"He's going to need a lot of physical and speech therapy. The doctors don't know yet how much use of his right arm and leg he'll recover."

Max was bouncing a tennis ball into the air from the face of his racquet, never missing even though his gaze was focused on her face. "Why didn't you let me know?"

"What could you have done? Besides, I didn't think you cared."

"I care," Max said sharply. "Harry was a good friend. I owe him a lot. He's the one responsible for-"

"We don't have the court for long," she interrupted, because she was starting to believe him. "Maybe we should practice first and reminisce later."

He seemed to be debating the point, then said, "All right. Let's just hit a few. Then we'll see how much work we need to do to get back into fighting shape."

During the past decade the racquets had gotten lighter and polyester strings such as Luxilon allowed players to take huge swings and generate enough spin to keep the ball on the court. Hardly anyone on the women's tour now used the one-handed backhand that had been Kristin's forte. Powerful two-handed backhands were the norm.

Kristin's FBI job had required her to be in good physical shape, and she'd played lots of weekend tennis, but instead of simply hitting crosscourt, Max ran her from one side of the baseline to the other. She was winded far sooner than she'd expected to be. She missed a bullet he hit down the line and trotted to the net to talk with him. "I guess I'm in worse shape than I thought."

"I was going to say the same thing about myself," he said as he huffed out a breath of air. "This game is harder than it looks."

"If you say so," a female voice said from behind Kristin.

Kristin turned and realized there was someone else besides Max she'd hoped never to see again. Elena Tarakova. She made herself smile and said, "Hello, Elena. I wasn't expecting to see you here today. The tournament isn't for a few more weeks."

"If we're going to play doubles, I thought the four of us ought to practice together," Max said. "After all, this isn't a competition, it's an exhibition."

Which made sense, if it had been any other two players they were matched against. But this was Elena, who'd beaten Kristin the last time she'd played at Wimbledon. And Steffan, who'd lost to Max the last time he'd played at Wimbledon.

As Kristin watched, Elena crossed to Max and gave him a continental greeting by kissing him on each cheek. Except Elena leaned in close, so her breasts brushed Max's chest. Kristin bristled at the other woman's impudence. She hadn't factored in Elena when she'd considered having to spend time with Max. Could the other woman possibly still be interested in him?

Kristin stood stiffly as Elena leaned across the net, her long black hair pulled back from her Slavic face in a pony tail that slid over her shoulder, and kissed Kristin on each cheek.

"How are you, darling?" Elena asked, her dark eyes searching Kristin's face for signs of age or dissipation or lord knew what.

Kristin kept her features neutral but said, "If you're asking if I'm in good enough shape to kick your butt on the tennis court, the answer is I'm fine."

Elena laughed. "You always were a feisty one." She turned her attention back to Max, flipped her ponytail down her back, and asked, "Where's Steffan?"

"Right here," Steffan Pavlovic said as he strode onto the practice court. He was tall and lean, his smile unbelievably brilliant against his tanned face. Sun-bleached chestnut hair crawled down his neck beneath a white ball cap that he'd tugged on backwards.

The two men grabbed hands, pulled each other close and bumped shoulders. "Good to see you, old friend," Max said. "How's Irina?"

"Mom is great. She wants to get together for supper sometime soon."

Steffan's mother, Irina, had been Max's coach, and a surrogate mother to him, for five years. The two boys had spent hours on and off the court together in their teens.

Steffan laughed and said, "I haven't missed you on the court. But I miss hunting with you."

"Hunting?" Kristin said.

"Girls," Steffan said with a sexy wink at her. "The man never missed his quarry."

Kristin flushed. Including me.

"When Max found out Elena and I were both in town early to meet with sponsors and do some publicity, he suggested we ought to practice together. I thought it sounded like a great idea. After all, it doesn't matter which team wins."

There it was again, the suggestion that who won didn't matter, that they just had to play the game. Kristin didn't agree. She had no intention of losing to Elena Tarakova at Wimbledon again, even in an exhibition match.

The problem was, Elena was the #1 ranked player on the women's tour. She'd been trading the top spot with Serena Williams for several years. Both of them were being challenged by Kim Clijsters, who'd successfully returned to tennis after a brief hiatus to get married and have a daughter.

Kristin hadn't played tennis professionally for a decade. In singles against Elena, she probably wouldn't have had a chance. But she was playing on a team with Max, who'd beaten Steffan at Wimbledon all those years ago. Of course, Steffan was still ranked in the top ten on the men's tour, while Max had left the game years ago.

"Let's play a little and see how it goes," Max suggested.

As he crossed around the net and joined Kristin she leaned close and said, "I want to beat them, Max."

"Me, too," he said with a grin. "Let's see how you serve."

It was clear from Elena's return of her opening serve that Kristin was no longer in the same league with her opponent. By the end of the "best two out of three sets" match, a set being six games, Kristin was gasping for air. What was worse, she and Max lost 6a2, 6a2.

"That's enough practice for today," Max announced. "See you guys tomorrow morning."

"Not so fast," Steffan said. "What about tonight? I thought we'd get together and hit some nightspots."

"That sounds good to me," Elena said, jogging to the net.

It irked Kristin to realize the other woman wasn't even breathing hard. "I can't," she said.

"Why not?" Max asked.

Because I have to take the train to Blackthorne Abbey to be with my daughter. "I have other plans."

"We'll miss you," Elena said.

Kristin could see the other woman was quite happy to have Max and Steffan to herself. Maybe Elena planned to make another play for Max. Kristin realized she didn't want Elena to win anything over the next couple of weeks. Not even Max.

Dire situations required difficult choices. If she wanted to run interference between Max and Elena, she was going to have to settle for a phone call to her daughter. "I guess I can rearrange my plans," she said.

"That's great!" Steffan said.

"We'll catch up with you two tonight," Max said. "I need to do some strategizing with my partner this afternoon."

Kristin watched as Elena and Steffan left the court. When they were out of earshot, she turned to Max, arched a brow and said, "Strategizing?"

He checked out the empty tennis courts around them, then said, "We have work to do, Princess."

"I don't think strategy is going to help," she said. "The pro game is faster than it was when I left. Me playing an exhibition match was a bad idea."

"You won't get an argument from me," Max said.

That stung. Kristin bristled, but before she could form a retort Max added insult to injury. "I was against this whole idea when it was suggested to me."

"Do you think I want to be here?" she shot back. "I'll be happy to plead an injury and go home." Except that wasn't really an option, was it? Not when she was in such deep financial trouble. To win the rubies, she had to stay here and play the match.

"The point is, we needed a female agent who's conducted investigations in the past and who can also play world-class tennis. Someone whose presence here at Wimbledon-and in the women's locker room-wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. Your background was too perfect to pass up."

"I'm here," she said. "But in case you didn't know, I gave up my badge and my gun before I left the States. How am I supposed to help without them?"

"You couldn't use the gun here in England anyway, and you aren't going to need to flash your badge."

"Mind explaining how that works?"

"It's pretty simple, really. I'm here-we're here-at Wimbledon to evaluate whether the threat to the president might be coming from someone involved in tennis. That is, a player, a coach or someone in a player's family. Those folks will all sit in the family box at Flushing Meadows, near where the president sits to watch the final matches. Any player who's willing to sacrifice himself is also in a position to make an attack on the president from the court during the match."

"Why didn't my FBI boss simply assign me to this job in the first place? Why jump through these crazy hoops?"

"If an FBI agent started sniffing around, whoever we're looking for might close up shop until the heat is gone. The tennis exhibition gives you cover."

"Exactly what is it you expect me to do?" she asked.

"Most likely, the assassin is a male, but I want you to listen for chatter in the women's locker room."

"I suppose you'll be listening in the men's locker room."

He nodded. "I also plan to date as many of the female players as I can. That won't work with the gay players. You're going to have to befriend them and find out what you can."

"What makes you think all these women will go out with you?" Kristin said sharply. She realized she was jealous. And was furious with herself for giving a damn.

He grinned. "I'm good-looking. I'm rich. I'm also the uncatchable catch. I should be able to wrangle at least a first date with the straight unmarried players. That's all I'll really need."

"You think someone helping to plot an assassination is going to blurt out her guilt on a date?"

His features hardened and she saw a man she didn't recognize. A man who could be a covert operative.

"I know what questions to ask," he said. "I know when someone's lying to me. I have resources that I can call on to find out more about a player if I think he or she's suspicious. Our job isn't to catch the assassin. It's to report our findings to the CIA-and the FBI-so they can take action."

"Then wouldn't it make sense if I date the male players?" she said.

"I didn't suggest it because I thought it would be awkward for you."

"Why would you say that?"

"You'd have to fend off a lot of oversexed males."

Kristin laughed. "You don't think I can do that?"

"I don't think you should have to do it," he said flatly.

That sounded distinctly like Max was jealous. "I think I can handle a bunch of tennis jocks. I don't intend to let them get me alone in the dark. I've come a long way since you seduced me, Max."

He eyed her askance. "I don't remember seducing you, Princess. I remember the two of us deciding we wanted to make love."

Max was shoving her into deep water. She quickly paddled her way back out. "Let's leave the past where it belongs. In the past."

"Fine by me," he snapped. "We're going to have to meet somewhere to exchange information. Where are you staying?"

"Park Plaza Victoria." The duchess had insisted on paying for a room in the four-star hotel near Victoria Station, so Kristin could easily catch the train to Blackthorne Abbey. She waited for Max to ask her why she was staying so far from Wimbledon, but he didn't.

"It'll be easier-more private-to meet at my flat."

"Where is that?" she asked.

He gave an upscale address near Regent's Park. "The fact we're playing this exhibition match gives us good cover to get together until we actually play the match on opening day. People on the tour know we were friends. That should be sufficient for us to spend time together. If worse comes to worst, we can always fake a romantic relationship."

"Like you did last time?" she blurted.

The barb apparently hit home, because he shot back, "Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the good of the nation. Don't push me, K."

She didn't apologize, although the urge was there. "Do you have anyone in particular you suspect? Is there somewhere I should start?"

"Let's start with Steffan and Elena."

Kristin's brows rose in surprise. "You suspect one of them? Or both of them?"

"Neither of them," he said. "But we can't afford to leave any stone unturned. Steffan's always had a crush on you. It should be easy to get him to talk."

"I never knew that."

He shrugged. "We were best friends. He knew I liked you, so he kept his distance." He liked her. Had he ever loved her? "I'm pretty sure Elena had a crush on you."

He winced. "I'm going to be walking a fine line with her. She's made her interest known in the past."

Yeah. I saw the two of you kissing the morning after you made love to me. She had her tongue halfway down your throat. You weren't fighting too hard to get free.

He shrugged and said, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"What does that mean?"

He shot her a grin and said, "I'm willing to kiss a few beautiful women in the service of my country."

Kristin growled low in her throat. Just let that hussy try to kiss Max tonight. She'd find an excuse to lay her out cold. Thanks to her FBI training, she knew exactly how to do it.

"See you tonight," Max said as he sauntered away.

Kristin felt unsettled. And frustrated. And unhappy. I still want him. I still care. But I'll be damned if I ever let him get close enough to hurt me again.

12.