Trading Secrets by Jayne Castle Page A

with my eyes open."
    "I think you can, too. You're the lady who sublimates with an
     Alfa Romeo, aren't you?"
    "I see you weren't too drunk to remember a few details from our
     scintillating conversation last night," she said sweetly.
    "What does it take to knock the sass out of you?"
    "More artillery than you've got to throw into action." She
     grinned with sudden cheerfulness, relaxing into her seat, feeling
     quite sure of herself now.
    "In that case," he murmured, "there's no reason why you should be
     afraid to have dinner with me tonight, is there?"
    She slanted him a speculative glance. "You never give up, do
     you?"
    "Must be the military in me. Seven thirty? Mexicans dine late.
     We'll have a couple of drinks and I'll try to explain what
     happened last night."
    "There's no need to explain. Believe me, it was very obvious!
     Don't close your eyes like that," she added abruptly. "You're
     supposed to be driving."
    "I'm asking a higher authority for patience."
    "No point. You said yourself you're not in the military any
     longer." She chuckled, feeling quite satisfied with the knowledge
     that she could hold her own with Matt August.
    "Dinner, Sabrina?"
    "Are you groveling, Matt?"
    "I'm trying."
    "All right, then. Seven thirty. A public restaurant, not your
     home, and I want the restaurant located in town, not five miles
     out," she stipulated.
    "Cautious little thing, aren't you?"
    "Do you blame me?"
    "I'll pick you up at seven thirty," he said grimly. Life was
     turning complicated, Matt reflected. For the past two years
     everything had been very simple here in Mexico. Maybe too simple.
     Dealing with Sabrina was showing him just how accustomed to
     drifting he had become.
    Life's complications were also, on Sabrina's mind later that
     evening as she shared a small table with Matt in another of
     Acapulco's breeze-cooled terrace bars. Matt had chosen a different
     hotel this evening and she wondered if it was because he had not
     wanted to dredge up recent memories by taking her back to her own
     hotel lounge.
    The low, ruffled neckline of the summer white dress she wore left
     Sabrina's throat and shoulders deliciously bare to the balmy
     night. The wide skirt was held at the waist by a huge, brassy
     leather belt she had found in the local market that afternoon;
     another garish contribution to her growing collection of Mexican
     souvenirs. It took a professional such as herself, she'd decided,
     to truly appreciate the fine art of totally tasteless souvenirs.
     Matt, as usual, was dressed in a freshly pressed shirt and
     strictly creased trousers. Such uncompromising neatness, even in
     this climate. The military in him, she decided.
    "What are you thinking about, Sabrina?" He sipped his whiskey and
     eyed her intently. "You look as though you're laughing at a very
     private joke."
    She shook her head in quick denial. "Only at you." She smiled.
    "Well, that's a step ahead of having you hurl knives at me, I
     suppose."
    "Ever the philosopher," she complained. "How did you wind up
     running a bookstore in Acapulco, Matt?"
    "How did you wind up in Dallas?" he countered.
    "That's easy. I got kicked out of California." The humor chilled
     in her eyes, but he didn't seem to notice.
    "I thought California tolerated just about anything and anyone.
     What did you do that was so weird they had to kick you out?"
    "If I told you that I seduced an innocent young man and convinced
     him to sell industrial secrets to the enemy and that his father
     later took such offense when the FBI arrested his son that he told
     me to get out of the state, would you believe me?"
    Matt studied her for a full minute. "I think you're serious," he
     finally allowed cautiously.
    "Well, that's the father's version of the story. Mine's somewhat
     different."
    "Meaning you deny seducing the kid into selling secrets?"
    "He wasn't a kid. He was twenty-six at the time."
    Matt frowned. "He was still a kid."
    "Funny. That's what his father said,"