to know?” She was, she thought, ready for anything. She’d expected an inquisition; welcomed it. The sooner her credentials were accepted, the sooner she could start her investigation.
“What would I like to know?” He was as close as he dared get; not as close as he wished to be. She smelled female. Her perfume, something subtle and alluring, made his palms itch. “Almost everything, I believe. Let’s start with your hair. What would you call that color?”
Those gorgeous blue eyes blinked. He enjoyed knowing that he’d managed to surprise her. “I beg your pardon?”
“It first reminded me of polished brass.” He reached out a finger to smooth a strand that had worked free. “But I don’t believe the description quite does yours justice.”
Why, he was flirting with her! It was so unexpected, yet so jarringly familiar, that Rachel wanted to laugh. Amusement tinged her voice. “Blond. I call it blond.”
“Functional, if unimaginative.” He leaned back against the couch, already craving a repeat of that light touch. “Search of the perfect phrase will keep me awake nights.”
Her brows skimmed upward. “Mr. Carpenter, I suspect you’ve had a great deal of practice in the art of frivolous conversation.”
“Caleb.” He noted her free hand, lying loosely on her lap, free of any show of nerves. She wasn’t intimidated; wasn’t even anxious. He liked that about her. He was liking more and more about her by the second. “And I suspect that you’ve been the recipient of a great deal of flattery in your time.”
“Ah, but none quite as accomplished as yours.” She was comfortable in the banter. Sexual attraction could often provide a convenient shield, blinding men to her true intentions. She would be curiously disappointed if Carpenter proved to be so uncomplicated. She was competitive enough to wish for a worthy adversary. It remained to be seen just how worthy he would prove to be.
“You’ll find that I’m curious about all sorts of things—whether your eyes are really an identical match for the deep waters off St. Thomas, how your mouth could so perfectly resemble my favorite shade of rose, and what would make a woman like you, one who’s probably had a trail of poor fools in her wake since she could walk, agree to be a stranger’s wife. At least,” his eyes gleamed, “agree to be considered for the position.”
His abrupt change of topic was designed to shake her. She mentally raised her estimation of him a couple of notches. His tactics may have worked on someone less prepared. “And I’m wondering,” she brought the glass to her lips and sipped, “what would make a man like you, one who’s obviously used to women swooning in his presence, consider complete strangers for the position.”
He regarded her for a moment, then his lips curved very slightly in a smile that was somehow more genuine than the ones he’d graced her with previously. “So, there’s a hint of temper beneath the tailoring. I’m…intrigued, Rachel.”
He imbued the syllables of her name with a dark liquid essence that hinted at mysterious fires that remained contained. For the moment.
Her gaze was level. “Does it surprise you that a woman would be as committed to the future of the white race as you are?” She nodded her head toward the window. “I believe I saw women among your assembled troops outside earlier.” He didn’t answer for a moment, and she held her breath, wondering if she’d misjudged him. She had to rely on first impressions and instinct to guide her in the type of woman he would look for. Parker would never have stood for being addressed in such a manner, but she thought that Carpenter, Caleb, had more substance. Which, of course, made him more difficult to predict.
“Actually, it’s been a very long time since I’ve been surprised by a woman.” He watched her sip from her glass, and mentally applauded her poise. “But, I have a feeling that you’re going to change that for me, Rachel.”
Their gazes meshed. The brilliant intensity of his eyes was almost mesmerizing, she thought. Had she not seen them aglow with a fanatical gleam outside earlier, they may have affected her differently. But he was, she reminded herself, a zealot of the worst order. It shouldn’t surprise her that he was charismatic. Recent history was full of fanatics who’d used a strong personal magnetism to draw followers to a cause—often with disastrous results.
A man entered the room, stopped short inside the doorway. “General Carpenter?”
“Come in, Kevin.” Was there a shade of irritation in Carpenter’s voice? Rachel observed closely, but could see no reflection of it on his face. “Rachel, meet Colonel Kevin Sutherland. He’s my second in command.”
“A situation has arisen that you should be apprised of.” Sutherland wore the black fatigues she’d seen the troops outfitted in, and possessed the sunburned face of a man unaccustomed to spending time outdoors. In his midfifties, his fading red hair was still thick above a stern countenance. His name stirred in the deep recesses of her memory, but she was certain he hadn’t been mentioned in Jonah’s briefing. “A couple of the men on patrol told me those Hispanics were sneaking back onto the property. Probably coming through the pass in the southwest corner.”
“The same ones who were run off a couple of weeks ago?”
The man shrugged. Clearly, to him, the people’s identity were of little importance. “You want me to authorize the men to get rid of them for good this time?”
Rachel’s blood iced. Surely the man hadn’t just casually suggested murder. She’d been too long in the field to rush to conclusions. He could just as easily be talking about taking measures to make the property more secure. But the alternate possibility failed to completely satisfy.
“I believe you’re right. Further action seems inevitable, but I’ll handle it myself.” Carpenter got up from the couch and walked over to one of two desks, opening a drawer and removing a gun. A Beretta, Rachel noted, her heart racing violently. And he was handling the weapon with an ease that spoke of familiarity.
Carpenter checked the cartridge, resecured the safety, then tucked the gun into the waistband at the small of his back. With grim purpose on his face, in his movements, he looked like a man readying for a mission. “I trust you’ll excuse me while I handle some unpleasant business, Rachel. Colonel Sutherland will see you to your room.”
He strode to the door and was gone. She considered her options, uneasily aware that she had none. She had no way of following the man; no way of observing, or preventing, what might happen next. Her heart was in a vise as she considered the possibility of civilian casualties occurring within an hour of her arrival at the compound. Rarely had she felt so helpless.
She rose, her next steps as yet unresolved, but Sutherland stopped her.
“Miss Grunwald, if you have a moment.”
Rachel looked at the door then at the man. “Actually, I think I’d like to be shown to my room now, if that’s possible.”
“Certainly. I’ll just keep you a few minutes.” It was clear from his posture that the civility was merely perfunctory. Reluctantly, she sat in the seat he indicated.
Sutherland rounded the corner of the second desk in the room and sat down. He unlocked a drawer in it, took out a manila folder, and reached over the desk to hand it to her. “I think you’ll find the information contained there to be sufficient for your complete understanding of your purpose here, but I’ll summarize it for you. First, you must remember that you are a guest here, whose presence is solely
