LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Am I ever!” A movement caught her eye. “Oh, there’s Aunt Derrie!” she said, and called to her aunt. “Aunt Derrie! Look, I graduated, I have proof!” She held up her diploma as she ran to hug her aunt and then shake hands with U.S. Senator Clayton Seymour, who’d been her aunt’s boss for years before they became engaged.

      “We’re both very happy for you,” Derrie said warmly. “Hi, Cortez!” she beamed. “You know Clayton, don’t you?”

      “Not directly,” Cortez said, but he shook hands anyway.

      Clayton’s firm lips tugged into a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you from my brother-in-law, Kane Lombard. He and my sister Nikki wanted to come today, but their twins were sick. He won’t forget what he owes you. Kane always pays his debts.”

      “I was doing my job,” Cortez reminded him.

      “What happened to Haralson?” Derrie asked curiously, referring to the petty criminal who’d planted toxic waste and in one fell swoop almost cost Clayton Seymour his congressional seat and Kane Lombard his business.

      “Haralson got twenty years,” he replied, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. He smiled coldly. “Some cases I enjoy prosecuting more than others.”

      “Prosecuting?” Derrie asked. “But you told me last year in Charleston that you were with the CIA.”

      “I was with the CIA and the FBI, briefly,” he told her. “But for the past few years, I’ve been a federal prosecutor.”

      “Then how did you wind up tracking down people who plant toxic waste?” she persisted.

      “Just lucky, I guess,” he replied smoothly.

      “That means he’s through talking about it,” Phoebe murmured dryly. “Give up, Aunt Derrie.”

      Clayton gave Phoebe a curious glance, which she intercepted with a smile. “Cortez and I are friends,” she told him. “You can thank his investigative instincts for saving your congressional seat.”

      “I certainly do,” Clayton replied, relaxing. “I almost made a hash of everything,” he added, with a warm, tender glance toward Derrie, who beamed up at him. “If you’re going to be in town tonight, we’d love to have you join us for supper,” he told Cortez. “We’re taking Phoebe out for a graduation celebration.”

      “I wish I had time,” he said quietly. “I have to go back tonight.”

      “Of course. Then we’ll see you again sometime, in D.C.,” Derrie said, puzzled by the strong vibes she sensed between her niece and Cortez.

      “I’ve got something to discuss with Phoebe,” he said, turning to Derrie and Clayton. “I need to borrow her for an hour or so.”

      “Go right ahead,” Derrie said. “We’ll go back to the hotel and have coffee and pie and rest until about six. Then we’ll pick you up for supper, Phoebe.”

      “Thanks,” she said. “Oh, my cap and gown…!” She stripped it off, along with her hat, and handed them to Derrie.

      “Wait, Phoebe, weren’t the honor graduates invited to a luncheon at the dean’s house?” Derrie protested suddenly.

      Phoebe didn’t hesitate. “They’ll never miss me,” she said, and waved as she joined Cortez.

      “An honor graduate, too,” he mused as they walked back through the crowd toward his rental car. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

      “Anthropology is my life,” she said simply, pausing to exchange congratulations with one of her friends on the way. She was so happy that she was walking on air.

      “Nice touch, Phoebe,” the girl’s companion murmured with a dry glance at Cortez as they moved along, “bringing your anthropology homework along to graduation.”

      “Bill!” the girl cried, hitting him.

      Phoebe had to stifle a giggle. Cortez wasn’t smiling. On the other hand, he didn’t explode, either. He gave Phoebe a stern look.

      “Sorry,” she murmured. “It’s sort of a squirrelly day.”

      He shrugged. “No need to apologize. I remember what it’s like on graduation day.”

      “Your degree would be in law, right?”

      He nodded.

      “Did your family come to your graduation?” she asked curiously.

      He didn’t answer her. It was a deliberate snub, and it should have made her uncomfortable, but she never held back with him.

      “Another case of instant foot-in-mouth disease,” she said immediately. “And I thought I was cured!”

      He chuckled reluctantly. “You’re as incorrigible as I remember you.”

      “I’m amazed that you did remember me, or that you took the trouble to find out when and where I was graduating so that you could be here,” she said. “I couldn’t send you an invitation,” she added sheepishly, “because I didn’t have your address. I didn’t really expect you, either. We only spent an hour or two together last year.”

      “They were memorable ones. I don’t like women very much,” he said as they reached the unobtrusive rental car, a gray American-made car of recent vintage. He turned and looked down at her solemnly. “In fact,” he added evenly, “I don’t like being in public display very much.”

      She lifted both eyebrows. “Then why are you here?”

      He stuck his hands deep into his pockets. “Because I like you,” he said. His dark eyes narrowed. “And I don’t want to.”

      “Thanks a lot!” she said, exasperated.

      He stared at her. “I like honesty in a relationship.”

      “Are we having one?” she asked innocently. “I didn’t notice.”

      His mouth pulled down at one corner. “If we were, you’d know,” he said softly. “But I came because I promised that I would. And the offer of the job opportunity is genuine. Although,” he added, “it’s rather an unorthodox one.”

      “I’m not being asked to take over the archives at the Smithsonian, then? What a disappointment!”

      Laughter bubbled out of his throat. “Funny girl.” He opened the passenger door with exaggerated patience.

      “I really irritate you, don’t I?” she asked as she got inside the car.

      “Most people are savvy enough not to remind me of my heritage too often,” he replied pointedly after he was inside with the door closed.

      “Why?” she asked. “You’re fortunate enough to live in an age where ethnicity is appreciated and not stereotyped.”

      “Ha!”

      She lifted her hands. “Okay, okay, that isn’t quite true, but you have to admit that it’s a better society now than it was ninety years ago.”

      He started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

      He drove as he seemed to do everything else, effortlessly. His hand went inside his jacket pocket and he grimaced.

      “Looking for something?” she asked.

      “Cigarettes,” he said heavily. “I forgot. I’ve quit again.”

      “Your lungs and mine appreciate the sacrifice.”

      “My lungs don’t talk.”

      “Mine do,” she said smugly. “They say ‘don’t smoke, don’t smoke…’”

      He smiled faintly. “You bubble, don’t you?” he remarked. “I’ve never known anyone so animated.”

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