CHEROKEE MARRIAGE DARE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "You'll have to keep a close eye on Maggie."

  He looked up and slammed straight into Rafe's dark-blue gaze. Was the other man blaming him for Tom's murder? Or was it a reflection of his own guilt he saw?

  They stood in the center of the room, the finery closing in around them. Luke knew what came next. He knew exactly what Rafe was going to say.

  "I'm asking you to protect my sister, Luke. To treat her as if she was your own flesh and blood."

  He locked his knees to keep them from buckling. His own flesh and blood. A pain gripped his heart. The ever-constant ache that reminded him of what he'd done. Tom Reynolds wasn't the only death he was responsible for. Twenty-seven years before, he'd let a beautiful little girl die. He would never forget the day her body had been found. The muggy summer day a farmer had discovered her, bruised and battered – tortured by a vicious attack.

  "Promise me you'll protect her."

  "I will," Luke vowed. "I promise." He would keep Rafe's sister safe. With his life, he thought. With the only honor he had left.

  The other man broke the tension with a grin. "It won't be easy. Maggie's one headstrong female."

  Luke couldn't find it within himself to smile. But he rarely could. His joy had died twenty-seven years ago. "Yeah. I've already locked horns with her. I know what I'm up against."

  "You're going to have to fill her in about what we've learned so far," Rafe said. "I don't want to give her an excuse to go poking around on her own."

  Luke squinted. "Fine. But first I want you to lay some ground rules. Tell Maggie that I'm the boss. This is my investigation, and whatever I say goes."

  Rafe agreed. "I'll brief her, then send her down in a few minutes."

  He headed toward the French door. "Have her meet me outside. I could use some air."

  "Sure. And Luke?"

  He turned, his boots heavy on the Turkish carpet. "Yeah?"

  "Thanks."

  Luke only nodded. Protecting Maggie Connelly scared the hell out of him. But her brother had entrusted him with the responsibility. And that was something a Cherokee man couldn't deny.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  «^»

  Maggie exited the house, then shoved her hands in her coat pockets to ward off the chill. Luke stood quietly, a lone figure surrounded by a winter garden, his face tipped to the sky.

  In the distance, boxwood shrubs created a maze – a mystic castle of green. The maze was Maggie's favorite spot at Lake Shore Manor. To her, it had always seemed dark and dangerous. Haunted yet beautiful.

  Like Lucas Starwind.

  He wore black jeans and a leather jacket, the collar turned up for warmth. On his feet, a pair of electrician-style boots crunched on the frozen grass. As she approached, he turned to look at her.

  She continued walking, and when they were face-to-face, she waited for him to speak.

  But he didn't. Instead he let the wind howl between them.

  Maggie had never met anyone like Luke. He had an edge, she thought. A dark and mysterious edge, like the maze. She used to play hide-and-seek there as a child, and as much as the twists and turns had frightened her, they had thrilled her, too.

  Luke, she realized, produced the same staggering effect. He looked powerful in the hazy light. His cheekbones cast a hollow shadow, and his eyes bore permanent lines at the corners. From frowning, she decided, or squinting into the sun. In his hair, she could see faint threads of gray, so faint they almost seemed like an illusion.

  "Are you cold?" he asked. "Do you want to go back inside?"

  She shook her head. The air was sharp and chilled, but she didn't want to break this strange spell.

  "It's going to snow," he said. "By Friday. Or maybe Saturday."

  The weathermen claimed otherwise, but Maggie didn't argue the point. Luke seemed connected to the elements. She attributed that to the loner in him, to the man who probably spent countless hours alone with a winter sky.

  Although Maggie wanted to touch him, she kept her hands in her pockets. Luke wasn't the sort of person you placed a casual hand upon. But, then, she knew what sparked between them was far from casual.

  "Did Rafe talk to you?" he asked, looking directly into her eyes.

  "Yes. He said I'm supposed to listen to whatever you say." That, of course, had rubbed her the wrong way. Rafe had made her feel like a child rather than a grown woman. Then again, she had behaved badly in front of her brother, her Irish temper flaring.

  "That's right. You're supposed to follow my direction, and I'm supposed to keep a close eye on you."

  "Really?" Somehow that pleased and irritated her all at once. She liked the idea of spending time with Luke, but she didn't appreciate having him as her keeper.

  He lowered his chin, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. "Do you have a problem with that?"

  "No." She decided she would turn his guardianship against him. She would use every opportunity she could to make him smile. To save that tortured soul of his.

  "Good. Then I need some information from you."

  An angry breeze blew his hair, dragging it away from his face. He had a natural widow's peak, which gave him a rather ominous appeal. Like the maze, she reminded herself. The silver earring caught a glint of the gray winter light.

  "How many residences do you have?" he asked.

  "Me or my family?"

  "You, Maggie. Where do you sleep?"

  The question had been posed in a professional voice, but there was still a note of intimacy attached. She couldn't seem to ignore the tingle it gave her.

  "I have a room here," she told him. "But most of the time I stay at a loft downtown. I own the building." It was her sanctuary, her home and her studio. Maggie was an artist. She painted because she needed to, because the images she created stemmed from her emotions.

  Luke shifted his stance, and she imagined painting him where he stood, the wind ravaging his hair, daylight reflecting the torment in his eyes, the silver earring catching a glint of gray from the sky.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Do you have a current lover? Someone who has access to your loft?"

  A sensuous shiver streaked up her spine. "No." She wanted him as her lover. She wanted him thrusting inside her, clawing at her with the heat and power she knew he possessed. She met his gaze, felt her heartbeat stagger. "Do you have a current lover, Luke?"

  He squinted, causing the lines around his eyes to imbed themselves deeper. "This isn't about me."

  She tossed her head, but the image she'd created in her mind wouldn't go away. "So you get to pry into my life, but I have to stay out of yours?"

  "That's right. And do you know why that is, Maggie?" She didn't respond. There was no need. Clearly he intended to enlighten her.

  "You're too young and too emotional," he said. "You don't observe the world through calculating eyes. You wouldn't have the slightest idea if the person following you was a cameraman or a hit man. So it's my job to know where you are and who you're with."

  Counting silently to ten, and then to twenty, she suppressed the urge to fire her temper at him. "Which basically means I'm a thorn in your side."

  "You're not exactly the partner I would have chosen."

  Maggie saw a shadow cross his face, and she knew he was thinking about Tom Reynolds. Luke had left town for a while after his partner's funeral. He had seemed enraged at the time, barely in control of his pain.

  "You're emotional, too," she said.

  "Not like you. I'm not playful one minute and pissy the next."

  No, she thought. He was never playful.

  "Come on." He motioned to the courtyard, his demeanor stern and strong and businesslike. "Let's sit down, and I'll fill you in on the case."

  Ten minutes later, they occupied a glass-topped table, each with a hot drink in front of them.

  Maggie's mocha cappuccino tasted rich and sweet, flavored with a splash of raspberry syrup. Luke drank his coffee strong and black. Which suited him, she thought.
/>   He lifted his gaze and looked directly into her eyes. For an instant she held her breath. Lucas Starwind never failed to accelerate her heartbeat.

  "We're dealing with the possibility of a biological weapon," he said.

  The air in her lungs rushed out. "That's what's on the CD I discovered? Some sort of scientific formula that could kill people?"

  He gave a tight nod. "We've recovered six CDs in all, including the one you have, but there's more out there. The files they contain were pirated from the Rosemere Institute."

  "That doesn't make sense." Maggie's grandfather, King Thomas, had founded the Rosemere Institute in hopes of discovering a cure for cancer. "How could the Institute have anything dangerous in their files?"

  "Because they've been focusing on viral genetic research," he explained. "The idea is to tailor a virus that will destroy cancer cells without debilitating the patient the way radiation and chemotherapy do."

  Waiting for Luke to continue, Maggie placed her hands around her coffee cup, drawing warmth from the porcelain.

  "Last year the Institute made a breakthrough in their research," he said. "But they also explored a number of dead ends. And one of those dead ends led to the accidental creation of a virus that stimulates a fast-growing cancer. A virus that's vectored through the air."

  Momentarily stunned, Maggie stared at him. "They created a cancer? Did King Thomas know?"

  "Yes. He made sure the original virus was destroyed, along with the final codes needed to fabricate it. But if a top-quality lab had all of the Institute's data, they could figure out the final codes and re-create it."

  "How many of the CDs are still missing?"

  "Enough to worry about. Whoever has them intends to sell them on the black market. That's what this whole scheme is about."

  Her pulse pounded in her throat. Biological warfare wasn't what she had expected. "So this is why King Thomas and Prince Marc were killed?"

  Luke paused, gauging Maggie's expression. She looked pale, sad and worried. He decided now wasn't the time to tell her that Prince Marc had most likely been involved in stealing the files. In a roundabout way, her uncle's treachery had cost him his life.

  "Rafe and I aren't clear on all the details," he said. "We know the Kelly crime family is responsible, and even though they're in prison now, they still have ties in Altaria."

  She lifted her coffee with both hands. "So solving this case means recovering the rest of the CDs and putting the Altarian traitors behind bars?"

  "That's exactly what it means."

  A moment of silence stretched between them, but Luke assumed she needed to absorb the harsh reality of what she'd just learned.

  The courtyard didn't provide much of a wind block. Maggie's hair blew wildly around her shoulders, each light-brown strand tipped with gold. She wore a camel-colored coat, the collar lined with a faux-print fur. The effect was stunning. And distracting, Luke thought.

  She seemed vulnerable, and that made him want to touch her.

  She replaced her cup with an unsteady hand. "This is so awful. King Thomas founded the Institute because his wife died from cancer. He was trying to do something good for mankind, not destroy it. He loved his queen very much. It broke his heart to watch her suffer."

  Luke nodded. He had seen firsthand how terribly cancer patients suffered, how the disease ravaged. He had lost his father to colorectal cancer. But Luke wasn't going to tell Maggie about his past or the ache that came with it. The burden was his, and his alone. And so was the broken promise he'd made to his dad.

  He stared at his coffee, into the void of nothingness. He wanted to drop his head in his hands and mourn the mistakes he'd made.

  But he couldn't. There was no turning back. He had to live with what he'd done, face himself in the mirror every day and despise the reflection.

  "Are you all right?" Maggie asked.

  Instantly, he locked away the pain. "Of course I am." Their eyes met and held. Hers were a pale wash of blue, flecked with tiny sparks of green. Her incredible, ever-changing eyes.

  "Are you sure?" she pressed. "You seem troubled."

  "It's a troubling case," he responded.

  "Yes, it is," she agreed, her gaze never wavering from his.

  Once again he longed to touch her. They sat side by side, their shoulders nearly brushing. He resisted the urge to lift his hand, to stroke her cheek, to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

  Luke reached for his coffee and sipped the bitter brew. This investigation was too critical to get sidetracked by a beautiful woman. Especially since she was the lady he had vowed to protect.

  * * *

  Rey-Star Investigations was located in a dramatic tower overlooking the city. Maggie took the elevator to the ninth floor and entered Luke's office through double-glass doors.

  A blue-eyed blonde sat behind a mahogany reception desk. Focusing on a computer screen, she pursed her racy red lips, forming a provocative pout.

  She was stunning – in a bombshell kind of way. A sweater, the same notice-me shade as her lipstick, stretched across her ample bosom.

  Maggie frowned, irked that Luke had a blow-up doll working for him. She cleared her throat and waited for the receptionist to acknowledge her.

  The blonde looked up and flashed a thousand-watt smile. That, too, managed to irritate Maggie. Apparently the other woman, who probably shared Luke's bed whenever he beckoned, didn't see her as a threat.

  Clearly Luke wasn't as lonely as he appeared.

  "May I help you, Ms. Connelly?" the receptionist asked.

  "Yes, thank you." She wasn't surprised the other woman had recognized her. Maggie's celebrity rarely went unnoticed. "Is Mr. Starwind available?"

  "I'll let him know you're here."

  Within minutes Maggie was escorted into Luke's office. He stood beside a window, gazing out at the city. The room was furnished with an ebony desk, leather chairs and a lacquered bar. A slim marble table held a bronze eagle, its enormous wings poised in flight. Stone and metal, she thought, with a blend of masculine elegance.

  Luke turned and met Maggie's gaze. Dressed entirely in black, he looked as striking as the decor.

  He shifted his gaze to his receptionist. "Thank you, Carol."

  The blonde nodded and closed the door behind her.

  Luke and Maggie stared at each other for what seemed like an endless amount of time.

  "She's quite the bombshell," Maggie said finally.

  He moved away from the window and sat on the edge of his desk. "Who? Carol?"

  Yes, Carol, she thought, wondering why he bothered to play dumb. "I wasn't aware busty blondes were your type."

  He crossed his arms, his mouth set in an unforgiving line. "So you analyzed her, did you?"

  "Women notice other women," she replied in her own defense. "We're quite observant in that regard."

  "Really? Then why don't you give me your evaluation of her?"

  Maggie removed her coat and flung it over a chair. Luke remained where he was, perched on the edge of his glossy desk.

  "Let's see." She walked to the bar and poured herself a cherry cola. Rattling the ice in her glass, she took a sip. "Carol takes long lunches, wears cheap perfume and keeps her boss entertained on cold winter nights. She has an average IQ, and buys more clothes than she can afford."

  Luke uncrossed his arms and tapped his chin in an analytical gesture. "That's very interesting, but you're wrong on every count. First of all, she works her tail off. Second, most perfumes, cheap or otherwise, give her a headache. She also happens to be sharp as a tack, frugal to a fault and happily married to a man who adores her."

  Maggie wanted to sink into the carpet. "I suppose they have children?"

  He nodded. "Two little boys. Whose pictures are prominently displayed on her desk. But you didn't notice them. Just like you didn't notice the absence of a fragrance or the gold band shining on her finger."

  Mortified, she lowered herself to a chair. "I'm a lousy detective, aren't I?" />
  "The worst."

  Maggie winced. Blond hair. Big breasts. Luke's bed. Her evaluation had stemmed from a catty scratch of jealousy. Which was something she had never experienced before.

  "I'm sorry," she managed to say, thinking she owed Carol an apology as well.

  He shrugged, and they both drifted into what she considered uncompanionable silence. She certainly wasn't doing a very good job of making Lucas Starwind smile. And that was something she would have to remedy. Maybe not today, but soon.

  "So, am I going to work with you here at the office?" she asked.

  "Don't you have finals this week?"

  "I can come by afterward."

  "Then you're welcome to use Tom's old office."

  "Thank you." She wished this wasn't a baby-sitting effort on his part. Maggie preferred to earn her keep. But that rarely happened. No one gave her any credit, not even her own family.

  Thoughtful, she studied her companion. Sooner or later the brooding detective would figure her out correctly. He would see her for who she really was. Wouldn't he?

  "What is your type, Luke?"

  He blinked. "What?"

  "Your type of woman," she clarified.

  He drilled her gaze, and their eyes clashed. Her pulse skipped like a stone, and she decided they were perfect for each other. No other man challenged her the way he did. Or made her care so deeply. She needed him as much as he needed her.

  "I don't have one," he responded steadily.

  Oh, yes you do, she thought. And I'm her.

  * * *

  Detective work, Maggie decided, didn't live up to its TV image. They weren't tailing bad guys, lurking in trench coats on a shadowy street corner or dodging bullets in a high-speed car chase. Instead they faced mounds and mounds of paperwork.

  It was Saturday afternoon, a light snow blanketed the ground, and she and Luke were holed up in his town house, poring over files, cataloging information about individuals and corporations known to have even the slightest association with the Kelly crime family. Luke was searching for someone, anyone, who might have an interest in the missing CDs. Locating a potential buyer, he claimed, could lead them to the Altarian traitor.