a on which he had
been sitting, clasped his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
Within a very short time, he was obviously and genuinely sound asleep.

Maya sat and watched him, piqued and a little nonplussed. She could
hardly afford to go to sleep, too. Her only course was to stay awake, to
sit there and watch him sleeping comfortably and soundly. It was not a
pleasant prospect, for two nights.

She sat, heavy-eyed, and racked her brain for some solution, and
silently cursed Gren for refusing to give her the help she needed. Dark
slept on, and a faint smile touched his lips. Then Maya found herself
thinking pleasantly over the things they had talked about during the
long evening, and admiring this man and liking him....

She woke up.

With a start, she woke up, realizing that she had been asleep. She was
not sitting in the chair any more, but curled up comfortably on a sofa,
her head pillowed like a child's against--against what?

Against Dark's chest! He was awake, sitting up, smiling down at her, and
she was cradled in the curve of his arm. And the little lighter-gun was
no longer in her hand.

She did not react violently to the sudden realization. She sighed,
almost happily, and murmured to him:

"So you win, after all. I think I'm glad, Dark. Now you can go, if you
want to."

He shook his head.

"I'm glad you feel that way about it, Maya, but I'm afraid it's too
late. I really shouldn't have stayed around to serve as your pillow till
you awoke."

There was something in his face that caused her to sit up suddenly.

Two uniformed men stood there in the lobby before them, relaxed but
watchful, regulation heatguns dangling from their hands. As she sat up,
one of them touched his cap and spoke to her:

"We're police officers from Ophir, Miss Cara Nome. Mr. Eli called from
Mars City and directed us to drive over here and help you guard the
prisoner until his arrival."

She rose angrily.

"I didn't ask for your help, so you may go," she said, aware of Dark's
surprised gaze on her. "I made a mistake in identification."

The policeman who had spoken shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said. "We're acting on Mr. Eli's orders, not yours.
We'll have to hold Mr. Kensington until Mr. Eli arrives."

She glared at them. The one who had spoken was big and burly and
efficient-looking. The other was sallow and silent, with a deadly cast
to his thin face.

Then she saw her lighter-gun, lying on the lobby fl