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overarching psychology and development of his characters. Cady and O'Neill worked for a fictitious institute based out of Washington, D.C., one that researched and secured archaeological and artistic relics. Thus, the two often found themselves liberating art from international thieves or uncovering mysterious code on a piece of pottery. In traditionally gendered styles, Bryant O'Neill worked as a sort of field agent, doing most of the physical work, getting into a lot of fist-fights and whatnot. Demure Nina Cady focused on the research, often staying up late to unravel some key piece of evidence in an ancient text.

This particular story contained a lot of those same elements, but like always, Seth's beautiful writing and quick, witty dialogue kept the material captivating. In another trend consistent with his characters' behavior, O'Neill almost always got involved with some beautiful woman, though Seth's last book had turned this pattern on its head, letting Cady finally see some action. The story I read today fell into old ways, and O'Neill, in his ever suave manner, made the moves on a stunning museum curator:

Genevieve sauntered through the halls, a queen among subjects, surveying people and displays with both calculation and command. With those green-flecked hazel eyes, she put him in mind of a cat sizing up its next meal. He felt exactly like prey as she paused in front of him, favoring him with a languid look that oozed over his body, her tongue lightly moistening bee-stung lips.

Oh God, to be a mouse, he thought.

"Mr. O'Neill," she purred, brushing a lock of that shining hair away from her face. Faint streaks of honey laced those pale brown strands, like gold veins in ore. He wanted to bury his face in it. He wanted to taste it. "You're late."

Despite nearly a foot separating their heights, he felt like the underling here, like he should do penance for his tardiness and kneel in her presence. Not that he would mind that so much, he decided, trying not to stare at the way her dress's thin material molded itself to her hips and full breasts. Those breasts, he decided, were perfect. Definitely impressive in size, but not grotesquely out of control. And their shape...ah, even a master sculptor could never have duplicated those exquisite curves...

Realizing she expected a response, he filed his base thoughts away under L for Later and gave her an unruffled smile.

"My apologies." Now probably wasn't the time to mention the attack back at his hotel. "But I never rush anything. At least not when a woman's involved. "

With that being only the mildest of the suggestive dialogue, I wasn't surprised when things escalated between them near the end of the story. After all, I thought dryly, it wouldn't be a true Cady and O'Neill experience if someone didn't score. And man, did he score. The feline comparisons were right on because Genevieve was a cat in heat. She ended up tying O'Neill up in an elevator, performing an array of kinky acts on him that made even me raise an eyebrow. I was surprised American Mystery hadn't edited them out, though I'd be lying if I said it wasn't sort of a turn-on to realize such sordidness had come from mild, complacent -

Elevator?

We do have an elevator, you know, Warren had told me.

Light brown hair. Hazel-green eyes. Petite. Nice breasts.

"Ahh!" I cried, dropping the magazine as if it might bite me. It landed next to my now-empty bowl, and a passing waitress gave me a startled look. Hastily leaving a wad of cash on the table, I grabbed my coat and purse and sprinted back to the bookstore. Doug was still playing Tetris in our office, but I was too upset to speculate much on what was again an amazing performance.

All those looks. The whispers and smirks. It all made sense now.

"They think it's me!" I told him, making him jump for the second time that day." Genevieve. They all think I'm some sort of horny, rope-wielding, elevator-fetish dominatrix!"

Doug raised an eyebrow. "You mean you aren't?"

CHAPTER 4

"Doug!"

He shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I mean, it's pretty hot, really."

"But I didn't do those things. It's not really me."

"She sounds just like you. Her name begins with a Gtoo."

"But it's not..." I swallowed, noting the similarities as well.

Doug watched me appraisingly. "You can't really blame them. Description-wise, you two match, and everyone knows you and Mortensen are chummy - not to mention what a zealous fan you are and all. After they read