by Linda Turner
“I’m at your mercy, Prissy. Just remember, I’m only trying to keep you safe.”
She could no longer argue with that. He had saved her twice from her kidnappers and in the process, put his own life at risk. “I know,” she said softly, “and I appreciate that. I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble.”
“Just remember that the next time you want to kill me,” he said with a grin. Pulling out a chair from the small table and chairs in the office kitchen, he sat down with his back to her and stretched out his long legs. “Do your worst, sweetheart. Whatever you do, I’ll survive.”
She took him at his word—but she didn’t use the scissors. Instead, she retrieved an electric men’s all-in-one groomer from the bag of supplies from the drugstore and proceeded to give him a military buzz cut. And even though he had to know what she was doing, he didn’t issue a single word of complaint.
When she was finished, Priscilla was almost afraid to look at the finished result. Then Donovan rubbed his head and laughed. “All right! Is this cool or what?”
Priscilla considered him with a reluctant grin. “Actually, you look like a marine. And you got what you wanted. I don’t think your own mother would recognize you.”
“Great! Now it’s your turn.”
Her stomach in a knot, Priscilla clutched the scissors to her breast. “I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, after all.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said quickly, and grabbed the scissors out of her hand before she could guess his intentions. “A deal’s a deal.”
“But—”
“Don’t even try to tell me you’re backing out. You’re not the kind of woman who gives her word then backs out.”
Surprised, she blinked. “How do you know what kind of woman I am? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you well enough to know that you’re a fighter, that you love your family and hate injustice. A woman like that isn’t going to go back on her word to a man who is trying to protect her.”
He had her, and they both knew it. Caught in the trap of his steady blue gaze, she knew she had to trust him. “All right,” she said, and sank down into the chair he’d just vacated. Then, before he could touch a hair on her head, she looked up at him worriedly. “You’re not going to shave my head, are you?”
A half smile tilted up one corner of his mouth. “You wouldn’t look nearly as cute as I do bald,” he teased. “Your hair is safe with me.”
She had to believe him—he hadn’t lied to her yet. Still, she found it hard to relax as he started to cut her hair. When her pulse tripped, she tried to tell herself she was just nervous—any woman would be. But she knew it was more than that. It was the feel of his hands in her hair, the unconsciously provocative stroke of his fingers on the back of her neck, that was setting her heart pounding.
She should be worried about her hair, she told herself. Instead, all she could think about was Donovan…his nearness, the masculine scent of him, his fingers moving over her—
“All finished,” he announced suddenly. “Take a look.”
Before she even looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, she lifted a hand to her hair. It was short, barely reaching her collar, and a mass of loose curls. How many years had she been straightening her naturally curly hair? When was the last time she’d had it cut? She couldn’t remember.
“You look like Meg Ryan,” he told her, grinning. “Only cuter.”
She didn’t believe that for a second—until she looked in the mirror and saw a woman she barely recognized. The cut could only be called ragged, at best, but it wasn’t much different from some of the expensive salon cuts that some of her friends wore. And she was surprised to discover that she actually liked the curls. They were bouncy, touchable, feminine.
Standing behind her, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror, Donovan grinned. “We make quite a pair, Ms. Prissy. But we’re not done yet.”
Surprised, she frowned. “What do you mean? You said yourself your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. And I know I could walk right by the jackasses who kidnapped me and they wouldn’t look twice at me like this.”
“We’re going to take it one step further and make sure,” he said, and pulled out two boxes of hair dye from the bag of supplies from the drugstore. “One for each of us,” he said with a grin. “Take your pick, sweetheart. Do you want to be a redhead or a brunette?”
Ideally, Donovan would have liked nothing more than to head back to her apartment and search the Dumpster in the dark. But they’d need a flashlight to find her passport, and anyone watching for them would spot them in a heartbeat. So they rested for what was left of the night, and even though Priscilla eventually fell asleep on the couch in the waiting area, Donovan didn’t. He was too busy making plans.
Four hours later, when Donovan drove across town to Priscilla’s flat, he had to admit he was pleased. They looked nothing like the couple who’d checked into the motel hours before. Dressed in torn jeans and a faded, ragged shirt, army boots and a skullcap that was pulled down low over his short red hair, he looked like a homeless man without a penny to his name. And Priscilla looked just as bad.
When he’d first told her he wanted her to dress like a bag lady, he’d expected her to balk at the idea, but she’d thrown herself into the role, starting with the clothes she bought at a thrift store down the block from his office. Three sizes too big, she put at least three different mismatched outfits on at one time, then topped it all with an overcoat that had to be thirty years old and would have swallowed a woman twice her size. Then she’d surprised him by rubbing dirt on her face.
Her kidnappers would never recognize her, Donovan decided, grinning. She could search every Dumpster in the neighborhood and no one would give her a second glance. Still, he wasn’t taking any chances.
“I want you to stay in the car,” he said gruffly as he parked around the corner from her flat. Pulling a business card from his wallet, he handed it to her. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, I want you to drive to Scotland Yard and ask for George Hudson. Tell him I sent you and what’s happened.”
“Stay in the car?!” she repeated, stunned. “Are you serious?”
“You’re damn straight,” he growled.
“Why? What was the point of cutting my hair and having me dress like a street woman if I have to hide out in the car?”
“So one of your neighbors won’t recognize you if they happen to see you.”
“That doesn’t explain why I have to stay in the car. If no one’s going to recognize me, I might as well go with you.”
“They’ll be looking for a woman,” he reminded her. “If you’re in the car and they happen to spot you, at least you can drive away. You can’t do that if you’re on foot.”
“But—”
“This isn’t open for discussion,” he said firmly. “You’re staying in the car.”
Her chin came up at his tone—she didn’t need his permission to search for her own passport. But even as she gave serious consideration to doing what she damn well pleased, she knew he was right. Her kidnappers were clever and fast. If their path crossed hers, they’d catch her before she could even think about making a break for it.
“I’m staying because it’s the smart thing to do,” she told him, irritated. “That’s the only reason.”
He didn’t care what reasoning she used as long as she did as she was told. “Remember…ten minutes, then you head for Scotland Yard. I’ll find you.”
She wanted to argue—he could see it in her eyes—but she only nodded. Fighting the sudden crazy urge to kiss her, he reached for her hand and squeezed it. A split second later, he was gone.
Almost immediately, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Worried sick, she checked her watch. How long had he been gone? A couple of minutes? Had he found the Dumpster behind her apartment? Surely he had, but then again, he couldn’t hurry. He was a homeless man who had nothing but time on his hands. If he hurried, someone would surely ask why.
&n
bsp; How did he do this for a living? she wondered wildly. It was too nerve-racking, too stressful. Wasn’t he afraid her kidnappers would see through his disguise and come after him? If they were watching, they were bound to see him. And they were watching. She could feel them.
Sick to her stomach with fear, she tried to convince herself that her imagination was just playing tricks on her. She was well hidden behind the Camry’s dark windows—no one could possibly see her. And even if they could, they wouldn’t recognize her. So why was she suddenly so scared?
Unable to sit still a second longer, she checked her watch and felt her heart stop cold. Where was Donovan? He’d been gone fifteen minutes!
If I’m not back in ten minutes, I want you to drive to Scotland Yard…
Even as his words replayed in her head, she knew she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t drive off and leave him in the hands of whoever had stopped him from keeping his word. Was he hurt? Maybe she should go looking for him—
Caught up in her worried thoughts, she never saw Donovan slip up on the rental car from the rear. When he opened the door with the second set of keys the rental company had given him, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Get down in the floorboard,” Donovan commanded as he slipped into the seat beside her. With a quick flick of his wrist, he started the car. “Now!” he barked when she just sat there. “We may have company.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. Lightning quick, she dropped into the floorboard as he pulled away from the curb. “What do you mean…we may have company? Who—”
His gaze bouncing between the road in front of them and the rearview mirror, he said, “There was a bloke near the entrance to the alley acting like he was waiting for a bus. But he never got on any of the buses that came by.”
“He didn’t see you go into the alley, did he?”
“No, but only because he was distracted by the jackass who broke into your flat just as I walked into the alley.”
“What?!”
“You heard me,” he said grimly. “Somebody broke into your apartment.”
“Did you see him? What’d he look like?”
His eyes on the road, he nodded. “It was one of your friends.”
Surprised, she frowned. “A friend? What friend? You don’t know any of my friends.”
“I know this one. It was one of your kidnappers.”
Chapter 5
They drove all day and into the night. Horrified that her kidnappers were still looking for her, Priscilla didn’t even bother to ask where Donovan was taking her. It wasn’t until they crossed into Scotland that she realized they were going to Edinburgh. They didn’t, however, head for the airport, as she’d expected. Instead, Donovan drove deeper and deeper into the city, making sudden turns, then backtracking, down a maze of ancient streets that were progressively narrower, darker, scarier.
When he pulled up before a small inn that looked like it had to be home to nothing but drug dealers and cockroaches, she looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Tell me you’re not expecting to spend what’s left of the night here.”
Amused, he lifted a masculine brow at her in the darkness. “That was my intention. Why? You want to stay longer than one night?”
“That’s not funny,” she snapped, giving him a withering look. “Decent people don’t stay in a place like this.”
“They do when they have kidnappers chasing them,” he retorted. “Trust me, no one’s going to look for a woman like you here with the hookers. C’mon.”
Not giving her a chance to argue further, he stepped from the car and waited for her to join him. The second she did, he took her hand. Confused, she frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Just keeping you safe,” he said with a grin and pulled her into the inn after him.
The desk clerk was half asleep and staring at the television, where an erotic video played for anyone who walked in the door to see. Repulsed, Priscilla wanted to turn around and walk out, but Donovan stopped her in her tracks with his first words. “We need a room.”
Caught off guard, she looked at him sharply. “Excuse me? A room? As in one? You can’t be serious—”
Donovan had to shut her up and he had to do it fast. There was no time to think, no time to do anything but act. Pasting a teasing grin on, he reached for her. “Don’t be that way, sweetheart. You know you love me.” And before she could do anything but gasp, he covered her mouth with his.
She wanted to kill him—he could almost hear her cursing him as she stiffened and brought up her hands to push him away. Then, just as quickly, she hesitated. Thank God, she’d finally remembered she was supposed to follow his lead, he thought. Then she kissed him back.
Lightning came out of nowhere to knock him out of his shoes.
Caught off guard, he felt the punch of desire in his gut and just barely swallowed a groan. They were playing a part, he reminded himself. Pretending. The last thing he wanted was the desk clerk wondering why Priscilla would object to sharing a room with him when they came in together, so he’d kissed her in the hope that the man would think they were just two lovers who’d had a spat. The last thing he’d expected was that she would kiss him back…or that she would turn him inside out when she did.
“All right, all right.” The desk clerk smirked. “I guess it’s one room, after all.”
“You’re damn straight,” Donovan muttered, releasing Priscilla with a reluctance that stunned him. “And be quick about it.”
Pulling out his wallet, he slid a credit card across the desk to the other man and registered the room in the name of one of his favorite aliases. Seconds later, he and Priscilla headed for their room.
She was just itching to say something—he could feel her impatience as he unlocked the door and she preceded him inside. The second the door closed, she blasted him. “How dare you! You had no right!”
“The hell I didn’t! It’s my job to protect you, even from yourself, and there was no other way to shut you up when the desk clerk was listening to every word we said.”
“You should have warned me ahead of time.”
“I agree,” he said. “That was my mistake. I should have told you this isn’t the kind of place where you want to stay alone. I can’t protect you if I’m not with you.”
Far from appeased, she gave him a narrow-eyed look that would have had another man shaking in his shoes. “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”
“Have it your way,” he said with a shrug. “But you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive the disappointment,” she said dryly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. You can sleep on the floor.”
Sailing into the bathroom with her chin in the air, she shut the door behind her, but her feelings of victory were short-lived. She took one look at the small bathroom and cringed. The shower stall was rough with lime buildup, and the rough towels folded on the towel rack were dingy and thin with age. Priscilla didn’t even want to think about how many times they’d been used and by whom.
Revolted at the thought, she almost turned and walked out, but she was tired and dirty and could still smell the scent of her kidnappers on her skin. She was, by God, going to have a shower, but there was no way she was letting one of those nasty towels touch her skin. She’d air dry.
When she stepped out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later dressed in some of her bag lady clothes, Donovan was in the process of stripping the sheets from the bed and turning the mattress over. When she stopped in surprise, she would have sworn he blushed. “Okay, so it’s not the Ritz,” he said with a grimace. “I’m sorry I had to bring you here—it’s no place for a lady. But it’s the best I can do for now and still keep you safe.”
Touched, Priscilla didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. She hadn’t expected him to be so thoughtful. “It’ll be fine,” she said huskily. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he said with a shrug. Removing his pistol fro
m his overnight bag, he laid it on the nightstand. “It’s loaded,” he told her. “While I’m in the shower, don’t be afraid to use it if there’s a problem.”
She couldn’t—just the thought of picking it up turned her blood cold—but all she said was, “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t fool him for a second. “You’re so full of—”
“Donovan!”
“You are,” he repeated, grinning. “Just promise me you’ll come and get me if someone’s at the door, okay?”
Eyeing him suspiciously, she said, “Are you trying to scare me? Because if you are, you’re doing a good job of it.”
“Good. You need to be scared. You’ve got some bad dudes chasing you. You can’t afford to forget it.”
She wasn’t likely to forget it, she thought as he disappeared into the bathroom to take a shower. She was in an inn she normally wouldn’t be caught dead in, with a man she hardly knew. And there was a loaded gun on the nightstand. No, she hadn’t forgotten anything, least of all that there were strangers trying to find her who wouldn’t blink twice if they were given the order to kill her.
Suddenly cold all the way to her soul, she crawled into bed, clothes and all. She was so tired, she felt like the walking dead, but she wasn’t surprised when she found herself wide awake. Was that a step she heard outside in the hallway? Her heart suddenly in her throat, she reminded herself that the building was ancient and probably creaked every time the wind blew…or a mouse peaked out of its hole.
Paling at the thought, she sat up, her eyes searching the dark corners of the room. What if it wasn’t a mouse at all, but a rat? “Oh, God.”
The bathroom door opened then, and Donovan stepped out dressed in nothing but his jeans. Rubbing his wet hair with one of the dingy towels she hadn’t been able to bring herself to use, he looked like he’d just walked out of one of her fantasies…and all she could think of was rats.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, seeing her face.