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level. He fished a paper clip out of his pocket and straightened it. "He was the one who had the hotel give me a room next to his, Gwen. With a connecting door, no less. I asked the desk clerk this afternoon if there was any way of getting a different room, and was told that the present arrangements were per Mr. Vandyke’s personal request. And just now Vandyke ordered me to sleep in my own room."
    Guinevere flushed. "Yes, well, perhaps he was just trying to look after me. He’s very much a gentleman, Zac. He might feel obliged to, er, protect me from unwanted advances. Or something."
    "Bullshit. Vandyke is making it clear he wants a bodyguard, not a baby-sitter. But he won’t come right out and say it. I’m starting to get curious." Zac fiddled delicately with the locks on the briefcase. "He’s not as concerned about where the briefcase is as he is where I am. He was upset this afternoon when he got out of his meeting early and found us gone. I got the feeling he expected to find me standing right outside the front door of the conference room with my trusty machine gun slung over my shoulder."
    "Maybe he has a right to be upset." Guinevere went to stand beside Zac, eyeing his efforts curiously. "After all, he is paying us to be on call this weekend. Where did you learn to do that?"
    "Correspondence school." There was a tiny ping, and one of the locked clasps sprang open. Zac turned his attention to the other.
    "Amazing what you can learn at home these days." Guinevere leaned closer. "Is it hard?"
    "Only when someone’s breathing over your shoulder."
    She leaned closer. "You have to learn to work under pressure, Zac."
    "Pressure," he announced as the second clasp popped open, "is something I’m learning a lot about this weekend."
    "We’ve only been here one day."
    He opened the briefcase. "Don’t remind me." He stood up and examined the contents. Folders, several thick documents with Vandyke Development Proprietary Information stamped all over them, and a number of letters were neatly arranged in the case. There was also a small silver flask tucked into one corner. Zac reached for it.
    "You didn’t tell me the guy was a closet drinker." He unscrewed the top and sniffed. "Cognac."
    "He has been under a lot of pressure lately, as I keep reminding you. Maybe he feels the need of a nip now and then, how should I know? He certainly handled his alcohol all right this evening." She broke off consideringly.
    "Of course, it would have been hard to drink very much of that wine at dinner."
    Zac replaced the flask. "You can say that again. Tomorrow evening we’ll have to work it so that one of us gets to choose the wine."
    "It’ll have to be me. Anyone whose regular fare is tequila can’t be trusted to pick good wine." Guinevere carefully probed the contents of the briefcase. "I’ve seen most of these at one time or another during the past week. He had me do some of the final revisions. He didn’t even want some of these documents sent out to the word processing pool."
    "That’s a normal precaution when there’s a major deal at stake. Routine company security." Zac lifted out a few of the papers and set them on the bed. "But Vandyke isn’t acting routine."
    Guinevere examined a cost analysis. "Are you sure you’re not overreacting because he as good as ordered you to spend the night next door to him instead of, uh, wandering the halls?"
    "Wandering the halls," Zac repeated thoughtfully. "Is that what you call it?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "Let me see that envelope."
    Obediently Guinevere handed it to him, watching as he opened the manila envelope and drew out a single sheet of paper. It was a badly photocopied document, she saw. Head tipped to one side, she peered at the grungy gray page. "That wasn’t done by me. I would never have accepted such a bad print. In fact, I don’t think the printing department at Vandyke Development would let any of the machines get that bad. They keep them in excellent