were you protecting that time?”
She kept her attention on the passing floors. “Excuse me?”
“When you were shot?”
“It was a hostage rescue. A seven-year-old boy.”
“Since when does the Army do hostage rescue… Ah. I should have seen it.” His voice took on a curl of interest. “Hostage rescue, bodyguard detail. You’re no ordinary soldier, you’re with Delta Force.”
His insight didn’t surprise her. After all, he was a genius. “Yes, sir. Here’s our floor. Stay back until I check the corridor.” She opened the gate with one hand and slipped her gun from her pocket with the other. She listened first, but she heard nothing from the hall. She held up her palm, motioning Lemay to remain where he was, then stepped out of the elevator. When she assured herself the way was clear, she glanced behind her.
She had half expected him to defy her order and follow her, but he was still standing by the elevator, her suitcase tucked under one arm as if it weighed nothing. His jacket gaped open, exposing a wrinkled denim shirt. The lighting in the corridor was as subdued as it had been in the lobby, yet the shadows couldn’t hide the sharp glint in his gaze.
The striking blue eyes he’d inherited from Cynthia Hawkins, his New England mother. The midnight-black hair and strong bone structure had been passed down from Pascal Lemay, his Cajun father. Those were facts she had known since she’d memorized his face from the photograph in his background file.
But the photo hadn’t shown that gleam in his eyes. It was a glimpse of the power that dwelled behind the distinctive features, a hint of Dr. Hawkins Lemay’s awesome intellect.
He held her gaze as he closed the distance between them. His big body moved with the careless ease of a predator, another fact that wasn’t contained in his file. He paused in front of her, once more filling her senses with the scent of leather and man. “Tell me the truth, Captain Fox,” he said. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”
Chapter 2
Hawk crossed his ankles and leaned against the door frame as he watched Captain Fox move through the bedroom. Like the rest of the suite she’d already been through, the bedroom was decorated predominantly in ivory and pale rose, with antique furniture that carried the dark patina of age. But the captain wasn’t interested in the décor any more than he was. She’d claimed she was checking for bombs or booby traps, and she appeared to be doing a thorough job.
His belongings were still in his suitcase—he hadn’t taken the time to unpack before he’d felt the need to go out for a walk—but even the suitcase hadn’t escaped her scrutiny. She was sticking to her story, yet the more Hawk thought about it, the more he wondered whether he should trust her.
That wasn’t anything new. He seldom trusted anyone. “Don’t you find it odd that out of all the soldiers who could have been assigned to guard me, your Major Redinger chose an injured woman?”
She strode past the bed to the window, tested the lock, then closed the curtains. “Not odd in the least, Dr. Lemay. I was the best person for the job.”
“Because you speak Swedish?”
“Yes, that was one of the factors in my favor.”
“What are some of the others?”
“I’m an excellent shot. And like many of the other soldiers of Delta Force, I’ve received bodyguard training from the Secret Service.” She did a final survey of the bedroom and its adjoining bathroom, 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
