“And you probably thought watching over me was going to be easy,” Allison said, laughing.

“Easy?” Kane held out a hand and helped her up. “Jumping out of a plane is easy, scaling a twelve-foot wall with a thirty-pound knapsack is easy, even digging trenches in a desert is easy.”

He tried not to look at her lips, tried not to remember how only a few hours ago they’d been so eager against his own. He saw her eyes deepen to a seductive shade of smoky green. He fought the tightening of his groin.

“But watching you is by far the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.”

BARBARA McCAULEY is the author of over thirty bestselling romance novels, including Blackhawk’s Sweet Revenge, the first volume of her popular SECRETS! miniseries for Silhouette. Her work has been nominated eight times by the Romance Writers of America for Best Short Contemporary® in the prestigious RITA Award contest. She has also received numerous “Top Picks” from Romantic Times BOOKclub, plus several Best Short Desire and “W.I.S.H.” awards for her hunky hereos and two Career Achievement Awards. All of her books have appeared on the Walden books romance bestseller lists. A native of Southern California, Ms. McCauley enjoys spending time with her husband and two children, and working in her garden when she can manage to break away from her computer.

Nightfire
Barbara McCauley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Judy. Thanks for being such a great sister. And for Frank. Always.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

One

He stood at the window, waiting, his gaze dispassionate as he quietly observed the traffic moving over the rain-slicked roads below. When her blue minivan pulled up in front of the twelve-story glass-and-chrome office building he recognized it immediately, just as he knew he would recognize her, though he had never actually seen her before. As if announcing her arrival, lightning split the Seattle sky in a burst of white-hot brilliance and the pursuant crack of thunder rattled the office window.

Five hours ago he’d never heard of Allison Elizabeth Westcott, but now he could tell her what she ate for breakfast, where she shopped for clothes and even where she bought her gas. She was five foot six in her stocking feet, brown hair, green eyes. He knew she had a mole on her left breast 1.6 mm wide, a scar on her right knee from a horseback-riding accident two years ago that had ended her dancing career and a speeding ticket from the Seattle police department. A ticket she’d fought against and won, he noted with a flicker of admiration.

Some people might consider his knowledge an invasion of privacy, but it mattered little to him whether they liked it or not. When he had a job to do, feelings meant nothing to him, his or anyone else’s. He simply did what he had to do and made sure no one got hurt.

It was raining hard now and he watched as she darted from her car toward the shelter of the building. It would take her two minutes and forty-five seconds to walk into the room, three minutes, twenty-two seconds if the elevator stopped at every floor.

He stared at his watch and waited.

The storm was already in full force by the time Allison pulled in front of Westcott Pavilion. Raindrops the size of nickels drummed like angry tin soldiers on the hood of her car while a flash of lightning, followed by a distant crack of thunder, promised more to follow.

Allison stared out her windshield at the fierce gray sky, thinking she might wait it out, but the somber note in her father’s voice when he’d called St. Martin’s Center and requested that she come to his office right away allowed no hesitation.

Drawing a deep breath, she opened her car door and dashed furiously across the sidewalk and through the smoked-glass entry doors, catching enough of her reflection to see that her shoulder-length hair was already a mass of damp, disobedient curls. Some people complained it rained every time they washed their cars. With Allison, it rained every time she straightened her hair.

Twelve stories up the elevator doors opened and she stepped out, hesitating at the sight of two men in dark suits standing at the outer door of her father’s office. Though it was certainly not unusual for employees or clients to be milling about, there was something about the men she couldn’t quite place that disturbed her, something that caused a knot to form in her stomach and the hair on the back of her neck to rise. Though she didn’t know them, she had the distinct feeling that they not only knew exactly who she was, but that they’d been waiting for her. They continued to watch her as she approached, then nodded stiffly when she moved past them.

Mrs. Harwood, her father’s secretary, was on the phone. The attractive brunette looked up from her call, then waved anxiously toward the interior office, mouthing the words, “Your father’s waiting.”

What in the world was going on? Allison thought, noting the grim expression on Mrs. Harwood’s face. The woman always had a smile for everyone. The knot in Allison’s stomach tightened a notch.

Her father was sitting at his desk, tapping the polished mahogany top with a silver pen, deeply intent on the paperwork in front of him. She’d always thought he looked more like the football hero he’d once been rather than the president of a computer company—a company he’d started on a dream and five thousand dollars borrowed from a bank he now partly owned. She closed the door behind her. Startled, he looked up from his work.

“Dad, who are those men out in the—”

That’s when she saw the other man. He was standing by the corner window, his arms folded across his wide chest, his dark gaze locked on her. Allison faltered, but it wasn’t just the surprise of realizing she wasn’t alone with her father that had her heart beating faster. It was the intensity of the man’s eyes as he continued to stare at her. She held his gaze, at first because a three-foot crowbar couldn’t have pried her away, and then as she gained her composure, out of sheer defiance.

His hair was dark as coal, his eyes midnight blue, intensely intelligent and completely void of emotion. There were tiny lines at the corners, most certainly from frowning, Allison figured, based on the hard set of his jaw and lips. And tall. At least six foot three, and even with the sport coat and slacks he had on she could see that he had the distinct build of an athlete: broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscular arms and legs. His stance appeared casual, but Allison felt the vibrations of the energy coiled inside him, and she sensed he could move with the same speed as the lightning that streaked across the sky behind him at this very moment.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Allison turned back to her father. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were with anyone. I can come back—”

Oliver Westcott shook his head. “Come sit, Allison.”

There was something wrong, something terribly wrong, Allison realized with icy dread. She hadn’t heard that tone in her father’s voice since the night he’d called her into his study and told her that her mother had died.

Her legs shook as she moved closer to the desk, but she did not sit. “What is it?”

“Maybe nothing at all,” Oliver answered, and his frown softened. “But just to be on the safe side, I’ve ordered additional security here in the building and brought in Mr. Kane. Kane, this is my daughter, Allison. Allison, Thomas Kane.”

“Mr. Kane.”

He nodded. “Just Kane will do.”

She acknowledged him with a nod of her own, then turned her attention back to her father. She could see he was hedging, and she knew he only did that when he was worried. Really worried. “What ‘safe side’ are you talking about, Dad? What’s happened?”

Oliver sighed, then scooped up the papers on his desk and handed them to Allison. As she took them she realized they weren’t papers, but black-and-white photographs. She glanced at them quickly. They were all pictures of her and her father.

“Detective Carlos Fandino of the Seattle police department gave these to me early this morning,” he said soberly. “The police lab developed them from a roll of film found under the seat of a stolen car.”

She looked at the pictures more closely. The first few shots were of her father coming out of the pavilion. The next three were taken at a restaurant where they’d had lunch together two days earlier. Confused, she continued to move through the pile. There were more shots of her getting into her car after grocery shopping, a few more of her coming out of her apartment.

A cold chill seeped through her as she looked through the pictures. When had these been taken? And by whom? She hadn’t seen anyone with a camera or—

She froze as she came to the last picture. It was of her, obviously taken from a distance with a zoom lens. She knew exactly when and where this picture at been taken: last week, the night she’d slept at her father’s house after his birthday party. She was sitting at the dressing table in the upstairs bedroom.

And the only things she had on were a bra and panties.

Kane watched Allison as she slowly sank into the chair. Her face, flushed only moments ago from her mad dash out of the rain, turned ghostly white, giving her the appearance of a frightened porcelain doll. Her mouth opened in astonishment, and as he stared at her lips he realized they were wider and fuller than he’d noticed in his ID pictures.

She was much more beautiful in the flesh, he decided, but couldn’t quite decide why. Perhaps it was the fire that danced in her brown hair under the fluorescent lights, or maybe it was the shade of green in her eyes, a soft, almost bluish green that reminded him of delicately carved jade statues. Whatever it was, he found it disturbing.

He moved beside her, smelled the wild scent of the storm she’d brought in with her, then reached down and pulled the photographs from her white knuckles. She looked at him, her eyes wide and questioning.

“I—I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “How…Who took these?”

Kane laid the pictures on the desk, then sat on the edge, blocking her view of them. “We don’t know yet. The police are checking out what appears to be a thumbprint on the film case, but the film itself is standard and could be purchased at any one of a hundred stores in this area alone.”

She straightened and her gaze darted to her father. “Has someone threatened you?”

Oliver shook his head. “Only by taking those pictures. But we weren’t the only ones on that roll of film, Allison. There were two other people, local businessmen like myself, well known in the community. They both live on Fox Island within two or three blocks of our house, and they’re both wealthy.” His frown deepened. “And that was just one roll of film. There’s no way of knowing how many more photographs this person—or persons—has taken.”

The thought of someone following her, watching her, taking pictures…Allison tugged her skirt down over her knees. “What about the police?”

Oliver’s sigh had a strong note of exasperation. “There’s been no real threat, just some kook taking pictures. A kook we can’t even identify,” he added with annoyance.

Allison glanced at Kane, then back to her father. “Your security team is more than capable of handling perverted photographers, Dad. I don’t understand why you’ve brought in Mr. Kane.”

“It’s just a precaution, Allie.” Oliver smiled reassuringly. “I’ve got to go to Los Angeles for a few days and I’ll feel better if Kane keeps an eye on things.”

Allison knew her father well enough to know when he wasn’t being completely honest. She shifted her gaze to Kane. Something told her that if she wanted a direct answer, with no sugarcoating, this was the man to ask.

“Mr. Kane, my father has spent my entire life sheltering and protecting me. I know him well enough to recognize when he’s hiding something from me. I would appreciate it if you would tell me what it is he’s worried about.”

Kane glanced at Oliver, who sighed, then nodded. Kane looked back at Allison. “Kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Celebrities or politicians I could maybe understand, but as far as money, there are lots of people here in Seattle with a great deal more than us.”

“What might be pocket change to you could look like a life’s fortune to one of these guys.” Kane picked up a Waterford paperweight on the desk and examined it. “They’ll look for an easy mark. The simple fact that you don’t think it could happen to you makes you that easy mark. In case you weren’t aware of it, kidnapping has become quite fashionable.”

Allison bristled at Kane’s patronizing tone, but she couldn’t argue with the truth of his words. Last year one of her father’s business associates had barely escaped an attempt and then six months ago the newspapers had been filled with the story of the cable-television CEO abducted at gunpoint from his car. His wife had paid the ransom and he was found the next day. Dead.

“What makes you so sure it’s a kidnapping threat?” she asked. “What about extortion, or someone’s twisted attempt at blackmail or even just some crazy that likes to take pictures?”

Impatience shifted Kane’s shoulders. “Not too many photographers steal cars to take pictures. There’s nothing incriminating about the photographs to suggest blackmail, and there’s been no contact for extortion money. If you’re betting with your lives, always take the safe bet. If there’s no kidnapping attempt, the only thing you’ve lost is money.”

She narrowed a cool gaze at him. “And that’s easily replaceable, right?”

“A hell of a lot more replaceable than that pretty little head of yours.”

A sharp response was on the tip of Allison’s tongue, but her father cut her off.

“Allison.” Oliver folded his hands in what Allison knew to be his authoritative pose. “I’m going to be away for the next few days. Kane has ordered extra security at the house and I want you to move in there until we catch this guy.”

She started to protest, but realized her father’s request was not unreasonable. Besides, she slept there quite often, anyway, and she still had her bedroom upstairs. She let out a long sigh, then nodded. “All right, Dad. If it makes you feel better.”

She saw the relief in her father’s eyes that she’d agreed, then the hesitation. “And one more thing—” he paused briefly and cleared his throat “—I’m going to have to ask you to take off a few days from the center.”

Take off a few days? Stunned, Allison stared at her father. He knew how much the center meant to her. The kids there were her life. She couldn’t give that up, not even for a few days. Not for some creep with a camera. Not for anyone.

Shaking her head, she stood and moved behind her chair. “I can’t do that, Dad. They’re shorthanded right now and one of the boys, Billy, just came back from the hospital today following ear surgery. I promised him I’d be there in the morning to check up on him.”

“Allison, please,” Oliver said with such quiet desperation that she felt her determination slip. Her father always demanded or he asked, but he never pleaded.

“I’ve taken a lot of chances in my life,” he continued, “and if it were just myself I wouldn’t give this more than a second thought. But you’re in those pictures, too. You’re the one thing in my life I would never take chances with. Every time you go out in public you’ll be exposing yourself to danger. Kane and I have already agreed that the best thing is for you to stay in the house—”

“Kane and you agreed?” Anger warmed the chill in the pit of her stomach, anger not only at the intrusion in her life, but that this man Kane, a man she’d never met, was already making decisions for her. Jaw tight, eyes narrowed, she turned to him.

“That’s another thing I don’t understand,” she said stiffly, holding Kane’s aloof gaze. “My father employs a reputable security company here at the pavilion, but I’ve never seen you before. Just exactly who are you?”

He stood slowly and moved toward her, stopping only inches away from her. He leaned close, close enough she could smell the masculine scent of his skin and see the subtle variations of deep blue in his eyes. A circle of tension surrounded her, then closed in, tighter and tighter, until she felt as if she could barely breathe. He gazed down intently.

“I’m the best, that’s who.”

He spoke with such conviction that only a fool would argue the point. His words were quiet, but he was a man who did not need to raise his voice to get attention, he simply needed to walk into a room.

And he definitely had her attention.

A knock at the office door sounded and Mrs. Harwood stuck her head in. “May I see you for a moment, Mr. Westcott?”

Nodding, Oliver stood. His concerned gaze held Allison. “I know this is a lot coming at you at once, Allison, but there’s no other way to handle this.”

“Dad—”

“Please, baby,” Oliver said, brushing the hair back from her face, “just cooperate with Kane. I know he has some questions for you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

With a sigh, Allison folded her arms tightly and walked to the window. Cooperate with Kane. Cooperate wasn’t the exact meaning here. More like obey. Frustrated, she drew in a slow, fortifying breath and watched a jagged bolt of lightning burst from the clouds.

“You okay?” Kane asked as he moved beside her.

She wasn’t okay. But she sure wasn’t going to let him know that. “My father said you have some questions.”

He leaned against the windowsill, facing her. “Have you noticed anything unusual these last few days? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No.”

“Someone’s following you and your father, Allison,” Kane said sharply. “If you want me to find them before they find either one of you, then I need your help. I need you to think and think carefully. Have you seen anyone with a camera? The same car more than once? Has anyone stared at you, then quickly looked away?”

Kane watched Allison’s brow furrow as she considered his question. He realized his last question was a stupid one. What man wouldn’t stare at this woman? Or want to take her picture, for that matter? She was a photographer’s dream: a long, sensuous neck, high cheekbones, thick, dark lashes surrounding expressive wide-set eyes. Eyes a man could drown in, if he wasn’t careful. But Kane, of course, was always careful.

He stared at Allison’s reflection in the window, watching her closely as she looked down at the streets below. There was something extraordinary about her, something fragile yet strong at the same time. He knew that she’d studied and taught ballet until she was twenty-four, and had danced professionally until she’d hurt her knee two years ago. She had the lean, slender body of a dancer, small, delicately rounded breasts and legs that would stop traffic.

Under different circumstances he would have pursued this woman with the same diligence he pursued everything in life. But the circumstances wouldn’t allow it. He never became involved with clients, not even for a weekend, which was what he would have had in mind with Allison. He allowed himself one brief image of her stretched out naked beneath him, then quickly banished the thought before his body could react.

Damn. He nearly sighed out loud. It would have been a hell of a weekend.

She continued to stare out the window and her voice was distant when she spoke. “I’ve been spending a lot of extra time at work lately, and other than lunch with my father I haven’t been anywhere.”

“You were out to dinner three nights ago with a man named Michael Peterson.”

Eyes wide, Allison turned and looked sharply at Kane. “So I was, Mr. Kane. And how would you happen to know that?”

He had her full attention now. Good. “What I know and how I know it isn’t important. What is important is that you try to remember where you’ve been this last week, especially on the days those pictures were taken. Everywhere you went, everyone you talked to and everyone who talked to you. Think carefully.”

Allison was having trouble thinking at all. First she’d had the shock of the pictures, and now this man was nonchalantly reporting who she’d been to dinner with. She was beginning to wonder who she should be more worried about—the man taking the pictures or Mr. Thomas Kane.

“I’d remember anyone strange at the center,” she said with exasperation. “But beyond that I couldn’t possibly remember every person I’ve talked to.”

“You have to remember,” he insisted. “A clerk, a waiter, someone who may have asked you for the time or held the door for you. Anything and everything. It might matter a lot to you, and to your father, as well.”

Her father. She remembered the murdered CEO and closed her eyes, concentrating, forcing her mind to recall every movement of the last few days, to search for anything even remotely out of the ordinary.

There was the dry cleaners’…the service on her car…dinner with Michael…

Nothing exciting and certainly nothing out of the ordinary.

Sighing, she looked at Kane and shook her head. “I couldn’t even tell you what I had for dinner the other night.”

“Chicken amandine.”

Stunned, she simply stared at him. And then something incredible happened.

He smiled.

Well, almost a smile, Allison corrected. It was more like the slightest uplifting of one corner of his mouth and an imperceptible tightening at the edges of his eyes. Though only for a second, the hard, sharp angles of his face softened. The change was subtle, but the effect was overwhelming. She felt the steady, deep thud of her heart and cursed herself for finding him attractive. “You mentioned my father hired you because you’re the best, Mr. Kane. What exactly is it that you’re best at?”

Too late, Allison realized the sexual nature of her question. In the briefest moment, as they stared at each other, it seemed as if the storm had moved into the room with them and charged the air with electricity. She felt it skipping up her back and tightening her skin. She held her breath, anticipating his answer.

“Kidnapping.”

She blinked slowly. “You kidnap people?”

Kane’s smile widened a fraction. “I’m more interested in prevention.”

“That’s what you do?” She lowered her brow. “You prevent kidnappings?”

“It’s a living.” A good one, Kane might have added, but didn’t. His business had increased fifteen percent last year and he expected that figure to double this year. Men—and women—of wealth and power paid well to protect themselves and those they love. “My company is based in Miami. I have references, if you’d like to see them.”

“That won’t be necessary.” This man needed no references, Allison thought. And it wasn’t just his height or the muscular build of his body that was so formidable. There was a presence about him, a manner that radiated from him that was as primitive as it was powerful. A power that men respected and women responded to at the most basic level. And she, Allison noted with annoyance, was obviously no exception.

Reminding herself there was an issue here much more important than her own hormones waking up from hibernation, Allison stared down at the streets below. Cars were bumper to bumper in the rush-hour traffic. Windshield wipers swiped back and forth in syncopated rhythm. Thousands of people going home with nothing more on their minds than dinner with their families.

And somewhere down there was a man with a camera.

She turned slightly at the sound of men’s voices from the outer office. “Those men in the hall, are they with you?”

“No.” He stood beside her, following the movement of traffic. “They’re part of your father’s security team. I’m here to work with them, teach them what I know.”

She wondered briefly who had taught Kane. “And what about our friend with the camera?” she asked quietly.

Kane would have liked to tell her that they’d catch the guy in a day or two and she could go about her business as usual. But he never made promises and he never underestimated a potential problem.

“He’s already made a number of mistakes—stealing a car and losing the film for starters. My guess is that he’ll make more. He’s going to go after the wrong person, at the wrong time, and that’s when we’ll get him.”

She turned to him, hugging her arms tightly to her. “And which ‘wrong person’ do you think he’ll go after?”

He waited until her gaze lifted to his. “You.”

Allison’s eyes widened. “Well,” she said on a shaky laugh, “you certainly don’t mince words, do you?”

“Neither will a kidnapper.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and nodded slowly. “So what now?”

“For now, it would certainly make life easier if you’d do as your father asks and stay home from work for a few days.”

So they were back to that, Allison thought. She straightened her shoulders and leveled her gaze with Kane’s. “Do you have any children?”

She could have sworn she saw him flinch, but then wondered if she’d imagined it.

“No.”

“A wife?”

A hard glint entered his eyes. “No.”

“Then it might be difficult for me to explain this to you, Mr. Kane, but I’m going to try anyway. There are twenty-five children at St. Martin’s Center who look forward to seeing me. I take them to the movies, read to them, play games with them. All the things their drug-addicted or alcoholic mothers and fathers don’t do.”

Because she wanted him to understand, she leaned closer. “But there’s something else I do that’s even more important. I hold them. I kiss them. I tell them they’re special, then wipe their tears away when they don’t believe me. And then I hold them some more. For just a little while I share their pain, a pain that I thank God I never experienced, a pain that most people can’t possibly understand.”

Kane let the old ache pass through him, ignoring the fact that it seemed sharper this time. Deeper. If he’d wanted to, he could have told her that he did understand. He understood too damn well. But he said nothing.

Allison clenched her hands into fists, angry not only at the situation, but at herself for trying to explain to this man why the center and the children there were so important to her. Based on the hard-set expression on his face, he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. She wouldn’t have believed it possible for one man to be so cold.

She told herself it didn’t matter whether he understood or not, but that made it difficult to explain the profound sense of disappointment she suddenly felt. Needing to put some distance between herself and Kane, she turned away and walked back to her father’s desk.

“I’m just going to say this one more time,” she said quietly, but with resolution. “I have no intention of hiding out while some jerk is on the loose. Those children need me, and even more I need them. We’re practicing for a play right now, and I can’t afford to be away. I’ll stay at my father’s house for as long as it’s necessary, but that’s as far as I compromise. I’ll be going to the center every day except Tuesday, whether you like it or not.”

He didn’t like it, but short of tying the woman up—and he admitted to himself the idea held interesting possibilities—there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do about it. It amazed him how quickly she’d shifted gears from fear to anger, and even though he decided he liked the way her green eyes lighted with determination, her insistence at keeping her regular schedule was going to make his life difficult. He sighed inwardly. It hardly would be the first time a woman had made his life difficult.

“Well, then, Miss Westcott—” he moved toward her, almost admiring the stubborn tilt of her chin as she held his gaze “—I guess we’ll just have to manage, won’t we?”

He felt her tense when he reached around her and picked up the photographs from the desk. He shuffled slowly through them, pausing at the picture of her in her underwear. Her bra was black and lacy, her matching panties a thin slip of fabric that one quick tug would easily remove. “But in the meantime, you might at least consider closing the blinds.”

Allison understood that Kane was trying to intimidate her. And it was working, dammit. Heat rushed up her neck as she watched him stare at her picture. She pulled the photo from his fingers. “I’ll do that.”

The door opened and Oliver walked back into the office. A frown knotted his forehead. “I’m afraid I’ve got to leave now, Allison. I have a dinner meeting in Los Angeles tonight with one of our main buyers and I have a plane to catch.” He picked up his briefcase under his desk, then gave Allison a kiss on the cheek.

She held onto his arm. “How can you leave right now? What if this guy is waiting for you?”

“I can’t stop my life anymore than you can, sweetheart.” Oliver took Allison’s chin in his hand and met her concerned gaze. “I’ve got two men coming with me. I’ll be home in a few days and we’ll talk then. In the meantime, you’ll be in good hands with Kane here.”

Good hands with Kane? “But, Dad—”

“Sorry, hon’.” He was already on his way out of the office. “Oh, and Allie—” he turned back around “—will you prepare the guest room for Kane? He’ll be staying at the house with us.”

Two

It was incredible how much one’s life could change in a matter of a few minutes.

Allison stared at Kane’s broad back, amazed at how smoothly he’d managed to maneuver her into the back corner of the crowded elevator and place himself between her and the rest of the people. The two men outside her father’s office had also squeezed into the elevator, and they stood by the doors like guards at a palace gate.

She knew she should feel comforted by all the brawn surrounding her, but what she felt was smothered. She’d been on her own since she was eighteen—the year her mother had died—and she was used to coming and going as she liked, without an escort and certainly without asking permission. Having all these watchdogs around was going to take some getting used to. And in the case of Thomas Kane, she thought irritably, the adjustment was going to be a big one.

She stared at the wide stretch of shoulders blocking her view and cursed the warmth curling downward from her stomach. It was bad enough, this feeling of being on a leash, but the edge that Kane put her on was what disturbed her most of all. What was it about him, anyway? She’d certainly never been attracted to this type of man before. But then, she’d never met a man like Kane before. And the few men she had dated had been…what? Ordinary, was the word that came to mind. She frowned at the thought. What was wrong with ordinary? Absolutely nothing. They’d been nice, interesting men.

And they’d left her feeling tepid as tap water.

What made Kane so different? She casually lifted her chin and slid a glance at him, determined to find fault. He was too tall, she decided. Good Lord, he towered over her. She hated having to crane her neck to meet someone’s eye. And he wasn’t exactly handsome, at least, not in the classical sense, though there were certainly women who were attracted to his kind of rugged masculinity. The men she’d always been drawn to had been good-looking, the type of face you’d see in a men’s fashion magazine. She stared at Kane’s profile, thinking he looked more like an advertisement for a military-commando movie. It was easy to picture this man slashing his way through a steamy jungle, sweat dripping from his half-naked body….

Stop that. She jerked away her gaze and stared at the empty space over the head of the man standing beside Kane. What in the world was she doing, dreaming up silly fantasies about a man she’d met only minutes before? Didn’t she have more important and certainly more serious things to think about? Things like some crazy following her, watching her, taking pictures…

The elevator stopped at the next floor, letting one person off and two more on. The bustling forced Kane’s body flush with hers. Embarrassment burned up her neck and over her cheeks as her breasts pressed into the solid muscle of his back. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart beat low and hard. Instinct had her raising her hands to force some distance between them, but logic had her drop them away again. Something very basic told her that to touch this man was a dangerous thing to do. And most annoying of all, she observed, was that Kane appeared completely oblivious to the intimate contact of their bodies. He seemed much more interested in the control panel over the elevator doors.

By the time the elevator finally reached the lobby, Allison wasn’t sure her legs were sturdy enough to carry her out. She was almost thankful when Kane turned to her and took her by the arm.

“I’ll need your keys.”

“My keys?”

“Keys,” he repeated, leading her across the lobby. “You know, what you use to open doors and start cars.”

Frowning, she dug through her purse and pulled them out. “What do you—”

“Thanks.” He took them from her as they walked outside. It had stopped raining and slivers of blue sky rimmed the once ominous clouds. When they reached her minivan, Kane opened the passenger door and held it for her. Fuming, she got into the car, noticing the almost imperceptible nod that Kane gave the two security men who were getting into a white sedan three parking spaces away.

“I am capable of driving my own car,” she stated when he slid into the seat beside her and started the engine.

“Under normal circumstances, I’m sure that’s true.” He checked the side and rearview mirrors, then eased the van into traffic. “But what would you do if someone pulled up beside you, pointed a gun at you and told you to pull over?”

The idea of anyone pointing a gun at her made her stomach tighten. “I—I don’t know. How can anyone know what they’d do in a crisis?”

“You damn well better know.” He made a sudden U-turn in the middle of the street and headed west toward her apartment. “Your life may depend on it.”

She was still gripping the armrests from his unexpected turn. “Okay.” She thought for a moment. “I’d step on the accelerator.”

“Wrong. You slam on the brakes.”

“What?”

“First lesson, Allison. Listen carefully.” His eyes narrowed with intensity as he glanced at her. “Be aggressive, hit fast, hit hard, then get the hell out.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re actually serious. For God sake’s, Kane, we’re not talking about a military operation here.”

“And we’re not talking about the fairy kingdom of never-never land either, princess.”

Gritting her teeth, she bit back the first response that came into her mind and went with the second. “Don’t call me ‘princess.”’

“Stop acting like one.” Kane checked his rearview mirror again, satisfied that the sedan was still behind him. “You need to understand a few things. I don’t own a pair of kid gloves and I’m not here to hold your hand.”

Hold her hand. Allison wound her fingers so tightly around the armrests that the fabric creaked. “I think you better understand a few things yourself, Mr. Kane. I don’t need or want you to hold my hand. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

He slanted her a look and smiled. “Hold on to that thought. Lessons begin bright and early.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, nor did she care to ask. Kane pulled up in front of her apartment a few minutes later and after she packed a bag and watered her house plants, they were back on the road again, crossing the bridge over the sound, heading toward Fox Island. They’d be at her father’s house in about ten minutes and all she could think about was getting out of her heels, into a soft, comfortable pair of flats and her favorite sweatshirt.

To say that it had been a long day was putting it somewhat mildly.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Kane said suddenly, breaking the long silence. “I’ll need a list of men you’ve dated and/ or slept with.”

She hadn’t heard him right. She couldn’t have. He’d asked her for a list of lovers as casually as if he’d been asking her the time of day. She turned slowly in her seat and simply stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll need a list of men you’ve—”

“Don’t you dare say it again.” Her jaw was clenched so tight she could barely speak. “Don’t even think it. Whom I’ve dated, or as you so eloquently put it, ‘slept with,’ is nobody’s business but mine.”

She decided it was a good thing after all that Kane was driving. If she’d been behind the wheel right now she probably would have driven off the bridge.

“It’s not uncommon for the victim to have known their abductor beforehand,” Kane said. “Quite often, intimately.”

Allison settled back in her seat. “I guarantee that whoever this creep is, it’s no one I know or who knows me. Sorry, Kane, but I suggest you find a more willing subject if you’re looking for kicks, and while you’re at it, you could certainly use a more creative approach.”

He smiled then, a slow, confident smile that made Allison’s insides churn. “Princess, let me tell you something—When I ‘get my kicks’ as you say, I’m very creative, and the lady is always willing.”

She didn’t doubt for a second what he said was true. She’d already had a firsthand experience with the man’s appeal. Because she didn’t want him to see her cheeks turn red, she turned away and stared out the window. All she could manage to say was, “Don’t call me ‘princess.”’

This was not going to be easy.

Kane stood at the southwest edge of the cliffs behind the Westcott estate and scanned an experienced eye over the luxuriant grounds. Inside a five-foot brick wall surrounding the property, flowering trees and perfectly manicured shrubs nearly engulfed the two-story Spanish-style house. The greenery was aesthetically pleasing, but a virtual haven for uninvited guests, he thought with more than a twinge of annoyance.

And the house had more windows than Seattle had rain.

One specific window on the second story—the bedroom Allison slept in—drew his attention, and he mentally calculated his position. Based on the angle of the shot, Kane was sure this was the spot where their “shutterbug” had been standing when he’d taken his picture. The rocks here were big enough to easily hide behind and access from the beach below was an easy climb. The spot was so remote that it was doubtful any neighbor would have spotted him, and even if Allison had seen him, she was so naive she probably would have just waved at the guy. Hell, she probably would have invited him in for lunch.

He could still see the look on her face when she’d stared at the photograph of herself in her underwear. Her skin had paled against her dark hair and her fingers had felt like slivers of ice when he’d taken the picture out of her hands. He knew she was scared to death, he’d seen the fear in her wide eyes. Yet still she refused to spend the next few days here, inside, where she would be safer, out of danger.

Why, dammit? He shook his head irritably. What difference could it possibly make if she skipped a few days at the center and postponed the kids’ show? So maybe the kids would be disappointed. Disappointment never killed a kid. If it did, he’d have been dead by the ripe old age of seven.

He turned sharply at the shriek of a sea gull overhead and watched the bird as it swooped low over the water. For some strange reason, the smooth motion of the creature made him think of Allison. She moved with that same powerful and elegant grace. And even though he knew that she’d studied ballet, hers was a grace that no amount of dance lessons could ever teach. It was completely natural, utterly feminine and disturbingly sensual.

He could still feel the soft pressure of her breasts on his back when they’d stood in the elevator this morning. The heat of her body had burned straight through his clothes and scorched his skin. Thirty seconds more with her pressed against him like that and he would have broken out in a sweat. He was going to have to be careful to keep his distance from her, he resolved. A woman like Allison could easily mess up a man’s thinking, make him lose control. And control was something Kane had no intention of relinquishing.

He thought of the file he’d read on the plane this morning. Allison’s file. She’d graduated from the dance academy six years ago, and the rest of her life had been as easy to read as a children’s book, complete with pictures. Her career as a dancer had been notable, but her offstage life seemed to be virtually nonexistent. Though there’d been an occasional boyfriend mentioned in an entertainment magazine here and there, as far as he could see she’d had no serious affairs or rejected lovers.

He couldn’t help the smile as he recalled the look of indignation on her face when he’d asked her about her personal life. He’d had to ask, that was his job, but any interest he might have in Allison’s love life was purely professional. Unless one of those men was tied to the case, they had no relevance at all. They were simply nameless and faceless lovers who had no bearing on the current situation.

So why, then, was he trying to put a face to one of those men, wondering if he’d been another dancer she’d worked with, or maybe one of the dozens of admirers she must have had? What difference could it possibly make?

It didn’t, he told himself. He was just getting restless. He’d worked nonstop for the last twelve months. There’d been little time for women, or any form of recreation, for that matter. As soon as this case was finished, he intended to find himself a long-legged blonde, a bottle of Jack Daniels and a quiet shack on an isolated beach in Bermuda.

He could see the ocean waves now, feel the warm breeze, a woman’s long, slender legs wrapped around his bare body, her dark hair shining as it billowed out across the hot sand.

Dark hair? What happened to his blonde?

Damn. He rubbed a hand over his face. He needed this vacation sooner than he’d thought. In the meantime, he resolved, he’d better keep his mind on what Oliver Westcott was paying him to do, which was to keep his daughter safe. Kane was comfortable with the competence of the men that had accompanied Oliver to Los Angeles and also with the three men who had been assigned to stay at the house on twenty-four-hour watch. Two of the men were to watch the outside perimeter and a third man was to tail Allison while she was en route from work and home. That was the trickiest part, keeping tabs on her once she left the estate.

He turned back to the house and stared at Allison’s bedroom window again. His frown deepened. Why couldn’t the woman understand she’d be better off here, in the safety of her own house? Any other woman would have run home and bolted the doors. Lord knew it certainly would have made his life a hell of a lot easier.

But then—Kane let out a long breath of exasperation—Allison Westcott was obviously not just any other woman. And she certainly was not going to make his life easier.

She came out of the house then and moved up the stone walkway toward him, with the ease of a woman who was comfortable with her surroundings. He watched as she approached, noting that she’d changed into a long oversize sweatshirt that matched the color of the pink azaleas along the path. Her pants—or whatever the modern fashion hounds called them—looked more like black tights than anything else, and while she certainly hadn’t dressed to impress him, she looked so damn sexy that a jolt of desire shot through him before he had time to think.

He hoped like hell this job would be over soon.

“Thought you might like a cup of coffee.” She stopped two feet away and handed him a steaming mug. “I hope black is all right.”

Nodding gratefully, he accepted the cup, annoyed with himself that he’d intentionally avoided touching her hand. He watched as she combed her fingers through her hair, then folded her arms tightly in front of her. A nervous gesture. She moved to the edge of the cliff and stared silently at the approaching sunset.

“I noticed you were working with the alarm system this afternoon,” she said finally, but did not turn to look at him.

“Just checking it out.”

As she turned back to him, the ocean breeze tugged at the wild mass of curls around her face. He watched in fascination as her hand swept the hair away from her cheek.

“And?”

He’d never been one to soften the truth before, and he didn’t intend to start now. “Before I ordered a few adjustments, I doubt it would have kept out the Avon lady.”

She winced, then recovered quickly. “And now?”

He shrugged. “Now we probably only have to worry about insurance salesmen.”

So the man does have a sense of humor, Allison thought with mild surprise. She felt the tightness in her shoulders ease, as she realized that if anyone did try to break in, they not only had to get through the two men stationed outside and Kane’s updated alarm system, but they had to get through Kane himself. Something told her that was not an easy thing to do. “So what happens now?”

He wished she would stop chewing on her bottom lip. Though he knew she didn’t intend the gesture to be provocative, that didn’t make it any less so. He took a sip of his coffee, glad that it was as hot as it was strong. “Ideally, we find the guy before he makes a move.”

“And if we don’t find him?”

The waves lapped on the beach below and the distant sound of a speedboat hummed in the moist salt air. Kane was well aware of the fact that an approach to the Westcott estate from the water was a strong possibility. He watched the boat until it looped away. “Either way, we’re ready for him.”

She hugged her arms tightly around her. “We moved into this house when I was ten. I played on the beach all day and at night, as well. I never once felt there was any danger.” She sighed and stared back at the house. “It’s so strange, not feeling safe here, not knowing whom to trust.”

“That’s the easy part.” His eyes narrowed as he lifted his cup to his mouth again. “Don’t trust anyone.”

“What about you, Kane?” She glanced back at him. “Am I supposed to trust you?”

His jaw tightened. “I’m here to do a job. That you can depend on. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She sent him an exasperated look. “Has anyone ever told you it’s not healthy to go around suspecting everyone?”

“It’s not healthy to be dead, either.”

Allison felt the impact of Kane’s words like a punch in the stomach. He never let up, not even for a second, and she wondered if some sadistic part of him enjoyed keeping her on the edge. “Thanks for the reassurance. I’m sure that little bit of advice will help me sleep much better tonight.”

She started to walk away then, but he caught her by the wrist.

“Allison.”

She wasn’t sure what surprised her more, the gentle touch of his hand or the uncharacteristic softness in his voice. She stared at his fingers wrapped around her wrist, then lifted her eyes to his. For a brief second, a flash of something—tenderness?—was there in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

“I’m not here so you can sleep better at night,” he said quietly. “You can’t let your guard down, not even for a minute. My job is to keep whoever this guy is out there from getting close to you. Your job is to be ready and prepared for anything. You’ll get no kind words from me, no assurances, because there are none. That’s how I operate and that’s why your father hired me.”

She was beginning to understand more clearly why her father had hired Kane. The two men were very much alike. As subtle as a steamroller and as tenacious as an angry bull. Results were what mattered, not merit badges in charm. She may not like it, but she did respect it.

As he let go of her arm she realized that he’d come about as close to an apology or explanation as she’d ever get from him. Though unspoken, a truce settled between them. “Dinner’s in the oven, but it won’t be ready for about forty-five minutes.”

Kane remembered that he’d already spoken to the gardener and the pool man, but he hadn’t seen a glimpse of the housekeeper and cook that Oliver employed full-time. “I’ll need a few minutes of your housekeeper’s time after dinner. I need to ask her a few questions.”

“That might be a little difficult,” Allison said, feeling a twinge of satisfaction that there were a few things Mr. Thomas Kane didn’t know. “Her granddaughter just had a baby yesterday. She left this morning to stay with her for a month.”

Confused, Kane glanced toward the house. “Who’s cooking?”

Good Lord, did the man think she was entirely helpless? She tapped down the annoyance rising in her. “I’ve learned to throw one or two simple meals together.”

“I don’t expect you to cook for me.” Actually, he hadn’t expected her to cook at all. The fact that she did surprised him.

Something told her that Kane never expected anything from anybody. If a person didn’t expect anything, then he didn’t have to give anything. “There’s plenty,” she said flatly. “I’ve already asked the other men to join us.”

Kane resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Next thing he knew, they’d be having a picnic. “I’ll take a plate out to them,” he said dryly. “These men are here to work, not attend dinner parties.”

“Oh, darn.” She gestured dramatically and sarcasm dripped off her words. “Now whoever will I wear my gown and jewels for tonight?”

He could see diamonds on her. Diamonds and emeralds and black velvet. “You’ll be wearing them for our picture-taking friend, if you don’t let us do our job.”

Kane’s words cooled Allison’s ire and sharply reminded her of the situation. The idea of someone actually coming into her home while she was sleeping or taking a shower made her skin crawl. Having worked with the children at the center, she’d always thought she had a strong understanding of the darker side of life. But the truth was, she’d never been a victim herself. No one had ever threatened to hurt her; no one had ever followed her or watched her.

Or taken her picture while she was getting dressed.

Maybe Kane was right. Maybe she had been living in never-never land. Maybe ‘princess’ wasn’t so far off, after all.

“I’ve got to go check on my frozen dinners,” she said with just enough bite to lift her spirits a notch. “Those aluminum containers are awful to clean when you burn the macaroni and cheese.”

Kane watched her walk away and wondered why he felt as if he’d just kicked a puppy. So what if she was mad at him? That was his intention. Anger kept people on their toes. And Allison needed to be alert. He had to remind her there were bad guys out there, no matter how angry it made her; no matter how much it upset her. It was for her own good, dammit.

He almost smiled as she disappeared into the house, realizing that however angry she might happen to be at him now, it was nothing compared to what she’d be feeling after she found out what he had planned for the morning.

Three

Barefoot, dressed in a leotard and tights, Allison tiptoed out of her bedroom and down the stairs, then quietly moved toward the back of the house. The chilly air brought goose bumps to her bare arms, but she welcomed the cold. Anything that would help her wake up at the ungodly hour of five-thirty in the morning was appreciated.

A small price to pay for privacy, she reminded herself, holding her breath as she paused outside the guest bedroom Kane was sleeping in. She leaned her head toward the door and listened. Absolute silence.

Smiling, she crept down the hallway, pleased that she’d found a few quiet moments for herself. Everywhere she’d turned last night, it had seemed as if Kane was there. Not that he’d stood over her shoulder or followed her around. If anything, it had been the opposite. He’d kept to himself most of the evening in the kitchen, studying maps and files, going outside periodically to talk with the other men. He’d barely acknowledged her the entire night.

And yet, though she’d hardly seen him, she still felt his presence. It didn’t matter that he was in the other room or outside. There was an energy that pulsated through the house, a force that had never been there before. She realized, of course, that the situation itself called for a heightened sense of awareness on her part. After all, someone was out there, and whoever it was, he was watching her and her father.

But at a deeper level Allison knew that her anxiety, her apprehension, hadn’t nearly as much to do with the circumstances as it did with Kane himself. Danger and excitement were inherent in the man, a part of who he was. His passion. She knew it, felt it instinctively, and as surely as it frightened her on one level, it seduced her on another.

And that, Allison told herself, was what made Thomas Kane such a dangerous man. A man to avoid at all costs. Even if it meant rising with the sun.

When she opened the door of the rec room, what she saw took her breath away.

He was there at the weight machine, his hands tightly clasped around the T-bar over his head, his arms rhythmically moving up and down, the movement as fluid as the sweat that glistened on his face and bare arms. He wore sweatpants and a ragged gray sweatshirt cut off at the shoulders. The underarms and chest were also stained from the exertion of his workout.

She should have left, simply backed out before he caught her staring at him, but her legs suddenly felt as heavy as the weights he lifted, her feet rooted to the cold wooden floor. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to.

He was magnificent. His eyes were closed with intense concentration; his jaw set hard as concrete. The muscles on his arms bunched and rippled under the force as he moved. He strained at the weights, teeth gritted, obviously pushing himself to and then beyond his limits. She watched in fascination, admiring not only the physical body, but the dedication, as well. She recognized the look on his face, the driving need to be the best. She’d seen it in more than one dancer’s eyes and had even paid the price herself. Performances with pulled tendons. Practices with wrapped, bleeding toes. Dancing was all she’d ever known, all she’d ever wanted, and when she’d had her accident she’d thought it a curse. But now, when she looked into the faces of her children at the center, she knew in her heart it had been a blessing.

The weights clattered down, startling her. Her gaze met his and they stared at each other, neither one of them moving. The silence of the room closed around them, held them. She heard the sound of her own heartbeat, felt her body tighten like the string of a violin, waiting for the pull of the bow….

When he looked away and reached for a towel on the weight bench, she breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry.” She started to back out. “I’ll come back later.”

Breathing hard, he waved her back into the room as he wiped at the sweat on his face and neck. “You’re early.” He gasped between breaths.

The rapid rise and fall of his chest held her attention. Sweat rimmed the top of his sweatshirt. She pulled her gaze from his body. “What do you mean, ‘I’m early?”’

He glanced at the clock on the mirrored wall behind Allison. “You don’t work out until six-thirty.”

Was there anything this man didn’t know about her? Frowning, she stepped into the room. “And where did you happen to get that little bit of information?”

“Your father mentioned it.” He dragged the towel over his damp hair, then wrapped it around his neck.

“After you asked, you mean.”

He reached for the thermos beside the weight machine, twisted the top off and poured the steaming liquid into the cup. “Coffee?”

No sane person turned down coffee at this hour of the morning. She took the plastic cup out of his hand, hoping that something hot would steady her shaky nerves. “Just a swallow,” she said, taking a sip.

“Go ahead and finish it.” He stood and tossed the towel over the weight bench. “The extra caffeine will do you good before we start.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean ‘before we start?”’

“Your lessons.”

“What lessons?”

He shook his arms out, then planted himself in front of her, his feet spread slightly apart. “I’m going to teach you self-defense.”

Self-defense? Allison lowered the cup and stared at him incredulously. “You mean like karate or judo?”

“Not exactly. I’ll just work with you on some simple but effective techniques to protect yourself.”

The coffee obviously wasn’t helping her nerves at all. She tightened her fingers around the cup, struggling to hold on to her composure. “I thought it was your job to protect me.”

“And what if I can’t?” He stared down at her. “What if these guys manage to get you alone, or what if I’m shot or even dead. There’ll be no one but you, Allison. Then what?”

The thought of Kane being hurt while he was protecting her horrified Allison. And the idea of violence, even in her own self-defense, made her stomach twist painfully. “I don’t know.”

“You have to know. You either take responsibility for yourself or you’ll be a victim, no different from your kids at the center.”

The anger that shot through her was as swift as it was furious. She leveled her gaze with his, and the fact that he was a good nine inches taller was irrelevant. “You leave the children out of this. They have no choice in their lives.”

He nodded stiffly. “That’s right. They had no choice at all. But you do. You can walk out of here, or you can be a headline in the morning newspapers whom everyone feels sorry for. What’ll it be?”

She wanted to walk away, needed to walk away. But the truth of Kane’s words permeated the fist of anger gripping her. He was right. She did have a choice.

Setting her jaw, she drew in a slow, deep breath and handed him the cup back. “Just get on with it.”

Kane took the cup from Allison’s hand, watching her eyes shift from the hard edge of anger to the rigid set of determination. Good. Tenacity was always the best pupil, not size or gender. He forced himself to hold her gaze, refusing to give in to the impulse to skim over the curves beneath the skintight outfit she wore that—much to his discomfort—more than defined her gender and size.

Setting the cup behind him, he faced her again. “The first rule, and most important, is to be aware of what’s happening around you. Watch the movements of anyone walking close by. Keep track of the traffic around you. Always know what your options are, what street you can pull onto, where you can run for help. Be alert to anything, or anybody, out of the ordinary.”

“Someone like you, maybe?” Sarcasm edged her words.

One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Especially someone like me.”

He moved closer to her and Allison realized he was intentionally trying to intimidate her. Though the impulse to step back was strong, she held her ground, trying to ignore the rapid-fire beating of her heart. “And what if I can’t get away?”

He moved closer still. “That’s when you need to keep calm and assess the situation. Does he have a gun? A knife? What’s close to you that you might use as a weapon yourself? Your keys, your purse, a picture frame or rolled-up magazine. Anything you can strike with quickly, that will give you the extra seconds you need to run.”

What she wanted to do was run out of here. Dammit. He was too close. The clothes he’d been wearing yesterday hadn’t revealed how muscular he was. His arms were like cords of steel, his chest as wide as a doorway. She knew that fact should make her feel safe, but at the moment she felt anything but.

“Most assailants,” he went on, “expect pleading and acquiescence, not a counterattack. Use that to your advantage. Beg with them not to hurt you, then let them have it while they’re gloating over their dominance.”

“Hit hard, hit fast and get the hell out,” she quoted Kane from yesterday.

“Good girl.” He smiled. “You pay attention.”

She wondered if he had any idea just how true his statement was. With no more than ten inches between them, he definitely had her undivided attention. The masculine scent of his skin, the waves of heat radiating off his body. And his eyes. His eyes were deep blue, as brilliant and endless as a moonlit sky.

Dealing with an attack was beginning to look like a piece of cake next to dealing with Kane.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “Now what?”

“Now—” he grabbed her suddenly “—you’re going to learn how to take the offensive.”

With his hands wrapped tightly around Allison’s wrists, Kane wasn’t sure who was surprised more—Allison or himself. He’d intended to catch her off guard, of course, but he certainly hadn’t planned to be caught as well.

Her skin was cool and soft beneath his hands, her scent distinctly feminine. As he stared down at her wide green eyes and softly parted lips, he had to remind himself—again—that Allison Westcott was a client. A beautiful one perhaps, but a client nonetheless. When she tried to pull away from him he held fast.

She narrowed her eyes. “You really expect me to be able to break out of your hold?”

“Every hold has a weak point. Mine is here—” he lifted her arms “—between my thumb and forefinger. Twist your arms,” he instructed, “then quickly pull down and away.”

He had to be kidding, she thought. His hands were like twin bands of iron on her arms. Still, she did as he said. And all she managed to achieve was two sore wrists. She glared at him. “Kane, I can’t—”

“Just think of it as a dance movement,” he encouraged. “Fast and furious, yet smooth and even. Concentrate. Focus on that weak point and pull your own strength from deep inside.”

“I can’t—”

He drew her closer to him. “I’m not giving you a choice. You either break out, or we’ll be standing here all day.” One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Just you and me, Allison. Alone.”

The suggestive tone in Kane’s voice was all the incentive Allison needed. Jaw set, shoulders straight, she twisted her arms, pulled down and away.

It worked.

She stared at her free arms. She’d done it. She’d actually broken out of his hold. Amazed, she looked at Kane. He grinned at her with that damn I-told-you-so look. The temptation to frown at him was strong, but the satisfaction that rippled through her wouldn’t let her. Instead, she smiled slowly and put her hands on her hips. “All right, Mr. Kane,” she said as she faced him. “You’ve got me for one hour before I have to get ready for work. Teach me what you know.”

Two hours later, sitting next to Kane on the drive into Seattle, Allison was already regretting those words.

One hour with Kane had left her feeling as if she’d been run over by a herd of elephants. It was putting it mildly to say that the lesson—like the man himself—had been intense. Her arms were sore from being grabbed and twisted, her wrists bruised and her weak knee, sensitive to extreme movement, was throbbing from the kicks he’d taught her.

But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil she was feeling. Though Kane had been completely professional, aloof even, the feel of his hands on her, his body pressed against hers repeatedly, had left her a nervous wreck. The contact might not have been gentle, but it sure as hell had been intimate, and her reaction to his closeness was anything but professional.

And Kane hadn’t batted an eye, not even when he’d wrapped his arms tightly around her and held her against him while he instructed her on the move to break out. It had taken every ounce of mind power to even listen to him, let alone follow his directions. She’d failed miserably on that hold, which only meant that they had to practice it more than all the others. Over and over he’d held her, and each time it seemed closer and tighter, until she felt as if he might pull her inside him.

Frowning, she glanced over at him. Not once, not when he’d held her, not even when her breasts had been crushed against his chest, had she seen his expression change. Not once had he looked at her as a man looks at a woman.

So what if she wasn’t his type? she thought irritably. It certainly shouldn’t bother her because one man was indifferent to her.

She settled back into her seat and stared out the window. So why then, did she feel so damn annoyed?

When it started to rain again, Kane began to seriously wonder if Seattle ever saw blue sky. It was certainly a far cry from Florida. Swearing silently, he flipped on the windshield wipers and checked the rearview mirror for the white sedan that had been with them since they’d left the house. The sedan, driven by a kid named Tony Salinas, was two car lengths behind. Tony had only worked security for Oliver Westcott for the past six months, and at twenty-five he hadn’t the experience Kane would have preferred. But his records were clean and the six years he’d spent in the navy had earned him a congressional Medal of Honor following a skirmish in the Gulf. Though Kane had little respect left for the military itself, he had tremendous respect for the men who enlisted and served. When Kane exited the freeway, Tony followed.

Beside him, Allison gestured to the left. “Take the next turn at—”

“Second Street,” he finished for her.

She frowned at him, then glanced back at the car following them. “I still don’t understand why it’s necessary for both you and Tony to come to the center with me. There’s at least a dozen people around all the time. What could possibly happen?”

He looked at her sharply. “How well do you know Tony?”

“Tony Salinas?”

“How well?” Impatience edged his words.

She definitely didn’t like the implication she heard in Kane’s voice. “Not well at all,” she ground out.

The back wheels of the van skidded as Kane took the turn too fast. “I told you I’m not interested in your personal life, Allison. I’m just doing my job. If Tony’s objectivity might be blurred because you two have—or had—something going, I’ll request someone else.”

She faced him, carefully enunciating her words. “I do not have—nor have I ever had—a relationship with Tony Salinas. I’ve met him exactly twice, both times in a professional capacity as security for my father’s company.”

Arms folded tightly, she turned away. Kane might have smiled at her irritation, but the fact was he was feeling the same damn thing. He tried to tell himself it was the lack of clues and suspects he had to work with on this case, but he knew—whether he wanted to admit it or not—that wasn’t the truth.

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