Never Trust A Lady

threatening the tenuous truce between them, “you’ll be heading off to Georgetown, I suppose?”

There was no answer from Jane. Straightening, he saw that she was standing just where he’d left her, gnawing thoughtfully at her lip. He smiled to himself. Was she having second thoughts about turning him down, or thinking over the promise he’d just made to her? Both, probably. And if he were to ask again right now to accompany‘her to Georgetown, he wondered which of her fears would win.

He didn’t ask, having already decided that the trek to Georgetown on foot would give Campbell-not to mention any other players he might have missed-too many opportunities to play his hand. Hawk wanted Campbell completely out of the picture, if at all possible; dealing with this Carlysle woman was becoming complicated enough one on one. He didn’t even want to think about how complicated. So he said instead, with just a hint of exasperation, “Will you at least let me put you in a cab?”

He watched her eyes flare bright with relief. “Oh, yes, I’d appreciate that very much. Thank you.”

“There used to be a cab stand on Constitution, not far from here. Come on, I’ll walk you over.” He touched her elbow briefly and they set out together across the grass, taking a shortcut through the trees.

As they walked, briskly and in silence, not touching…with the part of his mind that wasn’t busy scanning and monitoring everything around him, Hawk found himself wondering, for the first time in many years, what the woman beside him was thinking.

Chapter 7

The door of the taxicab slammed with a harsh and final thunk.

I’m not going to look, I won’t look, Jane told herself as she leaned forward to speak to the driver.

Finally, as the cab groaned into gear and lurched away from the curb, she did look back, just once. But Tom Hawkins had already turned to light a cigarette, his shoulders hunched in the brown bomber jacket, hands cupped beneath the brim of the baseball cap, the incongruous black briefcase wedged between his feet. He didn’t look up, or wave.

Odd, she thought, settling once more into her seat, and into a boggy little slough of depression for which she could find no reasonable cause.

He says he’s going to kiss me, and with such convietion I almost believed him, but as far as I can see, this is goodbye. And he doesn’t ask for my phone number, or give me any way of reaching him. Why? I wonder…

Well, okay, she could think of two logical answers to that question. One, he was just a very good actor and hadn’t meant it, after all, about kissing her. Or two, he had no intention of saying goodbye, and simply had his own way of finding her.

Both scenarios seemed equally possible to her. And oddly enough, neither one made her feel happy.

Tom had told her the truth about one thing, at least; it wasn’t far to Georgetown. It seemed only minutes, in fact, before the taxicab was pulling up to a curb on a bustling street filled with shops and restaurants offering every kind of cuisine imaginable, many of them housed in converted residences dating back she could only guess how many hundred years. Ordinarily, she’d have been delighted at the prospect of an afternoon of window-shopping and exploring, including the quaint and narrow side streets she could only catch glimpses of. Now, though, all she wanted was to find Connie’s friend’s gallery as quickly as possible and lay to rest all these wild imaginings about valuable art “finds” and mysterious strangers with sinister agendas.

She paid the driver and extricated herself from the back seat of the cab, a little awkwardly because of the bulky tote bag. She slammed the door and stood for a moment watching the cab pull away from the curb, absently smoothing the front of her slacks and tugging her jacket into proper order. Somewhere nearby, a car door opened and quickly closed again.

She glanced once more at the piece of paper in her hand and then at the number etched in the semicircle of glass over the door of the nearest shop. Ah-hah, she thought. Left.

But she’d taken only one step in that direction when something-someone-a man-suddenly brushed against her, filling up all the space on her right.

Aaron Campbell! Even with one panic-stricken glance out of the corner of her eye, she’d recognized that angry black glower and hawk-faced profile. But before she had time to react, even to draw breath for a scream, a hand closed around her elbow and a voice just loud enough to override her soft gasp of surprise, said, “Mrs. Carlysle, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, please.”

How polite he seemed. But she saw him reach inside his jacket with the hand not holding her elbow, the right hand. And it was reaching into the left side of his jacket, the side next to her, where she was absolutely certain she could feel something hard, like a… Oh, God-the man was wearing a shoulder holster with a gun in it, and he was reaching for it now. What should she do? What should she do?“

Take control! Take action! Shing Lee’s commands shrieked inside her head like an alarm klaxon.

With adrenaline already tingling her nerves to readiness and her heart racing in high gear, she searched for, and found, the quiet place in her mind, the place where all things moved in slow motion, the place in which she had absolute control. From that place of peace and tranquillity, she willed her breaths to come slow and even, gathering her strength as she wrapped her left hand over her right fist.

A split second before the strike, she uttered a loud, “Eeeyuh!” which had the effect of startling Aaron Campbell so that he eased his hold on her elbow just long enough for her to drive it, with all the combined force in her upper body, into the softness of his belly, just below the apex of his ribs.

Jane found the sounds he made as he dropped to his knees on the sidewalk somewhat disturbing; Shing’s demonstrations had somehow neglected to include that ugly little detail.

Fortunately, she was pumped up enough by her success to carry her through the next step, which was to drop the tote bag to the sidewalk and bring her clasped fists down as hard as she could, with all her weight behind them, onto the back of her opponent’s neck.

She was considering whether to follow that up with a good solid knee to the underside of the chin, or perhaps a swift kick to the, uh, groin, when something struck her arm-not hard-and a voice hissed urgently, “Cartyste-quick! This way-come on!”

She whirled, still riled and combative, arms raised in the defensive position. Tom Hawkins, poised like a relay runner about to accept the baton, relaxed momentarily and looked pained. “For God’s sake, put that away. I’m on your side, dammit! Come on, give me that bag and let’s go.”

“Over my dead body,” Jane shouted.

She only meant that in response to the first half of Tom’s command, of course; the second part seemed only good sense. Though she thought it probable that only seconds had elapsed since she’d stepped out of the taxi and into Aaron Campbell’s clutches, a few curious spectators had already begun to drift in her direction, drawn by the always-mesmerizing specter of violence. It would only be a matter of time before it occurred to one of them to summon someone in authority. Which Jane, being a law-abiding citizen, would definitely have welcomed if it hadn’t become apparent that her fallen foe was only temporarily vanquished. He was already on his feet, in fact, and shaking his head like a dazed prizefighter. And there was still the matter of that gun.

No time to think about alternatives-she just snatched her tote bag and ran.

No time to wonder how it was possible Tom Hawkins could be here, when just moments ago he’d said goodbye to her in the shadow of the Lincoln Memorial-it was toward him she ran, and reached for his outstretched hand.

No time to question the surge of joy she felt inside at seeing his face, hearing his voice, feeling his fingers close around hers. Because at that point, her arm was nearly wrenched out of its socket.

“Slow down,” she gasped. “I can’t…run that fast.”

“Sure you can. You’re doing it, aren’t you?” Tom retorted, pulling her down a side street. “Here-this way.”

At first she thought she’d surely fall flat on her face, but when she didn’t, she began to feel exhilarated instead.