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wide brown eyes. "You know, I’ve got to say that this evening is turning into one of the most interesting I’ve had in years. Nevertheless, I’m calling the police."
    "Will you listen to me? We’ve got to get out of here. These people are dangerous!"
    "Tell me something I don’t know, sweetheart."
    "I can’t. That is . . . there’s nothing to tell."
    "Yet you think that there could be more of them and you know that they’re dangerous."
    "Look. We don’t have time to stand around here talking. If you’re not going to leave, I am."
    "Uh-uh, honey. Just wipe that little notion right out of your head. You’re not going to get farther than a step away from me until I find out just what the hell is going on."
    "Okay, okay." She held up one shakily placating hand. "I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to wait to call the police until you’ve heard my story. And not here."
    Her voice had been rising steadily. No matter what, there was no doubt that this had been a frightening experience for her. Jerome ran his hand through his hair, then glanced down at the two men. They weren’t going anywhere for a while. "All right. We’ll go down the stairs to the service entrance and hope none of their friends are hanging around down there."
    "Where can we go?"
    "To my place."

     
     
     
     

Chapter Three
     
    "Make yourself comfortable." Jerome waved her to a deeply cushioned sofa.
    They were at his condominium apartment located at the very top of a modern high rise. Gratefully Jennifer dropped onto the butter-soft suede couch and leaned her head back against its rolled rim. If only she could shut her eyes and go to sleep and sleep for a hundred years. If she could do that, then maybe, just maybe, when she woke up, she’d find that this had all been some terrible nightmare. But she knew she couldn’t go to sleep. Not yet. She had to get through Jerome’s questions; and she had the feeling that this next hour or so might prove harder than the entire last forty-eight hours put together. She was well aware that she was experiencing a mixture of shock, fear, and plain bone weariness, but she had to try to keep her wits about her just a little bit longer.
    Jerome was standing across the room by his desk, one hand on his hip holding back his jacket with an assured arrogance. He had quickly and effortlessly knocked out a man and then coolly, calmly disarmed both men. He had reacted with split-second timing and flawless reflexes. What kind of man was he, she wondered, then felt a start of surprise that it should hurt when she realized she wouldn’t have an opportunity to find out.
    He reached for the phone, and her deliberation changed into sharp panic. "You’re not calling the police, are you?"
    His blue eyes cut to her, cold as steel. "Ron," he said into the phone. "I left my car parked over by Charlie’s. Could you send someone over to pick it up for me? Yeah, that will be fine. I’m home. I’ve left the keys with the doorman downstairs and told him you or one of your people will be by for them. If someone other than yourself comes, just make sure they have the proper identification and there’ll be no problem. Great. Thanks, Ron." He hung up the phone, still looking at her in that intent way of his. "I told you that I’d wait to call the police."
    "Th-thank you. I appreciate that." No longer able to sustain eye contact with him. she bent her head and ran her hands restively over the dark green leather upholstery. "Who’s Ron?"
    "One of my employees. He has a crew of people who clean the office and do general maintenance or whatever else we need to have done."
    "We?" She looked up curiously.
    "My partner and I ... in our law firm." He pivoted toward a teakwood and mirrored bar. Without asking, he began to pour her a drink.
    Jennifer groaned under her breath. A lawyer. Great. The only thing that could be worse would be a policeman. Thankful that his attention was elsewhere for the moment, Jennifer took the opportunity