Heart of the Tiger

USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

About the Author

Also by Lindsay McKenna

Chapter 1

Layne Hamilton felt the man’s presence even before she saw him. Up at the lecture podium, she leafed slowly through her text on Cantonese Chinese, casting a prudent glance in his direction. Her unruly black hair tumbled across her shoulders as she leaned over, pretending to hunt for something in her notes.

He was older than everyone else, although he didn’t appear to be over thirty. Perhaps it was his piercing blue gaze or his resemblance to a lean, hungry wolf that made him stand out from the other students. His tanned, square face was unreadable as he lounged with deceptive ease at the rear of the room. His broad brow topped wide-set eyes, a straight nose and a firm chin. Only his mouth suggested leniency, the corners turning upward instead of down. Layne’s fingers trembled perceptibly as she thumbed through her lecture. It fit. It all fit. He was one of them: a CIA agent.

Layne felt her heart tighten in her breast. Compressing her lips, she tried to put a lid on the cauldron of escaping memories. When she raised her head, she narrowed her eyes as she looked at him again. He was a Company man just as Brad had been. They never referred to themselves as agents, operatives or the CIA. No, within that elite group they called themselves the Company.

She stared at the intruder in her class. He didn’t fool her. Coiled power emanated from the dark-haired stranger, and Layne found her throat closing with tears, her vision suddenly blurring. Oh, damn! She couldn’t cry! Not here. This was her first class of the fall quarter. Anger suddenly swept through her, drying the impending tears. Damn him! Damn them all! She had told Chuck Lowell she never wanted to see or speak to anyone from the Company again. And now one of his men was watching her from the back of the room, a curious flame burning in the recesses of his steel-blue eyes. What did he want from her? She was simply a widow of a Company employee who had died in the line of duty—nothing more.

* * *

“Well?” Chuck Lowell demanded, leaning in his rich, burgundy leather chair. “What do you think, Matt? Is she up to this assignment?” He steepled his fingers, watching Talbot closely.

Matt placed his hands on his hips, a giveaway of his Air Force training. “No,” he replied, adding to himself, but she’s unforgettable. His mind returned to his observation of Layne Hamilton earlier that day. He had tipped his head back against the wall, listening to her low, cultured voice. Nice, he’d thought as he studied her. But there was nothing to suggest she could possibly handle the assignment. She was attractive, yes. But was she a survivor?

Her voice had been soothing, pacifying his raw nerves. Like warm, liquid honey. The black hair framing her tanned complexion accented her luminous eyes and full mouth. Matt had found himself staring at her, surprised at his strong response. He had to admit that Layne Hamilton was indeed a woman of substance: a dangerous mixture of femininity, vulnerability and elegance nicely rolled into one very appealing package.

He’d had to mentally switch gears in order to recall his real purpose for being there. According to the data he’d been given, Layne had been widowed nine months ago. He could still see the ravages of that period. She was thin, as seen in the too-hollow curve beneath her lovely high cheekbones. And her clothes were loose on her five-foot-eight-inch frame. The khaki-colored Kathryn Hepburn-style trousers bagged slightly at her slender hips.

Looks were often deceiving; he knew that from many years of experience. But if this was one of the top Chinese language experts in the country, Layne Hamilton could have fooled everyone. She had been associated with George Washington University since her marriage to Brad Carson, and in spite of two prestigious scholarly books to her credit, she didn’t look at all like a professor.

Matt could see her as a model for one of those women’s fashion magazines…or maybe as the gracious wife of a career diplomat. Her throat was deliciously curved, and his eyes had followed the thoroughbred lines of her graceful body. She might have been a ballerina. But not a full professor at a university.

His mouth thinned. He couldn’t see her as a combatant by any stretch of his imagination. And action was vital on this mission—including lightning reflexes that could mean life or death. He’d known when he received the shattering news at Nellis Air Force Base, where he was stationed, that it was going to be bad. And now it had turned from bad to worse. The vulnerable woman up at the lectern couldn’t fight her way out of a paper bag, much less handle a mission involving—enough! Matt refused to think about the crisis or about his brother. He’d just do as he’d been ordered: check out Layne Hamilton to see if she could do what was needed.

“Are you sure?” Chuck now demanded, breaking into his reverie.

Matt looked his superior squarely in the eye. “Positive. She’s a rabbit. And we’re going into a wolf situation.”

Lowell frowned, then returned his gaze. “Rabbit or not, she’s got contacts we don’t have. Look, go back and study her once more before you make your final decision. I’m afraid Layne Hamilton is the only person who can help us at this point.”

* * *

“Well, how was the first day?” Millie Hamilton sang out as Layne stepped from the foyer into her mother’s living room.

Layne tried to smile but it didn’t work. She dropped her books on the coffee table and set her briefcase down beside the sofa.

“It was horrible,” she admitted, sitting down dejectedly.

Millie stood poised at the kitchen door. At fifty-nine she looked ten years younger, her short crop of black hair barely sprinkled with gray. But now her brow creased with concern. “What happened?” she asked gently.

Layne nudged off her low-heeled sandals and propped her feet up on the table. She gave her mother a helpless look. “There was someone from the Company there, Mom.”

“Oh, honey, are you sure?”

A tidal wave of suppressed emotion surfaced in Layne at last, and her voice broke. “I’m positive. He was wearing a jacket. You don’t wear a jacket on a ninety-degree day unless you’re wearing a gun at the back of your belt. And his look…” She shivered, shutting her eyes tightly. Hot tears scalded her lids, and she took a deep breath to try to steady herself. “He just looks like one of them, Mom—restless, piercing eyes, lean strength—giving the impression that if he moved, he’d explode like a bomb.”

Millie came over to sit next to Layne and stroked her hair. “I believe you, honey. But why? After Brad died…”

Layne rose, unable to sit still an instant longer. She paced the length of a living room filled with Oriental memorabilia—memories of her family’s past, of her growing-up years as an Air Force brat, of a famous father stationed in the Orient. Layne stared at the photo on the mantel of her father with his arm around her mother and herself. Bob Hamilton: Air Force test pilot extraordinaire, made of the Right Stuff. He had tamed the most sophisticated supersonic jets in the world until one had finally claimed his life five years earlier. Both of the men in her life had been snuffed out by metal. The exotic skin of an aircraft buckling under testing stresses had claimed her father’s life; and Brad had been ripped away from her by an enemy bullet, unexpectedly freeing her from the prison of their marriage. She took a deep, ragged breath, fighting a threatening wave of tears and guilt.

Layne sensed more than saw her mother rise and move to her side to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps it was a mistake,” she soothed. “Perhaps this man just looked like an agent. It’s probably nothing, Layne. Why would they send someone from the Company to sit in on your class? You know Chuck Lowell would come over if they wanted something.”

Layne raised her face, her amber eyes misty. “That’s right. Their rule is ‘Never use the telephone, it might be bugged. Always try for face-to-face contact.’” Her head felt heavy. “God, Mom, I can still hear Brad saying that,” she whispered.

“I know, sweetheart, I know…”

Taking a steadying breath, Layne muttered, “I just hope you’re right, Mom. I’m still not over Brad or the CIA. Why doesn’t it fade with time?”

Millie squeezed her shoulder. “It will, honey. First, you have to let go of all that bottled-up anger you had toward Brad. No one could have known how cruel and insensitive he would turn out to be. You need to let go of the guilt, Layne. It’s eating you alive.”

“I hate the CIA,” she whispered rawly.

Millie gave her a small shake. “The way Brad turned out is not the CIA’s fault, Layne.”

Layne looked up in disbelief. “Since when are you siding with them? Brad was ruthless because of the CIA!”

“No.”

After all this time her mother was defending the Company? Layne stared at her. “I suppose you’re an authority on them?” She hated the surly tone of her voice but felt powerless to stop.

“Listen to me carefully, Layne,” Millie replied in a low voice. “I’ve kept out of your handling of Brad’s death. I felt that you would eventually understand that the CIA had nothing to do with Brad’s behavior toward you. They don’t mold men and women into coldhearted robots! They’re anxious to see that their employees’ families understand the rigors and pressures of their work. They don’t condone or even encourage Brad’s type of behavior.”

Defiance rose in Layne. “Oh, really? And how do you know?”

Millie released her arm. “Common sense tells me that. Brad was like a bad apple, Layne, rotten at the core. And no one knew it until it was too late. Place the blame where it rightfully belongs, work through your anger and hurt,” she counseled. “And then let it go, and get on with the business of living.”

* * *

Layne’s heart sank when she entered her classroom Wednesday morning. He was there again. And he was in the same seat, with the same imperturbable look on his face. She felt beads of sweat begin to form, and claustrophobia enveloped her. Her hands trembled visibly as she jerked open the attendance roster on the lectern. For the past two nights she had experienced reawakened memories of the nightmare of her marriage. Now anger broke through her haze of fear. She hated the man in the back—hated him for what he’d slit open in her just-healing heart. And she’d been surprised at her mother’s defense of the CIA. Everyone from the Company was cold. It was natural and expected for them to show nothing outwardly, not even love toward family members.

As she completed roll call her fears were realized: the man in the back wasn’t on the roster. Lifting her chin, she aimed a cool look at him.

“You’re not on the roster here, Mr.—”

Glacial blue eyes assessed her own, but she maintained her ground, refusing to be intimidated by a Company man. Layne wanted to force his hand. Slowly, the man’s mouth curved up in amusement. “I’m auditing the course, Professor Hamilton,” he drawled.

She felt heat rise within her. Like hell you are—she bit back the words. No one was allowed to audit introductory Chinese without registering; it was a university rule. The tension strung palpably between them. Layne gripped the edges of the lectern, her knuckles whitening. “Your name.” It was an order, not a question.

“Jim Ryder.”

Liar. She knew he wouldn’t tell his real name even under threat of death. She glared at him, on the verge of saying just that. But there was some indefinable warning in his features that told her to back off for now. It wasn’t anything specific. Just the tension around his eyes. She wrote the name down, giving him a dark look.

“Your audit papers, then, Mr. Ryder?”

“I’ll bring them next time I come to class.”

Layne controlled her desire to explode at him. They were simply playing a game, and they were both aware of it. She shut the roster book with finality. “Don’t bother coming back on Friday if you don’t have them with you, Mr. Ryder.”

Matt barely tipped his head in recognition of her order and let the amusement show in his eyes. So, she did have claws. Backed into a corner, she came out hissing and spitting. Maybe Layne Hamilton wasn’t going to be a rabbit after all.

Layne controlled her rage as she watched Jim Ryder soundlessly rise to his feet and leave five minutes before the end of class. Had he known she was going to openly confront him afterward? He must have. She watched him disappear like a ghost who had come out of her past to haunt her once again.

Back in her Georgetown apartment at the end of the day, Layne tried to keep busy. She had lesson plans that needed to be filled out, but she found herself unable to concentrate. As she sat at the oak desk in one corner of her living room, her head resting wearily on the palm of her hand, the doorbell rang. She roused herself, frowning. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was nearly ten o’clock. Who could it be? Her mother had been over earlier to share dinner. Getting to her feet, she smoothed out the folds of her soft peach skirt. She crossed to the door and opened it.

“May I come in?”

Layne stood frozen, a succession of emotions racing through her. Chuck Lowell, dressed in his usual impeccably tailored dark pinstripe suit with matching silk tie, offered her an apologetic smile. He looks just the same, she observed numbly. Layne would never forget the day Lowell had come to tell her about Brad’s death, Brad’s giving his life for their country…. She should have felt remorse. Perhaps grief. Instead, she’d dealt with an avalanche of guilt.

“Layne?”

She winced. “Come in,” she offered woodenly.

Lowell inclined his graying head toward someone standing slightly behind him. “I’ve brought someone with me, Layne.”

She gasped as the man who called himself Jim Ryder materialized at Lowell’s left shoulder. “You!”

“May we come in?” Chuck demanded tersely.

Layne’s throat tightened, and she glared at Lowell’s companion. “Do I have a choice?”

Chuck Lowell gave her an odd look but said nothing. They entered the apartment silently, Lowell walking easily, taking a chair in the tastefully arranged living room. Pale blue walls accented the delicate Oriental furniture. Lowell studied Layne gravely as she moved stiffly into the room after him.

“Sit down, Layne. We’ve got some very important items to discuss with you.”

She swung her gaze angrily to meet his. “There’s nothing you have to discuss with me, Chuck. I told you I never wanted to see anyone from the Company again.” She shifted her look to Ryder. “And you—”

“The name is Matt Talbot.”

She was momentarily taken aback by the warmth in his low, mellow voice. What breed of Company man was this? Suddenly exhaustion overcame her, and she swayed. He was there instantly, his hand on her arm. She jerked out of his grasp, her flesh tingling where his fingers had rested with a firm but gentle touch.

“I’m all right,” she said sharply.

His blue eyes appraised her coolly. “You’re pale. Sit down, and I’ll fix you something to drink.”

Layne stared up at him, at the hard, unyielding planes of his face. Yet his tone was caring, and she capitulated, no longer wanting to fight. Sitting down, she buried her face in her hands, fighting the tears welling up beneath her eyelids.

Lowell’s voice broke in. “I’m sorry, Layne. I know this comes as a shock. But we haven’t much time and we need your help.”

Her head snapped up. “My help?”

Talbot walked over, handing her a glass. She eyed the contents warily, then looked up at him.

“It’s your own Scotch, on the rocks. You looked like you could use a stiff one.”

“I was just wondering if it was poisoned,” she said coldly.

A slight grin pulled at Talbot’s sensual mouth. “We’re on your side.”

She frowned. “I’m not so sure about that,” she countered tersely, but she took a fortifying gulp of the drink, gripping the glass with both hands.

Talbot moved with easy grace to sit facing her on the opposite couch. Almost reluctantly, Layne shifted her attention back to Lowell. “Why are you here?”

“We’ve just had an international incident, Layne.”

She took another gulp. “So? I’m just an ordinary American citizen. Do you usually go around asking lowly civilians for help on the international intrigue front?” God, she sounded childish. But she couldn’t help it. The beaded coolness of the glass felt good against her fingertips, and Layne concentrated on that instead of on Chuck’s narrow face.

“Look, I know you’re still grieving for Brad. And we have no business coming to you, Layne. But the incident I refer to needs someone of your qualifications.”

She gave him a round-eyed look. “Specifically what in my background qualifies me for this cloak-and-dagger game?”

“You know Chinese. You were born in Japan and raised in the Far East while your father served at the Air Force bases over there.”

“So? I know you have intelligence people expert in Chinese. Let’s see, if I remember the ‘spouse training’ that the Company so generously supplied me with, you have both division offices and stations or bases for your clandestine affairs. Surely your penetration agents or specialists can get you out of whatever quandary you’re in without my help?”

Chuck held up both hands. “You’re also highly knowledgeable about the South China Sea area.”

“So are your operatives.”

Matt leaned back, assessing Layne’s role in the tense exchange. Her honey-brown eyes had darkened in anger. He mentally reviewed what he remembered of her personnel file and life history. In brief, she was a woman whose sensitivity was balanced by keen intelligence. Chuck Lowell would have to be a magician to get her to agree to his plan, Matt realized. In fact, right now he’d put money on the Hamilton woman to win. His eyes narrowed slightly. Why was she so angry with the Company? And with Lowell? He watched his boss struggle to maintain an air of neutrality beneath her scathing attack. No, she certainly wasn’t the rabbit he’d thought her to be. A slight smile tipped one corner of his mouth.

“Believe me, Layne,” Chuck was saying with fervor, “if we had any choice at all in this matter, we’d go with an operative. It’s not our policy to recruit people off the street to help us get out of a jam.”

Layne shot him a dubious look. “Then what was this man doing in my class? That was an ugly calling card, Chuck. The worst.”

Lowell remained low-key despite the strain in her voice. “I sent Matt over because he wanted to see if you were up to the rigors of this forthcoming mission.”

Layne took another hefty gulp of the drink, then directed her gaze at Talbot. Her lips parted as she saw the tenderness burning in his blue eyes as he met her glare. Why? she wondered, finding her resistance melting. Her eyes filled with hot, scalding tears, blurring Talbot’s face.

Matt eased himself from the chair, sending Lowell a sharp look. “We’ve upset Mrs. Hamilton enough, Chuck. I don’t feel she can do it. Why not leave her with what little peace she has left?”

Layne’s heart wrenched, and she lifted her chin, staring directly into those azure eyes that seemed to understand her. Careful, she told herself. He’s an agent, a robot taught to act and react, both on and off the job, showing no humanity or compassion. Swallowing tears, she choked out, “He’s right, Chuck. Why don’t you just leave? I’ve told you, I want nothing to do with you or your people ever again.”

Lowell shot Talbot a glance, then rose. “All right,” he said stiffly. “We didn’t mean to upset you, Layne. I know it’s been rough on you…”

She bowed her head. “Just leave, Chuck.”

“I’ll drop over and see if you’re feeling differently tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother,” she murmured, not looking up as the door quietly opened and closed. Layne stared numbly at her drink: most of it was gone. Oh, well, she thought. Might as well kill the pain with the rest of it. She lifted the glass to her lips.

“Take it slow,” came Talbot’s husky voice. “That was a double.”

Layne gasped, nearly dropping the glass. He stood by the door, watching her in the explosively charged silence. With a swift stride, he reached her, and his long, slender fingers closed around the drink in her hand. As their fingers met, Layne released the glass instantly, as if burned.

“I told you to leave!”

Talbot gave her a distant smile and set the glass down on the black lacquered coffee table. “You asked Chuck to leave, not me. Besides, I didn’t feel you should be left alone just yet.”

Layne stared up at him in disbelief, startled by the tenderness in his voice and eyes, as unmistakable as it was unexpected. Layne could have dealt with anger or even coldness, but not this kindness. Company men weren’t supposed to show their emotions—ever. She felt warm tears begin to trickle down her cheeks.

Matt crouched down, his hands moving to caress Layne’s raven hair. It felt like thick silk beneath his fingers. As he framed her pale face, he was struck by the pain in her luminous golden eyes. He had thought he was carrying enough of his own anguish around, but now…His brows drew into a slight frown.

She was pale beneath her tan; her skin pulled tautly across her cheekbones. And her lips…he groaned inwardly. Her full mouth could curve into a sunlit smile or tighten as it did now, with agony. Tears slid down to her soft lips, and she licked them away.

Matt opened his arms to her, drawing her forward until she rested against him. “Go ahead,” he whispered thickly against her hair. “Cry. Get it out of your system.”

The shock of seeing Chuck Lowell again had dredged up the shattered past Layne had tried desperately to forget. The instant Matt’s hands had framed her face, she’d begun to cry. His touch was so male and yet so gentle, and his firm, strong body supporting her brought forth deep, wrenching sobs—sobs she’d suppressed for months. But the arms now cradling her against him had released her from her self-made prison of pain.

Matt closed his eyes, resting his head against her ebony hair. He inhaled deeply. She smelled good—like lilac—her body warm and yielding against his hard frame. He murmured endearments to ease her heart, feeling her tremble within his arms. Layne Hamilton was a woman of great sensitivity, he thought as he stroked her hair, burying his face in the fragrant mass and longing…longing…

Layne became aware of the deep, steady beat of Matt’s heart in his taut chest. She gripped his shirtfront, her nails digging into it as her tears dampened the material to a darker shade of burgundy. His male scent was a heady aphrodisiac, awakening her dormant senses. He was, she realized, an intensely sensual man. She buried her head deeper in the hollow between his shoulder and chin as each stroke of his hand upon her hair released a little more of the old hurt from the five years of Brad’s deception.

Another feeling was woven into the remnants of her grief: Matt Talbot cared. She could almost feel an imperceptible trembling of his long, expressive fingers as they grazed the crown of her head. He was still a stranger—one whose appearance had reminded her of five years she’d fought to forget. Yet he had remained behind, somehow realizing that she needed to be held.

“It’s all right, kitten,” he whispered huskily, “you’re going to be all right now…”

A hunger for more than emotional support spread heatedly through her. The touch of his hands, his intoxicating scent and the hard planes of his body against hers unleashed a raw, aching need for closeness, for intimate contact. Unintentionally Layne nuzzled against his jaw, and she heard him draw in a deep, ragged breath. Then, trapping her face between his callused hands, he carefully lifted her mouth upward.

Matt groaned as he guided Layne’s face to meet his descending mouth. God, he shouldn’t be doing this! He knew better. But she was so warm and feminine, drawing him out as effortlessly as spring rain drew forth the first shoots from the cold, freezing earth. Her black lashes, thick with tears, were a sharp contrast to her golden skin. Her lips glistened, parting for his as he leaned down…down to claim them.

Layne uttered a small moan of protest as she felt his mouth settle firmly upon hers. But she knew it was hopeless. All common sense fled, and she folded against him as he molded his mouth hotly to her own, building a fire of longing that sent an aching need through her hungry body. Slowly she began to respond to his gentle exploration of her lips with his tongue. His breath was warm and moist against hers, his fingers imprisoning her face, tipping it to meld his mouth completely to her yielding lips.

“Let me taste you,” he commanded hoarsely.

With a sigh, Layne acquiesced, her arms lifting, sliding about his broad, capable shoulders and drawing him to her. As her breasts brushed the wall of his chest a slight gasp broke from within her. Matt’s tongue coaxed her further, cajoling her into heated participation as he stroked every moist crevice of her mouth.

Gradually Matt made himself draw back. He traced her swollen lips gently with his tongue to soothe any bruises he might have caused. Did she realize how much of an impact she’d had upon him? Her golden eyes were hazy with invitation, and Matt inhaled deeply, trying to get a grip on himself. He eased Layne back onto the chair, and in that heart-stealing moment, she seemed as innocent as a child. She reached her slender fingers up unbelievingly to touch her well-kissed lips.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Matt said, his rough voice laden with desire. She looked so helpless. He could take her to bed; he knew she would come willingly. His body was screaming deep within for her warmth, her humanity, and he was hungry for her touch. But one look into those golden eyes, now filled with confusion, and he knew: He had to do the right thing for both of them.

“We have an old saying in the Air Force for women like you,” he said huskily. A slight smile broke the planes of his lean face. “You’re heady stuff, lady. The kind that dreams are woven from.”

Chapter 2

Blood raced through Layne’s veins, pounding in unison with her heart. Matt was so close, so incredibly virile that she was slightly dizzy. Raising her hand, she touched her brow. Even as she felt him rise away from her, she mourned the loss of contact with him.

“Stay here,” he ordered gruffly, moving toward the bathroom.

Layne lay back against the chair, her eyes closed, experiencing a wild gamut of emotions. She didn’t realize Matt had returned until she felt him press a cool washcloth against her hot, tearstained face.

“Here…let me do that,” she whispered, forcing her eyes to open and taking the cloth from his hand.

Matt rested easily on the back of his heels, watching her in the comfortable silence. “Your mascara ran.”

Layne grimaced, pressing the cold, damp cloth against her aching eyes. “I probably look a sight.”

“No,” he answered softly. “Just the opposite.”

Her black hair tumbled across her shoulders and lay against her breasts as she leaned forward, burying her face in the washcloth. She tried to wipe away the mascara that had run from her unexpected tears, then she straightened, looking uncertainly at Matt.

“You didn’t have to stay.”

A wry smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “I know.”

“Why did you?”

He shrugged. “I’m a sucker for women with tears in their eyes who refuse to cry.”

Layne knew he was referring to the meeting with Lowell. “I see….”

“I’m sorry we upset you.”

She searched his lean face with penetrating thoroughness, seeking the truth behind his words. Brad had been a consummate liar.

“That would be a first—an operative sorry for his actions.” She leaned back, pushing several rebellious strands of hair out of her face. And then Layne realized how harsh her sentence sounded after he’d been so kind to her. “I didn’t mean to sound callous. I’m a casualty of the Company’s attitude toward spouses. Wives are the last to know, if at all.”

Matt rose slowly to his feet, unwinding from his coiled position. “There’s some truth in that, I suppose.”

Layne sat up, her eyes wide. “I’m sure I appear temperamental, but you don’t understand why.”

His eyes grew hooded as he looked down at her. “Just because I held you doesn’t mean you owe me an explanation.”

She felt chilled by his sudden withdrawal. “You might have had something to gain by your display of humanity,” she pointed out.

Matt smiled calmly, watching the golden fire of anger igniting within her luminous eyes. “Is that your experience? Did your husband premeditate everything he did, including intimacy with you?”

Layne gasped, crumpling the washcloth in her right hand. “You have no right to information about my personal life!”

Matt suddenly looked weary, exhaustion shadowing his azure eyes. “That’s the name of the game, isn’t it? You think we all manipulate others in subtle ways, bending people’s wills to overcome their resistance. Look, we’re both tired. You’ve had a rough couple of days, and I think a hot bath and some sleep are in order.” He ran his fingers through his short, neatly cut hair. What he really wanted to do was reach out, move into her arms and simply be held by her. He was so tired of the loneliness aching inside him.

Layne slowly got to her feet, standing mere inches from him, and tilted her chin upward to meet his shadowed eyes. “I lived with an agent for five years,” she began tensely. “He was a master of the very thing you’re talking about. I’d like to believe that what you did was out of human need and compassion, but I’m afraid all my conditioning tells me differently.”

Matt’s mouth pulled into a grimmer line. Carson must have wounded her deeply to make her this distrustful of his own intentions. He wondered how much of her sensitivity had been left intact over the years.

Matt reached out, taking a damp wisp of black hair curling along her cheek and placing it behind her delicate ear. Her skin was soft as a ripe peach. A rose hue stained her cheeks as she met his intense gaze. “I stayed because you needed someone, Layne. Good night.”

Layne swallowed hard. There was a lump in her throat and her heart was pounding heavily. How could this man walk into her life and literally turn her world upside down in fifteen minutes’ time?

“Wait!”

Matt rested his hand on the doorknob and turned his head slightly toward Layne. She looked almost ethereal, that glorious cloud of black hair surrounding her pale face, her lips parted breathlessly.

Layne slowed to a halt. “You haven’t yet earned my trust, Mr. Talbot, but you don’t deserve my anger.”

“Prove it. Have lunch with me tomorrow.”

Her heart gave a sudden thud. “Why bother?” she challenged him. “I already gave Chuck Lowell my answer.”

“He didn’t know how to handle you.”

“And you do?”

“Why not wait until you hear what he wants before you turn him down?”

Her lips tightened. “You’re very good at your job, Mr. Talbot. Keep victims off balance so they can’t ferret out your real motive.”

He offered her a hint of a smile, his azure eyes darkening with an unknown emotion. “It’s Major Talbot, Mrs. Hamilton. And I’ll pick you up at the university at noon.”

Afterward, Layne stood in the foyer in stunned silence. Was he manipulating her, or was her paranoia from the past haunting her? Her mind spun with questions. But what difference did it make? She had sworn never again to get involved in any way with a man who worked for a government agency. So let Major Matt Talbot play his game of intrigue. It wouldn’t get him anywhere.

* * *

Nervously, Layne gathered her sheaf of papers and put them into her desk drawer. Other teachers milled around, discussing the humidity and high temperatures. The desultory chatter set her on edge even more. She looked at her watch again—for the hundredth time, it seemed. Miserably she sat staring out the window overlooking the university campus. Maybe Matt wouldn’t show up. Twice, Layne had almost picked up the phone to tell Chuck Lowell to have his man back off. She touched the collar of her plum-colored silk dress she’d accented with a hot pink sash. She had chosen the colors to strengthen her emotional state.

“Hey, Layne?” Dr. Fred Gerus called. “You have a visitor.”

Layne forced herself to remain calm. She had purposely woven her raven mane into a chignon, softening it with wispy tendrils at the temples. Smoothing out the folds of the dress, Layne moved slowly toward the door of the teachers’ lounge. Nothing, however, could have prepared her for what awaited her as she rounded the corner.

Matt Talbot was impossibly handsome in uniform, his lean, whipcord body attesting to his peak physical condition. He stood tall and relaxed, hands clasped before him. His azure eyes darkened with pleasure as Layne walked toward him. His blue Air Force uniform boasted a gold major’s oak leaf on each broad shoulder. Layne’s eyes widened as her gaze traveled downward. On the left side of his uniform were silver pilot’s wings and rows of military ribbons attesting to his abilities. He was every inch a warrior, her mind told her. But her heart lurched anyway. He gave her a devastating smile of welcome, barely inclining his head forward.

“Mrs. Hamilton.”

She gripped her purse. “Major Talbot.” And then in a low, husky voice she whispered, “If, indeed, you are a major in the Air Force.”

Matt grinned, confidently settling the officer’s cap on his head, its black bill shading his eyes. “I am what I seem, Mrs. Hamilton. Shall we? I have reservations at La Fleur for twelve-fifteen.”

Layne walked briskly beside him, wildly aware of his fingers on her elbow as he guided her out of the university. “La Fleur? That’s terribly nouveau riche for someone on an officer’s pay, Major Talbot.”

“A classy place for a classy lady,” he murmured, guiding her toward the parking lot.

“Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, Major.”

Matt smiled tentatively, guiding her to a shark-gray Lexus. “I prefer women with silky black hair and beautiful golden eyes,” he corrected.

Layne observed him closely as they arrived at his car. Brad had gone through similar motions hundreds of times: carefully inspecting the vehicle before putting the key in the door. After all, a bomb could have been placed inside, ready to explode upon contact when the key entered the lock. Although it was ninety degrees and the hot sun was beating down upon them, Layne shivered.

Finally satisfied, Matt opened the door for her. Layne climbed in without a word, strapping the seat belt across her body. Then Matt slid in, deceptively relaxed.

“Why are you being so complimentary today?” Layne demanded as he guided the purring Lexus into the noontime traffic.

“Why not?”

Layne fumed inwardly. How many times had Brad answered a question with a question? She’d finally realized she wasn’t supposed to ask questions at all, although she’d had many during the last four years of their marriage. Now, she gave Matt Talbot a murderous look.

“Because you want something from me, Major Talbot, that’s why.” And you’re too handsome, she added silently, aware of his clean profile as he drove. A slight, inviting smile hovered around his mouth, easing the hard planes of his face.

“Why do you confuse my honesty with wanting something from you?”

Layne frowned and clutched her leather purse more tightly between her hands. “Since when did agents become honest?” she retorted scathingly.

“I’m an officer in the Air Force, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“You also work for the Company.”

“Sometimes.”

“Like now. You’re working for them now. This minute.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve got the nerve to ask me why I don’t trust your compliments?”

He slid a lazy look in her direction, then returned his attention to the driving. “Did you question your husband’s compliments?”

Tears drove into her eyes. She felt as if someone had struck her in the chest with a fist. “That’s unfair!”

“Any more unfair than questioning that I might compliment you because I think you’re attractive?”

Her nostrils flared with anger as she glared at him. “You’re very good at slipping a dagger between someone’s ribs, Major Talbot. Did someone teach you to use personal assaults to net the desired response from the other party, or does it just come naturally?”

His eyes turned glacial. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re paranoid?”

“It comes with the territory.” Layne’s knuckles whitened, and she stared straight ahead.

“There’s an old axiom that the more paranoid the agent, the better he or she is destined to be—” Matt gave her a keen look “—but it’s not recommended behavior for the family of the agent.”

“It rubs off,” she replied, tight-lipped.

As they walked into the elegant French restaurant located in a popular section of Georgetown, Matt leaned over. His voice was low, vibrating through her. “I owe you an apology. It’s been one hell of a rough day, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Am I forgiven?”

One look into his eyes and Layne’s retort melted. She avoided his searching look. “Let’s just call it a draw, shall we?”

Matt laughed softly, guiding her into the darkened foyer of the establishment. “Now you see us as sparring partners in a boxing match.”

“Aren’t we?” she needled him.

He gave her an amused look, saying nothing.

Layne was not surprised when Matt shifted into fluid French with the maître d’, and she reluctantly admitted his accent was excellent. As they approached a quiet, intimate table, Layne noticed that Matt was the only uniformed guest. The noontime trade at La Fleur mostly consisted of Hill people.

“You’re getting quite a few daggered looks, you know,” she said when he’d completed the wine order.

Matt’s gaze settled hungrily on Layne. He liked her husky, warm voice. It reminded him of melting honey. “Does it bother you?”

She shook her head, folding her hands and resting her chin on them. “No. They probably think you belong back over at the Pentagon and not on this side of the Potomac.”

He smiled, placing the menu aside and resting his forearms on the table. “There wasn’t a restaurant like La Fleur over there. You deserve the best, Mrs. Hamilton. And if my uniform causes any of the patrons a bit of discomfort, I can live with that if you can.”

“Men in uniform don’t bother me, Major. It’s agents in plain-clothes that I distrust,” Layne reminded him sharply.

“Then I’m glad I’m in uniform.”

Layne had the grace to blush. And then she recognized the sincerity in his softly spoken words. She felt as if he’d reached out and caressed her, the vibrant warmth of his voice again soothing her emotions. Last night she had lain awake a long time remembering his comforting words in her ear as she’d sobbed against his chest. And she remembered with vivid clarity the strength of his arms around her body, rocking her, caring for her simply because she was hurting and alone. Layne felt confusion rise within her as she met and held his gaze.

“Please,” she begged softly, leaning forward, “why are you going to all this trouble? I know you want something from me.”

Matt cocked his head, studying Layne with raw intensity. She was warm and outgoing by nature. And he had known her late husband, Brad Carson, off and on for years. Brad had been as cold as they came. Matt couldn’t imagine Layne in Carson’s arms. She was a woman of vulnerability, her sensuality as natural as moonlight. And Carson had never shown any response to others’ feelings or emotions. How had they come together? Matt wondered.

Rousing himself, he forced a slight smile. “For you, I’m an open book.”

Layne gave him a careful look that implied skepticism. “Oh, sure you are!”

He opened his hands in a gesture of peace. “Try me.”

The waiter came, interrupting them, and Matt ordered their lunch. Once the waiter had left, he picked up his wineglass. “Shall we toast, Mrs. Hamilton?”

She picked up her glass filled with the chilled Chablis he’d ordered. “To what?”

“To the future.”

Layne looked at him over the raised crystal. “What future?” she asked carefully.

Matt grinned, clinking his glass against hers. “On our assignment. Salut.”

She nearly dropped the wineglass, and her lips parted in stunned surprise as she set it down. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you know how beautiful you become when you’re angry?”

“Stop it! Answer my question.”

“I told you, I’m an open book to you.”

“If you think you’re going to con me into doing anything with you or—or—”

He reached over and gripped her hand gently between his fingers. “Rule number one—we don’t mention any names.”

She jerked her hand away, muttering an oath under her breath that raised his eyebrows. “I ought to leave. You’re such an arrogant, self-assured—”

“Where did all this temper come from? I thought you had very little backbone when it came to fighting for yourself?” he teased, trying not to smile.

Matt watched her eyes darken to the color of ripened wheat. “That’s none of your business, Major Talbot! Now, either you stop this little game or I’m getting up and leaving.”

Settling his features into a more serious expression, he said solemnly, “Okay, start asking your questions.”

“You’re taught to lie.”

“I won’t lie to you.”

“There isn’t an operative alive who doesn’t lie. That uniform could be nothing more than a cover!”

“I’m a major in the Air Force. And I am a pilot.”

Her lovely eyes narrowed. “Be careful, Talbot. My father was in the Air Force. And he was one of the finest test pilots they ever had.”

“I know that.”

“Of course you would. You have my whole life history on microfilm somewhere in the vaults.”

“I’ve read your file.”

An Air Force pilot, indeed! Layne thought angrily. How many times had Brad assumed other careers, other covers to suit the purpose of his job? “What do you fly?”

He gave a lazy shrug of his broad shoulders. “Anything they’ll let me get my hands on.”

“Any idiot knows you’re either a fighter or a bomber pilot, Major! Don’t hedge on that with me. I’m afraid you don’t know your cover very well. I’m not impressed.”

“I’m a test pilot. Is that acceptable?”

Layne sat back, surprise followed by sadness welling up in her. Memories of her father came rushing back. She remembered his taciturn face as he’d climbed into the cockpit of the aircraft that would kill him on that hot October day. She forced herself to look at Matt Talbot again. Yes, he had that same look she had seen on other test pilots—the “look of the eagles.” These men had an arrogant pride melded with the unshakable confidence that they could fly anything with wings attached to it.

“Where are you stationed?”

Matt sipped his wine. “Nellis Air Force Base.”

Layne’s mind ranged over the myriad bases her father had been assigned to during the twenty years he had been in the Air Force. “Nellis isn’t a testing base. Edwards is where they test all the new aircraft.” She watched him, waiting for an answer, but his face remained impassive. He said nothing.

“Well?” she prodded.

“I’m assigned to Tactical Air Command, Layne,” he said, using her name for the first time since that evening. “Other than that, there are some things I can’t tell you, so I’ll remain silent rather than fabricate a story.”

Her lips compressed as she glared at him. “Nellis is home of the Red Flag. It’s where our fighter pilots sharpen their skills against specially trained U.S. pilots who fly like Soviets.”

He gave her a nod of his head. “Yes. They’re called Aggressor pilots and spend at least five hundred hours learning Soviet fighter techniques to use in training flights against American fighter pilots.”

“But you’re not an Aggressor pilot?”

“I was once, many years ago.”

“But not now?”

“No.”

“Nellis is right outside Las Vegas. It’s all desert and sagebrush. What’s a test pilot doing there?” she demanded. She felt frustration nestling in her throat. This conversation was reminding her of talks with Brad. Only Brad had always smoothly handed her a story, treating her like a child. Matt Talbot was at least telling her he wasn’t lying to her, even if it meant withholding information. Which was better? she thought angrily. “Wait a minute, I saw an article in the Washington Post just last week about…” Her voice trailed off, then she straightened. “RAVEN. They say the RAVEN prototype is at Nellis for testing because the airspace there is off-limits to all civilians.”

Talbot’s face revealed nothing, but his azure eyes calmly met hers.

Layne grimaced. “All right. Don’t say anything. By saying nothing you’re practically admitting to me you’re one of the men testing the RAVEN bomber!”

“I’d rather talk about why we need your help, Layne,” Talbot returned quietly.

She slid her fingers around her wineglass. “I’m listening. Not that it’s going to do you any good. I can say no to you just as easily as I did to Chuck Lowell.”

The waiter arrived, bringing each of them a crisp salad topped with a special vinaigrette-and-baby-shrimp house dressing. Perhaps he wasn’t lying. Why did part of her want so much to believe he was telling the truth? Because, her suspicious mind said, he held you last night when you were hurting so badly. He could even have taken you to bed and made love to you…. Layne gasped softly, stunned by her realization. Bed? Matt Talbot running his lean, powerful fingers over her hungry body?

“Chuck was right, we do need your services as an interpreter of Chinese,” Matt said, breaking into her tumultuous thoughts. A self-deprecating smile tugged at his mouth. “I don’t speak one word of Chinese, and we need someone who can.”

Unwittingly, Layne found herself lulled into the conversation. “You’re going to China?”

“I’m going, yes. But not to China. To Hong Kong.”

She blotted her mouth with the napkin, intrigued. “I know Hong Kong like the back of my hand. My father made many friends over there while I was growing up.”

Matt put the half-eaten salad aside, resting his elbows on the table, concentrating on her. “That’s another reason why your name came up, Layne. One of your old friends contacted us while trying to reach you.”

She frowned. “Who?”

“The last time you and your husband took a vacation, you went to Hong Kong and ended up writing a series of articles. Do you remember?”

The old hurt came up again. That had been the last vacation she had shared with Brad shortly before his death. “Y-yes, of course I remember it.” And she also remembered Brad’s cold, biting anger because she had insisted upon doing the articles. He had wanted to relax around the Princeton Hotel, taking it easy, while she’d been as excited as a child at Christmas at an offered chance to meet Kang Ying, lao-pan, or leader, of the notorious pirates of the South China Sea. During the interview she and the lao-pan had developed a warm friendship that had endured, although they had not seen each other again. Brad had been furious with her for abandoning him.

Matt saw her face contort, her topaz eyes darkening with momentary pain. Out of instinct he reached across the table, briefly capturing her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Are you all right?”

The husky tenor of his voice was like a balm to her aching heart. For once she didn’t pull away from his touch. His fingers were warm, caressing the coolness of her own. The moment he moved his hand away she felt a stab of loss. Layne raised her head, trying to understand his actions. Either he was a consummate actor and knew when to touch her to gain her trust, or—she took a sharp breath—or he was a sensitive, caring man. Chewing on her lower lip, Layne fought to corral her emotions, not trusting her voice just yet to answer.

“I’m okay,” she said finally.

Matt could see that Layne was upset and wondered why she’d suddenly withdrawn. “I didn’t mean to stir up any muddy waters,” he apologized. “Kang Ying sent a message through one of our agents on Kowloon that he desperately needed your help.”

“The lao-pan himself?” Layne couldn’t hide the concern and anxiety in her voice. “Why would Kang want my help? This doesn’t make sense.”

Matt watched the waiter approach with the main course. “Here’s our meal, Layne. Let’s talk later.”

She couldn’t resist a smile. Matt Talbot had shifted from an engaging luncheon companion to all business in those split seconds. He wouldn’t want a shred of what they were discussing overheard by anyone—including a waiter. Oddly, though, his presence gave her a sense of security. As the waiter approached, setting Layne’s plate before her with a flourish, she offered Matt Talbot her first genuine smile. And she saw a brief look of surprise flare in his eyes. Let him wonder why she’d smiled at him. Let him stew in his own juices for a while. She laughed to herself, suddenly feeling lighter and happier than she had in years.

Chapter 3

Matt watched Layne covertly as she picked at her meal. After awarding him that heart-stopping smile, Layne had visibly relaxed. Was she excited about the reference to Kang? Her love of the Chinese and the Far East was well documented throughout her personnel file. Or was she beginning to like him? He shut off those hopes ruthlessly, as quickly as they arose. There was no room in his life for any kind of emotional entanglement. His brother was either dead or had been captured, and his need to get to Hong Kong and find him was paramount. This elegant, attractive woman sitting across from him could lead him to Kang and, he hoped, to Jim and his copilot, also lost in the crash.

Layne waited until the waiter had cleared the table before resuming their serious topic of conversation. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Kang knows your people. The Company has its tentacles into everything and everyone.”

“Kang’s a criminal, we know that. But he also has access to the tongs and triads over there, as well as to agents looking for information.” Matt rested his chin against his folded hands. “Time’s at a premium, Layne.”

Despite herself, she responded when he used her name. It felt like a caress. Trying to ignore her reaction to him, she frowned. “It’s not a normal ploy to drag a civilian into your cloak-and-dagger stuff, Major.”

He shrugged. “I agree with you. But we’re not running this show, Kang is. The incident that occurred has made him a necessary middleman through whom we have to deal. And he said he wouldn’t consider working with us unless you act as intermediary.” Matt’s frown matched hers. “Apparently he puts great trust in you, Layne.”

She touched the tendrils at her left cheek. “I remember your telling Lowell that you felt I couldn’t do it. Do what?”

Matt gave her a quick look. “You heard that comment?”

“I miss very little. Even when I’m in the throes of sobbing my heart out,” she warned him. “Please answer my question. What don’t you think I’m capable of doing?”

Matt took a breath and dove in. “We’re dealing with cutthroats, Layne. I question Kang’s reliance on you. A Chinese man never places his reliance on a woman. Why you? It would be beneath him. And you’re an outsider, as well.”

“Yet you’re trying to coerce me into joining you on a jaunt to Hong Kong to meet with Kang?”

“Lowell thinks you’re up to it.”

“And you don’t?”

“No.”

She gave him a close look. “Either you’re the cleverest liar I’ve ever met, or you’re working against your own people, Major.”

He remained silent, meeting her impertinent gaze.

“You’re expecting trouble on this mission, aren’t you?” she demanded. “Of course, what mission doesn’t have danger? You don’t think I can protect myself, do you? Kang is an honorable man, even if he is a pirate. These men live by their own unwritten codes. He wouldn’t hurt me, although it’s true they dislike Americans—they think we talk too much and can’t keep secrets.”

“I told you I wouldn’t lie to you, Layne,” Matt reminded her huskily. “And frankly, I wish I had met you under any other circumstances. You’re a woman of exceptional scope. Ordinarily, I don’t let anyone get under my skin…but you have. If I had my way about this, you’d stay here. If we had a penetration agent among the pirates, you wouldn’t even have been considered.” He gave her a veiled look. “But then, I’d never have met you.” Matt shrugged. “We’re both caught up in a web of events outside our control.”

Layne’s heart knew he was telling the truth. What agent would say I don’t want you on this mission? And yet he was still hoping to convince her to come. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an enigma, Major Talbot?”

His boyish grin reappeared, relaxing his strong features. “I’ve been called many things, Layne. Enigma is just one of them.”

“So tell me,” she asked suddenly, “how would I explain to my colleagues that I’m taking a sudden vacation in the Orient?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ll come?”

“I’m not sure. I hadn’t realized Kang was involved. But first, I want to know how you’re going to handle this assignment, Major.”

“We’ve arranged for a substitute teacher to take over your duties until you return,” he said in a quiet monotone, as if reciting it by rote. “If you come, you’ll pose as my wife. We’ll be spending our honeymoon and combining it with a writing and photographic assignment for a leading national magazine. It’s a perfect cover. You’re already established as an expert on the South China Sea pirates since you published those three articles in Life. My cover as a photographer is well established, and anyone checking will find my credentials in order. We’re scheduled to fly out of D.C. tomorrow at—” he checked the watch on his wrist “—8:00 a.m. From there we’ll fly to Noreta Airport in Japan and disembark for about an hour. We’ll catch another Northwest Orient flight to Hong Kong, where we’ll stay at the Princeton Hotel for a day or two while we’re waiting to be contacted by Kang. From there, it’s his game, and he’ll tell us how he wants us to play.”

“What does the lao-pan have that you want, Matt?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Layne pursed her lips. “You’re a test pilot they’re sending over with me. It has to have something to do with planes.”

He shrugged. “No lies, remember? It’s safer for you not to try to piece it together.”

“That’s right. The less I know, the less I could spill to the enemy in case I’m caught and interrogated.” Layne drew in a deep breath. “I know the Company has a compartmentation policy. Feed only necessary tidbits of information on a need-to-know basis to those involved. But I’m not one of your operatives. You’re asking me to walk into a situation that’s obviously got some danger attached to it and blindly trust you!” Her voice rose with feeling. “And I learned the hard way about trusting anyone from the Company.”

Matt’s mouth became grimmer. “Look, Layne, if I have my way about this, once the contact with Kang is made, you’ll be staying in Hong Kong where it’s safe.”

A deluge of old emotions broke loose within her. “Why do we have to act like we’re married? And why the Princeton?” Her voice held a note of anguish.

“It’s necessary under the present circumstances to arouse no suspicions when we fly to Hong Kong. A husband-and-wife freelance team on a honeymoon won’t stir up too much interest in enemy intelligence communities. I’ll be contacting our CIA people and British Special Intelligence as soon as we land there.”

“And the Princeton?”

The pain was evident in her trembling voice. Matt softened. She deserved a buffer zone of protection on the emotional front. “Kang’s orders. That’s where you stayed last time, and apparently he likes that location because the hotel sits right on the bay. An ideal strategic ploy if he or his people need to escape from the British officials who’d like to string them all up.” His eyes grew tender. “I know it was the hotel where you and your husband stayed.” He reached out, cradling her hand in his. “I hope it will be for only a few days.”

Tiny tingles of pleasure arose from his touch, and Layne wondered if he realized how much his one gesture had halted her spinning emotional reaction.

“I—It’s just that…it brings back some very unpleasant memories.”

Matt frowned. “Unpleasant?” He’d assumed the opposite. “But you were on vacation….”

Layne withdrew her hand from his. “It’s nice to know that not everything is in my file,” she said sharply, suddenly refusing to meet his eyes.

“Files give facts, not emotional experiences. Didn’t your husband want to vacation in the Far East with you?” Rapidly he searched the compartments of his memory for facts on Brad Carson’s marital status with his wife. Outwardly, it had appeared to be storybook perfect. There’d been nothing to suggest that Layne was unhappy. But his gut had told him differently when he’d perused Layne’s file. Carson had been ice all the way through, and after meeting Layne, Matt had recognized the chasm of emotional differences between her and her late husband.

“I suppose anything I say to you will end up in a report somewhere.”

“No, it won’t. It’s none of anyone’s business what your personal life with Brad was like.”

Layne wanted to believe him. “It was my idea to try and find one of the pirate clan leaders for an interview. Brad wanted nothing more than to relax at the hotel for two weeks.” Layne drew small circles on the white damask tablecloth with her index finger. Her voice became hushed. “I love the Far East. I was raised by my amah—my Chinese nanny—and could speak her language before I ever learned English.” She gave a rueful laugh. “My mom and dad were chagrined, to say the least, when they found that out. Anyway, I practically begged Brad to take me to the Orient. I hadn’t been there in seven years, and I was homesick.” She glanced over at Matt. “Would it sound strange if I told you that I feel more at home living among the people of the Far East than I do here?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s understandable. You spent the first fifteen years of your life over there.”

“Funny,” Layne mused, “Brad could never grasp that. He didn’t want to go, and we got into a terrific fight over it. Brad hated tears. He called them a sign of weakness. And I cried a lot because I wanted to go home, just for two weeks. To make a long, complicated story very short, Brad capitulated and we went to Hong Kong.” She shut her eyes against the memory. “If I had known that two months later he was to be killed,” she said softly, “I’d never have forced the issue with him. I would have done exactly as he wanted. I should have let him have his way….”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Matt murmured, catching her morose gaze. “After five years of marriage you had never returned home. Why shouldn’t he have allowed you that one request?”

Layne gave him a small smile. “Because we always went where he wanted to go on vacation, for each of those other four years.” She sighed, raising her dark head to look at him. There was an odd catch in her voice when she spoke. “You have a gentle way of getting me to put it into perspective, Matt. Thank you.”

The seconds spun effortlessly between them. Matt was aware of nothing in that moment except her. He felt a wrench in his chest, the blazing heat of desire uncoiling deep within his body. God, how he wanted her. “If you had been my wife,” he said huskily, “I’d have made damn sure that you’d gone home to the Far East long before our fifth year of marriage. The Orient is as much a part of you as flying jets is to me, we all need our own kind of emotional sustenance in order to be happy.”

“I agree with your analogy.” A soft smile lingered on Layne’s lips, and in her heart, as she tilted her head, drinking him in. There was an honesty to him that she’d never encountered in an agent before. “Are you working for the Company full-time?”

Matt shook his head. “No. Just on special projects. The rest of the time I do what I enjoy most—flying.”

“A career officer, no doubt?”

“Does it show?” he asked, grinning.

“Yes, but it’s becoming to you. You wear your authority well.” And I feel heady, dizzy and wonderful, she added mentally. How could one man unhinge her so quickly?

“Since that’s coming from an Air Force brat, I’ll say thank you.”

As Layne met his warm gaze, she felt a delicious wave of hunger course through her. She stared at Matt’s mouth, a mouth neither so thin as to be considered cruel nor so full as to be overtly sensual. But it was the way he used his mouth that entranced her. One moment the corners would be drawn inward as if he were experiencing some silent pain; the next, they’d be curved generously upward into a genuine smile meant for her alone. She remembered his kiss, the branding fire of his commanding mouth as it took total charge of her parting lips. How many times in the past forty-eight hours had she recalled those moments of intimacy between them?

“Listen, Layne,” Matt said quietly, breaking into her thoughts, “we’ve got to have your decision.”

She remained silent a long minute, studying him. The bright September sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling glass, back-lighting his head, broad shoulders and torso. He was an eagle ready to attack and a warrior from the past come to life again. He could be ruthless one moment, hot-blooded the next. She used her instincts, trying to probe beyond what he wanted her to read in his features. Fear raced through her, making her stomach clench in response.

“And if I don’t go? Will you still leave for Hong Kong without me?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know Chinese.”

“I’ll have to rely on British SI to help me.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll wait for Kang to contact me.”

“That will be dangerous, Matt. No one approaches the pirates in ignorance. These men are straight out of the late eighteen-hundreds. They wield knives and axes instead of guns and attack ships grounded by typhoons on those little islands out in the China Sea. And when they swarm aboard those ships, they kill.” She took a deep, unsteady breath. “And they never show mercy. You aren’t any match for them.”

Matt heard the tremor of fear in her voice. “Look, I’m not going to try to talk you into coming, Layne. Personally, I don’t want you along. It could get very dangerous.” His voice lowered to an intimate level. “I’d rather go alone and try to survive so I can come back and get to know you better.”

Layne twisted the linen napkin in her lap. The aching honesty in his voice made her believe that he would want to renew their acquaintance without the pressures now surrounding them. He was drawn to her, as she was to him. Layne tried to separate her romantic feelings from the unfolding drama. She knew the Chinese mind. And she suspected Matt was unprepared for the way they dealt with outsiders such as himself. If she didn’t go along…Pictures of him dying from knife wounds made her pale.

“Layne?”

“It’s nothing.”

Matt’s eyes flared with disbelief as he watched her face whiten beneath her tan. “No lies, remember? What’s wrong?”

“They’ll kill you. You’ll never get close to the lao-pan and his cutthroat clan. If you aren’t one of them, they’ll never accept you.” Layne raised her chin, meeting his concerned gaze, then held out her hand, palm toward him. A thin white scar crossed the entire palm. “When I was looking for Kang, I was told by the junk people in Aberdeen Harbor that he hated all foreign devils. His youngest son had been killed by the British police on Kowloon. The only reason I’m considered part of Kang’s family is because I helped his eldest son get admitted to a university in California. It was hoped that by educating Kang’s son in the United States, the Dragon Clan might eventually stop their marauding as more of their people were enlightened.”

“I see,” Matt murmured. “And Kang’s way of showing his thanks was to take a dagger to your palm?”

“It’s a ritual among the Dragon Clan. Only the lao-pan may allow an outsider who isn’t born of the clan to become a member of it. It was his way of honoring me—instead of lopping off my head.” She grimaced. “I wasn’t ecstatic about the idea, believe me.” She gave him an embarrassed look. “When he cut my hand, I fainted. When I came to, his wife had placed healing herbs on my wound and bandaged it. I’ve shed my blood and mingled it with his. I can walk with safety among his people. If you don’t have this mark, you’ll be killed. They allow no outsiders to live to tell the rest of the world about their fortresses on the different islands.”

Matt stared at the scar on her slender, artistic hand for a long moment, his lips tightening. “Didn’t Brad go with you when you searched for Kang?”

Layne shook her head, slowly lowering her hand and tucking it back into her lap. “No. He stayed at the Princeton for that week. I went to Macao in search of the pirates without him.”

Matt swore softly, his entire body tensing. “He let you go by yourself?” What kind of idiot was Carson? Matt would never have allowed Layne to go into that nest of thieves by herself!

“Yes.”

Matt put a leash on his anger, but it still came out in his lowered voice. “Well, I’ll tell you something. If you were my wife, you wouldn’t be traipsing off on some adventure without me. You could have been raped. Didn’t you consider the risks? Kang could have killed you—or worse, made you a slave. We’ve got enough background data on the pirates for me to know that much.” He let out a shaky breath, staring across the table at her. “What the hell kind of husband did you have?”

Layne’s mouth pulled into a sad smile. “It’s a long story, Matt. And too depressing.” She leaned forward, urgently. “Just as you never would have let me go by myself to find the pirates, I can’t let you go alone, either. The lao-pan wants to talk with me. He won’t harm you as long as I’m there. He owes me a debt. If a lao-pan owes you, he must honor whatever you ask for—that’s the unwritten Chinese code. And now I’ll collect on it by asking him to help you in whatever way necessary.”

Matt reached across the table, pulling her hands into his. “You’re a special woman, kitten. Now listen to me carefully, I can’t tell you much about this mission. It’s all top secret. And it could become dangerous. I worry about you…I’m sorry, but you’re not agent material, and that makes you vulnerable to attack from every quarter.” His thoughts grew turbulent. It was like leading a lamb to slaughter. And yet single-handedly Layne had tracked down the pirates and met them on their own turf. There was a hidden streak of courage within her. His fingers tightened around her hands. His brother and the avionics were lost somewhere among the scattered islands ruled by the pirates of the South China Sea. And this woman with the childlike trust in her eyes was the only one who could help them enter that violent, bloody world to find Jim, his copilot and those black boxes. He knew that if they fell into the wrong hands, it could set the U.S. back ten years in electronic surveillance and defense systems.

“I trust you, Matt,” Layne began quietly. “I swore I’d never get involved with another agency man. But you’re different.” She wet her lips, aware of the emergence of feelings she’d thought had died. “You’ll protect me. I know you’ll do your best. And I feel safe with you. I’ll go. Just take me back to my apartment and I’ll pack….”

She was coming! Matt stared at her, then gave her fingers one more squeeze before releasing them. “All right, let’s go. I’ll have all the papers and passports in order and pick you up tomorrow at 6:00 a.m.” Numbly, Layne pushed back her chair. All she knew was that she had no choice. Matt needed her, and she was going.

* * *

Even though she was expecting it, the knock at her apartment door made Layne start. She hefted the last bag into the living room and ran to answer the door. The last few hours she’d alternated between bouts of fear, doubt and hesitation. The opportunity to see Kang Ying again was exhilarating. But the ominous note surrounding Kang’s request left her with an icy feeling in her stomach. And then there was Matt Talbot, an operative. The sort of man she had sworn never to involve herself with again on any level. Yet she was drawn to him. Eagerly, Layne pulled open the door.

Matt stood there, leaning against the doorjamb. His smile said, Relax, everything will be all right. He was dressed in a pair of dark brown slacks, with a light blue shirt open at the collar. She liked the way his sport jacket accented his wide shoulders. Suddenly shy, she managed a smile, gesturing for him to enter.

“Come in, Major—”

“I think we’d better suspend the social formalities,” he suggested easily, halting among her three suitcases. “Call me Matt.”

Layne nodded nervously and shut the door. She wore a pair of designer jeans, low-heeled sandals and a sienna colored long-sleeved blouse that highlighted the color of her honey-brown eyes.

Matt gave her an appraising look that confirmed her choice of traveling clothes. “Scared?” he asked as he walked over to her.

“Yes. Does it show?”

“Just to me,” he soothed. “Everyone gets butterflies beforehand.” His mouth stretched into a softened smile. “I’ve got them, too.”

She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him. “You look capable of handling virtually anything, Maj—I mean, Matt.”

He was aware of her lilac perfume enhancing the warm scent of her body as he stood mere inches from her. “Looks are deceiving,” he warned her. “Stand still.” He saw a brief flicker of fear in her eyes as he reached behind her, gently loosening the confining pins that held her blue-black hair in the chignon.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you looked the first time I saw you?” he whispered huskily as he loosened the neatly twisted hair. The silken mass tumbled through his fingers to settle in a cloud around her shoulders and breasts, and he drew in his breath, aware of her femininity, her vulnerability where he was concerned. She did trust him, allowing him to caress her magnificent hair. “There,” he said, his cobalt eyes dark with veiled desire. “That’s how I like my wife—winsome, carefree and beautiful.”

Layne trembled beneath his touch. Her knees were weak from the caress of his fingers coaxing her unruly hair across her shoulders. Closing her eyes momentarily, she felt a throbbing intimacy leap between them. When Layne reopened her eyes, she drowned in the flaring azure of his, losing her heart to this inscrutable man who touched her soul as surely as the sun kissed the uplifted face of each flower. At a loss for words, she took a step away from him.

“Remember,” Matt went on gruffly, himself shaken at the sudden flare of intimacy, “you’re my wife, and we’re newlyweds. Anyone watching us would expect us to be in very close contact with each other.” A glimmer came into his blue eyes. “This is the only part of the whole charade that I’m going to enjoy.”

“What? Pretending that we’re married?” she heard herself protest. But Matt’s touch was anything but fakery. And Layne’s instincts told her his feelings were genuine despite the circumstances. She realized she was becoming badly rattled. She didn’t want to be helplessly ensnared by his male magnetism and that special flame of tenderness that surfaced whenever they were together.

Matt’s brow wrinkled slightly, his eyes growing darker with concern as he reached over, gently brushing her flushed cheek. “Where does pretending end and reality begin?” he mused. “Sometimes they overlap to become the truth.” A disarming smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “I told you before, kitten, you’re the stuff dreams are made of…the kind every man wishes would come true.” His brows moved downward and he caught himself as he saw shock register in her eyes. What had Brad Carson done to make Layne react like this? Perhaps aboard the plane on the way to Hong Kong, he would have time to explore some of the more personal facets of this complex woman.

Layne’s heart was pounding, and she lifted her hand to her breast. “This whole thing is a nightmare to me,” she warned him.

“Even the idea of being married to me?”

“It’s merely part of the plan. Nothing more!”

“And you aren’t going to enjoy it?”

“Damn you, Talbot! You watch your step. Just because we have to pose as man and wife doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to take any liberties.”

Matt’s smile broadened as he watched her bluster, because he knew how deeply he had affected her. He could tell by the gold fire burning in the depths of her wide, heart-stealing brown eyes and by the delicate flush of rose across her cheeks.

He pulled a small, dark green box from the inner pocket of his suit coat. “Let’s make this charade a little bit more genuine and permanent then, shall we? According to the records, we were married two weeks ago in a civil ceremony that was held in Alexandria, Virginia.” Matt claimed the hand that was resting against her breast and slipped on the rings.

Layne looked down, a gasp escaping from her. The diamond engagement ring and wedding band were fashioned out of old gold; the diamond had to be at least three carats. “Oh, Matt! They look—”

He placed the green box in a nearby desk drawer. “They belonged to my grandmother,” he explained, carefully noting the sentimental expression that replaced her shock. “She told me that if I ever found a woman who made me lose my train of thought and was in my mind every waking and sleeping moment, that I should give her these rings. And I just found such a woman.” He pulled other essential papers from the left breast pocket of his suit.

Layne gave him a stricken look as she gazed down at the rings. A rush of joy suffused her heart for one heady second before it was replaced by fear. Brad had been just as smooth with his words before they’d gotten married. Was Matt the same? Was he, perhaps, lying to her for the sake of the mission? Yet Brad and Matt seemed as different as a glacier and a gentle, crystal-clear stream. Matt’s warmth and care radiated outward to surround her. Brad had never made her feel like that. How could an agent—how could anyone—produce that sort of feeling if he didn’t mean it? Her heart said he couldn’t. Matt Talbot was more sincere and emotionally honest with her than any man she’d ever known. But even as she felt it, five years of the glacial past froze her fleeting joy. “I couldn’t possibly wear these. I mean, what if—”

Matt lifted his head, meeting Layne’s misty topaz eyes. Did she have any idea how vulnerable she looked? No, it was obvious she wasn’t aware of her charms as a woman. He halted his spiraling thoughts. Business was their first priority—and then…

“I promise you, there will be no lies between us, Layne,” he assured her. “The wedding rings are my personal property. And I can’t think of a lovelier woman to wear them. It’s a compliment, kitten, not a death sentence.”

Layne touched her brow. “I’m sorry, Matt. It’s just that so much is going on and—”

Matt placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. “You’re doing fine. Let’s get to some of the simpler details of this assignment.” Handing her the new passport, he pocketed his own. “Your last name is now Talbot, Layne. Mrs. Matthew Talbot. Here’s a copy of the letter from the magazine authorizing us to do a series of articles on the pirates. And here’s a copy of our reservations at the Princeton.” He smiled. “Women usually take care of these items, don’t they?”

Layne was too stunned to answer, numbly taking each item as he offered it, slipping them all into her shoulder bag. “I—well, yes. Usually.”

He nodded, placing his hands on his hips. The moment Layne saw that stance she knew that he was a fighter pilot; it was so typical of that breed of male to possess a languidly confident body language. And yet she could feel the tension radiating from him. But it wasn’t nervousness; it was coiled power like an inner spring waiting to be released. Oddly, she felt her own nervousness dissipate in the presence of his alertness.

“Ready?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She snapped her head up. “Yes, but I haven’t gotten in touch with my mother.”

“It’s being taken care of,” Matt soothed, realizing how affected she was by their departure. Layne was off balance, and he meant to restabilize her. He grinned, then moved toward her and took her hand. Layne relaxed visibly, then gave him a tremulous smile.

“I’m so nervous, Matt. I feel like I’m ready to explode inside. I worry about my mom. What will she think? She knows how I feel about anyone connected with the Company, and then I suddenly go off…” But Matt was on the move, checking over her apartment.

All windows locked, all lights off, Matt thought as he automatically completed his mental checklist. “Chuck will be driving over to see your mother at eight o’clock this morning to explain what’s going on,” he said, returning to Layne’s side.

Layne gave him a doubtful look. “All of it?”

Matt picked up the suitcases. “Some of it,” he amended. “Come on, kitten, let’s saddle up. We’ve got a quick flight out of D.C. to Kennedy. We’ll go through customs in New York, then board a Northwest Orient flight for Hong Kong.”

Layne said little on the way to the airport. Once there, Matt had a porter check all their baggage except for one huge camera case that he carried easily on his shoulder. Her heart leaped unexpectedly as he slid his hand into hers, leading her into the airport facility. He glanced down at her, a casual smile on his face. They were married, he had said. Remember—act like newlyweds. Layne squeezed his hand, remaining close to him, but when she looked up at him he seemed a million miles away, as if in deep thought. Then she realized he was scanning the endless crowd around them, tabulating, categorizing, weighing each individual who passed near them. A sense of tightly controlled power vibrated around Matt like charged electricity, and Layne felt somewhat awed by him. Occasionally his grip would tighten gently around her fingers, letting her know that everything was all right, that she had nothing to worry about.

But within her, Layne admitted to herself, nothing was right. Just the maleness of his hand capturing her damp, sweating fingers made her heart pound with a new, aching awareness. And in that moment she realized that Matt Talbot was far more dangerous to her newly awakening emotions than any outside danger. Layne tried to turn off the sudden thought that they would be sharing the same room. The same bed? She bit her lower lip nervously. It would certainly seem suspicious if they requested separate beds. And if she remembered correctly, there was a settee in each suite, but it wasn’t long enough to sleep on. What plans did Matt Talbot have for their first night abroad? she wondered.

Chapter 4

Customs at John F. Kennedy airport in New York City jangled Layne’s nerves. She tried to match Matt’s cool demeanor as they inched forward toward the customs inspector, but she fumbled nervously with the passport between her damp hands. What if they guessed she wasn’t Layne Talbot? What if they knew she was a fake? What if—

“Relax,” Matt murmured huskily, and he leaned down, placing a light kiss on her hair. His arm went around Layne’s shoulders, squeezing her reassuringly.

Layne glanced up and cast him a murderous look. “Do you realize what they’ll do to us if they find out that we’re not—”

Matt’s eyes grew tender as he surveyed her flushed features. “My flighty little bird. It’s all right. They won’t suspect a thing unless you tell them.”

“I’m just a case of nerves,” Layne admitted softly. Was this what agents felt like whenever they went undercover? She felt Matt draw her tightly against him, and she released a held breath. Right now, at this very moment, all Layne wanted to do was sink into the protection of his embrace.

“I know. It’ll all be over in a few minutes,” Matt whispered, resting his jaw against the silken threads of her hair. His voice lowered to an intimate growl. “You smell wonderful, lady, like a meadow filled with springtime flowers.”

Layne rested her head against his shoulder, responding to the caress of his voice. A faint smile edged her lips. “You’re a poet, Matt Talbot.”

She felt more than heard his soft laugh. “A poet and a soldier. Do the two fit?”

She raised her chin, melting beneath the warmth lingering in Matt’s eyes. “They must,” Layne murmured, confusion in her tone. “But I don’t understand it. How can you be—”

“Next.”

Matt picked up their luggage and gave Layne a quick smile. He ushered them to the waiting customs official. Before Layne could recover and grow tense again, they had been cleared.

“See,” Matt confided, satisfaction in his voice, “it was over before you knew it.”

“I’m glad,” Layne said, suddenly shaky.

“Layne, talk to me. What’s wrong? You’re trembling like a leaf.” One look into her wounded brown eyes made Matt want to sweep Layne into his arms and hold her close. He gave her a slight shake. “Layne?”

“I—It’s nothing. Nothing, Matt. I’m just not used to all of this…charade.” Layne forced herself not to lean against him. She managed a wan smile of reassurance. “Well, you yourself said I wasn’t cut out for the spy business.”

Troubled by her reaction, Matt pursed his lips. “Come on, I’ll get us checked in on the flight and then get you a drink. That will help you relax.”

The drink did more than settle her down. Layne had barely finished off the Scotch when the boarding for first class was called. By the time they had climbed the spiral staircase up into the “hump” of the jumbo jet, Layne was exhausted. Maybe Matt was right: this constant suspense and secrecy was far more stressful than she had expected. As she pushed her large, comfortable seat into a sleeping position, Layne knew it was more than the mission that was shaking her so.

Her violent reaction was partly the result of her realization that Matt touched her on levels that had never been brought to life within her before. Layne closed her eyes, allowing the anesthetizing power of the liquor to lull her toward sleep. Sleep would be a welcome escape from the unexpected turn her life had suddenly taken. Layne was only vaguely aware that Matt had retrieved a blanket and tucked her in as she snuggled deeper into the padded seat.

* * *

Layne awoke beneath the caress of Matt’s fingers as he lightly stroked tendrils of hair from her brow. Drowsily she forced her heavy lids to open only to find herself drowning in Matt’s azure eyes. Defenses down, Layne nuzzled against his palm now resting against the hollow of her cheek. This stranger invited familiarity.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Matt murmured huskily. “Come on….”

Was this how it would be if they slept together? Layne turned her cheek against his hand, resisting his request. In response, his mouth began to trail small, arousing kisses from her temple to her cheek. His breath was moist against her flesh, and Layne inhaled deeply of his masculine scent.

“Mmm,” she whispered, “you smell so good….”

Against his better judgment, Matt leaned down once more, his mouth finding her full, sleep-softened lips. Touching his lips to hers, Matt gently cajoled her into awakening. He probed each corner of her mouth, tasting her, reveling in her trust. A moan slid from Layne’s throat as he molded his mouth more firmly, parting her lips, stealing the breath from her body and replacing it with the fire of his longing. A small gasp of pleasure from those lips he now plundered fueled his desire, heating the icy core of doubt within him and making him believe in a future for them both. “Sweet,” Matt groaned against her lips, “like honey and flower nectar….”

Layne’s heart pounded wildly, fire racing through her as she drank from his strong, firm mouth. Her world tilted crazily, and she was aware of a fiercely tender man whose voice was thick with passion for her alone.

A marvelous blanket of languor filled her, and a tremulous smile touched her parted, glistening lips. “I’ve never been awakened with a kiss before….”

Matt shared an intimate look with her. “I think I’m going to make a habit of waking you like that,” he told her, a glint in his sky-blue eyes.

Layne blinked again, the magical quality of the moment receding as she became more aware of her surroundings. There were only fifteen reclining beds in the hump of the jumbo jet, and they were the only two people in the area. As Layne sat up, her hair tumbled with carefree abandon across her shoulders. The look of sheer pleasure on Matt’s face brought heat to her cheeks. He had crouched down beside her, his arms resting on the long, corded surface of his thighs.

“W-what time is it?” Layne asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“It’s 10:30 a.m. We’re still over Canada, heading up toward the North Pole before we start the downward leg of our journey.” He roused himself, giving Layne a tender look, and stood.

“Feel like something to eat? The stewardess keeps coming up here to feed us, and I think she’s beginning to feel rejected.”

Layne tipped her plush chair into an upright position, keeping the blanket around her lower body. Matt looked incredibly handsome standing above her, his hands resting on his narrow hips. She warmed beneath his smoldering gaze, still caught up in the evaporating magic of their shared kiss. And it had been a mutual kiss. “Let me wake up first,” she murmured.

“Take your time. I’m going downstairs to get us some juice. It’s always wise to eat lightly and drink plenty of liquids on a long flight like this.”

“Make mine tomato juice.”

Matt gave her a wistful smile. “Did you know how beautiful you are in sleep? Or in waking up?”

Layne’s eyes widened. “I—no…”

Matt walked to the stairs. “Well, you are, kitten. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Layne shakily got to her feet. She found, to her surprise, that Matt must have taken off her shoes after she’d fallen asleep. She stood and folded the blanket, placing it behind the seat, then retrieved her purse. Still in her stocking feet, she padded to the lavatory. Once there, she splashed her face with cold water, first to wake up, then to try to douse her fiery reaction to Matt’s last words.

Matt had arranged the juice on her chair tray when she emerged. Layne had deliberately taken her time in order to still her trembling fingers and racing heart. She had stared darkly at herself in the small mirror, giving herself a good lecture: He’s an agent, Layne. Never forget that! He’s used to using people. He has a talent for getting people like you to do what he wants.

“You look a little more awake,” Matt greeted her, sitting down in his recliner, which paralleled hers.

Layne grimaced and sat down. “I look better, you mean?” Nervously she slid the cool glass into her fingers, taking a sip of the tomato juice.

“No, lady, you couldn’t look better. You’re pretty in or out of sleep,” Matt assured her.

She gulped the juice, almost choking on it. Licking her lips of the salty liquid, Layne slid him a disgruntled glare. “Are you always so complimentary? Or does that go with the territory?”

Matt scowled. “I was being honest, Layne. Since when does honesty only come with certain territories?”

Gripping the tumbler, Layne stared down at it. “Brad once told me that sometimes when he lived a lie for very long, it became the truth for him,” she whispered. “He said it was that way for any operative who was undercover.” Lifting her head, Layne stared at Matt. “Yes, I question your compliments.”

Matt gauged the hurt mirrored in her eyes. How could he say, Look, you do something to me, Layne. I’m not sure what it is yet; all I know is that you make me feel like living and feeling again? If he admitted the truth, she would find it too hard to accept and call him a liar. Instead, he said, “I told you when we started this that there would be no lies between us, Layne. I’m keeping my word.”

There was a hint of apology in her husky voice. “And if I ask you about yourself? Would you still be honest?”

Matt nodded. “I’ll tell you what I can.” And then a brief smile eased his stern features. “Is this twenty questions?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why I want to know about you. You’re an agent.”

“I’m a human being first, Layne, a damn good test pilot second and a part-time agent third. But those last two are my vocations. They’re not the whole of me. Just like being a professor of Chinese doesn’t say who all of Layne Hamilton is.”

Layne relaxed beneath the timbre of his voice. “I’ll agree with you there up to a point. But Brad was the Company. His personality and vocation were identical. You couldn’t separate one from the other.”

“Tell me something, Layne. Did you ever mix with other Company wives or their families?”

She shook her head. “No. I have my academic circle of friends. Brad made it very clear that he didn’t wish to mingle with anyone else—my friends or the Company people.”

“He was a loner?”

Layne finished off the tomato juice, setting it on the tray. She pulled her legs up and placed her arms around her knees, then, resting her head against them, watched Matt through half-closed eyes. “Yes, he was a loner.”

“No friends?”

“Brad never felt the need for any. He was totally self-sufficient.” Layne grimaced. “Unlike me, who needed the help from family members and support from friends that he disdained as a sign of weakness.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So he never encouraged you to become part of the Company’s family support system?”

“A support system?” she scoffed. “Come on!”

“The Company encourages spouses to take schooling with the employees and generally helps the wives and families cope whenever possible. In one way, the Company resembles military family living and has a similar plan to that of the services.”

Layne looked at him in disbelief. So often the men in the military were away on duty and the wives had no one to turn to but one another. And if something needed to be repaired, the wife usually ended up fixing it. The lonely days, weeks and even months without a husband around to complete the family existence were eased by sharing with other military families in similar circumstances. “I doubt that.”

“Well, it’s a reality,” Matt countered.

“Brad never mentioned it.”

“He never brought home the newsletter that’s circulated monthly to show events that families can participate in?”

Some of her initial disbelief dissolved. “No….”

“Each area has a newsletter, Layne. There’s a human resource division within the Company concerned with the family of the employee. But if Brad didn’t have that newsletter sent to you, how could you know?”

Layne gave him a guarded look. “What are you trying to do? Soften my opinion of them? Or of you?”

“No. I just want to make you aware of some facts so that you can make a decision based upon more evidence than what you already have. You seem to have gotten everything through Brad—whatever he fed you, you swallowed.”

Anger stirred in Layne. “That’s right, I did. For five miserable years. One can of lies after another.”

Matt reached out, resting his hand lightly on her arm. “Brainwashing comes in many subtle forms, Layne. I met Brad Carson a couple of times. And I can tell you with great assuredness that he was unique among operatives.”

“Meaning?”

Matt didn’t wince at the tightness he heard in her voice. “Meaning he wasn’t like most of us. Listen to me, Layne. Brad lived in his own world of fantasies. He acted them out. He had one foot in the cold, harsh reality of spying and the other in his dreamworld. And because of that, Brad didn’t need any friends or—” he shrugged apologetically “—a family.”

Layne felt Matt’s fingers burning into her flesh. “After Brad was killed, I had an emotional breakdown.” Her voice quavered with the difficulty of dredging up the determinedly buried memories. “I blamed myself for his death. I thought I had caused it by insisting upon going to Hong Kong, to my real home, the Far East. He said he was stressed out and needed to get away. He wanted to go to Nassau and relax.” She struggled, momentarily unable to go on. But one squeeze of Matt’s fingers against her arm gave her the assurance to continue. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this—you’re a stranger…someone I met only days ago….”

“I care, Layne, and you know that. Regardless of what your past conditioning is screaming at you, your instincts are running true. You know I’m interested in your personal safety and welfare on this assignment. And the more I know, the better I can protect you.”

Layne blinked back sudden tears, refusing to meet Matt’s gaze. She pulled her arm from his grasp, burying her face in her hands. “The woman therapist I went to must have listened to twenty hours of my tears, guilt and reaction.”

“And what was her opinion?” Matt asked gently, wanting to reach out and comfort Layne. But right now, he knew she would misinterpret his action.

“That Brad was schizophrenic, living different lives and not being responsible to me or—”

“Or?”

Layne dragged in a deep, anguished breath and then released it. “Or the family I wanted.”

“Children?”

She nodded and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. “I love kids. Always wanted at least two of them.” Layne met his warming gaze, melting beneath it.

A gentle smile pulled at his mouth, and Matt reached over, lightly caressing her unruly cloud of black hair. “You’d make a wonderful mother.”

“Thank you,” Layne whispered, blotting her eyes. Then a sudden, disturbing thought struck her. “What does your wife think about your double life as pilot and agent?”

“Jenny never knew I was working for the Company.”

Layne’s chin tilted. She heard carefully shielded pain in his voice. “You sound as if…I mean, are you divorced or something?” He had stated it as if she were a part of his past.

Matt tore his gaze from her concerned expression. His mouth tightened. “Jenny died three years ago from leukemia, Layne.” Three years. Some days it felt like three months ago; others, three lifetimes.

Automatically, Layne reached out, her hand resting on his forearm. “I’m sorry…I had no right to pry.”

Matt lifted his chin, giving her a slight smile meant to reassure her. “With you, I don’t mind talking about it. Jenny and I shared six wonderful years together. We had a good marriage. She was a good woman.”

And you’re a good man, Layne added silently. Her heart wrenched in her breast as she saw the pensiveness in Matt’s features. Her fingers closed comfortingly on his arm.

“At least you had six years of happiness, Matt,” she whispered. “Most of the people in this world would give anything to have what you shared with Jenny.” Layne removed her hand and gave him a rueful shake of her head. “I’d have given a lot to have one day of that kind of happiness in my five years of marriage.”

Matt roused himself. “Hey, we’re getting maudlin, kitten. Come on, let’s get something to eat. There’s something I want to discuss with you before we call it a night.”

Chapter 5

Layne said little during their light lunch. She bypassed the heavier meat and starchy foods in favor of a salad and fruit.

“Want some dessert?” Matt asked, offering her the tempting chocolate cake.

“No, thank you.”

His blue eyes crinkled as he placed the porcelain plate bearing the cake slice on her tray. “Go on, you look like a gal who loves chocolate. Besides, you need to put on some more weight.”

The dessert did look delicious. Layne hesitated. “How could you know I like chocolate? Is that in my file, too?”

“No. Just a lucky guess.”

Layne gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him. “Somehow, Matt, I doubt if you leave anything to chance or luck.”

He placed his tray on an empty recliner and leaned back, stretching like a satiated lion after a satisfying meal. “Meeting you was pure luck, lady. Good luck.”

She picked up the fork, taking a tentative bite of the cake. It literally melted in her mouth. “Since when do test pilots rely on luck for anything?”

“I’m the first to admit that I don’t have full control over the universe. There’s an unseen element of luck or fate at work in everything.” He laughed pleasantly, relaxing by placing his hands behind his head. His blue eyes sparkled with warmth. “Fate outdid herself this time, though. I couldn’t have had a better partner on this assignment.”

Layne’s eyes flashed. “And just a few days ago you were saying I was little more than excess baggage on this trip. Get your story straight.”

Matt smiled good-naturedly. The petulant set of Layne’s lips did nothing but remind him of their earlier kiss. Matt groaned inwardly, remembering her softness, her responsiveness. Tucking those passionate memories away, he focused on her rebellious attitude toward him. “I never referred to you as excess baggage. I felt and still feel that you aren’t capable of defending yourself if it becomes necessary. What I meant was that I enjoy your company.”

Layne stabbed at the cake. “Well, I don’t like the idea of having you as a babysitter. But we each lack something that the other compensates for.”

He saw the stain of crimson coming to her cheeks and felt the urge to reach out and reassure her. But in her present feisty mood, Matt knew she wouldn’t stand for it, so he resigned himself to some more teasing. “This is one time I’m glad I don’t know a language.”

“You know, the Chinese are right—we are foreign devils.”

Matt laughed. “Foreign devils?”

Layne finished the cake, satisfied that she now had him off balance, and she was in control of the situation, for once. Placing the tray on another recliner, she stood up. Smoothing out the wrinkles gathering on her jeans, Layne paced around the large, enclosed area. “What did they tell you about the Chinese, Matt? Anything?”

He lost some of his humor and sobered. “Let’s put it this way: The lao-pan isn’t a very nice guy. If the pirates don’t like you, they get rid of you. They don’t have many morals.”

“Oh, they have morals; it’s just that you wouldn’t agree with them—or with how they see the rest of us.”

“I get the feeling the Chinese don’t like Americans.”

Layne did a few minor stretching exercises to loosen her muscles. “It extends beyond Americans, Matt, so don’t feel alone. The Chinese feel no one but their own kind can understand them. And anyone invading their country is considered a ‘foreign devil.’”

“Is that stigma ever erased?”

Layne shook her head. “No. As much as the lao-pan respects me, I’m sure he still distrusts and dislikes me because I’m not Chinese.”

“And yet, he made you part of their clan.”

“It’s an honor, to be sure.”

“The alternative isn’t particularly inviting.”

“Yes, they’d lop off my head.” She rubbed her arm, feeling goose pimples forming. “Kang is very clear about his rights as leader of his clan. They don’t regard killing someone with the same horror or outrage that an American would.”

“I suppose that’s all tied up with their Far Eastern philosophy of reincarnation?”

“Partly.”

Matt sat up and folded his hands between his thighs, a serious look on his face. “Are you sure they won’t hurt you, Layne?”

Layne stopped her pacing, giving him a startled look. His voice held a depth of worry and protectiveness that sent her heart reeling. “As long as I play by their code and laws, the lao-pan wouldn’t harm me. Why?”

He cocked his head, a cobalt darkness in his narrowing eyes. “Because there’s no way in the world I’m going to lose you, Layne. This mission is dangerous at every turn.” He briefly clenched his hands together, the knuckles whitening.

“I’ll be okay,” she assured him. “But it would help to know something about the mission, Matt. Can you tell me anything?”

His features became closed and unreadable. “Believe me, Layne, I’d tell you if I could.”

“Don’t give me that compartmentalized policy!” Her eyes grew amber with fury. “If I’m sticking my neck out on the same line as you, I should know what I’m walking into!”

Matt nodded. “Under any other circumstance, I’d agree with you, Layne.” He motioned for her to come and sit down next to him. At first, she just stared at him, then finally acquiesced. “Look,” he began in a quiet voice, “British Special Intelligence is in on this. And so is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Not to mention the other side of the coin, which consists of KGB and People’s Republic of China agents. Then we have the unknown entity in the guise of the pirates. As you said before, they live by their own codes and laws. They owe allegiance to no one.”

“Except to themselves. You’re sure that People’s Republic of China has agents trying to find whatever we’re after?” Layne asked.

“Positive.” He leaned back, closing his eyes momentarily. “Right now we’re walking into the biggest game in football.”

Layne tilted her head. “The Super Bowl?”

Matt opened his eyes, staring directly at her. A wry smile surfaced. “I’ll be the quarterback and you be my wide receiver. We’ll win this game.”

Her returning laugh was soft and lilting, stroking him like the delicate brush of a flower petal against his flesh. “Remember, I grew up in the Orient. I’m afraid I never liked football. Mind telling me what it’s about so that I have a more complete picture of what we’re getting into?”

Matt warmed to her team spirit. Layne could have said “what I’m getting into,” instead, she’d automatically included him. That was good. It might save their lives at some point in the future. “As a kid I played football. I was a quarterback in high school.”

“Sounds like you’re good at being a quarterback.”

“I am.”

“And were you a state champion?” Layne guessed. With his natural athletic grace, she imagined him being highly competitive.

“I usually won my games.” Matt grinned, then sobered. “And in this game, it’s you and me on one team and the pirates on the other. Only they’ll be throwing bullets or knives instead of a harmless ball.”

Her flesh grew cool, and Layne lost her smile. “What are our chances, Matt?”

He heard the tremor of fear veiled in her husky voice. “Better with you along, that’s for sure.”

“Don’t evade my question. That’s a Company tactic.”

Matt winced inwardly at the pleading in Layne’s voice. “All right,” he began grimly, “we stand a thirty-seven percent chance of completing this mission.”

“That’s what the computer has projected?”

“Yes.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question entirely.”

His gaze rested on her. Again, Matt saw the flicker of a woman who could possess great leadership ability if she chose to bring it out and utilize that facet of herself. “We could get killed by KGB or PRC or the pirates.”

“Not the pirates.”

Grimly, Matt pursed his lips into a thinner line. “Look, we’re not even sure if your lao-pan has what we want. There are other pirate clans out there in those hundreds of islands. And not all of them are friendly with one another. If it has fallen into other hands, we may need the lao-pan’s help in getting it from another of his factions. That would mean exposing ourselves to yet another enemy. It’s not a pretty picture, Layne.”

“Dammit, tell me what ‘it’ is, Matt! I’m tired of this pussy-footing around the object or thing we’re supposed to get or find.”

“You’ll know soon enough after we contact the lao-pan, Layne. But not until then.”

She glared at him. “Well, I’ve got some of it figured out. You’re a pilot. Someone who’s testing state-of-the-art aircraft. The Company wouldn’t be sending you over here unless a plane of some sort was involved. I haven’t seen anything in the paper to indicate that one of our aircraft has been shot down. So, it must be a reconnaissance aircraft. Or something our government was secretly testing that couldn’t be tracked by radar. The RAVEN bomber is such a plane.”

Matt gave her a grudging look of admiration. “Your father didn’t raise you to be a dummy, did he?”

“My dad taught me to think on my feet,” she returned sharply.

“Well, it isn’t a RAVEN, so forget about that angle, Layne.”

“All right,” she continued, her eyes bright, “a reconnaissance aircraft. An SR-71 B-2. Maybe a U-2. Probably a B-2 because I know they fly that area off the coast of China, monitoring Russian as well as Chinese activity.”

He said nothing, holding her challenging glare. He longed to share his fears and tell her that it was his younger brother whose life hung in the balance. Hell, he didn’t even know if Jim was alive or dead. “No lies, Layne. I can’t confirm or deny your conjectures.”

Layne leaned forward, bare inches separating them. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the dizzying male scent of him, and it excited her. But she dove on, heedless of the dangerous tension that coiled invisibly around him. “A bird goes down. If it’s a B-2 that means two pilots are involved. If it was a U-2, one pilot. Either way, there are lives at stake. Highly trained pilots who are the cream of the Air Force’s crop carrying the most vital avionics technology in their heads. I’m sure the KGB would love to get their hands on our pilot and pull the secrets out of him.”

She saw Matt’s flesh tighten around his cheekbones and mouth, the color draining from his face. Layne instinctively retreated as he slowly turned his head, his thundercloud black eyes pinning her savagely.

“Leave it alone, Layne,” he ground out. “Back off.”

Shaken, Layne stared openmouthed for a second, assimilating the anguish behind his warning. Matt’s hands were white-knuckled on the arms of the recliner. He appeared as if he were going to explode any second—at her. Taking in a gulp of air, Layne rapidly gathered her sharded thoughts. Matt was too emotional, which verified that she was very close to the truth. But no spy ever allowed the feelings that Matt displayed to surface. And that left her shaken. Was he really a test pilot working for the Company as only a part-time and rarely triggered second vocation? A part of her heaved a great sigh of relief if that were true; another part froze in abject fear. Matt was too human, then, for her own good. All that kindness and sensitivity in him was a natural extension of his true self—not some act to manipulate her like a pawn.

“Matt, I—”

“Drop it, Layne.”

“But—”

He turned and faced her squarely, his features hard. “Not another word about it, Layne.”

She reared back, fury etched in every feature of her face. “Don’t try to treat me like some child! Brad tried that, too. I won’t be parented. You either treat me like an adult or else.”

“Quit overreacting and comparing me to Carson, dammit! I’m a hundred and eighty degrees opposite to him in every way. If you want this mission to go smoothly, you’d best start learning to trust and judge me as an individual, not as some counterpart of your late husband. I’m going to need your help, not your reactions.” His eyes lost some of their initial hardness, his voice softening. “Don’t fight me, Layne. Sometimes I have to stop myself from telling you everything. God knows I want to, but it’s impossible right now.” Matt reached out, his fingers wrapping strongly around her cold, damp hand. “Please trust me. It’s the only thing that will keep us both alive during this mission. You’ve got to put your back up against mine as the enemy circles us. You’ve got to sense intuitively if I need your help or assistance. Don’t keep needling me on what I can’t divulge to you. You’ll know soon enough.”

A ribbon of shame flowed through Layne. This was the man Matt Talbot trying to reason with her, his voice trembling with conviction and concern. His hand was dry and warm and strong around her own. She chewed on her lower lip, feeling guilty. “I only wanted to say, before you kept interrupting me, that you were awfully emotional. And that isn’t like a Company man.”

Matt turned her hand over, studying her long, slender fingers. “And I don’t spy for a living, Layne. I told you that before. This is a second job. One that I’m rarely called on to perform. If I had wanted to join the Company on a full-time basis, I’d have done it years ago. But flying is my life.”

A small smile fled across her lips. “Your mistress?”

Matt managed a slight, strained laugh. “Yeah, I suppose you could call it that. I have the Air Force for a mother-in-law and my aircraft as a mistress.”

Layne was acutely aware of his thumb tracing lazy circles in the palm of her hand, sending delightful tingles sizzling up her arm. Reluctantly she disengaged from his provocative touch, fighting a powerful desire to remain ensconced within his care. “My dad used to say he had the best of all worlds combined—a mother-in-law that understood his love of flying, a mistress who constantly challenged him and a wife who loved him, faults and all.”

“Yeah, I can identify with that,” Matt agreed huskily. “

What did your wife think of your test-piloting career?” Immediately Layne chastised herself; she was getting personal again. But the gnawing ache of wanting to know more about Matt simply dissolved those walls she had always hidden behind.

Matt began to uncoil and relaxed in the recliner, keeping his blue gaze steadily on her. “Jenny worried a lot. I even took her down to the operations building at Edwards Air Force Base and showed her the preparation behind a flight.” He shrugged. “It didn’t seem to allay her fears, but only increased them because she wondered if more errors couldn’t be built into a test on any given flight.”

Layne smiled. “That’s interesting, because my dad did the same thing for my mom and me.”

“And?”

“We both quit worrying a great deal about Dad’s flights.” Her brows drew into a pained position. “But a bird killed him anyway.”

“What happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

Layne rallied beneath his roughened tone. “He was testing the fuel distribution pumps in both wing tanks on a prototype. I guess too much fuel was pumped into one wing when a valve stuck in the open position and there was no instrument to warn him of what had happened. The weight caused the plane to go into a dive, and Dad couldn’t pull it out in time. He ejected at the last moment but the chute was shredded by the speed of the descent.” Her voice lowered. “They told us later that he didn’t feel a thing.” Layne shuddered, reliving that October day.

“He wouldn’t have—believe me, kitten.”

She raised her head, lost in the blue of his eyes. “How long have you been testing?”

“Four years.” “

I suppose you love it?”

Matt nodded. “Yes.”

“I think you like living dangerously.”

“But I don’t see it as dangerous, Layne. Safety is the key phrase.”

“And the rest is luck—or fate.”

“There’s that unaccounted-for ten percent that can go for or against you.”

She rested her chin on her clasped hands, a faraway look in her eyes. “That’s odd, Dad always said the same thing.”

“Look at it this way, Layne. Fate brought us together. I feel like the luckiest man in the world getting introduced to you. Sometimes fate twists in the right direction.”

“You’d better hope it doesn’t turn its back on us, Matt Talbot.” “And you’re blushing, Layne Hamilton.”

She fretted, then rose. “I’m having a tough time dealing with your honesty, Major.”

He grinned. “Better get used to it. I’m out to prove to you that even though I work for the Company, there can be such a thing as candor in an agent.”

“What’s the game plan once we land in Hong Kong, Matt?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I’ll take you to the hotel and then I’ll meet with British SI and the Company people.”

“To be briefed?”

He nodded. “All contingents will be there.” “

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