“What did you and Ashley Wakefield talk about?” he asked dispassionately.

“It was personal business.”

“For Crockett?”

She nodded. “He wants to see her.”

“Why? Did he recognize the jewels?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“When?”

“I gave her his personal number. She was going to call him and arrange a time to get together.”

“How did he know about her?”

All the energy went out of Lillian. “I sent him a copy of the magazine. He said he’d seen it, but I don’t believe him.”

“I see.”

“I thought..I knew he’d see it sooner or later. I just hoped it would be easier coming from me. It was a stupid move, I know. He might never have thought twice about Ashley Wakefield. Andrew, I don’t want to be involved in this. I can’t—”

“Lillian.” He walked over to her and took her hand; his felt so warm. “Lillian, it’s very important that you find out for me when and if Ashley Wakefield will be seeing Crockett.”

“Why, Andrew? What difference does it make now?” She tried to focus on him, but her vision was blurred, and she sank lower, so tired. “You should have been the reporter, Andrew.”

“Lillian. You must help me.”

“I can’t.”

He squeezed her hand gently, then pushed back her auburn hair with a light touch of his fingers. “Poor Lillian.” His voice was low, sympathetic. She knew he was being patronizing, but took no offense; it was all he understood. “I know how difficult this must be for you. I myself am torn apart inside. But we can’t let our own misery cloud our judgment now. Pull yourself together. Don’t force me into a situation that would be disastrous for us both.”

She stared up at him. “What are you saying?”

“Just that the world has never known what a foolish and dangerous thing the great, serious Lillian Parker did in Hungary thirty years ago. It would be a shame if your fans, your employers, your colleagues...history...had to find out.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Give me a choice.”

Her vision cleared. “Damn you. Damn you to hell and back, Andrew Balaton.”

His hands dropped to his sides, his shoulders drooped, and suddenly he seemed so small and sad and frail. “I have already been there.”

For the first time, Lillian felt truly sorry for him. For the first time, she knew he hurt as much as she. “Threats aren’t necessary, Andrew,” she said wearily. “I’ll help you.”

She had even smiled when Andrew left.

Then, in a panic, she ran into her bedroom and dug a large suitcase out of the closet. She pinched her finger as she threw it open on her bed, but she paid no attention to the stab of pain. She had to leave. Get out. She would go to Monaco—anywhere. The network could survive without her for a week or so. She’d tell them she was on a hot story. Something. They trusted her.