Hart's Last Stand. Cheryl Biggs
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plane up. But she’d panicked.
The army had reluctantly agreed to rescue and stow the plane until she could make arrangements to leave. Of course they thought that meant tomorrow, but she had no intention of going anywhere until she felt safe again and knew the truth—and that all depended on Hart. He could save her. He was probably the only one who could.
Or he could be a cold-blooded killer, the dark side of her thoughts reminded her. He could have stolen the plans and killed Rick. He could be the one behind the FBI’s suspicions, the one trying to frame her.
It made sense, and she didn’t want it to.
The hair on the back of her neck suddenly seemed to stand on end. She jerked around, looked out the rear window again and nearly screamed.
A black Corvette was right on the taxi’s tail, but the sun reflecting off the windshield made it impossible for Suzanne to make out the driver’s face.
The car remained behind the taxi all the way into Tucson, and pulled in behind them at the entrance to the hotel where she’d made a reservation. Fear had settled in Suzanne’s stomach like a boulder, heavy and immovable. She decided to wait until whoever it was in the other car stepped out, then she’d order the taxi driver to speed off and take her to another hotel.
The driver’s door swung open.
Suzanne froze.
Hart pushed himself out of the Corvette and stood, his light-brown uniform molding to his body, accentuating length, complementing muscle.
Relief and something else, something she didn’t want to feel for him, or even acknowledge, rushed through Suzanne’s body like a flash flood. Compared to what her imagination had been raking up, he was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
She quickly paid the cab driver and climbed out, her legs shaking so badly she had to momentarily lean on the car door for support. “Hart,” she said as he approached, “I didn’t know that was you behind me. I thought—”
“We have to talk, Suzanne.” He took her suitcase from the driver, grasped her upper arm firmly and steered her into the hotel and across the spaciously elegant lobby. “Get your room,” he said curtly, “drop off your luggage and meet me in the coffee shop.”
She nodded and approached the front desk, even though everything in her urged her to hang on to Hart for dear life. She was reluctant to leave his side because of the sense of safety she felt when with him, in spite of his obvious disbelief of her claims. But he’d come after her, and that was all that mattered now.
Once in her room she hurriedly slipped into a clean white blouse and a pair of sandals. Just before leaving to meet Hart, she drew back the curtain to the balcony to let sunshine pour in and warm the room. The view of the Arizona desert, sprawling out beyond the hotel for as far as the eye could see, was magnificent, and for a brief second she savored it, suddenly realizing how much she’d missed it. Then she saw a man standing on what appeared to be a path meandering through the foliage near the pool.
He was looking up at her.
Suzanne gave a start, her heart skipped a beat and she stepped quickly away from the window. Was he watching her? Or was she being paranoid?
A knock on her door sent her heart into her throat.
“Suzanne.”
She whirled around, her fear instantly abating as she recognized Hart’s voice. Just as instantly she admonished herself. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t put all her hope and trust in Hart Branson, no matter how much she wanted to. She had to remember to be wary of him, to suspect him of the worst. He could be the traitor. He could be a killer. He could even be the one who’d tried to run her down last night.
L.A. was only a short plane ride from Tucson. He could have been there. It was possible. She didn’t want to believe that, but she knew men found it all too easy to betray a woman. It had been a lesson she’d learned the hard way, first from her father, then from a stepfather, a fiancé and finally from her husband.
She would never trust a man again, not with her heart, and especially not with her life.
Suzanne walked to the door and opened it.
Her gaze met his directly. In spite of the cold, ugly suspicions she was determined not to ignore or forget, a river of warmth swept through her as Hart’s gaze met and held hers. “I thought we were meeting in the coffee shop,” she said, surprised at how calm she sounded.
“I thought you might have changed your mind.” He strode past her and into the room. “Maybe figured out that your lies weren’t going to work.”
Lies? Shock, then anger sped through her veins, burning away every molecule of caution and rationale, and dousing the desire that had been smoldering within her ever since the moment she’d stepped from her plane and saw him walking toward her.
She closed the door and turned, struggling to remain calm and resist the urge to stalk across the room and slap his face.
Anger gave her strength, and that allowed her to ignore her fears, at least for the moment. “I know what I’ve said sounds incredible, Hart, but I thought if anyone would or could believe me, it would you. You were Rick’s best friend. But—” she shrugged and glared at him “—if you don’t believe me, if you really think I lied, then I’ve obviously wasted your time and mine by coming here, and there’s nothing left for us to talk about.”
“Yes, there is.” His eyes held hers, refusing to let her look away, forcing her to face the disdain and resentment he’d lived with for the past year.
Suzanne felt her breath nearly desert her, along with her anger. After a moment that seemed an eternity, she tore her gaze from his and moved toward a chair, twisting her hands together, then thought better of sitting down and paused beside the faux fireplace. It was only because she still found him physically attractive that her emotions were in such a tangle. She should have expected that.
“I made a few phone calls after you left my office earlier,” he said, still standing in the center of the room.
She looked at him, wary again. Uncertain what to expect. “And?”
“Let’s just say that I know there is something going on.”
“Something,” she repeated slowly. “But you don’t believe what I told you?”
She saw the anger that flashed back into his eyes. “Rick is dead, Suzanne. He was the one flying his Cobra that day, not some doppelganger or science-lab clone. It was Rick, and there’s no way he survived that crash.” Hart shook his head. “No way. Which means there is absolutely no way he could have stolen those plans and be selling them now. And I’m pretty sure the feds aren’t so stupid they’d believe that, anyway.”
“Then who?” Suzanne asked, and added silently, Other than you?
He stared at her, and she suddenly realized that he suspected her. She felt her jaw drop, her hope shrivel and die. “You can’t… No, I don’t believe…” She shook her head. “You can’t really think I did it! How could I have stolen plans that were on that mission? I wasn’t there.”
Hart’s face remained a cold mask of scorn. “I don’t know. But I know Rick didn’t do it.”
She sagged against the fireplace. He wasn’t going to help her prove her innocence. He was going to damn her. The prospect of actually being charged with treason, followed by a life in prison, loomed before her, bringing a chill to her veins and a terror into her heart like none she’d ever felt before.
“But what I think or even know at this point doesn’t matter,” Hart added, his tone as hard as the glint in his eyes.
Suzanne looked up in surprise, not understanding what he meant, but feeling an unreasonable spark of hope.
“They think I’m in on it with you.”
Shock rendered her nearly speechless. “What?”