rounds and final championship rounds—all for a fee, of course. Fans and participants alike could also take part in the slew of silent auctions, continental breakfasts, autographing sessions, high teas and photo ops salted into the schedule.
“Our first official function is the kickoff banquet tonight,” Dayna informed Mike. “That’s when they’ll draw for the initial pairings and course assignments.”
She’d registered him as her personal guest, which would give him access to VIP seating at all events and, subsequently, to Dr. Wu. Along with the banquet ticket and laminated pass, she’d also prepared a thick binder.
“Mackenzie digitized the layouts for all five St. Andrews’courses. You can call up a three-dimensional topography of any hole, anytime, on your cell phone.”
“Yeah, I took a look at the layouts during the flight from Algiers. They’re pretty slick.”
“They are, but I thought you might also want hard copies to study. They’re easier on the eyes.”
Particularly eyes showing a whole lot more red than white. Hawk accepted the thick binder with heartfelt relief.
“Bless you, my child. I’ll go through the schematics this afternoon. What’s on your agenda until the banquet?”
“Wu Kim Li reserved a bay at the driving range at three o’clock. I snagged the one next to her at three-thirty. I figure it’s as good a place as any to make the initial contact.”
“Sounds like a plan. Do we need to do a comm check?”
“We should be good to go. Mac synchronized our emergency signals.”
To demonstrate, Dayna pushed one of the knobs on the stainless steel chronometer banding her lift wrist and sent a silent jolt through the identical watch on Hawk’s tanned wrist. Other knobs allowed the sophisticated devices to provide two-way communications or send data transmissions.
Assured their signals were in sync, Hawk hefted the binder and shoved out of his chair.
“I’ll see you later. Good luck with Wu.”
She’d need it, Dayna thought as she pulled on a butterscotch-colored windbreaker. Although late-May sunshine illuminated the wavy glass windows of her suite, she knew from previous experience that the breeze off St. Andrews Bay could slice like a barnacle. It could also wreak havoc with an otherwise perfect golf shot.
Zipping up the jacket, she collected her accessories. Field Dress had designed the slim, ultrachic fanny pack studded with Austrian crystals that clipped snuggly around her hip. One compartment holstered the sleek little Kahr PM40 micro-compact double-action pistol she’d cleared through British security. Others housed a spare ammo clip, her ID and credit cards and a tube of lip-gloss. A matching ball cap also studded with crystals shaded her face and contained her hair in a loose ponytail.
With her golf bag slung over her shoulder, Dayna left her two-room suite and walked to the elevators. After today she’d leave her equipment at the clubhouse storage facility for cleaning and repair. For now, its weight settled over her shoulder like an old familiar harness.
Although the hotel was a local landmark and one of the oldest in St. Andrews, it had been well maintained and modernized over the years. The elevator that ferried Dayna down four floors did so with quiet efficiency.
The lobby was a masterpiece of Victorian grandeur. High ceilings and dark paneling provided the perfect backdrop for red-tufted settees and antique sporting prints. A smoking room, book-lined library and glassed-in conservatory allowed guests to mix and mingle in the public rooms.
And mingle they did. Women dominated the milling crowd. Female corporate execs, commercial airline pilots, TV personalities, even a member of the Danish parliament—all had jumped at the chance to play with the great women golfers from around the world.
A good number of sportscasters and TV crews were also present, conducting impromptu interviews prior to tomorrow’s official media day. They’d come armed with the printed list of participants and pounced on the Olympic gold medalist the moment she appeared.
“Dayna! Dayna! Over here!”
She gave two interviews, greeted a number of friends and acquaintances and autographed a program for one of the bellmen before finally making it to the hotel entrance.
The view through the revolving glass door was enough to take any golfer’s breath away. Directly across the cobbled street lay the undulating fairways, man-eating gorse and killer sand traps of the fabled Old Course, known throughout the world as the Home of Golf. The gray granite bulk of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club ruled over the first tee with majestic splendor. Both course and clubhouse were framed by the salt marshes and sparkling waters of St. Andrews Bay.
Her gaze fixed on the panoramic vista, Dayna pushed through the revolving door and inadvertently plowed into a group of passersby.
“Excuse me. I wasn’t looking…”
The rest of the apology stuck in her throat.
Well, hell! Her first day in St. Andrews and she had to run smack into the one man she’d hoped to avoid.
“Dayna! I’ll be damned.”
An all-too-familiar grin hiked up the corners of his mouth. Before she realized his intent, he hooked an arm around her waist and swooped in for a kiss.
His mouth covered hers, and for an instant, for one searing instant, the years rolled back. She was in college again. So hungry for this man she couldn’t get enough of him, in or out of bed. So much in love she wanted the whole world to share her joy.
Reality returned with a crash. Remembering the bitterness that had followed her joy, Dayna jerked out of Luke Harper’s arms.
She was even more vibrant than he remembered.
The realization slammed into Luke as the woman he’d once thought he’d spend the rest of his life with backed away from him.
Her face was thinner than in their college days, her honey-colored hair lighter than he remembered. But her skin still had that healthy glow that came from regular exercise and hours spent outdoors while her eyes…
Christ, those eyes! How many times had Luke lost himself in their shimmering green depths? They’d been filled with such love and laughter then.
They weren’t now. Flashing from fury to disdain in a single heartbeat, they raked him from head to toe.
“Harper.”
That was it. No “Hey, Luke. Been a long time. Hope you finally got your head screwed on semistraight.”
“Hello, Pud.”
The pet name sent red flags into her cheeks, but before she could slice into him for using it, one of his buddies jabbed him in the ribs.
“Jeez, Harper, introduce us. Not that you need any introduction, Ms. Duncan.” Elbowing Luke aside, the lanky American thrust out his hand. “I was on leave
