“Most cultures have some version of bogeymen that stalk the night,” Annie said. “Werewolves are nothing new.”
“Yeah, but these werewolves are neighbors, relatives even,” Cara said. “And they start doing their witchy business when they get jealous of another person’s wealth or good luck or—Hey, that’s it.” Cara grinned. “Call the FBI off. I’ve figured it out. Alistair Golden is really one of these witches, and he’s cast horrible bad-luck spells on you because you’re starting to steal away some of his business. Although, actually he’d make a better weasel man than a wolf man.”
“There’s a big hole in your theory,” Annie said. “Golden’s not Navaho.”
“Good point.” Cara’s eyes narrowed, taking in the pale, almost grayish cast to her friend’s face. “The guy fixing the window won’t be done for another hour or so,” she said. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap? I can hold down the fort.”
The phone rang.
“That’s got to be my call from Dallas,” Annie said. “I called Ben Sullivan but he’s out of touch for a while. He’s on a dig in Turkey, so my contact for the death mask is the buyer, Steve Marshall.”
Cara picked up the phone. “Dr. Morrow’s office. MacLeish speaking.” She listened for a moment, her eyebrows disappearing under her bangs. “One moment, please,” she said. She covered the speaker with her hand as she gave the handset to Annie. “What, are you clairvoyant, now, too? It’s Steven Marshall. Calling from Dallas.”
Annie smiled wanly as she took the phone. “Hello?”
“Dr. Morrow,” came the thick Texas drawl. “My secretary tells me you’ve been trying to reach me?”
“Yes, Mr. Marshall,” Annie said. “Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. We’re having a little problem.”
Briefly she described both the threatening phone call and the follow-up note that had come through her window.
“I don’t think there’s any real danger,” Annie said. “But I felt I had to notify you and give you the opportunity to have the artifact authenticated by an establishment with higher security.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Marshall said, “But…you’re the best, aren’t you, darlin’?”
“Well, yes, I like to think so,” Annie said.
“I’m more concerned with your personal safety,” he said. “Are you frightened? Do you want to get out of this contract?”
“Not at all. It’s just that I may not be set up to provide security at the level necessary to protect the piece,” she explained.
“Oh, that’s just a little bitty problem,” Marshall said with the easy nonchalance of the very wealthy. “We can solve that, no sweat. I’ll provide the security, darlin’. I’ll send a man over later this afternoon. He’ll be responsible for the safety of the death mask. He’ll also act as your bodyguard.”
Oh, great, just what she needed. A pair of biceps following her around. She took a deep, calming breath. “Mr. Marshall, that’s not necessary—”
“No, no, darlin’, I insist.”
“But I’m backlogged,” Annie protested. “It’s going to be weeks before I even get a chance to look at the artifact. And the tests I need to perform will take that much time again. My contract states an estimated completion date of mid-December. That’s over two months—”
“I’ll tell the guy to be prepared to stay for a while.”
“But—”
“I gotta get back to work now,” Marshall said. “Nice talking to you, darlin’. I’ll be in touch.”
“But—”
He hung up.
“But I don’t want a bodyguard!” Annie wailed to the buzz of the disconnected line.
“A what?” Cara asked.
Annie hung up the phone with a muttered curse. “I’m going to take a nap,” she said, stalking toward the door. “Maybe when I wake up, this nightmare will be over.”
“Did you say bodyguard?” Cara’s voice trailed after her.
Annie didn’t answer.
Cara’s face broke into a wide grin. A bodyguard. For Annie. This was going to be an awful lot of fun to watch.
CHAPTER THREE
ANNIE STRETCHED, LUXURIATING, enjoying having spent the day in bed. It was a real self-indulgence, particularly since she had so much to do in the lab.
But she wouldn’t have gotten a whole heck of a lot done if she’d tried to work. Her concentration would’ve been way off because of her fatigue, and she would have ended up having to do everything over again. So instead she’d slept hard, and now felt much better. And hungry. Boy, was she hungry.
She pushed back the covers and went into her bathroom to wash her face, deciding against a shower. Why bother? Cara would be leaving for home in an hour or so. And the artifacts Annie had to run tests on didn’t care if she worked in her pajamas. She brushed the tangles out of her hair and put some moisturizer on her face.
The sky outside the window was dark, she realized suddenly. It must be later than she thought.
She went down the stairs barefoot, calling, “MacLeish! Are you still here?”
“No, she went home.”
Annie stopped short at the sight of the stranger standing in the shadows of the foyer. How did he get in? What was he doing here? Fear released adrenaline into her system and, heart pounding, she stood on the stairs, poised to turn and run back up and slam the door behind her.
He must have realized that he had frightened her, because he spoke quickly and stepped into the light. “Steven Marshall sent me,” he said, his voice a rich baritone with a slight west-of-the-Mississippi cowboy drawl. “My name’s Pete Taylor. I’m a security specialist. Your assistant let me in. She didn’t want to wake you….”
He was not quite six feet tall, with the tough, wiry build of a long-distance runner. His hair was black, and cut almost military short. His face was exotically handsome, with wide, angular cheekbones that seemed to accentuate his dark eyes—eyes of such deep brown, it was impossible to tell where the iris ended and the pupil began. His lips were exquisitely shaped, despite the fact that he wasn’t smiling. Somehow Annie knew that this was not a man who smiled often.
He held out his wallet to her, opened to reveal an ID card encased in plastic.
Annie couldn’t keep her hand from shaking as she took the smooth leather folder from him, and she saw a flash of amusement in his dark eyes. He thought it was funny that he scared her. What a jerk.
She sat down on the steps as she looked at the ID. Peter Taylor. Age 38. Licensed private investigator and security specialist. The card gave him a New York City address, in a rather pricey section of Greenwich Village. Across from the ID card was a New York State driver’s license. She lifted the plastic flaps and found an American Express Gold Card for Peter Taylor, member since 1980, a MasterCard, a Visa and a Sears credit card. He was carrying over five hundred dollars cash in the main compartment, along with several of his own business cards.
She tossed the wallet back to him and, as their eyes met, she saw another glint of humor on his otherwise stern face.
“Do I pass?” he said. As he tucked the wallet into the inside left pocket of his tweed jacket, she caught a glimpse of a handgun in a shoulder holster.
Annie nodded. “For now,” she said, working hard to keep her tone formal, polite. “But just so that it’s out in the open, I think you should know that I don’t want you here. I consider your presence an imposition, and I intend to speak to Marshall about it tomorrow. So don’t bother unpacking—you’ll be leaving in the morning.”
“When I spoke to Mr. Marshall this afternoon, he was adamant that I remain,” he said. “Apparently he’s concerned for your safety. Somehow I don’t see him changing his mind so quickly.”
Annie stared at him. His feet were planted on the tile floor, legs slightly spread, arms crossed in front of his chest. His jeans were tight across the big muscles in his thighs. His belt buckle was large and silver and obviously Navaho in origin. Annie couldn’t see it clearly, but there
was a silver ring on his right hand that also looked Navaho. He wore a necklace, but it was tucked into his shirt. She would bet big money that he was at least half Native American, and probably Navaho.
“Where did you grow up?” she asked.
He blinked at the sudden change in subject. “Colorado,” he said. “Mostly.”
His shoulders stiffened slightly. So very slightly, he probably didn’t even realize it. But Annie noticed. Something about the question had made him feel defensive, wary. Was it that she’d asked a personal question, or did his wariness have something to do specifically with Colorado, or the “mostly” that followed it?
She was instantly fascinated. It wasn’t because he was outrageously handsome, she tried to convince herself. Her attraction toward him—and she was attracted, she couldn’t deny that—was more a result of his quiet watchfulness, spiced with a little mystery. He had something to be defensive or at least wary about. What was it?
“You ride horses, don’t you, Taylor?” she asked, head tilted slightly to one side as she looked at him, hooked into trying to solve the puzzle, hoping for another clue from his reaction.
She was watching him, Pete realized, studying him as if he were an artifact, memorizing every little detail, searching for his flaws and weaknesses.
Her hair was down around her shoulders, parted on the side and swept back off her face. It gleamed in the light. She wore a too-large pair of men’s pajamas, with the legs cuffed and the sleeves rolled up. There was no makeup on her face, and instead of giving her that naked, vulnerable look most women have without cosmetics, she looked clean, scrubbed and fresh.
Her eyes were a brilliant blue, and she met his gaze steadily, as if she were trying to get inside his head.
“Yeah,” he finally said.
“I figured it was either horses or a bike,” she said. “Don’t you feel odd, carrying around a gun?”
“No.”
“What do you know about death masks?” she asked.
“Not much.” She was firing off questions as if this were some kind of interview. He decided to play it her way. It might make her start to trust him. It certainly couldn’t hurt—he wasn’t going to tell her anything he didn’t want her to know.
“How about art authentication?”
“Ditto.”
“A Navaho leader from the nineteenth century named Stands Against the Storm?”
“Only the information that Marshall faxed me this morning,” he said.
“Have you read it?”
“Of course.”
She watched him thoughtfully. “Where did you go to school?”
He shifted his weight. While most people would have been loath to admit their ignorance, it hadn’t bothered him one little bit to tell her he knew next to nothing about death masks and art authentication. But this question about himself, about his background, made him uncomfortable, Annie thought. Now, why was that?
“NYU,” he said. The bio the agency had created for Peter Taylor had him attending New York University from 1973 to 1977. Truth was, he hadn’t even set foot in New York until 1980. But he’d been Pete Taylor so many times, on so many different assignments, he almost had memories of the imaginary classes….
“Are you aware that I’m currently under investigation by the FBI and the CIA?” she asked, her blue eyes still watching him.
He was caught off guard by the directness of her question and had to look away, momentarily thrown.
“They think I’m involved in some kind of international art-theft conspiracy,” she said.
He glanced up at her and saw that her lips were curved in a small smile. “Are you?” he asked.
He made a good recovery, Annie thought. He had known about the investigation. She was willing to bet he had done a full background sweep on her before coming up from New York City. It didn’t surprise her one bit. Marshall wouldn’t have hired anyone who was less than outstanding.
“Are you hungry?” she said, standing and stretching, arms pulled up over her head, ignoring his question. “I haven’t eaten all day, and if I don’t have something soon, I’m gonna die.”
Pete found his eyes drawn to the gap that appeared between her pajama top and the loose bottoms that rode low on her slender hips. “I ate already, thanks,” he said. “Besides, I have an expense account that Mr. Marshall is covering. It’s not fair that I should cost you money. After all, you don’t even want me here.”
“It’s nothing personal,” Annie said, climbing up the stairs, heading for the kitchen.
“I know,” he said, following her.
She turned on the light in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She pulled an apple from the crisper drawer and took it to the sink, where she washed it quickly, then dried it with a towel.
The kitchen was a small room, just barely large enough to hold a table in one corner and a counter with a sink, stove, refrigerator and dishwasher in the other. It was decorated in black and white, with a tile floor that reminded Pete of a chessboard.
“I’d like to do a complete walk-through of the building,” Pete said, watching her take a healthy bite of the apple. “I checked out the first floor and the basement while you were asleep. Your safe location is good. It would take a significant explosive charge to blow it open. But your general security is—” He broke off, shaking his head.
“Bush-league?” Annie supplied, leaning back against the counter, ankles and arms crossed, watching him as she ate her apple.
It didn’t rate a smile, but there was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. “Definitely. A professional could get into this house without triggering the alarm system—no problem. Don’t you read Consumer Reports? The system you have is known for malfunctions. It’s unreliable. It’s easily bypassed, and it goes off spontaneously.”
Annie shaved the last bit of fruit from the core of the apple with her teeth, licking her lips as she looked up at him. “I’ve noticed.” She opened the cabinet door beneath the sink and tossed the apple core into a compost container, then rinsed her hands.
His expression changed slightly. Most people might not have picked it up—it was just a very small contraction of his dark eyebrows. But Annie was trained to pay attention to details, and on a face as expressionless as he kept his, the movement stood out. “What?” she asked.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Something’s bugging you. What is it?”
She was standing only a few feet away from him, and he breathed in her natural fragrance. She smelled sweet and warm, with a little bit of baby shampoo, some rich-smelling skin lotion and tart apple thrown in for good measure. Although her pajamas were boxy and made of thick flannel, he was well aware of the soft, feminine body underneath. He felt his desire for her sparking, and he tightened his stomach muscles. Man, his entire office believed that she was a thief….
“I was wondering if that’s all you’re going to eat,” he said levelly. Through sheer force of will he stopped his desire for her from growing. He forced it back, down, deep inside of him, willing it to stay hidden. For now, anyway. “It doesn’t seem like very much, considering that you were so hungry. You should eat something more filling.”
Annie laughed, her white teeth flashing. “This is great,” she said. “A bodyguard who gives nutritional advice. How appropriate.”
He smiled. It was actually little more than the sides of his mouth twitching upward, but Annie decided it counted as a smile. Shoot, with a full grin, he’d be as handsome as the devil. More handsome…
“Sorry,” he said. “But you asked.”
“You’re right,” she said, leading the way onto the landing, “I did. Look, I’ve got to get some work done.”
She flipped her long hair back out of her face in a well-practiced motion, and hiked up her pajama bottoms. Pete wished almost desperately that she would put on some other clothes. It wasn’t like him to be so easily distracted, but every time she moved, he had to work hard to keep from wanting her.
&nbs
p; For a long time now, he’d gone without sex. Not because it wasn’t available, but because he simply hadn’t wanted it. Didn’t it figure that his libido should suddenly come to life again out here, in the middle of nowhere, while he was alone in this big house with this beautiful woman? Man, as soon as he got back to the New York office, he’d have to look up Carolyn what’s-her-name, the administrative assistant with the long legs….
“It would help if I could take a look at the top floors of the house,” Pete said.
Annie shook her head. “Taylor, I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, “but I’m already two days behind in my work schedule. Frankly, there’s no point in my showing you around, because after I talk to Marshall tomorrow, you’re going to be catching the next train back into the city.”
“I drove up,” he said expressionlessly.
“I was speaking figuratively,” she said.
“It’s going to be hard for me to do my job without your cooperation,” Pete pointed out.
She started down the stairs to the lab. “Why don’t you use my phone to call your answering machine,” she said, not unsympathetically. “Maybe someone called with a different job for you. You can work for them and get all the cooperation you could possibly want.”
Annie stayed in the lab until shortly after two-thirty in the morning. She finished all but the last set of purity tests on a copper bowl that had been found at a southwestern archaeological dig site, believed to have been left by early Spanish conquistadors. That last test would take another two hours, and the thought of spending that much more time under Peter Taylor’s unwavering gaze was far too exhausting. Besides, even if she finished the testing, she wouldn’t have any conclusive evidence until the sample results came back from the carbon-dating lab.
She switched off the equipment and put the bowl back in the safe, turning to find Taylor still watching her.
He was sitting in a chair by the door. He didn’t look tired despite the late hour. He didn’t look uncomfortable or put upon or…anything.
Hero Under Cover Page 3