the cap in his back pocket and approached. A slow, single-minded stalking that was meant to hypnotize or to panic. The figure did neither.
“Weren’t expecting company down there, huh?” Sam’s voice was conversational. “I’m not surprised. You work alone, right? And you don’t make mistakes often.” He’d halved the distance between them with deliberate steps. Anticipation grew, was barely reined in. “The only one you made this time was in underestimating me.”
Behind the mask, the figure smiled, a grim stretch of the lips. There had been an underestimation, all right. But Sam Tremaine was the one who’d made it.
He took a step closer. Another. And then he smiled. Slow and wide and devastating. “Whatever you’re thinking, forget it. We’re partners now. In case you haven’t noticed, your options have just decreased dramatically.” He stretched one gloved hand across the distance spanning them.
In a blur of motion a kick was aimed at his weakened thigh, a solid blow landed. Sam’s leg buckled and he cursed, but he didn’t go down completely, and he didn’t loosen his grasp on the cable. The figure ran several feet past him, then turned and sprinted by him again, flying through the air even as his shout sounded. “Dammit, no!”
There was a moment of euphoria, as air whipped by, then a second of fear as the roof of the next building failed to materialize as rapidly as anticipated. Arms were outstretched, fingers flexed. When contact was made, the body scrabbled wildly, grasping for purchase, and settled on the narrow ledge edging the rooftop. It took every ounce of energy to pull up, to throw first one leg over the ledge, and then the other. Once safely on the roof, a lightning pace was set toward the other side. There was a fire escape fairly close beneath. From there, it was just a matter of…
It was like being hit from behind by a Mack truck. The figure went down hard, rolled, a huge weight attached. Vision was blurred by a dizzying array of stars. Lungs squeezed of oxygen. Helplessly, the figure lay there, trapped beneath Sam Tremaine’s hard body, capable only of the fight for breath.
He recovered first. “Sonofbitch.” His voice was grim. “You damned near killed us both.”
Air resupplied oxygen, and with it came instinct. One leg was drawn up sharply, but he shifted, removing its intended target from range. “I’d just as soon you didn’t finish me off right yet. I’ve got plans for you, little thief. But before I get into them…” He reached out, pushed the black hood slowly up to reveal features that would be all too familiar to him.
“Juliette.” His gaze raked her form. “Your getup gives a whole new meaning to basic black.”
“Bastard.”
He caught her curled fist just before it clipped him neatly on the jaw. Drawing both of her wrists up above her head, he held them there with one hand. “It’s a little early in our relationship for endearments. But if it weren’t…” His teeth flashed. “I’d tell you that you look exquisite in moonlight.”
She seethed, bucking beneath him. “Get off me.”
Still grinning, he didn’t move a muscle. “Your accent tends to fade when you’re mad, did you know that?”
With effort, she stopped struggling. Despite her long-standing aversion to being held against her will, it was preferable to the indignity of being unable to move him an inch.
Dark gaze battled with green. Slowly the smile faded from his lips. For the first time she became aware of their isolation. It had to be close to two o’clock in the morning. Unlike New York, with its unending traffic and sounds of life, Copenhagen slept, at least in this business neighborhood.
Smokey tufts of black clouds bumped and shifted across the dark sky. Juliette had always felt at one with the night. Darkness was her accomplice. But tonight that relationship had been marred by Tremaine’s appearance, and she wondered bleakly if things would ever be the same again.
The silence around them grew thick and fraught with tension. Her senses were always heightened on a job. Surely that explained why she was so aware of the weight of him, the heat. Her legs were caught between the hard length of his, the position much too intimate. Hips to hips. Breast to breast. Even their breath mingled. She moistened her lips, saw his gaze track the action and felt a thrill flicker through her at the desire in his eyes.
Juliette let her eyelids flutter, felt her stomach do the same. “Now that you’ve caught me, Sam, what are you going to do with me?”
Her question hung heavy in the night, the answer all too apparent in his expression. She’d seen passion on a man’s face often enough to identify it. His gaze was arrowed on her mouth, and the hard curve of his own drew closer. Despite the insulated suit she wore, it would be difficult to miss the signs of his growing arousal. The stillness around them hummed with chemistry and it became increasingly difficult for her to breathe.
His eyes slitted. “First,” he murmured, his voice raspy, “I’m going to relieve you of this.”
Before his words even registered, his touch did. He shifted, one hand going to the pouch at her waist. She tried to jerk away, but she was still caught securely beneath him. The necklace glittered as it dangled from his grasp.
He gave a low tuneless whistle. “Nice.” With a deft movement, he shoved it inside his shirt. “Not sure if it’s worth the price you’re going to pay, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”
Her gaze narrowed. Given his careless tone, she would almost think she’d imagined the moments earlier. And if there wasn’t physical evidence to the contrary, perhaps she would. But they were pressed too closely together for him to hide it.
From bitter experience Juliette knew the importance of controlling emotions. With that kind of control came power. Others could be manipulated through their feelings if one was able to remain detached. She understood that concept, embraced it.
So it shouldn’t have been so infuriating that Sam Tremaine was obviously capable of the same.
Her tone belittling, she said, “And you call me a thief.”
“Honey, you are a thief. And from what I witnessed tonight, a damn good one.” When she tried to pull her wrists free from his grip, he tightened his hold. “Easy to see how you’ve escaped capture for so long. That little double you had standing in for you in Paris was sheer genius.”
Since it was useless to deny it, she merely angled her jaw. “Not genius enough to fool you, apparently.”
He gave a modest shrug. “You’ve been under surveillance for months, Juliette.” When he saw her eyes widen he said, “Does that surprise you? I have more pictures of you than your own mother probably does. Videos of you walking. Shopping. Eating. Flirting.” His voice got lower, grew almost caressing. “I know the way you move. The way you tilt that little chin of yours when you’re telling someone to go to hell.” His index finger tapped her chin, and she flinched. She felt like she was being stripped bare by his words, his revelations leaving her exposed and vulnerable. If he were telling the truth, how could she have not known it? Been aware of it?
And because she felt threatened, she lashed out. “Sounds perverted, Tremaine. If your pastime is stalking women, you need to find a new hobby.”
“Not women, Juliette. Just you.” The single syllable of his last word reverberated between them. “It wasn’t enough to learn your identity. To track you down. I had to learn to think the way you
