that matter, I don't know where we are exactly,” she admitted. “But I wouldn't be particularly surprised if my uncles track me down within twenty-four hours. You do remember who they are, don't you?”
He frowned. “I'm well aware that your uncle Jared is a rancher, since I spent nearly a year living with his family.”
“And my uncles Tony, Joe and Ryan are private investigators. Very good ones. And very protective of all their family members—even one who is on their payroll. Me.”
“You work for the D'Alessandro and Walker agency?”
“So you do remember them.”
“Vaguely. It seemed like your family found an excuse nearly every week to have some sort of party at the ranch. I couldn't help but remember a few details about them.”
“Then you should also recall that we're an extremely close family.” Almost suffocatingly close sometimes, she almost added. “They'll start looking.”
“You can send them an e-mail,” he said after a moment. “I have a small computer in my luggage. You can use that. Don't keep a copy.”
“And what should it say?” she asked.
“That you've decided you need a few days of vacation and they don't need to worry about you. You're twenty-seven years old. You don't have to ask permission to take a few days off, do you?”
He remembered an awful lot about her. Of course, she knew he was twenty-nine, because he was two years older than she, almost to the day.
“It's not something I've done before. Take off on impulse, I mean.” Even though she had often wished she could.
“Then it's about time you did, wouldn't you say?”
“Maybe. But this wouldn't exactly be my first choice of vacations.”
“Yeah?” Looking more masculine than he should have against the froufrou fabric, he stretched an arm along the back of the sofa. “So what would be your first choice?”
“Well…I don't know. I haven't really thought about slipping off on my own.”
His beautifully shaped lips curved into a very slight smile. “Liar.”
Okay, so maybe she had indulged in a few daydreams lately about getting away from the usual routines. “I guess I've thought about it once or twice,” she muttered.
“To where?”
“Anywhere. I've hardly been out of Texas. I've always wanted to go someplace really different and exotic—like—like Singapore. Or Hong Kong. Or Bali.”
And then she shook her head impatiently. “Darn it, you're doing it again. Distracting me from the questions you don't want to answer.”
Still wearing that annoyingly inscrutable smile, he merely looked at her.
“Will you at least reassure me that I won't be helping you break the law if I stupidly agree to go along with this ridiculous charade?”
He never changed expression. Nor did he bother to say anything.
She scowled fiercely-not that she figured it would affect him. “So my choices are to cooperate with everything you say even though you won't tell me why or refuse to go along and risk having Bernard make me disappear.”
“The options haven't changed since I first outlined them to you.”
“Maybe it has taken me this long to make myself believe this is really happening,” she grumbled.
“Since I assume you're choosing the option that keeps us both alive, we need to go over a few things.”
Though B.J. couldn't help but resent Daniel's assumption that she would make the choice he wanted her to make, she couldn't really argue with him either. She had no wish to face the business end of Bernard's weapon. “I suppose you're right. If I'm to play a part, it would be helpful if I have a script.”
A sudden thought occurred to her. “Wait a minute. Did you never mention your wife's name? You introduced me to Creepy Guy as B.J.”
“That's not a problem.”
Something in his voice struck her as odd, but he was speaking again before she could define it. “There's very little that you have to remember. We've been married for two years. You are a homemaker and community volunteer who leaves all business and financial matters to her husband.”
“Oh, gee, thanks for making me such a progressive, modern woman.”
He ignored her—something he did entirely too easily, she thought. “Last fall you suffered a miscarriage and you've been somewhat despondent since. You've had even less interest in my business dealings with your money, which means I'm free to speculate with it at my own discretion.”
The more he told her, the less enthused she became with her role. A mopey housewife. Terrific. “I suppose I adore the ground you walk on?”
That seemed to fit in with the chauvinistic tale he had concocted.
He looked almost amused by her resigned question. “Of course. I've been the loving and solicitous husband since your loss. Which, of course, makes you less inclined to question my actions away from you.”
“So you don't love me?” It felt foolish to ask that of a man who was a virtual stranger—but it was only a charade, after all, she reminded herself.
A tiny shiver slipped down her spine when his dark eyes held hers for a heartbeat before he replied. “I've implied to Drake that I love your money more.”
She pulled her gaze from his, glancing down at her hands. “Then I would say you're in sorry shape, considering I don't have any.”
“My wife has plenty of money,” he corrected her.
The gold ring on her left hand glittered. She touched it with her right forefinger. “You just happened to have a woman's wedding ring on a chain around your neck? Just in case someone stumbled into your story?”
“The ring was my mother's. I've worn it for almost a dozen years.”
Despite the utter lack of emotion in his voice, B.J. felt her throat tighten anyway. She knew enough about his mother's fate to understand how much this ring must mean to him. He had carried it with him when he left the Walker ranch and he had worn it since as a reminder of—what? His mother's life? The injustice of her death?
“I'll take very good care of it,” she assured him.
“Thank you.” He stood then, glancing toward the bedroom. “Feel free to rest a while if you like. I'll make sure you aren't disturbed.”
“Actually…” Rising, she put a hand to her midsection. “I'm starving. It's been hours since I've had anything to eat.”
The smile he gave her then was quick and apparently genuine. “We can't have that. Room service or restaurant?”
Dragging
