up straighter.
“You don't appear to drink, judging from the state of the bar,” he observed, delicately rattling the ice in his glass.
“Very little,” she said stiffly.
“Or eat, either, if your refrigerator is any indication ,” he said in a gentle, chiding voice. “You must keep up your strength, Raine. You have no need to diet. On the contrary.”
“You looked in my refrigerator?” She was startled at her own loud, incredulous tone.
He looked slightly injured. “I needed ice for my drink” he explained, draining his glass. He set it down on the telephone table. “Please, take a moment to collect yourself, Raine.” He made a courtly gesture towards the bedroom, and smiled. “I can wait.”
For what? she wondered frantically. She caught a glance at herself in the mirror behind him, and stifled a gasp. Her hair was a wild, tangled halo, her lips red and puffy Her blouse was crumpled, several buttons missing, cuffs hanging sloppily open, one side tucked in, one side out. Her eyes blazed out of dark, smudged sockets.
She let her breath out slowly. So what if she looked like a madwoman. She'd been to hell and back today. This was her home, and she would not be dismissed in it like a servant. She fished in the pocket of her jacket for the hair sticks and wound her hair into a knot, stabbing the sticks through it. She took her glasses out of her purse and deliberately put them on. “What do you want, Mr. Lazar?”
If he was angered by her small act of defiance, he did not show it His mouth twitched. “Did you enjoy your afternoon with Mr. Mackey?”
Heat rushed into her face. “I don't want to discuss—”
“I should have suggested Sans Souci for dinner, but it slipped my mind,” he said silkily. “Did you go to the art museum? Or the market?”
“No “ she forced out.
“So you took him directly to bed.”
Raine backed towards the door. “Mr. Lazar—”
“To be truthful, I didn't mean for you to take my suggestion to entertain Mr. Mackey quite so personally.”
Raine's jaw dropped. “Are you implying that I—”
“Don't be tedious,” he snapped. “We're both adults. And I'm certain Mackey enjoyed your interpretation of my instructions far more than a tour of the Space Needle, or a ride on the Monorail.”
Raine stared at his smug face. “You set me up,” she whispered.
He frowned. “Oh, please. Whatever happened between you and Mackey is your business, Raine. And entirely your responsibility.”
She flinched at the truth in his words. No one had ordered her to throw herself at Seth Mackey today, and with such enthusiasm that he had mistaken her for a professional sex worker.
The thought was so ludicrous that she started to giggle. She swallowed back the convulsions in her throat with a strangled cough.
“Are you all right, my dear? Shall I get you a glass of cognac?”
“No, thank you, I'm fine.” Oh, there it was again. The pirate queen would not say “I'm fine” while being forced to walk the plank.
Victor crossed his leg over his knee and swung his foot in front of him. “Forgive me if I startled you. I came here for a reason.” She stiffened. “And that would be?”
“I am interested in your opinion of Seth Mackey. He is a relative unknown, and personally, I find him rather opaque. I am entrusting him with an extremely sensitive project, you see. I thought perhaps that your, ah, unique point of view might yield some other insights.”
Raine tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry “No,” she croaked. “No insights. Not a one.”
He tapped a long, slim cigarette out of a silver case. “None?”
She shook her head so emphatically that the makeshift knot of hair bobbed and slid down to the nape of her neck. She pulled out the sticks. The bun unraveled down her back. “None,” she repeated.
Victor's eyes flicked down, observing her white-knuckled hand He lit his cigarette. “You should be more observant, my dear.”
“Should I?” Her fingers tightened around the stick until the faceted crystal beads dug painfully into her palm.
He blew out a long, thin, stream of smoke, his eyes pale, glittering slits. “The poet William Meredith once said... 'the worst that could be said of any man was that he did not pay attention.'“
An image of her dreamy, inattentive father superimposed itself upon Victor's face. A buried ember of old anger began to glow inside her. “I can think of worse things that could be said,” she said flatly.
Victor's eyes flashed. He tapped his cigarette into the heavy crystal ashtray on the telephone table. “Can you?”
Raine struggled to keep her face composed.
He stared straight into her eyes for what seemed like forever. “I expect you to exert yourself a bit more on the next occasion.”
His offhand tone fanned the ember inside her into a white-hot glow. “Are you ordering me to have sex with Seth Mackey, spy on him, and report back to you?” she demanded.
Distaste flitted across Victor's face. “I detest crass overstatement.”
“I have not even begun the crass overstatements,” she hissed. “You listen carefully, Mr. Lazar. One, there will be no other occasion, because I do not want to see Seth Mackey ever again. And two, I would never spy on a person I was intimate with. Never.”
Victor took a final draw on his cigarette and crushed it out briskly. “I love the conviction with which young people use the word 'never.'“
Her fists clenched at his patronizing tone. “It's very late. I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave. Right now.”
Her voice broke, spoiling the effect. She held her breath, half hoping he would fire her. She would be off the hook—at least until the tombstone dream started burning holes in her sanity again.
But this time, when it did, she would be out of ideas.
Victor stood up and pulled his overcoat out of the closet.
It had worked. He was leaving. Giddy triumph emboldened her. She decided to push her luck. “And Mr. Lazar?”
“Yes?” He paused, eyebrows raised.
“I would appreciate it if you would not make yourself at home in my private space. I want to be the only person in possession of a house key.” She held out her hand.
His eyes glittered with fierce amusement “Let me give you some advice, Raine. Don't waste your time and energy clinging to an illusion of control. You'll only exhaust yourself.”
She kept her hand out. “It's my illusion, and I'm clinging to it.”
Victor chuckled. He pulled a key out of the pocket of his overcoat and held it out on the palm of his hand.
She plucked it off his palm with the tips of her fingers, and yelped as his fingers snapped around her hand, like a sprung trap.
Dream memories of Victor's heavy arm squeezing the air out of her lungs thundered through her mind. She pulled on her throbbing hand, trying not to panic. Out of nowhere, Seth's voice echoed in her mind.
She looked into his eyes without blinking. “Good night, Victor.”
To her surprise, he let her go, and nodded at her with what looked almost like approval. “Excellent,” he said softly. “Good night, Raine.”
The door thudded shut behind him, and she lunged for the door, slamming in the deadbolt. She slid down
