“We don’t all swim in the same sewer, Congressman. I think Loren will agree it’s best for all concerned to drop the whole affair.” Pitt opened the door and helped Loren out. “Oh, one more thing: I have Sam Jackson’s sworn statement of your dealings with him. I trust it will not be necessary to blow the whistle on further shakedowns by you and your girl friend. If I find you’ve crossed me, I’ll come down hard on you, mister. That’s a promise.”

Pitt slammed the door and leaned in the chauffeur’s window. “Okay, pal, move it.”

The two of them stood and watched the limousine until it disappeared in the traffic. Then Loren stood on tiptoe and kissed Pitt’s prickly cheek.

“What’s that for?” he asked, grinning with pleasure.

“A reward for bailing me out of a nasty situation.”

“Pitt to the rescue. I always was a pushover for congresswomen in distress.” He kissed her on the lips, ignoring the curious stares of passersby. “And that’s your reward for playing noble.”

“Playing noble?”

“You should have told me about the photographs. I could have saved you many a sleepless night.”

“I thought I could handle it,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Women should be able to stand alone.”

He put his arm around her and led her to his car. “There are times when even a dedicated feminist needs a chauvinist to lean on.”

As Loren slid into the passenger seat, Pitt noticed a small slip of paper under one of his windshield wipers. At first he thought it was only an advertising flyer and was about to throw it away, but curiosity won out and he glanced at it. The message was written in a precise hand.

dear mr. pitt,

I would be most grateful if you would call this number (555-5971) at

your earliest convenience.

Thank you, dale jarvis

Instinctively Pitt looked up and down the crowded sidewalk, trying vainly to make the mysterious messenger. It was a hopeless chore. There were nearly eighty people within a hundred-yard radius; any one might have slipped the paper onto his car while he was confronting Daggat.

“Do you know a Dale Jarvis?” he asked Loren.

She thought a moment. “Can’t say the name is familiar. Why?”

“It appears,” Pitt said pensively, “that he left me a love note.”

202 VIXEN 03p>

49

The chilly winter air seeped through the seams of the truck bed and stabbed Lusana’s skin. He was lying on his stomach, his hands and legs tightly bound to his sides. The metal ribs of the floor jarred his head with every bump the stiffly sprung truck took from the road. Lusana’s senses were hardly functioning. The hood over his head closed out all light and left him disoriented, and the loss of circulation had turned his body numb.