Shayne made a wry face over her head. “If he’s defeated it means I’m through in Miami, Phyl. I’ve backed him publicly. Everybody realizes it’s a fight between Painter and me. If I let Marsh go under, it’ll be the end of a lot of things.”
Phyllis stiffened in his arms and lifted a tear-wet face to him. “Then I’ll stay, too. You can cancel the reservations.”
Shayne shook his head. “You’ll help more by going on. It’s going to be dirty below-the-belt fighting for the next two days. You’d only be in the way.”
She studied his face for a long moment, saw the grim look of determination she knew so well. She sighed and relaxed against him, knowing that this was something apart from their lives together, something she could never share with him, a part of Michael Shayne which he would not relinquish to marriage. She had secretly known it would be like this when she stubbornly pursued him and forced herself into his life.
Her eyes cleared and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. She said, “We’d better get started. We haven’t much time.”
“You’re a nice person, angel,” he said gravely.
Phyllis laughed. That was the compliment she liked best from her husband. She checked the time on her tiny wrist watch and exclaimed, “Gracious! I’ve got to hurry. I came down here to get my gray hat, Mike. I can’t find it anywhere upstairs and thought I might have left it here.” She started for the bedroom.
Shayne’s nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath. He was stricken with panic as she moved toward the bedroom door.
“Wait — Phyl!”
She half turned, poised to go on. “What?”