Aim for the Heart

“Please, call me Hawk.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“If you plan to spend the next three days with me, what would it hurt?”

“Our relationship is strictly professional, Dr. Lemay. It would be best if we remain focused—” She paused, her back tensing beneath his palm. “There is a middle-aged bald man ten yards to our left who is observing you. Five-ten, around two hundred pounds, stands with his head pushed forward, favors his right knee. Do you know him?”

Hawk sipped his champagne as he glanced to his left, although Sarah’s description had been accurate enough for him to guess who it was without looking. “Fedor Yegdenovich. He’s a physicist.”

“A colleague of yours?”

“Unfortunately, no. He considers fusion research to be a race, and he’s determined Mother Russia will win.”

“And the short, intense-looking man with him?”

“Earl Drucker,” Hawk said. “Of the Texas Druckers. His oil is running out and he wants to diversify into other energy sources. The deal he proposed to me last month was far richer than the government’s. He offered me a fortune in exchange for my research.”

“You’re a popular man, Dr. Lemay. Why didn’t you take his offer?”

“I’m not motivated by money.” He returned his gaze to Sarah. “But since you work in intelligence, you would already know that.”

She dipped her chin in agreement. “Yes, I’m aware of your financial status. The income from the patents you hold on your early discoveries amounts to several million annually and has allowed you to fund your research yourself.”

“Most women would be impressed by that.”

“If I were interested in money, I would have requested an assignment at the mint.”

“Somehow I don’t think that would have suited your temperament.”

“I’m also aware of the fact that you donate the majority of your income to various charities, including veterans’ organizations.”

“Damn, you really are good at your job, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She met his gaze briefly before she resumed her survey of the room. “Judging by your record of giving to charities, you appear to have a social conscience and a sense of patriotism. Which makes it difficult for me to understand why you refused to accept the offer of our government.”

“Ah. So you checked my story.”

“Of course. No offense meant.”

“No offense taken.” He smiled. “After all, I checked your story, too. As much as I was able to, anyway.”

Her gaze darted to his. “What do you mean?”

“What did you think I was doing while you were going through your tai chi routine? I went on-line with my laptop to do some background research of my own.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And?”

“Your military record is impressive, Captain Fox. I take it your father influenced your career choice.”

If he hadn’t been watching so carefully, he wouldn’t have seen the chink open up in her controlled expression. He glimpsed a tangle of emotions. Pride, longing, pain. He blinked and it was gone.

“Yes, I admired the general,” she said. “It was natural to follow his example.”

The general. Not Dad. Not Pops. A revealing choice of words, Hawk thought. “General Bartholomew Fox, hero of both the Korean and the Gulf Wars, would be a hard act to follow for anyone. Especially a daughter.”

Another momentary chink. She looked away. “I have never shied away from a challenge, Dr. Lemay.”

“Neither have I, Sarah.” He stepped closer, running his palm up the back of her arm. “But I’m surprised you didn’t try to talk me out of attending this reception. If I really am in danger, if the threat to my life is genuine, wouldn’t it have been safer if we remained secluded in the suite?”

A light shudder followed his touch. “Would you have agreed if I’d asked?”

Hawk vividly remembered the way she had looked when he’d first walked out of the bedroom, with her hair loose and her feet bare as she’d curled into the corner of the sofa. She had been even more appealing than she was now, because she hadn’t quite managed to hide the spark of interest that had warmed her gaze as she’d watched him.

But would she have asked him to stay for the sake of her mission or for her? He dropped his hand. “Probably not,” he replied.

“That’s a courageous choice,” she said. “As long as the risk is manageable, it’s better not to give in to threats. The moment we let fear win, we’ve lost.”

“What do you fear, Sarah?”

“Failure, Dr. Lemay.”

It was an honest answer, Hawk decided. Both from the soldier and from the woman.

She pressed her index finger over the receiver in her left ear and stepped away to place herself slightly behind him. A hum of interest spread through the crowd.

Hawk glanced over his shoulder in time to see at least a dozen men in flowing djellabahs stride through the ballroom’s main entrance. They moved as a group, maintaining a ring around the tall, bearded man who walked at their center.

Even though it had been fourteen years since they had last met, Hawk recognized Prince Jibril Ben Nour, the next in line for the throne of the oil-rich Persian Gulf nation of Moukim. The beard was new, but the long nose and the piercing black gaze hadn’t changed. Nor had Jibril’s aura of privilege—he moved with the sure-footed glide of a man who was unaccustomed to encountering obstacles in his path.

The prince and his entourage swept through the crowd without pausing to speak to anyone. They appeared to be heading straight for Hawk. This was what he’d anticipated. Hawk placed his champagne glass on a nearby table and stepped forward to meet them.

Sarah quickly angled herself between Hawk and the approaching men. She pressed her back to his chest and nudged him backward, positioning him closer to one of the emergency exits that led out of the ballroom.

Hawk frowned. Under other circumstances, he would have welcomed the sensation of Sarah’s body rubbing against his, but he knew what she was doing. She was trying to shield him, and he wouldn’t allow it now any more than he’d allowed it this afternoon. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her against his side.

“I don’t like the look of this, Dr. Lemay.” She curled her fingers around his wrist. “There are too many of them, and they’re moving too fast. Their floor-length robes could conceal anything.”

He moved his hand to her hip and held her in place. “Relax, Sarah. Nothing’s going to happen.”

She let go of his wrist and lowered her hand to her thigh. Her fingertips brushed the opening in her skirt. She didn’t relax. Hawk could feel a change in the way she held herself, as if she were readying for action. Her breathing became deep and deliberate. Her weight shifted forward to the balls of her feet. The spicy-sweet scent of her perfume strengthened.

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.