“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time. So, who are these … employees of CORE International? By profession.”
The intermittent honk of nearby horns fell to the side as Sloane elaborated. “There are mathematicians, psychologists, engineers, architects, medical technicians, teachers, administrators—you name it. As the need has arisen, I’ve hired from practically every field. We span the gamut now, as does our research itself.”
“Fascinating …” she murmured, turning to gaze out the windshield at the riot of colors on the evening avenues. Dusk fast approached, and with it came the array of neon signs and car lights that blended into artistic chaos in this largest of metropolises. Justine always found the urban nightscape enchanting, one of the things she liked most about New York City. Now, however, it was merely a vivid backdrop for an even more exciting subject. But before she could delve deeper, Sloane’s voice stayed her.
“Here we are,” he announced, pulling up before The Four Seasons. It took a moment for Justine to recall their purpose.
“The Four Seasons! Aha!” she exclaimed. “We’re doing it up big tonight!”
This time the lights of the restaurant clearly revealed that arched brow. “Do I detect a bit of sarcasm?”
“From me?” Innocence, feigned as it was, became her, rounding her eyes and uplifting the corners of her pink-glossed lips appealingly. “I have no complaint. It certainly beats the sandwich I would have had at home.”
Sloane’s dark eyes studied her closely. He seemed about to say something when the valet opened the door on her side and extended his hand to help her out. With a mischievous grin shot back at her driver, she gracefully exited the car and started toward the entrance of the restaurant. Within moments, Sloane was beside her.
Their arrival had been preceded by that of the other three men, who were already seated and nursing drinks when the maître d’ showed the latecomers to the table.
“We were beginning to wonder about you two,” Dan Logan burst out good-naturedly. “I half-suspected that Justine might keep you waiting with any number of last minute emergencies.” The broad smile he sent her way suggested mere teasing.
It was Sloane who answered the charge. “Oh, no. She was right on time. I’m afraid it was my fault.” Only Justine knew the meaning behind the twinkle in his eye. “I … took a circuitous route … inadvertently. But we did make it … and without a … calamity along the way.” Mercifully, he moved behind to hold her chair for her. It hadn’t passed her notice that the two empty seats at the table for five were right next to one another. And there was nothing she could possibly do to alter the situation—not that she wanted to. There was an excitement at the thought of sitting close to Sloane, an excitement which—given the presence of chaperons aplenty—rose, unrestrained, within her.
It was not the first time she had been to The Four Seasons. This time, however, the fine linen tablecloths seemed whiter, the sturdy silver more richly polished, the sparkling china more elaborate. For once, the noise of the other patrons drifted by unnoticed. The realm of her attention did not veer once from her own group.
Amid a variety of well-prepared offerings—lobster, rack of lamb, filet mignon, and prime ribs of beef—the dinner conversation intrigued her, particularly as it concentrated on Sloane, the guest of honor, and his corporate accomplishments.
“I understand you spent time last year in Italy,” Charlie Stockburne spoke up. “Were you centered in any particular area?”
Justine put down her fork to look expectantly at Sloane, who had finished and now sat comfortably back in his seat. She noted the faint crinkles of white-on-tan at the corners of his eyes, and wondered how much of his time was spent working in the sun. As she watched, the grooves at the corners of his lips deepened, accentuated by the more serious discussion.
“I did spend several months there. We were hired by a group of citizens—a privately funded restoration group—to study several problems that have been plaguing the government for years.”
“Such as …” Justine’s appetite, sated in the physical sense but barely whetted in the intellectual, brought heightened life to her features.
“Such as the problem of the Leaning Tower,” he said, smiling at her, “which threatens to one day topple completely. Such as the matter of moisture in Venice—in terms of endangering both the wealth of art work and the city itself.”
She was surprised. “Then you aren’t dealing primarily with military issues?”
Sloane’s gaze reflected his respect for her insight. “Yon must be familiar with the history of the Rand Corporation. It began as a military-directed operation, then branched out some fifteen years ago.Webegan from the opposite direction. Some of our original projects, particularly once our expansion was underway, dealt with transportation problems, pollution problems, housing problems. They have, perhaps, been our specialty, though we’ve had our share of military-related contracts.”
Once again Sloane monopolized her attention. The how and why were still an enigma. But when he talked, she listened—of her own free will and to the exclusion of everything else. Now, Richard Logan’s voice startled her.
“You aren’t advocating a buildup of arms in the underdeveloped countries, are you?” he asserted, a pacifist bent in his question to Sloane.
Her strawberry-blond tresses swung round as Justine’s eyes flew back to Sloane’s. This was the first such challenge of the evening. With a touch of apprehension she awaited his response, wondering exactly how he would handle the issue.
It was nearly imperceptible, that slight up-tilt of his firm chin, but it was a gesture of acceptance, a rising to face the test, just as Justine sensed this tall, broad-shouldered man would always do. He spoke with command and calm assurance.
“Personally, given my choice, I would never advocate a buildup of arms. But, in the first place, I don’t always have my choice, and, in the second, my personal opinion has no role in the outcome of our research. I hire experts in every pertinent field. It is their job to face a situation, analyze it in the most thorough possible way, then present the alternatives, along with their own recommendations. Nooneman can ever make a decision in any project.”
“Butyouare against military buildup?” the youngest lawyer persisted. A glance across the table could reveal the thinning of his father’s lips.
Sloane was undaunted, his eyes now black, rich in conviction. “On principle, I am. If, however, I were a small, newly emergent nation, struggling for survival, and I was surrounded on all sides by significant military might, you can bet I would arm—arm quickly and as powerfully as I could. The name ofthatgame is survival.”
Justine gasped at the eloquence of his expression. She, too, was against armament, yet she had to agree with Sloane’s premise. Lord only knew how hard she had fought for some ofhercases, those in which she honestly believed that an injustice was being perpetrated. In some instances itcameclose to the survival of her client.
“And I think we’re ready for coffee and dessert,” interrupted Dan, striving to ease the intensity which now held the group at sharp attention.
Justine passed up dessert, opting for a cup of strong and steaming black coffee instead. Though the talk lingered on less emotional issues, her thoughts focused on the man beside her. She noted his hand, easily toying with the unused fork by his place setting. Dark hairs emphasized its manliness, corded lines its strength.Paws. The fox pinions his victim with his powerful paws.What might it be like to be pinioned by those hands? Fingers long and straight, nails well trimmed and buffed, palms large enough to encompass her shoulders completely. Justine wondered if they would, then chided herself for her foolishness. After all, despite the intimacy of that small blue Mazda, Sloane had driven her here as a service. She was a lawyer in the firm which now represented his concerns—that was all. Once again she asked herself why she had been invited along tonight. Ironically, she found that she no longer cared. It was enough that she had the opportunity of learning more about this man. It had been a thoroughly enjoyable experience.
