LITMIR.BIZ

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pulled the brim of his cap down. “Yeah? Well he gave me my own orders.”

      “Your own—?”

      Cole pushed past another couple of sailors and headed out the door. He ducked his head and stuck his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket. Hunching his shoulders, he tried to appear inches shorter than his six-feet-two as he glanced up and down the street.

      He’d been in town two days, following Amelia Hopkins, getting to know her habits. He’d already figured out she was a workaholic.

      She’d spent at least twenty-four hours of the past forty-eight down at the boatyard below the architectural phenomenon that was Reginald Hopkins’s house. The locals called it the Cliff House. Cole glanced upward. Built into the side of a cliff, away from the lighthouse and south of the town proper, Hopkins’s house was faced with local rock. On first inspection it appeared to be a part of the cliff face. In fact, if it weren’t for the elevator that must have been added recently, the house would be all but invisible.

      Cole spotted Amelia a few stores down, lit by all the Boat Fest lights. She knocked on a glass door, then entered. The Rx symbol above the door told him it was a pharmacy. He headed in that direction, curious to know what she needed from the drugstore.

      What did a rich, beautiful heiress to a vast boat-building fortune need from a small-town pharmacy?

      Birth-control pills? Allergy medication? Something more serious? Cole had dug up everything he could find about her, which was quite a lot. She’d lived a life of privilege and fame, being the daughter of one of the East Coast’s most famous yacht designers.

      From everything he’d seen and learned, she was the very picture of health. Dewy skin, shiny, bouncy hair, unusual honey-colored eyes and a mouth that was made for smiling—and kissing.

      Hell. Where had that thought come from? Sure she was gorgeous, with a supple, delicately muscled body that spoke to years of climbing on the cliffs and sailing along the rocky coastline. But he had no business thinking of her like that. She was an assignment. An innocent victim about to be caught up in a heinous domestic terrorist plot.

      It was his bad luck that ever since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he couldn’t get her out of his head or figure her out.

      For instance, why had a no-nonsense businesswoman like her agreed to pose for a mildly risqué calendar? She didn’t look at all like her photos in the new Hopkins Boatworks calendar he’d picked up at the last port.

      The woman in those pictures was a sexual being—sizzling in forties-style clothes and makeup. She’d been photographed in black and white, standing in front of next year’s model of luxury yacht presented in full color.

      If he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t believe they were the same person. Even though the woman in the calendar was definitely a turn-on, for some reason he preferred her like this. Serious, straight and trim, with her hair loose and swinging about her shoulders.

      What he had to do bothered him—a lot. Enough that he’d followed an impulse he never should have considered, much less acted on. If his abrupt decision backfired, it could blow the plan that had taken months to set in motion.

      And blowing the plan at this stage would be a deadly mistake.

      Not to mention that he was two hundred dollars poorer, with no idea whether his money had been wasted. He’d paid the fortune-teller to embellish Amelia’s fortune.

      But had she?

      “Tell her to be careful,” he’d instructed the woman. “Can you somehow let her know she can trust me?”

      The fortune-teller had looked at the wad of twenties and then at him. She’d frowned. “You are caught between two worlds.”

      “Yeah—look, lady. Don’t tell my fortune. I know mine. Tell hers. She’s on her way here now. You just finished with her two friends.”

      “No. Wait a moment. You must listen to me. You live in two different worlds, and those worlds are about to collide. You must be extremely careful or your young woman may be crushed in the collision.”

      “Great.” He’d tossed another wad of twenties down and turned up his nose at the smell of spice and roses drifting up from a dish on the table. “Sounds good. I’m going out through the back.”

      As he left, she’d called out to him. “Listen for my voice. I will guide you as much as possible. But only if you open your mind and heart.”

      Back on the street, Cole had muttered a curse. That was two hundred dollars ill-spent. He figured the fortune-teller was already pocketing the bills and planning to get as much from Amelia as she could.

      A couple passed him, walking arm-in-arm, drawing his thoughts back to the present. They glanced at him with idle curiosity.

      He half turned away and pretended to light an invisible cigarette with a nonexistent lighter.

      The high-school band struck up a march, and the chatter and cheers grew louder as the twelve-o’clock hour approached.

      Cole’s pulse sped up. The fireworks would begin in a few minutes. He needed to be done with his task before his new buddies began theirs.

      The sound of an old-fashioned bell signaled Amelia’s exit from the pharmacy. She called out her thanks to the pharmacist as the door closed behind her and the bell’s ring faded. She turned south, away from the town square.

      She was going home. She walked with a bounce in her step. She didn’t know her life was about to change forever.

      He followed at a careful distance, wishing he wasn’t fascinated by the way her jeans cupped her bottom and emphasized her long legs, wishing her hair wasn’t so shiny that it caught the light of the moon, wishing he was someone else—and so was she.

      As soon as she left the lights of town behind and started climbing the cliff path, Cole lengthened his stride. His soft-soled boots made almost no noise on the rocky road. In contrast, her leather soles clicked loudly against the stones and gravel. She wasn’t dressed for speed, not with those ridiculous high-heeled boots on.

      The sky lit up. The fireworks. Time to make his move.

      In three long strides he caught up with her, just as she slowed for a glance back at the display. He wrapped one arm all the way around her, pinning her body against him.

      She didn’t make a sound, just stiffened. Then she kicked and twisted, trying to break his hold.

      Behind him, firecrackers cracked and rockets whistled. The sky flashed like lightning.

      “Don’t use up your energy struggling. You’re going to need it.” He grabbed both her wrists in one hand and slipped his other hand around her neck from behind.

      He didn’t squeeze. He just let his fingers trail along her larynx. He felt more than heard her suck in a deep breath.

      “Don’t scream,” he muttered. “I can break your neck before you can make a sound.”

      Chapter Two

      Amelia’s throat moved against Cole’s fingers as she swallowed.

      “I don’t scream,” she hissed, her words a lot braver than her voice.

      Her bravado made him angry.

      Damn it, Amelia, don’t be stupid. Stupid people often didn’t live long enough to regret their actions.

      “Do you cry?” he growled. “Because I can break your fingers one at a time and keep you conscious so you can feel each bone crack.”

      Her head jerked. He’d gotten to her. She might not scream, might not even fear death, but she did fear pain.

      “You are talented, aren’t you?” she retorted, her voice hoarse with the strain of staying calm.

      He almost smiled through

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