thought had crossed her mind. “I thought I might find a teaching position in the area.”
“Allow me to make you an offer,” he said with a wide, benevolent smile. “I’m familiar with your credentials in linguistics.”
Anya had conversational skills in dozens of dialects and had taught high school Spanish, French and Japanese as well as doing translations. “So you have a job for me?”
“Legate is an international operation. We have a regular need for translators. Full-time and part-time.”
“I accept.”
She’d have employment. Charlie would have playmates and a fantastic education. The facilities here were outstanding. The cottage was charming. It seemed too good to be true.
Anya lowered the pen to the paper and signed all three copies of the contract.
AT THE CIRCULAR DRIVEWAY in front of the Legate mansion, Roman guided his silver Mercedes-Benz into his parking space near the entrance. The drive from the airport had done nothing to lessen his frustration. He charged across the flagstones. It was no coincidence that a supposed emergency occurred in Los Angeles at the same moment Anya and Charlie arrived in San Francisco. Slater had manufactured that excuse; he meant to keep Roman away from Anya.
Had she signed the contract? There was no way Roman had been able to warn her of the dangers—not without blowing his cover and jeopardizing his investigation.
In the lavish foyer of the mansion, he approached the antique desk that was headquarters for Jane Coopersmith—possibly the only receptionist in the world with a photographic memory.
“Good afternoon, Jane.”
Peering up at him through goggle-size eyeglasses, she gave a curt nod. “Roman.”
She presented him with several little message notes, held between her thumb and forefinger. On top was one from Dr. Neville, head of the Legate psychiatric division, marked “Urgent” and underlined three times. Too bad. Neville would have to wait.
“Where can I find Mrs. Parrish and her son?”
Without consulting notes, she said, “Stables.”
Not a conversationalist, Jane observed and recorded information more efficiently than any computer. But Roman didn’t make the mistake of treating her like a machine. His smile was warm enough to melt butter. “You’ve always got the answer, Jane. What would this place be without you?”
“Chaos,” she said with a slight thaw.
He exited through the rear of the mansion, passing the employee dining area where the remains of a catered buffet lunch were being cleared.
Whenever Roman was on the grounds, he assumed he was under surveillance. Like everyone else, his phones were bugged and his computer was monitored. The Legate security system made the Pentagon seem lax. Of course, precautions were necessary; Legate dealt with a lot of top secret projects for the U.S. government and other regimes worldwide. However, the intensity of the surveillance was due to Slater’s need to control every detail. Anything and everything was reported to him. Nobody sneezed without Slater receiving an alert.
When Roman was here, his guard was up. It was vital that he maintain the illusion of being a loyal administrator. But it made life damned inconvenient.
Though he’d contacted Anya, he hadn’t been able to honestly discuss the proposed contract with her. Even if they had been able to talk on a secure basis, he couldn’t provide factual evidence that Legate was up to no good. To all appearances, the contract was a great opportunity for Charlie. But Roman’s instincts told him it was wrong for her to be here.
He hurried past the maze toward the stables. Then he saw her. Astride a dappled mare, Anya rode at the edge of the trees. Her long, silky blond hair swirled in the breeze, and she was laughing—more carefree than he’d seen her since Jeremy’s death.
Riding at a gentle pace, she held Charlie in front of her on the saddle. The mother and son were beautiful together. The boy’s hair was a darker blond and his eyes were gray, but he was clearly a part of her. Roman felt an aching need to gather them both in his arms and carry them away from here, away from all these damned intrigues.
She saw him and waved, guiding the horse expertly toward him. As they approached, Charlie bounced in the saddle, talking a blue streak. “Hi, Roman. We’re here, and I’m going to learn how to ride all by myself. This horse is Peggy for Pegasus, but she doesn’t really know how to fly.”
Anya reined the mare to a stop beside him. The smallish palomino was well trained and groomed to perfection. Everything at Legate was first-class.
Charlie dived off the saddle into Roman’s arms. “Make me a helicopter,” Charlie demanded.
Roman lifted him high and twirled him around in circles before placing him on the ground.
With a giggle, Charlie shook off his dizziness and said, “We’re going to live here.”
“Are you?”
“I’m going to learn how to build my own helicopter and other stuff, too. And then…”
As Charlie continued to chatter, Roman looked up at Anya. Silhouetted against the sky, her eyes were a breathtaking blue. The exertion of their horseback ride flushed her cheeks. Erect in the saddle, she was tall, long-legged and fantastic.
Gracefully, she dismounted. Holding the bridle, she gave Roman a one-armed hug that was altogether unsatisfying. He wanted to feel her body molded against his, to stroke her slender shoulders and the curve of her waist.
“I decided,” she said. “I signed the contract.”
He nodded, wishing he could tell her she’d done the right thing. “There wasn’t any other choice.”
“And I’m going to be working here as a translator. I guess that means you’re my boss.”
An interesting twist. Slater must have realized that Anya would be bored without employment. Plus, if she worked here, Legate had even more control of her life. “I should warn you that I’m very demanding.”
“No problem.” Her nose crinkled as she grinned. “I’m very good.”
Charlie bounced up beside them. “Put me back on Peggy. I want to ride some more.”
“Whoa, Charlie,” Anya chided. “Even cowboys are polite.”
“Please, Roman,” he said. “I want to ride more.”
He lifted the boy into the saddle. “It’s hard to keep your balance so you hold on to this thing right here. It’s called a pommel.”
“Got it,” Charlie said. “Let’s go, cowpoke.”
Roman brought the reins around to the front to lead the mare back toward the stable. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the microwave dishes installed above an outbuilding. Every word of their conversation could be picked up. Surveillance cameras from three different angles might be watching.
Anya strolled
