Code Name: Blondie

“Three or four days, more or less. It depends on how complicated the stitch is and what needle size you’re using.” She put her hands on her hips. “You don’t have the slightest interest in knitting. You’re just trying to keep me in here. Why?” she demanded flatly.

Max didn’t move. “Actually, I am interested. How does it work?”

She stalked across the small space, angry and determined like a storm that couldn’t be contained. “Enough of the inquisition, buster. Let me out of here now or I’ll do something you don’t like. And trust me, whatever it is, it will be really loud.”

CHAPTER SIX

“HOW ABOUT YOU RELAX?”

“I can’t relax. I’ve been in a plane wreck, nearly drowned, and now I’m incarcerated with a crazy person. Also, I’ve got to tell you that glove thing of yours is too weird. I don’t buy that sensitivity story, either. You know what I think?”

Max watched her, fascinated by the color pulsing through her cheeks and the anger in her eyes. Was she always so intense? “No, I can’t even imagine.”

“I think you’re a criminal who came here to hide out. Probably you’re the kind who uses his brains more than brawn. Maybe you’re a high-tech thief, someone who masterminds money laundering. Not the chump change kind either, but a business that’s huge and far-flung and multinational. Out here you think no one can catch you.”

“You’ve got quite an imagination.” Max watched, fascinated by her energy as she ran into a crate, stubbed her toe and hopped around awkwardly. “You may want to cool down before you hurt yourself.”

“That’s very funny. You couldn’t care less about me. First you lock me up here in this…this awful cavelike place while you—”

She stopped as Max stood up and calmly pushed open the small metal door, revealing a perfect turquoise sky.

“Go on.”

She stayed where she was, her face uncertain. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

Wind ruffled her hair. “Up there? You won’t stop me, or send that big dog of yours after me?”

Max reined in his impatience. It was a calculated risk to let her out, but risky moves could yield the best results. He figured she would need to find temporary bathroom facilities soon anyway. “You’ve got four minutes. There’s a place inland with some hibiscus plants to give you privacy. When you’re done, you can scrub your face with sand and a little water from the stream there. Don’t dawdle.”

She looked at the canteen he was holding out. “You want me to wash with sand?” She caught a shaky breath. “I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. I could be dead right now, half-eaten by fish. What’s a little sand in comparison to that?” She took his canteen of water. “So I have four minutes?”

Max nodded. Following her moods was like trying to catch minnows in turbid water. One minute she complained, the next she was logical and full of apologies. He moved aside, slanting her a warning look. “Remember the time. It’s important.”

“So you keep saying.” She raised the canteen against her chest, climbing past him up the stairs, but her bare foot hit an uneven plank and she fell sideways.

Max caught her quickly, his gloved hand circling her waist. Her hair brushed his face and her body slammed against him, surprising them both by the contact. Beneath the damp clothes her skin radiated a subtle but distinct heat, which he felt through the leather of his gloves. He put her down as soon as he could, dropping his arm and trying not to remember how warm she had felt.

A sudden wind filled the small space, ruffling her hair. She cleared her throat and pulled away. “That was clumsy of me.”

“No problem.” Max put more space between them. “No more perfume because it bothers my dog. And no noise.” When Max followed her outside, little flecks of white yarn drifted back from her shoulders. She swung her arms wide, trying to balance in the narrow doorway, and in the process nearly knocked him in the face.

He ducked by reflex, wondering if she was always this clumsy. If it was an act, it was very well rehearsed. Something tickled his nose, squeezing his throat and he sneezed hard, which sent more angora fluff up into his face and nose. Max brushed it away, frowning. The noise discipline rules applied to him as much as her. Cruz could be on the other island waiting and watching right now.

One mistake could get them all killed.

Cruz didn’t believe in giving second chances.

MIKI STILL COULDN’T FIGURE out if he was a recluse or some kind of white-collar criminal. He might even have been a mercenary, she thought. He had the cold eyes to be all of those things. His story about oil field exploration made sense, but she still didn’t buy it. She had been a photographer too long not to have a sharp eye for details and faces, and Max Massey was no pencil-pushing engineer. She was equally certain that his big, intelligent dog wasn’t along as a passive companion. The lab had the same intense focus she’d seen in her friend Kit’s animals. Frankly, both of them gave her the creeps, and the sooner she got away from them, the better.

She looked around, committing the terrain to memory. Since she might be stuck here, she needed to stockpile as much information as possible. Meanwhile the clock was ticking and she had no doubt that Mr. Hard-as-nails would enforce his four-minute warning.

The hibiscus bushes were right where he had said, providing a nice wall of privacy. When she’d finished the more pressing necessities, she grabbed his canteen and a handful of sand and went to work on her face and hands. The sand stung her arms, but she managed to remove most of the stickiness left over from the seawater. Closing her eyes and scrubbing her neck and chest, she fantasized about a bar of French milled soap and a loofah sponge. As she tilted her head, a cool wind brushed her face and she almost forgot that she was stranded and she had blisters on her feet. There was no point trying to do anything about her hair. There was no way for a decent shampoo with only a little water and a handful of sand.

Her time was up, so she tugged her shirt back in place, picking up the canteen from the ground. But a flash of color caught her eye and she leaned down to study a small pink flower. Miki felt a wave of excitement as she recognized a rare orchid, its bright petals soft and fragile. The scene would have made an award-winning photo, if only she had her camera. Maybe if she groveled, the Jerk would return her camera bag and equipment for a few minutes.

A hand gripped her arm and closed, pulling her to her feet. How did the man manage to be so quiet? “What’s wrong?” she hissed.

He didn’t speak, pointing at his watch.

“That’s a very rare orchid,” she whispered excitedly. “I could win a prize with this. You have to let me—”

He cut her off with a gloved hand to her mouth. Miki felt the soft leather against her mouth as he turned her slowly, looking down the beach. He seemed to be scanning the water, and she realized there was a larger island glinting in the sunlight, its central mountain ridge wreathed in clouds. Though Max’s breathing was low and steady, she felt his tension clearly.

When she tried to talk, his gloved fingers cut off the sound. His body was absolutely still.

Why was he looking at the beautiful coves? Did he expect trouble from there? She didn’t struggle when he tugged her back toward the hidden door and the big dog waiting beside it. She took a last deep breath of clean air and then went back down the steps she was already beginning to hate. As soon as the door was in place, she rounded on him.

“That was a very rare flower back there. I could have gotten a thousand dollars for one shot. You want to tell me again why I can’t have my camera bag and why I can’t make any noise?”

“I already explained. You should have listened then.” He pushed her back toward the one spare cot. “Sit down.”

“You think I’ll do whatever you ask? Forget that. I’m tired of taking your orders.”

“I said to sit down.”

“Go eat sand.” Miki crossed her arms, furious.

When she didn’t move, he caught her shoulders, and she tried to push him away, but the man wouldn’t budge. For someone lean, he was incredibly strong.

Furious, she watched his fingers open, then brush her hair. If he thought this would be some kind of kinky prelude to sex, he had a major surprise coming.

His thumb combed through her hair, and Miki was amazed at how gentle the movement was. Her confusion grew as he leaned closer, sliding his arm around her shoulder.

She felt his muscles tighten and his breath play over her cheek.

“Don’t move.”

Like hell, she wouldn’t move. He’d saved her life, but that didn’t entitle him to grope her. Enough was enough. When she tried to move, his hand twisted in a blur of motion.

“Stand still,” he whispered. “Completely still.”

Her breath caught as something appeared in his hand. Miki saw that it was long and small and frantically alive, wriggling against his glove.

“Centipede.” He frowned, holding up the restless mass of legs. “Poisonous variety.”

She gulped air, feeling faint. She hated bugs. Really, really hated bugs. “On me? In my hair?” She swallowed. “How poisonous?”