Hidden Hearts

by Susan Kearney

  “Would you please remove your bra?”

  “Excuse me?” Alexandra thought she must have heard him wrong. “I thought you asked me to remove my bra.”

  “I did.”

  While she knew Roarke couldn’t be making a pass at her with them imprisoned in the car’s trunk, she didn’t like the idea of removing her underwear—even in the dark. She had to force a calmness into her tone that she didn’t feel. “Mind telling me why you want me to undress?”

  As usual, Mr. Silver Tongue had an answer. “I want to push your bra out the taillight hole and use it as a flag.”

  “Couldn’t we use your shirt?”

  “Which article of clothing do you think will draw more attention?”

  Dear Reader,

  This holiday season, deck the halls with some of the most exciting names in romantic suspense: Anne Stuart and Gayle Wilson. These two award-winning authors have returned together to Harlequin Intrigue to reprise their much loved miniseries—CATSPAW and MEN OF MYSTERY—in a special 2-in-1 collection. Night and Day is a guaranteed keeper and the best stocking stuffer around!

  Find out what happens when a single-dad secret agent has to protect a beautiful scientist as our MONTANA CONFIDENTIAL series continues with Licensed To Marry by Charlotte Douglas.

  The stork is coming down the chimney this year, as Joanna Wayne begins a brand-new series of books set in the sultry South. Look for Another Woman’s Baby this month and more HIDDEN PASSIONS books to come in the near future.

  Also available from Harlequin Intrigue is the second title in Susan Kearney’s HIDE AND SEEK trilogy. The search goes on in Hidden Hearts.

  Happy holidays from all of us at Harlequin Intrigue.

  Sincerely,

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Associate Senior Editor

  Harlequin Intrigue

  HIDDEN HEARTS

  SUSAN KEARNEY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Susan Kearney used to set herself on fire four times a day. Now she does something really hot—she writes romantic suspense. While she no longer performs her signature fire dive (she’s taken up figure skating), she never runs out of ideas for characters and plots. A business graduate from the University of Michigan, Susan is working on her fourteenth novel and writes full-time. She resides in a small town outside Tampa, Florida, with her husband and children and a spoiled Boston terrier.

  Books by Susan Kearney

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  340—TARA’S CHILD

  378—A BABY TO LOVE

  410—LULLABY DECEPTION

  428—SWEET DECEPTION

  456—DECEIVING DADDY

  478—PRIORITY MALE

  552—A NIGHT WITHOUT END

  586—CRADLE WILL ROCK*

  590—LITTLE BOYS BLUE*

  594—LULLABY AND GOODNIGHT*

  636—THE HIDDEN YEARS†

  640—HIDDEN HEARTS†

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Alexandra Golden—An architect, and a woman with a painful past. As she faces danger and Roarke’s charm, can she find the courage to fall in love?

  Roarke Stone—Charming, dangerous and sexy, the ex-CIA rogue is hired as Alexandra’s bodyguard. He’s determined to protect Alexandra, but will he succeed in protecting his heart?

  Jake Cockran—The brother Alexandra never met. When Jake sends his sister a package from her biological parents, he inadvertently places her in danger.

  Jake and Alexandra’s biological parents—Letters, pictures and diaries—secrets from her mother and cloaked in a mystery that must be solved.

  Carleton Jamison—An FBI agent who owes Roarke his life. He’s one of the few men Roarke trusts.

  Top Dog—Roarke’s nickname for the bald man who wants Alexandra and her secrets.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Alexandra Golden ignored the niggling worry that had shadowed her for the last two days. Ever since she’d received a package related to her mysterious past, she’d been fighting not to let it ruin her enjoyment of her latest accomplishment—a triumph she’d worked so hard to achieve.

  With deep satisfaction and pride, Alexandra leaned over the finished blueprints of her architectural firm’s first skyscraper. The two-hundred-story bank building overlooking the St. John’s River in downtown Jacksonville, Florida, would boast majestic views of several bridges, the thriving waterfront and a good part of the bustling city. Best of all, it would be the first new construction project this decade to be added to Jacksonville’s elegant skyline by a female architect.

  As Alexandra smoothed her palm over the graceful lines of the beautiful bank building she would create out of soaring steel, solid concrete and cool-blue glass, she didn’t regret one moment of the hard work she’d done to arrive at this moment. Just mastering the math required to become an architect had almost done her in, but she’d studied harder than many of her colleagues. Then she’d taken risks to establish her own firm, and she had even spread her finances to the limit to go after the Benson Bank project.

  Early in her career, she’d made a friend. Charlotte Benson, heir to the Benson financial empire, had supported Alexandra’s firm from the beginning. Charlotte had convinced her mostly male board of directors that a woman architect would help usher in the future, a future where women dropped off their children in day-care centers in the buildings where they worked. A future where women who opened their own businesses and sought financing from a bank would feel welcome. A future where widows could come in for investment counseling and trust their stock portfolios to the competent hands of Benson Securities’s brokers.

  So, with success at her fingertips, why couldn’t Alexandra shake the feeling that something was wrong? She’d always been an optimistic person. She’d had her parents’ full support ever since they’d adopted her, taking her from the foster home to live with them when she was three years old and too young to remember her past. She’d grown up loved and spoiled and encouraged to make her dreams happen. She had no bad memories of her former life and no recollections of a brother named Jake Cochran or the sister he’d claimed in his recent letter was just a baby when they’d all been separated.

  At least Jake had had the good sense not to just show up on her doorstep. The arrival of his letter two days ago would let her prepare gradually for a meeting with him. And she did want to see what he was like; she wondered if he shared her dark hair, olive complexion and amber-colored eyes.

  Jake’s message to her had been brief, but warm in tone and friendly. So she had no reason to feel threatened because the brother she couldn’t remember had sent her a note and a strange assortment of papers in the mail. He’d revealed nothing personal and had sent no photographs of himself. Instead he’d sent old black-and-white pictures from their parents’ era and a copy of her mother’s diary, along with birth certificates in a ten-by-fourteen-inch envelope. Alexandra had set the materials aside until she had time to go through them more carefully.

  No reason to worry. So why was she tapping her short-clipped nails on the blueprints? Why couldn’t she keep her mind on the present? Why did she keep glancing at the envelope she’d left on the dining-room table as if it contained a bomb?

  The items inside looked harmless enough. Although she’d never had the time or inclinat
ion to brood over her past, she looked forward to meeting her siblings. But even if she’d remembered them, she didn’t know if she would have tried to find them. Unlike many adoptees who yearned to seek out their genealogical roots, Alexandra had focused on her career and the parents who adored her.

  She’d turned a page of the blueprints to look over the specs for the site layout and underground utilities when a knock on her front door interrupted her. Leaving the blueprints, she exited her home office and walked through the living room to her foyer.

  As a single woman who lived alone, she habitually locked the dead bolt and chained the door after she arrived home. She’d never had trouble at the apartment complex, but she’d received a lot of publicity on the Benson project recently. Her picture had been in the paper and she’d been interviewed on local television news. While the free promotion could prove a boon to her firm and make it easier to win more projects, she remained careful of strangers.

  “Who is it?”

  “Package service, ma’am.”

  Alexandra’s packages were usually delivered to her office. But the one from her brother had come to her home. Perhaps he’d sent another?

  Alexandra peered through the peephole. The short, middle-aged, clean-cut man with a wide chest wore an ill-fitting uniform and held a clipboard awkwardly in his meaty hands. But he held no package. Maybe he’d set it on the floor.

  Alexandra opened her door but didn’t unfasten the chain. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

  “I’m afraid there’s been a mixup, ma’am.”

  Alexandra frowned. “What kind of mixup?”

  “The package we delivered a few days ago isn’t yours. If you could return it to me, we can deliver it to its rightful owner.”

  “Just a minute please.”

  Alexandra needed to think. She knew the package had her correct address and that if there had been a mix-up, the company would have called. But she’d received no phone call.

  Something was wrong.

  Her first thought was to phone the delivery company to check on what she felt was a bogus story.

  “Ma’am, if you could open the door and give me the package, I can show you the wrong address on the label.”

  She knew the address was hers since she’d carefully checked it when it arrived. Her second thought was to get the hell out of her apartment.

  “I’ll be back in a second,” Alexandra called over her shoulder, knowing the chain might not hold for long against a determined pounding, afraid that if she tried to shut the door and throw the dead bolt, he’d jam a foot in the doorway to prevent her from succeeding.

  Heart racing, she sprinted through her living room, scooped up the envelope her brother had sent, ducked into her office and grabbed the blueprints and her purse.

  The sound of the front door slamming open and the chain breaking the wood warned her that she hadn’t a nanosecond to spare.

  The man had just broken into her house!

  Sweat slicking down her spine, Alexandra slid across her kitchen floor to her back door. As she juggled her belongings, she fumbled to turn the dead bolt.

  The lock clicked open just as the deliveryman skidded into her kitchen. “Hold it right there, lady. I won’t hurt you. I just need the package.”

  She didn’t believe him. And she didn’t stop running.

  Yanking open the door, she rushed outside onto her second-story terrace.

  She never doubted she would get away. Never expected to be caught.

  But then she slammed into something hard.

  Someone hard.

  Strong masculine arms closed around her. Arms way too strong to fight.

  Chapter One

  Two men were after her.

  A team.

  Sent to take the package her brother had sent her.

  Alexandra’s first instinct had been to flee. Trapped in the big man’s grip, she knew her only remaining option was to fight, take him by surprise.

  But, unlike the short man in the sloppy uniform who had just slid and fallen with a loud thump, this man was tall, with shoulders as broad as the Panhandle and blue eyes that pierced like a laser. Eyes that seemed unfazed at finding her trying to flee.

  Her head barely reached his chin, so slamming her brow into his face to escape wouldn’t be an option. But she had no intention of giving up.

  At least not without giving him her best shot.

  Men may have evolved to be stronger than women, but that simply meant Alexandra had to be smarter. She slammed her foot down onto the big man’s toe. He let out a grunt and one hand loosened its grip on her arm.

  As he hopped in pain, she kicked his shin and slapped his ear with the hand that still clasped her blueprints tightly.

  She hoped he’d loosen the grip of his other hand on her shoulder. He did let go, but grabbed her by the waist with both hands, lifting her off her feet, bringing her up to eye level. “Woman, you hurt me.”

  She kicked. Missed. “Let me go—”

  “Or?”

  “I’ll hurt you some more.” She drew back her foot to kick him where it would really hurt. One good knee to the groin and he’d—

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  She’d made a mistake by warning him. He’d sensed her intention and twisted his hips so she lost the angle needed to wreak the most damage. She considered how much hurting she could cause by ramming her elbow into his chin.

  Before she could put thought into action, the man in the uniform rushed out through the back door onto the terrace. He reached behind his back and pulled a gun. A big ugly gun with the muzzle pointed at her.

  As icy fear sliced her, Alexandra’s heart froze. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

  The big man dropped her so fast she stumbled and fell to her knees. Suddenly, her opponent shifted his body between her and the guy in the uniform.

  As if to protect her?

  Confusion mixed with fear. Weren’t the two men working together? Why had he let her go? Why would he place himself between her and his partner?

  A shot fired and her ears rang. Burnt smoke singed her nostrils. Fear shook her legs. She expected to feel pain or to see the big man go down. Neither happened.

  Her captor lunged and kicked the gun from the smaller man, then tackled him.

  Alexandra still didn’t understand why he’d let her go. She didn’t understand why the pair were fighting. She didn’t question her good fortune. Didn’t stay around to ask questions. Without a backward glance, she fled down the stairs on watery knees. In her haste, she tripped and dropped her precious blueprints, which rolled onto the sidewalk and partially into the shrubs. She tugged on them and realized they’d snagged. They weren’t worth her life. She kept running.

  Above her she heard the sound of flesh smacking flesh, grunts, a groan of pain. A potted plant crashed onto the concrete patio beside her, the shards whizzing by her legs.

  She raced around the apartment complex. Heard footsteps clanging down her terrace steps. Her heart jackhammering up into her throat, she sprinted toward the parking garage. She couldn’t count on a neighbor hearing the shot and calling the police. She needed to escape now. If only she could make it to her car.

  As she ran around the building’s corner, she fumbled in her purse for her car keys. The steps behind were coming closer. He was catching her. She wasn’t going to make it to her car and had only seconds to plan another course of action while her pursuer still couldn’t see her.

  The apartment building had been built on piers and pilings over the parking area. Two elevators provided access to the upper floors. In the middle of Monday afternoon, most people were at work. There weren’t enough cars to hide behind, and she couldn’t reach the next building or the woods behind the apartments before he caught up with her—whoever he was. Although she didn’t know who had won the fight, she’d bet on the big man.

  And she didn’t want to take him on again. Kicking his shin had hurt her foot. Slapping his ear had stung her
hand. He’d been one giant slab of solid muscle.

  Looking around wildly for a hiding space, she saw the garbage Dumpster. Yanking open the lid, she ignored the awful smell, tossed her purse and her brother’s envelope inside and scrambled over. She landed softly on her feet, making little noise. Her pursuer pounded around the corner just as she ducked out of sight.

  She had no time to close the top. But if she had, the smell might have suffocated her. The Dumpster had been emptied recently and contained only a few tidy plastic garbage bags in one corner, a few rotting onions, rotten banana peels and maybe some decayed meat. She tried to convince herself that the odor wasn’t so bad. The foul smell helped her control her ragged breathing as she tried to remain still, quiet.

  If only she hadn’t come home from work, but she’d needed a shower after inspecting the dusty job site. And then she’d gone over the plans again…Now she really needed a shower.

  She held her breath as her pursuer walked past. She didn’t dare peer over the side to see which man still pursued her. She didn’t dare call out for help. In the middle of May, at the beginning of the week, the kids were still at school, their parents at work, the complex mostly empty.

  And she’d left her cell phone in her car.

  She heard the footsteps retreat and let out a quiet sigh of relief. But then the steps returned, steady, measured steps. He was heading straight for the Dumpster, and her heart raced so hard, she thought it might burst through her ribs.

  She crouched low next to the filthy side, ignoring the grease, old dirt and who knew how many billions of germs. When the big man peered inside and his eyes found hers, she expected to see anger or annoyance. She expected him to grab her. Shoot her.

  But he chuckled.

  Chuckled?

  It was a deep chuckle without the least hint of malice. She didn’t care how nice a chuckle he had, she backed up until her feet tripped up against the plastic bags.

  Alexandra tried not to stare but couldn’t help herself. When she’d been struggling in his grasp, she hadn’t really looked at him. Now she saw that he was absolutely stunningly gorgeous, a fact she’d missed in her battle with him on her terrace. Terror alone could have made her unaware of his movie-star attractiveness as she’d fled from him earlier. This guy’s face was the kind women fantasized over, and, naturally, the extraordinary face came packaged with a body worth dying for.