going,” he told her. But he still wasn’t in a hurry. He inclined his sandy head slightly. His mouth was still curled into a small grin of amusement. He stepped slowly around her. She turned, her eyes following him.
He walked to the door, saluted her and disappeared beyond it.
“Damn him!” she exploded.
The air-conditioning suddenly seemed to wash over her hot flesh. She shivered and flushed from head to toe.
And only then did she realize that she still had no explanation for the man being in the costume shop—or any idea of how he had come to be in it.
Chapter 2
T he dinosaur was a woman.
All woman—every lush, entrancing curve of her.
Wes Blake couldn’t quite help smiling as he left the costume shop behind and headed through the growing crowds for one of the buildings across the crowded main Dino Street of the park. Above the main Dino Store and Dierdre Dress Shop were a number of small offices. Max Delaney had seen to it that Wes had been given some space here, next to Max’s office and that of his sister, Regina.
Regina. Reggie. He’d heard so much about her over the years from Max. But still, he hadn’t expected the woman he had just met.
He slipped around the stucco cave walls of the shop to the private entrance and rode a small elevator to the top floor. He walked down a handsomely carpeted hallway, past Miss Wainwright’s desk—saluting the dragon lady promptly—and onward to his own office. There was a large desk in the center of the room and a sleep sofa opposite it, a bath and dressing room to the side, shelves of glasses for sodas and drinks, and a small refrigerator to supply whatever his whim might be. In a glass case was an old puppet—maybe twenty-five years old by now, one of the very first Dierdre Dinosaurs. It had been crafted by very young hands and signed on the bottom of a foot by Max and Regina Delaney.
He sat back in the comfortable swivel chair behind the desk. He’d like a Scotch. His head was pounding, but the meeting was coming up.
Hell, he’d have a Scotch anyway. One wasn’t going to change the way he saw the world.
He poured himself a drink, then sat back in the chair again, resting his feet on the desk as he sipped the fiery liquid. It was good Scotch.
Max would have seen to it that it was the best.
He’d known Max for over twelve years now. Ever since they had entered the service as scared young kids, volunteers who were suddenly wondering just what they had volunteered for.
They had found out together, serving three years in the same company. They had been a rough three years, spent mostly in Central American jungles.
Max Delaney had broken up much of the tedium and the misery and the heat. Wes had learned that slowly. Little by little, he would notice that children flocked around their tents. Max Delaney didn’t care how dirty they were, or how many.
He could make a puppet out of anything. Torn socks, paper bags. And he created great characters for the children. When Wes first commented on the ingenuity of his creations, Max would always tell him, “Oh, these are nothing. You should see what I can do with Reggie.” And he would grimace. “Reggie can sing. I tend to sound like a dying swan.” Then Max learned that Reggie was studying, she had earned a scholarship to a prestigious arts school. “I can help her a little with what I make here,” Max had told him. “And then, when I get out, I’ll have Uncle Sam’s help to get through school myself. But if you ever meet Reggie, remember that she thinks I’m here because I want to be here, all right?”
Sure, if he ever met Reggie, he’d lie.
And he understood a lot about Max. Delaney didn’t talk much about the past, but Wes knew that he and his sister had grown up being passed from relative to relative.
He knew a lot about that kind of status, too. He hadn’t the faintest idea who the Blake who had fathered him had been; his mother had died on a sidewalk in New York when he had been ten, and
He walked to the door, saluted her and disappeared beyond it.
“Damn him!” she exploded.
The air-conditioning suddenly seemed to wash over her hot flesh. She shivered and flushed from head to toe.
And only then did she realize that she still had no explanation for the man being in the costume shop—or any idea of how he had come to be in it.
Chapter 2
T he dinosaur was a woman.
All woman—every lush, entrancing curve of her.
Wes Blake couldn’t quite help smiling as he left the costume shop behind and headed through the growing crowds for one of the buildings across the crowded main Dino Street of the park. Above the main Dino Store and Dierdre Dress Shop were a number of small offices. Max Delaney had seen to it that Wes had been given some space here, next to Max’s office and that of his sister, Regina.
Regina. Reggie. He’d heard so much about her over the years from Max. But still, he hadn’t expected the woman he had just met.
He slipped around the stucco cave walls of the shop to the private entrance and rode a small elevator to the top floor. He walked down a handsomely carpeted hallway, past Miss Wainwright’s desk—saluting the dragon lady promptly—and onward to his own office. There was a large desk in the center of the room and a sleep sofa opposite it, a bath and dressing room to the side, shelves of glasses for sodas and drinks, and a small refrigerator to supply whatever his whim might be. In a glass case was an old puppet—maybe twenty-five years old by now, one of the very first Dierdre Dinosaurs. It had been crafted by very young hands and signed on the bottom of a foot by Max and Regina Delaney.
He sat back in the comfortable swivel chair behind the desk. He’d like a Scotch. His head was pounding, but the meeting was coming up.
Hell, he’d have a Scotch anyway. One wasn’t going to change the way he saw the world.
He poured himself a drink, then sat back in the chair again, resting his feet on the desk as he sipped the fiery liquid. It was good Scotch.
Max would have seen to it that it was the best.
He’d known Max for over twelve years now. Ever since they had entered the service as scared young kids, volunteers who were suddenly wondering just what they had volunteered for.
They had found out together, serving three years in the same company. They had been a rough three years, spent mostly in Central American jungles.
Max Delaney had broken up much of the tedium and the misery and the heat. Wes had learned that slowly. Little by little, he would notice that children flocked around their tents. Max Delaney didn’t care how dirty they were, or how many.
He could make a puppet out of anything. Torn socks, paper bags. And he created great characters for the children. When Wes first commented on the ingenuity of his creations, Max would always tell him, “Oh, these are nothing. You should see what I can do with Reggie.” And he would grimace. “Reggie can sing. I tend to sound like a dying swan.” Then Max learned that Reggie was studying, she had earned a scholarship to a prestigious arts school. “I can help her a little with what I make here,” Max had told him. “And then, when I get out, I’ll have Uncle Sam’s help to get through school myself. But if you ever meet Reggie, remember that she thinks I’m here because I want to be here, all right?”
Sure, if he ever met Reggie, he’d lie.
And he understood a lot about Max. Delaney didn’t talk much about the past, but Wes knew that he and his sister had grown up being passed from relative to relative.
He knew a lot about that kind of status, too. He hadn’t the faintest idea who the Blake who had fathered him had been; his mother had died on a sidewalk in New York when he had been ten, and
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