“I never did care much for extra work.” He took out his cigarette again while she waited for him to go on. “Problem here is, I can see you’ve got a feel for it—the stage, I mean.”

“I appreciate that, Pete.”

“I’ll get your doilies.” He struck the match. “But I’m going to send one of the women out for ’em.”

“I’ve always admired a man who can delegate authority.” She suppressed the chuckle until she was out of earshot.

She never had been quite able to figure out what a man like Pete was doing in theater. It seemed to her that he’d be more at home roping cattle, but here he was. He guarded his props as though they were treasures, and knew the theater history of each one. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that within twenty-four hours she would have everything she’d asked for.

After pushing open the door of her office, she pulled the pins out of her hair. She’d worn it up for the sake of coolness and efficiency, but the weight of it had begun to pull. Letting it fall free, she stuck the pins in her pocket. Priorities being what they were, she went straight to the coffeemaker and switched it on. Then, because she had a half a dozen calls to make, she drew off her left earring and dropped it in with the pins. Before she could sit and pick up the phone, it began to ring.

“Hello.”

“The royal family has made a mistake.”

She recognized the voice. The hand still in her pocket closed into a fist that snapped the back from the earring. “The royal family doesn’t give in to threats.”

The call was being tapped. She knew it and remembered through the first fear that her job was to keep the caller on the line.

“You’ll have to tell your boss that he will serve out his term in prison.”

“Justice must be served. The royal family and all those close to them will have to pay.”

“I told you before, only a coward makes anonymous calls, and it’s difficult to fear a coward.” But she was afraid.

“You interfered once and your seven years of freedom may be at an end.”

“I don’t bend to threats, either.” But her hands were damp.

“They won’t find the bomb, mademoiselle. Perhaps they won’t find you.”

As the phone went dead, Eve stared at it. Bomb? There had been a bomb in Paris. Her hand shook lightly as she replaced the receiver. No, he’d meant another bomb, here, today. Alexander.

She had her hand on the doorknob when the full impact of the phone call hit her.

Your seven years of freedom may be at an end. Perhaps they won’t find you, either.