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in your suitcase for several days."
    The slipper Hannah aimed at her tormentor's head struck the door instead.
    Fertility goddess! So Jarrett thought that amusing, did he? That was because he believed in the old adage about keeping women barefoot and pregnant. Hannah stormed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She wondered just what that other woman had done to him to make him so distrusting of the female sex. Was it after the fateful lesson he had learned at her hands that Jarrett had begun pouring his passion into pre-Columbian art? Because there was passion in the man. She had seen more than one hint of it tonight.
    Hannah shivered beneath the warmth of the shower and stopped herself from pursuing that line of thought. No, she was most definitely not going to allow herself to dwell on the implications of Jarrett Blade's passions. If the man chose to bury himself amid the artifacts of another age, that was his problem.
    She was certainly not going to allow herself to feel any compassion for a man who distrusted women the way Jarrett did. He'd made his own damn bed, apparently, a long time ago.
    "Let him lie in it. Alone." Hannah grimaced at herself in the steamed mirror as she stepped out of the shower. In the meantime, what was she going to do? She was in an unbelievable mess. A smuggler? Her?
    Only a man as cynical as Jarrett Blade could actually believe such a thing!
    What now? Should she confront the Clydemores? Warn them that somebody by the name of Blade thought they were involved in a smuggling ring? If they weren't guilty of having stashed that little goddess in her suitcase, then presumably they would be safe. Jarrett could prove nothing against them. After all, he'd found the statue in her own luggage. Frowning, Hannah dried herself quickly and went back into the bedroom.
    On the other hand, what if John and Alice were smugglers? Jarrett seemed so sure of his facts. Of course, he was also sure that all women were out to conquer and control men, too!
    The guy is a first-class nut case and he's in the adjoining room! Hannah slid a nervous glance toward the closed door between the rooms. What if she simply slipped out of the hotel and headed for the airport?
    No, if she fled the scene, Jarrett would be certain she was guilty. And somehow she wanted to convince him she'd known nothing about the gold goddess. It would be satisfying to have Jarrett Blade eat his accusations and suspicions.
    But her only chance of proving herself innocent lay with the Clydemores. What if they made no move to retrieve the stolen figurine? Well, Jarrett probably wouldn't turn her over to the authorities. She'd sensed he really didn't want anything to do with Customs. Apparently he was acting for a friend and preferred to keep the whole shady matter quiet.
    "So what does that make you, Jarrett Blade?" Hannah whispered into the darkness as she slid into bed.
    "Are you a smuggler yourself? Are you a thief? A private agent dealing in pre-Columbian art? Where the hell do you fit into this whole picture?"
    In the adjoining room Jarrett lay in bed listening as Hannah showered and climbed into bed. The small gold figure was on the nightstand beside him, and as he listened he absently reached out a hand and stroked it. This statue was fantastic. Early Chavin goldsmithing from ancient Peru. Probably around 250
    B.C. A magnificent example of the fine artistry of the Chavin culture. God, he'd give a fortune to add it to his collection.
    And Hannah Prescott seemed genuinely unconcerned with it. To her the priceless statue had simply been placed in her overstuffed souvenir bag by accident. Hannah Prescott, in fact, seemed remarkably genuine all the way around. But you could never be sure with a woman.
    Still, was it really possible for someone with eyes like Hannah's to lie? Jarrett's fingers tightened briefly around the body of the goddess and his thumb moved on the gold surface in an unconsciously sensual motion. He wondered what Hannah's eyes