The Complete Series

If I’d followed that advice, I would never have left you and your sisters. I will always regret that I didn’t dare to stay in the game.

Love,

Harry

Rory forgot to breathe as she reread the words. Had he really thought of her as his darling daredevil? The thought had her heart swelling a bit. She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Well.”

“Look at the pictures,” Sierra urged.

Rory pulled three photos out of the envelope. There’d been three in Natalie’s letter, too. Moisture pricked her eyes again as she noted that one picture had been taken at one of the races she’d run in high school, and another was at her senior prom. The third was one of her on horseback jumping a fence.

Memories stirred in her mind. When she was little, Harry had encouraged her to ride. He’d seen to it that she’d had lessons, and he’d never failed to be there on the sidelines, telling her that she could do anything she dared to do.

She’d forgotten all about that. Perhaps she really had inherited a daredevil trait from him. Studying the picture more closely, she pinned down the time to her freshman year in college. The equestrian team had won a blue ribbon at the state finals that year, and the meet had taken place less than a year before Harry’s fatal accident.

He’d been there, just as he’d been at every other important event in their lives. An old familiar ache settled around her heart. “I miss him.”

“Me, too.” Natalie sighed.

“Ditto,” Sierra added.

For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Finally, Natalie cleared her throat. “Okay. Now we want to know why you need Harry’s advice tonight of all nights. Did you and your boss at Celebs come to a parting of the ways?”

“No.” Rory shook her head. “This isn’t about another career change. I still want to be a reporter. I think I can be good at it. But my current job hasn’t turned out to be what I expected. What it boils down to is I’m really just a research assistant to Lea Roberts, one of their star reporters. I’ve written some pieces, but I haven’t gotten a byline yet.”

Even as she explained the situation to her sisters, Rory recalled the scene that had taken place in Lea Roberts’s office that morning.

Lea was a tall, stunning brunette with a slender build who was always relaxed and perfectly controlled. But that morning, Rory’s boss had been pacing behind her desk.

“You’ve been asking to do some fieldwork,” Lea had said, waving her into a chair.

“Yes.”

Lea circled the desk and rested a hip on its corner. “I’m going to tell you up front that I’m not sure you’re ready to handle this. But I’m desperate. I can’t do it myself because I have to interview Elizabeth Cavenaugh, the chief justice’s wife, at her apartment in New York City tomorrow morning, and I can’t postpone it. All you have to do is snap a picture. That’s it.”

“I can handle it,” Rory said, wishing that Lea didn’t sound so much like she was trying to convince herself of that fact. “Who is the person I’m supposed to take a picture of?”

Lea leaned closer. “You’re not to mention this to anyone, understand?”

Rory nodded.

“I’ve received a tip that Jared Slade is going to be checking in to Les Printemps tomorrow morning. I want you to get a picture of him. One picture. Can you do it?”

“Sure,” Rory said, a surge of excitement moving through her. She knew just about everything there was to know about the reclusive businessman who ran Slade Enterprises. She’d been researching him for Lea for two weeks, and the thought of meeting him in person…well, the man just plain fascinated her. “Is that all? Shouldn’t I try to get an interview?”

Lea stared at her for a moment. Then she threw back her head and laughed. “An interview?”

Emotions tumbled through Rory. Beneath the hurt and the humiliation, she felt a little flame of anger begin to burn.

“An interview,” Lea repeated as she struggled to get her laughter under control. “Slade has never granted an interview—to anyone. He loathes all reporters. You’ll be lucky if you can get a picture. Just focus all your attention on that. This could be a real coup for the magazine, and I’m depending on you. If you can get the photo, I’ll recommend you for a staff position.”

The staff position had been her dream from the moment she’d accepted the job at Celebs. She should have been thrilled. But try as she might, Rory hadn’t been able to forget that Lea had laughed out loud at her idea to get an interview with Jared Slade. Even now as she waited for her sister’s reaction to her story, she wondered if her boss was aware that her laughter had been tantamount to a dare. Pushing the thought temporarily aside, Rory focused her full attention on her sisters.

“She offered you a staff job? That’s wonderful,” Sierra said.

“And it doesn’t surprise me one bit,” Natalie added.

When her sisters raised their glasses, Rory shook her head. “It’s not a done deal yet. First I have to snap a picture of Jared Slade.”

Frowning, Natalie tapped her fingers on the table. “Jared Slade…isn’t he that mysterious business tycoon, the recluse?”

Rory nodded. “I’ve done some research on him. The Wall Street Journal calls him the twenty-first-century version of Howard Hughes. He’s also been dubbed ‘the man with the Midas touch’ when it comes to business. His companies run the gamut from five-star hotels and golf courses to high-end retail clothing stores. He’s absolutely fascinating.”

“He’s had his share of trouble lately,” Natalie said. “There was a food-poisoning incident at his hotel in Atlanta and a fire at a factory of his in upstate New York.”

Rory stared at Natalie. “How did you know all that?”

“He’s been in D.C. twice in the past month. Part of my job is to try to keep tabs on high-profile people who might bring trouble here with them. His office always refuses to let us know where he’s staying.”

Rory picked up a strip of green pepper and gestured with it. “He’s like a phantom. No one knows what he looks like. I’m beginning to wonder if he even exists. Maybe he’s just a made-up figurehead like Betty Crocker.”

When her sisters aimed two blank stares at her, she said, “You know, that was the housewife that General Mills created out of whole cloth to promote their products. She was just a picture they put on their cake mixes and stuff. It could be that ‘Jared Slade’ is an imaginary person that a very enterprising CEO is using to create a certain mystique about Slade Enterprises.”

“You’ll have to have some kind of plan if you’re going to take a photo of someone who’s never been seen and who might not be real at all,” Sierra commented.

Rory reached for a cube of cheese and stuffed it into her mouth. Her younger sister had a steel trap of a mind that always got to the heart of the problem. Rory didn’t have a plan—exactly—at least not one she could jot down on a note card.

Swallowing, she said, “It’s pretty simple. Lea Roberts received a tip that Jared Slade will be checking into Les Printemps tomorrow morning. I’m going to be in the lobby waiting. I figure I’ll snap the picture when Mr. Slade registers at the desk.”

Natalie frowned. “It sounds risky to me. Celebrities have been known to resort to violence when their pictures are taken by the paparazzi.”

Rory met her sister’s eyes. “I’ll be in the lobby of an exclusive hotel. And I ran hurdles in high school, remember? If worse comes to worst, I’ll just make a run for it.”

“I still don’t like it,” Natalie said.

Rory leaned forward. “I’ve got to do this, Nat. I want this staff job more than anything. It’s my way of proving to everyone including myself that I can be successful at something.”

“I think this is even more than that,” Sierra said. “It’s personal. You’re intrigued by the man himself.”

Rory turned to stare at Sierra. It never ceased to amaze her that her younger sister always saw more than anyone expected her to.

Natalie’s eyes narrowed as she shot Sierra a look and then turned to study Rory. “I thought you’d decided to swear off men.”

“Real men. I’m on a sabbatical from them since Paul the jerk dumped me. Jared Slade is merely a mystery I’m interested in solving. What makes a man want to hide from the world the way he does?”

Natalie held up a hand. “Let’s clarify one point. I don’t think that Paul the jerk qualifies as a ‘real man.’ He used you to help pay the rent while he made it through his last year of law school. The day he walked out was the luckiest day of your life.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sierra said, raising her martini.

Rory raised her glass and bemusedly toasted her good fortune. “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been dumped. I’m kind of getting used to it. The way I see it, I don’t have good luck with men. That’s why I’m not having anything to do with them until my ideal fantasy man comes along.”

“A fantasy man?” Sierra grabbed a fresh note card out of her canvas bag. “I’m doing some research on female sexual fantasies. What’s he like?”

Smiling, Rory drew a finger down the stem of her martini glass. “He’s tall, dark and handsome, of course. And he’s a little dangerous looking. He has this tough outer shell, but he’s really a sweetie underneath. And when he smiles, he has a dimple—just one—in his left cheek.”

Rory warmed to her theme, grateful that the conversation had veered away from the riskiness of her plan to photograph Jared Slade. “But the best part is my fantasy man thinks I’m incredibly sexy. I drive him nuts.” She leaned closer to her sisters. “He has the most incredible hands.”

“And you know this because…?” Natalie asked.

Thoroughly at ease, Rory selected a stuffed mushroom. “There’s not much sense creating a fantasy man if you’re not going to engage in some hot fantasies with him.”

“Paul really did a job on you if you’re reduced to having fantasy sex,” Natalie said.

“Do you see me complaining?” Rory licked her thumb. “The great thing about fantasy sex is that there can be more variety than with just one real man.”

Sierra glanced at Natalie, who’d grown quiet and grinned. “I don’t think our big sister agrees with you. I think she’s found her fantasy man. Maybe if you push your luck, you’ll find yours, too.”

Rory dubiously glanced down at her father’s letter. “I’ll be happy if I’m lucky enough to get an inter—a picture of Jared Slade.”

Natalie frowned. “I’m not going to talk you out of this plan of yours, am I?”

“No, so why don’t you wish me luck?” Rory grabbed another cheese cube to ease the nerves that had just returned to her stomach. She hadn’t revealed the whole of her plan to her sisters. The picture was just step one.

“Well, I can’t argue with following Harry’s advice,” Natalie said. “It got me Chance.”

Rory grinned. “Maybe it will get me my fantasy man.”

“Then let’s drink to it.” Sierra raised her glass.

“And to luck,” Natalie said.

“And to Harry.” Rory sipped her martini. Tomorrow, she was not only going to snap a picture of Jared Slade, she was also going to get him to agree to an interview. She could do it. She was a daredevil, wasn’t she?

LEA ROBERTS STARED OUT the window of her office, but she wasn’t taking in the view of the Washington Monument. She was too worried that she’d made a mistake in the way she’d handled Rory Gibbs.

The laughter might have been a bit harsh, but she didn’t want Rory even to think about asking for an interview. She would be the one to do that. Jared Slade would be furious with Rory for taking his picture. That would allow Lea to step in and play good cop to Rory’s bad cop. Her plan was to offer to trade the picture for an interview.

Turning from the window, Lea began to pace. She really hated to give up the reins of control, but what else could she have done? She couldn’t risk taking the photo herself. If Jared Slade was really Hunter Marks, the man might recognize her.

She’d made the right decision. Rory was smart and inventive. Those qualities could work in her favor. Hell, she should be able to snap that photo and get away before Jared Slade could blink.

The problem was Rory Gibbs was also impetuous and hard to predict. She was forever doing something unexpected. Lea raised her hand and pressed two fingers against the headache that had begun to throb behind her right ear. If Jared Slade turned out to be Hunter Marks, it would be her ticket to what she’d always dreamed of: a Pulitzer and most certainly a six-figure book contract.

In her mind, it was still a big if. Her anonymous informant seemed certain, but Lea wasn’t so sure. Was it really possible that Hunter Marks had reinvented himself as a man who owned and ran a multimillion-dollar corporation? It would be the scoop of a lifetime.

Oh, breaking the story about the scandal that had nearly destroyed a town had gotten her a job with the Boston Globe for a while. But the story had become old news as soon as Hunter had disappeared. And after a few months at the Globe, she’d been eased into covering the society page and eventually she’d taken the job at Celebs. Had there been a way to play her cards differently?

After moving to her desk, Lea fished out an aspirin bottle and downed two tablets without water. One snapshot. Then she’d be able to tell if Jared Slade was the man she’d known ten years ago as Hunter Marks. If he was, she’d have the leverage she’d need to finally get everything she wanted. This time she’d play her cards right.

Hunter Marks had secrets to hide, and Lea knew them all.

2

THIS WAS DEFINITELY her lucky day! Rory Gibbs barely kept herself from dancing a little jig. The sketchy plan she’d had when she’d entered the hotel had worked like a charm. The bell captain had bought her story. Now all she had to do was snap the picture. She gave her bubble gum three quick chews.

One of the two men at the registration desk had to be Jared Slade. She was sure of it. But which one? She needed a moment and it wouldn’t do to be caught staring at a guest. Taking two quick steps to her right, she ducked behind a potted palm tree and peered through the branches at the two men.

Was it the handsome, preppy-looking blonde? Or was it the shorter, tougher-looking dark-haired man who stood next to him?

Nerves simmering, Rory blew out a small bubble, then used her teeth and tongue to draw the gum back into her mouth. The dark-haired man had given the name Jared Slade to the reception clerk, but the blonde was the one signing the registration form. Rory was betting on the blonde.

Still, it could be the shorter, darker one even though, with his horn-rimmed glasses, he looked more like an accountant than a man who ran a company. Rory blew another bubble.

The way she’d pictured him in her mind, Jared Slade had been larger and drop-dead gorgeous. And in spite of the almost picture-perfect good looks, he had an aura of danger about him. In fact, he’d looked quite a bit like her fantasy man.

Neither of the two men standing at the desk looked particularly dangerous. Rory licked another bubble off her lips. She’d lived long enough to understand the huge chasm that existed between fantasy and reality. The studious-looking accountant was probably the real Jared Slade.

As she dug in her bag for her camera, she took a quick glance around the lobby. A third man had come through the revolving doors with Jared Slade. She’d been too intent on watching the other two at the desk to pay him much heed, but she did so now. He was a large man with dark hair, wearing black jeans, a leather jacket and dark glasses. Rory blinked and stared. He definitely had fantasy-man possibilities.

At that moment, he lifted the dark glasses and shot a quick look in her direction. She felt her heart skip a beat and her mouth go dry. Then as those dark eyes locked on hers, she felt a little punch of something hot right in her gut and her mind simply emptied.

It was only when he turned back to talk to the bell captain that Rory remembered to breathe. And it was only as she drew in a second breath that the oxygen reached her brain and she began to think again.

Well. She’d never reacted that way before to any man. But then, this one was remarkably like the fantasy man she’d created in her head—tall, dark, and handsome in a rough-edged sort of way. She began to chew on her bubble gum again. Would he have a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled?

Time for a reality check, she reminded herself. Mr. Danger was probably a bodyguard with valet duties, since he seemed to be sorting out the luggage with the bell captain. When he glanced over in the direction of the registration desk, Rory scrunched herself farther down behind the palm tree. The last thing she needed was a run-in with Jared Slade’s bodyguard before she snapped her picture.

She should have worn something green, camouflage fatigues. For one long moment—even through the palm fronds—Rory felt the large man’s eyes on her again. It felt like a mild sort of electrical shock along her nerve endings. She averted her own gaze and willed herself invisible. Her red boots would be hidden, but not the red cap. Since she’d started to develop her signature style, her sisters had teased her about being a slave to fashion. Was she about to pay the price?

HUNTER MARKS FROWNED as he watched the woman in the red hat and boots squat behind a tall potted palm. Who was she and what in hell was she doing?

He scanned the lobby again, but she was the only person there who seemed out of place. Lately, he’d been more paranoid than ever when he checked into a hotel. Small wonder since someone was threatening his company. The procedure was that his two employees—Michael Banks and Alex Santos—checked in while he scoped the lobby for possible reporters. The system had worked well for several years. So far no one had been able to print a photo of Jared Slade. No one, aside from his most trusted employees, even knew what Jared Slade looked like. And no one knew that Jared Slade used to be Hunter Marks.

But the person who was sending him threatening notes knew. And more and more, Hunter was becoming convinced that the threat to Slade Enterprises was coming from within. He’d come to D.C. to get to the bottom of it.

Hunter returned his gaze to the woman behind the potted palm. His eyes had been drawn to her from the moment he’d walked into Les Printemps. One glance had him thinking of pixies and elves. And that was not the usual turn his mind took when he looked at a woman. He prided himself on being practical rather than fanciful when it came to the female of the species.

This particular specimen had been seated on one of the settees, not sipping tea or a cocktail as the other occupants of the lobby were. Instead, she’d been scanning the crowd while she blew a huge bubble. When the bubble burst, he’d watched in amusement as she pulled it off her cheeks and nose and poked it back into her mouth.

He’d taken the time to study her face then. The cherry-red lips had drawn his attention first, and he’d found himself wondering if they would carry the flavor of the bubble gum. The errant thought along with the tightening and hardening of his body surprised him.

Strange, because women never surprised him. And the pixie with the bubble gum was a far right turn from the type he usually dated. For starters, she looked too young. Of course, the slight build could account for that, along with the hair. From what he could see of it—a few wisps that peeked out from beneath the red cap—she wore her dark hair shorter than most men. He shifted his gaze down the black jean jacket and jeans to the red boots and felt his body go even harder.

Then she glanced his way and for one long moment his gaze held hers. He felt a punch of desire so strong that for a second he couldn’t breathe. Then his mind filled with pImages** of her and what he’d like to do to her.

“Here you go, sir.”

With some effort, Hunter dragged his mind back to reality as the bell captain handed him three tickets. His reaction to this odd woman was unprecedented.

“The briefcase and the laptop will be taken up to the Presidential Suite for Mr. Slade,” the man said. “I’ll handle it personally. And the suitcases will be up shortly.”

“Appreciate it,” Hunter said as he slipped a folded bill across the narrow counter. Then he leaned closer to the bell captain. “Do you see that woman over there, the one behind the palm tree?”

The bell captain took a moment to scan the lobby casually. Les Printemps was a small hotel that prided itself on calling each guest by name. Hunter had researched it himself. The management catered to a very select clientele, a mix of foreign diplomats and celebrities, who paid premium prices because they valued their privacy and expected the hotel to protect it at all costs.

“That’s Miss Rory Gibbs, sir,” the bell captain said, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Is she staying here?” Hunter asked.

“No.”

Hunter frowned. “I thought only registered guests were allowed in the lobby.”

“She’s meeting her fiancé here. She said her father brought her here for high tea once, and she wanted to relive the moment with her husband-to-be. Sweet little thing. She reminds me a bit of my daughter.”

Hunter returned his gaze to Rory Gibbs just as she pulled a camera out of her purse.

Shit, he said to himself as he strode toward her. Perhaps she was a reporter, after all. He prided himself on having a sixth sense where the press was concerned. But this one had fooled him.

There were only three people in his organization who’d known he was checking in to Les Printemps. Ms. Rory Gibbs was his ticket to finding out just who the traitor was.

RORY’S HEART WAS BEATING so fast that she was sure the two men at the reception desk could hear it. One at a time, she wiped her damp hands on her jeans. She couldn’t afford to drop the camera. Dammit. She could still feel Jared Slade’s bodyguard/valet watching her and he was having the oddest effect on her whole system.

Focus, she told herself. No one had ever taken a photo of Jared Slade. She needed this picture. Once she had it, she could negotiate step two of her plan—an exclusive interview with Jared Slade.

“We want you to enjoy your stay at Les Printemps, Mr. Slade,” the neatly groomed woman behind the desk said as she pushed a key across the counter.

Rory noted that the dark-haired man picked it up. But it was the blond man who said, “Thank you.”

They would turn around any minute and she would finally be looking at Jared Slade. Which one would he be?

Turn. Rory concentrated on sending out the message telepathically. But the blonde was asking about the health club facilities. Jared Slade was reputed to be a health nut.

So the blonde was Jared.

“Where’s the best place to take a run?” the dark-haired man asked.

Or maybe the runner was Jared. And still they didn’t turn around. So much for her telepathic powers.

Raising the camera, she pressed the button on the zoom lens and found herself viewing a close-up of a palm leaf. She pushed it out of her way, only to discover that the two men were moving away from the desk. She could see their faces in profile now. The darker haired man was tough looking and built like a boxer. The blonde had the long, rangy body of a swimmer.

If she’d had to bet money, she still would have placed it on the blonde. But this was too important to trust in her luck. She had to be sure. Edging her way out from behind the palm tree, she aimed the camera and said, “Jared Slade?”

The blond man turned first, and she had three quick shots of him before someone behind her said, “Stop right there.”

Whirling, she saw the fantasy man—Mr. Danger—striding toward her. He looked every inch the bodyguard now. In fact, the combination of sunglasses, black leather jacket and black jeans had her thinking for one giddy moment of the Terminator. Rory froze.

She wasn’t sure if it was the sheer size of the man that intimidated her for a moment, or perhaps that odd little punch to her system threw her off. The only thing she was certain of was that all of his attention was totally focused on her. She could feel his purpose, feel him in every pore of her body. He was the Terminator personified.