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she would be forced to open it and handle the papers even if she had already decided to refuse the case. From any other man, she might have thought the actions accidental, but not McCarthy: He was quite subtle enough to have planned his attack meticulously. And, he was very determined.
    Makepeace did not know this, of course, and although the knowledge of the FBI man’s manipulation might have armed him for another round of argument, all he heard was the flat commitment in her voice and the affectionate use of his nickname. He looked into his mug for a while, then rose to brew another of his endless cups of Earl Grey.
    “You don’t have to go immediately? It’s usually a drop-everything rush when Agent McCarthy shows up.”
    “Two weeks won’t matter one way or another—or if they do, then the thing was moving too fast for me to interfere with anyway. I’ll finish up the quarter, hand in my grades. I will tell the students there’s an extra ten points for getting their final projects in on Monday. That should help.”
    “But you don’t think you’ll be finished with this… what do you call it, anyway?” His burst of mild irritation would be another man’s fury.
    “Case, investigation, mess, disaster, bit of primal chaos—whatever you like. No, it’ll take at least two or three months.”
    “You will be back by September, though?”
    “I hope so, but it’s best not to count on me.”
    “God, Anne. I don’t know what to say.”
    “‘Good luck,’ maybe?”
    “I will pray for you every day.”
    Anne had to smile. “Antony, when will you learnthat professors of religion are not supposed to actually believe in it?”
    “When you learn to enjoy Earl Grey tea, I suppose. But seriously, Anne. You can’t allow them to use you forever. And they will if you permit it, you know that. Do it this time if you must, but tell them it’s the last.”
    “When I can’t face it anymore, Antony, they’ll be the first to know.”
    Makepeace had to be satisfied with that. The talk turned to mundane matters, of replacement lecturers for one of the classes and the probable cancellation of the other, arranging for Antony to take over her three graduate thesis projects, the choice between leave-without-pay or trying for a last-minute paid sabbatical. Finally, Anne made a move toward gathering her things.
    “Come home for dinner,” Makepeace offered suddenly. “Marla would love to see you.”
    “I can’t, Antony. I have to get home for the dogs.”
    “Another night, then. Before you go.”
    “I’d love to.” She put on her coat and pulled a pair of gloves out of the pocket, and then she looked up with a faint trace of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, and I should warn you, rumors may start up when I fail to appear next quarter. Glen and his policewoman made quite an impression on some of the students. They’ll probably work it up into an arrest for drug smuggling or white slavery.”
    “Agent McCarthy is fairly unmistakable, isn’t he? I can’t imagine
him
doing undercover work.”
    She heard a clear note of rather catty pride that she should be better at the wicked and dangerous job he so disapproved of than the hateful man who dragged her into it, but she hid her amusement. “He’s actually not bad at it, given time to grow his hair out a bit.”
    Makepeace shot a glance at Anne’s own thick hair,but did not say anything. He let her go and prepared to leave himself.
    It was only much later that evening, as he sat in front of a dying fire brooding over their conversation, that it struck him there might be a second, darker meaning to Anne’s not being able to face it anymore.
    For two days Agent McCarthy and Inspector Farmer cooled their heels, Farmer impatiently, McCarthy with the resignation of a man who had done this before. On Thursday afternoon, McCarthy was seated on a park bench, his arms spread out along its back and his face lifted to the weak sun, while Gillian Farmer paced up and down on the gravel