heels and the heels contained clusters of rhinestones that twinkled brilliantly as she walked. She came directly to him and sat on the arm of his chair. Her face was calm and there was no coquettishness about her.
Johnny fingered a fold of the negligee. “No lace?” he asked her.
“No lace,” she agreed. “I'm practical, if you're not. Most women have lingerie they've never worn. Not little Jessie.”
“If what you are is practical I just hope it never goes out of style, baby.” They could both hear the deepened timbre in his voice.
She reached up over his head and turned off the floor lamp that was the room's only light except for the fire's dancing shadows on the white hearth. She bent down over him and unbuttoned the collar of his sport shirt and then the rest of the shirt down to his belt. She tried to span his neck with her two warm hands. “Heavens!” she said softly. “What size is your shirt?”
“Tent size,” he said, and with an encircling arm swept her from the chair arm down into his lap. She snuggled down against him and he could feel the moist pressure of her lips against his throat.
He could hear her lengthy sigh as she stretched generously. “You know I was told not to see you again,” she murmured in his ear.
“Yeah? Lucky for me you don't take orders. What was the reason supposed to be?”
“The questions you'd ask me.”
He increased the pressure of the arm around her until he heard the sibilant intake of her breath. “The answers to the questions I'm about to ask, little girl, you couldn't print in a family newspaper.” He dropped his free hand firmly on a round thigh.
She stirred on his knees as her breathing quickened. “I'd entertain a motion to declare a moratorium on questions and answers,” she said huskily.
“You've got one,” he said promptly. He shifted the position of his hands and stood up with her in his arms.
“Wait!” she commanded. “Put me down.” He complied, knowing it was no last-minute retreat. “Sit down again,” she told him. She knelt and removed his shoes, straightened up and took his hand and tugged him to his feet again. She removed his shirt completely. Her hands went to his belt and he lifted his own to assist her. “Let me!” she said urgently. He dropped his hands.
She stripped him, moving like an ivory wraith in the light of the fire. He couldn't see her face dearly, but he could hear her breathing. Her hands lingered on his arms, then on his shoulders and back. When her hands quieted his own moved rapidly. He picked her up again and felt her arms twine tightly about his neck.
In the bedroom he lowered her gently to the floor.
Through the open door only the faintest trace of the light from the fireplace's leaping flames pursued them. Her hands went to the neckline of her negligee. He captured the hands.
“My turn,” he said. He dealt with the negligee, unhurriedly. He disposed of the gossamer nightgown that couldn't have weighed more than an ounce and a half. He sat her down on the bed and removed the mules whose rhinestoned heels glittered even in the near-darkness.
Her hands came down upon his shoulders as he bent over her. She pulled mightily, and, overbalanced, he plunged forward upon her, his weight forcing her backward. Her smothered laughter was electric in its sexual excitement. Her resilient, perfumed flesh filled his nostrils.
The fire in his brain enfeebled the firelight on the walls.
Afterward, they lounged in the same chair before the dying fire renewed brandy glasses in hand. For a long time there was a minimum of conversation, but finally Jessamyn spoke after a preliminary clearing of her throat. “Goodness, I don't know what's happened to my voice, do you?”
“Yes. When you get-”
“Never mind,” she said hastily. “The time for conversation is before, not afterward.” She dropped her head on his shoulder. “Jim called me before you came over about what happened at his office. He was furious. You make it awfully hard for me to defend you.”
“Thanks for tryin' but it shouldn't be necessary,” Johnny said lazily. The air around him was pleasantly heady with the scent of woman and brandy. “Daddario can get rid of me in fifteen minutes. Less, if he makes up his mind.”
Her head came up from his shoulder. “He can? How?”
“By lettin' me talk to Micheline Thompson.”
“Are you in love with her?” she pouted.
“I've seen her twice in better'n fifteen years,” he said truthfully.
“Well? What's so important, then?”
“The first time was kind of special,” he explained. “I got wound up in this thing before I knew it, an' I do mean wound up. I got a thousand dollar axe of my own to grind but if the kid's in trouble I'd kind of like to straighten things out for her before I cut out of the deal.”
“You're a great deal more likely to be pushed out. Why should you feel an urge to straighten things out, as you say?”
“I can tell you but I don't know if you'll understand. A few thousand nights ago the kid an' I were caught in a real downdraft. By some very unpleasant people, who had their hands on her first. She was only fourteen but she knew what to expect, still she did her best to warn me so I could get out. I don't forget that kind of thing. If she needs a hand, I'm it.”
“Very noble, I'm sure.” He could feel her eyes upon him. “But are you sure it's worth it? Woman is an adaptable animal. She-Micheline, I mean-might have made adjustments of which you have no idea.”
“So let her tell me. Herself.”
She tried a new tack. “What makes you think it's Jim who is keeping her from talking to you?”
“Because he never let us out from under his eye in New York. An' because of what I can see goin' on in this town.”
“Such as?”
“I figure Jim Daddario an' Dick Lowell are milkin' this place dry. I figure you know it, too. Know it an' participate in it. When you cut Daddario loose emotionally you still retained a financial rootin' interest, didn't you?”
“You're very-blunt,” she said slowly. “Yet oddly delicate, too. We both know that it was Jim who cut me loose. He expects to go on to bigger things politically. He decided that I didn't have the qualifications to 'grow' with him.” Johnny could hear the bitterness in her voice.
“But he shut you up about what you knew by cuttin' you in on the take. You couldn't live like this on what you take home from the library.” He waited for her to speak.
“I'm not underpaid there. And I have no extraordinary expenses.” Her voice was low. “Of course you realize you're only repeating what the townspeople have been saying right along. It used to hurt, but I've developed an immunity.”
“Look, Jessie, if that's your story, good luck to you. I think there's somethin' you've forgotten, though. Jim Daddario hasn't forgotten it. He was in New York when Carl Thompson was killed. When the dirt starts comin' out from under the rug he could wind up charged with murder.”
“Jim would never do a thing like that.” Jessamyn said it confidently.
“Can you say the same for the people around him?” He waited but she was silent. “If he gets charged as an accessory, even, don't you end up as a tail on the kite?”
“You're just trying to talk me into something.” She sat up straight on his knees, trying to see his face. “Aren't you? What is it you expect me to say? Or do?”
“Tell me where I can find Micheline Thompson.”
“But I don't know!” She said it just a shade too quickly, Johnny thought. “Even if all you say should be true, which it isn't by any means, what makes you think Jim would confide in me?”
“Maybe because-”
“And don't say it's because he feels he can trust me.” Her words were staccato. “He jilted me, remember?” He could hear a distinct swallowing sound as her throat worked. “Jim Daddario trusts no one.”
“An' he has a real blast furnace of a temper,” Johnny suggested.
“Yes, he does,” she said before she thought. Her voice tightened as if she resented the inference. “But he's
