The first of the media rush began at midafternoon. Stone watched them ask Thomas where to find Allison Manning and be told of the news conference. As six o’clock approached they were still arriving, and he put back the conference until the following morning at ten, much to the annoyance of those who had arrived early. They were not relying on Chester’s small airplane now, but chartering out of San Juan and St. Thomas. Stone spoke to Henry and Arliss and had the guard on the marina doubled.

Allison was nervous; she sat in the saloon of the yacht and drank a martini just mixed by Stone.

“Easy,” he said. “You don’t want to be hung over in the morning. We only have to do this once, and I’ll be there to protect you.”

“But there are so many,” she said. “I had a look through the binoculars, and there must be thirty of them.”

“Yeah, they got together and chartered an old DC-3 in San Juan and packed it. I hear the airplane is making another flight, due in early in the morning.”

“Are you sure this is good for us?” she asked.

“It can’t be bad,” Stone said. “When the authorities get wind of what’s happening, I hope to see a change in their attitude.” At her insistence he mixed her another martini. “Tell you what, I’ll cook for you tonight.”

She brightened. “No kidding? I’ve never had a man cook for me.”

“Not once?”

“You forget, I’d been with Paul forever, and he wouldn’t so much as make himself a sandwich. Once, when I was sick and couldn’t cook, I saw him eat beans straight out of the can rather than heat them.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got in here,” Stone said, rummaging through a cabinet. He found some linguine and a couple of cans of minced clams. “Where’s the olive oil?”

“Down below, under the silverware drawer,” she said. “I’ll find us a nice chilled white wine.” She went to a cooler and produced a bottle.

Stone found some garlic, peeled and chopped it, sautéed it in some olive oil, then drained the clam juice into the skillet, seasoning with salt and pepper. “Any parsley?” he asked, adding some of the white wine.

“Only dried; up there in the spice rack.”

Fifteen minutes later they were dining on linguine and white clam sauce.

“Excellent,” she said.

“Typical bachelor dinner,” Stone replied.

“Have you ever been married?”

“Nope.”

“So you’ve had a lot of practice at quickie bachelor dinners?”

“Oh, I can make a few more elaborate dishes, too, if I have time to plan and shop. I don’t do it all that often.”

“And only early in the relationship, before seduction is assured,” she said, grinning.

“You are a cynic.”

She laughed. “Nailed you, huh?”

He tried not to smile. “Certainly not.”