Beryl surrendered first. She swayed toward him, against him. His arms went around her, trapping her in their embrace. Eagerly she met his lips, met his kiss with one just as fierce.

“The wild one,” he whispered. “Yes, definitely the wild one.”

“Demanding, too…”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“…and very difficult.”

“I hadn’t noticed…”

They kissed again, and by the ragged sound of his breathing, she knew that he, too, was a helpless victim of desire. Suddenly a devilish impulse seized her.

She pulled away. Coyly she asked, “Now will you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he asked, plainly confused.

“Whom you really work for?”

He paused. “Sakaroff and Wolf, Inc.,” he said. “Security consultants.”

“Wrong answer,” she said. Then, laughing wickedly, she turned and scampered out of the maze.

Paris

At 8:45, as was her habit, Marie St. Pierre patted on her bee pollen face cream, ran a brush through her stiff gray hair, and then slipped under the covers of her bed. She flicked on the TV remote control and awaited her favorite program of the week-“Dynasty.” Though the voices were obviously dubbed and the settings garishly American, the stories were close to her heart. Love and power. Pain and retribution. Yes, Marie knew all about love and pain. It was the retribution part she hadn’t quite mastered. Every time the anger bubbled up inside her and those old fantasies of revenge began to play out in her mind, she had only to consider the consequences of such action, and all thoughts of vengeance died. No, she loved Philippe too much. And they had come so far together! From finance minister to prime minister would be such a short, short climb…

She suddenly focused on the TV as a brief news item flashed on the screen-the London economic summit.