Paper Rose

“What, in that fancy apartment?” she said, distracted.

Cecily winced. “I’ve…moved. I have a new place. It’s smaller, and a little shabby, but it’s homey. You’ll like it. I have a sofa that folds out into a bed. I can sleep there and you can have the bedroom.”

Leta paused. “I’d love to see you. But I don’t know about getting on an airplane. I’ll have to think about that. You and Tate and I could go on the town, if I did. It might be fun, at that!”

Cecily hesitated. “Tate and I aren’t speaking, Leta,” she said tautly.

“Why not?”

“I found out who’s been paying all my expenses.”

“It’s some foundation, isn’t it?” Leta asked in all innocence. “What would that have to do with you and Tate not speaking? So, who’s really behind it?” she added in a teasing tone. “Is it some gun runner or maybe one of those international terrorists we read about?”

Leta didn’t know that Tate had been supporting her! Well she couldn’t discuss it on the phone. Time for that when she flew out to South Dakota.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get there,” Cecily promised. “See you soon.”

“Okay. Take care, baby.”

“You take care, too.” She put down the receiver. Leta was going to be hurt that her “children” were at war. She frowned, remembering what Leta had said about losing some tribal funds. She wondered what was going on at Wapiti.

Saturday came and Colby was unexpectedly back in the country, so she asked him to go with her to Senator Holden’s birthday party. He agreed, but he sounded solemn. When he came to pick her up, she could see how tired he was.

“I shouldn’t have asked you,” she said gently, knowing better than to ask him what was wrong.

He shrugged. “It beats sitting at home, thinking.” He smiled wanly. “I’m bad company. But I’ll give it a shot.”

They left Cecily’s apartment and drove to the Senator’s residence.

Cecily stared around her at the elegant company of politicians, millionaires and other guests assembled in the huge ballroom of Senator Matt Holden’s Maryland home. Her upswept medium blond hair was neatly done and her knee-length black cocktail dress, while off the rack, was tasteful. But her pale green eyes were restless. She felt vulnerable without her glasses. She hadn’t wanted to bother with them, since Colby was driving. And she hated the worry of trying to wear contact lenses. Besides, who did she need to see, anyway? She and Colby had arrived just in time to wander through the buffet and nibble at the delicious spread. There was everything from caviar to champagne.

Now that they’d finished eating, she wished he would hurry back with the coffee. She was uncomfortable among people whose casual conversation centered around investments, foreign travel and upcoming appropriation bills. She didn’t travel in monied circles. As she studied the people around her being offered drinks by a white-coated, white-gloved waiter, she grinned to herself thinking that her usual companions these days were skeletons. She glanced at the tureen in the waiter’s hands and had an attack of conscience.

She draped her small evening bag over one shoulder and wandered quietly through the room of guests, nodding and smiling politely at people she knew mainly from the nightly news. She was in glittering company, but she was a stranger, alone in this packed gathering. She’d have been more at home in her office at the museum. Or on the reservation with Leta.

It was an unusually quiet cocktail party, she thought, and conversation was muted and somber around her. Recent turmoil in Washington, D.C., had thrown a shroud over the celebration of Senator Holden’s birthday. Holden was the senior Republican senator from South Dakota, a fiery, difficult man who made enemies as easily as he ran the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs, of which he was chairman. He had his finger in plenty of political pies and some private ones. His most recent private one was private sector funding for his pet project, the newly created Anthropological and Archaeological Museum of the Native American where Cecily now worked.

She spotted Matt Holden and her eyes began to twinkle. He was a handsome devil, even at his age. His wife had died the year before, and the husky black-eyed politician with his glimmering silver hair and elegant broad-shouldered physique was now on every widow’s list of eligibles. Even now, two lovely elderly society dames were attacking from both sides with expensive perfume and daring cleavage. At least one of them should have worn something high-necked, she mused, with her collarbone and skinny neck so prominent.

Another pair of eyes followed her amused gaze. “Doesn’t it remind you of shark attacks?” a pleasant voice murmured in her ear.

She jumped, and looked up at her companion for the evening. “Good grief, Colby, you scared me out of a year’s growth!” she burst out with a helpless laugh.

Colby only smiled. “Here’s your coffee. It’s not bad, either.”

He handed her the cup and sipped from his own. She wondered why he’d been out of the country at the same time as Tate, and why. Then she shut Tate out of her mind. She wasn’t going to think about him tonight.

“You never did say where you went,” she told the lithe congenial man at her side.

He mentioned a war-torn country in Africa, then murmured, “And you didn’t hear that from me.”

She sobered quickly. Everyone knew about the strife and the terrible aftermath of surreptitious bombings. It was all that people talked about. “Those poor people.”

“Amen.”

She glanced up at him. “I suppose you were involved somehow in the capture of the suspects?”

He only smiled. He would never talk about assignments. Colby wasn’t a handsome man, especially with all the scars on his lean face. His thick, faintly wavy short black hair was his best asset. Still he did have a dangerous magnetism that Cecily knew didn’t go unnoticed by the ladies. Unfortunately he was too stuck in the past to even look at another woman twice. His wife of five years had left him two years back and found someone else; someone who was at home more, already had two children of his own and didn’t risk his life for his job. His benders since her departure were legendary. Cecily’s intervention with the Maryland psychologist had saved him from certain alcoholism, but he still teetered dangerously on the edge of ruin. A pity, she thought, to love someone so much and lose them and be unable to let go. Just like herself mooning over Tate, she thought with bitterness.

“Seen Tate lately?” Colby asked carelessly.

She stiffened. “No.”

He looked down at her with a wry grin. “It was a boring banquet, anyway. You made all the news shows that night, and I hear one of the bigger late-night television hosts did a monologue about it!”

“Go ahead,” she invited with a gesture. “Rub it in.”

“I can’t help myself,” he said with an involuntary chuckle. “I believe it’s the first time in American political history that an ex-CIA agent was baptized with a tureen of crab bisque right in the middle of a televised political affair.” Colby had to work hard not to crack a smile. He sipped his coffee instead. Before he met Cecily, he couldn’t have imagined any woman doing that to tall, handsome, elegant Tate Winthrop. “Matt Holden seems to have forgiven you,” he added.

She smiled wickedly. “He loved it,” she said. “Just between you and me, he thrives on publicity.”

Colby’s dark eyes went to Holden. “You might also have been invited because he likes embarrassing Tate,” he mused. “Talk about natural enemies!”

Cecily shifted from one leg to the other. Her high heeled shoes were getting uncomfortable. She didn’t go out much formally. “I know. Tate’s gung ho for that proposed casino on the Wapiti Ridge Sioux Reservation in South Dakota to help raise tribal funds and support more programs for teens, to help cut down on alcoholism and violence. The senator, on the other hand, is violently opposed to the casino project on Wapiti. They’ve locked horns over that issue and several others involving Lakota sovereignty.”

Colby’s brows drew together. “Isn’t the senator Lakota?”

Cecily grinned. “His father was from Morocco,” she said. “He hasn’t got a drop of Lakota blood. But he looks it, doesn’t he? Maybe that’s why he gets the Lakota vote every election. That, and the fact that his mother used to teach at the Lakota school on Wapiti Ridge, or so I’ve heard.” Thinking about that, she wondered if Leta had ever met Matt in her youth. They were about the same age.

“Did he know Tate’s family then?”

“He may have known of them, but he ran for congress before Tate was even born, and he came to D.C. as a freshman senator the same year in a landslide victory.”

“You didn’t know him until this museum thing came up.”

“That’s true.” She smoothed down the narrow skirt of her dress and glanced with irritation at a mud spot on her black suede sling-backs. “Darn,” she said. “It was raining and I had to walk on the grass. I’ve got mud all over my shoes. They’re brand-new, too.”

“I’ll carry you across the grass on the return trip, if you like,” Colby offered with twinkling eyes. “It would have to be over one shoulder, of course,” he added with a wry glance at his artificial arm.

She frowned at the bitterness in his tone. He was a little fuzzy because she needed glasses to see at distances.

“Listen, nobody in her right mind would ever take you for a cripple,” she said gently and with a warm smile. She laid a hand on his sleeve. “Anyway,” she added with a wicked grin, “I’ve already given the news media enough to gossip about just recently. I don’t need any more complications in my life. I’ve only just gotten rid of one big one.”

Colby studied her with an amused smile. She was the only woman he’d ever known who he genuinely liked. He was about to speak when he happened to glance over her shoulder at a man approaching them. “About that big complication, Cecily.”

“What about it?” she asked.

“I’d say it’s just reappeared with a vengeance. No, don’t turn around,” he said, suddenly jerking her close to him with the artificial arm that looked so real, a souvenir of one of his foreign assignments. “Just keep looking at me and pretend to be fascinated with my nose, and we’ll give him something to think about.”