“You're not with Mallory Thane this evening. Does that mean your liaison is over?”

“I have no liaisons.”

“It was reported that she stayed the weekend with you in Acapulco.”

“I have no liaisons.”

Blunt, impassive, soft-spoken.

“Is it true that the AirFlow merger is being fought by the unions?”

“You'll have to ask them.”

“Are you half or quarter Apache, Mr. Damon?”

“Half. My grandfather was shaman of his tribe.”

“You're also illegitimate. Right?”

That question obviously struck a nerve. Damon's gaze fastened on the reporter who'd asked the question. The man took a hasty step backward. “Yes, I'm both a bastard and a half breed,” he said softly. “Considering what I've made of myself, I'd say that speaks well for being both. And just what have you made of your life to date, Mr…” He looked at the man's press badge. “Carter?”

The reporter didn't answer. He bent his head hastily over his notebook. Kira didn't blame him for avoiding Damon's challenging stare. She wasn't sure she would have had the courage to look Damon in the eye at that moment. How unnerving to experience the lethal swiftness with which he could change from neutrality to attack.

Another reporter spoke up. “You've been fighting for better education and employment opportunities for Indians for the last twelve years. Though I'm sure it's very laudable, don't you believe that a lot of what the American Indian experiences today is due to resentment of his savagery in the past?”

“No,” Damon responded quietly. “I think his present situation is due to the fact that he wasn't savage enough.”

But he would have been savage enough to hold what was his, Kira thought. She shivered. Oh lord, what had Marna gotten her into?