"It's unusual, that's all."

"What are you called?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he challenged. He knelt and his eyes narrowed on a tire tread. Close, he thought, but not the right one. Not by a long shot.

"What are you called?" she persisted.

He got up, his eyes still on the ground. He p.r.o.nounced a set of syllables with odd stops and a high tone. He glanced at her perplexed expression and smiled.

"It doesn't translate very well," he told her. "My mother saw a red-tailed hawk the morning I was born. If you translate it, it means something like 'He who came on the wings of the red-tailed hawk."'"

"That's beautiful."

"Sure." He knelt again to examine a print. This one was right on the money. "Bingo," he murmured to himself. He got up, ignoring the girl, and followed the tracks. When he came to a boggy place, he stopped and his keen eyes swept the expanse until he found what he was looking for: just the rusty edge of a barrel.

"Well, well," he said to himself. "Some days it all comes together."

"Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked, joining him.

"Yes. Thanks for your help."

She grinned. "Do I get a badge now?"

He laughed out loud. "No."

She sighed. "It was fun while it lasted."

He reached out and caught a strand of her hair, fingering it gently. "Is it naturally this colour?"

"Yes. Both my parents are very dark. They say that I'm a throwback to a Norwegian ancestor."

He let the hair go reluctantly. It was very soft, and he looked at her for a long moment, aware of some regrets. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty-two. I was a late starter in college," she confessed.

"Not that late." His dark eyes slid over her body in the concealing thick coat and he wished that he had time to get to know her properly. "I'm almost thirty-six," he said. "The name I use with whites is Cortez."

She held out her hand. "It was nice to meet you."

"Same here. Thanks for the help."

Her fingers contracted briefly around his and he smiled down at her. "Two different worlds," he remarked quietly. "And too much age difference, not to mention the kind of life I lead."

"I was thinking the same thing," she confessed shyly.

His fingers gently caressed hers. "Where do you go to school?"

"University of Tennessee at Knoxville," she said. "But I'm off this summer, so I've been hanging around with some friends who study archaeology locally. I'm a senior at the university. I graduate next spring."

"Then maybe I'll see you at graduation, college girl," he said unexpectedly.

Her expression was very still, and he dropped her hand.

"I'd stand out too much, wouldn't I?" he asked curtly, turning on his heel.

"You bigot!" she exclaimed, picking up a small dead limb and heaving it at his back. "You take offense without any provocation whatsoever, you bristle before you even ask questions, you...you...!" She found another limb.

He moved suddenly with the kind of speed that usually caught people off guard because his normal movements were so calculatedly slow. He gripped her wrist before she could throw the limb. "Not nice," he chided. "Don't throw things."

"It isn't a thing, it's a tree limb," she pointed out, struggling against his strength. "Let go my wrist!"

"Not on your life." He took the limb away effortlessly, but he didn't release her arm.

She stared up into his eyes with resignation and faint excitement. He was very strong. "I would be honored if you came to my graduation, even if you came just as you are now," she said curtly. "I have friends of all colors and cultures, and it doesn't embarra.s.s either me or my family to be seen with them!"

"I beg your pardon," he said genuinely.

"So you should!" she muttered.

"You kick vehicles with flat tires, you throw things at men...what other bad habits do you have, besides that nasty mouth?"

"It takes a few bad words to show a flat tire you mean business!"

He smiled. "Does it, really?"

"You don't curse. Not in your own tongue," she said smugly, surprising him. "I haven't come across a Native American language yet that contains nasty words."

"We don't need them to express ourselves," he said with a superior smile.

"Well, stand me in the rain and call me an umbrella!" she said, tongue in cheek.

"No time," he returned. He let go of her wrist and turned. "I'll drop you off at a garage. You'll need help changing that tire."

"You aren't going to offer to help?"

"I can't change a tire," he said matter-of-factly. "I was one of the last guys to serve in Vietnam, when they were evacuating refugees. I caught a burst of shrapnel in the shoulder. It did some damage. It doesn't slow me down, but I can't lift much."

She winced. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound that way," she said miserably. "I keep putting my foot in my mouth."

"Pretty little feet," he mused, staring down at them. "Boots suit them."

She smiled. "You aren't angry?"

He shook his head. "Come on."

He drove her to the garage nearest her Bronco and waited until she came around to his side of the car to tell him she was going back out with the mechanic.

"Thanks a lot," she told him.

He shrugged. "My pleasure."

She hesitated, but there wasn't really anything else to say. With a funny little smile, she waved and ran back to the waiting mechanic. Cortez forced his eyes away from her and drove on without a backward glance. He was already working on the proof he'd need to have Lombard and his company cited for violation of the environmental laws.

Nikki was sitting in the living room when Kane's friend Jake came to see him. Jake's eyebrows lifted, but he smiled when Kane introduced her only as "Nikki."

"Nice to meet you," he said politely. "Uh, Kane, I need to see you for a minute outside."

"Sure. Excuse me, Nikki." He left her on the sofa, wrapped up in her white chenille robe, and followed Jake out. It was hot today. Both men were in shorts, although Kane's legs were much better suited to them than his friend.

"Well, what is it?" Kane asked.

"I've got to replace the radio," he told the older man. "It's almost gone. I had an estimate on repairing it, but it's going to be less expensive in the long run just to replace it. Is it all right if I order that one we looked at and have it expressed down here?"

"Go ahead," Kane invited. "I have plans for her weekend after next." He glanced back toward the house, his face happier than Jake had seen it in months. "I thought I might take Nikki out on her."

Jake cleared his throat. "I guess you know your own mind, and I'm not one to interfere. But is it wise?"

Kane scowled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, she is your worst enemy's sister, isn't she? I would have thought that you wouldn't want to give Seymour any intimate glimpses into your life."

A big hand shot out and caught Jake's upper arm with bruising strength. "Seymour's sister?"

Jake nodded. "That's who she is, Nicole Seymour. My daughter is married to a senator from Virginia, remember. She and Nikki are casual friends and she's got photos of her. She's a dish, isn't she?"

Kane was feeling betrayed. He honestly hadn't had a clue who Nikki was. But if he knew her ident.i.ty now...did she know his? He needed to find out. Afterward, whether she did or not, he had to get her out of his life and fast. He couldn't afford any connection whatsoever to his worst enemy.

"And to top it all off, she's a Republican," he said aloud.

"You win a few, you lose a few," Jake said philosophically. "Sorry to tell you about her, but you had to know sometime."

"Yes. I did." A hollow feeling claimed Kane as he dismissed Jake and walked back into the house. Nikki sat watching him with wide, curious eyes. Had she ever planned to tell him, he wondered. Or did she really not know who he was?

"We need a new radio on the boat," he told her, wary and curious now.

"Oh, I see." She smiled at him. "I really need to get back to my own cottage. I'm much better now, and I need to make a telephone call," she said. "I...my friend might come looking for me if he tries to phone me and I'm not there."

Kane's dark eyes narrowed. "What is your friend, a mob hit man?" he asked slowly, trying to draw her out.

"Oh, nothing like that," she said.

"You never did tell me. Is he impotent or gay?"

Her eyes fell. "Neither," she said, and clammed up.

His eyes narrowed as he stirred his coffee. It was beginning to make sense, like puzzle pieces suddenly fitting. "The man who owns that house, are you related to him by any chance?"

Her expression told him what he wanted to know. Her brother. Her brother Clayton Seymour owned it. He wanted to curse her for making him vulnerable, when she had to know there was no possible chance for them.

"You're very curious about him," she managed.

"Suppose you call him from here and have him come up?" he asked. "I'd like to meet him."

"I couldn't possibly do that!" she said, flushing. "He's...I mean, he's very busy!"

Of course he was, Kane thought with venom. He was busy trying to take Kane down so that he wouldn't have to lose the election to their candidate. He was so angry that he only just controlled it. Nikki knew who he was. She'd probably known ever since he washed up on her beach.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" he asked coolly.

She lifted her gaze to meet his. "I do," she replied honestly. "But I can't."

He made an angry sound. She was getting under his skin. The longer he was around her, the more he wanted her. But his need was choked by the knowledge of her ident.i.ty. It had to end here and now.

"You're very quiet," she pointed out.

He finished his coffee. "I have to get back to work," he said, averting his eyes. "I've been on holiday long enough."

Besides, he didn't dare tell her the real reason he had to get home. Not when her brother was going over his waste control methods with a magnifying gla.s.s. He faced a real challenge now. He had to get to the bottom of what could become a scandal if his idiot employee had engaged some guy with a pickup truck to haul off his industrial waste and dump it in a river somewhere. Once he hadn't believed that people could be so naive as to think they wouldn't be caught. Now he knew better. Wouldn't Seymour just love catching Lombard International with its hand in the toxic waste?

Nikki was thinking that she needed to go back to Charleston herself. She wasn't really feeling well enough to stay here by herself and he couldn't expect Kane to take care of her indefinitely.

"If you could drop me back by the beach house," she asked again.

His eyes lifted. "Certainly," he said formally. "Will he come and take care of you if I do?"

"He'll be there in a minute, as soon as he knows," she replied, wondering at his sudden, stark change of att.i.tude toward her.

"In that case, I'll have my housekeeper get your things together," he said abruptly, and left her sitting there alone. She didn't move for several minutes, too shocked and hurt by his coolness to think rationally.

Half an hour later, she was back in the beach house, sitting on the sofa and gasping for breath. Pneumonia made the smallest walk feel like mountain-climbing, although she was no longer feverish and her chest was slowly clearing.

"If he doesn't come, telephone the house," Kane said, sounding as if the words were being dragged out of him.

"I won't need to, but thanks for the offer."

He stood over her in white linen slacks and a yellow knit shirt, looking very handsome. "It wouldn't work out," he told her.

She smiled sadly. "I knew that from the beginning," she confided. "But some things are very difficult to resist. You must know that you're devastating at close range."

"So I've been told." His eyes narrowed. She was full of secrets and he couldn't find out even one. "The man who couldn't-did you love him?" he asked bluntly.

"Yes," she said, her voice faintly husky. She looked up unguardedly, and the pain in her eyes was briefly visible. "I loved him more than my own life."

"Didn't he even offer to have therapy?" he persisted.

She laughed coldly. "What good would that have done? You don't need therapy just because you can't feel desire for someone who loves you."

Her pain disturbed him. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but that was out of the question now. She hadn't trusted him. He couldn't get past that.