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"You're very sexy."
"You're just looking for a good time."
"It wouldn't be, for you," he remarked.
"I believe some women actually have a very easy time of it," she countered.
He thought about that and began to nod. ' 'Yes, if you wanted me enough, you might." He smiled
slowly. "And you did. My God, you did, Nikki."
She dragged her eyes away. "I need to sit down."
"Thank your lucky stars that what you feel isn't noticeable," he said with dry humor.
She cleared her throat, refusing to look at him as he escorted her off the floor and toward the
refreshment table.
Clayton and Bett were glaring at them. Kane didn't even acknowledge Clayton. He lifted Nikki's hand
to his mouth and kissed the back of it with flair and seductive grace. He left her, striding back toward
a livid Chris.
"Did you have to embarrass me on the dance floor?" Clayton demanded petulantly. "You were
practically devouring each other."
"We most certainly were not!" Nikki said. "We were talking."
"That's a new name for it," Bett mused. "He's very attractive, but he does have a mistress, Nikki. I
hardly think you'll displace her. An acquaintance of mine says that she's been with him since even
before his wife was killed."
Nikki searched the other woman's face. "He isn't that sort of man."
Clayton was very still. "How do you know?"
"I just do. I'm going to circulate, Clay. You'd better, too."
"Could you manage not to make love to my worst enemy on the dance floor for the rest of the
evening?" he asked sarcastically.
"It doesn't help the campaign, you know, Nikki," Bett added her piece.
"Neither does slinging mud," Nikki said flatly.
She avoided Clayton and Bett for the rest of the evening, which was just as well. She'd made an
enemy there, she thought, watching Bett cling to Clayton. And now Bett would have the inside track.
She'd be able to influence Clayton all over again, just when Nikki had almost made him see the error
of his ways. She regretted that Derrie had left. The younger woman had always been able to reason
with him before Bett came along. But it was too late for that now. Mosby and Bett had spun a nice
web around Clayton.
Derrie was enjoying her new job, but she missed Clayton terribly. It had been like cutting out her
heart to leave him. Every time he appeared on television, he had Bett with him. Her place in his life
was obvious now. Not that Derrie could have competed, even so. She was a repressed prude, after
all.
She was leaving the office, on her way to catch the bus, just behind a junior aide to the candidate for
whom she now worked. She watched him cross the next street over, and suddenly she spotted Senator
Torrance's man, Haralson, standing on the curb talking to a dark man in an even darker suit, wearing
sunglasses. Haralson didn't see Derrie, who'd come out the side door. He was watching Curt Morgan,
Sam Hewett's junior legislative counsel, and when the aide got past him, Haralson said something to
his companion and gestured toward Curt's retreating back. The man nodded and began walking. There
was a stealth in what they were doing that disturbed Derrie.
Haralson knew her on sight, but the other man wouldn't. She waited for Haralson to get into a cab and
for it to drive away. Then she dashed down the street after the mysterious man.
He was trailing someone. She knew it instinctively. Clutching her purse close, she tried to remember
all the things she'd heard and read about following people. Don't be seen was number one. Get lost if
you're discovered was number two. Somewhere after that, there were other rules of thumb that she'd
already forgotten.
She pushed back her blond hair and moved a little closer, pretending to be looking for an address.
She held an old grocery list from her coat pocket in her hand and pretended to compare it with street
numbers. Meanwhile, she was moving right along with the crowd, behind the strange man who went
from one street to another, waiting for traffic lights to change.
He had an odd walk. He seemed to glide as he went along, as if he were used to long distances
and knew how to navigate them with the least effort. He looked foreign. She wondered if he was.
At the next corner, just when she thought she was getting close, she lost him.
She stopped looking at the paper in her hand and began looking al around, her blue eyes curious and
wary. The wind blew her soft blond hair from its bun in wisps around her oval face, and she felt
exposed, standing there in her close-fitting pale gray suit and white blouse.
She was attracting attention, too, worse luck. Well, she'd lost him. But it was very curious. Why
would Haralson have someone following a man who worked for her new boss?
Chapter Thirteen
Derrie made a mental note that she'd have to tell Sam Hewett about the strange occurrence. She
wondered if Clayton was behind the snooping. She'd seen him stoop pretty low lately. But why would
he be interested in the comings and goings of Sam's staff?
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