LITMIR.BIZ

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us.” Daniel's voice held a touch of regret as he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

      Bernard's heavy face settled into a frown. “What's the problem?”

      “Her luggage has been misplaced by the airline. The only garments she has with her are the ones she's wearing.” He spoke so smoothly B.J. almost believed him herself.

      Bernard scanned her casual camp shirt and khakis, nodding as if something had just been explained to him. “That's not a problem. You can buy everything she needs when we get there. We've got several of those fancy boutiques the ladies like.”

      After only a momentary pause, Daniel said, “She has some things in her luggage that have sentimental value. She's reluctant to leave without tracking it down.”

      His frown deepening, Bernard shifted restlessly. Suspiciously. The movement made his ill-fitting jacket gap just enough for B.J. to catch a glimpse of the shoulder holster beneath. “I'm sure the boss can take care of everything. Why don't we get going and I'll make some calls on the way.”

      B.J. thought she detected the slightest hint of apology in the look Daniel gave her then. “There's really no need to go to that much trouble. You have our home address on your luggage tags, don't you, sweetheart?”

      Remembering the chilling sight of Bernard's weapon, B.J. nodded mutely.

      “Then I'm sure it will all be sent to our home as soon as it turns up. In any event, there's really nothing all that valuable involved, is there?”

      She shook her head, as he clearly expected of her.

      Daniel gave her an encouraging smile.

      Bernard's face cleared. “That's okay, then. You'll see, Mrs. Andreas. Everything's going to work out just fine.”

      She wished she could believe that.

      Daniel could almost feel months of scheming crashing around his ears. Not to mention that his life was pretty much flashing in front of his eyes. One significant memory from his past had apparently materialized and was now sitting right next to him on Judson Drake's private jet.

      She looked pale, he noted. And no wonder. Her head was probably spinning.

      He knew his was.

      He had thought himself prepared for any eventuality on this trip. He had not been at all prepared for Brittany Jeanne Samples to walk through that door—and directly into his arms.

      She hadn't really changed in thirteen years, he mused. Oh, there were definitely signs of maturity. She had worn braces the last time he'd seen her. Now her white teeth were perfectly straight. Her glossy brown hair had fallen almost to her waist back then, and it was now cut into a short, shaggy style that suited her.

      Her figure hadn't developed significantly since her teenage years, but rather than the gawkiness of adolescence, she now moved with the lithe grace of womanhood. And her eyes were still an amazingly rich blue, still framed in ridiculously long, lush lashes.

      Some might call her cute or even pretty. However one defined it, her look appealed to him as strongly now as it had when he was sixteen.

      He had never expected to see her again—certainly not under these conditions. He hadn't had a chance yet to analyze how he felt about having her here, other than fear for her safety and concern about the plans he had spent so long putting together. Still, at the back of his mind was the uncomfortable awareness that Brittany Jeanne Samples was the only living soul who had ever seen him cry.

      Thirteen years ago, she was the only one he knew, other than his foster parents, who hadn't been at all afraid of him. She wasn't afraid now. Quietly furious, yes. Healthily cautious, definitely. But not afraid.

      Yet he reached out to pat her hand, giving her a bracing smile. “I know how much you hate flying in these small planes. Are you okay?”

      “I'm fine.”

      “Don't you worry, Mrs. Andreas,” Bernard said with a heavy-handed attempt at sympathy. “Mr. Drake hires only the best pilots.”

      Her strained expression didn't change. “I'm sure he does.”

      “Can I get you anything? Soda? Bottled water?”

      “No, thank you.”

      Daniel trusted that Bernard would attribute B.J.'s terseness to a fear of flying, as he had intended when he had mentioned it. Bernard wasn't the sharpest pencil in the cup, but he wasn't entirely unobservant either. B.J. was hardly acting like a loving wife on her way to a luxurious resort with her husband.

      He was going to have to be on his toes every minute to cover for her. He really hadn't needed this complication.

      They were in the air for almost four hours. While Bernard played a video game built into a console in the private jet and Daniel read what appeared to be a book about the Spanish-American War, B.J. simply stared out a side window.

      She declined the magazines Bernard offered her and had no interest in watching the television he pointed out to her. She was unable to doze. She spent the time wondering where they were going and why and what to expect when they got there.

      Had she made a huge mistake going along with this charade? Should she have made it clear that she was not Daniel's wife? Perhaps treated it as a joke? But he had given her little time for that option and he had looked deadly serious when he'd told her that her very life was in danger.

      Seeing the gun tucked beneath Bernard's jacket had seemed to illustrate that warning quite clearly.

      Still, was she any safer now, flying toward who knew where for who knew what purpose?

      Daniel spoke to her occasionally, using a lovingly solicitous tone that made her back teeth set. She had to make a real effort to respond in kind, but apparently her acting skills were better than she had thought, since Bernard didn't seem to notice anything unusual between them. Maybe because Daniel mentioned several times her supposed fear of flying and commented about how brave she was being, even though he knew she must be anxious.

      She hadn't been afraid of flying, but this nightmare trip could definitely leave permanent trauma, she decided.

      When they finally landed, it was on another private airstrip. From what B.J. could guess from peering out the window, this strip was a part of a luxurious ocean-side resort. She had seen swimming pools and cabanas, sprawling buildings and cozy cabins. Private beaches. Two golf courses.

      Florida? South Carolina? She really had no clue.

      Maybe the place would have looked more beautiful to her had she been arriving for a voluntary stay. As it was, the only thought on her mind was wondering how soon she could leave.

      “See, Mrs. Andreas?” Bernard asked jovially. “Back on the ground, safe and sound.”

      She would have liked very much to smack him right in the middle of his condescending smile. Instead she merely nodded.

      Once again Daniel spoke for her. “My wife is exhausted from so much traveling today. I hope we can be shown to our suite quickly so she can get some rest.”

      B.J. hoped that suite had a back door she could dash out of as soon as no one was looking. At the very least, she would be on the phone at the first opportunity telling her uncles to get busy rescuing her. Well, she would make that call as soon as she figured out where she was.

      Bernard ushered them off the plane. A man stepped forward immediately to greet them. In marked contrast to the beefy and belligerent-looking Bernard, this man was handsome, slender and suave. Yet something about his smile made B.J.'s blood run cold.

      His heavily moussed hair was sun-streaked blond, and his eyes were a glittering green. He had a perfect profile, a perfect tan, perfect teeth and a perfect physique. She would have bet hard-earned cash that none of those attributes had been bestowed upon him by nature.

      As her cowboy uncle Jared would say, this fellow was so slick she could have slid him through a keyhole.

      “Daniel,”

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