dangerous to play with. She had neither the experience nor the ammunition for it.
She moved back to gain perspective, which she couldn’t do with his taut, jaguarlike body leaning close to her, just close enough to be screaming male interest. “Afraid so.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You can tell I’m not a boy next door?”
“I’m sure the mamas next door were warning their daughters to bolt rather than trusting them to your care,” she retorted.
He burst out laughing, warm and musical and fascinating as the sea on a deep summer’s night. “I’m sure you’re right…as sure as I am about the fact that teddy bears aren’t really your thing. Some instinct tells me you’re a ‘bad boy’ kind of girl.”
No. Not anymore. She’d been cured of that girlish fantasy forever, thanks to Ana. “My instinct says that your instincts don’t always work to your good.” She held out the bag containing his vase. “Have a nice stay in the Bay, Mr. McCall.”
“What if I don’t give up?” he muttered, low and urgent, moving closer as she backed off, his eyes shifting from calm forest to stormy crystalline. “What if I come here every day until you change your mind?”
He’ll keep coming anyway, if Danny’s father sent him here. And that was the only real option—it wasn’t as if Interpol would send a man who’d already betrayed his country for cash.
The truth of it tore at her wistful wish that he could have come here for her, and ripped it into bloodied shreds. “I’d say, don’t annoy my customers.”
He rocked back on his feet, the deep intensity lightening as he chuckled again. His smile lit his whole face, including the fascinating cleft chin and left dimple, with male strength and beauty. “Lady, you don’t give much away, do you?”
Not when my son’s life depends on it. She smiled, hoping to look bland, uninterested, but her needs and fears were already submerged beneath the long-dormant woman, leaving her in hopeless, needing confusion. Within ten minutes of meeting McCall again, her emotions were so skewed she barely knew what she said or did. Her heart had been iced over so long she’d thought it in permafrost to anyone but Danny; now it was melting so fast she felt as if McCall had jet-streamed it to the equator by one of the Hornet planes he’d once loved so much. “What did you expect on ten minutes’ acquaintance?” Her voice sounded husky, deeper and huskier than her practiced, gentle New Zealand accent.
She watched those amazing rain-forest eyes of his register the sound of her voice, and take the information in. Click. Lock. Another piece in place. Another bullet in the barrel of the gun of exposure—and she was facing it down in hopeless defiance.
“Well, a guy can always hope.” He shrugged and picked up his bag. “I’ll be back.”
He meant it. He’d be back. She closed her eyes for a moment; then she fixed her gaze on him. “Why? Why me?”
His deep, compelling eyes on hers, he closed the gap between them. With infinite gentleness, he tipped up her chin with a finger. “Why do you think?” It was a whisper of heated sound, coffee-warm breath tiptoeing over her face, his touch tender. His masterful strength leashed…for now, at least. McCall would never hand control to anyone else for long.
Yet, no matter how she fought it, the slow blush filled her cheeks at his touch—a wave of half-shy sensuality, a woman-to-man acknowledgment of his effect on her.
No, no! Any act she put on now would be useless. She’d given it all away with a moment of involuntary feminine need. Her lashes fluttered down; she looked at her trembling fingers in disgust. Yet, how many long, cold years had it been since she’d known the sweet drowning, the yearning for a man’s touch?
Not since Brendan.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t need to ask,” she whispered back.
“Does there have to be a why?” His finger moved over her skin in a slow, subtle caress. She felt the quiver touch her soul, the heat streak straight from her heart to her most feminine core.
Without knowing it, she nodded.
Still holding her chin with a finger, he flicked his other hand toward the large pewter mirror hanging over the counter, designed as much for warning against strangers as it was for beauty and security. “Look in that.” He walked to the door, opened it. Then he turned to look in her eyes—a moment’s truth flickered in their hidden depths, lush and hot with untold secrets. “Watch out for strangers, Elizabeth Silver.”
As the door swung back to close after he’d gone, she felt his veiled warning touch her heart with icy, chilled fingers.
Chapter 3
“Cameras in place, Ghost,” he reported into the cell phone to his commander in Canberra. “Covering the entire perimeter every two yards, fences and in the garden. Two on each roof corner, with immediate heat-detector relay to me. Sentinel alarmed so they can’t be disabled. A three-second relay to home base, and to me within fifteen. She can’t get away.”
“Good work, Flipper.” Anson used the code name McCall hated with all his usual curtness. It referred to McCall’s SEAL background but he always felt like he should make dolphin noises when Anson called him. “Don’t leave the subject—24/7 watch. Wildman’s stationed two miles south, Braveheart two miles north, Panther the other side of Russell. Heidi’s west of the Bay, in the market village. Each has a ten-minute deadline to reach you.”
Perimeter covered as always, even in a one-man op—every contingency covered, including his death. The watch over his radial pulse sent satellite updates every ten minutes back to base. If he went down, the team moved in to protect the subject.
“Roger that, boss. I’m good to go.”
“Subject update?”
“Sleeping.” The heat detectors in the roof cameras flashed two unmoving objects—three if you counted the puppy her kid had sneaked in after his mother went to bed.
McCall grinned. Yeah, he could relate to that. He’d always done the same with the neighborhood stray after his old man fell into a drunken stupor or went out on the boat for night fishing, leaving him alone. Funny how that sour-tempered old mongrel’s presence had been so reassuring to his eight-year-old mind, after his mom and Meg disappeared. He’d even grown to love the unwashed stink of the dog. The smell of the docks was familiar, and the pungent odor was a reminder, even in sleep, that he wasn’t alone.
So Beth’s son was a lonely kid, too, even though his mom had stuck around, and obviously loved him.
Yeah, Beth Silver seemed the original earth mother. Through the silvery radiance of moonlight pouring through her windows, he could see a house filled with mellow redwood furniture, bare flooring and fireplaces, loads of scatter rugs and comfy sofas. Homemade touches like cross-stitch pictures and paintings, scattered pieces of pottery. Pictures of her with her son, the boy now named Danny. The boy who looked enough like Robert Falcone to be his missing son, Robbie.
He sensed Beth Silver would be a tigress when it came to protecting her son. She’d lie, cheat, steal—maybe even kill—to stop anyone taking him from her. He’d probably get the kid only over her dead body.
A good thing he wasn’t after the kid. What he did want was that lithe,
