When a deadly traitor threatens to dishonor a top secret agency, A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY begins….

Easton “East” Kirby

Strong and powerfully built—and guaranteed to melt hearts with his mesmerizing brown eyes.

SPEAR’s head honcho wasn’t playing fair when he assigned enticing Agent Alicia Corbin to bring East Kirby back to the field. Now, a diabolical maneuver by the traitor has raised the stakes for East—making his partnership with Alicia imperative!

Alicia Corbin

A green-eyed beauty with a body sure to bring even the strongest man to his knees.

Her loyalty to SPEAR knew no bounds. But would she gain the upper hand in this seductive stalemate with formidable legend Easton Kirby?

Jonah

Though his identity is top secret, this mystery man has enough presence and authority to keep his agents on the alert.

As the shadowed entity at the helm of SPEAR, Jonah has a fierce code of honor. He’s not about to let anything—or anyone—bring SPEAR down….

Join twelve top agents in their search to safeguard the country—and lose their hearts to love—in twelve novels guaranteed to provide you with A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY.

Dear Reader,

As you have no doubt noticed, this year marks Silhouette Books’ 20th anniversary, and for the next three months the spotlight shines on Intimate Moments, so we’ve packed our schedule with irresistible temptations.

First off, I’m proud to announce that this month marks the beginning of A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY, a twelve-book continuity series written by eleven of your favorite authors. Sharon Sala, a bestselling, award-winning, absolutely incredible writer, launches things with Mission: Irresistible, and next year she will also write the final book in the continuity. Picture a top secret agency, headed by a man no one sees. Now picture a traitor infiltrating security, chased by a dozen (or more!) of the agency’s best operatives. The trail crisscrosses the globe, and passion is a big part of the picture, until the final scene is played out and the final romance reaches its happy conclusion. Every book in A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY features a self-contained romance, along with a piece of the ongoing puzzle, and enough excitement and suspense to fuel your imagination for the entire year. Don’t miss a single monthly installment!

This month also features new books from top authors such as Beverly Barton, who continues THE PROTECTORS, and Marie Ferrarella, who revisits THE BABY OF THE MONTH CLUB. And in future months look for New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard, with A Game of Chance (yes, it’s Chance Mackenzie’s story at long last), and a special in-line two-in-one collection by Maggie Shayne and Marilyn Pappano, called Who Do You Love? All that and more of A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY, as well as new books from the authors who’ve made Intimate Moments the place to come for a mix of excitement and romance no reader can resist. Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Mission: Irresistible
Sharon Sala

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is written in honor of the nameless people who have dedicated their lives to making my country safe and secure.

Your identities may be unknown, but the sacrifices you have made have not gone unappreciated. I dedicate this story to you with the hope that if the favor had to be returned, we would be strong enough to withstand and endure.

A note from Sharon Sala, bestselling, award-winning author of over ten books for Silhouette and MIRA Books:

Dear Reader,

Being asked to launch the first book of A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY was an honor, as well as an exciting venture for me. The twelve-book series is a romance-filled, adventure-packed journey through the lives of some very extraordinary people—people who are willing to sacrifice their lives and personal happiness for their country and its safety.

The characters are strong and heroic, often drawn into situations that are out of their control, and yet they manage not only to survive, but triumph.

Mission: Irresistible, the first book in the series, is a testament to the strength of family ties and to the power of love. The story line is an all-too-familiar echo of today’s headlines and will draw you quickly and deeply into the unfolding drama of innocents caught up in a situation not of their making.

I hope you like my story, as well as the stories to come. I enjoy hearing from my readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 127, Henryetta, OK 74437, or online c/o www.eHarlequin.com.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Prologue

Washington, D.C.—July 4th, 2000

The American flags above the tall man’s head popped smartly as the hot July breeze whipped them into a frenzy; colorful reminders of a nation’s gratitude for the dedication and sacrifices of countless soldiers over the centuries who had kept the country free.

But gratitude was the last thing on the man’s mind as he stood before the black, polished surface of the Vietnam War Memorial. The petals of the rose that he carried were beginning to droop, but it hardly mattered. The man for whom it was meant had long ceased to care for anything of this earth.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been here on the nation’s birthday, so the unusual number of visitors did not surprise him. Yet as he moved through the people, he was struck by the silence of so large a crowd.

The memorial in itself was an emotionally moving sight. A seemingly endless stretch of gleaming black marble with nothing but names etched upon its surface. Names of fathers and of sons, of brothers and of uncles, of friends and neighbors who’d given their lives because their country had asked it of them.

His heart swelled painfully as he began to scan the surface. It was here—somewhere near the center and about a third of the way down. He stepped around a small, stoop-shouldered woman, then in front of a young couple with two small children, his gaze centering on the names. The farther he walked, the harder his heart began to pound. And then suddenly he stiffened.

There it was: Frank Wilson.

He traced the letters of the name with his forefinger. By the time he got to the last letter he was looking at the world through a blur and all he could think was, Damn you.

His jaw clenched and a muscle jerked at the side of his temple as he dropped the rose at the base of the wall and turned to walk away. As he did, the wind gusted, causing the flags to flutter, and ruffling the streaks of gray at the temples of his short, dark hair. He squinted against the sunlight and dropped a pair of sunglasses in place as he moved toward the grassy area beyond. But the sound of the blowing flag became mixed with the memories in his mind, turning from wind and heat to the rapid fire of machine guns, the unforgettable thunder of landing helicopters and the nightmare that was Vietnam.

Saigon 1974

It had been raining off and on all day and the clothes the girl on the street corner wore were plastered to her skin until it looked as if she was wearing nothing at all. She put her hands under her breasts and lifted them toward the trio of American soldiers coming down the street.

“Hey G.I., wanna party? Good sex…hot sex…five dolla’.”

Private Joseph Barone of Brooklyn, New York whistled beneath his breath and elbowed his buddy.

“Oowee, Davie boy, would you look at her. You want to get yourself a little of that?”

The thought of a physical release within the warmth of a woman’s arms was strong, but David Wilson had seen past her painted face and skimpy clothes to the child beneath and cringed. He wasn’t the only one out of his element. She was doing all she knew, trying to survive in a world gone mad and adding to her hell seemed impossible to consider. Instead of telling the truth, that having sex with a fourteen-year-old whore turned his stomach, he used sarcasm instead.

“Do I want a little of what? The clap?” David drawled.

Joe Barone laughed and slapped his buddy on the back. “It might be worth it, kid.”

David gave her one last glance and then shook his head. “You and Pete go on, though. I’ll meet you back at the barracks.”

They laughed at his reticence and pivoted sharply, heading back to the woman before another one of their compatriots beat them to the offer.

David shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders as he moved along the crowded sidewalk. An old man sat cross-legged on the ground, hawking his wares in a sing-song litany while dangling a plucked fowl above his head in an effort to catch a buyer’s eye. David’s nose wrinkled in protest to the smell as he passed and wondered how long the man had been trying to sell that particular bird.

He turned the corner, fully intent upon heading for the barracks, when he heard a familiar laugh. He turned, a look of expectancy on his face. He’d know that laugh anywhere. It was his brother, Frank.

He pivoted sharply, searching the constantly moving masses for sight of his brother’s face. If he could hook up with Frank, it would be a good way to pass the afternoon. His eyes were alight as he began to scan the crowd.

Frank was his elder by four years and the single reason David was in Vietnam. Lying about his age to sign up had been simple. It was the fact that he and his brother had wound up in the same company that was amazing. But David was glad. Frank had always been more than just a big brother. He’d been a substitute father—a playmate—and when he wasn’t thumping on David’s head himself, a bodyguard in the rough neighborhood in which they’d grown up.

The crowd in front of David parted suddenly to let a man with a pushcart pass by and as it did, he saw his brother in the distance. At that same moment, he realized Frank wasn’t alone. He paused, staring curiously at the pair with whom Frank was conversing. Their heads were close together, as if they didn’t want to be overheard. And when one of them straightened and turned, staring directly toward David, he found himself ducking into a doorway instead of hailing them as he’d intended. There was something about the men that he didn’t trust. He watched a bit longer, trying to remember where he’d seen them, and as he did, it suddenly hit him. A few months back, one of his buddies had pointed them out in a nightclub as being Dutch. When David had asked why two men from Holland would be here in the middle of such hell, his buddy had laughed and said, commerce, Davie-boy, commerce. It had taken a while before David realized they were suspected gunrunners.

Now, as he watched, Frank grinned and slapped one of the men on the back, then shook his hand. When he did, David’s gut began to knot. Why would Frank be talking to men like that? Like everyone else, he knew it was men like that who were responsible for selling American-made weapons to the Vietcong. Men from other countries who were in this strictly for the money, who had no allegiance to a nation, not even their own. Immediately he thought of the money Frank had been flashing during the past two months. Money he claimed he had won playing cards. But Frank was a lousy card player. Always had been. When the men began to move, David followed at a distance, desperate to assure himself that what he was thinking couldn’t be true.

It started to rain again, and as it did, the streets began to clear as people took shelter inside the shops or made their way home. In an effort to remain unobserved, David had to stay far behind and twice he thought he’d lost them, only to turn a corner and see the back of Frank’s head in the distance.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, David’s gut was in knots. He’d long ago given up on this being an innocent meeting, and when they slipped into an isolated hut, David groaned inwardly. By the time he reached the hut, the rain had turned to a downpour, smothering all sound save that of the hammer of his own heartbeat and the sound of rain on the wet thatched roof.

He moved closer to the door, then shifted so that he could see inside. The interior was small and gloomy, yet light enough for David to see an envelope pass between Frank and the men.

No, David thought, and held his breath, watching as Frank counted the money then slipped it inside his shirt before handing over a small slip of paper. Without thinking of the consequences, he stalked into the hut.

To say Frank Wilson was stunned, would have been an understatement, but his shock quickly turned to anger when he realized his little brother had seen it all. To make it worse, the other men were already drawing their weapons.

“Don’t!” he yelled. “He’s my brother.” Then he turned to David, fear mixing with guilt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

David quickly moved, putting himself between Frank and the men and yanking the money out of Frank’s shirt and throwing it on the ground.

“Saving your stupid ass,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here.”

“What the hell’s going on?” one of the men muttered, and waved his gun in Frank Wilson’s face.

“Leave this to me,” Frank said, and shoved David aside as he began to pick up the money.

David stepped on a wad of money just as Frank reached for it, and in doing so, stepped on Frank’s fingers instead. Pain fueled Frank’s rage as he bolted to his feet, slamming David against the wall of the hut. Both of the gunrunners aimed their weapons as they realized their assignation was not as secretive as they’d wished.

Frank knew that now both he and David were in trouble. He pulled his own weapon, aiming it at the shorter one’s head.

“Don’t do it!” he yelled, and then fired off two shots before the men could answer.

Through the roar of the rain, the sounds were little more than muffled thumps. David was shaking, stunned by his brother’s lack of emotion, only to find that Frank had a gun aimed at his face.

“What the hell are you doing?” David whispered.

“The question should be, what are you going to do about what you just saw?” Frank countered.

David swallowed. He’d seen that look on his brother’s face before.

“What did I see?” David asked. “What did you sell them?”

Frank grinned. “A little steel. A little wood. A little lead. Just natural resources.”

David’s skin crawled. “Guns? You’re selling our own guns to the enemy? How can you do that? How can you be a traitor to your own country?”

Frank sneered. “My own country, as you so fondly call it, sent me over here to die. And I’m not even sure I believe in what I’m fighting for. Why shouldn’t I get something out of it besides a coffin?”

David held out his hand. “Please Frank. Let’s just go. No one has to know we were even here. They’ll find the bodies and the money, and assume the men killed each other.”

Frank’s smile hardened as he dug through one of the dead men’s pockets for the slip of paper with the information he’d just sold. When he found it, he wadded it into a very small ball, then popped it in his mouth like candy, chewed it and swallowed while David looked on in horror.

“I’m not leaving the money,” Frank growled. “It’s mine. Now the problem remains, are you gonna snitch?”

“Why? Are you going to kill me, too?”

In Frank’s defense, it had to be said that he hesitated, but there was a dark gleam in his eyes when he answered.

“If I have to.”

David stared into the barrel of the gun, unable to believe that his fate in life was to come all this way across the world only to be killed by his brother’s hand.

“You’ve gone crazy,” David pleaded. “Is this what you really want?”

“What I want, is to be rich,” Frank said, and took aim.

Everything afterward seemed to happen in slow motion. Frank’s shot searing the back of David’s shoulder as he dove for a dead man’s gun. Pulling the trigger as he rolled. The water leaking through the roof and falling on his left cheek at the same moment that Frank staggered and fell. The smell of gunpowder and mud as David crawled to his feet. Standing motionless beneath the leak in the roof while the raindrops mixed with tears, then throwing his head back and letting out a gut-wrenching roar of anguish.

Time passed. The rain had stopped. People were moving about and it was only a matter of time before someone found them, and yet David couldn’t bring himself to move. It was the sound of a Huey flying overhead that brought him out of his trance.

He staggered to an alcove at the back of the room, dragged out a can of gasoline and began scattering it all over the walls and then the floor, making sure that the men and the money were saturated as well. Then he moved to the doorway, cautiously peering out. No one was in sight. Unable to look at his dead brother’s face, he struck a match and gave it a toss, slipped out of the hut and ran.

He never looked back.

“Here you go Mister.”

Startled by the sound of an unfamiliar voice, David Wilson jerked, and the memories sank back into the hell that was his past. He looked down at the young man before him, and at the handful of miniature American flags he was carrying.

“You’re a vet, aren’t you?” the kid asked.

David hesitated, then shrugged. Admitting that much posed no threat. He nodded.

The kid beamed. “I knew it! I can tell. My dad’s a vet. He fought in Desert Storm.” Then he pulled a flag from the bunch in his hand and thrust it into the man’s palm. “Take it, Mister. You earned it.”

David’s fingers curled around the small, wooden staff as the kid disappeared. He stared at the colors so long that they began to run together in his mind. When he finally looked up, the glitter in his eyes was no longer moisture and the cut of his jaw was set and firm.

Earned it? He hadn’t earned anything but a heartache and a tombstone in Arlington Cemetery. To become the man he was now, he’d had to die, presumably in the line of duty. But nevertheless, David Wilson was dead. The man he’d become was a solitary man. He had no one he could call friend, no identity that mattered, no ties to a community or church. A faceless man who, some years back had sworn, once again, to give his life for his country.

Now, they called him Jonah and only two people on the face of the earth knew his real identity. As the anonymous director of SPEAR, the most elite counterespionage team ever to be assembled on behalf of the United States of America, Jonah lived life in the shadows, communicating with his operatives when necessary by coded messages, a cassette delivered with an order of pizza, cryptic telegrams, and occasionally, nothing more than a voice on the phone.

SPEAR, first founded by Abraham Lincoln himself during the Civil War, was an acronym for Stealth, Perseverance, Endeavor, Attack and Rescue. It was an organization that existed in the shadows of society, and its existence, the best kept secret in the free world. Headed throughout the years by mysterious men known only as Jonah, the succession of Jonahs who had given their lives to their country were the unrecognized heroes of the past. To the world, they were dead. If they lived long enough to retire, they were given an entirely new identity and left to face their twilight years alone, without benefit of old friends or family.

In a few years, he, too, would retire and another Jonah would step into his shoes. Dying for his country had seemed an odd sort of justice, considering the fact that he’d taken his only brother’s life.

He watched the kid running across the greens, trying to remember if he’d ever been that innocent. He then snorted beneath his breath and shoved the flag into his pocket and started toward his car. There was no place in his life for sentiment or regret.

Those years of retirement were, however, looming closer than he might have liked. Someone was trying to ruin him. Someone wanted him branded a traitor in the very worst way, and despite his access to even the most classified of records, he had been unable to find even a trace of a guilty party. It was, without doubt, the worst thing that had happened to him since Vietnam. It could be anyone, even a disgruntled operative at SPEAR who, by some stroke of fate, had discovered his identity. He was at the point of admitting he needed help, that doing this alone was no longer an option. But there was a problem. He didn’t know who to trust.

Chapter 1

One week later: The Northern California coast.

A pair of seagulls perched on the railing surrounding the large, flagstone terrace of the Condor Mountain Resort and Spa. The view, like the resort, was a magnificent complement to the area overlooking the Pacific. The gulls gave an occasional flap of their wings as they squawked between themselves in bird speak while keeping watch for a dropped bit of someone’s breakfast pastry. Waiters moved among the tables serving coffee and juice, while others carried freshly made foods to the hot-and-cold buffet that was set up near the door. The idle chatter of the guests as they breakfasted was diluted by the soft breeze and the wide open spaces.

It was an idyllic scene, typical for the resort, but there was nothing typical about Easton Kirby, the man who ran it. Tall and powerfully built, he looked more like a professional athlete than a business man. His shoulders strained against the soft knit texture of his white Polo shirt while navy slacks accentuated the length of leg and muscle. His hair was a shade lighter than his tan, and more than one female guest at the hotel had commented about his resemblance to the actor, Kevin Costner, although his nose had more of a Roman shape to it after having twice been broken. He often smiled, but there were shadows within the glitter of his eyes that congeniality could not disguise. He was a man who lived with secrets he would never be able to share and being a former operative for SPEAR was secondary to the fact that he considered himself a murderer.

That it had happened in the line of duty during a high-speed chase had not cleared his conscience. The teenager who’d come out of nowhere on a bicycle and right into the path of East’s oncoming car had been a boy in his prime, having just won a four-year scholarship to a prestigious college, and an honor student throughout his high school years. The headphones he’d been wearing had blocked out the sound of the oncoming cars, and according to the police who’d investigated the accident, he had also bicycled across the highway from the hill above without even trying to stop, obviously trying to beat the traffic. Despite East having been cleared of wrongdoing, the guilt of the act was a hair shirt on his soul. What was done, was done. The kid was dead. End of story.

Afterward, it had been all East could do not to put a gun to his own head. Night after night he kept reliving the sight of the young man’s face spotlighted in his headlights, then the impact of flesh against metal and the scent of burning rubber as he’d tried to stop.

SPEAR had sent him through counseling, then to Condor Mountain to rehabilitate. But it didn’t take. For three months he had lived in the room that they’d given him, refusing to interact with anyone except on a need- to basis, hiking the mountains at night and trying to purge his soul. And then one dark night during one of his nightly forays, he met Jeff. Fourteen years old and a professional runaway from the welfare system, the kid was as hard and wild as they came. East was drawn to the youth in spite of himself, recognizing the boy’s sullen anger as a result of fear rather than meanness. The bond they formed was slow, but it surprised them both. Within a year, Easton Kirby had a whole new role in life. At the age of twenty-five, he became a father to a fourteen-year-old boy, and Jeff was no longer homeless.

A short while later, SPEAR named East manager of the hotel where he’d been sent to recuperate. His file at SPEAR was purged and his days as a counterespionage agent were over. But that hadn’t ended his ties with the organization. Condor Mountain Resort and Spa was a part of the Monarch Hotel Chain—a legitimate corporation owned and operated by SPEAR, and available to agents on the verge of burnout.

Occasionally East saw acquaintances from his days of active duty, but only if they were sent to the Condor Resort for some R and R after the close of a particularly grueling case. Yet the tie that had bound them together before had been severed by time and distance. That part of his life was over. He existed in a come-and-go world with his adopted son as his only family and it was just the way he liked it. Only now and then was he haunted by nightmares, and when he was, he focused instead on the doctor Jeff was studying to become, rather than the horrors of his own past. It should have been enough, but the absence of a woman in his life often left him with a rootless, empty feeling. Yet how could he live his own life to the fullest when he’d taken the life of an innocent man?

The two seagulls which been sitting on the railing took flight as a waiter walked past. A few moments later, Easton Kirby walked out on the patio, causing more than a few female hearts to flutter, as well. He nodded and smiled as he moved through the area, but his focus was on the couple at the far table. They’d checked in last night after he’d gone to bed, but his staff had informed him they were here. He made it a habit to personally greet all honeymooners, and from the way the pair was cuddling through their morning meal, their stay at Condor Mountain was off to a good start. He couldn’t help thinking how blessed they were. Their whole lives were ahead of them, while his was stalled in a guilt-ridden limbo.

Before he reached their table, his cell phone rang. He moved to a guest-free area of the patio to take the call.

“Hello.”

“Kirby.”

It had been years since East had heard that voice, but there was no mistaking it. Instinctively, he moved off the terrace and down the steps toward the beach, putting distance between himself and the rest of the world.

“Jonah?”

“Yes.”

East reached the first landing, and sat. Something told him he needed to be immobile when he took this call.

“How have you been?” Jonah asked.

East’s belly knotted. “Fine, but I’m assuming you know that, sir, or you wouldn’t be calling.”

A slow intake of breath was all East heard. He waited for Jonah to continue. Chit-chat was not something one did with this man. Finally, Jonah spoke.

“I need to ask a favor of you,”

East’s eyes widened. Favor? Jonah didn’t ask favors, he gave orders.

“Sir?”

“I have a problem—a big problem,” Jonah said. “Someone is trying to destroy me.”

East’s heart skipped a beat and he stood abruptly, as if bracing himself for an unspeakable blow.

“Destroy you?”

“It’s complicated,” Jonah said. “Suffice it to say that things are surfacing within high places that make it look as if I’m a war criminal, as well as a traitor to my country.” There was a moment of hesitation before he continued. “It’s not true.”

East’s eyes narrowed. “Telling me that was unnecessary. That much I know.”

Again, there was a hesitation, then Jonah spoke. “I thank you for that. But the problem still exists and despite my unlimited…uh, shall we say access…to confidential material, I have been unable to trace the source. For all I know, it could be within SPEAR itself.”

East was incredulous. “No sir! I don’t believe that’s possible.”

“I would like to think so, too,” Jonah said. “But at this point, nothing or no one can be ruled out.”

East frowned. “If that’s so, then why call me?”

“Because, technically, you are inactive. It’s been ten years since you’ve been in the field. We have no axes to grind and no issues that could be a possible basis for these actions. I have to trust someone. You’re it.”

East’s gut knotted tighter. “Sir…don’t ask this of me.”

Jonah’s sigh whispered through East’s conscience like a knife.

“It’s been ten years since that incident with the kid,” Jonah said.

East swallowed harshly, then closed his eyes against the glare of sunlight upon the water.

“Tell that to my psyche,” he growled. “Besides, I have a family to consider.”

“Yes…Jeff, isn’t it? Studying to be a doctor?”

“Yes, sir. He’s interning now in L.A.”

“He’s a man, Kirby, not a kid.”

A noise on the beach below caught Kirby’s attention, he opened his eyes and turned. It was a pair of sea lions sunning themselves on an outcropping of rock. For a moment, he lost himself in the spray of surf hammering against the rocks and the seabirds doing a little two-step upon the sand. The urge to take the phone and toss it into the water, disconnecting himself from both Jonah and the world was overwhelming, but it was a futile thought. He’d learned long ago that no matter how hard he’d tried, he had not been able to get away from his past.

“Kirby…are you there?”

East sighed. “Yes, sir. I was just thinking.”

There was a note of eagerness in Jonah’s voice. “And?”

“I have to ask you a question,” East said.

“Ask.”

“Is this an order?”

This time, there was no mistaking the sigh in Jonah’s voice. “I can’t order you to do a personal favor for me.”

“I’m not the man I used to be. I’ve been out of the business too long. I’ve lost the edge needed to survive.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Jonah spoke. “So…you’re turning me down.”

“Yes.”

Again Jonah hesitated, but this time his voice was void of emotion.

“I understand. Oh, and Kirby, this call never happened.”

“What call, sir?”

The line went dead and Kirby knew there would never be a traceable record of the call ever happening. A fresh wave of guilt hit him head-on.

“Damn it to hell.”

He spun on his heels and headed back to the hotel.

Chapter 2

Sweat slipped from the sweatband around Alicia Corbin’s head and into her right eye as she focused on a spot upon the wall in front of her, rather than the pain of burning muscles in her legs. Gripping the handlebars of the workout bike a little tighter, she glanced at the digital readout on the machine and grimaced. Only another mile to go and she could quit.

Although she was a health club regular, she hated working out. Her preference would have been to take a long, leisurely walk in a deeply wooded area with only squirrels and deer for companions rather than some of these perspiring males who kept strutting from one machine to the other, and whose sole intent was for a perfect body and some female adulation. But then Ally would be the first to admit that she was uncomfortable with her own sexuality. She didn’t see herself as others saw her. She looked in a mirror and saw a woman on the verge of being too thin, whereas most women would have been overjoyed to be built in her image. Of average height, Ally’s slim, finely toned body was strong and high-breasted with hips that would never spread. The striking combination of auburn hair and green eyes gave her youthful features a pixie appearance, rather than that of a sultry vixen. But there was nothing fey about Ally. No one would ever have guessed that she was a highly-trained operative within a secret branch of the government, or that her IQ was off the scale. She’d entered high school at the age of ten, graduating two years later. By the time she had turned seventeen, she had a Ph.D. in physics, another in criminology, and was considering another round of classes when she’d been recruited by SPEAR. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Her parents, intellectuals who were more concerned with their life paths than with hers, had left most of her upbringing to hired help and higher education, so it was no jolt for Ally to go from a college campus to the training ground of SPEAR.

But being so much younger than her fellow students at college had been a drawback socially. She had made no close friends. If anyone had happened to notice that the quiet little genius was no longer on campus, it was so much the better. At least she wouldn’t be ruining the grading curve for anyone else.

And for Ally, joining SPEAR was all a matter of readjusting priorities. There wasn’t much SPEAR’s instructors could teach her in the way of technology, but learning about covert activities and enduring the intense physical training put her in an entirely different world. There had been days when she wasn’t sure she would survive, yet she had. Now it was so much a part of her life, she rarely thought about the way it had been before.

Today was only the second day of a much needed vacation and making the decision to go to the gym had come in a weak moment. Now, as she neared the end of her workout, the muscles in her legs were weak and burning. She gritted her teeth and bared down on the pedals, giving up her last bit of energy. Just as the digital readout clicked over to read twenty miles, she began to ease off, letting her muscles adjust to stopping. Finally, as she let her feet slip out of the pedals, she slumped over the handlebars with sweat pouring down her neck and between her breasts, her heart thundering in her ears.

As she sat, her cell phone began to ring. Wearily, she slid off the bicycle seat and walked toward the bench where she’d left a fresh towel and her phone, wondering as she did, who could have possibly known she was here. As she picked it up to answer, she remembered she’d left Call Forwarding on her phone.

“Hello?”

“Alicia, we haven’t heard from you in a while.”

The cool, almost impersonal tone in her mother’s voice had long since ceased to hurt her. She draped the fresh towel around her neck and began mopping perspiration as she dropped onto the bench.

“I’ve been…gone,” Ally said, hesitating on the last word. There was never any option about discussing the cases she worked on with anyone, parent or no. In fact, discussion about SPEAR was nonexistent, because to the general public, SPEAR did not even exist.

“We assumed as much.” Then, as if it was no big deal, Mavis Corbin added, “Next week is your birthday, but your father and I are going to be out of the country. So, Happy Birthday, Alicia and many more.”

Ally ignored a quick surge of disappointment. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. It wouldn’t be the last.

“Thank you, Mother,” Ally said. “Where are you going this time?”

“Egypt. A whole new burial ground has been discovered. Your father is so excited. This is very important to us, you know.”

Ally grinned bitterly. She knew all too well what was important to her parents and she was low on the list. “Yes, Mother, I know. Have a good trip and thanks for calling.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Take care.”

Before Ally could respond, the line went dead. She hung up the receiver and headed for the showers. She had a sudden urge for a milkshake and a chocolate doughnut. Instead, a half hour later she was standing in line, waiting for her order of black coffee and a plain bagel to be filled.

“Four-fifty,” the clerk said, handing her a white sack with the top neatly folded and a steaming cup of coffee.

She paid, stuffed her change in the pocket of her sweatpants and headed for the door. It wasn’t until she was unlocking her car and the sack bumped against the door that she realized there was something more than a bagel inside. The hair crawled on the back of her neck as she slid behind the steering wheel and locked herself in. Then she set her coffee cup in the holder on the dash and opened the sack.

The small black cassette in the bottom of the sack could only mean one thing.

“Well, hell,” Ally muttered, as she slid the cassette into the stereo on the dash. Jonah’s deep, gravelly voice was familiar, as was the unusual way in which she’d been contacted. It was typical of the anonymity of SPEAR. Ordinarily she would have been excited about a new assignment, but she hadn’t even been home long enough to do laundry or have an all-night session watching her favorite movies.

She started the car, listening to the tape as she drove toward home, every now and then allowing herself a frown as she pinched off bites of the bagel and poked them into her mouth.

As far as assignments went it was unusual, although she couldn’t find fault with the location. She’d heard of the spa on Condor Mountain and had no problem at all taking advantage of some free R and R. And Easton Kirby, who was now the manager of the place, was a legend within the agency. Her curiosity piqued as Jonah’s spare remarks began to sink in. If she understood him correctly, and she was certain she did because Jonah was not a man to leave anything to the imagination, Jonah needed Easton Kirby on active duty and Kirby had refused. The tape ended with a final order.

Ally was to change his mind—in any way that she could.

She ejected the tape and tossed it back into the sack, well aware that within thirty seconds of it having been played, it would go blank, leaving no trace of ever having been recorded upon. She pulled into the driveway of her house and punched the garage door opener. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes snapping angrily as she waited for the garage door to go up.

“Change his mind?” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And how am I supposed to do that…drive him mad with my womanly wiles?”

Seconds later she pulled into the garage, lowered the door and then got out, but only after the door was completely shut. Her house key was in her hand as she swept the garage with a casual gaze before making a move toward the door. Once inside, she dumped her sweaty gym clothes on the washer and the bagel sack in the trash, then downed the last of her coffee before adding the empty cup to the lot.

The red light on her answering machine was blinking, but her mind was on the new assignment. What in blazes did one wear to coerce a reluctant operative back into the fold?

Almost a week later and a year older, Ally pulled into the parking lot of the Condor Mountain Resort and Spa, then sat for a moment, staring at the magnificence of the building and grounds. The four-story mixture of Gothic and Victorian architecture seemed to fit the starkness of the geography. Lush was not a word that described this part of the California coast. The mountainous area of the region had steep, and often narrow, winding roads, and the forestation of the area was sparse, often leaving bare spots in the rocky terrain. But there was a beauty to the land that seemed to fit the power of the waters that pounded the coast. Overhead, seagulls dipped and swooped, riding the air currents while searching for food, and she could hear the harsh, guttural barks of sea lions coming from the beach below. From where she was sitting, she could see the beginnings of a long, descending series of steps leading down the side of the hill toward the Pacific. The view was breathtaking and the weather sunny and breezy, which was typical for this time of year. She couldn’t help wishing this was going to be a “real” vacation and not another undercover assignment.

As she got out of the car and went around to the trunk to get her bags, she had to admit, her job this time was hardly on a par with what she normally did. At least she wouldn’t be posing as some wayward teenager or wild child in order to infiltrate some crime syndicate. All she had to do was convince Easton Kirby to come back on active duty. How difficult could that be?

She popped the trunk on her car and leaned in to get out her bag. As she did, a large shadow suddenly passed between her and the sun and she knew she was no longer alone. She straightened and turned, expecting a bellhop, or at the least an employee of the resort.

It was a man.

He was tall, so tall, and standing close—too close.

Slightly blinded from the sunlight behind him, she saw nothing but his silhouette. And then he stepped to one side to reach for her bag and she saw his face.

It was Easton Kirby himself—the man she’d come to meet.

Well, this makes it easy. At least I won’t have to wangle an introduction.

“Ms. Corbin, welcome to Condor Mountain,” he said, as he lifted her bag from the trunk of her car.

She thought nothing of the fact that he would know her on sight. The agency would have followed procedure and notified him ahead of time that an operative would be arriving.

“Thank you,” Ally said, a little disconcerted by his height and the way he was looking at her.

She was five inches over five feet tall and he seemed a good foot taller. And, there was a look in his eyes that made her shiver. She shrugged off the thought that he would know why she’d come, telling herself that it was guilt that was making her nervous.

“This is certainly wonderful service. I only just arrived.”

“I know,” he said softly, then looked her straight in the eyes. “I was waiting for you.”

Ally’s lips parted in shock. But only a little and only for a brief moment. As she followed him up the steps and into the hotel, she couldn’t shake the notion that he wasn’t the only one who’d been waiting. She had a desperate feeling that she’d been waiting for him, too—all of her life.

Oh fine, she thought. Now is not the time for my stifled hormones to kick in. Just because he’s sexy, and good-looking, and I’m supposed to talk this man into something he doesn’t want to do, doesn’t mean I have to complicate this more than it already is.

They reached the registration desk. Before she could speak, he was bypassing it and leading her toward the elevators.

“You’re already checked in,” he said. “Follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”

The doors opened and they stepped inside. She watched as he stuck a key into a slot and gave it a turn. Immediately the elevator car started to ascend. She grabbed on to the railing to steady herself, then noted that they had bypassed the fourth floor.

“I thought this hotel only had four floors. Where are we going? Heaven?”

For the first time since her arrival he looked at her and grinned and her heart dropped right to her toes. Oh lordy. I am so out of my league.

“No, but some people tend to think the view might be similar,” he said. “There’s a penthouse suite on the ocean side of the hotel that’s not visible from the front entrance. It’s reserved for special guests such as yourself.”

“Oh,” she said, and then looked down at her feet so that he might not see the remorse she was feeling. He was being nice to her because he thought she was over the edge. Slipping. Burned-out. All the adjectives one might use to describe a SPEAR operative on the verge of a breakdown.

He looked at her then, reading her sudden silence as having been reminded of something terrible that must have happened to her on the job and remembered that when SPEAR operatives were ever sent here, it was usually for mental healing.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“No, it wasn’t that,” she began, but the car had stopped and the doors were opening and Easton Kirby was already on the move. She followed, kicking herself for not knowing how to draw men into casual conversation.

They exited into what appeared to be a large foyer. East punched in a series of numbers on the security panel beside the door and then turned the knob.

“Your home away from home,” he said, leading the way inside. “I hope your stay will be comfortable.” He set her suitcase down in the bedroom, then handed her the key and a card. “The security code is written on the back. My number is on the front. If you need anything at any time of the night or day, all you have to do is call me.”

She took the key and the card and slipped them into her pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Kirby.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Corbin, and please…call me East.”

“If you’ll call me Ally, it’s a deal,” she said, offering her hand.

When he took it, she felt as if she’d been treading water all of her life and someone had just offered her a line to safety. This womanly, helpless feeling was so foreign to Ally that she didn’t know how to react.

“Well then,” she said, quickly releasing his hold. “Now that we’re supposed to be friends, does this mean I don’t have to tip you?”

East threw back his head and laughed. A deep-from-the-belly kind of laugh that sent shivers up Ally’s spine. She grinned, pleased that she’d gotten some sort of positive response from him.

Still chuckling, East shook his head. “No, you don’t have to tip me and we start serving dinner around seven. The restaurant stays open until midnight so remember, if you need anything…”

“Yes, I know,” she said, patting her pocket where she’d put his card. “I’ll use Ma Bell to reach out and touch.”

His smile stilled as he gave her a dark, unreadable look.

“Touching is good,” he said quietly, and headed for the door, leaving Ally to put her own interpretation on what he’d just said.

A shudder racked her as she watched him leave. What on earth had she gotten herself into? Then she gritted her teeth and headed for her suitcase. The least she could do was unpack. There were a good four hours of daylight left and a beach to explore.

Something told her that this operation was going to take time. Easton Kirby didn’t strike her as malleable. As she went to the closet with an armful of clothes, she couldn’t help wondering why Jonah hadn’t just ordered this man back to active service. What sort of scenario could possibly have occurred that Jonah would allow a man’s personal life to interfere with his duty?

As East was dressing for dinner, he caught himself thinking of Ally Corbin again. It wasn’t the first time it had happened since her arrival, and something told him it wouldn’t be the last. There was something about her that intrigued him. She was such a mixture of contradictions. Naive, yet tough. He knew what it took to become an agent for SPEAR, so he respected that her skills equaled his own. Yet there was an innocence about her that surprised him. He had no way of knowing that naivete came in not knowing herself. She was beyond book smart, but she didn’t have the vaguest idea of how to live a normal life. She’d never been in love, she’d never even made love. Had he known, it might have changed his attitude completely. But all he saw was a beautiful and intriguing young woman who had endured and survived, and was here to heal.

He debated with himself about wearing a tie, then decided against it, opting for the casual look. For some reason, his mind slipped to Jonah, wondering if he’d found someone else to help him out. It had been a week since he’d gotten the call, and he hadn’t slept well one night since. Then he reminded himself that was part of his past and he couldn’t let it matter.

With a last glance in the mirror, he grabbed his sport coat and exited his apartment. It was time to make an appearance in the dining room.

The Condor Resort ran on schedules, not unlike those of a cruise ship, and sitting at the captain’s table, or in this case the manager’s, was considered an honor. It was something the previous manager had instigated and East had simply followed suit. Tonight he was actually looking forward to the event because he’d sent a note to Ally’s room earlier with an invitation for her to join him. There was nothing personal about it. It wasn’t as if she’d be the only one there. There would be six others, not counting himself, and a good reason for her not to eat alone. If she was as troubled as he’d been when he came, he knew she would need to focus on something besides herself. And there was no better way to achieve that than to sit at a dinner table with six perfect strangers—seven counting him—and remember that there was a world outside the realm of SPEAR.

He told himself he was just doing his job. And he believed it, all the way to the dining room and right up to the point when Ally entered the room.

It was the traditional, little black dress—simple in style, skimpy in fabric—and on Ally Corbin, pure dynamite. East knew he was staring, but he couldn’t seem to stop. It wasn’t as if he never saw beautiful women, because he did—daily. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t have opportunities to enjoy their company. It was that he usually chose not to. But this time it was different. There was an urgency within him to connect with her on something other than this ephemeral, holiday basis. He kept thinking that if he let her leave without pursuing this desire, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Then he shoved back the thought and stood, smiling cordially as he pulled out a chair and seated her. He needed his head examined. She was here to recuperate. Period.

He touched her shoulder briefly. “I’m so glad you felt like joining us. The food is particularly exceptional tonight.” Then he added with a wink. “I know because I stole a couple of bites when the chef wasn’t looking.”

Everyone at the table laughed along with Ally as East took his seat at the head of the table.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she said, and pretended that her heart was not in her mouth as she gave him a surreptitious glance.

Mercy, but that man certainly knew how to fill out a dinner jacket and slacks. She’d heard of clothes making the man, but in this case, it was just the opposite. There was barely time for her to be introduced to the others before a waiter appeared to take their orders.

And so the evening began.

Ally sat through one course after another, smiling and nodding and offering small bits of herself into the conversation. But her heart wasn’t in it. Every time she looked at East, she fought rising panic. How could she possibly broach the subject of her mission without angering him? What could she say to convince him to go back on active duty that Jonah hadn’t already said? She watched the way his mouth tilted and curved as a smile tugged at his lips and the way his eyes glittered when something moved him to a passionate response. Every time he reached for his wineglass, she caught herself staring at the way his massive hand would curl so delicately around the fragile stem.

She glanced down at the napkin she’d wadded in her lap and sighed. Never in her life had she felt so inadequate. She sighed again and looked up, only to find herself pinned under the dark, watchful stare of her host. Heat rose up her neck to her cheeks, spreading across her face like water lapping against the shore. Good Lord. She was blushing and he could see. If he grinned, she was going to have to hate him, and that thought alone made her mad.

To her relief, he was the first to look away. Soon afterward, Ally made her excuses and left, fully intent on going back to her room. She never made it past the lobby.

“Ms. Corbin…Ally…wait!”

She pivoted sharply, surprised that he’d followed her.

“Are you all right?”

The gentleness in his voice was almost her undoing. He was being so kind and when he found out why she was here, it would ruin everything. Then her shoulders slumped. Ruin everything? What was the matter with her? There wasn’t anything to ruin.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just tired.”

East hesitated, for some reason, still reluctant to let her go. “Would you like to take a walk? Maybe some fresh air would do you good.”

Her heart skipped a beat. The perfect opportunity to establish a little one-on-one rapport. For business reasons of course.

“Yes, I believe I would,” she said. “Should I get a sweater?”

His gaze raked her bare, slender arms and then up the length of her neck, to her mouth, before he made himself focus.

“If you get cold, you can use my jacket.”

“You’ve been far too kind already. All this personal service is going to go to my head and now you’re offering your jacket? Are we still on a no-tip basis?”

He grinned. Damned if he didn’t like her attitude as much as that dress she was wearing.

“Something tells me it would be hard to feed you a line,” East said. “To use one of my grandfather’s favorite phrases, you’re a saucy little thing, aren’t you?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. I certainly never thought of myself as saucy. My parents always said I was forthright. Alicia is a forthright child. Not funny. Not pretty. Not even cute. Just forthright.” She smiled, unaware of the poignancy in her voice. “What does it take to be saucy?”

At that moment, she reminded him of his son, Jeff. At least the way Jeff had been when they met. A little wary of East and a whole lot unsure of himself. His heart went out to her then, in a way it might never have done, otherwise.

“I don’t exactly know,” he said gently. “Maybe a little extra gumption and a whole lot of guts.”

Suddenly, the conversation had gotten too personal for Ally and she didn’t know where to go with it. Teasing with the opposite sex in any form, whether it was flirtatious or sexual, was not something she could do.

She glanced toward the door. “About that walk?”

He took off his coat and draped it around her shoulders.

The warmth of his body was still on the fabric as it wrapped around her. She swallowed nervously. “I didn’t say I was cold.”

“Good. Now you won’t have to,” he said shortly, and took her by the elbow and led her out into the night.

Chapter 3

Despite the well-lit grounds surrounding the hotel, East headed directly for the shadows, taking Ally with him. In a way, she understood his need to walk in darkness. In their business, anonymity was often the difference between life and death, and even though East no longer put his life on the line on a daily basis, old habits obviously died hard.

“Is this the way to the beach?”

He stopped and turned, a shadowy silhouette against the night.

“No. Would you rather go down to the beach?”

She started to deny his question, then convinced herself that truth, at least as far as she could take it, would probably work better between them.

“Yes, actually I would, if it’s not too much trouble?”

From the tone of his voice, she thought he smiled.

“Trouble? To walk on a beach in the moonlight with a beautiful woman? Ms. Corbin, you crush my ego.”

Ally stifled a snort of disbelief. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kirby, but your reputation precedes you. From what I’ve been told, both your ego and reputation are indestructible.”

When he answered, the smile was gone from his voice.

“If only that were so,” he said, then took her by the arm. “Allow me. The steps are lit, but uneven. And when we get to the beach, I’m afraid those shoes you’re wearing will be more of a hindrance than help.”

Thankful for the cover of darkness, Ally rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. She’d royally botched her first opportunity to do what she’d come to do. She was supposed to talk him into returning to work for Jonah, not remind him of why he quit in the first place. When his fingers curled around the flesh of her upper arm, she swallowed nervously, picturing the way they’d looked curling around that fragile stem on his wineglass. Long. Strong. Deadly.

As they descended the well-lit steps to the beach below, the silence between them was awkward, but when they reached the sand and Ally bent down to take off her shoes, something changed. Maybe it was the sound of rolling surf, or the path of moonlight stretching upon the water. And maybe, it was just the fact that in that moment, Ally quit thinking about why she’d come and began to focus on where she was. She turned, staring in awe at the luminous majesty before her.

“How beautiful.”

“Yes…beautiful,” East said.

Ally was so caught up in the view, she didn’t realize that he was staring at her and not the moon.

Time passed. The moon climbed higher in the night sky and the wind rose with it. A sense of sadness came upon her, knowing that this night and the spell of it all would never come again in quite the same way. Impulsively, she took a step toward the ocean, but East’s grip on her arm tightened, and he held her back.

“It’s too cold,” he said softly.

She started to argue. All she’d wanted was to feel the pull of the ocean against her feet to see if it matched the rhythm of her heart, and then she realized that coddling a flight of fancy was not why she’d come. And, since she’d already broken the tenuous connection they’d made with her thoughtless remark earlier, she felt obliged to call it a night.

“Of course, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s late and I’m sure you have more important things to do than baby-sit me.” She handed him his sports coat. “Thank you for the loan. I think I’ll go to bed now.”

East found himself holding his jacket as Ally bolted toward the steps leading back to the hotel.

“Well, hell,” East muttered, then followed her ascent, but by the time he entered the lobby, she was nowhere in sight.

East’s sleepless night was exacerbated by the turmoil to which he awoke the next morning. Both a knock on his door and the frantic ringing of both his cell phone and telephone had him on his feet and grabbing for a pair of sweats before he’d barely opened his eyes. He grabbed the cell phone on the way to the door, growling a response into the receiver as he unlocked the door.

The chef was on the cell phone yelling in his ear as Foster Martin, the assistant manager, dashed inside his apartment with a separate, but equally frustrating problem. He clenched his jaw, motioning for Foster to sit as he turned his attention to the man on his cell phone.

“Please hold a moment, my other phone is ringing.”

He answered the phone on the table without showing his frustration.

“This is Kirby.”

“Mr. Kirby, this is Detweiler.”

East flinched. The only time his head of security called was when there was a problem.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“There’s a woman giving birth in Room two, one, five.”

East groaned. The last time this happened, the woman filed a lawsuit against them for not having a doctor on staff. She didn’t win, but it was a hassle that lasted the better part of six months. He didn’t want a repeat performance.

“You’ve called 9-1-1?”

“They’re on the way.”

“How far along is she?”

Detweiler began to stutter. “Far along? Hell if I know. She’s at the screaming stage, if that’s what you want to know.”

East almost chuckled. If he remembered correctly, Detweiler was a bachelor.

“I don’t suppose there’s a doctor registered?” East asked.

Foster jumped up from where he’d been sitting, waving his hands even more in an attempt to get East’s attention.

“There is, there is,” Foster cried. “His name is Butcher. I remember thinking that would be a terrible name for a doctor to have.”

East gave Foster a nod and then returned to his conversation with his security chief.

“Check with registration. There’s a Doctor Butcher staying here. Get him to the woman’s room asap. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“He’s in three hundred,” Foster said. “I checked him in myself yesterday.”

“Did you hear that?” East asked.

“Yeah, Room three hundred,” Detweiler said, and hung up.

Foster started to speak when East motioned to the cell phone he was still holding.

“Hello, Pete, you still there?” East asked.

A soft curse rolled across East’s eardrum, followed by a burst of anger. “Pierre, Pierre, I told you to call me Pierre. And I do not like to be kept waiting.”

East’s voice lowered. “Look Fullbright, pull that French stuff with someone who hasn’t known you since sixth grade, okay?”

Pete Fullbright cursed once more, with emphasis, then sighed.

“The entire meat shipment is bad. What the hell do you suggest we serve three hundred and forty-four guests today? Hmmm?”

“Call Antonelli’s Meat Market. It’s just a twenty minute drive from here as opposed to the two-hour trip from L.A. Have them deliver whatever they have that’s freshest, and to hell with the cost. We’ll take it out of our regular shipper’s hide later.”

“Bien, bien,” Pete said. “Merci.”

East grinned. “Hey, Pete, you need to practice that accent a little more. It still sounds like you’re saying mercy.”

“Go to hell,” Pete muttered, then added, “…boss. Go to hell, boss.”

“Been there, done that,” East said, and disconnected, turning his attention to the man on his couch. “Now, what’s up with you?”

Foster Martin stood abruptly, his hands fluttering about his chest like a wounded bird trying to find the strength to land.

“The computer is down. At least I think it’s down. Anyway, it won’t come up and we have guests waiting to check out and guests waiting to check in. I’ve already called our usual repair service and they’re on some emergency call on the other side of L.A. Said it would be this afternoon before they can get out here.”

“Then call someone else,” East said, and headed for the kitchenette. Before any other disaster presented itself, he needed fortification in the form of caffeine.

“But…”

East pivoted, staring sharply at the small, pale man and tried to remind himself why he’d ever hired him. Then he frowned, remembering. He was the Attorney General’s nephew and he hadn’t hired him. He’d just appeared one day with a letter of recommendation written on a letterhead he couldn’t ignore.

“Foster, is there a phone book in your desk?”

“Why…yes there is. Do you want to borrow it?” Foster asked, anxious to please.

East bit his lip to keep from shouting. “No, but I want you to use it. Find the yellow pages. Find someone who can work on our specific system, and get them out here, okay?”

“Yes…yes, okay,” Foster said, and bolted toward the door.

“Oh, and Foster…”

He stopped and spun, his hands still fluttering. “Yes?”

“About the guests wanting to check in or out, use a pen and paper and do it like we used to before computers were ever invented.”

“Yes. All right,” he said, and shut the door behind him.

The ensuing silence lasted long enough for East to get his coffee made. As it was perking, he quickly dressed and made a trip to Room two hundred and fifteen to check on the expectant mother. To his relief, he found Doctor Butcher in the act of delivery and a couple of paramedics on their way down the hall, although the young woman was wailing at the top of her voice because her husband was nowhere in sight. It seems he’d gone out for his morning jog and was missing the birth of their first child. At that point, East made a quick call downstairs to send a couple of staffers in search of the man. Once he was certain that everything was under control, he dashed back to his room. After a couple of cups of coffee and a shower and shave, he headed downstairs fully expecting to find chaos at the registration desk. Instead, the desk was almost empty and only the normal ebb and flow of traffic was moving through the lobby. Mildly surprised, he moved behind the counter then into the staff room where the mainframe computer was housed.

Ally looked up from the chair in which she was sitting. “Good morning,” she said, then returned her attention to the computer terminal in front of her.

East’s mouth dropped. “This area is off-limits to the guests,” he said, then remembered who he was talking to and changed the direction of his questions. “What are you doing?”

Her fingers paused on the keys and the look she gave him was just shy of a smirk.

“I think my security clearance is high enough that I can be trusted,” she drawled, then tapped a couple more keys, hit the Save button, and leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smile. “There, that should do it.”

“Do what?” East said, moving to look over her shoulder.

She stood. “Keep your system up and running for a few more years.”

“You fixed it?”

She nodded as she moved toward the door. “I’m going to get some breakfast now. That’s where I was going when I saw all the commotion. I offered to help and your assistant, what’s his name…?”

“Foster. Foster Martin.”

“Oh yes, Foster.” She grinned. “He’s not exactly cool under fire, is he?”

East sighed. “Was spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth?”

Her grin widened. “Only the left one.”

“Great,” East muttered, then shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. He glanced at the computer, which seemed to be running normally. “What did you do to it?”

Her smile stilled and she shrugged. “Oh…just dug around a little on the hard drive, punched in a few commands and gave it a new lease on life, so to speak.”

“That’s impossible. There are passwords.”

She folded her hands in front of her like a child about to recite.

“No, it’s not impossible and yes, I know.”

He arched an eyebrow. “So your line of expertise for SPEAR is in computers?”

Ally shook her head. “Not really. They use me mostly for undercover work. Without makeup, I can pass for a teenager pretty easy.”

“Computers are a hobby then?”

The smile on her face kept getting smaller. “No, I just know stuff,” she said, and once again started toward the door. She wanted to get out before he got to the part where he found out that her IQ was bigger than his ego. It always turned men off and she didn’t want to see that happen again. Not now. Not with him.

But East wasn’t going to let go. He caught her by the elbow as she started to pass.

“Stuff? You call that stuff? It took three technicians two days to set up this system. It’s complicated as hell and linked to Monarch’s entire chain of resorts and you not only got into the system, but had it up and running within thirty minutes?”

Ally stopped, her chin lifting as she met his gaze.

“Actually it was about ten. I know things. Lots of things, okay? Can we leave it at that?” Then she quietly pulled away from his grasp.

East hadn’t realized he was still touching her and took a quick step back, aware that he’d invaded her space and even more aware that she didn’t like it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be…” He sighed and started over. “Look, I guess what I should be saying is thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She was all the way to the door when his voice stopped her.

“Ally.”

She bit her lip, then turned. “Yes?”

“Intelligence isn’t something to be ashamed of.”

“Intelligence is hardly the word society uses to describe someone like me,” she said, unaware of the anger in her voice.

East moved toward her, touching her shoulder, then dropping his hand. His voice was soft, his gaze compelling. She found herself unable to look away.

“Exactly what do they call someone like you, then?”

“Freak of nature was the favorite phrase at my alma mater.”

“How old were you when you graduated?”

Her gaze turned inward, remembering how ill-equipped she’d been at ten years old to handle the social aspect of higher education.

“From high school…ten. From college…seventeen. But that was with three Ph.D.s and a minor in foreign languages, six to be exact. I was considering another semester or two when SPEAR recruited me. The rest is history.”

East kept looking at her, trying to imagine what it would be like to live with so much knowledge and not go crazy at the rest of the world’s ineptitude. He gave her a long, cursory stare.

“So, what you’re saying is, if I asked real nice, you could do my taxes for me next year without breaking a sweat?”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared hard at his face. “Are you teasing me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She managed a smile.

He pointed toward the door with his chin. “Still hungry?”

Her stomach grumbled. “Starving.”

“Then follow me. I’ve got an in with the cook. He makes the best waffles this side of St. Louis.”

“Who’s in St. Louis?” she asked as they headed out the door.

“Aunt Dinah. Hers are the best, but don’t tell Pete I said so.”

“Who’s Pete?”

“My fake French chef,” East said. “Do you like them with whipped cream and strawberries, or are you a syrup fan?”

“Actually, I favor peanut butter and grape jelly.”

East grinned. “Order it on the side or Pete will have himself a fit.”

She pursed her lips primly. “Pete needs to learn to savor the finer things in life.”

East laughed aloud.

As they exited the office, a frantic young man in jogging clothes came running through the lobby. He took one look at East and started yelling.

“My wife. My wife. They said she was in labor.”

This would be the missing father, East thought, and took him by the shoulders, fixing him with a calm, steady gaze.

“Take it easy, Dad. She’s fine. There’s a doctor and a couple of paramedics with her now.”

The expression on the man’s face went from shock to joy.

“Dad?”

“I think I heard them say it was a boy,” East said.

“Oh man, oh man. I’m a father. I’m a father,” he cried.

“Yeah, so am I,” East said. “Congratulations.”

The man bolted for the stairs, unwilling to wait for an elevator.

East was still smiling when he turned back to Ally.

“Sorry. It isn’t usually so hectic around here.”

“Compared to my job, this is nothing,” Ally said.

The look on her face made him hurt. He remembered all too well what that job could be like, but before he could comment, his cell phone rang again. Within moments of answering, he began to frown.

“Hang on a minute, please,” he told his caller, then touched Ally’s arm apologetically. “I’m sorry. I have to take this call. Why don’t you head for the terrace. There’s a buffet set up, or you can order for both of us. Either way, I’ll be there shortly.”

“Sure, but what do you want?”

“Just tell the waiter I’ll have my usual.” Then he added. “Don’t wait on me. I wouldn’t want those waffles to get cold.”

“Actually, they’re better that way.”

He shook his head and then chuckled. “Do you have any other interesting habits I should know of?”

“I don’t know,” Ally said. “Exactly what do you think you should know about me?”

East’s smile slipped as his eyes suddenly darkened. “I’m not sure, are you?”

Suddenly, his question took on a whole other meaning. She looked away, and then angry with herself for being so gutless around this man, made herself look at him.

“Around you, I’m not sure of anything.” Then she doubled up her fists and thumped the sides of her legs in frustration. “And, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you something like that. Damn it all to hell, I am not good at this stuff.”

She stomped away, leaving East to make of her outburst what he would. Then he remembered his caller and put the phone back to his ear.

Ally sat on the terrace with her chin in her hands, staring out at the Pacific. This whole thing was a fiasco. Jonah must have been desperate to even consider someone like her for this task. She kept wanting to blurt out the reason she was here and get it over with. Subterfuge was a part of her life, but she’d never used it on one of the “good guys.” Deceiving East didn’t feel right and the longer she played the part of a stressed-out operative, the closer it came to being the truth. If she told him now, the worst that could happen was he’d just tell her to get lost. Then all she had to do was tell Jonah she failed.

She sighed.

Therein lay part of her problem. In all of Ally’s life, she’d never failed at anything, except maybe relationships.

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she continued to watch the breakers slamming against the rocks. There had to be a way to accomplish this.

A few moments later, a waiter brought her food, with the comment that he would serve East’s order when he arrived.

Ally nodded.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked.

“Not right now,” she said. “Thanks.”

She reached for the side dish of peanut butter as he walked away and began carefully smearing each square in her waffle with an equal amount of the rich, creamy spread. Once having achieved symmetry, she did the same with the grape jelly until the waffle was all but obliterated beneath the concoction. Then, with a knife and fork, she cut into the waffle, separating a perfect three-square by three-square bite and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes rolled with appreciation as she began to chew.

East stood in the doorway leading out to the terrace, stealing a moment to watch Ally unobserved. At first glance, there wasn’t anything really remarkable about her. She was of average height, without an ounce of spare flesh on her body. Her clothes were ordinary; a pair of navy slacks and a white, linen shirt hanging loose about her hips. Her hair was short and capped her head in a thicket of auburn curls and her eyes were the color of new grass. And yet as he watched her methodically preparing her food, he understood her need for control.

He could only imagine what it must have been like for a child such as she; born with an intelligence beyond understanding into a family that didn’t have time for her, she must have felt like a misfit from the beginning. He didn’t know, but he would guess she’d never had a “best friend” in her life and wondered if, as a child, she’d ever spent the night giggling with other girls or playing with dolls. Being a SPEAR operative wasn’t conducive to gathering close friends, either. Too many secrets that couldn’t be shared.

When she slowly and carefully cut another perfect square of waffle and popped it into her mouth, he was struck by an overwhelming urge to lean over her shoulder and take a great big bite out of the middle of that waffle just to see what she’d do when things went out of control.

At that moment, her waiter stopped at her table and topped off her coffee. When she lifted her head to smile and thank him, East pictured himself leaning down and tasting the peanut butter and jelly waffle on her lips. In spite of how physically resilient he knew she must be, there was something very fragile about her insecure smile and the curve of her cheek.

But he’d been too accustomed to denying himself to do anything so foolish as to get involved with a woman—especially an operative. After what he’d done, he didn’t deserve happiness. It was enough that he was still alive. The kid he’d hit with his car was not.

He shoved aside his personal feelings as he strode to their table and took his seat. “Looks good,” he said, pointing toward the food on her plate as the waiter filled his cup.

“Umm,” she nodded, still chewing.

“Your food is ready, sir,” the waiter said. “I’ll be right back with it.”

“Good, I’m starved,” East said, taking a careful sip of the hot brew in his cup.

Suddenly, Ally gasped as a seagull swooped into their line of vision, filched a piece of left-over toast from a nearby table that had yet to be bussed and then disappeared over the roof of the hotel.

“They’re pests, but this is their territory and there’s little we can do about them if we choose to eat outdoors.”

“I rather like them,” Ally said. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

East watched her pick up her knife and start to cut through her food, again sectioning off that same three-by-three square bite. Her forehead was knotted in serious concentration and she was gripping her knife and fork so hard that her knuckles were almost white. He frowned, believing that she was closer to a breakdown than he first suspected. Instinctively, his need to help her kicked in and he leaned forward.

“Why do you do that?”

She paused and looked up. “Do what?”

He pointed to the waffle. “Cut your food so precisely.”

Startled, she glanced down at her plate then felt herself flushing with embarrassment. Freak. Always a freak.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose it’s just a habit.” She laid down the knife and fork and then folded her hands in her lap, her enjoyment of her food suddenly gone.

“Ah, damn, I didn’t mean to upset you,” East muttered.

Ally made herself smile. “Don’t be silly. I don’t get upset.”

That cold, emotionless wall had gone up between them again and East found himself resenting its presence. By God, he was going to get an emotional response from her, even if it was nothing but anger.

“Yes, you do. Everyone does at one time or another.”

Ally bristled. She hadn’t known this man even twenty-four hours and he thought he “knew” what she was thinking?

“Listen, Mr. Kirby, you don’t know me, so how can you sit there and pretend you know my behavior patterns?”

The flush on her face had gone straight to her cheeks. They were fiery with anger, matching the glitter in her eyes. East leaned back in his chair, satisfied with what he’d done. She didn’t know it yet, but she would thank him one day for putting her mind on something besides the hell that had driven her here.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked, pointing to the leftover food on her plate.

Prepared for another stinging rebuttal, his question took her off guard. “Umm…I, uh…don’t suppose.”

“Good,” he said, and pulled the plate in front of him, then picked up the waffle like a piece of toast and took a hearty bite. As he chewed, his eyebrows arched in surprised appreciation. Then he swallowed. “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad, at all,” and opened his mouth again.

Suddenly, Ally regained her sense of self and snatched the waffle out of his hands just in time to save it from another bite.

“I changed my mind,” she said. “You eat what you ordered and I’ll eat mine.”

Ally stared down at her plate and the chaos he’d made of the waffle. Sighing, she reached for her fork when she heard him clear his throat. She looked up, glaring at the smug expression on his face. Damn him. There’s nothing wrong with being a little bit fussy about one’s food.

“What?” she asked.

He shrugged, as if to say he didn’t know what she was asking.

“That’s what I thought,” she snapped. As she began trimming off the uneven spot he’d bitten into, she heard him chuckle.

“Just because I don’t want to share my food, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me,” she muttered.

East’s grin stilled. He leaned forward. “Ally.”

“What?” she mumbled, refusing to look up.

“I was just teasing you. There isn’t a damn thing wrong with you, do you hear me?”

She paused, letting an old pain resettle itself around the region of her heart. Then, just to prove she was as outrageous as the next, she set her jaw and cut a reckless swath through the chilling waffle, slashing off a diamond-shaped bite, rather than her usual, perfect square. Then she gave him a “take that” look and stuffed the bite into her mouth just as their waiter appeared with East’s breakfast.

East hid a grin as the waiter set down his food. Moments later, he dug into his scrambled eggs and bacon. As he ate, he couldn’t help thinking they’d never tasted so good and wondered if it was the waffle appetizer that had piqued his appetite, or the company he was in. Either way, for a day that had started off so chaotically, it was turning into something very interesting.

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