blew him a kiss as Colby gunned the engine down the busy street.
“You’re living dangerously tonight,” Colby told her. “He knows where you live,” he added.
“He should. He paid for the apartment,” she added in a sharp, hurt tone. She wrapped her arms closer around her. “I don’t want to go home, Colby. Can I stay with you tonight?”
She knew, as few other people did, that Colby Lane was still passionately in love with his ex-wife, Maureen. He had nothing to do with other women even two years after his divorce was final. He drank to excess from time to time, but he wasn’t dangerous. Cecily trusted no one more. He’d been a good friend to her, as well as to Tate, over the years.
“He won’t like it,” he said.
She let out a long breath. “What does it matter now?” she asked wearily. “I’ve burned my bridges.”
“I don’t know why that socialite Audrey had to tell you,” he muttered irritably. “It was none of her business.”
“Maybe she wants a big diamond engagement ring, and Tate can’t afford it because he’s keeping me,” she said bitterly.
He glanced at her rigid profile. “He won’t marry her.”
She made a sound deep in her throat. “Why not? She’s got everything…money, power, position and beauty—and a degree from Vassar.”
“In psychology,” Colby mused.
“She’s been going around with Tate for several months.”
“He goes around with a lot of women. He won’t marry any of them.”
“Well, he certainly won’t marry me,” she assured him. “I’m white.”
“More a nice, soft tan,” he told her. “You can marry me. I’ll take care of you.”
She made a face at him. “You’d call me Maureen in your sleep and I’d lay your head open with the lamp. It would never work.”
He drew in a long breath. His lean hands tightened on the wheel. One of them was artificial. Colby had lost an arm in Africa. He was a mercenary, a professional soldier. Sometimes he worked for various covert government agencies, sometimes he freelanced. She never asked about his frequent travels. They were companions who went out together occasionally, fellow sufferers of unrequited passions for other people. It made for a close friendship.
“Tate’s a damned fool,” he said flatly.
“I don’t appeal to him,” she corrected. “It’s a shame I’m not Lakota.”
“Leta Winthrop would argue that point,” he murmured with an amused glance. “Didn’t you lobby for sovereignty at that Senate hearing last month?”
“Me and several other activists. Some of the Lakota resent having a white woman plead their case, but I’ve been trying my best.”
“I know.”
“Thanks for your support.” She leaned back against the car seat. “It’s been a horrible night. I guess Senator Holden will never speak to me again, much less invite me to another political banquet.”
“He’ll love the publicity he gets from your exit,” he corrected with a chuckle. “And I believe he’s been trying to persuade you to assume the position of assistant curator in charge of acquisitions with his new Native American Museum project in D.C.”
“So he is. I may have to take it now. I can’t see going on with my studies under the circumstances.”
“I’ve got some cash in Swiss banks. I’ll help you.”
“Thanks, but no, thanks. I’m going to be totally independent.”
“Suit yourself.” He glanced at her. “If you take that job, it won’t get you any points with Tate. He and Matt Holden are bitter enemies.”
“Senator Holden doesn’t favor allowing a casino on the Wapiti reservation. Tate does. They’ve almost come to blows on the issue twice.”
“So I heard. And that’s not all I’ve heard. Holden is sticking his nose into a hornet’s nest in the Indian Affairs committee, and he’s had some public and all but slanderous things to say about the push for a casino at Wapiti.”
“There are other Sioux casinos in South Dakota,” she replied. “But Senator Holden is fighting this one all the way. Nobody knows why. He and Tate have had some real battles over this.”
“That’s just an excuse and you know it. Tate hates the man.” Colby pushed back a strand of straight black hair that fell into his eyes. Unlike Tate, his hair was short. “I know I said this before, but it bears repeating. You know Tate won’t like you staying with me.”
“I don’t care,” she said bitterly. “I don’t tell him where to sleep. It’s none of his business what I do anymore.”
He made a rough sound. “Would you like to guess what he’s going to assume if you stay the night in my apartment?”
She drew in a long breath. “Okay. I don’t want to cause problems between you, not after all the years you’ve been friends. Take me to a hotel instead.”
He hesitated uncharacteristically. “I can take the heat, if you can.”
“I don’t know that I can. I’ve got enough turmoil in my life right now. Besides, he’ll look for me at your place. I don’t want to be found for a couple of days, until I can get used to my new situation and make some decisions about my future. I want to see Senator Holden and find another apartment. I can do all that from a hotel.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Make it a moderately priced one,” she added with graveyard humor. “I’m no longer a woman of means. From now on, I’m going to have to be responsible for my own bills.”
“You should have poured the soup in the right lap,” he murmured.
“Which was?”
“Audrey Gannon’s,” he said curtly. “She had no right to tell you that Tate was your benefactor. She did it for pure spite, to drive a wedge between you and Tate. She’s nothing but trouble. One day Tate is going to be sorry that he ever met her.”
“She’s lasted longer than the others.”
“You haven’t spent enough time talking to her to know what she’s like. I have,” he added darkly. “She has enemies, among them an ex-husband who’s living in a duplex because she got his house, his Mercedes, and his Swiss bank account in the divorce settlement.”
“So that’s where all those pretty diamonds came from,” she said wickedly.
“Her parents had money, too, but they spent most of it before they died in a plane crash. She likes unusual men, they say, and Tate’s unusual.”
“She won’t
