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in her slightly trembling hands. “I see you two have met,” she said brightly. “I’m so glad—I hate to make formal introductions.”
    “We’ve met,” Randall said quietly, his eyes still unfathomable as they watched Maggie. “Did your sister tell you about the excitement at the studio today?”
    “Excitement?” Maggie echoed innocently.
    “One of my co-workers was found murdered,” Kate said, and if her voice shook slightly, that was an understandable reaction. “His name was Francis Ackroyd. I don’t think you ever met him, Maggie. Someone shot him.”
    “How perfectly ghastly,” Maggie said, taking the proferred drink and forcing herself to sip it lightly. She was experienced at dissembling; she was much better at it now than she’d been when she’d first known Randall. But somehow those darkeyes of his made her feel suddenly gauche and uneasy. “Do they know who did it?”
    Kate shook her head. “They’ve ruled out robbery—nothing was taken from his apartment.”
    “Is that where he was killed? In his apartment?”
    “That’s where he was found, Maggie,” Randall said, and she told herself that she was only imagining the wealth of meaning in his slow, deep voice. She moved away and turned her back on those eyes that she hated.
    There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Kate broke it with sudden chatter. “Everyone was completely freaked out, Maggie! The police were all over the place, asking questions, and Alicia Stoneham was prostrate—”
    “The poor woman,” Maggie tried to interrupt her sister’s nervous spate of words. “She’s been through so much the last few years, what with losing her husband and trying to keep the studio together. She doesn’t deserve this sort of thing.”
    “No one does,” Randall said. “I would think it would be harder on the victim.”
    “I don’t know. At least it’s all over for the victim. He doesn’t have to deal with the horrible aftermath of violent crime. He’s well out of it.”
    “I think I’d prefer to deal with the horrible aftermath,” Randall said.
    “You
would,”
Maggie shot back. Kate stared at her in sudden surprise, no doubt shocked by her rudeness to the supposed stranger. Maggie considered explaining to Kate that she’d known Randall in her scarlet past; she considered it, and then dropped the idea. Kate didn’t need anything new to worry about, not when she looked as if she were on the edge of collapse already. It could wait until Maggie found out why Randall really was there. His story about investing in Stoneham Studios was so farfetched, it was a joke. Randall never did anything that didn’t make piles of money, and it would be a long time before Stoneham turned a profit once more.
    “Do you suppose we could change the subject?” Kate inquiredfaintly. “I’ve had about as much as I can take this afternoon.”
    “Of course, darling,” Maggie soothed instantly. “Why don’t you sit and relax? By the way, where’s the baby?”
    “Still at the baby-sitter’s. Mrs. Gilliam is bringing her up at six. That reminds me, I’d better call …” Kate disappeared before Maggie could stop her, and she was left alone in the lofty confines of the old apartment, alone with her nemesis, who made even Bud Willis seem less reprehensible.
    Hell, she was an adult. There was no reason on this earth why Randall Carter should still have the ability to elicit such emotions from her. She’d be civil, cool, and remote. There was no way in hell he’d ever have to know that a small, secret part of her soul was still lacerated from her last encounter with him.
    She gave him her brittle, polite smile. “So tell me, Randall,” she said, “are you still messing in other people’s politics for kicks?”
    He just looked at her. His was an arresting face, not particularly handsome, but striking. His nose was long, elegant, and aquiline; his mouth was equally aristocratic and thin-lipped. His cheekbones were high, almost