"Step one" — he flashed a galvanizing smile — "we find an intimate little bar where we can relax and exchange our innermost desires."

"And step two?" she asked, her voice low.

"I take you for a hundred-mile-an-hour ride down Chesapeake Bay in a hydrofoil racing boat."

"Not this girl."

"I have this theory," Pitt continued. "Adventure and excitement never fail to transform gorgeous congresswomen into mad, insatiable beasts."

Afterward, as the sun's morning warmth fingered the drifting boat, Loren would have been the last person on earth to dispute Pitt's seduction theory. She noted with sensuous satisfaction that his shoulders bore her teeth and claw marks to prove it.

Loren released her hold and pushed Pitt toward the front door of the cabin. "So much for fun and games. I've got a batch of correspondence to clear up before we can drive down to Denver for a shopping spree tomorrow. Why don't you go on a nature hike or something for a few hours. Later, I'll fix us a fattening dinner and we'll spend another perverted evening snuggling by the fire."

"I think I'm all perverted out," he said, stretching. "Besides, nature hikes are definitely not my bag."

"Go fishing, then."

He looked at her. "You never got around to telling me where."

"A quarter of a mile over the hill behind the cabin. Table Lake. Dad used to catch his limit of trout there all the time."

"Thanks to you" — he peered at her sternly — "I'm getting a late start."

"Tough."

"I didn't bring any fishing gear. Your dad leave any around?"

"Under the cabin, in the garage. He used to keep all his tackle down there. Keys to the door lock are on the mantel."

The lock was stiff from nonuse. Pitt spit on it and twisted the, key as hard as he dared without breaking it. At last the tumblers gave and he squeaked the old twin doors open. After waiting a minute to adjust his eyes to the darkened enclosure, he stepped inside and looked around. There was a dusty workbench with its tools all neatly hanging in place. Cans of various sizes lined several shelves, some containing paint, some containing nails and assorted hardware.

Pitt soon found a fishing-tackle box under the bench. The pole took a little longer to find. He barely made one out in a dim corner of the garage. What seemed to be a piece of bulky equipment shrouded under a canvas drop cloth stood in his way. He couldn't quite reach the fishing pole, so he tried climbing over the obstruction. It shifted under his weight and he fell backward, clutching the drop cloth in a vain effort to catch his balance before both ended up on the dirt floor of the garage.

Pitt cursed, brushed himself off, and gazed at what barred him from an afternoon of fishing. A puzzled frown gripped his features. He knelt down and ran his hand over the two large objects he had accidentally uncovered. Then he rose and walked outside and called to Loren.

She appeared over the balcony. "What's your problem?"

"Come down here a minute."

Begrudgingly she donned a soft beige trench coat and went downstairs. Pitt led her inside the garage and pointed. "Where did your father find those?"

She bent forward and squinted. "What are they?"

"The round yellow one is an aircraft oxygen tank. The other is a nose gear, complete with tires and wheels. Damned old, judging by the degree of corrosion and the grime."

"They're news to me."

"You must have noticed them before. Don't you ever use the garage?"

She shoot her head. "Not since I ran for office. This is the first time I've been to Dad's cabin since he died in an accident three years ago."

"You ever hear of a plane crashing around here?" Pitt probed.

"No, but that doesn't mean it hasn't happened. I seldom see any neighbors, so I have little opportunity to catch up on local gossip."

"Which way?"

"Huh?'

"Your nearest neighbors. Where do they live?"

"Down the road, back toward town. First turnout to the left."

"What's their name?"

"Raferty. Lee and Maxine Raferty. He's a retired Navy man." Loren took Pitt's hand in hers and pressed tightly. "Why all the questions?"

"Curiosity, nothing more." He lifted her hand and kissed it. "I'll see you in time for that fattening dinner." Then he turned and began jogging down the road.

"Aren't you going fishing?" she called after him.

"Always hated the sport."

"Don't you want the jeep?"

"The nature hike was your idea, remember?" he yelled over his shoulder.

Loren watched until Pitt disappeared through a clump of lodgepole pines before she shook her head at the incomprehensible whims of men and ran back inside the cabin to escape the early-fall chill.

Maxine Raferty had the look of the West about her. She was heavyset and wore a loose print dress, rimless glasses, and a net over her bluish-silver hair. She sat bundled up on the front porch of a cedar cabin, reading a paperback mystery. Lee Raferty, a string bean of a man, was down on his haunches, greasing the front-axle bearings of a battered old International flatbed truck, when Pitt trotted up and greeted them.

"Good afternoon."

Lee Raferty removed an unlit, wellchewed cigar stub from his mouth and nodded. "Hello there."

"Nice day for exercise.," said Maxine, scrutinizing Pitt over the top of her book.

"The cool breeze helps," said Pitt.

The friendliness was there in their faces, but so was the backcountry wariness of strangers who trespassed. especially strangers who wore the look of the city. Lee wiped his hands on a greasy rag and approached Pitt.

"Can I help you with somethin'?"

"You can if you're Lee and Maxine Raferty."

That brought Maxine out of her chair. "We're the Rafertys."

"My name is Dirk Pitt. I'm a guest of Loren Smith, down the road."

The uneasy expressions were replaced with broad smiles. "Little Loren Smith. Of course," Maxine said, beaming. "We're all pretty proud of her around these parts, what with her representing us in Washington and all."

"I thought perhaps you might give me some information concerning the area."

"Be glad to," replied Lee.

"Don't stand there like a tree," Maxine said to her husband. "Get the man something to drink. He looks thirsty."

"Sure, how about a beer?"

"Sounds good," Pitt said, smiling.

Maxine opened the front door and hustled Pitt through. "You'll stay for lunch." It was more a command than a request and Pitt had no out but to shrug in acquiescence.

The living room of the house had a high beamed ceiling with a bedroom loft. The decor was an expensive conglomeration of art deco furnishings. Pitt felt as though he had stepped back into the nineteen thirties.

Lee scurried into the kitchen and quickly returned with two opened beers. Pitt couldn't help noticing there were no labels on the bottles.

"Hope you like home brew," said Lee. "Took me four years to get just the right blend between too sweet and too bitter. Runs about eight percent alcohol by volume."

Pitt savored the taste. It was different from what he expected. If he hadn't detected a slight trace of yeast, he would have pronounced the taste fit for commercial sale.

Maxine set the table and waved for them to come around. She set out a large bowl of potato salad, a pot of baked beans, and a platter of thinly sliced rounds of meat. Lee replaced the rapidly emptied beer bottles with two fresh ones and started passing the plates.