A Man of Means

“Don’t Fight What You’re Feeling,” He Whispered Roughly.

Meredith heard Rey’s words as if through a fog, but her body obeyed him as he began to increase the teasing pressure of his mouth. She followed his lips and relaxed into the curve of his powerful body with a little shiver.

He devoured her mouth, tempting her until her mouth followed his, returning the arousing pressure. She could see the glitter grow in his narrow eyes, feel the grip of his lean hands as he pushed her hips against the sudden hardness of him. She gasped with embarrassment and then lost all sense of it as his mouth opened and pushed down hard against her parted lips, drowning her in passion.

It was like flying, she thought dazedly. He hesitated for an instant and her eyes opened, drowsy and curious. Her mouth was swollen, soft, tremulous. She looked at him with fascination, utterly helpless in his embrace.

“Why did you do that?” she asked huskily.

One dark eyebrow lifted. He didn’t smile. “Why did you let me?” he shot back.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire, where you can spice up your April with six passionate, powerful and provocative romances!

Beloved author Diana Palmer delivers a great read with A Man of Means, the latest in her LONG, TALL TEXANS miniseries, as a saucy cook tames a hot-tempered cowboy with her biscuits. Then, enjoy reading how one woman’s orderly life is turned upside down when she is wooed by Mr. Temptation, April’s MAN OF THE MONTH and the first title in Cait London’s hot new HEARTBREAKERS miniseries.

Reader favorite Maureen Child proves a naval hero is no match for a determined single mom in The SEAL’s Surrender, the latest DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS title. And a reluctant widow gets a second chance at love in Her Texan Tycoon by Jan Hudson.

The drama continues in the TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE LAST BACHELOR continuity series with Tall, Dark…and Framed? by Cathleen Galitz, when an attractive defense attorney falls head over heels for her client—a devastatingly handsome tycoon with a secret. And discover what a ranch foreman, a virgin and her protective brothers have in common in One Wedding Night…by Shirley Rogers.

Celebrate the season by pampering yourself with all six of these exciting new love stories.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

A Man of Means

Diana Palmer

For Cissy at Writerspace, Sara, Jill and Celeste, and all

the wonderful readers, many of whom I was privileged to

meet in Atlanta in 2001 at our author tea, who visit me

online there at my Web site. Love you all. DP

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

One

Meredith Johns glanced around her worriedly at the out-of-control Halloween party-goers in their colorful costumes. Meredith was wearing an outfit left over from college days. She made a good salary at her job, but there was no money for little luxuries like Halloween costumes. She had to budget just to be able to pay the utility bill in the house she shared with her father.

The past few months had been traumatic, and the wear was telling on her. She needed to get out of the house, Jill, one of her colleagues, had said firmly—especially after her most agonizing experience at home. Meredith was reluctant. Her father was only just back at their house after three days. But Jill was insistent. So she’d put on the only costume she had, a bad choice in many ways, and walked the three blocks to her friend’s downtown apartment. She grimaced at her surroundings. What an idiot she’d been to come to this wild party.

But it really had been a tumultuous week for Meredith and she’d wanted to get her mind off her troubles. Her father’s violent behavior at the house they shared was unnerving. They were both still grieving, but her father had taken the tragedy much harder. He felt responsible. That was why a scholarly, conservative college professor had suddenly retired from his job and turned into an alcoholic. Meredith had tried everything she could think of to get him into treatment, but he refused to go on his own accord and the treatment facilities which would have taken him wouldn’t unless he went voluntarily. Only a violent episode that had landed him in jail had temporarily spared her of this saddening experience. But he was out three days later and he had a new bottle of whiskey. She still had to go home after the party. He’d warned her not to be late. Not that she ever was.

Her grey eyes were sad as she sipped her soft drink. She had no head for alcohol, and she was as out of place here as a cup of tea. Not only that, her costume was drawing unwanted attention from the men. So was her long blond hair. It had been a bad costume choice, but it was the only thing she had to wear on the spur of the moment. Going to a Halloween party in her street clothes would have made her stand out, too.

She moved away from a slightly tipsy colleague who wanted to show her around Jill’s bedroom and unobtrusively put her glass on a table. She found Jill, pleaded a headache, thanked her for a ‘‘good’’ time and headed out the front door as fast as she could. Once on the sidewalk, she drew in a long, sweet breath of fresh air.

What a bunch of wild people! She coughed delicately, remembering the unmistakable smell of that smoke that had been thick enough to obstruct clear vision inside. She’d thought it would be fun to go to a party. She might even meet a man who would be willing to take her out and cope with her father. And cows might fly, she told herself. She hadn’t been out on a date in months. She’d invited one prospective date to her home for supper. But after a good look at her father, who was mean when he drank, the prospective suitor took off. Her heart wasn’t in it, anyway. Recently she’d given up trying to attract anyone. She had her hands full already. Her grief was still fresh, too.

An odd noise attracted her attention as she started back toward her own house. She felt self-conscious in her getup, and remembering the lewd remarks she’d drawn from a man who was normally very polite and gentlemanly, she was sorry she hadn’t had a coat to wear. Her clothes were mostly old, because by the time she made the mortgage payment and took care of the bills, there wasn’t much left over. Her father couldn’t work and wouldn’t get help, and she loved him too much to desert him. It was becoming a costly proposition.

She wrapped her arms around herself and hoped she was covering up enough skin to discourage stalkers. But her skirt was very short and tight, and she was wearing fishnet hose, very high heels, a low-cut blouse and a flaming pink feather boa. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders and she was wearing enough makeup to do justice to a ballet recital. She winced, hoping she hadn’t been noticed. She’d gone to the party as a burlesque dancer. Sadly she looked more like a professional hooker in her garb.

She rounded a corner and saw two shadowy figures bending over what looked like a man on the ground.

‘‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing there?!’’ she yelled, making as much noise as possible. Then she started running toward them and waving her arms, yelling threats as she went.

As she expected, the surprise of her aggressive presence shocked them into retreat. They jumped up and ran away, without even looking back. The best defense, she thought with faint amusement, was always a good offense. It was a calculated bluff, but she’d seen it work for women smaller in stature than she was.

She ran to the downed man and examined him the best she could in the dim glow of the streetlights.

Concussion, she thought, feeling his head and encountering a metallic smelling wetness. Blood. He’d been hit on the head by his assailants, and probably robbed as well. She felt around under the jacket he was wearing and her hand touched something small and square on his belt. She pulled it out.

‘‘Aha,’’ she said with a triumphant grin. A man dressed as well as he was could be expected to have a cell phone. She dialed 911 and gave the operator her location and the condition of her patient, staying on the line while the dispatcher got an ambulance en route.

While she waited for it, she sat down on the pavement beside the man and held his hand.

He groaned and tried to move.

‘‘Don’t do that,’’ she said firmly. ‘‘You’ll be okay. You mustn’t move until the EMTs get here. I haven’t got anything to treat you with.’’

‘‘Head…hurts.’’

‘‘I imagine it does. You’ve got a heck of a bump. Just lie still. Feel sick, sleepy…?’’

‘‘Sick,’’ he managed weakly.

‘‘Lie still.’’ She lifted her head to listen for the ambulance, and sure enough, a siren sounded nearby. The hospital was less than two blocks from her home, maybe four from here. Lucky for this guy, whoever he was. Head injuries could be fatal.

‘‘My…brothers,’’ the man was whispering brokenly. ‘‘Hart…Ranch. Jacobsville, Texas.’’

‘‘I’ll make sure they’re contacted,’’ she promised.

He gripped her hand, hard, as he fought not to lose consciousness. ‘‘Don’t…leave me,’’ he ground out.

‘‘I won’t. I promise.’’

‘‘Angel,’’ he whispered. He took a long, shaky breath, and went back into the oblivion he’d left so briefly. That wasn’t a good sign.

The ambulance rounded the corner, and the headlights spilled out onto Meredith and her patient. She got to her feet as two EMTs, one male and one female, piled out the doors and rushed to the downed man.

‘‘Head wound,’’ she told them. ‘‘Pulse is slow, but steady. He’s coherent, some nausea, his skin is cold and clammy. Blunt force trauma, probably mild concussion…’’

‘‘Don’t I know you?’’ the female EMT asked. Her face brightened. ‘‘Got you! You’re Johns!’’

‘‘That’s me,’’ Meredith said with a grin. ‘‘I must be famous!’’

‘‘Sorry, not you—your dad.’’ She winced at the look on Meredith’s face.

Meredith sighed. ‘‘Yes, he spends a lot of time on ambulances these days.’’

‘‘What happened here?’’ the woman asked quickly, changing the subject. ‘‘Did you see anything?’’

‘‘I yelled and scared off two guys who were bending over him,’’ she volunteered. ‘‘I don’t know if they were the ones who hit him or not. What do you think?’’ she added as the woman gave him a professional once-over.

‘‘Concussion, definitely,’’ she agreed. ‘‘Nothing broken, but he’s got a lump the size of the national debt here on his head. We’ll transport him. Coming along?’’

‘‘I guess I should,’’ Meredith said, waiting until they loaded him onto the gurney. He was still unconscious. ‘‘But I’m not exactly dressed for visiting a hospital.’’

The EMT gave her a speaking glance. ‘‘Should I ask why you’re dressed like that? And does your boss know you’re moonlighting?’’ she added wickedly.

‘‘Jill Baxley had a Halloween party. She thought I should come.’’

The other woman’s eyebrows levered up. ‘‘Jill’s parties are notorious for getting out of control. I’ve never even seen you take a drink.’’

‘‘My father drinks enough for both of us,’’ came the reply. ‘‘I don’t drink or use drugs, and I need my head examined for going to that party. I escaped early, which is how I found this guy.’’

‘‘Lucky for him,’’ the woman murmured as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance. ‘‘Judging by his condition, he could have died if he hadn’t been found in time.’’

Meredith climbed up into the back and sat down on the bench while the driver got in under the wheel and the female EMT called the hospital emergency room for orders. It was going to be a long night, Meredith thought worriedly, and her father was going to be very upset when she got home. He and her mother had been really close, but her mother had been fond of going to parties and staying out until the early morning; sometimes with other men. Recent events had made him dwell on that behavior. Her father seemed to have transferred that old contempt to her. It made her uneasy to think of arriving home in the wee hours. Anything could happen. On the other hand, how could she leave this man? She was the only person who knew who to contact for him. She’d promised to stay with him. She couldn’t let him down.

He was examined by the resident on duty in the emergency room, who diagnosed concussion. He’d been unconscious most of the way to the hospital, but he’d come out of it just once to look up at Meredith and smile, tightening his big hand around the fingers that were holding it.

His family had to be notified, and Meredith was coaxed into making the call to Jacobsville for the harassed and overworked emergency room staff.

She was given a phone and a telephone directory which also listed Jacobs County, of which Jacobsville was the county seat. She looked through it until she found a listing for Hart Ranch Properties, Inc. That had to be it.

She dialed the number and waited. A deep, drawling voice answered, ‘‘Hart Ranch.’’

‘‘Uh, I’m calling for a Mr. Leo Hart,’’ she said, having found his driver’s license in the wallet his assailants hadn’t had time to steal. ‘‘He’s at Houston General…’’

‘‘What happened?’’ the voice asked impatiently. ‘‘Is he all right?’’

‘‘He was mugged. He has a concussion,’’ she added. ‘‘He can’t give the staff any medical information…’’

‘‘Who are you?’’

‘‘I’m Meredith Johns. I work…

‘‘Who found him?’’

‘‘I did, actually. I called the ambulance on his cell phone. He said to call his brothers and he told me where they were…’’

‘‘It’s two o’clock in the morning!’’ the voice pointed out angrily.

‘‘Yes, I am aware of that,’’ she began. ‘‘It only happened a little while ago. I was walking down the street when I saw him on the sidewalk. He needs his family—’’

‘‘I’m his brother, Rey. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.’’

‘‘Sir, it’s a long way to Houston from where you are. If you drive that fast…!’’ she said at once.

‘‘We have an airplane. I’ll get the pilot out of bed right now. Thanks.’’ He added that last word as if it hurt him, and hung up.

Meredith went back to the waiting room. Ten minutes later, she was admitted to the room where the victim had been examined.

‘‘He’s conscious,’’ the attending physician told her. ‘‘I’m going to admit him overnight, just to be sure. Any luck with his family?’’

‘‘His brother is on the way, in his own plane, apparently,’’ she said. ‘‘I didn’t get a thing out of him. Sorry.’’

‘‘People get upset and they don’t think,’’ the resident said with a weary smile. ‘‘How about staying with him? We’re understaffed because of that respiratory virus that’s going around, and he shouldn’t be alone.’’

‘‘I’ll stay,’’ she said with a grin. ‘‘It’s not as if I have a hectic social life.’’

The resident pursed his lips and smirked at her outfit.

‘‘Halloween party,’’ she said, grimacing. ‘‘And next time I get invited, I’ll have a broken leg, I swear it!’’

Forty-five minutes later, there was a problem. It was six feet tall, had black hair and dark eyes and it erupted into the hospital cubicle like an F-5 tornado, dressed in jeans and boots and a fringed rawhide jacket thrown carelessly over what looked like a beige silk shirt. The wide-brimmed hat slanted over those threatening eyes was a Stetson, one of the most expensive made, with its distinctive feathered logo pin on the hatband. He looked impressively rich, and excessively angry.

The man was livid when he saw his big brother, still drifting in and out of consciousness, on the examining table. He gave Meredith a scrutiny that could have peeled paint off old furniture, his eyes narrowing contemptuously on her costume.

‘‘Well, that explains why you were on the street at two in the morning,’’ he snarled angrily. ‘‘What happened? Did you feel guilty and call for help after you tried to roll him?’’ he added sarcastically.

‘‘Look here,’’ she began, rising.

‘‘Save it.’’ He turned to the big man on the table and laid a lean, strong hand on his brother’s broad chest. ‘‘Leo. Leo, it’s Rey! Can you hear me?’’ he asked in a tone that combined affection with concern.

The big man’s eyes blinked and opened. He stared blankly up at the leaner man. ‘‘Rey?’’

‘‘What happened to you?’’ Rey Hart demanded gently.

Leo grinned wearily. ‘‘I was thinking about new forage grasses and wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings,’’ he murmured drowsily. ‘‘Something hit me in the head and I went down like a brick. Didn’t see a thing.’’ He winced and felt clumsily in his pockets. ‘‘Damn! My wallet’s gone. So’s my cell phone.’’

Meredith started to tell him that she had the phone and wallet in her purse for safekeeping, but before she could speak, Rey Hart gave her a furious, speaking glance and walked out of the cubicle like a man hunting a fight.

His brother drifted off again. Meredith stood beside him, wondering what to do. Five minutes later, Rey Hart walked back in accompanied by a tall man in a police uniform. He looked familiar, but Meredith couldn’t quite place him. She knew she’d seen him before.

‘‘That’s her,’’ Rey told the policeman, indicating Meredith. ‘‘I’ll sign anything necessary as soon as I see that my brother’s going to be okay. But get her out of here.’’

‘‘Don’t worry. I’ll handle it,’’ the policeman said quietly. He handcuffed Meredith with easy efficiency and pulled her out of the cubicle before she could protest.

‘‘I’m being arrested?’’ she exclaimed, stunned. ‘‘But, why? I haven’t done anything!’’

‘‘Yes, I know, I’ve heard it all before,’’ the officer told her in a bored tone when she tried to explain what had happened. ‘‘Nobody’s ever guilty. Honest to God, dressed like that, out on the streets alone after midnight, you were bound to be up to no good. What did you do with his cell phone and his wallet?’’

‘‘They’re in my pocketbook,’’ she began.

He confiscated it from her shoulder and propelled her out of the building. ‘‘You’re going to be in a lot of trouble. You picked the wrong man to rob.’’

‘‘See here, I didn’t mug him! It was two men. I didn’t see their faces, but they were bending over him as I came down the sidewalk.’’

‘‘Soliciting is a felony,’’ he pointed out.

‘‘I wasn’t soliciting anything! I’d just come from a Halloween party dressed as a burlesque dancer!’’ she raged, furious that she was being punished for having done someone a good turn. She read his name tag. ‘‘Officer Sanders, you have to believe me!’’

He didn’t say a word. He drew her with him, firmly but gently, and put her into the back seat of the police car.

‘‘Wait,’’ she told him before he could close the door. ‘‘You get my wallet out of my purse and look in it. Right now,’’ she insisted.

He gave her an impatient look, but he did what she asked. He looked through the plastic inserts in her wallet and glanced at her with a changed expression. ‘‘I thought you looked familiar, Johns,’’ he murmured, using her last name, as most people she knew at work did.

‘‘I didn’t mug Mr. Hart,’’ she continued. ‘‘And I can prove where I was when he was being mugged.’’ She gave him her friend Jill’s address.

He gave in. He drove to Jill’s apartment, went to the door, spoke to an obviously intoxicated and amused Jill, and came back to the squad car. He let Meredith out of the back of the squad car and took off the handcuffs. It was cool in the night air, and Meredith felt self-conscious and uncomfortable in her garb, even though the police officer knew the truth now.

‘‘I’m really sorry,’’ he told her with a grimace as he met her grey eyes. ‘‘I didn’t recognize you. All I knew was what Mr. Hart told me, and he was too upset to think straight. You have to admit, you don’t look very professional tonight.’’

‘‘I do realize that. Mr. Hart cares about his brother, and he doesn’t know what happened,’’ she pointed out. ‘‘He walked in and saw his brother on the table and me dressed like this,’’ she indicated her clothing, ‘‘and his brother said his wallet and cell phone were missing. He doesn’t know me from a stump. You can’t blame him for thinking the worst. But those two men who hit him would have gotten his wallet if I hadn’t come along, and they’re still on the loose.’’

‘‘Can you show me where you found him?’’ he asked.

‘‘Of course. It was just down the sidewalk, that way.’’

She led and he followed her, with his big wide-angle flashlight sweeping the sidewalk and the grass as they walked. She pointed to an area of flattened grass. He left her on the sidewalk and gave the area a thorough scrutiny, looking for clues. He found a candy wrapper and a cigarette butt.

‘‘I don’t guess you know if Mr. Hart smokes or likes candy?’’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘‘Sorry. All he told me was his brothers’ name and where they lived. I don’t know anything more about him.’’

He stood up. ‘‘I’ll ask his brother later. Wait here while I call for one of the technicians to bag this evidence,’’ he told her.

‘‘Okay,’’ she said agreeably, drawing the feather boa closer. It was getting cold standing around briefly clad, waiting for crime scene investigators. ‘‘Somebody’s going to love being turned out of bed to come look at a cigarette butt and a candy wrapper,’’ she stated with helpless amusement.

‘‘You’d be surprised at what excites those guys,’’ he chuckled. ‘‘Catching crooks isn’t exactly a chore to them. It’s high drama.’’

‘‘I hope they catch these two,’’ she said firmly. ‘‘Nobody should have to be afraid to walk down the streets at night. Even after dark, dressed like this, alone,’’ she added pointedly, indicating her clothes.

‘‘Good point,’’ he was fair enough to admit.

He called in his location and requested crime scene technicians. Meredith was ready to go home, but she couldn’t leave until she’d given the policeman a statement for his report. She sat in his car, with the overhead lights on, writing out what she knew of the attack on Leo Hart. It didn’t take long, because she didn’t know much.

She handed it back to him. ‘‘Can I go home now?’’ she asked. ‘‘ live with my father and he’s going to be upset because I’m coming home so late. I can walk. It’s only about three blocks from here.’’

He frowned. ‘‘Your father is Alan Johns, isn’t he?’’ he asked. His expression changed. ‘‘Do you want me to go with you?’’

She didn’t usually flinch at facing her irate parent. She was gutsy, and she could handle herself. But tonight, she’d been through a lot. ‘‘Would you?’’ she asked, uneasy because her fear was visible.

‘‘No problem. Get in.’’

He drove her to her house and went to the door with her. The house was dark and there was no movement inside. She let out a sigh of relief. ‘‘It’s okay. If he was awake, the lights would be on. Thanks, anyway,’’ she said with a smile.

‘‘If you need us, call,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m afraid I’ll be in touch again about this. Rey Hart already reminded me that his brother is our state attorney general. He’s not going to let this case go until it’s solved.’’

‘‘I don’t blame him. Those guys are a menace and they’re probably still running around looking for easy targets to rob. Take care.’’

‘‘You, too. And I’m sorry about the handcuffs,’’ he added, with the first smile she’d seen on his lean face since her ordeal began.

She smiled back. ‘‘My fault, for wearing a costume like this on the streets,’’ she admitted. ‘‘I won’t do it again. Thanks for the ride.’’

Back at the hospital, Rey Hart sat by his brother’s bedside until dawn, in the private room he’d obtained for him. He was worried. Leo was the hardiest one of the lot, and the most cautious as a rule. He was the prankster, always playing jokes, cheering them up in bad times. Now, he lay still and quiet and Rey realized how much his sibling meant to him.

It infuriated him that that woman had thought nothing of robbing his brother while he was sick and weak and helpless. He wondered what she’d hit him with. She wasn’t a big woman. Odd, that she’d been able to reach as high as Leo’s head with some blunt object. He recalled with distaste the way she’d been dressed. He was no prude, but in his early twenties he’d had a fling with a woman he later found out was a private call girl. He’d been infatuated with her, and thought she loved him. When he learned her profession and that she’d recognized him at once and knew how wealthy he was, it had soured him on women. Like his married brothers had been, and Leo still was, he was wary of females. If he could find a man who could bake biscuits, he told himself, he’d never let even an old woman into the house ever again.

He recalled their latest acquisition with sorrow. He and Leo had found a retired pastry chef who’d moved in with them—the last of the Hart bachelors—to bake their beloved biscuits. She’d become ill and they’d rushed to the drugstore to get her prescriptions, along with candy and chocolates and a bundle of flowers. But her condition had worsened and she’d told them, sadly, that the job was just too much in her frail state of health. She had to quit. It was going to be hard to replace her. There weren’t a lot of people who wanted to live on an isolated ranch and bake biscuits at all hours of the day and night. Even want ads with offers of a princely salary hadn’t attracted anyone just yet. It was depressing; like having Leo lying there under white sheets, so still and quiet in that faded striped hospital gown.

Rey dozed for a few hours in the deep night, used to sleeping in all sorts of odd positions and places. Cattle ranchers could sleep in the saddle when they had to, he thought amusedly, especially when calving was underway or there was a storm or they were cutting out and branding calves and doing inventory of the various herds.

But he came awake quickly when Sanders, the police officer who’d arrested that woman last night, came into the room with a murmured apology.

‘‘I’m just going off shift,’’ Officer Sanders told Rey. ‘‘I thought I’d stop by and tell you that we’ve gone over the scene of the attack and we have some trace evidence. The detectives will start looking for other witnesses this morning. We’ll get the people responsible for the attack on your brother.’’

Rey frowned. ‘‘Get ‘them?’’’ he queried. ‘‘You’ve already got her. You arrested her!’’

Officer Sanders averted his eyes. ‘‘Had to turn her loose,’’ he said uneasily. ‘‘She had an alibi, which was confirmed. She gave me a statement and I took her home.’’

Rey stood up, unfolding his intimidating length, and glared at the officer. ‘‘You let her go,’’ he said coldly. ‘‘Where’s my brother’s cell phone?’’ he added as an afterthought.

The policeman grimaced. ‘‘In her purse, along with his wallet,’’ he said apologetically. ‘‘I forgot to ask her for them when I left. Tell you what, I’ll swing by her house and get them on my way home…’’

‘‘I’ll go with you,’’ he said curtly. ‘‘I still think she’s guilty. She’s probably in cahoots with the guys who attacked Leo. And she could have paid someone to lie and give her an alibi.’’

‘‘She’s not that sort of woman,’’ the policeman began.

Rey cut him off angrily. ‘‘I don’t want to hear another word about her! Let’s go,’’ he said, grabbing his hat, with a last, worried glance at his sleeping brother. He wondered how the policeman could make such a statement about a woman he’d just met, but he didn’t really care. He wanted her in jail.

He drove his rental car, with the off-duty policeman beside him, to Meredith’s home, following the directions Officer Sanders gave him. It was in a run-down neighborhood, and the house was in poor condition. It only intensified Rey’s suspicions about her. She was obviously poor. What better way to get money than to rob somebody?

He went to the door, accompanied by the policeman, and knocked. Hard.

He had to do it three times, each with more force and impatience, before someone answered the door.

Meredith Johns was disheveled and white-faced. She was clutching a bulky washcloth to her face and wearing a robe over the clothes she’d had on the night before.

‘‘What do you want now?’’ she asked huskily, her voice slurred and jerky.

‘‘Been drinking, have you?’’ Rey Hart asked in a blistering tone.

She flinched.

Officer Sanders knew what was going on. He read the situation immediately. He stepped past Rey, grim and silent, grimacing when he saw Meredith’s face. He went by her and into the living room and began looking around.

‘‘Hard night, I gather? It must be a continual risk, in your profession,’’ Rey said insinuatingly, with a speaking glance at her dress in the opening of the old, worn robe. ‘‘Do your marks make a habit of beating you up?’’ he added with cold contempt.

She didn’t answer him. It was hard to talk and her face hurt.

Officer Sanders had gone into the bedroom. He came back two minutes later with a tall, disheveled but oddly dignified-looking man in handcuffs. The man, who’d been quiet before, was now cursing furiously, accusing Meredith of everything from prostitution to murder in a voice that rose until he was yelling. Rey Hart looked at him with obvious surprise. His eyes went to Meredith Johns, who was stiff as a poker and wincing every time the man yelled at her. The policeman picked up the telephone and called for a squad car.

‘‘Please, don’t,’’ Meredith pleaded, still clutching the ice-filled cloth to her face. ‘‘He’s only just got out…’’

‘‘He isn’t staying. This time, he’s going to be in jail for longer than three days,’’ the officer said firmly. ‘‘You get to the hospital and let one of the residents look at you, Miss Johns. How bad is it? Come on, show me,’’ he demanded, moving closer.