Hidden Hearts

by Susan Kearney

  And she felt so good that she didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to risk spoiling the most perfect night of her life. So as he shifted to her side, she cuddled against him and let him pull a sheet over both of them, ready to sleep in his arms.

  Even spent, she couldn’t totally relax. The passion had been too strong, too wondrous to let her go. It felt good, and right, to pillow her head on him, breathe in his scent, twine her feet with his. She realized then that she never again wanted to sleep alone.

  Twice during the night, they wakened and made love. And each time was more wonderful and exciting than the last, as they learned how to please one another. She explored his body as he had hers, learning that she held an awesome power over this man. A power she vowed to use wisely. She knew he was still healing, and despite his air of invincibility, she knew he was vulnerable.

  However, she recognized that ever since the first moment they’d met, a special attraction, a chemistry, a heightened awareness, had sizzled between them. Taking things to the next level, making love, hadn’t extinguished the flames but seemed to have fueled them. She couldn’t get enough of this man and he seemed to return her ardor.

  Happy and content, she fell asleep in the early morning hours.

  ALEXANDRA AWAKENED late the next morning to the scent of sizzling bacon and frying eggs. Sitting up, she took her first good look around the tent. The mattress lay on a thick-piled rug. A nightstand with books and an electric lamp sat next to the bed. She grinned when she realized that his tent had electricity, but he’d lit the lantern last night for atmosphere. She had suspected he was a romantic at heart, and now she knew for sure.

  Thoughtful, Roarke had left her a bathrobe, and she slipped into it, perusing his bookcase, curious to learn his tastes. The variety didn’t surprise her. Next to Clancy, Ludlum and Grisham she saw books about foreign countries, another on defusing bombs, several mysteries, a few comic books and even a Harry Potter. He had well-thumbed magazines running the gamut from Mercenary Men to Playboy to Surfing the Net.

  On his nightstand was a picture of a younger Roarke with his arm around a smiling young woman. Surrounding the happy-faced couple, a herd of giraffes gathered, one of them biting Roarke’s straw hat. Alexandra knotted the belt on the robe and picked up the picture to examine it more closely. The blond-haired woman, Sydney, she presumed, was extremely thin, pretty, and fragile-looking. She possessed a certain vivaciousness and a warmth to her smile that Alexandra found appealing.

  Roarke strode in and Alexandra did nothing to hide her interest in the picture. “You both looked so happy here.”

  “It was taken the week before she died.” Roarke spoke without any apparent pain, but she could see from the shadows in his eyes that he remained haunted by her death.

  Alexandra put the picture back, carefully positioning it exactly where she’d found it. She didn’t want to trample on his grief. And she refused to be jealous of a woman who’d passed on. “Is that breakfast? I’m starving.”

  As if agreeing to drop any serious matters, Roarke held open the tent flap for her. “Let’s go eat.”

  As she exited the tent and was greeted by bright sunshine filtering through the shading limbs of giant oaks, she felt none of the embarrassment she might have expected after making love with Roarke for the first time. At peace, she let her contentment from last night flow through her. Her body was satiated, her mind at peace.

  Even if Roarke ever suggested making their relationship more permanent, she could see no future in it. While she eventually wanted to marry and have kids, she couldn’t picture herself with a man who was away more than he was home. Or with someone who risked his life on a daily basis. So why was she falling for a guy who could leave her in fear every morning that he might not come home that night?

  He wasn’t right for her. Yet despite every rational thought to the contrary, somehow, she’d fallen in bed with him. And she didn’t know if she’d made a mistake or simply needed more time with him to establish whether or not what they had together was simply lust or real love.

  Roarke had a table and chairs set up on the deck overlooking the spring. He’d plugged a portable stove into an electric outlet and had cooked fried eggs, crisp bacon and set out a pitcher of orange juice.

  She placed a napkin on her lap. “I wish we could stay a week.”

  Roarke looked pleased as he passed her a platter of bacon. “I thought you didn’t like camping?”

  “I like camping with you,” she told him.

  His eyes flared. “And I like being inside you.”

  “We were good together, weren’t we?”

  At her comment, the heat in his eyes blazed. Her stomach fluttered.

  She would never have chosen this man to love, but choice didn’t seem to have much to do with her lusty response to him. Even in a T-shirt and boxer shorts he looked impossibly yummy, his tanned muscles catching sunlight and reminding her of both his inner and outer strength.

  She poured some orange juice, her hands trembling slightly as she recalled the things they’d done together and the passions he’d stirred inside her. If their attraction was only lust, three times should have more than satisfied her. But as she sat across from him, she wondered if she’d ever get enough. Was she really feeling love?

  Perhaps. She couldn’t be sure.

  As strong as her growing feelings were about him, she needed time to accept that she loved him. Time to reevaluate the kind of man she wanted. Time to see if they could both change enough to fit into one another’s lives. Time to let life go on and to see if these feelings remained. And the only way to do that was to bring the conversation back to more mundane topics.

  “If I didn’t have my building under construction, I’d be content to camp for a few days.”

  “Only a few days?”

  “Maybe a week,” she conceded, looking up and letting him see the desire in her eyes. “But I do have a skyscraper to finish.”

  He arched an arrogant brow. “You’d leave paradise and me for steel and concrete?”

  “I’m a greedy woman. I don’t see why I can’t have both.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Roarke made love to Alexandra one more time before he let her call her engineer. And all the while she spoke on the phone, he castigated himself. A man who was responsible for a woman’s life had no business being distracted by her femininity. When danger could come from any direction, Roarke needed to be thinking about tactics, assessing their position. His fantasizing about making love could get her killed. Floored by his own behavior with Alexandra over the past twelve hours, knowing he should never have touched a client, never mind made love to her, he tried to justify his behavior to himself.

  Although he’d let down his guard, he’d done so in a very safe place, and he didn’t regret the wonderful interlude. He’d found Alexandra just as passionate in bed as she was about how she lived her life. And he believed she wouldn’t have responded to him as she had unless she felt something in return.

  Both of them were cautious. Both had been hurt before and neither was ready for the irresistible passion that arced between them. She wasn’t the first woman he’d made love to since Sydney had died, but she was the first woman he’d brought to his camp and who had slept the entire night in his bed. That he liked Alexandra so much had made him try to resist his growing attraction to her. He sensed she wasn’t a woman who gave in to passion lightly.

  He simply couldn’t resist what she’d so freely offered. And now that he knew her better, now that he’d held her in his arms, he was more determined than ever to keep her safe.

  Her face grim, Alexandra rejoined him on the deck after making her phone call to her engineer. Her fingers shook, her voice was tight. “I’ve got to go to the site today.”

  “What happened?”

  “Someone set off an explosion.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  She shook her head, her eyes bleak. “But the city inspectors have questions that only I can answer
. No further work can be done until decisions are made. I have to be there.”

  “You realize that whoever is after you may have sabotaged your project to make you come out of hiding?”

  She took his hand and her eyes locked with his. “Please, Roarke. I have to be there today.”

  Although he might have tried to protect Alexandra by hiding out, her disappearance wouldn’t solve the problem—not long-term—and not as long as someone wanted those papers. He had to discover who was after her and why. Until he did, she wouldn’t be safe.

  Now that he knew the construction site was being watched, he just might be able to catch the watchers. Fairly certain he could disguise Alexandra so even her own mother wouldn’t recognize her from two feet away, he felt confident he could protect her.

  A half hour later, Roarke pulled the car into a shopping center, and while Alexandra bought them clothes with cash, he purchased actors’ makeup, wigs and non-prescription contact lenses that would disguise eye color. Roarke traded in the vehicle for another at a used-car lot and then drove straight to a hotel.

  In the privacy of the hotel room, he and Alexandra changed their clothes. He instructed her to tie up her hair and then he went to work on her skin, turning her olive skin to a dark mahogany. A wig of dreads and brown contact lenses completed her transformation into an African-American woman. A double-D bra, the cups stuffed with tissues, completed her outfit.

  Although neatly dressed for business, Alexandra stared at herself in the mirror with a frown. “A business woman wouldn’t wear dreads.”

  He frowned at her, knowing she was right. “What do you suggest? You want to change the clothes and go as a mechanic? I have an extra uniform.” He pointed to the shopping bag, then the uniform he’d bought for himself. “It’s comfy.”

  “Yeah, but I want to discuss business with the city inspectors. I don’t think a janitor’s uniform will do the trick.” Alexandra reached up and donned the wig that simulated an Afro haircut. “With a hard hat, this might work.”

  Roarke had changed his own appearance by making himself look like a nerd in a janitor’s uniform. He now wore contacts to make his blue eyes brown, horn-rimmed glasses taped at the nose piece and a blond wig that he greased down so the hair looked dirty and matted.

  Slouching his shoulders, he turned to face Alexandra. “What do you think?”

  She rolled up his old shirt and tucked it under the elastic at the waistband of his pants, giving him a pot belly. “That’s better. So what’s the plan?”

  “We drive onto the construction site like we own the place.”

  “Have you forgotten the security guard at the gate? He won’t let us past if he doesn’t recognize me.”

  “Does the guard know your voice?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Roarke pointed to the hotel phone. “Call him now, tell him you’ve hired a woman to take your place. Then describe what you look like now. When we arrive, he should wave us through.”

  She gave him a grin, and her white teeth gleamed against her mahogany skin. “You’re sneaky.”

  “Let’s hope I’m sneaky enough to catch the bad guys in the act. While you’re working, I’ll be hunting for them.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  Roarke handed her the phone, thinking how beautiful she looked, but then he’d think she looked good if her skin were green, purple or blue. “Make your phone call and let’s head out. I’ll phone Carleton and ask him to stay with you once we get to the site.”

  “You’re leaving?” she asked.

  “I want you protected while I look around. I suspect Top Dog or more of his men will be watching the site.”

  A half hour later, the guard at the gate waved them through with no hassles. Carleton remained next to Alexandra while she strode over to Aaron Blake, her engineer, and whispered her identity in his ear. The man tried not to stare at her, then calmly took her elbow and guided her toward the city inspectors who’d converged around the newly poured concrete where the explosion had done the most damage.

  Roarke merged into the shadows and let his eyes slowly adjust to the bright sunshine. He peered at the area, deciding from where he would watch the site if he had drawn that assignment.

  A boat fished along the river, but kept moving along on the outgoing tide. At least he didn’t have to search the waterfront and that narrowed his options.

  On either side of the construction site, the view would be blocked. The best observing would be done from the offices across the street. Roarke took out a pair of binoculars and one by one studied the buildings, paying careful attention to rooms that appeared vacant, those without curtains or blinds, those with empty balconies that lacked furniture. He spied several and memorized their floor and placement before heading across the street.

  Although he didn’t like leaving Alexandra’s side, even with Carleton there to protect her, Roarke needed to end this constant threat to her safety. They needed more clues to go on than the fingerprints of a man supposed to have been dead for over twenty-five years. While he knew Carleton had continued to dig for more clues, Roarke suspected he would find nothing more. The dead man had disappeared too long ago and had likely covered his tracks well.

  As Roarke headed toward the gate and the building across the street, he turned back to see Alexandra, Aaron and Carleton walking with her coworkers toward an exterior elevator that would take them to the fifth story where a second explosion had taken place.

  Around him, work continued as usual. Concrete trucks rumbled through the gate, backhoes and loaders worked in tandem to level the parking area, while men in hard hats scampered nimbly over scaffolding, directing cranes that lifted and deposited steel I-beams on the top levels.

  Again Roarke took out a pair of binoculars and from a side angle checked the offices across the street. A telescope peeking through a gauze curtain caught his eye.

  Gotcha!

  Unless the local cops had a stakeout across the street, Roarke had almost assuredly found Top Dog or more of his cell. Suspicions heightened further by a sudden curtain movement, Roarke counted floors and headed directly to the suspicious-looking office.

  He crossed the street, entered the insurance building and pressed the elevator button for the seventh floor. He counted offices, beginning at the end of the hallway, withdrew his gun, checked it, reholstered the weapon in his ankle holster and then knocked softly on the door.

  “What do you want?” someone yelled from the interior.

  “It’s maintenance,” Roarke replied, slurring his words a little. “The AC is out in this section.”

  “The air’s fine, bud.”

  Roarke knew men on a stakeout weren’t supposed to open the door to strangers. He also knew that agents frequently broke the rules—especially agents that didn’t want to sit 24/7 in a stiflingly hot room with a broken air conditioner.

  “Hey, it’s no sweat off my back if you don’t want me to check the wiring. If you see smoke, just call 911,” Roarke bluffed and waited, every muscle tense.

  He could have guessed wrong. This might not be the right office. Or the man in there could be legit. But he removed his gun from its holster and aimed it at the door, sensing trouble on the other side.

  When no one came to open the door, Roarke removed a few sharp tools from his pocket to pick the lock. Every agent learned the basics, but he hadn’t practiced this skill in years. Unfortunately, picking a lock wasn’t like riding a bike—he’d forgotten that it was much harder than it looked in the movies. Sweaty fingers and nerves that sang a song telling him time was of the essence made him fumble. Finally, he heard the telltale click and eased open the door.

  Roarke silently and slowly slipped into the room, his gun held before him. The foyer was a straight shot to the office area where a man stood with his back to Roarke.

  The gauze curtain fluttered. And Roarke’s heart turned to ice. Hidden behind the curtain was a sniper’s rifle and scope.
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  Knowing he had only seconds to make a decision before the man pulled the trigger, Roarke spoke slowly, needing to make sure before he took action that this guy wasn’t from a legitimate government agency. “Are you with SWAT?”

  Roarke had hoped the man would turn from the window and lose his aim across the street. As tense seconds passed, Roarke realized, a cop would have identified himself by now. If this were a legitimate operation, this man would have politely ushered him out. He damn well wouldn’t ignore him.

  Instead of turning to face him, the cool-headed sniper pulled the trigger, firing a shot into the construction site across the street. Then in one smooth motion, the sniper pivoted, aiming the rifle at Roarke.

  Knowing seconds could make the difference between living and dying, Roarke dived and rolled, firing his gun as shots whizzed by his body and embedded themselves into drywall. Roarke’s first wild shots missed.

  The sniper threw down his rifle and pulled out a revolver. Without one second of hesitation, Roarke rolled again and fired.

  Roarke took out the sniper with his sixth shot. In five seconds it was all over. Roarke felt no satisfaction. He’d shot instinctively, his aim true and the man was now dead. And a dead man couldn’t tell him who he worked for.

  Nothing had turned out as he’d planned. At least all the guns had had silencers so none of the people working in the building would be alarmed.

  But Roarke knew he’d made a mistake. He’d wanted to take the man alive. Now he’d lost the opportunity to seek the answers he needed. And he couldn’t stay and take the heat for this mess with the local authorities. Although this fight had been self defense he could lose his license if he left the scene. Yet he had to get back to Alexandra.

  Before he’d climbed back to his feet, Roarke heard a horrible crash from across the street.