PROFILE

FIRSTBORN SON: | Walker James
AGE: | 28
STATS: | 6'2", lean, well muscled. Jet-black hair. Piercing blue eyes. Chiseled, gorgeous features.
OCCUPATION: | International spy
AREA OF EXPERTISE: | Antiterrorism
PERSONALITY: | Tough but charming
FAVORITE SPORT: | Climbing isolated mountains and rappelling down canyon walls
MOST CHARMING CHARACTERISTIC: | His slow, wide, devastating grin
BRAVEST ACT OF COURAGE: | Going back into a building he’d set to detonate to assist an injured team member
PREFERRED ROMANTIC SETTING: | A certain balcony in Venice dancing beneath the stars
GREATEST PASSION: | An exotic Moroccan beauty he’s been unable to get out of his mind—or his heart

Born in Secret
Kylie Brant

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For all our extra kids—who fill our house, empty our cupboards and warm our hearts

Bound by the legacy of their fathers, six firstborn sons are about to discover the stuff true heroes—and true love—are made of….

Walker James: This darkly handsome spy learned the hard way that beautiful women are lethal if not kept at a distance. Now, working side by side with his stunning former flame to locate a deadly virus—and keeping a tight rein on his traitorous desires—could prove to be his ultimate undoing!

Jasmine LeBarr: As she aligns herself with the only man who can make her tremble with his merest touch, Jasmine is caught off guard by the emotional storm raging inside her. Now it’s anyone’s guess who will emerge victorious in this turbulent battle of wills….

Captain Richard Sutter: This seasoned mercenary is working behind the scenes to pave his firstborn son’s future. But at what cost?

The Brothers of Darkness: The sinister terrorist organization has been using the bad blood between the powerful Kamal and Sebastiani clans to their own advantage….

Sheik Rashid Kamal: Will this missing royal heir make it back alive to claim his rightful legacy—and his child?

A note from talented writer Kylie Brant, author of over ten novels for Silhouette Books:

Dear Reader,

Being asked to be part of a continuity is always a special thrill. And the concept behind the Intimate Moments FIRSTBORN SONS series intrigued me from the first. Who could resist heroes who put honor above all else and the very special heroines who teach them the power of true love?

In Born in Secret, Walker James and Jasmine LeBarr are paired to track down the deadly anthrax virus before it can be used to destroy an entire country. Their dangerous mission is complicated by their memory of the night they spent together three years ago. This time, though, they’re both convinced they can walk away from each other unscathed. What they learn, however, is that the peril of their assignment is matched only by the danger to their hearts!

My writing shares time with my full-time teaching job, husband and five children. Now that two of my kids are grown (well, sort of!), we juggle only three athletic calendars each season. These days, the most time my husband and I spend together is sitting on a bleacher at a game of some kind! We’re also veterans of emergency-room visits, usually the result of the aforementioned sports. But when the games are over I can close the office door, turn on the computer and dream away. And in between the frequent interruptions of phone and family, Walker and Jasmine’s story unfolded.

I hope you enjoy their story!

Sincerely,

Readers may contact me by snail mail at P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616, or by e-mail at kyliebrant@hotmail.com.

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

“No one can know that I’m involved. Not even your agents.”

Richard Sutter picked up a crystal decanter of aged Scotch and splashed two generous fingers into each of a pair of cut glass tumblers. He handed a glass to his friend, and then sank down into one of the matching rich leather armchairs. At the first taste of the smooth liquor, he gave a small sigh of appreciation. It was a moment before he noticed that his guest had failed to follow suit.

“What’s the matter? Those terms not to your liking? I’m paying you a king’s ransom, you old reprobate. I’m entitled to a few conditions.”

The remark had Dirk Longfield’s mouth curving, but his gaze remained speculative. “No problem. Just wondering what’s behind your need for anonymity.” At the silence that followed his words, his brows skimmed upward and he tipped his glass to his lips. “And I’m quite aware that you’re not going to enlighten me.”

Raising his glass in a mock salute, Richard drank. “An astute observation.” His friend knew better than to waste time asking questions that wouldn’t be answered. They were both comfortable in the shadowy world of secrecy.

“Do you think you’ll have trouble getting Walker James to take this assignment?” His casual tone belied the purposefulness of the question.

Dirk hooked an ankle over his knee. “Trouble? No. Walker will do it for me.”

The certainty in his remark brought Richard a sense of relief that was only mildly tinged with jealousy. He focused on the first emotion and tried to ignore the second. The assignment would proceed as he’d planned. That was all that mattered. He thought it, and tried to believe it. “Good. From what I’ve observed, James is becoming one of the best in the business.” He waited with interest for his friend’s reaction.

Dirk tensed, straightened a bit in his chair. “Becoming? Walker is the best. The boy’s instincts are uncanny, and he’s a bloody genius when it comes to circumventing security. There’s no one in the field better suited for the task you outlined.”

For all the pride in his tone, Dirk sounded like Walker’s proud father, something both he and Richard knew he was not. “I assume you have someone in mind to partner with James.”

Nodding, Dirk raised his glass and sipped. “Another agent I highly recommend. Not as experienced as Walker, but very resourceful, and rapidly earning a reputation. I have no doubt they’ll execute the mission perfectly.”

“I hope so. Because we both know the ramifications if they fail.” The two men shared a silent look of understanding, then raised their glasses. To the mission. To success.

Long after Dirk had left, Richard remained in his study, contemplating the faded network of scars on the back of his hands. His gaze was turned inward, on a bittersweet journey of memories that he rarely indulged in. The hard living he’d experienced in his sixty-two years hadn’t come without regrets. Decisions made decades ago, even viewed from the distance of time, could still haunt.

With effort he climbed out of memory’s abyss and into the present. He trusted Dirk to do as he’d promised, and had no doubt that very soon Walker James would be flying to the Middle East to begin the assignment. Richard thought it was a mission that Walker would relish and excel at. And since Richard’s involvement would be kept secret, there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t accept the job.

It occurred to him then that Walker bore more resemblance to Dirk Longfield than he did to his own father. He tried not to let that bother him, wished that it didn’t. They both had black hair, although Dirk’s was now threaded with gray. Walker’s eyes were a shade lighter than Dirk’s midnight-blue, and his regard even more piercing. But the real cause for jealousy wasn’t for the two men’s similarity in looks, it was for their relationship. Richard knew that Walker considered Dirk his father in every sense that mattered.

And that fact was his biggest regret of all.

Chapter 1

At heart, Walker James would always remain a thief. The acknowledgment brought him no shame. He’d been a damn good one in his delinquent youth. If his illegal career had been cut short by Dirk Longfield’s interference, well, the talents he’d acquired along the way had been equally useful in the alternative path he’d chosen. Or perhaps, he mused sardonically, it had chosen him. It was doubtful that many people made the conscious decision to become a spy.

He prowled Dirk’s well-appointed office, his muscled frame moving soundlessly. For once he failed to be amused by his mentor’s choice in collectibles. A Ming dynasty vase stood side by side with a chipped and faded replica of Mickey Mouse. A Picasso adorned one wall, hanging next to a scarlet sunset painted on velvet, artist unknown. Beneath his feet was a rich faded tapestry rug dating from the regime of Catherine the Great. And behind the acre-long walnut desk was a well-known wall hanging of canines cheating at poker.

The rare beside the common. The tacky and the priceless. The collection invited a guest to make all manner of judgments about the collector. They would likely all be wrong. After ten years of friendship with Dirk, Walker knew the man acquired chiefly for whimsy. The value of an object meant far less to him than the fact that it had caught his fancy. Walker didn’t share the sentiment, but he understood it. Just as he understood the man who had currently been keeping him waiting for—he checked his watch again—twenty minutes.

When he’d received the phone call from his mentor, Walker had been on his way out the door for some well-deserved rest on a tropical beach, preferably a nude one. Although he’d meant to travel alone, he hadn’t intended to stay that way for long. There had been a lot of creature comforts that he’d gone without for a while, and sex was one of them. He’d hoped to take the next couple weeks remedying that.

But then he’d spoken to Dirk and plans had changed. The airline ticket had remained lying on top of the gateleg hallway table in his Philadelphia penthouse, and he’d driven down to Virginia immediately. Loyalty was an innate part of his makeup. Which explained why he was currently cooling his heels in this gallery of contrasts instead of sitting on a white sand beach, sipping rum and oiling a well-endowed blonde’s butt. He glanced at his watch again. Patience would never be one of his strengths.

The door opened then and he turned a jaundiced eye toward the man strolling toward him. “For a guy who was in such a hurry to get me here, you seem to have developed a sluggish sense of time.”

Dirk merely shot him a good-natured smile and clapped an arm around his shoulders. “You’re looking good, kid.” He reared back, pretended to study the younger man’s face. “A few more lines, maybe, but you needed to toughen up that pretty-boy face of yours.”

An unwilling smile tugging at his lips, Walker returned the man’s embrace. “It’s only been three months. I couldn’t have aged that much.” If he had he would only count it as a blessing. The movie star good looks he’d been cursed with at birth didn’t exactly make his an anonymous face. That was a damn nuisance in his line of work.

Gesturing the younger man to a chair, Dirk seated himself. “You probably should have. The way I hear it, you barely managed to escape your last mission with all your limbs intact.” His casual tone didn’t quite mask the concern in his voice.

Walker shrugged. “Let’s just say I have a renewed respect for explosives.” Although he hadn’t walked away from the job unscathed, he had walked away. It was an important distinction. “The mission was successful.”

Dirk’s mouth quirked. “I never doubted it. Which leads me, indirectly, to why you’re here. I have a job to propose, one that calls for the best. Naturally I thought of you.”

“I learned from the best.” Walker’s quiet answer was more than just factual. It was Dirk who had introduced him to the shadowy world of espionage…a world where right and wrongs weren’t always black and white, but more often a mottled shade of gray. He’d found it a comfortable enough fit.

Inclining his head to acknowledge the compliment, Dirk went on. “How much have you heard about the trouble brewing between Montebello and Tamir?”

“In which decade?” Walker asked dryly. The two small Middle Eastern countries had been feuding on and off for more than a century. “Seems like I heard something recently about Sheik Ahmed Kamal’s son being missing and him holding King Marcus Sebastiani responsible.”

Dirk’s expression was serious. “The king’s oldest daughter is pregnant by Kamal’s son, Rashid. He was last seen in the company of the princess, so when he came up missing Kamal immediately blamed Sebastiani. The sheik threatened to retaliate by taking over Montebello.”

Walker let out a soft tuneless whistle. Since Montebello was situated in a strategic military location, the ramifications were clear. “So the U.S. wants to protect their interests there, discreetly of course, while keeping the peace.”

“Partially.” Dirk hesitated for a moment, seemed to choose his words carefully. “There have been threats on Sebastiani’s family—bombings, attempted kidnappings— and the king believed Kamal was behind them. New intelligence indicates that the sheik wasn’t responsible at all, but a rebel faction housed in Maloun called the Brothers of Darkness.”

“I’ve heard of them. They’re rumored to have at least one terrorist cell here in the states, near L.A.” He frowned, searching his memory. “Seems there was something recently about a U.C.L.A. scientist being questioned about a possible connection with them.”

“Dr. Sinan Omer. He’s suspected of taking a shot at Princess Christina Sebastiani while at a conference out there. We think the Brothers have been heightening the strife between the two countries as a cover. Our sources in the Middle East tell us the organization is close to developing an anthrax virus to use against Kamal’s people. They intend to overthrow the sheik’s government and bring their own leader into power there.”

“Biological warfare.” Walker said the words, felt chilled. If the organization succeeded, he doubted they’d be content with oil rich Tamir. The entire Middle East would be at risk. The repercussions would be felt around the world.

He looked at Dirk. “What do I do?” That simply, that easily, he was committed. He could think of nothing he wouldn’t do for this man, who’d stepped into his life and changed its direction. But there was a larger, more encompassing matter at stake. Over the years, much to his dismay, Walker James had developed a conscience.

He blamed Dirk for it, of course. It was a damn bother most of the time, and he’d never grown entirely comfortable with it. But the work he’d done first for Dirk, and then with his own team, hiring out to the trouble spots in the world, had taught him to value peace. It was a quality found too infrequently for him to be indifferent to it.

The older man looked pleased, and a bit relieved. “Before I go into the whole plan, I should tell you that you’ll be paired with a partner. I was briefing her before you arrived. I’ll get her so we can all discuss the job together.”

Before Walker could respond, Dirk strode to the door, pulled it open and disappeared. He rose, stared after the man, something about his behavior striking him as odd. There had been an almost furtive quality to it, which was ludicrous. Dirk had never been anything but up-front with him.

Shaking off the feeling, he strolled to his host’s desk and picked up a chunk of jade used as a paperweight. It was new since Walker’s last visit, and he hefted it, examining it critically. Worth about twenty grand on the open market, he calculated, probably half that to a fence. The assessment was as natural as breathing. He may have gotten his life straightened out a decade ago, but he prided himself on keeping up on the trade.

Hearing a sound at the door, he turned, ready to ask Dirk about the jade. And instead stared in disbelief at the woman accompanying the older man. Fate, he’d always thought, was merely the acts of a whimsical god. And right now that god was having a good hard laugh at Walker’s expense.

“What’s she doing here?” His voice was flat. He was afraid, very much afraid, that he already knew the answer to that particular question.

His fear was confirmed when Dirk skirted his gaze and said, just a shade too heartily, “You remember Jasmine, of course. She’ll be your partner on this case.”

Walker glanced at the woman and saw her looking at him, her beautiful, exotic face composed. As if she didn’t remember the one night they’d spent together. How completely she’d surrendered; how perfectly they’d fit.

And how easily she’d betrayed him the next day.

He gave her a careless nod. “Jasmine…LeBarr, isn’t it? Sure I remember. It’s been…what? A couple years? In Barcelona?”

“Closer to three, I believe. And it was Venice.” Her English still held the slightly formal style of those not born speaking it, though her accent had faded to a mere lilt layering her words. Her voice was the same, warm sin wrapped in seductive velvet. Such a lovely voice for someone so unscrupulous. It had lingered in his memory far longer than he’d like to admit. The admission was bitter.

His attention switched to Dirk. “Get rid of her.”

“What?”

“Get rid of her, or find someone else to take my place. I don’t lay my life on the line with a partner I don’t trust absolutely. She doesn’t come close to fitting the bill.”

Clearly taken aback, Dirk cleared his throat. “Let’s all sit down, shall we? We can work this out.”

“I do not think Walker can be convinced, Dirk.” Jasmine’s tone was coolly amused. “From what I remember he does not like to listen to reason.”

His gaze narrowed. “No offense, sugar, but I don’t happen to have a death wish. And going into a terrorist stronghold with a woman of your, uh, experience doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.” He was gratified to see her lovely cheeks flush with reaction to his innuendo. She glared at him.

“Now, Walker…surely you haven’t held a grudge all this time just because Jasmine outmaneuvered you the last time the two of you met up.”

Dirk’s voice, damn him, was amused. But then, he would only know about the mission that had pitted Walker and Jasmine against each other, not about their brief relationship. Walker was in no mood to enlighten the other man. “I don’t need her. I can do the job alone.”

“No, you can’t.” Gesturing Jasmine to a chair, Dirk waited for her to be seated before sitting beside her. The fact that Walker remained standing didn’t seem to bother him in the least. “It’s taken some very delicate negotiation to hammer out a plan with Sheik Ahmed Kamal. He’s touchy and has never made any secret of his distrust of westerners. He’d never agree to having this operation rest solely in the hands of an American.”

Knowing that Dirk was right didn’t make the words any more palatable. Walker paced, hands jammed into his pockets. The sheik’s bias against the western world was well known, and second only in intensity to his distrust of King Marcus. Walker was rapidly getting a sense of finality about this whole thing. But that didn’t stop him from trying one last time. “You can get someone else to take her place then. Preferably someone with a few more years in the field than she has.”

“That’s not possible. Sheik Kamal has already approved Jasmine for the job. In fact, he seemed quite pleased that she would be included.”

“Another sucker duped by your charms, Jaz?” It was nasty and low, but at the moment Walker was feeling nasty, and he was feeling low.

“I had the privilege of staying at the sheik’s home as a guest of his daughter, Leila, just last year.” Jasmine’s words were even, her gaze unwavering. “He is a man of great pride. It will be difficult for him to remain in Tamir while others fight what he believes to be his battles. I think we must handle him with care.”

“Jasmine’s right. And if you’d stop prowling around the room, and listen, you’ll understand why.” Dirk waited until Walker took a seat before continuing. “We’ve suggested to Sheik Kamal that he pretend to send a dignitary to Maloun to hammer out an accord between the prime minister there and Kamal’s country. According to our sources, the government is little more than a front—the Brothers of Darkness hold the real power. Once there, you’ll arrange for the prime minister to introduce you to the rebel faction leaders and get yourselves invited to their stronghold under the guise of completing the negotiations.”

The explanation sounded a death knell for Walker’s hope to have Jasmine replaced on this mission. “Don’t tell me. She’s going to play the part of the dignitary.”

Dirk inclined his head. “Exactly. With her coloring and background she’s admirably suited to the job. You’ll go along as her driver and personal assistant. While Jasmine engages the leaders in the phony trade talks, you’ll be searching the grounds for information about the location of the virus.”

Walker considered the idea. The thought of playing servant to Jasmine wasn’t especially appealing, but he’d be the primary engaged in the search, so he supposed he could live with the situation.

He glanced at her, observed the knowing tilt of her lush lips. She expected him to refuse, he realized; expected his pride and ego to make the decision for him. Since he had an ample supply of both, perhaps it was a reasonable assumption.

And it certainly wouldn’t be the first time that Jasmine LeBarr had misjudged him.

“It could work,” he conceded, and paused a moment to enjoy her expression of consternation before addressing Dirk again. “Developing an anthrax virus is a huge undertaking for a Third World country like Maloun. How do we know the Brothers are developing the virus themselves? They could have contracted the job out.”

Dirk was shaking his head before Walker had finished speaking. “Our government gathers intelligence on all countries and groups who try to produce deadly biological agents. The few who have been successful are monitored very carefully. None of them has ties with Maloun, and we’re guessing the Malounians wouldn’t make those kinds of inquiries and risk having their plans leak out. No, they’re directly involved in the development. We know they haven’t lacked for money. A man by the name of Amin Qadir was recently arrested. It’s suspected he was one of the major sources of funding for the group. The only questions remaining are how far along the virus is and where the work is being done.”

“The development of this virus you speak of, Dirk, would require highly skilled scientists, would it not?” Jasmine’s smoky voice curled through Walker’s senses and had an immediate, unwelcome affect on his hormones. He found the involuntary response damn irritating. “They would need technical equipment, expensive supplies…”

“They have to have a lab somewhere,” Walker concluded flatly. Oddly restless, he rose again to cross to Dirk’s desk. Leaning against it, he surveyed the other two. “And their little venture is taking some big financing.”

Nodding, the older man said, “The Brothers of Darkness would be the only group in the country powerful enough to provide all of those. You’ll have to go through them to locate the virus. Once you do, I want you to confiscate it, then get the hell out of the country.” A flicker of concern crossed his face before it was smoothed away. “The group is known for being particularly brutal with those who cross them. A couple of years ago it was rumored that one their members was thought to be selling information on the group to the Pakistani government. He vanished, only to show up a month or so later on the palace grounds, disemboweled.”

Silence stretched, thick and elastic. Walker appreciated the man’s warning, but it wouldn’t change the outcome of this meeting. He’d been committed the moment Dirk had contacted him. “When do we start?”

“Immediately. As soon as I contact Kamal he’ll send his private jet for you. You’ll have time to go out and pick up anything you think you might need.” His handsome face creased with a surprisingly youthful smile. “And if there are any odds and ends that you’re lacking for the job, I can probably supply them.”

Walker was well aware of the odds and ends Dirk kept in his warehouse of high-tech gadgetry. He wouldn’t mind taking a look. The man had an incredible knack for getting his hands on tools still in the prototype stage. “I can be ready.” He sent a lazy glance Jasmine’s way. “How about you?”

If she’d been affected by Dirk’s warning, it didn’t show in her expression. Her gaze met his in a silent challenge before turning to the older man. “I am sure Kamal is anxious for your call. There is no need to make him wait any longer.”

Slapping his hands on his knees, Dirk rose, and after a moment, she followed suit. “I’ll do it right now. Then the three of us can relax and catch up for a few hours. If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes?”

Walker waited until the man had strode out the door before focusing on Jasmine. She was, if anything, lovelier than the last time he’d seen her. The scarlet suit she wore showcased her endless legs and hugged her generous breasts. She still wore her long thick hair straight and loose to swing around her shoulders. He remembered how it felt draped across his chest; wrapped around his fingers. And because the memory burned, he gave her a mocking smile.

“Red’s a good color on you, Jaz. You should wear it often.”

She lifted an elegant brow. “Compliments, Walker? I do not remember that you were so flattering the last time we spoke.”

“Yeah, I was hard on you.” Hands still in his pockets, he strolled over to her, noted her almost imperceptible reaction when he deliberately invaded her space. At five foot nine she was five inches shorter than him, and he dwarfed her when he stood this close. She was incredibly feminine, with a delicate bone structure. It was an effective disguise for a woman trained to kill a man in half a dozen different ways.

But her real danger would come not from her skills but her ability to get people to trust her. To underestimate her. Then when she turned out to be something far different from what they expected, she had the element of surprise. He could attest that she used the quality to her advantage.

He crooked a finger, ran his knuckle lightly along her delicate jaw. “I shouldn’t have said those things back then. I was angry.”

Her eyes flickered warily, and this time she did take a step backward. He followed, maintaining the contact. Intent. Predatory. His thumb skated lightly across her lips. He felt each word as she formed it.

“You were furious.”

“Yes.” The word was a whisper of a sound uttered only inches from her mouth.

She moistened her lips. “You are still angry.”

Walker cupped her face with both hands and brushed his lips against hers. Once. Twice. Again. “Do I seem angry to you?”

Her fingers locked around his wrists. When his mouth settled against hers, her grip tightened but she didn’t push him away. He pressed her lips open and let her sweet unique flavor race through his system and fire his blood. When he traced the sensitive inner seam of her lips he was reminded of the silkiness of her mouth and dove deeper. He stroked her tongue with his, forcing her to respond to him. And when she did, when her fingers turned caressing on his wrists and her mouth opened avidly under his, he lifted his lips from hers to murmur, “No, I’m not angry. There’s no point. You can’t help what you are.”

He toyed with the ends of her hair as he waited for his words to register. But then her eyes fluttered open, the look in them dazed, drugged, and lust punched him hard in the gut. And when comprehension chased those feelings away, a deeply primal part of him mourned.

“What…” He distracted her from her words by dropping a kiss at the corner of her mouth. “And what am I?”

“An opportunist.” His lips skimmed the curve of her cheek. “A woman who’ll go to any lengths to get what she wants.” He felt her tense and with a twist had his hands free to capture her wrists before she could use her nails on him. “Hell, you’re not the first woman to use sex to get what she wants. Guess I should be grateful you screwed me literally as well as figuratively.”

She was faster than he remembered. He easily dodged her swiftly raised knee, but not the stomp on his instep. Even as he winced he was grasping both her wrists in one hand before she could try to flip him over her back, and yanked her closer to defuse the danger.

They were pressed together, legs, hips, chests; a solid length of heat pulsing between them. Even now he knew better than to underestimate her. “Still carry that stiletto around your thigh?” Without waiting for an answer, Walker slipped a hand under her skirt, skimmed his fingers over her silky leg and found the weapon strapped around it. She tossed her head, glaring at him murderously. Old grudges couldn’t lessen his appreciation of the picture she made with storms brewing in her dark eyes. “You always did have a temper, Jaz.”

“And always you had the head of a pig.”

He interpreted her insult with very little difficulty. “I may be pigheaded, but I’m not stupid.” With no little reluctance he removed his hand from her thigh. “I know how you operate now, and I’m putting you on alert. You’ll do things my way in Maloun. An assignment like this can have only one leader, and it’s going to be me.” Watching the mutinous expression settle over her face, he gave her a slight shake. “I mean it. We can’t be pulling in two different directions. We’re going to have to come to some terms.”

“As usual the terms must be yours. I understand exactly.”

He might have believed her if her voice wasn’t so defiant. As it was, he had the distant observation that her accent still became more pronounced when she was upset. “I’m the one who’s going to be taking most of the risks. I have to be able to call the shots.”

“We will work as a team, as Dirk hired us to do.” Her eyes flashed at him. “You must learn to control your temper and your ego if we are to be successful.”

She pulled away and he let her go. There could be nothing more accomplished now, at any rate. Not with both of them at each other’s throats. But he’d made his point, so he turned and headed for the door.

Before he walked through it, though, sheer deviltry had him turning back again. “Oh, and Jaz?” He waited for her to look at him before smiling mockingly. “You definitely kissed me back.”

Chapter 2

Jasmine hesitated outside the door of Walker’s temporary quarters in Sheik Kamal’s palace. She’d faced the leaders of an international smuggling ring with far more equanimity than she felt right now. She’d known those men were dangerous, that her life had been in jeopardy. She’d been comfortable relying on her own skills to ensure her safety. It was telling that she regularly risked her life without a qualm, but had to summon the courage to approach Walker in his bedroom.

The man was every bit as dangerous as any she’d brought down, but it wasn’t her life she feared for around him, it was something far more fragile. He’d bruised her heart once with his callous dismissal of her. She’d never allow herself to be that vulnerable again.

The silent vow made it a bit easier to raise her hand, to rap on his door. She was disconcerted when he pulled open the door and she was confronted by his partially nude body.

Her gaze skated over his bare chest, then lowered to the jeans that rode low on his lean hips, unbuttoned to reveal his hard flat belly. Averting her gaze, she scrambled to summon a steady voice. “I can come back later.”

“No, come on in. I could use your help.”

Reluctantly she followed him into the room. It was a moment before she noted the fresh angry-looking scar running down the center of his back, only centimeters from his spine. A gasp escaped her before she could prevent it. “What happened?”

He didn’t halt on his way to the adjoining bathroom. “After setting the explosives on the last job, a member of my team caught a bullet as we were pulling out. I dropped back to give him a hand, and we were still a little too close when it detonated.”

His succinct summary was all the more chilling for its casual delivery. “You went back into a building that was set to explode?”

One large shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m responsible for my team.”

Yes, she thought, nausea curling through her stomach, he would be responsible. Whatever else she thought of Walker James, she’d never doubted his skill. His dedication to the men who worked with him. Her eyes shifted back to the raised, puckered wound on his back. It wouldn’t be the only physical reminder he carried of the danger he routinely courted. His body was a map of faded scars acquired in the act of carrying out various missions.

He was something of a legend in the shadowy world they shared. The Ghost, he was called, for his ability to slip in and out of seemingly impenetrable places. His skill with security was matched by a cunning that kept his services in high demand. Certainly his reputation had been part of her admiration for him, her pleasure when he’d shown an unmistakable interest that time in Venice.

She’d learned the hard way that he was just as skilled at slipping under personal defenses, as well. Of using his looks and personal magnetism to defuse normal wariness and invite intimacy far too quickly, far too blindly. She may not have completed a formal education, but she never needed to review the same lesson twice. And if she did, she had only to remember their parting in Venice. The memory still throbbed like a wound.

“Will you come here a minute?”

From the slight edge in his tone, she realized he’d had to repeat himself. She poked her head in the bathroom to find him standing in front of the sink, his hair freshly doused.

“Put this ointment on my back, would you? It’s harder than hell for me to reach.”

Jasmine hung back, strangely loathe to comply. “Where are the bandages? We could put the ointment on them and then cover the injury.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was doing, but I’m not going to wear the bandages anymore. Too much trouble.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. It would do no good to argue with him. She’d learned long ago that he had a will of iron. There was probably no real danger even if the wound didn’t remain sterile. Against the stubborn blood that flowed through his veins, an infection wouldn’t stand a chance.

Aware that he was watching her in the mirror, she approached and took the tube he held. With more concentration than the act required, she squeezed out a generous amount and applied it to his wound.

His muscles tensed under her touch. It was an effort to keep her mind firmly in the present and away from the time when her hands had roamed his body freely, with an eagerness that still had the power to embarrass her. She struggled to keep her face impassive as she completed the task, then stepped away. Noting a bowl beside the sink filled with an unfamiliar substance, she asked him about it.

“It’s coloring.” Even as he spoke he scooped up some of the stuff and rubbed it over his wet hair carelessly. “I’m going to lighten my hair for the assignment. It washes out in less than two weeks. That should give us enough time.”

Studying the glop he was working into the strands, she said, “Perhaps I should do the same.”

“It isn’t necessary. You’re expected to pass as a native of Tamir. Your coloring is perfect for this job.”

He was right, of course. It also made it difficult for her to change her appearance for each assignment. She had to rely on discreetly applied makeup to add subtle lines, to alter her jawline. Maloun was a highly conservative society with little evidence of western influence. The traditional dress she would be required to wear lent ample opportunity to alter her body type. She’d have to rely on those techniques to mar an accurate description of her.

“I mean, I could change my hair. Perhaps cut it before we leave.”

“No!”

The vehemence in that single word startled her. Her gaze met his in the mirror. But his voice was nonchalant enough when he explained, “Women have the advantage of being able to just pull their hair up to achieve a different look. Believe me, sweetheart, your hair is going to be the last thing any man concentrates on.”

While she struggled with his meaning, Jasmine watched Walker cover the hair on his arms with the same mixture, then apply it to his chest. The matching color would make his alteration all the more convincing. She noted the face he made as he rubbed the stuff on his torso. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just shave the hair off?”

One side of his mouth lifted. “Easier? Yeah. But the only time I tried that I almost went nuts while it was growing back. It itched like crazy. I’ve decided this is more work, but much more comfortable later.”

He bent over the tub that was easily large enough to host a small dinner party, and turned on the gold-plated taps. With his head shoved under the faucet he said, “Get me a couple towels and washcloths, will you?” She did so, then returned to the bedroom. There was something much too cozy about watching the man engage in his preparations. Their assignment was complicated enough by their previous brief relationship. There would be no place for emotion in this job.

She distracted herself by studying the quarters he’d been given. It was opulent, like the rest of the palace, with a huge lake of a bed covered with rumpled satin sheets. Pillows lay strewn around it. Walker liked to sleep sprawled out, she recalled. At least he had in the little time they’d spent sleeping their one night together. Although she’d awakened to find herself close to the edge of the bed, she’d been in no danger of falling from it. He’d been holding her much too closely for that.

To shake the memories from her mind, she crossed to the large desk. Its top was strewn with papers and maps. When he rejoined her minutes later she was absorbed in them.

Without turning around she folded a map over to reveal the one beneath. “How will we travel to Maloun?” While she’d spent every hour they’d been in Tamir trying to learn as much of that country’s history as possible, Walker had been taking care of the physical details of the assignment.

“The sheik’s jet will fly us to Redyshah, the capital city. That’s where the prime minister’s quarters are located.” He stepped to her side, indicated a spot on the map. “The airport is in the northernmost part of the city. One of our operatives will have a car waiting for us, outfitted with some supplies I ordered.”

She nodded. “You will have ample opportunity to demonstrate your skills as my driver. I hope you are up to the challenge. As your passenger, I will have very exacting standards.”

Her attempt to needle him failed. He merely crowded closer to her, reached to flip a map over. “I’ll be at your service, Jaz. In whatever areas you require.”

He was tantalizing her intentionally. The knowledge was the only thing that kept her from moving away. She was unwilling to display even that slight hint of weakness. Studying the maps, she gave every indication of ignoring him. Maloun was Tamir’s closest neighbor, located on the nearby Arabian Peninsula. The northern and central parts of the country, she noted, appeared mostly desert, with the country growing hillier where it was edged by water. She wondered in what part of the country the Brothers were housed.

In a movement she hoped seemed casual, she turned, faced him. “When do we leave?”

“A few hours.” He’d lightened his brows, too, she observed. He would probably also wear contacts to change the color of his eyes. She wondered if it ever seemed odd to him that while other men put on a suit and tie to go to work, he had to become someone else entirely.

But that thought was quickly followed by another. She couldn’t see Walker James wearing pinstripes and keeping banker’s hours. There was something much too elemental, too primitive about him for that. He would be attracted to danger, to excitement. If he hadn’t turned to espionage, he’d be engaged in something else just as risky.

“Let’s go over our covers again.”

She stifled a sigh. They’d been over their stories so often she could repeat hers backward. “My name is Rose Mahrain. My father was the Tamir ambassador to America and we divided our time between Washington, D.C., and Tamir. My husband was also in government, until his death two years ago. When Sheik Kamal offered me a diplomatic post, I eagerly accepted. This will be my first assignment out of the country, and I am naturally anxious to do well.” As was usually the case, the cover could be substantiated, at least on the surface. If an inquiry was conducted, it would be discovered that the details corresponded exactly with a woman by that name, who had been sent out of the country for the course of this assignment. Except the real Rose Mahrain had been offered no such post.

As Englishman John Logan, Walker, too would have a cover that would withstand scrutiny. She found herself anticipating the character he would adopt, complete with accent.

“How did your husband die?”

The continued questioning annoyed her. She was not a schoolchild reciting a memorized lesson for a critical teacher, although she’d certainly repeated this one for Walker often enough. A hint of mischief seized her. “He died in bed.” Her improvisation earned her a narrowed look. “I am a woman of great…needs. I pleasured him to death.”

There was a long pregnant pause. “Stick to the script,” Walker advised finally. “This job is going to be complicated enough without you being deliberately provocative. You may get a response you hadn’t counted on.”

“I have no intention of provoking a response from our targets!”

“I was talking about me.”

Her throat abruptly went dry. There was an all too familiar heat in his eyes that she hadn’t meant to ignite. This tension between them was causing her to act out of character. In every job she prided herself on her ability to remain cool. But something about Walker brought out an unfamiliar impulsivity. The last time she’d given in to those impulses, she’d gotten badly burned in the process. She’d do well to remember that the next time she was tempted to drag a response from him.

To distract them both, she rounded the desk to cross to the window. “What have you learned about the prime minister?”

“His name is Hosni El-Dabir. He’s a career politician, so he’ll be well acquainted with Sheik Ahmed Kamal and his family, even though the two countries don’t have much to do with each other. If he brings up a subject you aren’t completely familiar with, you’d be better off to admit ignorance. He’ll know if you bluff.”

“Thank you so much for the advice,” she said with mock politeness. “I do not know how I manage without your wisdom on other assignments.”

Still wearing a slight frown, he looked at her. “Don’t get bitchy, Jaz. I’m not belittling your ability, just giving you some facts. This thing isn’t going to work if we’re at each other’s throats all the time.”

Since she had thought much the same, she was ready to agree with him. Perhaps even to suggest some sort of truce. But the suggestion he made next drove all other thoughts from her mind. She gaped at him, doubting she’d heard correctly. “What did you say?”

“I said maybe we should just spend an hour or two in bed and get it out of our systems.” When she couldn’t seem to manage an answer, he went on. “Sexual tension can be a distraction, one we don’t need. A couple of hours burning up the sheets would go a long way toward relieving that.”

She couldn’t remember ever being propositioned quite so passionlessly. The offhand crudity left her speechless. But in the middle of summoning a blistering retort, she caught the flicker of anticipation in his eyes. He wanted a reaction from her, she realized. Any reaction.

So instead of giving him the response he was looking for, she merely arched a brow. He’d never know what her cool, mildly amused tone cost her. “I am afraid I must turn down your charming proposition. One night with you was more than enough.” She turned and made her way to the door. “I will be ready to leave in two hours. We can meet at the front doors.” Her hand was on the knob when she paused and looked at him over her shoulder. “Oh, and Walker? You could never be a distraction to me. My taste for loutish Americans was completely erased three years ago.”

She pulled open the door, sailed through it with queenly grace. The only thing that marred her departure was knowing that he watched her exit with a satisfied smile still on his lips.

“Madame Mahrain.” The Maloun prime minister lingered over her hand, addressing her in Arabic. “It is an honor and a great pleasure to have you visit our nation.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir. What I have seen of your country so far is very impressive.” Jasmine answered in the same language, that of her birth. Walker hung back circumspectly. “May I present my assistant, John Logan? I’m afraid he only speaks English.”

In heavily accented English, El-Dabir turned to Walker and said, “Welcome to our country. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you, sir.” Walker’s tone was respectful, with a clipped British accent. He remained at Jasmine’s elbow, a couple steps behind her, in a position of silent deference. She wondered if it was the first time in his life that he’d acted deferential to anyone, even if it was feigned.

She would never have believed the difference he could manage in his appearance. She’d been prepared for the lighter hair, the contacts that changed his piercing blue eyes to a nondescript hazel. Like her, he’d placed slim cotton pads inside his cheeks to alter the shape of his face. But the alteration went beyond the obvious. The black loose-fitting shirt and trousers he’d chosen were a size too big. He stood with his shoulders slightly rolled, his chin tucked. Little details taken by themselves, but together they gave him the look of a man inches shorter, many pounds lighter. His manner suggested a lowly government employee whose demeanor was light-years away from that of the confidently arrogant Walker James.

El-Dabir led them down a graciously wide hallway into a large airy room. It was furnished with a lovely piano in one corner, with chairs and couches scattered throughout the rest of the space. As Jasmine and Walker seated themselves on one of the overstuffed couches, the prime minister summoned a servant and issued an order for tea. Then he returned to his guests and sat on a chair facing them.

“I trust your trip was pleasant.”

“Sheik Kamal’s jet is quite comfortable. Far more luxurious than I am used to.” As she spoke, Jasmine studied her host surreptitiously. Hosni El-Dabir did not look like a career politician, she mused. As most Maloun males, the prime minister wore a traditional jellaba. He’d donned a jacket over the hooded loose-fitting robe, and a kaffiyeh covered his head. His nose was flat, as though it had been misshapen in a brawl. He had the square body of a boxer, and his dark gaze had a way of sliding over her face rather than focusing on it. In contrast, his hands were well-manicured, the skin surprisingly smooth when he’d touched hers. If Maloun had an American equivalent of the syndicate, she could have easily pictured him at its helm.

“The sheik hopes you will forgive him for sending an emissary for this very important meeting. Problems at home require his attention.”

El-Dabir nodded. “Please convey our regrets to Ahmed Kamal. We pray for his son’s safe return.”

The prime minister’s tone was ingratiating. Jasmine wondered just how much, if anything, El-Dabir knew about the young sheik’s disappearance. Dirk hadn’t mentioned any such relationship between the two, but it seemed coincidental that Rashid would disappear around the same time that Maloun was preparing a strike against his country. Resolving to question Walker about it later, she said, “Sheik Kamal was eager to make a start in negotiating a trade agreement with your country.” Falling silent as a male servant carried in a tray, Jasmine waited until the tea had been served before continuing. “It is no secret that tensions between Tamir and Montebello have increased. The sheik would like to build a relationship with Tamir’s other neighbors.” She paused to sip at her tea, giving the prime minister time to digest her words. He would believe Kamal anxious to gather allies, in case war broke out with Montebello. It was exactly the impression she’d hoped to give.

“A good neighbor is to be highly valued.”

“Indeed. And there are many advantages for both sides when trust is not an issue. Tamir always welcomes new trading partners, especially those countries who do not embrace the western culture.”

El-Dabir smiled, obviously pleased at the prospect. “Talk of such an alliance is intriguing. I have acquaintances, very powerful men in our country, who share my goals for the future of Maloun. I have arranged a small dinner party in your honor for this evening, so that you may become acquainted with them and their wives.”

A leap of excitement shot through her veins, but Jasmines voice was merely polite when she answered. “It would be a pleasure. Any avenue to further our countries’ accord would be welcomed.”

El-Dabir nodded, pursing his lips. “I feel certain Tamir and Maloun can come to an agreement. I appreciate your candor and look forward to further conversations with you on this subject.” He smiled, resembling a crocodile showing its teeth. “Although I must say, it is never a hardship to converse with a beautiful woman, Madame Mahrain, whatever the topic.”

Jasmine smiled, averting her gaze demurely. “Please. You must call me Rose.”

When she was shown to her room, Jasmine unpacked leisurely, then set her purse on the small dressing table and withdrew her lipstick. Methodically she outlined her lips, colored them. A barely audible beep sounded. Without reacting, she replaced the lipstick cover, then trailed to the window, looking out at the view. There was another tiny beep. When she turned and crossed to the bed she heard yet another.

The room was bugged.

A miniscule sensor hidden in the bottom of her lipstick case was sensitive enough to pick up the presence of any security device available. Her casual trip around the room picked up a hidden camera behind the mirror, and two bugs. Her host was obviously not the trusting sort. She wondered if the devices had been planted in anticipation of her visit, or whether every guest was treated to this type of hospitality. She rather thought it was the latter.

There was a knock at her door. When she opened it she found Walker, carrying a notepad. “Would you care for a walk in the courtyard before we get ready for dinner, madame?”

With a murmur of acceptance, Jasmine preceded him down the hallway. Once downstairs they made their way to the courtyard they’d admired on the quick tour the prime minister had given them.

They didn’t speak until they were outside. Walker reached for a slim gold pen in his shirt pocket, asking, “I trust your room is comfortable?”

“Yes. And yours?” During the innocuous conversation they strolled slowly through the bricked courtyard. Stone benches were situated near fountains and statues. She listened carefully, heard the telltale sounds emitted from the top of Walker’s pen as they passed the center fountain. She paused as if admiring it, wondering where the detected listening device was hidden. Somewhere near the heavy marble base, she imagined.

Moving slowly, they covered the courtyard, finding other bugs located on several of the benches. Again she was struck with the paranoia the devices suggested. It wasn’t until they reached the far end of the courtyard that looked out over a short wall to the busy street beyond that Walker deemed it safe to speak freely.

“Distrustful bastard, isn’t he?” His voice was very nearly soundless as he appeared to study the people on the street.

“Are you certain we are out of range?”

“Planting so many of them in such a limited area suggests that each has a limited capability. Chances are they’ve been here for years.” He looked down at the notebook he carried, as if to consult notes jotted down there. “At one time I’ll bet every bench was bugged so our host could keep tabs on his guests’ private conversations.”

“Charming,” she murmured, letting her gaze roam the area. “My room is similarly equipped.”

“Mine, too. We have to figure the whole place is loaded with them.”

She wished she’d remembered to retrieve the sunglasses from her purse. The afternoon sun was brutal. “We will have to be sure and not disappoint the prime minister. It would be a shame if all his eavesdropping were for nothing.”

Walker didn’t smile but his face lightened a fraction. “When the time comes, I’ll follow your lead.”

Her lips curved slightly. “That will be a welcome change, and another first for you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished them back.

The mirrored lenses of his glasses made it impossible to tell what he was thinking, until his voice came, low and intimate. “Maybe you’ve forgotten a time when I was all too happy to let you set the pace.” Memories washed over her like a warm caress, evoked by his sensual tone. “I put myself into your very capable hands then and found you to be slow, but…thorough.”

Because her hands suddenly had a tendency to tremble, she clutched them together. The mental images his words elicited were vivid, graphic. There was nothing quite so sexy as a man who would lie back and let a woman explore his body, and Walker had made no secret of the pleasure he’d found when she’d done so. Venice may have been three years ago, but the memories weren’t buried nearly deeply enough.

To hide their effect on her, she turned away, pretended an interest in the bustle in the street in front of them. She’d be ill-advised to let Walker think he could disconcert her with one well-placed reference to the past. “Ancient history does not interest me. I am more focused on our present assignment.” It gave her a chance to change the subject, so she asked the question that had been bothering her earlier. “Do you think El-Dabir and the Brothers know anything about the young sheik’s disappearance?”

Sending her a sharp look, Walker asked, “What makes you ask?”

Jasmine shrugged. “It seems odd that he would vanish around the same time the Brothers are trying to heighten the strife between the two countries.”

“I thought of that, too. If the Brothers did snatch him, maybe we’ll discover some trace of their actions when we get inside the compound.” He sent a glance back toward the prime minister’s quarters. “Actually getting us inside the Brothers’ headquarters is going to be up to you. Any ideas yet about how you’ll accomplish it?”

“That will depend in a large part on the events tonight, and how the talks progress with the prime minister.” She paused, smiling as a pair of young children darted by, chasing a dog bigger than both of them. “El-Dabir wasn’t what I expected.”

“He’s little more than a hired thug.” Walker propped his elbows on the low wall, their shoulders brushing. “In a country as uncivilized as this one, a man doesn’t hold office as long as he has without having some very interesting acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances affiliated with the Brothers of Darkness.”

He nodded. “I’d be surprised if some of its members weren’t among the guests at the dinner tonight. If our information is correct, then leaders of the group run the country, and El-Dabir. No agreement would be made with Tamir without their involvement.” As her lowly assistant, it was understood that he would excuse himself shortly after dinner, leaving the invited guests to mingle. “If you do more listening than talking this evening, you’ll get a better…”

He must have seen the expression on her face, because he cut his words short. “But I don’t want to tell you how to do your job.”

“Yes, you do. And quite frequently.” But she was finding that habit of his far less provocative than his frequent reminders of the time they’d spent together. “I will be more than willing to listen to your advice if I am allowed to tell you what you should do while the party is going on.”

“Point taken,” he responded dryly. “You tend to your business tonight and I’ll tend to mine. We can compare notes tomorrow, unless it’s urgent. Do you know where my room is?”

She nodded and looked away, feigning an interest in a nearby street vendor displaying his wares to some Malounian women. A situation would have to be urgent indeed to convince her to go to Walker’s bedroom in the middle of the night. Jasmine had a strong commitment to duty, but her sense of self-preservation was equally powerful. She could imagine few scenarios so critical that she could be convinced to approach the man while he was in bed.

The color she felt rising to her cheeks could be blamed on the afternoon heat. It would be more comfortable to believe that she was indifferent to him. Until a day ago she’d almost convinced herself that she was. But an innate sense of honesty forced her to admit, at least to herself, that indifference was the last thing she felt for him.

And therein lay the real danger of this assignment.

Chapter 3

The dinner party was to be formal. Although Walker was most comfortable in the basic black worn for breaking and entering, he had packed a dark suit jacket and tie. He wore it now, as he lingered in a corner of the gathering room, observing the steady trickle of guests entering the prime minister’s home. Most of the them wore traditional Maloun garb—flowing white robes for the men and brightly colored caftans for the women.

The presence of the females at the dinner gave the appearance that this was purely a social event, but Walker knew differently. Where politicians were involved, socializing was business. Some of his most lucrative tips had been picked up at parties much like this one.

But it would be Jasmine’s job to elicit whatever interesting information was to be had tonight. After dinner, he had other matters requiring his attention.

Of its own volition, his gaze sought her out now, standing in the center of a small crowd, smiling brilliantly at a swarthy man who was bending over her hand.

The kick in the stomach he experienced at the sight was most easily blamed on the bitter tea he was drinking. In her brilliant blue caftan she resembled an exquisitely crafted Madonna he’d once stolen from the Boston home of a wealthy shipping magnate. The memory filled him with something close to nostalgia. The piece was one of the few fruits of his earlier career that he still owned. He knew he’d never look at it again without thinking of Jasmine.

She’d done something to her eyes before this trip to disguise their shape. The makeup made the upper lids look heavier, as though she’d recently climbed out of a man’s bed.

The thought brought him no pleasure. He, better than anyone, knew how deceptive her looks were. They were a tool, one she wielded with skill. Right now they seemed to be working quite effectively on the man who hadn’t yet released her hand as he rattled off a spate of Arabic.

Gripping his cup more tightly, he tore his gaze away. The women had gathered on one side of the room, leaving the men and Jasmine on the other. Voices, conversations mingled, broken by an occasional burst of laughter. Walker found he was able to interpret much of what was said. Jasmine had been following the script when she told El-Dabir he spoke only English. Although not fluent in Arabic, he was able to understand quite a bit of it. He’d spent a fair amount of time in one Middle Eastern trouble spot or another.

He strolled closer to the group surrounding Jasmine. Pausing in front of a rather bad portrait of the prime minister, he pretended to admire it until they were all seated for dinner. Mentally he sifted through the snippets of conversations flowing around him.

“…until he is weaned, and then I shall…”

“…perhaps we will have to let him go. He no longer…”

“…not depart from what we discussed.” Instinct had Walker’s inner radar honing in more closely on the last sentence. With a skill born of long practice he ignored the rest of the talk and focused on the dialogue that had caught his interest.

“I will do exactly as instructed. You will not be disappointed.”

Walker recognized El-Dabir’s ingratiating tones, but the other voice belonged to a stranger. Not daring to turn around at the moment, he contented himself with listening.

“There should be no problem. She is only a woman.”

Inwardly amused, he wondered what Jaz would have to say about the man’s assessment. There was no doubt in Walker’s mind that the conversation concerned her. People drifted by, making their way into the dining room, and he shifted closer to the pair of men, as if politely making room for the guests.

“…have a hand in his own destruction.” The noise from the people passing by them had covered all but the last of the sentence. Walker found himself wondering just what he’d missed. The room was clearing out and there was no longer any reason to linger. He made his way into the next room and turned, scanning the area for an empty seat. From the corner of his eye he watched the men he’d been eavesdropping on as they entered. As he’d suspected, one was the prime minister and the other a short man in his mid-sixties with a weather-beaten face. He made a mental note to ask Jasmine about him later.

Even as Walker slipped into a seat at the end of the table, El-Dabir’s companion made his way to the table head. Jasmine sat across and down the table from Walker, flanked by the prime minister and a sleekly polished man on her left. Keeping his attention trained on the dishes placed in front of him, he listened carefully as the stranger monopolized Jasmine’s attention.

“You are too young and beautiful to be a widow, Madame Mahrain. How long ago did your husband die?”

“Two years,” Jasmine answered with just the right amount of sorrow in her tone. “He was killed in a car accident.”

“Allow me to express my regret for your loss.” The stranger reached out, stroked the back of her hand for an instant. “Had you been married long?”

Walker held his breath, but he needn’t have worried. Jasmine had perfected her lines before they’d left Tamir. “We had been married for ten years, and engaged for two years before that.” Her smile was hauntingly sad. A man would have to be made of granite not to respond. The stranger by her side, Walker noted, did not appear to be made of stone. He stared at her with an expression all too easy for another man to recognize.

The man leaned toward her, lowered his voice. “I hope I will have the opportunity to banish some of the sorrow I see in your beautiful eyes. I would like to show you some of our country before you leave.”

“That is a kind offer, Mr. Abdul.”

“Please.” Again he touched her hand briefly, then reached for his tea, his gaze never leaving her. “You must feel free to call me Tariq.”

Jasmine hesitated, her gaze dropping to her plate. “Tariq. I do not know that I will have any free time. The business that brings me to Maloun is very serious.”

“In any business, madame, there must be time for pleasure.” The man showed his teeth in a brilliant display, clearly unwilling to give up. He appeared to be a man used to getting what he wanted, Walker thought narrowly. People acquired that kind of confidence from money, position or power. He didn’t know which fit Tariq Abdul, but he’d find out.

The voices from the guests were a distant hum. Walker paused outside the only door on the lower floor that he’d found locked. It was safe to presume it was the prime minister’s study.

Keeping a careful eye out for lost guests or inquisitive servants, he withdrew the pen from his pocket and checked for security devices. He exchanged the pen for a thin, flexible length of wire, which he fed into the lock. After a couple of quick twists, a click was heard. Faintly irritated, he turned the knob and slipped into the room. When people made it so easy, it took the thrill right out of it.

Gloves, he’d found, could be hard to explain if someone happened by. The container of spray he’d brought along applied a thin layer of wax to fingers and palms, while allowing for greater dexterity.

He closed the door behind him and took out a small compact machine resembling the size of a pocket organizer. A press of a button had the two halves springing open, revealing a screen on one side and command keys on the other. One of Walker’s newest acquisitions, it functioned as a combination scanner and computer. He switched it on and went to the desk.

The locks on the drawers were less of a challenge than the one on the door. Swiftly he withdrew the papers he found there, then dragged the screen over each, moving it left to right until the full sheet had been copied into the mini computer. Then he moved to the next. In less than five minutes he was done. Replacing the materials, he resecured the locks and surveyed the room.

Surprisingly, there was no computer in sight. Maloun wasn’t a particularly advanced country, but Walker hadn’t expected a complete lack of technology in the room where the prime minister conducted his business. He set his mini computer on the desk and reached for a pocket flashlight. Playing it along the walls and floor, he studied the area. A man like El-Dabir would have secrets. And a man with secrets must have a place to store them, if not in encrypted computer files, then in something a little more traditional.

He found what he was looking for a few minutes later when he moved a painting aside. The prime minister had made up for his lack of imagination by installing a very decent wall safe, with numbered tumblers. In his youth Walker would have simply drilled it or used a small amount of plastique. But his current career often called for a bit more finesse. He didn’t want El-Dabir to know that his security had been breached. From the pouch fastened around his waist, he withdrew another small bag and shook out four pieces of curved metal. The devices were fairly new; Dirk hadn’t even had a set, and Walker knew the man prided himself on having the best.

Carefully he arranged them to surround the dial. Magnetized, they clung to the metal face of the safe. But these were no ordinary magnets. The pull of the specially constructed devices would interfere with the tumbler action, scrambling the combination until the safe simply sprang open. He swung the dial completely around clockwise, then reversed the action. With only a few more manipulations, the door swung outward.

Reaching for his pocket flashlight again, Walker surveyed the contents. There were more papers inside, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that these would be of more interest than the ones he’d found in the prime minister’s desk. He copied each of them, then set them aside. There was a .357 Magnum, complete with holster and cartridges. His brows raised. El-Dabir believed in heavy firepower.

A small black notebook was in the back, so Walker withdrew it and copied each of its pages, then replaced it. A bundle of photos revealed that the prime minister had a penchant for porn. Those were the only objects in the safe, and all of them were perched atop some stacked bundles. Examining one of them, he gave a silent whistle. Each package was full of one hundred dollar bills, U.S. currency. And there were at least fifty packages.

It was late when Jasmine entered her room. Stripping off the caftan, she hung it on a hanger. Then with a sigh of relief, she unfastened the Velcro straps of the specially designed undergarment she wore.

It covered her from breasts to hips, and completely changed the shape of her body, flattening her chest and adding pounds to her middle. It was exceedingly hot and not very comfortable, but would effectively throw off any description of her. She slipped into a short silky nightgown and went to the adjoining bathroom to brush her teeth.

And nearly had a heart attack when a hand clapped over her mouth, pulling her hard against a solid masculine chest.

“Quiet.”

The word, breathed in her ear, was accompanied by a push to the door, shutting it. Only then was the hand removed from her mouth. Her elbow came out then, slamming into Walker’s ribs. She was annoyed enough with him to be pleased by his hiss of pain.

“What are you doing in my bathroom?” Her words were whispered, but didn’t lack vehemence.

“Getting the hell beat out of me, apparently. Turn on the shower. Cold water.”

She did so, waited until the water was beating a solid spray, then turned around. He must have found, as she had, that there was no listening device planted in the bathroom, which wasn’t surprising. The moisture in the air would have interfered with its functioning. The sound of the shower running was just a precaution. Walker was nothing if not careful.

He was still dressed as he’d been at dinner, and an unwelcome shiver chased down her spine. He had seemed to arouse no undue curiosity from the men at the dinner tonight, but he’d been the object of many surreptitious glances from the ladies. Being female herself, she could appreciate their interest. On a purely objective level, of course.

The solid black he’d chosen only accentuated the aura of sexuality he exuded. Other men wouldn’t pick up on such a thing, but it was certain that women did. It was something that couldn’t be disguised. She wondered if he was even aware of it, and then decided in the next instant that he was. He was entirely too confident around women for it to be otherwise.

“Here.” He unfolded a small handheld machine and pressed a button. Instantly a screen display on one side lit up. “I want you to skim through these, see if any of it’s important. It would take me all night to decipher the Arabic.”

She took the machine from him, turning it one way and then another to examine it. “What is this?” she asked, marveling at the technology. She’d never seen anything like it.

He explained how it could copy documents, storing them for later retrieval. She was impressed, and said so. Her method of taking pictures of records to be blown up for later reading was a more time-consuming process.

“If I promise to get you one of your own, would you stop playing with it and get to work?”

She looked up at him in quick delight. “You will do that?”

He stared at her silently for a minute, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, but only if you quit talking and start interpreting.”

Happily, Jasmine did as he requested. She had a deep and abiding appreciation for new gadgets, secondary only to her love for clothes. He showed her how to scroll down the screen and flip to the next document.

“Correspondence only,” she said after a few minutes. “The first few appear to be from city officials of Redyshah regarding a public building being constructed.” A moment later she said, “Here is a letter from a man named Ali bin-Sadin.” Although he didn’t make a sound, she felt Walker’s reaction in the sudden tenseness of his body. She glanced up. “You know of this man?”

“He’s a suspected terrorist from Yanda.” The rogue nation was a known haven for terrorists acting against western nations. “What’s it say?”

Jasmine scrolled down on the screen. “He thanks Hosni El-Dabir for his hospitality.” She was silent a moment as she read on. “He says the sympathies of his group lie with Maloun and he is certain they can do business together again in the future.” She considered for a moment. “Perhaps El-Dabir introduced the man to the Brothers of Darkness.”

“Maybe. The prime minister might be lining up support for the action the Brothers are planning to take against Tamir.” She continued to flip through copies of the pages as he spoke. “It’s believed that bin-Sadin has a training camp somewhere in Yanda. He uses it to teach terrorist techniques to new recruits.”

But she was absorbed in the information on the screen. “After the correspondence there are bank records.”

Interest sharpening his voice, Walker said, “Probably from the safe I found. Where are the banks?”

“The Cayman Islands,” she said after a moment. Her brows raised. “Our host is a wealthy man. He has more than a half a million dollars in these accounts.”

“And another hundred grand of U.S. currency in his safe.”

“Either being a public servant in Maloun is very lucrative, or he is not above bribery.”

“Since he’s only a puppet of the Brothers, I’d say his personal integrity is hardly in question,” Walker said dryly. “What else is on there?”

“The last few pages are names, followed by dates and U.S. dollar amounts. The period of time appears to be…” She checked back a few pages, then flipped forward. “Over the last five years.”

“Any names you recognize?”

“The largest amounts have one of two names beside them. The first is Bonlei Marakeh. He was here tonight.”

“Which one was he?”

“He was the last to arrive.”

“The guy who wouldn’t let go of your hand when you were introduced?”

There was a note she couldn’t identify in his voice. “I believe the one you are thinking of was Ari Toudan. He was…attentive.”

“Yeah, I noticed he was especially attentive to your chest. Describe this Marakeh for me.”

“Five five or six, one hundred forty pounds, sixty to sixty-five years old.”

“Leathery complexion—sat at the head of the table?” At her assent, Walker gave a satisfied nod. “I’m guessing he’s affiliated with the Brothers. I overheard him and El-Dabir talking, and from the little I could make out, it sounded like the prime minister was taking orders from him.”

Jasmine consulted the screen again. “The other name that appears here many times is that of Tariq Abdul.”

“I figured that guy for a player.”

The word had her furrowing her brow. “He plays?” Although she’d begun learning English at age ten, there were still too many terms and phrases she was not familiar with. Americans especially used the same words to mean many different things.

“I figure he’s someone important in Maloun,” he explained.

She thought about that. All of the guests this evening must be of some importance in the country, or El-Dabir would not have invited them. But none of the other names on the screen matched those of the guests. Only Marakeh and Abdul. “Abdul is, indeed, a player. Perhaps even a member of the Brothers of Darkness.”

Interest sharpening his tone, Walker asked, “Did he say something tonight?”

“He didn’t mention the organization directly, but he spent this evening trying to convince me of his importance.” At his look, she gave a shrug. “It is what a man does when he tries to gain the attention of a woman.” Another female would understand without explanation. “Several times he mentioned a group he belongs to, without ever naming it. Once he called it the voice of Maloun.”

“From the intelligence we gathered, that claim would fit the Brothers.” Walker fell silent for a moment. “Did he give you any indication whether he would be coming back here?”

She managed, barely, to avoid rolling her eyes. Men could be extremely obtuse, especially when it came to the behavior of their gender. “He will be back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Raising a brow, she merely looked at him. Something like amusement flickered across his face. “Of course. I didn’t mean to disparage your feminine charms, Jaz. Especially since I know from personal experience just how compelling they can be.”

If he was attempting to get a reaction from her, she was determined not to give it. “I will make it clear to El-Dabir that I have reservations about the rebel faction in the country. If he is as eager to forge a bond with Tamir as I believe he is, he will try to convince me of the organization’s harmlessness. I am certain that I can lead him to suggest a visit.”

“The sooner the better.”

His distracted tone should have warned her. In the next moment he reached out, touched her hair. “Your pins are coming loose.”

Self-consciously she reached up, meaning to resecure them. Instead she was dismayed to feel him withdraw the pin, allowing a strand of hair to escape. The instant jolt of awareness that rocketed through her veins dismayed her. “I’ll do it.”

Ignoring her, he dropped the pin in her hand and reached for the next one.

“Stop.” She tried to push his hand away, but he was immovable. Three more pins were loosened. More hair tumbled down. She tried to move away, but he shifted with her. The pins were pressed into her palm, and he reached for more.

She made the mistake of looking at his face. His expression was intense, absorbed. The expression of a man intent on mussing the woman he planned to take to bed. She’d seen the look on his face before. Knew what it meant.

She didn’t want this, didn’t want the memories of Venice slipping into her mind like stealthy little thieves. He’d seemed fascinated with her hair then, too, combing his fingers through it, smoothing it back from her face when she’d lain beneath him, shattered and limp.

Her pulse tripped once, and her heart did a slow, lazy spin in her chest. He was adept at this, she reminded herself wildly. He could switch from the cool, professional agent to the all too sensual male in the flash of an instant. He was equally adept at changing back, leaving her reeling with memories and unwelcome feelings that seemed to not touch him in the slightest.

“You need to leave.” With a recklessness fueled by desperation, she reached up, withdrew the last few pins, then shook her head to toss her hair back into place. His gaze never left her, his eyes following every movement.

Little tongues of flame danced through her veins. The man had to do no more than look at her, touch her, and she was a mass of quivering nerve endings. The thought filled her with despair. Her reaction was fueled by guilty snippets of memories she couldn’t control. Her body recognized the source of its pleasure, even as her mind rejected him.

“It’s late.” Anxious to escape, she shoved past him. “And the water has been running for too long already. You need to leave before someone comes to investigate.”

“Who? The prime minister? His quarters are on the other side of the building. And there are no servants who live here that I’ve discovered.”

“I don’t care. I want you out of here!”

“Why, Jaz?” With his hands on her hips he pulled her back against him, and his mouth went to her shoulder. “Are you afraid of what might happen if we’re alone together too long?”

She shivered under his lips. His fingers burned through the thin silk of her nightgown, branding her flesh. “This is a stupid risk. We know there are bugs in the other room….”

“So you’d have to be quiet this time.” The combination of his words and his warm breath caressing her skin had a shudder working through her. She could hear the hint of humor in his voice. “We both would.”

“No!” She pulled away and whirled to face him. His expression abruptly shuttered. “I think we can both agree that last time was a mistake. It is one I will not make again.”

“It doesn’t have to be a mistake this time. We’d both know what to expect.”

Her lips twisted at his response. “And what would that be, Walker? Should I expect to rise in the morning from the bed of my lover and return to an angry stranger making vicious accusations?”

“No accusations. No anger,” he said carefully. “We’d both go into this with our eyes wide open.”

And therein lay the heart-rending pain of it. He couldn’t have said more plainly that there was nothing between them but sex, a basic physical need that he could appease with anyone. At any time.

“I do not think so.” Her indifferent tone would have done an actress proud. “I have grown a bit more discriminating since we parted. And it is far less complicated to choose lovers who are not involved in our jobs, is it not?” Without waiting for an answer, she went to her bag on the counter, took out a hairbrush. As she pulled it through her hair, her gaze met his in the mirror. Her hand faltered. Banked emotion was apparent in his eyes. The new colored contacts couldn’t disguise the familiar piercing intensity.

Then, so quickly that she wondered if she’d imagined it, the moment passed and his expression went guarded once again. “If you plan to stick to your new formula for selecting lovers, you’ll want to tone down your come-on to Abdul. He doesn’t strike me as a guy who needs a whole lot of encouragement. And from what I saw tonight, you were giving him plenty of that.”

He could elicit flash points of emotion from her, dragging her from one to the other with almost dizzying speed. Her fingers clenched around the handle of the brush. She longed to throw it at his arrogant head. “You can go to the hellfire.” The amused lift to the corner of his mouth at her mangled English was like throwing gasoline on a flame. Her cursing was much more fluent in Arabic, so she reverted to her native language. From the way his brows skimmed upward, she knew he’d correctly interpreted at least part of her words.

“Calm down. I’m going. Don’t lock the window on the south side while we’re here.”

She pressed her lips together in an effort to regain control. “Why?”

“Because that’s how I get in.” Before she could react, he crooked a finger and ran a careless knuckle over the curve of her cheek. “Dream of me, Jaz.”

His exit stemmed any rejoinder she might have made. Dropping the brush, she gripped the edge of the sink with both hands, battling the welter of emotions crashing and colliding inside her. With short, jerky movements, she yanked off her nightgown and stepped under the shower’s frigid spray.

The icy needles of water raised shivers and chills but did nothing to douse the heat that Walker had torched deep inside her. She was very much afraid that there wasn’t enough cold water in the hemisphere to do that.

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