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or without his help. The most likely reaction to what you’ve gone through, Robin, would be to file a report with the police and then bolt for home as fast as you could.”
    She stared at him mutely.
    Michael turned to face the front again, adding, “So before you go on questioning me, why don’t you explain just who and what you are.”
    Robin was shaken, angry—and defensive. But she could hardly defend herself, because he was right. Stiffly she said, “I’m a freelance reporter. I usually work the police beat. And I came down here after a story.”
    He nodded, seeming unsurprised. “I see. A story on white slavery, I suppose.”
    “Yes. It all started when a friend of mine introduced me to a girl who’d been kidnapped and had managed to get away.” Reluctantly Robin added, “And she’d done pretty much what you said, except that she didn’t report it to the police. She was too scared; she just ran for home. But she talked to me. She told me about the club she’d gone to—it’s the Serendipity, by the way. I thought there was a story, so I came looking.”
    “Alone?”
    Robin hesitated, then replied, “I sent the information to a friend and told her to take it to the police if she didn’t hear from me in three days.”
    “How long ago was that?”
    “She would have received the packet three days ago.”
    Michael half closed his eyes. “Great.”
    Robin felt defensive again. “Look, I wanted some insurance. If I hadn’t managed to get away—”
    “I know, I know.” He sighed. “It was a smart move. As far as it went.”
    “I can call Teddy,” Robin said, “and let herknow I’m fine. Then we can—” She broke off suddenly, realizing something. “You don’t want the police involved in this, do you?”
    “Not if I have a choice, no,” he admitted, frowning.
    She stared at his admittedly handsome profile and frowned herself, beginning to put certain things together as her mind began functioning with something like its normal clarity. “You’re looking for someone, aren’t you? A woman. That’s why you suddenly agreed to help me.”
    After a moment he said lightly, “Either I’m slipping, or else you’re too perceptive for your own good.”
    Robin was still grappling with her thoughts. “You didn’t show any interest in helping me until I mentioned the other girl on the yacht. The young girl who was crying. Who is she, Michael?”
    “How could I know?”
    “You think you know. Who is she?” When he didn’t answer immediately, Robin said, “I’vebeen honest with you. The least you can do is tell me what you know.”
    There was a moment of silence, and then Michael said tightly, “All right. There’s a chance I know who she is.”
    “And who might she be?”
    “My sister.”

T WO
    O N THE FIFTEENTH floor of a gleaming high rise in New York City on a fine Saturday morning, a security officer sat at his desk and looked up expectantly as the elevator bell dinged. The first to disembark from the elevator was an extremely large and shaggy Irish wolfhound who ambled over to the desk and displayed an impressive set of canine fangs in an amiable grin.
    The security guard kept his poker face, and dutifully wrote in his log the visitor’s name andidentification badge number, attached to his collar. “Hello, Wizard,” the guard murmured.
    “Hi, Phil.” Fortunately for Phil’s sanity, the salutation didn’t come from the dog but from his petite, redheaded mistress, who was second out of the elevator.
    “Morning, Mrs. Steele,” Phil said in greeting, while the wife of Long Enterprises’ security chief signed the log herself.
    “Teddy, Phil. I’ve told you and told you to call me Teddy.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    They both knew he’d go on addressing her formally.
    “Are Raven and Kyle here?” Teddy Steele asked the guard.
    “Yes, ma’am. In the computer room.”
    “Thanks, Phil.”
    He sat watching her and her canine buddy move down the hall, smiling. As far as Phil was