Murdock's Last Stand

Catherine sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, then let her bare feet touch the polished hardwood floor. Rising from the bed, she stretched, then lifted her suitcase and set it on the arms of the wooden rocker in the corner. The best way to avoid Murdock tonight was to take a bath and go to bed. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to deal with the big man again.

She removed her toiletries case and set it on the small, cluttered desk to her right, then lifted her pajamas, robe and slippers from the suitcase. As she reached down for the vinyl case, her hand accidentally knocked a manila folder off the desk and onto the floor. With her clothing draped over her arm and her slippers secured in one hand, she reached down and picked up the folder, intending to return it to the desk. But just as she lifted it, she noticed her name scrawled across the top in a large, bold handwriting that she felt certain belonged to Murdock. Tossing her clothing and slippers on the bed, she flipped open the folder. As she scanned the thick report, her hands tightened around the folder, crushing the edges of the papers she held.

Damn him! How dare he! What gave him the right?

In her bare feet, Catherine stormed out of the guest room and ran into the living room. Murdock sat in one of the big leather chairs, his feet resting on the matching ottoman, a book in one hand. He glanced up at her, his gaze casual.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he said.

Catherine held up the crumpled file folder as if she were confronting him with a murder weapon in a trial. Her gaze narrowed angrily on his expressionless face.

“Is something wrong?” He slid his feet off the ottoman and onto the floor, then laid his book on the arm of the chair and stood to face her.

“This is a report on me,” Catherine told him, her voice trembling with rage. “You know every detail of my life from birth to the present. You have a copy of my birth certificate, my marriage license, even my dental records. How dare you invade my privacy this way?” She rushed toward him, flung the file folder in his face and screamed, “You had no right to do this!”

“You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing.”

She hated the calmness in his voice, hated the rational, emotionless way he was acting. “How would you like it if I’d had an extensive report compiled on you? Would you like for me to know everything there is to know about you?”

Murdock moved forward, bringing his body within inches of her. When he looked down at her, she noticed gold specks in his hazel-brown eyes. She stepped backward. He lowered his head a fraction, then reached out and grasped her shoulders.

“All that’s in the report on you are facts and figures.” He glanced meaningfully at the scattered papers lying on the floor. “Those don’t tell me everything there is to know about you. Only you can do that.”

Garnering all her willpower, she forced herself not to tremble at his touch, not to allow his massive size and imposing self-assurance to intimidate her. “Why did you have the report compiled?”

“I’m going to be responsible for you, for keeping you safe, from now until we bring Lanny back to the United States. When I take an assignment, I always do my homework. When I become someone’s bodyguard, it’s my standard procedure to find out as much as possible about them.”

Titling her chin, she glared into his eyes, seeking and finding the truth of his statement. She believed him, and yet she couldn’t let go of her anger. If it was Murdock’s standard procedure to have a report compiled on all of his clients, then why did she still feel as if his knowing the details of her life was tantamount to his having stripped her naked?

He made no move to release his hold on her. His big, callused hands clutched her shoulders with gentle strength.

Feeling as if they were in a contest of wills, she refused to be the first to break eye contact. “Somehow it doesn’t seem quite fair that you know so much about me and I know so little about you.”

Easing one hand down and around her waist, while the other wound around the back of her neck, Murdock lowered his head farther, until his mouth was a hair-breadth away from hers. “Just what do you want to know about me?”

Chapter 3

The flight from Atlanta to Peru had taken off precisely at eight. Catherine hadn’t known that they would be flying on the Dundee private jet—just one of many things Murdock hadn’t bothered explaining. Their confrontation last night had ended in a stalemate. He hadn’t won the battle. And she hadn’t actually lost it. In retrospect she could admit to herself that she’d never been as frightened or as excited by a man as she’d been when Murdock had almost kissed her. If she hadn’t withdrawn, hadn’t pulled back, hadn’t broken eye contact, she wasn’t sure what might have happened.

The logical part of her personality felt a great sense of relief that she’d had the good sense not to allow her emotions free rein. But the purely female aspects of her mind and body couldn’t forget the way she’d felt and longed to feel again.

“How about some breakfast?” Murdock unhooked his seat belt, then rose and headed toward the galley. “There’s coffee and sweet rolls and muffins. What’ll you have?”

Catherine released the catch of her seat belt, stood and stretched. She had chosen brown pants and a tan jacket of a nonwrinkle material for the long trip, planning to use the outfit more than once. She had packed light. After all, this was supposed to be a quick trip in and out of Zaraza. All they had to do was pay the ransom money for her father and then bring him out of the country as fast as possible.

Without replying to Murdock, she made her way to the galley and poured her own coffee, picked up a paper napkin and then chose a sweet roll from the assortment. She didn’t bother even looking at her bodyguard. To be honest, she was having a difficult time facing him this morning, after the way she’d run from him last evening. He had to be aware of the way he’d affected her—of the reason she’d run from him.

“Giving me the silent treatment today?” Murdock filled his cup, grabbed two rolls and watched Catherine as she sat and crossed her ankles in a demure, ladylike fashion.

Was she upset with him? he wondered. Still angry that he’d compiled an extensive report on her? Or was her attitude the result of something a little more basic? She had run from him last night, as if he’d been a monster ready to devour her.

“I’m more than willing to talk to you.” She tilted her nose just enough to imply superiority. “As a matter of fact, I have dozens of questions and I’d very much like some answers.”

Murdock sat beside her, then lifted his coffee mug in a salute. “Fire away. What do you want to know?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, she picked up the roll from the napkin on her knee, brought it to her mouth and took a bite. After laying the roll back on the napkin, she took a sip of coffee. “Since we’re using the Dundee jet, why aren’t we flying directly into Zaraza today?”

“Because only Zarazaian planes are allowed in and out of the country right now. Even the commercial flights have been canceled temporarily.”

“Then how are we going to fly into—”

“Arrangements are being made for us to take a Zarazaian plane. Hopefully, by tomorrow morning, we’ll be in San Carlos.”

“Hopefully? Do you mean there’s a chance we—”

“My contact in Lima should be able to arrange the flight,” Murdock told her.

Catherine glowered at Murdock. “Would you mind allowing me to finish one sentence without interrupting? Don’t you have any manners at all?”

Murdock chuckled. Manners? Had she actually said manners? “Sorry, ma’am. I’m afraid not spending much time around ladies, I have forgotten my manners.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, either!”

“You don’t appreciate much of anything about me, do you, Cat?”

“Cat!”

“Yeah, honey, that’s what you remind me of—a spitting, hissing she-cat, who has her claws drawn and is ready to fight, even with very little provocation.”

“My name isn’t Cait or Cathy and it most definitely isn’t Cat. It’s Catherine. Do I make myself clear… Aloysius?” Her lips curved in a self-satisfied smile. She could tell from the sudden tension in his jaws and the narrowing of his eyes that her use of his given name had accomplished the desired effect.

“Nobody calls me Aloysius.” His voice roared, deep, throaty and harsh.

“Then we have a deal—you don’t call me Cat and I won’t call you Aloysius.”

“So, the lady knows how to fight dirty.” Setting his mug and roll on the tray in front of him, he turned to her. She visibly cringed when he settled his gaze directly on her face. “In case you didn’t know it, that was a compliment…Catherine.”

“Thank you.” She wished he’d stop inspecting her so thoroughly.

His big hand came toward her so quickly that she had no time to withdraw before he wiped the corner of her mouth with the tip of his index finger. She sucked in her breath and held it until her lungs ached for release.

Her startled eyes expressed what she felt. Murdock realized touching her had been a mistake. One he shouldn’t make again. He sensed a hunger in Catherine that could be dangerous for both of them. “You had sugar from the sweet roll on—”

She released her breath and glowered at him. “Next time, just tell me. I’m perfectly capable of wiping my own mouth.”

He stood abruptly. With his back to her, he said, “You’re perfectly capable of doing a great deal, I’m sure.”

Why was she allowing this man to have such a negative effect on her? she wondered. Just because she found herself attracted to him, on some purely primitive, animalistic level, didn’t mean she would ever act on those unwanted feelings. And there was no excuse for her taking out her frustration and anger with her father on Murdock, no matter how alike the two men were. This man meant nothing to her and never would.