"Or not talk at all." She reached into her bag and with a flourish pulled out a deck of cards. "Poker?"
"You play?"
"Sure." She began to shuffle the cards. Damn, she hoped he wouldn't notice the slight tremor in her hands. "I'm terrific."
He sat up and crossed one muscular leg over the other. She wished he hadn't done that. It disturbed her. Now he looked like a naked sultan lolling in his harem, bringing all kinds of erotic thoughts to her mind.
He studied her for a moment and then smiled curiously. "Do you know, I believe I'm beginning to agree with you."
Gabe picked up his cards and, without looking at Ronnie, asked casually, "By the way, who is this Jed?" "Jed Corbin."
He glanced up swiftly. "The Jed Corbin?" She nodded. "We work together. Jed's fantastic."
"I agree. He's one of the best anchors in the business. I tried to lure him away to my network three years ago."
"Really? Jed never told me." "Does he usually tell you everything?" "Not as much as he should. He worries too much about his crew." She grinned at him. "Like you."
"You can never worry too much when you're asking your people to put their lives on the line."
He threw down a card, and Ronnie dealt him a new one. "Why haven't I heard about you? When I was investigating Corbin before offering him a job, I studied most of his stories. I don't remember seeing your name on the credits."
"I like to keep a low profile."
"Emmy Award seekers don't hide their lights under a bushel," he said flatly.
She could have bitten her tongue. Lord, he was sharp. She had forgotten she'd made that flippant remark, but evidently he had not.
"I'll make an exception." She quickly changed the subject. "I'm surprised you didn't get Jed to come over. He likes your style."
"Evidently not enough. Why isn't he here now instead of letting you run the risks alone?"
"Oh, he doesn't know I'm here. I told him I was going to Germany to interview East Berliners about life after unification." She made a face. "I figured that sounded boringly safe enough, even for him."
"Instead you come here and try to get yourself killed by terrorists."
"Neither of us is going to get killed." She looked at him uncertainly. "I did a good job so far, didn't I?"
He smiled. "Very good."
She felt a rush of pleasure. "Well, then there's no reason to think the rest of the plan won't go off as well."
"You didn't answer me. Why didn't you want the fantastic Jed with you?"
"He's having a baby."
His lips twitched. "Then he's more fantastic than I deemed possible."
"I told you I wasn't good with words." She grinned. "His- wife, Ysabel, is pregnant and he can't think of anything else right now."
"Not even you?"
"He's my friend, not my keeper." She discarded a seven and dealt herself one. "Besides, I wouldn't have asked Jed on this one."
"Why not?"
"It was my business, not—" She stopped when she saw his gaze narrowing on her face. Cripes, she had almost blurted out more than he needed to know. Falkner exuded a rock-firm strength that, combined with an intent concentration, seemed to draw her into making the most intimate confidences. "You're good," she said. "I heard you were a hotshot reporter at one time. Jed's got that same way of listening to people he's interviewing that makes them want to tell him their life stories."
"These days I use the technique only when I really want to know." He paused. "And the subject is being evasive."
"Me?" She shrugged. "I'm clear as glass. Ask Jed."
"But Jed's not here," he said softly. "And some kinds of glass have ripples that distort and present a vision that's not really true."
She threw back her head and laughed. "I love it! Good God, you make me sound as mysterious as Mata Hari."
"Do I?" His gaze was fixed on the pulse in the hollow of her neck. "God, you have a lovely throat."
Comfort and security vanished, and she suddenly felt as breathless and uncertain as she had when he'd been pressed against her. "I heard Mata Hari did too," she said flippantly. As he continued staring at her with that faint smile, the air in the room seemed to become charged, to press down on her. Her hands were trembling, so that the cards shook. This had to stop. She went on the attack. "Did you know Mora Renord has been playing the heartbroken mistress while you've been a guest here in Said Ababa? She has yellow ribbons wrapped around every tree on the grounds of her Beverly Hills estate."
"Really?" He smiled, his gaze unwavering.
"It doesn't surprise me. Mora has always milked situations for every word of publicity they were worth."
"You don't mind?"
"Why should I? She has her own priorities and I have mine. We always manage to meet on common ground."
"You mean, in a common bed," she said dryly. "And Lynn Cartwright claims you're engaged to her."
His smile vanished. "Now, that I do mind. I don't like lies." He looked up into her eyes. "Any more?"
"What?"
"Aren't you going to drag out any more of my past liaisons as red herrings?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"The hell you don't. The best way to escape a probe is to intercept and then initiate your own. A man's personal life is usually the area most open to attack."
"Not yours." She met his gaze. "You don't let anyone close enough to touch you, do you?"
He stiffened.
She had hit a nerve. It was about time. She was tired of being on the defensive. "Oh, you have plenty of friends, but you've never had a permanent mistress or a wife. I have a theory about that."
"I can't wait to hear it," he said silkily.
"You regard your employees as your family."
"And why do I do that?"
She frowned. "I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it."
"But I'm sure you'll tell me when you come to a conclusion."
"Geez, you don't have to be so testy. You're the one who started this."
"I didn't expect you to—" He broke off and a smile lit his face. "You're right. I shouldn't dish it out if I can't take it. You're proving to be an interesting challenge, Ronnie."
"I'm not trying to be a challenge. I'm just doing a job." She spread her hand out on the bed. "Full house."
He threw down his cards. "You were telling the truth. You're very good"—he paused—"at cards."
She frowned. "Look, I didn't mean to pry into your private life. It just seemed—"
"A good defense?"
She nodded. "You ask too many questions." "It's the only way to get to know someone." "I've known Jed for six years and he never asked me anything. He just accepted me as I was."
"Then he has a singular lack of curiosity for a newsman. Perhaps I'd better rethink upping my offer." He stared at her. "All right, I'll try to restrain my curiosity, but there's one more question I want to ask."
"What?" she said warily, not looking him in the eye.
"Nothing very sensitive. I just want to know why you came after me."
"The Emmy. I told you that I—" She broke off as she finally met his gaze. "Oh, all right. I liked your face."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I kept seeing your picture everywhere and it made me feel—" She stopped, searching for words.
"What?" he asked, intrigued.
"Safe."
"Safe?"
She could tell he didn't like the description, but there was nothing she could do about that. It was the truth. She nodded. "I'd never seen anyone who looked as strong and sure of himself as you did. And I'd already heard how you took care of your people and I liked that too."
"Good God."
"What's wrong now? For heaven's sake, you act as if I've insulted you."
"You have a father fixation on me."
She blinked. "Nonsense. I already have a father."
"Oh, yes, this Evan," he said grimly. "Tell me about Evan. When do I meet him?"
"You don't. He'
s no longer in Said Ababa."
"He left you alone? It appears this father of yours isn't at all protective." His lips tightened. "Well, I'll be damned if I'll take his place. For Lord's sake, I'm only thirty-seven. I'm not ready to adopt a thrill-crazy kid who wants to—"
"Are you nuts? I'm not asking anything of you but that you don't do anything stupid and get us killed." Her voice turned fierce as she went on. "And I'm not a kid and Evan is already more father than I can handle. Why should I want another when he's always—"
"Okay. Okay." He grimaced as he held up a hand to stop the barrage of words. "You stung my ego, but I don't have any right to condemn your motives when you've saved my life. I apologize. Can we forget it?"
She couldn't forget it. For some reason the accusation bothered her. "For Pete's sake," she burst out, "there's nothing wrong with liking someone's face."
"Nothing wrong at all," he said wearily. "I suppose I shouldn't complain. No one has liked this ugly mug of mine enough to risk their neck for it before."
What did she really know about Gabe Falkner? Perhaps it had been more than his ego she had hurt. She instinctively rushed on to soothe the wound. "Your face isn't ugly. It's not pretty, but it has . . . character."
"And positively exudes safety. Now that's a word boring enough to please even your Jed."
There didn't seem to be anything she could do to repair the damage. She sighed. "I wish Fatima would get back with our clothes."
"Why? I'm beginning to become accustomed to being nude in your presence. Or don't I present the proper paternal image for you?"
She chose to ignore the goad. "You wouldn't let me shoot you without clothes."
"Shoot?" His gaze went to the pillow hiding the Magnum. "I didn't think our little contretemps was that serious."
"Very funny. You know I mean with my camera.
I want to get some pictures while we're here at Fatima's. I haven't taken any footage since you started down the Street of Camels."
His eyes widened. "You were shooting footage just before the escape?"
"Of course. But I had to stop right away. Everything was moving too fast." She shook her head. "Pity."
"I suppose I should be glad you thought my life was worth sacrificing a good picture."
"Don't be silly. I have my priorities straight." She continued wistfully: "Still, it would have been wonderful. All that action . . . Oh, well, I'll get more while we're on the road." She shrugged, then took the camera out of her bag. "And here."
"Not yet," he said. "I prefer to be clothed in more than my dignity before you indulge your passion." He smiled crookedly. "However, if we could come to terms about indulging my own passion, I might be persuaded to give you your way."
She felt color heat her cheeks. "I'll wait."
He repeated her own word softly: "Pity."
The tone of his voice, the attitude of his naked body were suddenly charged with sensuality. She could feel her breasts swell in response beneath the thin cotton sheet draped over them. Cripes, what was wrong with her?
"Come off it," she said gruffly. "I know I hurt your feelings, but you'll get over it. I don't know why men feel that every argument with a woman has to be settled in bed."
"I actually prefer that they be settled before bed, but the other way can be exciting too."
She made a face. "You see, you're like all the rest."
"And just who are the 'rest' of the men in your life?"
The edge was back in his voice, she noticed. "You're not really interested." She made a vague gesture with her hand and changed the subject. "This is a great camera. I've had it for four years and the lenses are—"
"I'm sure your camera is superb and I don't give a damn about your lenses." He forced her to meet his gaze. "I'll let you back away from this confrontation, but I want to make a few things clear. First and foremost, I am not your father and I have no intention of acting like one. Second, I am not in the habit of going to bed with women 'to take the edge off' or to try to win an argument. I've always thought sex was the purest form of pleasure and should be performed with the greatest thought and skill and drive. I haven't had a woman in over a year and I'm horny as hell, but I don't want one of Fatima's women. I'll wait until I can have the partner I do want." He paused. "Shall I tell you what's going to occur when I have that partner?"
She couldn't seem to look away. The intensity in his face was holding her mesmerized. Her heart was beating like thunder.
"A celebration," he said quietly. "One hell of an erotic celebration." He glanced over her head. "Hello, Fatima."
She hadn't heard the door open behind her, but her relief at the interruption was so strong it almost made her dizzy. She jumped to her feet and whirled to face Fatima, who stood in the doorway, her arms piled high with garments. "Oh, clothes. That's great."
"Speak for yourself," Gabe murmured.
"Will you lie down?" Gabe asked impatiently. "You've been striding around the room for the past hour. You're going to wear a hole through those floorboards."
"Evan paid Fatima enough so she can afford to replace them." She continued to pace. "I'm restless."
"Obviously."
"And you won't let me take any more shots of you."
"You've taken enough footage already to paper Radio City Music Hall."
"Well, you never can tell when you're going to lose a cassette. Once in Kuwait I lost an entire camera bag full of film. If I hadn't stashed a few tapes away in another place, I would have been up a creek."
"How did you lose your bag?"
"Iraqi military. They caught me shooting something they didn't want filmed."
"Military emplacements?"
She shook her head. "Torture of civilians."
"My God, were you crazy? Those pictures would have been like a loaded gun pointed at die head of every officer on the squad." He paused. "And there's no way they'd simply let you walk away."
She shrugged. "I was lucky. They just shoved me into prison. The war started a month after that and they kind of forgot about me."
"You're lucky they didn't take you out and shoot you. Where was Jed? Having another baby?"
"Don't be silly. He hadn't met Ysabel then. He was in Washington. He didn't even know I was in Kuwait. I told you I was free-lance. This was my job."
"I didn't see any of that film on Jed's program."
"I didn't send them to Jed."
"Why not?"
"That wasn't why I was— Why are you asking me all these questions?"
"Why didn't you send him the film?"
He wasn't going to give up. "Because I sent it to the Human Rights Commission to use as evidence. I was afraid if it appeared on the air, it might lessen the value to the prosecution at a war trial." She burst out, "And I wasn't being noble or soft or quixotic. It just seemed to be the thing to do at the time. Well, maybe a little soft. I'd just gotten out of a Kuwait hospital and I was probably under the weather."
"You don't have to make excuses," Gabe said quietly. "There are times when we all have to make decisions about our priorities."
"But it would have been such a great story." She couldn't help sounding wistful.
"It's still a great story. We just may never see it on television." He leaned back against the headboard. "If you were so lucky, how did you end up in a hospital?"
"Malnutrition. They didn't feed us much during the war." She bit her lower lip. "And I got a little nervous."
"Nervous?"
"I hate being shut up. I get claustrophobic. It's always driven me crazy. I don't know how you stood being a prisoner for a year."
"It's all in the mind-set. After a while it became a game."
She looked at him in wonder. "How could it be? The walls close in on you and the darkness is terrible. There were times when I'd lie there in all that blackness and be afraid I'd smother before morning came."
"You knew you'd react like that and you still took the chance?"
"I thought I'd get away. I did plent
y of times before. I almost did that time too." She held up her thumb and index finger. "I was that close."
"And even closer to getting chopped," he said grimly. "For God's sake, stop pacing and come to bed. It's almost three and you're going to need your strength tomorrow."
"I'm not tired. I told you I—" She drew a
deep breatlh. "You're right. I'm not being sensible
and I'm keeping you awake. You need your rest."
"Right." He patted the bed. "And so do you."
She lay down on the far side of the bed and curled up into a tight ball. "You can turn off the light now."
"We'll leave it on. The light doesn't bother me."
Relief poured through her. No smothering darkness tonight. Her nerves were stretched so taut she had not known whether she could bear it. "You're not just saying that? I'm almost over it, you know. The doctor said it would take a little while, but that was years ago and now I'm—"
"A chatterbox," he growled. "Don't you ever stop talking?"
"Sorry." She remained quiet a moment. "You're sure it doesn't bother you?"
"The only thing that bothers me is your talking." He rolled over and threw an arm over her body. "Now go to sleep."
She hadn't thought she could be more tense, but she had been wrong. "Why . . . are you doing that?"
"I'll sleep better. There's nothing worse than being alone with your fear."
"You're afraid?"
"I'd be an ass if I wasn't."
She felt the stiffness ease out of her. It was all right to give in, to reach out for comfort if she had something to give in return. She nestled back against him and closed her eyes. "It's going to be okay. You don't have to be afraid. I've planned everything. I've set up a helicopter pickup with your people from the station. They're waiting across the border in Sedikhan for me to radio them that I've got you."
"Oh, you've got me all right."
"I've stashed a radio in a cave in the hills above the Sedikhan border. We'll call for help from there. You should be in safe territory by tomorrow night. Maybe sooner."
"That's comforting." His hand stroked her hair. "This stuff feels like stubby duck feathers."
Nothing could have been less casual than the comment, but his hand stroking her hair was magically soothing. For the first time tonight she felt safe. "I have to keep it short." She yawned. "Long hair isn't practical when you're on a job."
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