"The devil I would," El Kabbar bit out. "My employees are well taken care of, but I wouldn't go through that hell as part of any fringe-benefit program."

"Then why—" Abernathy broke off. He was coming dangerously close to exhibiting a curiosity that he knew would not be welcomed. He had learned long ago that one ventured past the sheikh's wall of reserve only at his own express invitation. "She appeared to be an unusually appealing child. A little quiet, but very polite."

"It must have been one of her better days," El Kabbar said dryly. "Pandora was seldom quiet and never polite. She was wild as a hawk." His lips twisted. "From the looks of this photograph I'd say she hasn't changed all that much."

"You have to admit she's made a success of herself, in a rather offbeat manner."

"She could never have done it any other way. She hears a different drummer." El Kabbar turned away from the fireplace and strode briskly toward the desk. He dropped down into the massive leather executive chair and tossed the magazine carelesslyon the blotter In front of him. "Does Blackwell's have a branch in the States?"

"I believe so," Abernathy said cautiously. "If not, I'm sure they can make arrangements with a suitable counterpart." He frowned. "But why? We already know where Miss Madchen is located. Since she used a return address it's obvious she wanted us to know her present whereabouts. It's not likely shell disappear again."

"Pandora never does what's likely. I have no intention of losing her again." He met Abernathy's eyes steadily. "Besides, at last I have some work that your very thorough detectives can sink their teeth into. Not only are they going to keep Pandora under surveillance, but they are going to protect her as well. Who knows what kind of weird element she's surrounded herself with?" For an instant there was a flicker of humor in his eyes. "Though I doubt if anything could be worse than the tiger she was cuddling before she left Sedikhan."

"Tiger?" Abernathy asked in bewilderment.

El Kabbar made an impatient motion with his hand. "Never mind, it's a long story. Just see that she's protected. I also want a complete dossier drawn up on her, down to the brand of toothpaste she's using at present."

"How soon do you want it?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." He ignored the other man's stifled exclamation. "Did you say she's playing in San Francisco day after tomorrow?"

"According to the list of concert dates in the magazine. It's the last concert on the tour."

"I have some loose ends to tie up here, but I should be able to get away by tomorrow morning. Have your man report to me at the Fairmont tomorrow afternoon at five."

"They might not be able to complete a dossier that quickly."

"They'll do it," El Kabbar said grimly. "They've been milking me for the last six years—it's time they produced. I'm extremely displeased with them."

Abernathy swallowed nervously and stood up. "I must get back to the office and make a few telephone calls. Do you have any further instructions?"

"That's all." Then, as Abernathy started for the door, he added, "No, wait. Find a way of contacting Mrs. Zilah Seifert. I believe she and Daniel are cruising in the Caribbean on their yacht Windsong. " He smiled sardonically. "Let her know the lost lamb has been found. She has a peculiar fondness for this particular lamb."

Abernathy nodded briskly. "I'll see to it. If there are any problems. I'll phone you in San Francisco. Good day, Sheikh El Kabbar." He strode hurriedly toward the door. This time he was allowed to leave and he closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief.

It was foolish to be nervous around the man after so many years in his service, but the sheikh could be a very intimidating man. Abernathy wouldn't like to be in the detective's shoes if he didn't come through with that dossier on schedule. For that matter, he wouldn't want to be in Pandora Madchen's place either. The sheikh's emotions were exceptionally strong and volatile where she was concerned. Personally, he found it muchmore comfortable to be ignored by the man except when needed.

Philip leaned back in the chair, his eyes going compulsively to the magazine he'd thrown so carelessly on the desk. Lord, she was beautiful now. Even in that grotesque wig she shimmered with allure. But then, he had known she would be beautiful eventually because as a child she had possessed an enchanting grace and loveliness. Strange that he hadn't noticed it more often when she had tagged around after him like an eager little puppy. He supposed he'd always been vaguely conscious of that glowing promise, but it had been all but obscured by her fire and intensity. He wondered cynically if that intensity was still as strong. Perhaps she had found, like most beautiful women, that society requires nothing more of her than a tempting body and an accommodating nature.

For some reason that thought sent a surge of rage through him, and he reached impulsively for the jeweler's box on the far side of the desk. He flipped it open and stared down at the medallion, trying to subdue his anger.

He had given her the medallion to safeguard her when she was a child running wild around the village and encountering danger at every turn. Everyone recognized the rose and sword as the insignia of his house, and it had placed her automatically under his protection and possession. She had accepted the fact that she belonged to him. She knew he didn't give up what was his. Not ever. Yet she had returned the medallion without even the courtesy of a note. What the devil did she mean by that gesture?

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he reached out to touch the gold of the rose. With the Pandora he had known six years ago, he would have been able to guess. Sometimes he had felt so close to her, he could almost read her thoughts. Now he couldn't be sure. Beauty had a way of corrupting anything it touched, and Pandora had lived with the knowledge of her own exceptional beauty for years now. Perhaps she had changed.

If that was the case, her sending the medallion could mean any number of things. Invitation, rejection, reconciliation.

Of course she had changed. Everyone changed with time and experience. And the Pandora who was smiling out of the picture with such smoldering sensuality had obviously gained a lot of experience along the way.

Well, he'd find out how those changes would affect him very soon. Because, even if she didn't realize it, she still belonged to him. He had only to decide in what capacity.

Two

The rectangular jeweler's box was lying on her vanity table when she walked into her dressing room after rehearsal the next evening.

Pandora recognized it at once, and for a moment the breath stopped in her lungs. So soon? Philip never hesitated once a decision was made. She had known he'd react at once—she'd even counted on it. Still she was stunned. She walked slowly across the room and flipped open the lid of the box, already knowing what she'd find there. There was a small card lying on top of the medallion. Her hands were shaking as she picked it up and read the bold script.

"It's not that easy. There's a car waiting in the alley outside the stage door. Don't keep me waiting."

No signature. There was no need for one. Both the tone and the handwriting itself were poignantly

familiar. It's not that easy. She would have laughed aloud if she hadn't been afraid she would burst into tears. There was nothing easy about this situation. She had never been so frightened in her life. Yet beneath that fear was an exuberant joy that was growing with every second. She was going to see him. Dear, sweet heaven, after six years without him she was going to see him again!