your repertoire."
"No, it isn't. When it comes to confrontation, I'm a gutless wonder."
"For a gutless wonder, you did pretty well. In fact, you were magnificent."
"That's because I wasn't fighting for me. I was fighting for you."
"You don't consider yourself worth fighting for?"
She shrugged. "It's the way I was raised. I was always told that sticking up for yourself was unladylike. Whereas sticking up for other people was okay."
He nodded gravely. "Self-sacrifice. A fine feminine tradition."
That made her laugh. "Spoken like a man who knows women well."
"Only two women. My mother and my wife."
At the mention of his dead wife, she fell silent. She wondered what the woman's name was, what she'd looked like, how much he'd loved her. He must have loved her a great deal—she'd heard the pain in his voice earlier that evening when he'd mentioned her death. She felt an unexpected stab of envy that this unnamed wife had been so loved. What Cathy would give to be as dearly loved by a man! Just as quickly she suppressed the thought, appalled that she could be jealous of a dead woman.
She turned away, her face tinged with guilt. "I think Jack will go along," she said. "Tonight, at least."
"That was blackmail, wasn't it? That stuff about the tax return?"
"He's a careless man. I just reminded him of his oversight."
Victor shook his head. "You are amazing. Jumping along rooftops one minute, blackmailing ex-husbands the next."
"You're so right," said Jack, who'd reappeared at the bottom of the stairs. "She is an amazing woman. I can't wait to see what she'll do next."
Cathy rose wearily to her feet. "At this point I'll do anything." She slipped past Jack and headed up the stairs. "Anything I have to to stay alive."
The two men listened to her footsteps recede along the hall. Then they regarded each other in silence.
"Well," said Jack with forced cheerfulness. "What's next on the agenda? Scrabble?"
"Try solitaire," said Victor, hauling himself off the couch. He was in no mood to share pleasantries with Jack Zuckerman. The man was slick and self-centered and he obviously went through women the way most men went through socks. Victor had a hard time imagining what Cathy had ever seen in the man. That is, aside from Jack's good looks and obvious wealth. There was no denying the fact he was a classic hunk, with the added attraction of money thrown in. Maybe it was that combination that had dazzled her.
A combination I'll certainly never possess, he thought.
He crossed the room, then stopped and turned. "Zuckerman?" he asked. "Do you still love your wife?"
Jack looked faintly startled by the question. "Do I still love her? Well, let me see. No, not exactly. But I suppose I have a sentimental attachment, based on ten years of marriage. And I respect her."
"Respect her? You?"
"Yes. Her talents. Her technical skill. After all, she's my number-one makeup artist."
That's what she meant to him. An asset he could use. Thinking of himself, the jerk . If there was anyone else Victor could turn to, he would. But the one man he would've trusted—Jerry—was dead. His other friends might already be under observation. Plus, they weren't in the sort of tax brackets that allowed private little hideaways in the woods. Jack, on the other hand, had the resources to spirit Cathy away to a safe place. Victor could only hope the man's sentimental attachment was strong enough to make him watch out for her.
"I have a proposition," said Victor.
Jack instantly looked suspicious. "What might that be?"
"I'm the one they're really after. Not Cathy. I don't want to make things any more dangerous for her than I already have."
"Big of you."
"It's better if I go off on my own. If I leave her with you, will you keep her safe?"
Jack shifted, looked down at his feet. "Well, sure. I guess so."
"Don't guess. Can you?"
"Look, we start shooting a film in Mexico next month. Jungle scenes, black lagoons, that sort of stuff. Should be a safe-enough
"No, it isn't. When it comes to confrontation, I'm a gutless wonder."
"For a gutless wonder, you did pretty well. In fact, you were magnificent."
"That's because I wasn't fighting for me. I was fighting for you."
"You don't consider yourself worth fighting for?"
She shrugged. "It's the way I was raised. I was always told that sticking up for yourself was unladylike. Whereas sticking up for other people was okay."
He nodded gravely. "Self-sacrifice. A fine feminine tradition."
That made her laugh. "Spoken like a man who knows women well."
"Only two women. My mother and my wife."
At the mention of his dead wife, she fell silent. She wondered what the woman's name was, what she'd looked like, how much he'd loved her. He must have loved her a great deal—she'd heard the pain in his voice earlier that evening when he'd mentioned her death. She felt an unexpected stab of envy that this unnamed wife had been so loved. What Cathy would give to be as dearly loved by a man! Just as quickly she suppressed the thought, appalled that she could be jealous of a dead woman.
She turned away, her face tinged with guilt. "I think Jack will go along," she said. "Tonight, at least."
"That was blackmail, wasn't it? That stuff about the tax return?"
"He's a careless man. I just reminded him of his oversight."
Victor shook his head. "You are amazing. Jumping along rooftops one minute, blackmailing ex-husbands the next."
"You're so right," said Jack, who'd reappeared at the bottom of the stairs. "She is an amazing woman. I can't wait to see what she'll do next."
Cathy rose wearily to her feet. "At this point I'll do anything." She slipped past Jack and headed up the stairs. "Anything I have to to stay alive."
The two men listened to her footsteps recede along the hall. Then they regarded each other in silence.
"Well," said Jack with forced cheerfulness. "What's next on the agenda? Scrabble?"
"Try solitaire," said Victor, hauling himself off the couch. He was in no mood to share pleasantries with Jack Zuckerman. The man was slick and self-centered and he obviously went through women the way most men went through socks. Victor had a hard time imagining what Cathy had ever seen in the man. That is, aside from Jack's good looks and obvious wealth. There was no denying the fact he was a classic hunk, with the added attraction of money thrown in. Maybe it was that combination that had dazzled her.
A combination I'll certainly never possess, he thought.
He crossed the room, then stopped and turned. "Zuckerman?" he asked. "Do you still love your wife?"
Jack looked faintly startled by the question. "Do I still love her? Well, let me see. No, not exactly. But I suppose I have a sentimental attachment, based on ten years of marriage. And I respect her."
"Respect her? You?"
"Yes. Her talents. Her technical skill. After all, she's my number-one makeup artist."
That's what she meant to him. An asset he could use. Thinking of himself, the jerk . If there was anyone else Victor could turn to, he would. But the one man he would've trusted—Jerry—was dead. His other friends might already be under observation. Plus, they weren't in the sort of tax brackets that allowed private little hideaways in the woods. Jack, on the other hand, had the resources to spirit Cathy away to a safe place. Victor could only hope the man's sentimental attachment was strong enough to make him watch out for her.
"I have a proposition," said Victor.
Jack instantly looked suspicious. "What might that be?"
"I'm the one they're really after. Not Cathy. I don't want to make things any more dangerous for her than I already have."
"Big of you."
"It's better if I go off on my own. If I leave her with you, will you keep her safe?"
Jack shifted, looked down at his feet. "Well, sure. I guess so."
"Don't guess. Can you?"
"Look, we start shooting a film in Mexico next month. Jungle scenes, black lagoons, that sort of stuff. Should be a safe-enough
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