"I was looking for my father." Verity frowned and tapped the resume with a fingertip. "You didn't make these places up in a spurt of creative writing, after all, did you? You really have worked in all these sleazy dives."

Quarrel ignored the question and asked one of his own. "Did you find your father?"

Verity shook her head. "No. But that's no big deal. He'll show up sooner or later. He always does."

She came away from the wall and started toward the office. "Excuse me for a few minutes."

Jonas dropped a pan back into the sink. "Hey, wait a minute. What are you going to do?"

"Make a few phone calls," she explained sweetly. She smiled at him.

Jonas stared at her for a long moment. He seemed momentarily disconcerted by her smile. Then he pulled himself together and asked slowly, "You're going to call some of those bars?"

"I always check references. What's the matter, Mr. Quarrel? Did you think I'd hesitate to call places like Tahiti and Manila and Mexico?"

He wiped his hands on a towel, studying her intently. "Well, yeah. Most people are a little intimidated by that kind of long-distance dialing."

"I've got news for you. You're not the only one who's had the advantages of extensive world travel. I spent a year and a half in Tahiti, three months in Manila, a year in Mexico, and another year in Hawaii. My memory is a little vague because it's been a few years, but I think I've even been in a few more of these dives than just El Toro Rojo. The Harbor Lights Tavern has a familiar ring. I hate to admit it, but so does the Get Leid."

Quarrel looked genuinely startled. "You're kidding. You know some of those places?"

"My father gave me a very well-rounded education." Verity walked into her office, vaguely pleased at having finally been able to turn the tables on Jonas Quarrel.

"It'll cost a fortune to call those taverns," Jonas pointed out.

"I'll take it out of your first week's pay." Verity smiled slowly as she sat down at her desk and reached for the phone. This was going to prove interesting.

An hour later she had her answers and Jonas had the dishes done. They faced each other in the small kitchen.

"All right," Verity said calmly. "You've got the job. Everyone spoke very highly of you. They said you could be relied upon to open a bar on time, you aren't into drugs, you don't have the bad habit of helping yourself to the contents of the cash register, and you don't drink on the job. High praise, indeed, considering the sources. Oh, and Big Al at the Sea Siren said to give you his best and swears he'll send along the money he owes you now that he has a current address."

Something in Jonas's eyes seemed to relax. It was replaced with a curious expression that was part anticipation and part satisfaction. "Thanks, Verity," he said. "I appreciate it."

"Since you've finished the dishes, you can start chopping onions for the vegetable tart I'm going to make. I'll do the pastry."

"I'll get right on it, boss lady." Jonas reached for a long-bladed knife, hefting it with an easy familiarity.

"There's just one more small problem."

Verity paused warily in the act of taking a ball of chilled pastry out of the refrigerator. "What's that?"

"I'll need a place to stay." Jonas smiled at her. "Any ideas? Since I'm going to be working for minimum wage, I won't be able to afford anyplace fancy. I checked out of the Lake Motel this morning. I was running low on cash."

Verity sighed in resignation. "You can have the cabin my father uses when he deigns to visit. It's in back of the restaurant."

"What about your father?"

"Don't worry. I haven't heard from him since I got the message inviting me to meet him down in Puerto Vallerta. He'd already left town by the time I got there and I haven't heard from him since. I don't think he'll be disturbing us anytime soon. If he does, you can flip a coin for the bed. Both of you have probably slept on more than one floor in your life."

"You're a generous woman, Verity Ames."

"It's not that. I think the real problem is that I'm just a little soft in the head when it comes to professional drifters who spend their lives running from their talent."

Jonas's head came up and his eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Verity looked at him as she rolled out the pastry. "I called Vincent College after I checked with a few of your previous employers. You really did teach Renaissance history there. What's more, you were damn good at it. Lots of impressive publications and one book on ancient armory to your credit. And then you gave up teaching for no apparent reason. Have you been drifting around the world ever since?"

"What does all this have to do with your father?" Jonas asked coolly.

"He's a professional drifter, too. Does the name Emerson Ames mean anything to you?" Verity realized she was wielding the rolling pin with too much force. Deliberately she made herself relax.

Jonas flicked off the end of an onion with a negligent slash of the knife. "Yeah, it does, as a matter of fact.

Are we talking about the same Emerson Ames who wrote Juxtaposition a few years back?"

"One and the same."

"Well, I'll be damned. I seem to remember that book caused a certain, small sensation when it was published. Anybody who had any academic pretensions at Vincent College had it on his coffee table.

What ever happened to him? Has he written anything since Juxtaposition? "

"Unfortunately," Verity said tightly, "Dad decided Juxtaposition wasn't his kind of book. He vowed not to waste his time doing another one like it and went back to writing what he claims he likes writing best."

Jonas glanced at her. "What's that?"

Verity wrinkled her nose. "Paperback westerns. Can you believe it? The man who was once heralded by The New York Times as the author of the year. A writer who had 'boldly and decisively examined and illuminated contemporary uncertainties and paradoxes,' they said. And this bold genius ups and decides he would rather write westerns."

Jonas stared at her for a moment longer and then began to laugh. It was a deep, masculine roar that filled the kitchen. His golden eyes gleamed with it. "I think," Jonas finally said through his laughter,

"that I would like your father." He lopped off the end of another onion. "I hope I get a chance to meet him while I'm here."

"Something tells me the two of you have a lot in common," Verity grumbled.

Jonas laughed again and flipped the knife into the air. Verity sucked in her breath as the blade spun end over end. Visions of blood and sliced fingers made her clutch at the counter top. But an instant later Jonas neatly caught the knife by its handle and went back to slicing onions. Verity repressed a shudder.