LITMIR.BIZ

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Jack left grimly hopeful that this unique public-private cooperative effort would prove a model for other high-risk targets.

      He rushed back to his hotel and had his driver wait while he hurried upstairs to change his shirt and eliminate his five-o’clock shadow. A half hour later he identified himself to a uniformed doorman at the castlelike Dakota. The security at the famed apartment complex had stepped up considerably after one of its most famous tenants, John Lennon, was gunned down just steps away from the entrance years ago. Jack had no problem providing identification, being closely scrutinized and waiting patiently while the doorman called upstairs.

      “The duchess is expecting you, sir. You know the apartment number?”

      “I do.”

      “Very good.” He keyed a remote to unlock the inner door. “The elevators are to your left.”

      A dark-haired, generously endowed woman Jack remembered from the wedding reception answered the doorbell. She wore a polite expression but he sensed disapproval lurking just below the surface.

      “Hola. I am Maria, housekeeper to la duquesa and auntie to Sarah and Gina.”

      Auntie, huh? That explained the disapproval. She obviously considered him solely responsible for the failure of the box of condoms he and Gina had gone through during their sexual extravaganza.

      “Good evening, Maria. I saw you at Sarah’s wedding but didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Jack Mason.”

      “Sí, I know. Please come with me. La duquesa waits for you in the salon.”

      He followed her down a hall tiled in pale pink Carrara marble. The delicate scent of orange blossoms wafted from a Waterford crystal bowl set on a rococo side table. The elegant accessories gave no hint of how close the duchess had come to financial disaster. Jack picked up faint traces of it, however, when Maria showed him into the high-ceilinged salon.

      The room’s inlaid parquet floor was a work of art but cried for a hand-knotted Turkish carpet to soften its hard surface. Likewise, the watered silk wallpaper showed several barely discernible lighter rectangles where paintings must have once hung. The furniture was a skillful blend of fine antiques and modern comfort, though, and the floor-to-ceiling windows curtained in pale blue velvet gave glorious views of Central Park. Those swift impressions faded into insignificance when Jack spotted the woman sitting ramrod-straight in a leather-backed armchair, her cane within easy reach. Thin and frail though she was, Charlotte St. Sebastian nevertheless dominated the salon with her regal air.

      “Good evening, Jack.”

      She held out a veined hand. He shook it gently and remembered her suggestion at the wedding that he use her name instead of her title.

      “Good evening, Charlotte.”

      “Gina called a few moments ago. She’s been detained at work but should be here shortly.”

      She waved him to the chair beside hers and smiled a request at Maria. “Would you bring in the appetizer tray before you leave?”

      When the housekeeper bustled out, the duchess gestured to a side table holding a dew-streaked bucket and an impressive array of crystal decanters.

      “May I offer you an aperitif?”

      “You may.”

      “I’m afraid I must ask you to serve yourself. The wine is a particularly fine French white, although some people find the Aligoté grape a bit too light for their tastes. Or...”

      She lifted the tiny liqueur glass sitting on the table next to her and swirled its amber liquid.

      “You may want to try žuta osa. It’s produced in the mountains that at one time were part of the Duchy of Karlenburgh.”

      The bland comment didn’t fool Jack for a second. He’d responded to too many toasts by foreign dignitaries and downed too many potent local brews to trust this one. He poured a glass of wine instead.

      Maria returned with a silver tray containing a selection of cheeses, olives and prosciutto ham slices wrapped around pale green melon slices. She placed the tray on a massive marble-topped coffee table within easy reach of the duchess and her guest.

      “Thank you.” Charlotte gave her a smile composed of equal parts gratitude and affection. “You’d better leave now. You don’t want to miss your bus.”

      “I’ll take a later one.”

      Her quick glance in Jack’s direction said she wasn’t about to leave her friend and employer in his clutches. The duchess didn’t miss the suspicion in her dark eyes.

      “We’re fine,” she assured the woman. “Go ahead and catch your bus.”

      Maria looked as though she wanted to dig in her heels but yielded to her employer’s wishes. The kitchen door swished shut behind her. Several moments later, her heavy footsteps sounded in the hall.

      “Actually,” Jack said when he resumed his seat beside the duchess, “I’m glad we have some time alone.”

      “Indeed?”

      “As you know, Gina and I didn’t spend all that much time together before our lives became so inextricably linked.”

      “I am aware of that fact.”

      Deciding he’d be wise to ignore the pained expression on Charlotte’s face, Jack pressed ahead. “I’m just beginning to appreciate the woman behind your granddaughter’s dazzlingly beautiful exterior. I’m hoping you’ll help me add to that portrait by telling me a little more about her.”

      One aristocratic brow lifted. “Surely you don’t expect me to provide ammunition for your campaign to convince Gina to marry you?”

      “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I’m hoping you’ll provide.”

      “Well!” The brow shot up another notch. “For a career diplomat, you’re very frank.”

      “I’ve found being frank works better than tiptoeing around tough issues.”

      “And that’s how you categorize my granddaughter?” the duchess said haughtily. “A tough issue?”

      “Ha!” Jack didn’t bother to disguise his feelings. “Tough doesn’t even begin to describe her. To put it bluntly, your granddaughter is the toughest, stubbornest, most irritating issue I’ve ever dealt with.”

      Oh, hell. The frozen look on his hostess’s face said clearer than words that he’d overshot his mark. He was just about to apologize profusely when the facade cracked and the duchess broke into somewhat less than regal snorts of laughter.

      “You do know,” she responded some moments later, “that Gina says exactly the same thing about you?”

      “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

      Still chuckling, she lifted her glass and tossed back the remainder of the amber liquid.

      “Shall I pour you another?” Jack asked.

      “Thank you, no. My doctor insists I limit myself to one a day. He’s a fussy old woman, but he’s kept me alive this long so I suppose I can’t complain. Now, what do you want to know about Gina?”

      Feeling as though he’d managed to negotiate a particularly dangerous minefield, Jack relaxed. “Whatever you feel comfortable sharing. Maybe you could start when she was a child. What kind of mischief did she get into?”

      “Good heavens! What kind didn’t she get into?” A fond smile lit the duchess’s clouded blue eyes. “I remember one incident in particular. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight at the time. Maria had taken her and Sarah to the park. Gina wandered off and threw us all into a state of complete panic. The police were searching for her when she showed up several hours later with a lice-infested bag-lady in tow. She’d found the woman asleep under a bush and simply couldn’t leave her on the cold, hard ground. I believe the

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