A billionaire on the hunt for justice meets his match in Amelia Autin’s latest Man on a Mission romance

When she’s bound, gagged and kidnapped, Alana Richardson is terrified...until a masked avenging angel saves her. There’s something unforgettable about the mysterious man. But when she uncovers her hero’s identity—drop-dead-gorgeous alpha male Jason Moore—Alana is irresistibly drawn into his dangerous world...

A CEO by day and a vigilante by night, Jason lives and breathes danger. Yet, for the first time, he may have found a woman who understands his commitment to justice at all costs. His hunger for right to prevail could put Alana in harm’s way—but one night and one secret will change everything.

The memory of her own abduction swamped her...especially those moments of near-despair on the bed in that horrible apartment, and she sank to her knees, hugging herself for warmth.

“Oh, God,” she whispered to herself. “Oh, God.”

Jason had his back to her, but when she glanced up, she could see he was talking into his cell phone. Then he turned around, saw her and disconnected almost immediately. He was at her side in an instant.

“Alana?” She knew he meant Are you hurt? by the way his face contracted with concern, the way his hands touched her so gently yet with implacable purpose.

“I’m fine,” she managed, trying desperately to catch her breath.

He drew her to her feet and pressed her head against his chest, then his arms closed around her. “It’s okay,” he soothed as if he realized exactly what she needed to hear. “Just breathe. That’s right. Just breathe.”

His body heat transferred itself to her, dispelling the chill. But it was his embrace that truly gave her what she needed. Safe, her frantic mind reassured her, just as it had during her dramatic rescue three weeks earlier. Jason’s rescue. You’re safe.

* * *

Be sure to check out the previous volumes in

the Man on a Mission miniseries!

Man on a Mission: These heroes, working at home

and overseas, will do anything for justice, honor...

and love

Dear Reader,

When I began writing A Father’s Desperate Rescue, part of my Man on a Mission miniseries, I had no idea my heroine’s older brother, Jason Moore, even existed. I was halfway through that book before he made his first appearance, along with his highly secret and totally illegal covert-operations organization, Right Makes Might (RMM).

Once Jason took the stage, however, it was one of those “aha” moments for me, and I fell in love with him (as I do with all my future heroes).

But while I knew my hero—a man shaped by two cultures and one life-altering tragedy, a true knight in shining armor (in the heroine’s own words, sans peur et sans reproche)—I had no idea who my heroine might be. This is a common problem—my heroes always appear first.

Then suddenly she appeared—Alana Richardson, cousin to the heroine of King’s Ransom. Alana has traveled halfway around the world to escape the privileged life she was born to lead...and runs headlong into trouble. Who else but Jason can rescue her...from her abductors and her uneventful past? And who else but Alana can accept that the man she loves could die or end his days in prison...all in the name of protecting the innocent?

I hope you enjoy reading Rescued by the Billionaire CEO as much as I enjoyed writing it. And I hope you agree Jason and Alana are a perfect match.

I love hearing from my readers. Please email me at AmeliaAutin@aol.com and let me know what you think.

Amelia Autin

Rescued by the Billionaire CEO

Amelia Autin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning author AMELIA AUTIN is an inveterate reader who can’t bear to put a good book down...or part with it. She’s a longtime member of Romance Writers of America (RWA) and served three years as its treasurer. Amelia resides with her PhD engineer husband in quiet Vail, Arizona, where they can see the stars at night and have a “million-dollar view” of the Rincon Mountains from their backyard.

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For Susan Naomi Horton, who as Naomi Horton wrote In Safekeeping, the very first romantic suspense book I ever read...and still on my keeper shelf after 25+ years. Thank you, Susan, for opening up new worlds for me as a reader and an author. And for Vincent...always.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Gagged and blindfolded, her hands bound cruelly behind her back, Alana Richardson huddled on the cot in the tiny bedroom where her kidnappers had left her, trying desperately not to cry. It wouldn’t do any good anyway, and would only make her feel worse, especially since she wouldn’t be able to blow her nose once she got to the blubbering stage.

Since crying was out, that meant she couldn’t let herself fall into despair. Which meant she couldn’t allow even a trace of self-pity to linger in her mind, either...even though her head throbbed where she’d been struck, she felt more than a little queasy from whatever it was they’d made her breathe in—chloroform, she’d bet—and her fingers were going numb from futilely trying to wriggle free from her bonds.

Fierce anger shook her, and a determination that she wasn’t going to give up. She wasn’t going to be a meek victim. She concentrated on remembering as much as she could about every minute detail related to her abduction...and her abductors. Committing what little she knew of them to memory, including those few moments at the beginning when she’d fought them. The men had been masked, but still...she’d drawn blood. She’d hurt one of them. Marked him.

DNA, she thought, her mind racing. Blood and skin under my fingernails?

She needed to remember that, along with everything else. So if—when—she escaped, she might be able to assist in bringing the men to justice. It was a long shot, but it was better than dwelling on the negative. It was better than imagining the worst...which she could all too easily imagine if she let herself.

Alana also had no idea what the men intended to do with her, although she could hazard a guess. She hadn’t been raped, though. Not yet. She would know, even though she’d been unconscious for some unknown amount of time. But she’d come to as she was being carried here...wherever here was. She’d been swathed in something before they’d removed her from the van. A blanket? A rug? Something that had made breathing difficult. But then her captors had dumped her on this cot and unwrapped her.

She hadn’t had an opportunity to make a run for it, though, because almost immediately rough hands had grabbed her, and she’d been gagged so she couldn’t scream for help, tied up so she couldn’t escape, and blindfolded. She wondered about the blindfold. All three men had been masked, so it wasn’t to conceal their identities. Could there be something here they didn’t want seen? Or just that they didn’t want her to know where she was?

But speculating about motives was fruitless at this stage, and a waste of time. Just as there was absolutely no point in second-guessing her decision to travel halfway around the world to Hong Kong for a job her parents had advised against taking...although she couldn’t quite help it.

“Richardsons don’t have to work for a living, darling.” How many times had her mother said that to her? She’d said it again last month as Alana was packing, adding, “But if you insist on working, what was wrong with your job at your father’s company? At least you had a title there. It’s ridiculous for you to work at such a menial job...for an actor, of all people. I don’t care if he is a good friend of Juliana’s.”

And her father had chimed in. “Yes, yes, I know your cousin Juliana vouches for him. But remember, she was an actress...just like her mother.” The supercilious way he’d said just like her mother had rubbed Alana the wrong way. Her aunt had been a renowned Shakespearean actress, and she hated her father talking about Juliana’s mother that way. Implying she hadn’t been good enough to marry into the Richardson family.

Then he’d added, “At least your cousin had the good sense to quit acting when she married the King of Zakhar.” As if Juliana hadn’t risen to the top of her profession by dedication, talent and incredibly hard work. As if she’d just been waiting for her Prince Charming to come along and take her away from all of that. As if Juliana’s marriage to one of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful men was the only thing she’d managed to accomplish that was worth anything in her father’s eyes—completely ignoring all the professional accolades Juliana had won, including two Academy Awards and a handful of Golden Globes.

“And why Hong Kong of all places?” her mother had thrown in. “With all those people.”

Alana had struggled with herself, then said as levelly as she could, “If you mean the Chinese, Mom, it’s their country.”

“Well I didn’t mean that,” her mother had huffed...but Alana had known she really had. Both her parents, in fact.

She wondered about that now, her mind veering off on a tangent. Her parents had tried to inculcate their values, their beliefs, in her. But she wasn’t—couldn’t be—like them. Maybe her uncle Julian had something to do with it, since she’d spent so much time with him after he retired. Maybe his influence had made the difference in shaping the woman she was. Juliana’s father was a Richardson, too, had been raised to believe Richardsons were a cut above, just like Alana’s own father. But maybe serving as a foreign ambassador for all those years had taught her uncle things about the world and its people her father had never learned.

Or maybe she should stop making excuses for why her parents were insular, narrow-minded and...and prejudiced. Maybe she should just accept it. Just as she had to accept she could fight the rope cutting cruelly into her wrists until they were bruised and bloody...but she wasn’t going to escape.

* * *

Jason Moore double-checked the harness strapped around him, making sure it was securely fastened. He lightly buckled the second one around his waist to keep his hands free and glanced at the two men opposite. Like him, they were dressed in black from head to toe, including paper-thin black latex gloves and soft leather boots. Their faces were smeared with camouflage face paint, just as his was, so as not to stand out in the dark night. And, of course, to disguise their identities. Right Makes Might didn’t want any witnesses able to describe them, even when they weren’t breaking the law.

He tapped his earpiece. “Yat, yee, saam,” he said, speaking Cantonese, and getting affirmation he could be clearly heard through their earpieces by the thumbs-up signal from his men on the roof. Then he switched to English. “Testing, one, two, three.”

“Roger that,” said a voice in his ear from one of the men on the ground.

Jason flashed a smile at the men standing guard over the equipment the three of them had just set up. Slid into place his prohibitively expensive night-vision goggles that had started life as equipment for a US Navy SEAL team. Nodded once. Then stepped backward off the roof of this high-rise apartment building in a seedy neighborhood.

The passive arrestor system on the zip line kicked in immediately. So instead of plummeting to his death, Jason slid slowly down the side of the building. He mentally suppressed the totally-to-be-expected unreasoning fear of falling that sent a dart of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. Then he used his feet to lever himself away from the building so he didn’t scrape against the concrete, counting floors as he went. Right before he reached his destination, he depressed a button on the radio signal control mechanism strapped to his wrist, and he came to a complete halt.

“Three feet to the left,” Jason said quietly. Within seconds, the zip line moved until he could grasp the metal railing around the tiny balcony that was his destination, and lightly vault over it. His feet made no sound as they landed, because his soft-soled boots had been designed for that purpose. And besides, he’d trained for this until he could practically do it in his sleep.

Jason smiled grimly as he grasped the handle on the poorly fitted sliding glass door, and with a sharp jerk popped it right out of its tracks. He and his men had already discussed how lucky they were their victim was imprisoned in this older apartment building, which had been constructed back in the sixties. Newer high-rises had been built to stricter construction codes, but not older buildings like this one. They were a lot easier to break in to.

He silently lifted the door to one side. “Slack,” he uttered in a monotone, and after a few seconds the tension sagged on the wire to which he was connected. He could have unbuckled the harness before entering the room, but then he would waste precious seconds getting back into it. Seconds he might not have on the back end.

The room was shrouded in darkness, but with his night-vision goggles he could clearly see the slight form huddled on a cot in the corner, a few feet away. He headed straight for it.

* * *

Alana hadn’t thought she could possibly sleep, but she must have. Because she woke to a gloved hand over her gagged mouth and a deep male voice with an upper-class British accent whispering in her ear. “Shh. Not a sound, Miss Richardson. I’ll get you out of here, but you must do exactly what I say without question. Nod your head if you can do that.”

Alana nodded. She didn’t know who this was, but she immediately knew he was here to rescue her. His deep voice held even more reassurance than the words themselves, so whatever he told her to do, she would do. Without question.

He moved slightly, and there was an odd sound she couldn’t place—like metal rubbing against leather. Then the gag melted away. The blindfold followed, and now she could see the flash of a knife in the darkness before the binding around her wrists was carefully cut loose. She bit her lip to hold back the moan that wanted to escape when her arms were finally free and she tried to move them. Tears sprang to her eyes as agonizing pain shot through her muscles, but she was proud she managed not to make a sound.

The knife flashed again as he sheathed it. Almost immediately strong hands were massaging her arms, fingers digging into her muscles until she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. Tears seeped onto her cheeks, but the sob that might have escaped her lips under normal circumstances...didn’t. Then her rescuer was lifting her effortlessly and carrying her to what she now saw was the doorless opening onto a balcony.

He stood her on her feet and quickly unbuckled something from his waist, which he then proceeded to fit around her—a harness of some kind, she realized. A harness that was attached to a slack wire. A slack wire that grew suddenly taut when he said, “Ready.”

Alana could see her rescuer in the faint moonlight. A lithe figure dressed all in black, with some kind of camouflage paint on his face, as well. And high-tech goggles that somehow made him look superhuman. He towered over her, which wasn’t a surprise—she wasn’t much taller than her famous cousin Juliana, who stood only as high as her husband’s heart. Alana didn’t know what made her think of that out of the blue, but then the thought was wiped from her mind when he lifted her up onto the balcony railing and balanced her there. “Hang on.”

She didn’t have time to be afraid before he was on the outside of the railing, maneuvering himself and her as if they weren’t perched precariously high above the street below. “Legs around my hips,” he ordered, and when she did so, he pressed something on his wrist before wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. “Hold on tight.” Then he pushed away from the balcony.

They swung in the air for a dizzying moment, and Alana could only pray she wouldn’t be sick. But she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t know why, but the strength in the arms that held her so securely made her trust her rescuer implicitly. She felt as safe with him dangling from a wire as she would have been with both feet on the ground.

The cable pulled taut and they descended with a hissing sound of metal on metal. “You okay?” he asked, his lips pressed against her ear, and all Alana could do was nod. Endless seconds later they touched down on solid earth. He didn’t let her go for a moment, and she stared at his face, memorizing what she could see of it. Wishing with all her heart she could see his eyes behind the concealing goggles. Wishing she dared ask him any of the half-dozen questions that suddenly teemed in her brain.

Until she realized her legs were still clasped around his hips. Until she realized just how intimate that was...which his body made known to her in no uncertain terms.

Alana hoped the faint moonlight meant he couldn’t see the blush she could feel creeping into her cheeks as she unwrapped her legs and he lowered her to the ground. “Sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t...” Thinking, she’d intended to say, but her words trailed off.

Then she was free. And a tiny part of her acknowledged she hadn’t wanted to be. She’d wanted to stay in his embrace. Wanted to explore the unmistakable evidence that he was attracted to her as much as she was attracted to him. Which was crazy. Because she’d never...

Two men converged on them, but the staccato patter of Cantonese that flew between her rescuer and one of the men made their conversation unintelligible to Alana. Male hands quickly and impersonally assisted her in unclipping the harness from the cable and unbuckling it. Then they were bundling her into a dark van, tugging a seat belt into place and strapping her in. Doors slammed before she could protest, and the van’s engine roared to life. She had one last vision of her rescuer stripping off his own harness then heading back toward the building they’d just escaped from, as the van sped away.

“Wait,” she choked out to the driver and the man in the left front passenger seat. “What about—”

“The operation’s not finished, Miss Richardson,” the man who wasn’t driving said in clipped British tones. “There’s still the little matter of the men who kidnapped you to take care of. But our job is to get you to safety.”

* * *

“Rendezvous” was all Jason had to say. He knew his men on the roof would meet him on the twenty-second floor with the other equipment RMM had brought along, including lock picks, stun grenades, tear gas and guns. Normally-illegal-in-Hong-Kong guns for which RMM had paid handsomely under the table to obtain special licenses.

But when they arrived at apartment 2211, the door was already standing wide open. They entered cautiously, guns drawn, but it was quickly evident it was empty. Jason cursed under his breath. Someone must have gone to check on their victim and realized she’d been rescued. Then the kidnappers had hightailed it out of there.

There was still a chance the police might recover decent evidence. But before he could give the order, one of his men said, “I’ll call in a tip to the police, Jason. Worth a shot anyway. At the very least, Miss Richardson’s fingerprints should be here somewhere, even if the kidnappers wore gloves the entire time. Her purse is here, too. That will prove she was here. And the bindings in the bedroom will be proof she was being held against her will.”

* * *

As the van wound its way up the mountain road, Alana shook off her semi-stupor and rattled off a string of questions without waiting for answers. “Who are you? How did you know where I was? Do you have any idea why I was—”

The man who’d spoken before answered her last question first. “Prostitution, Miss Richardson, plain and simple. We’ve been after this triad gang for a couple of months. More than two dozen women have been abducted in nearly the same fashion—snatched right off the streets in broad daylight. We don’t know who...not for sure, although we have our suspicions. And the women are being transported to Macau, but we don’t know exactly how...not yet. But we do know why. You’re young, pretty and you were on your own in an area that made you an easy tar—”

He broke off as the van halted suddenly at a gate that was familiar to Alana. The driver rolled down his window. “We have her safe,” he told the person who answered when he buzzed. Then the gate swung open, admitting the van, which drove smoothly through.

Light spilled out of the open front door of the DeWinters’ home, which was Alana’s home in Hong Kong, too. “We have the room,” Dirk DeWinter had told her when she’d arrived to interview for the job as his executive assistant last month. “It’ll be more convenient for all of us, but especially you. Don’t worry—your free time is yours, and you can come and go as you please.”

His wife, the beautiful Mei-li, who had a decidedly British accent, had chimed in with an understanding smile, “We know you want to be independent, Alana. We understand that’s a big part of why you’re here. But this will give you a safe place to live until you find your feet in Hong Kong. We can reassess in six months or so.”

Alana hadn’t needed her beloved cousin Juliana’s sterling reference for her dear friend and former co-star Dirk DeWinter in her decision to take the job and to live in. All she’d needed was to see the way her prospective employer had looked at his wife, as if she was his world. The same way her cousin’s husband looked at her. She’d sighed a little to herself at the time, she remembered now. Envious. Because that was the way she wished to be loved someday. Not the bloodless relationship her parents had. Something passionate. Something heated.

All at once she thought of the man who’d rescued her, and what she’d felt in his arms. Safe...but wanted. Safe...but desired. Triggering a corresponding desire that had taken her by complete surprise, especially under the circumstances.

She dragged her thoughts away from the memory with an effort. You’ll probably never see him again, she chastised herself, unbuckling her seat belt and scrambling out of the van as her employers anxiously approached.

“Alana!” Mei-li reached her first and embraced her. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

Then Dirk was there. He didn’t say anything, just enveloped her in a bear hug that conveyed how worried he’d been, too, and how thankful he was she’d been rescued safe and sound. She knew it had to have brought back nightmares for him—his twin daughters had been kidnapped and held for ransom just over a year ago. That story, and the dramatic rescue, had been splashed across the front pages of newspapers, tabloids and gossip magazines, as well as the internet.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this again. But I wasn’t careless. Honest. Those men came out of nowhere with hundreds of people around, and—”

Dirk held her away from him at arm’s length, a frown marring his handsome features. “Don’t apologize. This wasn’t your fault. I should have warned you. And I should have made sure you knew about the—”

Mei-li put her hand on her husband’s arm, cutting off the flow of words. “Dirk,” she murmured. Just his name, but there appeared to be some sort of unspoken communication between them because his self-recriminations ceased. Then Mei-li smiled her gentle smile. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters. RMM came through for us...again.”

“RMM?” Alana couldn’t help but ask. Then she realized she’d never thanked the men who’d brought her here. She hadn’t thanked her rescuer, either, but at least she could ask these men to convey her heartfelt gratitude to him. She turned, but the van was already pulling away. “Wait!”

She took two steps forward as if she was going to chase after it, but Mei-li was suddenly there, stopping her. “They don’t look for thanks,” she explained softly.

“What do you mean?”

“RMM. They do what they have to do to rescue the innocent, even if it means breaking the law. But they don’t look for thanks. That’s not why they do it.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dirk came up on her other side. “RMM stands for Right Makes Might. It’s from a quotation by Abraham Lincoln.” His smile held admiration and something more. Deep gratitude, the kind Alana was feeling right now. “It’s not common knowledge, but they were instrumental in rescuing my daughters when they were kidnapped.”

Chapter 2

Jason walked through the door of his penthouse condo three hours later. He and his men had quickly scoured the tiny apartment where Alana had been held, noting everything and taking copious pictures, but touching nothing that would contaminate the crime scene. Then they’d melted into the darkness when the police sirens could be heard in the distance.

He dropped his keys and iPhone in a large Ming bowl on the credenza by the front door, then headed for the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as he went. He was naked by the time he arrived, and he bundled his clothes into the laundry hamper. Then he grabbed the jar of cold cream from the bathroom counter and proceeded to smear some across the camouflaging face paint. He wiped most of the paint off with a handful of tissues, then stepped into the shower and let soap, hot water and vigorous scrubbing do the rest.

Clean, he pulled on boxer shorts and padded into the kitchen, where he snagged a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator and downed half of it in two gulps. Then he headed for his office, detouring on the way to pick up his smartphone in the vestibule. He took a moment to run one hand over the foot-high statue of Bruce Lee also on the credenza, a replica of the life-size one on the Avenue of Stars in Tsim Sha Tsui.

The statue had cost him an arm and a leg, but like the gold medallion he wore it was a constant reminder, and worth every penny. Bruce Lee was revered in Hong Kong—and in much of the rest of the world, for that matter—both as a proponent of martial arts and as a man whose films always depicted him standing up for what was right, not what was expedient. A man who protected the innocent. Bruce had died before Jason was born, but his legacy would live forever. A legacy Jason tried in his own way to emulate.

He settled into his leather and ebony office chair, flicked on his laptop, then keyed in the complicated encryption password. Tonight was going to be one of those nights...as usual. Sleep, which his adrenaline-sapped body craved, would be elusive. Rescues always wired him to the point where going to bed was useless, so he wouldn’t bother. Besides, he still had work to do.

While he waited patiently for the laptop to power up, he leaned back in the chair with a creak of leather, rehashing tonight’s rescue in his mind.

So many things could have gone wrong. Not the least of which was, he and his men could have picked the wrong apartment. GPS was good, but it wasn’t perfect. The coordinates they had in their possession had indicated that building and a most likely floor, but not which apartment. That had required a little old-fashioned deductive reasoning...and prayer. If they’d guessed wrong, screams from some surprised apartment dweller when Jason broke in would probably have alerted the triads that something was up, possibly even that a rescue was being attempted. And what that would have meant for Alana Richardson didn’t bear thinking about.

Alana Richardson. A tiny slip of a thing, really. Not even as tall as his sister, Mei-li, who wasn’t all that tall, either. But that wasn’t really relevant. No, what really mattered was how she’d handled herself during the rescue. Despite being bound, gagged and blindfolded, she’d been instantly alert when he’d awakened her. And she hadn’t questioned his orders. Hadn’t insisted on any kind of explanation. She’d just done what he’d told her to do...instantaneously.

He laughed softly. It wasn’t blind obedience he’d been hoping for; it was a woman smart enough to instantly grasp that explanations could wait for a more opportune time. Who could make split-second decisions the way he did, and follow through on them. And Alana Richardson fit that description the way she’d fit into his arms. Perfectly.

He sat up abruptly, muttering, “Hold on a minute.” Where the hell had that thought come from?

You shouldn’t even be thinking about how good she felt in your arms, he chastised himself. And you damn well shouldn’t have been aroused when she wrapped her legs around you and held on tight.

It did absolutely no good telling himself what he should have done...because it was too late for that. He had been aroused. Painfully aroused. And now that his mind had gone down that path, it was impossible not to remember slight breasts pressed firmly up against his chest. Impossible not to remember thighs clinging to his hips with unexpected strength. Impossible not to imagine those same thighs holding on tight as he rode her soft and slow and—

His smartphone dinged for an incoming text, an interruption he both blessed and cursed. He swiped a finger over the touchpad and saw it was from his sister.

Thnx, he read. Knew I could count on you. Call me?

He frowned. It was way past midnight, and his sister should be sleeping. But she knows you well enough, he reminded himself. She knows you’re not sleeping.

He pressed speed dial, and when the phone was answered, surprised himself when the first words out of his mouth were, “How is she?”

“Recovering,” Mei-li said. “The police were here. Dirk insisted we file a police report immediately, even though Alana had already been through a lot for one day. And it’s a good thing we did report it, because someone tipped off the police there was an abduction and rescue.” The emphasis on someone conveyed his sister knew exactly who that was, even though she wasn’t saying. “But the police are gone now. Finally. They took scrapings from beneath Alana’s fingernails for DNA analysis—apparently she scratched one of the men, and it looks as if she drew blood.”

He heard the unspoken approval in her voice. “They wanted Alana to go down to the police station to look through some mug shots,” she continued. “But she told them she really didn’t see her abductors’ faces. All three men were wearing full head masks. Black. Balaclavas, I’d bet, by her description.”

She paused for a moment, but Jason didn’t say anything. “After the police left, Dirk and I took her to hospital, over her vehement objections.”

“And?”

“And she’s fine, just as she insisted. A little nausea, but that’s a normal aftereffect of the chloroform they used on her. And she’s still feeling a little shaky from the blow she took.”

“What?”

“She fought them, remember? She said she tried to hold her breath when they placed the cloth over her face, but then one of the men struck her with something and that’s when she lost consciousness.”

Jason’s admiration for Alana rose, and her perfect response during the rescue tonight took on even more luster. If she was still shaky after all this time, that meant she had to have been still suffering from her head injury when he’d woken her and carried her out of the apartment. But she hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t complained.

“They took X-rays, just as a precaution, but no fractures. No subdural hematoma, either. And based on her responses to the doctor’s questions, he wasn’t worried about a concussion. He prescribed rest and lots of it.”

“Which she’s getting now?”

“Yes. For all her protestations that she was fine, Alana fell asleep in the car on the way home. Dirk had to carry her to her bedroom. I don’t think she even knows I tucked her in, so I’ll make an educated guess and say she’s still sound asleep.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Same for me.” Her voice, normally so light and musical, took on a slight strain. “I can never forget—”

“Sean,” he finished for her. His tone roughened. “Neither can I.”

“I know.” Mei-li sighed in his ear. “What did the triads say when you interrogated them?”

“Nothing. They must have gone to check on Miss Richardson shortly after I got her out of there, because by the time my team and I were able to storm the apartment, those men were long gone.”

“Damn!” That wasn’t quite the word Jason had used at the time, but his sister didn’t curse often. A damn from her was equivalent to cursing a blue streak. “At least Alana’s safe. Which means this one goes in the win column anyway.”

They were silent for a few moments, both remembering a day more than twelve years ago and an abduction that had gone heartbreakingly wrong.

“Thank God you had the GPS coordinates of where she was being held,” Jason said, finally breaking the painful silence. “We couldn’t have rescued her without that.”

“Yes, thank God, but also thank Dirk...and you,” Mei-li said, and Jason knew she was referring to the high-tech electronic transmitter. Beacon, actually, but it only transmitted if it was manually set off or activated remotely from the parent server. Highly secret equipment not yet available to the general public, the prototype of which Jason had designed and had his company produce at his brother-in-law’s request. Alana had carried one on her keychain, although she hadn’t known it.

“Don’t forget to give yourself credit for quick thinking while you’re handing out praise,” he said drily. “I’m not sure what that triad gang was waiting for—the cover of darkness, probably. But if you hadn’t mobilized RMM right away...”

“All I did was—”

“—text Miss Richardson when she didn’t come home for dinner the way she said she would. And when you got no response, you called her cell phone. And when she didn’t answer, you activated the beacon.”

“Well, it made no sense to me,” Mei-li explained. “I knew she was going to Mong Kok, but when I activated the transmitter and mapped the location, I knew something bad was going down. She had no business being in that neighborhood—both Dirk and I had warned her where not to go by herself. And there was no ransom demand. If it wasn’t a kidnapping, I knew it was outside my area of expertise. So I called you.” Then she asked, “How did you know which apartment she was being held in?”

“Clutter...that wasn’t there.”

“An empty balcony,” his sister said softly. “Of course.” Admiration was evident in her voice, and he knew she’d made the connection without him having to spell it out. Space was at such a premium in Hong Kong, the vast majority of balconies weren’t used to take the air, but to store things that wouldn’t fit in Hong Kong’s tiny apartments. In addition to that, almost no one dried their clothes in a dryer, even if they had a washing machine in their unit. Even the residents of high-end apartments and condos hung their clothes to dry on their balconies. When you were looking for the slightest aberration, an empty balcony stood out like a red flag for RMM.

“So what did Miss Richardson tell the police?”

His sister laughed unexpectedly. “Based on her description, you’re about ten feet tall, have the strength of a gorilla and can scale walls like a superhero from a comic book.”

He chuckled. “I guess I’m safe, then. The police won’t be searching for me, even though I didn’t break the law. Much.” But he couldn’t help the little thrill of ego-stoking male pride that shot through him at the description. So Alana saw him as a superhero, did she? He liked that idea. No, he loved that idea. Because while the opinions of those he rescued had never been important to him before, Alana’s opinion of him mattered. A lot.

* * *

The High Tiger of the Eight Tigers triad organization—although it had far more than eight members—sat in a hastily called conference with the seven other leaders of the triad. Each of the seven was an enforcer, overseeing a cadre of men. Each cadre was responsible for a different aspect of the criminal endeavors that constituted the backbone of the Eight Tigers: drugs, gun-running, prostitution, kidnapping, extortion, money laundering and pornography. And they all answered to the High Tiger—chairman of the board, as it were.

The Eight Tigers was a radical departure from most Hong Kong triads. Except when it came to women, it was an equal opportunity employer—if they cared about such things, which they didn’t. All they cared about was whether a man had it in him to carry out the dicta of the ruling tribunal...and could keep his mouth shut in the unfortunate event he was arrested. Of the eight men seated around the conference table, three were Chinese, two were British, two were American and one was Australian. And they’d had a secret stranglehold on crime in Hong Kong and Macau for years.

The High Tiger turned to the enforcer in charge of prostitution and demanded, “How did it happen?”

The man on the hot seat nervously cleared his throat. “Unclear.”

“What do the men say?”

“All they know is she was gone when they went to move her to the boat. Then they got the hell out of there.”

The High Tiger’s voice was soft, yet his tone was threatening, when he asked, “Are you aware this was an RMM rescue?”

The other man blanched. Every man at the table knew of RMM. Knew it was more to be feared than the Hong Kong Police Force or the Public Security Police Force of Macau for three reasons: it was a highly secret organization, more secret than their own; its members were impervious to bribes, unlike many on the police forces in the jurisdictions in which the Eight Tigers operated; and it was bankrolled by a man who seemed to have an unending supply of money...even greater than theirs.

“No, I...I was not aware,” the man finally admitted.

The High Tiger then asked the question that held the most importance to the men assembled there. “What trail might lead RMM...or authorities...to us?”

“Nothing.” The man being questioned glanced around the table, reassuring the assemblage. “Nothing at all.”

* * *

Alana woke at her normal time. Dirk had told her as they’d left the hospital last night to take it easy, to sleep in and recuperate from her ordeal, but she wasn’t going to act like an invalid. Okay, her arm and shoulder muscles were stiff and sore from being bound. And yes, her wrists were raw and chafed from the rope she’d tried to wriggle out of. And...

She tentatively touched the back of her head where she’d been hit. Ouch! she thought. It was still tender to the touch. There was a little swelling, too, but her nausea was gone and she felt fine. Energized to jump right back into her job. She didn’t want to lie in bed and remember her close brush with all the bad things that could have happened to her—including rape and death. She needed the distraction of work to take her mind off what had nearly occurred.

She dressed quickly and was brushing her teeth when a good memory surfaced...her miraculous rescue. That was immediately followed by memories of the man who’d rescued her. The way he’d held her so securely she hadn’t been afraid, even dangling from a harness hooked to a cable, with terra firma far below. The incredible hardness of his body plastered against hers. Not to mention the arousal that had intrigued her to the point where she’d almost said something about it.

She wished she knew who he was. Wished she at least had a first name she could use when she thought of him, instead of the slightly blasphemous “savior” that came to mind.

Okay, so maybe she’d exaggerated his physical characteristics when she’d described him to the police last night. And he probably couldn’t walk on water, either, although she had a feeling he would try if it was necessary to save someone. He would have done whatever was necessary to save her, even though he didn’t know her. She couldn’t have said how she knew, but she was absolutely certain that from the minute he’d entered the room where she was imprisoned, he wouldn’t have left without her. Even if her abductors had surprised them, he would have done whatever was necessary to effect their escape. And that was such an incredibly glorious, albeit humbling, feeling, knowing there were still heroes in the world willing to risk their lives for others.

But darn it, she needed a name!

Then she remembered what Mei-li had told her last night, that he worked for an organization called RMM. If Dirk’s wife knew that much, she just might know him. It was worth a shot anyway.

On that thought she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

Hannah, the DeWinters’ housekeeper, was at the stove, but she turned the fire off and bustled over to Alana when she entered the room, enveloping her in an encouraging hug. “I’m so glad you’re safe!”

“Thanks, Hannah.” She stepped back and looked around. “Where is everyone?”

“The twins are still sleeping, and so is their nanny. Mr. DeWinter had an early call on the set. He said to tell you there’s some fan mail to go through in his office...but only if you feel up to it. Mrs. DeWinter also went out early. She said she might be back for lunch, but she’d let me know.”

“Darn it!” Alana said out loud. “I was hoping to catch her before she left.”

Hannah resumed her cooking. Oatmeal, Alana saw, which both she and the DeWinters’ daughters loved. “Was it something urgent? You could always call or text her.”

“Important to me. But not urgent enough to interrupt whatever she’s doing. If she went out this early, she must be working on a case. I’ll see her at lunch or dinner.”

Hannah took down a bowl from one of the cabinets and served Alana from the pot on the stove. “Here you go, Miss Richardson. Put yourself on the outside of this.”

Alana smiled and accepted the bowl. She’d only been living with the DeWinters for a month, but she adored Hannah almost as much as the twins did. Not just for her quaint expressions and her insistence on addressing Alana with old-fashioned formality, but for the heart of gold that was obvious within minutes of meeting her.

She sprinkled a spoonful of brown sugar on her oatmeal and stirred, then seated herself at the kitchen table with a despondent sigh. She’d tried to love her own mother; she really had. But except for the residual attachment left over from her childhood, it wasn’t possible. How could she love a woman whose outlook on life was totally alien to her? Who judged people by their social status...and more?

She couldn’t help wishing her mother was more like Hannah. For that matter, she couldn’t help wishing her father was different, too. Not like Hannah so much, but like her uncle Julian. She’d never envied Juliana anything except the close relationship she had with her father, a father she could be proud of. If only Uncle Julian had been her father, too, instead of—

Don’t go there, she warned herself. No pity parties. That never does any good. Think of all the people in the world who would change places with you, she reminded herself as she ate her porridge, enumerating all the positives in her life. Your parents never abused you. You never went hungry. You always had a roof over your head and decent clothes to wear.

But...those weren’t the only things that mattered when raising a child.

The fact that her parents were the way they were wasn’t something she could change, either, although she’d tried. Repeatedly. But she’d never made a dent in their prejudices. Wasn’t that one of the reasons she’d run across the world to escape? So she could live her life free from the entitled, superior mentality they’d tried to impose on her?

They would never understand that Alana didn’t see the world the way they did, no matter what she said. So all she could do was distance herself from them, even if it meant taking a job they saw as beneath her.

Living with Dirk and Mei-li had been an eye-opener. Watching them together. So loving. So supportive. So accepting of their differences. No, not just accepting, rejoicing in their differences.

Then seeing how Dirk’s daughters looked upon Mei-li as their mother without question, even though both Mei-li and Dirk made sure the twins knew how much their birth mother had loved them and sacrificed for them before they were born.

Alana knew one thing for sure now. The way she’d been raised wasn’t the way she’d raise her own children...if she was fortunate enough to have any.

And just like that her memory winged to last night and the man who’d rescued her. A man who, as Mei-li had put it, did what he had to do to rescue the innocent, without looking for thanks.

She hadn’t really put a lot of thought into it before, because she was only twenty-six and her biological clock hadn’t yet sounded the warning alarm. But she was deeply attached to the children she knew—Juliana’s little boy, Raoul, and Dirk’s daughters, Linden and Laurel. And she’d always known that when she found the right man she wanted children. Children, plural. Two, maybe three. Not the lonely only child she’d been.

No, she hadn’t given it a lot of thought before. But she was thinking of it now. She was definitely thinking of it now...because that was the kind of man she wanted as the father of her children.

And she didn’t even know his name or what he did for a living.

Chapter 3

“Dirk was right,” Alana muttered to herself. Her boss’s fan mail—the real kind, not email—went to a PO box address, and the accumulation was delivered bright and early every Monday morning. Dirk had a social media presence she maintained for him, too—website, Twitter, Facebook. He couldn’t possibly have managed it all on his own, which was why Juliana had recommended Dirk to Alana and Alana to Dirk.

And she loved her job. Unlike the glorified but meaningless position she’d had working for her father’s company ever since she graduated from college, she never felt superfluous. She never felt as if no one would miss her if she didn’t show up. Dirk needed her to keep him organized, to keep his fan base happy.

Not that Dirk didn’t take an interest. He did. He set the tone, gave her the parameters to work from to maintain his public persona. He also read the more interesting posts, tweets and emails she filtered for him. And he reviewed anything that went out under his name, of course. But only once had he firmly put his foot down on Alana’s suggested response, one that would have capitalized on a touching photo of Dirk with his family that had just recently been published, a picture that had been taken without his knowledge or consent. After which she’d gotten the message—his wife and children were never to be used.

That didn’t mean photos of the DeWinters didn’t circulate. The paparazzi stalked Dirk relentlessly, and Mei-li was incredibly photogenic. But Dirk tried to minimize public access to his twin daughters, including a state-of-the-art security system surrounding his estate on Victoria Peak here on Hong Kong Island, and bodyguards who fiercely protected his little girls whenever they went out anywhere. Nevertheless, pictures surfaced occasionally. That was one of Alana’s more esoteric duties, too. To track the photos and figure out how, when and where they were taken, so Dirk could do his best to prevent others from being snapped in the future.

Even though Juliana had lived her entire adult life in the public eye, attention that had become even more rabid when she married the King of Zakhar, Alana had never understood just how little privacy celebrities had these days until she’d gone to work for Dirk. Until she’d experienced firsthand what almost amounted to harassment when a photographer had lain in wait and snapped pictures of Alana, the twins and their nanny outside the ladies’ room of the restaurant Dirk had taken them to her first week on the job. And she’d quickly realized the steep price Dirk and his family paid—would always pay—for his superstardom.

The morning passed in a busy blur. When she’d first started her new job she’d been overwhelmed by the barrage of incoming data. But she had a system now, so she quickly dealt with the backlog of fan communication, divvying them up into her little “buckets.” Adoring. Begging. Threatening. And the category that always made her laugh at how creative people could be: investment “opportunities.” Not a single one was anything other than a scam, but she’d shown a couple of them to Dirk to make him laugh, too.

Mostly the scam emails were deleted after reading the first couple of sentences, but not the threats. Dirk would have had Alana just delete them, too, but Mei-li had shaken her head, saying in her soft voice, “Don’t respond, but don’t delete. We need to keep a record, just in case...” And when the eyes of the two women had met, Alana had understood without another word being spoken.

Mei-li was a highly regarded private investigator and a ransom negotiator, and was unwaveringly protective of her beloved husband. She read every threatening communication, ranking them on a scale of one to five, with one being “no threat,” three being “credible threat,” and five being “imminent threat.” The “imminent threat” communications were turned over to the Hong Kong Police for investigation.

The begging requests were more problematic, because Dirk, Alana had soon learned, had a tender heart. Which meant another of Alana’s duties revolved around investigating the legitimacy of whatever the senders were asking Dirk to do. And on three separate occasions in the past month Dirk had quietly and without fanfare fulfilled a request—including sending money to the parents of a child with a severe form of spina bifida whose dying wish was to visit the Eiffel Tower, and a personal visit to the bedside of a longtime fan dying from cancer.

But the vast majority of the emails, tweets and posts were of the adoring variety. And Alana had a stock response she sent out on Dirk’s behalf, thanking the sender and promoting his latest movie, including links to positive reviews.

She’d just replied to the last email when Mei-li walked into the office. “Hannah said you needed to talk with me?”

It took Alana a moment to come out of the zone she’d been in. “Oh,” she said. “I wanted to ask you...” Her cheeks felt suddenly warm. “The man who rescued me last night. Do you know who he is?” When Mei-li didn’t immediately respond, Alana rushed to add, “You said he and the other men are with a group called RMM. I know you said they don’t look for thanks, but I...” She faltered. “I just wondered.”

An enigmatic expression crossed Mei-li’s face. “I know, but I can’t tell you.” She sat down in the chair in front of Alana’s desk. “I contacted RMM because they’re my last resort. But they operate in the shadows. And some of the things they do are illegal. Not bad, just illegal. So...”

Alana nodded. She wasn’t naive...not in that way anyway. She knew the difference. “Last night the driver and the man riding shotgun said I was abducted by members of a triad gang. That other women had disappeared in the same way, and they—RMM, I guess is what he meant—they’ve been after this gang for a couple of months. But...” She trailed off as another thought occurred to her, and she frowned. “How did they know where I was? I mean, I’m incredibly grateful someone figured it out and RMM rescued me, but...”

Mei-li’s lips quirked into a tiny smile. “Modern technology is wonderful...most of the time. You know those little lockets the twins wear, the ones with a picture of their mother?”

She wasn’t sure where the other woman was going with this. “Of course.”

“You probably thought they were a tad young for jewelry.”

“Well...yes,” she admitted. “But I just figured Dirk wanted the girls to know their mother loves them, even though she died when they were born.”

“You’re right, of course, but it’s more symbolic than you know. In Dirk’s mind Bree is protecting them from harm...but so is he. Those lockets contain tiny transmitters. Little beacons that can be remotely activated. The girls have worn them ever since they were rescued from their kidnappers. We were fortunate last time that they were sending Dirk pictures of his daughters that had been geotagged, but we can’t rely on that happening again.”

When Alana raised her brows in a question, Mei-li explained, “Geotagging just means the pictures have GPS coordinates embedded in them. Most people don’t realize this is enabled in their smartphones, and neither did the twins’ kidnappers. But that was a fluke. Dirk wanted to be sure we could track the girls if they’re kidnapped again, and the locket beacons were the best thing he and—that is, the best thing he could come up with.”

Alana wondered why Mei-li had hesitated, then said, “Okay, I get that. But...”

“But how did we know where you were?”

“Yes.”

“You carry the same beacon transmitter as the twins. Just as I do.”

Alana gawked at her. “What?”

Mei-li made a face. “I told Dirk he should tell you, but...”

“But what?”

“He didn’t tell you because he was afraid you’d think he was intruding on your privacy after he promised you he wouldn’t. And to be honest, he really didn’t think we’d need to activate it, so you’d never have to know.”

“Why didn’t he ask me? I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t have refused to carry something that would protect me.”

“I know, I know. But he didn’t know you when you first came to work for him, and he couldn’t take that chance. He’s hyper-concerned for the safety of everyone around him, not just his daughters. Not just me. And given what he suffered when Linden and Laurel were kidnapped, I can’t really blame him. I hope he never has to go through that again with anyone.”

“How...?”

Mei-li’s tiny smile returned. “Didn’t you ever wonder about the key fob on the key ring we gave you when you moved in last month? The one that looks like something you’d use to electronically open a car door...even though you don’t have a car here in Hong Kong?”

Alana opened her mouth, then closed it. She stared at the other woman for a moment before admitting, “I thought it was a key fob for one of the cars in the garage. Not that I would even think about driving here as a general rule, not where everyone drives on the opposite side of the street. But in an emergency...”

“They do operate as a car door key fob. But they also contain a transmitter beacon, which can be remotely as well as manually activated. They’re deliberately designed to look like something innocuous, so no one would suspect their true purpose. Even if the men who abducted you went through your purse, it’s highly unlikely they’d have been suspicious of that key fob.”

Alana struggled with conflicting emotions for a moment. On the one hand, Dirk should have told her. But on the other, she couldn’t be anything but grateful she had carried the beacon that had led to her rescue. And if she was honest with herself, even if she’d known about it, she’d been incapacitated too quickly. There was no way she would have had a chance to activate it manually, so the remote activation was actually a blessing.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t give Dirk a piece of her mind about keeping her in the dark.

* * *

Jason, known as J.C. by his board of directors and employees alike as a way of keeping his private life separate from his public persona, had muted his smartphone as he always did during board meetings, but he felt the vibration for an incoming text. He ignored it as his smiling board of directors filed out of the conference room, several of them stopping to shake his hand.

Another profitable quarter had gone into the record books for Wing Wah Enterprises, the electronics company his maternal grandfather had founded seventy years ago. The company was publicly traded, but his 51 percent stake meant that even without his mother’s and sister’s shares—whose proxies he held—he had a controlling interest. With their proxies, he was unassailably in command.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t answerable to the shareholders. He was. And he’d given them a more-than-respectable return on their investment every quarter since he’d taken the helm at the tender age of twenty-five upon the death of his grandfather, almost ten years ago. But running the company was just a job to him. One he was incredibly good at. One that supplemented the fortune he relied upon in his other life. But just a job. It wasn’t his life’s work.

That was RMM. Right Makes Might. “‘Let us have faith that right makes might,’” he murmured to himself in the now-empty conference room, “‘and in that faith let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.’” His fingers subconsciously touched the gold medallion he wore beneath his dress shirt, an ever-present reminder of both RMM and the reason behind it.

Then he remembered the incoming text he’d received earlier. Fewer than a dozen people had his personal cell phone number, so it had to be important. When he pulled out his phone he saw the text was from Mei-li.

Alana was asking about you, he read. Should I tell her...anything?

He cursed under his breath, but lightly. Then he shook his head with rueful humor. Damn, but his sister knew him too well. How the hell had she picked up on his totally unanticipated attraction to Alana? And what was she expecting him to do about it?

He was torn. On the one hand, he wanted to see Alana again. Not as the man who’d rescued her—no way would he use that to his advantage. But he wanted to meet her in a social setting. Wanted to prove to himself that what he was feeling would quickly dissipate without the adrenaline rush engendered by their dangerous first encounter.

On the other hand, could he risk having Alana figure out who he was? He could count on the fingers of both hands the people who knew that J.C. Moore, CEO extraordinaire, and Jason Moore, the founder and driving force behind the highly secret RMM, were one and the same man.

He could go to jail for some of the things he and RMM had done. He’d accepted that risk long ago with a philosophical shrug. But he hadn’t been careless about the danger. Only three people who weren’t associated with RMM knew how far the organization was willing to go. And of those three, one was related to him by blood, one owed him his daughters’ lives and one...one had been the third Musketeer with Sean and him ever since they were toddlers together.

His sister and her husband knew enough of his clandestine activities that they could be a threat. But Mei-li would burn at the stake for him. And DeWinter? Expose the man who’d been instrumental in rescuing his beloved twin daughters last year? “Not bloody likely,” Jason told himself, laughing under his breath.

And the third person? They’d wept together at Sean’s grave. He wasn’t a member of RMM only because his job prevented him from taking the oath...but that didn’t mean he wasn’t bound by the oath the same way Jason was. That didn’t mean he wasn’t inextricably bound to the founding principles of RMM, either. Which meant Jason had nothing to fear where he was concerned.

That brought him right back around to the question he’d asked himself in the first place. So what are you going to do about Alana?

Making a decision, he hit speed dial to call his sister. “I thought that would pique your interest,” she said when she answered the phone.

“Stop reading my mind.”

She laughed softly. “So why don’t you just come for dinner?”

“What if she figures out who I am?”

“You saved her life and she knows it. You think she’d do anything to put you at risk?”

“When you put it that way...no, I don’t. But—”

“But you don’t want her to be attracted to you because you saved her life.”

“Damn you,” he said without heat. “I knew you were perceptive. Intuitive. But it’s as if you’re a witch now.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes, Mei-li, I’d love to come for dinner tomorrow night.’”

“Not tomorrow night. I have to fly to Bangkok on business. Then London. But I’ll be back on Friday. What about that Friday night?”

“Done,” she said promptly. “I’ll ask Hannah to prepare your favorite curried chicken.”

He made a teasing comment in Cantonese about the way to a man’s heart, but Mei-li didn’t rise to the bait. He was just about to disconnect when she said, “You never answered my question. Should I tell Alana anything?”

“That would be a big n-o.”

His sister laughed softly. Meaningfully. And Jason knew she’d correctly interpreted exactly what it meant.

* * *

The following Friday Jason drove his fire-engine-red Jaguar F-TYPE SVR Coupe up Mount Austin Road, effortlessly shifting gears as he darted between traffic. He was running late and had already texted his sister before he left—there’d been a customs holdup with his private jet at the airport. Nothing serious, just annoying and time-consuming. Then he’d stopped at a florist on the way, one he often used. He’d called ahead and placed his order, so his floral apology for being late was ready and waiting for him when he arrived. But it still ate up more precious minutes.

If any car could make up for lost time, though, it was his beloved Jag. He’d driven Jaguars since his first car at eighteen, a birthday present from his maternal grandfather over the protests of his parents. Unlike his private jet, which was a necessity for his business, and unlike his penthouse condo in an exclusive area of the island, which had been a gift from his grandfather when he graduated from Oxford with highest honors thirteen years ago, the Jag was his only self-indulgence. His only concession to an inheritance that sometimes seemed more of a curse than a blessing.

It had bothered him greatly when his grandfather’s will had been read, and he’d learned that not only had his old-school Chinese grandfather passed over his only child—the daughter who he’d never truly forgiven for marrying a foreigner against his wishes—he also hadn’t divided his vast wealth equally between his two grandchildren. Minor shares in the company had been bequeathed to Jason’s mother and sister, along with some personal effects, but the bulk of the estate had been left to Jason...the only male heir.

That’s not right, he’d furiously stated to his grandfather’s solicitor in the office where the will was being read.

He’d immediately offered to sign everything over to his mother, who’d only smiled and shook her head. I knew what I was doing when I married your father, she’d said in her gentle voice, turning her breathtaking smile on her husband, famed producer/director Sir Joshua Moore. I have no regrets.

And though Jason had still been angry over his grandfather’s actions, it had been impossible not to be moved by the loving, wordless exchange between his parents. He’d grown up seeing their devotion to each other all his life, of course. But in that moment he’d finally understood what it really meant. And for the first time in his life he’d actively prayed to find a woman like his mother. A woman who would sacrifice everything for him.

“Ten years,” he whispered now, shifting gears automatically as the traffic ahead of him slowed. “Ten years, and still...”

He’d never found her. Never found the woman who would look at him with that unmistakable expression in her eyes, the one that said the world was well lost if she had him. “Wishing for the moon,” he scoffed at himself. And yet...

Mei-li had found a man who looked at her that way. Not once, but twice. First Sean all those years ago, and now DeWinter. But then, his sister never had to worry about being loved for anything other than her wonderful self. Mei-li had turned him down when he’d offered to split the inheritance evenly between them. Had she somehow seen into the future and divined the price Jason would pay for that wealth...and wanted nothing to do with it?

He took the turn that would lead him to the DeWinter estate and drove nearly half a mile before pulling up in front of the gate, no closer to an answer than he was when he’d started his little soul-searching episode. He rolled down the window and touched the electronic key card that would open the gate against the card reader. His sister had given it to him when the DeWinters had moved up here. He hadn’t told her he already had one—he’d designed the estate’s security for his sister and brother-in-law, and his company had installed the entire system. And like some software designers, he’d made sure he had “backdoor” access.

He tapped his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, waiting for the gate to swing open, then drove through. The Jag passed through an electronic beam, and the gate automatically shut behind him.

A minute later Jason pulled up to the main house, but to his surprise there was a police car parked in front of it. Perturbed, he grabbed the flowers off the seat next to him and headed for the front door, which swung open before he could ring the bell. “Sorry I’m late,” he told his sister, holding the flowers out in front of him, but hooking a finger over his shoulder at the police car. “What are the po—” He stopped abruptly, because the somber expression on Mei-li’s face warned him. “What’s wrong?”

“The police are here to question Alana again,” she said. “It hasn’t hit the news yet, but it will soon. There was another abduction while you were gone. Almost the exact same MO as the way she was snatched. On a crowded street. In broad daylight.”

Chapter 4

“I really can’t tell you anything more about the men who grabbed me,” Alana was saying when Jason approached the family room. “I wish I could.” From her voice Jason could tell she was practically in tears. “Especially now that another woman—” She broke off abruptly, then continued. “But they were wearing masks that completely covered their heads and faces except for their eyes. Then I was unconscious when they transported me to...wherever. I already told you they were speaking Cantonese when I could hear them, but they kept me blindfolded the entire time. I have no idea what they look like or where they were holding me, or anything.”

Both policemen turned when Jason and Mei-li walked into the room, and his sister quickly said, “You know Detective Inspector Lam, of course, of the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau. And this is Sergeant Wo of the same unit. Sergeant, this is my brother, Jason Moore. We were expecting him for dinner.” She turned to Alana and added smoothly, with almost no hesitation, “And this is Alana Richardson, Dirk’s executive assistant. She was abducted last Sunday and miraculously rescued. I told you about it, remember? The police are here trying to learn what they can.”

“Unnecessary to introduce me to either gentleman,” Jason said. He shook hands with the two policemen, addressing them formally. “Detective Inspector. Sergeant. Good to see you again, although not under these circumstances.” Then he turned to Alana, who had risen to greet him when the policemen did, and took her hand. “Miss Richardson. Glad to make your acquaintance. I was very sorry to hear from Mei-li what you had to go through, but needless to say I’m happy you suffered no permanent injury.”

Alana’s eyes widened as he spoke, and Jason cursed internally. Although he allowed nothing but polite interest to reflect in his expression, he realized she’d made the connection. She knew who he was. There was no way she recognized his face, so it had to be his voice.

She didn’t blurt it out, however, and Jason gave her bonus points for quick thinking and effective dissimulation. “I’m glad to meet you, too, Mr. Moore. Your sister has told me a lot about you. And Linden and Laurel are full of their ‘Unca Jason,’” she said. “You’re quite a favorite with them.”

Jason let himself smile in response. “And they’re quite the favorites with me, too.” Then he glanced at the policemen. “But don’t let me interrupt. You were in the middle of an interrogation, yes?”

“Not an interrogation,” the detective inspector was quick to point out, his face impassive. “Miss Richardson is a victim, not a suspect. But we were hoping she could shed some light on the men who abducted her.” His dark eyes met Jason’s. “Or on her miraculous rescue,” he added drily. “We received an anonymous tip the night she was rescued.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “And we did a thorough forensics analysis of the crime scene. DNA results on the man she scratched aren’t back yet, so if we knew who rescued her and how she was located, that could yield important information.”

When Jason’s expression betokened nothing but bland interest, the detective inspector went on. “We have reason to believe Miss Richardson’s abduction is related to a string of similar ones, most recently one that occurred yesterday.”

“That is unfortunate,” Jason agreed. Not by the tiniest flicker did he let on he knew anything more than he’d just been told. But his mind was working feverishly. He couldn’t reveal he knew exactly where Alana had been held or how she’d been tracked to that apartment. Nor could he reveal how she’d been rescued, not without putting himself and his men in an untenable position. Not without putting RMM itself at risk.

“What ties them all together?” To Jason’s surprise, it wasn’t his sister asking the question; it was Alana.

The two policemen exchanged glances, then the detective inspector said, “The MO, for one thing—modus operandi. We’re not at liberty to discuss anything more than that, Miss Richardson. Suffice it to say we have overwhelming evidence they are connected.”

Which made Jason wonder if the crime scene had yielded any clues. He hadn’t followed up on the police investigation the way he usually did, and he wondered about that, as well. Was it because he was trying not to be too involved? Because of the attraction he felt toward Alana that he didn’t want to feel? If so, it was a mistake, because now another woman had been abducted, and RMM needed to add that to its own investigation.

No one spoke for the space of five heartbeats, then the detective inspector said to Mei-li, “We should be going.” He turned to Alana. “You have my card, Miss Richardson. If you remember something—anything—please don’t hesitate to call that number. If I’m not there, you can leave a message with the desk sergeant.”

Mei-li walked the policemen out, but Jason stayed where he was. He glanced at Alana, noting she looked much better than the last time he’d seen her, her tear-stained face pale in the moonlight. But one thing hadn’t changed at all...he was still attracted to her. And that disconcerted him.

He was even more disconcerted when she said softly, “You look different from how I remember you.” He raised a questioning eyebrow as if he had no idea what she was talking about, but she wasn’t fooled. “Oh, don’t worry,” she reassured him. “I have no intention of revealing who you are to anyone, especially the police. Mei-li wouldn’t tell me anything about you, not even your first name. Not surprising, now that I know you’re her brother. But she did say sometimes RMM breaks the law.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“That you broke the law...for the right reasons? That you did whatever you had to do to rescue me?” Her oddly colored eyes—almost amethyst, really—glowed with an inner fire, holding his gaze. “What do you think, Mr. Moore?”

He smiled faintly. “Jason, please. And I think perhaps you’re romanticizing what happened.”

She shook her head. “I may be idealistic, but I’m not naive. Tell me that if the men who abducted me had come into the room you would have escaped without me. Tell me and I’ll believe you.” When he remained silent, her voice dropped a notch. “You would have done anything to rescue me. Even if it meant killing those men. Even if it meant dying yourself.”

He couldn’t lie. Not about this. “Yes.”

“I knew it. I knew it that night. You have no idea how much that means to me, knowing there are men like you left in this world.”

“Don’t make me out to be some kind of hero, Miss Richardson,” he began.

“Alana, please.”

“Alana,” he acknowledged. “Don’t make me out to be a hero. I—”

“You are. But that’s not the only reason why I’m—” She broke off, warm color tingeing her cheeks.

Mei-li walked back into the room at that moment, saying, “Dirk’s running late, Jason. Later than you. He said not to wait dinner for him, that he’ll—” She stopped short, and he knew his sister had read and correctly interpreted their body language. “I didn’t tell her, Jason, I swear.”

“I know.” He smiled at Mei-li with a touch of ruefulness. “She recognized my voice.”

Her concerned expression morphed into a smile. “Yes, that would tend to give you away.” Then she looked at Alana. “Since you didn’t say anything to the police about it when they were here, does that mean you don’t intend to? Ever?”

“Don’t put her on the spot like that,” Jason began, but Alana broke in.

“Never.” The implacable way in which the one word was uttered was even more revealing than the word itself. “If your brother hadn’t rescued me, I...I’d be in Macau right now. Forced into...” She shook her head slowly, then turned to gaze at Jason, everything she was feeling reflected on her face. The horror at what could have happened to her. Her fervent gratitude over being spared that fate. “Much as I’d like to help the police find the woman who was abducted yesterday, I don’t think telling them who rescued me will do any good, so your secret is safe with me.”

Jason wanted to make light of his actions, but for some reason he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He didn’t want Alana’s gratitude. Or did he? Last week his ego had been stoked by the idea that Alana saw him as a superhero. Apparently that hadn’t changed. Because the way she was looking at him? He wanted that. The same way he wanted her.

And he knew he was in trouble.

* * *

Verbal conversation at dinner was almost nonexistent between Jason and Alana. Mei-li kept the conversation going by addressing questions to both of them, questions they were forced to answer. But in between their gazes locked on each other, and they communicated without words.

Don’t look at me that way. You know nothing about me, his eyes said.

I know everything important there is to know, hers replied, then added, I could say the same to you about me. You know nothing about me.

His eyes flickered down to her wrists, which still bore the marks of the rope that had bound them—the rope she’d struggled against—then back upward. You’re a fighter. You refused to surrender. And when I showed up you knew not to ask questions right then. That tells me all I need to know.

Even after Dirk arrived, full of apologies for being late, Jason and Alana continued their silent conversation over the curried chicken.

I’m a criminal...in the eyes of the law.

You answer to a higher law.

Jason had believed that about himself since he’d found his true calling the day Sean had been buried, but he’d never thought he’d find a woman who understood. Was it possible? Could Alana understand? Truly understand?

Long before dinner was over Jason knew he wanted to see Alana again. And not just because he was physically drawn to her, although he wouldn’t lie to himself—there was a strong physical element to his attraction. But he also craved an opportunity to talk with her one-on-one, to get to know her as a person. And that was new for him. His previous relationships with women hadn’t prepared him for this at all.

Your own fault, he chastised himself. You gravitated toward women who knew the score. Who were expecting exactly what they got from you...and nothing else. And who gave you exactly what you asked of them...and nothing more.

The thought brought him up short. Had he become so jaded he hadn’t allowed himself to find the woman he’d been searching for all these years? Had he let his money and his complicated childhood become a barrier...and a self-fulfilling prophecy?

And what did that mean where Alana was concerned? Wouldn’t she be better off if he left her the hell alone?

* * *

The Eight Tigers only met as a group a few times a year as a general rule. But the enforcer in charge of prostitution had asked for this special meeting, and the High Tiger had acquiesced...once he knew what the other man had to report.

“We are back on target,” the man boasted to the assemblage. “A new woman has been added to our premier house in Macau.” His eyes took on a lascivious leer. “She is quite a prize—I have sampled her myself.”

The High Tiger ignored the expressions of disgust on the faces of three of his fellow Tigers. Prostitution was not to every man’s taste, especially when women were abducted and forced into one of the Eight Tigers’ illegal brothels. Which was why those men were not in charge of the prostitution arm of their criminal organization.

This was business—an extremely profitable one for the Eight Tigers. It generated nearly as much money as heroin, cocaine, ecstasy and the other illegal drugs they dealt in, which he privately deplored but allowed to continue because the market was too profitable to ignore.

So just as he suppressed his personal dislike of that enterprise for the good of all, so, too, would the men who objected to forced prostitution. They might be personally disgusted, but they would say nothing, do nothing. Nothing at all.

* * *

It was very late by the time Jason left. Alana said her good-nights to the DeWinters and headed for her bedroom, unable to get Jason out of her mind. Also unable to eradicate the terrible disappointment that he hadn’t asked to see her again. She’d given him as much encouragement as she could without being too obvious, and a bubble of excitement had sustained her throughout the evening. Now her bubble had burst, leaving her crushed.

Could she have mistaken the very male intent in his eyes? She didn’t think so. She wasn’t that naive. She’d dated steadily in high school and college, and had already gently turned down three marriage proposals, one of which had caused her a pang because she’d known the man had genuinely cared about her, unlike the other two who’d proposed only because her family’s money and prestige made her a “suitable” bride for someone in their social stratum.

But she’d never found a man whose kiss, whose touch, made her want more. Had never even come close. She’d been so concerned she’d even mentioned it to Juliana. Her cousin had reassuringly dismissed those fears, saying, “Don’t sweat it, honey. It’ll happen, I’m sure. Some women are just a one-man woman. I was. All the men I dated in Hollywood? Zip. Zilch. Zero. But with Andre...” Juliana had laughed softly, suggestively, adding, “When you meet him, you’ll know. Trust me.”

Jason hadn’t kissed her. But he’d touched her a week ago. And just like that, she’d wanted him. As if her body had recognized he was the one she’d been saving herself for...even though she hadn’t consciously been doing it for anyone.

But apparently Jason didn’t feel the same way, despite what she’d thought were their nonverbal exchanges this evening. Had it all been in her mind? Had she imagined the emotional and physical bond that had seemed to spring to life between them?

Alana brushed her teeth, donned her pj’s and slipped into bed, still wondering. Then buried her face against her pillow. “Right, Jules,” she muttered, using her pet name for her absent cousin. “When I meet him I’ll know. Terrific advice. But what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What then?”

Her smartphone chirped in the stillness.

She scrambled out of bed and rushed to answer it. “Hello?”

“Alana?” She caught her breath, because only one man said her name that way. Only one man’s voice made her go weak in the knees. She didn’t even need him to say “It’s Jason Moore” to know who was calling her.

She clutched the phone tightly against her ear. “Hi, Jason.” Then couldn’t think of another single, solitary thing to say except, “How did you get my cell phone number?”

He laughed softly, and her nipples tightened until they ached. “I’d better not tell you. I don’t want you to think I’m stalking you.”

She let her breath out in a whoosh, and only then realized she’d been holding it. Jason called you, she exulted as she padded back to her bed and slipped beneath the covers. It wasn’t your imagination after all.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. I wasn’t asleep. I was hoping you’d call.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but true enough.

“I debated with myself for the longest time,” he admitted. “My better self said I shouldn’t. But here I am, calling you.”

“I’m glad,” she whispered. Then she focused on what he’d said. “Why would your better self say you shouldn’t? Couldn’t you tell that I...” She cleared her throat. “What I mean is, I’m a nice person. At least I think I am—most people like me.”

His voice deepened. “It’s not you, it’s me.” Then he laughed suddenly. “And isn’t that the stereotypical response when you’re trying to brush someone off? ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?” The humor fled his tone. “But in this case, it’s true. I can think of a hundred reasons why you should avoid me like the plague, and only one reason why you shouldn’t.”

“And that is...?”

He breathed deeply in her ear. “Because a connection exists between us, whether we want it to or not. Physical and emotional.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“You admit it.”

“Yes.”

“Then would you spend the day with me tomorrow? It’s Saturday. Are you free?”

“Yes, I am, and yes, I will. I’d love to.”

There was silence at the other end until he said, “You don’t play games, Alana.” The approving note in his voice wasn’t lost on her.

“No, I don’t play games. But I also don’t...” She couldn’t quite bring herself to finish that statement, but he finished it for her.

“You don’t sleep with a man on the first date.”

Warmth inundated her cheeks, and she couldn’t tell him that not only did she not sleep with a man on the first date, she also hadn’t slept with any man. Ever. But she hadn’t been tempted before. She hadn’t known Jason before. If she had, she wasn’t sure she’d still be a virgin at the ripe old age of twenty-six.

Once upon a time that wouldn’t have been an issue. But nowadays it made her an anachronism. And everyone assumed—men and women alike—that she had more experience than she actually did. Men in particular thought a woman who was still a virgin at this age either had to have strong religious beliefs about chastity or wasn’t into men at all. Neither of which was the case for her. She just hadn’t met a man who made her want to sleep with him. Until now.

“You don’t have to worry, Alana. Do I want to sleep with you? Absolutely. But would I pressure you when you’re not ready? Never.”

“I know you wouldn’t. It’s not you, it’s me.” As soon as the words left her mouth she laughed, embarrassment combining with dismay. “Oh, no, did I really say that? What I meant was—”

“Part of you wants to...but you’re not sure.” His deep voice curled through her. “Don’t worry. When you’re ready, and not a moment sooner. You’ll be as safe with me as you want to be.”

Which only raised the question in Alana’s mind...how safe did she want to be?

Chapter 5

Just over two weeks later Alana and Jason stood on the sidewalk in the Ladies’ Market in the Mong Kok district, browsing the gaily colored scarves on display at a stall. “It looks like silk to me,” she said, stroking one that had swirls of amethyst fading into lavender blue, colors she loved. “But how can I really know?”

“Easy.” Jason took the scarf from Alana and rubbed it between his fingers. “Real silk will feel warm when you rub it.” He made a sound of dismissal. “This isn’t real silk.”

“It’s beautiful, though,” Alana said wistfully.

“Yes, but the price he’s asking is unreasonable. You need to bargain.” When Alana hesitated, because that wasn’t something she felt comfortable doing, Jason turned to the smiling shopkeeper, saying something in rapid Cantonese she figured was an offer. And from the exaggeratedly shocked expression on the shopkeeper’s face and a couple of words she recognized, it was a lowball offer.

“How much?” she whispered.

“Shhh. He probably knows more English than he lets on. Let me handle this.”

Five minutes of heated bargaining later, Jason drew a banknote from his wallet to pay for the scarf. “Wait,” Alana said, tugging at his arm. “I can’t let you—”

He ignored her protest, pocketed his change, then dexterously looped the scarf around her neck and tied it in a festive bow. He smiled down at her. “It’s less than the cost of our lunch,” he said patiently. “You didn’t say anything about that.”

“That was different.” She struggled to explain. “That was a...a date. Like all our other dates. This is a gift.”

He brushed back a lock of her hair that had fallen forward and tucked it behind her ear. “The scarf was made for you. It matches your eyes, you know.”

“Yes, but...”

“I paid a tenth of the asking price. Not so expensive.”

“Yes, but...”

“It gives me pleasure to see you wearing my gift, Alana. Would you deny me that small enjoyment?”

When he put it that way, she could only accept with as much grace as she could muster. “Thank you. It’s very sweet of you. I just don’t want you to think I expect...that is, I can afford to buy...I mean—”

“I understand. And I’ll answer the question you wouldn’t ask. I can afford it.” His smile was tender. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you picked the least expensive item on the menu at every restaurant I’ve taken you to these past two weeks?”

Now she was really flustered. “Oh, I...”

* * *

It was really quite endearing, Jason thought. But did she honestly not know he could well afford to buy her anything her heart desired? But you haven’t driven the Jag since you began taking her out, his conscience reminded him. You didn’t want her to know...

Alana came from money. Mei-li had told him all about it, including how Alana had ended up as Dirk’s executive assistant. But there was money...and then there was money. Millions versus billions. Just as he didn’t want Alana to confuse gratitude over her rescue with the attraction she felt toward him, he didn’t want her dazzled by his immense wealth, either. Which was why he’d rented a middle-class car for his dates with her. He didn’t mind her knowing he was comfortably well-off. He wasn’t going to pretend to a life of poverty. But he wasn’t going to flaunt anything, either; wasn’t going to announce that he could buy and sell her father’s company ten times over.

He took Alana’s arm and they continued strolling down the crowded street. They paused every now and then to look at something that caught her eye, but she wouldn’t let him buy her anything more even though he offered several times.

Jason was well aware he and Alana drew more than their fair share of interest from the people they passed. He was taller than most Han Chinese, for one thing. And he didn’t look Chinese. But cosmopolitan Hong Kong was used to British, Australian and American residents and tourists, so both of those things would have been quickly dismissed...if he hadn’t been with Alana.

Young, delicately beautiful, with long, dark hair, which she wore down, and those unusual eyes. Did she know her resemblance to her famous cousin Juliana—long acknowledged as one of the most beautiful women in the world—made both men and women give her second and third glances? Covetous looks from the men, envious looks from the women. She didn’t seem to be aware, and that intrigued him. He’d been with beautiful women before—his wealth drew them like bees to honey. But other than his mother and sister, he’d never known a beautiful woman who didn’t trade on her beauty. Who didn’t play it up every chance she had.

Until Alana.

She was wearing a simple lavender blue sundress today, which had been unadorned except for a simple silver locket until he’d bought her the scarf. Sandals on her slender feet meant lots of bare leg showing, which would have drawn comments of the wolfish variety in Cantonese...if Jason hadn’t been at her side.

He’d brought her here to the Ladies’ Market deliberately, although he hadn’t told her that. This wasn’t the same street from which she’d been abducted three weeks ago, but it was similar. And in a strange way Jason had wanted to make sure she wasn’t afraid to return to the scene of the crime, as it were. Hong Kong was his city. He’d spent years in England attending an elite boarding school like his father before him, then studying at Oxford. But Hong Kong was his home, and most likely always would be. He didn’t want one bad experience to taint Alana’s perception of the city.

He’d considered bringing her here on their first date two Saturdays ago, but had rejected that as a bad idea since her abduction had been too fresh in her mind at that point. So he’d taken her to another tourist destination instead, the Tian Tan Buddha on Lantau Island. He’d been so—he couldn’t think of a better word than enamored—of her after their first date that he’d invited her to spend the next day with him, as well...an invitation she’d promptly accepted.

She doesn’t play games, Jason had reminded himself then and several times since, loving Alana’s open delight in the sights she’d visited with him, as well as being in his company.

He’d monopolized her free time the past two weeks, but he hadn’t so much as kissed her for one critical reason—once he started, he didn’t trust himself to stop. And he’d promised her she’d be as safe with him as she wanted to be. She was a temptation he didn’t want to resist, but he’d given her his word...and he always kept his word. Until Alana gave him the green light, it was easier not to start than to stop partway.

But that meant he’d spent nearly every moment with her in a constant state of semiarousal. Painful, but it wouldn’t kill him. At least that was what he’d told himself...repeatedly. Problem was, the ache only grew stronger and more urgent the more time he spent in her company. Jason knew the day was not too far off when something would have to give.

* * *

They finally reached the end of the long street, and Alana said abruptly, “I’m hungry.”

Jason smiled. “Not surprising, given how little you ate at lunch.”

“Yes, well...” She didn’t want to revisit that discussion. “All this walking has given me an appetite.” She pointed to the McDonald’s across the street and halfway down the block. “I’d like one of those taro pies. Do you mind?”

Alana stepped back on the sidewalk to allow three young women chattering away in Cantonese to pass them, and Jason did the same. Then she continued, “I know fried anything isn’t all that healthy for you, but I don’t care. I love the little fried apple pies at McDonald’s in the US, but the taro ones here in Hong Kong are to die for.” She put her hand on her purse. “My treat, okay?”

He’d just opened his mouth—probably to argue with her—when it happened. A white van screeched to a halt in the middle of the cross street, and the side door slammed open. Alana watched in horror as two men wearing black masks jumped out and grabbed the smallest and prettiest of the three women who’d just passed them on the sidewalk. One of the men held a white cloth over the woman’s nose and mouth. She struggled for a moment, then sagged limply against her attacker. The other masked man pushed the woman’s two companions to the ground, then he joined the first, and together they began dragging the unconscious woman toward the white van double-parked in the road with its engine running.

For a split second déjà vu held Alana frozen, then she darted forward. “Stop!” She grabbed the arm of one man and kicked at the legs of the other. “Let her go!” she screamed. “Help!”

She saw the fist aimed at her head and flinched, but it never made contact. Jason was there parrying the attacker’s arm, then delivering a flurry of punishing blows to the man’s midsection. The second masked man dropped the woman he was holding and produced a switchblade knife. He lunged at Jason, who danced back, out of danger. Then the man grabbed his fellow attacker and bundled him into the van, which roared away even before the side door was closed.

“Oh, my God, Jason, are you okay?” Alana launched herself at him, running her hands over his body to make sure the knife hadn’t made contact. Reassured when she found no blood, she swung around to the unconscious woman lying in the middle of the street, whose two friends had already recovered enough to be huddling around her. One woman had her cell phone out, she saw with relief, probably calling for the police and an ambulance.

Suddenly Jason was there. “Let’s get her out of the street,” he said, and such was his air of authority that when he barked a command in Cantonese, two bystanders moved in to help.

Now Alana could hear police sirens in the distance, and the adrenaline that had allowed her to fight to prevent another kidnapping drained away, leaving her shaking and cold. The memory of her own abduction swamped her...especially those moments of near-despair on the cot in that horrible apartment, and she sank to her knees, hugging herself for warmth. “Oh, God,” she whispered to herself. “Oh, God.”

Jason had his back to her, but when she glanced up she could see he was talking into his cell phone. Then he turned around, saw her and disconnected almost immediately. He was at her side in an instant.

“Alana?” She knew he meant, “Are you hurt?” by the way his face contracted with concern, the way his hands touched her so gently yet with implacable purpose.

“I’m fine,” she managed, trying desperately to catch her breath.

He drew her to her feet and pressed her head against his chest, then his arms closed around her. “It’s okay,” he soothed as if he realized exactly what she needed to hear. “Just breathe. That’s right. Just breathe.”

His body heat transferred itself to her, dispelling the chill. But it was his embrace that truly gave her what she needed. Safe, her frantic mind reassured her, just as it had during her dramatic rescue three weeks earlier. Jason’s rescue. You’re safe.

* * *

Jason took charge at the police station, refusing to let Alana be questioned and insisting Detective Inspector Lam of the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau be called in. “Miss Richardson was abducted the same way three weeks ago,” he explained. “He’s already working the case.”

Alana allowed herself to be seated in the tiny interrogation room, moving on autopilot. A second of near-panic was dispelled when Jason dragged his chair over to sit next to her. His strong arm drew her to his side. “You’re okay,” he reassured her in the same calm voice he’d used in the aftermath of the attack.

She struggled against the fog that seemed to envelop her. “I know. It’s just...remembering...” When his arm tightened around her shoulders, she added disjointedly, “The scene today. That’s exactly... In broad daylight. In the middle of a crowd. I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it was happening.” She buried her face against his shoulder. “I was terrified,” she confessed.

“But you fought them. Three weeks ago and today.” Admiration colored his words.

“But—”

He stopped her before she could continue. “No buts. You fought, Alana. That woman today is safe because of your quick thinking.”

She shook her head slightly, unwilling to leave the comforting shelter of Jason’s embrace. “No. She’s safe because of you. I couldn’t stop them. I just—”

“Delayed them long enough for me to intervene.” Something brushed against her forehead, and Alana realized it was Jason’s lips. His first kiss, her brain recognized, and she hugged that knowledge to herself like the precious memory it would always be.

“She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?” she asked.

“I don’t see why not. Chloroform doesn’t leave any lasting effects—you know that. She was taken to hospital, but I doubt they’ll keep her once she regains consciousness.” His voice roughened. “I’m sorry.”

She raised her head to look at him. “For what?”

“For putting you through that experience again.” The corner of his mouth twitched against strong emotions held firmly in check. “I brought you there on purpose today, but I would never have done that if I had any idea...” When she just stared at him in incomprehension, he explained, “I didn’t want one bad experience to color your perspective of Hong Kong.”

She blinked. “Why?”

He didn’t respond at first. Then, his dark eyes full of meaning, said, “Because this city is my home.”

He didn’t say anything more. It took her a minute, but eventually her eyes widened in dawning comprehension.

She almost blurted it out, but stopped herself in time, instead saying, “I’m glad you brought me there...whatever the reason. Yes, it triggered all those bad memories, but I’m so glad we were able to save another woman from being abducted. Remembering my own similar experience is a small price to pay.”

Their gazes locked and held, and another nonverbal message was exchanged...this one momentous. Then a brisk knock sounded on the interrogation room door, breaking the spell, and the door opened to reveal Detective Inspector Lam.

Alana straightened and made as if to pull away from Jason, but he refused to let her go. She knew from the deliberately impassive expression on Detective Inspector Lam’s face that he’d put two and two together, but had no intention of raising the issue since it wasn’t germane to the situation.

“Miss Richardson, Mr. Moore,” he acknowledged smoothly. “Sorry to meet you again under these difficult circumstances.”

* * *

Two hours later Alana and Jason were free to go. Detective Inspector Lam ordered a squad car to take them back to where Jason’s rented car was parked. “Home?” he asked her when they were standing on the sidewalk.

She shook her head emphatically. “Not unless you want to. I’m not ready for this day with you to end.”

Pride in her surged through him. The same pride he’d felt during the attack today. The same pride he’d experienced listening to her steady answers to Detective Inspector Lam’s questions, despite the latent fear he’d known still held her in its sway.

Pride? he asked himself suddenly. Why pride?

The answer, when it came, jolted through him like an electric shock. Alana wasn’t his, but he wanted her to be. And that blew him away. You’ve only known her three weeks, the rational side of his brain protested. You haven’t even slept with her, for God’s sake!

But none of that seemed to matter. It was as if he recognized in her the mate he’d been searching for these past ten years. A woman who cared as passionately as he did about right and wrong, about protecting the innocent, no matter the cost. A woman who would sacrifice everything, even her own life. Not just for someone she loved, but for a stranger.

Just as he would.

* * *

Jason’s smartphone sounded as he and Alana were sitting down in McDonald’s with their somewhat-delayed taro pies, and he answered it with, “Wei?” He listened for a moment, then replied in staccato Cantonese too quick for Alana to decipher. She’d been taking lessons since she’d first arrived less than two months ago, but so far she’d only really mastered the basics that any tourist needed to know, like “bathroom,” “train station,” and “Star Ferry”—the most common way to cross from Hong Kong Island to the mainland if you were on foot. When Jason disconnected she raised her eyebrows in a question.

“The license plate on the van was stolen,” he admitted.

“Detective Inspector Lam told you?”

“No.”

Just the one word, but Alana wasn’t stupid. “RMM.” She nodded to herself. “That’s who you were talking to on your cell phone earlier today, right after it happened. I should have realized, but I...I wasn’t quite myself at that moment.”

Jason didn’t confirm or deny, but there was something in his eyes that made her feel she’d earned his approval again.

She opened the end of the cardboard container holding her taro pie and stared at it for a moment. Then she raised her gaze to Jason’s. “Would you tell me something?”

He hesitated. “If I can.”

“How did you become involved with RMM?”

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