Aim for the Heart

by Ingrid Weaver

  So why did she wish that Hawk hadn't told her he'd been in love?

  "It would have been faster to walk," Hawk said.

  Sarah acknowledged his grumbling with a nod but she didn't take her gaze off the traffic. The low angle of the morning sun glinted from the hood of the rental car, leaving spots in front of her eyes. She took one hand from the wheel to fumble on the seat beside her for her sunglasses. "Faster but more exposed. We still have plenty of time to reach the harbor, Dr. Lemay. I studied the city map before we left the hotel, and although this route isn't direct, it isn't predictable, either. That reduces the chance of encountering an ambush on the way to the pier where the prince's yacht is moored."

  "Hold still." His leather jacket creaked as he leaned toward her. He set her aviator sunglasses into place on the bridge of her nose and looped the wire arms over her ears. "Is that better?"

  "Yes. Thank you, sir."

  He left his arm across the back of her seat, picking up a lock of her hair to rub it between his fingers. "I don't plan on staying long, Sarah. This is a courtesy meeting, that's all."

  "I understand. I appreciate the way you kept me informed. I alerted the American Embassy so they will be aware of your movements."

  "The embassy? Why?"

  "It's just a precaution, since we're dealing with the future ruler of Moukim. Our diplomats will contact his diplomats so they will also know that our people are aware of our movements."

  "Ah." He curled her hair around his thumb. "You're setting up more witnesses like you did with the bystanders in the ballroom."

  "Exactly."

  "Is there any chance you would be willing to stay in the car and wait for me?"

  She clicked on her signal and turned her head to check the cross traffic. The movement also freed her hair from his grasp. "No, sir. None at all."

  He drummed his fingers on the back of her seat. "I didn't think so."

  "I'll stay out of the way as much as possible while you meet with Prince Jibril, but I won't guarantee anything. If I perceive a threat, I intend to act. I would rather make apologies than funeral arrangements."

  He withdrew his arm.

  She felt like thudding her forehead against the steering wheel. "Sorry, sir. That was insensitive of me."

  "What?"

  "The remark about funerals. Seeing the prince after all this time must be stirring some very unpleasant memories."

  "Oh, for God's sake," he muttered. "Your sympathy is misplaced, Sarah."

  She didn't think so. She knew men. That was one of the side effects of living in the midst of them all her life. She knew full well how whenever they were hurt their first instinct was to bury the pain. At times it seemed the stronger the man, the more determined he was to keep his feelings inside. Some of the toughest soldiers in Eagle Squadron carried around emotional baggage that would cripple most people. They would rather face torture than open their hearts to anyone, especially a woman.

  Yet Hawk hadn't really opened up anything, had he? He'd divulged only the bare facts that he'd deemed pertinent. For that Sarah was grateful. The information he'd given her would allow her to do her job better, because she now understood the source of the tension she'd sensed between Hawk and Jibril despite their cordial greeting.

  Hawk had drawn a very clear line. It would be foolish to cross it. It would be grossly unprofessional. It would endanger her objectivity and thus her ability to perform her duty if she allowed herself to feel sympathy for him. Feeling sexually attracted to him was making it difficult enough to maintain her professional distance.

  Two more days and this would be over. Then she wouldn't have to wonder what the woman had been like, or whether even after fourteen years Hawk was still mourning her the way Sarah still mourned Jackson…

  Damn. Hawk's memories weren't the only ones that were getting stirred up here. She'd better get her head on straight before she let herself get distracted.

  Her pulse thumped hard. She realized it had been three minutes since she had checked her rearview mirror for a tail. She pulled to the curb.

  "What are you doing?" Hawk asked.

  "Making sure we weren't followed." She twisted on the seat to get a better view of the vehicles that passed them. None seemed familiar, but that was no guarantee. Until she knew more about who the hired assassin was, she wouldn't know whether he worked alone or had a team to help him.

  "Quicker to walk," Hawk muttered as he leaned against the door. His jacket creaked again. The warm air that wafted from the heater in the dashboard brought the teasing hint of leather and man.

  Something else that he'd said the night before came back to her. I still don't trust you…but you're one hell of an interesting woman.

  He'd already called her beautiful, but he'd also called her crazy and suicidal. She didn't take compliments on her appearance any more seriously than she took insults—they were superficial and didn't affect her one way or another. Yet to be called interesting by a man as intelligent and complex as Hawkins Lemay…Lord help her, now that affected her. It was even more hazardous to her objectivity than the sight of him in a tuxedo.

  Sarah settled her sunglasses more firmly on her nose and put the car back into gear. She couldn't let this get personal. She was going to do her duty. That's what she knew best.

  Chapter 4

  Jibril's yacht was more like a cruise ship than a private vessel, dwarfing the other ships that were moored along the pier. It was at least two hundred feet long, with enough room for a swimming pool on the foredeck and a helicopter landing pad at the stern. Despite its size, it wasn't ungainly. Its cream-colored superstructure had a sleek, aerodynamically tapered design. Its black hull gleamed like the coat of a well-tended race horse, straining against the lines that reined it in. Hawk was sure the color choice was deliberate, evoking sand and oil. The very fact Jibril had chosen to use this mode of transport despite the lateness of the season was deliberate, too. It was an ostentatious display of wealth. It was a statement of power.

  It also carried a much more subtle message, one that Hawk wasn't sure how to interpret. The prince had named his yacht Faith.

  "This way, please."

  The man who met Hawk and Sarah as they came onboard was dressed in the thick twill pants and navy blue wool jacket of a sailor. His nose was angled to one side like a prizefighter who'd lost too many matches. Hawk recognized him as one of the guards who had accompanied the prince to the hotel the night before, and judging by the tension he sensed in Sarah, she recognized the man, as well. The guard led them past the empty helicopter pad, across the deck and stopped beside a set of thickly varnished mahogany doors. He rapped twice on the panels.

  Another guard in the guise of a sailor opened the doors to a luxuriously furnished salon. Warm air billowed outward with the scent of lemon wax. The man dipped his head in a polite bow to Hawk. "This way, please."

  Hawk wondered whether it was the only English phrase the men knew. He also wondered whether Sarah was invisible. The men were ignoring her completely, treating her as she were nothing but a piece of furniture that happened to be trailing behind him. Yet as soon as he and Sarah entered the salon, all that changed.

  One of the two men stepped in front of Sarah while his colleague moved behind her. "We ask you to surrender your weapon before you go farther," the first man said. He held out his hand. "We will return it when you leave."

  To Hawk's relief, Sarah didn't argue. She unfastened her black coat, withdrew her gun and handed it butt first to Jibril's guard. She then slipped her coat from her shoulders. The black sweater and pants she wore wouldn't conceal much. Still, she spread her arms to the side and allowed the other guard to frisk her. Her face was impassive as his hands ran under her arms and down her hips. It was Hawk who made a sound of protest as the man slid his palms over the insides of her thighs.

  Sarah looked at Hawk, her chin lifted with no loss of dignity. "This isn't a problem, sir. He's a soldier doing his job," she said. She moved her gaze to the man i
n front of her. "I understand that, as I hope he understands that I'm merely doing mine."

  The search was concluded swiftly. Sarah folded her coat over her arm and fell into step behind him as Hawk was led deeper into the ship. They went through another set of mahogany doors, along a carpeted corridor and up a wide staircase bordered by gleaming brass rails. At the top was a sprawling room decorated entirely in white. Sunlight blazed through a bank of windows in one wall, reflecting from the marble tile floor and gleaming from the groupings of low silk-upholstered couches and glass-topped tables.

  "Welcome, Hawkins!" A tall, thin shape moved toward them through the glare. "What do you think of my home away from home?"

  "A very impressive toy, Jibril." Hawk paused to look at the prince as they shook hands. Jibril was wearing western clothing today, a neat tweed blazer and trousers with knife-edge creases. Except for the beard, he looked even more like the man he'd been fourteen years ago. "How's the fishing in the harbor?"

  Jibril laughed. "That was one passion we didn't have in common, my friend. I see you are still accompanied by your lovely but impetuous bodyguard." He turned to Sarah with a condescending smile. "Your apology was brought to me earlier, Captain Fox. It was prettily worded. How could I not accept?"

  She dipped her head. "Thank you, Your Highness."

  Jibril gave an order to the guard with the crooked nose, then gestured toward the group of couches closest to the windows. "I have asked Ahmed to have coffee sent up for the two of us. Now tell me, Hawkins. What in the world have you done that has caused someone to put out a contract on your life?"

  Of all the things Jibril might have said, this wasn't one that Hawk had anticipated. Hawk glanced at Sarah, but she wasn't looking at him. She had taken up a position near the window and was scanning the room. She gave no indication that she realized Jibril had just backed up her story, yet Hawk was certain that nothing got by her. "What have you heard?" Hawk asked.

  Jibril gave a neat tug to his pant legs and seated himself in the center of the largest couch. He waited until Hawk had taken a seat on the couch across from him before he replied. "A man in my position has many sources of information, as I'm sure you know. I assume you heard of this threat, as well. Why else would you have acquired a bodyguard?"

  Why else, indeed? There would be no reason for both Jibril and Sarah to tell the same lie. They likely wouldn't have had the opportunity to coordinate their stories, either. Therefore, Sarah must have been telling the truth all along.

  Hawk was surprised by the spurt of satisfaction he felt. Somehow he would prefer to believe Sarah was honest, even if it meant his life really was in danger.

  Hell, that was completely illogical. "You mentioned a contract."

  "Yes. It is rumored to be substantial." Jibril shrugged his shoulders. "But that is all I know. Who would do such a thing?"

  "Apparently, there are many candidates."

  "There is a saying in my country—the way to judge a man's worth is by the caliber of his enemies. And you, my friend, appear to have angered some powerful people. It must be due to your work. Your research could be viewed as a threat by many."

  "That would be the logical conclusion."

  Jibril smiled. "Always the scientist. You haven't changed."

  "Nor have you, Jibril."

  A white-coated servant appeared at the top of the staircase, carrying a tray that held a silver coffee service. The guard called Ahmed took it from him, placed it on a low table and set it in front of Jibril, then backed away to stand across from the window, his alert posture echoing Sarah's.

  Jibril poured a stream of steaming coffee into a china cup, set it on a saucer and offered it to Hawk. "You still prefer it black, yes?"

  "You have a good memory," Hawk said, taking the coffee.

  "And a long one," Jibril said, pouring a cup for himself. "How is your research progressing, Hawkins? Are you close to achieving your dream of fusion power? Have you made a breakthrough?"

  Hawk sipped a mouthful of coffee, using the time to consider how to word his reply. "A breakthrough is inevitable."

  "Then you haven't yet achieved it. I must admit I am relieved. I am not looking forward to being competitors again."

  Hawk paused. "This is what I wanted to discuss when I arranged to meet you yesterday. If we work together, we can all win."

  "How could that be? In any competition, there is room for only one winning side."

  "Not if we share a common goal."

  "We share nothing, Hawkins. If you succeed in giving the world this virtually limitless energy supply, I and my people will lose our way of life."

  "Think of it more as a change, not a loss. Your oil brings you wealth, but it also is at the root of too much conflict. How much human suffering can be traced to inequities in resources? How many more wars will be fought over the control of those resources?" Hawk placed the cup and saucer back on the table. "And what will happen to your people and your way of life when your oil runs out?"

  Jibril waved his hand. "It will not happen in my generation."

  "It will happen eventually. Wouldn't it be better to prepare for the future now?"

  "Those are noble sentiments, Hawkins. You still aspire to be the hero while I am consigned to the role of a less romantic but practical man."

  There had been an edge to Jibril's voice. Hawk again chose his words carefully. "I disagree. My sentiments are practical."

  "Then, if that is the case, our first concern should be keeping you safe." The prince leaned forward, a deep frown line appearing above the bridge of his nose. "You must move out of that hotel and stay here with me."

  From the corner of his eye, Hawk saw Sarah turn her head toward him. Although she remained silent, he could feel the force of her gaze. He could imagine the effort she was making to restrain herself from protesting. "That's a generous offer," he began.

  "I have many guest suites where you would be comfortable, Hawkins, but this yacht was built for my security as well as my enjoyment. These windows are bullet-proof. The superstructure was designed to the specifications of a tank and the triple hull makes us unsinkable. It is a floating fortress, equipped to defend all onboard. It will provide complete protection."

  "I appreciate your concern, Jibril, but I do have protection."

  "Pah." Jibril flicked his fingers toward Sarah in a dismissive gesture. "My men are superb fighters and are completely loyal. You of all people must know that women are not to be trusted."

  The prince's words resounded in the sun-filled room like the sound of a slap. Unlike the other barbs that Jibril had sprinkled through the conversation, this one was too flagrant to let pass. Hawk rose to his feet.

  Sarah was at his side immediately. "Sir?"

  Hawk waited until he was certain he could control his voice, then looked at Jibril. "I came here willing to work together. I want to let the past rest in peace. But be assured I have as long a memory as you do, my friend. There are certain things one never forgets."

  * * *

  The hotel fitness room had been installed in the basement like an afterthought, a facility hastily provided for the modern health-conscious guest. It wasn't large, scarcely half the size of a basketball court. Like the ballroom, a wall of mirrors gave it the illusion of space, but there was nothing elegant about it. Exercise equipment crammed the floor: stair climbers, treadmills, weight benches and devices that mimicked the motions of cross-country skiing. The music that played from the speakers mounted near the ceiling wasn't the refined strains of a string quartet, it was the pounding rhythm of hard rock. If Sarah's phone hadn't been programmed to vibrate, she wouldn't have known it was ringing.

  She activated the phone and pressed her hand over her other ear. "Fox here."

  "Captain? Where are you?"

  It was Major Redinger's voice. Sarah moved to find the best reception and angled the phone as close to her mouth as she could. "In the hotel gym, sir."

  "Sounds like a rock concert."

  "Sorry,
Major. I'll speak up, but I can't leave the room until Dr. Lemay does."

  "What's he doing there? The people at the embassy said he had scheduled a meeting with the prince of Moukim."

  "It concluded early. Dr. Lemay is exercising." She watched a pair of women move toward the door. They had come in fifteen minutes ago to use the rowing machines, but they had spent most of the time studying Hawk. Sarah didn't think they represented a threat to his life—their interest was strictly feminine and completely understandable.

  She returned her gaze to Hawk. He was using one of the treadmills. He had been running in place for the past forty-five minutes. His white sleeveless T-shirt was darkened with sweat, molding the contours of his shoulders and his chest and exposing his well-developed arms. Below his running shorts his legs moved rhythmically, his powerful thigh muscles rippling with each stride.

  Even if she hadn't learned from his file that he was physically fit, she would have been able to guess by the way he moved in his clothes that he was in good shape. But she hadn't expected his body to be quite so…enticing. He didn't look like a man who made his living with his brain. He was six foot two of lean masculinity, a well-toned male in his prime.

  Still, Sarah didn't believe he was running for the sake of exercise. Nor was he displaying his body in order to tempt anyone.

  His tension had been palpable ever since they had left the prince. Hawk had said it was supposed to be a courtesy meeting, but it had been clear to Sarah that he'd had another agenda. He'd wanted to approach Jibril about fusion power. The reasons he'd given had been sound, yet beneath the surface politeness the conversation had been full of thinly veiled references to their shared past. Unpleasant memories had definitely been stirred up, yet they hadn't roused the feelings Sarah had expected. She hadn't seen grief in either of the men. She'd seen a mixture of anger and resentment.

  It didn't take a genius to realize that Hawk was trying to run off his tension. She could see it in each stride he took, in the hardness of his muscles and the determination in his eyes. It must have taken years to build up a physique like his. How often did he need to work off his feelings? Just how intense had the competition been between Hawk and Jibril for the woman they had both loved?