This wasn’t about the Phoenix or an assignment or surveillance

This was only about a woman whose hands clung to him as she trembled beneath him. A woman who whispered his name, even in the throes of her own fulfillment. A woman who matched him movement for movement until they climaxed together, clinging to one another like two lost souls.

Finally the sexual storm passed, leaving John again too drained to move. Only then did he realize that the dynamics of what he’d been sent here to do had been inevitably changed by what had just happened between them. Like it or not, Kelly Lockett was no longer just the sister of the man he had been sent to investigate.

Innocent bystander or in it up to her neck, she was also a woman to whom he had just made love. And he knew that would have an impact on every other decision he’d make during the course of this assignment.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

The holidays are upon us! We have six dazzling stories of intrigue that will make terrific stocking stuffers—not to mention a well-deserved reward for getting all your shopping done early….

Take a breather from the party planning and unwrap Rita Herron’s latest offering, A Warrior’s Mission—the next exciting installment of COLORADO CONFIDENTIAL, featuring a hot-blooded Cheyenne secret agent! Also this month, watch for The Third Twin—the conclusion of Dani Sinclair’s HEARTSKEEP trilogy that features an identical triplet heiress marked for murder who seeks refuge in the arms of a rugged lawman.

The joyride continues with Under Surveillance by highly acclaimed author Gayle Wilson. This second book in the PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD series has an undercover agent discovering that his simple surveillance job of a beautiful woman-in-jeopardy is filled with complications. Be there from the start when B.J. Daniels launches her brand-new miniseries, CASCADES CONCEALED, about a close-knit northwest community that’s visited by evil. Don’t miss the first unforgettable title, Mountain Sheriff.

As a special gift-wrapped treat, three terrific stories in one volume. Look for Boys in Blue by reader favorites Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor about three long-lost New Orleans cop brothers who unite to reel in a killer. And rounding off a month of nonstop thrills and chills, a pregnant woman and her wrongly incarcerated husband must set aside their stormy past to bring the real culprit to justice in For the Sake of Their Baby by Alice Sharpe.

Best wishes to all of our loyal readers for a joyous holiday season!

Enjoy,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Under Surveillance
Gayle Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Five-time RITA® Award finalist and RITA® Award winner Gayle Wilson has written twenty-seven novels and two novellas for Harlequin/Silhouette. She has won more than forty awards and nominations for her work.

Gayle still lives in Alabama, where she was born, with her husband of thirty-three years. She loves to hear from readers. Write to her at P.O. Box 3277, Hueytown, AL 35023. Visit Gayle online at http://suspense.net/gayle-wilson.

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

NSA

AGENT PROFILE

NAME: | JOHN EDMONDS
DATE OF BIRTH: | SEPTEMBER 27, 1965
ASSIGNED TEAM: | CLASSIFIED
SPECIAL SKILLS: | Hand-to-hand combat; expert marksman; cryptanalyst; skilled in intelligence analysis; electronic warfare expert.
AGENT EVALUATION: | Independent, determined and highly motivated. Capable of thinking outside the box.
STATUS: | Retired from government service
CURRENT ADDRESS: | The Phoenix Brotherhood

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Kelly Lockett—She had inherited the charitable foundation her dead brother had founded. The only trouble was she had inherited his enemies, as well.

John Edmonds—A former NSA agent, the Phoenix newcomer had wanted a real case, something he could get his teeth into. He hadn’t been prepared for the high society lady who went with it.

Griff Cabot—Griff never expected the minor assignment he’d given the one Phoenix agent he doubted to rock the foundations of Washington and possibly the country.

Catherine Suttle—The ultimate Beltway insider, Catherine knew everybody in D.C. who mattered. Did she hold the key that would unravel the mystery of the secret organization known as The Covenant?

Bertha Reynolds—She had warned Chad Lockett that the charitable foundation he’d built was in trouble, but he hadn’t seemed interested. Had that misjudgment cost him his life?

Mark Daniels—Cast into the role of big brother by Chad’s death, Mark wanted a very different relationship with Kelly. How far was he willing to go to arrange that?

Hugh Donaldson—No one knew more about the dealings of the Legacy than its chief financial officer. The real question was what else he might know.

Leon Clements—The black sheep of a prominent Maryland family, Leon nursed a deep-seated bitterness that might have driven him to desperate measures.

Trevor Holcomb—He had been responsible for the failed security arrangements on the night of the Legacy Auction. Poor planning, or an attempt to carry out a secret agenda?

For Mollie, my son’s wife and the daughter of my heart.

Contents

Prologue

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

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Prologue

It had gotten cramped being in Griff Cabot’s doghouse. And it would come as no surprise to anyone who knew him that John Edmonds didn’t like being there.

“More surveillance,” he said.

It had not been a question, but the man across the desk raised his head, leveling a pair of remarkably piercing eyes at him. “It is your area of expertise,” Griff said.

“Among others.”

John was careful to keep any hint of anger from his voice. He had worked for the National Security Agency for several years, but Cabot was well aware of the other skills he’d brought to this organization. And they both understood why he wasn’t being allowed to use them.

“Surveillance is the one that’s needed on this.”

Griff’s gaze fell back to the paperwork he had been in the process of completing. Perhaps because of his previous position as assistant deputy director of the CIA, Cabot kept meticulous records. Each of his operatives was still extensively debriefed at the end of a mission.

Actually, although the Phoenix was a private concern, it functioned very much like the old External Security Team Griff had run at the agency. John had not been a member of that team, and he’d often wondered if that was part of the problem.

As soon as he’d heard about the work the Phoenix was doing, he had approached Cabot with a request to join. In the beginning he had been utilized on a variety of the wide-ranging cases the group undertook. After he’d helped Elizabeth Richards escape, however, that had no longer been true.

He had clearly understood that he was going against Griff’s wishes when he’d done that. He had felt, however, that helping Elizabeth reach Rafe Sinclair was important enough that he was willing to take whatever punishment his action would bring. He had just never imagined that chastisement would go on this long.

“Any idea how soon I’ll again be allowed to do something beyond surveillance?”

Cabot’s eyes lifted once more, regarding him steadily, but the head of the Phoenix didn’t answer.

“If you want me to quit, Griff,” John said, meeting that cold stare, “just say so.”

“I’m not trying to run you off.”

“Then forgive me for being dense, but what the hell are you trying to do?”

Griff’s lips pursed. When he opened them, he said exactly what John had expected. “I’m trying to determine if you’re capable of following orders. Especially those you don’t like.”

“If I hadn’t helped Elizabeth, Rafe would be dead,” John said patiently. “Would you have preferred that?”

“You believe the end justifies the means.”

“In that situation. Rafe was operating under a handicap no one was aware of. You had given him your word that you wouldn’t interfere. I’d made no such promise. Elizabeth’s argument that Rafe shouldn’t face that kind of danger alone made sense to me. In the end—”

“The salient point,” Cabot interrupted, “is that I’d given my word the Phoenix wouldn’t interfere. It was what Rafe wanted. I’d vowed to honor his wish in exchange for his undertaking a job no one else could have done. You were aware of what I’d promised on behalf of the Phoenix, and yet you chose to disregard it.”

Which was all true, as far as it went. In John’s opinion it didn’t go nearly far enough.

“This isn’t personal, believe me,” Griff went on after a few seconds of awkward silence. “I’m responsible for the people who work for me. I have to know that when I send out an operative, he’ll follow orders.”

“You hadn’t given me any orders. Not concerning Elizabeth.”

“Which is the only reason you’re still here. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I won’t do it again. If you no longer wish to participate in the Phoenix under those conditions, I’ll understand.”

John had been tempted to resign more than once during these past few difficult months. Openly faced with that choice at last, he realized he wasn’t ready to give up.

And if he weren’t, he knew his only option was to ride out Griff’s displeasure. Even in the short time he’d known Rafe Sinclair, he had come to the conclusion that helping save the former agent’s life was worth whatever it cost him personally.

Besides, he believed in the organization Griff, Hawk, and Jordan Cross had created four years ago. The Phoenix was a private agency designed to use the formidable skills Griff’s former CIA antiterrorism team possessed to obtain justice for those who couldn’t find it any other way.

“I’m not ready to quit,” he said, meeting Cabot’s eyes.

After another moment of silence, Cabot searched through the stack of manila folders on the corner of his desk. He extracted one and slid it across a vastness of well-polished mahogany.

“Surveillance, but not exactly the type you’ve been doing. Maybe this will be more to your liking,” Griff said, tilting his head in the direction of the folder that lay between them.

“What is it?”

John deliberately left the file lying unopened. He had always learned more from Cabot’s sound bites than from his own first reading of a file. He waited for this one, tamping down the excitement Griff’s brief description had already created.

Surveillance, but not exactly the type you’ve been doing. In his opinion, anything that wasn’t what he had been doing would be an improvement.

“Something that caused a blip on Ethan Snow’s mental radar during his last assignment. A name that showed up where it shouldn’t. All you have to do is some discreet nosing around. Very discreet. I don’t want to set off alarms anywhere. This is a highly respected organization.”

For a second John thought Cabot meant the Phoenix. It was unlikely that reference was to the agency, however, since most of their clients learned of them through the same kind of discreet word-of-mouth Griff had just alluded to. And if not the Phoenix…

He reached out, pulling the folder toward him. When he opened it, the heading at the top, in Snow’s neat handwriting, was enough to let him know Cabot’s warning had been an understatement. His low whistle was an unthinking reaction to how respected the organization this file referred to actually was.

“Exactly,” Griff said. “You do have a tux, I assume.”

He didn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Cabot, who probably owned a dozen.

“Of course,” John lied, wondering how quickly he could have one fitted.

“Then I suggest you start with the enclosed invitation.”

John slipped the heavy cream rectangle out of its envelope, quickly reading the information embossed on the front.

“It’s quite legitimate, I assure you. And rather costly,” Cabot added, and he should know. His background was exactly the kind of silver spoon stuff that would get someone invited to those kinds of events. “It will allow you a foot in the door. Strictly for observation, of course.”

“Once I’m in, what exactly am I looking for?”

“I’m not sure. What caused Ethan’s concern is outlined in the file. As I said, this may be nothing, but I’ve learned to trust the instincts of my people through the years, especially those of someone like Ethan. If something about that group caused him concern, that’s reason enough for me to want them checked out. Besides, the food is usually superb.”

If someone as wealthy as Griff considered the dinner to be “costly,” then it damn well should be good, John thought.

“Oh, and there’s an auction,” Griff added as John rose, holding onto the file he’d been given, “so watch your body language. I’m not sure we have enough in the budget to cover any unexpected purchases.”

“What’s on the block?”

“Celebrity dresses, I believe. You should be safe there,” Cabot went on dryly, his eyes falling once more to the paperwork before him. “I doubt they’ll have anything in your color.”

Chapter One

Although Kelly Lockett knew to the last person how many patrons crowded the ballroom of the downtown hotel, she could see almost none of them. Their faces were lost in the darkness beyond the glare of the spotlights directed at the podium. She waited a moment for the applause to die down before she lifted her hand, gesturing for silence as if she had been doing this her entire life.

Actually, she had avoided such functions like the plague. They were the kind of thing Chad loved, so she had always let him handle them. Thankfully, he had turned out to be incredibly good at it.

So good that she couldn’t hope to fill his shoes, she thought with a swell of anxiety. Then she reminded herself that trying to take her brother’s place wasn’t why she was here.

“On behalf of my brother,” she began, speaking over the remaining splatters of applause.

Before she had gotten the last word out of her mouth, the clapping began again, growing into a thunderous ovation. First the men in their tuxedos and then their elegantly gowned companions began to stand all over the huge room.

Her eyes stung at the strength and duration of their spontaneous tribute. She bit the inside of her bottom lip, determined to get through this evening without crying. So far, all her tears had been shed in private. She didn’t intend to make a public spectacle of her grief tonight.

She waited, not attempting to speak until the noise had died down again and the only sounds in the vast ballroom were of people settling back into their chairs. Her eyes had apparently adjusted to the dazzle of light because she could identify some of those seated at the nearest of the small, round tables. Their faces were turned expectantly up to the dais where she stood.

She had made a point of speaking to most of them before dinner, and as much as she dreaded it, she would mingle with the crowd again after the auction. That was another talent Chad had had. Making people feel welcome. Making them want to participate and to feel good about what they were doing.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. Whatever her own motives were for being here tonight, her brother certainly deserved their applause. “As I had started to say, on behalf of my brother, I would like to welcome you to the eighth annual Lockett Legacy Dinner and Auction. As you know, Chad was a tireless fund-raiser for a number of causes, as well as being a true philanthropist himself. This particular event, however, always held a very special place in his heart.

“For one thing, this is the only one of the many organizations to which he devoted his time and considerable energy that bears our family name. For another, the charities to which you have so generously donated each year were chosen by him personally. This foundation was Chad’s baby, and I thank you all for continuing the good works he believed in so much.”

There was another round of applause, this one more perfunctory than the last. That was all right. The first had been for her brother himself, from his friends and colleagues. To Kelly it had been the far more important response.

“As you know, this year we have a very special auction arranged for you. This, too, was Chad’s brainchild, and he worked tirelessly to acquire the items you see around the room.” She paused a moment, allowing the audience to focus once more on the glass display cases that lined the walls. “I know he would want me to again thank the donors for making these beautiful garments available, and I do. I should also remind you that because we want to raise as much money as we can tonight, we have accepted a few prebids from some very serious collectors. You’ll have plenty of opportunity, I promise, to open your checkbooks and outbid them for anything that catches your eye.”

Polite laughter followed the remark, just as the citation in parenthesis on her note cards had said it would. No one who had seen them expected those prebids to be overruled. They had been allowed only on the rarest and most valuable items of tonight’s collection, and they had come in from all over the world. Kelly, along with everyone else associated with the Legacy, had been pleasantly surprised at the amounts.

“I rather fancied the off-the-shoulder black dress that belonged to Princess Diana,” she continued, following the script she’d been given. “I even thought about breaking open my piggy bank to see if there was enough there to make a down payment.”

More polite laughter at what could only be classified as a very lame joke, given the Lockett wealth. And that, too, was okay, Kelly decided.

She had been able to relax a little as she mouthed this nonsense, and the urge to cry for how much better Chad would have done this had finally passed. All she had to do now was give the last of her professionally written introduction, and then the actual auction would begin.

Once it had, she would have a chance to catch her breath. Maybe even to grab a glass of the champagne that would be flowing freely as an inducement to bidding. There was only this one last hurdle to get past.

“Unfortunately, that one didn’t fit. A height issue,” she said. More laughter at her acknowledgement of her small statue. “Actually, since no alterations were allowed to any of the garments, the dresses our models will wear tonight are recreations of the originals you see in the cases. As is this.”

She stepped from behind the lectern and walked to the head of the raised runway that had been set up in the center of the room. She paused a moment, more to calm her nerves than to showcase the dress, although it surely deserved the spotlight.

Even though she was far more at home in jeans and a sweater, Kelly had to admit there had been something completely sensuous about slipping the flame-red evening gown over her head. With a whisper of silk, it had settled around her hips and breasts like a glove.

Behind her, the voice of the professional announcer picked up where she had left off. “As any couturier will tell you, in order to truly understand the magic of a garment, it is necessary to see it worn. Therefore, we’ve arranged a very special showing for you tonight.”

Carefully coached in the same glide the professional models would use, Kelly began her journey down the runway. The chorus of oohs that followed her was proof that her advisors had been right about the gown. Both the color and its strapless design made it a showstopper. Or in this case, a show starter.

“Miss Lockett is modeling a copy of a vintage Givenchy with matching stole. The dress was created for Audrey Hepburn, the designer’s favorite star, to wear in the film Funny Face. I’m sure you all remember the scene in which Miss Hepburn descends the stairs at the Louvre wearing this same gown.”

According to the script, at that exact moment Kelly should have reached the end of the runway, which jutted out into the middle of the room. In front of her was a series of six steps that led down to the floor of the ballroom. Just as Hepburn had in the movie, she raised her arms to shoulder height, displaying the matching red silk stole, before she started down the steps.

“I’ll tell you in confidence that there isn’t a single prebid on this one,” the smooth voice from the stage behind her went on. “We’ve saved it just for you.”

Kelly had been advised to pick out a couple of people in the crowd to smile or nod to as she descended. She had begun searching the faces around her, looking for a familiar one, when her gaze seemed to lock on a masculine profile. Its features, silhouetted against the lights from the back of the room, were clean and strong, as classically proportioned as if they had been graven on some ancient coin.

At that exact moment, the man turned his head, his eyes meeting and holding hers. She couldn’t have said what color they were. Or even what he looked like. All she knew was that he was dark—both eyes and hair. Handsome in a rugged, completely masculine kind of way. Compelling.

Obviously, she thought, relieved when her stride carried her past the table where he was sitting. Although she continued along the predestined route all the models would take, designed to let the guests have a closer look at the garments, she had to resist the urge to turn her head and glance back at him over her shoulder.

And that was totally out of character. Especially given what had been happening in her life during the last few months.

Finally, thankfully, she reached the end of her performance. Before her were the double doors that led out of the ballroom and back to anonymity, with which she was far more comfortable.

Behind her she heard the auctioneer open the bidding on the original of the Givenchy knock-off she was wearing. The next couple of hours would be someone else’s responsibility—his and the other professionals hired from one of the top New York fashion houses. And she was more than ready to hand it over.

As she met the eyes of the security guard at the door, he nodded to her. The gesture somehow reminded her of her strange reaction to the man seated at the foot of the runway steps.

Again she had to force herself not to turn around and search the crowd for him. Of course, it wouldn’t matter if she did. All she would be able to see from here was that same sea of people she had faced before. She wouldn’t be able to pick him out. And if she encountered him again…

She wouldn’t be able to recognize him, she told herself resolutely. What had just occurred had been one of those bizarre incidents that happen to everyone at one time or another. Meeting the eyes of the handsome man in the cab next to you while you waited for a red light. Or in an elevator. Or a restaurant. It was absolutely nothing of consequence.

Which was good, she thought, as she slipped through the doors and out into the hall. She couldn’t afford any distractions. Certainly not one as time-consuming as a man like that might prove to be.

IN THE END it was after two o’clock before Kelly managed her escape, slipping out of the ballroom by a back door. Chad would have teased that that was the story of her life, she acknowledged, as she stood watching the numbers flash by on the parking-deck elevator, but she refused to feel guilty. Most of the crowd had gone. She had done her duty. Paid her dues. Made nice to anyone with a checkbook. Now she was going home.

She hadn’t bothered to change out of the copy of the Givenchy she’d modeled. She would return it later.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped out, pulling the red stole more closely around her shoulders. After the heat of the ballroom, the night air felt cool against her skin.

She was surprised to find there were only a handful of cars left on this level. Of course, it had been reserved for those who would come early and leave late. And it seemed that despite her remorse at slipping out early, she must be one of the last to depart.

She started across the concrete, the sound of her high-heeled sandals echoing off steel beams and cement pillars. She expected the security guard to step out of his booth in response to the noise. He didn’t, however, and as she came closer to the location, she could tell that the security box was empty.

She glanced at her watch, but it was too dark to see the hands. Maybe security had gone off duty. That was something she should probably mention to the board when they met to rehash tonight’s successes and failures. Their patrons had a right to protection, no matter how late they stayed.

Her car, which was actually Chad’s car, was parked halfway up the far ramp. Before she headed over to it, she bent her head a little to take another look into the security booth. Definitely empty.

She stopped at the bottom of the ramp. Putting one hand on the cold metal of its railing for balance, she bent her knee, pulling the strap of her sandal more securely onto her heel.

She resisted the temptation to slip the shoes off. Despite the fact that they consisted of only a couple of crossed pieces of leather, by now the sandals had begun to rub. She could imagine what walking barefoot over the rough concrete of the ramp would do to her feet, however.

She looked up to estimate the distance to her car and caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a shadow moving behind or under it. A rat? Or one of the city’s feral cats? There were plenty of both in D.C., but despite her attempt to find some rational, nonthreatening explanation for what she had just seen, the hair on the back of her neck began to lift, sending a shiver down her spine.

She looked again toward the security booth, an oasis of light in the dimness of the concrete structure, and then once more toward her car. The darkness increased sharply near the top of the ramp where it was parked.

Back to the elevator, she decided without any further hesitation. This time she would do what she should have done in the first place. She would get someone to walk her out here. Whatever was waiting in the shadows up there, she wasn’t about to face it on her own.

She turned, already taking the first step in retracing her journey, when her blood froze. Lined up between her and the elevator doors were three men. Or rather three teenagers, she amended, as her eyes skated back and forth between them.

Their youth wasn’t comforting. Not given their dress and demeanor. Actually, the latter was distinctly menacing.

As if in response to some unseen signal, they began to walk toward her. All the survival reflexes kicked in, sending a rush of adrenaline through her system.

Fight or flight. A hell of a choice, given that the three of them were blocking the only viable exit.

Maybe she was wrong about what she’d seen behind her car, she thought. Maybe it had been a rat. Something other than a cohort of the teens who were now advancing on her.

She slipped the strap of her evening bag off her wrist and fumbled her car keys out of it. Then she threw the purse underhanded toward the trio. It skidded to a stop about ten feet in front of them.

If their intent were to rob her, she’d make it easy for them. Maybe the purse would give them something to occupy themselves with while she made a run up the ramp to the car.

And if another one were waiting for her there, she’d deal with that when she arrived. Those odds were still better than trying to go through these three to get to the elevator.

She thought briefly again about taking off her shoes, but the boys were advancing more quickly now. The bag she’d thrown lay halfway between them and her position.

She had no idea whether they would be sufficiently distracted by it to allow her to escape. That would probably depend on what they wanted. If she tried to run before they had gotten to it, however, they might very well ignore the purse in order to come after her.

Almost before the thought had time to form, the boy in the middle reached the evening bag. He stooped to pick it up, his eyes never leaving hers.

As she watched, he took her wallet out and opened it. He made a show of running his thumb across the money in the bill compartment. She couldn’t remember how much was there. She never carried much cash, so it couldn’t be a great deal.

Please, God, let it be enough.

Then, without bothering to remove the money, he threw both the purse and billfold to the side and took another step toward her. As soon as he did, she rounded the railing, sprinting up the ramp toward her brother’s Jag.

The sound of their boots, amplified by the low overhang, pounded against the concrete behind her. She could tell that they were gaining on her. She released the stole she had unthinkingly hung on to and used both hands to pick up the long skirt of the red dress, freeing her legs from its constraints.

As she neared her car, a figure stepped from the shadows behind it. She dodged as it appeared in her peripheral vision, heading for the far side of the ramp instead of toward the car.

She was running full-out now, but still she couldn’t avoid him. He leaped across the expanse that separated them and grabbed her upper arm, long fingernails digging into her flesh.

He jerked so hard that she stumbled against him. Unconsciously she put her hand on his chest in an attempt to regain her balance.

She was close enough now that she could smell him. Stale sweat and cigarette smoke. He put his other hand on her bare shoulder, dragging her to him so that her breasts brushed the stained T-shirt he wore.

As they did, she finally realized why they hadn’t been tempted by the purse she’d thrown them. Apparently money had nothing to do with what they were after.

Chapter Two

Driven by panic and fury, Kelly ground the high heel of her sandal down on her assailant’s toes. Luckily, he was shod in sneakers rather than the boots the others favored.

Hissing a profanity, he loosened his grip long enough to allow her to pull free. She started up the ramp again, intending to run to the next level, which she hoped would not be as deserted as this one.

Before she’d taken two steps, she heard the sound of a car. She looked up in time to see headlights appear at the top of the ramp. She ran toward them, waving her arms to attract the driver’s attention. Surely he would take in the situation and stop to help her.

And what if he did? Always assuming it was a “he.” It would still be four to one.

Four to two, she amended, feeling a ridiculous sense of triumph in the victory she’d achieved with her high heel.

Realistically she knew that the smart thing for whoever was in that car to do would be to drive past her. Just get the hell out of the parking deck. If she were lucky, he might stop somewhere and call the police. If the driver were another woman, that was almost certainly what would happen.

If it were a man, maybe he would slow enough to let her jump into the car as he went by. That would probably depend on whether or not she could put enough distance between herself and the boy who’d grabbed her to make that maneuver safe for the driver. Right now that was doubtful.

Even as she acknowledged the difficulty, the hand of the teen who had been hiding behind her car closed around the fabric of her skirt. She staggered forward, feeling the sheer material rip free from where it was attached to the bodice.

Desperation lent her strength. Somehow she managed to pull away from him. Once she had, she looked up again, trying to gauge how far she was from the approaching car.

She’d made almost no progress at all, she thought in despair. Then she realized the vehicle had stopped, its headlights shining down on the scene playing out below.

Her heart sank. Either this was a confederate arriving with the getaway car or the driver was rethinking his route.

Don’t leave, she pled silently as she ran. Please don’t leave me alone with them.

The sound of a car door slamming at the top of the ramp put an end to any hope of rescue. No one in his right mind, if he were an innocent bystander, would get out of that car. He might drive by at full speed. He might even back up to a higher level and park somewhere in the darkness, hoping the boys wouldn’t come looking for him.

Those were options a normal person might take. Getting out of the car wasn’t. Not in this situation.

As she ran toward the top, she could hear the sound of the driver’s footsteps coming down the ramp. Slow, almost measured, they were suddenly the only noise on this level of the parking deck.

She turned from the blinding glare of the headlights to glance behind her. The four attackers had stopped their pursuit. Just as she was, they were listening to the approaching footsteps with a wary intensity.

Not a confederate then. This was something—someone—totally unexpected.

She picked up speed as she ran toward the driver, hope reviving her flagging strength. She didn’t have breath enough to scream for help. She had to trust that he’d assessed the situation and figured out what was about to happen.

“What’s going on here?”

The voice was deep and unbelievably calm. Too calm. Maybe he hadn’t understood. Maybe he’d just seen people on the ramp and stopped to investigate.

As the man posed his question, he stepped toward the center of the ramp. She could see him now, silhouetted against the twin beams of the headlights. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked capable of holding his own in a fight.

“Help me,” she gasped as she ran toward him.

He didn’t look at her, focused instead on the teenagers who were still watching from below. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but—”

“Get in the car.”

That had clearly been an order, given in a tone that brooked no argument. She didn’t even think of making one.

She ran past him, her hand closing over the handle of the passenger door of the black SUV he was driving. Before she opened it, she looked back down the ramp.

The four had apparently recovered from their shock. Or maybe they had finally realized there had been only one person in this car and that he wasn’t a cop or a security guard.

They were advancing again. Slowly this time. From somewhere a long iron bar had appeared.

Tire tool or crowbar, she guessed. The one who’d thrown her purse aside held the instrument in his right hand, slapping it against the palm of his left. The whole thing looked like something out of a bad production of West Side Story, but she didn’t feel the slightest inclination to laugh.

“Get back into the car,” she said to the man standing in front of the headlights. “Let’s just get out of here.”

There was no response. His stance, illuminated by the headlights, seemed completely relaxed.

“Please,” she begged, beginning to be as afraid for him as she had been for herself. “We can lock the doors and drive by them. They can’t hurt us if we’re in the car.”

No response. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he still hadn’t realized what was going on. Maybe—

There was some sound from the group of teenagers. As if it had been a signal, they charged up the ramp in unison. The one holding the iron bar raised it high above his head, in full attack mode.

Sick with fear, she watched as they closed the distance to the solitary figure standing in front of the vehicle. She released the door handle and started back around the SUV. She had no idea what she could do, but she wasn’t about to let him bear the brunt of that assault alone.

“I told you to get in the car,” he said again, his voice as low and steady as it had been before.

And then, suddenly, they were there. She saw the raised crowbar begin its descent and knew its target. Too horrified to look away, she watched as it began to slice downward and then seemed to stop in midair.

The boy who wielded it staggered backward. With an agonized yell, he clutched his crotch with both hands. That’s when she realized he was no longer the one holding the weapon.

It was being employed by the driver of the car instead. Although the headlights distorted the scene, so that it was almost like watching a flickering silent movie, she could still follow his movements. Shifting the weapon he’d taken from the first teen, he slammed the end of the bar into the ribs of a second, leaving him doubled over in agony.

In the time it had taken him to dispatch those two, the second pair had decided on a concerted effort. They attacked in unison before the man could get the crowbar into position to repel them. The momentum of their forward motion carried all three backward to slam onto the hood of the SUV. Kelly flinched at the hollow thud of their impact.

After that, given her position at the side of the car, she couldn’t tell what was happening. All she knew was that two of the original four were still down and that the others were engaged in a fierce struggle with the driver of the SUV for possession of the weapon he’d taken away from their leader.

And that meant they were all occupied, she realized belatedly, their attention focused on him or on their injuries.

Her eyes flicked toward the elevator. Now was her chance to get out of here. While they were either distracted or in too much pain to care what she did.

The clang of the metal bar, striking and then bouncing off the concrete floor, brought her attention back to the bodies writhing on the hood of the car. She could hear the sound of blows as well as the noise their victim made as they impacted against flesh and bone.

She couldn’t distinguish the recipient, but given the loss of the crowbar, she believed she knew who was getting the worst of the fight. No matter what happened to her, she couldn’t run away without trying to aid the man who’d stopped to help her.

She bent down and slipped off one of her sandals, unable to think of anything else to use as a weapon. When she raised her head again, she saw that the three were no longer on the hood of the car. They were upright again, still exchanging blows.

Gathering what fragile courage she had left and feeling like a fool, she raised the flimsy shoe over her head and ran toward the struggling figures. Before she reached them, the two slighter bodies were propelled backward.

With room to maneuver, the driver, obvious both by his height and the breadth of his shoulders, began a series of lightning punches that drove his attackers back. His movements were so fast they were difficult to follow. She almost expected him to add a couple of martial arts kicks to the mix.

Apparently, he didn’t need to. One of the two teens still on their feet broke away, running down the ramp with a clatter of boot heels. When the second realized he was about to have the driver’s undivided attention, he also took off. His less noisy departure identified him as the one who had leaped across the ramp to grab her.

Having vanquished those two, the man advanced toward the first couple he’d dispatched. They weren’t inclined to wait for him to reach them.

The one he’d kneed in the groin to take possession of the crowbar was still breathing in low, keening moans. His agony didn’t prevent him from staggering to his feet and backing down the ramp, however, his eyes never leaving the driver. The second punk had his arms wrapped around his body, possibly the victim of broken ribs. If so, they didn’t slow his retreat.

In a matter of seconds the parking level was empty except for her and the man who had just effected her rescue. In the sudden stillness she could hear the sound of his breathing. He swayed a little, but somehow managed to give the impression that he was both ready and able to take them on again if they returned.

Kelly realized she was simply standing, openmouthed at the speed and efficiency with which he’d detached the four attackers. She closed her mouth and started toward him.

Either he had incredible peripheral vision or very good instincts. He turned, dropping into a fighter’s crouch. When he saw that she was the one who’d been moving behind him, he straightened.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“What is that? Is that your shoe?”

Only then did she realize that she was still holding the sandal over her head, its heel pointing toward him.

“What the hell were you planning to do with your shoe?”

“Hit one of them,” she answered truthfully.

Embarrassed, she lowered the feminine, near-nothing sandal he’d just belittled. Reaction was finally setting in. Her knees were shaking so hard she was in danger of falling flat on her face. She leaned tiredly against the hood of the SUV, tears threatening for the first time since the assault had begun.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The first one she’d managed in quite a while.

It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Now isn’t the time to fall apart.

“Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes to find him looming over her. Because they were standing between the beams of the headlights, she still couldn’t see his face.

He was nothing but a shape, tall and broad. And a deep voice, filled with concern for her.

Which was ridiculous. He’d just taken a beating, and she was the one who was weak-kneed and weepy.

“If being scared spitless counts as okay.” She hated that her voice trembled, but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it.

“Spitless?” he repeated, the intonation amused as he emphasized the first syllable.

“Are they gone?” She ignored the mockery, feeling she had earned it. She looked back down the ramp, half expecting to see the attackers regrouping at its foot.

“They won’t be back. They’re the kind who like—”

“Easy pickings?” she supplied when he hesitated. If so, they’d come to the right place, she acknowledged bitterly.

“Obviously, they didn’t know about the shoe.”

The amusement was back, but she found she didn’t resent it, even if it were at her expense. He was right. The sandal was a ridiculous weapon, but there was some justification for why she’d felt it might do some good.

“I ground my heel into his toe, and he let me go. I thought that maybe if I hit one of them with it—”

She sounded like an idiot. Actually, she felt like one.

“Thanks.” The deep voice had been wiped clean of mockery. “There aren’t many people who would have put themselves at risk to help.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a failing of mine.”

“Helping people?”

“I’m a sucker for a woman in distress.”

For a fraction of a second she thought he’d said “a woman in a red dress.” She must be more rattled than she’d believed.

“Why don’t we get out of here,” he suggested.

Since he’d used the plural pronoun, she wasn’t sure if he meant individually or collectively. He didn’t start around his vehicle to open the door for her to climb in, so she supposed he must mean in their own cars.

He took a long assessing look down the ramp and then moved toward the driver’s side of the SUV. In doing so, he passed directly in front of the beam of the left headlight.

“You were at the auction,” she said, finally taking in the tuxedo.

“Sorry, but I didn’t buy anything.” He bent to retrieve the iron bar that had been lost in the scuffle, so she had to strain to hear the last. “A little too rich for my blood.”

Since the guest list had been carefully screened to ensure that their checkbooks would be equal to the task before them, she wondered if that was his idea of a joke. She’d been introduced to most of the attendees during the cocktail hour, but she couldn’t place him.

Could he be one of the wait staff? The big SUV he was driving made that unlikely, however, so who the hell was he?

After he retrieved the crowbar, he had continued past the driver’s side door to open the back of the vehicle. He carelessly tossed the weapon inside. Then he straightened, looking at her over the line of the roof.

His face was still shadowed, but she couldn’t help feeling there was something familiar about it. Maybe they had been introduced. After all, there had been a huge crowd of people.

“I’m Kelly Lockett.”

It was a rather obvious attempt to evoke information. If he’d been there, he knew certainly who she was. She’d been paraded around that room like a sideshow for most of the evening.

“Of the Lockett Legacy. I know.” The tone was sardonic.

“Do I know you?” she asked, reacting to it.

She had never been particularly self-conscious about the notoriety her family’s wealth and prestige created. She had known nothing else her entire life, but something about that comment rankled.

“I was there on a friend’s invitation. He said the food would be good.”

“I trust you found that to be true,” she said, a hint of ice creeping into her voice.

This man had rescued her, and she was genuinely grateful. Her initial inclination, which had been to view him as some kind of knight in shining armor, seemed to be fading.

Of course, she was well aware that most knights had been lacking in the courtly graces. Their forte had been the battlefield. She could hardly deny his skill there.

“You plan the menu?” He leaned forward, putting his arms on the top of the SUV.

“I was on the committee,” she said stiffly.

“Could I make a suggestion?”

“About the menu?” There was something surreal about the conversation, considering what had just transpired.

“Fewer frills and more substance.”

Despite her anger of a moment ago, she felt a tinge of sympathy. Dinner probably had seemed meager to a man his size. The appetizer had consisted of three large prawns, a dollop of crabmeat and a couple of avocado slices. The entrée, a nice piece of sole, had been surrounded by a selection of lightly sautéed vegetables. She had left food on her plate, but by no stretch of the imagination could the meal be called substantial.

“Steak and potatoes,” she said, deliberately lightening her voice.

“It’s hard to go wrong with a good steak. Especially at those prices.”

“I’ll ask the committee to take it under advisement,” she promised, controlling her urge to smile.

“Almost makes me wish I could be at next year’s shin-dig.”

Something subtle about his intonation indicated he was aware she was patronizing him. It made her feel like a jerk.

“What happened to your shawl?”

“Stole,” she corrected automatically, welcoming the change of subject.

Her eyes considered the concrete ramp that stretched in front of the SUV. Even with the headlights shining down it, she couldn’t see a thin spill of red anywhere.

Her purse was also down there, she remembered. And more important, so was her wallet.

There was nothing in either that was irreplaceable, but it would be a hassle. Besides, they should still be there. She doubted those thugs had had the presence of mind after he’d finished with them to search for them on their way out.

“My evening bag’s down there,” she said. “Somewhere between the foot of the ramp and the elevator.”

She turned her head, focusing again on the man in the darkness on the other side of the car.

“They snatched your purse?”

“I threw it to them. I thought maybe they’d take it and let me go, but…I don’t think they were after money.”

For some reason, she wasn’t comfortable putting into words what she believed their motives were. Not to him.

“Maybe they wanted that.”

He had inclined his head in her direction, but it took a couple of seconds before she figured out what he meant. She reached up to touch the replica of the diamond necklace Hepburn had worn in the movie. The central stone, had it been real, would have been between fifteen or twenty carats.

“It’s paste.”

“You think they knew that?”

It made sense. As much as anything about tonight.

“I’ll get your purse,” he said. He slammed the rear door of the SUV, the sound echoing under the overhang as the driver’s side door had earlier.

Only when he started down the ramp did she realize she was about to be left up here alone. Although the headlights illuminated the ramp, the area behind his car was dark and shadowed. She shivered, remembering the hard fingers of the boy closing around her arm.

“I’ll show you where he threw it.”

She had already taken a step, attempting to catch up with him, before she realized she still held her sandal in her hand. It would take longer to put it on than to take the other off.

Balancing on one foot, she slipped the second shoe off as she watched him walk down the concrete incline. The fabric of the tux, illuminated by the car lights, emphasized the play of muscle in his back and shoulders. Regretfully pulling her eyes away, she laid her shoes on the hood of his car. Then, picking up her skirt as she’d done before, she hurried after him.

He slowed briefly, plucking her stole off the railing where it must have landed when she’d dropped it. Without stopping, he held it out to her. The wisp of fabric looked very delicate dangling from those long, dark fingers.

She grabbed the stole as he let it trail behind him and wrapped the material around her shoulders as he continued to stride ahead of her.

When he reached the end of the ramp, he turned toward the elevator area where there was more light. Apparently he spotted her bag and wallet at the same time she did.

She glanced nervously toward the outside exit to the deck, still expecting the reappearance of her assailants. When she looked back, the man who had rescued her had already picked up her belongings and was holding them out to her.

For the first time she could see his face. He was dark enough that there was already the shadow of a beard on his lean cheeks. A discoloration, which she suspected would become a very colorful bruise by morning, marred the line of his jaw.

She raised her eyes from that injury to meet his. A cut, still bleeding sluggishly, had been opened above his right brow. Under it, the eye was beginning to puff.

Despite that, a jolt like the one she’d felt as she’d met those same dark eyes while descending the runway stairs tonight seared a path like lightning through her chest.

Same eyes. Same force-field intensity. Same man.

Chapter Three

“I’m John Edmonds, by the way.”

“Kelly Lockett.”

He didn’t make another jibe about her name, despite the fact that this was the second time she’d given it. She hadn’t liked the crack he’d made before, and in all honesty, he couldn’t blame her.

From everything he’d read, and that had been quite a bit since Griff had given him this assignment, she had never embraced the Lockett lifestyle. She might have rejected their example of conspicuous consumption, but it was clear, both by her comments from the dais about her brother and her reaction to his remark, that her rejection hadn’t extended to her family.

“You told me,” he said.

Watching her blush would have been highly diverting in other circumstances. The color started just above the top of the strapless gown and spread upward. It wasn’t blotchy or unbecoming, just a flush of pink under the smooth porcelain of her skin.

It was increasingly obvious why they’d chosen the Hepburn gown for her. There was a resemblance both in the glossy, dark hair, arranged tonight in a classic French twist, and in those big brown eyes. And her features had the same kind of elegant purity.

The only difference was there was nothing in the least waif-like about Kelly Lockett. She was slim, but undeniably a woman. She filled out the bodice of the red dress in a way the actress never had.

“You should check that everything’s there,” he suggested, slightly lifting the purse and billfold he was holding out to her, one in each hand.

“He didn’t want anything,” she said, reaching out to retrieve them. “He thumbed through the money and then tossed the bag aside without taking it out.”

As she described the boy’s gesture, she repeated it, quickly counting the cash in the wallet’s bill compartment.

“Not enough to be interesting?”

Her eyes came up at his question. “That’s what I thought, but I’d forgotten that I cashed a check. There’s a couple of hundred in here. Far more than I usually carry.”

“Even if they were after the necklace, I would think they’d have taken it. That’s not pocket change.”

Or maybe it was for her. Still, it bothered him that those kids hadn’t taken the money. It didn’t make sense. Not even if they believed the necklace she was wearing was real. Not even if the motive had been something besides robbery, as she’d hinted.

“You said you didn’t think robbing you was what they were after.”

“The one who grabbed me…” she began and then faltered. “There was something… I don’t know. It just felt…wrong.”

“You thought he was going to rape you?” he asked bluntly.

Another hesitation. “I didn’t know what he was going to do. I didn’t like him touching me.” Her shiver was strong enough to be visible. “Maybe that was just my imagination.”

“They’re gone now,” he said, choosing to comfort rather than confront, although her instinctive assessment of the boy who had grabbed her was probably right on the money. “Would you like me to follow you home?”

Her pupils dilated slightly. Shock? Or anticipation? Yeah, right, he mocked himself. In your dreams.

Then, almost immediately, wariness invaded her eyes. She was trying to decide if she wanted to tell him where she lived, unwilling to surrender even that much of her closely guarded privacy.

What she didn’t know, of course, was that there was no secret about her address. Or about her any of her personal information. Not to someone with the sources he had.

He wasn’t going to confess to those, however. There were too many things he didn’t know about Kelly Lockett. And he had a feeling from what she’d said about her brother that there were a few things he knew that she might be completely ignorant of.

“I’m very trustworthy,” he added, letting her hear his amusement.

“It isn’t that…” she began and then had the grace to pause, color moving along the line of her throat. “You probably saved my life. At the very least you saved me from what would have been a highly unpleasant experience. How could I not trust you?”

“Easy. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

Unconsciously as he talked, he put his fingers over the cut above his eye, which had begun to sting. He brought them away covered with blood. And it hurt like hell to move his jaw, he realized, experimenting.

“I know that you got that defending me.” Her gaze touched on the injury beneath his brow.

“Reflex action.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. Her eyes had left their contemplation of the cut to refocus on his. “Not many people would have come to my aid. Not these days. You were very lucky they didn’t have a gun.”

“Hell, they were lucky I didn’t have one.”

Again her eyes widened. She was probably one of those people who believed nobody should carry a firearm, not even cops. Whatever ground he’d gained for knocking a few heads together on her behalf, he’d just destroyed.

“They were lucky I didn’t have one.”

It took a heartbeat for what she’d said to sink in. When it did, he laughed.

Her smile in response was nothing short of spectacular. He deliberately reminded himself of the advantages of being able to afford good orthodontic work and collagen injections. All the same, something hot and hungry stirred deep within his body.

“Actually, I’d be very grateful if you’d follow me home,” she said. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve got a Band-Aid or two tucked away in a drawer somewhere.”

Occasionally in this line of work things fell into your lap. No operative worth his salt turned down those opportunities. The going theory in intel was that it was better to be lucky than good. He couldn’t argue with that. Certainly not in this case.

“Nurse Ratched, I presume,” he said, bowing slightly.

“I believe Florence Nightingale is the analogy you’re searching for,” she corrected.

Her smile hadn’t quite faded. And he knew he was going to be damned disappointed when it did.

“MAYBE I SHOULD give you directions in case we get separated.”

“We won’t,” he promised, following her around the back of the vintage silver Jag. “Nice car.”

“It was my brother’s.”

“The one you mentioned tonight?”

There was another of those telltale hesitations before she answered. “Chad.”

“I’m sorry.”

He was. More than she could imagine. Despite her attempts to keep her feelings private, it had been obvious at the auction that she’d been moved by that spontaneous tribute to her brother. And equally obvious that she was still grieving for him.

He imagined Bin Laden’s family had loved him, too. That didn’t necessarily mean they’d been unaware of his faults.

“Thank you,” she said in response to his expression of sympathy.

She inserted the key into the driver’s side door and opened it. The interior light came on, illuminating the darkness on this side of the Jag. It also revealed that the convertible was sitting at a peculiar slant.

He stepped back to check the rear tire, which, as he’d begun to suspect, was flat. As was the front.

“That’s what he was doing back here,” she said. “Letting the air out of the tires.”

Her attackers had apparently left nothing to chance. Nothing except the one thing they couldn’t control—that someone else might stumble onto the scene. And if he hadn’t been watching her all night, he wouldn’t have been aware of when she left. Considering her choice of exits, very few people at that party had been.

“Get a wrecker and have it towed,” he suggested. “Unless you have two spares.”

“No, but I do have a membership in a very good auto club.”

She bent, putting her knee in the center of the leather driver’s seat to reach across the low car. Red silk molded to a very nicely rounded derriere. Definitely not waif-like, he thought again.

She straightened, bringing a cell phone out of the car with her. “It wouldn’t fit in my purse,” she explained.

He pretended to examine the tires while she made the call.

“They say it’s going to be a while.”

He looked up to find her standing over him. Without rising, he pivoted on the balls of his feet to face her.

“How long?”

“Maybe an hour. They keep only two units on call this late, and they’re both out.”

“Let the brake off, lock it, and leave it to them. I’ll drive you home.”

He could tell she was torn. Maybe it was the thought of leaving the Jag to the mercies of some unknown wrecker service. Or maybe it was the thought of getting into a car with a stranger after what had happened tonight.

“I’m harmless, I promise,” he added, willing to convince her.

Her lips tilted. It wasn’t the smile that had dazzled him a few minutes ago. This one was more subdued, almost self-deprecating.

“Okay, but if I were you, I wouldn’t call on the kids who did this to back up that claim.”

She looked tired. And why shouldn’t she be? he thought. It was nearly 3:00 a.m. She had been involved in the preparations for the auction since early this morning and for several days before. He knew that, because he’d been watching her since Griff had given him the assignment. A task he’d found extremely pleasant. Dangerously so.

And then she’d played Miss Social Butterfly all evening. He’d watched her do that, too, recognizing that it wasn’t a role she was comfortable with. She’d gotten better as the night progressed, but it had been an effort.

“How about if I call you as a character witness instead?” he suggested.

“I know I’m being ridiculous—”

“Not after this,” he interrupted, looking back at the deflated tires. “Look, if you want to wait—”

“I don’t. I want to go home. I want to get out of these clothes…”

He would have bet that flush of color was again staining her throat. Despite the interior light in the Jag, he couldn’t see her well enough to enjoy it this time.

“And into bed,” she finished.

The last few words had spilled out in a rush. He suspected she’d intended to move away from the slightly suggestive remark she had made about taking off her clothes. It hadn’t quite worked out that way.

“Release the brake and lock it,” he advised again, ignoring the trap she’d laid for herself.

“Should we call the police? File a report or something?”

“Only if you want to spend the next couple of hours answering questions. Those kids are long gone, and on the scale of high priority crimes in D.C., this isn’t even going to rank on the cops’ list. They’ll give the appearance of going after them, because of who you are, but they’ll never make an arrest.”

It wouldn’t be to his advantage to have the cops show up, of course, but everything he’d just told her was the truth. Doing the paperwork on this would be a waste of time.

Putting his hand on the trunk of the car, he pushed himself to his feet with a small grunt of effort. The adrenaline that had flooded his system during the fight had faded so that he was beginning to feel the effects of the blows to the body he’d taken. He was fairly certain his ribs weren’t broken, but he was going to be reminded of those baboons every breath he took for the next couple of days.

She had already leaned back into the car in order to follow his instructions about the emergency brake. Hearing that involuntary intake of breath, she straightened, looking back at him, instead.

“Sore?”

“Nothing a few aspirin and a long, hot shower won’t fix.”

“I can provide the aspirin. And the sooner you take them, the better. In the morning, you might want to get a doctor to take a look at—”

“I’m okay. I will accept the aspirin, however.”

“As soon as we get to my place.”

My place or yours? For a second or two her eyes held on his. Then she turned away, completing the motion she’d begun to release the parking brake.

Yes, sir, he thought, sometimes things just fall into your lap. The problem then became knowing what to do with them when they did.

“THROUGH HERE,” Kelly directed, leading the way down a wide hallway.

There were photographs along each wall. He wanted to stop and check them out, because he recognized more than one famous face. She had already flicked on the light in a room a little farther along, however, and disappeared inside.

He followed, stopping in the doorway of a bathroom that was more than twice the size of his bedroom. There had been no expense spared in either the design or in the facilities. The round glass shower stall would have held a jury of his peers; the whirlpool, only a few less.

“Nice,” he said.

He had refrained from comment as they’d made their way through the rest of the house. It had an understated elegance that, even to his untutored eyes, indicated it had been professionally, and expensively, decorated.

“The house was my brother’s. I didn’t see any sense in not using it while I’m in town.”

She hadn’t looked at him while she gave that information. She was busy searching through a cabinet that had been hidden behind a large panel of mirroring. He suspected the rest of the full-length wall of mirrors covered a variety of storage units. One by one she set the items she took from shelves down on the counter: gauze pads, alcohol, cotton balls, a tube of salve, a prescription medicine bottle, tape.

“It’s a very small cut,” he said as she continued to rummage.

She turned to look at him this time, her hand hesitating over the next selection.

“A Band-Aid’s fine,” he added.

“It needs to be cleaned. They weren’t.”

He was at a loss until he realized she meant the teens who’d attacked her. “The kids weren’t clean?”

“Not the one who grabbed me. His shirt was dirty, and he smelled.”

“Okay. Alcohol and a Band-Aid then.”

“Followed by an antibiotic salve.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” he said agreeably.

He still couldn’t quite believe he was here. As frightening as tonight’s experience had been for her and as sore as he knew he was going to be in the morning, this had been an incredible stroke of luck. He didn’t intend to blow it.

“I think the light’s better over here.”

Since you could have shot a movie in the place, he couldn’t see what difference a few feet made, but obligingly he walked over to the area she’d indicated. She tilted the bottle of alcohol and poured some of it onto a cotton ball.

Its strongly antiseptic tang pervaded the pleasant scent of the room. Unthinkingly he tilted his head back, avoiding it.

“This will sting,” she warned, moving toward him.

She was close enough now that, even above the bite of the alcohol, he could smell whatever perfume she was wearing. She reached up, bringing the soaked cotton ball near his forehead. He closed his lids to protect his eyes and braced for the burn.

It didn’t come. After a couple of seconds, he cautiously opened his eyes to find that, although she was nearer than before, the hand holding the cotton ball still hovered in midair. Given the difference in their heights, she was at a distinct disadvantage.

“This would be easier if you sit,” she suggested.

Obediently he settled one hip on the black marble counter behind him, keeping his other foot on the floor. He closed his eyes again, waiting. Still she hesitated, long enough that he finally opened them once more.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, moving forward until she was standing between his legs. The fragrance he’d noticed before, something dark, undoubtedly costly, and entirely suited to that strapless red gown, surrounded him.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned again.

He hoped so. He hoped it hurt like hell. Enough to take his mind off what he was thinking. And if she got an inch or two closer, she was going to be in no doubt about the direction of his thoughts.

She put her free hand on his face, positioning her thumb under his chin, so she could turn it up to the light. He closed his eyes, determined to keep them that way as long as her cleavage was so temptingly near.

He wanted to bend his head and press his lips into the shadowed hollow between her breasts. To run his tongue along the top of that low-cut dress. He knew how her skin would taste.

The touch of the alcohol against the wound was cold and painful, exactly the distraction he needed. He flinched, pulling his chin away from her fingers.

“Sorry,” she said, her warm breath feathering against his face. “Just a little more, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” he muttered. “It was just…cold.”

She dabbed at the wound again, more forcefully this time. When he didn’t respond, she scrubbed away at the dried blood until the cut had been cleaned to her satisfaction.

She stepped back to survey her handiwork, allowing him an opportunity to open his eyes. Her face was right in front of him, although her gaze was still fastened on the injury.

“It’s not too bad,” she said, her eyes shifting to meet his.

He didn’t know what they revealed about what he’d been thinking, but obviously something. Her lips parted, and she took a breath, deep enough to lift her breasts. He could see the pulse beating in her throat.

“You should probably have a stitch or two,” she said, her voice thready.

“It’s fine.”

Again he raised his hand, intending to trace the cut in order to estimate the extent of the damage by feel. Her fingers quickly wrapped around his wrist, preventing him.

“You’ll contaminate it,” she said.

“Look, I don’t think this is life-threatening…”

He hadn’t intended to mock what she was doing. It was evident by the way her expression closed, however, that she had taken it that way.

“Just put some salve on it and tape it up,” he said, modulating the impatience in his voice. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

She nodded, but he could tell she was still hurt. Way to go, idiot. You get the break of a lifetime, and you can’t keep from being a smart-ass long enough to take advantage of it.

She took a step back, tossing the bloodstained cotton ball into a small, gold-toned garbage can before she reached for the tube of antibiotic salve she’d set out. She removed one of the gauze pads from its cellophane wrappings and spread a generous layer of ointment across it.

Then she moved back into position between his legs. He had thought he was better prepared for her nearness this time, but when she leaned in, her hip rested against the inside thigh of the leg that was not in contact with the floor.

Heat flooded his groin. And this time there was no astringent bite to take his mind off the growing attraction.

She smoothed salve along his eyebrow, her concentration on the task nearly palpable. This time he didn’t close his eyes.

Even from this proximity her skin was flawless. The smooth, perfect arch of her brows like wings. Her lashes incredibly long and dark.

After a few seconds she became aware that he was watching her. Her eyes met his again as the hand holding the gauze pad stilled.

He waited for her to break the contact between them as she had before. When she didn’t, he went with his instincts, leaning forward so that there were only a couple of inches between her lips and his.

Again he waited, giving her a chance to step back. To put her hand against his chest. To do anything that would signal this wasn’t something she wanted, too.

Instead her chin tilted slightly upward. Her eyes closed, lashes falling like fans against her cheeks, as her lips parted.

There probably wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t have taken advantage of the opportunity.

Certainly not this one.

Chapter Four

Her lips were exactly as he’d expected them to be. Soft and warm and responsive. And they opened willingly to the invasion of his tongue.

The resulting kiss was no tentative touch and retreat. It was long and deep and openmouthed, expressing a hunger they both seemed to feel. Some of the niggling guilt that he might be taking advantage of the situation began to fade as she moved into his arms.

After all, as far as he knew, she might be in the habit of picking up strange men and bringing them home. Women had long ago staked their claim to the same kind of sexual freedoms men enjoyed. In the back of his mind, however, lingered the memory of her blush and those faltering sentences about wanting to take off her clothes and get into bed.

Or maybe that had all been an act. If so, it was one she had perfected until it seemed genuine.

Some women felt the need to pretend innocence until they were ready to respond. It was a form of protection, and he respected it, but then when they did decide—

She shifted position, pressing her body along the length of his. He moved the hand that had been resting just below her waist lower, relishing the smooth slide of silk under his palm. Some part of him expected a gesture of reluctance, if only a token one, before she allowed that further intimacy. None came.

Not even when his fingers spread to cover the softly rounded curves he’d noted as she leaned into the Jag to retrieve her phone. His erection hardened at the memory.

Emboldened, he moved his other hand down until both were cupped over her bottom. He lifted slightly, pulling her up into the strength of his arousal.

A breath of surprise, or perhaps of pleasure, escaped her lips. Before he had time to decide which it had been, her fingers began to pluck at the knot of his black tie. She loosened it with a quick expertise, pulling it away from the collar of his shirt.

She dropped the strip of cloth somewhere behind her, her other hand already busy with the studs that secured his shirtfront. Her efforts to undress him were punctuated by the soft ping each stud made as it hit the stone countertop or the floor.

As soon as she’d removed enough of them, she slipped her hands inside his shirt, tugging at the cotton tee he wore beneath it. When it refused to come free from the waistband of his slacks, she broke the kiss, leaning back so she could look up into his face. Her mouth seemed swollen, excitingly well used, and her eyes were slightly glazed.

Passion? Or too much champagne? he wondered. Or, considering the day she’d had, maybe what he was seeing was sheer tiredness.

“Damn it,” she said, putting her palms flat on his chest and pressing back against his hold.

Unsure what had happened to change the mood, he hesitated to release her. If they continued on the path they were on, the progression to being unclothed and together in a bed somewhere seemed almost certain.

And that was something he was vitally interested in right now. He wasn’t sure they were yet to the point where someone wouldn’t have second thoughts if they put some distance between them, even briefly.

Someone? he mocked. That assumed he was capable of second thoughts. Capable of any thought. And it was a huge assumption right now.

Rather than letting her go, he lifted his hip off the counter, keeping his hands under her buttocks. As he got to his feet, he allowed the front of her body to slide a couple of inches down his until she was again standing on the floor.

“Bedroom?” he suggested.

There was a flicker of something in her eyes. Before the emotion—whatever it was—could crystallize, he bent, putting his mouth over hers. This time he caressed her lips with a series of quick touches. A butterfly-light kiss on first one corner and then on the other before he turned his attention to the center of her mouth.

Meet and release. And then meet again. When he raised his head at last, her lips followed, clinging to his as she strained upward on tiptoe.

Reassured, he bent, placing one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her easily, as if she weighed no more than a child.

When he turned to carry her out of that ornate bathroom, the wall of mirrors revealed multiple reflections of the red silk dress, its color vivid against the stark black and white of his tuxedo.

WHEN HE PICKED HER UP to carry her into the bedroom, Kelly had laid her head against his shoulder. She’d closed her eyes, consciously deciding not to examine what was happening between them too closely.

She certainly recognized that was a form of denial, but it was one she didn’t try to resist. Given everything that had happened during the past two months, this man’s arms seemed a haven of security in a world that had contained far too little of either. Tonight she had watched him take on four thugs on her behalf, and his body bore the marks of that encounter.

Despite the fact that he had given her every chance to back away from this, she hadn’t wanted to. She would have if he’d tried to rush or coerce her. Because he hadn’t, she had almost become the aggressor, a role she had never assumed before.

She didn’t want him to leave. She could not bear to be alone again. She didn’t want to lie in that big, lonely bed another night thinking about the crushing responsibilities that had resulted from Chad’s death.

And she also didn’t want to think about what had nearly happened tonight. Actually, she didn’t want to think about anything. All she wanted to do was to feel.

Someone’s arms around her. Someone strong enough to depend on. Someone she could trust.

She had trusted John Edmonds immediately. Instinctively. And so far he hadn’t betrayed her faith in him. At every juncture, he had left the important decisions up to her. Just as he had this one.

Allowing a man she didn’t know to spend the night was not a choice she would normally have made, but as John carried her toward the bedroom, she knew it was right. He had been willing to risk his life to protect hers. And he had done it at no small cost to himself. There was something infinitely appealing about that. Something noble and heroic.

Heroism. It was a concept most of the people she’d met in Washington would probably believe to be hopelessly out of date. Maybe it was, but she had responded to his offer of protection as women had responded throughout the centuries. If that made her weak, then so be it.

Tomorrow she would again shoulder the burden that had been thrust upon her by her brother’s death because she had no choice. For tonight—for these few brief hours—she wanted only to be held. To be rendered mindless. To be loved.

JOHN HAD BEEN SURPRISED at how little she was wearing under the red silk gown. Of course, the way the dress was cut as well as its fit precluded the possibility of many undergarments.

There was only a thong, nude-colored and very sheer. When he unzipped the dress, letting it slide down over her hips, for an instant he thought she literally had on nothing at all.

She had stepped out of the spill of fabric at her feet wearing only that nearly invisible wisp of cloth and the fragile sandals she’d tried to use against the attackers. The memory of her coming to his defense armed only with that ineffective weapon gave renewed life to the guilt he’d managed to bury.

Kelly Lockett might have more money than the budgets of most third-world countries, but she also had guts. And she hadn’t fallen apart when it was over, despite the condition of the Jag.

He had known a lot of men who would have ranted about the inconvenience of those flat tires. Instead, she had accepted that the car was damaged and had taken steps to deal with it. Just as she’d adjusted to everything that had been thrown at her tonight.

He was too accustomed to making on-the-spot assessments not to have already formed an opinion of this woman. And so far his feelings had all been positive. Since he had long ago learned to listen to his intuition about people, he was beginning to believe that whatever kind of scumbag her brother might have been, Kelly had known nothing about it.

“What’s wrong?”

Her question brought him out of his reverie. The few seconds he’d spent not holding her in his arms had, however, reminded him of why he was here. This had definitely not been part of the assignment he’d been given. All he had been told to do was surveillance.

Of course, Griff couldn’t have imagined that this opportunity would arise. And that was the operative word, he reminded himself. Opportunity.

That inconvenient sense of guilt brushed through his mind once more. If Ethan Snow were correct in what he suspected, however, the end would more than justify the means. Even Griff would have to agree with that assessment.

“Wrong?” he echoed softly before he stepped forward to gather her into his arms. “Not a single thing.”

HE LOWERED HIS HEAD, pressing his lips against the dew of perspiration at her temple. The long, dark hair had long ago released from the upswept style the fashion show required. Silken strands tangled around their entwined bodies like a net, binding him to her as they had made love.

Once with a heated frenzy driven by her demands, her need. And then this second time, a slow, lingering seduction during which he had explored every scented millimeter of her body. Satin-skinned, it was also incredibly well toned. And so damned responsive. She had refused him nothing, but there had been no doubt in his mind that he was making love to her.

Her eyes were closed as he touched her. At least there were no tears gathered beneath her lashes as there had been the first time. Looking down on them, for one terrifying heartbeat, he had believed that he had inadvertently hurt her.

Of course, the fury with which he’d taken her then had been at her instigation. She had urged him on with her words and her body, leaving him in no doubt of what she wanted. And her eventual climax had been as wild and unrestrained as his own.

When it was over, however, when he had finally found the strength to open his eyes again, she’d been crying. It was not until he had brushed his thumbs over the moisture that she’d opened her eyes and looked up at him.

She shook her head in answer to his unspoken concern, but she hadn’t protested when he’d rolled onto his back, carrying her with him. He had held her against his side a long time, neither of them speaking. Her head had rested on his shoulder, her hand relaxed on his chest.

He had thought she was asleep until he’d moved, trying to find a more comfortable position for his battered body. She had risen on one elbow and leaned over him. She had stared down into his face for a long time before she bent her head, her mouth again seeking his.

That kiss was what had led to this unhurried exploration of her body. Using his hands, his mouth, and his tongue, he had marked it with his touch—from the sweet, silken curve of her breasts to all the shadowed places nature had so carefully guarded.

“Yes,” she breathed.

In response, he lowered his head again, his tongue caressing the last intimacy. Her fingers clenched and then loosened their hold on his hair as he touched her, his movements unhurried.

All the time in the world.

Her breathing gradually changed, becoming faster and more ragged. Small, nearly soundless inhalations gave way to deeper ones, until finally the air rushed in and out of her open mouth as if she were running a race.

As soon as he felt the first delicate shudder rack her frame, he moved into position over her body. His first downward thrust corresponded to her long, involuntary intake of breath, almost a moan.

He needed no other encouragement. As her hips lifted to meet his, his own release began. They clung to one another as wave after wave of sensation washed through their straining bodies.

Mindless now, he never even thought about who she was or why he was here. This wasn’t about the Phoenix or an assignment or surveillance.

This was only about a woman whose hands clung to him as she trembled beneath him. A woman who whispered his name, even in the throes of her own fulfillment. A woman who matched him movement for movement until they had climaxed together.

Finally the sexual storm passed, leaving him again too drained to move. Only then did he realize that the dynamics of what he was supposed to do had been inevitably changed by what had just happened between them. Like it or not, Kelly Lockett was no longer just the sister of the man he had been sent to investigate.

Innocent bystander or in it up to her neck, she was also a woman to whom he had just made love. And that would impact every other decision he’d make during the course of this assignment.

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