Courtney ignored that. "So how long are you going to be gone this time?"

"Six weeks."

"Business or pleasure?"

"A little of both."

"That's the way you described that trip to Paraguay when you took me with you," she said with an eloquent shudder. "It rained all the time, and your 'business' friends carried machine guns."

"No they didn't. Their bodyguards had machine guns."

"Your business friends had guns, too. Handguns. I saw them."

"You were hallucinating."

"Okay, you're right, and I'm wrong. It was Peru where your 'business' associates had handguns poking out of their jackets, not Paraguay."

"Now I remember why I stopped taking you on business trips with me. You're a pain in the ass."

"I'm observant." A paper slid off his desk, onto the floor, and Courtney swept it up and handed it to him.

"The result's the same either way," he said as he took the paper, glanced at it, and added it to the items in his briefcase. "However, as it happens, I'm going to Palm Beach this trip, not Paraguay or Peru. Palm Beach—you remember—we have a house there? We go there every year when you're on winter break. Your father is there now. And you and I will be there tomorrow."

"I'm not going this year. Dad will spend all his time on the golf course. You'll spend all your time behind closed doors either in a bunch of meetings or telephone conferences, and when you aren't doing that, you'll be aboard the Apparition—having meetings and phone conferences."

"You make me sound duller than dirt."

"You are dull—" He glanced up at her, and the almost imperceptible change in his expression made Courtney hastily correct herself. "I mean you lead a dull life. All work, no play."

"A vivid contrast to your own life. No wonder you can't see the merit in mine."

"What lucky lady is going to be the fleeting object of your sexual attention while you're in Palm Beach?"

"You are begging for a spanking."

"I'm too old to spank. Besides, you aren't my father or my mother."

"That reaffirms my faith in God."

She decided to change the subject. "I saw Paris at Saks Fifth Avenue yesterday. They're leaving for Palm Beach, too. You know, Noah, if you aren't careful, you're going to wake up one morning married to Paris."

He tossed a gold fountain pen and pencil into one of the briefcases and snapped it shut; then he spun the combination lock. "That would be the shortest marriage on record."

"Don't you like Paris?"

"Yes." .

"Then why not marry her?"

"For starters, she's way too young for me."

"You're right. You're forty and that's over the hill."

"Are you trying to be obnoxious?"

"I don't have to try; it comes naturally. If Paris were over the hill, like you, would you marry her then?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Mind your own damned business."

"You are my business," she said sweetly. "You're the closest thing to a sibling I have."

It was a deliberate effort to soften and manipulate him, and Noah knew it. It was also somewhat effective, so he said nothing and decided to save his breath for the battle he was bound to have with her over going to Palm Beach. Her father was thinking of staying down there permanently and enrolling Courtney in school there, but Noah had no intention of getting involved in that war.

"Don't you want to get married to anyone?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I've been there, done that, and didn't like it."

"Jordanna turned you against marriage completely, didn't she? Paris thinks Jordanna turned you off on all women."

He glanced up from the files he was sorting through, a frown of impatience gathering on his forehead. "She thinks what?"

"Paris doesn't know about the women you take with you on the yacht, or the ones who sneak out of your hotel rooms that I see on those rare occasions when you take me somewhere with you. She thinks you're wounded and noble and celibate."

"Fine. Let her go on thinking that."

"Too late. Sorry. I told her all about them. The whole terrible, lurid truth."

Noah had been scribbling a note for his assistant, and he didn't stop writing or lose his concentration. "I'm taking you with me to Palm Beach."

"No way! You can't."

He stopped writing and focused the blast of a gaze on her that made his contemporaries shrivel. "Watch me," he said softly. "Now, start packing." I won't.

"Fine. I'll take you just the way you are, and you can live in that disgusting outfit you're wearing. You decide."

"You're bluffing."

"I don't bluff. You should know that better than most people, after all these years of confrontations."

"I hate you, Noah."

"I don't give a damn. Now, get packed and meet me downstairs in the morning."

She slid off the arm of the chair, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The tears were futile. He was impervious.

12

Preoccupied with her impending departure for Palm Beach, Sloan didn't notice Jess's patrol car behind her until she was a mile from home and he flipped on his light bar. Startled by the flashing lights behind her, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw him give her a thumbs-up. "Have a good vacation—" he called over his loudspeaker.

Sara's car was parked behind Kimberly's when Sloan pulled into her driveway, and Paul Richardson was there, too, rearranging luggage in the trunk of a bright blue coupe he'd probably rented for their trip. Sloan hadn't seen him in the two weeks since she'd agreed to go to Palm Beach, but he'd spent an extra few hours with her on Presidents' Day so he could have lunch with Sloan and her mother. He'd had a much easier time convincing Kimberly at lunch that he was romantically interested in Sloan than he was having now, trying to get the luggage into the car, Sloan noted. He finally gave up, pulled one of his suitcases out of the trunk, and opened the car door instead. "Do you need help?" she offered as he tried to shove his bulky suitcase behind the driver's seat and onto the car's backseat.

"No, I need a U-Haul," he said with a wry smile.

"I'll be ready to go in five minutes," Sloan promised. Since she'd packed only two medium-size suitcases that she'd borrowed from Sara, she assumed that either the car's trunk was very small or Agent Richardson's luggage was very large, but in any case, she didn't want to discuss suitcases or their contents. As soon as her mother and Sara had realized Sloan was going to Palm Beach, they'd started talking about clothing, and they'd kept right at it until Sloan couldn't bear another word on the subject.