Everyone, no matter what they were doing, was there for a common goal; a hookup for the night.To the side of the room was a bar but there were also wa...ters in black tuxes walking around with a tray of glasses of what Jazzy figured was champagne. She could see on the other side of the room several rooms with little white shingles of yesteryear hanging in front of the rooms announcing what went on in those various rooms. Jazzy snagged a glass from a passing waiter, surveying the scene before. He looked dangerous, too. He'd grown older, and more powerful. She hadn't realized how young he was, the last time she saw him. He'd been a man, yes, but not fully grown. She'd been even younger, and hadn't been paying attention, never thinking that he was anything but one of Carolina's friends, a halfway decent navi, and possibly her lover.His features were still the same, but age had put an edge on them, broadened his shoulders, added heft to a frame that hadn't been small to begin with. His. Jim was raised his leg off Kathy's thighs, the moon light catching the blonde highlights of his hair. Infuriated, she clawed at the glass, her fingernails making an eery, spine-tingling squeak.Inside the cabin, Kathy lurched. "What was that?" Nothing," yawned Jim. "Probably just the trees rubbing against the window." He rolled over, contemplating whether or not he should tie up Art McGuire's wife, wondering if she would try to fool him and run out in the middle of the night.The door bust open,. Ah, here he is, and Tom so we can start.'Two men entered the room and at a sign from the old man the younger slipped the catch on the door, securely locking it. Tom, the investigator and trainer, was a nondescript individual of about forty-five with rather thin hair and an old raincoat, an item of apparel which was likely to change very quickly, being both reversible and with a contrasting lining. John had always been amazed at how quickly Tom could totally disguise himself, a very useful skill.
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