Never Trust A Lady

But the music filled her ears and invaded her mind like a drug, and she saw her hand reach out as if it were guided by someone else’s will. She saw herself like the young girl in the painting, in a graceful and low-cut gown and high- piled coiffure, as Tom, elegant in embroidered waistcoat and silk cravat, took her hand in his and raised it briefly to his lips. For a moment she was sure that on the cold March breeze she had caught the scent of lilacs.

She took a step backward and Tom followed her onto the landing, as if they were the choreographed first steps of the dance. He guided her gently into position. Then for a few beats they stood still, listening to the rhythm, adjusting to it with their bodies while they gazed at one another. And he was smiling, but she was not.

Their eyes never left each other’s faces as they began to move and sway to the tempo of the waltz, small, tentative steps at first, but gradually gaining in confidence and gusto, until they were whirling around on the gently rocking platform as if it were a ballroom floor. The last of the light faded, and the sky filled up with stars. Yard lights came on and swam in the dark water like reflected moons.

The platform dipped suddenly, riding the wake of a distant and long-departed boat. Jane gasped and lurched toward Tom, off balance. He caught her close while he steadied them both, then murmured, “Feels just like old times.”

“We’re both going to wind up in the water,” she said, her voice bumpy with frightened laughter. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her.

The song ended, the last one on the CD, and silence came to stay. And still he wouldn’t release her from the warm and heart-wrenchingly wonderful prison of his arms. She drew her hands from his neck and shoulder and brought her folded arms between them, and tried to lighten the moment by saying mockingly, “You are surprising.”

She heard the familiar irony in his voice as he responded in the same mode, “You, too, Miss Jane.”

“I’ve always loved to dance,” she said, and the irony faded from her voice as she added, “I guess that’s why I liked the painting so much.”

He didn’t speak. His arms shifted, one hand coming to cover hers and press them against his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her fingers as his head slowly descended.

As well as she knew he was going to kiss her, as much as she wanted him to, she knew that she would be truly and forever lost if he did. So she turned her face away before he could, saying on a ripple of laughter as false as it was light, “Tom, what in the world are you doing here?”

She could feel his breath sigh soundlessly through his body as he let her go. “I came to see you, what else?” And she knew he was smiling his familiar crooked smile.

“I thought you were going back to Arlington, to try and find out who bought the other paintings.” She was moving away from him, onto the pier, heading back toward the shore, moving quickly to hide the fact that she was trembling.

“I was, and I did.” Tom’s voice and footsteps followed her up the pier. “Seems all but one of ’em are right here in Cooper’s Mill.”

“Really?” said Jane faintly. “Imagine…” What is he saying? she wondered, trying desperately to read the thoughts behind that dry and casual voice. What does he suspect? Or does he know?

“Yeah, one that I guess didn’t sell was still there at the auction company’s warehouse. Didn’t take us long to check it out. The rest, it seems, your friend Connie Vincent bought.”

“Really!” said Jane, her voice high with feigned surprise.

“Yeah, looks like I’m gonna have to wait until tomorrow to see about those, though. Apparently, they’re locked up tight in her shop.”

But you’re lying, Jane thought. Because as important as whatever it is you’re looking for seems to be to you, I know you’d go in after it right this minute, locks or no locks. If you’re waiting for morning, there’s a reason for it. What is it? What are you up to, Agent Hawkins? Why are you lying to me?

“I’m just amazed you got here so fast.” Words tumbled over themselves in their rush to leave her, the way they did at parties, or other occasions when she felt ill at ease. “Actually, I just got home myself, a little while ago. I haven’t even had time to change my clothes, or-”

“Yeah, how come? Greenville’s…what? A hundred miles from here?” And she could hear the tenor of his voice change with his frown.

“It’s a long story,” she said, tossing it off with light, rueful laughter. I know he still suspects me, she thought, shivering as the evening chill found its way inside her jacket and penetrated instantly to her bones. And I’m making it worse.

But she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not until she’d had a chance to find out for sure. Bacause…what if it wasn’t true? There still might be an innocent explanation for everything. Oh, God, she prayed, please let there be an explanation. She couldn’t bear the thought that she might have been so wrong, so stupid.

As soon as he could, when they’d left the narrow pier behind and begun to trudge uphill across the broad expanse of lawn, Hawk moved up to walk beside Jane. “Where are your daughters this evening?” he asked, making it sound like an effort at polite and casual conversation, though it was something he really did need to know.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the deck, smiling gamely, as if trying hard to remember her manners. He was surprised to find that he had to fight with every ounce of will he possessed to keep from reaching for her and pulling her back into his arms. Surprised by how much he wanted to stroke her and hold her and murmur soothing things into her hair, until she trusted him enough to tell him what she was trying so hard not to. Dammit, Jane, don’t lie-you’re not good enough at it.

“The girls are with their father,” she said in a gracious-hostess voice as she started up the stairs, once more preceding him. “Skiing. They’ll be gone all week. Where are you staying, the Best Western?”

“Uh-huh,” said Hawk absently. What he was wondering as he topped the last step and moved across the deck, was whether he could expect the bureau’s “surveillance” to extend this far outside the house. He was amazed how much it unsettled him to think of someone listening to his private conversations, for a change.

“I understand the rooms there are quite nice. Please come in.” She pulled the French doors shut after them and bustled through the living room and into the kitchen, turning on lights, setting thermostats and firing questions over her shoulder at him as she went. “Can I get you something to drink? Have you eaten?”

Her kitchen was like her, he thought. Nice. Ordinary. The kind of kitchen you felt comfortable in right away. White curtains at the windows of a breakfast alcove, blue checks on the walls, touches of yellow in sunflowers and daisies…

“Would you like coffee?”

Still thinking of bugs, he shook his head and coughed over his muttered reply.

Her smile was brilliant and painful. “Well. All right, then. Please make yourself comfortable. We’re a very casual household-realty. Just help yourself from the fridge if you’re hungry”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just step outside for a smoke, if that’s all right.”

“Oh-of course. But you don’t have to go outside. I can get you an ashtray-”

“No, that’s okay, I’d rather-really.”

“Oh, well, then.” A valiant smile flickered across her face. “I won’t be long…”

He waited until he heard a door close somewhere down a hallway before he let himself out the kitchen’s side door. In the carport he paused to light up, and managed a couple of deep drags on the way out to where he’d parked the red Nissan. With the cigarette stuck between his lips and smoke curling into one eye, he unlocked the trunk and opened his travel bag, removing from it a small black object which he put in the pocket of his jacket. He then closed and relocked the trunk, took one last pull on the cigarette, dropped it onto the gravel at his feet and went back into the house.

He could hear the water running as he tiptoed down the hallway and into what had to be Jane’s bedroom. Please, God, he thought, curling his fingers around the electronic receiver in his pocket, let her take long, long showers.

It took him all of fifteen seconds to zero in on the frequency and then locate the first bug, behind the headboard of her bed. That made him mad. Just what in the hell, he wondered, were they hoping to hear from that one? He quickly found another one behind the mirror above her dresser, then spent a suspense-filled and futile five minutes going over the rest of the room before he was willing to call it clean.

Ignoring the girls’ bedrooms, he moved on to the kitchen next, one ear always tuned to the sounds coming from the other end of the hall. He was just finishing up in there when he heard the water shut off. Hurrying now, he