The Adventurer

his eyes as Sarah stepped carefully around him.
    "It's okay, beast. I know what I'm doing. I'll take good care of him." Sarah grinned at the cat and went down the walk to get into her car.
    Inside the house Gideon sat unmoving until the cheerful hum of the compact's small engine had faded into the distance. Then he looked down at Ellora.
    "You know something? She reminds me of you. She moved right in on us the same way you moved in on me and old Machu a year ago. What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
    He got up slowly and carried the cups over to the sink. He had long ago discovered that if he didn't pick up the dishes, they never got picked up. He was willing to bet that Sarah Fleetwood's apartment would be littered with old tea mugs that needed washing.
    "The Flowers. Why in hell did it have to be the Flowers? And why her?" Gideon stalked into the living room and paused for a moment beside the unfinished chess game. He had carved the pieces himself. They weren't great art, but they were functional. He picked up the queen and turned it over and over in his hand, examining it from all angles.
    He was interrupted in his contemplation of the queen by a grumbling roar from the front door. Gideon went to open it. Machu Picchu ambled inside, pausing briefly to slap his tail heavily against Gideon's boot before he heaved himself up onto his favorite indoor position on the back of the sofa.
    "Dinner. I'm supposed to drop everything and pick her up for dinner. Where does she get off giving orders like that? Who the hell does she think she is?"
    The cats blinked lazily and watched as Gideon strode along the hall to his study. There, carefully weighted down by a big chunk of rose quartz, he found the stack of letters he had received from one Sarah Fleetwood. For some reason he couldn't explain why he'd kept them all.
    The earliest dated from four months ago when she had first contacted him for information on modern treasure hunting. The latest dated from last week. He picked it up and scanned it again. It was in the same style as all the rest, breezy, enthusiastic, cheerful and inexplicably captivating.
     
    Dear Mr. Trace:
    It's midnight but I had to let you know I am nearly finished with
Glitter Quest
, I want to tell you how much I appreciate your research assistance. It really made a difference. The plot is much more intricate and involved because of some of the details you provided. It's been fascinating working with you. This has been such a fun book to write.
    I must tell you I have truly enjoyed our correspondence these past few months. In fact, I have been inspired, but I'll explain just how at another time.
    By the way, if you're still suffering from that cold you mentioned in your last note, I suggest you try hot tea with a shot of lemon and honey. Works wonders.
    Yours,
    Sarah
    P.S. Am enclosing a cartoon I cut out of the paper this afternoon. I thought you would enjoy it.
     
    The cartoon featured a pair of cats. It was only a coincidence that the cats, one beefy and one quite small, vaguely resembled Machu Picchu and Ellora, Gideon told himself. After all, he'd never mentioned either feline in his letters to Sarah.
    He glanced at the old clock in the corner. It was still early in the day. Plenty of time to find an excuse for not taking Sarah Fleetwood to dinner.
    But the woman knew too damned much about the Fleetwood Flowers, Gideon reminded himself. And now she had managed to locate him. That made her a distinct threat to the quiet, well-ordered existence he had carved out for himself.
    Gideon had learned long ago that it was good policy to neutralize potential threats before they got to be real problems.
    He'd better take the lady to dinner.

2
    « ^ »
    I T WASN'T as if he had anything better to do, Gideon told himself as he climbed out of his car in the motel parking lot. It was either this or another evening alone with Ellora, Machu Picchu and a good book. Not that the evenings alone were all that bad. For the most part he found them comfortable.
    But a part of him still hankered after an occasional shot of excitement and, for better or worse, Sarah Fleetwood had managed to whet his appetite. He had to admit it was the first time in a long while that a woman had been this interesting. What few relationships he'd gotten involved in since his divorce had tended to be quiet and extremely low-key.
    There was nothing quiet or low-key about Sarah Fleetwood.
    The door of one of the motel rooms was flung wide as