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flicked back
to Owen's face. He was angry, although she doubted that anyone else
could tell. But he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Anna,
and she at him. His expression didn't change, but his eyes said
everything. Lee Caswell was an important man. So was Owen
Whitfield.
    And Elisabeth was just his wife.
    Elisabeth lifted her chin and smiled at the
others. "Missy, let me get you another drink."
     
    "I'm heartily sick of pasta, Casey. I can't
imagine what made you choose that place or this cab." Gypsy leaned
against the backseat of the battered gypsy cab without making
enough room for Casey. As horns bellowed behind them he squirmed in
beside her, squeezing his lithe body into position like the last
piece of a complicated jigsaw puzzle.
    "I chose it because your expectations were
ridiculous. If you want to eat at a place like Aureole, give me a
month's notice. Without it you'll get pasta in the Village."
    "Bad pasta!"
    "Mine was excellent."
    "You have no taste. You're still a poor
mick-spick from Hell's Kitchen. If it's got meat in it, you think
it's gourmet."
    He snuggled in tighter. "So speaks the girl
from the wrong side of Cleveland. Pierogi more your style, Gypsy?"
He laughed as she punched him. "Kielbasa? Sauerkraut?"
    "I'm as Irish as you are, you jerk!"
    "Which is only half-Irish, as you've neatly
pointed out. What's your other half? Slovak? Polish? You're sure as
hell no WASP."
    "I'm half-Romanian Gypsy. And if you don't
show some respect immediately, I'll put a curse on you!"
    "You already have. I must be cursed to want
to spend time with you." He grabbed her flailing fists and held
them tightly.
    "Mister," the driver said, turning in his
seat with the world-weariness that even a week of driving the
streets of New York could produce. "Gotta have number and street.
You never gimmet. Number. Street."
    "Sure, I know," Casey said. He gave the
address of the studio. "And remember, go by way of Brooklyn,
okay?"
    "What?" The cab driver's English wasn't up
to complicated instructions. Gypsy made a practiced guess that the
man hadn't lived outside of Latin America for more than a year.
    "I told you before. I want you to take half
an hour to get us there." Casey clasped Gypsy's flailing hands
together in one of his and fished in his pocket with the other.
    "What are you talking about? And why are we
in this, this . . . jalopy?" Gypsy tried to wriggle from his grasp.
The cab was an old gray Ford that had seen better days and never
seen official licensing. It had been waiting for them when they
emerged, and Casey had told her it was a gypsy cab for his Gypsy
woman.
    Casey managed to free his wallet. He plucked
two bills from it and handed them over the front seat. A volley of
fluent Spanish followed. " Comprende ?" he finished.
    "Yeah," the driver said.
    "And remember just drive. No free
shows."
    "Yeah."
    "Casey, I have to get back to the
studio!"
    "Didn't you hear my instructions?" Casey
slipped Gypsy's arms over his head. He forced her back against the
worn plush seat. "We're headed there right now."
    "What in the hell do you think you're
doing?"
    "Showing some creativity."
    "You're showing some balls, that's
what!"
    "Not yet, but very, very soon."
    She tried to kick him, but it was a weak
attempt.
    "It's getting dark and the windows are
tinted. I made sure nobody's going to see us," he assured her. As
if to make his point he drew his trenchcoat over them so that the
driver's view was blocked, as well.
    "Do you think I care about that?"
    He smiled grimly. "That's right. Stupid
me."
    "You take way the hell too much for
granted!"
    He released her hands. They stayed where
they were.
    His didn't. He lifted her skirt, and she
smiled a little. She knew what he'd find. Her thighs were warm,
smooth and bare. He slid his hands up to her hips and found them
bare, too. Some of the thrill seemed to go out of the seduction.
"You slut, you knew, didn't you?"
    "Knew what?"
    "Knew we were going back by way of Brooklyn.
Either that, or