Aim for the Heart. Ingrid Weaver
then walked past him to return to the suite’s elegant sitting area. “And as I already told you, my injury won’t interfere with my ability to do my duty. The bulk of my work will involve coordinating security with the hotel and the local police.”
He pivoted to keep her in sight. Her inspection apparently complete, she unbuttoned her coat as she moved to the carved wooden wardrobe beside the suite’s door. He was relieved to see that she didn’t betray any difficulty moving her shoulder when she hung up her coat. While he still needed to be more certain of his facts before he could trust her, the pain he’d seen earlier when he’d grabbed her had been authentic, he was certain of that.
Her description of her injury had been curtly businesslike. She hadn’t wanted his sympathy. Why? Was it because she was trying to be professional, or because she simply didn’t like admitting vulnerability? Both, he decided. “Is personal protection your specialty?” he asked.
“My duties are varied, depending on the mission,” she replied, taking her cell phone and her gun from her coat. She closed the wardrobe and turned to face him. “But my specialty is intelligence.”
She wore a turtleneck sweater and tailored pants. Like her coat, they were black. Unlike her coat, they didn’t conceal her figure.
Hawk saw that her body was as feminine as her face, an appealing combination of slenderness and curves. Softness over strength, like the silk scarf at her neck that was a whimsical splash of color against the sober black of her clothes. Yet her appeal arose from more than her appearance. It was the fluid way she moved and the confident way she angled her chin. Although she wasn’t tall, she had the kind of presence that gave the impression of height.
She slipped her phone into her pants pocket and reached behind her to tuck her gun into her waistband at the small of her back. The movement tightened her sweater over her breasts. Firm, temptingly rounded breasts that would fit perfectly into his palms…
Hawk lifted his gaze to her face.
She was staring straight at him, so she had to have noticed where he’d been looking. She seemed to have guessed what he’d been thinking, too. Yet she didn’t shrink from his regard. She met it with the assurance of a woman who was at ease with her sexuality and saw no need to deny it.
Sarah Fox was an intriguing woman, a study in contradictions. She handled a gun as easily as a telephone. She had chosen a career in a male-dominated field, yet she was blatantly female.
What kind of woman would risk her life for a stranger?
Or had she?
Damn, he’d lost his train of thought. What had they been talking about? “You said you work in intelligence?”
“Yes.”
Pieces moved into place. An alternate explanation for her presence began to form. “It’s finally starting to make sense.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s why the government chose to send you here.”
“I told you why. While you are in Stockholm you are the target of an assassin.”
“And when did you first learn about this assassination plot?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“Yes, that’s when I was informed, as well.”
She shook her head. More strands of hair slid loose from her clip to brush the side of her face. “Dr. Lemay, why are you so skeptical? I would have thought that an intelligent man like you would have been grateful for our help.”
“It’s the timing that made me skeptical, Captain Fox. It’s too convenient. The government ‘discovered’ this threat to my life less than twelve hours after I refused their offer.”
“What offer?”
She sounded genuinely puzzled, he thought. Then again, what man would question anything she said in that smoky velvet voice of hers? He looked at the way her hair haloed her face, and he remembered the pleasure he’d felt when he’d held a lock between his fingers.
Was that another reason she’d been chosen for this mission?
The pleasure dissolved. He straightened up from the door frame and moved toward the sitting room window.
“Please, keep away from the window, Dr. Lemay. The curtains are closed, but the lamp casts your shadow on the fabric.”
He still didn’t have enough facts to form a definite conclusion, he reminded himself. He changed direction, crossing the room to the inlaid-walnut desk that held the suite’s fax machine and one of the telephones. He steepled his fingers on the desk’s glossy surface. “What do you know about my work, Captain Fox?”
“You research nuclear fusion.”
“My goal is to develop fusion power as an economically viable energy source.”
“Yes, I’m aware that you published a landmark paper on the subject several years ago, but you’ve kept your research confidential since then. That’s what you plan to speak about before the closing ceremonies on Saturday, isn’t it?”
“Correct.” He lifted his gaze to the mirror that hung on the wall beside the desk so he could watch her reflection. “Two days ago a representative from our government visited me at my lab in California. He requested that I continue my research under their supervision. All my results would be the exclusive property of the Department of Defense.”
She hesitated. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“No?”
“No, sir. That information was not in any of the sources I accessed.”
“Don’t you find that odd?”
“Yes, it’s definitely odd. A fact like that should have been made available to me. You said you refused?”
“Yes. I turned them down. I gave them nothing.” He folded his arms over his chest and faced her. “Less than twelve hours later, they suddenly discovered someone wants to kill me. I find that odd, too.”
“What does that have to do with—” Her breath hissed out. “Surely you don’t think the government is trying to kill you simply because you wouldn’t work for them.”
“No. I don’t think anyone’s trying to kill me, especially not the government. They don’t want my death, they want my work.” He studied her face. “And what better way to get it than to place someone, say a bodyguard, in a position where they had a reason to stay with me night and day?”
“Dr. Lemay—”
“Even better, what if they sent a beautiful woman, one whose healing injury would arouse my sympathy? She would have unlimited opportunities to gather information. Not only about my work but about whom I associate with while I’m at this conference and what other offers I might receive.”
He watched her string the facts together. It didn’t take her long. He could see the exact moment she understood his point. Twin spots of color bloomed in her cheeks—he’d bet it wasn’t because he’d called her beautiful.
Her lips thinned. “You think I was sent here to spy on you.”
“Were you?”
Her jaw flexed, as if she were clenching her teeth. “My appearance, my sex and my physical condition are irrelevant. I am an officer in the United States Army. I am not a spy.”
“You’re not regular Army, you’re Delta Force. From what I’ve heard, you’re all trained in unconventional warfare. Your stealth and secrecy are legendary. You don’t play by the rules.”
“Sir—”
“In addition, you’ve admitted you’re an intelligence specialist. You’re trained to gather information.”
“Call my C.O.,” she said.