ALIAS SMITH AND JONES

by Kylie Brant

  "Let's talk about rights, shall we?" She moved away from the door because she certainly didn't want to keep him from leaving. Far from it. "While you're apologizing, why don't we talk about your right to follow me in the first place, to tell me what I should and shouldn't do while we're in dock here."

  He looked up, his gaze narrowing. "That's not about rights, it's about good sense."

  "Oh?"

  He must not have sensed the danger in the word, because he went on. "I don't make a habit of meddling in people's lives, but you … you need a damn keeper. I had to follow you for your own good."

  Her simmering anger went to boil. How many times had she heard the same words from one of her brothers? "You know, as a general rule I've never cared much for things done for my own good."

  His jaw hardened. "Most people don't, but I couldn't just stand by and let you put yourself into a possibly dangerous situation, could I?"

  "Why not?"

  Her blunt question seemed to take him by surprise. He stared at her a moment, then rubbed his jaw. "Damned if I know."

  He may not know, Ana thought desolately, but she could guess at it easily enough. "Don't tell me you were trying to protect me?" He couldn't know how much she yearned to hear him answer in the negative.

  "Yeah." The admission obviously pained him. He didn't seem any happier with his answer than she was. "I guess I do. Feel kind of protective."

  Bubbles of fury began to surge in her veins. It was a welcome contrast to the pain in her heart. "I see." She nodded wisely. "Sort of like the feeling a guy has for his sister."

  He shrugged uneasily. "Maybe."

  "Well, that brings up a rather interesting definition of family you must have, given the last few minutes, but we won't get into that."

  It pleased her to hear a snap return to his voice. It was preferable to the note of regret that had been there earlier.

  "Look, I'm not going to apologize…"

  "That's a welcome change."

  "…for my intentions. I was trying to make sure you didn't get yourself into a situation that you couldn't get out of."

  "I'm going to assume that we're talking about me going downtown alone and not about what happened between us a few moments ago."

  He had the grace to look chagrined. "I don't blame you for being mad. I said it was my fault, didn't I? It won't happen again." When she only looked away, blinking rapidly, he paused for a moment before starting for the door.

  She let him reach it before crossing over to him. "Jones…"

  "What?"

  Rather than speak, she looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. Watched him swallow hard, saw his expression soften infinitesimally. Then she plowed her fist into his belly and gave a satisfied smile when the breath whooshed out of him. Her voice steady, she said, "That's a little sampling of my self-defense moves. Once you can breathe again, be sure and tell me what you think."

  * * *

  There was no cover over the porthole in his cabin. Jones had never wanted one. He liked being able to see the stars, liked even better to lie nude on the deck beneath them, with only the balmy night air as a blanket. But right now he wasn't contemplating the stars or the midnight blue of the sky they studded. He was merely using the view to wipe out the one that seemed branded on his memory.

  Testing, he closed his eyes again. Once again Annie's image swam across the surface of his mind. He snapped his eyes open, rolled over and buried his head in the pillow. But he couldn't prevent the memory of the tiny gasps she made as he'd taken her nipple in his mouth. His palms tingled as if they still remembered the feel of her silky thigh, that tight round bottom.

  And knew the torment was no less than he deserved. Where the hell had that violent welter of emotion come from? He'd spent so long feeling little or nothing at all that it had been a shock to feel the bubbling surge of protectiveness, of anger. Of concern. Even more shocking when that unusual level of emotion had turned so suddenly to a scalding, primitive desire.

  With a groan, he turned over and propped his crossed arms beneath his head. He was losing his edge. It wasn't necessarily reason for alarm. He had the thought, and tried to believe it. Five years away from the dark alleys and furtive shadows, instincts were bound to dull a little, weren't they?

  That was the least of his concerns at the moment. Where was the cool objectivity that had layered his instincts for so long? He shook his head, baffled. He hadn't expected a compact, tousled little blonde to slip under his defenses, even for a moment. The fact that she'd done just that still stung, but the sensation would serve as a reminder. It had been a miracle that he'd lived through it the last time he'd lowered his guard. He'd never been a man who made the same mistake twice.

  Punching his pillow, he turned on his side and firmly closed his eyes. Since he wasn't one to believe in divine intervention, he wasn't about to tempt fate again. Ann Smith could do whatever the hell she wanted. Worship witches beneath the moon. Swim with sharks. Dance naked in the streets. He wouldn't interfere. All he had to do was hang on for the rest of this trip, then he'd never see the woman again.

  And when his gut clenched at the thought, he did a damn good job of convincing himself that the sensation was one of relief.

  * * *

  The sun was high overhead before Jones went on deck. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept that late, but sleep had proved elusive. The sky had begun to lighten before he'd dropped off. Even then his dreams had been full of a tempting pint-size blonde, so the slumber hadn't been particularly restful. It seemed, he thought morosely, as he took up a stance against the rail, there was no escaping the female. At least not for the next few days.

  He was raising his second mug of coffee to his lips when he became aware that he wasn't alone on the deck. Glancing sideways, he saw the woman responsible for his sleepless night seated in one of the lounge chairs, purse at her feet, writing diligently in a notebook.

  He studied her for a moment. He didn't know when the nickname had come to him, but she didn't look like an Ann. She was too diminutive for the more formal name. If she were his he'd call her Annie. It seemed to fit better, seemed to capture her bright spirit.

  Derision filled him at the thought. He, better than anyone, should know just how little a name told about a person. And she wasn't his, at any rate. He wasn't in the habit of staking claims on women. And if he were, it certainly wouldn't be one who was part tempting seductress, part shy innocent.

  Grimly he faced forward again. He'd known he was going to have to deal with this moment at some point, but would have preferred doing so when he wasn't still bleary from lack of sleep. Still, despite her ire when he'd apologized last night, he was responsible for what had happened between them. No doubt she was going to feel embarrassed this morning. Despite what she said about boyfriends and restraining orders, there was no question that his experience far outweighed hers.

  She was probably dreading this encounter even more than he was. The thought had him feeling slightly avuncular. It wouldn't kill him to go out of his way to break the ice. Surely there was something he could say that would make the situation less uncomfortable for her.

  "I thought you were going to miss it altogether."

  Surprised at her words, he turned and lifted a brow.

  "This beautiful morning," she explained. "I love days like this, don't you? The sky is absolutely cloudless. A day like this seems to hold promises."

  Her sunny tone took him off guard. "Yeah, it's great." He searched her face carefully, but could discern only a lazy contentment in her expression. So much for the embarrassment he'd wanted to spare her.

  A cowardly part of him was tempted to take the opportunity she was offering and pretend last night had never happened. But taking the easy way out often had a way of coming back to bite him on the ass. So he plowed ahead with what needed to be said. "Look, about last night…"

  "Yes, I've been thinking about that, too." Tilting her glasses down her nose, she stared at him over
the top of them. "I've deducted two hundred dollars from your fee for your behavior."

  He felt as if he'd just been sideswiped by a tank. "Two hundred…"

  "I thought that was fair, because, well, let's face it, you behaved abominably. You promised exemplary service, but last night really deserved a five-hundred-dollar deduction."

  His jaw clenched. Was she actually trying to lowball his fee? "Listen…"

  She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "But I wasn't blameless in the matter myself. I was kissing you back, and then there's that punch I landed."

  Between set teeth, he ground out, "Don't worry about it. You hit like a girl."

  Glaring at him, she said, "I certainly do not. And you're missing the point. I'm willing to accept partial responsibility for the whole affair. That's why I'm only deducting two hundred instead of the whole five. I've made a note of it." She indicated the notebook.

  "What is that? Your little book of grievances?"

  She slipped the glasses back up on her nose, then replaced the notebook in her purse. "If you're not able to discuss this reasonably right now, we can put it off until later."

  His temples throbbed with a headache that had been absent until she started talking. "Fine. Great. Deduct your two hundred. But we forget about this now, right? It's all behind us?"

  The smile she gave him was as dazzling as the sun on the water, and somehow made his head pound more. "It's already forgotten. As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about trying out one of the beaches today. Whichever on you think. I need to be back here by four or so, though, so we should probably get started soon."

  "Sure." At least the conversation had turned back to business. If they could keep it on this level for the rest of the trip, he might make it through the next few days without strangling her. "Are you meeting your friends here later?"

  "My what?" Her tone was blank.

  "Your friends. You said you'd be meeting them…"

  "Oh, right. Yes, they should probably arrive later today. I've left messages at the hotels for them so they know how to get in touch with me. But this evening I have a date. That's why I need to get back, so I'll have time to get ready."

  "A date?"

  She nodded, raised her face to the sun. "Mmm-hmm. And I'm sure that won't be a problem for you, because you ye already assured me that your behavior last night was an aberration."

  His knuckles were white from the strength of his grip around the mug. Then it suddenly occurred to him what was going on here. Something inside him eased. "Okay. No problem. I'll be sure to get you home in time for this … date."

  Something in his tone must have alerted her. She raised her head to look at him. "I do have a date."

  "Sure you do. The nearest beach is only twenty minutes from here. You'll have plenty of time in the sun before you need to come back."

  She sat up straight on the lounger, swept off her glasses and glared at him. "You don't think I have a date."

  "Doesn't matter." He checked his watch. "We'll pull anchor as soon as I finish my coffee."

  "You egotistical baboon." Sparks were spitting from her eyes. "You can't believe I'd make up that story just for your benefit, do you?"

  "Actually…" He pretended to consider her words "Yeah, I do. But it's not necessary."

  For a moment he thought she was going to throw something at him. She looked around as though searching for weapons. "I don't know what kind of women you're used to—well, I have a pretty good idea—but I don't need to make up stories to impress men.

  "It's okay," he soothed, feeling more cheerful than he had in hours. "We're starting over, remember? I'll let you know when we get there." He started toward the bridge.

  "For your information, I'm meeting Icanno Shala this evening."

  The name stopped him dead in his tracks. Disbelievingly he turned back to look at her. "You're meeting who?"

  "Whom. You've heard of him? He's minister of the interior, I guess. First we're going to a government function of some kind and then to dinner."

  He retraced his steps. "Don't even joke about that."

  "I'm not joking." Replacing the glasses, she slipped down to a more comfortable position in her chair. "I met him last night and he seemed…" Was that a slight hesitation in her voice? "…very charming."

  Jones had to reach for calm. Strong-arm tactics weren't going to work. If he'd learned anything about her, it was that. "If you're serious, you need to rethink your plans. Shala doesn't have the best reputation with women." She didn't have to say a word. The lift of her brows said it all. "Okay, think what you want about me, but this guy isn't the most savory in the new government. And if he gets you alone, you aren't going to have a lot of options, have you thought of that? With his power he can get away with pretty much anything."

  Her shrug was careless. "What makes you think I'll want options?"

  "I'm not kidding, Annie." He crossed to her chair and towered above her. "This isn't some high school boy you can lead around by the hormones. You're way out of your league here."

  "Is it my imagination or are you getting protective again?"

  This time it was him plucking the glasses from her nose. "Knock it off. This is serious. Write a note making an excuse, and I'll have Pappy deliver it."

  "No."

  He squatted down beside her, his gaze doing battle with hers. "I don't know what games you think you're going to play with this guy…"

  "And I don't know which is more offensive—the fact that you've already regressed back to the Neanderthal of last night or the fact that you think I'm a virginal idiot."

  When he merely looked at her, she had the grace to flush. But her voice was stubborn. "I'm not totally inexperienced. There have been plenty of men. Scores."

  The corner of his mouth lifted. "Yeah, right."

  If the daggers shooting from her eyes were real, he'd be lying slashed and bleeding on the deck. "There have!"

  "Save your stories for someone who cares. I'm just giving you fair warning. I'd do the same for any client of mine. If you don't want to listen—" he shrugged and rose "—that's your problem."

  "I did listen. Now you need to listen to me. I can handle Shala."

  "The way you handled me last night?" Where those words had come from he didn't know. But rather than eliciting the storm he'd expected, she merely shoved her glasses back up on her nose and reached into her bag for a paperback.

  "Not exactly." She gave a delicate yawn. "Wake me up when we get there, will you?"

  Without another word he turned on his heel and headed for the bridge. Three days, he consoled himself, tamping down his temper. Seventy-two hours. Four thousand three hundred twenty minutes. A mere drop in the overall concept of time.

  Then why the hell did it suddenly seem so endless?

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  The sand on the beach was as fine as granulated sugar and just as bright. The sun reflecting off the turquoise sea was blinding. Seagulls wheeled and slashed across the impossibly clear sky. And all of it was wasted on Ana.

  There was a snake in her paradise.

  Jones lay beside her on his stomach, head buried in his arms, for all appearances taking a nap. She measured the space between his prone body and the good-size piece of driftwood nearby. It would give her the utmost pleasure to brain him with it.

  It had never occurred to her that he would need to accompany her to shore. The ship was too large, and the depth of water too shallow, for the Nefarious to be anchored nearby. Jones had directed her to follow him into a small dinghy carried on the side of the ship, lowered it to the water and fired up its small outboard motor.

  Unable to remain still a moment longer, she jumped up, jammed her feet in her sandals, and strode off. There were a couple dozen people on the beach with them, scattered about in brightly colored dabs on the sand. Yet it wasn't the people who held her attention, but the rim where the beach met jungle.

  She studied the tangled vegetati
on in the distance and wished she'd brought binoculars. From the research she'd done before she'd left the States, she'd discovered that Laconos had only one major city on the island, with a few other villages scattered about in the area. The towns were all close to the shore and to fresh water. Crystalline beaches bordered the island, while the center was covered with thick jungle.

  And it was in that jungle where she thought Sam might be hiding.

  There were few other possibilities. She hardly thought he could hide this long in town, and unless he'd already found a way off the island, what better way to elude the military than in the midst of that dense vegetation?

  She didn't doubt his ability to do just that and survive. But without knowing how badly he was injured, there was no way of guessing whether he remained hidden because he was physically unable to leave or because he just hadn't yet devised a way off the island.

  The key to the search for her brother, she thought for at least the hundredth time since last night, might well lie with Icanno Shala. She'd like to hear what the man thought about Sam's whereabouts—where they'd searched and where they were planning to look next. If it hadn't been for her thirst for information about her brother, she would never have accepted his invitation. She didn't need Jones's assessment of the man to guess his intentions.

  Just the thought of Jones had her walking faster. She thought she'd done a passable job this morning covering the hurt, the anger that had so rapidly replaced her passion last night. Dismay at the memory simmered in her belly. She'd lived her life struggling beneath her family's suffocating mantle of protectiveness. Her brothers were motivated at least in part from the words emblazoned on the Tremaine family crest. Honor. Duty. Devotion. All three of her siblings devoted their lives to that code. But she'd never been able to make them understand that because of their interference, her life was devoid of the same sense of purpose. Their overprotectiveness had robbed her of any chance for independence. It was the last emotion she wanted to elicit from Jones. The very last.