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  “I didn’t talk to her,” Dennie said. “I haven’t said a word.”

  “No, but you stared at her all the way through some speech this morning,” Taylor said. “I told you—”

  “You told me after that speech,” Dennie said. “You’re about a beat behind here. I sat in the back and I didn’t say a word to anybody. I’m innocent.”

  “Stay away from her,” Taylor said. “Because I do not enjoy getting these damn phone calls. One more, and you’re fired, Banks, I mean it. I don’t give a damn how good you are at weddings.”

  “Thank you, Taylor,” Dennie said, and hung up.

  If she went near Victoria tomorrow and Janice saw her, she was dead. She should call and cancel now. After all, she had the Bondman story.

  Dennie looked at the phone as if it were a snake. If she called, she’d never get to hear Janice talk about risking and marriage and what it all meant. She’d never get to ask her the questions she’d found in Janice’s writings. She’d never get to write the interview.

  The smart thing to do would be to call Victoria and cancel.

  The risky thing to do would be to have breakfast.

  The clock clicked over a number, and Dennie saw she had only fifteen minutes to set up Bondman.

  The hell with smart. She shoved the phone away and went to find her second story.

  Bond sat in the bar and thought about the brunette and the dweeb professor he was about to meet. Why the hell a babe like that would prefer some teacher to him was a mystery, since she was obviously no dummy. She’d almost blown it for him, right there. Thank God the dweeb was clumsy.

  He felt somebody slide into the seat beside him, somebody brunette, his peripheral vision told him before he turned, hoping for a split second that it was Dennie before he saw who it really was.

  “Sherée?” He practically goggled at her, and she smiled, obviously pleased to have the upper hand.

  “Thought you’d lost me forever, huh?” she said, and snuggled a little closer.

  Oh, great. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her around so much as he didn’t want her around now. “Sherée, you’ve got to get out of here,” he said, moving away a little. “I’m meeting a mark, and I don’t want to have to explain you. He’s ready to buy. Get lost, and I’ll see you later.”

  “He,” Sherée repeated with suspicion. “You’re not after some other girl, are you?”

  Bond closed his eyes. It had been a good ten years since anyone could have referred to Sherée as a girl, but she hadn’t caught on yet. “It’s a guy. Now get out of here. He’s coming in anytime.”

  “What’s your room number?” Sherée asked. “Give me the key. I’ll wait up there.”

  Bond thought about saying no, but knowing where Sherée was had its advantages, not the least of which was that he wouldn’t have to sleep alone that night. “814,” he said, handing the card over. “I’ll be there by one. Now get lost.”

  Sherée kissed his cheek and slid off the stool, and he watched in the mirror as she headed for the door. She stepped back to let another woman come through, and Bond clutched his drink tighter as he saw it was Dennie Banks.

  Sherée kept going, and he relaxed again until Dennie came and sat beside him. “Mr. Bondman?” she said, and he turned, intending to be cool and remote. That plan died a sudden death when he saw how close she was and how lovely she was.

  “Miss Banks,” he said, and she smiled regretfully and shook her head.

  “Dennie, please,” she said. “Alec has just been reading me the riot act about how I behaved at dinner so I wanted to slip down and apologize before you met him. He explained the Washington fix to me, and I see now how wrong I was.”

  Bond didn’t want to believe her, but she looked so imploring, and she was so charming.…

  “Sometimes I get a little protective of Alec and his aunt because they have so much money,” Dennie went on. “And I am very attracted to Alec, although he’s not really, well, smart.” Her smile deepened. “I like clever men, but Alec has a lot going for him too.”

  Yeah, like a lot of money, Bond thought, and cheered up. If Dennie Banks was a gold digger, she’d be a lot easier to handle. “Alec could make a lot of money on this deal,” he told her. “Double his investment easily.”

  Dennie leaned a little closer and licked her lips. Greedy, he thought. Greedy with a great mouth. Things are going nicely.

  “Could I talk with you tomorrow afternoon?” she asked. “Maybe here in the bar? I’d really like to know all about this investment and the money.”

  “Certainly,” he found himself saying.

  “And, if it’s all right with you, we just won’t tell Alec about this,” Dennie went on. “He’s just a little jealous, you know?”

  “Right.” Bond glanced uneasily over his shoulder. If Prentice was jealous, he didn’t want to get caught moving on something the dweeb was interested in. “Tomorrow.”

  Dennie smiled at him and slid off the stool. “Tomorrow,” she said, and moved out of the bar, her sway hypnotic even beneath the severe black dress she was wearing.

  Prentice showed up only minutes later, looking a little grim, and Bond had a moment of panic that he’d been seen with Dennie and the deal was off. Then Prentice smiled his usual dweeb smile, and Bond relaxed.

  “Hey, thanks for meeting me,” Prentice said, offering Bond a limp handshake. What a wuss. Bond faked a hearty greeting.

  “My pleasure, Alec. Sure hated to see you leave like that at dinner.”

  “Well, covered with wine, you know.” Prentice fumbled with a coaster and knocked an ashtray off the bar. “Sorry.”

  Bond put the ashtray back. “No problem.”

  “Sorry about Dennie too,” Prentice said. “Speaks before she thinks sometimes, but a good heart.”

  “Fine woman that Dennie,” Bond said. “Glad you could tear yourself away to meet me.”

  “She sent you her best,” Prentice said. “Said she jumps to conclusions sometimes. Sorry about all that.” Bond nodded, and the bartender appeared. “Rum and Coke,” Prentice said. “Oh, and make that a diet Coke, please.”

  “Make that two,” Bond said, beaming. And then he thought, Getting this guy’s money and his woman will be a piece of cake.

  Upstairs in his room, Harry fumed over his third bourbon from the minibar. If anybody was going to put Vic in a condo, it was going to be him, not Donald—

  No, he wasn’t. He must be losing his mind. He was not going to put Vic in a condo. He wasn’t going to put Vic anywhere.

  Unbidden, images of where he could put Vic rose before him.

  Oh, hell, he thought, I should have stayed in Chicago.

  Alec called Harry at midnight, as soon as he was finished with Bond.

  “It’s sewed up,” he said. “We’re having dinner with Bond tomorrow night to celebrate the deal and that’s when I’ll sign the papers. We’ve got him.”

  “Wait till the checks come in tomorrow,” Harry said. “We don’t have him until we have him.”

  “You’re right,” Alec said. “You’re always right. You were right about the Banks woman too. She was talking to him at the bar right before I got there. I had to duck out of the way or she’d have seen me. And they were pretty cozy considering she’d just been spitting at him at dinner.”

  “I’m sorry,” Harry said, and the regret in his voice knocked Alec off stride.

  “Thanks,” he said, after a moment. “No offense, but that’s not like you, Harry. Why aren’t you gloating that you were right?”

  “Sometimes being right is lousy,” Harry said. “You okay?”

  “Hey, she meant nothing to me,” Alec said. “Get some sleep.”

  “Right,” Harry said, as if that were the last thing in the world he’d be doing, and hung up.

  “Harry?” Alec said, and then hung up, too, and stretched out on his bed. It was a lonely bed, and he remembered the one he’d been in a couple hours earlier with more regret than he’d thought possible.