Free Stone Shadow by Rex Miller Page B

overlapping. BECK sharing the final E. The name COPELAND dropping down from the C in BECK. SCHUMACHER interlocking with the E. COY and VACCA vertically off it down to the bottom of the page. There had been a SMITH and he added it in above.
    All polygraphs on Ukie totally inconclusive. Par for the pollies. All psych testing inconclusive. All everything inconclusive.
    Jack was grateful when they pulled up in front of the financial institution in which Jones-Seleska was ensconced.
    Eichord looked at the gorgeous countenance of a blond, blue-eyed receptionist who was everyone's cheerleader fantasy, eyes and mouth that promised 1001 ecstatic nights, lips made to drive a man insane with lust and longing, a pair of legs designed to make feeble octogenarians throw away their crutches, a pair of mammary glands drawn by Ward, face by Moran, neck courtesy of Modigliani, and he knew instantly that these people were his kind of people.
    “Hi,” she breathed, and she really meant it. Not just a hello. Huh UH. This was HI. She was serious about it.
    “Hi,” he said with his usual flair for repartee.
    “Can I help you?” she breathed, washing the Jones-Seleska lobby in some sort of fragrance that cannot be bottled and sold over the counter. It has been ruled illegal in all fifty states and in Puerto Rico. It is called Oil of Sub Rosa and it is used in clinical experiments by mad scientists who are working on ways to give erections to the elderly.
    “Uh,” he said with that suavity that was always there at his fingertips whenever he needed it. “Yeah. Uh, I have an appointment with Miss Collier.” Jeez, he thought instantly, I shoulda said MIZZ Collier.
    “And your name, sir?” And what she meant was, “Would you care to spread my legs and take me right here at the desk?” That's the TONE, you understand, even though she said, “And your name, sir,” it was a definite invitation, Eichord felt. And he told her his name in response and she said the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. She told him to “Please take a seat.” Well, my God in heaven, he surely would. How about HERS? And he'd barely had time to drool over these possibilities when Mizzzzz Collier's secretary came out to greet him with the most erotic smile he'd ever been given by a stranger and this woman, SHE made the receptionist look like a GUY. Jeezus! He'd never seen anything like it in his life. He was going to love Dallas, no question about it. This secretary looked like a movie star. We're talking Holly-wild, folks. Blond, blue-eyed cheerleader beautiful again. The finished, polished version of the one sitting at the switchboard. Just insanity. She was moving toward him and he tried to stand.
    “Mr. Eichord?” she said in such a voice that angels would be jealous, and a finger of desire traced a hot, burning line across his groin.
    “Yes, I have an appointment with Ms. Collier."
    “Hi"—what a smile—"I'm Noel,” the vision said, taking his limp hand in hers for a second, sending shock waves through his libido. “Let's go in my office,” she said as she ended the perfunctory handshake, turning and letting him have a good look at the rest of the package as she strode down a plushly carpeted corridor with Eichord hot, so to speak, on her heels.
    He knew now what Jones-Sexy-leska had done. They had taken the senior partners of the law firm to a Dallas Cowboys game and the guys had seen the cheerleaders and they'd gone a little bonkers. So they'd hired away a few of the sexiest ones, given them low-cut tops and short skirts, and had them act as receptionists and secretaries. Then they'd taken the sexiest one, put her in expensive, tailored suits, and $300 heels, and told her to pretend that she was a lawyer named Noel Collier. They had tried to call her Noel Coward but they figured that was going a little too far, so they settled.
    This was the ULTIMATE cheerleader fantasy. Oh, Lord. Ohmigoodness, yes. Eichord loved everything about women. Their minds,