks.”

“I believe it.”

“So the question is, what are you going to do to convince me that you’re on the side of the angels?”

“Sock you in the jaw,” she said darkly.

He grinned. “Don’t try it. You caught me by surprise with that rugby tackle, but I’m on guard now. You wrecked a good case, but I’m going to be reasonable about it because you can be useful to me.”

“Suppose I don’t want to be useful to you?” she demanded crossly.

“Let’s say it’s in your own interests to convince me that you’re who and what you say you are.”

His eyes were hard and uncompromising. Debbie faced him defiantly, but she knew that he held the high cards. “So how am I going to be useful?”

“I need a woman to work undercover with me.”

“There are plenty of policewomen for that.”

“None who are suitable. This job requires special skills, the kind you’ve proved you have in abundance. Do you know Lucky’s Place?”

“I’ve heard of it. It’s a nightclub. Very glitzy and expensive.”

“It’s also a gambling establishment where a great deal of money gets lost and won. The perfect laundering setup for drug money, and probably a drug distribution center.”

“Is that how it’s being used?”

“I’m sure of it. The key lies with the man who owns and runs it, Abel Driver, known to his friends and enemies as ‘Lucky.’ He’s a crook who uses the nightclub as a cover for crime, but proving it is another matter. I plan to get a job on the inside, but that’s not enough. Lucky has a weakness for women. You can get closer to him than I ever could. It’s no use hoping for anything from Liz. She’ll be on the run by now, if she’s got any sense.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I don’t think so. What?”

“My professional pride.”

“Your what?” he asked hilariously.

“My professional pride,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “I happen to be on a case at the moment. You may think it’s just a big joke—”

“If you conduct them all as you did today I think I’ll die laughing,” he retorted without any sign of amusement whatsoever.

She resisted the temptation to toss her drink over him. “I’m on a case,” she repeated. “I can’t undertake another job until Elroy Speke is stopped.”

“Are you out of your mind? You’ve blown your own case as thoroughly as you’ve blown mine.”

“Then you’ll have to help me with him, won’t you?”

“What? Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do than pick up the pieces after your mistakes?”

“Not at the moment you haven’t, because without my help you can’t pursue Lucky Driver.”

“And I’m going to have your help—if you know what’s good for you.”

Debbie gave him a sudden mischievous smile that brought a tremor of remembered enchantment to his loins and a scowl to his face. “Oh, I’ll help you, Detective Inspector,” she declared with a theatrical emphasis that warned him something was coming. “At least, I’ll do my very best. But I can’t promise how good my best will be when I’m so worried about Elroy Speke and my poor client...”

“Somebody should have strangled you at birth,” he growled.

“Will you help me neutralize Speke?”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll neutralize him myself, without any help from you. That way I can be sure there won’t be any foul-ups.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it!”

“I won’t.”

“Now all that remains is for you to tell me where I can get hold of your photographer.”

“What do you want him for?”

“Because I’m not going to stand for that kind of picture of me on the open market. I’m going to get his pictures and then I’m going to put the fear of God into him. Now, who is he and where do I find him?”

“I never betray a source.”

“You’ll betray this one.”

“Like hell I will.” Debbie set her chin, her eyes glinting with defiance.

After a moment Jake shrugged. He could recognize mulelike stubbornness when he saw it, and there was no point in fighting about this when his contacts would probably enable him to track the man down. He’d gotten a reasonable look at him. “Give me your address,” he said. “I’ll be in touch when I’m ready.” He took the paper she handed him and said, “Cancel anything else you have on hand and hold yourself in readiness.”

Debbie gritted her teeth. “I can see why you’re so popular.”

“I never wasted time on popularity, Miss Harker. It never put anyone behind bars. Now, let’s get out of here. I’m busy if you’re not.”

He walked out of the hotel bedroom, forcing her to follow. “You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?” she said scathingly.

For answer, he turned so that she was forced to back against the wall. “You’ve only just got a glimpse of how charming I can be. There’ll be others—”

“Hey...” she said suddenly, for she’d seen something over his shoulder.

“Just a moment, I haven’t finished.”

“But there’s—”

“Be quiet and listen. I don’t want to work with you because, frankly, your working methods aren’t impressive, but circumstances are going to force it on me. But let’s set the ground rules. I give the orders and you take them. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, mon capitane!” She saluted ironically.

“Are you trying to be funny?” he asked coldly.

“Would you know the difference?”

“Don’t push me, Miss Harker.”

“Then don’t lecture me about your brilliant methods. While your attention was occupied trying to scare me a man came up in the lift, took one look at us and went down again. I strongly suspect he was Elroy Speke.”

Jake swore and made a dash for the lift, but it wouldn’t respond to his furious pressure on the button. “He must have jammed it open downstairs,” Debbie observed. “It’s too late now. Which means we’ve both managed to lose him today, and I’d say that left us about even. Wouldn’t you, Inspector?”

* * *

The next day Debbie contacted Chief Superintendent Manners, her old mentor, and arranged to meet him for a drink after work. He choked with laughter at the story. “All right, it wasn’t that funny,” she said crossly, watching his massive shoulders shake.

“It’s hilarious,” he said, wiping his eyes. “You and Jake Garfield, crossing each other’s wires. I’ll bet he was fit to die.”

“Fit to kill, more like. Me.”

“If you mucked up one of his cases I’m not surprised.”

“He mucked up one of mine,” Debbie said, seething.

“I’ll bet that’s not how he saw it.”

“Oh, sure. He tried to make out it was all my fault. He’s the rudest man I ever met.”

“He doesn’t like losing out.”

“I asked you here because I wondered what you knew of him.”

“I’ve worked with him a few times. I can’t say I’ve taken to him. Few people do. He doesn’t put himself out to be amiable. He does things his way and you like it or lump it.”

“You used to bawl me out for doing much the same thing.”

“True. But he does undercover work so he can get away with it more easily.”

“Plus he’s a man so he can get away with it more easily.”

“Will you come off your soapbox?” Manners begged. “I’ve had a tough day.”

“But it’s true. You wouldn’t have put him behind a desk.”

“I wouldn’t dare try. He’s a very hard man. No vices, no weaknesses.”

“Phooey!”

“Well, it’s what they say. He became a bit of a legend. His nickname is Stoneface.”

“That I can believe.”

“Stone face, stone heart. That’s the word on him. It’s impossible to blackmail him, bribe him, flatter him or seduce him...” Manners looked at her curiously. “Unless you know differently?”

Debbie gave a reminiscent smile. “Well, I certainly ruffled his cool. Just how deep it went, I have yet to find out.”

“I hope you haven’t turned him into your enemy.”

Debbie gave a choke of laughter. “I’ve turned him into a reluctant colleague. He wants me to help him snare Lucky Driver.” She related the conversation and Manners whistled.

“I can see what he means, though,” he said thoughtfully. “You could get under Lucky’s skin if any woman could. Mind you, it’s putting your head into the lion’s den. It’s not very gallant of him to shove you in there. Still, Stoneface never did think of anything but the job in hand.”

“At least it shows he regards me as a serious colleague,” Debbie observed.

“Yes...” Manners said slowly.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Well, he doesn’t like working with women. He says they’re unreliable. I’ve heard him be downright insulting on the subject. You must have really impressed him.”

“Oh, I impressed him all right,” Debbie said. “As cannon fodder.” She spoke crossly, for Jake’s attitude was irritating. She was used to fending men off. What she wasn’t used to was men who looked her beauty up and down and assessed its suitability for a job. His attitude was doubly insulting after what had passed between them in the hotel room. After that, he simply had no right to turn a cool, appraising eye on her. Still, she reflected, she had rather invited that approach.

To her surprise, three days passed before she heard from Jake. During that time the only thing that enlivened her boredom was a small newspaper item reporting that “entrepreneur Elroy Speke” had suffered a burglary at his office. It appeared that Mr. Speke had declined to call the police since he blamed himself for lax security, preferred not to cause trouble, and various other reasons all equally unconvincing. Nonetheless, the story had somehow found its way into the press, together with the information that every single paper in his filing cabinets had been removed, leaving only an empty shell and a note saying that the contents would be destroyed unread.

Debbie read this through carefully, then whistled in unwilling tribute to Jake Garfield.

The following evening she went out with a team she often worked with, trawling the city streets for homeless youngsters who could be taken to a safe place. With her huge, shapeless sweater, her face bare of makeup and her glorious fair hair pulled tightly back, she looked very different than the seductive beauty who’d attacked Jake’s defenses so successfully a few days ago.

Coming home at two in the morning, she went into the darkened flat, and stopped, instantly alert. There was no sound or movement, but all her senses told her that she wasn’t alone. She tensed, ready for action, but then some instinct made her say into the darkness, “I suppose the man who could burgle Elroy Speke so thoroughly would have no trouble with my locks.”

“That’s very good,” said a cool voice.

She snapped on the light and saw Jake sprawled on her sofa. He had three days’ growth of beard and looked as if he hadn’t slept or eaten for at least that time. He rubbed his eyes as if it was an effort to keep them open. “I was expecting to hear from you before this,” she said.

“My time’s been rather taken up. A man I put away escaped from jail, hell-bent on killing me. He’s back behind bars now, but I had to give him all my attention—well, almost all. Here.” He handed her a large brown envelope.

Debbie pulled it open quickly. It contained the compromising pictures of Jane Quinlan, looking fifteen years younger than the woman Debbie knew. There was also a full set of negatives.

“I took everything he had and destroyed all the others,” Jake said with a yawn. “But I thought you’d like to give these back to your client.”

“She’ll be thrilled,” Debbie breathed. “Thank you.” She colored suddenly. “I couldn’t have done it so thoroughly.”

“You underrate yourself. Your, er, talents would have achieved a result in the end.”

“Yes, I could have gotten Jane’s pictures, but I couldn’t have saved all his other victims, the way you have,” Debbie said honestly.

“You’re a fair-minded woman,” Jake said, regarding her. He sighed and added reluctantly, “I guess I can work with you.”

“But you’d much rather not,” Debbie said, goaded by his tone.

“But I’d much rather not,” he agreed.

“You don’t like working with women at all, do you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he demanded sarcastically.

“Chief Manners. I asked him about you.”

“What a coincidence. I asked him about you.”

“According to him, you’re known as Stoneface.”

“He says you’re brave, resourceful and trustworthy—”

“But?” For Jake’s tone clearly contained a “but.”

“But too prone to get some bee in your bonnet and forget everything else. In other words, you’re unreliable, and to me that wipes out all the rest. And, yes, since you’re asking, I’d say the same about any female colleague. I’ve worked with women before and always ended up swearing never, never again. I acted on impulse the other day and I wish I hadn’t. Unfortunately it’s too late to cancel the plan. My superiors are delighted with it, so I’m stuck with it.”

“Stuck with me, you mean?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “I must have been out of my head. You, of all people, with your scatterbrained way of working...”

“You can’t forget one little mistake, can you?” she snapped.

“One little mistake was all right with me but it’ll be one too many with Lucky Driver. He’s a ruthless murderer. Do you know what happened to Liz James?”

“No.”

“Neither do I, and that worries the hell out of me. She’s vanished off the face of the earth. I hope that means she’s gone into hiding but it might mean something more sinister.”

“It makes it the right moment for me to appear in Lucky’s life,” Debbie said thoughtfully. “He’s not only lost his woman, he’s lost face. He needs a new woman on his arm, someone spectacular.”

The relish with which she said “spectacular” made Jake look at her sharply. For the first time he fully took in her shabby clothing and absence of makeup. It didn’t matter, he realized. Her glorious sexual aura was so vital a part of her that it shone through her prosaic garments. It was there in her glowing skin, in the instinctive elegance of her movements. It breathed through her every pore. This was a woman whose sexuality could give a man heaven or hell. The hell he already knew about. The heaven was a dream whose fulfillment had been cruelly snatched away from him.

As he stared, the formless clothes seemed to become transparent, enabling him to see the beautiful frame beneath, as he’d seen it before, once in reality and every moment since in his unwilling consciousness. The memory dominated what little sleep he’d had these last few days.

“And you think you’re spectacular enough for this assignment?” he asked ironically.

“Don’t you?” she asked simply.

He took a deep breath. “I guess you already know the answer to that.”

“I can be as spectacular as I have to be. Just leave the details to me.”

He seemed to speak with an effort. “Well, now that we’ve got that settled, I can give you your orders.”

Debbie stiffened at the word “orders.” “How about we tackle this as a team of equals?” she said, trying to sound pleasant.

“No. How about we do it the efficient way, with me leading and you following?” he said curtly. “This is a police matter and the police must direct it.”

It was a reasonable argument and if he’d spoken courteously Debbie would have accepted it, but his brusque tone set her back up. “So you’re going to tell me how to win Lucky Driver’s heart?” she challenged. “Perhaps you’d like to refer me to the appropriate chapter in the police manual.”

He regarded her cynically. “I didn’t think hearts were what you dealt in.”

“I deal in whatever the job requires,” she snapped.

“Yes, I remember. Now, can we talk practicalities? Driver is interviewing women for his floor show. You can meet him that way. The rest is up to you. But as soon as possible you get me a job close to him.”

“Consider it done. Now I need some tea.”

She went into the kitchen. When the tea was made she carried a cup out to him. But he made no response and she realized that he’d fallen asleep.

He lay with his head back against the cushions, his big body sprawled the length of the sofa. His clothes were shabby but they couldn’t hide the magnificent lines of his frame. A frisson of remembered pleasure went through Debbie as she thought of how well she already knew that body, how she’d pressed it, almost naked, against her own, excited by the awareness of his strength. Now his limbs lay where they’d fallen, as though a puppet master had dropped the strings, yet the feeling of latent power was still there. Fate had made them antagonists, but the excitement wouldn’t go away.

His hands lay still, as if they’d never been filled with tension, touching her urgently. They were shapely hands with long, blunt-ended fingers that spoke of skill and subtlety. She had to fight the temptation to touch them.

He looked exhausted. Beneath the dark stubble he was pale and drawn and there were shadows under his eyes. She considered his looks feature by feature. He was handsome but there was a lack of symmetry about his face that made it interesting. He had thick eyebrows that almost met over the top of his long nose. The angles of his jaw were sharply defined, and he had a stubborn chin.

She disliked him but she had to respect him. He’d dealt with Elroy Speke with a speed and thoroughness that was impressive. But it was his total absence of scruple that left her awed and secretly thrilled. She, too, had often ignored the book, but this man tore the book up and made a bonfire of the pieces, and there was a renegade streak in Debbie that responded to it with delight. In his uncompromising, quirky face, she saw the mark of the outsider that called to her. Crazy as it sounded, she and this man were fellow spirits.

He stirred, changing the angle of his head and giving her a better view. Sleep had smoothed away the harshness, which, she thought, improved him greatly. Now that his mouth was no longer issuing words of anger or sarcasm, she could see that the lower lip was curved and the shape of the whole had a surprising sensitivity. Somewhere inside that sensual body with its swiftly inflamed passions there was another man, with deep feelings. But he kept those feelings private, behind a door that was fiercely locked against the world. She leaned a little closer, enjoying her freedom to drink in everything about him.

And then he opened his eyes.

For a moment time stood still while they held each other’s gaze. He didn’t move, but lay there watching her with an intentness far back behind his eyes. His chest was rising and falling a little too fast for normal and Debbie could feel her own breath coming in quick gasps, matching him. She tried to move, but a hypnotic spell seemed to hold them both, while the moment stretched on and on. “Yes,” he said at last. “It’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?”

Conventional words of disclaimer rose to her lips, only to die unspoken. To deny what they both knew to be the truth would be cowardly, and she was never that. “Only if we allow it to be,” she said firmly.

“Allow?

“We’re both mature adults, in control of ourselves.”

“Are we?” His manner was grave but the wicked expression in his eyes was unsettling.

“Anybody can control themselves if they’re sufficiently determined,” she insisted.

Jake put a hand behind his head and surveyed her. “Is it going to be very hard to control yourself?” he asked with an air of innocence.

In the short pause that followed, Debbie contemplated murder. “No,” she said curtly at last. “Actually it’s going to be harder to force myself to work with you.”

“That’s how I feel, too,” he said solemnly.

She took a deep breath. “I’d like to see you out of here.”

His lips twitched. “I’d like to see you in bed.”

“I beg your pardon!”

He unfurled himself from the sofa in one lanky movement, and went to the door. “Go to bed,” he told her. “Get some sleep. You’ve an audition tomorrow, and you wouldn’t like to blow this whole job by not getting hired, would you?”

“Do I tell you how to do your job?” she snapped, goaded beyond endurance.

He grinned. “Go to bed,” he repeated, and vanished before she could react. His departure gave Debbie the chance to practice self-control. It took a lot of effort to suppress the desire to hurl a vase at the door, but she managed it.

Then she relaxed and an unwilling smile touched her mouth. There’d been something in his eyes that she hadn’t expected from Stoneface, a hint of devilish humor behind the gravity. It had danced like a flame, and ignited another flame within her, disturbingly similar to the flames of their first meeting. On that day he’d brought her to life by his touch. Tonight there’d been no physical contact but she’d felt her flesh glowing again through the power of something that had exploded into life between them. Just what that something might be, she had yet to explore. It was made up partly of hostility, but a hostility rooted in the very opposite. Unwilling desire, attraction, fellow feeling. Out of these things had grown suspicion and rivalry. They were two people caught in an erotic spell that infuriated them, but which they couldn’t deny.

“I think I’ll do as he said and go to bed,” she mused. “I’m going to need my sleep. Life has suddenly become very interesting.”

Three

From the outside, Lucky’s Place practically didn’t exist. There was a plain door in a wall in an elegantly luxurious part of London. Beside the door was a small brass plaque. That was all. The rich and famous, the notorious, the publicity seekers, the high-rolling gamblers, needed no more.

At night it was a place of discreetly dark corners interspersed with soft, colored lights. In the morning both the darkness and the soft lighting had gone, and the atmosphere was flat and chilly. Two men were sitting at a table near the stage, studying a line of young women who paraded slowly across. One of the men was squat and nondescript, and made busy notes the whole time. The other was in his mid-thirties and handsome in a fleshy way. He leaned back in his chair, right foot crossed over left knee, hands clasped behind his head, and regarded the procession with bored disdain. “Is this the best you can get, Des?” he demanded at last with a yawn.

Des, the squat one, who ran the nightclub on a day-to-day basis, grew aggrieved. “I think they’re a pretty good bunch, Lucky.”

“Pretty good? They look like showgirls.”

“Well, they are showgirls.”

“Then they’re not good enough for me. The hostesses in this club must look like ladies. I had a cabinet minister in here last night. That’s the kind of clientele I want, and you don’t get it without class. Get rid of this crowd.”

“You haven’t seen them all yet—”

“I said, get rid of them. All right, girls, that’s it.”

“Not yet, it isn’t.”

Both men turned at the sound of a husky voice that came from just behind them. A tall woman wearing a long silk jacket and silver high-heeled sandals sauntered past and placed herself in front of them. “You haven’t seen me yet, Mr. Driver,” she said firmly, but in an enticing voice.

“Get lost!” Des ordered. “Auditions are closed for the day.”

“Shut up, Des!” Lucky said, suddenly alert. His sharp eyes were fixed on the newcomer. “What’s your name?”

The woman gently touched the very fair hair that swirled like a halo around her head and down onto her shoulders. “They call me Silver,” she murmured. “And I’m a lady.”

“You sure are,” Lucky breathed. “And one hell of a woman. All right, let’s see what you can do.”

For answer Silver stepped onto the low cabaret stage and slipped off the jacket, revealing a perfect, long-limbed body attired in a minuscule white bikini. “I do this,” she said simply, and had the satisfaction of seeing Lucky gulp.

She began to sing. It was a simple song with a narrow range that she could just encompass, but Lucky wasn’t listening to the notes. He was hearing the promise in the throaty tone, and watching what she did with the silk jacket. In Debbie’s hands the garment seemed to become something else. She twisted and turned, slithering it over her body so that she revealed tantalizing glimpses of herself and hid them again immediately. As the song ended she slipped the jacket on and buttoned it up to the throat, standing there, hands outstretched toward Lucky.

He sat motionless, his attention riveted on her. Debbie was reminded of a steer she’d once seen in a slaughterhouse. The beast had been humanely stunned first, and for a second had stood staring, poleaxed, before passing out. Now she saw the same blank, stupid expression on the face of the man she’d heard of as one of the most dangerous in London.

At last he seemed to recover his wits, and with them, his power of movement. He strode to a door at the side of the stage and looked back at her, snapping his fingers and jerking his head. “You—my office.” When Debbie didn’t move, he said impatiently, “Don’t you hear me?”

“I hear you, Mr. Driver.”

“Then what’s keeping you?”

“I don’t respond to having fingers snapped at me.”

Lucky spoke with an edge on his voice. “Will you oblige me by coming to my office?”

“Certainly.” Debbie sailed past him through the door.

His office was dark and masculine with oak paneling and a thick, velvety carpet. Debbie sat down in the chair he indicated. Lucky touched a switch that made a panel swing open, revealing a drinks cabinet. He poured two glasses of champagne and handed her one.

Debbie shook her head. “You didn’t ask me what I wanted,” she reproved. “I’ll have mineral water, please.”

Lucky made a wry face and poured her some mineral water. “A lady who knows her own mind. All right, but mineral water is poor stuff to celebrate the start of our association.”

“I wonder if our association is going to be something I’ll want to celebrate,” Debbie said.

He perched on the edge of his desk and looked down at her. “It will be, Silver. You’ll find that I treat my girls well.”

“But I’m not a girl, Mr. Driver, and I don’t like being called one.”

A flash of temper hardened Lucky’s brown eyes to stones. “And I don’t like a woman who keeps putting me in my place. You’re just an employee, don’t forget that.”

“But I’m not your employee, Mr. Driver, and I’m never going to be. You don’t treat me with respect and I don’t like that. So why don’t we just stop wasting each other’s time?”

Debbie rose to go. Quick as a flash Lucky put himself between her and the door. “Hey, don’t be so touchy,” he rallied. “I forgot my manners. I apologize.”

She gave him the full blast of her most dazzling smile. “Your apology is accepted.” She reseated herself, but when he held out the glass of mineral water, she shook her head. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll have champagne after all.”

This time Lucky laughed. “You sure like to give a guy the runaround, don’t you?”

“Most of them don’t mind, actually.”

“I’ll bet they don’t.” He gave her champagne and she sipped it, looking at him over the rim, eyes twinkling.

She knew she presented a perfect picture, from her silvery fair hair to her long, silver-painted fingernails and silver toenails. Lucky seemed to think so, too, because he drew in a long, happy breath. “Tell me about yourself,” he invited. “Have you done much of this kind of work before?”

“I’ve been around nightclubs a lot,” Debbie said, going into a story she’d agreed on with Jake. “My husband owned one in Paris and I helped him run it.”

“Husband?” Lucky’s eyes dwelt on her bare left hand.

“My marriage is over,” Debbie assured him. “I don’t know where Jean-Pierre is now, except that he’s on the run from the law somewhere.” She allowed a brave, waiflike expression to flit across her face. “At one time I had a lot of money, but the crash left me without anything. Now I have to earn my living again.”

The tale had been neatly crafted to suggest that she was used to existing on the wrong side of the law and asking no questions. Lucky studied her speculatively for a moment before refilling her glass. “What exactly did you used to do in this nightclub?” he asked.

“A little singing, a little dancing, but mostly I kept the customers happy. They knew I was the proprietor’s wife and they appreciated that little extra attention.” She looked deeply into Lucky’s eyes. “I’m very good at the little extras, Mr. Driver.”

“My name’s Lucky,” he said in a thick voice that sounded as if he were having trouble with his collar.

“Lucky by name and Lucky by nature?” she teased.

“Well, today is sure my lucky day.”

Debbie looked at him enigmatically. “I hope you’ll always think so,” she murmured.

He grinned. “That’s up to you, sweetheart. You treat me right and I’ll treat you right. I’ve got big plans for you, Silver. You’re going to be a star. I’ll spend a fortune making you look good.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need your money to make me look good, Lucky,” she said.

“Of course you don’t. I just meant, nothing but the best for you. Here...” He opened a wall safe and took out a box, which he thrust into her hand. “Open it,” he said eagerly. Debbie did so and found a necklace of pearls. At a rough guess, she decided they would have paid her rent for a year.

She shrugged and handed them back to him.

“What’s the idea?” he demanded, outraged.

“Pearls don’t suit me. I’m more of a diamond sort of woman.”

“I’ll buy you diamonds. I’ll get you anything you want. But take these.”

“No, thank you. Put them away. You may need them for some other woman.”

“No other woman, sweetheart. From now on it’s just you and me.”

He was looking like a poleaxed steer again, she noticed with interest. She was beginning to wonder about herself. Evidently her own powers were greater than she’d dreamed. Anyway, she was having fun.

“I’ll have our lunch served here,” he said.

She laughed. “I don’t think so, Lucky. You’re not a safe man for me to be alone with. But I’ll allow you to take me to the Ritz.”

“The Ritz it is,” he gabbled.

At the Ritz she feasted off caviar and champagne, and afterward Lucky drove her home in his Rolls-Royce. She allowed him to see her to the door but no farther. Lucky studied her cramped little hallway with disfavor. “I’m going to get you out of here into a decent place,” he declared.

“Thank you, Lucky, darling,” she cooed, “but I’m quite happy here.”

“I don’t want to visit you in a place like this.”

“But you won’t be visiting me,” she assured him sweetly. “My home is my sanctuary, and I don’t allow men inside.”

Lucky scowled, but all he said was, “As long as you stick to that. No men in here. Ever.”

She gave him a peck. “Who else could I ever want but you? Run along now. I need my afternoon nap.”

He obeyed reluctantly. Debbie entered her flat and started the water in the shower. She’d just stepped out when there was a knock at her door. Wrapping the towel around her, she opened it cautiously and found a delivery boy with a package for her. Inside was a diamond bracelet that couldn’t have cost less than five thousand pounds.

* * *

For perhaps the hundredth time Jake consulted his watch. The hands showed 3:30 a.m. and he was very weary of waiting, especially as the cramped little landing outside Debbie’s flat offered nowhere to sit except the floor. It would have been easy to get inside as he’d done before, but it wouldn’t have been wise. If Lucky returned home with her, and she invited him in, Jake would be discovered.

At last there was a noise from the street outside. He crept to the window, moving the curtain a crack. A Rolls-Royce had glided to a halt by the entrance to the apartment block. A man got out and held open a rear door, offering his hand at the same time. The woman who emerged was clad in a tight, black satin dress that showed off her curvaceous charms. Diamonds flashed in her ears, her elegantly coiffed hair and on her wrists.

As they came through the front door Jake positioned himself on the stairs that led up to the next apartment, ready to vanish from sight. He heard the woman say, “No, Lucky...you promised.”

“C’mon, Silver, just for a few minutes.”

“Not even for a few minutes. I told you that I don’t allow men into my home.”

“But that was before we got to know each other so well...” The man was pleading.

“Lucky, we don’t know each other well. We don’t know each other at all.” Her voice had a throaty huskiness that made Jake’s forehead start to sweat. He knew that note in her voice. It meant that this man was her prey, and she was leading him on, teasing him, making use of him.... And then, one day, the act would be over, the cat would pounce, showing her claws, revealing that it had all been a cruel game. Jake almost felt sorry for Lucky Driver.

There was the sound of a slight scuffle from below. “Just one more kiss, sweetheart,” Lucky murmured.

“No. You don’t know when to stop.”

“After all the stuff I’ve given you why should I have to stop?” Lucky demanded. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Returning your diamonds,” the woman said in a suddenly firmer voice. “And you can have everything else you’ve given me.”

“Hey, now, c’mon...”

“I never asked you for expensive gifts, Lucky. And you can have every last one back if you think they buy you any rights over me.”

“Okay, okay, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I should have known better. Say you forgive me.”

“Only if you’re really sorry.”

“I swear I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again.”

“Now be a good boy and run along.”

After a moment there came the sound of the front door closing, then the rustle of satin as the woman walked up the stairs. She paused a moment, watching through the window as the Rolls glided away. Then she turned and gasped when she saw a man standing in the shadows just behind her. Instinctively she raised her hand to defend herself but he grabbed her wrist just in time. “It’s only me,” he said.

“So I see,” she said crossly. “Don’t take me by surprise like that. Another moment—”

“You’d have slugged me and and I’d have been lying unconscious at your feet,” Jake finished ironically. “No way. This is one man who’s never going to be at your feet.”

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