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  Leslie was disappointed. She would like to have discussed what happened tonight. What she needed most right now was a good dose of Patsy's prosaic common sense.

  Morning came all too soon; Leslie's eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. She had tossed and turned half the night. She wished fervently that she could just stay in bed, keep the protective covers over her, and make the world go away.

  Instead, she forced herself to get up. Usually she enjoyed the early morning quiet, for Patsy never got out of bed until after she was gone, since she did not have to be at her job at a boutique until ten. But today Leslie's thoughts tumbled over one another, disturbing the serenity of the morning. She could not help but be anxious about Joel.

  A half hour later she set out walking the few blocks to the bus stop. There was a heavy fog, obscuring sidewalks, eucalyptus trees, and buildings, but, lost in the fog of her own thoughts, Leslie was hardly even aware of the dreamlike quality of the world about her. As soon as she reached the office, she would call upstairs and speak to Joel. She had to know whether he was all right, whether he had located that man who had burst in upon them last night.

  When she entered her office shortly after eight, she was dismayed to find that her employer had arrived before her. The connecting door between her office and his stood open and she could see his dark head bent over his desk as he studied some papers. Leslie bit her bottom lip in frustration as she went to her desk. This meant she would have to delay her private call to Joel.

  She stashed her purse in a drawer, poured two cups of coffee—cream and sugar for herself, black for her boss.

  Rod Castle did not acknowledge her presence immediately as she placed his coffee on his desk. Calmly and imperturbably, he moved his pen across a paper, affixing his bold, strong signature. His hand moved with swift certainty, like his character, Leslie thought fleetingly. She had never known him to be in doubt about anything. It was a quality she had always admired about him, but today, for some odd reason, she resented it. It didn't seem fair that some individuals were so invulnerable while others, like herself, were prey to worries and anxieties.

  "Good morning, Miss Foster." Rod Castle shoved away the papers in front of him, picked up his cup of coffee, and leaned back in his chair as he looked up at her.

  "Good morning, Mr. Castle," she answered demurely. "The mail hasn't arrived yet. Do you want to dictate letters first or study the monthly reports from the managers?"

  "I think I'll tackle the reports first." He placed his cup on the desk, stood up, and removed his suit jacket, revealing a smooth-fitting cream-colored silk shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and solid, granite-hard chest.

  "I'll get them for you," Leslie said, turning away.

  "Did you have a good time last night?"

  Leslie froze at the question. "Y-yes, of course," she answered carefully.

  "I believe the man you were with is often a guest in the hotel?" His voice held an inquisitive note.

  "Er… yes. Yes, he is." She twined her fingers together with a nervous gesture, longing for this interview to be over.

  "I must say he had a very charming companion," Rod Castle said smoothly. His lips quirked upward into a smile, giving a flash of rare humor. "That dress you were wearing was quite glamorous and exotic, not to mention the way you wore your hair." His eyes surveyed her now, taking in every detail of her severely pinned hair, the neat chocolate brown box-pleated dress with a matching jacket. "It was something of a shock to see my prim Miss Foster looking like a movie star. I believe you're a chameleon," he accused with a hint of laughter.

  Leslie shifted her feet uncomfortably and lowered her gaze from Rod Castle's mocking eyes to the polished desk. They had never, during the three years she had worked for him, had any sort of personal conversation and this one was highly distasteful and embarrassing to her. She wanted only to end it.

  "Er, will you require the cost data report for your meeting with the architects this afternoon?"

  Rod Castle laughed aloud now. Deep indentations creased his face, reminding Leslie forcefully of just how magnetically good-looking he was. It was one of the reasons he was always so sought after by women. The pull of his appeal passed over her just now, however, as he probed: "Trying to change the subject, Miss Foster?"

  "It's just that I believe we ought to get down to the day's business, Mr. Castle," she replied repressively.

  "All right, then," he relented, "bring in the reports. But Miss Foster," he added with a grin, "would you please wear your hair down in the future? I much prefer it the way it was last night."

  Leslie pursed her lips together into a disapproving line. "I don't consider long hair flying all over the place very businesslike."

  "Hmm. A time and place for everything, is that it?"

  "Exactly."

  He shook his head. "Too bad. It made you seem much more human. Approachable, even. However, it is your hair and…"

  Leslie had had enough. "If you don't mind, Mr. Castle," she interrupted in a firm voice. "I'd like to drop the subject. We both have a lot of work to do today." She turned resolutely and headed for the door, ignoring the soft chuckles she could hear behind her.

  She sat down at her own desk and found that her hands were trembling. She was astounded that Rod Castle had spoken to her in such a personal vein. Until last night she could have sworn that he had never looked at her closely enough to be able to describe her if it had suddenly been required of him. She had merely been an efficient machine, running a well-oiled office for him. They had never been individuals to each other, only employer and employee—formal and polite but never personal. Today it had been very personal indeed and she found she did not like it at all. It upset comfortable routine, broke unspoken rules, and left her shaken and disconcerted.

  It was a busy morning and Leslie did not have time to telephone Joel's room. But each time her own telephone rang, she half-expected it to be him. He had said last night that he would call. She supposed he must be busy with his own job today, but perhaps they would be able to snatch a quick lunch together. Usually whenever he was here he would come back to the hotel at noon so that they could share a brief hour together before he checked out and returned to Los Angeles in the afternoon.

  But by noon Joel still had not telephoned. Rod Castle left for a business luncheon, and as soon as he was gone Leslie scooped up the telephone.

  There was no answer to the ringing in Joel's room, but then she really hadn't expected him to be there at midday. After a moment, she dialed again—this time to the front desk.

  "Pete, this is Leslie Foster in the office. Do you have a message for me from Joel Maddox?"

  "Just a minute and I'll check," came the reply. Leslie drummed her fingertips against the desk while she waited. Pete returned and said, "Leslie, there's no message."

  Leslie grimaced to herself. "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  She licked her dry lips. "Would you do one more favor for me? Would you see whether he's still registered?"

  "Hmm, let me see." She could hear the sound of pages flipping. "Nope. He checked out last night around midnight."

  "I see," she said slowly. "Thanks, Pete." Leslie cradled the receiver and stared unseeingly at the wall. Joel had left last night, not long after he had sent her home! What could have happened? she wondered frantically. Why had he left so unexpectedly like that in the middle of the night and without a word to her? It just didn't make any sense.

  Her shoulders slumped and she glared bitterly at the silent telephone. Surely Joel realized how desperately eager she was to hear from him, so why had he suddenly vanished? Why? Why?

  The hall door opened and Dave Hammond walked into the office. Leslie automatically straightened her shoulders and grudgingly put a smile to her lips. Dave was the junior member of the law firm that handled Castle Hotel legal matters, and although Leslie liked him well enough, she was definitely in no mood today for his teasing nonsense.

  "Hello, sweetheart," Dave
said, coming across the room to perch on the edge of her desk. His gray eyes, as usual, were twinkling with good humor. "You're looking very lovely today. Far too lovely to be cooped up in here working like a slave. How about skipping off to Acapulco with me?"

  Leslie grabbed some papers from her desk and stood up, edging her way around his dangling legs and going across to the copy machine. "Sorry, Dave," she answered as she began sorting the papers, "but I'm just too busy to do it today. Some other time, maybe."

  "Spoilsport!" Dave got to his feet and came over to lounge against the wall, watching her. "Someday you're going to give me a complex with all your refusals."

  Leslie laughed in spite of herself. "I doubt anybody could ever give you a complex, Dave." She looked at him assessingly. Dave was a very nice-looking man in his early thirties, with light brown hair, pleasant eyes, and evenly molded features that were rugged enough to save him from being handsome, and he had a very friendly personality, totally at odds with Leslie's notions of what a lawyer should really be like. "Why don't you find yourself a nice girl and get married?" she suggested.

  Dave grinned. "Now why would I want to do a thing like that? Then you'd be sure to turn me down when I asked you out."

  Leslie just smiled without answering and began pressing buttons on the copy machine.

  "Is your boss in?" Dave asked, jerking a thumb toward the closed door that led into Rod Castle's office. "I was in the neighborhood and thought maybe he would have time to go to lunch with me."

  She shook her head. "You just missed him by a few minutes, Dave."

  "Hmm. Is he off having lunch with one of his long string of beauties?"

  Leslie shrugged indifferently. "He didn't say, and even if he did it's not my business to discuss it with you."

  "The perfect secretary," Dave teased, not in the least abashed. "You know, I really feel sorry for all Rod's girl friends, because no matter how hard they try, not one of them is ever going to penetrate through that barbed-wire fence he's got erected around his heart. He won't ever marry any of them."

  "Why do you say that?" Leslie asked. "After all, you're not married yet either."

  "I'm not married yet because I haven't met the girl I could care enough about to make me give up all the other girls," Dave said. "Rod's different. We've been friends practically all our lives and I know how he ticks. He thinks all women are basically selfish and cruel. There was that little matter of his fiancée jilting him—I'm sure you've heard that story—and, of course, years before there was that thing about his mother."

  "His mother?" Leslie looked up questioningly, vaguely curious. "What do you mean?"

  Dave shook his head. "This time it's not my business to discuss it, sweetheart. I've said too much already. Rod would have my head on a platter if he thought I was gossiping about him." He moved toward the door. "Tell him I stopped by, will you?"

  "Sure." Leslie nodded and Dave went out the door. Watching him go, she wondered what he had meant about Rod Castle's mother. She knew the elder Mr. Castle was retired and living in Florida and she had heard that his second wife had died a few years ago, but she had never heard anyone speak of his first wife. She was under the impression that she had died many years ago, but that did not account for Dave's hint that there was some story connected with her. Apparently she had hurt her son in some way, but how? Had she, perhaps, committed suicide?

  Leslie gave her head a slight shake and went back to her work. There was no point standing here speculating about her employer's personal life; she had enough on her mind right now worrying about Joel without being nosy about other people's lives.

  Her head was bent low over her work when an unfamiliar voice said, "Excuse me."

  Leslie lifted her head. A woman she had never seen before stood just inside the door, holding a large manila envelope in her hand. She was quite attractive, probably in her late twenties or early thirties.

  "May I help you?" she asked politely as she rose to her feet. "If you're looking for the main office, it's one door down to your left."

  "No, I think I've found the right place," the woman responded. "You are Leslie Foster, aren't you?"

  "Yes, I am," Leslie answered in surprise. "What can I do for you?"

  The other woman's demeanor altered in some subtle way Leslie could not have defined. Perhaps it was the way she smiled as she held out the envelope in her hand. "Look inside and then we'll talk."

  Leslie took it warily. There was something here she did not understand. There had been a note of steel beneath the polite tone of the words. Slowly, she opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. An instant later, all color drained from her face. "Who"— her voice came out thick and indistinct—"who are you?"

  The other woman smiled broadly, obviously enjoying herself. "I'm Mrs. Joel Maddox."

  Leslie sank down onto her chair with a thud. "Joel's… wife?" At the other woman's nod, she sucked in a sharp breath, then asked, "What do you want?"

  "I want fifty thousand dollars a week from today— next Friday—or else copies of those photographs will go to your family."

  Leslie's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the desk. "I can't possibly!" she gasped. "I don't have that kind of money."

  "Maybe not," Joel's wife answered, "but the Castle Hotel does. If the money isn't ready on time I intend to sue the hotel for promoting prostitution, and you, Miss Foster, will be smack in the middle of a nasty scandal."

  Chapter Two

  The woman had gone. In the deathly silence that remained, Leslie's stiff fingers shuffled through the photographs. There were three altogether, each one a very clear picture of Joel and her. How wanton she looked, with her hair falling across her face, her dress pulled down off her shoulders, revealing the rounded upper curve of her breast and her skirt half-way up her thigh! And Joel leaning across her, bare-chested as his shirt hung open! How horrible and damning it all appeared in black and white!

  Even worse was the stark realization that Joel had been a part of the blackmail scheme. She had believed him when he had said he loved her, and all the time he had been setting her up for extortion! What a gullible little fool she had been!

  Leslie wondered wildly what she was going to do. Fifty thousand dollars might as well be fifty million, both being equally outside her grasp. The woman had said if they didn't get the money they would sue the hotel. She would have to tell Rod Castle, but how she was ever to face him with such a story she could not imagine. She would be fired at once, of course, and who could blame him?

  Somehow, she got through the remainder of the day. Rod Castle returned at a quarter of five and strode briskly into his own office. "Miss Foster, would you come in here, please?" he called through the doorway.

  Leslie went inside and he waved a piece of paper at her. "Is your typewriter on the blink or something?" he asked cuttingly. "There are several misspelled words in this letter. We can't send it out like this."

  Leslie took the offending letter from him but her eyes refused to focus on the jumble of words. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

  "Damn it, there are mistakes in this one as well!" he exploded. "Do you mind explaining what's wrong with you today, Miss Foster?"

  Leslie licked her dry lips and unconsciously braced her shoulders. "There's something I must tell you, Mr. Castle."

  His eyes narrowed. "You sound very serious."

  "It is serious," she agreed solemnly.

  "Better tell me, then," he said, sighing with impatience.

  Leslie held out the envelope that contained the photographs. "I… I'm being blackmailed," she blurted out.

  "What?" Amazement wiped away the irritation and impatience that had been on his face. "What are you talking about?"

  Leslie lowered her gaze to the floor. "I went to Joel Maddox's room last night. Upstairs. A… a man burst in on us and took the pictures that are in that envelope." Her voice quavered and she cleared her throat. "If I don't pay fifty thousand dollars by next Friday, they're going to send copies o
f them to my parents and… and"—she swallowed hard and forced herself to go on—"sue the hotel for promoting prostitution."

  Rod Castle shuffled quickly through the photo-graphs. "Where did you get these?" he asked grimly. "Who contacted you?"

  "Joel's wife."

  He shoved back his chair and came around the desk to stand directly in front of her. His face was menacing. "You knew he was married?"

  "Of course I didn't!" she gasped.

  "And what happened in his room?" he probed ruthlessly. "Did you go to bed with him?"

  Leslie's face scalded with embarrassment and a surge of anger. "No, I did not!" she exclaimed. "We were just…" She turned her face away from his penetrating eyes. "I thought he loved me or I would never have gone to his room, but beyond a few kisses, nothing happened. I swear it!" Tears stung her eyes and she lowered her head so that he could not see them.

  "Hmm." He was silent for a moment. "You seem to have plunged yourself and my hotel into one hell of a mess," he told her in an unfriendly tone.

  She blanched beneath his angry assault. "I… I don't blame you for being angry, Mr. Castle, and I know that after this you can't possibly want me to continue working here, and I'll resign at once, but…" She forced herself to look at him once more, "But what… what are we going to do?"

  He stared at her with distaste. "How could you have been such a little idiot as to fall for Maddox's line? Couldn't you tell what sort of phony he was with his pasty pretty-boy looks and his gee-whiz-I-hope-everybody-likes-me attitude?"

  "I… I'm sorry," Leslie croaked hoarsely. "I made a mistake and…"

  "You bet you did!" Rod Castle snapped. "Going up to his room with him just like a common tramp!"

  "Now wait a minute!" Leslie flung back, suddenly incensed. "I've acknowledged that I did something pretty dumb but there's no reason for you to call me names! I feel bad enough already without your help, thank you very much! Now the pertinent question here is what are we going to do about the situation?"