Greek-born, American-educated Kristina Naxos arrived in New York City on a sunny April afternoon. She breezed through customs wearing her rhinestone Ms. Greece crown, the diamond-studded sunglasses she'd won as part of her pageant booty, and stilettos that added three inches to her already impressive five-nine. Luckily she'd had prescription lenses inserted in the sunglass frames, as her contacts were in the luggage that was now lost somewhere between Athens and New York.
A limo whisked her and her volunteer escort to a Manhattan hotel, where Greece's ambassador to the UN gave her a ceremonial welcome kiss. Pinning on a sparkly smile, Kristina posed with the ambassador for the paparazzi.
An hour later, she had dumped her escort, deposited her crown in the hotel safe and traded her stilettos for a pair of beaded sneakers purchased in the hotel gift shop, along with snug jeans and an I LUV NY T-shirt. Hiding behind her ultra-chic, ultra-expensive glasses, she slipped out a side door of the hotel.
Kristina was on a mission — a private and very desperate one that had nothing to do with the Ms. World pageant she'd compete in a few days from now. Her eyes intent behind the shades, she stepped out onto the sidewalk. She'd taken only a couple of steps when someone shoved her from behind and grabbed her purse.
"Hey!"
The sunglasses flew off and Kristina went down, but she managed to hang on to her purse strap. Engaged in a furious tug of war, she screeched for help.
She heard the thud of pounding feet. Her attacker heard them, too. Cursing, he wrenched the purse out of her hands and took off around the corner. A few seconds later, someone whizzed by in hot pursuit. Kristina was on her feet, dusting herself off, when the pursuer returned.
"The bastard disappeared like a rat down a hole. You okay?"
She squinted up — a rare occurrence for her. The face was a pale blur, but the voice was deep and rich and carried a definite hint of the Bronx. Kristina's four years as an undergrad at Columbia had given her an ear for the boroughs.
"I'm fine. Just a little shaken."
"Did you get a good look at the guy?"
"Well, uh, he sounded tall."
"Come again?"
"You know." She flapped her hand a little above shoulder height. "Tall."
NYPD Protective Services Sergeant Derek Holt blinked as the leggy brunette thrust out a sneakered toe and tapped the sidewalk. With her wildly curly black hair and killer curves, the woman could stop traffic on any street corner. Too bad she was a little loony.
"The mugger knocked off my glasses. Do you see them?"
Enlightened, he scooped up a pair with mangled frames and shattered lenses. "Here they are. Or what's left of them."
"Oh, no! I can't see six inches in front of my face without them."
Derek had just come off duty, but he couldn't leave a near-blind woman to find her own way to the precinct. Her mile-long legs and luscious breasts had nothing to do with his spurt of chivalry.
"I'm a police officer. I'll take you downtown to fill out a report."
"No!" Her chin jerked up. Her brown eyes filled with something that looked like dismay. "No, thanks. There, uh, wasn't anything of value in my purse."
"You were attacked. You need to report it."
"I'm okay. Really. I have to go."
Whirling, she groped her way through the hotel's revolving side door. Derek was left with a view of a classy backside and a decided curiosity about the gorgeous babe's aversion to cops.
Fighting a serious case of jet lag, Kristina huddled on the sofa in her hotel suite. She'd retrieved her crown from the hotel safe and changed out of her gift-shop jeans into one of the hotel's fluffy robes. Staring with hopelessly myopic eyes at the fuzz of color on the TV, she thought about the thug who'd jumped her earlier that afternoon.
The mugger couldn't know it, but he'd blown her desperate scheme all to hell.
Kristina had entered the Ms. Greece pageant on a whim. Much to her surprise, she'd won the rhinestone crown. But she'd traveled to NYC not just to represent her country at the Ms. World competition. She was here for very personal reasons.
She had to find her cousin.
She and Athena had grown up together, closer than most sisters, and looked so much alike most people thought they were twins. Unfortunately, Athena's student visa had expired weeks ago. Now she was not only in the States illegally, the police had issued a warrant for her arrest after an antiwar protest that turned ugly. The last Athena's frantic mother had heard, her daughter was hiding out with a friend and desperate to get home. Kristina had intended to find her and give Athena her passport. Once her cousin was safely out of the country, she'd report the passport stolen.
Except a mugger had just made off with her purse and passport! To make things worse, Kristina's prescription sunglasses had taken a direct hit during the scuffle. She could hardly find the bathroom, much less her cousin, until the airlines delivered her luggage and her contacts.
Unless…
Struck by inspiration, she groped for the phone. The diamond-studded sunglasses had been compliments of an exclusive NYC designer. Maybe they could straighten the frames and replace the lenses on a rush order.
An obliging hotel operator connected her with the Jordan Colby Eyewear Boutique on 5th Avenue. When Kristina explained her dilemma, the designer herself got on the phone.
"I'll send a runner right over. If the optometrist I work with isn't too backed up, he should be able to duplicate the prescription and provide you with new eyes by tomorrow morning."
"Thank you!"
When the runner arrived, Kristina handed him the mangled glasses. Hopefully, her luggage would appear before she had to attend the Greek-American Society banquet in a few hours. If not, she'd just have to fumble her way through the event.
"…and in local news, the Greek delegate to the Ms. World pageant was mugged this afternoon."
Startled, Kristina swung around and squinted at the fuzzy image on the TV.
"An enterprising tourist captured the incident on his cell phone camera."
Her first reaction was dismay. Her second, a thrill of excitement. If her cousin caught the news, she'd know Kristina was here! Athena would try to reach her. They could…
A brisk knock checked her racing thoughts. Praying it was her luggage, she felt her way to the door and opened it a crack. "Yes?"
Something shiny flashed in front of her nose. "It's Sergeant Holt, Ms. Naxos. I'm with the NYPD. We met earlier this afternoon. "
Kristina's heart dropped to the toes of the terry-cloth hotel scuffs. Common sense told her Holt had come about the robbery. He couldn't have connected her to her fugitive cousin.
Could he?
"I have my supervisor with me," he said. "We'd like to talk to you."
Gulping, Kristina unlatched the chain.
NYPD Sergeant Derek Holt had gotten an eyeful of Ms. Greece's seductive curves, creamy skin and long, silky mane earlier this afternoon. She looked even better now, with her face scrubbed clean and her hair wrapped in a towel turban.
Like a Greek goddess, Derek thought. Tall. Proud.
And more than a little nervous.
Wondering what it was about cops that made her so edgy, he clipped his badge to his belt and introduced his boss. "This is Captain Mike Carpenter, chief of the NYPD Protective Services Division."
"I hope you've come to tell me you've caught the mugger and recovered my purse, Captain."
"We're working on it. May we come in?"
Nodding, she stepped aside and waved them into a sitting room filled with flowers. Derek spotted an elaborate rhinestone crown amid the bouquets. An instant and highly erotic image of Ms. Naxos wearing nothing but that sparkling crown jumped into his head and refused to jump out. Sweating a little, he wrenched his gaze from the glittering headpiece.
"The mayor asked me to convey his personal apologies that you were attacked in our city," Captain Carpenter told the dark-haired beauty. "He's also asked me to provide you extra protection during the pageant activities."
"What?"
"I've assigned Sergeant Holt here to head your detail. He or one of his people will be with you twenty-four hours a day."
Her face flooded with dismay. "I don't want…that is, I don't need…" She stopped, dragged in a breath, and pasted on a brilliant smile. "I appreciate the offer, Captain, but I'm sure the pageant will provide adequate security for all contestants."
"You'll need more than 'adequate,'" Derek countered. "A tourist gave us a partial visual of the guy who attacked you."
"I just heard. It was just on the news."
"We think we know who he is."
"Think?"
"The tourist caught him from behind. We blew up the photo and spotted what looks like a Cobra tattoo on the side of his neck. The tattoo gave us a tentative ID."
"So arrest him."
"We will, when we find him. In the meantime, you need to know this man is more than a purse snatcher, Ms. Naxos. He's got a rap sheet as long as my arm. Armed robbery. Breaking and entering. Murder for hire."
The color drained out of her cheeks. "Murder?"
"We suspect he gunned down one of our undercover agents two years ago," Captain Carpenter said grimly.
Derek's jaw went tight at the memory. He'd lost more than a fellow officer in that dark alley. He'd lost a friend.
He wanted this Snake character.
He wanted him bad.
"We don't know why he jumped you," he told the shocked brunette. "But we don't believe it was for your purse. Whatever the reason, you're a key witness to the crime."
"But…But…I lost my glasses in the scuffle. I'm blind without them. I wouldn't recognize this guy if he walked right up to me."
"He doesn't know that. So he may come back to make sure you're not available to pick him out of a lineup. If he does," Derek promised, his voice low and lethal, "I'll be waiting for him."
Kristina played with the belt of her bathrobe as Sergeant Derek Holt scoped out her two-room hotel suite. His face was a blurry smudge, but the determined set to his wide shoulders told her he was there to stay.
Christos!
She was stuck with him.
Even if the airline delivered her luggage and contacts, she couldn't search for her cousin unless she managed to evade Sergeant Holt and her assigned escort for the evening and the professional killer who might try to eliminate the witness he thought could ID him. Feeling overwhelmed and just a little scared, Kristina fiddled with the belt until Holt finished inspecting closets, windows and fire escapes.
"I'll need your complete schedule," he announced. "Times, places, attendees, sponsors, media coverage, the works."
"It's all in that folder on the desk."
"I also need to lay some ground rules. One, I answer the door. Two, I get on the extension before you answer the phone. Three, you don't move out of my sight. Four…"
"Four?"
"If I tell you to get down, you drop like a stone. Understand?"
She swallowed. Hard. "Yes."
"Good. What's next on your agenda?"
"A banquet," she said in a small voice. "Sponsored by the Greek American Society. At, uh, seven thirty.
Holt must have picked up on her skittering nerves. He crossed to where she stood and tried to reassure her. "Don't worry. You'll have New York's finest surrounding you at every public event."
Just what she needed! A phalanx of guards! How would she ever slip away to find Athena?
"And one of us will be here at the hotel with you around the clock."
He was close. Too close. As if to make up for her lazy vision, Kristina's other senses did double duty. She could smell the faint tang of his aftershave. Hear the softening in his tone as he tried to calm her fear. Feel a tingle under her skin when he patted her arm.
More than a tingle.
A small electric jolt.
Surprised by the sensation, Kristina decided she'd better change back into her jeans. She still had several hours until the banquet. She couldn't spend them naked under this fluffy robe. Not while sharing such close confines with an NYPD officer.
She started for the bedroom. A thud in the hall, just outside her door, stopped her. She caught a blur of movement as Holt whipped a hand to the small of his back and produced something big and black and ugly.
"Get down."
"Huh?"
"Get down, dammit."
Belatedly remembering she was supposed to be a rock, Kristina hit the carpet. Her heart hammered as she squirmed forward a few inches, straining to see what was happening.
"Yeah?" Holt called, his shoulders planted against the wall beside the door. "Who is it?"
"I'm here to see Ms. Naxos."
Holt threw her a quick glance. "You expecting…? "
He broke off with a choked, strangled sound that sent terror spearing through Kristina.
"What?"
Fear put a squeak in Kristina's voice. Sprawled on the carpet, her heart slamming against her ribs, she squinted at the police officer with his back pinned to the wall.
"What's the matter?"
When he remained silent, her imagination went crazy.
Was he wounded? Had someone shot through the wall with a silenced gun? Was poisoned gas seeping under the door?
She levered onto her elbows, intending to rush to his aid. That was when she discovered the flaps of her robe had parted during her squirming. Cold air prickled the backs of her thighs and most of her bottom. Her wild hope that Holt hadn't noticed all that bare skin died when he gave an inarticulate grunt and recovered his voice.
"You expecting someone?"
Thoroughly flustered, she jerked the terry-cloth over her backside. "It could be my luggage. The airline said they'd deliver it. Or more flowers. They've been arriving all day. Or the gown the pageant coordinators promised to send over in case my bags didn't arrive in time for the banquet tonight."
"Okay. Stay down."
It was the gown, they discovered moments later. A length of shimmering silver lamé delivered by the harried pageant coordinator himself. The short, chubby Byron DeMarco blinked in surprise when Holt opened the door. He blinked again when Kristina picked herself off the floor.
"What's going on?"
"I'm Sergeant Derek Holt, NYPD Protective Services. The mayor requested we provide Ms. Naxos protection after her mugging this morning."
"Oh. Well. We can always use the extra help." Depositing the gown on a chair, he flicked a glance around the suite and zoomed in on a glitter of rhinestones. "Is that your crown?"
"Yes."
"It's fabulous!"
Kristina might have entered the Ms. Greece pageant with ulterior motives, but she had to admit wearing the high, cylindrical crown gave her a thrill.
"It's fashioned after Hera's diadem," she said with a touch of pride. "She was the wife of Zeus and queen of Olympus. Zeus thought her the most beautiful of all females, goddess or mortal."
"Apropos," Holt commented with a sidelong glance in her direction.
Ridiculously pleased by the compliment, Kristina continued. "Hera didn't want anything to do with Zeus, so he transformed himself into a cuckoo and pretended to be frozen in the cold. When Hera cuddled him to her breast to warm him, he morphed back into his normal shape and seduced her."
"That's all very interesting," DeMarco said with a last look at the gleaming rhinestones. "I have to run. One of the other contestants missed her flight from Madrid. I'll see you at the kick-off luncheon tomorrow. We'll have every network covering the event. Let me know if you need another dress."
He rushed out before Kristina thought to beg another favor.
"I'm sorry, Sergeant Holt. I should have asked him to supply you with a tux."
"No problem. We squire around a lot of VIPs. A tux is part of our duty uniform. But I suggest we dispense with the 'sergeant.'" A hint of laughter crept into his deep voice. "I think we've seen enough of each other now to be on a first name basis."
He'd certainly seen enough of her!
Kristina didn't get her first good look at him, however, until her luggage arrived shortly before they were to depart for the banquet. Muttering a fervent prayer of thanks, she rushed into the bathroom and inserted her contacts. When she swept out again, the sight of Sergeant Derek Holt in black tie and tails stopped her in her tracks.
Kristina had picked up an extensive repertoire of American slang during her four years at Columbia University. One phrase fit Sergeant Derek Holt to a T.
The man was hot!
Somehow she managed to keep her jaw from dropping while her newly refocused eyes catalogued tanned skin, short-cropped tawny hair, and eyes the same glorious blue as the Aegean. The rest of him wasn't bad, either. Her gaze drifted from wide shoulders and a chest made for snuggling against to lean hips and muscular thighs, all encased in a hand-tailored tux.
He cocked a head at her intent scrutiny. "Something wrong? Did I miss a stud?"
"No." Embarrassed, she scrambled for her dignity. "It's just…uh…your bowtie is a little crooked."
Stooping, he peered into a wall mirror and fiddled with the tie. "I can never get the damned thing straight."
"Here, let me do it."
Kristina worked the silk and tried to ignore the warm wash of his breath on her cheek. She couldn't ignore his teasing murmur, though.
"I guess this is why a man needs a wife."
"Or a valet," she retorted. Curiosity prompted her to ask, "Do you have one?"
Laughter crinkled the corners of his eyes. "A valet or a wife?"
Good Lord! He should bottle that smile and sell it to sex-starved virgins. He could make a fortune! Kristina wouldn't classify herself as sex starved, exactly, and she certainly wasn't a virgin. Still, she felt the impact of that lopsided grin all the way to her strappy silver sandals.
"Whichever," she got out a little breathlessly.
"No to both."
For pity's sake! She had to get a grip here. She was in New York to locate her fugitive cousin and whisk her out of the country. She had no business going all gooey inside because this American Apollo looked like he wanted to kiss her.
So why didn't he?
Piqued and more than a little aroused by the possibility, she fashioned a neat bow. "There," she said, giving his chest a light pat. "All nice and straight."
That was more than Derek could say for himself at the moment. Kristina Naxos had just about doubled him over. He hadn't drawn a full breath since she emerged from the bedroom. He had no idea how she'd wiggled into that shimmering silver tube, but all he could think of was wiggling her out of it.
All the reasons he shouldn't pinged around inside his head. She was a protectee. He was responsible for her safety. A real bad ass might be after her. A cop killer.
That sobered him — until Ms. Greece rested her palms on his chest and smiled up at him. The look in her warm brown eyes could be interpreted as either a question or an invitation.
Derek choose B.
Giving in to an insane impulse, he dipped his head.
The kiss started out light. Just a brush of lips.
The next thing he knew, his arms were around her supple waist and his mouth had covered hers.
Kristina had been kissed before.
But never like this.
The wild sensations shooting through her might have had something to do with Derek's tall, muscular build. Even in three-inch evening sandals, she still had to go up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. That experience was almost as heady as the hot press of his mouth. Not to mention the friction he generated when his hands roamed over skin left bare by the plunging back of her gown.
When he shifted and drew her into him, Kristina could feel him against every inch of her body. Greedy hunger had her pressing even closer, until her breasts flattened against his chest and her hips canted into his.
This was crazy, she thought. Insane. She'd come to the States to find her cousin and slip Athena out of the country. Yet here she was, her knees as rubbery as calamari and what felt like a triple shot of ouzo firing her blood.
She had no idea who finally broke off the contact. She thought she had, but the urge to fling herself back into Derek's arms and taste him again was so powerful she couldn't be sure. The only saving grace was that he looked almost as shell-shocked as she felt.
"Sorry." Shagging a hand through his short, tawny hair, he put a few feet of space between them. "That wasn't real smart of me."
The phone jangled before Kristina could suggest they'd both been equally dumb.
The heat invading her veins went out like a snuffed candle. Was that Athena? Had her cousin seen the news story about the mugging? Or was it the cop killer himself, checking to see if she was here?
Her nerves strung wire-tight, she waited while Derek raced for the extension in the bedroom. At his nod, they lifted the phones simultaneously and Kristina croaked out a nervous, "Hello?"
"Ms. Naxos?"
"Yes."
"This is Christopher Xanatopolous. I'm your escort for the evening. I'm in the lobby. Shall I come up?"
She blew out a shaky breath. "No, I'll be right down."
Derek stayed on the phone after she hung up. Double-checking with the front desk, Kristina guessed. She used the brief interval to repair damage to her lipstick and anchor the rhinestone crown to her upswept curls.
"I ran Xanatopolous through our computers after I saw his name on your schedule," Derek said when he emerged from the bedroom. "The desk clerk's description matches the profile we pulled up on him. Far as we know, he's clean but I don't want you waltzing off with him at the banquet."
Or with anyone else, he thought as she turned to face him.
The primitive, gut-level response surprised the heck out of him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hit this hard and this fast.
Hell! Who was he kidding? He'd never been hit this hard or this fast.
Scowling, he tucked a spare ammo clip in his tux pocket and checked the hall before escorting his charge to the elevators.
The Greek American Society banquet held in Ms. Greece's honor was a loud, boisterous affair. The guests offered toast after toast. To the land of their birth. To the nation that had welcomed them with open arms. To the smiling, sparkling beauty wearing the crown of Hera.
Derek avoided the cloudy ouzo that most of the guests tossed back like water. Arms folded, he maintained a position that allowed him to scan the ballroom while keeping Kristina in his line of sight. He had plainclothes officers stationed outside the exits and another Protective Services officer mingling with the crowd. Still, he felt edgy and off-balance.
He could blame his frayed concentration on that bit of idiocy back at the hotel…and on the woman now being led onto the dance floor by her escort.
Derek had disliked the rich, handsome banker on sight. Being forced to watch from a distance while Xanatopolous conversed with Kristina at the head table hadn't altered his opinion. Nor did he care for the man's smarmy smile as he linked his hand with hers.
Half the crowd joined them on the parquet floor. The band struck up a slow, elemental beat. The dancers began to dip and sway.
Sweat popped out on Derek's temples. How in God's name could she move in that shimmering silver shroud?
The beat picked up. The dancers matched it. Kristina's back was to him now. Jaw tight, Derek wrenched his attention away from the view to make another sweep of the room.
What the…?
Eyes narrowed, he stared at the waitress holding aloft a tray of glasses. She could be Kristina's twin! Same glossy hair. Same luminous brown eyes. Same stunning build. Frowning, Derek watched her approach the circle of dancers and thought he saw a flicker of startled recognition in Kristina's face before a sudden shout whipped him around.
"Ooompah!"
A plate sailed through the air and shattered against the wall. Another followed. A third. As the pile of broken crockery grew, Derek came out of his instinctive crouch and turned to find Kristina weaving her way through the crowd, her face flushed and her eyes overly bright.
"It's been a long day," she said. "I'm really tired. I think I'd better call it a night."
He skimmed another glance around the ballroom. The waitress had disappeared. So had the banker. "Where's Xanatopolous?"
"I told him you'd escort me back to the hotel, so he decided to stay. I think he's at the bar. Let's go, shall we?"
Derek followed, his instincts working overtime. He said nothing, however, until he had his charge safely inside her hotel room. "All right. What the hell's going on?"
Kristina wasn't prepared for the question. Her exhilaration at making contact with her cousin fizzled and died.
"What do you mean?" she asked, stalling for time.
"Who was that woman? The one who put such a look of surprise on your face?"
"She didn't say her name." That was true. Athena hadn't said her name. "I guess…I guess I was surprised because she looked so much like me."
"There's more to it than that. You're a bundle of nervous energy. You have been since we left the banquet."
Kristina could come up with only one explanation that wouldn't give her or Athena away. "Maybe I've been thinking about that kiss we shared before we left. Maybe…maybe I'm hoping we'll share another."
A diversionary tactic. Something to erase the suspicion in his eyes. That was all Kristina intended until she slid her arms around his neck and drew his mouth down to hers.
Then she just sort of…fell off the edge.
There was no other way to describe it. Or explain the insanity that followed.
Eight years as a street cop and another three in NYPD's Protective Services Division had honed Derek's survival instincts to a razor's edge. As Kristina's mouth moved over his, those instincts were shouting at him.
She was playing some game of her own. She'd used jet lag as an excuse to leave the banquet but she was wound tighter than a corkscrew. He could sense her tension, feel the suppressed energy demanding release.
She wanted him to believe that energy was sexual. Okay, he'd play along with that. And he'd enjoy the hell out of himself in the process.
That was the plan, anyway, until her breath started coming all fast and her tongue found his. The taste of her went straight to Derek's gut.
"You taste like cloves," he growled, burying his hands in her hair. "And something dark, something sweet."
"Licorice," she gasped between hot, hard kisses. "Or anise. They're both in ouzo."
Kristina knew she was fast losing control of the situation. She shivered as his lips moved from her mouth to her throat. Felt a thrill of sheer delight when his hands skimmed down her back to her hips. But when he brought her against him, a brief flash of reason pierced her chaotic thoughts.
If she was going to stop this lunacy, she'd better do it now.
Or not.
He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. She could hear the rasp in his voice, feel him rock hard against her hip. As if it had a will of its own, her body responded to those unmistakable signals. Her womb clenched. Her breath got heavy. Her mind concocted a swift rationale.
She hadn't done anything wrong. Certainly nothing to feel guilty about. She'd just whispered a frantic request to Christopher Xanatopolous, begging him to intercept her cousin and whisk her away from the banquet to a safe place. Bewildered but compliant, the banker had agreed and promised to contact Kristina tomorrow. Until then, all she had to deal with was the heat Derek sparked with every touch.
Why not give in to the hunger he roused in her?
He was obviously wrestling with the problem. "I'm here to protect you," he bit out, "not tumble you into bed. Much as I want to."
The gruff admission settled the matter for Kristina. Taking her courage in both hands, she smiled up at him. "Can't you do both?"
His jaw locked, Derek waged a fierce battle between duty and desire. He'd set up intrusion detection devices, put the hotel night staff on alert, made sure the security cameras were aimed at the right angles. He'd planned to spend the night on the sofa and make periodic checks on his charge.
Why not maintain a closer and far more intimate surveillance?
The thought set his already heated blood to boiling. Scooping Kristina into his arms, he carried her to the bedroom. Within minutes, he had her stripped down to her underwear. She returned the favor by working the studs from his dress shirt. Peeling back the starched cotton, she trailed greedy kisses across his chest.
They were naked when they fell to the bed. Panting when he dug a condom out of his wallet. Lost in a frenzy of need when he positioned himself between her thighs and slid into her wet, welcoming heat.
Kristina came awake with her face buried in her pillow and the scent of fresh brewed coffee teasing her nostrils. As the last tentacles of sleep evaporated, memories of the night just past burned through the mists.
Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to regret a single minute of it. Her tawny-haired Apollo had more than lived up to the god's reputation as a powerful lover. The first time had been fast and wicked and wonderful. The second slow and sweet. Remembering the third brought a surge of heat to Kristina's cheeks.
"Morning, beautiful."
Kristina had removed her contacts sometime during the night. All she could see when she raised her head and shoved her hair out of her eyes was the vague outline of black trousers topped by an expanse of naked chest and what looked like a very smug, very satisfied male grin.
"I made coffee. How do you take it?"
"Black. Three sweeteners. What time is it?"
"Almost eight."
"Eight!" Yelping, Kristina threw off the covers and snatched at the robe puddled on the floor beside the bed. "I'm supposed to meet with the stylist and makeup artist at eight-thirty. The first photo shoot is at ten, followed by the kick-off luncheon at the Waldorf."
"Relax. The stylist called a few moments ago. He and his partner are on their way. You have time for coffee…or maybe not," he amended as the phone jangled. "Wait for me to get on the extension," he ordered tersely.
A cold lump formed in Kristina's stomach. She'd almost forgotten the reason Sergeant Derek Holt had burst into her life. That could be a killer on the phone. Or Christoper Xanatopolous, calling to ask what Kristina wanted him to do with her fugitive cousin.
Christos! What did she want him to do with Athena?
"Okay," Derek called from the sitting room, "pick up."
Her thoughts whirling, Kristina lifted the receiver. "Yes?"
"It's Jordan Colby, Ms. Naxos. I have your sunglasses. I thought I'd deliver them on my way in to my studio. Shall I come up?"
Relief loosened Kristina's death grip on the phone. "Yes, please."
"Who's Jordan Colby?" Derek wanted to know.
"A former model turned eyewear designer. She designed the sunglasses I had on — the ones that got mangled in the mugging. She promised a quick repair job."
Nodding, Derek dragged on his dress shirt and was hunting for the missing studs when Jordan Colby arrived. Draped in Versace and wreathed in Chanel, the tall, auburn-haired designer couldn't fail to note their just-out-of-bed attire. She said nothing, however, until Derek excused himself to make a call and Kristina tried on the glasses with their distinctive butterfly logo picked out in glittering diamonds.
"Perfect. I can't thank you enough, Ms. Colby. How much do I owe you?"
"Not a thing. Consider this an apology from a New Yorker for what happened yesterday."
"Yes, well…" Warmth crept into Kristina's cheeks. "Yesterday wasn't all bad."
"So I gather," Colby replied dryly. She hesitated, rubbing a small crescent shaped scar above her eye. "May I offer a word of advice?"
"Of course."
"Watch yourself with New York City cops. Especially ones who are too handsome for their own good."
"You sound like you might be speaking from personal experience."
"I am. Unfortunately. Well, I'd better… My, God!" She froze, her gaze locked on the crown glittering in a shaft of morning sunlight. "That's magnificent!"
"It is, isn't it?" Kristina experienced a familiar thrill of pride. "It's modeled after the diadem of Hera, queen of the Greek gods. The rhinestones were specially cut and fitted into…"
"Rhinestones, my left foot!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I work with gems every day. If those center stones aren't diamonds, I'll eat my jeweler's loupe."
"Diamonds!"
The muffled shriek spun Derek around. He dropped his cell phone and was reaching for his Glock when Kristina pointed a shaking finger at her cylindrical crown.
"She thinks…she thinks those are diamonds!"
"The hell you say!"
He and Kristina watched side by side as Jordan Colby dug a small, folded magnifier out of her purse and examined the stones in the crown.
"Most definitely diamonds," she murmured. "Excellent cut. Beautiful color. VS2 or 3 clarity." A frown etched a line between her delicate brows. "Unless I miss my guess," she said slowly, "these stones are part of the cache stolen from a South African dealer six weeks ago."
Two pairs of accusing eyes swung toward Kristina.
"You can't think I stole them!"
"We don't know who stole them," Colby said coolly. "But we do know several other stones from that lot have already been purchased on the black market and smuggled into this country."
"We?" Derek echoed.
"I'm in the business. The diamond business," she amended smoothly.
"Well, this crown is now NYPD business."
"Then I'll leave you to it." She made for the door, paused, and gave Kristina a last, considering look. "You have my number. Call me if I can help in any way."
The door closed behind her, leaving the room blanketed in silence and Kristina swamped by dismay and disbelief. Both feelings increased exponentially when she glanced up and saw suspicion in Sergeant Holt's eyes.
"Derek, I swear I didn't know about those diamonds. If they are diamonds," she added, glaring at the crown she'd been so proud of only moments ago.
"You've been nervous as a cat about something," he said.
Guilt piled on top of Kristina's other chaotic emotions. Gulping, she tried to bluff it out. "Yes, well, being attacked by a professional thug does tend to make me nervous."
"There's more to it than that." He cocked his head, his expression cold and remote. "You refused to go down to the station and report the theft. You got all flustered when Captain Carpenter told you we'd be providing special protective services. You said you were tired and wanted to leave the banquet early last night, yet when we got back to the hotel, you…"
"Practically attacked you," she finished for him, her chin lifting.
Kristina couldn't believe how swiftly things had deteriorated. She'd come apart in this man's arms last night not once. Not twice. Three soul-shattering times. Yet now he just stood there, so cold, so accusing.
Jordan Colby's warning thundered in her ears. She'd been a fool to let down her guard with this too-handsome NYPD cop. Before she could tell him so, the phone rang for the second time that morning. Furious with herself for giving in to the hunger he roused in her, she forgot to wait and snatched up the receiver.
"Kristina Naxos."
"It's Athena." The whisper was ragged and choked with fear. "They want the crown. They…they said they'd kill me if you don't do exactly what they say."
Kristina forgot how to breathe as her cousin's terror spilled into a desperate sob.
"Are you alone? Can you talk to them?"
Kristina made her decision in the space of a single heartbeat.
Derek's withdrawal into a cold, hard shell after their wild night hurt and infuriated her, but every instinct in her body said she could trust him in this situation.
She had to trust him.
Flashing him an urgent, silent signal, she gestured to the extension in the other room and answered her cousin's desperate question.
"Yes," she lied. "I'm alone. I can talk."
"What…what about the ph-phone? Is it being monitored?"
"No."
"Here," Athena sobbed to an unseen listener. "Talk to her."
In the small silence that followed Kristina intercepted a hard look from Derek that made her wish fervently she'd told him about her fugitive cousin.
"Just do as we say, Kristina, and Athena won't get hurt."
Her heart seemed to stutter and stop. She recognized that deep baritone! She should — she'd danced with its owner just last night.
"Christopher? What insane game are you playing?"
"This is no game. I need to cover some, shall we say, accounting errors at the bank. I bought some diamonds on the black market and arranged to have them smuggled in. They're in your crown."
She didn't have to work hard to feign shock, indignation and fury. The banker cut through her stuttering exclamations.
"I want the crown. I should have had it yesterday, after Santerra snatched your purse and room key."
"That thug works for you?"
"When I need him. He searched your room after he got the key. The crown wasn't there."
"No," Kristina ground out, as angry now as she was frightened for her cousin. "I'd put it in the hotel safe."
"Then the mayor put you under around-the-clock police protection. That made things a bit more difficult. Luckily, you dropped just the leverage I needed into my hands. Athena told me her situation. If you don't want to see her in jail — or worse — you'll do exactly as I say."
"You're a bastard, Xanatopolous. I curse you." The words came out in a hot rush of English and Greek. "Athena curses you. Her mother curses you. Her mother's mother curses…"
"I'm not interested in curses," he interrupted ruthlessly. "Only the crown."
Derek made a violent gesture, circling his arm in the air.
Spin it out. He wanted her to spin it out.
"You can't just take Hera's diadem," Kristina objected, improvising wildly. "How will I explain the loss to the police? To pageant officials?"
"Don't be stupid. We have a duplicate ready. Just wait for our signal."
The connection went dead. Kristina held on to the phone, afraid to hang up, while Derek did something on his end.
There was a click. Another click. A disembodied voice floated through the receiver.
"He made the call on a mobile phone. We vectored him to within a six-block area on the lower East Side. Looks like he destroyed the instrument, though. It's not putting out a signal any longer. Want us to send patrols to canvass the area?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
He slammed the extension down. When he stalked out of the bedroom, his face could have been carved from granite.
"Who the hell is Athena?"
"Athena Spiridon is my cousin."
Kristina faced the hard-eyed cop. He looked nothing like the passionate lover she'd just spent the most incredible night of her life with. His rumpled white shirt hung open. His black dress trousers rode low on his hips. Golden bristles stubbled his cheeks and jaw and his hair needed a quick comb. But it was the tightly restrained anger radiating from him in waves that demanded her full and complete attention.
"Why didn't you tell me that last night," Derek said icily, "when I asked you about the woman at the banquet."
"I couldn't. You're a police officer and Athena, uh, got into a little trouble here in the States."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Her student visa expired. She either didn't know or didn't care until she marched in an antiwar protest that resulted in some shattered store windows."
"And stolen property, as I recall."
"Athena didn't steal anything! I swear! But someone gave her name and description to the police and now there's a warrant out for her arrest. She's been in hiding, desperate to get home. I was going to help her slip out of the country."
"How?"
"I planned to give her my passport, put her on a plane, then report the passport stolen."
There! It was out. The secret she'd been carrying since her arrival in New York City. She should have been relieved to get it off her shoulders. Instead, the burden seemed to have quadrupled in weight.
No surprise there. In the past few minutes, she'd learned the rhinestone crown she'd been traipsing around in was studded with real diamonds, her cousin had been kidnapped, and a suave, handsome banker was holding a gun to Athena's head.
"Only my passport was stolen," she finished. "And I pushed Athena into Xanatopolous's hands last night, asking him to take care of her until I could figure out what to do."
"Because you didn't trust me enough to ask for my help."
He said it flatly, without emotion, but a muscle ticked in one side of his jaw. Kristina knew nothing but the truth would serve.
"I didn't trust you then. I do now."
He wasn't buying it. "Was that what last night was all about? Was our roll between the sheets supposed to soften me up? Keep me from thinking too much about the resemblance between you and the woman at the banquet?"
"No! Well…yes. At first." Miserable, Kristina stuck to the painful truth. "Maybe distracting you was in the back of my mind. But I never intended more than that one kiss. The rest just…just happened."
"Yeah, right."
"When I heard the terror in Athena's voice, when I knew she was in real trouble, I didn't think twice. I wanted you on the phone. I needed you on that phone. Please, Derek. Please help her."
She knew she'd said the wrong thing when the ice in his eyes took on another layer of frost.
"I'm a cop. That's my job."
By 9:15 a.m., the scene in Kristina's small hotel suite was one of controlled chaos.
She sat ensconced behind a portable makeup station hastily set up in the bedroom. Two temperamental artists wielding brushes and curling irons battled for elbow room. A technician had spread her Ms. Greece sash across his knees and was patiently, painstakingly, weaving a hair-thin wire into the gold threads. The tiny dot at the end of the wire was a miniature condenser microphone with a medium-frequency pickup pattern that could distinguish human voices from background chatter at a range of fifty feet.
Or so the technician had assured her.
The activity level in the other room was just as frenetic. The gemologist called in by NYPD worked frantically to replace the diamonds in Hera's crown with paste. Uniformed police officers dusted doorknobs, tables and chair backs in hopes of picking up prints of the man Xanatopolous had sent to steal the crown. Derek had changed into jeans and a blue button-down Oxford shirt topped by a suede sport coat and was now hunched over a laptop. With the hotel's chief of security at his elbow, he was reviewing videotapes recorded by the cameras in the hallway outside Kristina's room.
"Xanatopolous said his accomplice searched this room right after Ms. Naxos was attacked. Probably while she was still down on the street with me."
That ate at his insides like acid. He'd noted Kristina's aversion to cops in the first five minutes of their acquaintance. And again, when she learned about the personal protection. Yet arrogance and a smug belief in his infallible charm had convinced Derek he could get close to her, get her to open up. She finally had…but not until a terrified young woman's life hung in the balance.
What kind of jerk did that make him?
Worse, what kind of cop did that make him?
No wonder Kristina couldn't bring herself to trust him until she had her back to the wall.
"This is the last disk." The security director ejected one CD and inserted another. "The camera is hidden in a potted palm at the end of the corridor so — Well, hel-lo."
As they watched, a figure bolted from the elevator. He looked over his shoulder — right into the camera — then bent to shove a key card in Kristina's door. A fanged cobra snaked out of his collar.
Yes! There he was. Santerra, the murdering cop killer.
Derek now had a clean visual, one he could transmit to every officer on the street. He'd already pulled a photo of Xanatopolous from a news clipping. If either the banker or Santerra showed at Kristina's photo shoot, they were going down.
"Cut me a jpeg of that frame," he told the security director. "And do it quick. We need to be out of here in the next five minutes."
"Will do. I just have to — Well, hel-lo."
Frowning, Derek followed the security director's riveted gaze to the woman framed in the bedroom door. Kristina wore her Ms. Greece sash, three-inch stiletto heels, and two tiny scraps of a bikini Derek would have appreciated on any other woman.
Just not his woman.
Wondering where the hell that had come from, he wrenched his gaze from her exposed belly button to her face. The fear she tried so valiantly to hide doused the anger he'd been nursing since she'd told him about her cousin. Crossing to where she stood, he let his admiration for her courage and her beauty show.
"Anyone ever tell you that you're one gorgeous female?"
"Once or twice." Incredibly, she managed a shaky smile. "But I like the way it sounds coming from you."
He had to touch her, had to heal the breach. Curling a knuckle, he brushed it along her cheek. "Ready to take those bastards down?"
Her chin came up. Her smile took on the lethality of a Spartan spear.
"I'm ready."
The Ms. World Pageant officially kicked off with a luncheon in the Waldorf Astoria's grand ballroom. Prior to that, a number of photo shoots would take place at various venues all over New York City. Kristina's shoot was at Ellis Island, where she and six other contestants would pose in front of exhibits tracing the journey to America by many of their countrymen.
A private boat ferried the contestants to the island at the mouth of the Hudson, a stone's throw from the Statue of Liberty. The huge, redbrick "castle" that had processed hundreds of thousands of immigrants for entry into America dominated the dime-sized island. Now a museum, the castle was crammed with tourists who gawked as seven long-legged beauties strutted their stuff.
Derek sweated bullets the whole time. He had plainclothes officers planted among the tourists. He'd put the National Park Service guards on full alert. The museum staff knew to maintain heightened vigilance. They didn't know where or when Xanatopolous planned to snatch the crown, but if the banker sent Santerra to do his dirty work again, Derek intended to take the bastard down.
One by one the contestants posed for the cameras. Ms. Ireland tossed her flame-colored hair in front of a picture of her countrymen arriving in the States during the devastating Potato Famine of the mid-1800s. Ms. Philippines talked about the thousands of Filipinos who'd served in America's armed forces after the U.S. liberated the islands from Spain. Ms. Ecuador told of America's open arms after the earthquake that left a quarter of her country's population homeless and starving.
Kristina posed in front of a grainy, black-and-white photo enlarged to wall size. It showed a group of immigrants being led in prayer by a Greek Orthodox priest, with Lady Liberty lifting her torch in the background. The joy and relief and terror of having arrived in a strange new land showed in every face.
"My great-grandfather disembarked at Ellis Island in May, 1913," she said, striking a pose that managed to be both provocative and respectful. "He had to wait five days for an uncle to arrive and vouch for him before he could go ashore. After serving in the American army in World War I, he went home to marry my grandmother. Eighty years later, I came to America to study."
She angled her head to catch the klieg lights. A sparkling smile lit her eyes. Her crown flashed a fiery rainbow. "This country is in my heart, as it is in the hearts of many of my countrymen."
The minute the cameras angled toward Ms. Poland, Kristina drifted to Derek's side.
"Maybe you shouldn't have come with me." She darted a nervous glance around the hall. "Maybe Xanatopolous or his pal is watching. Maybe they won't contact me with you hovering so close."
"Xanatopolous knew the mayor had assigned you special protection," he replied with a calm he was far from feeling. "He'd expect me or someone else from my division to accompany you everywhere."
Kristina knew he was right. That didn't ease her roiling stomach.
"Just stay where I can see you. I need to talk to one of my men."
He wasn't more than eight or ten feet away when a curly haired boy of six or seven sidled through the crowd. "I am Greek, too," he said in the heavy accent of Macedonia. "Poppa and Mama and me, we visit America. Will you sign my cap?"
Derek immediately swung back. Kristina reassured him with a wave. "It's okay. He just wants an autograph." Borrowing a pen from another tourist, she stooped down to the boy's level. "What's your name?"
"I am Dimitri." Grinning, he tugged a New York Yankee's cap off his curls. "A man, he gives me this cap. He tells me to have you sign it here."
He pointed a stubby finger to the inside of the brim. Her heart thumping, Kristina turned the cap over and skimmed the block printed message.
Go to the ladies' room at this end of the hall.
Say nothing or your cousin dies.
We're watching every move.
Kristina pushed to her feet. The boy disappeared back into the crowd. Her frantic glance swung to Derek, still in conversation with another man, and then to the ladies' room only a few yards away.
They were watching.
They'd kill Athena.
She had no choice. She started forward.
"Where are you going?" Derek called.
She answered with a strained smile and a nod toward the plainly marked door.
"Wait. I'll send someone with you."
She didn't wait. She couldn't. They were watching.
Frowning, Derek searched for a female plainclothes officer and signaled to her to follow. The officer entered the ladies' room only a few seconds after Kristina.
The tiny receiver screwed into Derek's ear picked up what sounded like the slam of a stall door. Force of habit had him making constant sweeps of the crowd while he waited for the women to emerge. He checked every face, hoping to spot Xanatopolous. Every neck, searching for a tattoo. After each sweep, his intent gaze returned to the door to the ladies' room.
As the seconds ticked by, the pressure sitting on his chest like a stone got heavier. He strained to hear over the tourist and camera noise. The microphone in Kristina's sash should have picked up the sound of a toilet flushing, the click of her heels on the marble floor, water splashing into a sink, something!
He shoved through the crowd and barked into the miniature radio clipped to his lapel. "All officers converge on — Hold that."
Relief swept through him as Kristina emerged. The tension coiling his muscles relaxed for a moment, maybe two, before slowly ratcheting up again.
She didn't look his way. Her face was turned toward the cameraman signaling her to join the others for a group shot. Her tumble of glossy black curls hid everything but the tip of her nose. The bathing suit was the same. The embroidered sash slanted across a back that looked like the one Derek's hands and mouth had explored last night. She walked with the same, graceful sway of hips.
But she wasn't the woman who'd melted in his arms.
She was a decoy. A diversion. Kristina's cousin.
Spitting a curse, he reached for the Glock nested in the holster at the small of his back and barreled through the crowd. A woman screamed. A man shouted. Tourists stampeded in all directions. The dark-haired imposter spun around, her face frozen.
Derek shoved her into the arms of one of his fellow officers. "Cover her!"
The ladies' room was just ahead. Taking the last few yards in a lunge, he dove through the door, hit the marble floor on a roll and came up in a crouch with his weapon held in a two-fisted shooter's stance. His blood thundering in his ears, he spun in a circle.
In a lightning sequence, his brain registered the row of empty stalls. The other door at the far end of the bathroom. The plainclothes police officer lying in a crumpled heap a few feet away.
Derek's first instinct was to race for the door at the far end of the restroom. Savagely, he suppressed it. He'd already lost one friend to Santerra. He wasn't going to leave another officer down and possibly bleeding out on a bathroom floor.
She hadn't been knifed or shot, thank God, merely stunned. She was already coming to when Derek flipped her over. Grimacing, she pushed up on one elbow and put a tentative hand to the back of her head. "Sorry. They jumped me from behind."
"Did you see who or how many?"
"No."
Derek didn't wait for more. His mind racing, he bolted for the far exit. Whoever had snatched Kristina and her crown had only a few seconds lead. They couldn't hustle her out of the museum too fast without raising an alarm.
He'd snare them.
He had to snare them.
"Security!" he barked into the radio clipped to his shoulder. "Secure all exits!"
He burst into the cavernous, three-story main hall of the museum. Long lines of tourists waited to purchase tickets. Others milled around the first floor exhibits. Their faces registered curiosity and a tinge of alarm as guards leaped to bar the massive doors at the main entrance.
Derek raced for that entrance. "Ms. Greece! Did she come through here?"
"No. Oh, hell! Yes." Disgust contorted the face of one of the guards. "A woman exited a few minutes ago. Tall. Draped in a gauzy sort of dress. With sunglasses shielding most of her face. But she had red hair, not black."
They'd slapped a wig on her. And some sort of cover-up. Probably intended to use her as a hostage if it came to that.
"Who was with her?"
"White male. Thirty-five, six. Carrying a tote bag from the gift shop. Not the Greek banker in the photo you circulated. Or the Hispanic with the snake tattoo."
So Xanatopolous had brought in a third, an unknown. Cursing, Derek relayed that information via his radio and plunged through the exit. Dazzling sunshine blinded him, forcing him to slow until the black silhouettes resolved into people.
Then he saw her. A tall redhead. Nudged by the man at her side, she steered for the National Park Service launch tied up at the dock. An officer in the tan and green NPS uniform hunched at the wheel of the boat. The visor of his cap was pulled low, obscuring most of his face, but his upturned collar gave him away.
A savage thrill shot through Derek. He had him! The Snake!
He wrenched his attention back to the man at the redhead's side, saw him throw the tote bag into the boat and clamber aboard, dragging her with him.
"Kristina!"
The bellow whirled her around. The violent movement set the boat to rocking. Derek was already on the run when she lunged at the man throwing off the mooring ropes.
He went over the side.
So did she.
The driver threw a startled glance over his shoulder, saw Derek barreling toward him, and thrust the throttle forward. The engine roared. The launch shot away from the dock and into the channel leading to the wide, flat Hudson.
Derek had all of two seconds to alter his course. If he swerved, he could intercept the launch and take out the vicious killer who'd shot his friend. Or he could plunge in after Kristina.
To Kristina, everything seemed to happen at warp speed.
Derek's shout. The violent shove she gave the stranger who'd hustled her out of the museum. Her headfirst dive into the channel. The arm that hooked around her throat.
Struggling frantically, she went under, kicked back up, fought to free herself from the deadweight on her back.
"Get…off…me!"
The chokehold tightened, cutting off her air. A hoarse shout battered her eardrum.
"I can't swim!"
They went under again. His legs tangled with hers. His bulk shifted, impeding her arm movements. She couldn't kick, couldn't thrust. Shrieking silently, she sank down and down and down. Her lungs burned. Pain spiked into her chest. Slimy weeds and kelp reached up to tangle around her feet.
Suddenly, the stranglehold broke. The weight lifted. The gray green water behind her thrashed and churned. Kristina thrust upward and broke the surface. Gasping in air, she whirled in a circle.
"Derek!"
He was still down there, battling with the thug who'd almost drowned her. Kristina dragged more air into her aching lungs, jackknifed, and was about to plunge into the muddy depths again when Derek broke the surface just a few feet away. Shoulders bunching, he reached back down and hauled up the choking, gasping stranger.
"You okay?" Derek panted to Kristina.
"I am now. Thanks for getting him off my back."
"Can you make it to the dock?"
Nodding, she dog paddled to the wooden pier now groaning under the weight of the crowd that had gathered. Eager hands reached down to haul her out. She'd lost that awful wig but the wet, gauzy dress was almost transparent. Since she'd been forced to give Athena her bikini, she was naked under the clinging fabric.
"Here."
Someone draped a jacket over her shoulders. Murmuring a distracted thanks, Kristina waited for Derek to release his burden and swing onto the dock. Seaweed decorated his head and shoulders. Mud spotted his suede sport coat. Water ran in runnels down his cheeks and dripped from his chin.
Kristina's heart did a funny little flip-flop. He was Poseidon, battling the creatures of the deep to save her. Apollo, so handsome he'd stopped the breath in her throat last night. Zeus, meeting out punishment to all who offended.
Speaking of which…
"The boat driver," she said when he made his way to her side. "He had a tattoo on his neck. A snake."
"That's what I figured when I saw his upturned collar."
"You could have knocked him out of the boat. You were close enough to make the leap."
"The harbor patrol can take him." His mouth curving, he plucked a piece of kelp from her hair. "I got the fish I wanted."
There it went again! That crazy little flip-flop. Kristina's smile spread from her face to her heart.
Derek's died right where it was.
She saw his glance shift, his expression harden. A moment later, a sobbing Athena rushed onto the dock and flung herself into Kristina's arms.
Derek paced the squad room. He was still wet, still sporting layers of mud and seaweed, and still furious.
The radio call from the harbor patrol advising that they'd captured Snake should have taken the edge off his temper. But every time he remembered how Kristina had almost drowned, he got hot all over again. The fact that Christopher Xanatopolous had apparently slipped through the net didn't help.
He took out his frustration and anger on the brunette watching him with tear-reddened and increasingly resentful eyes. "Do you know what would have happened to Kristina if she'd gone through with this harebrained scheme to smuggle you out of the country?"
"I didn't know she planned to smuggle me out of the country," Athena protested indignantly. "I didn't even know she was in New York until I saw her on TV."
"At which point you waltzed into the Greek American Society banquet and promptly got yourself kidnapped."
For the third or fourth time since they'd been transported via squad car to the Protective Services Division headquarters, Kristina came to her cousin's defense. Like Derek, she still showed the ravages of her swim in the Hudson. Her hair hung in rat-tails, the gauzy dress was one big wrinkle, and her cheek had acquired an ugly purple bruise, compliments of the gorilla who almost drowned her.
"The kidnapping was my fault," she insisted. "I asked Xanatopolous to look out for Athena."
"Yeah, well, we'll get to that later." He speared her cousin with a hard glance. "Right now I want you to think. Xanatopolous must have said something, given some indication of how he planned to slip out of the city or where he might be hiding."
"Once again, he didn't say anything. Not that I expect you to believe me."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I told the cop who interrogated me after…"
"That's police officer to you, Ms. Spiridon."
"I told the police officer who interrogated me after the antiwar march that I didn't throw any bricks or break into any shops. Yet two days later, the same police officer came to my dorm and told my roommate he had a warrant for my arrest."
Derek let out an exasperated huff. "Your roommate got it wrong. I checked it out. What the patrolman had was a request to bring you in for questioning."
The cousins gaped at each other, identical expressions of dismay on their almost identical faces. Athena recovered first.
"What about my student visa?" she asked eagerly. "Can I renew it, or do I have to go home?"
"I'll talk to the appropriate folks," Derek said reluctantly. "See what I can work out."
"Thank you!"
Her earlier resentment forgotten, she sprang out of her chair, threw her arms around his neck, and planted a fat kiss on his cheek. She had just disengaged when short, chubby Byron DeMarco rushed into the squad room.
"I just heard. Is Kristina all right?"
"I'm fine."
The stubby little pageant director turned and let loose with a shriek. "You can't go to the kickoff luncheon like that!" Producing his cell phone, he stabbed a button and shouted at whoever answered. "I need hair! I need makeup! At the Waldorf. Twenty minutes. And a dress. Size…"
Calmly, Derek yanked the phone out of his hands and tossed it in the wastebasket. "Ms. Greece isn't making another public appearance until we nail Christopher Xanatopolous."
The pronouncement produced a storm of protest. From Kristina. From DeMarco. And from the tall, auburn-haired female who strolled into the squad room.
"Xanatopolous isn't a problem any longer," Jordan Colby announced with a cool smile.
Kristina gaped at Jordan Colby. The former model-turned-eyewear designer had shed her Versace and Chanel and now wore mirrored sunglasses, boots and a zippered black jumpsuit that looked like it had been painted on.
"May we speak in private?" she asked Derek.
Scowling, he escorted her to an interrogation room. He was still scowling when they returned after ten long minutes. "Wait here," he instructed tersely. "I need to inform my captain."
Kristina, Byron DeMarco and a wide-eyed Athena immediately crowded around her. "What's going on?" Kristina asked. "How did you know about Christopher Xanatopolous?"
Colby smiled, her perfect features marred only by that tiny scar above her eye. "I believe I mentioned I was in the business. We've had our eye on Xanatopolous for some time."
"We who?"
"Let's just say the U.S. government is very grateful for your assistance in this case."
"That's a relief," Kristina said wryly. "According to Derek, Athena and I are both only a half step away from jail."
"That's just his way of letting off steam." Colby hesitated a moment or two. "I think Sergeant Holt may have a thing for you."
Kristina's glance shot to the broad-shouldered cop in earnest conversation with his captain. "I hope so, because I certainly have one for him."
Something flickered in Colby's amber eyes. Before Kristina could decide whether it was pain or regret, Derek returned with Captain Carpenter. After a round of handshakes and cryptic comments only he, Carpenter and Jordan Colby seemed to understand, the former model excused herself.
Bryon DeMarco watched her depart with a sigh, obviously comparing her cool beauty to the bedraggled Ms. Greece. He looked at his watch and let out another shriek.
"The Waldorf! We'll never get there in time to clean Kristina up!"
"We'll make it," Derek promised. "But she looks damned good to me just like she is."
The gruff admission went straight to Kristina's heart. Smiling, she went up on tiptoe and brushed his mouth with hers. "Thank you. For everything."
"You're welcome." An answering smile came into his blue eyes. "For everything."
Ignoring the ring of interested spectators, he slid an arm around her waist and made the kiss a real one. A very real one. Kristina's head was spinning when DeMarco pawed through the wastebasket and rescued his cell phone.
"We're leaving now!" he shouted into the phone. "Hair and makeup! Twenty minutes!"
A long black limo was waiting at the curb. DeMarco and Athena scrambled in. Kristina would have followed if Derek hadn't caught her wrist and tugged her into the backseat of the squad car.
"The Waldorf," he told the uniformed officer in the front seat. "As fast as you can get us there."
"No problem, Sergeant."
Lights flashing, siren wailing, the squad car screeched away from the curb. The limo zoomed along in its wake.
"Now," Derek said with a grin that warmed Kristina from her seaweedy hair to her soggy toes. "Where were we?"
She went into his arms with a breathless laugh. "Right about here."
When his mouth came down on hers, she knew that whatever happened at the competition next week, she'd already walked away with first prize.
The End
Dear Readers,
I hope you had as much fun with Kristina and Derek as I did. And New York — oh, I love that city!
You might be interested to know that Jordan Colby is actually an undercover agent working for OMEGA. Read her story in Diamonds Can Be Deadly, a brand-new book in my Code Name: Danger series from the Silhouette Intimate Moments line.
Thanks for joining me for this online adventure and happy reading!
Merline Lovelace