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minutes.'

'I'll wait for you out here.'

She poked and prodded until the last lump of ash had crumbled to dust and even she

could not find an excuse for delaying any longer. Then, with a heavy sigh, she shut the

door on the cabin and went to climb into the pilot's seat.

The blades began to rotate without the slightest hitch. They lifted off the heliport a few

moments later. Kirstie shot a look over at the man on her left, but his head was turned

away as he watched the cabin fall from sight. She tried to concentrate solely on the

flight, but scenes from the last few days kept running through her head.

She was frightened of what she would find at home.

CHAPTER FIVE

THEY were nearing the New Jersey airstrip, the familiar landscape laid out like some

marvellously detailed map. Thus far the journey had been conducted in almost total

silence. Kirstie closed her mind to any uncertainties, any niggling irrational regrets and

concentrated on the landing procedure.

She had just received landing clearance from the control tower when her headphones

emitted an electronic screech and her brother Paul's stern voice cut in, 'Kirstie, is that

you?'

'Negative, control tower, this is the Red Baron, Snoopy to my friends,' she said and

missed the strange look that Francis shot at her. 'Who else would it be? How're Carol

and the kids?'

'Wonderful. Normal. No problem, unlike certain relatives of mine,' her brother snapped.

'Do you have any idea what hassles you've caused this week? Sightseeing schedules

were disrupted. Flights had to be cancelled '

'I had a look at the schedules before I took the 'copter, Paul. Try pulling the other leg.'

'In any case,' he continued, bulldoggish to the end, 'you took that 'copter without

permission and I want you to report to my office in exactly fifteen minutes.'

'I like this man,' said Francis, holding the spare set of headphones to his left ear. Kirstie

speared him with an annoyed sidelong glance. He did not appear to be affected by it.

Somewhere on the quiet journey Francis had slipped into what looked to be a

remarkably disgusting good mood.

'Do you know what your problem is, Paul?' said Kirstie. 'You have a compulsive

personality. You like to play God and know every move everyone makes. I bet you have

Carol starch the collar of your pyjama tops. Why don't you try to relax a bit and roll with

the punches?'

'Fifteen minutes, Kirstie, and you'd better have a damned good explanation ready or I

swear I'll see you grounded for six months.'

'It's your civic duty, pal,' said Francis, grinning widely. 'She's a menace to society.'

'Oh, shut up!' Kirstie snapped, sick of his running commentary.

She had forgotten about her brother, who unfortunately had heard her loud and clear.

Paul said ominously, 'On second thoughts, make that ten minutes.'

The heliport by the north hangar was almost directly underneath. Kirstie executed a

perfect landing. As the lethal blades slowed to a stop, she drew off the headphones and

ran the fingers of both hands through her short blonde hair. Francis twisted in his seat to

contemplate her with every sign of fascination.

'Hadn't you better get going?' he asked.

'No need.' She tried hard to think straight, but his intent stare was short-circuiting her

brain.

'It means you'll be grounded.'

'I will be anyway, since I have no intention of telling him a thing.' The afternoon sun slid

along his cheekbones and jaw. It highlighted the laugh-line directly beside his mouth,

making the shaven skin look touchable. She turned her head away and muttered to

herself, 'Issues, morality, relationships, confrontations. God, I'm sick to death of it.'

That last hadn't been said for Francis's benefit, but he must have extraordinary hearing

for, unexpectedly, he laughed. She scowled deeply at the ground outside her window,

then arched her back in order to dig into her jeans pocket. Francis's head turned to catch

the movement of her hips. She slumped back against her door, tossing a set of keys into

his lap. 'Your car's in that garage. Have a nice day.'

His face hardened. After a hesitation he climbed out of the helicopter and slammed the

door. Kirstie's mouth drew tight and she breathed hard. Stupid, stupid. Could she really

have expected him to do anything else?

Her door was wrenched open.

'What's this?' she cried, falling backwards. Francis caught her by the elbows, swung her

to the ground and marched her towards the garage.

'You're coming with me,' he told her, looking insufferably satisfied with himself.

'Oh, no, I'm not!' Kirstie dug in both heels. She found herself grabbed by the waist, slung

over his arm fireman-style and carried. This brought her eyes into close focus with his

slim buttocks, and watching that particular area of his anatomy move with such

swinging grace was an experience so unsettling that she began to sputter.

'You see,' he explained as he stopped to hitch her higher up, 'I've been thinking. You

must have known from the start that I wouldn't dream of going to the police with the

story of being held up by a five-foot-nothing of a woman. Picture their faces if I were to

describe the scenic mountain hideaway where she kept me prisoner for a week without a

single demand for ransom. Yes, sir, they'd answer politely, and did you enjoy

yourselves?'

Kirstie's head bobbed up and down with every stride. 'You wouldn't,' she guffawed,

smirking at the scenario he pithily described. 'Not you. You've got far too much pride for

that!'

'Quite. But you didn't honestly think you were going to get away with it so easily, did

you? The way I figure it, I owe you a kidnapping.'

'No,' she denied with a shake of her head, still laughing. 'You're too middle-class.'

'Pro-establishment.' With his free hand Francis heaved open the garage doors and

strolled towards the BMW. 'Conservative. Boring. Thank you very much.'

Unlocking the door on the left side, he thrust her in first and held on to her wrist as he

climbed in afterwards. Then he locked all four doors from the driver's seat and let her

go. The car purred to smooth life. They backed out.

Kirstie huddled in her seat and ostentatiously rubbed a wrist that didn't hurt, as she

stared at the profile of a man she'd once thought she'd had figured out. As it was, she

couldn't count the number of times she had underestimated him. What a nuisance.

'I don't believe this,' she said, with more gloom than incredulity. 'You really mean it.'

'Of course I mean it,' Francis replied, breaking off a little tune he hummed underneath

his breath. He speeded up the car. An odd smile tugged the corners of his lips. 'I always

mean what I say. Of course, I have considered the possibility that you exude some sort

of chemical that affects the rational part of the brain. It's only a working theory, mind

you, but I like it.'

Kirstie treated this last dig with frosty silence, slouching down in her seat with arms

folded militarily across her chest. She hadn't a clue what Francis wanted from her now,

and pride wouldn't allow her to ask him about it. There was something distinctly odd

about him, though, a recklessness that had not been in evidence in the man at the

beginning of the trip. It was as though he had taken the bit between his teeth and was

running hell-for-leather into the wind.

Strangely enough, she wasn't frightened. She could not bring herself to believe in

Louise's monster image of Francis enough to believe that he would mean actual harm

from what he did. Whatever his reasoning, it was not spite. She would just have to sit

back and wait for him to make his point, for at the moment she hadn't any other choice.

Once into New York, Francis had driven more or less automatically to Fifth Avenue. As

they passed the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Central Park, he slowed the car to a stop

in front of one of the high-rise apartment buildings.

Kirstie piped up for the first time since leaving the airstrip, unashamedly craning her

neck to stare around her. 'Excuse me! Did I say middle-class earlier? I should have said

upper middle-class, or did your ancestors come over on the Mayflower? You honestly

live here?'

He shot her an amused glance. 'I thought you knew everything about me.'

'Yeah, well. Fact seems a little different with experience.'

There was an unreadable look in those wide-set grey eyes of hers. Francis took no

chances and grabbed hold of her arm so that she had to scoot across the seat again to get

out. He turned to give the keys to a uniformed doorman who had opened his door.

'See that the car is parked, Victor.'

'Certainly, Mr Grayson,' murmured the splendid fellow, who unbent enough to let his

lips twitch upwards in welcome.

As Kirstie trotted past, her forearm in Francis's unbreakable grip, she turned to the

doorman and told him, 'Nice to meet you, Victor. I'm being kidnapped.'

For an instant the doorman looked startled, his eyes darting from Francis to his fingers

curled around Kirstie's wrist. Then the man snapped his gaze into hyperspace, his

expression wooden once more. 'Very good, ma'am.'

She glanced at Francis and saw that he had trouble suppressing a smile. He hurried her

through the revolving glass doors before she could do any more damage to the other

man's peace of mind.

Kirstie watched as he punched the button to summon a lift, then turned to her. 'I've never

known anyone regain their composure quite as fast as you,' he said. As she met his intent

green eyes, she sincerely hoped it didn't show how her composure was badly shaken

when he slid his hand smoothly over hers, intertwining her fingers in a close clasp. 'Even

when you're thrown off balance and reacting to a given situation, some inner ballast

seems to take a shift and you're on your feet in no time. Louise doesn't have the trait.'

'Come on, Francis,' she said quietly. 'You and I both know that Louise is no match for

you.'

His gaze flickered, but with what, she couldn't tell. 'Another reason for you to take up

her battles?' he replied, returning insight for insight. 'Which will be the last battle? When

does she start to fight for herself, and stand on her own two feet?'

Kirstie looked away. The lift doors slid open, and they stepped inside.

She kept silent on the ride up, but that was mainly because she had the most bizarre

overriding desire to stop the lift, unbutton Francis's shirt and explore his bare chest. His

fingers still retained a hold of sorts, sliding against her skin in what seemed to be a

preoccupied, unconscious caress. If she moved very nonchalantly, her shoulder came

into contact with his warm, solid bicep.

That arm would be quite a mouthful to sink her teeth into. Tenderly, of course. She bit

her lip hard instead. If there was one thing she found it difficult to forgive Francis for

above all else, it was the way he had made her so physically aware of him. He had got

his facts twisted around earlier. He was the one who had flipped her switches, and she

had to find a way to turn them off again for good. Cold, hard sanity alone had brought

her down to earth in the ravine.

She didn't even
want
to want the man. Not him, not that charming exterior that could

make her heart do delightful, agitated somersaults. Even if—if—Louise had been

mistaken about him, she couldn't afford to get involved with someone who had such

ease in twisting her thinking and destroying her peace of mind. There would be no joy in

a budding relationship, no lovemaking, no trust building, no allegiance. Sex with Francis

would be just sex. If she wanted mere physical exercise she could always double up on

aerobics classes.

They stepped out of the lift into a spacious corridor with intermittent double doors

bordered on either side by great pottery vases filled with ferns. A woman in her early

forties dressed in a white and black outfit that looked like something straight out of

Dynasty
came out of one set of doors just ahead of them, a Pekinese dog under one arm.

She had a smile for Francis as they passed her, but all warmth faded from those peacock-

blue painted eyes when they scrutinised Kirstie's undeniably scruffy appearance. 'Maybe

she just didn't care for my Nikes, but they were new when I bought them,' whispered

Kirstie when they stopped.

Francis laughed as he unlocked the door to his apartment and thrust it open. 'Speak up.

Anyone would think you were in church by the way you were acting.'

'I was just wishing I had my camera with me.' Kirstie entered his apartment and looked

around with appreciation. The living-room was a large sunken area lined with pale blue

couches. The opposite wall was entirely glass, the corner of a metal table and chairs

visible through a crack in the curtains. If her sense of direction was right, there would be

an excellent view of Central Park from the patio. 'Very trendy. Remind me to be

kidnapped more often.'

His mouth twitched wryly, but he didn't comment as he turned away. 'Make yourself at