A Will and a Way by Nora Roberts Page A

she’d never lived with anyone before? She wanted to avoid any sense of dependence. And dependence, she decided, was natural when you shared the same space—even when it was with a two-legged snake.
    So she waited, and she watched. Long after Charles and Sweeney had gone to bed, she continued to wait and watch. She wasn’t concerned, and certainly not lonely. Only restless. She told herself she didn’t go to bed herself because she wasn’t tired. Wandering the first floor, she walked into Jolley’s den. Game room would have been a more appropriate name. The decor was a cross between video arcade and disco lounge with its state-of-the-art components and low, curved-back sofas.
    She turned on the huge, fifty-four-inch television, then leftit on the first show that appeared. She wasn’t going to watch it. She just wanted the company.
    There were two pinball tables where she passed nearly an hour trying to beat the high scores Jolley had left behind. Another legacy. Then there was an arcade-size video game that simulated an attack on the planet Zarbo. Under her haphazard defense system, the planet blew up three times before she moved on. There was computerized chess, but she thought her mind too sluggish to take it on. In the end she stretched out on the six-foot sofa in front of the television. Just to rest, not to watch.
    Within moments, she was hooked on the late-night syndication of a cop show. Squealing tires and blasting bullets. Head pillowed on her arms, one leg thrown over the top of the sofa, she relaxed and let herself be entertained.
    When Michael came to the doorway, she didn’t notice him. He’d had a grueling day and had hit some nasty traffic on the drive back. The fact was he’d considered staying in the city overnight—the sensible thing to do. He’d found himself making a dozen weak excuses why he had to go back instead of accepting the invitation of the assistant producer—a tidily built brunette with big brown eyes.
    He’d intended to crawl upstairs, fall into his bed and sleep until noon, but he’d seen the lights and heard the racket. Now, here was Pandora, self-proclaimed critic of the small screen, sprawled on a sofa watching reruns at one in the morning. She looked suspiciously as though she were enjoying herself.
    Not a bad show, Michael mused, recognizing the series. Infact, he’d written a couple of scripts for it in his early days. The central character had a sly sort of wit and a fumbling manner that caused the perpetrator to spill out enough information for an arrest by the end of the show.
    Michael watched Pandora as she shifted comfortably on the couch. He waited until the commercial break. “Well, how the mighty have fallen.”
    She nearly did, rolling quickly to look back toward the doorway. She sat up, scowled and searched her mind for a plausible excuse. “I couldn’t sleep,” she told him, which was true enough. She wouldn’t add it was because he hadn’t been home. “I suppose television is made for the insomniac. Valium for the mind.”
    He was tired, bone tired, but he realized how glad he was she’d had a comeback. He came over, plopped down beside her and propped his feet on a coffee table made out of a fat log. “Who done it?” he asked, and sighed. It was good to be home.
    “The greedy business partner.” She was too pleased to have him back to be embarrassed. “There’s really very little challenge in figuring out the answers.”
    “This show wasn’t based on the premise of figuring out who did the crime, but in how the hero maneuvers them into betraying themselves.”
    She pretended she wasn’t interested, but shifted so that she could still see the screen. “So, how did things go in New York?”
    “They went.” Michael pried off one shoe with the toe of the other. “After several hours of hair tearing and blame casting, the script’s intact.”
    He looked tired. Really tired, she realized, and unbent enough to take off his other shoe. He merely