trust Suzanne, but he had to talk to her again.
It had seemed to take forever for the taxi to arrive. Suzanne was now halfway to Tucson when the sensation that she was being watched grew too strong to ignore. She turned and looked out the cab’s rear window. The road behind was long, winding, narrow and very empty. Nevertheless, she was unable to shake the feeling or its intensity. She’d felt it on and off over the past several days, but now it seemed stronger than ever.
Her gaze swept the vast, open desert, and apprehension pulled on the knot in her stomach. She’d left Three Hills a little more than a year ago, and after settling in Los Angeles she had completely revamped her life.
But it hadn’t stopped her from thinking about him.
She trembled as a wave of hot yearning swept through her. It raced up her spine, through her arms, legs and fingers as she remembered the moment she’d turned from the plane and faced him—the instant they’d recognized each other. She could still feel the piercing stare of his eyes, the potent essence of Hart Branson as it had reached out and enveloped her.
For the briefest of moments it had been as if his consciousness dove inside hers to probe her thoughts, uncover her secrets and search, then gently touch, her very soul.
He had never looked at her like that before. No man had.
Her cell phone rang, startling her and bringing her a glare in the rearview mirror from the cab driver. He hadn’t relished driving to the base to pick her up, and it was obvious even the promise of a good tip hadn’t improved his mood any.
Suzanne pulled the phone from her purse, hoping it was Hart telling her to come back, that he believed her. He’d help her. Then she realized it couldn’t be him—he didn’t know her cell number. Her spirits instantly plunged. Please, she prayed fervently, please don’t let it be my mother. Not now. She wasn’t in the mood to defend her reasons for moving to L.A. or hear why she should start looking for another husband, which seemed to be her mother’s two favorite topics lately.
“Hello?” she said hesitantly.
“Suzanne, darling, what in heaven’s name is going on? Are you all right? Where are you?”
She jerked the phone from her ear and nearly groaned aloud at hearing her partner’s high-pitched, squeaky voice.
“I thought…” Clyde sucked in a breath. “Well, darling, when you didn’t show up at the gallery this morning, I had the most awful visions, I mean…”
She shuddered, remembering her close call last night in L.A. She’d worked late at the gallery. The street had been deserted, but when she’d started to cross it, a car had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
Only the fact that she’d realized she’d left her briefcase in the office and had started to turn around and go back had saved her.
Afterward she’d felt such panic that she’d driven straight to the airport. And the terror had prompted her to take their new plane at first light and fly to Three Hills.
“…you’re never even late, let alone a no-show…”
“I’m sorry, Clyde.”
“…and then Mr. Collins came in for your nine-o’clock appointment, and you weren’t here, so naturally he was upset and…”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, hoping she hadn’t lost the gallery one of their most valued customers. “I should have called you, but…” But what? She searched for an excuse, knowing she couldn’t tell him the truth—for both their sakes.
“Yes, you’ve said that, thank you. So where are you?”
“Arizona,” she said before she could stop herself.
“How did you…?” He gasped. “You took the plane?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, but there wasn’t time to—”
“I know—you heard of a terribly wonderful find and just couldn’t wait to get to it, right?” he said, offering her the best excuse she could ask for, even though his tone was somewhat sarcastic.
“I’m sorry, I should have called first, but—”
“Oh, never mind,” he said, sounding placated at the thought of a handsome sale on whatever she’d gone to pick up that couldn’t wait. “I handled Mr. Collins just fine, but I’ll expect to see something deliciously valuable when you get back, so don’t be gone long. And for heaven’s sake, don’t put a scratch on our new baby.”
Her heart sank as she remembered their “new baby” sitting cock-eyed back at the military base, one wing wedged into the gully next to the runway. Rick had taught her how to fly during their first year of marriage, and she’d loved it, but she hadn’t been behind the controls since his death. Guilt nibbled at her conscience. She was rusty and should never have taken the plane up. But she’d panicked.
The army had reluctantly agreed to rescue and stow the plane until she could make arrangements to leave. Of course they thought that meant tomorrow, but she had no intention of going anywhere until she felt safe again and knew the truth—and that all depended on Hart. He could save her. He was probably the only one who could.
Or he could be a cold-blooded killer, the dark side of her thoughts reminded her. He could have stolen the plans and killed Rick. He could be the one behind the FBI’s suspicions, the one trying to frame her.
It made sense, and she didn’t want it to.
The hair on the back of her neck suddenly seemed to stand on end. She jerked around, looked out the rear window again and nearly screamed.
A black Corvette was right on the taxi’s tail, but the sun reflecting off the windshield made it impossible for Suzanne to make out the driver’s face.
The car remained behind the taxi all the way into Tucson, and pulled in behind them at the entrance to the hotel where she’d made a reservation. Fear had settled in Suzanne’s stomach like a boulder, heavy and immovable. She decided to wait until whoever it was in the other car stepped out, then she’d order the taxi driver to speed off and take her to another hotel.
The driver’s door swung open.
Suzanne froze.
Hart pushed himself out of the Corvette and stood, his light-brown uniform molding to his body, accentuating length, complementing muscle.
Relief and something else, something she didn’t want to feel for him, or even acknowledge, rushed through Suzanne’s body like a flash flood. Compared to what her imagination had been raking up, he was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
She quickly paid the cab driver and climbed out, her legs shaking so badly she had to momentarily lean on the car door for support. “Hart,” she said as he approached, “I didn’t know that was you behind me. I thought—”
“We have to talk, Suzanne.” He took her suitcase from the driver, grasped her upper arm firmly and steered her into the hotel and across the spaciously elegant lobby. “Get your room,” he said curtly, “drop off your luggage and meet me in the coffee shop.”
She nodded and approached
