LITMIR.BIZ

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hug Allie’s slender figure as faithfully as they did her sister’s.

      “You must be Rocky,” he said slowly.

      Grinning, she nodded. “Right. And you, I sincerely hope, are the hired gun.”

      Before he could respond to that, Allie walked back into the vestibule. Rafe saw instantly that his hopes had been in vain. In glove-soft jeans, a cream-colored turtleneck and a misty blue tweed jacket, Allison Fortune looked like every man’s dream of a very bright, very sexy campus coed.

      The only way he could make her inconspicuous, Rafe decided grimly, was to wrap her in a blanket from head to toe.

      He dug a small, specially designed beeper out of his pocket. “Here, clip this on, and make sure you keep it within reach at all times.”

      Frowning, she turned the little black box over in her hand. “What is it?”

      “It’s a tracking device and emergency signal.”

      “How does it work? I don’t see any button to push.”

      “There isn’t any button. If you need me, just grip the unit in your hand and squeeze. The pressure and heat from your palm will set off a pulsing signal on my unit.”

      She fumbled with the tight clip.

      “The rest of the time, the device emits a continuous signal keyed to a special frequency that only my unit can pick up.”

      Her hands stilling, she glanced up. “Continuous?”

      “So I can track you anytime, night or day.”

      “I’ve heard these devices were available,” Rocky put in. “The military developed them initially. Now people buy them to keep track of their dogs,” she added, grinning at her sister.

      A look of distaste crossed Allie’s face. “I’m not sure I like the idea of being on a leash, like someone’s toy poodle.”

      “It’s part of the security package.”

      Rafe’s brusque tone said clearly that she could take the entire package or leave it. Allie didn’t miss the unspoken message. Her mouth tightening, she lifted the clip and jammed the unit onto the inner pocket.

      “Let’s go,” she said shortly. “We’re late.”

      Twenty minutes later, Rafe pulled off the airport access road and drove up to the private hangar Allie indicated. She’d told him some of the site crew would be traveling with them on the small chartered jet. She hadn’t bothered to mention that half the population of Minneapolis would be turning out to see her off.

      He stepped out of the rental car, tensing as a figure darted out of the milling crowd and dashed toward them. Rafe relaxed only marginally when he saw that it was a teenage girl.

      “Hi, Allie! We heard you were leaving this morning. Will you sign my T-shirt?”

      Before Rafe could put himself between his client and the girl, the passenger door slammed and Allie walked forward. “Sure. Got a pen?”

      “I got some new test shots for my portfolio,” another long-legged, coltish girl said shyly as she joined them. “Would you look at them?”

      Within moments, Allie was surrounded by a clutch of tall, gangly young women. Wannabes, Rafe presumed, all pressing her for tips or advice or autographs. The rest of the crowd appeared to consist primarily of men in coveralls with logos from various airlines on their pockets. They watched the proceedings with avid interest. Occasionally one would nudge another in the ribs and share a comment that resulted in a lewd grin.

      Rafe’s jaw tightened at their expressions, but Allie seemed impervious to the reactions she caused among her male admirers. Smiling and answering the girls’ peppered questions, she made her way toward the hangar. The men fell back to let her pass. As she reached the side door, Rafe turned to scan the crowd for the representative of the rental agency he’d arranged to pick up his car.

      At that moment, Allie gave a little squeak.

      Rafe spun back around just as an arm looped around her neck and dragged her through the door.

      Three

       R afe crashed through the hangar door and launched himself at Allie’s attacker.

      Seconds later, she was pushing herself up off the floor, gasping. Her assailant lay facedown on the concrete, with one arm twisted up between his shoulder blades and Rafe’s knee planted squarely in his back. When he sputtered an obscenity and tried to dislodge the crushing weight that held him pinned, Rafe shoved his arm up higher.

      “Ow!” His shout bounced off the high hangar ceilings.

      “Break his other arm, if you like, but not that one. He can’t shoot left-handed.”

      The low, husky voice penetrated Rafe’s pounding, adrenaline-charged consciousness at the same instant as Allie’s breathless protest.

      “Rafe! That’s…Dominic. The photographer!”

      The man’s nose scraped concrete as he turned his head toward the sound of her voice. Only then did Rafe notice his hair. Or the lack of it. The left side of his scalp was buzz-shaved to a glistening white. The right sported long, flowing black locks. The effect was every bit as startling this morning as it had been when Rafe first saw the man, last night at the party. He loosened his grip on the man’s wrist, but took his time unplanting his knee.

      “Get him…off me!”

      “Rafe, please! This is Dominic Avendez. He’s my photographer.”

      When the man finally regained his feet, he rubbed his wrist and glared at his attacker. Rafe knew the exact instant the photographer noted the scars. His gaze snagged at chin level, and he swallowed visibly. Turning to Allie, he demanded an explanation.

      “Who is this character?”

      “He’s…”

      “The name’s Stone,” Rafe replied deliberately. “Rafe Stone. I’m Miss Fortune’s bodyguard.”

      “Bodyguard? Since when does she need a bodyguard?”

      Flashing Rafe a silent warning, Allie stepped forward. “It was Jake’s idea, Dom. With so much riding on this ad campaign, he wanted a little extra insurance.”

      “Insurance? Hell, the whole shoot almost went down the tubes because of him.”

      “Are you okay?”

      “No.” Scowling, he rotated his aching shoulder.

      Allie moved to his side. “Come on, let’s get you to the plane.”

      In what Rafe now guessed was a habitual gesture, the man started to loop his good arm around Allie’s neck. He caught himself just in time and threw her bodyguard a wary glance. His scowl deepened at the expression on Rafe’s face, but he tucked his arm through Allie’s, instead of wrapping it around her neck.

      Rafe stood still for a moment, watching the unlikely pair walk toward the small, sleek jet parked just outside the open bay doors at the far end of the hangar. Allie towered over the stocky photographer by half a head, and her luxuriant reddish brown mane formed a stark contrast to his long/short, black/white hair style. But it was obvious they were good friends. Very good friends. Her face held genuine sympathy and an unmistakable affection as she soothed the man’s ruffled feathers.

      So why hadn’t she told Avendez about the calls? Rafe wondered. Why didn’t she want her…friend…to know the real reason behind the sudden appearance of a bodyguard in her life, any more than she’d wanted her parents to see her fear last night?

      Not for the first time, it occurred to Rafe that Allie Fortune hid a good part of herself behind the face she showed to the public. Wondering at the woman behind the mask, Rafe bent to pick up the duffel bag he’d dropped when he launched himself through the air.

      A

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