"That's a good start." Gently, he brushed the hair away from her damp cheeks. "What happened, Deanna?"

She looked away from him. There was too much concern, too much willingness to understand in his eyes. "I just found out I'm an idiot. That I have no sense of judgment, and that no one can be trusted."

"Sounds like a resume for a television news anchor." When she didn't smile, he took her hand. "I haven't got any whiskey on me, and I gave up smoking last year. The best I can offer you is a shoulder."

"I seem to have used that already."

"I have another one." Instead of leaning on it, she sat up straighter, squeezed her eyes tight a moment. Maybe she was an idiot, but she still had pride. "I just walked in on a woman I considered a friend, and a man I was considering as a lover."

"That's a big one." And he didn't have any clever words to smooth it over. "The psychologist?"

"Marshall, yes." Her lips trembled. With an effort, she firmed them. The tears she'd shed didn't shame her, but they were over. She meant to keep it that way. "And Angela. In her office."

Muttering an oath, he glanced up to the windows on the sixteenth floor. "I don't suppose you could have mistaken the situation."

Her laugh was as dry as dust. "I'm a trained observer. When I see two people, one half naked, pawing each other, I know what they're up to. I don't need corroboration to make the report."

"I guess not." He was silent a moment. The breeze whispered through the plot of grass behind them and waved through the bank of tulips that spelled out CBC in sunny yellow. "I could round up a crew," Finn considered, "go up to sixteen with a camera, lights and a mike, and make his life a living hell."

This time her laugh was less strained. "Interview him at the scene of the crime? It's a nice offer."

"No, really, I'd enjoy it." The more he thought about it, the more he believed it was the perfect solution. "Dr. Pike, as a respected family counselor, how do you explain being caught with your pants down in a place of business before noon? Was this a professional call? A new form of therapy you'd like to share with the public?"

"They weren't down — yet," she said with a sigh. "I interrupted them. And while your offer's tempting, I'd just as soon handle the situation myself." She pushed the used handkerchief back in his hand. "Goddamn it, they made a fool out of me." Springing off the wall, Deanna wrapped her arms tightly around her body. "She planned it. I don't know why, I don't even know how, but she planned it. I saw it in her eyes."

This news didn't surprise him. Nothing about Angela did. "Have you pissed her off lately?"

"No." She lifted her hand to push back her hair and then stopped. New York, she thought, and nearly laughed again. "Maybe I did," she said softly. "And this is some twisted form of payback for what she sees as ingratitude." Furious now, Deanna turned back toward him. "She knew how I felt about him, and she used it. And what timing. Less than an hour before I have to go on." She looked at her watch, then covered her face with her hands. "Oh God. I've only got twenty minutes."

"Take it easy. I'll go down and tell Benny you're sick. They'll get a sub."

For one indulgent moment, she considered his offer. Then she remembered Angela's crafty, satisfied smile. "No. She'd enjoy that too much. I can do my job."

Finn studied her. Her face was tracked with tears and her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, but she was determined. "They grow them tough in Kansas," he said with approval.

Her chin rose another notch. "Damn right they do."

"Let's get you into makeup."

She said nothing until they'd crossed the lot, walked through the door. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Got any Visine?"

She grimaced as they started up the steps. "That bad?"

"Oh, it's worse."

He kept their conversation light as he steered her into makeup. He brought her ice for her eyes, water for her throat, then stayed to chat while she concealed the worst of the damage with cosmetics. But he was thinking, and his thoughts were anything but light. Anything but kind.

"That's not half bad," he commented. "Try a little more blusher."

He was right. Deanna stroked the brush over her cheek. And saw Marshall's reflection in the mirror. Her hand trembled once before she set the brush aside.

"Deanna, I've been looking for you." "Oh?" She felt Finn coil beside her, like a big, mean cat about to spring, and laid a hand on his arm. With a jolt she realized the slightest signal from her would have him tearing in. It wasn't as unattractive an image as she wanted to think. "I've been right here," she said coolly. "I have a show to do."

"I know. I…" His eyes clung to hers, soft and brown and pleading. "I'll wait."

"There's no need for that." Odd, she thought. She felt powerful. Invincible. There seemed to be no relation between the woman she was at this moment and the one who had run sobbing from Angela's office. "I have a couple minutes to spare." Calmly, she leaned back against the counter and smiled at Finn. There was blood in her eye that had nothing to do with tears. "Would you mind leaving us alone?"

"Sure." He reached over and tipped her chin up another inch with his fingertip. "That's a good look for you, Kansas." With a last, ice-edged stare at Marshall, he strolled out.

"Was it necessary to bring him into our private business?"

Deanna cut him off with a look. "Can you really have the gall to criticize me at a time like this?"

"No." Marshall's shoulders drooped.

"No, of course not. You're right. It's just that I find this difficult, and embarrassing enough without the gossip spreading through the newsroom."

"Finn has more interesting things to discuss than your sex life, Marshall. I promise you. Now if you have something to say, you'd better say it. I only have a few minutes."

"Deanna." He stepped forward and would have reached for her, but the flash in her eyes warned him. "I have no excuse for what happened — or nearly happened. But I want you to know there's nothing between me and Angela. It was an impulse," he continued, speaking quickly when Deanna remained silent. "Purely physical and meaningless. It had nothing to do with what I feel for you."

"I'm sure it didn't," she said after a moment. "And I believe you. I believe it was impulsive, meaningless sex."

Relief flooded through him. He hadn't lost her. His eyes brightened as he reached out to her. "I knew you'd understand. I knew the minute I saw you that you were a woman generous enough to accept me, to understand me. That's why I knew we were meant to be together."

Rigid as stone, she stared up at him. "Take your hands off me," she said quietly. "Right now."

"Deanna." When he only tightened his hold, she fought back a bubble of panic, a quick, ugly sensory memory, and shoved.

"I said now." Free, she stepped back and took a deep, steadying breath. "I said I believed you, Marshall, and I do. What you did with Angela had nothing to do with your feelings for me. However, it had everything to do with mine for you. I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust. That makes it impossible for us to part friends. So, we'll just part."

"You're hurt now." A muscle twitched in his cheek. "So you're not being reasonable." It was like Patricia, he thought. So much like Patricia.

"Yes, I'm hurt," she agreed. "But

I'm being very reasonable." A ghost of a smile flitted around her mouth, as insulting as a slap. "I make a habit out of being reasonable. I'm not calling you any of the names that occur to me."

"You see this as my fault. As a weakness." Confident in his skills as a mediator, he shifted gears. "What you haven't yet been able to see is your part in it. Your responsibility. I'm sure you'll agree that no successful relationship is the result of one person's efforts. All the weeks we've been together I've been patient, waiting for you to allow our relationship to move to the natural and very human phase of physical pleasure."

She didn't think he could shock her again. But she'd been wrong. "You're saying because I wouldn't go to bed with you, I forced you to turn to Angela?"

"You're not seeing the grays, Deanna," he said patiently. "I respected your wishes, your need to progress slowly. At the same time, it's necessary for me to satisfy my own needs. Angela was certainly a mistake—"

She nodded slowly. "I see. I'm glad we straightened this out, Marshall, before it went any further. Now I'm going to very reasonably tell you to go to hell."

She started out, her eyes going to smoke when he blocked the doorway. "We haven't finished, Deanna."

"I've finished, and that's all that counts. We both made a mistake, Marshall, a big one. Now get out of my way, and stay out of it before I make another one and embarrass us both by tearing the skin off your face."

Stiffly, he stepped aside. "I'll be ready to discuss this when you've calmed down."

"Oh, I'm calm," she muttered as she headed for the studio. "I'm dead calm, you bastard."

She shoved through the studio doors, strode across the floor and took her place behind the anchor desk.

Finn watched her through the first break. Once he was satisfied she was under control, he slipped out and walked to the elevator.


Over a celebratory glass of champagne, Angela watched the noon report in her office. She didn't give a damn about the words or images, but she was interested, even fascinated, by Deanna. The girl looked as cool and sweet as an ice-cream soda, Angela thought. Except for the eyes. Angela would have been bitterly disappointed if she hadn't seen the banked fury in Deanna's gaze.