was also a definite logical precision to the way he built the fire. A coordinated, controlled man.
He was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a black denim workshirt. The clothing molded a lean, tautly built body that seemed totally balanced. On his feet he wore a pair of dusty, soft-soled canvas sport shoes. Now that she had a moment to think about it, she decided the strange eyes were really a shade between blue and gray. In the right light they might appear as silver.
He was a friend of her uncle’s and that took the nervousness out of contacting him, even if he had caught her going through the contents of his desk. Although he gave the impression of being easygoing and very friendly, Lowell Kincaid was actually quite cautious in his friendships. He had worked too long in a world where few people could be trusted. If he liked Adrian Saville, then Sara knew she, in turn, could trust the stranger in front of her. Her uncle had always been an excellent judge of people.
Sometimes his life had depended on those judgments. The fact that he had survived and been able to retire at the normal age was evidence of just how accurate his analyses of other people had been over the years.
Adrian set a match to the kindling and the yellow flames leaped to life. He crouched for a moment in front of the fire, making certain it had caught properly, and the flickering light illuminated the hard line of his profile.
He was far from being a handsome man, Sara reflected. The planes and angles of his face had been carved with a dull knife, not finely chiseled. But there was a primitive strength in the aggressive nose and the austere cheekbones. He wasn’t the kind of man who would smile easily; the grim set of his mouth wasn’t shaped for such expressions. Sara guessed his age at somewhere between thirty-five and forty; probably closer to forty. She thought she saw something of the fundamental sureness and strength in him that her uncle must have seen before he decided to make Adrian a friend. Lowell Kincaid was sure of this man and therefore Sara knew she could be sure of him, too. She relaxed even more and took another sip of her wine. She sensed she had done the right thing by seeking out Adrian Saville.
She just wished he’d show a little more interest in her concern for her uncle. But then, a man who had just sold his first book probably had a right to be thinking of other things at the moment.
"What’s it called?" she asked as he got to his feet and paced back to the couch.
"My novel?" He seemed to have no trouble following her abrupt shift in the conversation. Adrian picked up a cracker with cheese on it and downed the whole thing in one gulp. "Phantom."
"Is it a horror tale?"
He shook his head slowly, his eyes on the fire. "Not in the sense you mean. It’s what’s called a thriller."
"Ah, secret things, espionage, plots and counterplots. That sort of thing. I read a lot of thrillers." She smiled. "Are you writing under your own name?"
"I’m writing under the name Adrian Saville."
"Good, then I won’t have to jot down your pseudonym. You’ll have to autograph a copy of your book for me when it’s published. I’m sure Uncle Lowell will want one, too."
"Lowell’s already seen the manuscript," Adrian said quietly. "Because of his, uh, background, I thought he might be able to give me a few ideas that would make Phantom sound more authentic."
"Did he?"
"Umm." Adrian stared into the fire. "He was very helpful. You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?"
Sara resisted the temptation to say "umm."
"Yes. My uncle doesn’t hunt. He doesn’t even like to fish. Why would he tell his neighbor he was going hunting and then drop out of sight?"
"Beats me." Adrian swirled the wine in his glass. "But don’t you think you may be overreacting? You should know your uncle can take care of himself."
"He’s in his late sixties now, Adrian. And he’s been out of the industry a long time."
Something close to amusement