out that size. He wouldn't talk with us much. But I remember his name
in the book--"

Gordon shook his head and sat up. The book, he thought, trying to focus
his thoughts. The book with all the names...

"All right, Cuddles," he said finally. "You got your meal ticket, and
you've outgrown it in this mess. Now I want that damned book! I've been
operating in the dark. It's time I found out how to get in touch with
some of those people. Where is it?"

She shook her head. "It isn't. Bruce--I don't have it. That time I gave
you the note, you didn't come when I said, and I thought you wouldn't.
Then Jurgens' men broke in, and I thought they'd get it, so--so I burned
it. I lied to you about using it to make you keep me."

"You burned it!" He turned it over, staring at her. "Okay, Cuddles, you
burned it. You were trying to kill me then, so you burned it to keep
Jurgens from getting it and putting the finger on me! Where is it,
Sheila? On you?"

She backed away, biting her lips. "No, Bruce. I burned it. I don't know
why. I just did! No!"

She turned toward the door as he pushed up from the bed, but his arm
caught her wrist, dragging her back. She whimpered once, then shrieked
faintly as his hand caught the buttons on the dress, jerking them off.
Then suddenly she was a writhing, biting, scratching fury. He tightened
his hand and lifted her to the bed, dropping a knee onto her throat and
beginning to squeeze, while he jerked the dress and thin slip off.

She sat up as he released his knee, her hoarse voice squeezed from
between her writhing lips. "Are you satisfied now, you mechanical beast!
Do you still think I have it on me?"

He grinned, twisting the corners of his mouth. "You don't. Don't you
know a _wife_ shouldn't keep secrets from her _husband_? A warm-blooded,
affectionate husband, to boot." He bent down, knocking aside her
flailing arms, and pulled her closer to him. "Better tell your husband
where the book is, Cuddles!"

She cursed and he drew her closer. He bent down, forcing her head back
and setting his lips on hers.

From somewhere, wetness touched his cheek; he lifted his head and looked
down. The wetness came from tears that spilled out of her eyes and ran
off onto the mattress. She was making no sound, and there was no
resistance, but the tears ran out, one drop seeming to trip over
another.

"All right, Sheila," he said. His voice was cracked in his ears.
"Another week of being a failure on this pl