Ingrid Weaver - Aim for the Heart

“That’s very astute reasoning, but how did you know about my hobbies?”

“I assembled a background file on you when I accepted this mission and I memorized it on the flight over.” She stopped in front of the elevator. It was an old-fashioned model with frosted glass doors and a folding metal gate. The visibility it provided was an asset—Sarah could see at a glance it was empty.

“Background file?” Lemay asked as they stepped into the car.

“It’s standard operating procedure, Dr. Lemay. Nothing personal. Unfortunately, it appears as if the shooter we encountered this afternoon has acquired information about your habits, as well.” She closed the doors and slid the gate into position. She pressed the button for the fifth floor, which was the top story of the historic building that served as the hotel’s main wing. The elevator started upward with a jerk. “As I said before, we can discuss this once we’re somewhere more secure.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Since I’m your bodyguard, I’ll be staying with you.”

“Wait a minute. I never agreed to this.”

“It’s the only way to do my duty properly. Until the conference is over, I’m your shadow. You don’t go anywhere without me.”

He hit the emergency stop button. The car shuddered as it clunked to a halt between the second and third floors. “This has gone far enough.”

“You have a two-room suite consisting of a bedroom and sitting room. I realize the rooms in the King Gustav are small by North American standards, but there should be adequate space for both of us.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’ll bunk down in the sitting room. I’ve already arranged to have a cot sent up.”

He set her suitcase on the floor and grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I didn’t agree to any of this. Who sent you? Let me talk to your commanding officer.” He paused. “Captain?”

She had tried to keep her face expressionless but she hadn’t been able to stop the wince when he’d touched her bruises. She shrugged off his grip and stepped back. “My C.O. for this mission is Major Mitchell Redinger. You can reach him at Fort Bragg. I’ll give you his contact number once we’re in your suite.”

He leaned down to bring his face level with hers. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

There was no point lying—even someone who wasn’t as intelligent as Lemay would be able to see she was in pain. “I took a round during my previous mission,” she said. “My body armor stopped the bullet but the impact of the high-caliber round dislocated my left shoulder.”

He returned his hand to her shoulder. He didn’t touch her. He held his fingers a breath above her coat, then caught a stray lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

The gesture was so unexpected, so…tender, it took Sarah a moment before she could continue. “There was some bruising so the joint is still somewhat sensitive,” she said. “I assure you it won’t interfere with my ability to do my duty.”

He dropped his hand. “You hit me with your left shoulder when you knocked me down,” he murmured. “You reinjured it because of me.”

“My comfort is immaterial. My duty is to protect you.”

“My God, you don’t even know me.”

He was wrong, she thought. She knew every fact about Hawkins Lemay that could be gathered by Army Intelligence. The background file she’d assembled had been impressively thick and contained far more than a list of his hobbies. And it had been a long flight.

His credentials as a scientist were beyond repute, his accomplishments in the field of particle physics were astounding. At only thirty-five, he was the world’s leading expert on nuclear fusion, respected by his colleagues, courted by foreign governments and ambitious businessmen alike…and considered important enough by the American government to warrant personal protection. Major Redinger’s orders had come straight from the Pentagon.

Still, there were things the file hadn’t told her. She’d known Lemay was six foot two, 198 pounds, physically fit because of his daily jogging, but she hadn’t known how gracefully he moved, or how long and tanned his fingers were, or how the battered, brown leather jacket he wore creaked subtly with his motions and smelled so deliciously of fresh air and man…

“You’re the man I’ve been assigned to protect, Dr. Lemay,” she said. “That’s really all I need to know.” She stretched past him to restart the elevator. It resumed its slow ascent with a jerk. Lemay reached out to steady her, but she ignored him and took a quick step sideways.

He picked up her suitcase. His voice was low and tense. “I’m sorry I hurt you. Would it help to put ice on your shoulder?”

“No problem. I’ll be fine.”

“Who were you protecting that time?”

She kept her attention on the passing floors. “Excuse me?”

“When you were shot?”

“It was a hostage rescue. A seven-year-old boy.”

“Since when does the Army do hostage rescue… Ah. I should have seen it.” His voice took on a curl of interest. “Hostage rescue, bodyguard detail. You’re no ordinary soldier, you’re with Delta Force.”

His insight didn’t surprise her. After all, he was a genius. “Yes, sir. Here’s our floor. Stay back until I check the corridor.” She opened the gate with one hand and slipped her gun from her pocket with the other. She listened first, but she heard nothing from the hall. She held up her palm, motioning Lemay to remain where he was, then stepped out of the elevator. When she assured herself the way was clear, she glanced behind her.

She had half expected him to defy her order and follow her, but he was still standing by the elevator, her suitcase tucked under one arm as if it weighed nothing. His jacket gaped open, exposing a wrinkled denim shirt. The lighting in the corridor was as subdued as it had been in the lobby, yet the shadows couldn’t hide the sharp glint in his gaze.

The striking blue eyes he’d inherited from Cynthia Hawkins, his New England mother. The midnight-black hair and strong bone structure had been passed down from Pascal Lemay, his Cajun father. Those were facts she had known since she’d memorized his face from the photograph in his background file.

But the photo hadn’t shown that gleam in his eyes. It was a glimpse of the power that dwelled behind the distinctive features, a hint of Dr. Hawkins Lemay’s awesome intellect.

He held her gaze as he closed the distance between them. His big body moved with the careless ease of a predator, another fact that wasn’t contained in his file. He paused in front of her, once more filling her senses with the scent of leather and man. “Tell me the truth, Captain Fox,” he said. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”

Hawk crossed his ankles and leaned against the door frame as he watched Captain Fox move through the bedroom. Like the rest of the suite she’d already been through, the bedroom was decorated predominantly in ivory and pale rose, with antique furniture that carried the dark patina of age. But the captain wasn’t interested in the décor any more than he was. She’d claimed she was checking for bombs or booby traps, and she appeared to be doing a thorough job.

His belongings were still in his suitcase—he hadn’t taken the time to unpack before he’d felt the need to go out for a walk—but even the suitcase hadn’t escaped her scrutiny. She was sticking to her story, yet the more Hawk thought about it, the more he wondered whether he should trust her.

That wasn’t anything new. He seldom trusted anyone. “Don’t you find it odd that out of all the soldiers who could have been assigned to guard me, your Major Redinger chose an injured woman?”