Protecting the Innocent

Riding at a gentle pace, she held Charlie in front of her on the saddle. The mother and son were beautiful together. The boy’s hair was a darker blond and his eyes were gray, but he was clearly a part of her. Roman felt an aching need to gather them both in his arms and carry them away from here, away from all these damned intrigues.

She saw him and waved, guiding the horse expertly toward him. As they approached, Charlie bounced in the saddle, talking a blue streak. “Hi, Roman. We’re here, and I’m going to learn how to ride all by myself. This horse is Peggy for Pegasus, but she doesn’t really know how to fly.”

Anya reined the mare to a stop beside him. The smallish palomino was well trained and groomed to perfection. Everything at Legate was first-class.

Charlie dived off the saddle into Roman’s arms. “Make me a helicopter,” Charlie demanded.

Roman lifted him high and twirled him around in circles before placing him on the ground.

With a giggle, Charlie shook off his dizziness and said, “We’re going to live here.”

“Are you?”

“I’m going to learn how to build my own helicopter and other stuff, too. And then…”

As Charlie continued to chatter, Roman looked up at Anya. Silhouetted against the sky, her eyes were a breathtaking blue. The exertion of their horseback ride flushed her cheeks. Erect in the saddle, she was tall, long-legged and fantastic.

Gracefully, she dismounted. Holding the bridle, she gave Roman a one-armed hug that was altogether unsatisfying. He wanted to feel her body molded against his, to stroke her slender shoulders and the curve of her waist.

“I decided,” she said. “I signed the contract.”

He nodded, wishing he could tell her she’d done the right thing. “There wasn’t any other choice.”

“And I’m going to be working here as a translator. I guess that means you’re my boss.”

An interesting twist. Slater must have realized that Anya would be bored without employment. Plus, if she worked here, Legate had even more control of her life. “I should warn you that I’m very demanding.”

“No problem.” Her nose crinkled as she grinned. “I’m very good.”

Charlie bounced up beside them. “Put me back on Peggy. I want to ride some more.”

“Whoa, Charlie,” Anya chided. “Even cowboys are polite.”

“Please, Roman,” he said. “I want to ride more.”

He lifted the boy into the saddle. “It’s hard to keep your balance so you hold on to this thing right here. It’s called a pommel.”

“Got it,” Charlie said. “Let’s go, cowpoke.”

Roman brought the reins around to the front to lead the mare back toward the stable. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the microwave dishes installed above an outbuilding. Every word of their conversation could be picked up. Surveillance cameras from three different angles might be watching.

Anya strolled beside him. “This arrangement is going to be perfect. I don’t know why I hesitated so long before signing the contract.”

“It’s a big change, moving from your home in Denver.”

“I’ve moved before. Often. I went to four, no, five different high schools. We had to go where Mother’s consulting work took us.”

“How is Claudette?” Roman didn’t like Anya’s mother. She was as cold as an ice cube, the very opposite of her emotion-driven daughter.

“Mother rented a house across the bay. I guess she’s planning to stay in San Francisco for a while.”

“To be close to you and Charlie.”

“Seems odd.” She gave a tight laugh. “Claudette isn’t exactly the doting type.”

“Not a cookie-baking grandma?”

“No way. I don’t think she’s ever even read a fairy tale, much less believed in one.”

“But you do.”

“Yup.” She tossed her head, sending a ripple though her hair. The sunlight picked out strands of pure platinum. “I believe in fairy tales. No matter what else happens, there’s got to be a happy ending.”

Though her words sounded simplistic, he heard determination in her voice. She was willing to fight for her happily-ever-after.

“Maybe here,” she said. “Maybe Legate is what I’ve been looking for all my life.”

He didn’t want to encourage that fragile hope. There were too many signs to the contrary. In fairy-tale terms, Legate was the evil kingdom, ruled by an ogre named Slater. “I understand that you’ll have a cottage on the premises.”

“It’s adorable. All furnished.” Anya glanced up at him, looking for answers he couldn’t give. “I keep thinking it was weird that Jeremy never mentioned this plan to me. He had all these details in his will.”

Roman wasn’t even sure Jeremy’s will was valid; it had been prepared by the Legate legal staff. “He never discussed it with me, either.”

“Weird,” she repeated. “I mean, Jeremy and I spent two weeks talking about what kind of sofa we should get. Then he makes this huge, life-altering plan without a blink in my direction.”

“It’s not totally out of character,” he reminded her. “Once, Jeremy bought a car without even a test drive.”

“Because he liked the hood ornament.”

“He was capable of snap judgments.”

“That’s true,” she said. “The new will was dated only a few weeks before his death, and he probably meant to discuss it when he came back to Denver.”

When she talked about Jeremy, the blue of her eyes grew dim. Her shoulders caved slightly. She was still grieving, and it troubled Roman to see her suffer. Her husband shouldn’t have died. If Roman had been smarter, he might have prevented the tragedy.

He believed that the explosion at Building Fourteen had been rigged, but he still didn’t know why. Why would Slater kill four scientists who worked for him? They were good employees—productive and nonconfrontational. Why did they have to die? After eight months of digging into the various global projects these scientists were working on, Roman still didn’t have the answer.

“It’s good to see you,” Anya said.

“And you,” he said. “You’ve put on weight.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s a compliment.” After Jeremy’s death, she’d been skinny as a rail, unable to eat. “You look healthy.”

“Healthy? Like a prize cow?” Her eyebrows arched. “If that’s your standard pick-up line, you’re going to be a bachelor forever.”

“That wasn’t even close to a pick-up line.”

“And why not? We might be friends, but I’m still a single female. According to your reputation, you should be charming me off my feet.”

“You’re not an ordinary female.” She was another man’s wife. Even now, with Jeremy dead, she was still married to his memory.

From atop the horse, Charlie called out, “Mommy, look. I’m riding with no hands.”

“Hold on to the pommel,” she said. “Or you’re getting off, mister.”

“I want to go faster. Please.”

“This is your first time on a horse,” she said. “Take it easy.”

“Okay, Mom.”

She returned her attention to Roman, picking up their conversation where it left off. “All right, Bachelor Number One, give me a real compliment. I need one.”

For years, he’d tried not to think of Anya as an eligible woman. But she’d asked for it.

His guard went down. The facade of civility slipped away. He allowed his unspoken desires to rise to the surface. These thoughts had been simmering at the back of his mind from the first day he met her.

With smoldering eyes, he gazed into her heart-shaped face. His voice lowered to a seductive murmur, and he said, “When I see you here in the sunlight, with the wind in your hair and your lips as soft as rose petals, I know what miracles are. This vision of you is precious. I’ll carry it with me forever.”

“Oh.” She gaped.

He relished the effect he had upon her, and he pressed his advantage, tenderly grasping her hand and lifting it to his lips to blow a light kiss across her knuckles. “You touch my heart.”

“Oh, my.”

“Anya, please. Let me touch you.”

“Wow! You’re good.” She grabbed her hand back from him and fanned her face with it. “No wonder you have thousands of babes swooning all over you.”

He looked away from her and started walking again. Though this flirting was a game, he’d meant every word. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her mouth, to make love to her.

They neared the stables where Anya’s mother and Fredrick Slater stood waiting. The sight of Slater had the effect of a cold shower on Roman. He sloughed off his sensuality, any sign of vulnerability. Instead, he visualized himself as forged steel.

“There they are,” Anya said. “Claudette and Slater. They almost look like a couple, don’t they?”

Well matched in ruthless intelligence and ambition, they could have been MacBeth and his lady. “Almost.”

“Roman, with this contract, am I doing the right thing?”

“It’ll all work out.” He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her or to Charlie.

At the stables, Slater wasted no time in pulling him to one side. “Did you handle the problem in Los Angeles?”

“It was nothing,” Roman said. “A simple miscommunication.”

“I suppose Anya told you that she and Charlie will be living here.”

“Yes.” He slipped on a pair of dark glasses, concerned that his eyes might betray his hostility.

“She seems a bit uncomfortable,” Slater said. “That’s not good for Charlie’s transition. He needs to feel that Legate is his home. It’s important for his mother to transmit that acceptance.”

“According to whom?”

“Dr. Neville, the psychiatrist.”

“I have an urgent message to contact him,” Roman said.

“Yes, I know.”

Slater’s hands were clasped behind his back. In his tweed suit with his neat gray hair, he looked like the lord of the manor, out for a stroll on his magnificent grounds.

Roman lengthened his stride. He was a good six inches taller and wanted to make Slater stretch to keep up with him.

But the old man sensed what he was doing and halted. When he looked up, he probed with his gaze, taking Roman’s measure with quick, stabbing glances. Slater wanted something. “You have a bond with Charlie’s mother.”

“I’ve known Anya for years.”

“She’s done a good job raising the boy. Neville said it was important to leave Charlie with his mother until he was five and had established a healthy bond.”

“Then what?”

“Education, of course. Expanding the child’s frame of reference.”

Slater’s analysis made it sound like he was talking about an experiment. Roman tried to match his detachment. “Exactly what are your goals with Charlie?”

“To nurture and develop his intelligence. At the same time, he must be a well-rounded individual. Too many of our geniuses are antisocial. Charlie will be high-functioning on many levels—theoretical, creative, even political. He might even become President of the United States.”

Did Slater really think he could build his own president? Throw together the proper genetics for intelligence, add training and stir? This plan sounded like the insane ravings of a twenty-first-century Frankenstein.

“That boy,” Slater said, “will be my legacy.”

His legacy? But Slater wasn’t the child’s father or grandfather.

“I need your help, Roman.”

“How?”

“While Charlie is settling into the program, I want his mother to be happy. I want her to feel she made the right decision in coming here. See to it.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“She needs a man,” Slater said.

Roman couldn’t believe his ears. This crafty old bastard was ordering him to do the very thing he had wanted for years. Slater wanted him to become Anya’s lover.

Chapter Two

At seven o’clock that evening Roman connected with Maureen, a slinky redhead. In her tight jeans and see-through blouse, she was hotter than wasabi on sushi. Not that her appearance mattered to him. Maureen wasn’t a date. She was his contact inside the CIA, a special ops agent.

They met at a cheesy tavern in Oakland where the specialty of the house was tequila-fried perch, but they didn’t need a menu. After a quick hello, they went to her car at the back of the parking lot, far from the neon sign above the entrance.

Maureen slid behind the steering wheel and turned on the radio. Instead of music, there was a whirring sound. “This interference noise disrupts any bugs or listening devices pointed in our direction.”

“Nice tune,” he said.

“You know how I love my secret-agent toys.”

She’d been his contact for almost a year. When Roman learned that the think tank had manipulated federal regulations on offshore banking for an emerging Central American nation, he hooked up with a special branch of the CIA, and they assigned Maureen, an attractive woman who could easily pass as one of his dates. That was their cover.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I’m concerned about two innocent people who are now living on the Legate grounds. Anya Bouchard Parrish and her son, Charlie.”

“She’s the wife of your friend who was killed, right?”

He nodded. “Slater talked her into signing a contract that would allow him to raise and educate her son.”

“Why?”

“Charlie has a genius IQ, and Slater wants to groom him. He thinks Charlie will be his legacy.”

“But he’s not related to the child?”

“No,” Roman said.

In the dim glow from the dashboard, he saw her thoughtful frown. “I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.” But Roman had given the issue some thought. “Anya participated in a fertilization experiment at Legate. That was how she conceived her son. Slater might feel a proprietary connection.”

“How does Mrs. Parrish feel about this?”

“She doesn’t know.” Roman frowned. None of this made sense. “By bringing her son to Legate, she thinks she’s following her late husband’s wishes.”

“Why?”

“Jeremy made a provision in his will saying he wanted his son to attend the Legate school, starting when he was five.”

“Do you believe he’d do that?”

“Not really,” Roman said. “If his signature on the will is a forgery, how would I find out?”

“Get me the original. Our experts can verify.”

That wouldn’t be easy. He didn’t want to alarm Anya by asking to see the document. “Even if the will was forged, it doesn’t explain why Slater is so fixated on Charlie. True, the boy is smart, but there are plenty of whiz kids out there. Why Charlie?”

“Maybe there’s a connection in Anya’s family tree. Should we run a trace?”

“Not necessary.” Anya’s privacy had been invaded enough, and he knew just enough about her father to realize that an investigation could be a problem.

Maureen swept her thick auburn hair off her forehead and fastened it at her nape with a clip. Though her makeup was sultry, her attitude was all business. As always, when Roman allowed his gaze to wander over her body, he wondered where—in that tight-fitting outfit—she kept her gun.

“Bottom line,” Maureen said. “Are these two people in danger?”

“Not Charlie. He’ll be pampered like a prince.”

“And his mother?”

He’d given Anya’s safety a great deal of consideration and had decided there was no immediate peril. “She’s safe for now. Slater won’t let anything happen to her that might traumatize her son.”

“So why did you contact me?”

“I wanted to give you a heads up,” Roman said. “If it turns out that I’m wrong and Anya is threatened, I’m pulling the plug.”

“Sorry to hear that. Your inside info has given us excellent leads.”

“I’m not cut out for undercover work,” he said. “I feel like crap when I’m encouraging somebody with one hand and betraying them with the other.”

“Make no mistake,” she said. “You’re doing a good thing. Because of your information, we’ve been able to sever terrorist plots, stop an attempted takeover of the government in Burma and shut down an illegal munitions plant.”

“For the greater good,” he said in ironic reference to the Legate motto.

“It still amazes me,” she said. “Who would have guessed that all those international bad guys consulted a think tank?”

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he said. “In the future, you might not be the best person for me to contact.”

Her pearly teeth flashed in the dark. “Does this mean you’re breaking up with me?”

There had never been anything between them except for CIA business. “I can’t be seen going on dates. My current assignment at Legate is to make Anya happy. You know, to romance her.”

“Oh, ugh!” Right before his eyes, the hard-boiled CIA agent turned into a girly girl. Her voice rose an octave. “That’s so creepy, Roman. How can you lead that poor woman on?”

“As if you’ve never used your physical assets to get what you wanted?”

“This doesn’t sound like you.” She peered through the dim dashboard light into his eyes. “You hate deception.”

He returned her gaze. “Anya won’t be hurt.”

“How can you say that? You’re planning to lead her down the garden path, to promise her a rose garden, to—”

“I won’t lie to her,” Roman said. “Anya will not be hurt. Never again.”

“Oh, my God.” Maureen gasped and leaned back in her seat. “You really care about this woman.”

She had no idea how much he cared.

AT CHARLIE’S BEDSIDE, Anya leaned down to kiss her son’s forehead. He was sound asleep at nine o’clock—a bit early, but this had been a hectic day. “Sleep well, sweetpea.”

If he’d been awake, he might have complained about the nickname. But now her son was quiet, breathing steadily, innocent as a little blond angel. She tucked the covers around his shoulders, closed the door to his bedroom and went downstairs.

This part of the day was Anya’s alone time when she could reflect. For the past month, her private deliberations had focused on one thing: Should she or shouldn’t she sign the contract?

Finally, that decision-making process was over. The ink on the document was dry, and it seemed that she’d done the right thing for Charlie. But why did her heart feel so heavy?

She stood in the center of the living room and slowly turned in a circle. The cottage wasn’t exactly the way she would have decorated, but close. The earth-tone furniture was better quality than her own sofa and chairs in Denver. The bland artwork on the wall didn’t appeal to her, but she loved the wall of bookshelves separating the living room and a modern kitchen with shiny new appliances.

She couldn’t complain about the living accommodations. This cottage—which was equal to the square footage of her rented house in Denver—was cozy and comfortable. And free.

Slowly, she turned again. Her gaze flitted from the plasma-screen television hanging on the wall to the charming stone fireplace to the welcoming fruit basket on the side table. This wasn’t the life she’d imagined for herself. It felt…too organized.

Anya wanted more adventure. An impulsive weekend vacation. A surprise visit from friends. And she doubted that unplanned excitement was included in the Legate program. Spontaneous would only be a word on Charlie’s vocabulary list.

Might as well make the best of it. She padded around the main floor, turning off the lamps, leaving one burning in case Charlie got up during the night and wandered. At the door to the cottage, she doused the porch light and stepped outside into the darkness. The cottage was surrounded by a forest of landscaping, giving the impression of seclusion. She couldn’t see the gray stone mansion from here, but one of the outbuildings was only twenty yards away from her roofed porch that stretched the length of the cottage.

It was a beautiful night. The autumn breeze held a chill that stimulated her senses. She cinched the sash on her flannel robe more tightly and inhaled. The air was moist with a woodsy scent of cedar and pine. If she stood very still, she could hear the faint echo of the bay surf.

At the edge of the trees, she noticed movement from something much larger than a squirrel. “Who’s there?”

A man stepped away from the shadows. “Good evening, ma’am.”

She shouldn’t be surprised. There were several other people who lived on these grounds. “Hello. Have we met?”

“No, ma’am.”

As he came closer, she saw the dark blue uniform worn by Legate’s security corps. His trousers were tucked into his boots, military-style. There was a holster attached to his belt, and he carried something else, held tight to his side.

“My name is Anya,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. I know.”

“And you are?”

“Harrison,” he said.

Staying on the porch, she edged closer to him. “Are you armed, Harrison?”

In answer, he revealed the object he’d been hiding. An automatic rifle.

She was shocked and more than a little upset. “Why do you have that gun?”

“Intruders.” He took two steps back, fading again into the shadows. “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am.”

Of course, she knew that Legate handled sensitive political and scientific information. Security was necessary, but she hadn’t expected constant patrolling by armed guards.

Why was it necessary to have such intense protection? Harrison the security man looked like he was prepared to take on an army. What kind of place was she living in? The bracing chill turned icy cold, sinking deep through her flesh to her bones.

Back inside, she locked the doors. Sleep was out of the question. Anya whipped through the house, turning on the lights she’d extinguished only moments ago. My God, she’d made a terrible mistake. They couldn’t live here. Not with an armed guard patrolling outside her front door!

When the telephone rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“It’s Roman. How are you doing?”

“Why is the security man carrying an Uzi?” she demanded.

“It’s not an Uzi,” he said. “His weapon is specially designed—”

“I don’t care,” she said. “How dangerous is this place? What kind of intruders are they expecting?”

“I’m over at the mansion, Anya. If you’d like, I can be at the cottage in three minutes.”

“Hurry.”

She slammed the phone into the cradle and went to the front window to watch for Roman’s approach. He should have warned her. He never should have allowed her to bring Charlie into danger.

In the glow from the porch light, she saw Roman jogging along the path toward the cottage. He’d changed from the suit he was wearing earlier into Levi’s and a black leather jacket that made him look a bit dangerous himself. Dark and mysterious, Roman was a big man, over six feet tall and muscular.

Before he could knock, she opened the front door and placed her forefinger across her lips. “Shh. Charlie’s sleeping.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m a little freaked,” she said.

When he stepped inside, his male energy filled the house. She could have sworn that the lightbulbs burned a little brighter and that the temperature rose several degrees. He placed his hands on her shoulders and stared down into her eyes. In a husky whisper, he asked, “What happened?”

“I stepped outside for some air and met a security man who was armed like a commando. Why is he here?”

“This is an international think tank. We handle sensitive, top secret projects—scientific and political. The guards are a precaution.”

“Against what? Terrorists? Did I bring my son into a war zone?”

His smile was warm and reassuring. He lightly brushed her hair back from her forehead, and she remembered his gentleness—unusual for such a big man. “You’re safe here.”

How could he say that? Her husband died here. Of course, that was an accident, unrelated to the security corps. “If Charlie sees armed guards, he’ll be scared.”

“I doubt that,” he said. “Your son might be a genius, but he’s also a typical boy. He’ll think the guns are cool.”

“That’s worse! I don’t want him to be comfortable around weapons.” Her fingers clenched into fists, ready to battle an invisible enemy. “I might be overreacting.”

“Maybe.”