oah slid the last sheaf of papers into a briefcase and carried it downstairs to the foyer where his suitcases were waiting to be loaded into the car by his chauffeur.

He stood in the foyer, his hands thrust into his pockets, taking a last look around. He had designed this house himself. He loved the shapes and forms of its rooms, its soaring ceilings and panoramic views. Now, he was glad to be leaving for a while. Wherever he went in the house, memories appeared of Sloan and his gullible obsession with her; they greeted him in its rooms and followed him down its hallways.

He glanced into the living room and saw Sloan there on the sofa, worried about being arrested.

Noah's footsteps echoed on the polished wood floors as he wandered from room to room.

He went through the kitchen doorway and she was there, making late-night omelettes: He who does not help with the cooking does not get to help with the eating, she'd warned.

"Give me an assignment. Make it a tough one."

She'd handed him a knife and a green pepper.

"I had something more macho in mind," he'd explained.

She'd given him the onion.

Noah opened the back door and walked out on the terrace, standing there. On his left was the umbrella table where she ate breakfast with Courtney and Douglas and himself for the first time. Courtney had been demanding the details of the evening before when Noah "crashed and burned," and Sloan had burst into infectious laughter. I don't know the first thing about flirting… If I'd had a telephone, I'd have called my friend Sara from the dance floor and asked her what to say.

Noah tore his gaze from the table and looked straight ahead. She'd met him there on the lawn near the terrace, late at night, after her party, looking like a barefoot angel with her sandals in her hand. "With respect to… those sorts of relationships… I haven't had what you… what some people might consider much experience. Actually, I've only had two of those relationships."

"Only two? What a pity. Dare I hope they were both very short and completely meaningless?"

"Yes," she'd whispered, laying her hand on his cheek. "They really were."

They'd ended up on the chaise lounge on his right that night, where he had behaved like a teenager, necking and petting. The beach stretched out in front of him. He'd met her on the beach the night Edith died; he'd come back from Miami early because he missed her. He'd walked her home after she made him help with the cooking. "I'm crazy about you." He had meant "I love you." Thank God he hadn't said that. It would be one more idiotic thing he'd have to berate himself for now.

Noah turned back and walked into the house. Of all the women he'd known, he wondered what streak of mental instability, what fluke of human chemistry, could have made her the one woman he'd wanted above all others.

He could not understand how he could have been so damned naïve. He would have bet everything he had that she was as in love with him as he had been with her. Actually, he had bet on her and in the end, she'd cost him a damned fortune. The unsavory publicity resulting from the FBI's search of his boats had damaged his reputation and, even though the FBI hadn't found anything, the mere fact that they'd suspected him would linger in people's minds for years to come.

Sloan Reynolds was as delicate and beautiful as an orchid; she was Mata Hari in a ponytail.

He stopped in the doorway of the family room and looked at the videotape sticking out of the VCR. For days after Paris and she were nearly killed, the television news programs had had a field day running film footage they'd gotten of Sloan doing her job as a cop. Even though Courtney regarded Sloan as a complete traitor, she'd been fascinated with what she saw on television and, with typical innocent insensitivity, she'd taped everything she saw and then badgered Noah to watch it.

According to Courtney, the Bell Harbor Police Department had been featured on an episode of a series about "Real Police in Action" or something like that. Sloan had been part of a drug bust that was filmed while it was actually happening.

The videotape beckoned to Noah. This was his last chance to see it before he left. Courtney and Douglas were visiting Paris, and he was alone in the house. He walked over to the television set, turned it on and inserted the tape.

The television screen lit up, the tape began to run, and Noah felt a new surge of fury when he remembered he'd actually volunteered to teach Sloan to shoot so the "delicate little angel" wouldn't be afraid of guns!

On the television screen, the "angel" was wearing a jacket with POLICE stenciled across the back, and she was crouched at the side of a police cruiser, a gun clasped between her hands, covering her buddies as they charged across the front lawn.

In the next film clip, Sloan wasn't merely covering her pals, she was in the lead, running toward a building and flattening herself next to the front door, gun clasped in her hands, held high.

Noah hit the OFF button. He despised her in that videotape.

But if she hadn't betrayed him, he would have thought she was utterly magnificent.

He remembered he'd left one report upstairs that he needed to take with him, and he went up to his office to get it so that he could leave. He was leafing through the files in his desk drawer when he heard voices coming down the hall. When he looked up Paul Richardson was standing in the doorway with Courtney on one side and Douglas on the other.

Douglas saw the ominous look in Noah's eyes. "Noah, would you just listen to what Paul has to say?"

In reply, Noah reached for the telephone and pressed the intercom button. "Martin," he said to his chauffeur/bodyguard, "I have an intruder in my office. Get rid of him." He shifted his gaze to his desk, found the report he was looking for, and stood up, moving around his desk. "When I walk past you, Richardson," he said as his father and sister wisely backed out of his way and a little down the hall, "if you so much as twitch, I will consider it an aggressive move, and I will delight in throwing your ass over that balcony. Do we understand each other?"

In response, the FBI agent stepped further into Noah's office, shoved the door closed, and turned the lock, effectively blocking out Douglas, Courtney, and Martin, who was bounding up the stairs. Leaning his shoulders against the door to further prevent anyone from getting it open, Richardson folded his arms over his chest, and regarded Noah impassively for a moment.

On the other side of the door, Courtney and Douglas could be heard reassuring Martin that he wasn't needed. Paul had no doubt that Noah was enraged enough and fit enough to take him on himself right now, but he was banking on the fact that Noah wouldn't want to expose a fifteen-year-old girl to a violent scene involving himself, even if she could only hear and not see it. He was also banking on his ability to diffuse Noah's wrath before he decided that Courtney had precipitated the scene and could pay the price by having to listen to a fistfight.

"Noah," Paul said finally in a relaxed, conversational tone, "I've had a lousy two weeks. In fact, I haven't been through anything like this in over five years."

Noah leaned his hip on the front of the desk, a muscle drumming in his clenched jaw, his attention on the door behind Paul as he listened for an indication that Courtney was still out there or that she'd gone.

Paul knew it, and so he talked a little faster, and a little friendlier. "Do you remember the Zachary Benedict case from five years ago?"

Maitland's gaze flicked contemptuously to him. No one was likely to forget the worldwide furor over the Academy Award-winning actor/director who'd been wrongfully convicted of killing his wife. Benedict had escaped from prison and taken a hostage named Julie Mathison, who'd fallen in love with him. Paul had recaptured him in Mexico when Benedict risked his freedom to rejoin Julie, and the violent scene in the Mexico City airport had been televised around the globe.

"I can see from your expression that you remember that debacle. I was the agent in charge of apprehending Benedict I'm the one who took Julie Mathison to Mexico and used her as bait in the airport."

"Tell me something," Noah snapped, "do you ever go after anyone who is guilty?"

"Not in your case, obviously. And not in Benedict's case either. I went to see Benedict when he was finally acquitted and released from prison after Mexico City, and I pleaded successfully on Julie's behalf. He forgave her."

"What the hell does this have to do with me?"

"I'm getting to that right now. You see, there were two major differences between Julie's situation with Benedict and Sloan's with you right now: Julie went to Mexico City to help me apprehend Benedict because I persuaded her that he was guilty. I would never have been able to persuade Sloan that you were guilty."

Paul glimpsed a flicker of reluctant interest in Noah's eyes and charged ahead. "In fact, I didn't bother to try. Sloan came to Palm Beach with me to help me check out Carter Reynolds. She had no idea that I thought you were bringing in the cash that Reynolds was laundering for the cartel. I kept her in the dark for several reasons. One of those reasons was that Sloan is an idealist; she's loyal and she is very smart. If she'd ever suspected I was using her to glean information that could be used against you, I think she would have blown her cover and mine to shield you."

"Am I supposed to believe that?"

"Why would I lie?"

"Because you're a conniving son-of-a-bitch."

"Courtney shares your opinion," Paul said wryly. "She phrased it a little more politely, but her tone and her meaning were identical. However," he continued briskly, "that's off the subject. I said there were two major differences between Julie Mathison's and Sloan Reynolds's situations. The second one is this: Julie felt guilty for betraying Benedict after she did it. She was willing to put up with Benedict's fury and his refusal to see her or let her explain. Sloan, on the other hand, has nothing whatsoever to feel guilty about. She has as much pride as you do, so think carefully before you walk on it any longer."

Paul shoved away from the door. "I know I've given you a lot to consider." He glanced at his watch. "You have a half hour to decide whether or not to screw up your life and Sloan's."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's waiting for you on the Apparition. So give it some thought. She isn't there to plead with you. She'd never plead. She wanted to tell you she was sorry about what happened and to say goodbye to you properly."

Turning he reached for the door, then he stopped and turned halfway back. "There's one more thing," he said with a smile. "I'm going to marry Paris, and as I learned to my immense discomfort one night she has a surprisingly strong right arm."

Maitland caught the gist of that. "She slapped you?" he concluded dispassionately.

"Exactly."

"Why?"

"I accused her of murdering Edith."

"That sounds like a good reason to me," he said with biting amusement.

"An hour before that, I also discovered that Sloan packs even more power and she's quicker than Paris."

Interest flickered in Maitland's eyes. "Sloan slapped you too?"

"No. She nailed me with a right hook that almost sent me to the floor."

"Why?"

Paul sobered. "Because she'd just found out I'd used her to get to you." He'd said everything he could think of to say to vindicate Sloan, but when he searched Noah's impassive face for a clue as to how he felt, his expression was completely unreadable.

Noah sat there after Paul was gone, thinking over what he'd said. There was no way of knowing for certain that the FBI agent was telling the truth about Sloan. There would never be proof. And yet, he did have proof. He'd always had it. The proof had been in Sloan's eyes when she looked at him, in her arms when she clung to him, in her heart when she made love to him.

That was proof enough, Noah decided. He stood up, eager to see Sloan, and then a thought occurred to him and he started to laugh. Richardson was not going to get off free. After publicly damaging Noah's integrity and shedding doubt on his character, Richardson was going to be stuck with Noah for a brother-in-law!

He was still smiling about that when he walked into the foyer and Courtney intercepted him at the front door. "I guess this is goodbye," she said, looking somewhat subdued for Courtney. "Paul said he didn't think anything he said made much difference to you. Don't be angry with me for bringing him here, okay? I don't want you to go away angry with me." She leaned up on her toes and to Noah's shock she put her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss goodbye.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were actually going to miss me," he teased.

She shrugged. "I will."

"Really? I didn't know you even liked me."

His suitcases were in the car already, and he reached down and picked up his briefcase. She was watching him, trying to detect his mood, Noah knew, and she was clever enough to pick up on something that was giving her hope. "I would like you a whole lot more if you'd forgive Sloan."

Over her shoulder, Noah saw Douglas standing in the living room, watching him with the same hopeful expression on his face that Noah heard in Courtney's voice. Eager to leave and see Sloan, Noah winked at his father and turned toward the door. "Well, okay if it would really make you like me a whole lot more."

That was all she needed to hear. She started pushing her new-found advantage to the limits. "You know," she added irrepressibly as he opened the door, "what I'd really like more than anything is if you'd marry Sloan and stay in Palm Beach."

Noah laughed, wrapped his arm around her, and kissed the top of her springy curls. She took that as a "yes" and followed him out onto the porch. "Noah," she called eagerly as he slid into the back seat of the car, "I'd make a really terrific aunt!"

His shoulders shaking with laughter, Noah closed the car door.