The Bride's Protector

by Gayle Wilson

  Without slowing down, she slipped through the suddenly narrowing space between them. Frantically she pressed the sides of her gown down with both hands. Trying desperately not to let the bell-shaped skirt touch anything that would make those doors glide open again and begin that mindless mechanical wait for a nonexistent passenger.

  She made it, except for the tail of her train, which was caught between the doors. She turned, jerking the fabric free, just as the elevator jolted, thankfully beginning its descent.

  Down, she realized, looking up at the numbers above her head. Judging by the speed, the elevator was heading all the way to the lobby. Where everyone would be gathered, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The press. Members of the wedding party. Arriving guests. The sheikh and his entourage...

  The sheikh? The image of that rifle focused on something in the street below was back in her head. Along with Amir’s comment about the dangers of the politics of his region. The dangers of all that money.

  Had someone attacked the sheikh as he arrived? Were those men in Amir’s room protecting Sheikh al-Ahmad or was something else going on? Something far more sinister? The memory of the rifle tracking away from the street toward her seemed to indicate that it was. And suddenly Malcolm Truett’s words echoed in her head. “You’ve just missed him, I’m afraid. I saw him leave his room not two minutes ago and get on the lift. ”

  Her hand reached out, almost without her conscious direction, to slap frantically at the buttons. Her eyes were still watching the numbers at the top. Ten, nine, eight. Had she waited too late to stop the car’s descent? Surely, as slow as the damn thing had been in arriving...

  The elevator slowed, again jolting slightly, and Tyler closed her eyes, her relief so strong it was almost as paralyzing as her fear. The bell chimed; the doors glided open. There was no one in the hall. She was safe. At least for the moment.

  She stepped out, hesitating until the doors began closing behind her, reminding her that they would be able to tell that this particular car had stopped on the sixth floor. One of many cars, she reassured herself. All of them coming and going. Hard to trace one, especially if you weren’t sure which one you needed to be tracking. Still, she knew she had to get out of here, just in case the men from Amir’s room had reached the elevators before the indicator light had blinked off.

  She ran to the end of the short hall that housed the elevators and stood a second looking both ways, up and down the sixth-floor hallway. Far to her left, at the end, was an exit sign. She gathered up her skirts again and ran. There was no one in the hall. No people who could be questioned about what they had seen. No one, then, who could give them any information about where she had gone.

  She ran toward the promise of the stairwell, a half-formed plan in her head to try to get out of the building through the basement or service entrance. Just to get away from the hotel and this nightmare, away from whatever the hell was going on.

  Gripping the organza skirt, bunched in both hands as if it were dirty laundry, she ran helter-skelter as she had when she was a child, totally focused on the promise of the exit sign ahead. And then, behind her, she heard the soft chime of the elevator bell. Her heart rate accelerated, sudden terror causing another rush of adrenaline. The exit was too far away, she realized in that split second. In this straight, empty hall she would be visible to anyone peering around that corner as she had done. And if they’d brought the rifle with them...

  She realized suddenly that she still held the passkey in her right hand, its plastic clinging to her damp palm. She had wondered if it would work only on rooms on the floors Amir had rented. She couldn’t even think about that possibility now.

  She turned to her right, responding again to instinct and not intellect, and slid the passkey into the slot of a door. Frantically, she pushed down the handle and felt it give. She almost fell inside as the door opened.

  She turned around, slamming it behind her. Fingers trembling, she twisted the night latch and pushed the safety bolt into place. Then she collapsed against the door, heart pounding wildly, heated cheek pressed against the cold, reassuringly solid barrier she’d put between herself and whoever was out there.

  Even if they had heard the sound of the closing door, she prayed they wouldn’t be able to tell which one of all those on this long empty hall it had been. Hopefully they hadn’t rounded the corner during the seconds it had taken her to reach her decision. Hopefully they hadn’t seen her disappear into this room.

  All she needed was a little luck, she thought, which she hadn’t had yet. Just some luck, please God. She finally turned to examine the room she’d entered, praying it was empty. Or at least that there would be no men in dishdashas.

  There weren’t. There was only one man, and he certainly wasn’t wearing one of those voluminous robes. As a matter of fact, he seemed to be wearing...nothing at all.

  Almost nothing, she amended, her eyes dropping from bronzed shoulders and chest to the hotel towel that was twisted into place around his midsection, the damp terry cloth riding. low on narrow hips. He didn’t have a rifle. Instead, he held a very big handgun, which was pointed straight at her heart.

  “Come right in,” he invited, his voice almost as menacing as the gun. Cold blue eyes pierced her, their threat holding her like an insect pinned on a board, her back against his door. “Don’t bother to knock. After all,” he asked reasonably, “what’s a little breaking and entering between friends?”

  HAWK DIDN’T KNOW what the hell was going on, but he hadn’t been born yesterday. More like a hundred years ago in terms of experience, and in his business, the unexpected was almost always the deadly. He didn’t like surprises, not of any kind. Not even if they came wrapped in what seemed to be a pretty enticing package. He had already decided the packaging on this one was going to be interesting, even before she turned around.

  Warned by the noise, he’d made it out of the bathroom, gun in hand, in time to watch her lock and bolt his door and fall against it in relief. Which meant she was running from someone. Or at least that’s what he was supposed to think she was doing.

  When she turned around, the situation had suddenly gotten a whole lot more interesting. Hawk might be aware of all the old truths about beauty being only skin-deep and the dangers of judging a book by its cover, but clear-eyed knowledge of the undeniable veracity of those didn’t prevent his body’s quick physical response.

  “You don’t understand,” she said, eyes widening at the sight of the 9 mm Browning he held trained on the center of her chest.

  It was a gun intended to intimidate, and apparently it was having the desired effect. The flush of color—from fear or exertion—that had been in her cheeks drained away just as soon as the violet eyes located and recognized the significance of the semiautomatic he held. Shocked, they jumped from the gun back up to his, stretching wide.

  They really were violet, he thought. At least the part of the iris that remained visible after the dark pupil’s dilation was a deep purplish blue.

  “Then why don’t you make me understand,” he suggested calmly, and watched her take a long, shuddering breath.

  She moistened her lips with her tongue, leaving it visible a moment before her top teeth, which were very white and even, replaced it, fastening nervously over her bottom lip. Her eyes studied his, looking for some clue that would help her know what to tell him.

  Whoever she was, whatever the hell she was here for, she was good, Hawk conceded. It looked real. Even the physiological reactions—neck flush, pupil expansion, the visibly throbbing pulse in her temple—were right on target. And those things were extremely difficult to fake.

  “I was running away....” she began, and then she stopped, her teeth gnawing once more on her bottom lip.

  Not bad at all, Hawk complimented mentally. That indecision had been a nice touch. He said nothing in response, however. He didn’t prod, letting her decide what she wanted to tell him. After she had, he’d make his own interpretation.

 
“I decided not to go through with it—with the wedding, I mean. And so...I ran away.”

  And left some poor bastard standing at the altar, Hawk thought, fighting an inclination to laugh. The sense of threat was beginning to evaporate. With its disappearance, this encounter became even more interesting. For another reason entirely.

  Hawk was familiar with menace. He had a long and intimate acquaintance with death and danger. But it had been a hell of a long time since he’d been with a woman, especially one who looked like this.

  Since before Griff’s death, he realized, surprised by that fact now that he bothered to think about it. That had been months ago. In the meantime, determined to find the terrorist who had given the order for that attack at headquarters, he had been living like a monk. So it was no wonder he was reacting like an adolescent to a woman’s presence in his room. She had an intriguing face, he admitted. And an enticing body, if a little emaciated for his tastes. Her story even made sense, considering what she was wearing.

  “And they’re looking for you?” he asked, deciding to prompt her, now that he had come to the conclusion she wasn’t dangerous.

  “I...I think so,” she said, seeming to consider the question. “They were coming toward the door. I know they saw me. They must have known I’d seen them.”

  That sequence didn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense to Hawk, but he wasn’t listening only to her words. He was reading tone. Level of stress. Evaluating, just as he had been taught. What he came up with was fear. She was scared to death. And her fear was nothing that made his well-developed instincts react with any sort of flight-or-fight impulse.

  They heard the noises at the same time. Her gaze flew upward to meet his again, away from its fascinated appraisal of the Browning, and they listened together, unspeaking, to what was happening down the hall.

  Someone had begun pounding on doors. Sometimes there was a pause between knocks. Sometimes there was conversation, distant and indistinct, in response to that knocking. But the one thing that became unmistakably clear as they listened was that those sounds were moving down the hallway. Coming ever closer to the door at the woman’s back. The door to this room.

  “Please don’t let them in,” she begged, her voice a whisper. “Don’t let them find me. Please, please help me.”

  Her tongue appeared again, touched her bottom lip with a gleam of moisture and was then replaced once more by those even white teeth. Her eyes held his, the plea in them as clear as the one she had expressed.

  Hawk had no intention of letting anyone into his room, of course, and that had nothing to do with her. Whoever was out there, whatever this was all about, whatever the truth behind the story she had told him, he knew they were both a lot safer with that door between them and Whoever was knocking on all the others. He had no intention of opening his.

  His eyes checked the safety bolt she had thrown, the one he had neglected to put on. He wondered at that aberration in his routine. But then, no one had known he was here. They couldn’t have. No one could even have known he was back in the States.

  Apparently the luxury of this place, unusual in his life, had overcome his habitual cautions. Or maybe that had been some end-of-mission ennui. The knowledge that all that was over, probably forever.

  His normal paranoia had seemed unnecessary and even a little weird, out of place in this setting. After all, this impromptu visit to New York wasn’t professional. Not an assignment. It was just a private stop, a memorial of sorts, that absolutely no one could have known about.

  He had locked all the safety locks last night, of course. When he’d opened the door this morning to retrieve the copy of the Times he’d ordered along with his breakfast, however, he had failed to retake those extra security measures. He had expected no one but the maids to be interested in this room and its occupant

  There was no way anyone could have traced his movements during the last few weeks. He was far too careful to allow that. He was a professional at this game. He had been for a very long time. And he was also a man without an identity. Without a name. Certainly not the one he had put down in the hotel register when he’d checked in last night, the one that matched the false identification he’d handed the clerk.

  So whoever was outside in the hall, knocking on doors, wasn’t looking for Hawk. That didn’t mean, however, that he was going to let them in. He wondered, strictly as a matter of idle curiosity, just how much of that decision was based on the color of the woman’s eyes. On the entreaty in them.

  “Step away from the door,” he ordered softly.

  The momentary indecision in those eyes seemed to indicate she was still trying to decide if she could trust him. As the knocking came closer, however, she obeyed, slipping past him and moving farther into his room. He kept the Browning trained on her. The skirt of the gown she wore brushed against his bare calves as she went by, a sensation that didn’t help the uncomfortable tightness in Hawk’s groin.

  Neither did the subtle scent of her body, drifting to him as she moved. It had been a long time since he’d been close enough to a woman to be aware of her perfume. And women in the countries where he’d spent the last few months didn’t smell anything like this, he acknowledged ruefully.

  Instead of heading across the room, as he had expected her to, the woman disappeared into the bathroom where he’d just finished shaving, closing and then locking the door behind her. The firm line of Hawk’s mouth tilted again into an almost forgotten alignment, amused at her expectation that the flimsy bathroom door would offer any protection. If this one and the Browning didn’t keep whoever was out there out there, then the bathroom door wouldn’t do her any good at all.

  He wondered if she was really this afraid. And if so, then why the hell she had agreed to marry the guy in the first place. Of course, he’d seen people do all sorts of unfathomable things in the name of love. Even intelligent, reasonable people. People like Griff. But love was something about which Hawk readily acknowledged he understood very little.

  Whoever was knocking was next door now, he realized, getting back to the business at hand, about which he understood a great deal. Hawk put his ear against the door, hoping to overhear the questions they were asking. This time, however, there were none. Apparently there was no one in that room. Which meant...

  The knock he’d been expecting pounded suddenly against the outside of the door he was leaning against. He waited a few seconds—timing the pause—before he responded. “Who is it?”

  “Hotel security,” an accented voice outside the door avowed.

  Hawk wondered briefly if that could be true, and then he decided, even if it were, it didn’t change anything. There was no reason to let security into his room, and a couple of very good ones that argued for keeping them out. One of those reasons was hiding in his bathroom. The other was the fact that the fewer people who saw his face, the better Hawk liked it.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “Ask away,” Hawk invited.

  “May we come in?” A different voice. Same accent, not quite so heavy, and a lighter tone.

  “I don’t see any point,” Hawk advised. “I haven’t done anything that security might be interested in.”

  There was a hesitation. They were probably silently communicating about the situation, thinking over what they could say to convince him to let them make a search of this room.

  “We’re looking for a woman,” the same voice said finally.

  “Aren’t we all?” Hawk asked, deliberately coloring his comment with humor. Letting them hear it. There was no response. No chuckle. No acknowledgment.

  “What’s she done?” he asked into the void.

  Another hesitation.

  “We need to ask her some questions.”

  “Then you’re wasting your time. There’s no woman in this room, gentlemen, and I was about to step into the shower. So if you’ll excuse me...”

  “Wait a minute,
” the first voice said, now with a hint of aggression.

  Obligingly, Hawk waited, imagining the scene outside. They were obviously still trying to decide what to do since he was being obstinate, something that apparently hadn’t happened with any of the other guests on this hall. Hawk didn’t like things that made him different, that made him stand out from the crowd, but he knew that in this instance, being a little conspicuous was a better option than opening the door and letting them inside. For those same two very good reasons.

  “We need to check out your room, sir. We believe the woman we’re looking for may be dangerous.”

  “They all are, son,” Hawk agreed, again letting his amusement show. “And I have to tell you, I’m beginning to lose patience with you guys. I’m not hiding a woman in here, I promise you. And I don’t think one’s going to break into my room, so why don’t you two just get on with your search and let me get back to my shower.” When he suggested the last, his voice was carefully wiped clean of that hint of humor.

  There was no answer, but Hawk waited patiently through the long silence. Waited until he heard the knocking begin on the next door down the hallway. At least one of the men had moved on. Maybe both. There really wasn’t a whole hell of a lot they could do about his refusal to open his door.

  Despite what they claimed, he didn’t believe they were hotel security. The tone hadn’t been right. Or the questions. Whoever they were, they had apparently realized that if they pushed him too hard, he might put in a call to the management, which would put a swift end to their ability to search. For some reason they weren’t willing to risk that.

  However, after the conversation he’d just had, Hawk didn’t believe either of them was a jilted bridegroom, which meant, he supposed...

  The blue eyes shifted to the bathroom door, which was still closed. He had answered their questions—or at least he’d made a response to their demands. Now, he thought, it’s time to answer mine.

  He walked across the thick carpet, his bare feet making no sound, deliberately giving her no warning. He raised his right leg, drawing the knee back with a practiced motion, and with the bottom of his bare foot, kicked open the bathroom door, breaking the lock she had turned to keep him out.