Suddenly out of the mists of sleep rapidly enfolding her a fragmentary memory drifted to her. "Who is Uncle George?"

"What?"

"Uncle George," she murmured. "You said Despard reminded you of Uncle George."

"Oh, no one important. Just one of my more avaricious relatives. I hadn't thought of the old bastard for years before I ran into Despard." There was a long silence and she was half asleep when Beau began to chuckle. "Lord, if only Daniel could see me now."

"Daniel?" she asked drowsily.

"He'd never believe it." There was amusement vying with the exasperation in his tone. "Discussing Shakespeare and Samuel Clemens with a naked woman in the shower and then lying in bed pure as the driven snow with that same woman. He'd enjoy the entire episode tremendously."

"Would he?" She could barely keep her eyes open. "You're very good friends, aren't you?"

"We've been in a few tight spots together. It has a tendency to breed a certain intimacy."

"He's such a strange-looking man. Not at all like any picture I've ever seen of Charon."

"Charon?"

"The ferryman," she muttered, burrowing her head deeper into his shoulder. "Over the River Styx."

"Oh, that Charon." Beau's velvet drawl hinted at repressed laughter. "Forgive me for not making the connection. I can see how the territorial waters of Castellano would remind you of the river of the dead under the present circumstances, but I'm afraid Daniel wouldn't be flattered to be compared to that particular mythical figure." One lazy finger was winding itself around a silky curl. "He was a ferocious old graybeard as I recall."

"Well, the beard was right anyway." Her eyes refused to stay open any longer.

"You seem to be really hung up on mythology. Did you study it in school?"

She shook her head. "I never went to school, '^she said sleepily. "I read about it in my encyclopedia."

His voice was deceptively casual. "You never went to school?"

"Well, at least not after I was seven years old. We moved around too much." She wished he'd quit asking questions. She just wanted to go to sleep. "But Jeffrey said it didn't really matter. When I was eight, he bought me a set of encyclopedias and had me study fifteen pages a day until I'd gone through all of them. He said that was as good as any stuffy old school."

"Oh, he did?" The amusement was completely gone and he sounded almost grim. "Your Jeffrey seems to have all sorts of peculiar theories about what's good for you." It wasn't any wonder, he thought, that she wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before. "Do you always do what he tells you?"

But she was already asleep, her breathing deep and steady as she curled trustfully into the curve of his arm.

A set of encyclopedias, for heaven's sake! Mythology and the classics and millions of facts without interpretation. And a young girl with an insatiable hunger for the printed word, eagerly devouring those facts and reaching for more. Then another thought occurred to him. Women's lib. She hadn't known about women's lib.

He found himself shaking her awake. "Those encylopedias, Kate. What year were they published?"

"What?" she asked groggily.

"The year they were published," he demanded.

"Oh, that," she muttered, "1960." Then she was once more asleep.

He slowly settled back down on the pillow, his eyes staring blankly into the darkness. "Well, I'll be damned!"

Jeffrey Brenden was leaning on the rail of the ship, his curly gray-streaked hair ruffled by the brisk morning breeze. In the oversized jeans and gray sweatshirt he'd obviously borrowed from a member of the crew his slight wiry frame appeared even more slender than it had last night. However, his brown eyes were shrewd and alert as he glanced up as Beau approached.

"Ah, my generous host, I assume." He stretched out his hand, his grin warm and genial. "Julio tells me I have a great deal to thank you for." He made a face. "I'm afraid I don't remember. It seems I was more than a little sloshed last night."

"More than a little," Beau agreed dryly. He glanced around the empty deck. "Where's your friend Rodriguez?"

"He and the captain are having breakfast with the crew." Brenden's lips twisted ruefully. "I wasn't up to even staring a cup of coffee in the face this morning." His eyes traveled wistfully over the tall masts. "This is a beautiful ship, Mr. Lantry. I've always wanted to own a sailing ship."

"Why didn't you buy one?" Beau asked caustically. "According to Kate, it would have fit your image a hell of a lot better than a plane. She says you're something of a modern Sir Francis Drake."

"I'm a smuggler," Brenden said simply. "Kate always lets me justify it with that romantic nonsense, but I know what I am." He smiled a little sadly. "Lately it's been difficult to ignore. Despard's been rubbing my nose in it."

"And Kate's," Beau said deliberately. "Do you think it's fair to involve her in your illicit enterprises?"

"Kate's never been involved," Brenden said defensively. "I've always kept her out of it."

"You might have difficulty in convincing the authorities of that. She could be considered an accomplice, you know." His lips tightened. "And it's obvious you'd have trouble keeping her from involving herself, if last night is anything to go by."

There was a touch of fond pride mixed with ruefulness in Brenden's smile. "You're right. She's a determined little monkey when she makes up her mind to do something. She always plunges headlong into the fray and to hell with the consequences." His eyes were full of memories. "I remember even when she was a child, she was like a little mother. She used to tell me, 'Don't worry, Jeffrey, it will all work out. I'll make it work.' " He turned around, leaning his elbows on the rail. "And do you know something? Most of the time she'd actually do it."

"You've known each other a long time," Beau observed. "She said you were friends. How did you get together?"

"Her mother was an American showgirl in a nightclub in Rio de Janeiro." He shrugged. "We lived together for a year or so. Then Sally decided to move on to greener pastures. She just packed up and left one day while I was in Santiago." He paused. "She left Kate behind."

"Charming," Beau grated through clenched teeth. He felt the same surge of savagery he'd known last night when he'd seen that bastard hit Kate with the pistol. "She just forgot about her, I suppose. Like an old pair of shoes."

"Sally wasn't all that bad," Brenden said quietly. "She just wasn't the maternal type. She didn't know how to cope with a seven-year-old." He grimaced. "Neither did I."

"So you didn't bother," Beau said grimly. "You just dragged her along with you over half the Southern Hemisphere into every dive and hellhole."

"Would you rather I'd left her on her own in a foreign country?" Brenden asked. "At least she had a roof over her head." He met Beau's eyes steadily. "I never tried to be a father to her, but I did the best I could. We got along."

"For God's sake, you didn't even send her to school!"

"There were reasons." Brenden looked away evasively. "Kate's sharp as a whip. She probably knows more than any of those fancy college graduates."

"I don't doubt it as long as the subject matter is pre-1960," Beau bit out. "But what about everything that's happened in her own lifetime? The space age, the Vietnam war, women's lib, Kennedy's assassination?"

"She picked up a lot of that on her own," Brenden said defensively. "And the rest isn't all that important for her to know."

"Did you tell her she didn't miss much there either?" Beau laughed incredulously. "I bet you did. And what's worse, she probably believed you."

"I did the best I could," the older man repeated stubbornly. His expression turned sulky. "And why the hell is it any of your business anyway? You did us a favor but that doesn't make you Kate's keeper."

"She obviously needs one," Beau said curtly. "You haven't even asked where Kate is, or don't you really give a damn?"

Brenden went still. "I give a damn." His eyes narrowed on Beau's face. "Where is Kate?"

"When I left her, she was curled up asleep." Beau paused deliberately. "In my bed."

There was a flicker on Brenden's face that might have been pain and then it became totally impassive. "I see."

"Is that all you've got to say?" Beau could feel the fury blazing up in him and made a futile effort to control it. "Is it such a common occurrence that you don't even raise an eyebrow? Aren't you even going to ask if I enjoyed her?"

"No, I'm not going to ask you that," Brenden said heavily, turning back to stare out to sea. "That's between the two of you. It's none of my business."

"Funny, I thought it was very much your business. Kate was willing to throw herself into my bed to bail the three of you out of the mess you'd gotten yourselves into. Evidently that kind of commitment only goes one way."

Brenden was silent, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Beau drew a deep breath. "I don't know what the devil I'm getting so hot about. If her so-called friends don't care that she's willing to make a prostitute of herself, why should I?" But he did care and the fact that it did matter made him even angrier.

Brenden's glare was glacier cold. "Kate's not a prostitute. Before you throw that first stone, you might consider you were willing enough to take advantage of her generosity yourself and no doubt will again at the next opportunity. Julio's been having a chat with the crew and what he heard about your way with women doesn't make you sound like an angel."