Rebel in Time

He put his glass down on the bedside table and went to turn off the bathroom light. 'Those bags in the closet,' she said. 'I didn't know you were riding a motorcycle now.'

His back was turned to her so she could not see his sudden hesitation, the quick widening, then the narrowing of his eyes. He threw the switch and turned back to face her.

'What about the bags?' he asked, working very hard to keep the cold anger from his voice.

Chapter 7

'Nothing,' Marianne said, squinting down into her drink as she tried to squeeze some more juice out of the wedge of lime with her swizzle stick, not seeing the sudden fierce intensity of his gaze. 'Only there are some Department of Defense blueprints hanging out of the bags, weapons, marked classified. I didn't know that you took your work home with you.'

'I told you I was in security. We never sleep.'

'I can believe that. I know what you do in bed!'

She laughed at her own boldness and he smiled, walked over and bent and kissed her. The bags, the blueprints, were forgotten on the instant.

'Finish up that drink,' he told her. 'It's time you were getting home. Or you'll be sleep-walking at work tomorrow.'

'Mmm, you're right. But don't call the cab until I get dressed.'

'I don't know about the cab. Too many muggers and rapists around these days. I'm beginning to feel that even the cabs aren't safe any more. I'll take you home. See you safely to your door.'

He was turning away as he spoke and he never saw the sudden light of hope in her face. She gulped the drink, then ran downstairs to get her clothes. This was the first time he had even suggested taking her home! It had always been a cab, every other time. Control yourself girl! Nothing had been said so far, just hints. But what hints! She sang sweetly as she dressed.

Washington retires early and they made good time driving in from Alexandria, across the Potomac and right by the White House. It was lovely and sparkling in the searchlights. A perfect end to a perfect evening, Marianne thought. This city really could be beautiful. There was no traffic at all on Connecticut Avenue and her apartment was just ahead.

'Going to ask me up for a cup of coffee?' he said as they passed the Zoo.

'I'd love to Wes, but one look at you and afterwards the night doorman opens his big mouth, the word gets around and life would be unbearable with the blue-rinse set who fill the building.'

'What about the back way, through the parking lot?'

'Of course! I forgot about it, never use it at all.'

The apartment house had been built into the side of a hill, which meant that when they entered at ground level by the lower lot entrance they were in the lowest part of the building, the sub-basement. The little lobby was quiet and the elevator was empty. So was the hall on the twelfth floor. 'You've got enough keys there,' he said as she inserted the third one that opened the Fox lock.

'The insurance company made us put them in. There used to be a burglary a week in this building. We even had a mugging on the third floor — someone got in through the basement. That's why the double lock on the outside door that we came in through. Washington really is something.'

'And getting worse.'

'You can say that again.'

The bar of the Fox lock rasped up in its steel eyelet when she pushed the heavy door open.

'Get comfy,' Marianne said. 'While I put the water on. Instant okay?'

'Sure,' Wes called after her as she went into the tiny kitchenette. 'Won't we wake up your roommate?'

'Tricia? No way. Her door's open which means she's not home yet. She's got a real heavy thing going with her boyfriend. She never gets back until after one at night when he's in town. After that she sleepwalks in the morning. She's going to get fired if she keeps it up.'

'Only twelve-thirty now. We have time to enjoy the coffee.'

He walked around the living-room as he talked, looking at the furnishings. He stopped in front of the fireplace.

'Does this thing work?'

'What?' She leaned out of the kitchen, looked, then laughed. The kettle hissed as it boiled over and she turned back. 'Ornamental. I wish that it did work, like the one we have at home. I love an open fire. And it helps during the energy crisis. But not on the twelfth floor. Sugar?'

'Just one. And cream, not milk, if you have it.'

He bent over and looked at the andirons; decorative imitations for a fake fireplace. Stamped brass that had never been used. But the poker had a solid steel shank. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand. Heavy.

'Here's your coffee,' Marianne said, coming into the room. 'If you're going to stir the phoney fire with that thing you'll break all the little light bulbs and stuff.'

'Yes, I would, wouldn't I?' he said, turning to face her, the poker still in his hand. 'Where's your coffee?'

'In the kitchen. Too hot yet… Wes, what are you doing?'