What woman wouldn’t be affected by Mike Landis?

The years had honed his good looks into white-hot sexuality. He’d always been broad shouldered and muscular, and now he moved with a masculinity that was wickedly attractive.

But she knew about his dangerous side. And his need to prove himself by overcoming any challenge. Seven years ago she’d been that challenge. The daughter of the wealthiest man in town, she was everything the son of the town drunk couldn’t have.

She suspected his penchant for challenge had been further honed by his experiences with Special Forces. The framed picture on the wall beside his desk of those haunted, grim-faced soldiers came to mind. Even with his face camouflaged with paint, Mike stood out as the team leader.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

This month Harlequin Intrigue has a healthy dose of breathtaking romantic suspense to reignite you after the cold winter days. Kicking things off, Susan Kearney delivers the first title in her brand-new trilogy HEROES INC., based on a specially trained team of sexy agents taking on impossible missions. In Daddy to the Rescue, an operative is dispatched to safeguard his ex-wife from the danger that threatens her. Only, now he also has to find the child she claims is his!

Rebecca York returns with the latest installment in her hugely popular 43 LIGHT STREET series. Phantom Lover is a supersexy gothic tale of suspense guaranteed to give you all kinds of fantasies…. Also appearing this month is another veteran Harlequin Intrigue author, Patricia Rosemoor, with the next title in her CLUB UNDERCOVER miniseries. In VIP Protector, a bodyguard must defend a prominent attorney from a crazed stalker. But can he protect her from long-buried secrets best left hidden?

Finally rounding out the month is the companion title in our MEN ON A MISSION theme promotion, Tough as Nails, from debut author Jackie Manning. Here an estranged couple must join forces to solve a deadly mystery, but will their close proximity fuel the flames of passion smoldering between them?

So pick up all four of these thrilling, action-packed stories for a full course of unbelievable excitement!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Tough as Nails
Jackie Manning

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jackie Manning believes in love at first sight. She and her husband, Tom, were married six weeks to the day after they first met and he proposed, many happy years ago. Home is a 150-year-old colonial in Maine, where they live with their shih tzu and Aussie terrier. When Jackie isn’t writing, she’s researching and visiting interesting places to write about. She loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 1739, Waterville, ME 04963-1739.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Michael Landis—A former military man, he now owns a state-of-the-art security company. Little does he know that his ex-wife is about to break in to his heart.

Brianna Kent—She’s being stalked by a dangerous man and her only hope is to seek help from her ex-husband. He might be able to protect her from her stalker, but who’ll protect her from him?

Lawrence Cunningham—Brianna’s colleague seems to have a little more than a professional interest in her.

Simone Twardzak—Brianna’s secretary doesn’t just answer the phone and schedule appointments.

The Stalker—He’s always watching. He’s always listening. But soon that won’t be enough.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

Brianna Kent bolted upright in bed, her chest pounding. Was the noise she heard a dream or was someone prowling around her apartment? Her hand trembled as she brushed back the sweat-dampened hair from her face. Too terrified to turn on the light, she froze, listening. But all she heard was her thudding heartbeat and the terrifying silence of her bedroom.

Nothing would come from huddling with fear in her bed, imagining all sorts of things. She tossed back the covers, swung her feet to the floor and forced her brain to think.

Only a fool would break into a full-security apartment building with burglar-alarm warnings plastered at every window and door. Still, if she didn’t check out the noise, she’d be awake until the clock radio blared to life in a few hours.

She slipped into her white terry-cloth bathrobe, then opened the drawer of her bedside table. Taking the 9 mm snub-nosed Beretta from its case, she slipped the weapon into her hip pocket. The revolver hung heavily against her thigh, a grim reminder of the peril that came with her career. But she knew how to deal with threats. Although she hated guns, she’d learned to handle a weapon. The sharpshooter award above the fireplace proved it.

She clutched the lapels of her robe and creaked open the bedroom door. Peering into the narrow corridor, she was surprised to find the living room at the end of the hall brightly lit.

Damn. How could she have forgotten? Nora was sleeping over before flying out of JFK in the morning. Brianna, herself, had left the light on for her. Feeling like a fool to forget her aunt’s visit, she almost laughed with relief. Worry and lack of sleep were playing tricks on her mind.

Tightening the belt of her robe, she headed for the kitchen. Nora was probably unable to sleep and heating a glass of milk.

As Brianna crossed the blue-carpeted living room, her gaze caught the corner of a large envelope peeking out from beneath the front door. Her stomach clenched as recognition brought her to full alert. The manila envelope was identical to the three others that had been slipped under her office door in the last two weeks.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. He knows where I live!

She forced back the fear as her hand found the cold steel inside the pocket of her robe. Something had awoken her.

Dear God! Maybe he’d picked the lock and was in her apartment. Her gaze flew to the heavy security chain still attached to the wall.

Get a grip, Brianna. The door is locked from the inside. You and Nora are perfectly safe. And this time, he’d made a mistake. Whoever did this apparently didn’t know that security cameras covered the apartment corridors and would have caught him on video.

She dashed to the telephone on the desk. Her hands trembled as she fumbled the receiver from the hook, then tapped in the number for Apartment Security.

After one ring, a man’s deep voice answered. “Security. Collins here.”

“This is Dr. Kent in apartment 2304. Someone slipped an anonymous envelope under my door sometime between now and midnight.” She paused to steady herself. “I’d like to view the videotape as soon as possible.”

After a slight pause, he said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Kent. But our cameras have been down since before midnight. Our maintenance team is still checking the matter.”

“Does that mean none of the security cameras in the building were operating?”

“I’m afraid so. But I’ll forward your request to the manager, Ed Jenkins. I’ll have him call you as soon as he comes in later this morning. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Her frustration rose, then she realized it was the middle of the night. “N-no, thank you. Tell the manager that I’ll stop in to see him on my way to work later this morning.” When she’d hung up, she wondered if she should call the police and leave a message for Lieutenant Jeffries. He’d told her to call him if she received any more envelopes.

She picked up the phone again, then saw Nora staring at her from the hallway.

Her aunt’s sharp gaze swept over her. “What’s wrong, dear?” Nora hurried toward her, hazel eyes wide behind her gold-framed glasses. “Your face is white as a sheet. Why, you’re shaking.”

Brianna put the phone back in its cradle and forced a calm she didn’t feel. “That was Security. I thought I heard a noise, but everything is fine now.”

Nora’s thin eyebrows lifted. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, dear.” Her head turned toward the envelope lying beneath the front door. “You don’t know who left this?” Nora scurried toward the door as though she was going to pick up the envelope.

“Don’t touch it!” Brianna rushed to her side. “There may be fingerprints”

“Fingerprints?” Nora stared at her. “Brianna, what’s going on? I heard you say the security cameras aren’t working?”

“The maintenance crew will have them working in no time.”

Nora glanced back at the envelope lying against the blue carpeting. “Don’t you want to see what’s inside?”

Brianna shook her head. She didn’t have to open the envelope to know what was inside. But she didn’t want to worry her aunt, so she kept the thought to herself. “Whatever it is, it’s not important. Just someone’s idea of a joke, I’m sure.” She gave Nora what she hoped was an everything’s-under-control look. “I’ll drop the envelope at the police station on my way to the office this morning.”

Nora’s eyes narrowed. “Brianna. What’s going on?”

She sighed, knowing full well that her aunt would insist upon knowing everything before either of them would be going back to bed. “Let’s go into the kitchen and have some warm milk,” Brianna said lightly as she put her arm around the older woman.

Nora gasped. Her hand flew to her heart as she glanced at the pocket of Brianna’s robe. “You’re carrying a gun!”

Brianna looked down at the heavy bulge at her side. “I-I’m sorry to frighten you. When I thought I heard a noise, I…” She paused, knowing that despite her best intentions to allay Nora’s anxiety, her aunt was worried sick.

Brianna shrugged helplessly. “Excuse me while I put away the weapon, then we can talk.”

When she returned to the kitchen, her aunt had poured two glasses of milk, and was standing in front of the microwave oven, her arms folded. For a moment, Brianna was reminded of the many times she’d come home from middle school to find Nora in the kitchen, a plate of fresh-from-the-oven oatmeal cookies and hot cocoa waiting.

Nora had become a fixture in her brother’s home after Brianna’s mother had died, when Brianna was eight. Nora was someone everyone could count on. Ordinarily, Brianna would have been comforted to have her aunt visit. But until the police found the stalker who was sending the envelopes, Brianna might be endangering her aunt.

Rubbing the tight knot at the base of her neck, Brianna sat on the kitchen stool. She waited until her aunt placed the warm milk in front of her before she spoke.

“In the past two weeks, three envelopes containing photographs of me have been slipped under the door at my office. The first photo was taken in the parking garage across from my office while I was getting into my car.”

Nora bit her lip as she listened.

“The second photo arrived a few days later,” Brianna continued. “It was a picture of me at a neighborhood restaurant with a dozen friends for Marcie’s baby shower. The third photo arrived last Monday. It was taken of a colleague and me having a drink after work.” She waved her hands. “Nothing seems connected. Nothing makes any sense.”

Nora studied her over her glasses. “Except to the twisted mind who sent them.”

Brianna agreed, but she didn’t want to alarm Nora any more than she already had.

“You’re no match for a stalker,” Nora said finally. “I’m afraid for you, dear.”

“I’ve done everything that can be done. I’ve contacted the police. I know karate, I’m trained with a handgun. My apartment building is one of the most secure in Manhattan.”

Nora sniffed. “Not when the security cameras aren’t working.” She started toward the kitchen door. “This person is fixated on you, Brianna. I’ve seen this very thing on those crime shows on TV. I’ll bet the stalker disabled those video cameras himself!”

Brianna frowned as she watched her aunt. “Nora, where are you going?”

“I’m unpacking my bags.” Nora paused and shot a look over her shoulder at Brianna. “Until the police catch the stalker, my place is with you. I’m going to cancel my trip to my sister’s—”

“Nora! You’ll do nothing of the kind.”

Nora glanced at her watch. “I’ll call Laura in a few hours. It’s only one o’clock now in Denver.”

Brianna put her hand on the older woman’s arm. “I love you for wanting to help,” she said in a soft voice. “But there’s nothing you can do. Let’s not hear any more about canceling your trip to see Laura.”

Nora’s eyes glittered behind the gold rims. “I’ll go only if you promise me one thing.”

Brianna smiled to herself. “Of course, darling. What is it?”

“I want you to call TALON-6. They’re a security agency here in the city. I know they can help you.”

“TALON-6?”

“Yes, they have an office in midtown. I’d feel so much better if I knew they were looking out for you.”

Brianna crossed her arms. “You know these people?”

Nora averted her eyes and fixed her gaze upon her recently manicured nails. “I’ve carefully followed the owner’s career since he was in high school,” she added, examining a pearl-lacquered tip.

“One of your former pupils?” She wasn’t surprised. Her aunt kept in touch with most of her students. Having no children of her own, Nora had always played surrogate mother to her former math students.

Nora focused on her cuticles. “Yes, he was. I’ve known him ever since he was in the troubled-youth program, many years ago. I’ve watched him grow from a defiant teenager into a fine young man who later became—” Nora hesitated and their eyes met “—your ex-husband.”

For an instant, Brianna felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath. “I had no idea Michael was back in the country,” she said finally, after an uncomfortable pause. The last she’d heard, he was in Iraq or some such place.

Nora shook her head. “He’s been out of Special Forces for over two years now.”

Brianna felt a wrench of agony, as if Nora had betrayed her. Immediately, she felt guilty for such pettiness. Her aunt Nora and uncle, the Judge, had been like parents to Michael, and many troubled students like him, long before Brianna had met him.

Her throat tightened, and she glanced to see Nora’s compassionate gaze studying her.

“Seven years is a long time,” Nora said. “Mike has changed, just as you have.”

“Some things don’t change.”

The words echoed between them, and Brianna could feel what little was left of her self-control unravel. “I’m certain in a city the size of New York we can find someone else who—”

“My dear, please listen—”

“I’m afraid not. The subject is closed.”

Her aunt’s lips narrowed, her chin lifted. “I had no idea you still have such strong feelings for Mike.”

“I don’t! How could you say that? Since our divorce, I’ve had other relationships. I was engaged to Jordan for a year.”

Nora’s mouth lifted slightly. “Six months.”

She glared at her aunt. “Well, it felt like a year.”

“Then if you have no emotional baggage where Mike is concerned, you can call him in the morning.”

Brianna counted to ten before she spoke. “Maybe Mike won’t want to see me,” she said with more sharpness than she’d have liked.

Mike walked out on our marriage, joined the army without a word. Without any attempt to fight for what had been good between us. The sudden stab of rancor surprised her.

Nora’s eyes softened with kindness. “Whoever is sending these pictures is a real threat. You know as well as I do that Mike will see you,” she added gently. “And you can trust him to know what to do.”

Brianna bristled, unable to stop herself. “I don’t want Mike in my life again.”

Nora put a hand on her niece’s arm. “I’m only asking that you show Mike the photographs. He’ll put you in touch with people who can help.”

If they didn’t agree soon, neither of them would get any sleep. “Very well, Nora. I’ll think about it.”

Nora pursed her lips. “You looked just like your father just then, when he was a little boy, trying to get out of something.” She tilted her chin in challenge. “You either agree to see Mike or I’m canceling my trip.”

Brianna groaned. Nora meant well, but she had no idea the real reason behind the failure of her marriage. They were doomed before the ink was dry on the marriage license.

Michael Landis had been her first love, and maybe the only man she would ever love. That fact had become painfully clear while she’d been engaged to Jordan. Poor Jordan. Their relationship never had a chance.

Dear God, she hoped she’d never love someone as she’d loved Mike. Love like that had almost destroyed her.

“I’m not being evasive, Nora. It’s…it’s… Oh, how could you forget what Mike did? He signed the divorce papers and walked away without so much as a look back. He never even tried to stand up to my father and fight for our marriage, or for me.” Hot tears stung her eyes as the pain of those days hit her with the force of a tornado.

Seven years still wasn’t long enough to forget the pain.

Nora’s lips pressed together. “I know your father never approved of Mike, but—”

“And Dad was right.” She fought back the sting of tears. “He always said that Mike would jump ship, just like his mother did.”

“You’ve never heard Mike’s side of it.”

“Not because I didn’t try.” Brianna closed her eyes, fighting the flood of memories she thought were buried years ago. “I’m sorry, Nora. I know you’re only trying to help.” She took a shaky breath. “But I won’t contact Mike.”

“Then I’m staying with you until the stalker is caught. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Brianna stared at her aunt. “Be reasonable—”

“You’re the one who’s not being reasonable.” Her aunt folded her arms across her chest in that familiar stubborn gesture. “Either you make an appointment to see Mike, or I’m not leaving the city,” Nora repeated.

Exasperated, Brianna shook her head. “Mike considers me the biggest mistake of his life. I’m certain he’ll suggest another agency.”

Her aunt’s eyes twinkled. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against Brianna’s cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning, dear.” She was smiling as she hurried down the hall toward the guest room.

Brianna cradled her head in her hands and groaned. Dear God, didn’t Nora realize that remaining here with Brianna could be dangerous? Who knew what motive the stalker had for frightening her with these photographs?

She glanced at the chilling reminder—the envelope beneath the door. Who knew what the stalker really wanted? He knew where she worked, where she lived. What was next?

She closed her eyes from the threat of involving Nora in this. If making an appointment with Mike would get her aunt safely on the plane to Denver, then dammit, she could do it.

MIKE LANDIS SAT at the computer terminal, the telephone receiver wedged between his neck and shoulder. He let out a low whistle as he scrolled down through the wedding pictures that he’d received on e-mail. “For a homely cuss, you’ve got a sister who’s one gorgeous bride,” he said to his partner and best buddy, Liam O’Shea. “Did you tell Stacey that I was sorry to miss her wedding?”

On the other end of the line, Mike heard Liam’s sigh. “Yeah, but she forgives you. She knew you were watching the shop so her big brother could walk her down the aisle.”

Mike smiled, remembering Liam’s loud, Irish family in south Boston. Whenever he’d spent time with Liam’s mom and six sisters, he felt envy for all that he’d missed from his own childhood. Liam was one lucky guy.

“As if an act of war could keep you from giving Stacey away,” Mike said finally.

“I can’t believe my baby sister is old enough to be married.”

“Seems like only last week when you were running surveillance on her boyfriends.”

“Yeah, well…we’re getting old, pal. Time we were settling down.”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like your matchmaking sisters are working to snare you into the marriage trap.” Mike chuckled. “Better hop a plane and escape while you still can.”

“Actually, my sister Caitlin had hoped you’d be at the wedding. She’d invited the perfect woman for you. A kindergarten teacher.”

Mike groaned. “Thank Caitlin for me, but my tastes run to less-than-perfect women.”

“Well, you know Cait. She loves a challenge.”

“Hmm.” After a short pause, Mike scrolled down to a picture of Liam, his arm around a stunning brunette. “Looks like Cait found someone for you, though. Who is she?”

“She’s the kindergarten teacher. I couldn’t disappoint my sister, now, could I, ol’ buddy?”

“Right, ol’ buddy.” Mike laughed.

“Say, why don’t you and Jake fly down for the weekend. We’ll go fishing off the Cape. Mom would love to have you, and Uncle Davy is here with a jug of his homemade wine.”

“That’s a winning offer, but Jake’s in a Miami hospital. He was stung by a jellyfish while wading along a moonlit beach. A beauty queen on each arm, to hear him tell it. He had a nasty reaction to whatever it was the doctors gave him. He won’t be back for another week.”

Liam swore. “Sure you don’t want me back at the office? With Clete and Russell in Saudi, you’re all alone.”

“Nothing’s on the docket till next week. You’ll owe me two tickets on the Yankees’ first-base line when you finally drag your ugly carcass back to the office.”

“You got ’em. In the meantime, I’ll just have to play nice with my sisters’ girlfriends, all of whom are hot and sexy, I might add.”

At the sound of the soft rap at the door, Mike looked up to see his secretary, Bailey, stick her head inside the door. She scowled and waved a file folder at him in a hurry-up gesture.

“Gotta go, Liam. I’ll call you later.” He hung up and turned toward Bailey.

“You reminded me of your dad just now. Must have been the scowl.”

She wrinkled her pug nose and grinned. “What a lovely compliment, Mike. Dad was six foot five, almost three hundred pounds of muscle, and wore size eighteen combat boots.” She feigned a glare. “I’m a size four, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He grinned. “You know what I mean. The same red hair. Same freckles. Same sass.”

She rolled her eyes, and he chuckled as she moved to the side of his desk and gazed at the framed picture of the Fifth Special Forces TALON-team that hung on the wall beside the bookcase. Six rugged men, dressed in combat tiger stripes, their faces darkened with camouflage grease, stood at the edge of the Colombian jungle, staring somberly into the camera. The picture was taken just six weeks before Bailey’s father, Master Sergeant Stewart Thomas was killed in action. From that time on, the five remaining members of TALON-team vowed to take care of Stu’s wife and daughter as their own family.

“Since I’ve come to work with all of you here at TALON-6,” Bailey said, her voice tight, “I’ve come to realize how lucky Dad was to have you guys in his life.”

“Your dad would be real proud of you, Bailey.”

She nodded, her eyes bright. “Oh, before I forget,” she said, her manner suddenly all-business. She put the file folder in front of Mike on the desk. “You have a client waiting. She refused to fill out the standard office questionnaire. Said it may not be necessary because you might not want to take her case.”

Mike glanced up, curious. “Funny thing to say. Did she say why?”

Bailey shook her head. “No. But I’d see her if I were you. She’s drop-dead gorgeous with legs a mile long. And she’s not wearing a wedding band.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Not you, too. I don’t need any help with my love life, thank you.”

Bailey grinned. “Only trying to help. With Clete and Russell out of the country, Liam at Stacey’s wedding and Jake holed up in a Florida hospital, you’ve got smooth sailing.”

He growled. “Out of here. Oh, by the way, does Miss America have a name?”

“Yeah. Her name is on the folder in front of your nose. Brianna Kent,” she said as she stepped out the door.

Brianna Kent? Mike swiveled in his chair and opened the folder. He reached into his T-shirt pocket for a cigarette, then remembered he’d given up the filthy habit over two years ago.

Bailey must have heard the name wrong. He almost clicked on the office intercom for her to recheck the name, but he knew deep down in his gut that this was his Brianna. He’d always had a sixth sense where she was concerned.

His phone buzzed and he pressed the lever. He heard Bailey’s voice ask, “Mike, shall I send her in?”

Refuse. Say you’re not taking new clients. Mike took a deep breath and braced himself.

Well, if she could face him, then he’d face her, too. “Send her in.”

Mike rose, shrugged into his jacket and raked his hair back by the time the door swung open and Brianna Kent stepped into his office.

Chapter Two

Tall, willowy, and dressed in a summery, watery-blue silk dress, Brianna looked as he remembered her: warm, sexy and completely off-limits.

“Hello, Michael.”

Her smoky contralto was nearly his undoing. For one brief, overwhelming moment, he didn’t move. All he wanted was to look at her and absorb every changed detail about her. He knew how her skin felt beneath him. Knew the intimate places she’d loved him to touch, and her sounds of pleasure when he did.

“Brianna.” His voice was huskier than he would have liked. Not trusting his voice now, he pointed to one of the leather chairs that faced his desk. She nodded, then eased gracefully into the seat, the motion sending her shoulder-length, silvery-blond hair shimmering in the afternoon light from the window.

His fingers twitched as he remembered brushing that hair until it shone like moonlit waves of satin down her back. When he’d first known her, she wore her waist-length hair parted in the middle and loose. She had looked like what he imagined a storybook princess to be. His golden princess, he’d called her, and she’d laugh in that rich, throaty way that always went straight to his heart.

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.” Her voice held no hint of emotion, but he noticed her fingers grip the strap on her leather bag.

Her gaze swept his office, more out of politeness than curiosity, he would guess. “Nora told me you were doing very well.” She smiled. “I’m glad for you, Michael.” Her eyes held his. “And you’re looking well.”

The proper boarding schools had taught her to be gracious under pressure. He wondered if she really gave a damn how he was doing, business or otherwise. But he let the comment drop. “And so are you.” He swallowed. “How is Nora?”

The smile she gave him warmed her eyes. “Nora’s fine, thank you. She left this morning for Denver to visit her sister for several weeks.” Brianna hesitated, and he couldn’t quite believe that his wife—his ex-wife—was really sitting in front of him.

Hell, they were chatting away as though nothing had happened seven years ago. But his palms were damp and his throat felt as if he’d swallowed a basketball.

“I’ve been back in the city for two years, Brianna. I hardly think you just happened to find yourself in my neighborhood.”

“Of course.” She fixed those moss-green eyes on him, and he could see reluctance and something else.

“You’re right. I’ll get to the point.” She slipped her handbag strap from her arm and withdrew a large envelope from inside the bag. “I’m a psychologist now, with an office here in the city.”

Over the years, he’d kept track of almost everything about her through her aunt. Nora mentioned that Brianna had finished her doctorate, opened her office and became engaged to a London plastic surgeon. Nora also told him when Brianna’s engagement had been broken, and he cursed himself for the relief that news had given him.

“Most of my clients are women and teenagers from the city family-violence shelter.”

He noticed her hands tremble as she slid the envelope across the desktop toward him. He leaned forward, curious what would bring her to see him.

“Over the past two weeks, I’ve received four anonymous envelopes, each containing one picture.” As she spoke, Mike lifted the flap and pulled out three black-and-white photographs, all eight-by-ten glossies, and laid them across the front of his desk. “There’re only three here.”

“I left the last one with Lieutenant Jeffries at the local precinct on my way here. It was slipped under my door early this morning.” She averted her gaze from the photographs, as though not wanting to face the evidence.

“Did Jeffries say he was running it for prints?”

“Yes, although I doubt if the lab will find any. The other photos were clean, too.”

Mike nodded, then studied the pictures. Each one focused on Brianna in full close-up. The first picture showed her in a parking garage as she slid behind the wheel of a Jeep Wrangler hardtop. “Your car?” he asked.

She nodded. “I rent a parking space at a garage across from my office building.”

Anyone could have easy access to her car, especially using a zoom lens, and not be seen, Mike thought. The second photo was taken in a crowded restaurant. Brianna was in the center of a circle of women, laughing. On the table, a basket of brightly wrapped gifts hung from the beak of a tall, smiling stork.

“A colleague’s baby shower,” she said. “That was taken two days before the photo arrived.”

Mike’s gaze lingered on the next photo: Brianna, drinking wine with a good-looking, dark-haired, bearded guy at a cocktail bar. “Your boyfriend?” He hoped the question sounded motivated by professional rather than personal curiosity.

She shook her head. “No. He’s Larry Cunningham, a colleague.”

“A psychologist?”

She nodded. “Yes, we share an office suite.”

Are you sleeping with him? She looked as if she was ready to bolt from the room, so he didn’t ask, but he’d have to know sooner or later.

He put the photograph alongside the others. “The picture Jeffries still has—where was it taken?”

“I’m at the outdoor market near my apartment.” She shrugged. “I’m sniffing a cantaloupe.” She almost laughed. “Honestly, Michael, I can’t see any connection between these pictures, unless he’s trying to show me that he knows my schedule.”

“Ever consider that the stalker might be a woman?”

Her eyes widened, then her lips pressed in thought. “Possible, but I think unlikely.”

He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs to the side of his desk. “Why? Do you think you know who’s behind this?”

Her mouth tightened. “My first thought is Billie Ray Bennett. He’s an ex-con with a history of violence against women. He’s angry at me because I helped his girlfriend, my client, finally leave him. She’s living in another state, safely away from him, Thank God.”

“And Bennett believes you’re the reason his girlfriend left him?”

“Exactly.” She waved her hand. “Classic denial. It’s easier for batterers to believe the problem is with those who help their victims escape than to accept responsibility for their own abusive behavior.”

Mike pulled a compact computer from his pocket and tapped at the keyboard. “Okay, Bennett is a start. Anyone else?”

She took a deep breath and raked her fingers through her hair. “I—I really don’t know.”

The crack in her confident shell tore a hole deep inside him. He wanted to gather her up, hold her close the way he did all those years ago when she’d awoken in his arms during a lightning storm, terrified and shaking.

But he wasn’t her husband anymore. He wasn’t the man she chose to keep her safe at night. She needed his professionalism, like any other client. A professional arrangement.

“Do you feel up to filling out some forms?” He was glad his voice sounded neutral.

“Forms?”

“The usual questionnaire. Address, phone number. That sort of thing.” He shrugged. “It can wait till later if you’d—”

“Then you’ll take my case?” The surprise in her voice was genuine.

He took a deep breath. “I can suggest one of the other TALON-6 partners if you’d rather not work with me.”

“I-I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Then why did you come?” Damn, he hated the sarcasm in his voice.

“If you want the truth…” Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear her. “Nora refused to leave New York if I didn’t make an appointment with you.” Her mouth quirked. “I was afraid she might be in danger. You know how stubborn Nora can be.”

A family trait, as he remembered. Mike’s gaze dropped to the photographs. So Brianna was here only because of her aunt’s insistence. He swallowed, unsure how he felt about that.

“I don’t think I’ll have any problem working with you, Michael.” She leaned forward, her voice throaty. “What’s past is past. We have our own lives. I don’t foresee any difficulty, do you?”

Foresee any difficulty? Hell, that’s all he could see. But dammit, if she could work with him, then he’d sure as hell do his part. “No. No difficulty.” He even managed to smile. “Let me make a few calls while you fill out the questionnaire Bailey gave you.”

He got to his feet as she nodded her understanding. He watched her rise, and when she stood, the sunlight from the window fell across her face and hair. For an instant, she looked as she had the first time he’d seen her, years ago.

He’d been nineteen and caddying at the Cape Hope Country Club. All eyes had turned to her as she led her three male golfing companions from the clubhouse and stepped toward the sunlit tee.

The largest of the men, the senior caddy Mike had seen around the club, had said something clever, and her smoky laughter was his reward.

Mike could only stare, his heart hammering through his veins as she strolled to the first tee, the men in giddy pursuit. Dressed in a sleeveless white T-shirt and shorts that enhanced her sun-bronzed arms and legs, she appeared not to have noticed that she’d captured every male eye on the course.

“She’s Brianna Kent, Harrison Kent’s daughter,” Dr. Parker had warned before taking a swing with his driver.

“Harrison Kent? Of Kent Paper Industries?”

“Hmm. The same. You so much as talk to her, and you’ll lose more than your job, son.”

How right you were, Doc, Mike thought as he pushed back the thought. He’d lost the job, the woman and his very soul.

After Brianna left his office, a trace of her perfume lingered. Mike shut his eyes against further memories that stirred in his brain.

Damn him, he was a fool to take her on as a client. But she was being stalked. Who knew what kind of crazy might be after her? She needed his help, and no one did his job as well as he did. And regardless of all that happened between them, Brianna knew it, too.

And maybe she was right; the past was past. They both were happy in their own lives. Why the hell not take her on as a client?

Piece of cake.

THE THREE-PAGE TALON-6 client questionnaire had taken Brianna only a few minutes to complete, but she lingered over the last sheet, purposely stalling. She needed time to pull herself together. She needed to calm the feelings that had been stirred up when she’d seen Mike again.

Her fingers still trembled as she noticed her unnaturally scrunched handwriting. If Mike remembered her normal flowing script, he’d know how nervous she was. She hoped he’d think her anxiety was due to the idea that someone was stalking her, not from seeing him again.

She thought she’d prepared herself to see him again. But when their eyes met and he’d flashed that heart-stopping grin, the years tumbled away. Memories of their kisses and being together rocked away that safe harbor she’d built for herself. She’d felt as breathless as when she’d first seen him.

She mentally shook herself. Her nerves were shattered from worry and lack of sleep. That was all. Besides, what woman wouldn’t be affected by Mike Landis? He had always possessed that easy charm that made men envy him and women want to throw themselves at him, regardless of the consequences.

The years had honed his good looks into white-hot sexuality. He’d always been broad-shouldered and muscular, but now he moved with a masculinity that was wickedly attractive—that is, if she was interested. And she definitely was not. She’d been around that hairpin curve and had the skid marks to prove it.

No longer was she that naive, overly protected daddy’s princess, attracted to the town’s bad boy. Now she was a clinical psychologist who knew about life and the sex drives that motivated smart people to make foolish mistakes. She understood his dangerous side, too. His obsessive need to prove himself by overcoming any challenge.

Seven years ago, she’d been that challenge. The daughter of the wealthiest man in town, she was everything the son of the town drunk couldn’t have.

She suspected his penchant for danger had been further honed by his experiences with Special Forces. The framed picture hanging on the wall beside his desk of those haunted, grim-faced soldiers came to mind. Even with his face camouflaged with paint, Mike stood out as the team leader.

She felt a tinge of envy. Mike shared something with those men that she had only dreamed of sharing with him as his wife. She knew he would connect with them, need them and trust them in ways he’d never been able to with her.

The cords of her neck throbbed. She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her head. Damn, why was she putting herself through this torment? She pulled herself up and got to her feet. With the questionnaire in hand, she hurried to the secretary’s desk. The sooner she got this over with the better.

MIKE FINISHED his conversation with Police Lieutenant Sam Jeffries, hung up the phone and stared out his office window on the twenty-first floor. Ribbons of bumper-to-bumper traffic crawled along the streets of midtown Manhattan. Millions of people, and one of them held a camera, watching, waiting, stalking Brianna. Waiting for the right moment to…to what?

Dammit, Bria. What have you gotten yourself into?

From what Lieutenant Jeffries had confirmed, the company that installed and serviced the security systems for Brianna’s apartment building was highly reputable. Mike recognized the company name and agreed.

The apartment manager had told Mike that the timer on the video cameras had stopped last night at 11:54 p.m. The repair crew had found a timing-delay loop spliced into the building computer system. Whoever had done it required sophisticated know-how and equipment. He doubted this was the work of Billie Ray Bennett, unless the guy worked for the CIA.

Mike took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate. But the image of how frightened Brianna had looked beneath that cool demeanor kept eating at him. If they’d been friends, he would have pulled her into his arms and promised her that he’d keep her safe.

But they weren’t friends. No, she was a client, and she’d made very clear that’s all she was. Hadn’t she said that she didn’t foresee any problems working with him?

He rubbed his chin, grudgingly admiring that ability in her. No doubt she’d realized long before she decided to leave him that their marriage had been the worst mistake in her life. On that they could agree.

He glanced at the photographs of Brianna in front of him, forcing his mind onto the case not the woman.

What kind of mind would go to such trouble to stalk her? He took a deep breath and moved back to his desk. If she agreed, he’d begin the case immediately. Once he installed the electronic equipment in her home and office, it wouldn’t take long to find the answers. But his experience told him they didn’t have much time. Whoever was behind sending her these photographs wouldn’t be satisfied for long with only scaring her. More than likely, the stalker already knew that she’d gone to TALON-6.

A rap sounded at his door, then Brianna entered. “Your secretary said it was okay to come in.” She handed him the questionnaire before taking a seat.

“I just spoke with Lieutenant Jeffries,” Mike said, glancing over her form. “The police lab wouldn’t get to the fingerprint results for a while. I took the liberty of asking him to forward the photograph to the crime lab I use. We’ll get the results faster.” He glanced at her. “That is, if it’s okay with you.”

“Of course.”

“Jeffries will need your written authorization.” He pushed the standardized form across his desk at her. “If you’ll sign this, I’ll fax it right out to him.”

“Great.” She picked up a pen, glanced over the agreement, then signed her name. When she sat back in her chair, he noticed her fingers were clenched. “I want to make one thing perfectly clear, Michael.” Her eyes were wide and serious.

“My coming to you like this is strictly business. If we work together, I don’t want…” She ran her tongue along her lower lip. “What I mean is, I don’t see any reason to mention the past. I hope we can agree to this.”

He felt a spark of anger. She really meant that she was able to put the past behind them, but she wasn’t so sure about him.

Dammit, if she wanted it all business between them, then that’s what she’d get. “The past is forgotten.” He waved his hand as though brushing at a fly.

She leaned back and crossed her legs. “Good. Now, I’d like to know what you’re planning to do.”

He rubbed his thumb along the compact computer on his desk. “I’m expensive. I use the latest technical equipment, much of which is continually being updated by my team and me. I’ll assess your home, your office, then come up with a figure.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fair.”

“Bottom line is that I’ll do whatever needs to be done to see that you’re protected.”

Her gaze leveled with his. “I want to be kept informed of what you plan to do, and approve any actions you take beforehand. Agreed?”

He took a deep breath. She had no idea what she was asking. But he figured she needed to feel in control. “Of course,” he said finally. Somehow they’d work out the details. “In the meantime, I’ll need a complete list of your clients, plus a—”

“That’s confidential information.”

He glanced up from his notes to see her eyes snap with challenge. For a moment, he felt a touch of envy for those in her life she defended so staunchly. “Your clients are all suspects, Brianna. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t take that approach.”

“I know my clients. Almost all are battered women. None of them would be capable of this.”

Mike leaned back in his chair. “Sorry, but I’ll need to see that list.”

She sighed. “If you insist, I’ll go over my client list with Dr. Cunningham. He deals more with criminal psychology. I’ll have him profile any of my clients whom he believes might be the stalker.”

Mike’s gaze fell to the bearded man in one of the pictures on his desk. “That Cunningham?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Let me know when you talk with him. I’d like to sit in—”

“Mike, that’s impossible. My patients’ records are confidential.”

He knew enough not to press her, but he’d see those records, with or without her help. He decided to change the subject.

“First, I’ll take some measurements of your home and apartment—”

“Why?”

Was she going to challenge his every action? Damn, of course she was! They could never agree on anything.

“TALON-6 needs to know the dimensions and cubic yards of space in each room.” He was pleased with the neutral tone in his voice. When she still looked confused, he added, “To determine the range for the audio and special listening devices we may need.”

“Oh.”

“I’d like to start immediately. I’ll schedule a complete debugging surveillance for phones and all vehicles. Do you want to start with your office or apartment?”

“You can’t believe my apartment is…bugged. That sounds so dramatic.”

“The stalker knows your schedule. These pictures prove he knows when you’re going in and out. We can’t leave anything to chance.”

“Of course. Do what you must.”

Mike turned the pages of the questionnaire that Brianna had filled out. “I see you haven’t been a recent victim of burglary. You haven’t experienced any unusual interference on radios or TVs, at home or at your office. You haven’t received any electronic gifts such as alarm clocks, lamps, boom boxes, CD players—”

“That’s what I wrote on the form.”

Her voice sounded tight. Although she was calm on the outside, he could sense she was wound tighter than a six-day clock. He wished he could make this easy but he couldn’t.

“Gifts are an easy way for the stalker to get electronic equipment into your home or office without detection,” he said finally. “You’re certain you haven’t overlooked something?”

She shrugged. “I’ve received flowers, presents for my birthday. The usual gifts from friends and colleagues. That’s all.”

“I’ll want a list of all gifts you’ve received in the past twelve months.” He frowned at her look of dismay. “It’s important or I wouldn’t ask.”

She brushed her hair from her face. “I’m sorry. I’m not making this any easier for you. I—I guess I’m still in denial.”

“It’s perfectly natural, Brianna.” God help him, but he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away the worried crease between her eyes.

He forced his attention back to the form. She had checked off that she hadn’t had any recent repairs or redecorating done in either her home or office. He had other questions, but they could wait until she was less tense.

“I’ll start by having security devices installed in the halls and entranceways to your office and home—”

“But my apartment building already has surveillance cameras. The stalker got around them.”

“My devices won’t be detected, and they are tamper-proof.” He glanced at his watch. “Ready to go home for the day? Or would you like to stop off at your office first?”

“Michael, I have clients scheduled until four o’clock. Then I have a mountain of reports to finish. Can’t we wait until tomorrow?”

He stood. “You don’t have to be at home while the equipment is being installed.” He grinned when she shot him another questioning glance. “We’ll go to your office. I’ll wait for you until you’re ready to go home.”

She shot him a look of exasperation. “That’s not necessary. I’ll give you my key, and when you’re through with the apartment, you can drop it off with my secretary at the office.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention on the form that your secretary has access to the keys to your apartment.”

She sighed. “Well, my secretary usually doesn’t, but sometimes—”

“She either does or she doesn’t.”

Brianna’s eyes snapped. “I forgot. So shoot me.” He could see her composure slip away. No doubt she felt it had been a mistake to come here. “I don’t need a bodyguard. All I want is to identify the stalker on video so I can press charges against him.”

“Brianna, I’m not trying to scare you, but from what the police said, whoever is stalking you has the expertise—”

“Please, I don’t need to hear how much danger I’m in, okay?”

“It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

He studied her. Beneath that stubborn pride she was terrified for her life and she hated that he knew it.

Her mouth tilted at the corners. “Okay, I’m scared.” Her eyes snapped green fire. “Satisfied?”

“Nothing wrong with being afraid,” he said gently. “It’s what you do with your fear that’s important.” He tucked the compact computer into his jacket pocket and grabbed an attaché case from the bottom desk drawer. “Let’s get a taxi and start at your office.”

BRIANNA FELT her insides shake when Mike slipped beside her in the back of the taxi. After giving the driver the address of her office building, she leaned back and willed the butterflies in her stomach to go away, to no avail.

Maybe she was entitled to react foolishly where Mike was concerned. She’d known it would be hard to confront all those memories. How silly to have remembered him as that rebellious young daredevil. She glanced at him as he clicked his seat belt into place.

One thing hadn’t changed. He’d always been able to see right through her, long before she was aware of her own true feelings. Her thoughts went back to that time so long ago, in that backwater town in Maine. She’d been a college sophomore, spending the summer with her father in Maine. She’d first seen Mike when he’d caddied at the local country club.

Mike had worked for her father, or sort of. Harrison Kent III had been owner of Kent Paper Industries, and Mike had worked there on a hydro-pulper. He lived with his father on Mill Street, the row of company houses the paper-mill employees rented.

She’d been nervous that warm, late-June afternoon when she found out where Mike lived and went to see him. She had planned to ask him if he’d volunteer as lifeguard for the country club’s annual children’s charity.

She located him in the backyard of one of the typical two-story clapboard houses that were built more than fifty years ago. Mike’s jaw dropped when he saw her, then he quickly recovered when he crawled out from under the body of an old-model, yellow Trans Am.

He was naked except for a pair of faded denim shorts. She took a deep breath, trying not to appear unnerved at the sight of him. Serves you right for not calling him before dropping in, she chided herself.

“I was running errands for my aunt and thought I’d stop by.” Although it was true, the statement sounded lame. The disbelieving look he gave her only increased her nervousness.

He eyed her sideways as he wiped his large, tanned hands on a clean rag. “Don’t tell me. You just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Why, yes, I was.” Her tone sounded defensive. “I just dropped off some proofs for my aunt at the printer’s, which is only two blocks from here.” She was talking too fast, and she forced herself to be cool.

Her gaze glued to his brilliant blue eyes, although she was aware of his stunning, sun-bronzed torso. She wanted to stare at the fascinating way the black whorls of hair covered his hard muscles and funneled into a dark V past the button of his jeans.

His expression turned cold and flat. “What are you doing here?”

He was obviously upset that she’d come unannounced. If she had a lick of sense, she’d never have come.

“My aunt wanted me to ask you if you’d volunteer at the country club. They need a lifeguard for one weekend a month.” Nora hadn’t exactly asked her to ask Mike, but Brianna had seen his name at the top of the proposed list of candidates. “The summer program for underprivileged children is in high gear, and—”

“I told your aunt that I’d do it when she asked me last Saturday.”

“Oh.” Brianna felt like a fool. “I saw your name on the list and…” She took a deep breath to recover. “Nora didn’t tell me.”

His bottom lip quirked in disbelief. “Your aunt is quite a lady. She and the Judge have done a lot for me, and I owe them, big time.” His blue eyes darkened and he lowered his stare to her breasts. She felt caged by his look, and a delicious weakness coursed through her.

“Why did you really cross the tracks to come all the way down to Mill Street, Brianna?”

She stepped back, not wanting to admit the truth, even to herself. “I—I told you.” His dark look made her feel like a groupie at a rock concert. “Obviously my aunt either forgot or wanted to confirm that you hadn’t changed your mind,” she lied. She turned and almost ran toward her car. When she reached the backyard gate, with his long strides he had caught up with her.

Mike folded his arms across his broad chest, biceps bulging. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“I—I was curious.”

“About me?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Didn’t your country-club friends fill you in on all the details? Did they tell you my old man is a drunken bum? That my mom ran off when I was two? That I’m no good? Didn’t they warn you to leave me alone?”

She met his gaze evenly. “I make up my own mind.”

“And have you?”

“Yes.”

He waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he added, “If you’re trying to make your old man angry, I’m not your guy.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m not about to risk my job at your old man’s paper mill just so you can prove to Daddy that you’re a big girl. Now that you’re eighteen and inherited your mom’s money.”

He must have noticed her look of surprise. “Oh, yeah. The country-club gossip doesn’t limit itself to just Mill Street, Brianna. The Kent family is gossiped about, just like everyone else.”

“If you’re trying to make me uncomfortable—”

“Nothing like that. I don’t care what you’ve got to prove, just leave me out of it.”

“You self-centered jerk. How dare you think I’m interested in you. If you believe for one minute that I’m here to…to…” She watched a muscle clench in his jaw. She was frightened and excited by the sudden change in him.

His gaze dropped to the low neckline of her jade-green sundress. She’d carefully chosen the outfit before coming to see him. She knew the color complemented her golden tan and brought out the green in her changeable eyes. She knew the cut of the bodice accentuated her high breasts and narrow waist.

She went very still as he pulled her into his strong arms. Her breath caught as his mouth, hard at first, covered hers in a hot, openmouthed kiss. She wanted to wrench free, to prove that she was outraged, but instead, her body leaped to life and she felt her outcry melt beneath the heat of his kiss. She opened for him, her body full of sharp, exciting sensations.

Her arms circled his neck as her tongue twinned with his. She’d been kissed before, many times, but nothing like this.

Beneath the thin cotton of her dress, she felt his heart hammer with hers, and she was aware of the hard bulge in his jeans pressing against her.

He wanted her. The thought thrilled and frightened her as she drew him closer.

Just as suddenly, he released her. “That’s why you came here.” His voice was husky. “And we both know it.”

He turned without looking at her and stormed toward the house.

Breathlessly, she stared after him, rigid with anger. Then she dashed to her car, never more humiliated in her life. He’d known why she’d tracked him down long before she’d known, herself. That was a trait of Mike’s that had continued to amaze and infuriate her.

But he’d been wrong about one thing—she’d been attracted to him because of who he was, not because her father would disapprove of her dating him. Yet she knew that a part of Mike believed she’d married him to prove to her dad that she had a mind of her own. If she could have convinced Mike, would it have made a difference?

Hell no. She’d never been able to tell Mike anything. Well, as his client, she wasn’t about to let him get the upper hand.

“…your reports?” Mike’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“W-what reports?”

From the seat beside her in the taxi, he’d been studying her. His blue eyes were bright with unreadable emotion. “The mountain of reports you said you have to finish. I asked if you can work at home on your reports.”

She was aware of his subtle aftershave, spruce or maybe desert sage, and she felt a jolt of feminine response. God, he was so handsome. She fought to remember what he had asked her.

“The reports. Yes. Yes, I’ll bring them with me.” Her mind felt scattered. Maybe it was a good thing she wouldn’t be working late at the office tonight.

She turned her head to glance out the taxi window and was surprised to see the cab pulling to a stop in front of her office building.

Chapter Three

Her office was on the fourteenth floor of a professional building that looked like most any other high-rise in upper Manhattan. From the street, a set of revolving doors opened onto a glass foyer with more greenery inside than Central Park.

The crowded lobby made Mike feel uneasy. Too open and public. Serious-faced businessmen and -women, dressed in designer suits, clattered across the gray marble floor to their offices and appointments. A stalker could easily blend into the crowd, pull out a 9 mm with a silencer, fire two quick shots at Brianna and get away before anyone would be the wiser.

Mike hurried her toward the bank of elevators. Thirty bronze nameplates, framed in glass, lined the wall. He gripped the attaché case and followed her into the first available car.

“Why don’t I call you when my last patient leaves,” she whispered when he moved beside her. “I’ll be perfectly safe in my office.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

She shrugged.

When they stopped at the fourteenth floor, the doors opened and a tall, bearded man in his mid-thirties, wearing a tweed blazer, corduroy slacks and loafers, waited. Mike instantly recognized him from the photo as Larry Cunningham. He dressed more like a college professor than a psychologist. He wore no wedding band.

Cunningham’s face lit up when he saw Brianna. He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Missed you at lunch, Brianna.” His smile faded when he saw that Mike had stepped from the elevator with her.

“I took the morning off,” she explained. “I had…an appointment.” She gave Cunningham a weak smile as she strode beside Mike down the hall, rummaging in her bag.

Cunningham ambled on the other side of her, his attention back to Brianna. “I was hoping to have a moment with you.”

She looked up, a key chain in her hand. “Can it wait, Larry? I’m running late.” She paused in front of a frosted-glass door with her name stenciled across the window in gold letters. With an uneasy glance at Mike, she turned to Larry and introduced them.

Mike noticed that she didn’t bother to mention that he was her ex-husband or that he was a surveillance specialist. No doubt Cunningham thought Mike was one of Brianna’s clients, and he wondered if she’d meant to do so.

Cunningham gave Mike a sharp, assessing glance before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner, Brianna.”

So Cunningham and Brianna had a dinner date for Saturday night? Mike caught her look, and when Cunningham was out of earshot, she said, “It’s a business dinner. A charity event. Hundreds of people will be there.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he teased, but he didn’t like the relief that knowing his ex-wife wasn’t seriously involved with another man gave him. She could be dating a dozen guys and it was none of his business, he reminded himself.

Brianna pushed open the door and led Mike into a long, narrow waiting room. Warm, homey and welcoming. Two maple rockers flanked an oval coffee table. Two antique deacon’s benches, covered in floral-print pillows, stood along each wall. Tiffany-glass shades adorned the lamps, and variegated ivy spilled from baskets on the side tables.

Installed into the ceiling were two inconspicuous air ducts, a perfect place for an unsuspecting video camera or recording device. So would the wall clock, the Tiffany lamps and the ivy arrangements.

“Do I detect a possessive streak in your friend Larry?” Mike asked after she motioned for him to have a chair.

“Heavens, no. I told you, we’re only friends.”

Mike wondered how happy Larry was about that arrangement, but he didn’t say anything. Who could blame any guy for wanting to deepen a relationship with Brianna?

She frowned at the attaché case in his hand. “What will you be doing while I’m seeing clients?”

He hesitated. He didn’t like being vague with her, but if the stalker had bugged her office, Mike didn’t want to give out any information. “I’ll be taking notes,” he said finally. When she gave him a puzzled look, he put his finger to his lips, then pointed to the ceiling, in a gesture that meant whatever they said might be overheard. “Don’t worry,” he added. “I won’t do anything we haven’t already discussed.”

She arched a brow and gave him a look that suggested he better be damn sure that he didn’t. “Excuse me while I check my messages.”

He strode back into the waiting room and leaned his briefcase against the bench. First, he’d sketch a preliminary layout of the office. After her clients left, he’d check the phones for listening devices. If someone wanted to overhear Brianna or her clients, the easiest place would be the telephone. All the stalker would need was a high-tech listening device, easily obtainable through the Internet.

He’d wait to check the office furniture and fixtures when Liam brought in the monitoring equipment and did a full sweep. He wished he’d been able to speak to Liam before he’d left for deep-sea fishing with his uncle. From what Liam’s sister had said, Liam was expected back at the Cape by evening. Mike should hear from him as soon as he returned.

Damn, he couldn’t ignore the sophistication of the timing-delay loop device that had been spliced into her apartment building’s security system. He knew, firsthand, how mentally devastated Brianna would be if he found proof that the stalker had been listening to her every word. But she wasn’t the kind of woman to fall to pieces when the going got rough.

He couldn’t help thinking about his very first mission. For over two weeks, he’d played cat and mouse in the Colombian jungle, one-on-one with a sniper sent out by a drug lord. Living 24-7 with the knowledge that at any minute he might catch a bullet in the brain had taught Mike how to handle fear and turn it into an asset. When he’d finally caught the sniper at his own game, he became a different person than when he’d first parachuted into the jungle. It had taken him two more years to see the drug kingpin put behind bars, but Mike had become stronger for the ordeal.

Brianna would, too. But first, she’d have to live through that gut-wrenching terror. And when she did, he’d be there for her.

He sensed her, and when he looked up, she was leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, studying him. She straightened when their eyes met. “My secretary’s office adjoins my office and Larry’s.”

He nodded. “Under which doors were the photographs found?”

“The waiting-room door that opens into the hallway.”

“Then the stalker wouldn’t have needed a key.” The idea gave him a feeling of relief.

In her office, she removed her suit jacket and draped it casually behind her desk chair, then glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “My next client will be here any minute. I have one more after this appointment. Won’t you reconsider and meet me back here at four o’clock?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep busy.”

“Would you like some coffee while you wait?”

“No, thanks.” He glanced at the stack of magazines on the coffee table. “This will give me a chance to get caught up on Playboy.”

She feigned an indignant look. “I don’t subscribe to Playboy magazine.”

He frowned, trying not to grin. “Not even the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated?”

“’Fraid not.”

“Okay. Reader’s Digest it is.” He winked as she smiled, then turned and went into her office, closing the door.

He was glad to see the tight lines of worry briefly fade from her eyes. He wished he’d tried harder to convince her to go straight home and rest. But Brianna could be stubborn. He didn’t think she’d allow anyone, especially her ex-husband, to tell her what to do.

He scanned the address labels on the magazine covers sprawled across the coffee table. Brianna had the publications sent directly to the office instead of her personal address, he noticed with relief.

Just then, the hallway door opened and a young woman with large frightened eyes stepped inside. Her gaze widened when she saw him. She had black-rimmed eyes, spiked green hair and tattoos, and was probably in her late teens.

Mike grabbed a magazine and folded himself into a rocker. He crossed his leg and watched the girl out of the corner of his eye.

She stood, hesitating before finally taking a seat at the far end of the deacon’s bench. After a few minutes, she ignored him, intent on chipping away at her black nail polish, her hands and feet twitching to a tempo heard only in her mind.

A minute later, Brianna’s office door opened. “Come in, Kristi,” she said with a welcoming smile. The young woman hung her head, jerked to her feet and silently followed Brianna inside the office.

Alone in the waiting room, Mike listened to see if he could catch any of their conversation, but the interior walls were adequately soundproofed.

He opened his briefcase and whipped out a camera. He snapped various angles of the waiting room, the frosted-glass doorway, the hall corridor and the office at the end of the waiting area with the name Lawrence N. Cunningham, Ph.D., Clinical Psychologist stenciled on the frosted window.

Did Cunningham and Brianna exchange keys to each other’s offices? If Brianna occasionally gave her secretary her apartment key, how hard would it be for Cunningham to get it?

Less than an hour later the door to Brianna’s office opened. “I’ll see you again at the same time next week, Kristi,” Brianna said as she followed the teenager into the waiting room. Shoulders bent, eyes downcast, Kristi left without a word.

Brianna glanced at Mike, who was sitting in the corner, jacket slung over the back of the rocker. Her gaze fixed to the open black briefcase in his lap. He closed the case and got to his feet when she came beside him.

“My next client left a message saying she needed to cancel. There’s a tearoom downstairs. I’m dying for a cup. Care to join me?”

“Sure. But first, I need to go into your office for a few minutes before we go.”

He held up a countersurveillance device disguised as a cigarette packet. If an eavesdropping bug or tap was connected anywhere in her phone lines, he’d find it immediately.

She glanced at the pack of cigarettes and frowned. “I’d have thought you’d quit by now.”

He smiled. “Come on, you might find this interesting.”

She arched an eyebrow and followed him into her office.

Mike began the electronic sweep at the desk-model telephone at her desk. He waved the cigarette pack alongside the phone and a tiny red bulb blinked.

Curious, Brianna took a chair and watched him extract a small wire from a leather packet and slip it around the mouthpiece cap. With a quick spin, the unit opened. He stared in concentration. Several seconds later, he withdrew a gray object, a little smaller than a dime.

Unsure what it meant, Brianna stared at the tiny object between his fingers, then at him. “Is that a bug?” she mouthed silently.

He nodded.

She leaned back into her chair, her knees weak as she stared at the evidence in front of her.

He held up a cautionary finger to his lips, his face grim. Reaching for a pad of paper from her desk, he picked up a pen and scribbled something, then pushed the paper toward her.

LET’S GET OUT OF HERE.

He crumpled the paper and put it into his briefcase. She watched numbly as he placed the listening device back inside the handset, replaced the cover, then hung up the receiver. As he returned his equipment into the briefcase, he motioned her to leave.

She grabbed her bag and glanced back at the desk telephone. Anger filled her with a fury she didn’t know she possessed. Her privileged telephone conversations with her clients had been overheard. Whoever did this had to be stopped. She gazed at Mike, glad she’d found the courage to seek his help.

Mike grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and came beside her. Gently, he draped it across her shoulders, and pulled her toward the door. Her hand shook as she opened her bag. When she found the key, she managed to steady it long enough to lock the office.

She felt his arm around her as she hurried beside him down the hall. Damn, she’d do everything in her power to find the bastard and make him pay for this.

Thank God Mike was here.

WHEN THEY WERE INSIDE the elevator, he warned her not to speak. She used the short wait to catch her breath. Besides, she needed to think through the pieces of the puzzle. One thing remained clear. The stalker had known her every move.

He might have followed her on foot from her office to the parking garage, or during lunch when she bought fruit at the farmer’s market. He might have followed her by car to her apartment building. But he knew which apartment was hers. And in which bar she had met Larry for a drink after work. The stalker must have overheard her give out that information.

She’d made calls from her office only last week to have the locks changed on her apartment. She’d given her apartment number over the phone. Four days later she received the photograph that was slipped under her apartment door.

Dear God, what else had she said over the phone?

She’d called Mike’s office. The stalker knew that Mike was on the case. By calling TALON-6, she’d put Mike in jeopardy, too, she realized as a frisson of fear shot through her.

She gazed up into his eyes. He gave her a crooked smile, fortifying and confident. “Still want to have that cup of tea? Maybe you need something stronger.”

She closed her eyes for an instant. “I just want to get out of here.”

“I know a place that’s quiet and we can talk.” He gave her an easy smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

His comforting words tugged at something deep within her. Yes, she wanted to believe him, but her practical side knew better. Nothing would be okay again.

When the elevator reached the lobby, Mike took her arm and she gave in to the desire to be protected as he led her through the crowd and into the street. The blare of street noises mixed with the afternoon heat made her head pound. Mike hailed a cab, and she was still trembling when he opened the door for her. He gave the driver an address on Second Avenue, then settled back and put his arm along the back of the seat. Unable to help herself, she turned into him.

“Oh, Mike. I—I used the office phone when I called TALON-6 this morning.” She dragged in a shaky breath. “I’ve put you at risk, too.”

“Shh. Don’t worry. This is what I do for a living.”

“And my clients. Who knows how long their privacy has been compromised? I—I feel as though I should have done something to protect them.”

He took her hand in his warm, firm grip. “You couldn’t have known, Bria.”

His special nickname for her and his comforting touch brought forth a flood of yearning. She had never liked nicknames when she was a child. She’d always refused to be called anything but Brianna. Yet when Mike had first called her Bria, they were making love for the first time, and the gentle way he spoke the name had sounded like poetry. No one had ever called her Bria since Mike had been a part of her life.

She should turn away from his strong, comforting embrace, but for this one brief moment she couldn’t resist. Not just yet.

Yes, Mike made her feel safe, and dammit, that’s what she needed right now.

No, cried a voice deep down in her soul. She was through leaning on any man. Hadn’t she learned the hard way that the only person she could count on was herself? Whatever was going on, she would face the problem and triumph.

Bracing herself, she pulled her hand away and grabbed a tissue from her handbag. After blotting her mascara, she gave him a shaky smile. “I’m okay now.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid it’s worse than you think.”

She glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“The device I found does more than just listen to your phone calls.” His jaw clenched.

She could see his quiet anger toward whoever was behind this. Was he always this emotionally involved with his cases, or was she an exception?

“What do you mean by more than a listening device?”

“I won’t know what the range of the transmitter is until I check it out in the lab.” Mike whispered. “I know it picks up conversations while the phone is on the hook.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You mean the stalker has heard everything my clients have said while in session?”

He nodded. “Overheard and possibly recorded.”

“But how?”

“It’s a little more complicated than in the movies where someone sits in a van listening to tapes through a headset. Some P.I.s might still do that, but today’s technology that allows visual enhancement of the rings of Jupiter can easily enhance a whisper on the street to symphony-hall clarity.”

She was suddenly speechless.

“TALON-6 uses the cutting edge in surveillance equipment.” His mouth firmed. “We’ll find out who’s doing this and put him away.”

“But…he’s already learned information that could be devastating.” Her thoughts went immediately to Billie Ray Bennett. Could he possibly have the expertise to do something like this? From what she could remember, he was a high-school dropout. But if he wasn’t behind the photographs, then who?

“Mike, are you absolutely sure that what’s said in my office can be heard even though the phone is on the hook?”

“Yes, it’s done every day. Any room sound can be heard and recorded up to as much as fifteen hundred feet, and more on some units. That means through two or more closed doors.”

She shook her head. “I can hardly believe it.”

“It’s easy. The device is activated by sounds. All the stalker has to do to hear or record what’s being said is to start an external stimulus that triggers the bug. It can be done simply by dialing your number. You think it’s a wrong number, but it’s enough to trigger the device.”

“But why me? Who’s doing this and what do they want?”

Mike clenched his jaw, determination darkening his blue eyes. “I promise you, Bria. I’m going to find out.”

Nervously, she glanced out the taxi window at the pedestrians crowding the sidewalk. Hundreds, thousands, millions of people in New York City. The stalker could be any one of them.

“I’m not sure I feel better knowing all these things,” she said finally.

“I’m not trying to scare you, but it’s for your own protection. You’ve got to know what and who we’re dealing with.”

“Of course. You’re right,” she said, realizing that she needed to protect her clients. “I need to know.”

HE TAPPED HIS FINGERS along the computer pad, trying to control his fury.

Did they really think he wouldn’t have known that they had found the bug? Stupid, arrogant bitch. She hires a wiretap man from TALON-6 and thinks he’ll keep her safe. Well, she’d learn her lesson, and so would he.

He clicked off the monitor, then walked to the darkroom. The next photo will frighten the hell out of her. He could hardly wait.

A pity that he couldn’t have seen the bitch’s face when they found the bugging device inside the phone. It didn’t matter. Soon he’d get what he wanted.

Very soon it will be over. And he knew exactly what it would take to bring her out into the open.

He laughed. Damn, she’d go willingly. She always did. Run right after one of her flock. He grinned, thinking of the way her eyes would bulge in shock, her mouth twist in terror while she begged him for her life.

Landis was an extra bonus, an added thrill. Once the incriminating evidence was planted, Landis would be the first person the police would think murdered her.

Thank you, bitch. He laughed. Yeah, now that he had a chance to think about it, he was ecstatic at the lucky turn of events.

He grabbed the telephone and punched in the numbers that were deeply burned into his memory.

Chapter Four

On the outside, Clancy’s Pub, just off Second Avenue, looked like any other neighborhood bar. But Brianna sensed, soon after she and Mike entered the warmly lit, wood-paneled interior, that the pub was more than an accidental choice for a discreet place to talk. No one else was in the place. She sensed that this bar was yet another mysterious part of Mike’s world. The idea was unsettling yet intriguing.

As soon as he ushered her into one of the half-moon leather booths, she slipped her oversize shoulder bag onto the seat between them. If he’d noticed the distancing tack, he gave no sign as he picked up the bag, slid in beside her, and leaned it and his attaché case against the back of the booth.

She looked up at the vaulted ceiling where brass containers of lush Boston ferns hung from exposed rafters. Soft indirect light spilled here and there, carefully planned to cast an intimate glow for patrons. Or for lovers.

She shuddered at that thought. They weren’t a hand-holding couple on a date, in spite of the soft lighting and romantic ambience.

Looking around, she couldn’t help wondering where the customers were. She eyed the bartender again. Mid-forties, with a touch of gray at the temples, he was a man whose deep tan contrasted sharply with a person who remained inside all day. Maybe he worked out in a health club, she decided, noticing his well-muscled forearms below his rolled-up sleeves. He had briefly looked up in response when they’d entered, yet somehow she sensed he and Mike knew each other.

For a moment, sheltered in this cozy booth, insulated from the blaring horns and hammering street noises outside, she felt protected, like a butterfly inside its cocoon. Or was it the man beside her who made her feel safe?

But she wasn’t safe. The momentary absence of fear was her brain’s natural reaction to overcoming stress. How often had she seen this in her patients? Mind games to fight off the panic gnawing within her; that is, if she’d admit to feeling afraid. But she wouldn’t give in to her feelings. Or to Mike.

She turned to look at him. He was studying her. He was sitting so close. She could see the light and dark shards of blue in those extraordinary eyes. Her throat felt powder-dry, parched from nerves. She forced herself to meet his assessing gaze. “Interesting place,” she said finally. “A private club?”

His grin hinted of dimples. “Very perceptive of you, Doctor.”

It was the first time he’d called her doctor. Had he chosen that word for its impersonal feel? Was he feeling as unsettled by her presence as she was by his?

Of course he wasn’t. And her nervousness had nothing to do with her ex-husband sitting so close to her. She forced a smile. “And you’re a member of this…private club?”

He leaned back and stretched his long legs. “Clancy’s is owned by a few ex-Special Forcers. Yes, I’m a partner. It’s a safe place to come when we’re in town.”

So, her first hunch was correct. That minor victory made her feel more at ease. “This place has a calming ambience,” she said, her gaze deliberately averted from him. God, she was making small talk as though he were a stranger standing beside her in line at the food mart.

She forced her brain to work. “Mike, what are you planning to do next?”

“Order something to help you relax.” He turned around and raised his hand at the bartender. “Ben, the usual for me and—” He turned to her, waiting for her order.

“Chablis. Domestic,” she said.

Ben nodded, unfolded himself from the stool and slipped behind the bar.

Mike leaned forward. “First, we’ll go to your apartment so you can pack a few things for the next couple of days. While you’re gone, I’ll have a sweep done—”

“A sweep?”

“An electronic sweep. Check out any bugs or video cameras. That sort of thing.”

A shudder crept up her spine. “Video cameras? How could someone install video…?” The words died in her throat. This morning she would never have believed someone could sneak into her office and plant a listening device, either.

“Just a precaution,” he said gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch whoever’s behind this.” As though he noticed her tension, he added, “I’ll see that you’re safe, Brianna.”

The bartender placed a frosted glass of white wine in front of her and a bottle of nonalcoholic ale by Mike.

“Thanks, Ben.”

“You’re welcome, Mike,” Ben mumbled and hurried back to his stool at the end of the bar. The front door opened and two police officers came inside. Mike nodded to them when they waved and took seats near the bartender.

Mike’s gaze met hers again. “Off-duty cops like to hang out here, too. The security is top-notch.”

“Security?” She began to see the connection. “Is Ben really a bartender or does he…wear other hats?”

“He’s what we call a freelancer.” Mike used a fingernail to whisk a stray hair from her cheek. “Ben’s ex-Special Forces, too, and a good buddy of one of my former teammates.” He took a swig of his drink, swallowed, then put the bottle down on the marble-top table. “Freelancers hire on for assorted jobs. Law enforcement, police units, and TALON-6 hires their services when a particular situation comes up.” He studied the ale left in the bottle.

“So Clancy’s Bar is an employment office, of sorts.”

He took another swig from the bottle. “Of sorts.”

She waited for him to tell her more. When he didn’t, she bit back the questions forming in her mind. Damn, she didn’t want to give the impression that she was curious about him or the life he led. But as the silence lengthened between them, it was obvious he wasn’t going to offer any more information.

It was none of her business, anyway. She took a sip of wine. Curiosity was a natural response to have toward an ex-husband, a man she hadn’t seen in over seven years, who was now protecting her, she reminded herself. For a brief moment she had forgotten about the listening device planted in her office, forgotten about the photographs, the person or persons stalking her. She was relieved for that respite, however brief.

She was curious, but not interested in Mike. And what woman wouldn’t be? He was fascinating, he lived an intriguing life. But he’d only be in her life long enough to catch whoever was stalking her, she reminded herself.

She closed her eyes and leaned her throbbing head against the leather-covered booth. “Oh, Michael. How am I going to tell my clients that their confidential information has all been compromised. It takes months to build trust between doctor and patient. With some clients, they’ll never trust me again. Or any other therapist, for that matter.”

“You’ve been through a lot, Brianna.” Mike’s voice was warm and gentle. “Try not to think about it right now.”

“Remember that young woman who came in while you were in the waiting room?”

“Hmm. The one dressed up for Halloween?”

Brianna opened one eye and shot him a chastising look. “I’m terribly worried about her, Michael. I’m not sure if I helped her today. She just might…”

His blue eyes filled with sympathy. “Is she suicidal?”

Brianna nodded. She propped her elbows on the table. How she wished she could tell Mike that the teenager had admitted that she was pregnant and the father of her unborn baby—her slimeball boyfriend—was back in town. Not only had he introduced Kristi to drugs when she was thirteen, but he had the morals of an alley cat. Kristi thought he would marry her when he found out about the baby. When he had proved unfaithful before, less than three months ago, she had slashed her wrists. Who knew what the boyfriend would do when he found out about the baby?

“If you want to talk…”

“Thanks” was all she trusted herself to say. She’d forgotten what an easy listener he was. Whenever she’d had a problem, whether it was with her father, her indecision about a career or what kind of car to buy, Mike would patiently listen until she was all talked out. How she’d missed that.

She caught herself. Surprised to find her hand wrapped in his, she drew back. She couldn’t tell Mike that Kristi was going to tell her boyfriend about the baby. She bit her lip. “I know it’s not professional to get involved with one’s clients, but there’s something about this young woman. I really think I could help her.”

“She’s lucky to have you in her life.” His voice warmed again, flowed over her. Brianna glanced into Mike’s caring expression. For a moment, she felt genuinely relieved that he had accepted her case. Nora had been right. Mike believed he could help her and his confidence was catching. Yes, she was beginning to believe he could keep her safe. And she wouldn’t fight the secure feeling he gave her. But after all, this was his job.

More than likely, his charm was part of that service, too. The bond that was forming between them was merely the security in knowing she was in expert hands. Nothing more.

She never spoke of her clients to anyone outside the office, and she felt a bit embarrassed. Glancing at her watch to break the tension, she was surprised to see how late it was. “I should be going—”

“I’ve got a call to make. This will only take a minute.” Mike reached for the black leather case beside him and clicked open the lid. “I’m going to check on one of my partners, Liam O’Shea. He’ll be running the sweep on your apartment.”

Surprised, she looked up. “You’re not going to do it?”

“Liam is the team expert on eavesdropping detection.” Mike reached for her hand. “Don’t worry. He’ll be discreet.”

His hand cupped over hers felt warm, protective and strong. A sudden memory of how those hands had felt touching her skin, how those fingers felt teasing her, seducing her, brought with it a stab of incredible yearning.

She pulled her hand away and rubbed the stem of her wineglass. When their eyes met, she thought she saw a flash of remembrance in his face. But she must be imagining it, for in the next moment he removed a boxlike phone from its case and punched in a series of numbers. She sipped her wine again and forced herself to relax.

“Hello, Bailey?” Mike said. “Page Liam this time and have him call me on the bubble machine in about an hour. I’ll be at the Crib.”

His eyes leveled on her as he hung up the receiver and tucked the phone back inside the case.

Surprised, she asked, “Bubble machine at the Crib?”

He flashed a smile. “The bubble machine is our satellite phone. And the Crib is the name of our safe house in Brooklyn. TALON-6 owns it.”

“Why can’t I stay in my apartment?”

“Until Liam runs a thorough check on your home, car and office, I want you safe with me.”

She clutched at his arm. “I can’t, Michael. I’ll stay at a hotel.”

“Very well, but you won’t have the same security. We’ll get adjoining rooms.”

She glared at him. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m extremely appreciative for what you’re doing, but I’m perfectly capable of staying by myself.”

His features settled into an unemotional mask. “When I said you’d stay with me, I didn’t mean that literally. The Crib is a secure building where our clients, those in need of top-security protection, stay. Celebrities, politicians, people in the witness-protection program, that sort of thing. You’ll be safe, comfortable, and you can relax and catch up on some needed sleep.”

“This is not where you live, right?”

He flashed a grin, a dimple deepening in his left cheek. “True, I do keep a small apartment there, but there’s plenty of room for both of us. You’ll have your own suite and you won’t know I’m there, if that’s what you want.”

She arched an eyebrow as her gaze met his. “I’ll consider going on one condition. If I don’t like it, I leave for a hotel. Okay?”

“Okay.” He gave her another devastating grin that melted her insides. “You’re the boss in this business relationship,” he added.

“I’m the boss,” she repeated. But when she looked deeply into those familiar blue eyes, she felt as if she was sitting in the front seat of an out-of-control roller coaster, holding on for the ride of her life.

ON THE WAY to the Crib, they stopped at Brianna’s apartment only long enough for her to pack an overnight bag, pick up the mail and replace the recording tape from her answering machine. Mike had suggested she not listen to her messages until she was safely ensconced in her new quarters at the Crib.

It was after four o’clock by the time their cab pulled up in front of an elegant Greek Revival building that blended right in with the picturesque Brooklyn neighborhood. The street looked deserted. From the back seat of the taxi, she craned her neck to see the three-story, brick and brownstone dwelling. A wrought-iron set of urns housed red geraniums and white petunias set on stone pedestals. “This is the Crib?” she asked, unable to hide the surprise from her voice.

“Uh-huh.” Mike peeled several bills from his wallet, then handed the cash to the driver. After the cab drove away, she glanced up at Mike.

“I was expecting something more…I don’t know, snarling pit bulls chained at the door, bars over the windows, concertina wire on the roof.” She bit back a laugh.

He grinned. Clutching his briefcase in one hand, he grabbed her suitcase with the other. “Looks can be deceiving.”

Her high heels clicked in step beside him as they strode over the cracked sidewalk toward the white door. Inside, an old-fashioned wrought-iron and brass elevator loomed a few feet from the entrance. With a trust she didn’t feel, she followed Mike into the polished cage.

The metal gates clanged shut, and the car, instead of the clattering, bone-jarring climb that she’d expected, sped smoothly to the top floor.

Mike took her arm as they stepped out of the elevator into a room the size of Yankee Stadium. Bookcases stretched to the ceiling along one wall. Opposite, bare windows overlooked the Manhattan skyline and the rosy sunset beyond.

Natural-leather sofas adorned with oversize russet and teal pillows nestled in cozy groups. A modern painting leaned against an easel. A granite egret wading in a metal lily pond shone with unseen illumination. Glass tables with black urns filled with white moth orchids flanked each side of the sofas.

“I’m very impressed,” she said, feeling a surge of admiration at his obvious success. Mike was self-made, receiving little help from his alcoholic father or the mother who had abandoned them.

He didn’t look at her when he shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over a chair. His black T-shirt showed off his well-developed chest and biceps to perfection. “You mean it’s a far cry from those tar-paper shacks along Mill Street?”

He was reading her mind and she felt suddenly self-conscious. “I’m very pleased that you’re successful, Mike.” She walked to the windows and gazed at the Brooklyn Bridge. “I’d like the name of your decorator,” she said, half teasing.

He grinned. “What’s important is that the Crib is electronically secure. This is my apartment when I’m in the city, but I don’t think of it as home.”

She paused to study an impressionistic watercolor in the hallway. She recognized the signature of an up-and-coming artist who’d had her first showing in a leading gallery last winter. “Where do you call home?” she asked, then damned herself for the question. On the way over in the taxi, she’d vowed not to ask him any more personal questions. She’d just broken her promise in less than twenty minutes.

“I own a condo at Beaver Creek,” he said, “if that’s what you mean.”

“Colorado?”

When he nodded, she asked, “So you still ski?” She remembered that he had been captain of his high-school ski team, thanks to an anonymous contributor who had recognized Mike’s exceptional athletic talent, even as a teenager. She’d often wondered if Mike’s benefactor had been her uncle, the Judge. But Nora would never confirm nor deny it, regardless of how many times Brianna had asked.

“I bought it because I knew the owner and he wanted to sell. It was a good investment,” he said, “but my work takes up most of my time.”

Some things never change.

They had only been married two weeks when Mike insisted he work full-time tending bar evenings after working a full shift at her father’s paper mill. She’d pleaded with him to reconsider. She had wanted Mike to enroll in college with her that fall. They could have lived comfortably on the more than generous allowance her mother’s inheritance provided them.

But Mike would have none of it. He’d rather work day and night, leaving her alone in their cramped apartment, night after night, than take a penny of her money.

She had begged him to talk with her, but when he was home he was too tired. He would always find time to listen to her, yet when she asked for his thoughts, he’d shut down. She could see that he was exhausted, but Mike believed that a man didn’t ask for help. So what could she have done?

Now she realized that some personalities didn’t suit a long-term relationship. Mike would always put actions before his feelings.

She was amazed at the bitterness the memory brought back, and she quickly pushed it aside. Nothing would come from raking up the past. They’d both made good lives for themselves after the divorce. That was the important thing.

She moved to the bookcase where he stood, clicking numbers into a numeric pad on the wall. “There,” he said when he’d finished. “All doors and elevators are locked. If any movement is detected within twenty feet of the building, the action will activate the video cameras and an alarm will sound.”

“What about a dog running along the sidewalk?”

“That, too.” He picked up something that looked like a television remote control and pressed the device into her right palm. “Click the red button and watch that monitor,” he said, pointing to the walnut cabinet in front of them.

She clicked the button. The cabinet doors opened and a computer monitor swiveled into view.

She pressed the arrow keys. Views of the Crib’s street entrance, outside metal fire escape and various exterior shots of the brick building materialized with each click of her finger.

“Touch the white button,” he said, leaning toward her. He was so close she could feel his warmth and smell the lingering scent of his aftershave. He took her hand inside his large grip, and she felt a tiny quiver when their skin touched.

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