Roarke to protest. Instead he walked over to her bed; she ignored him. Without a doubt, a man like him didn’t get ignored often. He shifted from foot to foot, and she gave him six seconds to try to change her mind.
“You’d be safer if you stayed with me.”
He’d lasted two and a half. But she remained silent, knowing if she gave him reasons, he’d argue and wear her down.
When she said nothing, he eyed the envelope with curiosity. “Did that come from your brother?”
She saw no point in denying it when he need merely flip it over and read the return address. “Yes.”
“May I look?”
He was sweetly asking her permission? She didn’t understand the man. He’d ordered her to take a shower, threatened to do it himself if she didn’t, then when she’d boldly said no to his plan A and plan B, he hadn’t argued. Much. Hadn’t insisted on doing everything his way.
And now he was asking permission to look at her personal papers? He seemed capable of adapting faster than she could take her next breath.
Maybe he would see something important in the papers that she had missed. “Sure, go ahead and take a look. I have no idea what the fuss is all about. Maybe I should just have given the intruder what he wanted.”
“That wouldn’t have been a good idea.”
“Why not? Then he’d leave me alone.”
He picked up the envelope. “Jake thinks your mother gave her life to protect this information.”
She frowned at his serious expression. Once again he’d surprised her by directing the topic of conversation in a brand-new direction. “My mother?”
“Your biological mother.”
“Oh.” Alexandra had no memories of the woman who’d given birth to her and thought of her adopted mother as her Mom. Although she’d never been told how her biological mother had died, Roarke spoke as if she’d been involved in some kind of crusade. Alexandra had gone through the pictures and read some of the papers that Jake had sent, but she’d seen no obvious cause that her mother might have been caught up in.
To think that the woman who’d given her birth had felt so passionately about something that she’d risked her own life gave Alexandra a measure of pain and pride. Pain that she and her siblings meant less to her mother than a cause. Pain that the family had been split up. Pride that her mother believed in something so strongly she would risk her life.
Roarke removed the documents and looked at the old black-and-white photographs first. He studied each one for a long time, as if memorizing details before moving on to the next. Eventually he put them aside and perused the birth certificates. Finally, he turned to the pages from her mother’s diary.
Alexandra finished packing as he skimmed, wondering if he’d find them more interesting than she had. The pages seemed dull to her, full of chitchat about people she didn’t know. None of the material seemed terribly important, nothing controversial or political.
Roarke looked up suddenly but his thoughts seemed far away. He carefully placed all the items back into the envelope and handed them to her. “On the surface, the information seems innocent enough.”
“What do you mean by ‘on the surface?”’
“The diary pages seem stilted. Either your mother was a poor writer or she might have been using a code. It’s also possible that a microdot might be imbedded in the paper.”
She looked up sharply. “What?”
“It’s a decades-old technique used to send covert information.”
How did he know this stuff? Suddenly she wondered just why her brother had picked this man to protect her. What kind of life had he led? Where had he come from?
Obviously, he was well educated. And just as obviously he knew about guns and electronic microphones. She suspected he used that face and body to hide his keen intelligence.
She focused on the new details, thinking hard. “Who would care about old information after so many years? And besides, my brother said these papers are copies.”
“Just because they’re copies doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be carefully guarded.”
“I don’t understand. Why can’t we make copies, keep one set, give the other set to the bad guys and hope they leave me alone?”
“Look, suppose the papers include the directions to make some kind of weapon? Would we want our enemies or terrorists to have a copy?”
Weapons? Terrorists? She swallowed hard. “I see what you mean.”
“Eventually we may have to take these papers to a friend of mine who is good with codes, but meanwhile, I suggest we make a duplicate set and put them in a very safe place. We have to make sure neither copy falls into the wrong hands.”
He’d said we, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know where she was going to conceal the documents. But then again, if he’d come for the papers, he could have taken them. While his verbal attempts to convince her to trust him had failed, his actions spoke louder. For the first time she really thought he might be telling her the truth. Her brother might indeed have hired him. And that meant her brother really did think she might be in danger.
As she thought over the implications and considered several hiding places, she lifted her packed bag onto the bed and then picked up her phone. “I need to phone my friend and tell her I’m spending the night.”
Again he plucked the phone from her fingertips. “Not from here.”
Just when she almost believed his story, he did something suspicious. She didn’t want to ride in a car with him until she’d told at least one person where she was and who was with her. “Why not from here?”
“Just a precaution. Your phone might be bugged.”
Another silver-tongued lie? Or was he really trying to keep her safe? “Why don’t you open the receiver and check?”
“Because while there might be a device placed inside your phone, there are several other ways to eavesdrop electronically. A satellite could pick up your call if you use a portable phone like this one. So could a van parked two blocks away. Or a device could be placed in the line connecting your house to the phone company.”
He had an answer for everything. Who was this guy? He sounded like a master spy or a very convincing storyteller.
And she had no idea what she should do next. Go along with him and hope he stopped at a pay phone? Or scream bloody murder and hope someone called the police?
ROARKE READ the suspicion in her eyes, beautiful whiskey-colored eyes that reminded him of the changing color of autumn leaves in Virginia. As the golden hues darkened to a vibrant amber, Alexandra’s wariness returned with the same steadiness with which winter followed fall.
He should never have accepted a mission over the phone. Roarke knew better. But he’d been eager to show Jake Cochran how good he was. Jake ran a huge P.I. agency that was about to expand nationwide, and Roarke needed
