Enemy Within
Amanda Browning

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

MICKEY HANLON experienced a dismayingly familiar tightening of her stomach muscles as, through the window of what they laughingly called her office, she watched a tall male figure climbing out of a now stationary jeep. Only moments before, the vehicle had raced down the fortunately deserted track which led to the bay on which her charter business was situated, leaving a slowly settling cloud of dust in its wake. With blatant disregard for the signs, he had parked in a no parking area, and Mickey knew instinctively that this was the way he went through life, obeying only the rules he wanted to, and making up the rest.

She also knew, with a faint sinking feeling, that he just had to be Ryan Douglas, the man who had chartered her float plane, and her skills, for the next few days, and for whom she had been waiting with increasing annoyance these past two hours. Justifiable annoyance, because on the telephone Ryan Douglas’s secretary had been most insistent she be there to meet him. Not that that had been hard to arrange, for, with the end of summer, the chartered sight-seeing trips were virtually over, although there would always be the out-of-season trade. But it had meant turning over one of her flights to another of her pilots, who should have had the day off.

She doubted she would have done it for anyone else, but there was a great deal of clout to be gained from piloting a world-famous photographer on one of his now legendary field trips. She’d caught an exhibition once while on a trip south to Vancouver, but all she knew of him came from overhearing the drooling conversation of two women who had also been visiting the show. He was, she had discovered, in his mid-thirties and unmarried, but that hadn’t impressed her half as much as his work. There was poetry in the photographs, a vision of a world the way it could be, even in the midst of turmoil and carnage.

To be even peripherally involved in the production of such art had helped her decide it would be good business to be adaptable. Besides, there was no point in wearing blinkers. The company desperately needed the kudos the assignment would bring. The recession was hitting her, too, creating a definite cash-flow problem. Keeping a fleet of float planes in tiptop condition took a great deal of money, and had priority, so other areas suffered. The buildings needed urgent attention, which meant they needed paying customers, but paying customers didn’t use a company which had all the signs of rampant seediness. Ryan Douglas was a way out of her difficulties, and so she had made a point of being on the ground at the specified time, only to find herself kicking her heels uselessly.

Now the root cause of her irritability was walking towards the converted boat shed as if he hadn’t a care in the world. A leather flying jacket sat comfortably on broad shoulders, while a pair of long legs, encased in thigh-hugging jeans, ate up the ground in loping strides. The ease with which he carried a canvas grip hinted at latent power, a power not solely allied to mere physical strength. Here was a man who was in complete control of himself and his life, and for no accountable reason Mickey shivered, the tiny hairs standing up all over her body.

He made her feel threatened, in a way she had thought long buried, consigned to the very recesses of her brain with all other memories of Jean-Luc. She shuddered at the name, lips thinning, and thrust the memory away, concentrating on the present walking towards her. She wished she could see his face, but that was hidden in the shadow cast by the peak of his slouch hat. Faces told you a great deal about a person—whether they laughed a lot, and if they were to be trusted. She’d learnt that much from past mistakes, and wasn’t about to forget it. Unfortunately there was no chance to see this one, for three strides later he had disappeared into the building, leaving her with a feeling of edginess that bordered on tension.

At which point she got a firm grip on herself. She had no time to be so femininely fanciful. Jean-Luc was in the past. She was no longer prey to the kind of emotions he had aroused in her. If she was tense, she had every reason to be. The company which had become her life was under threat, and, added to that, she hadn’t heard from her sister Leah for some time. She was being silly to worry. Leah was probably caught up in university life. Everyone knew the young were notoriously forgetful. She’d write, very contritely, when she remembered.

Mickey squared her shoulders. She was a businesswoman, and was here to do a job. Running a small fleet of planes out of British Columbia had not been easy in a male-dominated field, but an unsuspected gritty determination had kept her going. She had forged a niche in life where she was liked and respected, a zillion miles away from the life she had left eight years ago, when she had been a deeply unhappy twenty-year-old. No man was going to undermine her achievements, no matter who he thought he was.

‘Hey, Mac? Is Hanlon inside?’ The abrupt tones of a deep male voice, coming from only yards away, broke into her reverie, making her jump and bringing an irritated scowl to her face at her reaction.

‘Mickey? Yep, sure.’ The slightly bemused tone of Sid Meeks, her mechanic and right-hand-man, echoed across the former boat shed which served as a hangar.

Footsteps approached the office, and she turned away from the window, crossing to her desk, unconsciously bracing herself for the meeting. The door was thrust open without a preliminary knock, and an electric force seemed to explode into the room along with the man. Mickey had never experienced anything remotely like it, and perhaps that was why her words came out far more sharply than she had intended.

‘You’re late, Mr Douglas!’ she snapped, taking an instant dislike to this male who seemed to think he could arrogantly do anything he liked. She had met the sort before. Jean-Luc had been a prime example, and her experiences with him had opened her eyes with a vengeance. Such men were anathema to her, and if she had known beforehand what this man was like she would never have agreed to spend an hour with him, let alone a few days!

At the sound of her voice the focus of her attention stopped abruptly; then, to her surprise and chagrin, he laughed, a deep-throated sound which almost curled her toes even as she tensed angrily. As her cheeks turned pink he propped his shoulder against the doorpost, tipped his hat on to the back of his head, and gave out with a long, soundless whistle.

She could see all she wanted of his face then. He had impossibly long-lashed blue eyes beneath mockingly raised brows, an aquiline nose and a mouth with a sensuality that should have carried a health warning! He was quite the most handsome man she had ever seen, and she had seen enough in her short life to know the difference between this and plain good looks. This man had it all, down to the dimple in his chin. The ruggedness of his jaw stopped him from looking effeminate, which was fortunate, for beneath his hat she could see a cluster of dark curls.

All this she absorbed in seconds, plus two undeniable facts. First he seemed vaguely familiar, and secondly he found her amusing. She hadn’t been prepared for the latter, nor the way his eyes began a slow inspection of her person. They didn’t miss much on the way down, and any lapse was accounted for on the way up. He noted the well worn boots on her feet, the shapeless khaki cords cinched in at her waist with a wide leather belt. His eyes lingered on the red plaid shirt, then followed the crimson tide up over an elfin face entirely devoid of make-up, large green eyes flashing angrily, full lips pulled into a tight line, until finally they skipped over the close-cropped black hair crammed beneath a dusty bush hat.

Crossing his arms, he shook his head. ‘What the hell are you supposed to be, a female Indiana Jones?’ he queried tauntingly.

Even Mickey, who rarely went to the cinema, had heard of the character he named, and she knew the reference was meant as no compliment, spoken the way it was. He found her lacking. Amusing in a pitiful way. To her surprise, considering the view was hardly novel, from this man she found she didn’t like it, not one little bit.

‘I didn’t dress to please you, Mr Douglas!’

That enticing mouth curved. ‘Nor any man, I shouldn’t imagine. What’s the matter? Don’t you like being a woman, or are you just scared of being one?’ he mocked back immediately.

To her everlasting dismay, her reaction was disgustingly feminine. ‘How dare you? You’re the rudest man I’ve ever met!’ she exclaimed furiously.

Mickey had never received such open scorn before. She was intelligent enough to realise her style of dress was considered odd, but she didn’t care. Her clothes were asexual, and that was exactly the way she wanted it. How typical of a man to assume that because she didn’t wear clothes which advertised her as ‘available’ she had to be scared! Well, she wasn’t advertising because she had nothing for sale. She had opted out. No doubt he would see that as unnatural, whereas she had merely taken control of her life, refusing to be at the mercy of her own hormones. She was not a body, but a person, and as a person she did not need to advertise her sex.

Far from being repentant, Ryan Douglas merely made himself more comfortable, crossing his long legs at the ankles. ‘Is that so? Well, you’re sure the strangest woman I’ve ever met,’ he said conversationally.

Entirely forgetting that it was bad business to alienate a paying customer, especially one so desperately needed, she felt acid fly to her tongue. ‘And you’ve known so many, I suppose?’

Ryan Douglas grinned. ‘Only my fair share. How about you?’

Mickey’s eyes narrowed as she detected the way the conversation was turning. How like a man to see her only as a sex object! And not a very alluring one at that! Her chin lifted belligerently. ‘How about me, what?’

If her direct challenge was meant to halt him, it failed signally. ‘How many men have you known?’ he enlarged obligingly, making her wish she’d kept her mouth shut.

‘One too many,’ she retorted snappily, and experienced an odd sensation in her stomach when his lips parted in a broad smile as he laughed.

‘Ouch! The...lady...has got claws all right! You’ve got looks too. Have you always done your best to play them down, or did something happen to send you into hiding?’

His choice of words was staggering, and without warning she was plunged into the black pit of remembrance, seeing Jean-Luc’s face as he laughed at her and told her she was a fool. Sexy, but a fool. The vision disappeared as she shivered and found herself back in the present. For a moment she could only stare at Ryan Douglas in a kind of shock, thinking, How on earth could he know? The answer came quickly: he couldn’t. It had been a lucky taunt, and only her reaction was in danger of revealing what she had kept so carefully hidden.

In an instant, shock turned to an icy hauteur she hadn’t used in years. ‘Mr Douglas, I suggest you mind your own business,’ she told him coldly. ‘And while you’re about it, you might as well turn around and go back where you came from.’ Hang the consequences; there was no way—absolutely no way—she would do business with this man!

He didn’t like her tone, or her suggestion; that was certain. The relaxation left him. ‘Lady, I don’t know who you are, but if you’re supposed to be some outlandish excuse for a secretary why don’t you do your job and get Hanlon for me?’ Looking around the sparsely furnished room, his eyes narrowed sharply, before shooting back to her. ‘I was told he was in here. Where is he? Hiding?’

There was something less than casual in the tone of that one word, but Mickey was too wrathful to pick it up. It gave her intense pleasure to cross her arms and raise her own eyebrows mockingly. ‘You’re looking right at him, Mr Douglas.’ An outlandish excuse for a secretary? He had some nerve!

Ryan Douglas froze, a deep frown cutting into his forehead as he swiftly shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’m talking about Michael Hanlon, the owner of this business, and he’s very much a man.’

Again there was an undercurrent which she only registered peripherally. Her thoughts were on what a joy it was to put his charming nose out of joint. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid it’s you who are mistaken, Mr Douglas,’ she countered with a sweet smile.

Blue eyes hardened with a suspicion of anger. ‘There’s no way on earth you can be Michael Hanlon.’

‘Not Michael, Mr Douglas, Michaela, but my friends call me Mickey. Would you care to see my passport?’ she returned smoothly, once more in control, and enjoying his discomfiture. She suspected it wasn’t very often that anyone got the better of this man.

Ryan Douglas swore, violently. ‘The hell you say! All your company details, right down to your letterheading, refer to Michael Hanlon as the owner. How do you explain that, or can I do it myself? Is that the way you usually get work, by hiding the fact that you’re a woman and cheating your way into a job?’

The unjust allegation made her blood boil. The truth was she had used the last of the correctly headed stationery some time ago, and as there hadn’t been the spare cash to order more she had latched on to the idea of using her father’s, as the difference was only one letter. It was her custom to ink in an ‘a’, but this time she must have forgotten to do so. She was left on the defensive, which she hated. ‘A printing error,’ she lied blithely, before getting on to the nitty-gritty. ‘For your information I didn’t hide the fact that I’m a woman, and I’ve certainly never lied my way into a job!’

An icy gaze gave her the once-over again. ‘From where I’m standing you’re doing your best to make yourself sexless!’

Clearly he meant the words to sting, but Mickey only felt vindicated in her choice. She had no desire to be the focus of anyone’s attention, and especially not a man’s. No, she had lived in the spotlight, experienced its notoriety, and now all she wanted to do was fade into the background with the rest of humanity. That wasn’t too much to ask, surely? Not the crime he made it out to be!

‘However,’ he went on tersely, ‘it makes no difference, honey, because it’s a well known fact that I never work with women.’

She just bet he didn’t! Women had other uses! As the scornful thoughts whipped through her brain, she suddenly recalled why he had seemed so familiar. She’d read an article at the dentist’s about a man they’d labelled a ‘connoisseur of women’. Disgusted, she hadn’t bothered to notice the man’s name, but now she realised the picture had been of Ryan Douglas. And connoisseur was just the word, because, although he didn’t photograph them, he certainly appreciated their beauty. He always had them around him, and working was far from his mind!

She didn’t know whom she despised most, the women who let themselves be used, or the man who did the using!

Her lips pursed, angered by his cutting remarks and his blatant chauvinism. If there was one thing Mickey knew implicitly, it was her ability to do her job. ‘My sex doesn’t come into it, only my competence. If you’d bothered to ask, anyone could have told you I was female. In fact, I assumed you knew. However, you needn’t worry about compromising your chauvinistic pride, because this is one woman you certainly won’t be working with!’ And with that declaration she bent down to pick up a tan flying jacket, so similar to his own, which lay by the desk.

Which was as far as she got, because, when she turned, Ryan Douglas’s large frame blocked her exit. Involuntarily she reared back a step, eyes sending out icy darts, even as her brain registered the shock-wave of heat which had seemed to flow from him, and the tangy scent of his aftershave. ‘Excuse me,’ she said pointedly, hands tightening on the leather in automatic rejection of the way her senses had rioted in response.

Dear lord, the very last thing she had ever expected or wanted was to be attracted to this man! But she knew herself now, recognising the singing rush of blood through her veins had nothing to do with loathing. The thought brought with it a sickening self-contempt. Scornfully she asked herself why she should be surprised. He was just like Jean-Luc, a user, and heaven knew her weakness there! Would she never learn?

‘And just where the hell do you think you’re going?’ he demanded tersely.

Mickey ground her teeth, grateful for a fresh surge of dislike. ‘If you’ll just get out of the way, I’m leaving, which will please both of us no end!’ she returned pithily.

One long arm reached out, his hand closing on her arm and cutting off the blood. ‘Oh, no, you don’t! I hired you, and I sure haven’t fired you.’

She tried to pull free, alarmed to feel the imprint of each finger and the warmth of his palm, but he foiled the attempt with ease, which only made her angrier. ‘A formality, surely. After all, like it or not, I am a woman, and you don’t like them if they have brains, do you, Mr Douglas?’ she scorned.

His hold relaxed slightly, and a lazy warmth entered his eyes, deepening the blue to mysterious depths. ‘Oh, I like all sorts of women. At least, women who look like women. I simply don’t work with them because they’re trouble. They always try to mix business with pleasure.’

Dear God, the man was insufferable, and if she kept thinking that way the fledgling attraction would wither and die. ‘Meaning you think you’re irresistible? Well, here’s one woman who disagrees!’

‘But then you’re not a real woman, are you, Mickey Hanlon?’ he taunted softly, and she paled, her breath catching at the unexpectedly sharp dart of pain which shot through her.

It took a real effort to hold his gaze and not reveal just how he had got to her. By ‘real woman’, no doubt he meant some mindless sex object, and that she refused to be ever again. ‘Whatever my supposed failings, I’ll be taking them with me when I go.’ Which couldn’t be soon enough as far as she was concerned.

‘And just where am I going to get another pilot at such short notice?’ Ryan Douglas ground out harshly.

Of all the arrogant...! He thought he could say what he liked and still get her co-operation. Not this time. ‘That’s your problem. You made the rules. No women, remember? So goodbye, Mr Douglas.’ When she tugged at her arm again, she found herself instantly released. However, the sense of freedom was fleeting.

‘Leave here, and I’ll sue you for breach of contract.’

The threat halted her in the doorway, and she turned swiftly. He was smiling, but the smile on his lips failed to reach his eyes, and she shivered atavistically. ‘You can’t be serious?’

He laughed drily. ‘I’ve never been more so.’

Mickey took a steadying breath. If ever there was a time for caution, this was it. ‘But you don’t want me,’ she pointed out, then mentally kicked herself as she realised how unfortunate the statement was.

It wasn’t lost on him. One sardonic eyebrow rose. ‘An apt choice of words. Unfortunately, time is short, and if you’re the owner of this...establishment, then it has to be you I deal with,’ he declared grimly, mouth hardening into an indomitable line.

While common sense was telling Mickey she should get out of there as fast as her legs could carry her, she knew his threat was far from just talk. While it was unnerving, she was brought up short with a reminder that she was reacting most unprofessionally. She had never walked out on a job yet, but, more than that, she couldn’t risk her whole livelihood so recklessly. Though it galled her to do it, she curbed her dislike. ‘What are you suggesting? That I put one of my male pilots at your disposal?’ she challenged, determined to be as professional as she knew how.

A devilish amusement quirked at his lips, but a glance at his eyes would have shown them to be as hard as diamonds. ‘The contract specifically states that M. Hanlon is to be my pilot. That being the case, I’m prepared to overlook the fact that you’re a woman. After all, you’re doing your best to pretend you aren’t one. And I’ve a feeling you’ll agree to the compromise, because you think you’re a match for any man, don’t you, Mickey—short for Michaela—Hanlon?’

There were good reasons for Mickey’s chosen lifestyle, but that wasn’t one of them. Not that she was about to explain herself to this man. ‘I’m a professional, Mr Douglas. That’s why you hired me, and that’s what you’ll get. However, I may have signed a contract with you, but it doesn’t give you the right to throw insults at me all day long,’ she protested, determined to set some ground rules here and now.

Taking off his hat, Ryan Douglas raked a hand through his hair. ‘You’ll have to learn to develop a thick skin to go with the trousers if you want to be taken seriously, Hanlon,’ he observed drily, before settling the hat back more comfortably. ‘OK, now you’d better show me round.’

She had been just about to protest the scathing use of her surname, but his command halted the flow. This was something she hadn’t taken into consideration. She had no reason to be ashamed of her fleet, although two of her float planes were temporarily out of commission, waiting for spares—which also cost money, so that they were seriously considering cannibalising one to keep the others air-worthy. And there was no denying that the adapted boat shed had seen better days. Even the sign was faded and flaking.

‘Is that absolutely necessary?’ she queried stiffly, knowing that an outright refusal would only make him suspect she had something far more serious to hide than bad paintwork.

A fact not lost on him as he stared her out. ‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t take a look?’

A reason other than that she disliked him intensely? ‘None at all,’ she said coldly, and led the way out with head held high.

There was not much to see, and she showed him round both inside and out on the jetty with her back ramrod-straight. It didn’t help to view her property through his eyes, noticing where several boards needed replacing here, or a coat of paint was needed there. For an instant she wished she had asked Leah for a loan after all, but knew the reasons for not doing so hadn’t changed. Just because someone had money, it didn’t mean you had the right to ask for some of it, even if they were your family.

Recalling that made her wonder once again what Leah was doing. It was unlike her not to have been in touch, and she made a mental note to write to Sophie the minute she got home tonight.

A sharp question brought her back to her major problem, and, biting back the urge to defend the depressingly seedy look of things, Mickey kept her observations brief and to the point. She knew that where it counted, namely the float planes, everything was in good order. Sid regularly serviced each machine, just as he was now doing to hers. For his part, Ryan Douglas said little, merely took everything in non-committally. Only when they had returned to the office did he turn a poker face her way.

‘Right, I’ve seen enough; let’s go.’

Having been expecting a scathing indictment of her company, Mickey was taken aback. ‘Go? Go where?’

That pitying look she was fast coming to loathe returned to his face. ‘To dinner, of course. I’ve just had one hell of a journey, and I’m tired and hungry. I’m booked into the Crest Motor Hotel, so we’ll eat there.’

His assumption that she would simply fall in with whatever plan he chose was like waving a red rag. Once she might have slavishly obeyed any order Jean-Luc had given, but those days were long gone. When you rediscovered self-worth, you didn’t abandon it again to anyone! Mickey quickly counted to ten before exploding. ‘Oh, we will, will we? Let me remind you, Mr Douglas, you hired a pilot, not a dinner companion!’

‘Just as well I did, because there’s nothing more liable to put me off my food than sitting across from a sour-faced woman.’

Mickey gasped in outrage. ‘Your charm overwhelms me!’

His gaze became speculative. ‘Do you want me to charm you, Hanlon? I thought you wanted me to treat you like a man.’

‘I want...’ She stopped her hasty retort mid-flow, aware that she was only making herself ridiculous in his eyes.

‘Yes? You want...?’ Ryan Douglas prompted, the glint of laughter in his eyes confirming her thought.

Mickey drew breath slowly, amazed at how easily her usual calm temperament had been changed to aggression by the man standing before her. And as that only appeared to amuse him, she’d be civil if it killed her. ‘Mr Douglas, it’s been a long, frustrating day for me, too. All I want to do is go home.’

If she had hoped to appeal to a better side of his nature, she quickly discovered he didn’t have one. ‘Your wants will have to wait. There are certain matters which have to be discussed. I didn’t plan on dealing with a woman, but nothing else has changed. We’ll have our...talk...over dinner.’

Mickey fumed inwardly. He could have told her that in the first place, but he’d been having too much fun goading her. Though she was ready to spit nails, she found a dignified reply. ‘Very well, Mr Douglas, if you insist.’

‘Oh, I do,’ he returned softly. ‘And I also insist you stop calling me Mr Douglas. My name is Ryan; use it.’

Not a request, but a command. Well, two could play at that game. ‘And my name is Mickey, not Hanlon!’

He had the gall to grin. ‘Hanlon suits you better. Mickey is soft and feminine, while Hanlon is as tough as old boots.’

If she had had an old boot, she would have chucked it right at his grinning face! What had she let herself in for? Even a day in Ryan Douglas’s company would be pure purgatory. But perhaps there was a way she could get a little of her own back. After all, they were on the ground now, but in the air they were in her territory. She’d find out then just what sort of stuff Ryan Douglas was made of!

She looked up to find those intense blue eyes had narrowed. ‘Stop looking like the cat who got the cream, Hanlon. You’re beginning to make me nervous.’

Mickey swallowed back a caustic laugh. The man didn’t have a nerve in the whole of his body! ‘We wouldn’t want that, would we, Mr...Ryan?’ She stressed his name as she caught the lift of his brows. ‘Not when you’re putting your life in my hands.’ She waggled her fingers under his nose, and very nearly yelped when he caught hold of them in his own large, strong hand. She couldn’t have protested even if she’d wanted to, because the jolt of electricity which had shot up her arm at the contact took her breath away. Horrified, she found herself staring at the sight of her own slim hand imprisoned in his, while her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest.

Meanwhile, Ryan was studying his captive. ‘Hmm, long, graceful fingers. Hardly the strong, practical type. Are you sure you’re in the right line of work? Somehow, they just don’t fit the image,’ he mused, and Mickey quickly snatched her hand away, grateful for the excuse.

‘Don’t worry, I haven’t lost a paying passenger...yet,’ she shot back with all the aplomb she could muster, while surreptitiously rubbing her hand down her trousers in an attempt to stop the tingling.

His lips quirked. ‘I don’t like the way you said that. Could you, by any chance, be flirting with me, Hanlon?’

She froze, the animation dying out of her face. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—flirt with him, for to do so would be flirting with danger. Mentally and physically, she backed off. ‘Hardly! Women like me don’t flirt with men like you,’ she enlarged with distaste.

‘You say that as if you’ve met men like me before. Was it one of them who sent you running?’ he queried shrewdly, but only managed to put her on an even keel again.

Secure in the knowledge that men like him and Jean-Luc were too vain to see they might not be the be-all and end-all, Mickey curved her lips with icy amusement. ‘Strange, isn’t it, how men always imagine it must be one of their kind who makes a woman the way she is?’

‘That’s because it usually is,’ Ryan observed watchfully. ‘You’re saying you’re different?’

She laughed, turning to the door once more. ‘I’m not saying anything.’ She refused to be drawn into a personal discussion with him.

Ryan followed her out into the hangar. ‘You don’t need to, Hanlon; your silence speaks for you.’

Unseen by her antagonist, Mickey briefly closed her eyes. ‘Back off, Ryan. You’re my passenger, not my confessor.’

Behind her, he laughed. ‘Do you have anything to confess?’ he challenged, then came to an abrupt halt as she swung to face him.

He had pushed her an inch too far, and her finger stabbed at his chest. ‘If you want a confession, here’s one. I’ve made mistakes in my life, but the biggest one was having anything to do with you!’

Hands hooked into the belt loops of his jeans, he looked down at her mockingly. ‘Why so touchy? Have I hit a nerve or ten?’

Mickey turned away in a movement that was distressingly nearly a flounce. ‘Not even close. I just got out of bed the wrong side this morning,’ she snapped, trying to recover lost ground.

‘If you’d been in it with a man, it wouldn’t matter what side you got out of,’ he sent after her, bringing her round again, cheeks flaming.

Painful memories rose dangerously near the surface, of reckless, selfish taking. But nothing was free. Pleasure had to be paid for. Passion could be a curse, a greedy monster. ‘Sex isn’t the answer to everything!’ she spluttered angrily.

For once Ryan didn’t laugh. ‘If it isn’t the cure, it’s often the cause.’

Mickey was beginning to feel she was being put through an emotional wringer, and every time she tried to free herself she just went round again. ‘Thank you, Dr Freud, and goodnight. For someone who says he won’t work with a woman, you keep harping on the fact that I am one,’ she accused.

‘Just trying to figure out what makes you tick, Hanlon,’ Ryan answered smoothly.

‘Better men than you have tried, and failed in the attempt,’ she shot back, and regretted it immediately when his lips curved drily.

‘Froze them all off, did you? I can’t say that surprises me. So it shouldn’t surprise you to hear you might just have met your match,’ he observed softly, with an undertone which set her heart knocking.

Alarm shot through her system before she could suppress it. ‘You’re forgetting your own rules, Ryan,’ she reminded him, far too breathlessly. She felt vulnerable, and it was a bad feeling, because she knew the enemy was as much within as without.

‘Ah, but then rules are made to be broken. You intrigue me, Hanlon, and that means you might just be worth making an exception of.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE Crest Motor Hotel was a well known landmark in Prince Rupert, sitting on its bluff overlooking the harbour. Mickey had only ever admired it in passing. Entering the lobby, dressed in working clothes as she still was, made her feel that all eyes turned her way. Lord, how she hated that sensation! It plunged her back into another time, when every move she made had drawn avid attention, when she had felt the sting of shame burning her flesh and it had been as if a scarlet ‘A’ had been emblazoned on her forehead.

She had done everything she could to make sure that would never happen to her again, down to wearing non-feminine clothes, and yet, with a feeling of almost hysterical irony, she found herself once again the centre of attention. What was everyone thinking? That she and this handsome, incredibly sexy man were going upstairs to...? She battened down hard on the thought. She was getting paranoid. It was guilt talking. Guilt because she couldn’t ignore the attraction she felt. But only she knew that; everyone else was probably thinking she looked a mess!

Shakily she adjourned the mental court inside her brain which constantly sat in judgement of herself. Yes, it was her appearance which caused comment, and for the first time in years she regretted leaving her designer clothes behind. Tonight she could have done with the boost to her confidence that a fashionable suit would have provided.

As she followed in Ryan’s wake, paradoxically comforted by the thought, she quite missed the fact that the reason people turned to look was because of the natural pride and confidence in her bearing.

Ryan’s suite was on the top floor, above the hustle and bustle of the town, and walking into it was like entering a haven of peace. For all of thirty seconds. It took that long for Mickey to walk inside, take an appreciative look at the comfortable furnishings, and turn round. Whereupon she had the fortune, or misfortune, to be in time to see Ryan Douglas turn the key in the lock, before removing and pocketing it securely. The shock had her eyes swinging to his face to meet an expression so grim that her stomach lurched.

‘What are you doing?’ The question came out in a husky waver, and, dismayed to sound so wishy-washy, she dredged up enough steel to add demandingly, ‘Why have you locked us in?’

He chose not to answer immediately. Removing his hat and coat and tossing them on to a chair, Ryan strode menacingly towards her, halting almost painfully close. ‘Not us, Hanlon, just you. We have some talking to do, and I don’t want you running away.’

The statement was hardly designed to ease the erratic thumping of her heart. She had no idea what was going on, but she didn’t like it anyway. It was hard not to think of all those scary tales of kidnapping, but she told herself this was Ryan Douglas, not some thug. All the same, she was determined to camouflage her growing tension at finding herself in the midst of this new and startling situation.

‘Isn’t this a little extreme for talking over flight plans?’ she attempted to joke, while looking for a means of escape. It didn’t take long to realise they were too high up for there to be any safer exit than the door.

A fact Ryan was fully aware of, and, although he had taken the precaution of locking the door, he still kept himself between her and it. Moreover, he didn’t laugh. ‘Cut out the chit-chat and just tell me where they are,’ he commanded, in a voice which could have shattered rock at twenty paces.

If she’d hoped for instant enlightenment, at his words the darkness only deepened. Completely at a loss, she stared at him, deciding he was utterly mad, and wondering why nobody else had ever noticed it. Hadn’t someone once said the way to handle madmen was to humour them? It seemed to her to be a wise course.

She manufactured a faintly questioning smile. ‘You’ll have to tell me more than that. Where are what? What exactly are you talking about?’ she queried with as much concern as she could muster.

It went down like a ton of bricks. An angry hand slashed through the air, cutting her off so abruptly that she flinched. ‘You know damn well!’

Mickey struggled to make sense of it all. She could feel an incredible anger coming at her in waves. She had never experienced such violent animosity before, not even when the news of her involvement with Jean-Luc had broken, making her the butt of universal condemnation. All at once her knees began to tremble, and her heart to race. This sounded like trouble with a capital ‘T’, and she couldn’t even begin to defend herself until she knew the reason. So she had to continue fighting in the dark.

‘All I know is that you’re crazy! You lure me here under false pretences, lock me in, and then make irrational demands! Whatever you’re looking for, I haven’t got it!’ It was good to feel angry, for it smothered her anxiety.

Ryan moved like lightning to catch her by the shoulders and shake her roughly. ‘God, I should have known you’d be bloody perverse. You’re in it too, aren’t you? Right up to your sweet little neck!’

Though nothing made sense, when danger threatened Mickey acted instinctively. Her foot lashed out, the heavy boot connecting with his shin with a highly satisfactory thunk, and as he yelped and released her she had the presence of mind to quickly put herself out of range beyond the couch. From there she watched him rub his sore leg briefly before straightening to glare at her. She held up a faintly trembling hand to keep him at bay.

‘Stay right where you are, or, so help me, I’ll scream blue murder!’ she threatened, fully prepared to carry it out.

Ryan Douglas’s broad chest rose and fell sharply as he took a breath. He stayed where he was, but not because he was afraid of scandal, simply because it suited him better. Mickey swallowed nervously to moisten a mouth which had taken on the aspect of a particularly arid desert. Clearly he was battling a compulsive urge to throttle her, and it appeared to take a great effort for him to sound reasonable.

‘There’s no need for you to scream. If you don’t want to prolong this unpleasant interview, just tell me where Peter is...where they both are.’

There he went again! Did he think she was crazy too? If she had known she would have told him, just to get out of there. Unfortunately, Mickey was as much in the dark as ever. ‘Who is Peter, and who are “they”?’ she demanded helplessly, with predictable results.

Those incredible blue eyes narrowed. ‘You know, this pretence of ignorance is doing nothing for my patience, Hanlon,’ he said testily, then breathed in deeply. ‘OK, OK, if it will get me some answers I’ll go along with it. But be warned, my patience isn’t endless. Peter is Peter Douglas, my nephew.’

He could have said Rip Van Winkle for all the relevance it had to her. ‘Is that supposed to convey something?’ Edgily, she knew what reaction her response would receive.

His jaw clenched. ‘You’re darn right it should, because Peter is the man your precious sister has got her gold-digging claws into!’

Mickey was stunned. Of all the answers she might have imagined, that had never occurred to her. ‘Leah?’ An awful foreboding clenched her heart as she recalled her own concern over the lack of communication with her sister.

At her mention of the name, a grim smile twisted his lips. ‘So you haven’t forgotten everything,’ he drawled nastily. ‘Yes, Leah. Your scheming sister has got Peter so besotted, he’s run off with her! But let me tell you something: if she thinks she’s got a meal-ticket for life, she’s got another think coming!’

Shock rapidly gave way to anger, which welled up like a volcanic eruption. ‘Hold it! Who do you think you’re calling a gold-digger?’ she challenged violently, seeing in her mind’s eye the sweet face of her young half-sister. Gold-digger? If anything, Leah was quite dismayingly unworldly.

‘What else would you call a woman who convinces a man to run off with her after five minutes’ acquaintance?’

She didn’t fully understand the situation, but she knew Leah was under attack, and that was enough. Like a tigress coming to the defence of her young, Mickey balled her hands into fists. ‘Don’t you dare say another word, Ryan Douglas, because you’ve got hold of the wrong girl. My sister Leah has not run away with anyone. She’s studying for her degree at university.’ True enough, but that niggle of doubt increased. Why hadn’t Leah been in touch?

An eyebrow rose mockingly. ‘Really? Well, believe it or not, she’s found a new career,’ he sneered.

The gibe brought an angry growl to her throat. ‘Well, I don’t believe you! Leah hasn’t mentioned anyone to me. I know my sister, and deceit is beyond her. I don’t know this Peter, but, if he’s anything like you, then it’s my belief that any seducing has been done by your own precious nephew!’ Mickey charged back fiercely, rounding the couch to square up to him.

‘Peter isn’t the one who needs money. He has enough of his own, as if you didn’t know!’ he put in caustically.

Mickey felt ready to explode. ‘I don’t know, and Leah doesn’t need money either!’ She had inherited a considerable sum from both her mother and her father, and could expect vastly more from her grandmother.

Ryan remained distinctly unimpressed by her avowal. ‘That isn’t the impression I got from looking around your business this afternoon. If I’ve ever seen a building in urgent need of repair, then that was it!’ He laughed derisively.

Hot colour washed in and out of her cheeks. ‘Damn you, Leah has nothing to do with my business! Which doesn’t need your money either, just a fresh coat of paint and a nail or two! I’ve been waiting for the time, and the money, to do the repairs,’ she lied bravely, only to see his lip curl.

‘Do you take me for a fool? Do you think I didn’t have your financial status checked out? You’re barely keeping your head above water, Hanlon. If your sister has money, which I doubt, then it isn’t in the quantity you need. Only a large slice of the Douglas fortune is going to bail you out!’

Mickey paled at the knowledge of just how much he knew about her lack of funds, but it didn’t alter one basic fact. ‘If you say I need the money, then why are you calling Leah the gold-digger?’ she demanded hoarsely.

The look in his eyes wasn’t flattering. ‘Who would fall under your spell, Hanlon? You needed Leah to bait the trap, and, once you’d caught Peter, your loving sister would hand over all that lovely money to you!’

Her colour rose with her chin. ‘It sounds very plausible, but you’re wrong on every count! There is no plot—at least, not with my family. I don’t know how you came by your erroneous information, but, whoever your nephew has run off with, it certainly isn’t my sister,’ she protested hardily.

Ryan watched her closely for a moment, as if deciding whether he could get away with what he would really like to do, then swung on his heel and went to pour himself a drink. ‘Tell me, did your father have more than one daughter named Leah?’

Never taking her eyes off him for a moment, Mickey crossed her arms defensively. ‘Of course not! But the name Leah is hardly uncommon. Why pick on us?’

Draining a glass of whisky, he walked back to her. ‘Because that was the name Peter gave in his letter. However, as I don’t expect you to believe me, you can read it for yourself.’ He produced the missive from his shirt pocket, rather like a conjurer.

She accepted the letter, but held it as if it might bite her. However, after reading only the first paragraph, Mickey slowly sank down on to the couch, and started from the top. Whoever Peter was, the girl he described certainly sounded like her sister—A black-haired, dark-eyed angel, who loved him for himself. But he knew his uncle wouldn’t approve, so they were going away together. Nobody was to worry; they would come back when they were ready. There was more in the same vein. When she reached the end, Mickey looked up at the now silent man who stood before her.

The heat of anger had died out of her, leaving her, for the moment, uncertain. She clung to the rug, lest it be pulled completely out from under her feet. ‘There has to be some mistake. Leah would never just run off like that!’ She wouldn’t not get in touch either, but you know she hasn’t, Mickey told herself silently.

‘You know her so well?’

Considering she hadn’t even known of her sibling’s existence until eight years ago, Mickey deemed it wisest not to answer that, even though, in her heart, her answer would have been an emphatic yes. ‘You’re wrong. I know you are. Leah is at the university,’ she declared with all the assurance she could muster. If she could use the phone, she’d prove it.

Ryan dropped another bombshell. ‘No, she isn’t. She hasn’t shown up for classes for the past three weeks.’

The absolute conviction in his voice was enough to startle Mickey. ‘Three weeks!’ she exclaimed in dismay, wishing she could argue, but knowing this, at least, had to be true. Because he could only have found out by checking with the faculty.

Ryan, on the other hand, derived no such certainty from her tone. ‘Do you really expect me to believe you didn’t know?’

She glared at him, having had more than enough of his vile accusations regarding both herself and her sister. ‘If you think I’d calmly sit by while my sister ruined her life, you’re very much mistaken!’ Three weeks! Exactly the length of time since Leah had last called her! Surely her sister couldn’t have done anything so foolish as to run off with a strange man?

Ryan snorted disgustedly. ‘Hardly ruined. Peter must be worth half a million dollars at the last count. Not that he can get his hands on it until he’s twenty-five, which might not amuse your sister at all. I imagine she’s been having a whale of a time deciding just how she’ll spend it.’

At that, Mickey shot to her feet, thrusting the crumpled letter back at him. ‘I refuse to listen to any more of this! If Leah isn’t at the university, then she’s with her grandmother.’ That had to be the explanation. She just knew Leah wouldn’t have done any of what this vile man was suggesting. The trouble was, reference to Grandmother Sophie was hardly likely to instil unqualified confidence. Not that she’d reveal her doubts for the world! No, there was a solid-gold reason for her sister not being at the university, and she was going to find out just what it was!

However, before she could say so, her protagonist was exclaiming, ‘Grandmother?’ in a tone which implied she had caught him off balance for once.

Mickey couldn’t hide her look of triumph. ‘You didn’t know about her, did you? It seems you don’t know everything!’

He sent her a stony look, then marched across to the telephone. Lifting the receiver, he held it out to her. ‘OK, ring her and ask her if Leah’s there.’

She would have loved to—anything to rub his nose in it—but it was impossible. ‘I can’t. Sophie doesn’t have a phone.’ Wouldn’t, was actually a truer word. Her eccentricities were as ever, impractical.

With a muttered oath, Ryan crashed the receiver back into the rest, and gathered up his coat. ‘Then we’ll go and pay her a visit. Where does she live?’

He was already slipping his arms into his jacket as her jaw dropped. ‘You’re crazy. She lives clear over in Kitimat. It will take ages to get there!’

For all the notice he took, she might have been saying Leah’s grandmother lived on the moon. He merely proceeded to unlock the door. ‘I came here with the express purpose of bringing Peter home. I have no intention of leaving without him, nor will I give you the chance to warn anyone by waiting until tomorrow!’

It was like batting her head against a brick wall. And Mickey stamped her foot in exasperation. ‘Don’t you listen to a word I say? I’m not involved in a conspiracy. You’ve been reading too many spy novels.’

Over his shoulder, his look was pitying. ‘Having been found out, you’d hardly be likely to admit to anything. Of course, if what you’re trying to do is keep me from discovering Leah isn’t where you say she is, then I’ll just draw my own conclusions.’

Mickey couldn’t think how she had ever thought this man attractive! He was loathsome. Everything she said was turned around to suit his purpose. Nothing would do but to show him how wrong he was to his face. ‘All right, we’ll go,’ she agreed grudgingly, and joined him at the door.

His smile was sardonic. ‘I’m glad to see you’re an intelligent woman, Hanlon.’

She sent him a daggers look. ‘If I’d had any intelligence, I’d have seen you coming!’

‘You’d have to get up very early in the morning to get the better of me,’ he advised ironically, locking the door after them and ushering her back to the lift.

‘It can’t be that difficult, if your nephew managed to do it,’ Mickey observed pungently.

‘He hasn’t got away with it yet,’ he reminded her, and she pulled a face.

‘How old is he?’

‘Twenty-three.’

From the way his uncle had come rushing after him, she’d assumed he was much younger. ‘A little old, wouldn’t you say, to be kept on a leading rein?’ she jeered, not surprised the young man wanted to break free.

The lift arrived, and they stepped inside before Ryan answered. ‘He has his freedom, within reason.’

‘The boundary of reason being the things you do or don’t like,’ she scorned, finding herself reluctantly empathising with the runaway.

‘I’m not about to apologise for keeping him out of the clutches of female barracudas,’ he informed her shortly, and took her arm as they reached the ground and headed out of the building to where the jeep had been parked earlier.

She resented being manhandled, and tried to jerk herself free, but failed once more. Grinding her teeth impotently, she found herself almost having to jog to keep up with him. Even so, she found the breath to protest. ‘I’ve told you before about lumping my sister in with such people!’

‘Sorry,’ he apologised mockingly, ‘but I’ve yet to hear anything to change my opinion. Get in.’ This last came as they reached the disreputable vehicle.

‘Where did you get this—a junk heap?’ she bit out witheringly as she resisted.

‘Never judge by appearances; this piece of junk is a lot more reliable than you, sweetheart. Now are you going to get in or...?’

Mickey only complied because she knew he would have put her in by force if she had refused, and she wanted to retain at least some dignity. Besides, the quickest way of proving he was mistaken, she hoped, was to get to Grandmother Sophie’s as swiftly as possible. So she settled into her seat without another word, and gave him directions for leaving the town.

Once on Highway 16, her attention was only partially on the journey; the main part of her brain became centered on Leah. When she had first come in search of her father, she had been surprised but delighted to discover she had a half-sister. She had known Leah for eight years now, and loved her dearly, although she hadn’t seen her every day, because she lived with her paternal grandmother. Their father’s death eighteen months ago had been a shock to both of them. He had seemed so fit, but he must have known he had cancer for a long time. It had been then that her sister had decided she wanted to study medicine.

Although they had jointly inherited the house she now lived in, Mickey alone had inherited her father’s business, and that had helped her cope with her sense of loss. It hadn’t seemed a burden, more an acknowledgement of her own capabilities. Although their years together had been short, Mickey had discovered a closeness of spirit with her father which had been totally lacking with her mother. He had never asked her why she had abandoned the only life she had known, but she had told him anyway. He hadn’t judged or advised, but had simply accepted her, and given her an unquestioning love which had gone a long way to healing her wounds. She had developed her own love of flying from being taught by her father. He had been delighted when she had gone on to show her interest in his business, and they had worked together happily, Mickey discovering a capacity for hard work into which she had channelled all her energies.

Leah had a gentler nature, although it was allied to a surprising strength of will, and a deep understanding of the frailties of her fellow humans, both of which she would need if she realised her wish to study medicine and become a doctor. It wasn’t a whim, but a vocation, and that was why Mickey knew it just couldn’t be Leah who had run away with Ryan’s nephew. She was so dedicated, so sure of what she wanted. It would never occur to her to throw it all away on some...playboy millionaire!

‘You’re wrong, you know.’ The statement was an extension of her thoughts, and broke the lengthy silence which had fallen.

He spared her a brief glance, and seemed to know immediately what she was referring to. ‘It’s for sure one of us is doomed to be disappointed,’ he concurred obliquely, and Mickey found herself studying his handsome profile with resentment.

Rather late in the day, a vital point struck her. ‘You never intended to take any photographs, did you?’

She caught the slight flexing of his cheeks which indicated he was smiling. ‘Not this trip, although I do have plans for the future.’

His smugness was so galling! ‘Wouldn’t you call that breach of contract? I could sue you, too,’ she declared, thinking of all the preparations which had had to be made. The company’s outlay had been quite considerable at a time when it could be ill afforded.

‘I take it from your remark that you didn’t read the small print? That was careless, Hanlon,’ he tutted reprovingly, stirring the hardly settled ashes of her anger.

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning I contracted to use an aircraft and pilot of Hanlon Air “for an unspecified time”. Which, roughly translated, means if I don’t use you, I don’t have to pay you.’

To his credit, he didn’t sound as if he was gloating, but she felt as furious as if he had been anyway. For she had indeed read that clause, and had taken it to mean the trip was open-ended. In fact she had been working on the probability that he would need her for at least a week, and perhaps even two. Now she knew better, and her hatred of him grew in leaps and bounds. Because he had to have known how she would take it, how anyone would take it.

Although it wasn’t the end of the world, the sense of being manipulated made her feel as if it was. ‘Very clever,’ she said bitterly. ‘I hope you can sleep nights.’

This time he sent her a longer look, laden with scepticism. ‘Trying to tell me you wouldn’t have used my name as an advertisement for more trade?’ he queried softly, and she flushed, squirming a little in her seat, even though it was common practice.

‘At least it would have been honest. You can’t say the same.’

‘War is a dirty business, Hanlon. Take it from one who knows,’ he returned shortly, and clearly brought down a wall between them, concentrating on his driving.

Mickey had nothing to say either, spending the remainder of the journey looking forward to seeing his face when he was proved wrong. It was likely to be the only satisfaction she had out of the whole fiasco. Ryan kept to the maximum speed limit, and consequently it took less time to reach Leah’s grandmother’s house than usual. The lights were on when he finally drew the jeep to a halt outside the faded elegance of the three-storey building, and Mickey wasted no time, jumping down before the vehicle had properly stopped moving and hurrying up the path to knock on the door.

Sophie Trenchard opened the door herself, her statuesque frame swathed in a colourful lounging robe. Her look of irritation changed to a broad smile when she saw who her visitor was.

‘Mickey!’ she greeted warmly. ‘What a lovely surprise. I was in the middle of a book, and just about to throw a tantrum for being interrupted mid-flow!’ she added, with a wicked grin, because her penchant for behaving less maturely than befitted her years was legendary. The grin turned to a look of intrigue when a tense and grim-faced Ryan came to stand in the light issuing from the door.

Mickey returned the hug she had been swept into, feeling quite relieved to have an erstwhile ally within call. Smiling up at the older woman, she realised with a faint qualm that Sophie had apparently taken to wearing pince-nez. ‘Hello, Sophie. I’ve come to see Leah.’

The cheerful smile reappeared on the grey-haired lady’s face and didn’t flicker. ‘Isn’t that nice? Come in, come in.’

Mickey felt her heart surge anew, and threw Ryan an ‘I told you so’ look over her shoulder before stepping inside.

‘Is this your new man, Mickey?’ the old lady asked forthrightly, eyeing the breadth and height of her adopted granddaughter’s companion with unabashed interest, while Mickey stiffened in instant rejection.

‘No!’ The denial shot out hurriedly as she caught a wicked glint of amusement in Ryan’s eyes. ‘No. This is Ryan Douglas. He’s come to see Leah, too.’ Reluctantly she made the necessary introductions.

‘Mrs Trenchard,’ Ryan greeted politely as he shook hands.

‘Dear boy, call me Sophie. Mickey will tell you I’m never one to stand on ceremony. I was the despair of my family!’ Sophie Trenchard invited, leading the way into a cluttered lounge.

‘Will Leah be long?’ Mickey asked firmly, knowing how dangerous it was to let Sophie take the conversation in an altogether different direction. She assumed her sister was out, because if Leah had been in she would have come to greet them before this. It brought a return of that small niggle of doubt to her mind.

Sophie waved an airy hand. ‘She said they would come back soon. Sit, Mickey. Can I get you some coffee, Ryan? Or some brandy, perhaps? Thaddeus left some here when he went away...or was it Matthew? They were twins, you see, and I never can remember which is which,’ she explained, making Mickey stare at her long and hard, because Sophie wasn’t at all dippy; she just pretended she was when there was an advantage to be gained. Just what the advantage was this time, she didn’t yet see.

Across the room, Ryan shook his head. ‘No, thank you,’ he refused with a polite smile, although his eyes narrowed.

Mickey groaned inwardly, well aware of the impression he was getting, whereas the men in question were brothers who had lodged with Sophie one summer when their family home was full to bursting. She was on the verge of pointing this out when Ryan carried on speaking.

‘You say Leah isn’t here?’ The question was mild enough, but Mickey was aware of the steel behind the words.

Sophie dislodged a cat from an armchair and sat down, nodding wisely. ‘Leah and her young man have gone away for a while, but they’ll be back when they’re ready,’ she revealed, seemingly unaware of just what a bombshell she had dropped.

For a moment Mickey was totally speechless, but not so Ryan. ‘Does her young man have a name?’

‘Of course. Peter Douglas. Ah...’ Suddenly she made the connection, although she wasn’t in the least put out. ‘Your son?’

‘My nephew,’ Ryan corrected grittily, and Mickey was very much aware that he was holding a monumental anger in check solely because of the older woman. She knew he was thinking there weren’t just two women involved, but three!

‘A nice boy. I like him. He has a good heart. He’ll do well for our Leah,’ Sophie declared with satisfaction. ‘You don’t find young men of his standing turning up in our neck of the woods every day of the week.’

Ryan’s face became stony. ‘No, indeed you don’t. Only a fool would let a wealthy young man get away,’ he declared grimly, and not very subtly.

It appeared to go right over her head, for Sophie merely blinked at him over her glasses. ‘Fortunately Leah has no need for money, unlike Mickey. I don’t suppose you know of a wealthy man for her to marry?’ she asked, much to Mickey’s horror.

‘Sophie!’ she protested, knowing it was the older woman’s idea of a joke, but knowing too that Ryan was not the man to appreciate it any more than she did. However, just the mere fact of her having said it meant Sophie was covering something up. ‘I don’t need a husband!’

‘But you do need the money, dear.’

Mickey took one look at Ryan’s grim expression and could have screamed. ‘We weren’t talking about me, Sophie. How could you let Leah go off? What about her studies?’

The older woman tutted. ‘There will be time for them, Mickey. Where’s your heart, child? Leah loves this young man, and right now she wants to acknowledge her commitment to him. You’re her sister; surely you must understand that.’

But I don’t, she wanted to shout. How could Leah do this? How could she throw away everything? How could Sophie allow it? Mickey had learnt a great deal about Leah’s grandmother’s rather eccentric views, and had come to accept it as normal—for her. Yet she had never expected her sister would act so recklessly.

However, there was nothing she could say, because clearly the other woman saw nothing to worry about. She sighed. Sophie, for all her worldliness, seemed sublimely unconcerned by all the pitfalls lying in wait for the unwary. Because she liked him, it would never occur to her that this man she saw as estimable might be far from that ideal. Which explained why she was acting the way she was. She had probably even expected such a visitation, and had promised to help! Sophie positively thrived on romantic intrigue.

Mickey knew from past experience that there was little point in trying to pierce Sophie’s dippy persona with a frontal attack. Once in place, she could keep it up indefinitely, especially when the person for whose benefit it was being put on was in the room. There was to be no help in that direction, unless she could get Sophie alone, and that meant ditching Ryan Douglas. Right now, she didn’t know how that was to be done.

‘Did they say where they were going?’ she asked tonelessly, trying to salvage something.

‘The islands,’ Sophie vouchsafed with a smile, unconcerned by just how vague a direction that was.

For the first time ever, Mickey felt her palms itch, and she eyed the other woman in exasperation. ‘Which islands? The Queen Charlottes?’

Sophie shrugged, eyes limpid and innocent. ‘They didn’t say, and I didn’t ask,’ she replied, and Mickey had to stifle a gasp hastily when for a moment their eyes clashed and Sophie’s were as clear as crystal and openly challenging.

‘How long have they been gone?’ Ryan asked with studied politeness, and, although Mickey could feel the tension in him, she had to marvel at his self-control.

The older woman removed her pince-nez and polished them vigorously. ‘Two...three weeks.’

‘And they haven’t contacted you in all that time?’ Ryan challenged disbelievingly.

‘It didn’t seem so long. When you get old, you don’t count the time.’

If Mickey hadn’t already known it, that alone would have told her that Sophie knew a great deal more than she was saying. She might disdain telephones, but she was a keen radio ham. Leah spoke to her grandmother every day without fail, and Sophie was probably waiting for a call right now! Unfortunately, if she was determined to stay close-mouthed, even a can opener wouldn’t prise her open.

Ryan took the statement stoically, rising to his feet agilely. A poker-faced Mickey followed suit. ‘My grandmother used to say much the same thing, but that was because she didn’t want to be held to account for her sins.’

Sophie was not a whit put out, and fairly bounced to her feet. ‘Young man, I’m too old to worry about sin!’

He eyed her steadily for a long time, then said softly, ‘Perhaps so, but I’ll assume you have a conscience. So if by some...miracle...your granddaughter does get in touch, have her tell Peter he’s needed at home. Now I’m sure you’ll forgive us for having to rush off,’ he added with heavy irony.

‘You’ll come again when Leah and Peter return?’

‘Oh, I think you can safely bet money on that, Sophie,’ Ryan drawled with grim amusement, shaking her hand and heading for the door.

Mickey was once more enfolded in a warm embrace.

‘That’s one angry man, Mickey.’

‘Perhaps he wouldn’t have been so angry if you’d told him everything,’ Mickey challenged, looking the older woman straight in the eye.

Sophie laughed. ‘Dear child, what can you mean?’

Exasperated, Mickey sighed. ‘You’re sending me on a wild-goose chase, and I don’t appreciate it.’

‘Then you should. There’s colour in your cheeks and a sparkle in your eye, Mickey. Ask yourself who put them there. Now run along. He’s not the sort I’d want to keep waiting, although you seem to be blooming on it!’ Sophie declared softly, and Mickey sent her a startled look.

‘You haven’t heard the last of it. I’ll be back, on my own, and I’ll expect answers!’ she declared, before going to join the man standing impatiently on the porch.

Ryan didn’t utter a word until they were once more in the jeep and on their way back to the city. ‘She’s quite a character.’

She wondered if he realised just how much of a character Sophie was, and found out in the next second.

‘Getting the facts out of her is like trying to wade through treacle! Those two don’t need an army when they’ve got Sophie Trenchard on their side!’

His perception brought a reluctant smile to her lips. ‘One of a kind,’ she acknowledged wryly, and he laughed, so that it seemed for a moment they were in accord. Mickey found it strangely unsettling.

‘One is quite sufficient. Hell, they could be anywhere, and the only one who knows is pretending she lives in Cloud-cuckoo-land!’ he growled, thumping his fist on the steering-wheel. ‘Not that you seem to be surprised, Hanlon. Were you banking on her running interference for you? Are you still going to insist you knew nothing about it?’

That brief moment of empathy vanished. ‘If I had, we wouldn’t be sitting here now! I don’t know how your sainted nephew managed to seduce my sister, but I’m going to put a stop to it. Damn him; Leah had everything going for her until he came along!’ Mickey cried wrathfully.

Beside her, Ryan laughed grimly. ‘Well, they say it’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow somebody something good. Look on the bright side, Hanlon. I’m going after them, and you’re going to take me. So it looks as if you’re going to get paid after all.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘MORNING, Sid,’ Mickey mumbled as she walked into the hangar next morning, smothering a yawn behind her hand.

The grizzled mechanic sent her a grin. ‘Hiya, Mickey. Up early, ain’t ye?’

A lack of sleep had done nothing to sweeten her mood, nor the dreadful meal she had had with Ryan Douglas after they had returned to his hotel last night. Not that the meal had been bad, just the company. It was as well she had scarcely eaten anything or she would have suffered from indigestion as well as a sleepless night.

‘Mr “God Almighty” Douglas insists on catching the light!’ she grunted irritably, keeping up a fiction which Ryan had insisted on. To all intents and purposes, they would be out taking photographs. For once she had not argued. She didn’t want anyone to know what they would really be doing either. Publicity of the kind this search would produce, if the story ever got out, was the very last thing either of them needed.

Shaggy eyebrows rose at hearing the unaccustomed grumble. ‘Sounds a reasonable request to me, Mickey,’ Sid remonstrated, with the ease of long acquaintance, and she sighed heavily.

‘It is, but he isn’t,’ she snapped, unwilling to concede more than she had to. Over a dinner which she had barely touched, Ryan had reiterated his intentions in no uncertain terms, and, considering they had the same aim, although admittedly differing viewpoints, there hadn’t been anything she could reasonably take exception to. Except his persistence in still seeing Leah as a girl with her eye on the main chance, a charge she had countered by declaring his odious nephew had taken advantage of Leah’s sweet nature.

Her fleeting sympathy towards Peter Douglas had vanished with the knowledge that he had induced her sister to run off with him, abandoning a bright future. She couldn’t believe that Leah really loved him. What did she know about love? She had lived a rather sheltered existence. As far as Mickey knew, she hadn’t even had a real boyfriend. No, she had been seduced into thinking she was in love by a handsome face and a blinding charm! She couldn’t know that love to such men was just an illusion, just a word glossing over needs of a far earthier nature.

What Mickey was so dreadfully afraid of was that Leah would find out too late. She didn’t want her to be hurt and disillusioned the way she herself had been. God, she would do anything to protect Leah from that. She’d get her away from the clutches of that playboy if it was the last thing she did!

Which perversely gave her something in common with Ryan after all. Neither wanted this match, and they were determined to put a stop to it. But first of all they had to find the elusive runaways.

Sid, meanwhile, waved a piece of oily rag in her direction. ‘Ain’t you never heard you catch more flies with molasses, Mickey?’ he observed, and she came out of her reverie with a start.

‘If you think I’m going to stroke his male ego just to keep him sweet, you’re on the wrong track. I’m sorry, Sid, but I just can’t stand the man.’

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ he drawled, and cocked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘You gonna take her for a test run?’

Mickey looked from the float plane to her watch. Time was getting on, and already the sun was rising higher. ‘There won’t be time; I’ll have to check her as we go. Give Amelia her maximum fuel load, please, Sid. I’ll do my checks as soon as I’ve found my charts.’

Sid tipped a finger in acknowledgement, and Mickey hurried into the office, but not before his half-muttered comment reached her ears. ‘Artistic temperament they call it, girl. You gotta learn how to handle it.’

Mickey grimaced as she closed the door and leant back against it. She knew all about artistic temperament, and had spent the greater portion of her life pacifying it.

As a tiny child, Mickey’s earliest memories of her mother were of being kissed goodnight by a glittering princess, or of playing with her dolls on the bathroom floor while this beautiful angel bathed in water that emitted intoxicating scents. Of course, she hadn’t realised then that her mother was Tanita Amory, the Hollywood actress. She had been some god-like creature who had welcomed a little girl into her glowing world.

She had no memories of her real father, knowing only that he had been Michael Hanlon, a Canadian pilot. She had known little more about the succession of men who became her stepfathers for one or two years as she grew up. What she had learned was that her mother was so wrapped up in these men that she had very little time for her daughter. Tanita had lavished love on her by giving her all the things money could buy, but not by giving of herself.

By the time Mickey entered her teenage years, the marriages had given way to a procession of lovers. There were always new men around. Wherever they went, Tanita had flirted outrageously. Although Mickey loved her mother, she had hated her free and easy lifestyle. Tanita positively basked in the Press stories about her latest lover or husband, even as her daughter grew to hate it.

Mickey’s emerging sexuality had taken place under a barrage of flashlights. Privacy was something only other people had. When she’d proved to be every bit as much of a beauty as her parent, speculation had grown. She’d become as much a target for gossip as her mother. No aspect of her life had been sacred, and when the opposite sex began to take an interest in her the papers had a field-day. Was she, they wondered, the same as her mother?

Mickey herself would have issued a firm no, until she’d met Jean-Luc Renauld. He had come into her life at an unhappy time. She had been nineteen, and just out of finishing school. She had wanted to go to university, but Tanita had flown into a rage, accusing her of being disloyal, of not loving her. Why else would she want to go away when she knew her mother needed her? Blackmail it might have been, but Mickey’s sense of loyalty had made it impossible for her to argue. So she had given up all thought of studying her beloved history, of perhaps making a career for herself in the field of archaeology. Instead she had stayed in the South of France, and had met the man who was to alter her life completely.

He’d been bronzed and golden, a power-boat racer, and for the first time in her life Mickey had felt herself attracted to a man. When he had shown an interest in her, she had fallen head over heels in love with him. He had aroused a passion in her which had bedazzled her. When he had said they must be discreet, that they must meet in secret, she had ignored the knocking of her conscience which tried to tell her this was not quite right. She was in love, totally besotted, and their affair was passionate and flamboyant. Making love with Jean-Luc had been an exhilarating experience. Her senses, let loose, were in total control.

Then one day she had found her picture splashed across the front of the newspapers, the whole affair made public as she was cited in a divorce petition. Shock had broken the spell she had been under, and she knew she should have guessed Jean-Luc was married, for all the signs had been there. She had ignored them because she hadn’t wanted to give him up, and she still didn’t. She had gone to him, telling him she loved him and would face any scandal if it meant they could be together.

Jean-Luc’s reply had instituted the most traumatic experience of her life. The man she’d thought loved her had laughed and called her a fool. A sexy fool, but still a fool. He had taken what she had offered, but he wasn’t about to give up his wife for a nymphet, however exciting and inventive she was. He had gone back to his wife in the hope of stopping the divorce.

That was when Mickey had finally realised it hadn’t been love at all, but lust. She had met a man and wanted him so much that nothing had mattered. She had been no better than her mother, had, in fact, inherited the very same genes. It had been a terrible thing to realise, but she had made herself face it. More than that, she knew she had a choice. If she stayed, then she feared this greedy thing inside her would lead her on from one affair to the next. But if she left... If she took herself away, plunged herself into work, she could get control of herself.

And that was what she had done. Through many tearful scenes with her mother she’d insisted that she wanted to go and find her father. Reluctantly Tanita had agreed to send someone to discover where he was, and as soon as Mickey had heard that news herself she had packed her bags and left.

Michael Hanlon had been surprised but delighted to see her. He had welcomed her into his family and his life, and Mickey hadn’t looked back. Until yesterday, when Ryan Douglas had walked into her life and reawakened that devil inside her, threatening the whole fabric of her existence.

He was in another league. He had an aura, a presence which was almost tactile, instantly alluring to the females of the species, which the tabloids, with their insatiable lust for gossip, were only too happy to reveal. It was very rare indeed for Ryan to be snapped with the same beauty more than once. For twice, the woman had to be exceptional. It was a debatable point which of his reputations was greater—that of his work as a photographer par excellence, or as a lover. Also par excellence?

The whimsical thought caught her on a vulnerable spot. She didn’t want to think of Ryan as a lover. It conjured up wild visions in her mind that should have been shocking, but were, dismayingly, very far from that. Such thinking was dangerous. Besides, any woman who was crazy enough to get involved with a man like Ryan Douglas could expect to carry out that affair as if she were living in a goldfish bowl! And that was quite enough to make Mickey see reason. Her early life had been lived in a blaze of publicity, and, having escaped, she had no wish to be plunged into that particular maelstrom ever again.

The unpleasant memories which floated to the surface of her consciousness made her shiver in distaste, and, hastily crossing to her desk, she turned her thoughts to her present problems with qualified relief.

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