A Touch Of Fire

A Touch of Fire by Barbara Clark Amber Quill Press, LLC www.amberquill.com Copyright ©2002 by Barbara Clark NOTICE: ...

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A Touch of Fire by Barbara Clark

Amber Quill Press, LLC www.amberquill.com

Copyright ©2002 by Barbara Clark

NOTICE: This ebook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This book cannot be legally lent or given to others. This ebook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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SONS OF EARTH AND WIND BOOK 3: A TOUCH OF FIRE by BARBARA CLARK ISBN 1-59279-022-4 Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

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Also By Barbara Clark Dangerous Haven Emerald Heat Rainbow Valley Sons Of Earth And Wind Book I: Tears of the Hawk Book II: A Breath of Heather Book III: A Touch of Fire Book IV: Deserts of the Heart

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DEDICATION Dedicated to the memory of my brother, Robert Stark— husband, father, and Vietnam veteran who also served his country as a civilian.

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PROLOGUE The night-bound land was crying. Gritting her teeth against the pain in that deep-throated wail, Summer Morgana Starr sat on the ancient boulders high above the Pacific Ocean and tried to block the sound. With her birth-gift, she saw and heard the fiery streams of magnetism known as ley lines that pulsed far below the surface. Tonight, those lines were tangled where they should run free in ribbons of energy. Chaos throbbed deep in the earth's crust. Waves roared against the rocky shore but didn't drown the sound. Wind shuddered through broken cliffs but couldn't mask the groans of basalt and granite under molten pressure. Early moonlight danced in silver power through the spray, but still the land cried. Five miles overhead, the lights of a jet airplane silently crossed the glittering field of distant stars. In the darkness below her feet, the ground lurched once more in protest. Summer, born with extraordinary gifts, sent a soothing touch deep into the wounded earth to ease the strain. It was all she could do for now. Her gifts and duty were to untangle and smooth the ley lines—to keep them flowing at full power, unobstructed. Tonight, the ribbons of fire deep beneath her were too strong, too damaged for her to restore without help. She had to wait for added strength from the power of the moon and earth working together. 6


She pushed her unbound hair from her face and struggled with the knowledge that a unique man's true love and passion would give her the necessary strength without waiting for the balance of sun and moon energy. Ancient family tradition taught that only a man born with a psychic connection to earth or the moon could blend his power with hers to protect her and give her abilities the greater potency. In spite of that knowledge, her heart had chosen another, a man without a known psychic link. Even now, he stood nearby, guarding her from physical harm. Frustrated and tired, Summer refused to give in to her alltoo-human weakness. Instead, she sat up straighter and pressed her hands against the cold stone as she mentally walked through the sounds of the land's grief. Along with her sorrow for the troubled earth throbbed her own loneliness—and a silent cry for one man's love. A love she could never know.

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CHAPTER 1 The ground shuddered under Michael Forest as he stood guard on the only approach to Summer's position high on the sea cliff. For the last three days, he'd stayed nearby to help and protect her as she'd scrambled up boulders and delved into deep fissures, healing ley lines along this stressed central California coast. Ley lines—lines of magnetic power deep in the earth. Michael shook his head at how improbable it seemed for Summer or anyone to manipulate them, even when he'd seen her sister, Charity, perform equally incredible feats using paranormal power. Shifting his position to scan the surrounding area, he recalled the first time he'd observed Summer as she'd worked with a power he couldn't see, hear, or feel, except by its influence on the earth's fault lines. The moment she'd announced the ley lines were once more clear, the ground had stopped moving. Even more, there had been none of the aftershocks that normally followed the first set of shakes. The last few days, he'd seen that proven over and over again. Another earthquake rolled under his feet. Rocks and boulders clattered down the fractured cliff. Obviously, she hadn't tamed the lines, yet, this time.

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“Damn,” he muttered, heading up the narrow path toward her. Whether she wanted to or not, she was leaving her unsafe perch even if he had to throw her over his shoulder. Michael climbed steadily through the light and shadows, ignoring the ache in his right leg. He'd learned long ago to work past pain and keep going. Just before he reached Summer, she rose, still facing out to sea. Wind molded the white sweater and natural linen pants to her slender figure. Moonlight changed her pale blonde hair into silver fire. Tonight there was an air of sad determination in her squared shoulders. He cleared his throat to warn her of his presence. “Time to go before the cliff falls apart under your feet.” She turned to him, the wind whipping strands of concealing hair across her face. “Don't worry. It'll hold.” “Sure, but the quakes can shake you off the top.” Three more steps and he was on the narrow platform of rock beside her. He touched her shoulder. A flare of sensual heat swept through him, but he clamped down on his reaction. “Listen, you're wearing yourself out. Time to call it a night and head back to the house.” She gave him a whimsical smile. “You sound like my oldest brother, Daniel.” Her brother? He didn't feel brotherly, but it was best for her to see him like that. Suddenly, the back of his neck prickled. The muscles between his shoulder blades tensed. He stepped up between 9


Summer and the unknown threat. “Let's move. You're too exposed here.” “You felt it, too?” “Somebody watching? Yeah.” He clasped her arm to help her negotiate the steepest parts and to shield her as much as possible. “I caught a gleam just now of binoculars. He's careless. Probably thinks we don't know he's there. Act casual, but be ready to hit the ground.” As they reached the bottom of the trail, Michael drew her closer, still keeping his body between hers and the watcher. He wouldn't draw his weapon yet. That would tip-off the unknown person. Summer shivered. Her face looked pale in the moonlight, her breath was labored. Charity, Summer's sister, had cautioned him that when Summer used her gifts it drained her energy, but they had to keep moving. His instincts, sharpened in shadow wars, insisted she was in danger. Finally, in the temporary safety of deep shadows under a twisted cypress, he stopped her. “You're cold and exhausted.” He pulled off his black leather jacket. “Put this on.” “Being tired goes with the job.” She held her wind-whipped hair away from her face. “I can't take your jacket. You'll freeze in this chill.” “Not me. I've been in a lot colder places. Don't waste time arguing.” He held the supple leather ready for her to slip her arms into the sleeves. Her chin came up. “It won't be the first time I've been chilly.” 10


“Yeah, and it won't be the first time I've had to carry someone over my shoulder when they were injured or sick because of sheer stubbornness.” Summer gazed at him for a moment, and nodded. “You win.” He helped her into the jacket, inhaling her unique fragrance of spring flowers. “This feels great. Thanks.” She smoothed down the supple hide. The rattle of dirt and pebbles on the rise of land just beyond the rocky clearing brought Michael to higher alert. A startled bird took flight, squawking its protest. “We'd better go, Michael. It sounds like the watcher is getting close.” She zipped up the jacket, spun on her heel, and headed down the trail. Pulling his Sig Sauer 9mm from the holster at his back, Michael joined Summer, tucked her close with his left arm, and propelled her through the low jumble of boulders and down the long slope. After a quick survey of the area, they crossed the dirt road while moonlight tossed shadows around them. Then they melted into the sharp-scented darkness of the eucalyptus grove and stopped a short distance from the rented Bronco. Silently, he led her to a half-circle of fractured granite tall enough to hide a man. Sycamore and eucalyptus spread branches over the top. “Wait here,” he said in a low murmur. “No matter what happens, don't go anywhere near the car until I come for you, and you know I'm alone.” 11


“I'll go with you now. Two people on the lookout are better than one.” “Not this time. If I have to worry about you, it'll slow me down. I'm the one with security training. Let me do my job.” He handed her his cell phone. “If anything odd happens, call Hawk's number and follow his instructions.” When she hesitated, he clasped her wrist. Filled with a sense of urgency, he repeated his advice, adding,"Promise me.” Her face was an oval blur in the deep shadows. “I promise. Be careful,” she said in a low voice. After handing a pocket flashlight to her, he ducked around the brush hiding the narrow opening into the rocky shelter and walked down the trail to the Bronco. With his black T-shirt, jeans and hiking boots blending into the night, he became just another shadow among the trees. He'd left the sports utility vehicle in a spot where moonlight filtered through the leaves enough for him to see nearby objects. The beige trunks of the eucalyptus, pale in the dim light, would betray anyone crossing in front of them. He moved to the black Ford and gave it a quick once-over with his sensitive fingers, examining the surface for wires, scratches, anything that might be hooked to a bomb. He hadn't survived years in covert work or the more recent corporate battles without learning the ingenuity of people trying to destroy someone else. With his spare, shielded flashlight, he examined the car once more looking for subtle signs of forced entry or any 12


indication of an explosive device that could tear flesh from bones in one searing moment. Like a man searching in the dark for a scorpion or pit viper, he held his breath and slowly opened each door, then inspected under the hood, the trunk interior, and inside the wheel wells. Finally he was satisfied that nothing had been added to the Bronco but dampness from the night air and his own fingerprints. He exhaled in relief and rushed up the rise toward Summer. Waiting in the dark, she had watched through an opening in the bushes as Michael's shadowy figure moved around the Ford. When she realized he was looking for a car bomb, her stomach knotted. She wanted to run after him, tell him to come back and call the sheriff's office. Let them take the risk. It seemed like an eternity before his familiar black shadow slipped into the rocky bowl with her. Turning on his flashlight, Michael held out his hand. “Ready to go?” he said as if inviting her for a stroll. “Just like that? Let's go? No explanation why you went over the car so carefully?” This is the first time I've seen you check it that thoroughly.” She searched his shadowed expression for evidence of trouble. “Is everything all right?” “No problems.” Clasping her arm just above the elbow, he led her into the thick dark. In spite of his guiding hand, she stumbled over sprawling roots and fallen branches. 13


“How do you see where we're going?” she asked, careful to speak only loud enough for him to hear. “I've always had good night vision. A little stint in Feo's Fleabag hotel helped sharpen my ability to see in the dark.” Fleabag hotel? She puzzled over the odd name. Who'd want to stay at a place with that name? It was a joke, of course. She frowned. Still, there'd been a strange note, a hint of remembered pain in his voice. She wished she had her sister, Charity's, empathic gift—the ability to know what another person was feeling and to heal their pain. Then she would know how to heal whatever made him so sad and grim. When they reached the SUV, Michael carefully scanned the area, then circled the Bronco, shining his flashlight on the ground. “Looks safe.” He opened the passenger door and she slid in. Settling into the driver's seat, he started the engine, and directed the Bronco between trees and onto the dirt road. When he'd rounded the SUV, Summer had noticed he was limping more heavily. Concerned about his old injury, she touched his arm. “We walked through some pretty tough country today.” “Good exercise.” He rested his other hand on hers briefly. Summer didn't know if it was the sound of his rich voice or the press of his strong fingers that set her pulse pounding. She watched his long, well-shaped fingers on the steering wheel as he maneuvered the Ford along the rutted dirt pretense of a road. 14


How many times over the last few days had those hands helped her down steep trails, across boulders slippery with ocean spray, and up invisible pathways of crumbled sedimentary rock where only the ancient tribal people had traveled? Michael Forest, a strong name for a strong man, she thought. They'd met for the first time over a year earlier at Charity's wedding. Michael, wearing a black tuxedo that contrasted with the gold highlights gleaming in his light brown hair, had held the hand of eight-year-old Brianna, talking to her as if she were the most special person in the room. The little blonde, daughter of Michael's friends, Quinn and Heather Archer, beamed up at Michael, clutching a bouquet of pink, miniature sweetheart roses. Later, Summer learned he often brought what Brianna called, baby roses, to her. The image lingered in her mind of the gentle man and the adoring child. Since then, she'd learned he was far more complex. Guardian, business man, warrior, and according to her brother-in-law, Hawk Adams, hell-on-wheels in battle. When Summer was formally introduced to Michael, she'd seen dark brown eyes filled with sharp intelligence in a face too strong-featured to be called handsome. It held lines etched by pain and cruel experience, but softened by gentleness and compassion. Her thoughts returned to the present as they reached the coastal highway and turned south toward the small town of Cypress Cove. 15


“Won't be long until we get to your place.” Michael glanced at her. “We've left the person shadowing us behind. Chances are, he'll be waiting for us back there tomorrow. Move your work to a section south of town, and we might shake him. Keep him out of our hair.” “I can't do that. There's a break in the ley lines under the cove. I have to repair that before it causes trouble.” “Postpone it until I can track down the watcher and assure myself he's not a threat to you.” She tapped her leg in annoyance. “It has to be tomorrow morning. The moon will set a short time before sunrise. I can use the combined energy of the moon and sun to restore the magnetic flow under the cove.” He turned his dark gaze on her before facing the road again. “Wise up. Your safety is more important.” “Nothing is more important than preventing a disaster.” “You mean stronger earthquakes?” “That and more. I'll explain later.” She folded her arms against her chest, chilled by the image of catastrophic damage. “It's your show for now,” Michael said. “But this guy watching you changes things. I'll call Hawk for a back-up team.” “No. I don't want Charity to worry.” Summer shifted in her place. “Besides, the watcher hasn't interfered in my work. Maybe he was just curious, and won't be around tomorrow.” Michael turned onto the road leading toward her rented house. “I wouldn't bet on it.” 16


Neither would I, she thought, but she couldn't have a lot of people around. She already worried about Michael getting caught in a potential backlash if he got too close. “Michael, please don't call in anyone. Too many near me will complicate my connection to the magnetic lines.” Briefly, his face turned toward her in the dark, and she felt his silent questions. As the road curved south, paralleling the ocean, she looked out her side window. The water stretched west, north, and south for thousands of unbroken miles. White caps foamed against dark troughs. Waves rushed toward the land, curled high, caught the moonlight in green and aqua bands, then tumbled down, crashing against pale sand and black rocks. The retreating tide had left shells once torn from underwater seabeds by storms far south of them off the coast of Baja California. Tonight, Summer felt like that ocean—restless, unable to stop a destructive force, dependent on the influence of the moon. And every time the damaged ley lines groaned, she felt the ache through the ever-present connection. She pressed her fingers against her forehead, battling to seal away the link into one corner of her mind. Minutes passed as she struggled to impose her will on the mindless energy. At last the connection was silenced, and she sighed in relief. A few minutes later, Michael pulled into the driveway and stopped behind her metallic navy blue Firebird parked at the side of the small house. 17


She unsnapped her seat belt. “Do you want hot tea or cocoa tonight?” “Cocoa sounds good.” Michael slid out and came around to her side. As she stepped out, he cupped her elbow in his strong hand and moved with her up the moon-dappled walk. Zinnias and yellow calendulas planted against the long porch made bright sparks of color amid shadowed greens. The brisk ocean breeze, laden with salt-water scents, swirled around them. Moist air touched her face like a blessing. How could it seem so peaceful when an uneasy sense of peril prowled just below the surface of her mind? In a low voice, Michael said, “I'll go in first.” He held out his hand for her key. Summer pressed it into his palm. After three days, she was accustomed to the routine. This time, however, he led her into the shadows behind the porch swing, and she sensed a greater tension coiled in his body. “Wait here,” he murmured. Michael, aware that he was Summer's only protection at the moment, opened the door and stepped inside away from the moonlight. He waited for his night vision to sharpen, and then studied every part of the room he could see from his position. He listened intently for any sound that would betray another person's presence, more cautious than ever because of the watcher. Sampling the air, he breathed in the fragrance of roses and sandalwood. Same as usual. No hint of a stranger. 18


In spite of his limp, he moved silently through the room until he knew it was safe for Summer. Opening the door, he gestured for her to enter. “Stay here away from the window until I check the rest of the house.” “I will,” she said in a low voice. He continued his security sweep of the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the bedroom where he'd slept the previous two nights. Then, as always, he hesitated in front of the door to Summer's room. He didn't want to violate her privacy, but for her safety, he had to enter and look around. Moving inside, he inhaled the feminine fragrances— powder, lotion, and the sweet scent uniquely hers. A picture formed, unbidden, of Summer lying on rumpled sheets, hair spread out on the pillow like a fan of light. For a blinding moment, he saw her open her arms to him in welcome as he slid into bed against her silken skin. With a silent curse, Michael jerked his thoughts back to the present. He continued his security check with the knowledge that he could protect Summer, but never claim her for his own. Finally satisfied the house was safe, he returned to her side, switched on the light, and gave her the key. Her green eyes held a soft glow as she smiled at him. “You've done your job, now I'll make the hot chocolate.” As she disappeared into the small kitchen, Michael settled on the wheat-colored couch against the pale green Irish linen throw smoothed across the back. 19


One of Summer's sculptures, a whimsical terra cotta statue of a sea otter family, sat on the coffee table. Beside it, an earthenware bowl of polished stones invited him to choose one. He selected an agate and enjoyed its swirls of subtle color. He felt a rare peace in the house, but put it aside as he mentally reviewed the new potential danger. This was the third day he'd hiked with Summer. Until this evening, the days had been uneventful, if you could call observing her operate her amazing paranormal gift uneventful. The moment he'd sensed the presence of the mysterious person, warning bells had sounded in his mind. He'd learned early on in his service training to pay attention. Another, darker memory slid into his thoughts. If only he'd sensed a warning then... Pushing to his feet, Michael returned the agate to the bowl and limped to the west-facing window. He braced one hand against the frame, holding back the curtain. Through the glass, he heard the muted roar of the ocean. After a careful survey of the area visible from his position, he stared out at the moonlit water and sky, his thoughts returning once more to the year he was twenty-one. His selfish choice then had set him on a path that changed his life forever and brought him to this moment. There had been times when he'd agonized over difficult choices, the horrors he'd seen, the necessary violence he'd committed. Tonight he was glad for those painful lessons because they'd equipped him to guard Summer. 20


Her warm voice came from the kitchen. “The cocoa's almost ready. I'll bring some cookies.” “Sounds good.” More than good, he mused, returning to the couch. It sounded like home and family, a dream he'd never be free to claim. Summer entered with a tray and placed it on the coffee table beside the sculpture. “Help yourself.” She sat in the chair opposite him across the low table. Just her presence brought light to the room. He allowed himself the pleasure of gazing at the picture she made seated on cushions patterned with bright yellow flowers in the white wicker chair. She smiled gently. “Penny for your thoughts.” “Whatever you have in this room, you should bottle it and make a fortune. I don't know when I've felt this relaxed.” “Just a good, old-fashioned potpourri of rose and sandalwood.” She lifted her cup in a gesture of appreciation. Michael, uneasy with his attraction to Summer, chose a handful of peanut butter cookies and settled back with the cup of hot chocolate. “This reminds me of cold nights in front of a blazing fire at home when I was a kid.” Summer sampled a cookie. “Umm, me too. My dad chopped wood for three fireplaces. He said the exercise kept him fit. It must've worked because he's still swinging the axe and piling up logs.” “I can't picture my father chopping wood. As an Ambassador, he spent most of the time hacking out agreements between countries or chairing endless meetings.” 21


Summer's eyes sparkled with interest. “An Ambassador? Did you travel a lot with your parents?” “My mom had packing down to a fine art. Even when Dad was stationed at one post, they traveled a lot within that country. Most of the time, they left my little sister, Teri, and me with a nanny and the residency staff.” “That must've been hard.” Summer sipped her cocoa. “Do you see them often, or are they overseas?” Michael's gut ached with the sense of loss. “They're dead,” he said in a flat tone. “Oh.” Summer reached toward him, then drew back her hand. “I'm sorry.” “It happened a long time ago.” He set his cup on the saucer with careful control. “We have to talk about the person who was watching us this evening. Do you have any ideas?” Frowning, she shook her head. Light from the floor lamp shimmered on her hair. “He wasn't here last August when I stayed a month.” “Get packed and we'll leave early in the morning.” Her lips tightened and she set her cup in the saucer with a loud clink. “Wait a minute.” Her voice rose. “I thought we'd settled this. I can't just pick up and go. I have to return to the cove tomorrow.” “The cove is off-limits to you. You'd be too vulnerable.” “I don't have a choice. The ley lines are damaged and the land is already deteriorating.” Michael surged from his chair and paced to the window and back. He stopped beside her, deliberately invading her 22


personal space. “Dammit, Summer. Nothing is so important you have to risk your life.” Summer stood and faced him, realizing this was a critical moment. “It's not your choice. Risk is part of life. I'll be the judge of what I should and should not do.” His face hardened. His brown eyes, once so warm, now glittered with the cold intensity of a rare cinnamon diamond. Gripping her shoulders, he said, “Hawk gave me the assignment to guard you and I promised your sister I'd protect you. I keep my promises.” “I know you keep your word, Michael, but hear me out. I'm not asking you to break a promise. I am asking you to listen. Charity and Hawk both know that obligations and hazards are part of being gifted. They'll understand my commitment.” Releasing her, he folded his arms, an implacable expression on his face. “Go ahead. Talk.” She inhaled and let the air out in a long breath, collecting her thoughts. “You're trying to protect one person—me. It's my duty to protect far more.” Turning her back to him, she struggled for control of her emotions. Deep below, a ley line licked toward the surface, a fiery snake of power seeking her life force. With a flare of personal energy, she stopped the line, strengthened her internal safeguards, and collapsed into her chair. Still shaken from the silent battle with the rogue line, she picked up her cup and drained the last of the cocoa.

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Outside, the muted roar of the nearby ocean was broken by the sharp cry of a night bird, but in the quiet room, tension thickened the atmosphere. When she was sure she could speak calmly, she said, “It's vital I complete my repairs below the surface of the cove tomorrow.” She watched Michael stalk back to the couch and sit. He stared at her through narrowed eyes. “Wait until I run down the guy who's watching you. Then go ahead and do your stuff.” Frustrated by his suggestion of a delay, Summer rubbed the narrow puckered scar on the inside of her left wrist. “We've been over this already.” A muscle jumped in Michael's jaw. He ran a hand through his hair. “Here's the bottom line. It's dangerous for you to be out in the open. My job's to keep you safe.” “You can't stop me. Healing the major lines is too important.” Michael's expression darkened. “Dammit, I'll do whatever's needed to protect you if I have to lock you in your room.” With an effort born of painful practice and experience, Summer held her temper. “You've been with me these last few days as I checked the lines of power and corrected problems, but I never stopped to explain their importance.” He nodded. “Go on.” Leaning back, he stretched out his legs as if relaxed, but Summer wasn't deceived. The coiled tension in his shoulders and his alert air showed his instant readiness. 24


She rubbed the bridge of her nose searching for the words to give him a clear image. “The lines of magnetism and energy deep in the earth's crust travel in all directions. They help keep the surface in balance, just as blood circulating through our bodies keeps us healthy. My birth gift is the ability to sense those lines and heal any blockages or breaks in them.” Frowning, Michael asked, “What's so urgent about correcting the lines immediately? To stop the aftershocks we've had the last couple of days?” “That's right, to prevent or moderate earthquakes. Some earth movement is a natural part of the planet's vitality, but there's a fine balance between what's beneficial and what's destructive.” She shifted in the wicker chair, listening to the faint creak as the resilient fibers adjusted to her change. “If the ley lines are blocked, the land goes out of balance. When that happens, the water table can change or drain away all together. Can you imagine the disaster caused by the sudden loss of water?” “Yes, but there are other ways to bring in water.” Summer rose, moved quickly around the table, and gripped Michael's hands. She paused, shaken by a new awareness of his overwhelming masculinity. Closing her eyes, she fought to keep her churning emotions from affecting the ley lines. Michael's fingers tightened on hers. She looked into his eyes now shadowed with concern. “The lines below the cove continue deep under the ocean. The 25


building pressure will trigger an earthquake and generate tidal waves from Big Sur to Baja California. For six hundred miles along the coast, people and houses at sea level will be swept away. I can't let that happen.”

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CHAPTER 2 Michael, appalled not only by the image of the massive destruction Summer's words sketched but also by the enormity of her task, rose from the couch and drew her closer. “You've convinced me.” “Does that mean you won't try to stop me from repairing the magnetic lines?” “Reluctantly,” he said, “If you think that's best.” Bowing her head, she leaned her brow against his chest. “Once I make contact with the ley lines, I can't be distracted until the repair and restoration is complete,” she said in a muffled voice. “I need you to guard me from interruption.” “That I'll do.” He raised his hand to stroke her hair, hesitated, then soothed her as he would a child. Her slender form belied the strength and stamina in her body. But he sensed she'd already expended most of her energy. Here, in the quiet, potpourri-scented room she'd made uniquely inviting, he admitted to himself he'd do anything for her. If she asked for dust from the moon, he'd pour the world-wide resources of M.F. International into building a new space shuttle to go there and collect what she needed. In the depths of his soul, he fought a battle to leash his growing attraction to her. Gently, he eased away to keep from touching her again. “What time will we go tomorrow?” “I have to be at the cove just before dawn.” Summer gave him a faint smile. “By most standards, I keep weird hours.” 27


“Sounds like the service before we staged an assault on the enemy.” For a moment she looked at him, then nodded. “Only this will be a different kind of battle.” Frustrated by his promise not to call Hawk for back up and set up a ring of protection for her, he slipped into his impassive mode. “I'll be ready to go by four-thirty tomorrow morning.” He went to the door and turned to her. “I'll make a sweep of the yard before settling down.” “Wait. Before you go, I have something for you.” He watched her disappear down the hall and return in a short time with a small, crystal jar cradled in her hand. She unscrewed the lid and a sharp, clean scent from the gold-colored cream filled the air. “This ointment's made with calendulas and other herbs. Rub it into your skin where there's pain. It'll give you relief.” “I'm doing okay.” “Please, Michael. You tramped over rocks and through water helping me today. Let me help you.” Her eyes were dark-emerald with worry. He accepted the jar, touched by her concern. “I'll use it later tonight.” Hesitantly, he raised one hand and stroked a finger down her cheek. “Thanks.” Pocketing the crystal container, he opened the door and went silently into the night. ****

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Fifty yards away, the watcher lay concealed in the bushes along a weathered ridge of rock and dirt. The traitorous moonlight wouldn't reveal him as long as he remained still. Hell, he was good at waiting. He'd learned that lesson when he was ten, hunting rabbit or squirrel for the cook pot. The corps had sharpened his skills. He sighted through the night binoculars, watching Forest stroll across the porch, his limp more pronounced. That casual attitude didn't fool anyone, the watcher thought. Both Mr. Moneybags and the witch had somehow sensed his presence yesterday back above the cove. Forest sauntered off the porch and paused. His gaze swept the surrounding area, coming to rest on the spot where the watcher lay. Silently the watcher cursed as he froze every muscle. The rich bastard was damned good, he'd give Forest that. Finally, moneybags went around to the west side of the house and disappeared from view. The watcher slowly counted to fifty before easing backwards out of the brush in a combat crawl. Now that he knew where the witch lived, he'd come back when she was alone. Let Zuberi raise hell because the jerk was paying to have Forest followed. The Landolan could settle his old score with Forest, and the watcher would have his revenge against the elusive Ms. Starr. **** The next morning before dawn, Michael stepped off the porch and stood quietly to study the shadows cast by trees 29


against the fading stars. After keeping guard most of the night, he'd only slept a few hours. First, he examined the car, then made a wider circuit around the outside of the house and yard. His warrior's intuition said someone had prowled along the edges. At the farthest sweep, the beam from his flashlight revealed a partial handprint made within the last few hours. It looked as if someone lying prone had propped himself up for a better view of the house. Stifling the first, hot flood of anger, Michael flicked off the light and moved into the deeper black of the trees. He paused to listen. Nothing disturbed the quiet—no alarms from the pair of screech owls in their nearby nest, no break in the chirp of crickets and tree frogs. He switched on the light and followed the faint trail made by someone backing away from the lookout position. The trail disappeared into a ridge of hard, weathered rock. Gone for the time being, but not before Michael found one clear footprint, that of a tall, heavy man in combat boots. As he mulled over the few clues to the stranger's identity, Michael returned to the steps of the porch at the front of the house. In the east, the sky grew pearly-gray. The fragrance of night blooming jasmine still filled the air. Replaced by an air of peace, the indefinable sense of an intruder was gone. “Peace,” he murmured, testing the word on his tongue. How many years since he'd known peace?

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He squared his shoulders in a military stance and faced the sorrow that rode him. An image of three graves reminded him of a time he'd been selfish. Their deaths had been the price. No one will ever suffer for my dreams again, he silently vowed. Then he turned and mounted the stairs toward the one who held the key to the peace he desired, but could never claim. Summer sensed Michael's presence the moment he walked soundlessly through the door. Turning toward him, she paused to appreciate his appearance. Today he wore soft jeans that molded his strong legs, and a dark-blue polo shirt under his open, black bombardier jacket. The warm glow from her lamp sent shadows and golden highlights through his wavy hair. He was tall, broad shouldered, with an air of grim purpose that reminded her of a legendary guardian warrior. Recalling the watcher from the previous evening, she asked, “Did you see any sign of our mysterious observer?” “He hid in the grove of trees to the north last night, but he's gone.” Michael moved closer, his expression unreadable. “Sure you can't change your plans?” “We've already covered this. The answer is still no. I have to heal the breaks under the cove today.” She shrugged into her cream-colored wool sweater and picked up her canvas bag. “I'm ready.” “Your call.” Michael went out ahead of her onto the porch. Locking the door behind her, he clasped her elbow and hurried her down the shadowy path to the car. She glanced at 31


him and saw his gaze sweeping the area, always on the alert, guarding her. **** They drove in strained silence to a place on a plateau high above the ocean. The few stars in the velvet blue overhead began to dim as Michael turned off the dirt road and parked closer to the cove than he had the previous day. Spotting an opening between two trees at the edge of a grove of fir and cypress, Michael backed the Bronco into the space. The eastern sky was lighter as he studied the area around the SUV. “Wait here until I say it's okay,” he ordered. Stepping into the cool, predawn air, he made a careful inspection. Satisfied, he opened Summer's door. “All clear, but stick close.” “I will.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with purpose. “That is until I'm ready to do my job.” She pulled the strap of her canvas bag over one shoulder. “Let's go.” This time she walked ahead, toward a break in the cliffs. The dawn breeze, moist and clean from the vast Pacific Ocean, whispered around them and tossed her hair with invisible fingers. He watched the gentle sway of her hips, cursing himself for being distracted. They climbed down through a notch in the weathered gray and black rocks and loose stones until they reached a flat boulder jutting past the waves, just above the wash of the ocean. 32


Placing the bag to one side, Summer said, “Whatever happens next, please don't interfere. Promise?” “Will it be that dangerous?” She smiled faintly. “Not to me. You'll see.” He studied the amusement in her eyes. Reluctantly, he said, “I'll keep out of it.” “Thanks.” She stood slim and straight in the pearly light of false dawn, facing the ocean, and murmured something in a language he didn't recognize. A piercing whistle answered her. Three furry bodies streaked through the water toward the rock where she stood. Michael watched, amazed, as the sea otters, two adults and one youngster, faced Summer and chattered at her. Kneeling on the rock, she reached out to the friendly animals. The largest one came first. Summer stroked his fur. He chittered, then slipped away a short distance to float on his back, rocked by the wash of wavelets around the granite shelf. The other two came for their turn, dark brown shadows against the green depths. Summer ruffled, then smoothed their fur. They stretched like contented cats. She turned her head and smiled at him. “Come and meet my friends.” As he joined her, she faced the otter family. “This is Michael. He'll never harm you.” Three whiskered faces seemed to study him. “They really understand you,” he burst out. “Of course. They're smart little scamps, but that doesn't always keep them safe.” She reached up and touched his arm. “If you look at the male, you'll see a long scar across his 33


back. The local Wildlife Management Agent told me a poacher shot at the otter last year just before I arrived.” Michael felt a spurt of concern when he saw the slash of missing fur. “I'm glad the little guy survived.” “He almost didn't,” Summer said quietly. The three otters moved closer to where Michael stood and chattered at him. Astonished, he asked, “Are they talking to me?” “Yes, if it isn't too painful, crouch down and put your hand where they can reach it.” After scanning the area for the watcher, he knelt on one knee beside Summer. The three animals swam to the edge of the rock. First the male sniffed Michael's hand, then placed one paw on it. Michael was astounded as next the female, then the cub followed the male's example. When the otters turned and swam back to the deeper part of the rocky cove, he stood and stared in awe at the spot where they'd dived down out of sight. His gaze swung back to Summer. “I can't believe that just happened. You live in a different world. Thanks for inviting me into it this morning.” Standing, she laid her hand on his forearm. “They trusted you. Do you know how rare that is, especially for the male?” He shook his head. “A helluva lot more faith than I could show.” As they faced each other in the freshening breeze, the eastern sky changed to pink against the pearled blue of faded night. Summer sketched the outline of the cove with a graceful hand. “It's time for me to do my job. This little 34


section of the coast is out of balance. I'll try to restore that harmony.” Shouldering the strap of her canvas bag, she made her way back to the base of the cliff, walked north, and climbed through the tumble of rocks to a narrow crescent of sand. He turned to study the cliffs behind, cliffs that closed around two sides of the cove and pocket beach. Adrenaline raced through his system setting his senses on high alert. He didn't like the trapped feeling here, especially with an unknown person prowling along their trail. Worse, the roar of waves pounding against the rocks at both ends of the cove would mask the sound of someone approaching the top of the cliff or walking down the steep path. He swung back to watch Summer again, and realized his leg didn't pain him so much this morning. Another small miracle, thanks to her. Summer found a seat on a wedge of granite above the waterline. She didn't need to glance at Michael to know he was near, protecting her from outside interference. Removing her shoes, socks, and sweater, she piled them behind her on the dry rock, then paused to drink in the clean, moist scents of ocean winds and foam-swept sand. But underneath her delight in the earth's beauty was her dangerous awareness of Michael's masculinity. One of the otters whistled, the sound reminding her of her purpose. She pulled a silk-wrapped cylinder from her bag, tucked it under her belt, and barefoot, walked across the sand to where wavelets curled into foam at the edge of the water. 35


The moment the golden light of the sun appeared above the cliffs, she bent down, scooped up water in her hands, then straightened. Raising her hands, offering the liquid, she began her chant of praise to the sun as she let the symbol of life pour back into the ocean. Twice more, she lifted water and spilled it back into the mother of waters until the last glittering drops returned to the cold waves swirling around her feet. She tipped back her head, closed her eyes, and raised both hands, fingers spread. There was a dizzy moment of disorientation, then crackling heat raced through her blood. Power flowed into her like clear water into a crystal vessel. Now the healing energy could channel through her to cleanse the cove. Protectively, Michael moved closer to Summer and watched her unwrap a silver rod topped with a clear quartz crystal, tucking the silk scarf into one pocket. Her long, pale blonde hair fluttered like a banner in the early morning sunshine as she faced east pointing the slim rod. Quietly, she said, “Let knowledge and wisdom come.” Light glimmered in the crystal, and he wondered about its source. With fluid grace, she turned north and spoke in a firm voice. “Elements of earth, bring strength.” Green light shafted from the crystal. The land beneath them shuddered, setting off small landslides down the towering cliffs. 36


Worried about her safety, he took two strides toward her before stopping. He'd promised to guard her from interruption. That included him. Pointing the rod toward south, she called, “Elements of fire, bring courage.” Red and yellow flared from the tip and fell to the ground like streams of molten lava. Michael's pulse pounded in his throat as he wrestled with his need to go to her. Facing west, into the wind, she raised both hands and cried, “Elements of water, bring serenity and cleansing.” Blue fire erupted from the tip of the rod and splattered on the ground. For heart-stopping moments, Summer was hidden in a sapphire curtain of light. Ripples of azure light fanned out through the cove. As the liquid ribbons passed, the ocean water grew clear until Michael could see small fish darting after invisible food. Wind rushed through the cove. Whitecaps danced across the water. Waves curled onto the sand and washed around Summer's ankles. The sun stood clear above the cliffs in a flare of pure light. For a long minute, Summer closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she turned and smiled at Michael, her eyes the soft green of young plants. “The breaks are healed. The cove is free of stress and healthy again.” She carefully wrapped the silver and crystal wand in the red silk, then raised the slender bundle. “The ley-lines were a complex problem so I needed this staff to focus my energy.” 37


“You gave me some pretty tense moments.” Tense? Hell. Adrenaline pounded through his blood like rocket fuel. Summer walked over to sit on the wedge of granite near his feet, and tucked the wand into her bag. Blue light still danced in her hair. Yielding to temptation, he lifted a strand of hair to finger its silken texture. A jolt traveled up his arm and fizzed at the base of his skull. She swung around, her eyes dark with concern. “Are you all right? I should've warned you.” “No problem. Felt like static electricity.” He picked up her sweater and gave it to her. “Let's go. Time's running out. We're too vulnerable here.” A stray breeze brought Michael's clean, masculine scent to Summer. Desire quivered through her. For a desperate, joyous moment, she thought of throwing herself into his arms. She wanted to taste him, taste his power, taste his heat. With a deep breath, she forced herself to twist around and slip into her socks, shoes, and cream-colored sweater. “Ready,” she said briskly. Healing the broken lines had drained her energy, but she hid her weakness and reached for her canvas tote. Michael shouldered her bag. Together they climbed the steep path to the notch. There, he went ahead, moving with a tense alertness. She drank in the warmth of his protection as they scrambled up the trail littered with rocks. She felt drawn to him more than ever and struggled with the demands of her 38


gift and duties. Her earliest memories were of her mother saying gently, Remember, daughter, your gift is rare. Guard it well and pass it on to the next generation. The only way to pass on her unique abilities was by joining with a man endowed with paranormal gifts. Her foot slipped on a loose stone. More rocks slid out from under her, and she scrabbled for a place to hold on as a miniature landslide swept more of the trail away from her feet. “Hang on.” Michael caught her forearm in an iron grip, bracing her against the pull of sliding dirt and rocks. Closing her eyes to protect them from the rubble pelting her face, she curled her fingers partway around his arm. For endless moments, she was almost buried in the loose debris pouring around her. Dust rose in a choking cloud. Rocks cracked against each other, rebounded and rattled down the sharp drop-off. Michael's steely muscles under her fingers, his hand gripping her arm were her lifeline. Summer's heart pounded in her throat. A thin edge of panic threatened to leak through to the magnetic lines. Strengthening her mental walls, she endured the last of the landslide. Finally Michael could draw her up the slope to a place where she found a stable spot to set her feet. “Thank God, you were here.” Swallowing hard, she sat on the sloping trail and shook her hair back away from her face. “Damn straight.” Cautiously he moved down beside her, brushed the dirt away from her shoulders, and peered into her face. “You okay?” 39


“Yes, considering what happened.” “You're probably dry as—” “Don't say it. I know. Dry as dust.” With his knuckles, he brushed dirt from her cheek. “Soon as we get off this trail I'll dig out the water. We're too exposed here to stay longer.” “Yes. Let's go.” Cautiously, she eased to her feet. His hand hovered near her arm, ready to help, but giving her space to get up on her own. She smiled gratefully. “Thanks for treating me like an adult. My older brothers can't forget I'm their younger sister and ignore the fact that I'm grown up and living on my own.” “Once a little sister, always a little sister.” Michael's voice had a strange note in it. He turned away from Summer and continued up the last section of the trail. She followed, careful where she placed her feet in the weathered sedimentary stratum. **** After a brief stop for water, Summer and Michael reached the Bronco. As usual, he left her at a safe distance and checked out the sports utility vehicle for any signs of tampering before they both climbed in. He'd just turned the key in the ignition when she sensed an anger directed at her so strong, a chill flowed over her, and she felt the blood drain from her face. “What's wrong?” Michael laid his hand on her arm. “You've turned chalk-white.” “He's back. The watcher.” 40


“Which direction?” Michael's fingers tightened. “Don't worry. I won't leave you.” Even while he spoke, his head swiveled back and forth as he surveyed the surrounding area. Summer took a deep breath and forced herself to pinpoint the stalker's location. “East of where we came off the trail.” “Got it. We're out of here.” He pulled onto the dirt road, and soon reached the paved highway toward Cypress Cove. **** During the short drive to Summer's rental, Michael struggled with his attraction to her. Duty and the image of three graves reminded him to keep an emotional distance from her. As he turned into her driveway, some inner instinct prompted him to back out and park across the road. “Humor me and let me check things out first. Keep the doors locked. I'll leave the key in the ignition for you.” He slid out of the Bronco, pistol in hand. Cautiously, he moved toward her car. When he reached it, he saw writing on the windshield. Michael cursed at the message scrawled in black marker. He read, Say your prayers, witch. You're dead.

41


CHAPTER 3 Michael seethed with anger at this attack against Summer. He held his temper and made a thorough check for anything suspicious on the exterior of the Pontiac. When everything checked out, he tried to open the door so he could reach the hood release. Locked. He crossed the road and asked Summer if she had the car keys in her bag. Her eyes darkened with worry. “Is there a problem?” Mentally cursing, he said, “The watcher left a message for you. I want to make sure he didn't do anything to the engine.” “The keys are in the house.” Opening the door on her side, she got out with a determined expression on her face. “It's my car. I want to see what he said.” Michael decided to leave the Bronco where it was for the time being. At this point, the sooner he knew Summer was safe inside the house, the better. He scanned the area, then clasped Summer's right arm and hurried her across the narrow road. As they reached partial shelter beside the rear of her car, he stopped and attempted to prepare her for the wording. “The guy wrote a warning and referred to you as a witch.” She lifted her chin in determination. “He can call me anything he wants. It won't scare me off.” “Has anyone else called you a witch or sent you a message with that in it? It might be a clue to whoever's doing this.” 42


She shook her head, her hair rippling like pale gold in the sunlight. “No one's called me a witch in years. When I was a little girl and hadn't learned to be cautious, there were a few who said that. Her eyes turned dark with memories. “The last time anyone called me witch was years ago.” She squared her shoulders. “You said he warned me, too. Now, it sounds like you're trying to distract me with questions. I want to see the whole message.” Silently Michael escorted her to the front of the car. He watched her study the message, a myriad of expressions flitting across her face. Finally, she let out a breath and faced him. She gave a small laugh. “Sounds like he's mad at me.” “Mad?” Michael was at a loss for words. He ran an international company, chaired meetings for his company and numerous charities, had battled corporate sharks and waded through the hell of shadow wars. He thought he'd seen it all, but this petite woman's reaction stunned him. One thing he did know, Summer was too exposed to danger standing beside her glittering Firebird. “We'll discuss this inside.” He urged her toward the porch, walking close behind. Once inside the house, he watched her head for the kitchen. As he began his usual security round, he heard her call over her shoulder, “I'm starving. I'll start the coffee, then we can talk about the warning.” “There's nothing to discuss. After breakfast we'll pack up and leave. Where are your car keys? I want to check the engine.” 43


Summer whirled and faced him. “Not so fast, Michael. The keys are in the side table drawer, but I'm not ready to run because of what someone wrote on my car.” “As I said, we'll discuss this after breakfast.” Closing the door, he strode across the road to the Bronco, retrieved a powerful flashlight, and returned to the Pontiac. Cautiously, he unlocked and opened the car door. Clear so far. He popped the hood and went to check the engine and all the hoses. Everything looked normal, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Lying on the cement driveway, he eased under the front of the low-slung car and played the flashlight beam over every accessible part. He almost missed the sabotaged brake line, but an out-ofplace smear of some unknown substance alerted him. It only took a moment to determine someone had made a small pinhole and temporarily plugged it with chewing gum. Michael's blood ran cold. Summer would've lost her brakes about the time she hit the curves high above the ocean. Hell, the way she drove at top speed, she'd have gone airborne right over the edge. Cursing, he slid out from under the car, closed the hood, and returned to the house. Inside, he heard Summer humming as she worked in the kitchen. The enticing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, sizzling bacon, and something cinnamon baking, drew him. He didn't want to admit, even to himself, that Summer was the real attraction. But after the danger of the landslide, and the 44


threat from the watcher, he had to see her, be sure she was still okay. It wasn't logical, but then, logic got lost when he was near her. He paused at the kitchen entrance and studied her. Barefoot as usual, he thought. She'd taken off her sweater, and tied her hair back with a scarf. Now she was cracking eggs into a bowl. Smiling at him over her shoulder, she nodded at a mug of coffee steaming on the scrubbed-wood table. “There's something to warm you. Food will be ready in a few minutes.” “Thanks.” He took a quick drink, then studied his hands. “I'll wash up.” Stepping out of the small kitchen, he hung his jacket in the front closet and went into the bathroom to clean the grease of the car from his hands, pondering how to break the news to her about the damaged line. When he rejoined her, she was spooning golden mounds of scrambled eggs onto plates. Adding crisp bacon, she set the full dishes on floral placemats at the table, and motioned him to sit. She added a dish of muffins nestled in a cloth napkin, topped off the coffee mugs, then slid into the chair across from him. “Michael, eat first. Then when you're ready, tell me what's making you look so grim.” Startled, he gazed into her eyes. He'd learned to hide his emotions from most people, but she saw through him as if he were still a kid. 45


Nodding, he snagged a muffin, broke it open, and slathered on the butter. They ate in companionable silence. Carefully, he looked at her face and hands to assure himself she had really escaped injury when the trail gave way under her feet. If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never forget those heart-stopping moments when she'd begun to slide toward the cliff edge. “Okay, Mr. Forest, give it to me. What's making you look like the U.S. government just declared war on MFI?” “Mister, is it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “What happened to Michael?” “Michael's not a stuffed shirt.” She waggled her knife at him. “Right now you look like the IRS declared your company in violation of every regulation in the book.” He started to answer, but the flicker of worry in her eyes stopped him. Reaching across the table, he tucked a fly-away lock of hair behind her ear and said, “I admire your stalling technique, but it won't work.” Her shoulders slumped. She studied her plate, tracing the rim with one finger, before lifting her gaze to him again. “You're right. Guess I was stalling. It's a defense mechanism I developed three years ago after—” Never mind.” She seemed to shake away the effects of an unpleasant memory and straightened. Her body language showed she was ready to tackle what he said head on. “It's obvious you found another problem. Tell me. My family keeps trying to shelter me, but I'm not a hothouse type female. I'd rather deal with trouble head on.” 46


He had a brief image of her standing on the beach, water curling around her toes, holding the rod steadily overhead while red and yellow light flared from the crystal and flowed around her like lava. No, she was definitely not a hothouse flower. “You're right, I did find another problem.” As he explained the damage and possible consequences, Michael saw her fingers tighten around the handle of her coffee mug until her knuckles whitened. When he finished, she let out a long breath. “I'd say my car's not going anywhere until I have it towed to the garage.” Michael's appreciation of her went up another notch. How many women did he know who could take one emotional hit after another, and not break into sobs? He finished his coffee and stood. “I'll call the sheriff and report the tampering and threat.” “It's my car. I'll make the call. The sheriff's bound to have a lot of questions.” **** Summer had been correct. Sheriff Iverson spent a long time questioning her while he and his deputy studied the crime scene looking for clues. He took reports from Summer and Michael about the unknown person watching her and promised to have his deputies keep on the lookout for suspicious characters. When he finally released the car to her, she called the local garage, had the car hauled in on a flatbed truck, and arranged for the repairs. 47


By late afternoon, she and Michael were back at the beach house. Michael went outside to make another security sweep. Restless, Summer changed into the ragged tennies she wore to protect her feet from the rocky beach, pulled on a hooded sweatshirt against the autumn chill, and stepped out onto the porch. She paused, eyes closed, stretching her senses as she tried to detect the presence of the watcher. He wasn't anywhere nearby, so she strolled across the lawn and stepped down from the narrow cement strip separating grass from sand. A brisk wind beat in from the ocean. In the north, dark clouds piled up, and one arm of the stormy spiral moved in a slow, sweeping curve toward where she stood. Seagulls called their shrill cries as they wheeled and banked in circles above the waves. Their sleek bodies and outspread wings caught the sun's rays and flashed white against the gathering clouds. With her hands thrust into her pockets, Summer watched them peel off from formation, swoop down to pluck an unwary fish from the churning whitecaps, and lazily beat their way back up to join the flock. Soon they'd turn inland ahead of the storm, and glean more food dropped by careless humans on parking lots and playgrounds. She almost envied the birds their simple life. One thing for sure—her life was far from simple, at least not since Michael had come with an assignment from her sister's husband, 48


Hawk Adams, to follow Summer and protect her. Michael's presence had wakened her old, unattainable dreams of a loving husband, home, and children. Something made her look to the east. Michael strode toward her across the strip of sand between the cultivated yard and the rocky zone left by ocean waves. He spoke a few words into his cell phone, then closed it and slipped it into his pocket. His impassive expression gave her no clue to his thoughts, but she sensed he was strung taut with anger or worry. The wind ruffled his wavy hair and left a lock over his forehead. She had the wild impulse to smooth back the thick strand and ask him to share his worry. But he was a private person who guarded his thoughts. “Why didn't you wait for me?” he demanded, planting himself in front of her. “You're vulnerable out here.” Her introspective mood vanished, replaced by a hot surge of anger. “I'm vulnerable anytime, anywhere. But I can't live my life in hiding. You're my bodyguard, but even you can't dictate every move I make.” Blindly, she turned and raced away from him across the water-smoothed stones paralleling the waveline. Over the crunch of her footsteps she heard his behind her, matching her stride for stride. A handful of brown and white sandpipers busily searching the shoreline for food ran from her on slender legs, finally exploding into flight. Still she ran. Toward what? Away from what? She couldn't explain, even to herself. It was as if all the frustration she felt 49


when Michael was near her, the constant need to be in control of the magnetic lines deep within the earth, and the emotions prowling through her, had reached a point of overload. A sob caught in her chest, but she refused to let it out. Crying never solved anything, so she raced on, the thick layer of waterpolished rocks dragging at her feet with every step. Her hood fell off and her unbound hair caught the wind. She ran until a reef of black, jagged rocks rose to stop her. Then she spun on her heel and faced him, breathing heavily from the exercise. Halting a few steps away, he gazed at her as if assessing her mood. Then he shifted to a more casual stance and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Feel better?” “No,” she snapped. “That was one hell of a run. You plannin’ on doing another lap?” She eyed him, unable to read anything in his neutral tone. “Not today.” Moving closer, he nodded toward a dry pocket of sand piled against the rocky barrier. “Want to rest?” A rebellious part of her said to ignore him, but she suddenly realized his right leg must be aching from the run. With that sudden insight, she realized her anger seemed petty. “I'll relax if you join me.” Breathing hard, she settled in the sand with her back to the sun-warmed basalt. He dropped down beside her, draped a forearm across his bent left knee, and stretched out his right leg. 50


For a few minutes they sat silently, the warm, smooth rock behind them, a cool, ocean-crisp wind ruffling their clothes and hair, and the crash and swirl of the restless waves soothing her. A small plane flew overhead. The sound of its engine intruded on Summer's tenuous peace, and she sighed. Picking up a handful of sand, she let it trickle through her fingers as she watched the pattern develop. Maybe a design for her next sculpture? “I really don't know what triggered the run,” she said. “It was like something snapped, and I just had to—” “You had to do something, anything.” Michael massaged his right thigh, and Summer's stomach churned with remorse. She'd made him run. “Michael, I'm sorry—” Abruptly, he made a cutting gesture with one hand. “Don't apologize. You didn't cause my injury.” “But I made you run.” “Part of my job. Hawk knows about the old injury, but he also knows I won't let it slow me down in my assignment.” Assignment. Not personal. Darn, she felt deflated. “I was foolish to take off like that. It seemed that everything had piled up and I needed to blow the cobwebs out of my brain.” He turned his head and gazed at her. His brown eyes took on a warm light. “I don't know about cobwebs, but you've had a hellacious couple of days and can still make jokes.” “Better to smile than complain,” she said with a small laugh. 51


He stared at her, and the impact of his intense gaze woke a longing in her to know the touch of his firm, full lips on hers, the gentle rasp of his callused fingertips on her delicate skin. Anticipation danced in her blood. She only needed to lean forward, to close the narrow gap between them... As he rose, her dreams tumbled back to reality. Once more, he'd assumed his bodyguard persona—impassive, coiled and ready to explode into action to protect her. Sighing, she accepted his helping hand and stood. They started up the beach into the teeth of the cold wind. Again, they walked on the layer of water-polished rocks left by the retreating tide. By habit, she scanned the smooth pebbles. Gray granite, bloodstone, varieties of quartz from white to rose to clear, shiny black obsidian, and earth-toned agates. Spying the soft gleam of milky white, she plucked a satiny moonstone from the conglomerate of stones and held it up to study the internal striations in the translucent mineral. She offered it to Michael on her open palm. “Look, a moonstone. Good for stress and healing.” Placing it in his hand, she said, “Feel its smoothness. It's been ground and polished by the wave action for a long time. Who knows, one of the natives who fished here centuries ago may have touched it.” Michael turned the small stone over in his large hand, before dropping it into one pocket. “Thanks. I'll keep it as a souvenir of our jog on the beach.” **** 52


Three hundred miles to the south, the slender man seated in the living room of the Presidential suite overlooking a moonlit ocean studied the surveillance photos. “So Forest is playing bodyguard to this female artist?” “Yes, President Zuberi. That is what Cole reported.” “You have confirmed that they are the only people staying in the house?” “I personally checked the records and flew up there to verify the report.” “If you're wrong, Oliver...” Zuberi let the implied threat hang in the air and watched his secretary gulp and turn pale. “S...sir.” Trembling, the secretary bowed. “There is no one else residing with Ms. Starr and Mr. Forest.” Zuberi placed a finger below the photo of the Starr woman. “She's attractive in a soft way. You have issued orders to the team not to harm her more than necessary when they take Forest?” “As you said, Mr. President. If she does not witness the capture, she will not be touched. However, if it is necessary to prevent her from reporting the incident, she will be held at your mountain camp, awaiting your orders.” “My orders, yes,” the Landolan said softly. “Should it become necessary to hold her, she will deny me...nothing.”

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CHAPTER 4 Summer settled into bed, but sleep eluded her. Her mind turned over the day's events, always returning to her sensual response to Michael. He's not for you, she lectured herself. Switching on her bedside lamp, she studied the family photograph set on the nightstand. What would her parents say if she announced she loved Michael? That she wanted to marry him and bear his children? She knew it would be best to join with a man gifted with paranormal abilities and raised in arcane traditions. He could strengthen her when she healed the ley lines. They'd work side by side, and if she were lucky, their gifts would blend into that unique oneness that was both physical and mental. Now she was drawn to a man incredibly unique in his own way, but raised in the world's traditions. A man whose eyes were filled with secret pain and sorrow. A man who pushed through that pain to smile and protect her. Summer rolled over to her other side and curled up in a ball of tired frustration. How could she stand alone down the years to heal the ley lines? It was possible, but lonely. Wearily, she wondered do I have the courage or the right to go against tradition older than recorded history? Hers was a rare gift, seen only once in three generations. It had been drilled into her since birth that she had to choose a mate wisely so the gift would continue after her. 54


Even more, each time she touched the ley lines, she used her own energy. Too great a loss of that personal power could send her into a potentially fatal downward spiral. A mate, linked to psychic energy, would make her stronger. **** Summer had been asleep for an hour when Michael's cell phone rang. He grabbed it before the sound could waken her. “Call Anderson.” his friend, Hawk Adams’ voice came over the line. “Did he tell you why?” Michael glanced at the stock quotes on the screen of his laptop. Looked like someone was making a run at one of MFI's affiliates. “Naw. He's pretty closed mouth.” “Blake's a good attorney. I'll catch him after this call.” “Summer almost finished? Charity wants to know. Says something's wrong.” “Charity's correct. Summer's being stalked. I first spotted the guy yesterday. Today, he left a warning on her windshield and tampered with her brakes.” “Dammit. Get her out of there.” “I will tomorrow. She's asleep.” Michael heard a suspicious sound outside. “Trouble. Got to go.” He cut the connection, switched off the light, and standing to one side of the window, looked out. Nothing there. Gliding soundlessly down the hallway, he opened the door of Summer's room. A flash of lightning from the oncoming 55


storm illuminated her sleeping form. Curled on her side, she looked delicate and innocent in her lace and cotton nightgown. Her pale hair spilled around her back and shoulders in a shimmering cape. Taking care not to wake her, he pulled the rose pink blanket around her shoulders, smoothing it softly. A quick check assured him both windows were locked. Within moments, he eased out of the front door, locking it behind him. Drawing his weapon, he slipped through the night to where the sound had originated. Thorny bougainvillea branches lashed against one corner of the house, whipped by the storm winds. Over the noise of the gathering storm, Michael heard a muffled curse, a pause, then the scrape of metal on wood. Moving with caution around the corner, he saw a tall man who bore the muscled build of a wrestler, trying to jimmy the back door. Michael took two more steps when the faint odor of stale cigarette smoke warned him. He ducked and whirled in time to deflect a metal pipe aimed at his head. The heavy rod slammed into his right shoulder. The blow numbed his arm and he dropped the Sig Sauer. Cursing, the unshaven man raised the pipe again. Michael dove in low, taking the man down. At that moment, the clouds opened in a downpour. The ground quickly turned slippery. Two more attackers appeared out of the night and rushed him. He rolled to his feet, kicked the pipe under the sharp bougainvillea branches, and caught one bastard with a karate 56


chop to the side of the neck. The crook buckled into a sodden heap. Whirling, Michael saw a knife gleam in the fourth attacker's hand just as it sliced into his arm. He caught the attacker's wrist and quieted him with a fist. Dashing rainwater off his face, he swung around and saw the first crook force open the back door. Adrenaline spiked through his blood. He had to stop the bastard before he harmed Summer. Yanking a knife from his boot, Michael covered the distance in a rush. Suddenly, the huge man staggered backwards, hands over his face, screaming, “My eyes! Th’ bitch blinded me.” Sneezing uncontrollably, he fell off the rain-slick porch. The outside light flared on and Summer appeared in the doorway holding an empty pepper can in one hand and a frying pan in the other. As he jumped in front of her facing the attackers, Michael shouted, “Get back inside.” The man who'd swung the pipe got to his feet and wiped water from his face. “We'll get you next time, Forest,” he snarled. “Anytime, you bastard.” Michael held his knife at the ready. He felt the hot blood flowing from the wound in his arm, but put that on hold until Summer was out of danger. While Michael stood guard on the porch, one man helped the other two to their feet. Pipe man scooped up the Sig from the ground and the four disappeared around the side of the house. 57


Michael's muscles tensed with the need to chase the bastards, but Summer came first. “Close the door and jam a chair under the knob. I'll get their license plate number.” Cursing, he turned and raced after the attackers, recalling they'd worn gloves. That meant no fingerprints, unless one of them touched the pipe barehanded. He cleared the side of the house in time to see the men pile into a gray sedan. It swung onto the road as doors slammed. They'd covered the license plate with mud, but rain had revealed part of it. Memorizing the first number and three letters, he headed back to the house. As he reached the front porch, a wave of dizziness made him cling to one railing. Swearing, he struggled to clear his vision and clamped his hand around the slash in his forearm. Blood dripped between his fingers and mixed with the pounding rain. Summer, barefoot and wearing her robe, appeared beside him out of the storm. Easing a slender arm around his waist, she said, “Come on. Let's get inside.” Way to go, Forest, he thought in self-disgust as they mounted the wooden steps and crossed the porch. You're some damned lousy bodyguard. Summer shoved the door open, and fastened the lock behind them. She led him down the hallway to the bathroom, her hip brushing his with each step. He stifled a groan as his lower body tightened at the contact. “Are you all right?” she asked looking up into his face. 58


“No problem. He flipped on the bathroom light switch, sat on the closed toilet lid, and pressed a towel to his wounded arm “I'll get the first aid kit.” She hurried away. After a few moments, he moved the thick terry cloth to check. A small section of bone gleamed briefly, then blood hid it. Damn. It needed stitches. Mentally, he swore in eight languages. They had to leave before the crooks returned. “Here's the kit,” Summer announced, setting the metal box on the small counter. “Thanks. Leave it and get packed. I'm taking you to Hawk and Charity tonight.” “Wrong. I'm driving you to the hospital tonight. We can go back to Orange County tomorrow or the next day after the car is ready.” He caught her wrist to emphasize his point. “Those jerks will be back. Maybe in an hour or two. I want you long gone.” She pulled back and he released her. “Michael, first things first. You will go to Emergency and get your arm treated.” He recognized her stubborn expression. It was the same one he'd seen the times he'd tried to stop her from following a dangerous trail. “It's a deal.” “Good.” “Not so fast. It's a deal only if you change into something warm. We'll stop at the hospital on the way out of town.” “You're losing blood,” she protested.

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“Then move fast. Take what you have to. I'll send Linda back to get the rest. You'll have enough to stay with your sister a few days” “Who's Linda? And why would I stay with Charity? I have my own place.” “Linda's one of Hawk's agents. I figured you'd prefer a woman going through your things. Her brother, Dean, can drive up with her and get your car at the same time.” Summer draped a dry towel around his shoulders. “Michael, you didn't answer the rest of my question. I have too much to do to get ready for my show. I can't stay with Charity.” He half rose then settled back, pressing his hand against the wound. Tension filled the small room as he willed Summer to follow his plan. Shivering, she took a towel from the rack to wipe her face. Her hair fell in wet strands. “Okay, Forest, let's do something about that slash before it drips more blood on my clean floor.” He tried for a reasonable tone. “Summer, first get into dry clothes. I'll slap on a temporary bandage.” She wound a hand towel around her wet hair, then opened the metal box. “I'll do the bandaging, then we'll both change. Anything to get you to the doctor.” He held out his arm over the wash basin. “Do your damnedest.” Giving him a faint smile, she opened the bottle of medicinal peroxide. “Don't tempt me.” **** 60


After a stop at the local hospital emergency facility, Summer ignored Michael's protests and slid behind the steering wheel again to make the six hour drive down the coast to Hawk and Charity's home. Her sister and brother-in-law had welcomed them both in the predawn hours. Hawk had made wry comments about Michael slowing down, but Summer saw the quick look of concern cross Hawk's face as he hustled his friend off to one of the guest rooms. When she woke the next morning, Summer learned that Michael had returned to his home after telling Hawk to keep her with him and Charity. She ate breakfast with her sister and then insisted on loading the dishwasher. Finished, she joined Charity in the light-filled family room with its bank of windows on two walls and Hawk's worktable with carving tools set at one end. Six-month-old Alexander slept in his portable crib placed beside the bright Navajo rug near the couch. One chubby hand curled around the edge of the pale blue blanket his grandmother Starr had crocheted. His hair was the same raven's-wing black as his father's. He'd even inherited the high cheekbones and coppery skin of his father's Amerind ancestors. Her nephew had been born with his mother's gift of empathy. From the moment the nurse carried him to the nursery, he'd begun to fuss and cry with every discomfort felt by the other infants. 61


Hawk and Charity had insisted on Alex staying in her hospital room where they could shield his fragile emotions with their combined gifts. To this day, they maintained the protective barrier. Summer added another mental buffer, and recalled blurred scenes from her earliest childhood years—images of terror and hidden fire. Before she'd learned to control the ley lines, her mother and father had exhausted their combined abilities to safeguard her from the lethal power. Then Aunt Morgana had arrived to assume the responsibility, and to teach Summer how to protect herself. With a deliberate effort, Summer pushed aside memories of those difficult and painful lessons. That was all in the past. She gazed at her nephew who slept so peacefully. Would she ever have the joy of watching her own child? Probably not. Her heart ached. Summer shook off the pensive mood, settled on the couch, and studied her sister. Charity's rich brown hair, caught in a single braid down her back, gleamed in the sunlight. Her eyes were warm and serene. “Marriage and motherhood agree with you,” Summer said. “I don't remember when I've seen you so relaxed.” “Hawk is a wonderful husband and little Alex is a dear.” Charity's expression grew serious. She took Summer's hand. “Something's bothering you, sis, and it isn't the ley-line connection. That's in good control.” Summer grinned ruefully. “Trust you to get down to business.” 62


Her sister smiled back, unrepentant. “Hey, I gave you time to eat first and admire your nephew. If Daniel or Joshua were here, one of them would be probing the moment you crossed the threshold.” “Yes, and acting like being my older brothers gave them the right to snoop.” Charity laughed. “Boy, did they give Hawk the once over the first time they all met. Josh just watched, but big sister Jade had her own pointed questions.” “Family privilege. I did a little questioning myself.” Summer paused, recalling the first time she'd met her sister's fiancé. “You're so blessed to love a man with psychic gifts.” Her sister's eyes darkened with concern, and she squeezed Summer's hand. “What's making you hurt? Is it Michael?” Frowning, Summer tried to put a lock on her emotions, but Charity's empathic abilities were too strong. “I can't hide my feelings from you.” She brushed one hand over her face. “In spite of the fact that he's arrogant and bossy, I'm drawn to him more than any man I've ever known.” “Does he feel the same way?” “He thinks I'm flighty and stubborn.” Humor glinted in Charity's eyes. “The stubborn part sounds familiar. Dad used to say you should've been born under the sign of Taurus the bull.” “Well, what did Michael expect when he ordered me not to go down a trail he thought was unsafe, and I went anyway?” “Did you explain you're part mountain goat when it comes to following the breaks in a ley line?” 63


Summer shook her head. “It doesn't matter. It's better to let him keep his opinion.” She studied the sunlit room with its baskets of ferns and philodendrons. A Navajo blanket, woven by Hawk's great aunt many years earlier, was folded at one end of the couch. The mahogany coffee table held a crystal bowl of roses and sweet peas. Beside the bowl sat a carving of Charity that Hawk had made before they'd married. Every place Summer looked spoke of home and family and love. Charity cleared her throat, and Summer looked around startled. “Summer, you said you're drawn to Michael more than any other man. I know he's a fine person in spite of his bossiness with you, which, by the way, reminds me of the way Hawk acted when we first met.” Smiling tenderly, she stroked the carving. “Have you thought about telling Michael how you feel?” “I can't let him know. Nothing can come of any attachment between us. You of all people understand the obligations imposed by being gifted.” “Yes.” Reassurance flowed from that one word. “Your gift is more rare and even more demanding than mine.” Summer brushed a hand over her face. “How could I forget? I've had that drilled into me since my first memories. Even Aunt Morgana, as sweet as she is, gives me little pep talks about my obligation to keep the gift alive by passing it on.” 64


Restless, Summer stood and crossed the cream tiles and bright rugs to the windows. She gazed out at the ocean sparkling in the morning sunshine. Pacific Ocean, she thought, but it didn't offer her any peace. Pressing one hand on the cool glass, she recalled her sister's nighttime wedding in the gazebo overlooking the ocean, a year and a half earlier. She turned and gave Charity a wistful smile. “You know I met Michael the evening you and Hawk were married. I tried to tell myself he'd made such an impression on me because of the romantic circumstances. God knows I've ignored any possible connection between us since that night. Then—” “Then I asked Hawk to send Michael to guard you.” “That was one time you didn't know how I felt.” “I fought my feelings for Hawk, too, when we first met.” “He was a danger to you because he opened your gifts and made them stronger.” “Only at first.” Charity joined Summer in front of the window and touched her cheek. “In the end, Hawk became my mental and emotional shield.” “That's one impossible hurdle between Michael and me. My gift could kill him. What if he got too close when I was working the ley lines? A backlash could burn him where he stood.” Bowing her head, Summer pressed two fingers against her forehead, struggling with the wash of emotions. Charity murmured, “I'll check on Alex.” Summer welcomed her sister's sensitivity in giving her time to regain her composure. 65


When she had captured a small measure of calm, she returned to the couch where her sister had already settled. Charity said quietly, “Don't let one event when you were nine years old color the rest of your life.” “I can't help it. Look what happened to Cameron when he stepped into the circle of fire.” Summer had a sudden image of her then thirteen year-old cousin, his freckled face twisted in anger and pain, shouting accusations at her. Gesturing impatiently, Charity said, “He was frightened more than he was hurt.” “That doesn't change the fact that he was burned in the backlash.” Charity touched the old scar on Summer's arm. “He was only singed. You're the one who was really injured when you drew the fire to yourself to protect him.” Summer tried to shrug off the compliment. Fourteen years later, she was still haunted by lingering guilt. “Sis, you're radiating enough self-condemnation to knock me over. Cam's true ability was to move things with his mind. He wanted to control the ley lines, too. He was jealous that you had the gift and he didn't.” Her fingers tightened on Summer's arm. “When Cam crossed into the fire ring, he put your life in danger.” Summer shook her head in denial. “He didn't know that.” “Yes he did, according to Aunt Morgana. He ran screaming to her for help and blurted out the whole story.” “Now I remember.” Summer's heart filled with relief as she recaptured another memory she'd lost three years earlier. 66


Charity nodded in satisfaction. “Now you recall what she said, and how he told you he was sorry the next day.” “Yes. We were becoming friends again when his parents moved overseas.” Suddenly she regained another scrap of memory. Cameron, grown into adulthood, his red hair tamed to a darker shade, stood beside her bed clasping her hand and willing more strength into her body. “Didn't Cameron come to see me in the hospital?” “He flew in from Scotland as soon as he heard about the attack. Daniel and Josh practically sat on him to prevent him from rushing out to find the creep.” Painful images of what had put her in that bed filled her mind. Summer raised a hand to stop her sister's flow of words. “Let's change the subject. That's all in the past.” She rubbed the puckered skin. “I learned the dangers of ley lines the hard way, but now I can control my gifts.” Charity touched the old scar with gentle fingers. “Why won't you let me completely heal this?” Summer drew her hand away. “No. I don't want you to spend your energy on me, especially with another child on the way.” Charity made a face. “You peeked.” “Didn't have to.” Summer smiled at her sister. “You and Hawk have that special look about both of you when you're in the same room.” Spreading her hands protectively over her abdomen, Charity said, “Our second child will be born in May.” 67


“A spring baby.” Touching her sister's hand, Summer wondered if she'd ever know the thrill of carrying her own infant. Not if she didn't bond with a man strong enough to help protect their child from the dangers of being psychic. **** Two days later, Summer, dressed in cotton shorts and a matching blue top, stood on the long porch, staring out at her property. She loved the Early California style home nestled in a coastal range canyon. Her handful of acres boasted a rare natural spring near the house. It welled up in a clear pool and tumbled away in a series of miniature waterfalls. Wild animals and birds came to drink the cool water. She'd spent hours studying them, often finding the next subject for her sculpture. The first owners had left the native California live oak and sycamore trees in place on the five acres. They'd planted shade and fruit trees near the sprawling house, including a wonderful avocado tree that provided Summer and visiting raccoons with rich fruit. Wandering barefoot onto the lush front lawn, she inhaled the fresh scent of grass and country-fresh air and watched a hummingbird sip nectar from the honeysuckle rambling over the shoulder-high stonewall surrounding the yard. Her brother-in-law, Hawk, had been after her to extend the wall's height and make the rest of the property more secure. So far, she'd resisted because of the cost. The down payment on the house had depleted her savings account, but it was worth 68


every penny. She needed not only the beauty of the land, but the isolation it offered. Suddenly, the skin between her shoulder blades prickled. Anxious, she looked around. What if the watcher discovered where I live? After all, the person who'd tampered with her car had found her at Cypress Cove. For the first time in the year she'd lived here, she felt exposed, vulnerable. She froze, looking for signs of an intruder. A flock of brown and white sparrows jockeyed for position at two of the bird feeders. A pair of gray mourning doves and a blue and gray scrub jay searched the grass for food. Overhead, the resident mockingbird chased away a much larger crow. Nothing unusual disturbed the tranquil air. After another moment she relaxed. This would be a good time to dig out some of the fine-grained alluvial clay near the narrow creek. Minutes later, wearing her worn tennis shoes and armed with a stoneware pitcher, a bucket, and short-handled shovel, she located the site. First she removed the overburden of grass and leaves, then scooped clay into the plastic pail, delighting in the rich aroma of damp soil. After replacing the topsoil cover, she knelt in the wild grass beside the flowing stream. Adding pitcher after pitcher of water to the clay, she mixed it with her hands. As she worked, a warm breeze swirled through the trees. Sunlight and shade alternately warmed and cooled her bare arms and legs. 69


Deep beneath her, the earth pulsed and murmured. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the gentle rhythms of land and water and wind. This was her heritage, her responsibility, her joy. She washed the clay from her fingers in the swift-running stream, then lifted two handfuls of water in offering. Her whole being filled with a primal connection too deep for words as she spilled the clear liquid onto the loamy earth. Michael paused a short distance away. He'd come intending to talk some sense into her for her own safety. Instead, he was riveted by the picture Summer made as she knelt beside the tumbling stream. Her silvery blonde hair was worked into a single braid down her back. Wavy strands had escaped and framed her face. With her eyes closed and her head tipped back, she held her cupped hands outstretched like a goddess gathering the blessings of earth and sunlight. But a smear of mud along one cheek made her look adorably human. Silently cursing the attraction that spiraled through him, he moved closer until he was a few steps behind her. “Making mud pies?” She jumped to her feet with the bucket and whirled, poised to throw the contents at him. In that brief moment, he saw the fear in her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she said in a tight voice. “Came looking for you when I heard you weren't at Hawk's.”

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Setting the pail on the ground, she propped her hands on her hips. “So you can yell at me for making my own decisions?” “You're too damned vulnerable here.” His voice hardened ruthlessly. “What if the stalker had slipped up close to you like I just did?” Her chin came up defiantly. “He would've had a faceful of mud followed by the pail and the pitcher.” “Think so?” In one stride, he closed the gap between them and took her down onto the wild grass at the edge of the stream, pinning her legs and arms. She heaved and twisted frantically. “Let me go!” she screamed. The blood drained from her face. Swinging her head from side to side, she tried to sink her teeth into his arm, his chest, anyplace she could get to him. “Dammit, Summer, stay still.” Dodging her mouth, he countered her maneuvers easily, using his weight, strength, and years of unarmed combat. He knew a hundred deadly moves, but was hard-pressed to hold her without causing her pain. What the hell? Did she think she was fighting for her life? “Summer, stop struggling.” “Bastard,” she said through gritted teeth and went still. He looked down into her white face and taut expression. Her skin was damp with perspiration. She breathed in quick, shaky breaths. Damn. Why had she gone into panic mode? 71


Too aware of her breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs cradling him intimately, he carefully eased off and knelt beside her, offering his hand. “Give me a minute,” she said on a high, breathless note. “It isn't every day I get...attacked.” Her voice wavered on the last note. She closed her eyes as if trying to shut him out. “Hell, did I hurt you?” She shook her head, then looked up at him. “I suppose that was an object lesson to prove to me I'm helpless?” “Yeah.” Worried because she hadn't tried to get up, he took a handkerchief out of his pocket, reached past her to dip it into the swift-moving water, and held out the wet square. “Want to wipe your face?” She eased to a sitting position, flinching away when he once more held out his hand. With a low “thank you,” she took the handkerchief and ran it over her face. He closed his hand into a fist to keep from touching her cheek in apology. One look at her white, compressed lips, her irises dilated in fear, the tremor in her fingers, told him that right now she was running on nerves. He didn't want to do anything to upset her tenuous hold on composure. That included not questioning her about her extreme reaction. Michael stood and waited for the muscles in his right leg to stop knotting. There was no use cursing what couldn't be helped. Feo and company had done their damnedest, but they hadn't broken him. He wouldn't let the unwelcome souvenir of those unspeakable days and nights undermine him now. 72


The back of his neck felt twitchy. A familiar chill worked down his spine. Was someone, besides Kadar, out there watching him and Summer? Turning slowly, he scanned the area, paying particular attention to the thick growth beyond the fire break. When he'd stopped to speak with Kadar before continuing on to the house, his friend had made a wry comment about the open area stopping fire, but offering a clear line of sight for gunfire. At least Michael knew Summer was protected with Kadar on duty. A rustling sound drew his attention back to Summer as she got to her feet. He watched her closely, ready to help. Brushing off her shorts, she muttered something about a big ape and bossy. Damn, she was one game lady. When he saw she was steady, he asked, “You ready to tell me what was so important you risked a run-in with the stalker to come back here?” “This is my home.” Her tone held a cool note. “Not good enough, Summer. That bastard could get to you too easily. There are no other houses around.” “I know I'm isolated out here, and I'm extra careful.” She folded her arms. “Hawk's agents installed a security system when I first moved in. I check doors and windows before I go to bed. The telephones in the house and workshop have 911 on speed dial. You've warned me. From now on, I'll be more cautious.” 73


Nothing he said had made a dent in her determination. He should walk away, he thought, and leave the problem up to Hawk and Charity. After all, they were Ms. Obstinate's family. “If you won't stay at Hawk's place, how about coming to my house. My housekeeper, Brigid, would enjoy having someone to fuss over.” Where in the hell had that come from? Summer tilted her head and frowned at him. “You just won't give up, will you?” Suddenly, her gaze lifted and she studied the ridge behind him to his left. “What is it?” He spun on one heel and put himself between her and possible danger, searching the high tree and brush covered section. Behind him, she said, “I thought someone was watching us.” Probably Kadar. Michael took out his cell phone and punched in his friend's number. Kadar answered him on the first buzz. Switching to Katal, the language of Kadar's father, Michael asked his position and suggested he check out the ridge. He listened to his friend's quick acknowledgement, then disconnected and dropped the phone back into his pocket. “Is there a problem?” Summer asked. “Just a precaution.” “I couldn't help overhearing you. How many language do you speak?” “Eight.” He gestured to the pail half-filled with mud. “Does that go to the house?” 74


She gave him a faint smile. “I'll get it later. Come on up to the workshop. I'll show you why I had to return home as soon as possible.” Reaching down, he gripped the handle. “Save yourself a trip. Show me where to leave this.” “Suit yourself.” She peered behind him. “I don't see your car. Did someone bring you?” “I parked down around the curve. Didn't want to alarm you by having a strange car drive up to the house.” He gave her a rueful look. “So much for not frightening you.” “Guess I'm kind of jumpy.” He strolled up the path beside her, taking in the charm of the tile-roofed, Spanish style house and the gardens spilling over with color. “Great place you've got here.” She chuckled. “I love it. Only twenty-nine more years of payments and it'll be mine, free and clear.” “When you get married down the line, your husband may want to live somewhere else.” Her smile faded. “I won't have to worry about that. Who'd want to marry someone with my weird gifts? I learned that lesson in high school and the university. Once the guys heard the rumors about my special abilities, they couldn't backpedal fast enough.” He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She faced him, her eyes filled with questions. “Don't sell yourself short, Summer. Any man with half a brain would be happy to claim you.” She gave him a yeah, sure look and turned toward a smaller building connected to the house by a latticed 75


breezeway. Pink and yellow climbing roses twined up the narrow wooden strips filling the air with heady perfume. Following her, he cursed himself for dragging up memories that had caused the cynical expression in her eyes. She stopped beside the small building. “This is my workshop. You can leave the bucket here. I have to scoop out any twigs or leaves before I pour it through a sieve.” Relieved by the change of subject, he set the bucket on the flagstone work area. “Do you always dig out and mix your own clay?” “I get my clay from a lot of different sources. I'll prepare this mixture to use as a glaze.” “Why go to all that trouble?” “It's a low firing clay, ideal for glazing biscuit work.” “Biscuit work?” He grinned. “Kind of hard on the teeth, isn't it?” A slow smile curved her lips. “Only if you're into biting pottery. Want to take a look?” “I've never seen where an artist works. Lead on.” Her slender fingers danced across the numeric pad, entering a code. She opened a plate beside the pad, pressed her hand against the glowing surface, and the light below the reader switched from red to green. “Looks like the system Hawk has at his home.” “My sister's husband insisted. When I learned what the whole package cost, I tried to talk him into something less pricey. He wouldn't budge. Said I was family and that was that.” She opened the door. “Sounds like Hawk. Family's important to him.” 76


Michael started to follow her, but the back of his neck prickled. Was the watcher out there on the shrub and tree covered slopes? He knew Kadar was on the prowl, but the surrounding canyons and ridges offered a hundred places to hide. Casually, Michael turned around. He dipped his hands into his pockets and scanned the area. It all seemed normal, but the itchy feeling persisted. Good thing Hawk had set a guard in place since Summer's return from Cypress Cove. “Did you want to see these?” Summer's voice floated out from the workshop. “Coming.” Making a mental note to do a little reconnaissance himself, he entered the building. **** The watcher froze in the chaparral. That had been too damned close. Forest had almost caught him. Jared scanned the area one more time, then lowered the powerful binoculars. First, the blonde bastard had shown up before dawn yesterday and kept guard all day. Today it was a black haired guy who moved like a deadly shadow. Fumbling in his pocket, Jared Cole took out a wrinkled photograph. He studied the old picture of Bill intently even though it had long ago been engraved in his mind. “Little brother,” he whispered. “You'll have your revenge. I promise.” Collecting his rifle and binoculars, he slipped away, just as he'd learned years ago in the commandos. To hell with all the guards. When the time was right, the witch would die. 77


CHAPTER 5 Summer switched off the exhaust fan she'd left on to clear out any leftover fumes from the glazing process. She watched Michael step out of the bright morning sunshine into her workshop, her sanctuary. A glance around the room assured her everything was in place, but she avoided looking at the kiln. It held the key to her fragile new dreams. “Nice set-up you have.” Michael strolled around the room, past the kick wheel, the storage area with its sealed containers, and the heavy worktable under cool, fluorescent lights. She had no doubt he could now give an itemized description of her workplace. Pausing at the shelves of drying vases, bowls, and sculptures, he touched the slender neck of a biscuit-stage vase. “You've been busy the last two days. Is this why you were so hell-bent to return to your place?” She flipped her long braid back over her shoulder. “It's how I earn my living.” “Is it worth putting yourself at risk? Hawk and Charity would—” “I'm not a child and I won't ask them for money when I have the ability to support myself.” He took a deliberate step toward her, but she stood her ground. Living with older brothers had taught her not to be easily intimidated. 78


“Michael, I already promised to be more cautious. Until you arrived today, I haven't seen anyone around since I came back.” Unconsciously, she rubbed her wrist where he'd gripped her to hold her arms on the ground. He made a disgusted sound and took her hand, tracing the bruised imprint of his fingers. “Damn, I tried to be careful. Your skin is so delicate. I should be shot for this.” Her breath hitched at the tender way his callused fingertip slipped across her pulse. His eyes, as deep and warm as the burnished surface of a sculptured bronze warrior in the Huntington Museum, were focused on her. “Where else do you hurt?” he demanded. “I'm fine. Don't beat yourself up over what happened. I just lost my head when you...came at me.” He said something harsh in a language she didn't know. Suddenly she recalled the night he'd fought off the men at Cypress Cove. “What about you? Three nights ago your arm was slashed.” She touched the back of his hand, afraid to accidentally press on the place where he'd been wounded. “It's no big deal.” She eyed him. Just like the men in her family, afraid to admit to any hurt. She thought of his permanent limp and the way he'd followed her over rough trails. Maybe a knife cut was no big deal compared to that. “So this is where you work your magic with clay and heat and glaze.” “It sounds like you've pounded clay, too.” 79


He shrugged. “No. After I bought Winter Dreams, I read up on the process of turning clay into beauty.” “Turning clay into beauty,” she mused aloud. “A good description.” Involuntarily, she looked toward the kiln. Had the key pieces come through intact? “Where do you keep the finished work? In your house?” “A few, mostly things like a couple of casserole dishes, some cups, saucers, and plates I made for my use, a couple of vases. The rest are in my storage room over there.” She gestured toward the locked door at the end of the room opposite the patio. “I'll give you a guided tour later, if you want.” “Anytime.” He dipped his hands into his pockets and favored her with a smile that set her pulse racing. Reminding herself of the barriers between them, she turned toward the kiln and read the pyrometer. It was safe to open the kiln. No more excuses. “Summer? What's bothering you?” She whipped around at his voice, her French braid thumping against the back of her shoulder. “Nothing's wrong. Why?” “You're frowning.” Michael smoothed his fingers across her forehead. Her pulse danced another jig. This was ridiculous. She was twenty-nine, not a teenager. She licked her lips and saw a quick flare of heat in his eyes. “I don't know what I'll find when I open the kiln.” “Only one way to get to the bottom line.” 80


She sighed. “I know. Open the door and look. It's just that there's always the possibility the glaze didn't melt and spread evenly, or it's pinholed, or maybe the new glaze I mixed didn't give me the color I wanted. A dozen different things could go wrong to affect the quality of the work right up to an actual crack or break.” She traced aimless circles with her fingers on the table top, realized what she was doing, and stopped. “The charity auction and ball, and the exhibit in Laguna, will be the first time in three years I'll have a public showing of my work. Everything has to be perfect. “Just open the kiln. Shorten the agony.” Their gazes met. “I dare you,” he said. “A dare, hmm?” Without another word, she went to the chest-high, round, commercial kiln, turned the handle and opened the heavy lid. Inside, perched on firing stilts on the top shelf, were three main pieces. She lifted out the first one, a delicate sculpture of a mermaid curved around slender spires of staghorn coral, and set it on the table. “So far, so good,” she murmured, examining the work. The mermaid's hand, holding a wavy strand of iridescent black hair away from her face, had retained its skin tones without any of the hair color bleeding across. Moving around to another vantage point, Summer scanned the blue-green tail blending into a lighter shade at the mermaid's waist and the pearly-pink skin tones. No flaws. “That's a beauty,” Michael's voice held a note of admiration. “Is it for your gallery exhibition?” 81


Summer looked up at him, thrilled by his reaction to the sculpture. “No, it'll be in the charity auction next week.” “I'll watch for it.” He let his gaze hold hers. “You have an escort for the ball?” “I'm going with Charity and Hawk.” “I'll pick you up and save them the drive out here.” She hesitated. Here was a chance to be with Michael. On the other hand, she'd made a promise. “Thanks for the offer, but I already accepted Charity's invitation.” “We'll see,” he murmured. What was on his mind? Summer lifted out the next piece, a wide, pale blue bowl with a scalloped edge. Before the last firing, she'd painted the raised dolphins playing in the ocean, gray and white, and embellished the cobalt blue waves with a mixture of silver and platinum to highlight the curving crests. “Another winner,” Michael said. “Is that for the exhibit, and can I buy it now?” “Like the mermaid, it's promised for the Rising Stars in Art auction.” Michael gazed at the bowl, studying it from different angles. “It should bring in a nice haul for the fund. How do you get the raised effect?” Her heart swelled with pleasure at Michael's appreciation of her work. “It's called moriage, which means to pile up. That pretty much describes the technique. I added an extra layer of clay to form the dolphins and waves, then trailed on a line 82


of clay for the raised details in the greenware. It's an ancient method.” “You also did the painting.” “Yes, after the first firing.” “A real piece of art. Whoever buys that will treasure it.” Summer knew she'd cherish his compliment long after they parted. Her family often praised her work, but coming from Michael, the words sounded sweeter. She shook herself. Snap out of it. The third piece, a slender vase in bleeding, jeweled colors, joined the others on the table. “Do you have many more pieces in the next level?” “Just one.” Summer gathered the kiln furniture, set the tripods and posts aside, and lifted the shelf slowly so the columns that supported it wouldn't fall against the finished porcelain on the bottom level. One of the supporting posts wobbled. She snatched it out of the kiln, her heart pounding. What if she'd tapped it against the fragile feathers? “I can't look,” she muttered. “Can't look at what?” Michael squeezed her shoulder. “Everything else is okay.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “The Firebird. It's the only sculpture on the bottom. What if I damaged it?” “Want me to check?” “Please.” Her anxiety rose another notch. “Lift it out and put it on the table.” As Michael reached in, he gave a low whistle. Her stomach fluttered. “Is it that bad?” 83


“No.” Drawing the fired piece straight up, he set it gently on the table. “It's that good.” Barely breathing, she studied the crimson bird. Over a foot high, its wings were caught in a powerful down sweep as it rose from the endlessly burning flames. A luxuriant golden plume trailed from the top of its delicate head. Gold glittered in its eyes and feathered along the edges of the wings and tail. She exhaled in relief. “No chips or cracks, and the gold stayed in place. The gallery owner will be pleased.” “He should reserve a room just to display this.” Michael caressed one long, crimson tail feather. “Every other statue will pale in comparison.” Michael looked from the stunning sculpture to the equally stunning artist. Unconsciously, he fingered the frozen flames, recalling his own ordeal by fire—one of the many tortures used by señor Feo years earlier. In that living nightmare, Michael thought darkly, he'd been totally helpless, strung up by chains, and held in Feo's fortress deep in the rain forest. “Michael?” Summer's gentle voice had the tone of someone who'd asked a question several times. He searched his memory. She'd offered a cold drink. “Thanks. I'll have the iced tea.” “Sugar? Lemon?” “Lemon.”

84


She moved to a small refrigerator set under one window, took out two chilled glasses, a tray of ice cubes, and a pitcher of tea. While Summer dropped ice into the frosty glasses and poured in the tea, Michael stroked the fantastic bird soaring toward freedom. He recalled the first, precious drink of water from a metal canteen after his rescue from Feo's pit by Hawk and Quinn. Shaking off the memory, he watched Summer press a slice of lemon on the rim of each glass. She smiled at him. “Let's take these outside.” She nodded toward a sliding glass door. Beyond the window was a covered patio with a table, white plastic chairs, and a potter's wheel to one side. Carrying his drink, he opened the door for her and followed her out into air perfumed by tubs of mixed flowers. “You're frowning.” She commented, sitting forward in her chair. “Is the tea too weak or too strong?” “Tea's fine. It's that sliding door. Makes you vulnerable.” “I drop a rod in the track when I lock up.” Summer leaned back watching him with a calm expression. “Not good enough. You should keep the rod in all the time until you're ready to go out.” “You can't tell me—” Abruptly, she stopped and pursed her lips, frowning. For a few strained minutes she didn't speak. Michael waited. He was good at that, he thought. A fresh breeze skimmed down the slope, stirring the fine hairs framing her face. It swirled through the shaded patio 85


blending the fragrant spices from the mountains with flowers in Summer's yard. She sighed and gave him a half smile. “You're right about the sliding door. I'll keep the rod in.” “Good.” He drained his iced tea and stood. “I have an appointment. See you later.” Summer watched him walk across the sloping lawn to the driveway, through the open gate, and finally around the bend until he was hidden by the tall cottonwoods. Why did he stir her more than any man she'd ever known? Gathering the glasses, she went into the workroom and set them on one end of the worktable, ready to take up to the house later. The firebird drew her like heat on a cold winter night. She had a clear image of Michael's strong hands lifting the fragile porcelain bird from the kiln and placing it carefully on the table. She'd watched his powerful fingers brush across the delicate wing feathers and trace the curling flames. He'd seemed lost in dark, painful memories. “Michael,” she murmured, touching one crimson ceramic wingtip. What horrors did you see? Something made her wrap both hands around the flames rising from the base. Suddenly dizzy, she braced the side of each wrist on the solid table top. Another wave of disorientation sent her to her knees, still clutching the everburning, cold flames. The rock-walled room stretched away into shadows. The only light came from a source behind her and the fire burning beneath thick metal rods set across a black iron brazier. 86


Overhead, massive beams pressed down, trapping the humid air. She smelled the musk of a man's sweat. Michael. Not with the usual underlying freshness of soap, but with an acrid odor of burnt flesh. No! God, no. Turning to the right, she saw him naked, hands and arms stretched over his head, suspended by chains from a beam. Metal cuffs circled his ankles, spread his legs apart, and fastened his feet to the rock floor. His eyes were closed, head slumped forward. His muscled chest, abdomen, and legs were crisscrossed by wide, seared lines. Summer struggled to go to him, find a way to release him, but she was as much a prisoner in her vision as he was in the chains. A smooth, accented male voice came from behind her. “Ah, señor Forest. Did you enjoy your little rest?” Michael raised his head and looked toward the source of the voice. A cool smile edged his lips. “The accommodations leave much to be desired, mister Ugly. I suggest you discharge your manager here at the Fleabag Hotel.” “So you still defy me? When will you learn cooperation is the only way out?” “Bullshit.” “Señor Forest, I am shocked by your crude language. Another lesson is in order. I shall enjoy this cold refreshment and contemplate the targets. Perhaps your nipples? Your...more vulnerable penis?” Summer heard the sound of ice cubes clicking in a glass and the gurgle of liquid poured over the ice. 87


Suddenly, her throat grew dry. She choked. Her fevered body ached for life-giving water. Not her body aching— Michael's. With her a silent witness to his thoughts, Michael fought the vicious hallucination of a rainbowed waterfall. It leaped into pine-scented air, then tumbled down to a mountain pool. He stood in water up to his chest and drank handfuls of pure cold water. He smothered a groan before it erupted. There was no way in hell he'd give señor Feo the pleasure of hearing his pain. That waterfall and misted pool were thousands of miles away. He was here, in the Brazilian rain forest, with no way out but death. **** Gradually, Summer became aware of the hard floor under her knees. Her shoulders ached. The edge of the table dug into her forearms, and her forehead rested against one table leg. Her fingers were frozen around the firebird statue. She forced them to open, and carefully drew them away. At first, her arms refused to move. Every movement sent throbbing pain through her shoulders. It seemed like hours before she finally brought her hands all the way down. Then she could only endure the agony with the renewed rush of blood in her arteries and veins. She sat, her spine propped against one leg of the table. The vision haunted her. She'd never had one, although most of the other family members had that gift. 88


Gift. She shuddered. Her first experience had been almost too much to endure. “Don't think about it,” she murmured, resting the back of her head on the sturdy wooden leg. Exhausted, she dozed where she sat. As she drifted into sleep, another vision formed. Michael sat at a massive mahogany desk, studying a sheaf of papers. Sunlight streamed in through the open antique gold drapes and glowed in his rich, brown hair. Frowning, he turned to the computer placed at an angle to his desk and scrutinized the screen. As Summer watched, a formless shadow, devoid of all light, gathered behind him and rose to the ceiling. She sensed the evil in that darkness and tried to warn Michael, but she couldn't make a sound. Stricken by nameless horror, she saw the dark evil relentlessly close around him, blotting Michael from sight. Summer woke with a muffled scream and scrambled to her feet. She had to call Michael and warn him before it was too late. His card was at the house, tucked away in her purse upstairs. It'd be faster to call her brother-in-law. Hawk could contact Michael and at the same time send someone to protect him. With her heart pounding in her throat, she lifted the portable handset to punch in the number. No dial tone. She pressed the talk button several times. Nothing. The line was dead. 89


CHAPTER 6 Michael guided his Mercedes toward the freeway entrance a few blocks away. It wasn't unusual to have an appointment with his attorney at home. Anderson often came there instead of Michael's office at the Forest Tower. However, there was something different this time. When Anderson had called earlier that morning, he'd been agitated, sounding quite different than his usual formal manner. Whatever the problem was, it had his attorney in a sweat. The hands-free phone buzzed. Michael answered, splitting his attention between the light traffic and a gray sedan two cars behind his. He switched into the next lane. The sedan changed lanes, too, dropping behind another car. Charity's tense voice came on the line. “Michael, I'm afraid my sister's in trouble. A few minutes ago, I caught a burst of fear and pain, then her thoughts were so confused, I couldn't understand them.” “When I left ten minutes ago, she was in her workshop. Have you called?” “Yes. She didn't answer. Same thing at her house. That's why I phoned you.” “Kadar's on watch. I'll call him.” A tight knot formed in Michael's stomach. “I've picked up a tail. Don't want to lead more trouble to Summer.” 90


“Please hurry. I've never felt anything from her like this before. Has there been an earthquake there?” “Earthquake? I wouldn't know unless I was stopped at a signal, or it was strong enough to shake the light poles. Why?” “If she were injured...” Charity's voice wavered. “If Summer's under extreme distress, and her emotions leak through to the ley lines, it'll trigger an earthquake.” “You contact Hawk. I'll call Kadar. Once I ditch the car following me, I'll go back to her.” “Please hurry.” Michael pressed the speed dial code for Kadar. While he waited for his friend to pick up, he glanced in the rearview mirror. The nondescript sedan was still there. He made a quick right turn across one lane of traffic into a strip mall just as Kadar answered. Quickly explaining about Charity's concern, Michael swung out of a driveway, into a narrow side street, doubled back, passing the gray car. A few more quick maneuvers, and he pulled up behind the sedan, memorized the license plate numbers, and left the car behind. While he led his tracker down busy streets, onto the freeway, and off again, finally losing them in the Chapman traffic circle, he called Summer's number several times. Not even Kadar responded. **** As Michael passed a telephone line repair crew, on the road to Summer's property, he cursed the time it had taken to be sure no one was following him. 91


Parking beside Hawk's Jag, he jumped out and looked toward the workshop then the house. Where the hell was she? Charity stepped out between two columns of the wraparound front porch of the house and beckoned to him. He strode toward her, trying to spot Summer through a window. Was she okay? “In here.” Charity opened the heavy carved-wood door wider. With a nod of thanks, Michael passed Charity. As he crossed the bright rugs and polished floor, he saw Hawk on a couch holding little Alex in his arms. Then, all his attention was focused on Summer seated in a dark rose and gold armchair near a tall window. Clasping her slender shoulders, he searched her face for any sign of distress. “Are you all right? What happened?” “I'm fine.” She gave him a tentative smile, belied by the troubled expression in her eyes. “I tried to call you, but the line was dead.” He pulled her up out of the chair, gave her a light shake, then wrapped her in his arms. “Dammit, I just aged twenty years trying to ditch the guy tailing me and get back here after Charity called.” “I'm glad you came.” For a few precious moments, she leaned her cheek against his shoulder. Then she stepped out of his arms and returned to her chair. “Michael, I have something to tell you, but I don't know exactly how to explain it.” 92


He dropped into the matching chair, and crossed his left ankle over his right knee. “I'm listening.” She glanced toward Hawk and Charity, and then looked at him. “You've seen me use my special abilities to heal the ley lines.” He nodded. “Right.” She pulled her platinum braid over one shoulder and toyed with the end. “You also know about my sister's gifts.” “I've seen her use them.” His thoughts went back to a scene he'd never forget. They'd rescued Charity from her kidnappers and pulled Hawk's unconscious body into the helicopter. Blood flowed from the side of his head. As the craft took off, pursued by gunfire, Quinn had worked with grim intensity to stop the bleeding. In spite of his efforts to save the life of their comrade, their friend, Quinn had finally signaled it was hopeless. Then Charity had knelt beside Hawk, her hands on his chest and head, calling him back from the unknown, demanding he live, pouring her life into saving his, until she'd collapsed beside him. When Hawk woke, Michael knew he'd seen a miracle, thanks to Charity. But at what cost? She'd still been unconscious when they carried her from the helicopter to the MFI Gulfstream and finally to Hawk's place. Michael snapped back to the present, to the sunlit room and the reality of Summer watching him. He looked at Charity and at Hawk beside her holding their baby. “I was recalling the time we extricated Charity from 93


Zellerman's stronghold and she used her amazing psychic skills. I also know it put a hell of a strain on her.” “Got that right.” Hawk lifted his wife's hand and kissed her palm. He stood and drew Charity to her feet. “Now that you're here, Michael, it's time for us to take Alex home.” Charity kissed Summer's cheek and murmured something to her. Hawk picked up the baby's diaper bag and hustled his wife and child out of the house. Michael stared at the departing family. Imagine Hawk Adams, an enemy's worst nightmare, carrying diapers and a bottle. What was it like to have a wife to love and share your life, children to cherish, a son to carry on your name? Shifting his attention back to Summer, Michael answered her first question. “I've seen you use your psychic gifts to heal ley lines, quiet earthquakes, and restore the cove for the otters. Nobody has to convince me what you do is real. What did you want to tell me?” “Earlier today, when you took the firebird statue out of the kiln and placed it on the table, you were thinking about a...painful time.” Searing heat. Pain. Alone. He struggled to keep his expression and tone unemotional. “You mean when I was Feo's captive.” Color drained from her face. “I...had a vision of that time.” “You saw...?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Yes. Oh, God, yes.” 94


“How?” he asked coldly, leaning forward. “Did you read my mind?” “Not your thoughts. I saw and heard the resonance of images you left on the firebird.” Michael rubbed his right leg, a constant reminder of his days in hell. “What about the impressions you made working in the clay. You handled it a lot more than I did.” “All mine had been burned away, purified out of the statue when it was fired in the kiln. You were the first person to touch it after it cooled.” “You'd have a helluva time in a store selling antiques— picking up images of events in the lives of previous owners every time you touched an item.” “This is the first time I've experienced a psychometric gift.” She moved uneasily in the chair. Sunlight washed across her hair and pale blue blouse. “The scene I saw of you in that terrible fortress was from the past. I also saw another threat to you, this time in the future.” “What kind of a threat? A run against MFI? A hit man? An IRS audit?” “I'm not sure.” She pressed two fingers against her forehead. I'll describe it to you and let you decide.” As Michael listened to her description of his library at home, a place she'd never been, he was troubled by the reality of her vision. When she told about the threatening shadow, he immediately recalled the car tailing him earlier and Anderson's agitation. 95


She looked so concerned, he said, “Thanks for the warning. From now on, I'll be extra alert.” Her shoulders relaxed. Leaning forward, she laid her hand over his on the armrest. He studied her delicate fingers against his larger, scarred hand. They were from two worlds. Hers was a place of beauty and incredible gifts that healed and renewed the land. His was a constant battle, haunted by dark images of the past. Abruptly, he stood. “One more thing before I go. What happened to your phone?” Her eyes sparkled. “I forgot to tell you. The telephone repairman said a squirrel nibbled on the line.” **** All that worry because of a curious squirrel. Summer watched Michael drive away, remaining at the window long after his sleek black car had passed the wrought iron gate and disappeared around the tree-lined curve. She stroked her arm as she relived those precious moments when he'd held her. His strength enfolding her had made her feel protected. Cherished. “Snap out of it, Summer Morgana Starr,” she chided herself. Time to stop mooning over the impossible and get back to work. After collecting her sketch pad, pencils, and a bottle of water, she went out the door. Recalling Michael's warning, she activated the security system. A light breeze stirred the warm air as Summer slipped through the security gate and strolled among the trees searching for subjects to sketch. 96


The muscles in the back of her neck tensed. Is someone watching me? She spun around, but nobody was in sight. In fact nothing disturbed the peace. Relaxing, she resumed her walk. Farther along, she paused to watch a pair of squirrels frisking among the branches of one tree. She made two quick drawings, then moved toward voices on the main road thinking she'd sketch the men working on the lines. As she arrived, they were packing up equipment. She found a handy log to sit on, braced her pad on her lap, and quickly drafted in the overall composition and figures for a grouping. When they drove away, she was still sketching furiously, trying to record as many details as possible. “Done,” she muttered, and closed her pad. She sat quietly, listening to the birds twittering in the trees. A blue and gray scrub jay scolded her from its perch in a nearby branch. She grinned at him. “Want me to draw you, too?” she asked whimsically. It flirted its tail feathers at her and flew away. She stood to leave, when she caught sight of a man coming down the main road. A sense of caution caused her to move back from the road and behind a tangle of boysenberry bushes gone wild. He looked vaguely familiar to her. Who does he remind me of? She studied him as he drew closer to where she hid. As if he sensed her scrutiny, the man stopped and looked in her direction. 97


His posture was erect, but his face was lined with weariness and sorrow. He looked to be in his early forties. Easing out of the straps of his backpack, he set it on the ground, took off his battered cowboy hat, and wiped his face with an olive-drab scarf. He looks hot, Summer thought with a surge of sympathy. She watched him resettle the pack on his back and plop the hat onto his head. Impulsively, she stepped around the bush. “Wait. Do you want a bottle of water?” He turned toward her, looking startled. “Yes, ma'am. I could use a drink.” She extracted the unopened bottle from the carrier, slung over her shoulder by a strap, and extended it to him. “Thanks.” His eyes had a strange glitter as he accepted it, then held it in one large, heavily tanned hand, and studied her. Something in his gaze warned her. She gave him a puzzled look and turned back toward the house. **** Jared marched away, confused by what had just happened. “Bill said she was a witch,” he muttered looking at the full bottle of water. Doubts about what his brother had told him surfaced again, but he pushed them down. Come hell or high water, he would avenge his little brother. That's why I came back after giving that black-haired devil the slip. He twisted open the cap and took a long swig. He wanted to observe her a little longer, make note of her habits, find the best time to do the job. 98


Hell, he knew dozens of ways to kill using his bare hands. Why hadn't he finished her off when he was close enough to get his fingers around her neck? **** Summer settled at the table in her workshop and did a sketch of the tired man on the road. She could use it for a group piece of service men she'd been commissioned to do. He looks like a former military man. She traced the line of his shoulders with one finger. He has the same erect bearing and aura of strength that Michael does. A name nibbled at the edge of her thoughts, but she couldn't bring it into focus. Somehow it was connected to the attack three years earlier. She knew with a certainty that she'd never seen him until this afternoon. Still, her intuition warned her the name was important. If only she could remember. **** Hours later, Michael met with Hawk in a secluded area near the ocean. After concealing his car behind a natural ridge of granite rocks, he strolled to the edge of the cliff and looked out across the Ocean. Sunset spread orange and gold light across the choppy swells. A wind coming from the ocean rippled his shirt and tugged at his leather jacket. Damn Zuberi. At the throb of a powerful engine, Michael turned and waited. In a few moments, Hawk strode into view. When he joined Michael, Hawk said, “Hell of a place to meet.” 99


“I wanted to keep our meeting a secret. I believe both our places and our offices are being watched.” “What's goin’ down?” Hawk asked. “Me,” Michael said, “if I don't get proof I'm innocent of murdering a civilian fifteen years ago.” “A civilian? Bull.” Hawk's usual impassive expression darkened. “Name what you want. I'll do it.” “Accept my decision to sever all ties with Challenge Security.” “Why?” “Looks like I'm in it up to my neck and I don't want you, Quinn, both your companies, or your families involved in any way.” “Forget that. Both of us can keep our families safe. You're our friend. You've hauled us both out of enough tight spots, so start talkin'.” “Summer's security is also involved.” As if to punctuate his words, the bright sunset colors dimmed. A bank of gray, cottony fog rolled in from offshore, and the ocean's surface became the color of old pewter. Hawk's mouth tightened. “Jim's with Charity and the baby. I sent men to guard Quinn's family. Dean's doubling with Kadar to keep an eye on Summer.” “When did you do all that?” “Right after you called. The only reason you'd want to meet out here instead of your house or mine was to keep trouble away from our homes.” “Good.” Michael found a flat boulder and sat recalling another cove where he'd watched Summer. With hands raised 100


in command, she'd called forth the elements of Earth and healed the cove. Hawk hunkered down in front of him. “There's more to your decision than concern for Quinn's and my family. You of all people know we have the resources to keep them safe.” “You're correct.” Michael studied his hands in the fading light. “There's blood on my hands. It's come back to haunt me.” “Hell, man. That was war, not just the battles we fought together in the service, but war against drug lords and terrorists.” Hawk clapped a hand on Michael's shoulder. “You've saved thousands of lives, including other friends and mine. Doesn't that count?” Michael stared at his friend. “Of course that counts. The fact remains, for the last Thirteen years, I've lived in violence. Summer is an innocent just like my sister was before I failed her and she died.” Hawk's expression went blank. In a low voice, he said, “Want to tell me more?” Michael rubbed his face with both hands, then looked up. “You know my father was an Ambassador. He and my mother and teenage sister were killed by Landolan terrorists fifteen years ago.” Closing his fingers into a fist, he said, “My sister was raped before they shot her.” “Bastards,” Hawk said in a deadly voice. Michael watched the last, veiled rays of light slip below the curve of the ocean. “I should've gone with them. I was 101


already a crack shot and could've protected them. For selfish reasons I didn't go until it was too late.” He studied his hands. “Teri died in my arms.” Michael struggled with the flood of emotion. He swallowed and regained control. “I dropped out of the university and assumed control of the Michael Forest Corporation.” “Must've been a rough time.” “Yes. Dad had a loyal, hard-working staff in place. Lyle Roberts had been the acting Chief Operating Officer. I took the responsibility of CEO and President, gave him the office of Vice President with a raise, made some good investments, and went international because that's what my father had wanted.” “You demoted Roberts and gave him more money. Wasn't he pissed off at the downgrade?” “He took up his new responsibilities and ran with them. Eighteen months later, I gave Roberts, the Board and Blake Anderson more responsibilities. That released me to right some of the wrongs I'd done.” Hawk said, “That's when you joined up and met Quinn and me.” A faint smile warmed his eyes. “We thought you were just another bum like us. We knew you were smart, but we sure as hell didn't know you were university educated and the genius behind MFI.” “I only told you about my corporation when I needed a company plane to go in for Quinn.” Michael rubbed his leg. The damp night air played hell with it. “Hawk, you and Quinn 102


pulled me out of the pit at Feo's fortress. You know pretty much what they did to me there.” Hawk nodded. In the gray that comes before full dark, his expression was hidden. “That's another reason I have to stay away from Summer. She deserves more than someone with a scarred body and soul. She deserves a man whole in body and spirit, someone worthy of her. I'm not.” He paused, watching the fog bank flow toward them. The dark shadow blotted out the ocean surface. Overhead, a swath of clear sky appeared like an open window between the fog bank and the cloud cover. In that opening, twin headlights from a jet momentarily pierced the night. Up there was freedom beyond the grip of fog and clouds. Ultimately, the plane would have to descend through the thick mist, at the whim of instruments, and land. Michael stood and clasped Hawk's shoulder under the heavy leather sleeve. “Look at it this way. With me out of the picture, you can go after the contract to provide security services to MFI. It won't be a conflict of interests anymore. “Damn you, Michael, I don't want your company's business. You're my friend, and there's a hell of a lot more going on than what you've told me.” “As always, your instincts are good. I have evidence that the four men who attacked me at Summer's place in Cypress Cove are tied to what happened in Landolo.” He paced around the narrow ledge then faced Hawk. “After my parents and sister died, I hired some mercenaries and went after the killers. I'm not proud of the carnage that 103


followed. I finally came to my senses in time to capture the leader and turn him over to the Landolan authorities. He was tried and convicted, but powerful interests prevented his execution. He was sentenced to prison.” Hawk Cursed. “I would've done what you did. And more. If they'd harmed Alex or Charity, I'd have set the whole countryside to the torch.” “I almost did.” Michael looked into the thick mist, recalling his angry frustration. “A year later, I learned the leader had been released and had already rebuilt his power base. I believe he's behind the attack at Cypress Cove and the murder charge.” Swearing, Hawk gripped Michael's arm. “That doesn't mean you have to cut your connection to Challenge Security.” “No one could have a better friend than you, Hawk. I sure as hell don't want your family or Quinn's involved in this. These people have connections high up in our government. They're dangerous and ruthless.” “Who's the mastermind?” “Umahd Zuberi, the new President of Landolo. He's trying to get me extradited for murder.” Michael tightened one hand into a fist again. “Now you see why I have to resign.”

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CHAPTER 7 “Oh, this little bird is too darling.” Catherine Letitia Barrenger, co-chair of the Rising Stars in Art auction and Ball, tapped one French-manicured nail against a porcelain tail feather of the firebird. Summer winced. While porcelain was stronger than its delicate appearance implied, it wasn't indestructible. Oblivious to Summer's unease, Mrs. Barrenger rattled on. “Miss Starr, I'm simply starry-eyed over this piece.” Giggling, she slapped a slender hand over her lips, her diamondencrusted wristwatch glittering. “I made a joke. No offense intended, of course.” “None taken.” The giggle was a bit much, Summer thought, considering the beautifully groomed socialite was divorced and in her midforties. “Please be careful how you handle that sculpture.” Summer's memory supplied the picture. Michael's strong hands gently lifting the piece from the kiln, stroking the flames forever frozen in motion. The striking redhead drew back her hand. “Of course I know it's breakable.” She leaned forward as one conspirator to another. “Call me Cassie and I'll call you Sissy.” Stifling the urge to roll her eyes, Summer carefully moved the Firebird out of Cassie's reach. “I don't mind you calling me Sissy. It'll remind me of my older sister when she says that.” 105


“Older sister? Forget the nickname. Wouldn't want to confuse you.” Cassie gave a nervous laugh. “Right, no sense confusing people.” Summer turned to the carefully packed crate waiting to join another in the trunk of the socialite's car. “Here's the last load of my donations for the auction.” The co-chair's eyes narrowed. She studied Summer with a hard expression. “Considering it's been three years since you had your last showing, I'd think you'd want to take full advantage of the exposure generated from our prestigious charity auction.” Where's this conversation taking us? Summer pasted a smile on her face. “As you said...Cassie. I do appreciate the publicity. I'm sending a total of nine pieces.” The woman took one step forward in her French pumps. “In that case, you should make it an even ten and donate the stunning bird sculpture.” “The firebird is already promised to the Seaside Gallery in Laguna.” “Call the owner and tell her you changed your mind.” Annoyed, Summer said, “I can't do that. I made a promise.” The socialite's fashionable shade of lipstick emphasized her pout. She picked up her soft leather purse that matched her shoes. “In that case, there's nothing else important here. I'll be going.” Summer walked Mrs. Barrenger out to her luxury car, loaded the second crate into the trunk, then went ahead down the sloping lawn to open the driveway gate. 106


When the silver car came even with Summer, it stopped and Cassie lowered the window, smiling coyly. “I hear you'll be coming with Charity and Hawk Adams. Too bad you couldn't have found a charming man to bring you, but I imagine you're too...” she pointedly looked at Summer's hands, “involved with your work to get out socially.” Summer pasted a casual smile on her lips. “Will I see Mr. Barrenger at the reception?” Cassie laughed. “Oh, no. We've been divorced over two years. You wouldn't catch him anywhere near an art auction. I expect Michael Forest, the President and CEO of MFI will escort me. He's sooo sophisticated and debonair.” An image flashed into Summer's mind. Michael on a raindrenched back porch, standing between her and four roughlooking men, protecting her. Blood dripped from his arm, but it didn't stop him from challenging them, driving them away. Sophisticated? Debonair? He was much more. “It sounds like you and Mr. Forest are friends.” “My dear, we are on very intimate terms.” Cassie patted her hair. “The auction and ball are sponsored by his Sequoia Foundation. Michael has been to all the meetings and suggested artists for us to contact. Actually, he's the one who recommended your work.” **** Michael had recommended her work. It was nothing personal, Summer reminded herself that evening as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror applying liquid powder to her face. Washing out the wedge sponge, she set it on the glass shelf to dry and quickly finished her light make-up. 107


In her bedroom adjoining the bathroom, she unzipped the plastic case and drew out the cobalt blue designer dress, a gift from Charity. Slipping into it, she let the cool silk settle around her, and recalled the shopping trip with her sister to Laurel's, an exclusive shop. Laurel herself had greeted Charity with a hug and proceeded to have a selection of stunning dresses modeled for them. Summer had fallen in love the moment she saw the cobalt silk. Closing the short zipper, she stepped into matching sandals and whirled in front of the full length mirror. Not bad. I'll give Cassie a run for her money. She made a face at her reflection, grinning at her own silliness. So why should she care how she looked dressed for the auction and ball? Because Michael will be there? Yes. Sure, he'd offered to pick her up and escort her to the event. Obviously he'd been relieved when she'd declined his invitation. No wonder she hadn't seen or heard from him since. Straightening her shoulders, Summer determined she'd go to the event dressed to the teeth and forget Michael Forest. She opened the miniature chest on her dresser and lifted out a glimmering moonstone pendant set in silver. With a whispered blessing for the gifted artist who'd made the necklace, she fastened it around her neck. The moment the connection was complete, peace flowed over her. 108


As she traced the intricate Celtic knot work surrounding the ancient stone, she recalled her eighteenth birthday when her Aunt Morgana had presented the small, carved Rowan wood box. “My dear child,” she'd said in her sweet voice. “I've kept this for you since the day you were born and the earth shook. I knew then that you had inherited the power to rule the lines of fire.” Summer had been drawn to the psychic energy held within the confines of the ancient box. “What is it?” Cradling the box, her aunt said, “This has been passed down through the generations. It was worn by your great grandmother, Samara, the last Starr before you with the full gift of ley power.” Then Aunt Morgana had opened the chest, lifted the glowing symbol of power and fastened it around Summer's throat. At that moment, as now, she'd experienced the flow of serenity throughout her body. The constant connection to the ley lines had become muted, and her whole body sang with a sense of well-being. The gate signal buzzed. Summer collected her silverbeaded white shawl and purse and fairly danced to the door. She opened it to greet Hawk and give her sister a kiss on the cheek. Feeling mischievous, Summer pivoted to show them the full view of the dress. “It's perfect,” Charity said. “The back's missing,” Hawk drawled. “Wait ‘til the guys get a look. Michael will spend the night chasin’ them away.” 109


“What I wear is none of Mr. Forest's business.” Charity grinned. “Does he know that?” Draping her shawl around her shoulders, Summer said, “Sis, I was only an assignment. That's over. Maybe I'll find my own prince, like you and Heather each found yours.” Hawk slipped an arm around his wife's waist and winked at Summer. “You might have to kiss a lot of frogs.” Bemused by the wink, Summer chuckled. “One thing for sure, I don't plan to kiss a frog named Michael Forest.” **** Michael strolled through the blue Venetian tiled foyer of the Seawind Country Club and past the fountain featuring a trio of leaping dolphins. The murmur of conversation punctuated with well-bred chuckles reached his ears before the room came into sight. From the top of the marble steps, he studied the elite crowd circulating around the elegantly decorated room set aside to display the items for auction. A string quartet played at one end of the room. Tables of hot and cold hors d'oeuvres were set at the opposite side. Waiters carrying trays of crystal flutes filled with champagne wove between the designer-dressed women and tuxedoed men. Obviously, the committee wanted everyone in a generous mood when the bidding began. Michael saw Jim Wolfe, one of Hawk's agents, stationed near the arched doorway observing the people. Moving close, Michael asked, “You doing guard duty tonight?” 110


“Just helping out. If Hawk needs me to fly the chopper, I'll be outta here in a New York minute.” Michael chuckled. “Sounds good. Think I'll look around before the action starts.” Jim made a slight gesture toward one of the display pedestals. “Take a look at Miss Starr's dolphin bowl. It's a beauty.” “Good idea.” Michael walked away thinking about the time in Summer's workshop when he'd seen the bowl and the mermaid as they came fresh from their final firing in the commercial size kiln. Damn, he missed her, but for her sake he'd tried to stay away until he cleared up the trouble caused by Zuberi. He heard a bright, familiar laugh and turned to see Summer enter the display room accompanied by Hawk and Charity. Watching her progress as she drifted from one display pedestal to the other revived memories of the days they'd tramped along the central coast. Wearing hiking boots, jeans and a T-shirt, she'd led him places that would've challenged a mountain goat. He dipped his hand into his coat pocket and fingered the smooth stone he always carried. A montage of images unfurled in his mind. Summer racing ahead of him down the beach, the wind whipping her hair in a wild banner, her slender grace and curves enticing him. When she'd rested beside him against the sun-warmed rocks, her presence had brought him a gentle peace. Battling the urge to embrace her, he'd put up outwardly unemotional walls. But she hadn't 111


turned from him. Instead, she'd plucked a satiny moonstone from the rocky beach and given it to him. What had she said? Good for stress and healing. Tonight she showed another side of her intriguing, complex character—the delicate, polished side. Her hair was like moonfire, and the rippling, blue dress glowed in the circles of light cast by the baby spotlights. Her smile drew people to her to bask in her charm. The moment she saw him, her smile faded. She nodded and turned to talk with a member of the committee, Oscar Radley. “Radley,” Michael muttered in disgust. The guy thinks he's God's gift to women. Charity had been standing close to Summer's back. When Charity moved, Michael had a full view. My God, Summer's spine is damned near bare to her waist. He fought the urge to whip off his coat and wrap it around her. At that moment, Hawk veered off from the two women, crossed the sea-blue carpeting in Michael's direction, and stopped to one side where he could talk to Michael and observe the room. “Keep an eye on my wife and sister-in-law while I check the security readiness.” Michael swallowed his comments about Summer's exposed back, and said, “Can't you get someone else? Zuberi's escalated his demands to have me extradited to Landolo. So far Blake and his team of attorneys have kept Zuberi and the U.S. government off my back, but I don't want to draw 112


unwelcome attention to Summer. She already has enough on her plate with that guy watching her.” “Dean or Kadar will keep her as safe as possible without interfering with her freedom.” “She's already protected here,” Michael said. Hawk frowned. “I want to keep it that way for her and Charity. With you beside them, I'll know they're okay.” “You trained your agents. There shouldn't be any slip-ups.” “Better not be.” Hawk's face took on a grimmer cast. “I see a helluva lot of pricey jewelry flashin’ around here this evening. That attracts the wrong kind of attention. Wouldn't hurt to remind my people.” Hawk made an almost invisible gesture toward Radley. “Right now, Oscar's tryin’ to put the moves on Summer.” As he talked with Hawk, Michael had been keeping part of his attention on Summer. He saw Radley drape an arm around Summer's shoulders, and watched her pull away. “While you're busy, I'll join Charity and Summer.” “Knew I could count on you.” Hawk strode away, pausing to speak with Jim before continuing out of the room. Michael figured he was playing with fire by joining Summer, but he couldn't overlook this last chance to talk to her, be with her. The moment Summer had walked into the beautiful new building, she'd sensed that Michael was nearby. With every step, her anticipation had grown. Soon she'd see him, talk to him.

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When she did spot him across the room, her heart had raced, but she'd hidden her reaction by speaking with a committee member, Oscar Radley. Sensing Charity's amusement at this transparent effort to ignore Michael, Summer had made her smile for Radley a little too brilliant. Now he was rapidly becoming a pest. For the second time, she regretted leaving her shawl in the cloakroom as she moved away from his damp fingers snaking around her shoulders. “Please keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Radley. We've just met.” “Call me Oscar.” He pushed up his wire-rim glasses and smoothed his mustache. “I intend for us to become very good friends.” “How kind,” she said, but he obviously didn't hear the cold note in her tone. Deliberately turning her back on the pompous little man, she watched Michael draw closer. The crystal chandeliers overhead cast a glow reflected in the crisp, golden waves of his light brown hair. Tall, broadshouldered, and vitally masculine in his black tuxedo, he stood out in a roomful of wealthy, handsome men the way a fully matured lion would dominate a huddle of house cats. Her pulse raced. She fought the impulse to check her hairdo. When she'd coiled her hair on top of her head and secured it with mother-of-pearl clips, she'd fantasized about Michael removing the clips and filling his hands with her hair as it tumbled over her shoulders. 114


Other women smiled and sent him come-hither looks, but he zeroed in on her. She drew in a deep breath to compose herself. Of all the wealthy, elegant people who filled this room of sparkling lights and romantic music, Michael was the only one who stirred her to her depths. At the moment, his expression was calm, but a muscle clenched along his jaw. Reaching her, he smiled at Charity, gave a brief nod to Radley, then focused the power of his attention on her. Summer's hands grew damp as she controlled the urge to step back. “Hello, Summer,” he greeted her in his smooth, deep voice. She offered her hand. “Michael.” He clasped her fingers. A shiver of heat danced up her arm. Then to her amazement, he lifted her hand to his lips in a continental manner. Summer's heart skipped a beat. When she tried to gently tug her hand away, Michael held it more securely. He offered his other arm to Charity. “Hawk has some business to take care of. He asked me to keep an eye on both you ladies.” “Don't I rate a kiss on the hand, too,” Charity said with a teasing smile. Michael pointed to her wedding ring. “Hawk and I are friends, but I'm not anxious to have my nose rearranged.” Laughing, Charity tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. 115


Radley cleared his throat. “See here, Forest. You can't monopolize all of Miss Starr's time. I'll escort her.” Summer wanted to protest. Michael beat her to it. “Find your own lady, Oscar. Summer and Charity are unavailable.” **** As the time for the auction approached, the air of anticipation grew. Michael picked up three decorated paddles, each with a different number and gave one to Summer, one to Charity, and kept the last for himself. Summer curled her fingers more securely around Michael's strong arm as they entered the room where the auction would be held. The crowd of people pressing around her made her uneasy. Michael led them to seats in the back row and on the middle aisle. He whispered to her, “If you have to bail out, warn me first.” “I will.” How had he known she was still uneasy when strangers came up behind her?" In spite of the rows of occupied chairs in front of them, they had a clear view of the small stage and auctioneer's podium. The auction opened with a miniature mountain landscape set on the display easel. The bids rose in a quiet flurry of upraised paddles. Five items later, Summer's first donated sculpture, a pair of porcelain sea otters riding the waves, came up for auction. 116


The breath snagged in her throat. She loved them, but would others agree? The bidding began slowly, then Michael raised by a thousand. That sparked fresh interest. The figures soared, four thousand, five thousand, eight thousand. The gavel crashed on the final bid of ten thousand dollars, and Summer resisted the urge to pinch herself. Was she dreaming? After that, bidding on each of her subsequent offerings— vase, dish, or sculpture—quickly rose. At one point, Michael and the owner of a New York City art gallery got into a bidding war over the Mermaid sculpture. Michael won. Hawk made the winning bid on the dolphin bowl for Charity, wryly informing her, “That's your birthday and Christmas all rolled into one.” When the last oil painting, the final signed lithograph, and the remaining rainbowed glass sculpture had gone to the highest bidder, the treasurer of the committee announced the proceeds had topped any previous auction. Cassie swooped down on Michael. Tapping his shoulder coyly, she cooed, “Oh, Michael, you're such a good sport to outbid George on the mermaid and the seagulls in flight. Leave it to you to find a way to add to a charitable cause.” She glanced at Summer, then smiled at him. “I imagine you'll want to donate those pieces to another cause.” “What makes you think that? I already have two other sculptures by Summer in my private collection.” Cassie's smile faded into a pout. She walked her fingers up his arm. “You never showed them to me.” 117


“No, I haven't.” Michael eased her hand away. “Listen,” she said in an urgent tone. “The band's tuning up. The Ball starts any minute, and the board members are supposed to open with the first dance.” She clutched his arm and gave him a wide smile. “I choose you for my partner.” At that moment, Oscar Radley appeared at Summer's side. “Miss Starr, it's my privilege to partner the most charming lady in the room for the first dance.” “My sister's partner will be her husband.” Radley stared at her a moment, then chuckled. “I like a woman with a sense of humor.” He placed his sweaty hand on her bare skin at the small of her back. She shuddered wondering why she'd chosen that backless dress. She knew why. But it hadn't worked. Michael had already moved ahead with Cassie, the merry divorcee. “My dear, it's time to go to the Grand Ballroom.” Before she could protest, Radley escorted her to the long room with a sweeping view of the ocean through ceiling-to-floor arched windows. As they paused just inside the entrance, her gaze swept past giant urns of fragrant roses, lilies, and orchids set against the silk-paneled walls. Where was a friend when you needed one? Preferably a big, strong, intimidating man. Beside her, Radley tightened his hold on her arm. Mentally, she groaned. There was no way he'd let her go without her making a scene. Damn.

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Most of the designer-dressed crowd had settled at round tables surrounding three sides of the polished dance floor. The orchestra occupied the fourth. A handful of dancers she assumed were the board members and their partners waited on the parquet dance floor. She spied Michael with Cassie leaning against his arm, gazing up at his face. Radley patted her hand possessively. “Ready to open the festivities?” “Mr. Radley—” “Call me Oscar.” “Oscar,” she murmured. “It's been a long day—” “Tut, tut, my dear Summer. A little dancing will do you a world of good. Put a spring in your step.” He hurried her unwilling steps to the polished floor. Resting her hand on his padded shoulder, she sighed. Was this how her distant ancestor felt before they burned her as a witch? He snared her other hand and clamped an arm around her waist. Oh, yes. Definitely torture. At the first notes of the waltz, Radley pulled her to his body. Then he began subtle maneuvering. His hand slid lower down her back and he tried to press her closer. She resisted. They glided around the dance floor among the handful of dancers. After one circuit, they were joined by other couples. As the floor filled, Summer's irritation grew. 119


The band swung into a slow dance. Oscar hummed the tune and tugged her tighter. “Stop it, Oscar. I can't breathe.” She leaned back, trying to put more space between them. “Relax,” Radley said, sliding one hand lower. “Feel the rhythm.” “My turn.” Michael stepped in, forcing the smaller man to give ground. Radley marched off with a disgruntled expression. Summer flowed into Michael's arms as naturally as if they'd danced for many years. The power and warmth of his body enveloped her. He made her feel delicate and safe. “Where's Cassie?” she murmured. “Dancing with my friend, Kadar.” Michael drew her into a turn, his strong fingers against her spine guiding her with deft sureness. “Cassie said you and she were on intimate terms.” His arm tightened around Summer's waist and a flare of heat raced through her blood. Why was she baiting him when all she wanted to do was nestle in his embrace and let the world pass them by? “Jealous?” He sounded amused. “Curious,” she countered, hoping her nose wouldn't grow like another Pinocchio. They paused, swaying in one place, then moved away from the press of too many couples in one small section. Michael swung her around. The brush of his leg against her thigh woke an unfamiliar heat. She both feared and craved that sensation. 120


Wildly, she sought a distraction. “Tell me about your friend.” Michael looked down into her face. His warm breath flowed over her. Every part of her yearned to be even closer. Would he kiss her? “Summer.” “Yes?” “My friend's full name is Nicholas Kadar Ben Hamad, heir to the Shining Throne of Duraza.” “A prince?” Michael chuckled. “We call him Kadar.” Hearing Cassie's giggle nearby, Summer looked at the redheaded socialite and the tall, black-haired man holding her. She only saw his dangerously handsome profile before they were lost behind a cluster of dancers. For a brief moment, she thought she knew him. There was an aura that felt familiar. That was impossible. They'd never met. A vocalist joined the band, and the music segued into Some Enchanted Evening. Forgetting the watcher, her fears, even the ever-present connection to the ley lines, Summer slid her hand higher on Michael's shoulder until her fingers brushed his neck and lingered in the thick texture of his hair. Obeying the gentle pressure of his fingers and warm palm, she leaned against him, her cheek resting just below his shoulder. Her silk-draped breasts slipped against the fine wool and silk of his jacket. 121


The moonstone amulet, wedged between their bodies, grew warm and Summer heard a gentle, feminine voice in her mind whisper, you have chosen well, daughter of my heart. Even though her heart had truly chosen Michael, she wanted to deny the voice. Her gifts could make her a danger to him. Not only that, his lack of a psychic connection made her too vulnerable if they ever truly made love. At the moment of joining, her constant connection to the fiery power would be her greatest physical danger and a threat to him. Then Michael whispered her name and she was lost in the rightness of being here with him, in his arms. Following instinct, she pressed closer to him, seeking relief. Male heat from his hard stomach and thighs seeped through her dress, sending delicious shock waves across her flesh. Every place they touched her skin tingled. “Sweet heaven, you do something to me,” he muttered against the top of her head. He pulled her hips closer and she felt her face flood with color in response to his body's reaction to her. Michael saw the blush and cursed his physical response to her. “You've never felt a man against you?” “A few times at dances, but I just put it down to raging hormones. This time...” She gazed past his shoulder. “Guess I'm just not experienced enough for you.” Incredible. She was an innocent. He should've realized that the days he spent with her on the coast. “Do you know what your confession does to me? Inexperience in lovemaking is 122


the most precious gift you could give the man you finally choose.” In a low voice, she said, “That's not what most guys say.” “They're damn fools.” As they continued to dance, the tendrils of attraction wove a silken ribbon between them, drawing them closer. Other men tried to cut in, but Michael's narrow-eyed glare sent them packing. For these few hours, she belonged to him. He looked into her emerald eyes, dark with passion. Brushing a finger against her soft, flushed cheek, he asked, “Want to go out for some fresh air?” “Yes.” He heard the hitch in her breath when he caressed the graceful column of her spine. He led her through a French door onto the balcony overlooking the ocean. Moonlight silvered the white swirls of wrought iron set between columns of white marble. Michael guided her steps to one corner where tubs of trees and vines sent dappled shadows and moonlight across them. A light breeze carried the mingled scents of salt water and spicy rock rose. “Better?” He turned her and tilted up her face to catch the moonlight. “Much better.” She laid a slender hand on his cheek. At her gentle touch, his heart pounded. He pressed his fingers over hers, cherishing this moment out of time. Time. It raced by too swiftly.

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Dipping his head, he brushed a kiss across Summer's cheek, her skin warm and smooth under his mouth. Sweet. She tasted warm and sweet. He kissed her other cheek, anticipation rising in his body. More. He wanted more. His lips glided across her face toward her mouth. Her body pressed against his, stirring fires at each dip and curve, at every point of contact. He felt his hardness cradled in the heat of her thighs. Afraid he'd shock the hell out of her, he paused until her wordless murmur and the feel of her fingers digging into his shoulders showed she was lost in the magic of passion. He struggled to keep his own fires under control as he indulged in a long, drugging kiss, supporting her when she sagged against him. “Little moonfire,” he finally whispered. “We have to stop.” “What?” Her eyes looked dreamy. She touched her lips then laid the slim finger against his. “Why?” “I don't want you to regret what could happen next. I'm so hot for you, my control is slipping.” “Ohh.” She blinked and gazed up at him. Her cheeks still glowed with the flush of passion, and her breasts rose and fell under the delicate silk of her dress. God, he wanted to draw her close again and accept her unconscious invitation to kiss her, caress her until she melted. The pearly stone in her antique pendant glowed with unearthly brightness.

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As if drawn by an unseen force, Michael touched one of the intricate silver knots. Cold fire raced up his arm and exploded in his skull. Suddenly he couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Couldn't feel.

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CHAPTER 8 “Michael, talk to me.” Summer looked up into his dazed eyes and felt for the pulse point in the muscled column of his throat. Was it too fast? Too slow? Psychic energy still resonated around them like the faint chiming of silver bells. He shook his head and focused on her. “Whoosh! That pendant packs a wallop.” She exhaled in relief. “Do I dare ask how you feel? Any headache, nausea?” “I feel...” he touched his temple, “weird, like my brain is itching.” “You'd better sit.” Sliding her arm part way around his waist, she led him to one of the cushioned, wrought iron park benches facing the ocean. He settled on one end and tugged her down beside him. “That's better. “Now what the hell happened? One minute we're kissing. I touch your necklace, and wham, next thing I know you're saying, talk to me.” All Summer could think of was her fear for Michael when he'd stood frozen and unseeing. Shivering, she crossed her arms, suddenly aware of the cold metal against the bare skin of her back, and rubbed her shoulders. “I...I don't know what happened. Somehow the moonstone pendant was involved.” 126


She spread one hand over it to prevent any accidental contact between the ancient necklace and Michael. “I've never seen anyone else affected by touching the stone or the setting.” As if reflecting her mood, the ocean waves battered the stand of rocks below the country club. The wind whipped up, turning cold, and threw spume high where it drifted in a fine spray across her and Michael. Jumping to his feet, Michael stepped in front of her, shielding her from the frigid mist. “Let's go. Don't want you getting sick.” He took her hand and drew her to her feet. “Wait,” she said, urgency in her voice. “I...we can't take the risk of you touching the pendant again.” She tucked it under the curved neckline of her dress. “The silk will insulate it.” “Good, but it's not protecting you from freezing.” He shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her upper body. “Now none of those would-be Casanovas in there will be checking out the scenery.” “You mean like Oscar Radley?” For a moment, she basked in the warmth and clean, masculine scent Michael had left in the jacket. She hadn't realized how cold she'd been. “Don't worry about them.” Summer snuggled deeper into the folds of the silk and wool fabric. “I've met their type before. They think they're God's gift to all women, but they're just following the biological influence of form and function.” “Form and function?” His voice held a hint of humor. “Is that the artist or a scientist talking?” 127


“Both. I line-blend my own slips for glazes, like five parts earthenware clay and one part potash feldspar.” Light from the high-riding moon lit Michael's face and the grin lurking around the corner of his lips. She smiled back. “Well, you asked.” “So I did.” He looped an arm around her waist. “Time to go someplace warmer.” At the first touch, she'd stiffened, then relaxed when she remembered the layers of fabric between Michael and the pendant. Instead of returning through the French doors, he walked her around to a side entrance, greeted the man standing guard, and continued into the auction room. “We can talk better, here.” Michael pulled a chair from the end of the row and held it for her. Noticing the back of his shirt was damp from the salt spray, she tried to give him his jacket. “Keep it for now. Like I said at the cove, I've been in colder places.” The cove, she thought. Compared to now, their relationship then had been uncomplicated by so many swirling emotions. Not true, she chided herself. He sat facing her, their knees almost, but not quite, touching. Michael ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, now tell me about the pendant and why you think it zapped me.” “I'll try.” Strains of dance music drifted in from the next room. Summer identified an oldie, That Old Black Magic, and wanted to groan. “The necklace once belonged to my great grandmother, but it's far older. I've had it since my 128


eighteenth birthday. I only wear it for special occasions because the silver setting is exceptionally pure and easily bent.” “You like the necklace, but don't want the pendant damaged.” She nodded. “I love it. Not only is it a wonderful piece of art, but there's an aura in it that mutes my connection to the ley lines. If I dared, I'd wear it all the time. A dangerous side effect of the metal being easily bent is the disruption of the pattern in the knot work. It can concentrate the wearer's psychic energy and...” She paused as the realization swept over her. “Oh, my God. You must've touched a power point.” “And it got me.” “That should never have happened.” Leaning forward, Michael cupped her cheek. “Hey, don't look so worried. No damage. I'm in one piece.” “No damage,” she repeated, struggling with the problem that the necklace was only supposed to affect someone with psychic ability. Michael didn't have any of those gifts. A slow, dreamy ballad sung by the vocalist whispered through the room. Summer yearned to be back in Michael's arms, dancing to the smooth music, snatching a few more precious minutes before reality intruded. Why had she and Michael become closer? Too many dangers lay between them. The moonstone pendant was just one example. Michael shifted in his chair, one hand rubbing his leg. “Why didn't the silver zap me when we were dancing?” 129


“The fabric of your tuxedo is silk and wool. It insulated you.” He started to say something else, but the cell phone in his pocket buzzed. Summer slipped out of the jacket and handed it to him. He took it, removing the phone. While he flipped up the phone cover, she stood. “I'll leave and give you privacy.” He motioned, wait here. “No,” she said in a low voice. “I'll be safe.” Still listening to the caller, he followed her to the doorway, beckoned to one of the security agents, and said, “Stay with her.” She started to protest, but stopped when she saw his expression grow grim. Whatever the caller was saying, Michael didn't like it. **** Michael watched Summer walk away with Pete one step behind. For the time being, he'd keep her safe. Anderson, the caller, continued with his warning. “Zuberi's here, in California. He's dangling exclusive rights to the output of Landolo's duranium mines in exchange for your extradition.” “The bastard's here? Damn. Thanks for the warning.” “Michael,” Blake's tone was urgent. “My sources say Zuberi's offer of full access to the duranium has really rattled some cages. After the demonstration of how efficiently it handles conductivity in super cold, scientists working in 130


cryonics are determined to get their hands on a supply of the stuff.” “Hold them off as long as possible. I have someone working on proof of my innocence.” “Better build a fire under him.” “Will do. Anything else?” There's a rumor that you're under investigation for laundering drug money.” “That's crap.” “I heard they've already selected a Receiver to run MFI when they decide to make the move.” A chill trickled down Michael's spine. “Sounds serious.” Blake cleared his throat. “The Feds must be pretty sure of their evidence, even if it is false. Whoever set this up must hate you. Made any enemies powerful enough to pull it off?” “Worse than Zuberi? Yeah, one. Check with you later.” As Michael punched the END button, his stomach clenched. Once again he relived the smell and sizzle of his own flesh, the pain-filled, unrelenting dark of the pit where rats crawled over his tortured body and the walls pressed in on him. “señor Feo.” Michael cursed. Zuberi was bad enough, but Feo...If either one ever got his hands on Summer. “No!” Michael strode out of the building to his car. The more quickly he eliminated the threat posed by Zuberi and Feo, the sooner he'd know Summer was safe. **** Summer woke from a restless night with tears on her cheeks. Her dream had been a replay of the vision she'd had about Michael's captivity. Only this time, she'd been an 131


unseen presence with him in a deep, dirt and stone pit. A bloodstained rag had been wrapped around his right leg near his thigh. His whole body had been racked with chills and fever. She looked around her own bedroom. Early morning sun streamed through the crisp, white curtains framed by soft rose drapes. Sunbeams danced across the Irish Chain quilt her grandmother had made for her. Summer stretched and sat up. She loved living out in the country where she could leave the drapes open to catch the first beams of light. Was Michael awake, watching the early morning sunbeams spill into his bedroom? Lying around wondering about him was useless. He'd made his choice not to see her obvious when he'd disappeared for the rest of the evening. Was it because of the jolt he'd received from the silver knot? When Charity and Hawk drove her home, her brother-inlaw had been silent about Michael's plans, but her sister had looked worried. After a sketchy breakfast, Summer went out to her workroom and opened a tub of clay. She slammed the ceramic clay on the solid work table time after time, wedging it into a smooth, bubble-free chunk. Still thinking about the previous evening and Michael, she shaped the pliant clay, feeling for the form hidden within the clay and her imagination. Slowly it grew under her fingers—a reclining male figure, one hand open to hold a round shape. As Summer dipped her 132


fingers into the small bowl of water, she studied the figure. A title came to her, Moonstone Dreams. When it was finished, the man would be sleeping on the beach with one hand cradling a moonstone and the other hand pillowing his head. She worked through lunchtime without pausing. When her stomach announced it was hungry, Summer looked at the clock. Already one-thirty. She'd promised to watch Alex this afternoon so Charity could go shopping. After wrapping a dampened cloth around the almost completed sculpture, she shrouded it with plastic, and hurried to the house to shower and dress. Thirty-five minutes later, she drove out of her gate. **** Late that afternoon, Summer carried the baby outside to the lawn between her sister and brother-in-law's house and the sea cliff. The heavy Plexiglas wall Hawk had installed near the cliff prevented anyone from tumbling over the edge, but didn't obscure the view. A moderate, salt-water scented breeze flowed in from the ocean and rippled through the cheerful mix of blooming zinnias and chrysanthemums planted along one side of the yard. She spread a blanket on the grass for the baby, then put him in the middle. Alex waved his hands at her, babbling cheerful baby noises. She grinned. “That's a great story, Alex.” 133


As if encouraged by her response, he kicked both feet and chortled. Summer spread more baby sun block on his delicate skin and sang nursery rhymes to him in English and Gaelic. These times with Alex were precious. She gently caught one of his flailing hands. He immediately wrapped his chubby fingers around one of hers and tried to pull it to his mouth. Blocking his attempt, she leaned down and nuzzled his tummy with her nose. The baby wriggled and laughed, his feet kicking out in excitement. Summer felt a tug on her hair and knew Alex had gripped the end of her single braid. Better that than getting sun block in his mouth. Carefully easing away from his little body, she grinned as he played with the bound hair, tugging on it while his whole body bounced with excitement. **** From his vantage point inside a neighbor's gazebo, the Watcher studied Summer and the baby. “There she is, the witch who killed Bill,” he said out loud. Hearing the words confirmed his belief in her guilt. He'd watched her at the cove with colored lights falling from the tip of a shining rod. Everywhere the lights had gone, the sand and water had changed. “I saw your magic, witch,” he muttered. Strange, after she did her tricks, the earthquakes had stopped. 134


Jared recalled trying to shoot her then, but he couldn't seem to get a good bead on her. Shuddering, he put his rifle on the bench and held his head. It ached all the time now. He cursed the doctors at the VA who'd treated his head wound when he'd come back from Desert Storm. Maybe he'd been wrong to walk away from the hospital. He picked up his binoculars and studied her again. Look at her, he thought. All innocent acting with the baby. Doubts stirred inside him. Maybe she wasn't so bad. The memories of his brother quieted those doubts. She's a witch. Bill said so. Jared watched Summer and the kid playing in the warm afternoon sun. There was something about the peaceful scene that stirred memories of his own childhood. Had his mother played like that with him? He'd never know. She'd died when Bill was a year old. Their dad had raised them. Hell, his old man had done his best, but Jared had been stuck with Bill. He cursed himself. Not stuck, when he was at school old Mrs. Phillips next door had watched Bill. Jared scanned the surrounding area. No one near enough to see his rifle. This little white lath house was a perfect blind for hunting. He'd followed the witch from her home on the off chance of getting close enough to finish her. He'd lucked out to find nobody home here. Raising his rifle again, he sighted the woman through the scope. 135


Seated on the blanket, she lifted the baby high above her head. Smiling, the kid kicked his feet and waved his hands. Childish laughter reached Jared. He lowered his rifle. He wasn't a baby killer. Even in his Merc years, when his squad went into suspected enemy villages, he'd tried to protect the kids. Jared reached into his hunting vest pocket and took out his worn photo of Bill. “You were a damned good artist until she put a curse on you,” he muttered. Studying his brother's face, he waited for the usual surge of hate. This time it didn't come—only a slow grief that Bill was dead and he was alone. Carefully dismantling the gun, Jared wrapped the sections in a soft cloth. He stowed them in his backpack along with the binoculars. Hefting the pack, he settled it on his back, clapped the old cowboy hat on his head and made his way out of the yard. He figured anyone who saw him would think he was a tourist or a homeless person. Hell, he wasn't either of those, but a man out to avenge his younger brother. Jared walked slowly past the house where the witch was visiting. His little brother's birthday was coming soon. That would be a good day to finish his job. Smiling, he walked away whistling.

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CHAPTER 9 President Zuberi crumpled the report into a ball and threw it at Oliver's face. It bounced off one pale cheek and fell to the floor. The gold pen he heaved after it hit the bridge of his trembling secretary's nose and knocked his horn rimmed glasses askew. Zuberi silently congratulated himself on the accuracy of his aim. The pen had even drawn a trickle of blood. Pressing his eyeglasses into place, Oliver bowed. “Sir, Jared Cole reported—” “You have failed me again.” Zuberi lunged from his chair and slapped his worthless employee. “According to Cole, Michael Forest hasn't been near Miss Starr for two weeks. His interest in her may be cooling, but she might still be useful.” Turning ideas over in his mind, Zuberi threw himself into his padded leather desk chair. Steepling his fingers, he considered how far he could go under diplomatic immunity. “You know where this woman lives and where she goes for groceries. Surely it wouldn't be too difficult to pull her into a car and subdue her.” Oliver dabbed at his forehead, then wiped the thin trickle of blood from the cut on the side of his nose. “Sir, in this case we need to be circumspect. Due to a series of newspaper articles about her work, Miss Starr has become well-known to the public, not just to the art community. Her disappearance would cause a problem with the local police or the FBI.” 137


“And Forest? What is your weak excuse to explain how he continues to elude the incompetent men you hired? Once we have him in our hands, we can take him to Landolo and not wait for the U.S, Government's bureaucrats to complete their investigation and arrest him.” Zuberi smiled coldly. “He may not have been to see the woman, but the reports of your bunglers noted his protective attitude toward her. She could be our key. Lure her into our hands. For the benefit of the authorities, make it look like she came willingly. Then leave a video for Forest showing her in distress. When he attempts a rescue, he'll walk into our trap.” “Sir, what if he has help?” “If all else fails, kill him and the woman.” **** “Mr. Forest, sir. It's glad I am to see you home.” Brigid Tucker, Michael's housekeeper, closed the front door behind him and smoothed her starched white apron. “I just finished filling some strawberry tarts. Shamus will bring them presently. Will you be havin’ tea or coffee?” “You spoil me, Brigid. Make the coffee strong and tell Shamus I'll be in the library.” Michael limped through the foyer, entered the library and crossed the rich Aubusson rug to his desk. Afternoon sun streamed in from the windows behind him as he dropped into the leather chair and rubbed his face, trying to scrub away the jet lag. His gaze lit on the finely detailed statue, Spring Dreams, and he thought of Summer. God, he missed being with her. 138


The fourteen days he'd been gone had made him realize how lonely he was without her. “Hell,” he muttered. He'd just have to get used to that. The gate signal interrupted his musing. Sliding back the panel to the security monitor set in his desk, he watched a black pickup move past the hedge screen and up the long driveway. Through a succession of shots from the security cameras, Michael saw the truck finally park, and Kadar emerge. At that moment, Brigid came in carrying a tray with sandwiches, tarts, and coffee. “I brought enough for two. Shamus is answerin’ the door to that scamp, Kadar.” Michael's mood lightened. “That scamp is a full grown man.” “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. He's still the scalawag who snagged cookies fresh from the oven without as much as a by-your-leave.” She settled the white and gold tray on the rich mahogany surface of the desk. A different male voice responded. “Is it not written, the way to a man's heart is though his stomach?” Kadar left the doorway, strolled to Brigid's side, and lifted her unresisting fingers. With a roguish grin, he placed a continental kiss on the back of her hand. A pleased smile lit her face. “Go on with your fancy tricks, you sweet-talkin’ devil.” “Fair lady, you wound me.” He reached around her to grab half a sandwich off the fine china platter. “I'm your obedient servant.” Michael chuckled. “That'll be the day.” 139


The kindly middle-aged woman smoothed her chestnut hair and patted the neat bun at her nape. “Will you be stayin’ for dinner?” Kadar's expression turned serious. “Not this time. I'll take a rain check.” “Just ask. Right, Mr. Forest?” Michael nodded. “This is his second home. He's always welcome.” Kadar sat in the padded leather chair beside the desk, crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and leaned back with a coffee cup in one hand, the sandwich in the other. “As always, you do me honor, friend.” After Brigid left, Michael asked, “How's your surveillance going at Summer's?” Kadar answered, all trace of his lighthearted side gone. “The same guy's still keeping her under observation. I damned near caught him yesterday. He gave me the slip near the road, but I got a line on his car, including a partial of the license plate.” Michael heard the self-disgust in his friend's voice. “You kept him from getting close to Summer. That counts.” “Not enough. I told Hawk we needed two agents at a time up there. He assigned Pete Walker and Ash Hunter.” “Hunter's one of the best. I'm glad he finally took Hawk's offer.” Kadar swallowed some coffee and asked quietly. “How about your trip? Any leads?” Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “I hit pay dirt on Grand Cayman Island. Some bastard's gone to a lot of trouble 140


to set up an account at the Bedrock Bank of Credit and Commerce in Georgetown, with me as the trustee and guardian for Teri Forest.” “Teri? Sonuvabitch, that stinks.” “The bank president was full of sympathy and asked if my sister was making progress in her medical treatments.” Kadar's expression grew deadly. “Perhaps a visit by two brothers of the knife is in order.” Wearily, Michael said, “He's only repeating what someone else told him. He doesn't know Teri died twenty years ago.” “I'll reserve judgment.” The younger man helped himself to another sandwich. “Learn anything else?” “Someone who was a dead ringer for me showed up to open the account. His forged documents fooled the bank authorities. They didn't hesitate to let me have a look at the records of my account. Turns out some of the banks where MFI does business in other countries make automatic deposits into the account in the Caymans.” “Whoever's out to get you has the wealth and power to run this scam, and they must have someone on the inside of MFI.” “It gets worse. There's a Hong Kong connection. The money going into that account is brought in by various people carrying briefcases full of cash in small denominations.” “Laundering drug money?” “Sure as hell would look like that to the Feds.” After a short discussion about ways to smoke out who was working from inside MFI, Kadar stood to leave. 141


His startling blue eyes took on an eerie light. Gripping Michael's shoulder, he said, “Be very careful, my friend. I sense evil shadows gathering around you.” “Intuition or fact?” “Both.” Kadar blinked, and just like that, his eyes were back to their normal deep blue. He scooped up a handful of tarts, popped one into his mouth, and left. Pushing to his feet, Michael went to the window and watched Kadar jog to his truck. Before sliding behind the wheel, he faced the library window and threw a jaunty salute. Michael smiled at his friend's transition from Arabian prince to American male. He knew Kadar was a force to be reckoned with, no matter which guise he wore. Mulling over their conversation, Michael was relieved to hear Hawk had assigned two men for each watch over Summer. If only she'd agree to stay with Hawk and Charity, then there'd be no question of safety. Settling at his desk again, Michael caught up on the waiting reports. He'd already started new lines of investigation from onboard his Gulfstream through his laptop and secured cell phone. Using his computer, set on a stand beside the desk, he began digging into his company's financial files looking for a clue to who was sending false reports. As darkness closed in around him, he switched on the lights and went back to work.

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Shamus Tucker, his butler, entered carrying a bundle of mail. On top of the stack was an envelope with the logo and return address of the Seaside Gallery in Laguna Beach. Michael studied the enclosed invitation to the art show of Summer's work. Noting the date, he put it aside and touched a blossom on Spring Dreams, wondering if he dared to attend the showing. His butler and friend puttered around. He straightened already straight books, and re-stacked folders. Stretching his arms above his head, Michael leaned back in his chair and smiled at the middle-aged man, dressed as usual in black dress pants, starched white shirt, subdued tie, and a black vest. “Please tell Brigid I'll have my supper on a tray in here.” Tucker stood ramrod straight. “And will you take a break to eat? With your leave, you look like you wuz rode hard and put away wet.” “I see you're still reading westerns.” Michael smiled at his man of many talents. “I plan to work through supper. When I finish, I'll crash for a few hours.” “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, and how soon will that be? “I'll let you know.” Michael went back to studying the incoming reports on the computer screen. Hours later, forced by fatigue, he went to bed. His last thoughts before sleep overwhelmed him was the image of a vibrant woman with hair like moonlight and eyes of spring green. She welcomed his embrace, and this time they made love. **** 143


Two weeks had passed without any word from Michael. Summer found herself watching for anyone who looked like him. Once, she thought she saw him in the distance, but was disappointed when the man turned to go into a building, and it wasn't Michael. Now, as she talked with Charity on the phone, her sister mentioned, oh so casually, that Michael had been out of the country on business but had been to dinner with her and Hawk the previous evening. Summer didn't remember the rest of the conversation. She dropped the handset into the cradle and leaned back chilled by a deepening ache. It's really over between Michael and me. He's in town and hasn't called. That's what I wanted, wasn't it? Wearily, she pushed to her feet and wandered out, across the lawn, and down to the stream. Sitting on a patch of wild grass where sunlight filtered through the trees, she hugged her knees and rested her head on them. Deep below, the lines of power flowed in a natural, pulsating rhythm. My gift and my duty are to keep them clear, but oh, God, how I wish... Images drifted across the screen of her mind—Michael beside her on the high cliff as the land cried, standing between her and the attackers, the strength of his arms around her as they danced, his enticing healthy male scent, his lips gliding across her face while she melted against him. Now, Michael had made the choice to stay out of her life. She was alone. 144


The resident squirrel chattered at Summer, breaking her reverie. Looking up, she searched the leafy branches until she saw him seated upright on a limb, tail high and curled at the top, scolding her. “You're absolutely right,” she said with a soft laugh. “That's enough pity party for me.” She stood and stretched. And froze. The sudden quiet in her little patch of woods alerted her. Where birds usually sang and fluttered around the seedbearing shrubs and grasses, there was only silence. A prickling sensation ran down her spine. Someone only a short distance away was observing her. Thinking back over the last few weeks, she realized she'd experienced this uncanny sensation at various times. But she'd shrugged off the feeling, putting it down to her own imagination. This time she was sure. Should she pretend to be ignorant of the unseen person and stroll back to the house, or better yet, the workshop because it was closer? She could lock herself in and call for help. Resting one hand on the tree trunk, she sensed he—some instinct told her it was a man—would stay in hiding as long as she faced in his direction. Could she outrun the man standing behind the screen of bushes and trees, just across the narrow stream? Would the shallow water slow him down? Why chance it unarmed? 145


Slowly crouching, she picked up a long stick, the width of her thumb, and stood. In the seconds it took to secure a weapon, she'd come to the decision to face the quiet observer. Her heart beat rapidly. Adrenaline pumped through her system in preparation for fight or flight. Gripping the makeshift weapon tighter in her sweaty hand, she called, “I know you're there. You can come out now.” Silence. Summer widened her stance, weight balanced. Filled with the grim determination to face her fear, she glared at the unseen man hidden in his observation blind. The bushes rustled. A young blonde man, wearing camouflage fatigues, stepped into view and stopped in a shaft of sunlight, his open hands held away from his body. “Busted.” His wry grin invited her to share the joke. In spite of his easy manner, Summer recognized the warrior under his casual slouch. Knowing the strength of Charity's husband, and Michael, and even her brothers, she realized this man with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and supple movements thought he could reach and subdue her without breaking a sweat. If he tried, he'd get a hell of a surprise. She hadn't taken those self-defense courses for nothing. She took another look. Yeah, right, and I'm Superwoman. Recalling good strategy was to stay on the offense, she demanded. “Who are you and why are you here?” He took a short step toward her. 146


She raised the stick. “Stop right there and answer my questions.” “Yes, ma'am. Can I lower my hands?” “First, I want answers.” He shifted as if to test her readiness. Only the narrow barrier of water gurgled between them, but Summer stood her ground. “Talk, or I'll call the police. You're trespassing.” “The name's Dean. I work for Challenge Security.” “You're one of Hawk Grayland's agents?” His grin widened. “Don't you mean Hawk Adams, your sister, Charity's, husband?” Summer wanted to trust him. He seemed sincere, and her deliberate misinformation hadn't tricked him. However, she'd learned caution the hard way. “Dean, if that's your real name, do you carry identification?” “Sure,” he said with ease. “In my hip pocket.” He moved one hand as if to reach for it. “Wait!” The blonde froze once more into position, blending into the background of leaves and branches behind him. Only his hair gave him away, but she suspected he'd worn a knitted cap and had dropped it on the ground before coming into view. Thinking swiftly, Summer said, “Kneel and cross your ankles.” “You've got it.” With an easy movement, he complied, keeping his hands away from his body. 147


She admired his strength and control, realizing even more that he'd make a powerful opponent. Taking two steps back to give herself a head start, if need be, she ordered, “Toss your ID over here. If it doesn't land where I can easily reach it, your name is toast.” Mentally, she winced at her bravado. She'd be in deep trouble if he called her bluff. To her relief, he followed her directions. Crouching so she could watch him, she picked up the flat case and flipped it open with one hand. A quick glance showed he was telling the truth. Lowering the stick, she had a sudden impression that other eyes watched her and the blonde. “Who's with you?” His charming smile disappeared. “Why do you ask?” “You just answered my question.” She raised her voice. “Okay, mystery man, come out.” From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a tall, silent figure appear to the right and higher up the ridge. Shading her eyes from the sunlight, she was startled when she realized his identity. “Prince Hamad?” she called. He raised one hand in acknowledgment and strode down the hill, easily dodging the few cacti and clumps of sagebrush. Crossing the cleared strip, he passed two orange trees and jumped the stream. While she watched the prince, she was also aware of when Dean joined her after bridging the stream with one leap. She sighed. Neither man had been slowed by the stream. So much for her main line of defense. 148


The dark-haired man stopped in front of her and executed an elaborate salaam. “Nicholas Kadar Ben Hamad at your service. Please call me Kadar.” Politely, she offered her hand. “I'm Summer Morgana Starr.” “It is my pleasure to meet you.” Raising her fingers to his lips, he kissed the back of her hand. “I admired you from afar at the Charity Ball.” Before Summer could respond, Dean said in a drawling voice, “Practicing your Rudolph Valentino imitation, oh, mighty Prince Kadar?” Kadar's reserved expression softened into a faint smile. “With Michael's lady? Get real. I like my face the way it is.” Dean chuckled. Summer had listened to the byplay between the men with growing annoyance. She blurted out, “I'm not Michael Forest's woman.” Hamad and Dean looked at each other. Dean said, “Could've fooled me.” “Why do you say that?” she demanded, tapping her foot. “Everytime I mention your name—” “Enough, Dean,” the black-haired man ordered, “before your foot is planted too firmly in your mouth.” He inclined his head politely to Summer. “My talkative friend means Michael asked me to check out the man who's kept you under surveillance. Hawk made it legal by giving me a temporary assignment.” “Like he gave Michael the assignment to follow me at Cyprus Cove?” 149


“Yes.” His blue eyes were sharp and assessing. “Why would you, the heir to a throne, according to Michael, accept a job here in the U.S.?” “My mother was an American and I have dual citizenship. But that didn't have any influence on my decision. I would've done it anyway for my friendship with Michael.” “So he asked you to spy on me because of a person I haven't seen in weeks?” “If you wish to put it that way.” Kadar's tone of voice was cool. “However, though you haven't seen him, the watcher has kept you under surveillance. I could take you to a spot up on the ridge where he has lain on his stomach observing you.” Dean made a disgusted noise. “At one time or another, the bastard's given the slip to all four of us.” As Dean spoke, Summer's hands had grown clammy with apprehension. But when he mentioned four people keeping her under their scrutiny, spying on her, she curled her hands into fists as her tension turned to anger. “That's it. You can all stop playing big brother.” She turned on Dean. “Have you seen this elusive jerk recently?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Define recently.” “The last three weeks?” He glanced at Kadar. “Nope.” Summer confronted the prince. “What about you? Have you seen him in the last three weeks?” Kadar's face hardened. “No.” 150


“In that case, I want a promise from both of you to get off my property and don't come back. You can tell that to the others, too. If I feel the need of protection, I'll hire my own.” Kadar studied her as if trying to figure out her motivation. “Miss Starr, You're still in danger. If his pattern holds true, he'll return and possibly hurt you.” “If? Possibly? How do you really know he's coming back?” Her voice rose. “Maybe he just got tired of the cold ground and dodging you four people and left for good.” Dean pulled one hand out of his pocket and made a gesture that took in the surrounding land. “You're isolated out here. This is an ideal hideout if you want to run drugs up from Mexico, or stalk someone. Kill them and hide the body.” “It's my land, my life, my decision,” she said hotly. “I want your pledge that you'll leave my property and not return without an invitation.” As her temper had grown, she'd unwittingly transmitted part of the emotion to the ley lines throbbing miles below her feet. A blockage developed in one. It swelled, climbed toward her, flames licking just under the surface. “Get back! Danger!” she shouted. “Where?” Instead of retreating, Kadar pulled her to the ground, covered her with his body, and gripped a matteblack, deadly handgun. To one side, Dean crouched, aiming his equally deadly weapon. “No! It's not a person.” She struggled to get away from Kadar, to make him leave. 151


Fighting the growing heat and pressure from below, she struggled to explain while protecting the men. “A...ley line...going rogue. It's dangerous. Move. Run.” Pressing her hands flat against the grass and rocky dirt, she sent a mental probe down to the depths of the earth's crust where power ran in hot, laser-like streams. Abruptly, the weight of Kadar's body was gone. She heard him tell Dean to get back. Now she could put all her attention on the deadly line. The ground rocked. Trees shook. Triggered by the struggle between her will and the rogue strand, a miniature landslide rattled down the hillside. Behind her closed eyelids, she saw the magnetic ribbons twenty miles below her prone body. Linked together in a net of power, the lines functioned under pressure and heat so intense rocks melted into lava. She took a moment to center herself, to focus on the next step. Then, with a mental prayer for guidance, she dove down, through geological layers, each one increasingly dense, hard, hot—sedimentary, metamorphic, granitic, basaltic—until she reached the birthplace of the rogue. As heat and pressure battered her psi-protected essence, she located where the line had escaped and sealed the weakened strand. With a final dull bellow of disappointment, the rogue sank down to its natural channel. Once more, the balance was restored. Her energy depleted, Summer drew back to herself and rested on the sun-warmed earth. 152


She heard Dean say, “I'll be damned. She does stop earthquakes.” If Kadar responded, Summer didn't hear him. Where she lay, sweet grass pressed against her cheek and tickled the side of her nose. A cool breeze cleared away dust shaken loose by the earthquakes. Her heart rate gradually slowed to normal. Gentle, callused fingers pressed against the pulse point below her right ear. Summer heard Dean ask, “She okay?” It took too much energy to answer. She concentrated on levering herself onto her hands and knees, then paused, head down. Idly, she noticed the grass and dirt clinging to her cotton top. Close beside her, Kadar said, “Lie down. Take time to recover. I've called 911.” “Cancel the call. They can't help.” Gathering her strength, she tried to push up to a sitting position. Again strong hands helped her as a male voice she identified as Kadar's uttered harsh words in an unknown language. Finally, seated upright, she waited for the dizziness to pass. Looking up into Dean's face where he crouched on one side of her, she saw his concern for her. He hadn't moved away in apprehension as others had once they realized the scope of her gifts. 153


Kadar still knelt beside her. He looked into her eyes, obviously assessing her condition. She swallowed to clear her throat, then asked, “Did you cancel the call to emergency? I'll be fine without the paramedics.” After studying her for another minute, he called off the authorities. “Thank you.” She brushed the dirt and grass off her shirt. “Now I'll have a promise from each of you to stop nosing around my property.” “Are we back to that foolishness?” Kadar growled. “Exactly. A promise from each of you or I'll charge you with trespassing.” Kadar rose, towering over her. “You wouldn't go that far.” “Try me.” She got to her feet, shaking off Dean's attempt to help. “I'm going up to the house. Will it be your word or do I call the police and have you arrested?” Kadar's face settled into an inscrutable mask. “I'll stay away for now—” “Good.” He made an impatient gesture. “I didn't finish. The moment any of us, Michael, Hawk, or myself have proof that the watcher is still around and a danger to you, I'll be back with or without your permission.” She looked at Dean. “Same here,” he said. “I guess that'll have to do for now.” She trudged back toward her house muttering, “Bullheaded men.” 154


With each step she grew stronger. It was time to get back to the workshop and finish her consignment for the gallery. **** On the morning of the art show, Summer dressed in a robin's egg blue silk dress with a demure neckline and a flirty skirt. Reverently, she clasped the silver chain holding the moonstone pendant around her neck. Once more, the connection to the ley lines was muted, but as she caressed the silvery knots, an image of Michael dressed in a navy blue business suit formed in her mind. Why a suit? She wouldn't see him at the gallery, she thought wistfully. Another week had passed and she still hadn't heard from him. She drove toward the Seaside Gallery alone. Hawk and Charity would come later. Summer loved this part of the route shaded by live oaks and eucalyptus trees. An occasional fence and lush fields of grass and clover marked other properties where her neighbors kept horses. As she whipped around the familiar curves of the two-lane road she caught a glimpse of a black pickup in her rear view mirror. The truck seemed familiar. Was it a neighbor? The next time she looked, it was gone. She shook her head at her own jumpiness. Could be just someone coming down from the mountains where this secondary road began. Summer stopped for a pair of riders crossing the road at a bridle path. When she accelerated, she once again saw the truck a distance behind her. 155


Uneasily, she continued through a small settlement of neatly painted small homes and businesses where the speed limit was 35 MPH. A quick glance in the mirror showed a car and a van, but no truck. Relieved, she continued on to Laguna Beach and the Seaside Art Gallery. **** Once there, she strolled through a series of light, airy rooms. In each, tall windows faced a marvelous view of the Laguna Cliffs and ocean coastline. Music by Yanni and David Arkenstone drifted through rooms perfumed by the fragrance of massive rose bouquets. In some of the rooms, paintings were hung against the white walls where direct sunlight couldn't damage them. One room fairly blazed with the jeweled colors of glass bowls, vases, sculpture, and exquisite crystal roses and daffodils forever in bloom. “Summer, you're early. Welcome.” Chanda Taj, the gallery owner, fluttered toward Summer in a floating caftan of yellow darkening into orange and deep red. Multiple necklaces of African trade beads and gold coins complimented her clothing and dark caramel-colored skin. “You look wonderful, Chanda. Perfect for the owner of an art gallery. The tiny woman gave a low, musical laugh. “This is my battle gear, comfortable, but conveys the message that it's my turf.” She linked her elbow with Summer's. “Come and have some champagne punch. Relax before the customers arrive.” 156


Cheerfully, Summer allowed herself to be led to a curving, glassed-in atrium room where lush plants provided a cool background to comfortable chairs and a handful of tables. Trays of small tarts and finger sandwiches in a variety of flavors had been set out. Each was garnished with blossoms of hibiscus, violets, pansies, and roses that had been dipped in thin batter and fried. Some of the edible flowers were left as is in their delicate crust. Others had been dotted with honey. Two punch bowls were set on gleaming cold pads. Silver champagne buckets filled with crushed ice held bottles of golden liquid ready to be opened and served. “You've gone to a lot of trouble, Chanda.” Summer squeezed the owner's hand in thanks. “When we discussed the plans and signed the papers, I certainly didn't expect all this.” “It's called lulling the customer into a buying mood.” With a graceful wave of her hand she indicated a chair. “Sit while you have the chance. Once people begin to arrive, you'll be circulating through the rooms devoted to your work.” Nervously, Summer patted her hair. “I have to confess a flight of butterflies is holding a convention in my stomach.” “Butterflies are normal.” Chanda gave her a crystal cup of punch and held one for herself. “Summer, your sculptures are exquisite. They pretty much sell themselves. I just have to give a nudge here and there.” She waved a slender hand. “I'm honored to show such remarkable pieces.” 157


“Thank you.” Summer's heart warmed with pleasure at the knowledgeable woman's comment. “It's been a long time since I had an exhibit, except for the charity auction.” “You'll be fine once the guests arrive.” Chanda drank her punch and set the cup on an empty tray set aside for that purpose. “When you're ready, we'll do a final walk through.” Summer set her half-filled cup beside Chanda's. “Let's do it now.” In the first room, Chanda touched a ten-inch bronze entitled Sea Otters at Play. “I expect a bidding war on this. It has a marvelous sense of joy and life.” Propelling Summer along, she exclaimed over the other displays, pointing out their merits. Should I pinch myself? Summer wondered. This must be how a mother feels when someone tells her wonderful things about her child. Chanda tugged her into another room. “I love your new work in ceramic bas relief.” She tapped the wall beside a piece titled Northern Lights. “The aurora borealis on this one fairly crackles with energy. How did you get such depth in the glaze without it crazing?” As she started to answer, mellow chimes announced the entrance of someone into the shop. “I'll be back.” Chandra went to greet the person. Turning back to the bas relief, Summer recalled the spring night she'd shaped and smoothed the ice floes, the mother Polar bear and two cubs, the up thrust iceberg to one side, all 158


in a mix of the purest white forms of clay. She'd done the colors and final glazing in multiple layers. She heard the mutter of male voices and turned as Chanda entered the display room with eight men. One stopped the petite woman just inside the doorway. Two advanced into the room, searching behind each pedestal and display table. Summer started to ask what they were trying to find, but the taller of the two men stared at her with a stone-faced expression that sent shivers down her back. He turned away, dismissively, and continued his search. When he bent down to examine the base of one table, his unbuttoned sports coat shifted and Summer saw the edge of a shoulder holster. The burly man slowly raked his gaze over her, lingering on her breasts. She would have given anything to be far away from him, preferably the other side of the world. Nervously, she fingered the pendant. The first two men took up positions at two side doors. Deliberately, Summer moved to a spot in front of a tall, bronze urn filled with American Beauty roses. Pasting a pleasant expression on her face, she watched the rest of the party enter. Each, deeply tanned, had an exotic Middle Eastern look. The slim, dapper man in an expensive dark suit was the obvious leader. Four of the five remaining men took bodyguard places behind him and at both sides. The fifth clutched a writing tablet and stayed two steps behind the leader. 159


With a forced smile, Chanda said, “Miss Starr, may I present his Excellency, Umahd Zuberi, President of Landolo.”

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CHAPTER 10 “Your Excellency.” Summer dipped her head politely to hide her growing uneasiness and offered her hand. Clasping her fingers, Zuberi raised them to his lips. A heavy gold signet ring on his finger pressed against Summer's skin, and the hairs stood up on the nape of her neck as a scene formed in her mind. A younger Michael, his clothes streaked with soil and blood, knelt in the dirt, cradling a dark-haired teenage girl. The bodies of a man and woman lay sprawled in the dirt behind him. In the background, men in unfamiliar uniforms systematically touched flaming torches to the wood and grass roofs of huts. The heat and smoke rolled toward her in choking clouds carrying the coppery scent of blood and the moans of faceless victims. A thick miasma of Zuberi's hate overlaid the picture. Stunned and sickened by the horror, Summer slammed mental doors against the vision, and found herself back in the sun-filled display room. Miles below her feet, a ley line heaved restlessly, then subsided. Apparently only seconds had passed. Zuberi raised his head from kissing her fingers, a predatory light in his eyes. She tried to tug her hand away, but he held it tighter, clasping his other fingers over hers. “Miss Starr,” he said in the formal speech of someone who'd learned English in school as a secondary language. “It 161


is a pleasure to meet such a talented and lovely artist. You have an exceptional feel for the earth and things of nature.” As he spoke, Summer sensed a hidden meaning in his words. She forced herself to smile. “Thank you, President Zuberi. I appreciate Miss Taj arranging this exhibit.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized Chanda had stepped back in an attempt to avoid Zuberi's interest. Releasing Summer's hand, he turned his attention to the gallery owner. Chanda held her ground, but Summer saw the small tic in the petite woman's cheek, a slight tremble in the hand she'd braced against a display table. Anxious to give her new friend a chance to escape Zuberi's deeper scrutiny, Summer stepped between them. “Chanda, you said to remind you to turn off the door chimes and then add ice to the champagne buckets. While you're gone, I'll give the President and his associates a tour.” “Thank you.” Chanda flashed her a grateful look and fled from the room. Summer turned back to the dangerous Landolan. Now she was trapped, alone with him and his men. Swallowing dryly, she fought the instinct to fold her arms protectively across her breasts. Instead, she crossed the room to the bas relief hung on the wall opposite the bank of windows. “President Zuberi, this piece is titled Northern Lights. It's a new direction for my work.” 162


“Charming.” He barely glanced at the mother and cubs. “Please call me Umahd and I shall call you Summer.” “I prefer to keep our dealings on a formal basis, your Excellency.” “Ah, my dear Summer, you wound me when you refuse my simple request.” His smile was belied by the cruel light in his eyes. “Would you prefer I ignore your unacceptably rude behavior and let it be known in diplomatic and art circles that the Seaside Gallery offers inferior work?” In spite of her ragged heartbeat, she squared her shoulders to hide her fear and boldly met his eyes. “What would these same people think if they learned you resorted to threats when I refused to use your first name only minutes after our initial meeting?” His black, expressionless eyes scrutinized her. Finally he said, in a silky voice tinged with menace, “Your point is easily remedied. You will join me for lunch.” “I have other plans.” Her instinct was to flee. Instead, she put on a composed smile. “Excuse me, Excellency, I should greet other guests as they arrive.” She walked unhurriedly toward one exit, her high heels clicking on the cream-tile floor. “Ratzer, stop her.” The burly man blocked her path. “Th’ boss said wait.” He grinned, showing his stained teeth accented by one gold tooth. Seizing her elbow, he drew her back to Zuberi. A deep, familiar voice interrupted them. “Up to your old tricks, Zuberi?” 163


Michael. In his beautifully tailored, dark blue suit, his bearing and appearance were aristocratic, wealthy. Summer's pulse went into a wild dance, but she tried to hide her reaction behind a serene expression. “Forest.” Zuberi said savagely. “We meet again. This time it will end differently.” Casually, Michael strolled through a diffused shaft of sunlight toward them as unconcerned as if he were with friends. The tension in the air belied that idea. Zuberi's men spread out, boxing in Michael with her and Zuberi. Michael's alert movements, the way he held his hands slightly open indicated he knew what they were doing. But he didn't waver or stop until he was within touching distance of her. She scrutinized him closely, noticing new lines of fatigue in his face. Why wasn't he taking better care of himself? In spite of those physical signs, he still looked wonderful. No, gorgeous, but he was running a terrible risk. The brief glimpse into Zuberi's hatred for him was enough. Summer had to warn Michael. Coolly she offered her hand. “Mr. Forest, it's good to see you here. Welcome to Seaside Gallery.” Michael accepted her hand just as impersonally. Shifting so Zuberi couldn't see her lips, she whispered, “Danger. Get out, now.” One side of his mouth kicked up in a faint smile. “Your warm greeting is exceeded only by your charm.” 164


Summer wanted to scream in frustration. Didn't he realize the peril if he stayed? His gaze dropped down to her lips. Memories warmed his brown eyes. She tried to draw her hand away, but his fingers carefully tightened around her wrist. At his touch, her heart flipped. She forced herself to keep a cool appearance when all she really wanted was to find shelter in his arms. Looking past her to where Zuberi stood, Michael said, “I anticipate claiming many treasures today.” With that sentence, he shattered her hopes that he'd leave safely. Michael slid an arm around Summer's waist, offering her his protection. For a moment, she stiffened. Then with a sigh of acceptance she became pliant. Nuzzling her ear, he murmured, “Zuberi already knows we're friends. Follow my lead.” “Anywhere,” she whispered. Michael's heart swelled with pride at Summer's courage. The moment he'd stepped into the tension-charged room he'd seen her confront Zuberi, then coolly attempt to stare down the guard. Her skin was pale and chilled. Standing this close he heard the hitch in her breath, and realized how truly frightened she was of the bastards. Nevertheless, she'd tried to send him away out of danger. Damn, how could he ever let her go again? 165


A thick silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint rush and roar of ocean waves breaking against the rocky cliffs. “A very touching scene,” Zuberi said with a sneer. “Or are you hiding behind the false belief that Miss Starr's presence will protect you?” Michael squeezed Summer's waist to reassure her. “You're not a fool, Zuberi. We're in a public place. Other people will be entering to see the displays.” Zuberi's men shifted their feet uneasily. One man casually slipped a hand inside his jacket. “I suggest you curb your men,” Michael said sharply. “He gestured to the man who'd appeared to reach for a weapon. “The U.S. government does not take kindly to incidents where gunplay is involved.” Zuberi snapped an order in his native tongue and the man put both hands in view. Michael wanted to get Summer to safety immediately. He'd told Kadar to wait outside for three minutes, before coming in. Right on time, Kadar strode into the room and stopped in front of Summer. Executing an elegant salaam, he said, “Greetings, fair flower of the earth and wind. I saw you across the dance floor at the Ball. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nicholas Kadar Ben Hamad, Prince of Duraza, at your service.” Summer's cheeks colored and she smiled. “You honor me, Prince Ben Hamad.” 166


Zuberi interrupted. “Don't put too much hope in his claim of prince, Miss Starr. His father's council of elders will soon vote to strip this rebel of his rank.” Kadar's eyes narrowed. Michael knew his friend was exercising great restraint. But Kadar had distracted everyone else long enough to flash a quick hand signal, Hawk. Here. Four minutes. Four minutes was a lifetime when Summer's fate hung in the balance. The Landolan President said, “You've stalled long enough, Forest. Victor and Ratzer will escort the prince outside. When that's done, Victor will dispose of any trash before he returns. Ratzer, lock the outer door.” Michael glanced at Kadar. They both knew Zuberi had just issued Kadar's death warrant. Stepping in front of Summer, Michael searched for a way to protect her while he and Kadar took on Zuberi's six men. He discounted the mousy looking one who trembled and wiped his brow, but not Zuberi. There is one way, Michael thought. I'm his main target. “Zuberi, if I go with you—” Summer grabbed his arm. “Michael. No.” “Don't do it, friend,” Kadar said quietly. “I must.” He signaled, get Summer clear. With a self-satisfied smile, Zuberi said. “I'm waiting to hear your offer, Forest.” At that moment, the sound of a woman's voice in the next display room froze everyone. 167


“Oh, Herbert,” came the words in a shrill tone. “Isn't this bronze of the sea otters just too, too, darling?” “Yes, Melanie,” replied a bored male voice. “I simply must have it. Find the owner, Herbert. Pay what she asks.” Zuberi made an impatient gesture. “Oliver, get rid of those people.” “Me?” the mousy man said nervously. “How?” Scratching the beard stubble on his chin, Ratzer eyed the fidgety man. “Want me to do it, boss, I mean your Excellency?” “That's right, Zuberi.” Michael smiled mockingly. “Send Ratzer and let him rough up a couple of innocent U.S. citizens. The State Department sure as hell won't turn a blind eye to that. You might even find yourself declared persona non grata, and be forced to leave the country.” “Ratzer, stay where you are,” Zuberi ordered. “I make the decisions and give the orders.” Under the cover of the conversation, Summer whispered, “I'll distract Zuberi's men. You—” “No.” Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose to cover his murmured response. Where the hell was Hawk? They had to get Summer out of here. Adopting a casual pose with hands in his pockets, Michael said. “It's a sure thing more patrons will arrive for Summer's showing.” As if to prove his comment, he heard new voices raised in conversation and the sound of footsteps in the adjoining 168


rooms. Melanie's distinctive tones demanded that Herbert buy another, too, too darling piece. “Kadar will escort Summer out to his car and leave. I'll walk out next. You and your men can go last, and people will think you're all patrons of the arts.” The tall blonde with cold eyes who stood guard at one exit watched Michael unblinkingly. Ratzer, the brute guarding the other exit, leered at Summer. And Michael fought his desire to beat the hell out of the bastard. “Very well, Forest.” Zuberi had assumed his arrogant persona. “The prince may escort Miss Starr to his car and leave. You will depart next and hope Ratzer's trigger finger doesn't get, should we say, itchy?” The burly man drew a Colt .45 from under his jacket and pointed it at Michael. “Give me a reason to use this.” Turning his back on the bully, Michael quietly said, “Go with Kadar, Summer. He'll drive you to your sister's home.” Kadar nodded. The look in his eyes promised retribution if anything happened to Michael or Summer. Summer protested, “Don't stay. Come with us. Walk in front of me.” He touched her cheek. “I made a promise.”

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CHAPTER 11 Michael watched Summer and Kadar disappear into the adjoining room, listening to the click of Summer's heels until the sound faded. Good, they were safe. The murmur of more voices echoed through the gallery, but so far he, Zuberi, and the other men were the only ones spread among the display tables and pedestals in this room. Keeping Ratzer and the tall Victor in sight, he addressed Zuberi. “Now I'm going.” He turned his back to the men and walked toward the exit. A chill ran down his spine. With every step he was that much farther from a shot in the back. At the rasp of a handgun being cocked, the muscles in his neck and between his shoulder blades bunched, waiting for the shock of a bullet. He stepped through the arched doorway into the next room. This would be their last opportunity to take him down. The exit to the outside was in sight. Was Zuberi playing a cat and mouse game? Keeping his pace to a casual stroll, he approached the closed door. The longer he stalled, the farther away Kadar could go with Summer. Chanda walked toward him from a display room in the opposite direction. He motioned for her to step back. She glanced behind him, turned chalk-white and backpedaled until she was safely out of sight. 170


Opening the door, he stepped outside into the bright sunshine and fresh wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean. This time, he'd escaped. The image of a dark pit flashed across his mind. Across the parking lot, a black Jaguar came to a stop and Hawk stepped out. Michael knew Charity would be with him. This wasn't the time for conversation. He signaled, Summer safe. Talk later. Then he picked up the pace to his Mercedes. **** Was Michael alive? Summer looked out the truck window toward the steep hills rising above the ocean. In this late summer season, the natural grasses and shrubs were browned from the heat. Houses sat on terraced pads, surrounded by a belt of green plants and the bright reds and purples of geraniums and bougainvilleas. She knew she was avoiding the painful question. Please, God. Michael had to be alive. How could she go on if he wasn't? “Don't think about it,” Kadar said in a gentle tone. “It would take a hell of a lot to get the best of Michael.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, willing unshed tears to remain at bay. “He was only one man against eight thugs, all of them probably armed to the teeth.” “Seven,” Kadar corrected with a faint smile. “The one named Oliver would turn tail and run if you looked at him.” He flicked on a signal and wheeled onto a different road. He'd lowered the window on his side and a saltwater breeze swirled in, rustling his hair the way it had Michael's at 171


Cypress Cove. Michael, the man who'd slogged through water and tramped across impossible trails with her. Who'd stood guard over her as she fought the forces of earth to restore order. The one who'd held her in his arms. Kadar touched her shoulder. “Have some faith in his ability to get out of tight spots.” She inhaled and let her breath out slowly, focusing on Michael being safe. She looked at the man beside her—Michael's friend. The tingle across her scalp and down her nape presaged a vision. Then the image of a different Kadar appeared. Dressed in flowing white robes, and wearing an Arabian headdress tied with twisted silver cords, he brandished a rifle while galloping his magnificent horse across a sandy plain. Behind him rode a band of ferocious-looking men, following him into a battle she somehow knew would come. “Summer?” His voice startled her back to the present. She blurted out, “You're like two different people. Sometimes Arabian, sometimes American.” He gave her an amused smile, and she blushed, right down to a faint prickle across her throat. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “I can't believe I was so rude.” “Hey, no offense taken. Actually, you're correct. I'm both.” She wanted to ask how, but she'd already pushed the bounds of good manners. Kadar was silent for a few minutes as he entered a northbound freeway. Once he'd settled into the high-speed lane, he flashed her another smile. “It's a long story how I came to live in two worlds, but I'll begin when I met Michael.” 172


“Please do,” she murmured. “When I was fourteen, I was with my American-born mother on her father's horse ranch in Wyoming.” “Your grandfather.” “He didn't see it that way. Called me a fuckin’ half-breed when mom wasn't around.” Although Kadar spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, Summer sensed his underlying sadness. “I'm sorry he couldn't accept your heritage.” “You got that right.” After changing lanes to get around a slow-moving van, he continued. “When my mother died in a car accident, her father threw me off the ranch with nothing but the clothes on my back and the jacket I managed to grab. There were reasons I couldn't return to Duraza at that time, so I hitched rides and wound up in Los Angeles.” “That must have been a terrible time for you, alone and defenseless at fourteen.” He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the road. “Not exactly defenseless. Anyway, some street toughs decided I was cluttering up their neighborhood and needed to be taught a lesson. I was doing pretty damned good, but nine to one makes for a rough fight. “That's when Michael showed up. I didn't know him from spit, but he waded right in and evened the odds. Afterwards, he took me to his place, cleaned up my cuts and scrapes, and had Brigid, his housekeeper, feed me. We've been friends ever since.”

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Kadar paused to answer the car phone. After listening a few seconds, he said, “She's fine. ETA ten minutes at Hawk's.” Replacing the handset, he gave Summer a cheerful look. “That was Michael. He's on the way.” “Thank God.” Until that moment, she hadn't realized how truly tense she'd been. Now a tide of relief and joy washed over her. “I was so worried.” “Told you he'd be okay.” **** As Michael approached Hawk's place, the reinforced wrought iron gate rolled aside. That showed Hawk had been on the lookout. He drove his car down the driveway and parked between Hawk's Jag and Kadar's pickup. Both cars here meant Summer was inside. Thank God she's safe. When Michael stepped out of his car, Hawk met him. “Still in one piece, I see.” Hawk surprised Michael by pulling him into a silent hug. Stepping back, he said, “Summer and Kadar told me about your run-in with Zuberi.” “Things got a little dicey until Kadar got Summer out of the line of fire.” Entering the house, they crossed the front room and went down the two steps into the family room facing the ocean. Kadar had been standing with one shoulder propped against the wall beside the stairs. He silently gripped Michael's upper arm in welcome, then went back to his post. Michael's gaze focused on Summer where she sat on the light-colored couch drinking tea. Her hair had been smoothed 174


back and worked into an elegant roll for the gallery exhibit, but fine tendrils had escaped and danced around her face. She turned, saw him, and her cup chattered in the saucer as she jumped up with a glad cry. Rushing to him, she brushed her fingers along his shoulders and down his arms as if she had to touch and make sure he really was in one piece. Placing her hands on his chest, she looked up into his face with a grave expression. “Michael, thank God you're safe.” Michael kept his hands at his sides, fighting the desire to wrap his arms around her. Once he did, he'd never want to let her go. Her hands faltered. She stopped her tender exploration and her eyes filled with uncertainty. “I...I'm sorry if I overstepped—” Damn. He'd made her feel self-conscious. Tenderly, he gathered her into his embrace. She stiffened for a moment, then melted against him, whispering his name. “Little moonfire,” he said in a ragged tone, “When I saw Zuberi eyeing you today, and that bastard, Ratzer, restraining you, I wanted to smash both their faces.” “I was so scared,” she said in a low voice. “You had a good reason.” He raised one hand to stroke the nape of her neck beneath the heavy roll of silky hair. Tipping her head back a little, she slid one hand up to caress his jaw. “Michael, I was afraid for you. When Zuberi looked at you, his eyes were hard, evil.” “Summer. It's over. I'm here.” He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. God, she tasted sweet, innocent. 175


“I hate to break this up,” Hawk said in an amused voice. “But you've got an audience.” Reluctantly, Michael released Summer. She caught up his hand, lacing their fingers, and gave Hawk a chiding look. “Brother-in-law, for a hot-shot security agent, you have rotten timing.” Hawk chuckled. Charity grinned at her sister. Michael drew Summer to the sofa set at right angles to where Charity and Hawk were seated. Hawk, his arm around Charity's shoulders, said, “Michael, old friend, next time you plan to walk into an enemy-held position, wait for backup.” “No time. Summer was trying to get away from Zuberi and the sonuvabitch who works for him wouldn't let her.” Summer's hand tightened on his. Michael shifted, half-turning so he could look directly at her. “I stayed away so you wouldn't be involved in my fight with Zuberi.” Her eyes widened. “I thought you didn't want to see me anymore.” “Hell, no. I wanted you safely out of the line of fire.” “That didn't work today, did it?” Michael's mouth set in a grim line. Before he could answer, she hurried on. “I suppose setting Dean and Kadar, and two other men to spy on me was also to keep me safe?” “You've got it.” Drawing her hand away from him, she sat up straight, her back rigid. “Call them off, now.” 176


“Can't do that. They work for Hawk.” Her attention swung to Hawk. “Get those men away from my land.” “Not until you learn the meaning of caution. Kadar reported on the incident where you gave the drifter a bottle of water.” “The poor man looked hot and tired.” Michael said, “You just proved Hawk's point.” She rounded on him. “You may live in a world where suspicion is a survival response, but I won't live like that.” Michael's lips compressed into an angry line. She hurried on trying to ignore the hurt her words might have inflicted. “I don't regret being kind, and to put it on a mercenary plane, I sketched his face to use in a newly commissioned project.” Summer bunched her fingers into fists until her nails dug into her palms. “Hawk, I followed your advice about security systems. Even then, your two guys, Dean and Kadar, proved it was easy to secretly snoop on me.” She glanced at the man who'd brought her, and he sketched a salute. Angrily, she waved a hand in Michael's direction. “A while back, Mr. Forest demonstrated how easily a man could overpower me.” Hawk fixed her with an implacable look. “Everything you just said proves you need more protection.” Her stomach sank. Why couldn't they see her point? With an effort, she schooled her voice into a calm tone. “I've already promised to be more cautious. I need the freedom and space I have at my own house and yard so I can 177


do my work. Besides, life is a risk, no matter where I go, even crossing a street. Hawk, for the last time, call off your men.” He studied her with his inscrutable expression, then leaned forward. “No. You're too damned vulnerable living way the hell out there. Your fence is a joke. A ten-year-old could scale it and be on your side under cover before you realized anyone was near.” Summer knew he was right. That only made her defensive, and she speared him with an angry glare. “Damn you, Hawk Adams. How many times do I have to say cut me some slack? I've had it up to here,” she held the edge of her flattened hand under her chin, “with being over-protected, guarded...smothered.” On the last word, she jumped to her feet, stumbled across the room to the bank of windows, and pressed one hand against the cool glass. Soft footsteps followed her across the thick rugs and tile. Charity said gently, “Sister?” Summer stepped to one side. “Not now, sis, please. I'm so confused it would give you a psychic headache.” “I understand,” Charity said in a low voice. Summer heard the quiet retreat and the tender rumble of her brother-in-law's voice comforting her sister. Conversation resumed among the other people in the room, allowing Summer time to gain control of her anger and, she wryly admitted to herself, fear.

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Composing her expression, she willed her voice to stay steady. “I know you all have my best interests in mind, but can't you see it from my viewpoint?” Michael's steady gaze invited an explanation. He extended a hand. “Why not tell us?” “Yes. That would be best.” She crossed to the couch and sat at the opposite end from him. “Charity and I were the youngest kids of seven in our family.” Charity added, “Summer's a year older than me.” Nodding, Summer continued. “Worse, we were also small and female. That brought out our family's protective streak, especially our four older brothers.” Summer looked toward her sister. “They had to shield Charity even more than me because her empathic gifts left her mind and emotions too exposed.” Charity chimed in. “Don't forget what happened with your connection to the magnetic lines when you were upset.” Summer bit her lip nervously. “I'd rather not talk about that.” “But, it's dangerous if—” “That's my problem.” Sliding closer to her, Michael spread his warm fingers on her shoulder. As he gently massaged the knotted muscles at the top of her spine, he said, “Your sister already told me about the earthquakes when you're upset.” “Yes, if my control slips.” Thank God, she didn't have to explain the rest. 179


While Michael's touch worked magic with her knotted muscles, Summer heard the phone ring in another room. Hawk left to answer it. Charity offered tea to Michael, and he accepted. She turned to Kadar. “Are you sure you don't want something to drink?” “Not now, Charity. Thanks. I have to go.” Straightening, he crossed the room and stopped in front of Summer. “Miss Starr, you had a rough time today and toughed it out. Most other women would've fallen apart under the pressure. You didn't.” Moved by his sincerity, she offered her hand. “You got me to safety when I sensed you really wanted to stay and fight beside Michael.” Kadar took her fingers in his masculine hand. As his eyes took on an eerie glow, Summer experienced a shock of recognition. He was gifted. When he began to speak, a chill rippled down her spine. “Summer, Michael, your times of harsh testing are still ahead. Although the end is veiled, know this—you'll both be tried by fire, ice, your deepest terror, and your greatest loss." Kadar blinked and his eyes returned to their normal blue. He gave Summer's hand a gentle squeeze, released it, and looked at Michael. “You two be careful.” On those parting words, he strode across the room, up the two steps, and disappeared toward the front door. “I've never seen him like that,” Charity said.

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Michael slid his right arm around Summer, drawing her closer. “He doesn't do it often, Charity. The damnable part is, so far, he's been on the money.” Silence filled the room. Drawing strength from Michael's closeness, Summer gazed at the Pacific Ocean framed by tall windows. The bright sunshine and blue sky were reflected in the deeper blue of the water and foaming whitecaps. Two sleek boats, white sails unfurled to catch the wind, drifted across the curve of the horizon. The scene was cheerful, serene. How long would she experience that safety and peace before Kadar's prediction came true? Charity stood. “I'll go check on Alex. Mrs. Smitt, his babysitter, said he went to sleep soon after we left for the gallery.” Hawk passed Charity, brushing his fingers across her cheek, as he returned from his study. Once more, he settled on the couch. “That was a follow-up on the guy watching Summer. His name's Cole. Jared Cole, formerly of Special Forces before he was given an honorable discharge. After that, he dropped out of sight.” “Cole?” A name floated out of the past—Bill, Bill Cole. Bill! She shivered. Uneasy memories flooded her mind. She'd buried them. Now, it was time to let them come so she could examine them for a clue to this person stalking her. “Summer, what's wrong?” Michael asked sharply. She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Three years ago, in my senior year at UCI, Bill Cole was in a ceramics class with me.” 181


“Did you know him? What was he like?” She frowned, mentally searching for a way to describe him. “Nobody in the class knew Bill very well. He missed a lot of classes, and when he did attend, he was usually late.” Summer glanced at Hawk, then turned and looked up into Michael's face. “I hate to be negative about him, but you asked.” “Don't worry about it. Hawk and I want to know everything you can recall. Could be the Bill Cole you knew is related to this Jared.” Hawk added, “Michael's right. What else do you remember?” “He had talent, but his assignments were often unfinished. When that happened, he'd find someone else to blame.” Michael folded her hand in his. “Go on.” “The last time I saw Bill was during the final week of class. We were all working hard to complete our wall displays for evaluation and grading the next day. As usual, Bill hadn't completed his project early enough to make any adjustments. When he put it together, a piece cracked and he didn't have time to make a replacement.” Summer brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek, recalling her uneasiness when the last two students left except for Bill and her. “He looked so upset I offered to repair the cracked piece and help him assemble the whole wall mount so the crack wouldn't show. “That wasn't good enough for him. He demanded I give him mine, and use his for my grade.” 182


Michael squeezed her hand. “How in the hell did he expect to get away with a switch?” “He didn't say. He just screamed, bitch and threw me against the heavy work table.” “The bastard,” Michael growled. She studied their linked hands, suddenly transfixed by a flood of new memories. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “I just remembered the rest. No wonder my skull was fractured.” Michael stiffened. “What?” Summer was barely aware of his reaction as she plunged deeper into her own world of memory. “Bill grabbed my sculpture and hit me on the head. It broke and he swore.” She pressed trembling fingers against her left temple. “He picked up a mallet and...” Suddenly, she was back in the Ceramics room with the cold concrete floor under her feet. The air held the dampearth scent of unworked clay and the odor of a man's heavy perspiration. The wood and cement table dug into her spine. Tasting fear, she crossed her arms over her head to ward off attack. A rough hand yanked her arm down. As she glimpsed the wooden hammer descending, the first blow struck, driving her to her knees. “Bill, no. Don't hit me.” Her head throbbed with each beat of her heart. Blood dripped down her face, into her eyes until the whole world turned red. Another blow—another slash of pain. 183


Her stomach rolled. Nauseous and dizzy with pain, the world went black and she felt herself falling...

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CHAPTER 12 The world shifted and tilted under Summer. Her skin felt cold, but she lay on something resilient and warm. “Come on, Summer, open your eyes. The commanding voice drew her back from the terror. Warm fingers stroked her hair. “Michael?” “I'm here. You're safe.” Again, the soothing caress of strong, gentle fingers across her sensitive scalp. Opening her eyes, she realized Michael held her on his lap, her head cradled in the crook of his muscular arm, while he brushed his other hand across her hair. Still dazed, she hastily checked her connection to the ley lines. By now, they should've been disrupted Instead, they flowed smoothly miles below. Summer looked up into Michael's shadowed expression. “You brought me back from the dark.” A muscle quivered angrily in his jaw. “I could kill the sonuvabitch who did this to you.” “I'll help.” Hawk's voice came from beside them. Michael stopped stroking her hair, and laid his hand on her forehead. “You're a little shocky. By rights you should be flat on the couch with your feet propped up.” That was the last thing she wanted. “I'd rather stay where I am,” she said shyly. His hand cupped her shoulder protectively. 185


Hawk asked, “Can you finish your story?” “Don't push her,” Michael warned. Still resting in his arms, Summer realized she could go on because this strong, gentle man gave her strength. “Michael, it's okay. I'll tell what else I remember.” Once more, she searched her memory. “I fell to my knees and tried to protect my head, but he beat me down, until I couldn't see. After five days in a coma, I woke up in the hospital. But I didn't know what happened until months later when my memory gradually returned.” As she looked up into Michael's face, she saw smoldering anger in his eyes, then it disappeared behind an unemotional mask. Suddenly feeling awkward, she said, “I want to get up.” Michael heard Summer's request, but he couldn't move as he struggled with rage at her ordeal. Her face was still pale and drawn, but her eyes had lost their dazed expression. Silently, he lifted her off his lap and settled her onto the couch. In a low voice he said, “Did he hurt you any other way?” “You mean did he rape me?” Michael added another layer to his control. “Yeah.” “That part is blank, but the doctor said he didn't. The last I recall is collapsing on the floor.” Hawk hunkered down in front of them. “What happened after the attack was reported?”

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“The students who found me told the police Bill had been the last person with me. He was arrested, but his brother got him out on bail.” “If Bill isn't in prison, I'll hunt him down,” Michael said in a raw voice. “He'll never terrorize you again.” “He's dead.” Summer's voice wavered. “According to what I read in the newspaper, he either fell or jumped off the pedestrian bridge over Campus Drive.” **** Michael gazed out the kitchen window at Summer's yard. Dusk shrouded the trees and lawn. On the other side of the wire fence, Dean stepped into view, signaled all clear, and disappeared back into the undergrowth. It had taken some fast-talking, but Summer had agreed to let him stay overnight. She'd turned down offers to stay either at his place, or with Charity and Hawk. Turning to Summer, Michael said, “I must've been out of my mind to let you come back here after Zuberi's appearance today.” She looked up from cutting the roast beef into slabs for cold sandwiches. “I thought we settled this already. My family made an art of over-protection. I even lost a few boyfriends along the way because of my brothers’ interference.” “Sounds like your friends didn't have enough backbone to stick it out.” While he spoke, Michael sauntered toward the island worktable. “They didn't have a chance with four guys ready to gang up on them.” 187


Michael studied Summer as she bent to her task. She'd changed into emerald green shorts and matching cotton blouse with a row of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons up the front. She'd left the top two undone, revealing a modest triangle of smooth, sun-kissed skin. In his imagination, Michael saw his own fingers sliding each button from its slot, pressing his mouth to the shadowed cleft between her breasts, tasting— “Pickles, Michael? Do you want sweet or dill?” He snapped out of his fantasy with a thud. Damn, her innocent sensuality tested his resolve to the limit. “I'll take dill.” “Me, too.” Unscrewing the lid, she extracted the pickle spears and arranged them beside a pile of black olives. All ordinary tasks, but her every graceful move was an unconscious invitation to him. Back off, Forest, he commanded. She doesn't need you hitting on her. Then he saw her feet and grinned. She was barefoot with pink nail polish on each toenail. Summer looked up. “What's so funny?” “No one who saw you dressed so elegantly at the gallery today would guess you like to go barefoot.” Her tense expression smoothed away and she smiled. “I've always loved to feel the textures of the earth or a cool floor, or the weave of a rug under my feet.” Satisfied that the haunted look in her eyes was gone, Michael said, “Want me to slice the homemade bread Charity gave you?” 188


“Great. Bread knife's in the drawer to your right.” They worked together assembling the simple meal of sandwiches, salad, and fruit, and set it on a bright floral tablecloth spread on the dining table. As he held her chair, Michael recalled the many formal occasions when he'd escorted beautiful sophisticated women to dinner or the theater. There'd been parties—the usual social whirl where international deals were made or broken amid the glitter of lights and jewels. None of them could hold a candle to sharing a simple meal with Summer. Seated across from her, he studied her delicate features, her slender wrists and graceful hands. Under her fragile appearance, she was gutsy and honorable. All the other women he'd known paled in comparison. For over a year, he'd treasured the image of Summer in her sister's wedding. They'd held the nighttime ceremony outdoors at Hawk's place on the lawn overlooking the ocean. That evening, Summer had been a slender ribbon of sweet fire in a pale yellow dress, with violets and yellow roses in her hair. At the end of the wedding, she'd stepped into an arc of lit candles under the stars where Hawk and Charity knelt, to offer up a blessing and a prayer. As she began to chant, the arc had filled with radiant silver light. Still speaking in an unknown language, Summer had lifted handfuls of the cool fire and poured them over Charity and Hawk in a shimmering veil. 189


Fourteen months had passed, but Michael recalled his awe and desire for Summer at the moment as if it had just happened. “A penny for your thoughts,” she said gently. Clearing his throat, he returned to the present. “I was thinking of Hawk and Charity's wedding. You offered a special blessing.” Michael reached across the table and clasped her hand. “I know you can hear the land and the stars. Summer, I'm amazed by your special gifts, but I'm truly moved by your compassion.” Her skin flushed a delicate pink and she curled her fingers over his. “I'll cherish your words forever.” A wave of tenderness rose in his chest. Their eyes met, and the trust in hers shook him to his depths. While they'd eaten and talked, night had fallen. Together, they cleared the table and stacked plates, cups, and utensils in the dishwasher. Finished, they settled in the family room. The air had turned cool. Michael knelt on the brick hearth and set a match to the wood stacked in the fireplace. Summer stretched and relaxed in the wing back chair angled to catch warmth from the fire. The pleasant aroma of clean-burning apple wood drifted through the room. She watched Michael kneel in front of the fresh blaze, gazing into it as if he saw secrets in the crackling flames. Earlier in the evening, he'd removed his tie and suit jacket, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. 190


Now, as the firelight danced across his light brown hair and solemn expression, the white fabric of his shirt contrasted with his tanned, muscular arms. He looked like what he was, a successful businessman, relaxing after a busy day. But the gun tucked into his belt holster, worn at his back, reminded her of his years in the service and later in covert activities. Since they'd arrived back at her house, their earlier heated discussion over the men remaining on guard, and his insistence on spending the night, had been the only ripple in her peace. Now, however, she had another matter to bring up. She worried her lower lip with her teeth, wondering how to start, and decided on a straightforward approach. “Michael, I want to settle this guard issue.” He rose with sinuous grace and limped to a matching chair across from her. “We've already settled it. Two men will be on duty all the time until Jared Cole is in jail and Zuberi's no longer a threat.” She nodded. “I agreed to that.” “And I'm staying here tonight in case Zuberi decides to make another run at you.” “Of course.” She caught a strand of her hair and twisted it. He leaned back, and unconsciously massaged his right leg. “So what's the problem?” “I want it understood that I still have the freedom to come and go without interference.” He raised his dark eyebrows inquiringly. 191


She hurried on. “I have other engagements, appointments and I don't want Hawk's men following me everywhere I go.” “Talk to him.” “I will, but I don't want your other associates to take up where Hawk leaves off.” “Providing you can get him to agree?” “Exactly.” She studied his impassive expression. What was he thinking? “You sure don't give away your thoughts, do you?” “Comes in handy when doing business with international wheelers and dealers.” She curled the strand of hair around her finger and took a breath. “I'll get to the point. I've signed a contract to do a Visiting Artist Seminar at UCI in five days in the Ceramics Room.” He sat forward abruptly. “Isn't that where you were attacked by Bill Cole?” “Yes, but that was three years ago.” He frowned. “Call it off.” “I can't. I've already signed the contract.” “My attorney will take care of that.” “No way!” Her heart pounded. A wave of heat flooded her face and neck. “Would you cancel a contract if the other party hadn't done anything wrong?” His face hardened. “Dammit, this is different.” She gripped the armrest of her chair. “The only thing different is you're a man, I'm a woman.” Jumping from the chair, she marched across the area rug and stopped in front of him. She threw back her head and 192


placed her hands on her hips. “I have a legal and moral obligation to teach the seminar. They're counting on it. The class has filled and there's a waiting list. “Bottom line, I won't break my promise.” The room grew silent except for the crackle of the flames. Michael leaned back, lacing both hands behind his head, and crossed his left ankle over his right knee. He stared at her without a change of expression. Two can play the waiting game. She returned his stare. After what seemed an eternity, one side of his mouth kicked up in a faint curve. “You're a little spitfire when you're backed against a wall.” She dropped her hands. “You, of all people, understand honor and obligation.” He nodded. “Hell, yes. It got me into trouble enough times.” She exhaled in relief. “Good. That's settled.” “Not quite.” Her heart sank. “What?” “I'll contact campus security and ask them to keep a closer watch on the area where you'll be teaching.” “That's a good idea.” His faint smile grew. “What? No argument?” “I've learned to quit when I'm ahead.” **** Summer had been asleep for hours when something woke her. Dark impressions of a tangled jungle, danger, grief swirled around her. She didn't have Charity's gift, but 193


someone's powerful emotions had reached out to her and dropped her into their pain. She slipped out of bed, and padded barefoot down the hallway in her white cotton nightgown. At the entrance to the living room, she paused and searched the shadows. Michael, wearing only his dress slacks, sat motionless on the thick rug in front of the fireplace. His left knee was flexed up, his right leg straight. His head was down as he gazed at something in his hand. Dim light from the dying fire illuminated the powerful muscles in his bare shoulders and chest. Faint scars bore evidence of the torture he'd suffered when señor Feo held him captive. A stray moonbeam slanted across his face, revealing a bone-deep sadness. She walked toward him, drawn by his anguish. In a flash of movement, his head whipped up, his arm swung toward her, and she found herself looking down the barrel of his deadly gun. “No,” she whispered, raising one hand to stop him. “Dammit, you startled me,” he said in a tight voice, and placed his gun within easy reach on the rug. “Next time make some noise to let me know you're coming.” “What? Hire a band?” “Go back to bed,” he said wearily. “Not yet.” She joined him on the rug, sitting cross-legged on his left side. “I can't read your mind.” “Thank God,” he muttered. 194


“I don't need that ability to know you're hurting. Do you want to talk about what's troubling you?” “Talking won't help. Go back to sleep.” He returned to studying the fire. Summer glanced down at what he held in his hand. Enough light came from the flames to show it was the photo of a younger Michael with his arm around a pretty teenage girl. “Is that your sister?” “Yeah,” he said in a low voice. “This would've been her birthday.” “You miss her.” “She'd be alive if I hadn't been so damned selfish,” he said in a savage tone. “Dammit, she had a whole life ahead, and that bastard snuffed her out like she was nothing.” Summer touched his forearm. His muscles tensed under her fingertips. “Michael, I never knew her, of course. But if she was anything like you, she wouldn't want you to carry the blame all these years.” “God,” he groaned. “You don't understand.” His left hand, draped across his knee, curled into a fist. “If only I'd gone with her and our parents. But, no, I had a swim meet coming up and I had to compete if I wanted a slot on the Olympics team.” “The Olympics? Your family must have been very proud.” “It cost them their lives.” Tenderly, he traced his sister's face. “She was only sixteen, and so full of the joy of life, she glowed.” 195


Summer edged closer and clasped his strong, tapered fingers between her hands. “Tell me all of what happened. That might help you find peace.” “Peace? Hell, I forfeited that years ago.” They fell silent. To Summer's heightened senses, the room was heavy with denial and sorrow . Quietly, she said, “Go ahead with your story.” He gazed at the photo, then turned his head to look at Summer. For an unguarded moment, she saw into the depths of his troubled soul. He stared at the flames again. “I had almost completed my post graduate studies at USC when my father was sent on an unofficial mission to a small country on the west coast of Africa. His superiors had said to make it look like a family vacation, so of course, Teri accompanied them.” Summer squeezed his hand to let him know she was listening. Glancing at her, Michael nodded, “Mom called, asked me to join them on a camera safari in five days, and reminded me we hadn't seen each other in over a year. I told her the swim meet was in a week and I'd leave right after it concluded.” “Of course you went.” “Yeah. I went.” His voice had gone flat. “I'd just won the freestyle event and was celebrating with my team when I received an urgent call from my father's assistant. He said my parents and sister had been captured by members of a rebel force and were being held for ransom. Simon told me the local authorities wanted to rescue them, but our State 196


Department said to wait for a negotiator to arrive. They wouldn't pay the ransom, but might arrange an exchange of prisoners.” “You flew there immediately.” “I chartered a plane, but I was too damned late.” His hand gripped hers painfully tight. Summer held on, anchoring him to the here and now. “What happened next?” After carefully setting the photo on the rug, he faced her. She nearly cried out at the bleakness she saw in his eyes, in the rigid line of his mouth. There was no way she could comfort him, ease his torment, so she offered her silent attention. A log snapped in the fireplace. The scent of burning wood triggered her memory. Her mouth went dry. She recalled the vision of burning huts and Michael kneeling in the dirt cradling a young woman's lifeless body. She asked in a low, choked voice, “You saw them die?” “The Landolan authorities were willing to wait as our State Department had asked, but an ambitious commander of the local militia wanted to make a name for himself. He led a raid on the rebel stronghold. I arrived in time to hear the gunfire and see my mother, father, and little sister forced to be human shields.” Shifting to her knees on the wool rug, Summer touched his shoulder. The sharp scent of anger and grief lay like a mist on Michael's skin. She wrapped her arms around his tense body, holding him tight as he continued.

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“When I saw Teri's ripped clothes, the blood on her legs, the way she looked at me when I first reached the compound, I knew—” “She'd been raped?” Summer's heart ached in horror. “That poor child.” “The rebels had gang-raped her before I arrived.” “Your parents? Do you think they knew, even saw...” Summer couldn't voice the unspeakable. Michael swore viciously, his fist tightening so the muscles in his arm stood out in knotted chords. “I learned later, they'd been forced to watch. Then while I stood by, helplessly, the lousy bastards shot her and killed my parents.” Summer pressed her hand over his fist. “What happened to the murderers?” “Dead, except for their leader. He escaped.” With sudden insight, she said, “You avenged your family?” Michael's arm went around Summer's waist. “I shot the sons of bitches who'd used my parents and Teri for shields.” He drew in a breath and continued in an emotionless tone. “The militia and the rebels were still firing at each other, but I didn't care. I ran to the side of my parents and sister. Mom and Dad were obviously dead. Teri died in my arms.” Summer lifted one hand to brush a lock of hair out of Michael's eyes. His hard chest rose and fell heavily with the force of his grief. “Is that the end? Did they ever catch the leader?” “The next day, I learned the rebel leader had influence with the Landolan authorities. They made a half-assed attempt to locate him, then gave up. When it was obvious 198


they weren't going to capture him, I hired a group of mercenaries and went after the leader. “We located his hideout. After a pitched battle with the last of his followers, we captured him and brought him back to stand trial. The court sentenced him to life in prison. I wanted the sonuvabitch dead, but that didn't happen.” “Oh, Michael,” she murmured, filled with sorrow for him. “I returned to the states, withdrew from the university, and joined the Army. And that was it until a year later.” Summer had a flash of realization. “The rebel leader is free?” “Hell, he's more than free. His friends pulled a few strings, and, bingo, all charges dropped. So sorry the nasty foreigner caused you any trouble, sir. Shall I kiss your butt, sir?” After hearing the bitter frustration in Michael's voice, she had the sickening feeling that she knew the identity of the leader. “Don't tell me it's President Zuberi.” “You got it right. President Umahd Zuberi, who prays every day to see me in hell and is doing his damnedest to make it come true.”

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CHAPTER 13 Cradling Summer's face between his palms, Michael watched silent tears slip like silver rain down her cheeks. “Don't cry,” he murmured. “It's all in the past.” She pressed a slender hand against his. “Not for you, Michael. You're still haunted by their deaths.” “I learned a lesson.” “A lesson in guilt?” Mentally, he cursed. She saw too much. “Just say I learned to be careful.” “Oh, Michael,” she breathed, and stroked two fingers across his lips. “Will you ever learn to forgive yourself and trust your heart to a woman?” Her feather-like touch scrambled his senses and ignited a fire in his blood. “No. Too dangerous for the woman.” He gently caught her wrist to stop the sweet torture. Bad move. Her hand fluttered like a wounded bird, then went limp. Firelight illuminated her face, revealing forest-green eyes shadowed with pain. Pain he'd caused. With a groan, he gathered her into his arms. “Summer, I do like you. I admire your courage, your willingness to go to the wall when you believe in something or someone. Let that be enough.” Her muscles tensed. After an eternity, she sighed and became pliant in his arms. “It will have to be enough for both of us.” 200


“Thank God.” Looking into her eyes once more, he saw weary acceptance. White lace framed her slender throat. Her buttoned-up nightgown covered her modestly from neck to ankles and veiled her enticing curves. Its very innocence, her sweetly feminine scent, her silken skin, were a greater turn-on to him than any woman he'd known in his reckless past. He brushed a kiss across her forehead, and tenderly touched his mouth to her temple where life pulsed against his lips. “Michael?” She licked her lips, and they glistened in an invitation he could no more refuse than he could stop the night from gliding into day. She tipped her head, offering him greater access, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Desire rocketed through his body, sizzled in his blood. “Moonfire,” he murmured, and slid his knowledgeable fingers under her silken hair to the sensitive nerves bundled at the base of her skull. As he gently stroked her warm scalp, he heard the hitch in her breath, felt her greater surrender. Not even the fabric of her nightgown veiled the swell of her breasts against his bare chest. He trailed a line of butterfly kisses down her cheek to her dainty ear and lingered there, nibbling at her lobe. She made a throaty little sound of delight, and pressed her mouth against his shoulder. “You taste of salt and fire, Michael, of courage, of life.” “Of life?” he asked in a low voice. 201


Raising her chin with the crook of his finger, he muttered, “This is life,” and traced the graceful fullness of her lips with the tip of his tongue. “More,” she breathed, her fingers tightening on his back. “God, yes.” He laid her on the rug, then sat back on his legs to admire the vision she made in the wash of golden firelight. Her areolas glowed a delicate rose through the pure white fabric. The pebbled tips of her breasts invited him, but he sensed she was caught in the grip of sensual emotions new to her. Slowly, he unbuttoned the pearly button at the base of her slender throat, then leaned forward to kiss the delicate wedge of exposed skin just below the dainty lace. Smiling dreamily, she raised one hand and laid it on his chest. “Exploring, Michael?” “For buried treasure.” He flicked open the second button, and once more explored new territory. Sighing, she brushed her fingers across his chest. “I found a treasure, too,” she murmured. “The rarest pelt of goldtipped fur.” He muffled a groan. Her untutored touch ignited sweet explosions in all his nerve endings. His groin grew heavy, hard. Quickly he flicked open the other buttons and gripped both edges of the opening, but forced himself to pause. “Summer, tell me to stop before I have you naked.” Her fingers flexed against his pecs. “Don't stop. Treasure hunters have to press on to their goal.” “Interesting choice of words.” 202


Her lips curved in a naughty smile. Kissing one finger, she laid it against his lips. “Interesting way to hunt treasure.” His fingers always steady, whether on the field of battle or in boardroom wars, now trembled as he spread apart the delicate fabric. “Beautiful,” he breathed, and reverently outlined the curve of each breast. “You're so soft and full, here,” he said, cupping one small globe. “And so delightfully hard here.” His thumb brushed across the taut nipple. She gasped and caught his hand. “Do it again, Michael.” Damn, he was already hard and hotter than the barrel of an M-16 in battle. Reminding himself to go slow, he slipped one hand under her back and raised her enough to slide off her sleeves and peel the material down to her waist. Bending over her, he kissed and tasted her satiny skin from the damp curve between her breast to the pearling tips of each breast. His heart pounded. Fire raced through his blood. Her hands slid up around his neck and stroked down to the tendons of his back. When he set his mouth over one breast again, her fingers dug in, holding him as if she never wanted to let go. Damn, he wanted to see her completely naked, to explore every curve and swell. He wanted to bury himself in her warmth and leave the world behind. He wanted to— 203


What the hell am I doing? He froze. In spite of the clamor in his brain, in his body to take her hard and deep, he had to stop. Nothing but heartache would come of their lovemaking. Every move hurt, but hell, he'd survived worse. Slowly, he drew back, and brushed his knuckles across her flushed cheek. “Little moonfire, time to put the treasure back into hiding.” She gazed up at him with eyes dazed by passion. “Why? It felt so good.” Gracefully, she stretched her arms above her head like a child waking up after a morning nap. Silently, he groaned. She was definitely not a child, but a beautiful, enticing woman who'd almost made him forget the deadly failures and enemies of his past. Enemies that had come back to haunt him and to hover over her like death's shadow. He turned away. “Button up, Summer. The treasure hunt is over.” “Over?” She sounded confused. “Yes. Do yourself a favor and go back to bed.” He heard a sharp intake of breath, sensed her quick motion as she fastened her nightgown. She stood, hurried past him and left the room without a backward glance. He resumed his place on the rug, and stared blankly into the last flickers of flame, alone once more. **** Summer woke with a heavy heart. Why had Michael kissed her with such passion, then pulled away and sent her to bed like a naughty child? 204


As she recalled his slow, arousing touch, she closed her eyes and sought to recapture those magical minutes when his lips and mouth had driven her wild. Just the memory set her heart pounding and made her ache for an unknown relief. Gradually she became aware of the aroma of fresh-made coffee and bacon frying. Michael hadn't left. He'd stayed all night, and now he was cooking breakfast. She scrambled out of bed and dashed for the shower. She might feel like something the cat dragged in, but she'd be damned if she'd let Michael see her that way. Catching a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror, she stopped to assess the damage—purple shadows under her eyes, mouth turned down, even her shoulders drooped this morning. An impish little voice said, why not drag into the kitchen looking like the wrath of God? Make him feel guilty. Like a kid, she made a face at herself, then opened drawers, pulled out fresh underwear, denim shorts, and a red, sleeveless top, and went to take a shower. Ten minutes later, she entered the kitchen, still braiding her damp hair. Michael stood at the window, watching the garden come alive in the morning sunlight. Someone must have brought him fresh clothes because he'd exchanged his tailored, dark blue suit for well-washed jeans and a white T-shirt that stretched to accommodate his shoulders. “Sleep well?” he asked without turning around. 205


“Not so I'd know it. What happened to us last night, Michael?” He turned and faced her. The light from outside outlined his powerful body. The same person who'd brought clothes must have brought him a razor. He took a drink of coffee and waved the mug casually. “We both got carried away. A natural reaction after a dangerous situation.” “I see,” she said, seething inside. “Sort of a primitive knee-jerk to surviving a threat. I got out alive this time, so let's hurry and procreate the species before I die.” He took one step toward her, “Don't blame—” “I get it. I'm not responsible for what I did last night, a prisoner of my female hormones.” “Hell, I didn't say that.” “Oh, no, you're too sophisticated for poor little naive me.” He set down the coffee mug, crossed the room, and pulled her to him. “There's one way to shut you up.” “Wha—?” Michael's mouth came down on hers, hungrily, almost roughly. Passion flared through her blood and she met his heat with her own fire. His hard, sensual lips searched across her mouth sending shivers of desire through her. Instinctively, her body arched against his. She flung her arms around his neck and laced her fingers at his nape. Michael's tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened her mouth to his enticing command. 206


Lightning arced between them. She was lost in the taste, the feel, the scent of him. The hard ridge of his arousal swelled against her lower abdomen. Need and pressure grew between her thighs. Heat rippled under her skin. It seemed only natural to shift until his hard bulge pressed against where she needed the relief. Then she was floating, soaring, seeking toward that urgent, hungry, unknown fulfillment she'd only read about, but never experienced. Suddenly, Michael broke off the kiss, raised his head and looked into her eyes. “We have to stop before this gets out of hand.” She gripped his hair. “Michael, I...I ache.” Chuckling wryly, he said in a low voice, “So do I honey, but we can't go any farther.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, then to her forehead, and rocked her in a soothing motion. Summer felt heat flood her face. “That's twice I've made a fool of myself with you.” “Not a fool,” he murmured, brushing his chin across the top of her head. “You're a passionate, giving woman. If circumstances were different...Never mind. Just let me hold you a while longer until you're more steady.” She tried to give a small laugh, but failed. “My legs do seem to have lost their bones.” “Not a problem. I have you.” 207


Summer rested in his embrace, cherishing this time. She knew the closeness couldn't last. Michael said he was a danger to her because of his enemies. She was a danger to him because of her gift. One day, he'd overcome his enemies and remove the peril. She'd always carry the seeds of his death in her hands. Michael raised her head with one callused finger under her chin. “Your eyes have lost their dazed expression. Do your legs feel stronger?” “I can stand by myself.” Deliberately, she took a step backwards. “Good. I'll finish cooking breakfast. Then we'll talk.” “About?” “The reasons why we can't let our friendship develop beyond this point.” He held a chair for her at the small birch table set beside another window. She settled in it, curbing her impatience, and looked at what Michael had accomplished before she'd walked into the kitchen, He'd found one of the sunflower print tablecloths that fit the table and had laid two place settings. In the middle, a pitcher of syrup sat beside the covered butter dish. “Coffee and bacon are ready.” Michael offered. “Waffle iron's hot.” Crossing to the tile counter, he opened the waffle maker, spooned in batter, and closed the lid. Steam escaped from the edges, spreading the aroma of batter and vanilla. 208


Summer's amazement grew as she watched him move around the kitchen pouring coffee for her and retrieving from the oven a dish with crisp bacon nestled in a folded paper towel. She couldn't stand her curiosity any longer. “How in the world did you learn so much about cooking? You came from wealthy parents. You have a housekeeper whom Hawk says is a great cook.” He set the fine china mug of coffee in front of her. “Easy. My parents were gone a lot. Teri and I would hang around the kitchen and watch our cook work. She took pity on us and started teaching us about peeling vegetable, mixing cookies, stuff like that.” After making a quick check on the status of the waffle, he continued. “When I worked undercover, I sometimes got jobs as a cook or cook's helper. Who'd suspect a cook of being a covert agent?” He opened the lid, eased the golden waffle onto a plate, and set it in front of Summer. The aroma made her mouth water. Before she could ask if he was going to bake one for himself, he drew a plate with another waffle out of the oven, and put it at his place. Subdued by the after effects of their blazing kiss, they ate quietly. When the meal was finished, Michael poured them each another cup of coffee and sat across from her once more. He gave her an intent look. “Summer, it's dangerous for you to be around me. You met Zuberi and saw the kind of jerks he hires.” 209


“They gave me the creeps. The way they looked at me made me want to hurry home and take a bath to wash away the slime.” He nodded. “Good. You see one of the problems between us. Add to that, someone's setting me up to be arrested and convicted for laundering drug money. The Feds are on my tail bigtime. If Zuberi doesn't get me extradited to Landolo to stand trial for murder, the Feds'll arrest me, freeze all my assets, put someone else in charge of MFI, and lock me away.” She had a brief image of Michael in jail, or worse, in chains and in Zuberi's power. “They can't believe you're involved in anything that horrible.” He chuckled grimly. “Tell that to the guys building a case.” How many are involved?” “From what I hear it's like a cast of thousands.” He raised one hand, with his fingers spread. “First there's the Drug Enforcement Administration, the DEA,” he pressed down one finger. “The U.S.Attorney.” A second finger joined the first. He shook his head half-humorously. “Number three is the United States Customs Service because they think I'm a drug smuggler.” “Impossible,” she burst out. “Not according to the Internal Revenue Service. They smell big money in unpaid taxes.” “But you didn't do any of that.” She cupped her hand over his closed fist. “In this country you're innocent until proven guilty.” 210


He shrugged. “They all think I'm guilty as sin. The evidence they've collected is phony, but the people who planted it made it so convincing, my own mother would believe it.” Summer heard his frustration under the light tone. She reached across the table and rubbed a frown line on his forehead. “What can I do to help? I have relatives in Ireland and Wales, and my family's connections stretch around the world.” Clasping her wrist in a careful hold, he said grimly, “Keep out of it. The last thing I need to worry about is you sticking your pretty nose into this mess and getting it dirtied.” “I want to help you,” she said quietly. “Not cause you more concern.” “Then let me handle it.” He drew her captive hand to his mouth, touched his lips to her palm, and released her. The moment his lips touched her sensitive hand, a warm glow had flowed through every part of her body. Bemused, she gazed at her open palm where the last ripples from his kiss stirred her blood. From one flick of thought to the next, she fell into a vision. She stood in a snow-swept mountain valley, cold...so cold. No jacket, no sweater. The frigid ground bit into her bare feet, but she was trapped, chained by her ankle to a freezing metal stake. Danger and death hung in the air. Michael called her name. She looked up at a rise behind the tent camp and saw him striding toward her, arms raised in surrender, while death stalked him...a death he'd walked into because of her. 211


She groaned and whispered his name. “Summer? What's wrong?” Michael's fingers gripped her shoulders. Shivering, she looked up into his worried eyes, but she couldn't gather her frozen thoughts enough to respond. His hands were her only source of heat. “Damn, you're cold.” He rubbed her arms. “Come on, honey, talk to me.” “I...” She licked her lips, swallowed. “I saw danger for you. Danger, d...death.” Her throat closed up and tears rolled down her face. Michael drew her up out of the chair and wrapped her in his warmth. She laid her cheek on his chest. His T-shirt smelled of soap and clean male. The strong, steady throb of his heartbeat unraveled her tension. This was where she wanted to be, always. But that was an idle dream. The vision had proved that associating with her was deadly to Michael— not only from the backlash of fiery ley lines, but somehow, if their paths didn't change, she'd be instrumental in drawing him to a frigid death. **** Days later, Jared Cole studied the calendar on the wall of his rented room. The next date had been circled in red. His gaze dropped to the framed photograph on the table below the calendar. “Tomorrow would've been your birthday.” He fingered the edge of the frame, struggling under a dull, empty ache. “Dammit, Bill, why did you let the witch kill you?” 212


Pain jabbed him in the head. He had a sudden image of the blonde Starr woman and the baby. His gaze fell on the plastic bottle. He'd drunk the water she'd given him and refilled the bottle. How can a witch do good things? He pulled his thoughts back to his younger brother. Why had everyone given Bill such a hard time? Again a small doubt surfaced. When he'd screwed up, Bill had shifted the blame to other people. Remorse pierced Jared. “Damn, I didn't mean it, Bill.” He touched the photograph with loving fingers. “Tomorrow, I'm gonna give you one hell of a special gift. "Tomorrow, the deceitful bitch will die."

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CHAPTER 14 Summer pulled into the parking slot on the UCI campus and killed the engine of her Firebird. She shivered. Her clammy hands shook on the steering wheel. You can do this, she chided herself. You'll be surrounded by people all day and evening. If Michael were here...She squelched the thought. With the engine quiet, she opened the window and listened to the morning campus sounds. Other cars arrived. Doors closed. Footsteps sounded on the sidewalk. People greeted each other. Studying the scene in the rearview mirror, she watched the blonde Dean uncoil from his snappy red car and saunter in her direction. Not Michael, she thought, sadly. Dean had trailed her all the way from her home, just the way one of Hawk's watchdogs had followed her the last few weeks whenever she stepped off her property. The agent casually leaned one hand above her car door and bent to speak to her. “Sure you don't want me to audit your class? Lots of good lookin’ chicks around here,” he said in a masculine drawl. She smiled up at him. “You know I settled this with Michael and Hawk. You guys can follow me back and forth, but I'm perfectly safe here on campus.” “Got your cell phone?” “Yes, momma. In my pocket.” 214


Dean's grin faded. “Don't take any chances. Call Hawk or Michael if you even have a whiff of suspicion that things aren't right. Campus Security is good, but they can't be everywhere.” “Believe me, I have a good reason to be cautious.” He nodded. “You said the class is over at ten. Ash Hunter will be here at nine-thirty to walk you to your car and follow you home.” “I'll remember.” She took the key out of the ignition and clicked the door lock. “I'd better get going. It wouldn't look good for the teacher to be late.” Dean opened the door for her. His serious expression told her he wasn't buying her attempt to act unconcerned. She stepped out of the car, locked it, and went around to open the trunk for her briefcase and demonstration materials. Dean paced beside her and lifted the heavy box out of the car. “Be sure to stay with people from the group you're teaching. Michael vetted all the students in your class and the ones on the waiting list.” “He didn't have any right to do that,” she said hotly. He frowned. “Michael cares about his friends.” “I know, but I'm an adult, capable of making my own choices.” “He understands that. Trouble is, Cole's gone to ground. So far, we haven't flushed him out. Add Zuberi to the mix, and you've got a deadly brew.” Summer realized she'd been overly harsh. As they started down the series of cement stairs on the sloping lawn beside 215


the building, she said, “I was wrong. Michael had a good reason to run a check.” She looked ahead at the entrance to the room where she'd be teaching all evening. With each step closer, chills snaked down her spine. Three years ago, she'd entered the class, filled with creative energy and excited about her wall mount sculptures. She'd left that same room, according to the police report, battered, unconscious, on a stretcher. That's in the past, she chided herself. I won't let fear make me break the contract. “We're here.” Dean's voice woke her to the present. “I'll go first. Give it the once-over.” “Yes. Thank you.” Annoyed with her lack of courage, she stood in the doorway and watched the security agent make a thorough search. Then with an intake of breath to bolster her courage, she stepped into the room filled with memories of pain. The air smelled damp and earthy with a faint residue of fired glaze and paint chemicals. Probably someone had been here earlier to remove the plug from a kiln and let the contents continue to cool. The large, cement block wall room looked the same. All the long tables on cement bases with thick wood tops were there. Another kiln had been added to the row of them set along the wall. Roll-around carts with empty shelves were lined up in neat rows near the kilns. Soon they'd be filled with greenware or biscuit ware the students would bring to glaze or paint. 216


Even the three foot high clay hill, covered with plastic to keep it moist, still dominated one corner. Dean joined her and jerked a thumb toward the clay. “I have a couple of nephews and a niece who'd have a hell of a good time making castles in that.” “I can see it now,” she set her briefcase beside her and made a frame with her hands. “Three lively kids making their own magic castle.” “Make it four.” Dean grinned disarmingly. “I'd be right in there with them.” “The biggest kid?” He laughed. “Yup, the biggest kid.” Summer glanced at her watch. “Class begins in twenty minutes. The students will start arriving any time. I'm perfectly safe here.” “I'll hang around outside for a while, scope out the...scenery.” “You mean the ladies.” “Yup. Them, too.” After Dean left, Summer walked around the room, checking the dampness of the clay, assuring herself there were plenty of materials to make line blends. As she reached the shelf of tools, she was staggered by the memory of a mallet slamming into her skull. Unconsciously, her fingers found the long scar that ran from behind her left ear to three inches up her skull. Nausea rose in her throat.

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Once more, she saw Bill Cole's face, twisted with fury as he called her a witch and blamed her for his own failures. The sound of the door opening alerted her to another presence. “Hello there,” A cheerful feminine voice called. “Are you here for the seminar?” Summer turned to meet a tall, vivacious young woman with short, curly red hair and sky-blue eyes. “Yes,” Summer answered, grateful for the company. “Me, too.” The redhead shifted her giant tote bag from one arm to the other. “My professor told me to take this class because it would be a good experience for me.” She glanced around, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Frankly, I came early to check out this Miss Starr and see if she's genuine and down to earth or one of those artsy types with their head in the clouds.” Summer grinned. “I'd say she's more grounded than in the clouds.” She had a brief image of a ley line running deep. “Have you seen any of Starr's work?” “Yes, a group of us went to the Seaside Gallery in Laguna. I loved her Dolphin Dreams bronze. But her porcelain Seagulls in Flight was incredibly delicate.” She reached into her bag, pulled out an artist's pad, and opened it. “I sketched those and two other pieces I especially liked. I'm going to ask her how she did the special glaze on the porcelain, and some questions about the bronzes.” Summer admired the first line drawing. “Good idea. It's better to discuss what people want to know.” “That's what I thought.” She rummaged in her bag and brought out a biscuit stage sculpture wound in bubble wrap. 218


Opening the package, she said, “This is one of my pieces for the three week evaluation. I wanted to give it the same finish as Starr's Waves of Hidden Cove.” Summer carefully accepted the sculpture and examined it. “This is beautiful work. Make your glaze a soft alkaline frit with soluble salts of silver, bismuth, copper, and cobalt. That will give you the color and luster you want. First oxidize it to nine hundred and fifty degrees centigrade, then reduce it to eight hundred degrees for twenty-five minutes in the cooling cycle.” The woman eyed Summer with a suspicious grin. “Are you...?” Laughing softly, Summer offered her hand. “You caught me. I'm your teacher for this seminar.” She gave the sculpture back to its creator. “Please call me Summer. When someone says, Miss Starr, I look around for my sister, Charity. She's an Astrophysicist. Her maiden name, Starr, was perfect.” The student grinned. “My name is Virginia Weaver, but I go by Ginger for obvious reasons.” She pointed to her hair. “Ginger, I'm delighted you're here. I just have to get set up, then we can chat.” “I'll help.” Setting her tote bag on one of the tables, Ginger said, “Never let it be said I lost a chance to kiss up to the teacher.” Together, they unloaded the demonstration pieces and packets of hand-out materials. As they worked, other students arrived and soon the seminar was full. 219


Summer's delight grew as everyone was caught up in the joy of creating beautiful sculptures. She modeled ways to work in various ceramic materials and did a lesson on her bronze work. All through the morning, thoughts, images of Michael wove through her activities. When the lunch break came, most of the students chose to stay and ask questions. Ginger walked to a restaurant across the street from the campus and brought back a taco salad each for Summer and her. Another student shared soft drinks from his cooler. They set up the impromptu picnic on the lawn under a towering eucalyptus. **** From his place on a low planter wall, and partly hidden by a bush, Jared watched the blonde witch and the fools from her class. Reaching into an inside pocket of his camouflage vest, he touched the worn photograph of his brother. He muttered, “Just a little longer, Bill. Today you'll have your birthday gift.” He patted the backpack. “Got everything I need to waste the witch who killed you, as soon as she's alone.” Jared watched the witch laugh and lightly touch the arm of the guy who'd passed around the sodas and beer from his cooler. Why the hell does she act so nice? Jared was surprised to feel sharp regret that she had to die. He shrugged and moved 220


to another location where he'd be hidden from anyone in the ceramics room. **** Summer closed the lid on her take-out box. “That hit the spot, Ginger.” The redhead grinned. “Like I said, gotta keep on the right side of the teacher.” The group of students clustering around Summer had also finished their lunch. They cleaned up their papers and cans and dumped them into the trash container. As Summer turned from throwing away her rubbish, a prickle of warning raised the hair on the back of her neck. She'd felt a vague premonition of danger all during lunch, but this was stronger. Carefully, she scanned the area, but couldn't find the source of the foreboding. Don't let the past get to you, she warned herself. The afternoon raced into early evening. One by one, the kilns were loaded and controls set. Tomorrow morning, one of the advanced students would check the pyrometer on each kiln. Later that day, the seminar students could collect their projects. Ginger and two other attendees had commandeered one kiln for the special technique Summer had explained. After the trio had carefully loaded their pieces into the kiln and set the time for the first burn, the vivacious redhead crossed her fingers for luck. “There goes the centerpiece for my evaluation. Wish me good fortune.” 221


Summer smiled in sympathy. “Waiting is the hardest part of working in clay. After all the thought and care you've put into a work, you don't know if you've failed or succeeded until the final time you open the lid.” She smoothed the chubby arm on a sculpture of Alex she'd started as a demonstration. “I've had some pretty spectacular failures in my time.” She grinned at the memory. “You know, greenware that exploded, glazed pieces fused together, weird results when I experimented with new materials. Things like that.” “Don't I ever.” Ginger sighed. She pointed at the sculpture taking shape under Summer's fingers. “That piece is already developing its own life. Is it someone you know?” “My sister's baby boy. I'm doing a family group of him and his parents as a Christmas gift to his grandparents. While they talked, the other students had cleaned up, switched off the panels of light that were no longer needed, and left early. Ginger picked up her tote bag. “I'm the last one left except for you. Will you be all right?” Summer read her watch. “Yes, I have someone coming to walk me out in forty minutes.” She pointed to the ceiling where she heard the sound of footsteps and instruments being tuned up. “With the rehearsal stage in use, I'll have plenty of company.” “It still gets pretty spooky down here,” Ginger said. “I know,” Summer said in a sober tone. I won't go to my car until my escort arrives.” 222


After Ginger left, dark shadows filled the room. Summer checked the outside patio to assure herself she was alone. The tall statues out there, bathed in moonlight, looked like visitors from another world. But all was serene. She closed and locked the patio door. Overhead, musicians and singers began an impassioned performance of Ode to Joy. An image formed in her mind of the dawn morning at Cypress Cove when Michael stood beside her to greet the sea otters. The music expressed the same joy she'd experienced that magical morning. She smiled at the soaring music, then turned her attention to the clay portrait of Alex taking shape under her fingers. He is Hawk and Charity's joy. Smoothing the clay around one chubby leg of the sculpture, she daydreamed about holding her own child in her arms. If it were only safe for her and Michael to wed, would their children have hair like dark honey and eyes a deep, rich brown? **** In the dark, Jared crept closer to the room where the witch was alone. The wicked knife gleamed briefly in his hand before he slipped it back into the hidden sheath. “Your death won't be easy,” he muttered. In his mind, he rehearsed just how he'd torment her, make the agony linger until the moment of her death.

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CHAPTER 15 Michael looked up from the report he was reading and checked the ornate timepiece set on the marble mantle over the fireplace. Eight o'clock. This was the evening of Summer's all day seminar at UCI. He stood and stretched, then dipped one hand into his pants pocket and fingered the smooth moonstone. Summer. Four days had passed since he'd last seen her. Four days without touching her, hearing her soothing voice. Dammit, Forest, it's for the best. He gazed at his scarred hands. She's not for you. In spite of his resolve, his thoughts went back to the night he'd laid her on the rug in front of the fire and slowly unbuttoned her delicate nightgown. He'd been enchanted by the feel of her breasts in his hands, tasted their sensual sweetness. With an effort, he settled at his desk again, and went back to Robertson's report. Something in the document had set off warning bells. Frowning, Michael paged back to reread the information. After five minutes, he cursed and closed the file. His usual ability to focus totally on one task was shot to hell. Instead, his gaze sought the fluid beauty of Spring Dreams. A quick knock on the library door interrupted his moody thoughts.

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Brigid entered to pick up the tray she'd left earlier. Surveying the barely-touched food, she said, “Sir, will you be firin’ me for bad cookin'?” “Don't worry.” He looked up and saw the concern in her expression. “I wasn't hungry this evening.” She propped her hands on her hips and glared. “Sure, an’ you've also not been hungry the last four days. Just look at yourself in the mirror. People will say I'm starvin’ you.” “That's enough, Brigid.” He put Lyle's report aside to study when his mind was clearer and reached for another document. Michael heard Brigid huff in annoyance, heard dishes clatter on the tray as she picked it up. Then she stalked out of the library. Mentally, he sighed. Brigid meant well. Once more, he tried to read the page in front of him, but Summer's face, her spring-green eyes, her gentle presence intruded on his thoughts. “Who's protecting her?,” he muttered. One way to find out. He surged out of his chair, retrieved his Sig Sauer from the desk drawer and slid it into the belt holster at his back. Following instinct, he slid his knife into the sheath in one low boot. After notifying Shamus on the intercom, Michael grabbed his jacket, raced to the Mercedes, and roared out of the garage and down the driveway. He barely cleared the security gates as they rolled open. Then he raced toward the UCI campus driven by a growing urgency. **** 225


Summer squeezed water out of a small natural sponge, and dampened a section of the sculpture while the orchestra and chorus finished Ode to Joy. Footsteps sounded overhead. People cleared their throats. Two violins, a trumpet and an oboe practiced snatches of music. That meant rehearsal would continue. She glanced at her watch. Thirty minutes before Hawk's agent, Hunter, was scheduled to arrive. Now, with a break in the music, the ceramics room had a lonely, brooding air. It seemed as if invisible eyes watched her while she worked under the bank of lights at the center of the room. Get over it, Summer Morgana Starr. She told herself. Don't let the past shake you. Upstairs, people cleared their throats. There was an air of collective waiting, then orchestra and full chorus swept into the surging, almost primitive music of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana. Summer smiled, recognizing O Fortuna. Michael had brought her good fortune from the moment she'd opened the door to him in Cypress Cove. For a few precious moments she was with him again on the windy beach at the cove. Next, she was lost in the joy of being in his arms while they danced together at the ball. Then the sweet wonder of his kisses on the moonlit balcony. And the most thrilling memory of all—the night he laid her on the rug in front of the fire and introduced her to a glimpse of paradise. 226


As the music continued, the building was filled with the force and power of the combined orchestra and voices. There was a short rest in the music. A voice floated out of the shadows. “Witch.” She whipped around from the table. “Who's there?” Her heart pounded. Cold terror welled up from her belly. God, it was happening again. She had to get away—hide. Clutching the solid edge behind her, she held her breath and listened. But the next charging passage of O Fortuna masked any warning sounds. Another pause in the music, and out of the gloom came, “Witch, you killed him.” The music swept back at full volume. At that moment the lights went out. Now, the only illumination was the red EXIT sign and reflected light from the campus lamps coming through the glass in the back patio doors and the front entrance. Afraid to turn her back on the unknown menace, Summer brushed the table surface behind her, feeling for a weapon. She touched a hard rubber comb used to remove glaze in thin patterns. Closing her fingers around it, she stared toward the area where the voice had originated, trying to penetrate the gloom. She saw a movement in the murk. Fear sliced through her. Something metallic gleamed—a knife blade. Summer knew the music would drown out any screams. Frantically, she thought, Michael, help me. 227


Crouching down behind the heavy table, she peered around the heavy base. Just as she saw the shadowy figure of a man moving toward her, there came a break in the music. She didn't dare make a sound to reveal her position. He was between her and the front door, and the patio door was locked. The man zeroed in on where she hid. Seconds before he stepped around the corner, she made a low dash for the closest rolling cart, and crouched behind it. The deep, rough voice said, “You can't get away. You killed my brother. I have to kill you.” Peering between two metal shelves, she saw the broadshouldered man pause and clutch his temples, moaning, “My head, my head.” Still gripping the comb, she seized the chance to move to another cart farther away from reflected light. Her stomach churned. She could barely breath. Fear eroded the mental barriers that shielded her stress from the ley lines. Deep in the earth, a magnetic line kinked and surged upwards. An earthquake grumbled, each of the three shock waves rocking the ground. No! People could be hurt, killed. She focused on her safeguards, built them stronger, then the man lunged at her. Gulping for air, she shoved the cart at him and scrambled away to the shelter of a free standing exhibit panel. Her barriers cracked. Another, stronger series of earthquakes rattled through the area. 228


The attacker howled, “You've bewitched the land. Stop the earthquakes.” Holding the knife in his outstretched hand, he probed the narrow space between the cement block wall and the thick panel. Frantically, she slid away from the weapon. In a flash, he leaped to the other side, grabbed her single long braid, and pulled her out from shelter. **** Michael had been minutes away from the campus when the tall metal light poles on both sides of the freeway bounced and swayed. Earthquake. Was it natural, or was Summer in distress? His car phone rang. Answering, he heard the worry in Charity's voice. “Michael, that wasn't a regular quake. My sister's in trouble. Something's made her lose control of her safeguards.” “I'm five minutes from the campus.” “Please hurry. I'm terribly afraid for her. Even when she was in a coma, her automatic protections held.” Gripping the steering wheel, Michael beat back his fear. Instead, he reached into his memory of hell in South America. Grimly, he resurrected the cold, emotionless state of mind he'd used in defense against the torture and pain he'd endured. “I'm coming,” he muttered as he turned onto Campus Drive and drove down through ground fog swirling out of the wildlife sanctuary. 229


In the distance, car alarms sounded as yet another earthquake shook the land. **** This can't be happening, Summer thought in despair. And yet, the pain from being dragged by her hair was too real. I won't give up. She stopped struggling against his relentless pull. Instead, pretending to yield to the pressure, she staggered, then planted her feet and shoved him with her shoulder. Taken off balance, he stumbled back and lost his grip on her hair. She spun away, dodged his slashing knife, felt it tug at her loose blouse, then she was past him and running for cover. Overhead, the music roared on. The man followed and trapped her between two large, round kilns. Wildly, she looked for a way out, but the best she could do was press her back to the wall in the partial protection of one kiln's curved side. “You killed my brother Bill,” her attacker said in a low, menacing voice. He waved the knife so close to her face she felt the air stir. She flinched, already imagining the first cut. Then what he'd said clicked and she realized this was Jared Cole, the man who'd stalked her. “You bewitched him an’ made him look bad.” “I offered to help him.” Summer tried to fend off the blade with the hard rubber comb. “Your brother hit me, hurt me.” “Liar! Bitch!” With each word, the blade swooped closer. “No. I'm an artist.” She hoped to distract him until Hunter came. 230


“Artist?” He sounded puzzled. “Yes. See the sculpture on the table?” He looked toward the clay model of Alex, then back at Summer. “I saw you play with a baby by the ocean. You were in my sights, but I don't hurt kids.” “That's right, you don't hurt children, and you don't want to hurt me.” He shook his head. “You're not a kid.” Even in her fear, she realized he was mentally confused. She tried to make her voice soothing. “I gave you water that day you came walking past my home.” Taking a chance, she eased one step toward him. “Let me out and I'll get you more water.” Slowly, he moved back, then stopped. “How can a witch be kind?” His eyes narrowed. “You can't trick me. I'm gonna cut out your heart and drop you off the bridge where Bill died.” Once more, he slashed at her. His knife took the comb out of her right hand, gashing the skin. She slipped past him and ducked to avoid his next strike. **** Michael pulled onto the campus and stopped beside a group of students in the parking lot. He raised his voice to be heard over the shrill sound of car alarms. “Where's the Ceramics Room? It's important.” A tall, red-headed woman left the group and hurried over to him. “The only person there now is the teacher.” “That's who I'm looking for.” His sense of urgency increased. “Where is it?” 231


She gave him directions and added, “I'll show you the shortest way.” **** Summer dropped onto her knees and crept away from Cole as quietly as possible on the cold cement, trying to make herself invisible in the deep shadows. She curled her right hand to protect the deep cut. Blood seeped between her fingers, but she didn't dare stop. A darker, more solid shape loomed ahead. Her fingers touched plastic. The wet-earth smell was stronger. Chills skittered down her spine. Her escape was blocked by the immovable mound of clay. Behind her, Jared howled, “I see you. You can't get away.” Wildly, she scrabbled under the plastic, dug out a handful of wet clay, twisted around, and threw it into his face. Cursing, he pawed the sticky mud from his eyes. She seized the chance to angle away from him and crawled toward the front entrance. He grabbed her ankle, then gripped her arm and jerked her to her knees. “Say your prayers, witch.” “No. Don't do it.” Summer raised one arm bent over her head to shield her face. Was this her last breath? As the madman raised his knife, the door crashed open. **** Michael's icy control had held as he'd raced toward the building, but he was haunted by the thought, Summer's in danger. With every step, his fear that he'd be too late had increased. 232


Then, as he charged through the door and saw the sonuvabitch standing over Summer with a knife raised, his control cracked. He leaped at the attacker, knocked him away from Summer, and went at him with vengeance in mind. “Bastard,” he snarled. “Keep your filthy hands off her.” The man slashed upward with his knife in a move to disembowel his enemy. Pivoting away from the blade, Michael grabbed his opponent's wrist and arm, shifted his own stance, and threw the larger man over one shoulder onto the floor. With an agile move that betrayed an expert in martial arts, the attacker was on his feet and charged at Michael. As he prepared to meet the assault, the pale illumination coming through the back window provided enough light for Michael's acute night vision to recognize the attacker as Jared Cole. Pulling the knife from his boot, Michael planted himself between Cole and Summer. Cole bared his teeth in a mocking grin. “I'll get you first, Mr. Moneybags, then I'll take care of the witch.” “Like hell.” Michael stepped forward to meet his enemy. Jared aimed a booted foot at Michael's knee and missed. They came together in a flurry of moves and counter moves. Cole gouged at Michael's eyes and at the same time tried to force the knife into his chest.

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Parrying the move, Michael avoided Cole's clawing fingers, and once again gripped the burly man's wrist, squeezing it until the knife fell out of nerveless fingers. Both men, skilled in hand-to-hand combat, strained against each other. With a savage twist, Michael broke the stalemate. He shoved Jared farther away from Summer's position, going after him to finish the job. They crashed into a rolling cart and sent it careening into another. Paint, greenware, and fired pieces smashed on the hard floor, littering the cement with sharp pieces of ceramic. Both men's heavy steps crunched and slithered on the rubble. Michael's right leg betrayed him. Losing his balance, he slipped to one knee. Jared charged at him, hands outstretched like claws. Rolling onto his back, Michael planted a foot in Cole's stomach, and using his opponent's momentum, sent him overhead into the exhibition panel. Michael jumped to his feet and faced Cole who surged up with a broken piece of sharp ceramic in one fist. As the men circled and fought each other, Summer moved farther out of the way with her back to a wall. She held her injured hand chest high, pressing her left thumb against the deep cut. It throbbed now with every beat of her heart. She didn't want to think about the damage. Not while Michael battled for his life. Now that she could concentrate, she quieted the ley lines and the earthquakes stopped. 234


Musicians on the rehearsal stage above them sang of life and death. In the shadows below, the crunch of rubble under booted feet, the thud of fists, and the heavy expulsion of breath were the real sounds of life and death. Somehow she had to help Michael. Easing to her feet, she paused to take a breath and wait for the dizziness to stop. Feeling carefully along the wall, she located a light switch, and flicked it on. In the sudden bright blaze, she saw Michael launch a scarred fist toward Cole's chin. The blow connected, snapped the bigger man's head back, and spun him around. He staggered, went down on his knees. Wrestling the attacker to the ground, Michael secured Jared's arm behind his back in a hammerlock. The man groaned and shook his head. “I didn't want to kill her, but I had to for Bill.” Summer saw Jared's face turn toward her and sensed his gaze fixed on her. He said, “I'm sorry, little lady. I didn't want to hurt you. You gave me water.” He blinked as if his vision were blurred. “Don't you see, I had to do it. I promised my little brother.” Michael looked at his captive, and his anger drained away, replaced by pity. He pulled off his belt, one handed, and secured Cole's wrists behind his back. Then he used the man's belt to anchor the attacker's feet to one massive table leg. The police could deal with him. “Summer?” Rushing to her, he went down on one knee and touched the side of her face. “You're safe, now.” 235


“Thanks to you.” Her voice sounded strained. His gaze lit on the rigid way she held her hands—one clasping the other. For the first time, he saw the red stains on her clothes and hand, and his blood went cold. “What the hell? You're hurt. I should've killed the bastard,” he growled, carefully opening Summer's fingers to look at the damage. She sucked in her breath as he examined the cut. Pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it tightly around her palm and tied it. “Can you keep your hand elevated a while longer?” “Yes,” she murmured. She glanced at the attacker where he lay on the floor. “Michael, I saw the confused look in Mr. Cole's eyes. Tell the police he's not rational.” Slipping out of his jacket, he wrapped it around her. “Honey, I think you'd plead mercy for the Devil.” She gave a faint chuckle, and leaned her head back against the wall. “So tired...can't keep...eyes open.” Alarmed, he checked her pulse. Not as strong as he'd like, but thank God she wasn't slipping into shock. He'd kept away to protect her. In spite of his efforts she'd been injured. It was time for a new plan, a different approach. It was time she stayed where he'd know she was safe—in his home. Even if she raised hell.

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CHAPTER 16 Michael closed the door to the blue guest suite and stopped to talk to Kadar who waited near the top of the staircase. “Is Miss Starr settling in okay?” “Brigid's helping her change into a nightgown.” Michael wiped a hand over his face. “I hate hospitals. Fortunately, so does Summer. That was a selling point when she agreed to stay here for a few days.” “How's her hand?” “It needed stitches, but there's no nerve damage.” Kadar nodded. “Sounds good.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Michael's face. “Does she know you took a few hits yourself?” “Yeah. I told her not to worry, but she fussed until I promised to have someone doctor them.” Michael touched his split lip. “That Cole packs a helluva punch.” “His aim's good, too. Come on to your suite. I'll do the doctor bit.” **** By the time Michael finished his call to Charity and Hawk to give them an update on Summer, it was after midnight. Because he'd promised Summer to help Cole, Michael had already arranged for the confused man's medical treatment and an attorney.

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Then, he'd gone to his hidden communications room to catch up on the stream of reports flowing in from around the globe. After reading the messages, and attending to MFI business, Michael said good night to the man and woman on duty. Silently, he went up from the subterranean location, through the hidden door, and crossed the library to the hallway. He paused at the foot of the curving staircase. Two A.M. Summer was asleep up there—in his guest room. Safe. He froze as nightmare scenes from the Ceramics Room flashed through his mind. Summer frantically beating off the attacker. The ex-merc lunging at her with a knife. Once more I was too late. Blindly, Michael turned from the promise of heaven upstairs and walked away, a dull, empty ache gnawing at his soul. His business affairs were in order. The threat from the Feds had increased, but so far he'd stayed two steps ahead. If it came to the point where they did charge him and set a Receiver in place, other hidden plans would activate to protect his employees and keep MFI functioning smoothly. Entering the music conservatory, he moved through the darkness to the far side and threw open the French doors leading out into the Solarium. The scent of night air and living plants drifted on the air. The music room was spacious, but tonight he needed as much open space around him as possible. 238


The fight with Cole had taken its toll. Cursing the way his body failed him, he limped to the grand piano set at one end beneath the Palladian windows. Standing there in the quiet room, he drew the moonstone from his pocket. Pale moonlight filtered through the high, arched, bullet-proof glass. He stepped into the beam and held the white stone where it caught the light. Fingering it, he recalled the wild run on the beach behind Summer. She'd raced away from him, her slender body moving gracefully across the uncertain footing while her hair streamed out behind her in the wind. She'd be smart to race away from him again. Once he knew she was safe from Zuberi, she'd have to go, even if he had to make her hate him. Knock off this pity-party crap, Forest, he told himself. He'd do whatever was necessary to protect Summer, even from himself. After switching on the Tiffany lamp, he pocketed the stone and settled at the piano. Like so many times in the past when he was working out a problem, his fingers wandered across the keys, improvising whatever came to mind. An image came of Summer high on the cliff overlooking the ocean. A woman of gentleness and power. Then they were together on the night-shrouded terrace at the charity ball and his fingers drifted into the opening notes of the Moonlight Sonata. Gradually, he became aware of another presence in the room. Summer. 239


His subconscious hadn't sounded an alarm because she didn't represent a physical danger. “Michael, the music is beautiful.” He turned at the sound of her voice and saw her standing in one of the open French doors. Politely, he rose to his feet. “You're supposed to be asleep. The doctor gave you a sedative.” She drifted toward him, wearing Brigid's too big nightgown and robe. The white bandage on her hand shone white in the dimly-lit room. “I slept for a while, but I'm one of those weird people who react differently to medication. I found Kadar camped outside my door and told him I'd like some fresh air. He led me to the solarium, opened the windows, and made me promise not to step outside.” “Where is he now?” “When you walked into the music room, he slipped into the garden.” As she stopped beside Michael, her delicate fragrance raised his heartbeat. Tenderly, she rested one hand on his chest and studied his face. “Who treated your scrapes and cuts?” “Kadar.” Michael stood rigid under the sweet fire of her touch. “He did a good job.” She patted Michael's cheek. “I won't ask if they hurt because you'll go all macho and say no.” Her eyes darkened with memories. “Michael, I was so scared, for you...for myself.” She took a quick breath and 240


buried the side of her face on his shoulder. She said in a muffled voice, “I'm trying to be brave, but—” He wrapped his arms snugly around her and murmured, “You were brave. You held yourself together when it mattered. Now you're here. Safe. You can let down your guard.” With a choked sigh, she snuggled closer. The melting softness of her body molded against him raised his heartbeat faster than any million-dollar deal. She murmured his name and he began to sweat. It was lust, he told himself, inappropriate when she was so damned vulnerable. Resting his chin on her head, he stared into the shadows. He couldn't say how long they stood there, wrapped together in comfort, in memories. Finally, she lifted her head, kissed his jaw, and pulled away. “You're a good man, Michael Forest.” She settled in an armchair at the edge of the pool of light cast by the lamp. “Please, play for me.” “You should be in bed. Your body needs the rest.” “Music relaxes me. My older sister, Jade, plays the piano beautifully. I used to listen to her practice, even took lessons.” “You also play?” She wrinkled her nose. “Lordy, no. Poor Mrs. Fitch, my music teacher, finally advised me to give it up and find something else creative. That's when I got more serious about working in clay.” “How old were you?” 241


“Nine.” She tipped her head to one side and studied him. “So tell me, maestro, when did you start lessons?” “When I was eight. Mother said it would teach me discipline. Luckily, I enjoyed learning to play, but I griped about it for the benefit of my friends.” “Typical male.” She settled back in her chair. “I'd love to hear more.” Michael studied her. Behind her lighthearted facade, he sensed her tension. He picked up where he'd left off in the sonata, glancing at her from time to time. Once, he saw her wince and lift her injured hand to rest above her heart. “You need something more for the pain?” She smiled ruefully. “Guess I'm not good at hiding what I feel.” “Don't be afraid to tell me if you want more medication. You took the minimum dose. When your body hurts, you can't relax.” “What about you, Michael? I don't think you popped a pill for every ache and pain.” “No,” he said in an abrupt tone. Especially after his rescue, he'd preferred to tough it out. He'd never allow himself to become dependent on drugs or, for that matter, another person. She tucked her bare feet under the hem of the robe and laid her head on the padded chair back. “Music helps me unwind.” 242


“Glad to oblige.” As he played, he saw the tension go out of her shoulders. She smothered a yawn, and gradually, her eyes closed. When he was sure she was asleep, he picked her up and carried her back to her room. There, he slipped off the oversized robe and gently laid her on the bed. His glance fastened on the curve of her firm breasts under the soft fabric, and heat pooled in his lower body. He swore silently at his ill-timed and unwelcome desire and forced his attention past the tempting sight to the purple bruises marring her arms. She'd be stiff in the morning, but at least she was alive. Damn Cole and damn the revenge that had driven him to attack her. His muscles tightened. The thought of her brush with death gnawed at Michael's insides. He tucked the blankets around her, then checked her pulse and rested his fingers between her breasts to measure her respiration. Light from the bedside lamp pooled on the varied blues in the quilt, glowed in her hair, and illuminated her drawn face. She looked delicate, ethereal, but that slender body held the heart of a fighter. With sickening clarity, he recalled the moment he'd burst into the Ceramics Room and saw Cole standing over Summer with a raised knife. Even as he'd charged the attacker, Michael had been aware of the signs of struggle in the room. Where most 243


women would've been too paralyzed by fear to do no more than defend themselves, Summer had fought back. “Little wildcat,” he murmured, fingering a silky strand of her hair. Had it only been four days since he'd last seen her? A lifetime would be a better description. He hadn't known how much he'd needed to see her, talk to her, hold her, until Charity's call. The white lace of the old fashioned nightgown framed her slender throat. Her face was still too pale, but her pulse and respiration were strong. Yielding to temptation, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and forced himself to ignore her more enticing lips. Reluctant to leave, he watched her sleep. Summer was finally here, in his home, and temporarily, in his life. **** Had it been only a dream? Summer opened her eyes, disoriented for a moment by the unfamiliar room. The last she recalled before falling asleep was the music. Vaguely, she recalled the warmth of Michael's arms as he'd carried her up the stairs, but she'd drifted halfway between sleep and wakefulness. Had he really settled her in bed? Had she imagined his chaste kiss on her forehead? No, the impression was too clear to have been a dream. The glow of sunlight behind the pale blue and pink floral drapes showed it was morning. She read the delicate porcelain bedside clock. Nine. Much later than usual. Suddenly she had to see Michael. 244


When she shifted to throw off the covers, her muscles protested. So much for moving fast. Twenty minutes later, she finished drying off after a welcome shower, dressed, and set aside the plastic bag she'd found to protect her bandaged hand. It had been one more sign of Michael's thoughtfulness, along with her own clothes hanging in the walk-in closet or folded and put away in a dresser. Obviously, he'd asked Brigid or Charity to get them. At the bottom of the staircase, she met Tucker, the butler, who led her to the living room. She paused in the archway, delighted to see her sister seated on a couch beside Hawk. Michael, dressed for business in tailored, navy-blue trousers and a pale blue shirt with a dark pinstripe, sat in a chair at right angles to them. His suit jacket and tie were draped over a nearby chair. But what captivated Summer was the sight of little Alexander in Michael's arms. Alex, now eight-months-old, babbled and tugged at Michael's finger. Michael smiled. “Teething, huh? Sure you want to chew on something that tough?” Alex gurgled and changed his attention to the gold watch band on Michael's masculine wrist. Obligingly, the gentle man slipped off the glittering band and slid it over the baby's chubby arm. If I didn't love him already, this would do it, Summer mused, watching the tender interaction between the warrior who'd defended her only hours earlier, and the child. 245


Charity looked at Summer, smiling. Her sister's cheerful expression faltered, and Summer strengthened the mental barrier around her own emotions. Too late. She realized Charity's empathic ability had already detected the emotional residue of terror from the previous night. Hawk swung his attention to her, giving her a keen-eyed once-over. Then Michael looked up and saw her, and everyone else in the room faded in the light of his welcoming smile. “Looks like you had a good sleep.” “Me and Rip Van Winkle.” She crossed the room to her sister and exchanged kisses. “You sharin’ that around?” Hawk teased. Charity thumped him on one shoulder. “Kissing you is my privilege.” Summer glanced at Michael, then let her gaze drift down to the baby, but not before she saw the stunning man's eyes darken as he looked at her. Unaccountably flustered, she sat in an easy chair across from her sister and brother-in-law. “How's your hand?” Hawk asked. “Want me to change the dressing?” Michael rose and settled Alex in his father's arms. “I'll do it after she's had breakfast.” Hawk nodded. “Got it.” Summer sensed an undercurrent in the room. If she hadn't known better, she'd think Michael was being possessive of her. Or jealous. 246


Charity chimed in, “Let's find Brigid and sweet-talk her into breakfast for you and coffee for me.” “Later, okay? First I want to know what happened to Jared Cole.” Michael said, “My attorney assigned two of his team members to Cole. It's up to you whether or not you file charges, but Blake said if you don't, the Prosecutor can choose to do it.” “I won't,” she said, flatly. “Is there any way I can convince the Prosecutor to let him go?” Leaning forward, Michael braced his elbows on his knees, steepled his fingers, and rested his chin on them. “Anderson said there's a chance the law will cut Cole some slack if we can prove he was mentally unstable at the time, possibly due to an injury.” “He stopped and complained about his head aching,” Summer said. “For a short time, he acted confused and seemed lost in memories.” Little Alex, nestled in his father's arms, chose that moment to add his baby noises to the conversation. At the sound, Summer found herself back in the dark room, the unfinished clay model of Alex on the table, as she faced Cole and his knife. A chill swept through her. Once again, his knife drove ever closer to her face. Then, he stopped and said, “I saw you play with a baby by the ocean. You were in my sights, but I don't hurt kids.” “Summer, Are you okay?" Michael's voice, tinged with concern, released her from that fearful scene. 247


She rubbed her forehead. “I am now. I just recalled something Jared said. He told me he'd watched me through his sights while I played with the baby near the ocean, but he added that he doesn't hurt kids.” “Through his sights.” Michael sounded grim. “The bastard had a gun trained on you even then.” “He didn't shoot.” Summer's muscles tensed at the thought of a bullet striking her flesh. “Please, help him.” “Like I said, you'd plead for the devil,” Michael replied in a resigned tone. “We still have to deal with the university. The officials have the right to press charges against Cole for the destruction of property.” “I'll talk to them,” Summer said. A faint smile touched Michael's mouth. “Figured you'd say that. I have an appointment with them this morning to talk them out of holding him responsible. I plan to sweeten the deal so they can't say no.” He held up one broad palm. “Before you say you're going with me, I need you to stay here in case the Prosecutor's office calls.” “So I can also tell them I won't press charges?” “That's as good a reason as any.” Michael rose and picked up his coat. “By the way, Hawk, better speak to Hunter. He was madder than hell to find out Summer had been attacked. He arrived half an hour before he was scheduled to. He stood guard over Cole and waited for the police so I could get her to Emergency. But he blames himself for what happened.” 248


“Hunter's a good man.” Hawk smoothed his baby son's hair. “He came to me earlier this morning offering to resign.” “Of course you refused.” “Gave him another assignment.” Hawk's face hardened. “Dean dug up a lead on the drug laundering charges against you. They go right back to South America.” Michael growled, “Feo.” “Yep. señor ugly's back in the game.” Charity murmured, “Oh, my God.” Summer mentally echoed her sister's moan. señor Feo. The monster who'd captured Michael, had him tortured. The person responsible for the pain Michael still suffered from the damage in his leg. Feo. What if Michael fell into their hands once more? Nausea rose in in her throat. They'd never touch him again. Not if she had anything to say about it, she vowed. **** That night, as Summer settled into bed, her mind still whirled with the events of the past two days. She sensed a dark cloud over Michael. An inner guidance prompted her to open the drawer in her bedside table and take out the moonstone necklace. The moment she drew the silver necklace from its protective box and silk covering, a wave of anxiety washed over her. Murmuring, “Show me the danger,” she pressed the ornate silver setting to her lips. Arctic fire blazed from the point of contact. A chill swept through her, freezing her to her bones. 249


Suddenly, she found herself standing in an unknown metal shed. She heard rapid gunfire and shouted curses outside the structure. Her gaze was helplessly drawn to the man lying motionless on the packed-dirt floor at her feet. His eyes were closed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Michael! She fell to her knees in agony, crying his name, but he didn't move. With trembling fingers, she fumbled for the pulse in his strong neck. It was there, slow and labored. Frantically, she demanded, “Hold on. Don't die. I love you, Michael. I love you.” No response. Only the slower, weaker throb of a dying body. The image dissolved. Disoriented, Summer stared at the necklace. Hastily, before it could spark another vision, she wrapped it in its protective silk and once more closed it in the box. Her right hand throbbed, both from the knife slash and from the sharp, lacy curves where the necklace had bit into her skin. Her heart ached even more. Oh, God, was it true? Would she stand by helplessly and watch him draw his last breath? Summer looked around at the quiet room as if searching for a clue. The jacket Michael had wrapped around her after the attack still lay over the chair where she'd left it as a reminder to return it. 250


She had to see him, make sure he was all right. With that thought, she jumped out of bed, hurried to the door, and slipped out into the hallway. The faint light from a lamp downstairs bathed the curved staircase in a pale glow. Earlier in the day, Brigid had let it slip that Michael had set a guard indoors since the attack at the university. Easing past the stairs, Summer sped toward Michael's suite at the far end of the house. Her pale blue cotton nightgown rippled around her knees, and her bare feet made no sound on the deep, sculptured rug. When she reached the ornate double doors to his private area, she hesitated. Would he object? Would she disturb him? Then the full horror of her vision compelled her to take the chance. Turning the brass knob, she pushed one door open and stepped into a small entryway. The smooth wood floor was cool on the soles of her feet. Beyond where she stood, the darkened room beckoned her. The drapes on two windows had been pulled back, allowing a pale glow of reflected moonlight to filter across the space. Near one window was a fireplace with chairs placed in a cozy proximity to it for when a fire was burning. She didn't see the bed until she was all the way into the area, then she saw it to the right, tucked into an alcove. Not one gleam of light revealed if it was occupied. Slowly, she tip-toed across polished wood toward the sleeping chamber. The thought flitted through her mind that 251


it would be difficult for someone wearing shoes to sneak up on a sleeper. “What do you want?” The question came out of the shadows behind her. Summer's body stiffened. Adrenaline swept through her in a sickening flood. Then she recognized Michael's voice and angrily turned in his direction. “I was checking to see if you were okay, but that was before you scared me into an early grave.” He stepped into view, magnificently naked. In a low voice, he said, “You look pretty healthy.” “No thanks to you.” Her mouth went dry. He was already half-aroused as he paced closer. As she edged sideways toward the door, he blocked her progress. “What's the real reason you came here tonight? Something frighten you? A dream?” “Dream?” The devastating images of her vision flooded her mind, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. “More than a dream,” she said in a choked voice. “A view of your future.” His strong hands slid around her, holding her close against his powerful body. “Forget the future.” The fingers of one hand massaged the tense muscles in the back of her neck. “God knows I've tried to fight my desire for you. The only thing that matters now, is will you come to my bed? Make love with me tonight?”

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Straining to fit closer to him, she thought, how can I refuse when our time together is so short? She murmured, “Yes. I want to make love with you more than I can say.” His mouth came down on hers in a devouring kiss that sent shivers of desire dancing through her. Then while she was reeling from the delight of his sensual mouth, he swung her up in his arms and carried her toward his bed. The heat of his body tantalized hers through the light cotton of her gown. Her senses came acutely alive to each smooth shift of his muscles, the clean scent of the soap he'd used, even her own rapid heartbeat. Her desire flared, fueling the growing sensitivity in her breasts, the taut fullness of unknown needs gathering at her most feminine place. She turned her face into his muscular chest and whispered, “Hurry.” “Yes,” he groaned and laid her on his smooth, cool sheets. Then he sat beside her, his hip brushing hers, and looked at her. Suddenly self-conscious, she crossed one arm over her breasts to shield them from his view. “Change your mind?” His large hand cradled her chin. Their eyes locked, and her heart jolted at the longing she saw in his gaze. “I'm feeling a little shy,” she murmured, tracing his firm lips with one finger. “But I want you so much I ache.” Wordlessly, he bent over, arms braced on both sides of her, and his mouth covered hers hungrily. 253


Her heart jolted. There was a new intensity in him she'd never experienced. At first tentatively, then with growing boldness, she slipped her hands around him to his back, and stroked his sinewy muscles. When her sensitive sculptor's touch tenderly smoothed over the scars left by torture, he lifted his mouth from hers and froze. With a flash of insight, she murmured, “They're just scars, Michael, not a brand of shame. They show who you truly are. A survivor, able to stand against pain and cruelty that would've destroyed a lesser man.” His rigid stance relaxed. He brushed a kiss across her mouth. “Only you would understand that.” She raised her face to him. “Kiss me again.” “God, yes,” he said in a choked voice. His tongue traced her lips, and she opened her mouth, hungry to taste him. He set her pulse pounding with a series of slow, shivery kisses. She speared her fingers through his hair and gave herself to growing passion. It felt right. He was right for her. As he cupped the undercurve of her breast in one palm, she felt the warmth through the light cotton, and made a low, sensual sound. “You want me to touch you there?” he asked in a hoarse voice. Her mind reeled at the delicious prospect. “Please, all over, every part.”

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“Moonfire,” he muttered. With trembling fingers, he unfastened the buttons of her gown, lifted her, stripped away the garment, and laid her down. She'd never gone topless, much less naked in front of a man, even at the nude beaches in Europe with her sister and aunt. But with Michael it was right, natural. “One more thing,” he muttered. “A fantasy come true.” Hands with the strength and power to subdue a madman tenderly fanned her hair out around her head. The new section of the cotton sheet was cool against her back. A breeze from the open window danced across her warm skin. Her heart soared with love. Kneeling on the mattress beside her, Michael studied her with hot eyes. Slowly, seductively, his gaze roamed across her body. She watched him under heavy lids. Her whole being swelled with anticipation. Desire raced through her bloodstream and fluttered in the back of her throat. Michael touched her breast with an unsteady finger. His eyes darkened with passion and he let out a long breath. “God, Summer, you're beautiful. I want you like I've never wanted anyone.” She held out her arms. “I want you, too. Teach me what to do.” Bracing himself on his arm, he spread one hand below the curve of her breast, teasing the crest with his thumb, and settled his lips on the pulse pounding in her throat. She made little sounds of pleasure and slid her fingers up the nape of his neck into his hair. 255


He shivered at her touch and closed his hand over her breast, driving her higher. Chills raced across her body, followed by a flash of heat. Still, he lapped at her neck with his wickedly talented mouth and at the same time tweaked her nipple. All she could do was whimper, “Yes, oh yes,” as the fires built higher. “Summer,” he said huskily, “so sweet, so soft.” His fingers touched and pressed, and slipped across her body, callused skin against delicate flesh. His lips and mouth followed, kissing, nibbling, building her anticipation, her hunger. She felt him reach the nest of curls at the top of her thighs. An unexpected wave of apprehension shook her, and she clamped her legs together. “Sweetheart?” Tenderly, Michael spread his fingers on her hip. “I'm sorry. I went too fast.” She heard the self-condemnation in his voice. Why did she hesitate? This was the man she'd loved for more than a year. Fighting her own shyness, she drew his hand back to her most sensitive place. “I'm ready,” she said in a low voice. He kissed her shoulder. “Not yet, but I'll go slow and take you there.” Patiently, he pressed his mouth to her temples, her eyelids, and finally her lips where he lingered. All the while, his fingers made lazy patterns on the inside of her leg, from knee to half-way up, growing closer to her core with each pass. 256


His mouth slipped down, saluting each nipple with a moist kiss. He left them to cool and tighten again as he continued to explore her body with mouth and tongue and wickedly exciting hands. I can't stand it, she thought as exquisite sensation upon sensation filled her, lifted her toward an unknown point. Then, his finger slipped in and she writhed at the pleasure. “Now you're warm and wet for me.” Leaning down to her ear, he whispered hot, erotic words. She burned for him. “Michael, please, don't make me wait any longer.” Shifting easily, he straddled her legs, wrapping her in his male heat, folding her in his scent. He buried his face between her breasts, and fanned the crests with his fingers. His arousal pressed against her tummy. Blind with the ecstasy of his body, his touch, she reached down and cradled his shaft in her hands. It was warm and smooth, pulsing with life. “That's it, Moonfire. That's what I want.” Gently, she squeezed, entranced by his moans of need. Passion thundered through her blood. “I can't take any more, or it'll be over.” He clasped her wrists, moved them to her sides. There was a pause while he reached for a packet in the drawer, opened it, and slipped on the protection. Then slowly, he eased partway into her feminine sheath. He paused, kissed her nipples, and laved them with his tongue. 257


Spears of electricity sizzled to her womb. A heavy pressure between her thighs ached for him to fill her completely. Instinctively, she arched, taking more of him. “Summer you're sweet heaven,” he said on a groan. She felt a stretching, a flash of discomfort, but the elusive goal her body demanded was there, hovering just out of reach. She dug her fingers into his back. “Please!” He pressed in all the way, then once more paused. Under her sensitive fingers, she felt his muscles quiver with the effort to wait for her to adjust to his invasion. “Finish it—now!” “Yesss.” He stroked, moving in a quickening tempo. She matched him. Her hands fastened at his hips. She wanted this oneness, this building rapture to never stop. Her skin grew damp. His body was slick against hers. She didn't know where he ended and she began. She felt him thrust deeper than before. His fingers dug into her hips. Groaning, “Summer,” he emptied himself. In a choked voice, she called his name. Her muscles contracted, quivered. Through every part of her body, every cell, pleasure exploded.

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CHAPTER 17 Summer awoke at dawn nestled under a blanket beside Michael, wrapped in his masculine heat. He slept on his stomach, one arm curved across her chest, his long fingers cupping one breast. Burrowing under the cover, she laid her hand over his, cherishing the greater contact. Pale light, slipping across the sky, found its way between the half-opened drapes. The glow illuminated the strong features of his face, the royal gold highlights in his hair, and bathed his muscled shoulders. As she recalled their lovemaking, her heart swelled with joy. Last night, she'd called him a survivor. He was that and more. He readily defended his friends. He'd shown compassion for Jared. And he'd been a considerate lover, placing her needs first, with an eroticism that had sent her up in flames. While she studied him, his eyes opened, and his warm look caressed her face. “Good morning, little moonfire.” She smiled. “A very good morning.” Propping himself up on his elbow, he tenderly cupped the side of her face. “No regrets?” “Not a one.” She laid her hand on the hard, sculpted contours of his chest. “You made it wonderful.” He caught her wrist gently and brought her palm to his lips. “No more than you.” 259


After pressing an open-mouth kiss on the sensitive skin, he closed her fingers over her palm. “How is it a special woman like you was untouched?” “I was waiting for someone like you.” A shadow crossed his face. “Don't waste the rest of your life on me.” “Never a waste with you.” She combed her fingers through the golden pelt on his chest, brushing across his nipple. “Don't,” he said in a tight voice. Surprised, she looked up and saw his cheeks had turned a dull red, the way they had last night when he'd carried her to his bed. Just one touch from her and he was aroused. A heady sense of feminine power gripped her. Daringly, she wrapped her hand around the back of his head and brought his mouth down to hers. Taking his lower lip gently between her teeth, the way he had, she gave him a tender love bite, then traced his mouth with the tip of her tongue. “Summer...” His breath came faster. “You're...” He groaned deep in his chest and closed his fingers on her shoulder. “I'm what?” she asked seductively, sliding her free hand across his chest. “Kissing you? Driving you crazy?” “Yes and yes.” He captured her roving fingers, holding them carefully away from his body. “You're starting another fire. I'm sure as hell ready, but you're probably too tender from last night.” She moved her legs and hips. Reluctantly, she said, “Maybe you're right.” 260


“Sweetheart, give your body time.” He kissed her lightly. “How about a rain check?” She made a face. “Soon.” He nodded and eased out of bed. “Be right back.” She watched him walk away in the pale radiance of early dawn, his powerful muscled body moving with easy grace, in spite of his limp. Michael's a survivor, she thought. He'd lived through horrors that would've destroyed a lesser man. Remembering her vision of his dying body, a sense of helpless fear swept over her. Would she be the one who led him to his destruction? **** One week slipped into two as Summer stayed with Michael. The second week, he surprised her with a studio, complete with high, north-facing windows, set up in what had once been a caretaker's cottage. Her hand had healed enough so she could work if she wore a protective glove, and she spent hours creating new sculptures. Summer made a new statue of Alex to replace the one destroyed in the attack. She knew that Michael met frequently with his attorneys as they fended off each legal strike against him brought by Zuberi and the U.S. government. Three weeks after the attack, Summer and Michael made one of their numerous visits to Jared. 261


They found him seated in the shaded patio of a private nursing home, swapping stories with Dean. An inch square bandage above his right ear was the only evidence of the micro-surgery on his brain to remove a small fragment of shrapnel. When Jared saw them, he rose and hurried to them, his step strong and his eyes clear. “The doc says he's gonna spring me tomorrow.” “That's great,” Summer said. Jared gripped Michael's hand. “Thanks to you, I have a new start in life. If you hadn't paid for the doctor and lawyer, I'd be rotting in jail, still confused.” “You won't blow this chance, will you?” “Shi—” he glanced at Summer. “Aw, heck no. Hawk Adams offered me a job with Challenge Security as soon as the doc says I can go back to work.” Jared took Summer's hand and said, earnestly, “Now I understand that Bill was just tryin’ to blame someone else for his own failure. He did that when we were kids, but I didn't want to see it.” He turned her right hand over and traced the scar. “Will you ever forgive me for the hell I put you through?” The sincerity and regret in his eyes touched her deeply. “Of course I forgive you. I realized you were confused and in pain that night at the university.” He bowed his head. “I'm so damned sorry for the whole thing.” She gently pulled her hand away. “You're a good man, Jared Cole. Can we be friends?” 262


“Friends?” His voice shook with suppressed emotion. “You gave me peace and my own mind back. Ask me for anything, even my life. It's yours.” **** As Summer lifted a finished piece out of the kiln and set it on the sunlit table, the door opened and Michael stepped inside. His silk tie was loosened, the top button of his white shirt undone. New lines of weariness testified to the multitude of problems that kept him working hours into the night. He strode across the room through a shaft of afternoon sunlight, drew her into his arms, and took her mouth with savage intensity. Her own desire flared hotter than the molten rock flowing miles under their feet. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she melted into his embrace. “Summer...want you, now.” He fumbled with the hem of her tee-shirt. Her breath caught in her throat. Her breasts had already begun to swell in response to her own need. Releasing her hold on him, she pulled her cotton shirt up, momentarily breaking the contact of their lips so she could strip off the garment. Her bra followed. Then their mouths fused once more as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. She felt his fingers at the snap on her shorts, felt the brush of his hands as he pushed down the shorts and panties. In moments, Michael lifted her onto the solid worktable. 263


Her bare hip brushed the cool porcelain statue of two lovers entwined, and she held out her arms to her lover, Michael. When he stepped between her legs, the fabric of his open trousers brushed her inner thighs. At the contrast, a hot neediness built within her waiting to explode. “Summer,” he said roughly, “... can't wait. Are you ready?” Loving him. Wanting him, she wordlessly guided his heavy shaft to her eager body. One part of her mind recognized that he'd slipped on protection, then she was caught up in a sensual storm as he entered her in one strong thrust. She threw back her head at the ecstasy of the moment. He kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, and skated hot kisses down to the hollow between her breast. There, he took one tip into his mouth and tongued it while he thumbed the other aching tip. Assaulted by the sweetest pain, she made hungry sounds and gripped his shoulders, digging her fingers into his steely muscles. “Wildcat,” he growled, as he thrust in, withdrew part-way, and pressed in again. She was blind to anything, anyone, but him and the marvelous sensations pulsating through her body. Instinctively, she lifted her heels to the table, opening herself wider. And he moved in, stroking, filling her deeper each time until they fused in one incredible, long release. **** 264


As he snapped and zipped his trousers, Michael took a deep breath and stared at Summer. He'd been in such a damned hurry to be inside her, he hadn't even finished undressing. Her lips swollen from his kisses and her cheeks flushed, she sat on the hard table, in a pool of light, gazing at him silently. The air still held the scent of their lovemaking. The memory of her sexy cries and his own groans of satisfaction once more started the blood thundering through his veins. Summer had been wildly responsive. Now she seemed dazed. Had he been rough on her? Cursing himself, he lifted Summer off the table and set her on her feet, holding her until she was steady enough to stand. Then he retrieved her panties, shorts, bra, and tee-shirt, and gave them to her. Lifting her chin with the flat of his hand, he asked in a low voice, “Are you all right?” “Why wouldn't I be?” She moved away from him and pulled on her clothes. “Dammit, I took you on a hard table of all places.” She looked up at him and smiled. “It was amazing, wasn't it?” “I lost control.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her damp forehead. “I've never done that with another woman.” “That makes us even. You're the only man who's ever made me lose control.” “Hell, you were a virgin the first time we made love.” 265


She brushed two fingers across his lips. “You just proved my point.” “So I did.” He gathered her sweet form into his arms again. “I came to talk to you about something else, but the moment I saw you, I needed you more than I needed my next breath of air.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his shoulder. “I'll always want you, Michael. But I can't stay here with you forever. I'm not free to make that commitment.” Smoothing one hand up and down her spine, he murmured, “For now, don't talk about our future, just the present. Deal?” Her fingers tightened on his back. “Deal.” Slipping a finger under her chin, he tipped her face up to his. “Want to spend the next three days at a hidden cabin on a mountain top? Just the two of us. Alone.” “I'd love it, but what about all the problems with Zuberi and the government? Can you afford to take the time away from here?” “No problem. If necessary, Hawk or Tucker can reach me by cell phone.” She grinned up at him. “When do we start? Tomorrow morning?” “Be packed in thirty minutes. Just stuff to wear hiking. Throw in a jacket or sweater for the cool evenings in case we go star-gazing.” “Is it a long drive? 266


“The only way in or out is by chopper, and that's already loaded with food and other supplies. Jim Wolfe will fly us to a spot near the cabin.” “Pilot? Food loaded? Helicopter? You were pretty sure of yourself.” “I didn't think you could resist a short vacation in the mountains. There's even a waterfall and pool near the cabin.” **** The helicopter landed in the grassy clearing just before sunset. Michael opened the door on his side, jumped down, turned, clasped Summer's waist, and lifted her down. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as her gaze swept around the clearing ringed by forest. “This is marvelous,” she burst out. “I want to see everything. The small lake and waterfall we saw from the air, the deer running across the meadow lower down, the—” “Food.” Jim cheerfully thrust a box of groceries into Michael's arms. “Here you go, Forest, make yourself useful. I'll grab the suitcases and come back for the other box and the cooler.” Reaching into the chopper, Summer untied the other box of supplies. “I'll make myself useful and get these.” Michael grinned at the delectable sight. She'd worn a loose cotton shirt and close-fitting jeans. Now they lovingly clung to her rounded bottom as she drew the second box out of the cargo space. He noticed Jim also watching. 267


Michael's jaw muscles tensed as a wave of possessiveness rolled through him. “You go ahead, Wolfe, and open the cabin,” Michael said sharply. “I'll wait for Summer.” “You're the boss,” Jim said with a knowing smile. As he started toward the path, only the grip of the Sig Sauer tucked into his belt holster showed. What the hell's wrong with me? Michael wondered. I can't be jealous of Jim. Summer joined him. “I've got my share of cargo. Lead on, boss.” Michael heard the merriment in her voice. So she'd been aware of the sudden tension between him and the pilot. Tipping her head to look up at him, she smiled gently. “You know, Jim's just teasing. He isn't serious about any woman. He was married once. Since she was killed in an airplane accident, he's kept an emotional distance from any other woman.” “That's all news to me.” “We were talking one time when he blurted out it was the anniversary of the crash. He didn't say to keep it a secret, but I knew you'd understand his loss and not repeat what I just said.” “You can count on it.” “I know.” Briefly, she leaned the side of her head against his shoulder, then straightened. “Guess we'd better get going before they send out a search party.” As Michael followed her on the path leading into the trees, he thought about Jim in the light of this news, and felt a deep sympathy for the man. 268


**** Night had folded the cabin in its cool embrace by the time Summer and Michael settled in the porch glider. A soft breeze carried the woodsy scent of pine. With a push of one foot, Michael sent the glider rocking and wrapped an arm around Summer's shoulders. She smiled at him, then looked out at the darkened scenery. “It's so fresh and peaceful here. The ley-lines are running clear and the land is healthy.” “I refused permission for a road to be built up the mountain. Wanted to keep it unspoiled.” He fingered a strand of silky hair flowing over her shoulder. She snuggled closer. “Good.” Michael savored the feel of her warm body pressed against his side. Over the last few weeks while she'd stayed at his house, the attraction between them had grown stronger. How much longer could he keep her close without placing her in greater danger? “Don't think about it,” she said quietly, turning her face toward him. “You a mind reader now, like your sister?” “I felt you suddenly get tense. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know you're worried.” “Yeah.” He cupped the graceful curve of her cheek and jaw in his hand. “Zuberi's still on the loose and now Señor Feo is on my trail.” At the mention of Feo's name, she froze. “Hey. Don't worry. I won't let them get you.” 269


He felt her tension ease. She turned in his arms and slid her hands around his waist, locking them closer to each other. “Can we forget everything else for the next three days and enjoy being together?” Michael heard the implied, for the last time, as clearly as if she'd said it out loud, and his heart turned over. Damn, he sure as hell couldn't be falling in love with her. “I agree.” Then their lips met and he didn't want to think anymore. **** Before Summer handed the last breakfast dish to Michael to dry, morning sunshine had already filled the cabin. “Ready to go exploring?” Michael asked, setting the blue and white plate in the cupboard. “I'll make the bed first.” Summer headed for the bedroom. Michael followed her. “I'll help.” Eyeing the rumpled sheets, he recalled Summer's hands streaking over him in the middle of the night, driving him higher, taking him into her sweet body, taking him home. “A penny for your thoughts, Michael.” He caught her in his arms and nuzzled her neck, breathing in her delicate scent. “Oh, that,” she said in a breathless voice. “That.” he agreed. “Last night was fire and magic. We damned near burned up the sheets.” “It was wonderful. I'll hate to see our time here end.” “We still have two more days. Want to give the sheets another workout?” 270


“Later.” She eased out of his embrace. “You promised to take me to the waterfall. “Deal?” he asked, offering his hand. She laughed and shook on it. “Deal...again.” Working quickly, they smoothed the bedding and tucked it in. Minutes later, they stood on the porch in the fresh mountain air. After draping the folded quilt over a porch rail, Michael examined his weapon and slipped it into his belt holster. Summer frowned. “Why the gun? You said we were safe up here, that the only way in or out is by helicopter.” “Just a precaution. We're as safe as anyone can be with someone like Zuberi or Feo on their track. He slung the broad strap of a canteen over his shoulder and checked to make sure Summer had hers. When he reached for the quilt, Summer picked it up and added two towels. She smiled. “I plan to go swimming if the water's not too cold.” Summer, her naked body glistening with drops of water. Michael swallowed—hard. “Need a lifeguard?” She grinned. “Are you applying for the job?” “You've got it right, lady. One lifeguard, complete with weapon.” Her gaze slid down to below his belt. “A mighty weapon, indeed.”

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“Wildcat.” He laughed. It struck him that he'd never laughed as much with any other woman as he had since Summer had come into his life. As they stepped off the last wooden stair, she said, “It's so beautiful and peaceful. Do you come here often?” “Not as much as I'd like.” “You work too hard. Even CEOs should relax.” “There's never enough time.” Clasping her slender hand, he led her across the open, grassy area and into the trees. As the cool greenness surrounded them, Michael drew in a breath of mountain air spiced with resiny pine and damp earth. The morning sun had been warm in the open, but here, in the verdant shadows, it was still cool. Their footfalls were muffled by leaf mold on the trail. Birds chirped and fluttered through the branches of the trees. A squirrel, busily searching for food on the ground, sat up and eyed them. Finally, when they were only steps away, it gave a flirt of its tail and raced up a nearby tree. “This place is magical,” Summer whispered. “It's old growth. I'll do everything to keep it that way. That's why I bought the whole mountain.” She nodded. “I'm glad. It's heavenly in your woods. Cool. Peaceful.” Not cool for me, he thought, imagining her soft breasts pressed against his chest, her fingers moving along his back. As they reached a small clearing, Summer came to a quick stop. “Look.” He dropped her hand and reached for his gun. “Where?” “Some kind of animal track at the edge of the trail.” 272


Kneeling, Michael examined the print in the soft earth with growing satisfaction. “Momma mountain lion. Quinn said he saw her tracks the last time he was here.” “Mountain lion,” she exclaimed peering into the nearby forest. “I haven't needed to heal ley-lines where they live.” Michael rose, dusting off his hands. “Hey, don't worry. She's miles away by now. We're at the far end of her range. She probably came down for a drink.” “Are there any other dangers I should avoid?” “The wild animals around here will leave you alone if you don't bother them. They haven't been harassed and shot at by hunters.” “I'm glad I'm with you.” “No more than I am.” He reached for her hand, folding it into his larger one and led her across the opening. “Come on. The waterfall and pool are only a little farther.” They hiked another five minutes through the deep woods. Summer swung along beside him, confident, sure-footed, a lively interest in her expressive eyes as she looked at the trees or silently pointed to the birds and squirrels along the way. Michael knew he could search the world and never find another woman so perfect for him. I love being with Michael. Summer glanced at him striding along beside her. I could search the world and never find anyone else like him. Once again the specter of danger rose to haunt her. Not the peril represented by Zuberi, but the deadliness of a magnetic lines backlash to anyone not gifted. 273


The only way to safeguard Michael would be to never heal ley-lines when he was near. But how could she escape his protection when he was always on the alert? The sound of water rushing from a great height brought her attention back to their goal. They stepped past the last screen of trees, and she came to a stop, awed by the sight of the narrow waterfall plunging from an opening in the cliff into a broad pool lined by tumbled boulders, wildflowers, and ferns. In one section, a pocket-size beach of golden sand disappeared into the clear water. The sun had risen high enough to outline the top of the cliff in liquid fire, but the face remained in shadows. Like a blessing from the heart of the earth, water leaped out into the sunlight, turning into a shower of diamonds with rainbows dancing in the mist at the edges. “Michael, it's beautiful,” she said reverently. He slid his arm around her waist. “Rainbow Falls. Only a handful of people alive today have seen it. I've found traces of Native Americans who lived here in the past.” As he turned his face to look at her, his breath washed across her cheek the way it had when they'd last made love, and it took all her determination to concentrate on his words. He continued, “If you go closer to the north side, there's a series of hand and footholds where they climbed to the top of the cliff.” “What a tremendous view that would be,” she said, visually measuring the height. “Don't get any ideas. Even if you are half mountain goat.” 274


She eyed him. “Mountain goat? How flattering. How romantic.” He brought her fully against his body until all she felt was the hard strength of his arms and chest, and his male heat through his jeans and shirt. “This is romantic.” Dipping his head, he kissed the tip of her nose, then her eyelids, and finally took her mouth in a long, magical kiss. She held on to his shoulders, his muscles firm beneath her fingers. When he raised his head to study her, she murmured, “Romantic is right. I'm glad we came here.” Moving to his side, she faced the pool once more. “I can't get over the beauty.” He gently squeezed her waist. “Nothing like running water to make our own problems seem small.” She heard the pain in his voice, and rested her head on his shoulder. Quietly, she said, “When Feo had you?” “The memory of this kept me going in the dark times when I wondered if I could take anymore of his attention.” Closing her eyes, she tried to blot out the terrible vision she'd had two months earlier when she'd touched the Firebird sculpture. No soothing words could change what Michael had suffered—still endured—from the endless hours, days, weeks of torture at the hands of Feo and his men. “Summer, it's in the past,” Michael said in a gentle tone. She clasped his hand at her waist. “I saw part of what happened...” Her throat closed. “You told me.” 275


She felt the brush of his lips on the crown of her head. “Little moonfire,” he said quietly, “Let it go.” Sighing, she nodded. Michael led her to a thick patch of grass and dry leaves in the lacy shadow of a tall Alder. “The sun at this altitude will burn your fair skin in minutes.” “I put on sunscreen before we left.” Together, they spread the quilt in the dappled shade. She sat with her back against a convenient boulder listening to the gurgle and roar of the water. “You've found us a lovely spot to watch the water fall,” she said, hugging her knees. Michael settled beside Summer and studied her profile while she silently looked at the scene. As he mentally replayed their conversation about Feo, his chest swelled with a new, overwhelming tenderness for her. Due to her paranormal gifts, she dealt with forces and shocking knowledge that the ungifted, like him, could barely comprehend. In spite of that, she was a warm, generous woman with a lively sense of humor and a capacity for forgiveness that stunned him. Summer shifted on the blanket and smiled. “Think I'll do a little sunbathing, then try out the water.” Sunbathing, he thought, imagining her slim beauty, her peach and cream skin uncovered. Crossing her arms, she gripped the edge of her tee shirt and drew it up over her head.

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Too his surprise, she wore a white, one-piece bathing suit. Quickly, she removed her hiking boots and socks, unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, and slipped them off. She took one look at his face and burst into laughter. “You expected me to sunbathe in the nude?” He chuckled. “You got me.” “Sorry to disappoint you.” Still grinning, she moved to one edge of the blanket exposed to the full rays of the sun, and settled on her stomach, pillowing her head on her folded arms. Michael watched her, still alert for any possible danger near them. Everywhere he looked, it was calm and peaceful. Birds moved through the trees or hopped on the ground, searching for food. A squirrel in the alder scolded them. The whole forest was alive with the rustle and murmur of an undisturbed land. Michael slipped off his jeans. Summer eyeballed him. “Nice trunks. Who's your glove maker?” “Same guy who made your bathing suit.” He massaged his right leg, working out the kinks from sitting. “Want to go for a swim?” “A swim?” She sat up. “I'd love it. Water's not too cold?” “We'll warm it up in a hurry,” he said, enjoying the picture she made sitting demurely on the blanket with sunlight glowing in her hair and caressing her body. She flushed under his appraisal and crossed her arms to hide the way the tips of her breasts had beaded under the form-fitting fabric. 277


“Summer, your response is beautiful. Don't hide it.” She half-turned away. “You said we'd swim?” Standing, he stretched, then swept her up in his arms. She squealed and clutched at him. “Michael Forest, put me down. I like to get used to the water inch by inch.” “Then this'll be a new experience.” She shrieked playfully as he carried her into the clear pool and waded toward the end away from the waterfall. When the water lapped above his waist, he said, “It's warmer in this part,” and dropped her in feet first. “Some warmer.” She shivered. “I know, just kick the ice cubes away and it'll be like the Caribbean.” He couldn't help it. He grinned. “Right.” Summer gave him a too-sweet smile. “Don't worry, Mr. Forest, I don't get mad, I get even.” On the last word, she dove beneath the surface and pulled his feet out from under him. Michael went down with a splash. When he thrashed to the surface, Summer asked, “Catch your breath?” “Yep.” He wiped a hand across his eyes, and saw her grin. “Good.” She set her hands on top of his head, jumped up for leverage, and pushed him under again. This time, he clutched her ankle and dragged her down too. She bobbed to the surface and chuckled. Through the sparkling water, they chased each other, laughing and teasing until both were breathless. The thought flashed through Michael's mind that the sophisticated women he usually escorted to various social 278


functions would never have joined in water play with Summer's same damn-the-consequences approach. By unspoken agreement, they floated on their backs, side by side. The blue sky arching overhead deepened the soft green in Summer's eyes as she glanced at him. “It's wonderful here. So peaceful.” “No other place like it.” “Mmm. I'm glad we made the trip.” “Yeah.” With Summer here, he became acutely aware of the beauty around them. The great granite cliff looked brighter, more solid. Cool water cradled them. Even the scent of wildflowers and the cry of birds seemed stronger, more alive. After a measureless time, Summer drifted to a stop, rose and faced him. Water lapped across her breasts. “Time to get out? I know we should eat and start back.” “Later.” He pulled her against him and kissed her, lingering to taste her lips, the dimple in her cheek, the curve of her jaw. She clung to him. He lowered his lips to hers once more, and she opened her mouth for his probing tongue with all the sweet passion she'd given him earlier. He weighed her breast, teasing the crest with his thumb through the wet, clingy fabric until she melted against him with a little moan. He was hard and aching for her already. “Summer, after last night, it's too soon for you.” “I want you.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, opening her feminine heat to him through the suit. 279


He measured the distance between them and the blanket or a band of sun-warmed sand at the edge of the pond. The sand was closer, but the packets were in his pocket on the blanket. As he plowed through the water, their bodies rubbed together. He gritted his teeth, vowing once they reached the blanket, he'd take the time to make it sweeter and hotter for Summer.

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CHAPTER 18 As Summer showered, she tried to cope with the gnawing ache at the base of her skull. Its cause was a growing blockage of magnetic power at the intersection of major lines ninety miles away. Two weeks had passed since she and Michael had enjoyed three glorious days on his mountain. Now she was back in the guest suite in his mansion. Closing her eyes, she sent a mental probe into the nearest ley line and read the distant vibrations of a disrupted flow dangerously close to the San Andreas fault line. She had to go to that spot on the low desert, but she didn't dare let Michael know. He'd insist on accompanying her. Dressing quickly in cream-colored jeans and a yellow blouse, she tied her hair back with a scarf to match the blouse. She fought to keep her expression composed as she went downstairs to eat breakfast and figure how to get away from the house without Michael. To her relief, he wasn't at the table. Summer found Brigid in the kitchen and casually asked, “Has Michael eaten?” “Yes, bless the dear man's heart. He's been up these last two hours and hard at work in his communications center. Sure and he's that busy, he had Shamus bring him a tray.”

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The friendly woman poured a glass of orange juice and gave it to her. “Go on to the dining room. I'll bring breakfast. What do you fancy?” “I'd rather sit at your kitchen table and talk. Please make breakfast simple. You know, coffee and toast.” Brigid slapped her hands on her hips and frowned. “You don't like my cooking?” “Your meals are fabulous. I'm just not hungry this morning.” “An’ I suppose you'll disappear into your studio the rest of the day, not eatin’ enough to keep a mouse alive.” “Something like that.” Summer thought of the long drive ahead and the task waiting at the end. “On second thought, I'll have scrambled eggs. I can cook them myself.” Brigid gave her a stern look, but the twinkle in her eyes sent a different message. “It's my kitchen, Miss. I do the cooking. You may keep me company.” In minutes a place mat, tableware, napkin, and a cup of coffee were joined by the plateful of scrambled eggs and toast. While Summer ate, she planned how to leave. Thankfully, one of Hawk's agents had brought the car to her at Michael's. She eyed the door to the utility room. Extra controls to open the gate were there. It would be easy to take one when she headed out to her studio building. Then she had to choose the right moment and drive away, alone. **** 282


It was late afternoon when Summer wheeled into the overlook and parked. Easing out of the car on legs that barely held her, she looked out across the wide desert that began a thousand feet below at the edge of the mountain where she stood. She sipped from a bottle of water and studied the distant range of young mountains, born at the point where the Pacific tectonic plate was slowly diving under the North Continental plate. Once she reached the base of those mountains, she knew she'd see the long depression marking that section of the San Andreas earthquake fault line. She needed this time to rest and gather her strength before covering the steep grade and hairpin turns down to the valley floor. The tension of secretly leaving Michael's home, the necessary stop at her own place to gather her wand, water, and a jacket for cold desert nights, had kept her nerves at knife's edge. Added to that, her headache had increased with the growing disruption transmitted along the magnetic lines. At her home, intuition had prompted her to bring the moonstone necklace. This close to the source of trouble, she decided it was time to put on the amulet and find out if it really did help. She retrieved the silk-wrapped bundle from her jacket pocket, unwrapped it, and clipped the necklace around her throat. 283


Instantly, the ley line pressure eased, and the ache in her head disappeared. She glanced in the direction of the sun where it hung low in the western sky. Time was running out. This time, she needed the greater energy of the sun for correcting the extensive damage. On the other hand, working by herself and already drained by the constant pressure, it would take only a tiny slip for the fiery lines to pull her into a potentially fatal spiral. Measured against the damage it was otherwise sure to cause, there was no question of not trying. She twisted the cap back onto the plastic bottle and climbed behind the wheel for the last leg of the trip. Once she started down from Yaqui Ridge, there was no turning back. **** After a long drive crossing the width of the valley floor, Summer left her car at the end of the dirt track, slung the long straps of her tote over one shoulder and hiked toward the critical point of intersecting lines. The setting sun burned through the left side of her heavy cotton pants and silk blouse. A warm desert wind, carrying the thick scents of dust and sage, pelted her with flying sand. Lowering her head to protect her face and eyes from the stinging grit, she trudged on across the hard, dry surface, skirting around spiny beaver tail and barrel cactus. Finally, she paused in the feathery shade of a dusty-green sagebrush taller than Michael.

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In spite of the protection offered by the moonstone amulet, the silent throb beneath her feet and resonating in her bones had reached a painful level. Just a few more steps would bring her to her goal. By now, Michael knew she'd left. Would he follow? Her heart skipped a beat. God, she hoped not. Anxiously, she spun on her heel and studied the area she'd just covered. No dust plume signaled the passage of a car along the dirt road. Good. She was still alone. Relieved, she resumed her hike to the north and finally reached the clear, flat area where she'd make her stand against the destructive forces. Pausing for a sip of warm water from her bottle, she once more looked back to her car a half-mile away. This time, there was a feather of dust in the distance. She could only hope whoever it was didn't stumble onto the same route she'd driven. The damaged lines deep in the earth set up a louder offkey moan. For the first time, Summer felt the hot flash of fear. The tangled lines, the twisted magnetics were greater than she'd ever known. When she'd healed the cove, the morning sun had provided just the right potency. But here, in this hot barren land that had absorbed a full day of the sun's energy, the forces were greater, unpredictable, and deadly. By every teaching, this was one time she should not stand alone. 285


Again, the earth shuddered beneath her feet, and she couldn't wait. Kneeling on the gritty hardpan, she pressed her hands together, palm to palm and bowed her head, lips touching her fingertips. While the earth groaned in fractured dissonance, she closed her eyes and centered and grounded her body, her special talents, her life force. For long minutes, she fought to concentrate solely on where to begin, which strands to braid back into a healthy whole, and what self-protections to raise without draining too much power away from the healing process. All the while, at the back of her mind was the knowledge that this time she might not survive. Finally, with every step clear in her mind, she stood. I'm as ready as I'll ever be. With that thought, she lifted the bottle of water and poured out a symbolic libation into the parched earth. Then, as the life-renewing scent of damp earth drifted on the air, she tipped back her head and closed her eyes to the last slanting rays of the sun. Golden light filtered through her eyelids like the precious light Michael had brought to her heart. “For Michael,” she murmured, and raised both hands, fingers spread. As if conjured out of her desire, she saw him hiking toward her. At that moment, the desert wind stopped. An unearthly calm settled around her. There was a dizzy moment of disorientation, then crackling heat raced through her blood, 286


and power streamed into her like molten lava into a magma chamber. She gasped from the heat, and touched two fingers to the cool moonstone at her throat. Instantly, healing energy flowed into her. She was now ready to restore the magnetic lines. Unwrapping her silver and crystal wand, she raised it first to the sunset blue and golden sky above, and next toward the mountains in the east—symbols of earthquake power. “Let knowledge and wisdom come,” she commanded. Without waiting to see if light glimmered in the crystal, she turned north for strength from the earth, south for courage from fire, and west for serenity and cleansing. Gold, green, red, and blue fire erupted from the tip of the rod in the cardinal points, and splattered on the ground. Mentally gripping each strand of light, she quickly braided it into a stronger whole and directed it to the fractured lines deep below the surface. As she fought to trace and restore each damaged thread, each connection, they resisted. A rogue flared up through twenty miles of rock and dirt to feed on her life force. Holding the runaway line at bay, she once more knelt on the gritty surface, using the greater contact to pour more of her personal reserves of energy into the tangle. Slowly, lines straightened and sank back into each one's normal bed. But the last ones continued to curl and fracture. Turning her full attention to them, she felt her power draining away too quickly to complete the restoration. A ring 287


of deadly backlash fire erupted in a circle with her in the middle. The scar on her wrist ached as a reminder. In a last desperate attempt, she thrust the silver and crystal wand into the ground and raised her hands, palms upward, to call the potent fire of sunset. Summer's hands tingled and gradually filled with cold fire, but her strength began to fail. Her arm muscles twitched. The nerve impulses that transmitted her commands weakened and misfired under the battering from the rogue magnetic force. Her breath came in gasps and her vision wavered, but she could still see the flames leaping higher around her. Then, like a mirage promising cold water in an arid desert, she saw Michael just outside the fiery rim. The moonstone necklace throbbed at her throat. She summoned her last, tattered shreds of strength. “Stay back, or you'll die,” she shouted. “Hell, no. You need me.” With that, he charged through the ring of flames and knelt behind her, bracing her wrists upright with his more powerful hands. The press of his familiar body against her back, his tantalizing scent, his bravery and resilient strength, lifted her flagging energy. Reaching deeper into her mind and spirit than she'd ever have ventured without backup, she found the impetus for one more try. 288


With her eyes closed, she visualized solar flares compressed into glowing balls and chained to her command. When the pressure had built to the last possible erg, she released the binding. And in her mind's eye, she sensed twin streams of cold fire flowing from her cupped hands into the soil. Once more she commanded, “By powers of earth, air, wind, and water, return to your rightful paths.” Michael braced Summer's arms, watching in awe as the last ribbon of liquid sunlight puddled on the ground and disappeared into the soil. With that, the ring of fire flickered out, leaving only a faint trail of ash and sooty ground, including a burned spot where the wand had been planted in front of Summer's knees. He shook his head in amazement at what had transpired. They'd survived where by rights they would've died if Summer had been an ordinary, ungifted person. Sighing, she leaned her head back and rested more heavily on his supporting hands. “You can stop now,” she said in voice made husky by exhaustion. Silently, he eased her arms down, giving her muscles time to adjust. Then he turned her, helped her stretch out her legs, and folded her into his embrace. What could he say? As certainly as he knew his own name, he knew she'd nearly died. It had been evident in her bloodless face and purple lips, in the way her arms trembled, and the surrounding flames that edged closer. 289


Resting her head in the crook of his elbow, she gazed up at him, and touched his lips with her finger. “Did the flames burn you?” “Not even a singed hair.” “Good.” She searched his face as if assuring herself. “You're still coming to my rescue.” “Everyone needs a hobby.” She gave a tired chuckle. “In this case, I'm happy to be yours.” It must've been the chuckle, because suddenly he gave in to the fear that had stalked him from the moment he'd discovered she had left and had picked up her signal on the tracking device in her car. “Dammit,” he growled, tightening his grip on her, “Put yourself in danger like that once more, and you'll never see me again.” **** After a weary hike through the twilight, Summer and Michael had reached their cars only moments earlier, when Kadar arrived in his black pickup with Dean in the passenger seat. As the two men stepped out of the truck, Michael slid an arm around Summer's waist and drew her close. Grimly, he realized Kadar's unexpected arrival with Dean as backup, and the fact that he'd changed the silhouette of the pickup by adding a camper shell, could only mean trouble. “Problems?” Michael asked, watching Dean take up a lookout position. 290


“Big time.” Kadar nodded politely at Summer. “Dean and I came to warn you, Michael. Feds've made their move. Jim Wolfe called to say official-looking types were nosing around the field where the Gulfstream and helicopter are hangered. He didn't stop to ask questions, just warned Campbell, and got the hell out of there. He'll keep the chopper in hiding.” “The Gulfstream?” “Campbell took off moments before the field was closed.” “They're both good men. They had the smarts to follow the emergency plan.” Kadar nodded. “There's more.” Michael grinned ruefully. “Hell, when the Feds're involved, there's always more.” Beside him, Summer leaned against his shoulder as if offering him support. As he'd talked to Kadar, Michael had been aware of increasing tension in her body language. Looking at her, he said, gently, “Honey, why don't you relax in the Mercedes and have another bottle of water?” “All right. I'll go sit in my car and give you men privacy to finish your conversation.” “I'm not keeping this stuff secret from you. Less than an hour ago, you went through a hellacious experience with the ley lines.” He studied her pale face in the gathering shadows. “Stay in my car. It's closer. Leave the door open or lower the window if you want to hear what Kadar has to say.” “I am tired, but I want to know what's going on.” As she moved away from him, she paused to touch his shoulder. 291


“Don't be afraid to tell me the worst. I'm stronger than I look.” “Little wildcat.” She gave him a quick grin. “Remember that.” Michael turned to Kadar again. “Tell me the rest.” “Anderson tried to stall them for another week, but the Feds've frozen all your personal assets and the Receiver is set to start running MFI tomorrow when your office opens.” “I'm glad we anticipated this happening and put plans into effect just in case.” Michael glanced through the open window of his car at Summer. “I'll send Summer with you. Dean can drive her car back. She'll be safe at Hawk's place.” Kadar's lips tightened. “She's being charged as a coconspirator to you in laundering drug money. Seems Zuberi discovered the information in connection to her selling a sculpture to him.” “I did not,” Summer yelped. She scrambled out of the car and stopped beside Michael. “In fact, I didn't sell him anything.” Michael said, “Your friends and acquaintances know you're honest. Zuberi's determined to get at you any way he can.” “He's a jerk.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “A dangerous one,” Kadar said, his face hardening. “Effendi, you can outwit this Landolan jackal. Go to ground where he can't find you. When Hunter returns with the proof of your innocence, we will also clear Summer's reputation.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Michael said, “Dammit, it goes against the grain to run away from Zuberi or Feo.” 292


“A necessity this time.” Silently, Summer laid her fingers on Michael's forearm, just below his rolled-up shirt sleeve. Kadar turned to Summer. “Hawk suggested you go with Dean. He'll run for the Arizona border and hide you in Phoenix or Tucson until this blows over.” “Are you staying with Michael?” “I'll drive his car to decoy others away.” Kedar looked at Michael. “You, my friend, will take my pickup. Its appearance has been changed enough to temporarily disguise it. There's a backpack with survival gear stowed in the truck bed. The weather report predicted the first snow of the season at higher elevations. I threw in cold weather clothes and Brigid fixed food packs.” Michael gripped the younger man's shoulder. “Like old times. I'll be camping out for a while.” “That's the idea. The Mexican border's under surveillance. I'll drive to Yuma and cross there. By the time they realize they have the wrong man, you'll be tucked away in the mountains.” Summer's hand tightened on Michael's arm. When he looked at her, he saw determination shining in her eyes. “I'll go with you, Michael.” “It's not sa—” Her kiss stopped his protest. With her lips still close to his, she said, “There's no use arguing. Accidents happen. What if you get hurt up in the mountains alone?” 293


Her offer stunned him. The temptation to agree damn near overwhelmed him. “Give it up, Summer. Go with Dean. You'll be safe and a helluva lot more comfortable than hiking in the snow across unknown terrain.” “Talk all you want, Michael Forest. The fact remains, two experienced hikers have a better chance of survival than one.” Kadar chuckled. Michael demanded, “What's so damned funny?” “Charity said her sister would go with you. She sent winter gear for Summer, a backpack, and a sleeping bag. I put in enough supplies for two.” He gave Michael the keys to the pickup. “Keep in touch.” **** Dawn found Michael and Summer deep in the rugged mountains of the Sierra Nevada range. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and poured another cup of coffee for Michael from one of the insulated carafes Kadar had thoughtfully provided. Michael took it with his thanks and said, “Watch for a dirt road to the right. According to the GPS map, we're damned near on top of it.” Summer looked at the portable Global Positioning Satellite screen, then out her side window. “There it is.” “Good.” Michael swung onto the narrow track and continued until it dipped down and around a cluster of housesize boulders. 294


After pulling into a cleared space, he turned off the ignition, and stretched his arms in front of him, palms flat on the windshield. “I'll go back and brush away our tire tracks. You can get out and stretch, but watch for snakes.” “I know about snakes,” she said in a patient tone. “I wasn't thinking...” Michael's cell phone buzzed. He answered, listened to the brief message and disconnected. Slipping it into his pocket, he said, “They stopped Kadar at the border and apprehended Dean in Arizona driving your car. Now there's an all-points alert out for us. From here on, the game gets serious.” Folding her hand protectively in his, Michael said, “I hate like hell to see you in trouble because of my old enemies.” “Not just your enemies. Eventually, Jared would've found me. You're the one who saved me when he attacked.” Leaning forward, she kissed him. “Michael, I'm right where I want to be. With you.” He cupped his warm hand at the nape of her neck and drew her mouth to his. “Moonfire,” he murmured and brushed a kiss, as sweet and tender as a spring breeze, across her lips. When he drew back, she followed with her mouth parted, wanting more. Michael laughed ruefully. “Not for now, honey. The ground is too damned cold and hard. Wouldn't want to freeze your shapely behind.”

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Summer felt her cheeks sting with embarrassment. She turned her head and looked out the window. “Guess I lost my head.” “Then that makes two of us. We're parked here like sitting ducks when I should be getting us to a less exposed position.” She heard the door open on his side. “I'll wipe out the tracks. Be back in a few minutes.” Summer said, “Wait, I'll help.” Buttoning her light jacket, she jumped out on her side, jammed her hands into her pockets to keep her fingers warm, and joined him. “You can forget that stubborn expression, Michael. Two of us working will cut the time in half.” “You're not dressed for this temperature.” “Neither are you.” The cold was already seeping through her clothes, but she refused to back down. At least her hiking boots kept her feet warm. A shadow of annoyance darkened his eyes. He studied her for a long minute, then said, “Suit yourself.” “Yes sir. If you say so, sir.” She braced back her shoulders and touched her forehead in an exaggerated salute. Unexpectedly, he grinned. “Hell. You are a wildcat.” Suddenly he froze, then grabbed her hand and pulled her into hiding between the rocks. “What—?” “Airplane coming,” Michael said in an oddly flat voice. “Those damned tire tracks lead straight to us.”

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CHAPTER 19 “I can't take the truck much farther,” Michael announced late in the afternoon. Summer, one hand braced on her door, said, “I came to that conclusion two hours ago, about the time the dirt track became a goat path.” “Yes, but it's our goat path.” Michael surveyed the area, looking for a place to conceal the truck. “So far, I haven't seen anyone following us.” Michael heard the hopeful note in her voice. “Maybe we lucked out.” Reaching across the console, he gave her hand a squeeze. “The airplane earlier today didn't fly directly over our position. It may just have been a private pilot out sightseeing.” She nodded. “What's your plan?” “Find a place above the high water mark and hide the truck.” He glanced at the heavy cloud cover. “Looks like snow before nightfall.” Cautiously, he continued into the narrow canyon. A thin stream rushed along the bottom. Its bed and sides were broken by basalt and granite slabs and boulders. A few yards below where the truck sat, high water had left branches and other debris snagged in the exposed roots of toppled trees. Summer pointed to the right above the water line. “There's a break in the cliff between those two fir trees.”

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“Looks good.” He nosed the pickup into the narrow opening and switched off the ignition. “We'll camouflage the truck then find a place to hole up.” Opening the door in the camper shell, Michael pulled out the backpacks and Charity's down jacket. As Summer traded her light jacket for her sister's warmer one, Michael assembled the rest of the survival item on a flat granite slab. The flash of Summer's yellow blouse reminded him of the moment he'd seen her on her knees in the ring of fire. The gut-wrenching fear that she'd be burned alive had sent him across the flaming barrier to her side. He knew he'd carry that image to his dying day. “I'm ready,” Summer said. “What can I do to help?” **** Summer brushed a strand of hair away from her face and tucked it back under the knitted cap. Earlier, she'd found the cap and warm gloves in one zippered pocket of her sister's hooded jacket. With a practiced move, she adjusted the backpack to a more comfortable position. Michael, on the steep path ahead of her, looked back, as he frequently had done since they'd left the truck and started up this old trail. She gave him a reassuring wave. Once more, he faced forward, climbing ever higher. The thick, dark clouds were lower. A frigid wind whined through the tall ponderosa pines above and below on the 298


steep slope, and whirled the bright yellow leaves shaken from clusters of aspens. They had to find shelter before dark. After another hour, they left the trail, crossed the ridge, and worked down the other side. Now the freezing wind was laden with snowflakes that clung to everything and made the narrow trail slippery. Summer was grateful for the protection of the jacket's hood and the wool scarf she'd pulled across her mouth and nose. In spite of her layers of clothes, the cold seeped into every part of her. Her energy had been depleted as she'd fought the ley lines less than twenty-four hours earlier. Since then she and Michael had been on the run with no chance to fully recover. She trudged behind him with her head down, all her focus centered on the few feet of trail in front of her. They had to keep moving until they found shelter. Finally, just as the snow stopped falling, Michael located a shallow cave near the base of a cliff. An overhang protected the entrance from rain or snow. Brush and trees covered the opening. While Michael built a small fire near the entrance where tree branches would dissipate the smoke, Summer opened the backpacks and sorted through their contents. By the time it was dusk, she had their small camp organized. Michael deposited the last armload of cedar boughs and studied the small cave lit by candles. 299


Two sleeping bags and a ground cloth waited in one corner to be arranged on the cedar. The portable grate was unfolded and placed over the fire. Soup simmered in two metal cups set on the grate. Summer knelt beside the unrolled ground cloth, opening one of the food packets. Michael joined her, filled with pride and tenderness. Gently, he brushed a callused fingertip from her temple, down her cheek, then across her lips. “You're the best trail companion I could have,” he murmured. Gripping his shoulders, she raised her face to him and whispered his name. He slid his long fingers under the heavy single braid at her nape and lowered his mouth to capture her lips. Moving his mouth over hers, he poured all his pent-up worry and fear for her into that kiss. Fumbling with his jacket zipper, she yanked it down and thrust her hands between the fabric of his shirt and jacket, and she clung to him. They knelt, locked together, their tongues tangling. He explored the inner softness of her mouth, tasted its honeyed recesses while the blood pounded in his brain and his arousal grew. He broke the kiss and sat back on his heels, panting with the effort not to peel their clothes off and find completion in her feminine warmth. Summer's lips were moist from his kisses, her eyes wide and dark. Slowly, she laid a hand on his chest. “Michael?”

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Damn, he wanted to howl his frustration. Instead, he eased away from her and picked up an empty pot with a wire handle. “Eat your soup while it's warm. I'll get more water before dark.” He left her sitting with a bewildered expression on her face and headed out into the cold, snowy dusk. Summer stared at the place where Michael had slipped out moments ago. A sudden emptiness filled her heart. She sensed his quick exit had foreshadowed a time when they'd be ripped apart. Worse, she was haunted by the vision of him lying on a dirt floor, dying. After adding a few pieces of wood to the fire to keep Michael's soup warm, she sat on the cold, stone floor, slowly ate hers and nibbled on bread and cheese from the packet. She was too tired and upset to be hungry, but she knew her body needed the sustenance. As dusk turned to dark, she stared into the flames and dreamed about Michael. Her thoughts went back to the morning at the cove when he'd touched her hair and been stung by the psychic energy still crackling around her body. Next, she recalled the moonlit evening on the balcony when he'd held her in his arms and kissed her. That night, he'd been stunned into immobility when he'd touched a power point on the moonstone amulet. But when he came out of his daze, he'd been uninjured. What had he said? He felt like his brain was itching. Was it possible the accumulated exposure to strong psychic energy had given him protection? Was that how he'd crossed the 301


backlash flames uninjured? If that were true, she wasn't a danger to him after all. As the truth of this filled her heart and mind, she wondered, had understanding come too late? When Michael returned from the cold, windy night, he placed the pan of water on the grate, opened his jacket, and sat an arm's length away from her. Light from nearby candles flickered across his face. He gazed at her with an unreadable expression. Finally, he speared his fingers through his hair and said in a low voice, “I don't want to hurt you. We've made love, but I can never make a lifetime commitment to you. There's violence in my past and blood on my hands.” He bowed his head. “Before this is over, you may grow to hate my dark side.” Summer heard the resignation in his voice. He was slipping away from her. She didn't know how to stop it, but she had to try. Moving closer, she took his hands in hers. “Michael, I can't read your mind or your heart, but I've known you long enough to see your true character. You are a good man. For one thing, you're gentle with Brianna, and your godchild, Michelle, and her twin, Adam. And baby Alex obviously adores you.” He raised his eyes to hers. “That's easy. They're kids.” She shook her head. “It goes deeper. You've gone out of your way to bring roses to Brianna because you know how much it means to her. And the baby lights up with joy when he sees you.” 302


He shrugged. “As I said, they're kids.” She traced a scar on his knuckle. “You rescued me from Jared. You fought with him and overpowered him, but you showed mercy. Would a man blindly driven by violence have been able to stop?” Michael stared at her. A glimmer of hope grew in his brown eyes. Wordlessly, his fingers tightened on hers. “Now, you're beginning to understand, aren't you? Another proof is that you told me about the death of your parents and sister and let me draw my own conclusions. “In a moment of weakness, yes.” “What matters is you told me a wrenching part of your violent history. My heart aches for your little sister and parents, but I don't condemn what you did when you tracked down their killers. It was a time of no justice in that land.” She drew his hand to her cheek, and felt his fingers tremble. “You had a vision of what happened, didn't you?” She kissed his knuckles. “Yes.” “You don't damn me, see the darkness in me?” “How could I?” Kissing one of her fingers, she reached forward and pressed it to his lips. “You're an honorable man, Michael. With all my heart, I love you.” Closing his eyes, he said her name in a choked voice. Then drew her into a tender embrace. She nestled there, content to be held by him. She sensed his emotions were too raw for anything else. She knew hers were. Finally, she noticed the fire had burned low. Gently she drew away and caressed his jaw. “You need to eat.” 303


Silently, he got his soup, and just as quietly, ate. When dinner was over and the food utensils washed and dried, Michael made their bed on the cedar bows, zipping the sleeping bags together. At her question, he said, “We'll share body heat. That's all. We can't make love because I don't have a way to protect you from getting pregnant.” Pregnant. His child growing in her body. Without thinking, She placed a hand over her stomach. A little boy with brown eyes and a warm smile like his father. Or, perhaps a daughter, sweet, independent, gifted. Summer paused. Now that she knew Michael had survived the psychic contacts, and even grown stronger, their children would be protected by both parents. Her pleasant dreams were interrupted by the sound of a helicopter coming in their direction. Swiftly, Michael kicked the fire apart and scooped dirt over it. While he did that, she snuffed out the candles, and stood in the dark, holding her breath and willing the search to go in another direction. She was sure it was a search for them; why else would they be flying at night? Michael echoed her thoughts. “They must be pretty damned eager to find us for them to send a chopper up after dark in these mountains, especially with the thick clouds.” She knew where he was standing by his darker shadow between her and the faint glimmer of gray that marked the opening.

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Mentally mapping where they'd placed things in the cave, she slowly made her way to him, and slipped into his protective arms. Together, they listened to the sound of the search quartering back and forth, but not coming any nearer. Eventually the sound of the engines faded away. Michael murmured, “Now is a good time if you need to visit nature's restroom. I'll come and stand guard with my back turned.” Suddenly a pencil-thin beam of light bloomed from the pocket flashlight in Michael's hand. “Ready, Summer?” “Okay,” she said. “Then it's bedtime.” **** Michael woke in the night with Summer's warm body pressed against him. His right hand had started out around her ribcage, just below her breasts. Now it cupped one soft globe. His left hand had drifted down to where his fingers followed the curve of her firm bottom. Hell, he was already half aroused, and he'd promised her no sex. Easing out of the sleeping bag, he padded through the frigid air to the cave opening. Just as he'd expected, snow was falling, covering the world in fresh white. He'd have to be extra alert about hiding his tracks when he went out to scout tomorrow. He lay in the dark and listened to Summer's soft breathing. She loved him. He could hardly absorb the fact. He'd told her things about his past he'd never told another woman, but she accepted them, accepted him. For the first time since his 305


parents’ and Teri's death, he'd found peace and a sense of absolution. All due to Summer. The cedar boughs rustled as Summer moved in the joined bags. He turned and went back to her, as he wished he could always go to her. Was that possible? With danger stalking them, he had to face the bitter fact that his past had put her in this present peril. Easing into the insulated bag, he firmly reminded himself it was for sleeping. Only problem was, the cave air was cold, scented with damp rock and the spice of cedar, but inside the sleeping bag, Summer's warm sweet body pressed along his and their legs tangled intimately. Her delicate fragrance mingled with his, sharper scent. In the darkness, he couldn't see her, but that served to heighten his other senses. “I missed you,” Summer said in a drowsy voice. He drew her close once more. “I'm staying here the rest of the night.” Her hands roamed up and down his back. “You're cold,” she murmured. “Don't want you cold. Want you warm.” “If you don't stop that, I'll show you warm.” Ruefully he admitted to himself he was more than warm, he was hot for her. Her fingers froze as if she'd just realized what he'd meant. They lay there, her soft breasts snug against his chest, her arms around him, her breath mingling with his. She buried her face in his neck. “Michael, I'm scared. How did those people learn we were here so quickly?” 306


“I've been asking myself the same question. By rights we should've had more time.” He eased his fingers across her shoulders and down her spine in soothing strokes, fighting to keep his own state of arousal under control. All the time, he was furiously going through a mental list of possible ways the information could've been leaked. She turned her face and he felt her lips on the curve of his jaw. Then her hands slid lower to the base of his spine, and suddenly he was primed and ready to go. “Summer,” he said warningly. “Don't move.” “Please, Michael. We may not have another chance.” He tried to put a small distance between their bodies, but the confines of the zippered bags and her arms tight around him stopped that effort. Desperately, he said, “I told you I don't have any protection with me.” She froze. She pulled her hands away from his back. “You don't want me?” It was the hint of sadness that got to him. He found her hands and drew them around to his back, carefully holding them there, while he sought her lips in the dark and nibbled at them, coaxing her to join him. As she began to respond, he skated his lips in delicate exploration across her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the tender skin bracketing her mouth, and finally her lips. Between kisses, he said, “I wanted you over a year ago at Hawk's wedding. I wanted you at Cypress Cove. I haven't stopped wanting you.” 307


“Then make love to me, now,” she demanded. Releasing her hands, he let his fingers wander over her body, exploring, touching, seeking out all her sensitive places. Her fingers were busy, too, brushing against his male nipples, tormenting, combing through the mat on his chest. The scent of her arousal rose in his nostrils. The honeyed dampness he found in her feminine folds confirmed her readiness. Damn, he couldn't wait any longer. Clenching his jaw, he fought for control, fought to go slow, to give Summer the utmost pleasure. Tenderly, he positioned her hips, her legs, while all the time whispering the hot, erotic ways he wanted her. Then he slipped in, just enough to hear her first moan of excitement. Her fingers flew to his back and danced sexily down his spine. Damn, she was sending him out of control. Clenching his teeth once more to stay in charge of his randy needs, he pressed in deeper, then part-way out, initiating a gentle rhythm. Her breath came in short gasps. Setting his lips at the fragrant pulse point on her neck, he monitored the rapid beat, regulating the rhythm of his thrusts to carry her to just below the peak and hold her there. Then he withdrew, and hugged her, soothed her, cooled her down. Her fingers fluttered restlessly on his back. “Michael, no more waiting,” she cried. “Do it now.” 308


“Now,” he agreed and once more slipped into her velvet warmth, building the rhythm faster, deeper, stronger. She whispered his name. He took the gentle cry into his soul. Her moist sheath rippled around his rigid sex. Together they moved, pleasuring, giving pleasure until there was no place in the world, but the fragrant cedar bed, no woman in the world but Summer. No other love in the world, but that in the heart of his precious moonfire. **** Cradling Summer, Michael stared into the dark. He didn't know how much time had elapsed. He did know what had passed between them had not been just sex but an act of procreation and love. For the first time he really considered how it would be to marry her and raise a family. He almost believed it would be right, in spite of his past deeds. He gazed toward the front of the cave. No light filtered in, so it was still night. Beyond the mat of woven cedar branches he'd put up to keep out the wind, the world was sleeping under a cover of snow. Inside, he was awake, holding a warm treasure in his arms. So now I'm a poet, he silently chided himself. Summer murmured his name, and he brushed a reassuring kiss on the top of her silken hair. As her breathing settled once more into the regular cadence of sleep, Michael faced a grim future. 309


His intuition, shaped and sharpened by his past, told him the people searching for him and Summer were from Zuberi, not the government. No matter what it took, he had to keep her away from Ahmud Zuberi, even if he had to walk alone into the bastard's hands.

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CHAPTER 20 Danger arrived sooner than Michael would've predicted. He woke at dawn with every sense on hair-trigger alert. Easing out of the sleeping bag, he rapidly dressed and slipped out of the shelter to reconnoiter. The fresh fall of snow had left a smooth cover, a pale white that would change to blinding brightness as the sun rose higher. The only good thing about the cover was there were no tracks from human searchers. The distant chatter of chopper blades confirmed his worst suspicions. There were now three aircraft quartering the area—a fixed-wing airplane and two helicopters. Focusing the binoculars Hawk had provided, Michael examined the searching craft. Green and white with no official-looking logos. Definitely not U.S. Government or any other law enforcement agency. Silently cursing, he returned to the cave. He debated kindling a fire. The deep cold decided him. A small fire would minimize the risk of searchers being led to them by smoke or the smell of burning wood. Besides, Summer should have the minimum of comfort provided by warm water and a hot meal. While he deftly stacked and kindled the handful of flames, Summer woke and sat up. “Talk about living in a refrigerator,” she said, sleepily. He grinned at her tousled hair and the rosy face. “Stay there until I get the water ready. You can wash up and get dressed in more of the winter stuff Charity sent.” 311


Yawning, Summer lay down on her side facing him, with the insulated fabric pulled up around her ears. He felt her gaze on him as he unfolded the grate, set it over the flames, and placed the wire-handled pan over the fire. As he added more kindling to the flames, he heard the sound of rotors coming closer. Summer must've heard them at the same time because she propped herself up on one elbow, listening. Her eyes widened. Her face grew pale. “They're getting closer,” she whispered. “‘Fraid so.” Leaving the fire, he went to her, catching up her backpack on the way. “There's no way I can soften this—” “Just tell me the worst, Michael. I'm a big girl. I can take it.” Kneeling beside her, he laid one hand against the curve of her cheek. “I hate like hell to say this. We have at least three aircraft searching for us and none of them are government.” She took in a deep breath and let it out. Pressing her slim hand over his larger one, she said, quietly, “What do you want me to do?” Raising his other hand, he cradled her face between his fingers. “Moonfire, you're so damned brave, it stuns me. I suppose if I said, Spit in the Devil's eye, you'd say, Let's start digging to Hell." “Don't call me brave, Michael. I'm scared silly.”

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He folded her in his arms, and brushed his chin across her head. “Honey, under the circumstances, only a damned fool wouldn't be afraid.” “Thanks.” Summer kissed his jaw. “I'll get dressed.” He pulled the top of the sleeping bag up around her shoulders. “The guys looking for us aren't getting any closer. Why don't you wait until the water's warm?” “Would you want to meet your enemies while you were naked?” I already have, he thought remembering Feo's torture chamber. “Give yourself a few more minutes.” He went back to the cave opening and slipped out to check the terrain. Michael paused in the bushes hiding the cave entrance. He listened and looked for any evidence of the hunt. Only the distant drone of the search craft broke the snowy quiet. He caught a brief whiff of their own fire in the cave, but that was soon dissipated in the pine-scented breeze. Using every bit of cover, he made his way to a nearby grove of trees and prowled along the edges, choosing places where his tracks would blend with animal trails, or were lost on boulders and fallen trees. He didn't deceive himself that he had completely hidden evidence of his passage, but they would escape a cursory examination. Satisfied the hunt hadn't reached them yet, he carefully worked his way back to the cave, back to Summer. **** 313


When Michael returned, the water was bubbling in the two cups and the pan. Summer looked up with a smile. “I just took a little to wash up.” She plucked at the sleeve of the heavy wool sweater she was wearing. “I'm plenty warm with silky thermal underwear and layers of clothes.” “That's good.” His gaze swept the cave. “You've been busy. The sleeping bags are rolled and packed. Food's laid out for breakfast. Backpacks are ready to go except the bare essentials for a meal.” He stepped closer to her. “Summer, you are a wonder.” “I...” She swallowed. “I don't know what to say.” “You don't have to say anything.” He circled her waist with his arm, dropped a kiss on her cheek, and led her to a place to sit near the fire. “You've done all this work. I'll finish the cooking and serve you.” “We'll do it together,” she said in a firm voice. He grinned at her. “Yes, ma'am.” They ate their hot cereal, fruit and bread, and washed it down with hot tea. By the time they'd finished, the sounds of the aircraft had moved away until finally the mountain air was quiet. Opening his backpack, Michael took out a lightweight Beretta.32, an extra belt holster, and a cell phone. Returning to Summer's side, he showed her the small handgun. “You said your oldest brother taught you to shoot.” “Yes, with a Colt.45. My family thought I should have the protection when I was hiking alone.” 314


She accepted the holster and semi-automatic and checked the load with an easiness that showed her familiarity with firearms. Satisfied that she could use it safely, he added the cell phone. “If you need help, call Hawk. This phone has a secured satellite uplink.” Her eyes darkened and took on a haunted look. “Why are you giving these to me now? It sounds like you're planning something dangerous while I sit here and wait.” He speared his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes, you're too damned smart for your own good.” “I take it your comment means I'm right?” “Half right. The gun and phone are in case something goes wrong while I'm out finding a place for Jim to land the MFI helicopter. I'm sending you out of here, Summer, before Zuberi gets his hands on you.” He saw her fingers tighten on the cell phone. “What about you? I won't leave you alone up here. Like I said back on the desert, two experienced campers have a better chance of survival.” “That was before the hunt for us came so close this soon.” “I see.” Calmly, she unbuckled her belt, slipped it out of the first loop, and threaded the belt through the holster loop. “Then we can finish packing and move.” With that, she secured the holster and belt and set the pistol in place. “No good. With so many craft in the air, we'd be too easy to track in the snow.” She bit her lip. “There must be a way to hide our movements.” 315


“Face it, Summer. I've had the covert training. You haven't. I agreed to bring you because at the time, it seemed like the safest way to keep you out of danger. That's changed. Now I want you the hell out of here.” “What about you?” Mentally crossing his fingers, he said, “I'll stand guard until you're in the chopper. In an hour, turn on the phone and wait for Kadar or Hawk to call you with their estimated time of arrival.” To forestall any more questions, he zipped his jacket and quickly left. Using the same caution as before, he hiked for half an hour to a point away from the cave. Suddenly, the sound of rotors was too damned close. From the shelter of the low-sweeping branches of a cedar, he watched a helicopter pass by on his right and head for a hanging valley to the east. Sure enough, it hovered there, then slowly settled down until it was out of sight. He extracted a topographical map from his pocket and spread it open. Light and shade dappled over it as he located the coordinates for the cave where Summer was hiding and memorized them. Automatically, he folded and put the map away as he made another visual sweep of the area. Then he called his home number. By now, Jim would have the MFI chopper stashed within a short flight of the mansion. Kadar answered on the first ring.

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Knowing the line was secured and also scrambled, Michael said, “Summer and I are at the edge of a search net, but they're bound to sweep in our direction.” “Hawk's listening in,” Kadar said. “Quinn Archer's coming. He'll lead team two. What's your plan? Do you want one of us to join you?” “I want Summer lifted out of here ASAP.” Michael saw another helicopter rise from the hanging valley. “She'll switch on the cell phone you sent in an hour to get your ETA. Here's her coordinates.” Michael gave them to Kadar as he watched another helicopter join the first, then turn and head to the north, away from the cave. “Sure as hell, something's brewing. Come loaded for bear. Now I'm positive we have a traitor at MFI, one who knew enough of our plans to have told Zuberi where to look.” “Understood,” Kadar said crisply. “We'll get Summer first, then find the traitor.” “Right. I'll scout their base and call with the coordinates. Have both teams ready to move.” **** Summer stood just inside the cave's entrance where diffused light made its way through the screen of brush and trees. In the cold, still air, her breath drifted around her like white smoke. Once more, she checked her watch. Fifty minutes had passed since Michael had left. Was he deliberately walking into danger? If she tried to follow him now, would she find him or leave a path that would lead Zuberi's men to him? 317


Ten more minutes and she'd call Hawk. Maybe he'd heard from Michael. As she turned over plans in her mind, a helicopter flew directly over the ridge, and hovered before moving away. There was no way Jim could've reached their hiding place so soon. That meant the people searching for her and Michael were closer than he'd realized. Summer glanced around the cave. There wasn't enough time to eliminate the evidence of occupation. But if she made it look like she'd been here alone, it might give Michael a chance to avoid capture. Working quickly, she stuffed one cup, a metal plate, and set of eating utensils in his backpack. She added his sleeping bag and one ground cloth. Shouldering the pack, she made her way out of the cave and climbed the trail to a cluster of tall rocks and brush. Praying she had enough time, she scraped away the snow, and used a stick to dig a shallow hole between the base of the rocks. She heard the sound of a second craft coming in her direction. Frantically, she wrapped the backpack and sleeping bag in the ground cloth, buried them and dusted snow across the top. Picking her way along a rocky ledge cleared of snow by the winds, she reached a place she judged far enough away from the hidden bag so her trail wouldn't be connected with it. Then scrambling and sliding, she made her way across the ridge and down to the valley floor. 318


Somehow, she had to distract the searchers from the trail she'd made, but how? She realized it was time to contact Hawk. He could call Michael and warn him. As she heard one helicopter hover over a spot in the low valley closer to the ridge, she crouched in a tangle of bushes near the base of a pine tree. Opening the cell phone, she punched in Charity and Hawk's number. When their answering machine came on, she disconnected and tried Michael's phone. Kadar answered. Quickly Summer explained about the helicopters being nearby. She said, “Warn Michael that Zuberi's men are getting too close to the cave for him to get back unseen.” “Michael's been in tight spots before. What about you? Are you well hidden?” “For now, yes.” “Hawk's here,” Kadar said. “We're waiting for Jim to arrive with the chopper. Then we'll come for you. I'll have Hawk pick up the extension.” While she waited, Summer heard the voices of men calling back and forth, coming in her direction. Was Michael far enough away to escape their notice? She had to put more distance between her and the people searching for her, and talk to Hawk later. Breaking the connection, she dropped the phone back into her pocket. 319


Her legs ached from crouching in one position so long in the cold. Carefully she shifted her weight, ignored the ache of returning circulation, and stumbled to the low-sweeping branches of another tree farther away from the sound of the men. She managed to elude them for over an hour. Then, to her surprise and relief, the voices faded. A few minutes later, she heard a helicopter lift off. From her hiding place, she watched it hover over the trees some distance away and finally head north. Should she work her way back to the cave? Not yet. Michael had said he'd be around until she boarded the chopper. That meant he'd be safely out of sight. She decided to hide out until the afternoon and then return to a place near the cave. She could call Hawk again and that way rejoin Michael. **** At four, she checked her watch one more time, then started back to the ridge. Suddenly, she heard a man's voice say, “Her tracks go this way.” Oh, God, they found my trail. She hesitated, not sure which way to go to avoid the men looking for her. The decision was made for her when she heard another party coming from the opposite direction. Keeping a low profile, she worked from one hiding place to another, until a new group of voices showed she was cut off on three sides. 320


As she debated what to do, a helicopter flew over her position, hovered, then settled to the ground behind a screen of trees. Wedging into a place between two logs, she called Michael's home. Hawk answered. “Summer, what the hell's happening?” “The searchers are closing in,” she said in a low voice. “The only way open is up the mountain.” “Is Michael around?” “No.” She closed her eyes, fighting a new surge of fear. A crackling in the trees behind her warned her the men were much closer. Hurriedly, she whispered, “They're almost here. I'll leave the phone on. Maybe you'll hear a clue to their base.” She quickly tucked the phone in her belt and left the lower part of her jacket undone. The next thing she knew, four men burst out of the brush. Two of them seized her, each gripping an arm. “Let me go,” she demanded, struggling to pull away from the bruisers. A third man casually backhanded her. “Shut up, bitch. You led us a hell of a chase.” Summer's cheek still stung from the force of the blow when a fifth man joined them. To her horror, she recognized him. Zuberi's man, Victor. He gave her a cold smile. “We meet again, Ms. Starr. This time there will be no escape.” Moving closer, he flicked aside her jacket and found the cell phone. 321


“You no longer have need for this,” he said, raising it to his ear. “Hello?” Apparently, Hawk didn't respond. Victor cut the connection and casually pocketed the unit. “What else is concealed under here?” He found the Beretta and stuck it under his belt. Then with brutal efficiency, he began at the top of her head. Pulling apart the single braid, he roughly combed his fingers through the strands. As the hair snagged and pulled at her scalp, tears blurred her vision. She tipped up her chin and ignored them. He ran his fingers around her waist, up over her breasts, across every part of her back, and down between her legs. Her efforts to squirm away from his probing hands were useless. Finally, he looked at her with an impassive expression, turned, and with a flick of his hand led the party down to the valley floor. **** When they reached a small clearing in the forest, a green and white helicopter crouched in front of them like some alien insect waiting for its prey. As Summer's captors forced her through the snow toward the craft, exhaustion made her clumsy. She stumbled and would have fallen to her knees, but the two men held her upright, gripping her upper arms with bruising force. They pulled her hood back and shoved her toward another group of men waiting near the craft. One figure left that group and stalked toward her. 322


Jared? Shocked and saddened that he'd gone back to his old, dark world, she mentally braced herself for his approach. He planted himself in front of her, feet apart, eyes narrowed in contempt. “Well, if it ain't the little witch. We meet again, Miss Starr.” His voice was harsh and vindictive. “When Ratzer told me he planned to grab you, I jumped at the chance to help. You and me have a score to settle.” Stepping closer, he wrapped his big hand above her right elbow. “Ratzer made me your personal escort. He knows I'll take good care of you.” One of the men who'd pulled her out of hiding protested. “Me and Snake saw her first.” Jared gave him a deadly look. “Ratzer said she's my duty. If you don't like it, convince him your claim is stronger than mine. I want revenge. What's yours?” The first captor glared at Jared, then his expression faltered. He raised a placatory hand and stepped back. “Ratzer's the boss.” “Just so we understand each other,” Jared said in a soft tone, somehow more deadly than any growl. “It saves a lot of spilled blood.” Summer shivered. Jared's menace chilled her more than the frigid wind. Where was the rational man who'd once held her hand and apologized for his attack? Victor coldly intervened. “My team found her, Cole. I follow the orders of President Zuberi who hired Ratzer. I shall take charge of Ms. Starr.” 323


The cooly precise Victor faced Jared. The two men stared at each other. Silent challenge crackled between them. Like two dogs fighting over one bone, and I'm the bone, she thought. Her palms grew clammy under the heavy gloves. No matter which man won, she'd still be the loser. Victor was the first to look away. He stepped back, then with a sharp gesture, sent his men to the helicopter. He followed at a more leisurely pace, but it was evident from his rigid spine that Jared had made a dangerous enemy. What's that to me? Summer felt the corner of her mouth tremble as Jared once more turned his glittering gaze on her. She clamped her lips tight to hide her reaction. “Okay, witch. we'll get a few things straight.” Jared yanked her around to face him. She muffled a gasp at the sudden pain in her shoulder. For a moment, regret flickered in his eyes, but his expression remained harsh. “When I tell you to do something, you do it, no argument. Understand?” Summer glared at him. He ran a deliberately rough hand through her hair, grabbed a handful, and tipped her head back to face him more directly. “Now, I'll show you who's boss.” He leaned closer until they were nose to nose. “If you don't obey me, I'll find some nasty ways to make you.” Dropping his voice in a menacing manner, he spoke softly so only she could hear. “Friend. Play along. I'll protect you.” She gave a bare nod of agreement, and looked at him fearfully. 324


With an expression of disgust, he raised his voice. “You make me sick. A small lesson is in order.” Again, he spoke softly. “When I squeeze your throat, pretend to faint. Stay that way until I say you're coming around.” Jared opened a massive hand and raised his voice. “In the Mercs, we learned a hundred ways to inflict bodily harm with our hands.” He slid his fingers around Summer's throat. She flinched. Her skin crawled. The threat was too real. The original captor stepped forward. “Zuberi wants her ali...” His protest died away at Jared's black look. Gently, Jared closed his hand around her neck and breathed, “Now.” Plucking at his fingers, she choked and slumped forward. He swung her up in his arms with the comment, “That'll keep her quiet.” As Summer feigned being unconscious, she heard the other men mutter about, “Crazy Cole.” She felt him step up into the helicopter and settle into a seat, still holding her. The engines began to throb as they warmed up. Minutes passed. Footsteps continued to clatter on the metal floor as other men took their places. It was obvious that the seats on each side of Jared and her were left vacant. Then the craft lifted off, and fear twisted around her heart. She was being carried into an unknown fate. Battling her own panic, she clung to the hope that Michael was safe. **** 325


The sun had just dropped behind the mountain peaks when Michael reached the ridge above the temporary camp. From his hiding place in the shadows of Ponderosa Pines, he studied the layout. At one end, a metal shed had been set up. From there, rows of two-man tents ranked in parallel lines along two sides of an open space. The third held a larger tent—probably headquarters. He reached for his map to get coordinates when the sound of an incoming chopper stopped him. Focusing his binoculars on the green and white craft, he watched it land in a whirl of snow. Three guards trotted out of the large tent and stood near the helicopter door, assault rifles at the ready. The door opened. The first passenger surprised Michael. He cursed with a sense of betrayal as Jared Cole stepped out. The semi-automatic rifle slung over his shoulder made it obvious he wasn't a prisoner. Cole reached back into the chopper and appeared to lift someone. When he swung around, Michael saw that Jared held an unconscious woman. The woman's hood fell off and a spill of pale blonde hair tumbled over the traitor's arm. Summer. The shock damn near sent Michael to his knees. **** Summer felt herself being carried through a freezing wind. Where was she? It had been a short flight so that meant they were still in the mountains. 326


Voices rose and fell around her. She heard coarse laughter and snatches of conversation. “A babe. Gimme a piece...” “Suppose she's a good fu—?” “Hell, who cares? All bitches are the same.” Bile rose in her throat. God, she was going to be sick and ruin Jared's efforts to protect her. “Tent,” Jared whispered. The sudden break in the wind showed they'd stepped inside. Barely raising her eyelids, she saw they were alone. Jared laid her on a narrow cot and brushed a strand of hair off her face. “Quiet,” he breathed. Closing her eyes again, she heard the soft swish of winddriven snow on the outside walls and smelled the odor of waterproofed canvas. “Gettin’ dark,” Jared muttered. She heard a match being struck. Light bloomed across her closed lids. Another rustle of the tent flap, and a familiar, harsh voice said, “I see ya got the bitch.” “Right, Ratzer,” Jared said in a menacing tone. “Remember, she's mine.” “After we're finished. First we're gonna use her to lure Michael Forest into camp. Then everyone'll have a turn to do her.” Summer's stomach lurched. She struggled against the impulse to jump to her feet and run—anywhere as long as it was away from Ratzer. 327


Jared said in a casual tone. “Don't make no difference to me. I'll get my turn, and in the end I'll snuff her.” Ratzer laughed. “A couple of smacks to the face'll wake her up.” Summer felt a sudden movement beside the cot. Ratzer grunted and said, “What the hell?” “You forget Zuberi wants her in good condition,” Jared said conversationally. She felt callused fingers grip her chin. He spoke directly over her. “She's pretty helpless. That's the way I want her.” “Damn you, I give the orders. I want her conscious.” Summer heard a thread of suspicion in Ratzer's voice. To warn Jared, she moved her head and fluttered her eyelashes. “She's comin’ around,” Jared said. From under her half-open eyelids, she saw him move back. He gestured in her direction. “There you are, boss.” Someone else entered the tent. A suave voice said, “Rouse Miss Starr. I wish to question her. Here is a rope should it become necessary to bind her.” Ahmud Zuberi, Summer thought. She'd recognize his voice anywhere. Opening her eyes all the way, she gazed at him. He was bundled up in a stylish alpaca topcoat, scarf, gloves, and a fur hat. “Very good, Miss Starr. I see you are ready to answer my questions.” She continued to stare at him, wordlessly. 328


Advancing to the cot, he unzipped her jacket, spread it open, and studied the swell of her breasts against the knit sweater. “I need some information. You will cooperate.” She turned her face away, desperately wishing she were anywhere else. Deep in the earth, a rogue magnetic line began to form. With a burst of energy, she stopped it, and strengthened her mental barriers. “I see you are unhappy with the accommodations. Give me Forest's location and I will put you on a helicopter out of here.” Tightening her lips, she glared at him. “You still refuse to cooperate? Jared, remove her jacket and hold her arms.” He motioned to Ratzer. “Some persuasion is in order.” The burly man grinned at her, his gold tooth gleaming. After stripping off the jacket, Jared took up a position at the head of the cot behind her, and seized her wrists spreading her arms wide. “Lie still,” he instructed in a harsh voice. Glancing up and back at his impersonal expression, she wondered if he'd just been playing a game earlier with her. How could she trust him now? Whipping out a knife, Ratzer hooked the tip of the blade in the ribbing at her neckline. Cold metal brushed her skin. She flinched and tried to sink deeper into the cot, away from the menace. “Don't move.” Jared tightened his fingers on her wrist. 329


She looked up and saw the warning in his eyes. Then her gaze returned to Ratzer as he slowly slit her sweater down the front. At every inch the thin back of the blade traveled, her imagination supplied the image of that deadly knife carving into her body. She blurted out, “Michael went back to the truck for help.” “Miss Starr, I am not convinced.” Zuberi rubbed his arms through the heavy coat. “I will not tolerate your lies.” Jared lowered her arms to the cot and held them there. “Want me to persuade her? I know lots of interesting ways.” “No, Cole. I heard about your earlier method. We need her conscious.” As the rising wind rattled the tent canvas, the temperature dropped. Zuberi ran a gloved finger from the exposed skin of her throat, down her flannel shirt, and between her breasts. “I have a method that will either persuade you to tell the truth or lure Forest into our hands.” For a moment, hatred blazed in his eyes. He turned away from her. “Jared, bind her wrists. In ten minutes bring our reluctant friend outside barefooted and without her jacket or sweater. We'll see how long she lasts in the freezing wind.” Stopping at the tent flap, he motioned to Ratzer. “Come with me.” After the two men left, Summer sat up. What can I do? Frantically, she looked around the small dwelling. Could she really trust Jared? 330


He raised his voice loud enough to be heard outside the tent. “Looks like you're in for a long night, bitch.” Touching her shoulder gently, he whispered, “I know where there's a cell phone. If you can distract them, I'll get it and call Hawk.” “Can I really believe you?” He drew her jacket around her shoulders and she sensed he meant her no harm. “Jared, I could gag at the thought of Ratzer or Zuberi even touching me, but we can't let them get Michael.” She lowered her head and studied her hands. “I should've run and made them shoot at me. That would've warned Michael.” “Don't say that, Miss. We'll get out of this somehow.” For the benefit of the guards outside, Summer screamed, “Don't touch me.” Then she whispered, “I know you'll do your best. Be careful. Ratzer is suspicious of you.” Jared took her right hand and traced the scar as he had done the last time they'd met. “Do you still forgive me?” His wistful expression was at odds with his rough appearance. On impulse, she kissed his cheek. “Of course I do.” Ten minutes passed. Summer gave the jacket to Jared, pulled off her mutilated sweater and removed her boots and socks. She winked at him and yelled, “Stop pawing me.” Someone fumbled with the zipper closing the tent. Jared retrieved the rope from the floor. Crossing Summer's wrists, he bound them. He said in a soft voice, “I'll try not to hurt you, but sure as hell Ratzer or Zuberi will check. 331


“I understand. Just get a warning to Michael.” Then the flap opened and a stranger entered with Zuberi. Like Zuberi, he was heavily dressed for the cold. Shorter than the Landolan president, the stranger exuded an air of greater evil than Summer had ever encountered. He studied her with black, expressionless eyes. “So this is the señorita who has bewitched señor Forest? Not his usual type of sophisticated woman.” She'd heard that voice before. Where? Michael, chained to massive beams, tortured. A smooth, accented male voice...So you still defy me? Michael raising his head defiantly. “The accommodations leave much to be desired, mister Ugly...” Mr. Ugly—señor Feo. The drug lord. Summer's pulse began to beat erratically. Fear swept through her, deeper, more sickening than she'd ever felt. Michael's two greatest enemies had joined forces against him. She heard the clink of metal, and saw Zuberi hand a chain to Jared. The Landolan President ordered, “Fasten this to Ms. Starr's ankle.” Seated on the cot, she numbly watched the chain being wrapped around one ankle and fastened with a snap link. She knew the cold metal brushing against her skin was only a foretaste of what waited outside. Zuberi gestured for Feo to go ahead out of the tent, then ordered, “Bring her along, Cole.” 332


Jared gave the loose end of the chain to Summer and led her into the frozen shadows of night. The rising wind gathered snow and flung it across the valley. The icy ground stung her bare feet. Men, in heavy winter gear, were clustered at the edge of the cleared area between the tents. Many carried weapons. Ahead, she saw one of the portable landing lights trained on a metal loop in the ground. Silently, Jared knelt and began attaching the end of the chain to the loop. While he worked, he whispered, “Distract them.” Summer aimed a kick at his hip and connected. Jumping to his feet with a threatening howl, he gripped her throat in one massive hand. “I'll teach you—” “Stop, Cole,” Zuberi ordered. “We need her alive...for now.” Jared glared at him. “I don't need no fancy pants tellin’ me what to do.” Ratzer said, “Settle down, Cole. Get a cup of coffee.” “I'd rather see the bitch freeze.” Slowly, as if reluctant, Jared turned and walked away. Summer waited until he was out of sight. She tugged on the chain and said, “I demand you release me. Kidnapping is a crime.” “Isn't that too bad,” Ratzer said, swaggering closer. “Who's gonna tell on us? You?” “Yes!” She lunged sideways, driving an elbow into his stomach. He cursed and staggered back. 333


Someone in the crowd laughed. Ratzer rushed forward with his hand raised to strike her. Summer braced herself for the blow, but Zuberi said, “Enough. Set up the loudspeaker system. The bait is set. It's time to spring the trap on Michael Forest.” **** Jared slipped into the headquarters tent and located the cell phone Ratzer kept there. Knowing he didn't have much time before someone walked in, he tried Hawk's home number and left a message on the machine. Next, he punched in Michael's number. It rang and a woman answered. Before he could speak, someone behind him said, “We just received an interesting bit of information, Cole.” Concealing the phone at his side, Jared slowly turned. “So?” Four men, their M16s trained on him, surrounded him. One ripped the phone from his hand. Victor said, cooly. “We didn't know you had a change of heart. Raise your hands slowly. Snake will take your weapon. An associate at MFI found the report of your defense by company attorneys. He also learned you are now an agent for Challenge Security, Hawk Adam's company.” Jared shrugged. “Your intel is wrong.” He casually removed his weapon and passed it to the weasely Snake. Should he try to fight them and escape? A blow to the back of his head settled the matter. **** 334


For thirty minutes after Michael saw Summer carried into one of the tents, he'd prowled the edges of the camp seeking a way to rescue her and get her safely away from the valley. Twice, he'd slipped close to the helicopters. He'd been aware that a crowd had assembled in the area between the tents, leaving a cleared space. What was up? His damned intuition said Summer was involved. He heard the amplified message and froze. "Michael Forest, this is President Zuberi. We have Ms. Starr. If you wish to save her life, you will surrender." The announcement hit him like a blow. He'd originally come up here, ready to surrender once he knew Hawk had Summer safely away. Now he needed his freedom to release her. Melting into the shadows, he hiked to a vantage spot where he had a view of the whole camp. Portable landing lights had been set up to illuminate the camp. One spotlighted the center of the open area between tents. He saw Summer tethered in the freezing wind, barefoot and without jacket or sweater. Cursing bitterly, he felt raw pain at what Summer was experiencing. How long could she last before her feet were frostbitten or hypothermia set in? Mentally, he ran through and discarded plans. While he talked on the cell phone with Hawk, already on the way in one of two helicopters, Michael watched as two guards restrained Summer. She flailed with her bound hands and kicked until a third guard held down her legs. He told Hawk, “Time's run out, dammit. That bastard, Ratzer's cutting off her shirt.” 335


“Michael, wait. If you charge down there without back up, you'll be killed. How'll that help?” “Dammit, you're right, but I can't bear to see her suffer.” “ETA in thirty-five minutes. Doctor Ted's with us. He'll treat her the moment we get her onboard.” “Make it faster.” Cursing, Michael broke the connection and watched Ratzer cut away Summer's heavy jeans, leaving her in thermal underwear. **** Summer struggled to her knees, and finally to her feet. Her arms and legs ached from the guards’ brutal handling. Her feet had lost all feeling. Ratzer held a microphone in front of her face. “Call your boyfriend to come and save you.” Shivering, she took a breath to control her voice, then nodded. When she saw her tormenter thumb the on switch, she said, “Michael, get away!” Cursing, Ratzer knocked her to the ground. He spoke into the microphone. “Last chance, Forest. Your girlfriend's running out of time.”

336


CHAPTER 21 Summer gazed into the night, trying to locate Michael. What if he dashed to her rescue and got killed? Falling to her knees in the snow, she struggled with the chain binding her ankle. Cold air seared her lungs. The dull clink of metal seemed to mock her as she tugged and pulled. Clammy sweat dampened her hands and the chain froze to her skin. Tearing it loose, she stared at her bloody palms through eyes blurred by tears of pain and frustration. No matter. She had to keep trying, had to prevent Michael from walking into Zuberi and Feo's trap. Her distress leaked through safeguards weakened by her exposure to freezing. Once more the magnetic lines heaved. Once again, she drained energy from her reserves to quiet them. What has happened to Jared? In a daze, she stared at the tents and helicopters silhouetted by the rising moon. Moonlight? “Why is that important?” she asked the burly man holding the gun. He laughed. Summer's thoughts were slow, confused. She wasn't cold anymore and the ground looked like a good place to rest. Instinct told her to stand up, keep moving, but her efforts overbalanced her and she fell onto her side. “I'll just take a little nap,” she whispered. 337


She heard Michael call, “You win, Zuberi. When I see Summer put inside a tent, I'll surrender.” “No,” she cried, struggling to sit up. “Don't do it, Michael. Feo's here, too.” Ratzer shoved her back down with his foot. That took the last of her strength. She curled up on the snowy ground, recalling her vision of Michael dying in the cold, metal shed. She'd led him to his death after all. If only she had her moonstone necklace. It would've helped replenish her energy and protect him. No use wishing for the impossible, she thought sadly. Back on the desert, she'd given it to Kadar for safekeeping. “Forest, I expect to see you the moment Ms. Starr's carried into the tent,” Ratzer demanded. “If not, she'll be out here, chained and naked.” Michael shouted, “Agreed.” Summer opened her mouth to protest, but she couldn't make her voice work. Everything inside her seemed frozen. When a guard opened the snaplink and lifted Summer to her feet, she couldn't stand. Cursing, he slung her over one shoulder, carried her across the windy ground, and into the tent. Light from the camp lantern hurt her eyes. In the sudden warmth generated by the small, steady flame, her face stung from returning circulation. The guard leaned over her, fondling her breasts. Sickened by his touch, she sluggishly tried to roll away, but he pinned her with a rough hand. 338


“After Zuberi, Feo, and Ratzer finish with you, we all get our turn.” He tossed a scratchy wool blanket across her body, then examined her still-bound hands. Shouldering his rifle, he smiled cruelly. “I'm number five, right after Victor.” **** Michael had watched the guard carry Summer into a tent. Shadows thrown against the tent wall showed him placing her onto a cot. It was time to fulfill his part of the deal. He strode out of the trees and down the ridge into a pool of light. The ominous click of guns readied to fire echoed through the pine-scented night. “Raise your hands, Forest.” Michael complied. Ignoring the armed men swarming around him, he gazed toward the tent where Summer was imprisoned. Everyone he'd held precious had been tainted or killed. Little moonfire, what have I done to you? A fierce grief shook him. His hands were roughly bound behind him. The cold muzzle of a gun rested against his spine at the nape of his neck. Michael was tempted to lunge backwards and startle the shooter into pulling the trigger. It would be a hell of a lot cleaner than what Zuberi had in mind. He stopped that thought. He had to stall until Hawk, Quinn, and Kadar arrived. They were Summer's only hope. A cold chain was wound around his neck and fastened, the loose end jerked tight by someone out of his range of vision. Zuberi's mocking voice said, “That's the same chain we used to tether your bitch. What do you think of that?” 339


Michael ignored him. A blow from behind sent him to the ground. Silently cursing, Michael struggled to his knees. When he tried to stand, the chain tightened around his neck and held him where he knelt in the snow. Zuberi stepped in front of him. “You will answer when I speak.” “I thought it was an emasculated dog yapping,” Michael said in the Landolan language. Viciously, Zuberi kicked him in the ribs. “We shall see how arrogant you are after we soften you up.” Fighting to catch his breath, Michael gasped, “Bastard, not in your best wet dream.” Then a second man stepped out of the night, the one who'd been Michael's worst nightmare—Señor Feo. Zuberi grinned. “I see you recognize my new partner.” “The two-legged pit viper?” “Ah, Señor Forest, I'm flattered you recall my identity.” “Your hospitality is hard to forget, Mr. Ugly.” “This time, I shall make it far more memorable.” Feo bent closer, his lips twisted into a satanic smile. “I have a new experience for you since you didn't appreciate my other efforts.” The mocking certainty in Feo's voice raised the hair on the back of Michael's neck. Feo gestured to Ratzer. “Open his jacket. I require access to an injection site at the side of his throat.”

340


Injection? Drugs? Damn. How long could his body resist? No matter what, he had to stall Feo as long as possible— hopefully until the rescue teams arrived. Thinking quickly, he eased his head back. As Ratzer gripped the zipper, Michael smashed his forehead into Ratzer's nose. Ratzer fell to his knees, clutching his nose while blood flowed between his fingers. The heavy links of the chain strangled Michael. Spots jittered in front of his eyes. His throat hurt like hell and he wondered if his larynx was fractured. He didn't give a damn because he'd smashed Ratzer's nose. Four guards jumped Michael, pinning him to the frozen ground. He kicked and tried to roll from them, but there were too many. Swearing, they finally ripped his jacket and sweater open and held him immobile. Feo knelt beside him, holding a hypodermic needle. “This contains a long acting poison. It will linger in your body for many days, slowly eating away your flesh and organs from the inside. The subjects I used it on ultimately died in great agony, paralyzed and screaming.” Michael stiffened. In spite of the cold, sweat gathered in his armpits. He forced his lips into a derogatory smile. “Like I said, bastard, you're a pit viper.” Feo waved away the comment. “Here's the genius of my plan. There is an antidote, but only I possess it. The vials are hidden at my new fortress in South America. Once you are permanently paralyzed, I shall administer the antidote and 341


use your helpless body to measure the effects of other experimental drugs.” On his last word, he plunged the needle into the vulnerable artery at the base of Michael's neck. Seconds passed, then Michael's body was on fire as the poison raced through his blood and seared his lungs. In the grip of agony, he heard Feo say, “You may look forward to the next dose in thirty minutes.” Then he was halflifted and dragged through the snow. After tossing him into the metal shed, they bound his feet and fastened the chain to the rope, hog-tying him. Then they left while he forced himself to muffle his groans until he was finally alone. A blurry figure moved in the shadows. Jared's voice came out of the dark. “I'm damned sorry, Michael. Ratzer caught me calling Hawk.” “Hawk?” Michael struggled against dizziness. Saliva filled his mouth. Swallowing was difficult. “You...you didn't betray us?” “Hell, no. I heard Zuberi was out to snatch Miss Summer. I had to go with the guy who told me, an’ I didn't have a chance to call and warn anyone.” He fell silent for a moment, then said, “I promised to protect her. Now, what?” Michael shook his head to clear it. Bad move. The chain tightened to where he could barely breathe. He finally managed to whisper, “Help's coming. Hold on.” “Don't blow smoke, Forest. You know these guys.” “You don't know Hawk and Quinn. They will come.” 342


On his last sentence, another rush of internal flames licked through Michael's body. His vision wavered. He fought to stay conscious. He had to know when the teams arrived to rescue Summer. It was already too late for him. **** The guard's casual observation that she'd be raped had shattered Summer's hypothermic haze. Adrenaline spurted through her body, charging it with a new flow of energy. Sitting up, she swung her feet to the side of the bed nearest the table where the propane lantern sat. Its radiating heat warmed her ankles and sent splinters of pain through her toes. In spite of her throbbing palms, she rubbed circulation back into her legs, leaving long red streaks on the thermal fabric. She paused, her throat clogged with fear, as the voices of two men neared the tent. Instead of entering, they passed by talking about Forest and a helluva fight. Her fear of discovery changed to new worry about Michael. Had he been injured? Just before they were out of hearing, one of the speakers mentioned the shed. Was Michael held there? She had to find him, but how? Easing off the cot, Summer stumbled to where a shaft of moonlight streamed through a clear plastic window. Kneeling on the canvas surface, she knew her plan could have deadly results, but she had to try. 343


She composed her mind, shut out all other distractions, and gathered energy from the moon to send deep into the earth. Shimmering light glowed around her as the moon power grew. An earthquake rolled through the mountains, shaking her tent. The hollow metal frame bent and vibrated. Selfadjusting springs, attached to the center pole, shrieked under the pressure. Thirty miles below, a hungry line answered, arrowing up through eons of rock until it burst through the floor of the tent and ignited the canvas. Bracing her body against a second series of shocks, Summer called on her store of lunar power and caged the fire. She held her bound wrists steadily over the flames while the odor of scorched fibers filled the tent. As the ropes charred and fell away, agony washed over her. The backlash had released her hands but left her wrists burned. Quickly, she quieted the ley line and snuffed out the fire. She staggered to her feet, quietly unzipped the tent door, and peered outside. All clear. Apparently the cold had driven everyone into shelter. The wind had subsided leaving a frozen, moonlit night. Every shadow was sharp. Objects across the snowy square were clear, easily seen. Still, she had to take the chance. Slipping out into the dark, she ignored the renewed pain of walking in the snow. It was vitally important to find Michael. An inner certainty told her he'd been badly injured. 344


With her heart pounding in her chest, she stayed close to the tent, and crept around to the back opposite the shed. She looked left and right, then left her tenuous hiding place and made a short dash to the corrugated metal building. As she reached the shed, she stumbled over something buried in a new pile of snow that had fallen from the metal roof. The object was an assault rifle like the one Jared had carried. Probably a guard had abandoned it when the earthquakes struck. So far, so good. Steeling herself against the pain in her hands, she turned the frosty handle and pressed against the door. It swung open. Cautiously, she eased inside. At first she saw only a shadowy figure near one wall where pale light came in through a small, dirty window. “Over here, Miss.” “Jared?” She followed his voice. “Careful of Forest,” he warned just as her cautious steps brushed a body. “Michael?” Sinking to her knees on the packed dirt floor, she saw him lying on his side, with his knees bent and his feet linked to his throat with a chain. “Watch how you touch him, Miss. He's hog-tied and they've done something bad to him. He lost consciousness a few minutes ago.” While Jared talked, Summer found the snaplink at Michael's throat. 345


She worked at it two-handed, the fingers of one adding to the pressure of her thumb and forefinger to squeeze open the spring-loaded lock. It came undone, and she unwrapped the chain with trembling hands. All the while, Michael lay unmoving, except for occasional tremors wracking his body. “Michael, wake up.” She plucked at the ropes binding his wrists. They'd been tied with cruel efficiency, and the skin had swollen above and below the coarse bonds. Brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, she bent and kissed his lips. An acrid odor oozed from his skin. Had he been drugged? Poisoned. “Michael, sweetheart, wake up. Tell me how to help.” His eyelids fluttered. He groaned and whispered, “Knife...right boot. Bastards...didn't find.” His body jerked once and he fell silent. With trembling fingers, Summer found the faint, irregular beat of his pulse and knew time was running out. She refused to shed the tears clogging her throat and prickling at the roof of her mouth. Following what may have been his last words, she groped around inside the boot until her chilled fingers detected a raised section. Another minute of effort, and she held a short, very sharp knife. Carefully, she slashed the ropes binding Michael's wrists and ankles. Before she could release him, Jared said in a low, urgent voice, “I hear someone outside.” 346


Crouching protectively beside Michael, she seized the M16. “Jared, tell me how this works.” He whispered, “Pull the charging handle back to chamber the rounds of ammunition. Now click the safety to horizontal and it's ready to rock ‘n’ roll.” The outside handle of the shed rattled. Summer's heart raced. Her mouth went dry as she knelt and aimed toward the opening door.

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CHAPTER 22 Señor Feo stepped through the door, backlit by moonlight, and paused. “Señorita Starr, what a charming picture of futility you make.” Behind him, Ratzer grinned and aimed the Beretta at her. Desperately, she ordered, “Stop or I'll shoot.” “Ah, señorita, that is impossible.” Feo displayed a hypodermic needle. “It is time for another round of the señor's treatment.” He took one step toward her. Determined to protect Michael, she refused to budge. Perspiration stung her hands, but she held the heavy weight of her weapon steadily on Feo. “I won't let you give Michael any more poison.” Feo smiled. “You are too late. Even now the first dose eats away at his blood and vital organs.” Summer seethed with hatred. She'd never felt murderous, but now she aimed the M16 with cold determination. Abruptly, Ratzer said, “Hold it, girlie. Shoot Feo and I'll take out Forest, then you. After I've had my fun.” Horrified, she stared at the compact weapon, saw Ratzer's finger tighten on the trigger. Behind her, Michael whispered, “No.” Suddenly, she was pulled to the dirt floor, the assault rifle plucked from her hands, and Michael draped his body over hers. Half a second later, the Beretta fired and the M16 ripped off a burst of gunfire. 348


She felt Michael's body jerk. He groaned, and she knew he'd been hit. Even as that knowledge registered, Feo and Ratzer lay on the floor, their blood flowing into the dirt. “Sorry, Moonfire,” Michael muttered and rolled off her. Summer rose up on her knees and cradled Michael's face between her palms. “Don't leave me,” she begged. In the distance, she heard the faint sound of helicopter engines. If Michael were dead, rescue didn't matter anymore. Still bound, Jared said, “Forest saved you. Don't throw away the chance he gave you.” Jared was right. Woodenly, she located Michael's knife and freed the man who'd once been her enemy. **** Wearing night-vision glasses, Hawk spotted Zuberi's camp ahead. Armed men were pouring out of the tents. Bright points of light erupted from weapons aimed at the two choppers. As planned, the crafts split up. Jim made a pass, firing rounds from his mounted guns, but avoiding the tents and shed. In the temporary confusion, both choppers landed. Hawk leaped out with Kadar and the rest of the team directly behind him. He heard the rapid gunfire from the other ‘copter and glimpsed Quinn and his second, Dean, leading team two. Then he was too busy with the guards racing toward him and his men. 349


Kadar tossed a grenade at one of the green and white helicopters, commenting, “That'll give ‘em something to think about.” Hawk nodded, and heard another explosion as someone from Quinn's group took out a target. Their main objective was to find Summer, Michael, and Jared. Hawk heard an exchange of gunfire coming from the shed behind the tents. Racing to a position beside one tent, he crouched and studied the situation. Five men with assault rifles were targeting the shed. One man rushed the door and was thrown back by a controlled burst. The bodies of two more men sprawled on the ground showed someone inside had fired back with ruthless accuracy. Maybe Michael's in there, Hawk said in a toneless whisper to Kadar. Kadar signaled he'd work around to the other side of the next tent to set up a crossfire. Hawk made the agree hand signal, and Kadar slipped away. Between them, they eliminated the threat. Minutes later, Hawk greeted Jared and stepped over the two bodies face-down on the floor. As Kadar and Jared took up defensive positions at the door, Hawk knelt beside Summer and Michael. She pressed a fold of Michael's sweater against a wound in his upper chest. “He saved me, Hawk, and now he's dying,” she said in a tear-laden voice. 350


Switching on a flashlight, he bent to examine Michael. A cold fist closed around Hawk's heart as he gazed down at his friend. Michael lay on his back on the cold, dirt floor. His eyes were closed, skin pale, and lips blue. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his chest barely rose and fell. “Where the hell's Ted?” Hawk demanded. At that moment, Quinn entered, and knelt beside them. “Doc's treating one of our men.” “Michael's critical. Get Ted over here ASAP.” Summer raised a hand to brush away tears, then wiped it on her hip and touched Michael's cheek. “It's no use. We're losing him.” “There's a chance as long as he's breathing,” Hawk said, harshly. “Feo injected him with a rare, slow-acting poison.” Summer nodded toward the bodies. “He came in to give Michael a second dose, but Michael shot him first.” Feo, dead, Hawk thought grimly. Not even that could make up for losing Michael. Michael's body convulsed. Grief-stricken, Hawk braced his friend's head and shoulders while Quinn held the once-powerful legs. The sounds of combat stopped. The camp was secured, but all Hawk could think of was that the great man who'd stood with them, who'd fought beside them for years, was slipping away. Filled with sadness, he thought of Quinn and Heather's toddler, Michelle. She'd never see her godfather again. And losing Michael would devastate Brianna. Summer lifted a tear-stained face to Hawk. 351


For the first time it registered on him that her outer clothes were gone, and she wore only thermal underwear— protection, but not enough in this frigid weather judging by her shivers. Then he noticed the red streaks. What the hell? “Summer, is that your blood? Where are you hurt?” He shucked his jacket and draped it around her, then lifted her hand, cursing the damage to her palm and wrist. “Worry about that later.” She glanced back at Michael. “I want to try something. It's a long shot, but it won't hurt him anymore than the poison already has, and it may help.” Hawk, recalling the time his wife had called him back from the dark, simply said, “What do you need?” “Move Michael into the patch of moonlight, then leave us alone except for one person to guard the door and prevent any interruption.” At his gesture, Quinn and Kadar helped him gently position Michael where the moonlight streamed through the open door. The other men filed out. Summer stopped Hawk at the doorway. “Remember, no matter what happens, I dare not lose my focus.” “You have my word.” Hawk took up guard at the open door. Quinn, Kadar, and Jared added a second line of interdiction. Bowing her head, Summer knelt beside Michael. Once more, she gathered all her thoughts to focus on the man she loved. As moonlight bathed her, she lifted her hands to the Queen of the night sky wishing she had the moonstone necklace to add potency to the cool power. 352


“Great, great grandmother, Samara,” she whispered. “Help me. Guide me.” An invisible hand seemed to brush Summer's shoulder. She heard a gentle laugh ripple through her mind. I am with you, a part of you, the sweet voice said. Buoyed up by the promise, Summer blanked out everything else but her need to concentrate the gifts of earth and sky. Moon power poured into her, filled her while the air around her glowed brighter and brighter. Mentally gathering the light and power, she reached toward the ley lines flowing miles below. As she coaxed magnetic energy to join lunar power, two lines went rogue, and shot to the surface. Grasping the lines, she called, “By the ancient gift of the stars, by authority of the Queen of night, obey my command.” The lines spun lazily just below the surface of the ground, then sulkily returned to their bed. This time, no earthquake disturbed the serenity of the earth's balance. Once more, Summer called for the gifts of fire. Her hands tingled as pulsating globes of cool, liquid energy formed. Delicately, with one glowing finger, she burned away the layers of clothing around the wound in Michael's chest, without harming his skin. Tracing the path of the bullet to where it had flattened and spread, she made the metal shiver into its component atoms and drift away. With that removed, the wound closed and healed. 353


Summer paused, reaching deeper into sources of energy, and began the delicate task of removing the poison. As if some greater wisdom guided her, she first poured a blanket of cold fire across Michael's body. Mentally, she tasted the bitter substance of Feo's injection. Her blood burned as Michael's had burned. She found circulation blocked at the base of his skull, just as life-carrying ley lines could be blocked. Slowly, she undid the damage, clearing and restoring cells, platelets, nerves and tissue. But her energy was draining fast and she tapped deeper and deeper into her reserves. She reached his heart where its valves worked sluggishly, and arteries and veins had clogged. Her chest grew heavy with grief, and she wept. The repair demanded too much for her remaining strength. If Michael's heart stopped beating... Leaning over her beloved, Summer kissed his lips for the last time. Then, she seized the last link between her and the magnetic lines, channeling that great surge of current into Michael. As the pulsing ergs swept through her into his body, she saw the last bone knit, the last cell of his heart renewed, the last small capillary pulse to life. At that moment, the connection to the moon and the earth snapped. Summer found herself seated on the cold dirt floor, in the frigid air of the shed, stripped of all her paranormal gifts.

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CHAPTER 23 “Summer doesn't want to see me.” Michael thrust his fingers through his hair and threw himself into the leather chair behind his desk. “Discovering that my Vice President, Lyle Roberts, had betrayed me was nothing compared to Summer's refusal.” Hawk, seated in a similar chair on the other side of the desk, leaned back and crossed his arms. “Well, hell, why let that stop you? You two belong together.” “She has damn good reasons to hate me. Look what I put her through.” With a sharp pang of anguish, Michael recalled the moment when he'd regained consciousness on the floor of the cold shed and saw Summer sitting beside him, in bloodstained thermals, with a lost expression in her eyes. “Not you, friend. Blame Zuberi and Feo.” “They'd never have known she existed if she hadn't been with me.” “Hold it right there.” Hawk made an impatient gesture. “Jared was hunting her even before Zuberi hired him.” Wearily, Michael rubbed his face. “That doesn't mean Cole would've located her.” Hawk sat forward. “He's damned persistent. He would've found her eventually. Remember, you're the one who stopped him from killing her.” “We don't know that for sure. I think, on some level, he knew she was innocent.” “That didn't prevent him from attacking her.” 355


Michael waved that off. “The fact remains, because of me, Summer was physically injured and psychically crippled.” Michael pressed two fingers to his forehead. “Her feet had frostbite. Her wrists were severely burned getting out of the ropes. Last I heard she'd lost some mobility in them because of scar tissue. How can she do the delicate work in her sculpting?” He lunged to his feet and paced back and forth. “She wouldn't let me pay for specialists. Just sent a polite, no thank you.” Hawk nodded. “Independent and stubborn like Charity and all their clan.” “Tell me about it.” Michael stopped beside his desk and traced the delicate female figure of Spring Dreams, thinking of the night at Cypress Cove when Summer had stood on the cliff facing out to sea while the earth shuddered under his feet. That night, there'd been confidence and an air of sad determination in her squared shoulders. Now, since she'd poured the last drop of her gifts into healing him, she'd been condemned to function with a major part of herself gone. “When she went home to her parents, I followed.” “I would've done the same thing—go after Charity and to hell with false pride.” Michael wiped a hand over his face. “The trip was a fiasco. When I arrived, she greeted me as if I were bad news. Her brothers apparently got wind of my coming and were all there, glaring like they wanted to turn me into a toad or a 356


snake. Hell, with that group, they probably could've done it, but Summer reminded them I was her guest.” A wicked gleam appeared in Hawk's eyes. “Been there. Charity intervened before I ended up running around on four legs, howling at the moon.” “You didn't have that big dude, Cameron, giving you the evil eye. The DEA agent was a damned sight friendlier, even when he stood in Blake's office with proof of my innocence in his hands and realized his agency couldn't seize my property.” “Cameron's a male friend?” “Summer's cousin with his own potent gifts and a protective streak a mile wide when it comes to her.” Michael looked at Summer's sculpture of the bird escaping from flames and soaring toward freedom. He'd set it on the marble pedestal in front of the window to catch the sunlight. “As a peace offering, I took The Firebird to give to her parents. They also politely declined. Summer's sister, Jade, said it belonged with me because I had a unique connection to it.” “Ahuh. Interesting.” Hawk crossed his right ankle over his left knee and leaned back in the leather chair. “Sounds like they gave you the works.” “Summer's mother finally took me aside and said it hurt Summer to have me there as a reminder. She said, Go home. Your day will come.” “You're not giving up?” Hawk demanded. “What else can I do? It's been four months.” Michael strode to the window and stared at the sunlit gardens. 357


Another image formed in his thoughts. Summer, in the soft light of dawn, stroking the fur of three sea otters. He faced Hawk. “Do you know what it does to me to know Summer lost her special gifts because she pushed herself beyond reason for me?” “I know,” Hawk said quietly. Charity did the same for me when I took a bullet in my head that time we rescued her from Zellerman.” Once again, Michael recalled the unforgettable scene in the helicopter. Hawk had not only survived, he'd been healed. Afterwards, Charity had collapsed. “Yeah, she was unconscious when we carried her from the helicopter to the Gulfstream and finally to your place.” “I thought I'd lost her.” Hawk studied his hands. “She'd worked miracles for me, but it had left her with her gifts in disintegration.” Michael inhaled sharply. “I never knew that part. What did you do?” “Held her. Loved her.” Hawk rose to his feet to leave. “You might try the same.” **** Summer buttoned her loose sweater and carefully found her way down the rocky trail to the cove where her sea otter family lived. It was a breezy spring day with blue skies and a few white clouds racing before the wind. As she settled on the flat granite boulder, whitecaps dappled the cove, and cold, clean saltwater surged against the rock below where she sat. 358


She inhaled the ocean air filled with the tang of seaweed and far-away lands. But she dreamed of a cedar bed in a cave with Michael's warm body wrapped around her. Her thoughts went back to the conversation she'd had with her parents just before she'd left to come to Cypress Cove. When they'd asked her to join them in the library, she'd figured she was in for some gentle probing or a lecture. Her father had directed her to a cozy wing back chair rather than the stiff wooden chair where she or one of her siblings had sat in other years, for a talk with dad. He'd waited, with old-fashioned courtesy for her mother and her to sit before he took a place beside his wife on the couch. While her parents settled, Summer looked around the familiar library at the books she'd read as a little girl and a teenager. Her father got right to the point. “Does Forest know you're pregnant?” “I haven't told him.” Her mother had asked, gently, “Why not? Is it his child?” “It's Michael's.” Filled with love for their unborn child, Summer touched her stomach. “I even know when my little one was conceived. It was the night in the cave.” “Are you afraid to tell Forest?” Her father frowned. “Give me the word, I'll set him straight.” “Dad, I love you, but please stay out of this. It's between Michael and me. I will tell him...eventually. I don't want to deprive him of seeing his child, or prevent the baby from knowing its father.” 359


Her mother squeezed Summer's hand. “Michael's a good man. What's the real reason you won't tell him?” “It's his stubborn sense of honor,” she said, crossing her arms. “If he knows I'm pregnant with his child, he'll railroad me into marriage.” Her father shook his head. “By the ancient Merlin's beard, what's wrong with that?” “He doesn't love me.” “Damnation, child. He faced your brothers and me and even stood up against that equally stubborn Scotsman, Cameron.” “I know,” she said quietly. “But I love Michael too much to force him into marriage. I've cost him enough. If he hadn't surrendered himself to protect me, he'd never have suffered that horrible poison.” Her mother brushed back of a lock of Summer's hair. “Dear, look what it cost you. And you still love him.” “How can I go to him now? I'm only half a person. My gifts are gone. I feel numb, empty.” Her mother rose and embraced her. “You're not truly empty. You have a child to consider. Don't sell Michael short. Give him a chance to speak for himself.” “I'll think about it.” Her father stood. “See that you do, child. Forest isn't a shallow man. He knew your gifts were gone, but he came looking for you.” The words, he came looking for you, had echoed in her heart all the way to Cypress Cove. 360


Summer leaned her head against her drawn up knees. “I won't be able to sit like this much longer,” she whispered to the new life fluttering in her womb. The seawater flashed into spray followed by three furry bodies. They chittered and called to her. Summer smiled at her sea otter family. Water swirled around two other pairs come to share the bounty of the cove. “Someday you'll call them,” she murmured to her unborn child. Her mother, pressing a gentle hand against where the little one was developing, had said the infant girl had many gifts. She heard pebbles rattle on the trail behind her, but didn't turn. She knew Jared was up there keeping watch. Her sweet memories recalled a familiar, beloved presence. Thinking about Michael was still a part of her daily life, in spite of the miles and emotional issues separating them. At night, her body ached for him, ached for his touch. Michael stood on the ridge above the cove, gazing at the blonde figure below. He'd driven north with determination to convince Summer they belonged together. Now his goal was in sight. This time, he wouldn't give up. He met Jared part way down. They shook hands and Michael clasped his shoulder in silent gratitude for keeping watch over Summer. Smiling, Jared pointed to the small figure on the flat boulder. “She misses you,” he said in a low voice. “I'm here to correct that. Wish me luck.” Michael moved down the trail in easy, pain-free movements, a gift from Summer's fire. 361


He shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and felt the ring box. Unless she hated him he was resolved he wouldn't take no for an answer. Summer sensed his presence behind her. Turning, she saw Michael leap over the last rocky section and stride toward her. She stood to meet him in time to be swept up in his powerful embrace. “Summer.” His deep voice rang with passion and joy. “Moonfire, I've missed you.” His mouth covered hers hungrily, and she gave herself to the heaven of being in his arms, of drinking his heady, masculine kisses. A silent flash of light stunned her. She froze as a ley line called to her from deep in the earth. Michael must have sensed something was happening. He pressed her head to his shoulder and murmured, “Whatever it is, I'm here for you. I'll always be here.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Michael, you're back—and my connection to the earth is back.” “I couldn't be happier for you, sweetheart.” Reclaiming her mouth, he proceeded to show her with tender sweeps and touches of his lips and tongue just how happy he was. Finally, he gently broke the connection, held her with one powerful arm, and gazed at her. “Gifted or not, I want you.” Tenderly, he laid a careful hand on her abdomen. “When were you going to tell me about our child?” Uncomfortable with the question, she looked over his shoulder. “I planned to, but I didn't want you to feel trapped.” In a quiet voice he said, “What's the real reason?” 362


She looked up into his precious face. “I want what my parents have, love.” He tightened his hold on her. “Sweetheart, I do love you. I want it all, your heart, my ring on your finger in marriage, our child.” She touched his lips. “No feeling trapped? No regrets?” “Moonfire,” he said in a voice filled with emotion. “How can I regret marrying you when you're my other half?” Leading her to a smooth boulder, he helped her sit. “I'm going to do this the right way.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jeweler's box. Then, kneeling, he opened the box, took her left hand, and said “Summer, Morgana Starr, will you be my wife, my lover, my all?” Her eyes filled with happy tears. “Oh, yes, Michael. How could I refuse when you, also, are my other half?” Taking one ring from the midnight-blue velvet, he slipped it on her finger. “I had this made from the moonstone you found on the beach, here in Cypress Cove.” Summer gazed at the glowing white stone, set in a silvery swirl and rimmed by diamonds. Michael cradled her hand. “It's in platinum. I asked Jade to do the design and setting.” “I recognize her touch.” Summer's heart and mind were filled to overflowing with love and joy. She gazed into Michael's eyes and saw his love for her. He bent to press a kiss where their child rested. “This little one is a miracle. I love children, but I thought I'd lost my chance to have a family.” 363


Summer felt the flutter of their child's movement. He gazed up at her in wonder. “Our child moved?” Summer smiled. “Our daughter, Samara, did a somersault for you.” Deep in the earth, a ley line made a lazy turn. Before she could correct it, another presence was there, directing the fiery line back to its channel. “We may have a delightful problem.” She rested her hand on her stomach. “Our little one is gifted.” Michael pressed his hand over hers. “You mean—?” “Yes, Samara has inherited my special psychic ability.” Standing, Michael swept Summer up into his arms and kissed her with all the love in the world. “Now I'll have two ladies in my life, both with a sweet touch of fire.”

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Barbara Clark Barbara was born in San Diego, California, but basically was raised all over the United States; at least that's what it seemed like when she had to list the twenty-three schools she'd attended in her college application. Most of the moving around was during World War II when her father's job took him to the East Coast and back again with a great two and a half years living in Tucson, Arizona. Barbara and her sister and brother learned to adapt to new places. They lived at the edge of the Dismal Swamp in North Carolina, fed the ducks in Fenway Park in Boston where Barbara went to Girls Latin School, and experienced their only hurricane in Charleston, South Carolina. They also lived in New York City, then moved back to the San Diego area, and finally the Los Angeles, and Orange county areas of California. Some of those years have become part of Barbara's fictional characters’ backgrounds. Barbara says, “You'd think I'd had enough traveling and moving. Not quite. After teaching in Kindergarten and First Grade in California for five years, I took a job in Nome, Alaska. It was a fantastic experience. Nome was where I tasted whale blubber (tastes sort of nut-like), had a ride in an umiak (a forty-passenger boat made out of driftwood with oogrook hide stretched over it) and walked out on the frozen Norton Sound.” Now that Barbara's retired after thirty-four years of teaching, she's excited by her new and growing career in writing. “Growing” hardly describes Barbara’ leaps and 365


bounds of recent achievements. Her novel A Breath Of Heather (the second book in her popular and best-selling Sons of Earth and Wind series) won First Place in the Paranormal, Time Travel, Fantasy category of the 2001 Orange Rose Award contest. Additionally, the book was named a finalist in both Affaire de Coeur's Reader-Writer poll and in the Daphne Du Maurier Award (Paranormal Category). Moreover, A Touch of Fire (the third book in the Sons of Earth and Wind series) was christened the winner of the 2001 Golden Quill Award in the paranormal romance category. The literary world, not to mention the voracious fans of paranormal romance, wonders why she didn't retire years earlier with the quality of product she continually produces. Indeed, in 2002, two of Barbara's novels—Dangerous Haven and Deserts Of The Heart—also became finalists in the 2002 Crystal Globe Awards, for “Best Overall Romantic Fiction"! Expect both Tears of the Desert Rose and Jade Dreams, books Five and Six in the Sons of Earth and Wind series, to become additional award-winners. Both titles will be available in the near future!

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AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC Quality Books, Print And Electronic Horror Romance Fantasy Mainstream Young Adult Science Fiction Suspense/Thriller Action/Adventure Non-Fiction Paranormal Historical Western Mystery Erotica http://www.amberquill.com

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