Aim for the Heart. Ingrid Weaver
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was inevitable. She’d never had a problem controlling it before. After all, it was only sex, not love. It was a normal, healthy physical response, nothing to be ashamed of and no big deal. She wasn’t going to let it interfere with her purpose now.
Call me Hawk.
She gritted her teeth. She had to think of him as Dr. Hawkins Lemay, Nobel laureate, renowned physicist and the subject of her mission. Even if she were interested, that final fact made him off-limits.
No matter how good he smelled.
She pursed her lips and exhaled slowly, trying again to relax. Stretch to the side, bring the forearm vertical, circle with the palm. She settled into the familiar sequence. For the next ten minutes she moved around the antique chairs and the spindly-legged sofa in the center of the small sitting room, her body relaxing as it flowed through the routine with practiced ease.
A low trill sounded from the table that was in the midst of the furniture grouping. Sarah hopped over the back of the sofa and snatched up her cell phone before the second ring. “Fox here.”
“I got your message, Captain. What’s the situation?”
It was Mitchell Redinger’s voice. Sarah shot a glance at the door of Hawk’s bedroom to verify it was still closed, then curled one leg beneath her and sank into a corner of the sofa. “My flight was delayed, Major, so Lemay had arrived at the hotel before me. There has already been one attempt on his life.”
“Report.”
She gave her C.O. a summary of the afternoon’s events, including the names of the embassy official she’d contacted when she’d arrived and the police officer who had been first on the scene. She finished by relating the security measures she’d coordinated within the hotel.
“Nice work, Captain.” There was a crackle of static. “Is Lemay cooperating?”
“Grudgingly, sir.”
“I have confidence that you can handle the situation.”
Sarah heard the note of dismissal in Redinger’s tone and spoke quickly. “Was Lemay offered a government position two days ago?”
There was another burst of static. “Say again?”
“Dr. Lemay claims to have been approached by a defense department representative who was interested in his research.”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Is it true Lemay refused?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
Sarah felt a momentary unease but she dismissed it. She probably hadn’t been able to uncover this information while she had researched Hawk’s background because the event had been too recent to be on record. The Major might not have thought to tell her about it because he hadn’t considered it pertinent. “Just verifying my facts, sir,” she replied.
After the call ended, Sarah frowned. Had she been infected by Hawk’s paranoia, or had Major Redinger sounded more distant than usual?
She returned her phone to the table, propped her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands. She wasn’t going to let doubts infect her mind. Hawk didn’t seem to trust anyone, but Sarah had always been able to trust the army. It was her family, the one constant in her life.
Do your duty like a good little soldier.
Her father’s voice played in her memory. Even now, she felt her spine straighten in response. She pushed to her feet and did a circuit of the room, then opened her suitcase, took out a copy of the conference schedule, a floor plan of the hotel and a high-scale map of Stockholm. She carried them back to the sofa and sat down to study them.
The bedroom door clicked open. “The bathroom’s all yours if you want it, Sarah.”
“Thank you, Dr. Lemay,” she said without turning around. “I’ll order dinner from room service. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”
“That won’t be necessary. How’s your shoulder?”
She rotated it briefly, realizing the increased blood flow from her exercises had dimmed the ache. “It’s much better. Thank you for your concern.”
“Is that the conference schedule?” he asked, his voice growing closer.
She picked up the paper and twisted to hold it out to him. “Yes. Now that you’re here, I’d like to go over tomorrow’s and Saturday’s events with…” Her words trailed off. She tried not to stare.
He was no longer wearing the wrinkled denim shirt and casual pants he’d arrived in. He was wearing a tuxedo. And judging by the superb fit, the suit wasn’t any rental. Then again, he didn’t need help from a tailor to make his shoulders look that wide or his chest that broad. The narrow satin stripe down the side of his trousers gleamed as he walked, emphasizing his long legs and the runner’s muscles of his thighs.
“Are you sure you want to do that now?” he asked. He flipped up the collar of his shirt so he could loop his tie around his neck. The ends of the black tie dangled against his shirtfront as he reached over the back of the sofa to take the schedule from her hand. “The opening reception starts in half an hour.”
She caught a whiff of soap. His jaw gleamed from a fresh shave. His hair was damp and combed straight back from his face, but he hadn’t been able to tame it completely. Wayward curls brushed the back of his collar.
“Sarah? Is there a problem?”
She stood. “I’m not anticipating one, sir. The conference events that take place within the hotel are low risk. I’ve been in contact with the hotel security staff. They have experience overseeing international conferences like this one and are accustomed to working in cooperation with personal bodyguards. They will be monitoring the perimeter at all times and won’t allow anyone into the venue without the proper ID.”
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “You appear to be very competent at your job.”
“I do my best, sir.”
“Have you changed your mind about being my shadow? If you’d prefer to remain here because of your shoulder—”
“No, I came prepared to accompany you to every event.” She brushed the wrinkles from her pants, suddenly conscious of her appearance. She had removed her shoes and loosened her belt. Her sweater was rumpled and her hair was in tangles around her face. “I simply wasn’t aware that you wanted to attend the reception.”
He held her gaze for a long minute, then returned the schedule to her and walked to the mirror that hung on the wall beside the desk. He appeared to focus his attention on fastening his tie. “My mistake, Sarah. From now on I’ll try to make you more aware of my wants.”
It wasn’t what he said so much as the way he said it that got to her. Or maybe anything he said when he was looking so damn sexy would make any normal, healthy woman imagine he was talking about more than business.
Hawkins Lemay in a tuxedo. The impact of that sure hadn’t been in his file, either. Sarah allowed herself no more than a moment to absorb the view before she grabbed her shoes, picked up her suitcase and headed toward the bedroom. “I’ll need twenty minutes to change into something more appropriate. Please don’t open the door of the suite or go near any of the windows until I return.”
The hotel ballroom had mirrored walls, making it appear larger than it was, multiplying the sparkle of the three enormous crystal chandeliers that hung suspended from the two-story ceiling and turning the crowd that milled on the marble floor into a series of endlessly repeating fragments of motion. White-gloved waiters wove among the guests to offer platters of hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne. A string quartet played on a dais in one corner, providing a refined background to conversations that hummed in several languages.
The reception was an elegant affair, an international gathering of the rich and powerful. Money, brains, political clout—everyone