overwhelmed she lapsed into her mother tongue.
'Por Dios!' she shouted. 'Magnifico!'
A warm abrazo was my reward.
She insisted on wearing the bracelet immediately.
It needed adjustment, but she pushed it up almost to her elbow and vowed she would never remove it. Never, never, never!
Then we discussed plans. She would have to remain after the fireworks display, scheduled for midnight. In fact, her presence was required until most of the guests had departed and the debris cleaned up.
'I probably won't be able to get away until two in the morning,' she said. 'Can you wait for me, Archy?'
'I can,' I said. 'Gladly. But I fear I won't be able to resist those pitchers of Bellinis. By two a.m. I may be comatose.'
'We can't have that,' she said. 'Tonight I want you alert and loving and in full possession of your powers. Suppose.we do this: I'll give you my house keys, and you go to my place whenever you like and wait for me. You can even take a nap if you want to. I'll be along as soon as I can get away.'
So that's what we did. I left the party, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, even before the fireworks started. I drove to Connie's condo in a high-rise.facing Lake Worth. The balcony of her apartment, on the fourteenth floor, overlooked the lake and provided a fine view of the Flagler Memorial Bridge and all the yacht clubs and marinas on the far shore.
I made myself at home, for I had been there many times before and knew where she kept the Absolut-in the freezer. I went out onto the balcony with a small vodka and watched fireworks being lofted from West Palm Beach. I knew I had a few hours before Connie arrived, and I vowed to drink moderately and stay sober.
And this solitary wait gave me an opportunity to muse on everything that had happened during the past fortnight.
On that rainy Tuesday, after father and I had driven home from the Gillsworths' garage, we went into his study for a nightcap. We discussed the end of the investigations into the catnapping and the homicides, and we exchanged platitudes on the unpredictability of human behavior.
Then father looked at me with a quirky smile. 'Archy,' said he, 'I suppose you believe Lydia's ghost came back to haunt Roderick.'
'Yes, sir,' said I. 'Something like that.'
'Nonsense,' said he.
But now, sitting on the balcony, sipping vodka, and watching fireworks, I wondered if there really might be a supernatural world beyond reason and logic. Hertha had known the letter she received from Connie was a fake, and she had accurately visualized the room in which Peaches was being held prisoner. There might be reasonable explanations of both those insights. But there was certainly no logical way to account for Hertha's shriek of 'Caprice! Caprice!' in the voice of Lydia Gillsworth during the seance. And was that the reason I so promptly shouted 'Caprice!' when Rogoff had asked where the murderer's bloody clothes might be hidden?
I brooded about that a long time, thinking of Hertha's psychic gifts, the existence of ghosts, and all the other mind-numbing manifestations of the paranormal I had recently witnessed.
The display of fireworks ended at the same time I came to the conclusion that I shall never know the truth.
Nor shall you.
But then I realized the whole subject came perilously close to being serious, and I resolutely reminded myself that life is just a bowl of kiwis. And so when Connie finally arrived, glowing, I rushed to embrace her, eager for a larky interlude of laughter and delight.
SPECIAL PREVIEW!
THE POWERFUL DEBUT NOVEL FROM JOHN CLARKSON
AND JUSTICE FOR ONE
'Packs a savage punch.' — The New York Times
'Brutally real, fast as a heavyweight champion's left hook-with an unforgettable impact.'
— William J. Caunitz, bestselling author of One Police Plaza
DON'T MISS THE JOVE PAPERBACK COMING IN SEPTEMBER 1993
'Dark, sexy, tough and fast. . Reminiscent of early Lawrence Sanders.'
— The Kirkus Reviews
Former Secret Service agent Jack Devlin comes to New York for his father's funeral and gets separated from his brother during a whis-key-soaked evening on the town. When his brother is found beaten within an inch of his life, Devlin takes it personally. His investigation into the decadent afterhours scene of New York leads him to a sadistic owner of a string of illegal clubs. It's up to Devlin, driven by revenge, to pull the underworld king off his throne.
'Delivers what it promises. . Action fans will applaud Devlin's arrival on the suspense scene.'
— Publishers Weekly
Excerpted from AND JUSTICE FOR ONE by John Clarkson
The alarm clock shrieked a nasty little electronic beep. It finally annoyed Jack Devlin out of his hazy, hung- over sleep, but he kept his eyes shut hoping to suspend everything, hoping to keep away the awareness that it was someone else's alarm clock, that he was sick with a hangover and that he had buried his father yesterday.
But it all came pounding back-the funeral, the reception at his brother George's house, the drunken night out.
The woman next to him finally reached over and turned off the alarm, but Devlin didn't open his eyes. He remembered the frenzied drunken sex, the kind only two strangers can have, but he didn't want to open his eyes and see her. He just wanted to stumble out of there while she slept and leave it behind. The alarm killed that chance. She was awake now. She gently attached herself to him. A long naked leg nestled into his crotch. An arm wrapped around his chest. She gently massaged his shoulder.
He had to leave, but she wasn't letting go. He had to go back to the apartment where he was staying and find his brother George waiting for him there.
He kept his eyes shut, cleared his caked throat and asked, 'Did you tell me your name was Helen?' knowing full well it wasn't.
'What?' She stopped massaging his shoulder and arm. She lifted her head. 'What did you say?'
'Hold on a second. Where's your bathroom?'
'Down the hall.'
Devlin gently extricated himself, swept the sheet off, and swung his legs to the floor. The room was air- conditioned down to a chilling cold. He clenched his teeth, stood up and squinted at the piercing pain in his head. It had been a long time since he'd drunk so much. With one eye half-open he left the bedroom and walked into a short hallway that led to the bathroom. The hallway was hot and stuffy after the air-conditioned bedroom. He ducked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
The shower water was steaming. He adjusted it with cold water and stepped in. The soothing water washed over his head and face and ran down his muscled belly. He filled his mouth with water, swirled it around and spit it out.
He lathered all over twice, shampooed his hair and shaved with a Lady Bic razor he found in the shower. He dried himself off with a clean blue towel and walked back to the bedroom feeling for dirt with his bare feet.
Daryl was sitting up in bed with her arms crossed under her breasts. In the dim light that leaked around the window shades she looked a lot better
than Devlin expected. A hell of a lot better. He sat in a chair next to the bed and looked right straight at her. Her breasts were nearly perfect. There wasn't an ounce of fat on a stomach that was just on the verge of showing some muscle. One long leg, uncovered by the sheet, was casually crossed over the other. The white sheet just about bisected her at the crotch, barely covering her sex.
She had a friendly, quizzical look on her face. A long, slim nose, full lips, and streaked blond hair that was permed into the crinkly style that made some women look sexy and others look just messy. On Daryl it
