Aim for the Heart Read online

  In the next instant they were engulfed in a swirl of white. A nasal voice issued a command. The prince's companions parted, then re-formed into a circle around them, blocking their view of the rest of the ballroom. One man grabbed Sarah by the waist and separated her from Hawk while two others caught Hawk's elbows. It happened so fast, he was being guided toward the exit before he realized he was moving.

  There was a low grunt and a flurry of movement on Hawk's left. Sarah spun away from the man who held her, anchored her fist in Jibril's robe and kicked the front panel of her skirt aside. A heartbeat later, her gun was in her hand, the barrel pressed beneath the prince's beard. "Call off your men," she ordered. "Now."

  Chapter 3

  The moment took on the slow-motion quality of hyperawareness. Sarah's senses registered everything, from the whisper of settling fabric around her to the lilting strains of the Mozart bagatelle that still played in the ballroom. The receiver in her ear carried a low buzz of inquiry from the hotel security staff who were posted around the exits. They suspected there had been some kind of commotion, but they were unaware of its nature. A human wall draped in white screened their view.

  She felt Prince Jibril stir. She knew very well that what she was doing could spark an international incident, but Hawk's safety was her prime concern. She repositioned her gun beneath the prince's ear and flicked her gaze across the men who surrounded them. She checked their eyes, searching for a sign that would give away their next move. She was outnumbered and outmuscled. She couldn't hope to overpower them. She had to play her advantage carefully. "Tell them to release Dr. Lemay, Your Highness."

  "Madam, you are making a serious mistake," Jibril said.

  The prince's voice was high-pitched for a tall man. His words carried an Oxford accent. Sarah couldn't tell whether it was fear or anger that tightened his tone. "If I am mistaken, I sincerely apologize," she said. "But please do as I say. I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

  The moment dragged out. Sarah kept her breathing even, charging her blood with oxygen, preparing herself for any eventuality. Scenarios flashed through her head, none of them good. Without back-up, standoffs were risky. There were too many variables.

  The prince gave a curt order in Arabic. From the corner of her vision, Sarah saw the men holding Hawk let go of his arms and step aside. He seemed uninjured, but she couldn't spare the time to study him. She kept her attention on the prince's bodyguards.

  They were regarding her with stunned outrage, as if a chair or a hand towel had suddenly developed teeth and bit them.

  "Sarah." Hawk's voice was a low rumble.

  Although she still couldn't afford to look at him, she responded immediately. She had to let the prince's men know who was in authority. "Yes, sir?"

  "It's all right. You can put away your weapon."

  She tipped her gun toward the ceiling and took a step to the side, but she remained within easy reach of the prince, her muscles poised to react. This was the trickiest part, like dismounting from a tiger. "It appeared as if Prince Jibril's men were trying to abduct you, Dr. Lemay."

  The prince gave a barking laugh. "Is that what this is about? Abduct Hawkins? Oh, not at all. I gave orders to escort him from this noisy crowd so we could speak in private." He spread his hands wide in a gesture of appeasement. "In their zeal to obey me, my men obviously gave the wrong impression."

  Sarah shifted her gaze to the prince. The man was smiling at Hawk, his teeth a white slash in his beard, his black gaze rock steady as he told the lie.

  "You'll have to excuse Sarah, Jibril," Hawk said, brushing off his sleeves. He straightened his jacket. "She has declared herself to be my bodyguard, and she tends to overreact."

  "An interesting choice, Hawkins. I see the years have not changed your eye for beauty."

  "Nor your appreciation of it. Sarah is very dedicated to her job."

  "And equally as prone to mistakes in her zeal as my palace guard. I do hope those dolts didn't alarm you."

  Sarah took another look at the men around them. They belonged to the Moukim palace guard? She had been in more trouble than she'd initially thought. These were commandos whose reputation as fighters compared to Eagle Squadron's best.

  "I would like to invite you back to my yacht, Hawkins, so we can converse undisturbed," the prince continued. "But I wouldn't want your rather, ah, impetuous pet to misunderstand my intentions again."

  "Sarah," Hawk said. "Put your gun away. It isn't necessary."

  "Certainly, sir, as soon as Prince Jibril tells his guards to give us more space," she said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. "Just to be sure there isn't another misunderstanding."

  "Jibril?" Hawk asked. "Would you mind humoring her?"

  "For you, my old friend, anything." The prince issued more orders. The men fell back two paces, opening the circle.

  As soon as they moved, inquiries crackled over the radio. Sarah saw the hotel security personnel converging on them from the perimeter of the room. Nearby conversations tapered off as guests paused to follow their progress. Within seconds every face in the ballroom was turned toward them.

  Satisfied that the several hundred reputable eyewitnesses were swinging the odds back in their favor, Sarah slipped her weapon into the holster on her right leg, twitched her skirt back into place and returned to Hawk's side.

  The moment she was within his reach, Hawk grabbed her gun hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. When she tried to ease away, he pressed her fingers to his sleeve and trapped her wrist against his ribs. Beneath his jacket, his arm was corded steel.

  She did a rapid survey of the area, momentarily concerned she had missed some other potential threat, but everything appeared clear. She tipped up her chin to look at him.

  It was the first time she'd regarded him directly since the incident had begun. His lips were thinned and his jaw was clenched. The corner of one eye twitched. He dipped his head close to her ear. "This afternoon I wondered whether you were suicidal or just plain crazy," he muttered. "Now I know you're both. Don't move."

  Before she could respond, Hawk released her and stepped forward to shake the prince's hand. "Jibril, it's good to see you."

  The prince clasped Hawk's shoulder. "And you too, Hawkins. How long has it been? Ten years?"

  "Fourteen." He drew back and grasped Jibril's arm. "You have my deepest apologies for the mix-up. This wasn't the greeting I would have hoped for."

  "Think nothing of it, my friend. It was rather entertaining. A novel experience."

  "You're gracious, as always, Jibril."

  The first of the hotel security guards arrived then. Sarah still didn't like the situation, but she decided matters were under control, now that they were no longer hidden from view. Even a man as powerful as the Moukim crown prince wouldn't attempt anything overtly hostile in such a public place. She explained to the security staff that it was a false alarm and thanked them for their concern, yet she didn't relax for an instant.

  The glares she was receiving from Jibril's palace guard were making the hair at the back of her neck tingle. By besting them, however fleetingly, she had not only hurt their male egos, she'd damaged their professional pride. She knew the military mind-set. This insult would not be forgotten.

  But it was the emotions she saw when she met Hawk's gaze that could present a bigger problem.

  The danger was far from over. It was only beginning.

  * * *

  Hawk paced across the sitting room, but the suite was too small. He yanked off his tie, balled it in his fist and threw it on the floor, then pivoted and paced to the door. What he really needed was a good, long run to clear his head. Work off the restlessness, the frustration, the fear.

  Yes, fear. That was at the root of his anger.

  Sarah could have been killed. Any one of Jibril's guards could have snapped that beautiful neck of hers with one blow. It was a miracle that she had escaped the situation unscathed.

  She was an idiot. A madwoman. Sh
e'd risked her life unnecessarily because she'd thought she was saving his.

  Again.

  He hadn't anticipated this when he'd decided to keep her. He should have thought it through instead of being swayed by the chemistry that was going on between them. Whether the threat to his life was real or not, Sarah was managing to place herself in danger simply because she was so determined to do her job.

  Whatever that was.

  Damn! He turned away from the door and strode to the sofa. He couldn't go for a run. He had given Sarah his word that he would remain here. He wasn't going to add lies of his own to the mix. And who knew what Sarah would do if she came out of the bathroom and found him gone? Would she follow him? Or would she take advantage of the opportunity to hack into his computer?

  He peeled off his jacket and looked at the bedroom doorway. Just how dedicated a soldier was she? Could she really have accosted Moukim royalty merely to reinforce her cover story? If so, she'd been a brilliant performer. A true method actor. She'd been completely convincing, from her fighter's stance to her coolly assessing gaze. And then there had been the way she'd kicked aside her skirt with no regard to modesty.

  He dropped his jacket on the back of the sofa. He rubbed his face, forcing himself to take deep breaths. What was wrong with him? The standoff he'd witnessed tonight could have ended in tragedy if Jibril hadn't decided to defuse the situation, so how could Hawk think of Sarah's legs?

  Yet the image of all that bare skin wouldn't go away. It had been burned into his memory: delicate ankles, slender calves, taut thighs…with two wide bands of black elastic circling the right one to hold her holster in place. And before her skirt had settled, there had been a glimpse of pale peach lace where her thighs met.

  Her underwear was peach-colored lace. Nothing practical or serviceable about that. It was the choice of the woman, not the soldier.

  His gaze returned to the bedroom doorway. He heard the flush of the toilet, followed by the sound of running water. He was struck by the intimacy of their situation. Despite the background facts that both of them had dug up, they were still virtual strangers, yet Sarah showed no uneasiness about sharing accommodations with him.

  Hawk's gaze dropped to the cot she had set up. She had placed it between the bedroom and the door of the suite, as if she intended to protect him even while she slept…or give the impression that she protected him.

  "I'm finished now. Thank you for waiting."

  He hadn't heard her approach. She was standing in the doorway. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, her hair was a cascade of loose curls around her shoulders. The dress she had worn tonight was draped over her arm in a fall of shimmering ice blue. In its place she wore an olive-green T-shirt and a pair of plaid flannel drawstring pants.

  She wasn't dressed for seduction, she was dressed for bed. Yet the sight of her sent Hawk's pulse racing. Why was that? Was it the challenge she presented? Or was it because she seemed oblivious to the effect of her appearance? Her lack of vanity was as attractive as the self-assurance she displayed, her take-it-or-leave-it attitude. It arose from that confidence in her femininity he'd noticed the first time she had caught him looking at her body.

  The anger he'd been struggling to control shifted. He no longer wanted to grab her and shake her for putting herself in danger. He wanted to kiss her.

  He clamped his hands on the back of the sofa. "Sarah, we have to talk."

  "I agree, Dr. Lemay." She carried her dress to the wardrobe and hung it up beside her coat. Her breasts swayed beneath the T-shirt as she raised her arms. "We need to discuss some ground rules."

  He dug his fingers into the upholstery. "Good. We can't have a repeat of what happened this evening."

  "Exactly. In the future, I'll need to know the details of any meetings you arrange."

  "Why? So you can report on them?"

  "No, so I can assess the risk and suggest an alternate arrangement." She took a brush from the bottom of the wardrobe and went over to sit cross-legged in the center of her cot. "I'll fax a written apology to Prince Jibril tomorrow, but the incident could have been avoided if you had told me you had gone to the reception specifically to meet him."

  She really didn't give an inch, he thought. And she was right—he had attended the reception in order to meet Jibril. "Sarah, the incident happened because you overreacted. You were jumping at another mop handle."

  "The prince was trying to abduct you, sir."

  "That's not true. You heard what he said."

  "Precisely." She tipped her head sideways and ran the brush through her hair from the roots to the tips. "I heard and understood every word he said. I speak Arabic."

  The revelation shouldn't have surprised him. She had already demonstrated her gift for languages. "And?"

  "He lied to you. He didn't tell his men to escort you to a quieter place. He told them to keep you quiet and get you outside."

  "The two versions sound close. You could have made a mistake with the translation."

  She tipped her head the other way. A shadow of a frown creased her forehead. "I suppose that's possible, but I don't believe I did."

  "So now, in addition to the plot to assassinate me, there is a plot to kidnap me? Better not embroider the story too much, Sarah. It's difficult enough to believe already. I'm just an ordinary man—"

  "Bull."

  He let go of the sofa and crossed his arms. "What happened to the 'Yes, sir. No, sir'?"

  "You are not an ordinary man, Dr. Lemay. You're bright enough to realize the impact that your research into fusion energy could have on the balance of power in the world and even on the course of history, so don't insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise." She put down her brush and rotated her shoulder. "People and nations who rely on oil as the source of their income would not be pleased to have their way of life made obsolete. Neither would the big auto companies. Or the unions. Not to mention the various utility companies. I don't think the issue is who at this conference wants to stop you. It's who doesn't."

  He realized her shoulder was probably bothering her again. He already knew she wouldn't accept his sympathy or any offer of help. Still, he wanted to demand she be more careful, he wanted to shout at her for being reckless enough to get hurt in the first place. He wanted to walk over there and help her finish brushing her hair. "Sarah…"

  "And I wouldn't rule out your good friend Prince Jibril Ben Nour. The oil reserves of Moukim provide his wealth and his political power. How can you trust him when you don't trust me?"

  "What makes you think I trust him?"

  That made her pause. Her cheek moved, as if she were chewing it. "You appeared to be friends."

  "We have a connection, but it's not as simple as friendship."

  "I wasn't aware of that."

  "Wasn't it in my file?"

  Her gaze flicked over him. "I've been discovering there are many things that weren't in your file."

  There was an intriguing undertone to her words. He crossed the room to stand at the foot of her cot. "Such as?"

  She took a deep breath before she would meet his gaze. "Nothing that has any bearing on my duty. What is your connection to Jibril?"

  "We met fourteen years ago. I was doing my doctorate at Stanford and he was representing his family in negotiations for a grant to the university."

  "Then your connection is financial."

  Hawk considered leaving it there, but for the sake of Sarah's safety, he couldn't. Unless she knew the truth, she might do something insane like taking on Jibril's commandos again. "That's how it began," he said. "We were friends once. Until we both fancied ourselves to be in love with the same woman."

  Her lips parted but she made no sound. The look of shock on her face should have been comical, but it didn't make Hawk feel like laughing. Didn't she believe it was possible for him to have once been in love?

  Then again, he wasn't so sure of it himself. He unfastened his cuff links and turned away. "It was a long time ago," he said.
<
br />   The cot creaked. Sarah stood up and moved in front of him. "Fourteen years isn't that long. What happened?"

  "Do you mean who won?"

  She nodded. "That's one way to put it."

  "Technically, neither of us. The lady died."

  "Oh, God," Sarah whispered. "I'm sorry. I had no idea." She lifted her hand. For a moment it seemed as if she were going to touch him.

  And once again Hawk wanted to kiss her. Not out of desire but to absorb the compassion he saw in her gaze.

  He closed his fist over his cuff links, feeling the metal jab his palm. "I didn't tell you as a ploy to gain your sympathy, Sarah. I thought it would be safer for you if you understood that my relationship with Jibril has nothing to do with my work or his oil. The last time we saw each other we met to bury a person we both cared about."

  She dropped her hand. "I appreciate your candor."

  "You would have found out eventually. You do work in intelligence."

  She cleared her throat, as if reminded of her job. "This does put a different spin on the situation."

  "I don't believe the prince would have waited until now if he had wanted to kill me. If he was harboring some jealous grudge, he knows me well enough to have eliminated me anytime, so there isn't any reason for you to put yourself in the kind of danger you did tonight."

  "I hope this means you realize my only concern is your safety."

  He walked to the bedroom. "I haven't changed my mind, Sarah. I still don't fully trust you, and I think you're a menace to yourself and everyone around you." He paused in the doorway to look over his shoulder. "But you're one hell of an interesting woman and I don't intend to get rid of you yet."

  Was there such a thing as too much knowledge? Sarah hadn't thought it was possible. In the course of her work, she was accustomed to using any method available to collect intelligence. Even the tiniest detail, like the location of an air vent or whether a guard was right- or left-handed, could mean the difference between the success or failure of a mission.