The Enemy's Daughter

by Linda Turner

  As an evil traitor threatens

  to destroy the top-secret SPEAR agency,

  A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY

  continues….

  Russell Devane aka Steve Trace

  Strong and strapping—

  a man who knows how to get the job done.

  Masquerading as another man—and romancing the enemy’s daughter under false pretenses—were all in a day’s work. Until Russell tempted fate by falling for the fresh-faced goddess he was forbidden to claim!

  Lise Meldrum

  An Amazon beauty with a cloud of

  luxurious auburn hair, rose-petal-soft skin…

  and a secret yearning for love.

  All her life, love-starved Lise had been searching for a man like “Steve” to make her feel feminine, desirable, cherished. But what would she do once she uncovered his shattering deception?

  “Simon”

  Scarred inside and out, this ruthless traitor

  felt the tide turning in his favor…

  until he discovered he’d been double-crossed.

  When his daughter aligned herself with the enemy, Simon vowed there would be hell to pay. For he would stop at nothing to exact his revenge…including sacrificing one of his own!

  Dear Reader,

  You’ve loved Beverly Barton’s miniseries THE PROTECTORS since it started, so I know you’ll be thrilled to find another installment leading off this month. Navajo’s Woman features a to-swoon-for Native American hero, a heroine capable of standing up to this tough cop—and enough steam to heat your house. Enjoy!

  A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY continues with bestselling author Linda Turner’s The Enemy’s Daughter. This story of subterfuge and irresistible passion—not to mention heart-stopping suspense—is set in the Australian outback, and I know you’ll want to go along for the ride. Ruth Langan completes her trilogy with Seducing Celeste, the last of THE SULLIVAN SISTERS. Don’t miss this emotional read. Then check out Karen Templeton’s Runaway Bridesmaid, a reunion romance with a heroine who’s got quite a secret. Elane Osborn’s Which Twin? offers a new twist on the popular twins plotline, while Linda Winstead Jones rounds out the month with Madigan’s Wife, a wonderful tale of an ex-couple who truly belong together.

  As always, we’ve got six exciting romances to tempt you—and we’ll be back next month with six more. Enjoy!

  Leslie J. Wainger

  Executive Senior Editor

  Linda Turner

  The Enemy’s Daughter

  Dear Reader,

  When my editor invited me to write The Enemy’s Daughter for A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY, I was thrilled. It turned out to be a book of firsts for me. I’ve always loved writing stories full of adventure, but I’d never done anything with spies or espionage or secret law-enforcement agencies—except work for the FBI after I graduated from college. But that’s another story.

  And the fact that my particular book was set in Australia was an added plus. I’d never done a story set in another country, and I’ve always wanted to go to Australia, so this was perfect. I would have loved to have made a trip down under to see the Outback for myself, but I didn’t have the time, unfortunately. So I had to be content with reading about it, instead. One day, though, I will make it down there.

  Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed writing the book and collaborating with the other Silhouette authors and editors. It was a labor of love, and I hope you like the finished book as much as I do.

  Sincerely,

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 1

  For as far as the eye could see, the land was a vast, endless stretch of lonely plains that resembled the high desert of New Mexico. An occasional eucalyptus dotted the landscape with its thin, spindly branches, and small arid plants that needed little moisture in order to survive thrived under a hot sun that burned in a cloudless sky. And covering everything was a veil of choking red dust kicked up by a dry wind that blew steadily from the north.

  Staring out at the haunting land that was the Australian outback, Russell Devane had, before he’d accepted this particular mission, thought he was a man who could take in stride whatever nature threw at him. After all, his job as an operative for the secret organization SPEAR had taken him to the farthest reaches of the globe. He’d withstood the bone-numbing cold of the Arctic and the blistering sands of the Sahara, all without complaint. But he could see already that nothing in his past had really prepared him for the vastness of the outback and its drastic temperature changes. It was the tail end of summer—fall was just days away—but the temperature had to be a hundred and twenty degrees in the shade. And it wasn’t even noon yet!

  Just thinking about working in that kind of heat all day long made him sweat, but he grimly resolved to get used to it. He had to. In a few minutes, he would be arriving at the headquarters of the Pear Tree Cattle Station, where he would assume the identity of Steve Trace, the station’s newest cowboy and an associate of Art Meldrum, the owner of the place.

  To the rest of the world, Art was an absentee landlord who left the running of the huge ranch in the hands of his daughter, Lise, most of the time. Only Russell—and his fellow SPEAR operatives—knew that Art was actually an alias for Simon, the traitor who’d spent the last eight months trying his damnedest to destroy not only Jonah, the head of SPEAR, but the agency itself. And he was slippery as an eel. Time and again, just when SPEAR operatives were sure they had him in their grasp, he’d managed to slip away.

  Not this time, Russell promised himself, his gray eyes steely as he thought of how Simon had evaded capture just days ago on the Caribbean island of Cascadilla. The bastard had, in fact, never even put in an appearance on the island. Thanks to the real Steve Trace, a kidnapper and thug who’d been hired sight unseen by Simon, he’d been warned he was walking into a trap if he came to Cascadilla. So he’d run home to the outback, where he could lie low in the bush, and he’d never known that the real Steve Trace had died soon after he’d gotten word to him he was in danger.

  SPEAR had made sure that no one knew of Trace’s death, making it easy for Russell to step right into his life. Pretending to be Trace, he’d used Trace’s cell phone and discovered through the phone’s address book that Simon was using the name Art Meldrum in Australia. He’d immediately called him and given him a sob story about needing a job. Not suspecting a thing, Simon had told him to come to the station, which was just what Russell had figured would happen. After all, Simon had narrowly escaped capture thanks to the quick thinking of Trace. The least he owed him was a job.

  So here he was two days later, right in Simon’s own backyard, and so damn close to the bastard, he swore he could smell him. And Simon didn’t have a clue what kind of trouble was coming his way. Russell hoped he enjoyed his freedom because it was just about to come to an end.

  The station headquarters came into view then, just a dot on the horizon that grew steadily larger with every passing mile. Long moments later, the mailman Russell had hitched a ride with just outside of Roo Springs pulled up before the main house in a swirl of dust. “Here you are, mate,” he said, frowning at the house. “The place looks deserted.”

  Russell had to agree. Set in the middle of the barren plain without so much as a single tree to offer shade, the large, two-story frame house appeared empty. There were no cars in sight, and nothing moved but the dust stirred up by the wind.

  Shooting him a frown, the mailman arched a dark bro
w at him. “You sure you’re expected? Lise usually sticks close to the house when company’s coming. She doesn’t get many visitors way out here in the bush.”

  If anyone would know Lise’s schedule, Russell figured it would be the mailman. Roo Springs was the closest town to the station—if you could call a wide spot in the road with fifty inhabitants a town—and there was only one mailman to deliver the mail. There was probably little that went on within a two-hundred-mile radius that the older man didn’t know about.

  “I didn’t know exactly when I would be arriving,” Russell replied, which was the truth. “I’ll just unload my stuff and wait on the front porch until she gets back.”

  The postman, who was as thin and scrawny as the scraggly bushes planted in the dust in the yard, looked anything but convinced. “I don’t know, mate. It’s a warm day, and you being a Yank and all, you should be inside out of the heat. Let me see if I can raise somebody.” And with no more warning than that, he laid on the horn.

  Wincing, Russell swore. Damn idiot! He’d hoped he’d have a chance to look around the place without being observed, but then again, he hadn’t expected to arrive with horns blaring like the leader of a damn parade, either! This was great. Just great!

  Muttering under his breath, he started to tell the old man to lay off, but then his eyes fell on the corral next to the barn on the far side of the house. His heart stopped dead in his chest at the sight of a woman nearly under the hooves of what appeared to be a wild mustang rearing on its hind legs. Frightened by the horn, its eyes wide, the horse looked ready to stomp her into the ground.

  Later, Russell never remembered moving. One second, he was all set to chew out the mailman and the next, he was out of the vehicle and charging across the compound at a dead run toward the corral.

  If someone had asked him then what she looked like, he couldn’t have said. All he saw was a woman in trouble. Hopping the fence, he swept her up into his arms like she weighed no more than a feather and set her out of harm’s way on the other side of the corral fence.

  Only then did he take a good look at her, and what he saw infuriated him. She was a big girl, five feet eleven if she was an inch, with a cloud of auburn hair that fell nearly to her waist and skin that was rose-petal soft under his hands. Tanned from working outside, her eyes as blue as the sky, she was trim and fit and had the kind of fresh-faced, subtle beauty that a lot of men often overlooked. Not Russell. In the stark barrenness of the outback, she was an unexpected treasure…that had almost been stomped into the ground by a horse that was no doubt as wild as a March hare.

  Infuriated at the thought, he released her abruptly, but only to snap, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, woman? Trying to get yourself killed? Don’t you have any better sense than to step into a corral with a monster like that? You could have been killed!”

  Her heart still pounding from the shock of being swept off her feet by a giant of a man who’d appeared out of nowhere, Lise could only stare at him like a starstruck teenager who’d lost her tongue. For most of her life, she’d been at least eye level with every man she met—it wasn’t often that she had to look up to one. But this one towered over her by at least five inches and had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. In a matter of seconds, he did something to her that no man had ever done before…he made her feel small and delicate. It was a heady feeling.

  Then his words registered.

  Outrage sparked in her eyes like a summer thunderstorm. The nerve of the man! This was her station, dammit, and if he thought she was going to stand there and let him yell at her like she was a two-year-old who didn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain, he could think again!

  “Hold it right there, mister! I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but for your information, I had everything under control until you came charging in here like Indiana Jones!”

  “The hell you did!”

  “And Thunder’s not a monster! He was just startled. If you hadn’t blown your damn horn—”

  “I didn’t! That was the mailman’s idea. But don’t go blaming him. He thought the place was deserted. If you hadn’t been in the corral in the first place, this never would have happened. Anyone with eyes can see that that horse is wild, and you’ve got no business going anywhere near him!”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Lise considered herself an easygoing woman, but no man was going to tell her where she could and couldn’t go on her own station. Her blue eyes narrowing dangerously, she almost purred her words. “Oh, really? We’ll see about that!” And before he could stop her, she slipped through the wooden rails of the corral fence and approached the still spooked horse without an ounce of fear.

  Behind her, she heard her rescuer swear and start to follow her into the corral, but she never took her eyes off the mustang. Still half wild, he could, if he chose, pound her into the dust if she made one wrong move. She didn’t. Talking to the animal soothingly, she sweet-talked him into letting her touch him, and before he knew what she was about, she had him bridled.

  Triumphant, she turned to her visitor with an arch look. “You were saying?”

  Russell couldn’t help but be impressed, and too late he realized he may have stepped over the line. This had to be Lise Meldrum, Simon’s daughter and the manager of the place. He’d planned to charm her into liking him so he could get on her good side and pump her for everything he could about her father, and here he was yelling at her, instead! Talk about a bonehead move. What the devil was wrong with him? He was good at what he did—he didn’t usually make those kind of mistakes. But then again, he didn’t usually come across a beautiful woman caught under the hooves of a frightened horse, either.

  Which has nothing to do with anything, a voice in his head growled. Remember your mission.

  Silently cursing himself for the reminder he shouldn’t have needed, he forced himself to relax and step into the cover of Steve Trace. For the rest of his stay in Australia, he would answer to nothing but Steve. And it would help him assume his new identity by convincing himself that his name was Steve—not Russell.

  Giving her a teasing smile, he said wryly, “Did I say what I thought I just did? It must be the heat—it’s fried my brain. Can you forgive me? Obviously you know what you’re doing. Of course, I would have won Thunder’s trust with some sugar before I took a chance on stepping back into the corral when he was still so skittish, but I know women like to do things their own way. And that’s okay,” he said, grinning when steam practically poured from her ears. “You’re the boss.”

  Stepping over to the corral fence, he extended his hand to her over the top rail, his gray eyes glinting devilishly. “You must be Lise. Your father told me you’d be running the place. I’m Steve Trace, your new cattle drover. Or at least, I am if you don’t can my hide for this stunt. You just scared the hell out of me, and I overreacted. Can you forgive me?”

  Gritting her teeth, Lise looked him over, taking in his chiseled good looks, the long chestnut hair worn in a ponytail, the bold glint in his gray eyes and told herself she shouldn’t forgive him. She knew his kind. He was a charming flirt who’d been talking his way out of tight situations from the time he was a little boy and he’d first learned he could get his way with a woman by flashing a smile. He was trouble, and she had a feeling that if she let him stay, he was going to give her plenty of it.

  Right then and there, she should have sent him packing. It would have been the smart thing to do, and her father wouldn’t have cared. She was in charge of running the station and had full authority to hire and fire. But she was, as usual, shorthanded. Life in the outback was harsh, and finding good men wasn’t easy. The work was hard, the pay minimal, the hours long. Cowboys had a tendency to drift with the wind, never staying anywhere very long. If you found a good one, you hung onto him with both hands.

  And something told her the Yank would be a good one. Big and strapping, with the shoulders of an American football player and a strength that had stolen h
er breath, he appeared to have what it took to do the work and do it well. And she needed him, dammit. With the annual fall roundup just around the corner and only a handful of men to work tens of thousands of acres, she could use all the help she could get.

  Left with no choice, she reluctantly gave his hand a firm, businesslike shake, but if he thought she was going to let him off that easy, he was in for a rude awakening. “Of course,” she retorted coolly. “As long as you understand that things are done my way around here, there shouldn’t be any problem, should there?”

  Just that easily, she laid down the ground rules and dared him to question them.

  Not the least intimidated, Steve only grinned. “Whatever you say, boss lady.”

  “You just remember that, and we’ll get along fine, Yank. Grab your things. I’ll show you to the bunkhouse.”

  The battle lines were drawn. Enjoying himself, Steve couldn’t help but be pleased. He liked a woman who stood up for herself, who had the confidence to hold her own with a man and challenge him at every turn. SPEAR had been able to give him very little information about Lise Meldrum other than that she managed the place because her father was gone a lot on what, to the rest of the world, appeared to be business trips. Other women might have handled the business end of the station from the comfort of an air-conditioned office and left the real work to her cowboys, but that didn’t appear to be Lise’s way. She wasn’t a hothouse flower, but a hands-on manager who apparently worked right alongside her men, and he liked that. This mission was going to be much more interesting than he’d expected.

  Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Steve thanked the mailman, who’d watched the exchange between him and Lise with a wide grin of appreciation, then retrieved his duffel bag from the back seat of the mail car. He hadn’t brought much with him—he’d learned a long time ago that in his business, it paid to travel light. Sometimes you had to move fast. If you had to abandon a mission in the middle of the night, the last thing you wanted was baggage slowing you down.