One rainy afternoon, when she had nothing better to do, she had walked across the hallway into the part of the building she wanted to rent out. Four rooms, one after another. The spaces were big and empty, a blank canvas.
Designing always excited her and she was usually quick, but that day, as she sat cross-legged on the big, empty hardwood floor, back against the wall, the design had just come pouring out of her, as if she were sketching a vision already formed. As if she already knew something darkly powerful were coming.
Her own office and living quarters were colorful and feminine. But the rental had come flowing out from her hand in shades of slate and ecru and teal, sleek and streamlined. It was as if she’d had John Huntington in mind as she’d sketched, had sensed his power and strength.
She’d seen the look of recognition in his eyes and knew that somehow she’d designed something that fit him.
Somehow she’d known that he’d need an oversized armchair, in soft black leather. Somehow she’d known that a man like him wouldn’t like fuss or objects d’art—just a long linear desk made of titanium and black marble, open faced bookshelves, a teal and cream Chinese rug in geometric patterns.
For his bedroom, she’d choose an oversized bed with a mahogany headboard. An image of John Huntington in bed, naked, made her thighs suddenly tremble and clench. His pectorals had been visible beneath the sweater. His chest was probably covered with thick black body hair, narrowing down to…
This was crazy. She was crazy.
Shaken, Suzanne sat down behind her desk and tried to focus on something other than John Huntington’s body. Magnificent though it was…
Her hands clenched on the desk and she stared at her white knuckles for a long moment. She leafed through the phone book until she found the number she sought, then pulled out her cell and thumbed in the number.
“Portland Police Department,” a bored voice announced.
“Lieutenant Morrison, please.”
A click and then another voice. “Homicide.”
“I’d like to speak with Lieutenant Morrison.”
“Hold.”
There was a lot of background noise. Someone screamed, then she heard male voices shouting, the sounds of scuffling, then a deep voice came on the line. “Morrison. What?”
Suzanne smiled. Bud, normally cool as ice, sounded harassed and out of breath. “Bud, this is Suzanne. I wonder—“
“Suzanne.” His deep voice sharpened. “Hey, is something wrong? Has something happened to Claire?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.”
Bud was engaged to her best friend, Claire Parks. Suzanne had met him on a couple of social occasions. He was absolutely besotted with Claire, but Claire was beginning to have doubts. Too macho, too take-control, too protective, she’d said. Tall and tough looking, and a friend of John Huntington’s to boot, Suzanne could see Claire’s point.
“Claire’s fine. No, I’m calling about something else. I’m calling because my new tenant put your name down as a reference.”
“So you’ve finally found a tenant. Good. Claire’s worried about you all alone in that part of town and, frankly, so am I. Who’d you rent it out to?”
“A man named John Huntington. Commander John Huntington, a former naval officer. Do you know him? “
“John?” He gave a short laugh. “I sure do. And if he’s your new tenant, then your troubles are over, honey.”
Or just beginning, she thought. “Can you tell me something about him? What’s his history?”
“Well, he was a damned fine soldier. Got a chest full of medals.”
“Yes, I saw that on his discharge sheet.”
“Hon, that would only give the medals he won for overt operations. He’s got a safe full of the other ones. The ones for operations we don’t know anything about, and never will.”
Other ones? “What—what kind of soldier was he?”
“A SEAL. Elite commando. Best of the best. Expert in black ops. Operated best under cover of darkness. His men called him the Midnight Man. Got superb night vision. Probably killed more tangos—that’s terrorists—than you’ve had hot dinners. Ha-ha.”
“Ha-ha,” Suzanne echoed hollowly. She had no trouble at all believing what Bud was telling her. The stillness, the palpable aura of danger about the man, told its own story. She’d just let into her home a very dangerous man. Not a simple soldier at all, but a trained killer. A man who killed for his country, true, but a killer nonetheless.
Bud interrupted her thoughts. “Say, how come Midnight Man is renting from you? I didn’t even know he was in town. I heard he retired on disability, but he disappeared from sight after that.”
“Disability?” The man she’d seen hadn’t looked disabled at all. The contrary, in fact. “He didn’t strike me as disabled.”
“He got shot up pretty bad about a year ago, busted his knee. Navy bought him a new one, but he can’t operate at peak levels any more. I don’t know what he’s doing now.”
“He has an international security company. Named Alpha Security.”
“You don’t say.” Suzanne heard a low whistle. “Alpha Security’s a classy company. Got a really good rep. So Alpha’s John’s, huh? He’s living in Portland now?”
“Guess so.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You tell that son of a—er, son of a gun that he’d better get in touch, pronto. And honey—don’t worry about John. He’s honest and totally, completely reliable—and if he’s head of Alpha he’s more than solvent. I’m glad he’ll be in the building with you. Now we don’t have to worry about you in the Pearl. You’ve got a really dangerous guy on your side there.” The background noise level rose again. Dear God, was that the sound of a shot?
“Morrison, get your ass over here pronto!” someone shouted.
“Hey Suzanne, gotta run, it’s a real zoo here today. See you.”
Really dangerous guy. Suzanne was standing beside her desk. She put her cell down on her desk and stared blindly down at her hand. A really dangerous guy was going to live right across the hall from her.
But she wasn’t supposed to worry about anything.
Right.
“So you did call Bud. Good,” a deep, rough voice said and she screamed.
“Oh my God!” She reared back in shock.
He was standing right in front of her, even larger and taller than she remembered.
“Here.” A flick of his big hand and a plastic card, a pair of small needle-nosed pliers and a bent steel rod fell on her desktop. “That’s what it took to get through your security. Because I was in a hurry. Given a bit more time, I could have done it with spit and a wire. So that’s what your security system is worth—hey!”
Her heart was pummeling its way out of her chest. She had to sit and there was nowhere to sit. Trying to move, she stumbled and was pulled against a massive chest as she tried to focus past the bright spots in front of her eyes.
“Hey, hey, calm down. Sorry I scared you. I just wanted to show you that you need to upgrade your security. Nothing like a live demonstration to convince people. You weren’t supposed to faint on me.”
She wasn’t even listening to the words. His voice was a deep meaningless rumble in his chest. She rested her forehead against his collarbone, palms up over his pectorals.
He was holding her tightly, so tightly she could hear—even feel—his calm strong heartbeat, one beat to her two.
He’d been out in the rain. He smelled delicious—some heady mixture of male, rain and leather. She moved her right hand slightly under his jacket and felt a leather harness of some sort. Intrigued, she moved her hand further across his chest and encountered grained wood and a steel barrel.
He wasn’t letting go. She was going breathless from another type of shock now. One big hand covered the back of her head, the other clasped her about the waist. He pressed hard with that hand and her stomach came into contact with something equally hard.
Not a gun.
She jumped back as if scalded. Some dim part of her brain realized that she was able to do that only because he’d opened his arms the instant he felt her jolt. Otherwise there was no way she could have freed herself from his embrace. The muscles she’d pushed against to jump back were like steel.
Wordless, she stared at him.