Last Chance at Love. Gwynne Forster

home?”

      “I know. Are you going to participate in that rookery?”

      “I don’t have a choice, but I think I’ll pay someone to bid high for me.”

      “You’re crazy.”

      “I’m smart, and you bet I won’t be the only man to do that. You might try being clever and pay attention to that guy you’re following around. That’s a good man.”

      “I’m not blind, Sydney.”

      “I’m glad to know that; I’d begun to wonder. You need a man who’s more clever than you are and who knows it. I have a feeling this one fills that bill.”

      “What? How can you... Sydney, this is my call, and I’m terminating it.”

      His laughter rang out. “You’ll never change. Get too close to your truth, and you close the door. When you come this way, bring him to see me. Bye.”

      She hung up. Pensive. Not much chance of that.

      * * *

      “What kind of audience did you have?” she asked Jake when he called an hour later. She’d told herself that she waited up to interview him about his lecture, but when she heard his voice she had to admit that her true reason had nothing to do with work.

      “Wonderful. Jacked up my ego. Can you come down to the bar?”

      She dressed hurriedly in a green silk jumpsuit and met him a few minutes later. As thanks for her trouble, his slow gaze made a seductive trip from her head to her feet before resting on her face. To her disgust, she looked downward, flustered and embarrassed.

      “Beautiful.” As though the word was for his ears alone, he barely murmured it. He gave her an account of his lecture, a list of the round-table members who discussed his talk and his work, and his views on the audience’s reaction. Stunned at his thoughtfulness and kindness, she relaxed, unaware that her tough reporter’s cloak had slipped a fraction.

      In the bar, they talked and sipped ginger ale, and Jake didn’t question his enjoyment of those companionable moments. He couldn’t say why he told her about the woman he’d seen walking across Park Avenue backward, stopping traffic for at least once in her life. On the other hand, he didn’t mention the stranger who he was certain had tailed him; she didn’t need to know that.

      Chapter 3

      Jake walked the length of his hotel room, retraced his steps, and walked the same route again. He could not permit himself to fall for Allison Wakefield, beguiling though she was. Well, not all the time, he reminded himself, as when she wouldn’t acknowledge common decency on his part. He had a recurring thought that Allison hadn’t known much tenderness, at least not from a man, and that she didn’t expect it. She bet on her intelligence, her competence as a journalist as a source of status, and didn’t count on her womanliness. Fine when she was working; that was as it should be. But, hell! She wasn’t prepared to let him enjoy being a man with her, not even when she softened up. He pushed strands of hair out of his face, thinking back to those moments when she’d walked with him from the restaurant on Forty-ninth Street to Rockefeller Center, sparkling with joy and gaiety.

      “I don’t believe her, and one day she’ll prove me right,” he muttered to himself as the phone rang and interrupted his musings.

      “Covington.”

      “How are you, son?”

      His antenna shot up; why was his mother calling him? “What is it, Mom?”

      “Nothing to worry about. The department wanted to know where you are, because they’ve left messages at your hotel that you didn’t answer, and they’d like you to call them soon as you can. You’re not going back to that, are you, son? It was so dangerous.”

      “I don’t do undercover work any longer, Mom, but I’m on a leave of absence, and the chief may call me whenever he needs me. I’m a policy analyst now. Remember? Stop worrying.”

      “Yes, but you made a lot of enemies in that other job, so you be careful. I’ll be praying for you.”

      “Thanks. I’ll try to get down to see you soon. Unless plans change, I should be back in Washington Thursday night.” Just what he needed, another break in his book tour. He dialed the special code number.

      “I’ll check back with you later today,” the chief said in response to his question. “Be prepared to spend a couple of days here, briefing a new man.”

      “I hear you.” He hung up. With each day that passed, his lifestyle bore more heavily on him, and he became more certain that he wanted a normal life. He had quit the spy business, but he still didn’t own his time.

      * * *

      Allison hurried down to the hotel’s breakfast room the next morning, hoping to enjoy her coffee at her leisure. She glanced over her notes, searched her mind for any small thing she might have missed, and shook her head in bemusement. Not one sensational thing about Jacob Covington had she uncovered, at least not anything to which she’d sign her name. His raw sexuality wasn’t material for her report. The man’s skill at revealing only what he wanted known was unequaled by any other person she had interviewed. Her sigh of resignation prompted her to consider the implications of her interest in Jake. If she’d already let his sizzling masculinity put dust in her eyes and cotton in her ears, Lord help her professionalism. She had definitely better watch it.

      “Hi.”

      Her head came up sharply at the sound of his voice. “Hi. You’re early this morning.”

      He grinned as if he knew that was one way of disconcerting her. “My antenna said you’d be down here, so I got here as early as possible.” He unzipped his briefcase and handed her a sheet of paper. “Here’s the day’s schedule.”

      He had turned off his cell phone to avoid answering it in Allison’s presence, but when he opened his briefcase and saw the flashing red light, he figured his plans were about to change.

      He pasted a grin on his face. “Excuse me a second,” he said and headed for the men’s room.

      “Tonight?” he asked his chief.

      “Yeah. Get here by two this afternoon. Our man is flying out from Ronald Reagan on Delta 4113 at five this afternoon, and I’d like him to have a couple of hours with you. He’ll meet you in the men’s room.”

      “Right. I’ll be there.”

      He ambled back to Allison, let a frown on his face give her the impression that he’d had a sudden reminder of something important. He’d use any ruse to allay her suspicions about the interruptions in his tour. His work with State was top secret, and the department took every means possible to ensure that he didn’t fall into the clutches of terrorists or kidnappers.

      “This is terrible,” he said and meant it. “I have an appointment in Washington this afternoon.” He ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “I’m beginning to wonder if I need a social secretary; it wouldn’t do to—”

      “What about your publicist?”

      “Not the same thing. I’d like to take the one o’clock shuttle to Washington. Can you make that?”

      She rolled her tongue around in her right cheek, and he wondered about her thoughts. A woman with her smarts and experience as a journalist had to question the sudden changes in his schedule.

      “I can make it,” she said at last, “but won’t these interruptions prolong this tour?”

      Her mind was at work all right, and he’d bet she hadn’t voiced her true thoughts. Quickly, he finessed the situation. “You’re probably right. See you down here at eleven, bags in hand.”

      * * *

      Jake put his briefcase in the plane’s overhead compartment and extended his