Kelly felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of that confused little boy. Then she dismissed the thought. There was nothing in the least pitiful in this outrageously attractive male next to her.
“You seem to have thrived despite our insensitive handling of your delicate feelings, Mr. O’Brien. You scarcely can say that you’ve led a retiring life despite your aversion to publicity. You’re only in your late twenties, yet you’re practically a legend in your own time. The larger than life, fabulous Nick O’Brien.”
O’Brien’s eyes narrowed to icy blue slits. “You seem to have done your homework at least, Miss McKenna. I’d be curious to know what else you’ve discovered about my murky past.” He gestured to the envelope. “Besides this little item, of course.”
Kelly moistened her lips nervously before saying decisively, “I’d hardly be a competent reporter if I’d neglected to research you thoroughly before approaching you, Mr. O’Brien, though most of it was pretty well cut and dried. If I may continue ‘rattling off the facts’ of your life, you’re the only son of Michael O’Brien, head of O’Brien Computer Corporation. Your mother died when you were two, and you were raised by your father and a number of qualified tutors. You have a photographic memory, which must have been a great help in your education because you have a string of letters after your name. You’ve made several advances in computer technology in the past ten years, and you’ve recently developed some little chip or something that everyone says will completely revolutionize the industry.” She looked at him gravely. “There’s even talk about a possible Nobel Prize nomination.”
“As you say, pretty well cut and dried,” he said coolly. “But I’d venture to guess that you’ve delved deeper than my academic background.”
She nodded, her eyes shifting away from him to rest on the misty Renoir on the wall. “Your private life is just as newsworthy, Mr. O’Brien. You’ve been something of a daredevil since you were in your teens. Skydiving. Rodeo bronc busting. Race cars. You like to take chances, and so far you’ve been lucky. There was, of course, the time you were shot when you arranged to rescue those American oilmen who were being held hostage after the revolution in Said Ababa. But that was only in the shoulder and hardly counts, does it?”
“You overestimate my Spartan endurance. It ached damnably for about two months and was stiff for another three.” His eyes were fixed with amused speculation on her face. “You must have very good sources. If I remember correctly, that particular episode was never publicized. The State Department was a bit touchy about the rescue since they were negotiating sub rosa for a treaty with the new regime.”
Kelly’s eyes twinkled impishly. “A certain amount of guesswork on my part,” she admitted. “But I’m glad to hear it confirmed.”
O’Brien chuckled, a glint of admiration flickering briefly in his eyes. “Strictly off the record, Goldilocks. Officially that airlift never happened. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me how you managed to uncover my tracks?”
She shook her head firmly, and he chuckled again. “I didn’t think so.” Then his smile slowly faded as he removed the black and white photograph from the envelope and tossed it on her lap. “Now, suppose we get down to brass tacks,” he said grimly. “I believe this photograph was meant to open negotiations?”
Kelly was jerked back to reality with a vengeance by the abrupt change in O’Brien’s manner. From lazy, almost indulgent good humor, he had switched with lightning swiftness to the dangerous alertness of a stalking panther. She had almost been lured into actually enjoying his easy camaraderie. Which only went to prove that the man was even more dangerous than she’d imagined.
She picked up the picture and glanced at it. “It’s really a good shot, isn’t it?” she asked coolly. “I was quite proud of it. If ever a picture tells a story, this one does.” She had taken the photo of O’Brien and his voluptuous female companion at a small French restaurant a few nights before.
“A hand on a lady’s thigh hardly constitutes a compromising situation,” he said. “Perhaps I was merely being platonically affectionate.”
“The look Señora Dominguez is giving you was almost hot enough to melt the film in my camera,” Kelly said bluntly. “You left the restaurant five minutes later, without waiting for your dinner, and returned to this apartment. Señora Dominguez didn’t leave until ten the next morning.”
“And you were waiting outside all that time?” O’Brien asked. “You should have come on up, Goldilocks. I can’t say that I’m overly fond of ménage à trois, but I just might have made an exception in your case.”
Kelly could feel the hot color stain her cheeks. “I’m not concerned with your love affairs, Mr. O’Brien. I’m sure you’ve had more mistresses than even my expert research can substantiate. The only reason I took the photograph is that I needed a lever, and I thought this might prove the only one I could use.”
“Oh, what a wicked blow to my self-esteem.” O’Brien mockingly arched his brow. “And I thought you were shivering outside all night long in a fever of lust for my virile young body.”
Damn the man, Kelly thought vexedly, and damn this blasted habit she had of lighting up like a Christmas tree at the slightest provocation. How could she maintain the image of a hard-bitten cynical newspaperwoman when she still blushed like a schoolgirl?
“Hardly,” she retorted. “You seemed to be very well taken care of by Señora Dominguez.”
“Yes, I believe I was at that,” O’Brien agreed, a reminiscent grin on his face. “But you needn’t be jealous, sweetheart. I’ve always preferred blonds.”
“Actually, your track record displays a leaning toward brunettes by almost two to one,” Kelly corrected.
“Well, there are blonds,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously as he reached out and tugged at a curl, “and then there are blonds.”
She pulled away from his hand. “You needn’t waste your sexual expertise on me, Mr. O’Brien. Judging from your reputation, I’m sure that it’s spread fairly thin already. You’d do better to ask me what I intend to do with that photograph.”
“All right, Goldilocks,” he said obligingly. “What do you intend to do with that photograph?”
She gritted her teeth in frustration. This interview was not going at all as she’d imagined. O’Brien did not appear to be the least bit worried about his liaison with Maria Dominguez. In fact, he seemed to be outrageously amused by the entire affair. Or perhaps that was a front, she thought speculatively. Well, she would just have to pursue it further and see if he showed any signs of annoyance or anxiety.
She drew a deep breath and said in a little rush, “Señora Dominguez is the wife of the minister of finance of an important oil-rich country in South America. I doubt very much if the State Department would be pleased if your little affair threatened the negotiations for their oil reserves.” She moistened her lips nervously. “Based on your new discovery, the Pentagon has just signed a gigantic contract for O’Brien computers. It’s possible that they might even cancel the agreement if the State Department applied enough pressure.”
O’Brien’s eyes were narrowed and no longer lazy. “I see,” he said slowly. “And you’re threatening to reveal my little indiscretion if I don’t give in to what you want?”
Kelly nodded, hoping those piercing blue eyes would not see through her bluff. “That’s right,” she said lightly. “However, if you agree to my demands, I’ll give you all the negatives and also my solemn promise to forget I ever saw Señora Dominguez with you.”
“Very generous,” O’Brien said dryly. “And just what do you want from me?”
Here goes, Kelly thought, taking a deep breath. “Next week you’re testing a new fuel that a chemist friend of yours invented. You’re planning on riding a hot air balloon from the Rio Grande valley to Acapulco. I want to go with you.”
“That’s all?” O’Brien asked, his blue eyes wary.
“That’s enough. It would be quite a scoop for any reporter, Mr. O’Brien,
particularly since you’re so media shy.”
“You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to catch me in your little trap,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes on her tense, eager face. “I wonder why it’s so important to you.”
“I just told you,” Kelly said, evading his piercing glance. “I want to get a story.”
“Perhaps,” he said absently, his eyes on the color that was again mounting to her cheeks. “But I don’t think that was the entire reason, was it? Now, let me see. What do I remember about one Kelly McKenna? You have a very memorable face, sweetheart. It should be easy to retrieve the facts to go with that face.”
Oh, Lord, the man had a photographic memory, Kelly thought uneasily. There was little chance that he would fail to make the connection. “Don’t waste your time, Mr. O’Brien,” she said with forced lightness. “I’m always behind the camera, not in front of it.”
“Not always, Goldilocks,” he corrected. “You were very much in front of the camera in Frankfurt three years ago. In fact, you made the cover of every weekly news magazine in the country. You were quite the little heroine.”
“Bull. I was an unknown reporter who saw a way to get an exclusive that would get me national attention. Self-serving, perhaps, but hardly heroic.”
“But the public didn’t see it that way, did they? They only saw a dainty, golden-haired Joan of Arc who marched bravely up the steps of the American embassy where twelve hostages were being held captive by terrorists. They heard her offer to exchange places with one of the hostages and saw a very frightened young secretary go free. You were only twenty years old and had everything to live for. There wasn’t a dry eye in any living room in America when you disappeared into that embassy.” His lips twisted mockingly. “It was all very touching.”
“You evidently didn’t share their concern,” Kelly said. “Weren’t you moved by my plight?”
“Oh, yes, I was moved,” he said quietly. “I was probably more terrified for you than any of those kindly souls who built a halo over your little head because I felt a certain empathy with you. It was as if I were in that embassy with you sharing your terror and your excitement.”
“Excitement?”
“You don’t have to pretend with me, sweetheart,” he said. “There was a brief close-up of you on that live TV news broadcast as you were talking to the terrorist leader right before you marched into that embassy. I might have been looking into a mirror. I’m not the only one who likes to take chances, am I, Kelly McKenna?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kelly said, hoping she sounded convincing. “I told you that it was strictly ambition raising its ugly head. I saw a chance to make a smart career move, and I took it.” There was no way that she was going to admit to this dangerous man how well he had read her, even though she felt strangely pleased that he not only understood but had actually shared her emotions.
“You’re something of a freak yourself, Kelly, love. You’re an addict on the oldest drug in existence. You love to feel the adrenaline flow when you’re scared half out of your mind, don’t you? You love walking on the tightrope with the lions waiting and hungry below you.”
“That’s crazy. I take chances because it’s my job, not because I enjoy it.”
O’Brien shook his dark head. “We both know what we are, Kelly. But you shouldn’t have involved yourself in a no-win situation like the one in Frankfurt. That came pretty close to suicide.”
“Nonsense. All the hostages were released at the airport, just as the terrorists promised.”
“You were lucky, and you know it,” O’Brien said bluntly. “It could have just as well gone the other way.” He gave her a long, thoughtful look, which caused Kelly to shift uneasily. “I believe that I’m going to have to take you under my wing, Kelly. It’s too dangerous to have you running around loose.”
“I’ve been taking care of myself for over five years and done a fairly competent job of it, Mr. O’Brien,” Kelly said curtly. “I don’t feel I need your help at this late date.”
“Five years,” O’Brien repeated softly. “That’s right. Your father died when you were eighteen, didn’t he? He was Richard McKenna, a freelance photographer who traveled all over the world taking action shots that are still regarded by some as the best ever photographed. You must have been very proud of him.”
“Yes, very proud,” Kelly said simply. “He was a great photographer and a wonderful father. After my mother died when I was eight, he saw that we were never separated until the day he died. He took me with him wherever he went.”
“It’s no wonder you’re an addict, sweetheart. You’ve had years to develop that habit.” He held up his hand to halt her indignant reply. “Okay, I’ll drop the discussion of your little problem if you’ll tell me why it was so important for you to get this assignment.”
“I told you that—” Kelly started.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d cut out the bull and level with me,” O’Brien interrupted. “The Kelly McKenna I read about three years ago wouldn’t deal in blackmail.”
Kelly bit her lip uncertainly before she decided to be frank with him. It probably couldn’t do any harm to her case. The man practically knew her whole life history anyway. “I had a bet with my editor that I’d get you to take me along,” she confessed hesitantly.
“Interesting,” O’Brien said, his eyes narrowing on her face. “And the stakes?”
She was not about to confess that it was the return of her overseas assignments. He was already convinced that she was some kind of danger junkie. “Something that I wanted very much,” Kelly said evasively, not looking at him.
“And if you lose?” he asked quietly, his eyes on the guilty color that was staining her cheeks.
“Then I give him something that he wants very much,” she said, still not looking at him. If she had, she would have noticed the sudden tenseness of his shoulders and the flicker that might have been anger in his blue eyes.
“I see,” he said flatly. “The oldest bargain in history and certainly the most intriguing.” Kelly looked up in confusion, but he didn’t notice her expression. “Well, I believe that I’ll see that your boss doesn’t take home the marbles this time, Goldilocks. I’m taking you with me.”
“You will!” Kelly said excitedly, her face glowing. “That’s wonderful! You won’t regret it. I promise that I won’t be any trouble, and I’ll let you approve any material that I write about you.”
“You’re damn right you will. And any pictures that you take as well.” He stood up lithely and reached down to pull her to her feet.
Now that the decision was made, it seemed that the man couldn’t wait to send her on her way, Kelly thought. “Of course,” she said. “That goes without saying. Thank you again, Mr. O’Brien.”
“Nick,” he said curtly. “Formality is a bit absurd within the confines of a hot air balloon, don’t you think?”
“Nick,” she repeated softly, the name tripping with strange intimacy off her tongue. “Yes, I suppose it is. You’ll be in touch with me sometime next week then?”
“I like the way you say my name in that husky little voice,” he said, his eyes oddly intent on her face. “I’d like to hear you murmur—” He broke off abruptly and shook his head as if to clear it. “Next week?”
“You’ll be leaving for the Rio Grande valley for the ascent next week,” Kelly reminded him. “Isn’t that the plan?”
He was still staring at her face, his gaze lingering on the curve of her lower lip. Kelly was almost mesmerized by the intensity of that stare, and she felt an odd heat surge through her.
“No,” he said abruptly, turning away and moving briskly toward the foyer. “We’re leaving tonight. I’ll be by to pick you up at nine. Be ready. What’s your address?”
“Tonight!” Kelly protested, following closely on his heels. “But that’s impossible. I can’t be ready to go tonight. Why the change in plans?”
“Because I feel like it,” O’Brien said. “
Didn’t your research cover the fact that all geniuses are eccentric? If you want to go with me, be ready to go at nine.”
“But I have a dinner engagement,” Kelly said crossly. “I just can’t break a date without any warning. Can’t you wait at least until tomorrow?”
“No, I can’t,” he said crisply, as he turned at the front door to look down at her. “What date is so important that you can’t put it off for this dynamite story that you’re so eager to get? Is it with your editor?”
“Mac?” Kelly said bewilderedly. “No, it’s Simon Renwick. He’s in the advertising department at World Weekly.”
O’Brien’s lips curved unpleasantly. “You are a busy little girl, aren’t you?” he said. “Well, he’ll have to do without your services tonight, Goldilocks. You can either get rid of him before I pick you up, or I’ll take care of it when I get there. I really wouldn’t advise you to leave it up to me, though. I’m feeling a bit savage today.”
That was more than obvious, Kelly thought. It seemed that geniuses were not only eccentric but downright moody. She couldn’t imagine what had put O’Brien in such a temper, but he looked as fierce as one of his Aztec ancestors, and she didn’t want to stick around and be a pagan sacrifice to that wrath.
“Okay,” she agreed, then sighed. “I’ll be ready at nine.” She gave him her street address and apartment number.
“Good,” he said tersely, opening the door for her. “I’d advise you to wear something a bit more practical than that outfit you have on. It may be May, but it can get quite cool in a balloon.”
“I do have a little common sense. May I suggest that you follow your own advice? I’d say you’re far less practically dressed than I!” She gazed pointedly at the white towel draped carelessly about his hips. “Or perhaps all that yoga has trained you to control your body temperature.”
He grinned, his blue eyes dancing and his bad temper suddenly banished by amusement. “Actually, that was one of the first things I learned when I studied with the Buddhist monks in Tibet two years ago,” he replied blandly. “Didn’t my dossier delve into those six months, sweetheart? Right now I’m working on controlling the flow of blood to the organs without the benefit of the heart pumping it.”
The Bronzed Hawk Page 2
