Born To Protect

Jack felt it in his gut.

And yet Christina hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word. She breathed slowly, in and out, and her spine and her eyes were straight. But there was tension in her shoulders, and her gaze did not focus on the paper she held. The edges trembled in her tightened grip.

Inside him, something lurched in acknowledgment, both of her distress and her determination to hide it. But Christina had already made it clear she didn’t want his sympathy. Or his admiration. Or anything to do with him.

“Somebody die?” he asked.

She stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He gestured toward the letter she still held. “Something’s upset you.”

She gave him one of those “Me, princess. You, peasant” looks she was so good at. “You’ve been upsetting me since you got here.”

He almost grinned. “Something else.”

“It’s nothing.” She grimaced slightly. “Fan mail.”

He held out his hand. “Let me see.”

When she didn’t respond, he leaned forward and tugged the paper away.

U.S. Embassy Bombed, the headline read.

It was an undated Associated Press wire clipping from Montebello. Jack read it carefully, comparing what the reporter knew with what his father had told him. No group has claimed responsibility for the bombing, although several terrorist organizations in the region are known to be hostile to the U.S. military presence in Montebello…

Right. Jack’s dad had said Sheik Ahmed Kamal of Tamir was the most likely suspect. King Marcus was convinced of the neighboring ruler’s guilt. And Kamal was well known for his anti-West sentiment.

Jack read on. A source close to the palace reveals that the bombing could have been a diversion to cover a kidnap attempt on Princess Julia.

Oh, boy. A leak at the palace must have made the old man unhappy, Jack thought. But he was going to be really ticked about the straggling line of cut-out letters pasted below the article, like a ransom note in a B movie: THIS COULD BE YOU.

Hell.

“We’ve got to get this tested,” he said.

Christina raised her eyebrows. She had her emotions in check again. He couldn’t help wondering what it would take to shatter that calm control. “Tested for what?”

“For fingerprints. ID. To find out who’s threatening you.”

She sighed. “No one’s threatened me.”

Exasperation spiked his voice. “What do you call this?”

“An unfortunate consequence of my family’s fame. I get them all the time, Mr. Dalton, even here. Requests for autographs, marriage proposals, nude videos, pleas for money… I refuse to get rattled by one more crank who likes to cut things out of the newspaper.”

But she had been rattled. He’d seen it in her eyes.

“You better start calling me Jack,” he said. “I have a feeling we’re going to get to know each other pretty well.”

“No. I told you, I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“And I don’t need a princess with attitude. But it looks like neither one of us is going to get what we want. Will you at least cooperate until we establish whether or not you’re a target?”

She bit her lip. He couldn’t tell if she was responding to his jibe or considering his offer. “How long would that take?”

“You want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know. I’ve got a report from the major hitting my post office box, maybe today. Background stuff. Probably an update on the bombing investigation. I can go over that and tell you what kind of risk I think you’re taking. And then we get lab results on your little love letter here. If we establish a tie to Kamal, I’d say you’re in real danger. After that, it’s up to you whether you accept help or not.”

“Your help.”

He shrugged, trying not to care that he was being judged and found wanting. Trying not to care whether he saved her pretty neck or not. He was out of the save-the-world business. “Doesn’t have to be me. Get yourself a nice professional with a suit and a shoulder holster, if you want. Maybe a woman. I’m just passing through.”

“On your way to where?”

Nowhere, he thought.

“Does it matter?” he asked bleakly. His shoulder ached, a promise of pain tomorrow. “All you need to know is whether I’m available and if I’m qualified.”

She tipped her head to one side, showing off the long, elegant line of her throat. “I believe we determined your qualifications yesterday. And you have made yourself annoyingly available.”

He grimaced, thinking of what that availability had cost him. Damn near everything. “Oh, I’m available, all right.”

She nodded. “Very well, then.”

“Very well, what?”

“I accept your protection until my danger is disproved.” His surprise must have registered, because a small, remote smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I’m not stupid, Mr. Dalton…Jack. Just stubborn. I don’t want to get kidnapped, and I don’t intend to be used as a bargaining chip in whatever feud Sheik Ahmed has with my father.”

“So, you’ll…cooperate?”

“Yes. With the understanding that you will not interfere with my work.”

He looked at the neat stacks of paper on her desk, the sharpened pencils and a hunk of glittering rock. “What kind of work do you do? You’re a microbiologist, right?”

A brief gleam appeared in her blue eyes. Amused, but not malicious. “Microbial ecologist. My research focuses on isolating and identifying microorganisms—bacteria—in the soil that could help plants thrive in metal-contaminated areas.”

“Yeah, I can see how you couldn’t let that slide for a few days,” he drawled.

“Actually, microorganisms are crucial to ecosystem function. An understanding of their role in plant success could have huge implications in developing land-reclamation strategies.”

Her enthusiasm was kind of cute. He wasn’t going to argue with her. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he understood her.

“Fine. You do that. After we go to the post office. I want to pick up the report from the major so I can read up on the situation. And we need to send this letter in for prints.”

“Send it where?”