though she’d promised to take orders, something told him that if she ever disagreed with his commands, she’d buck him. Before they left for Peru, he had to make certain she truly realized the dangers that confronted them and that one wrong move could cost both of them their lives.
With loud, marching steps, Murdock stormed across the room and into the square hallway that separated the two bedrooms. The guest room door stood open just enough to give him a glimpse of Catherine lying across the bed, the red spread in place beneath her. He paused, his hand hovering in midair. Maybe she was asleep, he thought.
Their talk could wait, couldn’t it? She’d be in a better mood once she’d rested, perhaps more willing to truly accept his leadership in their joint venture. If she were a sensible woman, she’d realize that following his instructions could easily mean the difference between success and failure, between life and death—for her and her father.
The moment Murdock walked away from the bedroom door, Catherine opened her eyes. She had sensed his presence and feigned sleep. She couldn’t deal with Murdock. Not now. Later perhaps. She knew it was only a matter of time before they would have to discuss their trip to Zaraza. She suspected she would have no choice but to accept Murdock’s being in command. She dreaded the thought of letting him boss her around. She’d been an independent woman all her life. Even as a teenager, she’d made her own decisions and taken care of herself. Her mother had been dear and sweet and kind. But Mae Beth McCroskey had been a weak woman whose life had crumbled into loneliness and misery once she lost her husband. But Catherine was made of stronger stuff. She had sworn no man would ever have that much power over her—enough power to break her heart and destroy her life.
She had never needed anyone. Not even Rodney. Her husband had understood and accepted her need to control every aspect of her own life and he had never asked for more than she’d been willing to give.
Catherine sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, then let her bare feet touch the polished hardwood floor. Rising from the bed, she stretched, then lifted her suitcase and set it on the arms of the wooden rocker in the corner. The best way to avoid Murdock tonight was to take a bath and go to bed. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to deal with the big man again.
She removed her toiletries case and set it on the small, cluttered desk to her right, then lifted her pajamas, robe and slippers from the suitcase. As she reached down for the vinyl case, her hand accidentally knocked a manila folder off the desk and onto the floor. With her clothing draped over her arm and her slippers secured in one hand, she reached down and picked up the folder, intending to return it to the desk. But just as she lifted it, she noticed her name scrawled across the top in a large, bold handwriting that she felt certain belonged to Murdock. Tossing her clothing and slippers on the bed, she flipped open the folder. As she scanned the thick report, her hands tightened around the folder, crushing the edges of the papers she held.
Damn him! How dare he! What gave him the right?
In her bare feet, Catherine stormed out of the guest room and ran into the living room. Murdock sat in one of the big leather chairs, his feet resting on the matching ottoman, a book in one hand. He glanced up at her, his gaze casual.
“I thought you were sleeping,” he said.
Catherine held up the crumpled file folder as if she were confronting him with a murder weapon in a trial. Her gaze narrowed angrily on his expressionless face.
“Is something wrong?” He slid his feet off the ottoman and onto the floor, then laid his book on the arm of the chair and stood to face her.
“This is a report on me,” Catherine told him, her voice trembling with rage. “You know every detail of my life from birth to the present. You have a copy of my birth certificate, my marriage license, even my dental records. How dare you invade my privacy this way?” She rushed toward him, flung the file folder in his face and screamed, “You had no right to do this!”
“You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing.”
She hated the calmness in his voice, hated the rational, emotionless way he was acting. “How would you like it if I’d had an extensive report compiled on you? Would you like for me to know everything there is to know about you?”
Murdock moved forward, bringing his body within inches of her. When he looked down at her, she noticed gold specks in his hazel-brown eyes. She stepped backward. He lowered his head a fraction, then reached out and grasped her shoulders.
“All that’s in the report on you are facts and figures.” He glanced meaningfully at the scattered papers lying on the floor. “Those don’t tell me everything there is to know about you. Only you can do that.”
Garnering all her willpower, she forced herself not to tremble at his touch, not to allow his massive size and imposing self-assurance to intimidate her. “Why did you have the report compiled?”
“I’m going to be responsible for you, for keeping you safe, from now until we bring Lanny back to the United States. When I take an assignment, I always do my homework. When I become someone’s bodyguard, it’s my standard procedure to find out as much as possible about them.”
Titling her chin, she glared into his eyes, seeking and finding the truth of his statement. She believed him, and yet she couldn’t let go of her anger. If it was Murdock’s standard procedure to have a report compiled on all of his clients, then why did she still feel as if his knowing the details of her life was tantamount to his having stripped her naked?
He made no move to release his hold on her. His big, callused hands clutched her shoulders with gentle strength.
Feeling as if they were in a contest of wills, she refused to be the first to break eye contact. “Somehow it doesn’t seem quite fair that you know so much about me and I know so little about you.”
Easing one hand down and around her waist, while the other wound around the back of her neck, Murdock lowered his head farther, until his mouth was a hair-breadth away from hers. “Just what do you want to know about me?”
Chapter 3
The flight from Atlanta to Peru had taken off precisely at eight. Catherine hadn’t known that they would be flying on the Dundee private jet—just one of many things Murdock hadn’t bothered explaining. Their confrontation last night had ended in a stalemate. He hadn’t won the battle. And she hadn’t actually lost it. In retrospect she could admit to herself that she’d never been as frightened or as excited by a man as she’d been when Murdock had almost kissed her. If she hadn’t withdrawn, hadn’t pulled back, hadn’t broken eye contact, she wasn’t sure what might have happened.
The logical part of her personality felt a great sense of relief that she’d had the good sense not to allow her emotions free rein. But the purely female aspects of her mind and body couldn’t forget the way she’d felt and longed to feel again.
“How about some breakfast?” Murdock unhooked his seat belt, then rose and headed toward the galley. “There’s coffee and sweet rolls and muffins. What’ll you have?”
Catherine released the catch of her seat belt, stood and stretched. She had chosen brown pants and a tan jacket of a nonwrinkle material for the long trip, planning to use the outfit more than once. She had packed light. After all, this was supposed to be a quick trip in and out of Zaraza. All they had to do was pay the ransom money for her father and then bring him out of the country as fast as possible.
Without replying to Murdock,
