Jeopardy: A Game of Chance / Loving Evangeline

But he didn’t think she was innocent; he thought she was in this up to her pretty neck. She was better than he had expected, an actress worthy of an Oscar—so good he might have believed she didn’t know anything about her father, if it wasn’t for the mystery bag and her deceptive strength. He was trained to put together seemingly insignificant details and come up with a coherent picture, and experience had made him doubly cynical. Few people were as honest as they wanted you to believe, and the people who put on the best show were often the ones with the most to hide. He should know—he was an expert at hiding the black secrets of his soul.

He wondered briefly what it said about him that he was willing to sleep with her as part of his plan to gain her trust, but maybe it was better not to think about it. Someone had to be willing to work in the muck, to do things from which ordinary people would shrink, just to protect those ordinary people. Sex was...just sex. Part of the job. He could even divorce his emotions to the point that he actually looked forward to the task.

Task? Who was he kidding? He couldn’t wait to slide into her. She intrigued him, with her toned, tight body and the twinkle that so often lit her clear gray eyes, as if she was often amused at both herself and the world around her. He was fascinated by her eyes, by the white striations that made her eyes look almost faceted, like the palest of blue diamonds. Most people thought of gray eyes as a pale blue, but when he was close to her, he could see that they were, very definitely, brilliantly gray. But most of all he was intrigued by her expression, which was so open and good-humored she could almost trademark the term “Miss Congeniality.” How could she look like that, as sweet as apple pie, when she was working hand in glove with the most-wanted terrorist in his files?

Part of him, the biggest part, despised her for what she was. The animal core of him, however, was excited by the dangerous edge of the game he was playing, by the challenge of getting her into bed with him and convincing her to trust him. When he was inside her, he wouldn’t be thinking about the hundreds of innocent people her father had killed, only about the linking of their bodies. He wouldn’t let himself think of anything else, lest he give himself away with some nuance of expression that women were so good at reading. No, he would make love to her as if he had found his soul mate, because that was the only way he could be certain of fooling her.

But he was good at that, at making a woman feel as if he desired her more than anything else in the world. He knew just how to make her aware of him, how to push hard without panicking her—which brought him back to the fact that she had totally ignored his first opening. He smiled slightly to himself. Did she really think that would work?

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

She actually jumped, as if she had been lost in her thoughts. “What?”

“Dinner. Tonight. After you deliver your package.”

“Oh. But—I’m supposed to deliver it at nine. It’ll be late, and—”

“And you’ll be alone, and I’ll be alone, and you have to eat. I promise not to bite. I may lick, but I won’t bite.”

She surprised him by bursting into laughter.

Of all the reactions he had anticipated, laughter wasn’t one of them. Still, her laugh was so free and genuine, her head tilted back against the seat, that he found himself smiling in response.

“‘I may lick, but I won’t bite.’ That was good. I’ll have to remember it,” she said, chuckling.

After a moment, when she said nothing else, he realized that she was ignoring him again. He shook his head. “Does that work with most men?”

“Does what work?”

“Ignoring them when they ask you out. Do they slink away with their tails tucked between their legs?”

“Not that I’ve ever noticed.” She grinned. “You make me sound like a femme fatale, breaking hearts left and right.”

“You probably are. We guys are tough, though. We can be bleeding to death on the inside and we’ll put up such a good front that no one ever knows.” He smiled at her. “Have dinner with me.”

“You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

“You still haven’t answered me.”

“All right—no. There, I’ve answered you.”

“Wrong answer. Try again.” More gently, he said, “I know you’re tired, and with the time difference, nine o’clock is really midnight to you. It’s just a meal, Sunny, not an evening of dancing. That can wait until our second date.”

She laughed again. “Persistent and confident.” She paused, made a wry little face. “The answer is still no. I don’t date.”

This time he was more than surprised, he was stunned. Of all the things he had expected to come out of her mouth, that particular statement had never crossed his mind. Damn, had he so badly miscalculated? “At all? Or just men?”

“At all.” She gestured helplessly. “See, this is why I tried to ignore you, because I didn’t want to go into an explanation that you wouldn’t accept, anyway. No, I’m not gay, I like men very much, but I don’t date. End of explanation.”

His relief was so intense, he felt a little dizzy. “If you like men, why don’t you date?”

“See?” she demanded on a frustrated rush of air. “You didn’t accept it. You immediately started asking questions.”

“Damn it, did you think I’d just let it drop? There’s something between us, Sunny. I know it, and you know it. Or are you going to ignore that, too?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He wondered if she realized what she had just admitted. “Were you raped?”

“No!” she half shouted, goaded out of control. “I just...don’t...date.”

She was well on her way to losing her temper, he thought, amused. He grinned. “You’re pretty when you’re mad.”

She sputtered, then began laughing. “How am I supposed to stay mad when you say things like that?”

“You aren’t. That’s the whole idea.”

“Well, it worked. What it didn’t do was change my mind. I’m sorry,” she said gently, sobering. “It’s just... I have my reasons. Let it drop. Please.”

“Okay.” He paused. “For now.”

She gave an exaggerated groan that had him smiling again. “Why don’t you try to take a nap?” he suggested. “You have to be tired, and we still have a long flight ahead of us.”

“That’s a good idea. You can’t badger me if I’m asleep.”

With that wry shot, she leaned her head back against the seat. Chance reached behind her seat and produced a folded blanket. “Here. Use this as a pillow, or you’ll get a stiff neck.”

“Thanks.” She took off the headset and tucked the blanket between her head and shoulder, then shifted around in her seat to get more comfortable.

Chance let silence fall, occasionally glancing at her to see if she really fell asleep. About fifteen minutes later, her breathing deepened and evened out into a slow rhythm. He waited a few minutes longer, then eased the plane into a more westerly direction, straight into the setting sun.

Chapter Four (#ulink_696e7b01-2420-55df-89ea-008fb9e08d12)

“SUNNY.” THE VOICE was insistent, a little difficult to hear and accompanied by a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. “Sunny, wake up.”

She stirred and opened her eyes, stretching a little to relieve the kinks in her back and shoulders. “Are we there?”

Chance indicated the headset in her lap, and she slipped it on. “We have a problem,” he said quietly.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach, and her heartbeat skittered. No other words, she thought, could be quite as terrifying when one was in an airplane. She took a deep breath, trying to control the surge of panic. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was surprisingly steady. She looked around, trying to spot the problem in the cluster of dials in the cockpit, though she had no idea what any of them meant. Then she looked out of the window at the rugged landscape below them, painted in stark reds and blacks as the setting sun threw shadows over jagged rock. “Where are we?”

“Southeastern Oregon.”

The engine coughed and sputtered. Her heart felt as if it did, too. As soon as she heard the break in the rhythm, she became aware that the steady background whine of the motor had been interrupted several times while she slept. Her subconscious had registered the change in sound but not put it in any context. Now the context was all too clear.

“I think it’s the fuel pump,” he added, in answer to her first question.

Calm. She had to stay calm. She pulled in a deep breath, though her lungs felt as if they had shrunk in size. “What do we do?”