She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. He was by no means certain that she would not in fact attempt to blow off his head as she had threatened. At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him.
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