The thought of losing her scared him.

Damn it, where was she? He had to find her. When he did, there would be no more lies between them. He’d tell her the truth about everything—about Legate, the surveillance and Jeremy’s death.

Amid the pedestrians on the opposite side of the street, he caught a glimpse of white-blond hair. Anya! He dashed across the street toward her.

Though she appeared to be alone, Roman couldn’t be sure. The CIA might have her under surveillance. And there was always the danger that Legate security was watching.

He should have been more subtle in his approach, but he couldn’t hold back. His instinct was to protect her, to gather her up and take her somewhere safe. He touched her arm, reassuring himself that she was real.

When she gazed at him, her blue eyes were watery and confused. “Roman? What are you doing here?”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Temperatures are rising this month at Harlequin Intrigue! So whether our mesmerizing men of action are steaming up their love lives or packing heat in high-stakes situations, July’s lineup is guaranteed to sizzle!

Back by popular demand is the newest branch of our Confidential series. Meet the heroes of NEW ORLEANS CONFIDENTIAL—tough undercover operatives who will stop at nothing to rid the streets of a crime ring tied to the most dangerous movers and shakers in town. USA TODAY bestselling author Rebecca York launches the series with Undercover Encounter—a darkly sensual tale about a secret agent who uses every resource at his disposal to get his former flame out alive when she goes deep undercover in the sultry French Quarter.

The highly acclaimed Gayle Wilson returns to the lineup with Sight Unseen. In book three of PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD, it’s a race against time to prevent a powerful terrorist organization from unleashing unspeakable harm. Prepare to become entangled in Velvet Ropes by Patricia Rosemoor—book three in CLUB UNDERCOVER—when a clandestine investigation plunges a couple into danger….

Our sassy inline continuity SHOTGUN SALLYS ends with a bang! You won’t want to miss Lawful Engagement by Linda O. Johnston. In Cassie Miles’s newest Harlequin Intrigue title—Protecting the Innocent—a widow trapped in a labyrinth of evil brings out the Achilles’ heel in a duplicitous man of mystery.

Delores Fossen’s newest thriller is not to be missed. Veiled Intentions arouses searing desires when two bickering cops pose as doting fiancés in their pursuit of a deranged sniper!

Enjoy our explosive lineup this month!

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor, Harlequin Intrigue

Protecting the Innocent
Cassie Miles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Exercise is not a favorite occupation for Denver resident Cassie Miles, but she does try to walk every morning. On one snowy morning, she was “exercising” with a friend in Cherry Creek Mall. They paused to fill out a contest entry form at Neiman Marcus, and her friend won a first-class trip for an afternoon tea at any Neiman Marcus store. They chose San Francisco. This trip provided much of the research for Protecting the Innocent, though neither of these ladies found true love. Room service at the Ritz-Carlton was a great consolation prize.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Roman Alexander—The dashing head administrator at the Legate Corporation think tank leads a dangerous double life.

Anya Bouchard Parrish—After her husband’s death, she seeks the simple pleasures of life. Instead, she finds intrigue and danger.

Charlie Parrish—Anya’s five-year-old son is gifted with genius-level intelligence.

Jeremy Parrish—Anya’s scientist husband died in a suspicious accident. Was it murder?

Fredrick Slater—The head of the Legate Corporation seeks the “greater good” and ignores the consequences.

Dr. Lowell Neville—The company psychiatrist engages in questionable research procedures.

Wade Bouchard—Anya’s idealistic father abandoned the family when she was a child.

Claudette Bouchard—Anya’s brilliant mother is retired from a demanding career as an international consultant.

Jane Coopersmith—The Legate receptionist knows everything about everybody.

To Lesly Pogrew Terrance, a winner.

And, as always, for Rick.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Prologue

Roman Alexander ran alone on the packed sand of the narrow beach. A patina of morning dew coated the surface of his thermal black running suit and dampened his thick black hair. He picked up the pace, churning through the heavy fog off San Francisco Bay, running harder. Exercise without exertion was useless. To build his strength and stamina, he challenged his physical limits.

Changing stride, he ascended the eighty-seven winding stairs up the cliffside to the grounds of the Legate Corporation. At the top, he hit the asphalt footpath, which was exactly five point eight miles in length.

Across the rolling lawn, he could see the outline of the main headquarters, a sprawling gray stone mansion built more than a hundred and twenty years ago on this prime bay-front real estate south of Oakland. When he first came to work here as chief administrator and vice president, he thought of the mansion as a castle. Legate was his realm—one of the foremost think tanks in the nation. Their motto was For The Greater Good. And Roman had believed it. Years ago. Now, those gray stone walls seemed as ominous as the guard towers of a prison.

At Building Fourteen near the front entrance to the gated grounds, he took a detour, slowed his pace to a jog and entered. This squat, ugly structure—little more than a barracks—had always been intended as a temporary headquarters, and tomorrow the physicists and biochemists who worked here would complete their transfer to a large, state-of-the-art permanent facility nearer the mansion.

The sterile white hallway bisecting Building Fourteen was cluttered with packing crates. Many had already made the move.

Roman shoved open the door to an office beside the biochemistry lab. As he expected, Jeremy Parrish was still here, hard at work. He was a good man, a trusted friend. Sitting behind his desk, he scribbled furiously in a spiral notebook.

“Use the laptop,” Roman said.

“Gotta see it on paper first.” Without looking up, Jeremy kept writing.

“Should I instruct the movers to crate you up and carry you across the grounds?” Roman asked.

With a flourish, Jeremy completed his notation. He seemed ill. His complexion had taken on a sickly pale sheen, like the underbelly of a trout.

“You’re working too hard,” Roman said. “You look like hell.”

“No big deal. There’s some kind of flu floating around the lab.”

It was an incredibly vague comment from a respected scientist with a doctorate in biochemistry, a man who regularly dealt with complex viral and bacterial infections.

“Besides,” Jeremy said, “I want to complete this project fast so I can get back to Denver.”

His gaze slid across the cluttered desk to a photograph of his wife, Anya, and their four-year-old son. Roman picked up the framed picture of a healthy toddler and a bashfully smiling woman with long, straight, white-blond hair. He’d always admired Anya. Though she appeared delicate and ephemeral, her blue eyes snapped with intelligence and humor. She was always ready to laugh, always up for a challenge. If she hadn’t married his friend, Roman might have gone after her for himself, giving up his reputation as one of the most eligible bachelors in the Bay Area. “You’re a lucky man, Jeremy.”

“Don’t I know it. I never thought I’d be able to have children. And little Charlie—” He broke off, coughing. “That kid is the light of my life.”

Little Charlie was the primary reason Jeremy had agreed to work at Legate on specialized projects. It was Legate’s discoveries and experimentations that had paved the way for Anya’s successful in vitro fertilization.

When Jeremy coughed again, Roman said, “That sounds bad. You should take some time off.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Jeremy forced a grin. “Is it possible? Is Roman Alexander, the administrative slave driver, suggesting that one of his scientists take time off?”

Roman grinned back at him. Very few people would dare to smart mouth to him. But his relationship with Jeremy was different. They’d known each other since they were both on the high school track team. Roman achieved a statewide record in the 500 meters that remained unbroken. Jeremy had been a pole vaulter.

“Somebody has to look after you eggheads,” Roman said. “If I didn’t come over here and rattle your test tubes occasionally, you’d forget to eat.”

“I’ll have this project done by the end of the week. Then I’ll have a month, maybe two, in Denver with Anya and Charlie.”

“Or you could book a flight out today,” Roman suggested. “This formula of yours isn’t exactly a world-shattering priority.”

“I beg to differ. This antiseptic cleansing agent will prevent infection, especially in makeshift Third World clinics where—”

“It’s soap, Jeremy.”

“Maybe you’re right. I should go home and get well.” He sat behind his desk. “Right after I finish this last computation. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.”

If Roman had a woman like Anya waiting for him, he’d have flown out the door. He waved goodbye to his dedicated friend. “Say hi to Anya and Charlie for me.”

“You bet.”

Roman left the office and dodged around the clutter in the hallway. After this move was complete, he might take a little time off himself. He needed a break, and the sexy lady lawyer he’d been dating had dropped a couple hints about how much she’d enjoy a long weekend of skiing in Squaw Valley.

Outside, the fog had lifted only slightly. The promise of another dank, dreary day made the sunlit ski slopes with glistening white snow seem even more appealing.

Halfway up the incline toward the mansion, the ground rumbled beneath his custom-made running shoes. An earthquake? Then he heard the explosions.

Building Fourteen shattered in three bursts of red flame. Bits of glass shimmered in the sudden intense heat. Chunks of concrete from the foundation soared then crashed to earth. The wooden frame of the building splintered into matchsticks.

Acting on instinct, Roman charged back toward the lab, toward the door he’d left only moments ago. But there was no door. No building. Only a raging wall of flame. He darted close, but the heat drove him back, stinging his eyes. Harsh black smoke seared his lungs.

He had to get inside the fire. It was his job to take care of these scientists. He wouldn’t let them die. He ducked down and crawled closer.

Crimson embers burned holes in his running suit. Nothing could survive this heat, but he had to try, had to impose his iron will on the force of the explosion.

Someone pulled him back. Dizzy from inhaling the acrid smoke, Roman didn’t have the strength to resist. He sat back on his heels and stared.

Jeremy! God, no! This can’t be.

Chapter One

“This is what Jeremy wanted.” Claudette Bouchard spoke in her usual authoritative tone.

“I know, Mother.” Anya Bouchard Parrish stared down at her hands, folded calmly in her lap as if her heart weren’t racing.

“These were your husband’s instructions.”

Her mother paced in the executive office at the Legate mansion on her birdlike legs. Claudette was a petite, tidy woman—utterly organized, from her color-coordinated pumps to her French twist hairdo.

Next to her mother, Anya always felt like a clumsy giantess though she was only five feet eight inches tall. She pushed a messy wing of blond hair away from her cheek.

Claudette snapped, “Why are you hesitating?”

Because Anya still couldn’t believe that her loving, sensitive husband had made these provisions in his will without mentioning his plans to her. Why? Why hadn’t they discussed this?

Her gaze lifted, and she stared across the marble desktop toward Fredrick Slater, the founder and CEO of the Legate Corporation. Beneath his steel-gray mane, Slater’s craggy features softened as he regarded her with sympathy—an expression that had become all too familiar. Anya was a thirty-two-year-old widow with a five-year-old son. Everyone felt sorry for her; none could assuage her grief.

“Anya,” her mother said impatiently. “We’re all trying to do the right thing. For Charlie’s sake.”

The right thing? A bitter sigh died in her throat. Nothing had been “right” since Jeremy was killed eight months ago in Building Fourteen on these very grounds. She might have blamed Slater for the tragedy that claimed the lives of four scientists and two maintenance people, but the explosion was investigated and deemed an accident. While Building Fourteen was in the process of being closed down, the gas main was supposed to be disconnected. But there was a leak. And then…

Without wanting to, she imagined the burst of flame, the shattering force of utter annihilation—a vision that haunted her nightmares. Roman’s description had been too vivid, but she’d asked him to tell her about it. She needed to know the details, to somehow understand this horrifying, incomprehensible disaster.

The stillborn sigh escaped her lips. Sometimes, her loss weighed like an anchor, dragging her down. Anya didn’t know how she would have made it this far without Roman’s unflagging support.

Eight months ago, he accompanied the casket with Jeremy’s charred remains back to Denver for the funeral. Though she knew Roman was a busy executive, he took time off from Legate and stayed in Denver for weeks, entertaining Charlie and offering his shoulder for her to cry upon. She’d drawn from his strength.

More than anyone else, he shared her sorrow. After he returned to Legate, his e-mails and phone calls were always a comfort, seeming to come at those moments when she missed Jeremy the most.

She thought it odd that Roman hadn’t contacted her when she and Charlie arrived last night. Their plane was met at the Oakland Airport by a Legate limo.

She looked toward Slater and asked, “Where’s Roman?”

“Out of town,” he said. “We had an emergency in L.A. that required his immediate attention.”

“Will he be back today?”

“Most likely.” Leaning forward on his desktop, Slater laced his fingers together. Though he wasn’t a big man, his hands were large with fingers so long, he was probably capable of playing Rachmaninoff. “Do you have specific questions, Anya?”

“A few.” She rose from the leather chair facing his desk and went to the arched, second-story window overlooking the Legate grounds. The October grass had faded, and the live oak and elm had begun to turn. Though she couldn’t see the waters of the bay beyond the forested landscaping, moisture hung in the air, creating an idyllic mist.

Directly below the window was a hedge maze, and she spotted Charlie. Her small son dragged the woman who had been assigned to keep an eye on him through the twisting pathways toward a marble fountain in the center. Charlie paused for only a second at each turn, calculating the probabilities that led to the correct route. He made few mistakes and never once retraced an error.

A fond smile touched Anya’s lips, and her heart swelled with pride. Her son was exceptionally bright with an IQ at the genius level. Not that his high intelligence was a surprise. Jeremy had been brilliant. Anya’s mother had an M.D. and Ph.D., and her father was a physicist—as brilliant as he was irresponsible, having abandoned her and her mother before Anya’s third birthday.

Claudette fluttered up behind her. “Stop wasting time. You need to sign these documents.”

Stubbornly, Anya continued to stare through the window. This was an important decision, and she wouldn’t be rushed. “Please don’t think I’m ungrateful, Mr. Slater. Your offer is generous and, I’m sure, well-intentioned.”

“Not completely unselfish,” he admitted. “If Charlie is educated here, under the tutelage of Legate instructors, I believe your son will evolve into one of the finest minds of this century.”

“But will he have the chance to be a kid?”

Her mother scoffed. Claudette never put much stock in the everyday pleasures of childhood. “That’s such nonsense.”

“But important to me.” Anya turned away from the window to face her mother. “Kids need to be able to spend an afternoon lying in the grass and staring up at the clouds. Getting dirty. Playing baseball. Maybe even being a pole vaulter like his dad.”

“We have facilities for extracurricular activity,” Slater said. “You’ve already seen the stables and the swimming pool.”

“Right.”

“And if you want Charlie to spend time cloud-gazing, that’s fine. You’re in charge of his free time. You’re still his mother.”

“What about playtime with other children?” Anya asked.

“As you know,” Slater said, “we have five other children in the program.”

Anya knew that the five other kids ranged in age from four to seven. All had been carefully screened before being accepted into the Legate program. All had IQs at the genius level.

“I can’t imagine why you’re hesitating,” her mother said. “If you stayed in Denver, you’d likely have to go back to work, and Charlie would be wasting his time in a day-care center. Think of your son, Anya. My grandson. He deserves the chance to develop his full potential.”

But this arrangement seemed unnatural. Even though Anya would retain her guardianship of Charlie, Legate would take care of everything else. They’d educate him and provide a home for both of them. Anya would even be paid a stipend. For what? For being his mother? She hated that idea.

“What about my life?” she said. “What if I decide to get married again?”

“Didn’t you read the contract?” her mother asked. “You aren’t indentured. Any time you wish to withdraw from this arrangement, you simply repay Legate’s expenses and leave.”

“I know,” Anya said. She’d studied that clause and had checked it out with a lawyer who didn’t anticipate a problem. Anya’s payout from her husband’s life insurance policies had left her with a substantial savings account to pay off any debts incurred to Legate.

In contrast to her mother, Slater was gently persuasive. “Last night, you stayed at the cottage where you and Charlie will live. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s large enough to accommodate a husband. In fact, Jeremy picked it out himself.”

It was obvious that Jeremy wanted this opportunity for their son. How could Anya say no?

Slater continued. “If you marry and have other children, we’ll make arrangements for a larger house.”

The likelihood of Anya reproducing again was slim. She never would have gotten pregnant without the experimental fertilization procedures developed by Legate.

Her mother was right. Why waste time worrying about an improbable future? The important thing—right now—was to provide the very best for Charlie.

She walked to the desk and picked up the pen. Her gaze scanned the tightly written pages. She’d read them so many times that the words were memorized. Why was she so reluctant to sign this contract?

“Perhaps,” Slater said, “you’re worried about how you’ll spend your time while Charlie is in school.”

The thought had crossed her mind. “I thought I might find a teaching position in the area.”

“Allow me to make you an offer,” he said with a wide, benevolent smile. “I’m familiar with your credentials in linguistics.”

Anya had conversational skills in dozens of dialects and had taught high school Spanish, French and Japanese as well as doing translations. “So you have a job for me?”

“Legate is an international operation. We have a regular need for translators. Full-time and part-time.”

“I accept.”

She’d have employment. Charlie would have playmates and a fantastic education. The facilities here were outstanding. The cottage was charming. It seemed too good to be true.

Anya lowered the pen to the paper and signed all three copies of the contract.

AT THE CIRCULAR DRIVEWAY in front of the Legate mansion, Roman guided his silver Mercedes-Benz into his parking space near the entrance. The drive from the airport had done nothing to lessen his frustration. He charged across the flagstones. It was no coincidence that a supposed emergency occurred in Los Angeles at the same moment Anya and Charlie arrived in San Francisco. Slater had manufactured that excuse; he meant to keep Roman away from Anya.

Had she signed the contract? There was no way Roman had been able to warn her of the dangers—not without blowing his cover and jeopardizing his investigation.

In the lavish foyer of the mansion, he approached the antique desk that was headquarters for Jane Coopersmith—possibly the only receptionist in the world with a photographic memory.

“Good afternoon, Jane.”

Peering up at him through goggle-size eyeglasses, she gave a curt nod. “Roman.”

She presented him with several little message notes, held between her thumb and forefinger. On top was one from Dr. Neville, head of the Legate psychiatric division, marked “Urgent” and underlined three times. Too bad. Neville would have to wait.

“Where can I find Mrs. Parrish and her son?”

Without consulting notes, she said, “Stables.”

Not a conversationalist, Jane observed and recorded information more efficiently than any computer. But Roman didn’t make the mistake of treating her like a machine. His smile was warm enough to melt butter. “You’ve always got the answer, Jane. What would this place be without you?”

“Chaos,” she said with a slight thaw.

He exited through the rear of the mansion, passing the employee dining area where the remains of a catered buffet lunch were being cleared.

Whenever Roman was on the grounds, he assumed he was under surveillance. Like everyone else, his phones were bugged and his computer was monitored. The Legate security system made the Pentagon seem lax. Of course, precautions were necessary; Legate dealt with a lot of top secret projects for the U.S. government and other regimes worldwide. However, the intensity of the surveillance was due to Slater’s need to control every detail. Anything and everything was reported to him. Nobody sneezed without Slater receiving an alert.

When Roman was here, his guard was up. It was vital that he maintain the illusion of being a loyal administrator. But it made life damned inconvenient.

Though he’d contacted Anya, he hadn’t been able to honestly discuss the proposed contract with her. Even if they had been able to talk on a secure basis, he couldn’t provide factual evidence that Legate was up to no good. To all appearances, the contract was a great opportunity for Charlie. But Roman’s instincts told him it was wrong for her to be here.

He hurried past the maze toward the stables. Then he saw her. Astride a dappled mare, Anya rode at the edge of the trees. Her long, silky blond hair swirled in the breeze, and she was laughing—more carefree than he’d seen her since Jeremy’s death.

Riding at a gentle pace, she held Charlie in front of her on the saddle. The mother and son were beautiful together. The boy’s hair was a darker blond and his eyes were gray, but he was clearly a part of her. Roman felt an aching need to gather them both in his arms and carry them away from here, away from all these damned intrigues.

She saw him and waved, guiding the horse expertly toward him. As they approached, Charlie bounced in the saddle, talking a blue streak. “Hi, Roman. We’re here, and I’m going to learn how to ride all by myself. This horse is Peggy for Pegasus, but she doesn’t really know how to fly.”

Anya reined the mare to a stop beside him. The smallish palomino was well trained and groomed to perfection. Everything at Legate was first-class.

Charlie dived off the saddle into Roman’s arms. “Make me a helicopter,” Charlie demanded.

Roman lifted him high and twirled him around in circles before placing him on the ground.

With a giggle, Charlie shook off his dizziness and said, “We’re going to live here.”

“Are you?”

“I’m going to learn how to build my own helicopter and other stuff, too. And then…”

As Charlie continued to chatter, Roman looked up at Anya. Silhouetted against the sky, her eyes were a breathtaking blue. The exertion of their horseback ride flushed her cheeks. Erect in the saddle, she was tall, long-legged and fantastic.

Gracefully, she dismounted. Holding the bridle, she gave Roman a one-armed hug that was altogether unsatisfying. He wanted to feel her body molded against his, to stroke her slender shoulders and the curve of her waist.

“I decided,” she said. “I signed the contract.”

He nodded, wishing he could tell her she’d done the right thing. “There wasn’t any other choice.”

“And I’m going to be working here as a translator. I guess that means you’re my boss.”

An interesting twist. Slater must have realized that Anya would be bored without employment. Plus, if she worked here, Legate had even more control of her life. “I should warn you that I’m very demanding.”

“No problem.” Her nose crinkled as she grinned. “I’m very good.”

Charlie bounced up beside them. “Put me back on Peggy. I want to ride some more.”

“Whoa, Charlie,” Anya chided. “Even cowboys are polite.”

“Please, Roman,” he said. “I want to ride more.”

He lifted the boy into the saddle. “It’s hard to keep your balance so you hold on to this thing right here. It’s called a pommel.”

“Got it,” Charlie said. “Let’s go, cowpoke.”

Roman brought the reins around to the front to lead the mare back toward the stable. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the microwave dishes installed above an outbuilding. Every word of their conversation could be picked up. Surveillance cameras from three different angles might be watching.

Anya strolled beside him. “This arrangement is going to be perfect. I don’t know why I hesitated so long before signing the contract.”

“It’s a big change, moving from your home in Denver.”

“I’ve moved before. Often. I went to four, no, five different high schools. We had to go where Mother’s consulting work took us.”

“How is Claudette?” Roman didn’t like Anya’s mother. She was as cold as an ice cube, the very opposite of her emotion-driven daughter.

“Mother rented a house across the bay. I guess she’s planning to stay in San Francisco for a while.”

“To be close to you and Charlie.”

“Seems odd.” She gave a tight laugh. “Claudette isn’t exactly the doting type.”

“Not a cookie-baking grandma?”

“No way. I don’t think she’s ever even read a fairy tale, much less believed in one.”

“But you do.”

“Yup.” She tossed her head, sending a ripple though her hair. The sunlight picked out strands of pure platinum. “I believe in fairy tales. No matter what else happens, there’s got to be a happy ending.”

Though her words sounded simplistic, he heard determination in her voice. She was willing to fight for her happily-ever-after.

“Maybe here,” she said. “Maybe Legate is what I’ve been looking for all my life.”

He didn’t want to encourage that fragile hope. There were too many signs to the contrary. In fairy-tale terms, Legate was the evil kingdom, ruled by an ogre named Slater. “I understand that you’ll have a cottage on the premises.”

“It’s adorable. All furnished.” Anya glanced up at him, looking for answers he couldn’t give. “I keep thinking it was weird that Jeremy never mentioned this plan to me. He had all these details in his will.”

Roman wasn’t even sure Jeremy’s will was valid; it had been prepared by the Legate legal staff. “He never discussed it with me, either.”

“Weird,” she repeated. “I mean, Jeremy and I spent two weeks talking about what kind of sofa we should get. Then he makes this huge, life-altering plan without a blink in my direction.”

“It’s not totally out of character,” he reminded her. “Once, Jeremy bought a car without even a test drive.”

“Because he liked the hood ornament.”

“He was capable of snap judgments.”

“That’s true,” she said. “The new will was dated only a few weeks before his death, and he probably meant to discuss it when he came back to Denver.”

When she talked about Jeremy, the blue of her eyes grew dim. Her shoulders caved slightly. She was still grieving, and it troubled Roman to see her suffer. Her husband shouldn’t have died. If Roman had been smarter, he might have prevented the tragedy.

He believed that the explosion at Building Fourteen had been rigged, but he still didn’t know why. Why would Slater kill four scientists who worked for him? They were good employees—productive and nonconfrontational. Why did they have to die? After eight months of digging into the various global projects these scientists were working on, Roman still didn’t have the answer.

“It’s good to see you,” Anya said.

“And you,” he said. “You’ve put on weight.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s a compliment.” After Jeremy’s death, she’d been skinny as a rail, unable to eat. “You look healthy.”

“Healthy? Like a prize cow?” Her eyebrows arched. “If that’s your standard pick-up line, you’re going to be a bachelor forever.”

“That wasn’t even close to a pick-up line.”

“And why not? We might be friends, but I’m still a single female. According to your reputation, you should be charming me off my feet.”

“You’re not an ordinary female.” She was another man’s wife. Even now, with Jeremy dead, she was still married to his memory.

From atop the horse, Charlie called out, “Mommy, look. I’m riding with no hands.”

“Hold on to the pommel,” she said. “Or you’re getting off, mister.”

“I want to go faster. Please.”

“This is your first time on a horse,” she said. “Take it easy.”

“Okay, Mom.”

She returned her attention to Roman, picking up their conversation where it left off. “All right, Bachelor Number One, give me a real compliment. I need one.”

For years, he’d tried not to think of Anya as an eligible woman. But she’d asked for it.

His guard went down. The facade of civility slipped away. He allowed his unspoken desires to rise to the surface. These thoughts had been simmering at the back of his mind from the first day he met her.

With smoldering eyes, he gazed into her heart-shaped face. His voice lowered to a seductive murmur, and he said, “When I see you here in the sunlight, with the wind in your hair and your lips as soft as rose petals, I know what miracles are. This vision of you is precious. I’ll carry it with me forever.”

“Oh.” She gaped.

He relished the effect he had upon her, and he pressed his advantage, tenderly grasping her hand and lifting it to his lips to blow a light kiss across her knuckles. “You touch my heart.”

“Oh, my.”

“Anya, please. Let me touch you.”

“Wow! You’re good.” She grabbed her hand back from him and fanned her face with it. “No wonder you have thousands of babes swooning all over you.”

He looked away from her and started walking again. Though this flirting was a game, he’d meant every word. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her mouth, to make love to her.

They neared the stables where Anya’s mother and Fredrick Slater stood waiting. The sight of Slater had the effect of a cold shower on Roman. He sloughed off his sensuality, any sign of vulnerability. Instead, he visualized himself as forged steel.

“There they are,” Anya said. “Claudette and Slater. They almost look like a couple, don’t they?”

Well matched in ruthless intelligence and ambition, they could have been MacBeth and his lady. “Almost.”

“Roman, with this contract, am I doing the right thing?”

“It’ll all work out.” He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her or to Charlie.

At the stables, Slater wasted no time in pulling him to one side. “Did you handle the problem in Los Angeles?”

“It was nothing,” Roman said. “A simple miscommunication.”

“I suppose Anya told you that she and Charlie will be living here.”

“Yes.” He slipped on a pair of dark glasses, concerned that his eyes might betray his hostility.

“She seems a bit uncomfortable,” Slater said. “That’s not good for Charlie’s transition. He needs to feel that Legate is his home. It’s important for his mother to transmit that acceptance.”

“According to whom?”

“Dr. Neville, the psychiatrist.”

“I have an urgent message to contact him,” Roman said.

“Yes, I know.”

Slater’s hands were clasped behind his back. In his tweed suit with his neat gray hair, he looked like the lord of the manor, out for a stroll on his magnificent grounds.

Roman lengthened his stride. He was a good six inches taller and wanted to make Slater stretch to keep up with him.

But the old man sensed what he was doing and halted. When he looked up, he probed with his gaze, taking Roman’s measure with quick, stabbing glances. Slater wanted something. “You have a bond with Charlie’s mother.”

“I’ve known Anya for years.”

“She’s done a good job raising the boy. Neville said it was important to leave Charlie with his mother until he was five and had established a healthy bond.”

“Then what?”

“Education, of course. Expanding the child’s frame of reference.”

Slater’s analysis made it sound like he was talking about an experiment. Roman tried to match his detachment. “Exactly what are your goals with Charlie?”

“To nurture and develop his intelligence. At the same time, he must be a well-rounded individual. Too many of our geniuses are antisocial. Charlie will be high-functioning on many levels—theoretical, creative, even political. He might even become President of the United States.”

Did Slater really think he could build his own president? Throw together the proper genetics for intelligence, add training and stir? This plan sounded like the insane ravings of a twenty-first-century Frankenstein.

“That boy,” Slater said, “will be my legacy.”

His legacy? But Slater wasn’t the child’s father or grandfather.

“I need your help, Roman.”

“How?”

“While Charlie is settling into the program, I want his mother to be happy. I want her to feel she made the right decision in coming here. See to it.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“She needs a man,” Slater said.

Roman couldn’t believe his ears. This crafty old bastard was ordering him to do the very thing he had wanted for years. Slater wanted him to become Anya’s lover.

Chapter Two

At seven o’clock that evening Roman connected with Maureen, a slinky redhead. In her tight jeans and see-through blouse, she was hotter than wasabi on sushi. Not that her appearance mattered to him. Maureen wasn’t a date. She was his contact inside the CIA, a special ops agent.

They met at a cheesy tavern in Oakland where the specialty of the house was tequila-fried perch, but they didn’t need a menu. After a quick hello, they went to her car at the back of the parking lot, far from the neon sign above the entrance.

Maureen slid behind the steering wheel and turned on the radio. Instead of music, there was a whirring sound. “This interference noise disrupts any bugs or listening devices pointed in our direction.”

“Nice tune,” he said.

“You know how I love my secret-agent toys.”

She’d been his contact for almost a year. When Roman learned that the think tank had manipulated federal regulations on offshore banking for an emerging Central American nation, he hooked up with a special branch of the CIA, and they assigned Maureen, an attractive woman who could easily pass as one of his dates. That was their cover.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I’m concerned about two innocent people who are now living on the Legate grounds. Anya Bouchard Parrish and her son, Charlie.”

“She’s the wife of your friend who was killed, right?”

He nodded. “Slater talked her into signing a contract that would allow him to raise and educate her son.”

“Why?”

“Charlie has a genius IQ, and Slater wants to groom him. He thinks Charlie will be his legacy.”

“But he’s not related to the child?”

“No,” Roman said.

In the dim glow from the dashboard, he saw her thoughtful frown. “I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.” But Roman had given the issue some thought. “Anya participated in a fertilization experiment at Legate. That was how she conceived her son. Slater might feel a proprietary connection.”

“How does Mrs. Parrish feel about this?”

“She doesn’t know.” Roman frowned. None of this made sense. “By bringing her son to Legate, she thinks she’s following her late husband’s wishes.”

“Why?”

“Jeremy made a provision in his will saying he wanted his son to attend the Legate school, starting when he was five.”

“Do you believe he’d do that?”

“Not really,” Roman said. “If his signature on the will is a forgery, how would I find out?”

“Get me the original. Our experts can verify.”

That wouldn’t be easy. He didn’t want to alarm Anya by asking to see the document. “Even if the will was forged, it doesn’t explain why Slater is so fixated on Charlie. True, the boy is smart, but there are plenty of whiz kids out there. Why Charlie?”

“Maybe there’s a connection in Anya’s family tree. Should we run a trace?”

“Not necessary.” Anya’s privacy had been invaded enough, and he knew just enough about her father to realize that an investigation could be a problem.

Maureen swept her thick auburn hair off her forehead and fastened it at her nape with a clip. Though her makeup was sultry, her attitude was all business. As always, when Roman allowed his gaze to wander over her body, he wondered where—in that tight-fitting outfit—she kept her gun.

“Bottom line,” Maureen said. “Are these two people in danger?”

“Not Charlie. He’ll be pampered like a prince.”

“And his mother?”

He’d given Anya’s safety a great deal of consideration and had decided there was no immediate peril. “She’s safe for now. Slater won’t let anything happen to her that might traumatize her son.”

“So why did you contact me?”

“I wanted to give you a heads up,” Roman said. “If it turns out that I’m wrong and Anya is threatened, I’m pulling the plug.”

“Sorry to hear that. Your inside info has given us excellent leads.”

“I’m not cut out for undercover work,” he said. “I feel like crap when I’m encouraging somebody with one hand and betraying them with the other.”

“Make no mistake,” she said. “You’re doing a good thing. Because of your information, we’ve been able to sever terrorist plots, stop an attempted takeover of the government in Burma and shut down an illegal munitions plant.”

“For the greater good,” he said in ironic reference to the Legate motto.

“It still amazes me,” she said. “Who would have guessed that all those international bad guys consulted a think tank?”

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he said. “In the future, you might not be the best person for me to contact.”

Her pearly teeth flashed in the dark. “Does this mean you’re breaking up with me?”

There had never been anything between them except for CIA business. “I can’t be seen going on dates. My current assignment at Legate is to make Anya happy. You know, to romance her.”

“Oh, ugh!” Right before his eyes, the hard-boiled CIA agent turned into a girly girl. Her voice rose an octave. “That’s so creepy, Roman. How can you lead that poor woman on?”

“As if you’ve never used your physical assets to get what you wanted?”

“This doesn’t sound like you.” She peered through the dim dashboard light into his eyes. “You hate deception.”

He returned her gaze. “Anya won’t be hurt.”

“How can you say that? You’re planning to lead her down the garden path, to promise her a rose garden, to—”

“I won’t lie to her,” Roman said. “Anya will not be hurt. Never again.”

“Oh, my God.” Maureen gasped and leaned back in her seat. “You really care about this woman.”

She had no idea how much he cared.

AT CHARLIE’S BEDSIDE, Anya leaned down to kiss her son’s forehead. He was sound asleep at nine o’clock—a bit early, but this had been a hectic day. “Sleep well, sweetpea.”

If he’d been awake, he might have complained about the nickname. But now her son was quiet, breathing steadily, innocent as a little blond angel. She tucked the covers around his shoulders, closed the door to his bedroom and went downstairs.

This part of the day was Anya’s alone time when she could reflect. For the past month, her private deliberations had focused on one thing: Should she or shouldn’t she sign the contract?

Finally, that decision-making process was over. The ink on the document was dry, and it seemed that she’d done the right thing for Charlie. But why did her heart feel so heavy?

She stood in the center of the living room and slowly turned in a circle. The cottage wasn’t exactly the way she would have decorated, but close. The earth-tone furniture was better quality than her own sofa and chairs in Denver. The bland artwork on the wall didn’t appeal to her, but she loved the wall of bookshelves separating the living room and a modern kitchen with shiny new appliances.

She couldn’t complain about the living accommodations. This cottage—which was equal to the square footage of her rented house in Denver—was cozy and comfortable. And free.

Slowly, she turned again. Her gaze flitted from the plasma-screen television hanging on the wall to the charming stone fireplace to the welcoming fruit basket on the side table. This wasn’t the life she’d imagined for herself. It felt…too organized.

Anya wanted more adventure. An impulsive weekend vacation. A surprise visit from friends. And she doubted that unplanned excitement was included in the Legate program. Spontaneous would only be a word on Charlie’s vocabulary list.

Might as well make the best of it. She padded around the main floor, turning off the lamps, leaving one burning in case Charlie got up during the night and wandered. At the door to the cottage, she doused the porch light and stepped outside into the darkness. The cottage was surrounded by a forest of landscaping, giving the impression of seclusion. She couldn’t see the gray stone mansion from here, but one of the outbuildings was only twenty yards away from her roofed porch that stretched the length of the cottage.

It was a beautiful night. The autumn breeze held a chill that stimulated her senses. She cinched the sash on her flannel robe more tightly and inhaled. The air was moist with a woodsy scent of cedar and pine. If she stood very still, she could hear the faint echo of the bay surf.

At the edge of the trees, she noticed movement from something much larger than a squirrel. “Who’s there?”

A man stepped away from the shadows. “Good evening, ma’am.”

She shouldn’t be surprised. There were several other people who lived on these grounds. “Hello. Have we met?”

“No, ma’am.”

As he came closer, she saw the dark blue uniform worn by Legate’s security corps. His trousers were tucked into his boots, military-style. There was a holster attached to his belt, and he carried something else, held tight to his side.

“My name is Anya,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. I know.”

“And you are?”

“Harrison,” he said.

Staying on the porch, she edged closer to him. “Are you armed, Harrison?”

In answer, he revealed the object he’d been hiding. An automatic rifle.

She was shocked and more than a little upset. “Why do you have that gun?”

“Intruders.” He took two steps back, fading again into the shadows. “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am.”

Of course, she knew that Legate handled sensitive political and scientific information. Security was necessary, but she hadn’t expected constant patrolling by armed guards.

Why was it necessary to have such intense protection? Harrison the security man looked like he was prepared to take on an army. What kind of place was she living in? The bracing chill turned icy cold, sinking deep through her flesh to her bones.

Back inside, she locked the doors. Sleep was out of the question. Anya whipped through the house, turning on the lights she’d extinguished only moments ago. My God, she’d made a terrible mistake. They couldn’t live here. Not with an armed guard patrolling outside her front door!

When the telephone rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“It’s Roman. How are you doing?”

“Why is the security man carrying an Uzi?” she demanded.

“It’s not an Uzi,” he said. “His weapon is specially designed—”

“I don’t care,” she said. “How dangerous is this place? What kind of intruders are they expecting?”

“I’m over at the mansion, Anya. If you’d like, I can be at the cottage in three minutes.”

“Hurry.”

She slammed the phone into the cradle and went to the front window to watch for Roman’s approach. He should have warned her. He never should have allowed her to bring Charlie into danger.

In the glow from the porch light, she saw Roman jogging along the path toward the cottage. He’d changed from the suit he was wearing earlier into Levi’s and a black leather jacket that made him look a bit dangerous himself. Dark and mysterious, Roman was a big man, over six feet tall and muscular.

Before he could knock, she opened the front door and placed her forefinger across her lips. “Shh. Charlie’s sleeping.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m a little freaked,” she said.

When he stepped inside, his male energy filled the house. She could have sworn that the lightbulbs burned a little brighter and that the temperature rose several degrees. He placed his hands on her shoulders and stared down into her eyes. In a husky whisper, he asked, “What happened?”

“I stepped outside for some air and met a security man who was armed like a commando. Why is he here?”

“This is an international think tank. We handle sensitive, top secret projects—scientific and political. The guards are a precaution.”

“Against what? Terrorists? Did I bring my son into a war zone?”

His smile was warm and reassuring. He lightly brushed her hair back from her forehead, and she remembered his gentleness—unusual for such a big man. “You’re safe here.”

How could he say that? Her husband died here. Of course, that was an accident, unrelated to the security corps. “If Charlie sees armed guards, he’ll be scared.”

“I doubt that,” he said. “Your son might be a genius, but he’s also a typical boy. He’ll think the guns are cool.”

“That’s worse! I don’t want him to be comfortable around weapons.” Her fingers clenched into fists, ready to battle an invisible enemy. “I might be overreacting.”

“Maybe.”

He lifted her chin so she had to look directly into his face. “What’s really bothering you?”

“I don’t know.”

As she continued to gaze up at him, she became distracted. An errant strand of his thick, black hair fell across his forehead. His deep-set eyes shone with a dark compelling light. Up close, his irises weren’t completely black, but a dark tawny-brown. His firm jawline was outlined with a day’s growth of stubble.

She focused on his well-shaped mouth. His smiling lips were the most welcoming feature in that hard chiseled face. What would it be like to kiss those lips?

Immediately, she squelched that impetuous idea. Roman had a reputation as a ladies’ man. He dated models and socialites. He lived in a bachelor’s pad on a cliffside—a legendary setting for seduction. Even if he had been a suitable person to kiss, she wasn’t ready to go down that path. It had only been eight months….

She caught hold of his hands and lowered them from her shoulders. Roman was a friend. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of him in any other way. “Would you like some tea?”

“I’d rather have wine.”

“Me, too.” She tossed her head, trying to shake the idea of Roman as a man she could be attracted to. “But I don’t know if I have wine.”

“Allow me.”

He led the way into the kitchen where he opened a cabinet near the back door. The face of the cabinet door was oak, like the rest of the cabinetry, but it sealed like a refrigerator. Inside was a full wine rack.

“White or red?” he asked.

“Merlot,” she said. “Is that another refrigerator?”

“A mini wine cellar. It’s sealed to keep the temperature stable at the proper fifty-five degrees with humidity of seventy percent.” He pulled out a corked bottle. “We take our wine seriously in Northern California.”

He went to the cabinets above the sink and found two stemmed wineglasses. Quite obviously, Roman knew his way around this kitchen far better than she did. “You’ve been here before.”

“We’ve used this place as a guest cottage,” he said. “But it’s yours now. Everything in here is yours.”

So she’d been told, but Anya couldn’t help feeling like she was at a fancy resort with an honor bar that she’d somehow end up paying for. “A nice young man from the public relations department showed me around. From what he said, I don’t even have to go to the market. I just check off the items I want on a list. My order is delivered to the doorstep.”

Using a corkscrew, Roman opened the bottle. “Before you stock up on food, I suggest you try the lunch and dinner buffets in the mansion. The chef is cordon bleu.”

“Are you saying he’s a better cook than I am?”

He grinned. “I’ve had your spaghetti, Anya.”

She remembered a disastrous dinner she prepared while Roman was in Denver after the funeral. Thinking that it would be good for her to return to her regular routine, she put together the ingredients for homemade spaghetti sauce. Then her brain shut down. The sauce bubbled too long on high flame, and the result was charred. “Dinner isn’t only about food,” she said. “It’s a time for talk and catching up on the day.”

“A private time for you and Charlie,” he said.

“We’re going to need some space and privacy,” she said, accepting the wineglass he held toward her. “This educational program is so packed with activity that he’ll need a chance to wind down.”

He peered across the rim of his glass, making eye contact. “Be careful, Anya.”

She tried to match his steady gaze, but she wasn’t that bold. Her glance slipped to the floor. “Why should I be careful?”

“Don’t spend so much time worrying about Charlie that you ignore your own needs.”

She took a sip. The light merlot slid easily down her throat, leaving a pleasant aftertaste. “My own needs, eh? Well, that’s all I’ve been thinking about tonight. I’m afraid I’ll feel trapped here. That I won’t have…”

“Won’t have what?” he asked.

“Fun. That I won’t have any fun.” She rolled her eyes and tasted her wine again. “It sounds foolish when I say it out loud. I’m an adult. A widow. Why should I be concerned with fun and games?”

“Let me guess,” he said. “Because you never had much fun when you were growing up.”

“My mother did a good job raising me.” She automatically defended Claudette. Her mother had been a single parent with a demanding job. “She didn’t have a lot of time for me. Her skills were in demand, and we traveled all over the place. East Coast, West Coast and in between. Plus we lived abroad. Pacific Rim. Africa. Europe.”

“Was it fun?” he asked.

“Not for me,” she admitted.

It seemed odd that they’d never really talked about her early life before. During the days she spent with Roman after the funeral, they talked about Jeremy. Or about Charlie. Or they just sat together, staring into the middistance between real life and tragedy.

She took another deep sip. “It’s bad enough being the new girl in town. When everybody else speaks a foreign tongue, it’s even worse.”

“You felt isolated,” he said. “Trapped.”

His snap analysis hit close to the truth. Being at Legate felt very much like her childhood when she had no control over what happened and was dragged along like an inconvenient piece of luggage. “Am I so transparent?”

“Hell, no. You’re an intelligent, complex woman.”

“I don’t want to be complex.” She carried her wine to the oak table in the dining area between the kitchen and living room and sat. Usually, Anya didn’t drink alcoholic beverages, and the wine was already having an agreeable, relaxing effect. “All I ever really wanted was a normal life. A normal family. A nice little house. A pleasant, low-pressure job. A garden. Maybe a golden retriever named Rover.”

“And when Jeremy died, you feel like you lost that chance.”

“I miss him,” she said.

“So do I.”

When he sat beside her at the round table, she felt warm and settled, as if this were the way things ought to be. A man, a woman and her son upstairs asleep. Normal. “Thanks for rushing over here.”

“Whenever you need me, I’ll be around.”

She couldn’t believe that promise. He might have the best intentions, but he also had a life. “Baby-sitting me would cut into your social action.”

He shrugged.

“I’ve heard all about your infamous bachelor pad,” she said. “A chamber of seduction?”

“You can see for yourself. Come to dinner on Friday night.”

“I don’t think so,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to leave Charlie with a baby-sitter so soon.”

“Bring him,” Roman said.

Dubious, she toyed with her merlot, swirling the rose-colored liquid in her glass. “I’m not going to have to explain to him about mirrors over the bed or anything, am I?”

“It’s not the Playboy mansion,” he assured her.

Part of her wished that his place really was a splendid, sensual pleasure palace. What would it be like to have this very good-looking man sweep her off her feet and into his bedroom?

This time, her sip of wine was a huge, sloshing gulp. She needed liquid to douse these inappropriate flickers of desire. Once again, her gaze came to rest upon his lips, moistened with sweet merlot.

Why on earth would she think that a notorious bachelor like Roman Alexander would be interested in her? Here she sat in her ancient flannel robe and fuzzy slippers. No makeup. Her hair hung uncombed around her cheeks. She certainly wasn’t the picture of desirability.

Yet he communicated a sexual energy. She felt it in the way he looked at her, the arch of his eyebrow, the way he lifted his wineglass to his lips. When he spoke, his rich baritone struck a trembling chord within her. Likewise, his silences were full of portent and promise.

She blurted, “Do you think I’ll ever get married again?”

He reached across the table and placed his large hand atop hers. His flesh was warm. His touch? Pure sensuality. “Yes, Anya. You’ll find love again.”

It was the answer she wanted to hear. Earlier, she dared not even ask herself that question, but that was exactly what had been bothering her. Not the armed guard outside the door. Not a lack of fun. She wanted to know if love was an option in her future.

“Friday night,” she said. “We’ll be there. Me and Charlie.”

“It’s a date.”

Maybe not a date in the single woman’s sense of the word, but it was enough for right now.

Chapter Three

The next morning, Roman arrived at Legate early. He needed some heavy-duty exercise before his eight-o’clock breakfast meeting. He hadn’t slept well. After he spent a full night of tossing and turning, his bedsheets were as tangled as his emotional response to Anya Bouchard Parrish.

Leaving his Mercedes in the parking lot, he strode to the asphalt path and did a quick warm-up. The weather was relatively clear, and the dawn mist was colored a soft pink—the color of Anya’s lips. There was a nip in the air, but he’d chosen to wear only nylon shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He wanted the reality of a cold wind against his bare legs.

He started at a jog on the path that circled the mansion. Yesterday, Fredrick Slater had asked him to make Anya happy. Anything Slater suggested was likely to come with a multilevel ulterior motive. But Roman was only too glad to comply with this request. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, imagining what it would be like to taste that lovely mouth and tangle his fingers in her silky blond hair.

At the same time, he felt guilty. In his mind, she was still Jeremy’s wife. She still wore the wedding band Jeremy had placed on her finger for better or much, much worse. His death wounded her deeply…which meant she was vulnerable. Roman didn’t want to take advantage of her.

He picked up the pace, aware that he was nearing Anya’s cottage. Through the shrubbery, he could see a second floor window that might be her bedroom. He stared at the white window frame outlined against the slate-blue house. The curtains were drawn. Was she sleeping? He envisioned her delicate body beneath the sheets. She’d roll to her side, and the sheet would slip lower on her breasts. His fingers itched to touch her, to caress the soft white skin on her inner thigh. When he kissed her, she would smell of honeysuckle.

Running harder, he proceeded to the winding stairs that led down to the beachfront. After eighty-seven steps down the cliffside, his custom-made running shoes hit the hard-packed sand on the narrow beach. This portion of his morning run was his favorite. At the edge of the bayside surf, he paused. He bobbed his head and shoulders, loosening up. After a few stretches, he shook out the muscles in his legs, then dropped into a crouch. Ready, set, go.

His toes dug into the sand as he went into a full-out sprint—a dash at the water’s edge. He ran hard. Ice-cold droplets splashed onto his calves. The morning mist parted before him. Gulls and a flock of sandpipers took wing. His pulse accelerated. A rush of adrenaline shot through his veins.

At the rugged black rocks that marked the edge of this private beach, he stopped. Breathing hard, he bent double.

When he lifted his head, he saw a tall man in a three-piece gray suit coming toward him. Dr. Lowell Neville, head of Legate’s psychiatric division. Damn it, Roman didn’t want to talk to him.

“I expected to find you here,” Neville called out.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my run.”

“I mind,” Neville said crisply. “You ignored my messages from yesterday.”

“I was busy,” Roman said.

“Yet you found time to contact the charming Mrs. Parrish. Even to visit her cottage last night.”

“That was Slater’s order. He asked me to make sure Anya was comfortable.” Roman paced in a tight circle. “Sorry, Doc. I need to keep moving or I’ll stiffen up. We’ll have to talk later.”

“This is about your former assistant.”

“Peter Bunch.” An overqualified young man with a bright future, he’d quit two weeks ago. “What about him?”

Neville planted himself in Roman’s path, forcing his attention. “Peter Bunch is missing.”

The wind left Roman’s lungs. “Missing?”

“As in ‘missing person,’” Neville said. “The police were here, asking questions.”

Roman caught a gulp of air. Damn it! Did Peter’s disappearance have something to do with his employment at Legate? Purposely, Roman dropped his gaze to the sand beneath his feet, not wanting to betray his suspicions to a trained psychiatric observer. Especially not to Neville. The company shrink was Slater’s toady. “I’m sorry to hear about Peter.”

“How was your relationship with him? When he quit, did he express hostility toward Legate?”

“He left because he was invited to join an archaeological expedition in South America. He had a master’s degree in archaeology. Working in the field was more to his liking than running errands for me.”

“Did you have any reason to believe Peter would betray you?”

“Our personal relationship was fine.”

Roman lifted his gaze and focused on Neville. The psychiatrist’s thick black eyebrows contrasted his short-trimmed white hair and mustache. He was a fastidious man, always dressed in a suit with a conservative silk necktie and matching pocket handkerchief. His lips barely moved as he said, “You can be a hard person to work for.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means?” Neville arched his left eyebrow.

“I’ve got no clue,” Roman said.

“It occurs to me that your assistant would have access to confidential information. If he held a grudge against you, he might have attempted to sell this data. Would you have any knowledge of—”

“No.” Roman spoke with a cold finality. He didn’t want Neville trotting down this path.

“Well, I certainly hope Peter’s greed hasn’t led to unfortunate circumstances.”

“Like what?” Roman said. “Do you think he was hurt? Murdered?”

“And why would you draw that conclusion?”

“Because I’m one hell of a fatalist.” Roman started across the sand to the stairs, then turned and jogged backward. “Why did it occur to you that Peter might be selling Legate secrets?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Neville sneered. “We have a leak.”

Roman turned away and jogged toward the stairway that climbed the steep cliff. He hoped with all his heart that nothing bad had happened to Peter Bunch. Had he been selling secrets? Doubtful. And he couldn’t possibly be the leak. That honor belonged to Roman alone. He inhaled a deep breath and took the stairs two at a time.

ON HER FOURTH DAY at Legate, Anya had a bad case of the fidgets. While doing her translating work in a library cubicle on the first floor of the mansion, she checked her wristwatch dozens of times, marking the passage of each separate minute.

Today was Friday. Tonight was her dinner with Roman. At two in the afternoon, her part-time work was over, and she strolled back to the cottage with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. Not tired enough for a nap. Not energetic enough to start a project. As she sorted through the clothing in her closet, deciding what to wear, she felt a rising sense of anticipation. “I haven’t gone anywhere in four days.” As soon as the words left her lips, she frowned. Talking to herself? Not a good sign.

At four-thirty, Charlie burst through the front door. “Mommy, do you know what a polymer is? A whole bunch of molecules. That’s chemistry.”

“Right,” she said.

“We made a really stinky polymer today. Next week, we’re going to build rockets and send stink bombs to Mars.”

She leaned back in the rocking chair in the front room and listened to her son talk. His bubbling conversation gladdened her heart. She was pleased that Charlie wanted to share everything with her. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she’d have him all to herself. “Hey, sweetpea,” she interrupted.

“Jeez, Mom. Don’t call me that.”

“We’re going to Roman’s house for dinner. He’ll be picking us up in about half an hour. You ought to wash up before we go.”

“Okay.”

No sooner had he hiked up the staircase than there was a knock at the door. Roman was early. Already here.

When she opened the door, she stared for a moment. Roman really was gorgeous, much too sexy for his own good. His black hair was slightly mussed. His tawny-brown eyes shone with a warm luster, and his grin hinted at seduction. He wore a pin-striped charcoal suit with no necktie. The collar of his white shirt was open. In his hand he held a simple bouquet of white daisies. “For you.”

“But we’re going to your house,” she said. “I should be the one bringing a gift.”

“Having you there is gift enough,” he said.

She recognized his tone. “That’s your flirting voice. I remember when we were walking with Charlie’s pony and you showed me how you knocked women off their feet.”

“And?”

“Stop it,” she ordered.

“Force of habit,” he said. “When I saw you standing there in that little black dress, looking so beautiful, I forgot this wasn’t a date.”

“I don’t have much of a selection on clothes. Most of my stuff is back in Denver.” Since she hadn’t wanted to leave Charlie here alone, her mother had returned to Denver to arrange for the move. Anya shrugged. “It was either the black dress or jeans.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You look perfect.”

“Thank you.” She enjoyed his compliments. Being around Roman reminded her that she was still a woman. She took the daisies and held the door wider so he could come inside. “And thank you for the flowers.”

Charlie clattered down the stairs and leaped at Roman. “Helicopter,” he demanded.

“Not indoors.” But Roman lifted him up high. “Touch the ceiling, Charlie.”

“Got it. We’re going to your house.”

“That’s right.” Roman set him down on the floor. “I’ve got something for you.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a rectangular, red lacquered box. “This is a Chinese puzzle box. You have to figure out the puzzle to get it open.”

Anya returned to the front room after putting the daisies in a vase.

“Look, Mom!” Charlie held up the box. “It’s from China.”

“Chinatown,” Roman corrected. “Just across the bay.”

“We’ll have to go there,” Anya said. “As soon as my car gets here from Denver, we can take all kinds of trips.”

“To the moon?” Charlie asked.

“Why not?” She laughed. “The moon and beyond.”

They slipped into coats and went out the door, heading along the path to the parking lot. Anya felt like singing. She wasn’t accustomed to being so sequestered. “It feels like I’m escaping the monastery.”

“Legate has that effect,” Roman said. “That’s why I don’t choose to live here.”

“I can’t imagine you as a monk. You’re not exactly the sackcloth-and-ashes type.”

“Plus I hate the haircut.”

He opened the car door for her, and she slipped inside. A buttery leather interior wrapped around her. There were more dials on the dashboard than in a small aircraft. Nice car! But what else would she expect from Roman? He demanded the best of everything. Tailored clothes. Fine wine. Even his sneakers were custom-made. She could hardly imagine what his bay-front house looked like.

Anya turned to check on Charlie in the back seat. “Buckle up, young man.”

“I’m going to solve this puzzle now,” he informed her.

“Don’t be so sure,” Roman said as he closed his car door and plugged his key into the ignition. “Some people take days to solve a puzzle box.”

“Not me,” Charlie said.

“You think you’re that smart?” Roman teased.

“For sure. Neville says I’m a genius.”

“Neville?” Anya craned her neck to look at her son. “When did you talk to him?”

“I dunno.” Charlie eyed his puzzle box. “Maybe yesterday.”

Anya frowned. She didn’t want the company psychiatrist examining her son. Not without her permission. “I bumped into Neville today. I’m surprised he didn’t mention your visit.”

Charlie didn’t answer. He was absorbed in puzzle-solving.

“What do you think of Neville?” Roman asked.

She shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to say anything negative in front of Charlie. “He’s very tidy.”

“That’s an understatement,” Roman muttered. “The man alphabetizes the magazines on his coffee table.”

Under her breath, she asked, “What’s with his matching necktie and pocket hankie?”

“He has different colors for different days of the week. Blue on Monday. Red on Friday. That must be his day to get wild.”

“Wild?” She tried to picture Dr. Neville in an orgy mood and failed. “I can’t see it.”

“But don’t let his eccentricities fool you. Neville isn’t somebody you want to mess with.”

As they drove through the Legate gates, the atmosphere seemed to change. The pale blue sky expanded into a wider, brighter vista. Roman exhaled a deep breath. The tension lines across his forehead seemed to relax.

“TGIF,” she said. “Your job must be pretty stressful.”

“And how about you? How’s the translating work?”

She could use a bit more stress. “Not exactly my dream job.”

“You’re bored.”

He sounded so disappointed that she was tempted to lie and tell him everything was hunky-dory. But Anya had never been one to keep her true feelings to herself. “Bored stiff.”

“Still looking for fun?”

“You bet.”

“There’s fun coming up pretty soon,” he said. “Halloween. Everybody dresses up, and the kids from the school go trick-or-treating in the different departments.”

Anya found it difficult to reconcile the intense research and scientific experimentation that was the primary focus of Legate with the activities in the school, even if all the kids were geniuses.

“Are you telling me that all these Nobel laureates put on silly masks?”

“They love the chance to goof off,” he said. “In the meantime, we’ll get you started on more complex translation assignments.”

All she’d done thus far was proofread documents that were already translated by a computer service. “What kind of complex assignments?”

“The top secret stuff.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” he said. “We do geopolitical treatises and scientific experimentation on an international level. Jeremy worked on a couple of biochemical projects where the end results were reviewed by the President of the United States and Britain’s Prime Minister.”

“He never told me.”

“Which is why it’s called top secret.”

It irritated her to imagine projects that Jeremy didn’t tell her about. They were supposed to trust each other with everything. She’d thought their marriage was as open as sunshine. Instead, he’d been clandestine in his work. And in setting up the Legate schooling for Charlie. What else hadn’t Jeremy told her about? The armed guards at Legate, she thought. The high walls surrounding the compound.

As they crossed a bridge, she called over her shoulder to Charlie. “Bridge. Pick up your feet and hold your breath for good luck.”

“Not now, Mom. I’m busy.”

“The Bay Area is full of bridges,” Roman said. “Around here, you’ll build up a stockpile of luck.”

“Good.” Because she had a sneaking feeling that she might need all the luck she could get.

THE ELDERLY CHINESE MAN gazed impassively through the windshield as he tailed the Mercedes at a discreet distance.

“Don’t let them see us,” his companion warned.

“I am always cautious, Wade. You have no cause for concern.”

But Wade Bouchard couldn’t help feeling tense. After all these years, they were finally close to attaining their ultimate goal, which was nothing less than the absolute destruction of the Legate Corporation.

Wade was part of SCAT, Scientists Concerned About Truth. He and his associates had dedicated their lives to fighting those who used pure science for unethical purposes. Most of their battles were a matter of public record, but SCAT was ready to further their aims by whatever methods were necessary, including theft and violence. Wade had taken a bullet for his cause. And he killed a man in Taiwan. The face of that poor soul still haunted his nightmares, but he’d do the same again. Some principles were more important than life or death.

He could only pray that Anya would not disrupt his current mission. She had to agree. She had to understand that it was the only way to redeem the boy. Charlie. Wade’s grandson.

Chapter Four

Anya wasn’t wildly impressed by her first view of Roman’s house. Unremarkable landscaping obscured the front doorway and walls, which appeared to be little more than bland gray stucco. She noticed very few blooming flowers—not that autumn was the season for spectacular floral display.

When they parked inside the garage, Charlie gave a cheer. “I did it! I got the puzzle box open!”

“Good for you,” she said.

“Look what’s inside.” In his hand, he held a tiny dragon. The jaws were wide open as if the dragon were laughing.

“It’s for protection,” Roman said. “Keep that dragon with you, and you’ll always be safe from harm.”

Charlie regarded the statuette solemnly, then he held it toward her. “You need this more than I do, Mom.”

She was touched and, at the same time, concerned. “Why do you think I need protecting?”

“Duh,” he said. “Because you’re a girl.”

“Girls can take care of themselves just as well as boys.” It was never too early to start teaching tolerance; she didn’t want to raise a little misogynist. “You keep the dragon. It’s your special gift from Roman.”

Charlie stuffed the statuette in his pocket, unfastened his seat belt and popped open the car door. “Let’s go.”

The garage led into the kitchen where track lighting illuminated stainless steel appliances and polished granite countertops. The lines were clean and efficient, but it wasn’t until she stepped into the living area that Anya had the full dramatic impact of Roman’s high-tech home. Two-story, plate-glass windows offered a breathtaking view of bay and sky. The interior walls were accented with sea-foam green and burgundy. Unusual colors, but they worked well with the chrome lamps and warm hardwood floors. Charlie dashed around the room, testing the modern, modular furniture.

She’d expected a sexy den of iniquity, but this wasn’t it. “Very classy,” she said. “Your home suits you.”

“I’m almost scared to show you the upstairs.”

With Charlie in the lead, they ascended an open staircase to the second level, which was one huge room. Up here, the predominant colors were eggshell-white and a hot, passionate red. At one end was a high-tech Plexiglas office space. In the center was a conversation area. At the far end, separated by a black lacquered Chinese screen, was a massive four-poster bed in black and chrome.

Aha! This was the bachelor pad, the sheik’s boudoir. The rich, deep red bedcover and dozens of pillows hinted at lavish, seductive delights. Mesmerized, Anya drifted toward it. On the bedside table were three buttons.

“Go ahead,” Roman said. “Push the buttons.”

She glanced nervously toward her son. Was this something he should see?

The first button adjusted the vertical blinds on the wall-to-wall windows, allowing a view of the bay. That seemed innocent enough.

When she pressed the second button, the bed began to vibrate. She arched an eyebrow. “Back problems?”

“It also heats up,” he said.

“I’ll bet it does.”

She turned it off and touched the third button. A wide-screen television rose from a chest at the foot of the bed.

“Wow!” Charlie clapped his hands. “I want a bed just like this when I grow up.”

Anya gave a disapproving sniff. This was not a role model she wanted her son to emulate.

“This part of the room is better.” Roman pointed Charlie toward his office and said, “Computer on.”

The flat screen came to life, showing a crystal clear picture of an underwater coral reef. The computer spoke in a sultry female voice. “Welcome home, Roman. It’s 5:32 in the afternoon.”

Charlie ran up to the screen. “What else does she do?”

“Computer, music,” Roman said. “Classical.”

The room filled with the throbbing opening notes to Ravel’s Bolero. The sound resonated from several hidden speakers. Incredible! Anya felt as if she were inside an orchestra pit.

“Computer, softer,” Roman said.

The computer responded, lowering the volume.

“Can I talk to her?” Charlie asked.

“Sorry, buddy. She only responds to my voice.”

Anya stepped up beside them. “Why are you guys referring to the computer as a female?”

“Jeez, Mom. Didn’t you hear her voice? She’s a girl.”

And Anya wasn’t sure she wanted her five-year-old son associating with this sexy-sounding machine. What else was this computer programmed to do?

“Computer, games,” Roman said. A menu popped up on the screen. “What do you like to play, Charlie?”

“Acto-Dinosaurs.” He wriggled with excitement. “And I get to be Caveman.”

Roman typed in a few commands, accessing the program, which was one Legate had created. He placed Charlie in the chair in front of the screen and handed him a joystick. “Knock yourself out, kiddo. Your mom and I will be downstairs making dinner.”

“Okay.” Charlie was already absorbed in the game, lining up a series of battles with snarling cyberdinosaurs.

With one last speculative glance at the sumptuous bed, Anya followed Roman downstairs. “I’m impressed. Your house is fantastic.”

“Glad you like it,” he said. “It was already built, but I knocked out a couple of walls and opened it up. Made the top floor into one room.”

“It turned out beautifully. How did you learn to do this design stuff?”

“Before I started working at Legate, I had a career in contracting. I did a lot of custom homes, but my preference was big buildings. High-rises. Skyscrapers.”

“What made you decide to change careers?”

In the kitchen, he removed a foil-covered tray from the refrigerator. “It wasn’t that big a switch. Contracting and development requires a lot of administrative work—scheduling, negotiating and budget. Legate offered me a wider arena.”

She detected a note of sadness in his voice. “Do you miss contracting?”

“In a way. There’s something satisfying about putting a plan down on paper and seeing it through to completion. At Legate, nothing is ever simple.”

When he peeled back the foil, she caught a tantalizing whiff of a fragrant marinade drowning three steaks. “You never told me you could cook.”

“Every bachelor has at least three things they can make. All of mine involve red meat.” He handed her a bottle of red wine from the fridge. “Grab a couple of glasses from the shelf by the sink and come with me.”

They went outside through a sliding glass door. A long deck stretched the entire length of the house. Built out from the cliff, the deck seemed suspended in air. Anya went to the railing and peered over the edge. The drop was thirty feet to a rocky shoreline where breakers splashed, throwing up a frothy spray. “Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.”

“Or earthquakes,” he said. “When I moved in, I had the supports redesigned to compensate for shifting earth and erosion. But if the Big One hits, this deck is toast.”

“You like having a bit of danger in your life, living on the edge.” She looked down. “Literally.”

He fired up the gas grill and placed the steaks on it. “Neville calls it risk-aggressive behavior. For some reason, this is a positive attribute for a paper-pushing administrator.”

“You don’t strike me as a paper-pusher.”

“You’d be surprised at how boring my life can be.” With the steaks sizzling, he joined her at the railing and pointed to the west. “If we stand right here, we can watch the sun dip below the horizon.”

The skies, frothed with clouds, had begun to take on a crimson tinge. A salty sea breeze brushed her cheeks and throat, but Anya was warm inside the black blazer she wore over her dress. She looked up at the broad-shouldered man who stood beside her. Now that she’d started digging below his polished surface, she wanted to know more.

“We’ve never talked much about you,” she mused. “I know that you and Jeremy went to high school together in Denver. You were a runner.”

“I still hold the school record for the 500.” He smiled down at her. “I’ve always been fast.”

“So I’ve heard.” Jeremy had told her all sorts of wild stories about Roman and his harem, but she was beginning to see him as a multifaceted person who was far more fascinating than a mere womanizer. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your family.”

“Probably not.” He opened the wine and filled their glasses.

“Come on, Roman. Tell me about your mother and father.”

“My mother was a Gypsy,” he said, taking a sip.

“That’s why I’m named Roman, short for Romani. The Gypsy word for man.”

Very appropriate. Roman was the quintessential man. Utterly virile. “Go on.”

“Gypsies are supposed to be wanderers, and my mother was true to form. She took off for good when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. She was impossible and loud. Godawful loud. Always yelling about something. And my father wasn’t much better. He stuck around for me and my younger brother, but he never was much good at making a living.”

“Where is he now?”

“Don’t know,” Roman said. “Don’t care.”

“And your brother?”

“Lukas was killed in a motorcycle accident about ten years ago.” A shadow darkened his features. “I miss him.”

But he didn’t keep photos. Roman wasn’t a man who dwelled in the past. He took what life threw at him and moved on. Anya wished she could do the same. “My childhood was the opposite of yours. It was my father who left. In a way, we’re mirror images of each other.”

“Not really. Your mother was successful. You traveled the globe. My family never left Denver, and we barely scraped by.”

Having money made a difference. It was true. And Anya’s father hadn’t completely deserted her. He stayed in touch with birthday cards, phone calls and the occasional visit.

She’d always thought her life would have been easier if he’d completely abandoned her. That way, he’d be gone for good, and she’d be able to forget all about him.

“About your father,” Roman said. “I don’t remember seeing him at the funeral.”

“He telephoned.” And he had sounded truly, deeply sympathetic. His voice was at the edge of tears. But he told her he couldn’t be with her. His presence might bring danger.

This was the most perplexing aspect of her relationship with Wade Bouchard. He claimed to be part of an international cadre of scientists who were dedicated to bringing unethical practices and experiments to light. If she believed in his goals, her father was an admirable person. “Dad was always racing off to save the world. Like a superhero. Supposedly, he stayed away from me and my mother so we wouldn’t be attacked by his enemies.”

“He’s in SCAT, isn’t he? Scientists Concerned About Truth.”

“I never understood that nebulous organization. Occasionally, they issue statements to the press or on the Internet. And they have a dinky little office in Washington. But a worldwide organization?” She shook her head. “It seems more likely that my dad is a raging paranoid—fighting demons that don’t exist.”

“Those sound like your mother’s words.”

Anya nodded. “Mother doesn’t have many good things to say about Wade.”

“For what it’s worth,” Roman said. “I don’t think your father is delusional. There’s ample room for ethical concerns when it comes to the business of science and technology.”

“Of course. But there are also rational and legal methods for investigation.”

“And if those methods fail?”

What was he suggesting? “You can always tell what’s right from wrong.”

“Can you?”

He returned to the grill to tend the steaks, leaving her at the railing. She stared out into space, lulled by the rhythmic wash of waves against the rocks below. She should have been peaceful, but a small voice teased at the edge of her consciousness. What’s right? What’s wrong?

She remembered the Legate motto—For The Greater Good. It suggested that the needs of the many were more important than the needs of the few. Logical? Yes, but not always true. Legate’s policies had apparently resulted in enemies so dangerous that they needed armed security guards and high walls.

Amid all the bustling activity of genius at work, she had sensed the ominous undercurrents. Nothing she could precisely define. Just a feeling. A certain tension. She sipped her wine. On the grounds of Legate, her husband had died a violent death. Was the explosion at Building Fourteen really an accident?

A shudder went through her. Beneath her jacket, she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “When you referred to unethical practices, were you talking about Legate?”

“I’d rather not talk about Legate. It’s the weekend. Time to relax.”

But she couldn’t let this go. “Have I brought my son into a potentially dangerous situation?”

He met her gaze directly but didn’t speak. The fading sunlight cast intriguing shadows across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones. A man of Gypsy blood, he was exotic, and at the same time, strong and stable as a rock. Utterly unreadable. There were secrets locked inside him. That was all she could tell for sure.

Reaching toward her, he lightly brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “You’ll be safe. I’ll take care of you and Charlie. I’ll be your personal good luck dragon.”

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