Susan Kearney - Hidden Hearts

“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.

She was scowling at him as she slung her bag over her shoulder. He would have offered to carry it for her, but he needed to keep his hands free. “We’re at our most vulnerable point as we leave your apartment. Stay close.”

He drew his gun from his holster and placed the weapon in his pocket. Alexandra lagged behind. He turned to see her gazing wistfully at the phone. “Come on. I’ve a cell phone in my car parked two blocks away.” While a normal cell phone was easy to eavesdrop on, his had special modifications. “You can use mine.”

She should have been grateful. Instead, the scowl lines on her forehead deepened. He wondered why he longed to rub the scowl lines away. Or to assure her he would keep her safe. He should never have taken a job to protect a woman. Since Sydney’s death, he’d roamed the world taking random assignments, rescuing a kidnapped businessman in Colombia, protecting an Arab sheik in Qatar, helping a Jewish family emigrate from Russia. But he’d never guarded a woman. Especially one who reminded him of Sydney.

In looks they were nothing alike. Sydney had had blond hair, hazel eyes and lush curves on her five-foot-two frame. Alexandra was taller, slimmer, delicate despite her height, which he guessed was about five-foot-eight. While she had the most amazing almond-colored eyes with droplets of gold fire, it was her spirit that reminded him of Sydney. Both women cared passionately about their work.

While Sydney had wanted to make the world a better place to live in, Alexandra dreamed of building better places for people to work in. Every time she glanced at her blueprints, her eyes softened and took on a dreamy warmth. He wondered how he’d feel if she ever looked at him like that.

Instead she preferred to give him frowns and scowls of disbelief. If she thought his offer to let her use his cell phone was simply a ruse to get her into his car, she’d find out differently. He hadn’t resorted to violence when she’d kicked his shin. He hadn’t barged in on her shower. He intended to keep his word to her. Eventually she would learn that he was a man of honor.

He reached out, took her wrist and tugged her beside him. “When I say close, I mean close.”

“Okay. O-kay.”

He dropped her wrist before she yanked back, giving her a moment to make up her own mind. Not that she had a choice, and he supposed she knew that and didn’t like it, but she adjusted to his demand. Under no circumstances would he compromise her safety.

He hesitated by her front door. While he wanted her to trust him, he knew better. He looked into those magnificent eyes and knew no explanation would suffice. She was as stubborn as two mules. So he resorted to what had worked before—a threat. “When it comes to your safety, I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep you alive—even if that means tying your hands behind your back, gagging you, tossing you over my shoulder and carrying you out of here.”