Sierra bit back her frustration. She had done some good work at the Curtain. The problem was that when you ran a piece with a headline like "Guild Conceals Discovery of Secret Alien Lab" next to a story entitled "Woman Pregnant with Alien Baby," credibility became an issue. Few people seemed to notice or care that the gutsy tabloid was the only paper in town that had dared to print negative stories about the local Guild organization.

"If you have such a low opinion of me, my paper, and its readers, why did you agree to do this interview?" she asked.

Elvis chose that moment to go up on his hind legs. He hooked his front paws over the rim of the coffee mug and dipped his head inside.

"Oh, dear." Mortified, Sierra leaped to her feet, pen and notepad clutched in one hand. She leaned over the wide desk, scooped up Elvis, and sat down quickly. "Sorry about that. He's a little caffeine junkie."

"Not a problem." Fontana got to his feet with a lithe uncoiling motion and crossed the room to a handsome serving cart. He picked up the coffeepot and filled a mug. "Does he take cream and sugar?"

"Uh, no." Sierra clutched the wriggling Elvis. "He likes his coffee straight. But this really isn't necessary."

Fontana carried the mug back across the room and set it down on the corner of the desk.

"Help yourself, big guy," he said.

Elvis did not need a second invitation. He bounced from Sierra's knee up onto the desk and ducked his head into the mug. Tiny slurping sounds followed.

Sierra watched him uneasily. Elvis usually had excellent instincts when it came to people. If he didn't like someone, he made his feelings clear. But he had taken to Fontana right from the start. She wasn't sure what to make of that. Or course, it was possible that dust-bunny intuition, like her own, wasn't infallible.