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Page 124
ing that he was telling the truth, she found that just as frightening as the possibility he was from the CIA. Lieutenant Colonel Oliver North had been from the NSC, after all. Yet she found it difficult to keep her guard high. Morgan was a good-looking man, with blue eyes and black hair, just like Sean McCarthy and some of the others.
My God, she thought, have I become that promiscuous?
Anna looked away from Morgan. Outside the fog grew thicker. It was unseasonal, she thought distractedly. It was in summertime that the fog was said to blanket San Francisco. She closed her eyes and thought of Canadian summer, of green meadows and pine forests, and in the far north, the taiga brilliant with wildflowers. Summertime was not a season for death. But winter was.
''Mrs. Neville . . . ''
She emerged from her reverie with a start. How long had Morgan been speaking to her?
"Yes, Colonel."
"Almost everyone who knows me just calls me Morgan."
He smiled at her. So far he'd not put a foot wrong. He was trying to be kind, and now her instinct warned her that she should not discourage him. Where there is danger, a man can be useful.
"I have to be blunt," Morgan said. "This isn't over yet. You must not be under any false impressions. The people who killed Grau will almost certainly come after you, try to kill you, too."
Suspicion flashed through her like a wind-driven fire. Pierre had warned constantly that the Americans would try to silence "the Anna Neville story."
"Who, Colonel? Who could 'they' be?"
"How well did you know Pierre Grau?"
"Pierre first came to see me when I was in hospital in Ottawa. He brought an offer of help at a time when I was desperate to find someone to listen to me. He had heard" She broke off and fell into tense silence.

 
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