She was one of those kids who dream of the law, of being respected and doing some good in the world and making pots of money. Nina was always surprised to come across such old-fashioned attitudes in these jaded times. ‘‘Good luck,’’ she said. Kelly would need it.
‘‘Whatever. So what do you want to know?’’
Nina had come to cross-examine Kelly, if Kelly would let her. But she was off-key tonight. She wasn’t up to it.
‘‘I suppose—I’ll be honest with you, Kelly. I came to meet you. That’s about it. I need to see people who are coming to court. I wanted to get a feeling as to whether you’ll be a credible witness. I don’t really need to talk with you for a long time. It’s just a feeling that I get right away.’’
‘‘I won’t tell anything but the truth.’’
‘‘No, I believe you won’t.’’ Nina hadn’t meant to say this. She felt again that something was wrong with her.
Kelly relaxed somewhat on hearing this.
Meeting her, seeing the big innocent eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses really had been enough. Feeling defeated, she thought about leaving, but Kelly said, ‘‘You can come in for a minute if you want.’’
Inside, a student’s room, a room full of books from floor to ceiling, a few scruffy chairs and tables. No TV. Nina walked over to look at the books. Twentieth century French writers, books on Dadaism and Surrealism, poetry, psychology—nary a book on political science or law in sight. ‘‘I’d really rather be reading anything but,’’ Kelly said with a nervous laugh.
‘‘Could I take a look?’’ Nina pulled out a heavy volume on twentieth century art and checked the index for Max Ernst. ‘‘If you don’t mind. There’s a painting that’s been on my mind, and—here it is.’’
Such a hideous painting! Dreary industrial sky, sharp shadows. The sky had a crack in it, and the plantlike structure on the right was collapsing. In the center was the Elephant Celebes, a dream monster like a crude elephant, its back to the viewer, shaped like a boiler with a pipe for its tail, a fake misshapen horned head growing from that tail. You couldn’t see the real head, and you didn’t want to see it, you really didn’t. Enough to see that the long tusks were just turning toward you, turning in spite of the artist’s struggle to keep the real head hidden because it was too awful to see . . .
In the forefront of the picture, a naked classical woman’s torso running away. Headless, charred around the neck.
Nina stared at the painting, fascinated. It had been at the back of her mind for weeks. It seemed to her to encapsulate her current position, but in some nightmarish way, indescribable in words.
When she had first seen it, years ago, she had thought the picture was funny. It had never been funny, but she had been too inexperienced to see the horror in it.
Her heart pounding, she closed the book and propped herself against the bookshelf, gasping. ‘‘Sorry,’’ she said. She was hyperventilating. Panic seemed to have a grip around her middle—she was going to fall down— she couldn’t breathe at all—she had never been so frightened in her life—was she about to die? She was, she was going to die now, and it was going to be bad, terrible, awful—
‘‘Are you all right? What’s wrong? Here, let me help you sit down.’’
Kelly brought her a glass of water, then sat down in the chair opposite. Slowly, Nina brought herself under control. She counted mentally, bringing her breath back to normal and relaxing the tense muscles.
‘‘You had an anxiety attack,’’ Kelly said. ‘‘I know a bit about that myself.’’
‘‘I’m embarrassed. One minute I was looking at that picture, and the next—I imagine that’s what a heart attack feels like. I’m afraid it’ll come back.’’
‘‘It’s over now. You know,’’ Kelly said slowly, ‘‘I make my judgment right off the bat, too. I believe you are a decent person. And because of that, I’m going to tell you something you better pay attention to.’’
‘‘I’m not sure I want to hear it.’’
‘‘I have to say it anyway. You’re right to be afraid.’’
‘‘Of what?’’
‘‘Of my brother.’’
‘‘I’m not afraid of Jim.’’
‘‘Sure,’’ Kelly said.
Nina drank some more water. ‘‘Feeling better?’’ Kelly said.
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Could I ask you a question, then?’’
‘‘Go ahead.’’
‘‘Where is Heidi? Jim’s wife? You know, she called me.’’
‘‘When?’’
‘‘A couple of weeks ago. I met her at the funeral, and we talked, and exchanged phone numbers. I was very surprised to hear from her. She was right next door in King’s Beach, staying at a motel. She wanted to talk to me, so we agreed to meet at the casino. But she didn’t come.’’
‘‘Did she leave any number where you could reach her?’’
‘‘Just the old number of the place where she was staying. I called it, but it was just some place in King’s Beach. She took off and left all her stuff. They were gonna keep it to pay her bill. Is Jim after her?’’
‘‘No. Not in the way I think you mean. He’s worried about her too.’’
‘‘So you don’t know where she is either?’’
‘‘No.’’
Kelly said, ‘‘Good, then.’’
‘‘What’s that supposed to mean?’’
‘‘Just that people are safe,’’ Kelly said. ‘‘Except my father. I worry about him now.’’
‘‘Kelly, I don’t understand you, all of you. Your family.’’
‘‘Don’t include Jim in that word.’’
‘‘You act like Jim’s some kind of Ebola virus. Couldn’t you be mistaken? I know him, I’ve talked to him many times. He’s lost his brother, his wife’s left him, you all hate him. Now he’s lost his job. He’s facing a murder charge.’’
‘‘All true,’’ Kelly said. ‘‘Except for one thing you said. You don’t know him.’’
‘‘You know, the case against Jim is very weak,’’ Nina said. Kelly tensed, and Nina went on, ‘‘No matter what the D.A. or his investigator told you. Your testimony is peripheral, and the forensic evidence is weak.’’
‘‘Is that so?’’
‘‘That’s so. Most of what you have to say will never be admitted as evidence. That’s the truth.’’
‘‘But—But—’’
‘‘No matter what they told you.’’
This upset her. ‘‘I think you’d better go. If you’re feeling better.’’
‘‘Where was Heidi staying in King’s Beach?’’
‘‘I don’t remember.’’
‘‘Do you still have the number somewhere?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘I see. Well, thanks for talking with me.’’
‘‘You’re welcome.’’ Kelly saw her to the door. She stopped just outside, and said to Nina, ‘‘What made you decide to become a lawyer?’’
‘‘My mother died. Some things connected with that.’’
‘‘Hmm. But why do you do this sort of work? You know, defend people like Jim?’’
Nina thought about that. ‘‘I guess I identify more with the guy who’s got the least power in any given legal situation. The criminal defendant—he or she often has no one. He’s been pulled into a machine he doesn’t understand, that will crush him whether he’s guilty or innocent, if he doesn’t get help. I feel that it’s important to stand in the way of that process.’’
Kelly nodded.
‘‘And why do you want to go to law school?’’ Nina asked.
‘‘I don’t know. It’s something I’ve wanted ever since I was a kid. Of course, that may not happen now.’’
‘‘Why not?’’
‘‘Because someone who claimed to work at my old high school in Colorado called the dean of the School of Social Sciences and said that I faked the transcripts I sent in when I applied. There’s going to be an investigation.’’ She looked down, and Nina could see how much this had hurt her.
‘‘Did you? Fake something?’’ she said gently.
‘‘No. But it won’t be easy to clear up. It’s just like him. He’s on me now, but I don’t care, because like I said, this has to stop. He said to me, when I was in the hospital—I wasn’t sure what had happened at that point, I had a short-term memory loss from the concussion— he was talking about my skiing—I really loved to ski then—he said . . .’’
‘‘He said?’’
‘‘I take the thing you love the most,’’ Kelly said. ‘‘He said that. I never forgot it.’’
‘‘Wish! Wish! Wake up!’’
‘‘Huh?’’
‘‘Open the door!’’
‘‘Yeah! You bet!’’
Nina slammed the door, and said, ‘‘Head for King’s Beach.’’
‘‘Sure. And get some supper there? There’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken, a Taco Bell, a Subway . . .’’
Once they left the forest, the highway became a solid strip of vacation houses, road construction, and half-defunct casinos. King’s Beach wasn’t far, but it was a very different community from upscale Incline. Cheap motels lined the road, with college kids spilling out of the fast-food places and wall-to-wall traffic, every car with its rack of skis on top. From here, on the north side of the lake, you could ski Mount Rose, joining the Reno people coming up from the other side, or Squaw, if you followed the lake west. They stopped at a place called Wave’s to order burgers.
While Wish stood in line, Nina found the pay phone with its phone book and started calling every motel in town. She was looking for a friend of a friend, a pretty blond skier . . . the police had been around to ask about her . . . it only took three calls because the manager remembered the police. ‘‘As I already explained,’’ the manager of the Five Pines Motel told her in a pronounced accent, ‘‘the lady left quite some time ago. And that is all I know.’’
‘‘I’ll be right there.’’ Wish came out with a bag stuffed with junk food. They ate french fries oily enough to kill seabirds while Nina steered with one hand.
The Five Pines Motel, on Bear Street, had nary a treetop on its small property. Maybe it was named for five pines it had displaced. Nina and Wish marched in and rang the bell.
The manager came through a half-open door, through which a scene of warm domesticity was displayed—the TV, of course, a cat curled up on top of it, a woman in a sari sewing in a chair, a diapered tyke standing up in his playpen. The manager frowned when she asked again about Heidi Strong. ‘‘I don’t know where she went. She left on October twenty-sixth, I can tell you that. She didn’t pay her bill either.’’
‘‘That’s why I’m here,’’ Nina said. ‘‘I came to pay her bill.’’
‘‘You did?’’ His face broke into a smile.
‘‘And to collect her things.’’
‘‘Her things? What things?’’
‘‘The things she left for me,’’ Nina said. ‘‘You did save them, didn’t you?’’ Clearly, he hadn’t mentioned Heidi’s possessions to the police. He had taken them because he hadn’t been paid. She couldn’t blame him. ‘‘Her Tioga camper and her personal items. My friend will take them out to the car,’’ Nina said, extracting her checkbook and opening it.
‘‘But she took her truck! You are very mistaken about that. And I don’t have those other things anymore! Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you were coming! I only have the sack for the Goodwill! And the cat! Tell her I am sorry!’’
‘‘Oh, no!’’ Nina said. ‘‘What’s happened to her jewelry, her clothes?’’
‘‘I sold everything to pay the bill. But I still have one sack!’’ He called in an excited voice to his wife, and she appeared in a moment with a large grocery bag packed with mostly clothes.
‘‘This is all you have? Absolutely all?’’
‘‘But how could I know? And I didn’t make my room rate, not by a long shot.’’ He looked at his wife, looked back at Nina. ‘‘You can’t blame me.’’
‘‘She will be very disappointed when I tell her.’’
‘‘Tell her next time to pay the bill!’’ shouted his wife. A discussion between the manager and his wife in a rapid-fire foreign language ensued. The woman began pointing back into her living room and shaking her head violently. Nina reached out for the bag but the woman snatched it back.
‘‘I am sorry, but I must have the difference of twenty dollars to make up for the room rate,’’ the manager said apologetically. ‘‘And she gave us the cat.’’
‘‘Keep the cat. As for the money, you’re kidding, right? That’s a joke,’’ said Nina.
‘‘Ten dollars then?’’
‘‘Only because I’m in a hurry.’’ She handed him a ten-dollar bill and received the grocery bag in turn. Out they went to the car with their find.
‘‘It’s evidence,’’ Wish said dubiously as she turned on the interior car lights and began emptying the bag.
‘‘Only after a thorough examination will I know that, Wish. And if it is, I will transport it to the police at the first available opportunity.’’
Not much was left—old makeup and a brush, a torn
Ski World
magazine, a couple of books, a stained sweatshirt, a curling iron—things the manager’s family couldn’t sell or use. ‘‘She left without her makeup?’’ Nina said. ‘‘Well, maybe this is old.’’
‘‘What’s this?’’ Wish said. ‘‘A map of Nevada.’’ It was crumpled, torn, useless even to a thrift store. Wish already was unfolding it. ‘‘Hey, X marks the spot,’’ he said. Nina saw the penciled circle.
‘‘Pyramid Lake,’’ she said.
‘‘Nobody goes there in winter,’’ Wish said. ‘‘Except natives.’’
‘‘Well, we’re going there. Right now. Can you?’’
‘‘Sure. But I have to call my mom. Nothing will be open this time of night. There’s only the general store and some trailers, a few houses. It’s probably all closed up. She can’t be there.’’
‘‘Seat belt. We’ll take the Mount Rose Highway, then pick up Highway Eighty toward Reno. How far is it past Reno?’’
‘‘A ways. Nina? This is important, huh?’’
‘‘I have to find that woman again,’’ Nina said. ‘‘You drive, please, Wish.’’
21
‘‘SO WHY DID your parents break up?’’ Nina asked Wish. She had dozed for a while and awakened feeling a lessening of that pressure inside her.
They were winding over the last pass, north of Sparks, on the road to Pyramid Lake. They had left the snow and the Sierra and were driving the high desert now. Darkness lay all around, except above, where the stars were shards of shattered glass. In their long descent they had moved back into autumn; the air felt positively balmy.
Wish fingered his incipient mustache. ‘‘I dunno. My mom threw him out. I didn’t expect it. They always got along. My daddy is a good man.’’
‘‘That must have been hard for you. How old were you?’’
‘‘Oh, seven I think. He went away for a few years, but then he came back. He didn’t like the rest of America, he said. But my mom wouldn’t talk to him. Then he started sending her presents, things she would never buy. He has a good job now, and he likes to share his money. That got her worried, so she started handling his finances for him. She put it in the stock market, pharmaceuticals I think.’’
Nina listened to Wish ramble on about the enigmatic Sandy.
‘‘I guess they fell back in love, is all I can say,’’ Wish was saying. ‘‘They like to sit outside on the porch and watch the sunset. It’s good.’’
‘‘You look awfully happy about it.’’
‘‘Sure. She’s not going to be lonely when I move out. She’s been trying to keep me at home, but now she’s got my daddy. That’s how it goes. People leave, but new people come. If you’re lucky.’’
‘‘You’re leaving home?’’
‘‘I’m nearly twenty. My mom has a big thumb, you know? And a man needs his freedom. Hey, hear the coyote out there?’’ He pulled over for a minute and they listened to the long and lonely wails.
Somewhere out there was the huge shallow lake, bounded by scrub and rock, too dark to see. Pyramid Lake was the remnant of an ancient inland sea that during the Ice Ages had covered a third of Nevada. It was known for the many prehistoric settlements in the rocks along its edges, and for the fishing.
John Fremont had seen the lake in 1844 on one of his expeditions and named it for its pyramid-shaped island. In 1860, all the land surrounding it had been made into a Paiute reservation. The Paiute, who didn’t agree with this plan, had fought several major battles with the whites here.
The Paiute, relatives of the Washoe, and the white man still weren’t exactly friendly out here.
The road pointed straight through the desert, moving up a long incline now.
Just before nine, they came around a bend and pulled into Sutcliffe, a tiny settlement amid what felt like total desolation. The lake must be a few hundred feet away. They could smell it to the east as they got out of the car, an atavistic sense telling them that the water was in that direction.
The name of the store was Crosby’s. It was closed, but the gas station with its minimart next door was open.
The lit sign and the cars parked out front meant someone was around to answer questions. Nina wished she had a picture of Heidi.
‘‘I’ll go in,’’ she said.
As he turned the car off, Wish asked, ‘‘What do we do if we find her?’’
‘‘Just talk to her.’’
Inside, a couple of unshaven types were lounging at the counter, watching a TV set high on the wall. Ignoring them, Nina gave her Mastercard to the boy behind the counter and said, ‘‘Twenty dollars.’’
‘‘Regular?’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ Wish, who had ambled in behind her and set a pint carton of milk down on the counter, said, ‘‘I’ll go pump it.’’
‘‘Thanks.’’
‘‘You want the milk?’’ said the boy. One eye was trained on the TV.
‘‘Yes. You want a twenty-buck tip?’’ Nina said. Both slightly bloodshot eyes focused quickly on her.
‘‘How do I get that? You want me to wash your windows? I can’t leave the register.’’
‘‘No. Just help me find a friend.’’
‘‘What kind of friend?’’
‘‘A girl who came here a few weeks ago. She might still be around. Her name was Heidi.’’
His mouth turned down. In a disappointed voice, he said, ‘‘I don’t know any Heidi.’’
‘‘Sometimes she uses her middle name, but I can’t remember it. She’s very pretty. Very tall, with short blond hair and pale skin, very athletic.’’
‘‘I might’ve seen her. Let me think.’’ He was trying.
‘‘Kind of nervous. In her early twenties,’’ Nina said.
‘‘You know, man,’’ said one of the regulars who had been listening in. ‘‘The stuck-up skier.’’ Nina jumped and turned toward him.
‘‘That’s her,’’ she said.
‘‘I would’ve thought of her, if I just had another second, Marvin, you jerk,’’ said the employee.
‘‘Well, I thought of her, so I get the money,’’ said the regular. His low-hanging jeans had been worn too many days, and he wasn’t wearing his shorts. ‘‘I don’t know her name, but she was staying over at the trailers out there, in Dick and Dottie’s trailer.’’
‘‘Is she still there?’’
Simultaneously, they said no. ‘‘We’d know, because this is the only place to get gas, unless she’s staying in the trailer all day. We’d a noticed her. Big girl. She sat outside waxing her skis one day, that’s why Marvin called her the skier,’’ said the employee.
Wish came in for his milk. ‘‘All set,’’ he said. Nina signed the form and took her receipt.
‘‘So how about the twenty?’’ said the unsavory Marvin, who had first spoken up.
‘‘Show me Dick and Dottie’s and you’ve got it,’’ Nina said.
A dirt track led to some mostly dark trailers, surrounded by large tufa rock formations and a few scraggly trees. A few lights shone from a few windows, but for the most part the place seemed deserted. Nina was glad Wish was with her.
‘‘Here we are.’’ Set well back in a stubbled yard, a broken-down Silverstream on blocks, white maybe, not very big, no lights at all.
Nina handed her guide the twenty. ‘‘For another twenty I’ll go on in with you,’’ he told her, folding it into eighths and jamming it into his watch pocket.
‘‘No thanks, your job is done,’’ Wish said. He came up and stood beside Nina. He was tall, if not intimidating.
‘‘Right then.’’ Marvin went back down the path toward the gas station a few hundred feet distant.
Nina pushed open the gate. No lights came on in the trailer.
‘‘Anybody home?’’ she called.
Nothing. Before she could set foot into the yard the Silverstream’s nearest neighbor came out, a bearded man carrying a baseball bat.
‘‘What do you want?’’
‘‘We’re looking for Dick and Dottie,’’ Nina said.
‘‘Well, they ain’t here.’’
‘‘So it appears.’’ He was slapping the end of the bat into the palm of his other hand.
‘‘What about their friend? The skier?’’ Nina said.
‘‘Dottie’s niece? She’s gone.’’
‘‘Where?’’
‘‘Wouldn’t know. I watch the trailer when they go. Now, you asked your questions. And I been polite. So. G’wan. Get.’’
‘‘I’ve got twenty bucks for you if you have any information that might help me locate her,’’ Nina said. She held out another twenty.
‘‘What are you? Bill collectors? Not cops. Beat it, I said.’’ The bat stepped up its rhythm. Thwack! Thwack!
‘‘But if you’d just—’’ Wish took Nina’s elbow and steered her onto the path. ‘‘We’re gone, man, no trouble,’’ he said, but he didn’t get an answer, just that rhythmic slapping.
Back in the Bronco, Wish said, ‘‘What now? A stakeout?’’ He was still excited. He would lie out there on the sand braving snakes and baseball bats and flying beer cans all night if she asked him to.
‘‘Home. I’ve had enough.’’ She was looking through the glass into the bizarrely bright and modern interior of the Sutcliffe gas station, a beacon in the darkness, where the three yokels were emptying a six-pack, an Edward Hopper painting redefined for the nineties.
‘‘What happens now?’’
‘‘I don’t know. Tony can come back out here. Maybe Heidi was here. Maybe he can find something out.’’
She had tried and found nothing. That was all she could do tonight.
Tony went out to the desert the next day. About four o’clock he reported back that he also had not made it into the front yard but he had found Dick and Dottie’s home address in Las Vegas. Nina had Sandy book him a flight down there. She wanted Heidi. Heidi seemed to her to be the only chance. Logic wasn’t driving that thought. She had to know! Was Jim innocent or not? She couldn’t stand the constant shifts of thought— guilty, innocent—innocent, guilty—
She didn’t tell Jim about the trail she had found on Heidi. Logic had nothing to do with that thought either.
She spent a day at the modest law library on the second floor of the courthouse researching a Motion to Exclude Evidence. Usually, such a motion was heard after the prelim, when the actual testimony could be cited, but she planned a preemptive strike. By Friday, the papers were on file and a hearing had been set on the motion for eight-thirty on the day of the prelim.
December blew in with more snow. When the storm cleared, they had to contend with two more feet of it.
Because she was angry that he had rearrested Jim and because she was so busy, she had not tried to contact Collier, but she missed him badly. By Friday, between the pressure of the case and missing him, she felt slightly nuts. She called him at his office.
‘‘It’s me,’’ she said.
‘‘I’m glad you called.’’
‘‘Why didn’t you call me?’’
‘‘You told me not to. Last time I pestered you at your office.’’
‘‘You should have ignored that.’’
‘‘You said we were moving too fast.’’
‘‘I take it back. Let’s move fast.’’
‘‘Tonight? I can’t get there until eight.’’
‘‘See you then.’’
She had time to shop and whip up some frozen presauced shrimp in the pan and make noodles. She even had time to take a bath. By seven-thirty she had started on the wine. She began to think, always a danger sign.
By eight-thirty, when Collier knocked on the door, she had talked herself into calling it quits with him. Poor guy, he had no idea she’d been conversing with him in her mind for an hour before he arrived with a potted evergreen and another bottle of wine. That was fine, they would soon all be potted.
He held out the presents, smiling. ‘‘In honor of December third,’’ he said. ‘‘I believe it may be a holiday in the Azores.’’ He wore his Norwegian sweater and corduroy slacks. With his beard, he looked like a European writer with irresistibly important things to say. She tried to ignore the impact this had on her.
Without a word, she led him to the table set in front of the fire and poured out what was left of the first bottle. ‘‘We need to talk,’’ she said.
He drank deeply from the glass, exhaled, and leaned back. ‘‘Eventually,’’ he said. ‘‘Sit down. Drink with me. It’s Friday and we’ve made it through another week. Reason to celebrate. Hear anything from Bob?’’
‘‘I called last night and talked to him. Kurt took him to Paris for the weekend. Imagine! Kurt got on the phone afterwards and I could tell how much he’s enjoying Bob.’’
‘‘Bob’s living it up,’’ Collier said.
‘‘He’s growing up too fast!’’
‘‘He’ll be home soon.’’
‘‘The sooner the better.’’
‘‘How was your week?’’ Collier said.
‘‘I can’t talk about my work with you, as you well know.’’
‘‘Let me just say one thing. I got your motion. It’s very well written. As for the specifics, I can’t comment until next week.’’
‘‘No comment, no comment, no comment. It’s driving me crazy! We can’t go on like this!’’
Collier looked sharply at her. Then he said, ‘‘I’m going to open this bottle I brought now. And I’m going to drink another glass of wine. Then I want you to come over here and sit on my lap.’’
‘‘No. Not until we talk.’’
‘‘Come on, now,’’ Collier said in a wheedling tone which made her laugh and come over to him and park her bottom on his lap.
‘‘That’s my girl,’’ he said. ‘‘Put your arms around my neck. Like this. My goodness, you smell good. Herb-y. Shampoo-ey.’’ He nuzzled at her.
‘‘But we have—to talk!’’
‘‘Very soon, very soon the talking time will come. Now, up you go. I’d like to carry you up to bed, but those stairs are mighty steep, so you’ll have to be content with me following behind and pushing.’’
They went upstairs, Collier herding her like a sheep-dog. In her attic bedroom, Collier said softly, ‘‘And now I’m going to undress you, my pretty. Very slowly. Resistance is futile.’’ He pulled her sweater off, said, ‘‘Breathtaking. I like lace. Take it off. Take it all off. Ah.’’
They got into bed and he began kissing her. The kisses were a balm on her troubled soul. She began kissing him back, and it became clear that the talking time wouldn’t come just then.
Midnight. They ate reheated shrimp at the coffee table. Collier looked rakish in Nina’s green silk kimono, his knees and elbows sticking out. He had adopted a pedantic expression. ‘‘So what did you want to talk about?’’ he asked her, licking his fingers.
‘‘Oh, about—you know.’’
‘‘About how we’re on opposite sides of the fence and have to fight in court?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘About how we have fundamentally different viewpoints on the role of prison as a deterrent and as a punitive measure? Not to mention our divergent views on the death penalty.’’
‘‘Correct.’’
‘‘About how our home life would be full of strange pauses as we tried to remember if we were about to divulge confidential information?’’
‘‘Precisely.’’
‘‘It’s a lousy career move, as well,’’ Collier said. ‘‘Complications everywhere.’’
‘‘That’s what we need to talk about.’’
‘‘Well, then, it’s settled.’’
‘‘What’s settled?’’
‘‘We want to be together, don’t we?’’
‘‘Y-Yes.’’
‘‘We do not wish to return to our previous lonely and loveless existences?’’
Nina laughed. ‘‘No,’’ she said.
‘‘We need to present a united front, to strengthen our position. Am I making myself clear?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Oh, yes I am.’’
‘‘You can’t be saying—that.’’