# Loving Evangeline

Linda Howard

UNDER SUSPICION There was no doubt that the woman who called herself Evie Shaw was the key to the high-tech conspiracy that threatened Robert Cannon's computer company–and he meant to take her down personally. But as he trailed her into the heart of a long, hot Southern summer, he found himself questioning everything he believed.For he was face-to-face with a breathtaking passion–for a woman who had to be as guilty as sin…

## Selected praise for. LINDA HOWARD

“Intimate Moments dishes up one of the best Christmas gifts ever in the form of Linda Howard’s latest…. Not only does Ms. Howard spark the sensual ambience to explosive intensity, this master storyteller takes our breath away with a stunning depth and texture of characterization no reader will ever forget.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Loving Evangeline

“Linda Howard knows what readers want, and dares to be different.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Already a legend in her own time, Linda Howard exemplifies the very best of the romance genre. Her strong characterizations and powerful insight into the human heart have made her an author cherished by readers everywhere.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

## Linda Howard. Loving Evangeline


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## LINDA HOWARD

says that whether she’s reading them or writing them, books have long played a profound role in her life. She cut her teeth on Margaret Mitchell, and from then on continued to read widely and eagerly. Her interest has settled on romantic fiction, because she’s “easily bored by murder, mayhem and politics.” After twenty-one years of penning stories for her own enjoyment, Ms. Howard finally worked up the courage to submit a novel for publication—and met with success. This Alabama native is now a multi-New York Times bestselling author.

## 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 Eighteen

Epilogue

## Chapter One

D avis Priesen didn’t think of himself as a coward, but he would rather have had surgery without anesthesia than face Robert Cannon and tell him what he had to tell him. It wasn’t that the majority stockholder, CEO and president of Cannon Group would hold him responsible for the bad news; Cannon had never been known to shoot the messenger. But those icy green eyes would become even colder, even more remote, and Davis knew from experience that he would feel the frigid touch of fear along his spine. Cannon had a reputation for scrupulous fairness, but also for unmatched ruthlessness when someone tried to screw him. Davis couldn’t think of anyone he respected more than Robert Cannon, but that didn’t relieve his dread.

Other men in Cannon’s position, with his power, insulated themselves behind layers of assistants. It was a measure of his own control and personal remoteness that only Cannon’s personal assistant guarded the gates to his inner sanctum. Felice Koury had been Cannon’s PA for eight years and ran his office with the precision of a Swiss watch. She was a tall, lean, ageless woman with iron-gray hair and the smooth complexion of a twenty-year-old. Davis knew that her youngest child was in his mid-twenties, putting Felice at least in her mid-forties, but it was impossible to guess her age from her appearance. She was cool under fire, frighteningly efficient and had never shown a hint of nervousness around her boss. Davis wished he had a little of that last ability.

He had called beforehand to make certain Cannon could see him, so Felice wasn’t surprised when he entered her office. “Good morning, Mr. Priesen.” She reached immediately for the phone and punched a button. “Mr. Priesen is here, sir.” She replaced the receiver and stood. “He’ll see you now.” With the smooth efficiency that always intimidated him, she was at the door of the inner office before he could reach it, opening it for him, then firmly closing it when he was inside. There was nothing subservient in Felice’s attention; rather, he felt as if she controlled even his entrance into Cannon’s office. Which, of course, she did.

Cannon’s office was huge, luxurious and exquisitely decorated. It was a tribute to his taste that the effect was relaxing, rather than overwhelming, even though original oil paintings hung on the walls and a two-hundred-year-old Persian rug was underfoot. To the right was a large sitting area, complete with entertainment center, though Davis doubted that Cannon ever used the large-screen television or VCR for anything other than business. Six Palladian windows marched along the wall, framing the matchless views of New York City as if they were six paintings. The windows were works of art in themselves, beautifully fashioned panes of cut glass that took the light streaming through them and splintered it into diamonds.

Cannon’s massive desk was another antique, a masterpiece of carved black wood that supposedly had belonged to the eighteenth-century Romanovs. He looked very at home behind it.

He was a tall, lean man, with the elegant grace and power of a panther. There was something pantherish about his coloring, too, with his sleek black hair and pale green eyes. One might even think of Robert Cannon as indolent. One would be dangerously mistaken.

He rose to his feet to shake hands, his long, well-shaped fingers gripping Davis’s with surprising strength. Davis was always taken aback by the steeliness of that grip.

On some occasions Cannon had invited him to the sitting area and asked if he would like coffee. This was not one of those occasions. Cannon hadn’t reached his position by misreading people, and his eyes narrowed as he examined the tension in Davis’s face. “I would say it’s good to see you, Davis,” he remarked, “but I don’t think you’re here to tell me something I’m going to like.”

His voice had been easy, almost casual, but Davis felt his tension go up another ten notches. “No, sir.”

“Is it your fault?”

“No, sir.” Then, scrupulously honest, he admitted, “Though I probably should have caught it sooner.”

“Then relax and sit down,” Robert said gently as he reseated himself. “If it isn’t your fault, you’re safe. Now, tell me what the problem is.”

Davis nervously took a seat, but relaxing was out of the question. He perched on the edge of a soft leather chair. “Someone in Huntsville is selling our software for the space station,” he blurted.

Cannon was never a restless man, but now he became even more still, and those green eyes took on the glacial look that Davis dreaded. “Do you have proof?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know who?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Fill me in.” With those abrupt words, Cannon leaned back, his gaze focused on Davis like a pale green laser.

Davis did, stumbling several times as he tried to explain how he had become suspicious and done a bit of investigating on his own to verify his suspicions before he accused anyone. Cannon listened in silence, and Davis wiped the sweat from his brow as he described the results of his sleuthing. The Cannon Group company, PowerNet, located in Huntsville, Alabama, was currently working on highly classified software developed for NASA. That software was definitely showing up in the hands of a company affiliated with another country. This wasn’t just industrial espionage, which would have been enough; this was treason.

His suspicions had centered on Landon Mercer, the company manager. Mercer had divorced the year before, and his style of living had gone noticeably upward. His salary was very good, but not good enough to support a family and live the way he had been living. Davis had discreetly hired an investigation service that had discovered large deposits into Mercer’s bank account. After following him for several weeks, they had reported that he regularly visited a marina in Guntersville, a small town nearby, situated on Guntersville Lake, an impoundment of the Tennessee river.

The owner/operator of the marina was a woman named Evie Shaw; the investigators hadn’t yet been able to find out anything substantive from her bank accounts or spending habits, which could mean only that she was smarter than Mercer. On at least two occasions, however, Mercer had rented a motorboat at the marina, and shortly after he had left in the boat, Evie Shaw had closed the marina, gotten into her own boat and followed him. They had returned separately, some fifteen minutes apart. It looked as if they were meeting somewhere on the big lake, where they would find it very easy both to conceal their actions, and to see and hear anyone approaching them. It was much safer than trying to conduct clandestine business in the busy marina; in fact, the popularity of the marina made it all the odder that she would close it down in the middle of the day.

When Davis had finished and sat nervously cracking his knuckles, Cannon’s face was hard and expressionless. “Thank you, Davis,” he said calmly. “I’ll notify the FBI and take it from here. Good work.”

Davis flushed as he got to his feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner.”

“Security isn’t your area. Someone was falling down on the job. I’ll take care of that, too. We’re lucky that you’re as sharp as you are.” Robert made a mental note to both increase Davis’s salary, which was already healthy, and begin grooming him for more responsibility and power. He had shown a sharpness and initiative that shouldn’t go unrewarded. “I’m sure the FBI will want to speak with you, so stay available for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as Davis had left, Robert used his private line to call the FBI. The bureau maintained a huge force in the city, and he had had occasion to work with them before. He was put through immediately to the supervisory agent. His control was such that none of his rage was revealed in his voice as he requested that the two best agents come to his office as soon as possible. His influence was such that no questions were asked; he was simply given the quiet assurance that two agents would be there within the half hour.

That done, he sat back and considered all the options open to him. He didn’t allow his cold fury to cloud his thinking. Uncontrolled emotion was not only useless, it was stupid, and Robert never allowed himself to do anything stupid. He took it personally that someone at one of his companies was selling classified computer programs; it was a blemish on his own reputation. He had nothing but contempt for someone who would sell out his own country merely for the money involved, and he would stop at nothing to halt the theft and put the perpetrator behind bars. Within fifteen minutes, he had formulated his plan of action.

The two agents arrived in twenty minutes. When Felice buzzed him, he told her to send them in, and that he wanted no interruptions of any kind until the gentlemen had left. A perfect secretary to the bone, she asked no questions.

She ushered the two conservatively dressed men into his office and firmly closed the door behind them. Robert stood to welcome them, but all the while he was assessing them with his cool, unreadable gaze. The younger man, about thirty, was immediately recognizable as a midlevel civil servant, but there was also a certain self-assurance in the man’s eyes that Robert approved of. The older man, perhaps in his early fifties, had light brown hair that had gone mostly gray. He was not quite of average height, and was stocky of build. The blue eyes, behind metal-framed glasses, were tired, but nevertheless sparkled with intelligence and authority. No junior agent, this.

The older man held out his hand to Robert. “Mr. Cannon?” At Robert’s nod, he said, “I’m William Brent, senior agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is Lee Murray, special agent assigned to counterespionage.”

“Counterespionage,” Robert murmured, his eyes cool. The presence of these two particular agents meant that the FBI had already been investigating PowerNet. “Good guess, gentlemen. Please sit down.”

“It wasn’t much of a guess,” Agent Brent replied ruefully, as they took the offered seats. “A corporation such as yours, which handles so many government contracts, is unfortunately a prime target for espionage. I’m also aware that you have some experience in that area yourself, so it followed that you might need our particular talents, so to speak.”

He was good, Robert thought. Just the type of person to inspire trust. They wanted to know if he knew anything, but they weren’t going to tip their own hand if he didn’t mention PowerNet. That little charade was a screen of innocence, behind which they could exhibit surprise and consternation if he informed them that he had discovered a leak at the company, or hide their own knowledge if he didn’t mention the matter.

He didn’t let them get away with it. “I see you’ve picked up some disquieting information yourselves,” he said remotely. “I’m interested in knowing why you didn’t contact me immediately.”

William Brent grimaced. He had heard that nothing got by Robert Cannon, but still, he hadn’t expected the man to be so acute.

Cannon was looking at him with a slight, cool lift of his eyebrow that invited explanations, an expression most people found difficult to resist.

Brent managed to control the inclination to rush into speech, mingling explanation with apology; he was astonished that the impulse even existed. It made him study Robert Cannon even more closely. He already knew a lot about the man, as he had made it his business to find out. Cannon came from a cultured, moneyed background, but had made himself much wealthier with his own astute business sense, and his reputation was impeccable. He also had a lot of friends in both the State and Justice departments, powerful men in their own right, who held him in the greatest respect. “Look, here,” one of those men had said. “If something crooked is going on with any of the Cannon Group companies, I’d take it as a personal favor if you’d let Robert Cannon know about it before you do anything.”

“I can’t do that,” Brent had replied. “It would compromise the investigation.”

“Not at all,” the man had said. “I would trust Cannon with the country’s most sensitive intelligence. As a matter of fact, I already have, on several occasions. He’s done some…favors for us.”

“It’s possible he could be in on it,” Brent had warned, still resisting the idea of briefing a civilian outsider on the situation developing down in Alabama.

But the other man had shaken his head. “No. Not Robert Cannon.”

After learning something about the nature and magnitude of the “favors” Cannon had done, and the dangers involved, Brent had reluctantly agreed to apprise Cannon of the situation before they put any plans into operation. Cannon had derailed that by calling first, and they hadn’t been certain if he already knew, or not. The plan had been to keep quiet until they found out why he had called. It hadn’t worked. He’d seen through them immediately.

Brent was used to reading men, but he couldn’t read Cannon. His persona was that of a wealthy, cultured, sophisticated man, and Brent supposed he was all that, but nevertheless, it was only the first layer. The other layers, whatever they were, were so well hidden that he only sensed their existence, and even that was due only to his own access to privileged information. Watching Cannon’s leanly handsome face, he couldn’t catch so much as a flicker of expression; there were only those remote eyes watching him with unlimited patience.

Making a swift decision, William Brent leaned forward. “Mr. Cannon, I’m going to tell you a lot more than I had originally planned. We have a definite problem at one of your companies, a software company down in Alabama—”

“Suppose I tell you what I know?” Robert interrupted in an even tone. “Then you can tell me if you have anything to add.”

With calm, precise sentences, he recounted what Davis Priesen had told him. The two agents shared one startled, involuntary glance that revealed they hadn’t discovered as much as Davis had, which upped that young man’s stock with Robert even more.

When he had finished, William Brent cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Congratulations. You’re a bit ahead of us. This will help us considerably in our investigation—”

“I’m flying down there tomorrow morning,” Robert said.

Brent looked disapproving. “Mr. Cannon, I appreciate your desire to help, but this is best handled by the bureau.”

“You misunderstand. I don’t intend to help. This is my company, my problem. I’ll take care of it myself. I’m merely apprising you of the situation and my intentions. I don’t have to take the time to set up a cover and get inside the operation, because I own it. I will, of course, keep you informed.”

Brent was already shaking his head. “No, it’s out of the question.”

“Who better? I not only have access to everything, my presence wouldn’t be as alarming as that of federal investigators.” He paused, then said gently, “I’m not a rank amateur.”

“I’m aware of that, Mr. Cannon.”

“Then I suggest you talk this over with your superiors.” He glanced at his watch. “In the meantime, I have arrangements to make.”

He had no doubt that when Brent took this to his superiors, he would be surprised and chagrined to be told to back off and let Robert Cannon handle this problem on his own. They would provide every assistance, of course, and have backup in place if he needed it, but Agent Brent would find that Robert was calling the shots.

He spent the rest of the day clearing his calendar. Felice made the open-ended flight arrangements and his hotel reservation in Huntsville. Just before leaving that night, he checked his watch and took a chance. Though it was eight o’clock in New York, it was only six in Montana, and the long summer daylight hours meant ranch work went on for much longer than during the winter.

To his delight, the phone was picked up on the third ring and his sister’s lazy drawl came over the line. “Duncans’ Madhouse, Madelyn speaking.”

Robert chuckled. He could hear in the background the din his two young nephews were making. “Had a busy day, honey?”

“Robert!” Pleasure warmed her voice. “You might say that. Would you be interested in having your nephews for a prolonged visit?”

“Not until they’re housebroken. I won’t be at home, anyway.”

“Where are you off to this time?”

“Huntsville, Alabama.”

She paused. “It’s hot down there.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“You might even sweat, ” she warned him. “Think how upset you’d be.”

His firm mouth twitched at the amusement in her voice. “That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

“It must be serious, then. Trouble?”

“A few glitches.”

“Take care.”

“I will. If it looks as though I’ll be down there for any length of time, I’ll call you and give you my number.”

“All right. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” He smiled a bit as he hung up. It was typical of Madelyn that she hadn’t asked questions but had immediately sensed the seriousness of the situation awaiting him in Alabama. In six words she had given him her blessing, her support and her love. Though she was actually only his stepsister, the affection and understanding between them were as strong as if they had been connected by blood.

Next he called the woman he had been escorting rather regularly lately, Valentina Lawrence. The relationship hadn’t progressed far enough that he would expect her to wait until his return, so the easiest thing for both of them was if he made it clear that she was free to see anyone she wished. It was a pity; Valentina was too popular to remain unattached for long, and he suspected he would be in Alabama for several weeks.

She was just the sort of woman Robert had always been most attracted to: the thoroughbred racehorse type—tall, lean, small-breasted. Her makeup was always impeccable and understated, her clothing both stylish and tasteful. She had a genuinely pleasant personality, and enjoyed the theater and opera as much as he did. She would have been a wonderful companion, if this problem hadn’t interfered.

It had been several months since he had ended his last relationship, and he was feeling restless. He much preferred living with a woman to living alone, though he was perfectly content with his own company. He deeply enjoyed women, both mentally and physically, and he normally preferred the steadiness of a long-term relationship. He didn’t do one-nighters and disdained those who were so stupid. He refrained from making love to a woman until she had committed herself to a relationship with him.

Valentina accepted the news of his prolonged absence with grace; after all, they weren’t lovers and had no claim on each other. He could hear the gentle regret in her voice, but she didn’t ask him to call when he returned.

That final piece of business concluded, he sat for several minutes, frowning as he allowed himself to think about the relationship that hadn’t quite developed into intimacy, and how long it would be before he had time to attend to the sexual part of his life again. He wasn’t pleased at the prospect of a long wait.

He wasn’t casual about sex in any way. His intense sexuality was always under strict control; with the difference between a man’s strength and a woman’s, a man who wasn’t in control could easily brutalize a woman, something that disgusted him. He tempered both his sexual appetite and his steely strength, reining them in with the icy power of his intellect. He never pressured a woman, though he always made it clear when he was attracted, so she would know where she stood. But he let his lady set the pace, let the intimacy progress at her speed. He respected a woman’s natural caution about opening her tender, vulnerable body to a much bigger, stronger male. When it came to sex, he treated women gently and took his time so they could become fully aroused. Such control was no hardship; he could spend hours caressing soft, feminine skin and intriguing curves. Lingering over the lovemaking helped satisfy his own hunger, while intensifying his partner’s.

There was nothing like making love that first time with a new partner, he mused. Never again was the experience so intense and hungry. He always tried to make it special for his lady, to make her feel special. He never stinted on the little details that made a woman feel treasured: romantic dinners for two, candlelight, champagne, thoughtful gifts, his complete attention. When the time finally came to retire to the bedroom, he would use all of his skill and control to satisfy her again and again before he allowed release for himself.

Thinking about what the problem in Alabama was causing him to miss made him irritated.

He was roused by a knock on his door. He looked up as Felice stuck her head in. “You should have gone home,” he reproved. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“A messenger brought this envelope for you,” she said, approaching to place it on his desk. She ignored his comment. No matter how late, she seldom left before he did.

“Go home,” he said calmly. “That’s an order. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Do you need anything before I go? A fresh pot of coffee?”

“No, I won’t be staying much longer myself.”

“Then have a good trip.” She smiled and left the room. He could hear her in the outer office gathering together her possessions and locking everything up for the night.

He doubted that anything about the trip would be good. He was in a vengeful mood and out for blood.

He noticed that the manila envelope had no return address. He opened it and slid several pages out. There was one grainy, photostated picture, a recap of the situation and what they already knew about it, and a brief message from Agent Brent, identifying the woman in the picture and informing Robert that the bureau would cooperate with him in all matters, which was only what he had expected.

He picked up the reproduced photograph and studied it. It was of very poor quality, but pictured a woman standing on a dock, with motorboats in the background. So this was Evie Shaw. She was wearing sunglasses, so it was difficult to tell much about her, other than she had blondish, untidy hair and seemed to be rather hefty. No Mata Hari there, he thought, his fastidious taste offended by her poor choice of clothes and her general hayseed appearance. She looked more like a female mud wrestler, a coarse hick who was selling out her country for greed.

Briskly he returned the papers to the envelope. He looked forward to bringing both Landon Mercer and Evie Shaw to justice.

## Chapter Two

It was a typically hot, sultry Southern summer day. The sky overhead was a deep, rich blue, dotted with fat white clouds that lazily sailed along on a breeze so slight it barely rippled the lake’s surface. Gulls wheeled overhead and boats bobbed hypnotically in their slips. A few diehard fishermen and skiers dotted the water, ignoring the heat, but most of the fishermen who had gone out that morning had returned before noon. The air was heavy and humid, intensifying the odors of the lake and the surrounding lush, green mountains.

Evangeline Shaw looked out over her domain from the big plate-glass windows at the rear of the main marina building. Everyone on earth needed his own kingdom, and hers was this sprawling skeletal maze of docks and boat slips. Nothing within these few square acres escaped her attention. Five years ago, when she had taken over, it had been run-down and barely paying expenses. A sizable bank loan had been required to give it the infusion of capital it had needed, but within a year she had had it spruced up, expanded and bringing in more money than it ever had before. Of course, it took more money to run it, but now the marina was making a nice profit. With any luck she would have the bank loan paid off in another three years. Then the marina would be completely hers, free and clear of debt, and she would be able to expand even more, as well as diversify her holdings. She only hoped business would hold up; the fishing trade had slacked off a lot, due to the Tennessee Valley Authority’s “weed management” program that had managed to kill most of the water plants that had harbored and protected the fish.

But she had been careful, and she hadn’t overextended. Her debt was manageable, unlike that of others who had thought the fishing boom would last forever and had gone deeply into debt to expand. Her domain was secure.

Old Virgil Dodd had been with her most of the morning, sitting in the rocking chair behind the counter and entertaining her and her customers with tales of his growing-up days, back in the 1900s. The old man was as tough as shoe leather, but almost a century weighed on his inceasingly frail shoulders, and Evie was afraid that another couple of years, three at the most, would be too much for him. She had known him all her life; he had been old all her life, changing little, as enduring as the river and the mountains. But she knew all too well how fleeting and uncertain human life was, and she treasured the mornings that Virgil spent with her. He enjoyed them, too; he no longer went out fishing, as he had for the first eighty years of his life, but at the marina he was still close to the boats, where he could hear the slap of the water against the docks and smell the lake.

They were alone now, just the two of them, and Virgil had launched into another tale from his youth. Evie perched on a tall stool, occasionally glancing out the windows to see if anyone had pulled up to the gas pump on the dock, but giving most of her attention to Virgil.

The side door opened, and a tall, lean man stepped inside. He stood for a moment before removing his sunglasses, helping his eyes adjust to the relative dimness, then moved toward her with a silent, pantherish stroll.

Evie gave him only a swift glance before turning her attention back to Virgil, but it was enough to make her defenses rise. She didn’t know who he was, but she recognized immediately what he was; he was not only a stranger, he was an outsider. There were a lot of Northerners who had retired to Guntersville, charmed by the mild winters, the slow pace, low cost of living and natural beauty of the lake, but he wasn’t one of them. He was far too young to be retired, for one thing. His accent would be fast and hard, his clothes expensive and his attitude disdainful. Evie had met his kind before. She hadn’t been impressed then, either.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the other quality she had caught that made her want to put a wall at her back.

He was dangerous.

Though she smiled at Virgil, instinctively she analyzed the stranger. She had grown up with bad boys, daredevils and hell-raisers; the South produced them in abundance. This man was something different, something…more. He didn’t embrace danger as much as he was danger. It was a different mind-set, a will and temperament that brooked no opposition, a force of character that had glittered in those startlingly pale eyes.

She didn’t know how or why, but she sensed that he was a threat to her.

“Excuse me,” he said, and the deepness of his voice ran over her like velvet. A strange little quiver tightened her belly and ran up her spine. The words were courteous, but the iron will behind them told her that he expected her to immediately attend to him.

She gave him another quick, dismissive glance. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, her tone merely polite, then she turned back to Virgil with real warmth. “What happened then, Virgil?”

No hint of emotion showed on Robert’s face, though he was a bit startled by the woman’s lack of response. That was unusual. He wasn’t accustomed to being ignored by anyone, and certainly not by a woman. Women had always been acutely aware of him, responding to the intense masculinity he kept under ruthless control. He wasn’t vain, but his effect on women was something he largely took for granted. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman and not having her, eventually.

But he was willing to wait and use the opportunity to watch this woman. Her appearance had thrown him a little off balance, also something unusual for him. He still hadn’t adjusted his expectations to the reality.

This was Evie Shaw, no doubt about it. She sat on a stool behind the counter, all her attention on an old man who sat in a rocking chair, his aged voice gleeful as he continued to recount some tall tale from his long-ago youth. Robert’s eyes narrowed fractionally as he studied her.

She wasn’t the thick-bodied hayseed he had expected. Or rather, she wasn’t thick-bodied; he reserved judgment on the hayseed part. The unflattering image he’d formed must have been caused by the combination of bad photography and poorly fitting clothes. He had walked in looking for a woman who was coarse and ill-bred, but that wasn’t what he’d found.

Instead, she…glowed.

It was an unsettling illusion, perhaps produced by the brilliant sunlight streaming in through the big windows, haloing her sunny hair and lighting the tawny depths of her hazel eyes. The light caressed her golden skin, which was as smooth and unblemished as a porcelain doll’s. Illusion or not, the woman was luminous.

Her voice had been surprisingly deep and a little raspy, bringing up memories of old Bogie and Bacall movies and making Robert’s spine prickle. Her accent was lazy and liquid, as melodious as a murmuring creek or the wind in the trees, a voice that made him think of tangled sheets and long, hot nights.

Watching her, he felt something inside him go still.

The old man leaned forward, folding his gnarled hands over the crook of his walking cane. His faded blue eyes were full of laughter and the memories of good times. “Well, we’d tried ever way we knowed to get John H. away from that still, but he weren’t budging. He kept an old shotgun loaded with rat shot, so we were afeard to venture too close. He knowed it was just a bunch of young’uns aggravating him, but we didn’t know he knowed. Ever time he grabbed that shotgun, we’d run like jack-rabbits, then we’d come sneakin’ back….”

Robert forced himself to look around as he tuned out the rest of Virgil’s tale. Ramshackle though the building was, the business seemed to be prospering, if the amount of tackle on hand and the number of occupied boat slips were any indication. A pegboard behind the counter held the ignition keys to the rental boats, each key neatly labeled and numbered. He wondered how she kept track of who had which boat.

Virgil was well into his tale, slapping his knee and chortling. Evie Shaw threw back her head with a shout of pure enjoyment, her laughter as deep as her speaking voice. Robert was suddenly aware of how accustomed he had become to carefully controlled social laughter, how shrill and shallow it was compared to her unabashed mirth, with nothing forced or held back.

He tried to resist the compulsion to stare at her, but, to his surprise, it was like resisting the need to breathe. He could manage it for a little while, but it was a losing battle from the start. With a mixture of fury and curiosity, he gave in to the temptation and let his gaze greedily drink her in.

He watched her with an impassive expression, his self-control so absolute that neither his posture nor his face betrayed any hint of his thoughts. Unfortunately, that self-control didn’t extend to those thoughts as his attention focused on Evie Shaw with such intensity that he was no longer aware of his surroundings, that he no longer heard Virgil’s cracked voice continuing with his tale.

She wasn’t anything like the women he had always found most attractive. She was also a traitor, or at least was involved in industrial espionage. He had every intention of breaking her, of bringing her to justice. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t control his wayward thoughts, couldn’t still the sudden hard thumping in his chest. He had been sweating in the suffocating heat, but suddenly the heat inside him was so blistering that it made the outer temperature seem cool in comparison. His skin felt too tight, his clothing too restrictive. A familiar heaviness in his loins made the last two sensations all too real, rather than products of his imagination.

The women he had wanted in the past, for all the differences in their characters, had shared a certain sense of style, of sophistication. They had all looked—and been—expensive. He hadn’t minded, and had enjoyed spoiling them more. They had all been well dressed, perfumed, exquisitely turned out. His sister Madelyn had disparagingly referred to a couple of them as mannequins, but Madelyn herself was a clotheshorse of the highest order, so he had been amused rather than irritated by the comment.

Evie Shaw, in contrast, evidently paid no attention to her clothes. She wore an oversize T-shirt that she had knotted at the waist, a pair of jeans so ancient that they were threadbare and almost colorless, and equally old docksiders. Her hair, a sun-streaked blond that ranged in color from light brown to the palest flax, and included several different shades of gold, was pulled back and confined in an untidy braid that was as thick as his wrist and hung halfway down her back. Her makeup was minimal and probably a waste of time in this humidity, but with her complexion, she didn’t really need it.

Damn it, how could she glow like that? It wasn’t the sheen of perspiration, but the odd impression that light was attracted to her, as if she forever stood in a subtle spotlight. Her skin was lightly tanned, a creamy golden hue, and it looked like warm, living satin. Even her eyes were the golden brown hazel of dark topaz.

He had always preferred tall, lean women; as tall as he was himself, he had felt better matched with them on the dance floor and in bed. Evie Shaw was no more than five-four, if that. Nor was she lean; rather, the word that came to mind was luscious, followed immediately by delicious. Caught off guard by the violence of his reaction, he wondered savagely if he wanted to make love to her or eat her, and the swift mental answer to his own question was a flat, unequivocal “yes.” To both choices.

She was a symphony of curves, not quite full-figured, but sleek and rounded, the absolute essence of femaleness. No slim, boyish hips there, but a definite flare from her waist, and she had firm, round buttocks. He had always adored the delicacy of small breasts but now found himself entranced by the soft globes that shaped the front of the annoyingly loose T-shirt. They weren’t big, heavy breasts, though they had a slight bounce that riveted his attention whenever she moved; they weren’t exactly voluptuous, but were just full enough to be maddeningly tempting. Their soft, warm weight would fill his hands, hands that he tightened into fists in an effort to resist the urge to reach out and touch her.

Everything about her was shaped for a man’s delight, but he wasn’t delighted by his reaction. If he could respond to her like this, maybe Mercer was her pawn rather than the other way around. It was a possibility he couldn’t ignore.

Not only was she nothing like the women he had previously desired, he was furious with himself for wanting her. He was down here to gather evidence that would send her to prison, and he couldn’t let lust make him lose sight of that. This woman was wading hip-deep in the sewer of espionage, and he shouldn’t feel anything for her except disgust. Instead he was struggling with a physical desire so intense that it was all he could do to simply stand there, rather than act. He didn’t want to court her, seduce her; he wanted to grab her and carry her away. His lair was a hideously expensive Manhattan penthouse, but the primitive instinct was the same one that had impelled men to the same action back when their lairs were caves. He wanted her, and there was nothing civilized or gentle about it. The urge made a mockery of both his intellect and his self-control.

He wanted to ignore the attraction, but he couldn’t; it was too strong, the challenge too great. Evie Shaw was not just ignoring him, she was totally oblivious to the pure male intent that was surging through him. He might as well have been a post for all the attention she was paying to him, and every aggressive cell in his body was on alert. By God, he would have her.

The door behind him opened, and he turned, grateful for the interruption. A young woman, clad in shorts, sandals and a T-shirt, smiled at him and murmured, “Hello,” as she approached. Both the smile and the look lingered for just a moment before she turned her attention to the two people behind the counter. “Have you enjoyed your visit, PawPaw? Who all has been in today?”

“Had a good time,” Virgil said, slowly getting to his feet with a lot of help from the cane. “Burt Mardis spent some time with us, and both of the Gibbs boys came by. Have you got the young’uns rounded up?”

“They’re in the car with the groceries.” She turned to Evie. “I hate to run, but it’s so hot I want to get the food put up before it spoils.”

“Everything I can, I put off until night,” Evie said. “Including buying groceries. Bye, Virgil. You take care of that knee, all right? And come back soon.”

“The knee feels better already,” he assured her. “Getting old ain’t no fun, but it’s better than dying.” He winked and steadily made his way down the aisle, using the cane but otherwise not making much allowance for his noticeable limp.

“See you later, Evie,” the young woman said as she turned to go. She gave Robert another smile in passing.

When the old man and young woman had left and the door had closed behind them, Robert leaned negligently against the counter and said in a mild tone, “I assume she’s his granddaughter.”

Evie shook her head and turned away to check the gas pumps again. She was too aware of being alone with him, which was ridiculous; she was alone with male customers several times a day and had never felt the least hint of uneasiness—until now. She had felt a subtle alarm the second he had walked in the door. He hadn’t said or done anything untoward, but still, she couldn’t shake that feeling of wariness. “Great-granddaughter. He lives with her. I apologize for making you wait, but I’ll have other customers, while Virgil is ninety-three, and he may not be around much longer.”

“I understand,” he said calmly, not wanting to antagonize her. He held out his hand, a gesture calculated to force her to look at him, truly acknowledge him, touch him. “I’m Robert Cannon.”

She put her hand in his, just slowly enough to let him know that she was reluctant to shake hands with him and did it only to be polite. Her fingers were slim and cool and gripped his with surprising strength. “Evie Shaw,” she said. He made certain his own grip was firm, but not enough to hurt, and promptly released her. The contact was brief, impersonal…and not enough.

Immediately she turned away and said briskly, “What is it you need, Mr. Cannon?”

He came up with several graphic ideas but didn’t give voice to them. Instead he thoughtfully eyed her slim back, rapidly adjusting his impressions. He had thought her oblivious to him, but she was too studiously ignoring him for that; no, quite the contrary, she was very aware of him, and very on edge. In a flash, all of his plans changed.

He had entered the marina wanting only to look around a little, get an idea of the security and layout of the place, maybe buy a fishing license or map, but all of that had changed in the past few minutes. Rather than shadow Mercer, he now intended to stick to Evie Shaw like glue.

Why was she so wary of him? She had been, right from the beginning, even before he had introduced himself. The only explanation that came to mind was that she had already known who he was, had somehow recognized him, and she could only have done that if she had been briefed. If so, this operation was more sophisticated than he had expected. It wouldn’t be beyond his capabilities, but it would certainly be more of a challenge. With one of his lightning-fast decisions, he changed the base of his investigation from Huntsville to Guntersville. Before the fall of the Soviet Union, he had, on a couple of memorable occasions, found himself attracted to female operatives; taking them to bed had been a risk, but a delightful one. Danger certainly added to the excitement. Bedding Evie Shaw, he suspected, would be an event he would never forget.

“First, I need information,” he said, irritated because she still wasn’t looking at him, but not a hint of it sounded in his voice. He needed to lull her suspicions, make her comfortable with him. Gentling women had never been difficult for him before, and he didn’t expect it to be now. As far as anyone outside a few government officials knew, he was nothing more than a very wealthy businessman; if she was as smart as he now suspected her to be, she would soon see the benefits in becoming close to him, not only for what he could give her but for the information she could get from him. A summer fling would be perfect for her needs, and he intended to give her just that.

“Perhaps you should go to the Visitors’ Center,” she suggested.

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “But I was told that you can help me.”

“Maybe.” Her tone was reluctant. She certainly wasn’t committing herself to anything. “What kind of information do you need?”

“I’m taking a long vacation here, for the rest of the summer,” he said. “My second reason for coming here is to rent a boat slip, but I also want someone to show me around the lake. I was told that you know the area as well as anyone.”

She faced him, her gaze hooded. “That’s true, but I don’t guide. I can help you with the boat, but that’s all.”

She had thrown up a wall as soon as she had seen him, and she had no intention of being cooperative about anything. He gave her a gentle smile, one that had been soothing nervous women for years. “I understand. You don’t know me.”

He saw the involuntary reaction to that smile in the way her pupils flared. Now she looked uncertain. “It isn’t that. I don’t know a lot of my customers.”

“I believe the going rate for guides is a hundred a day, plus expenses. I’m willing to pay twice that.”

“It isn’t a matter of money, Mr. Cannon. I don’t have the time.”

Pushing her now wouldn’t accomplish anything, and he had a lot to get in place before he could really pursue her. He had made certain she wouldn’t forget him, which was enough for a first meeting. “Can you recommend a guide, then?” he asked, and saw her relax a little.

She reeled off several names, which he committed to memory, for he fully intended to learn the river. Then she said, “Would you like to look at the boat slips that are available now?”

“Yes, of course.” It would give him a chance to inspect her security arrangements, too.

She picked up a portable phone and clipped it to a belt loop, then came out from behind the counter. Robert fell into step slightly behind her, his heavy-lidded gaze wandering over her curvy hips and heart-shaped bottom, clearly outlined by the snug jeans. Her sun-streaked head barely reached the top of his shoulder. His blood throbbed warmly through his veins as he thought of cupping her bottom in his hands. It was an effort to wrench his attention away from the image that thought provoked.

“Do you just leave the store unattended?” he asked as they walked down the dock. The sunlight was blinding as it reflected off the water, and he slipped his sunglasses into place again. The heat was incredible, like a sauna.

“I can see from the docks if anyone drives up,” she replied.

“How many others work here?”

She gave him a curious glance, as if wondering why he would ask. “I have a mechanic, and a boy who works mornings for me during the summer, then shifts to afternoons during the school year.”

“How many hours a day are you open?”

“From six in the morning until eight at night.”

“That’s a long day.”

“It isn’t so bad. During the winter, I’m only open from eight until five.”

Four of the docks were covered, and most of the slips were occupied. A variety of crafts bobbed in the placid water: houseboats, cabin cruisers, pontoon boats, ski boats, sailboats. The four covered docks were on the left, and the entrance to them was blocked by a locked gate. To the right were two uncovered docks, for use by general traffic. The rental boats were in the first row of boat slips on the secured dock closest to the marina building.

Evie unlocked the padlock that secured the gate, and they stepped onto the floating dock, which bobbed gently on the water. Silently she led him down the rows of boats, indicating which of the empty slips were available. Finally she asked, “What size boat do you have?”

He made another instant decision. “I intend to buy a small one. A speedboat, not a cabin cruiser. Can you recommend a good dealership in the area?”

She gave him another of those hooded looks, but merely said in a brisk tone, “There are several boat dealerships in town. It won’t be hard to find what you want.” Then she turned and started back toward the marina office, her steps sure and graceful on the bobbing dock.

Again Robert followed her, enjoying the view just as much as he had before. She probably thought she was rid of him, but there was no way that would happen. Anger and anticipation mingled, forming a volatile aggression that made him feel more alert, more on edge, than he ever had before. She would pay for stealing from him, in more ways than one.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” he asked, using a totally unaggressive tone. She halted so abruptly that he bumped into her. He could have prevented the contact, but deliberately let his body collide with hers. She staggered off balance, and he grabbed her waist to steady her, easing her back against him before she regained control. He felt the shiver that ran through her as he savored the heat and feel of her under his hands, against his thighs and loins and belly. “Sorry,” he said with light amusement. “I didn’t realize having dinner with me was such a frightening concept.”

She should have done a number of things. If reluctant, she should have moved away from the subtle sexuality of his embrace. If compliant, she should have turned to face him. She should have hastened to assure him that his invitation hadn’t frightened her at all, then accepted to prove that it hadn’t. She did none of those things. She stood stock-still, as if paralyzed by his hands clasping her waist. Silence thickened between them, growing taut. She shivered again, a delicately sensual movement that made his hands tighten on her, made his male flesh quiver and rise. Why didn’t she move, why didn’t she say something?

“Evie?” he murmured.

“No,” she said abruptly, her voice raspier than usual. She wrenched away from him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go out to dinner with you.”

Then a boat idled into the marina, and he watched her golden head turn, her face light with a smile as she recognized her customer. Sharp fury flared through him at how easily she smiled at others, but would scarcely even glance at him.

She lifted her left arm to wave, and with shock Robert focused on that slim hand.

She was wearing a wedding ring.

## Chapter Three

Evie tried to concentrate on the ledgers that lay open on her desk, but she couldn’t keep her mind on posting the day’s income and expenses. A dark, lean face kept forming in her mind’s eye, blotting out the figures. Every time she thought of those pale, predatory eyes, the bottom would drop out of her stomach and her heart would begin hammering. Fear. Though he had been polite, Robert Cannon could no more hide his true nature than could a panther. In some way she could only sense, without being able to tell the exact nature of it, he was a threat to her.

Her instincts were primitive; she wanted to barricade herself against him, wall him out. She had fought too long to put her life on an even keel to let this dark stranger disrupt what she had built. Her life was placid, deliberately so, and she resented this interruption in the even fabric of days she had fashioned about herself.

She looked up at the small photograph that sat on the top shelf of her old-fashioned rolltop desk. It wasn’t one of her wedding photos; she had never looked at any of those. This photo was one that had been taken the summer before their senior year in high school; a group of kids had gotten together and spent the whole day on the water, skiing, goofing off, going back on shore to cook out. Becky Watts had brought her mother’s camera and taken photos of all of them that golden summer day. Matt had been chasing Evie with an ice cube, trying to drop it down her blouse, but when he finally caught her, she had struggled and made him drop it. Matt’s hands had been on her waist, and they had been laughing. Becky had called, “Hey, Matt!” and snapped the photo when they both automatically looked over at her.

Matt. Tall, just outgrowing the gangliness of adolescence and putting on some of the weight that came with maturity. That shock of dark hair falling over his brow, crooked grin flashing, bright blue eyes twinkling. He’d always been laughing. Evie didn’t spare any looks for the girl she had been then, but she saw the way Matt had held her, the link between them that had been obvious even in that happy-go-lucky moment. She looked down at the slim gold band on her left hand. Matt.

In all the years since, there hadn’t been anyone. She hadn’t wanted anyone, had been neither interested nor tempted. There were people she loved, of course, but in a romantic sense her emotional isolation had been so complete that she had been totally unaware if any man had been attracted to her…until Robert Cannon had walked into her marina and looked at her with eyes like green ice. Though his expression had been impassive, she had felt his attention focus on her like a laser, had felt the heated sexual quality of it. That, and something else. Something even more dangerous.

He had left immediately after looking at the boat slips, but he would be back. She knew that without question. Evie sighed as she got up and walked to the French doors. She could see starlight twinkling on the water and stepped out onto the deck. The warm night air wrapped around her, humid, fragrant. Her little house sat right on the riverfront, with steps leading down from the deck to her private dock and boathouse. She sat in one of the patio chairs and propped her feet on the railing, calmed by the peacefulness of the river.

The summer nights weren’t quiet, what with the constant chirp of insects, frogs and night birds, the splash of fish jumping, the rustle of the trees, the low murmur of the river itself, but there was a serenity in the noise. There was no moon, so the stars were plainly visible in the black bowl of the sky, the fragile, twinkling light reflected in millions of tiny diamonds on the water. The main river channel curved through the lake not sixty feet from her dock, the current ruffling the surface into waves.

Her nearest neighbors were a quarter of a mile away, out of sight around a small promontory. The only houses she could see from her deck were on the other side of the lake, well over a mile away. Guntersville Lake, formed when the TVA had dammed the Tennessee River back in the thirties, was both long and wide, irregularly shaped, curving back and forth, with hundreds of inlets. Numerous small, tree-covered islands dotted the lake.

She had lived here all her life. Here was home, family, friends, a network of roots almost two hundred years old that spread both wide and deep. She knew the pace of the seasons, the pulse of the river. She had never wanted to be anywhere else. The fabric of life here was her fortress. Now, however, her fortress was being threatened by two different enemies, and she would have to fight to protect herself.

The first threat was one that made her furious. Landon Mercer was up to no good. She didn’t know the man well, but she had a certain instinct about people that was seldom wrong. There was a slickness to his character that had put her off from the start, when he had first begun renting one of her boats, but she hadn’t actually become suspicious of him for a couple of months. It had been a lot of little things that had gradually alerted her, like the way he always carefully looked around before leaving the dock; it would have made sense if he’d been looking at the river traffic, but instead he’d looked at the parking lot and the highway. And there was always a mixture of triumph and relief in his expression when he returned, as if he’d done something he shouldn’t have and gotten away with it.

His clothes were wrong, somehow. He made an effort to dress casually, the way he thought a fisherman would dress, but never quite got it right. He carried a rod and reel and one small tackle box, but from what Evie could tell, he never used them. He certainly never came back with any fish, and the same lure had been tied onto the line every time he went out. She knew it was the same one, because it was missing the back set of treble hooks. No, Mercer wasn’t fishing. So why carry the tackle? The only logical explanation was that he was using it as a disguise; if anyone saw him, they wouldn’t think anything about it.

But because Evie was alert to anything that threatened her domain, she wondered why he would need a disguise. Was he seeing a married woman? She dismissed that possibility. Boats were noisy and obvious; using them wasn’t a good way to sneak around. If his lover’s house was isolated, a car would be better, because then Mercer wouldn’t have to worry about the vagaries of the weather. If the house had neighbors within sight, then a boat would attract attention when it pulled up to the dock; river people tended to notice strange boats. Nor was an assignation in the middle of the lake a good idea, given the river traffic.

Drugs, maybe. Maybe the little tackle box was full of cocaine, instead of tackle. If he had a system set up, selling in the middle of the river would be safe; the water patrol couldn’t sneak up on him, and if they did approach, all he had to do was drop the evidence over the side. His most dangerous time would be before he got out on the water, while he could be caught carrying the stuff. That was why he never examined the parking lot when he returned; the evidence was gone. For all intents and purposes, he had just been enjoying a little fishing.

She had no hard evidence. Twice she had tried to follow him, but had lost him in the multitude of coves and islands. But if he was using one of her boats to either sell or transfer drugs, he was jeopardizing her business. Not only could the boat be confiscated, the publicity would be terrible for the marina. Boat owners would pull out of the slips they rented from her; there were enough marinas in the Guntersville area that they could always find another place to house their boats.

Both times Mercer had headed toward the same area, the island-dotted area around the Marshall County Park, where it was easy to lose sight of a boat. Evie knew every inch of the river; eventually she would be able to narrow down the choices and find him. She didn’t have any grandiose scheme to apprehend him, assuming he was doing something illegal. She didn’t even intend to get all that close to him; she carried a pair of powerful binoculars with her in the boat. All she wanted to do was satisfy her suspicions; if she was correct, then she would turn the matter over to the sheriff and let him work it out with the water patrol. That way, she would have protected both her reputation and the marina. She might still lose the boat, but she didn’t think the sheriff would confiscate it if she were the one who put him onto Mercer to begin with. All she wanted was to be certain in her own mind before she accused a man of something as serious as drug dealing.

The problem with following Mercer was that she never knew when to expect him; if she had customers in the marina, she couldn’t just drop everything and hop in a boat.

But she would handle that as the opportunity presented itself. Robert Cannon was something else entirely.

She didn’t want to handle him. She didn’t want anything to do with him—this man with his cold, intense eyes and clipped speech, this stranger, this Yankee. He made her feel like a rabbit facing a cobra: terrified, but fascinated at the same time. He tried to hide his ruthlessness behind smooth, cosmopolitan manners, but Evie had no doubts about the real nature of the man.

He wanted her. He intended to have her. And he wouldn’t care if he destroyed her in the taking.

She touched her wedding ring, turning it on her finger. Why couldn’t Matt have lived? So many years had passed without him, and she had survived, had gotten on with her life, but his death had irrevocably changed her. She was stronger, yes, but also set apart, isolated from other men who might have wanted to claim her. Other men had respected that distance; he wouldn’t.

Robert Cannon was a complication she couldn’t afford. At the very least, he would distract her at a time when she needed to be alert. At the worst, he would breach her defenses and take what he wanted, then leave without any thought for the emotional devastation he left behind. Evie shuddered at the thought. She had survived once; she wasn’t sure she could do it again.

Today, when he had put his hands on her waist and pulled her against his lean, hard body, she had been both shocked and virtually paralyzed by the exquisite pleasure of the contact. It had been so many years since she had felt that kind of joy that she had forgotten how enthralling, how potent, it was to feel hard male flesh against her. She had been startled by the heated strength of his hands and the subtle muskiness of his scent. She had been swamped by the sensations, by her memories. But her memories were old ones, of two young people who no longer existed. The hands holding her had been Matt’s; the eager, yearning kisses had been from Matt’s lips. Time had dulled those memories, the precious ones, but the image of Robert Cannon was sharp, almost painful, in its freshness.

The safest thing would be to ignore him, but that was the one thing she was sure he wouldn’t allow.


Robert strolled into the offices of PowerNet the next morning and introduced himself to the receptionist, a plump, astute woman in her thirties who immediately made a phone call and then personally escorted him to Landon Mercer’s office. He was in a savage mood, had been since he’d seen the wedding ring on Evie Shaw’s hand, but he gave the receptionist a gentle smile and thanked her, making her blush. He never took out his temper on innocents; in fact, his self-control was so great that the vast majority of his employees didn’t know he even had a temper. The few who knew otherwise had learned it the hard way.

Landon Mercer, however, was no innocent. He came swiftly out of his office to meet Robert halfway, heartily greeting him. “Mr. Cannon, what a surprise! No one let us know you were in Huntsville. We’re honored!”

“Hardly that,” Robert murmured as he shook hands with Mercer, deliberately modifying his grip to use very little strength. His mood deteriorated even further to find that Mercer was tall and good-looking, with thick blond hair and a very European sense of style. Expertly Robert assessed the cost of the Italian silk suit Mercer was wearing, and mentally he raised his eyebrows. The man had expensive tastes.

“Come in, come in,” Mercer urged, inviting Robert into his office. “Would you like coffee?”

“Please.” The acceptance of hospitality, Robert had found, often made subordinates relax a little. Landon Mercer would be edgy at his sudden appearance, anyway; it wouldn’t hurt to calm him down.

Mercer turned to his secretary, who was making herself very busy. “Trish, would you bring in two coffees, please?”

“Of course. How do you take yours, Mr. Cannon?”

“Black.”

They went on into Mercer’s office, and Robert took one of the comfortable visitors’ chairs, rather than automatically taking Mercer’s big chair behind the desk to show his authority. “I apologize for just dropping in on you without warning,” he said calmly. “I’m in the area on vacation and thought I’d take the opportunity to see the operation, since I’ve never personally been down here.”

“We’re pleased to have you anytime,” Mercer replied, still in that hearty tone of voice. “Vacation, you say? Strange place to take a vacation, especially in the middle of summer. The heat is murderous, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Not so strange.” Robert could almost hear Mercer’s furiously churning, suspicious thoughts. Why was Robert here? Why now? Were they on to Mercer? If they were, why hadn’t he been arrested? Robert didn’t mind Mercer being suspicious; in fact, he was counting on it.

There was a light knock on the door; then Trish entered with two cups of steaming coffee. She passed Robert’s to him first, then gave the other cup to Mercer. “Thank you,” Robert said. Mercer didn’t bother with the courtesy.

“About your vacation?” Mercer prompted, when Trish had closed the door behind her.

Robert leaned back in the chair and indolently crossed his legs. He could feel Mercer sharply studying him and knew what he would see: a lean, elegantly dressed man with cool, slightly bored eyes, certainly nothing to alarm him, despite this unexpected visit. “I have a house on the lake in Guntersville,” he said in a lazy, slightly remote tone. It was a lie, but Mercer wouldn’t know that. “I bought it and some land several years ago. I’ve never been down here before, but I’ve let several of my executives use the place, and they’ve all returned with the usual exaggerated fishing stories. Even allowing for that, they’ve all been enthusiastic about coming back, so I thought I’d try out the fishing for myself.”

“I’ve heard it’s a good lake,” Mercer said politely, but the mental wheels were whirling faster than before.

“We’ll see.” Robert allowed himself a slight smile. “It seems like a nice, quiet place. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Doctor?”

“High blood pressure. Stress.” Robert shrugged. “I feel fine, but the doctor insisted that I needed a long vacation, and this seemed like the perfect place to avoid stress.”

“That’s for sure,” Mercer said. Suspicion still lingered in his eyes, but now it was tempered with relief at the plausible explanation for Robert’s presence.

“I don’t know how long I’ll stay,” Robert continued in an indifferent tone. “I won’t be dropping in on you constantly, though. I’m supposed to forget about work for a while.”

“We’ll be glad to see you anytime, but you really should listen to your doctor,” Mercer urged. “Since you’re here, would you like a tour of the place? There isn’t much to see, of course, just a lot of programmers and their computers.”

Robert glanced at his watch, as if he had somewhere else to go. “I believe I have time, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“No, not at all.” Mercer was already on his feet, anxious to complete the tour and send Robert on his way.

Even if he hadn’t already known about Mercer, Robert thought, he would have disliked him; there was a slickness to him that was immediately off-putting. Mercer tried to disguise it with a glib, hearty attitude, but the man thought he was smarter than everyone else, and the contempt slipped through every so often. Did he treat Evie with the same attitude? Or was she, despite her relative lack of sophistication, cool and discerning enough that Mercer watched his step with her?

They were probably lovers, he thought, even though she was married. When had marital vows ever prevented anyone from straying, if they were so inclined? And why would a woman involved in espionage hesitate at cheating on her husband? Odd that her marital status hadn’t been included in the information he’d received on her, but then, why would it be, unless her husband was also involved? Evidently he wasn’t, but nevertheless, as soon as Robert had returned to his hotel room in Huntsville the afternoon before, he had called his own investigative people and asked for information concerning the man. He was coldly furious; he had never, under any circumstances, allowed himself to become involved with a married woman, and he wasn’t going to lower his standards now. But neither had he ever wanted another woman as violently as he wanted Evie Shaw, and knowing that he had to deprive himself made his temper very precarious.

Mercer was all smooth bonhomie as he escorted Robert through the offices, pointing out the various features and explaining the work in progress. Robert made use of the tour to gather information. Calling on his ability to totally concentrate on one thing at a time, he pushed Evie Shaw out of his mind and ruthlessly focused on the business at hand. PowerNet was housed in a long, one-story brick building. The company offices were in front, while the real work, the programming, was done in the back, with computer geniuses working their peculiar magic. Robert quietly noted the security setup and approved; there were surveillance cameras, and motion and thermal alarms. Access to the classified material could be gained only by a coded magnetic card, and the bearer still had to have the necessary security clearance. No paperwork or computer disks were allowed to leave the building. All work was logged in and placed in a secure vault when the programmers left for the day.

For Robert, the security measures made things simple; the only way the system could have been breached without detection was by someone in a position of authority, someone who had access to the vault: Landon Mercer.

He made a point of checking his watch several times during the tour, and as soon as it was completed, he said, “I’ve enjoyed this very much, but I’m supposed to meet with a contractor to do a few repairs on the house. Perhaps we could get together for a round of golf sometime.”

“Of course, anytime,” Mercer said. “Just call.”

Robert allowed himself a brief smile. “I’ll do that.”

He was satisfied with the visit; his intention hadn’t been to do any actual snooping but rather to let Mercer know he was in town and to see for himself the security measures at PowerNet. He had the security layout from the original specs, of course, but it was always best to check out the details and make certain nothing had been changed. He might have to slip into the building at night, but that wasn’t his primary plan, merely a possibility. Catching Mercer on-site with classified data didn’t prove anything; the trick was to catch him passing it to someone else. Let his presence make Mercer nervous. Nervous people made mistakes.


An envelope from his personal investigators was waiting for him at the desk when he returned to the hotel. Robert stepped into the empty elevator and opened the envelope as the car began moving upward. He quickly scanned the single sheet. The information was brief. Matt Shaw, Evie’s husband, had been killed in a car accident the day after their wedding, twelve years before.

He calmly slid the sheet back into the envelope, but a savage elation was rushing through him. She was a widow! She was available. And, though she didn’t know it yet, she was his for the taking.

Once in his hotel room, he picked up the phone and began making calls, sliding the chess pieces of intrigue into place.

## Chapter Four

Evie stuck her head out the door. “Jason!” she bellowed at her fourteen-year-old nephew. “Stop horsing around. Now!”

“Aw, okay,” he grudgingly replied, and Evie pulled her head back inside, though she kept an eye on him, anyway. She adored the kid but never forgot that he was just a kid, with an attention span that leaped around like a flea and all the ungovernable energy and awkwardness that went with early adolescence. Her niece, Paige, was content to sit inside with her, in the air-conditioning, but a couple of Jason’s buddies had come by, and now they were out on the docks, clowning around. Evie expected any or all of the boys to fall into the water at any time.

“They’re so jerky,” Paige said with all the disdain a thirteen-year-old could muster, which was plenty.

Evie smiled at her. “They’ll improve with age.”

“They’d better,” Paige said ominously. She pulled her long, coltish legs up into the rocking chair and returned to the young-adult romance she was reading. She was a beautiful girl, Evie thought, studying the delicate lines of the young face, which still wore some of the innocence of childhood. Paige had dark hair, like her father, and a classic bone structure that would only improve with age. Jason was more outgoing than his sister, but then, Jason was more outgoing than just about everyone.

A boat idled into the marina and pulled up to the gas pumps. Evie went outside to take care of her customers, two young couples who had already spent too much time on the water, judging by their sunburns. After they had paid and left, she checked on Jason and his friends again, but for the time being they were ambling along one of the docks and refraining from any rough horseplay. Knowing teenage boys as she did, she didn’t expect that state of affairs to last long.

The day was another scorcher. She glanced up at the white sun in the cloudless sky; no chance of rain to cool things off. Though she had been outside for only a few minutes, she could already feel her hair sticking to the back of her neck as she opened the door to the office and stepped inside. How could the boys stand even being outside in this heat, much less doing anything as strenuous as their energetic clowning around?

She paused as she entered, momentarily blinded by the transition from bright sunlight into relative dimness. Paige was chatting with someone, her eager tone unusual in a girl who was normally quiet except with family members. Evie could see a man standing in front of the counter, but it was another minute before her vision cleared enough for her to make out his lean height and the width of his shoulders. She still couldn’t see his features clearly, but nevertheless a tiny alarm of recognition tingled through her, and she drew a controlled breath. “Mr. Cannon.”

“Hello.” His pale green gaze slipped downward, leisurely examined her legs, which were exposed today, because the heat had been so oppressive that she had worn shorts. The once-over made her feel uncomfortable, and she slipped behind the counter to ring up the gas sale and put the money in the cash drawer.

“What may I do for you?” she asked, without looking at him. She was aware of Paige watching them with open interest, alerted perhaps by the difference in Evie’s manner from the way she usually treated customers.

He ignored the distance in her tone. “I’ve brought my boat.” He paused. “You do still have an available slip?”

“Of course.” Business was business, Evie thought. She opened a drawer and pulled out a rental agreement. “If you’ll complete this, I’ll show you to your slip. When you were here the other day, did you see any particular location that you’d like?”

He glanced down at the sheet in his hand. “No, any one of them will do,” he absently replied as he rapidly read the agreement. It was straightforward and simple, stating the rental fee and outlining the rules. At the bottom of the sheet was a place for two signatures, his and hers. “Is there an extra copy?” he asked, the businessman in him balking at signing something without keeping a record of it.

She shrugged and pulled out an extra copy of the rental agreement, took the one he held from his hands and slipped a sheet of carbon paper between the two sheets. Briskly she stapled them together and handed them back to him. Controlling a smile, Robert swiftly filled out the form, giving his name and address and how long he intended to rent the slip. Then he signed at the bottom, returned the forms to her and pulled out his wallet. The small sign taped to the counter stated that the marina accepted all major credit cards, so he removed one and laid it on the counter.

She still didn’t look at him as she prepared a credit-card slip. Robert watched her with well-hidden greed. In the three days since he’d first met her, he had decided that she couldn’t possibly have been as lovely as he had first thought or have such an impact on his senses. He had been wrong. From the moment he had entered the marina and watched her through the plate-glass window as she pumped gas, tension had twisted his guts until he could barely breathe. She was still as sleek and golden and sensual as a pagan goddess, and he wanted her.

He had accomplished a lot in those three days. In addition to making the first chess move with Mercer, he had bought a boat, a car and a house on the river. It had taken two days for the dealership to rig the boat, but he had taken possession of the house faster than that, having moved in the afternoon before. The Realtor still hadn’t recovered from his blitzing style of decision making. But Robert wasn’t accustomed to being thwarted; in record time the utilities had been turned on, the paperwork completed, a cleaning service from Huntsville dragooned into giving the place a thorough cleaning, and new furniture both selected and delivered. He had also put another plan into progress, one that would force Evie Shaw and Landon Mercer into a trap.

Silently Evie handed him the credit-card slip to sign. He scrawled his signature and returned it to her just as shouts from outside made her whirl.

Robert glanced out the window and saw several teenage boys roughhousing on the docks. “Excuse me,” Evie said, and went over to open the door.

“They’re going to get it now,” Paige piped up with obvious satisfaction, getting to her knees in the rocking chair.

Just as Evie reached the door, Jason laughingly pushed one of his buddies, who immediately returned the shove, with interest. Jason had already turned away, and the motion propelled him forward; his sneakers skidded on a wet spot perilously close to the edge of the dock. His gangly arms began windmilling comically as he tried to reverse direction, but his feet shot out from under him and he flew into the air, over the water.

“Jason!”

He was too close to the dock. Evie saw it even as she raced through the door, her heart in her mouth. She heard the sickening crack as his head hit the edge of the dock. His thin body went limp in midair, and a half second later he hit the water, immediately slipping beneath the surface.

One of the boys yelled, his young voice cracking. Evie caught only a glimpse of their bewildered, suddenly terrified faces as she fought her way through the thick, overheated air. The dock looked so far away, and she didn’t seem to be making any progress, even though she could feel her feet thudding on the wood. Frantically she searched the spot where Jason had gone under, but there was nothing, nothing….

She hit the water in a long, flat dive, stroking strongly for where she had last seen him. She was dimly aware of a distant splashing, but she ignored it, all her attention on reaching Jason in time. Don’t let it be too late. Dear God, don’t let it be too late. She could still hear the sodden thunk of his head hitting the dock. He could already be dead, or paralyzed. No. Not Jason. She refused to lose him; she couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t go through that again.

She took a deep breath and dived, pushing her way through the water, her desperately searching hands reaching out. Visibility in the river wasn’t good; she would have to locate him mostly by touch. She reached the muddy bottom and clawed her way along it. He had to be here! There was the dark pillar of the dock, telling her that she wasn’t too far away from where he had gone in.

Her lungs began to ache, but she refused to surface. That would use precious seconds, seconds that Jason didn’t have.

Maybe the wave motion had washed him under the dock.

Fiercely she kicked, propelling herself into the darker water under the dock. Her groping hands swept the water in front of her. Nothing.

Her lungs were burning. The need to inhale was almost impossible to resist. Grimly she fought the impulse as she forced her way down to feel along the bottom again.

Something brushed her hand.

She grabbed, and clutched fabric. Her other hand, groping blindly, caught an arm. Using the last of her strength, she tugged her limp burden out of the shadow of the docks and feebly kicked upward. Progress was frustratingly, agonizingly slow; her lungs were demanding air, her vision fading. Dear God, had she found Jason only to drown with him, because she lacked the strength to get them to the surface?

Then strong hands caught her, gripping her ribs with bruising force, and she was propelled upward in a mighty rush. Her head broke the surface, and she inhaled convulsively, choking and gasping.

“I have you,” a deep, calm voice said in her ear. “I have both of you. Just relax against me.”

She could hardly do anything else. She was supported by an arm as unyielding as iron as he stroked the short distance to the dock. The boys were on their knees, reaching eager hands down toward him. “Just hold him,” she heard Cannon order. “Don’t try to pull him out of the water. Let me do it. And one of you go call 911.”

“I already have,” Evie heard Paige say, the girl’s voice wavery and thin.

“Good girl.” His tone changed to brisk command, the words close by her ear. “Evie. I want you to hang on to the edge of the dock. Can you do that?”

She was still gasping, unable to talk, so she nodded.

“Let go of Jason. The boys are holding him, so he’ll be okay. Do it now.”

She obeyed, and he placed her hands on the edge of the dock. Grimly she clung to the wood as he heaved himself out of the water. She pushed her streaming hair out of her eyes with one hand as he knelt down and slipped both hands under Jason’s arms. “He might have a spinal-cord injury,” she croaked.

“I know.” Robert’s face was grim. “But he isn’t breathing. If we don’t get him up here and do CPR, he won’t make it.”

She swallowed hard and nodded again. As gently as possible, Robert lifted Jason out of the water, the muscles in his arms and shoulders cording under the wet shirt. Evie took one agonized look at Jason’s still, blue face, and then she hauled herself out of the water, using strength she hadn’t known she still possessed. She collapsed on the dock beside Jason, then struggled to her knees. “Jason!”

Robert felt for a pulse in the boy’s neck and located a faint throb. Relieved, he said, “He has a heartbeat,” then bent over the sprawled, limp body, pinching the boy’s nostrils shut and using his other hand to press on his chin, forcing his mouth open. He placed his own mouth on the chill blue lips and carefully, forcefully, blew his breath outward. The thin chest rose. Robert lifted his mouth, and the air sighed out of the boy, his chest falling again.

Evie reached out, then forced herself to draw back. She couldn’t do anything that Robert wasn’t already doing, and she was still so weak and shaky that she couldn’t do it nearly as well. She felt as if she were choking on her pain and desperation, on the overwhelming need to do something, anything. Her ears were buzzing. She would rather die herself than helplessly watch someone else she loved slowly die before her eyes.

Robert repeated the process again and again, silently counting. Fiercely he focused on what he was doing, ignoring the terrified kids grouped around them, not letting himself think about Evie’s silence, her stillness. The kid’s chest was rising with each breath forced into him, meaning oxygen was getting into his lungs. His heart was beating; if he didn’t have a serious head or spinal injury, he should be okay, if he would just start breathing on his own. The seconds ticked by. One minute. Two. Then abruptly the boy’s chest heaved, and he began choking. Quickly Robert drew back.

Jason suddenly convulsed, rolling to his side and knocking against Evie as he choked and gagged. She lurched sideways, off balance, unable to catch herself. Robert’s hand shot out across Jason to steady her, the lean fingers catching her arm and preventing her from going into the water a second time. With effortless strength, he dragged her across Jason’s legs, pulling her to him.

Water streamed from Jason’s nostrils and open mouth. He gulped and coughed again, then abruptly vomited up a quantity of river water.

“Thank God,” Robert said quietly. “No paralysis.”

“No.” Evie pulled loose from his grip. Tears burned her eyes as she crouched once again by Jason’s side. Gently she touched the boy, soothing him, and noticed that the back of his head was red with blood. “You’ll be okay, honey,” she murmured as she examined the cut. “Nothing that a few stitches won’t fix.” She glanced up and saw Paige’s white, tear-streaked face. “Paige, get a towel for me, please. And be careful! Don’t run.”

Paige gulped and headed back toward the marina. She didn’t exactly run, but it was close.

Jason’s coughing fit subsided, and he lay exhausted on his side, gulping in air. Evie stroked his arm, repeating that he was going to be all right.

Paige returned with the towel, and gently Evie pressed it to the deep cut, stanching the flow of blood. “A-aunt Evie?” Jason croaked, his voice so hoarse it was almost soundless.

“I’m here.”

“Can I sit up?” he asked, beginning to be embarrassed by the attention.

“I don’t know,” she replied neutrally. “Can you?”

Slowly, cautiously, he eased himself into a sitting position, but he was weak, and Robert knelt down to support him, shifting so that one strong thigh was behind Jason’s back. “My head hurts,” Jason groaned.

“I imagine so,” Robert said in a calm, almost genial voice. “You hit it on the edge of the dock.” Sirens wailed, swiftly coming closer. Jason’s eyes flickered as he realized a further fuss was going to be made.

Gingerly he reached back and touched his head. Wincing, he let his hand fall to his side. “Mom’s going to be peed off,” he said glumly.

“Mom isn’t the only one,” Evie replied. “But we’ll settle that between ourselves later.”

He looked abashed. He tried to move away from Robert’s support but didn’t quite make it. Then the paramedics were there, hurrying down the dock, carrying their tackle boxes of medical equipment. Robert drew back and pulled Evie with him, giving the paramedics room to work. Paige sidled over and slipped her arms around Evie’s waist, burrowing close and hiding her face against Evie’s wet shirt in a child’s instinctive bid for reassurance. It was a simple thing for Robert to put his arms around both of them, and Evie was too tired, too numb, to resist. She stood docilely in his embrace. His strength enfolded her; his heat comforted her. He had saved Jason’s life, and maybe even her own, because she wasn’t certain she could have gotten Jason to the surface without his help. If so, she would simply have drowned with him rather than let him go and try to save her own life at the expense of his.

Jason was quickly checked; then the paramedics began preparations to transport him to the hospital. “That cut will have to be stitched,” one of them said to Evie. “He probably has a concussion, too, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they keep him overnight, at least.”

Evie stirred in Robert’s embrace. “I have to call Rebecca,” she said. “And I want to ride with him to the hospital.”

“I’ll drive you,” he said, releasing her. “You’ll need a way back.”

“Rebecca can bring me,” she said as she hurried to the office, Robert and Paige both following her inside. She reached for the phone, then halted, rubbing her forehead. “No, she’ll stay with Jason. Never mind. I can drive myself.”

“Of course you can,” he said gently. “But you won’t, because I’m driving you.”

She gave him a distracted look as she dialed her sister’s number. “That isn’t necessary—Becky. Listen, Jason slipped on the dock and cut his head. He’s going to be okay, but he needs stitches, and the paramedics are taking him to the hospital. They’re leaving now. I’ll meet you there. Yes, I’m bringing Paige with me. Okay. Bye.”

She hung up, then lifted the receiver and dialed another number. “Craig, this is Evie. Can you take over the marina for a couple of hours? Jason’s had an accident, and I’m going with him to the hospital. No, he’ll be okay. Five minutes? Great. I’m leaving now.”

Then, moving swiftly, she got her purse from under the counter and fished out her keys. Like lightning, Robert caught her hand and calmly removed the keys from her grasp. “You’re too shaky,” he said in a gentle, implacable tone. “You came close to drowning yourself. Don’t fight me on this, Evie.”

It was obvious that she lacked the strength to physically fight him for the keys. Frustrated, she gave in rather than waste more time. “All right.”

She drove a sturdy, serviceable four-wheel-drive pickup, handy for pulling boats up a launch ramp. Paige raced ahead to scramble inside, as if afraid she would be left behind if she didn’t beat them to the vehicle. Evie was only grateful that the child automatically slid to the middle of the seat, positioning herself between Evie and Robert and hastily buckling herself in.

“It’s a straight shift,” she blurted unnecessarily as she buckled her own seat belt.

He gave her a gentle smile as he started the engine. “I can manage.”

Of course, he did more than manage. He shifted gears with the smooth expertise of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Evie’s heart gave a little thump as she tried to imagine Robert Cannon being awkward at anything.

She forced herself to watch the road, rather than him, as she gave directions to the hospital. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to feel that primal pull deep inside her. He was dripping wet, of course, his black hair plastered to his head and his white silk shirt clinging to his muscled torso like a second skin. His leanness was deceptive; the wet shirt revealed the width of his shoulders and chest, and the smooth, steely muscles of his abdomen and back. She thought the image of him, the outline of his body, was probably branded on her mind for all eternity, as was everything else that had happened in the last fifteen minutes. Only fifteen minutes? It felt like a lifetime.

He drove fast, pulling into the hospital parking lot right behind the ambulance. The hospital was small but new, and he couldn’t fault the staff’s response. Jason was whisked into an examining room before Evie could reach his side to speak to him.

Firmly Robert took her arm and ushered both her and Paige to seats in the waiting area. “Sit here,” he said, and though his voice was mild, that implacable tone was in it again. “I’ll get coffee for us. How about you, sweetheart?” he asked Paige. “Do you want a soft drink?”

Dumbly Paige nodded, then shook her head. “May I have coffee, too, Aunt Evie?” she whispered. “I’m cold. Or maybe hot chocolate.”

Evie nodded her agreement, and Robert strode to the vending machines. She put her arm around Paige and gathered her close, knowing that the girl had suffered a shock at seeing her brother almost die. “Don’t worry, honey. Jason will be home by tomorrow, probably, griping about his headache and driving you up the wall.”

Paige sniffed back tears. “I know. I’ll get mad at him then, but right now I just want him to be okay.”

“He will be. I promise.”

Robert returned with three cups, one filled with hot chocolate and the other two with coffee. Evie and Paige took theirs from him, and he settled into the chair on Evie’s other side. When she sipped the hot brew, she found that he had liberally dosed it with sugar. She glanced at him and found him watching her, gauging her reaction. “Drink it,” he said softly. “You’re a little shocky, too.”

Because he was right, she obeyed without argument, folding her cold fingers around the cup in an effort to warm them. Her wet clothes were uncomfortably chilly here in the air-conditioned hospital, and she barely restrained a shiver. He should be cold, too, she thought, but knew that he wasn’t. His arm touched hers, and she felt heat radiating through his wet clothing.

As slight as it was, he felt the shiver that raced through her. “I’ll get a blanket for you,” he said, rising to his feet.

She watched him approach the desk and speak to the nurse. He was courteous, restrained, but in about thirty seconds he was returning with a blanket in his hands. He had an air of natural command, she thought. One look into those icy green eyes and people scurried to do his bidding.

He bent over her to tuck the blanket around her, and she let him. Just as he finished, the emergency room doors swung open and her sister, Rebecca, hurried inside, looking tense and scared. Seeing Evie and Paige, she changed her direction to join them. “What’s happening?” she demanded.

“He’s in the treatment room now,” Robert answered for Evie, his deep voice as soothing as when he’d talked to Paige. “He’ll have a few stitches in the back of his head, and a bad headache. They’ll probably keep him overnight, but his injuries are relatively minor.”

Rebecca turned her shrewd brown eyes on him and bluntly demanded, “Who are you?”

“This is Robert Cannon,” Evie said, making an effort to appear calm as she made the introductions. “He dragged both Jason and me out of the water. Mr. Cannon, this is my sister, Rebecca Wood.”

Rebecca took in Robert’s wet clothes, then looked at Evie, seeing the strain on her sister’s pale face. “I’ll see about Jason first,” she said in her usual decisive manner. “Then I want to know exactly what happened.” She turned and marched toward a nurse, identified herself and was directed to the treatment room where Jason was located.

Robert sat down beside Evie. “What branch of the military was your sister in?” he asked, provoking a nervous giggle from Paige.

“I think it’s called motherhood,” Evie replied. “She began practicing on me at an early age.”

“She’s older, I presume.”

“Five years.”

“So you’ve always been ‘baby sister’ to her.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Drink your coffee,” he admonished, lifting the cup himself and holding it to her lips.

Evie drank, then gave him a wry glance. “You aren’t bad at the mother-hen routine yourself.”

He allowed himself a slight smile. “I take care of my own.” The words were a subtle threat—and a warning, if she were astute enough to hear it.

She didn’t make the obvious retort, that she wasn’t “his”; instead she withdrew, sinking back in her chair and staring straight ahead. Jason’s close call had brought too many old memories to the surface, making it difficult for her to deal with anything just now, much less Robert Cannon. Right now, what she wanted most of all was to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head, shutting out the world until she felt capable of facing it again. Maybe by the time night came, certainly by tomorrow, she would be all right. Then she would worry about the way he had taken over and about the gentle possessiveness that she couldn’t fight. With Cannon, Evie was beginning to link gentleness with an implacable force of will that let nothing stand in his way. He would be tender and protective, but he would not be thwarted.

They sat in silence until Rebecca came out of the treatment room to rejoin them. “They’re keeping him overnight,” she said. “He has a slight concussion, a big shaved spot on the back of his head and ten stitches. He also won’t say exactly what happened, other than mumbling that he fell. What’s he trying to hide from me?”

Evie hesitated, trying to decide exactly what to tell Rebecca, and that gave Paige enough time to pipe up. “Scott and Jeff and Patrick came by the marina, and they were all acting silly out on the docks. Aunt Evie yelled at Jason to settle down, but they didn’t. Jason pushed Patrick, and Patrick pushed him back, and Jason slipped and fell, and hit his head on the dock, then went into the water. Aunt Evie went in after him, and she was under forever and ever, and Mr. Cannon tried to find both of them. Then Aunt Evie came up, and she had Jason, and Mr. Cannon pulled them to the dock. Jason wasn’t breathing, Mom, and Aunt Evie nearly drowned, too. Mr. Cannon had to do that artificial breathing stuff on Jason, and then Jason started coughing and puking, and the paramedics came. I called 911,” she finished in a rush.

Rebecca looked a bit bemused at this flood of words from her quiet child but heard the fear still lurking under the loquaciousness. She sat down beside Paige and hugged her. “You did exactly right,” she praised, and Paige gave a little sigh of relief.

Rebecca examined Evie’s pale, drawn face. “He’s all right,” she said reassuringly. “At least for now. As soon as he’s recovered, I’m going to kill him. Better yet, I think I’ll ground him for the rest of the summer. Then I’ll kill him.”

Evie managed a smile. “If he lives through all that, I want a turn at him.”

“It’s a deal. Now, I want you to go home and get out of those wet clothes. You look worse than Jason does.”

The smile, this time, was easier. “Gee, thanks.” But she knew that Rebecca’s sharp eyes had seen below the surface and recognized the strain that she was under.

“I’ll see to her,” Robert said, standing and urging Evie to her feet. She wanted to protest, she really did, but she was so tired, her nerves so strained, that it was too much effort. So she managed to say goodbye to Rebecca and Paige, and tell them to kiss Jason for her; then she gave in and let him usher her out of the building and across the parking lot to the truck. She had left the blanket behind, but the searing afternoon heat washed over her like a glow, and she shivered with delight.

Robert’s arm tightened around her waist. “Are you still cold?”

“No, I’m fine,” she murmured. “The heat feels good.”

He opened the truck door and lifted her onto the seat. The strength in his hands and arms, the ease with which he picked her up, made her shiver again. She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the window, as much from a desire to shut him out as from an almost overpowering fatigue.

“You can’t go to sleep,” he said as he got in on the driver’s side, amusement lacing his tone. “You have to give me directions to your house.”

She forced herself to open her eyes and sit up, and gave him calm, coherent directions. It didn’t take long to get anywhere in Guntersville, and less than fifteen minutes later he stopped the truck in her driveway. She fumbled with the door but was so clumsy that he was there before she managed it, opening it and supporting her with a firm hand under her elbow. She got out, reluctant to let him inside her house but accepting the inevitable. Best just to go shower and change as fast as she could, and get it over with.

He entered right behind her. “Have a seat,” she invited automatically as she headed toward her bedroom. “I’ll be out in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’m still too wet to sit down,” he said. “But take your time. I’ll go out on the deck, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” she said, giving him a polite smile without really looking at him, and escaped into the privacy of her bedroom.

Robert eyed the closed door thoughtfully. She was so wary of him that she wouldn’t even look at him if she could help it. It wasn’t a response he was accustomed to from a woman, though God knew she had reason to be wary, given his assumption that she knew of his connection to PowerNet. She couldn’t have acted any more guilty if he had caught her red-handed. He could opt for patience and let time disarm her, but he already had plans in motion that would force the issue, so he decided to allay her suspicions in another manner, by making a definite, concerted effort to seduce her. He had planned to seduce her, anyway; he would simply intensify the pressure.

He heard the shower start running. He couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to look around, and he took advantage of it. The house was probably forty years old, he thought, but had been remodeled so the interior was open and more modern, with exposed beams and gleaming hardwood floors. She had a green thumb; indoor plants of all sizes occupied every available flat surface. He could see into the kitchen from where he stood in the living room, and beyond that was the deck, with double French doors opening onto it. A dock led from the deck down to a boathouse.

Her furnishings were neat and comfortable, but certainly not luxurious. Without haste, he went over to the big, old-fashioned rolltop desk and methodically searched it, unearthing nothing of any great interest, not that he had expected to find anything. It wasn’t likely she would have been fool enough to leave him in the room with an unlocked desk if the desk contained anything incriminating. He looked through her bank statement but found no unusually large deposits, at least at this particular bank or on this particular statement.

There was a small, framed photograph on the desk. He picked it up and examined the two people pictured. Evie, defintiely—a very young Evie, but already glowing with seductiveness. The boy, for he was nothing more than that, was probably her husband, dead now for twelve years. Robert studied the boy’s face more closely, seeing laughter and happiness and yes, devotion. But had the boy any idea how to handle the sensual treasure that the girl in his arms represented? Of course not; what teenage boy would? Still, Robert felt an unexpected and unpleasant twinge of jealousy for this long-dead boy, for the riches that had so briefly been his. Evie had loved him, enough that she still wore his wedding ring after all these years.

He heard the shower shut off and replaced the photograph, then quietly walked out onto the deck. She had a nice place here, nothing extravagant, but cozy and homey. There was plenty of privacy, too, with no houses visible except for those on the far side of the lake. The water was very blue, reflecting both the green of the mountains and the deep blue bowl of the sky. The afternoon was slipping away, and the sun was lower now, but still white and searing. Soon it would begin to turn bronze, and the lush scents of the heavy greenery would grow stronger. By the time purple twilight brought a respite from the heat, the air would be redolent with honeysuckle and roses, pine and fresh-cut grass. Time was slower here; people didn’t rush from one occupation to another. He had actually seen people sitting on their front porches, reading newspapers or shelling peas, occasionally waving to passersby. Of course, people from New York and other large cities would say that the locals here had nothing to rush to, but from what he’d seen they stayed busy enough; they just didn’t get in any great hurry.

He heard Evie come to the open French door. “I’m ready,” she said.

He turned and looked at her. Her newly washed hair was still wet, but she had braided it and pinned the braids up so they wouldn’t get her shirt damp. She had exchanged the shorts for jeans, and had on a pink T-shirt that made her golden skin glow. But her cheeks were still a bit pale, and her expression was strained.

“You have a nice place,” he said.

“Thanks. I inherited it from my in-laws.”

Though he knew the answer, now was the time to ask for information; it would be odd if he didn’t. “You’re married?” he asked.

“Widowed.” She turned and retreated into the house, and Robert followed her.

“Ah. I’m sorry. How long has it been?”

“Twelve years.”

“I saw the picture on the desk. Is that your husband?”

“Yes, that’s Matt.” She stopped and looked toward the photograph, and an ineffable sadness darkened her eyes. “We were just kids.” Then she seemed to gather herself and walked briskly to the door. “I need to get back to the marina.”

“My house is about five miles from here,” he said. “It won’t take long for me to shower and change.”

She carried a towel out to the truck and dried the seat before she got inside. She didn’t even bother protesting his continued possession of her keys; it would be pointless, though she was now obviously calm enough to drive safely.

His clothes had dried enough that they were merely damp now, rather than dripping wet, but she knew they had to be uncomfortable. Hers certainly had been. Her conscience twinged. He had not only saved Jason’s life but likely hers, as well, and had put himself to a great deal of trouble to see that she was taken care of. No matter how he alarmed her, she knew that she would never forget his quick actions or his cool decisiveness.

“Thank you,” she said softly, staring straight ahead. “Jason and I probably wouldn’t have made it without you.”

“The likelihood was unnerving,” he said, his tone cool and even. “You’d pushed yourself so far that you couldn’t have gotten him out of the water. Didn’t it occur to you to let go of him and come up for another breath?”

“No.” The single word was flat. “I couldn’t have done that.”

He glanced at her profile, saw the deepening strain in her expression and deftly changed the subject. “Will your sister really ground him for the rest of the summer?”

Evie was startled into a laugh, a rusty little sound that went right to his gut. “I’d say he’ll be lucky if that’s all she does. It isn’t that he was fooling around, but that I’d already told him to stop and he disobeyed me.”

“So he broke a cardinal rule?”

“Just about.”

Robert intended to have a few words with the young man himself, about acting responsibly and the possible consequences of reckless actions, but he didn’t mention it to Evie. She was obviously very protective of her niece and nephew, and though she couldn’t say that it wasn’t any of his business, she wouldn’t like it. His conversation with Jason would be private.

When he stopped in the driveway of his new house, Evie looked around with interest. “This place has been on the market for almost a year,” she said.

“Then I’m lucky no one beat me to it, aren’t I?” He got out and walked around the truck to open the door for her. Though she hadn’t waited for him to perform the service at the hospital, that had been an emergency; nor would she have waited when they had reached her house, if she had been able to get the door open in time. He’d had the strong impression then that she had wanted to bolt inside and lock him out. Now, however, she waited with the natural air of a queen, as if he were only doing what he should. She might be dressed in jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt, but that didn’t lessen her femininity one whit; she expected that male act of servitude. Robert had always preferred to treat women with the small courtesies but hadn’t insisted on them when his partner had protested. He was both amused and charmed by Evie’s rather regal, very Southern attitude.

He mused about this subtle signal as he ushered her into the house. Though she was still very wary of him, obviously on some level her resistance had weakened. Anticipation tightened his muscles, but he deliberately resisted it. Now was not the time. Not quite yet.

“Make yourself at home while I shower,” he invited, smiling faintly as he walked toward his bedroom, which was down the hallway to the right. He had no doubt that she would do exactly as he had done, take full advantage of the opportunity to do a quick search.

Evie stood in the middle of the living room after he had gone, too tense to “make herself at home.” She looked around, trying to distract herself. The house was sprawling and modern, one story of brick and redwood, easily three times the size of her own. A huge rock fireplace dominated the left wall, the chimney soaring upward to the cathedral ceiling. Twin white ceiling fans stirred a gentle breeze. The furniture was chic but comfortable-looking, sized to fit a man of his height.

The living room was separated from the dining room by a waist-high planter in which luxurious ferns flourished. Huge double windows revealed a deck, furnished with comfortable chairs, an umbrella table and even more plants. Hesitantly she walked into the dining room for a better view. The kitchen opened up to the right, an immaculate oasis gleaming with the most modern appliances available. Even the coffeemaker looked as if the user would need a degree in engineering to work the thing. There was a breakfast nook on the far side of the kitchen, occupied by a smallish table with a white ceramic tile top. She could see him sitting there in the mornings, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. Double French doors, far more ornate and stylish than her own, led from the breakfast nook onto the deck. She would have liked to explore further but felt too constrained here on his territory. Instead she retreated to the living room once more.

Robert took his time showering and dressing. Let her look around all she wanted; the fact that she wouldn’t find anything alarming would help allay her suspicions. She would begin to relax, which was exactly what he wanted.

A lot of men, maybe most of them, would have made a move while they had been at her house; she had been more off-balance, vulnerable. He had even had the opportunity, had he chosen to take it, of walking in on her while she was unclothed. But he had elected to wait, knowing she would be more at ease now that the most provocative and dangerous circumstances were past. He hadn’t made a pass at her then, so she wouldn’t be expecting him to do so now. And since she wouldn’t be mentally prepared to handle an advance, her response would be honest, unguarded.

Finally he stopped dawdling and returned to the living room. To his surprise, she was still standing almost exactly where he had left her, and little of the strain had faded from her face. She turned to watch him. Her lovely golden brown eyes were still dark with some inner distress that went far deeper than the episode with Jason, traumatic as that had been.

Robert paused while still several feet from her, studying those somber eyes. Then he simply moved forward with a graceful speed that gave her no time to evade him, and took her in his arms. He heard her instinctive intake of breath, saw the alarm widening her eyes as she lifted her head to protest, a protest that was smothered when his mouth covered hers.

She jerked in his arms, and he gently controlled the action, pulling her even more firmly against him. He took care not to hurt her but deepened the insistent pressure of his mouth until he felt her own mouth yield and open. The sweetness of her lips sent an electrical thrill along his nerves, tightening his muscles and swelling his sex. He took her mouth with his tongue, holding her still for the imitative sexual possession, repeating the motion again and again, until she shivered and softened in his arms, her lips beginning to cling to his.

Her tentative response made his head swim, and to his surprise he had to struggle to maintain his control. But she felt perfect in his arms, damn her, all those soft, luscious curves molding to the hard, muscled planes of his body. Her mouth was sweeter than any he had ever tasted before, and the simple act of kissing her was arousing him to an unbelievable degree.

He didn’t want to stop. He hadn’t planned to do more than kiss her, but he hadn’t expected the intensity of his own response. His mouth crushed fiercely down on hers, demanding even more. He heard the soft, helpless sound she made in her throat; then her arms lifted around his neck, and she pressed full length against him. Pure, primitive male triumph roared through him at this evidence of her own arousal. He could feel her breasts, round and firm, the nipples hard against his chest, and he slipped his hand under her shirt to cup one of them, his thumb rubbing across the peaked nipple through the thin lace of her bra. Her body arched, her hips pressing hard against his…and then suddenly she was fighting, panicked, trying to squirm free.

He let her go, though every cell in his body was screaming for more. “Easy,” he managed to say, but the word was low and rough and his breath was uneven. He tried for a more controlled reassurance. “I won’t hurt you, sweetheart.”

Evie had backed away from him, her face pale but her lips swollen and red from his kisses. She forced herself to stop retreating, to stand her ground and face him. The sensual pull of his masculinity was almost overwhelming, tempting her to go back into those arms, to yield to that fierce domination. She felt a sense of doom; he was far more dangerous to her than she had first suspected.

“Yes, you will,” she whispered. Her teeth were chattering. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”