Hidden Hearts

She supposed she should count herself lucky that he hadn’t followed through on his threat to stay in the shower with her. He could have…

Better not to think about what he could have done. With those large hands and powerful arms he could do just about anything he wanted.

She was wasting hot water. But did she dare get naked even with a locked door between them?

Why not? If he wanted to remove her clothes he could already have done so. But maybe he was just waiting until she washed away the awful smell.

She sensed that he was capable of violence. And yet…he seemed more amused by her defiance than angered. Almost as if he respected her ingenuity.

A look in the mirror made up her mind. Her hair had escaped the neat French braid and something dark and sticky oozed at her temple. Several smudges stuck to her cheek and chin. And her blouse and slacks were filthy. Knowing she’d never wear them again, she stripped, tossed the soiled clothing into the plastic trash-can liner and tied a knot to keep down the odor.

Within seconds she ducked into the steamy shower, her hands reaching for the soap. With resignation, she realized she could no longer fight Roarke’s wishes as well as her own. She longed to feel clean. Besides, she rationalized, even if she managed to escape Roarke, no one would help her if she looked like a bag lady.

Alexandra wanted to take a quick shower, but once she stepped under the glorious flow of water, she decided that if Roarke Stone had violent intentions towards her, a longer shower wouldn’t make that much difference. If she was going to wash away some of the stench that might have protected her, she might as well wash away all of it.

She soaped down, rinsed and soaped again. Next she attacked her hair, using double her normal amount of shampoo and letting it soak as she washed herself squeaky clean.

Besides, how could she think clearly when she stank? Every time she’d turned her head another awful smell had assaulted her, distracted her. And Roarke might listen to her if she changed her appearance. If she looked respectable, then maybe he’d treat her with respect.

Not that he’d mistreated her—if she didn’t count forcing her to take a shower and taking away her cell phone, her only means to call for help. But why didn’t she sense any real menace in him? Because he treated her gently? Because she’d seen amusement in his eyes when she’d expected anger?

Alexandra rinsed her hair, applied conditioner and gave her underarms and legs a quick swipe of the razor. The soothing routine lifted her spirits. When she finished, she brought a few locks forward to her nose and sniffed.

All clean.

She dried herself and dressed in fresh underwear, blue jeans and a shirt, before quickly rebraiding her hair. Her fingers worked smoothly, easing the wet strands off her face and working her hair into the braid until she fastened it all with one scrunchy at the back of her neck.

She brushed her teeth and applied moisturizer to her skin before she realized she was stalling. While Roarke hadn’t interrupted her, giving her the privacy she so desperately needed, she dreaded dealing with him again.

Hating the uncertainty of whether he was friend or foe, she vowed to try and clear that matter up first, before she made any other decisions about her predicament. But what would make her believe him? Even if he allowed her to call her brother and Jake confirmed that he’d hired Roarke, how would she know that the other man on the phone was really her brother?

She and Jake had never met. At least not since she was three and he was five years old.

And even if Jake was her brother, how could she know if he was being honest with her? Brother or not, he could be some kind of con man with his own agenda. But what kind of swindle could anyone try to pull on her?

She wasn’t wealthy. She could think of nothing she owned that anyone would want. Which made her think that Roarke Stone might be who he said he was—someone hired by her brother to protect her. He had saved her from the man in the uniform…unless they were playing good guy/bad guy so she would trust Roarke. Now her thoughts were really flying out there.

She had to pull herself together mentally as well as physically. And she could only do that by admitting the truth to herself. Roarke Stone reminded her of her painful past. A past where another man’s good looks, easy smile and charm had betrayed her. She found Roarke’s self-confidence alarming. And even worse, she wasn’t quite as immune to him as she would have liked.

Apparently Patrick hadn’t done the number on her she’d thought. Or she’d recovered enough to once again find herself reacting to certain traits. What was wrong with her that the only men she found attractive were the ones who couldn’t be trusted?

Giving herself a good talking to had only made matters worse. Now she had not only to escape from Roarke but from her own thoughts about him.

A soft knock startled her. “You about done? We should be moving out.”

Moving out? Was that an army term?

“Almost ready.” She unlocked the door with a deep breath and faced him.

He stood so close that she had to force herself not to retreat. She hadn’t expected him almost to overwhelm her simply by occupying the space around him so completely. Nor did she expect a head-to-toe inspection as if she needed to pass muster.

He nodded slightly, and she realized he’d been holding his breath. Slowly he sniffed and the tightness around his mouth eased.

“Ah, much better. Pack some clothes and toiletries, we need to clear out.”

She should have been offended, but how could she be when she had smelled so awful? Besides, she might obtain more information if she once again pretended to cooperate. “And where are we going?”

“I’ve been thinking it over. What do you think about heading to Amelia Island?”

He’d just asked her opinion, so she decided not to point out that he still stood much too close. Maybe he hadn’t noticed that he was close enough to hear her ragged breathing and smell her fear. Only now her fear wasn’t over her own safety, so much as her reaction to him. She didn’t want to notice this man’s masculinity. But how could she not with his broad chest and tanned throat less than twelve inches from her face? She was close enough to see soft swirls of dark chest hair peeking out from beneath the V of his shirt. For the first time, she could breathe in his scent—none. He must use odorless shampoo and deodorant and no cologne.

“You look good,” he told her in his too-sexy voice.

Not as good as you. “Thanks.” She played along, pretending to accept the compliment she knew was insincere. She’d bet her blueprints that this man dated women of super-model beauty. She’d bet her bank contract the last woman in his bed had breasts that overflowed his large hands. She’d bet he was simply trying to manipulate her into doing something else she didn’t want to do. But she could handle it since she understood the game.

His five-o’clock shadow was sexy as sin, as was the way he focused all his attention on her with warm approval.

She gave herself a mental shake and recalled that he’d just asked her a question about Amelia Island, a popular resort just north of Jacksonville, and she had yet to respond. “You want to go to Amelia Island?”

“I meant the Caribbean Islands.”

He wanted to take her out of the country? “You can’t be serious.”

But that was a dumb thing to say. She could see by the upward lift of his eyebrow that he was dead serious.

“I don’t have a passport.”

“You only need a birth certificate.”

“Look, my work is at a very delicate stage. And while you think I’m in danger—”

“Your brother’s a private investigator. I don’t think he’d have hired me if you weren’t in some kind of trouble.” Roarke stepped back enough for her to exit the bathroom. His massive shoulders almost touched both walls of her narrow hall, leaving her only enough room to head toward her bedroom. “The best way for me to protect you is to hide you someplace where you would never go.”

“The Caribbean Islands are out of the question—not unless you drug me and carry me onto the plane, and then someone might be suspicious.”

“Be reasonable, Alexandra.”

“Reasonable?” She placed her hands on her hips and spun to face him. “You want reasonable? How about the fact that I signed a contract to oversee the construction of a skyscraper that is going to be the finest building south of the Mason-Dixon line? How about the fact that work will stop if I don’t show up tomorrow? How about the fact that everything I’ve worked my whole life to achieve will be ruined if I go off and hide in the islands with you?”

“And how about,” he threw her own words back at her, “that you’re risking your life to stay here?”

“There’s a major inspection of the building coming up in a few days. I have to be there—”

“I thought architects drew up plans. Why do you have to go to the site?”

“Designing the blueprints is only one part of my job. I’ve been hired to oversee the project to ensure the contractors adhere to my design specifications. And to do that, I have to be there when the city inspectors—”

“Look, that man came to your house, he likely knows where you work.”

“And if it’s your job to protect me, then it’ll be up to you to figure out a way to keep me safe,” she insisted.

“I’m not a miracle worker. The best way to keep you safe is to hide.”

“No can do. I designed that building with clean lines and graceful curves, so people would have better places to work. If I miss the inspections, some man may think the day-care center isn’t necessary and turn it into an exercise room.”

“Is the building more important than your life? Are you determined to end up dead?”

Chapter Three

Alexandra sank onto the bed and dropped her face into her hands. Some things were worth dying for: protecting a loved one; fighting for a just cause; defending one’s homeland. But an inanimate object such as her beautiful skyscraper wasn’t worth her life.

And yet, Roarke could be blowing matters out of proportion to make her more malleable. When he couldn’t sweet-talk her into doing what he’d wanted, he’d changed tactics. He gone from charming to take-charge so fast that her thoughts spun. And he sounded so sure she was putting her life at risk that he’d almost convinced her. Almost.

Yet, the man who’d broken through her front door had only wanted the envelope Jake sent her. He’d specifically said he wouldn’t hurt her. She might not be in any danger at all.

Roarke stood quietly inside her bedroom door, allowing her time to think. While she appreciated his silence, she wondered if it was a deliberate attempt to frighten her into doing what he wanted.

His presence alone seemed to be wearing her down. An hour ago, before her shower, she’d worried that Roarke might physically assault her. Now he stood in her bedroom and she had little fear of him. Of course he’d just oh-so-sweetly, oh-so-innocently warned her that she might risk her life unless she did as he asked, and she couldn’t help wondering once again if he’d done so deliberately. Was his intention to keep her off balance? Frighten her into leaving her work?

She dropped her hands to her lap, squared her shoulders and lifted her head until their eyes met. Usually she was good at reading people, but he stood so still, so composed, letting his gorgeous face do his persuading for him. And his blue, blue eyes gave away nothing.

“I’m not leaving the country.”

“Then we go to plan B.”

He surprised her by adapting to her refusal so easily. “Plan B?”

“We find a place to hide here. I’ll find someone to keep you safe while I figure out who wants to hurt you. And why.”

Alexandra shook her head. “I can’t go into hiding.” She’d already lost most of the afternoon, a good part of her work day. Her construction schedule demanded that she keep to it or cost overruns would occur. She needed to complete her first building on time, within budget. “I should have gone back to my office this afternoon. But I must be on the job site tomorrow morning at 6:00 a.m. sharp.”

Roarke let out a long sigh and glanced at her sideways, no doubt checking to see if she noticed his extraordinary patience with her. “I don’t like plan C. It’s risky. It means hiding you someplace different every night. It means you wear a bullet-proof vest. It means protecting you—”

“I don’t think anyone is after me.” Alexandra stood, turned toward her bed and kneeled. She pulled a small suitcase out from under her mattress.

She could feel his eyes drilling into her back searchingly. When she glanced up at him, his plastic expression changed to one of feigned interest in her opinion. “Why?”

“Because as that man chased me through my house, he said he only wanted the stuff my brother sent me.”

He shot her a conspiratorial smile as if they shared a joke. “And you believe him?”

“I’m not sure what I believe.” She shrugged and unzipped the carry-on bag. She kept travel-size toiletries ready to go, so she just needed to pack a few changes of clothes. “But I don’t intend to spend another night here where I can be easily found.” She glared at him defiantly. “I’m going to a friend’s house.”

She tossed the envelope Jake had sent her onto the bed along with clothes, a second pair of shoes and a long T-shirt to sleep in. She expected Roarke to protest. Instead he walked over to her bed; she ignored him. Without a doubt, a man like him didn’t get ignored often. He shifted from foot to foot, and she gave him six seconds to try to change her mind.

“You’d be safer if you stayed with me.”

He’d lasted two and a half. But she remained silent, knowing if she gave him reasons, he’d argue and wear her down.

When she said nothing, he eyed the envelope with curiosity. “Did that come from your brother?”

She saw no point in denying it when he need merely flip it over and read the return address. “Yes.”

“May I look?”

He was sweetly asking her permission? She didn’t understand the man. He’d ordered her to take a shower, threatened to do it himself if she didn’t, then when she’d boldly said no to his plan A and plan B, he hadn’t argued. Much. Hadn’t insisted on doing everything his way.

And now he was asking permission to look at her personal papers? He seemed capable of adapting faster than she could take her next breath.

Maybe he would see something important in the papers that she had missed. “Sure, go ahead and take a look. I have no idea what the fuss is all about. Maybe I should just have given the intruder what he wanted.”

“That wouldn’t have been a good idea.”

“Why not? Then he’d leave me alone.”

He picked up the envelope. “Jake thinks your mother gave her life to protect this information.”

She frowned at his serious expression. Once again he’d surprised her by directing the topic of conversation in a brand-new direction. “My mother?”

“Your biological mother.”

“Oh.” Alexandra had no memories of the woman who’d given birth to her and thought of her adopted mother as her Mom. Although she’d never been told how her biological mother had died, Roarke spoke as if she’d been involved in some kind of crusade. Alexandra had gone through the pictures and read some of the papers that Jake had sent, but she’d seen no obvious cause that her mother might have been caught up in.

To think that the woman who’d given her birth had felt so passionately about something that she’d risked her own life gave Alexandra a measure of pain and pride. Pain that she and her siblings meant less to her mother than a cause. Pain that the family had been split up. Pride that her mother believed in something so strongly she would risk her life.

Roarke removed the documents and looked at the old black-and-white photographs first. He studied each one for a long time, as if memorizing details before moving on to the next. Eventually he put them aside and perused the birth certificates. Finally, he turned to the pages from her mother’s diary.

Alexandra finished packing as he skimmed, wondering if he’d find them more interesting than she had. The pages seemed dull to her, full of chitchat about people she didn’t know. None of the material seemed terribly important, nothing controversial or political.

Roarke looked up suddenly but his thoughts seemed far away. He carefully placed all the items back into the envelope and handed them to her. “On the surface, the information seems innocent enough.”

“What do you mean by ‘on the surface?”’

“The diary pages seem stilted. Either your mother was a poor writer or she might have been using a code. It’s also possible that a microdot might be imbedded in the paper.”

She looked up sharply. “What?”

“It’s a decades-old technique used to send covert information.”

How did he know this stuff? Suddenly she wondered just why her brother had picked this man to protect her. What kind of life had he led? Where had he come from?

Obviously, he was well educated. And just as obviously he knew about guns and electronic microphones. She suspected he used that face and body to hide his keen intelligence.

She focused on the new details, thinking hard. “Who would care about old information after so many years? And besides, my brother said these papers are copies.”

“Just because they’re copies doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be carefully guarded.”

“I don’t understand. Why can’t we make copies, keep one set, give the other set to the bad guys and hope they leave me alone?”

“Look, suppose the papers include the directions to make some kind of weapon? Would we want our enemies or terrorists to have a copy?”

Weapons? Terrorists? She swallowed hard. “I see what you mean.”

“Eventually we may have to take these papers to a friend of mine who is good with codes, but meanwhile, I suggest we make a duplicate set and put them in a very safe place. We have to make sure neither copy falls into the wrong hands.”

He’d said we, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know where she was going to conceal the documents. But then again, if he’d come for the papers, he could have taken them. While his verbal attempts to convince her to trust him had failed, his actions spoke louder. For the first time she really thought he might be telling her the truth. Her brother might indeed have hired him. And that meant her brother really did think she might be in danger.

As she thought over the implications and considered several hiding places, she lifted her packed bag onto the bed and then picked up her phone. “I need to phone my friend and tell her I’m spending the night.”

Again he plucked the phone from her fingertips. “Not from here.”

Just when she almost believed his story, he did something suspicious. She didn’t want to ride in a car with him until she’d told at least one person where she was and who was with her. “Why not from here?”

“Just a precaution. Your phone might be bugged.”

Another silver-tongued lie? Or was he really trying to keep her safe? “Why don’t you open the receiver and check?”

“Because while there might be a device placed inside your phone, there are several other ways to eavesdrop electronically. A satellite could pick up your call if you use a portable phone like this one. So could a van parked two blocks away. Or a device could be placed in the line connecting your house to the phone company.”

He had an answer for everything. Who was this guy? He sounded like a master spy or a very convincing storyteller.

And she had no idea what she should do next. Go along with him and hope he stopped at a pay phone? Or scream bloody murder and hope someone called the police?

ROARKE READ the suspicion in her eyes, beautiful whiskey-colored eyes that reminded him of the changing color of autumn leaves in Virginia. As the golden hues darkened to a vibrant amber, Alexandra’s wariness returned with the same steadiness with which winter followed fall.

He should never have accepted a mission over the phone. Roarke knew better. But he’d been eager to show Jake Cochran how good he was. Jake ran a huge P.I. agency that was about to expand nationwide, and Roarke needed steady work.

He should have thought it odd that with all of her brother’s connections in the business, Jake had asked Roarke to protect his sister. But Roarke now knew why her brother had chosen him. And it scared him right down to his bones.

Jake must have researched Roarke’s background. Through his resources, he might have learned of Roarke’s service in the Central Intelligence Agency. He had been a case officer in Bangkok, chief of station in Amsterdam, chief of operations for Africa, and finally chief of counter terrorism.

Did Jake suspect terrorists were after his sister? Had he hired Roarke because he’d once specialized in such things? Roarke should have asked more questions, and now Jake wasn’t answering his phone. Another sign that something bigger than Roarke had expected might be happening.

Roarke had quit his job at the CIA to get away from those types of deadly operations. He no longer wanted to live with the indiscriminate killings, with having to send good men and women to their deaths. Roarke had had enough of death. But death might be stalking his client.

However, he saw no reason to share his knowledge or suspicions with Alexandra. While the woman had a great deal of courage, she disliked him for some reason. He supposed that, under the circumstances, he should have expected some mistrust. But he was frustrated that every time he thought he might be making progress, she withdrew from his friendly overtures. Although obviously intelligent, she didn’t seem to believe a word he said.

Puzzling. Roarke had often used his intelligence, his looks and his sex appeal in the world of espionage to coax information out of unsuspecting women for his country’s benefit. But Alexandra wasn’t most women.

Roarke wondered if she could sense the greatest failure of his life. Could she smell the mess that had soiled a pristine career? Fifty-five people had died in the embassy bombing because of a decision he’d made. But when he closed his eyes, just one face haunted him, that of Sydney, his fiancée, an embassy translator whose dreams had been cut short.

Hours after the disaster, he’d found her in the rubble, and she’d looked as though she were sleeping. No blood. No broken bones or grotesquely bent limbs. No grievous injuries. She’d looked perfect. Only she hadn’t been breathing.

The autopsy report said she’d suffered a broken neck. She’d died instantly. He took no comfort in that. She hadn’t had time to say goodbye. Hadn’t had time to live. She’d been only twenty-five years old.

And he’d blamed himself. For five years he’d had to live with the knowledge that he could have prevented her death. A useless death in an African nation most Americans had never heard of and didn’t care about.

Sydney had cared. And she’d paid for her caring with her life. All because of him. Sick at heart, he’d resigned.

Now, he preferred to protect people by risking his own neck. But he hadn’t considered that this level of expertise might be needed when he accepted the job of protecting Alexandra. Roarke now sensed something very dangerous about her situation.

To be safe, she should go into hiding—but she’d refused, insisting on attending the inspection of her building and risking her life. Just as Sydney had refused to leave her job at the embassy when the country had erupted into violence.

Roarke wasn’t about to lose another woman, especially one entrusted into his care. But maybe he was being over-cautious after his experiences in Africa. Perhaps Alexandra was right. Maybe the intruder had wanted just the package, not her.

His job would be easier if Alexandra trusted him, so he’d make concessions. He would agree to let her go to the inspection for now. He’d let her spend the night with a friend for tonight.