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  He laughed. 'But I don't know why I'm telling you all this,' he said. 'You work in research yourself, so I'm sure you know the pitfalls.'

  I thought I did, Anna reflected ruefully behind her smile. The confident man beside her was clearly in the habit of reaping triumph from his professional efforts, and was a stranger to the role of victim. Yet his sympathetic demeanour suggested that he understood those who had fallen prey to life's injustices, and had dedicated himself to helping them as best he could.

  'Down at our office,' he went on easily, 'they call me No Surprises Hamilton. I'm such a stickler for detail and preparation that the clerks dread working with me!'

  'I'm sure they're happy when their efforts help you to win a case,' said Anna.

  'I want them to be proud when we win,' he nodded. 'Every case is theirs as much as mine. Some of them see their research as scut work unrelated to the outcome. I try to make them understand that each piece of information they dig up may make the difference between winning and losing. The good young lawyers learn to appreciate that fact in a hurry. The client's whole life may depend on it.'

  'The next time I need a lawyer, I'll know where to come,' Anna laughed, realising uncomfortably that even the talents of a Marsh Hamilton might prove unavailing in her present crisis—assuming for the sake of fantasy that she could afford his firm's fees.

  'I hope I won't have to wait that long to see you again,' he said, his deep voice enfolding her with its quiet tones. Again she felt the curious power of his gaze. Alive with penetrating insight, it nevertheless rested upon her like a gentle touch, lithe and warm, inspiring her confidence even as it stirred her senses. A stern perfectionist where his work was concerned, Marsh Hamilton had no need to withhold the frank admiration he bestowed upon Anna so naturally.

  The impression was heightened by his sympathetic attention to her account of her own past, which culminated in the untimely deaths of her parents and her continuing devotion to Sally. Strangely, Marsh seemed to take for granted the determined strength with which Anna had coped with her situation, as though he already knew her well enough to assume that no crisis could shake her confidence in herself. Retaining his silence regarding the reason why she had left N.T.E.L., he seemed willing to wait for her to discuss it in her own time.

  'I have an idea,' he said as Anna sipped the rich coffee that had brought the meal to a close. 'Let's take a walk outside before we drive back. That way we can work off a little of Pierre's cooking.'

  'That's the best idea I've heard all evening,' she laughed. 'The dinner was wonderful—and well worth the diet I'll be going on tomorrow!'

  The lights of Michigan Avenue sprang into view with particular gaiety as they stepped out into the brisk autumn air. To the right was the long upward slope leading to the river and the centre of the Loop; to the left the elegant shop-lined blocks adjacent to the Water Tower.

  'Ever been to Paris?' asked Marsh, taking her arm as he led her through the shadows of the trees lining the sidewalk.

  'No,' Anna smiled. 'I've always wanted to see it.'

  'We Chicagoans have always made a lot of noise about Michigan Avenue resembling a Paris boulevard,' he said. 'I never really believed it until I had occasion to go over there on business. But it turns out to be true after all. With these wide sidewalks and trees, and the vista from the river down to the Outer Drive, it really resembles some of the big streets on the Right Bank.' He laughed. 'Of course, the Parisians don't have a big lake right beside the city where they can go sailing or windsurfing whenever they want.'

  'I don't imagine they have a Daley Plaza, either,' said Anna, 'with a hundred-foot Picasso sculpture looking down at everyone who passes.'

  'Spoken like a true Chicagoan!' he laughed. 'You're probably right. There's no place quite like the Loop on earth. Do you like art?'

  'Mmm,' she nodded. 'I often used to take my lunch to the Art Institute and spend some time there before going back to work. I have a favourite gallery where I sit and restore myself when I'm feeling tired or harassed.'

  'Modern?' he asked. 'The one upstairs, with the Matisses, and Picasso's Mother and Child?'

  'How did you guess?' she laughed.

  'You mentioned Picasso before,' he explained, 'and I seem to remember that that particular gallery has quite a few comfortable benches. It's a bright, cheery sort of place, isn't it?'

  She nodded, startled by his intuition. In a dauntingly short space of time he was creating the impression of having known her intimately for months or years. The unseen sparks flowing from his strong hand along the flesh of her arm did little to lessen the feeling. Without urgency or undue forwardness, he was somehow opening her to him, dissipating her resistance so that an unspoken inner closeness sprang into life along with her sensual response to his touch. She knew that this intoxicating caress of his voice and eyes might soon be joined by the probing enquiry of his lips and hands, and she had to remind herself that she still did not know him well.

  But somehow it did not matter. Her street was dark and sleepy as Marsh pulled the car to the kerb and turned off the engine. Without a word he drew her to his deep chest, his knowing fingers guiding her along the path of her own willingness, and kissed her with an intimacy that stunned her senses.

  His lips explored hers softly, their gentleness contradicting the storm of sudden warmth they spread through her slender limbs. The muscular hands covering her back had no need to force her, for her body knew how to mould itself to his own powerful frame in the darkness. With a little shock of delight she felt his earthy male scent suffuse her. The inflaming touch of his body seemed to expand and multiply the already disturbing visual image of his taut attractiveness.

  'You have soft skin, Anna,' he whispered, his lips brushing the tender flesh of her neck and earlobe with maddeningly teasing effect. She felt herself begin to strain against him in a daunting flurry of desire, and her eyes closed as his hard man's limbs held her closer still. Astounded to find herself joined so intimately to a stranger who had emerged from nowhere as her personal life was entering a period of painful upset, she nevertheless let herself go to the wild longing which flared in her every nerve.

  The heat of his embrace, so direct and authoritative, bespoke his indifference to whatever obstacles might conspire to separate her from his own desire. He seemed to know all he needed to know about her: that she returned his passion and wanted him already. And so it was with relaxed assurance that he released her, and felt her body rest languidly against his own, too faint with pleasure to recede from him.

  'There's one thing on my mind,' she heard his deep murmur against the lush mane of her hair.

  'Mmm,' she sighed, still absorbed in her fascination. 'What?'

  'If you won't be at N.T.E.L. any more, how am I supposed to get through my days there?' She felt his smile in the lips that kissed her forehead. 'It's going to be pretty dull,' he added.

  She nodded, pained by the thought of the desperate days of job-hunting that awaited her. The light touch of the hands cradling her shoulders sent waves of lulling warmth through the naked flesh under her dress, making her worries seem curiously remote.

  'Well,' he murmured, 'they can't make me work at night, can they?'

  'No,' she smiled, her fingers straying absently over the shirt covering his deep chest. 'They used to make me work at night, but then I was never the partner in a law firm.'

  'What will you do now?' he asked.

  'Find another job,' she sighed. 'As fast as I can.'

  'I imagine you'll be pretty busy,' he remarked, a trace of teasing humour in his voice.

  'Probably,' she agreed.

  'Not too busy to get to know me a little better,' Marsh said quietly, his hands slipping to her spine to press her closer to him.

  Anne could only nod her acquiescence, for the raw eruption in her senses under his knowing touch fairly took her breath away.

  'I'll tell you what,' he went on. 'I have to go out of town this weekend on business, but I'll be back on
Sunday. How long has it been since you've visited Old Town?'

  'A long time, I'm afraid,' she answered, visualising Wells Street and its charming array of shops and cafes. Although the famous area was virtually within walking distance of her flat, her work had prevented her from exploring it for many months.

  'Why don't I pick you up Sunday afternoon?' he asked. 'We can take a walk around, perhaps listen to a friend of mine who plays the guitar in a place down there, and have some dinner.'

  'It sounds wonderful,' Anna smiled.

  'Two o'clock?' The whispered words brushed the soft skin behind her ear like a caress.

  'I'll look forward to it.'

  A muted inner voice warned that the days ahead would require harsh self-discipline, and that troubling disappointments were probably in store for her. Time was of the essence, and she must allow nothing to disturb her concentration on the business at hand. But as she reclined in the strong arms that held her, as though resting in the quiet eye of the sensual storm that had nearly carried her away only moments ago, she banished all negative thoughts from her mind. Indeed, Marsh Hamilton possessed an invader's power to storm every barrier blocking the path of his desire. In this charmed moment she could only nestle in the bewitching shadow of his strong will. The future would take care of itself. Tonight was hers.

  A mile across the dark city the wall clock showed nine-thirty. The office was deserted, except for Joe, the old custodian, who was certainly on another floor.

  The bright green glow of the computer display had a festive look under the subdued light. The machine hummed quietly, having received its code, displayed its content, and accepted the change in instructions. Gone for ever was the message it had carried, lost now in a maze of circuitry which was all too capable of forgetting, when told to do so.

  A tanned finger touched the keys while a watchful eye verified the appearance of the new text on the display.

  'In addition to the security breach, which constituted immediate grounds for dismissal, it is my unfortunate duty to report that this employee offered improper personal favours in exchange for a promise not to terminate or to prosecute. Regrettably, it was not possible for me to establish the circumstances leading up to her improper query of classified computer data, or the identity of the person or persons for whom this material was intended.

  'It is with deep regret that I communicate to whom it may concern this unfortunate occurrence…'

  Signed "Charles Robbins" and pre-dated, the text took its place among the computer's thousands of files.

  When requested, it would be printed up by an unsuspecting secretary and sent out along with whatever letter Chuck might have dictated. The only eyes to see it from now on would belong to the anonymous employers who asked for the dossier.

  How wonderful a thing a computer can be, when one knows how to use it properly! It accepts instructions docilely, and transmits the desired material with the automatism of a robot. It is a perfect servant.

  There is an entire world in those circuits. A world of information, of people, of events at my fingertips. And under my control.

  Now she'll know how far my power extends. Now she'll realise how foolhardy she was to tempt my wrath. To think of her confidently writing us down as a reference! Let her wonder, then, when no one will hire her. Let her suffer, and learn her lesson. How many tears will flow, as the weeks and months go by. And I, only I, will know.

  Straightening his tie with quiet care, Porter Deman turned off the fluorescent lights, closed the door and moved towards the elevators.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Art Institute's Modern European gallery was wrapped in its usual silence as Anna sat on a padded bench before her favourite painting. Here and there she could see a determined art student standing near a sculpture, making careful notes on a legal pad for a course paper. Across the large room, a group of schoolchildren sat on the floor in unaccustomed silence as their teacher pointed out the playful intricacies of a huge canvas. A few young couples strolled languidly about the gallery, hand in hand. Two or three solitary figures sat on benches in the hushed, still air, seeming meditatively closed upon themselves among the colourful works of art.

  'I wonder if they're like me,' Anna wondered. 'Here because they have nowhere else to go.' Her last interview of the morning having taken her to Monroe Street, she had crossed Michigan Avenue's sunlit, busy expanse to have a light lunch in the Art Institute's cafeteria. And now, with an hour left before her next appointment, she had mounted the two long flights of marble steps to the room whose paintings were like old friends.

  Five years ago, having just arrived in Chicago, she had sat excitedly in this quiet atmosphere, sensing underneath its calm the vibrant hubbub of the metropolis outside. When Sally had come to enrol at the university, Anna had brought her here for lunch in the middle of a busy day of shopping and sightseeing. Like her sister before her, Sally had been overwhelmed by the Art Institute's fabulous collection, and had stared in wonderment at the classic originals whose reproduced images she had seen in many a book or magazine.

  It was difficult to remain indifferent when one contemplated the peaked swirls of oil glistening under the recessed lights on the surface of a world-famous masterpiece. One felt one could almost see the artist's hand at work, and feel the touch of his muscular fingers on the shaft of his brush. And as one scanned the walls of the galleries, the paintings seemed like caged animals, barely domesticated by their frames, each one a vibrant and mysterious world waiting to lure the spectator's eye inside, to uproot him from his familiar surroundings and set him down in a strange landscape filled with people, animals, trees, flowers from another time and place.

  But today it was different. Today even the paintings seemed infected by the sinking feeling that had taken possession of Anna. Trapped in their frames under the artificial light, they hung as though thwarted, imprisoned on the walls. Even Leger's Divers on a Yellow Background, which she had always preferred for its Humorous tangle of bodies falling chaotically through a dreamlike space, seemed somehow sad. As she gazed now at the large canvas, the faces of the divers looked downright depressed, in spite of their antic positions.

  It was Friday. Nearly eleven days of job-hunting now lay behind Anna, their morose passage filled with increasing menace. She was beginning to adjust herself to the irony of this new routine of living, which crowded her days with exhausting activity while seeming to lead nowhere. It was a nightmarish existence, busy and yet futile. But it was not without its moments of excitement. For, at intervals, the face and voice of Marsh Hamilton interrupted the monotony of her days, promising something finer and more thrilling than the glum misfortune of her present situation.

  True to his word, he had returned from his business trip to accompany Anna on a pleasant walk through the Lincoln Park Zoo to Old Town. An autumnal crispness had sparked the air between the North Side's old apartment buildings. Her hand rested warmly in his large palm as he guided her across streets filled with strolling pedestrians unperturbed by the sparse Sunday traffic.

  Following Marsh's suggestion, Anna had dressed informally. Feeling relaxed and happy in her sweater and jeans, she glanced with frank admiration at the tall form of her companion. The cut of the leather jacket above his slacks accentuated Marsh's powerfully muscled shoulders and broad back. Entirely at home in the vibrant city of his youth, he seemed at once to dominate its landscape and to draw the essence of its stored energy into his own personality.

  The delicious smells emanating from the restaurants along Wells Street were particularly intoxicating after their brisk walk, so they entered a charmingly decorated cafe that Anna had never noticed before. As they scanned the imaginative menu, the delicate sound of a guitar stole through the room, and she looked up to see a slender blond man, dressed incongruously in a handsome three-piece business suit, tuning his instrument. After a brief moment of quiet concentration, he began to perform classical pieces with amazing facility, a fugitive smile touching his calm feature
s as his long fingers coaxed delicately modulated sounds and moods from the guitar.

  'Is that the friend you spoke of?' Anna asked amid the delighted applause that greeted the close of his first recital.

  'That's him,' Marsh nodded. 'He works in a dance band during the week, comes here on Sundays, and performs occasionally with classical groups in concerts. I met him a few years ago, when I was still with the D.A. His car had been stolen by a group of professional thieves we were investigating, and by a miracle we got it back for him before they could strip it for the parts. It was the first car he'd ever owned, and he was grateful.'

  'He's wonderfully talented,' said Anna. 'The piece he just played sounded so familiar. It reminded me of Mozart.'

  'No wonder,' Marsh laughed. 'It's a Mozart piano sonata that he arranged himself for guitar. So you like classical music, do you?'

  'Very much. Especially Beethoven, Mozart and Schubert.'

  'I'll be damned,' he smiled. 'We have more in common than I thought. Do you get much chance to hear Solti and the Chicago Symphony?'

  Anna shook her head. 'I'm afraid the tickets are well beyond my pocketbook. But I buy some of his records.'

  'Well, I'll take you to Orchestra Hall some time when Solti is conducting,' he said. 'A girl can't go through life without hearing some live music, good and loud.'

  'Oh, but I do,' Anna smiled. 'Right here in Old Town. I see Junior Wells and Buddy Guy, and Muddy Waters…'

  'You're kidding,' he explained. 'You like Chicago blues?'

  'I adore it;' she laughed. 'When the weather is nice, and there's a Sunday afternoon show at one of the clubs here, I sometimes walk over and listen.'