Flash

"Tell him I'm not here, Hamilton."
    "Sorry, Ms. Chantry," Hamilton said apologetically. "He's already in the elevator. Want me to follow him on up?"
    "No, never mind. It's all right, Hamilton. Thanks." She switched back to the other line. "Todd? There's someone at the door. Or there will be in a few seconds. I've got to run. I'll see you and Dixon tomorrow at the pier. We'll go over the entire Lancaster fund-raiser program."
    "Wait, Olivia, I want to talk to you some more about this situation between you and Sloan."
    "Don't worry, everything's under control. I keep telling you, I can handle Jasper Sloan."
    The doorbell chimed. Olivia flinched. Now she was jumping at the sound of a simple doorbell, she thought, disgusted. Maybe she had been drinking a little too much coffee.
    "Bye, Todd."
    The bell bonged again as she hung up the phone.
    She took a deep breath, pasted a polite smile on her face, and went to open the door.
    Jasper stood in the hall. He had a white paper sack in one hand. The smell of something hot out of an oven wafted through the air.
    She realized that she had not yet ingested anything except caffeine since getting out of bed. She eyed the sack and grudgingly held the door open.
    "A little early for a Sunday morning, isn't it?" she asked.
    "We've got a lot to talk about" He held up the paper bag. "I brought something to sop up the coffee."
    "That was very clever of you." She closed the door and led the way down into the living room. "I woke up this morning and realized I had no food in the house. I've got to do some grocery shopping."
    Jasper went straight into the kitchen and made himself at home. He opened a cupboard door, found a plate for the scones, and then checked the refrigerator.
    "We're in luck," he said. "You've got some butter and marmalade."
    "And coffee."
    "All the basic food groups." He eyed the copy of
Hard Currency
lying on the counter. "I take it you've read Andy Andrews' report on Silver Galaxy Foods Night?"
    "I certainly did." Fresh outrage swept through her. "He had the nerve to say that Light Fantastic turned the
Private Island
into Foil Town. After all that gushing I did over his stupid newsletter, too. Little twit."
    "It wasn't the, uh, Foil Town reference that caught my attention," Jasper said dryly. "It was the mention of our cozy relationship."
    "Oh, that." She did not look at him as she picked up the coffeepot.
    "Yes, that."
    "My brother called about it." She busied herself pouring two mugs full of the strong, dark-roast brew. "I told him it was all part of your united front plan."
    Jasper gave her an enigmatic look as he opened the marmalade jar. "Very good. That was the right answer."
    She focused her attention on the task of getting two knives out of the silverware drawer and onto the counter.
    She did not understand the edgy feeling that gripped her. It was just one very short night of sex, she reminded herself, not proof that cold fusion actually worked.
    There was something disturbingly intimate about the sight of Jasper moving comfortably around her kitchen. Memories of how it had felt to lie beneath him while she experienced the orgasm of the century did weird things to her concentration this morning. She had to think carefully in order to remember how to arrange the knives beside the plates.
    Jasper put the platter of warm scones down on the counter between the coffee cups. He sat down on one of the stools.
    Olivia slid onto the stool next to his and picked up a scone. She inhaled with deep appreciation. It really did smell wonderful. She lathered butter on it.
    "Ready to talk about the blackmailer?" Jasper asked.
    "Yes." She sighed around a mouthful of scone.
    There really was no choice, she thought. She had awakened this morning with the knowledge that Jasper was right. Once she had started to think clearly, the necessity of telling him the whole story had been obvious. After all, he was involved in this mess. He had already been threatened once. There was no telling what the blackmailer would do next.
    "I'm listening."
    "Later," she said. "We'll go to the Kesgrove Museum as soon as it opens. It's easier to talk about Logan when you're standing in front of his art."
    He watched her. "This is about your husband?"
    "Yes. It's all about Logan. Many of the truly depressing things in my life have been about him."

17
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    I t was early. They had the museum to themselves. Their footsteps echoed on the marble tile floor of the Contemporary Northwest Artists wing.