by Meryl Sawyer
The stranger fired another Jelly Belly with equal precision. He caught it effortlessly on the tip of his tongue, showed it to her as if it were a precious gem, then sucked it into his mouth.
"I'm sorry, but I can't remember more," the doctor said. She started to press him even though she knew it would be useless, then something about the stranger clicked. She thanked the doctor for his help even though he'd been worthless, staring at the forearms of the man opposite her. He had them stretched over his powerful torso, an unusual watch with several dials on the face gleaming at her.
She almost gasped, remembering last night. Then anger charged with exhilaration swept through her. "You're Logan Stanfield."
"McCord. Logan McCord."
The fine hairs across the back of her neck prickled. His voice. A distinct rasp like a blues singer in a smoky nightclub. The threatening voice from last night.
Without obviously looking at the clock, she saw it was almost five-thirty. Cindi was gone. She was all alone with the nut who'd promised to cut out her heart if she didn't tell him the truth.
He smiled, obviously detecting her wariness. Again, the smile seemed familiar, which was impossible. All she'd seen of this man was a huge shadow and his forearms with the unusual watch.
She had never seen his face. How could his smile seem so … familiar?
"What are you doing here?"
He reached over and unzipped the backpack beside his chair. She told herself she wasn't frightened, and this was her golden opportunity to interview him. But her heart was slamming against the wall of her chest, making so much noise she was positive he could hear it.
He pulled her Reeboks out of his pack and set them on her desk. "Thought you might want your shoes back."
Again the phenomenal smile. He swung long, lean legs across the chair beside him, making himself at home.
She stared hard at him, refusing to smile back. He'd scared the life out of her, threatening her with a knife and knocking her unconscious. Did he seriously believe a sensational smile would smooth things over?
"About last night—"
"Do you always try to kill people who want to talk to you?" she asked, anger punctuating each syllable.
He fished around in the candy bowl until he came up with a purple Jelly Belly. This time he fired it backward in a high arc and caught it between his lips, then chewed it. "Nope. I haven't killed any women that I know about … yet."
He swung his legs to the floor and leaned forward, angling himself across her desk before she could scoot back. He touched the small scab below her ear, brushing it with the pad of his thumb. Her neck tingled and she felt the hot rush of blood to her face.
He was much larger close up, a body honed by years in the military, enhancing a superb build. He had a clean woodsy smell, and she noticed he had recently shaven what must be a heavy, fast-growing beard.
"Not too bad," he said, his fingertips, trailing across her neck for just a second too long. The back of his hand brushed her chin, causing an annoying flutter in her chest.
"You might say you're sorry," she said, irritated at the catch in her voice.
"Why lie?"
He treated her to another adorable smile, and she realized he was a very dangerous man. A trained killer who could take charm to the level of an art form. At will.
"You came after me with a gun. What was I supposed to do? Kiss you?"
There was a teasing, flirtatious tone to his voice. He was trying to make a joke out of the situation, yet there was a sensuous undertone that warned her this was the kind of man who would have his hand under her skirt in a second if she gave him the least encouragement. What a jerk!
"How did you make me black out?"
"I used an aikido hold," he explained with the half-smile that seemed to constantly play across his lips. "That's a martial art like karate, but less brutal. I can easily subdue someone without hurting them."
"I see," she said, her voice conveying just the opposite.
She silently conceded that he hadn't overreacted at all. He had seen her gun and believed his life was in danger. He could easily have killed her, but he hadn't. He'd tricked her into going for the gun, and he'd taken her shoes, knowing he would be long gone before she made it up the rocky trail to her car. He was smart and clever, but she wasn't giving him the satisfaction of saying so.
"When I realized what a flake you were, grabbing the gun the way you did, I knew you wouldn't harm me."
She bristled inwardly at "flake," but managed to smile. Forget last night. He was here, giving her the opportunity she desperately needed, an interview.
"I should have known. Reporters are like locusts. I was with a special unit they dropped behind the lines in Bosnia. Two reporters from CNN were waiting for us."
His words had a sarcastic note. It warned her that he was among those who saw the press as the enemy. She needed to be careful what she said. This story was too important to risk alienating him.
"Breaking news is our job," she told him, unable to temper the anger she felt. "That's why I went out to the hogan. You're big news around here."
"You know, you're cute when you're mad."
Someone less intelligent than she might have read this as a come-on. Kelly knew better. This man was a first class manipulator. He was toying with her, which made her even more furious and uncertain how to deal with him.
His head shifted just slightly, a subtle movement many wouldn't have noticed, and she realized he was watching the door. Evidently he wanted to make certain no one caught him off-guard. It was a conditioned response, she realized, recalling a SWAT team leader she had once interviewed. He'd explained how they were trained to watch their backs at all times. Members of the Cobra Force would be even more highly trained.
"How did Exposé magazine know I was out there?" he asked.
"A secret source—"
He surged forward, a lightning quick movement that brought him out of his chair and leaning across her desk before she could even flinch. Her startled expression was mirrored in his sunglasses.
"If you want an interview, then tell me." His gritty voice never rose, but there was a threatening edge to his words.
"Someone, I have no idea who, leaked the news that a security check revealed you were the missing Stanfield boy. The source told Matthew Jensen, editor of Exposé. He asked me to do the feature article because I'm right here in Sedona and know the family."
He eased back into his chair and rummaged through the candy bowl. He selected a purple Jelly Belly. "You two were hot for each other until Daniel Taylor stole you away." He pointed to the gold wedding band she still wore. "I bet Jensen's looking for a second chance."
She heard herself gasp as his words stunned her. He'd known of her existence for less than twelve hours, yet he knew the details of her private life. It shouldn't shock her. After all, Logan McCord's career gave him access to top secret information. All he had to do was make a few calls.
"I suspected you were at the hogan because one of the Stanfield's ranch hands reported seeing someone out there. Since I couldn't find you anywhere else, I decided to check. What were you doing there anyway? Why weren't you staying with the Stanfields?"
"I was practicing survival techniques. I would have been on a plane back to Argentina this morning … if you hadn't found me."
"The Stanfields weren't going to have a news conference with you and blow this story around the planet?"
"No, they weren't." A half smile crossed his lips, then vanished. "No way."
"Why not? It makes no sense unless your work with the Cobra Force would embarrass them … or something."
"Or something," he shot back, a hint of amusement coloring his words. "Now they are going to tell the world—thanks to you." His rough-textured voice had more than just a trace of resentment. "They contacted the media this morning. It's going to be an 'event.' They're throwing a barbecue where Senator Stanfield will make the joyous announcement: His son is back."
"You wo
uld rather return to your old life and skip the fanfare?"
"Damn right, but that'll be impossible with my picture in every newspaper and on television. I'll be killed if I go back to South America. Every member of the Cobra Force has a bounty on his head."
Even though his voice didn't show any emotion, she could tell he was one of those men who lived for his work. It was his life, and now, it was going to be taken away. And he blamed her.
"The Stanfields didn't invite me to the press conference."
"Of course not. It's a party for family and close friends and selected members of the media who can appreciate the pain and suffering good old Ginger and Haywood have been through." He shrugged, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt in a way that some women would have found extremely sexy. "You've already caused one person to commit suicide with a story. Ginger almost went off the deep end when I left the hogan and went back to their house to tell them that you knew I was alive and the story was going to come out."
Her reflection in his mirrored glasses told her the pain she felt inside showed on her face. She'd relied on a source who had been lying, convinced her editor to print the story about a policeman skimming drug money. Before the story was retracted, the man's wife had committed suicide.
And Kelly had never forgiven herself.
"If I don't report your story, someone else will."
"True. That's part of the reason I'm here. It took a lot of guts to come out to that hogan the way you did. Why allow Benson Williams to orchestrate an 'event' to make the Stanfields look good and hand the story to big names in the media?"
"Thanks." She wondered if this could be a trick. He didn't seem the type of man who would protect her scoop.
"No big deal," he said, adjusting the baseball cap. Again Kelly was taken with the familiarity of his gestures. "Have we met? With the hat and glasses, I can't see what you look like, but I'm positive I know you."
"Come on, sweetheart, don't you remember?" His gruff voice stole its way into her body almost as if he were physically touching her.
Experience told her Logan was a dangerous man, yet he was intriguing, striking. His voice alone was memorable. She would never have forgotten someone like him. "No, I don't recall."
He leaned forward, and for one mind-blurring moment she had the impression he was going to take her into his arms. Of course, that was an idiotic notion. The desk separated them. Thank God.
He reached for her hand and gloved it with both his. Suddenly, her insides felt like warm honey.
"Kelly, you and I met one dark night in Paris just before the Reign of Terror. We were lovers so hot for each other that no one could separate us except the guillotine." He pressed a callused thumb into the palm of her hand, and heat seared through her body. "Death parted us in that life. I think we should take up where we left off, don't you?"
"Be serious," she said as sternly as she could, but it was hard. The thought of making love to such a dangerous yet compelling man unnerved her. She yanked her hand away. "Have we met?"
"Nope. Until last night, we were total strangers."
He pulled off the ball cap and laid it on the desk. His hair was a rich shade of chestnut with lighter streaks from the sun. It was long on top, but cut stylishly close over his ears.
With his hat off, she could see more of his face. His broad forehead complemented an uncompromising jaw and square chin. His strong features projected a threatening type of virility, tempered only by his charming smile.
He was removing his sunglasses, but she could already see he was a devastatingly handsome man. A dangerous combination, she thought, a trained killer with drop-dead looks and a captivating smile. She would have to be very careful around him.
He slowly pulled off the glasses, his searing blue eyes never leaving her face. The impact of seeing him was like a karate chop, and she swayed in her chair. It was several seconds before the dry tightness in her throat abated.
"Oh my God!" she managed to whisper. "I would have known you anywhere."
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
Logan watched Kelly as he pulled off his sunglasses, her expression strangely arrested as if she'd seen a ghost. He smiled inwardly. He was a ghost, all right.
Sins of the past had returned to haunt the sinners.
"I—I n-never suspected." Her voice faded to a whisper. He remembered how soft her skin had felt beneath his fingers and the fresh floral scent that he'd detected each time he'd come close to her. He cursed his body's unwilling reaction to the blonde who had wrecked his life. But if it hadn't been Kelly Taylor, it would have been some other—less attractive—reporter.
Once the secret source had squealed, his story was bound to come out. His gut clenched with impotent fury, and he damned the FBI and its state-of-the-art fingerprint computer.
"You're … you're—"
"A dead ringer for Haywood Stanfield." His voice reflected the bitterness burning inside him. "Now you know why the Stanfields didn't immediately call a press conference. They weren't exactly thrilled to have me turn up."
"When they adopted you, didn't Ginger realize you were her husband's illegitimate son? Didn't it occur to them that you would grow up to look like your father?"
Logan threw up his hands. "Hey, shit happens. Apparently Ginger had no idea I was Haywood's son. He would have been forced to confess, if I had grown up here, a clone of my old man. But since I had disappeared, he didn't bother telling his wife."
Kelly picked up a photograph and studied it. From his angle, he couldn't see it clearly, but he saw it was a child.
"This is the picture of you they used on the missing child posters." She handed the photo to him. "Luz Tallchief, your nanny, took it the day before you vanished."
He gazed at the picture for a second, then tossed it back on her desk. "What do you know? I was a cute kid. Back then, I looked more like Ginger than Haywood."
"Surely you've seen other pictures of yourself when you were young."
He could have shocked her by saying that he'd never seen a mirror until he was sixteen. He had a vague idea what he looked like because he had seen his reflection in the pond behind the camp where he had lived until he joined the Marines. It had been just a glimpse before one Zoe whacked him with the switch she always carried and bellowed at him to get back to class.
Class. Ha! Zoe's "lessons" were pure torture.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. That had been the camp motto, and in some absurdly perverse way, it was true. He'd survived, but his soul was undoubtedly a sold block of granite incapable of true emotion.
"The only photos that exist are the ones from my days with the Stanfields, and the one on my passport."
She eyed him with a sympathetic expression. He could almost hear her thinking: You poor thing. How sad. That's why women made piss-poor terrorists, he reminded himself. They let their emotions show. Those rare female terrorists who didn't reveal their feelings needed a chromosome check.
"Who's this?" She handed him a photocopy of a photograph.
Logan shrugged. "Ugly bastard, isn't he?"
"It's your passport photo."
"Look, when you join the Cobras, records are altered so terrorists don't know who we are." His stomach chose that second to let him know it wanted a Twinkie. Jelly Bellies did not cut it.
Her inner turmoil was etched on her face. She was pissed at him—big-time. But Kelly Taylor desperately wanted his story. She stared at him a moment before regaining her composure.
"Come home with me for dinner. My grandfather would love to meet you."
Aw, hell. The last thing he needed was another family to deal with. Families made him uncomfortable. He'd never been part of one, so he didn't know how to act. Then he'd been hurled into a pit of vipers calling themselves the Stanfield family. Give him a gang of terrorists brandishing Uzis and plastic explosives any day.
"Sounds good," he fibbed.
He checked the door out of the c
orner of his eye, having already determined the office was deserted, and watched as Kelly gathered her things. She had a mane of blond hair that looked as if she'd just lifted her head off a pillow. Tiers of dark eyelashes framed intelligent brown eyes flecked with amber. Her face was heart-shaped with a dainty chin and sculpted cheekbones that gave her an exotic look.
Her mouth intrigued him and had last night in the hogan even though he'd thought she intended to kill him. Her lips were full and soft-looking. The corners of them tilted upward, making her appear to be on the verge of a very sexy smile.
He was attracted to women who smiled and joked. Happy women. Probably because the women at The Last Chance Camp where he'd grown up had been miserable and it showed on their faces.
"Ready?" Kelly asked with a smile that revealed her white teeth and the tip of her tongue.
He was ready all right. A flare of pure lust ignited in the pit of his gut. He shunted it aside. Reporters were among the lowest life forms known to man—just a cut above lawyers and politicians. She would have kicked his sorry ass out of her office except she needed to interview him. She didn't have squat unless he cooperated.
I'll help you, babe, he said to himself, watching her walk around the desk with a stride that was businesslike yet provocative. He wasn't working with Kelly because he felt guilty about last night. Hell, no. She'd gotten what she deserved. Most members of the Cobra Force would have slit her throat without asking a single question.
He was using Kelly just as she was using him. He wanted his slant on this story. No way was he letting the Stanfields use him to enhance their political goals.
Logan slung his pack over one shoulder and followed her to the front door. She quickly locked it, then turned to him, asking where he'd parked.
"I hitched a ride here. It took a while. People don't like to pick up strange men."
She led him toward her car, a small blue Toyota. He put his backpack on the floor behind the passenger seat. He seldom let it out of his sight, but he knew no one could touch it without tackling him first.
They were driving down the street a few moments later, and Logan realized Kelly hadn't said a word. He'd expected her to fire questions at him, knowing she was a first-rate reporter. Okay, so he hadn't known she existed until last night. After he'd left her in the hogan and returned to the Stanfields' house, he'd made a call.
