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his neck. "You have such a

gorgeous… mind."

His arm came around her waist to secure her. "You are feeling better." He gazed

down at her through half-closed eyes.

"Mmm, much." She rubbed his nose with her own.

"I have something for you," he drawled, low and sexy.

Her eyes flashed at him in a come-hither way. "What?" She whispered seductively.

"This." He handed her a sheaf of papers from behind his back.

"Oh." She glanced down at the papers, then back up at him. "Oh. Where on Earth

did you get this?" It was a complete dossier on one Xavier LaLeche.

"You might say a friend of mine gave it to me."

"Tyber, these look like… are these F.B.I, files?"

He looked affronted. "Zanita! That would be illegal. I'd never do anything

illegal."

The next day, three dark sedans rolled down the driveway and came to a stop in

front of the house. Six men in suits came out of them. They all had identical

"don't screw around with me" faces.

Tyber went out on the porch to greet them. Zanita warily hung back behind him,

peering around his shoulder to see what was going to happen.

One man, obviously the one in charge, stepped forward and pointed an accusing

finger at Tyber. "You son of a bitch!"

Tyber did not seemed fazed in the least. "Hello, Sean."

The irritated man turned to his men, barking out a command. "Don't huddle

around—fan out!"

Tyber leaned against the porch balustrade, arms crossed. He immediately

countermanded the order. "No, don't fan out."

The man named Sean glanced at Zanita, then spoke to Tyber. "Let's go for a walk,

shall we?"

"Be right back, baby."

Zanita apprehensively watched them walk down the footpath to one of the far

gardens. Then she turned her eyes to the other "visitors." Five double-barreled

sets of steely eyes had her directly in their sights. She smiled rather sickly

at them.

"I'll just stay right here," she offered magnanimously.

"Dammit, Tyber; you did it again!"

"You know what I told you."

"Yeah, if you could do it, someone else could. But I'm not so sure I buy that

anymore. There's no one quite like you." Sean ran a hand distractedly through

his short hair, causing it to spike.

"Don't delude yourself."

"All right," he grumbled. "We'll go over the system again. But dammit, Tyber,

it's embarrassing! Your little breach occurred at a most inopportune time."

"Visiting dignitary and you just had to break away from the function when they

called you?"

Sean flushed. "Not quite."

Tyber nodded sagely. "Ah, different type of function."

Sean rubbed his jaw. "Yeah. Say, who's the dish with the terrific gams?" He

raised his hands. "Wait, don't tell me— she's some egghead from one of your

highbrow institutions and you're diligently working together in your sterile

laboratory for the good of all."

Tyber stared at him, not responding.

Sean scratched his ear. "Well, I suppose in some odd way, I should thank you for

that little stunt."

"You're welcome."

"That grin is nothing less than evil. And I more than suspect you didn't have

just the Department's best interests at heart. Especially by what was taken." He

looked at Tyber sharply. "What are you doing, Tyber?"

Tyber put his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "I couldn't say."

"Yeah. Right."

They walked back to the front porch.

"Let's go," Sean said to his men. "Good day, Ms. Masterson." He opened his car

door, saying to Tyber, "I'll be in touch."

Tyber gave him a sharklike grin. "Not if I am first."

The man's eyes widened. "Christ," he muttered, slamming the door shut. They

exited in the same formation they had entered.

"How did he know my name? Did you tell him my name?"

"No. Want to go get some lunch, baby?" He put his arm around her shoulders,

steering her back into the house.

"But Tyber—"

"Mmmm, smells good—squash casserole."

"Oh, no! Blooey told me he was making a chef salad for lunch."

"Smells like squash casserole to me."

"Gripes! Ah… you know, I just remembered something I need to get at the store.

I'll be back before dinner—"

He grabbed her by her shirt collar. "Oh, no you don't."

"You're taking the motorcycle?"

"To Vermont? Are you kidding, baby?"

"It won't fall off there, will it?" Zanita watched Tyber secure the bike to the

bed of the pick-up.

He chuckled. "No. I would've liked for us to ride up in it, but with you just

getting over that flu, I don't think it's a good idea."

Thank God. Zanita was not overly fond of motorcycles. The idea of riding on the

back of one for five hours in a brisk fall wind at seventy miles an hour with

bugs squashing into her teeth held little appeal.

Tyber opened the driver's side door, squeezing their suitcase into the well

behind the seats. Zanita had originally packed a carton. Tyber gave it one

disdainful look and dumped her stuff into his bag. When Zanita objected, he

simply stated, "I am not walking into the Marble Manor Inn carrying that

carton."

"Hpmh! Cartons make much more sense than suitcases. You just throw them away

when you're done."

"Zanita, you are an extremely strange woman. And I admire that in you. But I am

still not taking that carton." And that was that.

"It shouldn't take us more than five hours if we don't make too many pitstops."

He started the truck. "Did you bring the directions?"

"I didn't have too; I memorized them."

Tyber groaned. "Make that a seven-hour trip."

"That's not funny. You know, I don't think the paper's going to reimburse you

for staying at a place rich enough to be called the Marble Manor."

He viewed her obliquely. "I wasn't aware that I was on their payroll."

"You aren't. Well, at least not formally. I mean, you are helping me with this

story, and even though it wasn't exactly an assignment, once the article gets

published, the paper generally reimburses for out-of-pocket expenses. But not

unreasonable expenses, and this inn sounds very expensive."

The corners of his mouth crooked. Zanita would do anything to avoid the

appearance of having a relationship. He couldn't wait to see how she was going

to rationalize this. "Don't worry, the paper is off the hook."

"No, I couldn't do that! After all, we're working together. It's not fair for

you to—to—"

"Treat you?" he more than helpfully supplied.

"Um, yes. It's not that I don't—"

"Take you out for some really sumptuous dinners?"

"No, I don't think—"

"Ply you with fine wine over a candlelit table