Kim Baldwin
Romances Volume 1

Hunter’s Pursuit

Flight Risk

Focus of Desire

Kim Baldwin
Romances Volume 1

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E-Books from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

E-Books are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

By the Author

Hunter’s Pursuit

Force of Nature

Whitewater Rendezvous

Flight Risk

Focus of Desire

Breaking the Ice

With Xenia Alexiou

Lethal Affairs

Thief of Always

Romances - Volume 1

by

Kim Baldwin

Table of Contents

- Hunter’s Pursuit

- Acknowledgments

- Dedication

- 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

- Chapter Twenty

- Chapter Twenty-One

- Chapter Twenty-Two

- Chapter Twenty-Three

- Chapter Twenty-Four

- Chapter Twenty-Five

- Chapter Twenty-Six

- Chapter Twenty-Seven

- Chapter Twenty-Eight

- Chapter Twenty-Nine

- Chapter Thirty

- Chapter Thirty-One

- Chapter Thirty-Two

- Chapter Thirty-Three

- Chapter Thirty-Four

- Chapter Thirty-Five

- Chapter Thirty-Six

- Chapter Thirty-Seven

- Chapter Thirty-Eight

- Chapter Thirty-Nine

- Chapter Forty

- Chapter Forty-One

- Chapter Forty-Two

- Chapter Forty-Three

- Chapter Forty-Four

- Chapter Forty-Five

- Chapter Forty-Six

- Chapter Forty-Seven

- Chapter Forty-Eight

- Chapter Forty-Nine

- Chapter Fifty

- Chapter Fifty-One

- Chapter Fifty-Two

- Flight Risk

- Acknowledgments

- Dedication

- 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

- Chapter Twenty

- Chapter Twenty-One

- Chapter Twenty-Two

- Chapter Twenty-Three

- Chapter Twenty-Four

- Chapter Twenty-Five

- Chapter Twenty-Six

- Chapter Twenty-Seven

- Focus of Desire

- Acknowledgments

- Dedication

- 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

- Chapter Twenty

- Chapter Twenty-one

- Chapter Twenty-two

- About the Author

Hunter’s Pursuit

When the hunter becomes the hunted…do you trust your instincts or your heart? A killer for hire, Katarzyna Demetrious has grown weary of her violent and solitary life. Contemplating retirement, she had gone into hiding in her remote bunker home as a blizzard rages outside.

But her seclusion is shattered by the appearance of a mysterious stranger, and, with a price tag on her head, Kat is thrust into the most perilous situation she has ever face.

Can she outwit the assassin on her trail? And what if the woman she has rescued…and is unexpectedly attracted to…turns out to be the deadliest of them all?

Hunter’s Pursuit

© 2005 By Kim Baldwin. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 10: 1-933110-09-0E

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

New York, USA

First Edition: March 2005

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Executive Editor: Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

Acknowledgments

I’d like to express my appreciation to several dear friends who read along as I wrote this manuscript and offered their ideas, encouragement, and tactful feedback: Linda Harding, K.L., and Kat Yancey Gilmore and Marsha Walton, who contributed their copy-editor skills early on and deserve special thanks.

I must also acknowledge Margaret A. Helms, whose insights and suggestions made Hunter’s Pursuit a much better book; she taught me lessons about writing fiction that will last a lifetime. I’m deeply grateful.

Most of all, my heartfelt appreciation goes out to Radclyffe and Lee, the forces behind Bold Strokes Books, who made my first novel the book I always wanted it to be and opened the doors to an exciting future and long association. I hope I do you proud! And also many thanks to my wonderful copy editor, Stacia Seaman, whose attention to detail is absolutely unparalleled. And last but not least, to Sheri for a killer cover. I’m extremely fortunate to have been invited to be among such a talented bunch of women.

Finally, to my soul mate and partner, M. This book would not have been possible without you, and is dedicated to you with all my love.

Kim Baldwin 2005

Dedication

For M.,

My Kindred Spirit

Chapter One

Hunter hated the smell of blood, the pungent, metallic scent that seemed to creep into her skin and linger there for days. But experience had taught her how to deal with it. She took shallow breaths as she stood over the chrome kitchen sink, searching the bloody clothes she’d cut off the young woman now lying unconscious in her bedroom. She was looking for a wallet, some ID, some hint to her patient’s identity, but there was nothing to indicate who the woman was or what she was doing way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. In the pockets of the woman’s jeans, shirt, and coat, Hunter found a few bills, some coins, and a small plain key ring containing three keys. Nothing else. She checked the labels on the clothes. No help there. The first person Hunter had ever brought to her underground bunker was a mystery. The only clue was a license plate number.

She wanted to berate herself for rescuing the woman, an action contrary to her better judgment. A lot of people wanted Hunter dead. Bringing an outsider to her hideaway was an unnecessary risk.

But she found it hard to feel threatened by the stranger who lay unmoving in the next room. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t just because the woman seemed harmless and was currently incapacitated. Hunter had exceptional instincts for danger, honed by years of training in the martial arts. And she knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving. But despite all the unanswered questions surrounding the woman, Hunter wasn’t unduly alarmed by tonight’s turn of events. She couldn’t explain it. It was just a feeling.

In her line of work, gut feelings could save your life--or get you killed.

Hunter was not her real name, but it was an apt pseudonym. A freelance bounty hunter and assassin for hire, she was a gifted chameleon, fluent in several languages and renowned for her resourcefulness.

She had an exotic but indistinguishable look about her. Her even features and lightly bronzed complexion could suggest a Mediterranean heritage, or Latin, or maybe even Native American, and she used the ambiguity to her advantage. Last month, her hair was black and she spoke Spanish. This week it was medium brown. Very close to her natural color for the first time in a long time. She used to like the challenge of becoming someone new, but she found she missed recognizing the face that looked back at her in the mirror.

Hunter discarded the bloody clothes, washed up, and went to her desk to fire up her computer.

The bunker had a simple floor plan. The main living area was a 30 by 30 foot concrete room, with a kitchen in the northwest corner and a desk in the southwest corner. The living room took up most of the eastern half of the room. The eastern wall consisted of built-in bookshelves, all jammed with books, beyond which lay a hidden room where Hunter stored her weapons and surveillance equipment. Two doors in the southeast corner led to a bedroom and bath.

Her desk faced the room. Behind it, set into the wall, was a trio of security monitors. All were dark at the moment. Hunter hacked into the state police database and typed in Michigan License MAK 214. While she waited for the registration information, she rubbed her eyes and went over again the bizarre turn of events that had touched off her current situation.

The safe house was well hidden, cut into a hillside in an unpopulated region of northern Michigan just a few miles south of the Lake Superior shoreline. The densely wooded area was hilly and pocketed with small bogs, which made overland travel difficult even under the best circumstances. And fierce nor’easters sweeping down from Canada the last two weeks had created whiteout lake-effect blizzards that made negotiating even short distances impossible.

Tonight had been Hunter’s first opportunity to go outside in many days, and she had relished the chance to venture out into the clear, cloudless night despite temperatures near zero. She’d decided to cure her cabin fever with a hunting expedition and had been successful--the body of a small deer rested on the sled she pulled behind her.

On her journey home, Hunter paused on a high ridge. As she rested, she spotted lights in the valley below on the only road in the area, a two-lane going north/south. North, it led to a small village--Wolf Point. But the village’s antique stores and restaurants, motels, and boat rentals were shuttered up from Labor Day to Memorial Day, so the road was unused this time of year except by the occasional snowmobile venturing out of Tawa, a city thirty miles to the south.

Hunter raised her rifle to one shoulder and peered through its high-powered scope. These weren’t snowmobile headlights. It was a car--traveling impossibly fast in the deep snow of the unplowed road. In another minute it would pass just below her. He’ll never make the curve at that speed, Hunter thought as she watched the sedan’s progress.

The car careened past, fishtailed, and clipped a tree before flipping twice and coming to rest at the bottom of a small ravine. One headlight canted crazily upward. The other was dark.

Almost before it stopped, Hunter tossed down the rifle and pulled the deer’s body from the toboggan. She jumped aboard the sled and sent it hurtling down toward the wreckage. Flames erupted from the vehicle’s engine just as she dug in her heels to brake.

It took a couple of minutes to douse the fire with snow. One or two more to get the door open. A woman, unconscious, was pinned in the driver’s seat. You can’t afford to get involved, Hunter’s instincts screamed, but the woman’s face was bleeding and one arm was turned at an unnatural angle. She would probably freeze to death unless Hunter intervened.

Hunter leaned into the car with her small pocket flashlight, looking for a way to extricate the driver. She could smell a musky perfume mixed with the acrid scent of blood. The woman stirred and cried out in pain, and the sound pierced Hunter’s armor. She had to help.

She bent back the mangled steering wheel and managed to get the driver out, cradling the woman in her arms to move her the short distance to the sled.

As soon as Hunter lifted her, the woman sighed and buried her face in Hunter’s neck. She reached up with her uninjured arm and touched her rescuer’s cheek. It was like a lover’s caress--so sweet and gentle and so unexpected that Hunter froze for a moment.

No one ever touched her like that. Or at least, no one had for a very long time.

She was surprised to discover what a lasting impression that brief caress had made. You liked it, didn’t you? You liked it very much.

Hunter glanced at the photograph on her desk, studying the faces of the happy family pictured there. You used to pet my cheek like that, didn’t you? She felt a twinge of regret for the choices she’d made. It was an emotion she rarely allowed herself to feel but was growing increasingly familiar with. She’d been thinking a lot lately about the past, and about retirement.

There was really no reason for her to work anymore. She had plenty of money and nothing to prove to anyone. And her conscience was beginning to nag at her after remaining mostly dormant much of her adult life. Even the righteous kills no longer held any satisfaction. And the worst parts of her past--the jobs she’d hated but had been forced to take--those kills had begun to give her nightmares.

A soft chime from her computer drew her back to the present.

In her haste to get the stranger back to the bunker, Hunter had given the wrecked sedan only a cursory inspection, but she’d seen no purse and the glove compartment was empty. The license plate was all she had to go on in trying to establish her patient’s identity.

It told her the car was stolen.

According to the Michigan State Police database, the car had been reported stolen in Detroit on 2/24/05. The blue Sebring sedan was registered to a sixty-nine-year-old Ann Arbor man named Douglas Dunn. It had been taken from a gas station while its owner was inside paying for his tank of gas.

The car had been stolen a week ago, hundreds of miles away. Curiouser and curiouser, Hunter thought, frowning. She rose from her chair to check on her mysterious patient.

*

The injured woman stirred, caught halfway between sleep and wakefulness. Something seemed to be holding her down, pressing against her chest. It cut into her side with every breath. She felt too warm and her body ached. But the worst was the shooting pain in her head. She tried to force her mind to a place without pain. An impossible task. But after a time, she fell back into the black void of sleep.

*

Hunter touched her hand to the woman’s forehead. Feverish. She backed away and settled into an overstuffed chair she’d pulled beside the bed and studied the woman who lay unmoving under a heavy fleece blanket tucked around her like a cocoon.

Her patient was 5 foot 4 or so, with a firm, well-toned body. She looked to be about twenty-five, ten years younger than Hunter, and she was probably quite attractive, but it was hard to tell for sure at the moment. Bandages hid much of her face and the areas that were exposed were puffy and bruised. Her nose had been broken, blackening both eyes, and there was a small lump behind one ear. Her shoulder-length blond hair was matted with dried blood, and a three-inch gash on her forehead had been closed with several neat stitches of dental floss. Her left arm was set with a makeshift splint, her left knee was wrapped in an Ace bandage, and her rib cage had been tightly taped when Hunter felt at least two, and probably three, cracked ribs.

Hunter had taken several classes for paramedics. She’d received a multitude of injuries over the years in her job, sometimes in countries where doctors were scarce, other times in places where stabbings and gunshot wounds required physicians to contact law enforcement. So she treated her own injuries when she could.

But it had been quite another experience altogether to treat this stranger. She’d tried to be clinical about it. Detached. Detached was something she was normally very good at.

But she couldn’t help but notice when she stripped off the woman’s clothes what soft skin lay beneath. Pale and fair, where Hunter was dark. The silky flesh unmarked, except for two scars. One an inch long, above her right eye, and a raised, jagged one on her abdomen that Hunter found herself lightly tracing with a fingertip, as if by doing so she could discern the injury that had caused it.

As she gently probed the stranger’s ribs for injuries, Hunter’s eyes strayed to the woman’s full, round breasts, nipples pink and hard in the cool bunker.

She took her time examining and treating the woman.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been quite this turned on.

*

Something brought the injured woman back to the edge of consciousness, a murky place where the relentless drumming in her head overshadowed the pain elsewhere in her body. She struggled to open her eyes, fighting hazily to learn the circumstances of her pain, but she could see nothing.

All was black. And still. There was only the pain. Horrible, horrible pain. Dear God, make it stop! She couldn’t move. Where am I? Her mind was unable to tell her where she was or how she got there. A rush of panic washed over her. Am I dead? Can you be in pain when you’re dead? Am I in hell?

She had to move her body. To connect again with the real world. She tried to raise her arms to throw off the confining covers, but the effort brought a sharp new pain to her left forearm, momentarily eclipsing the throbbing in her head. She gasped aloud, a raspy sound that seemed to come from very far away.

"Can you hear me?"

A voice! A human voice! A woman, very near. I’m not dead. And someone is with me. Knowing she was not alone, wherever she was, pushed back the panic a little.

"Can you hear me?" the voice asked again. It was low and melodious. Soothing.

She wanted to answer. The voice was a lifeline. A beacon in her black world. But it was an effort. "What?" The word came out as a croak. "Where...?"

"You’re safe," said the voice. "Everything is all right."

The words had a calming effect. The panic receded somewhat. Hospital. Must be in the hospital. What happened? She wanted to talk, but her throat was swollen and dry. Her tongue was made of sandpaper. "Can’t..." she tried again. Her head pounded away, relentless.

"Try to drink a little. I’ll help you."

Gentle arms lifted the woman’s head and shoulders--a movement that amplified her pain.

"Stop!" she screamed.

Her upward progress was halted, and the low voice spoke again, a whisper close to her ear. "Try to relax and focus on your breathing. It will help against the pain. In...and out. In...and out. That’s good. Now I’m going to give you some water. You must try and drink some."

Slender fingertips gently parted her swollen lips and guided a plastic straw between them. She sucked on it and felt cool water flood her mouth and throat, relieving a bit of her discomfort. After a few sips, she released the straw and was laid gently back against the mattress.

"What happened?" Speaking took tremendous effort. The sound seemed to reverberate in her head.

"I know you must feel like hell," said the voice, suspended in the darkness to her right. "You got banged up pretty good. A broken wrist, some cracked ribs, maybe a concussion."

"Where am I?" Another wave of pain assaulted the woman’s already throbbing head.

"You’re in my home...a long way from the nearest doctor, and it’s impossible to move you. There’s no phone here, but I really think you’ll be fine. You need to rest now."

"Can’t...see," the woman rasped. She tried to swallow. Coughed.

The gentle hands cupped the back of her head, bringing it up very slowly, and reinserted the straw between her lips. She sucked eagerly on it. The cool water seemed to dull the throbbing in her head.

"Your eyes are swollen shut, and the room is dark to help you sleep. Don’t worry about all that now. Give the swelling time to go down. Get some rest," the voice urged before moving away.

Wait! Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone! What’s happened to me? Who are you? But she was alone again, she could feel it. Silence. Darkness. The fear began to creep back in, just a little.

Focus on your breathing, the voice had said. And so she did. In...and out. In...and out.

A nice voice, she thought hazily. A caring, kind voice. Her mind conjured it up again. There was a hint of an accent, wasn’t there? Sexy. It was a distraction from the pain. From her disorientation. In...and out. In...and out. She surrendered to the voice and drifted back into an emptiness devoid of dreams.

*

She’ll have more questions when she wakes up, Hunter thought as she returned to her living room. I better start thinking about what I’m going to tell her, who I’m going to be. Nothing too elaborate. Keep it simple. Of course, the bunker does make things a little more complicated.

She had adopted a number of personalities over the years. Heiress, Pilot, Chef. The heiress identity had gotten her close to a rich Italian shipping magnate whose secret business involved the transporting of illicit human flesh to high-paying clients who used them for sex and servitude. Girls and boys, most not yet sixteen. She felt no remorse when she put a gun to the man’s head.

Not the heiress, she decided. Maybe the chef? She went to her refrigerator and pulled the door open. There were a few apples, two eggs, and a half brick of cheese--the only remnants of the perishables she’d brought in by snowmobile three weeks earlier. She usually stayed in the bunker between jobs. Nah. Can’t be the chef. Even one eccentric enough to have a bunker home would still have more in her icebox.

The food situation wasn’t as dire as it appeared. A door off the kitchen led to a large pantry, twelve feet long by eight feet wide. Deep shelves held a large variety of dried and canned goods and staples like flour and sugar, powdered milk and eggs.

I should go back to pick up the deer, especially since I have another mouth to feed. Hope nothing’s gotten to it. She was glad she had field dressed the animal and that the temperature outside was well below freezing. She also needed to retrieve her rifle. Wouldn’t hurt to have another look at that car, either.

She headed back to her desk and picked up the remote control as she dropped into the chair and turned to face the monitors. She clicked on the first one and studied the security camera’s image of the forested area just outside the well-hidden entrance. The tracks from the sled were still visible. That’s pretty easy to follow, if someone has an inclination to.

She wasn’t expecting company. But this was apparently a night for the unexpected, so she didn’t like having a clear trail from the wreck right to her front door. What the hell was she doing out on that road?

Hunter flipped off the monitor and wheeled around to face the desk. She reached for her computer keyboard and opened her instant message program, selecting "Kenny" from her list of contacts.

Kenny Foster was the closest thing she had to family. They’d met seven years ago at the Academy. She was a veteran by then, but still living on the grounds.

He was ten years younger, and still a new recruit. At first, Hunter regarded Kenny as nothing more than another link in the chain of computer whiz kids who were common at the Academy. They came and went with startling frequency--most of them geeky, adolescent boys who leered at her and hit on her mercilessly until they learned who she was.

Kenny was different. He had a genius level IQ and a maturity that belied his age. Though he too had a hideous crush on her, he hid it well most of the time and never approached her about it or spoke to her at all. But she caught him watching her surreptitiously when they crossed paths at the cafeteria or elsewhere on the grounds.

He began to get a reputation at the school--a difficult task in an environment of overachievers. He had a special gift with computers, and it was rumored he could crack into any database or computer in the world. Despite his tender age, he began to be assigned some top-level jobs. His first assignment in the field was under Hunter’s supervision, and it was fortunate it was or he’d not have made it back.

When she learned they would be working together, Hunter sought him out. She found him alone on a bench on the grounds and joined him. She was a little intrigued by the baby-faced, slightly built teenager. She’d heard about his technical skills but knew very little else about him.

"You don’t look old enough to drink," she said by way of greeting.

"Good disguise, huh? I’m really forty-two and balding."

She laughed.

"We’re going to be working together, I hear," he said. "I don’t want you to think I can’t take care of myself because I can."

"Glad to hear it."

"I scored a 92 on my marksmanship test yesterday."

"Impressive," she said.

"Getting there. But I don’t think I’ll ever have your consistency. Did you ever get less than a perfect score when you were in training?"

She smiled at him. So he’d hacked into her file. "What else do you know about me?"

"You’re twenty-eight and single," he offered. "You speak six languages fluently: English, Greek, French, Spanish, German, and Arabic. And you know a smattering of Italian, Portuguese, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese. You have black belts in several martial arts disciplines, and you’re an expert fencer. And you weren’t born in this country, but I couldn’t track down where you were born, or what your real name is."

"Pretty good," she said. "Now what about you?"

"I’m eighteen," he said. "Good at computers and math, but not much else, I’m sorry to say."

"Parents? Family?"

"Dead," he said, without elaborating.

She looked into his eyes and saw herself--a solitary orphan with pathetic social skills and no direction. He was a kindred spirit.

"Mine too," she revealed. But the memories were still too painful.

There was another long silence.

"You’ll do fine," Hunter said, getting to her feet. "I’ll keep an eye out for you."

She had done just that, and brought him home alive.

Afterward, at her urging, he decided to remain in the relative safety of the computer room and kept his ear to the ground. That suited Hunter fine. She didn’t have to worry about his well-being, and she had a faithful ally in the inner sanctum. Two years later, when she escaped the Academy, she took Kenny with her.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

She typed: Hey buddy, checking in. Anything interesting on the pipeline these days.

She glanced again at the photo on the desk while she waited. Her guest wouldn’t be up and around for a while, but she thought it best to put it away. Avoid questions. She opened the bottom drawer and put the photo face down atop a pile of file folders. Then she locked the desk and pocketed the key.

A chime from her computer drew her attention back to the monitor. The reply from Kenny read: Shit yes, Hunter. You’re in danger! I’ve been trying to reach you for two days--someone’s put a million dollar contract out on you. Don’t know who yet, or whether anyone’s gonna try to collect. Working on it. Be careful.

Hunter took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to relax against the tension building between her shoulder blades. She typed: Keep me posted, but quit worrying. I’m safe.

Yeah, right. Where have I heard that before?

Hunter stared at her computer screen. Someone puts a million-dollar price tag on your head one day, and the next--a woman shows up on your lonely road. With no ID. Driving a stolen car like the devil himself was after her. The hair stood up on the back of her neck.

You should rest, she told herself. She’ll be out for a while, and you should be sharp for question-and-answer time.

Hunter lay down on the leather couch in the living room. Let’s just say for a moment she isn’t after me. This is just some weird coincidence. Whoever this woman is, what the hell am I going to tell her?

She closed her eyes and began to take deep, even breaths. As she drifted off, her mind considered and rejected several more identities. Law enforcement. Personal trainer. Musician. Possible. But the security monitors would be kind of hard to explain. Gardener. Architect. Paramedic. That one’s not bad. But a paramedic would have a phone and a pager. And better medical supplies. No, it should be a job where I could be working from home. Maybe something connected to the Internet...

The dream began as it always did. She was opening the door to his bedroom. Everything was going smoothly. The layout of the house had been exactly as described. She had only to dispatch her target and get the hell out of there. No muss, no fuss.

His outline under the covers was clearly visible in the moonlight streaming in through the window beside the bed. The blankets were in disarray. Like Hunter, he was a restless sleeper. But he didn’t stir as she approached the bed, and his soft snoring satisfied her that he was well and truly asleep.

She didn’t know his name. She knew nothing of him at all, except that he was alone in the house, and he had to die. Garner thought it best, in the beginning, to give her as little information as possible.

So she put the gun to his head. But before she could pull the trigger, there was a noise behind her. She whirled around. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway.

It was only her third assignment, and it was the first time things didn’t go exactly as expected. She did as she’d been taught. It had been drilled into her, over and over again. Leave no witnesses.

She raised the gun and fired at the silhouette, then spun back to the bed and fired again as the sleeping figure came awake. The man in the bed made no further movement or noise. But the other did not die immediately. There was a sound from the doorway, a soft moan of pain.

Hunter had to be sure. She pulled out her flashlight and approached the dark figure on the floor. The flashlight’s bright narrow beam found a teenaged boy. Tall. Blond. Young. Fifteen or sixteen, probably. He had pajamas on, and there were braces on his teeth. Blood was pumping out of him at a furious pace from the hole in his chest, and Hunter knew he would die soon.

"Dad!" the boy moaned. He reached out with a bloody hand and grasped the cuff of Hunter’s pants. "Dad!"

Hunter woke from the dream as she always did, thrashing about in a cold sweat, trying to shake the boy off, heart pounding.

She never knew the boy’s name. But he haunted her still.

Hunter lay on the couch, feeling not at all rested from her nap. Her eyes scanned the wall of bookshelves facing her, and she considered what lay behind them. The secret chamber that housed her arsenal. Her mind returned to her search for the right identity. And just how would you ever begin to explain the tools of your trade?

It was that thought that gave her the answer she was looking for. The persona that was perhaps closest to her heart was perfect for her current situation. It would explain the bunker, the isolated location, even the security monitors. The tools that were behind the wall--some of them anyway--would be the perfect window dressing to the story. So would the bunker’s décor.

She went to the bookshelves and removed a first edition of The Secret Garden from a high shelf. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed the button that was hidden behind it. A loud click confirmed the unlocking of the center panel, which she swung open to reveal her armory. She ignored the safes that contained her weapons and moved to the one that housed her surveillance equipment.

Hunter opened the safe and pulled out a high-powered spotting scope, her night-vision goggles, and her 35mm and digital cameras. She placed them on the coffee table in front of the couch. Her large-format field camera and tripod were set up in a corner of the living room before she closed the bookshelf panel and locked it again.

She was pleased with her solution, and not just because her photographer identity would explain the bunker and its contents. I don’t want to lie to her if I don’t have to, she realized, and this is close to the truth. The admission startled her. She was a practiced liar, and did it well. Why don’t I want to lie to her?

She had no answer for that. There was just something about the woman that she found intriguing. The stranger brought out a gentle, nurturing side of Hunter that she wasn’t aware she was even capable of. And she had certainly stimulated Hunter’s libido.

Resigning herself to the unfamiliar feelings, Hunter began thinking about how she would introduce herself to her guest. She swore long ago she would never tell anyone her real name again, yet she didn’t want to use Hunter, either. She didn’t know what the woman was doing there, or who she was. It wouldn’t be prudent to admit her real identity.

And there was another reason.

You just don’t want to be Hunter anymore, do you? Hunter is ruthless. Unfeeling. And that’s not what you want to be with her.

No immediate solution came to mind.

She returned to her computer to check in with Kenny. Anything new? she typed.

His response came at once. Yes. At least two takers on your contract. Our old friend Otter, and a woman--no ID on her yet. Still don’t know who is behind it. More soon, I hope.

A woman? Oh, Lord. This just gets better, Hunter thought. Her head began to throb.

Her gut feeling still refused to acknowledge that the woman in the next room might be dangerous. But she had to admit that she wasn’t altogether certain her hormones weren’t clouding her judgment. She vowed not to let her guard down.

She returned to the bedroom. The only light spilled in through the half-open door. She checked the woman’s forehead again. The fever seemed to be gone, but the woman moaned softly in her sleep, apparently in pain.

Hunter untucked the blanket on the left side of the bed and pulled it back to check the makeshift splint she’d wrapped around her patient’s left wrist. Not a bad job, if I do say so myself. That’ll heal just fine.

She started to cover the woman again, but froze when she caught sight of something she had missed earlier while treating the woman’s injuries. Damn. How could I not have noticed that? Probably because you were staring at her breasts. Hunter frowned. She felt a sharp pang of disappointment. I bet someone is looking for her.

Chapter Two

Six days earlier

Scout had been tracking her quarry for four days. The trail had led her to St. Ignace, just north of the Mackinac Bridge, the five-mile span that joins the two peninsulas of Michigan. Here the trail had turned cold, so she was checking places she knew that Hunter was known to frequent before hiding out--groceries, car rentals, and post offices.

Scout had done her research. She was certain she was well ahead of anyone else trying to collect on the million-dollar contract. Not that many would even try. Although Hunter’s reputation had been exaggerated over the years, it was not entirely false. But Scout was confident she would prevail. I know how you think, Hunter--because I’m just like you. That gives me an advantage. That’s how I’ll catch you. And no one is more motivated than I am.

She parked the stolen Sebring sedan behind a small post office, next to a battered red pickup that probably belonged to the clerk. There was only one other car, parked directly in front of the main entrance. She waited until it pulled away.

Stepping into the small alcove, she paused to study the clerk behind the glass door ahead of her. Perfect. Piece of cake. Scout unzipped her coat and opened the top three buttons of her blouse.

The clerk was middle-aged and balding, with a bit of a paunch. Part of a tattoo peeked out from his rolled-up cuff. He looked up when the door opening triggered a little bell.

Scout put on a smile sure to melt any man and sashayed toward him. "Hi there," she said, leaning forward across the narrow counter. "Can I steal a few minutes of your time? I’m new around here and I bet you are just the guy I need to talk to." She reached out and touched his arm. "Whatcha say, sugar? Help a girl out?"

The clerk almost managed to hide his surprise. "I’m all yours, beautiful." He grinned.

"I’m looking for a girlfriend of mine," Scout purred. "She’s the memorable type. Tall. Pretty." She reached into a pocket and withdrew a small photograph. It looked like a driver’s license or mug shot photo. Face front, plain background. Hunter wasn’t smiling.

Scout handed it to the clerk. "I haven’t seen her in a while. Her hair might be different," she said, studying his face.

One of Scout’s best talents was reading people. She noticed the tiny changes in body language that signaled when someone was hiding something or lying. She’d seen the man’s eyes widen just slightly in recognition when he looked at the photo. Yet he did not readily admit he’d seen Hunter.

"She was in here waiting for a package?" she encouraged, giving his arm a little caress.

"Well, honey..." he finally said, a leer spreading across his face, "I may need to think about that a while. I get off in an hour, how about we go get a drink and talk about it?"

"Look...I’m in a hurry now to find her, but I’ll take you up on that when I’m done with my little errand."

The clerk scarcely heard her. He was too distracted by her cleavage--her breasts barely contained within a lacy red bra that peeked out of her tailored silk blouse. He licked his lips as his eyes traveled upward, taking in her fair skin and tousled blond hair. Meeting her eyes again, he gave her a wink. "Now, I’m sure whatever it is can wait until my memory comes back. Maybe I need a little incentive."

Scout’s flirtatious fa�ade evaporated. The pouty smile disappeared. Her eyes narrowed to slits. "How’s this?" she snapped, moving before he could react. She pinned down his arm with the hand she had casually caressed him with, cutting into his wrist with sharp fingernails. Her other hand brought a small but razor-sharp knife to his throat.

Oh, Jesus. He felt it nick his skin, drawing blood. He froze. She was at least a head shorter than he was, but he knew immediately not to resist. "Hey, now, no need to get upset, lady," he stuttered. "I was just trying to be friendly. I didn’t--"

"Shut up. Just tell me what you know." Scout pressed the knife against his throat again, this cut a little longer and deeper. A small stream of blood trickled down his neck, mixing with his sweat. Her face moved to within inches of his, and he could see a savage determination in her eyes.

"She came in here a couple of weeks ago. Three weeks, maybe. She was around a couple of days, waiting for a general delivery package." He paused and felt another jab from the knife. "The name was Mary Green, I think. She got tired of waiting, told me to forward it on when it arrived. I did, couple of days later. Some place farther north of here." The words rushed out. He was sweating profusely.

"Where exactly?" she urged, still only inches from his face. She pressed the knifepoint against his jugular.

"I really don’t remember," the man shrieked.

Scout could taste his panic. "You will."

*

Two hours later, in a small run-down motel called the Vagabond, Scout relaxed on room seven’s queen-sized bed. Her back, cushioned by worn pillows, rested against the headboard, and her legs were stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. She was eating takeout Chinese food with chopsticks. Beside her, a laptop computer displayed pictures of quaint log cabins for rent, each equipped with a fireplace, kitchen, and hot tub.

It took her about an hour of searching the Internet to find what she was looking for, and her final choice had nothing to do with amenities. She unplugged the phone line from her laptop and replaced it in the phone, then picked up the receiver and dialed.

"Star View Cabins," a female voice on the other end answered.

"Hey there," Scout responded with a convincing Southern drawl. "I’d like to reserve a cabin for my husband Boots and I for a second honeymoon. I’m fixin’ to surprise him. Y’all got somethin’ available right away?" As she spoke, Scout cracked open her fortune cookie. People find it difficult to resist your persuasive manner. A grin spread across her face.

"As a matter of fact, we do. We had a snowmobile group just cancel."

Scout glanced at the laptop. "I read on your Web site that your cabins are really secluded, is that right?"

"Yes, indeed. All the cabins are well away from each other, and the resort is accessible only by snowmobile this time of year. Will you be bringing your own or would you like me to arrange transportation out of Tawa for you?"

"We’ll have our own, thanks. I’d like to reserve your most remote cabin for two weeks, starting tomorrow night. And can you lay in a supply of groceries and put a note on my booking that we don’t want to be disturbed? Just charge everything to my credit card." Scout’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I’m gonna make Boots unplug his pager and I’m leaving the cell phone at home."

"That’s no problem at all. May I have the number on your credit card?"

"You bet. The name is Douglas Dunn." She read off the number. Serves him right, Scout thought. What idiot leaves credit card receipts in his glove compartment?

She hung up the phone, humming happily to herself. You’re mine, Hunter. All mine. Wherever you’re hiding, I’ll find you.

Chapter Three

A chorus of tympanis pounded away in her head as she came awake. Stop that infernal drumming. I can’t think. She tried to remember where she was and what had happened to her. Feels like I’ve been dropped off a cliff and then run over.

Bits and pieces came to her. She’d been hurt. The voice. I remember the voice. A warm, reassuring voice had taken care of her. Made her feel safe. She longed to hear it again.

She fought to open her eyes. One swollen lid obeyed and cracked open enough for her to see she was in a darkened room. A bedroom, unfamiliar. Light spilled in through a half-open door opposite the bed. Where am I? What is this place? She tried to turn her head to look around, but the effort amplified the insistent throbbing behind her eyes. She took a deep breath and a stabbing pain cut into her side.

"Ow! Damn!"

The woman heard a yawn from somewhere off to her right, close by, and then came the rich, low voice she remembered. "Are you all right? Where does it hurt?"

The voice was a tonic. She had to see the face behind it. She tried again to turn her head. But the pain was unbearable, and she slumped back against the pillow. "My head is killing me," she rasped out, wincing in pain. She heard a drawer open and the sound of water being poured. "Who are you?"

"I’m going to help you take some ibuprofen," the voice said, ignoring her question. "Try to drink as much of the water as you can."

A hand slipped beneath her neck, then moved to support the back of her head. It was a large hand, strong, but it cradled her with caring gentleness. Another hand came into her narrow field of vision. Two long fingers and a thumb held small brown tablets to her lips.

She opened her mouth, extending the tip of her tongue, and felt the tablets placed there. She saw the hand withdraw briefly, and then it was back with a glass of water, the fingers guiding the straw into her mouth. She downed most of the contents of the glass. Her mind urged the voice to speak again. As she relaxed and released the straw, it did.

"Well done. Think you can manage some soup? You need to get your strength back."

"Yes. Hungry," she answered. She was shrugging off the haze. Her mind was becoming clearer, and the water hitting her stomach seemed to bring it back to life.

"That’s a good sign. Rest for a bit. I’ll be back and wake you when it’s ready. Chicken noodle okay?"

"Yes, thanks," she managed, absently adding, "My favorite."

She heard the squeak of a chair cushion beside her, and then she saw the retreating back of the woman behind the soothing voice. Her caretaker reached the door and pulled it open, pausing to turn back for another look. For an instant she was silhouetted in the doorway.

She had long legs, a lean, athletic build, and she was tall. Broad shoulders tapered to a thin waist and trim but shapely hips. She was somehow bigger than life. A presence. The woman in the bed involuntarily sucked in a deep breath at the sight. She ignored the pain the movement caused in her side. The door closed, plunging the room into darkness again.

Nice. Very nice, she thought. Great voice and incredible body.

She dozed.

The next thing she knew she felt that hand under her head again. A strong enfolding arm followed the hand; this time she was brought slowly up to a half-seated position. Pillows were jammed behind her back, but the arm remained around her shoulders, supporting her weight. She could feel the presence of her rescuer beside and slightly behind her, but she was unable to turn to look her in the face. She wanted to, very much.

The room was still darkened, but enough light came in through the open doorway to allow her to see that a small rectangular tray had been placed over her lap. It held a bowl of soup, spoon, and napkin, and a mug of weak tea. As she sat up, the blanket slipped down a bit, exposing her upper chest to cool air. She shivered. She realized for the first time she was naked, and the knowledge sent a faint flush to her cheeks. How long have I been out? she wondered. And how long has she been taking care of me?

She went to cover herself and only then realized that her left arm was in a splint. It screamed in protest when she tried to move it. She gasped.

Her caretaker reached around her and pulled the blanket back up, tucking it around her chin. "I’ll feed you," the voice said softly, so close to her ear that she could feel the warm breath of the words move her hair.

"Who are you?" the woman asked again, as the napkin was tucked beneath her chin.

"Eat first, then we’ll talk."

Neither spoke for several minutes while the injured woman sipped the soup. She could see just a bit out of her other eye now, and was glad for the return of her depth perception.

She studied the hand as it fed her. Long fingers, tanned skin. Short fingernails. No polish, no jewelry. A handsome hand, she thought.

After the tea was gone, and near the end of the bowl of soup, she broke the silence, asking between spoonfuls, "Will you tell me again what happened? I can’t seem to remember." She felt much more lucid now, despite the persistent pain in her head. It was easier to talk, and she could feel her strength returning.

The body she was leaning against stiffened, and there was a pause before the low voice spoke again.

"You were in a car accident. I saw it happen, got you out, and brought you to my home. We’re a long way from a town or doctor."

"A car accident? Did I hit something?"

"No, your car went off the road and flipped over. You were going pretty fast, and the road wasn’t plowed. What’s the last thing you recall?"

She closed her eyes. She’d been trying to remember. Her brow creased in concentration. "Where am I?" she asked. "I mean, what state is this?" She was still having a hard time conjuring up anything about the accident.

"You’re in Michigan. The Upper Peninsula, near Lake Superior. You don’t remember that?"

She tried to focus. Everything she remembered seemed inconsequential. She liked chicken noodle soup, for one thing. It’s my favorite. I know that. The thought consoled her a little.

I’ve been to Paris. She could see sidewalk cafes, and patisseries with glass display cases filled with delicate desserts. I had a puppy when I was small. But she couldn’t recall the dog’s name. I make a mean Bundt cake, and I drink way too much coffee. Someone is always kidding me about that, but who? Who? It hit her. Her name.

She felt her stomach drop suddenly as the realization struck home. Who am I? A sudden panic washed over her. Oh, my God, I can’t remember my name. Her breathing accelerated. Or where I live. She searched her mind for some solid bit of information. Her home, her family. Nothing.

"What is it?" the voice said. The arm that supported her tightened its hold. "You’re hyperventilating. Try to slow your breathing."

She wanted to comply, but it was several moments before she calmed enough to speak. "I don’t remember...anything. Nothing important, anyway. Why can’t I remember my name?" Saying the words, admitting it aloud, increased the sense of panic. Her eyes welled with tears. She tried to turn her body, forgetting for a moment about her injuries. The shooting pain in her head stopped her cold. "Who am I? Do you know who I am?"

The woman supporting her shifted position, and she was soon enfolded in strong arms.

"No, I’m sorry," the voice whispered beside her ear, as a hand gently petted her back. "But don’t worry. You’ll remember, or we’ll find out somehow."

She began to cry, burying her face into her rescuer’s soft cotton pullover. It was too much to absorb at once. Too overwhelming to think that the memories of her life had been wiped out. The only thing that was keeping absolute terror at bay was this kind Samaritan who had taken her in.

"Everything will be all right, you’ll see."

She had no reason to believe the words, but she wanted to, desperately. She clung to the voice and the arms that embraced her, weeping softly until a more urgent need asserted itself.

"I have to...use the bathroom," she whispered. She felt the embrace loosen, and then she was lowered back to the bed.

"I’ll help you," the voice said, out of her range of view. "I have a pan for you to use. You’ll need to help me get it under you...but try not to put weight on your left leg. Your knee got banged up in the accident."

Cool air hit her body as the blanket was peeled back, and she put her weight mostly on her right leg, lifting her hips so the shallow plastic pan could be placed beneath her. Mortified by her vulnerable position, she took a moment to empty her bladder. Soon it was over, the pan was removed, and the blanket tucked again around her. She had kept her eyes closed throughout most of the process in her embarrassment.

Her exertions and full stomach made her suddenly very tired. She yawned.

"Sleep now, I’ll be back to check on you in a while."

She was nearly there when a last conscious thought occurred to her. Wait, what’s your name? she wanted to ask, but she was already asleep.

*

Hunter returned to her computer to see if there was anything more from Kenny, particularly about the people who were after her. Intuitively, she believed that her patient’s apparent amnesia was no act.

Kenny’s reply was immediate. Otter is in Michigan, don’t know where. Got a little on the woman. She’s short, blond, pretty. Did a recent hit in the Mideast. Has a thing for knives, uses lots of identities. No one knows her real name.

Hunter bristled. Nah, it couldn’t be. She could spot an assassin at a hundred yards. She’d know if one were lying in her bed. Wouldn’t she?

What’s happening to me?

Hunter had very large "personal space" requirements and was far from the nurturing sort. She rarely allowed anyone within her reach, unless she was initiating the contact. And that contact was usually either violent or for the rare purpose of quick, anonymous sexual gratification. She had always been a solitary individual and had resigned herself to the fact she would always stand apart from the rest of the world.

But something was different now. She had thought herself incapable of the sorts of things she was now doing and feeling. But she’d not only readily embraced the woman--she’d enjoyed it. Very much. Enjoyed the physical closeness. The act of comforting another human being.

And something else. Her libido had made itself known again, stirring up the mental image of the naked body beneath the sheets.

Hunter wasn’t yet ready to try to articulate what it all meant. She felt a little out of control. But it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience.

She admitted to herself that no matter how much she was drawn to the stranger, nothing would likely happen between them. She was what she was, after all. Who could care about me, with the life I’ve led and the things I’ve done? And there were far too many unknowns about her guest. She knew there was no future in it. Still, she found an unusual peace with her unexpected company. She’d enjoy what she had, as long as she could.

She thought some more about the questions that were sure to come up the next time the woman woke up, and the answers she would give.

With that thought, she heard the woman’s voice call out tentatively from the other room.

"Hello?"

Chapter Four

Two days earlier

Tawa was a small tourist town, catering to a year-round stream of outdoor types. Springtime brought bird-watchers, and summer invited campers, hikers, and boaters. Fall drew deer hunters, and winter heralded the arrival of snowmobile and cross-country ski crowds.

As a result, Tawa was well equipped with a number of small motels and cabins, some well away from the town itself. It was toward one group of such cabins that a brand new Ski-doo snowmobile now raced.

Scout tried to dissipate her growing frustration. She’d spent the last three days trying to pick up some trace of Hunter. There were a lot of places to check, and so far she’d found no one who remembered seeing her quarry. She’d questioned all the clerks at the local post office, and none recalled seeing the woman in the photograph or a package addressed to Mary Green.

She was certain that Hunter would isolate herself. So she concentrated her search on the more remote inns and cabins around Tawa. She’d put a lot of miles on the snowmobile she bought at a small dealership in town, once again charging it to the sedan owner’s credit card. But her stakeouts had turned up no sign of Hunter, and she began to wonder if her target had moved on. She didn’t think so--Hunter had this destination in mind, she was sure. For the first time, it occurred to Scout that maybe Hunter had a permanent place in the area.

She eased back on the snowmobile’s throttle as she approached the isolated cabin she’d been staying in, then braked in front of the door and shut off the engine. When she did, she could hear the faraway sound of a helicopter. Her eyes scanned the sky. The sound was coming nearer, but the trees around the cabin prevented her from seeing it. The sound changed, becoming constant, then abruptly stopped. It’s at the lodge. She started up the snowmobile again and headed off in that direction.

When her snowmobile emerged from the woods about a half mile away, she spotted the helicopter. It was parked in a small clearing just outside the log-and-stone lodge that served as the central office for the Star View resort.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw three men carrying supplies from the helicopter to the lodge. That’s how they supply these remote places--with helicopters. There can’t be more than a couple of them at most out here in this godforsaken place. She watched from some distance away, the snowmobile engine idling. The men finished with their task and went into the lodge. Not a good time to talk to the pilot. But soon, very soon.

Scout headed back to her cabin to plot her next move. She was closing in on Hunter. She could feel it.

Chapter Five

When Hunter’s patient awoke again, she tried to stretch and winced at a dull pain in her knee. The throbbing behind her ear was tolerable, and she could move her head without the shooting pain she had experienced earlier. Her eyes felt crusty and swollen, but she could see well enough to take in her surroundings. The room was still dim, illuminated only by a shaft of light coming in through the open door.

She looked toward the dark leather easy chair where her benefactor had been seated. A small sigh of disappointment escaped her lips as she realized she was alone.

Her eyes began to take in the rest of the room. There were no windows. She was in a comfortable antique bed that sat quite high off the floor. Oak, in a simple Shaker style she found very pleasing. There was a matching table next to the bed. It had two drawers and a shelf full of books. She couldn’t read the titles in the dim light. On the table were a lamp, a pitcher and glass, and assorted first aid supplies, neatly arranged: ointments and gauze, tape and scissors, a bottle of ibuprofen.

A large dresser that also matched the bed completed the furniture in the room. There was nothing on the dresser--no photographs or knickknacks. The walls held a few large framed pictures. Photographs, she thought, but she couldn’t see any of them clearly. Except for the pictures, the room had a Spartan, impersonal feel to it. Like a hotel room.

The silence was deafening. No T.V. noise from the other room. No sounds at all. Did she leave?

She didn’t want to be alone. She felt claustrophobic. She ached to hear the voice again and see the woman who belonged to it. Clearing her throat, she called out, "Hello?"

*

Hunter hesitated briefly with her hand on the doorknob, composing herself, before stepping into the room and walking to the bedside table.

The stranger’s eyes followed her. She had propped herself up on her good arm to get a better look at the woman who had saved her, but Hunter was backlit again as she crossed the room and she doubted that the woman could make out her features.

Hunter kept her eyes averted as she crossed the room with a quiet ease--seemingly relaxed, but her heart rate had accelerated. She was on guard again, and trying to subdue the nervous excitement she felt at her first real face-to-face meeting with her guest. She turned on the lamp, which brightened the room considerably. Then she dropped into the chair beside the bed and brought her eyes up to meet the woman’s.

They stared openly at each other, certainly longer than was typical or polite, neither speaking. Hunter held her breath. So did the stranger. A shy grin spread across the woman’s face.

Even with the bruises and bandages, the stranger was beautiful when she smiled. It was an easy, friendly smile that lit up the woman’s face, and Hunter was instantly captivated by it. But what she was feeling was so alien to her she didn’t quite know what to do. Her eyes were drawn to the woman’s lips. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining what it would be like to kiss those full, smiling lips. She felt a skittering of excitement run up her spine. She smiled back at the stranger.

"I know you, don’t I?" the woman said. She cocked her head, her smile widening. "I’m sure I know you."

Hunter was stunned. Momentarily speechless. She knows you because she came here to kill you! her instincts screamed.

But even if it was true, the woman obviously didn’t remember. Hunter could tell. The stranger was smiling at her with such a hopeful expression on her face, so certain she would agree, that Hunter almost regretted having to tell her she was wrong. "I’m sorry. I’m pretty certain we’ve never met." I’d remember you.

The woman’s smile faded. "Are you sure? You seem so...familiar."

Hunter nodded. "I’m sorry."

She stared off into space as she considered what Hunter had said. "Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, then," she said finally. She fought back tears. "I wish I did know you. It feels as though I do."

"Perhaps I just remind you of someone." Or you’ve seen my picture.

"Maybe so," the woman sighed. Her shoulders slumped forward, her disappointment evident. "I’m not sure of anything at the moment."

"Well, you’re going to be my guest for a while," Hunter said, leaning forward to encourage the woman to look at her. "I can’t move you right now anyway, and that will give us time to try to find out who you are and where you belong." She smiled reassuringly at the stranger. Her face did not betray her doubts.

The woman met her eyes and seemed to relax. "Thank you," she said. "For saving me, for taking care of me. For..." making me feel at home, she wanted to say, but chose "...for everything."

"My pleasure," Hunter replied. That’s certainly an understatement. An image of the woman’s naked body flashed into her mind. She suddenly felt much too warm. She cleared her throat and looked away. "I mean--I’m happy to help. Just let me know what you need," she stammered, trying to regain her composure.

The woman noticed the faint reddening of Hunter’s bronzed skin. Taking advantage of the opportunity to study her rescuer unobserved, she took in the finely sculpted features, high cheekbones, and the sensual curve of Hunter’s lips. Thick, shiny brown hair cut in a layered shag fell just below her collar. You’re just...breathtaking...that’s the word. I sure wish I did know you. "What’s your name?"

"Call me Kat," Hunter said. "It’s a nickname I haven’t used in a long while," she explained vaguely. "But I kind of miss it." There was a sadness in her voice that told the stranger there was more to the story, but Hunter didn’t elaborate.

Hunter had never thought she’d want to hear that nickname again. She had buried it in shame many years ago. But something had whispered the name in her ear, and for the first time in a long time, it felt right.

"I’m very pleased to meet you, Kat." The woman’s voice was soft, almost reverent, the name spoken with such a tenderness that it reminded Hunter of a time long ago.

For a moment, Hunter imagined she was Kat the innocent again, and not an assassin. They were just two strangers meeting for the first time, and anything was possible. But a nagging inner voice snapped her back to reality. You don’t know who she is. Remember that. And you are what you are. You can’t erase your past.

"What about you?" Kat asked. "I know you don’t remember your name, but we need to start somewhere. What would you like me to call you? Any names spring to mind?"

The woman pursed her lips and closed her eyes in concentration. After a moment, she opened them again and shook her head. "Nothing. Wait! I had to have a driver’s license with me, didn’t I? Didn’t you find a wallet or anything?"

Kat rose from the chair and put one hand into a pocket of her jeans. She placed its contents on the bed and sat back down. "This was all you had on you."

The woman glanced at the bills--a ten, two fives, and three ones--and scattered coins before reaching for the small key ring that lay piled with them. The plain ring contained three keys. There was a small one, unmarked, that looked like it might open a padlock and a car key with a logo etched on it she couldn’t identify. The third looked like it might be a house key.

Before she could ask, Kat volunteered, "The big key is to a Mazda vehicle of some kind, which is not what you were driving when you crashed. You were in a dark blue Sebring sedan."

The woman gripped the keys lightly in the palm of her hand. "None of this is ringing a bell. What about my clothes?"

"No help there either," Kat answered. "I’m afraid I had to cut them off you."

The woman stared off into space and said nothing for a long while. Finally, almost to herself, she whispered, "Well, that’s just jake."

"Jake?"

The faraway look didn’t change. The woman took in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "Just an expression," she sighed.

"What’s it mean?" asked Kat.

The woman in the bed looked at her again and forced a half smile before answering. "It means everything’s all right...just dandy."

"Ah," Kat said, "I see. You were being facetious. Sometimes slang escapes me, I’m afraid."

"You know, that’s not too bad, actually," the woman said. "Jake, I mean--as a name, until we can think of a better one."

"Or until you remember," Kat added, rising and moving around the bed. "Jake it is." I need to go back out to the crash site and really give the car a going-over, she thought to herself. There’s got to be something there to tell me whether you’re a bounty hunter or not. She came up on Jake’s left side and motioned for her to relax and lie flat again. "We do have one clue," she said, hesitating only a moment before reaching down to roll the blanket back from that side of the bed.

She kept Jake’s torso covered but exposed the splinted left arm. Supporting the arm as she did so, Kat put her fingers under the woman’s left hand and raised it up off the bed. She watched with feigned detachment as Jake stared at the plain gold wedding ring on her finger.

Chapter Six

Evan Garner tapped well-manicured fingernails on his mahogany desk, an expansive monstrosity that had been polished to a high gloss. He stared at his computer screen, which displayed the first page of a top-secret dossier on the bounty hunter known only as Hunter.

Garner’s large office was richly appointed. The wall behind him contained a bank of TV monitors--all muted at the moment, but tuned to the major broadcast networks and CNN. Another wall was a thick glass window to the outside world; the view was of a busy but unremarkable suburb of Washington, D.C. Across the room from the desk sat a matching mahogany conference table that could seat a dozen people comfortably, and there was also a sitting area with a burgundy leather couch and two matching easy chairs.

There were two sharp raps on Garner’s door and a brawny man of about forty stepped into the room. He was clean-cut, clean-shaven, and impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit and conservative gray tie, just like his boss. The suit had been tailored to minimize the well-developed muscles of his arms, shoulders, and chest. Garner demanded that his employees have as few distinguishing features as possible so they could blend into the background in any situation.

"You’re late, Thomas," Garner barked. "Better make it worth my wait. What’s the latest?" Most men would be afraid to use that tone with Thomas Maynard, but Garner’s burly bodyguard was loyal and respectful beyond reason.

"Sorry, Mr. Garner," Thomas said. "Well, sir, we think Hunter’s in Michigan. Otter tracked her as far as Detroit and then lost her." Beads of sweat appeared on Thomas’s forehead. "The chick--Scout--she went to Detroit too, and from there to a little town in the Upper Peninsula called Tawa. It’s out in the middle of nowhere."

He had his boss’s full attention. "Well? Has Scout found Hunter?" Garner demanded.

Thomas flinched. "We don’t know, sir. Scout hasn’t checked in like she’s supposed to. We’re getting her location from the tracking device. It hasn’t moved from Tawa in three days, so we think she may be on to something. We tried calling her cell phone, but no one answers."

Garner glared at him. "Three days? And no one has followed up to see if she just dumped the damn cell phone?" He got a little louder with each word, finally shouting the last two.

"Sir, she wouldn’t do that, would she? You made it clear she couldn’t collect on the million unless--"

"She doesn’t care about the money, Thomas, or she would be calling in like she was told." Garner enjoyed talking down to his underlings. "Take care of it now. Get somebody there as soon as you can."

The bodyguard stepped to a phone on the conference table and dialed, then spoke softly into the receiver. They had a man already in Detroit on other business. Frank would be dispatched to Tawa as soon as he could rent a private plane. Thomas thought his boss was a genius for putting tracking devices into the cell phones they issued the bounty hunters.

She was one creepy bitch, Garner thought, as he recalled the day Scout had showed up at his door. That she had made it to his office was a testament to her tracking skills. The million-dollar contract she’d come to inquire about had been very discreetly issued, sorted through layers of filters to hide the identity of the person behind it. Interested parties were to send an e-mail; they would be contacted with further details.

Garner had never heard of her, and that was saying a lot, for he knew most of the players in her business. But her tactic had impressed him even as it unsettled him. And he was so anxious to neutralize Hunter he would not turn anyone away from trying to collect on the contract.

But he knew there was a lot the woman wasn’t saying. She didn’t ask questions about the money. She just wanted a good photo of Hunter and whatever details she could get about Hunter’s likely whereabouts and known habits.

He recalled now that she had never agreed to the stipulation that she check in every twenty-four hours on the cell. She’d just smiled at him as she pocketed the phone. It was a disturbing smile. Almost feral. The thing that had bothered him most, however, was how anxious--almost gleeful--she seemed to be to go after Hunter, even after he had warned her about her target’s considerable skills.

Otter, the other bounty hunter who was going to try to collect on the contract, was also anxious to begin the chase, even though he knew firsthand of Hunter’s abilities. But Garner was not surprised to see Otter turn up. He knew the man needed money, and he also knew that Otter had personal reasons for going after Hunter, whatever the risk.

Thomas hung up the phone. He walked the few steps from the conference table to stand again before his boss’s desk, awaiting further instructions.

"Contact Otter and tell him to head to Tawa. Fill him in on Scout. Has anyone else expressed interest in the contract?" Garner asked.

"No, sir. Six others answered the ad, but when they found out who the target was, they declined."

Garner nodded. "That’s all."

As Thomas departed, Garner rose from his chair and walked to the windows. He looked outside, but his gaze was unfocused. A part of him regretted having to eliminate Hunter. They’d been close once. But it needed to be done. There was no alternative.

Chapter Seven

I’m...married?" Jake asked, staring at the ring. "How can I be married and not remember that?" The gold band should have given her comfort. It was a tangible sign that she belonged somewhere, was tied to someone...someone who probably was looking for her, worried about her, missing her. But the ring only amplified her confusion and frustration. "How could I forget a husband?" Or is it a husband at all? I’m obviously attracted to Kat. Could I have a...a wife somewhere?

"Someone must be looking for you," Kat said.

Their eyes met. The revelation stood like a wall between them. How can I feel so drawn to you, Jake wondered, if I’m committed to someone else?

Kat returned to her chair, all the while studying Jake’s face. She was convinced the amnesia was real.

"I don’t remember a...a spouse," Jake said. "How can I not?"

"I wouldn’t worry about it. You hit your head pretty hard when you crashed. Give it time, you’ll remember," Kat said. She tried to sound encouraging, but the effort fell flat.

Jake looked at Kat. At that moment, anyway, she didn’t want to remember any more than Kat wanted her to. In the emptiness of her amnesia, she wanted to latch on to the only thing that made her feel safe--this enigmatic woman who had rescued her. But the ring could not be ignored. She propped herself up again.

"How can I have a whole life I don’t remember? How is that possible? I must have a home somewhere. A family. A job." A tremor laced the edge of Jake’s voice. She looked to Kat, her eyes beseeching Kat for answers.

"Let’s try something. Lie down and close your eyes. Try to relax," Kat urged.

Jake nodded and settled back into the pillows.

"Take a deep breath. Try to clear your mind," Kat said. "See if any images at all come to you. A face, perhaps--mother, father. Your boss. Maybe a school chum?"

Jake tried. She set her mind adrift. But she could see no parents. No spouse. No best friend. The only image was that puppy she’d had. A mutt, part German shepherd. But she still couldn’t recall his name. "Nothing, really. I had a dog once, long ago, but that’s all." She opened her eyes.

"Well, it’s something," Kat said. "Don’t be discouraged. Try again. See if you can imagine an event. Maybe that will trigger something. Thanksgiving dinner when you were growing up. Opening Christmas presents. Blowing out candles on a birthday cake."

Jake closed her eyes again and tried to do as Kat instructed, but any image she conjured up seemed forced and unreal. More like images from a movie she’d seen, perhaps. Not her own memories. "Nope," she said, after several moments of trying.

"Okay, how about a place? Your living room, maybe, or kitchen. The place where you work. Maybe you can get a glimpse of what you did for a living." Kat tried to keep her expression and voice neutral.

Jake once again closed her eyes. After a few seconds, the image of the Parisian patisserie came again to mind. It was like a picture postcard--a snapshot with no context--but it seemed real, as though she’d experienced it firsthand. She could see the rows of pastries and tortes and vaguely remembered finding it difficult to make a selection. That picture was followed by another. People on a subway train. She had studied their faces and could see them again now. An older man with a mustache, reading a London newspaper. Then a series of images flashed by. The crowded, noisy street bazaar in Cairo. A craftsman hammering a copper plate. A rug vendor. A filthy stall where a toothless merchant smoking a hookah sold grilled pigeons on bamboo skewers. She could smell the smoke mixed with the prevailing odor of unwashed bodies. That was all. There was nothing more. She opened her eyes and the images disappeared. "I think I’ve traveled a lot," she said, with a hopeful tone in her voice that hadn’t been there before.

Kat leaned toward Jake. "What did you see?"

"Well, I think I’ve been to Paris," Jake said. "I can remember shopping in a pastry shop. And I’ve been on the London underground. And at a street market--in Cairo, I’m pretty sure."

Cairo? Kat’s instincts warned her not to react to the news, but Kenny’s e-mail rang in her mind. The woman who was after her had done a job in the Middle East.

"Well, you should be encouraged," Kat said. "But perhaps that’s enough for now, you shouldn’t push yourself." And I need some distance. "Why don’t you try to think about something else for a while, or rest a bit, while I make us something to eat. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, I am. That would be great."

"I’ll see what I can scrounge up. Are you allergic to anything, any foods I should avoid?" Kat asked without thinking.

Blond eyebrows furrowed. Jake didn’t answer immediately. "I don’t think so," she said, drawing the word out. "Sure hope not, anyway." She looked back up at Kat with a forced smile.

Kat nodded and left.

Jake decided to take Kat’s advice and put aside her past for a while. She took another look at the room, its furnishings now illuminated.

She could see that the framed pictures she’d noticed earlier were indeed photographs--nature photographs, and good ones. The wall to her left held three; the first was a vivid sunset over a lake, the vibrant streaks of pinks and purples mirrored in the water below. The next was an equally colorful shot of the aurora borealis, or northern lights--curtains of blue and green and a hint of yellow spread across a night sky. And beside that, a brilliant display of autumnal color. Sugar maples adorned with fiery reds, oranges, and yellows lined a forest trail partially obscured by a thin layer of equally colorful leaves.

On the wall to Jake’s right was a grouping of animal photographs: a black bear and cub, a coyote, a fox with a litter of kits, and an animal she couldn’t identify--a mink or a weasel, maybe. And hanging above the dresser across from her was a majestic photo of a bald eagle in flight.

The pictures provided bursts of color on an otherwise muted palette. The whole room was gray: the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. It’s a concrete room, she realized. That’s odd. Like a basement or something. And there was no clock in the room. No TV. No stereo. No phone. Weird.

The room made Jake feel even more disoriented and confused. The whole situation conjured up question after question with no answers in sight.

The woman who had saved her had been nothing but kind and considerate. But there was a lot she wasn’t saying. And who’s to say that what she’s told you is the truth? Jake wondered for the first time. The thought was terrifying. She could tell you anything and you wouldn’t know any better, would you? You don’t know her real name, or where you are, or how you got here. Or even when and how you got hurt.

A part of Jake wanted to march into the other room and demand to know exactly where the hell she was and what had happened to her. But she was in no physical shape to be making demands.

And despite all the unanswered questions, there was something about Kat that made Jake want to trust her. She saved your life and took you in. Nursed you back to health. What would she have to gain by lying? she asked herself. Maybe she’s just a little eccentric. Not everyone has a television and a phone. And she did say we’re a long way from the nearest town.

She wanted so much to believe Kat. She had little else to believe in at the moment. And she couldn’t deny she was powerfully attracted to the woman who had rescued her. She was anxious to get to know her better.

She pictured Kat bringing her here and stripping off her clothes to treat her. The idea of this stranger’s hands on her naked body, especially while she was out cold, should have made her feel a bit uncomfortable. But she found the opposite to be true. The image was exciting. Provocative. Still, she was feeling a little too exposed and vulnerable in her current state.

"Kat?" she called out. Almost before the word left her mouth, her benefactor appeared in the doorway--so fast that Jake jumped and the blanket slipped, nearly exposing her breasts. She grappled for the covers.

Kat looked chagrined and a flush colored her cheeks. "Sorry, I, uh...I didn’t mean to startle you," she stammered. "Whatcha need?"

"Do you have something I might put on?" Jake asked. "I’m feeling a little, uh..."

"Of course." Kat came into the room and moved toward the dresser before Jake could finish. She removed a large T-shirt from a drawer and held it up for inspection. It was dark blue and plain, displaying no hot vacation destination, no alma mater insignia, no clues at all about its owner. Probably comfortably loose on Kat, it would make a short dress for her guest. "This okay?"

Jake nodded, and Kat took the shirt over to the bed.

"Let me help you put it on," Kat said. She tried to appear nonchalant, but her hands were shaking, just a little, as she stood over Jake, staring at her bare shoulders and the hint of cleavage she could see. Those breasts are dangerous weapons.

"I can probably manage myself," Jake stuttered. She could feel herself blushing. "But thank you."

Kat gave her a half smile and a tiny nod and handed her the shirt. "Let me know if you need anything else. Dinner will be in an hour or so." She turned on her heels and left, closing the door behind her.

As soon as she was alone, Jake pushed back the blanket, exposing her nakedness. She shivered as she stretched stiff arms and shoulders, careful with her splinted arm. She felt weak and shaky.

Her eyes fell again to the plain gold band she wore. She pulled it off with difficulty, noting the deep impression it had made on her finger.

She looked inside for an inscription.

*

Kat returned to the kitchen and put her mind to work on what she could conjure up for dinner with her limited ingredients. She was a creative chef, having learned a variety of techniques in a crash course at Le Cordon Bleu cooking academy in Paris two years earlier. The class was originally a means of getting close to a target, a paranoid drug dealer with a taste for fine food, but Kat had inadvertently discovered her fondness for cooking.

Tonight she found herself wanting to come up with something special for her guest. It was a challenge given her resources. She stepped into the pantry and scanned the shelves, selecting and then rejecting first one recipe idea, then another, stymied always by a missing key ingredient.

Finally she found a few combinations she thought would work and carried an armful of supplies back into the kitchen. First she made a simple dough and set it aside to rise. Then she chopped and grated several ingredients and dumped them into a cooking pot and set it on the stove.

As she worked, Jake dominated her thoughts. The smart move would be to keep her distance from the mysterious woman, but even as Kat devised a plan to return Jake to civilization, she found herself enveloped in a whimsical daydream about the two of them riding out the winter alone in the bunker.

Kat shook off the fantasy and checked on dinner. She gave the pot a stir before retiring to the living room.

She needed her music.

*

Jake read the words engraved on the inside of the wedding band for a third time. "Always and forever - S." Who are you, my forgotten mate? she wondered. Steve? Stan? Sue? The inscription made her feel guilty about her fascination with the woman in the next room and her own inability to recall anything about this S.

Jake’s capricious memory loss left her feeling confused and afraid. She could not remember faces or names from her past. But she felt she hadn’t lost the essence of herself--her beliefs, her sense of right and wrong, the core of her character. She believed that she held fidelity and the vows of marriage to be sacred, even if she could not recall making the commitment. She was torn between a conscience that urged fidelity to a spouse she couldn’t remember and the undeniable attraction she felt toward the woman who had saved her.

Jake relaxed against the pillow, closing her eyes and trying to think of all the names she could--male and female--that started with S, hoping one would knock something loose in the logjam of her memory. Sid, Sean, Sylvia, Sandy, Serena, Stuart, Sally, Stacia...

*

Music. Sweet, haunting music. First it accompanied Jake’s dream, whatever the dream was, for it was immediately forgotten as soon as reality took over. Then she realized she wasn’t imagining the sad, soulful voice of a cello. The rich, fluid sound, played without accompaniment, rang with emotion, telling a story without words.

Jake listened with her eyes closed, letting the music embrace her. It struck a chord deep within her. She understood it perfectly. It was the story of love and loss, regret and longing. She’d surely never heard anything so beautiful.

Soon it was over, and there was silence. After a minute or two, the cello played again, and it wasn’t long before Jake realized she recognized this piece. It was a suite by Bach. She smiled. She somehow knew that music was an important part of her life, and the certainty of that pleased her.

There was silence again. Jake waited, hoping it would resume.

*

She hadn’t remembered dozing off. It seemed that she slept too much, though she couldn’t be sure how much time had elapsed since she’d been brought here. She had no watch. But the sleep had done her good, because she felt markedly better after each nap. She stretched and brought her hand to her face, fingering the bandages on her nose and cheek, feeling the stitches in her forehead. Glad I wasn’t awake for that. What can’t this woman do?

She called out, "Kat?"

The door opened after only a moment and her host stood framed in the doorway. "Something you need?"

"I’ve never heard anything more beautiful," Jake said. "It was you playing, wasn’t it? Not a recording?"

Kat reddened slightly. She looked at the floor and nodded.

"I know the last piece," Jake said. "Bach--the first of his six suites for cello, right?"

Kat looked at Jake and her eyebrows rose. "You know music. That’s not something a lot of people would probably recognize."

Jake nodded. "I think it’s important to me." Her eyes held Kat’s. "Your playing...it really touched me. Especially the piece just before the Bach." She closed her eyes, remembering. "Such emotion. Grief...love...longing. It was wonderful. It really touched me."

Kat said nothing, staring at the other woman, her look of surprise quickly masked when Jake opened her eyes again.

"I’ve never heard it before. I’m sure I would remember," Jake said. "Well, I think I would, amnesia or not. Who is the composer?"

She understood. Kat didn’t speak for a long time. She wrote music because it was the only way she knew to express her feelings. The only way she knew to deal with emotions she fought, but that sometimes welled up in her unexpectedly. She had never shared her music with anyone because it was just too...intimate. Personal.

But although Kat hadn’t intended Jake to hear her play, she found it didn’t bother her that she had. She wanted to get to know this woman, as much as that was possible. She sensed that Jake wanted that too. Kat would not speak of her growing feelings, and there was much she could not reveal of her life, her past. But perhaps her music had shared things about herself she could never verbalize. It seemed so. Jake certainly seemed to understand the music.

Finally Kat spoke. "I wrote it." It was a big admission for her. It was the first time she’d given someone a glimpse at her innermost feelings in many years.

Jake’s jaw dropped. "You? You wrote that? That’s amazing. What a gift you have. Does it have a name?"

Kat shook her head. "No," she said. "It’s only for me." She looked at Jake with a masked expression, but her voice was gentle when she continued. "I mean...I’ve never played for anyone before. I thought you were asleep."

"You’ve never played for anyone? Ever?"

Kat shook her head.

"Then I feel very honored. You’re good enough to be with any symphony," Jake replied. "And that piece was just extraordinary. Have you written anything else?"

Kat shrugged. "A few things."

"I hope you’ll let me hear them one day." Jake looked directly at Kat in a way that left Kat feeling uncomfortably exposed.

Kat looked away. "Perhaps," she said. "Right now I need to finish dinner. It won’t be much longer." She turned and left without meeting Jake’s eyes again.

It was only after she had gone that Jake remembered the other reason she’d summoned Kat.

She really wanted to see herself in a mirror.

*

Kat reappeared in the doorway carrying the lap tray she’d used earlier. A spicy-sweet aroma filled the room. Jake’s stomach growled. Until then, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

Kat helped Jake sit up and positioned the tray across her lap. "I’ve got lots of food, but kind of a limited supply of ingredients," she said, nodding toward the food to encourage Jake to dig in. "I hope it’s all right."

Jake surveyed the contents of the tray. A large basket of pita bread was nestled beside a shallow dish of hummus, its creamy surface garnished with a splash of olive oil and a dusting of paprika. Two bowls held an aromatic stew she didn’t recognize.

Jake attacked the food with gusto. "It’s wonderful," she said. "Hummus I’ve had, but not as good as this. And the bread is still warm. You made it from scratch?" she managed between mouthfuls.

"Yes," Kat replied, reaching down to pull the easy chair close to the bed. She dropped into it and reached for a piece of pita. "I had to improvise a little, but I think everything turned out okay." She was going to ask Jake if she needed help eating, but it was apparent the woman was managing just fine.

"What is this?" Jake asked, sampling from one of the bowls.

"Fakorizo," Kat answered automatically, reaching for the other bowl. Her authentic pronunciation of the dish, with a slight rolling of the r, drew Jake’s attention.

"Greek?"

"Yes, Greek," Kat replied, her mood suddenly serious, her appetite gone. She put the bowl back on the tray.

Jake instantly regretted that her simple question had seemed to trigger something painful to Kat. Pretending to ignore the sudden change in her host, Jake dug into her bowl. The fakorizo was delicious. A medley of orzo, tomatoes, onions, and lentils, it had an unusual spicy sweetness. Glancing surreptitiously at Kat, Jake let several purrs of delight escape her lips as she chewed slowly, savoring the taste.

But Kat’s mind was obviously elsewhere. She stared off into space, saying nothing.

Finally stuffed, Jake leaned back against the pillows and took a deep breath. "That was just fabulous. Thank you for going to so much trouble."

That brought Kat back from her musings. "No trouble. Glad you enjoyed it."

They looked at each other in companionable silence for a long moment before Jake grinned and asked, "So, you’re a paramedic chef who plays a mean cello when she’s not saving damsels in distress?"

Kat laughed out loud.

It was an unexpected treat for Jake--she loved the warm, low chuckle and accompanying full smile, though she wished it had lasted longer.

Too soon, Kat’s smile faded, and her eyes grew a little sad. "It’s kind of hard to describe what I am," she said, suddenly serious again. "A lot of things, to be sure."

Jake nodded, hoping she would elaborate.

"One of the things I like most to do," Kat said, gesturing with one hand toward the photos hanging on the wall, "is take pictures. These were all taken within a fairly short distance of here."

"You really are a woman of many talents," Jake replied, studying the photos again in light of this revelation. She wanted to hear Kat laugh again. "Do you do everything perfectly?" she teased.

Kat tried to smile, but her eyes were sad. She didn’t reply.

"These are all--well, just...splendid, that’s what they are," Jake proclaimed after a moment. "So you’re a photographer, then? For a magazine?"

"Sometimes for magazines, yes. I do mostly freelance work."

"Well, you certainly have a good eye," Jake said. But why are you so evasive with every answer? When it was apparent Kat would volunteer no more, Jake prodded, "I’d love to see more of your work."

"That can be arranged. There’s more in the other room, when you’re able to get up and around a bit."

Mention of the other room piqued Jake’s curiosity. Maybe there was more she could learn about Kat out there. It also drew Jake’s attention back to the odd feature of the room she was in. "Is your whole house made of concrete? Or are we in a basement or something?"

"Well, it is a little unusual," Kat replied. "We’re underground. This is a bunker, built into the side of a hill."

Jake cocked her head. "A bunker?"

"It’s a retreat of mine. And a particularly good base for a nature photographer, as you can see. Lots of wildlife right outside. The house is built into the hill mostly to hide it." All true. "It’s kind of like a big hunter’s blind, only I mostly hunt with a camera instead of a gun." Kat still didn’t understand why she wanted to avoid lying to Jake. She just did. "And it’s very energy efficient because it’s underground," she explained vaguely. You’re giving away too much.

"Well, it is certainly very...different," Jake said, inviting further comment, but none was forthcoming. After a long silence, she tried again. "You said we’re a long way away from a town. Don’t you get lonely here by yourself?"

Kat shrugged. She couldn’t bring herself to answer truthfully. I didn’t know how lonely I was until you showed up. "I travel a lot. And I have a couple of other places. I split my time between them."

Kat didn’t elaborate, and Jake sensed this was a topic she probably shouldn’t pursue--at the moment, anyway. Do you have someone else waiting for you in those other places? she wondered. The thought was unsettling.

But though she was terribly curious about Kat’s life, there was something else on her mind.

"Do you have a mirror?" she asked, bringing her hand up to touch the stitches on her forehead again. "I’d like to get a look at myself." She remembered vaguely what she looked like, but she really needed an up-close reminder. She was torn about whether she wanted the experience to jar her memory or not.

"Yes, of course," Kat answered. "But I’m afraid the only one I have is bolted to the bathroom wall."

"Well, I could use a trip there," Jake said. "I mean, I think I can make it, if you’ll help me. I really hate bedpans."

"Sure," Kat answered. "I can do that. Give me just a minute." She rose from the chair, took the tray from the bed, and left the room. In a moment, she was back, hesitating at the side of the bed only briefly before she reached down to peel back the blankets.

Before Jake realized what was happening, Kat leaned down, put one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, and lifted her with apparent effortlessness. Jake was cradled securely, her head against Kat’s chest. She inhaled deeply, relishing for a moment the unexpected sense of safety and security she felt enfolded in the other woman’s arms. Then she exhaled, a long, slow breath that sounded like a sigh. For a moment, neither woman spoke, and Kat didn’t move.

Jake tilted her head up and met Kat’s eyes. Their faces were only a few inches apart. "I could probably walk, with help," she stammered. Her heart was racing. But this is much nicer.

"No need," Kat answered, breaking eye contact and stepping toward the doorway. I can’t be this close to her, she thought, willing herself to take steady, even breaths.

"You’re very strong," Jake said playfully.

"Mmm-hmm," came Kat’s reply, accompanied by a bit of a smirk. "I’m a big girl."

"I noticed," Jake replied before she could stop herself.

Kat laughed and carried Jake into the bathroom. En route, Jake had a quick glimpse of the outer room. Her eyes took in the living room, the wall filled with books, the cello. A large camera on a tripod in the corner.

The bathroom had a shower, a sink with oak cabinets beneath, and a toilet. Kat set Jake gently on the commode and retreated to the doorway. "Call me when you’re ready," she said, and closed the door.

Jake glanced around the room. There was a large mirror over the sink on the wall to her right, and to her left was another grouping of animal photographs. She smiled, realizing they were all critters associated with water--a beaver, an otter, and a muskrat. It made her think back to the groupings in the bedroom, and she wondered whether there was a commonality there that she’d missed. Then it hit her. They were all meat eaters. Predators.

When she called out that she was finished, Kat came in and leaned down to pick her up as before. But this time Jake anticipated the action. She raised her good arm as she was lifted and draped it behind Kat’s back. Her hand came up to rest on Kat’s shoulder, just where it met the base of her neck. As she was hoisted into the air, Jake’s hand gently squeezed into the softly muscled shoulder.

The action caused Kat to tighten her grip on Jake ever so slightly. It seemed a more intimate position even than the one they had been in earlier, and it was beginning to make Kat a bit uncomfortable. She felt a little light-headed as her pulse went into overdrive. She was certain that Jake could feel her heart pounding through the blood vessels in her neck.

She needed a distraction. She walked to the mirror and turned sideways so the woman in her arms could see herself. Kat turned her head toward the mirror too, wanting to witness Jake’s reaction. It was a mistake, and Kat knew it immediately.

Chapter Eight

The visual tableau of them reflected in the mirror--their faces close together, arms enfolding each other, seen only from above waist level--made it appear they were entwined in a lovers’ embrace.

The image made Kat acutely aware of Jake’s soft skin under her hands. And she was fixated on the small hand pressing gently into the base of her neck. Kat closed her eyes. A tremor raced through her body. She was certain Jake noticed.

Jake glanced at herself only long enough to think, Yes, I know you. She was mesmerized by the image of them together. The vision sent a scorching rush of heat through her body. She looked at the woman who held her just in time to see Kat’s eyes close tight, an unreadable expression on her face.

Jake gently squeezed Kat’s shoulder, a gesture that was almost a caress.

Kat’s eyes shot open.

Their eyes met. Neither woman spoke for several heartbeats.

Finally, Kat looked away. She cleared her throat, not thoroughly trusting her voice at the moment, and managed only two words. "So...familiar?"

"Yes," Jake answered. She looked at their reflection again. Kat would not meet her eyes. After a moment, Jake said, "I kind of had an idea what I looked like. It’s reassuring, despite the fact I look like a raccoon."

A trace of a smile appeared on Kat’s face at that, and her eyes met Jake’s again.

"But seeing myself didn’t stir up any memories of my past," Jake said.

Both women relaxed a bit at that, relief reflected on their faces. Kat just nodded and carried Jake back to the bedroom. Once again Jake glimpsed the living room, kitchen, and office. She wanted to get a better look at the rest of the place, but she didn’t want to impose further on Kat. Not at the moment, anyway. She must be getting tired of lugging me around. Though she really looks like it’s no effort at all. She’s not even breathing hard. Jake could feel Kat’s taut muscles beneath her hand.

Kat focused on taking even, steady breaths. She was anxious to distance herself from the raw sexuality of Jake’s body. Her nerves simply couldn’t take it.

As they neared the bed, Jake suddenly gripped Kat’s shoulder again and said, "Wait."

Kat froze and looked reluctantly toward the blonde, her face only inches away.

But Jake wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the two large photographs hanging above the bed.

One was a close-up of a lynx, eyes half closed, lazing in the sun in a meadow dotted with purple wildflowers. The other was an equally impressive shot of a bobcat, his brown, spotted coat vividly outlined against a snowy backdrop. "They’re wonderful. I hadn’t seen them before," Jake said. "I notice you have a kind of theme going in the different rooms. Water beasts in the bathroom. And predators in here, right?"

Kat nodded. "You’re very observant, aren’t you?"

"What’s in the other room?" Jake asked.

"You’ll see soon enough," Kat said, setting Jake back on the tan flannel sheets. She pulled the fleece blanket up again to cover her. "Right now, you need to rest. And I’m going to go out for a bit. I won’t be long." She gave Jake a little smile as she reached over to shut off the lamp.

She was halfway to the door when Jake’s voice stopped her.

"Kat?"

She paused and turned back toward the bed.

"Thanks again. Sorry I’m so much trouble," Jake said.

"You’re no trouble," Kat lied as she left. Jake could turn out to be nothing but trouble. Kat felt it.

*

Jake closed her eyes and settled back into the pillow, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep immediately. Her heart still hammered in her chest. It had started pounding during the seconds? minutes? while they were standing in front of the mirror. Sure seemed like a long time, but I bet it wasn’t. I guess that’s what you call chemistry.

Her mind jumped to a place she didn’t want it to. Did I--could I--have felt this with the person I married? She didn’t want to think about being married. But something kept reminding her of it. And what about children? That thought hadn’t occurred to her until now. Surely you can’t forget your own children.

Though Jake sensed her attraction to Kat was mutual, she would not act on it. Not while there were so many variables outstanding, so many questions unanswered. Who knows how much the situation and my amnesia might be screwing with my emotions. Besides, if I have a spouse, surely my feelings for Kat will disappear when my memory returns. Won’t they?

Chapter Nine

In his younger days, he was called Otter because of his appearance. He had a lean and lanky frame then, and a habit of wearing his dark hair slicked back with copious amounts of hair grease. He had the same dark eyes as his namesake; lifeless eyes, the eyes of a predator. And he had an otter’s temperament. Playful one minute, jovial, but capable of sudden, unspeakable viciousness.

His hairstyle hadn’t changed much, but he combed it more to one side now in an unsuccessful effort to cover a bald spot. The lean physique was gone too, replaced by the softened flesh and paunch of middle age. But he still had a clever mind and infinite patience--tools essential to his chosen profession.

He’d been out of prison for six months, living in fleabag hotels and picking up whatever odd jobs he could. It was hard to get back into his old line of work. He had been out of touch for seven years, and too many others were now competing for the same contracts. He also lacked the money to invest in the kind of surveillance equipment and other toys that were needed on the bigger jobs.

So he answered the ad for this contract not expecting to collect on it. It was one of the biggest he’d ever heard of, for one thing, so he was certain it would attract a lot of takers better equipped than he was. But he’d lucked out, perhaps because of his past association with Garner. He’d not only been given the opportunity, he’d been provided with enough cash up front to take care of his immediate needs, including the rental of the dark green Ford Explorer he was driving.

He wanted the million, of course. It would set him up for life. But he’d almost have taken the contract for nothing when he found out who the target was. The icy bitch he held responsible for his incarceration.

Otter hadn’t liked Hunter from their first meeting, and that dislike had turned to loathing when she had left him stranded during the job they did together, taking away his only means of escape.

He spent his time in prison dreaming of revenge. He hadn’t tried to find her since his release only because he had no idea where she might be and he lacked the resources to look. Otter knew how dangerous Hunter was and would proceed cautiously, but his overpowering need for vengeance and the million-dollar reward overrode any misgivings he might have had about going up against her.

He could see a green mileage sign that indicated Tawa was just another twenty miles down the road.

I’m coming, bitch. He licked his lips in nervous anticipation. It’s payback time.

Chapter Ten

Kat suited up in her parka and arctic boots. She was standing in a concrete-lined tunnel some twenty feet long that connected the living area of her bunker to an underground garage. From this connecting chamber there was also a small offshoot tunnel that went straight up. Ladder rungs led up through the smaller passageway, which was just large enough for a person to pass through. It was her emergency exit and had never been used.

She used the tunnel as a giant storage closet. Pegs in the walls held a variety of coats, and along the floor were snowshoes, snow boots, and hiking boots. A couple of large military-surplus metal drums contained gloves, hats, scarves, and other odds and ends.

Once she was appropriately garbed for the bitter cold outside, she walked down the tunnel to the two-inch-thick steel door that led to the concrete garage that housed her generator, water pumping system, and snowmobile. She unlocked the door by punching a series of numbers into a security keypad in the wall. The steel door and long tunnel effectively insulated the living room from the constant, droning noise of the generator. The machine was hydroelectric, powered by a small stream that ran through the hill. Next to the generator was a large, well-equipped toolbox. Kat opened it and withdrew a small metal pry bar and jammed it into one of her pockets.

Kat glanced at the snowmobile. It would cut her time to and from the crash site by at least an hour, but it would also create a much more visible trail. She’d checked the monitors before suiting up and knew that a thin layer of new snow had partially covered the track her sled had made when she’d brought Jake back to the bunker. But it was still visible. And it wasn’t snowing at the moment. Kat glanced at her watch. Three a.m. She was surprised to discover it had been just over forty-eight hours since she’d rescued Jake. She’d lost all track of time. No wonder I’m so tired. She decided to walk. She was still a bit unnerved by the way she was responding to Jake, and she wanted some time alone to ponder what was happening. She punched more numbers into another keypad--this one on the wall leading to the outside--and a large panel slid open, revealing the dark night beyond.

Kat retrieved the toboggan and stepped outside with it, breathing deeply of the fresh air. She opened a small hidden keypad on the outside of the panel and punched in the code to close the doorway behind her.

From the outside, the entrance was well camouflaged. An intruder would have to be within ten feet to tell it wasn’t the natural slab of rock and moss that it appeared to be from a distance.

She’d brought a flashlight, but the bright moon lit her surroundings well enough for her to avoid obstacles on her way to the wreck. She set off toward the road at a fast clip, torn about whether she hoped to find clues in the wreck that would jar Jake’s memory.

*

Jake wasn’t sure how long she had slept, but her bladder was full again and in urgent need of relief. She called out Kat’s name and waited expectantly, trying a second time, a little louder, when some time had passed with no response.

Pretty soon she could ignore it no longer. She leaned over and turned on the light, then peeled back the covers and slid her legs over the side of the bed. She dropped the short distance to the floor, trying to keep her weight off her left knee.

The concrete floor was cold against her bare feet. She shivered under the thin T-shirt. She hopped over to the dresser, debating with herself only a moment before opening one of the drawers. It seemed like an invasion of her host’s privacy, but Jake was freezing, and her discomfort outweighed the nigglings of her conscience.

The drawer she opened contained socks and underwear. The socks, all black or navy, were neatly paired and arranged in a tidy row. Underwear and bras--also dark colored and most of them silk--were folded in tidy piles. Kind of a neat freak, aren’t you? Jake resisted the urge to touch the smooth fabrics, but she couldn’t stop herself from briefly imagining Kat wearing them.

She picked out a thick pair of soft cotton socks, closed the drawer, and leaned against the dresser to put them on. Doing so meant flexing her injured knee and putting weight on it, a task that sent a sharp pain to the joint. She waited for it to subside, then opened the next drawer down.

This one contained T-shirts, also meticulously folded and stacked. Jake gave in to her curiosity and glanced through them, but all were as nondescript as the one she wore. The next drawer contained sweatshirts and heavy pullovers. Like the T-shirts, they were plain and dark colored: black, brown, burgundy, navy, charcoal, and dark green. So you’re not a pastel kind of gal, Jake thought.

She reached for a sweatshirt. She was glad it was much too large for her, for it easily slipped over her splint and extended well below her waist. Warmer now, she shut the drawer and moved toward the doorway, the pain in her knee intensifying with every tentative, limping step.

She negotiated the few steps into the bathroom and relieved herself, then made her way to the sink, glancing at herself in the mirror again as she washed her hands. Without Kat’s distracting presence this time, Jake took a few minutes to examine her injuries. The bruising around her eyes was a dark bluish purple, with streaks of mottled yellow. Not a particularly attractive shade on me.

She also noticed for the first time the clotted blood in her hair. She ran some water and tried to wash out as much as she could one-handed, careful not to wet the bandages on her face. She was happy with the result, but the prolonged time on her feet was taking its toll. Her knee had begun to throb, and she felt a little light-headed. Better get back to bed.

Jake wanted to explore a bit more, but it would have to wait until she was stronger. She hobbled back to bed, finding it momentarily difficult to maneuver herself back onto the high surface with her bad knee and splinted arm. Finally she lay back, exhausted from her efforts, and relaxed into the pillow. Despite the ache in her knee, she was soon fast asleep.

*

Kat began her inspection of the crash site by raking the high-powered halogen flashlight beam over a wide area around the wrecked car. An inch or two of new snow had fallen, obscuring anything small that might have been thrown from the vehicle when it flipped over, so she knew any search of the ground could only be perfunctory at best.

She moved to the driver’s door, still ajar from the rescue two nights previous. A light dusting of snow had blown into the car through the door and rear windshield, which had shattered when the vehicle flipped over. Kat crawled into the sedan and began a meticulous examination, checking the glove compartment again, and under the seats, the floor mats, over the visor. She found a few odds and ends. Some fast-food wrappers. Kleenex. A map of Michigan. A tube of Chapstick. A pair of gloves--women’s size small. The gloves were thin leather and form fitting. Not very appropriate for winter, Kat noted. But very much like the ones I wear when I’m on a job and don’t want to leave fingerprints.

She could find no car registration, title, or insurance information. The car key, still in the ignition, was on a small ring with several others. Kat pulled it out to examine it more closely. There were six keys in all, in a variety of shapes and sizes but with no markings to tell what they opened or operated. There was nothing in the interior of the car to help conclusively establish Jake’s identity.

She carried the keys to the back of the car and ran her flashlight over the trunk, which had been partially caved in. The ignition key fit in the lock and turned, but the compartment remained stubbornly closed. Kat took the metal pry bar out of her pocket and popped the trunk.

Shining her flashlight inside, she quickly dismissed the spare tire, jack, and toolbox that dominated the space. Her eyes were drawn to a silver case. One she was well familiar with. It was an expensive Pelican case--indestructible, waterproof, and essentially jimmy-proof. She owned several herself and used them for transporting weapons and delicate camera equipment. This one was a little more than two feet long, less than half that in width.

The case was locked. She tried the keys on the key ring she’d taken from the car. The third one fit neatly into the lock and turned. She took a deep breath before she opened it, suspecting what she would find inside. She wasn’t disappointed. The contents confirmed her worst fears.

She stood for several long moments staring down at a photo of herself. It lay atop a high-powered sniper rifle, neatly disassembled and packaged in a custom-cut foam interior. It was an AWC M91 BDR. A premier takedown rifle. She had one almost exactly like it back in her weapons room, but hers was tactical black and this one was NATO green. The case had cutouts to fit the stock, sling, barrel, scope, torque wrench, and cleaning kit.

Kat felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. Her mind accepted what she’d tried so hard to resist. Jake was the bounty hunter who was after her. But the rest of her still refused to believe it. She couldn’t understand how the seemingly gentle woman she’d been tending to, had felt such an attraction to, was a paid killer, just like she was. She’d known a lot of them in her time, and she just couldn’t wrap her mind around Jake being a member of that cold and ruthless fraternity.

Kat knew almost immediately that what she should do and what she would do about this revelation were two entirely different things. She would not ordinarily hesitate to kill another bounty hunter foolish enough to come after her. But that was impossible with Jake.

Another option would be to transport Jake by sled to Tawa and leave her at the small clinic there. But without sedatives, it would be a painful, arduous trip for the injured woman. And she’d also then know the route to the bunker, meaning Kat would have to abandon it and move to another safe house.

Kat didn’t care for that choice either, and not because she bemoaned the loss of her favorite hideaway. Unbelievable, she thought, shaking her head. Jake was on her way to kill me and I still want to protect her and get to know her. What the hell is happening to me?

Suddenly a new thought occurred to her. What if Jake never regains her memory? Kat considered the possibilities. If she didn’t tell Jake what she knew, and if Jake never remembered, what then?

And maybe she isn’t married after all, she considered. Few in her line of work were, for a number of obvious reasons. And Kat herself had been known to wear a wedding ring as part of a disguise for a job.

Could this new knowledge change everything? Despite their evidently mutual attraction, Kat had refused to allow herself to really consider any possible relationship with Jake. But she’s just like me. Maybe she’ll understand me and accept what I do. A tiny flicker of something ignited in her. It was hope, an emotion she was unable to recognize. If she doesn’t regain her memory, is there a chance for us?

Her decision made, she closed the Pelican case and loaded it on the sled, then headed toward the hill where she’d left her own rifle and the deer carcass. That logical inner voice that usually guided her actions tried to warn her against what she was about to do. What if she does remember? What if she wakes up one day and wants to kill you? Kat was surprised at how much she wanted to ignore the voice.

*

The first hint of dawn was breaking as Kat returned to the bunker and checked in on Jake. Her patient was sound asleep, her face relaxed and serene, but her hair was wildly mussed, the blunt-cut strands sticking up in all directions. She just looks so damn cute. How the hell can she be an assassin?

She didn’t dwell on the fact that it appeared as though Jake was out to kill her; she just couldn’t believe her instincts about this woman were so far off base. There were still some things that didn’t fit, true. Like where the hell had Jake been going and why was she driving so fast? The lack of ID now made more sense, and so did the stolen car. But there was no way she could have known I was out on that hillside that night.

She left Jake to sleep and retrieved the two rifles from where she’d left them in the tunnel. She put them both in her weapons room after spending a considerable amount of time drying and cleaning the rifle she’d left in the snow. Then she spent an hour or so cutting up the deer. Something had gotten to the carcass, probably a coyote or fox, but a large portion was still untouched. There was enough for several meals. Most went into the freezer, but two tenderloins were set in the fridge to thaw for tomorrow’s dinner.

Kat went into the bathroom to wash up and glanced into the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes. She needed sleep. And soon. But she had to smile faintly at herself despite the uncertainty ahead. Maybe everything will be just fine, she lied to herself. If only Jake just never gets her memory back.

Kat had taken three steps toward the bedroom when she froze, ears cocked. Had she heard something? A moment later she heard it again. A cry of pain from behind the closed bedroom door.

Chapter Eleven

Otter had only been in Tawa twenty-four hours and he was already sick of the place. He hated small towns. There was never any action. Otter liked to gamble, and he had some cash left from the advance he’d been given for expenses. He’d been able to find out absolutely nothing about Hunter’s whereabouts. But he had learned that Michigan was crawling with casinos. There seemed to be one on each of the numerous Indian reservations in the state, and the nearest one was only an hour and a half away. He was getting really tempted to take a detour from the job and see what his luck was like.

As much as Otter wanted to collect on the million and his long-dreamed-of revenge against Hunter, the closer he got to her the more he unconsciously sought to put off the deadly confrontation. He’d kill her, all right, and be happy doing it. But that didn’t stop him from having a bad case of nerves when he thought of meeting her face-to-face.

Otter decided to hang out at a tavern he’d spotted near his hotel. He’d maybe shoot some pool and get a few beers while he thought about the casinos some more. He’d been so broke since he’d gotten out of prison he was going to enjoy having a few dollars in his pocket. He slipped his .38 revolver into its shoulder holster and grabbed the hotel key off the table beside the bed.

He was really hoping he’d get another lead on Hunter from Garner, but maybe if he chatted up some of the local boys, they’d remember seeing the bitch.

*

Thomas knocked twice on Evan Garner’s door before entering. He closed the door behind him and waited for his boss to acknowledge him.

"Well?" Garner asked, not looking up from the papers he was reading.

"Frank’s in Tawa, sir. He followed the homing device in Scout’s phone as far as he could. He just called in on his cell."

"And?" Garner glared at him.

"Well, sir, he’s stuck waiting for a tow truck. He was following the signal on some two-lane out of town and got stuck in deep snow. He’ll have to go back to town to get a snowmobile to get any farther. It may be a little while before we know more."

"Come back when you’ve something to tell me," Garner instructed. "And Thomas, keep the word out about the contract. See if we can’t generate some more interest." The more the merrier. Garner dismissed his aide with a wave of his hand.

Thomas felt a little sorry for Hunter. He liked her and thought her a hell of a good-looking dame. But Garner sure was determined to see her dead. The brawny bodyguard wondered what Hunter might have done to prompt the boss to want to eliminate his former number-one protégé.

Chapter Twelve

Kat dashed through the bedroom door when she heard the cry.

Jake moaned in her sleep, thrashing about, heedless of her injuries. She cried, "No! Stop!" then let out an agonized wail of pain.

Kat gently held Jake’s shoulders to the bed, trying to calm her and keep her from injuring herself further, all the while calling to her in a soft, soothing voice. "It’s all right. Everything’s fine. You’re safe. It’s just a nightmare." What are you dreaming about, Jake? Whose face haunts you?

She stroked Jake’s upper arms, trying to gently wake her. She noted Jake was now wearing a sweatshirt and wondered how she’d gotten out of bed to get it.

Jake’s eyes shot open. She looked terrified. She was sweating, breathing heavily, and still caught in the grip of her nightmare.

Kat continued to absently caress her arms, looking down at her with concerned eyes. "You’re all right. It was just a bad dream. I have them, too." Why did you just volunteer that? "Want to talk about it?"

Jake’s eyes focused on Kat, and relief replaced the fear coursing through her. She tried to recall what the dream was about, but it was already hazy. The rush of adrenaline it had triggered was waning, and it left her feeling groggy, almost hungover. "I...I can’t remember."

Kat felt a rush of relief. "Well, you’re fine now," she said. She pulled her hands away from Jake and nodded toward the sweatshirt. "So someone got out of bed?" she said with a smirk.

Kat’s expression chased away the remnants of Jake’s anxiety. "Yes," she admitted. She blushed at the recollection of discovering Kat’s silk bras and panties. "Nature called, and I had to answer," she said. "And I was kind of chilly. Hope you don’t mind."

"I don’t. I just can’t believe you made it there and back yourself." Kat pushed aside the alarm bells going off in her head at the realization that Jake had been going through her things. She wasn’t snooping. She was just cold.

"That may not have been real smart, in retrospect," Jake said. "Think it aggravated my knee some."

"Let’s have a look." Kat moved to the left side of the bed. "It’s time for me to check your bandages anyway, though I must say you’re looking better otherwise. The swelling on your face has gone down." She peeled back the blanket and examined Jake’s knee, which had swollen again. "Doesn’t look too bad, but it needs some ice. And you shouldn’t try that again," she scolded gently. "Sorry I wasn’t here to help you."

Kat loosened the bandage and left the room to make up an ice bag. After that was done, she checked Jake’s splint.

"I’d like to examine your ribs now. Can I help you sit up?"

Jake nodded, and Kat slid her arm beneath Jake’s shoulders, supporting her and helping her to lean back on some pillows placed against the headboard. Once she was settled, Kat moved in front of her so they were facing each other. Jake shifted her weight and lifted the T-shirt and sweatshirt with her good hand, exposing her bandaged abdomen. She held the material so that it would cover her breasts. The blanket covered her from the waist down.

Without a word, Kat reached out to remove the long strips of material wrapped around Jake’s midsection as Jake leaned slightly forward. In order to unwrap the bandage, Kat leaned toward Jake as well, her arms around and behind her. Their faces were only inches apart. Neither looked at the other, their nervousness palpable.

Kat tried to keep her hands from shaking. Her palms were sweating. The proximity to Jake was exquisitely excruciating.

Each experience that brought them close together was more difficult than the last.

Finally Kat got to bare flesh. As Kat’s nimble fingers gently probed Jake’s rib cage, her hand brushed up against the bottom swell of Jake’s breast.

Both women froze.

Kat looked into Jake’s eyes, just inches from hers. Then her gaze dropped a few inches to Jake’s lips. She longed to close the distance and claim those lips. She hungered for it. She couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t want to.

Jake held her breath. The touch against her breast had electrified her, and she saw something different in Kat’s eyes. A yearning that matched her own. The pupils were enlarged, the lids hooded with desire. Kat’s eyes were fixed on her lips, and the smoldering eroticism of her gaze shot through Jake and pinned her in place.

Kat moistened her lips.

Chapter Thirteen

Otter was perched on a high bar stool in an establishment that most just called Dugan’s. The neon sign outside said Dugan’s Authentic Irish Pub and Grub. The proprietor, a plump Norwegian with a droopy mustache, polished glasses behind the bar. He’d bought the place a couple of years earlier and kept the name, even though the former owner took many of the authentic Irish decorations with him when he left. It would have cost too much to replace the sign. Now all that was left was the Bass Ale on tap, the Wednesday lunch special--corned beef and cabbage--and a lot of cheap green paper shamrocks tacked to the walls.

There were about twenty other people in Dugan’s at the moment. A few were shooting pool at the two tables in the back, and three couples sat at tables eating sandwiches or the special of the day. The rest were on bar stools watching the latest sports scores on ESPN. The place did draw in the occasional curious or thirsty tourist, but it was a neighborhood bar and everyone in it at the moment was a regular, except for Otter.

He was on his third beer and had had no luck pumping the locals. No one had seen Hunter. He was patient. He decided to stop trying for the moment. He was content to get a pleasant buzz from the beer and maybe put a few dollars on a game of pool later.

A small bell tinkled--the door opening to admit another thirsty patron. Otter, bored, turned at the sound and glanced around. The newcomer was a tall, thin man dressed in the tan insulated Carhartt overalls that pegged him as a farmer or at least someone who worked outside a lot. He had a weather-beaten face that was deeply lined though he was probably only in his forties. He walked to the bar and stood two bar stools down from Otter as he waved at the bartender.

"Hey, Karl, gimme a draft, wouldja?" the man said, unzipping the top of his coveralls. He set his hat and gloves on the bar.

"How’s it going, Marty?" the bartender replied, drawing the beer and setting it in front of the man.

"Same old, same old," Marty said. "Been up on the roof shoveling snow. Got an ice dam up there again this year, and it’s been leaking into my den. Would’ve gotten my TV if I hadn’t caught it when I did." He sipped his beer and glanced up at the latest hockey scores. "Heard anything more about what happened to Sam?"

"Not really," Karl replied. "Mike was in yesterday. Said they still don’t have much. Sam told him just before he died that he was meeting with a woman client. You know Sam--said she sounded sexy on the phone and wanted to take a sightseeing tour, just her alone, so he was looking forward to it. That’s about all they have to go on."

Otter, who’d been only half listening, tuned in to the conversation beside him while appearing outwardly to take no notice of the two men. He stared at the TV but didn’t see it, waiting for the bartender to continue.

"The sheriff called in the state police to fingerprint Sam’s office," Karl said. "But they said it was useless. Too many customers been in and out of there, and you know that place never got cleaned."

"What about Riley?" Marty asked.

"Up in Canada on some job the last week or so, they think. Probably doesn’t know yet."

"They ever find the knife?"

"Nope," said the bartender. "And there was nothing in Sam’s stuff about the client. The last page of his appointment book had been ripped out."

Marty shook his head. "Hard to believe a woman could do that."

"Yeah," Karl replied, moving away to the end of the bar to fill a waitress’s drink order.

Otter turned to Marty. "Get a little excitement here?" he asked.

Marty turned to look at Otter and nodded. "Yeah, friend of ours was killed a few days ago. Got his throat cut. Hell of a way to go." He wore a mournful expression and shook his head again as if he still had trouble comprehending the news. "Couldn’t have had much in the cash register. Summer and fall were really his busy seasons. He had a helicopter and did mostly tourist flights up over Lake Superior and back."

Otter’s expression remained impassive, but his heartbeat had doubled with the latest bit of news. "And they think a woman did it?" he asked.

"Yeah," Marty said. "Sam didn’t do much this time of year except make occasional deliveries to places out in the sticks. He had a route of regular stops. But he didn’t have any the day he died. Only some woman tourist he was supposed to take up to the lake. He was good with the women, y’know. Got a lot of pretty clients to go out with him."

"Well, I’m sorry about your friend," Otter said. "Where’d all this happen?"

Marty nodded at the condolences. "A little airstrip north of town," he said. "Nothing much else around. That’s why they don’t have much to go on. Nobody saw anything."

Otter got up from his bar stool and placed a few bills on the counter, then turned to leave. He paused beside Marty and said, "Don’t worry. What comes around, goes around--someone will find her." And that someone will be me.

Chapter Fourteen

Desire coursed through Jake. She could still feel the brief touch of Kat’s hand on her breast. She closed her eyes and leaned slightly forward, encouraging Kat to close the distance between them. She trembled in anticipation.

A shrill alarm broke the silence.

Kat snapped to attention and bolted from the room.

Drat, Jake thought. Her heart racing, she waited expectantly for Kat’s return. Her mind teetered between wondering what the alarm meant and wondering whether the two of them would acknowledge and pursue what had obviously been about to happen.

Her mind unwillingly went back to the ring on her finger. It seemed alien to her. An unwelcome obstacle to her growing feelings for Kat. She wanted to take it off and forget about it, but her conscience stopped her. It signifies a promise made. And you keep your promises, it nagged at her. She ran her hand through her hair in frustration and felt where odd sections had dried, sticking hurly-burly in every direction. She closed her eyes, chagrined at what she must look like and embarrassed that Kat was seeing her at her worst.

When she looked up again, she spotted Kat standing in the doorway, an apologetic half smile on her face.

"Sorry about that," Kat said. "I have an alarm system to alert me when something really big gets within a certain distance of the bunker. You know, might be something unusual...something worth shooting," she added. "Just a deer this time."

Jake nodded but said nothing, hoping Kat would pick up where they were before the interruption.

But Kat wouldn’t look at her. She took up her place beside the bed and resumed her rebandaging of Jake’s ribs. Once that was done, she examined Jake’s face, removing the bandages except for the one across her broken nose. She applied an antibiotic ointment to a couple of areas and left them open to the air to heal. When she was finished, she backed off a couple of feet, putting distance between them and finally meeting Jake’s eyes. "You should rest," she said. "It’s the best thing for you right now, and I could do with a nap myself."

Jake started to protest. Her body still burned with desire, every nerve ending raw and exposed. She would not sleep any time soon.

But Kat was behaving so differently now, so detached and inscrutable, that Jake knew the moment was gone. She sighed. "All right," she said. "Wait a minute--I’m taking your bed, aren’t I?"

"Not a problem," Kat replied. "I’ve a couch in the other room." She turned off the lamp. "Sweet dreams."

When Kat shut the door behind her, the room went absolutely black.

Jake could not relax. She was wide awake, and as the minutes passed, the darkness seemed to close in on her. It was too quiet. She felt incredibly small and vulnerable. The room was her amnesia, swallowing her whole. She yearned for Kat’s return.

*

Kat slept fitfully. Her mind was preoccupied with analyzing the unfamiliar emotions she had felt before the alarm went off. She had lived her entire adult life somewhat estranged from the world, shutting down emotionally after her family was taken from her. She’d never allowed herself to experience true intimacy with anyone. Certainly she was no virgin, but her sexual rendezvous were all about release and gratification, never affection. They were quick and anonymous, and often a little rough. She seduced strangers, or allowed herself to be seduced, when her pent-up energy demanded an outlet or in the infrequent times when she could not ignore the loneliness that had become an integral part of her.

But what she felt for Jake was more than simple lust. Her mysterious guest totally captivated her and evoked feelings of tenderness, protectiveness, of...belonging. She’d never experienced such things with anyone, and it terrified her even as it excited her.

Kat tossed and turned until midafternoon and then gave up trying to sleep. She got up and headed to the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar to provide enough light for her to see. She crossed to the dresser and removed clean underwear, socks, a navy pullover, and a pair of jeans. She noted with some satisfaction that only a pair of socks and sweatshirt were missing from her things, just as Jake had said. The rest appeared not to have been disturbed. Kat could not resist moving to the bed to check on her patient, who was sleeping soundly, snoring softly because of her broken nose. Kat reached out and lightly brushed hair from Jake’s forehead, marveling not for the first time at how soft her skin was. It begged to be touched. This is not good. Not good at all. You’re just getting in deeper and deeper. Look at yourself, all touchy-feely all of a sudden!

As she went about her routine of showering and getting dressed, Kat found herself preoccupied with planning what she would cook for Jake. What power did Kat’s guest have over her to make a simple thing like cooking so complicated?

*

Jake awakened to one of her favorite smells. Freshly brewed coffee. An enticing, earthy fragrance that beckoned her with an elusive familiarity. A necessary part of her daily routine, she was certain, but it triggered no specific memory. She opened her eyes just as Kat set a tray on the end of the bed. The coffee competed with another delicious aroma and set Jake’s mouth watering.

When Kat turned on the lamp, she could see that Jake was already awake and watching her. "It’s afternoon, but I was kind of in the mood for breakfast, so I made coffee and blueberry pancakes. I hope that’s all right."

"It smells wonderful," Jake said, sitting up.

After positioning the tray across Jake’s lap, Kat took her seat in the easy chair beside the bed.

"Where’s yours?" Jake asked as she took a sip of coffee. She recognized it as a Kona blend, rich and dark and full bodied. "This is so good. I’m a bit of a coffee addict, I think."

"I’ve already eaten," Kat replied, taking a second cup from the tray. "Just coffee for me. Do you take cream and sugar? I’m afraid I only have powdered milk."

Jake poured warm maple syrup from a small glass pitcher over the stack of flapjacks. "No thanks, black is fine." As Jake devoured her flapjacks, she stole sidelong glances at Kat. From the furrow on Kat’s brow, Jake guessed that something was on her host’s mind. She put her fork aside and faced Kat. "Want to talk about it?" she asked.

Kat said nothing immediately. She shifted position in the chair, looking down at the floor. She avoided Jake’s knowing gaze. "I went back to your car last night and searched it. I’m afraid there was nothing there to help identify you. I’m sorry."

Jake was surprised that Kat had revisited the crash site without telling her about it first. And at night? That’s weird. We really must be out in the country if the car is still there. Why the hell would I have been on such an isolated road? But despite her questions, Jake felt oddly relieved at the news, as if her subconscious really did not want her to remember who she was.

What if she never remembered? What if there was no way to verify her identity? Part of Jake wanted it that way so she could toss the wedding ring out into the snow and explore her feelings for Kat. But it was a silly fantasy. Anyone could be found.

Jake met Kat’s eyes. "Can’t the police trace the license plate and tell me who I am? Or at least who owns the car. I have to know them."

"That’s a possibility, but we’ll have to wait until the weather is better and you’re healed some more before we try to get you into town."

Jake nodded. There had to be an answer out there to the mystery of the wedding ring. But what if she met her husband and still couldn’t remember him? Despite her respect for the sanctity of marriage, how could she be expected to be faithful to vows she never remembered taking--to be wife to someone she didn’t even know?

Jake realized that despite her overpowering attraction to Kat--or perhaps because of it--she now believed her spouse was a husband, not a wife. When she’d thought Kat was going to kiss her, she knew that what she was feeling was somehow different than what she was used to. The thought of lying with Kat and touching her soft skin...exploring the curves of her body...her breasts...aroused Jake in a way she knew was unprecedented. She felt a flutter in her chest as she imagined it, like she was a teenager discovering sex for the first time.

Her images of her sexual history were indistinct, but she sensed she’d been with men, not women. The thought of sex with men felt...vivid. Real. But although Kat seemed somehow familiar to her, the idea that she’d been intimate with a woman before seemed...kind of unreal. She felt na•ve when she tried to imagine it. And she was a little afraid that if she was right about the desire she’d seen in Kat’s eyes--and if they gave in to this powerful attraction that seemed to be pulling them together--would she know what to do?

Jake was relieved there could be no immediate answers. She wanted to put off searching for someone she didn’t remember to give her time to get to know this woman she was so drawn to; to explore whatever was happening between them. She realized she hadn’t spoken in several minutes, and Kat hadn’t broken the quiet. She glanced up to see Kat watching her, an expression of gentle concern on her face.

Jake tried to smile. "I’m okay." She shrugged. "I mean, I’ve been wondering what I’ll do if we find out who I am, and I still don’t remember. Can’t imagine picking up right where I left off if my spouse is a stranger to me." She sighed, looking away, and ran her fingers through her hair again. "So in a way, I’m not in a real hurry to find out who I am from the police. I’d rather remember on my own. But I know any family I have must be worried about me." She sighed. "Nothing we can do about it at the moment. Got any more of that delicious Kona?"

"Yes. Plenty. I’ll bring back the carafe." Kat set their mugs down on the bedside table and took the tray from Jake’s lap. "You know, you should think about a real name for yourself...just in case you don’t get your memory back. And I have some ideas about that. Be right back." She headed for the door.

"I’m not going anywhere," Jake answered. She wouldn’t have if she could.

*

Kat returned with the coffee and a small pile of books. She tossed the books on the bed next to Jake and refilled both of their cups.

Jake scanned the covers. There was a dictionary, the Audubon Society Field Guide to North American birds, a guide to wildflower identification, and one entitled Michigan Trees.

"Thought we might get some ideas leafing through these," Kat explained, reaching for the bird book and settling back into the chair. "Lots of names come from nature: Robin, Phoebe, Iris, Violet. We can toss out a few and see if anything hits you."

Jake thought it an inspired plan. "What a scathingly brilliant idea!" she proclaimed with a grin, reaching for the dictionary.

Kat chuckled, recognizing the reference. "Thanks, Hayley," she commented dryly. She’d seen The Trouble with Angels too.

Jake looked through the dictionary, flipping randomly among the pages. She recognized immediately what a whimsical task this could be. Her eyes seemed to fall on words that, when considered as names, seemed absurdly humorous. Furl. Fume. Funk. Heave. She glanced over at Kat.

Her host seemed to be taking the task a bit more seriously. Kat’s face was furrowed in concentration as she flipped through pages, shaking her head.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Kat thought as she scanned the bird book. Nearly every species that jumped out at her was absolutely ludicrous as a person’s name. Butterball. Bufflehead. Booby. Canvasback. Cuckoo. Godwit. Grosbeak. She considered Wren and Widgeon; she kind of liked how they sounded, but neither seemed right for the woman in question. She tossed the bird book back on the bed and reached for the one on wildflowers instead, glancing up to find Jake watching her. "Nothing really grabbed me," she explained a bit sheepishly.

"Me neither," Jake agreed. "Well, why don’t I just toss out some words at random and see how they sound? Leave it to fate?" She quirked an eyebrow as a mischievous grin spread across her face.

What’s she up to? "All right," Kat said.

Jake made a ceremonious show of flipping the dictionary open on her lap. She closed her eyes and dramatically flexed her index finger before jabbing it on a random entry. She bent over the book to see what she’d landed on and announced, "Gimlet!"

Kat grinned. Why was this silly game becoming so much fun?

Jake repeated the selection process. This time her finger landed on..."Fococcia!"

Kat chuckled. "Could make for some interesting nicknames."

Jake looked momentarily confused, but as she mentally sounded out the options, her cheeks flushed.

Kat’s smile broadened. She snatched the dictionary from Jake’s lap. "Let me have a go," she said, then went through the same dramatic selection process, finger poised over a random entry. She jabbed blindly at the page, then peered at her choice. "Opaline?"

Jake giggled. "Fine if I was ninety and living in a nice little rest home in Opa Lacka." She held out her hand for the dictionary. "My turn."

Kat grinned and relinquished the book. As their fingers touched briefly in the exchange, a spark flashed between them.

Jake swallowed hard and tried to refocus on the book in her hand. "Uh," she stammered. "Okay, let’s try that again." She opened the book and blindly selected "Auger?"

Kat cocked her head. "Actually, I don’t think that’s too bad. Kind of catchy. But not you. Doesn’t suit you," she declared.

"All right, I’ll take your word for that," Jake replied. Kat’s response had made Jake realize just how much Kat’s opinion in this really mattered to her. She would immediately reject any name if Kat didn’t like it.

It didn’t make sense. Jake had imagined herself as too independent to be concerned with a total stranger’s opinions of such things. It seemed the more time she spent with Kat, the more confused she was about her identity. She made no move immediately to return the book to Kat, lost for a moment in a concentrated effort to remember her past.

Kat noticed the change. "Jake? You okay?"

Jake didn’t answer right away. She stared off into space, squinting her eyes as if that would help her clear the block in her memory and see beyond it. Finally she looked at Kat and shrugged. "Sorry. Trying to remember. But it’s so damn frustrating. I sort of sense things about my life. They feel like long-ago memories, where you can recall vague generalities but have forgotten the details. I’ve been to a prom, but I can’t tell you where I went to school. I love macaroni and cheese, but I can’t see my mother’s face and tell you if she ever made it for me." She sighed. "Better than remembering nothing at all, I guess. But it’s maddening." She handed the book back to Kat and forced a smile. "C’mon, your turn. Pick a good one."

Kat nodded, wishing Jake would laugh again. She loved that laugh--it was lilting, and light, and very infectious. She hadn’t laughed very much in her life and it felt really, really good. She poised her fingertip over the dictionary, squinting her eyes for effect, and landed on, "Mucosa!"

Simultaneously, they both said, "Eew," then erupted into laughter. Jake roared until tears streamed down her face.

Kat struggled to contain herself, but every time she looked at Jake, they burst into giggles again.

Finally, after several minutes, Jake leaned forward and took the book. "I have got to do better," she said, selecting blindly from the big tome. "Scrumptious?" she read aloud, then blushed. She couldn’t look at Kat.

But that was all right because Kat couldn’t look at her either. She stared at the wall, a light flush warming her cheeks. Determined to regain control, she blindly reached for the book and cleared her throat, not commenting at all on Jake’s selection. She poised her own finger over a page. She chose. She looked down. Her light flush went full dark scarlet in an instant, just as Jake glanced back up at her.

"Well?" Jake urged. "Don’t keep me in suspense. What’s my new name?"

Chapter Fifteen

Thomas was relieved to have some good news for his boss for a change. Evan Garner had been growing increasingly sarcastic and terse with each hour that had passed since they’d last heard from Frank, the man they’d sent to Tawa. Thomas had seen it before. It was how Garner manifested his impatience, and it wasn’t good. It usually meant his boss was about to erupt, and he would pick the nearest scapegoat if the real target of his frustration--in this case Hunter--wasn’t available.

Since it was intended to be a reconnaissance mission only, they had not dispatched their best man to Michigan. They expected only to find out what had happened to Scout--but Garner knew the man might also stumble on Hunter in the process. So the operative had to be expendable.

So they had sent Frank, a large man who followed orders well if they were spelled out in detail. He was quick for his size and skilled at several methods of killing. He was not nearly smart enough to go up against Hunter, but few were, and he wasn’t really expected to see her face-to-face.

Thomas rapped twice on Garner’s office door and pushed it open.

His boss stared at him as he entered the room. "Frank found the car Scout was driving, boss. It was wrecked off a little road, miles away from anything. Flipped over into a ditch."

"Wrecked?" Garner asked, his curiosity overcoming his bad mood.

"Yeah, door was open, and the trunk. No sign of the broad, but there is some kind of track leading off into the woods, probably from a sled. Frank followed it for a ways, but he said it was slow going on the snowmobile, so he turned back. Needed better lights and warmer clothes. The homing signal ended at the car. Frank thinks Scout’s phone must be under the wreck somewhere in the snow. He can’t find it." Thomas paused. "He tried to call from the crash site, but his cell phone was out of range so he had to go back to town. He wanted to know do you want him to follow the track. I told him stay put while I check with you."

Garner considered that a moment. "Have him relay to you precisely where the car is, so we can find it again if anything...unfortunate happens to Frank. Then tell him to follow the track and report back as soon as he can."

"Right, boss."

"And Thomas," Garner said, catching him at the door. "Remind Frank that if he does meet up with Hunter, the million is his if he kills her."

Thomas nodded and shut the door behind him.

A smug grin spread across Garner’s lips. He was already thinking about how he would celebrate when he could go back outside, unafraid of an ambush from Hunter. He knew better than anyone not to underestimate his former protégé. He’d been living in this secure building and sleeping in his office since he’d issued the contract on her life, and he’d continue to do so until she was eliminated. Even now he didn’t feel completely safe. His inner sanctum was familiar territory to Hunter, and she might be bold enough to meet Garner on his own turf.

He hated to give up the million dollars cash, half of it out of his own hefty bank account and half skimmed from accounts he controlled as administrator of the Academy. But business had been very good the last few years. They had had no shortage of assignments, almost all of them bringing in six figures. He knew he’d get no real peace of mind until she was dead. We’re closing in, Hunter. Can your damned intuition feel it?

Chapter Sixteen

Jake leaned toward Kat. She tried to see what entry Kat had selected, but the dictionary was too far away. "Kat?"

Kat’s blush deepened. She briefly considered substituting any other word on the page in front of her. But she knew Jake would see through the ruse. She sighed, submitting. Her voice was unexpectedly husky when she answered. "Smooch."

"Ah," Jake replied, as a flash of heat suffused her body. "Do you think that suits me?" she wondered. She wasn’t aware she’d said it aloud.

Kat didn’t answer. She couldn’t speak. Her mouth was suddenly parchment dry. Her rapid heartbeat drummed in her ears.

The heat and energy that surrounded them drew their eyes to each other. Kat felt exposed. Every nerve ending was raw. She knew Jake could see how much she ached to kiss her, caress her. She wanted to give in to this voracious and unrelenting craving that was pulling them together.

Jake sucked in a breath when she gazed into Kat’s eyes and saw the same unmasked yearning she had seen there earlier. Pupils dilated with arousal were boring into her. The heat running through her body became a fireball.

The anticipation was almost painful.

Kat licked her lips. She struggled to regain some sense of control. But it was impossible when she saw her own ardor reflected in Jake’s eyes, eyes that shimmered with wet desire.

It was Jake who broke the silence, although the word that escaped her lips did so without her knowledge or consent. Her body and her soul conspired to remove whatever restraint was holding Kat in her chair. "Please," Jake whispered.

An involuntary moan escaped Kat’s lips at the confirmation of their mutual need. She had to shut her eyes momentarily against the hammering of her heart in her chest. When she opened them again, she saw Jake’s hand extended to her, her eyes beseeching Kat to close the distance between them. She was powerless against those eyes.

Kat rose from the chair. She moved to the bed, drawn toward Jake like a moth to a bonfire. Jake’s outstretched hand found her waist. Delicate fingers closed on a belt loop and tugged her closer.

Kat sat on the edge of the bed, facing Jake. Her hand came up to stroke Jake’s face--a soft caress along the line of her jaw--before it cupped the back of her neck, long fingers wrapped in soft blond locks. She pulled Jake’s face to hers gently as she leaned forward to close the final inches between them.

The kiss began so gently, so tentatively, that it belied the raging inferno that enveloped them both. So soft, Kat’s mind crooned. So wonderfully, exquisitely soft. Her body hummed with the adrenaline pouring through her, demanding more, seeking deeper contact. She had never felt so alive. She had no further conscious thought, so intent was she on the sensations coursing through her. Her blood was on fire.

Jake’s aching need blossomed under the kiss, scorching her, sending her internal temperature soaring. More, her body begged. Her tongue answered, the tip reaching past her own parted lips to taste the edge of Kat’s mouth, seeking entry, teasing but insistent.

Kat could not contain the breathy groan that answered Jake’s oral seduction. She melted into the kiss, parting her lips to allow Jake entry, tongues meeting in sweet caresses--tasting, exploring. The kiss deepened, and Jake tugged Kat’s body closer. Her arm encircled Kat’s waist.

Finally they had to break apart to breathe.

Kat pulled Jake’s head against her chest in a close embrace. One arm gently encircled her. The other absently stroked her hair. Kat breathed erratically. Rational thought had vanished at Jake’s whispered plea, and she had surrendered fully to her emotions. It was something she ordinarily would never have allowed herself.

But she had always relied heavily on her extraordinary sense of intuition. It set her apart. She could see things, feel things, know things that others could not. Sometimes even she didn’t fully understand how she knew. But her intuition had never yet been wrong. And it fairly shouted at her now that despite all evidence to the contrary, this was meant to be.

Jake trembled. Her cheek against Kat’s chest, she could hear the rapid, pounding pulse of Kat’s heartbeat. It mirrored her own and was a deeply comforting sound. Jake felt profoundly grateful that Kat was apparently experiencing the same unbelievably intense reaction to their kiss that she was. Memory loss notwithstanding, she knew she was treading on unfamiliar ground. She couldn’t believe she’d ever before felt such a powerful connection to another human being.

Neither spoke, both so overwhelmed by the physical and emotional sensations that poured over them, enveloped them, swallowed them whole. This was ecstasy. But would it last?

Chapter Seventeen

Frank kept his mind focused on the million-dollar payoff that awaited the person who got Hunter. It was the only thing that kept him pushing on, cursing, following a godforsaken path in the snow that he had long ago decided had to have been made by a masochist.

Frank was a city boy, born and bred. He grew up in Las Vegas, a place he still retreated to whenever he had some free time. He had never been camping, fishing, or hunting in his life. His passions were poker, craps, and nights in the company of a certain redheaded showgirl at the MGM Grand. This outdoorsy crap didn’t suit him at all.

His assignment had been one nightmare after another. First he’d gotten stuck in the snow in the rental car and had to wait two hours for a tow truck. At least he’d had plenty of gas and had been able to run the heater while he waited. He’d have been in a lot of trouble otherwise, dressed in his customary suit and tie and only moderately heavy overcoat, shiny dress oxfords, and leather driving gloves.

He’d picked up a heavy sweater, insulated gloves, and a pair of cheap pull-on boots at a Wal-Mart near the snowmobile rental place. Driving the snowmobile to the crash site had actually been kind of fun, at least for the first several minutes. It was a bit like operating a motorcycle, which Frank had tried on a few occasions. The road was mostly straight and even, and he’d covered the thirty miles from Tawa in less than two hours, stopping only occasionally to verify with a handheld monitor that he was still heading toward the homing signal emanating from Scout’s cell phone.

He’d spent a long time at the crash site, trying in vain to locate the phone and then following one of the two sled trails that led from the wreck. The track had gone up a hill, then down the other side, where it converged with the other trail that led from the smashed car.

He followed the track for several minutes, cursing the cold. It had long ago seeped through his thin pants and even into his new gloves and boots. He began to lose feeling in his fingertips, and that really worried him. The track led into a vast wooded area devoid of any sign of civilization whatsoever. He began to regret not asking the snowmobile shop how far the machine could travel on a single tank of gas. When the sled trail went into a thicket of trees too dense for the snowmobile to follow, he gave up and headed back the way he came.

Back in Tawa, after he’d called in his report and fortified himself with a couple of roast beef sandwiches, he’d gone shopping at an outdoor supply store. This time he outfitted himself in a thick insulated snowmobile suit, a fleece-lined Gore-Tex cap, Sorel boots, and oversized mittens that reminded Frank of boxing gloves.

All the items were purchased on the advice of an obliging clerk, a teenaged kid with acne who obviously considered his customer one of the oddest tourists he’d ever seen. Frank had also picked up a powerful flashlight and extra batteries, a water bottle, several candy bars, and a red five-gallon gasoline container, which he filled and strapped to the back of the snowmobile.

He was warm again and more anxious to resume the search now that he had the money as an added incentive. When he’d been sent on this errand, he’d only been told to locate the homing device and the woman it had been given to. But Thomas had just informed him that Hunter might be in the vicinity and that she was worth a million dollars dead. It was the first he’d heard of the contract on her life--Frank had been working on a small matter in Detroit when he’d gotten the call to divert to Tawa.

He had heard of Hunter’s exploits, of course, but he was sure a lot of it was just exaggeration. No woman could be that good. So he had no qualms about going after her, although he’d wished it had happened in a warm city and not the damned arctic wilderness.

It took him several hours to follow the track to its end. Several times, the sled trail went where the snowmobile could not, so he had to seek out alternate routes on foot for the heavy machine. It got even harder to follow once it began to get dark. Finally the trail ended abruptly, outside the sheer rock face of a hill. It was obviously a secret entrance of some sort. He began searching for a way in.

*

Jake relaxed into Kat’s embrace. Her heartbeat began to return to normal. She wanted to ask Kat what would happen now, but she was a bit afraid to speak and spoil the moment. Her head was cradled against Kat’s breast; she felt immensely safe in the haven of the other woman’s arms. Kat continued to gently stroke her hair, while Jake’s hand caressed the small of Kat’s back.

Both women froze when the shrill alarm again pierced the silence. Kat regained her equilibrium first and reluctantly loosened their embrace. She looked at Jake and shrugged. "Sorry, I’ll turn that off. Be right back."

Jake nodded, releasing Kat and following her every move with a small, shy smile on her face. "Don’t be long," she whispered, but Kat was already through the doorway.

Annoyed at the interruption, Kat strode to the desk and snatched up the remote control, turning off the alarm and turning on the bank of monitors. Although she’d placed her motion sensor five feet off the ground and close to the wall, far from any game trail, a deer did on rare occasion set off the alarm. But she couldn’t understand how it could happen twice in such close succession unless the sensors needed adjustment.

Her answer came as monitor number three flickered to life. Darkness had fallen, but the camera outside the main entrance, equipped with night-vision capability, presented a clear image of a figure examining the camouflaged door panel with a high-beam flashlight. Years of training and experience kicked in at the sight. Kat retreated back into the shadows and Hunter took over.

*

Jake knew something was horribly wrong the instant Kat reappeared in the bedroom doorway. The relaxed, gentle demeanor she had exhibited just moments ago was gone. Her face wore a serious, resolute expression now, and energy fairly crackled around her as she strode purposefully to the bed. She was commanding. Intimidating. Powerful. The muscle along the sculpted line of her jaw twitched as she gritted her teeth in determination. Her eyes were cold and distant.

"I can’t explain right now, but I need you to stay right here. Don’t try to get out of bed." Kat’s voice was businesslike. Firm. But she leaned over the bed as she spoke and put her hand on Jake’s uninjured arm. She gave it a gentle squeeze. "Trust me. Okay?"

Jake didn’t hesitate. "Whatever you say."

Kat went to the dresser and pulled out some clothes.

"What is it, Kat? Is everything all right?"

Kat paused and turned to look at her. Her face softened. "Nothing for you to worry about." Without further elaboration, she turned and left, closing the door behind her.

*

Kat briefly considered giving Jake a gun to use in the unlikely event that the intruder got past her. But Kat was unsure how she would react to the offer. It might distress Jake more than necessary--she may not even remember how to use one. Or maybe she will. Do you really want to arm her and then have her memory come back? Kat decided against it, and that made her even more determined to stop the intruder quickly and quietly outside the bunker. She’d think about what to tell Jake later.

She opened the hidden room and stepped inside. She stripped off the clothes she was wearing and put on the heavy insulated underwear and insulated white coveralls she’d taken from the dresser.

She opened the largest gun safe, lips pursed in concentration as she considered what weapons to take with her. She pulled out her 9mm Glock automatic and extra clips and stuffed them into the pocket of her coveralls. A .38 revolver came next, housed in a holster she strapped to her right ankle. And finally, a Spyderco knife, tucked into another pocket. She left the room and closed it up again.

Grabbing her night-vision goggles from the coffee table, she jogged to the tunnel. She pulled a white balaclava from a peg on the wall and put it on. It covered her face and neck, leaving only her eyes exposed. The goggles came next. She parked them on her forehead, then pulled on her white Mickey Mouse boots and laced them up. Finally, she fished in one of the army barrels for a thick pair of white gloves and put them on.

She moved to the rungs on the wall and began to climb. Forty feet up, the rungs ended at a circular steel hatch that looked like those found on submarines. It had a metal handle that Kat pushed to unlock the hatch and a large ring that she grabbed on to and turned counterclockwise to open the round door. She had to use every bit of her considerable muscle to get it to move. It made more noise than she would have liked, but that couldn’t be helped.

She decided to wait a few minutes where she was in case the intruder heard the noise and decided to investigate. The emergency exit would remain well concealed as long as she didn’t open the hatch. Once she did, the movement of the snow above it would mark the spot and make it much too visible.

She was confident the intruder could not get in the main entrance. She would wait until he had enough time to get up the hill, satisfy his curiosity, and return down the hill. She wanted to meet him away from this opening, as there was no way to lock it from the outside. She just hoped there wasn’t more than one intruder.

As she waited, her mind drifted back to Jake. Her icy demeanor thawed just a little as she remembered the incredible sensations of the kiss. Don’t think about that now. It’s a distraction you don’t need.

*

Frank had found the security panel that would open the main door to the bunker. He stared at it, wondering if touching it would set off some kind of alarm or something to alert whoever was on the other side of the wall. He didn’t like to have to make decisions like this, especially if Hunter might be in there. Exaggerated reputation or not, he still didn’t want her to take him by surprise.

He chewed his lip, staring at the panel. He heard a soft, metallic grinding sound from somewhere up above him and to the right. He glanced around, suddenly feeling too exposed where he was. He stayed close to the wall, hoping whoever was above him couldn’t see that far over the edge. Hugging the surface of the wall, he began moving away from the sound, hoping to circle around the hill a ways before he came up the other side. Maybe he’d get the chance to come up behind whoever was up there and get the drop on them.

*

Jake wished to God the room had a clock. Time seemed to drag on and on, but she had no idea how much of it had really elapsed. It seemed as though Kat had been gone an awfully long while. Twenty minutes? Thirty? But Jake knew her growing anxiety was probably skewing her ability to tell time, and it might have been only half that. She had taken Kat at her word that there was no time to explain, but now she wished she had tried at least to ask how long Kat might be gone. The wait was excruciating.

Jake considered how little she really knew about the woman who had so totally captivated her. The transformation in Kat after the second alarm was startling and a bit unsettling. Steely self-assurance radiated off her, and she appeared to be almost a different person entirely. The change had been so profound and unexpected Jake could not help wondering what could possibly have triggered it. Certainly more than another wayward deer.

She started to count, marking off the wait in minutes, because it was something for her mind to do other than worry about Kat and think about how much she needed to visit the bathroom. Kat had asked her not to get out of bed, and she was trying very hard to comply. But she knew her resolve was crumbing. Her bladder was screaming for relief. Could there really be any harm in just walking a few feet to the room next door?

Chapter Eighteen

It was to Frank both a blessing and a curse that the hill he was climbing was heavily wooded. He could sneak up on whatever had made the noise by moving from tree to tree. That made him feel much less vulnerable. On the other hand, it made it hell to try to see anything or anyone. A thick cloud layer obscured whatever moonlight might have penetrated to the forest floor. There could be someone hidden behind any of the trees around him.

He tried to move as quietly as possible while spending as little time as he could in the open areas between trees. He paused behind every other tree, listening, as he neared the top of the rise. He heard no further sounds at all, except a very faint, far-off cry--a lone coyote. The plaintive sound went on sporadically for a couple of minutes, and then all was silent again. Frank wrongly thought wolf when he heard it, and he immediately wondered if a wolf would go after a man. He was really beginning to hate this assignment, million dollars or no million dollars.

His face and ears were freezing, and that was distracting him a bit. He’d never been so cold. He’d exposed his ears to the frigid air so he could hear better. He figured he must be close to the place he’d heard the noise coming from, but he was really only guessing. Frank stood as still and quiet as he could for a long while, listening, peering into the darkness. He started to wonder if he’d really heard something. The noise had sounded metallic, and he could see there was nothing around him except woods and snow.

He fished a candy bar out of his pocket. As he ate, he became more convinced that he must have just imagined he heard something. Who knows what kind of things are out here with me and what noises they make? he thought uneasily. He was no coward. He had confronted lots of dangerous situations in his line of work. Still, he liked knowing what he was up against.

He stayed there a long time despite his growing anxiety, because the alternative would be for him to return to the more exposed area of the rock wall and deal with the security panel again. He wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

*

Kat thought that enough time had probably elapsed for the intruder to have investigated the area and left, but still she waited beneath the closed hatch. That sixth sense of hers urged caution and she obeyed, even though various parts of her body complained about the long time she remained suspended on the ladder rungs. She tried to stretch out her muscles, stimulating the blood flow so she would be ready to face whoever was outside.

Too warm now, she unzipped the coveralls to let in the cool air and pulled up the balaclava so it no longer covered her face. She would wait a while longer, although her muscles twitched in anticipation of the confrontation ahead.

*

Jake couldn’t stand it any longer. If she didn’t move now, right now, she wasn’t sure she could prevent an accident. Certainly Kat would understand--she had been in such a hurry to respond to the alarm she hadn’t stopped to consider Jake might need to use the bathroom.

Jake moved her legs over one side of the bed. Trying very hard not to put any weight at all on her bad knee, she slid down to the floor. She hopped to the doorway, opened the door, and continued through the bathroom door to the commode, balancing better on one foot than she expected and getting to her destination just in time.

The relief was enormous. She washed her hands and headed to the bathroom door. Peering out, she glanced around the outer room and got her first real long look at the rest of Kat’s retreat. To her right were large built-in bookcases filled with books. She took in the leather couch and easy chair and the small kitchen opposite the bookshelves. It was a lovely room, but few knickknacks were apparent. The only real decorations were the pictures on the walls--more animal and bird photographs. Kat’s cello case sat against the wall to Jake’s left. Beyond that, and in front of her, was a large desk.

Jake’s eyes were drawn to the only movement in the room--a slight flicker that came from one of the monitors set into the wall behind the desk. Intrigued, Jake moved toward them, momentarily forgetting her promise to Kat. The monitors had an odd green tint to them; they weren’t televisions. Each held a static picture, and Jake realized they must be images from security cameras.

Standing in front of them, she could see that the first one showed a large rock wall and a bit of forest around it. The second camera was focused on a long, narrow corridor of some kind--she could see hats and coats hanging on pegs. The third monitor displayed a small clearing in the woods surrounded by a thick growth of trees. Jake’s eyes were drawn to movement in the last monitor.

One of the dark shadows in the monitor separated itself from the longer shadow that had concealed it. Jake stared, fascinated, as the shadow came into slightly better view of the camera. She could see now it was a person, though it was hard to be sure if it was male or female because the figure was clad in a one-piece suit. A snowmobile suit, she realized. She suspected it was a man because of the disproportionately large upper body.

The man appeared to be eating something. One hand kept going to his mouth. It looked like the he was waiting, hiding, pressed up against the tree like that. Where is Kat? Jake worried.

A flicker to her left brought her attention to the second monitor. There she is, Jake thought with relief. Kat was climbing down rungs at the edge of the screen and skipped the last couple to land gracefully on her feet in the corridor. Then she bounced up and down with nervous energy, stretching her arms and arching her back. Jake tried to look closer at Kat’s surroundings in the monitor. Where are you?

Jake pried her eyes away from the screen long enough to glance around the room she was in. There were two doors besides the ones to the bedroom and bathroom. One was on the other side of the room, next to the refrigerator. The other, probably the exit door because of the locks on it, was set into the wall between the desk and the kitchen. Are you on the other side of that door?

Jake suddenly remembered her promise, and she was a bit concerned that Kat would come through the door and find she had left the bedroom. But she was even more worried about Kat’s safety, given the figure that was evidently waiting outside in the woods. He set off the alarm, Jake realized. That certainly explained Kat’s sudden change in demeanor. She knows he’s out there.

She turned back to the monitors, waiting for something to happen, her sense of anxiety growing. Kat said we were a long way from civilization. Who is he and what does he want?

She watched, transfixed, as Kat calmly pulled a large handgun from the pocket of her white overalls and with practiced efficiency checked the clip. "Who are you really?" Jake whispered, wide-eyed.

Chapter Nineteen

Evan Garner hated being trapped in his office. It was making him claustrophobic. He paced back and forth in front of the large wall of windows.

They had heard nothing from Frank for several hours. Garner was now admitting to himself it might have been a mistake to have sent the man to Tawa. He’d thought of Frank as just another willing gun to throw at Hunter--an expendable one, if things went badly.

But now he worried that if Frank did find Hunter, she would kill him and then run, and that could make everything much more difficult. She knew how to disappear. Worse yet, it might send her straight to his office.

He pressed a button on the intercom on his desk.

Thomas responded at once. "Yes, sir?"

"Call Otter," Garner instructed. "Fill him in about Frank and the location of the wrecked car. Tell him to get a snowmobile and try to follow the track and see what the hell has happened."

"Right away, sir," Thomas responded.

Damn your eyes, Hunter, Garner thought. I wish I didn’t have to kill you. But you leave me no other choice.

*

It had taken Otter several minutes to break into the helicopter office. He was a bit out of practice at picking locks. He’d had to break the yellow police tape on the door, but he wasn’t worried he’d be caught. The place was out in the middle of nowhere, just as the guy at the bar had described, and he was pretty sure a small town like Tawa wouldn’t have the manpower to keep it under surveillance.

Otter stepped across the doorway and into the small customer waiting area. It had a half dozen cheap plastic chairs that reminded him of the ones in prison. On a narrow coffee table was an assortment of old magazines, mostly Sports Illustrated but a few hunting and fishing titles as well. He went behind the long counter that ran parallel to the back wall. Atop it was a cash register, which had been emptied, and small stands displaying the owner’s business cards and brochures outlining services and rates.

Shelves beneath the counter held an untidy assortment of magazines, manuals, invoices, and what looked like a lost-and-found depository--a cardboard box containing sunglasses and gloves, hats and pens, an umbrella, children’s toys, a small notebook, and a key ring with keys.

Otter moved behind the counter to a door that led into a small office. He shined the beam of his flashlight around before he stepped into the room. He spotted a desk and chair, filing cabinet, and a small TV on a stand in one corner. The owner was evidently not fussy about neatness. There was a thick coating of dust on the TV and piles of papers on the desk, and the wastebasket beside it was nearly overflowing with fast-food wrappers. Personal items were scattered here and there. On the filing cabinet were several trophies and framed pictures. Along one wall were piles of cardboard boxes, their tops open and contents spilling out like the police had gone haphazardly through them. Hanging on the wall were several framed photographs, most aerial shots evidently taken from the helicopter.

In the middle of the room, on the concrete floor, was the white chalk outline of a body, and what appeared to be a very large dried bloodstain around where the head and neck of the victim had lain.

Otter stepped around the outline and went to the desk. He opened the drawers and poked through their contents. Letters and invoices, old bills, and check stubs. A pint bottle of Jack Daniel’s, nearly empty. A half-eaten bag of potato chips.

Next he tackled the filing cabinet. It contained several folders, organized by date. He frowned. All the files were more than six months old. There was a large blank space in the drawer that logically should have contained the more recent ones, so he suspected the police had taken them.

At first glance, there seemed to be nothing here that could lead him to Hunter. But he was certain she had to have been responsible for this. The only thing he couldn’t figure was why, especially since the helicopter still stood parked outside.

Otter nearly jumped through his skin when his cell phone rang in his pocket. His nerves were on edge. It rang again. "Yeah?" he answered in a clipped voice. He listened for several minutes. A smile spread across his face. "Right on it," he answered, shutting off the phone and making his way out of the office.

Not a bad way to travel, he remembered, glancing at the helicopter as he returned to his car. But the big machines would always remind him of Hunter’s betrayal. He relished the opportunity to finally settle the score.

Chapter Twenty

Jake watched as Kat’s image on the screen cocked her head as if she was listening for something. Jake’s eyes darted to the third monitor. While she’d been watching Kat, the man behind the tree had disappeared. Jake narrowed her eyes, staring hard at the monitor, praying to see some movement that would tell her what had happened to him. Had he just darted behind the tree he was standing next to? Or had he gone?

She looked back to the middle screen.

Kat was moving now too--she pulled a white ski mask over her face and neck, then slid an odd-looking pair of goggles over her eyes. She moved to the right of the screen and then up out of view, like she was climbing a ladder.

Now Jake could see neither person, and her anxiety doubled. She was tempted to go through the exit door, see if Kat was there and warn her about what she’d seen on the monitor. But she was held in place, both by her promise and by her uncertainty over what she was witnessing.

Kat had looked so comfortable--casual, almost--handling the gun. It was very disconcerting to Jake and didn’t fit at all with the image she held of the woman. Nature photographer, cello player, cook, rescuer. Maybe she was in the military or law enforcement somewhere, she surmised. Or maybe something not quite so innocuous.

There was movement now on the third screen. In the clearing in the forest, the snow moved. No, that’s not it, she realized. Something was under the snow. A large circular object rose perpendicular to the ground, and the snow that had been around it fell away. Kat emerged from the ground. It’s the exit, Jake realized, amazed at how well concealed it had been. Watch out, Kat. He’s out there somewhere, her mind screamed in warning. Jesus, what the hell is going on here?

*

Frank had convinced himself that whatever he thought he’d heard must have been some weird bird or animal. He’d pulled down his cap to cover his ears again. They’d gotten so cold they positively ached. He’d read stories about how people had lost toes and fingers to frostbite, and he worried about his face--particularly his ears and his nose, which ran profusely in the chill air.

He was glad at least it wasn’t snowing. He could follow his own tracks back to the rock wall. He knew he could get lost out here way too easily.

He was less cautious going down the hill than he had been coming up, no longer concerned that someone might be watching him. No one else is stupid enough to be out here, he told himself. He headed back toward the rock wall, not at all looking forward to trying to crack the security panel. He was pretty good at picking most locks, but any kind of electronic device was beyond him. He just had to hope he’d get lucky.

*

Kat sensed, finally, that it was safe to emerge from the emergency exit. She cracked the hatch and snow cascaded into the tunnel around her. She climbed up and out, adjusted her goggles, and quickly scanned the area for the intruder. Satisfied, she closed the hatch and quickly kicked snow over it, trying to obscure the entrance as best as she could. Staying low and moving quickly, she headed to the nearest big tree and concealed herself behind it, listening. She heard soft sounds, not far down the hill. The crunching of boots and the rustling sound of nylon against nylon. She hurried noiselessly toward it.

There was a chance, she knew, that the intruder could be a snowmobiler or hunter who found her sled tracks leading from the crash site and got nosy.

Or maybe someone had discovered the wreck and called the police. The man could be a deputy investigating the stolen car. Either option would be real trouble for her. She didn’t want to kill an innocent man or policeman, yet she had to protect the bunker as long as Jake could not be moved. Kat had to find out who the intruder was and whether he had revealed the location of the bunker to anyone else.

She followed the sounds, finally glimpsing the man through the trees. He was making his way back to the main entrance. She closed in on him, studying him. He was large and muscular, but she could not see his face to tell whether she recognized him. He plodded noisily along, his nylon snowmobile suit making the rustling sounds she’d heard, and he was sniffling loudly.

Suddenly the big man tripped and fell headlong into the deep snow, flailing his arms. He rose to his feet, cursing loudly, and Kat resisted the urge to laugh. A few minutes later, he was back standing before the security panel at the rock wall. He turned on a flashlight and scanned the area with it, then removed his right mitten and began punching numbers into the panel.

Kat crept up behind him, every muscle in her body taut in anticipation. She reached for her Glock as she approached her target.

*

Frank was randomly hitting numbers on the keypad, hoping he wasn’t triggering an alarm, when two things happened simultaneously.

He heard a low female voice directly behind him say "Freeze," and cold metal was pressed firmly against the back of his neck. It was wedged into the narrow space between his cap and the collar of his snowsuit.

He did as he was told. The fingers on his exposed hand were beginning to freeze, but he took no notice. He kept the flashlight trained on the panel. Hunter, he thought nervously, and despite the cold, he began to sweat a little inside the insulated suit.

Her voice came again, beside his ear, as the cold metal nudged his neck for emphasis. "Who are you?"

"Uh...uh," Frank stammered, stalling for time. Why the hell hadn’t he anticipated this? He couldn’t admit who he was and what he was doing here. His delay in answering prompted another firm prod from the gun. "My name is John. I...I’m lost," he said.

"Try again," the voice said.

She cocked the gun, the sound echoing loudly in his ears despite the cap he wore. He began to sweat in earnest now.

Frank found his voice and tried to keep it steady. "I was following some tracks, just out snowmobiling," he lied.

"Don’t believe you. Who are you working for?"

"No one," Frank said, too quickly.

A long sigh from behind him. "You don’t lie very well." A hand reached around him and took the flashlight from his left hand. "Raise your hands above your head," the voice instructed.

Frank obeyed. When he did, the mitten he’d been holding under his left arm fell to the ground. His right hand was nearly numb now from the cold, but he resisted the urge to flex his fingers to restore the blood flow.

The cold metal was removed from Frank’s neck. "Turn around, very slowly."

He did as he was told. As soon as he turned, the bright beam of the flashlight blinded him, shining directly into his eyes. He squinted against the glare.

"Take your hat off. Move slowly," the voice said from in front of him.

Frank removed his cap and dropped it in the snow. His mind worked furiously trying to come up with an explanation for his presence, but he could think of nothing convincing. It was Hunter, he knew it was, and he suddenly found himself trying to recall details of the stories he’d heard about her. Everyone talked about her reflexes, he remembered. Said she could move faster than you could see. His mouth was dry.

"Let’s try this once more," the voice said, drawing closer. "What’s your name?"

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves before he answered. "Frank," he said. Still squinting, he lowered his eyes. He could barely make out the silhouette of her lower body. She was four or five feet away, out of his reach.

"Very good. Now back up, Frank," the voice commanded. "Up against the wall."

He obeyed, retreating by small, slow steps until his back was against the hard surface. He waited for her to say something. A minute passed in uncomfortable silence. Trying to feign a nonchalance he didn’t feel, Frank shrugged and opened his mouth. "Look, lady, you got me all wrong--" he began, but his next words were cut off in his throat.

Before he knew what had happened, she was upon him. One large, strong hand tightened around his larynx, cutting off his air. Her thumb dug hard into the pulse point at the base of his jaw, effectively pinning him against the wall. In a reflex action, he struggled against the iron grip and started to bring his hands down, but the second he did that, she tightened her hold until he began to see stars. Damn, she’s strong, he thought fuzzily. His lungs screamed for air. He was going to black out.

He stopped fighting her and put his hands back up. When he did, she loosened her grip enough for him to suck in some sweet air. Then she tightened her hold again slightly, pushing upward against his windpipe until he couldn’t breathe at all unless he was on his tiptoes. The back of his head pressed painfully against the wall. The sharp edge of the security panel cut into his lower back.

"No more lies now, Frank."

"Okay, Okay," he wheezed. He was having a hard time talking through the excruciating pressure on his windpipe, and he had lost all feeling in his right hand. He was in real trouble here, he realized. And she was getting impatient. "Look, I’m just out here to find someone." He gasped for air. "Sorry to have bothered you. Obviously she’s not here." He was past thinking about the money now. He just wanted the hell out of here.

*

Kat felt fairly relaxed, considering the current circumstances. She knew now that this man was probably no real immediate threat to her or to Jake. He didn’t seem to have either the brains or the imagination to get himself out of his current predicament, and he seemed to be alone.

But she still had to find out who he was and what he knew, and more importantly, she then had to decide what to do with him. Part of the latter decision would depend on whether he had told anyone the location of the bunker.

She hoped he’d give up the information willingly. Sometimes big brutes like this had a high tolerance for pain, like she did. She didn’t think he was operating on his own. He was the type who took orders. And if she was right about who sent him, she knew Frank would try at least for a while to resist giving up the full story. Evan Garner could be ruthless with underlings who betrayed him. The contract on her life was proof of that, wasn’t it?

Kat let several seconds elapse in silence. She smiled a little when she could feel the desired response. Frank’s pulse rate beneath her thumb increased. She squeezed his larynx until he coughed in pain. "Who are you looking for, Frank?"

He blinked against the aching pressure on his throat and the blinding light held directly in front of his eyes. "A woman. Blond. Had a car wreck," he rasped out.

"I’m listening," Kat urged.

"Tracks from the wreck led here," he said. He paused, considering how much to tell her.

Kat squeezed his throat again and pressed the flashlight forcefully against the bridge of his nose. A sharp outcropping of rock on the wall behind him cut into his scalp. "Don’t make me beg for every tidbit, Frank," she warned.

"I’m a private investigator," he said hoarsely, "working for the woman’s husband." Frank didn’t think the story would pass. He knew he lied poorly. But he feared what Hunter would do if she learned the truth. He was rather surprised when she didn’t immediately call him on it.

Kat’s muscled forearm began to tire from the pressure she was putting on Frank’s larynx. She thought the man was lying, but what if he wasn’t? Had Jake’s husband somehow tracked them down through the car? She had nearly convinced herself that the wedding ring was merely a prop Jake used as a bounty hunter. Was that only wishful thinking?

"Okay, Mr. Private Eye," she said playfully, never altering the steely grip around Frank’s throat. "Time for show-and-tell. First I want the names of the client and the wife. Then I’ll want to see your P.I. license, because I’m just sure you’re the law-abiding type and carry it with you like you should."

Frank tried to swallow. An impossible task at the moment, even if his mouth wasn’t sandpaper. "Uh," he stammered, "Uh, I don’t have my license. It’s back in my car."

"Of course it is," she said agreeably. She kneed him in the groin.

He groaned loudly and slumped forward against the excruciating, blinding pain. Her hand remained locked against his throat, increasing his agony. He fought to remain conscious.

After a couple of minutes, the pain had subsided enough for him to focus. He wished he could feel his right hand enough to risk some move against her. His left was a problem now as well; it was going numb from being held so long in the air. That blow had angered Frank and dampened his fear. He wanted so badly to hurt this bitch now. Screw the money--that would just be a bonus. Rage poured through his body.

Just as he had about mustered his courage to try something, she kneed him again.

"Calm down, Frank," Kat said, nearly supporting his full weight against her hand as he slumped forward in response to the second jarring blow. She had felt his pulse increase beneath her thumb after she’d kicked him the first time, and she’d correctly identified the strong, rapid pounding as an adrenaline rush. She knew he’d been about to lash out at her. It was why she favored the neck grip she was using on him, in fact. It was a debilitating hold that enabled her to get a good idea of what her victim’s heart rate was doing. And that helped her predict their behavior.

But her forearm had begun to ache from the strain of holding him. She knew now he was lying about being a P.I., and she wanted to get this over with.

"You need to resist the urge to fight me, Frank. I won’t hurt you any more if you just start cooperating and tell me the truth." She eased up just slightly against his throat so that he could take deeper breaths.

He stood on rubbery legs. Holding his hands even slightly aloft now took tremendous effort. At least for the moment, the fight was gone from him.

"You trying to earn a million dollars tonight, Frank?"

He jumped a little, startled at the question, but didn’t ask her to explain it. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I came here because I was ordered to follow the trail from the car," he volunteered. "To find a missing blonde," he reiterated through clenched teeth. "That’s the truth." There was a long pause before he continued. "I know who you are, Hunter, but I came here to find Scout. She was the one out to collect on the money."

Kat nodded to herself. This finally was the truth. There were two more things she wanted to know. "What can you tell me about this Scout?"

He was surprised at the question. "Isn’t she here?"

She tightened her grip on his neck. "I get to ask the questions, Frank," she scolded. "Tell me about Scout."

"Okay, enough," he choked. "Sorry."

She loosened her grip again just enough so he could breathe.

"She’s a bounty hunter, like you. Didn’t check in for several days so the boss sent me looking for her. He put a tracking device in her phone, and I followed it to the crash site. That’s honest to God all I know."

"You know nothing else about her? Her real name, where she’s from?" Kat prodded.

"No. Only what I told you," he insisted.

"When was the last time you checked in with Garner?"

So she knows about him, too, Frank thought with deep disappointment. Figures. She knew about the money. He didn’t want to answer, because he knew when he did, Hunter would have no further use for him. She’d have to kill him because he knew where the bunker was. So he had nothing left to lose. He’d have to take any chance he got to get out of this. If only she’d relax her grip just a bit more. The pain between his legs had dulled to a low throbbing. He tried to wiggle his fingers, hoping she wouldn’t notice. He could not feel his right hand at all. It seemed detached from his body.

"When, Frank?" Kat repeated.

"Several hours ago," Frank wheezed, exaggerating his discomfort in the hope it would get her to loosen her grip. "Not sure, exactly."

Kat knew she couldn’t hold him much longer. She was afraid her forearm would soon tremble against the strain. "Do they know where you are?"

"They kn-know where the car is," he admitted, stuttering slightly. It was a speech impediment he’d overcome as a child that only resurfaced now because of his extreme stress. "They don’t know about this place. M-m-my cell wouldn’t reach," he finished.

That’s that, Frank thought absently. Now or never. With a quickness born of desperation, he brought both hands together, then down hard, aiming blindly for where he imagined Hunter’s head was. He tried to ignore the choking agony in his windpipe.

Pain flashed up his arms as he contacted with something solid. Suddenly the bright light was no longer in his eyes, and her grip was gone. Still blinded from the flashlight, he blinked furiously, reaching out for her. He gripped coarse material and tried to pull her toward him in a bear hug.

Kat fought back with an elbow to his face that broke his nose.

Blood poured from both of his nostrils, and his rage flared anew. He fought for his life. Frank threw wild punches with both hands, making contact only rarely, thankful that the more frequent hits to his own body were being cushioned somewhat by the thick padding of the snowmobile suit. His eyesight was coming back. He grabbed for her, and they struggled against each other, locked in a violent embrace until they toppled over into the deep snow.

Frank was momentarily distracted by the shock of his exposed face and neck being enveloped in the knee-deep powder. He relaxed his grip on Hunter’s right arm.

Kat yanked her revolver from its holster and brought it down hard against the side of Frank’s head.

He stopped moving.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jake was frantic with worry. She had witnessed most of Kat’s interrogation of the intruder outside the bunker, staring stunned at the monitor as her enigmatic friend subdued the man against the rock wall. Kat looked to have the situation under control, but Jake sorely wished she could hear the conversation between the two.

Suddenly, the man fought back. Jake saw him hit Kat hard against the side of her head. The flashlight went flying and the two were flailing away at each other, locked in a desperate struggle that propelled both their bodies outside camera range.

Jake waited, her heart pounding in her ears, her anxiety an enormous weight in her chest, but neither Kat nor the intruder immediately reappeared in the monitor.

Jake didn’t think at all about what she did next. She hobbled to the exit door of the living room, her promise to Kat forgotten, overtaken by her concern for her rescuer’s safety. Once through the door, she glanced around the tunnel, taking in the big steel door at the other end, the clothes and boots along the wall, and, immediately to her right, the ladder rungs that led up to the exit she’d seen Kat emerge from.

Jake yanked a pair of black insulated coveralls from a peg on the wall. They were much too large for her, so she rolled cuffs at her ankles and wrists. All the footwear was several sizes too big as well. She pulled on a pair of boots, then fished around in one of the army barrels and pulled out gloves and scarves, stuffing the material into the boots to make them fit more snugly. She donned a pair of heavy woolen gloves and a hat and, trying to ignore the pain in her knee and wrist, struggled to scale the ladder rungs. She was out of the emergency exit a couple of minutes later. I’m coming, Kat. Hang on.

*

Kat stayed where she had fallen for several moments to catch her breath. Then she got to her knees and unzipped her coveralls enough to jam her right hand beneath her left armpit to warm it up. It was nearly blue from its long exposure to the frigid temperatures.

She leaned over Frank’s supine body. He was out cold. Dumb shit, she thought, aiming the crude sentiment at the man before her, but also acknowledging that she had left herself open for his attack. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him--he was just a hired gun--but he’d left her no choice.

She had a lot to do now. She looked up at the sky. A thick layer of clouds obscured the moon and stars. If it snowed soon, the bunker might be safe for at least a while longer. She wanted to check the forecast, but first she had to get rid of all evidence of Frank’s being at the bunker.

She got slowly to her feet. The big man had clocked her a good one to the side of her face when he’d hit her. A small cut beneath her eye was bleeding profusely, and there would be a large, ugly bruise across her cheek and jaw. She felt the blood running down her face but ignored it.

Her hand had warmed sufficiently for her to regain the use of her fingers. She flexed the sore muscles of her forearm. Standing at Frank’s shoulders, she leaned down to take one of his wrists in each of her hands. Grunting slightly from the effort, she pulled him toward the rock wall entrance several feet away. Heavy though he was, the task was not as difficult as it might have been because his nylon suit slid over the snow with little resistance.

Once at the panel, she keyed in the access code and hauled Frank into the generator room. She removed a roll of duct tape from her toolbox and trussed him up, securing his feet and his hands behind him. Then she searched the pockets of his snowsuit.

She found a cell phone, which she immediately took apart to render useless and check for a homing device. To her relief, there was none. She also found a gun--a .44 magnum--extra ammunition, a jackknife, a candy bar, and a map of Michigan. She stuffed the weapons into the pockets of her coveralls.

She unzipped his snowsuit and thoroughly searched the clothes he wore underneath. She leafed through his wallet before she stuffed it into her pocket. When that was done, she went back outside the bunker and retrieved Frank’s flashlight, still lit under several inches of snow.

She used it to find her night-vision goggles, which she’d removed just before she snuck up on him. She followed the tracks he’d made until she came to his rental snowmobile a short distance away. The key was in the ignition. She drove it through the rock wall entrance and parked it beside her own machine. She closed the hidden door again.

Frank would be coming around any minute.

*

Jake pushed herself up through the emergency exit and shut the hatch behind her, cutting off the small amount of light from the tunnel and plunging her into darkness. She waited a minute for her eyes to adjust, then began searching for the tracks Kat had made.

She remembered the way Kat had gone after leaving the exit, so she headed in the same direction. It was very difficult to see, especially once she entered the edge of the forest. Finally, she stumbled across a trail in the snow she could barely make out. She moved with agonizing slowness because of her knee, but the adrenaline pouring through her body propelled her on.

She had gone only thirty feet or so into the woods when the silence was broken by the high-pitched whine of a snowmobile. She froze at the sound, which seemed to be coming from some distance away, farther down the hill she was descending and off to her left. What did it mean? Was the intruder leaving, and if so, what had become of Kat? Her heart sped up. She headed directly toward the sound, leaving the tracks she had been following.

Jake had hobbled quite some distance when the roar of the snowmobile ended as abruptly as it had begun. She stood still, listening, and heard another faint sound from the same general direction. Then all was silent again.

Jake was momentarily torn about whether to continue forward or backtrack to regain the foot trail she’d been following. She was in the deepest, blackest part of the forest, and it was nearly impossible to make out her own tracks. She decided the safest route would be to return the way she’d come and try to pick up Kat’s trail again.

She saw a faint path veering off to the right. She followed it, confident she would soon catch up to her friend. She knew from watching the monitors that it had taken Kat only six or eight minutes to travel from the exit to the wall where she had confronted the intruder. But Jake knew it would take her much longer. Pain shot through her knee. She limped forward at an ever-slower pace.

The snow was deep enough, and it was dark enough, that Jake couldn’t see individual prints in the snow, just a line cut through the soft powder. But she just had to be on Kat’s trail. Didn’t she?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Frank groaned. What the hell? His head ached something fierce. He wanted to touch the spot that hurt worst, but he couldn’t move his hands. Or his feet.

Then he remembered, and came fully awake. Hunter. He forced his eyes open, thin slits against the throbbing pain. He was lying on his side on a concrete floor. A pair of boots walked away from him.

Frank tilted his head to see the rest of her. Tall. Dark hair. She had her back to him and was searching the pack that had been strapped to his snowmobile.

He glanced around. A small electric heater, placed out of his reach, blew warm air in his direction but with little effect. A water bottle lay nearby. Beyond that a generator and two snowmobiles--one of them his rental.

His eyes drifted back to Hunter.

She was watching him. Her face was stone. Expressionless. Blood dripped from a gash on her cheek. The front of her white snowsuit was spattered with it. She studied him in silence, her eyes boring into his, until Frank withered under her unrelenting glare and looked away.

"That was really dumb, Frank. You said you know who I am," Kat chided in an almost friendly voice.

"Aw, Hunter, I had to try." Frank tested the bindings at his hands and feet. Shit.

"What am I going to do with you, Frank?" She stepped closer, looming over him, until he had to strain his neck painfully to see her face.

"Probably nothing I’m going to like," he managed.

"You may be surprised."

The chitchatty tone she was using was beginning to rattle Frank. His breathing picked up, and he started chewing on the inside of his cheek.

She leaned down until her face was only a foot from his. "Still think you can collect on the million, Frank?" she hissed. Her eyes were predatory. She bared her teeth in a savage smile.

He didn’t like that look at all.

Frank turned his head away from her. "Told you, I was just looking for the woman. She was the one who was after you. Not me. I don’t want to get in your business." He didn’t care about the money anymore, so he hoped it sounded like the truth.

She seemed to consider his answer. She paced around him for a long moment before speaking again.

"Frank, what do you think of Garner? Do you like working for him?" Her voice was gentle now, soothing.

Frank’s bushy eyebrows knitted together, and it took a moment for the question to register. Where is this going? "Well, he’s not a bad boss," he volunteered.

"What does he pay you? Enough for you to do what you want to do?"

Frank looked up at her. The wild expression was gone. She was calmly awaiting his answer. "The pay is okay. A grand a week, bonuses sometimes."

"Frank, this is your lucky day. I’m going to offer you a one-time-only incredible deal." She said it like she was offering him some grand prize on a game show.

The statement made him less afraid, and Frank was intrigued despite himself. Is she serious? He struggled to sit up but couldn’t manage with his hands and feet tied.

She came up behind him, took hold under his armpits, and pulled him up to a seated position. She did it like it was no strain at all. Frank was impressed.

"You’re going to be my patient and cooperative guest for a little while," Kat said, looking down at him. "And in return for your best behavior, I’m going to give you enough cash to take a nice, long vacation someplace warm when you leave here. How does that sound?" She cocked her head. The predatory smile was back, warning him to accept.

He began to see why she had the reputation she did. "Whatever you say, Hunter."

She nodded. "Good boy. Think you can forget where you are and how you got here?"

Maybe she really is serious. Might she actually let me go? He looked her right in the eyes. "That’s honestly no problem. The woods aren’t my thing, Hunter. I seriously doubt I could find this again even if I wanted to." He paused a beat. "And I really don’t want to find it again."

"That’s the right answer, Frank. Don’t make me regret my generous impulse."

Frank hoped she was being square with him and not keeping him alive for some purpose down the road. He didn’t have much choice in the matter, really, unless some opportunity presented itself. "Good as gold, don’t worry. And if you keep up your end, once I leave, I was never here." Screw Garner.

"I knew you were smart." Kat looked away from him for the first time to glance around the room. She believed Frank, but not enough to let her guard down. She went to the steel door that separated the garage from the connecting tunnel and keyed a set of numbers into the security panel beside it. She opened the door and looked back at Frank. "Don’t move a muscle, now. I’ll be back before you know it." Then she was gone.

He took her at her word and stayed where he was.

Kat grabbed a stuff sack from the bottom of one of the army barrels in the tunnel. It contained a down sleeping bag and pillow. In her haste, she didn’t notice that a pair of boots and a set of coveralls were missing from among the stores of gear in the hall.

She returned to the generator room and spread the sleeping bag in an empty corner, Frank’s water bottle beside it. She pointed her portable heater in that direction, but kept it well out of reach. It wasn’t doing much to heat the large room, but it would take the edge off and Frank would be comfortable in his snowsuit.

Kat took a long length of chain from her snowmobile--the solid, heavy one she used to pull the sled--and took it to the corner. She threaded it through a metal ring embedded in the concrete wall. Then she found a shorter, lighter chain in her toolbox, along with two sturdy padlocks, and laid them out next to the bag.

Frank watched her every move.

Now she was ready for him. She took two firm handholds at the back of the collar of his nylon snowsuit and pulled him a few feet along the concrete floor until he was next to the sleeping bag. She put the small chain around his hands and feet over the duct tape and secured it to the larger chain with both padlocks. He could move around only a few feet.

"I know that’s not very comfortable, Frank. But it’ll have to do for right now," she said.

Kat took her toolbox and the tool kits from both snowmobiles into the tunnel. After a final glance around for anything else he might be able to use, she nodded once to Frank. "Be good now, I’ll see you in a little while." She left through the steel door, closing it behind her.

Kat stood for a few moments in the tunnel with her back pressed up against the door. She wanted to check the weather forecast; she should do that next. Then fix herself up a little bit before she went to talk to Jake. That’ll give me a little time to decide what I’m going to tell her.

*

Despite his inexperience on snowmobiles, Otter had made good time getting to the crash site on the snowmobile he’d rented. He followed the trail out of Tawa that Frank had made.

He sat on the parked Polaris and swept his flashlight across the landscape. Two snowmobile tracks led away from the wrecked sedan. They came together not far away and led off into the woods. Frank had followed Hunter and gotten caught. That’s why he hadn’t come back. Otter was sure of it. He just had to follow Frank’s trail.

Satisfied with his assessment, Otter pulled a raspberry turnover and thermos of coffee from the storage compartment of his snowmobile. He had already wasted a lot of time renting the machine and finding warm enough clothing. But Otter was rusty and Hunter would be expecting trouble. Exhaustion could get him killed.

After a short break, he put away the thermos and started up the snowmobile. These damn things make too much noise. Probably how Frank got caught. But if he was to go any distance at all, Otter didn’t want to be doing it on foot.

As he set off on the machine, his mind drifted back to the last time he’d seen Hunter.

He ran toward the helicopter. It was more than a hundred feet away and already twenty feet in the air. Hunter was at the controls. He waved his arms for her to pick him up. He couldn’t make out her features, but he was sure she had seen him just before she turned the chopper and sped away.

Otter had always preferred to hit his targets from a distance. He was an expert marksman, at least in his heyday. But this one he wanted to do up close. He wanted to make absolutely certain Hunter knew just who it was who killed her.

*

Fifteen minutes after leaving the exit hatch, Jake found her forward progress slowed to a near crawl. Her knee was killing her. The adrenaline surge had worn off, and walking in the heavy, oversized boots was torturous.

She paused on the trail to listen, but the night was absolutely quiet. Surely, she thought, she must be getting very near to the rock wall she’d seen on the monitor, so the fact that she still couldn’t hear any trace of Kat was very disconcerting. She thought about calling out Kat’s name but was afraid the intruder might still be nearby.

Jake didn’t know she was lost yet. She worried only that Kat had been knocked unconscious in the snow--or worse. She took a deep breath and pushed ahead, wincing with every agonizing step. She had started to sweat under her coveralls.

There in the dark night, in the depth of the forest, she didn’t immediately notice it had begun to snow.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kat came back into the living room and was about to sit down at her desk to check the weather forecast when she noticed the bedroom door was open. She had very deliberately closed it, she was certain. The bathroom door was open as well. The only sound she could hear was the very faint hum of the refrigerator across the room. A tingle of apprehension crept up her spine as she moved toward the bedroom.

She saw that Jake was not in bed, but nothing appeared to have been disturbed. She darted to the bathroom door and looked inside. Where the hell was Jake? She checked the pantry. She even opened the weapons room to eliminate that possibility. There was nowhere else. Jake was gone.

She looked over at the three monitors. Her heart sank.

She saw me. She saw everything. Did I scare her? Did she run?

Kat thought it unlikely that Jake had slipped out of the main entrance during the only time the door had been open and unattended--the couple of minutes that she’d been away retrieving Frank’s snowmobile. Jake had to have gone through the emergency entrance.

She can’t have gotten far with that knee. She wondered what Jake had been wearing when she left. Temperatures outside were in the teens. She went into the bedroom and opened the dresser drawers. Nothing missing that she could tell. She went into the tunnel and studied the hanging gear and footwear. She realized that her black winter coveralls were gone, and an old but fairly well-insulated pair of boots. That eased her mind only slightly.

Kat detoured to the weapons room to retrieve a small handheld GPS--global positioning system device--which she often used to find her way back to the bunker when she was out hunting or photographing wildlife.

She returned to the tunnel and fished through one of the barrels for a wool cap. And she picked up her night-vision goggles and Frank’s flashlight. She wondered what Jake was thinking, out there in the cold, alone. She must have been very afraid to have gone out like that, in the shape she’s in.

Kat’s heart clenched at the knowledge. She’d been thinking only of protecting Jake. When I find her, can I make her understand?

Suddenly another possibility occurred to her. Did Jake regain her memory? Is that why she left? She rejected the idea. It was doubtful Jake had suddenly remembered who she was and then bolted, all in the space of a few minutes, after what had occurred between them. No. Jake had to have seen everything on the monitors and been upset by it, she decided.

Kat climbed the rungs of the emergency exit. She had no idea what she would tell Jake to explain what had happened and why. She knew she’d better start figuring that out. Kat had no doubt she would find her, but it might take a while--she didn’t know how fast Jake might be able to move, and how far. And she didn’t know how much of a lead Jake had, but it was possibly a half hour or more.

Would Jake answer if Kat called out her name, or would she run and hide?

As she popped the hatch, Kat considered whether she should leave it open or closed. If Jake changed her mind and came back to the bunker, she’d only know how to find that entrance--and she wouldn’t see it unless the hatch was open. But unlocked and ajar, it left the bunker vulnerable to anyone who might be following Frank.

She emerged into the cold night. She was startled to find it was snowing lightly. Be careful what you wish for.

The snow made the decision for her. She decided to take the risk and leave the hatch open. She couldn’t leave Jake with no way to get back in.

*

Jake had stopped again. She was now sweating heavily beneath the insulated coveralls. Her exertions had left her panting and tired to the bone. The pain in her knee was unbearable.

She was worried. She had at first tried to ignore the anxious inner voice that told her she had gone too far, it couldn’t be this way. But she finally had to admit it must be true. She was lost.

Going after Kat had been an impetuous, foolish act, she admitted in retrospect. She had no idea where to go and was in no shape to be tramping around in the wilderness in subfreezing temperatures. But given the circumstances, she knew she’d probably do the same again. She knew that despite the many unknowns about her mysterious friend, if Kat was in trouble, that’s where she should be. It was as simple as that, or felt like it was.

But that impulse had put her square in the center of trouble. She knew she had to try to return the way she’d come, but the prospect of reversing and traveling the same long course again was daunting in her current state.

She needed to rest a minute first. Get the weight off her knee. A few steps off the path, she spotted a large fallen tree that would serve as an adequate bench. She brushed the snow from it and sat down, glad for the momentary relief for her knee. She wondered if she should put snow on it to help with the swelling. Probably not in this cold, she decided.

She would wait here for only a few minutes to get her strength back. She was so tired she found it hard to focus.

*

Kat was grateful it hadn’t been snowing long; she could still make out Jake’s trail in the snow. She scanned the area thoroughly with her night-vision goggles. Nothing. She parked them on her forehead.

She took out the flashlight and shone the bright light along the trench in the snow and followed it. She came to the jag Jake had made when she’d heard the snowmobile. Kat knew the detour had gone directly toward the main entrance of the bunker. It couldn’t be far, and she wondered about that. Had Jake left the bunker early enough to have heard some of her interrogation of Frank at the wall below?

The trail ended abruptly, and Kat realized Jake had backtracked, so she did as well. She nearly missed where Jake had turned off onto the game trail, but at each intersection she came to, she gently blew away the upper powder on the trail to see the shape of the prints in the more solid snow beneath. She saw the boot imprint and recognized the tread. She hurried where she could. She was afraid the falling snow would make her task much more difficult. Soon she was far from the bunker.

Kat paused to catch her breath. It was tough going through the knee-deep snow. She heard the faint drone of an engine. Her senses went on high alert, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, but it was difficult. She thought it came from the same general direction as the bunker.

Kat wondered whether Frank had gotten free and was fleeing on one of the snowmobiles. If he was, she thought, he was a hell of a lot smarter than she’d given him credit for.

Probably not, she decided. It could be another of Garner’s men coming to collect on the contract. She hoped that wasn’t the case, but she had no intention of turning from her search for Jake. She just had to hurry. She really hoped now that Jake wouldn’t try to evade her and would come back to the bunker willingly. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

*

Otter cut the engine on the snowmobile. Though it was only snowing lightly, the accumulation was making it more and more difficult to follow Frank’s trail. He realized with a sense of alarm that his route back would also soon be impossible to follow if the snow kept up.

He hadn’t seen any lights since he’d left the main road. No sign of civilization at all, for that matter. He’d just been on a slow, difficult trail through the woods, a path that seemed to lead nowhere. He’d brought extra gasoline, but not enough for running around lost if the route became obscured in front and behind. He had to make a decision soon. Continue on or return the way he came. Even if he found Hunter and killed her, it wouldn’t do him much good to die in the process.

On the other hand, a million is worth a hefty risk, he figured. Hunter had to be somewhere, probably somewhere nice and warm where he could rest up and figure out how to get back to town. He’d make her give him directions--just before he killed her. There may never be another opportunity like this. This trail is your big payoff. You have to go forward. He started the engine, committed to finding her at any cost.

*

Jake was so fatigued from her trek through the snow that she dozed off momentarily and nearly toppled off the fallen tree. She jolted awake, berating herself for her carelessness. That can get you killed. She wondered what had happened to Kat and said a prayer that her new friend was safe and unhurt.

She knew she should start heading back. She tried flexing her knee, but it felt as though the short period of inactivity had done it more harm than good. It had stiffened up, and any movement in the joint at all sent wrenching pain up and down her leg. She couldn’t imagine how she could stand on it. But she had to try.

Jake slid carefully off the log, putting her weight on her good leg. She tried to hobble the few steps back to the trail she’d made but paid dearly for every bit of forward movement. The pain in her knee was so bad now she could not stop from crying, and Jake began to doubt she could make it all the way back to the bunker.

She threw herself forward in clumsy, lurching movements, trying to keep as much weight off the knee as possible. She looked around for a stick she might use as a crutch or cane, but any that might have been on the ground were hidden completely by snow, and there were no low-hanging branches that might suffice. She fought on until a misstep caused her to careen forward, off balance.

She tried to stop her fall by throwing out her hands. When her splinted left arm hit the ground, the pain was so intense she nearly blacked out. She lay where she had fallen, rolling over to face upward toward the sky, sucking in deep breaths against the pain.

She began sobbing. Great heaving sobs. They were cries of pain, of frustration over her memory loss, of anxiety over what might have happened to Kat, over the foolishness that had put her in this situation. But mostly they were the result of sheer exhaustion. She didn’t think she could go on.

She closed her eyes. It was comfortable lying there in the snow. Peaceful.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jake felt hazy, foggy. Like when she woke up at Kat’s after the crash. What she wanted more than anything was to hear that soothing, low voice again. It had made her feel safe and protected from the first moment she’d heard it. I hope you’re all right, Kat.

She remembered the intensity of their last moments together. Before the alarm changed everything. Her body felt heated from the memory of their kiss. She relived it, took comfort in it, relaxed into it. She was just drifting off when she felt herself being lifted into the air. Nice dream. Then she was truly asleep.

*

Kat was grateful for Jake’s pain. It helped her locate the woman. It was getting very hard to see Jake’s trail even with the flashlight because of the accumulation of new-fallen snow. Kat had turned off the light a short while ago and was using her night-vision goggles because she was afraid Jake would hide if she saw someone pursuing her.

Kat paused in her tracks when she heard something break the silence of the night. It was Jake, sobbing, and the sound sent a deep ache of regret to her very core. She felt responsible for causing it. She felt guilty, too, for any momentary doubts about Jake’s intentions. She’d obviously not run because she’d gotten her memory back. She must have been upset by what she’d seen.

Kat continued forward toward the sounds, approaching as quietly as she could. When she got within fifteen feet or so, Jake went quiet. Kat froze. She listened. She crept closer. She leaned over Jake’s prone body. With her goggles on, Kat could see Jake’s eyes were closed. She heard her deep, even breathing and realized she was asleep. Perfect. She’d much rather deal with all of this later at the bunker. She lifted Jake gently but firmly in her arms. Meanwhile, I can think some more about what I’m going to tell you.

She started back, moving as quickly as she could. Stay asleep, Jake. Just stay asleep.

*

Otter followed the snowmobile tracks with growing anxiety. He could barely make out the slight depression in the snow. He was peering so intently at the track just in front of the sled that he was almost upon the rock wall before he knew it. It stood some twenty to twenty-five feet in front of him. His initial confusion at the sight of the trail dead-ending was quickly replaced by a shrewd appreciation for Hunter’s camouflaged entrance.

He cut the engine and turned off the headlight, plunging him into darkness. He cursed himself for not keeping an eye further forward. Hunter had probably discovered Frank just this way--he’d driven right up on her hideout.

Otter looked around. He could see no cameras. Not that he probably would. It was too dark and there were too many trees around to hide them in. He shrank back against an enormous oak, hiding in its shadow, and waited for a few minutes, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. When nothing happened, he took out a small flashlight with a bright, narrow beam and approached the rock wall.

He flashed the light back and forth along the ground in front of him. The snow in the whole area was flattened by tracks. There had been a lot going on at this spot, but a thin layer of new snow told him no one had been here in the last several minutes. He searched the rock wall for a way in, concentrating on the area that had the largest concentration of tracks.

He was rewarded with the quick discovery of the security panel.

*

Just a few feet from where Otter stood, Frank lay on the other side of the wall on the sleeping bag, studying the room he was in. There wasn’t much to see. The snowmobiles and generator were lined up along the opposite wall, some ten feet out of his reach. Two small bulbs attached to the generator provided enough light for him to see the rest of the room was nothing but solid concrete, except for the two doors: the panel they’d come through from outside and the steel door Hunter had gone through. Both needed security codes to access.

Frank believed that Hunter meant it when she said she’d reward him for being patient and cooperative. But still he worked at his bindings as surreptitiously as possible, afraid she might be watching him with hidden cameras. His eyes were alert as he strained against the chains and duct tape.

*

Kat paused on the trek back to the bunker in an open space where the trail seemed to disappear. She made wide sweeps in the snow with her feet, clearing a small area before she gently set Jake down. She kept her left arm behind Jake’s shoulders and sat down beside her, resting Jake’s head against her chest. Jake stirred but didn’t awaken.

Kat flexed her sore arm a few times before retrieving her GPS device from her coveralls. She sighted in their current position and checked the direction and distance to the bunker, whose coordinates were preprogrammed into the instrument.

As she put the GPS away, she studied Jake’s face, composed and serene in sleep. The woman’s earlier sobs of pain rang in Kat’s ears. It was wrenching, the ache she felt at having frightened Jake into running from her. She could think of no convincing explanation she could offer to Jake for what had happened, except some version of the truth. She didn’t know precisely what Jake had seen and what she’d heard. But how much of the truth do I tell her? That would depend a lot, Kat guessed, on what Jake’s reaction was when she woke up.

Kat’s mind went back to the engine sounds she’d heard earlier. She had to get moving. The long night wasn’t over yet. Kat scooped Jake up and started off in the direction of the bunker.

*

Otter stared at the security panel. He studied its housing and how it was affixed to the wall. But he didn’t dare touch it, afraid it would alert Hunter of his presence. He wished now he’d spent more of his prison sentence reading up on electronic gadgetry. He’d never been good at it, and there had been too many advances while he’d been serving his time.

He stepped away from the wall and shined his flashlight beam around the area, searching in an ever-expanding circle. He could barely make out a single foot trail that led away from the wall, around the hill. He didn’t really want to wander far from the snowmobile. It was still snowing and he knew he could easily lose his way. But he had committed himself to this. The way back to the crash site was surely covered up by now, so he had to find a way into Hunter’s hideout.

He began following the foot trail. It was very hard to see near the exposed rock wall but a bit easier once it led into the woods, where the new snow hadn’t accumulated quite as much. Otter followed it for several minutes, up the hill and through the dense woods. He was startled to see a light through the trees in front of him.

When he crested the hill, he found the source. In the clearing just ahead, a large round metal hatch stood wide open, light pouring from within. He approached with caution. This is just too easy. A trap?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Otter crept up to the hatch. He unzipped his insulated coat and drew his .38 revolver from its shoulder holster. It had been a long time since he had carried a gun, but it still felt familiar in his hand. He peeked down the hatch and listened for any sound from below. Nothing. He put his flashlight away. It was going to be difficult to descend the ladder with the gun. He’d just have to proceed slowly, alert for any sound or movement beneath him.

He started down, pausing every couple of rungs to listen. He was soon in the tunnel. He noted the doors at each end--the big steel one with another security panel next to it and the other, with no locks that he could see. He spotted a security camera mounted on the wall, high above the door with no locks. He hustled to get beneath it, out of its range of sight. He stood in front of the door. Gun at the ready, he very slowly tried the knob.

It surprised him when it turned. He heard the click of the mechanism and eased the door open. He glanced inside. He stepped into the doorway, using the door as a partial shield, expecting to see Hunter leap out at him at any moment. She’s too damn good at that, he remembered with a shudder. His eyes took in the large living room, the bookcases and couch, the desk and monitors, the kitchen, and the three doors in the room, all of which were open.

When another minute had passed with no sound or movement from inside, he slipped over the threshold and crept toward the corner where the two doors stood open. Every muscle was alert. His heart was racing. His eyes were everywhere. When he got to the bedroom door, he glanced inside. Nothing. He repeated the careful inspection at the bathroom door. He checked the shower.

He crossed the living room to the pantry and checked that room as well. He relaxed slightly. The place appeared to be empty. Was Hunter out pursing Frank? Or disposing of his body? Otter wondered. It certainly seemed careless of Hunter to leave an entrance standing open. But what other explanation could there be?

He would wait for her. Surprise her. Finally get revenge for all those years in prison. He glanced around. Where to hide? His eyes fell on the monitors. He recognized all three views: the tunnel, the clearing where he’d found the open hatch, and the rock wall. Damn good thing she wasn’t here when I drove up. She’d have ambushed me before I ever found the hatch.

Just as he was finishing that thought, Otter saw movement in the first monitor. It was...a person. Someone tall. Hunter. He smiled. My timing is better than the last time I saw you. He took a couple of steps closer to the screen. He saw Hunter go to the security panel, but she had her back turned away from the camera. The wall slid open. She stepped inside where he couldn’t see her but was gone only a minute or two. She went back outside but was soon out of camera range again.

Otter worried briefly that she might find his snowmobile. But Hunter returned almost at once, and this time she carried a body. She went by so quickly it was hard to tell much about the burden she was toting. But he knew it could not have been Frank, who’d been described to him as a big guy. The body Hunter carried was smaller. He realized it probably was a woman. She killed that Scout chick Thomas told me about. When did she get here?

Once Hunter was inside again, the wall slid back into place.

You’re coming, Otter breathed, assessing his potential hiding spots. He decided to wait in the pantry, with the door left slightly open as it was when he arrived. He thought it was the least likely place she’d go immediately. That would give him time to observe her and plan his moment of attack. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to spring on her the moment she arrived. She would probably be on high alert after confronting Frank and Scout.

He hurried through the pantry door and positioned himself behind the wall, comforted by the gun in his hand. He peered through the narrow opening between the door and the frame and tried to remain calm. The anticipation was both dreadful and delicious.

*

Kat was physically spent by the time she arrived back at the bunker with Jake. She’d immediately dismissed the thought of getting back in through the open emergency hatch. It would be impossible to carry Jake through the narrow opening. That meant she would have to go in through the generator room. She didn’t like that option because it meant she’d have to go by Frank. She didn’t want him to know about Jake’s presence, and there was always the chance he might have gotten free from his confinement and be waiting for her return.

But she had little choice. She needed to get inside immediately. She’d just have to hope that she could get by Frank quickly with a still-sleeping Jake.

As she emerged from the woods near the rock wall, she glanced down. She saw tracks from a boot tread she didn’t recognize. They were very fresh and easy to see, and they led off toward the emergency exit. You had to leave the damn hatch open. That explains the engine I heard.

She realized she’d have to put herself in view of the security camera if she was to get inside the main entrance with Jake. She wanted to disable it, but it was in a tree and virtually inaccessible. The branches were slick with snow and ice.

Kat laid Jake down next to a large tree after clearing away as much snow as she could. A quick surveillance of the area turned up Otter’s snowmobile, which had nothing on it to identify the owner. The keys were still in the ignition. She pocketed them.

She moved toward the rock wall, punching the numbers in while she turned her back to the camera and withdrew her Glock from the pocket of her coveralls. She slipped inside and glanced toward the corner, reassured that a startled Frank was still securely trussed up.

She took in the rest of the small chamber. Nothing was disturbed. There was nowhere for someone to hide, and she could see from the green light on the panel next to the steel door that no one had come through it while she was gone.

She turned to her prisoner and glared at him. "Face the corner, Frank, and close your eyes. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you for the next few minutes."

He rolled over awkwardly, curious about the change in her demeanor, but said nothing.

Kat pocketed her Glock and went back outside. She scooped Jake up in her arms and returned to the generator room. She glanced toward the corner. Frank lay perfectly still, eyes averted.

Kat shifted Jake’s weight in her arms so she could extend her right hand to punch in the security code first at the exterior door, to close it, then at the steel door, to gain access to the tunnel. She glanced frequently at Frank as she completed these tasks to make sure he wasn’t moving. Her arms were more tired than she’d ever remembered. But the adrenaline pouring through her gave her renewed energy.

Once the steel door was unlocked, she shifted Jake’s weight again, hefting the woman over her left shoulder. It freed up Kat’s right hand and arm. She glanced again at Frank as she withdrew her gun from her coveralls. He hadn’t moved.

She opened the door a few inches and peered in. There was no one in the tunnel. As she pushed the door open, Kat could feel Jake stir.

The blonde mumbled something and started thrashing about. She was waking up. At the worst possible moment.

"Shh," Kat said softly over her shoulder, but it was no use.

Jake tried to raise her head up to see where she was and what was happening.

Kat stepped over the threshold into the tunnel and shut the door behind her. She shoved the Glock back into her pocket and lowered Jake to the floor with her back propped up in the corner near the steel door. She knelt in front of Jake so that they were face-to-face.

Kat stiffened even as her eyes sought Jake’s. She expected Jake to become frightened--panicky even, perhaps--at finding herself back at the bunker.

But Jake’s expression went from one of hazy confusion to happy recognition when their eyes met and she registered where she was and who she was with.

Before Kat could speak or react, Jake reached out with her good arm and pulled Kat into an awkward embrace. "You’re all right! Thank God. Thank God." Jake pulled her to arm’s length and studied her face. "But you’re hurt," she cried, seeing the cut on Kat’s face and the blood on her face and clothes.

Kat was dumbfounded. This was not at all the reaction she’d expected. "It’s nothing," she said, smiling a little. She fought to subdue the joy she felt at the embrace and tender words. While the obvious caring and concern in Jake’s voice reassured her, now was not the time for explanations.

"We have a lot to talk about," Kat began, her eyes not leaving Jake’s. "But we can’t right now. Someone may be in the bunker. It’s a very dangerous situation. Jake, I have to ask you...again," she emphasized, with mild rebuke in her voice, "to trust me. You must stay here and not make a sound until I come back." She didn’t wait for a reply. There was no time. She grabbed a couple of coats from the wall and laid them behind and over Jake. They would keep her warm and help conceal her.

As she leaned over Jake to tuck the heavy coats around her, Jake reached up and put her hand around the back of Kat’s neck.

Jake pulled their heads close together until her mouth was only a couple of inches from Kat’s ear. "I promise to do exactly as you say this time. I do trust you. Please be careful." She held Kat there, their cheeks touching, for just a moment.

"I will," Kat whispered back. She pulled away reluctantly as Jake released her grasp on the back of her neck. They looked at each other a moment, then a small smile crept first over Kat’s face, then Jake’s.

Despite their perilous situation, both had had their greatest fears alleviated, so they could not help but smile a little in sheer relief.

Kat turned without further word and approached the door to the living room. She stopped outside and removed her boots. She grasped the doorknob with her left hand as she pulled out her Glock with the other. She didn’t look at Jake.

Hunter couldn’t have distractions.

*

She turned the knob, unlatching the door. She stepped to the side, her back against the wall for protection, and inched the door inward. She craned her head around the door frame to see inside the living room. All was quiet. After a few moments, she ducked down and slipped inside, crouching behind the waist-high kitchen counter that protruded several feet into the room.

Her sixth sense of alarm was ringing loudly in her ears. Someone’s here. She knew it. She could feel it. She was in an exposed position if they were in either the bedroom or bathroom to her right. She doubted that the intruder had found the weapons room, so that left the pantry as the only other place to hide. Three choices. She poked her head up in a quick motion to take in the pantry door on the other side of the counter, some fifteen feet away. It was open a few inches, but she knew she’d gone in there herself when she was looking for Jake. Did I close it? She couldn’t remember. She’d been in too much of a hurry.

She stared at the two open doorways to her right, with her gun aimed in that direction. She listened. She waited. She tried not to think of Jake. She risked a glance toward the monitors. She could barely make Jake out in the picture on the first screen. Covered by coats, lying in the corner farthest from the camera, she looked like a pile of discarded clothes.

Kat returned her focus to the situation at hand. She waited some more, but could detect no sound from any of the rooms the intruder might be in.

*

Otter had learned some measure of patience in prison. At the moment, however, he could barely contain his fevered energy. The object of his long obsession was within striking distance.

He saw the door open and Hunter’s quick glance over the counter in his direction. Seeing her close up, even for that brief instant, sent his heart racing. He took long, deep breaths to calm himself but remained frozen in place, afraid the slightest movement would alert her to his presence.

He aimed his gun at the place he’d seen her raise her head, waiting for it to reappear like a pop-up target in a carnival shooting gallery.

He was disappointed but not surprised that she appeared to know someone had broken in and was waiting for her. She’d taken care of two other assassins tonight, after all. But Otter knew her better than the others did. And that, he told himself, gave him an advantage. He knew how extraordinarily patient she was. She would wait as long as she needed to, to gain an advantage in a difficult situation.

Well, he could be patient too. She had to come out in the open eventually to search for him. When she did, he’d be ready.

*

Kat crouched uncomfortably behind the counter for several long minutes, senses on high alert. Every now and then she would venture another glance away from the bedroom and bathroom doors to the monitors to make sure Jake hadn’t moved.

Ordinarily, in a situation such as this, she would simply wait out her adversary. She’d find a way to use their often rash offensive attack against them somehow. But she had to think of Jake. She hadn’t had time to really assess her injuries, but she knew Jake had to be in pretty bad shape to have collapsed in the snow. And who knew what Frank might be up to.

She needed to push this to a confrontation, but she had to do it in a way that would put her in a more advantageous position than she was in now. After a moment, the solution came to her. She crept backward toward the open door to the tunnel, her eyes pinned to the bedroom and bathroom doors, expecting the intruder to show himself if she made any noise whatsoever. You’re a smart one, aren’t you?

She made it through the door and pulled it closed again. Pocketing the gun, she grabbed a light jacket off the wall and threw it over the security camera to put it out of commission. Then she hurried to Jake.

"You okay?"

"Don’t worry about me," Jake said.

"Can’t help it," Kat responded. "Hang in there. I think I know a way to take care of this."

She retrieved her flashlight. "It’s going to get very dark in here. Don’t be afraid."

Jake nodded.

Kat punched in the security code and went through the steel door, not bothering to shut it behind her. She glanced at Frank as she entered the generator room. He was still facing the wall. She said nothing but went directly to the generator and shut it down, plunging the bunker into absolute darkness. She switched on the flashlight and returned to the tunnel, shutting the heavy door behind her and venturing a quick last look at Jake.

Kat went to the door to the living room, turned off the flashlight, and began to strip. She peeled off the white coveralls and the thermal underwear that covered her legs. When her naked flesh was exposed, she finally noticed how cold it had gotten in the tunnel. She turned on the flashlight and flashed it upward to see the hatch still standing open. She scaled the ladder rungs to pull it closed and lock it. Descending back into the tunnel, she set the flashlight on the ground at her feet. She peeled off her thermal top, then her socks.

*

Jake hurt everywhere. The fall had done further damage to her broken arm, and her knee was so swollen and painful she tried very hard not to move at all. That part wasn’t too difficult at the moment. She was frozen in place, watching Kat.

After a few moments in darkness, the only sounds the rustling of clothes, the flashlight had come back on and Jake had seen Kat climb the exit tunnel, clad only in black silk panties and a top that looked like the long underwear her brother wore.

My brother? Jake gasped. A sudden image of a fair-haired young man flashed into her mind, along with a scattering of information. It was sort of like channel surfing and landing on a TV movie in progress, staying tuned only long enough to get a little of the story.

I have a brother. Harding. Everyone calls him Hardy but me. I call him Hardy-har-har sometimes because he makes me laugh. He wears flannel shirts and ratty long underwear when he goes fishing. That was about all she could remember at the moment. But a lot more seemed right at the edge of her consciousness.

Her surprise and relief at the recollection was interrupted when her attention was drawn by a sound. Kat, setting down the flashlight. Jake watched with fascination as Kat removed her top and peeled off her socks. She was left standing in the chill air dressed only in black silk briefs and a matching bra. Jake was mesmerized. The woman was magnificent. The light from below illuminated Kat in a way that definitely seemed erotic to Jake, despite the absurdity of that at the moment. But she had no time to really appreciate the sight.

She watched as Kat leaned down to retrieve a gun from her coveralls and stepped to the door to the living room. The flashlight clicked off. The tunnel was pitch-black again.

*

Kat paused at the door, her eyes closed. There was no ambient light whatsoever in the bunker, so her night-vision goggles were useless. She was fully reliant now on her other keen senses and home turf advantage.

Ready or not, here I come, Kat’s inner voice chanted. As much as she had grown weary of a life of violent confrontations, she was exhilarated over the battle that lay beyond the door. She would protect Jake at all cost. Every nerve ending sang in anticipation, her remaining senses hypersensitive to every stimulus. No one had ever violated the sanctity of her safe house. She’d make them very sorry they did.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Otter chewed his fingernails when he was nervous. He had gnawed his left thumb nearly raw waiting for Hunter, wondering where she had gone. What’s she up to?

The bunker went dark.

Shit. He waited for his eyes to adjust. They didn’t. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Shit, shit, SHIT. He had his flashlight in his hand before he realized he couldn’t use it. It would make him an instant target.

But he didn’t put it away. The feel of it comforted him. As he listened for any sound from outside the pantry door, he tried to imagine Hunter’s next move. He knew she had extraordinary eyesight, but he didn’t believe anyone could see in this darkness. That meant she was either operating completely blind or, more likely, she had some sort of newfangled equipment to help her see in the pitch-black. She’d always been big on the latest high-tech gizmos and gadgets.

He cursed her under his breath as he considered his options. The pantry now felt more like a snare than a sanctuary. Although on second thought, maybe there’s something in here I can use. He fumbled for the doorknob and pulled the door shut as quietly as he could. He turned on the flashlight and scanned the shelves along the walls. Using the flashlight was an enormous risk. But he couldn’t just wait for Hunter to find him.

His thin lips curled into a wry grin. He snatched a few items from the shelves and cut the light. After laying his trap, he opened the door a few inches to where it had been previously. Otter held his breath and waited, listening at the crack. It won’t be long now.

*

Kat snuck back into the living room, pausing to ease the door closed behind her. She breathed deeply, sniffing the air. Listening. She crept noiselessly to the wall to her immediate right and then slowly forward to the corner with the desk. She traced the wall with her left hand and held the gun in her right. Her fingers skimmed across the security monitors as she came upon them and turned the corner. She paused and listened again for another minute. Though she sensed no one within several feet of her, Kat’s instinct told her to proceed slowly.

She continued her silent trek along the wall toward the bedroom door. She slowed when she approached the space where she knew her cello case would be and stepped around it. She paused and listened at the threshold of the bedroom, then stepped inside and navigated the perimeter of that room, stopping periodically to focus her senses on her immediate surroundings. She moved around the bed, finding the chair and table with remembered ease. She’d blindly traveled the route from bed to bathroom often in the middle of the night, so that leg of her journey was familiar.

She examined the bathroom in the same methodical way, following the wall, making periodic stops with her senses scanning for the intruder. Then she was out in the living room again, moving along the wall with the bookcases. She paused to listen outside the weapons room. There still had been no sound in the bunker. If the intruder hadn’t changed locations when the lights went out, then he had to be in the pantry.

Kat left the wall and crossed the center of the living room, giving the pantry door a wide berth. She found the kitchen counter with her outstretched left hand and used it as her tactile guidepost, drawing her along past the sink and the stove to the refrigerator, which stood just outside the pantry door.

She and Otter were now just a few feet apart. Kat stood with her back pressed against the fridge, her senses expanding into the space around her, probing silently. She held her gun at the ready, fingertip caressing the trigger.

Kat’s sixth sense had already told her the intruder was very near, but it was her keen sense of smell that gave her the first solid evidence of the man who had invaded her sanctuary. When she detected a slightly sour aroma only inches away, she knew she had him. Even the pros perspired.

She knew he was waiting on the other side of the door.

She crept three feet to her right and threw herself forward, hitting the door with her right shoulder with unbelievable force. She felt the impact of the door slamming against the intruder’s body just before she lost her footing and went down hard. Her Glock flew from her hand.

*

When the door slammed into him, Otter was propelled backward--hard, into the wall of shelves behind him. He got the wind knocked out of him but good, and he lost his gun and flashlight. The shelves collapsed, spilling their contents on and around him. The commotion was deafening. A heavy jar glanced off his head.

He lay on the cement floor where he landed, struggling to breathe. His need for air overtook everything else.

His hand went to his forehead where the jar had impacted. The skin was unbroken, but a lump had already started to form. His movement shifted the shelving piled on top of him. The noise was loud in his ears, and he suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. He froze and listened intently. He could hear Hunter’s labored breathing several feet away.

Otter took a second to regroup. He seemed to be in one piece, but Hunter sounded injured. This could be his only chance to overpower her.

Otter threw off the boards and cans and groped around on the floor, searching for his gun and his flashlight. He found nothing but packets of grains, cans of vegetables, boxes of pasta. He paused after several seconds of searching to listen. He could no longer hear her heavy gasps for breath or anything else. He didn’t know where she was.

Silence.

Shit.

*

Kat was already trying to analyze what it was the intruder had put on the floor even as her legs went out from under her. Some sort of dried beans or peas, maybe, she thought, her arms pinwheeling as she careened sideways. Her rib cage slammed into the sharp corner of a shelf. She landed on her back and doubled up against the sharp pain in her side. It was hard to breathe. Each expansion of her lungs brought new pain.

She knew that the intruder had obviously gone down as well, but the resulting cacophony had died. All was quiet now except for Kat’s raspy gulps for air.

Another flurry of sounds erupted from the corner where the man had fallen. Cans clattered against each other. One rolled across the floor in her direction. He was searching for something, probably a gun. Protect Jake, her instincts whispered. Kat would deal with the pain later. Now she had to survive.

She rose to a crouch. She reached around her with both hands, feeling for a weapon, as she fought to quiet her breathing.

She scuttled crablike several feet to the left without making a sound, picking up several cans along the way. She cradled them in her left arm while her right swept outward in search of her gun. The intruder had gone quiet.

Kat hefted a can in her right hand and waited, holding her breath, extending her hearing until she heard a faint sound. A whisper--maybe the intruder’s clothes or his breathing. It didn’t really matter. She lobbed the can as hard as she could directly at the noise.

She was rewarded by a satisfying thunk that was immediately followed by a muttered curse. Then all was silent again. She lobbed a second can at the same spot. Another thunk. Then shuffling noises as her target attempted to evade further attack. Kat smiled. She fired another can at the retreating sounds, eliciting another thwack of impact and another curse, this one louder than the first.

She heard him grappling around for something to throw back at her, so she was flat on the floor at least a second or two before the first can came her way. It sailed far above her and three feet to her right. More followed, thrown in a random pattern of rage. Kat was glad for the clatter. It masked her own search for her Glock. She crawled a couple of feet more to her left until she was against a wall. She ransacked the lower shelves for more ammunition.

Her hands found more cans and jars. She focused on her adversary’s noisy effort to return fire. She rocketed a steady stream of cans and bottles at the spot. Most hit their target.

The man tried hard to be quiet under her assault, but he apparently couldn’t help the occasional grunt of pain when something hit a particularly vulnerable spot.

Kat adjusted her aim accordingly.

She began creeping closer to his position. She inched her way along the wall, grabbing items off the shelves, keeping up her incessant barrage. Once in a while she would hear something sail by her ear and crash against the wall behind her, but the intruder was now spending more time protecting himself than trying to retaliate.

*

Otter was in trouble, and he knew it. Several of the damn cans had hit him pretty squarely in the head. One opened up a gash above his eye. And the last one had hit him hard in his lower abdomen as he’d been trying to retreat, shuffling backward on his rear end. Just a few inches lower, he gulped as he crouched in the corner, trying to shield both his face and groin from further assault. He knew she was closing in. But she wasn’t hitting him with every single throw, so he knew Hunter was operating blind too. There might still be a chance he’d come out of this.

He knew he had to make a move. In desperation, Otter fell to his hands and knees, searching wildly around him, heedless of the noise. The floor here was sticky. He smelled maple syrup and the stench of dead fish. He felt something cold and metallic in the pool of syrupy goo. His hand closed around his .38.

Even as another can hit him in the shoulder, Otter smiled. He pointed the gun in Hunter’s direction. He cocked it and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kat was in her windup to pitch another can at him when she heard the gun cock. She dove forward. The bullet whizzed by just above her. Right where her left eye had been a second earlier.

Before Otter could pull the trigger a second time, she was upon him. She threw herself at him headfirst and sent him sailing into the corner. His head cracked against something, and he saw stars for a moment. Kat recovered more quickly. Her left hand found the gun in his right hand and she wrenched it from him. Her right hand found his neck and tightened around it, pinning him against the wall.

"Who are you?" Kat demanded. She pressed her thumb hard into the pulse point at the top of Otter’s jaw, below his ear. Her other hand rammed the gun convincingly into his rib cage. He winced.

"Just an old friend, Hunter. Came by to look you up," Otter choked.

"Big mistake, little man," Kat said. She tightened her hold on his neck until he could no longer breathe at all. He struggled, wrapping his arms around her, flailing against her despite the gun. But she held him fast and took his blows until his efforts stopped and he grew still.

She released her grip and Otter slumped to the floor. She shifted the gun to her right hand and reached out with her left, finding his head and skimming over it until she found just the spot she wanted. She marked the spot with her left hand while she brought the gun down with her right. He’d be out for a long while now. And have one hell of a headache when he did come to.

Kat got up and felt her way to the door. Her body was still energized with adrenaline, but the fatigue she’d been fighting for hours was reasserting itself. She still had much to do before she could relax.

She returned to the tunnel and felt around for her clothes. She wiped her sticky hands on the garments, found her flashlight, and flicked it on. She found Jake and crouched down beside her. "Everything is okay now," Kat said. "I’m going to turn the lights back on, I’ll be right back." She touched Jake’s cheek before she found her way to the steel door.

Once through it, she shone the light toward Frank. She caught him scrambling to return to his corner. While she was gone, he had moved to the end of the chain, a few feet farther into the room. And he had managed to unravel a little of the duct tape around his hands, but the chains still had him securely bound. He froze when the light hit him.

Kat said nothing as she proceeded to the generator. As soon as the flashlight was off him, Frank continued his mad scramble back to the corner. He was there by the time she flipped the switch, illuminating the room again.

He ventured a look at her, afraid of her reaction to his efforts to break free. His eyes went wide as he took in the sight of her, but he dared not open his mouth.

She glared at him with a fierce, feral energy that made him wish he’d never heard of Garner.

Whatever had just happened--and from the sight of her it had been something he’d like to have witnessed--it certainly hadn’t helped her mood that she’d caught him trying to get away. He shrank into the corner and dropped his eyes. He heard her leave, slamming the steel door behind her. Frank inhaled greedily. He hadn’t been aware he’d been holding his breath.

*

Kat returned to the tunnel, consciously trying to calm herself and dissipate some of the savage energy that gripped her. She didn’t want to be Hunter when she dealt with Jake. She wanted to be Kat again. Once through the door, she tried to smile reassuringly as she looked down at her friend. She was surprised to find Jake staring up at her with wide eyes. Oh my God, does she remember?

*

Jake stared at Kat, eyeing her up and down, her look of bewilderment turning into one of amusement. Then her face grew serious as she focused on Kat’s shoulder. "You’re bleeding."

Kat followed Jake’s eyes, for the first time looking down at herself. Nearly every inch of her naked flesh was covered with food. Her left side was slathered with maple syrup. Her right leg had smears of mustard. Spots of flour and cornmeal dotted her lightly bronzed face and arms. Her silk briefs were soaked on one side and clung to her like a second skin. Her shoulder, the object of Jake’s concerned gaze, had a large red smear that looked like blood.

Kat casually reached up with one hand to scoop up a bit of the substance with one fingertip. Then, her eyes on Jake, she put the finger in her mouth and sucked on it in what was, in Jake’s mind, a most seductive manner. After a moment, Kat winked at Jake and withdrew the finger. "Hot sauce," she announced. "You missed one heck of a food fight."

She seemed so nonchalant about the whole affair that Jake relaxed a little. "Do I get details?"

"Later," Kat promised. "Right now we need to get you back in bed. Then I have a few loose ends to tie up." She crouched down and lifted Jake.

Jake shrieked in pain.

The sound shot through Kat and she froze. "I’m sorry," she whispered.

Jake took deep breaths to fight the throbbing in her knee and the shooting pain in her arm. "Not your fault," she managed. "My own stupidity. I was in no shape to try to go after you."

"Go after me?" Kat asked as she carried Jake toward the living room.

"Thought you were in trouble." Jake closed her eyes against the pain. When she opened them again, they were in the bedroom and she was being lowered onto the bed. "I seem to have a knack for getting myself into bad situations that you have to come get me out of."

A half smile formed on Kat’s lips. "I wouldn’t mind a nap and a hot meal before the next crisis," she said as she examined Jake’s wrist. She glanced at Jake. "But this is not your fault. It’s mine."

Kat continued her evaluation of Jake’s injuries without further elaboration. She gently probed Jake’s knee, which had swollen badly on one side.

Jake put her hand on Kat’s arm, forcing the other woman’s full attention. She held it there until Kat looked directly at her. "It’s time for some answers," she said, in a voice that brooked no argument. "What aren’t you telling me?"

"I’ve got a couple of things to attend to first that can’t wait," Kat answered, looking away. "It won’t take long. I’ll bring back some ice for that knee and reset your wrist. We’ll talk then."

She turned to leave, but the sound of Jake’s voice caught her at the doorway.

"Kat?"

Kat turned to face her.

"I remembered something."

Kat’s sharp intake of breath was the only outward sign of her shock at Jake’s revelation. She felt as though she’d been kicked in the gut, but her face betrayed none of her inner turmoil.

"I have a brother," Jake said. "His name is Hardy. Not much else yet. But maybe my memory is coming back." She had a hopeful expression on her face.

Kat nodded and forced a smile. "That’s good news."

Jake saw that Kat’s heart wasn’t in the sentiment and wondered why she didn’t seem pleased at the news. But before she could ask, Kat was gone.

*

Kat’s heart sank as she leaned against the bedroom door, absorbing Jake’s news. Will you still want to kill me when you remember who you are? Kat refused to believe that was possible and felt guilty for doubting Jake. Jake had apparently risked her own life going out into the snow, all because she thought Kat was in trouble.

She couldn’t think about all that right now. She forced Jake’s news out of her mind. She had work to do. She went to the pantry and surveyed the chaos.

Otter was sprawled on the floor, still out cold. He was bleeding from a cut above his eye. There was another above his ear, but neither looked too bad. His face was already swollen from the blows he’d taken. She’d been spot-on with several of her throws.

Otter looked a lot older than Kat remembered. Heavier too. Still the greasy hair, but a lot less of it. Although Kenny had warned her about Otter, she was still a little surprised to see him. She didn’t think he had the brains or the nerve to get this far.

Her mind flashed back to the last time she’d seen him.

She was still working for Garner then. He had put her in charge of a three-man team whose mission was to rescue a kidnap victim--a six-year-old girl--and execute her kidnappers.

Hunter flew into Albany, New York, a day ahead of the rest of the team to get a preview of the walled private estate where the girl was being held. The mansion and its sprawling grounds were nestled in a river valley an hour away in the Catskills.

Hunter studied the place for three hours through night-vision binoculars from a hillside on the adjacent property. There were lights on in several second-story rooms, though it was after midnight. Figures passed by the windows. All men, never the girl. Sentries patrolled at irregular intervals. They’d meet up and have a smoke, chat a while.

Hunter took it all in and added it to the information Garner had given her about their mission. She had blueprints of the interior and a picture of the little girl. And she had several photos of the two men she was to assassinate. They were behind the kidnapping. She didn’t know what their motivation was. It didn’t matter. Her two targets had at least a dozen friends with them, and many of them were armed.

Kenny’s plane touched down an hour before Otter’s, so Hunter got a chance to brief the teenager over a sandwich at the airport bar. He asked all the right questions and regarded their mission with the same seriousness that she did. By the time Otter joined them, Hunter had developed a healthy respect for Kenny’s intelligence and maturity.

Otter was another matter. Hunter and Kenny found him in baggage claim just as he was retrieving his bag.

"Well, well, well. Nice to meet you." Otter licked his lips as his eyes traveled the length of Hunter, settling on her breasts. "I got to thank the boss. He’s never hooked me up with a hottie like you before, sweetheart."

"Stick to business, Otter," Hunter said. She turned and headed toward the exit.

"Aw, c’mon, dollface. We got lots of time to get acquainted," Otter persisted. He leered at Hunter as the trio emerged outside. "Hey, kid, take a hike, huh? Meet us at the hotel."

Kenny slowed his steps, uncertain what to do.

Hunter turned and glared at Otter. "Look, little man," she snarled. "Put your eyes back in your head and shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you. We’ve got a job to do."

His good humor disappeared. He stepped a foot closer, invading her personal space. "I ain’t taking orders from no broad," he spat.

They stood there a moment, glowering at each other. Kenny remained off to one side, watching.

Hunter pulled out her cell phone and started to dial.

"Hey, wait a minute," Otter said, backing away when he realized who she was calling. "I didn’t mean nothing by it, no harm done."

She closed the phone and put it in her pocket. "Let’s go."

They spent the next couple of hours discussing the operation over dinner in Hunter’s hotel room, the blueprints spread out in front of them.

At 1:00 a.m., Hunter flew them by helicopter to a clearing not far from the hill where she’d studied the estate.

Kenny got them past the computerized security system and inside a rear entrance while Hunter and Otter took out three guards.

They crept up a back stairway in the darkness, toward the second-floor rooms where Hunter had seen the lights. They paused at the top of the stairwell. Two guards were in the hall, playing cards at a small table.

Hunter and Otter knocked them out before they could raise an alarm.

Hunter listened at the door of the first room they came to. Silence. She twisted the knob and eased the door open. A library or study. No one inside.

She started to close the door, but Otter’s hand on her arm stopped her. He waved his gun toward the desk in the room. Behind it, on the wall, a cabinet door stood open. Within was a safe.

Hunter had already seen it. She glared at Otter and shook her head as she closed the door to the room.

He gripped her arm harder. "Five minutes," he whispered.

She shook him off and clamped her hand over his mouth.

He pushed her away, but did not speak again.

She continued toward the next room, looking back over her shoulder to make sure Otter was behind her. Kenny hung back.

Hunter entered this room as she had the other. The door open a crack, she could see a guard in profile, looking out the window. Propped against the sill was a semiautomatic rifle.

She nudged the door open another inch. She could see the end of a bed. Another inch. There was the girl, asleep.

Hunter turned. Otter was directly behind her. She motioned toward the girl, then looked at Otter to make sure he understood.

He nodded.

She eased the door open and took in the rest of the room at a glance to ensure there were no other guards. The man at the window hadn’t heard them.

Hunter overpowered him before he could react. She joined Otter as he was gathering the girl in his arms and gently shook the girl awake.

"Hi, Sally," Hunter whispered. "I’m a friend of your daddy, and I’ve come to take you home to him. You have to be real quiet, though, all right? Don’t make a sound, now." She smiled and put her finger to her lips.

The girl nodded solemnly.

"Wait at the stairwell," Hunter whispered in Otter’s ear. He nodded and left with the girl, her arms wrapped around his neck. Hunter motioned for Kenny to follow him.

Everything was going as planned. Hunter headed toward the master bedrooms.

She had to hit four bedrooms before she found both of the men whose faces she had memorized. Neither woke. They never would again.

It had taken five minutes.

When she returned to the stairwell, she was not entirely surprised to find the girl now in Kenny’s arms, Otter nowhere to be seen.

"Library," Kenny whispered.

She nodded.

Otter was at the safe, his attention on the dial between his fingertips. He never heard Hunter slip back into the room.

"Come on, you little shit, or I’m leaving your ass," she hissed.

He was startled but not deterred. "Almost got it," he said in a low voice, not turning around, but Hunter was already out the door.

She took the girl from Kenny, and they headed back down the stairwell.

They were crossing over the threshold when alarms rang out. They broke into a run.

The safe was wired, Hunter realized as she sprinted across the lawn, Kenny close behind. She could hear him panting for air.

Lights went on everywhere all at once, illuminating the house and grounds.

They were sitting ducks.

Shots rang out. A bullet hit the sod just ahead of her, blasting bits of earth and turf into the air.

They reached the wall and scaled it, passing the girl between them. A bullet slammed into the stonework a foot to the left of Kenny’s head.

Gasping for air, they scrambled up the hill. Halfway to the top, Hunter took a look back.

Otter was far behind, still inside the wall. He was being pursued by three men on foot. Two other men were shooting at them with rifles from the second floor.

They were almost over the rise when Kenny fell.

The little girl screamed.

"Let’s ride piggyback. Hold on tight, now," Hunter told Sally as she pulled her onto her back.

She reached down and pulled Kenny to his feet. He’d been shot in the side but was still conscious, and stumbled forward with her support.

Hunter got the girl and Kenny belted into the helicopter just as Otter came over the hill. She scrambled into the pilot’s seat and pulled on her night-vision goggles. Otter was laboring under the weight of a bulky sack. The men behind him were closing in and had their guns out.

Hunter started up the chopper.

Otter was too far away. There was nothing she could do. The girl was their priority, and he had sealed his own fate.

She lifted off.

Ping! A bullet ricocheted off the bottom of the copter.

She hit the throttle.

Hunter saw Otter drop his bag and wave his arms at her just before he fell. She couldn’t tell whether he’d stumbled or been shot.

She’d later learned from Garner that Otter was sent to prison for his part in the raid. But she had no regrets about leaving him behind. The greedy bastard had nearly gotten them all killed.

Bet you have a bone or two to pick with me over that, she mused, looking down at Otter’s supine form. He was as covered with syrup and flour and other unrecognizable foodstuffs as she was. And he stank.

She searched him and found a box of ammo for his .38. Her own gun was on a shelf next to a jar of peanut butter. She went to the weapons room and got two sets of handcuffs and a ring of keys, which she temporarily stuck into one of Otter’s pockets since she didn’t have any of her own.

She grabbed hold of him and dragged him through the living room and tunnel and into the generator room.

"Got some company for you, Frank," Kat said cheerily as she took out one set of handcuffs and secured Otter’s hands behind his back. "Although I don’t expect him to be quite as cooperative as you have been." She looked up from her task to glare at him. Her voice turned menacing. "Most of the time, that is."

Frank averted his eyes and kept quiet.

"You can get back in my good graces, though," Kat continued. "Just keep an eye on Otter here, and start hollering real loud if he manages to get farther than you did in trying to escape."

She pulled Otter over to the corner next to Frank and laid him out on his side. The two men made an odd pair. Frank had to be almost a foot taller than Otter and outweighed him by more than a hundred pounds.

She used the second pair of cuffs on Frank, replacing the chain and duct tape. He could move his hands more freely now. He flexed his fingers, restoring some of the circulation he’d lost, and nodded to her in appreciation for the small reprieve.

Kat threaded the chain that had been on Frank’s wrists through his handcuffs and then through Otter’s, binding them together back to back. There was less than four feet of slack between them. With the padlock, she secured that chain to the heavy one attached to the wall.

She didn’t speak again until she finished and headed toward the door. "I’ll be back in a while to feed you and let you move around a bit, Frank." She paused at the doorway and turned to look at him. Her eyes were cold, her voice threatening. "Don’t disappoint me again."

Frank looked down at the unconscious man beside him. Otter’s face was swollen and bruised, and he was covered with smears of food. At least he’d find out what the hell had happened. In different circumstances, Hunter in her underwear covered with food might make for an interesting story, but Frank knew he’d never have the guts to tell this one. At least not as it really happened.

A fetid aroma assaulted his nostrils. Frank leaned into Otter, sniffing. Maple syrup, and...fish. Dead fish. He eyed the short length of chain between them and groaned.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kat headed to the kitchen for ice for Jake’s knee. A chill ran through her, and she glanced down again at her near-naked body. She really wanted to shower and put on some warm clothes, but Jake came first.

As she entered the bedroom with the bag of ice, she was not surprised to find Jake sprawled on her back in the middle of the bed, sound asleep. She was still clad in the coveralls, boots on her feet. Kat removed the boots, smiling a little at the myriad of things that had been jammed into them to make them fit better.

She unzipped the coveralls and helped Jake out of them as gently as she could, but Jake stirred and groaned.

"Shh. Go back to sleep," Kat whispered. She reached down to smooth a strand of errant blond hair on the sleeping woman’s forehead, her fingertips lingering to caress Jake’s cheek.

Jake sighed, a contented mewling sound, and drifted back off without ever opening her eyes.

Kat put the ice bag on Jake’s knee and covered her with the fleece blanket, tucking her in like a pampered child.

Kat got a lot accomplished in the hour Jake napped. She took a long, hot shower and put on clean jeans and a sweatshirt. It helped to refresh her and reduce some of the fatigue she was fighting.

Then she tended to Frank, heating up a bowl of soup for him and letting him eat, stretch, and relieve himself outside the main entrance. All of it was done under her careful scrutiny, her Glock held casually in one hand as though it were a natural extension of her arm. Although his bladder had been full an hour earlier, it took Frank a moment to get going under Hunter’s unwavering stare.

Otter stirred only once during the proceedings. He groaned but didn’t awaken.

Once that chore was finished, Kat spent a few minutes on her computer looking at radar and satellite pictures of the weather front that was dumping snow on the Upper Peninsula. The area was expected to get another eight inches or more over the next thirty-six hours, and the winds were expected to increase. It would create whiteout conditions and significant drifting. That should make it impossible for anyone else to follow Frank and Otter’s snowmobile tracks to the bunker.

Kat realized she was absolutely starving. She had burned up a lot of energy during the last several hours, and her body was craving compensation. She headed for the kitchen. From what she’d seen of Jake’s appetite so far, she knew she should probably make enough for an army.

Kat took out the venison tenderloins she’d set in the fridge and seared them in a cast-iron skillet before setting them in the oven to finish cooking. She surveyed the mess in the pantry to see what had survived the battle with Otter.

She had lost a good bit of her stores, she realized, taking a more complete mental inventory than she’d allowed herself earlier. Several of the cans were dented but salvageable. But the rack that held her bins of flour, cornmeal, rice, and dried potatoes had been overturned, and Otter had scattered nearly all her stock of dried peas and beans on the floor in his successful effort to trip her up. About half of her bottled stores--mustard, ketchup, dressings, salsas, and syrups--had been used as ammo. She regretted most the loss of the two bottles of Blue Front Barbecue Sauce she’d brought all the way from Florida.

It would be hard to feed four people for very long on what remained.

Kat’s stomach rumbled as she reached for a box of macaroni and cheese, so she took two boxes off the shelf. Then she rummaged around the mess on the floor until she found a couple of cans of fruit.

This will be fun to clean up, she thought, sniffing the air with a grimace. The room smelled...fishy. She spotted the broken remains of an economy-sized bottle of Thai fish sauce on the floor, right where Otter had been lying.

She grinned. Otter hated fish.

*

Kat wolfed down a healthy portion of the makeshift meal she’d thrown together. The rest she put on a tray and carried to the bedroom. She set it down on the bedside table and gently shook Jake awake.

Jake grumbled at the touch, protesting the interruption of a rather erotic dream she was having, until she opened her eyes and saw the object of her fantasies in the flesh. Then she came quickly awake, her nose immediately trying to identify the source of a tantalizing aroma. She turned her head, saw the tray, and her smile widened. Forgetting her injuries for a moment, she tried to prop herself up to eat.

The pain in her knee and wrist was unbearable. "Ow! OwOwOwOwOwOwOw!" Finally the worst of it abated. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Kat leaning over her.

"Sorry, I should have warned you not to try to move," Kat said. "Your knee is full of fluid, and I think you’ve broken your wrist in a new place."

"Oh, that’s just great." Jake shook her head and blew out a long breath of exasperation.

"Don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up and feeling better," Kat said. "Let me help you sit up to eat. You need to get your strength back. We’ll deal with your injuries after you do." She got Jake into a more comfortable position, her back against the headboard of the bed, and set the tray in front of her.

The venison, already cut into bite-sized portions, shared a plate with a generous pile of macaroni and cheese. The tenderloin had been finished in a sauce made of red wine and dried cherries. There was also a small plate of canned pear and peach segments, and a glass of merlot.

"This really looks and smells wonderful," Jake said, reaching for her fork. "I can’t believe how hungry I am."

"I’m not surprised," Kat answered. "You covered a few miles out there. It must have been incredibly difficult with your knee."

Jake stopped chewing for a moment to look at Kat, who had dropped into the chair beside the bed. Dark circles rimmed Kat’s eyes. She looked absolutely exhausted. Jake pictured Kat walking those same long miles in the dark, in the snow, to find her...then walking them yet again while carrying her.

"I’m sorry, Kat," Jake said. "I know I should have stayed put, like you asked me to." She put the fork down, her appetite momentarily forgotten. "I tried to, but I finally just had to get up to pee. And when I was coming back, I saw the TVs. I saw you fighting that man, and I thought you were in trouble and needed help." After a long pause, she added, "But apparently you didn’t." Jake was obviously curious about what had happened, but she wanted Kat to volunteer the information.

Kat nodded toward the food. "Eat that before it gets cold."

Jake reached for the fork and resumed eating, slower this time. She watched Kat, hoping for an explanation.

Kat fidgeted under Jake’s unwavering stare. She closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. She knew she could delay no longer. She was about to make a leap of faith--an action virtually unknown to her.

"Jake," she began, her voice unexpectedly husky. She sat forward in the chair and looked at Jake. Her throat went dry. She swallowed hard. "There are a lot of things about myself I haven’t told you." She paused. "That I haven’t told anyone." Another pause. She bit her lip. "A lot of unpleasant things, things that most people wouldn’t understand." She looked away again and stared at the floor. She held her hands tightly together on her lap.

"The work that I do, the real work, I mean--nature photography is more my avocation..." She took her time, careful to choose the right words. "The real work I do is very dangerous and very secretive. I guess you could say I hunt down people who are big problems. Problems that individuals can’t deal with alone or that governments turn a blind eye to. Some that law enforcement can’t do anything about...who have to be dealt with...outside the law."

Kat’s throat constricted. She forced herself to look at Jake. She had to see what Jake’s reaction would be. "Sometimes," she continued, her expression a mask, "I have to kill people."

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as the news registered. But she did not shy away from Kat. And when she spoke, her voice was calm, her tone more curious than alarmed. "Did you have to kill the man I saw you fighting with?"

"No," Kat responded, avoiding Jake’s eyes again. She took a deep breath. Opening up to Jake made her feel exposed. Vulnerable. But a measure of relief washed over her at Jake’s mild reaction to her news. "I didn’t kill him. Or the other one," she added as an afterthought. "They’re both fine."

"The other one?" Jake’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes got wide.

"Uh, yeah," Kat admitted. She’d forgotten Jake had never seen Otter--she must have assumed the food fight in the dark had been with the same intruder Kat had fought with on the monitor.

"Yeah, there were two," Kat said. "They’re both okay, just trussed up for the moment in the other room." She nodded in the direction of the door. "The generator room, on the other side of the tunnel." She paused, clearly disarmed by the change in subject at such a critical point in her confession. "I’ll get back to them in a minute."

Jake nodded, her attention fully on Kat. Her look was expectant. Her food was cold. She didn’t notice.

Kat cleared her throat. She looked at the floor. She wiped sweaty palms against her jeans, stalling while she considered what she would say next. Jake didn’t seem horrified by her profession. Kat wondered whether it was because some part of Jake still inherently recognized the job, even with her amnesia.

Kat hadn’t planned on ever telling her new friend about what she had learned about Jake’s real identity. But she was reconsidering that now. I still don’t want to lie to you, do I?

"Jake," she said, leaning back in the chair. "You said you remembered your brother. Have you remembered anything else?"

It took Jake a moment to register what she thought was an abrupt change in subject. "No. I just had a picture of him. A name, an impression that we’re pretty close. Why? What does that have to do with what’s going on? Who are those men?" She wished Kat would get back to what she’d been talking about.

But Kat wouldn’t look at her. And she acted as though she hadn’t heard Jake’s question. "Have you recalled anything at all about what you might have done--what job you might have had or skills you used in your past?"

Jake took a deep breath to calm her irritation with the continued questioning. Not that she didn’t care about her past. Certainly she did. But she really couldn’t remember anything else, and Kat seemed to be deliberately avoiding further talk about her own life and these "unpleasant things" that she said she had done.

"I really don’t remember anything about that," Jake said. "Just what I’ve told you before. I think I’ve traveled a lot. Why? Why all these questions?"

Kat bit her lip, nodding slightly. She stared at the door opposite her chair, as if to bolt to it at any moment. Her next question really seemed to come out of left field. "Do you remember if you’ve ever held a gun? Or fired one?"

Jake frowned. Do you know something about who I am that you’re not telling me? She tried to visualize herself with a gun. A pistol. Then a rifle. At a shooting range, or hunting animals. She shrugged. "Doesn’t seem familiar. I don’t think so. But I just don’t know."

"Okay," Kat said, nodding as if in agreement. As though Jake’s answer settled more questions in her mind than just the one she’d asked.

Jake’s curiosity could be contained no longer. She leaned toward Kat, reaching out her hand to touch the other woman’s arm. Kat had to look at her. "What aren’t you telling me, Kat?" "Am I a policewoman or something? Are you?"

Kat’s face clearly showed how unexpected that question was. She flinched and blushed deep red, as though she were a child caught in a lie. She looked away.

"No, Jake, we’re not law enforcement." Her low voice sounded apologetic, and a little sad. "We’re bounty hunters. Mercenaries. We’re in the business of hunting people down for money. So are the two men tied up in the other room. They’re here hunting for me. To kill me."

Jake gaped at Kat, her eyes wide in shock, her mind unable to immediately grasp all that she had heard. "We?" she finally asked. "I’m a...a bounty hunter, too?"

Kat still couldn’t meet her eyes. "I think so, yes." A long moment passed before she added, "I think you came out here to kill me too."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

What?" Jake gasped. This had to be a very bad joke or some terrible mistake. But Kat was obviously deadly serious. "Kat," she begged, a rush of panic threatening to overwhelm her, "please look at me."

Kat did. But her expression was cold, unreadable.

"You can’t believe that!" Jake pleaded, her eyes welling with tears. She found it impossible to accept that she was a bounty hunter--let alone even consider the possibility that she might have ever intended to do Kat harm. She shook her head back and forth, back and forth. "You can’t be serious!" Her voice had a tremor in it. "I could never hurt you, surely you know that."

Kat’s expression softened, and she nodded. "You proved that when you came out in the snow trying to help me." She looked away for a moment as if lost in thought. "That was a brave and selfless act, Jake." A hint of a smile appeared at the edge of her lips. "Even if it was also an incredibly stupid thing to do." The warmth returned to her eyes.

"But I believed in my heart even before that, Jake," Kat volunteered. "I knew that something extraordinary was happening between us. Something rare and very precious. And something more powerful than anything in our pasts." She looked into Jake’s eyes for confirmation as she said this.

Jake nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I’m sorry I’ve kept things from you," Kat said, taking Jake’s hand. "I don’t know who you are--your real identity, I mean. But I got a heads-up about a woman bounty hunter who was coming after me. Her name was Scout. Does that ring a bell?"

"Scout? No." Jake shrugged.

"Well, you fit the description and you showed up out here about the time I got the warning." Kat leaned toward Jake. "The car you were driving was stolen, and there was no ID on you or in the car. Both are pretty typical of people in our line of work. But what really convinced me was what I found in your trunk. A photo of me and a high-powered takedown sniper rifle, just like one I have."

Jake shook her head. An inner voice denied she was capable of any of this. She envisioned herself as a musician or artist. Something creative. She wasn’t--couldn’t be--a mercenary. A killer for hire. But then she still couldn’t believe it of Kat either, despite what she had witnessed tonight.

A new thought occurred to her. "When did you find all this out?" she asked Kat.

Kat tried to think back. "Well, I suspected from about the first day," she said. "I knew the car was stolen almost immediately, and I found the photo and rifle when I went back to it the second or third day, whenever it was." Time had all jumbled together for her since the accident. The long periods without sleep and the lack of natural sunlight in the bunker made it difficult to tell how much time had elapsed between events. She rarely glanced at her watch.

"Then why did you save me?" Jake pressed. "Why go through everything you did if you thought I was here to kill you? I don’t understand that at all."

"I don’t think I had much choice," Kat replied. "That’s the easiest way to explain, I guess. It wasn’t something I normally would have done," she admitted. "But I felt compelled to get involved when I saw your car go off the road and flip over. Something just pushed me forward to help. And when I saw you...well, you were hurt, and vulnerable, and I just kind of felt protective toward you." She grew silent for a moment or two, fighting the hint of a blush that threatened to blossom on her cheeks. "After we...kissed..." she continued, looking down at their joined hands, "Well, that kind of sealed it for me."

Saying such things was incredibly difficult for Kat, who had never had an intimate relationship. For the first time in her life, she was fighting shyness, feeling incredibly inexperienced and na•ve about how to go about getting close to the woman who had so captivated her. These feelings were extremely unsettling to Kat, even as they were exciting. She was used to being alone, being in control, using cold reasoning alone to make all her important decisions. She felt unprepared for this. But her logical mind had long ago given way to what her instincts and her heart were telling her to do.

"Jake," Kat said, determined to finish what she needed to say, "I’ve never really been close to anyone. Not really. I never thought I could be, doing what I do." Her hand began to caress Jake’s as she spoke, and Jake responded in kind. "But I very much want to be close to you."

"I want that too. Very much," Jake said, her voice breaking on the last two words. Her hand gripped Kat’s tightly for a moment for emphasis. "All of this is...difficult for me to believe, to say the least. I admit I’m kind of having a hard time with a lot of what you’ve told me. Particularly about my past. But I do know, I do very much believe, that we are supposed to be together."

Kat looked into Jake’s eyes and let out a long breath. The creases in her forehead and around her eyes relaxed. The edges of her mouth curved upward into a hint of a smile. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and Jake’s heart skipped a beat.

"Kat," Jake whispered. "Do you know anything more about my wedding ring?"

"No," Kat said. "I can tell you that bounty hunters often adopt other identities when they’re pursuing someone. Well, some do, anyway. I’ve used a wedding ring on a few occasions myself. But I don’t know whether yours is real or not."

"Well, I have to admit I hope it’s a fake," Jake said. "I hope there is no one waiting somewhere for me."

Kat nodded in agreement. While they talked, both women continued the soft caresses of their joined hands.

"What are you going to do about those two men?" Jake asked. "And how did they find you?"

Kat’s fingertips paused in their soft tracing of Jake’s inner wrist and palm, a sensation that both women found eminently pleasing and increasingly distracting. "They followed the track I made getting you here from where the car crashed. But it’s snowed a lot since then, so I don’t think we have to worry about anyone else showing up." Her touch resumed its gentle path along Jake’s smaller hands. Such delicate hands.

"As to what I’m going to do with them...Well, I’m going to keep them confined until you’re well enough to leave. I’ll have to give up this place anyway, now that it’s been found."

She said this matter-of-factly, but Jake could tell from her wistful expression that Kat would really miss the bunker. She would too, she realized. She felt safe here, despite the last few hours.

"Speaking of getting you out of here," Kat said, nodding toward the forgotten food on the tray, "you have to get your strength back, and you need to eat to do that. So I’m going to go warm this up, and while you finish it, I’ll work on your wrist and knee. Okay?"

"Sounds like a plan," Jake agreed. Her stomach was beginning to reassert itself at the mention of the food.

Kat rose and picked up the tray. "I’ll have to go into town. We don’t have enough food for four people for very long, and there are a few other things I’d like to pick up. Some antibiotics for your knee and some plaster so I can do a better cast for your wrist."

"When will you leave?" Jake asked.

"Soon. It’s snowing now and will be for a while, so it will cover my tracks there and back. If I leave in a couple of hours, I’ll get to town just as everything is opening up--when there are few people about." She smiled. "I’ll be very quick. I bet you sleep through the whole thing."

I doubt that, Jake thought but didn’t say. When I’m not worrying about you, I’ll be trying to picture myself as an assassin. Not the kind of thing likely to induce nice dreams. "I’ll try," she managed. "If you promise to be careful."

"Always," Kat confirmed, giving Jake a wink as she picked up the tray and headed for the door. She liked having someone concerned about her welfare.

So damn cute, Jake thought, watching her leave. Then she thought again about Kat’s assertion that she had been headed here to kill her, and her stomach sank. I hope I never remember.

*

Otter had a hell of a headache. That was the first thing that penetrated his consciousness. The second was the awareness that he couldn’t move much. The third was the nauseating stench of dead fish that permeated his nostrils. His stomach lurched as he blinked his eyes, trying to remember what had happened.

He was lying on his side, his hands bound behind him, on a cold concrete floor. He could see a couple of snowmobiles, and if he craned his head, he could see what looked like a generator. As his mind hit upon what had happened to him he heard a cough from behind. He struggled to roll over, expecting to find Hunter gloating over him.

He had trouble adjusting his position. He had to scoot backward a couple of feet before there was enough slack in the chain for him to crane his neck around to see a big bear of a man studying him with a curious expression. The man was propped up, sitting with his back against the corner. Otter could see that they were both prisoners, bound together by a short chain, which was padlocked to a larger chain that was attached to the wall. He also noticed that the other man was somewhat more comfortably settled than he was, sitting on a down sleeping bag with a small heater nearby blasting what little warm air there was directly at him. "Frank, I presume?" Otter said.

"Yeah. You’re Otter, right?" Frank asked.

Otter grunted in affirmation, trying to turn all the way over to better communicate with Frank. Because of the short length of chain connecting them, he had to back up until he was nearly in Frank’s lap to accomplish this.

"Hey, man, don’t get so close," Frank admonished as Otter awkwardly rolled to face him. The big man was trying to lean away from him. "You reek. I mean you stink really, really bad."

Otter didn’t need the reminder. He felt just inches away from puking. He could tolerate most smells. He’d even hidden in a garbage Dumpster once. But he couldn’t abide the smell of fish. Dead or alive. Raw or cooked. It had always made him profoundly nauseous.

Otter remembered that Hunter had taunted him about it rather maliciously the day they met, when he griped about her ordering salmon from room service. He wondered briefly whether she’d deliberately poured something on him or if he’d acquired this ungodly stench during the fight in the pantry. Didn’t matter. Pissed him off anyway. Bitch, he seethed.

But Otter was amazed Hunter hadn’t killed him. She’ll regret that. He studied Frank, who was wrinkling his nose in distaste at Otter’s close proximity. Well, at least I have an ally. An impressively big ally, at that. It would do well to be nice.

"Sorry," Otter said, trying to inch away as much as possible while still keeping an eye on Frank. "How long have you been here?" he asked, studying the room again but seeing no way to escape.

"Don’t know. Hard to tell," Frank replied. "Several hours, anyway. You deal with her before?"

Otter’s mind flashed back to their job together. Hunter abandoning him. Leaving him to prison or death. "Yeah. I have a score to settle with Hunter."

"Thought so. She said you wouldn’t be too cooperative."

Otter snorted. "Cooperative? That’s funny," he sneered. He couldn’t figure out why she was keeping them both alive. He didn’t really like thinking about what she might be planning to do to them before she killed them. He was certain they would die.

"She says if I cooperate, she’ll give me some money and let me go," Frank said. He wanted Otter to confirm this was true. Otter knew Hunter, after all.

But Otter laughed. It was an empty laugh, devoid of humor. "Yeah, right. Stop dreaming, chum. Lying is what she does best. She’d say anything to keep you from trying to get out of here. You can’t believe a word that bitch says."

Frank took in Otter’s words, weighing them against Hunter’s promise to be merciful if he didn’t try to escape and kept Otter from getting out. Frank believed one thing for certain. If she caught them trying to leave, she would not hesitate to cut them both down.

Frank wanted to believe Hunter. He had to admit he respected her. She was one hell of a tough and beautiful broad, and she’d so far been pretty good to him, considering. This Otter guy, on the other hand, was obviously no match for her. And Frank found it hard to warm up to someone whose stench was making his eyes water. He’d just play it cool for now, see what developed. "Hey, man, what the hell happened, anyway? Why was Hunter in her underwear, and how did you both end up covered in food?"

Before Otter could answer, they both were drawn to the sound of the big steel door opening. Hunter was coming.

Chapter Thirty

Kat got Jake to eat the warmed-over dinner while she iced her swollen knee and rewrapped the splint on her wrist. They didn’t say much during the process. Jake’s mind was still churning over Kat’s revelations, and Kat was preoccupied with what she was doing. But they looked at each other frequently, warmly. Exchanging shy smiles.

When both were finished, Kat removed the tray and returned to the bedside. "Need a trip to the bathroom before I go?"

Jake nodded. She put her good arm behind Kat’s neck as she was picked up. Without thinking, she threaded her hand through the hair at Kat’s neck. She ran her fingers through the silky strands, lightly caressing the back of Kat’s head and neck. Jake heard Kat’s sharp intake of breath at the intimate touch and felt her stiffen slightly in surprise, but only for a moment.

Kat’s mind was entirely on how fast her heart seemed to beat whenever she got close to Jake--it hammered now in her chest--when she felt the delicious touch of Jake’s hand on her neck. She froze in place, halfway to the bedroom door. A soft groan escaped her lips as she relaxed into the caress. After a moment, Kat turned her head slowly toward Jake’s, not wishing to break the caress but needing to look into Jake’s eyes.

They were shining at her, pulling her in. She closed the inches between them and kissed Jake, softly at first, then deepening the contact, her tongue seeking Jake’s.

Jake’s lips parted and her tongue met Kat’s. She moaned, a soft, brief hum more felt than heard. Her hand behind Kat’s neck tightened its hold, pulling them even closer together.

A rush of heat enveloped Kat as the kiss grew more and more passionate, making her suddenly wobbly on her feet. She pulled away enough to take a deep, unsteady breath.

Jake sighed in disappointment at the separation. Her eyes were half closed. She licked her lips.

Neither could speak.

Kat faced forward on rubbery legs and continued toward their destination. Jake’s hand stayed entwined in Kat’s hair, only reluctantly extricating itself when she was set down on the commode.

Soon after, Jake was back in Kat’s arms, and then all too quickly back in bed. Still neither had said a word, but they hadn’t needed to. The kiss was an affirmation of the profound attraction they could no longer deny and a promise of things to come.

*

Once Kat had Jake settled back in bed, she left to don a snowmobile suit and gather the things she’d need for her trip to town: her GPS device, binoculars, flashlight, cash, her small kit of lock-pick tools, and her Glock. She also retrieved her .38, which she carried with her back into the bedroom.

"I want you to have this with you while I’m gone," Kat said, holding out the revolver where Jake could see it. "I don’t expect our two uninvited ’guests’ to go anywhere. They’re restrained, and there is a security door between them and you. But it doesn’t hurt to take every precaution."

She extended the gun grip first for Jake to take it.

"It’s loaded. Six bullets," Kat continued matter-of-factly. "Here’s the safety."

Jake accepted it, but reluctantly. It felt cold and alien, and she once again pondered how she could possibly be the bounty hunter whom Kat had described. She hefted the gun in her hand. It was much heavier than she expected. It gave her a small measure of security, but she hoped she would never have to use it. She nodded toward Kat, who took it from her again and placed it under a pillow. It was out of sight but within easy reach of Jake’s good hand.

Kat impulsively leaned down to kiss Jake on the forehead. "Get some rest. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone."

Jake reached out with her good hand to touch Kat’s forearm as she withdrew. "I’ll know you’re gone."

Kat went to her computer for one last check of the weather radar and forecast. It was still snowing fairly heavily. She headed for the tunnel, stopping to put on her boots and hat. She stuffed her mittens in a pocket. Then she went to the security panel and punched in the code to open the steel door.

*

Kat stepped into the generator room to find both Frank and Otter staring at her. Frank looked like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Otter glared at her with undisguised loathing. "Long time no see, little man," Kat said cheerily to the latter. She couldn’t help it. He was such a worm, she had to taunt him just a little.

A part of Otter remembered how dangerous Hunter was and warned him not to egg her on. But he had waited too long and thought about her too much during those long years in prison not to seize the opportunity to say the things that had been festering inside him. "Fucking bitch," he spat at her. "You fucking owe me." His rage pushed aside any voice of reason that might have tried to intercede.

Kat smiled at Otter. It was a smile that warned him to shut up. But he was too worked up to see it. Frank did, and it made him wish he were anywhere else but chained to the guy who could provoke such a look in this dangerous woman.

"You’re going to pay for leaving me there, Hunter," Otter wailed in fury.

Kat approached the two men, the ferocity of her smile matched by a predatory look in her eyes. Frank thought she resembled a panther stalking its prey.

She kneeled on the floor next to Otter. Leaned down and cocked her head so she could be face-to-face with him. Her eyes bored into his. But she said not a word. Daring him to say anything else. Finally he saw and understood the threat, and he knew his next words could decide whether he lived or died. He remained silent and looked away, his concession evident.

Kat leaned into him so she could speak directly into his ear. "I understand your anger, little man," she said in a voice full of menace. "But I’ve no more patience for you. We’re even now. Don’t tip the scales again and make me kill you."

She stood and looked down at Otter for several long moments--an open challenge for him to say or do something he’d regret. But he had learned his lesson, for the moment anyway. He stayed quiet and unmoving, keeping his eyes downward.

Kat glanced at Frank, who’d been watching her interaction with Otter with a look of growing trepidation. In the mood she was in, he really wanted her to forget he was even there. So he was stunned when the cruelty in her face suddenly melted away and she asked in an almost friendly tone, "Anything I can get you, Frank?"

He couldn’t believe the change in her. The rapid transformation was startling. As much as he wanted to get away from Otter’s stench, he wanted even more to be Mr. Agreeable to this unpredictable woman. He wanted her to have no reason whatsoever to look at him like she had at Otter. "No, I’m okay."

"Good boy. I knew we’d get along just fine. Be patient. And remember what I said," she added, tipping her head toward Otter.

Frank nodded.

Kat punched in the security code to open the main entrance. She started up her snowmobile, let it warm up a little, and took it outside, where she left it idling. She pulled Otter’s snowmobile into the generator room and parked it where hers had been, pocketing the keys. She searched the vehicle and removed the tool kit and Otter’s cell phone, which she examined a minute or two before she slipped it into her pocket. Then she checked the spare gas cans on the two rental machines and took the one that had been on Frank’s. Still ignoring the two men, she left, shutting the panel behind her.

Otter rolled over to face Frank as soon as the door closed. They could hear the muffled roar of Hunter’s snowmobile as she sped away from the bunker. "Okay. Whaddaya say we figure out a way to get out of here, huh?"

Chapter Thirty-One

Evan Garner stared at himself in the mirror of the little bathroom attached to his office. He frowned at the dark circles under his eyes and splashed some cold water on his face. He looked haggard. His once impeccably pressed suit was wrinkled, and his usually clean-shaven face was marred by a shadow of stubble.

Garner couldn’t live like this much longer, cooped up in these few rooms. He’d been barking at everyone within range until he was hoarse from hollering. He took a long swallow of water, considering his next move. Something had to break soon. This infernal waiting was driving him nuts.

He returned to his office and summoned Thomas. The bodyguard responded within a minute, appearing in the doorway looking none too fresh himself.

"Anything?" was all Garner said, moving to look out the wall of windows, his back to his aide.

"No, sir. None of them has called in. We do have two signals coming from the area. Scout’s, which still hasn’t moved from the wreck site, and another one we believe is Otter’s. It’s in the same general area, but it’s still on the move."

"If Otter’s all right, then why the hell hasn’t he called in?"

"Well, sir, you remember Frank had trouble with his cell phone up there. He couldn’t get a signal most of the time," the bodyguard replied.

Garner doubted that was all there was to it. "Send someone up there to track down the second signal and find out what the hell is going on with Otter." He went to his desk, dropping into the plush chair with a yawn. "And I suppose we still have no more takers on the contract?"

"No, sir," Thomas confirmed. He didn’t add that he didn’t think there would be any more, either. Word had gotten around pretty fast for such a secretive organization. The news that the three people who’d gone after Hunter were now all missing was being whispered in ever-expanding circles.

Garner sighed. "Up the contract to a million and a half, Thomas," he instructed. Much of the reward would come from his own personal funds, but he didn’t hesitate committing the money. He just wanted to get rid of Hunter so he could begin living out in the open again.

"Whatever you say, boss," Thomas said, knowing that it would probably make little difference.

*

Jake lay awake in the dark long after Kat had gone. Her mind was working too hard for her to sleep, despite her injuries and exhaustion. How can I be a bounty hunter? her brain repeated over and over. It seemed so contrary to the inherent image she had of herself.

How many people have I killed? How could I forget that? Jake concentrated, trying to remember firing a gun, stealing a car. She couldn’t. She reached beneath the pillow to put her hand around the cold metal of the gun. It sparked no memory. It still seemed a foreign object to her.

Jake seemed to have many more reasons not to remember her past than she did to recall it. If she had taken lives, she didn’t want to have those memories haunt her the rest of her days. How could I have lived without a conscience? I seem to have one now. I don’t think I could kill anyone except maybe in self-defense. Or to save Kat. I think I would kill to do that.

Even if you did do all that, things can be different now. You can be whoever you want to be, can’t you? Isn’t that what this amnesia does? Gives you a second chance? More and more, Jake wanted never to regain her memory. The only thing pulling her emotions in the other direction was the memory she had of her brother. She did want to remember him.

Jake didn’t want to remember her spouse, if indeed she had one. She wanted to believe that she had used the wedding ring as a decoy, as Kat had suggested. Then why the engraving? her conscience nagged. You wouldn’t go to all that trouble for a prop. Unless maybe you bought it in a pawn shop?

She suddenly wanted to take off the ring, but her left hand was too swollen.

Jake thought of Kat and the incredible kiss they’d shared. She began to relax and her mind drifted to what the future might be like. She could do anything she wanted, couldn’t she? She knew that what she wanted most of all was just to be with Kat.

Kat seemed to want that, too. But she hadn’t said what all that meant in terms of her own future job plans. Will Kat continue to hunt down and kill people? Jake wondered. And how will I feel about that if she does?

*

Kat’s trip to Tawa in the hour before dawn was uneventful. Despite the rough terrain, she knew an indirect route that bypassed the worst of the hazards. She had taken it often enough that navigating it was no real problem even in the reduced visibility of the blowing snow around her. She was grateful for the conditions. Her track would be obscured within several minutes.

An added advantage of this particular route was that it took her well away from the site of Jake’s car wreck some three miles from the bunker. She believed Frank was telling the truth when he said that was the last place he’d been able to report in by cell phone to Garner. So that was probably as close as her old boss could get in pinpointing the position of her hideout.

She intended to make it even tougher for him to find her. She took a wide detour around the perimeter of Tawa into a wetlands reserve well south of town. She parked the snowmobile and set out a short distance on foot over a frozen bog.

In no time she found what she was looking for amid the dead and dying trees that pervaded the swamp. Woodpeckers had drilled dozens of good-sized holes in a large dead oak. She put Otter’s cell phone into one of the hollowed-out cavities, so that the homing device she’d found inside it would be protected from the worst of the elements.

She knew that Garner probably would not give up. Once he committed to something, he stuck with it. He would keep sending people after her, hoping one of them got lucky. He wouldn’t care how many died trying.

Thanks to the heavy snowfall and having this cell phone as an extra bit of diversion, she and Jake were probably safe for now. But the bunker had gotten too hot, and keeping Frank and Otter captive there was inviting disaster. They’d have to move soon. As soon as Jake was able. And somewhere down the line, she’d have to deal with Garner personally.

As she walked back to the snowmobile, Kat began to consider the logistics of where she and Jake should go when they left the bunker. She frowned, thinking of the rough terrain Jake would have to be transported over in order to reach the nearest cleared road. Kat added one more stop to her mental list of places she needed to visit while in Tawa.

She’d hit the small clinic before it opened. Then the grocery, and on the way back out of town, the little airstrip where Sam kept his helicopter. She’d get him to pick her and Jake up in a few days near the bunker. She would give him a GPS position as a rendezvous point. She’d drop Sam off back at the airstrip and helicopter Jake to their next destination.

So the next big decision, then, is just exactly where is that destination to be?

*

Kat was in and out of the clinic in four minutes, two hours before it was to open. It was a typical small-town med station set up to treat routine injuries and complaints. It had simple locks and no alarm system. And she had scoped out the layout of the place and the location of the drug cabinet several months earlier when she was there on a legitimate visit.

It was something she always did--studied the details of the world around her. The architecture of buildings, the layout of the rooms inside, the routines of guards and workmen, the hours of operation. It was mostly habit and exercise for her keen instincts and curious, analytical mind. And you just never knew when such information might come in handy.

She’d had to break into more than a couple of clinics and hospitals to get supplies to self-treat her wounds. So she’d memorized the Tawa clinic when she’d gone in for a shot after having an unexpectedly severe allergic reaction to multiple wasp stings.

Next stop was the grocery store, which had just opened. There were a few cars in the newly plowed parking lot out front, but they belonged mostly to employees.

Kat grabbed a cart and began wending her way through the aisles. She replaced the lost staples and stopped in frozen foods for a stack of TV dinners for Frank and Otter, thankful it was well below freezing outside. She also selected several items so she could whip up more elaborate fare for herself and Jake. She rather liked exercising her culinary talents for such an appreciative audience.

Kat’s mind flashed back unbidden to the seductive look in Jake’s eyes just before they’d kissed. It made her hurry her steps through the store to the checkout. She spent a few minutes securing her unwieldy load of groceries onto the snowmobile, then started up the machine and drove north out of town toward the isolated airstrip.

A pair of eyes followed Kat’s every movement from the time she left the store until her snowmobile was out of sight. Several minutes later, a second snowmobile emerged from behind the grocery’s Dumpster and began following the track of the first.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Kat slowed the snowmobile to a stop twenty feet in front of the helicopter office. The sight of the familiar yellow crime scene tape sent all of her senses on high alert, but she doubted anyone was in the immediate vicinity at the moment. There were no cars, no tracks in the snow, and the place was dark inside.

She could see the helicopter still parked in its usual spot, and that was enough to propel her forward toward the office. She pulled her flashlight from her insulated suit as she approached the door, noticing immediately that the police seal that had been placed across it had already been broken. She picked the lock and went in, shining the light around the waiting area. Then she went to Sam’s office.

The bright halogen beam picked out the fading chalk outline of a body on the floor, and Kat frowned with disappointment. She’d liked the pilot, despite his incessant need to hit on her whenever they did business together. Sam had a certain charm, and he’d been an invaluable help in ferrying supplies to the bunker.

Otter did this, Kat concluded as she studied the large bloodstain on the floor where Sam had died. Otter was looking for me and figured I might be using a helicopter up here. Her anger resurfaced at the pilot’s needless death because of his association to her. She might have to reconsider her decision to let Otter live.

She rifled through the contents of the desk and scanned the office and waiting area, looking for the key to the helicopter, but came up empty. Next she searched the chopper. Still no key. She was frustrated she’d have to come up with a new plan to evacuate Jake. Airlifting her out of the bunker had seemed the perfect solution.

Kat returned to her snowmobile. It was still snowing. Her tracks from town had been nearly covered during her time inside the office. The wind had died down, however, so visibility was good. She’d take a more roundabout way back to the bunker. It would take longer, but there were vast open places along that route, and high vantage points that would enable her to tell if she was being followed.

She started up the machine and pulled out her GPS device for a quick reading. She roared off to the northwest at a fast clip.

She was watched through a pair of high-powered binoculars. But instead of following her this time, the second snowmobile started off in the opposite direction, back toward town.

*

It took Kat four hours to make the trip to town and back, much longer than she’d expected because of the extra stop at the airstrip and the long, circuitous return route she’d taken to avoid a tail. She had spent a full half hour at one point parked on a high ridge, snacking on cheese and crackers while she scanned with binoculars the open area she’d just traveled through. She waited there until she could no longer make out her snowmobile track. Only then did she resume her journey back to the bunker.

She left her snowmobile idling outside the main entrance while she opened the hidden door. She glanced at Frank and Otter. They were as far apart as they could be given the short chain between them, but they remained bound and subdued in the corner.

"Hi, boys," she called out, projecting her voice over the sound of the snowmobile’s rumbling. "Being good, are we? That’s nice."

She pulled the snowmobile into the generator room, inching it as close to the two rental machines as she could. It was still well out of reach of her captives. She shut off the engine and closed the outside door, then opened the one to the tunnel.

She carried the groceries into the kitchen, having to make a couple of trips. Once the snowmobile was unloaded, she paused before the two men.

"I’ll be back in a little while to take care of you," she said in a rather ominous tone that made both men wonder exactly what she meant.

*

Otter tried to sit up. He looked at Frank. "Still think she’s going to let you go?" he asked with a sneer. In the hours that Hunter had been gone, Otter had struggled against the handcuffs until his wrists were raw and had memorized every inch of the room they were in, still seeing no way to escape. His frustration was boiling over. He absolutely hated being confined again after all those years in prison. And he still felt ready to puke from the stink that seemed to pervade the entire room. Frank had been no help whatsoever. He’d hardly said a word the whole time, and he didn’t seem to be working at all to free himself. Just great. I get captured with a guy who looks like the Incredible Hulk, and he turns out to be a chickenshit.

But Frank surprised him. He leaned into Otter until their faces were nearly nose to nose. "I’d watch your tone, friend," Frank said unpleasantly, as if he’d read Otter’s mind. "Seeing as how I don’t think she would mind if I kicked your ass."

Otter looked away and scooted to the full length of the chain that connected them. Real smart, he berated himself. He considered how he could make amends with the guy who might be his only help out of here.

*

Kat looked in on Jake after she had put the groceries away and was pleased to find her sleeping soundly. She changed out of her coveralls but kept her gun with her, tucking it into the back of her jeans.

She e-mailed Kenny, asking whether he had any more news about the contract on her life. She also wanted him to find out what he could about the murder at the Tawa airstrip.

She outlined what she knew about Sam, the pilot, but omitted her suspicions of Otter’s involvement. She waited by the computer for a few minutes, but when no immediate answer arrived, she concluded Kenny must be away from his computer and logged off.

She spent a good hour cleaning up the mess in the pantry, salvaging what she could. By the time she was finished, she had decided to be merciful to Frank, if not to Otter, and let Otter change his clothes. It really was pretty inhuman, she decided, to force anyone to be subjected to that awful aroma in a confined space. She’d scrubbed the floor of the pantry repeatedly, but she could still smell it in the living room even with the door closed.

She took the insulated coveralls that Jake had been wearing, along with thick socks and a set of sweats, out to the generator room. She tossed them on the floor beside Otter.

As she reached down to unlock his handcuffs, Kat put her mouth near his ear. "I don’t have to remind you not to try anything stupid, now do I?" she crooned, as she turned the key and freed his wrists. She stepped away from him and casually reached for her Glock, holding it loosely in her right hand as she watched him rub his sore wrists.

Otter said nothing. He expected her to kill him, so he couldn’t understand what the change of clothes was for.

She gestured to the sweats with her gun. "Frank’s been a good boy. He shouldn’t have to pay for your clumsiness," Kat said. "Change clothes."

While Otter was happy to get out of his stinking suit, he didn’t like taking orders from Hunter, and he didn’t particularly relish having to strip in front of her at gunpoint. But he complied, peeling off his insulated outerwear and the layer beneath it until he was left standing in his ratty briefs. He reached for the clothes on the floor, but her voice stopped him.

"Everything goes. Everything stinks."

Reluctantly, Otter removed his damp underwear, trying unsuccessfully to cover himself with one hand. It was bitter cold in the room. He glanced down, then at her.

She had a smirk on her face.

Otter fought against his rising anger, focusing on getting out of his Jockeys and into the clean clothes. Once that was accomplished, he looked at her again. She motioned with the gun for him to turn around, and he did, putting his back to her and offering his wrists behind him to be handcuffed again.

As she locked the cuffs, she noticed the raw abrasions that were evidence of Otter’s struggles to free himself. She chained him to Frank and checked Frank’s handcuffs closely. He hadn’t tried to escape. She leaned over and whispered into Frank’s ear. "Nice to see you’re being smart. You’ll be pleased with your reward," she promised.

Kat opened the exterior door and carried Otter’s stinky clothes outside, disposing of them a short distance away under a large downed tree where they couldn’t be seen. By the time she returned to the generator room and closed the panel again, the small room had been sufficiently aired out, but the temperature inside had fallen dramatically.

She returned to the tunnel and gathered up the coats that she had wrapped around Jake. She set them on the floor beside Otter so he would have some insulation against the cold concrete.

He eyed her suspiciously but took advantage of her apparent kindness, rolling onto the coats.

After he did, Kat leaned over him and looked directly into his eyes. "I’ve been meaning to ask you, Otter," she said, studying his face. "You didn’t make a little stop at the helicopter office in town, did you?" She knew immediately from his expression that he’d done precisely that.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Why did you kill him, Otter?" Kat inquired evenly, not missing a beat. She watched the expression on Otter’s face turn from surprise to confusion in rapid succession.

"I didn’t kill him," Otter said, meeting her eyes. "He was dead long before I got there. I thought you did it. Cops are looking for a woman."

He said it so quickly, and with such assurance, she was pretty sure he was telling the truth.

"Maybe it was the blonde," Frank offered helpfully. "You know, that Scout chick."

Kat turned to look at Frank. She tried to keep her face expressionless, but he thought he’d detected a hint of surprise at his suggestion, as if she hadn’t considered that possibility before.

"Perhaps," she acknowledged. She gave him a small nod and a half smile that acknowledged his attempt at cooperation.

She rose and turned to leave. She looked back at Frank before she closed the door. "Dinner will be in a just a little while," she said, ignoring Otter.

After she had gone, Otter turned to look at Frank. "What the hell happened to Scout, anyway?" he asked.

Frank debated not answering. But he’d been curious about the same thing himself. "Dead is what I think. Hunter wanted to know everything I knew about her, like she couldn’t ask her herself." He paused, remembering. "At first I thought I was following Scout’s track from the crash site--that somehow she’d made it here and then Hunter caught her. But now I think maybe Hunter caused the car to crash and she brought Scout back here."

"That doesn’t fit," Otter said. "Hunter wouldn’t have left such a clear track between the road and this place."

Frank shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe it was snowing and she thought the tracks would be covered up by the time anyone found the car. Or maybe she was in a hurry to get Scout here while she was still alive, to find out what she knew," he speculated, "but she died before Hunter got a chance to question her."

Otter pictured the hatch that had been left open--the hatch he had used to gain access to the bunker--and another scenario occurred to him. "I don’t think Scout was that badly hurt in the crash," he told Frank. "I got inside through another entrance that had been left standing open. I think Scout used it to escape, and Hunter went after her."

Otter thought back to the short glimpse he’d gotten of Hunter in the TV monitor, just after he’d gotten into the bunker. "I saw Hunter on one of her surveillance cameras bringing Scout’s body back here. She brought it through a door just like this." He nodded toward the main entrance beside them.

"It was this door, I bet," Frank said. "She brought something in she didn’t want me to see. Made me turn my face to the wall."

"But if she killed Scout when she tried to escape," Otter wondered, "why bring the body back here? Why not just leave it out in the snow?"

That didn’t make sense to Frank either. "Are you sure Scout was dead when you saw them? Maybe she’s still alive and Hunter’s got her in there somewhere."

The thought gave Otter a chill. What the hell was Hunter planning to do with all of them?

*

Kat returned to her computer to see whether she’d gotten any response from Kenny. His e-mail was waiting for her.

Good to hear from you. I was getting a little worried. The contract on you is up to a million and a half. I’m pretty sure Garner is behind it. There are rumors three people who went after you all are missing. (You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?) I don’t know if that includes Otter and the woman. The woman is going by the name of Scout. Can’t pin down anything else on her. Let me know if you want me to keep looking. The helicopter pilot you asked me about had his throat cut a few days ago. No suspects, but police are looking for a woman client he was supposed to have met.

She e-mailed her thanks, saying she’d be in touch, and logged off. So Otter was telling the truth.

Kat could not picture Jake cutting Sam’s throat. She didn’t want to. But she knew that was probably what had happened. She felt none of the fury over Sam’s death that she had initially, when she thought Otter had done it. It was no less brutal a murder, and Kat still regretted that Sam probably had died because of his association to her. But Jake meant too much to her now, and the woman had no memory of killing anyone.

It had been hard enough for Kat to bring herself to tell Jake the truth about Jake’s past as a bounty hunter. She would spare her the vivid, violent details of what had apparently been one of her last acts before her amnesia. Kat wondered whether Jake had been fleeing the murder scene when her car had crashed. It kind of made sense. The airstrip was on the same lonely road where the wreck occurred.

It really didn’t matter now. She knew what she had to do. The police were looking for Jake. That had to be considered in any plan to get them both to another destination. Kat didn’t want to move Jake far if she didn’t have to, but she had to at least get into another law-enforcement jurisdiction.

Kat was lost in thought, staring at the blank computer screen, when she heard a muffled cry through the closed bedroom door.

*

Jake thrashed around violently in the bed, crying out "No! No!" in a voice filled with anguish.

Kat flung open the door so hard it slammed against the wall. She was at the bedside in an instant, fumbling for the light. She put her hands on Jake’s arms and shoulders to pin her to the bed, to keep her from hurting herself further.

Gripped in her nightmare, Jake was feeling no pain from her injuries. "Let me go!" she screamed, struggling against the restraining hold Kat had on her.

"Jake, it’s me," Kat said, trying to awaken her, but maintaining her firm grip. "Everything is okay, you’re safe. It’s Kat." She rambled reassurances until Jake finally did calm and opened her eyes.

"Kat?" Jake asked. The nightmare was already fading.

"I’m here." She took her weight off her hands, releasing her hold of Jake. But one hand remained on Jake’s shoulder, lightly caressing it.

"Blood," Jake said in a strained voice. "There was a lot of blood." Mercifully, the details of the dream had already evaporated. All that remained was a large splotch of red in Jake’s mind. She was still breathing fast, but the sense of panic was past.

Kat leaned over Jake and gently embraced her, pressing her lips against Jake’s forehead, which was damp with sweat. "You’re all right now, it was just a dream," she whispered.

"Was it?" Jake wondered aloud. "Or are my nightmares memories of things I’ve done?"

Chapter Thirty-Four

Kat held Jake in her arms, absently stroking her fair hair, until she finally relaxed and her rapid heart rate slowed to normal. But Kat could offer few words of reassurance. She knew of no way to avoid the subconscious hauntings of one’s misdeeds.

"I’m okay now," Jake sighed, pressing her face into the warm flesh of Kat’s neck. Kat’s comforting embrace had chased away the terrible vision.

Kat released her and pulled back enough to look into Jake’s eyes. "What can I do?"

"You’ve already done it," Jake answered. "Kind of hard to remember nightmares when such an irresistible distraction is so close."

Kat colored a little at the unexpected compliment. "Been kind of hard for me to keep my mind on anything but you lately, too," she admitted.

"So you made it to town?" Jake asked. "What happens now?"

"Well, first I’m going to get you patched up with some stuff I picked up at the clinic." Kat took two vials out of her pocket and shook a pill out of each. "I want you to take these. This is Cipro. It’s an antibiotic. Your knee might have an infection. And this is Darvon, a painkiller. I’m going to have to reset that arm in a while, and it’s going to hurt when I do. That’ll help." She poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table and handed it to Jake with the pills.

As Jake swallowed them, Kat examined her injured arm. "The swelling’s gone down quite a bit. I’ll be able to reset it in just a little while. You’ll get a proper cast this time."

"So you’ve had medical training too?"

Kat nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

"Well, I’m lucky you’re so multitalented," Jake said. "Speaking of which, will you play your cello again for me soon?"

"If you like," Kat responded. There wasn’t much, she realized, she wouldn’t do if Jake asked her to. That’s a switch. "But how about I practice my cooking skills first. Hungry?"

"I could eat," Jake admitted.

Kat couldn’t hide her smile. "Okay, I’ll whip us up something and be right back." She started to turn to leave, but Jake reached out her hand and stopped her.

"Uh, Kat? I need another pit stop pretty soon," she said.

Kat nodded and immediately picked Jake up and cradled her in her arms in what was now getting to be a rather familiar position. They looked at each other, remembering what had happened the last time they were like this, and both smiled shyly.

Jake couldn’t resist. She threaded her fingers into Kat’s hair again and caressed the back of her neck as before as she grinned at Kat and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Kat laughed and charged off deliberately toward the bathroom. "You’ll never get fed if you keep that up."

"Aw, shucks." Jake snapped her fingers in disappointment.

Kat was still chuckling as she left the bathroom and shut the door. She leaned her back against it and closed her eyes. She couldn’t stop grinning. She had never felt so comfortable with anyone while at the same time so unbelievably nervous and excited. It was an odd mix.

And she was just a little terrified at the prospect of letting her barriers down to be close to someone. She didn’t know how. I’m no good with words. Not these kind of words.

"Okay, Kat. I’m ready."

Kat’s hand was already on the doorknob. She had the door open almost before Jake stopped speaking.

Jake jumped a little at Kat’s instantaneous response. "My, you’re eager to please," she teased.

Kat’s cheeks reddened, but she was still smiling as she took Jake in her arms and lifted her.

Kat did it so effortlessly that Jake could not help but run her hand over the taut muscles in Kat’s upper back and shoulders as she was carried to the bedroom.

Kat bit back a whimper at the soft caress.

"Thank you," Jake breathed playfully in Kat’s ear, just before they reached the bed.

Kat turned to look at her.

Jake had her eyes closed and lips pursed, ready to be kissed.

Kat chuckled. "You’re dangerous," she said, setting Jake down gently on the bed.

Jake shrugged, and they shared another laugh.

"Well, I’m off to the kitchen," Kat said. "After you eat something, would you like to clean up? It will be a lot harder to take a shower once I’ve put your cast on."

"I would. My hair can really use it," Jake said, running her hand through her disheveled locks. She looked chagrined. "And I’ve probably started to ripen a little, haven’t I?"

Kat smiled. "No," she reassured Jake. "Not that I’ve noticed. But I thought it might make you feel better, and it would just be easiest if we do it soon."

"Well, thanks. That’d be great," Jake said. "Now what’s for breakfast? Or is it time for lunch?"

"It’s whatever time your stomach tells you. Which will it be?"

"Doesn’t really matter, I guess. Anything at all is fine."

Kat turned to go.

"Anything fast," Jake amended in a loud voice just as Kat disappeared through the doorway. "And I am pretty hungry!"

Jake settled back into the pillows and closed her eyes. She relished the easy camaraderie that was developing between them. If she’d ever felt like this before about someone, she certainly didn’t remember it. She didn’t believe it was possible. It was as though destiny had brought her here, wiping her violent past from her memory and delivering her to the woman who would complete her.

Despite her playful teasing, Jake was uncertain how to proceed. She knew one thing, though, for sure. She trusted Kat. The woman had saved her life heroically, not once, but twice--despite the fact she believed Jake had set out to kill her. Her actions spoke volumes about her true nature, and her heart.

But although Jake was anxious to get closer to Kat, she was incredibly nervous about it too. In a way, she was a tiny bit glad that her injuries would necessitate a delay in any real intimacy. She didn’t want things to happen too quickly. It was too much fun savoring it as it happened.

*

Kat whipped up some potato pancakes for her and Jake. She relished having fresh ingredients again. She sautéed some apples to go with them and fried up thick slabs of bacon. She plopped a large dollop of sour cream on each of two plates, then filled both with the brunch ingredients. She set the plates on the serving tray, along with two mugs of coffee.

Kat needed the caffeine. She’d started to yawn midway through the cooking process and was finding it hard to stop. She didn’t want to calculate how sleep deprived she was. She knew she needed at least a short nap pretty soon.

Kat carried the tray into the bedroom to find Jake waiting expectantly for her. As she approached the bed, Jake strained to see what was on the plates, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. Her eyes widened in pleasure when she spotted the full plates, and she wasted no time snatching up a fork when the tray was placed in front of her.

Kat grabbed her own plate dramatically off the tray, as if afraid Jake would devour that too. Jake played along, stabbing out toward Kat’s plate with her fork as it was being pulled out of her reach.

"Can’t help it if I like your cooking," Jake grumbled good-naturedly.

The two were mostly quiet as they ate, stealing occasional looks at each other as they both attacked the food with hearty appetites. Jake’s plate was nearly empty when she suddenly stopped her single-minded assault of its contents and set her fork down. She looked up at Kat. "Uh, Kat?"

Kat met her gaze. "What is it?"

"Well, I-I was wondering how you thought we might manage a shower for me. I mean, I don’t think I can stand on my own very long," Jake stammered. The prospect of having Kat help her in the shower sent a flush of heat to her face. She didn’t think she was quite ready for that much exposure. Not with their sexual chemistry crackling like a bonfire.

Kat had already considered that. "I have a big plastic tub you can sit on in the shower," she said. "I’ll be close by if you need help, but you’ll be able to reach everything you need." A grin found her lips. "I think if you can make it out of the bunker and halfway to Canada," she said, rolling her eyes, "you can manage this mighty challenge."

Jake laughed. "Great. It’ll be nice to be clean again."

An hour later, Jake was clad in a pair of green flannel pajamas that were much too large for her, but toasty warm. The painkiller had kicked in, helping her endure her efforts in the shower and making her drowsy again. She was propped up in bed watching Kat put a cast on her arm.

It covered half of her palm and ended at her elbow. She couldn’t remember ever having a cast before and wondered if this was the first time she’d ever broken anything. Kat had checked her ribs before she’d undressed for the shower, and they seemed to be much better. She hardly felt them now. Her knee was still swollen and she couldn’t really put her weight on it, but it wasn’t hurting as much since she’d taken the pills.

Kat finished and began toweling off her hands.

Jake flexed her arm, testing the cast. It was more comfortable and solid than the splint had been. She wiggled her fingers. The swelling was nearly gone. She tried again to take the wedding ring off. It moved but wouldn’t quite go over her knuckle.

Kat noticed her efforts. "I really should have taken that off you when I first brought you in," she said. "It’s something hospitals do routinely when there’s swelling. But I didn’t notice it at first, and then it just somehow seemed--well, like you should be the one to do it, I guess. But it’s bad for your circulation to keep it on. Let me help."

She walked to the bathroom and returned with a small tube of hand cream. She slathered Jake’s finger with it, and the ring slid off. Kat set it on the bedside table.

"Thanks," Jake said, staring at her finger. At the deep impression where the ring had been. Like she’d worn it for a very long time.

The ring evoked the painfully unresolved question of Jake’s marriage. Jake’s conscience reasserted itself--a nagging guilt that tugged at her despite her desire to be with Kat.

Kat wondered what Jake was thinking but didn’t feel she could ask. She too saw the deep mark the ring had left. You’ve worn that too long for it not to be real. She herself had never worn a prop ring long enough for it to leave behind more than a faint, fleeting mark.

Kat wondered not for the first time what might happen if and when Jake remembered a spouse. I couldn’t bear it now if she left. The thought sent an ache as real as any pain she’d ever felt through her chest. She suddenly needed air. The renewed thought that something might one day surface to come between them was unbearable. It was an enemy she didn’t know how to fight.

"Try to get some rest," she said, adjusting the pillows behind Jake so she could lie flat.

The painkiller was making Jake awfully sleepy, and her mind welcomed the opportunity to stop its guilty tirade over the wedding ring. She lay back and closed her eyes. "Thanks, Kat," she mumbled.

Kat watched her for a few minutes until she was sure Jake was asleep. She leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. Then on the lips, barely touching. "Pleasant dreams," she whispered.

*

Kat stuck two TV dinners in the oven to cook for Frank and Otter and set the timer on the stove. She napped on the couch while they cooked. She’d always had a talent for being able to go long periods without substantial sleep, subsisting on catnaps she grabbed whenever she could. But the short rest didn’t help much this time. She awoke groggy and knew she needed a long chunk of uninterrupted sleep very soon.

She carried the dinners, two paper cups, and a gallon jug of water out to the generator room. Frank was asleep on the sleeping bag, his snores so loud they overpowered the drone of the generator. Otter was lying on the coats, watching her.

She set the food and water down near the two of them. "Still determined to get back at me?" she inquired idly, digging in her pocket for the handcuff keys.

"You shouldn’t have left me there, bitch," he sneered.

"It’s the past, Otter. It’s over and done with. I’d advise you to forget about it and think more about whether you’d like to have a future."

"Like you’re going to let that happen." What the hell was she up to, playing these mind games with him?

"You really should get in a more cooperative frame of mind," Kat said, pulling her gun. "Lie face down now, like a good boy."

He complied, grunting as he rolled onto his stomach.

She stepped around him to unlock Frank’s handcuffs. She nudged the snoring man awake. "Dinnertime, Frank," she said, backing away, keeping her gun trained on both men.

Frank blinked awake to find his wrists were free. He sat up and stretched, looking at Hunter, then his eyes fell on the food.

"Eat up," Kat encouraged.

"What about me?" Otter whined.

"You’ll get your turn."

Frank picked up one of the Salisbury steak dinners and began eating. Kat had bought a package of plastic utensils at the grocery to feed the men with. Frank’s flimsy fork broke midway through his meal. He stared at it just a moment before tossing it aside and reaching for the one in Otter’s.

Otter glared at him but didn’t object.

When Frank was done, Kat opened the door to the outside and motioned him through it. "Five minutes to stretch your legs and do anything else you need to do," she said, keeping the gun trained on him.

They stepped through the door into the chill air, and she closed it again to try to retain as much heat as possible in the generator room.

The snow was still falling. Kat was relieved to see that no trace of her snowmobile track remained. It was only midafternoon, but the thick cloud layer obscured the sun and made it seem later than it was. She breathed deeply of the crisp cold air, idly watching Frank turn his back to her so he could piss without her seeing.

Frank took his full five minutes, working the kinks out of his stiff muscles. He said nothing to her until his time was almost up. "Are you really going to let me go?"

She met his eyes. "Yes. You have my word. If you continue to do as you’re told. Don’t let Otter talk you into something you’ll regret." She opened the door and waved him through it ahead of her, then shut it again.

"Lie face down, Frank. Hands behind you." She locked his handcuffs behind him again and secured him to the wall. Then she stepped over to Otter and unlocked one of his cuffs, keeping her gun pressed against the back of his neck as she did so. She stepped away, giving him a wide berth.

Otter rubbed his sore wrists as he sat up, watching her. He reached for his dinner, retrieved his fork from Frank’s empty plate, and began eating. The food was stone cold, but he ate in silence, hardly glancing at it. He kept his eyes on Hunter.

When he was done, she let him outside as she had done with Frank, but she kept more distance between them.

Otter looked right at Hunter as he unzipped his coveralls and relieved his too-full bladder in her direction. But his arrogant display failed to provoke a reaction.

Kat watched him with a bored expression.

Otter walked around as much as he dared until his time was up, studying the surrounding area in the light of day. The dense trees around would provide good cover for an escape, but the fresh snow would make it too easy for her to track him.

"Let’s go," Kat said. She punched in the security code and opened the door. Otter trooped ahead of her, watching for an opportunity.

From a short distance away, a pair of eyes followed them through binoculars as the two disappeared inside. The door slid closed.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Kat crashed on the couch after she finished with Otter and Frank and got six full hours of uninterrupted sleep. She awoke with a plan. She looked in on Jake, who was still sleeping, then booted up her computer to message Kenny. It was time to call in a favor. He wouldn’t like it, but she knew he would do it if she asked.

She spelled out what she needed him to do. She gave him the access number to one of her Swiss bank accounts and the GPS coordinates of a small clearing near the bunker. It was a measure of trust she had never afforded anyone, even Kenny, but it was necessary if her plan was to work. It would probably take her friend a couple of days to implement everything she needed him to do, but Jake could use the healing time before they tried to move her.

She sent off the e-mail and waited for his response. She didn’t have to wait long.

Whatever you need. I’ll be in touch

Satisfied, she noted the time--10:00 p.m.--and logged off. If all went according to plan, Jake would be safely ensconced in a new location within seventy-two hours or so, and Kat would be free to deal with Garner.

*

Jake came awake to the feel of Kat’s large hands gently stroking her hair, fingertips caressing her scalp. They traced a slow pattern from her hairline, just above her forehead, back along the top of her head to her neck. The pattern repeated, then again. Kat’s thumb traced the outside of her ear as the caress passed by.

Jake, lying on her side, opened her eyes drowsily and smiled at Kat. She closed them again so the caress would continue. "I can’t imagine a nicer way to wake up," she murmured. She enjoyed the touch immensely. It was sensual yet healing. Relaxing, but undeniably stimulating, too.

Kat chuckled, and Jake’s eyes popped open. The caress halted when their eyes met.

Kat was in the chair, which had been pulled up against the bed near Jake’s head. Her left elbow rested on the edge of Jake’s pillow as her hand paused in its journey through soft blond hair.

"I can think of a nicer way," Kat said. A soft flush of pink colored her cheeks. Her fingertips resumed their slow, gentle tracings.

Jake smiled and reddened a little herself at the image Kat’s admission evoked. Being kissed awake in your arms. That would be nicer than this. She wondered what Kat was imagining. "Care to share? Tell me what would be better than this," she drawled impishly.

Kat’s blush deepened, but she didn’t stop her slow caresses. "Maybe when you’re better, I’ll demonstrate," was all she would volunteer.

"I’ll look forward to that."

"How are you feeling?" Kat put the palm of her hand on Jake’s forehead, testing for a temperature.

Jake stretched. "Not too bad, really. Stiff and sore. The arm feels pretty good, but my knee still hurts when I try to move it much."

"Well, it’s time to take your meds. That’ll help." Kat got Jake into a sitting position and handed her two more pills and a glass of water to take them with.

"Thanks," Jake said, handing back the glass.

Kat moved to set it back on the table without really looking. She studied Jake’s face. The bruising around her friend’s eyes was better, and in her sleep-tousled state in the soft glow of the bedside light, Jake looked incredible to Kat.

As Kat tried to return the glass to the table, she bumped the wedding ring. It bounced with a thin, high ping! on the concrete floor and rolled to the door. Kat retrieved it, and when she went to set it back on the table, she noticed there was an inscription inside. I knew it. It’s real. Her heart sank. She felt it inappropriate for her to read it. But she had to tell Jake it was there.

"There’s an inscription in the ring, Jake," Kat said, holding the gold band out toward the woman.

"I know." Jake took it but set it back on the table, out of the way. "It doesn’t mean anything to me. There’s no clue in it as to who I am."

"You realize," Kat said, "that an inscription--and the fact that it’s left such a deep impression on your finger--mean the ring is most likely real. You probably are married."

"Legally? Maybe. But I don’t feel married." Jake pushed aside her nagging guilt. "I want you, Kat. I want us. That’s the only thing I trust. It’s where I belong."

"Good," Kat answered, the depth of her relief evident in the slight catch in her voice. "Kind of glad to hear that."

Jake hadn’t realized until just that moment how much Kat had needed reassurance. This vulnerable side of Kat made her even more endearing. "Kat, you must already know that. Don’t you?"

"Well, it’s still kind of hard to believe. I mean, what’s happening...between us." Kat smiled at Jake. "Kind of nice to hear it’s mutual."

"Oh, very, very mutual." Jake confirmed, which made Kat blush again.

"You know, you should eat a little something with that medicine," Kat said, to change the subject. She cursed the unfamiliar shy streak that seemed to keep her on the edge of embarrassment whenever she was in close proximity to Jake.

"Whatever you say, Doc. I think I can force myself. What’s on the menu?"

"Something fast, and lots of it!" Kat replied, chuckling, already heading for the door.

*

Kat whipped up a batch of clam linguine and set two more TV dinners--fried chicken this time--in the oven for her prisoners.

Although she protested that she really wasn’t all that hungry, Jake ate all of her portion and nearly half of Kat’s.

Kat was happy to give it up, though she was bewildered as to how Jake could put away the quantity of food she did and still look so incredibly tantalizing. Kat found herself staring at Jake’s neck, wanting to kiss the soft, sensitive spot where she knew she could faintly detect the heartbeat just beneath the skin. She wanted to make Jake’s pulse quicken and feel it when it happened.

She was lost in her daydream when she realized Jake had said something to her. "I’m sorry, what did you say?"

Jake grinned at her. "I said ’thank you, that was delicious.’"

"You’re welcome. Glad you enjoyed it."

"And I said that you had a rather dreamy look in your eyes and I was wondering what you were thinking about."

Kat opened her mouth to answer. Shut it again. Took a deep breath. "One-track mind, I guess."

"Meaning?"

"That I was thinking about this," Kat said, following her impulse and leaning over the bed to kiss Jake softly on the spot she’d been staring at.

Jake inhaled sharply, jolted by the incredible, unexpected sensation. Kat’s lips lightly caressed her neck, the tip of her tongue darting out to taste the delicate flesh. Jake reached up and cupped her hand behind Kat’s head, arching her neck and pressing Kat’s mouth harder against her, encouraging the touch.

As Kat’s oral explorations deepened, Jake’s hand moved of its own accord. It stroked Kat’s neck, shoulders, and back. Jake felt suddenly too warm. Unbelievably aroused. Her injuries were forgotten.

Chapter Thirty-Six

A loud beeping sound brought them both abruptly out of the moment. Jake froze, thinking it was another security alarm.

But Kat just exhaled loudly in exasperation. "Only the stove," she explained. "Dinner for our guests." She pulled away from Jake reluctantly and they looked at each other, their mutual desire evident. She stood. "I’ll take care of that and be back in a little while. Would you like something to read to pass the time?"

"Sure," Jake answered, leaning over to try to better see the books on the shelf under the bedside table. "Whatcha got?"

Kat smiled. "I don’t think those would interest you. What do you like? Mystery? Biography?"

"A mystery sounds good."

Kat nodded and left. When she did, Jake leaned farther over until she nearly toppled out of bed, determined to read the titles of the books Kat thought she would probably not be interested in. "Ah," she said aloud when she finally was able to get a good look at them. The titles were all in Greek.

The beeping stopped, and a minute later Kat reappeared with a paperback in her hand. "Try this. It’s set in Isle Royale National Park, just a bit north of here in Lake Superior."

Jake took the book from her and scanned the cover. A Superior Death, by Nevada Barr. "Thanks," she said, glancing up at Kat. She looked toward the shelf by the bed. "Greek?"

Kat nodded. She took a deep breath and suddenly seemed to withdraw into herself. There was a sad, faraway look in her eyes. "I was born on Cyprus," she said. "I’ve lived here--in the States--most of my life. But I guess Greek is still my first language."

Jake had no idea that she had just learned something that Kat had volunteered only once before. To Evan Garner.

"Do you go back there often?" Jake asked.

Kat wouldn’t look at her, and it was a long moment before she answered.

"No," she finally replied in a soft voice, as if there was more to say but she would not bring herself to say it. Then Kat sighed and seemed to shake off the memories. "Better go feed our two guests. I won’t be long. Anything else I can get you?"

"No, thanks," Jake said, her mind still curious about Kat’s mysterious past. Will I ever know you? Will you tell me what it is you’re remembering that brings you so much pain?

*

Kat took the chicken dinners out to the generator room and went through the cautious routine of feeding her prisoners and letting them outside. Frank first again, then Otter. The sky was still overcast, but the snowfall had diminished to a few scattered flakes.

While she watched them--her gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other--her thoughts strayed back to Cyprus and Kyrenia, the fishing village on the northern shore where she’d grown up. She couldn’t go back there now if she wanted to. Even under an assumed name, it wasn’t safe.

"Koproskilo," she spat, an expletive that literally translated to dog shit but was more the Greek equivalent of bastard. She meant it as a general curse toward all the people who kept her from her home, both past and present. Kyrenia was no longer Greek. Since 1974 it had been part of the so-called Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, a country recognized by no one but Turkey. To the rest of the world it was occupied Cyprus--the northern portion of the country still under military occupation by tens of thousands of Turkish troops. Turkish settlers now lived in her family home, a large estate outside the village.

It had been a glorious place to grow up. Her father’s fame and celebrity paid for servants and parties and vacations in exotic places. She missed the little walled garden where she’d go to read in the late-afternoon Mediterranean sun. And she’d never seen water the same deep blue as that in Kyrenia harbor. Her father used to take her there to watch the fishing boats.

Father, would you forgive me the things I’ve done? You spent your life preaching conciliation, didn’t you? She pictured him the last time she’d seen him--on the television, speaking before the United Nations. The news stations had run that tape a lot when her father and mother were killed just a week after the speech.

Thousands of her neighbors had fled Kyrenia and other villages in the north, abandoning their homes and belongings to become refugees in the south. They were the lucky ones. Her parents stayed to meet the invading Turkish troops.

Her father was convinced that his diplomatic status would protect them. But he and his wife were murdered in their sleep.

Kat was thousands of miles away at the time, spending the summer after her ninth birthday at an exclusive riding camp in Maine. The woods there were a lot like this, she remembered, her eyes taking in the dense stands of pine and mixed hardwoods about her. It was nothing at all like the terrain of her homeland, with its scattering of mountains and vast groves of lemon trees.

A sound jolted her back to the present. Otter peeing a short distance away.

Kat turned and shined the flashlight on the security panel to punch in the numbers that would open the secret door: 2-3-7-3. "Let’s go," she said to Otter.

The address of the old estate, thought the assassin watching them through high-powered binoculars. Sentimental one, aren’t you, Katarzyna?

*

Once Kat had tended to the men, she returned to the living room and went to her desk, glancing automatically at the monitors. One was black. She went into the tunnel to remove the jacket she’d thrown over the camera there when Otter was inside the pantry.

Better, she thought, returning to the desk to see all three monitors now operating normally. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed that earlier. She felt relatively safe now that the snowfall had erased all the tracks. But she told herself she still needed to keep an eye on the monitors, especially with Otter and Frank here and part of the security system deliberately disabled. The keypad locks on the doors were still enabled, but she was going in and out of them so often now that she hadn’t turned the alarm system back on. It had been off since Frank had arrived.

She turned on her computer to see whether there were any updates from Kenny. There were two e-mails from him, both short and sweet. The first read: Transportation anytime after tomorrow 6 pm. Need four hours advance notice of rendezvous. The second said: Money transferred. Pickup 9 a.m.

It was midnight. Kat shut down the computer and stretched, yawning. Despite the sleep she’d gotten, she could stand a few hours more. She headed to the bedroom to check on Jake.

Jake was propped up, her back against the headboard. She was so engrossed in the novel she was reading that she didn’t immediately notice Kat standing in the doorway.

But within just a minute or so, she seemed to feel Kat’s eyes on her. She glanced up and smiled. "Hi. How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," Kat replied, crossing the room to drop into the chair beside the bed. "Enjoying the book?"

Jake bent the corner of a page to mark her spot and set the book on the table. "Very much. How is...everything?"

"If you mean our guests, they’re fine. No trouble." Kat reached out a hand and laid it atop Jake’s, which rested beside her on the fleece blanket. "And I’m working on a plan to get us out of here to a safer place where you can get back to 100 percent."

"As long as I’m with you," Jake said. "Have I thanked you recently for taking such good care of me?" Her thumb gently caressed Kat’s palm.

Both pairs of eyes fell to their joined hands as Kat began to return the light caresses. The touch was electrifying.

Their eyes met, three feet apart.

Then two feet, as they leaned toward each other. Their intentions obvious, both women smiled slightly just before the final distance was closed and their lips met in a kiss that reflected the growing urgency of the attraction between them.

As their tongues met and their heartbeats accelerated, Kat’s hand came up to Jake’s cheek, stroking it softly, then more firmly. She reached around behind Jake’s neck to pull them closer together.

The kiss deepened and Jake’s hand found its way behind Kat’s back, stroking between Kat’s shoulder blades, pulling, urging her even closer.

Kat complied, her lips briefly breaking contact with Jake’s only so that she could move to sit on the bed. They quickly came together again, mouths meeting hungrily, hands caressing in ever widening exploratory paths.

Jake raked her fingernails lightly across Kat’s broad, softly muscled back. Down to her hip, then along the top of her thigh.

Kat’s fingertips trailed along Jake’s side and found their way beneath her sweatshirt, seeking naked flesh. Each touch edged tantalizingly closer to their areas of greatest pleasure.

*

Otter was dreaming he was back in prison when he was awakened by a loud noise, a cold blast of air, and a bright light in his eyes. The light moved away to shine on Frank’s face.

Frank grumbled until he cracked open his eyes, squinting against the harsh glare, and remembered where he was. Then he grew silent.

A velvet-smooth female voice, an octave higher than Kat’s, addressed the men. "Hi, boys," it drawled. "Are we having fun yet?"

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Frank’s mind worked a beat slower than Otter’s. He was still trying to register that this wasn’t Hunter, when Otter asked, "Who are you?"

The flashlight moved back to Otter. "I’ll ask the questions. Where’s Hunter?"

"Through that door," Otter said, nodding in that direction. What a break! "Probably won’t be back for a while," he offered.

The flashlight beam found the steel door and security panel. The woman walked over to it.

Now that the flashlight was out of their eyes, Frank and Otter were able to see the woman clearer in the light provided by the twin bulbs on the generator.

She was short, probably 5’3" or so, but they couldn’t tell much else about her. She was dressed all in black, her head encased in a balaclava. Her body was clad in a one-piece insulated snowsuit that made it hard to judge what her figure might look like under all that padding, but she seemed diminutive.

The two men looked at each other. Otter had a hopeful expression on his face; Frank still seemed in disbelief. Then they looked back at her.

She shined the flashlight all around the room, taking everything in, looking carefully up and down all the walls and in all the corners. "Does she have security cameras?" she asked without looking at them.

"Yeah, there’s one outside that door you just came through," Otter said. The main entrance was still open and it was getting very cold in the generator room, but the woman seemed not to notice or care. "And there’s one on the other side of that door as well," he added, indicating the steel door to the tunnel with another nod of his head.

Otter wasn’t absolutely certain of that, of course; he’d been unconscious when he was brought through that door into this room. But he thought it looked just like the steel door he’d seen when he was inside the tunnel, so he was pretty sure that was all there was to the bunker.

He had the woman’s full attention. She stepped toward him. "What else is on the other side of that door, hmm?"

"A tunnel. It connects this room to the house part. A big room with a bedroom and a bathroom off it. And a pantry," Otter added, flinching slightly as he recalled the whacks his head had taken.

"Alarm system?"

"Don’t think it’s on if there is one," Otter said. "I haven’t heard any alarms." He looked toward Frank for confirmation.

The woman’s eyes followed his, and she too stared at Frank.

Frank shook his head. "Me neither."

"Anything else?" the woman asked.

"There’s another entrance to the place," Otter answered. "It goes up out of the tunnel, up to a hatch."

The woman returned to the security panel.

"Hunter carries a gun. She was wearing it in the back of her jeans," Otter supplied next. "And there may be someone else in there with her."

The woman turned to look at him again.

"You working for Garner?" Otter asked her.

"I ask the questions," she reminded him. "Who’s in there with her?"

"A woman named Scout," Otter said. "Another bounty hunter. We followed her out here. She may be dead, we don’t know. Or she may be in there."

"You say you followed this Scout? Explain that," the woman said.

"Well, her car crashed on a road a few miles from here. We followed some tracks from there to here."

"What kind of car? How did you find it?" she asked.

"It was a dark sedan," Otter replied. "I forget the model. We were following a homing device that was in her cell phone. It led us to the crash site."

The woman turned her attention back to the security panel. "I don’t suppose you’ve managed to see what code she uses to get through this door, have you?"

"No," Otter said. "She’s pretty careful."

The woman continued to examine the keypad. "So what happened to you two?"

Otter didn’t answer for a moment. "I got in the other entrance and was going to ambush her. She cut the lights and I couldn’t see a damn thing in there. She snuck up on me and knocked me out."

The flashlight swung from the security panel toward Frank, seeking his answer.

"She jumped me outside."

The beam returned to study the panel.

"Hey, how about helping us get out of these," Otter asked, rattling his handcuffs and the chain connecting him to Frank. "We can all jump her when she comes back to feed us. Make it fast and easy, split the money." He had no doubt this woman was another bounty hunter out to collect on Garner’s contract. A million split three ways would still be a hell of a payoff.

The woman laughed. No, she cackled. "Make it fast? Easy? Now why in the world would I want to do that?"

The tone in her voice stopped Otter cold. There was something about this woman that wasn’t...quite...right. "You want to do this alone, that’s cool. But how about helping us first? You know--I did you a favor, you do me a favor?"

The woman came over to stand in front of him. She crouched down, her face inches from his. "But I’ve already done you a favor." She smiled. It was a smile absent any warmth at all. A crocodile smile. "I’m letting you live."

She rose from her crouch and went back to the steel door, dismissing any further consideration of the two men in the corner.

*

Jake was long past conscious thought. Her body had taken over, and she had surrendered completely to the incredible sensations that were flooding her senses. Her skin was hypersensitive along the path that Kat’s fingers were tracing. They had slipped beneath the oversized sweatshirt Jake had on and were slowly exploring her stomach and side. Every now and then they would stray to tease the curve of her breast. Jake’s desire swelled until the anticipation was excruciating. Her tongue and lips pressed harder against Kat’s while her hand tugged at Kat’s shirt, pulling it from her jeans.

Kat was lost in her own sensual haze. Every nerve ending was on fire. She had never felt so incredibly aroused. Her previous sexual encounters had not prepared her for this. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears. A rush of blood coursed through her like liquid fire. When Jake’s hand slid beneath her shirt and skimmed lightly across her already erect nipple, she could not suppress a moan of pleasure.

"Well, isn’t this cozy," a high, feminine voice interrupted from the bedroom doorway.

Jake and Kat broke apart to look toward the door. Kat had her back to it. She turned, slowly, until she was facing the intruder. She shifted her weight so that her body would act as a shield between Jake and the new threat.

"Katarzyna Demetrious. At last." A woman dressed all in black held a gun on them. She leaned against the door frame as if she’d been watching them for a while. "I’ve been dreaming about this moment for a long time." She had shoulder-length, curly blond hair, matted down after its long confinement under the balaclava. She was an attractive woman, but with a detached cruelty in her eyes that Kat recognized.

Kat had not heard her full name in so many years it stunned her momentarily into inaction.

"Before we get acquainted," the woman said, taking slow steps toward the bed, "let’s have your gun. Left hand. Very slowly." She kept her 9mm handgun pointed at Kat’s head as she advanced to the end of the bed, keeping well out of Kat’s reach.

Kat’s hand moved slowly behind her and pulled her Glock out of her jeans. She tossed it on the bed near the intruder. The woman picked it up and shoved it into a pocket of her snowsuit.

During the millisecond the woman looked away, Kat’s eyes darted toward the pillow that had concealed her loaded .38. Jake had moved it! She had rearranged the pillows to prop herself up to read. Kat had no idea where the gun was now.

"Good girl," the stranger said. She backed up a few steps to put a little more distance between them. She motioned Kat off the bed with the gun in her hand.

Kat hesitated.

The woman calmly cocked the 9mm.

Kat reluctantly complied, easing off the edge of the bed with a glance back toward Jake.

Jake’s mouth was open, her eyes wide, staring in absolute horror at the woman who held them at gunpoint. She was breathing so fast, she was nearly hyperventilating.

Panic attack, Kat thought, unconsciously moving toward Jake to help her.

"Don’t," the intruder warned, taking a step toward Kat with her arm outstretched at shoulder level. Her eyes focused through the sights on the gun on the center of Kat’s forehead. She moved amazingly fast.

Kat froze.

The woman kept the gun trained on Kat, but she turned her head slightly to really look at Jake for the first time. "My, my. It is a small world, now, isn’t it? You created quite a few problems for me, you know. It’s been a while since I had to hot-wire a car, and I didn’t appreciate losing my rifle. But now you’re here, and I can take care of both of you at once." She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief at her good fortune. "Goody goody. Must be my lucky day."

Kat’s mind worked furiously to try to comprehend what was going on. This woman had gotten in and snuck up on them. Kat had thought that impossible. She is obviously a bit crazy and she knows who I am. And who Jake is, too, evidently. Kat looked at Jake.

Jake still hadn’t moved. She was gripped in a private terror, her eyes glued to the intruder. She had an almost glazed expression on her face.

"She doesn’t seem to be doing real well," the intruder observed, glancing from Jake to Kat and back again. "Missing hubby all of a sudden?"

That finally brought a reaction from Jake, though not one that anyone expected. Frozen one moment, a blur of motion the next, she suddenly had Kat’s .38 in her hand. She pointed it at the intruder.

"You killed him!" she screamed, tears running down her face. The hand holding the gun trembled slightly.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Yes, I did," the intruder confirmed. "While you ran away." She seemed not unduly concerned by the turn of events. She continued to hold her own gun on Kat.

Jake’s hand shook uncontrollably.

"And now you have a new lover," the woman observed, nodding toward Kat. "He must not have been much to mourn over."

Jake looked at Kat. Her look was full of anguish and pain.

Kat wanted to reach out to her, but she remained rooted in place. She held Jake’s gaze, and with a slow, deliberate movement, blinked toward the gun and nodded very slightly. A signal she hoped Jake would understand. She wanted her friend to pull the trigger.

"How about her?" the intruder barked, drawing Jake’s attention. "Will you mourn her? Pretty touching scene I walked in on."

Jake looked back at Kat uncertainly. Her whole upper body shook. She couldn’t keep the gun still.

"Put it down, or she’s dead," the woman warned.

Jake’s head whipped back around to look at the intruder.

The woman had taken another step toward Kat. "Now!" She was only a couple of feet away and couldn’t possibly miss.

Jake lowered the .38 and tossed it toward the end of the bed.

The intruder picked it up, pocketed it, and moved a few feet away again.

"Who are you?" Kat asked, her eyes darting between the woman and Jake, who had collapsed against the pillows.

"Who am I?" the woman repeated, as if she were considering the answer. "Well, I guess that depends on who you ask. I’m using the name Scout at the moment."

The final pieces suddenly fell into place in Kat’s mind. Jake is--was--Sam’s wife. Scout killed him, and Jake saw it happen. But somehow Jake had escaped...in Scout’s stolen car. It explained why Jake had been speeding like a bat out of hell on that lonely road. She was leaving the airstrip.

Kat looked at Jake. Her friend was not the assassin she’d believed her to be all this time. She was an ordinary woman who was ill prepared to deal with this kind of situation. Jake appeared to be in shock. She can’t protect herself.

Kat looked back at the intruder. She still didn’t know how this woman knew her real name, but she was certain of one thing--she was very, very dangerous. Scout had good reasons to kill them both, and she would apparently enjoy doing just that.

"Well, Scout. How about I save you some trouble. I’ll double Garner’s offer if you just leave now," Kat said.

Scout laughed. "Oh, it’s no trouble, Katarzyna. Far from it. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to reminiscing about some of your past...accomplishments." She had a cruel, cold smile on her face. "And now I can also get to know your friend," she added, leering at Jake and licking her lips.

Kat’s blood boiled at the prospect, and she had to fight hard against a sudden urge to throw herself at Scout. The woman was too far away and she’d already demonstrated well-honed reflexes.

Kat had to focus. Wait for the right moment. Push down the rage she felt at the image of Scout harming Jake. Her emotions could make her careless. If she failed, Jake would be defenseless.

Kat looked at Jake again. She was worried about the dazed expression in her eyes. "Jake?" she said, ignoring Scout for the moment in an effort to jar her friend back to reality.

"Jake?" Scout repeated. "Why do you call her Jake? Pet name?"

"It’s Riley," Jake whispered, more to herself than to either of them. "Riley McCann."

"Oh, this is rich," Scout said. "You didn’t tell her your name?" She looked at Kat. "And you didn’t ask?"

"I didn’t know it," Riley said without emotion. Her eyes were clenched shut.

Don’t, Kat wanted to say. Don’t tell her anything. She wanted so much to reach out to her. Riley. That will take a little getting used to.

"You didn’t know it?" Scout snorted, disbelieving. "You didn’t know your name?"

"No. I didn’t remember my name, or anything else until..." Riley’s voice trailed off as her eyes opened and focused on Scout. Her dazed expression seemed to clear.

Kat noticed the change with relief. The shock seemed to be wearing off. She wondered how much Jake--Riley--was remembering.

"Until you saw me? How sweet," Scout purred. She turned to look at Kat. "And how much have you told her, Katarzyna? Does she know about the estate where you grew up? Your famous father? The special academy you got to attend in Virginia?"

Kat tried to mask her shock. How the hell does she know all this? How does she know about the Academy? Her silence seemed to infuriate Scout.

"I bet she doesn’t know about all the people you’ve slaughtered in their sleep!" Scout screamed, her face and voice suddenly conveying all the rage that was pent up inside her.

Kat still didn’t respond.

"On the floor, Katarzyna! Face down, hands behind your back!" She waved the gun at Kat. When Kat didn’t immediately move, Scout aimed the gun toward Riley, and her cruel smile reappeared. She pulled the trigger and the gun went off.

The bullet missed Riley’s head by less than a foot. It slammed into the headboard, splintering it.

Riley flinched when the bullet hit and stared wide-eyed at Scout, who calmly cocked the gun again and took aim at Riley’s head.

Kat dropped to the floor. Her instincts were screaming against it, but she knew Scout’s threat was deadly serious.

Once she was on the floor, Scout approached her and put her gun to Kat’s head while she fished in her coverall pockets for handcuffs. "Don’t test me again," she warned. She put one knee on Kat’s back to pin her to the floor as she fastened the cuffs tightly to Kat’s wrists.

"Who are you?" Kat asked again, her face pressed against the cold concrete floor.

"Justice," Scout replied, just before she brought her gun down hard against the back of Kat’s head, knocking her unconscious.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Kat came awake to the sound of Jake’s voice. Not Jake. Riley, she remembered. Her head throbbed.

"Can you hear me? Kat? Please wake up and talk to me. Kat?" Riley pleaded in a loud whisper.

Kat opened her eyes. To darkness. Not quite total darkness. Her eyes were beginning to adjust. She could just make out a small bit of light around the closed door she lay opposite. It was enough to allow her to discern her friend’s outline. Riley was on the floor several feet away.

They were in the pantry. The smell of the fish sauce had thankfully faded and was now annoying but tolerable.

"Please, Kat. Please wake up and tell me you’re all right. It’s Jake." Riley said.

"Thought your name was Riley," Kat replied in a low whisper.

"Thank God," Riley said. "I wasn’t sure you’d remember. I was kind of hoping you might want to wake up to Jake. Are you all right?"

"My head is killing me." Kat tried to move. Her hands were handcuffed behind her and her feet were tied together. A short length of rope connected her hands and feet. She could tell from the dim light that Riley was similarly hog-tied, though her knees weren’t bent back at such a sharp angle. "Think I’m all right other than that. What about you?"

"She didn’t knock me out," Riley whispered. "Just brought me in here and tied me up. Then dragged you in here. My knee doesn’t like this, but I’ll live. I was worried about you. Your head was bleeding a lot."

"I’ll be all right. How long was I out?"

"About ten minutes."

"Did she say anything?"

"She...well, she tried to screw with my mind," Riley said vaguely. "Unsuccessfully. I was too worried about you to think about much else."

"What did she say to you?" Kat asked, her temper rising.

"She...gloated," Riley said. "Over my husband’s murder." Her voice was full of pain. "Said she might not have had to kill him if I hadn’t interrupted her. Tried to make me feel guilty for running away. Told me she’d...get me back...for all the inconvenience I caused her."

"How much do you remember?" Kat asked.

"Everything. It all came back when I saw her. She killed Sam. My husband. I went to the airstrip. He’s--he was," she amended sadly, "a helicopter pilot." She took a deep breath. "She had a knife to his throat. He was tied up on the floor, like we are now."

Her voice took on a slight tremor, as if it suddenly occurred to her that the same fate might be in store for both of them. "He had cuts all over his body," Riley went on. "His shirt and pants were bloody and he had cuts on his face."

Kat knew how painful this recollection was, but she had to let her continue. She had to learn everything she could about Scout to best prepare for whatever lay ahead.

"He started screaming as soon as he saw me. ’No, Riley! Run!’" Tears spilled down her cheeks. "She killed him as soon as the words were out of his mouth. She...she slit his throat." Her voice was full of anguish. "I didn’t really have time to think. I did what he said. I ran. I took her car. She nearly caught me. She was chasing me, shooting at the car. I took off in the only direction I could. I don’t remember going off the road, but I was really upset."

"How did you end up in her car?" Kat asked. Throughout Riley’s recollections, Kat had been working at her bindings, trying to loosen them, so far without success.

"I parked my truck in back, next to Sam’s. His wasn’t running, and I had told him he could use mine while I was out of town if he’d give me a lift to the airport in Marquette. I was supposed to go to Vancouver that night for a job. When I walked around the building, I noticed the car parked in front. I glanced inside because I didn’t recognize it, and I saw the keys were in it."

There was a long pause. "Sam and I had been separated a long time," Riley explained. "I was gone a lot, and he was always having affairs while I was on the road. It wasn’t a bad breakup--we were still friends. But I guess I was just in the habit of noticing things--like who he was spending time with. Anyway, when I ran out of there, I just headed for that car because it was a lot closer than my truck."

Riley was silent another long moment. "I wonder if Sam might be alive if I’d done something differently. It just all happened so fast."

"Listen," Kat said. "There’s nothing you could have done. This woman is a cold-blooded killer." She tried not to think about the fact that the description she’d just used fit her as well. "Riley, I’m very sorry about your husband." The next confession was hard. "I think he died because of me."

"Because of you?"

"Scout is after me," Kat said. "I knew Sam. Not well. I mean...I never knew he was married. I used his helicopter a lot when I was building the bunker and when I needed to resupply. I think Scout somehow figured out I knew him, and she was trying to get Sam to tell her where I was when you interrupted them."

Riley absorbed that news. "You’re not to blame, Kat," she said finally.

"And neither are you," Kat said. "Scout’s a nutcase. Any idea what she’s doing now?"

"She said she wanted to find out all she could about you," Riley said. "Do you know what that means?"

"Maybe," Kat said. Can Scout find the weapons room? She thought it unlikely. No, but she might be able to hack into the computer if she got into the bunker. She thought about her e-mail correspondence with Kenny. That could be trouble.

"Jake? I mean, Riley, sorry--" Kat began.

"I don’t mind if you call me Jake, you know," Riley said.

"Good, because I might slip now and then," Kat said. "Can you scoot over here closer to me?"

Riley had attempted several times when Kat was unconscious to move toward her. But each time she did, the pain in her knee was so excruciating she nearly blacked out. "I can’t, Kat. I tried to, but my knee is just too--"

"It’s okay. I know you would if you could."

"I’m sorry," Riley said. "I’m sorry I didn’t kill her when I had the chance. I know you wanted me to. I just couldn’t take the chance she’d shoot you."

"It’s all right, Riley," Kat said. "You’re not a killer." There was a catch in her voice and Riley knew why.

"Kat," Riley reassured her, "Nothing’s changed. Yes, I’m Riley, not Jake. A writer, as it turns out, and not a bounty hunter. But I still want to be with you. Just as soon as you get us out of this."

*

Otter was worried. He was so cold he could no longer feel his hands. He’d been flexing them to try to keep the circulation going. He’d even lain on them, hoping to warm them up that way. But it wasn’t working. The little heater was ineffective against the open door. The wind outside had picked up, and frigid air was blowing in. His face was freezing. His cheeks and his nose stung, and his eyes watered.

"We’ve got to get out of here before we freeze to death," he told Frank.

Frank hadn’t spoken in several minutes, but Otter had heard his chattering teeth and knew he was suffering too.

"Hunter is not going to help you, Frank. That woman got her, or Hunter would have come out to check on us."

"If she got Hunter," Frank said, shivering, "then why didn’t she come back out here?"

"Who the hell knows? Maybe she went out through the other exit. Maybe she’s in there torturing Hunter. Maybe they killed each other. Whatever the hell happened, nobody’s gonna come help us. We got to help ourselves."

Frank had never thought he’d find himself hoping that Hunter prevailed, but he did. He hoped she’d get out of whatever was happening in there, because he didn’t think he would survive otherwise. He thought there was no way they could get out of their bonds. But perhaps, he admitted, it’s time to really try. Just to make sure. "Got any ideas?"

*

Scout hunched over Kat’s computer. Trying to find the right password, she typed in several different numerical combinations, every number she knew that had been significant to her long-sought quarry. Phone numbers, addresses, birthdays. Then she tried words. Place names and family names and every false identity she knew that Kat had used.

Scout had been gathering information on Hunter for eight years in preparation for this day. It had been her obsession since she was released from a Belfast jail after serving two months for passing bad checks.

She’d awakened in a cold sweat in her cell that night, gripped in a nightmare she couldn’t remember. The same night that Hunter broke into a remote cottage in Northern Ireland and killed four members of a particularly violent offshoot of the Irish Republican Army. Scout was the absent fifth member of the group. Her brother Ian, among the dead, was its leader.

She’ll remember that day. With a little encouragement, she’ll remember.

The presence of the pilot’s wife makes all this a lot more interesting, Scout thought. Especially since she and Katarzyna undoubtedly have the hots for each other. Scout hadn’t thought it possible that Hunter had a heart. Yet she seemed very selflessly protective of the injured Riley.

Katarzyna had been Scout’s obsession. She knew more about her than anyone alive, and she’d never found evidence that Hunter was intimate with anyone, male or female. So what she’d witnessed changed her game plan a little. She was still working it out in her mind, how she might use the relationship between the two women to her advantage. She’d heard that her adversary had a very high tolerance for pain and could not easily be persuaded to give up information. Perhaps she might be more easily convinced if her friend is the one being tortured.

*

It took Scout another hour to hack into Kat’s computer files. She was patient. While she tried various possibilities, she spared a moment’s thought to the two men. Must be getting pretty cold out there about now. Maybe she’d go shut the door for them after she’d gotten into the computer files. Maybe. First she had to think of a reason they might be useful and worth the effort.

When she finally got into the computer, Scout went to Kat’s e-mail program and read the exchanges between Kenny and Hunter. So Katarzyna does have a friend. Someone she trusts enough to give the access number of her Swiss bank account and the location of this place. She read their entire correspondence. This Kenny was a good source of information as well as a good friend. He had warned Katarzyna about her, as well as someone named Otter.

I bet Otter is one of the guys in the garage, she reasoned. She was very interested to learn that Otter had dealt with Katarzyna before somewhere and knew Kenny. Otter might be worth keeping alive after all. At least until I find out everything he knows.

Scout composed her own e-mail to Kenny, asking him to personally deliver the cash and transportation he was arranging. She told him it was imperative that he speed up the process and get to the bunker as soon as possible. He was to e-mail back when he knew precisely when he’d arrive. She signed it "Hunter" and sent it off. I have to make sure I take care of everyone important to you, Katarzyna. Just like you did for me.

She turned her attention to Kat’s Swiss bank account. She accessed the bank’s online customer service page and set to work arranging an electronic transfer of all remaining funds from the account into her own account in the Cayman Islands.

Chapter Forty

It took Kat fifteen minutes to get across the pantry floor to Riley. Her head pounded from the exertion, and she was soaked in sweat despite her body’s contact with the cold concrete. Trussed up tightly as she was, she could move only by inches. Both women remained quiet while Kat worked so they could listen for Scout’s return. Kat maneuvered herself behind Riley and positioned herself so she could reach her bindings.

"Okay, reach out if you can with your good hand," Kat whispered. It was awkward. Kat had to operate blindly with her hands cuffed behind her, but she flailed around until her fingers finally found Riley’s outstretched hand. "Got you." She grasped it firmly and gave it a brief squeeze before her fingers moved to Riley’s wrists.

Kat was surprised to discover Riley was not handcuffed. Scout had tied Riley up with the same type of nylon rope that she’d used to hog-tie Kat’s feet to her hands. She realized Scout couldn’t handcuff Riley because of the cast. Perhaps that was the break they needed. Kat had excelled in all the courses at the Academy, but she’d actually had fun in the class entitled Breaking Out And Breaking In. She was especially good at picking locks and at tying and untying every possible kind of knot.

She had Riley free in less than ten minutes. As soon as she could straighten her leg again, Riley felt worlds better, and she could move without unbearable pain.

"See if you can untie my feet from my hands," Kat whispered. While Riley worked at her ropes, Kat closed her eyes and tried to visualize the contents of the pantry. What had been there before, what remained after the fight with Otter, and where she’d rearranged things on the shelves. She was mentally searching for a small--That’s it! A possibility came to her.

"How’s it coming? Any progress?" Kat lay on her side.

Riley was sitting up now, her bad leg stretched out in front of her.

"Yes, getting there," Riley whispered back. "Slow but sure. The cast makes this harder than it should be, and I’ve never seen knots like this before." She kept at it, glad to be doing something to help them get out of there. Her small fingers actually worked to her advantage, enabling her to manipulate the knots better than if she’d had larger hands. After a few minutes, she untied the final tight knot that bound Kat’s feet to her hands. Kat extended her legs gratefully, stretching the cramps out.

Riley shifted position to begin working on the knots that bound Kat’s feet, but Kat stopped her.

"No, that can wait. Think you can stand up?"

"Yes. What do you want me to do?"

Kat rolled over to face her. "Over in the corner behind you, I think on the top shelf, are a couple of small cloth sacks of grits."

"Grits?" Riley repeated, as she hauled herself to her feet.

"Grits. Cloth sacks within plastic bags. See if you can find one and bring it over here."

"Right," Riley whispered, pulling herself along the wall. She squinted in the dim light, feeling about for the bags with her good hand. She found one and carried it back to where Kat lay.

"Okay. Rip off the plastic bag," Kat said.

Riley did.

"Now if I remember right, there should be a small piece of metal wrapped around the top of the cloth bag to close it," Kat whispered.

"Found it."

"Unwrap it and put it in my hand," Kat instructed.

Riley did. The metal was stiff and difficult to work with, but she was able to straighten it with some effort. When she did, she had a small metal rod about two inches long. She placed it carefully into Kat’s outstretched fingers.

"Now you can start working on the knots on my feet," Kat said.

As Riley set to her task, Kat bent the length of metal into an L shape and picked the locks on her handcuffs. She had them off long before Riley got her feet free.

"I’ll finish that," Kat said, sitting up and rubbing her wrists.

Riley impulsively leaned into Kat and kissed her on the cheek. "I know we’ll get out of this," she whispered, feeling more confident by the minute.

Kat put her hand on Riley’s shoulder and squeezed it briefly before she began working at the knots at her feet. "We will. I won’t let her hurt you."

"I don’t want her hurting you either," Riley whispered back. "So take care of yourself too, all right?"

Kat smiled. "You bet. We have some unfinished business, as I recall."

Riley warmed at the remembrance. "Yes, we do."

It took Kat only another minute to free her legs. She got to her feet and helped Riley up.

"What now?" Riley whispered.

*

It took no time at all for Scout’s Grand Cayman account to reflect the addition of the $640,000 she transferred from Kat’s Swiss bank account just before she closed it.

It was a lot of money, but Scout was disappointed. Together with the $400,000 that Kenny had already withdrawn, which he would be bringing to the bunker, Scout would get a total of more than a million dollars of her adversary’s money. But Katarzyna had been born into wealth, and she was a legend in the business, so Scout expected a lot more. Hunter hadn’t blinked when she offered to double Garner’s offer. That’s two million right there. She has to have more accounts somewhere.

She could find little else of value in the computer. Apparently Hunter wasn’t the type to keep a lot of confidential information on her hard drive.

Scout tried the desk drawers. Locked. She reached into a pocket of her coveralls, which were lying on the floor beside her, for the key ring and loose key she’d taken off Kat after she knocked her out. Scout had shed her heavy outerwear in the warmth of the bunker and now wore a black fleece top and black flannel-lined jeans.

She found that the loose key fit the desk. She opened it and began going through the contents of the drawers. From the bottom one she withdrew Kat’s file folders and skimmed through them.

They were cases. Past assignments she had taken, or perhaps just considered taking, it was hard to tell. Scout did not find a file about her group’s assassination, but she didn’t expect to. It had happened too many years ago.

She picked up the photograph that lay face down in the drawer and studied the faces. Father, mother, and daughter. A formal portrait of an affluent family. The daughter, six or seven, had brown hair, high cheekbones, and dark eyes. Katarzyna was startlingly beautiful even then. Mother had the same cheekbones and was dressed expensively, with jewels at her throat and around her wrists. But Katarzyna got most of her handsome looks from her father. His hair was longer than most middle-aged men would wear, but it suited his dark Mediterranean ruggedness. Like his wife, he was impeccably dressed. His expensive navy suit was perfectly tailored to fit his tall, athletic frame, and a starched white shirt provided crisp contrast to his dark olive complexion. He had his hand on Katarzyna’s shoulder, and the expressions on their faces suggested a shared secret. Father and daughter had identical broad smiles, as if captured in a moment of perfect happiness that Mother didn’t quite share. Her subdued smile seemed forced for the picture.

Scout knew all about them, of course. She had researched Katarzyna’s family thoroughly and was frankly disappointed to find they were already dead. But now perhaps she had a suitable means of justice. She would kill the two people closest to Katarzyna: her lover and her friend. Scout placed the photograph on the desk.

She decided to check on the two men in the other room to see if one was Otter. If so, she wanted to know what he could tell her about Katarzyna and Kenny, who would soon join the party.

*

Otter and Frank had tried everything they could think of to break free. The chains held them fast. Otter had begun to panic a little at the loss of feeling in his hands. Frank too, finally, had used every ounce of strength left in his six foot three inches of brawn, but he was unable to budge the handcuffs or heavy links of chain.

When it became clear they could not free themselves, the men huddled together for warmth. They tried to wrap the coats and sleeping bag around them, and it did help to ward off the biting winds blowing in through the open door. They lay uncomfortably pressed together, discussing in low voices what might happen if the woman who had broken in returned.

The men agreed she was dangerously unpredictable, so they tried to think of ways they might convince her to help them and then let them go.

*

Kat poured a bit of vegetable oil over the pantry door’s hinges before she tried to open it. She turned to Riley and whispered, "Don’t move."

With excruciatingly slow movements, she turned the knob and cracked the door open a fraction of an inch. With her ear to the opening, she detected faint sounds from the outer room. Fingers hitting the computer keyboard. Silence. More typing. A desk drawer being slammed shut. Kat opened the door a few more centimeters and peered out. She couldn’t see Scout. The desk was off to the right of her limited field of vision.

Kat was still considering her next move when the loud creak of the desk chair being pushed back broke the silence. Scout was moving.

Kat froze, her senses on high alert. She glimpsed Scout as she crossed toward the bedroom or bathroom. A minute or so later, Scout crossed through in the opposite direction, and then Kat heard the unmistakable sound of the door to the tunnel opening and closing.

Now was their chance.

Kat opened the pantry door and scanned the outer room. She scooped Riley up in her arms and hurried to the wall of bookshelves. She set Riley down just long enough to get to the secret button to open the weapons room. She pressed it and heard the sharp click of the lock releasing; then she replaced the book that had concealed the button. She swung the door panel open and helped Riley through it, then pushed it shut again once they were both safely inside. The room went black.

"You’re full of surprises," Riley whispered. She reached out, seeking Kat’s reassuring presence.

Kat was already moving toward her. They met in the darkness and held each other, Riley’s arms encircling Kat’s waist, Kat’s arms around Riley’s shoulders.

Riley blew out a long shaky breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

Kat embraced her tighter. "How are you doing?" she whispered as she stroked Riley’s back and hair.

"Better now," Riley whispered back. "Can she find us in here?"

"Don’t think so. If she does, we’ll be ready for her. We’re in my weapons room."

Riley had gotten only a brief glimpse of the room when she’d been hurried inside. All she’d noticed were three very large safes. "Weapons? That sounds reassuring."

Kat moved to loosen their embrace, but Riley was loath to let her go. She kept her arms tight around Kat’s waist.

"I’ll be right back. Just going to get us a little light in here," Kat said. She kissed Riley on the forehead, and Riley reluctantly released her.

Kat found the small chain that led to a bare 40-watt bulb above them. She tugged it, and the room was lit by a soft glow. The women caught each other’s eyes, and both smiled. Kat closed the distance between them, and they resumed their embrace.

"She won’t be able to see the light?" Riley whispered.

"No, the doorway is a tight seal," Kat replied. "And I don’t think she can hear us if we keep our voices low--that partition between us is pretty thick. But I’ve never really tested it, so we’d better be careful."

Riley nodded, her head pressed up against Kat’s chest.

"We can’t stay in here forever, obviously. There’s no food and no water," Kat said. "And it won’t take Scout long to figure out we haven’t left the bunker. But this gives us some time to plan on how we’ll confront her, and it evens things out a bit."

Now that she had access to her arsenal, Kat would have liked to go out immediately to confront Scout. But Riley complicated things. Keeping her safe was Kat’s main priority now. She didn’t want to act in haste and underestimate Scout, who had already proven to be a particularly tough and unpredictable adversary.

The main danger would lie in the moment she opened the panel to leave, Kat reasoned. Scout was patient and determined, as evidenced by her unbelievable knowledge of Kat’s history. So she would surely think nothing of waiting a few more hours until Kat made a move.

Scout’s most likely plan would be an ambush, Kat was certain. The only question was where she would lie in wait. If she hadn’t yet discovered the weapons room, she could be anywhere. But if she knew where Kat and Riley were hiding...

Even in the best scenario, Riley would be vulnerable until Kat got through the doorway and closed it again.

Better to wait a while, let Scout stew over our disappearance. No one could go without sleep forever. Scout’s search for them would exhaust her, Kat hoped. Eventually she’d have to rest and let her guard down. In the meantime, Kat would get a little shut-eye and be refreshed and alert for their confrontation. Riley could use some rest too, she knew. She just wished she had Riley’s medicine and some provisions to make their wait more comfortable.

"How’s the knee?"

"Not great," Riley admitted. "Probably better to get my weight off it."

Kat glanced around at the cold concrete floor. She gently extricated herself from Riley’s embrace and moved to one of the safes. She opened it and reached inside for her Sig Sauer handgun--the 9mm P226 model popular with law enforcement and the military. She checked to make sure it was loaded before sticking it into the back of her jeans. She put a second magazine containing ten rounds into one of her front pockets.

Next she withdrew a belt pack from the safe. Kat kept it loaded with emergency gear. She pulled out a survival blanket made of a thin aluminum and polyester polymer developed for NASA. She unfolded it on the floor. Then she took her bulletproof vest from the safe and placed it atop the blanket to add a bit more insulation from the cold floor.

"Come on," Kat said, helping Riley to the makeshift pallet. "See if you can get some rest."

Riley lay down and Kat kneeled beside her. She wrapped the blanket around her friend, cocooning her in the shiny material.

"What about you?" Riley asked as Kat tucked her in. "You took a pretty good hit to the head."

"I’ll join you in a little while," Kat replied. First she intended to survey the contents of her safes. Select what she would use against Scout and see what else they might use while they were trapped in here.

But Riley reached up and grasped Kat’s arm. "Please?" She opened the thin blanket, scooting over to make room for Kat.

Kat relented and slipped into Riley’s open arms. The blanket was not big enough to cover them both. It was now only a thin insulation against the concrete. Kat enveloped Riley in an embrace, careful to avoid her injured knee.

They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a long moment before Riley broke the silence. "Katarzyna Demetrious? Is that your name?" She’d wanted to ask her about the things that Scout had made oblique reference to--things about Kat’s past. There hadn’t really been an opportunity until now.

Kat stiffened, but only for a moment. She stroked Riley’s back with one hand. "Yes," she affirmed quietly. "I’ve not told anyone my real name in..." She paused, remembering. "In many years. I don’t know how Scout knows it." There was a long silence. "My father was Konstantin Demetrious. He was the Cypriot ambassador to the UN when I was a child."

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Riley, but she couldn’t recall why.

"He was well known as a peace negotiator," Kat continued, a catch in her voice. "When I was six, he became a special ambassador-at-large for the UN itself. He traveled around the world to all the hot spots, trying to resolve conflicts, bring warring sides together."

She paused. "He was up for the Nobel Peace Prize. There was talk of making him the next UN secretary-general."

There was another long silence.

"What happened?" Riley asked.

"He was killed," Kat said. "When Turkish troops took over northern Cyprus, he and my mother were murdered in their sleep."

"I’m sorry," Riley said, caressing Kat’s stomach. "I can’t imagine how painful that must have been for you. How old were you?"

"Nine. I was here in the States at summer camp when it happened." Kat relaxed a little under Riley’s soft caresses. "I stayed here. The home where I grew up was taken over by the Turks."

"You never went back?"

"I went back to Cyprus once--when I was older," Kat replied. She wanted to tell Riley everything, but the next confessions were the hardest.

"My father was rich, so I didn’t lack for money," she explained. "An uncle in Greece--my only surviving relative--arranged for me to attend boarding school in Connecticut under an assumed name, so that I wouldn’t be a target for the media and for those who might exploit me for my father’s wealth. My uncle couldn’t take me in. He was an old man. He died less than a year later."

Kat’s voice grew husky, her emotions close to the surface. "I was...very angry for many years about what happened to my father and mother. Both of them, of course, but I was particularly close to my father. My mother was...formal, proper. I think she was disappointed in me because I was a tomboy, always getting into mischief. ’Katarzyna!’ she’d scold. ’Look at you! Company is coming and you’re a muddy mess!’ You know, I can’t remember her ever hugging me or telling me that she loved me."

Kat unconsciously drew Riley even closer to her as she continued. "But my father..." Her voice trembled. Her eyes welled with tears. "He called me Kat. When he’d come home from a trip, he’d yell ’Here, Kitty Kat!’ and I’d come running, both of us laughing. He’d scoop me up in his arms and swing me around and tell me how much he’d missed me. Then I’d sit on his lap and he’d talk about all the unusual things he’d seen. All the fascinating people he’d met, the strange food he’d eaten." She exhaled a long, slow breath. "He told me once he’d named me Katarzyna because it meant ’pure.’ He wanted me to do good. Follow his example. Live a life of service to others."

Riley, understanding now the reasons for the pain that Kat hid so well, felt her own eyes fill with tears.

"But I chose another path a long time ago. When all I felt was rage over their deaths, and the need for revenge." Kat’s shame threatened to overwhelm her, but she needed to finish.

"I was an athlete in boarding school. Track, basketball, fencing. Sports were a distraction against loneliness. I didn’t have many friends. In college, I took up martial arts and won a national title. It was then that I met Evan Garner--and became a killer for hire."

Chapter Forty-One

Scout found Frank and Otter huddled together beneath Kat’s coats. Their heads popped out of the covering when they heard the steel door open. Both men looked at her expectantly, but neither spoke. They had discussed a variety of things they might say to the stranger if she returned, but each wanted the other to be the one to risk raising her ire. Seeing her now, knowing she evidently had overpowered Hunter, did nothing to ease their trepidation of her.

Scout had not bothered to put her coveralls back on. She didn’t intend to be out in the cold very long. But the temperature in the room had dropped to fifteen degrees and the wind blew in fiercely, so she closed the outside door. "What are your names?" she asked the men.

"Otter."

"Frank."

"Move apart," she instructed as she fished in her pocket for Kat’s keys.

They obeyed her, separating as far as they were able. Both men fixed their eyes on the keys in her hand. A trace of a smile appeared on Otter’s face when she stepped behind him and unlocked the chain that connected him to Frank.

Scout saw the smile and jerked Otter up hard by his handcuffs. She was stronger than she appeared, and the movement sent pain shooting up his arms. He grunted and tried to turn to look at her. But she yanked him hard again when he did. With her free hand, she dug her knife out of her pocket, clicked it open, and held it to his throat. It took only a few seconds.

"You’re not a part of my plan," she hissed. "So I’ll be happy to get rid of you right here and now if you don’t do exactly as I say."

Otter nodded, afraid to speak. Perhaps this wasn’t the positive development he’d hoped it to be.

Scout shoved him toward the steel door without another look at Frank. Otter stumbled the first few steps. His legs were cramped and stiff from the cold confinement. Once they were through the door, Scout slammed it shut.

Frank tried to cover himself with the coats and sleeping bag, wondering if he or Otter was now in the more enviable position.

*

"I want to know everything there is to know about your previous dealings with Hunter," Scout said without preamble as she shoved Otter forward in the tunnel toward the living room.

So that’s why I’m getting the special treatment, Otter thought. This might not be such a good thing, he realized. Especially if she thinks I was once any friend of Hunter’s. Or if I’m only useful to her as long as I can tell her something she wants to know. His mind worked feverishly on how to respond.

"Evan Garner sent us on a job together once. Her, me, and a kid. This was years ago. I got to know her pretty good. How she thinks, how she plans." Otter exaggerated his knowledge of Hunter in an effort to prolong his value to the stranger. But he also had to make sure she knew he was no friend. "The job went off without a hitch, but the damn bitch left without me. I ended up in prison for seven years because of her."

"This kid," Scout said, as they entered the living room, "What was his name?"

"Kenny. I think he was only like seventeen or eighteen, but really smart--" Otter’s words were cut off when he was shoved violently forward.

The woman behind him shrieked.

Otter lost his footing and fell hard on his shoulder. He saw Scout rush to the pantry. The door to it stood open.

"Damn it!" Scout cursed. Her eyes scanned the pantry floor, taking in the open handcuffs and the rope. "How the hell did they get away?"

"They?" Otter wondered aloud from his place on the floor. This couldn’t be good. Hunter had apparently escaped, and this woman was not at all happy about it.

Scout turned toward his voice. "Shut up. Shut up and let me think. They can’t have gotten far." She pocketed her knife and pulled out her gun before checking the bedroom and bathroom. She slipped her coveralls back on, donned her balaclava and gloves, and was out the door.

As soon as she was gone, Otter stumbled to his feet. His eyes darted around the room, looking for some means to get out of the handcuffs. The kitchen.

He got several cabinet doors open with his teeth. Plates, glasses, mugs, pots and pans, spices. He tried to open a couple of drawers the same way, but most were too heavy to budge. The one he was able to open was a shallow junk drawer, containing a mishmash of utensils and assorted odds and ends. He stared at the contents, seeking something small enough to fit into the handcuff locks.

*

Scout entered the tunnel and headed straight up the emergency exit, believing it to be the only way the two women could have escaped the bunker while she was in the generator room. She struggled for a few minutes with the hatch, not realizing it was locked. Then she had to figure out the odd locking mechanism. Finally she had it open. She scanned the area around her with her flashlight, looking for tracks.

There were none. The pristine surface of white from the new snowfall was unmarred.

What the hell?

*

Otter froze when the door crashed open again and Scout came through it, cursing. She turned in his direction with an angry scowl. All around him, cabinet doors stood open like accusing sentinels.

"What do you think you’re doing? Didn’t you understand me when I said I will kill you if you try anything?" She pulled out her knife as she came around the kitchen counter toward him.

Otter retreated until his back was against the sink. He didn’t at all like the crazy look in her eyes. "Take it easy, I’m sorry. I was just trying to find something to get myself a drink," he lied.

She stopped in front of him and cocked her head as if she was considering what to do with him. She twirled the knife in her hand.

Otter didn’t like her obvious familiarity with the weapon. He had to do something. "Look, if Hunter’s escaped, I can help you look for her," he offered.

She seemed to consider this for several moments. Finally she nodded as she pocketed her knife and pulled out her 9mm. "Turn around."

Otter obeyed.

She placed the gun against the back of his neck. "I presume I don’t need to remind you how I want you to behave?"

"No, I’m clear. No trouble." The gun remained pressed against Otter’s neck as the cuffs were unlocked. He brought his hands slowly in front of him to rub his sore wrists, but even when the cold metal was removed from his neck, he did not move until she acknowledged he could.

"Okay, turn around," Scout said.

Otter slowly pivoted to face her.

She was still pointing the gun at him, but she’d backed up several feet. She tossed him Kat’s key ring. "Unlock the other guy and both of you start searching every inch of this place. They’re either hiding somewhere or there’s another entrance than the two we know about. If you find them, come get me. I want to be the one to take care of Katarzyna...Hunter."

Katarzyna? This woman knows Hunter’s real name? Otter was impressed. Though he didn’t want to make her angry, he wanted to know what he was up against if he was going to be searching unarmed. "Uh...the other one we’re looking for, that’s Scout, right?"

"No, moron. I’m Scout. You’re searching for Hunter and her little blond girlfriend. Just get going." She waved him toward the door with the gun. "The code to the steel door is 8-9-7-7."

Otter took off at a trot.

After he had gone, Scout went to the monitors and looked for tracks leading from the bunker. Nothing. She turned on the computer to see if there was an update from Kenny. If she’s hiding, this friend will be useful to flush her out.

Kenny had indeed responded to what he thought was Hunter’s missive. Understand urgency. Will be at your location 11 am with cash.

Scout looked at her watch. It was 2:00 a.m. Nine more hours. She’d have liked it to be sooner, but it would have to do.

She stripped off her coveralls and emptied the pockets of weapons. She stuck her own gun in the front of her jeans and pocketed her knife. She locked in the desk the rest of the guns and ammunition she’d taken off Kat.

Scout examined the room she was in. The concrete walls and floors seemed unmarred by lines. That decreased the areas she would need to search for a secret portal. Her eyes fell on the bookcases. That’s a possibility. The kitchen, the pantry, the shower, around the bed, the monitor wall--they were also areas that would need to be gone over carefully. And she’d need to get another look at the tunnel.

Scout decided to start her search in the pantry, where she had last seen the women. She began pulling shelves out, spilling what was left on them onto the floor.

*

As Otter ran through the tunnel, his eyes fell on Hunter’s toolbox. He considered taking a wrench or hammer from it. He didn’t like the idea of flushing out Hunter without a weapon. But then he remembered the monitors and worried Scout might see him do it. Better wait. At least he was out of the handcuffs and free to move around.

Otter punched in the code Scout had given him and went through the steel door. He walked over to Frank, jingling the keys in his hand.

"Here’s the deal," Otter said, freeing Frank. "Hunter got away somehow, along with some girlfriend of hers that was in there. That blond chick who broke in and captured them--that’s Scout, but don’t ask me to explain it. I haven’t a clue. She’s pissed as hell they’re gone, so I talked her into setting us free to search for how they got out or where they’re hiding. We’re not supposed to try to take ’em. Scout wants to be the one to kill Hunter."

Frank got to his feet and massaged his wrists and forearms. "I ain’t in no hurry to kill Hunter."

"We better do what this broad says," Otter said, heading toward the tunnel. "She’s got a hell of a temper and says she’ll kill us if we try anything. I believe she means it. Still," he said, waiting for Frank to join him, "doesn’t mean we can’t look for an opportunity."

They were nearly to the living room when they heard a shout from within. They hurried toward it.

*

Scout found nothing useful in the pantry. The place was in ruins by the time she was finished. She stepped back into the living room, perspiring heavily from her efforts. She listened for a minute but could hear no noise from within the bunker save for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Her frustration was growing with every moment. "I’ll find you," she shouted, hoping the two women were within earshot. "The longer it takes, the worse it will be for you!"

She heard running footsteps in response to her plea, but it was only Frank and Otter. They froze when they came through the door and saw her, gun in hand, her face red and her anger palpable.

"Get to work!" she ordered. "Find them!"

Otter sprang into action, hustling toward the bedroom because it was away from her.

Frank followed his lead and darted into the bathroom.

Scout eyed the wall of bookshelves and moved toward it, looking for something unusual or out of place. The shelves extended from floor to ceiling and were filled with hundreds of books. Nearing them, she saw that Katarzyna had carefully arranged them by topic and author, as meticulous as any library. She grunted in satisfaction as she began ripping them from the shelves.

Chapter Forty-Two

Evan Garner approached me after I’d won the national karate title," Kat said, tightening her arms around Riley. The recollection of her most painful memories was eased by the comforting proximity of her friend.

"He invited me for coffee. Said he had a proposition for me." She took a deep breath. "He told me he worked for the government and was always on the lookout for young people with an aptitude for what he called ’extraordinary achievements.’ He looked the part: clean cut, blue suit, a flashy ID that said Justice Department. He’d found out a lot about me--what I’d studied, and even that I had no next of kin listed on any of my enrollment forms. He didn’t know who I really was, though. Only the headmistress at the boarding school I’d attended knew that, and she had vowed to seal the records.

"Anyway," Kat continued, "Garner told me he wanted to send me to a special school to learn to be an operative for the government. I’d be trained in weapons, infiltration techniques, close-quarter combat. It was attractive to me, because I thought I could use those skills to do the one thing that I’d been dreaming about for years. Kill the men who murdered my father.

"So I went to the Academy and learned several different ways to kill people, among other things. By this time I trusted Garner, so I told him who I really was and what I wanted to do. Somehow he found the men who killed my father. And he made all the arrangements so I could get in and out of Cyprus safely. I got my revenge. And then I owed Garner. I started to work for him."

As she opened her mouth to continue, they heard Scout’s muffled shout through the wall. It was just loud enough to be able to make out the words. "I’ll find you," the voice shrieked. "The longer it takes, the worse it will be for you!"

A shiver ran up Riley’s spine at the words. She once again envisioned Sam’s brutal murder.

Kat felt the tension in the other woman’s body. She stroked Riley’s hair. "Don’t worry, you’re safe here."

They listened for another minute or two but could hear no more voices from outside the hidden chamber.

But Kat’s sensitive hearing did pick up something, although it took her several seconds to identify what it was. Faint noises a few feet down the wall from where they lay. "Stay still and keep quiet," she whispered. She took a moment to wrap the thin survival blanket around Riley before she crept toward the area where the sounds originated.

Kat put her ear to the wall. Indistinct but steady sounds. Moving slowly down the wall at knee height. She’s pulling books off the shelves.

It wasn’t that Kat didn’t expect this might happen, but she didn’t think Scout would be quite so quick about it. Kat went to one of her safes and pulled out her MP5 submachine gun, which was capable of firing single shots, three-shot bursts, or full automatic fire--800 rounds per minute.

She loaded the MP5 and slung the strap across her shoulder before returning to the wall. The sounds had moved higher--about to the height of Kat’s head. They were still moving steadily down the length of the wall. Kat thought she heard a muffled curse from the other side but couldn’t be certain. Abruptly, the sounds stopped.

When the noises hadn’t resumed after a minute, Kat returned to Riley.

"What’s happening? Can you tell?"

"Scout was pulling books off the shelves looking for us, but she’s stopped now. My guess is she’s done all she can reach. The latch is a couple of shelves higher." Kat laid the submachine gun on the concrete floor and scooped Riley up, blanket and all.

"I want you over in the corner," she whispered. "Away from the door." Kat set Riley down so she was sitting up with her back against the wall. She opened the blanket and removed the bulletproof vest. "I want you to put this on," she said, then realized the cast was too big to get through the armhole. "That’s no good," she amended. "Well, put your right arm through, anyway," she prompted, and Riley complied. The vest was very big on her and could be closed over the cast if Riley just kept her injured arm at her side, pinned against her body. It was snug and uncomfortable, but Kat hoped it wouldn’t be for very long.

"Kat, you should wear it. You’ll be in more danger than I will," Riley pleaded.

"No arguments. I’ll be distracted less if I know you’re as safe as I can make you." Kat’s head jerked abruptly back toward the wall when the faint sounds resumed, several inches higher. "Keep very quiet," she whispered. She picked up the MP5 and moved to the door. She put the gun on full automatic. Shouldn’t be long now.

*

It took Frank only a few minutes to thoroughly search the bathroom. But he lingered there, pacing back and forth, trying to think of a way out of this mess. He could hear Scout’s grunts of rage and frustration from the living room, along with the muted cadence of books hitting the floor or crashing against the wall. Every now and then, he’d stick his head out of the door to watch her.

*

Scout attacked the bookshelves with single-minded fury until the living room was in chaos. Books were scattered everywhere. Torn pages littered the floor. The coffee table and easy chair were overturned. And almost everything breakable--Kat’s cameras, the photographs on the walls--had been smashed into bits.

The bunker grew silent.

Frank peeked out of the bathroom doorway.

Scout stood before the bookshelves, breathing heavily.

"Get in here!" she commanded.

Otter appeared in the bedroom doorway as Frank emerged from the bathroom. They glanced at each other, and Otter started to speak, but Scout cut him off.

"Anything?"

The men shook their heads.

"You!" she gestured to the taller man with her gun. "What’s your name again?"

"Frank."

"Come over here and pull out the rest of these. Look for a way through the wall," she ordered, waving the gun toward the bookshelves. Only the top two still contained books. The rest were empty.

Frank negotiated his way through the disarray and began clearing the lower of the two shelves, dropping the books on the floor. He glanced over his shoulder as Scout plopped down onto the couch behind him. Small beads of sweat glistened on her forehead.

She turned toward Otter, who leaned against the bedroom door frame watching her. "You. Go search the kitchen."

Otter nodded and headed toward it. He had to briefly pass behind her, and she watched him as he did.

It was while Scout’s attention was on Otter that Frank began clearing the top shelf. He had to reach above his head. He removed The Secret Garden, and his fingertips lightly grazed the button that unlocked the hidden door.

Chapter Forty-Three

Frank’s eyes widened and he froze, just for a moment, when he realized what he’d likely found.

Scout didn’t see it. By the time she looked back at Frank, he was progressing on down the wall as if nothing had happened.

Frank got to the end, removed the last book, and turned toward Scout. He could tell she’d not noticed that he’d found what they were searching for. He shrugged. "Nothing," he said, just a little too loudly. "I don’t think they’re back there."

Scout waved the gun toward the desk. "Try over there. See if those monitors come out of the wall."

Frank nodded and did as he was told. Now what do I do with this interesting little bit of information?

*

Kat’s hearing was hypersensitive by the time the faint sounds neared the location of the button that would expose them. She pressed her ear against the panel. The sounds seemed to pause there briefly, but then continued on. She faintly heard Frank’s voice and realized it had been he who had been removing the books. He told Scout he’d not found anything, yet she was fairly certain he had. What are you up to?

Kat remained where she was for several more minutes until it seemed the immediate threat had passed. She heard nothing more from the outer room. She kept the submachine gun with her but returned to Riley’s side.

"We need to be quiet now. Try to rest," she whispered as she sat down and put her arm around Riley.

Riley leaned into the crook of Kat’s shoulder and closed her eyes, letting her exhaustion overtake her.

Kat remained vigilant, the MP5 on the floor beside her.

As she drifted off, Riley thought about the life she’d had and what she wanted now. She wondered what else there was to Kat’s story. And what do you want, Kat, when we get out of this? We have so much to talk about, she wanted to say, but she was too far into sleep to speak.

Kat should have been plotting their escape, but her mind was preoccupied with Riley. There was still so much she hadn’t told her. Kat hadn’t admitted that much of what Garner initially had told her had been a lie. She hadn’t worked for the government. Not officially. She was one of a group of expendable, anonymous trained killers assigned to jobs that neither law enforcement nor the military could do.

Some of the money for Garner’s group surely came from government coffers, but she also got assignments that were paybacks. Hits financed by rich individuals who had scores to settle but couldn’t get their own hands dirty.

She’d taken the assignments until she’d felt she’d long paid her debt to Garner. Then she went freelance so she could make her own decisions on what jobs she would take. Only targets who were dangerous and unredeemable. People who had done things that earned them no mercy.

Garner had exploded when she told him her decision. His tirade and threats of retribution finally made her see that he was not the father figure she’d believed, but a manipulator who cared only about how her talents could be exploited. After she left his office that day, she dropped out of sight.

Apparently her former mentor had now decided to make good on his threats and make her an example to others who wanted to leave. The contract on her life was only a surprise because of its timing. More than five years had elapsed since she’d left Garner’s employ. Why now, Evan?

Kat’s attention was diverted by a muffled clatter from the other room. It had a discordant musicality to it, and she realized with a heartsick certainty that her prized cello had become the latest target of Scout’s rage.

*

By 5:00 a.m., Scout was ready to give in to exhaustion. She hadn’t slept in nearly two days. Her anger over having been outsmarted had initially kept her focused on the search for the two women. But she was struggling to keep her eyes open, and she couldn’t stop yawning. She needed sleep. She couldn’t afford to be careless.

Frank and Otter sat on the couch, having just completed a third search of the tunnel. Otter leaned back and closed his eyes. Frank eyed Scout warily, awaiting her next orders.

She stood with her back to the bookshelves, her head less than five feet from the button that would admit her to the hidden room.

Frank resisted the temptation to look toward the spot.

"I want you two to go outside and search for tracks. Get warm stuff on, you’ll be out there a while." She nodded toward the tunnel.

The men suited up, and Scout handed Otter a flashlight.

"Up there." She pointed toward the emergency exit with her gun.

He started climbing.

"I’ll keep an eye on the monitors," she called up to Otter as he exited the hatch. "Come back in two hours unless you find something earlier."

"All right."

Scout turned to Frank. "Go up and lock the hatch. You’re going out the other way."

He did as instructed.

When he returned, Scout motioned Frank toward the generator room. She punched in the code to open the outer door, shielding the panel from him so he would not know how to get back in. "Two hours." She handed him a flashlight and shut the door behind him.

She returned to the living room and went to the monitors. Both men were still in camera range near the exits, as though reluctant to wander far from the bunker. Scout didn’t think they’d find anything. She was convinced the two women were hiding somewhere inside. But the men’s absence would at least allow her to rest. Her hopes now hinged on the arrival of Katarzyna’s friend in less than six hours. Perhaps Kenny would be incentive enough for her quarry to come out of hiding.

Scout went into the bedroom and locked the door. She lay down on the bed for a short nap, gun in hand. If that doesn’t work, I know something else I bet will. Fire. She didn’t want to resort to it unless she had to. Scout wanted her enemy to know who she really was and how clever she had been. And she wanted the satisfaction of seeing Katarzyna’s face as she died.

Fire would be much too quick.

*

Frank and Otter spent several minutes checking around the exits before ranging farther with their flashlights. Neither worried about being able to find his way back. It had stopped snowing, and the tracks they made were easy to follow. Both remembered how to get from one exit to the other, so they worked their way toward each other.

Frank had no intention, at least not yet, of divulging where he believed Hunter was hiding. Still, his attitude toward Otter had softened somewhat since they had been chained together, and he wanted to see if the other man had any ideas.

Otter knew his chances of getting out of this were greatly increased if he and Frank worked together.

The two men were drawn to each other’s flashlight beams and met under the shelter of a large evergreen.

"Find anything?" Otter asked.

"Nothing. You?"

"Nah. I don’t think they got out. But damned if I can figure out where they went, either. Hunter’s got a hell of a hiding place." The cold air was helping Otter fight off the drowsiness that had threatened to overtake him in the bunker. "I’m worried about what Blondie’s gonna do when she accepts she ain’t going to find ’em. She’s nuts."

Frank nodded.

"And she’ll have no further use for us," Otter added.

"Yeah, I thought about that, too. Got any ideas?"

"I’d like to just take off right now," Otter said. "But I had a hard enough time getting here. Without a snowmobile and a path to follow, I don’t like our chances in this cold. I have to say this--Hunter picked a good spot to hide."

"Yeah," Frank answered. "I haven’t a clue how to get out of here either. And if we tried, Scout could track us down pretty easy if she wanted to."

"So that’s out," Otter agreed. "At least for now. I looked for a map while we were searching but didn’t find one. I did grab this." He pulled a large crescent wrench from the pocket of his coveralls. "I’ll hit her if I get a chance. But she’s been pretty careful."

"Yeah. I’ve been wondering if she sent us out here just to get rid of us. You don’t think she’ll keep us locked out, do you?" Frank asked.

"Who knows with that broad? I think we should look for a chance to jump her when we get back in. We could load up a couple of snowmobiles with food, water, and extra gas. It’ll be light soon. Easier to see where we’re going even if we don’t know what direction to take. We gotta hit a house or somethin’ eventually."

Frank nodded. "Okay. I’m with you." He thought it a reasonable plan if they could overpower Scout. But he would also look for a chance to use the information he had. He hoped Scout wasn’t even now rechecking the bookshelves, but he thought it unlikely.

The men split up and resumed their search of the woods around the bunker. At 7:00 a.m., as the sun was coming up, each man returned to the exit he’d used and waited to be let back in.

A half hour passed.

Then an hour.

Still no Scout.

Both men fidgeted impatiently, wondering whether she did indeed intend to leave them there outside in the cold to fend for themselves.

*

Scout awoke groggy. She glanced at her watch, surprised she had slept so deeply and so long. It was nearly 10:00, and Kenny was due in an hour. She stretched. Her stomach rumbled loudly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything.

She went into the living room and glanced at the monitors. Frank leaned against the rock wall, waiting to be let back in. Otter was nowhere to be seen, but the area around the hatch was well trampled with footprints. She wondered whether he’d been dumb enough to take off, but decided it really didn’t matter.

She threaded her way through the books on the floor and made her way to the kitchen. A little breakfast, then she’d think about whether she had any further use for Frank.

*

Riley had napped, but fitfully. Her fears and anxiety kept her from truly restful sleep. She lay on her back on the floor, Kat’s lap her pillow.

Kat had forced herself to remain alert despite her overwhelming fatigue. The lack of any further noise from the room outside worried her. She couldn’t believe Scout would be content to just wait for her to show herself. Unless...Frank had told her where they were?

Chapter Forty-Four

Kenny pulled up the collar of his overcoat. The helicopter had a small heater, but it was not enough to fight off the bitter chill that seeped in around the door to his right. He had Hunter’s $400,000 in a large duffel bag behind his seat.

Kenny didn’t particularly like helicopters, but he was happy to be able to do something for Hunter. She rarely asked for more than a little information now and then. When Hunter left Garner’s employ, she took Kenny with her--secreting him away to a safe location several states away and setting him up in his own computer consulting business. She financed everything until the business took off, and refused all offers of repayment.

Kenny glanced at the pilot, an ex-Navy man who’d been recommended by one of his military contacts. He’d been told the man was trustworthy enough to do a job without asking questions and would keep his mouth shut. But Kenny still was cautious. He had been entrusted with very sensitive information. He’d given the man only a set of GPS coordinates and told him they were to make a delivery and pickup, nothing more.

They were in a four-seat Bell Jet Ranger helicopter, flying low over a sparsely populated wooded area. Kenny looked at his watch and spoke into his headset. "How much farther?"

"We should be there in another hour," the pilot answered. "Maybe a little less."

Kenny nodded. They were making better time than he’d predicted and would arrive at their destination at least a half hour early.

*

Otter was convinced Scout meant to leave them in the cold. After waiting outside the hatch for more than two and a half hours, he made his way to the other entrance to meet up with Frank.

As he neared the rock wall, Otter saw the big man with his back to the sun-warmed surface, his eyes closed. How can he doze off standing up? Must be even more exhausted than I am. "Hey, Frank."

Frank opened his eyes and stretched.

"How can you sleep? You’re not worried she’s going to leave us out here?"

Frank studied Otter a moment and bit back a sharp retort. It wouldn’t help for them to carp at each other right now. Sure, he was worried. But he was also more tired than he could ever remember being. "Yeah," he finally answered. "Sure beginning to look like she isn’t gonna let us back in. Think we should start walking?"

"I don’t think we have any other choice." Otter looked around. "I think I came in that way." He pointed. He remembered his approach on the snowmobile, his headlights shining directly onto the rock wall.

"Yeah, that seems right."

Both men grew silent, staring out at the endless landscape of trees and snow.

Otter was remembering the trail to the bunker. It had taken all sorts of crazy twists and turns. There were boggy areas and lots of hills.

Frank had the same pictures in his head. He wondered how they’d ever find their way to the road on foot.

"Let’s do it, then," Otter said, setting off.

Frank pushed off from the rock wall and followed him.

They had gone only forty feet or so when a sound behind them made them both spin around. Scout stood in the entrance grinning at them, gun in hand. "Going somewhere, gentlemen?"

They glanced at each other and headed back toward the bunker. Otter jammed his right hand into the pocket of his jacket and wrapped his fingers around the crescent wrench. Just let me close enough, bitch. He hated the smug smile she had on her face as she watched them. She was as bad as Hunter.

She backed up as they neared her, as if she knew Otter’s intentions. "So, I take it you didn’t find anything?"

"No," Otter said, a little too sharply.

Frank shook his head.

Scout was about to close the door when her hand froze over the keypad.

"What’s the matter?" Otter asked.

"Quiet!" she barked. She ran to the generator and shut it off. The lights went out as the drone from the machine died, but Scout could still see the men clearly by the sunlight streaming in through the open doorway.

Now all three could hear the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. It was still some distance away but drawing closer.

*

Kat found the MP5 by her side within just a few seconds of the lights going out. She hadn’t expected this. The darkness didn’t really bother her, but it would make it more difficult to protect Riley. And she didn’t know if Scout now had Otter and Frank working with her, and that complicated things.

She moved Riley’s head from her lap so she could stand, and Riley woke up.

"Kat? What’s happening?"

"Not sure. Someone’s shut off the generator." Her hand found Riley’s and squeezed it. "Don’t move."

Kat picked up the MP5 and made her way to the wall.

She put her ear to the panel and listened.

*

Scout stood in the doorway of the generator room, trying to spot the helicopter. The trees around the bunker entrance made it impossible to see anything that wasn’t almost directly overhead. The sound grew louder and seemed to come from her right.

In her reconnaissance of the area, Scout had seen a clearing in that direction--undoubtedly the GPS coordinates that Hunter had given to Kenny. Scout glanced at her watch. You’re early. A sound from behind her made her wheel around just in time to see a flash of metal aimed at her head.

Otter knew when he heard the helicopter that it would provide his best chance to overpower Scout. Her attention was on the approaching chopper, and the noise would help conceal his effort to creep up behind her.

He spared a quick glance toward Frank, but the other man was too far away and was staring out the door. It was now or never.

Otter closed the distance to the blonde. He withdrew the wrench just as she glanced at her watch.

He swung at her, but Scout ducked and the wrench glanced off her forehead. Otter brought the weapon up again as she twisted away from him, but she was faster than he was. Before he could connect a second time, Scout kicked him hard in the groin.

Otter crumpled to the floor with a groan. The tool slipped from his fingers. He grimaced and struggled to his knees. When he looked up at her again, she was pointing her gun at him.

Scout was breathing hard. Blood trickled down her face.

"Stupid shit," Otter heard her say, just before she pulled the trigger.

Chapter Forty-Five

Otter felt a flash of heat in his thigh and looked down in horror to see a hole in his pants, blood already forming a dark stain around it. He looked up at Scout. His mouth worked but no words came out.

Scout brushed a trickle of blood from her eye before aiming the gun at Otter again.

She fired into his other leg.

He screamed.

Scout turned to Frank. "Don’t move." She took off in the direction of the clearing. The sound of the helicopter was very close.

Frank stepped over to Otter.

Otter lay as he’d fallen, one leg skewed awkwardly beneath him. He was still conscious. He groaned. "Help me."

Despite his initial disdain for the other man, Frank felt a certain kinship with Otter now because of all they had suffered together. He didn’t think he could just leave him to bleed to death.

Frank glanced around the room. Scout had left the steel door to the tunnel open. Now might be his only chance to get to the hidden room and warn Hunter. But if Scout came back and caught him, he would surely get the same treatment as Otter. Or worse.

His mind made up, Frank fished his flashlight from his pocket and went into the tunnel. He came back with a couple of long scarves and wrapped them tightly around Otter’s wounds. The two bullets had passed through, and the wounds were bleeding heavily. The scarves would not be enough for long. But Scout apparently had missed the major arteries. There was no copious spurting of blood that Frank knew from experience meant certain death. Perhaps Otter had a chance.

Frank snatched up his flashlight and ran to the living room. Stumbling over the piles of books on the floor, he went to the bookshelves. "Hunter, it’s Frank," he shouted. "I know you’re in there, but I won’t give you away. Scout’s outside, meeting a helicopter. She’ll be back soon. I have to get back, but I’ll help you if I can. Oh--and she shot Otter, he might not make it." He waited just a moment, hoping for a response.

When none came, he went into the bathroom and grabbed gauze, tape, and antibiotic ointment, stuffing them into his pockets. Then he detoured into the bedroom to pull the sheet from the bed. He returned to the generator room and crouched beside Otter.

Scout was nowhere in sight.

Blood had already soaked through the makeshift bandages, and Otter’s face was pale. He seemed to be in shock.

Frank took off the scarves and made thick compresses of gauze to put over the wounds, coating them liberally with ointment and binding them tightly with long strips he ripped from the sheet. He lifted Otter and placed him on the sleeping bag. He covered him with the heavy coats they’d huddled under together and shoved his hat under Otter’s head. It was all that he knew to do. He noticed after a few minutes that his first-aid efforts seemed to have slowed the blood loss.

"Don’t move around. You’ll bleed more if you do." Frank wasn’t sure if the wounded man could hear him.

Otter’s eyes were closed. He wasn’t moving.

*

Kat had her ear pinned against the panel when Frank’s voice broke the silence. She heard him nearly as clearly as if he were standing in the room with her. She could read the tone of his voice, and she believed he meant every word he said.

So a helicopter is coming, Kat thought. Scout’s way out of here? Reinforcements from Garner? Another option was even more disturbing. Kenny? Did she get into the computer and summon Kenny? Oh Jesus. No.

*

Scout was oblivious to any pain from the cut on her forehead but aware enough of the wound to take the right precautions before she met the helicopter. She didn’t want to alarm its occupants prematurely. She washed her face with wet snow and pulled her black balaclava over her head. Only her eyes were visible.

She saw the chopper through the trees, coming down in the clearing. She put her right hand in her pocket and curled her fingers around the grip of her 9mm. There are getting to be entirely too many witnesses.

For a while in her pursuit of Katarzyna, it hadn’t mattered to Scout what happened to her--she would even have died if she’d had to, as long as Katarzyna paid dearly for killing her brother and her friends. But now with the money she’d be getting, she decided she might want to stick around after all.

With a little swing in her step, Scout walked toward the helicopter as it touched down and the engine was cut. The massive blades began to slow. She waved as she approached the pilot’s side.

The pilot opened his door and smiled at her.

But instead of speaking to him, she addressed the man in the other seat. She had to talk loudly to be heard over the sound of the dying rotors. "Are you Kenny?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "Where’s Hunter?"

Scout turned toward the pilot. Her right hand came out of her pocket, too fast for him to react. "I won’t be needing you."

She put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Forty-Six

Kenny flinched as the gun went off. Blood and brain matter splattered the interior of the copter. Kenny was covered with it--his face, neck, the front of his coat. It had happened so fast it took him a moment to register what had happened. He recoiled in horror at the sight of the pilot’s head. Half of it was missing. Then he turned to look at Scout, his mouth open and his eyes wide.

Scout leveled the gun at Kenny’s forehead.

He raised his hands. They were shaking. "Please. I’ll do whatever you say," he managed. His throat was dry. "And forget I ever saw you," he added. Where the hell is Hunter?

"You might be useful," Scout said, pulling off her balaclava. Her wound had nearly stopped bleeding, but dried blood clung to her hair. "Did you bring the money?"

"Yes. It’s behind the seat, in the duffel."

"Do you have any weapons? Any in the chopper?" she asked.

"No. Not that I know of," Kenny said.

Scout reached in to the copter and grabbed the keys. "Okay. Come around to this side and pull his body out." She nodded toward the pilot and backed away from the chopper. "Put him over there." She motioned with the gun toward a large fir tree.

While Kenny took care of the odious task, Scout grabbed the duffel bag and opened it. Inside were neat stacks of currency. Packets of $100 bills, bound by bank bands that read $10,000. She smiled. You can buy a lot of trouble with this kind of cash. She searched the bag for a weapon before zipping it shut again.

When he finished with the pilot, Kenny tried to wipe the blood and brain bits from his face, head, and neck with snow. The smell of it made him nauseous.

"Let’s go," Scout barked. "That way." She gestured toward the tracks she’d made from the bunker.

Kenny started in that direction. She lagged several feet behind.

"How well do you know Hunter?" she asked after they had taken a couple of steps.

Kenny started to turn around to answer, but her voice stopped him before he got halfway.

"Keep walking."

"She’s a-a friend," Kenny replied. Volunteer nothing, Hunter had always told him. Suddenly he realized who the woman behind him was. Scout. She fit the description perfectly. Then he remembered something else. Has a thing for knives. Kenny swallowed hard.

"I want to hear everything," her voice said from behind him. An audible click followed her statement.

Kenny glanced over his shoulder. His stomach dropped out from under him.

Scout’s left hand held her gun. Her right now casually twirled a very wicked-looking switchblade knife.

*

Frank spotted them approaching through the woods. He tried to make out the man in the lead. Friend of Scout’s? he wondered. Frank positioned himself in front of Otter, trying to shield him from view. He hoped Scout wouldn’t notice the bandages.

When they got closer, Frank could see stains on the man’s coat. Bloodstains, he realized. Just then, Scout stepped out from behind the newcomer, and Frank saw the gun and knife she held on him. Nope, he’s no friend. The man didn’t seem injured, so Frank wondered whose blood it was that covered his overcoat. This wasn’t good at all.

*

During their short walk from the chopper to the bunker, Kenny kept talking but tried to offer only vague, innocuous information. He told Scout he’d known Hunter for a few years, but not very well. He admitted they’d worked together but volunteered no details. He said their contact was mostly via computer and not face-to-face. He told her he hadn’t actually seen Hunter in "quite some time."

Scout didn’t prod for more. In fact, she hadn’t said another word as he’d rambled on about Hunter. Kenny’s apprehension grew with each step as he thought of the knife and wondered what had happened to his friend.

As Kenny stepped into the bunker, he blinked several times, adjusting from the bright sunlight to the relative darkness of the generator room. His eyes met Frank’s.

Scout was behind Kenny, so Frank risked a quick nod to the newcomer--a signal of camaraderie he hoped the man could understand.

Kenny’s eyes widened slightly, then he blinked his eyes in a slow, deliberate motion in return. And who the hell are you? he wondered.

Scout stepped from behind Kenny and glanced at Frank, then to the floor behind him. "What have you been up to?" She motioned with the gun for him to step aside. Scout stared down at Otter. She kicked away the coat that covered him to expose the bandages around his legs. "Well you’re a regular Florence Nightingale, aren’t you, Frank? How touching."

Frank didn’t reply.

Scout turned the generator back on, restoring lights and power, and shut the outside door. She kept her distance from Kenny and Frank. She couldn’t be careless now. She was too close. The helicopter parked outside marked the location of the bunker, so she needed to wrap this up before anyone else showed up looking to collect on Garner’s contract.

"Okay, let’s go," she said, motioning the two of them toward the steel door. "Time to end this game of hide-and-seek. Now is when the real fun begins."

*

Kat was startled by the sudden restoration of light. But she didn’t move from her spot, keeping her ear pressed against the panel that separated the weapons chamber and the living room. She wished she’d installed a peephole when she’d put in the secret room, but she’d never expected to be hiding in it.

She turned her head to look at Riley, still propped in the corner farthest from the door.

Riley watched Kat, awake and alert now, both women sensing an impending showdown.

They exchanged resolute smiles, their prolonged eye contact reaffirming the depth of their desire for each other.

Scout’s voice, muted but audible, broke the silence. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," she shouted in the singsong manner of children in a schoolyard.

Her next words were spoken in a much different tone. Shrill, angry, and out of patience. "If you don’t reveal yourself, Katarzyna, I’ll have to start taking out my frustration on your buddy Kenny here."

*

Scout put her gun to Kenny’s head. They stood in the middle of the living room, his back to her, his arms in the air. She didn’t expect an immediate response. But she was alert. Her eyes scanned the perimeter of the room.

Frank was seated several feet away on the couch watching them, fighting a persistent urge to glance at the bookshelves.

After a minute or two of tense waiting, Scout addressed Frank. "Get the desk chair over here."

He obeyed, pushing the wheeled chair the last few feet to avoid getting too close to her.

Scout shoved Kenny into the seat.

"Get me the handcuffs and rope from in there," she told Frank, nodding toward the pantry.

He found them and tossed them to her, then backed away again.

"Hands behind you," she snapped at Kenny.

He complied, wrapping them around the back of the chair.

Scout fastened the handcuffs and tied Kenny’s legs together with the rope. There wasn’t enough of it to also bind him to the chair.

She turned her attention to Frank.

He was hard to read. He’d worn the same neutral expression all along. And he hadn’t leapt in to help Otter try to overpower her. He hadn’t tried anything at all. In fact, he had been careful not to.

Scout reached the same assessment Kat had of the man. He was an enforcer. A guy who didn’t take chances and who followed orders. Probably any orders, at the right price.

Scout stepped to the kitchen counter, where she had set the duffel full of money, and motioned to Frank to join her.

"You’ve seen what I can do," she said.

He nodded.

"I might be able to use you. If I can trust you."

"I’m your man," he said.

Scout reached into the bag and pulled out two stacks of bills.

She handed them to Frank, whose eyes widened in surprise. He shoved them into his pockets.

"You’re gonna take care of Hunter’s friend." She moved to stand in front of Kenny.

Kenny tried to remain calm. He didn’t want her to see how afraid he was. But his heart was pounding in his chest.

"Babysit him. If he moves, stop him. Like this." Scout raised her gun and brought it down against the side of Kenny’s face.

Kenny tried to duck, but she connected with enough force to make his vision swim. He groaned. Blood trickled from a cut on his cheekbone. Grimacing against the pain, he averted his eyes.

"Convince him it would be extremely foolish to try to get away," she continued, smiling down at Kenny. "You can hit him as hard as you like. Just make sure he’s still able to talk."

"And Frank," she added, finally turning away from Kenny to look at the big man, "if you try to help him or get away yourself, I’ll make your death most unpleasant." She said it so matter-of-factly that Frank’s palms began to sweat.

"I understand."

"If you do as you’re told," she promised, "you’ll get more cash, one of the snowmobiles...and you get to leave here alive."

Frank nodded.

"Okay, let’s see what you can do." She nodded toward Kenny as she stepped back.

Frank looked at her, momentarily confused. Then her intent became clear. A cruel test. One he had to pass convincingly. Frank stepped in front of Kenny and put his back to Scout. As he did, Kenny’s eyes rose to meet his.

Frank tried to convey apology in his expression as he brought his hand back and balled it into a fist. He slammed it into Kenny’s midsection with enough force to knock the wind out of him and cause one hell of an impressive bruise later. But Frank had pulled the punch enough not to break any ribs or damage any internal organs. One thing he knew was how to hit someone.

Kenny slumped over and gasped for air.

Frank glanced at Scout as he brought back his fist again. "Want me to hit him some more?" he asked with a half smile.

Scout laughed. "Maybe later," she said. "I get my turn first."

*

Kat strained to hear what was happening on the other side of the door. She was faced with an impossible choice. She would gladly have sacrificed herself for Kenny if that were the only decision she had to make. But to reveal their hiding place would probably do nothing to save her friend. She was pretty sure Scout would kill him anyway to leave no witnesses.

No, she couldn’t come out. To do so would put Riley in Scout’s hands as well. She couldn’t watch both of them die.

Her hands clenched into fists as she imagined what Scout might do to Kenny. When Kat pictured him, she still saw the face of the boy he’d once been. Though they e-mailed each other frequently, they had not seen each other in several years. He’d come all the way out here, put himself at risk because of their friendship. Could she listen to him being tortured and do nothing?

Chapter Forty-Seven

Kenny fought to catch his breath. He knew Frank could have hit him much harder. He had seen the look of regret in Frank’s eyes, and he felt a glimmer of hope at the realization. His cheek still throbbed from Scout’s brutal assault, but he was determined to endure whatever the woman had planned for him. He didn’t want Hunter to risk her life to save him.

*

Kat’s frustration boiled. She could hear nothing of what was happening in the other room. She glanced at the MP5 slung over her shoulder. If she had to leave their hiding place, it would not be the right weapon. Scout would be using Kenny as a shield.

She returned the submachine gun to its safe.

She took out a small buck knife and slid it into her left boot. Next she removed a case containing three throwing stars, each with four razor-sharp points. She slipped one into each back pocket and the third into the top of her right boot.

She also withdrew a .38 from the safe and loaded it. She handed it to Riley. "It’s loaded. Safety’s off. Don’t use it unless you have to."

Riley nodded and took the weapon.

Kat returned to the panel to listen.

*

Scout stood facing Kenny, cruel intent written in the smile on her face. Her gun was in her left hand, switchblade in her right. She kept glancing around the room as if expecting Hunter to appear at any moment.

Scout put the knife to Kenny’s throat and caressed him with the razor-sharp edge, forcing his head up to look at her. Her voice was soft. "Call out for your friend, Kenny. I know she’ll want to come out and play when she hears you’re here."

Kenny remained silent. He tried to free his hands.

"Need a little encouragement, eh?" she purred. "I kind of hoped you would."

She drew back with the knife and slashed his forehead--a cut three inches long, and deep.

Kenny cried out. Blood poured into his eyes. He struggled harder to free his hands.

"Stop that!" she snapped.

Kenny froze.

Scout got behind him. Kenny’s wrists were red and raw from trying to get out of the cuffs.

"Go get those chains and padlocks she used on you and Otter," Scout ordered Frank, waving him toward the generator room.

Frank nodded and headed for the door. As he reached it, he glanced back.

Scout circled Kenny, trailing the point of her knife in a path along his body. It went around his neck, paused at his ear, and followed his arm to his fingers. "I’m through playing around," she snarled. "You’re going to start losing body parts unless you call out to her. Now!"

Her words echoed in Frank’s head as he ran to the generator room.

*

Kat heard Kenny’s muffled cry of pain. She fought the overwhelming urge to burst out of the hidden door to confront Scout and rescue her friend. She held her Sig Sauer so tightly in her right hand her knuckles were white. Her left hand gripped the latch that would unlock the door.

She thought she heard Scout say something, but she couldn’t make it out.

Then Kenny’s voice. "Hunter," he shouted hoarsely. "It’s Kenny."

The lights blinked out again.

*

None of them expected it.

So when the lights went out, there was at first a moment of shocked silence.

Then everything happened all at once.

Kenny’s chair skittered across the floor.

Scout shrieked in frustration and lunged out after him just as Kat slipped into the room, fifteen feet away.

Kenny careened into the desk. He howled in pain as his hands were pinched between the chair and desk. He kicked off hard with his feet again to keep moving. His chair hit some books on the floor and stopped abruptly. He kicked again and rolled into the wall near the bedroom door. He froze there and listened.

Scout followed the noise of the chair. When it stopped, she headed in that direction.

Kat slipped her gun into her pants at the small of her back. She couldn’t use it now. She risked hitting Kenny. And if she shot at Scout and missed, the flash from her gun would give away her location.

She reached for her buck knife and held it loosely in her right hand while her other hand rested against the wall of bookshelves to her left.

It took her only a few moments to pick up Kenny. His heavy breathing was in front of her and to her right. She crept forward.

Kat opened her mouth and inhaled, tasting the air. She faintly smelled Kenny’s sweat. Then the coppery tang of fresh blood. She gritted her teeth. She could hear nothing, smell nothing, of Scout.

There were obstacles in her path. Books. She inched forward, nudging them aside with her feet as quietly as she could.

Kat imagined she was only six feet or so from Kenny when she heard a scuffle. Kenny grunted. Then the chair skittered across the floor again. It hit the wall, and through her fingertips Kat felt a slight vibration from the impact.

Kat tuned out Kenny’s sounds as she crept closer to him. Finally she could detect a new sound--Scout’s slightly accelerated breathing, near where she had heard the scuffle.

Kat focused on that sound with her eyes closed as she sheathed her knife and reached for one of her throwing stars.

The stainless steel was cool in her hand, the weight and the feel of it familiar, though it had been at least a year since she’d thrown one. Her fingertip caressed the throwing edge as her mind went through its checklist: the grip, the pressure on the blades, the flick of her wrist that would give it just the right spin at the moment of release. She let it fly.

The star struck Scout in her left shoulder and penetrated deep into the muscle. She screamed and her gun clattered to the floor.

Kat shot forward, her hands outstretched, seeking Kenny. Her left one found his head.

Kenny cried out.

Kat clamped one hand over his mouth. The other grabbed the back of the chair and yanked hard, pulling Kenny toward the bookshelves and farther from Scout, who was gasping loudly in pain.

The chair rolled several feet before a pile of books halted its progress. Kat leaned down until her lips were against Kenny’s ear. "It’s me," she whispered, taking her hand from his mouth. She felt for his bindings. She discovered he wasn’t tied to the chair. He was just unable to raise his hands over the high back to free himself.

She sliced through the rope around his feet. Then she put her arms under his armpits and lifted him.

Kenny struggled to his feet, his hands still cuffed behind him.

Kat put her hand to his mouth again. She could no longer make out Scout’s labored breathing.

She put Kenny behind her, reached down, and picked up several books. She threw them rapid-fire in a scatter pattern toward Scout’s last location until she heard a startled grunt of impact. She reached for another star and hurled it hard at the sound, gratified by the cry of pain that followed.

Kat reached up and skimmed along the bookshelves with one hand while her other remained on Kenny’s shoulder. She found the latch and pressed it. The click of the door lock seemed unusually loud.

She pushed the panel open and shoved Kenny through it, then closed it again. She listened. She picked up a few more books and threw them in Scout’s direction. Nothing.

Scout was on the move.

*

Frank cursed himself for not picking up a flashlight before he’d cut off the generator. He got to his hands and knees and groped around on the floor beside Otter, searching for the one he’d had earlier. Finally he found it and clicked it on.

Frank remained still for several seconds, considering his next move. He was tempted to just get the hell out of there while he could. The emergency exit beckoned him. But then what? Wander around out there until you freeze to death?

He went into the tunnel and took a hammer from Hunter’s toolbox. Then he continued on to the door to the living room, but didn’t open it. He pressed his back against the wall and clicked off the flashlight. A good place to wait, he decided, comforted by the heavy heft of the hammer in his hand.

*

The second throwing star cut deeply into Scout’s left arm. It could have been much worse. It struck where her head had been a second earlier. But Scout was alert to Kat’s presence now, and she had instinctively dodged to the side after the book had hit her, marking her location.

The adrenaline pouring through her body helped her ignore the pain. Scout gripped her switchblade in her right hand as she crept toward the center of the room. She heard a click in the direction of the bookshelves.

*

Riley heard the click of the panel door, then the shuffling of feet. Thank God, Kat’s back. Her relief was short-lived, however, when she next picked up soft grunting sounds. Someone struggling, or in pain. They had a distinctively male sound to them, Riley decided. Her heartbeat accelerated at the realization. She pointed the .38 in the direction of the sounds.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Kat and Scout were ten feet apart.

Scout stood in the center of the living room, listening. Nothing. But she knew Katarzyna was there. Near the bookshelves. She began to inch her way behind the couch to flank Kat’s position.

Kat had no idea where Scout was. She crouched down, feeling around her. More books. To disturb them would risk exposing her position. The only way out of the makeshift obstacle course was the way she’d gone to rescue Kenny. Toward the bedroom. She crept in that direction.

The two women moved farther and farther apart. Fifteen feet separated them. Then twenty.

Kat encountered fewer and fewer obstacles the farther she got from the bookshelves. Every few steps she paused to listen, but she could still not tell where Scout was.

Scout closed in on the bookshelves, knowing she had to be close to where she’d heard the noise. She worried Kenny and Katarzyna had escaped into the secret hiding place. She picked up several books and threw them toward the shelves. They clattered off the walls. Nothing. Scout gritted her teeth. You won’t get away from me, her mind chanted. She reached for more books.

Kat listened to the books hitting the wall and narrowed her keen hearing until she could make out two different types of sounds. Just prior to each thud against the wall, there was a faint whoosh, a fluttering of pages as the book sailed through the air. It gave her a general idea of where Scout was. Still in a crouch, she crept toward that location.

Another flurry of books was launched, this time right at Kat. The first sailed to her left. Then her right. She dodged the third by mere centimeters, catching the faint rustling of pages at the last moment as it flew directly at her face.

But Scout was tossing the books one after the other at close range, and Kat couldn’t react quickly enough to successfully evade the next one. It hit her square in her chest and dropped noisily to the floor.

Kat dove to her left, but she was not fast enough to evade Scout’s switchblade. It sank into the flesh of her right arm, halfway between her shoulder and elbow. She could not suppress a wail of pain as her own knife clattered to the floor.

*

Blood dripped into Kenny’s eyes from the slash on his forehead. He was having no luck trying to free himself from the handcuffs. His wrists were raw.

He explored the area around him with his feet, hoping to come upon something he could use to get the blasted things off. His left boot found something solid. He put his back to it and explored with his fingers. Metal. Big. He felt the dial on the door of the safe and recognized it for what it was. He continued on, taking shuffling steps. Another safe, the door open.

Kenny felt awkwardly behind him until his hands found a canvas strap. He followed it to a submachine gun, hung on a rack. Below it hung a rifle. He couldn’t reach high enough to tell if there was anything above them.

He crouched to examine the floor of the safe. With his fingers, he identified a pair of binoculars. A rifle scope. A canister of some sort. A box. He shook it. It rattled. He pried it open. Bullets. Continued on. Three more boxes of bullets. His hand closed around a pistol. Not what Kenny was looking for, but he stuck it into his back pocket. Convinced he had explored the contents of the safe as best as he could, Kenny stood and resumed his shuffling search.

He had gone a few feet when he heard a gun cock. It came from very close by and near to the floor. It took him several seconds to reach for his own pistol.

Unable to aim the weapon, he cocked it, hoping the sound would be enough to dissuade the other person from shooting him. The sound echoed in the small space.

*

Riley tried not to make a sound. Her heart was pounding. She held her breath.

She listened to the intruder noisily search the gun safe. She imagined that one of the two men who had been chained up had discovered the secret room.

She gripped the .38 in her hand and pressed herself into the corner, hoping the man would get what he was after and leave.

But his shuffling steps came nearer until she was sure he would be upon her any second.

She cocked the gun, alarmed by how loud the sound was. Stupid.

Her fear was confirmed when she heard the answering call of the intruder’s gun being cocked.

*

Kenny couldn’t believe Hunter would have gotten him away from the blond psychopath only to place him in more danger. So despite his shock at discovering someone else in here with a gun, he knew he had to find out for sure what the hell was going on.

He kept his voice to the slightest whisper, afraid that the room he was in wasn’t soundproof.

"Don’t shoot. I don’t want to hurt anybody, and I hope you don’t either." He paused, hoping for a response. Silence. "Are you a friend of Hunter’s too?"

After a long pause, a feminine voice whispered back. "Hunter? Who’s Hunter?"

Kenny frowned. "Tall, beautiful, mysterious? Owner of this fine establishment?" He hoped a little humor might prompt the woman to put away the gun that was trained on him.

"Kat," Riley whispered. "Her name is Kat. Why do you call her Hunter if you’re her friend?"

"Well, I am her friend," Kenny insisted. "And she’s been Hunter as long as I’ve known her."

"How long is that?"

"Seven years or so, I guess," he whispered, "Since she saved my life."

"She has a habit of saving people, it seems. She saved my life too. More than once," Riley said.

"Can I suggest we agree not to kill each other, then?" Kenny asked. "Probably would really piss her off."

Riley had to smile despite the situation. "Okay," she answered, carefully releasing the hammer of the gun. "What’s your name?"

"Kenny. You?"

"Riley. What’s happening out there? How did you get in here?"

Kenny crouched beside her and filled her in on everything that had happened since his arrival.

Riley in turn briefed Kenny on what she knew, and soon both had a clearer picture of how ruthless Scout was and how determined she was to kill Kat.

Together, they grew anxious as the minutes ticked by with no further word from their friend.

*

When Scout’s switchblade sliced into her arm, Kat cried out and her hand jerked open in reflex. Her buck knife clattered to the floor. But then her years of martial arts training and close-quarter drills at the Academy kicked in. She shut out the pain.

She anticipated Scout would charge her. Her left hand came up to search for what had impaled itself in her right arm. Her fingers closed around the handle of the switchblade. She withdrew it with a grimace and swept a wide arc before her with the weapon, just as Scout launched herself forward.

The knife met fleshy resistance. Scout screamed.

The scent of blood hit Kat’s nostrils. A thin spray of warm wetness hit her face and neck.

Scout was wounded, but it didn’t slow her down. She charged, and both women went down hard.

Kat landed on her back, Scout on top of her.

The impact knocked the wind out of Kat and sent the switchblade cartwheeling from her hands.

Scout scrambled to sit on Kat’s chest, pinning down Kat’s arms with her knees.

Kat’s handgun cut into the small of her back, unreachable. Scout’s left knee pressed down hard on the knife wound in her right arm. Kat thought she might pass out from the pain. She had trouble focusing.

Scout punched Kat hard in the mouth--once, twice, three times. She put her hands around Kat’s neck and started to squeeze.

Kat arched her back, putting all the strength of her long legs into it, and sent Scout flying forward, off balance.

Scout flew face first toward the hard floor over Kat’s head, but put out her hands to break her fall.

Kat rolled to one side, gasping for breath.

That led Scout back to her. She lunged at Kat, throwing haphazard punches, connecting with Kat’s face, neck, abdomen, shoulder.

Kat tried to fight back with her left hand. Her right arm was useless. Her fingers sought Scout’s neck, but Scout moved too fast, successfully evading her.

Kat shifted her weight with a loud grunt and managed to get Scout off her again. She kicked hard with both feet and sent Scout crashing into the kitchen counter.

Kat rolled painfully onto her right side and reached behind her for her gun. She fired blindly with her left hand.

On the fourth shot, Scout cried out and Kat heard her hit the floor.

Kat got to her feet. She found Scout with her outstretched boot and nudged her a couple of times. Scout reacted only with pained groans, so Kat crouched and found her head. She placed the cold tip of her gun against Scout’s temple. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

No reply. The blonde wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer.

"Frank!" Kat shouted into the darkness. "Frank! It’s Hunter. I’ve got her. Turn the lights back on!"

*

Frank opened the door to the living room just a foot or so. Just enough to peek inside. It was unmistakably Hunter’s voice, but was it a trap?

He clicked on his flashlight and swept it in a quick arc across the room until it landed on a grisly tableau. Hunter, poised over Scout. There was blood all over both of them, and Scout wasn’t moving.

"Right away, Hunter," Frank said. He headed for the generator room.

*

Frank’s flashlight blinded Kat momentarily, but she’d still gotten a pretty good look at Scout’s injuries. There was a widening pool of blood around her. Kat didn’t think she could survive long. She relaxed a little.

"Who are you?" she repeated. The anger was gone from her voice, replaced by curiosity.

The blonde coughed, a gurgling sound. "Maggie O’Rourke," she answered in a strained voice.

Kat couldn’t place the name. "Why?"

No reply.

Kat leaned down over the woman. "Why?" she asked again, her lips inches from the blonde’s face.

"Clogher," the blonde rasped out.

And then Kat knew. She remembered her only visit to the village in vivid detail. The IRA members she’d killed.

The splinter group had begun its reign of terror with ambush attacks against British soldiers. Then they had set bombs on buses in Dublin, killing dozens of men, women and children. Kat remembered she’d been told to expect five targets--one a woman--but she’d found only the four men when she broke into their cottage stronghold.

The lights flashed back on. Distracted by her grim memories, Kat was startled and had to squint her eyes to adjust.

Scout sprang to life. She clasped her hands together and slammed them into Kat’s hand. The gun went flying.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Scout rolled over and struggled to her feet. Kat launched a side kick that swept Scout’s legs out from under her and sent her crashing to the floor.

Scout tried to rise, but Kat kicked her again, this time a roundhouse blow that connected with Scout’s jaw.

She remained where she had fallen. The fight was gone from her. She moaned and then fell silent.

Frank reappeared in the doorway. He paused, eyeing Kat warily.

"You did real good, Frank," Kat said in a tired voice. "Get rid of the hammer and come help me, will you? Frisk her, get any weapons. Then carry her out to the generator room."

Frank nodded and bent over Scout. He searched her, then lifted her and turned toward the tunnel. He paused at the doorway. "You should take care of yourself. You’re bleeding an awful lot too."

Kat nodded, a hint of a smile appearing at the corner of her mouth. "Wait out there for me. I won’t be long."

As soon as he was gone, Kat unlocked the door to the weapons room. "The crisis is over, you two," she hollered. "Hold your fire."

She pushed the panel open and stepped into the inner chamber.

Riley and Kenny spoke at once as soon as they saw her.

"Thank God," Kenny said.

"You’re hurt!" Riley cried.

"I’ll be fine." Kat smiled down at Riley, then stepped over to Kenny.

"You’ve grown up," she remarked as she examined the cuts on his face. "We need to get you to a doctor to get these sewn up. Hate to have anything mess up that pretty face of yours." She put her hand on his cheek. "I’m sorry, Kenny," she whispered.

"Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay." He gave her a cocky grin. "Can I call you Kat now too?"

She nodded and tried to smile. "Yes, of course."

"And how about getting me out of these?" he said, turning to show her the handcuffs.

Kat patted her pockets for her keys before remembering Scout had taken them. "Soon. I’ll find something to get them off. Come on, you two, let’s get out of here." She reached out with her good hand to help Riley up.

When she got to her feet, Riley threw her arms around Kat and hugged her. The two women stood there a long moment, clinging to each other.

Kenny’s eyes widened in surprise. He felt a pang of envy, but he was grateful someone had managed to break through and touch Hunter’s heart in a way he’d been unable to.

The three emerged into the living room. The bunker looked like a bomb had gone off. In the middle of the chaos was a large pool of blood, the edges of it already turning dark.

"Is she dead?" Riley asked.

"Not yet," Kat said. "But soon." She turned to Kenny. "The helicopter pilot?"

Kenny cringed. "Dead. She shot him when we touched down. His body’s out by the chopper."

Kat nodded and tried to flex her right hand. The pain was excruciating. "Then we have a problem. I can’t fly us out of here with my right arm the way it is."

"Maybe you can’t, but I can," Riley offered. "Sam taught me to fly. Between the two of us, we should be able to manage."

Kat’s eyebrows went up, and she leaned over to kiss Riley on the cheek. "A woman of many talents. I have a lot to learn about you." She winked at Riley.

A blush colored Riley’s cheeks.

"Let me grab a few things, and we’ll go," Kat said. She checked the bathroom for bandages, but the supplies she’d gotten from the clinic were gone. She went into the bedroom and searched among the disarray for clean clothes. She stuffed them into a bag.

She locked up the weapons room and got her gun from the debris in the living room. She spotted the duffel bag on the counter, unzipped it, and looked inside. She glanced at Kenny. "This is the money you brought, right?"

"Yeah," Kenny said. "It’s not all there. She gave some to Frank."

"She what?"

"To ensure his cooperation. But he was the one who turned out the lights, right when she was getting pretty ugly with me."

Kat nodded. She thought Frank had helped them, but she was surprised to find he’d done it despite getting money from Scout. She slung the duffel over her good shoulder, along with her bag of clothes. She looked at Riley. "Can you make it? Can’t carry you this time, I’m afraid."

"I’ll be fine if I just go kind of slow," Riley answered, smiling. "Lead on."

*

Frank was crouched beside Otter when Kat, Riley, and Kenny entered the generator room. He glanced up at the trio. "She never woke up," he said, nodding toward Scout’s body, which lay near the door.

Kat went to stand over Otter, who was either asleep or unconscious. "Nice patch-up job, Frank."

"Bleeding seems to have stopped. The bullets went right through, but he hasn’t come to," Frank said.

"I wondered where all the first-aid stuff went," Kat said. "Since you did such a good job on him, how about fixing up my arm and Kenny’s head?"

Frank looked at Kenny. "Hey, sorry about the punch."

"Forget about it," Kenny replied. "If you hadn’t cut the lights, I’d probably be dead by now."

Frank looked over at Kat. "I had to hit him to get her to trust me."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "I owe you, Frank. And you’ll get your reward, just like I promised. But how about patching us up first? Start with Kenny while I try to find something to get him out of those handcuffs."

"Otter had the keys," Frank said. He searched Otter’s pockets and came up with the key ring. He freed Kenny and went to work dressing their wounds.

When he was done, Kat opened the main entrance. She had lost track of time and was surprised to find it was light out. It was cold, but clear.

"How many seats in the helicopter, Kenny?" she asked.

"Four."

She looked at Frank. "Well, Frank, you get to choose who gets the fourth seat. I can take you, or I can take Otter. If you want him to live, you’ll have to take a snowmobile."

Frank looked at Otter. "I don’t think I can find my way back to the road," he confessed.

"I can help you with that," she replied.

"Then he can go with you."

Kat nodded. "Take him out to the chopper, will you? You can use my sled. Follow those tracks, they’ll take you right to it. Then come back and get her." She gestured toward Scout. "The pilot’s body is out there by the chopper. Put hers next to his, out of sight from the air."

Frank put Otter on the toboggan and headed toward the clearing.

Kat turned to her friends. "Kenny, grab us some coats from the tunnel, would you? Give us a minute?"

"Sure," he answered, leaving the women alone.

"I brought some clean clothes for the both of us. Think you can manage?" Kat held up the bag.

Riley nodded.

They dressed quickly. As they finished, Frank reappeared and took Scout’s body away. Kenny came back with coats and hats.

Kat went back into the living room to get supplies for Frank. By the time he returned to the generator room, they were ready to leave.

Kat handed Frank his wallet, a compass, the keys to his snowmobile, and a map. "Follow the compass west by southwest," she instructed. "I’ve marked the way on the map. It shows where the hills and swamps are so you can follow the terrain back to the road. You have plenty of gas. You should make it back to town within a couple of hours."

Frank studied the map as Kat retrieved the duffel bag. She withdrew $100,000 and stuffed the money into her coat. She closed the bag and handed it to Frank. "There’s $300,000 there--including whatever Scout already gave you."

His eyes got big. He unzipped the bag and glanced inside. "Thanks, Hunter."

"One more thing I’d like you to do for me," Kat said. "When you reach the road, destroy the map and forget you were ever here."

"I think I’m coming down with amnesia. What’s your name again?"

She chuckled. "It’s your choice if you want to work for Garner again, but I’d like you to wait a couple of weeks to report back to him if that’s what you decide to do."

"I think I may just take a very long vacation somewhere and think about what I’ll do next. Somewhere warm," he added, smiling at her.

"Better get going while there’s still daylight."

As his snowmobile roared away, Kat turned to the others. "Time to go."

Chapter Fifty

Two hours later, Riley set the chopper down in Canada beside a clinic at the edge of a remote village. As the rotors slowed, a tall, middle-aged man with a graying beard and white coat emerged to investigate the noise.

When he spotted Kat getting out of the helicopter, he walked toward her, shaking his head. "I should’ve known," he shouted over the roar of the decelerating blades.

She smiled and hollered back, "Got some work for you, Eddie. Start with the guy in back. We’ll need a stretcher."

*

Kat and Kenny talked in low voices in the corner of the exam room while the doctor looked at Riley’s knee and wrist. Kat sported a sling, and Kenny’s facial wounds had been stitched and dressed.

Riley watched them. Kat did most of the talking. Every now and then Kenny would nod. Just as the doctor finished, Kenny left and Kat came to stand by the bedside.

"You patch her up?" the doctor asked Kat.

She nodded.

"Nice job." He turned to address Riley. "You just need some bed rest and you’ll be fine." He nodded toward a new brace he’d fastened around her knee. "That’ll help you get around better. And I can write you a prescription for some pain pills if you want them."

"A few, maybe," Riley answered. Her knee ached badly from flying the helicopter.

The doctor pulled out a prescription pad and started writing. "You can get this filled at the pharmacy in town. Pick up some crutches while you’re there, too." He handed the paper to Riley and turned to Kat. "Need a place to stay?"

"Kenny is taking care of that, thanks," Kat answered. "Riley will be staying at the Trapper’s Inn, Eddie. Would you look in on her from time to time over the next couple of days?"

"Sure."

Kenny reappeared. "Cab is here. Ready to go?"

"Yup," Kat answered. She turned to the doctor. "Thanks, Eddie. You sure you don’t mind keeping Otter here while he recovers?"

"No. I’ll be careful when he’s strong enough to cause trouble," Eddie replied. "He woke up briefly while I was treating him, by the way. He was surprised to be alive, and doubly so when I told him who brought him in."

"I bet." Kat turned to her friends. "Ready?"

The three of them made their way to the taxi. Kenny sat beside the driver, and Kat and Riley got in back.

As soon as they were underway, Riley turned to Kat. "You said I’ll be staying at an inn."

Kat nodded. "Kenny will keep you company. I have to take care of something."

"What are you planning?" Riley asked.

"Tell you later."

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Kat weighed how much she was going to tell Riley. She would rather her friend not know precisely what she was going to do--but there was a chance she might not come back.

*

Riley kept quiet only until she and Kat were in their hotel room. "Well? What are you up to?"

"Come sit down, get off that knee," Kat said. She helped Riley to the bed and got her comfortable, propped up against the headboard. Kat sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"I need to see Garner. He’ll keep sending people after me until I stop him. Before we can think about the future..." She paused and looked into Riley’s eyes. "I need to take care of this. I have to make sure you’re safe."

"But you’re hurt," Riley argued. "You’re not in any shape to confront a man who wants you killed. Can’t you wait until your arm is better?"

"No. It has to be now." Kat wanted nothing more than to remain with Riley while they both healed, but she knew she’d never be able to resist the temptation to consummate their relationship here in the privacy of the romantic inn. And she couldn’t allow herself to take that step while they were still in danger, knowing she might not return. It wasn’t fair to Riley.

"Once it’s done..." Kat stroked Riley’s cheek. "We can get to know each other without my having to keep looking over my shoulder. Take some time just for us and shut the world out," she promised. "I have plenty of money. We can go wherever you like, do whatever you want to do. I just have to take care of this first."

Riley leaned forward and hugged Kat. "Please be careful. I want to be with you more than anything. When do you leave?"

"As soon as Kenny gets here with the rental car."

"That soon? Shouldn’t you rest?"

"I can sleep on the plane," Kat said. "Don’t worry. I won’t rush into anything I’m not up for. It may take some time to figure out the best way to get close to him. But I’ll be back as soon as I’m able, I promise."

There was a knock on the adjoining door. Kenny called out, "I’m back, whenever you’re ready."

"Be right there," Kat answered. She gazed into Riley’s eyes for a long moment before she leaned in to kiss her. Slowly, gently, conveying the depth of her emotions in a way she never could with words. Their bodies pressed tighter together, and the growing passion between them surged through their bodies in a warm, enveloping wave.

Kat broke the contact. "Rest. I’ll be back before you know it, and then we can finally..." She paused, searching for the right words, and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks. "Well, we can finally...be together. Without worrying about someone interrupting us."

Riley put her hand behind Kat’s neck and pulled her close to kiss her again. This time the kiss grew more heated. Sparks flew. A promise of things to come.

Riley released her hold on Kat’s neck, and their lips separated. "Please come back to me."

"I will." Kat kissed Riley on the forehead and left without looking back.

*

A week later, Kenny and Riley sat in the inn’s restaurant drinking coffee and eating pie. Riley poked at her nearly untouched piece of rhubarb.

"Stop worrying," Kenny repeated for the tenth time. "She’ll be fine. You’ve seen her in action. She probably just decided to rest her arm before going to see him."

"Then why hasn’t she called?"

They had been over this so many times Riley knew Kenny had no answers. She knew he was concerned too, just better at concealing it. She put her fork down, her appetite gone.

Chapter Fifty-One

Evan Garner’s office was on the twenty-fourth floor of a nondescript steel-and-glass office complex that looked from the outside much like any other. Except for the high fence topped with razor wire that surrounded it.

Once inside, it was apparent that this was not a typical nine-to-five workplace. Security cameras were everywhere. Armed guards patrolled at irregular intervals. Nearly every door required a key card to gain access. And the top floor--Garner’s floor--was accessible only by a private elevator that required a four-digit code. Normally the code was changed every six months, but in recent weeks, it had been changed every two days.

After watching the complex and Garner’s home for three days, Kat concluded that her former mentor was in hiding, probably in his office. His car had not moved from its spot in the parking lot.

She accessed the building’s personnel files on her new laptop and searched for the employee she would impersonate to gain entry. She focused on the food service people who worked in the cafeteria on the twentieth floor. She knew its layout well, and it faced the private elevator to Garner’s floor.

Kat selected Bob Tarleton, a night-shift cook. He was single, roughly her height, and had a full beard and mustache.

She followed Tarleton for three days. She memorized his routine, walk, and mannerisms. She tapped his phone so she could learn and imitate his speech patterns. Then she went shopping for the supplies she’d need to complete her disguise. A week after she had left Riley and Kenny in Canada, she was ready to confront Garner.

*

Bob Tarleton glanced bleary-eyed at the alarm clock on his nightstand as the insistent pounding on his front door continued without pause. Six o’clock a.m. He’d only been asleep for two hours. He stumbled to the door and yanked it open, prepared to launch a stream of obscenities at the idiot who dared disturb him at such an ungodly hour.

His jaw dropped. He shook his head. Must be dreaming. He’d swear he was looking in a mirror. But his mirrored self smiled as he himself frowned in confusion. Before he could react, his grinning twin pushed by him into the room and pointed a gun at him.

"Hi, Bob," his twin said, in a voice eerily similar to his own. "Shut the door."

*

Tarleton didn’t hesitate to tell Kat everything she wanted to know. Kat was pleasantly surprised to learn that the shaggy-haired cook was an observant man who noticed things. Yes, Evan Garner was indeed staying in the building. The cafeteria workers had compared notes on seeing the man at all hours of the day and night, looking more and more haggard and disheveled. Tarleton volunteered that the same was true of Thomas, the big guy who seemed to be Garner’s shadow whenever he came into the break room.

*

Thomas’s hands were occupied with two oversized cups of coffee. It was 1:00 a.m. and Garner had insomnia again. The bodyguard reached awkwardly with an outstretched finger toward the elevator button. He felt a presence behind him. He glanced over his shoulder just as one of the cafeteria cooks reached around him and hit the button.

"Your boss just called down for this," the cook said, opening a small Styrofoam container. Inside was a large piece of lemon meringue pie.

Thomas nodded. Garner’s favorite. He had been eating at least a slice a day. If the boss wasn’t careful, he’d soon have trouble fitting into his custom-made suits.

As the elevator door slid open, the cook tried to give the pie to Thomas, but the bodyguard already had his hands full.

Thomas frowned. "Ride up with me." He stepped into the elevator.

"Sure." The cook got in too and went to stand slightly behind Thomas.

"Hold this." Thomas turned to hand one of the coffees to the cook. He reached for the keypad to punch in the elevator code. He was careful to block the cook’s view as he did.

The elevator began to rise.

Thomas’s world went black.

*

Evan Garner lay on the couch in his office with his eyes closed and the lights off. It was fruitless to try to sleep. He was hoping a good jolt of caffeine might make him alert enough to actually get some work done. He heard his office door open and close.

"How many times do I have to tell you to knock?" Garner rubbed his eyes as he sat up.

"How many times did you tell me the importance of the element of surprise?" a familiar feminine voice asked. The lights flicked on.

"Hunter." Garner gaped at the figure in the white cook’s outfit.

She was five feet away and had a gun pointed at his head. "Evan. Been a long time."

"Yes, it has."

"I’d have come to see you sooner but I’ve been pretty busy, as I’m sure you’re aware."

"T-Take it easy, Hunter," Garner stammered. "Don’t do anything rash."

"That’s a lot of money you put on my head. You must want me dead real bad."

"You gave me a good reason." He began to sweat. Garner had a stale odor about him. His suit was badly wrinkled and his face showed several days of beard growth, a contrast to his usual impeccable grooming. "Look, Hunter. We have a history. I gave you opportunities that made you a rich woman. You can’t just kill me in cold blood."

"I can find the strength to kill anyone I need to," she said. "Wasn’t that what you always told me when I objected to an assignment?"

Garner stood up and started to pace, keeping his distance from her. Where the hell is Thomas? All the lessons he’d taught her on how to detach herself emotionally from the people she had to kill came back to haunt him.

"I want you to tell me something, Evan. I want to know why. Or rather, why now? You said you’d come after me, but that was five or six years ago and I’ve kept out of your way."

Garner’s forehead furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who started this. You and your death threats. Sure, I was mad when you left. But I calmed down. You did your time for us. I wouldn’t have hurt you."

"Death threats? What death threats?"

"The messages I got from you. Said you were coming after me to get back at me for ruining your life?"

She shook her head and shrugged.

"You didn’t send them?" he asked.

"Nope."

"But they came through secure channels, with the code we gave you for identification purposes."

"Wasn’t me," she repeated.

"Well, I wouldn’t have issued the contract otherwise. It was purely self-preservation, Hunter. I’ve been living in my office, for God’s sake! Afraid you were lurking out there somewhere waiting to ambush me."

Kat suspected Garner was on the level. Something funny was going on. The answer came to her. "How did you come to hire Scout? Where did you find her?"

"Scout?" He stopped pacing and leaned against his desk. "I didn’t find her. She just showed up. Somehow figured out I was the one behind the contract and worked out how to find me. Didn’t say how. She was an odd one." He shook his head, remembering. "I thought she had her own agenda. She didn’t seem as interested in the money as she should have been."

"You were right," Kat answered. "She was after revenge. Remember that IRA group I took out, eight or so years ago?"

"Yeah, I remember." It had been a lucrative contract. "So what does that have to do with this?"

"She was the missing member," Kat replied. "The woman I was told would be there."

"No shit?"

"She must have been following me for years. She knew all about me. My real name, my past. Stands to reason she could have gotten the identifying codes too somehow and sent you the threats in my name. Probably bought out someone working for you and got a look at my old files."

Garner chewed his lip. He’d never had a traitor in his midst before, but it would explain how Scout could know so much about him too.

"She suspected you’d react to the death threats by ordering people to hunt me down," Kat speculated. "She wanted to be one of them, and this was her way of turning the heat up--to flush me out of hiding."

She glared at Garner. "And you played right into her hands."

Garner’s left eye began to twitch. "I didn’t know, Hunter. You can’t hold me responsible."

"You’re not in a position to tell me what to do, Evan."

The twitch got worse. "I was just trying to protect myself," he insisted.

Kat studied him in silence for a few moments.

"Come on Hunter, for old times’ sake. Just let it go."

"Just like that?"

He shrugged. "I-I’m sorry, Hunter. Katarzyna. I truly am."

Kat had never known him to apologize to anyone. She put her gun away. "So you’ll call off the contract?"

Garner relaxed. "Right away. Not that there have been any takers recently. Is Scout dead?"

Kat nodded.

"Frank? Otter?"

"Both all right."

"Then you’ve dealt with them all," he told her.

She nodded. "I’d like you to do me one last favor," she said. "To make up for putting me through a hell of a week."

"Name it."

She walked to his desk and wrote something on a slip of paper. "These are the GPS coordinates for a clearing in the woods near Tawa. Send a helicopter. Scout’s body is there, along with the body of a chopper pilot she killed. He was ex-Navy. His ID is on him."

Garner nodded.

"Retrieve the bodies and get some money to the pilot’s widow, if he has one. Oh, and she killed another guy--a helicopter pilot in Tawa named Sam McCann." Kat wrote the name on the slip of paper and handed it to him. Her handwriting was barely legible. "Get the case closed. I want all this done with the discreet kind of cover-up you’re so good at."

"I’ll take care of it. If you’ve left me with any staff to give orders to."

"No one’s dead, Evan." She smirked. "Thomas will be asleep for a while, though. He’s just outside the elevator door." She turned to leave. "What’s the code today?"

"5-0-4-5," Garner answered. "Nice job getting in here, by the way."

Kat nodded.

"Hunter?"

She paused at the doorway.

"Is there anything I could say to get you to come back and work for me?"

She shook her head. "Those days are long gone, Evan."

"You’d get to choose," he pressed. "Do the kinds of jobs that really make a difference--get the real bad guys."

"No, Evan," she said as she turned away and stepped over the threshold.

But even as she spoke the words, she wondered whether she would miss the thrill of the chase and the rush of adrenaline she got when she found herself in dangerous situations. She had unique talents, and she liked to test them.

And she had to admit that some of her kills had indeed made the world a safer place for innocents like Riley.

"The offer is always open!" Garner called out after her as she closed the door behind her.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Riley sat in a screened-in porch in the north woods, surrounded by the reds and yellows of autumn, a symphony of bird calls and the wind in the trees. It was a bucolic setting, but she could not enjoy it.

She wanted to doze--she hadn’t been sleeping well lately--but the constant tap, tap, tapping of a woodpecker nearby kept her awake. It droned on and on, incessant.

Riley opened her eyes, startled to find she was not in the woods at all but lying in bed, and the tapping sound was someone knocking on the hotel room door.

Her disorientation turned to mild alarm when she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. She’d fallen asleep with the light on. It was 2:00 a.m. No one knocks on your door at 2:00 a.m. unless it’s bad news.

She got out of bed and wrapped a hotel robe around her. She padded to the door and looked through the peephole, then fumbled with the lock in her haste to get the door open.

"You’re here!" she squealed, throwing herself into Kat’s arms. She hugged her fiercely. Tangible evidence this wasn’t a dream and Kat really was back, safe and sound.

"Sorry to wake you. There was no one at the front desk, and I forgot to take a key with me."

"Don’t be ridiculous! Get in here! I was so worried about you!" Riley relinquished her hold just long enough to get inside, where the embrace resumed. "I missed you so," she whispered into Kat’s neck. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Sorry I took so long," Kat hugged her back, her heart so full she was unable to speak. They remained like that for several moments, the joy of their reunion overwhelming them.

Riley realized Kat was embracing her with both arms. "Your arm." She pulled back and gently ran her hand over the spot where Kat had been stabbed. "It’s all right?"

Kat stretched it out and flexed the fingers on that hand. "Almost back to normal. I saw a doctor in D.C." She put the arm around Riley again and pulled her close. "How about you? How are you feeling?"

Riley released a long, contented sigh. "Perfect at the moment."

Kat chuckled. "I meant your knee and wrist, silly."

"I’m fine. The cast comes off in two weeks. The knee really doesn’t bother me unless I’m on it too much. Which I probably have been lately--pacing back and forth worrying about you." Riley poked Kat in the chest with one finger. "Why didn’t you call me?"

Kat opened her mouth. Closed it. Nodded toward the bed. "Come on, let’s get you back under the covers."

Riley watched Kat as she shed her robe and crawled under the covers. Kat had avoided her question, and now she was avoiding her eyes. "What’s wrong?"

Kat sat on the edge of the mattress. She licked her lips. Her mouth was dry. She stared at her hands. "Riley, I-I wasn’t sure that I should come back."

Riley’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth gaped open. "You’re not serious?"

Kat shook her head. She couldn’t look at Riley. "I’ve lived a violent, dangerous life, Riley. Done a lot of things I’m not proud of."

Riley took Kat’s hand in hers and squeezed it. "Stop beating yourself up over your past."

"You don’t know everything I’ve done," Kat whispered.

"I don’t need to know, honey. I know the person you are now."

"Riley, it’s more than that. I’m not sure I know how to...love you." She stumbled over the words. "I mean, I’ve never been...like this...with anyone. You deserve a lot better."

Riley’s hand went to Kat’s chin and gently forced it upward so Kat would look at her. "I don’t think we choose who we love, Kat," she said. "It just happens. Don’t you feel it?"

"Yes," Kat replied, so softly that Riley barely heard her. "I do. That’s why I came back. Maybe it’s selfish. But I can’t bear to be apart from you."

Riley blew out a long breath. "Well I’m glad that’s settled! You had me worried there for a minute. Don’t do that again."

Kat smiled. "So how have you and Kenny been getting along?"

"Great," Riley replied. "But he’s worried about you too. Have you told him you’re back?"

"No, I’ll talk to him in the morning. I have a job for him."

"Problems?" Riley asked.

"Nothing to worry about. Scout cleaned out one of my bank accounts. Maybe Kenny can get the money back. If not, it’s okay. I have others. Plenty to do whatever we want. Speaking of which, where do we go from here? Given any thought to that?"

"Doesn’t matter to me, as long as we’re together," Riley answered. "That’s the good thing about being a writer. You can work from anywhere."

"What kind of writer are you? Have I read anything you’ve written?"

"Maybe. I’ve done mostly magazine articles--travel pieces, profiles. I was always on the road. I think that’s what prompted Sam to start looking elsewhere." Tears sprang to her eyes. "Poor Sam. I shouldn’t have married him. We were high-school sweethearts in a small town, and it was just kind of expected." Riley looked at Kat. "We never had what you and I have. This just feels so different."

Kat nodded. "You make me feel things I never thought possible."

"What about you?" Riley asked. "Is there something you’d like to do? Anywhere you’d like to go?"

"Well, I’ve thought about that. I’d like to go back to Cyprus. Maybe I can’t go home, but I think I can find some comfort there now, and closure, if you’re with me."

"Cyprus it is, then." Riley stifled a yawn.

"It’s late. You should get back to sleep."

"No way," Riley replied. "I’m not that tired." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Not, huh?" Kat smiled.

Their eyes met. They came together in a searing kiss fueled by days of anticipation. Their tongues found each other.

Riley’s hand curled behind Kat’s neck. Her fingers entwined in Kat’s hair. She pulled their mouths more firmly together, deepening the kiss. Such soft lips, Riley thought. No, it was never like this with anyone else. And now I know it to be true.

Kat’s hand found its way under Riley’s oversized T-shirt. Her fingertips trailed up Riley’s abdomen and teased the curve of her breast. Those breasts. How could I resist those breasts?

Riley leaned into the caress and moaned into their joined mouths.

Kat’s fingertips found Riley’s nipple and brushed across it. It was instantly erect. Kat’s heartbeat accelerated.

Riley broke their kiss and pulled away. Her pupils were huge. She was breathing hard. "Come to bed. I need to touch you."

The invitation sent a wave of heat through Kat that settled between her legs. She stood beside the bed and began to strip. The nervousness she expected to feel was nowhere to be found. Her body felt electrified. Her eyes never left Riley’s.

She pulled off her socks and shoes, jeans, pullover. Then, more slowly, her black silk bra and panties.

Riley watched as each enticing body part was exposed to her. Long legs, firm thighs, taut abdomen, and full, round breasts, with dark nipples hard as pebbles. She licked her lips.

The subdued glow of the bedside lamp softened the scars that marked Kat’s life as Hunter.

"Beautiful," Riley breathed. She slipped off her T-shirt and tossed it on the floor. She wore nothing else. She pulled back the covers, exposing her nakedness. Ivory skin, lightly freckled on her shoulders and chest, trailing away into the valley between her breasts. They were high and firm with vivid pink nipples. The triangle of hair below was the same honey blond of her head.

Kat’s breath caught in her throat. She slipped beneath the sheets and moved into Riley’s outstretched arms. "You have an incredible body," she whispered. She shifted her weight so their bodies pressed against each other along their full length. She shuddered at the satisfying flesh-on-flesh contact.

"God, you feel so good." Riley breathed a long sigh. Her breath was warm against Kat’s neck. "I’ve ached for you."

The confession turned up the heat pouring through Kat. She claimed Riley’s lips, her tongue demanding entrance. There was more urgency to this kiss. One of Kat’s hands trailed down Riley’s back to her ass and caressed one firm cheek.

When they parted to breathe, Kat’s lips and tongue moved to explore the soft skin below Riley’s jaw.

A needy moan escaped Riley. She arched her neck to allow Kat greater access.

Kat sucked gently on Riley’s earlobe, then nipped at the tender flesh at the base of her neck. Her lips and tongue caressed the place beneath Riley’s jaw where she could feel her heartbeat--it drummed away just beneath the surface of the skin.

"Mmm," Riley purred. Her right arm encircled Kat’s waist. She tugged at Kat, urging her on top.

Kat shifted and Riley opened her legs, inviting Kat between them.

Kat left fluttering kisses on Riley’s heated skin as she climbed atop her. She tried to distribute her weight on her elbows and knees, afraid she would crush Riley.

But Riley wrapped her arms and legs around Kat, urging their bodies even closer.

They began to move together, breast to breast, the friction of their contact doubling their excitement.

Riley moaned again.

It brought Kat’s mouth to hers as their hips increased the rocking motion that fueled their arousal.

Kat kissed her hard, then broke away. Her lips moved from Riley’s mouth to her cheek, then to her neck. She slid down Riley’s body, keeping as much contact between their naked skin as possible.

Her lips and tongue tasted Riley’s cleavage and drew closer and closer to Riley’s breast.

Riley laced her fingers through Kat’s hair and brought her to her nipple. When Kat’s lips closed around it, Riley moaned again.

The sound of that long, throaty sigh drove Kat wild.

Riley arched her back and stroked the back of Kat’s neck firmly, seeking harder contact. Kat complied, her tongue and teeth nipping and caressing the sensitive nipple, then giving equal attention to the other, until Riley could stand the sweet torture no longer. Her whole body throbbed. "Please, Kat, please!"

Kat continued her oral adoration of Riley’s left breast while her hand began to trail a teasing path. Down the soft skin of Riley’s stomach. Along her outer hip. Down the outside of her leg and across the knee. Then slowly up the sensitive inner thigh.

Riley whimpered. She pressed herself against Kat’s hand.

Kat inhaled the musky scent of Riley’s arousal. It was heady, intoxicating. Her fingers closed in on Riley’s soft, wet folds.

Just before they reached their destination, Riley reached down and put one hand under Kat’s chin to bring her head up. Their eyes met.

"Together," Riley whispered in a low, breathy voice. "I want to touch you too."

Kat trembled as she moved up Riley’s body to kiss her again. Her blood was roaring in her ears.

Riley’s hand slipped between them and found the swell of Kat’s breast. Her fingers closed around the rigid nipple as their lips joined.

Kat shifted until she straddled one of Riley’s legs, remaining on top of her. Their kiss deepened as their eager hands found and caressed the sweet evidence of their readiness for release.

They stroked each other, exploring, teasing. Finding all the places that evoked the greatest response. Groans and sighs, one echoing the other. Moving in tandem. Deeper, faster. Mouths parting to gasp for breath. Finally, both peaked. Exquisite explosions. Riley first, Kat seconds behind, pushed over the edge by Riley’s cry of release.

They held each other for a long while, both unable to speak. Their overheated bodies cooled and heart rates returned to normal.

Finally Kat’s voice broke the quiet. "I have no words to tell you how I feel."

Riley shifted to look into Kat’s eyes. "I love you, Kat."

Kat’s eyes filled with tears. "I love you too." Words she’d never said, except to her father. Words she never expected to say again.

Riley saw the tears forming. "You okay?"

Kat caressed Riley’s cheek with her fingertips. She smiled and nodded. "More than okay." She winked at her lover. "I’m just Jake."

Flight Risk

For Blayne Keller, being in the wrong place at the wrong time just might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to her—once she stops running for her life.

A typical day at a Chicago travel agency turns deadly when Blayne witnesses a mafia murder.

Overnight, her life is turned upside down and she is thrust into WITSEC, the Federal Witness Protection Program. But the mob is determined to keep her from testifying and has a fed on its payroll leaking information about her every move. Only Alexi Nikolos, an enigmatic WITSEC Inspector with an agenda of her own, can keep Blayne alive, and it's not an easy task when the sparks between them are flying faster than the bullets aimed at their heads.

Flight Risk

© 2007 By Kim Baldwin. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 10: 1-933110-68-6E

ISBN 13: 978-1-933110-68-4E

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

New York, USA

First Edition: February 2007

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editors: Jennifer Knight and Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

Acknowledgments

For M.: You put up with more than usual in the writing of this book. Thank you for your endless patience, for pushing me for more pages, and for never complaining that I rarely offer to cook anymore.

For my dear friend Xenia: Your contributions to this book cannot be measured. I’m deeply grateful for your ideas and insights, bits of dialogue, unflagging enthusiasm for the project, and especially, for providing Alexi’s “voice.”

I have learned so much since being fortunate enough to sign with Bold Strokes Books, and I continue to grow with each project. My books always greatly benefit from the talents and expertise of this incredible, warm bunch of women, and I am so honored and proud to be associated with them. First and foremost, Radclyffe—publisher, inspiration, mentor, and friend. You have made the realization of my dreams possible, so how can I ever adequately thank you for that? To Jennifer Knight, senior consulting editor: my books and my craft are so much richer for your insights, ideas, guidance, and encouragement. Thanks also for Stacia Seaman’s editorial expertise and meticulous eye for detail. And Sheri—wow! You really outdid yourself on the cover this time, mate. Such artistry. I’m so grateful.

To Connie Ward, I have double reason to be thankful. For your tireless efforts as BSB publicist, and most especially for your wonderful insights and encouragement while beta reading for me. Also to my beta reader Sharon Lloyd, co-owner of Epilogue Books, who seems to catch every typo and other careless omission.

I have a wonderfully supportive group of close friends who provide unwavering support for every writing project of mine. Linda and Vicki, Kat and Ed, Felicity, Tim and Scott (thanks much again for the medical expertise, Scott), Marsha and Ellen. You are family, and near or far, I hold you always close to my heart.

And most especially, to the many, many readers who support and encourage my writing efforts by buying my books, showing up for my appearances, and e-mailing me. Thank you so much.

Kim Baldwin, February 2007

Dedication

For all the women

who inspire me

each and every day

Prologue

There were three gunshots altogether. Loud, staccato reports that pierced the stillness of the night. Two in rapid succession, then one more after a moment's pause, as if the shooter had stopped to take a breath.

Alexi Nikolos was already pounding back up the familiar stairs by then, her heart beating so wildly in her chest she was almost dizzy from the burst of adrenalin. She clutched her Beretta with such tension that the rough crosshatches in the grip left a faint impression in her right palm.

It was after midnight and there were no lights on in the house, but Alexi knew every room, stick of furniture, and each of the twenty-three steps that led to the upper level and bedrooms. As she got to the top and rounded the corner, a fist lashed out of nowhere and connected with her jaw. Her world went black.

When she regained consciousness, she was alone and the house was silent. Her gun was gone. She staggered to her feet and lurched toward the bedroom, wanting to shut down, to be anywhere else. Knowing what she would find, she forced herself through the doorway, hearing, as she did, the squeal of tires outside.

She flipped on the light and let out a keening animal wail of anguish.

Sofia Galletti was slumped in the corner, silent and still, the pale skin of her nude body stark against a growing pool of crimson. Blood splattered the cream-colored wall behind her, and two dark holes marred the plaster where the large caliber bullets that had pierced Sofia’s head and abdomen had ended their deadly rampage.

Alexi stumbled toward the woman she had made love to not an hour before and sank to her knees. With infinite tenderness, she cradled Sofia in her arms.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry.” She whispered it over and over and over, as if she could take it all back—her carelessness, her selfishness, her stupidity at thinking that the rules did not apply to her.

She rocked Sofia gently, her mind refusing to accept what had happened, until so much time had passed that the warm flesh she clutched began to grow cold.

Chapter One

One Year Later

Blayne Keller sighed wistfully as she slipped tickets and an itinerary into an airline folder and handed this to the meticulously groomed businessman sitting opposite her desk. In the eight years she had worked at the Balmy Breezes Travel Agency she’d booked thousands of vacations for clients but this was the first time she had arranged a trip to her dream destination. Remote, exotic Fiji. Three hundred and thirty islands of tropical bliss. The Blue Lagoon.

It was an especially appealing excursion to think about with the record-breaking cold spell Chicago was enduring this February. When Blayne drove by the large digital thermometer on the bank building down the street that morning, it had read nine below zero, up from an overnight low of minus fifteen. The parking lot that serviced the travel agency and the soda wholesaler behind it was slick with ice, and she’d nearly fallen half a dozen times getting to the door.

Blayne had about $3,600 in her Fiji fund, a stash of cash stuffed into an old coffee bag in her freezer at home. But that was not nearly enough. Not for the kind of luxury adventure she had in mind. The business class airfare alone from Chicago was more than five grand. She had another couple of years at least before she could arrange her own sojourn to the South Pacific. Until then, she’d have to be content with spending her vacation time closer to home.

Her client got to his feet and she did the same, thanking him for his business and wishing him well for his trip.

“Gotta say, I envy you, ” she admitted amiably as he tucked the travel folder into the inside breast pocket of his crisp navy suit. “The diving and snorkeling in Fiji is absolutely phenomenal.” She offered her hand and the man shook it, but his bored expression told her what he thought of her comment.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about that. Give me Vegas any day,” he said. “This was the wife’s idea. No place to me is worth being trapped on a plane for thirty hours.”

Cretin. You don’t deserve Fiji. Blayne kept the smile on her face only until the client turned to go, then she stuck out her tongue at him, an impulse that prompted a muffled snort from the dark-haired woman seated at the desk to her left. Fortunately, the man never looked back as Blayne silenced her friend, Claudia Cluzet, with a withering glare.

They were both thirty, and Blayne sometimes wondered how they had ever become close friends, they seemed so very different. For a start, their outward appearances were almost diametrically opposite. Blayne was petite and curvy, her Irish heritage spelled out in her shoulder-length strawberry blond hair and lightly freckled complexion. She was also feisty, outspoken, and fiercely independent, and she dressed for comfort much more than for style. Today she’d chosen black dress slacks and a loose-fitting turtleneck sweater in the muted gray-green color of high quality jade, the same shade as her eyes.

She never tried to look provocative. But a few people, Claudia included, insisted she had an understated type of sex appeal. That she was graceful in the way she carried herself, and her ready smiles and sense of mischief made her attractive to others.  Blayne never had any trouble getting dates, if that was a litmus of her charms, but she was well aware that the serious good looks belonged to her friend. Claudia had the statuesque, wispy frame of a model, and her classic features and dark eyes and hair were reminiscent of a young Isabella Rossellini. Unlike Blayne, she dressed to impress and entice. Today, despite the cold, she wore a long leather skirt and a form-fitting red sweater that focused attention on her nipples.

Blayne tended toward perky enthusiasm, where Claudia was languid ease. But they communicated in their own shorthand, developed over a decade of private jokes and shared confidences.

“Fiji, land of hot monkey sex on the beach,” Claudia said smugly as soon as the man was gone.

“Claud, don’t even…” Blayne threatened, propping herself against the edge of her friend’s desk.

“That tongue of yours is getting a real workout these days,” Claudia remarked in a seductive tone. She hiked her leather skirt above her knees and leaned back in her chair, moistening her lips in invitation.

Blayne obliged by leering at the expanse of skin exposed on Claudia’s long legs. “You wish.”

“God, get a room already,” an exasperated Joyce Houseman interrupted from the hallway behind them. Joyce was a bleached blond with breasts too perfectly round and pert to be anything but artificial. Every article of clothing she owned showed them off. In the midst of winter, she favored snug V-necked sweaters—today’s was pink. Joyce was past forty and it was beginning to show, so she was fighting the advance of time with plastic surgery and too much makeup. “You two will never convince me you have nothing going on.”

“Only in her dreams,” Claudia replied.

“I’m not the one dreaming these days, sweetheart,” Blayne countered playfully.

“Better late than never,” Claudia shot back.

Joyce’s scowl deepened. “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

Blayne and Claudia both cracked up.

“Should we be nice and tell her?” Blayne asked.

“If you must.”

“About damn time.” Joyce moved closer. “You’re trying to tell me you two really haven’t gotten together? Not ever?”

“No.” Claudia stuck out her rosy lower lip in a pout. “Not yet.”

Blayne reached over and ruffled Claudia’s hair affectionately. With a trace of regret, she said, “And we never will.”

“But you’re both unattached, and you obviously have the hots for each other.” Joyce looked bemused. “I don’t get it.”

“Well, to understand, you have to back up about ten years to the day I walked into my dorm room at Michigan State and found this magnificent specimen…” Blayne trailed her gaze up and down the length of Claudia’s body appreciatively before continuing. “…in my bed.”

“Soon to be my bed,” Claudia added.

“She announced she was my new roommate, but only if she could have the bed by the window. I wasn’t about to argue since I got a delightful new view myself in the bargain.”

“And?” Joyce prompted.

“And… I lusted after her like crazy,” Blayne admitted. “She used to wear these tight white shorts that barely covered her ass.”

Claudia laughed.

“But she was only into men, then.” Blayne sighed. “And totally oblivious to my fascination with her.”

“Until the night you kissed me,” Claudia supplied.

“Aha! I knew something must have happened between you,” Joyce said with satisfaction.

“Still seems more dream than memory,” Blayne continued. “Far too much to drink. Anyway, that ol’ cat came barreling out of the bag that night, for sure.”

Joyce turned impatiently to Claudia. “So? Come on. Did you kiss her back?”

“Well, yes and no.”

“Mostly no,” Blayne said. “It was over almost before it started.”

“You caught me by surprise,” Claudia said. “Long before I knew I could swing in that direction. And it wasn’t exactly the time or place.”

“What does that mean?” Joyce pressed. “Details! I want details!”

“Well, we were in the shower,” Blayne said. “Naked, of course…and she had her arms around me…”

“That’s more like it. Now I’m getting the picture.”

“Not the whole picture you aren’t,” Claudia interjected defensively. “She stumbled in at four a.m., very drunk, and I put her in the shower to try to sober her up. I had my arms around her to keep her from falling over.” She glanced toward Blayne. “Which is another reason I discouraged you that night. Not only was I not ready for it, I wasn’t entirely sure you knew who it was you were kissing. You were pretty far gone.”

“Well, for your information, I knew all too damn well who I was kissing,” Blayne retorted. “I went out that night in the first place because I had it so bad for you I thought I’d go mad if I didn’t get laid soon.”

Claudia’s eyes got big as she took in this tidbit from the past. “Did you, really?”

“Yes.”

“So?” Joyce demanded. “What happened?”

“Well, I was so shocked I guess I just kind of tried to laugh if off,” Claudia said. “Blayne apologized the next day and blamed it on the alcohol.”

Blayne sighed inwardly. She’d realized as soon as Claudia pulled back that her own feelings weren’t shared. She supposed she’d known it all along, but she’d just wanted to kiss her so badly she couldn’t help herself that night.

Joyce processed this for a moment, then asked, “What about now? You’re both into women, aren’t you? And you have this huge flirtation thing going all the time.”

Claudia hesitated. “Let’s just say our Blayne has not been lucky in love, so she’s become a bit relationship-shy.” She fell silent when Blayne glared at her.

“No. That’s not the reason. The reason we’re not together is that we’ve been friends too long and I won’t let anything mess that up.”

“So you keep saying,” Claudia murmured.

Blayne shrugged and gave Joyce a resigned little smile, indicating the revelations were over. Joyce took the hint and said, “Better get back to the books. Holler when lunch is here. I’ll pay whoever.”

She strolled off down the hallway that led to the rear business office next to the employee lounge and restrooms. Joyce liked to joke that she could skip work and they’d never know she’d gone. Her office was just a few feet away from two convenient escape routes--a connecting door to the soda company in the back, and an alarmed fire exit to the parking lot.

“You’re so stubborn,” Claudia commented once they were alone again.

“And you’re just bi-curious,” Blayne replied. “You keep ping-ponging from men to women. Any idea yet which it is you want to settle down with?”

“Does it matter? I’ll be happy as long as I find someone I trust, can confide in, love, respect, am wildly attracted to…” Claudia ticked off the qualities on the fingers of one hand, then feigned surprise as she looked at Blayne. “And what do you know. You meet all those criteria!”

Laughing, Blayne got up and moved behind Claudia’s chair so she could lean down and hug her around the neck. “Not going to happen, honey,” she said affectionately, as she planted a kiss on the top of Claudia’s head. “You know we make much better friends than we would lovers.”

“I’m not done trying to change your mind about that.” Claudia stretched, and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Time for lunch, and it’s my turn to go. Italian today?”

There were a number of ethnic restaurants within a short walk of the travel agency, and the three of them alternated on who got to choose the cuisine for the day. Joyce always ordered the same thing and Blayne knew the Firenze menu by heart. She pulled her wallet out of the top drawer of her desk, extracted a ten and handed it to Claudia.

“I’ll take that salmon and pasta dish with the dill cream sauce.”

Claudia bundled up in a coat, hat, scarf, and gloves until only her eyes were exposed. “When I come back, let’s plan a girl’s night out,” she said, her voice muffled by the scarf. “Somewhere with a heater better than in my apartment. A place with lots of booze.” She headed for the door, firing one final thought over her shoulder. “Or lots of hot women. That would do, too.”

Blayne cracked up. Warning, “Watch the ice,” she returned to her desk.

Pictures of Fiji stared at her from the computer monitor. Tanned, toned bodies in bikinis, fortunate tourists sipping fruity drinks. She tapped a pencil on her desk impatiently as a restlessness swept through her. It wasn’t just a vacation she craved. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was that she needed, she only knew she needed a change, and soon.

She liked her job, her friends, and even living in Chicago, though she’d never expected to settle in the Windy City. At one time, it had seemed her life was all laid out for her. After college, she’d planned to travel for six months and then return home to Ishpeming, Michigan to take over managing Blarneys, the family pub she’d lived above all her life. Her parents had expected it and she wasn’t adverse to the idea. She loved small town life and knew she would enjoy working in the congenial atmosphere of the authentic Irish tavern.

But a month before her graduation, Blarneys had burned to the ground, killing her parents and leaving her suddenly orphaned, homeless, and with an uncertain future, all in one swift awful nightmare. Claudia’s father had offered her employment in his travel agency, and Chicago had seemed as good a place as any to start her life anew.

Since then it had been a comfortable existence, but it had gotten much too comfortable of late. She needed some fun. Some action. Some romance. Something spontaneous in her life. Time to shake things up a little. I need to get out more.

*

Across the street from the travel agency, four men in business suits and overcoats sat shivering in a large panel truck that read L. Wolfe and Sons, Plumbers on the outside.

In the back with two other unhappy agents on temporary transfer from Washington, Special Agent Leslie ‘Skip’ Topping wondered how long it would be before his walrus moustache froze over like a mountaineer’s.

“Turn up the heater, will you, pal?” he called forward to the driver, a paunchy local agent dressed in the insulated coveralls a real plumber might be wearing on such a lousy day.

“Up all the way already,” Johnny Trelaine responded.

Skip had a feeling the jerk was lying, sitting in his cozy little hole up front, making sure the three Washington ringers in the back were as uncomfortable as possible. It was pretty obvious he resented the hell out of the lead role they’d been assigned in this organized crime investigation, when it was FBI Chicago that had put the case together.

“Damn this cold.” S.A. Dennis O’Rourke blew on his hands. A ginger-haired agent Skip had known for years, he was having trouble operating the sophisticated recording equipment in front of him with his gloves on. So he kept taking them off then complaining that his fingers were icicles.

Skip had a slightly easier task. He could manage his binoculars just fine with the heavy gloves he’d bought the second day of their surveillance, and there hadn’t been much to see today anyway. Six apparent customers of the travel agency and three trucks in and out of the soda place. The bitter cold and icy roads had kept the streets virtually clear of traffic.

The bosses in Washington were optimistic the tip they’d gotten would pay off, and this miserable stakeout would provide them with evidence to finally nail Vittorio Cinzano. So far the ruthless mob underboss had proven to be an elusive target. Cinzano was careful to avoid being seen anywhere near one of his distribution hubs. And guys that high up in the Mafia hierarchy were rarely sloppy.

“Anything?” Special Agent George Dombrowski mumbled through a mouthful of glazed donut. It was his third, but he was one man who needn’t worry about the calories. He was built like a brick wall, with a massive neck to match his overdeveloped arms and shoulders, and beefy hands that made the donut seem half-sized.

“At least we can hear something finally,” O’Rourke reported, fiddling again with the knobs on the recorder. “It’s a woman talking. She wants someone to call her when the meeting is over.”

Dombrowski paused over his donut. “That’s all she said? To call her when the meeting’s over?”

“All we got, anyway,” O’Rourke confirmed. “Not enough to ID her. But it’s got to be one of the three that work in the travel agency. They’re the only women in the building.”

“Which one of them do you think it is?” Dombrowski asked.

“No way of knowing with those damn windows where they are,” Skip complained, not for the first time. The squat red brick building they were watching had two large picture windows in front but they were set too high to see inside. “If I had to pick, though, I’d say the brunette.”

Dombrowski chuckled. “We didn’t ask which one you wanted to screw, Skip.”

“Hell, they could all be in on it,” O’Rourke said. “Maybe they’re back there in the warehouse all the time. Maybe this is just the first time we’ve caught one saying anything.”

“Heads up,” Trelaine interrupted from the driver’s seat. “Three subjects. Ford sedan approaching from the rear.”

Skip shot to his feet and trained his binoculars on the battered sedan that drew alongside them. It slowed to turn into the travel agency parking lot then disappeared behind the building. The windows were tinted, making it almost impossible for a positive identification of the occupants.

“That was Cinzano himself, Goddamn it!” Trelaine whooped. “In the back, left side.”

“You sure?” Dombrowski asked doubtfully. “Couldn’t see much.”

“Could be him,” Skip agreed. “Sedan looks about right. He’d want to be inconspicuous.”

“I know I’m right. I’ve been staring at pictures of him for months,” Trelaine reminded them, the usual edge of resentment missing from his voice.

Skip knew what he was thinking. Play nice or get cut out of this. “We’ll know soon enough,” he said. “Everybody shut up now, will you, so I can hear what’s going on?”

Chapter Two

Vittorio Cinzano paused just inside the door to the soda distribution center that shielded half his cocaine empire. The warehouse was quiet, the massive garage doors to the parking lot closed and the forklifts idle. High, cellophane-encased pallets crowded the building and Vittorio knew he looked out of place there, in his expensive navy suit and silk tie, handmade Italian shoes, and cashmere-lined coat. But he always dressed according to his status and position, and was conscious of his dark-eyed handsome looks when he chose his garments.

Six feet tall and in his early fifties, he thought he was ageing even better than most Italian men. His brown hair was only just tinged with gray and he still felt women’s eyes on him despite the recent accumulation of extra pounds around the middle, a consequence of his fondness for pasta. The only flaw in his classic profile was his crooked nose. Vittorio had occasionally contemplated plastic surgery so he could look like a mature movie star, but when he saw his nose he also saw his father and his heritage, and that was something he would never trade away for vanity.

He swung his gaze slowly past the loading dock at his end of the warehouse to the glass-fronted office virtually out of sight at the rear. He knew the traitor he had come to see was watching him on the security cameras, so he lingered a moment where he was, enjoying a small measure of satisfaction. He knew exactly how much he was making the man sweat.

He had been here only twice before, both times late at night when there’d been nothing in the building that could compromise him. However, there was plenty to incriminate him in the surrounding pallets today, and he’d also come in broad daylight. But he judged it worth the risk. This was personal. Deeply personal. He had just confirmed that someone in his inner circle had betrayed him.

Aldo Martinelli had been a nobody, a low level associate, until he had the good fortune to catch the eye of Martinelli’s baby sister, Marie. Their marriage had been his way up the ladder, for family was everything to Vittorio. It had gotten Martinelli the esteemed position of caporegime, and the cushy job of overseeing deliveries at the warehouse.  Vittorio had even looked the other way when he learned his brother-in-law had taken a mistress, but only because Martinelli had been discreet about it.

Unfortunately Aldo had gotten greedy. Not content with the percentage Vittorio allowed him, he had upped the street price of their coke on his own and was pocketing the extra. It hadn’t taken long for some of the customers to start complaining.

Vittorio had paid a surprise visit to the Martinelli home that morning to confirm his suspicions, and it had been a snap to do so. There was a Jaguar in the driveway, a massive new high definition TV in the living room, and Marie had prattled on and on about the Florida condo they were about to close on. Martinelli had evidently been skimming for quite some time.

Vittorio had not let on to his sister that anything was out of the ordinary. But he knew she might just call her husband for some reason and mention the visit. So Vittorio had come to the warehouse straightaway, to give his brother-in-law an opportunity to own up to what he had done. He wanted to believe, for Marie’s sake, that his caporegime could grow some balls and accept responsibility like a man. But he knew that the fat fuck he’d come to see was the type to run, or worse—seek protection in the wrong places—if he learned he’d been discovered.

Vittorio did not allow his face to convey any of his rage. Nor his voice. “See we’re not interrupted,” he instructed his driver.

The guy, one of two dozen goons who worked for him and who all looked uncannily alike, exited the door to stand watch outside. His bodyguard, another of the same, followed Vittorio toward the rear office.

Martinelli met them halfway there and greeted Vittorio with the customary embrace and kisses that bespoke their family connection and shared Italian heritage. Vittorio allowed it, then stood back, silently studying the man he had trusted enough to appoint as his captain. He gave nothing away in his posture or blank expression.

Martinelli had the same olive complexion as his boss, but the similarity ended there. Nearly a head shorter, he was balding and heavyset and had a vaguely porcine face with beady black eyes set too close together and an upturned pug nose with oversized nostrils. He was dressed in brown trousers and a tan shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the buttons stretched too tight. The clothes were appropriate, nice but not too extravagant. But Martinelli had gotten sloppy about the details and Cinzano never missed the details, like the pricey watch and the quality of the polished wingtips.

“Hey, Vittorio.” Martinelli hailed him with false cheer, obviously trying not to show his nerves. He had a faint growth of beard, like he couldn’t be bothered to shave the last day or two. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

To his credit, he was trying not to let on that he knew he was in trouble, but the slight twitch in his left eye gave him away. That, and the sweat that was beginning to pour out of him. Vittorio had arranged for him to get a call earlier telling him to anticipate a meeting, but he would have expected it to be routine business with one of Cinzano’s men. As soon as he saw Vittorio, he had to know he’d been discovered skimming some of the cut.

“We need a sit-down,” Vittorio said. He glanced at the pallets around them, surveying the enormity of places where bugs might have been planted. It wasn’t lost on Martinelli.

“The office?” he extended a palm in that direction. He had small hands, pudgy like the rest of him, and Vittorio was gratified to see that no matter how hard he tried, the traitorous capo couldn’t hold the hand steady.

Vittorio led the way and his bodyguard waited for Martinelli to follow before bringing up the rear. They entered the office but Vittorio remained standing, ignoring the comfy couch along one wall, and the large oak desk with Martinelli’s leather chair on one side and two plush and inviting guest chairs on the other.

Martinelli turned on the radio and set it high enough to obscure any conversation. He was really sweating now. The dome of his head shone with it. He pulled out a handkerchief and quickly swiped at his face and forehead.

Still Vittorio remained silent. Watching. Waiting. Patient. Inscrutable. And intimidating as hell.

Martinelli moved behind his desk, and gestured toward the couch. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Something to drink? I got some great old Scotch.”

Evidently he thought there might be a small chance that if he acted all business-as-normal, his brother-in-law might remember they were family. Vittorio didn’t move.

Martinelli’s shaking became more noticeable, and there was a quaver to his voice now too.  He was rapidly unraveling. “How are Nicki and the twins?”

“Fine.” The clipped response cut short any further inquiry about family.

Vittorio remained outwardly impassive, glancing about the office, in no hurry to address what he’d come for. He was getting off on watching Martinelli talk himself into a hole. He loved this part of the life he led. Exacting his brand of justice. Setting an example. His sister was better off without this turd anyway.

Martinelli wasn’t about to stop talking. It was better than the alternative. “Hey, how about something to eat? I…I can send Joyce out for something. Great Italian place down the block.”

Vittorio allowed the blasé demeanor to vanish, making direct eye contact that pinned Martinelli in place. “I just lost my appetite. Do you know why?”

Sweat rolled down into Martinelli’s eyes, making him blink. He wiped at his face with the handkerchief again and seemed to be having trouble breathing. Desperation flashed in his eyes, and he looked around, seeking an escape. It told Vittorio all he needed to know. He’d given Aldo a chance. He owed Marie that much. But he had to protect himself at all costs.

Vittorio made a subtle movement of his head, and his bodyguard moved between Martinelli and the door. The bodyguard, who seemed not the slightest bit interested in what was happening, towered over Martinelli, and was muscle everywhere that the smaller man was fat.

“Sit down, Aldo.” The abrupt command contained the first hint of Vittorio’s growing impatience, and his disappointment that Martinelli wasn’t going to confess his misdeeds unless pressured.

Martinelli sank into the chair and began rearranging the stuff on his desk, obsessively tidying the papers into piles while avoiding eye contact. “I should call home. Marie has been asking me to invite you and Nicki over for dinner,” he said, procrastinating.

Vittorio held his temper. “What do you need to tell me, Aldo?”

*

“What the hell are they saying?” Skip Topping was standing almost on top of O’Rourke, trying to hear any sound that might be escaping the agent’s earphones.

“Can’t hear squat,” O’Rourke griped. “They’ve turned on the damn radio. We should have broken it when we planted the bug.”

“Yeah, like that wouldn’t have been obvious,” Trelaine commented from the front, plenty loud enough for the Washington boys to hear.

“I wasn’t serious, asshole,” O’Rourke shot back, frustrated by his inability to catch any of the conversation going on in the soda warehouse.

Aggravated, Topping said, “So we don’t even know if it’s him for sure.”

“It’s him,” Trelaine insisted. “And something major is happening if he’s paying a visit in the middle of the day.”

*

Claudia returned to the travel agency with their lunch, her face brick red from the cold. “Brrr. That’s my last time going for lunch until April, at least,” she vowed.

While she peeled off her winter outerwear, Blayne unpacked the sack of food, frowning when the contents yielded only three Styrofoam containers, plastic utensils and napkins. “Forget something?”

Claudia gave her a questioning look. “Did I?”

“Drinks? You know the fridge is empty.”

“Oh shit, that’s right. Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not risking life and limb on those streets again. And besides, the food would be stone cold by the time I got back.”

Blayne grinned conspiratorially. “There is another option.”

“You’re not,” Claudia advised, but she knew damn well Blayne wasn’t about to listen. She liked being naughty way too much. “Joyce will stop you.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that, anyway?” Blayne lowered her voice as though Joyce might overhear them. “I like Joyce and all, don’t get me wrong. But she acts like this self-appointed watchdog. We used to go back there and help ourselves all the time when Pete was running the day shift.”

“It is odd,” Claudia agreed. “She sure flew off the handle the last time she found out you’d snuck a few cans.”

“Yeah, I mean so what. Who’s going to notice?” Blair shrugged. “Maybe she’s in menopause or something.”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious she’s dating that Aldo guy. He’s in her office all the time. And I know she goes over there, too.” Claudia made a face like she’d smelled something repugnant. “You don’t think she’s worried one of us would be interested in him, do you? I mean, gross!”

“Can’t be that.” Blayne winced. “He gives me the creeps.”

“Me too. But he does send business our way.”

“Well, yes, there is that, I guess.” Blayne stood and rubbed her hands together, anxious to embark on her soda-snatching adventure. “I’m going before the food gets any colder.”

“You know, one of these days that cute little larcenous side of yours is going to get you into some real trouble.”

“Today is not that day,” Blayne declared confidently. “And I’m sure those guys don’t give a damn. There’s always an open pallet of soda out there. I’ll just duck in, then pick up Joyce on the way back.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Claudia knew her protestations were pointless. She wasn’t sure what was behind Blayne’s penchant for petty theft; she’d even tempted the Fates stealing little stuff like pens and paperclips in college. It was always something trivial, but her luck at escaping repercussions couldn’t hold out forever. “Be careful.”

Blayne gave her worried friend a thumbs-up and headed toward the rear hallway. She edged slowly and quietly as far as Joyce’s open doorway and snuck a quick peek inside. A large travel poster hung under glass on the opposite wall, and the glass reflected the inside of the office like a mirror. Blayne could see Joyce faxing something, her back to the doorway.

Taking advantage, she slipped past and continued on beyond the lounge and restrooms to the big steel door that led to the soda warehouse. After easing it open a few inches, she paused momentarily to listen and caught the faint sound of a radio playing. That was all. Perfect.

A moment later, she was inside, heading for a vantage point she knew of, where she could see inside the glass walls of the office. She hurried toward it, keeping low and moving between the pallets. If anyone was about, she wanted to make sure they were occupied and wouldn’t notice her.

The office walls didn’t extend as far as the high warehouse ceiling, so the sound of the radio got louder as she drew closer. She started hearing something else, too. Voices.

*

Fear unlike any he had ever known pulsed through Aldo Martinelli. Every nerve ending was jagged and raw. He wanted to run so bad. His eyes went left, then right. But before he could move, the bodyguard shifted to stand directly at his side, cutting off any hope of escape.

He took a deep breath. Think. His mind raced. He had to offer an explanation. Any explanation. Anything to stall for time. Whatever excuse he could offer, he would offer. Because he knew as soon as he stopped talking, he was a dead man.

“Okay. So…okay,” he stammered. “It’s like this. I have to charge more to cover some extra costs that came up unexpected.” It was not an acceptable explanation, but he wasn’t in the big leagues in thinking on his feet.

“Since when do you make those decisions yourself?” Cinzano asked.

“I didn’t think I needed to get it clear with you,” Aldo lied, glancing up at his boss. “I did it for us, for all of us. ”

Cinzano smiled as though he believed it, even accepted it perhaps, and Aldo almost relaxed a little. A glimmer of hope skittered up his spine. Maybe, he thought. Maybe he doesn’t know how long it’s been going on.

“The money isn’t in yet,” he said, looking away again. Perhaps his brother-in-law, might give him a pass, let him make amends, for the sake of family. “Of course, when it is, I’ll send a man right over.”

The only sound for a long minute was the radio. Cinzano waited until Aldo looked at him before he spoke again. “So then how do you explain the new Jaguar?”

Aldo began to hyperventilate. All hope was gone.

“And I understand you are closing on some real estate in Florida,” Cinzano continued.

Aldo tried to stand up but the bodyguard pushed him back down. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow. He knew he was about to die. “Please, boss.” His voice broke. “Vittorio. Please. I did it for Marie. Give me another chance.” He hated sounding weak and pleading, but he’d do anything to stop what was coming.

Cinzano held a gloved hand out towards his bodyguard, and the bodyguard reached under his jacket and handed a 9mm Glock to him. Cinzano placed the gun on the desk in front of Aldo, facing him.

“God forgives. But I am not God. Do the honorable thing, Aldo.”

*

From twenty feet away, hidden behind a pallet, Blayne watched the unfolding drama through the office window, unable to move. Her heart pounded. Her body was energized and poised for flight. She wanted desperately to escape this madness but fear instinctively froze her into motionless silence so she wouldn’t draw attention to herself. Transfixed, her subconscious registering every detail of what she’d stumbled into, she watched.

The fat man sitting behind the desk stared at the gun, then reached for it as though hypnotized. But his hand stopped short and he looked up. Blayne could just make out the words. “You know I can’t do this. Please. We’re family.”

The man in the suit showed no emotion, but Blayne could have sworn there was a certain expectation in his eyes, when he looked from the fat guy to the gun, and then back again.

Everything seemed surreal. She could not believe what she was seeing when the frightened guy behind the desk picked up the gun. He seemed to weigh it in his hand and study it, like he was also thinking about his choices. Everything about his body language said there was no way out. No more options.

And nothing left to lose.

He pointed the gun unsteadily at the guy in charge. “Just let me leave, boss. Let me go home. They were only a few feet apart, the width of the desk and a bit more.

To Blayne’s astonishment the tall, elegantly dressed boss shook his head and took a step toward the desk, taunting his subordinate. Blayne automatically braced herself for an explosion as the fat guy pulled the trigger.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He rose, wide-eyed in shock. His lips started moving but no sound came out.

The boss looked disgusted. Blayne thought she glimpsed a faint nod to the muscle-bound hulk she assumed must be his bodyguard, but nothing was said. Everything played out before she could really understand what was happening.

The bodyguard moved faster than Blayne would have thought possible for such a big man. He pulled out a gun—it looked abnormally long because of the silencer on the end—put it against the fat guy’s head and fired, all in the space of a second or two. The only noise was a muffled pop as the bullet made a neat hole in the victim’s right temple, then blew out the left side of his head.

Brain matter splattered against the glass and the dead man fell forward onto the desk. Blood poured out, soaking the neat piles of paperwork all around him.

The bodyguard unscrewed the silencer and stuck it into his pocket, then slipped the murder weapon into a shoulder holster.

The horror of the scene stripped away the caution that had paralyzed Blayne up to that moment and her instinct for self-preservation took over. She turned to flee, but the flash of movement betrayed her.

“A woman! There!” a voice barked before she had traveled three steps.

A gun fired.

*

“Jesus! Somebody’s shooting! Move! Move!” O’Rourke bellowed as he ripped off his earphones.

“Call for backup,” Skip yelled, scrambling out the back of the surveillance truck.

Trelaine got the vehicle started and stomped on the accelerator. Skip was already positioned outside the side fire exit when the van fishtailed on the ice in the parking lot in front of him. Dombrowski was advancing through the front door of the travel agency.

Their surveillance map showed an internal access to the soda warehouse at the rear of the building. They had to take the risk that Cinzano would choose to escape via the parking lot rather than wait around for a shootout once the FBI presence was announced.

Chapter Three

The first shot had shattered the glass window of the office. The noise was jarring, deafening. The second bullet splintered the edge of the pallet just behind Blayne and sent a spray of wood skittering across the polished floor. Panic gripped her and her next step faltered badly. Jesus God. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. She started to fall, but caught herself just as the third bullet roared by right where her head would have been had she stayed on course. When the bullet buried itself in a pallet four feet away, an explosion of white powder dusted Blayne as she regained her footing and stumbled by.

Her blood buzzed loud in her ears and her heart pounded against the walls of her chest, but she became aware that the running footsteps she could hear behind her were retreating, not advancing. The realization wasn’t enough to make her slow her steps, however. She didn’t dare believe that she was truly out of danger.

She was nearly to the connecting door when it burst open with a crash and a massive brute of a man in a dark blue suit came rushing in, gun drawn. As soon as he spotted her, he pointed the gun at her head. She stopped in her tracks, light-headed with adrenalin and certain her death was at hand. No wonder they weren’t chasing me. They knew he would get me. The man quickly scanned the area around them.

It seemed to take forever for him to say the words that allowed her to breathe again. “FBI! Face down, on the ground!”

“Yes, okay.” Relief poured through her as she dropped to her knees. “Two men are in here and they have guns,” she volunteered in a low voice as she got down on the ground. “They…they killed a man in the office.”

“That’s enough. Quiet now,” Dombrowski said. “Hands behind your back.”

She did as he ordered. The concrete was cold against her cheek as she lay flat and put her hands behind her back. When he started to put handcuffs on her, Blayne’s mind and gut recoiled at the prospect of being restrained. She was the victim here.

“Hey! I saw it,” she informed him. “They tried to kill me. I wasn’t in on it.”

“Quiet,” Dombrowski repeated, in a voice that demanded compliance. “Don’t move.” He fastened the cuffs and then headed toward the office, gun at the ready.

Craning, Blayne saw the boss and his bodyguard nearly run headlong into another Italian who’d come running at the sound of shots. The three of them burst through the door to the parking lot and came to a dead halt.

Almost immediately, Blayne heard someone shout, “FBI. Drop your weapons.” And from the silence that ensued she guessed the murderer and the man giving the orders had been arrested.

As her adrenalin rush faded, she started to feel the cold permeate her body from the concrete beneath her, and took deep breaths, trying to clear her head and settle her nerves.

It took a couple of minutes for her monstrous captor to return. “We got them,” he volunteered. He helped Blayne to her feet but kept the handcuffs on her.

The connecting door to the agency opened and Joyce and Claudia came in, followed by another FBI agent with a walrus moustache like something from a wild west photo. Both women looked anxious and worried, but Claudia’s face visibly relaxed when she spotted Blayne. Joyce, however, looked beyond Blayne, toward the blood splattered office, her anxiety palpable.

The agent with the moustache said, “I’m Special Agent Leslie Topping and my colleague is Special Agent Dombrowski. We are going to need statements from all of you.”

“What the hell…” Claudia stared at the handcuffs clamping Blayne’s wrists. “What is this!”

“Claud!” Blayne began. “There was…”

Agent Topping cut them both off. “No talking.” He took Claudia by the elbow and led her away toward the office, along with Joyce.

Blayne started to follow, but Agent Dombrowski held her back. “We don’t want anyone talking to each other just yet.” He let the others get well ahead before following with Blayne.

Joyce let out a wail of anguish when she spotted the dead man slumped over his desk, through the glass shards that remained of the office window. As it became obvious that half of his head was gone, she gagged.

“Who was this man to you?” Agent Topping kept one hand firmly around Joyce’s elbow to prevent her from going into the office.

Joyce sobbed uncontrollably, near hysterics, paying no regard to the agent at all. Her thickly-applied mascara and eyeliner left ugly tracks down her cheeks, but she was, for the first time in the years Blayne had known her, totally unmindful of her appearance. “Oh God, Aldo,” she wailed, eyes fixed on the widening pool of blood around him. “What the hell did you do?”

Dombrowski steered Blayne away from the others, putting a row of pallets between them as he hustled her past and toward the door at the rear. It did not escape her notice that although she was handcuffed, the agent was treating her with kid gloves, his grip on her arm surprisingly tender, like a father walking his daughter down the aisle.

They were nearly to the door when she began to hear sirens, lots of sirens, still distant. Dombrowski pushed open the steel door and let Blayne precede him through it.

She was startled to see him just outside. The tall Italian boss turned at the sound of the door, and a sadistic smile spread across his face as he looked Blayne in the eyes. He was in handcuffs and another agent was standing close by talking to someone on his cell phone, but Blayne still felt incredibly threatened. She leaned thankfully into the solid wall of Agent Dombrowski as he walked her past the cold-blooded killer.

Just as they drew level, the mobster said so quietly that she barely heard it, “Blayne Keller, right?”

The menace on his face sent a chill through Blayne. She knew that look. It was exactly the look she’d seen a moment before he killed the man in the office. It conveyed an unmistakable a message. You are going to die.

*

More than four hours later, the shock and fear generated by the day’s events began to give way to annoyance and frustration as Blayne repeated for at least the twentieth time every detail she could recall of what she had witnessed. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She had cooperated fully, answered all of their questions more than once, and was anxious to get out of the police interview room and go home.

The feds had kept the witnesses and wiseguys apart for the few minutes it took for the cavalry to arrive. Several squad cars, crime scene techs and the medical examiner van all converged on the soda warehouse within a half-hour of the shooting. After a short and slightly heated exchange between the feds and local cops, Blayne had been loaded into one squad car, Claudia and Joyce into another, and the mobsters into two more. They were all driven to the First Division Headquarters of the Chicago P.D. on South Michigan Avenue.

There Blayne was patted down by a female police officer and placed in a windowless room on a miserably uncomfortable wooden chair. Two police detectives came in, though one did all the talking, and she began to repeat her story over several cups of some of the worst coffee she had ever had.

At long last the detectives announced they were done questioning her for the moment, but before she could relax, they were replaced by Agents Topping and Dombrowski, who asked her to start all over again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she complained, letting her irritation show. “I’ve done nothing but go over and over this for hours. Look, I’m doing my bit. I’m being the good citizen, but this is getting ridiculous.”

“The C.P.D. has jurisdiction over the homicide,” Dombrowski explained. “We’re handling other aspects of the case. We need you to go through it all again.”

And so she did, and she found that in the repeated telling of the details of the murder, she became, each time, a bit more inured to the horrific event. She even began to let go of some of the trepidation she had been feeling since the man involved had said her name. He was in custody, after all, she kept telling herself.

But once the agents were satisfied with her account of the murder, they began questioning her about other matters entirely, things the Chicago cops had not. It was only then that she began to get a clear picture of what had really had transpired that day, and how much danger she was now in.

First they asked her about what she knew of the soda warehouse, its employees and customers, and about Joyce’s involvement with the dead man. Then they asked her whether she had ever noticed anything unusual or strange about Aldo Martinelli or the people who worked for him, and she told them that he had referred a lot of men to the agency for travel arrangements.

“There is one guy,” Blayne volunteered, “who comes in every couple of weeks to pick up tickets he orders online. What’s odd is that although the destination is always the same—Miami—the tickets are never in the same name twice. And he always pays in cash.”

The two agents glanced at each other and Blayne had a strange sense of foreboding at the pleased look that passed between them.

“We’re going to show you some pictures,” Topping said. “Have you pick out anyone who looks familiar. You know, someone who may have come in to the agency, or perhaps somebody you saw in the parking lot.”

“First let’s get you something to eat,” Dombrowski offered. “And we’ll try to find a place to continue this where you’ll be more comfortable.”

Blayne’s heart sank at the news, for it sounded as though she might be tied up here for several more hours of questioning. But at least it was the first time since she’d been brought in that anyone seemed concerned about how she was faring through all of this. “A double cheeseburger and fries,” she called out as Dombrowski headed for the door. “And a large coffee. That stuff you’ve got here is undrinkable.”

They got her what she ordered and they found an unused conference room where she could relax on a couch while she looked over the thick books of photographs. During the next two hours, she picked out the Miami ticket client and a handful of other men Aldo had referred to the Balmy Breezes.

The next book they gave her had a photo of the man who’d ordered his bodyguard to shoot Joyce’s boyfriend. It was not a mug shot, like most of the others, but a slightly grainy photo that had been taken with a telephoto lens. In it, he was dressed very much like he’d been dressed today, in a tailored suit and expensive overcoat.

“That’s him.” She didn’t touch the photo itself. “The man from today. The one who seemed to be in control of what was going on.”  This was greeted with a long pause. “Who is he? And how did he know who I am?”

She’d asked these questions several times already, of the cops and the agents both, always getting the same response—that she was there to answer questions, not ask them.

But this time, the agents exchanged a look of tacit agreement and Dombrowski said, “His name is Vittorio Cinzano. He is a big man in organized crime here. An underboss.”

“Organized crime? You mean the mafia?” Blayne felt so clammy she knew she’d gone white at the news.

Oh shit. She knew next to nothing about the mafia, only what she had picked up from T.V. shows like The Sopranos and films like The Godfather, and the occasional news report. But it was enough to know that she was in a very serious situation here if Cinzano knew her identity, even if he was in custody.

“He probably knows you because he owns the building you work out of,” Topping said. “Not on paper, of course. Nothing traceable, because they run a cocaine business out of there. Or did.”

Blayne’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “That can’t be right. Philippe Cluzet owns the travel agency, and at least our half of the building. He has for twenty years or so.”

“He runs the agency, yes. But he sold out his share of the property to a European consortium nearly a year ago.”

Blayne was shocked. And she was certain Claudia didn’t know, She would have said something if her Dad had sold the building.

“Cinzano is an important guy, and we’ve got him cold with what you saw.” The agent stroked his long ruddy brown moustache with the kind of satisfaction Blayne associated with pompous pseudo-intellectuals. “He’ll be looking at federal charges, including racketeering, as well as whatever the D.A. comes up with in connection with the homicide. And there’ll be the bodyguard’s murder trial. So you’re going to be the star prosecution witness in at least three trials.”

It began to sink in. She was going to be the key witness in the trial of a mafia underboss. Holy shit. That would put her in a world of danger. Blayne wanted to do the right thing, but at what cost?

“What if I don’t agree to testify?” she asked nervously.

Topping answered like he’d been expecting the question. “Then we would bring obstruction of justice charges against you at the very least. And Cinzano’s men would be out on the street looking for you, of course.”

Her head swam, and that feeling of foreboding rushed back. “He knows who I am,” she repeated, more to herself than the agents.

“Yeah,” Dombrowski said sympathetically. “You’d last maybe a week.”

“That was really pretty sloppy of him,” Topping said. “They never make threats like that themselves. He had to be awfully pissed at the way you compromised him. Plus he’s got a big ego. He thinks he’s untouchable.”

“But you got him cold, you said. So he can’t get out, right?” Blayne wanted some reassurance from these men that she wasn’t in as much danger as she feared. But she knew the answer even before she asked it.

“No, I don’t think the judge will grant bail on what we have on him,” Topping agreed.

“But we have to be honest and tell you that doesn’t mean you’re not in a great deal of danger,” Dombrowski said. “ We’re going to have to keep you in protective custody.”

“What?” Blayne went rigid. She certainly hadn’t considered that. The mere words protective custody made her feel vaguely claustrophobic. She bristled at the thought of any loss of her independence.

“That doesn’t mean you’ll be locked up,” Dombrowski hastened to add. “It just means you’ll have to stay somewhere safe, not your house, and you’ll have to be under constant police protection. And you can’t go back to the travel agency, at least not for the foreseeable future.”

“I can’t go home? Can’t go back to my job?” This was getting worse by the minute. Her whole life was suddenly in upheaval. Blayne got a bad case of the shakes and suddenly felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. Without warning, she lost her burger and fries into the nearest wastebasket.

Chapter Four

Dawn would not break over Thessaloniki for another two hours, but Alexi Nikolos was already up and pacing on her balcony in the chill morning, restless, despite the fact that Greece’s most popular female singer was just inside, asleep in her bed.

It wasn’t that their evening together hadn’t been enjoyable, though Alexi had not gone out looking for companionship. Dimitra Lambros had been amusing, fun, and extremely responsive beneath her, just the way she liked, but then again Alexi had always been partial to the passionate women of her homeland. The mistake she’d made was in bringing her home to her villa, because now she had to find a suitable way to get her to leave.

Alexi rarely sought out someone for sex. She never had to. Wherever she went, men hit on her and beautiful women seemed to want to make themselves available to her. Gay or straight, it didn’t seem to matter. So although she rarely slept with the same woman twice, there was never a lack of bed partners.

Her appearance was what first drew them in. Although not a large woman, only 5’6” and slight of build, Alexi knew how to make the most of her commanding presence. She was confident, smart, and sexy. And really more handsome than beautiful, though she was certainly that, too. She had a rather androgynous body, with a small ass and few curves to speak of save for her well-shaped but not overly large breasts. Her shoulders, arms, and legs were tautly muscled from regular workouts at home, and the flat plane of her stomach always elicited sighs of envy from the women she slept with.

But while her body might tread the sometimes thin line between masculine and feminine, her face was all woman. She had the bronzed complexion of her Mediterranean homeland and classic features. A strong jaw beneath a straight nose and high cheekbones. Full, expressive eyebrows, long, dark lashes, and a pronounced, dramatic widow’s peak. Her medium brown hair, cut in loose waves, hung below her shoulders. Her lips, full and rosy red, formed a perfect cupid’s bow. Kissable lips, most women said.

Alexi was aware of her beauty from any angle, but the feature that always drew the most compliments could only be admired face to face. Her eyes were the deep rich blue of the Aegean, a gift from her maternal grandmother. Alexi enjoyed gazing into them herself. Because of the resemblance, they brought back happy childhood memories.

The women she chose to keep company with were drawn in by her looks and then fascinated by her charm and the polite attention she gave to everyone as a matter of course, a product of her formal upbringing and an ingrained part of her personality. They were one-night stands, but she made sure they never felt as though they were. First she would romance them in a way that few people did these days, listening attentively and laughing at their jokes as they shared a candlelit dinner and dancing. She would pay them compliments and treat them like queens, and when she took them to bed, the entirety of her attention was on their pleasure and not on her own. So she always left them wanting more, and never knowing that no matter how magic the evening might have seemed, Alexi had no feelings at all for any of them. Sexual encounters were simply one way for her to relieve the boredom that had taken over her life.

Dawn was as long as she could bear to wait before having her home to herself once more, so she went about evicting her guest. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she gently caressed Dimitra’s back until she roused.

“Good morning,” she said in Greek, Kalimera. The tone of her voice and the expression on her face could easily have been mistaken for affection, and often was. “I’ve brought you some coffee.” She set a mug on the bedside table.

“Why don’t you come back to bed, and we can think about coffee later?” The singer threw back the covers, exposing her full breasts, curvaceous hips, and the dark triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs. She parted her legs and ran her hand invitingly up her thigh to the tender, swollen areas still damp from Alexi’s expertise the night before.

“I would love to,” Alexi responded gently. “But I’m afraid I have to be somewhere.” She stood and took a few paces away to forestall any further efforts to seduce her.

“Will you call me?” Dimitra asked, taking the hint and getting up to dress.

“We’ll see.”

Alexi made sure their goodbye was pleasant but non-committal. She was honest in her recreational dealings with women. No false promises meant no hurt feelings.

Last night’s distraction had scarcely departed before Alexi’s phone rang. It was unusual for her to get calls this early, unless it was from overseas. Probably some American who cannot tell time, she surmised, another unworthy ne’er-do-well seeking money from the philanthropic foundation she ran. So she answered in Greek instead of English, just to annoy them.

“Parakalo. ”

There was a long silence on the other end before a deep male voice asked, “Alexi? Is that you?”

Her hand tightened around the telephone. She recognized the caller; she had a talent for accents and languages, speaking five herself. But she didn’t answer immediately, for it conjured up painful memories.

When he repeated her name, she finally replied, “Theo. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her polite tone did not entirely mask the sarcasm she felt, but Theodore Lang was not as adept at picking up nuances as she was and missed it. The last time she had seen her former associate, they’d both been stationed in Chicago. Unless he had been relocated, that meant it was now after midnight where he was.

“You’re a difficult woman to track down,” he said. “And this is a business call I didn’t want to make at the office.”

She was intrigued. “Business call?”

“Yes. How would you feel about taking on an assignment?”

“Who’s asking?” she replied.

“You’d be reporting to me. Paul was bumped back to Inspector last month. I’ve taken over the Chicago office.”

“Why ask me?” She made her tone perfunctorily. She didn’t want Theo thinking she would just come running the moment the welcome mat was out.

“Someone from the Joint Task Force on Organized Crime is leaking information to the mob.”

He had to know this would push her buttons. Alexi contemplated the prospect of returning to witness protection. It did have a certain appeal, despite the way things had ended. WITSEC was the one thing she had done that she felt really suited her, and it had certainly never been boring. Yet it was also where she’d made the worst mistake of her life.

“And why should this appeal to me?” she asked.

“Because we just lost one witness and another was attacked in a safe house.”

A breath hissed from deep in her throat. “Any ideas so far?”

“I think it’s one of the FBI guys, and not someone from this office, but I can’t eliminate anyone at this point.” He tried flattery. “D.C. wants the best and I want someone I can trust. That’s why I’m talking to you.”

“There is something else. Don’t be coy with me, Theo.”

He hesitated, but only for a split second. “It involves the Salvatore family.”

They both lapsed into silence as she digested this information. She walked to the balcony and stared out at the clear blue waters of the Aegean, already missing her beloved Greece.

“When do you want me?”

*

No way. No fucking way.

Blayne stared into the mirror, unable to recognize herself. Her hair was dyed black and cut very short in a spiky hairstyle she despised. She had a realistic-looking tribal tattoo on her right bicep and a scorpion tattoo on her neck. Attached to her lower lip were two small rings that looked like authentic piercings, and there was a slightly larger one in her right eyebrow that pinched uncomfortably.

Her eyes had been made up in thick black goth makeup, and she had ruby-red lips. I’m a punk raccoon looking for love.

The woman who had taken two hours to dye her hair and make her up had not let Blayne near a mirror until the work was done and she’d packed up her makeup kit and fled. Now Blayne knew why. It was all she could do not to wash it all away so she could find herself again beneath the garish circus paint.

There was absolutely no way she was putting on the clothes. What the hell were they thinking? Punk. Goth. Grunge. Make up your mind already. And all of it is so ‘90s.

She said aloud to herself. “Guess I should have expected this, letting total strangers decide how I’m going to look.”

It wasn’t that she considered herself fashion conscious by any means, but no one could look good in what they’d given her to complete her disguise. Hugely baggy jeans, an obscenely studded military-type jacket, clunky Doc Marten boots, and an oversized black T-shirt that read Some Days It’s Not Worth Chewing Through the Restraints. The FBI agent who picked that one out must have had a good laugh. She wondered if it was Topping. The man seemed to have no sense of humor at all. She liked Dombrowski much better and wished he were still with her. At least he had let her in on what was happening some of the time.

At the outset of this nightmare, the day she’d witnessed the murder, she’d been allowed to make a quick trip home under the protection of three FBI agents. Under instructions to collect any personal belongings that were important to her, she’d packed two bags with clothes, toiletries, photographs, papers, and whatever else she thought she might need or want. She’d put her Fiji fund into a large envelope and stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans.

For the next three days, she’d stayed in a not-too-shabby hotel suite on the outskirts of Chicago, under the watchful eye of a dour female Special Agent named Monica Wright. Another agent was always stationed outside, in a car or van, and Blayne was not allowed to leave or contact anyone, even Claudia.

No one would tell her what was going on, or whether Claudia was also under protection. Blayne had hated the restrictions and complete disintegration of every routine and sense of normalcy in her life, and showed her irritation in flashes of Irish temper.

The arrangement hadn’t lasted long. On her third boring evening in front of the television, Dombrowski had showed up and ordered her to get changed and pack all her things as quickly as possible. When Blayne quarreled and demanded to know what was going on, he looked her in the eyes and said in the gentle way one would break the news to a close friend or relative, “Joyce Houseman has been murdered.”

Blayne still couldn’t believe it. Joyce’s body had been found on a street near her apartment. She’d been shot. No witnesses. Worse still, Philippe and Claudia Cluzet hadn’t been seen in a couple of days.

“You think something bad has happened to them, don’t you?” Blayne had asked, thinking No! Not Claudia. There was a knot in her chest that made it hard to breathe. She couldn’t imagine life without her best friend, and Philippe had become like a second father to her. They were the only family she had.

Dombrowski had reassured her that they were following up every angle and they would find Claudia and Philippe. Meantime she had to get to a more secure location right away. So Blayne had relented, and five minutes later she was packed and they were ready to go.

When they got down to the lobby, the desk clerk was checking in a middle-aged couple with two cranky kids in tow, and there were a few other guests about, but nothing had appeared out of place. A tired businessman with an open briefcase in his lap chatted at one of the pay phones. A couple of Hispanic men in their sixties bickered good-naturedly over a game of chess. A young couple preoccupied with kissing each other headed out the front door to catch a cab. No one paid the three of them any attention, and they set off toward the side door to the parking lot, walking at a nice steady clip but not hurried, nothing that would draw undue attention to them.

There were no windows on that side of the building, so once they reached the big metal fire door, Wright held Blayne back until Dombrowski could confirm they were clear to exit. Everything had seemed fine. Only it wasn’t.

Blayne still couldn’t remember the exact sequence of events. One moment they were crossing the well-lit parking lot, the next Dombrowski’s head snapped around and he alerted Wright to two teenagers rounding the corner of the building.

The word that sprang to mind was punks. They wore baggy jeans and oversized sweatshirts, the hoods partially obscuring their faces. They were everywhere in Chicago these days—nameless young men who relied on petty crimes to pay for whatever they were injecting, smoking or inhaling. That’s all that mattered to them. How to finance the next fix.

Dombrowski had parked the dark SUV in the spot nearest the door, and they quickened their pace toward it. The punks exchanged a couple of quick words and Blayne became aware that they were staring intently at her. As if they recognized her. Or thought they did.

“Get her in the car! Now!” Dombrowski reached for his gun as the punks reached for theirs.

Wright had the door half open when the first shots rang out. Shielding Blayne’s body with her own, she pushed her forward, knocking the wind out of her, which only heightened Blayne’s sense of helplessness. Dombrowski was returning fire and got one of the shooters in the head just as the kid was about to pull the trigger. He hit the other in the chest, but not before the teenager had fired a round himself.

That bullet grazed Wright’s shoulder and shattered the tinted window beyond, showering Blayne with shards of glass. None of this deterred Wright from   covering Blayne with her body and ignoring her protests. Pinned by the agent’s weight and panicking over the attack, Blayne had struggled until Wright barked “Stop it!”.

The authority in her voice stunned Blayne into submission. The close call had scared the shit out of her, and all she could feel was the rush of fear and adrenalin. After Wright moved off her, she’d had to look herself over to be satisfied she hadn’t been hit. She couldn’t stop trembling.

“You saved my life,” she’d stammered. “Thanks.”

“That’s what I get paid for,” the agent replied drolly, before gracing Blayne with her first real smile in the three days of their acquaintance.

They both stared at the blossoming bloodstain on Wright’s left shoulder.

“Not too bad,” Wright reported of the two-inch tear the bullet had made in her flesh.

Blayne could hear sirens in the distance, and the local cops soon showed up to secure the scene. A half-hour later, ensconced in a replacement sedan, she was driven away from the downtown headquarters of the FBI’s Chicago division and soon found herself on the ramp to Interstate 55, heading southwest. With her was a new female agent who’d been called in to replace the wounded Wright. And because Dombrowski had discharged his weapon in the line of duty, he was also off the case. Agent Skip Topping was accompanying Blayne.

Five hours later, just as the sun was coming up, they’d arrived at Scott Air Force Base and Blayne got to see her lovely new home, a blandly furnished housing unit in an isolated section of the base. Her seclusion was much the same as it had been at the hotel, but with significantly more Spartan accommodations and tighter security. She had three rooms, no view, and plenty of time to think about how fucked up her life was.

She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since.

At nine the morning after her arrival a distinguished looking gentleman in a suit the color of charcoal had arrived at her door and displayed his badge and credentials. His name was Larry Elkins and he was with the U.S. Marshals Service. He was polite, and friendly, and it was immediately apparent that he’d done this many times before.

They settled themselves on a battered couch with a loud avocado-colored print dating from the 1970s and Blayne looked him in the eyes. “I hope you’re going to give me some answers about what’s going on.”

“Yes, I’m here to discuss what’s next for you,” he answered helpfully. “But I’d like to ask you a few questions about the events of the last few days, first, if you don’t mind. I’ve been briefed by Special Agent Topping.”

“You’re with the Marshals Service?” Blayne had heard of it, but mostly in connection with the increase in air security following the 9-11 terrorist attacks. The government was putting more undercover U.S. Marshals aboard aircraft to protect against future attacks. She couldn’t imagine what that had to do with her, and why this man had to hear her story all over again.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m an Inspector with the WITSEC Division.”

He was in his forties, she guessed, by the hint of gray at his temples, though he kept his body in superb condition with regular trips to the gym. Puzzled, she asked, “WITSEC?”

“It stands for Witness Security. You’ve perhaps heard of it as the Witness Protection Program?”

“Oh, right, yes. I’ve heard of that.”

“WITSEC was founded to protect witnesses in major crimes from intimidation before they testify, and also from retaliation after the trial is over,” he explained. “The FBI called us in on your case. Obviously, you are a likely candidate. But before I make any recommendations about bringing you into the program, we need to talk.”

The Witness Protection Program? Holy fucking shit. No fucking way. “Isn’t that where you get a new identity and relocated and all of that?” Blayne asked.  “I don’t need that, do I?” The thought that she might have to start all over again somewhere, like she had before….but this time, all alone. It was depressing beyond words.

“That’s what I’m here to determine,” he said. “Clearly, you are at high risk of further attempts on your life. You’d be much safer far away from here until the trials. And regardless of the verdicts, probably safer afterwards if you are elsewhere as well.”

The ensuing three-hour interview had covered not only the events of the recent past but also, it seemed, the entirety of Blayne’s life up to that point, Inspector Elkins said he would recommend quick approval of her acceptance into the WITSEC program. The final determination, he told her, was up to the U.S. Attorney General, but he anticipated no problems with the request, and said it would then be up to her to decide whether to accept the government’s offer of protection.

If she did, she would be taken to a secure WITSEC facility for several days of orientation, and then relocated to a new state with a new identity in exchange for a sworn statement agreeing to testify.

“WITSEC has helped roughly eight thousand witnesses and ten thousand family members relocate under new identities," he said. “And not one participant in the program who has followed our security guidelines has ever been harmed while under our active protection.”

The careful wording of his declaration suggested that those who didn’t follow the program’s rules may have met a different fate, but he volunteered no details.

“The final decision is up to you. It’s not an easy one, because one of the conditions of the program is that you cut all ties with your friends and acquaintances. That’s the hardest part for most of our witnesses. But frankly, Miss Keller, I don’t think you have much choice if you want to stay alive.”

Blayne thought about his words again as she opened the wallet they had bought her, and looked at her new driver’s license, social security card, and the $500 they’d given her for incidentals. Everything else would be handled once she got there—money, a place to live, a new job. Wherever there was.

Cut all ties with friends. She closed her eyes and Claudia’s face returned in a kaleidoscope of memories. Cutting up in college. Getting dressed to the nines for a date. Consoling her heartbreak. Flirting with her at work. Claudia was the only friend who mattered, anyway. Where are you, Claud? I need you. You can’t be dead.

Did it matter whether she stayed or left, without Claudia? Was Inspector Elkins right? Did she have a choice?

Blayne picked up the hideous T-shirt and held it up against her tank top. It was big enough for two of her, and fell to well below her ass.

There was a knock at the door. When she opened it, Special Agents Topping stared at her a long moment, taking in her new persona. He nodded approvingly at the T-shirt in her hands, a wry grin on his face. A few feet away, the new female agent was trying her damnest not to laugh. Yup. Topping had done the shopping.

“I’m not wearing this,” Blayne said, waving the shirt. “Or the pants. I can’t keep them up. I look fucking ridiculous.”

“You look nothing at all like yourself, which is exactly what we’re going for,” Topping said patiently from across the threshold. “We’ll wait. You have five minutes.” He pulled the door shut again before she could protest.

Blayne smoldered a minute, flipping him a finger that he failed to appreciate, before stalking off to change.

I hate this. I hate this. I just fucking hate this, she muttered to herself as she threaded a belt through the oversized pants. She stuck her Fiji fund into one of the many pockets, and her new wallet in another.

Then she donned her new studded military jacket and took another reluctant look in the mirror. A punk raccoon looking for love, wearing an Army tent that once belonged to Liberace. She sighed. She’d always thought she was a pretty plain Jane when you came right down to it. Oh yeah, there were days when she dressed up nice and put on some makeup. That got a few compliments, but all in all, she was average, she’d decided. And right now, this getup was so patently ridiculous she craved average. I can never look in a mirror again.

She went to the door and opened it. The agents were poised just outside.

“Ready to go, Elizabeth?” Topping asked.

She glared at him and bit back a response.

The former Blayne Keller, now Elizabeth Weaver, picked up a duffle bag containing all her earthly possessions, took a deep breath, and stepped into her new life.

Chapter Five

Thirty-six miles west-northwest of Scott Air Force Base, Alexi Nikolos sat leafing through a magazine in the first class lounge at the Lambert-St. Louis International Airport, killing time. She wore a form-fitting red silk blouse under a black leather coat that fell to mid-thigh, and tight black trousers slung low over her narrow hips. The trousers flared to accommodate the leather boots beneath.

Three men and two women had hit on her on the flight from Greece to Chicago, and another man and one very cute flight attendant on the short hop from Chicago to Saint Louis. Shame about that one. She’d been back in the U.S. barely two days, just long enough for her briefing from Theo, done in secrecy at his home. She was still a bit jet-lagged, though she normally functioned quite well on only a few hours of sleep.

She checked her watch. It was just after ten a.m. They should be leaving the base now, and arriving in forty minutes or so. That would give her a half-hour to study Special Agent Skip Topping before they got on the plane.

Theo suspected that it was one of the three D.C.-based FBI Special Agents on loan to Chicago—either Topping, Dombrowski, or O’Rourke—who was behind the leaks to the mob. They were working the case with WITSEC as part of a Joint Task Force on Organized Crime, and had access to the information that had been compromised.

Thirty minutes at the gate and then two and a half hours on the plane should be enough time to gauge something about Topping, she figured. She was also curious about what her observations would tell her about the witness he was protecting, Blayne Keller, a.k.a. Elizabeth Weaver. She had a dossier on the woman and one on Topping, compliments of Theo. Both files were in the leather satchel at her feet, with much of the information already committed to memory.

Topping was supposed to deliver Blayne to the U.S. Marshals Denver District Offices as soon as they landed. If there were any threat to Blayne en route, or any sign that he was the dirty one, Alexi would intercede.

It was time to take up a position at their departure gate. The lounge had been cozy, but she needed to clear her gun with the airline so she could carry it on board with her, and even for a U.S. Marshal, that always took a few minutes these days. Besides, the passengers for Mid-Knight Airlines Flight 23 to Denver would be starting to check in soon and she wanted to study each one as they arrived.

*

Once they reached the Only Ticketed Passengers Beyond This Point security checkpoint, Agent Wright’s replacement left and Blayne was stuck with Topping. The concourse they were in was jammed with people hurrying to their flights, stopping for a bite of lunch, or shopping at one of the vendors for a souvenir St. Louis Gateway Arch or paperback to read on the plane

“There are so many people,” she remarked shakily as they neared their departure gate. “It doesn’t seem safe. Isn’t there a better way to get me there? Less public?”

Topping rarely answered any of her questions, so she was a bit surprised this time when he did.

He stopped walking and faced her but didn’t look down at her. He was constantly scanning the area around them for trouble as he spoke. “Yes, there are other ways, but the Salvatore family knows how we usually operate. That’s why we’re leaving from Saint Louis instead of Chicago, and why we’re going commercial. It’s easier to get lost in a crowd.”

“I see.”

He glanced at her. “Our flight has only 64 ticketed passengers on it. We’ve vetted every one of them, along with the flight crew, cleaning crew, and vendors servicing the plane.”

Blayne breathed easier as they resumed their trek to the gate, but as long as he was in the mood to answer questions, she’d shoot him the one that had popped into her head. “What about late arrivals? People paying to get on at the last minute?”

“None allowed on this flight.” His clipped tone indicated that was all the information she was going to get.

“What happens when we get to Denver?”

He ignored that question completely and kept walking. She dropped her bag and stood her ground.

*

The pair looked to Alexi like a puppy running after its master, the tall agent with the walrus moustache striding purposefully toward the departure gate, used to using the bulk of his body and height to intimidate. Always aware of his charge out of the corner of his eye, he seemed just a hair away from showing his annoyance at her persistent nipping at his heels. Agent Topping, Alexi concluded, was an arrogant asshole, who appeared competent at his job but neglected to include a touch of human compassion.

Yes, he seemed vigilant enough, constantly looking around, as if expecting trouble. His gaze was everywhere, and in a subtle way, not exaggerated, nothing to draw undue attention.

Now the witness—she was another story. Blayne Keller was not at all what Alexi had expected. Her first thought was that the dossier she had on the woman certainly must have gotten her birth date wrong. She looked 20, not 30. Her second thought was poor kid, what the hell have they done with you? I think they went way over the top this time. You look ludicrous.

But she was a feisty thing, despite the crazy get-up. Not the typical lamb of a female witness being taken into the program, though she had to be just as scared and uncertain as the rest of them. Apparently that was not enough to keep her from standing up for herself with Agent Topping.

Alexi watched with interest as Blayne dropped her bag and then waited patiently for Topping to rejoin her, and he did, irritation making his moustache twitch. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their body language told her that Blayne was questioning Topping and growing increasingly perturbed when he kept brushing her off.

After a rather heated exchange, Topping got his charge started again toward the check-in counter. She looked anything but happy about it.

Topping was anxious to board. Alexi could see that in the way he was pushing the witness along, and in the nervous movements of his hands. Jingling his keys one minute, clenching and unclenching one fist the next.

His growing impatience with the young woman he was guarding was evident, too, in his stern expression and rigid posture as they stood at the counter. She was obviously still trying to get him to talk to her and he was totally shutting her out.

Blayne Keller certainly was persistent, Alexi had to give her that. She wouldn’t stop trying.

The two of them took seats twenty feet away, near enough that Alexi got a good surreptitious view of both over the top of her magazine.

The witness was all jangled nerves and no longer hiding it well. She kept her head down, eyes on her feet, as if afraid of being recognized, and she fidgeted constantly with her clothes, almost telegraphing the fact that they were not her own and that she wasn’t the least bit comfortable in them.

Alexi kept an eye on the uneasy pair while still doing quick assessments of the other passengers now congregating at the gate. Everything looked normal so far, but she never let her guard down.

A Mid-Knight Airlines gate agent, a curvaceous redhead with great legs, opened the door to the gangway that led to their plane, and then announced over the loudspeaker that boarding for first-class passengers and those with special needs would begin momentarily. As soon as she began talking, Topping said something to his charge, and they both got up and headed toward the gangway door. Alexi made no move to immediately follow. She knew where they would be sitting and she wanted them to get settled before she got on board herself.

Flight 23 was aboard an Airbus 340whose eventual destination was Hawaii. It would be pretty full during the final leg of its trip between Denver and Honolulu, but it was nearly empty during this initial hop from Saint Louis to Denver, which was precisely why the FBI had chosen it. Topping and Blayne had seats together in the left rear, near the tail, and there were a number of empty seats all around them in every direction.

Alexi had booked a seat on the aisle in the section just ahead of them, near the wing, and she’d made sure there was no one ticketed right next to her as well.

She waited until the final boarding call was announced before she picked up her satchel and headed toward the gangway.

*

Eduardo Sanchez had awakened that morning to the same problems that had been plaguing him for nearly two years. How to keep from losing his home, his wife, and his kids when he spent most of what he earned as a Mid-Knight Airlines baggage handler on gambling. He was about to take care of all those problems, at least for a long while. He kept telling himself that so he didn’t have to think too hard about the small black valise in his hand, and what might be inside.

The telephone call that morning had been brief and to the point. If he agreed to put a bag on a certain flight, he would receive fifty thousand dollars, half of it up front.  It would be difficult with the increased security measures enacted after 9-11, but he had been at his job for more than two decades and knew how to get around them. So it didn’t take him long to agree. But now, with a thick wad of cash safe within his pocket, he began to think he might be making a mistake.

He couldn’t help but wonder what the suitcase held and whether he would ever be able to go to confession again if his action lead to the kinds of consequences no one could forgive.

Too late for second thoughts now, he told himself. Just do it. He added the black valise to the luggage in the cargo hold of the Airbus 380 and secured the door.

Chapter Six

By the time Flight 23 was half-way to Denver, Blayne’s jaw hurt from grinding her teeth. She was stressed to the max and supremely frustrated by her unsuccessful efforts to break her escort’s stoic silence. She had stared at his profile so long trying to get him to talk to her that she had every detail memorized. The more he ignored her, the more she wanted to rip that mustache off his face.

There was no one else near enough to talk to and she was too keyed up to read a magazine. She just had to get up, move around, do something, or she’d go mad. That caged-animal feeling was back with a vengeance.

“I need to stretch my legs,” she announced and waited for Topping to stand up so she could get out into the aisle. Despite the countless empty seats in their section, he had insisted on having her sit beside him.

“Not a smart idea,” he answered. “I’d rather you wait until we land. It’ll only be another hour or so.”

“Come on,” she insisted. “I’m just going to walk up to the restroom and back.” She half stood in her seat so she could count the heads rising above the seatbacks between their seats and the lavatories. “There are less than a dozen people back here. I’ll be there and back in two minutes.”

He still made no move to get up, but she could tell from the expression on his face that he was at least considering it.

“I had two cups of coffee this morning before I left, and now two more, and it’s all hitting me at once,” she threatened. “You can come with me if you have to, but I have to go. ”

“All right. All right.” He stood and stepped out into the aisle.

She pushed past him before he could change his mind. He was still issuing orders like she was five years old as she started forward.

“The nearest one and right back. Stay in sight and don’t talk to anyone.”

But Blayne took her time, proceeding slowly up the aisle, savoring the tiny bit of freedom. As she passed by the handful of passengers between her and her destination, she glanced briefly at each of them, reassured that no one seemed the slightest bit interested in her. A woman, head down, engrossed in a magazine. A middle-aged couple, playing a game of cards. A young mother and her fussy toddler twins. A paunchy businessman, fast asleep and snoring softly.

She lingered in the restroom, staring at herself in the mirror, still shocked by her transformation. It made her dizzy, the unfamiliar landscape of her current reality. She needed her anchor—the one person she could rely on. The one person who had helped her make sense of her life the last time she lost everything and had to start over. Claudia.

Where are you? You can’t be dead. You can’t be. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks. Wouldn’t I know? Wouldn’t I feel it if the only family I have left was gone forever?

She refused to accept the possibility that Claudia and Philippe were dead. Topping was obviously going to tell her nothing of their fate. Perhaps she wouldn’t know until the trials, when she returned to Chicago. Certainly many months from now, at the earliest. That thought of not knowing what had happened really depressed her. But perhaps it was better than learning they were dead, extinguishing all hope entirely.

Sighing, she wiped her cheeks and unlocked the door. She knew Topping would come looking for her if she delayed much longer. And indeed, he was watching intently as she stepped back out into the aisle. Thankfully, he was also somewhat preoccupied chatting with a cute dark-haired flight attendant, so Blayne didn’t rush to get back to her seat.

*

Alexi was initially surprised to see Blayne Keller venture to the facilities alone, but she supposed she might also have let her off the leash if she’d been Topping, given the scarcity of passengers in this section of the plane.

She followed Blayne’s progress out of the corner of her eye and managed to appear pre-occupied as she passed by. She adopted the same approach when Blayne ambled back down the aisle but she could not resist trying for a quick close-up glimpse of the witness. Alexi was surprised to feel an unexpected jolt of sympathy when she registered the traces of tears on Blayne’s face. For just a moment she forgot herself and didn’t immediately look away.

Their eyes met.

Blayne stopped in her tracks with four feet or so of distance between them. Despite her edgy anxiousness and the disconcert she felt at being stared at under the circumstances, she couldn’t help but stare right back at the woman whose compelling gaze had arrested her. She even forgot her hideous hair and makeup for a moment. She sure liked the way this woman was looking at her. God, you’re beautiful. Any other place and time, to find such a woman taking an interest…

Before she could complete the thought, she was thrown from her feet as a tremendous force seemed to smash against her. The plane shook violently and a foggy mist filled the cabin. Blayne knew she screamed with fright but she could not hear herself. An excruciating pain rocketed through her eardrums and she was flailing against the seats around her, dragged as if by a current. At exactly the same moment she felt a hand clamp down on her wrist and she was hanging there, torn between two equal and opposite forces.

Somehow it seemed the vise-like grip also put the brakes on time. At first, all Blayne could hear was the ringing in her ears, then the noisy straining of her heart, all as if under water. Then she could make out people screaming, babies crying, overhead luggage bins slamming open, the drone of the engines, the roar of air rushing by. Everywhere, debris flew, large and small. Pieces of the plane, buzzing wires, magazines and pillows, shoes and purses, and carry-on bags, and cans of soda turned into deadly projectiles.

A can of ginger-ale grazed her temple as it whooshed by and for the first time her mind seemed to process information. There was a hole in the plane. They were going down. She tried to look around but all she saw was something metallic coming straight for her, then she fell into a dark vortex and her last thought was I’m dead.

Alexi stared down at Blayne’s limp body. Blood almost seemed to gush from her head. But she was alive. Alexi could feel her pulse. The oxygen masks had deployed, dangling about her in every direction, a sea of orange cups. But in order to reach hers, she would have to let go of Blayne. It wasn’t an option. She tried to suck in air, but her lungs screamed for more, and she prayed she wouldn’t lose consciousness. If she did, Blayne wouldn’t stand a chance.

The lights flickered on and off and finally went out in their section, except for the emergency trail of small bulbs along the aisles. It was still plenty light enough to see well, they were up above the clouds and it was the middle of the day. But most of the window shades had been pulled down for the in-flight movie, so the contrast was extreme between Alexi’s section and the gaping hole behind her where the sunlight streamed in. In the blink of an eye, Special Agent Topping and the flight attendant had been sucked out into oblivion, along with the seat that Blayne had been sitting in.

Flight 23 had already started its long descent into Denver and was at 15,000 feet when the bomb went off, but the air temperature at that altitude was still a bone-chilling minus fifteen degrees. It was hard enough keeping hold of Blayne against the vacuum of air pulling her away. When she added in the drop in temperature and the loss of cabin pressure to the mix, Alexi wasn’t sure how long she could remain like this. Her heart was racing and her body was pumped full of adrenalin, but she knew this burst of energy wouldn’t last long.

She winced against the pain in her ears as she stared in horror at the hole. It seemed enormous. So much blue sky. Ceiling panels hung down, swinging wildly in the turbulence. Ohi gamoto. This plane will never land like this. Alexi was fairly certain of that, yet it did not deter her from her efforts to save the woman whose weight was straining her shoulder unbearably.

There was less general panic around her now, though both toddlers just ahead of her were still howling. People were grabbing for the masks, putting them on, checking for injuries. Alexi couldn’t hear what anyone was saying over the roar of air from behind her. She glanced up the aisle and squinted against the bits of flotsam still swirling about them, but saw no help forthcoming. The flight attendants were busy elsewhere, it seemed, and for the moment it was every man or woman for herself.

Without warning, the plane abruptly tilted downward at an angle much too steep to be safe, and Alexi and Blayne were both thrown forward. Blayne slid a few feet down the floor of the aisle, and Alexi strained against her seat belt.

She managed to brace herself against the seatback in front with her right hand while still keeping her grip on Blayne, but the muscles in her left arm trembled from the strain. She braced her legs to keep Blayne from sliding farther as the unhampered pull of gravity sent her stomach into her throat, like she was on some crazy free-fall amusement park ride. Gritting her teeth, she tried to ignore the screams of the other passengers as Flight 23 hurtled toward the earth.

The downward pitch of the plane was so severe that Alexi was certain the pilots had lost control, that they were done for. God help us. It had been many years since she had been to church, but she found herself repeating prayers she’d learned as child to Agios Dimitrios, patron saint of Thessaloniki.

Just when it seemed they could not possibly make it, the Airbus began to pull out of the dive, the engines straining, and Alexi realized it was suddenly easier to breathe. The screams and the panic around her subsided as the plane leveled off, but even over the roar of air, Alexi could hear the mother four rows ahead, her wail nearly equal to those of her toddler boys.

Blayne was still out cold, and Alexi was beginning to lose feeling in the hand that anchored her. She wasn’t sure how much longer her back and shoulder would hold out, either.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer,” a male voice boomed over the loudspeaker. Very composed, Alexi thought, under the circumstances, though it was hard to hear over the noise of air. “Please remain calm. Don’t panic. Stay in your seat, with your seat belt fastened. You shouldn’t need your oxygen masks now. The flight attendants will be coming around—let them know if anyone is injured. We’ll be landing shortly.”

And indeed Alexi just then spotted a male flight attendant, a thin, sandy-haired man in his late twenties, making his way toward her, checking on passengers as he did. He seemed harried, but efficient and reassuring. When he got near enough to see Blayne in the aisle, and Alexi holding on to her, he started toward them.

He was about even with the lavatories when he spotted the hole. His eyes widened and his steps faltered. Completely awestruck, he stared open-mouthed at the spectacle for a moment, then recovered his composure enough to reach for the in-flight phone nearby.

After a brief conversation, presumably relaying the extent of the damage to those in the cockpit, he resumed his trek toward Alexi and Blayne. The vacuum effect from the hole had decreased considerably, but he still gripped the seats on either side to anchor himself.

“Has she been out the whole time?” he asked as he reached Blayne.

“Yes.” Alexi answered. They both had to shout even at that near distance to be heard over the din.

He glanced up again at the hole and the carnage of twisted metal around it. Alexi could see a slight tremor in his lip when he spoke. “What happened? Do you know?”

Before she could answer, the young man glanced around as though he’d just realized what—or rather who—was missing. “Have you seen Brenda? Your flight attendant? She’s tall, brown hair?”

“Gone. I am sorry,” Alexi told him. “She was standing right where the bomb went off.”

“Shit!” His hands began to shake, and he stared at the hole again. “A bomb did that? You sure?”

“I’m a U.S. Marshal. I am pretty sure.” Alexi tilted her head toward Blayne. “Help me get her up and buckled in here, next to me.”

The first things Blayne became aware of were arms supporting her, encircling her, and the fact that she had a whale of a headache. When the arms loosened their grip, she opened her eyes to find a young man’s face before her. Unfamiliar. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Am I? She felt…sore. Bruised. And cold. I’m freezing. She saw a small piece of paper go flying by. Became aware of how noisy it was. What the…? It registered, finally, that something was very, very wrong. Blayne turned around and at first her mind refused to accept what she was seeing. All she knew, all she could focus on, was that Agent Topping wasn’t where he was supposed to be. So she needed to find him. Her hand reached automatically for her seat belt to unfasten it.

Alexi could see from Blayne’s glazed expression that she was disoriented and clamped a hand on her arm to prevent her rising from her seat.

The grip on Blayne’s arm—the simple human touch—helped ground her, orient her to the reality of her situation. She looked back at the hole, disbelieving. I really am on an airplane with a big-ass fucking hole in it. One big enough to drive a truck through. I’m not just dreaming this. She came fully awake and fully aware then. Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Her heartbeat sped up and she felt as though there was a sudden weight on her chest.

How the hell are we still in the air? She realized she had regained consciousness just in time to experience what was probably a very scary way to die. We surely can’t stay up much longer like this. Any minute now and we’re going to fall right out of the sky.

“Are you all right?” the man repeated.

Blayne turned back to gape at him as though he’d just asked the most ridiculous question possible. “All right? All right?” she was shouting, and just on the verge of hysteria. “How the hell can anybody be all right? We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

She fought the panic that clutched at her body and mind, swelling up in her like a poison in her bloodstream. I’m about to become fish food. Her insides rolled and churned.

“Oh fuck, I’m going to be sick.”

A bag appeared in front of her just in time, held by the young man, and Blayne lost the contents of her stomach into it. Hunched over in the seat, she felt a hand on her back, a comforting hand, a soft caress of reassurance, and Blayne looked up to find…her.

There was strength and reassurance in the vivid blue eyes she met, and Blayne sure needed a big dose of that right now.

“It is a lot to take in,” Alexi said reassuringly, continuing her caresses along Blayne’s back. “But we seem to have stabilized, and the pilot just announced we will land soon.”

“That’s the last thing I remember,” Blayne said, her mind working to fill in the blank spot in her memory. “Looking at you.”

“I remember, too.”

“If I hadn’t paused just then…” Blayne turned back toward the hole. Right where I was sitting. I should be dead. I would’ve been, a minute later. Or a few minutes earlier. She struggled to breathe. Her heart was suddenly pounding furiously against the walls of her chest.

Alexi could almost see the wheels turn as Blayne’s mind cleared and she began to realize that the hole was caused by a bomb, meant for her, and that the agent protecting her was gone. Dead.

Steven, the flight attendant, absented himself to dispose of the sick bag just as the first officer’s voice vied once more with the intercom static.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to make an emergency landing in Colorado Springs. Please remove all sharp objects from your person. Glasses, pens, pencils. Then assume the brace position.”

Alexi took deep, regular breaths to try to remain as calm and focused as possible. If they made it out of this alive, she would have to come up with a plan, and fast, to keep Blayne safe. But she had no control over her the runaway beat of her heart. It was certain they were about to die, and it was making itself known with such force in her chest that she could do no thinking at all at the moment.

Blayne listened and followed along, as did the woman next to her. In the din of the rushing air, she had to concentrate intently to make out the instructions and in an odd way that helped keep her calm.

“Tighten your seat belt. Bend forward as far as possible, with your head touching the seat back in front of you. Hands one on top of each other, on top of your head. Don’t interlock your fingers. Tuck your forearms in against each side of your face. Now angle your lower legs behind your knees. Okay. Stay like that, and try not to tense up. Here we go.”

Blayne held her breath and closed her eyes, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. It’s going to break up when we land. We’re too close to the damn hole. She grabbed automatically for the comfort of her Catholic school upbringing. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name…

Chapter Seven

Alexi raised her head to glance out the nearest window as the plane descended the final fifty feet. Against a gorgeous backdrop of mountains, she could see emergency vehicles rolling along beside the runway, their lights flashing. Red and white fire trucks with Colorado Springs Fire and Rescue on the sides, police cars, and a handful of ambulances. A scant few seconds before the wheels hit the tarmac, she put her head down once more and forced herself to remain loose, muscles relaxed.

The Airbus bounced and the rear section around the hole creaked and groaned so loudly it sounded like the plane was barely holding together.

Blayne tensed, waiting for everything to fall apart or for them to explode in a ball of flame. Hail Mary, full of grace… Her nerves were shot and she was wound up so tight she had no idea if it was a prayer or a scream.

The wheels thumped down again, and this time held fast. The sound of the brakes erased all other noise including the frantic chatter in Blayne’s head. The aircraft slowed, and the noise began to abate, but it was not until the plane had nearly come to a complete stop that reality dawned. She was alive. They were all alive.

As if the same thought hit everyone at the same time, the passengers burst into cheers and sobs and frantic applause. Alexi and Blayne gazed at each other with the giddy relief of those who’ve cheated death and didn’t expect to. Abject terror had turned to shaky joy and Blayne impulsively reached for Alexi and embraced her tightly.

Alexi initially stiffened at the unexpected contact, but after a moment hugged Blayne back, her normal reserve crumbling in the face of these very strange circumstances.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The first officer sounded so calm that they might have been landing on any normal commuter flight on any day of the week. “Thank you for remaining calm. Please remain in your seats. We will evacuate the injured first, by ambulance. The rest of you will be taken by bus to the hospital to be checked out. You may take your purses with you, but please leave all carry-ons on board. Airline officials will contact you at the hospital to take care of you from there.”

Blayne glanced back at the hole once more, and the wreckage beneath it where her assigned seat had been. That bomb was meant for me. They found me. They know where I am. They always know where I am.

With a sudden, sick certainly, she realized that the mob was going to stop at nothing until they made sure she did not testify. They were willing to kill a whole plane full of people just to get to her. And somehow, even with all the increased airport screening, they had nearly succeeded. The realization was mind-boggling.

They weren’t supposed to be able to find me. Topping said that… Topping. His face was still so vivid and clear in her mind. Dead. Protecting me. And I gave him such a damn hard time. He was only doing his job. She felt a wave of guilt and remorse, and wondered whether he had a wife and kids.

Alexi knew they would soon be taking Blayne away in an ambulance. That wasn’t a bad idea, she decided. The diversion to Colorado Springs was a lucky break because it would take Cinzano a while to get someone here. I will ride with her in the ambulance and come up with a plan while she’s getting checked out. She didn’t think Blayne’s injuries were too serious, although the concussion was a concern and she might need stitches. But she seemed quite lucid. We can be on the road in an hour or two. Now that they could finally hear each other speak, it was time to identify herself.

Alexi touched her arm, and got her attention. “Miss Keller… Weaver,” she said deliberately. “My name is Alexi Nikolos and I am with the U.S. Marshals Service. You will be under my protection from now on.”

Blayne stared at her with a stunned expression. “You…you know who I am?”

“Yes. I know everything. I’m an Inspector with the Witness Protection Program. You can trust me.”

Blayne said nothing for a long moment. Her mind was spinning. She closed her eyes and gripped the armrests to steady herself. She wanted to believe this woman, but she was shocked by the revelation that Alexi wasn’t some random passenger on the plane. And so much had happened in recent days she was now suspicious of everyone.

How the hell did they find out what plane I was on? Surely that was information that wasn’t readily available. Topping had been reluctant even to tell her anything until the very last second, saying it was for security reasons. They were obviously going to great lengths to keep her safe. But the mob had still found out what plane she was on.  That meant one of the presumably few who knew--FBI or whomever—had told them.

She stared at Alexi. She has an accent, does that mean anything? She couldn’t tell what kind, but it put her even more on edge. The mobsters were all Italian. How could she know Alexi was who she said she was? And was it just coincidence that Alexi was seated just far enough away from the bomb not to be injured by it?

Everything was happening too fast.  “Why should I believe you?” Her aggravation leaked into the tone of her voice. “Why should I trust any of this?”

Alexi reached under her seat for her satchel, but her hand found only empty space. She half stood and peered at the seats behind and in front of them. It was gone—one of the myriad of bags sucked out through the hole. The satchel had her identification in it, her files on Blayne, and her wallet. There was no way to prove who she was. Damn.

The doors to the plane were open now, and emergency crews were starting to come on board to assess the passengers. “Unfortunately, I cannot identify myself at this time,” she told Blayne. “So you will just have to take my word for it. You must come with me, Miss Weaver.”

Blayne’s sense of alarm increased. How convenient. “What do you mean, I don’t have a choice? I don’t remember being arrested, so I do have a choice. I have no desire for a babysitter. I’d rather take my own chances. Surely I can’t do worse than this. ” She gestured in frustration at the hole.

“I understand that you feel you would rather do this on your own, but I cannot allow it. I don’t think you realize that things could get a lot worse.  You have to come with me.”

“Worse than this? How much worse can it get?”

“You have been very fortunate until now to have survived all this, largely thanks to the agents protecting you. But luck runs out, and these people will not stop until they succeed in what they have set out to do.”

Blayne half stood, ducking her head to avoid hitting the overhead compartment. “Once again, I do intend to continue alone, and I hope I stay lucky, because it seems as though it’s the only thing I have going for me.”

Alexi rose as well and stopped Blayne with a hand on her elbow. “Miss Weaver…”

They were interrupted by a paramedic and a tall gray-haired man in a suit who wore a gold badge at his belt. “Ladies, please remain seated,” the police officer said.

“Excuse us, but she seems to be disoriented,” Alexi said. “She was knocked out for several minutes. Lost blood. Struck her head, there. ”  She reached out a hand to touch Blayne’s injured temple, but Blayne shied away as though burned. “She’s confused.”

“No, I’m not!” Blayne glared at Alexi in disbelief. “I’m not disoriented or confused. Why would you say that? I just need to get off this damn plane!”

Alexi’s mind worked furiously. Blayne seemed determined to run and she had to prevent that. She looked at the EMT in a conspiratorial way, then in a calm, even tone, said to Blayne, “Yes, this gentleman will help us off the plane, and make sure we get you to a hospital. I think you need an ambulance.”

“No, I don’t!” Blayne snapped. “I’m fine!”

“Ladies, will you follow me, please?” The EMT led the way, the policeman brought up the rear, and they left through a set of stairs that had been wheeled into place beside the Airbus.

Outside, a chaos of activity greeted them. Fire trucks encircled the crippled Airbus, their lights flashing red and white along the smooth surface of the plane. The sounds of approaching sirens and shouted instructions filled the air. Babies cried. A woman screamed hysterically. In a blur of action, emergency personnel ran about, each attending their well-rehearsed duties aiding the injured, calming the distraught, and securing the plane. A flight attendant stood a few yards from them transfixed, staring back at the plane. Blayne slowed her steps, and turned to look, too. From the outside, the hole seemed so impossibly, inescapably big and terrifying that her body clenched and her vision swam and she stumbled. She would have sprawled headfirst onto the tarmac had Alexi Nikolos not caught her.

The strong arms that encircled her waist were instantly reassuring, but as soon as she was upright, Blayne pushed them away without a word and followed the EMT toward a row of ambulances parked on the edge of the runway.

He tossed a question at her as he opened the rear doors of his rig. “We’ll take you in this one, Miss…?”

She had to answer. The cop was standing right there. “Amanda Jones.” Now that’s original. But it was the first name that popped into her head. She wasn’t about to give out either her real one, or her new WITSEC identity. Either might be used to track her down.

Alexi was impressed. Smart girl.

“But I don’t need an ambulance,” Blayne insisted.

“You should let a doctor look at you.  You’re not thinking clearly after that hit you took,” Alexi said.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Blayne was fuming. “There’s nothing wrong with my thinking.”

“It really is best you get evaluated, Miss Jones,” the EMT said. “The airline wants everyone to get checked out. All the passengers and crew are going to the hospital. It’s just a matter of whether you go by bus or by ambulance.” He grinned encouragingly and pointed toward the stretcher in his rig, “This is a lot more comfortable and we can keep an eye on you. Please?”

“No. No stretcher.” Blayne said automatically, then she reconsidered. But if you ride in an ambulance, you can get away from her. “Uh, okay. It might be best.”

She climbed into the rig and the EMT got her comfortably situated before excusing himself to go make sure no one else needed immediate attention.

Blayne closed her eyes and tried to relax. It was still noisy, but the rig effectively cut out a lot of the din and allowed her a moment’s peace.  Okay. I’m rid of her. Now what am I going to do?

At the back of the ambulance, Alexi waited for the EMT to close up the doors, then said. “I need to ride with my sister. I’d hate for us to get separated, especially since she’s been acting kind of funny since she hit her head.”

“Oh! Your sister! I didn’t realize. Of course.” The EMT started to reach for the rear doors again, but Alexi stopped him.

“I thought I would leave her alone a minute,” she said. “Let her calm down—you know? It has been a pretty harrowing day.”

“Of course. Go ahead when you’re ready, then. I’ll find my partner. Shouldn’t be long.”

He headed back into the commotion and Alexi glanced around. No one was paying her any mind. She opened the rear doors of the ambulance, scrambled inside, and quickly shut the doors behind her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Blayne snapped. The EMT had strapped her loosely onto the stretcher. She unbuckled the top straps so she could sit up. “Get out of here! I’m not riding anywhere with you!”

“Yes, you are.” Alexi planted herself on the bench seat that ran along one side of the rig, a couple of feet from Blayne’s head.

“You can’t come in here. I’m going to tell them…tell them—”

“Tell them what? You’re not going to tell them anything, Miss Weaver. I’ve told them I’m your sister and that you are confused. They will believe me over a distraught woman who’s been hit in the head.”

Blayne shook with rage. “You told them what?”

“Accept it, please. You are under my protection now.”

“First you tell them I’m delusional, and then you claim to be my sister, and you expect me to believe a word you say? Trust you to make decisions for me? Now who’s delusional?” She shot daggers at Alexi with her eyes and unsnapped the remaining straps confining her with quick, angry movements. Where are you planning to run? she asked herself even as she did. She felt trapped. “I told you I want nothing to do with you! Leave me alone!”

Alexi was surprised and even a bit amused by the outburst, but showed neither emotion. This woman had a fire in her, that was for sure. She had to admire that. “Please calm down. You know, your hysteria is not going to work in your favor, if you plan to try to convince anyone you are all right.”

Blayne clenched her fists and ground her teeth.  Alexi Nikolos infuriated her more every time the wretched woman opened her mouth. “Even if I believed you—which I don’t—I’m done putting my life in the hands of the feds. You’ve done a pretty shitty job of keeping me safe.”

Blayne’s words struck an old wound in Alexi, but she did not allow her emotions to register on her face, and when she answered it was with the same controlled, even tone that she always used. “I would say we have done our jobs very well. It is Agent Topping who was killed, and Agent Wright who took a bullet. Not you.”

A flush of shame colored Blayne’s cheeks. “Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh. But who exactly told them what plane I was on, huh? Tell me that!”

The door to the back of the ambulance opened, abruptly ending the exchange. The sandy-haired flight attendant who’d helped them on the plane stuck his head in. “There you are! Glad to see you’re both okay. I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of her,” he told Alexi. “Lucky we had you on board.”

“Just doing my job.”

The paramedics returned, cutting off any further opportunity for escape and soon they were en route to the hospital. Blayne answered all the usual health questions as one of the EMT’s patched the cut on her temple, but she wanted to be left alone to collect her thoughts. To figure out what the hell she was going to do. How was she going to get rid of this woman. And after that… Yeah. After that, what? I’m alone now. Even when she lost her parents, she still had Claudia. But now… now she was really alone, for the first time in her life.

Alexi watched the paramedic tend to Blayne and tried to figure out a way to get the witness to believe her, trust her. I do not blame her skittishness after all she has been through. But she sure is not making a difficult situation any easier. She could almost taste the woman’s anxiety, feel her fear, see the wheels turning as Blayne tried to put what had happened in perspective and make decisions on what to do next.

Alexi felt protective of her, which was not a surprise, of course. That was precisely what she was here for, after all, it was her job. But she also felt an unfamiliar urge to comfort Blayne, hold her hand or something. She guessed it was because despite all of Blayne’s big talk and bravado, there was a certain vulnerability about her, just under the surface.

Alexi shrugged off the urge, however. She knew what could come from giving in to those impulses, and she needed to focus all of her attention on keeping her charge out of harm’s way.

Would she be able to do her job? Keep Blayne safe? She’d thought so. But now the doubts were creeping in. She had studied every single person getting on the flight, and she knew the FBI had vetted all the vendors and crew. Yet she hadn’t seen this coming. And certainly Topping hadn’t either. This was going to be one hell of an assignment. She had no resources, and she had not only the mob to worry about, but a scorpion within her own ranks.

Can I do this? Can I keep her safe? She knew she didn’t really have a choice. Someone was telling the mob where Blayne Keller was every step of the way. I’m her only hope.

*

WITSEC Chief Inspector Theodore Lang was getting into his car in the agency’s parking lot when his BlackBerry vibrated against his hip.

The caller was Paul Fletcher, the man he’d replaced as head of WITSEC’s Chicago office. Fletcher had been bumped back to Inspector and was assigned to the Joint Task Force on Organized Crime.

“We have a problem,” Fletcher said. “The plane carrying Skip Topping and Blayne Keller just made an emergency landing in Colorado Springs. News reports say there was an explosion on board.”

“An explosion?” Theo mentally kissed goodbye to the birthday dinner his wife had been planning for the past month. He didn’t often allow himself a night out on the town. At fifty, a man in his line of work had to be very fit and look ten years younger than his age if he wanted to keep climbing the career ladder. This was even more so for an African-American. Theo followed a disciplined diet and exercise regimen to keep himself at the top of his game.

“Initial reports suggest maybe a bomb,” Fletcher confirmed. “We can’t reach Topping on his cell, and there’s no word on Keller yet. We’re making calls and we have someone en route.”

Theo was tempted to ask Fletcher to check on Alexi as well, but he didn’t trust anyone with the knowledge that she was on the case. He’d have to make some discreet phone calls himself.

“Keep me posted,” he said, already planning how he was going to handle the evening. “I’m heading home.”

*

Vittorio Cinzano was led from his cell in Division 11, a state-of-the-art facility and the newest addition to the sprawling Cook County Jail complex. Designed for maximum security detainees, the more than seven hundred cells in Division 11 were double-occupancy, but Vittorio was housed by himself. A sheriff’s deputy escorted him down the long corridor toward a small room with two chairs and a table, where his attorney, Michael Florio, awaited him.

Vittorio was used to getting his own way, and the inscrutable demeanor he maintained was beginning to slip under his incarceration. Every day, his irritation and impatience became a little more evident in his terse tone and body language. And so, too, did his humiliation at having to trade his custom tailored suits for this obscene orange jumpsuit. It took all his self-discipline to maintain the dignity of his name and his position under the circumstances. He wanted results and he wanted them yesterday.

His lawyer had better have some good news for him.

Vittorio was gratified to see the faint smile on Florio’s face when their eyes met. They were left alone, but their actions were monitored through a thick Plexiglas window by a female deputy.

“Sit down, Michael.” Vittorio gestured toward one of the folding chairs on the visitor side.

Florio waited for his boss to claim the other before asking, “How are you holding up, Vittorio?”

“How the fuck do you think I am holding up? I can’t go anywhere without them following me.”

Florio did not respond, and when Vittorio spoke again he softened his tone. He had talked to his wife the day before, and she had assured him all was well, but he relied on his attorney to give him an honest assessment.

“How is Nicki? Have you talked to her today?”

“She’s fine. Seems to be hanging in there,” Florio responded.

“And Marie?”

“Still in seclusion at your mother’s. Won’t talk to me or anyone else right now.”

“I expected that. So, is there any news?” Vittorio asked.

“Yes, we should be hearing something soon. I think you’ll be satisfied.”

“You’re good to me, Michael.” Vittorio kept his manner casual. But it took an effort. Without a witness, they couldn’t hold him for long, and the day of his release couldn’t come soon enough.

Three days after the shooting of Aldo Martinelli, he’d received the information he was waiting for in a jailhouse phone call from his attorney. As such, he knew it was privileged, but he and his lawyer still spoke in a cryptic shorthand. It was second nature, anyway. A way of life for someone in Vittorio’s position.

He’d made it clear to Florio on the day of his arrest that he wanted all three women from the travel agency eliminated, along with Philippe Cluzet, the building owner. First they’d dealt with Aldo’s goumada, Joyce. She probably knew too much because that fat fuck never could keep his mouth shut. It wasn’t her fault and Vittorio had behaved like an honorable man and instructed the clip to be quick and clean. She never saw what was coming.

The witness they were now hunting had to go for obvious reasons. Fortunately one of their friends in high places understood where his interests lay, so they knew every move that woman was making.

Philippe Cluzet and his daughter both had to go as well. Vittorio had no choice. Cluzet had only reluctantly cooperated with the sale of the building, and though he’d sworn never to tell anyone about what he knew about the soda operation, who could know what a father might tell his daughter?

Vittorio’s orders went against the mob’s longstanding policy of using threats and intimidation alone against civilians. The cops didn’t mind wiseguys killing each other, but when an innocent died, there was a lot of heat in a hurry. Way too much heat, on all the families, and that made it difficult to do business. Vittorio, however, was not about to be compromised. He followed the unwritten code of conduct only when it suited him anyway, and this time he was in serious danger of losing his freedom for a long while.

“Bail?” he asked.

“Probably not until we get everything resolved,” Florio replied. “But we’re ready to proceed as soon as the timing is right.”

As a sick smile spread across Cinzano’s face, Michael felt his cell phone vibrate and glanced at the number displayed. Cautiously, he said, “I need to take this call outside.” He knew his boss would understand. Some things could not be discussed inside prison walls.

Cinzano gave a dismissive wave. Excitement gleamed in his dark eyes. Michael hoped to Christ he’d be returning with good news.

As he exited the visiting room he picked up the call and instructed, “Hold on a minute,” waiting until he was in the parking lot before he said, “Okay. Go.”

“There’s been a serious complication,” the voice on the other end relayed. “The airplane has landed. We’re going to Colorado.”

“Colorado?”

“Colorado Springs.”

Michael glanced at his watch. “Anything else?”

“I’ll let you know.” The phone went dead.

Florio phoned his secretary. “Cancel my appointments. I’ll be out the rest of the day.”

Chapter Eight

“You’ve got quite a bruise here,” the doctor said as he gently palpated where the water bottle had slammed into Alexi’s back. “I’ll have the nurse get a cold pack for that, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Anything else hurt?”

Alexi had pulled a couple of muscles in her back and shoulders trying to hang on to Blayne, but she wanted to minimize her time in the Emergency Room so she didn’t want to dwell on her condition. She had protested being separated from Blayne once they got to Memorial Hospital, but without revealing that she was a U.S. Marshal she couldn’t force the issue. Blayne was in Radiology having a series of head X-rays, and the admitting staff had said Alexi would be allowed to join her ‘sister’ once she was checked out herself.

“I am fine,” she told the doctor. “Any word on what is happening with my sister? Amanda Jones?”

“I’ll ask. You can put your shirt back on.” The doctor paused halfway out the door. “Oh, the police want to talk to everyone. They’ve got a couple of cubicles to go before they get here. Should be just a few minutes.”

He had barely gone before the nurse appeared with a cold pack and a thick roll of bandage. “I’m going to wrap this to keep it in place. You should leave it on at least twenty minutes. Lift your hands please.” She positioned the ice pack and asked as she started wrapping, “Were you on that plane? That plane on the news?”

Alexi was instantly alert. Of course it was on the news. Everyone had a cell phone and camera these days. “What are they saying?”

“CNN has been on it for the last half-hour. I can’t believe the hole in the plane. Wow. Just amazing. They’re looking at whether it was a terrorist attack, because they think it may have been a bomb.” The nurse was excited. Obviously it was the biggest news in Colorado Springs in years. “The waiting area is full of T.V. and newspaper reporters trying to interview passengers, but no one out there was near where it happened. Were you?”

“No,” Alexi lied. Admitting the truth would make her a priority with the local cops. She couldn’t have that. Now that the story was on the news it was more important than ever that she get Blayne the hell away from there as soon as possible.

“I’m going to find my sister,” she told the nurse as soon as the bandage was secured. “Then we will talk to the police. Can you tell me how to get to Radiology?”

*

Blayne waited for the Radiology technician to leave with the X-ray films, then she snatched her ugly-as-hell jacket off the chair and headed for the door. She patted her pants pocket, feeling for the envelope containing her Fiji fund to reassure herself it was still there. There would never be a better time to slip out. The area around the Emergency Room had been swarming with police and reporters when she’d been wheeled off to Radiology, but now she was in a quiet wing a floor away, and she hadn’t seen that woman for a good half hour.

She felt extremely conflicted about Alexi Nikolos. There was something… reassuring about her, she had to admit. She seemed trustworthy, and the flight attendant had made it sound as though Alexi had taken good care of her. Knowing who she was made Blayne reinterpret that first look between them. She’d been so certain it was a look of attraction, of interest, but she was woefully mistaken. Alexi was just doing her job, that’s all.

The thought was strangely depressing, on top of everything else. Blayne wondered if Alexi was even her real name. There were way too many unknowns about the woman for her liking and even if Alexi was only trying to keep her safe, she was employed by the same people who couldn’t seem to keep her whereabouts a secret. Alexi would be reporting in, notifying them that she was alive and had Blayne with her. The information would soon be out there and yet again whoever was leaking it would tell Blayne’s enemies.

Yup, I’m definitely better off on my own.

She cracked open the door, peeked out, and spotted a nurse heading away from her, to her left. The other way was clear, and at the end of the hall was a sign that said “Stairway”. Perfect.

Blayne made it downstairs and exited through a side entrance, successfully avoiding both the press and the police. Now she had to find some transport. There was a bus stand near her, but no one waiting there, and no bus in sight. So she walked the perimeter of the hospital, and was relieved to see a taxi pulling up in front of the visitor’s entrance to drop off a fare. She hurried over with a wave and a shout, and managed to get the driver’s attention before he pulled away.

“Hi. Where to?” He was a beefy Scandinavian type in his forties. His radio was tuned to a classical station, and that was a pleasant surprise.

Where, indeed? Somewhere far away the hell from here. “Got a state map?” Blayne asked.

*

Cursing, Alexi continued around the perimeter of the hospital, vigilant to each person, car, every hint of movement within sight. No one and nothing escaped her careful and quick scrutiny. As she rounded a corner her eyes were drawn to a glint in the distance—a flash—sunlight hitting metal. The studs on the back of Blayne’s jacket as she got into a taxi.

“Stop!” she yelled, sprinting across the lawn. The cab was the only vehicle currently in the U-shaped drop-off zone in front of the visitor entrance, but before she got within a hundred feet it pulled away. The driver hadn’t heard her.

Breathing heavily, she glanced around, desperate for a way to follow the car before it got out of sight. She couldn’t believe she had allowed this amateur to give her the slip. She had been out of the game too long, apparently. In a parking lot to her left, a thirty-something man with a dark beard and shoulder-length hair stood beside a dark green Ford Navigator, fishing through the pockets of his white lab coat for his keys.

She came up behind him just as he found them, and snatched them out of his hand. “I am a U.S. Marshal in hot pursuit, and I am commandeering your vehicle.” She hit the unlock button on the key chain control and slid onto the front seat of the SUV almost before the man could register what was happening. “I’ll leave word where to pick it up at the hospital.”

“Wait!” He thrust out his arm and held the door open. “I want to see some I.D.”

“Take your hand off the door, now!” She fired up the engine and shifted into reverse.

The tone of her voice was enough. He stepped back and watched his Navigator speed away.

*

Blayne studied the map the taxi driver had handed over. The main highway through Colorado Springs, I-25, ran north into Denver, the plane’s original destination—that way’s definitely out—or south to Pueblo, and on into New Mexico. It was a start. A first decision. It felt good to make one on her own.

As the taxi headed west toward the interstate, she watched the meter tick away her precious funds.  She hated the cost per mile, but speed was of the essence.

Let’s see. About 45 miles, it looks like, to Pueblo. Then what? Stay on the highway or get off? Stick with the cab or switch to something else? Buses were too slow. Planes were fastest, but she couldn’t think about getting on one of those again anytime soon.  And that would require she show identification, anyway. A train, maybe.

“Is there an Amtrak line around here?” she asked.

“Yeah,” the driver said. “There are two. If you want to head south, you hit the Southwest Chief. It goes through La Junta, that’s about a hundred miles southeast. Or it stops down in Trinidad, that’s about a two hour drive.” He glanced in the rear-view mirror at Blayne. “The California Zephyr is closer, but that’s north, out of Denver.”

“No,” Blayne said. “Head south.”

The cabbie seemed not too concerned that she had no definite destination in mind. “You got it.”

The more she thought about the Amtrak alternative, the less she liked the idea. The mob might be watching the stations, or have somebody on each train. That would be easy enough to do, and then she’d be trapped on a moving vehicle with someone who wanted to put a bullet in her head.

“Do you have a range, or something? A limit on how far you’ll go?”

“I’m willing to negotiate something.”

Blayne pulled out her new wallet and the Fiji fund, and out of view of the driver counted her money. Four thousand, one hundred and twenty-nine dollars, when she added her holiday stash to the money the feds had given her. It sounded like a lot, but not if she had to disappear and start over somewhere. And certainly not if she was going to spend hundreds on a taxi ride.

Can’t get a rental car without a credit card. I wonder how much I can get a beat up junker of a car for? Fifteen hundred, maybe. That’s not bad. Keep to the back roads. It sounded like a pretty good plan. The snag was, it was almost dark, and the used car places in Pueblo would already be closed.

It was the best she could think of at the moment. The taxi meter ticked away, audible only during pauses in the classical music. She could swear the thing was speeding up in its mission to devour her dollars.

“How much to Pueblo?” she asked.

*

Alexi caught up to the taxi as it was getting on the expressway, and followed at a distance while she explored the interior of the SUV. She was irritated as hell that Blayne’s conduct had forced her into taking the car. Only a quarter of a tank of gas. Not great, but could be worse. There was a map of Colorado above one of the visors. But no cash, credit cards, or cell phones in the pockets or storage compartments. She hoped the driver of the vehicle wasn’t at that moment contacting the police. If she got pulled over, she might lose Blayne while trying to verify who she was.

Where is she going, and what do I do when I catch up to her? She was impatient to gain’s Blayne cooperation so she could start figuring out how she was going to keep them safe. She had a lot to work out. Like how she was going to get some funds and where she was going to take Blayne. The usual safe houses were no good. Who can I trust? Do I dare even tell Theo where we are?

She rubbed her eyes and tried to ignore the fatigue that was starting to assert itself. She felt overwhelmed and even disoriented, like her internal compass didn’t work any more.

It was a feeling that took her back to her childhood. To all the years she’d spent in boarding schools, isolated from her family. Initially, the disorientation and rejection she’d felt at being sent away had sent her into a spiral of depression. But her father insisted the experience would make her independent and resourceful. And it certainly had done that.

She had learned to put her emotions aside, and to view every situation and challenge head-on. Logically. Fearlessly.  Just assess the risks, and take appropriate action. It was why she became a standout at WITSEC.

But her long-held confidence in her abilities had taken a big hit when Sofia was killed, and she was only now realizing to what extent. She found herself battling uncertainties she thought she had long ago dispensed with, and she knew how dangerous it was to indulge those doubts. The mob was determined to take out her witness, and Blayne was determined to run. She had to be at the top of her game.

It was well past dusk when the taxi reached the outskirts of Pueblo, slowing down as it passed a bright string of restaurant and hotel signs at one of the exits. Alexi understood exactly what was going on. The passenger was trying to make a decision about where to spend the night. She would choose something off the main road because her instincts would drive her toward seclusion and privacy.

Predictably the taxi took an exit to an area less well lit and proceeded past a few fast food and chain restaurants scattered amidst various budget hotels and motels. It slowed yet again at a used car lot with padlocked chains across the entrance and exit. The prices were scrawled across the windshields in huge white and yellow numbers.

$800. $1,500. Blayne probably had access to that kind of money, Alexi thought, so she would hole up nearby and plan to return first thing the next morning for whatever Nissan or Ford looked like a good buy. It wasn’t that late, not even quite eight o’clock yet, but the day must have taken everything out of her. She would want to make a plan. Study a map. Consider her options. There was a Motel 6 a bit farther down the road. If Alexi were a gambler, she’d have put her life savings on this one.

She watched the taxi continue on to the three-story motel. Blayne would not be pleased to see her and she would likely not be shy about saying so. A confrontation was probably inevitable but Alexi had to avoid a scene that would draw attention to them, so she hung back, content to wait for an opportunity.

The cab let Blayne off right in front of the office and she went directly in to register. A few minutes later she came back out, walked to a nearby room on the first floor, and let herself in. At all times, there were too many people about, in the parking lot, on the stairwells, near the soda machine, by the office. Alexi couldn’t risk it, so she waited until things quieted down, using the time to study the map.

When there was no one in sight, she got out of the SUV, walked to Blayne’s door and knocked. She hoped Blayne would open up without looking, but she wasn’t optimistic that would happen. The curtain at the window beside the door was pulled back, and she saw Blayne’s eyes widen in disbelief. But the shock was quickly replaced by a flash of temper.

“God damn it! Leave me alone!” Her voice was muffled through the thick glass between them, but since she was shouting every word was clear.

Alexi glanced around. No one in sight. “Please let me in, Miss Weaver.” She said it louder than she wanted to. A necessary risk.

“No!”

“I am not going away.”

Blayne appraised her for a long moment. “Suit yourself.”

“I will not keep shouting at you like this,” Alexi said. “I am going to get an audience out here, and we do not want that, believe me.”

“There is no we,” Blayne retorted. “I told you, leave me alone! I’m not going with you!”

Alexi tried to keep her irritation in check, but it was getting tougher by the moment. She was tired, and hungry, and she knew they were in far too much danger to be wasting time like this. “If you do not open this door in two minutes, I am going to kick it in.”

Blayne’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll call the front desk and tell them you’re bothering me.”

“No, you will not. They’ll ask too many questions.”

The two women stared at each other. Blayne’s jaw was set, her face tight with anger, as though it was all she could do not to reach through the glass and throttle Alexi.

Alexi remained outwardly impassive, but she was fighting mightily the urge to shake some sense into Blayne. “At least open the door with the chain on so that I can talk to you without drawing attention to us.”

The curtain closed. It took another minute for the door to open, and it was with the chain on. But Alexi knew then she’d won. She stuck her right boot into the opening.

“I don’t need your protection.” Blayne had taken a couple of steps away from the door, to be out of Alexi’s reach. But she stood where they could see each other. “I can get away from them by myself and I’ll be safer.”

“Really?” Alexi responded pleasantly. “Let’s just reality check, shall we? So far, nearly every decision you have made has been a bad one, one that will ensure you get caught. Those bad decisions, by the way, are the reason I am standing here. It is mere good luck that I arrived first, and not a hit man.”

This seemed to register and Blayne took a step closer to the door. “What do you mean?”

“You take a cab, use the only smart way out of town, and stop at the first motel you come to? You think the men hunting you don’t have connections in cab companies? The driver will tell someone where you are, and you will be dead long before that used car lot opens down the street.”

Blayne’s eyes widened in alarm and shock. “How did you know what I…”

“As I said, you are predictable.” Alexi heard voices approaching. People on the levels above, heading down the outdoor stairwells toward them. She had to get in the room, and fast.  “Miss Weaver, I mean you no harm. If I wanted you dead, you would have been dead already and I would not be standing here like an idiot trying to negotiate my way through a chain. You are wasting precious time. Open the door.” The last three words were unmistakably a command, not a request.

The blunt words seemed to reassure Blayne and she finally unhooked the chain just as the upper level guests emerged from the nearest stairwell. Alexi stepped inside the room and quickly closed and locked the door behind her. When she turned to face Blayne, she found that the witness had retreated to a chair, one of two flanking a small circular table by the front window. She took the other.

“Thank you for opening the door.” She referenced Blayne’s bandage with a tilt of her chin. “How are you feeling?”

Emotions played across the delicate features of the woman in front of her as she fingered the square of gauze at her temple. She was obviously still seething but Alexi’s accurate assessment of her plan to escape had really frightened her, too.

“Shitty headache. How did you know what I was going to do?” she asked, half the fight gone.

“You are doing the obvious things an innocent person would do.”

Blayne leaned back in the chair and gripped the armrests. Am I? She certainly found me.  How the hell did she find me? I paid the taxi and hotel in cash.

“All right. Let’s say maybe I haven’t made all the best choices. So, I’m listening. What’s your inspired master plan for getting me out of here, huh? Dazzle me.”

Alexi got back on her feet. “The priority is getting you as far away from here as fast as possible. In the way they are least likely to be able to track us. I have a car outside.”

“Not so fast.” Blayne didn’t budge from where she was. Her independence had been much too short lived and the knowledge that the mob was right now probably closing in on them scared her, but she wasn’t ready to place her life in this woman’s hands without some terms.  “I’m not saying I believe you’re who you say you are, but I’m willing to go with you. As long as you know this is not long term. I’m not going back to WITSEC under any circumstances, or to any constantly-under-guard thing. No military bases. I just can’t do it.”

Alexi had been trying to come up with a good explanation for why she wouldn’t be taking Blayne to the nearest federal facility. She couldn’t acknowledge that even the feds couldn’t be trusted, that there was a leak within the Task Force somewhere. Blayne had probably figured that out already and had lost confidence because of it. Fortunately, Blayne’s stubborn pronouncement provided a way out.

Frowning as though only reluctantly accepting her terms, Alexi said, “I understand your hesitation after what you have been through, Miss Weaver. So…for now, I will agree. No military bases, no WITSEC, no cops. Shall we go?”

*

Blayne noticed right away that something was decidedly wrong about the vehicle they were in. It was clearly no rental. A variety of small personal items overflowed the cup holders and console storage areas. Sunglasses, lip balm, tissues, maps, pens. A CD out of its case. Yummy Yummy by The Wiggles. The Wiggles?

She glanced in the back seat. There were more Wiggles CDs on the floor, and several toys appropriate for a toddler. The SUV had a lived-in feel to it, and it didn’t seem to suit Alexi at all. Blayne got a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Whose car is this?”

“I did not ask his name. There wasn’t time.”

“You stole this car? Oh my God! Brilliant! They’ll never track us in a stolen car! What the hell kind of an agent are you? Stop right now and let me out!”

But Alexi kept their speed a constant forty, grateful there were few other cars on the two-lane and no imminent stop sign or traffic lights. “I commandeered this vehicle. It was not my first choice, but you gave me few options.” She glanced over at Blayne, who was eyeing her with mistrust. “Although I have the legal authority to do what I did, the authorities will probably be looking for this car, so I am going to get rid of it soon. I do not want to be slowed down answering questions about who we are.” She glanced at her watch. It was almost eight-thirty.

“If you get rid of this, then how are we going to travel?”

“You will see.”

Blayne was already regretting her decision to go with Alexi. “That’s exactly why I despise this under-protection crap. Having everything about my future kept from me! And why I’m going to allow it only as long as I have to.” She stared out the window as they turned off the secondary streets Alexi had been taking onto Highway 50 West and the town of Fremont, some thirty-five miles distant. “I am so tired of having someone else decide what, how, when, and where the hell my life is going next. It’s my fucking life!”

Alexi didn’t respond. She let the silence lengthen, glancing at Blayne now and then. The witness was agitated and angry, her breathing rapid. She had been through so much, seemed so vulnerable, that once again Alexi found herself having to fight the urge to reach out a hand to comfort her. “Miss Weaver, you have had an impossibly stressful day. Why do you not try to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, right!” Blayne’s tone was almost a snarl. “I can just curl up in the back of this stolen car, and nod right off. Nothing like being a human target to make you all sleepy.”

Alexi felt the sting of the rebuke like a slap. “Do as you please.  I think it wise to get some sleep, but suit yourself.”

They were approaching a gas station/convenience store that was invitingly absent any customers at the moment. Alexi glanced at her fuel gauge. They were down to less than an eighth of a tank so they needed to make a stop soon anyway. She would like to have waited for Blayne to reach a calmer frame of mind, but they hadn’t the time for that. “How much money do you have?”

“Money? Why?”

Alexi pulled into the driveway of the store and parked the Navigator at one of the pumps. “My wallet was with my identification in my bag,” she explained as she switched off the engine and pocketed the keys. “Which was sucked out of the plane. I need money for gas.”

“Oh, this is rich!” Blayne exclaimed, shaking her head. “So you say you’re a federal agent, but really…the only thing you have in your possession is a stolen car. And…and you say you’re going to help me…and then you ask for my money!” What the hell have I gotten myself into?

“This is an unusual situation. But I have a plan. Now please, may I have the money?”

“I have a plan,” Blayne mimicked, her voice dripping with disdain. She reached into her pocket for her wallet, but half turned away from Alexi to open it, in an effort to keep the contents secret. She’d transferred some of her own money into it; there was more than a grand in there now. The rest was in the envelope stuffed into her back pocket. “They gave me five hundred,” she said as she reached in to extract a couple of twenties.

“How much do you really have? All totaled?”

Blayne paused and looked at Alexi, her temper rising again. “I said, five hundred.”

Alexi held out her hand. “Miss Weaver, hand me your wallet.”

“I will not!”

“You will force me to take it from you, then.”

“Look, I’m not going to give you my wallet. I’ll give you whatever you need for gas…” She plucked out two…No, make that three twenties, she decided.

Alexi reached around to the small of her back while Blayne was preoccupied, and fumbled momentarily at a clip on her belt. From the front, it looked like any ordinary women’s belt, plain black leather with a decorative gold buckle. But it had been adapted for plainclothes law enforcement personnel to hold some of the tools of their trade.

When Blayne turned to hand Alexi the twenties, she found her wrist immediately encased in a handcuff. Before she could react, its twin was secured to the SUV’s steering wheel and the wallet was snatched out of her hand.

“What the fuck!” She stared at the handcuffs in disbelief as Alexi got out of the car. “You can’t do this! Take these off right now!” She rattled the cuffs, testing them. I knew I shouldn’t have opened that door and let her in. Fuck! This can’t be my life!

“I am sorry. But you are a flight risk.”

“I came with you willingly, damn it!”

“But you were about to take off again.”

Blayne seethed, her jaw clenched, her eyes slits of anger. “I didn’t say anything…”

“You did not have to,” Alexi cut her off. “Now remember, we cannot draw attention to ourselves. I will be right back.” She shut the door to the Navigator and pumped several gallons into the tank, watching Blayne all the while, thankful that she didn’t blow the horn or do something equally stupid.

She could see that Blayne was furious. Every now and then she could hear a muffled curse through the glass, and the rattle of the handcuffs as Blayne pulled at them in frustration.

Oh yes, it is certainly going to be great fun being tied to this firecracker for the next however many hundreds of hours.

She kept an eye on the SUV through the store’s front window while she bought a few items and quickly perused the local newspaper. There were several possibilities in the classifieds, so it only took five minutes and three phone calls to get what she wanted. She scribbled directions on the edge of the newspaper, tucked it under her arm, and headed back to the SUV with her purchases.

Blayne didn’t want to sound like a brat, but she let into her as soon as she got the door open. She’d had several minutes to work up a head of steam. “Took you damn long enough! I saw you in there, reading the paper.”

Alexi regarded her benignly and held up one of two large paper cups of coffee. “Do I dare give you this, Miss Weaver? It is very hot. And I have only this one change of clothes.” She offered a half-smile of apology.

Blayne’s anger subsided a little. In addition to the coffee, Alexi had a small bag full of food dangling from one hand. Potato chips and a two-pack of Hostess chocolate cupcakes peeking out of one side. Her stomach growled at her to be grateful.

She rattled the handcuffs. “Since we’re into the bondage stage of our relationship, don’t you think you can start calling me Blayne?”

It was so unexpected that Alexi burst out laughing, nearly dumping coffee onto herself, and Blayne had to join in after a moment. It was the first time either of them had really laughed in days and she felt somehow much the better for it.

“I am happy you are the forgiving type,” Alexi said as she slipped into the driver’s seat and unlocked the handcuffs.

Blayne rubbed her wrist. “Don’t do that again.”

“Do not give me reason to.”

“I didn’t give you a reason this time!” Blayne argued.

“Yes, you did. You are very easy to read, Miss Weaver…Blayne. Very predictable.”

“Will you please stop calling me so fucking predictable? You’ve been doing that all night.”

“It just illustrates why you need me,” Alexi replied evenly. “If I can read you, so can others. Your naiveté is nothing to be defensive about. You are just a kid, and you are acting impulsively because you are frightened. It is understandable, given what you have been through.”

“A kid? You have some hell of a nerve. Talk about fucking condescending!”

“I meant no offense,” Alexi replied. “Look, we are both tired. May we start over? I am pleased to meet you, Blayne. I am Alexi.”

She offered her hand, and Blayne took it after a moment’s deliberation. The handshake was brief but firm, the eye contact more sustained as the two women studied each other. So damn cocksure of herself, Blayne thought. She found Alexi’s confidence both aggravating and comforting.

They were back underway a couple of minutes later, some of the tension diffused. There was no more talk between them for awhile, both women too engrossed in taking the edge off their hunger with ham and cheese sandwiches and the rest of the convenience store bounty.

“Where are we going?” Blayne finally asked when they reached Florence and paused at a quiet neighborhood park, an expanse of greenery with basketball courts and children’s playground equipment.

“To trade vehicles.” Alexi was pleased to see the car—a red, 1990 four-door Geo Prizm parked under a street lamp beside a blue, late model Ford pickup. Two men in their twenties leaned against the Prizm’s hood, smoking.

Alexi parked in a patch of darkness beyond the men. “Hunch down, out of sight,” she told Blayne. “I want you to stay here with the doors locked until I come back. Don’t say anything. Don’t do anything. And keep down.”  She got out quickly and hit the ‘lock’ button on the remote.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said as she walked  around the Prizm, studying it from every angle. When she spoke, there was no hint of the accent that was usually a part of her speech. She sounded like she was from the next town. “Like I said, guys, I’m in a hurry. Got the keys?”

She started the car and gunned the engine, listening for problems, and checked the gauge to make sure the tank was full as she had instructed. Satisfied, she swapped seven hundred and fifty dollars cash for the title, and then turned down the men’s offer of help in getting the car home, saying her husband would be arriving to help her at any moment.

Once the men had departed in their pickup, she returned to Blayne. “All clear. Time to leave.”

They bagged up the rest of the food, retrieved the map, and headed to their new ride. Blayne opened the door and recoiled at the first whiff of stale cigarette smoke. The Prizm stank of it.

“Of course. Nothing can be easy,” she grumbled, not entirely to herself.

They got in and buckled up, and as soon as Alexi started the engine, she lowered her window a couple of inches and cranked the heater up to high. It had been a mild early March day, with temperatures nearing fifty, but it was getting much colder now, down below freezing, and neither woman had the warmest of coats.

Alexi retraced their route until they were back on Highway 50, and this time headed east. In no time, they came upon a sign that said Pueblo – 24 Miles.

“Pueblo?” Blayne cried, aghast. “We’re going back to Pueblo?”

“We are only passing through, and you are going to be lying in the back seat when we do.” Alexi glanced over at her. “Would you climb over there now, please?”

“No. Not until you tell me why we’re heading right for where you said we had to get the hell away from.”

“Are you always going to be so stubborn?”

Blayne had to smile a little at that. “Probably. I’m Irish.”

“If you get into the back, I will tell you some of what I have planned.”

“Deal.” Blayne climbed over the seat and slouched down so she was mostly out of sight, but still able to watch Alexi.

“We went west initially because that is the way they will expect us to go, and I reinforced that notion by leaving the SUV where I did. But our actual route will be in the direction they will least suspect. Back toward Chicago.”

“Chicago!” Blayne sat up. The horror of Martinelli’s murder replayed in her mind, and in no time, her heart was pounding. “You can’t be serious! I’m not going back to Chicago!”

“It is the safest direction at the moment,” Alexi said patiently. “And we are not going into Chicago, just nearby so that I can replenish my resources.”

Blayne slumped back down, feeling only slightly less alarmed by Alexi’s choice of escape routes. Back to Chicago. Even if it was dangerous, at least it was familiar. It’ll probably be a lot easier to find out what happened to Claud from there. I can call our friends. Stop by some of our haunts. See if anyone has heard anything.

She studied Alexi’s profile in the dim light from the dashboard, still not entirely convinced she was who she said she was. Worst-case scenario, she could wait until we get close to Chicago, handcuff me to the car again, or take me straight to the Marshals and I’ll be history.

But, as long as she could make sure Alexi would trust her enough to leave her for a few minutes, Chicago was also the perfect place for her to disappear. At least she knew the terrain. She started compiling in her mind, a list of people Claudia might have contacted. Yes, Alexi’s choice of direction was sounding better all the time.

I just have to find a way to ditch her. And from what I’ve seen so far, that’s not going to be easy.

Chapter Nine

It was after midnight, but Theo answered on the second ring. “Lang.”

“It is Alexi. I have Blayne Keller.”

“Thank God. Where are you?”

“On the move.” Alexi stared past the store clerk to the Prizm bathed with the bright overhead lights beside the gas pumps. They’d left Pueblo behind four hours earlier and were now eastbound on Interstate 70, just over the Kansas state line.

“Where are you headed?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Alexi, you can tell me. This line is secure.”

“I cannot depend on that. No one was supposed to know what flight we were on.”

“Give me something,” Theo insisted.” What’s your plan?”

“My plan is to keep the witness safe until trial. That is all I can concentrate on right now, because she is resistant to protection and determined to disappear. If we push her too hard, we are going to lose her testimony.”

“But if we don’t know how to reach you, then we can’t guarantee her court appearance,” Theo said. “Without her, they might not be able to hold Cinzano.”

“It is her choice, Theo. She wants nothing to do with WITSEC right now. I am trying to change her mind, but she lost trust in us after the explosion.”

He sighed resignedly. “All right. What do you need?”

“I’ll let you know. You’ll need to assign someone else to find your leak. I have my hands full with this, and I don’t think she will accept anyone else guarding her.”

“Understood.”

“And Theo, for obvious reasons, I would ask that you continue to keep my involvement in this case to yourself.”

“The Task Force pretty much knows already, Alexi. A flight attendant remembered you, and the guy whose car you took. The hospital workers put you two sisters together, of course.”

Damn.

“They’ll get your name from the airline or Saint Louis airport when they reach the right people,” Theo continued. “I presume you had to show your papers to get your gun through?”

“Yes.”

“So they’ll know who you are soon. And then Paul will call me, asking questions. So far I haven’t volunteered or verified anything.”

“All right,” Alexi said. “Keep that up as long as you can.”

“Of course.”

“One more thing. The SUV I took is now in Florence, Colorado. A place called Denton Park. I want you to get that information to the Task Force, but in some roundabout way if you can.”

“Florence. Denton Park. You got it. Anything else?”

“No. I’ll be in touch.”

“Frequently, I trust. Good luck, Alexi.”

The second call Alexi made was to an old contact she hadn’t talked to in many months. Ray Hill was a small time forger who had been caught up in a major counterfeiting sting. He’d testified against his partners in order to avoid prosecution, and Alexi had guarded him during the trial. They had become unlikely friends.

Hill had relocated to Milwaukee after his associates were put away—close enough to Chicago to still do business there, but not close enough to run into anyone who might hold a grudge—and he had changed his specialty from money to documents. Alexi hoped he was still doing business, because he was fast and meticulous, and never asked questions.

It took five rings for him to answer, and his voice was groggy from sleep. They exchanged pleasantries for several seconds, then she told him what she wanted.

“This is a rush job, my friend.”

“Not a problem,” Ray said. “Driver’s licenses, passports, credit cards. It’ll only take me a couple of hours once I get photos.”

“You will have to take those yourself. We will be in Milwaukee in a day or two. In the interim, there is another favor I would like to ask.”

“Whatever you need, you know that.”

Once Ray was briefed, she made her final call—collect—to her attorney in Greece. She instructed him to wire one-hundred-thousand in cash to Ray as soon as the banks opened. It would pay for the forgeries and leave her with plenty left over to hide them away for a while. The money was to come from one of her personal accounts, and not the multi-million-dollar philanthropic foundation she administered, but it was still an insignificant amount to her.

Money had never been her motivation for joining the U.S. Marshals. Alexi came from a family of wealth, a Greek shipping dynasty going back several generations. She had been raised in privilege and schooled in the best European boarding schools and American Ivy League universities. It was expected she would run the Nikolos Philanthropic Trust when the time came.

And she did her duty, taking up the reins of responsibility and fulfilling her familial obligations. But she knew the trust was her father’s moral compensation for what else their money had paid for. The politician’s entertainment, the policeman’s silence, the judge’s leniency. She had her own way of atoning for the past that had shaped her birthright.

Alexi returned to the Prizm balancing grocery sacks full of provisions with a tray containing two large coffees. She’d made an effort to find all the sugary and chocolate items Blayne had requested. Her charge was showing signs of cooperation at last, and Alexi wanted to reward her, but she knew she could take nothing for granted. Blayne was still apt to bolt at any time.

She wasn’t used to having to convince a witness to accept her protection. But she was confident she was up to the challenge. I just have to make it much more desirable for her to stay with me than to strike out on her own.

Blayne saw her coming and this time, instead of shouting at her, she got out to help, then settled back into the front passenger seat to examine the purchases. On top of the first were the Twinkies she’d requested, carefully placed so they wouldn’t get crushed. Beneath them, a variety of other junk foods. Cupcakes, cookies, chips, nuts, and pretzels. And a very impressive assortment of chocolate candy bars.

“Nice.” She plucked out a package of Twinkies and a Mars bar, and set the rest in the back seat.

Alexi handed one of the coffees over and Blayne took a long sip then opened the second sack. It held maps, sunglasses, toothbrushes, and toothpaste. Dental floss, tissues, lip balm, shampoo and conditioner, tampons, deodorant, lotion. A box of pre-moistened towelettes. A first aid kit. Flashlight and batteries.

“Did I overlook something you might need right away?” Alexi asked, reaching past Blayne to extract the maps. “Allergy medicine, anything like that?”

“No. Looks like you got all the essentials.” Blayne set the bag in the back with the food, then took another sip of coffee while she studied Alexi. “Sure you don’t want me to drive?”

“I’m certain.” Alexi unfolded a map of Kansas. “We will go a few more hours, and then stop at a motel. Get a shower and a decent meal.”

“You’re spending my money rather fast. Can’t have much left.”

Alexi looked up from her map. “It only has to last until tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“We pick up money and new IDs in Milwaukee.”

“Milwaukee?” Blayne frowned. “Is that as close as we’re going to get to Chicago?”

“Yes. We are going to divert through Rockford.” Alexi started up the car and got back on Interstate 70, continuing east.

Rockford, Blayne mused. That might be my chance to get away. They’d be just 90 miles west of Chicago. Easiest for her if she could take the Prizm and leave Alexi behind. She’d have to look for the right opportunity. Or, maybe just any opportunity.

“You need to pick a new name,” Alexi said. “Elizabeth Weaver is known. Any ideas? Nothing that can be used to trace you. No family or friend names.”

“I have to change both first and last again?”

“Yes.  Blayne is too unusual to keep.”

Blayne was quiet for several minutes. Not an easy task, to pick a name she could adopt and feel comfortable answering to. It had taken her awhile to come up with Elizabeth Weaver, and now she had to start all over again.

I’ll keep with something Celtic, she decided. If she had to give up the name she was born with, at least she could still respect her heritage. There were many good, sturdy Irish surnames that appealed to her. O’Leery, or perhaps Callahan, or Murphy. Yes, I like Murphy. The first name was harder. It had to fit, had to really suit her, and most names that she thought of off the top of her head just didn’t. She certainly wasn’t a Mary or Wendy. She wanted something a bit more unusual, like Blayne was. After a moment, it came to her.  Fiona. Fiona Murphy. That’s not bad. “Fiona Murphy. How’s that?”

“That will be fine.”

Blayne opened her Twinkies and polished off the first one in three big bites. “You have to limit how much of this stuff you give me,” she said before tackling the second sweet cylinder of spongy cake. “I’ve always tended to overload on junk food when I’m stressed. I gained twenty-five pounds during my last year of college and had a hell of a time getting it back off.”

“You don’t look as though you have ever had a weight problem.” Alexi couldn’t suppress a grin at the dollop of cream poised on Blayne’s upper lip, like a small white moustache.

“What?” Blayne’s forehead furrowed.

Alexi reached over and rubbed her thumb lightly over Blayne’s lip, scooping up the cream. She did it really without thinking, and then, as she turned her attention back to the road, she stuck her thumb in her mouth to lick off the sticky spill.

Watching, Blayne felt her stomach do a little flip-flip. It was a totally innocent gesture, she was certain of that. But for some reason it struck her as entirely sensual. Alexi underwent a transformation in her eyes, at that moment.

For the last several hours, despite some lingering reservations, Blayne had been seeing Alexi as her intrepid protector.  The woman certainly had been acting the part. Determined. Strong. Brave. Unflappable. Totally in control. And despite her doubts, and the fact that she hated giving up control, Blayne had to admit she was impressed. She felt, at last, that she was in capable hands. For the time being anyway.

During that first eye contact between them, just before the bomb went off—she’d known that she found Alexi damn attractive. And she had thought, for a moment, that the interest was mutual. But once she’d found out Alexi was only doing her job, she’d managed to put the woman in proper perspective and not think of her that way. Alexi had made it easier with her calm, cool and detached demeanor.

And now she has to do that one damn sexy gesture, and I can’t stop staring at her. There was enough light from the dashboard to pick out the curve of Alexi’s lips, the strong jawline. Yup. One nice looking woman, that’s for sure. But Blayne had no doubt the attraction was one-sided. Alexi had done nothing to indicate that she was even gay, much less that she had any interest in her.

How could anybody be interested in me the way I look now, anyway?  She glanced down at her oversized clothes and frowned. She needed to make some changes, and soon. First off, I’m getting some new clothes. And some hair coloring. I can look different without looking freakish.

Blayne opened another pack of Twinkies. “Alexi Nikolos, WITSEC Inspector. Greek, obviously. That’s about all I know about you. I could trust you easier if I knew some more about you.”

Alexi glanced over at her. “What do you wish to know?”

“Mmm. How old are you?”

“Thirty-nine.” Alexi dug into the bag of snacks and pulled out a granola bar.

“How long have you been with WITSEC?”

“Fourteen years.”

“How did a Greek girl end up as a U.S. Marshal?”

“Went to school here and stayed.”

“Dangerous line of work.”

“I find it rewarding.”

She certainly doesn’t volunteer a lot.  Blayne was the curious type, used to asking questions when she met someone and used to them answering in much more detail. Most people liked to talk about themselves, but evidently not Alexi. She was polite and accommodating, but not terribly forthcoming.

“Hobbies?” Blayne persisted. “How do you like to spend your free time?”

Alexi smiled at the question and Blayne wondered what had popped into her head. She doesn’t smile very often. Not that there had been anything much for either of them to smile about.  And even now it was a just a maddening glimpse of one, a momentary upturn at the corners of her mouth, here and gone.

And Blayne was somehow certain her eventual answer to the question had nothing whatsoever to do with why she had smiled.

“I don’t really have any hobbies. How about you?”

Turn the question around and get the attention off you. Okay, I’ll play along. We’ve got a few hundred miles to go.  “Mmm. Well, I’m a fiend on a jet ski. And not bad on a snowboard.”

“Perhaps that familiarity with adrenalin rushes helped you today,” Alexi said. “All in all, you have been managing pretty well throughout your ordeal. Not giving in to panic. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I still can’t believe that plane kept flying.” Blayne closed her eyes and the image of the gaping hole in the fuselage flashed in her mind. Impossible we survived that. Impossible.

“We were very fortunate,” Alexi said. “I can only recall a couple of occasions where an aircraft has managed to land with a big hole in it.”

“I don’t think I can get on another plane any time soon.” Blayne stared out the passenger window into the darkness beyond, her gaze unfocused.

“I hope that won’t be necessary,” Alexi said. “I will do my best to avoid it.”

Blayne glanced back at her. “Can you get on a plane right now?”

“If I had to, to keep you safe, most certainly.” That trace of a smile returned, once again only briefly. “But I must admit I would rather not. Not any time soon.”

Blayne was pleased at the admission, for it was the first small crack in Alexi’s perfectly confident exterior. It made her more human, somehow.

“I suggest you try to sleep, if you can,” Alexi said. “I would like to make a couple hundred more miles at least before we stop.”

As though her body heard the suggestion and embraced it, Blayne yawned an enormous yawn. “I won’t argue.”  She wiggled through the narrow gap between the front seats, brushing up against Alexi as she did so, and plopped down onto the bench seat in the back. “Wake me if you want me to drive, all right? I’m happy to, any time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The next thing that Blayne knew they were stopping again, this time in front of a Days Inn motel. It was still dark outside. She sat up and glanced at her watch. Four-thirty. “Where are we?”

“Salina, Kansas.” As soon as she had shut off the engine, Alexi stretched her arms and yawned. “Sun will be up before long, but I need a few hours rest, and I know you can use it too.” She looked in the rear-view mirror at Blayne, barely visible in the light reflected from the motel sign they were parked under. “Please tell me I can trust you.”

“I am far too tired to run.” At the moment.

Chapter Ten

It was nine a.m. when Alexi awoke to the sound of water running and found her left wrist handcuffed to the sturdy metal headboard.

She was a light sleeper, and she had surreptitiously tucked her handcuffs beneath her pillow, but Blayne had managed to find and secure them without waking her. Pretty deftly done. Perhaps I have underestimated you. She had to admire Blayne’s pluck and abilities.

And the phone that had been on the nightstand beside her bed was gone. Alexi supposed she should have seen it coming, but she had convinced herself that Blayne was so exhausted she would save her next escape bid for a time when she had some energy. They’d both crashed on the double beds the moment they’d walked in the door and fallen asleep fully clothed, minus only their coats and footwear.

Alexi’s coat was hung over the back of a chair, and her boots were placed neatly side-by-side against the nightstand, toes facing the bed. Blayne’s clothes, strewn on the floor the last time Alexi saw them, were gone.

The water shut off and a few minutes later Blayne appeared in the bathroom doorway. She had her jacket and Doc Martens on, and the keys to the Prizm in one hand. “Now you get a chance to see what that feels like.” She tilted her head toward the handcuffs, smiling mischievously. “Sorry to have to do this, really I am. But I told you I was going to go it alone once we got a safe distance away.”

Blayne felt a vague sense of disappointment that Alexi appeared totally nonplussed by the turn of events. “I’ll call the office and tell them to come check on you, when I get a few miles down the road.”

“I understand you feel powerless right now, and wish to regain some control,” Alexi said calmly. “But you do not want to do this.”

“I have to take what opportunities I can. I’m sure you’d do the same thing.”

“ I believe I am more practiced at considering all the contingencies.” With her free hand, Alexi reached between the mattress and box spring and pulled out a familiar looking envelope. “I dare say you will need this if you plan to get very far.”

Blayne’s eyes widened and she patted the pocket where her Fiji fund had been. “Damn you! You took it while I slept!” She fumbled for her wallet, which she had found in Alexi’s coat, and opened it. It was empty. “Fuck!”

Alexi shrugged and shoved the envelope of money into the pocket of her trousers. “Insurance.”

“That’s mine. I earned it. Every penny. Three years of saving for a South Seas vacation.”

“You will be reimbursed. I will see to it personally. No matter what you do.”

Blayne hesitated then started angrily toward her as if to take the money back, but Alexi stiffened in readiness, and Blayne paused.

“Come on,” Alexi coaxed her. “You know you can’t go on the run with a few dollars and some Twinkies.”

Blayne’s aggravation flashed in the gray-green depths of her eyes. But something else was present, too.

Glimpsing her uncertainty, Alexi changed her tone to one of caring. “Please, Blayne. I just want to keep you safe. Stop this foolishness.”

Blayne considered her options. Even if she is handcuffed, with all that training to be a Marshal… She knew better than to underestimate Alexi. “I don’t think so. Money or no money, at least I have the car. Make hay while the sun shines, and all of that…” She started to go, but paused at the door. God damn it all. “That is my money. I earned and saved every dime!”

“I told you, you will be reimbursed,” Alexi said. “Now come unlock these handcuffs.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” Blayne put her hand on the doorknob. “ Are you sure you won’t reconsider and toss me some cash? You claim to be concerned about my welfare. Don’t you hate to think of me stuck somewhere with no money, no food, no gas?”

“I cannot let you leave alone, Blayne,” Alexi said. “Please do not force me to create a scene that compromises our safety.”

“Won’t do you a bit of good to holler,” Blayne said smugly. “There are hardly any cars in the lot, and none nearby. I think all the rooms around us are empty.”

“Miss Keller, please. ” Alexi’s patience was wearing thin, and it was evident both in her tone and in her unwavering glare. “You have to stop making these impulsive, rash decisions. You need to think about what you are doing.”

“Okay, that’s it. Time to go. I think you’ve given me the ‘you’re just a stupid kid’ speech more than enough.” I hope there’s some fucking gas in the car. She cracked the door and glanced outside. There was no one in sight.

She stepped over the threshold, and glanced back at Alexi. She felt that sudden lurch in her stomach again. Under other circumstances, seeing a striking-looking woman like that, handcuffed to a bed…well, it certainly had other possibilities. “I’ll call when I settle somewhere. Thanks for …” Blayne trailed off in disbelief as Alexi went from relaxed nonchalance to a blur of efficient motion.

Alexi reached into her right boot and withdrew her Sig-Sauer P229, which carried a magazine of 12 rounds. It was the service pistol of the U.S. Federal Air Marshals—easily concealed because of its size—and Alexi favored it when she needed a boot gun. In the time it took her disobedient charge to say three words, Alexi drew the gun, aimed, and fired, splitting the handcuffs in two.

Blayne flinched at the noise, and before she knew it, Alexi had snatched up her boots and coat and was barreling toward her at full speed. Her face a grim mask, she snatched the keys, grabbed Blayne by the elbow, and propelled her toward the Prizm. She yanked open the front passenger door.

“Get in.” Unmistakably, a command.

Blayne complied and Alexi hurried around to the driver’s seat. She threw her coat and boots into the back and shoved the key into the ignition. They shot out of the parking lot just as the desk clerk stepped outside of the office to investigate the noise.

In two minutes, they were on I-70 headed east. The first sign they came to said Kansas City – 165 miles.

Blayne felt it wise not to say anything. Though she could tell Alexi was trying to appear her usual controlled self, her clipped tone of voice was only one of many signs that she was mightily pissed. She stared straight ahead, taking deep breaths. Blayne could detect small twitches in the muscles in her jaw.

She had to admit that seeing Alexi in action was pretty impressive. Whatever the challenge, she meets it head-on and knows just how to deal with it. Is she ever unprepared for anything? It was hard not to trust her. Not to feel safe with her. She was certainly a formidable woman.

Even as angry as she was now, Alexi was clearly focused, thinking ahead, and in control. But strong emotions were there, simmering just beneath the surface, and Blayne found the glimpses of them unexpectedly appealing. The longer they were together, the more Alexi intrigued her. Maybe I need to keep an open mind about this protection thing, as long as it’s her. It seemed a timely moment to remind herself once more that Alexi had saved her life, and if she wanted her dead that just didn’t make any sense. Alexi was also armed. She could have put a single shot in Blayne’s head any time she wanted.

Perhaps she should stick with Alexi awhile. Just never let her guard completely down. It’s obviously going to be difficult getting away from her. I just piss her off more each time I try. And perhaps she is better equipped to deal with all of this than I am. Wouldn’t hurt, I guess, to see how Milwaukee goes. It would also give her a chance to get some of her money back and some new ID.

And it will give me some time to get to know her. She studied Alexi surreptitiously for at least a half-hour as they drove in silence, and when she detected the beginnings of relaxation, she dug into the pocket of her oversized jeans for the keys to the handcuffs.

“If you put your hand over here, I’ll get that off of you.”

Alexi glanced over without a change of expression.

“Sorry,” Blayne said.

Alexi nodded once, and offered her left wrist. Blayne removed the metal bracelet and tossed it onto the rear seat.

The silence between them grew. It was another half-hour before Alexi spoke again. “This distracting cat and mouse game between us has to stop. It takes up far too much energy, and exposes us to too much risk. I need to focus on keeping you safe, not on how to keep you from getting away from me.”

“What makes you think you can keep me safe?”

“I have faith in my abilities. I am good at what I do.” Alexi reached over into the sack at Blayne’s feet and pulled out the two pairs of sunglasses. “Take your pick.”

Blayne chose a wrap-around set, leaving a pair of rectangular wire frames that seemed perfectly suited for Alexi’s face.

“Blayne, there are no guarantees here. I cannot promise you that no harm will come to you. But I am much better equipped than you to deal with the people who are after you. Especially if you decide you do not want to go into a protective facility or safe house.”

“I guess I’m finding it hard to disagree with that.”

“You do not have to accept the program or relocation. For now, I would be happy if you just agree to let me make the decisions for you, and stop trying to get away.”

They were approaching an exit ramp populated with numerous restaurants and gas stations, and Alexi took it. “We need gas and food. Will you be putting us at risk again, or not?”

“Not,” Blayne said. “At least until we hit Milwaukee. I’ll give you that. My word on it.”

*

Despite her promise to stick with Alexi at least until Milwaukee, Blayne found herself on a very tight leash when they stopped in Des Moines. She had begged to shop for clothes; she couldn’t stand to wear her goth disguise for another minute. Alexi said she needed a change, too, but insisted they stick to small strip mall places, so that she could keep Blayne in sight at all times.

Blayne went in and out of the dressing rooms, choosing jeans, sweaters, and shirts. Alexi had asked that she get only a few clothes, and quickly, as they had a long way to travel that day. As far as she could tell, Alexi never tried on anything for herself but when Blayne placed her selections on the counter Alexi set a small pile down next to them.   The contrast in their choices could not have been more obvious. Where Blayne had chosen a lot of bright colors and patterns, all of Alexi’s clothes were in conservative dark tones. “I guess there’s not much of my money left now,” she remarked as Alexi paid for their purchases. This earned a somewhat irritated look.

“As I have said. You will be reimbursed.”

Blayne felt some sense of confidence that all the money would be paid back, providing she kept in touch with authorities so they would know where to send it. She was still debating with herself whether she was going to testify. Probably yes; her conscience would nag at her if she didn’t. But she still abhorred the idea of having to move and live in fear, always looking over her shoulder. Using a name not her own, and having to sever all ties with her friends. Which really meant, with Claudia. She was really the only friend who mattered. If something has happened to Claud and Philippe, is it really such a big deal whether I stay in Chicago?

“Can we stop at the Walgreens next door?” Blayne ran a hand through her hair as they left the store, still not quite accustomed to its short length. “I’d like to get some hair coloring, maybe something remotely resembling my real color.”

“Which is?”

“They always called it strawberry blond when I was growing up. Kind of a light reddish blond.”

They deposited their clothes in the trunk of the car before venturing into the drugstore. “I would like to suggest you consider a darker red, at least.” Alexi said. “So you are not quite so instantly recognizable.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Blayne settled on a L’Oréal offering called Light Golden Copper Brown, a 2-tone color that was darker and richer than her own. Her complexion would blend well with it, she thought, and yet it was also quite different from any photographs they might have of her. She had begun to accept that perhaps Alexi did have her best interests at heart and was providing her with good advice. On hair color, she could compromise.

Blayne wandered the aisles of the Walgreens, Alexi close behind, and selected a few other items before they departed. Cosmetics, perfume, her favorite skin care products, more snacks, bottled water, and a couple of paperbacks. They filled up the gas tank again, Alexi took another look at the map, and they were back on the road in less than an hour, all told.

“Next stop?” Blayne dug through the drugstore bag and pulled out a bag of Corn Nuts. Soon she was crunching noisily away.

“We will stop as we need to for gas and food, but otherwise go straight on through to Milwaukee. Looks like it is another six hours or so, so as it is it will be ten or eleven p.m. at least before we get in there.”

“Then what?” Blayne offered Alexi one of the bottled waters, and it was accepted with a slight nod of thanks.

“We will stop at a motel near where my friend lives. Get a good night’s sleep, and you can color your hair and change your appearance. First thing tomorrow, he will take our pictures, and in a few hours, we will have new passports and can head up into Canada.”

“Canada?”

“Yes. Some cabins or something. I will know a good place when we find it.”

Blayne had to admit Alexi’s plan didn’t sound half bad. “Does WITSEC have some arrangement with Canada?”

“No. You told me you wanted no involvement with the program, so I am avoiding our normal places.” Alexi kept their speed just over the limit. “For the time being, Blayne, I am not telling my superiors where we are.  I want you to be able to trust me.”

Blayne was surprised by the admission, and felt intuitively that Alexi was being straight with her. Sure to hell hope I’m right. “Thank you for that.”

They got into Milwaukee a few minutes after eleven and checked into an Econo Lodge near the airport.  It took a good half hour of repeated shampooing for Blayne to get out most of the temporary black hair dye. Several more minutes to scrub off the raccoon makeup and the tattoos. Then another three-quarters of an hour to color her hair, but she was happy with the result. She could recognize herself again and felt decidedly less freakish, though she still bemoaned the loss of her shoulder-length hair.

And she was ecstatic to be rid of those god-awful baggy clothes that made her feel huge and ungainly. Normally she slept in the nude, but she had picked up a baby blue tank top and matching shorty briefs at the strip mall to wear to bed. Blayne put the sleepwear on and ventured out to join Alexi.

Alexi had caught the end of one of the local newscasts and was switching repeatedly between channels, finding nothing to hold her interest, when she heard a sound behind her.  She had seen a few transformations in her years with the Witness Protection Program. But nothing like this. Her breath caught in her throat.

at the sight of Blayne towel-drying her hair in the bathroom doorway.

A twentyish, feisty punk had gone into the bathroom. Where did the kid go? Blayne was certainly all woman now. All soft curves, in just the right proportions, and the minimal clothing she had on showed off her amazing assets from every angle. The baby blue briefs draped a firm, round ass and shapely hips, and the tank top hugged her breasts, the bump of nipples faintly visible beneath the thin fabric.

She draped the towel over her shoulders and glanced over at the television to see what Alexi was watching, which gave Alexi the opportunity to stare unabashedly at her a few seconds longer. She took in the damp and tousled hair, the coppery brown color perfectly suited to Blayne’s fair and lightly freckled complexion and the shadowed green of her eyes. Without the tattoos, fake piercings, and absurd goth makeup, she was adorable. No, more than that. She’s sexy as hell.

Blayne smiled, and it lit up her face, imbuing it with such sweetness Alexi wondered how she could have missed the attractive woman hiding beneath the clothes and makeup.

“What the hell are you watching?” Blayne asked, finally resting her gaze on Alexi.

It was only then that Alexi realized she had paused on a late-night infomercial, this one trying to sell a collection of rather demonic-looking international dolls of the world. Flustered, but careful not to show it, she clicked off the set.

“Nothing on at this hour, I am afraid. We should get some sleep anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m ready to crash. That’s for sure.” Blayne stretched her arms above her head, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her stomach, and Alexi decided it was a damn good thing they had been able to get a room with two beds.

True to her word, Blayne was sound asleep soon after her head hit the pillow, but

Alexi found it harder to drift off. She found the new Blayne disconcerting and she knew she needed to get a handle on her attraction at once. Her weakness for a shapely feminine figure had already cost her much. She would not allow history to repeat itself.

At first light, she awakened and had her own shower, and by the time she was dressed she found Blayne ready and waiting for her, in jeans and a green turtleneck sweater that matched her eyes and was altogether way too form-fitting. Giati Thee mou? Give me strength.

*

Theo Lang was accustomed to late night phone calls, so he answered on the second ring, fully awake. It was Paul Fletcher with an update.

“Skip Topping is dead and Keller is alive. We’re not certain of her whereabouts, but it looks like she’s with a U.S. Marshal.” Fletcher paused.

Theo knew he was waiting for the reaction, trying to gauge how much his superior knew.

“Topping was sitting right where the bomb went off,” he said when Theo was silent. “And it was a bomb, they’re pretty certain. Keller was supposed to be there, too. But we know now that she was up and walking and was taken to the hospital after the landing. She skipped out before police could talk to her.

“That’s all we have?” Theo probed, sensing Fletcher was holding something back, no doubt saving the best till last.

“The U.S. Marshal on the plane was Alexi Nikolos.” Fletcher announced then paused again, as though expecting his boss to either express surprise, or offer verification.

Theo did neither. “Anything else?”

“She commandeered a vehicle at the hospital. We got a tip and found the car southwest of where the plane landed. If they keep in that direction, they might be headed to Utah, or Vegas. Maybe even Mexico.”

“Are we sure she’s with Keller?”

“When she took the car, she told the driver she was in hot pursuit. So we’re operating under the assumption she is either already with Keller, or is following her.”

“All right. Keep me informed.” It was Theo’s dismissal, but Fletcher was obviously determined to find out who had brought Alexi in on the case.

“Should I make some phone calls to try to verify that Nikolos has been reinstated? And, if not, why she’s involved in this?”

“No,” Theo said. “I will see to that aspect of the case.”

“All right. Whatever you say.”

Theo could sense Fletcher’s disappointment. He and Alexi had not gotten along when he had been her superior, but her personnel files contained few details about her departure from WITSEC, just as Fletcher’s file contained few details about why he’d been demoted from the top spot in Chicago a few months later.

Everyone in the Chicago WITSEC office had been shocked by both events. Alexi Nikolos had been a highly regarded Inspector, held in esteem by her peers. And Paul Fletcher had been viewed as a more than capable division chief, organized and even-handed, approachable, and quick to offer praise and encouragement.

Fletcher had seemed to take his demotion in stride, and had voiced no complaints about his reassignment to the Joint Task Force on Organized Crime. Alexi hadn’t complained either, at least not to Theo, or confided in him about the reasons she’d left.

But then again, he reasoned, both of them had been very well trained never to show their emotions, never to reveal too much about what they were feeling and thinking and planning. He wondered, not for the first time, exactly what had happened, and whether the abrupt changes in the two officers’ fates was related somehow.

*

A short while later, another call was made from a public phone near the WITSEC offices to a cell phone. The men speaking were familiar with each other’s voices. They had spoken many times, but only one had any idea who the other was.

“Blayne Keller is alive, but we don’t know where she is,” the caller reported. “She may have a U.S. Marshal with her, but it’s on the hush-hush. Something’s not right with this. It’s become too risky for me to call you.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand what risky is,” Cinzano’s man responded casually, but with deadly implication. “Now tell me everything you know.”

Chapter Eleven

The two women got to Ray Hill’s place shortly after eight.

“Hey! There she is! How ya doin’, Lex?” Hill was a short and stocky man, with tattoos all over his arms and neck. He greeted Alexi with a kiss on the cheek, and a bear hug that lifted her off her feet.

“As good as can be expected when I have to come see you,” she responded warmly. “But any excuse to see you will do. You look great.”

Blayne was startled by the contrast between the two, and their obvious connection despite it. The biker tough guy and the charming WITSEC Inspector. Alexi was dressed down, in blue jeans and a cream-colored shirt beneath her leather coat, but whatever she wore, there was an element of classic elegance to her appearance. The jeans fit her perfectly, hugging her slim hips and flaring just enough to accommodate her boots, and the shirt was nicer than the usual off-the-rack selection. The fabric was cut well, and it was finely detailed with wide cuffs and mother-of-pearl buttons.

Hill had a two-bedroom condo over a car repair joint. It didn’t look like much from the outside, which was typical of Ray and one reason Alexi liked dealing with him—he never drew attention to himself. Once inside, however, it was evident the forger made a comfortable living. There was an impressive high definition television along one wall, and the living room was crowded with the various tools of his trade—photography equipment, two copy machines, a laminator and credit card embosser. His desk overflowed with blank birth certificates, passports and other documents.

“Come on in. Have a seat.” He snatched up some of the dirty clothes and empty takeout cartons that were scattered about, and Blayne and Alexi sat in comfortable leather easy chairs the color of mud. “Oh! I ran that errand for you, Lex.” He reached under his desk for a paper grocery bag, half-filled and folded closed, and handed it to Alexi. “No problems, just like you said. Now, you wanted the full works, right?”

“Yes. Passports, driver’s licenses, birth certificates, credit cards. My friend here will need documents under the name Fiona Murphy, and I would like you to do my set under Jacquelyn Andrews.”

“I’ll get those photos done, and I’ll have everything for you by ten-thirty, eleven tops.”

“Excellent. So how have you been, Ray? Staying out of trouble?”

“Flying under the radar, so far.” Ray retrieved two cameras from the clutter on his desk, one digital and the other an instant-photo type. “What’s up with you? Sure been a long time.”

“I have been out of the country.”

“Well, nice to see you back. Don’t be such a stranger, huh?” He positioned himself beside the blank wall he used as a backdrop. “Who’s first?”

Alexi turned toward Blayne. “Fiona?”

The photos took only a few minutes, and then they were back in the Prizm with at least a couple of hours to kill. Alexi stashed the bag of cash in the trunk. “Shall we find a nice place for a leisurely breakfast?”

“Sounds great. So…how do you know this guy Ray?” Blayne asked. “I mean, is this the way you usually get passports and stuff for people?”

“Usual is such a relative term. Usual means to go to city hall and then several days wait, and I don’t think you want that.”

“Oh! I get it!” Blayne said. “All that stay-out-of-trouble stuff. This is illegal, isn’t it? Did you arrest him or something?”

“He was a witness I was assigned to protect.”

“Well he seems healthy enough, so I guess I can consider him a good reference for your abilities, then.”

Alexi had to smile at that.

“So if he’s not exactly a straight-arrow kind of guy…tell me, can he also get me a gun?” Blayne asked.

“A gun?” Alexi repeated. “You are definitely not getting a gun. No way.”

“And why not? I’ve shot a gun before. My dad was a hunter and had rifles and pistols both.”

“Blayne, you are not getting a gun. You have no need for one.”

“I’d like to be able to protect myself,” Blayne argued. “What happens if you’re not around?”

“I will always be around. You do not need a weapon, as long as you allow me to protect you.”

Blayne didn’t argue the case further. But she also did not abandon the idea of trying to pick up some kind of weapon for herself, with or without Alexi’s help.

They found a small café with an unexpectedly creative menu that included four varieties of eggs Benedict and homemade cinnamon rolls and pastries. It also had fabulous coffee, so they lingered over their first decent meal in days.

Alexi had to keep reminding herself not to stare at Blayne, but the transformation still astounded her and she caught herself repeatedly stealing covert glances at Blayne’s body, breasts, and face. It was irrational, she knew, but still she marveled at how a simple change in hair color, makeup and clothes seemed to turn Blayne from irritating to irresistible.

“You know…” Blayne paused to sip her fourth cup of coffee. “I understand the need for new IDs, and I’ll be careful when I need to be. But I want you to still call me Blayne when we’re alone, and when it doesn’t matter.”

“All right. As you wish.”

Blayne decided it was time to take another stab at getting the taciturn WITSEC Inspector to open up. “Is Alexi short for Alexandra?”

“Yes.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“A younger sister. Her name is Vasiliki.”

“What’s she like?”

Alexi smiled as she considered how to answer. “Irrepressible.”

Interesting answer. “Is she here, or in Greece?”

“Neither. She lives north of London.”

“Parents?”

“No. Both deceased.”

“Mine are gone, too,” Blayne said. “They died in a fire while I was away at college.” It had been so many years ago that it no longer ripped her apart to talk about it, and she hoped that opening up about herself would encourage Alexi to reveal a few personal things as well.

“I am sorry. That must have been extremely difficult.”

“Yeah, it was. We lived above an Irish pub that my parents opened when I was just a baby. Blarneys. I was going to go back to work there after I graduated.”

Most of the information that Blayne was volunteering was in the WITSEC file on her, but Alexi let her talk anyway. Maybe she needs to. And it never hurt to know as much as you could about the witness you were protecting. She wouldn’t mind a few more insights into how Blayne’s mind worked. It might help her predict what Blayne would do. She certainly hadn’t seen the handcuffs coming.

And, to be honest, Alexi didn’t mind at all listening to Blayne talk about herself. She was rather intrigued by her unpredictable charge, and was also relieved that a rapport seemed possible between them. Blayne’s change in appearance seemed to have brought about a change in attitude, too.

“So, you’ve been in law enforcement a long time,” Blayne said. “Ever done anything else?”

“Nothing noteworthy.”

“Ever want to?” Blayne pressed.

“No. Not really.”

“Ever answer in more than brief phrases when someone asks you about yourself?” Blayne allowed her frustration to creep into her voice.

One side of Alexi’s mouth tipped upward in a half-smile. “No.”

That made Blayne laugh, and she let the questions go for a while. So far, she’d struck out in her efforts to get Alexi to engage in the kind of social chatter that most people she knew engaged in. She usually had no problem getting clients at the travel agency to talk ad nauseam about their trips, their jobs, and their families. The challenge was in getting them to stop.

Alexi was always polite and accommodating, but she answered every question with a minimum of information, or, she engineered a clever shift in the conversation. She was an enigma, nearly impossible to read. Blayne found her lack of expression and emotion both intriguing and enormously frustrating. And she couldn’t stop thinking about that moment when Alexi had touched her lips, and then licked the cream off her thumb. Damn, that was sexy.

As they left Milwaukee, after collecting the documents from Ray, Blayne wondered briefly whether she’d made the right decision in sticking with Alexi. You’ll just be getting farther and farther from Chicago from now on. It will be harder to find out what happened to Claud. She’d been too tired the night before to make a run for it, but had been sorely tempted that morning. Tempted enough to search Alexi’s clothes for the keys to the Prizm while she was in the shower. But also content enough to stay when she realized they were not to be found. Took them in the shower with you, did you? Well, I guess I can’t say that I blame you.

Blayne made several more attempts to engage Alexi in conversation as they drove along the shore of Lake Michigan. They passed into Michigan’s Upper Peninsula at Menominee, and continued to hug the shoreline, moving northeast on M-35. There was sparse traffic on the two-lane and the sky was a brilliant blue, and with the sun sparkling off the big lake like diamonds, the drive was not at all unpleasant.

“You know, I grew up pretty close to here,” Blayne said. “Ishpeming. It’s not very big. Just a couple of hours north.”

“Did you like growing up in a small town?”

“Yes, very much. Knowing everyone, and everyone knowing you. It was great.” Blayne fell silent for a long while, casting her mind back. “I suppose it’s too close to Chicago and too traceable to think that I might be safe moving back there.”

“I am afraid so.”

“Figured. It’s not like I have a lot of friends back there now anyway. Most of the kids I went to high school with moved away, like I did. But at least it’s familiar.”

Her memories of home, and their proximity to it, made Blayne nostalgic for the carefree days of her youth. Since she was having no luck getting Alexi to talk about herself, she gave up that effort for the time being and decided to try to distract herself with one of the paperbacks she had bought. But it was hard to concentrate. She would scan a page or two, then stare out of the window and immediately forget what she had read.

Watching sadness sweep over Blayne’s face as they rode along, Alexi decided that some cheering up was in order. “What are you reading, might I ask?”

“Broken Prey,” Blayne answered. “John Sandford. Know him? He writes suspense-thrillers.”

“You haven’t had enough of that in your own life?” Alexi asked drolly.

That got the smile she was hoping for.

“Touché,” Blayne said.

They pulled into Saint Ignace, the tourist-driven town on the north side of the Mackinac Bridge, just after 8 p.m. and found a motel room overlooking the water.

“I saw a steak and seafood place coming into town,” Alexi offered after they had unpacked their few belongings. “Interested in some supper?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

*

La Famiglia was a well-appointed, intimate restaurant with subdued lighting and soft jazz and a wall of windows overlooking the Straits of Mackinac, which gave every table a spectacular view.  There was a full moon, and it reflected huge and silver off the water, and the lights on the Mackinac Bridge twinkled in the distance.

Alexi regretted her choice of establishments immediately. It was exactly the sort of place she would normally bring a woman if she wanted to bed her later. And that was certainly not the case tonight. She was already attracted to Blayne, and this would do nothing to stem those feelings. But it was too late for a change of venue so she just had to be careful not to let to let her interest in Blayne show in any way. Which shouldn’t be too difficult. She was accomplished at hiding her feelings.

The hostess seated them in a private corner by the window, a cozy table for two, and a short while later Alexi was feasting on fresh grilled whitefish while Blayne dug into a medium-rare filet mignon.

Blayne sighed at the irony. Here she was, enjoying dinner in the most romantic restaurant she’d been in, in several months. Sharing a bottle of wine with a beautiful, charming woman who impressed and intrigued her to no end. No one should look that good by candlelight. But things were not as they appeared. There was certainly no romance involved here. Damn shame she’s not the least bit interested. Has hardly looked at me and hasn’t even commented once on what a nice place this is.

Blayne was a bit of a lightweight when it came to alcohol. She usually didn’t have more than one or two drinks when she went out. But she desperately needed to unwind tonight, so she ignored her usual limits. After all, she reasoned, she’d been through hell, was running for her life, and her future was as uncertain as it could possibly be. She still didn’t know what had happened to Claudia, she had no job and no home, and now her hormones were getting all stirred up over someone who probably wasn’t even gay. If that wasn’t enough reason to knock back a few, what is?

They were seated perpendicular to each other at the small square table, Alexi to her left, and as they made small talk Blayne found herself leaning closer than strangers should. Alexi said something about taking another shopping excursion in the morning before heading into Canada, but Blayne barely registered what she was saying. A seductive sax riff was playing in the background and the wine was loosening her inhibitions. She couldn’t stop staring at Alexi’s lips, wondering how soft they would feel against her own.

Halfway through her fourth glass of wine, after they had been silent for a while, Blayne decided it was time to find out a little more about the enigmatic Alexi Nikolos. She had to say something, anything, because if she didn’t, she just might have to give in to a growing impulse to kiss her.

“So, do you bring all your witnesses to such romantic restaurants?”

It had not escaped Alexi’s notice that Blayne had been looking at her lips for the last half-hour or so, staring more overtly with each glass of wine consumed. She had been aware of it because she had been stealing frequent glances herself, more surreptitiously, of course, of Blayne’s smile, her delicate hands, and the curve of her breasts, which were far too tantalizingly outlined by the form-fitting green turtleneck not to be noticed.

But the question still caught Alexi off guard with its bluntness. She looked around as if noticing the surroundings for the first time. “It was not a conscious choice. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Uncomfortable is certainly not the word I would use.” Blayne’s response was filled with innuendo, said with an inflection that begged Alexi to ask what word she would use, but she did not rise to the bait.

“I chose it because it had more cars in the parking lot than any of the other places,” she said. “Which is usually a pretty reliable way to go when you are in a strange town.”

Blayne’s face registered disappointment at the prosaic answer, but Alexi pretended not to notice. She sipped her Lambrusco with no change in expression. She was on her third glass, but she had been raised on wine, and it had little effect on her. A damn good thing because she needed to be in total control right now.

I swear she’s flirting with me. Isn’t she? Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.

“Tell me about yourself,” Blayne requested. She was getting a bit too inebriated to notice that with each question, she was leaning closer to Alexi.

“What do you wish to know?” Alexi said it casually, but inside, she dreaded what was coming. She kept her eyes trained on the water outside.

“Anything.” Blayne leaned forward a little more. “Everything. ”

“You have to be more specific. Tell me what it is you would like to know and I will choose whether I will answer.” Alexi tried not to squirm, but she could feel Blayne was staring at her. She hoped that Blayne hadn’t picked up on her attraction.

“Are you married?”

Uh oh. “No, I am not.”

“Seeing anyone seriously?”

“No.” I don’t like where this is going.

“So…what type of person are you attracted to?”

Shit. How do I answer this? I’m attracted to thirty-year-old feisty redheads at the moment, apparently.

Blayne’s voice had gotten nearer with each question. They were breathing the same air.

Alexi didn’t dare look her way, afraid that Blayne might see something in her eyes. “I do not have a ‘type’. It depends on the individual.”

“You sure don’t volunteer much about yourself, do you?”

Alexi leaned back in her chair to put more distance between them. Casually swirling the burgundy contents of the glass she held loosely in one hand, she glanced at Blayne. “Only when it is necessary and appropriate.”

“Well, I would deem it very necessary on this occasion.” Blayne licked her lips, and Alexi found the gesture entirely too provocative. “After all, the more I get to know you, the easier I can trust you.”

“I am private by nature. I assure you, I am well qualified to protect you and dedicated to my responsibilities.”

Blayne swayed slightly as she leaned in toward Alexi several more inches. “Well, maybe this occasion needs to be both necessary and appropriate, then. So when it is appropriate for you to open up to someone about yourself? Hmmm?”

Alexi considered her answer. The truth was, she really never opened up to anyone completely, outside of her immediate family. Never divulged the most innermost parts of herself to either friend or lover.

She glanced at Blayne again and was surprised by the intensity of her gaze. Alexi remained outwardly relaxed, but it was only with deliberate, conscious effort. The one sign of her discomfort at Blayne’s insistent attention was her occasional tendency to run one hand through her hair. It was a gesture Alexi would have immediately recognized in someone else, a sign of attraction, but she failed to accept its significance when she did it herself.

“It is appropriate when I am connecting to someone on a personal level and not a professional one. When I intend to establish a long term relationship of some kind.”    Blayne felt a hollow pang of disappointment in her chest at Alexi’s clear and rigid delineation at what their relationship was to be. Or, more accurately put, what our necessary association is to be. But she was still not entirely deterred from her efforts to get to know Alexi better, because she had noticed that Alexi never made any reference to dating men. It depends on the individual, does it? That’s carefully evasive about which way you swing. So perhaps all was not lost yet. She finished glass number four and reached for the bottle to pour herself some more. It was empty. “Damn.”

“Perhaps you have had enough for this evening. We should get some rest so we can get an early start.” Alexi reached for the check.

“No,” Blayne put her hand on Alexi’s arm to stop her. “Please. Not yet. Just a little longer. One more glass.” She was adorable in the candlelight, her face shining in her slight intoxication, her lower lip extended in an exaggerated pout.

“All right. One more.” Alexi hailed the waiter and ordered a glass of wine for Blayne and coffee for herself.

Blayne was staring at her again. She could see it in her peripheral vision, and she wasn’t sure what in the hell she should do about it except to try to keep from fidgeting under that intense scrutiny.

Blayne’s insistent attention was extremely disquieting, and the look in her eyes said I want you. But did it mean Blayne was gay? Perhaps it was just the alcohol. Or maybe Blayne was lonely and confused, and this was just her way of distracting herself during this extreme time of high emotions.

Sometimes near-death experiences themselves could trigger unexpected things in the body. Alexi herself had, on occasion, felt herself unexpectedly aroused when her body was pumping with adrenalin on the job. But it really didn’t matter why Blayne was flirting so outrageously with her. Or that she was very tempted to flirt back. She had to act completely oblivious to what was going on, though she could very well read the clear body language. Under no circumstances could she allow herself to become involved with a witness again. Period. That was that.

“You are a very appealing woman, Alexi.” Blayne placed her hand on Alexi’s arm again.

Her mind worked to come up with a way to crack Alexi’s implacable cool exterior. She could sense a fire raging beneath the surface, a passionate nature barely contained. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. But she was becoming increasingly frustrated by her inability to get any kind of any emotional response from Alexi or even an acknowledgement of what she was really getting at.

She took another sip of wine. “Mysterious. Evasive. Elusive. You know, I happen to find all of those traits extremely compelling.”

“Perhaps that’s because you have had too much to drink,” Alexi replied. What an insane and impossible situation. This gorgeous woman is practically throwing herself at me and I cannot do what I want to do. Damn it all.

“Why? Am I misbehaving?” Blayne said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Or am I being too honest?”

“Neither. You are just tipsy, tired, and in need of distraction.”

“Hmm. Slightly tipsy, maybe,” Blayne agreed. “But I know what I’m doing, or trying to do…and I’m obviously not getting through. What am I doing wrong? Is it because I’m a woman?”

Alexi tried to appear nonplussed by the question. Why the hell did I let her have any more wine? This cannot be happening. “Your gender is not relevant. Your mental and physical state is. It is not just the alcohol. It is the stress of the whole situation, also. Your judgment is impaired.”

“I may be tired and this whole situation may be insane, but my judgment is just fine,” Blayne argued.

“I beg to differ. If there were nothing wrong with your judgment you would not have given me such a hard time all the way here.” Alexi met Blayne’s eyes steadily, seeing an opportunity to convince her to finally accept her protection, and also to get the conversation diverted to another topic. “From the moment that we met I have been trying to persuade you to allow me to keep you alive, and I have actually saved your life, also. However you have done nothing but doubt my intentions. In my book, that is bad judgment.”

“I’ve had every reason to be suspicious of you,” Blayne replied testily. “Of anyone, considering what’s happened. That doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.” She cocked her head to one side, studying Alexi. “Why the hell can’t you handle a compliment?”

She is like a dog with a bone. How can I get her to stop? “As I said, I cannot trust your judgment. Besides, you are not in any position to be declaring an attraction, and I am not any position to be able to accept it.”

Blayne perked up at that statement. “So, if my condition and your situation were different, would that change anything?”

“I do not work with hypothetical situations. We need to concentrate on keeping you alive, and not indulge in pointless speculation.”

Her reply was a frustrating and vivid reminder to Blayne that Alexi didn’t see this as a romantic restaurant, full of possibilities. It was work. And she was on guard. Always. “Don’t you ever relax?”

“Only when I can afford to. And now is not that time. Your life is too high a price to pay for the sake of some fleeting experiment.” Perhaps that trivialization would hit home where common sense had so far failed.

Blayne barely seemed to register the comment. “Look, I’m certainly glad you take your job so seriously. But surely we’re safe now. Can we just have some fun? Even if it is just an…experiment.”

Alexi struggled to maintain her composure, but it was getting increasingly difficult. Blayne’s persistence was starting to have an effect on her physically. Oh, I understand exactly what you mean. And we certainly could have some fun together, if things were different. Lots and lots of fun. But I cannot let this continue.

“Listen to me. This happens all the time, witnesses being infatuated with the agents protecting them. Rather like a patient falling for her therapist. It will pass. Now, please finish your wine because we both need to get some rest.”

She snatched up the check and signaled the waiter they were ready to pay, hoping to forestall further conversation.

But Blayne was not about to let the topic rest after a comment like that. “Pardon me, but that’s just bullshit. I know damn well when I’m attracted to a woman, and I have since the age of fourteen.” Her anger was rising, and it was clear in her voice. “I understand if you’re not attracted to me, but don’t think that you know me and what and how I feel. You were hired to protect me, not to analyze me.”

Alexi knew there was truth in that statement. Perhaps she had indeed overstepped her bounds. But she was speaking from experience—several of the witnesses she had protected had come on to her, or developed crushes on her, men and women both. And it was entirely possible Blayne was falling into the same pattern.

Blayne apparently didn’t think so. And if she were truly honest with herself, Alexi might admit that it felt different to her, too. But there was no use acknowledging that. There was simply no way she would get involved with a witness again.

She kept her voice even, with some difficulty. “I am sorry if I’ve given you the impression that I am trying to analyze you and tell you what to feel. It was not my intention. And if I have insulted you in any way please accept my apologies.”

Her polite and totally emotionless answer only infuriated and frustrated Blayne even more. She felt like grabbing the WITSEC agent and planting a big kiss on her, telling her to analyze this, just to see if she could get a reaction, any reaction, because her words and her outright flirting weren’t doing the trick.

Yeah, maybe she’d do just that. She took another long sip of wine to steel her courage as Alexi paid the check.

*

He had stayed at his computer at the Chicago Joint Task Force on Organized Crime far longer than usual, hoping for more news on Blayne Keller and Alexi Nikolos. But to remain at his desk so long after his shift was risky under the circumstances. The graveyard-shift guys were starting to give him odd looks, so he finally gave up and headed home shortly before eleven p.m.

When he let himself in, his wife was putting the leash on their Jack Russell, who was whining for his nightly neighborhood stroll.

“Just in time,” she commented as she kissed him hello. “He was getting so impatient, I was about to take him out myself.”

“No need,” he said. “Come on, Frisco.” Still in his suit and tie, he headed out with the dog.

As he passed in front of a darkened storefront a quarter-mile from his home, a well-dressed man stepped out of the recessed entryway and fell into pace beside him. He masked his surprise and kept on walking. He had never seen the man before, but he knew immediately the voice would be familiar.

“Like clockwork. You are always so predictable,” the stranger said.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well I’m sure not here to join you for a romantic moonlit walk. We want to know why you haven’t contacted us.” The stranger suddenly veered off from the man’s usual route, so they would now be heading away from his house. Even the dog seemed momentarily surprised. “Act natural and keep on walking,” he said.

Reluctantly, the man followed. “I haven’t called because there is nothing to report. We don’t know where she is.”

“So you’re telling me your whole task force cannot track down one woman?”

“Yes. Exactly. She’s pulled out of the program. We’ve lost contact with her.” The dog stopped to do his business, and the men paused awkwardly, both of them glancing around. They were in a mixed area, part residential but with a few neighborhood businesses, all closed. There was sparse traffic, and no other pedestrians at that hour.

“But you will continue to look for her,” the man said, when they resumed walking. The inflection made it more statement than question.

“Yes. She’ll turn up.”

“We expect to be informed about her every move.”

“It’s very risky for me to contact you,” the man said. “I think they may be watching me. Or at least trying to find the leak.”

”We have paid you sufficiently to solve that problem,” the stranger said.

“Yes, you have. And you won’t let me forget it.”

“See to it, then. Now go home.”

The stranger continued on in the direction they were heading, and the man and his dog turned and headed back the way they had come.

*

The two miles back to the motel were not nearly long enough for Alexi to calm the inner stirrings of her body. She saw Blayne to their room and unlocked the door, but did not follow her inside.

“I have something to do,” she said from the threshold, and Blayne paused and turned around with a disappointed expression. “Please do not leave the room or make any phone calls. I will be close by, and back soon. Get some rest.”

She left without giving Blayne a chance to object, but remained just outside the door for a long moment, in case Blayne was tempted to follow her. When she did not, Alexi headed to a place in the shadow of a large tree where she could wait, unobserved, in the darkness and still see the door to their room. She pulled the collar of her jacket up, and hugged her arms to her sides. She wished she had dressed more warmly now, but she was counting on the fact that the alcohol Blayne had consumed would put her to sleep before she got unbearably chilled.

What a nightmare. How the hell am I going to protect her, be with her day and night, with her trying to seduce me? This is torture.

Chapter Twelve

Alexi rubbed her eyes, trying to shrug off the drowsy aftereffects of a night spent tossing and turning, unable to sleep as she fought an inward battle of physical arousal versus mental resolve. When she’d returned to their motel room, she had found Blayne passed out, fully clothed, looking so innocent and vulnerable in slumber that it was all she could do not to touch her fingertips to the soft coppery strands of hair that rested against Blayne’s cheek. I’ll keep you safe.

The more she got to know Blayne, the more protective she felt toward her. She has had such a lot to go through. To endure all this with no family to support her, and now cut off from all that is familiar. No wonder, then, that she has developed an attachment for me, but that attraction is misplaced.

She kept reminding herself that was all that it was. Blayne was just naïve about what was going on. She would come to realize she was merely reaching out toward the one person who could make her feel safe. And then the infatuation would fade, as quickly as it had begun. Pity, too.

It would certainly make it easier for Alexi to focus on her job if Blayne wasn’t throwing herself at her the way she did last night. But Alexi also found herself lamenting the day that Blayne realized her feelings weren’t real but only transitory. Regretful we could not have met under different circumstances.

She didn’t care to examine why she was feeling somewhat wistful about this missed opportunity. She had enjoyed wonderful evenings with countless women, had sex pretty much any time she wanted it, and never before had wasted energy thinking about a woman she could not have. There was always another woman around the corner.

Alexi was beginning to feel restless to get back on the road. She glanced at her watch. Nine a.m. She’d give Blayne another half-hour. The Straights of Mackinac were populated by the colorful sails of a half-dozen sailboats of various sizes and types. Looking out over the water once again, she recalled their evening, and Blayne’s blatant flirting. I wonder if she will remember everything she did. She was getting pretty intoxicated there toward the end. And even more than that, she wondered whether Blayne would try to pick up where she left off.

Blayne replayed the night before in her head as she studied Alexi in profile. She was, at turns, chagrined by her bold behavior and excited by the memory of how Alexi had made her feel. She still couldn’t believe that she’d fallen asleep waiting for Alexi to return to the room, even with her frustration boiling over. She had been there, all primed and ready to go, all set to finally taste those lips she had stared at all night, and before she’d even realized what was happening, she was alone. Fuuuck.

Now it was morning and her head hurt like a sonofabitch. She winced at the bright light streaming into the room. Alexi was standing at the window looking out over the water. And this morning, the alluring Inspector was certainly a feast for the eyes, dressed in tight, hip-hugging jeans and a red, long-sleeved form-fitting T-shirt. It was an entirely casual ensemble, but it showed off Alexi’s sculpted body so well that Blayne found it to be extremely sexy.

Such a nice ass you have there. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.

The events of the night before came rushing back again, this time with stark clarity. Oh shit. I didn’t. She pondered what Alexi had said. An understandable infatuation, my eye. I know what I feel. And it’s no patient-therapist kind of thing. The idea that Alexi had had witnesses get crushes on her before stirred a twinge of something unfamiliar in Blayne, something unsettling. I bet people are throwing themselves at her all the time, on and off the job. So why would I expect her to think this is any different?

But it was different. For Blayne, anyway. Drunk or sober, she found Alexi very compelling, and she was unabashedly staring at Alexi’s ass when that beautiful face turned in her direction.

Alexi knew she should totally ignore Blayne’s blatant ogling. Acknowledging it would only likely encourage more bold flirtations. But the lingering, appreciative look felt like a caress, and she had to turn away while she got her body under control. “Good morning. We should get going soon.”

“Okay. I won’t be long.” I’m not at all done with you, yet, Blayne thought, as she got out of bed and headed off for a long, hot shower. Or maybe, she mused ruefully, a cold one would do her more good. Nope, not done with you by a long shot. Just let me get rid of this headache, so I can figure out a way to get through to you.

There was an awkward silence between them while they packed up their meager belongings and headed for the Prizm. “Are you ready for some breakfast?” Alexi inquired as they buckled up.

“Oh, God, no. No food.” Blayne winced. “But coffee would definitely be appreciated. Mass quantities of coffee. Intravenously, if possible.”

Alexi smiled. “The mass quantities at least, I can do.” They headed for the nearest fast-food joint, just down the street. “I was going to suggest we do some more shopping this morning, because I think our opportunities will be more limited where we are going in Canada. But perhaps you would like to wait until we get to Sault Ste. Marie?”

“Most definitely.” Blayne tilted her seat back to ease the pounding in her head. “See if they’ll give us a little bag of ice, too, will you?” she asked as they pulled up at the drive-through. “And then we need to stop at the convenience store over there for some ibuprofen.”

*

A couple of hours and several cups of coffee later, they were in Sault Ste. Marie and the drugs and massive infusion of liquids had started to work their magic. Blayne felt almost human again.

Alexi parked the car in front of a Wal-Mart and said, “Get whatever you will need for the foreseeable future. Clothes, personal items. We will probably be tucked away somewhere remote, so something to keep you occupied, too. Music, books. Don’t worry about the cost.”

“Does that mean you’re giving me my money back?” Blayne asked as they headed into the store.

“I think it prudent for me to continue to handle the finances,” Alexi replied. “For now.”    She pulled out a shopping cart and they set off down the nearest main aisle.

“I’m not going to go anywhere, you know,” Blayne said. “Not any time soon. You don’t have to watch every move I make in here.”

“Better that we stick together.”

Blayne stopped in her tracks, forcing Alexi to stop as well. “I’m serious, Alexi. I’ll accept your protection, but you have to give me room to breathe. I think we’re safe here, don’t you?”

Alexi considered her answer. “Relatively, yes. If it is that important to you…” She could tell from Blayne’s body language—hands on hips, feet firmly planted—that this was no small matter, but a test of trust.

“It is.”

“All right then. I will leave this cart with you and get my own.” Alexi stepped back from the one she was pushing. “How long do you need? A half-hour? Forty-five minutes?”

Blayne looked surprised but pleased at the quick concession. “Make it forty-five. Trying on clothes and picking out a few CDs will take some time.”

“All right. I will meet you up by the cashiers then.” Alexi headed toward the front of the store, but doubled back once Blayne was out of sight. She would allow Blayne the illusion that she was not being watched, but the reality would be entirely different.

Blayne went to electronics first, and Alexi watched her select a portable DVD/CD player and several movies and music CDs to go with it. Then it was on to books and magazines, then health and beauty aids.

It was there that Alexi first realized Blayne was shoplifting.

The cavernous store was nearly empty, so she couldn’t get close enough to see what she had taken, or exactly where on her body she had put it, but Alexi knew from the quick glance around and the way Blayne positioned herself that something funny was going on. What the hell does she think she is doing?

The next stop was sporting goods, where Blayne once again did her glance-around before lifting an item from off the shelf and tucking it somewhere on the front of her body.

Damn it. What foolishness. She hadn’t told Blayne, of course, that she had a sack full of money in the trunk, but she thought she had been clear that money was not a concern. Why is she doing this? She had put most of her selections in the cart to be paid for, which made Alexi all the more curious to know what it was that she didn’t want to be seen purchasing.

This has to stop. Right now. If someone catches her, what a nightmare. Alexi began to wonder what else she might have missed. She had to admit Blayne was pretty good at it. Very quick and subtle. And she didn’t look guilty at all. Who knew what she might have tucked away in her jacket, her pockets, and wherever else.

She followed Blayne to women’s clothing, and watched her pull several items from the racks—jeans, shirts, sweaters, dress slacks—and stack them across the shopping cart. When Blayne headed into one of the dressing rooms with her armload of clothes, Alexi was dead on her heels. She pushed her inside and locked the door behind them before Blayne had a chance to react or protest.

“Okay, let’s have it.” Alexi demanded.

“What the hell? Have what? Blayne dropped her stuff and faced Alexi with a scowl. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I want to have whatever it is that you have been stealing.”

A flush of embarrassment colored Blayne’s cheeks. “Stealing! I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she sputtered.

“I mean it. Hand it over.” Alexi advanced quickly on Blayne and shoved her against the wall of the dressing room. Her throat was tight with anger. “Stop lying to me.”

“Damn it!” Blayne tried to push Alexi away, but Alexi was ready for it, and her reflexes were astounding. Before Blayne knew what hit her, both her arms were pinned above her head and Alexi was frisking her. Her flash of outrage and natural instinct to fight faded quickly, however, under the delicious distraction of Alexi’s touch and the close proximity of their bodies.

Alexi smoothed her hand over Blayne’s coat, and checked the pockets. She was furious that Blayne would take such stupid chances, to risk getting arrested for shoplifting. She supposed that was why she had been a bit rougher with Blayne than she needed to be in pinning her to the wall. But her frustration and Blayne’s refusal to cooperate had made her over-react.

Once the coat was checked, Alexi patted down the front pockets of Blayne’s jeans and discovered a hard, smooth object in one of them. She reached inside with difficulty—the jeans were tight to begin with—and extracted a Swiss Army pocketknife.

“What is this?” Frowning, she held it up in front of Blayne’s face.

To her surprise, Blayne was no longer furious or fighting. Nor did she seem the least bit repentant. Instead, she was smiling. Smiling rather naughtily, as a matter of fact. And the look in her eyes was reminiscent of the way she’d been leering at Alexi the night before. It was disquieting, to say the least.

“Looks like a knife to me.”

Alexi tried to ignore the way Blayne was looking at her, but it was not easy. What had begun as a standard procedure search, something she had done almost without thinking hundreds of times, had suddenly taken on sexual overtones. She was all too aware that the both of them were breathing hard. That their bodies were nearly touching. That the air between them had gone heavy with flushed desire.

“Better keep searching,” Blayne invited. “There’s more to find.”

Alexi’s right hand—the hand that held the pocketknife—started shaking. Perhaps this had been a really bad idea. But she couldn’t stop now. She tossed the knife onto the pile of clothes, and reached around to pat down Blayne’s back pockets, trying not to visualize, as she did so, how cute Blayne’s ass had looked in those skimpy baby-blue briefs.

“Take your time. No need to rush,” Blayne said, her voice slow and lazy and full of seduction. “It pays to be thorough, you know.”

Alexi tried to purge her mind of who she was touching, and where she was touching her, fought to obliterate her growing arousal and concentrate on the familiar and methodical routine of frisking someone. But nothing about this felt routine any more.

She bent forward slightly to run her hand lightly up the inseam of Blayne’s jeans to her crotch, cupping her briefly, intending to continue on, down the other inseam. But as soon as she reached the apex of Blayne’s thighs, Blayne moaned and leaned forward, pushing into her touch, and she put her mouth on Alexi’s neck.

All thought fled from Alexi’s mind, and the hand that was pinning Blayne’s wrists to the wall started to tremble as Blayne lips and tongue traced a path of wet heat along her jawline.

“Christ,” Alexi said under her breath. “Stop. Blayne, please.” But she didn’t pull away—she couldn’t—and neither could she move her hand, now steadfastly refusing to budge from the warmth of Blayne’s center. In fact, against her will, she found herself briefly arching her neck to allow Blayne’s mouth greater access.

“Keep going,” Blayne murmured between kisses. She was now thoroughly into being restrained. It added an exciting twist to this unexpected encounter. Finally, she had some proof that she could get Alexi interested, plenty interested.

She could feel the rapid, pounding beat of Alexi’s heart when she pressed her mouth against the pulse point at the base of her throat. The driving tempo matched her own heart’s rising excitement. Her blood was roaring in her ears. She thrust her hips forcefully into Alexi’s touch and a strangled groan escaped Alexi’s lips as she jerked her hand away.

“No!”

Blayne pulled back a few inches to look down at their bodies, dumbly wondering where Alexi’s hand had gone. Her gaze fell on their breasts, mere inches apart. Their coats were open, and she could see the outline of Alexi’s erect nipples through the form-fitting red T-shirt she had on. They matched the prominent display of her own, through the thin fabric of her green button-down. Oh God, that’s damn hot.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, as she leaned forward into Alexi again so she could feel their breasts press against each other. When they did, a surge of heat rushed through her and settled low in her belly. “Please don’t stop.”

Alexi might have tried to tell herself that she was only following routine, finishing what she had started, if she had been capable of conscious rumination. But that whispered plea compelled her hand back to Blayne’s body. She skimmed her fingers over Blayne’s breasts to check the crevice of her cleavage, then looked down with heavy-lidded eyes to confirm what she had felt. The stone hard bumps that were Blayne’s nipples, pressing against her bra. A black silk bra—the edge visible because she had left three buttons unbuttoned on her shirt.

Her hand stilled as she stared at Blayne’s breasts, uncertain of her next move, reluctant to disengage. It was all she could do not to unbutton the rest of those buttons. Her mind had gone hazy with desire, and as she gazed into the depths of Blayne’s eyes, she could not resist the open and unguarded yearning she saw there. She had to kiss her. Had to.

But before she got the chance, two sharp raps on the dressing room door startled them back to reality. Someone rattled the knob.

“Anyone in there?” A woman’s voice.

“Yes,” Alexi responded shakily, stepping back from Blayne. She ran a hand through her hair—the hand that had caressed Blayne’s breast—to try to stop its trembling. “We will be a few more minutes.”

They stared at each other as the woman outside retreated, and Blayne took a step toward Alexi. The hungry look of arousal in her eyes had not diminished, but Alexi had regained a measure of control.

“No, Blayne.” Her voice held less than its usual measure of absolute authority, but she had managed to don a credible façade of detachment. “No. I am sorry. That should not have happened.”

“I know you were getting off there as much as I was,” Blayne said with conviction.

“I apologize for my part in it. It will not happen again.”

Want to bet? Now that she knew Alexi was attracted to her, now that she had experienced the fire beneath the surface, Blayne had every intention of seizing any other opportunities that might come her way. And if they did not, she just might create some. How can what just happened…or didn’t happen…be sexier than most of the sex I’ve ever had?

“Please tell me why you stole the knife,” Alexi said. “And hand over whatever else you took, because I know you put something else into your clothes.” Please do not make me search you to find it, because I cannot.

“I told you I want something to protect myself, and I knew you’d probably object,” Blayne said. “It’s not a big deal. I wasn’t going to try to use it to get away from you or anything. I mean, it’s a Swiss Army knife, for God’s sake.”

“What else did you take?”

Blayne stared at her for another long moment before she let out a long sigh. She reached behind herself and pulled a rectangular box out of the waistband of her pants, near her spine. “This.” Her cheeks flushed and she averted her eyes as she handed it over.

Alexi forced herself not to smile. It was a small massage wand. The box proclaimed it a great and portable way to relieve sore and aching muscles, but the shape of the device left no doubt that it could be used for other, more pleasurable purposes.

“Well, you know…last night…you got me all stirred up and all, and nowhere to go with it,” Blayne said sheepishly. “I thought there might be future, similar occasions.” She looked up at Alexi with a wry grin and fire in her eyes. “Course, I had no idea you’d get me going again before we ever got out of the store.”

I have got to get out of here. She can’t keep looking at me like that. “Is that everything you took?”

“Yup. But you are welcome to keep searching if you don’t believe me. I think you missed a spot.”

Alexi kept her face expressionless, but her heart was pounding. She needed some space to get herself together, and right now. “Try on your clothes. I’ll be just outside.” She headed for the door, but paused before she opened it and didn’t turn around. “You can get whatever you like. No more shoplifting. That was another bad judgment call.”

Damn. Blayne watched her go, and it felt as though all the heat departed the small enclosure. Oh well. Keep your chin up. If you can get this close in a dressing room, just imagine what can happen in a remote hideaway in Canada.

No words were exchanged between them as they checked out. Blayne put both the knife and the massage wand in with her items, and Alexi didn’t flinch as they were rung up.

Alexi’s selections included a small locking suitcase for the money, and two large duffel bags for their clothes. She packed them all and stuck them in the trunk before they drove the short distance to the border.

“Get out your passport,” she instructed Blayne as they neared the checkpoint. “Remember, from now on, you are Fiona Murphy and I am Jacquelyn Andrews. Please let me do all the talking, unless you are asked a direct question. We are long time friends from Chicago who are heading to Toronto for a few days’ vacation.”

They made it through without any problems, and stopped at a restaurant on the other side to get breakfast and so that Alexi could make some phone calls. She didn’t dare contact Theo directly any more. It was too risky. She would have to relay information through Ray.

She would have him let Theo know they were safe, and in Canada, but that was all, and she wanted an update on the search for the leak, and any news about the case against Cinzano.

*

Ray had completed his assignment in the allotted time, but did not have good news for her. Lang had been unhappy with the go-between arrangement and wanted more specific information on their location. He’d had no luck in nailing down the leak, and he had nothing but discouraging news about Cinzano. The district attorney had warned the task force that without the guarantee of Blayne’s testimony, a judge might agree to a motion that had been filed by Cinzano’s attorney to get him released from jail.

Damn. That will certainly delay any trial. Who knows how long we will be cooped up together?  Days, weeks…months? The memory of Blayne’s body pressed up against her returned and she tried to ignore the sudden twitch of feeling in her lower abdomen.

She returned to the Prizm, unfolded a map of Canada, and studied the area.

“Have you picked a destination?”  Blayne asked.

“Only a route with good possibilities. I will know the place to stop when I see it. Somewhere remote. Private.”

She had long ago decided that whatever hideaway she chose should not have a telephone to tempt Blayne, and now she added a second prerequisite—they certainly would need separate bedrooms. Her loss of control in the store unnerved her. She had come dangerously close to kissing Blayne, and she knew that sharing a cabin with the feisty redhead was going to be one long exercise in frustration.

Mentally chastising herself for her weakness, she vowed once more not to allow the past to repeat itself. But it was going to be torturously difficult if they were stuck together and Blayne kept flirting with her. She had to minimize the opportunities for Blayne to get to her that way.

“Remote and private.” Blayne nodded thoughtfully. Remote and private with Alexi sounded damn fine. Just as long as she could get to a phone. Because she knew she couldn’t truly relax until she made some calls herself, to see if she could find out anything about Claudia.

Chapter Thirteen

“What a fabulous place,” Blayne said as they surveyed their surroundings from side-by-side Adirondack chairs on a screened-in porch. Couldn’t have picked a more romantic setting myself. It’s perfect.

Moondance Resort comprised a log cabin lodge and dozens of cabins, all scattered throughout hilly, mostly wooded acreage that surrounded a picturesque private lake. Alexi was able to book them the two-bedroom A-frame that was farthest from the lodge, where the only phones for miles around could be found. Their cabin sat on a small rise overlooking the lake, and the huge window in the upstairs front bedroom offered a view of anything approaching by water or road. Alexi had also arranged for a rental boat with a fast motor, ostensibly for fishing, so that they would have an alternate route away from the cabin. It would be delivered to their dock that afternoon.

“Fresh air. Breathtaking views. And a sexy woman to share it with.” Blayne glanced at Alexi, who was avoiding her eyes. “What’s wrong with this picture? Oh yeah,” she snapped her fingers as if the answer had suddenly come to her. “You seem to be far too able to resist me.”

“Blayne,” Alexi said reproachfully. “You have to stop this. Here and now. Nothing is going to happen between us. Nothing.”

“I wouldn’t put money on that. I can be pretty convincing. And you did pick a place where we are going to be spending a lot of time together, with little else for entertainment. No phone. No T.V.”

“Speaking of which,” Alexi said. “I would like your word that you will not sneak away to the lodge to make any phone calls while we are here.”

“I promise.”

The immediate answer made Alexi suspicious, though she had come to believe that when Blayne gave her word, she meant it. “Thank you. It is necessary.”

“I do believe that you have my best interests at heart.” Blayne stretched languidly and long. “Well, some of my best interests, anyway. Perhaps you could do more for my physical interests, but there’s time for that. Plenty of time.”

Her voice had a husky breathiness to it that washed over Alexi like a verbal caress, and forced her up and out of her chair. “I am going to unpack. Then we can head over to the lodge for some dinner.” She had to be alone for a few minutes to get herself together. It was becoming increasingly difficult to act nonchalant about Blayne’s come-ons.

“Whatever you say. I’m not going anywhere.”

Alexi heard the underlying promise in the statement, and she was both relieved and disturbed by it. It was great that she could apparently stop expending so much time and energy trying to keep Blayne from running. But it was obvious that Blayne was determined to continue her efforts at seduction, and that was just as dangerous a distraction. She could allow nothing to divert her focus and attention from the job she had to do.

While Alexi was avoiding her, Blayne put her feet up, wrapped her jacket tightly around herself, and stared out over the lake. Not only was she feeling safe for the first time in days, she was actually quite content with her current situation. It certainly could be a whole lot worse.

If only she knew what had happened to Claudia.

She knew Alexi wouldn’t approve of what she was planning, and that helped her tamp down the niggling of guilt she felt about her promise. There would be no harm in what she was going to do, she was sure of it. Now she just had to figure out how to do it without Alexi being any the wiser.

So far the only thing that had seemed to crack Alexi’s concentration was blatant flirting. Okay, then. I have a plan.

Blayne had gotten the layout of the lodge during their short visit there to register. While Alexi had been dealing with the front desk clerk, she’d wandered through the lobby, always within sight, feigning interest in the wildlife art on the walls and the view out of the windows while noting each phone, elevator, exit, and every other conceivable resource.

When they returned for dinner she was pleased to discover that the lodge dining room, though not quite as cozy and intimate a place as they’d eaten in the night before, was certainly adequate for what she had in mind—lit by candles and quiet enough for private conversation.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em,” Blayne commented as they were led to a lovely table for two near one of the south-facing windows. “I haven’t been wined and dined in such nice places since I can’t remember when.”

“Perhaps we should skip the wine tonight,” Alexi commented as they took their seats.

“Aw. Don’t be a spoilsport. I’ll be good, I promise.”

Alexi was hearing every sentence out of Blayne’s mouth as a double entendre, which, she was certain, was the intention.

“A couple of glasses, then.” She knew she couldn’t tighten the reins on Blayne too much. But she loathed the idea she might have to once again fend off the kind of advances she had faced the night before, or worse. She would have to take the initiative in the conversation more, keep to safe subjects. Or perhaps even better, throw Blayne off guard a little. “Blayne, I am curious about something.”

“Shoot.” Blayne leaned forward expectantly.

“How long have you been shoplifting?”

Blayne frowned. “I told you.  I took the knife because I wanted something to defend myself with, and I knew you’d probably have a problem with it.”

“I am not talking about this one incident. It was rather obvious that you had done it before. Perhaps a lot.  Yet I view you as an otherwise intelligent woman and not in dire need financially. So I just wonder why.”

Blayne squirmed in her seat as she considered her answer. “It’s not a big deal. Once in a blue moon, I take something from a store. It’s never anything expensive.”

“Is it a compulsion, would you say?”

“No. Not at all. Look, I know it was stupid. A foolish risk. I’m sorry.”

“Have you done it a long time? Or is this a relatively recent thing?” Alexi could tell from Blayne’s nervous fidgeting with her hands that she was uncomfortable with the line of questioning. A part of Alexi regretted it, but she also had to admit she got a certain satisfaction out of rattling Blayne a little, after enduring what she had.

The waiter arrived to take their orders, and brought back a bottle of Chardonnay. After a few sips, Blayne answered, more seriously than Alexi expected.

“When I was growing up, my closest friend for many years was a girl who lived two blocks away. Bridget. She was everything that I wasn’t, then. Completely fearless and irresponsible.” Blayne took another long drink of wine as images from her childhood flashed through her mind. “She was always daring me to do things. Dangerous things, usually.  Running through traffic, walking across thin ice, climbing the tallest tree. I swear, looking back, she was like, the world’s youngest adrenalin junkie.” God, how many times did you almost get us killed?

“And she dared you to shoplift something,” Alexi supplied, after Blayne had lapsed into silence for a long moment.

“Yes. When we were nine. Candy from a drugstore. I guess that’s how it started.”

“Why now? Still?” Alexi asked. “Do you know?”

She shrugged. “No. Like I said, I don’t do it much.”

“Whatever happened to Bridget? Do you still keep in touch?”

Blayne shook her head. “No. She drowned in a gravel pit when we were thirteen. A place we’d snuck into a lot to go swimming.” Her gaze was vacant, unfocused. “She asked me to go with her that night, but I didn’t. She went alone.”

“And you regret not being there.”

She nodded thoughtfully. Yes, I do. Every time I think about it. “I guess maybe I take things because I remember her every time I do.”  She looked over at Alexi. “Never wanted to think about it too much.”

An ache of loneliness swept over her as she flashed back to the countless times that Claudia had cussed her out for shoplifting and asked her why she did it, especially back in her college days when it had been a more frequent occurrence. I have to know what has happened to you. I just can’t believe you’re dead.

That brought her back to her plan of action for the evening, which Alexi had successfully diverted her from far too long already.

“So now that we’ve figured out my shoplifting, let’s figure out why you are so adamantly opposed to giving in to my efforts to seduce you, shall we?” Blayne batted her eyes playfully, and Alexi couldn’t entirely suppress a small grin. But it was there and gone in an instant. “I know you are interested in me.”

The waiter arrived with their food, and Alexi was grateful for the timing because it gave her time to formulate a response. “I unfortunately got carried away in the moment. It was not personal, it just happened, and I am sorry if I gave you reason to believe that it was anything other than momentary confusion.”

“Confusion, my ass. You wanted to kiss me. I know you did.” Blayne refused to be deterred. “And I bet you still do.”

“You state that I am interested in you. You do not ask if I am. Had you asked, you would have known by now that I have no romantic intentions with you. And will not, regardless of how much you flirt with me.”

“We’ll see. Apparently you haven’t met stubborn Irish determination head-on before.” Regardless of Alexi’s efforts to put her off, Blayne just wasn’t buying the ‘I’m-not-interested’ façade. She had seen the look in Alexi’s eyes, and she recognized that look. And her gut told her there was definitely something personal growing between them.

“I suggest you use that stubborn determination to stay out of trouble,” Alexi said.

“Oh, there’s enough to spread it around for whatever I need it for, don’t you worry.”

“Eat your dinner. It is getting cold.” Alexi needed something—anything—to defuse the growing sexual tension in the air.

Blayne smiled and picked up her fork. “Fine. As long as you know that your efforts to change the subject or dissuade me aren’t going to work for long.” She dug into her trout almandine with gusto, eyeing Alexi all the while. Alexi appeared outwardly composed, as always. But she would hardly meet Blayne’s eyes, and Blayne took that as a good sign that she wasn’t as blasé as she appeared.

They finished dinner and ordered coffee and dessert, tiramisu for Alexi and strawberry shortcake for Blayne.

“Want to taste mine?” Blayne cocked one eyebrow as she offered Alexi a forkful of plump red strawberry goodness.

Alexi glanced over and watched as Blayne licked a smear of whipped cream off her upper lip. Her belly twitched at the provocative gesture, but her outward expression did not acknowledge it. “Thank you, no,” she managed.

“Sure? I think you’d like it a lot.” Blayne put the proffered forkful into her own mouth and chewed slowly, relishing the flavor. “Mmm. Sweet. Succulent. How can you say no?”

Alexi didn’t respond. Blayne’s seductive glances and overt machinations were having a definite effect on her body, like it or not. And her mind as well, conjuring up unbidden images of what she could do with some whipped cream and an evening with Blayne looking at her like that. She poked at her tiramisu. Why am I having such a hard time with this? I have certainly resisted a woman’s advances before.

Before she knew what was happening, she felt Blayne’s fingers at the base of her throat, and she drew back involuntarily until she felt a tug at the back of her neck.

“Hey! It’s okay,” Blayne said. “I just wanted to see what this is.” She held in her hand the simple cross that Alexi wore on a gold chain. “I’ve noticed you wear it all the time.”

“A gift from my mother,” Alexi managed. She had been startled, and that combined with the sensation of Blayne’s hand against her skin got her heart pounding. “Excuse me, please, I need some air.” She got to her feet and looked around for the waiter, who was nowhere in sight. “Are you finished?

“Yes, of course,” Blayne said. “I need to run to the restroom anyway. I’ll do that and sign for the check. And meet you, where? The terrace?”

Alexi hesitated. “No, I’ll come with you.”

“You just said you needed some air, and I definitely don’t need a chaperone to the ladies’ room,” Blayne insisted.

“Better we stay together.”

“Alexi, you are not going to come with me every time I use the john. I mean, I’ll put up with a lot, but that’s crazy.”

Alexi studied her face. “No phone calls. Just there and back.”

“I promised you earlier no phone calls. I’ll see you on the terrace before you know I’m gone.” Blayne glared at her and flagged the waiter down.

Alexi still felt uneasy as her charge headed toward the doors to the adjacent paved patio, but she rationalized that there was a difference between protecting someone and needlessly invading their privacy.

She crossed the terrace and rested her elbows against the smooth stone railing that ran waist-high around the front and sides. It was a mild spring night, with a brilliant display of stars, but no other guests had ventured outside. Alexi was grateful for the solitude.

God, why do I let her get to me like that? Blayne’s face in the dressing room flashed into her mind. Then the image of her in her skimpy briefs and tank top, just out of the shower. Well, what is not to like, really. Am I not human? Do I not have needs? Problem is, I cannot solve that the way that I usually do.

It was, ordinarily, an easy hunger to satisfy. She could find a desirable, willing participant and take care of things almost anywhere. But it was not so easy when one was on round-the-clock duty and holed up in the middle of nowhere. I need to get laid. That is all I need. That will take care of things and allow me to regain my focus. But it appears unlikely that can happen any time soon.

Until it did, Blayne would continue to get to her. Even without her blatant come-ons it would be difficult enough to act uninterested, when what she really wanted was to give in to the enticements.

Back to the cabin to separate bedrooms, where she would have a night to try to regain her equilibrium somewhat. That was the plan. She glanced at her watch. Nine thirty. Still early. Blayne was right about one thing. They were going to be spending a lot of time together, without a lot to amuse and entertain them but each other and a few paperbacks. And she felt too restless to sleep and too pent up to concentrate on reading.

She had seen a Tavli set among other card and board games in a big trunk in the cabin. That might serve useful in getting Blayne occupied in something other than sex. And she imagined that Blayne might be an amusing adversary at the game. She was bright, and determined, and certainly capable of formulating a strategy for success.

Speaking of Blayne…she had had plenty of time to do what she needed to do. Where is she?

*

Blayne got their bill taken care of with a quick signature, remembering only at the last second to sign as Fiona Murphy. Then she made a beeline for the lodge’s Guest Services desk, which was across the lobby from the reservations counter.

Seated behind the desk was the same fresh-faced right-out-of-college blond Adonis who had been there when they arrived. Great. “Hi there.” She put on a big smile when he looked up from his magazine, and he reciprocated.

“Good evening! How may I help you?”

“Didn’t I see you wearing an MSU sweatshirt last night?” Blayne asked. “What’s a Sparty doing so far from home?”

He laughed. “That tells me you are the rare guest who is not here for the fishing, or you’d know. But welcome, fellow grad.” He stood and extended a hand. “William Levine, Telecommunications, Class of ’05. Call me Bill.”

She offered her own and they shook hands. “Hi Bill. Fiona Murphy, Public Relations, and I no longer admit to the year.”

He laughed again. “What can I do for you, Fiona?”

“Well, I am absolutely desperate for two minutes online.” She eyed his computer longingly. “Please. You have to help me out. I just realized I never forwarded an email that my office needs tomorrow for a big sales pitch.  It’s a huge deal.”

“Well, I don’t know…” He glanced around. The reservations clerk was occupied with a young couple and was paying them no mind. “I’m really not supposed to…”

“Two minutes or less, I promise. I’m a fast typist. One email. Please?”

“Oh, okay. Really fast though, please.” He tilted the monitor toward her and slid the keyboard where she could access it.

“Like the wind,” she promised. “I can’t thank you enough.”

She hadn’t been lying about being a fast typist, one perk of having typed thousands of reservations over the last eight years. She sent the email to Claudia’s address and a half-dozen others in her Yahoo address book, all mutual friends of theirs. Short and sweet, it asked if they knew anything about Claudia’s current whereabouts, and begged them not to tell authorities that she had been in touch. She hit the send button and signed out of her account.

“You’re a peach, Bill.” She slid the keyboard back and gave him a thumbs-up. “Kept me from getting into hot water later. I owe you one.”

“No problem. Have a nice evening, and enjoy your stay.”

“I will. Oh, by the way…I don’t suppose there’s any chance I can check my email again in a day or so and see if there’s any word on how this all turned out?”

He chewed on his lip. “Well, maybe I can give you another couple of minutes, but there would have to be no one else around.”

Not telling me something I don’t already know. “I completely understand. Thanks again.”

She found Alexi alone on the terrace; a beautifully romantic setting though the still-dormant rose garden around them would not bloom for months. The stars were abundant and the sounds of owls calling to each other could be heard in the distance. But she had no time to properly exploit the potential of the picturesque setting. No time even to fully appreciate it before Alexi was steering her by the elbow back toward the door she’d just come through.

“Let us go back to the cabin, if you do not mind. I have gotten a bit of a chill out here.”

“Oh. Sure.” Back to the cabin with you sounds like a dandy idea. Just dandy.

*

Theodore Lang was in bed, and just drifting off to sleep, when the phone jolted him back awake shortly before midnight.

“We’ve located Blayne Keller.” Paul Fletcher’s voice was excited, though still professional. “She sent an email last night to two of the friends we were monitoring. Took us some time to trace the IP address, but it just came through. A hunting and fishing lodge in Canada. About six hundred miles. Ten hours by car.”

Theo turned on the bedside light. His wife Selma, lying beside him, groaned. “What did it say?”

“Keller asked whether they had heard from Claudia Cluzet, and told them not to tell us she’d sent the email. Nothing in there about Alexi Nikolos.”

“Get directions on how to find the place and arrange a helicopter that can leave at first light,” Theo instructed. “Let’s say, at six. And get whatever flight clearances I need.”

“You? You’re going?”  Fletcher’s inflection indicated he thought that Theo was kidding, or perhaps it was intended to urge him to reconsider. “And who else?”

“Just me. I’m going to handle this personally, Paul. How many people know about the emails?”

“Just me and the graveyard boys. Harry and Erik. They beeped me and I called you right away.”

“I’m going alone to try to talk Keller back into WITSEC. If too many people show up, she’ll bolt,” Theo said. “Keep this just between the three of you. And call me back at five with the arrangements.”

“Whatever you say.”

*

It was risky to venture from the Joint Task Force office with only the three of them there. He would likely be missed if he was gone longer than a few minutes, so he made the phone call from a gas station only two blocks away, checking carefully to make sure he wasn’t followed.

The familiar voice answered on the second ring. Yes?”

“She’s in Canada. A lodge called the Moondance Resort, in Ontario.”

“Excellent.”

“We have a man going up by chopper in the morning.” He looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. “Take Lang four or five hours…so he lands by ten or eleven,” he mumbled to himself, and then spoke more loudly into the phone. “If you’re driving up from here, you need to leave ASAP to get there before he does.”

“Anything else?”

He considered telling Cinzano’s man about Alexi Nikolos, but decided against it. He’d given them plenty already; better to save it for when they squeezed him again. “No, nothing else.” Maybe now they’ll leave me alone for a while.

The line went dead.

He headed back to the office, wondering which of them would reach the lodge first—Theo Lang, or the mob.

Chapter Fourteen

Alexi excused herself as soon as they returned to the cabin on the pretext she was going to put on another layer of clothes to ward off the chill. But in truth, she was trying to put as much distance between them as possible until she could figure out a way to get Blayne to stop pursuing her. She lingered in her room, looking out over the lake, enjoying the splendid view of the canopy of stars above. It was a wonderfully romantic setting, she had to admit. Exactly the kind of place she’d bring someone if she were in the mood for a long weekend of sexual escapades.

Which made it all the more difficult to ignore Blayne’s efforts to arouse her interest. Whatever she might think she should do, her body was refusing to be deterred. It demanded satisfaction. Later. She headed back downstairs to find to her horror that Blayne had made good use of her absence.

The cabin great room already had a cozy ambience all on its own, with its large comfy couch and matching chocolate-brown easy chairs, framed nature photographs on the walls, and earth-toned rugs and furnishings. A fully stocked kitchenette was tucked into one corner, separated from the rest by a waist-high counter lined with barstools.

Blayne had managed to up the romance quotient significantly in the ten or fifteen minutes she’d been left alone. She had lowered the lights, lit a few candles, and started a cheery fire in the red brick fireplace. A Norah Jones love ballad was playing on her new CD player. And she was looking sexy as hell, stretched out on the couch, smiling at Alexi as though she could eat her alive.

Alexi fought back the urge to lower herself onto that waiting, willing body, claim that mouth and calm her own relentless craving for release. No one should have to resist such temptation.

“Wish we had something for a nightcap.” Blayne ran her fingertips lightly and provocatively along the back of the couch, as though it was Alexi’s body.

Oh, yes. Adding more alcohol to this scenario would most certainly help matters.

Alexi took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice neutral. “Since you are evidently not sleepy…” She opened the games trunk, which served as a makeshift end table for the couch, and withdrew the familiar board with 24 points that she had spotted there earlier. “How about a game?”

“I have some fun and games in mind, for sure,” Blayne responded. “But backgammon isn’t one of them.”

“We call it Tavli.” Alexi reached into the trunk for the checkers and dice that went with the game. “It is the oldest recorded game in history, you know. And a favorite pastime where I come from. No…actually, more a national obsession.”

It wasn’t what Blayne had in mind for the evening, but she thought it might be an avenue to get to know Alexi better. It was one of the first tiny pieces of information about her homeland or history that she had offered without prompting. It was a start.

“How young were you when you learned to play?” Blayne asked as Alexi set up the board on the coffee table.

“Six.”

“Who taught you?”

“My father.”

“So you’re probably even better at this than you are at everything else, then,” Blayne observed.

Alexi shrugged noncommittally. “I know the game well.” She pulled an easy chair over to face the couch, so the board sat between them.

“Well, I never played very much, and not for many years. I’m not sure I even remember how to move, so I’m afraid I won’t be a very worthy opponent for you.”

“That is not important. And I bet a lot of it will come back to you.” Alexi hunched over the board. “You are the light stones, and you move in this direction…toward your house, here, according to the roll of the dice. Once you get all fifteen within the bar…” she gestured as she spoke. “You bear them off, or remove them. I move in the opposite direction.” She went on to explain other fundamentals of the game, along with a bit of strategy.

“I think I get it.” Blayne found herself remembering more than she thought she would about the game. And it was well that she did, for she only heard about half of what Alexi was saying. It was impossible to be completely immersed in backgammon when such a beautiful woman was sitting four feet away, lit by the warm golden light from the fireplace.

They rolled the dice and Blayne won the right to open the first game. She started her stones around the board. “So tell me, Alexi…what other games do you play? Hmm? You know, if any other pleasurable pursuits spring to mind while we are alone here together, you’ll find I am a willing and eager student.”

“Tavli is likely the only pleasurable pursuit I will engage in during my time in your company, Blayne, as I have repeatedly told you.” Alexi gripped the dice loosely in her right palm, enjoying the familiar play of the two smooth cubes against each other, before she sent them flying. “I will not allow anything to distract me from my responsibilities.”

“You know, I just bet that you are one of those people who can easily do two things at the same time,” Blayne said. “I’m not really concerned that my safety will be compromised if you come over to this side of the table and make out with me in between games.”

Alexi acted as if she hadn’t heard, but the image that sprang to mind got her heart thumping hard in her chest. “I believe it is your turn.”

“We haven’t established the stakes yet.” Blayne uncrossed her legs, leaned back and draped her arms over the back of the couch. Her inviting body language and the gleam of naughty mischief in her eyes were impossibly irresistible.

“Stakes?”

“Yes. Gotta make it interesting. Now, I know you are going to whip my ass, so your reward should be relatively minor if you win. But I’m such an underdog that I should get a pretty big payoff if I manage to beat you.”

Alexi knew the answer would be provocative, but she was unable to keep from asking the question. “What do you propose?”

“Well, let’s see. If you win, you get…hmm…I know. Perhaps a nice massage. How does that sound?”

Alexi’s whole body clenched at the thought of Blayne’s hands, everywhere, exploring and pleasuring her body. Kneading. Rubbing. Stroking. Jesus. What I would not give for a lot of that right now. But that was certainly not an option. Not with Blayne’s hands anyway. Her own hand, a little later, right where she needed it, now that was another story.

“That sounds like a not entirely appropriate reward.” Alexi got up to put another log on the fire, though her skin already felt overheated. She remained before the hearth, stirring the embers with a long metal poker, grateful for the opportunity to regain some equilibrium. “Doing the dishes or making the coffee is perhaps more reasonable. ”

“Oh, don’t you think it’s fun to be unreasonable once in blue moon?”

“Blayne. Truly, you must stop this.”   Before you drive me so crazy I have to excuse myself for a few minutes.

“Well, if you win, we can go with the dishes and coffee thing if you like. But I will leave open your ability to renegotiate. Now, if I win…that would be a much bigger accomplishment, of course, so it should have a commensurate reward.” Blayne paused until Alexi turned back around and looked at her. “A kiss. One kiss.”

Alexi’s first impulse was to refuse. She didn’t want to encourage Blayne. But she knew it was a safe bet. “I will accept your condition, in the interest of getting back to the game. But I should tell you that I am confident there will be no kissing.” She took her seat. “Roll the dice.”

She would take no chances. Her plan at the outset of the evening had been to let Blayne come close the first couple of games, and then win the third or fourth to boost her confidence. But with a kiss at stake, Alexi would make sure she always had a reasonable margin of victory.

The first game took ten minutes. The second, just about as long.

Blayne’s frustration grew with each move. Though she wasn’t a bad player, it was obvious right away that Alexi was a master at the game and was allowing her an occasional opening only to keep things from ending much too quickly. She never hesitates, As soon as it’s her turn. Boom, next move, right there. She’s probably already got the whole thing played out in her mind.

She knew she was well outmatched. Alexi would never have agreed so readily if she thought there was any possibility of losing.

But she had to have that kiss. By any means necessary. Her whole body was humming for it. And she knew her only chance stood in doing all she could to distract Alexi, while she prayed for a few favorable rolls of the dice.

“That fire sure has warmed things up in here,” she said as Alexi set up the board for the third game. “I know you don’t mind if I get more comfortable.” She waited until Alexi glanced up at her. When she did, Blayne reached down and unbuttoned the third and fourth buttons of her navy blue blouse, exposing her cleavage and the lacy top of the crème-colored bra beneath.

She was gratified to notice a slight increase in the rise and fall of Alexi’s chest, and even more so, that Alexi’s attention was no longer on the game board—it was instead fixed rather soundly on her breasts.

Blayne still lost that game, but it was much closer. Encouraged, she undid the rest of her buttons. “Damn hot in here, wouldn’t ya say?” she asked, in her most seductive tone. “You know, if you want to take something off, I certainly won’t object.”

Alexi froze, hand poised in mid-air. Blayne saw the slight trembling in that hand, and watched Alexi’s gaze traverse the length of her body, and she felt somewhat more optimistic about her chances in game four.

Luck was with her. She rolled two high doubles to start off the game with a bang, and her efforts to distract Alexi seemed to be working like a charm—her moves were no longer quite so quick and automatic. And here and there, a few small errors crept into her play. It was close, very close, right up to the end. Alexi seemed to realize then that she stood a chance of losing, and began paying more attention to the board and less to Blayne’s bra.

It came down to the luck of the final throws, and fate was against Alexi. She threw ones and twos when she needed all fives and sixes, and Blayne threw three sets of doubles.

Blayne stood, a cocky grin on her face, and rubbed her hands together in eager anticipation. “I’ll collect now, if you please.”

Alexi was stunned. Bewildered. I lost. How could I have lost? Damn. Her mind and body seized upon the kiss she’d like to plant on Blayne, the kiss she could never let happen. She felt that kiss down to her toes, throughout her body, as though it really was happening.

She needed to get upstairs. And fast. Her mouth wanted Blayne’s, and the rest of her wanted to peel off that bra she’d been staring at. Her control was slipping. But first, it was payback time. Blayne had made her suffer all evening. And now it was time to return the favor. Oh, she would pay up. She was a woman of her word, after all.

Alexi stood on shaky legs, and moved slowly and deliberately around the table between them as Blayne turned to face her, shirt flying open even further, exposing the rest of those magnificent breasts, and allowing an unimpeded view of the pale smooth skin of her stomach. She was torn between the urge to run…. and to take, hungrily, what was being offered to her. But she knew she could do neither.

Blayne had been so intent on winning the game that she failed to see the full effect of her scheming until Alexi came around the table and paused. Their bodies were less than a foot apart and Alexi expression wiped the grin right off her face.

Alexi was looking right through her, lids half-closed with arousal, pupils dark and enormous, nearly obscuring those brilliant blue irises. She looked as though they’d already been half the night in bed together, and she was getting ready to take her again.

Blayne’s breath caught in her throat. Every nerve ending was poised, anxious, for that first touch. She watched Alexi moisten her lips provocatively with her tongue. Kiss me already, her body screamed.

Alexi brought her right hand up, slowly, between their bodies, skimming her fingers up Blayne’s stomach, over the small divide of bra between her breasts, into the crevice of her cleavage, toward her neck. Her eyes never left Blayne’s as she did; she was thoroughly enjoying the effect she was having. Not very nice, what I am doing, but she deserves it.

When her fingers reached Blayne’s face, her touch became lighter still. Her thumb traced lightly over Blayne’s lips, then away, teasing her, returning to push slightly into her mouth before retreating yet again.

She watched Blayne’s breathing become labored and her eyes begin to glaze over. Perfect. Now I think you will understand what you have been putting me through for the last couple of days.

Blayne tried through sheer force of will to move Alexi’s lips closer to hers. She didn’t say anything, lest she interrupt the deliciously torturous anticipation of the moment. The feel of Alexi’s hand on her mouth. Suggestively invasive. She thought she surely would burst if Alexi didn’t kiss her soundly, and soon.

As though she had heard, Alexi’s light touch turned suddenly solid. Both of her hands came up to cup the sides of Blayne’s face and she stepped forward until their bodies were touching, and the shock of the full-on contact set off a torrent of butterflies in the pit of Blayne’s stomach.

She closed her eyes as Alexi pulled their faces together, and wished for time to stand still.

But an instant was only an instant any way it was measured. And she might have sworn it had not happened at all, it was so brief and so light, but her body was so ready that the world slipped away except for that warm and glancing caress upon her mouth and she knew she had not imagined it.

She blinked, and it was over. Alexi had stepped away. After so much anticipation, after such arousing tactile foreplay, the absence of what she wanted, needed, expected, hit her like a sudden cold shower.

“What?” she stuttered. “You…you can’t…that’s not fair.”

“You do not seem too concerned about playing fair.” Alexi calmly closed the grill on the fireplace and blew out the candles. “I am going to turn in and I advise you to do the same. I will see you in the morning.”

“I…you…damn it!”

Alexi headed upstairs, managing to contain herself only until her bedroom door was closed and locked behind her. She came in seconds.

Chapter Fifteen

Alexi’s first thought when she spotted Blayne shortly after dawn the next morning was serves you right. Blayne had pulled one of the oversized easy chairs over to the picture window that faced the lake, and was slouched down into it, feet up on a hassock, sipping from a large red mug. It was obvious from the circles under her eyes that she hadn’t slept much. And though it was only seven, the coffee pot on the counter was already down to its final dregs.

“Rough night?” Alexi asked with exaggerated cheeriness. There was no way she would let Blayne know that she, too, had tossed and turned all night.

“Such a comedian.” Blayne did not look up at her. She was dressed in jeans and fuzzy blue slippers, and had on a thin navy sweater with a low V-neck. It exposed the pale skin of her chest and hugged her body so snugly it was clear she wore no bra. Her hair was sleep-tousled, and Alexi thought it was adorable.

She herself had not emerged from her room until she was perfectly put together.  Her brown hair had been brushed until it shone, and she was nattily attired in black jeans and a tailored black blouse with wide cuffs. She made a fresh pot of coffee and waited until it had brewed to pull the other easy chair beside Blayne’s. Do not stare at her breasts. Do not stare at her breasts.

They sipped coffee for forty minutes without saying anything, watching the forest outside come to life.  Birds flitted about, resting in the trees and scratching along the ground for something to eat. Two does stepped out of the woods near the lake, moving slowly, pausing here and there to seek out something to graze as they made their way to the water.

“What would you like to do today?” Alexi asked.

Blayne snorted derisively. “That’s a loaded question.”

“Not if you do not choose it to be. Would you like to go to the lodge for some breakfast?”

“Maybe later.” Blayne got to her feet. “Despite the fact that I’m exhausted and a bit pissed off at you for last night, I’m apparently still in need of a long cold shower.” She headed upstairs without a look back.

Alexi nodded in agreement after she had gone. Good thing there is no chance we will run out of cold water in this place.

Blayne reappeared an hour later, looking a lot less bleary-eyed and eminently more presentable for going out in public. Her coppery hair was styled, she had applied a touch of blush and some color to her lips, and she was dressed in new charcoal gray slacks and a burgundy sweater. The effect was most appealing, and Alexi wondered whether it was all part of Blayne’s campaign to entice her interest. If so, it was definitely working. She looked hot.

“I guess I could force down some eggs and toast now,” Blayne said by way of greeting. “Since I’m apparently not going to get my other appetites satisfied any time soon.”

Alexi ignored the pointed reference and retrieved the keys to the Prizm from the counter. “I will stop at the front desk while we are there and order groceries to be delivered, so we can eat some meals here.” She picked up a tablet and pen and handed them to Blayne as they headed for the car. “Start a list of what you would like.”

*

The Bell 206B Jet Ranger III helicopter could only fly three hours on a tank of gas and it was more than five from O’Hare airport to the lodge, so they had to stop at the Otsego County Airport in Gaylord, Michigan for refueling. While they were waiting, the pilot studied a map of Canada. He and the chopper were both on loan to WITSEC from the Chicago Police Department.

“How long before we get to the lodge, do you think?” Theo Lang unfastened his seat belt so he could look over the pilot’s shoulder at the map.

“Less than two hours, looks like,” was the reply.

Theo glanced at his watch. It was nine-thirty and they would reach their destination within two hours. Hopefully before Alexi and Blayne Keller had departed for points unknown. “Once we get to the lake, look for a clearing opposite the lodge. Up on a hill, they said. I’ll hike in from there.”

“Any idea how long you’ll be?” the C.P.D. pilot asked.

“Well I hope to wrap it up quickly, but it’s hard to say.” He wondered how he was going to convince Keller to return to the program, and how Alexi would react to the news their security had been breached.

Badly, he thought.

*

The dark sedan clipped along just over the speed limit, as it ate up the miles on the Canadian two-lane highway. Traffic was sparse and the weather was clear, and they had made excellent time from Chicago, encountering no difficulties at the border with customs.

Three of the four burly occupants were asleep, and the one in the front passenger seat was snoring so loud that the driver, Frankie Sloan, was beginning to grind his teeth in irritation. Unfortunately, Mr. Buzz-saw was the man in charge on this job, so there was not much he could do but endure the noise.

He glanced at the map, then at the digital clock on the dashboard. Ten a.m. They’d be getting to the lodge in an hour or so, he figured, maybe a little more, so he could get away with waking Rosco and the others pretty much any time.

*

Blayne was mostly quiet during breakfast, a departure from their last couple of meals together. Alexi chalked it up to lack of sleep and the rising sexual chemistry between them. She was grateful not to have to be fielding any of Blayne’s increasingly irresistible come-ons, especially with her looking so delicious this morning in her new clothes. Tired or not, Alexi seemed to be in an almost constant state of mild arousal around Blayne at the moment. God, do I need to get laid. Push all this out of my head and put my focus back where it belongs.

While they ate, they drew up a list of groceries they would need, enough to get them through a week or more of meals and snacks.

“I’m going to check in with Guest Services,” Blayne said as Alexi waved the waiter over to get their bill. “I want to see what all there is to do around here. Maybe inquire about some fishing gear. I’d be happy to drop off the grocery list at the front desk.”

“That is all right, I will do that while you see about the other.”

Blayne forced herself not to press the issue. Damn. I can’t get back on the computer without her seeing me if she’s standing at the front desk. Maybe I can come back this afternoon. Say I’m taking a walk because I need some alone time. It wasn’t stretching the truth too much. She’d certainly needed some alone time the night before after Alexi had retired to her room. But she’d found the orgasm she reached with her new massage wand vaguely unsatisfying, and she’d been unable to drift off to sleep afterwards as she usually did.

The almost animalistic attraction she was developing toward Alexi mystified her. Ordinarily she wasn’t comfortable getting intimate with someone right away. She liked to take her time, get to know them, see if they clicked before she went very far. Oh, she’d certainly had a one-night stand or two, who hadn’t? But not since college. In recent years, she usually had a handful of dates with someone before deciding to share her bed.

And she still knew virtually nothing about Alexi Nikolos. In fact, Alexi was stubbornly circumspect and annoyingly determined to fend off her advances. What’s up with that, anyway? I don’t throw myself at women. But I sure am doing about everything I can to get her to bed, despite the obstacles. And they were safe, now. Surely Alexi could loosen up a little.

Damn it. I know she’s interested. She’d seen it in Alexi’s eyes in the dressing room, and again last night, right before that maddeningly brief kiss. She could still feel Alexi’s hands gently cradling her face. What the hell is the problem with a quick bit of fun in the sack? A much better way to pass the time than backgammon, that’s for sure. And no one ever needs to know.

While she was dressing that morning, Blayne had decided to do whatever she could to try to get to Alexi, the way she had been getting to her during their last game of backgammon. Those glimpses of the fire beneath Alexi’s cool exterior were far too rare. Most of the time, she was a stone, controlling her emotions and reactions so well that it was nearly impossible to determine what she was thinking or feeling. But I know she was feeling what I was last night. I know she wanted to kiss me…really kiss me.

She yearned to see more of that passionate nature in an unguarded moment. And most of all, she wanted to see if she could stir Alexi’s blood the way Alexi was stirring hers.

There would certainly be plenty of opportunities if they were cooped up together like this for the foreseeable future. Romantic dinners and evenings by the fire. Oh yeah. Plenty of opportunities. I just have to be patient.

After Alexi had signed for the check, they strolled to the lobby together, Alexi heading toward the front desk and Blayne toward Guest Services.

Bill hailed her while she was still several feet away, and she cringed, hoping Alexi didn’t hear. “Back again! Fiona, right?”

“Hi Bill.” She kept her voice low. “I just came to see what all you offer in the way of things to do around here.”

“Sure. Let me give you this.” He handed her a colorful brochure peppered with pictures of fishermen, hikers, birdwatchers, and couples in kayaks and canoes.  Inside were brief descriptions of the amenities and outdoor activities available through the lodge. Hmm, in-cabin massages. I could use a little of that right about now, but unfortunately it’s Alexi’s hands I’d like to have on me and not some masseuse’s.

All the same, Blayne was impressed with all the classes and special events available to guests. There were fly-fishing, birding, and cooking classes, wine-tastings and eco-tours, spa treatments, family fishing derbies and poker tournaments. Quite a range of activities. This has got to beat the hell out of whatever WITSEC had planned for me. She still wondered about that. She had been born and raised a Yooper, with a passion for the unspoiled natural beauty that was Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, so this Canadian wilderness was welcome and familiar.

She’d been worried from the start that WITSEC would plant her in some hot, desolate environment, devoid of any real change of seasons—Vegas, or Phoenix, or Miami. She could not be happy long in a place like that. But this? She could get used to this. No problem.

“Thanks a lot. This looks great.” She glanced toward the front desk. Alexi was still preoccupied with the clerk, but had one eye on her as well. “Well, better get going. See you soon.” Hopefully very soon.

“Take care, Fiona. Go Spartans!”

As she crossed the lobby toward Alexi, she took a few moments to admire the coiled beauty of the WITSEC Inspector. She looked absolutely relaxed, casually leaning against the counter, amiably chatting with the clerk. But Blayne had spent a lot of time watching her lately, and she was beginning to recognize subtle things about Alexi that told the real story. No matter how nonchalant she might appear to be, the reality was she was always alert. Always keenly focused on her surroundings. She managed to keep an eye on everything and everyone without it appearing obvious she was doing so. At least she was always that way when there were other people around.

When they were alone, now that was another story. She had managed on at least a couple of occasions to get Alexi thinking personal—very personal. The way she was looking at me just before she kissed me. Damn, do I want her to look at me like that some more.

Alexi straightened as she approached and concluded her conversation with the clerk. Whatever she said made the young woman laugh, and Blayne felt a flash of something—a flutter of regret. She wished she had been the recipient of Alexi’s clever remark.

“See any classes or anything you wish you take advantage of?” Alexi tilted her head toward the brochure and events calendar in her hand.

“Oh, don’t you be talking about wishes, and taking advantage…unless you really mean that.” Blayne wagged a finger at her reproachfully, suggestively, and was gratified to see a faint flush tint Alexi’s cheeks.

“I…I did not mean…”

“Yeah, yeah. You never do.” Blayne’s smirk of pleasure at ruffling Alexi’s composure was interrupted by a sudden yawn she could not repress. Her sleepless night was beginning to catch up with her. Maybe a nap when we get back to the cabin. Then, this afternoon…I’ll see if I can ruffle her up some more.

They rode the short drive back to the A-frame in silence.

Alexi tried desperately to dispel the provocative image that had sprung to mind when Blayne said the words taking advantage. They were back in the dressing room, but this time, she wasn’t frisking Blayne, she was fucking her, up against the wall, and Blayne was loving every minute of it.

Her body resonated with arousal, painful arousal, and she didn’t dare look at Blayne on the ride back. How the hell am I ever going to get through this? She can turn me on with words alone. The first thing she had to do when they got back was to get a few minutes to herself, in her room. Appears I am going to be doing a lot of that.

She parked the Prizm in front of the cabin and they stepped out into the late morning sunshine. She was so intent on her imminent orgasm that she didn’t immediately see the dark silhouette waiting for them on the screened-in porch.

Blayne had taken three steps forward, and was almost directly between her and the intruder before his movement caught Alexi’s attention. The sudden realization that someone was waiting for them made her heart leap into her throat. “Blayne! Down!” She reached behind her for her gun, which was stuck into the waistband of her pants.

Blayne turned uncertainly in her direction.

“Down!” Alexi repeated, as she darted forward to shield Blayne with her body.

“Alexi! Stop! It’s Theo!”

She had the gun pointed at him, ready to fire, but his words penetrated, and his voice was instantly familiar, so she froze, and tried to will her heart to slow down. “Damn it, Theo! You nearly got yourself killed!” She turned to Blayne, whose eyes were wide in shock. She looked ready to bolt. “It is all right. He is my boss.”

Blayne’s fear transformed to anger when she realized there was no imminent threat. “How the fuck is he here? You told me you weren’t going to tell anyone where we were!”

“And I did not,” Alexi assured her. “I do not know how or why he is here, I assure you, but I sure as hell intend to find out.” She put the gun back in her pants, and they resumed their trek to the porch. Theo met them at the door.

“Sorry to take you by surprise.” Their visitor extended a hand toward Blayne. “Miss Keller, I’m Theodore Lang. I’m the head of WITSEC’S Chicago division.”

Blayne eyed him suspiciously, nodding that she understood. But she made no move to shake his hand, and he let it drop.

“How did you find us, Theo?” Alexi said without preamble, her irritation evident. “And how long have you known where we were?”

“We’ve known since midnight.”

“We?” Alexi asked.

“Three at the task force headquarters,” he clarified. “Which means I cannot guarantee your safety here.”

“How, Theo?”

His eyes shifted to Blayne. Alexi followed them.

“What? Why are you looking at me?” Blayne fidgeted under their scrutiny.

“You promised me you wouldn’t call,” Alexi said. “I trusted you.”

“I didn’t!”

“Go pack your things, Blayne.” It was not a request. “We need to leave. And bring me your passport.”

“I said, I didn’t call anyone!” Blayne argued, not budging. It was important to her that Alexi believe she had kept her word.

“You can trace an email as easily as you can a phone call, Miss Keller,” Lang said patiently.

Blayne felt suddenly light-headed. “Oh, shit.”

“Pack, Blayne.” Alexi’s voice was clipped. “Quickly, please.”

“All right. I’m going.” Blayne headed upstairs toward her room.

Alexi turned to follow but Lang stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“We need to convince her to get back into the program, Alexi.” He pulled a folded document from his inside breast pocket. “These are her papers. I have a helicopter waiting, but I want her to sign before we get on it.”

Alexi scanned the standard agreement. Blayne would be admitted into the Witness Protection Program in exchange for her promise to testify. Papers were usually given to the witness during their formal orientation, but Blayne had never made it that far. “I do not think she will sign these, Theo.”

“She has to. Cinzano’s attorney has filed a petition to get him released,” Lang said. “You know we’ll never convince a judge to keep him unless we have a sworn statement from her that she’ll testify.”

Blayne rejoined them, her duffel bag packed and ready to go.  She handed her passport to Alexi.

“You have two minutes to try to convince her, Theo.” Alexi gave him back the WITSEC documents. “Which is how long it will take me to pack.”

Alexi headed upstairs, half of her hoping that Blayne accepted the offer so that they could take the chopper out of there, the other half wanting the situation to remain as it was. Just her and Blayne.

“Miss Keller,” Lang addressed Blayne as soon as they were alone. “I know you’re reluctant to return to the program, and I understand why. But we can protect you much better than Alexi can by herself. And we need your agreement to testify in order to keep Vittorio Cinzano in jail until the trial.” He unfolded the papers in his hand and handed them to her. “If you sign these, we can be on a helicopter headed out of here in five minutes. You’ll be in a new, safe location by tonight.”

Blayne glanced through the document. “I am going to testify,” she told him, but in truth she still wasn’t entirely sure about that. Her intentions were good, but more and more, she wanted to distance herself from all of the danger and uncertainty that awaited her in WITSEC. Alexi had made her feel safe again, and she was reluctant to do anything to change the status quo. “But I’m not going to sign anything.”

She handed the papers back. “When I agreed to let you people make all the decisions for me, I was shot at and nearly killed by a bomb aboard a plane. Since Alexi has been taking care of me…Well, I’m the one who screwed up, not her. I like things the way they are.”

“We have far more resources than she does alone,” Lang argued. “She can’t protect you better than we can within the program.”

“If you’re so capable of protecting people, what about Claudia Cluzet? Have you kept her safe? Do you even know where the hell she is yet?”

Lang frowned. “No,” he admitted. “No leads on her or her father.”

Damn. She fought back sudden tears. Oh, Claud.

“By rights, actually,” Lang said, “WITSEC was never responsible for protecting the Cluzets. It was the Chicago P.D.’s…”

Blayne cut him off. “Like I said, I’m not going into the program. I’ll take my chances with Alexi.”

“Miss Keller,” he snapped. “Be reasonable.”

“I’ve made up my mind.”

Upstairs, Alexi threw the last of her things into her duffel and retrieved the money bag from under the bed and added their passports to it. She was furious at Blayne for sending the email, but relieved that Theo had gotten to them before anyone else.

She turned to head back downstairs, the bags slung over one shoulder, but something made her take one last look out of the big triangular window that had served as such an excellent vantage point.

There was a dark sedan parked in the near distance, on the little two-track that ran up to the cabin.

Her blood ran cold.

A sudden flash momentarily blinded her, a glint of sunlight off metal, and when she blinked past it, her eyes focused on a man with a gun, approaching the porch through the trees.

Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. Blayne!

Chapter Sixteen

Alexi took the stairs three at a time and bolted to the porch, throwing down her bags and drawing her weapon en route. She found Blayne on the floor, Lang hunched over her, gun in hand, trying to protect her. “Shots,” he rasped, when he saw Alexi.

Staying low and moving fast, Alexi half-pushed and half-pulled Blayne into the cabin, as Theo lingered briefly behind to cover them. Just as they reached the doorway, a bullet hit the doorjamb near Alexi’s head and splintered the wood. Another grazed Lang’s left arm, just below the elbow, and took out a small chunk of flesh. He groaned and scrambled inside after them.

They’d heard no shots being fired. Their assailants were using silencers.

The door had barely closed behind them when it was peppered with gunfire. Alexi wrapped her arms around Blayne and brought her roughly down onto the floor.

Blayne got the wind knocked out of her but lay where she was. Alexi’s body shielded her on one side, the counter on the other. She gasped for air, trying not to panic. All of her senses seemed heightened as her mind and body struggled with opposing urges to flee and fight. She felt Alexi’s weight shift slightly to allow her to catch her breath.

“You all right, Theo?” Alexi asked in a low voice when the shooting subsided. A dark stain was blooming around the neat bullet hole in the arm of his coat.

“Not serious.” He scrambled forward and crouched beneath the front window.

“Where is the helicopter?”

“Just over the rise behind us.” Theo risked a quick glance outside from one corner of the window. “You can’t see it from here, but it’s not far. The pilot is Chicago P.D. When we fire back, the shots will bring him in.”

“He knows the situation?” Alexi asked.

“Enough to tell the good guys from the bad guys.” Theo seemed about to say something else when one of the rear windows suddenly burst inward in a shower of glass, and they all hugged the floor again as the shooting resumed.

Chunks of wood from the back door flew through the air to land all around them. More bullets pierced the front door. Determined they would walk out of here,  Alexi curled protectively around Blayne’s back and signaled Theo. A brown-haired man in a dark winter jacket was poised just outside the porch door, gun in hand, intently focused on who might be lurking just inside the screen.

Theo raised his weapon and fired twice through the window, but the thick double panes deflected the bullets and the man ducked down out of sight, unhurt. He met Alexi’s eyes and shook his head. His bullets left large holes and spider-web cracks in the glass above his head.

Two more large caliber bullets came through the back door. One shattered the ceramic base of a lamp, three feet from Blayne and Alexi.

Theo’s shots will be heard across the lake, so the gunmen will need to finish this fast. Alexi figured there were probably no more than four of them, since she had seen only one car outside. She had to take pre-emptive action. She could not wait until they shot their way in. Her body was energized and her senses were on hyper-alert, analyzing every detail of her surroundings while she considered avenues of escape and likely scenarios.

“When I tell you…go around the counter, and lie flat, up against it,” she instructed Blayne in a low voice. Their bodies were snuggled tight together, her breasts pressed against Blayne’s back, her face in the curve of Blayne’s shoulder. It was one of her favorite positions when she was fucking someone with a dick, and that familiar body memory flashed into her head when Blayne half-turned so that their cheeks met and pressed against each other.

She shoved the image out of her mind as quickly as it had intruded, pushed it out with a fierce determination. Thinking like that will get you both killed. Focus. They were in a lull between shots. She knew it would not last.

“Go!” she told Blayne, shielding her as she moved around the counter.

Once Blayne was lying flat, she took up a position next to the rear window that had been shattered.

Before she exposed herself to get a look, she listened.

It took a few seconds to filter sounds over the pounding of her heart and the other ambient noise—the faint hum of the refrigerator ten feet away. Then she heard it. A very subtle metallic tapping, just outside. It lasted only a few seconds. The nervous tapping of a ring against the handle of a gun, perhaps. Human, whatever it was. And so close she knew someone was standing directly through the wall. She raised her pistol until it barely cleared the lower left corner of the window and fired three times, angling the gun slightly with each shot, knowing at least one of the bullets would find a target. A heavy thud of impact confirmed that a body had hit the ground, and she heard a long groan.

Alexi listened intently for several seconds, but could hear no further noise from outside and risked a quick glance up. A flash of movement in the woods warned her and she darted out of the way as a bullet whizzed by and sank into the wall behind her. She was back up and firing almost at once, but the man was gone, concealed behind the side of the cabin that had no windows and no door. Eight bullets left.

Theo was alternately keeping an eye on the front of the cabin, and on the rear. His vantage point allowed him a clear view of anything passing by the window Alexi was crouched beneath. Alexi had to split her attention three ways—on her own window, on Theo’s, across the cabin to her left. And on Blayne, to her right.

Cinzano’s men hit both the front and back of the cabin almost at once. Alexi saw movement in the window above her boss’s head and fired. Theo reacted by darting out from beneath. In that moment, as they were both distracted, one of Cinzano’s men leaned into the window above Alexi’s head.

“Alexi! Watch out!” Blayne screamed, and Alexi reacted on instinct, whirling about and firing blindly, hitting the man in the chest just as he pulled the trigger of his gun. The bullet flew by so near Alexi’s ear that she swore she heard it, ricocheted off the metal refrigerator, and broke a coffee mug on the counter above Blayne’s head, as cleanly as if it had been a trick shot in an old wild west movie.

Cinzano’s man slumped over the windowsill and his gun, a Beretta 92F, equipped with a silencer, slipped from his hand onto the floor. Alexi snatched it up and quickly checked the magazine. There were nine bullets remaining.

It was poetic justice, she decided, as she hefted the familiar weight of the 9mm pistol. The same model had been taken from her a year earlier by the same kind of killers, the night she’d failed to save Sofia Galletti. It wasn’t going to happen again.

Two shots were fired from outside her window, audible shots this time, neither apparently aimed at the cabin or its occupants. She darted a glance outside. Fifty feet away, at the edge of the woods, a man in a navy jumpsuit took aim at a clump of thick shrubbery next to the cabin and fired.

“The cavalry has arrived.” Alexi watched the pilot take another shot. He had one of the assailants pinned down. This was their chance. “We have to make a move. Your pilot is keeping at least one of them busy.”

Theo sized up the situation. “How about I go out the back, shooting? He’ll cover me until I get to the trees. We draw them toward the chopper while you get Keller out the front and to the car.”

“Yes, good. I will give you a head start and cover you from the window. One second.” Alexi darted over to where she had dropped the bag containing the money and their passports and slung it securely over her back. “Blayne, get ready to move. When we go out the front, stick close to me. Fast and low, right to the car.”

“I understand.” Blayne got into a semi-crouch.

Theo hustled to the back door and signaled Alexi. She hurried back to the window and leaned out, firing toward the corner of the cabin to provide cover as Theo ran.

The exchange of gunfire started in earnest and as soon as he’d reached the pilot, Alexi ducked and scrambled to the front door, urging, “Now, Blayne.”

The command was unnecessary, for Blayne was already moving in a low crouch around the counter to join her.

Alexi cracked open the door and stepped onto the porch, keeping low. She detected no movement, no sound, and could see no figures among the trees. The car was parked twenty feet away, under a huge oak. A gun in each hand, she gestured Blayne forward and they crept to the door of the porch, then burst out and bolted for the car.

They were halfway there before Alexi realized someone was shooting at them. She never heard the shot, but just ahead of them the Prizm’s front window suddenly cracked. Still running, she whirled around and returned fire toward the point of origin.

Blayne dove through the front passenger door, and Alexi threw open hers and followed suit. Another bullet tore a hole in the front window, now so crowded with cracks it was difficult to see through.

“Stay down!” Alexi ordered, as she grappled for the car keys.

Another bullet hit the car, this time the front grill. Alexi glimpsed tell-tale metal in the trees and was able to pinpoint the shooter. She rolled down her window and fired, left-handed, with the Beretta. Once, twice, and the man went down.

She slammed the key into the ignition, and started to turn it, and only then did it register that something was different. Even with the bag of money on her back, she knew. She was sitting a bit too far forward. She froze.

“Out!” She hissed at Blayne. “Out of the car! Now!” She opened her door.

“What?” Blayne, not comprehending, looked up at Alexi from her hunched position, half on the floor and half on the passenger seat.

“Out! The car has been rigged!”

Alexi was already around to Blayne’s side of the car before she was all the way out. She tugged her several feet into the woods and down behind a massive log, where they paused, both of them breathing hard.

“How do you know the car is rigged?” Blayne asked.

“The seat had been moved.” Alexi scanned the woods around them.  Intermittent gunfire could still be heard on the other side of the cabin, getting farther away by the moment.

“We need to get to the helicopter before they take off,” Alexi decided aloud. “The long way around.”

She had scarcely spoken the words before an enormous explosion shook the ground under their feet, and a fireball almost as big as the cabin itself shot up from the top of the ridge, spewing thick black smoke into the clear blue sky. It could only be the helicopter. Ela gamoto! Theo.

With the pilot and Theo presumably dead, Alexi knew their assailants would be hunting them down to finish the job.

“Come with me.” She grabbed Blayne’s hand and pulled her to her feet and down the two-track driveway. Once they reached the dark sedan, Alexi put bullets in two of the tires with the Beretta, grateful for the silencer. They then cut through the woods toward the lake as fast as they could run.

“There! Down there!” Alexi heard a man shout just as they were about to board the fishing boat she had rented. She whirled around and saw two goons, similarly dressed in dark, nondescript jackets and jeans, running full tilt in their direction, guns blazing.

“Get in!” She tried to shield Blayne’s body with her own as she raised her guns to return fire. But before she got a chance to squeeze either trigger, she heard Blayne cry out and a sudden splash soaked her as Blayne toppled into the water.  Oh God. She’s been hit.

A bullet tore past her into the boat, inches from her feet. She returned fire with both guns, forcing the mobsters to dive for cover behind trees. As they did, she jumped into the boat and reached for Blayne, who was resurfacing just beside it.

“Are you hit?” she asked frantically, still firing intermittently with her free hand. She had lost count, but she knew she had to be nearly out of ammo in both guns.

“No.” Blayne threw both arms over the edge of the boat. “Fucking lost my balance when a bullet clipped the boat as I was getting in. Sorry.” She hauled herself aboard with Alexi’s help.

Alexi pulled the trigger of her Sig-Sauer as the two assailants came out of hiding and started toward them again, but the magazine was empty. “Start the boat and get us out of here,” she told Blayne as she tossed her service pistol aside and reached for the Beretta.

She raised the weapon, praying it had a round or two left. Blayne started the motor and gunned the boat forward. Alexi’s aim was impaired by the forward lurch of the boat and there were only two bullets, but her return fire managed to gain the time they needed to speed out of range.

“I will take over now.” She laid a hand on Blayne’s shoulder and knew instantly that getting her warm and dry had to be high on their priority list. She was soaked to the skin and shivering badly. The water was still as icy as mid-winter, and she was lucky she had only been in it for seconds. But first, they had to get a car.

As Blayne sagged into the nearest seat, Alexi said, “When we get to the lodge, I am going to commandeer another vehicle. We have to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“No argument from me.” Blayne hugged herself, trying to keep warm.

“You should be proud of yourself, you know. You did very well back there. Kept your cool. Followed my instructions. And your warning saved my life. You showed a lot of courage.”

Blayne looked up at her. “It means a lot to me that you think so. But you had your body between me and the bullets most of the time.”

Alexi shrugged. “It is what I am paid to do.”

“Thank you anyway. And I mean thank you for everything. I’m sorry I ever mistrusted you.”

“You had good reason to be skeptical.” Alexi gave her an encouraging smile. “I am glad we have the same agenda now.”

Blayne smiled back and gave her a half-salute. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

*

A short while later, after relieving an elderly fisherman of his Subaru Outback, they were traveling east on a badly paved but virtually empty two-lane road, well in excess of the speed limit.

Alexi cranked up the heat, and pointed all the blowers at Blayne. “We will stop soon to get you some dry clothes. I am afraid you will have to take what you can get.”

“Hey, I’m so glad to be alive, I’m far from complaining.” Blayne held her hands up in front of the blowers. That makes four times now I’ve cheated death. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket. “You think Inspector Lang and the pilot are dead?”

Alexi didn’t answer immediately. “I hope not. Will you check the glove compartment please and see if there is a map?”

Blayne pulled out a recent map of Canada and a cell phone. She pointed out the road they were on, and Alexi studied the surrounding area until she found what she was looking for.

“Chapleau. It is not far, and it has an airstrip.” She stepped on the gas.

“Airstrip? Surely you don’t mean for us to get on another plane.”

Alexi glanced across at her passenger, who was chewing nervously on her lower lip. God, what nice lips she has. They look so soft. “Blayne, we have to put a lot of distance between us and these guys, and quickly. My plan is the best way.”

“I just can’t imagine it.” The thought of getting on an airplane sent Blayne’s stomach into a roll and her heart rate into the stratosphere. Images of the gaping hole in the Airbus flooded her brain. She started to hyperventilate, but Alexi put a hand on her shoulder, and that had an immediate calming effect.

“I know it will be difficult. But it has to be done.” Alexi didn’t withdraw the hand for a long moment. She had the irresistible urge to caress Blayne’s back. To reassure her, she told herself. The human touch has a calming effect. But she knew she was kidding herself. Any excuse to touch her, that was the real story. She resisted the urge.

“I know what you say is true…” Blayne couldn’t look at Alexi, afraid that any movement she made might end the touch that anchored her. That made her feel less vulnerable. “But the thought of flying again so soon just terrifies me, I have to admit. I don’t know that I can do it.”

The words spilled out of Alexi before she really thought about them. “I will find ways to keep you distracted, I am certain. Whatever it takes.”

Blayne snorted and looked down at her feet. “It will take more than backgammon.” She hated showing such weakness in front of Alexi, who had just called her courageous. Not very brave now. She was on the same plane I was, but she’s not hesitating to do it again.

“Like I said…” Alexi repeated.

The hand that had been on Blayne’s shoulder moved to her chin, coaxing her into eye contact.

Somehow Alexi kept her attention on the road but also made sure her gaze steadied Blayne. “Whatever it takes,” she said in her most provocative tone. She would suffer for this, she knew, but she was also certain it was probably the best way to get Blayne on that plane. “Do you not think I am capable of maintaining your full attention?”

Blayne swallowed hard. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. A warm rush of arousal caused by the look in Alexi’s eyes immediately dulled her fear of flying. “Uh…that would be no problem for you, I’m sure.”

Alexi smiled and placed both hands back on the wheel. “Good. So, tell me. Have you ever been to Europe before?”

*

Theo Lang winced as the doctor finished stitching the cut in his chin. Despite the anesthetic, his jaw hurt like a son of a bitch. It was bothering him more at the moment than his broken arm or fractured ribs, all the result of being blown ten feet in the air when the helicopter exploded. All things considered, though, he was lucky. The pilot could run faster, so he’d been several feet closer to the chopper when the mobsters hit the gas tank. He’d suffered third-degree burns in addition to a concussion and several broken bones.

“All right, Mr. Lang. That does it. We’ll get you moved to a bed in ICU soon.”

“Need to make a phone call,” Theo slurred through what remained of his teeth. His jaw was wired shut so telling people what he wanted was a challenge.

The doctor raised a couple of half-hearted objection, but within minutes, Theo was connected to his superior, an Assistant Director of the U.S. Marshals Office in Arlington, Virginia. The nurse held the phone to his ear.

His attempt to identify himself  came out Heeo Ang the first time so he said it twice, enunciating as best as he could. “I’m in a hospital.”

When his boss acknowledged that he understood, Theo grated slowly, “Narrowed the leak to three men,” he said. “Harry Granger, Erik Riker, or Paul Fletcher.”

*

I should not have to be the one to report such bad news, Frankie Sloan thought to himself. Two of their guys dead and two cops injured. They were plainclothes, but he was sure that’s what they were—that would bring the heat in on this, big time. And worst of all, the broad got away. He would have to be the one to make the call because Rosco Rosetti , the only other survivor of this nightmare piece of work had refused to, and he was scared of Rosco. But he was even more afraid of the boss.

At least he knew how the two women had gotten out of there. When he and Rosco made it to the lodge parking lot to hotwire a new ride, they’d run into an old man all bent out of shape that two broads had taken his brand new Outback and the police still hadn’t showed. Frankie pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

*

“Oh no. No way.” Blayne gazed around the airstrip, a primitive facility with two asphalt runways and a pair of windsocks. There was nothing like a building or hangar or fuel depot, just a few feeble looking small planes untidy parked, one angled behind the next. . “You’re out of your mind. I’m not getting in one of those flying shoeboxes. The wind blows wrong and they can come down.”

Alexi studied the small prop planes parked off to the side, and optimistically noted that one had printing on the side. “They are just as safe as larger aircraft,” she said, hoping it was true. “WITSEC uses small planes frequently and has never had a problem. Besides, I only plan on us taking one as far as Toronto.”

She parked the Outback as close as she could get, and grabbed the cell phone out of the glove box before heading toward the single-engine Cessna Skyhawk. Blayne stayed in the Subaru, shaking her head.

The sign on the plane read “Cochran Charters. Fishing, Hunting, Sporting Adventures,” and gave a local phone number. Alexi dialed it on the cell. “Hello. Are you available for an immediate flight for two to Toronto if I can pay in cash?”

“The pilot is meeting us in an hours’ time,” she told Blayne after making rapid arrangements for the charter. They had time to pick up a quick lunch and clean clothes, and for Alexi to tie up some loose ends. She knew she would likely have problems at customs if she tried to get on a plane with all the cash she had on her, so she stopped at a bank to arrange a wire transfer to one of her U.K. accounts.

Though she had lost her American passport in the explosion, she still had her Greek passport—locked in the safe in her office in Thessaloniki. She would need it to access her accounts, and it would be a much better passport to use for European travel.

She also needed a weapon overseas, since she could not take her own with her on the plane without proper identification. So she called her administrative assistant and asked her to book a two-bedroomed suite at a hotel in London, and to express her passport there, along with a copy of her WITSEC credentials and the Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum revolver she kept in her safe. She would call back to check on the arrangements as soon as they landed.

Her next call, to Canadian authorities, was to ensure that the Outback was returned to its owner. She also alerted them to the two guns they would find inside. The final call she made was to the lodge, where she learned from the manager that two men had been taken by ambulance to the hospital.

“I am certain that is Theo and the pilot,” she told Blayne as she returned the cell phone to the Subaru glove compartment. “The men I hit were dead, and the other two were certainly healthy-looking when they were shooting at us.”

Blayne didn’t reply beyond a nervous nod.

“You can do this,” Alexi said, sensing she needed reassurance. “It is just a few hours, and then we will be well out of their reach. You will be safe until the trial.”

“I always wanted to get to Europe,” Blayne said. “I just never thought it would be this way. I was saving for a trip to Fiji.”

“Ah, I see. The envelope of money you had?”

“Yes.”

“Why Fiji? If I might ask?” Alexi was happy that Blayne seemed to be coming to terms with the idea of getting on another plane. Truth was, she wasn’t any too anxious to be back in the air herself, but she had decided her plan was a good one. Provided there was an aircraft parked at the small airport they were headed to.

“Blue water, great beaches, warm sun, lazy days,” Blayne mused. “And some really hot bodies to stare at all day.”

Alexi laughed. “Actually, you have just described my homeland, and it has much more to offer than that, in my opinion. It is also more affordable.”

“Well, I must admit I did look longingly at pictures of Greece whenever I’d book a trip there for somebody else,” Blayne admitted. “Beautiful place.”

“That it is.”

“That where we’re going?” Blayne asked hopefully.

“You never know where we might end up. We will see what destinations are available.” She raised a hand in brief salute to an apple-cheeked man with a thick growth of salt-and-pepper beard. Their Cessna pilot, she assumed.

He yawned as though he had just rolled out of bed, which did not help Blayne’s confidence in him one bit. “Jesus, Alexi, I just don’t know about this,” she said under her breath.

“We’re going to be fine. No one has two air emergencies in one week. It’s a statistical impossibility.”

She said it with such confidence, Blayne could force her legs to climb the steps up. But as they buckled in, her hands shook, and she couldn’t seem to think of anything—picture anything—but the sight of the enormous hole in the Airbus as they walked to the ambulance.

Alexi reached over and interlaced her fingers with Blayne’s. It seemed a natural thing to do.

Grateful for the contact, Blayne closed her eyes and tried to take deep, even breaths. How is it that you can keep me calm in the chaos when nothing else helps?

For a very long while, it had seemed as though her attraction to Alexi had been entirely physical—sparked by Alexi’s fabulous body and beautiful, classic features. Her smile, her eyes. That undeniable, simmering sexuality so well hidden most of the time. It sure gave her ideas. Lots of ideas. She had imagined them in all sorts of positions, doing all manner of things to each other.

But this latest attempt on her life had shown her that the feelings she was developing went far beyond just the physical. She respected and admired Alexi for her constant strength and quiet courage. Her resourcefulness and determination. And her thoughtful kindness, too, at moments like this.

Alexi’s mysterious and taciturn ways had been intriguing in the beginning. But more and more, Blayne really wanted to get to know the woman beneath the tough exterior. And she wanted Alexi to trust her in the way that she had come to trust Alexi. I know that everything she does for me is her job. But I think it’s also personal with her. I can see it there, sometimes. God, I hope it is. I hope it’s not just wishful thinking.

Alexi squeezed her hand, as though in affirmation of her thoughts, and she smiled at the timing. “Better?” she asked.

Blayne opened her eyes and smiled at her. “Yes. Better. Thank you.”

Alexi smiled back. “My pleasure. Better for me, too.”

Blayne wanted to say something else, something that expressed how thankful she was and how lucky she felt, and maybe even that she’d been a fool. She’d been uncharacteristically rude and obnoxious to a woman who had gone beyond the bounds of any job just to keep her safe. But she had trouble finding the right words and they were taking off, and it was all she could do to breathe. Instead of thinking about their wheels leaving the earth, she centered her thoughts on the woman next to her, drawing on her strength and taking comfort in her tenderness.

She didn’t want to think about the future, or the next hurdle, or the people chasing them. She just wanted to exist in the now, feeling like her hand belonged in Alexi’s.

Chapter Seventeen

“I need a distraction,” Blayne leaned toward Alexi as she said this, so the remark carried a certain intimacy. “Show me what you got.”

Alexi looked momentarily stunned. “Could you repeat the question?”

“I believe distraction is your department, isn’t it? You did say whatever it takes. I have those words burned into my memory,” Blayne reminded her.

Alexi cleared her throat, considering a response. I knew I should never have said that. What the hell was I thinking? At least Blayne had waited until they had finished their meal. The lights in first class had been dimmed and the beds made up for those intending to sleep.

“Well?” Blayne demanded playfully. She was actually much more relaxed than she thought she would be, thanks to a couple of drinks, a nice meal, and the comfort of blankets, pillows, slippers, even pajamas if she wanted to embarrass herself. The complimentary amenity kit included an eye mask she had no intention of using. While sleeping might be one way to make the flight go faster, she was not about to waste time that could be spent collecting on Alexi’s promise.

“Yes, I did say that.” Alexi forced herself not to squirm. She didn’t dare look at Blayne. From her seductive tone of voice, she knew what she would see in her eyes. And she didn’t know if she could stand looking at that for the next several hours without touching her. “And I am a woman of my word. So what did you have in mind?”

Blayne threw a blanket over Alexi, grateful there were few other flyers in first class and that the pod style seating screened the passengers from one another. She and Alexi had one of several pairs of seats designed for couples traveling together. But the airline wasn’t taking any chances. If togetherness lost its charm, you only had to hit a button and a privacy screen rolled up.

Beneath the blanket, she put her hand on Alexi’s thigh, halfway between her knee and groin. “This would sure distract me. How ‘bout you?”

Despite her best intentions to remain unaffected, Alexi could not help but jump at the touch. Then she immediately took Blayne’s hand in hers, to keep it from moving any farther up her thigh. With her other hand, she gripped the armrest so tightly she was afraid she might tear it right off.

“This is…” Completely unfair. Totally impossible. Excruciatingly wonderful. Damn it all to hell.

“This is…?” Blayne leaned over the divider between them and snuggled in until her breast was pressing against Alexi’s arm and her face was just a few inches from Alexi’s ear. “Cozy? Inviting? Overdue?” she whispered seductively.

“I was going to say…this is…” Alexi struggled for some neutral response. “A good time for you to rest,” she managed weakly.

Blayne laughed. “Yeah, right. That’s exactly what you were thinking.” She planted a soft, lingering kiss on Alexi’s cheek. “Liar.”

Alexi didn’t move. Her mind seemed to suddenly desert her, leaving her body to fend for itself. And her body was welcoming Blayne’s advances and urging her on.

“I know you’re attracted to me,” Blayne whispered in her ear. “I can tell you want me as much as I want you, no matter what you say.” She punctuated this statement by sucking on Alexi’s earlobe.

“Blayne,” Alexi said hoarsely, “You…” You do not know how right you are. You turn me on so damn much I cannot complete a sentence. “You…cannot.” It was a half-hearted response, lacking any sort of conviction whatsoever.

“Oh, yes, I can, and so can you.” Blayne ran her tongue lightly along Alexi’s neck. “You said whatever it takes to keep me distracted. All you have to do is just sit back and enjoy. At least for now.”

Alexi had no power to stop her growing arousal. Nor could she manage to say or do anything to discourage Blayne’s mouth from what it was doing. Her body wanted to move of its own accord, lean into Blayne’s touch, and most of all…she wanted to touch Blayne back. Meet those lips with her own. It was taking every ounce of willpower for her not to respond, and she had no idea how she was going to be able to keep this up for several more hours.

Without warning, Blayne’s hand slid from beneath hers, moving firmly up her thigh, higher now, dangerously within reach. She trembled, every nerve ending on edge. Christ. As her breathing quickened she could feel Blayne’s smile against her neck.

She couldn’t help herself. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as Blayne’s hand moved deliberately, slowly, fingers spread to touch the greatest area possible. Just for a moment, let me feel this. Enjoy this.  Then I will stop her. But just for a moment. The tantalizing strokes traveled down her thigh, then up the inseam of her pants, before skimming over her sex with frustratingly little pressure and beginning the same route again. At the same time, Blayne’s teeth nipped lightly at her neck, and her tongue wetly claimed the pulse point at the base of her throat.

One pass of Blayne’s hand, then two. Three. Each elicited a subtle lifting of her hips to meet it. She is going to make me come if she keeps this up. Her mind was hazy, out of control, in full surrender to Blayne’s touch.

A soft chime penetrated her consciousness and forced her eyes open. The passenger in the window seat ahead of them, to the right, had summoned the flight attendant and she was already heading their way. Alexi sat up abruptly, distancing herself from Blayne’s mouth as she snapped back to full awareness. Her hand stopped Blayne’s, with more conviction this time.

She was breathing heavily, so intently aroused she had trouble focusing.  Too close. That was way too close. Gamoto, what this woman can do to me.

As the flight attendant exchanged words with the passenger, Blayne leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You can’t seriously tell me you want me to stop.”

Alexi’s jaw clenched when she felt Blayne’s warm breath against her face. Her body was throbbing, and there was only one thing to be done. “Excuse me,” she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice. Rising hurriedly, she slipped past the flight attendant, grateful to find an unoccupied restroom a few rows ahead.

Once she’d locked the door on temptation, she stared at herself in the mirror. The extent of her need was written on her face so clearly it startled her. The plane shifted slightly in a small bit of turbulence, and she spread her legs to steady her balance. Still breathing heavily, she quickly undid her pants and used her left hand to brace herself against the sink, while her right brought her body the only satisfaction possible. It was quick, and necessary, and not nearly enough. It was Blayne’s hand she wanted to be getting her off, not her own.

She washed up, and decided to wait until her breathing had calmed before venturing back to her seat. In those moments with herself, she berated her weakness, and vowed never again to allow Blayne to get her to the point of no return.

*

It took Blayne several long seconds to fully comprehend that Alexi was gone. Had left her high and dry just as things were finally getting interesting. Well, not so dry, actually. Alexi was halfway up the aisle before it really registered, because Blayne was nearly intoxicated by desire and had successfully blotted out much of where they were and who was around them. By the time she figured out what was happening, Alexi was too far away for her to raise a protest without disturbing the few other passengers in the quiet cabin. Fuck. She knew damn well what Alexi was about to do. And that certain knowledge was the final straw.

When Alexi had unexpectedly begun to relax under her caresses, had closed her eyes and accepted what she was doing without argument, Blayne’s body had come alive, every cell tingling with anticipation. The first time she tasted that soft, bronzed skin, her heart began to pound. And each time that Alexi’s hips rose slightly to meet her touch, her own arousal redoubled.

So by the time they were interrupted, Blayne was already close to the edge, ready to explode herself, just from the thrill of finally being able to touch Alexi. And now this. She can’t do this to me! She’s going to come back all spent and satisfied and leave me frustrated. I just know that she is. Fuuuck.

Alexi had been gone only a short while before Blayne decided that she wasn’t about to be left stranded like that. Two can play at that game. She headed up the aisle herself and into the vacant lavatory opposite the one Alexi had claimed.

God damn it. So close. It was patently inhumane, she decided, to get that aroused and then have to stop. She knew Alexi wanted her. She studied her reflection as she unzipped her jeans. I have to admit, I wear that just-rolled-out-of-bed look pretty well. She had that heavy-lidded, sexually-charged look of someone who had already been laid, and happily so, but the reality, however, was altogether different. She was desperate to come.

She unfastened her pants and let them fall to her knees, unwilling to encounter any further obstructions to her release. She used both hands, one to knead her breasts roughly, tugging at the nipples…and the other to slide into the wetness that had formed between her legs when she had run her fingers over Alexi’s sex.

Damn, that was hot. She closed her eyes and imagined her hand was back on Alexi, continuing in that seductive circle along her thigh. And she tried to tell herself that the hand she felt giving her pleasure was Alexi’s hand. That is what she wanted. No, needed. It had gone beyond want a long time ago.

But her body just wouldn’t believe her mental promptings.

She only succeeded in perhaps slightly increasing her arousal factor, and at great cost in terms of her frustration level. It was nice. It was pleasant. But she couldn’t come, no matter how much she wished for it. No matter what formerly foolproof technique she tried. It only left her wanting more.

She washed and pulled her pants up, and took another look at herself in the mirror. That hazy look of desire had been replaced by the restless, vacant stare of a caged animal.  Damn, do I need to get off.

In the lavatory across the aisle, Alexi took a deep breath and studied her reflection one last time. Better. Certainly a radical departure from the look she had come in with. To all outward appearances, she was her old self, a passable deception. Though she’d achieved what she’d come in for, her body still vibrated with need. The need to touch Blayne, to control her climb to ecstasy, to make her body thrill with want, to watch her come.

That was one need that had no chance of ever being satisfied. And that realization made her much sadder than she would have dreamed possible. She took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and opened it…to find Blayne just exiting the restroom opposite hers.

Their eyes met, and they both froze.

The look on Blayne’s face threatened to implode Alexi’s fragile composure. Oh please, Christ, do not do this to me. There was a hunger in her eyes, a hunger Alexi wanted desperately to satisfy. It was that unmistakable look that a woman gets when she is close to the precipice, wet with excitement, when nothing in the world matters but coming.

More than anything, Alexi wanted to pull Blayne into her cramped lavatory cubicle and quench the thirst that consumed the both of them. Push her up against the wall and hold her there with her body until neither could breathe.

But that would never do. She tried to force the image from her mind, but her body didn’t want to let go.

Blayne stepped across the aisle, eyes boring into hers. She looked neither left or right, not caring if they were overheard. “Tell me…” she said, clearly annoyed, “How the hell you can look as though you don’t feel what I know you’re feeling?”

“We should return to our seats now,” Alexi said, keeping her voice even. “With a firm resolve on both of our parts not to let anything like that happen again.”

Blayne took a half-step nearer until she was invading Alexi’s personal space. Her eyes never left Alexi’s. “Dream on.”

Blayne’s proximity and that damned look in her eyes was unraveling Alexi’s composure. She reached out, grabbed Blayne’s upper arm, and steered her toward their seats. “Go,” she said in a low voice. “We cannot attract too much attention.”

“This is not over,” Blayne whispered.

Alexi sighed. It never is.

*

Vittorio Cinzano drummed his fingers on the table, staring with disdain at the cocky guard watching over him, memorizing his face. Smile, asshole. Keep smiling. I’ll shove your teeth down your throat myself.

Florio would get some of his anger as well, for making him wait. Which was no problem. He certainly had plenty of it to go around these days.

The door to the small meeting room opened and the attorney entered, carrying a briefcase. He nodded respectfully at Vittorio. The guard stepped out, and Florio took the seat opposite his boss.

“Better have some good news for me, Michael. I am done with waiting.”

“I have,” Florio said hastily. “We have a judge who understands our situation, and a favorable decision is expected today or tomorrow.”

Cinzano smiled for the first time in many days. “And the other?”

“Progress there, too. We have them at the Toronto airport. I should know more on that soon.”

“Excellent, Michael. You keep your job for another day.”

*

So damn stubborn, Alexi concluded, watching over Blayne as she slept. You will be my undoing, I suspect. With your absolute refusal to be deterred.

When they had returned to their seats, Alexi had resolutely reached for her earphones and selected a movie, and then encased her body in one of the white British Air duvets, more to ward off further intimate touches than to fend off any chill. Her body temperature needed no assistance on that score.

Blayne had tried to start things up again, with suggestive looks and straying hands and none-too-subtle propositions, but Alexi had firmly ignored her, pretending complete absorption in the movie. Obviously aggrieved, Blayne had folded her arms across her chest and pouted for several minutes. And then finally she had turned her seat into a bed and succumbed to sleep.

Alexi remained awake, keeping vigil over her charge, and thought about what she needed to do once they got to London. She knew the city well, and would be grateful to be back in familiar territory. First, a call to her assistant, then to the hotel to pick up her passport and gun. A stop at the bank, for some ready cash. Then some shopping for clothes and other necessities.

She knew that Blayne would be jet-lagged when they arrived, but she was not about to let her nap when they got to the hotel.  She wanted Blayne dead tired when they retired to their rooms for the evening, so out of it she would crash for several hours.

Because Alexi had plans for some company that night, a London lady friend who could hopefully accomplish what masturbation had not. Get her mind off fucking Blayne and back onto protecting her.

Chapter Eighteen

“I just want to get out and walk around and explore.” Blayne’s face was nearly pressed up against the taxi window as they drove by Trafalgar Square.

Alexi had told the driver take a long circuitous route to their hotel in Knightsbridge, so that Blayne could get her first glimpse of some of the major monuments she’d been looking forward to seeing. Big Ben and Parliament, Winchester Cathedral and St. Paul’s.

Though the language was familiar and the culture similar, Blayne was immediately fascinated by her first taste of Europe. Everything was very different. The road signs and automobiles, the sights and sounds, and the surreal quality of driving on the left side.

“Let us check in at the hotel first,” Alexi said. “I have identification there that will allow me to access my funds. That way we can combine sightseeing with shopping. I do not know about you, but I am ready for a change of clothes and I know some great places here, starting with Harrods. Nothing much they do not have.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Blayne agreed. “Can we go by Buckingham Palace? Oh! And the British Museum?”

Alexi smiled. “Wherever you like.” I want you absolutely exhausted when you turn in tonight.

Her assistant had booked them a spacious, airy suite at the Henry David, and at Alexi’s request had arranged for fresh flowers, a fruit basket and assorted chocolates to be waiting for them. There were plush terry robes and matching slippers, a full line of complimentary toiletries, and an impressively stocked refrigerator/bar.

“This is unbelievable.” Blayne opened the French doors to the balcony and stepped out to appreciate their view of the greenery of Hyde Park. The balcony was surrounded by ornate cast iron, and furnished with a breakfast table and two reclining lounge chairs. “I’ve certainly never stayed in a hotel anywhere near this plush.” So damn romantic. What a waste.

She wished this could all be easier. It was hard to stay angry with Alexi. Even though she still felt intensely frustrated, and on some level rejected, Blayne could see Alexi was only trying to behave responsibly. The threat to her life was real and immediate, yet she’d done nothing but distract Alexi almost from the start. There was no denying the attraction she felt, and she was pretty sure the feeling was mutual, but she had allowed it to become a game she wanted to win, a competition to see whose will was stronger. All she’d succeeded in doing was making it essential for Alexi to resist her.

She had to change that, Blayne decided. It was time to let Alexi do her job and appreciate her for what she was already giving, instead of trying to force her to give more. She had no right to complain about Alexi’s behavior, Blayne thought with a trace of shame. Alexi had helped erase a great deal of her fear and anxiety, and had made their escape together feel more like a vacation adventure than a run for their lives. In fact, Alexi had spoiled her from the moment they arrived in Toronto and boarded their flight.

At first Blayne had assumed she was receiving some kind of special treatment from WITSEC.  As she and Alexi settled into their comfortable, wide leather seats and a flight attendant instantly arrived to take their drink orders, Blayne remarked, “This is really nice. Why didn’t WITSEC fly me first class the last time?”

“The government does not fly people first class, as a rule.”

“Didn’t think so. Why now?”

“Well, you have been through one ordeal after another. And the worst was aboard a plane. I know it is taking a lot for you to do this, though you are concealing it pretty well.”

Blayne studied Alexi’s face. She didn’t want to think at all about that flight, but it was unavoidable and looking at Alexi, against this backdrop, she couldn’t help but recall in vivid detail the moments before the explosion.

“That bomb didn’t get me because I was preoccupied with you, you know… I stopped in the aisle because you were looking at me.” Blayne remembered the moment when their eyes met. She could have sworn she felt something special in that exchange. Something more than just Alexi recognizing her as a WITSEC witness.

Alexi looked as though she was about to respond, but the flight attendant had interrupted them with the customary seat belt, oxygen mask, and life-vest speech, and two minutes later they were taxiing down the runway.

“You hide everything a little too well, in my opinion,” Blayne said carefully. “Tell me, are you nervous about flying again?”

“Of course,” Alexi replied. “It was a terrible experience. But right now, we are a lot safer up here than we are down there.”

“Looking back, I guess it’s not such a bad thing I was knocked out during part of it.”

Alexi was silent for a few seconds, then said, “I am glad you were not seriously injured.”

Now, many hours later, Blayne thought about that statement. She wished there was some personal sentiment behind it, but she knew Alexi meant it only as a courtesy. She was always courteous, always polite. Always considerate. Like booking them first class seats to London. They couldn’t have been cheap. Neither was the Canadian lodge. And waiting in the U.K. or wherever for the trial instead of some Smalltown, USA was also going to be expensive. She supposed Alexi must have jumped through a lot of bureaucratic hoops to get all this.

Blayne stared out the window of their big black London taxi. “Just how is it that the government is willing to fly me to London first class and put me up in Europe when I haven’t even signed a statement that I’m going to testify? Not that I’m complaining, but I mean, is this where my tax dollars go?”

Alexi couldn’t suppress a half-smile. “Well, not exactly, no. Your tax dollars are not paying for this trip.”

“What is then? Now I’m really curious.”

“Your protection is being privately funded.”

“Privately funded?” Alarm bells went off in Blayne’s mind. The first possibility she considered was that Cinzano himself might be paying Alexi to get her out of the country so that she couldn’t testify against him. No. Impossible. He wants me dead, that’s certainly clear. I can trust her. She felt ashamed of herself for thinking such a thing, even in passing. Alexi had more than proven herself.

Alexi watched a myriad of emotions cross Blayne’s face, and she knew she would have to tell her the truth. Blayne was considering other darker possibilities, that was clear from her suddenly fearful expression. And even if her disappointment about the interlude on the plane was clouding her judgment, she still needed to know her trust was not misplaced.

“Do not worry.” Alexi turned a little more in the capacious back seat of the cab. “I am paying for this trip, and your protection. Most of it, anyway.”

Blayne’s eyes got wide. “You?”

Alexi nodded. “It is not a lot of money to me. So it is nothing to concern yourself about.”

“In other words, you’re wealthy?” Blayne was intrigued by this latest bit of news. Not that money mattered much to her, except maybe as a means to travel occasionally. But she hadn’t gotten the impression that Alexi was some spoiled rich woman. Quite the contrary, really. Although her formal manner and unflagging courtesy suggested a privileged upbringing, she seemed at heart a very down-to-earth woman, generally without pretense.

“Very comfortable, shall we say.” Alexi smiled.

“I figured there had to be money in that sack that Ray gave you.”

“Yes. He is a trusted friend.”

Alexi had a sudden impulse, but before she gave into it she briefly weighed the pros and the cons. She reached into her pocket for one of two thick envelopes of money she had retained, opened it, and began to count out several bills.

“I believe I promised you I would reimburse your savings.” She handed a short stack of notes to Blayne. “It was around four-thousand, was it not?”

“Well, actually, that included the five hundred the FBI gave me,” Blayne said in a low voice as she leafed through the bills. “I had about thirty-six hundred of my own money in there.”

“That is two thousand,” Alexi said. “I will give you the rest once I have made arrangements here in London.”

Blayne hastily split the stack, putting as much as she could comfortably jam into her wallet, and the rest into the left rear pocket of her jeans. “You’re just going to give it to me like this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll use it to take off on you?”

“I hope that you will not.” Alexi put the rest of her money away. “I believe you know now that you are safer with me than alone.”

“Okay, got me there. Certainly can’t deny that,” Blayne admitted.

“I do not want you having to shoplift things because you cannot afford them, especially in a foreign country, where such behavior is often looked upon more harshly than in the United States,” Alexi explained. “And if anything should happen to me, or happen to separate us, I want you to have some resources, since we are so far from all that is familiar to you.”

“It’s quite a show of trust on your part,” Blayne observed.

“You have earned it in recent days.”

“Well, I’m not sure what to say. Except thank you.”

“I advise you to hang on to your money, and let me pay for what we need as we go along.”

“I can live with that.” Blayne could not help but search Alexi’s face for the woman she’d seen emerging from the lavatory during their flight. There was no sign of that brimming desire. Alexi was back to her calm, capable, in-charge self. It was infuriating and frustrating. She wished Alexi would show emotion more often. Excitement. Frustration. Desire. Anything.  Blayne now had proof the feelings were there, even if they were constantly suppressed.

She wondered how she could break through that barrier. Not by running at it headlong. Maybe she would just relax and enjoy, while they were in London. Alexi was great company. The best she’d known, since finding Claudia all those years ago.

Damn it all. Where are you, Claud? I miss you so much. I bet you could tell me what to do about this frustrating but gorgeous U.S. Marshal.

Blayne felt a hand on her shoulder and found Alexi watching her with a concerned expression.

“Are you all right? You got a very sad look on your face, just then.”

Blayne forced a smile. “Thinking about Claudia.”

“You are close?”

“Very. College roommates and best friends. Sisters, really. My only close family—she and her father, I mean—since the fire.” Blayne blinked back tears that sprang up unexpectedly. “I hate not knowing what’s happened to them.”

“It must be very difficult. Especially on top of everything else you have to deal with,” Alexi said. “It would be a great comfort, I know, to share some of your worries with a friend.”

Blayne met her eyes. “You’ve been a great comfort. Much more than that, of course. I don’t know how I could’ve ever come through this alone. I have no problems admitting that now. Sorry I was so stubborn in the beginning.”

“You were following your instincts at self-preservation,” Alexi answered. “That is a good thing.”

“You know, I…I have come to think of you as a friend, Alexi. A trusted friend. I hope that’s okay.”   She studied Alexi’s face, hoping to find it was welcome news and that Alexi didn’t suspect her of some ulterior motive.

But Alexi, as always, was difficult to read, and she didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was exceptionally soft, with an element of uncertainty and vulnerability that was rarely evident. “I am pleased to hear that.”

“Great.”

Alexi blew out a breath and looked out over the park. “Shall we take in some of the sights, then?”

“Love to.”

*

It was eleven-forty, and Frisco was even more hyper than usual, having had his nightly constitutional delayed by his master’s lengthy phone conversation. By the time they finally set off around the block, the Jack Russell was nearly jumping out of his skin, anxious to see what new scents had been delivered to his domain.

They had gone a good distance before a stranger joined the walk and they abruptly veered off of their normal route. Frisco sniffed the air anxiously. He scented fear coming from his master, and that put him on edge as well. He growled protectively.

“Hey, what’s the matter with your dog?”

“Nothing. He gets that way sometimes with strangers. Heel, Frisco.”

“So? Why is it you have not been in contact?”

“It’s too damn risky to be talking to you right now,” Paul Fletcher said. “Besides, apparently you know more than I do.”

“Explain.”

“I just got off the phone with that lodge, and that was the first I heard of what happened up there. Apparently two of your guys got killed, which I’m sure you already know… and my boss got injured, but I haven’t heard that officially. Which means, I’m pretty sure they suspect I’m the leak.”

Despite the chill air, Fletcher had begun to sweat, suddenly even much more alert to their surroundings than he was before, especially to every van and panel truck parked within a reasonable distance.

“That is unfortunate if true,” the stranger said.

“Which is why I haven’t contacted you, and why you shouldn’t be here.”

“We will be in touch. Now go back the way you came.”

Fletcher turned and headed home. He made it only halfway there before a dark sedan cut him off, pulling into a driveway just ahead of him to block his view. Two men he did not recognize got out and reached for their identification badges.

“F.B.I. Paul Fletcher?”

*

Alexi had, at one time or another, seen all of the sights in London that she ever cared to see, having been to the city countless times for business and pleasure. But seeing it all again with Blayne was much more fun than she had imagined it could be. What had started out as a way to exhaust her charge had turned into a day she never wanted to end. Blayne was splendid company, her enthusiasm for every new sight and sound and experience delightfully contagious.

They strolled through the British Museum, admiring Egyptian artifacts and Michelangelo’s drawings, the Rosetta Stone, and Easter Island statue. Next stop, a walk up the Mall to Buckingham Palace to watch the changing of the guard, then a quick jump on the Underground to visit Covent Garden and a variety of shops along Oxford Street, accumulating an increasing number of shopping bags as they went.

Through it all, Blayne remained vibrant and enthusiastic and energized. She seemed different, more relaxed. Alexi was pleased. She had done the right thing by bringing her abroad. The distance had made her feel safer, just as Alexi had intended, and in turn she was less on edge, less determined to prove she could impose her will, in every way. She was so pleasant to be around Alexi nearly forgot why she was trying to wear her out.

When they could carry no more parcels, it was back to the hotel for a quick change before dinner.

“How shall I dress?” Blayne poked eagerly through the multitude of bags and boxes she had scattered all over the plush couch in the living room of their suite.

“Well, if you are up to it, I thought we might catch a play in the West End after dinner.  So I would say dress accordingly. Did you buy some nice evening wear?” Although they had spent hours shopping, Alexi had not seen half of what Blayne had purchased. Often they were each busy with their own selections, and on one or two occasions Blayne had been adamant that she wanted to conduct her own transactions in private. To avoid another shoplifting episode, Alexi was more than happy to oblige.

“I think I can find something appropriate,” Blayne said with an impish grin.

Her expression unnerved Alexi, for it was that same I’ve-got-plans-for-you look that she had on her face during the Tavli game. And she knew how that had ended. With her rushing to her room, desperate to put her hand in her pants. Well, at least tonight, I have someone I can call if she gets me in such a state again.

They retired to their separate bedrooms to change.

Alexi chose a classic but elegant ensemble, the clothes well tailored for her tautly muscled physique. Black dress trousers over black leather boots. A finely-made Italian cotton dress shirt, white, with wide cuffs and a large collar. And to finish the look, her well-loved black leather suit jacket, which had held up amazingly well through all of their traveling.

The white shirt was a nice contrast to her bronze complexion, and the monochrome color scheme made her Aegean blue eyes even more vividly striking. Satisfied, she stepped out into the living room, and stood, transfixed, watching Blayne unobserved as she preened before a full length mirror, turning this way and that, checking her appearance.

Her hair and makeup were flawless. A bit of rouge, some color to her lips and eyes, her coppery short cut styled and primped in a way that framed her face perfectly and made her appear older and even sexier than usual.

But it was the dress that really did Alexi in.

Blayne had chosen a black cocktail gown, low cut to expose a generous display of cleavage and made of a shimmery material that clung to every curve like her body had been poured into it. The hem ended slightly above mid thigh, and a slit up the side left little to the imagination.

To complete the look, she wore a delicate gold necklace with matching earrings, thin gold bracelets, and low black pumps that brought her roughly to Alexi’s height. She looked exquisite, irresistible, and eminently fuckable, and Alexi was not certain how she would survive the night.

As though Blayne could feel someone watching her, she turned in Alexi’s direction, and her smile lit up the room. “You look…just incredible, Alexi. Wow.”

Look who is talking. Oh, you are one seriously dangerous woman, Blayne Keller. Seriously, seriously dangerous. Alexi tried to clear her head to think up an appropriate response, but her body was reacting to the provocative crease of cleavage, the perfect round ass, and definite come-hither expression, all for her.

A self-satisfied smile came over Blayne’s face as she sauntered seductively across the room to meet her. “Like what you see?”

Alexi struggled for a neutral expression as she cleared her throat. “You look very nice.”

“Not so much of a kid now, eh?” Blayne teased. “Isn’t that what you called me?”

Alexi had to smile. “An erroneous assessment, I admit.” You are every bit a grown woman tonight. And if we do not get out in public right this minute, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

She gestured politely toward the door. “Ready to go?”

*

The pain medication had kept him in a semi-drowsy and lethargic state since the explosion, but Theo Lang insisted he be kept informed about the major cases involving his department and the Joint Task Force. So when a nurse roused him at six a.m. to tell him that FBI Special Agent George Dombrowski was on the phone for him, he knew something major had happened and tried his best to focus.

“Lang,” he said through his broken teeth. The nurse held the phone awkwardly, trying not to touch his battered face but keeping it close enough for him to hear.

“Dombrowski here, Theo. We’ve had several major developments. First and foremost, Philippe and Claudia Cluzet have been located and are now in protective custody in Indianapolis.”

“Indianapolis?”

“Yes. Philippe got tipped that Cinzano had a contract out on them both, and he and the daughter took off. They’ve been living in a motel, but his cash finally ran out and he had to use a credit card.”

“Who tipped him?” Theo asked.

“Someone close to Cinzano, but he’s not saying who yet,” Dombrowski reported. “Cluzet is scared. He says he sold part of his building to the mob because they threatened him. But he got to like the money he was scoring from the arrangement, and Martinelli sent business his way. Seems like he made some friends among the wiseguys he made travel arrangements for. We’re still talking to him, but it looks like he’ll have some valuable information for us.”

“Maybe they should be in the program.” Theo spoke slowly, over-enunciating every word. “I can send an Inspector down there any time, so keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

“You got Fletcher yet?” Theo managed. The nurse gave him a weary look and shifted the phone to her other hand.

“Yes. He’s talking his ass off, trying to make a deal. He’s been under the mob’s thumb for more than a year, since he was in your job, but claims he’s been wanting out for a long time. They were paying him big, and we think they may have been blackmailing him with something, but he’s not saying what, yet. He did admit to the leaks. And by the way, he says they forced him to push Alexi Nikolos out of WITSEC after the Sofia Galletti murder.”

That explained a lot. Fletcher probably got demoted because somebody upstairs got wind things weren’t right but had no proof. So there was a connection between their changes of fate after all.

“Did he say why they wanted Nikolos gone?” Theo asked.

“Thought she was learning too much about the family,” Dombrowski said.

“Anything else?” The pain medication was pulling him back to sleep.

Dombrowski hesitated. “Yeah.”

Theo became more alert immediately, sensing the agent had saved the weightiest news till last. “Just say it.”

“Cinzano’s getting sprung this morning,” Dombrowski blurted. “Probably within the next hour or two.”

“Damn,” Theo cursed.

“Also…Keller and Nikolos took a British Air flight from Toronto to London, traveling under forged passports.”

“London! They’re in Europe?” Theo was so agitated by the news it came out Undun! Air in Erip? But Dombrowski was good at translating.

“Yes. We’re starting to call hotels.”

Theo searched his memory. Something about London and Alexi was niggling at him, but the pain medication made it impossible to retrieve it from his memory.

“Mr. Lang.” The nurse scowled.

“Better go,” Lang mumbled, already half asleep. “Ask my secretary to look through Alexi’s personnel file for any known family, friends, or business dealings in the U.K., and to call me with whatever she finds.”

“Will do.” Dombrowski disconnected.

A plan was beginning to take shape in the back of Theo’s mind. Yup. That has definite possibilities.

*

Alexi spent most of dinner trying to look everywhere but at Blayne’s cleavage, counting the minutes until they could leave the all-too-romantic restaurant she’d chosen for the welcome diversion of some theatrical entertainment. But it was impossible to ignore entirely how alluring Blayne was in that delicious second skin of a dress. It accentuated her breasts far too well.

They talked about their day, and the sights they had left to see. “Aren’t you going to call your sister while you’re here?” Blayne asked over dessert. “You did say she lives north of London, didn’t you?”

“In York. Two hours and some by train, three or four by car. And yes, I have considered it. But there is perhaps a risk in contacting her.” Alexi set down her fork. She hadn’t seen her sister in several months, and truthfully would love the opportunity to spend time with her. “Only a slight one, I think, but Cinzano has an unbelievable reach, as evidenced by his ability to put a bomb near your seat. And to find us in Canada. It is possible that he knows that I am with you, and also possible he could track down my family. If by chance he learns we took a plane to London, it is conceivable he might have someone watching my sister, or monitoring her calls.”

Blayne’s eye widened. “You think that’s possible?”

“Anything is possible,” Alexi responded. “Likely? Probably not. But I have to guard against whatever is possible. It is not worth the risk to your safety. Or hers.”

“But I know you’d probably like to see her, wouldn’t you?”

Alexi shrugged. “Another time.”

“You know…” Blayne bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “I find it hard to believe that you can’t come up with a clever way to get word to her somehow…without them knowing it’s you. If they are listening, I mean. Maybe get her to meet us somewhere?”

Alexi leaned back in her chair and was quiet for a long while. A visit with her sister sounded even more attractive than usual right now, though she wasn’t sure why. And it might not be a bad idea to get her away from her house, if indeed it was being watched.  And she knew a way to do it. “That is not a bad suggestion, Blayne.”

She paid their bill and they caught a taxi to Leicester Square, where they scored two seventh-row center seats to Les Miserables at the half-price theater ticket booth. The musical started in a half-hour, and it was only a short walk up Shaftesbury Avenue to the Queen’s Theatre, so they were settled into their seats in plenty of time.

“So have you seen a lot of musical theater?” Alexi asked. The curved seats, normally quite comfortable, were not designed to accommodate weaponry near one’s spine. Her gun was pressing uncomfortably into the small of her back, but she wanted to wait until the lights dimmed to move it.

“Oh, yes, I love it.” Blayne skimmed her program. “I see…saw…a lot of the nationwide touring shows with Claudia, as they came through Chicago.” Thinking of Claud infused sadness into what had been a wonderful day and evening. One of the most memorable in her life, in fact.

Blayne had booked so many trips to London for other people that she knew quite a lot about the attractions of the city. It was like making a dream come true to finally see it all firsthand, and seeing it with Alexi had made the experience all the more special.

They had wonderful chemistry, and Alexi had never looked hotter than she did right now. She sure has a way of wearing her clothes. Blayne had noticed heads turn their way when they entered the restaurant, men and women both, and when they crossed the lobby of the theater to get their tickets. You can’t help but look at her.

And her own black dress had been the perfect choice. Alexi’s gaze had not strayed far from her breasts and ass all night.

The lights dimmed and the show began, but Blayne could not keep her mind entirely on the misfortunes of nineteenth century France with such a beguiling woman so near.

She reached over and took Alexi’s hand in hers, and was immensely pleased that Alexi did not withdraw.

*

Why am I holding her hand? Alexi kept asking herself, only vaguely aware of the singing and dancing now in full swing on the stage. Because it just feels right seemed the only answer that fit, and she didn’t understand that at all. Holding hands was the sort of sentimental twaddle that she never engaged in, unless it was to suit some purpose.

But then again, many of her reactions and responses to Blayne were atypical of her usual behavior. I am developing feelings for this woman, she realized. And I cannot fuck them away like I usually do.

She knew it was her pattern, and she was not apologetic about it. She treated the women she bedded very well. They always had a wonderful time and always wanted more, but they knew from the outset that it was just for an evening. Once she had taken a woman, she could distance herself from her. It was a pleasant act, a nice evening, now concluded. No strings.

With Blayne, there was nothing but denied desire. She had not been able to have sex with her immediately and get her out of her system. And that had made it possible for an attachment to be formed and for feelings to develop.

The realization was extremely unsettling, because Alexi knew those feelings would likely continue to grow the more time they spent together. She was in trouble, and the more she felt for Blayne, the less able she would be to resist Blayne’s constant efforts to seduce her.

We cannot go on like this. She hoped that her plans for later tonight would alleviate the situation somewhat. At the very least, it had to help diffuse the sexual urgency that was making it difficult for her to concentrate on her responsibilities.

Lost in her thoughts, she failed to immediately react when Blayne started moving their enjoined hands. Before she knew it, her fingers were resting on Blayne’s upper thigh, her naked upper thigh, beneath her dress. And Blayne’s hand was atop hers, trapping it there.

Her sex twitched and grew hard. Gamoto.

Blayne shifted slightly so that her hips pushed upward, encouraging firmer contact. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this but despite her good intentions about not pressuring Alexi, she yearned for her.  Alexi’s hand on her thigh was warm, and soft, and unbearably close to where she needed it most. Blayne sucked in a breath and held it. The drumming of her heartbeat was so loud in her ears it played a convincing counterpoint to the rhythm of the music on the stage as she waited to see what Alexi would do.

Lifting her hips once again to press against Alexi’s touch, she half-turned to watch her. Predictably, Alexi’s focus remained fixed on the stage, but the tension in her body was unmistakable. There was no doubt that Blayne was having an effect on the intrepid WITSEC Inspector. The rapid rise and fall of Alexi’s chest was testament to that.

She shifted her hand to edge Alexi’s fingers a few inches closer to the apex of her thighs, and that finally provoked Alexi to turn in her direction.

Despite the dim lighting, Blayne could see the hunger in her eyes. And something else, too. Something that looked like pain.

“Please,” Alexi whispered. “No.”

Blayne leaned toward her until their faces were only a few inches apart. “Please yes,” she answered in a low voice, as she pulled Alexi’s hand still closer and opened her legs a few inches. Alexi had only to extend her fingers and she would be able to touch the evidence of her arousal. Her panties were uncomfortably damp.

Time stood still as she waited for Alexi’s reaction. In the dark silence of a shift between scenes, as the audience waited for the stage lights to come up and the play to resume, she heard Alexi’s rapid, labored breathing, and her heart soared. Yes. Oh, yes. Tonight is definitely the night. God, I will be so ready by the time we get back to the hotel.

But even as the certainty of it sent a shudder of delight through her body, Alexi withdrew her hand and sat up stiffly in her seat.

As the evening continued, Blayne tried to return to the undemanding physical closeness they’d had earlier, but Alexi evaded her attempts at hand-holding and sat statue-like, refusing to acknowledge her. Blayne could tell, however, that her mind was not on the play at all, for she failed to laugh at the clever lines and bits on stage that engaged everyone else, and was noticeably behind in the applause at the end of every scene. She has got to be just as horny as I am. There is just no way that she is not. Maybe she’s just waiting for some privacy.

So, in the taxi going back to the hotel, she still had high hopes that they would only need one of the two bedrooms in their suite tonight. But Alexi dashed those expectations the moment they stepped over the threshold.

“It was a pleasant evening, Blayne. But I am very tired and ready to turn in.” She kicked off her shoes and wearily removed her jacket. “I advise you to do the same. It has been a very long day and it will do you well to get adjusted to the time change.”

Blayne frowned in disappointment, but Alexi never saw it. She said her piece and retired to her bedroom without looking back or awaiting any kind of response.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Blayne sucked in several deep breaths in an effort to dispel the anger and frustration coiling low in her belly. She did it again. I swear to God that woman is going to make me implode if she keeps this up.

Chapter Nineteen

Vittorio Cinzano smoothed his hand over his hair, and gave his reflection in the tiny mirror its first smile of approval in several days. Getting back in his suit made him feel almost like his old self again, but he was still impatient to regain his freedom. That fucking bitch will pay for putting me through this.

His first priority would be to assign whatever resources it took to put an end to this bullshit, once and for all. Information could always be had, and anyone could be found, if the price was right. He had no intention of spending another night locked up.

He heard the now familiar clang of metal that foretold the imminent arrival of his jailers and smiled. Finally. Time to go home.

*

Theo’s stature within WITSEC helped cut through a lot of red tape, and he was on a Learjet headed for Chicago less than forty-eight hours after the explosion that would leave him unable to eat solid food for nearly two months.

A private air transport service, Ambulair Unlimited, was contracted to supply him with an R.N., a secure and comfortable hospital bed, and every sort of medical paraphernalia that might be required en route. A cardiac monitor and oxygen, bandages and IVs. His secretary had also made calls to expedite his processing through customs at both Sault Ste. Marie and in Chicago. As a result, he was settled into his new accommodations within Northwestern Memorial Hospital’s step-down ICU before the end of the day.

Theo could hardly wait for a time when he’d finally be done with intensive care, and as far away as possible from the naso-gastric tube that had been threaded up his nose and down into his stomach. It was uncomfortable as hell, and it tethered him to a noisy pumping machine he wanted to throw out the window.

He asked the doctor examining him, an attractive Hispanic woman, if the machine was really necessary.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” she responded. “With your jaw wired shut, there’s a danger you could vomit, and choke…so we need to keep your stomach empty until you can begin to tolerate clear liquids.” She held up a pair of wire cutters that had been placed beside his bed when he had been moved to the ICU. “It’s also why we always have these nearby. So we can get your mouth open in a hurry if we need to free your airway.”

“And how long before I can actually go home?” he asked.

“A few days, maybe a week. Sooner if you have someone at home who can assist you as needed.”

“I do.”

“Then I would guess three or four days perhaps. We’ll decide based on your progress.”

Theo fell silent, crystallizing his plans. The latest report from Dombrowski had been most encouraging. Philippe Cluzet had given them just what he needed to entice Blayne back to the States. Now all they had to do was come up with a way to get in touch with Blayne and Alexi and the rest would fall into place.

Dombrowski had been apprised of Theo’s move and was led into the room as soon as the doctor had completed her preliminary evaluation.

“Welcome back,” he greeted Theo as pulled the nearest visitor chair closer to the bed. “Well, you look like hell. How you feeling?”

“Fucking Fabulous. What a comedian.”

The response was intended to produce a chuckle, and it did. Theo actually liked Dombrowski quite a lot, and in the course of their association on the Cinzano matter had considered more than once trying to lure him over to WITSEC full time. He added a rare and necessary human touch to the cases he worked, a real deep-seated concern for the innocent civilians he came in contact with.

“So, I’m here,” Dombrowski said unnecessarily. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“You’re going to deliver a message for me,” Theo said, pacing his words so he could cope with the misery of speech. “I’d put one of my own people on this, but my sources tell me you’re the right man for this job because she trusts you.”

Dombrowski perked up. “She?”

“Blayne Keller. The other agents tell me she took to you. Trusted you. They right?” Theo studied the agent’s face.

“Well, I think we hit it off pretty well, sure,” Dombrowski agreed.

“Great. Because I think I’ve come up with a way to get her back here and into WITSEC, so we can proceed against Cinzano. Here’s what I want you to do.”

*

Alexi closed her bedroom door and leaned back against it, taking deep breaths. Her body was stretched tight and screaming for attention. She knew she should allow a reasonable amount of time for Blayne to go to sleep but every minute of delay was a struggle.

Forcing herself to wait fifteen minutes before she telephoned, she was careful to keep her voice low. As she hoped and expected, it took no convincing at all to arrange for a discreet rendezvous in less than an hour. Enough time, she hoped, for Blayne to fall fast and soundly asleep.

She was so pent up and ready to blow she could not stop pacing. Release was imminent, and her body knew it. It was only a matter of time. But as the minutes ticked by, she began to get the first hint of doubt that her plan would achieve all she hoped for.

Although she tried to think about the woman she had called, a leggy blonde model named Kristy Holbrook, her mind kept fixating on Blayne in the other room, and on the image of her stripping out of that tight black dress that had been driving her mad all evening. Stop torturing yourself. Think about the woman you can have, and not about what can never be.

She had met the British fashion model several months earlier when she was in town on business, staying at a hip five-star hotel called the Metropolitan. Kristy was there for a shoot at the hotel’s famous guests-and-members-only bar, the Met, where the waiters wore Armani and patrons relaxed in plush, red leather booths affording exceptional privacy.

After a couple of drinks and dinner, they had spent the next forty-eight hours in Alexi’s room doing nearly everything imaginable to each other. And she had called Kristy on a few occasions since, when she was passing through London. The twenty-three-year-old model was beautiful, passionate, and always eager to please. And best of all, like Alexi, she viewed sex as something that should be fun and uninhibited, and always uncomplicated. For that reason, hers was one of only a handful of phone numbers Alexi had bothered to memorize.

Kristy Holbrook was nothing at all like Blayne, tall and slender, not petite and curvaceous. And where Blayne was fiery red in temperament, Kristy was all polite British reserve. Until, of course, one got to know her intimately.

Yes, she should have had no problem at all getting worked up about bedding Kristy. Their liaisons had always been wonderfully satisfying. Alexi kept telling herself that, even as she spotted Kristy through the security spy-hole in the door, emerging from the elevator across the hall. She was wearing a wool navy trench coat and calf-high boots. And probably next-to-nothing underneath, if past experience were any indication.

Alexi opened the door and stepped out, pulling it nearly closed, so that she could greet the model outside the suite.

“It’s been too long,” Kristy purred, before planting a kiss first on one cheek, then the other. She was nearly four inches taller than Alexi, but her wispy frame made the difference seem less. “How nice to get your call.”

“How splendid that you were free this evening,” Alexi responded warmly. “I always so enjoy our time together.”

“As do I.”

Alexi would have preferred to have done this anywhere else, but no reasonable alternative was possible. She could not leave Blayne unprotected. “Please do not think me rude if I ask that we be especially quiet.” She held out a hand and Kristy took it. “You know how much I enjoy your…enthusiasm. But I have a business associate in the next room and I want to ensure we do not disturb her.”

“Difficult, but not impossible.” Kristy pursed her lips in a feigned pout.

They slipped into the suite and Alexi led her into her bedroom, pausing en route only long enough to quietly retrieve two glasses and two cognacs from the mini-bar. But it quickly became apparent that Kristy had no desire for a nightcap.

Alexi turned away toward the dresser only a minute at most to pour their drinks, and by the time she had pivoted back around, a drink in each hand, Kristy had shed her coat and boots and was comfortably supine on the bed, dressed only in a sheer black thong teddy.

Alexi let her gaze slowly travel the length of Kristy’s lithe frame, up her endless legs, lingering on the patch of fair hair beneath the sheer mesh before continuing on to the small pert breasts, barely a handful each but perfectly proportioned and visibly eager for her touch.

Kristy put a finger to her lips, promising quiet, before she crooked the same finger provocatively in Alexi’s direction, beckoning her forward.

Alexi set the glasses back on the dresser and began unbuttoning her blouse as she crossed to the bed. Kristy watched appreciatively as she opened her crisp white shirt, revealing the lacy bra beneath.

“Lovely.” Kristy licked her lips. “Take your time.”

Alexi was never one to deny a beautiful woman in such a situation, so she complied without argument, feeling a strange and unexpected sense of relief to get a moment of hesitation before their imminent coupling.

This didn’t feel as it should. As she expected it to. As it always was for her with a woman. This was the moment she began to lose herself in the act, surrendering her mind to her body. Caught up entirely in the exquisite feel of a beautiful, soft body beneath her mouth and hands, writhing and responding to her touch, heightening her own excitement to a fevered pitch, until she was delivered from the torture of unbearable need.

And her particular need tonight was unlike any state of arousal she had ever known. It was a need borne of days and days of denial and extreme self-restraint, of too much self-control and fruitless efforts to remedy the situation by touching herself. It was a need so great it pulsed within her and pushed at her relentlessly.

But even as she slowly stripped off her top, then reached between her breasts to unfasten the clasp of her bra, she wondered whether, for the first time, it mattered whose body was beneath her.

“God, you are so beautiful, Alexi,” Kristy whispered. Her pupils were dark and her face was flushed. She sat up and reached for the clasp of Alexi’s trousers. “Come here. I love to do this part myself.”

*

Blayne stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, wondering how the hell she could feel so wide-awake. She’d had a nap on the plane, but it was only three or four hours at most, and in the sixteen hours or so since then they had been on the move, non-stop.

When Alexi had retired for the evening, Blayne had remained where she was for a full ten minutes at least. Stewing. Steaming. Furious at being left aroused and unfulfilled yet again. Then she had given up and gone to her room, not at all enthused about further efforts to alleviate her restless energy with masturbation.

God. Why do I let her do this to me every single fucking time? And why does it bother me that she doesn’t give in?  It’s not like I’ve never been turned down before.

But it did bother her. A lot. Perhaps, she considered, because she wanted Alexi more than she had wanted anyone in a very long time. And perhaps too because she felt certain that Alexi craved this as much as she did. All it would take was the right set of circumstances and they could move beyond the dynamic that was holding them back. Blayne was not going to be on the run forever. Alexi would not by guarding her for more then a few months. They could look ahead. Blayne wanted to break through to her enough to show her it was possible.

After another half-hour of tossing and turning, she went to the window and looked out. The lights of a lively pub beckoned from down the block. I’ll tell her I can’t sleep and talk her into a nightcap. She wouldn’t want me to go alone. Her mind made up, she reached once more for her cocktail dress. She’d make sure to sit so Alexi couldn’t avoid looking at her cleavage.

I just have to find a way to make sure she can’t resist me this time.

After dressing quickly, she crept out into the living room and crossed to Alexi’s door. She was fully expecting the room to be dark, and Alexi to be sound asleep, so it took her a minute, when she let herself quietly into the room, to realize that she was seeing what she thought she was seeing by the soft subdued light of a single floor lamp.

The bed had been turned down, the sheets and blankets were in tangles, and in the middle of them was Alexi, lying face down and nude, her gorgeous ass–the object of many of Blayne’s imaginings—rising and falling in a rhythm as familiar as time.

Blayne let go of the doorknob and the door clicked shut, and the sound was loud. Loud enough that Alexi’s head swiveled to investigate. It was only then that Blayne saw the beautiful blonde woman lying beneath Alexi, head thrown back in abandon, her body moving in counterpoint to the sway of Alexi’s hips.

Alexi froze, disbelief replacing the hazy look of desire and arousal on her face.

Blayne felt as though she’d been slapped. In the long seconds that followed, she memorized every detail of that wretched tableau, and suddenly it all made sense. No wonder she didn’t want me. The woman Alexi was fucking was tall and thin and beautiful and blonde, and nothing at all like her. If that’s what turns her on, I haven’t a chance. And never had. I could throw myself at her for the next ten years and it wouldn’t matter.

She felt like a fool. A frustrated, silly fool. Her bruised ego demanded satisfaction—some semblance of justice. Her Irish temper flared red-hot and her hands clenched into fists. “So I see there indeed is something…someone…who can get your mind on fucking and off of protecting me.”

“Blayne…I…I…” Alexi was breathing hard, and so was the blonde.

“So sorry to interrupt,” Blayne told the stranger beneath Alexi, her voice laden with sarcasm. “But I’m sure you’ll still get paid handsomely.”

“Well that’s quite uncalled for,” Kristy responded. “Alexi, will you please tell this woman--”

“Kristy,” Alexi cut her off. “I am sorry for this.” She shifted her body off of the model, and covered her as she did so with a sheet.  Then she reached for her robe, which had been thrown over a chair, and put it on. “I am afraid I must beg your indulgence and ask you to leave.”

“Don’t bother on my account,” Blayne spat angrily. “I’m sure that if someone broke in and put a gun to my head tonight you’d jump right up off of her and be Johnny-on-the-spot, no problem.”

Alexi froze and her face became stone. They glared at each other, Kristy all but forgotten until she spoke.

“Well there is obviously some drama going on here that I don’t wish to be a part of.” She slipped out of bed and donned her coat and boots as Blayne and Alexi continued to stare at each other, Blayne seething with anger and Alexi’s face a mask.  “Work it out, ladies.” She crossed to Alexi and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “You have my number. I’ll let myself out.”

“Sorry to spoil your fun.” Blayne folded her arms angrily over her chest after Kristy had departed. “But I guess I see now why you had no interest in any of my efforts to get you into bed. Why didn’t you just tell me I’m not your type? Why let me keep making a fucking fool of myself? Or does that do it for you?”

“Whether you are my type or not is irrelevant. What are you doing in my room?” Alexi leaned against the bedpost, hands in the pockets of her robe. It took every ounce of self-control not to show what she was feeling, which was an overwhelming riot of anger, embarrassment, frustration, and arousal. Her hands were trembling, but outwardly she appeared the picture of cool nonchalance.

“I…I…” Blayne sputtered, throwing her hands up in the air. “I can’t believe you’re going to act all indignant! You’re supposed to be protecting me! Not fucking some whore in the next room!”

“Keep your voice down. My guest was a friend, and you were extremely rude to her. And I have not for an instant shirked my responsibilities. It is you who forgot your place and came in uninvited.”

“I walked in because I couldn’t sleep. And I thought you’d rather I not go out alone.” Blayne began to pace as she talked, from door to window and back again, giving Alexi and the bed a wide berth. “But I can see you don’t give a shit one way or the other really. It’s all just a fucking job to you, and that’s all it’s ever been.”

“I have told you from the beginning that I am here to protect you, and that has to be the entirety of our association,” Alexi said calmly. “That you chose to believe otherwise was your fault, not mine.”

Blayne diverted from the path she was wearing in the carpet and crossed to the bed, stopping two feet from Alexi. “Then why act at times as though you wanted more? I know you did.”

“I am as human as anyone.” Alexi shrugged. “A woman keeps throwing herself at me as you have done, it will make me sexually aroused, yes. So it should come as no surprise that I found it necessary to call a friend.”

“Someone obviously more to your liking than what was being offered to you. God, I was such a fool!” Blayne snorted in disgust. “Well don’t worry. I get the picture now. You won’t have to worry about me thinking twice about it, ever again.”

“I think it best for you to return to your own room now, Blayne.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Blayne crossed to the door and threw it open with such force it banged against the wall. “Think you can keep your pants on long enough to keep me alive?” she shot back over her shoulder but was gone without waiting for a reply.

Alexi slumped down onto the bed as soon as she was alone. Damn it. What a nightmare. She should be grateful that Blayne had finally gotten the message and would no longer be spending every waking moment trying to get her in bed. It would make her life a lot easier.

She slammed her fist hard against the mattress. But she wasn’t grateful. Or relieved. Or any of those things that she should be. For she had realized something quite unsettling in that moment before Blayne had interrupted them.

Kristy had been Kristy, unabashedly eager and willing to submit to whatever Alexi had in mind.  Kristy had never failed to satisfy her thoroughly and completely, countless times and in countless ways. But as she’d moved atop the blonde model, all Alexi could think about was Blayne. The body she wanted wasn’t this one. For the first time in a very long time, her need for sex wasn’t about coming. It was about the person. She wanted to be touching Blayne. Only Blayne would do.

Ridiculous. Just fuck her, and you’ll feel better. You always feel better.  She had closed her eyes as their bodies pressed together, and warm flesh met warm flesh. Unusual, for it was the look on a woman’s face as she came that usually got her most excited. That and her first touch of the wetness between a woman’s legs, the measure of her ability to excite and arouse. That part was never a disappointment, for she made them wait for that moment until they could wait no longer.

But she knew inherently that she had no chance of coming tonight unless she closed her eyes. And she prayed that Kristy would keep silent. For she needed to imagine it was Blayne’s body beneath hers, Blayne’s legs around her, Blayne’s mouth on her and…

She began to rock her hips. Blayne. This is what you want. This is what you need. She repeated it to herself with each pistoning of her pelvis, as she tried to imagine how Blayne would look in the throes of passion. But her body would accept no substitute, and she was just realizing that when the real Blayne had interrupted them.

She had hated seeing the look of hurt and disappointment on Blayne’s face as discovered them, and realization struck. It pained her terribly to have caused that look. But she was stung by Blayne’s remarks.

“I’m sure that if someone broke in and put a gun to my head tonight you’d jump right up off of her and be Johnny-on-the-spot, no problem.”

The words had cut deep because they had brought back every detail of that awful night that still haunted her. It was for the best that they would be distant from each other now, over this, she decided. She had hurt Blayne, and Blayne had hurt her back, and the damage could not be undone. Perhaps it would somehow make the unbearable more bearable. How could it feel any worse?

She took off her robe and slipped under the covers, knowing full well that sleep would be long elusive. She could smell sex in the air, and it made her body ache for Blayne.

Tomorrow they would be different with each other. She would be polite, and courteous, the only thing she could be. She had done nothing wrong, and had nothing to apologize for. And what about Blayne? She will keep you at arm’s length. As it should be. As it has to be. You will have the relationship you should have had all along. And that will help you keep her alive.

It all sounded well and good, but it made her unbelievably sad.

*

Blayne was so anxious to get out of the loathsome black dress that she tore it getting if off. Didn’t matter, as she never intended to wear it again. It would remind her too much of her foolish, misguided efforts to gain the attention of a guarded, emotionless playgirl. A woman who had not an ounce of compassion. Alexi had brought another woman  into their suite after turning her down flat not an hour before.

Blayne was furious, and all the more so because she had allowed Alexi to make her feel less than enough. Never again, she vowed. Never again.

She allowed herself to cry so that she would be over and done with it. She didn’t want to try to understand why Alexi’s actions had hurt her so deeply and mattered much more than they probably should.

She tried to accept that it was not to be. She can have anyone she wants.

And she tried vainly to tell herself not to take it personally. You’re just not her type, and you can’t help that. If she’s that damn superficial, fuck her.

Chapter Twenty

“Vasiliki Nikolos?” the voice was American, and unfamiliar.

Vaso cradled the phone in the crook of her neck, while she tried to wipe the grease from her hands with an old torn T-shirt. The carburetor from her aged Triumph motorcycle was in pieces, spread out on the newspaper that dominated the living room floor of her traditional English cottage. “Speaking. Who is this?”

“Miss Nikolos, my name is George Dombrowski, and I am a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Chicago. I am calling about your sister Alexi. Have you heard from her recently?”

Vaso didn’t answer immediately. “I have nothing to say to you, sir. But if you have something you wish to tell me, I will listen.”

“Very well. I understand your reluctance to share information over the phone with a stranger,” Dombrowski replied. “So I appreciate your giving me the chance to hear me out.”

“Please be brief and to the point.”

“Your sister is protecting a witness in a very sensitive case, and is currently in London,” Dombrowski said. “We have lost touch with her, and have been unable to relay three very important messages to her, which we are hoping you can do for us if she contacts you.”

Vaso snatched up a pen and paper from her kitchen counter. “I am listening.”

“The first is, the leak has been plugged.”

“The leak has been plugged,” Vaso repeated as she wrote down the phrase.

“Correct. Second, Theo sends his regards and asks that you call this number.” Dombrowski then recited his own cell phone number, twice, and had Vaso read it back to him.

“That’s my number,” Dombrowski told her. “Special Agent George Dombrowski. Please tell her I have an urgent message for the witness about Claudia. Got all that?”

“Yes,” Vaso answered. “Anything else?”

“That’s all. I appreciate very much your taking all this down.”

“Of course I can make no promises she will ever get it.”

“I understand. Thank you for your time. I would ask that you please call me at that number if you think or hear of anything that may help us find her.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Dombrowski.”

Vaso sank down into a kitchen chair and stared down at her notes. If Alexi were in London, she was no doubt staying at a hotel, and there were three hotels Vaso knew she liked. The problem was, she also knew her sister sometimes traveled anonymously. How would she find her if she had checked in under another name?

*

Vittorio Cinzano had results within hours of returning home. His boys had already tracked Blayne Keller and her companion to the Toronto airport, through the Subaru license plate and a well-placed bribe within the Ontario Provincial Police. But the trail had turned cold there.

So he’d poured more money and men into the endeavor, and made some threats, and they’d found a British Air gate attendant who was happy to take their money and volunteer what he knew. He told them about the American government’s interest in two women who’d taken a flight to London.

“Have we found out who this woman is with her?” Vittorio asked the dour-faced captain who faced him across his desk. “She’s what, FBI? Marshal? What?”

“We don’t know for sure. Fletcher never gave us her name if he knew it, and looks like the passports they used were bogus. No records on either of the names.”

“What’s happening in London?” Vittorio rapped his knuckle on the desk. Once. Twice.

“We got calls going, checking hotels. Guys at the airport. Nothing yet, but it doesn’t look good. We just don’t have the contacts there, and security’s real tight.”

Vittorio slammed his fist down on the desk. “Then we’re going to have to talk to the other guy,” he decided. “He’s a sure bet. He’ll know where she is. Get on it.”

His captain visibly blanched at the suggestion but said nothing.

Vittorio poured himself another glass of Glenlivet and considered his options as he sipped. He had lots of friends in Europe. Time to call in a few favors.

*

The tension between Alexi and Blayne was so thick the next morning that neither sought eye contact or initiated any conversation beyond a polite good morning.

For Blayne, all the fun and congenial companionship of their first day in London had been spoiled by the evening that had followed, and her bruised ego had erased the desire for more light-hearted sightseeing. So she lingered over coffee on their balcony, silent and stoic, looking out across the expanse of Hyde Park and wondering how she could have been so damned blind and stupid.

She felt wholly inadequate, and sad to the core. And furious at herself that she had so quickly made more of their relationship in her mind than there ever really was. She had started to fall for Alexi, and fall hard. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You kept telling yourself it was all about getting laid, and all the while you were letting her under your skin in a very big way. What a fool.

She knew one thing. Continuing on like this until the trial would be agony. I can’t keep living like this. She may not want me, but I still want her. Even after last night. I still want her so damn bad.

She knew she’d said some hurtful things when she’d walked in on Alexi, and in the bright light of morning she had begun to regret her angry comments. It wasn’t like her at all. I have no ties on her. None. And she really had every right to do what she did. The fact that Alexi had waited after she should have been asleep…and had brought the woman to the suite, so she could still protect Blayne… Well, it had actually been a pretty discreet and considerate way to do what she did. She’s risked her life repeatedly for me. I had no right to accuse her of not taking her responsibilities seriously.

Inside, in the living room, Alexi stared miserably into a cup of cold coffee, bemoaning the loss of what had become welcome and engaging company. She wasn’t close to many people, but she had come to respect and enjoy Blayne as an individual and friend. And she was reluctant to let go of that. Not to mention her attraction to Blayne, which burned like a fire within her. What the hell do I do with these feelings?

She knew one thing she could not do—stay another moment in this room with the woman she had hurt, the two of them barely speaking. She needed to clear her head and come up with a sensible plan for how she was going to manage this assignment. Perhaps she actually couldn’t manage it.  Perhaps she needed to replace herself. She knew a few trustworthy people in private security. Perhaps she could hire some muscle and run the assignment at a distance.

She allowed that thought to settle. It was a good idea. She could have a couple of bodyguards taking Blayne wherever she wanted to go in London or even around Europe. Keeping her moving was a good plan. Alexi could monitor them, staying within reach. If she could find the right people today, she could check out of the hotel and into another one not too far away. She could even take a day or two out of London and visit her sister. York was only two hours away by train and it was time she caught up with Vaso. Relieved to have a plan, she stepped out onto the balcony and cleared her throat to alert Blayne to her presence. “I need to run a quick errand and I would appreciate it if you would accompany me so that I can keep an eye on you. It will not take long, and you can remain in the taxi.”

“Fine,” Blayne responded. “You want to leave right now?”

“As soon as convenient, yes.”

Blayne got to her feet but avoided looking at Alexi. She seemed beaten down, like a dark cloud was hovering just above her head. Alexi regretted the loss of that spark that had seemed an integral part of Blayne’s personality.

“You’re calling the shots,” Blayne said dully. “Lead on.”

Alexi gave the taxi driver an address, and Blayne stared out the window as they rode, making none of the excited observations that had peppered their sojourns the day before.

When they parked in front of a florist, Blayne took the first interest in their errand, watching Alexi intently as she exited the cab and went to stand in front of the shop next door, a paper-goods establishment that advertised personalized stationery in the front window.

Alexi observed several people passing by before she stopped one, a young college-age man dressed in a rugby shirt and jeans and laden with a backpack full of books. She said a few words to him and he nodded. She spoke to him some more, and then handed him something—money, it looked like. The man smiled and went into the florist shop while Alexi waited where she was until he came back outside and gave her an ‘okay’ sign.

She returned to the taxi and told the driver to return them to their hotel, and silence fell between the women again until they got back to their room.

“Well that was in incredibly poor taste, to drag me along on that little errand,” Blayne glowered as soon as they were alone. “Send her flowers to say you were sorry you got interrupted?”

“What?” It took Alexi a moment to get a handle on Blayne’s anger. “Oh. No. I was sending a message to my sister. I may visit her while we are in England.”

“Oh.” Blayne’s fury dissipated. Stop being such an ass. She stood where she was a moment, chewing her lower lip. “Alexi, can we sit, please?”

“Of course.”

Blayne chose one end of the couch, Alexi the matching chair four feet away.

“I…I’m sorry about last night,” Blayne said. “I shouldn’t have entered your room without knocking. I shouldn’t have treated your friend so rudely. And I most definitely should not have accused you of ever neglecting your responsibilities in any way. I owe my life to you.”

“Apology accepted,” Alexi said. “Blayne, I regret that you had to see what you did. And for whatever it is worth, I never intended to hurt you.”

Blayne shrugged. “I’m a big girl. You made it very clear you were not interested in me, and I pushed you and pushed you.”

“I think that neither and both of us is to blame. Perhaps I made allowances I should not have. Perhaps I was not clear enough.” Alexi sat back in the chair and crossed her legs.

“It’s clear enough now.” Blayne let out a lengthy sigh. “I have to admit I feel rather foolish to have pursued you so.”

“Please, there is nothing to feel foolish about. You were acting on your feelings, whatever those may be. It has been a terribly trying period for you. Perhaps it was your way of dealing with it all. A distraction. That would be natural.”

Blayne looked directly at Alexi then. “The way that I feel about you has nothing to do with my situation. I know you’ve insinuated that before—that I have some crush on you or something because you’re protecting me.” She took a deep breath and tried to stop her hands from shaking. “But that’s not what it is. I’m sorry you don’t return my feelings, Alexi. But they are real feelings. And they are more than about just sex.” She got up then and began pacing, afraid she had said too much. “Look, it’s my problem and I’m dealing with it.”

Almost without thinking, Alexi went to her and put her hands on her shoulders to stop her from pacing. She hated seeing Blayne so miserable, but once she was touching her, and looking into her eyes, all she could think about was how much she wanted to kiss her. She fought the impulse, and made sure that none of her turmoil could be seen on her face. “How can I make this situation easier for you?”

Blayne gave her a rueful smile. “Touching me like that isn’t helping.”

“I’m sorry,” Alexi dropped her hands and stepped back.

“Telling me that you forgive me for the hurtful things I said will make me feel better.”

“I do forgive you,” Alexi said without hesitation. “I forgave you before you left the room last night. I just want you to understand that your well-being and your happiness is important to me. I miss your smile.”

“Thank you. And I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Just need a little time to…” She looked down at her feet. To come to terms with the fact that I can’t have you. How can I smile about that? “I just need some time.”

“Shall I leave you alone?” It would give her the opportunity to make some calls, even meet any prospect who happened to be in London.

No. Never. “I’m not very good company today. I think I would rather just stay in, if you don’t mind.”  Blayne looked out of the large glass doors that led to the balcony. “You can do as you like. See your friend. Whatever. I’ll be safe here, I’m sure.” She said this with no malice or anger whatsoever. Only calm resignation.

“I am not going anywhere, Blayne.”

“Your choice.” Blayne opened the doors and stepped out onto the balcony, ending the conversation.

*

The violets were delivered at four p.m., and came from the florist just down the street from Vaso’s cottage on the outskirts of York. It was a close-knit neighborhood, so she had a passing acquaintance with the young deliveryman. She had bested him last month in a drinking contest at the local pub, and he had been begging for a rematch.

“Got a sweetheart, Vaso?” He inquired good-naturedly as he handed her the plant.            “Plenty!”

“Shy one, you,” he responded, and that got a laugh. “Going to give me another go soon?”

“Things to do now,” she dismissed him and closed the door.

There was no card with the flowers. She didn’t need one. Violets had been their signal since Alexi had joined WITSEC. Vaso almost laughed out loud. The timing could not be more perfect, but they had always been oddly connected in that regard. She had been thinking a great deal about Alexi ever since that phone call, and she’d half-expected her sister to sense this. What are you up to now?

She went into her room and threw some things into an overnight bag. She would take the morning train to London, she decided. Run a few errands and perhaps spend a few hours with one of the women she knew there before she met Alexi at the jazz club.

*

George Dombrowski arrived at Gatwick Airport at eight a.m. and immediately checked his cell phone for messages. None. He made it through customs and retrieved his bag, and found the train that went to London’s Kings Cross Station, where he could catch the GNER northbound train to York.

He had never been to Europe before, but now was no time to act the tourist and he had no inclination to. He had grown fond of Blayne Keller, kind of like a daughter, and he wanted to do what he could to keep her safe. He saw virtually nothing of the British countryside beyond the impression that everything very green and the houses were old and small. He was too occupied planning for all the likely contingencies of his visit.

*

During another room-service breakfast that Blayne barely touched, Alexi decided it was time to take drastic action to try to break Blayne’s funk. She just couldn’t tolerate another day watching the sadness drag her down and crush her spirit. From the circles under Blayne’s eyes and her haunted expression it was obvious she hadn’t slept well, and she seemed motivated to do nothing but retreat into silence.

It pained Alexi to see the sadness that had descended on one of the most vivacious and vibrant women she had ever the pleasure to know. And it grieved her deeply to know that she was the cause of it. Throughout the previous day she had wanted to hold Blayne. Comfort her. Kiss away her worries and her fears. Tell her what a desirable woman she was, and how hard it was to resist her. Anything to put the smile back on her face.

But Blayne had remained on the balcony, determined on her solitude, until it grew too cold for her to stay outside. Then, she had retreated to her room, letting it be known she wanted to be alone.

“We should get some fresh air,” Alexi suggested as Blayne rose to shower and dress after picking at a slice of toast. “It will distract you from your troubles.”

Blayne forced a half-smile. “Not if you are with me, it won’t.” She continued on to her bedroom but paused at the door. “But it’s fine, Alexi. I’ll go. Whatever you like.”

Blayne waited until she was alone in the shower, immersed in the pounding spray, to let loose the pain of loss and jealousy that was crippling her with a good cry.

Being with Alexi now was torture.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Serendipity club was packed with people, and there was a level of ambient noise beneath the smooth jazz being played by a combo at the front of the room. As they walked past tables, Blayne caught snatches of quiet conversation, laughter, the clink of wine glasses or clatter of cutlery.

Alexi had requested a quiet booth off to one side, where she could get a good view of the front entrance. They were still getting settled when a svelte redhead about Alexi’s age approached their table, arms outstretched. She was fashionably overdressed in a clingy designer cocktail dress in aubergine.

“Alexi! You should have called to say you were coming!”

Alexi stood and embraced the woman, kissing her once on each cheek. “An impulse, Esther. Or I would have.” She turned to Blayne, but kept one arm loosely draped around the stranger’s waist. “May I introduce Fiona Murphy, an American business associate. Fiona, this is Esther Wells, our host. She owns Serendipity. ”

Blayne nodded politely and wished again that she hadn’t agreed to leave their suite for dinner. “Miss Wells.” She fought back a ripple of jealousy.

“Esther, please.” The redhead returned her attention to Alexi. “Will you grace us tonight?” She tilted her head toward the four-piece ensemble currently entertaining her patrons and smiled. “I’m sure they’d love it. And they’re nearly worthy of you.”

“We will see. Perhaps.”

“Wonderful. I will come back and convince you once you’ve eaten.” Esther released Alexi and bid them both bon appetite, then departed to mingle with her other guests.

“What did she mean?” Blayne asked as Alexi regained her seat and a waiter arrived with drinks and appetizers, followed by another who took their food order.

“Esther is kind enough to indulge me when I am in the mood to play,” Alexi explained. “You asked me once what my hobbies were. I suppose that jazz qualifies.”

“You play? What instrument?”

“Alto saxophone.”

For the first time in many hours, Blayne’s demeanor perked up. “Are you any good?”

Alexi shrugged. “I suppose that is a matter of opinion.”

“Well, I must admit you’ve made me curious, now. I wouldn’t mind hearing you play.”

“If you like.” Alexi really had not intended to take the stage, but if it might bring a smile to Blayne’s face that was reason enough. Losing herself in jazz was also one of the best ways she knew for expressing feelings that she needed to get a handle on, so perhaps it was a good prescription for her tonight as well.

As the evening progressed, she was happy to see that Blayne seemed to be enjoying herself, and was at least sampling some of the dishes she had ordered for them both.  So when Esther came back around as they were having their coffee, she acquiesced and agreed to join the combo for a number.

The serious young man on sax readily gave up his instrument, and as she cleaned the mouthpiece and prepared to play she briefed the pianist, bass player, and drummer about the type of arrangement she had in mind.

It was a familiar standard—classic Cole Porter—its refrain so instantly recognizable that Blayne knew it in an instant.  Easy to Love. And Alexi played it meaningfully, the rich tone of the sax so full of emotion that it startled Blayne in its honest intensity. It was everything that Alexi did not allow herself to be, all raw feeling. Her fingers danced skillfully over the keys, sultry and soulful one minute. Desperately melancholic the next.

Blayne couldn’t help but wonder whether there was a reason Alexi had chosen that particular song. She wanted so much to believe that Alexi was playing for her, telling her with her music what she could never say in words. Dream on. I’m sure it’s just a song she likes and knows well.

The whole place had grown quiet, so quiet that when she finished, the sudden onslaught of applause was deafening. Blayne clapped along with the others and watched in fascination as Alexi seemed almost to come out of a trance, smiling somewhat sheepishly as she handed the sax back to its owner and returned to their table.

She opened her mouth to compliment Alexi as she sat down, but a stranger’s voice beat her to it.

“Iperohi opos panda,” came the rich low voice from behind her. “Wonderful, as always.”  The roguishly handsome owner of the voice stepped around the column that had been concealing her and revealed herself.

Blayne stared, disbelieving. There were quite a number of differences. The stranger had much shorter hair, and it was a lighter shade of brown, but there was the same dramatic widow’s peak. Her skin was a bit darker. Her androgynous physique was even more muscular than Alexi’s and she was at least three inches taller. But much of the rest was the same. The angular face, strong jaw, high cheekbones. Long dark eyelashes and full eyebrows framed the same deep blue eyes. The straight nose and rosy red lips were nearly identical. But when she smiled, she looked more…devilish, somehow.

Alexi and the stranger kissed and embraced. Blayne could see from the emotion in their faces and eyes that the two were close and the reunion sweet.

After they had exchanged a few sentences in Greek, Alexi took a step toward the table and said, “Blayne Keller, may I introduce my sister, Vasiliki—Vaso—Nikolos.”

Your very attractively butchy sister Vaso. “I would never have guessed.” Blayne offered her hand. It did not escape her notice that Alexi had introduced her by her real name, and she wondered whether it had been a slip-up, or intentional. “Very pleased to meet you, Vaso.”

Vaso took her hand and held it between both of hers, while she appraised Blayne with an appreciative smile and unnerving direct eye contact that felt entirely too intimate. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Keller.”

Alexi said something to Vaso in Greek that seemed to startle her and she studied Blayne then asked Alexi something in Greek. When Alexi nodded, Vaso let go of Blayne’s hand and that fire in her eyes—that glint of attraction—disappeared.

That sounded an awful lot like a warning. Blayne would have given anything at that moment to know exactly what the two of them had said.

“Let us sit, shall we?” Alexi said, and they settled into the circular booth, Alexi in the middle.

“Please excuse my rudeness in speaking to my sister in a language you do not understand,” Vaso said. “But I have some urgent family matters that I must discuss with her so I am afraid I must beg your indulgence for another few minutes.”

“Certainly,” Blayne answered. “Please.”

Vaso spoke for a few minutes, with Alexi interrupting now and then to ask a question. They were speaking low, and Blayne made a point of appearing to be focused on the jazz combo. But she was really listening intently to them. It was amazing how similar their voices were. She could hardly tell them apart. And she really liked the sound of Greek. It had a kind of musical quality to it, she decided…kind of romantic-sounding…

I swore she just said Dombrowski.

The next word she recognized popped out of their conversation as though it had been amplified. Perhaps because her brain was so starved to hear it. Claudia.

She turned in the seat to face them. “What do you know about Claudia?”

Vaso looked chagrined. Alexi frowned.

“Tell me, Alexi.”

“Someone claiming to be Agent Dombrowski has contacted my sister with some messages for me. Messages from Theo Lang. He is apparently all right.”

“Great. What about Claudia?” Blayne persisted.

“He said he has news about Claudia. I do not know what it is.”

“Well, let’s go! Let’s call him!” Blayne started to get up, but Alexi placed a hand on her arm.

“Wait, please.” She withdrew her hand as Blayne sank back into the seat. “This may be a trap to try to find out where we are. I have to think about the best way to proceed before we do anything. But I assure you I will find out about Claudia, if there is news of her. And as soon as possible.”

Vaso pulled a cell phone from her belt and Alexi accepted it with a nod of thanks and stuck it into her pocket. Blayne watched her all the while, eyeing the phone greedily.

“Soon, Blayne. But not here. We should return to the hotel.” She turned to Vaso. “Come with us?”

“I had planned on it,” Vaso reached behind Blayne for the small bag she has stashed by the column.

They caught a cab to the hotel, Alexi seated once more between Blayne and her sister.

“So, what do you do, Vaso?” Blayne asked politely.

“Get into mischief at every opportunity,” Vaso leaned forward so she could smile at Blayne past her sister. “What about you?” She still seemed intently interested in Blayne, but her expression radiated more curiosity now than heat.

“I see you are just like your sister in your ability to deflect personal questions,” Blayne observed. “And I’m between jobs at the moment. I guess you could say I’m between lives at the moment.”

“I see. I figured that my sister was working. You are… ” She glanced at the cab driver, “…with the program, then?”

Alexi answered for Blayne. “Yes and no. It is a rather long story and not for retelling.”

“Of course,” Vaso replied agreeably. “As you wish.”

Once they got back to the suite, Alexi pointed Vaso toward her bedroom. “We are in there, if you would care to drop your bag.”

Vaso took the hint and left Alexi and Blayne alone. They stood three feet apart, staring at each other.

“When are you going to call about Claudia?” Blayne demanded.

“Probably tonight. But I would like you to try to sleep now,” Alexi said. “There are things I need to talk about with my sister, and I must consider every risk before I make any calls. I promise I will come and inform you immediately when I learn anything about your friend.

“I doubt I can sleep until I hear something.”

Blayne’s lower lip stuck out in a pout. Staring at it, Alexi felt a rush of butterflies in her stomach. I wish you would not do that with your lips. Damn, but it makes me want to kiss you. So much. We cannot stand here like this or I will.

“Please try.” Blayne sighed. It was a sigh of forced resignation, but to Alexi, it sounded sensually breathy, like a sigh of sexual satisfaction. “I’ll be in my room.”

Blayne looked at her oddly before departing, like she knew how nearly she had been kissed. Unsettled, Alexi poured two whiskeys from the mini-bar. Blayne was beginning to read her a little too well. She carried the drinks to the couch, where Vaso joined her, and they spoke in Greek, but the occasional English or French word crept in as well.

“I see why you asked me to not to set my sights on this one. It is rather clear from the way you are with each other.” Vaso leaned back and crossed her legs. “And how is that possible, since you are protecting her, by the way?”

“Nothing has happened between us.” Alexi sipped at her whiskey. “But it nearly has.”

Vaso kept silent. It was a long while before Alexi spoke again.

“She is different, Vaso. Different from anyone I have ever met.”

“I see that she is. I do not know that I have ever seen you look at a woman the way you have been looking at her. Were you playing that song for her?”

“Yes,” Alexi admitted. Several minutes passed before she volunteered any more.  “I have developed feelings for her. But I do not honestly know what to do with them. It is impossible to have anything with her.”

“I imagine this is bringing up memories of…that night,” Vaso said gently.

Alexi narrowed her eyes in pain. “That is precisely why nothing can ever happen between us.”

“You will not let history repeat itself, I am certain.”

“No. I will not.”

There was another long silence. Vaso reached over and put a hand on Alexi’s shoulder. “How can I help?”

“You came when I asked you to,” Alexi replied, putting her own hand on her sister’s. “As you always do.”

“Of course.”

Alexi got them two more whiskeys. She downed half of hers before she spoke again. “It has been…actually physically painful to be around her, I want her so much. And she has been flirting with me and trying to get me into bed for days.”

Vaso’s eyebrow lifted, but she made no comment.

“So when we got in last night, after she went to bed, I called a woman I know and invited her up. For a quick fuck, you know. Get it taken care of.”

“Yes. And?”

“She walked in on us.” Alexi sat hunched forward, her legs apart and elbows on her knees. She cradled her glass in both hands.

Vaso frowned. “I am sure that was awkward.”

“Yes. I think perhaps it is for the best, actually, because she is no longer throwing herself at me.” Alexi took another long drink of whiskey.

“But you miss it.”

“And worse,” Alexi said. “I…I could not…” She shook her head. “I wanted her last night. Only her.”

Vaso leaned forward so that Alexi would look her in the eyes. “Serious, then.”

Alexi shrugged. “It does not matter. It is what it is. It will pass.”

“How long will you be watching over her?”

Alexi leaned back and exhaled a long, deep breath. However long, it will not be nearly long enough. “Difficult to say. Before you arrived I was thinking about replacing myself. I will learn more when I make that phone call.”

“What of that? What do you make of the messages I brought you?” Vaso asked. “Is it good news?”

“Perhaps. We shall see.”

“Can you tell me who is this Claudia?”

“A close friend of Blayne’s,” Alexi explained. “She has been missing for several days in connection with the same case.”

“That is why she was so anxious for you to make the call. Why have you not?”

Alexi got up and walked to the doors to the balcony. She looked out at the passing traffic below. “I will. It sounds legitimate. This has just been a very difficult assignment. Many close calls, and it has made me especially cautious.”

“Perhaps now is not the time to bring it up, but I thought that you were through with all of this, Alexi.”

She’d wondered when Vaso was going to ask her about going back into WITSEC.

“I have reasons.”

“I am certain you do.” Vaso did not press. “I have not known you to bring a witness to Europe before.”

“No. It is not usually done.” A reluctant smile played at the edge of her mouth as the memory of their first pleasant day sightseeing popped into her head. Blayne’s enthusiasm had made her see old familiar sights with new eyes. It is all about the company you keep sometimes. “But then, nothing about this case is typical.”

“Can you come to York and stay with me?”

Alexi returned to the couch and resumed her seat. “Probably not wise. It is possible that those after Blayne might know I am with her, and also possible they could find you, and watch you to see whether I show up. Unlikely, I think. But better we do not.”

“As you wish. I will be happy to stay here as long as you like. I have no plans, and you know that I have missed you.”

“And I you. It will be nice to have you with us for a while. Perhaps it may help ease the tension to have another person around.” Tension is an understatement. Alexi stared at the door to the second bedroom, wondering what Blayne was up to on the other side. Probably not sleeping. Thinking about Claudia? Or about last night? Damn it but I wish you had not walked in on me like that. I know that hurt you, I saw it in your eyes, but what can I do now?

As if in answer, the door cracked opened and Blayne leaned out, still dressed. “I take it you haven’t called yet.”

“I told you I would inform you immediately,” Alexi gently reminded her. But the pain of anxious waiting was written so clearly on Blayne’s face, it seemed callous to deny her any longer.

Alexi reached into her pocket for Vaso’s phone. “All right. I hope the news is good.”  She turned to her sister and asked her in Greek for the number. Once it was repeated back to her in the same language, she headed for her bedroom to make the call.

Blayne’s voice caught her at the door. “Is it Agent Dombrowski you’re calling?”   She paused. “Yes.”

“Give him my regards, please. I liked him.”

“I shall.”

He answered on the second ring. “Dombrowski.”

Alexi closed the door and moved to the window.  “Agent Dombrowski, this is Alexi Nikolos.”

“Great! And it’s George. Thank you for calling, Alexi. May I call you Alexi?”

“Yes. Please make it brief, if you will. I do not want to stay on long.”

“I understand. Theo Lang is in the hospital with a broken jaw and assorted other injuries, but is on the mend. I’m acting on his behalf. Paul Fletcher is in FBI custody. He’s the leak, and is cooperating.  The jerk says he pushed you out of WITSEC on orders from the mob. Also…Vittorio Cinzano is out of jail, we couldn’t hold him without Keller.”

Alexi absorbed this news without comment. “And Claudia Cluzet?”

“She and her father are in protective custody. They were in hiding. Both are well.”

“Blayne will be most happy to hear that. By the way, she said to sends her regards to you.”

“Hey, that’s great,” Dombrowski replied. “Please give her mine. I got to feeling rather protective of her—I mean, more than usual, you know?”

Yes, I certainly do know.   “She is a unique individual.”

“That she is. Alexi, I have an offer for her from Theo.”

Alexi’s senses went on alert. “Yes?”

“Claudia and Philippe Cluzet have been accepted into WITSEC. They’ll be sent to orientation within the week. If Blayne wants to see them before they’re relocated, she has to get back here now. ”

“Is that the offer?” Alexi knew it wasn’t, but she wanted Dombrowski to spell it out.

“Only part. Theo will relocate Blayne with them, and let them have some say in where they’re placed, if she comes back and agrees to enter the program.”
“I see.”

“There will be a preliminary hearing for Cinzano in a couple of weeks. They need her for that or they won’t have enough to charge him with anything substantial.”

“I will relay the offer to her.”

“One more thing. I’m in England. Here to help escort her back, provided she accepts as Theo hopes she will.”

“Exactly where are you, Agent Dombrowski?”

“At a hotel near your sister’s cottage,” he answered. “Since she’s not been home all day, can I presume she is with you?”

“I will talk to Blayne and call you back.” She hung up the phone and lingered in the room for a few minutes, processing what she had just heard. She had a feeling that Blayne might take the offer. Not just to see Claudia, but also because things between the two of them had become so strained. A big part of her did not want to face the prospect of never seeing Blayne again, regardless of what might be the best course of action for both of them.

Blayne was pacing just outside the door. Vaso, still seated on the couch, was watching her.

“Well?” Blayne froze in her tracks as soon as she saw Alexi emerge.

“Claudia and her father are both well, and safe. They were in hiding, and are now in protective custody.”

Blayne felt a wave of euphoria and relief wash over her. “Thank God. Thank God.” I knew nothing could have happened to you without me knowing it, Claud. I knew it.

“She and Philippe have been accepted into the Witness Protection Program,” Alexi informed her.

“What? What did you say?” Blayne was still rejoicing in the knowledge that Claudia was alive and well. The news she and her father were going into WITSEC was a shock she wasn’t prepared for.

“They are in the program and will be relocated very soon.”

“But…why? Claudia didn’t see anything! And Philippe wasn’t even there!” It didn’t make sense.

“I do not know the details,” Alexi said. “But I would say that they must have information that makes them important witnesses.”

Blayne considered this. “Not Claudia. I would know.”

“Her father, then, perhaps,” Alexi said. “But you know what this means, do you not?”

Blayne looked at her questioningly.

“Once they are relocated, you will not be able to see either of them again.”

Blayne felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. The thought of having regained Claudia only to lose her in the same instant was intolerable.

“I am to relay an offer to you that you probably will wish to consider.” Alexi kept her voice even, but her heart began to beat faster at the knowledge that Blayne’s answer would decide how much longer they would be a part of each other’s lives. “If you wish to see them, we need to return to the States immediately.”

“And?” Blayne could tell there was more.

“They need your testimony in a hearing that is coming up soon. Theo is willing to relocate you with Claudia and Philippe—and give you some say in where that will be—if you go back now and enter the program.”

Blayne sank into a nearby chair, her mind racing.

“One other thing, Blayne,” Alexi said. “Agent Dombrowski is here in England. He will accompany us if you decide to go back. I believe you will be quite safe.”

Safe. And with Claudia. As much as she abhorred the idea of putting her fate in the hands of others again, the idea of starting over somewhere was eminently more attractive if Claudia and Philippe were part of that scenario. Either way, Alexi will be out of your life soon. .Nothing you can do to change that.

“What do you think I should do?” Blayne prayed for Alexi to voice some objection to the offer, give her some reason for the two of them to remain together. It would be torture to remain as they were, but a sweet torture that was preferable to the pain of separation.

“That is something only you can determine.”

A lengthy silence descended as Blayne considered her options. She doesn’t want you, idiot. Face it. Deal with it. Get over it and move on. This way, you will at least have Claudia. You won’t be alone.

Her decision made, she got to her feet and asked. “When will we leave?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Blayne could remember several times in her life when she was keenly aware of being at a crossroads. When she felt she was rolling the dice and the stakes were unbearably high. This was such a time and the weight of her choices felt crushing.

You’ve made your decision and now you will live with it. Time will help you to forget her. It has to.

She had already packed the night before. It was something to do instead of lying in bed with her mind racing over the events of the past few days. The bombing on the plane, and the chase at the lodge, and even the image of Alexi in bed with another woman. She didn’t dwell on her most difficult memories, but lingered instead on the more serene and heated moments. Dinner together. The backgammon game. Sightseeing. Les Miserables.

Shortly after dawn, when she could not longer pretend that sleep might creep up on her, she threw on a robe and went out in search of coffee.

Vaso was seated on the couch, fully dressed, reading the morning paper.

“I hope there is enough of that for two.” Blayne nodded toward the room service coffee pot on the table beside Vaso’s elbow.

“Of course,” Vaso replied congenially as she reached for a clean cup and poured. “Please, join me?”

“Thank you.” Blayne took a seat beside her and accepted the aromatic brew gratefully.

“Could you not sleep?”

Blayne shook her head. “Too much drama in my life at the moment.”

“You do not have to tell a Greek about drama. We invented the concept.” That got the smile she had hoped for. “And drama is the reason I am about to dash home on the train to pick up my passport and pack a bag.”

Blayne’s smile grew a little wider. “It’s great that you can come.”

“I don’t get to see enough of my sister, so this is a chance.”

“Yes, well, while you to are catching up you can tell your sister that I don’t think I’ve ever met a more…more…”

“Infuriatingly complex and unemotional individual?” Vaso suggested.

Blayne nearly choked on her coffee. She looked up to find Vaso grinning conspiratorially at her. “Exactly. I knew I liked you.”

“Of course. Everyone does.”

Blayne sipped her coffee and studied Alexi’s cocky near-twin. “Has she always been so…controlled? Perhaps that’s not the right word.”

“Alexi is a… difficult person to get close to, and always has been that,” Vaso replied, her demeanor suddenly serious. “But it does not mean that meaningful emotions are not there, just that they are expertly hidden. You have to look hard to see them.”

Blayne absorbed this. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“My sister has always found it difficult to trust. To allow someone into her heart,” Vaso replied. “She has perfected a number of techniques for distancing herself from emotions. Most frequently, she uses sex as a way to convince herself that any attraction is all about a physical need, rather than anything deeper.”

“And you’re telling me this because?”

“Because I think it important for you to know that she feels a lot more for you than she can express. So much that she thought that bedding another woman would help her deal with it. But it had quite the reverse effect—I think it only made her realize how important you have become to her.”

Blayne froze, her coffee cup halfway to her mouth. “She told you that?”

“And undoubtedly she would be displeased that I have repeated it to you,” Vaso said. “But I feel compelled to tell you what she cannot. I feel it is in her best interest that you know she returns your feelings. She just believes she is not in any position to do anything about them.”

“She…returns my feelings?” Blayne felt her cheeks warm from embarrassment. Is it that obvious?

“You care a great deal for her, do you not?” Vaso asked.

So much so that I can’t bear the thought of being apart from her.  “Yes. I do. I…I think I’m in love with her.”

The words had barely left her mouth when the door to Alexi’s bedroom opened and the subject of their discussion appeared, her hair tousled from sleep and her eyes only half-open. She jumped a little, startled to see them both already up and sharing coffee, with guilty expressions that told her they had been in the midst of talking about her when she had interrupted them.

“Good Morning,” Blayne said.

“Did you get any rest?” Vaso chimed in.

Alexi asked Vaso, in Greek, what they had been talking about. Vaso grinned a not-so-innocent grin, and replied, also in Greek, that they had merely been exchanging pleasantries, nothing more, and that she should stop being so paranoid.

“Speak English, please.” Blayne frowned.

“She wanted to know what we were talking about,” Vaso volunteered. “I told her it was nothing she need to concern herself with.” She winked surreptitiously at Blayne and then glanced at her watch. “I should get going if I am to make it back here by the time our flight leaves.”

As Vaso gathered her keys, coat, and bag, Alexi and Blayne watched in silence.

“Would you like some coffee?” Blayne offered once Vaso had departed for the train station. “I think there’s a cup left, and I can order some more from room service.”

Alexi shook her head. They had one day left together in London, and she wanted to make it one to remember for both of them. “We should not waste your last day here. I say we get dressed, have a proper breakfast, and then see whatever sights we have missed so far. What do you say?”

“I say that sounds wonderful,” Blayne replied in a voice so soft that Alexi barely heard her.

As though through some unspoken covenant, the two of them seemed determined to put on their best faces for their last hours alone. After a leisurely breakfast, they strolled through the British Library, marveling at the Magna Carta and comparing literature and music preferences as they examined Handel’s handwritten Messiah, an in-progress Beatles’ lyrics, a Gutenberg Bible, and Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures Under Ground.

After a boat ride on the river Thames, they stopped for a late lunch of dim sum in Chinatown, then took a ride on the London Eye observation wheel. At every turn, Alexi found herself watching Blayne much more than the scenery, relishing her company and fighting the constant urge to kiss her.

Blayne, for her part, tried not to think about what would happen after today. She wanted to live fully in the moment, implanting every second of the day forever in her mind. She found herself thinking time and time again about Vaso’s words, and praying there was some truth to the revelation that Alexi cared about her much more than she was willing to acknowledge or show.

Long before she was ready, it was time to pick up their luggage and head to the airport, where Vaso and Special Agent Dombrowski would be waiting for them. The taxi ride to Gatwick seemed much too short. “What will happen when we get to Chicago?” she asked.

“I am not certain.” Alexi had wondered the same, but she had not wished to go into such details over a cell phone line. “Agent Dombrowski should have an idea of how Theo wishes to proceed.”

Blayne looked over at Alexi and forced herself to ask the question. “Will you still be with me?”

Alexi could see in Blayne’s eyes the same torment she was feeling, herself. “I do not know. If…if there is a choice in the matter, do you wish me to be?”

“Of course!” Blayne answered without hesitation. It may be torture, but it is apparently a torture I want to experience as long as possible.

“Then I hope there is a such a choice. For I wish the same.”

Blayne reached over and took Alexi’s hand in hers as the sign for the airport turnoff came into view.

Alexi laced her fingers through Blayne’s and they held tight to each other until the cab pulled to a stop and the driver got out to retrieve their bags.

Two hours later they were over the Atlantic, headed home.

*

Selma Lang looked in on her husband and was happy to find him sleeping soundly in the hospital bed they had delivered that afternoon and set up in the den. He had gotten only fitful rest at the hospital, so he was ecstatic to be home.

Something else had also lifted his spirits but Selma knew better than to ask. When she passed a comment about his mood, he told her he’d had very good news about a witness in his program and that’s all he could say.

Selma didn’t want to know anyway. She was just happy to have him home in one piece getting a decent sleep in his own bed. He had hardly stirred in the last two hours, and she was reluctant to leave him, even for a quick trip to the drugstore. With his face wired like that anything could happen. But she needed to go if she was going to—the store closed at ten, and it was already nine-thirty. The trip there and back would take her only fifteen minutes, and it was Theo who had insisted he needed new batteries for the remote tonight. He just knew he’d be up in the night channel surfing. Selma paused at the door, wondering if she should wait. She would feel a lot better leaving him to run errands once the nurse they’d hired reported for duty in the morning.

Feeling a little silly about her nerves, she crept to the bedside and kissed Theo lightly on the cheek. She would get the batteries because that’s what he wanted, but it was the last time she was letting him out of her sight until he was better. She started to go, but stopped long enough to pen a short note that she laid on his chest in case he woke up.

Gone to get your batteries. Be right back.

XXX

As soon as she was out of sight around the corner, Cinzano’s men moved in.

*

“What’s going to happen when we get back?” Blayne asked Agent Dombrowski.

She was still disappointed that she’d ended up seated next to him on the plane while Alexi was across the aisle, one row back. But she hadn’t complained. Vaso had decided to make the trip with them so it was natural for the sisters to sit together.

“There’s a new safe house. It’s a two-story older home. Quiet neighborhood. Theo says you’ll stay there until the preliminary hearing, which will be in two or three weeks, probably.”

“Who’ll be guarding me?”

“Theo was sure you’d want it to be Alexi after what happened at the lodge. Is he right?”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Well I’m prepared to fill in for her when she needs a break,” Dombrowski said. “Any time you have to leave the house, there’ll always be at least two people with you. Probably she and I, but we can call in another Marshal if we need to.”

“I’m glad you’ve been reassigned to my case, Agent Dombrowski,” Blayne told him. And that was the truth.

“Call me George. Please. Well, it’s routine to take an agent out of rotation when he discharges his weapon,” Dombrowski said. “But everything checked out fine, and I was happy to get another chance on your detail.”

Blayne gave him a quick smile then glanced across the aisle at Alexi. She was talking to her sister in a low voice. Greek again. Their eyes met, and Alexi gave her a little nod and a half-smile. A smile that said yeah, I’d rather be sitting with you, too. Blayne was certain of it.

“You’ll be guarding me at least until the hearing,” She said.

Alexi smiled. “Good.”

The flight attendant came around with their drinks and Dombrowski continued once she’d moved away. “They’re going to bring Claudia and Philippe up from Indianapolis probably tomorrow, though it might be the next day. They’ll be staying with you, with their own U.S. Marshals, until the hearing.”

“At the same house?” Blayne worried about what kind of target that would make.

“You’ll be on the top floor, Marshals below. After the hearing, you all officially get oriented at a WITSEC facility. That’s where you get your new IDs and they brief you. Takes about a week. Then on to your new location and new jobs. You’ll come back to Chicago for the trials. That will be a few months away, probably.”

“And we’re supposed to get a say in where we go, right?”

“Theo says you can choose between Pacific Northwest, New England, or Florida Panhandle.” Dombrowski’s hand was so large it fully enveloped his plastic cup. Every time he took a drink Blayne imagined him as a magician with a disappearing cup.

“Claudia and I will both vote against Florida, I think,” she predicted. “We’ve talked about living there. Too hot. I bet she says New England or the Pacific Northwest. I’d be happy with either.”

“Your Inspector will be trying to find travel agency jobs for you. Or something as similar as possible,” Dombrowski said. “I really don’t know much more than that, I’m afraid. Alexi can tell you about the fine details of relocating. I’m just conveying what Theo wanted me to.”

“I like him,” Blayne decided. “I was sorry to hear he got hurt.”

“He’s tough. He’ll be back at the office in a month or two. And frankly, you’d barely know he’s been ordered to take it easy. He’s been on the phone with me every few hours, seems like.”

*

There were three men on the job, dressed in identical navy overalls. The van they drove bore bogus license plates and removable magnetic signs on the side that advertised a carpet cleaning service. The design of Theo Lang’s upscale residence and curved drive worked to their advantage, for they could park where they could not be seen from the street.

The largest of the three men removed a rolled up rug from the back of the van and carried it on his shoulder to the house while one of the others gained entry through a rear door. Lang woke up when they pulled him from his bed, but the carpet effectively muffled his cries, and they had him in the van without complications and were on their way within a scant few minutes. They took him to a deserted warehouse where Rosco Rosetti was waiting, and sat him on a battered office chair with wheels.

Theo’s heart was drumming against his chest and he wheezed loudly, trying to catch his breath. His forced exertions demanded more oxygen than he could comfortably suck in through his nose and broken teeth, and he wished he had the wire cutters that had thus far never been out of arm’s reach.

The man who addressed him was a fortyish brute in a dark suit, with a malevolent smile that gave him the creeps. He walked around and stood behind him, placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard enough to make him cringe.

“Looks to me like you’re in a lot of discomfort, Mr. Lang. So let’s make this as fast and as painless as possible.”  He paced slowly around to stand in front of Theo. “What we’re going to do here is negotiate. You give us what we need, we get you back to the comfort of your bed. Simple, right?”

*

“Have you heard anything at all I have said?” Vaso said, with not the slightest inference of irritation or displeasure.

Alexi, who had not taken her eyes off of Blayne once in at least four or five minutes, nodded. “Everything. Family gossip, sexual escapades, speeding tickets and all.”

“So you will be guarding her when you get to Chicago?”

“Yes. Apparently so. For at least a couple of weeks.” She shifted her gaze to Vaso. “Will you be going back right away?”

There was no hint of plea in her question, but Vaso knew her sister well enough to understand what she was asking. Vaso had decided, as she watched the unfolding events in London, that she might be needed company for her sister, so she’d had Alexi book a fourth seat on the flight to Chicago.

Alexi’s inquiry confirmed that she was appreciative and wanted her to remain close by. But she would not request it. Vaso knew it was nearly impossible for Alexi to seek personal favors of anyone.

“I will stay for awhile,” she said. “Nothing urgent that needs to be done at home, and it has been a long time since I have been to the U.S. Not since the last time I came over to see you, as a matter of fact. Do you still have your apartment?”

“No. I gave it up when I left.”

“Then I will book a hotel. I am certain I can find things to amuse me until you have some free time.”

“No doubt you can.” Alexi had to smile at the understatement. Vaso viewed every place she visited as a playground, with a new landscape of women to seduce and other potential opportunities for hedonistic pursuits. Just as Alexi always had, too. At the moment, however, she had no interest in any woman but Blayne.

“But of course I will always be available to you, if you need to talk or whatever.”

Alexi placed a hand on Vaso’s knee. “I know that. And I am grateful.”

Vaso lowered her voice. “You are planning to guard her for a few weeks, then walk away?”

“I have no choice. It’s for her own protection.” Alexi paused. Hearing Vaso say the words walk away stabbed at her heart. “I do not know what I will do without her, Vaso. The mere thought…it is like an emptiness has opened up inside of me.”

Vaso offered a comforting embrace and, with a brief hesitant look in Blayne’s direction to ascertain she was unobserved, Alexi accepted. She was never one for tears, so it came as a shock to both of them when she found herself sobbing wordlessly into her sister’s shoulder.

*

Theo’s jaw ached and he was freezing, dressed only in his flannel pajamas in the drafty, unheated warehouse. But his body was at the moment so pumped full of adrenalin that he could ignore the pain and discomfort. He knew he was in some serious shit, because the mob rarely risked the heat that would come crashing down on them if they messed with someone in his position.

When he didn’t immediately agree to his captor’s demand to negotiate, the man reached over, grabbed his skull, and nodded his already hurting head for him. “Good,” he said, smiling that awful smile again. “So we agree.”

Theo did not respond.

“The way I see it,” the stranger continued, “You can give me Keller’s location and I can guarantee that you get to see your son celebrate his birthday next week...”

Though he had been determined to keep silent, the threat loosened Theo’s tongue. “Leave my son out of this,” he replied angrily.

“Give me her location and your son will never know how close he came to dying.”

“I don’t know where she is.”

“How fortunate that we know exactly where your son is as we speak.” The stranger pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Know what’s also fortunate? Whether he gets the thumbs up or down is only a button away.”

Theo pictured his son, asleep in a modest ranch home on the south side of Chicago, wife curled up by his side and his two boys in their bunk beds down the hall. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, despite the chill in the air. He could take whatever punishment they gave to him personally, he was certain of it. But this was another matter altogether.

“Do you think you know now?” The man toyed with the phone in his hand, caressing it like a lover.

Theo’s helpless fury boiled over. “Why should I fucking believe you?” he snarled, so vehemently that several of the stitches in his mouth and jaw gave way.

“You ready to find out if it’s true?” the stranger replied. “Say the word and I press the button.” Laughing, he said to the others, “How poetic! He wants to execute his son.”

“Fuck you, you son of a bitch,” Theo screamed, spitting blood and saliva through his broken teeth. “Fuck you!” He rose up out of the chair and started toward the man, but two of the goons in overalls grabbed him and shoved him roughly to his knees.

“I’ll tell you! I’ll fucking tell you! Just leave my son alone!” He broke down then, crying in fear and frustration, more angry than he had ever been. “You hear me, you son of a bitch? Just leave my son alone!”

“I already told you I’d leave him alone. Just tell me where Keller is, and we can all be on our way.”

He had already resigned himself to tell them, but it still took him an effort to volunteer the information that he knew would trade Blayne’s life for that of his son. “She’s coming in by plane tomorrow, and will be taken to a safe house.” He told them the address, cursing himself for his weakness, feeling relief and disgust in equal measure.

“I don’t like to be lied to,” the man said, studying Theo’s face. “Should the address be incorrect, both your son and your grandsons will pay for that lie.”

“It’s the truth,” he spat, hanging his head in shame. Then, more to himself than to them, he mumbled, “Now let me go home, please.”

“Yes, of course,” the man replied. “I told you I would take you home.” He gestured to one of the men in overalls who was standing behind Lang. “Take him home.”

The man pulled out a gun, aimed it at the back of Theo’s head and fired.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Alexi.” Blayne bit her lower lip nervously. “I need to know something.”

“And what is that?”

“Vaso told me that…that you have feelings for me.”

Alexi exhaled a long breath and a look came over her face that said I am so going to kill her for that. Blayne didn’t wait for one of her non-committal answers. There was too much she needed to say.

Trying to keep her emotions level, she reached for the remote and switched off the television, then moved the pizza box so there was nothing in between them. She faced Alexi, one leg tucked under her body, her arm resting along the back of the couch.

Alexi, without thinking, mimicked her posture, so that their fingers were nearly touching. Their body language said that it was time for a talk. An intimate talk, acknowledgement that time between them was short and there were things that needed to be said and there could be no more running away. They had the safe house to themselves. Dombrowski had gone back to his hotel to catch a few hours sleep and wouldn’t return until the next morning.

It had been a long day. Alexi was fatigued to the core, but she had managed to get a nap after dropping Vaso at the Fairmont hotel and picking up a few essentials, like a cell phone and another Beretta 92F and additional ammunition for her revolver. She had expected Blayne to be sleeping already, especially after finding her eating pizza with Dombrowski on the couch in the living room, the television blaring ancient Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons. Instead their star witness was wide awake and wanted to talk.

Alexi looked longingly at the stairs that led to her bedroom. Just a few more nights with her, and then she will be out of my life. She promptly ruined any comfort she might have taken in that thought by imagining what it would be like to lie beside Blayne, spooning her from behind, bodies breathing in unison as slumber claimed them. She glanced sideways at Blayne and knew her distraction level must be obvious. Somehow Blayne could read her as others could not.

“Alexi. The thing is…” Blayne’s voice emerged a half-note higher than normal. “I…I had come to the conclusion…after I interrupted you, with your friend…” She couldn’t look at Alexi. “That you’d been turning me down because I wasn’t your type. I mean, she was beautiful. Blonde…thin…”

“Blayne, you are a beautiful woman,” Alexi interrupted, but Blayne held up a hand to stop her.

“Please, let me get this out?”

“All right.”

“I admit I had a hard time with it. I was pretty upfront about what I wanted. And I also just couldn’t really understand it, because I mean, there were… are…definitely an abundance of sparks between us. Something special.” Blayne stole a glance at Alexi for confirmation of this, and her heart soared to see Alexi’s eyes moist with emotion. It gave her courage to continue.

“Vaso said that…sleeping with that woman was kind of your way to try to get me out of your system. But it didn’t succeed in doing that at all. Was she right?”

Alexi couldn’t look at Blayne, because she was certain Blayne would see the depth of her true feelings in her eyes. Instead, she stared at their hands, so close together on the back of the couch that if she leaned forward only slightly she could bring their fingers together. She longed for some physical contact, any physical contact, but would not allow herself to initiate even that. She felt that if she touched Blayne right now, she would be taking a step toward something inexorable—life-altering, a step she could not retreat from.

Blayne’s candor made her realize with startling clarity how very deeply the woman sitting beside her had penetrated all of her well built and maintained defenses. She had come to mean more to her than anyone before, and Alexi’s ability to push her away was crumbling fast. It is true, Blayne, she wanted to say. No woman can replace you. No woman can make me forget you.

She knew she had a choice to make. Here and now. And she had to make it fast. She could go on living as she always had. Safe in her emotional distance from the rest of the world. Or she could take that one big risk she had always avoided. What the hell am I going to do? She had no immediate answers. Her head was spinning. But she realized that at the very least, she had to let Blayne know that yes, Vaso had been right. I only want you.

When she finally answered Blayne’s question, it was only with a slight nod of her head.

“I know that you think that any relationship with me will compromise you doing your job…” Blayne edged closer and placed her hand on top of Alexi’s. “But it doesn’t have to, you know. It doesn’t. No one will ever know, if that’s what you’re worried about. And I know that no matter what, you’d never let anything happen to me if you could prevent it.”

A very long silence fell between them. Alexi tried to calm the pounding of her heart with deep, even breaths, but she felt not at all in control of her runaway emotions. Blayne’s hand atop hers was driving her crazy. It begged to be caressed. It invited her to give in to the overwhelming urge to pull Blayne close and kiss her.

She felt as though kissing Blayne would tilt her world right again and bring everything back into focus. But she feared the repercussions of giving in to that impulse. You are absolutely right. No matter what, I will not let anything happen to you. Even if that means I cannot have you.

“It is impossible, Blayne. I am sorry.”

“Why, Alexi. There’s more to it, isn’t there? Something you’re not telling me?”

She hated to talk about it. Hated even thinking about it. But when she looked into Blayne’s eyes she knew she had to erase the doubt she saw there. She had to let Blayne know just how much she wanted them to be together, even if it could never be so. Blayne deserved that much.

“This is my first WITSEC assignment in many months,” Alexi began tentatively. “I left my job because…because of what happened to the last witness I was assigned to protect.”

She slipped her hand from underneath Blayne’s and got to her feet. A sudden restlessness came over her as the memory of that night became vivid again in her mind. She began to pace.

“Her name was Sofia Galletti, and she was married to a man who was very high up in the Salvatore Crime Family.”

She heard Blayne’s startled gasp. “That’s the same…”

“Yes. Vittorio Cinzano is a Salvatore underboss. Sofia was married, very young, to the previous underboss…the man Cinzano replaced.” Alexi let this information sink in before she continued. “Her husband was a bastard. He beat her. Cheated on her. Made her life a living hell. But there is no such thing as divorce when you are married to one of them. Her only way out was to disappear. And she needed WITSEC for that. So she called us and offered to turn on her husband.”

She paced some more. “I protected her for two months, through her husband’s trial. He was sentenced to life without parole.” She paused and met Blayne’s eyes, needing their calm harbor. “We were attracted to each other, and she tried again and again to…to get me to have sex with her.”

Blayne nodded, understanding beginning to dawn.

“I put her off, though it was not easy, during the entirety of my time assigned to protect her,” Alexi continued, turning away to stare out the window into the darkness beyond. “After the trial, she was assigned to another Marshal, one from the district where she was to be relocated. But she would not go. She said that she had fallen in love with me and wanted to be with me.”

“Were you in love with her?” Blayne asked.

“No.” Alexi folded her arms and shook her head. “Not in love. But she was a lovely woman. Sweet. Vibrant. Caring. Certainly not at all deserving of the life she had been forced to endure.”

“You cared about her,” Blayne said.

“Yes. It got personal and I did have feelings for her,” Alexi admitted. “Anyway. She called me a couple of nights after the trial ended. We had said goodbye to each other and she was due to leave for orientation the next morning. But instead, she slipped out of the motel where her new Marshal was guarding her and telephoned me. She asked me to meet her at the safe house where we had stayed. Said she needed to talk.”

Alexi wasn’t sure she could tell the rest. She had only relayed the full story once before, to Vaso. Oh sure, she had repeated all the relevant details to a variety of local and federal officials during the investigation that had followed the shooting. But only Vaso had known about her feelings, her uncertainties, and her guilt.

“She begged me to take her away somewhere,” she said finally, an ache tearing at her chest as the past came to life again in her mind. “Told me that she loved me, and could not be happy without me. Pleaded with me to love her. To make love to her.”

She wanted to remember those loving moments that had followed, but her mind seized upon the image of Sofia’s naked body slumped in the corner, surrounded by red, and she could not shake the memory.

“I told her that it could not be as she wished. That no future was possible with me, because I did not return her feelings in kind. I told her that I cared about her, but I did not love her.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “She cried. We talked some more. She asked me again to make love to her, to give her one evening to remember. I was not assigned to her anymore, so I let myself believe it would be all right.”

Pacing the room, she recited the rest of the story as she had for the official record, with a voice as cold as Sofia’s lifeless body. They had fallen asleep and Sofia had later awakened her after hearing a noise downstairs. She had investigated. Heard shots. Ran upstairs, only to be knocked out. When she had regained consciousness, she found Sofia Galletti dead and the men responsible gone.

She wondered now whether it was Fletcher who had tipped the mob on where they might find Sofia. Most likely, yes. But that knowledge did nothing to assuage her own guilt.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Blayne’s voice from behind startled her, she had been so lost in reliving the past.

“It is not something I care to revisit,” Alexi responded simply. “But I felt you should know now.”

“It explains a lot. I’m sorry that it…that it haunts you so.”

You are a very perceptive woman. Alexi turned to face Blayne squarely. “I wanted you to know because you have become very important to me. Just as Vaso told you. I wish that there could be more, but you now know why I can never let that happen.”

“Not even after you stop protecting me?” Blayne asked.

Alexi returned to her seat on the couch and gave her a rueful smile. “Blayne, I am not the one you want. I am afraid I have no experience at all at relationships. I have avoided them all of my life.”

Blayne cocked her head and looked at her curiously.

“Why? Do you know?”

She shrugged and stared at the floor. “I have not thought too much about it.”

Blayne studied her face. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, perhaps it’s time you did. Because I think you’re throwing away something very precious here. I think we could be great together.”

Alexi ran her hand absently through her hair. She couldn’t meet Blayne’s eyes. She wanted to say the old familiar refrain she had repeated to every woman who had ever said anything like that to her: I am not what you want. I cannot make you happy for long. I don’t know how to do relationships. But she could not say those words with any conviction right now. Not to Blayne. They were only tired excuses, worn thin repeated so many times.

Admit it. You are not pushing her away any more because of some noble devotion to duty, or because of Sofia, or even because it is just what you always do. You are afraid. That is all. Heaven forbid you allow hope in your life. That would mean you would have to stop running from any kind of real and meaningful intimacy in your life. Alexi lifted her head and met Blayne’s eyes. Ironic, is it not, that I would gladly take a bullet for you but I struggle so to gather the courage to risk my heart to you.

She knew it was probably fruitless to be considering what she was considering. Is it possible? Can we be together? No, she decided. We will all probably be leaving here in a few hours.. The course has been set and the clock is ticking. It is far too late to be thinking that there is a way to make this possible.

“It cannot happen between us, Blayne. We just need to accept that.”

Blayne was looking at her with such hurt and such longing, such need, that her body, totally of its own accord, leaned ever so slightly in Blayne’s direction. She could drown in the depths of those eyes, pulled in by the gravity of emotion and want she saw there. The desire to kiss her, to convey to her what she could not say in words, had never been greater or more difficult to resist.

But the image of Sofia’s dead body rose again in her mind, and she stood abruptly, breaking eye contact. Struggled to breathe. “You need to go upstairs, Blayne.” Her voice was a harsh whisper. A ragged plea. “Please. ”

“Are you absolutely certain that is what you want?”

“It is what has to be,” Alexi answered. She didn’t watch Blayne stand, she didn’t want to see her walk away.

The briefest touch of Blayne’s hand on her shoulder as she passed by was almost more than she could cope with. As soon as she was alone, she poured herself a whiskey, doused the lights, and allowed herself to grieve. For Sofia. For what could never be. She was emotionally and physically exhausted. And totally at a loss wondering how she could fill the void in her life that would be left when Blayne was gone.

*

Vittorio answered his cell phone instantly, though it was well after midnight. He had been waiting for hours for this call.

“There is only one person with her and the lights are all out.”

“Excellent,” Vittorio replied. “We are leaving now.” He ended the call and reached for his coat. His bodyguard rose from the chair opposite his desk and they headed for the car they had acquired for the night.

His bodyguard was one of the few people close enough to Vittorio to risk offering any thought that might be taken as criticism. “Are you certain you want to be there, yourself?”

Vittorio was not offended by the question because he knew it was asked out of genuine concern for his welfare, something rare in his world.

“There will be no more fuck-ups if I am there to see to it personally.” He made sure his voice conveyed only a hint of the rage and frustration he felt at so many missed attempts on Blayne Keller’s life. “And I must admit, I will not mind seeing her face when justice is served.”

*

An hour or so after retreating upstairs, Blayne was headed back down. She’d had a good cry, and then spent a restless half hour tossing and turning, and finally gave it up. She now had the sudden urge for some warm milk, like her mother had made for her as a child. She wondered whether her craving was more psychological than physical in origin. All she knew, all she could think about, was that she would soon never again see the woman who had finally captured her heart. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

She felt wretched. Lost. Empty inside. And sad to the very core of her being.

It was an old house, and a couple of steps in the middle of the staircase creaked as she descended. She winced as she hit each one, praying the noise wouldn’t wake Alexi. The house was dark, but there was enough ambient light coming in through the living room picture windows that when she reached the bottom step and turned toward the kitchen she could see a silhouette in the big chair beside the couch.

Her heart jump-started in alarm, but then she heard the clink of ice in a glass from that direction and realized it was Alexi. She could not see her face, but she could feel her intense scrutiny.

Alexi could not look away. Blayne was wearing a snug tank top and French cut panties that left almost nothing to the imagination. She had paused right where a shaft of light from the streetlamp outside could cast her breasts and hips and thighs with seductive shadows that invited closer inspection.

Alexi stifled a moan of pleasure at the sight and downed a long gulp of whiskey. She had been doing nothing but imagining Blayne in something similar, or less, for the last hour. She had fantasized about kissing her. Sweetly. Hungrily. Torturing herself. And her imaginings had been so vivid that it was too much…just too much…to see her only a few yards away, looking like that.

Alexi could not help herself. She was drawn inexorably to Blayne because it was no longer about wanting to kiss her. She had to go to her. It was an act of desperation. The only thing she knew to do to stop the hurting. She deposited her glass on the table beside her elbow and got to her feet, approaching her slowly, without a word.

As Alexi came closer, Blayne could see that she was still wearing her jeans and black T-shirt, but it was not until she stood facing her, with only a foot or so between their bodies, that her expression took shape in the darkness. An expression that she suspected mirrored her own. Hungry. Driven. Her eyes heavy lidded with unmasked desire. The muscles in her chiseled jaw clenching and unclenching as though she was wrestling to contain a wellspring of feeling. She was staring at Blayne’s mouth, and her rapid breathing seemed unnaturally loud.

Blayne glanced down at Alexi’s hands. They were clenched into fists at her sides.

This is all that she can do. As far as she can go. But she needs more, and so do I.

As their eyes met again, Blayne brought her right hand up slowly, afraid that any sudden movement would spook Alexi away, like a sudden noise would make a deer bolt for the woods.

She touched her fingertips to Alexi’s lips. Tentatively at first. Lightly traced the outline of the mouth she had stared at for hours and dreamed of for days. Then she pressed softly against the fullness of that ripe lower lip, and when she felt the softness give, and part, ever so slightly, she insinuated her thumb fractionally and heard Alexi’s sharp intake of breath.

Alexi’s fists gentled as they rose to cup Blayne’s face. Her heart clenched at the first touch of that soft skin beneath her hands and the face before her blurred in a shimmer of unexpected tears.

She blinked them away and pulled Blayne’s face to hers, and kissed her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Blayne knew when Alexi’s hands found her face that she was about to be kissed, and her whole body reacted to the realization. Her skin felt flushed, her knees went weak, and an electrifying jolt of arousal shot through her, culminating in her groin. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as they stared into each other’s eyes. Expectant. Anxious. Nervous as hell. She could see everything in Alexi’s eyes that she herself was feeling.

So when Alexi finally leaned forward and brought their mouths together, it felt as though a long simmering thirst was finally being quenched. All she could think and feel and know was finally. And soft. So soft. Alexi’s lips were far softer even than she had imagined, when she had lost herself in daydreams of this moment.

Alexi skimmed her lips lightly over Blayne’s, barely touching at all, an exquisitely gentle introduction of their mouths to each other. Seductive. Elusive. A minute of that, then her fingertips urged their faces closer as she brought their mouths more firmly into contact.

She kissed Blayne slowly, languidly, taking her time. She nipped lightly at her lower lip and teased her with the tip of her tongue, urging her lips apart, then retreating whenever Blayne complied.

Blayne felt a pressure building within her, a maddening pressure to be closer, to let go of the passion that consumed her, but she allowed Alexi to set the pace and depth and type of contact. Her blood was roaring in her ears and she was a breath away from begging by the time Alexi slipped one hand possessively around the back of her neck, and wrapped the other around her waist.

As Alexi brought their bodies forcefully together, her tongue thrust into Blayne’s mouth to wetly claim her, and the sudden overload of sensations sent a shudder through Blayne’s body that rocked them both.

Blayne moaned into their enjoined mouths as Alexi’s hand descended to cup her ass. She wrapped her arms around Alexi, and felt more than heard her answer—a deep groan from the back of her throat. The primal sound fueled her arousal even higher and she would have sagged at the knees if Alexi hadn’t walked her suddenly back against the wall.

Pinned there, she cried out softly as Alexi continued to kiss her—hard, and wet, their tongues battling for domination. The hand that had been on her ass stroked slowly up her side and beneath her tank top to lightly caress the swell of her breast. She surrendered to the thrill of the touch, opening her legs to invite Alexi’s thigh between them, an offer immediately accepted with a thrust of her hips and another low groan.

She clutched Alexi tighter, fingernails raking over her back just shy of drawing blood. Her body was on fire. She moved her pelvis against Alexi’s thigh and nipped at her lower lip hard enough to leave a bruise. That elicited another unintelligible answering sound of pleasure and a teasing play of fingertips along her painfully erect nipple.

The only thought that made it through her haze of physical rapture was the realization that she could possibly come like this, probably would come like this. But just as the knowledge struck her, the loud slam of a car door snapped her back to awareness, and an instant later, she found herself standing alone.

Alexi was already peering carefully out the front window.

Blayne remained where she was, heart pounding, trying to clear her head. Christ. She was so damn turned on she couldn’t see straight. But when Alexi returned to her side, it was immediately obvious that she had regained more control of her body and emotions than Blayne had. Her half-lidded look had been replaced by the much more familiar visage of the alert U.S. Marshal in charge of keeping her alive.

With a sudden sickening clarity, she knew why Alexi had been resisting her with such determination. There is no way I could be making rational decisions right now, much less take responsibility for someone else’s life.

“It was nothing. A neighbor girl, coming home from a date,” Alexi told her. Before she could say anything, Alexi put a hand gently, lovingly to her lips. Ending their moment the way it had begun. “But I must not forget again, even for a moment, what I am here for. Please go upstairs.”

Blayne knew she could not object. She sighed and with a reluctant nod of acquiescence, went up to her room.

*

Vittorio arrived at the safe house a little before two a.m. All the homes in the neighborhood were dark, the only illumination provided by the rare streetlights, one of which was almost directly in front of their destination. They parked behind a dark sedan halfway down the block, and the driver of the sedan got out and joined them.

“I think the one you want is upstairs,” he said. “She came to the window on this side of this house before the light went out. Not sure about the other, a tasty-lookin’ broad with dark hair. The house has been dark ninety minutes or so.”

Vittorio dismissed him with a nod of satisfaction. “Your work is done. Go home.”

He pulled out his gun and screwed on a silencer. His bodyguard did the same.

“You take downstairs. I’ll go up,” Vittorio said.

They headed toward the safe house, keeping in the shadows. Vittorio could always depend on his man’s expertise at quick and quiet forced entry. Tonight was no exception. They got in through the back door, and there was enough light to make out they were in the kitchen. After a moment’s pause to listen, they advanced, bodyguard in the lead, to the door to the living room. They paused there again to briefly listen, then Vittorio gestured his man toward the front bedroom, while he crossed silently to the stairs and began to climb.

Still several steps from the top he froze at a sudden and unexpected noise from the tread beneath his feet. He listened for a moment, then continued upward, cringing when another did the same.

Blayne’s heart picked up when she recognized the creak of the stair. Alexi’s awake too. And coming up to see me. But even as the thought hit her, she realized that something was amiss. That second creak was much too slow. Her heart became a loud jackhammer.

She had taken note of the two noisy stairs soon after they had arrived. They reminded her of the steps that had led from the family pub back home, up to their apartment. Four in a row, so noisy she could never sneak in after curfew. It’s not her. It’s someone else, and they’re sneaking up. A cold stab of fear went through her when a dark silhouette, too big and bulky to be Alexi, materialized in her doorway.

Vittorio paused. He could just barely make out the dark shape in the bed. He raised his gun to fire, and just as he did, the figure sat up. It startled him so much that he hesitated for an instant before he pulled the trigger. As the gun went off, the figure rolled to the side and landed with a loud thud on the floor.

*

Alexi was suspended in the nether world between sleep and wakefulness, tucked into the crook of the couch, when a sound penetrated her consciousness. Something heavy had hit the floor upstairs. Her heart went into her throat. Blayne. She scrambled up, automatically reaching for her guns. The .357 Magnum she tucked into the back of her jeans. The Beretta she gripped tightly in her right hand. She listened intently for a split second as she got her bearings, then she bolted up the stairs.

As she neared the top, she spotted the dark silhouette of a man in Blayne’s room, roughly framed by the doorway. Just as she caught sight of him, he raised his arm.

Vittorio took a step to his right to get a better shot. As he moved, he heard the loud report of a shot, fired close behind him, and felt the searing sting of a bullet as it pierced his right shoulder. Fuck. The gun in his hand clattered to the floor.

He bent to retrieve it, ignoring the pain, both hands groping in the darkness beside the end of the bed. Alexi saw the silhouette double over, but not go down, so she tightened her trigger finger to fire again.

Blayne saw the flash of Alexi’s gun as it went off, then, behind the slim silhouette that had fired it, she saw a hulking shadow coming up the stairs. “Alexi! Behind you!”

At Blayne’s screamed warning, Alexi wheeled and fired. She caught Cinzano’s man on the stairway just as he depressed the trigger of his weapon. His bullet missed her head by inches.

The bodyguard cartwheeled backward, tumbling back down the stairs, spewing brain matter and blood in a wide arc along the opposite wall until he landed in a heap at the bottom.

Cinzano found his gun just as Blayne shouted her warning, and in the time it took Alexi to kill his bodyguard, he had closed the distance to Blayne. Crouching, Alexi kept her gun trained on the large dark silhouette as she moved into the room. The man was slightly hunched over, and Blayne, she was certain—was sitting up at his feet.

“I have my gun to her head,” he said. “Turn on the light.”

When Alexi hit the light switch, she found Vittorio Cinzano standing over Blayne, one of his hands tightly gripping her hair. With the other, he held his gun to her temple.

Blayne was breathing so hard she was nearly hyperventilating, and her eyes were wide in shock and fear.

Alexi and the man she hated stared at each other. Neither showed any outward sign of recognition or surprise but for a quickly masked widening of Cinzano’s eyes.

“So. Nikolos. We meet again.” Vittorio’s level voice belied his shock. “But you have your clothes on this time. What’s the matter, won’t fuck them unless they’re married to the mob?” He yanked on Blayne’s hair to pull her face his way, and glanced down at her. “But if you ask me, I think this one is worth fucking.”

Alexi kept her Beretta trained on Cinzano’s head. The muscles in her jaw and cheeks were tight with fury. “Let her go, Cinzano, or I’ll—”

“Or what?” he barked. “I can have her brain on the wall before you finish that threat.”

“Don’t make it worse for yourself.” Alexi lined up his temple through her sights and pictured his brain instead defiling the room. “If you shoot her, I will either kill you or testify against you and make sure you rot in jail. You are a dead man one way or the other.”

The sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance.

“I’m not going to shoot her just yet,” Cinzano said. “She’s my ticket out of here.”

He jerked Blayne’s hair again and she cried out in pain. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, bitch. But no more.”

“Listen. Take me instead,” Alexi said. “I’m much more valuable to you than she is.”

Cinzano smiled. “Is she worth that much to you? Then apparently there is more to this after all. Maybe you have fucked her! In that case, I’ll take you both. Now, put the gun down or I’ll blow her head off!” He shoved the end of his weapon hard against Blayne’s temple. “We’re getting out of here.”

Blayne’s cold fear turned to abject terror when she saw Alexi slowly place her gun on the floor. “Alexi! No!” she screamed, and jerked hard against Cinzano’s hand, trying to free herself.

His attention was broken at that moment because his captive was suddenly making a ruckus and he could barely keep hold of her short hair. His wounded shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch, but he was not about to let it show. He didn’t notice Nikolos reach behind her with her other hand, to retrieve her revolver. Not in time.

Her bullet pierced his right hand and then continued on into his stomach. He dropped his gun and crashed backward against the wall.

Alexi kicked the gun away and scrambled forward, grabbing Blayne’s arm to pull her out of Cinzano’s reach, all the while keeping her gun on him.

The sirens were getting louder.

“Are you all right?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay,” Blayne’s voice was tight and breathy. She was shaking and her heart was pounding, but it was beginning to sink in that they were safe.

Cinzano groaned. His eyes were open and he was still moving, his good hand clutching weakly at the hole in his stomach.

Alexi made sure his gun well out of reach then pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, and hit the speed dial she had programmed with Dombrowski’s number. As she waited for him to answer, she said, “Why don’t you get dressed, Blayne. There will be people all over this place within five minutes.”

It didn’t take even that long. The police arrived in two, and the FBI and paramedics were not far behind. Cinzano, still alive, was taken to the nearest hospital. Alexi and Blayne were immediately separated, and taken by Chicago P.D. squad cars downtown for their statements.

As she rode to the station, Alexi reflected on what was to come. She had finally gotten the opportunity to bring Sofia’s killer to justice, which was the main reason she had agreed to take on a case involving the Salvatore family. But she felt little satisfaction at the moment. Somewhere along the way, her priorities had changed, and the case had become all about Blayne.

Alexi knew it right away, but it would be several more hours before Blayne learned that they might never see each other again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The police station they took Blayne to this time was nicer than the one she spent most of a day in after Aldo Martinelli’s murder. Newer, with padded chairs in the interview rooms, and radically better coffee. And now she knew something of what to expect, the experience wasn’t quite so harrowing.

She was questioned for two hours by Chicago P.D. Detectives, and two hours more by FBI special agents she had never met before. Then Agent Dombrowski came to see her, with a large bag of cheeseburgers and fries and all sorts of news. He told her that Theodore Lang was missing, taken in his sleep from his bed. It was all over the T.V. and radio. The mob was suspected in his disappearance. Vittorio Cinzano would survive and face several new charges, many involving the attempts on her life, so she would now be testifying in several trials.

In other words, he said, it was more vital than ever that she enter WITSEC. She would remain under guard by U.S. Marshals in Chicago until the preliminary hearings. Then, like he’d said before, she would go through her orientation and be relocated with the Cluzets, coming back for the trials as needed.

“Where are Claudia and Philippe now?” she asked.

“In light of what’s happened, the guy who’s filling in for Theo decided they’re safer where they are, in Indianapolis, until the hearings. They’ll only be brought back here for their court appearance.”

“Will Alexi guard me until the hearings?” Blayne asked.

Dombrowski frowned. “No. Though she wanted to. Created quite a stink in there about it earlier, actually.” He rolled his eyes toward one of the other interview rooms. “But WITSEC is like the FBI. If a Marshal discharges their weapon, they’re put on temporary leave while there is an investigation. That can take some time in a case like this one. You’ll probably be relocated before she is returned to duty.”

The news sank in, and a cold dark cloud settled around Blayne. She and Alexi likely wouldn’t be spending any more time alone together. “Can I see her now? Is she down the hall?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, no. She’s gone to the WITSEC offices to see if she can help in the search for Theo.”

“When can I see her?” Blayne asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” Dombrowski said gently.

Why the hell didn’t I get the number of her new cell phone? “Do you have her number?”

“Blayne, I’m sorry. I can’t give that to you. We’re not allowed to.” Dombrowski’s expression made it clear he wished it was different. “I know you two are close, and she probably wouldn’t mind. But it’s against the rules.”

Blayne felt a moment of panic. And she won’t know where I am, will she? Not if she’s off the case. So she won’t be able to contact me. Fuck. But then she remembered Vaso. The Fairmont, that was the name of the hotel. She’d be able to reach Alexi through Vaso, if through no other way.

“That’s okay. I’ll just call Vaso. Is there a phone here I can use?”

Dombrowski leaned over and laid a hand on her forearm. “You can’t make any calls until they’re done questioning you. And the calls you make after that will be screened, just so you know. So you can’t give out any information about where you are, what your new name is, or how you can be contacted.”

“Jesus.” I can’t even talk to her any more without someone listening in?

“Yeah, I know. A real bitch. And much as I wish I could help you get adjusted and everything, I won’t see you after today, either. You’ll be taken to a new safe house and under the exclusive protection of the Marshals from now on. Your new WITSEC Inspector is flying in today to take charge of you.”

Everything seemed to be happening incredibly fast. If I had known last night was going to be our last night together…for however long, maybe forever…I would have…should have… But then again, after some thought, she decided she would have done nothing differently. At least she had the kiss to remember. And remember she would. Damn, what a kiss. Best kiss ever.

“You know, I didn’t expect a smile like that at the news I’m not going to see you any more.” Dombrowski jutted out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

“Oh, George.” Blayne smiled at him. “I will miss you. And I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. My mind was just on something else.”

“I know you have a lot to think about. Stick to the positive—you’ll see your friend Claudia soon.”

“Yes. And I’m really looking forward to that.”

Dombrowski stood. “Have to go now, I’m afraid. They’ll be in to talk to you some more.”

She got to her feet and gave him a hug, and he hugged her back. “I just want you to know, I think you’re a brave woman, Blayne,” he said. “And you’re doing the right thing agreeing to testify.”

After more questioning, she was introduced to her new WITSEC Inspector, a tall, no-nonsense ex-Marine, who formally briefed her on what to expect during her orientation. He said her relocation choices would be taken into consideration, along with Claudia and Philippe’s, but the exact destination would be withheld from all of them until they were moved.

After meeting with him, she was introduced to the three local U.S. Marshals who would take turns guarding her until the pretrial hearings—two men and one woman, a married mother of two. All seemed pleasant enough, and capable.

They arrived at the new safe house in mid-afternoon. It was a condo this time, with two bedrooms and modern furnishings. She was finally allowed to make a phone call, but one of the Marshals was seated on the other end of the couch, listening to every word.

She got The Fairmont and the front desk put her through.

“Vaso?” she said, when the phone was answered in Greek.

“Yes, who is speaking?”

“It’s Blayne, Vaso.”

“Ah! Blayne! How are you? I have been hearing all about it on the news!”

“I’m okay. It’s on the news?” She reached for the remote to the television and turned it on.

“Yes. On CNN and the local stations. How is Alexi?”

Blayne had started to surf through the channels with the sound muted, but at the mention of Alexi’s name she paused. “You haven’t heard from her?”

“No, should I have?”

“Well, I thought you would have,” Blayne answered. “But maybe she’s still at WITSEC headquarters. Dombrowski told me she went down there to try to help in the search for Theo Lang. Her boss,” she added. “He’s missing.”

“Yes, that is also on the news. Well, I have not heard from her yet. But I would expect her to call me when she is able to.”

“They won’t give me her cell phone number,” Blayne said. “So I can’t call her. Will you tell her…tell her…” She looked over at the Marshal, who was feigning interest in a magazine. Shit. What do I tell her?

“Tell her I hope I’ll get another chance to talk to her. Tell her… I’ll never forget her.” Blayne gripped the phone tighter. It wasn’t what she really wanted to say, but it felt wrong to say that now, with someone listening. Too important to be passed along, second-hand, but better second-hand than not at all.

“I will do that, of course,” Vaso sounded so much like Alexi that it almost hurt to hear her voice. “I am certain that she will also never forget you.”

I so want to believe you’re right. She worked up her courage. It needed to be said. She feared too much she might never get another chance, and Alexi would never know.

“And Vaso, please tell Alexi…that I love her. Very much. Will you tell her that?”

“I will be most happy to. As soon as she contacts me.”

*

Alexi appeared at Vaso’s door three hours later, looking haggard but acting like she was half wired on speed or caffeine. “Good thinking, getting a suite,” she said in Greek as she breezed by, suitcase in each hand. “Which?” She waited for Vaso to point toward the bedroom on the right, then continued on into it to get rid of her bags.

She re-emerged a minute later, and glanced around approvingly. “So I presume you have been listening to the news?” She said it lightly as she crossed to the bathroom.

“I am sorry about Theo Lang,” Vaso said. “Has there been any news?”

Alexi shook her head. “Nothing yet. And I doubt they will find anything. It is how Cinzano found us, I think. But I am certain Theo did not give it up easily.”

“I am sorry, Alexi. Were you close to him?”

“I am not close to anyone, Vaso,” she answered ruefully as she crossed to the couch and took a seat. “You know that.”

Vaso thought the statement very telling. She sat down beside her sister. “She called here earlier, looking for you.”

Alexi’s forced nonchalance evaporated, and suddenly, all of her loneliness and worry and anxiety could be seen on her face and heard in her voice. It was like a switch in her had been flipped. “What did she say? Was she all right?”

“She said she is okay. Disappointed that I had not talked to you. She wanted me to tell you that she hopes that she gets another chance to talk with you.”

Alexi nodded and a smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “I hope that too.”

“She also wanted me to tell you that she will never forget you,” Vaso added, gratified to see her sister’s smile grow at the news.

“Did she?”

“Indeed. I told her I was certain you would not forget her, either.”

Alexi’s eyes narrowed. “Taking liberties, are we not?”

“You have told me how you feel about her,” Vaso placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “And I am happy that you do. Because she also asked me to please tell you that she loves you. Very much.”

Alexi’s eyes grew moist at the news. “I…I had wondered…” she stuttered. “I mean, do you think she…”

“Yes, Alexi,” Vaso tightened her grip on her sister’s shoulder. “She meant exactly what you want her to mean. So what are you going to do about it?”

Alexi got up and began to pace. “I have not the first idea, Vaso. Not the first idea.” I just know the thought of being without her is excruciating.

*

Blayne tried the Fairmont repeatedly but Alexi was never there when she called, and Vaso seldom was either. Time dragged and she grew a little sadder by the day, with no word from Alexi and no idea of how her declaration of love really had been received. Her days were spent watching television, playing cards with the Marshals, or being prepped for her testimony. The only people she saw were law enforcement types or lawyers, and she was beginning to go a little stir crazy.

When she got hold of Vaso she learned that Alexi was staying there, but was out at that moment.

“How did she react to my messages?” Blayne asked.

“She was very pleased to get them. As I told you, Blayne, she feels more for you than she will acknowledge.”

“But she didn’t leave any message for me, did she?”

“I think she hopes to talk to you herself,” Vaso answered, staring pointedly at Alexi as she spoke. “Perhaps the next time you call she will be in.”

Alexi glared back.

“I hope so,” Blayne said. “I never know when they’re going to let me use the phone. Well, tell her I called again, will you? And that I miss her and hope like hell that I’ll get to see her again?”

“I will, Blayne.” As soon as she hung up the phone, Vaso punched her sister lightly in the arm. “I am going to make you wait awhile to hear what she had to say this time, as punishment for your cowardice.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Three weeks later, the day before she was to testify, Blayne’s gloomy outlook lifted in an instant when the knock at the front door turned out not to be the usual shift of Marshals, but Claudia and Philippe.

“Blayne!”

“Claud!”

They both shrieked and ran headlong into each other’s arms, meeting in a fierce embrace that almost knocked the wind out of both of them. Neither was anxious to part, and they were both so excited they talked over each other.

“How are you?”

“My God, I thought you were dead!”

“Where have you been?”

“They wouldn’t tell us anything!”

It was all questions and exclamations, no answers, and suddenly both of them realized it and burst into relieved laughter.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Blayne said, holding Claudia at arm’s length to get a good look at her, but unwilling to let her go completely.

“Me too. We heard about Joyce, but nothing after that. I was afraid you were dead.”

At the mention of we, Blayne for the first time looked over at Philippe, standing off to the side, near the door, watching them. He looked as though he had lost ten pounds and aged ten years, and it was then Blayne realized he had indeed known much more about the mob than he had ever let on.

She went to him, and saw tears in his eyes before he hung his head in shame. He had been like a second father to her, and it hurt her to see him in such pain. She hugged him. “It’s wonderful to see you, Philippe.”

He hugged her back. “I’m sorry Blayne. I don’t know what to say, I—”

“Nothing to say now, Philippe. Let’s enjoy being alive, and being together.”

“So we’ve been hiding out in a motel in Indianapolis,” Claudia said. “Spill. What have you been up to?”

It took a couple of hours for Blayne to provide a blow-by-blow recanting of every attempt on her life, and every near miss between her and Alexi. Throughout the retelling, she described Alexi in such vivid detail that Claudia was able to absolutely picture the two of them together by the time their kiss was described.

She could see it all so well, in fact, that she asked Blayne to describe it again the next day, as they waited in a small room near the courtroom to testify at Cinzano’s pre-trial hearing.

“Holy crap, how hot!” she summarized with slightly less than her usual aplomb. “I think I need a cold shower!”

“God, Claud, that kiss just sealed the deal for me. I mean…”

“You really have it serious bad for her, honey. I mean, great for you, but not, right?”

“You know it. I don’t even know if I’m ever even going to see her or talk to her again.”

They were seated on a pair of folding chairs, Blayne dressed in khaki pants and a navy blouse, and Claudia in a black skirt and pale yellow cashmere sweater. Though she maintained her side of the conversation, Blayne kept her eyes on the window in the room’s only door. The Marshal positioned just outside partially obscured her view, but she still could get a good look at the people passing by outside, going into the courtroom. Please. Please.

She had nearly given up with she saw them. Alexi and Vaso. So quick she might have imagined it. But she knew she had not. “They just went by!” She shot to her feet and hurried to the door, hoping for a glimpse of them among the crowd milling around in the hall. Nothing.

“They?” Claudia said.

“Alexi and her sister.” Blayne prayed for them to find a reason to retrace their steps and reappear in her limited view. “Who is very much your type, by the way.”

“What do you mean, my type?” Claudia said.

“Charming. Cocky. Sexy as hell, and very flirtatious. I like her. Kind of a, tell-it-like-it-is type, which you definitely need.”

“Cute?” Claudia asked.

“Well, I’ve described Alexi and I know you’ve got a good picture in your head of her, right?” Blayne kept talking to Claudia, but her eyes never strayed from the window.

“Oh yeah,” Claudia said. “From your description, I’d go for her myself if you weren’t already crazy about her.”

“Well, Vaso looks exactly like her, just butchier. Great butchier. Like I said, just your type.”

“And you said they just went by?” Claudia got up to join Blayne at the window. “What’s Vaso wearing?”

“How the hell should I know?” Blayne said. “You know who I was looking at. Alexi has black pants, a white shirt and her black leather coat on. One of my favorite looks for her, by the way. Very hot.”

“So what else do you know about…” Claudia began, but Blayne cut her off.

“There they are! Over there!” She pointed toward a small crowd of people near the elevators. They partially obscured Alexi, in profile, talking to Vaso, who had her back to them. Vaso was wearing jeans, black boots and a black leather jacket.

“Oh my God, Alexi is hot!” Claudia said. “Very hot!”

“I told you.” Blayne tried waving in their direction, in the hope of attracting Alexi’s attention, but they were too far away.

“Is that her sister she’s talking to?”

“Yeah, that’s Vaso.”

“I wish she’d turn around.”

Blayne waved again, and this time, though she had been looking in completely the wrong direction, Alexi turned as though she had some sense that Blayne was there, and looked right at her. Blayne’s hand froze briefly where it was, when their eyes met, still held high in the air.

Alexi raised her hand in greeting, said something to Vaso, and then headed straight for her.

Butterflies crowded her stomach and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Alexi exchanged a few words with the Marshal who was guarding the room, and Blayne could tell from their body language that they knew each other. Something Alexi said made the guy laugh, and he nodded and reached around behind him, opening the door to admit her.

Blayne and Claudia backed up a few feet so that Alexi could step in and shut the door again. As soon as she was inside, Blayne threw her arms around Alexi and hugged her. A mix of emotions—relief, happiness, hope—poured through her and warmed her from within. She clutched fiercely at Alexi, wishing time to freeze.

A bit startled at first, Alexi adjusted quickly and hugged her back. Their reunion felt wonderful, but it was bittersweet, too, for she knew that the joy of this hello would be followed all too quickly with another goodbye, the next one probably their last.

“I’ve missed you. So much,” Blayne said. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

“I am here.”

“Oh! Sorry, how rude.” She released Alexi and turned toward Claudia. “Claud, this is Alexi. Alexi, may I introduce Claudia.”

“I am very pleased to meet you, Claudia.”

They shook hands warmly.

“Same here, Alexi. Thank you for taking such good care of Blayne.”

Alexi smiled. “It was my job, but also my pleasure. May I ask you for a favor?”

“Sure thing.”

“Would you mind giving us a few minutes? There is a bench just outside where the Marshal can watch you.”

“Oh! Of course! Most happy to!” Claudia looked so eager to leave them alone that both Blayne and Alexi chuckled.

But as soon as she’d gone, the laughter faded, replaced by uncertainty.

“Shall we sit?” Alexi offered. She felt edgy and nervous, unsure about how to react. She had been thinking about this for days, and had rehearsed in her mind the things that she should say, and how she should act, to make it easiest for the both of them. But now that she was here, facing Blayne, she wasn’t at all certain she could keep control of her emotions.

“How are you?” she asked as they settled into a pair of folding chairs.

Blayne thought about how to answer. If she were to respond honestly, from her gut, she would say she was miserable. That their separation had been unbearable. Intolerable. That without Alexi in her life, there was very little joy at all. That she needed her, more than she needed air and water. But she had already told Alexi how she felt about her, to no avail. What would such a declaration accomplish now?

“I tried several times to reach you, but you were never there. And there were never any messages from you.” There was no reproach in Blayne’s voice, only sadness.

“Yes, I am very sorry about that,” Alexi replied, not meeting her eyes. “I have been very busy.” She thought of the countless times she had flipped open her cell phone and stared at it, battling with herself. I desperately wanted to call you, Blayne, just to hear your voice. Or even just to know you were there. Hear you breathe. Feel some connection to you. She felt an obligation to continue hiding how she felt for both their sakes, but with every passing moment it was getting more and more difficult to maintain her charade.

“Any word about Theo?”

“No. I am afraid not. And that worries me.”

“I’m sorry.”

A silence elapsed between them.

“They’re going to take me away after I testify. Send me off to orientation,” Blayne said at last. Please, Alexi. Please tell me at least that you don’t want to see me go. That you will feel my absence as keenly as I will feel yours. At least give me that. She had her hands in her lap, and she was fidgeting nervously, picking at unseen lint on her new pants.

“Yes, I am aware of that.” Alexi reached over and stilled Blayne’s hand by placing her own hand on top of it. She felt a growing panic over the imminence of their separation. The words they are going to take me away made it suddenly much too real. It was becoming impossible to continue acting normally. She couldn’t meet Blayne’s eyes. Couldn’t let her see it. Change the subject. “How are you holding up?”

“Honestly? I’m glad to be back with Claudia and Philippe, but I can’t imagine never seeing you again.” Blayne turned her hand over and interlaced her fingers with Alexi’s. “Never talking to you. Not knowing where you are, and how you are.”

She tried to memorize the feel of Alexi’s hand. She stared down at it. Strong, callused hands, a bit larger than her own. She never thought she could feel such comfort, such strength, in so simple a physical connection. She held on tightly, afraid that the moment she let go, Alexi would vanish, like a ghost.

All Alexi wanted to do at that moment was to hold Blayne, to stand up and embrace her fully and try to calm her fears. But she knew that she could not. The entirety of her attention was focused on their enjoined hands, and a part of her wished that Blayne would let go, because she wasn’t sure that she could.

“I guess this is where I am supposed to tell you that it is all for the best.” She tried to sound nonchalant as she said it, but it came out angry and frustrated. She hated having no control whatsoever over the situation.

The statement, and the tone of it, seemed to invite a question. Blayne heard a small crack in Alexi’s absolute certainty, a hint of her inner feelings, and she seized upon it. “You said what you are supposed to tell me. What if you tell me something you aren’t supposed to…for a change?”

“Blayne, there is so much I would like to tell you, so much I need to tell you. But I do not know that I can.” Alexi reluctantly disengaged from her, stood and began to pace, running her hand repeatedly through her hair.

“This may be—probably will be the last time we see each other,” Blayne pleaded. She could see from Alexi’s rapid loss of composure that her feelings were very near the surface. Please let me in. Please. “Time is short, so if you have something to say you better say it. Because they’ll be coming for me any minute.”

After several more seconds of restless pacing, Alexi returned to the chair beside Blayne and took her hand again. She was past frustration now. The desperation over losing Blayne was beginning to make itself felt as a very real pain in her gut. She stared at the clock on the wall, watched the red second hand sweeping them too quickly toward their final goodbye.

“I find it hard to imagine my world without you in it. I find it hard to imagine never seeing you smile again, never kissing you again. Never...” She looked at the floor and shook her head. She was admitting all of this to herself as much as she was to Blayne. “Damn it. You do not need to hear this and I should not be saying it.”

“I do need to hear it, Alexi,” Blayne said. “I needed to hear it or I would have gone crazy thinking it was just me.”

“So now you know,” Alexi’s voice shook. She was relieved to have finally opened up to Blayne about her feelings. There was some comfort in knowing what was between them was mutual. But it did nothing whatsoever to ease her frustration over the situation. “Are you happy? Has my telling you changed anything? No. It has not. You still have to disappear, and I am acting very unprofessionally.”

“Has nothing changed? Really? You don’t think our sharing how we feel about each other changes things?” Blayne asked.

“Everything and nothing has changed, and we both need to find a way to deal with that,” Alexi said. You have made me feel this way, made me fall in love with you, and for what? She felt anger and sadness, and even a little frustration with Blayne. You’ve put me in a compromised position, one I am not familiar with—having to feel, and having to admit to these feelings…and now what am I to do with that?

“Tell me how I'm going to do that, Alexi. You're the expert at this. How do I just forget you and go on?”

Alexi was silent for a long minute, surprised by Blayne’s words. Her voice was so quiet when she answered that Blayne had to strain to hear her. “I am anything but an expert at this. I have never felt anything remotely similar, so I do not have the answers you need. I cannot even answer for myself.”

Blayne’s jaw dropped. “Is that really true?”

“Why do you ask me if this is true? Do you think I am looking for ways to make this more difficult? Nothing could be further from the truth, and I realize this admission will only make it more difficult, but you make me feel and I do not know what else to do with it but admit to it.”

“I wish you had told me this sooner,” Blayne said.

“And I wish it had been possible, but your safety was not something I was going to compromise by putting us both in a vulnerable position. I get paid to keep you alive, not to feel.”

And that has been the story of my life. Being paid not to feel anything. Alexi felt suddenly defeated, as if too many of her choices had been the wrong ones.

“But you’re not protecting me any more.” Blayne could not disguise her exasperation. “Isn’t there some way we can be together?”

“If only you knew how often I have thought about it, trying to find a way. I am afraid that it is just not possible. Your safety cannot be compromised.” The thought of anything happening to Blayne filled her with a cold kind of terror so profound she had no defense or experience against it.

Alexi looked her in the eyes, and Blayne could see she was fighting back tears. “I will not allow anything to happen to you,” she said. “And definitely not because of me.”

*

Claudia had no problem at all giving Blayne and Alexi some alone time. She was happy to give Blayne the opportunity to be with the woman who had come to mean so much to her, and it also meant she might get the opportunity to get a better look at Vaso, if she was still hanging around.

And happily, she was. Vaso was leaning against the opposite wall, looking slightly bored but when she spotted Claudia, she straightened and raised an eyebrow in appreciative surprise. Her gaze trailed slowly up and down Claudia’s body.

Claudia tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, but it was no easy task. Vaso was everything Blayne had described, and then some. Strikingly handsome, she seemed to embody sexual appeal, and she didn’t have to work at it at all. Though her overt and insolent ogling was a bit disconcerting, Claudia was determined not to show her discomfort. She stared right back.

Vaso smiled rakishly at her boldness and, after a moment, came over and joined her on the bench. “Are you nervous?” she asked.

It was not the opening line she had expected, and it came as a pleasant surprise that Vaso would express regard for her current situation. In fact, she was indeed a bit anxious about her upcoming testimony. “Yes. A little.”

“Maybe I can change that.” Vaso leaned back, crossed her legs, and stretched her arm along the back of the bench, looking every bit like she was settling in for an extended visit with an old friend.

“Oh? What would make you think so?”

“The fact that I know that you would want me to,” Vaso stated confidently.

“Oh really?” Claudia bandied back. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because of the way that you’re looking at me.”

Claudia couldn’t help but smile. “You’re just like Blayne said you were. Have you always been this arrogant?”

Vaso seemed to consider the question. “Come to think of it, yes.”

That elicited a laugh. “And how often does it work for you?”

“I have not been disappointed yet,” Vaso replied matter-of-factly.

Claudia was a little annoyed that she found Vaso’s self-assuredness so compelling. “Okay, Miss God’s-gift-to-women, let’s say hypothetically I do want you to make me less nervous. What do you have in mind? Think you can charm the pants off me?”

“Now that is something I would like to try.” Vaso leered at the expanse of Claudia’s legs exposed by her skirt. “You have a beautiful body.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Claudia responded. She tried not to fidget, but with Vaso’s gaze on her, it was difficult not to.

“Are you saying that it is not possible, or just not possible for me?” Vaso countered.

“I’m still deciding that. And by the way, I’m still nervous. Your witty repartee isn’t helping a bit.”

Vaso leaned in closer and lowered her voice so the Marshal could not overhear. “Yes, but I am sure your nerves have more to do with me right now. You can deny it but frankly you should not bother.”

Claudia laughed but could not stop the flush of embarrassment that warmed her cheeks.

“I see I am right,” Vaso stated.

“You’re delusional.”

“Hardly. I see it in your eyes.”

“Perhaps I will be the first woman who turns you down,” Claudia threatened, with as much nonchalance as she could muster. But try as she might, she didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t hold your breath,” Vaso replied.

“God, you are too much. Do you have any redeeming features whatsoever?”

Vaso pursed her lips as though seriously contemplating her answer. “Hmm…give me a few…days…” She grinned mischievously. “And I’ll come up with something.”

Claudia laughed again. She was enjoying the playful banter far too much. “Oh? You give women a few days? You don’t strike me as the type.”

“I do not know what type I am but I am certain I am your type.”

“You’re impossible! Your type is probably anything with a pulse,” Claudia said. God, you’re dangerous. Seriously dangerous. “Where’s your scorecard? Long full by now, I bet. Or don’t you take notice of names?”

“This is where you are wrong,” Vaso said. “My scorecard includes only beautiful, responsive, and hard-to-get women, Claudia. ”

The way that Vaso said her name sounded so incredibly intimate that Claudia felt as though she had just been undressed. “Yes, indeed. You are definitely everything that Blayne said you were. But for some ungodly reason I like you anyway.” Vaso had certainly made her forget for a moment where she was and why she was there. “Although you are undoubtedly the cockiest woman I have ever met, you do have a certain charm. We might have had fun together. Pity I’m about to disappear.”

“We are already having fun.” Vaso shifted her body a little closer to Claudia’s. “Are you saying that you would have liked to see me again?”

Their proximity was deliciously unnerving. “Well, perhaps...I mean...”

“This sounds like more than just perhaps,” Vaso replied, inching even nearer.

“Don’t get so full of yourself. I haven’t decided whether you deserve me,” she managed.

“I have no doubt that we deserve each other.”

Claudia half wished she didn’t find Vaso’s low rich voice and melodious Greek accent quite so irresistible. “Well, I’m a real prize. Saved for the select few.”

Vaso laughed. “Go ahead, be honest with yourself. I am sure you will find it freeing.”

Her audacity was absolutely disarming. “I am so completely torn between wanting to kiss you and slap you into next week.”

“I will take curtain number one, please,” Vaso said. “Of course, you can always slap me and then kiss me to make it better.”

“I think you have already been kissed far too much by too many women,” Claudia concluded.

“You think too much. How about acting on some of those impulses?”

“Not a chance. Even if we weren’t surrounded by people. I’m not quite that easy.”

“Maybe not, but you want to finish this, and I know that we will.” Vaso’s demeanor was one of absolute confidence this would be the case.

“And how in the world do you know that?”

“I always finish what I start.” Vaso uncrossed her legs and edged over the final inches so that their bodies were touching.

“And how and where do you think we’ll get the opportunity to finish this?” Claudia was deliciously aware of the warmth of Vaso’s thigh against hers though she made no outward sign of it. “I’m about to go in to testify, and then I’ll be spirited away from here, to a new life and a new identity.”

Vaso shrugged. “I do not know when or where but I know that I have to find a way.”

“Have to?” Claudia tilted her head and studied Vaso, intrigued. “After just talking to me for these few minutes? Or won’t your ego take it well otherwise?”

“Has it only been minutes? It seems like I have been wanting to kiss you far longer than that.” Though it sounded every bit an overused pickup line, it seemed original and entirely heartfelt when Vaso said it, and Claudia found herself wanting to believe it was so.

But just then, a bailiff emerged from the courtroom down the hall, and headed straight for her. Evidently it was her turn to take the stand.

“Well, Blayne said you were charming, and you certainly are that,” she concluded, as she got to her feet. She looked down at Vaso with a frown of regret. “And she said you were my type, and I am forced to admit she is right about that, too. It really is a damn shame we couldn’t have met under slightly more accommodating circumstances.”

“Do not consider this concluded, Claudia,” Vaso replied confidently. “You never know what the future holds.”

*

Despite Vaso’s optimistic declaration, Blayne and Claudia did not get the chance to see Alexi and Vaso again before their orientation and relocation, a fact that depressed the hell out of both of them.

They were settled into a new duplex in a suburb of Portland, Oregon, Philippe in one half and Claudia and Blayne in the other, and their new WITSEC Inspector helped the women both get jobs at a travel agency that was not so different from the Balmy Breezes.

Their lives and routines were soon much the same as they had been before Martinelli’s death. But it didn’t feel at all that way to Blayne. She felt incomplete now, without Alexi, and she wondered whether anything could ever fill the void caused by their separation.

She missed Alexi so much that she even went so far as to telephone The Fairmont one day, totally against the rules, some two weeks after they were resettled. But the Nikolos sisters had checked out, leaving no forwarding address.

That’s that, then, she told herself as she hung up the phone. You’ll just have to try to forget her and move on. It felt like an impossible task.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Blayne was having a particularly bad day. A young couple, about to get married, came in to book a romantic honeymoon in London, and she had to smile and act all helpful and pleasant when the whole experience made her feel desperately lonely for Alexi. Long after they’d gone, she remained hunched over her desk, staring at brochures advertising all the attractions they had been to, so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice that Claudia had stopped talking, mid-sentence, to the businessman she was booking a flight for.

A shadow fell across her desk as a familiar voice broke the ensuing quiet.

“I would like to book a trip for two to Fiji, please. By way of Greece.”

For a moment, she didn’t dare look up. Afraid she had imagined it. Afraid to believe that Alexi was really there. But her heart was about to break out of her chest. She knew it was for real.

“That is, if you would like to, of course,” the voice added uncertainly.

She looked up and found Alexi regarding her with an expectant expression. But Blayne was so shocked she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. She knew she must look a bit idiotic, with her mouth hanging open like she could feel that it was.

But she couldn’t help it. Her surreal, off-its-axis life had suddenly tilted sharply again, she didn’t dare believe it was true. She’s here. She’s really here. For me. Three feet away. And God, more gorgeous than ever. Her stomach knotted and her vision swam—she wanted to rush into Alexi’s arms but she didn’t at all feel capable of standing.

“I had hoped you would look rather more pleased to see me.” There was a twinkle in Alexi’s eyes and a smile on her face, so she’d obviously read Blayne right and concluded that her temporary mute paralysis was a good thing. “May I sit?” She asked it casually, as though stopping by like this was something that she did every day.

Blayne found the wherewithal to move enough to shake her head, but that was about all she could manage.

“No?” Alexi stiffened, and a pained expression replaced her bemused one.

Blayne shook her head again and finally managed to find her voice. “No sitting until you hold me.”

Alexi grinned broadly as relief washed over her face. “Happily done!”

She came around the desk, drew Blayne to her feet, and they embraced long and fiercely.

“God. I can’t believe you’re here,” Blayne whispered into Alexi’s neck. “How are you here? No, wait—that doesn’t matter,” She loosened her grip just enough to drink in her face. “Why are you here?”

“I told you. I am here to invite you to come with me to Fiji, if that is still where you want to go most in the world. The destination does not matter to me. As long as I am with you.”

“Where I want to go most in the world is anywhere you are,” Blayne answered.

“Then apparently we have some things to talk about. When do you get off work?”

“She can leave now,” Claudia interjected, which made them both laugh. “Hey, Alexi.”

“Hello Claudia.”

“Didn’t happen to bring your sister along, did you?”

“No, but she sends her regards to you. She asked me to tell you that she still intends to finish what she started. Said you would understand.”

“She did, did she?” Claudia smiled broadly at the news.

“Can you really leave now?” Alexi asked, her arm still encircling Blayne’s waist.

“Only a half hour left, and I have no one else booked. If Claud’s willing to cover, I don’t see why not.”

“Let us go, then?”

Blayne was surprised to see Alexi head for the sleek Ducati Monster that was parked in front of the agency. She picked up one of the helmets sitting on the seat and handed it to Blayne. “This is all right, is it not?”

“Sure! It’s great! Do you want directions to the house?”

“Later,” Alexi answered, as she put the other helmet on. “I have something else in mind first, if you will trust me?”

“Such a question. Of course!” Blayne nearly shouted, her glee boiling over. “Anything you want! Everything!”

Soon after, with Blayne snuggled tight against her back, Alexi was speeding along the Sunset Highway toward the ocean.

Motorcycles were her favorite way to travel, but Alexi began to have regrets about her decision almost at once. It was wonderful to have Blayne so close, their hips glued together and Blayne’s arms around her waist, hugging her tight. But it was a little too wonderful when Blayne’s hands began to stray, caressing her thighs lightly as they sped along.

She had been thinking about Blayne’s hands on her body for weeks. After the hearings, she’d taken a leave of absence from WITSEC and insisted Vaso accompany her on a trip, intending to get her mind off of Blayne. They went to the south of France, where there were warm beaches and endless parties and an unlimited supply of willing women to bed.

But once they were there, she had soon realized that nothing and no one could keep her from missing Blayne with every fiber of her being. She felt lost and adrift without her. Blayne had touched a part of her that no woman ever had, and Alexi had no idea how she would ever be able to return to the way she’d lived her life in the past. To solitude and emotional isolation.

She had suffered for three weeks before she telephoned George Dombrowski and asked him for a favor. At first, he claimed he could not help her, but she knew how much he had come to care for Blayne, so she told him honestly what her plans were, and asked him to try.

It took him four hours to get the information she needed. She was on the next plane back to the States. And now, here she was, legs open to straddle the bike, a very vulnerable and accessible position to be in, and Blayne’s hands were teasing, taunting, going near, but not too near. The vibration from the powerful motor was only adding to the stimulation.

By the time they reached the coast, her body was ablaze with arousal, and she ached to be in a position where she could begin to give back as good as she had gotten. The desire to touch Blayne had never been more overwhelming.

They arrived at the ocean almost an hour before twilight, so they had plenty of time to find a good place to watch the sun set. Alexi took Blayne’s hand and led her to a secluded stretch of beach, away from the smattering of others who were there for the same purpose. She got comfortable and invited Blayne to sit between her legs in the circle of her embrace—their positions on the bike, only reversed. This time, she would be the one able to taunt and tease and arouse.

They snuggled in, bodies tight together and faces touching, and watched the sky turn orange and red and purple. Alexi slipped her hands beneath Blayne’s jacket and lightly stroked her stomach through the thin green sweater she wore. A sweater she recognized as having been purchased during their shopping spree in Harrods. Every now and then, she would lightly trail her fingertips down along Blayne’s thighs, mimicking the torment she had been put through on the highway.

When she felt Blayne’s body shift slightly beneath her hands, and heard her sudden intake of breath, Alexi kissed her cheek, her neck. Soft, sweet kisses, introducing their bodies to each other. Kisses meant to promise, and to excite.

It was a quiet, peaceful setting, but Blayne’s heart was beating a mile a minute from the thrill of Alexi’s touch, and from having Alexi’s body wrapped tightly around her own. “I can hardly believe we’re really here,” she whispered almost reverently. “It’s like a dream.”

“A dream come true,” Alexi murmured between kisses.

“It feels so wonderful to have you hold me. Touch me. To be able to touch you. Finally. God, what you are doing to me.” She arched her neck to allow Alexi’s mouth a wider landscape to explore, moaning when Alexi’s tongue and teeth nipped and tasted the soft pale flesh beneath her jaw.

“It has been torture for me too,” Alexi whispered back. “So very much, I have wanted to touch you. So very much.” She ached to slip her hands up under Blayne’s sweater, to feel the soft skin beneath, but she wanted to take things slowly. Drive Blayne crazy with desire, and revel in and relish every moment herself.

Blayne closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her runaway heart. She was nervous and excited and a little terrified, too. She’d never wanted anything or anyone this much. Not nearly. And everything that Alexi was doing was only sending her higher by the second. “If you keep that up, we’re going to very soon be in a position that will either get us an audience, or arrested.”

Alexi chuckled against her neck. “Will we? And what position are you seeing us in?”

“A compromising position,” Blayne answered. “Specifically? You on top of me, kissing me like you kissed me the first time.”

A low growl in the back of Alexi’s throat told Blayne what she thought of that particular image.

“You keep putting pictures like that into my head and I may not be able to take you to dinner as I had planned.” Alexi wrapped her arms tightly around Blayne’s waist again and hugged her close.

“We’ve got lots of time,” Blayne said. “Tomorrow’s Saturday and I don’t have to work. I’d like to…you know…”

“I know,” Alexi whispered in her ear. “Slow. Make it last. Make it perfect.”

Blayne lifted her hand to caress the face that rested against hers. “Exactly.”

“Shall we find a nice place for dinner, then, and flirt some more? I can flirt back now, you know,” Alexi said.

“Prove it,” Blayne challenged as she jumped to her feet and offered a hand to Alexi.

Alexi allowed herself to be pulled up, and she kept hold of Blayne’s hand as they headed toward the bike. “Fair warning, however,” she said when they neared the Ducati. “If you put your hands on my thighs again like you did, I am going to have to pull over and do something about it, and you are going to be one very hungry woman.”

Blayne laughed. “It’ll take every ounce of will power I have, but I’ll be on my best behavior. For now. After dinner, all bets are off.”

“I will hold you to that.”

*

They found a romantic seafood restaurant a little ways down the coast, and Alexi made sure they were given a private candlelit table that overlooked the ocean. While they waited for their fish, they sipped white Lambrusco and grinned at each other like teenagers on a first date.

Alexi raised her glass and waited for Blayne to raise hers. “To your beautiful smile. The smile that brought you to me.”

“That’s lovely,” Blayne said, her face warming from the unexpected compliment. “Thank you.” She was quiet for a few moments. “You know, I thought for a long time that you weren’t interested in me. That I wasn’t your type. I know you can have any woman you want.”

Alexi leaned over to touch her cheek. “You are a very beautiful woman, Blayne, and very much my type.”

Blayne took another long sip of wine to try to calm her nerves. The way that Alexi was looking at her was doing all sorts of marvelous things to her insides. “Good to know.”

“I thought I made that clear when I kissed you,” Alexi said gently. “I just had to. You left me no option.”

“I hoped you felt that way.” Blayne responded. “But I guess I wasn’t sure. I had been really throwing myself at you. And like you said…you’re only human.”

“Yes, I am only human, and when a beautiful woman throws herself at me it is very difficult to resist. I did it only because I had to, not because I wanted to.”

Blayne caught her lower lip between her teeth and glanced at Alexi expectantly. “And now? What do you want now, Alexi?”

Alexi leaned forward again, placed a hand on Blayne’s, and looked into her eyes. “Right now I want to kiss you. Right now I want to do what I have to do.”

Blayne’s skin tingled at the memory of how the last kiss had made her feel.  “Can I take a rain check on that? Perhaps for dessert, somewhere more private?”

“I have never looked forward to dessert before like I do now.”

The waiter interrupted them with their meals, and it took only a few forkfuls for them to both realize they were virtually bolting down their food. They looked at each other and broke up laughing.

“I wish I could say that it is good, but I have not tasted a thing,” Alexi said. “So how is yours?”

“I’m eating only because I think we’ll need sustenance later,” Blayne replied.

“Why? Do you have plans?”

Blayne nodded her head slowly and deliberately. “Oh, yeah. I intend to keep you much too busy to eat.”

Alexi raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Do tell.”

Blayne put her hand on Alexi’s thigh under the table. “I’d rather show, than tell.”

“I would rather you do that too,” Alexi responded, her voice tight.

“You know, I am suddenly feeling very full. Can’t eat another bite.” Blayne licked her lips. “Unless of course, you’d like me to nibble on you. That can be arranged.”

“Would you like to move on to dessert?”

“Now that, I definitely have an appetite for.”

Alexi turned to find the waiter. “Check, please!”

They settled the bill and headed for the bike, which was parked behind the restaurant, away from traffic and the attention of anyone passing by. Alexi reached for the helmets, but Blayne grabbed her by the lapels of her jacket and yanked her close.

“Can’t wait any more,” she rasped, before pulling Alexi’s lips forcefully to hers.

This kiss began where the first left off, hungry and full of need, the outcome of long hours and days and weeks of wanting what was now not only possible, but finally within reach.

Blayne nipped and tugged at Alexi’s lips, and stroked them with her tongue, and Alexi answered with equal passion, thrusting her tongue into Blayne’s mouth to claim and explore the welcoming warmth.

Blayne’s arms went around Alexi’s neck, and Alexi’s hands went to Blayne’s ass, and their bodies came together in a rush of heavy breathing and low moans as the kiss went on and on and on. They remained like that until the lights of a car swept over them as it parked nearby, jolting them back to reality.

“Christ,” Alexi panted as they broke apart. “How the hell am I ever going to be able to drive us anywhere?”

Blayne traced a hand lightly down the center of Alexi’s chest. “Oh, I’m confident you can get us somewhere we can continue this.”

“I am glad you are confident.” Alexi reached for the helmets with an unsteady hand. Her body was so painfully aroused she worried the vibrations of the bike might push her over the edge.

They put on the helmets and mounted the bike, Alexi struggling to focus on driving and not on the feel of Blayne snuggled up behind her. She knew it was impossible—Blayne was wearing a jacket, and so was she—but she swore she could feel Blayne’s nipples against her back.

They had gone only a few miles up the coast when Blayne’s hands slipped from her waist to her crotch. It was only a light brushing tease of a caress, but it shattered the small amount of focus Alexi had garnered. She swerved into the next motel they passed, a collection of beachfront bungalows that advertised a scenic view, in-room Jacuzzis and privacy.

As soon as she stopped the bike, she glanced over her shoulder and said in a voice that was not hers, “All right?”

“Perfect.”

Blayne stuck close as Alexi registered, requesting their nicest accommodations.

“How many nights?” the clerk asked.

Alexi looked to Blayne for the answer.

“Two nights,” she replied. “You have room service, right?”

“Yes, of course,” the man replied cheerily. “We can deliver from any of the area restaurants. Twenty-four hours. Menus are in the rooms.”

“Great!” Blayne tried for a casual air but found Alexi staring at her with what could only be described as a wolfish grin. Dear God. Get me into that room right now. “Ready?” she asked, as seductively as she could manage with Alexi looking at her like that.

Alexi only nodded, very slowly, with that grin getting just a little wider, and Blayne swore she could see her pupils dilate right there, the vivid blue rings shrinking as Alexi’s hunger reached out and enveloped her.

They left for the room, Alexi moving ahead to politely open doors, her hand resting on Blayne’s lower back as they walked. Blayne felt light-headed from nerves and excitement, the thundering of her heart loud in her ears. She found it incredibly hard to take a deep breath. Her body was thrumming, as every nerve ending sang out for Alexi’s touch.

For weeks they had been wanting, craving, needing. Desire growing by the day without hope of fulfillment. And now they were here, and she surely could never remember ever being this incredibly turned on and fearful at the same time. Please don’t let me do anything to disappoint her. Please. She means far too much.

Alexi’s body seemed charged by electricity, as though every sense had been acutely and profoundly heightened to appreciate such a long awaited moment. Walking beside Blayne, her nostrils flared to catch another whiff of her perfume, a hint of citrus with undertones of earthy, musky sensuality. That’s her, her essence.

It fed her, and sent her higher, as had the look in Blayne’s eyes when she turned to her, back at the desk. After making it clear we are going to be in here touching each other for the next forty-eight hours or so. Jesus. The look in Blayne’s eyes had been one of open and unfettered desire as deep as her own.

Alexi had felt arousal before, certainly, but these feelings that Blayne stirred up in her were overwhelming. And unfamiliar. A mixture of unmatched excitement and absolute terror. She used sex as a means of satisfying a physical need, never her emotions. This was an unfamiliar arena, and she was involved in a very scary challenge she desperately did not want to lose.

She was a passionate lover, accomplished at giving and confident in her abilities to arouse and satisfy. Showing a woman you were horny for her was easy. But she had little experience at taking…or at showing someone how she felt about them with sex. And what she felt for Blayne…she couldn’t put into words. So she knew of no other way to tell her than through touch.

*

It was a lovely room, with a king-sized bed facing the ocean, and privacy blinds that allowed the occupants a splendid view while affording them complete protection from prying eyes.

“Would you like some…wine? Or music? Or…” Alexi stood just inside the door, watching as Blayne checked out the view and the Jacuzzi.

“No, thank you.” Blayne crossed to the bed and sat on one corner, bouncing up and down once or twice as though checking out the durability of the mattress. Her expression changed from playful to serious. “All I want, all I need, is the beautiful woman I see standing before me,” she said softly. “Whom I very much wish would get over here and kiss me. Since there is nothing to interrupt us this time.”

Alexi bit back her nervous apprehension and slowly approached the bed. Her chest rose and fell and she sucked in air, desperate to calm her raging heart. Blayne’s gaze traveled up and down the length of her body, lingering here and there with undisguised appreciation for the way she moved.

“I love your body.” Blayne sighed. She opened her legs to invite Alexi in between them, and looked up at her as they embraced. “You have no idea how many times I just watched you and thought…Oh, how I wish!”

Alexi smiled and brought her hands up to frame Blayne’s face. “I have a very good idea, as a matter of fact.”

She lowered her mouth to Blayne’s, kissing her with exquisite tenderness, savoring the sweet softness, the easy submission to the strokes of her tongue. Blayne opened to her like a flower, drawing her in, deepening the kiss until it roared hot and wet.

“Blayne,” she panted, pulling back slightly as her self-control threatened to snap. Slow. Slow. Jaws clenched in determination. “You are driving me wild. It is so hard to…take time, but I want to.”

“And we will,” Blayne whispered breathily. “I want us to explore each other thoroughly…” She tilted her head to kiss Alexi on the neck. “Find every sensitive spot…” More kisses and gentle nips. “See how very much we can climb. And climb.” More nips and bites and sweet tongue caresses. “Higher and higher…” Her hands threaded themselves through Alexi’s hair, pulling her head back slightly to expose more of her neck for kissing.

Alexi moaned as a pressure began to build in her chest, an ache so profound it felt as though it would smother her. “Please. I have to feel your body.” In response, she felt Blayne’s hands on hers.

“I want you to undress me. Slowly.” Blayne’s breathing was ragged, uneven, just as Alexi’s was. Her hands guided Alexi’s to the bottom of her sweater, and together they pulled it up and over her head.

She shivered slightly as Alexi’s gaze settled on her black lace bra. “Happy with what you see?”

Alexi brought her hand up and lightly traced the silk and lace with her fingertips, skirting around the rigid peaks of nipples that strained against the sheer fabric. Her voice was hoarse, as though she had just awakened. “Very much. You are incredibly sexy.”

“Pants next?” Blayne wanted to sound confident and cavalier, but her voice and shaking hands betrayed her nerves.

As she looked into Blayne’s eyes, Alexi slowly caressed the undersides of Blayne’s breasts through her bra, then trailed lightly down her sides, across her stomach, and to her belt. She unfastened it, then slipped her fingers into the waistband of the black dress slacks, marveling at the soft skin beneath. She unfastened the button, then slowly unzipped. She looked down.

Blayne was wearing black silk panties, low cut and very brief.

Alexi’s mouth watered at the sight. “Beautiful. So beautiful. Lie back,” she said hoarsely.

Blayne reclined on the bed and lifted her hips so that Alexi could remove her pants. Socks were next. She was in just her bra and panties now, and Alexi’s eyes drifted to the apex of her legs as she opened them enticingly, and took notice of the dark circle of dampness.

The sight sent a hot flash of desire through her that chipped away at the restraint she was barely maintaining. And how she loved the look in Blayne’s eyes right now. Wanton. That was the word for it. She climbed up onto the bed, and over Blayne, and spent a very long moment letting her eyes feast on the body beneath her before she lowered herself onto Blayne and kissed her again.

She pushed her tongue into Blayne’s mouth and inserted one thigh between her legs, and then her hips began to move of their own accord. Blayne sucked on her tongue and began to moan softly, as her hips matched Alexi’s movements, thrust for thrust.

The pressure for release was incredible. Take it slow. Take it slow.

“You next,” Blayne panted, out of breath. She reached between their bodies for the buttons on Alexi’s shirt. “Have to feel you, against me.”

Alexi rolled off her and lay on her side to allow her access. Blayne’s nimble fingers quickly went to work, freeing her from her clothes. As her body was revealed, Alexi watched Blayne’s face, heard her gasp of pleasure at the sight of her nearly transparent bra, which allowed a clear view of her dark areolas through the sheer cream-colored fabric.

Blayne sucked in air through slightly parted, swollen lips, playing her fingers over Alexi’s nipples and watching them respond. The look in her eyes and the thrill of her touch drove Alexi ever closer to the limit of her endurance. She pushed Blayne’s hand down to the clasp of her low-cut jeans, and Blayne let out a soft moan of approval while she popped the button and pulled the zipper down.

Her gaze drank in the soft, bronzed skin, and the hint of dark hair peeking out from the top of the panties, a brief triangle of sheer fabric that matched Alexi’s bra. “God, so wonderful. So hot.” Her eyes returned to Alexi’s. “Sit up. I really need you naked.

Alexi did as instructed, and Blayne slowly pulled off her jeans, running her hands firmly down the expanse of muscled thighs and calves. Then she shifted to straddle Alexi before slipping her hands beneath Alexi’s blouse. She slid the garment slowly off of Alexi’s shoulders, then reached around to unclasp her bra.

Alexi’s breasts were not overly large, but were beautifully shaped and well proportioned to her lean, trim torso. The nipples were dark, and fiercely rigid. Blayne’s hands splayed to take both of them in, and as she did, she threw her head back in ecstasy and let out a long, low growl of pleasure.

Blayne’s hands on her breasts were torturously light and maddeningly slow in their explorations. Every brush of a fingertip against one of her nipples sent a pulse of pleasure to her groin. The sighs and moans that Blayne was making, and the way her body was beginning to move was driving Alexi insane with raw and desperate need.

“The sounds that you make…” It was a struggle to form words. But she wanted so badly to let Blayne know what she was feeling. “When I touch you…they move me. They reach deep within me and turn me inside out.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Blayne met her eyes, and the smolder in her expression made it clear the question was purely rhetorical. Alexi nodded anyway as she reached behind Blayne to unfasten her bra. Her heartbeat double-timed and the throbbing between her legs grew stronger as Blayne’s breasts were revealed to her. So different from her own, larger, and the skin so pale and delicate. The nipples dark pink, in bold attention, and demanding her mouth.

She pulled Blayne’s body close, and danced her mouth and tongue wetly over her right breast, then left, caressing the soft swell and pausing for gentle, quick nips at each nipple, eliciting more whimpers and sighs.

“Harder,” Blayne gasped. “More, Alexi. Please. Suck me.”

Her hands entwined themselves in Alexi’s hair and caressed her scalp with firm purpose, urging her on, and Alexi gave her what she asked for. The sensations of Alexi’s mouth on her breast let loose a surge of wetness between her thighs.

Alexi felt Blayne’s arousal coat her stomach as she feasted on one breast, then the other. The combination of all the different types of sensations made her feel almost dangerously over stimulated. Her body wanted to rush, to drive to completion, and it was hard not to give in.

Blayne’s hands moved from Alexi’s hair to her face, and tilted it upwards, and Blayne’s mouth descended on hers for another scorching kiss. Blayne was breathing so hard it seemed as though she was already well on the road to orgasm, solely from the contact of their bodies and mouths.

“Nothing between us,” Alexi managed when they finally parted to breathe. She slipped her hands within the confines of Blayne’s panties to roughly massage her ass.

“No barriers any-more,” Blayne agreed, lifting herself so that Alexi could slide the panties down and away.

Blayne returned the favor and eased Alexi’s panties off, and they lay side by side for a moment, not touching, relishing their first opportunity to gaze upon and admire the body each was being offered.

“Tell me what you like.” Alexi reached a hand out, and ran it lovingly, wonderingly over Blayne, memorizing all the places that drew sighs, and shudders.

“Anything you do…everything you do…” Blayne’s voice was tight. “Feels unbelievable. Like nothing I have ever felt. Ten times more…”

“So damn intense,” Alexi agreed.

“Yes. Intense. I can’t believe how much you turn me on. It’s…it’s a pain, in my chest, in my….” She reached for Alexi’s hand and placed it over her sex. “Just touch me, Alexi. I need it. I need you—so damn much. I can’t stand waiting another minute. Another second.”

Alexi shifted until she was lying half atop Blayne, and her hand parted Blayne’s legs while she claimed her mouth in a crush of lips. The kiss gentled, however, as Alexi’s fingers slipped into the soft, silky folds of her sex.

Blayne let out a startled cry when Alexi’s fingers smoothed lightly over her swollen clit and continued on, to dip into her abundant wetness and spread it with caresses liberally over the surrounding flesh.

“For me,” Alexi grunted, half in wonder, half in proprietary claim.

“Yes, Alexi.” Blayne sighed, eyes shut as she began to push against Alexi’s hand. “All for you. Only for you.”

Alexi watched Blayne intently while she stroked her, unhurriedly building her higher and higher. Varying the speed and pressure of her touch in response to the buck of her hips and the sounds that escaped her, and the tightening of the muscles in her face and body.

She made it last, bringing Blayne close to orgasm again and again, only to retreat a beat or two, until she felt fingernails digging into her back, and hips fierce against her hand. Blayne’s face was flushed with need, lower lip darkly bruised where it was captured between her teeth.

Only then did she penetrate her, finding her open and ready, and eager to be filled. Sliding two fingers inside, she pressed her thumb along the hard swollen ridge of Blayne’s clit and replicated the movement she had learned bringing her so close.  The renewed contact sent her crashing over the edge.

It took Blayne several moments to get her breathing back to normal. She clutched tight to Alexi, and Alexi to her, as the spasms from her climax subsided. When they did, she kissed Alexi, sweet kisses along her neck, cheek, shoulder, anywhere in reach, and soon the kisses turned fevered.

“You asked what I wanted,” Blayne murmured. “What do you want? How do you want me to touch you?”

“I want you to…do whatever you wish to do,” Alexi stammered. Her throat was suddenly dry, and every muscle in her body was taut in anticipation of Blayne’s hands on her.

She rarely let anyone touch her intimately. It was far outside her comfort zone to surrender so—normally, she brought herself to climax, sometimes long after her sexual partner had departed. But over the past weeks, her body had come to need and want Blayne’s touch as much as it wanted oxygen, and food, and the brilliant, blinding warmth of the sun.

“Then I want to try to make you feel the way you just made me feel,” Blayne answered, gently pushing Alexi onto her stomach in the middle of the bed. “Tall order. That was pretty spectacular,” she added with a grin. “But I want to see if I can learn your body as quickly as you learned mine.”

Alexi closed her eyes as Blayne began a long and thorough mapping of the landscape of her body, with her hands, and lips, and tongue. She explored her with caresses from head to foot, concentrating on the areas that drew a hitch of breath, a thrust of pelvis, an unintelligible throaty hum or moan.

Alexi had a sensitive back, so Blayne lingered long there, covering every inch with her mouth and her body, while she fondled Alexi’s ass, drifting every now and then between her legs to encourage her to spread them further, tantalizing teases of what was still to come.

After several long minutes of this torturous foreplay, Blayne urged Alexi onto her back to continue. Their eyes met. “I want you to watch me make love to you,” Blayne whispered huskily. “I want to see in your eyes how I’m making you feel.”

Alexi could only nod, no longer certain of her voice.

Blayne avoided her breasts and her fevered groin for several more minutes, heightening Alexi’s arousal by finding sensitive places she herself had never really known she had—along her sides, her hands, her shoulders.

By the time Blayne’s mouth descended on her breasts, Alexi had no further apprehensions about being touched. Or, about how she would let Blayne know what she was feeling. Everything felt too right and too natural and too perfect to worry about such things now.

Blayne’s tongue played over one of her nipples before her lips closed around it to lightly suck.

“So good,” Alexi murmured, placing her hand on the back of Blayne’s neck.

The pressure of her fingertips told Blayne what she wanted. Understanding at once, she varied the intensity of her bites and sucks in accordance with Alexi’s subtle urgings. The insistent pulse between her legs throbbed louder and stronger with each suck, and grew yet again when she continued her attentions on the other breast. Alexi’s hips rolled and pitched, her clit seeking direct stimulation, and Blayne’s hand found its way to her thigh, and then her center.

Alexi closed her eyes, her body poised for a hard, heated stroking, but Blayne had other ideas. After several teasing passes of her hand, each so light that Alexi’s pelvis rose to meet it, she finally dipped low enough to find her wetness. Blayne hummed her approval at what she encountered, and Alexi felt the sound as a vibration where Blayne’s mouth was pleasuring her breast.

Without warning, Blayne withdrew and Alexi, feeling the loss profoundly, looked down to see why. She watched as Blayne put her fingers to her mouth, to taste her, all the while staring at her with the same flushed, hazy look on her face she’d had right before she had come.

“Mmm. Wonderful. I love how you taste.” Blayne returned her hand to Alexi’s sex and resumed her slow, easy strokes and circles, but she kept her eyes on Alexi’s face, watching her reactions. “Look at me. Show me how I make you feel.”

When Alexi’s eyes, and breathing, and other clues told Blayne that she was nearing climax, she slid down Alexi’s body and put her mouth where her hand had been. Wrapping her arms around Alexi’s thighs, she used her tongue and lips to stroke and suck her, until the body beneath her was writhing.

Alexi’s arousal doubled and redoubled. Even when she thought she could not feel more, had no more room for sensations, Blayne sent her fractionally higher still. Blayne’s mouth drove her past the point of no return, sent her to a place where her need for release was insistent and absolute. Nothing else mattered.

Blayne knew the moment and urged her to surrender to it. “Come for me. Now,” she whispered, before flicking her tongue rapidly back and forth across Alexi’s swollen clit.

Alexi’s whole body clenched and rose up off the bed, and a choked cry escaped her lips when she climaxed.

Blayne slowly kissed her way back up the quivering flesh as it calmed. “You are so incredibly beautiful when you come.”

“You are incredibly everything.” Alexi drew her close. “Arousing. Sexy. Responsive. You make me feel…wonderful. Cherished. You give me reason to look forward to tomorrow.”

Blayne loosened their embrace enough to raise up on one elbow so she could look down at Alexi. She traced a hand lightly over the flat plane of Alexi’s stomach and abdomen. “I like the sound of that. Tomorrow, with you.”

“I want you in my future, Blayne. In all of my tomorrows. I do not know how we will manage it. But I know I have found something very special with you. Something I should pursue, because I have not seen it before and may not again.”

“I’m glad you’ve realized that,” Blayne said. “Because I feel the same way, too. I’ve felt lost without you these past weeks.”

“And I you. My life has felt incomplete without you in it.”

“Alexi… I don’t want to jinx us being here together or anything, but I have to ask…what’s changed? I mean, you said it was impossible.” She bit her lip. “I guess maybe I’m a little afraid you’ll change your mind.”

“No, Blayne. No,” Alexi quickly reassured her. She enfolded Blayne in her arms and hugged her close. “I do take my job very seriously, as you know, and I could not do anything to jeopardize you while I was assigned to protect you. But…but I also have used my job as an excuse to keep from getting seriously involved with anyone. I see that now. The past made me afraid, and I let guilt about what happened with Sofia cloud my judgment.”

Blayne caressed Alexi’s stomach. “I think it’s time to forgive yourself about Sofia.”

“I do not know if I can. But I do know that the simple reality is, you are safer with me than without me. Involved with each other or not. I know I can protect you as well or better than anyone.”

“That’s wonderful news. So…when do you have to go back?” Blayne asked. “And how are we going to work this with you in Chicago, and me in Portland now?”

“To be bluntly honest, Blayne, I should warn you that I have no experience at having a serious relationship. I am not very good at sorting out emotions and feelings and I have few skills in communicating them. That said, if you are willing to take a chance with me and see where this might lead, I am willing to do what I can to make it work and make you happy.”

“That mean you are going to fly out frequently to see me?” The hand that was caressing Alexi’s stomach began a slow trip south, stroking ever closer to her sex.

“It means that I am on an indefinite leave so that I can spend time with you,” Alexi said. “I may go back, I may not. I really do not need to work, and there are a lot of other things I could do with my background that might also be interesting.” She reached for Blayne’s wrist and stopped her hand from any further advance toward her clit.

Blayne frowned in disappointment and looked at her.

“Do you want me, Blayne?” Alexi waited expectantly for her answer. “Even though I do not know whether I will be any good at this relationship thing at all?”

Blayne smiled and reached up to stroke her cheek with the back of her hand. “Of course I want you. I love you. And there is no pressure for you to be anything, or say anything, or do anything. Just be with me. We’ll take it a day at a time, and figure it out together.”

Alexi’s face relaxed into a smile. “I am very happy to hear you say that.

“You know, I was about to show you how much I love you, until you stopped me.” She started to reach between Alexi’s thighs again, but Alexi’s wolfish grin returned.

“First, Blayne, I must insist on my turn.”

“Turn?”

Alexi rose up off the bed and looked down at her. “My turn. I have to taste you. And I have to make you come hard that way, just like you made me. And then we will order room service, and have some sustenance. And then it will be your turn again to decide what and how and where. We have time for plenty of turns. Plenty.”

“I think you are a bit too used to getting your own way.” Blayne spread her legs and put her hand gently on the back of Alexi’s head as she kissed her way down.. “We’ll have to work on that.”

Alexi’s mouth found her.

“But not today,” Blayne hissed.

Stunned with joy, she closed her eyes and let Alexi take her back to the stratosphere.

Focus of Desire

There are times when a picture doesn’t just say it all—it changes everything.

Isabel Sterling isn’t even aware she has been entered in the Sophisticated Women ‘Watch Your Dreams Come True’ contest, so it comes as a complete surprise to learn she has won not only a makeover she doesn’t want or need, plus the chance to appear on the cover of a national magazine she's never read along with an all-expense paid trip for two to exotic locales. Photographer Natasha Kashnikova is a cynical celebrity playgirl who is barreling toward full, midlife-crisis mode when she agrees to take on the Sophisticated Women shoot as a favor for a friend. Kash is convinced that every woman who shows an interest in her has ulterior motives, so love is not on her agenda—and certainly not with some naïve romantic during an assignment from Hell.

Focus of Desire

© 2007 By Kim Baldwin. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 10: 1-933110-92-9E

ISBN 13: 978-1-933110-92-9E

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

New York, USA

First Edition: October 2007

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editors: Shelley Thrasher and Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

Acknowledgments

For M.–You’ve put up with an awful lot since I started to write, especially this last year. Thank you for your endless patience, for the countless sweet and selfless things you do for me, and for never complaining that I rarely cook anymore.

For my dear friend Xenia–as always, I am deeply grateful for your countless ideas and insights, unfailing enthusiasm, and most of all, for the good times. When the next book is published, I look forward to toasting it together.

Every day I say thanks for my good fortune to sign with Bold Strokes Books. My eternal gratitude to Radclyffe, publisher/author/ mentor/friend, who has my deepest admiration for her talent, vision, humor, ability to inspire, and unmatched ability to find the right word at the right time, both in her prose and in everyday life.

I continue to learn and grow with each project, under the expertise of my superb editors. Shelley Thrasher, who did the lion’s share getting this book in shape, my deepest thanks. Senior consulting editor Jennifer Knight, you remain the goddess. You’ve taught me so much, and my books are so much richer for your guidance and experience. Thanks also for Stacia Seaman’s input and meticulous eye for detail. And Sheri–graphic artist extraordinaire–when I saw this awesome cover, it inspired some great new ideas for the book. I’m in your debt.

To Connie Ward, dual thanks–for your tireless efforts as BSB consulting publicist and for your wonderful insights and encouragement while beta reading for me. Also to my beta reader Sharon Lloyd, coowner of Epilogue Books, who seems to catch every typo and other careless omission.

I have a wonderful bunch of friends who provide unwavering support for my writing endeavors. Linda and Vicki, Kat and Ed, Felicity, Marsha and Ellen, and Claudia and Esther. You are family, and near or far, I hold you always close to my heart.

And most especially, to all the readers who encourage my literary efforts by buying my books, showing up for personal appearances, and taking the time to e-mail me. Thank you so much..

Kim Baldwin 2007

Dedication

For my mother

Who always encouraged and supported

my creative efforts

Chapter One

New York City

October

Natasha Kashnikova wouldn’t ordinarily have given the model a second glance. She favored blondes, and three delicious specimens were currently being made up there in her Manhattan studio for the cosmetics ad shoot, so chances were excellent she could have one or more of them later. But it was the short-haired brunette who caught her attention when she arrived wearing a sexy black minidress that looked like something a dominatrix might wear. Well, aren’t you just yummy?

“Hello, Kash. I’m Fawn, and I am very happy to meet you.”

Fawn squeezed the hand Kash held out, prolonging the contact. She was young—probably nineteen or twenty—and short for a model, only five-six or so, but her classically beautiful face and flawless complexion had obviously won her this opportunity. And that smile. I bet you’ve practiced it in the mirror more than a few times. Showcasing her full, rosy lips and perfect teeth, her smile oozed naughty sensuality and was guaranteed to sell a lot of lipstick.

Fawn released her finally, but maintained the smile and seriously direct eye contact as she took a deliberate step closer. “I can’t tell you how thrilled and excited I am to finally get the chance to work under you.”

Kash made her choice, but decided to let this one sweat a while before she acknowledged her acceptance. “Pleased to meet you, Fawn.” She gestured toward the blondes, who were in the corner of her spacious loft studio. “If you’ll join the others, we’ll start soon.”

Only a fleeting glance of disappointment passed over the brunette’s face, enough for Kash to notice, but not so much as to appear unprofessional. “Of course.”

The assignment was a breeze—two or three hours’ work with four beautiful women. She took this kind of job almost exclusively these days because she made good money and invested little time, and also enjoyed an endless supply of beautiful sex partners.

She took the group shots first, then did the blondes individually, saving the brunette for last. Even after they were alone she remained all business, not because of any professional ethics but because the distance would enhance the moment when she let the model know she would get what she wanted.

Night fell as they finished the shoot, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park became mirrors in which Kash glimpsed herself in her low-cut black jeans and snug black T-shirt, her apparel of choice most days. She had begun to avoid her reflection lately because she could no longer ignore the small lines by her eyes and mouth and between her eyebrows. But the likeness in the window was kind, erasing the last decade of hard play and making her appear thirty again.

The layered, collar-length cut of her medium brown hair complemented her androgyny. Her face was strong, almost masculine, but full, feminine lips and long eyelashes over soft hazel eyes balanced her square jaw and chiseled features. Her enviable metabolism gave her the same lean, taut frame at nearly forty that she’d had two decades earlier.

“I think we’re done.” Kash wasn’t surprised that Fawn didn’t budge from her stool, even when she started turning off the lights that illuminated her from three sides.

“Before I leave I want to make sure that I’ve impressed you enough that I get to work with you again,” Fawn said.

“Well, I know you can follow directions very well.” Kash knelt to stow her cameras and lenses carefully in their bags. “That’s very important.”

“Oh, yes. You tell me what to do, and I’m there.” The model slipped off the stool and approached Kash slowly, stopping only a couple of feet away.

“And I have to say your dress has made a favorable impression,” Kash added as she stood and, for the first time, gave Fawn the benefit of an open, appreciative head-to-toe appraisal. “Is it meant to make a statement?”

“Let’s say it was intended to get your attention,” she replied, smiling that naughty bedroom smile.

“Attention or reaction?” Kash slowly circled the model to drink in the dress from every angle.

“Both.”

“Then it’s certainly done the trick.” She let her gaze linger on the high, tight ass. The sheer, clingy fabric made it clear that Fawn wore nothing underneath. Nice. Very nice. She felt a sharp twitch low in her belly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the design of this dress…” She feathered her hand over the large X the straps created on the silky skin of the model’s back.

“Lets you know I like to play?” Fawn slowly faced her.

Kash stepped forward so that their bodies almost touched. “So, what’s your game?”

Fawn didn’t answer immediately. Instead she started to stroke Kash’s face, but Kash intercepted her before she could and grasped her wrist firmly. Then she pinned both of the girl’s hands behind her back and spoke into her ear. “Is this your game?”

Kash could feel her tremble as she nodded.

“Nothing too rough,” Fawn whispered.

The spasm in Kash’s belly became a steady throb. “Keep your hands right there.”

She removed the long, silky scarf from Fawn’s neck, tied it around her eyes, and smiled at her sharp intake of breath. Then she held Fawn’s wrists behind her again while she kissed her neck, her shoulders, and the exposed skin of her back. Lightly at first, making her want more. Soon the kisses became bites. Not too hard, nothing to leave marks around that million-dollar face, but enough to elicit the first moans of excitement.

Glancing around the sparsely furnished loft, Kash dismissed the couch and half dozen comfortable chairs. The coffee table that held a tidy stack of recent magazines wouldn’t do either. Her photo backdrops, lighting equipment, and a couple of sturdy stools filled the other side of the large loft, and her glass-and-chrome desk, crowded with papers and photos in neat piles, stood at the back. None of these were appropriate. She even considered the sink in the bathroom off to the left, and the other one, in her darkroom, next to it. But the last time she’d tried using a sink for something like this, it had broken off the wall right as the woman she was fucking was getting there, and both of them had gotten soaked.

No, the big off-white easy chair was the right choice today, she decided, visually gauging Fawn’s height against it. She led the model over and stopped beside the waist-high, padded back. Perfect.

“Put your hands here. That’s right.”

Once Fawn had braced herself on the chair, Kash pressed down on her back until she was bent forward over it, invitingly poised.

She ran her hands down the model’s sides to her hips and thighs, rewarded with more breathy moans, and when she reached the hem of the minidress and lifted it up to expose the firm, round ass, Fawn gasped and held her breath.

Kash put one of her legs between the girl’s and used it to spread her thighs farther apart, opening her up. “Don’t move.” The model trembled again, and her hips swayed and rocked, clearly seeking some kind of direct stimulation. As Kash stepped back to admire the view, she unzipped her jeans and shoved her hand inside, quickly stroking her clit.

Whether it was her own arousal or the model’s scent didn’t matter. She knelt and positioned herself behind and beneath Fawn, and as she tasted the wetness, she wrapped her hands around the model’s thighs, now fully controlling the amount and depth of contact.

Fawn’s moans grew louder, intermingled with groans and sighs, and Kash held fast as the girl writhed.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Fawn managed shakily. “Much more and you’ll make me come.”

Kash knew it was true; the girl was incredibly wet, and her clit was swollen and ready. She teased her with a few more strokes of her tongue, but stopped short of satisfaction. When she took her mouth away and stood, Fawn blew out a long, shaky breath of disappointment, but said nothing.

Abruptly, Kash thrust her pelvis against the model’s ass and grabbed a fistful of her short hair. Fawn cried out and powered her hips back against Kash—hard, demanding.

“You want it so much.” Kash wedged her hand between their bodies and pushed into her, penetrating her hard and deep, then began a hard, driving rhythm that matched the urgent pistoning of Fawn’s hips.

The shrill ringing of her phone startled them both, but Kash barely paused. After three rings, the answering machine picked up, and a woman’s voice came on after Kash’s recorded greeting.

“I know you’re there, Kash.”

Fuck. Miranda. She didn’t stop, but her distraction slowed her strokes.

“I’m waiting. And I’m going to keep talking until you pick up. Tell me, is she blond? Should I be jealous?”

At this remark, the model stiffened and turned her head toward Kash, but didn’t take the blindfold off.

“Aw, damn. Stay there. Ignore that.” Kash withdrew her hand and headed for the phone on a small table two feet away as the voice continued.

“And on our anniversary? You’re screwing around while I’m waiting for you on our anniversary?”

As Kash snatched up the phone, she glanced at Fawn. She had straightened, but still hadn’t removed the blindfold, though it was clear from her posture and uncertain expression that she was thinking about it.

“Damn it, Miranda. Not funny!”

The sound of laughter answered her. “You are so predictable, Kash.”

“Let me call you back.” Kash put her hand over the receiver and tried to head off a premature end to the evening’s festivities. “Sorry, Fawn, I’ll be right with you.”

The model nodded, but Kash could tell from her restless fidgeting that she was ready to bolt.

“Hey, you’re the one who told me this would be a good time to phone, and what I have to say will only take a couple of minutes,” Miranda said. “I’m about to catch a flight to L.A., so I can’t call you back.”

Kash sighed. “All right. What’s up?”

“I’m begging a favor. And before you say no, let me remind you that you still owe me big time for hitting on Stef. Consider this your requisite payback.”

“Hey, come on with that already. I didn’t know you were together,” Kash argued, but she knew it was futile. It had been ten months since she had propositioned Miranda’s girlfriend at a Christmas party, but her friend hadn’t let her forget it.

“You would have known if you’d asked her name or whether she was available before you started describing in detail what you wanted to do to her,” Miranda replied. “This is what you get for being the cad that we both know you are.”

“What do I get?” Kash braced herself. Miranda had waited a long time to collect on her faux pas, so this had to be good.

“We’re going to run a contest for Sophisticated Women, and I want you to photograph the winner for our October cover.”

Miranda Claridge published Sophisticated Women, a glossy magazine she liked to claim showed up Vogue for nothing but shallow advertorial with pretty pictures. Miranda took her magazine seriously. Sophisticated Women covered all the usual bases—makeup, relationship, and career advice—but she also assumed chic urban women had brains and wanted in-depth articles as well. Even her international fashion spreads often included what Kash called “the conscience quota”—inserts on worthy local charities for maimed children, or whatever else had tugged Miranda’s usually impervious heartstrings.

“What’s the catch?” Kash cut to the chase, wanting to get back to Fawn. She knew if this was a routine cover shoot, Miranda would not be collecting the debt she owed.

“Well, you’re also going to photograph her while she takes the dream vacation she wins.”

“Vacation?” Kash glanced over at Fawn. She had pulled her dress back down. Damn. She had to wrap this conversation up quickly. “That sounds like it involves travel and time. How long, and how far?”

“Think of it as a vacation for you, too,” Miranda coaxed. “Business class and four- and five-star hotels all the way, of course.”

“Don’t be sparse with the details, Miranda.” Kash watched Fawn take the blindfold off. Shit. Her face said I’m feeling pretty uncomfortable. “Spell it out. I’m busy.”

“Three weeks, late June into July. Since I’m giving you almost nine months’ notice, you can’t pretend your schedule is full.”

“Three weeks?”

“The trip will really be fabulous, Kash. Four days each in Paris, Rome, and Cairo, and then a week in the Bahamas. Easy photo ops. You’ll get lots of free time to explore all the nightlife. Please? Your name attached to this will be a huge plus.”

Under ordinary circumstances, Kash would never have agreed to any assignment that required that kind of time commitment. But she did owe Miranda, and now Miranda would owe her back. And the itinerary was certainly tempting. Truth be told, she was restless for a change of scenery and a shakeup in the status quo. This constant diet of narcissistic and ambitious airheads had gotten kind of stale.

When Fawn shrugged and tentatively waved good-bye, Kash made a fast decision.

“Okay, Miranda. We’ll negotiate the fine print when you get back from L.A. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Kash didn’t wait for a response. She slammed down the phone and caught the model as she turned for the door.

“Leaving so soon? Now you know I’ll reward you with something extra special for your patience, don’t you, Fawn?”

Madison, Wisconsin

Five months later

Isabel Sterling plaited her long honey blond hair into a loose braid and tucked it under her pink knit hat. She owned hats, scarves, and mittens in all colors and patterns, too many to be able to wear, so she stuck to the ones that her current crop of swimming students had given her for Christmas. Pink wasn’t her favorite color, but tonight’s chapeau and matching accessories had been hand made by Mrs. Eldrid, who never missed a class or a chance to complain about how her arthritis made knitting so much harder these days.

The community center had an Olympic-sized pool but a Little League–sized locker room, which felt cramped with her fifteen students. Nearly all were widows, the youngest fifty-five. Her Thursday senior swim class contained more of the same.

Isabel’s hair was still damp but she didn’t want to take time to dry it because Gillian would already be waiting outside, and temperatures this early March evening were only in the teens. After she wrapped her matching pink scarf around her neck, she stuffed her hands into pink gloves at least two sizes too large. She’d exchange them for her favorite fleece ones as soon as she got in her truck.

Nearly all the mittens and gloves her students knitted for her were too large. Though of rather average height and weight—five foot five and 118 pounds—Isabel’s body was anything but average, honed by swimming laps in the closest pool for more years than she could remember. She was secretly proud of her woman’s rounded curves, enhanced by the soft musculature built by her athletic endeavors.

A rotund woman wearing a bright orange one-piece, a Chicago Bulls towel, and a flowery swim cap appeared at her elbow. “Isabel, honey, aren’t you the cutest thing. You coming with us to the Country Kitchen? It’s all-you-can-eat cod and haddock night.”

“Our treat,” another of the women chimed in.

“Oh yes, Isabel, do!”

“Ordinarily, ladies, I’d love to,” Isabel said agreeably. “But I’m meeting a friend, and I’m already late. Can I beg a rain check? Good night.”

A chorus of good-byes and pleas to drive safely heralded her departure.

Her battered red pickup, a college graduation gift from her parents, really needed new tires, she noticed for the umpteenth time. And the driver’s side door was frozen shut again, so she crawled in through the passenger side. A little WD-40 on that when I get home. She reached the music store where Gillian worked ten minutes after it closed. Her upstairs neighbor and best friend sat on a bench outside.

“Sorry, I got here as fast as I could,” she said as Gillian got in. “You freezing?”

Gillian Menard, auburn-haired, chic, and lithely tall, was appropriately dressed for the weather in a long wool coat, hat, and gloves. But her nose was bright red and her eyes were watering. “That’s safe to assume unless the calendar is somewhere between May and September,” she replied, twisting the nearest vents to direct the warm air toward her face. “Want to do Chinese back at my place? We can watch a film.”

“Sounds like a plan.” The truck fishtailed as Isabel took a right, a slight detour from their usual route home, to stop by their favorite take-out place.

Twenty minutes later, armed with a sack of fragrant paper cartons, they were checking the mailboxes in the lobby of their apartment building. Isabel had two bills, an advertising flyer, and an envelope that proclaimed her the Grand Prize Winner of some contest.

It didn’t look like the typical gaudy come-on. They’re sure making these things more convincing all the time. High-quality envelope, and even sent priority mail, not bulk. Studying it closer, she saw that the return address was Sophisticated Women magazine. She’d heard of it, seen it on newsstands. She was curious enough to open it.

The notification inside appeared even more authentic than the outside. Written on embossed Sophisticated Women stationery, it was addressed to her personally and was purportedly from the publisher of the magazine, Miranda Claridge. It didn’t seem mass-produced. In fact, she could have sworn the signature was freshly penned. It read:

Congratulations Ms. Isabel Sterling,

I am pleased to inform you that you have won the grand prize in our Make Your Dreams Come True contest! Your entry was selected from more than four million, three hundred thousand submitted by mail and through our Web site. So get ready to pack your bags—you and a guest are about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime—three weeks, all expenses paid, to some of the hottest destinations on three continents. Renowned photographer Kash will accompany you to document your trip for Sophisticated Women, and one of her photos of you will appear on the cover of our October issue.

The letter certainly looked authentic, but Isabel still didn’t believe it was for real.

“Coming?”

Gillian was holding the elevator, so Isabel slammed the mailbox shut and hurried to join her. Once inside, she continued reading the letter.

And that’s not all.

You’ve also won ten thousand dollars in cash…a makeover by Clifton, stylist to the stars…and a new designer wardrobe selected by the fashion editors of Sophisticated Women.

“Whatcha got?” Gillian asked, peering over her shoulder.

“I won a trip, ten thousand dollars, and a makeover,” Isabel said without enthusiasm. “To go with the laptop I supposedly won last week by being the ten-millionth person to visit whatever Web site I clicked on.”

“It sure seems…well, classier than most…” Gillian touched the paper, felt the weight of it between her fingers. “Let me see that, huh?”

“Oh, sure.” Isabel handed it over as they reached her floor. “I was pretty well done with it anyway…just hadn’t gotten to the disclaimers yet.” She stepped out of the elevator. “Be right up.”

After a quick change into sweats, she grabbed a couple of bags of microwave popcorn and headed up the stairs to the apartment directly above hers. She let herself in and spotted Gillian sitting statuelike on the couch, still in her coat, staring in disbelief at the contest letter clutched in her hand.

“Gill? What is it?”

“You’re not going to believe this, Izzy. It’s true!” Gillian sprang to her feet and waved the letter as she hurried toward her. “This is for real. You’ve actually won this trip. Well, I hope we have, ’cause you damn well better take me since I entered you in the first place. Three continents…and ten grand. Though you certainly don’t have to split that with me—”

“Slow down.” Isabel snatched the letter from her. “What the hell are you talking about? You entered me?”

Gillian nodded her head so vigorously it looked like it might fly off.

Isabel knew her friend was contest crazy, entering every sweepstakes and free offer and lottery she came across. But this was the first time she’d ever heard that Gillian had been putting her name on any of the forms.

“I enter us both in anything that allows only one entry per person, if the prize is a trip for two,” Gillian explained. “I mean, you always say you want to travel, and I figure I’m doubling my odds of winning since I know you’ll take me.” She batted her eyelashes playfully at Isabel.

“It’s for real? You’re sure?” Isabel held the letter up to read it again.

“Absolutely,” Gillian enthused as she finally shed her coat. “I remember this trip because they’re keeping the destinations secret until they announce the winner.”

“Golly.” She dropped into the nearest chair, realization finally sinking in. An all-expense-paid trip to three continents. Her mind raced, considering the possible destinations. She’d be happy with most anywhere. Somewhere in Europe, I bet. Oh, how great is this. “And ten thousand dollars, Gill!”

“And don’t forget the new wardrobe,” Gillian pointed out. “Man, I hope you get some things I can fit into, because I bet you get a lot of designer clothes.”

“Well, that’s more your thing than mine, and where would I wear that kind of stuff?” Excitement bubbled over, and Isabel scanned the letter again for details of when she’d collect her winnings. Then she seriously noted what else she’d won.

“Okay, so the trip and the money are unbelievably cool,” she said. “But the rest of this…getting a makeover and appearing on the cover of Sophisticated Women? I mean, come on, that is so not me. I like how I am. And I’ve never even picked up the magazine.”

“So you get a great new haircut, which you desperately need, and your picture taken by a hot celebrity photographer. No heavy lifting there, Izzy. I’m sure you can stand it. Now come on, grab your coat. We have some serious celebrating to do.”

New York

Three and a half months later

Kash was in absolutely no mood for that day’s shoot, whatever it was. The miserable hangover was bad enough, but she particularly hated that she had awakened in a stranger’s bed and had to face that awkward morning-after scenario with no time to go home for a proper shower and change of clothes.

When she stumbled in, yawning like a fiend, and headed straight for the espresso machine, her jack-of-all-trades assistant, Ramona Dean, was setting lights.

Ramona, a five-foot-ten skeleton with purple hair and piercings in nearly every body part, glanced up from what she was doing and studied Kash for several seconds before she spoke. “Has it ever occurred to you to keep a change of clothes here?”

It was a brilliant blue-sky day outside—bright enough in the airy studio that Kash kept her sunglasses on. She glanced down at herself and frowned. Okay, so there were a few wrinkles now in what had been a crisp white button-down, and being the neat freak she was, they displeased her no small amount. But she also knew the average person probably wouldn’t have cared or noticed. “What’s the problem?”

Ramona’s twice-pierced lip curled upward in a smirk. “I’m trying to picture how the hell you got that stain on the back of your shirt, and exactly what it is.”

“Stain?” Kash hurriedly unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it off, examining the oily patch the size of a fist in the middle of it. Sniffed. Wild cherry. The flavor of the lube that her companion for the night had produced from her bedside drawer. Great. She wasn’t quite sure exactly how it had gotten there, but she knew the shirt had ended up on the bed because that’s where she had discovered it this morning. And they had used a good bit of the bottle of lube while on that bed, too, so the stain was no real surprise.

“Christ. Say, I’ll finish setting up. Go get me something to wear, will you? Plain black T-shirt or something.” She fished a fifty-dollar bill from her wallet. “You know what I like. What the hell do we have today, anyway? I haven’t seen the schedule.”

“The Montrose Agency is sending models over for publicity shots this morning.” Ramona glanced at her watch. “They’re due any minute. The usual portfolio stuff. And then nothing after that till four, when you’re shooting Ellen Degeneres for the next cover of Animal Advocates magazine.”

“That’s today?” Kash’s mood brightened considerably, though her head still ached from too much vodka. “Then get going and hurry back. I want to get through the publicity stuff fast so I have time to go home for a shower and change in between.”

“Okay, I’m gone.” Between Kash’s studio and the elevators was an exterior office and reception area that contained Ramona’s desk and comfortable seating for a dozen people. Various examples of Kash’s work were displayed around the walls, and her name was emblazoned over the desk as an artistic logo recognized worldwide.

As Ramona passed through the outer office, she met three women, all with the tall, thin silhouettes and practiced poses of runway wannabes. “Hello, ladies. From Montrose?” When they nodded, she gestured toward the door to the studio. “Go ahead, she’s expecting you.”

Four more women were getting off the elevator when it stopped to let her on. It was a safe bet they were there for the same reason, since it was Saturday and all the other tenants of the twenty-ninth floor were closed. “If you’re here to see Kash, it’s that way.” She pointed, stepping past them. “Go right on through reception—she’s in the studio.”

As Ramona hit the button to the lobby and waited for the doors to close, she studied the latest group of women. Three were more of the typical runway fare, all starvation-framed and unaffected expressions. The fourth stuck out. She was at least three or four inches shorter. Nice body, but not right for a runway girl—too athletic. And obviously expecting star treatment because she wasn’t even in makeup yet and was dressed way too casual for publicity photos. Hadn’t the agency briefed her or what? Kash will not be pleased.

*

Isabel followed the other women into the reception area and lingered to marvel at the display of Kash’s work that covered every wall. Most were celebrity portraits, taken for interviews, magazine covers, book jackets, or publicity purposes. Routine photographs, usually, but Kash’s stood out from others of their ilk, which was why she was in such demand. With her novel settings and precise attention to mood, light, framing, pose, and expression, not only could Kash make anyone look good, but she allowed the viewer to glimpse some aspect of her subject’s life or personality.

Kash was best known for these types of photographs and had built her reputation on them, but some of her ad-campaign shots, all instantly recognizable, were also displayed. And here and there were pictures of Kash’s travels: dramatic photos taken on safari in Kenya, high in the Himalayas, at a street market in Brazil.

Isabel was eager to meet the woman who could create such images. She must be a very sensitive person. What wonderful artistry and insight she brings to her work.

Glancing around at the other women who had paused to admire the display, Isabel realized they were all at least a half-head taller than she. They had obviously spent hours on their hair and makeup, some of them achieving garishly weird results. One’s elaborate spiky hair reminded her of the Statue of Liberty. Another had applied so much eyeliner and rouge she resembled an escapee from Cirque du Soleil.

It was kind of creepy, like she’d stepped into a modern-day Stepford Models episode and didn’t belong there. She had never quite understood the allure that cosmetics held for most women. Other than some lip gloss now and then, she never touched the stuff.

They all headed into the studio, Isabel following last. The spacious rectangular loft with its polished wood floor, enormous windows, and terra-cotta brickwork walls seemed clean and organized, except for the slight disarray on the desk to her immediate right. On one side, in a casual seating area, perched three women much like those she’d come in with—lithe teenagers with vacant expressions, all with that same exaggerated devotion to developing a “look” that would get them stared at on the street.

On the other side of the studio, where a backdrop and lights had been set up for a photo shoot, a woman knelt over a large silver suitcase whose foam interior had been custom cut to accept a variety of lenses and attachments for the camera she held in her hand.

Kash. The one name was sufficient, like Madonna, or Cher, or Beyoncé, and Isabel recognized her immediately. Celebrity TV shows did stories on her all the time, and Kash’s image appeared at least monthly on the cover of one of those tabloid rags at the grocery store because in addition to her talents as a photographer, she had gained widespread notoriety for her partying lifestyle and the women she purportedly bedded.

Isabel didn’t believe most of the stuff that appeared in those publications had any merit. Still, she had to wonder when Kash was photographed so regularly at one trendy hot spot or another with a drink in one hand and her other around the waist or on the ass of some hot young actress or model.

The famed photographer stood and glanced toward them as they joined the other models. It was hard to see exactly where her attention was because she wore dark glasses, but when she faced Isabel, she froze briefly, apparently studying her. Her serious expression didn’t change, but furrows of confusion or bewilderment appeared in her forehead.

The woman herself appeared…different than Isabel expected. A handsome face, yes, but even more so in person than in photos because she had a softness that pictures couldn’t capture. A reflection of the artist inside, she guessed.

Kash was more diminutive than she had imagined, too, only an inch or two taller than she was. And she certainly had a nice body when viewed three-dimensionally, with narrow hips and a tight ass, small breasts and a lean frame. In other words, exactly Isabel’s type physically. No problem hanging around her for the next three weeks, that’s for sure.

Yes, indeed, she was certainly anxious to spend some time getting to know Kash. She wished she would take her sunglasses off. It was impossible to tell where her attention was focused or what she was thinking.

Isabel had arrived in New York a couple of days early to sightsee and dropped by Kash’s studio on impulse, intending to introduce herself away from the glare of media attention that she feared would accompany their official meeting at the press conference at the Sophisticated Women offices on Monday. She saw her chance and approached Kash as she was fixing a camera to her tripod.

“Hi, Kash,” she began. “I have to tell you how much I enjoy your work. It really moves me—you have such a great eye for composition, and a special talent for capturing the essence of your subjects.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” Kash replied, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. But she forestalled Isabel’s effort to introduce herself when she added, “but I’m on a very tight schedule today, and we need to get started. No time for chitchat.”

“Oh, of course.”

Kash pointed to the redhead with the spiky hairdo. “You first. Over here on the stool.” As the model moved into position, Kash addressed the others. “Let’s keep chatter to a minimum and pay close attention so we can get this done fast. You each get ten minutes. If you follow directions and give me something good to work with, these photos will say star quality. If you sit there like a stick or want to chat your time away, don’t expect art. The first eight minutes are beauty shots. Face and neck only, where it’s all about your eyes. Pretty eyes, soft expressions. Then you get two minutes off the stool to move, pose. Be you, and show me what you’ve got. Are we clear?”

Since no one had ushered her out, Isabel was content to hang around and observe Kash at work. All the better to get an idea of what might await her on her own photo shoots for the magazine. It had been relatively easy for Isabel to arrange time off. She worked as a freelance cake decorator, splitting her time among three bakeries in Madison, so she had a large measure of control over her schedule. But Gillian couldn’t get more than three weeks off from her job, so she wouldn’t join Isabel for two more days, right before the press conference. They would go directly from there to the airport to begin their adventure, whose itinerary was still a mystery.

That was another reason she was here. She was eager to discover where her dream vacation would take her, and she hoped Kash could give her a preview. Though Kash was obviously too busy for that at the moment, Isabel thought she might get a minute or two with her at the end of the shoot.

So she settled herself on the couch amid the Stepford models and spent the next hour watching them have their pictures taken. Initially, the only sounds in the loft were the clicks of Kash’s cameras and her brief instructions—“Tilt your chin up” or “Turn your body to the right a bit.” Once a model was finished, she was dismissed, and Kash would point to another, always bypassing Isabel.

When Kash began to photograph the last model, Isabel began to realize there was a lot of truth to the tabloid stories. With this one, a willowy redhead, Kash was suddenly much less businesslike. Her instructions became all flirty innuendo—“Give me something sexy,” or “Hike up your dress a little and show me some thigh.” And she seemed to find a multitude of reasons to touch the model—on the arm, the back, the waist—supposedly to reposition her for the next shot, but always with an unmistakable leer on her face.

The model offered Kash her phone number when she finished shooting her, and Kash pocketed it with a satisfied smile.

Such behavior shouldn’t have shocked Isabel. The stories about Kash were too numerous not to have some truth. But Kash’s rather blatant exploitation of her young client repulsed her a bit, and also—and this was what surprised her—she also felt a little jealous at the attention the model was getting.

Kash waited until only the two of them were left before she acknowledged the blonde who seemed like she didn’t belong. The petite woman had a pretty face and a nice body, but it wasn’t a typical runway physique. And her appreciation for her work was less fawning and more insightful than the typical model was capable of. An actress, perhaps.

However, the woman’s lackluster choice of apparel for such an important shoot mystified her—blue jeans, sneakers, and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. White, for God’s sake. I’ll have to change the lighting. And the woman’s complete lack of makeup and apparent disregard for how her hair would photograph puzzled her even more. Amateur. Doesn’t the agency make sure they at least understand the basics?

Kash knew the photos would suffer as a result, and she tried to tell herself she really shouldn’t care because she would get paid regardless. But she was too much the perfectionist, so the blonde’s cavalier disregard for the fundamentals annoyed her. “I deliberately left you for last to give you time to get halfway presentable, but apparently for nothing. I don’t know what look you think you’re going for, but it sure doesn’t work for me.”

The blonde stiffened. “I don’t think you understand—”

Before she could finish, Ramona burst in with shopping bags and a harried expression. “Sorry it took so long. The lines at Lord and Taylor were a bitch.” She glanced over at Isabel as she crossed the loft to hand her purchases to Kash. “I got you a couple of shirts to choose from.”

“I was beginning to wonder.” Ignoring Isabel for the moment, Kash pulled out a black T-shirt and removed the tags before she stripped off her own shirt to change.

Isabel had certainly seen women undress before, having spent a good portion of her life in swimming-pool locker rooms. But for some reason, staring at Kash as she peeled off her button-down shirt and exposed a silk and lace bra that seemed somehow almost too feminine for her softly muscled androgyny vaguely embarrassed her.

“Like I was saying,” Isabel said, getting up from her chair and crossing over to where the other two were standing, “apparently you’ve mistaken—”

She never got this explanation out either, because she didn’t notice the extension cord that ran to one of the massive scoop lights set up for the shoot. She stumbled over it and went flying, triggering a domino effect that caught two other light stands as well and sent all three crashing to the floor in a noisy chaos. Broken glass lay everywhere.

“Christ.” Kash rolled her eyes and hummed a few bars of something under her breath as Ramona hurried to make sure Isabel hadn’t injured herself. “Like I really needed this. Are you deliberately trying to ruin my day?”

Isabel brushed herself off, her face warm from embarrassment, and immediately tried to help clean up the mess. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry…I didn’t see—”

Kash waved off her apology. “Listen, you’ve self-destructed any chance you had of getting head shots from me today. Be glad I don’t charge you for the damage and see yourself out, okay?”

Isabel frowned and got to her feet. “Sure. No problem. I…I really am sorry.” She left quickly.

“Who was that?” Ramona asked as the door to the reception area banged shut.

“Who knows?” Kash replied. “Never got her name. Find her file and let the Montrose people know they’ll have to reschedule her with someone else.”

“It’s funny, but I don’t remember her…” Ramona crossed to Kash’s desk and picked up the folder of photos the agency had sent over. “Hey, Kash…she’s not here. She evidently wasn’t from the agency.”

“Not from the agency?” Kash asked as she righted the last of the light stands. “Then who the hell was she, and what did she want? She came in with the others and sat here during the whole shoot.”

Ramona shrugged. “No idea.”

Kash glanced over at the door Isabel had disappeared through. “Odd. Well, guess it doesn’t matter, as long as she doesn’t come back.”

Chapter Two

“So, have you met her? What’s she like? Why didn’t you call me?” Gillian asked without preamble when Isabel admitted her into their hotel room. She breezed by, suitcases in tow, without waiting for an answer. “And did she tell you where we’re going?”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask.” Isabel followed her into the spacious suite that Sophisticated Women had booked for them. “And I’m reserving judgment on what she’s like. She was working, and I didn’t exactly make a stellar first impression.”

Gillian dumped her bags just inside the door. “That doesn’t sound good. What happened?”

“I dropped by without calling and she was busy with a shoot, so I waited around for her to finish. She was taking pictures of a bunch of models.” Isabel sat on the couch.

Gillian sank into the cushions beside her. “And?”

“She obviously thought I was one of them or something, and I was trying to explain who I was, finally, when…” Isabel squirmed. “Well, there was an accident. I tripped over a cord or cable or something and knocked over some of her studio lights—the kind on stands that probably cost a small fortune.”

Gillian winced. “Bet that didn’t go over too well.”

“That’s when she told me to leave,” Isabel admitted. “Frankly, I was kind of surprised she let me stay and watch, but like I said…she thought I was one of the models.”

“You sure?” Gillian’s tone was dubious. “I mean, no offense, Izzy, but I sure wouldn’t mistake you for a New York fashion model.”

“No offense taken,” Isabel replied with a smile.

“You’ve got that homespun girl-next-door kind of appeal going on,” Gillian said, tilting her head to appraise her. “Tomboy-cute, not glam-girl.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“Say, Iz, this trip is a great opportunity for you to loosen up and live a little.”

“Not this again.” Isabel rolled her eyes. “I’m not a hermit, Gill. I go out.”

“Once a month, tops,” Gillian said, “when I drag you to a club. And maybe you call dancing a couple of times and letting someone buy you a drink, then going home alone a good time, but I don’t. When’s the last time you let somebody warm your bed? Don’t you miss it?”

“Honestly? Sure. I admit it’s been a while, and I am human. But you know me. I don’t do the casual-sex thing. And I probably won’t meet the right kind of woman for me in a bar anyway. Believe me, when the time is right I’ll meet someone and start going out again. Fate will bring us together, and I’ll recognize it when it happens. At least I hope I will.”

“You’re such a romantic.” Gillian patted her shoulder. “You deserve your happily-ever-after, Iz. Sylvia was such a scum to treat you like she did.”

“We seemed like a good pair.” Isabel shrugged. “We had so much in common.”

“Only on the surface. You may like all the same things, but she’s a shrewd, manipulative snake, and you’re sweetness personified.”

Isabel laughed. “Have I told you lately how much I cherish you?”

“I only have your best interests at heart, my friend. So I’m asking you sincerely to think about what I’ve said. We’re about to experience what might be your best opportunity ever to kick back and have some fun with a beautiful woman or two.” Gillian linked her hands behind her head and relaxed back against the couch. “Or three or four. It would do you good. I hope they send us somewhere with viable nightlife, or maybe a warm beach with some bikini-clad bodies to stare at.”

“I’m hoping we get to see things like the Great Wall of China or Valley of the Kings. Maybe the Tower of London.”

“I can see we’re going to be hoping for different itineraries.” Gillian laughed. “I wonder how much free time we’ll have, and how much you’ll have to spend taking photos for the magazine. You think Kash will be following us around everywhere?”

“No idea.” The pained look on Kash’s face when she’d overturned all the lights flashed back into Isabel’s mind and she cringed. “I guess we’ll find out all that at the press conference.”

“So, you never said…how does she strike you in person? Does she do her pictures justice?” Gillian was watching her intently.

Isabel knew that Gillian was really hoping for a chance to spend a night with Kash. Long before this contest business, Gillian had mentioned a time or two how hot she thought the photographer was. Once they learned they’d be meeting her, they both had scoured the Internet for past stories and interviews about her and had speculated about what she might be like on the trip.

After the hour Isabel had spent watching Kash, she certainly had to agree with Gillian. The woman had obvious sex appeal. And there was a quiet intensity about her when she was working that intrigued Isabel. She had wanted very much to see exactly what Kash was capturing each time she clicked the shutter.

I bet she and Gillian will get together. Gillian has no problem at all with quick and uncomplicated, and it sure seemed as though Kash doesn’t either. When they were out clubbing together, Gillian would often hook up with someone, either in the dark back hallways of the bar or at a stranger’s apartment afterward, so Isabel always drove separately.

The prospect of Gillian and Kash together made her vaguely uneasy, but she didn’t want to dwell too long on why. She told herself she didn’t want Gillian to become one more notch on a celebrity’s belt—but then, who was she to judge? If it’s what she wants, and it clearly is, why should I have a problem with it? I’m her friend, and I should support whatever makes her happy. So that’s what I’ll do.

“You’re going to really like her,” Isabel answered finally. “She’s definitely all that and more. Great body. Really nice features. Well, I didn’t see her eyes—she had shades on. But definitely—like you said—probably can get any woman she wants. More subdued than I expected…and a little abrupt, even before I spoiled her day. Not a happy camper, like maybe something else was going on with her.”

“Perhaps she needs something to improve her mood,” Gillian suggested, her eyes narrowing as though she was already plotting what that might be.

*

“I can’t believe I let you rope me into this,” Kash griped as she set down her camera bag on the floor of Miranda Claridge’s impeccably fashionable office. “It’s asking a lot for me to be away from everything for three weeks. Can’t I just fly over to Paris for a day, and maybe Rome? Call it representative of the trip?”

“No. You know you can’t. You’re part of the grand prize, Kash. Your reputation helped sell it.” Miranda came around from behind her desk and faced Kash, who had on low-cut jeans, boots, and a designer T-shirt. Miranda wore a navy Armani suit. It showed off her legs, still her proudest asset at forty-four. “And like I’ve told you, we really want you to hang with this woman some. Get more than the usual posed Eiffel Tower and pyramid shots.”

Kash studied Miranda’s determined expression. She knew that look, all too well. She had contributed to a half dozen charities and done several benefit shoots because Miranda had used it on her. “No chance I can get out of this, huh?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” Miranda snatched a flight folder from her desk. “Your tickets and itinerary,” she said. “And the names and contact numbers for the local drivers we’ve hired to help you schlep your stuff and set up as needed. You have my cell. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will,” Kash promised. “So when do I get to meet the contest winner? What’s her name again?”

Miranda glanced at the antique clock on her sideboard. “The press conference starts in twenty minutes. And her name is Isabel Sterling. She’s a cake decorator from Madison, Wisconsin.”

“Cake decorator? You’re kidding. Is that a real job?”

“Of course. In New York and L.A. and a few other places you can make big money if you’re good at it. Especially if you do wedding cakes.”

“If you say so.”

“You could appreciate it better, Kash, if you had ever set foot inside a kitchen.”

They both laughed. Kash lived on take-out, restaurant fare, and the occasional dinner invitation from friends like Miranda and her partner. The women she fucked often asked her over as well, as a way to see her again, but though she loved home-cooked meals she generally discouraged such occasions. They seemed too domestic and always raised expectations for more. She wanted to keep sex simple and uncomplicated.

“So, a cake decorator from Wisconsin. Sounds like a perfect candidate for your makeover. Is she cute? Is she gay?”

Miranda chuckled. “Since when have you cared if someone’s gay as long as she’s cute?”

“True,” Kash acknowledged, grinning back. “So?”

“Cute, yes. Blonde, so she’s your type. Twenty-nine years old. And she is in nice shape.” Miranda raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Kash. “Kind of wholesome-cute, which will be great for the makeover part. Not a lot to do to make her cover-ready. I mean, she’s a great canvas to work on, but there will still be a big difference in the before-and-after pics, which we like. Before—jeans and a T-shirt, no makeup, hair needing a cut. After—well, you know what I mean.”

“Yup. Sounds great,” Kash said. “So she’s cute. What about the gay part?”

Miranda punched her lightly on the arm. “You’re incorrigible. And yes, I think she probably is gay, as a matter of fact. They haven’t said so, but both she and the woman she brought along on the trip seem pretty obvious to me. I met them a little while ago. In fact, though she introduced her as a neighbor and friend, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re really a couple. They seem close. Gillian is the friend’s name.”

Kash glanced at her watch. “I want to check myself in a mirror before the press conference. Meet you down there?”

“Ten minutes, Kash. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“No worries, Miranda. I’ll be there.”

True to her word, she stepped off the elevator outside the Sophisticated Women conference room with time to spare and came face-to-face with a dozen press and tabloid photographers, many of whom she recognized.

One of them, a paunchy, balding freelancer named Joe Dix, blinded her with a half dozen flashes before she took two steps. Dix was one of the more ruthless of the ambush paparazzi, a growing legion of photographers who spent their days stalking celebrities in hopes of catching them doing something immoral or illegal. His photos of Kash had been splashed on the covers of a number of tabloid rags in the States and abroad. “Hey, Kash. What’s the word?”

“The word?” Kash squinted, trying to dispel the white spots dancing before her eyes. “How about ‘irritating’? ‘Intrusive’? No, wait. How about ‘vermin’—that’s a good one.”

“Funny girl,” Dix retorted as he clicked away. “Like your shit don’t stink. You use your camera to get rich and get laid. What the hell do you think makes you better than me?”

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Dix. But then, nothing would. Scum is scum, any way you slice it.”

She breezed by the photographers and pushed open the door to the conference room. Twenty or so reporters and a handful of cameramen and women milled around or sat in rows of chairs set up for the press conference, chatting among themselves. Miranda stood at the front, near the podium, talking to an attractive auburn-haired woman who was stylishly dressed in a dove gray silk shirt and charcoal skirt. An easel held a large poster, currently covered by a drape.

As she moved to take her place by Miranda, a few of the reporters tried to intercept her with questions, but she brushed them off with a forced smile.

“There she is.” Miranda smiled approvingly at Kash and introduced her to the woman she was chatting with. “Kash, I’d like you to meet Gillian Menard, our contest winner’s friend, neighbor, and travel companion.”

Gillian stuck out her hand. “Hi, Kash. I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

Kash was a bit taken aback by the unmistakable flirtation in the redhead’s eyes and tone of voice. Gay, yes. But Miranda was either mistaken about them being a couple or it’s certainly not an exclusive arrangement. Redheads were normally not her thing, but there were always exceptions to the rule. This one was a willing piece of eye candy, and if Miranda was right about the other being a cute blonde with a nice body, then a threesome might be on the horizon.

She took Gillian’s hand firmly and let her grip linger. Flashes went off, reminding her that her every move was being watched. “Nice to meet you, Gillian. Sounds like it’s going to be a great trip. So…” She let go of Gillian and turned to Miranda. “Where’s the big winner?”

“She got a bad case of nerves,” Gillian answered, “when she saw all the photographers. Needed to collect herself. She’ll be here in a minute.”

Right on cue, a sudden stir of activity at the entrance to the conference room made everyone turn to see what was happening.

*

Isabel exited the ladies’ room and tried to ignore the tympanic thump thump thump of her runaway heart. When she and Gillian had stepped off the elevator into a blinding crush of photographers, all focused on her and all blocking their way into the conference room, the restroom had been the nearest refuge. But the news conference was supposed to be starting, and she couldn’t hide out forever.

She briefly dared to hope the photographers might be kinder this time because they didn’t go crazy when she rounded the final corner. There were only a few flashes until she got close, then all at once a bedlam of light hit her again.

She pushed on toward the conference room door, blinking back the stars on her eyelids. The last thing she remembered thinking was I know the door was right there.

But it wasn’t there, because a reporter on the other side had pulled it open, so she met only thin air instead of thick oak. She crashed headfirst.

Kash glimpsed the blonde before she went down and was obscured by a crush of photographers. The ensuing barrage of flashes lit up the room.

Miranda and Gillian tied in their race to reach the grand-prize winner. Kash hung back, not anxious to be at the center of the maelstrom.

“Let’s give her some air, can we, please?” Miranda’s voice carried over the hubbub of reporter questions.

“Is that the winner?”

“What happened?”

“What is she, drunk or something?”

Kash’s curiosity propelled her forward. She worked her way through the crush of people, horrified to find…her. Christ. No.

It was the blond mystery girl from the other day. Disaster Girl, as Kash had come to think of her.

The woman seemed a little dazed. She had her head in Gillian’s lap.

“Come on, Izzy,” Gillian was saying. “Please be okay. Now is not the time.”

Kash glowered at Miranda. “I can’t possibly owe you this big.”

The comment turned all the cameras back onto Kash, and she was instantly blinded.

“What does that mean?” one of the reporters asked.

“Yeah, explain that,” another chimed in. “Why do you owe her? And what does that have to do with—”

The blonde moaned, and the cameras all shifted again to photograph the action.

“What?” Isabel said groggily. “What’s happening?”

“Press conference,” Gillian volunteered. “I think you tripped.”

Of course she did, Kash thought. Izzy, huh? Dizzy Izzy is more like it. What the hell did I do to deserve this? She thought of the thousands of dollars of photographic equipment she had packed for this adventure and was suddenly very glad she had insurance.

“Come on, guys, give her a break, huh?” Miranda’s voice betrayed her irritation with the way her long-awaited press conference was going. She bent over her grand-prize winner. “Are you all right, Miss Sterling? Should I call an ambulance?”

It took Isabel a few more seconds to fully grasp that this was indeed her worst nightmare come to life. Yes, she was really sprawled on the floor of the Sophisticated Women conference room. And those actually were camera flashes preserving every single second of her total humiliation. At least, thank God, she had worn the black dress trousers with her pale lavender shell, and not the short skirt that Gillian had tried to talk her into. Why the heck did I ever agree to this?

Just when she thought it couldn’t possibly get worse, she spotted…her.

Kash was staring down at her as if she had grown another head.

Oh, how she wished it was possible to disappear at will. She could feel her cheeks blaze from embarrassment. “I’m fine.” She swatted away Gillian’s comforting embrace and tried to get to her feet.

A strong hand took her elbow and helped her up, and she was suddenly nearly nose to nose with Kash.

Surprised by the unexpected chivalry, she stared at the photographer until Miranda took each of them by the arm and turned them toward the podium.

En route, Miranda made hurried introductions. “Kash, Isabel Sterling…Isabel, meet Kash.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Kash said, with only the tiniest measure of sarcasm.

Isabel caught it and saw Kash roll her eyes as she said it. Oh, great. “Sorry about the other day, Kash. I’d be happy to pay for any damages.”

They were at the podium before Kash could respond, but Isabel noticed her expression soften into one of perhaps regret.

Miranda glanced from one to the other as she pulled over a chair and got Isabel settled comfortably into it. “Are you able to proceed now, or should I cancel?” Miranda asked in a low voice as the gathered media began to take seats.

“You sure you’re not hurt?” Gillian asked almost simultaneously.

“I said I’m fine.” Jesus, I will never live this one down. Isabel took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself as she brushed carpet duff off her trousers. “And yes, please,” she said to Miranda. “Let’s go on and get this press conference over with and maybe they’ll find this more newsworthy than…well, I mean…it was an accident,” she added. “How can anyone see where they’re going with all those flashes right in their face?”

“It wasn’t so bad, Izzy,” Gillian tried to console her. “Maybe they won’t use those photos.”

“Unfortunately, they’ll probably be on the front page of at least a couple of rags by the end of the week,” Kash said. “And all over the Internet before that. Unconscious ranks right up there with nude, caught cheating, and drunk—in terms of popularity with the tabloids.”

“Gee, thanks.” Isabel sighed dejectedly. “You’re a big help.”

“Ladies,” Miranda cut in, “should I remind you we have people with high-powered microphones behind us?”

“’Course, it’s possible that someone famous will crash and burn and knock you off the front page,” Kash whispered. “But I’m not volunteering.”

Isabel smiled, and the change aroused the artist in Kash. She studied the young woman’s face. Perfect imbalance. That’s what gives your face character. Isabel had an almost ideal, movie-star smile, marred only by a crooked tooth left of center. The smile raised a dimple in her cheek on the same side, and the combined effect of the two gave her face an appealing asymmetry.

Miranda took the podium. She talked about the contest, the entries, the prizes, and then laid out their itinerary.

“From here, a limo will take Miss Sterling to Kash’s studio, here in Manhattan, for some ‘before’ pictures to begin the story of her Sophisticated Women makeover.”

Kash could tell from the sudden reddening of Isabel’s face that she was remembering her previous visit two days earlier. What a train wreck. I wonder what was she doing there?

“Then it’s off to the airport to begin their three-week dream vacation. First stop—Paris!” Miranda folded back part of the drape concealing the poster at the front of the room, revealing a montage of Parisian attractions. “After four days in the City of Lights, it’s on to…Rome, the Eternal City!” Another montage was uncovered.

Isabel’s shame faded as her destinations were revealed, humiliation replaced at least for now by excitement. She had yearned to travel since she was a child, but had never had the money to see much of the U.S., let alone Europe.

“Wow, Izzy. Paris and Rome!” Gillian whispered.

“Yeah,” Isabel whispered back. “They’re both on my top-ten list, for sure. I mean, the Eiffel Tower, Gill. The Louvre. The Vatican!”

“From Rome the lucky winner flies to Cairo, Egypt,” Miranda was saying, “Land of the Pharaohs.”

“Egypt!” Gillian squealed in delight.

“Oh, Gill.” Isabel gasped at the photos. “How beautiful!” This is way too cool.

“And finally,” Miranda concluded with a flourish, revealing the last of the poster, “it’s westward to the Caribbean, for a full week of warm beaches and the lush nature preserves of the Grand Bahamas.”

“Bikinis!” Gillian bounced up and down on her seat in delight. “Ooh. Told you. How great is this? We’re going to have such a blast!”

Gillian’s excitement was contagious, and for an instant, Isabel forgot all about her embarrassment with Kash and even about the photographs of her sprawled out on the floor. She was about to experience some of the cities she had long dreamed about—in style, no less—and with her best friend. Yup. Gillian’s right. We’re going to have a blast.

Her optimistic musings were tempered somewhat, however, when Miranda called Kash to the podium.

“I’m thrilled to be taking part in this adventure with the lucky contest winner,” Kash began. “I know we’re going to have a lot of fun together.” Her pleased expression appeared to be genuine, even to Isabel, who knew better. She sure can lie with a straight face.

Several reporters started shouting questions at Kash at once, most of which concerned her private life instead of the contest. Isabel was astounded at the audacity of some of them. “Who you seeing these days, Kash?” “Or sleeping with?” “Care to explain that comment earlier, about you owing Ms. Claridge?” “Is it true you were pulled over in Malibu last week for drunk driving?” “Do you have a response to that online report you’re being sued by some actress’s husband who claims you ruined their marriage?”

Kash ignored the questions and kept a faint smile in place as she stepped back from the podium, and Miranda once again addressed the media. “Let’s remember why we’re here, please? And now I’d like to introduce the lucky winner of our Make Your Dreams Come True contest—from Madison, Wisconsin…Isabel Sterling.”

After witnessing the media’s treatment of Kash, Isabel walked to the podium on somewhat shaky legs. She had been nervous enough before she’d tripped. Now she was terrified. She generally was comfortable speaking before small groups, but she’d never faced vultures like this, who fed on personal information. That’s what they struck her as. Poised and circling, waiting for any show of vulnerability.

Before she could open her mouth, they barraged her. “What happened when you came in? Did you pass out?” “Are you pregnant?” “Have you been drinking?” “What is the relationship between you and this woman you’re taking on the trip? Is that her?” “Yeah. Are you gay?”

“No, I wasn’t drinking…uh…well, your flashes…” Isabel stuttered badly, feeling like a bug being fried in the noonday sun under a bully’s magnifying glass.

“Please.” Miranda gently pulled Isabel away from the microphone and interceded. “If you don’t keep to polite questions, I won’t make Miss Sterling available at all.”

The reporters backed off and Isabel suffered through a few basic questions. What she did for a living and how she had won. Gillian answered that one for her. Then the inevitable questions about her marital status, age, hometown.

Miranda interceded whenever a query got too personal and, after only a couple of minutes, stepped in and announced the end of the press conference. She told the reporters they would have to buy the October issue of the magazine to hear the rest of the story.

The media filed out and left them alone.

“Well, that was a rather inauspicious start to your adventure.” Miranda frowned apologetically at Isabel. “They’re like sharks when things don’t go as planned, I’m afraid.”

“Gossip sells, unfortunately,” Kash agreed. “Especially photos where you lose your temper or do something foolish.”

“I couldn’t believe the nerve of some of those questions,” Gillian said.

“Well, the worst is over now.” Miranda smiled encouragingly at Isabel and Gillian. “And it’s time for the fun to begin. The limo is waiting downstairs with your itinerary and tickets. You have two hours for your shoot with Kash before you all have to head for the airport.”

Isabel glanced at Kash, who was watching her with a neutral expression. For the first time, she noticed Kash’s hazel eyes. God, she has the most incredibly long lashes. They could almost be fake. But she sure doesn’t seem the type to wear false eyelashes.

Isabel wasn’t quite sure what to make of Kash. She had certainly just gotten a vivid idea of how reporters could invent things about someone—anything to feed the hungry tabloid gossip machine. Maybe she doesn’t deserve quite all of that racy reputation. I should keep an open mind.

*

Kash waited until they were alone in Miranda’s office to relay the story of Isabel’s visit to her studio. By the time she finished describing the aftermath of their disastrous encounter, Miranda had tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Miranda said. “Sounds like you’re in store for an interesting three weeks with this one. I wondered what was going on when I introduced you.”

“I have to tell you, Miranda, I’ll live up to my part of the deal.” Kash picked up her camera bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll get you a nice variety of photos for the spread. But don’t expect me to hang with Disaster Girl twenty-four/seven. Not happening.”

“I’m sure you’ll find plenty of time to do your own thing and still give me what I want,” Miranda said as they headed for the elevators. “But be nice, huh? Granted, I only had a few minutes to chat with her, but she struck me as a really sweet woman, Kash. Might give her another chance.”

“If we can get through the next hour without her destroying all my replacement lights, I’ll consider it,” Kash said. “But I make no guarantees.”

*

“That press conference certainly couldn’t have gone much worse.” Isabel took a long swallow of the champagne that had been waiting on ice in the limo.

“Oh, come on,” Gillian replied, pouring her own glass. “They’ll forget about you tomorrow. Where’s that eternal optimist I know and love? Here we are—about to take this fabulous trip, sitting in a limo drinking champagne, you, with a check for ten grand in your pocket—and you’re bitching?”

Isabel let the words sink in. “You’re absolutely right.” She raised her glass and waited for Gillian to do the same. “Here’s to a memorably fabulous adventure, and to making sure nothing keeps us from enjoying every single solitary second.”

“I will definitely drink to that.”

They clinked glasses as the door to the limo opened. Kash slipped into the seat opposite them and the driver pulled away from the curb.

Kash and Isabel studied each other for several seconds, saying nothing. Kash wore an amused expression that Isabel read as cocky.

“How long do you think this will take? These pictures?” Gillian asked.

Kash chuckled. “Depends on whether my equipment survives the setting-up period. If Isabel can remain upright, no more than an hour.”

Gillian started to laugh, then tried unsuccessfully to control herself with a hand to her mouth when Isabel glared at her.

“You’re such a riot, Kash.” Isabel took another long pull of champagne. “Are you planning to go with sarcasm the entire trip?”

Kash poured herself a glass and took a sip. “Most probably,” she said finally. “But only with you.”

Gillian half spewed her mouthful of champagne. “I can see I’m going to have to play referee,” she said, wiping her chin. “Which is cool, I’m good with that. Whatever it takes, because we’re all going to be spending a lot of time together, that’s for sure.”

She was positively giddy at the prospect, but Isabel and Kash both greeted the pronouncement by downing the contents of their glasses. They reached for a refill simultaneously, but Kash’s hand got there first.

“Allow me,” she said through gritted teeth, offering to pour for Isabel.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Isabel singsonged, repeating Kash’s earlier greeting in the kind of mocking tone she hadn’t used since elementary school. She held out her glass and allowed Kash to refill it.

As she brought it to her mouth, the limo stopped without warning and the contents of the glass soaked the front of her lavender shell, transforming it instantly into a winning wet-T-shirt contest entry. “Damn, that’s cold!”

Kash positively guffawed, and Gillian was only slightly less obnoxious about delighting in her humiliation.

“Good thing your luggage is in the trunk so you can change,” Kash commented. She tilted her head at Isabel’s large leather purse. “Or do you routinely carry an extra shirt for such occasions?”

Gillian howled.

Isabel could feel her ears warm as she reached into the purse for a burgundy shell, similar to the one she had on. “With all due respect, screw you both.”

Gillian and Kash cracked up even more and glanced at each other. Something about that unspoken interaction between them sent a chill of disquiet through Isabel, but she didn’t stop to examine why.

Grateful for the tinted windows, she reached down to remove her soaked top. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have given a thought to what she was about to do. But then she realized that Kash was checking out her breasts, vividly outlined against the sheer fabric, erect nipples and all. Could you be any more blatant about it? She should have been appalled by Kash’s overt leering, but she was surprised to find she actually kind of…liked it. Since the limo was braking in front of Kash’s studio, she decided it was better to wait.

“Shall we?” Kash led them to the elevators as Isabel tried to ignore the stares of the people around them and held her purse in front of her as she crossed the lobby. They rode up without saying much, Gillian and Kash both unsuccessfully trying to keep the smiles off their faces, much to Isabel’s annoyance.

“Someplace I can change?” she asked once they got inside the studio.

“Sure. There.” Kash pointed to the restroom before she started setting up her lights for the shoot. Gillian stood nearby, watching her.

“Are you bringing anyone along?” Gillian asked. “Assistant or…friend, or something?”

“Nope. Only me.” Kash paused to acknowledge Gillian, making no effort to disguise her slow and appreciative assessment of the tall young woman. Kash pegged her as about twenty-five or twenty-six, a bit younger than Isabel. She wore her clothes well, and her taste in fabrics and cut was superb. She was restrained in her use of makeup, and expert at what types and colors suited her complexion. That threesome idea sure went down the tubes. But it might be amusing to spend some time with this one. “Any particular reason you’re asking?” She stared at Gillian’s small but well-shaped breasts as she said this, to make her intentions clear.

Gillian waited until Kash’s eyes met hers again to answer. “I thought we might have some fun together.” She smiled, a little shyly.

Women who weren’t famous were often like this when they came on to Kash. They probably thought they didn’t stand a chance, but what the hell, why not go for it. She admired that attitude.

“No strings. Just some fun,” Gillian added.

Before Kash had a chance to respond, the door to the restroom opened and Isabel stepped out.

When Isabel saw the way that Kash and Gillian were smiling at each other, once again she had that feeling of disquiet that had bothered her earlier. Shrug it off. It’s really none of your business, anyway.

Kash directed Gillian toward the same couch that Isabel had occupied two days earlier. “You can watch from over there.” Then she asked Isabel, “Ready?”

Isabel had changed her top and run a brush through her hair. She still wore no trace of makeup, however, not even lipstick. Her fair complexion would be washed out under the studio lights, Kash knew, but she was loath to ask her to apply any cosmetics she didn’t ordinarily wear. Besides, the more pale and washed out Isabel appeared in the “before” makeover pictures, the more dramatic the change in the photos she would take once the professional hair, makeup, and fashion people had spent a turn with her. Miranda loved starkly contrasting before-and-afters. I’ll have to adjust my lights.

“Yes. Where do you want me?” Isabel asked.

“Here, on the stool. Turn three-quarters face front, to start.” While Isabel got into position, Kash fixed the correct lens to her Hasselblad. She fought the urge to laugh when she realized Isabel seemed to be taking exceptional care to watch where she stepped.

“Okay, Isabel, try to relax. Have fun with this. Think pleasant thoughts, and try to give me some different poses and expressions.” Kash moved a couple of the lights to minimize the washout of Isabel’s pale skin. “Think about how much fun you’ll have on the trip. All the sights you’re going to see.”

It was in her viewfinder that Kash first began to appreciate the nuances of Isabel’s natural beauty. It wasn’t the obvious kind of head-turning presence that some Hollywood stars had onscreen. Nor the surgically enhanced, Botox-injected, or cosmetically garnered appeal that usually contributed to a model’s or actress’s popularity.

Most women she photographed came to her after spending hours in front of a mirror, hiding imperfections and accentuating all their desirable features until the overall effect at any distance was one of effortless near perfection.

But this one came as is. And Kash could see that she really didn’t need any help to be attractive. Isabel had been blessed with a pleasing oval face, and her lightly freckled skin was flawless. She had a slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones, and naturally rosy lips over that memorably imperfect smile. The blond eyebrows and long blond eyelashes that framed her deep blue eyes might seem unremarkable from several feet away, but up close, Kash could appreciate their near-translucent purity.

No, she was nothing at all like the women Kash normally photographed and bedded. This one was comfortable in her own skin and not obsessed with how she came off on camera. Nor with how quickly she could flirt with Kash and get her attention.

When she zoomed out to take full body shots of Isabel, she could also appreciate for the first time how fit she was. And how nervous, too, though she was hiding it fairly well. Kash was used to the obvious telltale signs that so many of her subjects exhibited: fidgeting, tics, shaking hands, inane chatter. Some new models licked their lips a lot, or bit the inside of their cheeks, totally unaware they were doing it.

Isabel was trying to appear at ease. She was gripping the sides of the stool she was sitting on so tightly her knuckles appeared bony, but it kept her hands and body from shaking. Her smile was forced, though, and her breathing was shallow. And she was avoiding eye contact with the camera.

Her frail vulnerability made Kash briefly regret having given her a hard time about their first meeting. There was something very appealing about her naïveté and her thinly disguised efforts to appear more nonchalant about all of this than she really was. But I bet this one comes with more strings attached than I want to deal with. I’ve been the way I am much too long to be able to give someone like her what she needs.

“Chill, Isabel,” she said. “You look like you’re on trial for your life.” Miranda wouldn’t be pleased with “before” photos that made it seem as though the contest winner was hating every minute of this experience.

“I’m smiling,” Isabel protested halfheartedly. She had always hated having her photograph taken, and this occasion was certainly no exception. She wondered how it was possible that she always seemed to be caught with her eyes closed, or mouth hanging open, or with some other pictorial defect that made her dreadfully unattractive.

“That’s the smile you use with cops when you get pulled over,” Gillian remarked from the peanut gallery.

“And what does she get pulled over for?” Kash asked, clicking off a half dozen shots as she moved around Isabel.

“Speeding, mostly,” Gillian volunteered. “And occasional problems with her truck, usually missing headlights or taillights.”

Isabel frowned and, to her annoyance, Kash rapidly took several more photos in quick succession, close in to her face.

“You drive a truck, and you have a lead foot, eh?” Kash finally paused and took her attention away from the viewfinder long enough to achieve eye contact with Isabel. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. There may be hope for you yet.”

That remark turned the frown into a smile long enough for her to get a few usable shots.

Chapter Three

“How are we ever going to see everything in four days?” Isabel already had written an impressive list of must-see monuments, museums, and other attractions on the small notebook in front of her, and she wasn’t even halfway through the Paris travel guide. “How much longer before we land?”

“Ten minutes less than the last time you asked,” Gillian whispered. Everyone around them in business class was trying to sleep. “And if you ask me again soon, I’m going to have to drug you.”

They’d bought guidebooks at an airport bookstore, and Gillian was currently occupied with the others, busily marking pages about lesbian clubs and bars. “By the way, don’t forget you promised I can plan what we do at night.”

“Unless Kash wants to do night photo shoots,” Isabel reminded her. “I imagine she’ll want pictures of the Eiffel Tower lit up and the Champs Elysées, don’t you?”

“You’d think so. Has she given you any idea how this is going to work? I mean, is she going to follow us around and take pictures?” Gillian laid down the Rome guidebook and flipped through the one on Cairo. “I sure wouldn’t mind that, her hanging with us. Give me a chance to get to know her better.”

That feeling of odd unease came over Isabel again. I have no right to object if the two of them get together. Why is this bothering me?

“Or do you suppose it’s going to be the other way around,” Gillian wondered. “We get a lot of time to ourselves and meet up with her when and where she wants to take photos?”

Isabel shrugged. “No idea. But she probably has better things to do than stick with us when she doesn’t have to.” She half stood so she could see across the cabin to where Kash had moved. All the lights in that area were out. “Can’t ask her now—I bet she’s asleep.”

“No wonder, considering you bored her during half of our flight by talking about every work of art in every museum you plan to visit in Paris. You’re such a plan-every-minute, I-hate-surprises kind of person.”

“Hey, I can be spontaneous.”

Gillian laughed. “Since when?”

“Since always. You sound like I’m no fun at all!”

“Oh, you know that’s not true,” Gillian said. “If you weren’t a blast to be around, I wouldn’t be spending most of my free time with you. I’m only saying you plan everything way too much.”

“We need some planning on this trip or we won’t get to see everything we want to.”

“Balance, Izzy. Balance.” Gillian yawned and turned off her light. “You need to be more open to the unexpected—the cute French dyke who asks you to dance, or the hot Italian chick who catches your eye. Do you some good to let the evening take you where it wants to once in a while.”

“Just because we’re going overseas doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to behave like a nymphomaniac.”

“I’m only saying you might be missing more than you realize.” Gillian leaned her seat back and spread a blanket over herself. “There’s a lot to be said for letting your body have what it wants and needs without attaching some heavy emotional baggage to it all. Think about it?”

Isabel did think about it, long after Gillian fell asleep. A part of her was indeed tempted to forgo her usual reservations about casual sex during this trip. The idea of merely having some fun and letting her body take over seemed very liberating, especially since she was in the midst of a rather long drought, sex-wise, and masturbation wasn’t all that satisfying.

What’s the harm, really? Other women do it all the time and don’t think twice. Like Kash and Gillian. She wondered whether her long-held views on sex and intimacy were too old-fashioned and unrealistic. You wait, you get to know them first, because you’ve always wanted it to be about more than mere quick physical gratification. Even though, in the end, that’s about all it boils down to anyway. You always want it to be more, but it rarely is. At least not for long.

Closing her eyes, she imagined giving in to Gillian’s advice and pictured herself in a darkened nightclub in Paris, letting a stranger touch her and kiss her. Or even better, imagining Kash doing that. Her heart picked up speed, and a warm flush spread through her body. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am missing out.

*

“Our driver will meet us out front,” Kash told Isabel and Gillian as they waited for their luggage at Orly. The sun had barely cleared the horizon. It colored the eastern sky with an orange glow. “I thought I’d let you have today to explore. We can wait until tomorrow to take photos.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Gillian frowned. “Gee, it would sure be a lot more fun with someone who knows the city. I mean, you’ve been here a lot, right?”

Kash had to smile at Gillian’s diplomacy. If she knew about her familiarity with Paris, she had learned about it from the lengthy tabloid accounts about her previous misadventures here. “Many times. Paris doesn’t hold any secrets for me, and I have some work. It’s better for you to do your own thing.”

After they collected their bags, they made their way to customs and got in line to have their passports stamped.

“So…you told me you’re going to shoot pictures tomorrow…” Isabel retrieved the list of Paris attractions she’d compiled during their flight. “Any idea how long that will take? I mean, I’d like to be able to kind of plan my time—”

“That’s an understatement,” Gillian volunteered, rolling her eyes.

“Hush, you.” Isabel swatted her lightly on the arm.

“Well, we get four days at each location,” Kash said. “The first day you can pretty much always plan to have to yourself. I’ll be scouting locations. We’ll do the magazine photos generally on the second or third day. But weather will be a huge factor since almost all the shoots will be outdoors, so we have to be flexible. Depending on the number of setups, it’ll probably take six to eight hours in each city. Oh—and your makeover has been scheduled for your second full day in Rome. That’ll take six hours at least. Hair. Makeup. Trying on clothes.”

“So with your photo day…that leaves me with only two days there to myself.” Isabel frowned as she dug through her bag for her must-see-in-Rome list. It was nearly as long as her Paris one.

Kash glanced over Isabel’s shoulder at the lists. “That’s quite a lot to cram in. You might want to trim those to the sights you want to see most, or you’ll burn yourself out before this trip is half over.”

“Oh, I have lots and lots of energy,” Isabel said.

Usually when women volunteered that information, Kash took it as welcome news. With Isabel, however, it sounded vaguely foreboding.

“Ladies. Next, please.” A portly customs agent waved Isabel forward impatiently.

*

Their driver was a stubble-bearded, squat local named Alain, a serious young man currently enrolled at Speos, the Paris Photographic Institute. Kash had no idea how Miranda had selected him, but he spoke perfect English, seemed eminently capable, and fawned over her from the start. He’d be ideal. Kash hoped that Miranda had managed to do as well in their other stops.

They were barely underway before Isabel began peppering Alain with questions.

She pulled out her handwritten Paris itinerary and asked him how much time she should allow for each stop, and travel time, interrupting herself to inquire about some building they were passing. She also sought his advice on places to eat and foods to try, and penciled those in on her list.

But while Isabel talked virtually nonstop through the morning rush hour all the way to the hotel, Kash noticed that Gillian had one eye on the scenery and the other on her. She was obviously waiting for a reply to her sexual proposition, but wasn’t going to push it.

Why shouldn’t I? First off, it could be problematic if Gillian secretly harbored illusions about anything more than a one-night stand. It wasn’t like she could avoid her afterward. And she still didn’t know what the score was between Isabel and Gillian. If a pretty woman was making herself available, that didn’t usually matter. But she was going to see a lot of Isabel, and things could get awkward if these two were involved. No. Better to wait.

“Voilà,” Alain announced with a flourish as they pulled up in front of the historic Hotel Napoleon, a turn-of-the century building a breath away from the Champs Elysées.

“We’re staying here?” Isabel took in the elegantly detailed façade with its burgundy awnings, ornate iron balconies, and window boxes filled with red geraniums. The massive glass doors at the entrance were flanked by half a dozen spruce trees, meticulously groomed into perfect cones and each in its own planter.

“Prepare to be pampered,” Kash informed them. “Alain, if you’d deal with the luggage and then wait for the ladies, please? I won’t need you until tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course, at your service,” he replied.

“You sure?” Isabel asked. “Thanks.”

Once inside, Isabel tried not to seem the gawking tourist, but it was hard not to stare at the opulence of the art-deco hotel. She had seemingly stepped back in time, into some French aristocrat’s mansion. The polished marble of the entry gave way to exceptional antique rugs, and the walls were decorated with Napoleonic artwork in ornate gilded frames. Directoire-style furniture—upholstered wing chairs and couches in patterns dating back two centuries—was artfully arranged into small groups throughout the expansive lobby and reception area.

“Sure beats the hell out of any place I’ve ever stayed,” Gillian said in a low voice.

“I can’t wait to see our room,” Isabel agreed.

“Welcome to the Hotel Napoleon, ladies.” The concierge intercepted them before they reached the front desk. Though he addressed them all, his attention was fully on Kash. “How wonderful to have you stay with us again, Miss Kashnikova.”

“Nice to see you again, Claude,” Kash responded.

“We’ve upgraded you to the Errol Flynn Suite, of course, and your friends are in the Josephine Suite. If you’ll follow me?”

As they started toward the elevators, two young bellhops arrived to take charge of their hand luggage, while a third rolled a brass cart out for their larger bags.

“That’s very nice of you to put me in the Flynn Suite, Claude,” Kash said as they started the ride up. “But I’d like you to switch that, if you would, and put these ladies in there.”

“My pleasure, Miss Kashnikova. As you wish.”

Kash felt a hand on her shoulder. Isabel’s. She half turned to acknowledge her but didn’t speak.

“Nice of you to give us your room.”

Shrugging, she faced forward again, a little embarrassed. She’d surprised herself with the impulsive gesture. She definitely wasn’t the magnanimous type, and the Flynn had the choice view. The last time she stayed here, she had spent hours on its balcony. But she’d become jaded by such opulence, and she rather liked the awestruck expression she’d seen on Isabel’s face as they walked through the lobby. She knew the luxury of the Flynn Suite would thrill Isabel in a way that had been lost to her a long time ago.

Getting soft in my old age. Kash glanced at her watch to note the date. One month and one day until she turned forty. Forty. She still couldn’t believe it. People who hung around models thought thirty was old. To them, forty was ancient.

“I’ll get you an itinerary for tomorrow by late in the day, Isabel,” Kash said as the elevator slowed. “But I’d plan on leaving here at ten for the Eiffel Tower.” She turned to the concierge. “Claude, I can see myself from here.”

“Certainly, miss.” He handed her bellboy the Josephine Suite’s keycard.

“What do you want me to wear?” Isabel asked.

“Your choice on this one,” Kash said. “Pick something that says you. That makes you feel good. See you tomorrow. Have fun.”

Claude showed Isabel and Gillian into the Errol Flynn Presidential Suite, a spacious and sunny two-bedroom, two-bath suite with three televisions, a comfortable lounge area, and best of all, a private balcony with a view of both the Eiffel Tower and nearby Arc de Triomphe.

Fresh flowers awaited them, along with the usual luxury amenities. And a card welcoming Natasha Kashnikova back to the Napoleon lay in front of a sterling-silver ice bucket, within which nestled a square bottle of Jewel of Russia vodka.

“You’ll not mind, I hope,” Claude said, as he plucked the ice bucket off the table, “if I exchange this with the champagne that was meant to welcome you.”

“Certainly not!” Isabel replied.

“Is there anything else I may do for you at present?” Claude asked.

“Answer a question, if you would.” Isabel stood at the doors leading out to the balcony.

“Certainly, miss,” Claude replied.

“How is this suite different from the other?”

Claude smiled. “Our Josephine Suite is a bit smaller. One bedroom instead of two, with one bath. And it has a balcony that overlooks the inner courtyard. Otherwise the appointments are very similar.”

“I see. Thank you, Claude.”

He gave a small bow. “I am at your service, ladies.”

After he had gone, Gillian and Isabel stood on the balcony.

“God, what a view. Sure nice of Kash to switch with us.” Gillian leaned over the rail to check out the people passing by on the Avenue de Friedland below.

“It sure was,” Isabel agreed. She didn’t have to do that. I wonder why she did. Would I give this up for strangers? “I want to have breakfast out here every morning.”

“I bet room service here is a fortune,” Gillian said. “Will the magazine pay for all that?”

“Yup. Three meals a day. It’s all spelled out in those papers they gave me. There are limits on the food, entertainment, and incidental travel expenses, but they’re all pretty high. I don’t think we have to worry about overspending.”

“Cool.”

“So…you ready to go hit the streets of Paris?” Isabel was so anxious to get going she was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

“Man, that list of yours is burning a hole in your pocket.” Gillian laughed and put her arm around Isabel’s shoulder. “Sure, Izzy. Whatever you want.”

“What I really want is for time to stop. Or at least drag from here on out.” She put her head on Gillian’s shoulder and sighed. “I’m afraid this will all be over much too quickly.”

“Like I’ve been saying, you gotta live in the moment.” Gillian hugged her. “Don’t think about the last day until it gets here, or you’ll miss out on the here and now.”

“Good advice.” She pushed Gillian toward the door to the suite. “Come on, then. Grab your camera and let’s get this party started.”

*

Since she’d given their driver to Isabel and Gillian, Kash hired a cab for the morning and had the driver take her to the places she planned to shoot Isabel the next day. She knew them well from memory, but she wanted to make sure there were no scaffolds or construction zones or the like.

By early afternoon, she was stretched out on a chaise lounge on her balcony, fresh ice chilling the vodka. Claude always remembered her brand and was compensated accordingly. It’s all in the details. Her view was different than expected, but pleasantly serene. The inner courtyard of the Hotel Napoleon was an oasis in the heart of Paris, full of greenery and flowers. Still, she missed her old view. I’ve gotten way too used to being spoiled.

After selecting the “Chill” playlist on her MP3 player, she closed her eyes, sipping occasionally from the heavy crystal tumbler. Coltrane. That’s better.

She usually tried to avoid thinking too hard about her life and whether it was all she wanted it to be, but lately, with the calendar pages flipping inexorably toward another decade milestone, she couldn’t escape a certain amount of self-examination.

Fucking birthdays anyway. It was impossible to be facing forty. Her last birthday seemed like only yesterday, and her thirtieth not all that long ago. Time had certainly begun to speed up in recent years.

So far, her body had been pretty good to her, except for those lines materializing on her face. Need to think about doing something about those. Botox injections didn’t appeal to her, perhaps because she’d seen so many women come out of them resembling some macabre swollen twin of themselves. I wonder if those antiwrinkle creams and shit work.

One of the things she dreaded most about aging was the inevitable changes to her body. And the tabloids will chronicle every flaw. She tried to console herself with the knowledge that she would still have all the other things that attracted women. The money, the celebrity, the star that you can make them with your camera. As long as she stayed on the A-list, she’d never have a problem getting laid.

But that knowledge did nothing to ease her discontent.

When she had decided to pursue photography, half her life ago, she had not been motivated by fame and money and sex. She had been into art and sharing her point of view, giving people a new way to reflect upon the world and themselves.

Somewhere along the line, though, things had changed. Not overnight, and not in a way she had recognized as harmful. The changes were insidious, masquerading as encouragement and opportunities. Increasingly, people had known her on the street and asked for her autograph. Before long, she was offered the best tables in restaurants, the plushest suites in hotels. Everyone wanted to interview her, and invitations to every important party and function started pouring in, far too many for her to accept. She had eaten it up.

Part of you wanted this. But where has it gotten you? To a place where you no longer recognize yourself and where nothing fully satisfies you. Nothing. You take whatever pictures you have to take, do what’s expected of you, and then, at the end of the day, return home to an empty house and sleep alone. She remembered what Dix, the tabloid photographer, had said. “You use your camera to get rich and get laid. What the hell do you think makes you better than me?”

Though she despised the rag shooters and thought herself far above them, there was some truth to his accusation. If she didn’t watch out, the line between them would be even further blurred as time went on. How long has it been since you’ve taken a photo that really says something?

What was incredibly ironic, she mused, was how different she was from the party-girl persona the tabloids had created. Not that she led a chaste life. Quite the contrary. She enjoyed sex and was often up for a quick tryst, if the woman was hot. But when she was out and captured by the tabloids she was usually fulfilling some obligation. Most evenings she spent in solitude, watching a film, reading a book, or working on her photographs. And that solitary existence was wearing thin.

She poured herself another glass of vodka. When she had allowed fame to seduce her, she really had no idea the toll it would exact. Before you knew it, you were living a life you didn’t recognize. One where every woman she met wanted something from her. Most didn’t hesitate to reveal their motives, because they knew her reputation and didn’t expect to have a second opportunity. A few, thinking themselves more clever, appealed to her for another fuck at another time, hoping to somehow grow closer to her and improve their odds of getting what they really wanted. You’ve created a world for yourself where you can get laid any time, but forget being able to trust anyone. How is that world going to feel when you turn fifty?

Taking this photo assignment was a mistake. She was going to have far too much time to think about things. And damn poor scheduling to happen so close to her birthday. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? Because you’ve been too successful at avoiding such introspection.

Maybe you should hang out with Isabel and Gillian, at least some of the time. Do you good to be reminded about what the real world is like, outside of New York and Hollywood. What genuine people are all about. At least they would distract you. And any distraction right now was welcome. She could take some candid shots of Isabel and maybe a few photographs for herself. See if that artist inside of her was dead, or in hibernation.

*

The first stop on Isabel’s lengthy itinerary was the Louvre, only a fraction of which they’d be able to see in the three and a half hours she had devoted to it. But they still would manage to hit all the most important and well-known exhibits because she had mapped out a route for them on the floor plan in the guidebook.

“I thought you agreed to be more spontaneous,” Gillian chided, when Isabel insisted they had lingered at the Mona Lisa long enough and it was time to move on to the Venus de Milo. As they trekked to the famed statue she put her arm around Isabel’s waist. “Honey, you’re starting to sound like a drill sergeant from hell, and we’re only a couple of hours into the trip.”

“There’s a lot I want to see!” Isabel replied, nonplussed, without slowing her steps. “And you do realize that the sooner we get through my stops, the faster we can get to yours.”

Gillian put her hand in front of her mouth. “Oops. My bad. Forget I said anything. Lead on, Sarge.”

“By the way,” Isabel said, “you’re welcome to take off on your own tomorrow while I’m tied up doing these photo shoots, if there’s stuff you want to see. Kash said it would take six hours—I have no idea how many stops that will involve, but you may be sitting around a lot.”

“No prob, I’ll hang with you guys. None of the clubs get going until late at night, and you’ll be done long before then. And even if Kash is busy the whole time working, it should give me a chance to get to know her better,” Gillian said. “She sure doesn’t volunteer much, does she? Not really what I expected.”

“Yeah, I’ve had that same thought.” Isabel slowed to briefly admire a life-sized sculpture of three nude women. “I pictured her being more outgoing and gregarious. But I guess we are strangers, and this is only a job for her. Maybe she’s more chatty with her friends.”

“Probably right,” Gillian agreed. “She sure seems to know everybody. She’s on Oprah, and Ellen, and Letterman all the time. I’m probably dreaming to think she’d have any interest in me.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Isabel said. “You’re hot. You’re fun. And you have three weeks for her to get to know you.” They arrived at the Venus de Milo and she took her time admiring the sculpture from all angles.

“Say, Izzy…” Gillian stood beside her and put an arm on her shoulder. “It’s interesting that you want to spend all day admiring paintings and statues of women rather than the real thing. I mean, wouldn’t you rather have the warm, breathing variety instead of cold, hard marble?”

“These are some of the world’s greatest masterpieces, Gill,” she said defensively. “Art enriches the soul and inspires the creative mind. These things fulfill me in the same way that music touches you.”

“Okay, I’ll buy that to a certain extent,” Gillian replied. “But do you think that’s really all there is to it?”

The question gave her pause. “Well, maybe you have a small point,” she conceded. “I’ve had only disappointments with the real thing. And these always make me happy—guaranteed. They don’t appear to be one thing one day and turn out to be something else entirely the next. What you see is what you get.”

“That’s true of some real women, too.” Gillian squeezed her shoulder. “But you gotta give them a chance.”

“I’ll think about it. Now, Egypt exhibit next.” Isabel put her arm through Gillian’s and led her toward their final stop. “Then some lunch. And this afternoon…let’s see. Notre Dame and a walk through the Latin Quarter…and I’d like to get in the Père-Lachaise Cemetery before dinner.”

“We’re going to a cemetery? You’re kidding, right?”

“Oh, it’ll be great, Gil—it’s full of these unique old tombs and sculptures, and memorials to the victims of the concentration camps. And lots of famous people are buried there: Chopin, Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Gertrude Stein.”

“Izzy, you have such a weird idea of how to have fun in Paris,” Gillian said, shaking her head.

Chapter Four

“Hi there! Gorgeous morning, isn’t it? Mind if I join you?”

The voice was gratingly chipper, much too loud, and entirely too close to her vodka-hammered skull. Kash struggled to crack open her eyes. They need to make truly opaque sunglasses for mornings after. She’d intended to have her coffee inside the hotel restaurant, in a quiet, dark corner. But the place had been packed and noisy, and she thought the fresh air might help her feel better, so she had carried her triple espresso to a quiet bench in the nearest park, at the Rue Balzac.

Isabel stared down at her with an amused expression, her face flushed from jogging. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore navy blue running shorts, a baby blue T-shirt, and sneakers. “I was going to ask if you wanted to run a while with me, but I don’t think an earthquake could shake you from this bench.”

“Quite the comedy routine,” Kash replied, shielding her eyes with her hand. “You should take it on the road, Pollyanna. And soon. Very soon.”

Ignoring the suggestion, Isabel planted herself on the seat beside her. “Are you always this grumpy in the morning?”

Kash glowered at her. “Are you always this perky?”

The tone of her voice made the question sound undeniably like “go to hell and leave me alone,” but Isabel decided to ignore it. That’s some hangover. Under normal circumstances, she might be a bit more compassionate about someone in such a state. But it was a beautiful morning…she was in Paris…Paris!…and she was too damn happy to let Kash’s sour mood bother her. “Yup, guess I am. Most days I virtually leap out of bed. For me, sleeping is a waste of time.”

Kash sighed and shut her eyes. I wonder if I can get the hotel to deliver coffee to me here? “Do you mind if we put off the shoot until this afternoon? Say, two o’clock?”

“Whatever you like. I’m fine with skipping the pictures altogether.”

Huh? Skip the pictures? Kash opened her eyes fractionally again, though the blinding glare stabbed at her hangover. She thought back to Isabel’s wooden performance at their first shoot back in her studio. “If you’re worried about how you’ll come off on camera there’s no need. I can make a star out of anyone.” That’s what you all want, so that’s what I do, she added bitterly to herself.

“It’s not that. I mean…no disrespect intended, to you or the magazine. Like I told you that first day, I think you take amazing photographs, and I’m really grateful for this trip and everything—”

“But?”

“But this makeover and being in the magazine is really my least favorite part of the contest.” Isabel bent over and carefully retied her shoelaces as she talked.

It was one of the dozens of gambits that women had used with Kash to gauge her interest in them—find some way to expose a part of their body and see if she was paying attention. Some were more subtle than others. Kash likened it to the preening displays of exotic birds during mating season, and she reacted as she always did, more out of habit than anything else. She let her eyes linger on the smooth expanse of pale skin exposed on Isabel’s lower back. Nice ass.

“I mean, you heard the story at the news conference. Gillian entered me in this—” Isabel stopped abruptly when she saw where Kash’s eyes were. She jerked up and felt a rosy blush of embarrassment color her cheeks.

“I…uh…” Isabel was so surprised at the way Kash was openly leering at her, like she had in the limo, that she couldn’t continue for a moment. She was shocked as well by her own reaction. She liked it, very much. Perhaps a little too much. “I…” What was I saying? Oh, yeah. “I…I never tried to get on any cover. I’d never even picked up Sophisticated Women until after I got the letter saying I’d won.”

“Still, you did win.” Kash frowned at her empty coffee cup, wishing it could refill itself and grudgingly admitting to herself that Isabel hadn’t intended to flirt.

“I’d be deliriously happy to let someone else have my fifteen minutes of fame, thank you very much.” Isabel plucked the cup out of her hand. “Stay put. I’ll get you some more.” She jumped up. “I saw a place down the block. Black?”

Kash squinted up at her. “Very considerate. A triple espresso, please.”

“Coming right up,” Isabel called back over her shoulder as she jogged away. Now what was that all about? She was glad to put a little distance between them while she regained her composure.

Kash slouched against the bench, head back, eyes closed. She was irked to think that anyone—let alone some naïve Middle America nobody—might decline the rare opportunity to be captured by her camera. Ninety-nine out of every one hundred women would jump at the chance. More than that, probably. She can’t be serious. This has to be some cockeyed, roundabout way to get my attention.

She was still trying to figure out Isabel’s story when the subject of her ruminations reappeared with her triple espresso and an orange juice for herself. “Thanks.” Her head still throbbed. Caffeine alone would not be enough. “See any pharmacies nearby?”

Isabel grinned and set down her juice. “At your service. Within two blocks. Whatcha need? Aspirin?”

“And one of those instant cold packs.” She reached for her wallet, but Isabel was already up and jogging away again.

“Got it,” she hollered back over her shoulder.

What’s your story, Isabel Sterling? Everyone had a motive. Everyone. And sooner or later, it always made itself known. All she had to do was wait.

It wasn’t long before Isabel rematerialized with aspirin and a cold pack. “Shall I leave you alone now to battle your headache in peace?” she asked as she handed over her purchases and reached for her juice.

“Thanks, and no. Not necessary. Sit,” Kash said as she popped three of the aspirin. “So why don’t you want to be a cover girl?”

Isabel shrugged as she settled back on the bench. “It’s not my thing.”

“You don’t strike me as the shy type.” She activated the cold pack and held it against the back of her neck. It was hard to really relax and hold it there at the same time, but she knew it would help her hangover.

“Here, let me,” Isabel offered.

Her hand rested on Kash’s, and Kash slipped hers out and accepted the help. Elbows on her knees, she let the cold penetrate. “Oh, yeah. That’s better.”

Isabel had been keenly aware of the brief touch of their hands, and she was conscious now of the close proximity of their bodies. Kash had on black jeans and a snug black T-shirt that allowed a glimpse of the lean musculature of her back, shoulders, and upper arms. God, Kash, you really have a nice body. No wonder all the women throw themselves at you. “I hope you had enough fun getting this way that it was worth it.” Isabel spoke with more humor than reproach.

“What does fun ever have to do with it? Don’t change the subject,” Kash said. “So if you’re not shy, why don’t you want to be in the magazine? Most women would consider it their big chance at fame.”

“Well, I guess I’m not most women. Or perhaps just not like most of the women you know.”

Kash had heard that line before. Women always wanted to be different. Special. They thought they could ask for anything then. Perhaps Isabel’s approach wasn’t that unique after all. What do you really want? “What is it about the attention that bothers you?” she pressed.

Isabel considered her answer for a while. “I simply have no desire to be recognized everywhere I go. I’ve never craved fame. It’s even less appealing since the press conference. I can’t imagine living the life you lead.”

“It can get tedious with the paparazzi,” Kash agreed, then paused. “That must sound odd coming from me.”

“Oh, not at all. The only thing you have in common with them are the tools of your trade.”

Coming from Isabel, the remark sounded sincere, and Kash mentally thanked her for it. Perhaps it had been true early on. But she thought again of what Dix had said and how far she had strayed from her once-noble career objectives. Perhaps she had more in common with the paparazzi than she was willing to admit.

“You shouldn’t have such a bad time from here on.” She sat up and took the ice bag from Isabel. “Thanks.” Her head felt a lot better. “The press conference was worse than it should have been because I was there. The tabloid guys can get twenty grand or better if they catch me doing something really stupid, and it’s rare for me to appear at a press conference where they can shout questions at me. Of course, they got real interested in you when you took a header.”

Isabel grimaced.

“But as long as you don’t do anything similar, you’ll just have to endure a few months of being recognized, once the magazine comes out,” Kash said. “And you’ll probably get some interview offers afterward. So be careful of which ones you take. And remember, the more money they offer, the worse they’ll make it for you—that’s usually the case, anyway.”

“Well, I don’t intend to do anything I don’t absolutely have to do to fulfill my obligations to the magazine,” Isabel declared.

We’ll see. Even those rare birds who claim not to want celebrity status succumb when it falls in their lap. “Fame does have its advantages at times,” Kash said.

“I imagine it does. Like getting the Errol Flynn Suite whenever you visit Paris?”

Kash rubbed at her eyes. “Yes, there’s that, among other things.”

Isabel sat back against the bench and crossed her legs. “Why did you give us your suite? I’m curious.”

“Eh, not a big deal.” She waved off the gesture as insignificant. “I’ve seen that view and thought the two of you might appreciate the extra room.” She hoped that a mention of the second bedroom might prompt a response from Isabel that would clarify her relationship with Gillian, but Isabel failed to take the bait.

“Well, it was incredibly sweet. Thanks.”

Sweet? Now that’s a new one. Kash chuckled. Not for a minute would she ever believe such a thing, and she knew it was probably only a line, but she had to admit that it felt nice to imagine someone might think that of her. “‘Sweet’ isn’t a word that people often apply to me.”

“No?”

“No.”

“How do your friends describe you, then?” Isabel sipped her juice.

The question demanded more honest introspection than Kash was willing to offer someone she barely knew. Too often, when she had volunteered any kind of personal information to a woman, her words appeared verbatim later in some tabloid or blog, often out of context. “That would be for them to say.”

She knew how Miranda would probably describe her, since she wasn’t shy about offering her blunt assessment of Kash whenever she needed a good smack to the side of the head. Guarded and controlling. She heard those two descriptives a lot, from her and others. And detached, because she didn’t wear her emotions on her sleeve or volunteer a lot of what went on inside her.

Arrogant was another one that was becoming more popular, and she could see its validity. She hadn’t always been so. But once she was able to have who and what she wanted with the snap of her fingers, she had never been reluctant to spell out her desires. Arrogance was the scar that frequent and easy acquiescence had left.

“If I’m being presumptuous, forgive me. I’ll leave you to recover from your hangover in peace,” Isabel said, getting to her feet. “I still have a lot of Paris to see. So I’ll meet you at the hotel at two?”

“Yes, at two,” Kash said. “And thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As she watched Isabel jog toward the hotel, Kash slightly regretted having been her usual abrupt self. Outwardly, Isabel had been nothing but friendly and thoughtful. And she seemed sincere and genuinely self-effacing. Could she be for real? Long ago, Kash had dared think that someone might be nice to her and show interest merely because they liked her. But it had been a long time since she’d allowed herself the luxury of that delusion.

*

“So that outfit says you, huh?” Kash eyed Isabel’s choice of attire for their first photo shoot. She might have expected the ensemble, which was well suited for Isabel’s no-frills, natural look: low-waisted, faded blue jeans, sandals, and a loose-fitting pale yellow blouse. The blouse wasn’t particularly stylish—in fact, it was a bit faded, which suggested it was a favorite garment at least a few years old. Still, it brought out the highlights of Isabel’s long, honey blond hair, which shone like wheat in the summer sun.

“My lucky shirt,” Isabel explained, following Kash’s gaze. “And I’m in these jeans almost seven days a week. Is it okay?”

“It’ll be fine,” Kash said. “I’ll shoot you in your own stuff before the makeover. Afterward we’ll put you in your new wardrobe. I’ll be doing mostly full-body shots, but some close-ups, too. Try to have fun. Move around, change your expressions, and don’t be afraid to act silly.”

“Isabel? Silly?” Gillian stifled a laugh. “She’d need at least a couple of drinks for that. Best you can hope for here is relaxed.”

Isabel punched her in the arm. “Big help you are.”

Since Miranda had challenged Kash to take more than the typical shots of the Eiffel Tower, she ignored the predictable snapshot that every tourist took—the one of a smiling vacationer standing on the terrace of the Palais de Chaillot with the tower as a dramatic backdrop.

Instead, she had Alain set up her equipment on the first stage of the tower, 189 feet in the air, and she photographed Isabel from angles that would utilize the brown girders of the superstructure and the scenery below to provide context.

There was one drawback to her plan. On this sunny July afternoon, a growing legion of tourists decided it was much more fun to watch them than to sightsee.

“Sorry, no autographs,” she repeated ad nauseam as the gutsiest of the bunch thrust pens and assorted writing surfaces her way—Eiffel Tower programs, ticket stubs, Paris guidebooks, slips of paper. To the most persistent she added a slightly annoyed, “Hey, some respect, please. I’m trying to work here,” which rarely made much of a difference. Gillian and Alain did their best to act as makeshift barricades, keeping an area clear around both her and her subject, but it was an impossible task.

Isabel watched a steady stream of people approach Kash, some shy and others incredibly forward, a few even positioning themselves in front of her camera so that she couldn’t ignore them. She couldn’t hear everything that was said, but Kash’s body language and clipped tone plainly said she wanted to be left alone. I would hate to have that kind of a life, not able to be out in public without people staring at me all the time and interrupting whatever I’m doing.

“Okay, Isabel.” Kash’s exasperation became increasingly evident. “Let’s try to wrap this up, can we please? I need you to give me something to work with here. Move a little. I have fifty frames with the exact same forced smile and rigid posture. Hell, I’d even settle for your perky morning self.”

To Kash’s surprise, Isabel grinned and responded with a whimsical series of poses and facial expressions that soon had most of the onlookers laughing and cheering. Not only did Kash get some good photos, but since the autograph hounds were diverted she was able to finish the job with a relative measure of peace.

“For someone who doesn’t like attention and cameras, you sure got over it fast,” Kash remarked once they were underway to their next stop. “That was like someone flipped a switch.”

“Please don’t use one that’s going to make me seem goofy,” Isabel pleaded. “I know I overdid it on some.”

“Overdid it?” Gillian said. “I’d have thought you were on something if I didn’t know you better. Gotta give you props, Izzy. Way to loosen up. What the hell happened?”

“Well…” Isabel ran her hand through her hair. She wasn’t entirely sure what had come over her. “You’re always telling me to go with the moment…” The first part was directed at Gillian, the next at Kash. “And I saw how the crowd was getting on your nerves, so I thought you might welcome a distraction.” Also, the sillier she got, the bigger the grin on Kash’s face had become. She liked that—a lot—but wasn’t about to admit it.

For real? Kash’s cynical nature was beginning to crack. More and more, she realized that Isabel was refreshingly genuine.

“Like I said, the more I see of fame, the less I want to be on that cover. You sure there’s no way out?”

“Not a chance, I’m afraid. It’s what we’re all here for.”

Isabel sighed and stared out of the window. “Ah, well. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Kash studied her face in profile for subtle signs of guile or pretense. There were none. You’re full of surprises, Isabel. Nice surprises.

*

They had three more setups that day for the magazine—at Notre Dame and the Louvre, then the Arc de Triomphe after nightfall.

`While Alain and Kash unpacked and set up the equipment, Isabel and Gillian enjoyed the spectacular view from the top of the famous arch. They were seemingly at the center of a brilliant star, with twelve streaming avenues of white and red light radiating outward. They faced the brightest and most vibrant of the streams—the famed Champs Elysées, whose wide pedestrian walks were densely crowded on this warm summer night.

“I know we have all these other great places ahead of us, but it’s going to be hard to leave Paris.” Isabel folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself. “As often as I’ve dreamed about seeing all this, it’s so much more beautiful than I imagined. No offense, Gill—but it’s a shame I can’t share the most romantic place on earth with that special someone, you know?”

“Maybe you can’t spend it with that special someone,” Gillian replied, “but tonight I will definitely increase your chances of finding some romance in Paris.”

The day before, Isabel had kept them to a tight schedule, with a full day of sightseeing followed by dinner and shopping in the Marais district, then a boat ride on the Seine. Now it was Gillian’s turn to pick how they spent their evening. “I don’t know about finding romance,” she said, “but I’m game for whatever you want to do.”

“Cool,” Gillian said. “Then prepare your tummy for Greek food. Alain told me about a great place near the club I want to try. Want to see if Kash wants to come along?”

“If you like. But I bet she’ll say no. She’s evidently got her own entertainment opportunities, from what I saw this morning.”

“What happened?”

“While I was out for my run I stumbled upon her in a park near the hotel. She was slumped on a bench, and in the same kind of shape you were the morning after Connie and Shelley’s engagement party. How long did it take you to recover from that all-night orgy of sex and alcohol?”

“Ouch.” Gillian winced. “Hey! Maybe we should ask Kash where to go after we eat.”

No, let’s not, Isabel immediately concluded, but didn’t say it aloud. It was pure gut reaction, and she knew it had to do with the way Kash had leered at her in the park. Certainly women had looked at her that way before—sexually appreciative and interested—but the attraction was rarely mutual.

This time it had definitely been mutual. Her shiver of excitement at Kash’s overt ogling had surprised her, as did her wish that it would happen again. But it hadn’t all afternoon, much to her disappointment.

A passing moment and nothing more, I guess. And it’s not like it could lead to anything, anyway. She can have anyone she wants. Besides, Gillian’s going after her. Best I stop thinking about her that way.

As much as she tried to talk herself out of her attraction, though, so far she was losing the battle. Which is why I want to steer clear of Kash’s favorite nightclubs, she admitted to herself. Maybe it was silly, but she didn’t want to go somewhere where she might see Kash with someone else. That didn’t sound like much fun at all.

“They’re about ready for me,” she said, pushing off from the ledge to make her way to where Kash had set her camera. Isabel could see she intended to use the distant Eiffel Tower, now a mere string of lights against the darkness, as the backdrop.

How ironic. The photo shoots today hadn’t been unpleasant, which she had expected after her experience in Kash’s studio in Manhattan. Quite the contrary.

Since Kash had fueled her attraction this morning, she had been very much appreciating the opportunity to do nothing but watch her work, and she couldn’t ask for a better front-row seat than being her model.

“Ready, Isabel?” Kash gestured toward the place she wanted her to stand.

“Yes, ready.” She got into position.

“You’ve been doing great all afternoon,” Kash said encouragingly as she raised her camera. “Keep it up and we’ll be done in no time.”

And then you can get back to wherever you were last night. For an instant, Isabel was tempted to be less than perfect with her poses in order to prolong the shoot. Yeah, that’s really mature. Get over it.

Kash zoomed in on Isabel’s face and brought the image into focus. In her years photographing people through the detached and extreme close-up view she achieved with her camera, she’d become adept at reading expressions. Now and then, she’d see something in someone’s eyes or smile that intrigued her—some spark or hint of mischief she couldn’t quite decipher. Usually she let it pass.

But today, she’d caught Isabel watching with a cryptic smile, like she had on right now, and she wondered what was behind it. What is it you want? Who are you hiding that you think the camera might reveal? And she was equally curious about the change that had come over Isabel. She’d been stiff and nervous during their first shoot back in Manhattan, but something had finally made her relax and even enjoy their sessions.

“Can I ask you a question without interrupting what you’re doing?” Gillian’s voice was so near behind her Kash knew not to step back.

“Sure,” she responded, as she continued to click.

Hell, Isabel thought. Here it comes.

“We’re going to a Greek place in Pigalle for dinner,” Gillian said. “And then out for a night on the town. I thought you might have some suggestions about where to go?”

“Depends on what you’re in the mood for,” Kash responded. Click. Click.

“Let’s see…hot women, good music, dancing, drinks, and fun.”

Kash paused long enough to acknowledge her.

“And you’re welcome to come with us, of course,” Gillian added with a seductive purr. “Maybe I can get a dance with you?”

Kash smiled. Spending time with Isabel and Gillian was a much more pleasant option than another night getting drunk on the balcony. She knew it was stupid to go out to a club. Someone would almost certainly recognize her and probably try to photograph her in some compromising position once she had a drink or two. Wind up on yet another tabloid cover.

But every time she warned herself to stay away from such places, her loneliness drove her back into temptation. Screw Dix. I’m not going to let him or anyone else dictate where I go and what I do.

Chapter Five

“Kash! Welcome.” The doorman of Vive la Vie recognized her at once. “How nice of you to honor us with a visit. See Vanessa, at the back bar. She’ll make sure you’re treated right.” He stepped aside to admit the three of them, to a chorus of groans from the long line of women waiting in line outside.

It was midnight and the place was crowded, and the booming, driving beat of the music pulsed inside Isabel like a second heartbeat as Kash led them through the throng of bodies.

The club was immense, easily four or five times larger than any of the lesbian bars or clubs she’d visited back home. And scores of beautiful women, dressed to seduce and excite, preened in their perfect hair and makeup, and gyrated in amazingly explicit displays on the dance floor.

No, this was in no way like the bars back in Wisconsin.

Vive la Vie was a sleek, hip space, with modern décor. Square steel columns surrounding the central dance floor created dark and intimate seating areas behind them, with low square couches and matching hassock chairs. The lighting was dim throughout, except for the revolving spots of color on the dancers, so the pink-red neon balustrade around the long bar at the back stood out like a beacon. A matching neon strip on the rail led to an upper-level mezzanine, where more low couches gave their occupants a bird’s-eye view of the dancers below.

Gillian, a veteran of the club scene, had begged a stop back at their hotel after the photo shoot so she could change into the low-cut clingy top and miniskirt she’d purchased at a boutique in the Marais. “How cool is this, Iz. My, my, my.”

Kash also fit right in with the clientele. She was wearing low-cut black trousers with a wide-buckled belt, black leather boots, and a white shirt, impeccably tailored and crisply pressed.

Very hot, Isabel had thought when she’d spotted her getting off the elevator.

She herself hadn’t changed and still wore her lucky shirt and jeans. She never felt out of place and was comfortable, which was usually enough. She didn’t judge by appearances and hoped that others didn’t either.

But as they navigated through the dancing women, she noticed the vast difference in the way the crowd responded to each of them. All eyes focused on Kash, in the lead, some in recognition, some not, but all with interest. Many of the women weren’t at all shy either—licking their lips provocatively as they smiled or winked at her, or reaching out to lure her into a dance.

Since Kash was leading, she couldn’t see her face or gauge her reaction to this attention. And that bothered Isabel more than a little.

Gillian, following Kash, got a lot of appreciative looks, too, and approving smiles at the miniskirt; and Isabel saw at least a couple of women touch her or give her an affirmative nod, like see me later.

When the women encountered her and noticed what she was wearing, their faces registered…something else, usually surprise. Some openly disapproved, their expressions virtually screaming Who are you to be with Kash? Or they saw her only in passing, barely registering before they moved on to someone more interesting. No one tried to entice her to dance.

The assessment was superficial, by women she didn’t care one whit about, and so it shouldn’t have bothered her. But she had to admit that it did, at least a little. Shrug it off. I don’t have to let them get to me.

Meanwhile Kash claimed an empty space at the long bar, but before she could get the attention of the nearest bartender, an attractive brunette with short, spiky hair and Barbie-doll proportions tapped her shoulder.

“Welcome, Kash, we’re so pleased you could visit us tonight,” the woman said as she extended her hand. She spoke English like a Brit, with an underlying trace of a French accent. “I’m Vanessa, the manager.” They shook hands. “May I offer you and your friends a place on the mezzanine with a bit more privacy?”

Kash turned to Gillian and Isabel. “Sound okay to you?”

“Sure!” Gillian answered before Isabel could open her mouth.

“That would be very nice, Vanessa,” Kash said.

“What may I offer you to drink?” the manager asked as she waved over the nearest bartender.

“Vodka, on ice. Jewel of Russia, if you have it,” Kash answered.

“Yes, we do.” Vanessa smiled. “Ladies?”

“Screwdriver, please,” Isabel said.

“Bourbon, rocks. Jim Beam?” Gillian asked.

“Of course,” Vanessa said. “If you’ll follow me?”

She led them to the most secluded small sitting area on the mezzanine, separated from the rest of the upstairs by a privacy screen and cordoned off with a velvet rope. Obviously the VIP area, it had three plush leather couches and the best view of the dance floor.

“Excellent.” Kash turned to Vanessa as the bartender from downstairs arrived with their drinks. “Thank you, ladies. I’ll remember the hospitality you’ve shown us this evening.”

“Our pleasure. I’ll have one of my girls check in on you from time to time, to make sure you have everything you need.”

Vanessa had barely withdrawn when a statuesque woman with long blond hair and green eyes slipped past the privacy screen and headed straight toward Kash, intercepting her before she could sit.

Has to be a model, Isabel thought. She had much in common with the women who’d come to Kash’s studio. The same height, thin build, beautiful face, and perfect execution of hair, makeup, and clothes that bespoke professional help. Her miniskirt and heels made her seem all long, lean legs. She was stunning.

The surprise on Kash’s face as the blonde approached changed to vague recognition just before the woman planted a lingering kiss hello on Kash’s mouth.

“Damn,” Gillian whispered under her breath. She and Isabel had dropped onto one of the couches with their drinks and were watching the exchange with interest.

Yeah. Damn, Isabel concurred.

“What a surprise!” The stranger was bubbling over with excitement to see Kash. She had an accent, too, but Isabel wasn’t sure what it was. German, maybe.

Isabel watched Kash’s eyes narrow as though trying to place the woman.

It didn’t take long—a slow, sexy smile spread across her face right before she offered up where they’d met. “Amsterdam.”

“Yes.” The woman smiled back at Kash with the same sultry expression. “Hilde.”

“Hilde,” Kash repeated, looking her up and down. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.” She wore a low-cut blouse that showed considerable cleavage. “I have a featured role in a Tarantino film shooting here.”

“Congratulations,” Kash said.

“Thank you. What brings you to Paris? Business or pleasure?”

Kash glanced toward Isabel and Gillian, then back to the newcomer. “Business,” she answered. “Hilde, may I introduce Isabel and Gillian. Ladies, Hilde is a Dutch actress I…became acquainted with last year.”

“Nice to meet you,” the woman said politely in response to their hellos, though she barely glanced at either of them before returning her full attention to Kash. “So, are you engaged in business tonight?”

“Nooo,” Kash answered. A long, drawled response, as though she knew precisely what was coming.

“So you have the evening for pleasure?” the woman pressed, her smile growing.

Kash nodded.

“Have you already made plans?”

Kash shook her head, and the woman moistened her lips as she put her arm through Kash’s. “Then let me steal you for a dance?”

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” Kash allowed herself to be led away.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Gillian grumped as soon as they were out of earshot. She took a big sip of her bourbon and watched them as they descended the stairs and joined the crowd below.

No shit, Isabel concurred, downing nearly half her drink. She had to support Gillian and what she wanted, but she certainly wouldn’t enjoy watching Kash live up to her sordid reputation. Not that she had much choice. From the VIP couches they could easily see all of the dancers below.

The two were dancing close, very close, and Isabel couldn’t take her eyes off them. First they swayed face-to-face, their eyes pinned to each other. Hilde, a few inches taller, had her arms around Kash’s neck, while Kash had draped her hands loosely on the woman’s hips.

After a while, Kash spun Hilde around and hugged her from behind, and they gyrated hip to hip in a sensual bump and grind that was intoxicating to watch.

“Hey, so she ran into an old acquaintance.” She tried to sound flippant but sounded unconvincing even to herself. A drop-dead-gorgeous acquaintance. And I swear, they look like they’re going to have sex right here in front of us. “Maybe you’ll get a dance later with her. Or another night, in another club.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Gillian brightened. “I’ve got lots of time.”

They watched as the women dancing around Kash began to recognize her, many gravitating purposefully into her field of vision, trying to catch her eye. Now and then, one would dance close enough to rub a hip seductively against her or stroke her arm or back in passing.

“Boy, beautiful women sure throw themselves at her, don’t they?” Gillian sighed and took another long sip of bourbon.

“Don’t they, though,” Isabel agreed with a frown. And Kash seemed to be right in her element, soaking up all the attention from the women buzzing around her. She winked at some or briefly released Hilde now and then for a bit of dancing with one of her admirers. All the while she smiled this oh-yeah-show-me-some-more-baby smile and leered appreciatively at the women around her, precisely the way she had at Isabel that morning.

Isabel was startled to realize how envious of them she was. “Come on, Gill, you keep telling me to stop sitting on the sidelines. Time to get in the game. Let’s dance.”

The surprise on Gillian’s face quickly came and went. “All right, Izzy. That’s my girl!”

They joined the throng as a well-known song came on, a remix of an old disco tune that played a lot in the club back home. They broke up laughing and immediately got into the groove, grateful for the sweet reminder of home in their otherwise foreign environment. Around them, the murmured comments and come-ons they could overhear were mostly in French, but the music lyrics were all about “Hot Stuff,” which was a universal language.

Isabel was determined to try to forget about Kash and her growing harem and the fact that all the women in the place were acting as though she were invisible. None of that matters. I’m damn lucky to be in Europe, and I’m going to enjoy every minute.

And dancing with Gillian was always fun. They had a flirty ease with each other that was often mistaken for much more than the lighthearted frivolity between friends that it was. That was never truer than tonight, for the open sexuality in the air created an infectious spirit, and both caught the fever.

So Isabel put her hands around Gillian’s neck, and Gillian put her hands on Isabel’s hips, and pelvis to pelvis, they fell into a sensual dance every bit as hot and steamy-looking as the interactions all around them.

Their bodies were pressed so tightly together that Gillian had to lean in only a few inches to put her lips next to Isabel’s ear. They were very near one of the speakers, so it was the only way to be heard above the music. “Have I told you how proud I am of how I hardly recognize you?”

Isabel threw her head back and laughed. She barely recognized herself, either. Something was happening to her on this trip. She wasn’t sure what, or why it was happening now, but something was pushing her out of the controlled and structured rut her life had become. And though the change was a bit scary, it was incredibly liberating. She was almost literally waking up from a long sleep, to find a brighter and more vivid world.

When Kash happened to glimpse them through the crowd, Gillian had her thigh between Isabel’s legs and her hands on Isabel’s ass. Kash couldn’t really tell what was going on, but their body language and the way they were dancing made it crystal clear that both were gay, very close, and also, she realized, not nearly as conservatively naïve as she’d presumed.

Gillian glanced her way and smiled provocatively. The tilt of her eyebrow seemed to say, So, have you been thinking about my offer?

And Isabel—well, Isabel sure knew how to move on the dance floor. Nice ass. No trace of any inhibitions. Yes, indeed, maybe that threesome idea isn’t dead after all.

“Feels so good.” Hilde’s voice was husky, seductive, and very close to Kash’s ear. They were dancing tight against each other, front to front again, and she massaged Hilde’s ass as she watched Isabel shake hers. The combination of what she was doing and seeing thrilled her and began to arouse her, acutely. Then a buxom blonde, who actually resembled Isabel quite a bit, danced into Kash from behind, sandwiching her and thrusting her crotch into Kash’s ass. Fuck, yes.

Hilde kissed her, and she responded hungrily, thrusting her tongue into her mouth. But she soon missed the view she’d had, so she broke free and returned her attention to Isabel and Gillian, only to find Isabel staring intently at her with an interested but unreadable expression.

Kash let her attraction and desire show, returning Isabel’s heated stare with a seductive half-smile and faint nod.

Suddenly, Hilde put a hand firmly to her crotch and made her jump nearly out of her skin. Her trousers were paper thin and her clit so sensitive the touch jarred her.

Without breaking their dance, Kash removed the hand. That was not going to happen, no matter how turned on she was getting. She was too well known to be fucking in the middle of the dance floor. Not with all the cell-phone cameras in this room.

Isabel hadn’t taken her eyes off her, all the while continuing her sexy gyrations with Gillian. Kash wished she could better read what the woman was thinking. Damn, she can move.

“Kash.” Hilde pulled at her shirt.

When she turned her face to respond, Hilde kissed her possessively and put Kash’s hand on her breast. Again, Kash knew better than to let that happen; several of the women around them had recognized her. But she had a real weakness for that particular body part, and she could feel Hilde’s hard nipple through the sheer fabrics she wore, so she couldn’t help but linger there a few seconds.

Kash hazily recognized a flash, but she had no clue where it came from. You asked for that. Much as she wanted to denounce those who took such pictures of her, she knew she really couldn’t; to do so was hypocrisy. She was the ultimate voyeur herself and believed that anything viewed through her lens was fair game. You hate not being the one in control, that’s all. But you can’t choose only the perks of celebrity and none of the downsides. Not if you insist on coming to clubs and groping women at every turn.

She glanced around but didn’t see anyone with a camera or phone. Her eyes met Isabel’s, and Isabel pointed to a dark-haired woman barely out of her teens standing a few feet away. When Kash stared at her unflinchingly, the young fan averted her eyes, blushing, and tried to hide her cell phone behind her body.

Kash extracted some bills from her wallet. “I need that phone.” She was friendly but firm as she held out five fifty-dollar bills, and after only a brief hesitation, the young woman sold her the phone.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything.”

Yeah, I’ve heard that before.

Vanessa suddenly appeared at Kash’s elbow. “Is there a problem here, Kash? Is she bothering you?”

“No, we’re good,” Kash replied, and tucked the cell phone into her pocket. A hand seized her elbow.

“Let’s go upstairs.” Hilde tugged her resolutely toward the stairway.

Kash allowed herself to be led, glancing toward Isabel and Gillian as she and Hilde left the dance floor. Other couples now blocked her view, and though she couldn’t thank Isabel as she’d intended, she figured she’d have ample time.

Once she reached the upper level, she spotted them again in the crowd below. To her surprise, a third woman had joined their sensual dance. An attractive, butchy brunette had sidled up to Gillian and was fondling her from behind, and the trio was previewing a delicious visual appetizer for the threesome she hoped for later.

“No cameras here,” Hilde purred in her ear as she pulled Kash down on one of the couches.

The next thing she knew, Hilde was straddling her, pushing down against her, and of their own volition, her hips began to answer with slow, rhythmic thrusts. The short skirt that Hilde was wearing had hitched up, exposing the soft ivory skin of her endless thighs, and Kash traced lightly along the sensitive flesh in a teasing path intended to heighten Hilde’s excitement. From the moans she was hearing she was having the desired effect.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Hilde panted breathily, rolling her hips to push against Kash’s hands. “Please. Touch me like I need you to.”

Kash was never one to deny such a request, so she slipped beneath the skirt and spread her hands over Hilde’s ass, pleased to discover no barrier of undergarments.

Hilde groaned at the sensations and pushed forward, raising her body to allow Kash access to the growing wetness between her legs.

At the same moment, Kash felt a tug at her waist, and she looked down to discover that her belt was unfastened and her trousers open. It was a scenario that Kash had played out more times than she could remember, so she shouldn’t have been surprised when Hilde chose then to reveal what she really wanted.

“I hope you’ll give me your number this time,” she said with playful reproach as she lifted her top above her head to reveal a lacy, crème-colored bra. “Let me get to know you better. Maybe see whether we can work together as well as we play together.”

Usually this flagrant trading of sex for favors didn’t bother her. It had become the de rigueur course of her life for the past several years. But maybe her approaching milestone birthday or Hilde’s incredibly poor timing—making her think when she only wanted to feel—or maybe the fact that she had already been there and done that one time too many made her interest wane. She pushed Hilde off her and got to her feet. “I need another drink.”

*

Isabel tried to keep her swirl of emotions in check as she watched Kash head upstairs with Hilde. Watching them dance together, seeing Kash kiss and touch the actress that way…All the while staring at me like she wanted me instead. I didn’t mistake that. The desire in Kash’s eyes had stirred something in her, made her deliciously and powerfully horny in a way that startled her in its intensity. But it had frustrated her, too.

What was she doing, anyway, to even think in those terms about some playgirl photographer at whom women constantly threw themselves? So many, she apparently can’t immediately recognize a beautiful actress she slept with a year ago.

Besides, even if she is interested, and even if I did decide to do something totally against character for once, I still have to consider Gillian.

“Guess those tabloid stories about her are true,” Gillian said, following Isabel’s eyes up to the VIP area.

“Yup. I’d say so.”

“Which is good, actually. I mean, I stand a better chance of getting a night with her, don’t you think?”

Isabel kept dancing and tried to appear nonchalant. “You’d know better than I would. One-night stands aren’t really my area of expertise.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Izzy. Speaking of which, if Kash is otherwise occupied, it’s time to start thinking about other opportunities for my evening’s fun.” She tilted her head toward the cute butchy brunette dancing near them. “That one’s been winking at me. Time to start winking back.” She maneuvered herself so she could flirt with the brunette while she kept dancing with Isabel. “Seen anybody here that does it for you?”

Kash does it for me, damn it. As for the rest…Isabel scanned the room, still amazed at how uniformly trendy and beautiful the clientele was. She also noted again that not a single woman was paying her any attention, though the club was full of nonstop flirting and touching. She glanced down at her clothes. No wonder. This is the least sexy outfit in the place. Not wanting to judge by appearances is one thing, but I seem to go out of my way to avoid attracting any attention to myself. Why is that? Do I do it deliberately?

“Don’t worry about me,” she whispered as the brunette Gillian was interested in joined them. “Appears you’ve got company. Be careful, huh?”

“No worries, Iz.” Gillian slipped away from her embrace to welcome the cute stranger who was bumping against her from behind. The three of them danced together long enough for Isabel to catch the woman’s name—Véronique—and for her to determine that three was definitely a crowd in this equation.

“I’ll see you back at the hotel,” Isabel told Gillian, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Good luck, and have fun.”

Threading her way through the dancers, she headed toward the back bar, not at all anxious to interrupt what she was fairly certain was going on upstairs. But the crowd was thick and the bartenders all occupied, so she detoured to the ladies’ room. She spotted the small neon Toilettes over a doorway to the left and headed through it, only to find herself in a dark hallway populated by a dozen couples in clinches, their clothing in disarray. The heady scent of arousal hung in the air, and this far from the loudspeakers, as she walked by she could clearly hear the moans and guttural sounds of the women fucking.

Isabel had never been in a situation where women were publicly going at it like this, and the experience was more than a little exhilarating. There was certainly nothing like this back in Madison.

She was thinking what a shame it was to be all stirred up, with no suitable outlet for her sexual desires…when she ran headfirst into someone coming around the dark corner from the ladies’ room.

And headfirst it was. When they crashed together, she started to lose her balance backward and reached out, flailing for something to grab. She found the front of the woman’s crisp white shirt and ripped all the buttons off, then slid down her body until she reached the big buckle of her belt and it whipped out of her pants with a swoosh.

The stranger managed to cradle one hand behind Isabel’s head, the other around her waist when they slammed into each other. Then, together, they hit the wall behind Isabel in a heavy thud of crashing bodies.

They remained frozen a long moment as Isabel realized this wasn’t some stranger she had run into. Kash. Then she noticed how tightly they were pressed against each other, both breathing heavily. Meanwhile everywhere around them she heard, saw, and smelled women having sex.

She was hyperaware of Kash’s lean and lithe body pressed up against the entire length of hers, her right thigh barely insinuating itself between her legs. She also became aware of the fact that she had Kash’s belt in one hand and her other firmly planted on Kash’s magnificent ass. Oh, my. How did that happen?

Kash’s left arm was around her waist, possessively, while her right still gently cradled the back of her head. It hit her how close she had come to seriously injuring herself. She wanted to say thank you, but she wasn’t sure she trusted her ability to speak. All she could think about was how damn hot Kash was at this distance, and how very much she wanted to be kissed. God, she’s got the most perfectly wonderful lips.

Kash recognized that look in Isabel’s eyes. Hunger. Desire. It was coursing through her own veins, too, in a way it hadn’t with Hilde. She tightened her grip around Isabel, who gasped, and she liked that sound, very much. She slowly leaned in for a kiss, enjoying Isabel’s expression.

Her lips were only a breath away when she became dimly aware of a flash, and Isabel must have as well, because she muttered “Damn,” pushed Kash off her, and fled. Kash glanced about for the offender, but all the couples near them were still occupied. Then another flash brightened the hall, and she realized it had come from around the corner, in the direction of the restrooms. Three girls were playing around, photographing each other kissing and undressing.

Christ. She glanced down and saw her shirt open to the wind, exposing her sheer white bra. She couldn’t help but smile. Why doesn’t this surprise me? She tucked in her shirt, covering herself as best as she could and wishing she had buckled her belt after her aborted scene with Hilde, then elbowed her way out to the dance floor, surveying the crowd for Isabel. She spotted Gillian in one of the quiet alcoves, on the lap of the cute brunette she and Isabel had been dancing with. Well, they certainly have an open relationship. The two were going at it pretty heavy, Gillian apparently unconcerned whether anyone saw her without her shirt and bra. Nice tits on that one.

Isabel was nowhere on the lower floor, so Kash returned to the mezzanine.

Hilde pounced on her as soon as she spotted her. “Come on back to the couch and let’s have some fun,” she said, reaching for Kash’s shirt and stopping when she saw it was unbuttoned. “Hey, what happened to you? Partying without me?” She fingered the clasp of Kash’s trousers. “See you lost your belt, too. Aw. Couldn’t you wait for me?”

Kash wondered whether Hilde had been quite so obvious and quite so irritatingly possessive the first go-round. She couldn’t remember. “Party’s over, Hilde. Thanks.”

“Let me give you my number.” Hilde went for her purse but Kash intercepted her.

“Don’t trouble yourself. I’m sure I can find you if I want to get in touch.”

Long after Hilde had gone she stood on the mezzanine watching the crowd below. For some reason, before she returned to the hotel she wanted to make sure Isabel really had left.

Then what? she asked herself. You know what. You don’t want a threesome at all, do you? You just want her.

Chapter Six

When Isabel got back to the hotel, she ordered a cognac from room service and retired to the balcony with it to try to put the evening’s surprising turn of events into some perspective. She felt restless, all jangled nerves and emotions, since her unexpected encounter with Kash in the hallway.

Closing her eyes, she let the memory of Kash’s body pressed against hers flood her senses. It’s folly to be thinking about her like this. Where’s it going to lead me? Still, she couldn’t help herself. Her body wanted what it wanted, and her mind refused to let go of the thrill that had ripped through her when she realized Kash was about to kiss her.

What the heck is happening to me? It was as though she had somehow switched bodies with someone, and the one she was now inhabiting had more ability to feel than the one she’d been living in all her life. She was so thoroughly and completely aroused that every part of her cried out for Kash’s touch. Why her? Why now? How can you go for thirty years thinking you have some idea of what it all means, how it all works, and suddenly find yourself realizing that so much more is possible?

She’d never felt single-minded about sex. Sure, she’d been attracted to the women she’d been with and thought she’d known what it meant to want and desire. But nothing like this. This ache for Kash, this craving, was beginning to permeate her every thought, and her body refused to let go of this low-simmering buzz of arousal.

And now what? I took off out of there like a bat out of hell with no explanation. What a missed opportunity. She probably thinks I’m some kind of…who knows what she thinks?

Realizing that she might never get to kiss Kash disturbed her, but the prospect that she would bothered her even more. And if she does want to kiss me? And more? What then?

The cognac, the spectacular night view of Paris, the warm breeze on her skin, and the memory of Kash’s musky perfume and strong arms around her eroded Isabel’s tightly woven resistance to a one-night stand. If she was here right now…Oh, if she was here right now.

The cognac lulled her into a dreamscape of possibilities, and she let her imagination run wild. When she drifted off, she tasted Kash’s mouth on hers, an escape so compelling she never heard the knocking at the door of her suite.

*

Once more Kash rapped softly at the door of the Errol Flynn, but still no response. Either Isabel had not come back to the hotel, or she had gone directly to bed. Damn. No chance to finish what they had almost started.

She knew it would take only a few minutes back at the club to find someone to help her alleviate the knot of sexual urgency that had been twisting her insides since that clinch in the hallway with Isabel. But the alternatives lacked something.

She trudged to her suite, wishing she’d been able to confirm that Isabel had made it back all right. Since when did you start caring about such things?

Her body was tight as a drum, nowhere near ready for sleep, so she was pleased to see that Claude had replenished her supply of vodka.

*

Late the next morning Gillian spotted Kash in the hotel restaurant. She was sitting alone, sipping coffee, an apparently untouched basket of fresh pastries on the table.

“Good morning,” Gillian said. “Or am I interrupting?”

“No, of course not. Please sit.” Kash removed her sunglasses and set them on the table. She had faint dark circles under her eyes and squinted.

“Hmm, apparently you had a late night, too?” Gillian inquired with a conspiratorial smile.

Kash sipped her coffee and shrugged noncommittally. “I saw you were enjoying yourself. Cute girl.”

Gillian sighed. “Very cute. Say, by the time I got back to the room this morning, Izzy had already gone. You haven’t seen her, have you?”

Kash sat up straighter. “No. I haven’t.”

“Well, she is an early riser.” Gillian signaled their waiter and ordered coffee. “She left a note saying she was out seeing the town and would catch up with me at dinner, if I didn’t have other plans.”

“Don’t you have a copy of that itinerary of hers?”

“No way. Are you kidding?” Gillian asked in mock horror. “She never lets it out of her sight. Besides, it changes every five minutes.”

“Well, I was going up to Montmartre in a while to take some pictures. Great views of the city, if you want to tag along.” Kash wasn’t sure why she made the offer. It was a totally spontaneous gesture, made mostly because she didn’t want to be alone. And she thought perhaps she might have an opportunity to get a better handle on what the deal was between Isabel and Gillian.

“Hey, that’d be great!” Gillian grinned.

*

Isabel kept ahead of her itinerary all day, even without Alain as chauffeur. But she had gotten a much earlier start than she planned and had quickly mastered the Paris Métro system.

Her day began at four a.m. when she had awakened, stiff and sore, in the chaise on the balcony. Unable to go back to sleep, she had finished her run and shower and was off to find breakfast by six, so by four thirty p.m. she had run through her list with time left for a long pause for coffee and people watching, in a café on the Boulevard Saint-Germain.

It was the first real break she had allowed herself all day, so it was also her first chance to really think about the evening before. As soon as she settled and became quiet, she was transported back to the hallway and into Kash’s arms.

Something warned her to prepare some reaction for the next time she saw Kash. Otherwise she would probably stutter and stammer or worse.

What she wondered the most was how Kash would react to her the next time they met. If she makes no reference to almost kissing me, I’ll have to take it that she wants to forget it ever happened. I mean, we do have to work together for another two and a half weeks. The prospect of Kash acting as if nothing had happened thoroughly depressed her.

Of course, the other option is entirely possible. She hadn’t mistaken the expression on Kash’s face. If it’s still there when I see her again, I’ll just melt and give in, and damn the consequences. I know I will. God, I’m almost ready to beg for it, where she’s concerned. Why the hell doesn’t it seem to matter how many women she’s had, or whether being with her will make me only one of the masses she won’t recognize a year from now? Why?

“Live like there’s no tomorrow,” Gillian kept telling her. “Let the moment take you where it will for a change. Sometimes those chance, fleeting experiences make lasting memories.” It sounded like as good a plan as any.

Maybe she should tell Gillian she was going to have some friendly competition for Kash’s attention. Why not? She won’t care. I know she won’t. She’ll understand completely. Maybe she can even explain to me what’s going on—how you can be so damn attracted to someone that you can’t think of anything else but how much you want to be naked with them.

Even as she thought it, though, she suspected there was a big difference in the way she and Gillian wanted Kash. Gillian would be happy with an evening, but she knew she wanted more. Much, much more. One night with Kash would never be enough. She glanced at her watch. Time to face the music. Excitement ran through her. Please let Kash look at me like that again.

The nearest metro station was only down the block, so she was on a train headed for the hotel within five minutes. She made it only halfway there, however, before a power outage shut down one-third of the massive subway system, including the line she was on.

Three hours later she finally arrived at the hotel—grumpy, sweaty, and starving. Gillian had left a note in their suite, which read:

Where are you?

Having such a great day you lost track of the time, I hope. We waited forty minutes, then decided to head to dinner because we’d made reservations.

We? she wondered. We who?

If you find this before eight, dress up and come find us at…

The note gave the name and address of a restaurant in Pigalle, but Isabel quickly skimmed that part since it was already eight fifteen.

If you get back after that, we’ll be at Vive la Vie. Kash will tell the doorman to expect you.

Well, that explained the we. Her heart sank. So Kash and Gillian had dinner together. Gillian was getting her one-on-one chance to see if Kash was interested in something more.

She had to go to the club. Gillian would probably worry if she didn’t hear from her soon. But she wasn’t excited about seeing the two of them together. I want her for myself, Gill. So much so that any notion I had about helping you get her has evaporated. I sure hope you understand. After all, I’m only doing what you advised. I’m letting my body take me where it wants to. And it sure as heck is making it all too clear it wants her.

After a shower and plate of Boeuf Bourguignon from room service, she got ready to return to the club. I walked through half of Paris today. Why didn’t I come back with something to wear? The clothes she’d brought with her were nothing like what she’d seen women wearing at Vive la Vie. She’d packed only a few comfortable things because she’d been told she’d get her new wardrobe the first week of her trip.

Gillian was always offering to loan her things to wear, and they swapped clothes so routinely that she didn’t hesitate to go through Gillian’s closet when her own failed to produce a suitable garment. She selected a short skirt that under normal circumstances might have made her a bit self-conscious.

But she was in the mood not to be invisible tonight.

In the end, she wore her own blouse, a plain white cotton number, but tied in front to show off a bit of stomach. Added a pair of heels—also Gillian’s and a tad large—and a bit of makeup.

Her hair took another twenty minutes of fussing over to get it the way she thought would fit in with what she’d seen.

The person who stared back at her in the mirror was almost unrecognizable. She was sexy and mischievous and ready for fun. And totally in keeping with this new hypersensitized body she was inhabiting. Tonight I won’t be Izzy at all. Tonight I’m Isa. And Isa is a wild child, it appears. Think I’ve got it in me?

*

By the time she sat down to dinner with Gillian, Kash knew quite a lot about both her and Isabel. As they had explored the streets of Montmartre, she had got Gillian talking. Likes and dislikes, schools attended, jobs, and interests. And along the way, Gillian volunteered a lot of information about Isabel. In fact, she talked about nearly everything except the true nature of their relationship.

Kash brought up the subject over dessert in an effort to get more detail. “So you two have known each other a long time.” She said it casually, repeating information Gillian had already shared.

“We met in college,” Gillian confirmed. “She taught me to swim, actually.”

“Did she?” This was new.

“I’d always been afraid of water,” Gillian began. “I never had a chance to learn to swim growing up because there were no lakes or pools near us. Anyway, I went to the college natatorium because I heard they taught beginner classes. To make a long story short, I slipped and fell into the pool the first day, and she jumped in to get me.”

Kash was impressed.

“Isabel is a very caring person, though she tends to be rather routine-driven.”

“I would never have guessed that by that itinerary she’s drafted,” Kash observed wryly.

Gillian cracked up. “Oh, that’s nothing.”

“No? What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s see. She’s up at six. Swim or run until seven. Breakfast—usually granola or fruit or something healthy. Then off to decorate cakes. She’s very good, by the way. Her cakes are edible works of art. Anyway, after work she either teaches swimming or sits home and reads. In bed by eleven. Weekends she bikes instead of runs. She plans every detail of her vacations months in advance and remembers every friend and coworker’s birthday.”

“I’m getting the picture,” Kash said. “Creature of habit personified.”

“Yup. Kind of a throwback, too. A real die-hard romantic. Not many of them left.” Gillian finished off her crème brûlée and groaned with satisfaction.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Oh, the kind you find in fairy tales,” Gillian said. “The fate-will-bring-me-my-soul-mate kind of girl. Lightning will strike or something when she meets ‘the one.’ They’ll get married and live happily ever after. The end.”

Kash couldn’t help laughing. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make fun…” She didn’t want Gillian to think she was ridiculing Isabel. “I got the image of a lightning bolt, and Isabel, and it somehow seemed so appropriate, somehow—”

Gillian laughed, too. “In her defense, she’s really not a clumsy person, Kash, or normally this accident prone. I suspect it’s because she’s been pulled out of her rigid routine so much lately that she’s distracted.”

“So…the two of you…aren’t…” She left the question hanging.

“Oh, we’re only friends! Great friends,” Gillian said. “Sisters, really. And neighbors.”

“From the way you two were dancing last night, I thought—”

“Oh. Well, having fun, that’s all. Trying to loosen her up a little, when I can,” Gillian explained. “She’s not into going to clubs, unless I drag her out.”

Couldn’t have guessed that from the way she was dancing last night, Kash thought. “So she wasn’t there to hook up?”

Gillian laughed. “Let’s just say it would shock me if she ever did that. Izzy dates women—sometimes for weeks—before she sleeps with them.”

Aware of her company, Kash didn’t frown, though the information was a most unpleasant development. The idea of spending an evening with Isabel had been very attractive. Worth a nice night in the hotel, she’d decided, and not a mere quickie on some couch. But it didn’t appear as though that was going to happen. Yup. Like I thought. The type with way too many strings attached. Pity. But…other fish in the sea, as they say. “So, you ready to head to the club?”

“Sure am.” Gillian had a glint in her eye and a coy smile.

“What?”

“Oh, I’m trying to think up a way to get a dance with you once we get there.”

Gillian had been good company, engaging but not pushy, and Kash was happy to agree. “Sure. You got it.” Any more than that happening? Well, she would determine that later.

*

The doorman at the club didn’t immediately recognize Isabel, but when she mentioned Kash’s name he let her through. Inside, the crowd was as dense as it had been the evening before. As she waded through the sea of women, she felt a small glimmer of satisfaction when she realized she was drawing a few of the same kind of interested looks that Gillian had the night before.

Isa, not Izzy, she reminded herself. Party girl. Don’t think about tomorrow. Be open to seeing where the evening leads. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to prove. The opinion of these women really didn’t matter to her. Her ego had been bruised a little the night before, she had to admit. But mostly I want Kash to notice me. That’s why it took me an hour to dress, when it usually takes ten minutes.

First she glanced up at the mezzanine, but she couldn’t see the VIP area from where she was. Next she surveyed the ground floor as she danced her way through en route to the bar. Every now and then, a woman would break off from her partner to engage her for a step or two as she passed, and she was enjoying the flirtations.

She was at the far edge of the dance floor, directly under a pulsing red light, when she saw them. Kash and Gillian, six or eight feet away in the shadows. Kash had apparently learned her lesson from the phone-cam incident the night before.

Isabel had anticipated this possibility, but the vivid reality still rattled her. Kash and Gillian were pressed together in a provocative hip-grinding sway, and Kash’s hands were all over Gillian’s ass. Kash was facing Isabel, but her eyes were closed and Gillian was turned away, so Isabel stood where she was, watching them, oblivious to those around her.

Her heart sank. I’m too late. The urge to party evaporated as quickly as it had flared, but before she could take a step toward the exit, Kash opened her eyes and looked right at her. Time froze for several heartbeats before she turned to flee.

The first three hurried steps in Gillian’s borrowed high-heeled pumps were so unsteady that Isabel paused to pull them off. Only the horrific possibility of falling again could make her hesitate, for her insides were so twisted up she felt a little sick to her stomach.

Could I possibly make a bigger fool of myself? She was ashamed at how much she had allowed her hormones to rule her as far as Kash was concerned. So obsessed by the idea of having sex with her that I’ve lost my common sense. Primping to get her attention. Ready to throw myself at her, even for only one night. And now, seeing her dance with Gillian, I’m acting like some jealous teenager. Get a grip. And for what? Whatever made me think she’d take any interest in me?

*

It took Kash a few seconds to wrap her mind around the transformation and really accept that the hot blond sex pistol standing before her was Isabel.

It took her a few more to realize that the expression on Isabel’s
face before she turned to leave was one of surprise and…disappointment?

Suddenly, it all made sense. Isabel was interested, and though she’d given off hard-to-get, strings-attached vibes initially, she’d changed during their time in Paris. The city was a wonderful aphrodisiac, it had loosened her up a lot, and Kash planned to take advantage of that edge.

Kash had already decided there would be nothing more between her and Gillian. It had only been a dance. She didn’t want any complications. She wanted Isabel, not her friend.

It was time to let Gillian know that. Then she’ll tell Isabel.

“Hey, Gillian.” Kash loosened their embrace. “Isabel’s here.”

Gillian glanced around. “She made it? Great! Where is she?”

“She was headed toward the front.” Kash let go and stepped back. “Thanks for the dance.”

Gillian caught the tone and message and took it in good humor. “No chance of another dance or something later?”

Kash put a hand to Gillian’s cheek. “You’re a very nice woman. Beautiful. Sexy. And fun to be with. Maybe we can do some more sightseeing together on this trip. I’d like that. But that’s all.”

“Yeah, no problem. I understand. I enjoyed the dance.”

“My pleasure.”

“Well, guess I’ll go find Izzy.”

Kash watched Gillian disappear into the crowd, then sauntered to the bar for another vodka.

She stayed for a third and consented to a couple of dances, but none of the women at the club interested her for either conversation or other pursuits. Her mind kept returning to Isabel, long after it was obvious that she had gone and wasn’t coming back. Though Kash rarely wasted a brain cell worrying about someone else, it had bothered her—that surprised and unhappy expression on Isabel’s face. But she’d make it go away and replace it with a very satisfied smile.

Kash had never apologized for how she was with women, and she wouldn’t now. She always made her intentions very clear. The women she fucked all knew not to have any future expectations, and none of them were unhappy when they left her. It appeared as though Isabel might be receptive to her lifestyle now.

On her way out, she spotted Gillian with a tall, lanky blonde in leather. Ordinarily, she’d have waited until Gillian was less occupied, but the kiss had gone on for a few minutes already, and it was only getting hotter.

So she grasped Gillian’s shoulder and waited to be acknowledged. This would only take a second. Isabel had seemed the most upset by the fact that she thought she and Gillian were getting it on. I’ll sleep better knowing Gillian set her straight about that.

“Oh, hey, Kash.” Gillian was breathing hard, and her face was flushed. They both had to speak up to be heard over the music.

“Sorry to interrupt. I’m going back to the hotel. Did you find Isabel?”

“No. I guess she left.” Gillian didn’t seem at all concerned. “Like I said, she’s not really into clubbing. She was out all day, so I bet she was tired and went back to the hotel.”

“Want to make sure she got back all right?” Kash pulled out her cell phone, dialed the number, and handed the phone to Gillian.

After a long delay, Gillian spoke. “Hey, Izzy, it’s Gill. Everything cool with you?”

Kash wished like hell she could hear what Isabel was saying.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Gillian smiled, then laughed. “Well, I’m doing my best.” A pause as she listened. Then she glanced at Kash. “She’s right here.” A long pause. “No, darn it.”

Kash relaxed a little. At least she knows we’re not together.

“Well, you’re on your own there. I’m going to sleep in,” Gillian said next, then listened some more. “Sounds like a plan. Sleep well.” She closed the phone and handed it back to Kash. “Like I figured. She’d been out running around like crazy and it all caught up with her, so she went back to the room. Said not to worry about her. Oh—and she said since our flight isn’t until noon, she’s packing tonight so she can go out sightseeing again very early in the morning. I told her she’s on her own.”

“Well, guess I’ll head back, too,” Kash said. “Have fun.”

“Boy, you two are such party poopers.”

*

Isabel was usually not one to drink to excess, but once back in the suite she ordered a bottle of wine and had downed a good bit of it by the time Gillian telephoned. She had anticipated the call so had prepared her answers in advance and tried to deliver them with the same casual, cheery tone she always used, though she felt anything but cheery.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Izzy, it’s Gill. Everything cool with you?”

“Hi, Gill. Yeah, I’m fine. Exhausted, though. I’ve been on the run since this morning and suddenly it all caught up with me.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“I’d have stopped and talked to you, but you were dancing with Kash and seemed way too content to interrupt. So, are you having lots of fun?” She heard Gillian laugh.

“Well, I’m doing my best.”

Isabel pictured the two of them wrapped up together on one of the VIP couches. Knowing Gillian, she wouldn’t be surprised if her friend was missing a few garments by now. “So, is Kash somewhere within earshot?”

“She’s right here.”

“Well, there’s no reason for either of you to waste any time worrying about me. So I’ll let you go.” Isabel wondered whether the two of them would end up back here or in Kash’s suite. Kash’s, certainly. Wouldn’t they? What if they don’t? She didn’t relish facing the two of them, fresh out of bed, over her morning coffee. “Hey, by the way, have you figured out yet where you’re sleeping tonight?”

“No, darn it.”

“Well, I was thinking, since we don’t fly out of here until after noon, I’m going to pack tonight and get up early to hit a few more places.”

“Well, you’re on your own there. I’m going to sleep in.”

“I figured you would. If I’m not back by the time you’re ready to leave for the airport, bring my suitcase with you, will you, and I’ll meet you there?”

“Sounds like a plan. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, Gill. Have fun. See you when I see you.” She hung up the phone, wishing she could get the image of the two of them dancing together out of her mind. Please don’t come back here tonight.

Chapter Seven

Isabel ventured out of her bedroom at five thirty the next morning as quietly as possible, weary from lack of sleep and with a Richter scale headache. Though she hadn’t heard anyone come into the suite, she had managed to doze briefly so it was possible Gillian and Kash had slipped into the other room.

That door was ajar, as she had left it after rummaging through Gillian’s closet the night before. She held her breath and glanced through the opening. Once she confirmed the bed had not been slept in, she exhaled shakily.

She was both relieved and disappointed. Ah, well. At least I don’t have to deal with them all over each other. Perhaps with Kash wearing a lot less than usual. She recalled the softly sculpted perfection of Kash’s upper body that she’d glimpsed when she’d changed her shirt during their first meeting. I don’t think I could stand it—seeing her parading around in next to nothing, smelling of sex, let alone consider the possibility she might like to walk around in the nude—and not be able to have something myself with her. That would be pure and absolute torture.

Isabel didn’t think it likely that Gillian would return this early, but she still hurried to leave the suite, anxious for some fresh air and black coffee, and reluctant to consider how she could possibly act normal and unaffected when she saw them together at the airport. That was as long as she could delay the inevitable. But at least seeing them together there would be easier than seeing them in the afterglow of sex.

And if Kash truly deserved the worst of her reputation, Isabel considered, then perhaps by the time she next saw them, their affair might already be over.

On paper, absolutely not the woman for me. She flirts with anyone and everyone and apparently drops her pants at the slightest provocation. Who knows how many women she’s had? She doesn’t, I’d wager. No, I couldn’t possibly pick anyone more unsuitable. At least not for the kind of life I’ve always claimed to want, not for the person I’ve always claimed to be. So why, then, am I so drawn to her that I can’t put her out of my mind? Does Isa have no common sense at all?

*

Kash was sitting in precisely the same seat and even had her sunglasses on again, though the day was so overcast it was much darker inside the hotel restaurant that morning than it had been the day before.

The coffee and basket of pastries were the same, too, the pastries still obviously untouched, and Gillian finally realized they were an offering to Kash’s celebrity.

“You look like I feel,” Gillian said in a low, raspy voice. She was smiling in a way that said the evening had sure been worth it, though it was taking its toll now.

“Sit,” Kash said. She signaled the waiter and ordered a pot of coffee. “The blonde in the leather?”

Gillian grinned and nodded very slowly several times. “Françoise. One delicious long drink of Perrier, let me tell you.”

Kash laughed. “Aren’t women the most wonderful creatures?”

“Indeed they are.” Gillian let out a long, contented sigh. “I’ll certainly miss Paris.”

“Wait until we hit Rome,” Kash said. “Mediterranean women are a rare breed. Fiery, passionate.”

“Know any good clubs there?”

“I know clubs everywhere, Gillian. Public and private. I get invited to their openings, anniversaries, special events.”

Gillian slapped herself in the forehead, the universal symbol for duh, and smiled. “Oh. Of course you do.”

“So anytime you want to go out at night, say the word.” Kash put her hand on Gillian’s. “I’m glad you understand about…well, that we can’t be more than friends. I’m very tempted, and I wanted you to know that.”

*

Isabel had intended to avoid returning to the hotel. But though the sky had been clear blue when she set out that morning, a storm blew in unexpectedly while she was strolling through the Tuileries Gardens. Before she could find shelter she was soaked, so she had hurried back to the Napoleon, praying she wouldn’t walk in on something she didn’t want to see.

She let herself into the suite as quietly as possible and paused for a few moments, listening. Relieved to hear nothing but silence, she headed toward her bedroom to change, pausing briefly at Gillian’s open door to glance inside. Gillian’s clothes from last night were strewn across the bed. So she’s been here. And then what? Back to Kash’s suite?

All she knew was that she was going to take advantage of the break she’d been given. She changed in record time and headed back out, grateful for the brief respite.

She crossed the lobby, hyperalert to her surroundings, half expecting to see either Kash or Gillian or both at any time. Under most circumstances, she’d have missed them—she got only a glimpse as she passed the door of the restaurant. But she stopped abruptly.

They were sitting opposite each other at a table, engrossed in conversation. As she watched, Kash took Gillian’s hand.

Why am I putting myself through this? Isabel pushed herself forward, out of the hotel, vowing not to let what she had seen bother her or ruin her last morning in Paris. But she was in no mood for art, or architecture, or anything else the city had to offer. She wandered the streets without purpose until, finally, she recognized what was eating her up inside.

The revelation made her sit down hard on the nearest bench, stunned beyond belief. I’m jealous, she realized. Jealous. Me! And not only a little bit, either. I’m insanely and unbelievably jealous. She didn’t think herself capable. The emotion was entirely new, and though she didn’t like it at all, it was powerful, and driving, and made her feel incredibly alive. Why now? Why not with Sylvia? What exactly does that mean?

In her previous relationships, she’d never experienced the slightest bit of jealousy, though she’d had ample opportunities to. Not when the woman she was with flirted with a waitress, or ogled a passing stranger, or even shared a dance with someone a bit too provocative to be entirely innocent. When it happened, she merely recognized that her girlfriend was losing interest and that the end was near.

She’d never even been jealous with Sylvia, her most recent relationship and the one that appeared to have the most long-term potential. When Sylvia had bluntly told her, after two years together, that she’d fallen in love with someone she’d been secretly seeing from work, Isabel had been only hurt and disappointed. Felt rejected, yes. But not jealous.

Isabel certainly was jealous now, however. In spades, as they say. And the reason wasn’t so hard to figure out. I’ve never wanted anyone this much, she realized. Not nearly. I’ve been settling, all this time. Settling for what and who was offered. Even when it didn’t fulfill me or stir me the way I knew it should. The way Kash stirs me, merely by being close to her.

Why is that? she asked herself again. Why does Kash make me feel as though I’ll do anything—even make a fool of myself—just to have a chance with her? She couldn’t answer that question. She could only move in a new direction.

I won’t interfere if it’s Gillian she wants, Isabel vowed. I’ll grin and bear it, and be the supportive friend that Gillian has always been to me. But if I get any sign at all that it’s over between them, and it’s me that Kash wants…well, then, Isa will get another chance to come out and play.

*

“I can’t believe Izzy’s not here yet.” Gillian scanned the crowd congregating near the departure gate. Their flight to Rome was scheduled to start boarding in the next few minutes. “She’s, like, the most punctual person I know. Always early, never late.”

Kash was also watching for Isabel, but less obviously. She was unable to forget Isabel’s obvious disappointment. She didn’t like to hurt women unnecessarily, and she hoped Gillian let Isabel know soon that they hadn’t slept together. She certainly couldn’t tell her.

“Here she comes.” Gillian waved to get Isabel’s attention, and she headed over to join them.

Something’s wrong. Isabel appeared too serious and preoccupied, lacking the trademark ebullience that usually radiated from her. Her shoulders were slumped and her steps leaden.

And Kash noticed that Isabel barely glanced in her direction. I was right. She’s got it bad for me. The only question now is where and when. “Hello, Isabel.”

“Greetings, ladies.” Isabel dropped into an empty seat next to Gillian, trying hard to act nonchalant around Kash. What the hell is the matter with me? I’ve known her only a few days, but after running into her in that hallway I get three feet from her and my body has this insane visceral reaction. Her heart was drumming and her skin was hot. God! I want her hands on me so bad I can’t think straight.

“How you doing?” Gillian asked. “Get a chance to see everything you wanted?”

And a few things I didn’t want to see. “Guess so. Ready for Rome. Oh—thanks for bringing my bag.” Isabel massaged her temples. “I’m fine except for a headache that won’t quit.”

“Join the club.” Gillian chuckled. “Kash and I were comparing hangovers earlier. But I’m not complaining, mind you. A little discomfort after a great night in Paris certainly isn’t a bad price to pay.”

Great, huh? Yeah, rub it in. “If you say so.” Not that Isabel begrudged Gillian her night with Kash. She just wanted one of her own.

As Kash observed Isabel, she was a bit let down. As annoying as the unrelenting optimism she had come to expect from Isabel could sometimes be, she missed it. It was as though a spark had gone out of her. Talk about mixed signals. Make up your mind, Isabel. Maybe it was better to pass on her, after all. Too much baggage there if she’s acting all bent out of shape from seeing us dancing together.

Their flight began to board, which ended conversation for the time being. The senior flight attendant, recognizing Kash, offered to seat her in the spacious first row of the Airbus, several feet away from Isabel and Gillian.

She accepted. The fun had gone out of being around these two. Gillian could obviously take care of herself, and Isabel…well, Isabel needed to grow up. They could have a little fun if she’d let herself go, but Kash didn’t have the time or inclination to play nursemaid.

Perhaps it would be better to let them go their own way, except as necessary for the photo shoots. And of course, she would live up to her promise to show Gillian some clubs, if that came up. But it would be more for Gillian’s amusement than her own. The club scene, and her transient approach to sex and relationships, was less satisfying by the day. It’s the age thing again, that’s all. Stop thinking about it. Your birthday will get here soon enough.

*

A handsome Italian lad named Massimo met them at Fiumicino Airport with a sign that had all three of their names on it, but it was clear he didn’t need it. He called out, “Kash! Kash!” and waved as soon as he recognized her.

He was the Roman equal to Alain in every way, with the same fawning admiration for Kash’s talent and boundless zeal to serve her every whim.

His enthusiastic greeting ensured that everyone around them immediately realized that a celebrity was in their midst, and in no time Kash was surrounded by autograph seekers and flashes from cameras and cell phones, increasing exponentially as they walked toward the exit.

By the time they reached the car, the crowd was getting worrisome. People were pushing to get close to her and raising their voices to get her attention, so Isabel and the others were happy to get underway.

“That was almost scary,” Gillian said, shaking her head. “What a mob.”

“For some reason, I’m particularly big in Italy,” Kash said drolly.

Gillian chuckled, but Isabel didn’t find the reference humorous. It was merely another reason not to be so damn attracted to Kash.

She had set off an international scandal a year earlier, when she had been photographed at an after-the-Oscars party, kissing the young Italian beauty who had collected the Academy Award for best supporting actress. It would have been less newsworthy, perhaps, if Kash hadn’t also had her hand on the woman’s breast. And if the actress hadn’t just been televised kissing her producer husband with considerably less enthusiasm when her name was announced.

They rode through scarily congested traffic, with Massimo occasionally pointing out a building or site of interest. Isabel asked a few questions about some of the major landmarks, but was nowhere near the chatterbox she had been with Alain during their first hours in Paris.

The sights and sounds of the Eternal City captivated Isabel as much as Paris had. Rome, on this warm fourth day of July, was bustling and noisy, the sun-baked streets of the city alive with people and cars. The blend of ancient and modern mesmerized her.

But Isabel’s delicious proximity to Kash also distracted her. They sat nearly shoulder to shoulder in the back of the tiny Fiat, so she could smell Kash’s earthy perfume and surreptitiously watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

Kash spent the trip to the hotel staring out the window, humming something under her breath. Isabel had noticed her doing that now and then, usually so low it was barely audible.

This time the tune was one she’d heard before. Isabel tried to place it. An old Beach Boys number. “I Get Around.” It was so pathetically appropriate she almost wanted to laugh. But Kash didn’t intend it to be humorous—that was clear from her distant, distracted expression. I don’t think she’s even aware she’s doing it.

Their accommodations were every bit as opulent as their suites in Paris had been. The prestigious Aldrovandi Palace Hotel was an oasis in the heart of Rome, adjacent to the lush and tranquil Villa Borghese Gardens and very near the Via Veneto and Spanish Steps. The posh interior of the hotel was perfectly in keeping with the elegance of its nineteenth-century exterior. Rich fabrics graced the upholstered antique furniture and elaborate window dressings, the finest linens adorned the beds, and the artwork on the walls celebrated the Italian masters.

“The magazine sure is doing all right picking where we stay.” Gillian stood at the window, admiring the view of the gardens, while Isabel unpacked.

“It’s great,” Isabel replied automatically. Just then, she came across Kash’s belt, which she had neatly rolled and stashed in her luggage, awaiting its return. The memory of when she had gotten it flashed into her mind: Kash in the dim light of the club hallway, shirt open, her body pinning her against the wall. She had fled the scene so fast she had been halfway back to the hotel before she realized she still held the belt.

“Okay, that does it.” Gillian abandoned the view and stretched out on the king-sized bed, giving Isabel her full attention. “Out with it. What’s bothering you? Where is that eternal optimist I know and love?”

“Nothing’s bothering me.” Isabel tried to put some conviction behind the statement, but she was a terrible liar, and Gillian could spot any attempt at evasiveness.

“Izzy, come on. You’ll tell me eventually. You always do. So let’s get it out of the way right now, huh? Maybe I can help.”

“Sometimes I wish you couldn’t read me quite so well.” Isabel kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed next to Gillian, with her back against the ornate carved headrest and legs stretched out in front of her. “Let me ask you something first,” she began, chewing nervously on her lip. “Is this thing between you and Kash…is it going anywhere, do you think?”

Gillian glanced up at Isabel. “Huh? Thing between me and Kash…what are you talking about?”

“You know…are you going to sleep with her again, I mean?”

Gillian’s forehead creased in confusion. “Again? I haven’t slept with her once, Izzy. Not that I wouldn’t like to. But she declined. What makes you think we did?”

“You didn’t? Really?” She couldn’t keep the glee out of her voice.

“No, I spent last night with a wonderful blonde in leather named Françoise.” Gillian yawned. “Who, by the way, was one of the most insatiable women I’ve ever had the delight to spend time with.” The grin on her face told Isabel that Gillian wasn’t at all unhappy with the way her evening had turned out, Kash or no Kash.

“Well, I saw you dancing together last night,” Isabel said, “then in the restaurant together this morning…so I thought—”

“We had one dance. She left—after asking about you, by the way—and then I ran into her today when I went to get coffee. That was all.” Gillian studied her face. “Hey. You’re really happy about the fact we didn’t…aren’t you?”

Isabel nodded, once. Slowly. Deliberately.

“What a moron I am!” Gillian smacked herself playfully in the forehead. “You? And Kash?”

Isabel nodded again, and her smile got bigger.

“Does she know?” Gillian asked. “Have you said anything to her?”

Isabel shrugged. “Hell if I can tell. I’ve caught her watching me like she’s interested. But no, I haven’t said anything.”

“You know what they say.” Gillian got up abruptly and pushed Isabel off the bed. “No time like the present. Strike while the iron is hot. Get your groove on. Okay, I’m all out of clichés, and I need a nap. Now go!”

Isabel knew if she stopped to think about it too long, she’d never do it. She grabbed Kash’s belt and caught the elevator to the penthouse level, but began having second thoughts as soon as the car began to rise. What the heck am I doing?

Kash had been upgraded to the Royal Suite, which had a view of both the gardens and the hotel’s private park and swimming pool. She was staring down at the pool, considering a dip, when she heard the rapping at her door.

“Hi.”

She couldn’t have been more surprised to see Isabel standing there, smiling uncertainly, a faint flush to her cheeks as though she had run all the way.

“Hello.”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Isabel held up Kash’s belt. “I wanted to return this. And…and offer to buy you a new shirt.” Don’t stare, idiot. Don’t stare. But it was hard not to. In the heat of the late-afternoon Mediterranean sun, Kash had removed her shirt and wore only a very tight tank top. Black. God, she’s got great breasts.

Kash couldn’t help but smile, remembering when her buttons went flying and they had ended up all wrapped around each other. “Hey, it was an accident. Don’t give it a thought. I have plenty of shirts.”

“Okay. Good.” Isabel shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as though trying to find a reason not to leave. “Oh, I also wanted to say…thank you. For…catching me.”

Kash was struck by the look in Isabel’s eyes. It was hard to describe. Hungry came close. Passionate. The kind usually reserved for those times when a woman is well worked up and needs it badly.

Her reference to when their bodies had been pressed together, hearts beating out of control, surrounded by writhing bodies, breathy moans, and the heady smell of sex, sent Kash’s libido into sudden overdrive. She took in Isabel with a slow and lingering leer of appreciation, head to feet and back again, lingering on her breasts, hips, legs. Whetting her appetite, acknowledging the invitation.

“I have very fond…if unfinished…memories of that experience.” She held out her hand for the belt, and when Isabel extended it, she took Isabel by the wrist and pulled her into the suite.

“Should we? Do you…” Isabel was breathing hard, pupils dark with excitement.

“Do you want to analyze this, or do you want to fuck?” Kash spoke even as she shut the door and turned Isabel to face it, planting Isabel’s hands on the door at about shoulder height to brace herself. It was a purely rhetorical question, but the next one was not.

She pressed their bodies together, her crotch against Isabel’s ass, her hands around Isabel’s waist, and put her mouth close to Isabel’s ear. “Tell me that you want this.”

“So much, Kash. So much.” Isabel’s voice was breathy and low, and as she spoke her desire, a shudder ran through her body that Kash felt as a ripple against her chest and groin.

She skimmed her hands over Isabel’s breasts, making the nipples rigidly erect by the third pass, and as Kash put one thigh between Isabel’s legs to urge them farther apart, she heard her first murmured moan of pleasure.

More sounds followed as she let her hand stray from breasts to stomach to hips, stroking in ever more firm and purposeful passes under Isabel’s tight cotton T-shirt and dipping low into the waistband of her khaki shorts. In no time, Isabel’s ass began to move against her crotch.

She slipped Isabel’s shirt over her head, unfastened her bra and removed it as well, and smiled inwardly when Isabel dutifully returned her hands to the door. Now she found only naked flesh, and the passes over Isabel’s breasts and stomach produced more breathy sighs and moans, louder now.

It didn’t take long. She knew it wouldn’t. But she waited until she heard the plea to proceed.

“Please. Oh, please, Kash!” Urgent. Insistent. Exactly the way she liked it.

Then she unfastened the clasp of Isabel’s shorts and slipped them and the sheer white panties beneath down and off.

Isabel tried to turn around, but Kash reacted instantly, pressing her hands firmly back against the door. “No.” Only the one word, but the message was clear. Move again, and I’ll stop.

There was a faint nod of acquiescence, and Kash rewarded it by pushing her crotch back roughly against Isabel’s ass as she reached around and slipped her fingers into the silky wet folds between her legs.

“Oh!”

Isabel’s gasp of pleasure shot through Kash and settled low in her belly. She could feel her own arousal rising rapidly as their bodies swayed against each other, and she fought to keep from touching herself. But Isabel excited her, more than any woman had in a long while, and she barely stayed focused on what she was doing as she stroked Isabel higher, playing lightly over her clit, taking it slow.

Then, easily and naturally, she withdrew from Isabel and quickly shed her tank top, so that when she resumed, her naked chest pressed against Isabel’s back, warm flesh to warm flesh.

The brush of her nipples against Isabel’s back sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her groin, and she bit back a groan before reaching down, one hand in front of Isabel and one behind, to resume her intimate caresses.

She took her time, getting Isabel deliciously wet and open before she pushed into her. Then she let Isabel set the pace for her thrusts by the rocking of her hips, a driving tempo that quickly sent her over the edge.

Isabel cried out when she came and slumped back against Kash, panting heavily, eyes closed. Her hands slipped off the door finally, and to her sides, and Kash embraced her, supporting her weight, as Isabel regained her breath.

After a very long moment, Isabel put her head back on Kash’s shoulder, and Kash caught the floral fragrance of her hair. It roused her from her haze as though someone had shaken her.

She slowly pulled back a step and retrieved her top, slipped it over her head, and allowed a final lingering study of Isabel’s perfect nudity before she spoke. “Probably time you dressed and got started ticking off stops on that itinerary of yours,” she said gently. “I have some things to do to prepare for our shoot here.”

Isabel looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes, so lost in the aftermath of her orgasm it clearly took her a few seconds to realize what Kash had said. Then her face registered confusion and a hint of disappointment.

“Oh. Sure. Of course.” She reached for her clothes, quickly dressed, and waited by the door for several beats as though hoping Kash would embrace her, kiss her, or in some way acknowledge what had just happened.

When Kash stood her ground, unflinching, Isabel gave her a half smile and put her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Soon, only her lingering fragrance remained, and Kash was surprisingly unsatisfied and empty.

Chapter Eight

“Stop! I demand a break for espresso or something,” Gillian groused. “My feet are killing me, I have to pee, and my stomach has been growling for the last hour, at least.”

“Okay, already.” Isabel glanced down at the map in her hands to orient herself. She had kept them to a strict schedule all day, first to the Spanish Steps, then the Roman Forum and the Pantheon. She still couldn’t quite believe what had happened the day before with Kash, so she kept them constantly on the move, too preoccupied to spend much time trying to make sense of it. Her sexual encounter with Kash had left her breathless, but also in a semistate of shock. It hadn’t gone at all as she imagined.

The way that Kash had taken her, for that was what it felt like—without any discussion or foreplay, without the kind of gentle interaction she was accustomed to—and without the reciprocity that usually marked her sexual encounters—all of it had surprised her, especially her own reaction.

Do you want to analyze this, or do you want to fuck?

The entire experience had been so unbelievably exciting that merely remembering it sent her into a mild state of arousal. Kash stirred her up and made her feel more in those few minutes than any woman she could remember. Including women she’d known well, women she thought she might be in love with. But even as the experience had thrilled her, it had left her wanting, as though they had unfinished business.

But she apparently doesn’t share that thought. Her dismissal of me couldn’t have been clearer.

“Izzy? Earth to Izzy! You going to stare at that map all day or make a decision?” Gillian’s words shook her out of her reverie. “Is everything okay with you? You’ve been awfully quiet. Ever since you went to talk to Kash, as a matter of fact. Did something happen?”

Is that ever an understatement. “Everything’s fine, Gill. No worries.” It was rare for her not to confide in Gillian. Normally neither of them hesitated to discuss other women they were interested in. But she wanted to keep what had happened with Kash to herself. At least for now. Until she could put it in perspective somehow. Right now it was too fresh, too raw. “Should be a toilet somewhere. We’ll stop at the first place that seems promising.”

“Buon pomeriggio, signori. May I help take you somewhere?” The offer, in heavily accented English, came from one of two young Italian men who seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

All day, whenever they stopped to study a map or appeared uncertain about their surroundings, some handsome, swarthy stud or two would appear, charming and gracious, and offer assistance and sometimes more—dinner, drinks, a guide for the afternoon. Gillian’s miniskirt got a lot of attention, as did Isabel’s long blond hair and fair complexion.

They learned fairly quickly to firmly decline the offers if they expected to keep to Isabel’s schedule, for many of their would-be good Samaritans were more than a little persistent.

“Thank you, no,” Isabel responded politely.

“We’re fine. But thanks,” Gillian chimed in.

“Prego. Come desideri.” One of the men sighed dramatically before they took the hint and departed.

“Damn shame that Italian women aren’t as anxious to introduce themselves as the men are,” Gillian said wistfully. “I’ve seen some absolutely breathtaking women.”

“This is true,” Isabel agreed. But still nothing to compare to the one we came with.

They came upon a pleasant café where they could sit outdoors and people watch. Over espresso and biscotti, Isabel studied her list. “I wish I didn’t have to do this makeover thing. It sure eats up a lot of hours that we could use seeing the city.”

“Did she tell you? Kash is going to do shoots at the Colosseum and Trevi Fountain,” Gillian informed her. “I tried to grill her about what’s ahead when we were out to dinner.”

“No, we didn’t talk about that.” We hardly talked at all. Isabel ordered a couple of bottled waters they could take with them. Once they sat down, she realized how hard she had driven them. Her legs and back ached their appreciation. All to keep from thinking too hard about Kash. Not that she’s very far from my thoughts no matter what I do. “Did she tell you anything else about what’s coming up?”

“Nope. I did good to get that out of her. She’s pretty tight-lipped.”

Don’t talk about Kash’s lips, Isabel wanted to say. I don’t need any encouragement to start obsessing over them. She’d wanted so much for Kash to kiss her, the way they had almost kissed in the hallway—she still wanted her to—and wondered why it hadn’t happened. She kissed that actress. But with me…She’d never known that sex could feel so intimate and impersonal at the same time. It was a confusing mix.

“The women here sure know how to dress. Have you noticed?” Gillian asked. “Even more so than in Paris. I mean, like her—the babe in the red skirt? Very hot—that look is only now hitting the States.” Picking another chic native out of the crowd with a tip of her head, she continued, “And that one, the whole package—the jewelry, the shoes. And there—the redhead.” The latest reference was to a buxom beauty meticulously put together, from makeup and hair to the three-inch designer heels she wore with practiced ease. “Very stylish.”

“You’re a far better judge than I am,” Isabel said. “Beautiful, I can absolutely agree with. But you know I have no clue what’s new in fashion.”

“I wonder what kind of clothes they’ll give you for your makeover wardrobe. Since you’re getting it here, I bet it’ll be Versace, or Dolce and Gabbana. Maybe a Fendi purse and some Ferragamo or Sergio Rossi shoes. Oh! Maybe Armani. Wouldn’t that be the bomb?”

“Yes, Gill.” Isabel patted Gillian’s shoulder reassuringly. “You can borrow whatever and whomever, whenever you like.”

Gillian laughed. “I’m kind of glad you’re not into clothes the way I am. Leaves more for me to choose from.”

“Okay, enough of a break. Still got a lot to see.” Isabel glanced down at her itinerary as she got to her feet.

Gillian reluctantly followed suit. “Yes, Drill Sergeant Sterling,” she said, saluting. “Don’t suppose we can fit in a club tonight?”

Isabel considered her answer. She knew Gillian would be happiest spending another night out drinking and dancing, but that prospect held little appeal. Her mind kept returning to Kash, despite her best efforts to distract it elsewhere. You’re obsessing over her. If given the choices among an evening with Gill, seeing the sights of Rome alone, or more time with Kash? It wasn’t hard to decide. Maybe Kash would reject her, maybe not. But Isa the wild child wanted to return to her suite and see if she and Kash could finish what they had started, and she would apparently not be denied.

“I know you want to go out tonight,” she said. “But I’m not really in the mood. Why don’t we hit another stop or two and then head back to the hotel. You can change, and I’ll see if maybe Kash is up for showing me a bit of Rome at night.”

Gillian nodded with a sly smile on her face. “Sounds like a great idea. For both of us. I approve of this new being-more-spontaneous Isabel, by the way, hon. You wear it well.”

Isabel punched her lightly on the shoulder. “Well, I have to admit, you’ve opened my eyes to some new possibilities.”

*

Kash spent much of the day scouting locations with Massimo. He was the perfect assistant, even if his driving kept her heart in her throat as they wove in and out of traffic—he, cursing loudly in Italian and missing every obstacle or impediment by centimeters. They checked out several possible locations and finalized arrangements for her photo shoot.

She was recognized nearly everywhere, and Massimo did an admirable job keeping people from getting too close. But one of his best qualities was his sensitivity to her mood. He obviously realized as soon as he picked her up that she was preoccupied, so he avoided idle chatter, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

And those thoughts were almost exclusively about Isabel.

She knew that her celebrity status had spoiled her. She could usually have whatever she wanted immediately, be it a new Jaguar or a pretty face and sexy body.

And rationally, she knew how easy it was to develop an obsession for what she could only want, but never have. The tantalizing allure of forbidden fruit. Some of the e-mail she had received from fans and admirers was testament to that kind of fixation.

She’d thought for a time that this dynamic was responsible for Isabel’s allure. That she’d developed this desire for her because Isabel didn’t, at first, appear to be available.

But if that had been the case, she should now be over that fascination. She’d had her. And in the past, fucking a woman had always been the way to exorcise her from her thoughts. Not this time.

Screwing Isabel had only made her more desirable. Now she absolutely couldn’t get her out of her mind. She was surprised as well by how quickly and easily she had discarded what had become for her a well-established boundary in regard to sex. She had shed her shirt and embraced Isabel, allowing and relishing the contact of their naked bodies.

Most distressing of all, she had been wondering all day about what Isabel had thought of their encounter. You shouldn’t have dismissed her like that. Not her. Her preoccupation—No, not preoccupation. It’s worry, for Christ’s sake. I’m worried about whether she’s okay with what happened. What have you done to me? This isn’t like me at all.

She felt so off-center that she decided to opt for a quiet evening back in her suite, with a room-service meal and a book to distract her. But the concierge presented her with another option as she strolled through the lobby en route to the elevators.

The message he handed her was from Isabel. It was simple and to the point.

I’d like to see you tonight. I’m in my suite if you’re interested.

Isabel

She slipped the note into her pocket as she continued toward the elevators, considering whether to accept the invitation. A part of her wanted to run in the opposite direction. But she suppressed the urge with little effort. She needed to figure out why this woman was different, more compelling than most, and also perhaps remedy how coldly abrupt she’d been. After all, they were going to be spending another couple of weeks together—so she headed to Isabel’s room.

Chapter Nine

When Kash knocked, Isabel’s perfectly imperfect smile greeted her, and she felt uncharacteristically awkward. No, not exactly awkward—shy? me?—about the way Isabel was undressing her with that piercing gaze.

“Hi, Kash. Come on in. I was hoping you’d take me up on my invitation.” Isabel stepped aside to let her pass, but kept staring at her with that same hungry expectancy that had started things up between them the previous afternoon.

It made her feel off balance. Too much so. Like they were on Isabel’s turf now, and she was setting the agenda. The loss of control bothered her. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. She stepped over the threshold but stopped once inside. “I wanted to see if you were okay,” she lied. “I have other plans. I can’t stay long.”

“Oh. I see.” Isabel frowned, and that spark of eager anticipation in her eyes vanished.

Kash felt like a heel, but refrained from soothing the damage.

“Yes, Kash. I’m fine. I have to admit, I was kind of hoping we might…well, I guess…pick up where we left off yesterday.”

Usually when women wanted more from her, more than she could give them, she simply said no. She never explained or justified her actions. But for some reason, she wanted Isabel to understand. “Isabel, we didn’t ‘leave off.’ You got what you wanted. And so did I. And that’s all I wanted.”

Isabel studied her with an unreadable expression for a very long while before she replied. “Okay, I think I get it. You don’t like to be touched, correct?”

“No. Not there.”

Isabel cocked her head, seeming surprised. “Ever?”

“No.”

Another long silence between them. “Do you ever touch the same woman more than once?” Isabel asked.

Kash never answered such personal questions because whatever she said inevitably ended up in print somewhere. But she took a leap of faith with Isabel. “Yes. Sometimes. If it’s fun and uncomplicated.”

“So…what?”

Isabel had been clearly irritated with Kash only moments before. But now she seemed mostly curious.

“Touching me wasn’t…fun? Or uncomplicated? Which?”

Kash flashed back to how it had felt to make Isabel come. “Fun” wasn’t the word for it. “Amazing” might do, but she could never admit that to Isabel. “The latter. Listen, you wanted it, and you got it. It was fun. End of story. Why keep pushing? Is one more evening that important to you?”

Isabel’s eyes grew moist as she considered her answer. “Yes,” she said softly. “I guess it is.”

Most women readily accepted what Kash said when she told them it was a one-time thing. If they asked for more, usually they hadn’t yet gotten what they really wanted from her. But she didn’t feel that was the case this time.

She wasn’t certain which she feared most: that Isabel would turn out to be like the others after all, or that she would be the rare woman who might be interested in her…with no ulterior motive. The real her, too, the messed-up one, not the celebrity one. The one who felt ill equipped for any kind of authentic relationship. “What’s this really about? What do you want from me?”

“Only what you’re willing to give, Kash,” Isabel said. “If you have boundaries, I’ll respect them. I want more time with you, that’s all. Is that so unexpected?”

“Why, Isabel?” Kash repeated.

Isabel went to sit on the couch a few feet away, and in a while she said simply, “I’m drawn to you. I want to be around you while I can be, because when I am…I’m totally and completely happy. You know? Savoring the here and now, not existing for that somewhere-down-the-road time that I usually spend all my energy fretting about and planning for.”

Kash had heard nearly every conceivable story, flirtation, and phony come-on line possible. She could smell one coming long before it actually materialized. This time in her gut she felt certain that these were the words of a sensitive, caring woman.

“I know your affairs are fleeting,” Isabel continued. “I’m not asking for more than is possible. I simply enjoy your company and want to know you better, Kash. I want more time with you, as much as you will give me, because I want to remember you long after we go our separate ways.”

“Isabel, I have lots of…issues. Personal issues. I do sex, not getting-to-know-you, like you do. I’m not that type of woman.” God, it’s getting hot in here.

“Can I ask why?”

Again, she sensed only naïve curiosity from Isabel, not the probing query of a woman who might be seeking information to sell.

It was so hard for her to trust anyone. Miranda had earned a good measure during her steadfast friendship of many years—for putting up with her moods and occasional bursts of thoughtless or inappropriate behavior.

After knowing Isabel only a few days, Kash wanted to trust her. Some instinct told her that she could.

“No easy answer to that.” Kash slumped back against the door, her legs suddenly rubbery. She had long managed to avoid too much self-examination, but lately she had been more introspective than usual.

“I’m not close to many people.” Talk about understatement. “Because people usually try to get to know me because they want something from me.”

“I can imagine how celebrity would make for a rather cautious individual,” Isabel observed. “Especially if personal things you’ve shared with someone end up in a magazine article.”

“Yeah,” Kash replied wryly. “That’s happened a time or two.”

“I realize you haven’t known me very long, Kash,” Isabel said. “But I wish you could believe I would never reveal anything private you might share with me.”

Kash regarded her thoughtfully. “I don’t think you would, Isabel.” Why do I want to tell you things? Confide in you in a way that is so completely foreign to me I’m not sure how to start?

She stuck her hands in her pockets because they were starting to shake.

“I’m a bit of a control freak,” she began. A bit? Miranda would say I’m an Olympic gold medalist in that regard. “I need that sense of control when I’m with someone sexually.”

Isabel regarded her with an unflinching expression. “That wouldn’t be an issue with me, Kash. Like I said, I have no problem respecting any boundaries you might have. Or with letting you…call the shots.”

Isabel’s consent to whatever Kash might desire made it even more difficult for her not to summarily discard any further contact between them. She wants this, even though she knows what it means. Or what she thinks it means, anyway. But she doesn’t know the whole story.

“There’ve been a couple of women who have…well, who’ve meant something to me. Who got close to me.” She was astounded to realize she had known Christine Shaw more than half her life ago. “The first was my college roommate, freshman year. Chris was beautiful, and fearless, and impossibly easy to tell all my secrets to. She was the first girl I ever felt attracted to, and I finally told her, right before spring break, even though I knew she was straight.”

Kash closed her eyes and suddenly felt all of nineteen again. “It’s not like I expected her to suddenly become gay or anything. But I guess I wanted her to know because I was tired of hiding my attraction.” She sighed, remembering the shocked expression on Chris’s face.

“She’d always been one of the most open-minded people I’d ever known, and we were close, so I thought she’d take it fine. But she freaked and completely closed me out. Moved out of the dorm and in with a guy she barely knew, and stopped returning my calls. To this day I don’t know whether she really was rabidly homophobic or…Well, later I wondered whether she didn’t perhaps feel something for me, too, but couldn’t deal with it when I brought the issue front and center. Anyway, that ended the only real, significant friendship I’d ever had. I’d always been pretty…solitary, and she was the first person I really deeply trusted.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult that was for you.”

“It was hard to trust again, after that,” Kash confirmed. “Until I met Lainie, about four years later. After Christine, I kept all my relationships with women casual and brief. No strings.”

“No expectations meant no disappointments,” Isabel said.

“Yes.” Remembering Lainie was much more difficult, for no amount of time could make that wound feel any less painfully fresh. Why, when I remember her, don’t I ever see her during one of her cruel moments, there at the end? Why do I insist on picturing her as she was the day I met her?

“I was blown away the minute I saw her, which was during one of my first jobs out of college. Lainie was breaking into modeling, and she came to the studio in New York where I was working to get shots for a portfolio.” Kash could still recall the patchouli undertones of her perfume as she swept by, all confidence. “I was only an assistant then, right in off the street, and she barely noticed me.”

Her voice had dropped to a lower register than normal. She wished she had some water; her throat felt constricted. “Our paths crossed a couple more times after that, at one shoot or another, but I still never registered with her. Not until People magazine did a story on me. The next time she saw me, backstage at some awards show, she introduced herself as though we’d never met. But I didn’t care, because suddenly she couldn’t wait to spend time with me.”

“You were in heaven,” Isabel said.

“Yes.” It was easy to talk to Isabel, perhaps a little too easy, but she couldn’t stop now. “I hadn’t been famous long enough yet to know about women who will throw themselves at you for the right phone number, invitation, or introduction. She made me believe she loved me, that we had a future together, for six months. Until she had gotten everything she wanted from me and had snared someone who could give her more. Oh, and as a parting gift, she sold everything I had ever told her in confidence—most of it in bed—to the tabloids, a chapter at a time.”

“Oh, Kash.” Isabel’s voice was so soft Kash barely heard it.

“It was a long time ago.” But it had changed her, hardened her, badly. She had never been the same, and she knew it. “After that, I rarely let a woman get close. The few who did? Well, they always wanted something from me, too. So I started making everything clear and obvious, right up front. A fuck for a favor. No illusions about what was involved.”

“Always?” Isabel asked. “Surely some women have been genuinely interested in you?”

“No,” Kash insisted. “Never.”

“No disrespect intended, Kash, but maybe you hang out in the wrong circles. And when was the last time you really gave someone a chance?” There was no challenge or malice in Isabel’s tone, only gentle inquiry. “Or honestly opened yourself up to the possibility? You didn’t with Gillian, who had no interest in asking for any favors or anything else from you. And you’re pushing me away—and I want nothing from you except your company, as long as I can have it. I don’t want the photos, the cover, the magazine…all of that stuff. I really don’t. I’m doing these shoots only because I’m obligated to, and because they’re a way to be near you.”

“Gillian’s your friend and a lovely woman, and I don’t mean to criticize her unfairly. But I would bet she wouldn’t have come on to me if it wasn’t for who I am.”

Isabel didn’t refute the assertion, because she wasn’t sure she could. “Well, your celebrity isn’t a selling point as far as I’m concerned, Kash. I respect your talent, of course, but I’m not interested in you because of what you can do for me.” She settled back against the couch. “I know probably nothing I can say will convince you of that. But it’s the truth.”

“Isabel, if I didn’t believe you, I wouldn’t have told you all I did.” Kash took a couple of steps closer. “I do think you’re one of those rare women who say what they mean and mean what they say, and don’t have some hidden agenda. It’s a refreshing change, and I won’t deny that I’m powerfully attracted to you. That’s pretty obvious. But I guess it’s precisely because you are different from the type of woman I’m usually with that my usual…well, let’s say that the way I usually am with women…doesn’t feel right with you. I’m not sure I can explain it better than that.”

“I wish you could, Kash. I want to understand, because I don’t see anything standing between us.”

Kash ran a hand through her hair. Jesus, I’m terrible at this. “Isabel, ever since Lainie, I can’t be with a woman unless I can absolutely control everything that happens. I don’t know any other way to be.”

“Okay, I think I understand that.”

“I’m not sure you do,” she said, exasperated. “To put it bluntly…what I mean is…I can’t get off unless I completely dominate whoever I’m fucking. They become an object to me, in a sense.”

Isabel studied Kash’s face intently but didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t want to think about what they might want. It’s about what I want. It’s part of the deal. If I screw them, then I don’t mind so much when they screw me.” God, I wish I had a drink. “Oh, I make sure they leave happy. I know if I don’t, that will end up in the tabloids, too.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “But none of them will get the satisfaction of making me come. Most of the time, they’re not even around. I wait until I’m alone.”

The next admissions were the hardest. “I can be very…demanding and aggressive sexually, Isabel. And rough, particularly if the woman I’m with is blatantly trying to deceive me that she doesn’t really want something else from me. It’s always consensual, but…” She paused. “Sex has become, for me, a way of doing business.” She knew that sometimes women probably agreed to do things with her they might not ordinarily, only because they wanted a favor badly enough.

“Don’t you see?” Kash was suddenly tired of trying to explain and understand. “Do you get it now? I can’t be that way with you. It doesn’t feel right, somehow. You’re too different for me.” I think about what you want too much. And I don’t feel the same need to dominate you, but if not that…then what?

“Is there anything I can say…or do…to make it possible for you?” Isabel asked. “To change your mind?”

“No. Nothing. I can’t. We’re from different worlds.”

The irony wasn’t lost on Kash. Brief affairs are totally against her nature, but she’ll make an exception for me. Of course she would be the rare woman I can’t just fuck and forget. “I’m sorry, Isabel. From now on, we should keep things between us strictly business. It’s better that way.”

She turned to go, trying to erase the image frozen in her mind of the disappointment on Isabel’s face.

*

When Isabel and Gillian left the hotel the next morning for Isabel’s makeover, Kash was already waiting in the car with Massimo. Isabel, in the lead, slipped into the front seat next to him, leaving Gillian to get in the back with Kash.

She and Kash exchanged few words beyond perfunctory good mornings, and they avoided eye contact. Isabel was a little afraid that Kash might somehow be able to sense how her day had started out, and she guessed that Kash was trying to keep her distance.

Isabel had awakened that morning in the middle of a very hot dream, in which Kash was fucking her while “I Get Around” played in the background. It was far more realistic than most of her dreams. In fact, she was still trying to convince her stirred-up hormones that it had all been imaginary and that she wasn’t going to be getting any more real opportunities to experience Kash’s touch. Doesn’t seem to matter that she wants nothing further with me. And her self-confessed “issues” weren’t a deterrent either. In fact, Kash’s sexual-control proclivities—much to her surprise—were extremely enticing.

Morning rush hour was a nightmare, with Massimo demonstrating amazing kamikaze driving skills and his command of every conceivable Italian curse. But they arrived at the salon with all body parts intact and only a few minutes late for Isabel’s appointment.

Clifton Mengam had gained the same kind of acclaim for doing hair that Kash had achieved for taking pictures, so he had long since dropped his last name from his business cards. He had established a chain of salons in Rome, Milan, New York, and Los Angeles and often created the cutting-edge and always highly flattering coiffures of actresses attending red-carpet events.

One of his assistants settled Isabel comfortably into a chair, under an aubergine cape with the large swirled C that was Clifton’s trademark. Her cappuccino arrived in the hands of the man himself.

The famed stylist was a handsome black man with a broad, welcoming smile, whose soft-spoken demeanor contrasted to his imposing six-foot, three-inch height. He seemed casually dressed in faded jeans and a white linen shirt, but she could tell the shirt was finely tailored and his shoes looked expensive. In his early thirties, he wore his hair cut very short, with neatly trimmed edges.

“Buon giorno, ladies,” he warmly greeted them all, then presented Isabel with her cup and saucer, also adorned with his trademark C. “Miss Sterling, benvenuta. Welcome. May I call you Isabel?” Both his English and his Italian carried a faint accent, a suggestion of his Surinamese heritage.

“Of course.”

“Grazie, Isabel. I am most pleased to be the one chosen for your makeover.”

“Very nice to meet you.”

“Kash!” Clifton smiled broadly at the photographer, who was setting up her equipment. “Wonderful to see you again. Come va?”

“Non c’è male, Clifton,” Kash replied. “How is it you seem never to grow a day older?”

They hugged and exchanged the customary duet of cheek kisses, and Clifton introduced himself to Gillian before he returned to stand behind Isabel.

He ran his hands through her hair, taking measure of the texture and weight, as he studied her face in the mirror for a full minute or two. “Beautiful hair,” he said at last. He spread the long blond locks over her shoulders. “You have not cut it for many years.”

“Hmm. Twelve or fourteen, or so,” Isabel said. She was impressed by his gentle touch and unhurried assessment.

“So are you excited about this change, or a little nervous?” Clifton had a twinkle in his eyes, like he could see through her veneer of polite enthusiasm.

Isabel couldn’t contain a smile. “I know I’m very lucky to be the beneficiary of your talents, and believe me, I’m appreciative. I admit, however—hoping you won’t take offense, please don’t—that I’m happy with the way I am. I didn’t enter myself in the contest that won me this makeover, you see.” She pointed to Gillian. “My friend there did. So although I’m sure I’ll be happy with the result, because I know you’re a whiz at this…it’s not like I’m seeking a change.”

Clifton nodded knowingly. “It is wonderful to be content with how you are, as you should be—you’re a beautiful woman. Very beautiful.” He continued to run his hands through her hair, considering the possibilities. “But I am willing to bet that if you trust me completely, you will leave here not merely happy with the result, but really thrilled.”

“Thrilled, huh?” Unlikely. I’ll be happy if I don’t leave here with a blue Mohawk. It can always grow out.

“Thrilled and amazed,” Clifton promised with a smile and a wink.

“This I gotta see.” Isabel sighed resignedly.

Clifton rattled off instructions in Italian to one of his assistants, who busily began to mix two colors of hair dye.

“First, I will add highlights and lowlights to your hair,” he told Isabel. “They will add a lot of shine and depth to your beautiful natural color. Then I will cut it, to a couple of inches below your shoulder.” He indicated the length with his hand. “And give you some soft bangs, long. Here…” Sweeping over her forehead with his fingers, he indicated the path his razor would take. “They will better frame your face, show off those high cheekbones. And your eyes. You’ll see.”

As Clifton worked with his colors, Kash started clicking away, circling them. She was happy for the chance to study Isabel’s face in her viewfinder while Isabel was distracted and unguarded. He’s right. She’s lovely just as she is.

When she got into photography, her camera was her artist’s easel, her method of connecting with the world. But her long zoom lenses had also made her the ultimate voyeur, bringing faces and bodies intimately close for study and appreciation while allowing her to maintain her distance and veil of disinterest.

Her eyes really are the most interesting shade of blue. Deep and endless, the sky on a perfect cloudless day. Calming. She felt buoyant whenever Clifton said something to make Isabel laugh or smile that marvelously imperfect smile.

He was a master at it, too. Kash had seen him in action often, behind the scenes at some awards show or runway event, taking care of the hottest of the hot. Like bartenders and psychiatrists and priests, stylists heard all types of stories and confessions. While maintaining total discretion, he still managed to tell marvelously entertaining stories about his clientele. And between what he learned on the job and picked up as the voracious reader he was, he could talk to absolutely anyone about anything.

Kash was enjoying both the view through her lens and the bits and pieces of new information she was learning about Isabel through the warmly gregarious Clifton.

“Cakes! How wonderful. My medium is hair, yours is fondant. They are actually not so different.” Clifton motioned his assistant for another cappuccino for Isabel. “It is all about making the vision a reality and that delight on the client’s face when they see it for the first time.”

“Exactly,” Isabel said.

“So tell me,” Clifton said, “your most challenging task, most rewarding, something along those lines. The memorable ones.”

“Hmm.” Isabel pursed her lips.

Kash zoomed in and focused. Click. Click. Zoomed in some more. Such nice, full lips. And soft. Christ. So soft. Why the hell didn’t I kiss her when I had the chance?

“Well, I’m kind of known for my kids’ cakes. You know, for birthdays, mostly. Whatever the child likes, I try to do something appropriate. Making a football cake—now that was a challenge. A three-dimensional one, mind you, to scale. With frosting the right color and texture. The stitching. Only with the kid’s name instead of Rawlings.”

“Sounds marvelous.” Clifton finished administering the color to her hair, and while they waited for it to set, he sipped espresso with her.

“I was the most proud of a cake I made of the Disney castle—you know the one I mean? It’s patterned after one in Germany.”

“Neuschwanstein,” Clifton supplied. “King Ludwig the Second.”

“Hey. I’m impressed. Exactly right.”

“Izzy, they’ve got a computer here,” Gillian chimed in. “You should call up your Web site and show him pictures.”

“You have a Web site?” Clifton set down his coffee and went to retrieve his laptop, which was currently displaying his day’s schedule of appointments.

“Yes. Izzycakes dot com,” she answered. “I do freelance work, mostly for bakeries.”

“They’re so amazing that people are always saying they can’t bring themselves to cut into them,” Gillian enthused.

Clifton typed in the address, then grinned. “Brava! Incredible work, Isabel. I had no idea you could do something like this with flour and sugar. The castle must have taken a very long time. It is so wonderfully detailed it could almost be a photograph.”

The comment drew Kash’s attention to the screen.

Clifton wasn’t exaggerating. Isabel’s cakes were stunning in their complexity and meticulous attention to detail. The windows in the castle were thin sheets of colored sugar as translucent as stained glass. And the roses and leaves on her wedding cakes were so realistic Kash could swear they had been plucked from a garden that morning.

“All of this is handmade?” she asked. “That’s all really edible?”

“Every bit,” Isabel said. “Hate to have a client bite into something that’s going to choke them. Wouldn’t be very good for business, now would it?” Her teasing tone helped to defuse the tension between them.

Kash met her eyes. “I really have to apologize, Isabel. When Miranda told me you decorated cakes, I sort of made fun of what you do. I was picturing those big sheet cakes with Happy Birthday, Junior written on them and little plastic football players stuck into the icing. But this is truly impressive. You’re much more artist than baker.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Kash wondered how else she had underestimated Isabel. There was certainly more to her than was readily apparent.

“Your cakes for children are quite something, indeed. I can see how you are known for them,” Clifton said. “So…you like kids, obviously. Do you have any of your own?”

“No,” Isabel said. “Not yet. Maybe some day, though.”

“And no wedding ring,” Clifton observed. “Such a beautiful woman like you is not married? How is this possible?”

Kash thought the faint blush of color that appeared on Isabel’s cheek more appealing than any painted by mere cosmetics.

“Not happened upon Ms. Right yet.” Isabel grinned shyly. “But it’ll happen.”

“Of course it will. You are a lovely girl. So full of life.” Clifton checked her hair, then put his hands on her shoulders and smiled at their reflection. “You must go out tonight and let the world see how beautiful you are. Romance is everywhere in Roma.” He lowered the chair she was perched in. “If you’ll follow me?”

After a rinse and an absolutely divine scalp massage that almost put her to sleep, Isabel was back in Clifton’s chair, but this time she faced away from the mirror.

“Will you indulge my wish that you not get a glimpse until I’m done?” Clifton gave her puppy-dog eyes, well practiced.

Isabel laughed. “Sure. Why not?”

“So I understand you will be on Sophisticated Women.” Clifton selected his razor and glanced at Kash, who was changing lenses. “When will you be taking the cover photographs?”

“I’ve got some space in a studio here to take some later today,” Kash said. “And I can take additional shots back in New York if I need to.”

“Oh, you won’t need to. You’ll adore what you’ll get today.” He started to cut, using his razor with delicate precision, like a sculpting tool, taking only small bits at a time. “Isabel, you are in excellent hands with Kash.”

Isabel and Kash looked at each other. Isabel smiled first, but Kash wasn’t far behind. What most surprised Clifton, who missed nothing, was that his comment made both of them blush profusely.

“Kash will capture you in a way that will make everyone who sees that cover want to know more about you,” Clifton continued, but he knew at once he’d said something wrong. Most women adored attention, but Isabel cringed at his words. And Kash? Kash couldn’t take her eyes off Isabel. I don’t think she has even realized she has stopped taking pictures and is staring at her. “Have I said something wrong?”

Isabel shook her head. “No, not at all. It’s only that—that’s so not me. No offense to Kash. She takes amazing photographs.”

“But it will be splendid!” Clifton paused to study what he had cut so far. “A cover is a taste of appreciation, that’s all. A little stroking is good for the soul.”

“Hear, hear!” Gillian said. “It’s nice when good things happen to worthy people, Izzy. No one is more deserving of winning that contest and being pampered than you.”

“Hardly,” Isabel protested.

“Well, maybe the no one is a slight exaggeration,” Gillian said, “but you deserve it more than anyone I know. All those weeks you were down in Louisiana, helping out after Katrina. And that work you do every year with the AIDS/HIV awareness group.”

“Hush, Gillian,” Isabel said.

“And the senior swim classes,” Gillian continued. “And how many times have you cooked a meal for someone who—”

“Enough!” Isabel’s tone was firm.

Kash had captured the entire sequence of Isabel getting redder and redder from embarrassment. She really doesn’t want this cover. And she’s humble about her altruism as well. She had so rarely come across a truly selfless individual that the experience was wonderfully refreshing. There’s some substance to this one.

“You must have faith in Kash’s ability to represent you well, bella,” Clifton told Isabel. “She captures the essence of someone, so that you feel you understand them, somehow—what they are thinking and feeling, or what kind of people they are at their core.”

“I’m not paying you nearly enough, Clifton,” Kash deadpanned.

“So have you had some fun photo sessions together so far?” he asked.

Kash feigned horror and stepped between her tripod and Isabel protectively, which made Gillian snort with laughter.

“Comedians,” Isabel complained good-naturedly.

Clifton chuckled, too. “So you are the type with two left feet?”

“Not on the dance floor,” Kash supplied.

Isabel’s cheeks warmed as she glanced at Kash. Click. The photographer circled her, snapping several shots in quick succession. I wish she’d put that camera down more often so I could see her face, tell what she’s thinking.

Kash was absolutely mesmerized by how much a simple haircut could change Isabel’s appearance. Click. Clifton was a perfectionist, so he was still taking tiny bits here and there, studying her hair from all angles. Roughing it up to make it playful and sexy. Click. It was truly a masterpiece; the added shades of caramel and blond added a wonderful depth and shine to Isabel’s hair and complemented her complexion perfectly. The cut was modern and chic but suited her personality well and made her deep blue eyes really stand out. She was more woman than girl now. Click.

Kash zoomed in on Isabel’s face. You’ve got that expression in your eyes again. Hungry. Like you’re imagining me with my clothes off. It made her feel both exhilarated and somehow also kind of…nervous? Women never make me nervous.

“Kash? Everything all right?” Clifton’s amused tone snapped her out of her thoughts. His simple question contained undertones of Oh yes, you’re not fooling me. You really like this one, don’t you?

She realized she hadn’t snapped a picture in quite a long while. “Yes, fine,” she said, depressing the shutter only so she could hide behind the camera. Click. It wasn’t easy for her to regain her equilibrium with Isabel staring at her like that. Damn. How can I go another two weeks with her?

Gillian had been so busy watching Isabel’s transformation that she didn’t immediately see the sparks flying between her friend and Kash. But Clifton’s tone alerted her, and then she felt like slapping herself. Something has certainly happened between these two. Something great, it would appear, from the way they can’t keep their eyes off each other. But there’s a problem, too. And that’s why Izzy has been acting so weird. Perhaps these two need a little help to get past whatever is keeping them apart.

“My part is done and I will now turn you over to Cosma.” Clifton put his hands on Isabel’s shoulders. “But you are not to see yourself…and neither are they…until she finishes your brows and makeup. I have also arranged to have one of your new outfits delivered here. We’ll have a big unveiling.”

“Is this really necessary?” Kash complained.

“Yeah,” Gillian said. “It’s fun watching the whole transformation.”

“Call it my flair for the dramatic. Come on, ladies. Indulge my one request.” Clifton wouldn’t budge.

“You’re going to flip, Izzy.” Gillian shook her head in wonder. “It’s incredible. Amazing. Don’t you agree, Kash?”

“Clifton, as usual…you’re the man.”

Gillian noticed that Kash seemed to have missed the nuance that suggested she was clued in to the attraction between her and Isabel.

“Now you’re really making me want to see it,” Isabel griped as Clifton lowered her salon chair. “Come on. Let me peek?”

“Patience. I promised you would be thrilled, and thrilled you will be. Trust me.”

Chapter Ten

Isabel knew from the looks on their faces that she was going to see a dramatic difference. Clifton was supremely self-satisfied. Gillian let out a low whistle of approval, and Kash was…well, Kash was staring at her in a way that made her pulse race.

“I don’t know that I would have recognized you, Izzy,” Gillian said finally. “It’s awesome. You rock.”

Kash still hadn’t said anything. But Isabel was quite enjoying the smoldering expression on her face. I’d say it definitely meets with her approval. Perhaps there’s a chance for more between us, after all. She’s got that same intensity about her she had right before she pulled me into her suite, only more so. Oh yes. I think a door has definitely opened.

“Ready?” Clifton asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” Isabel faced the mirror, her heart fluttering with anticipation. She knew the clothes themselves would make a big difference. She had arrived in sneakers, jeans, and a polo shirt, but now wore black heels and a simple black dress, cut to mid-thigh, with a plunging back and a front that exposed the valley between her breasts. It was far more provocative than anything she had ever put on before, so she imagined it was more the dress than anything else that had put that glassy-eyed expression on Kash’s face.

But when she faced the mirror, she gaped at the image that stared back at her. Jesus. I’m not sure I would have recognized myself, either. The overall effect was astonishing. Her makeup was understated and elegant, perfect for her coloring, the smoky tones befitting an evening out on the town. Her lips shone with a bronzed lip gloss, and her eyebrows had been shaped and dyed to match the new dark honey hues in her hair. The haircut itself was stylish and modern, and greatly contributed to an overall effect of sexy sophistication.

“Thrilled, eh?” Clifton asked with a complacent nonchalance.

“Way beyond thrilled,” Isabel managed. “It’s truly mind-boggling.”

Kash tried to will herself to stop staring and say something. She knew she was gawking like a pubescent boy with his first copy of Playboy, but damned if she could do anything but drink in the decidedly sexy splendor that was the new Isabel. Christ, she was driving me crazy before. But now…

Her eyes met Isabel’s, and Isabel winked at her. Oh, great. She can see exactly what she’s doing to me. Arousal twisted in her groin.

Isabel embraced Clifton. “‘Thank you’ comes nowhere near being enough. It’s totally unbelievable. What a difference!” Not to mention the fact that it appears to be exactly what I needed to get Kash’s undivided attention again.

“I only enhanced what is already there,” Clifton responded warmly, hugging her back. “As I said earlier, you are a very beautiful woman, Isabel. We have merely showcased you in a new way.” He spoke to Kash. “You see why I know you will take some wonderful photographs today.”

“No doubt,” Kash managed. If I can keep my hands from shaking long enough to shoot them. Christ, Isabel. How will I ever keep my promise to myself not to touch you again?

While Isabel excused herself to retrieve the clothes she had come in with and Gillian went out to find their driver, Kash packed up her cameras and equipment under Clifton’s watchful eye.

“Kash, I have seen you in the company of models, actresses, many of the world’s most beautiful women,” Clifton commented. “But I don’t think I have ever seen you quite so taken with someone as you obviously are with this one.”

Kash straightened and glared at him. “What? What are you talking about? That’s nonsense.”

“It could not be more obvious, my friend. That surrender in your eyes when you saw her? Priceless. Don’t tell me someone has finally captured the heart of the world’s most confirmed playgirl?”

“Captured my heart?” Kash snorted dismissively. “You sound like some drippy romance novel, Clifton. Okay, I admit Isabel is positively stunning in that dress, and I certainly can appreciate a sexy, beautiful woman. That’s all.”

“Whatever you say, Kash. Whatever you say.”

*

Massimo had been idly chatting with Gillian when Isabel and Kash emerged from the salon and slid into the backseat of the Fiat. When he spotted Isabel, he stopped in mid-sentence and muttered something that sounded like a prayer under his breath.

“Sembrate incredibili,” he concluded, staring at her in the rearview mirror. “You are very, very beautiful, Isabel.”

“Thank you, Massimo.” Though Isabel had based her whole life on the concept of not judging people by appearances, the reaction to her new look excited her nearly as much as the makeover itself. Especially Kash’s. Kash kept glancing surreptitiously in her direction, most frequently at her breasts or her legs. Their thighs were almost touching. I can tell she likes what she sees, but she hasn’t said one word to me directly. I wonder why? Still determined to resist this attraction between us?

Gillian swiveled around in the front passenger seat. “I have to say I feel woefully underdressed now, next to you two. Why don’t you drop me at the hotel so I can change, and pick me up when you’re done with your shoot? Then we can all go out to dinner and find a place to show you off.”

“Sure, fine with me,” Isabel answered. She didn’t think it really necessary. Gillian was always more than presentable, and her beige linen pants and matching shell were every bit as dressy as the classic black trousers and black silk shirt that Kash wore. But she was beginning to understand that the right outfit could make all the difference.

After the detour to drop Gillian, they continued to the photo studio where Kash had rented space for the day. Somewhat to Isabel’s surprise, once they arrived, Kash dismissed Massimo and told him to pick them up for dinner in ninety minutes.

There had been the occasional bit of small talk in the car, but Kash still had avoided commenting directly about her transformation, which was making Isabel nuts. Why the heck isn’t she saying anything?

Kash couldn’t comment on Isabel’s transformation because everything she thought to say sounded far too obsequious. She had used or heard every line imaginable, and now that she had met a woman truly worthy of a few superlatives, they all sounded hollow and overused. And what good would it do anyway? She can tell what she’s doing to you. To compliment her will only make her think there can be more between you, and you can’t let that happen. Not only because you have to work with her for the next couple of weeks, but also because she’ll make everything much too complicated. She’s not like you are. You have to remember that.

But Kash certainly couldn’t ignore the incredibly sexy allure of the new Isabel in that little black dress. It was a damn good thing she could take photographs in her sleep, because she was too distracted for anything too demanding. That dress should come with one of those warning labels. Do not operate heavy machinery when Isabel is barely wearing this.

“Why don’t you relax while I set up,” she told Isabel in a more businesslike tone than she’d intended, gesturing toward a couple of couches in one corner. She was grateful for the familiarity of the studio routine, because Isabel was making her feel entirely too self-conscious. Every time she met Isabel’s eyes, the fire of arousal flared hot, low in her belly, and she had to glance away. If she didn’t, she might have to acknowledge and answer the yearning she saw in Isabel’s eyes.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Isabel said as she settled onto one of the couches and crossed her legs. “Everything all right, Kash?”

Oh, I don’t like that tone at all. Not at all. She’s trying to push my buttons, and she’s succeeding all too well. “Fine,” she answered, trying to calm the drumming of her heart with deep, even breathing. Her strategy wasn’t working very well, and her hands were trembling as she set up her tripod and lights. Come on, what gives? Women simply don’t have this effect on me.

“You sure?” Isabel pressed, amusement in her voice. She got up and ambled slowly toward Kash. “You seem kind of…distracted.”

Yup. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Kash fought to keep her mind on her work, but it was increasingly difficult. She could feel Isabel behind her. Unnerved, she fumbled for one of the light stands but missed, and the stand toppled over with a crash.

“Watch out!” Kash instinctively reached out to block Isabel from the spray of glass. When the noise subsided, she looked over, chagrined, to confirm what she already knew. Yes, she had indeed just placed her hand rather perfectly on Isabel’s left breast.

She snatched it back as though burned, but not before memorizing the sensation of the soft swell beneath her fingers. “S…sorry.”

Isabel laughed. “For which? Being clumsy? Or feeling me up?”

“Uh…for…” Kash felt completely flustered and she didn’t like it one bit. “Hey, let’s get to work, huh? Want to take a seat, please?” She tilted her head toward a stool she’d placed against a plain background, as she got her camera ready.

“Sure, sure,” Isabel said smugly. She perched on the stool, then shifted forward, and Kash could see maximum cleavage. “I’ll sit, I’ll stand. Whatever you want. Do with me what you will.”

Oh, Christ. The invitation and her provocative pose conjured up the vivid memory of Isabel’s satin skin, and how she sounded when she came. I know what I’d like to do with you in that dress. And out of that dress. She raised the camera, grateful to escape behind her viewfinder for a while. Click. Click.

One thing she knew for damn sure. Click. Click. One of these photos was going to burn up the cover of Sophisticated Women. Isabel would get her fifteen minutes of fame, and then some. Whether she wanted it or not.

“Can you give me three-quarters, please,” she asked in her most professional manner, but not to give her a perfect perspective for pictures. She had to force Isabel to stop teasing her with her cleavage, because that’s all she could focus on. Click.

“Sure thing.” Isabel crossed her legs, hiking her skirt up to an almost obscene height.

That’s not helping. Kash kept snapping away, humming absentmindedly. Her body sang with desire. If she dances in that dress tonight like she did the other night…shaking her ass that way. Man, oh, man.

Isabel had been relatively certain of the effect she was having on Kash, and when she started humming, her suspicions were verified. Kash’s behavior and body language suggested that she was entirely unaware that she was humming and that her tune of choice might reveal what was going on behind her neutral façade.

Isabel tingled with excitement when she recognized Kash’s current selection: “I’ve Got You under My Skin.”

When Clifton had introduced her to that stranger in the mirror earlier that day, all of the changes that had been taking place in her on this trip had blossomed fully. The wild child Isa, fully realized. Sexier, more impulsive, and far hornier than the Isabel of old ever remembered being. An intensely sexual part of her had evidently been patiently dormant all these years, but now that Kash had awakened it, it was screaming to be heard.

“How about…” Climbing off the stool, she stood in front of it, her back to Kash. Let’s see what this pose does. She braced her elbows on the stool, which gave Kash the best possible view of her ass, then peered back over her shoulder at her. “This? What does this do for you?”

Kash froze. Oh, fuck, yes. Her mind flashed back to their sexual encounter in her suite. “Spread your legs.”

She wasn’t aware she had spoken the words aloud. She hadn’t meant to, but she knew she had when Isabel complied, smiling that perfectly imperfect come-on smile at her all the while. Oh, fuck. What the hell are you doing? You can’t let this happen again. And they certainly wouldn’t use a pose like this in the magazine. Well, not in Sophisticated Women. One of the men’s magazines would certainly snap it up, not that she would ever consider offering it to one. But you can take a few shots for yourself. No harm there. Click. Click. Click.

Isabel’s heart was racing. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Her body was on fire. She could feel Kash’s eyes on her, and that husky undertone in her voice when she had told her to spread her legs had been like a verbal caress, urging her acquiescence. She was getting wet. I wish you’d put that camera down and come over here and touch me again. I can tell you want to.

For a minute or two, the only sounds in the room were the steady clicks of Kash’s camera and Isabel’s rather loud breathing.

With each trigger of her shutter, Kash stepped closer. She couldn’t help it. Isabel’s breathing did it. Each ragged inhalation and exhalation tugged at her, drawing her nearer. Before long Kash was too close for the lens she was using, and she finally lowered her camera and met Isabel’s eyes. They were only a few feet apart.

Isabel said nothing, but the plea in those deep blue eyes couldn’t have been clearer. Fuck me. Take me. Want me. And Kash did. She couldn’t remember when she’d been this excited.

That nagging inner voice that had been telling her this wasn’t a good idea faded under the roaring of blood to her brain, and her mind went hazy. She wasn’t used to denying herself what she wanted, and she certainly didn’t want to start now. Possible consequences and complications ceased to matter. All she knew was what her body demanded—to touch Isabel.

Kash closed the distance between them. She swore she could see Isabel’s pupils dilate in anticipation.

She skimmed her hand over the soft skin of Isabel’s back as she nestled her pelvis against Isabel’s ass.

At the exquisite moment of contact, Isabel moaned, closed her eyes, and pushed back against her.

“Isabel…” Kash spoke gently, but her body reacted instantly to Isabel’s encouragement. She drove her groin into Isabel’s ass and instantly got hard. Her left hand hung loosely at her side, the camera she held all but forgotten, while she wrapped her right hand around Isabel’s waist, ready to pull them tight together. Heart pounding, she started to move against Isabel, and Isabel’s body responded, matching her rhythm thrust for thrust.

“God, Kash.” Isabel braced herself against the stool. “So good.”

The muscles of Isabel’s taut stomach tensed beneath Kash’s fingertips, the material of the dress so sheer it was virtually nonexistent. Her hand was inches from Isabel’s breasts, and she knew without being able to see them that the nipples were erect. But before she could confirm her suspicion, which was all she could think about, someone rapped at the studio door.

“Kash?” It was Massimo. A little early, but not much.

“Damn,” Kash rasped under her breath as she released Isabel and stepped away. Then, louder, “We’ll be out in a minute!”

Isabel straightened and faced her, one hand on the stool for support. Her eyes were penetrating, her lower lip swollen and pink where she’d bitten down on it. “Jesus, Kash. How you make me feel—”

“Isabel…” Kash fought to control the incredible torrent of arousal that made her want to lock the door and throw Isabel down on the couch.

You can’t do this. You can’t. Pull your shit together and stop letting your clit rule your life. The conscience she rarely heard spoke up and insisted that she couldn’t do this without complications. Serious complications. She didn’t want to examine why it mattered, why she didn’t want to hurt Isabel, because she probably would if they succumbed again to the heat between them.

Something else in her subconscious tried to tell her that maybe she was trying to protect herself from hurt, too, because Isabel was beginning to make her feel, and she never, ever felt. But she managed to push all of those inner voices aside as she regained her normal breathing. Her hard-on would persist, unfortunately, as long as Isabel kept looking at her that way.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” Her voice shook and she turned away, grateful for the distraction of having to pack her equipment. “I…I should apologize.” She wasn’t sorry at all.

“No,” Isabel cut in. Her voice was breathy—she was obviously still on fire. “I wanted you to. I want you to. Please, Kash. Let it happen. Don’t hold back.”

Kash stood and faced Isabel, but kept her distance. “I won’t pretend I don’t want it, too, Isabel. That dress…the way you’re posing…the way your body feels…I’m so turned on I want to…want to…” I want to kiss you until I can’t breathe. I want to spend the night with you. Do everything with you. Not just fuck you like some anonymous stranger and then leave. But the most I could offer still isn’t nearly enough for a woman like you.

“But it’s a bad idea.” She took a deep breath. Her clit was still throbbing, and it was hard to maintain eye contact with Isabel and still get through what she had to say. “I mean, we have to work together for the next couple of weeks. I don’t want things to be any more awkward and complicated than they already are.”

“They won’t be,” Isabel reassured her. “Kash, I know this is only some fun. I don’t expect anything else, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Isabel, I appreciate that.” Kash resumed packing her gear. “But you’re not a casual-sex kind of woman. So it’s better this way. It shouldn’t have happened the first time.”

“What do you mean, I’m not a casual-sex kind of woman?”

“Well, Gillian told me that you…that you…” Kash ran her hands nervously through her hair. “That you date women before you sleep with them. That you weren’t at the club to hook up. I know what happened between us wasn’t something you ordinarily do.”

“Maybe this isn’t my normal routine, to go for a…quickie, or one-night stand, or whatever. That’s true.” She put one leg up on the rung of the stool. “But you do something to me, Kash. I want whatever I can have with you. One more night. One more hour.”

Kash’s sex twitched. She knew she could make good use of one night with Isabel. You make it hard to refuse. But I have to, or somebody’s going to get hurt. I’m not sure why I know this, but I do. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Isabel.” You have no idea how sorry. “It’s better we don’t have a repeat of the other day. I think we both know that was a mistake.”

Isabel frowned, making no effort to hide her disappointment. Maybe for you it was a mistake. But you’ll never convince me of that, Kash. I’m very glad it happened.

*

Gillian knew immediately that her plan to leave Kash and Isabel alone together hadn’t produced the desired results. Sparks were flying, that was for sure. The sexual tension was so thick it was like an extra person in the room. But they were both being awfully quiet, and neither was happy. By the time they had finished their appetizers, Gillian had decided they needed a bigger push in the right direction. Some sexy music, a dance floor, and a couple of drinks to loosen them up would be a good start.

“So, Kash,” she said, “know a good club where we can go show off Isabel’s amazing new look?”

Kash pursed her lips. The prospect of going out with the two of them, of watching Isabel on the dance floor in that dress, both thrilled and frustrated her. She couldn’t refuse—she’d promised Gillian, after all. And even if it was frustrating, it still sounded better than drinking alone. “Yeah, I have a place in mind.”

Chapter Eleven

Kash knew of three lesbian clubs in Rome: two large establishments that weren’t much different than the one they’d visited in Paris, and a smaller, more intimate joint where entry was restricted to the chosen few.

Gillian wanted to try one of the bigger places first, but Kash was mobbed almost immediately, so they opted instead for SoHo, a private club whose interior was fashioned in the style of the hip, trendy lofts that its namesake Manhattan neighborhood was known for. Posters of Broadway shows adorned the brick walls, and other New York touches made them all feel as if they had been transported back to the States.

Kash was just as quickly recognized, but celebrity and money were routine here, and so the clientele, for the most part, was more respectful and women kept their distance. As in Paris, the manager of SoHo was quick to offer Kash and her party VIP accommodations—a partially curtained-off sitting area in the back, with an L-shaped couch and minimal lighting.

As the manager led them through the crowd of dancing women, Gillian noticed that Isabel was definitely a hit—women were flirting with her as they passed by almost as much as they were with Kash. And she also noticed that Kash seemed to be much more preoccupied with Isabel than with any of the Italian sirens who were trying to catch her eye. Oh, yes. This is good. This is very good.

Gillian waited only until they had placed their drink orders before she grabbed Isabel’s hand and pulled her back toward the crowd. “Come on. Time to show off this new you.” She made sure to choose a spot on the dance floor where Kash would have an unobstructed view of Isabel’s backside.

“You really look phenomenal, Izzy,” she said, initiating the same sexy routine with her friend that they had danced in Paris. She barely got the words out of her mouth before two women joined them. The taller of the dark Mediterranean beauties came at them from the side, putting one arm around Isabel’s shoulder and the other around Gillian’s. The other wrapped her arms around Isabel’s waist and pressed against her from behind.

The music had a driving beat, erotic and provocative, and all four women surrendered to it, brushing bodies and letting hands wander over thighs and waists, shoulders and arms. Gillian was thoroughly enjoying the experience but kept one eye also on Kash, who watched from the sidelines, her face hidden in shadow. Come on, Kash. You know you want her. Don’t tell me you’re going to sit there and let someone else take her home.

Kash sipped her vodka and brooded, wishing she had chosen a different pair of trousers that morning. The ones she had on were too tight in the seam when she was this aroused, and too thin as well—she could feel how wet she was every time she moved. The experience wasn’t altogether unpleasant, but it disconcerted her because she couldn’t satisfy her need for release in the way she most wanted to.

She knew she could likely have any woman here. But it was Isabel she craved, and only Isabel would do.

Watching her dance was torture. Every time Isabel’s hips rocked against Gillian’s, Kash’s own pelvis rose. And when the two locals joined in and started running their hands over all the smooth skin revealed by that little black dress, she could barely control herself. She was not used to having to watch others claim what she wanted.

Isabel had been simmering in a state of semiarousal ever since the photo shoot, and she’d had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner, so her body welcomed the strangers’ attentions—the heated, teasing caresses and the press of insistent hips. When Gillian paired off with one of the women, she slipped easily into the arms of the other. But she closed her eyes and imagined Kash’s hands were fondling her ass, and Kash’s thigh was insinuating itself between her legs.

Warm breath glanced over her cheek, then moist lips pressed against the delicate skin of her jaw, traveling downward. She gave in to the soft moans she imagined came from Kash and threw her head back, allowing her companion access to the exposed flesh of her neck and chest.

The wet kisses increased in intensity as they descended slowly toward her cleavage, and the hands on Isabel’s ass roughly pulled her closer. The thigh between her legs rocked relentlessly against her sex, and the friction sent a shudder of excitement through her.

She might have come like that, her mind half convinced that Kash was delivering her from her fevered state, except that the music changed and her dance partner spoke, a whispered plea in Italian that, by the tone of it, begged something entirely sexual.

The spell was broken. She stiffened as she opened her eyes and pulled back from the dark-haired stranger, shocked to find she had come so close to surrendering to someone whose name she didn’t even know.

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered, embarrassed. She glanced about for Gillian and spotted her near the bar, kissing the other Italian beauty who’d broken up their dance. Then she scouted around for Kash, but the VIP area was empty. She couldn’t have left already. Could she? “Excuse me,” she told the woman, who caught her arm as she began to leave.

“Non andare. Balliamo un po’di più.” At Isabel’s confused expression, she smiled and added in heavily accented English, “Stay. Dance.”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t.” It’s Kash I want. Only Kash.

It took her only a few minutes to determine that Kash wasn’t there. And her absence was all it took to throw a cold shower on Isabel’s heated hormones.

Gillian had moved to the VIP area with her Italian squeeze by the time Isabel located her.

When she spotted Isabel approaching, she extricated herself from the woman’s lap.

“You’re going already? Where’s Kash?”

“I think she left,” Isabel said. “You didn’t see her go?”

“No. Sorry.” Although Gillian had set out to play matchmaker that evening, she had lost track of what was happening between Isabel and Kash as soon as her fiery-hot dancing companion, Ambra, began describing in delicious detail what she wanted to do to her later.

“I wonder if she went back to the hotel,” Isabel said. Hardly seems she was here long enough to pick up anyone, but I guess it doesn’t take much if you do this all the time. An invitation. An acceptance. And if you’re Kash, you’d want to do it away from here, after all the near misses with cameras in clubs lately.

The thought that Kash might be screwing someone else right now depressed the hell out of her. “Well, anyway, I’m going back to the room,” she told Gillian. “It’s been a long day. Have fun, and if I don’t see you in the morning before we go, I’ll leave a copy of Kash’s shooting itinerary. We’re starting at the Roman Forum.”

“Okay, Izzy. Sleep well.”

Fat chance of that, since I’m apparently doomed to remain preoccupied with a certain sexy and very frustrating photographer.

*

As Isabel taxied back to the hotel, the romance of Rome on a warm summer evening, with its bridges and monuments lit with an orange glow, infused her with a renewed determination to follow her instincts.

Right now, her gut was telling her to go to Kash, even though at the very least she expected Kash to push her away again.

Quite possibly, Kash might have brought someone from the club back to her suite, and interrupting them didn’t appeal to her. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight until she tried once more. She detoured by her room only long enough to check her hair and makeup. The reflection that stared back at her was still that of a virtual stranger, though a pleasant shock.

It took her two minutes outside Kash’s door to gather the nerve to knock.

It took even longer for Kash to answer. When she did, she held a large glass in her hand, half full of vodka. Still dressed in the clothes she’d left the club in, she seemed surprised to find Isabel before her. “What are you doing here?” The what are you came out in a drawled slur, whutter-yu, and Kash was so wobbly on her feet she steadied herself against the door frame with her free hand.

“Kash? Are you drunk?”

Kash stared forlornly at her glass. She had had one drink after another, trying to erase the feel of Isabel’s body against hers, trying to forget the sight of Isabel in someone else’s arms, trying to deny how much she wanted this woman. All unsuccessfully. There wasn’t enough vodka in the world for that. “Maybe.”

“Are you alone?” Isabel held her breath, waiting for the answer.

Kash met her eyes and nodded. “Are you?”

Isabel stepped forward, took the glass out of her hand, and draped Kash’s arm over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” She closed the door and set down the vodka so she could put her arm around Kash’s waist. It was clear that getting her to the bedroom might be a challenge.

As soon as she hugged Kash close, supporting her weight, Kash sighed and slumped against her. “Izzzabel,” she slurred. “I want to kiss you so damn bad.”

Isabel started them off toward the bedroom. “Me, too, Kash. Hold that thought until you’re sober, and I’ll definitely take you up on it.”

“Now,” Kash protested, then stuck out her lip in an inviting pout.

“Nope. I want you to remember it.”

“Aw, c’mon. I will,” Kash insisted as Isabel deposited her on the bed. But she was fading fast. Her limbs were limp, and she shut her eyes as soon as her back hit the mattress.

Isabel managed to get her shoes and belt off and covered her with a blanket. As she reached to click off the light beside the bed, Kash stirred and looked up at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I wanna dance wit’ you next time,” she mumbled, then fell asleep.

Isabel kissed her lightly on the lips, the briefest of touches. “I surely hope you do, Kash,” she whispered. “With all my heart.”

Chapter Twelve

Kash dreamed of Isabel and awakened early, in somewhat the same state as when she went to sleep—with a hard-on that wouldn’t quit and a brain fuzzy from vodka. She had a remedy for both. Two aspirin, a long, hot shower, and a pot of coffee would help her head. To work off her sexual frustration, she needed the hotel’s exercise room. A call to the concierge ensured the necessary equipment would be there for her.

Punching a heavy bag had been a regular part of her routine for more than a dozen years, a perfect way to remain toned and strong, and also often successful in dispelling anger, frustration, or other negative emotions. She was pleased to find the room unoccupied and a new pair of gloves in her size waiting for her.

The effort to reconstruct what had happened the night before was driving her crazy. Oh, she remembered the club. Every detail of that part of the evening was ingrained in her memory. Isabel dancing in that amazingly revealing black dress, making her remember what it had felt like to touch her. Thinking about that too long, too much, had forced her here. Wham. She leveled a series of blows to the bag, exhaling with a grunt with each one.

However, she only vaguely recollected what had happened later, in her suite, and wasn’t even entirely certain Isabel had been there. Her hazy memory of Isabel leaning over her as she lay in bed differed little from the dream that had roused her, in which their positions had been reversed and she had been on top of Isabel, fucking her, about to come.

Since she’d awakened with her clothes on, she thought it fairly safe to assume the fucking part was pure fantasy. But in her wasted state she couldn’t have placed her shoes so neatly by the bed, so she suspected Isabel had come by sometime during the night. Wham. She damn sure wished she could recall anything whatsoever about that part. Wham.

“You’re the last person I expected to see here this morning.”

Isabel’s voice startled Kash so much she lost concentration as she was unleashing an uppercut, and the hesitation in her follow-through pulled her off balance. She grabbed for the bag and barely managed to keep from falling.

Behind her, Isabel snickered.

Scrambling to regain her cool, she straightened and turned to respond. But her words caught in her throat. Oh. Oh, my. Isabel wore brief jogging shorts and a matching cropped running top, which showed off her toned swimmer’s body and emphasized her breasts to perfection. And Isabel’s mischievous smile made Kash wish all the more she could remember what had transpired in her suite.

“I shouldn’t give you a hard time.” Isabel was clearly fighting the urge to laugh, not very successfully. “You’re probably feeling poorly this morning. But after all, you did it to yourself.”

Kash was breathing heavily from her exertions. So you were there. “I guess I should thank you that I woke up in a bed this morning and not on the balcony or floor.”

“You’re welcome.” Isabel got on a treadmill and started it, setting off at a fast walk to warm up. She was ten feet or so from Kash, with a great view of her as she worked the bag. I could stay on this thing all day with you to look at.

Kash wore a tight black tank top, gray shorts, and a half-lidded, brooding expression, and the raw power in her stance was incredibly sexy. The muscles in her arms, shoulders, and taut thighs glistened with sweat, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she regained her breath made her appear highly aroused.

Isabel was captivated. “I’m glad to see you doing something positive to take care of yourself. I was beginning to think all you did was drink a lot and stay out late.”

“Tone down the perky, huh?” Kash grumped good-naturedly. Although she resumed her work on the bag, she had lost the fervor she’d exhibited when she thought she was alone.

“Spoilsport. You’re no fun.” Isabel increased her pace to an easy jog and fought to keep from staring at Kash. It wasn’t easy, because watching the muscles of her shoulders and arms flex and bunch as she hit the bag exhilarated her. Kash met her eyes frequently, but almost always immediately looked away.

Do you still want to kiss me, Kash? And dance with me? And more? Did you leave the club because I was dancing with someone else, like I had to when I saw you with Gillian? Kash’s drunken confession and the way she had pressed their bodies together during the shoot after her makeover encouraged her. Oh, yes. Something was definitely simmering between them, and they still had almost two weeks left. Anything could happen.

The roar of a sudden downpour drew their eyes to the large windows that faced the private garden.

Kash paused in her workout and went to study the sky. She’d been trying to come up with a way to put some distance between her and Isabel so she could get her overheated libido under control, and nature had provided her an answer. “Guess we’ll have to postpone our shoot until tomorrow. It probably won’t let up anytime soon, and every setup I want to do here is outdoors.”

Isabel frowned. “That’s all right. I can do Vatican City. Most of that is indoors.”

“Good.” Kash peeled off her gloves. Her heart was still thundering, but it was her proximity to a scantily clad Isabel rather than her work with the bag that caused it. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.” As she wiped at her face and neck with a towel and prepared to leave, she glanced over at Isabel.

The look of disappointment on Isabel’s face was unmistakable, though she did try to mask it with a faint smile.

Guilt made Kash’s chest ache. It’s for the best. Just get out of here, and get your mind off her any way you can.

“Okay, see you then.” Isabel slowed from a jog to a walk. “Have a pleasant day, Kash.”

“You, too.” All the way back to her suite, Kash tried to tell herself she’d forget about Isabel as soon as the trip was over. But her arguments didn’t ring true.

Kash worried that nothing could dull this desire for Isabel, because it only seemed to get stronger. With Isabel, she wanted to memorize every detail of every encounter. Somewhere along the line, her voice had become music and her smile a tonic. And the memory of their brief encounter haunted her. Now, when they were in the same room together, she couldn’t focus on anything else.

A couple more weeks, that’s all. You’ll get through it, you’ll say good-bye, and things will be normal again. She’ll go back to her life and you’ll return to yours, none the worse for wear.

Even as she said these clichés to herself, she could sense the lie. Oh, they might never see each other again, but it would be a very long time before her mind let go of Isabel Sterling. And when she got back home she’d have to reevaluate whatever had been “normal” for her before this trip. Her carefree, no-strings lifestyle wasn’t cutting it anymore.

Not that it had ever really made her truly happy, but at least for a time it had become a usually pleasant routine, and she’d had no motivation to wish for anything else. Now it was increasingly unsatisfying, and Isabel only added to her discontent with the status quo. She longed for something more; she just didn’t know what.

*

By the time Isabel showered and changed, Gillian still hadn’t returned to their suite, so she left her a lengthy note with her plans for the day and set off for the Holy See.

She had long dreamed of seeing the Sistine Chapel, Saint Peter’s, and the treasures and art in the massive Vatican Museum complex. But all she could do was think about Kash and regret they weren’t spending the day together. Jesus, I am totally taken with her. How did I let this happen?

Kash obviously didn’t feel the same about her, despite how she’d acted right before she’d passed out. She had quickly accepted the opportunity to postpone their shoot to do her own thing. I wonder what she’s up to today? Catching up with friends? She knows everyone who’s anyone. Probably has all sorts of company to choose from, much more exciting than mine.

One thing was pretty clear. Gillian had spent the night elsewhere. Isabel had hoped to hook up with her for dinner, but a note was waiting for her instead:

Hey, Izzy!

Hope you’re having fun! I’m still with Ambra, that incredibly hot woman who interrupted our dance last night. Details when I see you, which may not be until our flight out. Have a great shoot!

So Isabel ate alone at a quaint café around the corner from their hotel. The waiter gave her the best table by the window and flirted with her incessantly, but it was not his company she craved. Such a damn shame to be in these amazingly romantic places all by myself. How wonderful it would be to spend this trip with someone I’m falling in love with.

She imagined Kash there, holding her hand across this candlelit table. But that was foolishness talking. She doesn’t do getting-to-know-you, and she’s not one for relationships. She told me that in no uncertain terms. But unrealistic or not, she wanted much more than another sexual encounter with Kash. It might have started as an incredible physical attraction, but she was developing real feelings for her. Better to at least keep my fantasies within the realm of possibility, Isa. The most I can hope for with her is sex, and even that’s certainly not a given.

She returned to her suite and went to bed early. Amazing how I hated the thought of these photo shoots when we started out, and now I can’t wait for them because it’s my chance to spend some time with her.

*

Massimo had two strangers with him when Isabel found them waiting in front of the hotel the next morning. And instead of the little Fiat, he drove a small van, the back loaded with large black cases of lighting and photography equipment. Massimo introduced the behemoth of a man sitting next to him as Ecco, a fellow photography student, and the glamorous twentysomething woman in the back as Francesca, Isabel’s hair and makeup stylist.

Well, there’s definitely going to be more than the two of us today. Pity. They would be outdoors and not alone in a studio again, but Isabel had hoped she’d get the chance to talk to Kash without a lot of other people listening.

Kash joined them a few minutes later, slipping into the seat beside her without meeting her eyes. “Good morning, everyone.”

“Hi, Kash.” Isabel’s spirits lifted from merely being next to her, but Kash remained coolly professional, avoiding sustained eye contact as she explained the plan for the day.

“We’re going to stop at a couple of the design salons to pick out a few things from your new wardrobe. The rest of the clothes will be sent to your suite. As you’ve probably already gathered, today’s shoots will be more elaborate than what we’ve done so far. The ‘before-makeover’ photos will get used as inserts with the article on you. The shots from here on will be the featured stuff—at least a couple of them will probably go full page. So we’ll use different makeup and clothes for each location.”

For the first shoot, at the Roman Forum, Kash put her in a sheer, gauzy white dress and sandals, an outfit as timeless as the backdrop. Her pale makeup and structured hairstyle helped her resemble a Michelangelo sculpture.

“So you can see the premise,” Kash explained as she positioned Isabel in front of an ancient column. “Statue in the garden. I’d like something evocative of that image. Think serene. Tranquil.”

Since Isabel had recently studied statues at the Louvre and in the Vatican, she had a variety of material to draw upon, and she did her best to please Kash, recreating every pose she could recall. And she must have been doing all right, because Kash was taking lots of pictures without giving her much additional direction.

Most of all, she was hoping to break through that businesslike attitude and get a smile or a laugh. Something, anything, to acknowledge what they had shared, that Kash was also finding it impossible not to think about their bodies rocking together.

But nothing seemed to crack Kash’s polite aloofness. Isabel was frustrated. It must have been the alcohol talking when she said she wanted to kiss me.

After the Forum, they moved to Trevi Fountain. Massimo and Ecco set up the equipment while the women adjourned to the ladies’ lounge of a nearby café so Isabel could change. From the large garment bag of clothes, Kash selected a chic blue silk suit and a blouse with a scoop neckline.

“We’re going for sophisticated urban professional in this one.” Kash handed the suit and matching shoes to Isabel. To Francesca, she said, “Daytime makeup, nothing too edgy.”

“Sì. I understand.”

“I’ll try to be quick,” Isabel said as she removed the clothes from their hangers.

“See you out there, then, whenever you’re ready.” Kash left without waiting for anything further from Isabel. Having to stare at her all day was torture enough. But being this near her, smelling her perfume and, God forbid, watching her change clothes…the thought was intolerable.

Kash had spent the entire previous day trying to take her mind off Isabel. She wandered the streets of Rome, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, sunglasses, and a ball cap, to minimize being recognized. She carried a small gear bag and her camera, and for the first time in a long while, she took pictures only for herself.

For the most part, they were pictures of people, captured in their environment in a way that told the story of who they were, often in black and white. The baker taking fresh loaves of filoncino from the oven, the doe-eyed girl on the balcony with her cat, the wizened old man entertaining tourists with an accordion as ancient as he was. The day was relaxing and one of her better ones creatively in weeks. But nothing could push Isabel far from her thoughts.

It was damn disturbing, how she had memorized so much about Isabel—from which moods raised that dimple in her cheek, to the way she could appear shy and provocative at the same time, to the nice definition of musculature in her calves when she danced.

She already noticed too much detail about Isabel, far too much. And today, protected by her camera, she couldn’t escape the opportunity—no, the responsibility—to capture the essence of Isabel’s beauty, admiring her with her lens, showing off her sweet side, her sexy side, her sparkly, effervescent side.

Being close to Isabel this way was killing her. In a good way, but it was killing her. And not showing it was the worst. Her words rang in her head. I want whatever I can have with you. One more night. One more hour.

The possibilities played through her imagination like a slide show of nude photographs. The two of them, doing all sorts of things to each other. One hour wouldn’t be nearly enough. I’m not at all sure one night would be, either, to get you out of my system.

The object of her musings reappeared wearing the new blue suit, which gave her a more powerful and confident air than anything Kash had seen her in before, while she maintained an aura of sensuality. The color emphasized her eyes, and Kash was drawn there, endless depths to drown in.

Oh, fuck. Get a grip. You have a job to do. She steeled herself and tried to act entirely professional. “Perfect. Hold out your hand.”

Isabel’s face registered pleased curiosity as she complied.

Kash gave her a few coins. “Of course we have to do the traditional throwing a coin in the fountain. Probably a few times to get a good shot. Then we’ll do some other poses.” She started to turn away, toward her tripod. Nothing said she had to go into the whole tradition thing, make any explanations. It wasn’t necessary and would eat up valuable time. But she did it anyway, because Isabel was the type of woman to like such sentimental things. “Do you know the tradition?”

“Hmm. Well, I know you’re supposed to get something great, but exactly what, I’m not sure,” Isabel said cheerily. “Good luck? Oh no, wait—I know. A wish granted, I hope?”

Kash knew from Isabel’s smoldering expression that any wishes being made here today would involve the two of them getting naked together. Get your mind back on the job at hand. Do not let her see how she is affecting you. “Not exactly. You get a guaranteed return to Rome.” Kash forced herself to respond casually, then walked back to her tripod and lined up her first shot. “You have to stand with your back to the fountain and toss the coin over your shoulder.”

“Oh, right,” Isabel said. “I did read that in the guidebook. Shame you can’t get your wishes granted around here.” Kash is ignoring every single flirtation and innuendo. She’s not the least bit interested in more with me. But still I keep trying.

Logically, she shouldn’t let herself get so worked up over Kash, read so much into one quick sexual encounter and a few drunken sentences. The way I was posing, I was throwing myself at her, for God’s sake. But apparently she’s not going to bend from her vow not to let anything further happen between us.

She couldn’t help herself. No matter how silly it seemed, she was hurt that Kash wasn’t acknowledging the chemistry between them, or what had happened in Kash’s suite. Not only that, but she’s actually being kind of…cold. And there’s no need for that. She smiled ruefully. Cold, hard Kash. I wonder how many women you’ve heard that from?

None of Kash’s actions deterred her fascination, however. Why do I still want you like crazy, even though you’re beginning to frustrate and irritate the hell out of me?

“Can we please pay attention, Isabel, and move? You’re not giving me anything to work with here.”

Case in point, Isabel thought. You could be a little nicer. Okay, so her mind had wandered a bit, but only for a moment. She didn’t deserve that. Is Kash hungover again from another night out? She didn’t seem to be, but something was definitely going on. Her body language was stiff and guarded, and her demeanor icily remote.

“Sorry. Perhaps if you were more precise in telling me what you’d like me to do?” Isabel had tried to be cheerful and cooperative, but there were limits even to her good nature, so she let her answering tone convey her annoyance. “I’m not some urban businesswoman, you know, so I have no idea what you want.”

Kash stepped out from behind the camera and frowned. She had immediately regretted her reprimand, even more so when she saw that it had spoiled Isabel’s up-to-now buoyant mood. Brilliant. Can’t you deal with not screwing her again without becoming a total asshole?

But any spoken regret died on her lips as she stepped over to position Isabel. She wasn’t one to apologize, anyway, and the only way she knew to be right now was remote. Otherwise, she couldn’t endure being this close to Isabel and having to touch her, but not as she most wanted to.

Willing herself to appear more calm and cavalier than she felt, Kash put one hand on Isabel’s shoulder, the other on her back, and gently positioned her. “Let’s do a few from this angle,” she said. “Hands on your hips. Good. You’re a self-made woman, with a Fortune 500 company. Think power. Confidence.” She briefly touched Isabel’s chin, to tilt it up defiantly.

Damn, her skin is so soft. She couldn’t resist a quick glance to Isabel’s lips, currently adorned with a cinnamon lipstick that complemented the earthy tones in her eye shadow and blusher. I want to kiss her so damn bad. So bad she wanted to blurt it out. And for a split second, she almost felt as though she had.

She had this almost weird sense of déjà vu about kissing Isabel, like it had actually happened. Only she had been drinking…

It was so hard to recall exactly what had happened. She barely recalled Isabel walking her to the bedroom. Did I? Did I blurt out something about wanting to kiss her?

Her breath caught in her throat. Or did I actually kiss her? Could I have and completely not remember it? She didn’t think it possible, but she had a big blank space in her memory about that night. A lot of hours unaccounted for. Oh Christ, if I’ve already kissed her and totally blotted it out…talk about the ultimate injustice.

After the Trevi Fountain shoot, they broke for a bite to eat at Taverna del Lupo, a quiet restaurant specializing in Sicilian fish and pasta dishes. The food was fabulous, and Kash was frankly relieved when Massimo and Ecco peppered her with photography questions because she could concentrate on something other than how much Isabel was getting to her. She didn’t want to think about all the days they still had to spend together, and how she was going to get through them. But even more, she didn’t want to think about saying good-bye to Isabel and resuming her mostly solitary life.

“We have two more locations, yes?” Francesca asked as Kash summoned the waiter for their bill.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “We’ll do a casual ensemble and makeup for the setup at the Spanish Steps. That’s next.” Glancing at her watch, she did some rough calculations. “I want to finish that by six thirty or seven at the latest, so we have plenty of time for the final shots at the Colosseum. Sunset is a little before ten.”

There she would face the toughest challenge of keeping her mind on the task at hand, because of the dress she had selected for Isabel to wear.

Chapter Thirteen

“You’re kidding, right?”

Isabel held up the dress and tried to picture how much of her body it would cover. Not nearly enough. It was fire engine red, and floor length, the kind of dress you’d see on a Paris runway or a red carpet in Hollywood. But the wearer would have to take precautions to avoid any embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions.

The low-cut back, she figured, would come to just above her ass. The incredibly high slit up the side would reveal not only her legs, but much more if she wasn’t careful. And the front—well, the front was going to be obscene any way you looked at it.

“And these.” Kash ignored her protest and handed her a pair of matching stiletto pumps that she knew she would have trouble walking in.

They were high up in the Colosseum and thankfully were being completely ignored by the myriad of tourists who were exploring the lower portions of the giant amphitheatre.

“And where do you expect me to change into this scanty excuse of a dress?” Isabel asked. “I’m not walking all the way back up here in these heels. That’s begging for a broken leg.”

“Not necessary.” Kash checked on Massimo and Ecco, who had arrived with their second load of gear from the van. “I packed a portable screen in one of those cases. The guys will set it up while Francesca does your makeup.”

“So I’ve gone from garden statue, to businesswoman, to well-heeled tourist, to…what? This seems like something a high-priced call girl might wear.”

Kash couldn’t suppress a smile. “I want you to think diva, Isabel. Classy and sophisticated. Confident in your sex appeal and allure. You’re on your way to a gala event somewhere, and everyone will be watching you, as they should be.”

“Oh, yes. That is so me.” Isabel wasn’t at all keen on how well she could pull off what Kash was asking.

“Trust me, Isabel. We’ll make it work. Now we need to get you ready…the light is almost perfect for what I have in mind.”

The sky above them was brilliant blue, but to the west, a smattering of high thin clouds was already taking on subtle hints of pink and purple from the lowering sun. A light breeze cooled them, and their protected location high above the city muted the usual blare of traffic.

Francesca gave Isabel dramatic evening makeup, with smoky eyes and deep red lips to match her dress. Her hair’s elegant but casual style included a few loose tendrils that gave it a playful appeal.

The dressing screen consisted of a panel covered in thin muslin fabric, barely large enough to conceal her, but Isabel still viewed it as a much better option than hiking all the way down to the floor of the arena to find a better place to change.

Kash finished her camera preparations as Isabel stepped behind the panel and started to undress. Only then did she realize that the men had set up the screen so that the setting sun would be behind it, illuminating Isabel’s silhouette on the fabric with vivid clarity. Oh, my. She’d been in hundreds of dressing rooms while models undressed, and this should have been tame by comparison.

But it wasn’t. When Isabel started to strip, top first, then bra, Kash’s heart started to race. She swore she could see the bump of her nipples on the fabric. Fuck.

“Mama mia, che sexy. Mi raccomando una notte,” Ecco said to Massimo from somewhere behind her. While she couldn’t translate exactly, his tone and the words she could understand—sexy and one night—made it entirely too clear what he had said.

“Neanche per sogno,” Massimo replied with a chuckle.

That does it.

Kash never felt or exhibited any kind of protective attitude toward someone she was working with. Nudity in the fashion industry was so commonplace it didn’t rate a raised eyebrow. But Isabel was no jaded model, and Kash became increasingly angry that the two men had deliberately placed the screen so they could ogle her. She wheeled around and glared at Ecco and Massimo. Her voice was ice. “I won’t need you for at least an hour. Make yourselves scarce.”

Disappointment registered on both men’s faces, and Massimo, at least, also seemed remorseful. “Mi dispiace,” he muttered, hanging his head before tugging at Ecco to leave.

As they departed, Isabel poked her head out from behind the screen. Undoubtedly, from her silhouette, she was now entirely nude. “Is there a problem?”

“No. No problem,” Kash said, her voice betraying only a hint of her discomfort. “Hurry, please. We’re losing the light.” And you’re making me so fucking horny with your striptease I’m about to start touching myself.

“Sure, okay.” Isabel resumed what she was doing, and Kash, despite herself, enjoyed every bit of the show.

The sky behind the dressing panel was growing more beautiful by the moment as the sun sank lower on the horizon, but once Isabel stepped out from behind the screen, she was all that Kash could see.

The little black dress had been eye-catching, no doubt about that. But seeing Isabel in the sexy red number took Kash’s breath away. Dumbstruck, unmoving, she could do nothing but immerse herself fully in the vision before her.

The dress conformed to every curve and swell of Isabel’s body as though it had been cut and sewn for her alone. She spun around in a slow pirouette, giving Kash the full effect. The scoop back allowed an unimpeded view of the ivory skin of her back, flawless in its beauty. The long slit up the right side displayed the length of her leg to her upper thigh, the tall stiletto heels accentuating the firm musculature built by swimming.

But the full frontal view left Kash unsteady on her feet and made her heart flutter.

It wasn’t merely revealing. This dress would have live TV censors sweating, their hands twitching on the time-delay switch.

The V cut into the front of the dress extended nearly to Isabel’s navel and was open enough at her cleavage to expose a good portion of her breasts. Her nipples were barely covered and seemed ready to appear with the slightest provocation. Her hair and makeup added to the overall effect of sexy allure personified.

Lord have mercy. Kash knew she shouldn’t be staring like she was, but she was completely captivated and also marginally aware that as she gawked unabashedly at Isabel, time was passing, and with it, the perfect light she had been waiting all day for.

She might have stood there gaping until dark had not Francesca brought her back to reality with a tentative hand on her shoulder.

“Kash? Is everything all right? This is not what you wanted?”

“Uh…no! I mean…yes. Yes, it’s good. Fine.” Perfect. Too damn perfect. How is a girl supposed to get any work done with that kind of distraction? Only then did she completely realize how quickly the light was fading.

“Where do you want me?” Isabel asked, the smile on her face clear evidence that she knew precisely how Kash would like to answer that question.

Under me. That’s where I want you. I want to be on top of you so bad it’s taking every ounce of my willpower to keep from touching you right now. But if I do, I won’t be able to stop. All the air seemed to have been squeezed from her lungs, and she feared her legs would give way. But she reached automatically for her tripod, determined to see this shoot through. Then she could push Isabel from her mind, go back to the hotel, and do something about the hard-on that was about to drive her mad.

“Over here is good.” She gestured, keeping her distance. To be anywhere near Isabel in that dress was inviting disaster. “So…like I said…I want you to think diva.” She cleared her throat, wondering why her voice sounded like she’d just rolled out of bed. “Confidence. Mystery. Sex appeal.” Though you certainly don’t need any help with that last one. Any more sex appeal and I might need oxygen. She escaped then behind her viewfinder, grateful for a brief respite from her responsibility to maintain a cool exterior. Click.

Isabel had been so self-conscious getting into the dress, she wasn’t sure she could bear to be photographed in it for all the world to see. Its cut and clingy fabric dictated that she couldn’t wear anything underneath, so she felt constantly at risk of exposing herself. But as soon as she stepped out from behind the screen and saw Kash’s reaction, her misgivings evaporated.

That carefully controlled exterior, that damned frustrating air of aloofness that she had been trying to break through all day, shattered right in front of her. She watched Kash’s eyes widen and faintly heard her sudden intake of breath as her gaze trailed up and down the length of her body, lingering on her half-naked breasts. For a couple of minutes, Kash’s expression was unguarded and her desire evident.

Kash’s appreciative attention swept over Isabel like a warm caress, and her bruised ego and sagging spirits lifted. There’s no mistaking that look. Now I just have to find a way to break through whatever the hell is keeping her from letting something more happen between us. And perhaps this dress is exactly the ammunition I need.

She hadn’t felt particularly sexy or confident, not until she saw Kash’s reaction. That gave her the courage to pull off the diva attitude. Mindful not to reveal too much, she emulated some of the sassier, sexier poses the models had used during her first visit to Kash’s Manhattan studio.

Kash kept quiet, except for the occasional minor directive, like, “Tilt your chin down,” or “Turn a bit more toward me.” She was taking pictures nearly nonstop, so Isabel figured she was doing all right. But that frustrating veneer of reserve was quickly and firmly back in place again, and apparently unshakable, regardless of how seductive her poses might be. I saw it in your eyes. What do I have to do to get you to admit you want me as much as I want you?

Right before the sun hit the horizon, Massimo and Ecco rejoined them. Kash paused to glare at them with reproach, but no words were exchanged, and Isabel wondered what had precipitated the chilly atmosphere.

“That’s all we can do, the light is gone.” Kash stretched, suddenly feeling the tension that had been simmering all day right between her shoulder blades. “I suggest you change into something casual,” she told Isabel. “You shouldn’t be walking down in those heels, anyway, and I’d save that designer number for a special occasion.” The advice was really for her own benefit. She couldn’t fathom sitting next to Isabel in that dress all the way back to the hotel.

“Well, I am a little worried I’m about to expose myself,” Isabel said. As darkness began to descend in earnest she went to find her casual clothes. The spotlights that illuminated the Colosseum came on and allowed them light enough to see, but shadows were growing all around them.

“You can start carrying the equipment down,” Kash told Massimo and Ecco. “And Francesca, if you would, go with them on this first trip and wait with the van while they come back for the rest.”

The men packed the gear for the first load in only a couple of minutes. While they worked, Kash walked a short distance away and sat by herself on a low wall. Her body was strung so tight she was shaking and needed time to gather herself. What the hell is happening to me?

Isabel’s sexy poses had short-circuited her brain and electrified her body. Why should I refuse more of what we both want? She rarely allowed herself to care about ethics or the repercussions of her actions on someone else’s feelings. And she didn’t want to speculate on why it seemed to matter now, with Isabel. She only wanted to talk herself out of her reservations. She’s an adult. She can make her own decisions, and she was clearly all right with what happened before. I shouldn’t worry about whether she’ll regret this later or whether this might hurt her.

Kash wanted desperately to convince herself to give in to Isabel’s seductions, because she was beginning to believe she might not be able to get her out of her mind and body any other way than to have her again.

All the while she had been taking pictures, she had been getting more and more aroused, imagining her mouth on those breasts…her hand, slipping into that slit in the skirt to find Isabel’s sex, swollen and wet and ready.

Her own clit had been worked up but good by those fantasies and was coiled tight. She knew it would take very little, once she got back to the hotel, to get herself off. But the wait to get there was excruciating.

Kash heard a sound behind her and swiveled around to find Isabel, still in that damned dress. Her chest felt suddenly as if it was being squeezed; she could barely breathe. Dear God, you’re lovely. The men had just left, and it was a good hike to the van and back. They’d be alone for several more minutes.

As Isabel slowly walked over and faced Kash, she smiled that damned irresistible smile, ripe with that same hungry yearning that had obliterated her resistance back in her suite. She feared she could be no better now at refusing that plea. But she had to try. She got to her feet.

“Isabel…” Her voice was shaking as badly as her hands. This close—only an arm’s distance away—her need to touch Isabel again flared fiery hot inside of her, a blinding heat that threatened to consume her. Every nerve ending in her body sang out. “I don’t think this is a good—”

Isabel took her hand and pulled it to her lips, kissing Kash sweetly on her palm, then placed it in the valley of cleavage between her breasts and held it there. “Can you feel how my heart is pounding, Kash? How much I want you? So much it hurts.”

Her words, the dress, those lips, and the sensation under her palm—for she could indeed feel the rapid hammering of Isabel’s heart—crumbled her final resolve. She couldn’t live with the regret of never having tasted Isabel’s lips.

Kash wrapped her free hand around Isabel’s waist as she closed the distance to kiss her. The thundering in her ears matched the rapid pulse beneath her palm, and when their bodies came together both she and Isabel let out a breathy gasp.

Time slowed as she found Isabel’s mouth with her own. That first brush of lips was so light it was barely discernable, but a flash of heat from the contact shot through her, heightening her senses. Isabel’s musky perfume was intoxicating. The soft skin of her back begged to be touched. Isabel’s rapid breathing mirrored her own.

On the next light brush of their lips, Isabel moaned and tried to extend the contact, but Kash pulled back just out of reach. To answer Isabel’s sigh of disappointment, on the next pass she licked Isabel’s lips with the tip of her tongue, a teasing, light caress.

“God, Kash. You make me feel so much.” Isabel’s voice shook.

Kash responded with deeper, more prolonged contact, using more of her tongue to wetly explore Isabel’s soft and yielding lips. Isabel’s arms snaked around her neck, then her fingertips glanced along the back of her head, raking lightly along her scalp.

When Isabel moaned again, a deep sustained sound, and parted her lips, Kash pushed her tongue past them and found Isabel’s eager, answering tongue. The kiss deepened, and her heart began to beat so hard and fast in her chest she felt light-headed. Her knees began to buckle again and she pulled Isabel even closer to steady herself.

The sounds of their rapid breathing and Isabel’s moans filled her ears, and she trailed her fingertips down Isabel’s spine and slowly past the loose barrier of her dress to roughly massage her ass.

When she did, Isabel sucked hard on her tongue, and she felt the pressure as an urgent pulse of sensation between her legs. An unbearably exciting mix of pleasure and pain.

Her right thigh rocked lightly against Isabel’s center as she scraped her nails more firmly over Isabel’s ass. Their kiss abruptly ended when Isabel claimed the sensitive skin of Kash’s neck with wet strokes and soft bites.

The throbbing in her clit intensified, and she threw back her head and closed her eyes, losing herself in the feel of Isabel’s mouth on her. Fuck, yes. Right there.

Her thigh suddenly slipped between Isabel’s legs, and Kash looked hazily down to discover that Isabel had hiked up her dress. That long slit in the skirt proved invaluable, providing her thigh the opportunity for direct contact with Isabel’s sex.

She pressed harder, firmer, into the warmth between Isabel’s legs, and felt the wetness of her arousal through the thin material of her trousers. She rocked her hips forward, slowly, purposefully, and glancing down, glimpsed the faint triangle of hair beneath the dress.

The hitch in Isabel’s breathing hinted that in another minute or two, she would surely come.

Kash was so far gone, so lost in Isabel, that she failed to hear the men approach until they were almost on top of them. “Isabel…I…” Straightening, she reluctantly released her hold on Isabel’s ass.

Isabel barely heard Massimo and Ecco’s approach. The only sensation that mattered was the building pressure, an urgent, insatiable need for release greater than any she had known and more powerful by far than she had expected. She wanted Kash with a ferocity that scared her, made her feel wonderfully but dangerously out of control.

When Kash pulled away from her, all she felt was the stab of loss, the ache of separation. She had been swept away completely in Kash’s arms, and the sudden return to reality made her reel. Not at all certain she could walk, she steadied herself against the low wall Kash had been sitting on.

“Isabel, we need to go.” Kash forced herself to put a few feet of distance between them. This was not the time or place. Her clit was calling the shots, which was never a good idea, and they had company. She’d learned to somewhat accept having her own misdeeds splashed across the tabloids, but she would forever regret it if a picture of a compromised Isabel got into one of the rags because she couldn’t control herself.

Massimo and Ecco started packing the rest of the gear without overtly paying them any attention. The two women were in the shadow of the wall, but Kash knew the men could see them clearly because of the ambient light from the Colosseum lights and the full moon. “Do you want to change?” Kash asked. She tried not to stare at Isabel’s cleavage, or lips, or into her eyes. If she did, she would surely take her right here and now, consequences be damned. Her body was on fire from their kisses and stroking, and she could still feel Isabel’s wetness on her thigh.

“You know what I want,” Isabel answered in a breathy whisper the men couldn’t overhear.

“We can’t.” Kash tried to still the beating of her heart. “Do you want to change or not?”

Isabel sighed, accepting that Kash would not relent. At least for now. “Probably would be much easier walking out of here in the clothes I came in with.” She started unsteadily toward the dressing screen, but paused long enough to grip Kash’s shoulder as she passed. “You’d better finish what you started.”

Imagining the possibilities, Kash felt another sharp stab of arousal.

Chapter Fourteen

A battle raged inside Kash as they returned to the van, though she gave no outward sign of it. The strongest voice commanded she treat Isabel the way she treated most women in her life. Fuck her good, get her out of your system once and for all, and move on. The caged frustration of their interrupted encounter, the memory of their previous coupling, and a growing need to resume her predictable way of life fueled that voice.

Then Isabel’s words rang in her ears. I want whatever I can have with you.

But Isabel was so sweet and real and honest that she deserved better.

So maybe give her more than the usual twenty minutes or half hour. A nice dinner out first, and a full evening back at the suite. Some candles, champagne to fulfill any responsibility you may think you have. Then you can have what you want and not guilt yourself out about it anymore, and finally get her out of your mind.

There was scant conversation in the van as they rode up the Via del Corso toward the hotel. Isabel sat next to her, and Kash could feel her staring, but she avoided prolonged eye contact by looking out the window. She was still like a lit fuse, and she knew if she allowed herself to focus on the desire and arousal in Isabel’s eyes, she wouldn’t be able to stop from taking her at the first opportunity.

After they stopped to let Francesca off, Isabel and Kash were alone in the back. Isabel stroked Kash’s arm gently.

Her sense of touch always became acutely heightened when she was aroused, and she couldn’t remember it being more so. The sensation along her arm reverberated throughout her body and jerked her right back to the edge of dangerously losing control.

“Drop us here,” she said abruptly to Massimo, and he braked near the massive Piazza del Popolo, a short walk from their hotel. The square was busy with people: locals enjoying the warm summer evening and tourists admiring the Egyptian obelisk of Rameses II, the fountains at the center, and the historic churches at its edge.

After the men had departed, Kash faced Isabel, whose expression was expectant. Oh, Isabel. You reach right inside of me and stir up something. “Let’s get some dinner, all right?” She was surprised at how normal she sounded. “I know a quiet place near here.”

“Sure,” Isabel replied with delight, taking Kash’s arm. “I’m all yours. Lead on.”

The completely alien and disturbingly delightful feel of Isabel’s hand gently resting in the crook of her elbow startled Kash. The gesture was far too intimate for her to initiate or even tolerate under normal circumstances, and she stiffened, but Isabel failed to notice.

“Gosh, it’s such a beautiful night. The full moon, the warm Mediterranean breeze,” Isabel said as they strolled along. “Really couldn’t ask for anything more perfect.”

Kash said nothing, let none of the continuing turmoil inside of her show. Perfect for you, maybe. But me? This isn’t me. I don’t do romantic. At least I haven’t before. Why do you make me want to do things, feel things, be things that are so contrary to all that is recognizable? Isabel caressed her arm again, and Kash wondered how such a small and simple gesture could feel so wonderful and terrifying at the same time. Although her every instinct told her to pull away, she decided to let it be, at least for now.

“It’s still early, and it’s so nice to walk with you like this,” Isabel said. “I’m not really that hungry yet. Maybe we can soak in some of the sights before we stop?”

“If you like.” Kash made it sound as though it mattered not in the least, like she did this all the time. In reality, though, every day she spent with Isabel made her feel more unsettled. This caring, sensitive woman was weaving a spell over her, and the incredible allure of Rome at night was playing right along. She was powerless to resist such a powerful combination.

“I’ve dreamed so long about seeing Rome and Paris,” Isabel was saying, but it was difficult to concentrate on the words because, in addition to the hand on her arm, a warm body pressed up against her side as they ambled along. “It’s much better to share some of this with you than be alone.”

Well, this was obviously an incredibly stupid idea. This diversion to dinner was supposed to make Isabel stop thinking there’s anything more to this attraction than a quick fuck. Now she’s getting all mushy and romantic. What was I thinking? I can’t deal with this.

She was angry at herself for her error in judgment, for letting Isabel cloud her reliable ease of detachment. I can’t even bring myself to take my arm away, for Christ’s sake.

But she had to do something. She didn’t want to hurt Isabel, but Isabel was reading far too much into this little walk. And her own enjoyment of this silly sentimentalism was entirely too disconcerting.

They were walking along the Tiber River, when Kash halted abruptly beside a bench and pushed Isabel down onto it. She had to free herself from Isabel’s wretchedly magnificent embrace so she could think. Isabel seemed briefly surprised at the unexpected interruption of their moonlit walk, but apparently content to let Kash set the course for their evening.

“Listen, Isabel,” Kash began, as she started to pace in front of the bench, with Isabel her rapt audience. “This sharing Rome thing…I told you, I don’t do sharing. I don’t do romance, or dates, or whatever you’re turning this into in your mind. I thought I made that clear, but apparently you haven’t gotten the message.” She knew she sounded a little angry, and she was, but only at herself and her inability to cope with the chaos of emotions Isabel had churned up.

“I…I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t…” Isabel’s face darkened in confusion.

That reaction only compounded Kash’s determination to return to her comfortable routine, to push Isabel into the safe category of screw-them-then-forget-them that she had managed to put almost every other woman in her life into. It was already far too late for that, but she was desperate to find a way to get Isabel out of her system.

“Whatever you thought, or meant, or wanted,” Kash continued, still pacing, “for me, it’s all about sex, always, and only about sex, or it’s about nothing at all. I want to make that clear. The choice is yours, but you can have no expectations beyond that, Isabel.”

There was a lengthy silence before Isabel responded.

“I’m sorry if I did or said something to make you think I have any notion about anything beyond this evening.” Isabel’s voice was soft, apologetic, but Kash couldn’t mistake the tone of hurt. “I enjoy spending time with you, and I let myself get a little carried away. I did mean what I said earlier, Kash. I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give. I guess I thought that because you invited me to dinner, we were going to kind of make a date of it.”

“Well, you were wrong. That’s not me.”

“So now I know. It’s crystal clear. It was you who suggested dinner, Kash, not me, so I don’t know why you’re getting all bent out of shape.” Isabel glared at her. “All I want is sex. Is that what you need to hear? Are those the magic words for you?” she said with an almost childish petulance.

“I don’t screw someone merely because they want to. If I did, I’d never get any work done. Or sleep, for that matter.” Kash knew she sounded arrogant, but she was angry, and frustrated, and damn it if Isabel wasn’t completely irresistible when she was petulant in the moonlight.

“I didn’t imply that you did,” Isabel shot back. “If you’d slept with all the women who were throwing themselves at you in Paris, you’d still be there.”

“Jealous?” Kash asked testily. Why am I asking her that? Since when did I care if she’s jealous or not?

“Get over yourself,” Isabel replied, equally exasperated. How did this wonderful evening spin so out of control? She jumped to her feet. “Yes, you’re a beautiful woman, Kash, and you obviously know it. But you can also be a real pain in the ass. I said all I wanted was sex, but I’m not going to beg for it.” She stormed away.

Isabel’s abrupt departure deflated Kash’s anger, but did nothing to stem the current of arousal that had been simmering since their heated kisses in the Colosseum. Well, that certainly went well, idiot. She sat on the bench for a full thirty seconds, watching Isabel’s rapidly retreating figure and debating with herself about whether to follow. Leave it. Let her go. It’s better this way, said the voice that always counseled distance and self-preservation. These methods had always helped her escape any situation that threatened loss of control.

But that voice couldn’t compete against her body’s desire and that persistent, although extremely annoying, sudden conscience she had grown that hated to see Isabel hurt.

She caught up to Isabel as she was threading her way through a throng of people on the nearest bridge, the Ponte Cavour, a picturesque span across the Tiber illuminated by a string of amber lights.

“Isabel, wait!” Kash grabbed her arm and tried to get her to stop, but Isabel shook her off and kept walking. “Come on. God damn it!” She had to take long strides to match Isabel’s rapid acceleration.

They were off the bridge and headed toward the hotel when Isabel stopped and spun around, her eyes glinting fire. She was breathing heavily from her retreat, and so was Kash, from trying to catch her. “What the hell do you want from me?”

People were pushing past and around them. Kash spotted a narrow alley ahead, dimly lit and unpopulated, so she grabbed Isabel’s arm and propelled her roughly toward it.

There they faced each other down like two boxers halfway through a bout, guard firmly in place, adrenaline pumping. Waiting to see who would get in the next punch.

“I want…” Kash began, but the words died when she gazed into Isabel’s eyes. She had mistaken the fire she saw there for anger, but she could see now it wasn’t fury at all, but a combination of frustration and desire. It snapped the last fragile restraint holding her back.

As she pushed Isabel up against the ancient brickwork that formed the walls of the narrow passageway, her mind went hazy.

Isabel gave a startled cry, but didn’t object or resist when Kash grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them firmly to the wall above her head with one hand while she roughly cupped Isabel’s sex with the other.

“You know what I want,” Kash said, her voice low and husky as she pressed their bodies together. Her mouth descended on Isabel’s neck.

Isabel’s irate exasperation faded and her pulse quickened under the abrupt change in Kash. Here? Now?

Her first experience with Kash had been jarring enough. But this? Isabel had never been the adventurous type sexually. Sex for her took place in a bed, involved a half dozen positions at most, and rarely lasted an hour. It was gentle, mostly predictable, and always an act between two people in private.

Her naïveté in this regard certainly never prepared her for how immensely a rough and restrained quickie in a public alleyway in Rome where anyone might happen upon them could excite her.

Kash’s warm breath on her neck and the hot, wet caresses of her tongue sent Isabel’s heartbeat into overdrive, but the press of Kash’s hand between her legs threatened to buckle her knees. Regardless of whether anyone might see them, she wished desperately they didn’t have any constrictions of clothing between them.

Assaulted by a cavalcade of sensations—the rough brick against her hands, the blare of car horns in the near distance, the musky scent of Kash’s perfume, the furious drumming of her heart against the walls of her chest—she felt more completely and fully alive than she could ever remember.

When Kash spread her legs apart with a firmly insistent thigh and began to fumble for the clasp of her jeans, Isabel gasped in anticipation, her body poised and eager for the deliverance of Kash’s hand.

Nothing about this situation seemed familiar; she ached to return the almost frantic bites and nips that were sending her higher and higher, wanted to pull Kash even tighter to her, though that seemed impossible given the current crush of their bodies, and the fact that she could do neither was driving her mad. Suspended in a delirium of need, she surrendered fully to Kash’s control.

“Kash…please…” It was hard to speak, hard to breathe, hard to reason. A sound escaped her, a whimper of desperation. “Please.”

Entirely focused on the throbbing urgency for release, Isabel didn’t hear or feel the tug at her shirt, nor did she immediately register the soothing rush of air against the heated flesh of her chest and stomach. But Kash’s hungry mouth on her breast and the tug of teeth on her oversensitized nipple brought her to full awareness that she was exposed to the night.

The loud bang of a window being thrown open, very close by, warned her that someone might be watching, and she was shocked to discover that the possibility only heightened her arousal.

“Take me. Now. Please. Fuck me.” She pled loud enough to be overheard, which surprised her as well. Kash had unleashed a part of her she hadn’t known existed, a wanton and unfettered Isabel—no, Isa—that felt, that wanted, that craved much more powerfully than the old one ever dared.

Kash’s answer, from deep in the back of her throat, sounded more animal than human.

“Please!” Isabel cried, afraid she would burst apart in the waiting. “Please!”

Kash’s hand, when it finally found her, was every bit as gentle at that first touch of discovery as her mouth was rough on Isabel’s breast, and the contrast startled her. Cool fingertips skimmed slowly down along her stomach, raising goose bumps, then slipped beneath the silk of her panties and paused there briefly, as if to drive her to the very brink of herself.

She rocked her hips forward and noisily exhaled the breath she had been holding when Kash’s hand descended into the swollen and ready folds of her sex.

“So wet for me,” Kash whispered breathily in awe, and Isabel could feel her own fluid as Kash’s hand spread the evidence of her immense arousal over her clit in maddeningly light passes. “Just like the last time. You get so wet for me, it makes me crazy.”

“Jesus!” she panted. “More, Kash. More!” She bucked her hips and strained against the restraint on her wrists, but Kash only pinned her down harder, until the rough brick began to scrape the back of her hands. And still, where she wanted it most, the touch was unbearably light and indirect.

Her pleas became nonverbal—groans and sighs and thrusts of her pelvis—until all at once Kash impaled her, slipping into her wetness and filling her completely, almost lifting her off her feet. At the same moment, Kash’s thumb centered on her clit and held there, the strokes short and swift and torturously firm. She exploded, then, in the sudden rush of sensations from within and without, her orgasm so strong and powerful her body pulsed with it.

She collapsed against Kash, struggling to catch her breath, her rapid heartbeat drumming in her ears and her clit throbbing. Her wrists were suddenly her own again, and she wrapped her arms around Kash’s neck, grateful for the support, her legs trembling, her body boneless.

Slowly she regained herself and realized that the body she was clinging to was only stiffly tolerating her embrace. Kash’s eyes revealed nothing. As before, once the deed was done, Kash became cold and distant, as though unaffected by what had just happened.

“You…uh…you’d better…” As Kash extricated herself from Isabel’s arms, she indicated, with a tilt of her head, her open blouse, before turning back toward where they had come from.

Glancing down, Isabel saw her exposed breasts, nipples still rosy and prominent. Her pants were open, too, her panties pushed down far enough to allow a glimpse of honey blond hair.

By the time she had redressed, Kash had already taken two steps toward the main thoroughfare.

What did you expect? she asked herself as she followed Kash back into the horde of people. Whatever she had expected, it was certainly not this. Even more than the first time with Kash, this experience had left her feeling completely content yet profoundly unsatisfied.

During the short walk back to the hotel, Isabel prayed that Kash would invite her to her suite. Despite what Kash had told her about herself, she ached to make Kash feel what she had felt. But with each passing step, she grew more convinced that their encounter in the alley was their last. Kash was more distant now than ever—not speaking, not paying much attention to her at all.

You got exactly what you asked for, she told herself. The way she made you feel, you have nothing to complain about. But instead of feeling sated, she realized all the more that she had needs long hidden and still unfulfilled that she never even knew existed.

Chapter Fifteen

Though Kash masturbated vigorously, then drank a considerable amount of vodka, she still craved Isabel and was guilty about how things had transpired. Both developments unsettled her. She had never felt guilty in her dealings with women and never fucked someone but still been attracted to them.

And most alarming of all—she had begun to want Isabel to touch her.

She could still feel Isabel’s hand on her arm and hear her sweet, wistful tone. And damn it, with Isabel walking beside her, if she hadn’t begun to experience Rome’s romanticism.

That’s why they had ended up quick and dirty in an alley, and not back at her suite.

Isabel had made her wish for things she believed herself incapable of, imagine possibilities she knew could never be. She felt pulled in a direction totally against her nature.

And the more sweet and romantic Isabel had become, the worse Kash’s frustration had grown, until finally she had reacted in the only way she knew. She couldn’t listen to Isabel anymore, because she was letting herself get carried away. And so she had taken her, yet again, in the way that she always took women, to demonstrate to herself that nothing had really changed and to prove to Isabel that no woman had a right to shake up her world and everything in it.

A part of her knew, even as she fucked Isabel again, that any and every experience with Isabel was different, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was desperate to set her world back on its axis, and Isabel’s excitement had swept her away.

In retrospect, however, she was sorry for the way she had acted. Isabel deserved more and better. I should have made it nice for her, like I planned. Tender. Private. She deserved that. Kash felt ashamed she could not control herself, but Isabel made her feel, and feel too much.

She knew Isabel would regret what had happened. So she drank, and paced, and drank some more, and wondered how in the world she could manage another two weeks with Isabel without going mad. It was two in the morning when she settled onto her balcony with the last of the vodka, hoping that she could sleep or find something to distract her from thinking about touching Isabel.

Though the hotel’s famed swimming pool was dark and long closed to guests, pool lights made it a tranquil oasis of blue, so she noticed immediately that a lone swimmer had slipped past the gate and was doing laps.

It was Isabel. Oh, fuck. Some days, you shouldn’t get out of bed.

*

Lap upon lap upon lap, and still she couldn’t get Kash out of her mind. Once they returned to the hotel, Isabel had tried to sleep, but the memory of how Kash had made her feel was still too fresh. No matter how much she wanted to put the experience in its proper place—a one-night stand, that’s all. I knew that going in—her heart and mind and body wanted more.

She scarcely recognized herself. Talk about makeover. What an understatement. She was changing far more than her hair, makeup, and wardrobe. She would never have believed she would even wish for a solitary sexual interlude with someone, let alone remember two quick and casual assignations—one of them in public, no less—with such relish and longing.

How is it possible at nearly thirty to discover facets of myself that I never knew existed? This sudden voracious appetite for the kind of passion that Kash had unleashed in her felt almost primal.

Where did all this come from? How have I gone so long thinking I was one way, believing I was comfortable in my own skin, only to find I’ve been—what? Deluding myself? That’s what it felt like. She’d thought she was relatively happy with her life and the way she lived it, had never noticed that her sexual activity with women was both scarce and too predictable.

I’ve always viewed sex outside of a relationship as completely undesirable and thought that those who participate in it should be chastised and criticized. I believed that if I got to know someone before I slept with them I would somehow be more mature or noble. She wondered why she thought this way. Her parents and rather conservative upbringing probably had a lot to do with it, as did the fact that none of her lovers had really challenged or encouraged her to be any other way.

And when women I might be interested in looked past me to someone prettier, that philosophy made being rejected a lot easier. How many times had she tried to console herself when that happened by telling herself, Well, she’s not the type of woman I’d want, anyway, if she’s ready to jump into bed with someone based entirely on their appearance.

Rather hypocritical of me, considering how totally I’ve embraced Isa and am doing everything I can to use the right makeup and clothes to get Kash’s attention.

Oh, she could see the potential problems of adopting a totally no-strings-attached, casual-sex-only lifestyle. Avoiding emotional attachments entirely, as Kash apparently did, held no appeal for her. She still needed to connect in some way with someone she was interested in. But she’d been wrong not to let sex be a spontaneous bit of fun and not to allow herself to know how exciting it could be, and how liberating, to put on a provocative dress and allow it to work some magic. Naughty can be awfully nice, that’s for sure.

Even as she wondered why no other woman had ever brought out this passionate side of her, she wondered what she would do with this new, sexually charged persona once she and Kash resumed their normal lives. She knew it was not so much a matter of the where, and when, and how that had given birth to Isa as the who involved. You’re going to have to let her go. How will you cope when it happens? Will Isa fade back into the woodwork, never to be seen again? Can she?

She didn’t want to relinquish this new sexy side, but she knew that physical excitement alone couldn’t bring her happiness. Kash is proof of that. She has all the sex she wants, it appears, but has that made her happy?

The fact that Kash had triggered these changes puzzled her as much as the existence of this hidden side of her. Why her? Kash certainly wasn’t the type of woman she was usually drawn to. In fact, the polar opposite. She could be rude, and abrupt, and way too full of herself. A woman who obviously ran from relationships—hell, not only relationships, but from a polite evening out together as a precursor to sex. Just slam, bam, thank you, ma’am, and here I am thinking she’s something special?

Kash had said hardly two words to her on the way back to the hotel. And once there, she had muttered only a polite good night as they got on the elevator, to make sure Isabel knew their evening was over.

Damn infuriating woman. Isabel swam another lap, automatically shifting from breaststroke to backstroke. One minute we’re walking arm in arm along the Tiber, heading to a nice dinner, and the next she’s being a jerk.

But she couldn’t stay angry with her. Not with the memory of how Kash had turned her on and made her feel so fresh in body and mind. Amazing. Like I suddenly walked out of a black-and-white photo into blazing Technicolor. And though the issue of sex was now center stage with Kash, she knew a lot more was going on between them, at least for her. She’d begun to develop feelings for Kash, real feelings, though apparently she had nowhere to go with them. She certainly didn’t dare admit them to Kash.

No, if I’m to have any chance of spending any more quality time with her, I have to keep things light and casual.

Countless laps had failed to calm the singing in her blood, so she emerged from the pool and padded over to the sunken hot tub, slipping into the shadowed recesses of the heated water with a groan. She floated, head back against the polished stone side, but she couldn’t relax. The memory of Kash’s hand was still too vivid. Glancing around and listening intently, she assured herself no one else was about.

Her body was too stirred up and the pulsating jets of the hot tub were too inviting. She faced the nearest one and braced her hands on the rim of the tub. Spreading her legs, she arched her back and leaned forward so the force of the water was directed at her clit. Ahhhh.

*

Oh, Christ. She’s not…Kash strained through blurry eyes to see the figure in the shadowy depths of the hot tub. Certain enough of what she was seeing to risk walking on wobbly legs, she stumbled into the suite to finally relinquish her death grip on her glass of vodka and retrieve her camera and longest telephoto lens.

The lens brought Isabel into vivid clarity as she stripped off her suit. Damn, that’s hot. Her hands were shaking so from the alcohol and her rapidly beating heart that the body she was watching slipped out of view briefly as Isabel threw her head back in ecstasy. Kash cursed under her breath to miss even a millisecond of the show.

Straining to regain the image in her viewfinder, she saw the naked expanse of Isabel’s chest reappear, breasts uplifted, as she positioned her body to maximize the effect of the jets. Kash couldn’t risk a flash and so was grateful for enough ambient light from the pool for her camera to capture the image. Click. Click.

Isabel’s mouth was open, and her body was rocking hard now against the sides of the tub. Click. Click. Kash ached to hear the sounds she was making as she approached orgasm. Fuck, yes. What she would have given for a bit more light. Click.

With her left hand still gripping her long lens, she lost interest in taking pictures with her right. Her fingertips were still a bit cool from the ice when she slipped them into her trousers, but her fuzzy brain allowed the shock more readily than if she’d been sober.

Take your time, Isabel, she urged silently, as she stroked herself. Take your time.

*

When they all converged on the airport the next day for their flight to Cairo, Kash wanted to indulge her fascination with Isabel and watch her unabashedly, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She felt guilty about how she’d surreptitiously watched her in the tub and used the experience to get herself off. She missed the detachment her camera afforded her.

In addition, Isabel wasn’t acting as though she regretted what had happened, as she had expected. No, Isabel was her usual perky, happy self. All smiles, greeting Kash with genuine warmth and discreetly not referencing their liaison or expressing any expectations. Classy. Yet her direct eye contact and warm tone made it clear that she had very much enjoyed what had transpired in the alley.

Kash’s heart fluttered, but she kept her expression neutral and tried not to think about the invitation in those deep blue eyes and of all the things she’d imagined doing with Isabel while she watched her climax in the hot tub. Isabel was making her want things out of her reach, like romance, and love, and trust, and really connecting with someone.

Their flight didn’t board for forty minutes, so relatively few people had gathered at the gate. She sat across and down a bit from Isabel, near enough to be polite and get a good view of her, but far enough away not to have to make conversation. They were near a large window and sunlight was streaming in, so she put on her sunglasses, grateful for the opportunity to conceal where her attention lay.

It’s your birthday coming up, that’s all. You’re going through some midlife thing, the drama queen worrying she’s going to end up alone. Though that concern was somewhat valid, it really wasn’t why she couldn’t stop obsessing about Isabel. There’s something about her. She makes me want to give her more…treat her differently…even be a better person.

The way Isabel routinely opened doors for strangers or offered an assisting elbow to the frail or unsteady impressed Kash. The friendly, interested tone she used in her interactions with ticket vendors, salespeople, wait staff, and the like also appealed to her. Most of the populace looked right through such people, barely acknowledging their presence. But Isabel engaged almost everyone she met, even briefly, in a way that always left them smiling.

You’re real, that’s what you are. A genuinely sweet and selfless individual. And a wickedly sexy one. That’s a potent combination. And why do you have to be so luscious in whatever you wear? Isabel had on an off-white linen suit from her new wardrobe, with a beige V-necked shell beneath. She was chic, and sexy, and extremely hard to resist.

Am I capable of monogamy? No woman had made her wonder such things. No. Stop thinking crazy. You have nothing to offer a woman like Isabel, so don’t encourage any further involvement. You’ll only hurt her.

*

“Here’s your cappuccino.” Gillian’s voice brought Isabel out of her musings. She wanted so much to watch Kash, but those sunglasses made it impossible to tell when she was looking her way, and she didn’t want to be caught rudely staring. She took the paper cup, and Gillian sank into the empty seat beside her.

“Thanks. Where’s your friend?” Isabel had been more than a little surprised that she hadn’t seen or heard from Gillian until she’d shown up at the airport, still with Ambra, the sizzling Italian woman she had danced away with at the club three nights earlier.

“Making some phone calls.” Gillian crossed her legs.

“So she’s coming to Cairo?” Gillian sometimes carried a one-night stand into a few days, or a week, but rarely continued one into another continent. “This one something special?”

Gillian shrugged, a new dreamy, faraway quality in her eyes.

“Well, not that anything’s going to come of it,” Gillian admitted. “But she’s something else, that’s for sure. The most charming woman I have ever met. Bar none. She is so damn irresistible.” Gillian was clearly smitten. “Formal manners, and all attentive and romantic. And so hot in bed.”

“And she must be taken with you, too, to come with us.”

Gillian grinned. “Well, we have been pretty much inseparable since we met. But enough about me. So when did you two finally get together?”

Isabel blushed, remembering the night before. She had to smile.

“Oho! I see it was great, too.” Gillian punched her playfully on the thigh. “But…if so, then why is she sitting over there?”

“It’s not been…what I expected,” Isabel confided in a low voice. “Fantastic,” she hastened to add. “I mean…unbelievably exciting. I only wish it could be…more.”

Gillian gave her a resigned smile. “Well, Izzy, these kinds of things…it’s all about having some fun and not dreaming for anything beyond what it is, whatever it is. Or was.”

“I know that,” Isabel said. “But…don’t you ever want more? Haven’t you ever met someone that you don’t want to let go of?”

“Sure I have,” Gillian admitted. “A few times, I’ve felt a spark of something besides ‘wanna fuck?’ So when that happens, if you’re lucky, maybe you both decide you want to see each other again.” She glanced down the length of the terminal, but her new girlfriend wasn’t in sight. “I’m sure going to be sorry to say good-bye to Ambra.” A long sigh followed, then she gave Isabel a frown of commiseration. “But I knew going into it with her, like you did with Kash, that this was only going to be an affair. I mean, look at how they live…and then at us. We want different things. We lead completely different lives.”

Can’t argue with that. She nodded her agreement.

“You have to be content with having whatever it is you have together,” Gillian concluded. “As long as it lasts. Maybe it’s not all you want. Maybe not by a long shot.” She stared off down the terminal again, seeking Ambra. “But sometimes it’s still truly wonderful and memorable. Maybe only a brief instant in time, but if it lives often enough in your head because of how incredible it made you feel…if it becomes one of your most frequent and fond memories…then it’s certainly worth the bittersweet disappointment that it couldn’t be more. No?”

“I’ve always worried about you a little,” Isabel said, taking Gillian’s hand. “You’re always so flippant about your nights out and kind of laugh them off anytime I suggest you might want to think about actually dating someone. I thought you might be averse to having a real relationship. But I see now you’re certainly open to it if it happens.”

She glanced over at Kash. From the tilt of her head, she appeared to be watching the agent behind the counter, who was busy checking in passengers; but with those dark glasses on, Kash could be staring right at her. I wish you’d take those things off. “And I have to admit,” she said, returning her attention to Gillian, “I’m glad you talked me into loosening up and being open to new things. My time with Kash, however brief, will certainly become a fond and frequent memory, that’s for sure.” Isabel could feel her skin get hot again as her mind flashed back to the alley.

“I’m glad you had a good time. And hey, if it’s any consolation, I think she really likes you. She couldn’t take her eyes off you at the club while we were dancing. And other times, too. I mean, she really watches you.” At Isabel’s surprised gasp she added, “And by the way, I essentially threw myself at her and she turned me down, basically saying sex was a bad idea, considering the circumstances.”

Isabel glanced over at Kash again. She hadn’t moved and was still infuriatingly unreadable.

“You’ll pardon my saying so,” Gillian went on, “but all of that didn’t deter her when it came to you, and perhaps that says something. Is it going to be awkward being around her for the rest of the trip?”

“No, no,” Isabel answered immediately because she certainly had no problem being around Kash, even if nothing further happened. Any chance to be near her a while longer was a blessing. And it didn’t seem as though it would be awkward at all for Kash. Polite, but distant, and acting completely unaffected. If she was interested in me, it was apparently only until she could get in my pants a time or two. “It’ll be fine.”

“I wonder what’s keeping Ambra,” Gillian said, her eyes riveted on the growing crowd.

“Really gone on her, aren’t you?”

Gillian grinned. “This one is hard to resist. The accent, the body, the manners. I’ve invited her to visit—not that I think she will. But who knows, right? You’re the one who’s always telling me anything is possible.”

“Whoa! What am I hearing? You mean to tell me you’re finally connecting with your inner romantic? ’Bout damn time!” She rubbed Gillian affectionately on the back. “I hope she takes you up on it, Gill, if she’s something special. I really hope she does.” Glancing over at Kash again, she noticed that the sky was now overcast, noticeably darkening the gate area, but Kash made no move to remove her sunglasses.

The gate agent announced that pre-boarding for their flight was now underway for travelers with children and special needs. Gillian glanced at her watch. “Jeez, I hope she hasn’t changed her mind or gotten hung up. Not much time before we leave.”

“She have a cell phone?”

“I don’t think I have time to track down a phone card.” Gillian frowned when the gate agent announced general boarding for all passengers. “Hey, you two go ahead. I’m going to wait until final boarding.”

“You sure?” Isabel glanced over at Kash, who was on her feet, carry-on bag over her shoulder and boarding pass and passport in hand. Facing her. Waiting for her. Like she had been listening in the whole time.

“Yeah,” Gillian urged. “Go. I’m right behind you.”

Kash waited for Isabel to precede her toward the gangway, not out of any sense of decorum, but so she could selfishly stare at Isabel’s ass and catch a whiff of her perfume.

The embarking passengers bunched up at the entrance to the plane, putting Kash and Isabel in close proximity. When they were stopped briefly at the door Isabel half turned, giving Kash, a handsbreadth behind, an unobstructed view of the cleavage revealed by her V-necked shell.

Watching the rise and fall of Isabel’s breasts was delicious torture, especially when she caught a glimpse of lacy white bra.

“What seat do you have?” Isabel asked.

Kash lost herself again in the deep blue of those inviting eyes. Not trusting her voice, she held up her boarding pass.

“One row behind and across the aisle,” Isabel said. “If you want some company during the flight, let me know and maybe we can get one of our seatmates to switch. Gillian’s arranged to be next to her new friend.”

Kash nodded and tried her hardest not to stare at Isabel’s chest.

The line started moving again, and when they got to Isabel’s row she turned sideways to let Kash through to the seat beyond. Their breasts brushed briefly as Kash passed, and when they did, their eyes made contact. Isabel smiled that imperfectly perfect smile and Kash melted, and without thinking she grinned back. She quickly tried to correct her lapse in judgment by averting her eyes and assuming a neutral expression, but the damage had been done. When she slipped into her seat and stole a glance, Isabel smiled at her with a knowing expression that said, Busted but good. You can’t stop thinking about last night either, can you?

Gillian and her Italian friend made it on board right before the doors were closed and settled in several rows ahead of them.

Kash didn’t attempt to change her seat or talk to Isabel during the more than three-hour flight, and remained distant as they retrieved their gear and rendezvoused with their Egyptian driver—an enthusiastic but solemn young man named Nazim. The car he drove was badly dented front and back and was barely large enough to contain all five of them. Isabel ended up squished between Kash and Gillian in the back. Ambra shared the front seat with all their carry-on bags.

The difference in their surroundings as they negotiated the chaotic, forty-minute ride to the hotel was jarring. They were definitely in another continent and culture.

She had never seen anything like the slum they passed on the highway and its desperate poverty. The scent of urine and trash hung pungent in the air, and only the lines of tattered laundry scattered among the ramshackle structures, and the occasional gaunt occupant staring out of a window, convinced her that people did indeed call such wretched and filthy structures home.

Most native women on the street were dressed modestly, despite the summer heat, their bodies fully covered and veils concealing all but their faces. Street vendors crowded the curbs, hunched beneath umbrellas and makeshift awnings, their wares displayed on blankets and tarps.

Sand coated every street and building, monument and living soul. The slightest breeze or any passing vehicle stirred it up, sometimes creating mini-sandstorms in the streets that would briefly obscure their vision. Garish billboards with bright colors and broad Arabic captions advertised movies and soda pop.

“Have you been here before?” Ambra asked Kash.

Kash nodded. “Many times.”

“Do you know the hotel?” Gillian chimed in.

“Yes. The Nile Hilton. Right by the river, so great balcony views again. You can see the pyramids in the distance.” There was a long pause. “And it has a nice pool.”

Isabel glanced at Kash, who was staring out the window with what could best be described as a rather guilty grin on her face. It took Isabel several seconds to link the pool mention…and balcony views…to her self-pleasuring session in the hot tub. Nah. No way. A coincidence. That’s all.

But the mere possibility that Kash had been watching sent her pulse racing. Yet another surprise. I’d certainly never have considered myself an exhibitionist.

“Well, you’ll get your own bed and balcony again,” Gillian told Isabel. “Ambra’s going to get a room and I’ll be staying with her.”

“Very busy now,” their driver interrupted, as he beeped his horn and swerved around a donkey-drawn cart overflowing with papers and trash. “No rooms.”

Ambra turned to Gillian in dismay, then the driver. “No rooms at the Hilton? Are you sure?”

“All tourist hotels,” Nazim clarified. “Americans. Japanese. Europeans. All here now. All full.”

“Merda,” Ambra said. Creases appeared in her forehead as she frowned at Gillian. “And now?”

Isabel glanced Kash’s way, but Kash was gazing out the window.

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Gillian said uncertainly as she gave Isabel a help-me-out-here-can-you.

Nazim cursed and laid on the horn as he jerked the car violently to the left to prevent a collision. As Isabel was thrown into Kash’s side, she wondered why Egypt apparently didn’t embrace the notion of marking lanes in the road.

Kash had surprisingly fast reflexes. She managed to partially catch Isabel; they ended up with Isabel’s head on her shoulder and Kash’s arm around her in a half-embrace.

“Sorry,” Isabel muttered, pushing herself off Kash as the car corrected. They had only brief contact, but her skin tingled from the sudden warm press of their bodies.

“No problem.” Kash wondered whether Isabel could feel, during their brief contact, how hard and fast her heart was beating.

Before they knew it, they were at the Hilton. While Nazim attended to their bags, they headed into the lobby. The concierge intercepted them before they made it halfway to the front desk.

“Miss Kash! How splendid for you to stay with us.” He was a rather short but Omar Sharif–handsome older gentleman with a well-trimmed mustache and an elegant splash of gray at his temples. His charcoal suit fit him perfectly. “I am Rasui. Welcome to the Hilton. May I show you and your party to your suites?”

Kash extended her hand and they shook. “Pleased to meet you, Rasui. And that would be lovely, but I should first alert you that we have an extra person and wonder if you can provide us another suite?”

When Rasui’s smile faltered slightly, Gillian added, “Doesn’t have to be a suite. Any room will do.”

The concierge did not immediately reject the request as impossible, but Kash knew he was well trained to mentally exhaust all possibilities—however remote—before daring to deny a celebrity any request. His expression and stiff body language told her the driver knew what he was talking about.

“I cannot immediately provide you with another room, I am very sorry to say,” he said at last, his tone effusively apologetic. “Of course, if there are any cancellations…but I am afraid the entire hotel is booked for the length of your stay with us. We certainly can provide an additional bed in either of your suites.”

“Great,” Gillian muttered under her breath. Then louder, “Izzy? Do you mind?”

“No. No, of course not,” Isabel replied.

Kash didn’t volunteer anything.

*

Well, that was certainly rude. Kash surveyed the sitting area of her suite and spacious bedroom beyond. She could easily have offered this room to Isabel and kept the bedroom for herself. It would have been the polite thing to do. Putting the three of them in the smaller suite would give Gillian and Ambra no privacy at all.

But it was impossible to share a confined space like this with Isabel right now. Seeing her in whatever she wore—or didn’t wear—to sleep in. Crossing paths as they came or went from the shower. Nope. No way. Already she couldn’t get Isabel out of her mind. If they were to be cooped up together, anything could happen.

Chapter Sixteen

At seven the next morning, Kash spotted the envelope that had been slipped under her door. Her first thought—no, hope, if she was honest—was that it was a note from Isabel. She didn’t even really care what it said; nearly anything would do, because she had been up half the night, missing her. Wanting so much to be with her, but fearing it, too.

It would have been much worse, though, if she had stayed here. At best, you’d have been just as awake and unable to pace through the whole suite. And to even think about the temptation of her on the other side of an unlocked door all the while, dressed in…? Speculation about what Isabel slept in had consumed a good portion of her waking thoughts the night before. She had conjured up the whole gamut of possibilities, but kept returning to the image of a silk teddy in black or red. Probably not at all what Isabel really wore to bed—she seemed more the tank-top-and-pajama-bottoms type—but Kash’s imagination wouldn’t forsake the teddy.

The envelope contained not a missive from Isabel, however, but a note from their Egyptian driver, who was supposed to pick her up at ten to scout locations.

Miss Kash,

Weather advisory has been issued for strong winds beginning tonight. Major sandstorms tomorrow. Please advise.

Nazim

This was certainly an unwelcome development. Sandstorms could shut down everything—all travel—and keep people indoors, often for several hours or a day or more.

A call to the concierge’s desk confirmed the forecast. She carried a cup of coffee out onto the balcony to consider the possibilities. The sky was clear and cloudless, with no sign of the trouble to come. The best thing to do, she decided, was to take advantage of the decent weather while it lasted.

Nazim answered on the first ring. She discussed a number of possibilities with him, told him what equipment she’d need, and set up a tentative itinerary for the day that would commence at eight thirty.

Then she called Isabel. She took several deep breaths before she dialed her room. Isabel picked up the phone almost immediately and sounded wide-awake.

“Yes? Hello?”

Kash felt her insides clench at the sound of Isabel’s voice. Oh, this is bad. This is so bad. “Isabel, it’s Kash.”

“Oh! Hi.” In two words, Kash heard Isabel’s clear delight at the unexpected call.

“I know we were supposed to do our shoot tomorrow, but a bad sandstorm’s forecast.” She tried to keep her voice even. Professional. “I’d like to reschedule for today. Can you be ready in an hour?”

“Sure. Of course.” Isabel’s sparkling exuberance made it difficult for Kash to remain unaffected.

“Good. Wear something comfortable. I’ll drop by your suite and pick out a few outfits for you for today, and we’ll go from there.”

“I’ll be ready.”

And ready she certainly was. When Isabel answered her door, she was wearing a pair of sexy, low-cut jeans and another button-down shirt. The shirt was lavender this time, but styled very much like the one she had worn in the alley.

They stared at each other for a very long and awkward moment. Kash couldn’t believe how time had slowed. Had it really been less than forty-eight hours since she had touched Isabel? Kissed those lips? It seemed infinitely longer. Far too long. And even more jarring, she realized she had known her less than two weeks. How quickly Isabel had become such a fixture in her thoughts. And she’ll as quickly leave my life. Don’t forget that.

Finally, Isabel broke the tension. “Come on in.” She stepped aside and allowed Kash into the sitting room, where selections from her new designer wardrobe lay on the couch and single bed. “They’re not up yet,” she added in a low voice, indicating Gillian and Ambra with a tilt of her head toward the closed door to the bedroom. “Late night.”

Kash’s mind filled with the image of Isabel, awake, listening to the sounds of sex emanating from the other room, and once again she felt like a heel for not volunteering to share her suite. “We’ll be quick,” she replied in an equally subdued tone, crossing to the bed to begin selecting Isabel’s wardrobe for the day. She picked out four outfits and had them packed into a garment bag and ready to go in a couple of minutes.

The uncomfortable strain between them continued during a silent elevator ride down to the lobby, where Nazim was waiting. During their drive to their first stop, Isabel tried a couple of times to initiate polite conversation, but when Kash barely responded, she gave up and concentrated on the scenery.

They did the requisite shots at the pyramids, including a few of Isabel on one of the many camels for hire, then moved to the nearby Sphinx for a few more photos. Through it all, Kash spoke only when necessary, giving instructions to Nazim or altering Isabel’s pose with small corrections—“Tilt your chin up slightly,” or “Turn a bit more this way.”

By now, Isabel was beginning to get a pretty good sense of how to pose and what expressions Kash seemed to favor, so she tried flirty and fierce, seductive and sexy, and all of the other attitudes that Kash had directed her to feign. Inside, though, she was beginning to seethe, even though she had to admit that Kash was really starkly beautiful against the endless desert backdrop, her brown hair a nice contrast to her lightweight khaki trousers and safari-style shirt.

Though the shutter kept clicking away, Kash’s expression never changed. Not even when Isabel tried deliberately provocative poses. Cold, hard Kash. Yup. For sure you’ve heard that before, if you treat all the women you screw the way you’re treating me.

She tried to keep telling herself she had no reason to be annoyed. I got precisely what I asked for. And it was great. It was really beginning to rankle her, though, to have Kash be so damn…well, unnecessarily remote. Every now and then she wanted to shake her. How can what happened in that alley have been an experience I can’t forget, and one you don’t wish to acknowledge ever happened?

When they stopped for lunch Nazim took advantage of their reticence to initiate conversation. He peppered Kash with questions about photography, celebrities she’d met, and her travels, while Isabel and Kash tried unsuccessfully not to constantly look at each other.

Their third shoot of the day was on a rented felucca, one of the ubiquitous native sailboats that plied the Nile. Kash expected disaster any second. All the ingredients were there: a slightly tippy boat, lots of water, expensive photographic equipment, and a very sexy and slightly accident-prone distraction. But somehow they escaped the experience unscathed and moved on to their final location, a village on the Nile about an hour’s drive from Cairo.

As they walked about and mingled with the natives, Kash shot a variety of candids. Young children in clean but well-worn clothes ran alongside them, curious and smiling. Old men stared with serious expressions from the doorways of homes built of mud bricks and straw.

“One more stop, and then we’re done.” Kash led them back toward Nazim’s battered car. “We’ll do some shots out in the desert. The light is really wonderful.”

They drove until Kash found the perfect backdrop for the lowering sun: a vast desert landscape, with the village far in the distance. No one else was within sight as Nazim parked at the edge of the road.

“Do you want me in another outfit?” Isabel knew what was coming, and she thought that if anything might get a reaction out of Kash today, this would be it. She would push aside her annoyance and make one more effort to see if she could coerce Kash into something more.

“Yes, please.”

As expected, Kash handed her the final ensemble. When Isabel had seen Kash select it that morning, she had almost objected. She’d been afraid of wearing it out in public because she thought it far too immodest for their surroundings, too likely to cause ill will. So she was greatly relieved Kash had reserved it for a location where no one would see her. Nazim and Kash turned their backs while she quickly changed.

A pale yellow minidress in a very sheer fabric, it showed off as many sexy body parts as possible while still allowing the wearer to avoid arrest for indecent exposure. At least in the West. Here it could certainly get her into trouble.

Ordinarily, this type of garment would have made her extremely self-conscious, but Nazim had been nothing but respectful and polite. And Isa was in her bloodstream now and was enjoying too much the newly discovered thrill of taking risks, being daring, and oozing sexuality. “Okay, I’m ready,” she told them, once she had made certain her breasts were covered by the thin panels of material.

Nazim’s pupils widened and his whole body stiffened. After a moment, he looked away, out over the desert, and kept his eyes averted, his only outward signs that he might find Isabel’s appearance disturbing.

Kash, on the other hand, had quite the opposite reaction. Her gaze was fixed on Isabel.

“How do you want me?” Isabel’s tone was all innuendo.

Over easy. Kash took a deep breath before speaking. It was difficult not to outwardly display how excited she was getting. “I want you to blend with the environment. Make it one with you. I want you to show how being here makes you feel.”

Isabel wet her lips and struck a sexy, powerful pose, face-on to the camera, her gaze smoldering and lustful, as if saying, I’m going to show you how I feel being with you, instead, Kash.

Kash focused as she zoomed in with a long lens from fifteen feet away. Her heart was already beating fast because of the dress, but it accelerated rapidly when she brought Isabel’s eyes into close-up view.

It was as though they were face-to-face. Isabel’s eyes said I know you want me. I want you, too.

If they really had been standing close together, Kash would have kissed her. Instead, she depressed the shutter and enjoyed the painful twitch low in her abdomen. Click. Click. Click. It was doubtful these shots would appear in the magazine, but Kash would refer to them often.

She started to sweat, though the sun was rapidly descending toward the horizon, and she chalked her reaction up to the heat emanating from Isabel. Click. Click.

The next pose Isabel chose was sensually playful, presenting her backside to the camera and looking over her shoulder with a come-hither suggestiveness. Click. Click. Click. Damn, she’s got a nice ass. Kash zoomed in on her eyes again. Now they said You want to fuck me, don’t you?

Her hands started to tremble, so she gripped her camera tight to keep Isabel from seeing. Click. Click.

Now Isabel got down on her hands and knees and struck a pose more Penthouse than Sophisticated Women. Kash did not correct her mistake. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Another, even more provocative, pose. Click. Click. The sweat really poured off Kash now, running down her back in a thick trickle along her spine. Hot weather always made her a little horny anyway, but Isabel was making her insides twist in the agony of acute arousal.

Kash heard a muffled cough from behind her and glanced around. Nazim had put some distance between them and had his back to them. He obviously didn’t want to witness what was going on.

She watched him for a few seconds, and when she turned back around she discovered that Isabel had changed positions again. She was on her feet, and this pose was clearly not intended for the camera. Now, who can be expected to be able to resist that? Not thinking, she stepped away from her tripod to get an unobstructed view in the flesh, instead of through a viewfinder.

Isabel wasn’t really posing at all. She was…casually waiting. Expectant. The invitation in her eyes, even at this distance, unmistakable. Now they said Let’s go somewhere, huh? Enough of this, already.

Damn. Kash couldn’t stop staring. A heavy bead of sweat ran between her breasts, over her stomach, and down to the apex of her thighs. It felt like a tongue, Isabel’s tongue, tracing a path to her clit.

“Isabel, I need you to…” let me take off your clothes. Kash coughed, clearing her throat. “Uh…do something. Pose. We’re not finished yet.” With great reluctance, she returned to her tripod and focused on the image in her viewfinder. Isabel hadn’t moved.

Kash looked around the camera at her. “Isabel?”

“Tell me, Kash,” Isabel said, her tone honey-thick and seductive. “Why are you acting as though we’re not hot for each other when it’s so obvious that we are?”

Kash’s mouth went dry. It was hard to swallow and she wished for the distance that her camera provided. She felt open and vulnerable, certain that Isabel could see, despite her best efforts, how excited she was.

“I’ve told you, Isabel, we had what we had, and it’s over. I’m here to take pictures of you, not to satisfy your needs. Can we get back to work now?” The words were difficult to say because she didn’t feel them, but she was so far out of her comfort zone—crazy with desire and yet terrified, too—that she just wanted to get Isabel to stop looking at her that way. And fast.

“Bullshit, Kash.” Isabel shook her head and sighed. “We could have such a great time together during the next few days, but you’re bent on denying this…this chemistry between us. Not only denying it, but acting completely…well, beyond cool…almost to the point of being rude. Why?”

She sought a suitable answer, but she felt like she was standing in quicksand. None of her pat and practiced responses, which she used when a woman wanted more, would work with Isabel.

There had been a trickle of breeze now and then, but suddenly a hot gust of wind blew through, stirring up the sand and pelting them with it, stinging exposed flesh and making them all turn their faces away. When the long, sustained blow of several seconds was over, they spat out sand and brushed it off their arms, faces, necks. It was in their ears and embedded at the edge of their eyes, and it had made its way into every loose article of clothing.

“That was horrible!” Isabel reached under her dress to brush the sand from her breasts, a sight that Kash couldn’t ignore, so she didn’t immediately remember her camera.

“Christ!” At least all her other equipment was still in her bags. But the Hasselblad she was holding would be a bitch to clean, and the lens was probably ruined.

She heard a grinding noise behind her and pivoted. Nazim was trying unsuccessfully to start the car, which had been pointed grill-first in the direction the wind had blown in from. Oh, fuck.

Another, shorter gust of wind blew across them, and she and Isabel cowered while Nazim tried once again.

“Get in!” Kash yelled to Isabel once the breeze died down. She quickly unscrewed her camera and collapsed the tripod, and made it to the vehicle a few steps behind Isabel. They both scrambled into the back.

It was easy to translate Nazim’s short outbursts as curses. They grew louder as the car’s labored efforts to start got quieter. Another strong gust of wind stirred the sand and obscured their view for several seconds. Neither of them spoke until Nazim slammed both palms against the steering wheel, so hard the little car shook. He cursed again in Arabic, then took a deep, calming breath and faced them. “I will walk for help back to the village,” he said. “You stay here.”

“We should all go,” Kash said, and Isabel opened her mouth to agree.

He held up his hand. “Please. These storms can get bad very fast. It is better if you are here safe. We may get separated, and I can move faster alone.” He partially unwrapped the cotton cloth turban on his head so that part of it could cover his face. He was indeed much more suitably attired to deal with hiking back to the village—covered head to ankle in the traditional long loose shirt, or galabiya, and matching trousers. “I have dealt with this many times before. I will be back as soon as I can.”

“All right,” Kash conceded, and Nazim got out of the car and started off toward the village at a brisk pace. He hadn’t gone twenty steps before another blast of wind obscured him temporarily from view. When he reappeared, he was a good bit farther away, slowed but not stalled by the sand, walking in the middle of the pavement.

“I should change,” Isabel said.

“Yes. Right,” Kash agreed, glancing over to find Isabel’s dress open in a way that allowed her a clear view of cleavage and a lot of breast. No bra. She pulled the keys from the ignition to get Isabel’s bag from the trunk. Nazim was making good time, but the village was quite a distance, and she could see mini-sandstorms springing up in the vast desert around them.

She opened the door nearest Isabel and handed her the bag but stayed outside the car, watching Nazim. Imagining Isabel inside, getting naked, was making her feel restless and out of control. A sandstorm began in the distance and gained strength as it barreled toward her, obliterating the sun and painting the sky yellow. She watched it until it got close, then dove into the driver’s seat right before it reached them. She knew Isabel hadn’t had time to fully change.

Kash was able to resist the urge to turn around, but though she knew better, she couldn’t keep from glancing in the rearview mirror. It allowed her only a view of Isabel’s face; those deep blue eyes were watching her intently. And from her expression, Kash knew that Isabel was nude.

Neither of them moved, or even blinked. In the stillness that followed, Kash became aware of how fast she was breathing. Isabel was, too.

She gripped the steering wheel so hard her forearms ached.

Isabel leaned forward against Kash’s seat while maintaining eye contact in the mirror. Kash could faintly feel her warm breath against the back of her neck. Oh, don’t do that. That’s just cruel.

Another powerful gust outside obliterated their surroundings and shook the car, reminding them of their isolation.

All Kash could see in the rearview were Isabel’s eyes…the pupils dark with arousal, the expression in them unforgiving need.

This can’t be happening. She watched in horror as Isabel leaned forward even farther, until her lips were against Kash’s ear. Isabel paused there, her breathing fast and uneven. Then she licked the back of Kash’s ear, and Kash almost went through the roof.

She stiffened, feeling that lick right between her legs, and squirmed in her seat, unconsciously trying to create some friction where she needed it most. When Isabel licked her again, totally against her will she relaxed into the wet caress, the throbbing between her legs growing painfully insistent.

Isabel’s tongue immediately accepted the offering and traced a slow, sensual path along Kash’s neck to her jawline. Kash could feel warm, rapid exhalations against her cheek as Isabel’s mouth sought hers.

She ached to put her hand between her legs, to say fuck it to all the voices in her head telling her this was a bad idea. She was at a crossroads and had only seconds to decide what to do before Isabel’s mouth claimed hers. She knew that if it did, she would be lost, swept headlong toward an unknown destination.

Her terror overcame her lust, and she pulled away. “Get dressed,” she said hoarsely. “Nazim should be back soon.” Grateful for a lull in the wind, she got out of the car, her heart beating furiously. She was so turned on she could think of nothing but how badly she needed to come and how frustrated she was that she could apparently do nothing about it. She was angry at herself, too, for being so out of control and unable to cope with what was happening to her.

*

Isabel pulled on her jeans, her eyes on Kash all the while, trying to gauge what was going on with her. She couldn’t stop what seemed to be happening between them. Her body simply craved Kash’s in a way she felt completely helpless to fight.

A part of her was beginning to feel foolish since Kash had spurned her so often. But she knew in her heart, from the expression in Kash’s eyes and how Kash had kissed her, that there was definite heat between them. The more you feel for her, the worse it gets. But how much longer are you going to keep throwing yourself at her?

Kash stayed outside whenever possible, and when the wind forced her back into the car, she stayed in the passenger front seat, eyes ahead, and made no further conversation.

Isabel, frustrated at being rejected yet again, had nearly decided to make no further moves on Kash. But she changed her mind about the time that Kash returned to the car for the third time. By then, she understood.

Clearly, Kash wasn’t aware she was even humming, let alone that the tunes she chose obviously reflected some of what was going on in her head. The first time she got in the car she was humming Louis Armstrong’s “A Kiss to Build a Dream On.”

When she came back the second time, she had changed to another old standard—Ella Fitzgerald’s “Something’s Gotta Give.”

The third song Isabel considered definitive evidence that Kash was much more affected than she let on. It was a Foreigner tune from the ’80s—“I Want to Know What Love Is.”

Isabel was content to say nothing as Kash came and went, grateful to have these little glimpses into the enigmatic woman and what was really going on beneath her distant exterior. They also gave her an insight into Kash’s musical tastes, which were apparently quite varied. She had never heard Kash burn through so many tunes in such a short period of time before and wondered whether the fast pace was relevant to her stress or anxiety, or something else Kash was feeling.

By the time help arrived, Isabel had also heard snippets of the Fine Young Cannibals’ “She Drives Me Crazy” and Boyz II Men’s “I’ll Make Love to You,” as well as bits of two tunes she couldn’t identify. Oh, how she wanted to identify those mystery songs. So bad she could taste it. So bad she wanted to ask Kash each time what exactly she was humming, but she knew such questions would make her instantly self-conscious and all too aware of what she was doing.

It was after nightfall before Nazim returned with another man in an old wreck of a car with a makeshift cloth bib tied in front of the grill to keep the sand out. They piled in with their bags and set off toward the village. “The road to Cairo is closed,” Nazim informed them. “We will have to stay in the village. This man knows somewhere we can go.”

Kash had frankly been surprised that Nazim had managed to find a car in the village to come get them. She knew the place was too small to have any kind of hotel or other accommodation for outsiders.

“Thank you for your help,” Kash said to the driver, a slight man of perhaps thirty, with dark eyes and stained teeth. When Nazim repeated in Arabic what she had said, the man smiled and nodded.

They had to stop five times on the way back to the village because of the blowing sand, sometimes for several minutes. The situation was definitely getting worse. The driver took them to a small squat home made of mud brick, a short distance away from the area they had explored on foot. He said something in Arabic to them, which translated as “Welcome to my home. May I ask you please to take your shoes off before entering?”

“His home,” Isabel exclaimed as she bent down to remove her sandals. “Gosh, that’s wonderfully generous.”

Though humble, the three-room dwelling was clean and well kept. There were Persian rugs everywhere and low tables, with pillows to sit on. They met the man’s wife, who was wearing what Kash was certain were her best garments, and were shown their room—a small chamber with a mattress not much bigger than a single bed. It was, no doubt, the couple’s own bed, freshly made up for their guests.

“We can’t take their bed,” Kash protested to Nazim. Her objection had little to do with imposing on their hosts and everything to do with the prospect of sharing that little bed with Isabel. Though the occupants spoke no English, Kash’s tone showed that she was displeased, which drew immediate frowns from both of them.

“It is an insult to them to refuse their hospitality,” Nazim said gently.

“Then we mustn’t refuse.” Isabel, standing beside Kash, placed a hand on her arm. “We mustn’t.”

Kash knew she was right. They couldn’t decline the offer or the couple would lose face, so she said to the homeowner, “We are very grateful for your generous offer.”

Nazim translated, and the couple beamed. The man gave a small bow.

The woman began speaking rapidly to Nazim, who nodded. “She has been cooking for us and hopes that we have brought big appetites.”

“Yes. You bet.” Kash was indeed hungry, but she was also grateful for anything that would delay lying down next to Isabel.

Chapter Seventeen

“How long are you going to keep avoiding this?”

Kash knew the confrontation was coming. She had seen it in Isabel’s eyes throughout the long evening as they ate the tempting array of dishes and lingered over strong coffee while lounging on the oversized pillows. Their hosts, initially quite reserved, relaxed as the visit progressed and deluged them with questions about their lives, their jobs, and their families. Isabel answered with candor and unexpected humor. Kash, on the other hand, volunteered very little about herself, except for the general information that had been well documented by the media.

She and Isabel had said almost nothing to each other, but Isabel had positioned herself across from Kash and looked at her often with a definite I-have-plans-for-you-later directness that kept Kash on edge.

And now, they were alone together in an eight-foot by ten-foot room, dimly lit by a few small candles.

“Let it go, Isabel.” Kash walked over to the only window and stood before it, staring out, her back to Isabel. It was very warm with the window closed, and there was no view; the swirling sand obscured any lights that might have been visible from neighboring homes. Her blood was racing but she worked to appear unaffected, by trying to have a relaxed posture and putting her hand in her pocket. Go to sleep, Isabel. Lie down and go to sleep and don’t tempt me anymore.

Isabel was disheartened by Kash’s answer, but it wasn’t long before her spirits lifted. There she goes again. Isabel had to strain to even hear the tune, let alone identify it. She crept a few steps closer, so she could make out what Kash was humming this time.

“The Nearness of You.”

It gave her courage. She quietly crossed to Kash, took a deep breath, and slipped her arms around Kash’s waist from behind. The humming stopped.

Kash straightened, and every nerve and muscle in her body tensed, but she didn’t pull away. Isabel took this reaction as tacit encouragement and pressed against Kash’s back. They were close enough in height that she could rest her head on Kash’s shoulder.

Softly, Isabel started singing the song that Kash had been humming. She had a beautiful rich alto, and she sang with meaning. As she did, she traced lightly over Kash’s stomach with her fingertips, and it wasn’t long before Kash began to relax against her.

“Come to bed,” Isabel whispered.

“Nothing more is going to happen between us,” Kash said unsteadily. “You go ahead, and I’ll be there soon.”

“Stop denying this, will you?” Isabel loosened her hold on Kash and pivoted her until they faced each other. Before Kash could respond, Isabel slipped one hand behind her neck, pulled their faces together, and kissed her.

Isabel’s lips were feather soft as they glanced over Kash’s, and as they did, Isabel trembled, a shudder of poised anticipation. A heartbeat later, her mouth laid claim to Kash’s, firm and insistent. Her tongue demanded entry, wetly caressing Kash’s lips, pushing in, and Kash’s mind fogged as she surrendered to the rush of feeling pouring through her. When Isabel kissed her, it was as though her whole body was being kissed.

With her lips, and teeth, and tongue, she returned Isabel’s passion, and the kiss grew so heated she didn’t immediately realize that Isabel had managed to unfasten her trousers and unzip her fly.

She became aware of it when Isabel’s fingertips slipped between her shirt and pants and touched the naked skin of her stomach. She closed her own hand firmly around Isabel’s wrist. “No, Isabel. I told you.”

“Yes. You told me,” Isabel agreed. Kash’s stomach muscles had gone suddenly rigid beneath her hand, but she didn’t withdraw it and was encouraged when Kash allowed it to remain. “But you also said the way you usually are with women didn’t feel right with me. So let it be different, Kash. Let me touch you.” She gave Kash several slow, wet kisses on her neck. She wasn’t ordinarily comfortable with taking the initiative sexually, but she knew that she had to with Kash. “You can deny it all you like, but I can tell from the things you say to me with your eyes, from the way your body moves against mine, and especially from the way you kiss me, that you want me to, very much. Am I wrong?”

Kash didn’t respond verbally, but she took her hand away from Isabel’s wrist. When she did, Isabel began moving her fingertips lightly over Kash’s abdomen, tracing circuitous paths that moved lower with each rotation. The muscles beneath her hand began to relax. “Do you like that? Feel good?”

Her mouth was still nuzzling Kash’s neck, so she felt more than saw Kash’s nod of assent. “I crave it, Kash. Touching you. Exciting you the way you excite me.”

“You do, Isabel.” Kash’s voice was strained. Her hands, which were now on Isabel’s ass, gripped tighter but didn’t move. Isabel knew that she must be struggling with what was happening.

“Please let it happen, Kash. I want to so very much. So much.” She punctuated every other word with more kisses and gentle bites on Kash’s neck. Let me make love to you. She couldn’t say the words aloud for fear of chasing Kash away, but she felt the truth of them in her heart. No matter how improbable or impossible, she was falling in love, falling fast and hard, and this was definitely making love for her, not just sex.

Kash’s heart was pounding and her mouth was parched. It was warm in the room with the window closed, and perspiration trickled down her chest, between her breasts, as though chasing Isabel’s hand to push it lower, toward the swollen, ready ache between her legs. But she couldn’t ask for it. She was doing her best merely to allow it.

She roughly massaged Isabel’s ass as she took a half step back so that she could use the wall behind her for support. Her head spun as she leaned back against the cool brick and closed her eyes, and her legs felt rubbery as she spread them to allow Isabel greater access. This was as much encouragement as she could manage.

Isabel’s hand detoured from its sweetly torturous exploration of her lower abdomen and slipped to the waistband of her trousers to pull them down and off, exposing her overheated skin to the air.

“Jesus, Kash, that is so hot.”

She opened her eyes hazily to find Isabel staring at her black string bikinis with a lustful expression. Kash got harder, and her need for release intensified unbearably. Please touch me, Isabel. Please. I’ll die if you don’t.

As if answering her unspoken plea, Isabel slipped her hands beneath the slim waistband of the thong and smoothed it over her thighs and off. Kash’s clit grew harder still, and she bit her lower lip to keep from voicing her desire.

Isabel slowly straightened to stand again before her and on the way ran her hands up Kash’s ankles, calves, and thighs, palms spread to explore, getting her used to the feel of a woman’s touch on her body again after so damn long. So damn long. Was I waiting for you, Isabel? It sure feels as though I was. With you, it’s almost…easy.

She closed her eyes when Isabel touched her stomach again, moving upward, this time to unfasten the buttons on her shirt. Without looking, she put her hands around Isabel, who stopped her, gently placing them instead at her sides, palms flat against the wall.

Kash gritted her teeth at the surrender of control but allowed it for, surprisingly, it only increased the pulse between her legs. “Isabel.” It came out more growl than word, but had the desired effect. At once, her shirt was open and Isabel’s mouth was on her breast. Oh, fuck, yes. She spread her legs farther and braced for deliverance.

Isabel built her slowly, and every blessed bit of it, from that first maddeningly light touch of her fingers to the driving thrusts that shattered her, were somehow worth the long wait, the self-imposed exile of sexual solitude her life had become. When she finally came, she was weak and gasping, and sank to her knees, scraping her back against the rough brick.

“You okay?” Isabel gently inquired from somewhere close. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Dared not even open her eyes, afraid that Isabel could see how vulnerable she had let herself become. Kash felt raw, and exposed, and suddenly afraid that she had let things go much too far.

With Isabel, she had felt out of control almost from the start. All along, I’ve been trying to tell myself that Isabel couldn’t handle sex with me without complications and expectations. But it’s not her at all. It’s me. Somehow I knew that if I let her touch me, I’d be lost.

Now what? What have I done? I let her in, all the way in, when I’m going to have to say good-bye to her in a little more than a week. Kash began to realize and accept how truly important Isabel had become.

“Isabel,” she said when she could find her voice. “It’s late. Why don’t you get ready to go to sleep?” She indicated the bed with a tilt of her head, feeling too vulnerable to be able to meet Isabel’s eyes.

“Kash?”

She could hear the concern in Isabel’s quiet inquiry, but had no ability to do anything about it at the moment. “Please, Isabel.”

“All right, Kash.” Kash heard a soft sigh, then the soft footfalls of her retreat toward the bed, the sounds of her undressing, and the quiet stillness after Isabel had slipped beneath the covers.

Only then did she redress and extinguish all the candles but one faint one, near the head of the bed. She stood over Isabel, who was watching her with the same uncertainty and confusion that she was feeling to her core. Much as she wanted to give Isabel some reassurances that somehow, something had just changed between them, she could not. She’d stepped in some kind of quicksand, and she couldn’t bring herself to succumb to it. “Sleep. Sweet dreams.”

“Are you going to join me?” It was more plea than question.

“Isabel, I…I’m not very comfortable sharing a bed with you,” Kash admitted. “Especially one that size. I sleep alone, except when I drift off unintentionally.”

“I’ll be very respectful, Kash,” Isabel said. “I mean, I’ll try not to touch you, if you don’t want me to. But it is a small bed, and I might accidentally put an arm over you or curl up next to you while we sleep. Can’t help it.”

Kash felt her skin get hotter with the prospect of Isabel lazily cozying up behind her, half-asleep. That would certainly wake me up in a hurry. Would I be able to stop myself from touching her, getting even more irrevocably lost in her embrace? I’m not certain I would. “Thanks for the warning. Please don’t take it personally if you wake up and I’m curled up on a pillow on the floor.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll try not to,” Isabel replied. She was hurt, though she clearly tried to hide it.

You try so hard to please and encourage me, though I’ve treated you pretty shabbily at times, pushing you away again and again. I can’t hurt you anymore. And I can’t let you hurt me. Kash sat on the edge of the bed. “I…I’m not in a familiar place right now, Isabel. I need a little time alone.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Kash. Or in any way increase the distance you already want to put between us. But you…make me feel so much. And I wanted…still want…to share that experience. As much as I can, as long as I’m able. I’ve…I’ve come to care a lot about you.”

Isabel’s voice was low and somehow extraordinarily soothing, as though by just listening to her, Kash could heal the fractures that all the women who had used her had inflicted.

“I don’t regret what happened, Isabel. Not for a moment. I wanted very much for you to touch me.” However brief their time together was to be, Kash wanted Isabel to know that she, too, had impressed her, deeply. She owed her that much. “You’re an extraordinary woman, and I’ve come to care a great deal about you, too.”

Isabel smiled, and Kash’s heart melted. She would miss that lopsided smile, so much. Along with so many other things. “Sleep now. It’s very late. I’m going to stay up a while.” And try to figure out how the hell I’m going to manage without you in my life.

Chapter Eighteen

Kash yawned and massaged the crook in her neck she’d gotten from nodding off, something she thought impossible given her posture and current mental and emotional state. She sat beneath the window, back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of her. The sandstorm was blowing in earnest, and the steady drumming of the tiny grains against the glass had lulled her, like the soothing cadence of a wire brush on cymbals in a good piece of jazz.

Knowing Isabel was across the room, half naked in bed, was driving her mad. What have you done to me, Isabel, that suddenly so much of my whole life seems…wrong? How can I go back to Manhattan and act as if all of this never happened? She rubbed her eyes and tried to see her watch. Another half hour until dawn.

The sandstorm seems appropriate, somehow. All Isabel, a combination of such tiny things that you don’t feel threatened at first…you don’t see it coming, but all of a sudden, the world as you know it is gone, and you have no idea which way is up. In the scant two weeks since they’d first met, those simple traits that made up Isabel—her sweet and open honesty, perky optimism, dogged and sexy determination—had combined to obscure Kash’s vision of where her future lay.

All she knew for sure was that her old routine didn’t fit so well anymore. She didn’t think she could get much further satisfaction out of drinking the night away alone and going to the right parties and screwing models now and then. And taking bullshit pictures because it’s easy and gives you plenty of women to fuck.

That thought led her to the answer as to what to do next. She would try to regain the passion she once had for what she did. Bury herself in her work. Photography was the one thing that might be enough to get her mind off Isabel and her life headed in a positive new direction.

As soon as Kash heard people up and about in the outer room, she slipped out of the bedroom and away from Isabel.

*

Isabel knew immediately that Kash had never joined her in bed. The other side of the thin covering was unwrinkled, the pillow untouched. She frowned in disappointment. I bet she got no sleep at all. It had taken her a long while to doze off, her mind too preoccupied with trying to think of something she might say or do to get Kash to let her guard down and open herself up to the possibility that something real—something deep—might develop between them.

Kash’s admission that she had come to care for her, too, had been a welcome surprise. But she didn’t allow herself to take it as encouragement for the future. And that was what she wanted with Kash. She knew that now. A future. Or at the very least, more time. Time for Kash to learn to trust again. Time for the two of them to get to know each other better. Time to see if something more than a brief affair might come from their undeniable mutual attraction and growing connection.

She thought back to what Kash had told her about her previous relationships. Though Kash had avoided any kind of emotional commitment for some time, she was certainly capable of love. She had once loved, and loved deeply—she had just been terribly hurt and was too afraid of it happening again to open herself up.

Well, we still have ten days left. And things seem to be moving in a positive direction. She let me touch her and opened up to me a little.

One thing was certain. They wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Her watch said it was eight in the morning, but she could scarcely tell it from the way the sandstorm had blotted out the sun. Dressing quickly, she joined the others and found them clustered tightly together on pillows in the outer room, focused on Kash’s laptop.

All of them looked up at Isabel when she came in and hailed her with good mornings and smiles, but only Kash held her eyes. Nazim and their Egyptian hosts immediately returned their attention to whatever Kash was showing them.

“Evidently I’m missing something pretty fascinating,” Isabel observed as she moved to a place behind Kash where she could also see the screen.

“Oh, yes, truly magnificent,” Nazim answered without taking his eyes from the computer, which currently displayed a full-screen photo, black and white. It was an adolescent boy in the Khan al-Khalili bazaar in Cairo, stoking coals for a glassblower. He was rail thin and his shirt was stained and dark with sweat, but his eyes held no anger or depression with his wretched lot in life, only placid acceptance.

After a few seconds, the screen pixilated into another photo, brilliant with color this time. An elderly Asian woman with a flowery dress was weaving a basket of green fronds in a lush tropical paradise. Once again Kash had captured her at the precise instant where her expression told the story of her life. The satisfied smile on her face said she had been doing this forever, and she kept at it because she liked to, not because she had to.

“Lovely,” Isabel commented. “Where was it taken?”

“Thailand,” Kash said.

The third was an Indian elephant-keeper, caught smiling as his charge rubbed his back with her trunk. The fourth, a dour Russian guard with severely bloodshot eyes and a mustache caked with ice.

There were many more like them, and all had captured their subjects in a way that conveyed much more than simple photos usually did.

“Are these published in a book or something?” Isabel had always respected Kash’s talent as a photographer; she thought her reputation well deserved. Her celebrity portraits also captured their subjects in an authentic and insightfully unique way. But while the star shots nearly always had some element of unexpected humor, these portraits painted a moving snapshot of the common man, caught at work. Isabel thought it was remarkable how well Kash was able to convey whether the subjects enjoyed or despised their labors.

“No. These are some photos from my travels, many years ago.”

“You have a fine talent, Kash,” Nazim remarked, and their Egyptian host and his wife echoed his enthusiasm.

As she studied the photos, Isabel sensed that Kash had probably spent some time getting to know her subjects, to ensure that whatever pose and expression she chose to represent them reflected their true nature, just as her celebrity shots did. And this realization made her relax quite a lot about how she would be portrayed in Sophisticated Women. Although she still abhorred the media attention that her appearance on the cover would likely generate, at least she felt confident that the cover would not be something she would dislike. Kash will show me only in a positive way, I’m sure.

“You should let people see these,” she urged as Kash exited her photo program. Their hosts were now in the kitchen preparing breakfast, and Nazim was helping out, so they had a few minutes out of earshot. They were lounging side by side on pillows, Kash seated, her laptop on a low table in front of her, and Isabel lying on her side, propped up on one elbow. “They’re extraordinary.”

Kash faced her. She was used to people complimenting her photographs. But usually her popular advertisements or sexy model shots drew the attention. “Most people like the other stuff I do.”

“Oh, I think you do all types of photography well, Kash,” Isabel said. “You have a wonderful eye. But I like these best. These…well, these are art. They say something. They make you think.” She blushed, suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, sorry. I don’t mean to imply that your magazine covers and other stuff aren’t important.”

Kash smiled. “I know what you mean, Isabel. No offense taken. In fact, I’m happy you appreciate what I was trying for with these.”

“So…if that was what you were trying for, why haven’t you put them out there?”

Kash considered her answer. “Those were all shot before I got famous. I took three months for myself and traveled the world. I always intended them to be part of something larger, but I got sidetracked from that idea not long after I got back.”

“Sidetracked?”

“Got my first magazine cover,” Kash supplied. “And things kind of took off for me quickly after that. I mean, I got deluged with offers, and then I met Lainie.”

Isabel nodded. “It’s a shame you didn’t pursue that project. These photographs could open some minds.”

Kash started to say she had, in fact, been thinking about picking up that long-delayed project, which was why she’d dug out the photos in the first place. But a sudden change in Isabel’s expression stopped her.

Isabel had happened to glance at Kash’s laptop. When she did, she sat up abruptly and a quick succession of reactions crossed her face—confusion, then recognition, then horror.

By the time Kash glanced back at the computer, the picture displayed was of a smiling Isabel at the Eiffel Tower.

That’s obviously not what she’s upset about. As she quickly closed the lid of the laptop, Kash berated herself for not remembering her screen saver. She’d set it to randomly display her growing folder of contest/trip photos, so it was filled with shots of Isabel. Among them were the ones she’d taken with her telephoto lens of Isabel climaxing in the hot tub. That had to have been what she had seen. Damn.

“What the hell was that?” Isabel asked, so loud that Nazim poked his head through the doorway from the kitchen.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, fine.” Kash waved him off, and he took the hint and returned to what he’d been doing.

“I asked you a question, Kash.” Isabel kept her voice down, but she made no attempt to hide her outrage. She knew precisely what she had seen, though she had only glimpsed the picture. Among others, Kash had secretly photographed her with a telephoto lens as she masturbated, capturing her with vivid clarity right as she climaxed.

Kash wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I apologize, Isabel. And I’ll delete those photos. I promise you. I shouldn’t have taken them.”

“That’s an understatement. Talk about invasion of privacy! Why did you?”

Kash shrugged and shifted uneasily on the pillow. “I’d had a lot to drink.”

The apology and explanation didn’t help. “That’s no excuse. What you did was unbelievably callous. And unimaginably indiscreet—having them on your laptop like that where anyone could see them! What were you going to do with these? Do you take pictures of the women you’ve fucked to keep as trophies?”

“No, Isabel, of course not. No one would have seen them. No one.”

Isabel got to her feet. “That doesn’t carry a lot of weight with me, Kash. You totally disrespected me and disregarded my feelings.”

“You have every right to be angry.”

“No shit. You know, Kash, you’re not one to talk about how women have used and taken advantage of you. You need to look in a mirror. How have you been treating me?”

When Kash stared down at her feet and didn’t answer, Isabel left her alone to consider what she had said. She needed some time as well. This was a new side of Kash, and she didn’t like it one bit. She couldn’t remember when she’d been this angry.

Chapter Nineteen

Kash suffered all day, feeling more claustrophobic by the minute trapped in that house with Isabel’s silent fury and her own guilt. They spoke little, Isabel spending her time with their Egyptian hosts while Kash pretended to be absorbed with her laptop. Finally, in the late afternoon, the sandstorm abated, and not long after, Nazim reappeared after a long absence, saying he and a local had managed to clean enough sand from their car’s engine for it to run again. They were able to negotiate around or through the drifts on the road back to Cairo, and they reached their hotel as the sun was setting.

“Nazim, I probably won’t need you until we leave for the airport on Friday,” she told him as he stopped to let them out. “Please make yourself available to Isabel until then, and take her wherever she wants to go. I’ll contact you if my plans change.”

“Certainly, Kash.”

Isabel exited the vehicle and sped into the hotel without further acknowledging Kash.

I don’t blame you. Not one bit. It was a shitty thing to do. And I’d been treating you badly even before that. Isabel’s disappointment and rage made Kash’s heart clench. She hated hurting her. Hated it. But maybe it’s for the best. You’re much better off without me. And now you know it. Yes, it’s best for both of us.

Even as she thought the words, she knew they were a lie. For her, anyway. She could never believe she was better off without Isabel. But to believe that there might be any future together? That was still too terrifying to really contemplate.

Rasui, the concierge, intercepted her before she reached the elevators. “Miss Kash! Have you seen your messages?”

“Messages?”

“Yes. You received several urgent telephone calls last night and this morning. The messages are in your suite.”

“Thank you for the heads-up.”

More than a dozen slips had been pushed under her door. Eight were from news organizations, one was from her assistant Ramona, three were from Miranda, and two were from Stella England, the hottest young actress in Hollywood and the current favorite cover girl of tabloids around the world. All asked her to call them as soon as possible. Miranda, because she had phoned three times, got the first call.

“It’s Kash. What’s going on?” she asked as soon as the publisher came on the line.

“Kash! Where the hell have you been? Did Stella England get in touch with you?”

Kash fingered the message slips with Stella’s name on them. One call had come in the previous afternoon, the other this morning. “I have two calls here from her, yes. But I haven’t returned them yet. I just got in. What’s this all about, Miranda?”

“Stella’s publicist issued a press release last night. She’s getting married tomorrow, somewhere in Europe, but she won’t say to whom or where or anything.”

“I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone,” Kash mused aloud.

“No one did. No one has a clue who he is. Here’s the catch, Kash. She says she’ll only let you photograph this secret wedding.”

“Me? Did she say why?” Kash knew the reason. She had shared a memorable night with the actress not six months ago, but she doubted Stella would have shared that information.

“Not really. Only that she trusted you would do a great job, without being intrusive.”

“So that’s why I have all these messages from the networks.” Kash flipped through the rest of the slips.

“Only the first of many, I’m sure. You haven’t gotten more than that only because most of them don’t know how to reach you. I know you have to do this, Kash…but since you are leaving a job you’re doing for me, how about you give Sophisticated Women first crack at the photos, if Stella agrees? We can still get one on next month’s cover.”

Kash fell silent, her mind racing. Of course she had to do this; it would be a big coup professionally, and the rights to the photos would be worth a lot of money.

It was also the perfect opportunity to get away from Isabel for a while and get her shit together. And maybe not for just a while. Maybe this is my opportunity to make a clean, quick break. Better and easier that way. And with Isabel feeling like she does about me right now, she probably won’t be disappointed to see me leave.

“Kash?” Miranda repeated. “Kash? You there?”

“I’m here. Miranda, we may be able to work something out. Here’s what I have in mind…”

*

Isabel returned to an empty suite as well. Gillian had left a message saying she and Ambra were out sightseeing, so Isabel showered and changed, intending to head out, too. But she hung around the suite a while, pacing, still furious with Kash, unable to get the photos she’d seen on the laptop out of her mind. When she discovered that the knock at her door belonged to the object of her musings, she started to launch into her again—until she noticed Kash’s carry-on bag at her feet.

“Hey,” Kash said.

“Going somewhere, I see.”

“Yes,” Kash confirmed. “I know you’re still angry. And you have every reason to be. But I’d like to talk to you a few minutes. May I come in?”

“All right.” She stepped to the side to admit Kash, who dropped her bag just inside the door, then proceeded into the sitting area.

“Stella England’s getting married,” Kash said as she settled onto one end of the couch. “Tomorrow morning, on one of the Greek islands. She’s giving me an exclusive on photos of the ceremony.”

“Stella England?” Isabel repeated. “Who’s she marrying?”

Kash didn’t answer immediately. That little tidbit was worth a lot of money, and she knew that Stella trusted her not to do anything that might tip off the press before she was ready. But she also knew she could trust Isabel. “You can’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone, even Gillian.”

“I won’t.”

“Frankly, I can’t believe she’s kept it a secret this long. She’s marrying Joshua Greenbriar.”

“Joshua Greenbriar? The director? Isn’t he like…what, thirty years older than she is?”

“Something like that. And you know what? I don’t think it’s a big publicity gimmick. She sounded like she sincerely loves the guy.”

“Well, then, more power to her, I say. I’m all for following your heart, wherever it leads you.” As upset and angry with Kash as Isabel was, she didn’t welcome the news Kash was leaving. Taking the hot-tub photos of her was extremely insensitive, but Kash had been apologetic, and Isabel wanted to believe her regret was sincere. She just needed time to calm down and forgive Kash. And she wanted Kash to think hard about what she had done. So maybe a little time apart isn’t so bad. It will give us both time to get over things. But it will also be time taken away from our precious nine days left together.

“Somehow I knew you’d feel that way,” Kash replied. Ever the romantic, Isabel. Love knows no boundaries and all that. I hope you never change. The world would do a lot better with more pie-eyed optimists, like you, and fewer cynics, like me.

“So how long will you be gone? Will you get back before we leave for the Bahamas?”

“That’s the thing…” Kash began, avoiding her eyes.

The pause that followed was so long that Isabel filled in the blanks herself. “You’re not…coming back?”

“The happy couple is going to drop out of sight for a while for the honeymoon, so the media frenzy will center around me, I’m afraid,” Kash confirmed. “The only guests will be family, and they won’t be talking. So I’ll be busy for several days afterward, doing interviews and figuring out who gets what photos.”

“You won’t be able to make it to the Bahamas at all?” I’m never going to see you again, am I? The realization felt like a punch to the stomach.

“No, I’m afraid not. As you know, Miranda is sending a correspondent to meet you in Nassau to interview you about the trip. I’ve asked her to book a local photographer to tag along, so we’ll have pictures of every stop for the layout.”

Isabel frowned. “I don’t care about the magazine, Kash. I keep telling you that. But I hate it that you’re apparently telling me we won’t ever see each other again. I may be pissed as hell at you at the moment, but I…I’m not ready to say good-bye.”

I know exactly how you feel. Although she had firmly resolved to deliver the news and then leave, all nice and clean and tidy, Kash couldn’t do it. She knew what she should do, but her mind and heart and body wanted nothing more than to take Isabel in her arms, beg her forgiveness, and tell her that good-bye was a word she never wanted uttered between them. Jesus, will you listen to yourself? Pretty powerful stuff you have there, Isabel, if your romanticism can even rub off on me.

She forced herself to her feet. “Ready or not, as they say. I have a plane to catch.”

Isabel rose, too, and they faced each other without speaking for several seconds before Kash stepped to Isabel to kiss her good-bye. She knew Isabel might likely push her away, but she had to take the chance. She couldn’t resist one more press of lips before they parted.

Tentatively, Kash brushed her mouth over Isabel’s and felt her heart swell in her chest, the grief of loss already acute.

Isabel pulled back, but only a few inches. And her voice, when she spoke, was as gentle as Kash’s mouth had been. “I’m still angry with you.”

“I know.” Kash kissed her again, and when Isabel responded by running her tongue along the contours of Kash’s mouth, then nipping at Kash’s lower lip, Kash’s control dissolved. She opened her mouth and met Isabel’s tongue with her own, deepening the kiss as she pulled their bodies tight together.

Isabel slid her hands around her neck, and they remained locked together, pouring all of their long-held passion into that kiss, until they had to break apart to breathe, bodies shaking crazily, hearts hammering in sync.

“I’m still angry with you,” Isabel repeated as she clung to her, breathing heavily against her neck. “But you know I’ll forgive you.”

“I won’t forget you.” The most unexpected thing of all, in this whole alien world that she’d been inhabiting since Isabel had entered her life, were the tears Kash fought. She considered tears a weakness, so they gave her the courage she needed to gently extricate herself from Isabel’s embrace. No one, not even Isabel, would see her cry.

She picked up her bag and left before Isabel could say any more, and she never looked back. Not once. She didn’t have to. Isabel’s face would be vividly imprinted on her mind forever, every bit as much as the taste of her lips.

Chapter Twenty

“Anything yet?” It was the third time Gillian had called. She was nearly as anxious as Isabel to see the October issue of Sophisticated Women.

“No. Nothing. The mail finally came, and it wasn’t there. But UPS doesn’t usually get around this way for another hour or two, so that’s still possible. Don’t know about FedEx or any of the other delivery services.”

“I wish you’d asked Miranda how she was sending it,” Gillian complained.

“I didn’t talk to her. I just got an e-mail saying she was sending me an advance copy. She didn’t say how.”

“What are you wearing to this thing next week? And do you think Kash will be there?”

“One of my new cocktail dresses, not sure which yet. And I have no idea. You know I haven’t heard from her.” Not one damn word in two and a half months. Not one. Like you don’t even owe me the common courtesy of an explanation why. I guess you didn’t hear a thing I said.

“Oops, customer. Gotta run. Call you about dinner later.”

“Okay, Gill.” Isabel hung up and stared at her computer terminal. It was displaying pictures of Kash in a slide show—some that she and Gillian had taken, and others she’d gotten off the Internet. Such a masochist you’ve become. You need a new screen saver. And you need to get out more. Isabel was almost as angry with herself as she was with Kash.

The fact that Kash hadn’t called or written since Cairo should have been ample reason to let her go and move on, never mind the hot-tub photos and her cold distance after their sexual encounters. Just more evidence I meant nothing to her. She’s a player, and that’s all she’ll ever be, she reminded herself. She won’t allow herself to get emotionally involved.

But try as she might to push Kash from her mind, she’d been unable to. She’d glimpsed the vulnerable woman inside that cold exterior, and her heart believed that something very real and deep and mutual had been developing between them. Nothing, not even Kash’s silence since Cairo, had been able to quash that belief.

Where are you, Kash? Why haven’t you called? Could I have been so very wrong about you? Isabel had been searching online nearly every day for some hint of what Kash was up to, but had found nothing at all about her in the news or tabloids after all the hoopla about the wedding photos had died down.

Her only foreseeable opportunity to see her again would be at the bash next week that Miranda had invited her to. A party at a chic Manhattan restaurant to celebrate the release of the issue with her picture on the cover.

I still wish I knew what that phone call was all about. Miranda had called her not long after they’d gotten home from the Bahamas, ostensibly to welcome her back from the trip. They’d had a nice chat, and at Miranda’s urging, she had shared a few stories about some of the things she’d seen and experienced, careful to avoid anything she didn’t want to end up in the magazine.

Miranda had been saying good-bye when she threw one last question at Isabel as though it was an afterthought.

“Say, Isabel, I won’t be offended if you answer this the way I think you will. But Kash mentioned that you didn’t want to be on the cover. She said you didn’t want this whole magazine thing at all. Is that right?”

“Gosh, Miranda. I wish she hadn’t told you that. I don’t want to seem ungrateful for all the wonderful things that winning your contest has done for me.”

“So it is true,” Miranda said, her warm tone conveying that she was perfectly okay with the admission.

“Yes. It is. I have no desire to be famous. But I know you’ve promoted this and invested a lot of money in it and everything. Kash explained.”

“Isabel, I’m going to fax you a waiver to sign,” Miranda said. “It essentially will say you’re okay with us not living up to our promise to put you exclusively on the cover and make you the subject of our feature article. I’ll try to scale back our coverage, if possible. No promises. But this waiver ensures you can’t come at me later and complain you didn’t get everything you won. Okay?”

“Sure. Send it over. I’d appreciate anything you could do. That would be great!”

“No promises,” Miranda repeated.

She had faxed it to Isabel that day, and Isabel had returned it, signed, within the hour.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. She dreaded the media attention she would likely get when the magazine hit newsstands. Her mind flashed back to the rude, probing questions the tabloid reporters had shouted at Kash during the kickoff press conference. And worst of all had been her nightmare of a fall. But despite her anger and better judgment, she knew she’d suffer it all again for the chance to see Kash. Because no amount of time, or distance, or return to her normal routine had changed how much she thought about Kash. Day and night. Waking and dreaming. Even Kash’s silence couldn’t deter her.

She hadn’t known precisely when it had happened, the moment her fascination with Kash had gone from lust to love. But it had. Probably fairly early on, she decided. Maybe when Kash had first opened up to her about her past and how she’d been hurt. Or perhaps when Kash had awakened Isa. Not that she’s been out much since. The new sexual side that she’d discovered in Europe had totally disappeared. She enjoyed the attention she got with her new look, new clothes, and more confident attitude. But she’d had no real interest in dating other women since she’d been home. She was still longing for Kash.

Gillian called her a hopeless romantic, and she’d certainly realized the truth in that statement. Once you fall in love, it’s for keeps, hopeless or not. Meeting Kash had made that fact all too agonizingly clear.

She was being utterly ridiculous, she knew, to go on mooning over her this way. Kash probably hadn’t thought about her for two minutes. If she had, she’d have called. Then why did she say that? She could have just said good-bye. But no. Her last words to me had to be those.

“I won’t forget you.”

And I can’t forget you, either, Kash.

Her doorbell startled her so much she jumped. Her heart was thudding at a pretty good clip, but its speed increased exponentially when she opened the large express envelope that the UPS driver had brought.

She wasn’t on the cover at all.

Kash was.

A beautiful, relaxed, and carefree-looking Kash, smiling at the camera in some kind of breezy tropical setting. Her skin was dark from the sun, and she wore a white linen short-sleeved shirt. Nice. Very nice.

The cover caption read It’s Kash Who Got the Makeover, Not Our Contest Winner!

Below it, Miranda had attached a large Post-it note on which she’d written

Hello, Isabel!

Read page 6 first,

then flip to page 23.

– Miranda

The first reference was to Miranda’s Letter from the Publisher page. It had a photograph of her at her desk, with Kash standing behind her. Her missive read:

Dear Readers,

This month’s issue was supposed to feature Isabel Sterling—the winner of our Make Your Dreams Come True contest—as our cover girl, along with an in-depth interview of her and a pictorial spread of the fabulous dream vacation and makeover she won.

You’ll still find the scoop on Isabel’s trip inside (see page 23), but the greatest impact of this adventure was not on the contest winner, but on Kash, who was supposed to be along only to take some pictures and have some fun.

Kash happens to be a friend of mine, which is why she agreed to photograph Isabel’s experience in the first place. But no amount of threats or pleas or cajoling has ever before been enough to convince her to sit down for an interview with Sophisticated Women, let alone agree to be on the cover.

So I was rather surprised, to say the least, when she volunteered for both. Kash says it is all a matter of timing—and that now she has something to say. When you read her story, which follows Isabel’s, I think you’ll agree.

Miranda

Isabel flipped to page 23 and found a two-page collage of images taken of her during her trip. Most were the formal photos she expected, but Kash had included candids as well, including two with Gillian. She was a little shocked at how well they’d turned out. She’d never considered herself particularly photogenic before, but…I have to admit, I look pretty hot in these. The photo spread was followed by transcripted portions of the interview that the reporter from Sophisticated Women had conducted with her in Nassau.

All in all, she was happy with it—the article was tasteful, not too invasive. She flipped the next page and came to Kash’s story, written in her own words.

I have to be honest and say that when it came time to leave on my assignment for Sophisticated Women, I tried to get out of it. It had been several months since I had promised my friend Miranda (in a moment of weakness) to accompany the winner of the Make Your Dreams Come True contest on her trip and photograph her for the magazine. And although the idea of dropping in on Paris, Rome, Cairo and the Bahamas for a while was attractive, I was concerned about being so long and so far away from my office.

But Miranda kept me to my promise, though neither of us had any idea at the time that my attachment to this project would result in anything more than a brief detour from the clientele and business I had been building for two decades. She hoped that her contest and makeover might prove to be a thrilling adventure—and a new start, perhaps—for some lucky reader. Instead, it would be my life that got the makeover.

I guess I should start at the beginning, shouldn’t I? Well, I didn’t quite believe Isabel Sterling when she first told me that she had no interest in her promised appearance in this magazine and chance to be its cover girl. I knew by then that she hadn’t entered herself in the contest [Editor’s note—see Isabel’s story on page 23], but let’s say that it had been my experience that few women would refuse the chance for their fifteen minutes of fame.

I also had trouble believing that any woman might not welcome the makeover that came with the prize, though Isabel insisted she was content with the way she was.

But then I got to know her, and guess what? She was right. Though she ended up pleasantly thrilled with the new look that Clifton gave her, Isabel certainly didn’t need any kind of beautification project, that’s for sure. She is a remarkable woman just as she is, inside and out. The kind of woman, in my mind, we should all aspire to be.

I’m sure you know the type. The salt-of-the-earth, sweet and caring kind of woman who’s the first to bring you soup when you’re sick. Or volunteer to listen if you’re having a rough time of it. But who also isn’t afraid to tell you straight-out when you’re making a fool of yourself or taking the wrong course, if she feels that knowledge will help you. And most of all, she’s the optimist we all need in our lives—someone who will rush to assure us that everything will be all right, that it’s never to late to realize our dreams, that we’re never too old to change.

Nope, it wasn’t Isabel who needed the big makeover—though the contest win couldn’t have gone to a nicer and more deserving individual. As it happens, it was my life that needed a little shaking up, and Isabel helped me realize that.

Isabel’s eyes were so moist that she could hardly see the words on the page. She blinked hard and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand before she continued to read.

Long ago, when I first started taking pictures, I intended for each and every photograph to say something meaningful. I wanted my body of work to be something that I could reflect on as having artfully reflected my point of view, while at the same time perhaps opened a few minds, changed a few opinions or broadened a few perspectives.

But somewhere along the line, I got waylaid, as so many do—by money, and fame, and the ever-present invitation to the next A-list party full of the rich, and powerful, and beautiful.

And still I had the gall to be annoyed when some tabloid or other chronicled my misadventures with alcohol and women for all the world to witness.

Well, you won’t be seeing as much of me in the celebrity rags, I’m happy to report. It’s time for me to step out of the public eye, get my act together and start taking some responsibility for my actions. Besides, I’m too busy with a project I’ve been putting off for too many years—the chance to take the kind of photographs I’m most passionate about, in anticipation of a one-woman show in New York sometime early next year. You’ll see a few examples of what I’m talking about on the next page.

Isabel flipped ahead and found several of the photographs she’d seen on Kash’s laptop, along with some additional portraits done in the same vein. Good for you, Kash. Good for you. She flipped back to continue reading the final paragraphs of Kash’s story.

Here in a nutshell are a few of the lessons I took from Isabel Sterling. I pass them along for you to consider.

Follow your heart wherever it leads you, take risks to pursue your dreams, keep a sense of humor in all things, and never let anyone convince you that something is impossible.

Kash

Isabel ran her fingers lightly over the words on the page. Oh, Kash. Why couldn’t you have said any of this to me? Then she noticed the addendum from Miranda at the bottom of the page, and her heart sank.

Editor’s note: When last contacted, Kash was somewhere in the Himalayas, on her way to photograph sherpas at the base of Mount Everest.

For a moment, Isabel considered skipping the Sophisticated Women party, since Kash apparently wasn’t going to be there after all. But Miranda had sent tickets to both her and Gillian, and Gillian was really looking forward to it. Besides, in light of Kash’s article, perhaps Miranda might be willing to put her in touch with Kash.

Chapter Twenty-one

“Come on, already, Isabel! I swear to God, if you aren’t ready to go in two minutes I’m leaving without you.” Gillian was decked out in one of Isabel’s designer dresses, an avant-garde evening gown the color of eggplant cut so high on one side that Isabel didn’t dare wear it herself, for fear of exposing more than she wanted to at an event where photographers were sure to be present.

“Don’t get your britches in a wad,” Isabel responded good-naturedly as she emerged from the bathroom of their suite and joined her friend in the sitting room. “What do you think?” She pivoted so Gillian could get the full effect and was gratified to hear her low whistle of approval.

“Hot, Izzy, and I do mean sizzling. Damn shame Kash won’t be there.”

“Thanks, Gill.” Isabel took one last look at herself in the large wall mirror, still somewhat unaccustomed to the sight of herself all dolled up in a designer exclusive that was worth more than she made in a month. It was a cocktail dress in a smoky blue-gray, the color of a stormy sky, with a shimmery underlayer that caught the light as she moved, directing one’s eyes to the nicely rounded curves of her hips, ass, and breasts. Not bad, if I do say so myself.

Miranda had conveniently booked them a suite at the Four Seasons. Since the magazine’s soirée was to take place at the hotel’s famed restaurant, L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon, they merely had to take the elevator down forty-nine floors to join the party.

When they stepped off the elevator, Gillian screamed, “Oh my God! Ambra,” and rushed into the arms of her Italian girlfriend, who appeared to be waiting for them.

“Ambra?” Isabel repeated as she crossed to them. Ambra had an I’ve got a secret expression on her face. “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah!” Gillian pulled back from their embrace to address Ambra. “What’s going on? Your e-mail this morning said you were in Naples.”

“She’s here to keep Gillian company so I could have you all to myself. I’d hate to have to beg your forgiveness in front of an audience.” Kash’s voice, from directly behind her, was such a surprise that Isabel was afraid she might faint.

She whirled around unsteadily, and her breath caught when she saw a smiling Kash looking tanned, fit, and irresistibly dashing in a black suit and starched white shirt—her own classically elegant version of a tux.

“What? How?” she stuttered.

“There’s no magazine party,” Kash explained. “All a ruse, I’m afraid, to get you here.”

“A ruse,” Isabel repeated in a daze. Is this really happening? Can you really be here?

“Yup.” Kash turned to Gillian and Ambra. “You have reservations in the restaurant in Gillian’s name. Please order whatever you like and have a fun evening, on me. I know you’ll forgive me if we don’t join you?”

Gillian let go of Ambra long enough to plant a kiss on Kash’s cheek. “I apparently underestimated you, Kash, I’m happy to say. Be good to her. And thanks.” She whispered in Isabel’s ear, “Pretty soon you’re going to have even me believing that dreams can come true. I’m so happy for you, Izzy. And details! I expect details.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Isabel replied with a smile as Gillian reached for Ambra and they headed off toward the restaurant, arm in arm.

They were in the lobby of one of the most popular hotels in Manhattan, but Isabel felt suddenly as though she and Kash were the only two people on the planet.

“So you planned all this…” God, you’re so scrumptious. No woman should look so good. How can I be as angry with you as I should be, when you’re so irresistible? “…just to ask me to forgive you?”

“Well, I have a lot to apologize for,” Kash replied, gazing into her eyes with a new, vulnerable directness that warmed Isabel. “And I was kind of hoping that if you accept my apology, we might also…talk. Really talk. About us. And how we feel about each other.”

“Talk?” Isabel repeated dumbly. “Talking’s good.”

“And if the talking goes well,” Kash added cheekily, “maybe we can throw in some touching, too?”

The way Kash said the word touching…slowly, with meaning, as her eyes caught Isabel’s with unguarded yearning…made Isabel feel as though Kash was already undressing her.

“I…I think that can be arranged,” Isabel replied, trying not to stammer. You’re supposed to be mad at her, she reminded herself.

“Although…with you in that dress, I’m going to be hard-pressed to do the talking before the touching. You’re stunning, Isabel.”

She could feel her cheeks warm under the compliment. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Better get used to it,” Kash replied softly, her cocky façade dissolving as she closed the distance and took Isabel in her arms. “God, how I’ve missed you,” she whispered as they clung to each other.

“Me, too, Kash,” Isabel whispered back. She thrilled at the press of their bodies against each other and wondered whether Kash could feel how her heart was fluttering wildly. “I’ve been damn angry with you, yes. But I never stopped missing you. Wanting you. So much. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Pretty relieved you’re happy to see me,” Kash said. “I sure did everything I could to push you away.”

“Yes, you did. I hope you’ve smartened up.”

Kash heard her name called and glanced up to see a cluster of Japanese tourists watching them curiously. “Say…Isabel? You mind if we continue this in private?”

Isabel turned to see what Kash was looking at, just as one of the gawkers snapped a photo, blinding her with the flash. “Sounds like a plan.”

Kash took her hand and led her to a private elevator, and soon they were headed up.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Kash said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Rehearsing this meeting a dozen times had failed to calm her nerves. “I imagined the best-case scenario and arranged to have dinner for us in my suite.”

“Your suite?” Isabel asked. “You’re staying here?”

Kash laughed. “Two floors above you. This still hasn’t quite sunk in, has it?”

“No. It’s like a dream.” Isabel sighed as she looped an arm through Kash’s. “You make it kind of tough to stay furious with you.”

“I sure hope so.”

The elevator stopped on the fifty-first floor and Kash led her to one of the hotel’s two presidential suites, a fifteen-hundred-square-foot plush accommodation that boasted original oil paintings, a full marble bathroom, gas fireplace, library, and floor-to-ceiling windows, with a spectacular view of Central Park and downtown Manhattan.

The dining table was set with the finest linen and china, champagne was chilling in an ice bucket, and fresh flowers adorned nearly every available surface.

“Is this all right?” Kash asked uncertainly. She stuck her hands in her pockets so Isabel wouldn’t see how badly she was shaking. How you throw me off balance when I look at you. And here I thought it was impossible for me to feel nervous around a woman.

“It’s wonderful,” Isabel said, taking it all in as she glided into the room. They stood for a long moment, fifteen feet apart, staring at each other, not moving, before she spoke again. “Or I should say…it’s wonderful if it’s the start of something, Kash, and not just your guilt talking. Or a classier way to get me into bed, only to pull away from me again without explanation.”

“I deserve that. And more.” Kash ran her hand through her hair. “Isabel, I’ve been a fool, behaving badly from start to finish. I should’ve called, sent flowers, written. Something. I know. But I was afraid. Afraid you wouldn’t forgive me. Afraid you’d moved on. And I needed to make some changes first. I wanted to make sure I was capable of being the kind of woman you deserve.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m willing to do whatever it takes to be a part of your life. As much as you’ll let me,” Kash said. “I’ve changed, Isabel. I’m still changing. And it’s all very much for the better, thanks to you.”

“I believe that’s true. Sure, in part, because I want to believe it,” Isabel said. “But I also read the article. It really touched me.”

“The one thing I couldn’t say in the article,” Kash said, taking one tentative step toward Isabel, “is how much I love you. But I really wanted to say that in person anyway.”

Isabel closed her eyes and let the words sink in. She loves me. She felt the hurt and disappointment of the last several weeks begin to fade.

“Isabel?”

When she opened her eyes again, Kash was watching her with such fearfully anxious anticipation that she knew things would be all right. She really does love me.

She forgave Kash fully and let go of the rest of her anger. “Well, I guess you’re damn lucky, then, that the feeling is quite mutual.”

“Mutual?” Kash’s face relaxed and a relieved grin turned up the corners of her mouth. She still had her hands firmly in her pockets, as though she didn’t know what to do with them.

“Very. I love you, too, Kash.”

The grin got bigger and Kash bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Great. That’s great!” It was kind of adorable, actually, Isabel thought, the way this worldly playgirl had been suddenly reduced to acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

“You really look hot, by the way,” Isabel said. Kash had never appeared more…movie-star dashing seemed the right description. Her tanned skin against the white shirt, the flattering cut of her suit, the light brown highlights in her hair from her time in the sun.

Kash’s expression gained an aw-shucks kind of Cary Grant debonair that fit right in with her tuxedoed elegance. “Uh…hungry?” she asked, running a hand through her hair. “They’ll send up the food as soon as I make a call.”

Eating was actually the very last thing on Kash’s mind. Her stomach was in knots—she loves me!—and all she could think about was how badly she needed to touch Isabel. All that soft, fair, delectable skin, just out of reach, aching to be kissed and caressed. She was nervous and excited and terrified in a way she had never imagined she could be. Though she thought she had experienced almost everything possible about sex, this felt entirely different. As it should be. This time I will really be making love.

She had imagined it many times in the past weeks. Hoped for it. Prayed that her stupidity hadn’t killed any opportunity for a future with Isabel. Remember. Slow. Tender. But she wanted to tear that dress off Isabel. I’ve wanted you for so long. And since you, I’ve wanted no other.

And now what? She was on unsteady ground, already so aroused she was ready to blow, but Isabel’s needs and wants were what had become most important to her, which was a rarity. I so want to please you, Isabel.

Isabel swallowed hard. The way Kash was looking at her—like her dress was transparent. Hungry, all right, but certainly not for what room service has to offer. So why are you holding back?

She thought she knew the answer. You’re waiting for me, aren’t you? “Don’t tell me you’re really thinking about food at a time like this.” She smiled encouragingly as she walked slowly toward Kash and was relieved to see her breathing visibly increase as she neared.

Oh, Isabel. What you do to me. Who can resist that? Who? “All I can think about is how much I want you.” Kash pulled Isabel to her as soon as she got within reach and kissed her, hard. Fiercely. She splayed one hand across Isabel’s bare back, and her heart soared at the first touch of warm skin beneath her fingertips. She let the other hand descend to Isabel’s ass and fondled it firmly as her tongue filled Isabel’s mouth.

Isabel surrendered eagerly, instantly molding her body to Kash’s and wrapping her arms around Kash’s neck. She sucked lightly on Kash’s tongue and moaned, long, a needy sound from the back of her throat.

Oh, Christ, Isabel. When you do that…Kash felt many of her resolutions to herself slip away as she kissed Isabel. Trying to prolong this moment felt close to impossible. She knew she was already wet; hell, she’d denied herself for so long that by the time today dawned she was so profoundly horny in anticipation she had barely managed to keep from getting herself off.

Isabel’s tongue sought its own opportunity for exploration, and she allowed it, granting Isabel access to the warmth of her mouth. Their tongues stroked—deep, wet, slow exchanges. Isabel nipped her lower lip and she responded with an answering bite, proprietary. Their mouths conveyed what words could not about how long and how much they had wanted and waited for this.

Their lips parted, but just barely. They remained locked together, every possible inch of their bodies that could touch pressed against the corresponding body part of the other—thigh, pelvis, stomach, breasts. Even their foreheads still touched. Both of them were breathing hard, but they were reluctant to disengage even the slightest bit.

“God, Isabel…so much…” Kash felt as though every muscle in her body was tight as a bowstring. She was poised, and ready, instinct urging take her, just take her to the bed and throw her down on it. Enough already!

But another inner voice was battling for dominance now, the one born during their time apart. The one that had spent endless days contemplating what her life would be like with, and without, Isabel. She wanted to do everything right, and she had vowed to herself to make it an evening Isabel would remember well. The best. “Tell me what you want,” she managed, though her throat was so tight her request came out funny, in kind of a breathy exhalation.

“I want what you want, Kash.” Isabel squeezed her tighter and kissed her cheek wetly before she moved her mouth to Kash’s ear. “I want your hands on me. And your mouth.” She sucked on Kash’s earlobe, and Kash’s clit felt every movement of her mouth.

“I want us to get these damn clothes off so I can feel you against me,” she continued in a provocative purr. “And on top of me and, most of all, inside me. Filling me up and making me come.”

Kash whimpered and gripped Isabel’s ass tighter.

“So if you don’t get me in a bed in about ten seconds I’m going to have to take control of the situation and drag you there myself.” Isabel barely got the words out before Kash was propelling her, with firm hands on her waist, directly to the suite’s king-sized bed.

When they stood beside it, Kash loosened her grip and put her hands lightly on Isabel’s shoulders, pausing as her fingers slipped beneath the straps of her dress until Isabel met her eyes. Only then, when she saw the clear desire there, the need as demanding as her own, did she pull the straps down and expose Isabel’s breasts.

She sucked in a breath at her first glimpse of those soft swells, the ivory skin, the nipples pink and erect. They were round and high, and a bit larger than her own, and she had begun the task of choosing which to taste first…when she became aware that Isabel had a hand on the clasp of her trousers. From long habit alone, she reached down to stop her.

“Please, Kash. I need to feel how wet I make you.” Isabel continued as though unimpeded—for although Kash’s hand remained wrapped around her forearm, it was a loose and unenthusiastic restraint.

By the time Isabel had the clasp unfastened and the zipper down, Kash had withdrawn her hand completely. She could deny Isabel nothing. For the first time in a very long while, she wanted to touch someone so badly that it would drive her mad if she didn’t. And she couldn’t deny herself, either. She wanted and needed Isabel’s touch.

When Isabel loosened the buttons low on her shirt and lightly grazed her abdomen, the heavy thudding of her heart in her chest almost overwhelmed her. She found it hard to breathe. “Christ, Isabel.”

“All right?” Isabel put her mouth on Kash’s neck as her hand widened its caress of Kash’s lower abdomen.

“Yes. Very.” It was hard to speak. “But…not yet. As soon as you touch me, I’ll…I won’t last long.”

“Sure, Kash.” Isabel’s gentle exploration detoured around Kash’s waist, sensitizing the skin it passed over. Her tongue traced Kash’s jawline just as lightly. “Why don’t you finish taking my dress off? That will delay things a bit.”

“Not necessarily,” Kash confessed, smiling, and she could feel Isabel’s satisfied chuckle as a low vibration against her neck. “But yes. Please.”

Isabel turned to allow Kash access to the snap on her dress, low on her back.

As Kash unfastened it with trembling hands and let the dress fall to the floor, she kissed Isabel between her shoulder blades. Isabel hummed her approval, stepped out of the dress, and faced Kash, wearing only her heels and brief silk panties, a shade lighter than her dress.

Chapter Twenty-two

“You are…a feast for the eyes, Isabel.” Kash drank in the well-proportioned curves and planes of Isabel’s body, letting her eyes linger on the wonderful subtle shadows created by breasts, hip bones, navel, and the V of her legs, taking mental photographs of the unique landscape she had hours ahead to explore. She could feel herself getting wetter by the minute, and she imagined how Isabel would find her when she finally touched her there.

The anticipation was excruciating. She was dizzy with desire, dancing on the precipice of pain.

“I’m glad you think so. Now it’s your turn.” Isabel stepped close again and reached up to unbutton the remaining buttons on Kash’s shirt. She brushed her fingertips into the crevice between Kash’s breasts and popped the first button. “I really love your body.” The second button went. Her touch was perfect torture in its teasing indirectness. “I only got a glimpse that first day in your studio. When you changed your shirt?” The third button went, and the shirt fell open, revealing Kash’s white lace bra, stark against her tanned body. “So beautiful,” Isabel said, reverent, adoring.

Isabel slipped Kash’s suit coat and shirt off and reached for the front hook of Kash’s bra. When it, too, was undone, she stared openly and admiringly at Kash’s breasts and licked her lips. What a magnificent body. “I’m going to taste every inch of you tonight,” she promised. Isa was back, with a vengeance, and she wanted to play.

She placed a palm on Kash’s chest, between her breasts, and gently pushed her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Tell me, Kash…do you like to…watch?” Reaching down, she removed one of her heels while she waited for Kash’s answer. She moved slowly, provocatively, then tossed the shoe casually aside.

Kash smiled and nodded.

“Thought so.” Isabel peeled off her other shoe and did the same. Next, she put one hand on each hip and slipped her fingers beneath her panties, ready to peel them off. But she paused, enjoying the way Kash was eyeing her. A muscle in Kash’s jaw jumped as she waited for her to remove that final barrier to an unobstructed view. “I like it when you watch. Of course, as long as you’re not taking pictures that you shouldn’t…” She couldn’t help the one reminder of the hot-tub photos, but her remark carried only a hint of reproach.

“Never again. I’m so sorry, Isabel.” Her voice was sincere.

“Apology accepted. I might have a way you can make it up to me,” Isabel said teasingly.

Kash’s eyes were fixed on her panties. “Anything. Anything at all. Now, please take them off. Please. Take them off now and come here.” Or I’ll have to rip them off you. Really, I will.

At the urgency in Kash’s voice, Isabel took mercy, or perhaps she, too, could simply wait no longer. She slid the panties quickly down her thighs and off and stood naked before Kash, her legs slightly apart. Her cheeks were flushed, and Kash could see she was breathing fast. But her eyes showed the depth of her desire and it was that—the undisguised hunger, the unrelenting need every bit as intense as her own—that made her clit begin to throb as Isabel started toward her.

Kash caught her scent just before they touched, a mixture of perfume and arousal that sent her blood roaring through her veins, the noise in her head from it deafening. She put her hands on Isabel’s hips and held her there at arm’s length for a few moments to appreciate both her breasts—which were roughly at eye level from where she was sitting—and also, so close, the fine silky hairs at the apex of Isabel’s legs. Her mouth watered. God, I need to taste you. So bad, so fucking bad I’ll die if I don’t.

Isabel’s hands were in her hair, fierce against her scalp. Kash knew Isabel was desperate, too, like she was. It was too much. Too much. It was driving her crazy. Enough.

She spun Isabel around and put her hands purposefully on Isabel’s ass, caressing her firmly, thrilling at the soft skin and the eager response of Isabel’s body, pressing back into her touch. She teased her with a glancing fingertip up the inside of her thigh and heard Isabel moan as she spread her legs, inviting more.

Yes, Isabel. Soon. I can see. I know.

Kash smoothed her hands over Isabel’s back, then stood and wrapped her arms around Isabel’s waist, reversing their positions until Isabel faced the bed. She could tell how turned on Isabel was by her rapid breathing, and she had no thought, no reason now, no need but the primal need to taste Isabel’s desire, to discover for herself the effect she was having on the woman who had captured her heart.

She pressed forward into Isabel, her nipples so hard and sensitized they sent a wave of pleasure through her with each brush against that lightly freckled back. Pushing more insistently, she curved her body to Isabel’s until Isabel was bent over the bed, supporting her weight on her outstretched hands.

Isabel’s legs were trembling in anticipation and her scent hung thick in the air, a heady siren’s call. Kash shifted, kissing her way down Isabel’s body, her hands making a path along her back, hips, and legs, as she reached her knees.

Ignoring her own clit’s demand for attention, she gently urged Isabel’s legs farther apart, fingertips tracing through the soft triangle of hair as she savored the sight and smell of this moment, one she had imagined often during their time apart.

But never in those daydreams had she come close to how she felt now that the real thing was at hand. So wet. All for me. Only for me.

Her tongue stroked the length of Isabel’s sex, tasting her, exploring and memorizing how her body responded. She delighted in the way Isabel moaned and moved and sighed.

But all too soon, Isabel stopped her—pulling away unexpectedly, panting for air, until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her pupils were so dilated the irises were thin bands of blue. “Not…not yet.” Her voice was gravel thick and unsteady. “Not yet.”

“Fuck, Isabel,” she groaned. “You taste so good. So hard to stop…” Kash made fists of her hands to keep from giving in to the driving urgency to regain control. She wanted to make Isabel come right then, and the denial of that desire, even briefly, both frustrated and exhilarated her.

“Soon,” Isabel promised as she threaded one hand through Kash’s hair. “It’s…it’s so much…” she said breathily. “So intense. I just want it to last.”

“Isabel…” Kash stood and tried to force her racing heart to slow, but it was a useless endeavor. She was beyond the point of no return, well beyond, in the danger zone, in fact—at risk of imminent spontaneous combustion, she was certain.

There was nothing else to do. She took Isabel’s hand and placed it atop the open zipper of her trousers. “Take them off.”

Isabel’s hands were immediately on her hips, pushing her pants down and away, leaving her in a black thong.

“Oh, God, I do love that, Kash.” Isabel ran her hands over Kash’s muscular thighs to her ass, fingertips following the erotic frame of the string.

Kash shuddered involuntarily and pressed her legs together, feeling a sudden surge in the moisture between them. The pressure for release was so acute she worried she would come at the first glancing touch of Isabel’s mouth, but she could stand no further delay. “Off,” she pleaded in a hoarse croak.

Isabel removed the final barrier between them and slipped off the bed to kneel in front of her as Kash spread her legs. She could feel warm exhalations on her stomach as she took Isabel’s head in her hands and urged her forward.

Isabel’s arms encircled her thighs, trapping her, as that wonderful mouth slowly descended. The throbbing in her clit intensified with each puff of breath, stroke of tongue, and nip of teeth, until the sensation was beyond unbearable.

More forcefully, she led Isabel’s face where she needed it, her fists in Isabel’s hair, the anticipation dreadful, her body singing out for deliverance.

And when it came, finally, that sweep of tongue across her clit, the sweetest of caresses across the very core of her, her whole being cried out with the joy of it. She felt almost airborne for an instant, lifted out of her body, until the next stroke brought her crashing back to earth, every cell in agony for more. She needed so much more. But she couldn’t find words to ask.

She pressed harder against the back of Isabel’s head as she pushed her pelvis forward, a slow, easy rhythm against Isabel’s mouth. Isabel grasped her ass, fondled her, matched the rhythm of her thrusts, and soon her tongue was also laving her, firmly in sync. Her touch was exquisite, torturously exquisite, and she gave herself over to it, let it build and take her with it, higher and higher, until she could bear no more.

Sounds escaped her—a grunt, a whimper, a wail of anguish—and then Isabel took her, pushed three fingers into her and drove her forward, then sucked her hard and shattered her, sent her into a maelstrom of feeling that tore through her and blew her apart, and left her raw and gasping in its wake.

Collapsing on her back on the bed, she opened her arms and Isabel slipped into them, coming to rest half atop Kash, head nestled into the crook of her shoulder and one leg casually across her thigh.

“Christ, Isabel, you wasted me on the first go,” she griped good-naturedly, still pondering how easy it had been to let go completely with Isabel, easier than she’d imagined it would be. But then, really nothing to do with Isabel had been what she had expected, from their first meeting until this moment.

And thank God for that. Somehow, Isabel had slipped past all of Kash’s cynicism and carefully built defenses and had gotten her to trust again and, perhaps even more importantly, to dream again. She had shown her there was more to life than the enviable-looking but ultimately unsatisfying indulgent lifestyle she had fallen into.

In recent weeks, Kash had allowed herself to imagine the possibilities, and she had been somewhat surprised to find herself getting so excited about the prospect of sharing simple things with Isabel—things that ordinary people took for granted: Coffee in the morning. A summer sunset at the beach. Most of all, she had wondered how it might feel to wake up with Isabel in her arms, perhaps as they were right now. The position was unfamiliar, but wonderfully so. Yup. I can get used to this. As easy as falling off a log.

Isabel’s mouth against her neck, first warm breaths, now wet kisses, renewed the throbbing in her groin before it had barely subsided, assisted by the circles that Isabel’s fingertips were tracing on her stomach and abdomen.

“Well, maybe I’m not quite wasted yet.” She caught Isabel’s hand with her own and rolled them over until she was lying on top, one leg between Isabel’s thighs, resting her weight on her elbows. And then she was kissing her with every bit of the wellspring of feeling that Isabel had stirred in her.

Isabel kissed her soundly back, writhing beneath her, her nails raking Kash’s back to leave little half-moon crescents in her ass as she urged Kash’s thigh more firmly against her sex. She moaned into their enjoined mouths, and the unexpected ferocity of her passion loosened an answering response in Kash.

Kash shifted until she was lying between Isabel’s legs. “I have to be inside you.” Her words came out more demand than request, but Isabel’s face was nothing but certain and eager enthusiasm.

“Yes, you do.” Isabel tilted her hips and opened her legs farther to allow Kash better access. “I’m so ready for you.”

Kash shifted to one side, to run her hand down the length of Isabel’s body, from cheek to neck to breast—where she paused, to relish the weight of it in her palm and to tease the nipple with a fingernail—then firmly down ribs, stomach, abdomen, to the soft hair below. As she rediscovered the abundant wetness she knew was there, she found Isabel’s other breast. It was like coming home.

Isabel cried out, a breathy “Oh!” of pleasure, and arched her body off the bed as Kash brushed over her clit. “Oh, Kash. I need you so bad. Please!”

“I’m right here.” She grazed Isabel’s nipple with her teeth more firmly as she let her fingers play across Isabel’s sex, then eased into her.

Isabel was open, and ready, and accepted her with an upward thrust of her hips. “Mmm, yes, so nice.”

Kash worked her up with slow and steady penetrations, varying the depth, enjoying the way Isabel’s body responded—welcoming her with a rocking of her hips, urging her on with a satisfied moan of delight.

She had touched so many women that she knew what to do, and where, and when, with almost clinical accuracy—able to read even the most subtle signs and then adjust her technique to ensure maximum gratification. Kash kept Isabel on the brink until she begged for mercy, then sent her crashing over and nearly came again herself at the joy of feeling those hard, quick spasms around her hand.

Isabel relaxed, spent and panting for breath, but clutching Kash to herself as the aftertremors of her climax subsided. “I…I so wish I could tell you how you make me feel. Like no one. Like never.”

“I’m glad.” Kash gently kissed the thin sheen of perspiration on Isabel’s neck, then licked her way slowly to Isabel’s ear. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever felt this totally and absolutely content. “That works for me, too,” she whispered. “Like no one. Like never.”

“You…you mean that?” The uncertainty in Isabel’s voice, so unexpected at this moment, shook Kash from her sated semistupor.

She pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at Isabel. “Of course!” She let her tone add, How can you ask that? and Don’t be ridiculous!

Isabel appeared both relieved and chagrined. “I know that you’ve had a lot of…experiences with women…to put it mildly.” She smiled and rolled her eyes, and Kash chuckled.

Isabel continued, more seriously. “And I know that usually…well, that it’s not usually like this. I’m glad it’s…that it’s good different, and not weird different. If that makes sense.”

“Not just good different. Great different,” Kash agreed, kissing Isabel lightly on the lips, amazed and grateful for her sensitivity. “Of course, you may not think so when you wake up with me crowding you because I’m not used to sleeping with someone—”

“Never,” Isabel promised, hugging her tightly. “I want you to know, Kash, that…that you can be yourself with me, too. I mean…not that you aren’t. But if you…” Her cheeks colored, and Kash thought her sudden shyness absolutely adorable. “What I mean to say, is…that I don’t want you to feel as though you have to…to rein in your passionate nature with me.”

“So you think I’m reining in, do you?” Kash teased before she claimed Isabel’s mouth in another scorching kiss. She shifted her weight until they were once again groin to groin, positioned so even the slightest rocking of their bodies would create a pleasant friction for them both.

But just as she started that fire again, she felt Isabel stiffen slightly beneath her and pull her mouth away, obviously intent on making her point. Kash raised up on her elbows again and looked at Isabel curiously.

“When you kiss me like that, you make it hard to think, let alone complete a sentence.” And it was true that Isabel’s expression right then could best be described as besotted.

“And that’s bad?” Kash asked, kissing her again. She very much liked putting that look on Isabel’s face.

“Mmm, great,” Isabel sighed, long moments later when they needed to breathe. “What was I saying?”

“Something about passion,” Kash answered, nuzzling her neck with little bites.

“Oh yeah.” Isabel wrapped her arms tighter around Kash. “I guess what I meant to say, was…I like it when you…you know, take control. When you made me come in that alley, in Rome…God, it was so exciting.” She was shy again, her voice a whisper. “Not that I’m saying I want to run out and have sex in public every other week…but I do want to encourage your more…spontaneous and forceful impulses.”

“Exciting, huh?” Kash asked, thrusting her hips forward and glorying in Isabel’s answering gasp of pleasure. “I was afraid you’d regret it, later. The way it happened.”

“Oh, no.” Isabel shook her head purposefully, then repeated their earlier reference with a smile. “Different for me, yes, I’ll admit. But great different.” She bucked her hips, giving Kash a jolt of pleasure-pain on her sensitive clit.

Kash had imagined doing a lot of things with Isabel, and to Isabel, and the affirmation that there would be no barriers to their pleasure immediately made her think about which to choose first. “I’m glad to hear that, Isabel. Very glad. You know I’d never hurt you.”

“Of course,” Isabel answered at once, gazing deep into her eyes. “I trust you, Kash, with all my heart. I have from the start, though I’m not sure why. More instinct, I guess, than anything else.” She caressed Kash’s back with the lightest of touches. “Loving you took only slightly longer.”

She said it so casually that Kash answered the same way, though the intensity of the look between them belied the insignificance of the exchange. She wasn’t used to talking about love. “For me, too. I think I fell in love with you long before I dared to admit it to myself.”

“I was so afraid I’d never see you again.” Isabel remembered how bleak her future had seemed without Kash in it. “I knew I’d made an impression on you when I saw the article—which was incredibly sweet and wonderful, by the way—but it said you were on the other side of the world.”

“I was,” Kash confirmed. “But you’re certainly worth interrupting my trip for.”

Isabel tried not to show the sudden ache inside of her that the words evoked. “That sounds like you’ll be leaving again.”

“Well, of course,” Kash said offhandedly. “You are the one who convinced me to pursue this photo project of mine, so that shouldn’t surprise you.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised.” Isabel tried to smile, but she had to force her show of cheer. “It’s wonderful that you’re doing this, Kash. I know it’s been a dream of yours for a long time.” Though it was the truth, Isabel didn’t at all relish the idea of being separated from Kash again, for who knew how long. But apparently what she wanted and what Kash wanted, weren’t compatible.

“I’m not in any hurry, though,” Kash added casually, running a finger along Isabel’s chin. “I can wait until you can get away, too.”

Say what? Isabel pushed Kash off her and raised up on her side and narrowed her eyes to look over at her as Kash began to laugh. “What did you say? As soon as I can get away?”

“Well, of course. I’m not planning to go anywhere without you,” Kash said. She wrapped her arm around Isabel’s waist and pulled her back against her body, but this time with Isabel lying half atop her. “Think the cakes and swimmers and Gillian can get along without you for a few months while we travel and figure things out? I told you I wanted to talk about us. I mean, you said there were a lot of places you always dreamed of seeing. We can start right at number one, wherever you like. As long as I have my cameras and you, I’m golden.”

Isabel was beaming. “Oh, Kash. It sounds wonderful. But…but I can’t. I can’t let you—”

“Hush.” Kash pulled Isabel tight and silenced her objections with a long kiss. By the time she ended it Isabel had a dreamy expression, swollen lips, and badly mussed hair. “Don’t let something irrelevant like money keep us from being together. I’m loaded. Let’s enjoy it, huh?”

Isabel bit the inside of her lip and nodded, her eyes shining.

“So…does that mean you’re okay with coming with me?” Kash’s heart soared.

“Coming with you? Oh, yes. I like the sound of that,” Isabel said very provocatively as she raised up on all fours and slowly turned her body one hundred eighty degrees above Kash, until they were positioned so they could taste each other. “I want to come with you, Kash. Wherever. Whenever. However possible. Starting right now.”

About the Author

Kim Baldwin has been a writer for three decades, following up twenty years as an executive in network news with a second vocation penning lesbian fiction.She has published five other solo novels with Bold Strokes Books in addition to Breaking the Ice: the intrigue/ romances Flight Risk and Hunter’s Pursuit and the romances Force of Nature, Whitewater Rendezvous, and Focus of Desire. Four of her books have been finalists for Golden Crown Literary Society Awards. She has also published two books in the Elite Operatives Series in collaboration with Xenia Alexiou: Lethal Affairs (translated into Dutch as Dubbel Doelwit) and Thief of Always. The third book in the series, Missing Lynx, comes out in February 2010.

Kim has also contributed short stories to five BSB anthologies: The Lambda Literary Award–winning Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments; Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love; IPPY and GCLS Award–winning Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions; Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games, a 2008 Independent Publishers Award Gold Medalist; and Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery. She is currently at work on her tenth novel. She lives in the north woods of Michigan, but takes to the road with her laptop and camera whenever possible. Her Web site is www.kimbaldwin.com and she can be reached at baldwinkim@gmail.com.

Kim Baldwin has been a writer for three decades, following up a twenty-year hitch in network news with a much more satisfying career penning lesbian fiction. She has published four novels with Bold Strokes Books: the intrigue/romances Flight Risk and Hunter’s Pursuit, and the romances Force of Nature and Whitewater Rendezvous. She has also contributed short stories to three BSB anthologies: the Lambda Literary Award winning Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments, Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love, and Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions. She lives in the north woods of Michigan.