He turned the sports car into his gravel driveway and let himself out, stretching to his full height and working the kinks out of his muscles. The wind pulled at his clothing as he walked to the ranch-style house he'd bought after leaving the Pentagon several years ago. He'd had two partners in those days, both of whom he'd met in the Marines. He and Johnny Starhawk had been recruited into the Pentagon's Recovery Operations Unit by Chase Beaudine, their job description being to free American hostages and POWs. The three of them had quickly made international headlines with their exploits. Geoff still carried a snapshot in his wallet of their celebration in a Greek taverna after their first successful mission. Chase and Johnny had both had the sense to retire after a few years and take up normal lives. Geoff was the only one still playing soldier.

A stack of mail was piled up under the slot as he let himself into the house. Noticing a pale blue engraved envelope on top, he knelt and tore it open. His lips curved into a smile as he read the invitation to an anniversary party for Johnny Starhawk. Johnny and his wife, Honor, had been married a year.

"One year?" Geoff's laughter was husky with affection. "And that crazy SOB thought it wouldn't last. Good for you, Johnny."

Crouched there, gazing at the invitation, Geoff was revisited by memories of both his former partners. Johnny had been a wild man in the Marines, driven by some inner rage none of his buddies understood, or dared ask about. Irish-Apache by birth, he had intuitive instincts and tracking abilities that had made him invaluable in recovery operations, but it was his keen intelligence, his a.n.a.lytical brilliance, that had ultimately led him to the career he'd been born for.

Geoff wasn't at all surprised that Johnny had become a high-powered attorney, but a happily married man? That did surprise him, especially since Johnny's golden-girl bride had been the source of most of his rage. She'd betrayed him when they were young, and Johnny wasn't a forgiving soul.

Geoff fingered the invitation and smiled. He almost wished he could go to the party and see how they were doing. He'd had some firsthand experience with the volatile reconciliation that had led to their marriage. As far as he knew, no two people had had more reason to be together-or more heartbreak keeping them apart.

As for Chase Beaudine, the h.e.l.l-bent Marine who'd recruited Geoff into recovery operations, he was as thoroughly roped and hog-tied as a man could be these days. He had a couple of kids already and was turning his small cabin in the Wyoming foothills into a ranch. His redheaded wife, Annie, a tiny woman with a huge spirit, was the perfect match for a hard case like Beaudine.

Geoff dropped the invitation back on the pile. A stab of something that must have been loneliness. .h.i.t him as he thought about his two buddies, how they'd changed, how full and complete their lives must be now. He was happy for them, but maybe he was a little envious too.

A tall can of beer from the refrigerator went a long way toward easing his pain. By the time he'd finished it, he wasn't thinking about Chase and Johnny anymore. His mind had returned to its more recent preoccupation. Randy.

He helped himself to another can of beer, then leaned against the closed refrigerator door, rubbing his thumb over the can's condensation as he contemplated the mystery she presented. Women weren't supposed to seduce men and disappear, that was a male thing. But it wasn't just her knack for breathless seduction that made her so unforgettable. There was all the rest of it-the tears, the vulnerability, the way she clung to him, tucking her face into the hollow of his shoulder, making him want to ache with her heartrending sobs. She'd changed moods with dizzying speed that night, pounding on his chest one minute and railing at him for the sins of all men, and then before he could catch his balance, she was kissing him with more whimpering hunger and raw need than he'd ever known from a woman.

h.e.l.l, yes, he was interested.

He popped the beer can's top and took a swig of the ice-cold brew, hardly tasting it. What man wouldn't be interested in a beautiful woman who hit him like a cyclone and left him confused and gasping for air?

A drop of sweat trickled down his forehead, and he wiped the moisture away, feeling the afternoon heat rise and thicken around him. It was going to be a h.e.l.lacious night. The devil winds always kicked the thermometer up into the nineties, even in February. One of these years he'd have to get air-conditioning.

He stripped off his threadbare sweatshirt with his free hand and tossed it as he strolled out of the kitchen. The garment landed on the hand-carved molding of the antique grandfather clock that had been pa.s.sed down through his father's side of the family. It was the only thing he wanted from his parents' estate after their deaths. And sometimes, when the chimes rang out, he wished he hadn't taken it. The sound was so d.a.m.n forlorn.

Needing to clear his thoughts, he walked through the cluttered living room and down the hallway toward the back porch sunroom he'd converted into a workout s.p.a.ce. All distractions vanished when he entered the stark, monasterylike environment, all thoughts of the past, of women and s.e.x. This was where he mastered errant impulses, anything that didn't feed the source of his mental and physical powers. This was where he harnessed his own will.

He stopped at the doorway long enough to set down the can of beer and remove his shoes before he stepped onto the braided hemp carpet. The room was bare of furnishings except for a low table holding an oriental board game of black and white stones and a two-inch metallic sphere suspended from the ceiling on a thin rope. The objects were meant to teach mental detachment and to train the intuition. A solid oak support beam stood in the center of the room.

Geoff walked across the coa.r.s.e hemp slowly, honing his concentration, gathering energy in the pit of his stomach. The oak beam was his sparring partner. It had broken his foot once, shattering countless bones. Over the years it had bruised and beaten him into submission until he'd found the part of himself that was the beam. Once he had mastered that part of himself, he'd mastered the beam.

Surrender, baby, he thought softly.

He stood very still, gazing at the beam until it appeared to move and undulate before his eyes. Feeding on the wood's energy, he drew it into himself until the corresponding energy in the pit of his stomach imploded and surged through him.

With a hissing sound, he leaped, whirled, and kicked, striking out savagely with his bare foot. A shock wave slammed through his body as he connected with the solid oak. He knew instantly that he'd hit wrong, with the top of his foot instead of the blade. The pain that shot up his leg was staggering, blinding.

He dropped to his knees, letting the sharp throbs pierce him, willing himself to become the pain so that he could master it. There was no question in his mind what had gone wrong. His focus wasn't perfectly honed. He wasn't clear. He had freed himself of every conscious distraction except one. Her.

The seductress in a virginal white wedding gown.

She'd haunted his mind ever since that night. She was the one thing that he, who'd devoted his life to self-mastery, hadn't been able to master. And the way she'd come back into his life, through a missing-persons ad to find her fiance, was too dark an irony to be ignored.

It had been years since he'd seen her in the flesh, but now that he'd found her again, he wasn't going to be diverted. He had something in mind for Miranda Witherspoon, the blushing bride-to-be. Something befitting the occasion.

A moment later he was on his feet, concentrating energy, gathering the storm inside him and locating its center, the eye of perfect stillness. A sound hissed through his teeth, snakelike. He kicked the post again, several times, perfectly, powerfully. As he felt the energy from his body reverberate through the wood, returning to its origins, a smile crossed his face. He was ready.

Randy pressed the b.u.t.ton on her intercom. "Did that last applicant leave yet?" she asked as Barb picked up the phone. They both knew who she was referring to. The mercenary she'd just interviewed could have been an escapee from San Quentin's death row.

"Only after I threatened to call in the military police," Barb snapped. "Will you please stop interviewing these psychos. Randy? You're endangering both our lives."

"What choice do I have, Barb? Hugh's lost somewhere in South America and no one seems to care but me." But Randy's pleading tone did nothing to mollify her a.s.sistant.

"You've already called the FBI, the State Department, the local police in Rio, and the consulate," Barb pointed out. "They're the experts on these things, for heaven's sake. Why don't you let them do their job?"

"I only wish they would. My wedding is two weeks away!"

"Well, just tell me one thing," Barb shot back. "Are we doing this again tomorrow? Are we interviewing. Randy? Because if we are, I'm wearing a bullet-proof vest and crash helmet."

"I didn't know you had a bullet-proof vest."

"Randy!"

"Sorry, I was just trying to imagine it with your gold jewelry." Randy winced as the receiver banged down. She rose from her chair, determined to find a replacement for Geoff Dias. She'd seen four applicants before noon, one of them an ex-priest who had seemed promising until she learned he was allergic to his own perspiration and had to avoid humid climates. The applicants she'd met after lunch had seemed more interested in replacing her fiance than in finding him. The last one had insinuated he could make her forget about Hugh in ten seconds flat if she'd sit on his lap and play horsey.

Maybe it was the Santa Ana winds, she thought, walking to her desk and picking up a framed picture of her and Hugh. Everyone got a little weird when the devil winds blew in. She traced the scrollwork on the antique silver frame with her fingers, touching the faint smile on her fiance's lean, bespectacled face. Hugh was such a serious man. Some even called him cheerless, but she'd never minded that about him. She'd always admired his drive, his single-minded desire to succeed. Everyone said they were an ideal match.

Hugh Hargrove, she thought, where are you? Your timing stinks. Disappearing three weeks before your own wedding!

Tears filled her eyes as she set the picture down. She was being unforgivably selfish, worrying about weddings when Hugh's safety was in question. She ought to be pining for him, like any other fiancee would. But she'd never loved Hugh in that silly, senseless way that people do when the attraction is primarily physical. She'd never wanted to love a man that way.

Her mother's relationships had cured her of any desire for a grand pa.s.sion. Edna was always caught up in some devastating physical attraction or other, and all it had gotten her for her trouble was a string of tragic affairs with men who caroused and couldn't commit to anything but their own selfish needs. Randy had been devoted to her mother. She'd loved Edna dearly, but she'd promised herself she would not repeat Edna's mistakes. She would never let a man become everything in her life, especially a dishonorable man.

Randy's intercom buzzed rudely. She picked up the phone to hear Barb announce that it was quitting time and she was leaving for the day. "Just so you know," Barb said ominously. "I'm updating my resume."

Randy decided not to take the threat seriously as the phone clicked in her ear yet again. Barb had a dramatic nature. She was always mumbling and grumbling about something. Secretly, Randy was sympathetic to her a.s.sistant's concerns. The thought of even one more interview appalled her too.

Perhaps she should make the trip to Rio by herself.

As she sat down at her desk to clear up some priority items, that idea began to take on more appeal. Carlos Santeras, the man Hugh was last reported seen with, lived somewhere in the hills that bordered the city of Rio. It wasn't as if she would have to trek through the jungle if she decided to pay him a visit; she could just make some discreet inquiries. At least she'd be down there instead of sitting helplessly behind a desk!

An hour later Randy was locking up to go home. The dimmed lights in executive row told her she was the last to leave as she made her way down the hall to the elevator. She rolled one shoulder and then the other, loosening tight muscles. The last few days had been exhausting, and she was running out of strings to pull to find Hugh.

The express elevator came and took her down to the subterranean parking garage. As the doors swooshed open, she stepped out absently, then hesitated. A sound that resembled laughter alerted her that someone was there.

"Who is it?" she asked an instant before spotting him. The large, s.h.a.ggy-haired man who moved out of the shadows was the last mercenary she'd interviewed. "What do you want?" she asked.

He walked toward her, making a strange rattling sound that might have been laughter. It was hard to tell because he wasn't smiling. But Randy didn't have to ask her question a second time. It was obvious what he wanted by the malevolent gleam that lit his eyes. She stepped back into the elevator and jabbed the DOOR CLOSE b.u.t.ton.

He rushed the door and jammed it with his body.

"Help!" Randy screamed as he caught hold of her arm and hauled her toward him. She jerked back frantically, kicking at him and trying to press the b.u.t.ton at the same time.

"Let go!" she screamed, hitting him sharply in the shin.

"Come here," he snarled, dragging her into his arms. The alcohol on his breath choked her as he plastered her against his ma.s.sive body. He locked a beefy arm around her neck and jerked her head back, paralyzing her as he ripped out the neckline of her blouse. Randy screamed as seams popped and b.u.t.tons went flying.

"Stop!" she gasped as he tightened the armlock. He was cutting off her breathing. She was going to black out! Her vision went spotty, static dancing wildly in her head, and her legs folded, sagging together.

She was slipping into unconsciousness as her attacker let out a roar of pain, then lurched forward. Randy was too weak to stop him as he tumbled into the elevator on top of her. They both crashed to the floor, the impact of his dead weight knocking the wind out of her.

Dazed, she saw the elevator doors close, sealing off her only route of escape. She struggled to get out from under him, but she couldn't move. She was locked in the elevator with him! Her terrified shriek bounced off the walls.

Four.

RANDY TWISTED AND SHOVED, struggling in vain to push the mercenary's weight off her. Panic gripped her as she searched for some way to get free. He appeared to have been knocked unconscious, but he was beginning to stir. His soft moans told her he was waking up.

She spotted her purse and grasped for it, thinking to use it as a weapon. But as her fingers touched the chain strap, the elevator doors flew open and Geoff Dias surged inside. He dragged the man off her, slammed him up against the elevator wall, and reared back to hit him.

Geoff's fist stopped in midair as the man slumped forward, seemingly out cold. Geoff considered the mercenary's bobbing head and slack jaw for an instant, then released him and stepped back, letting him slide to the floor.

Randy struggled to get up, but before she'd made it to her feet, Geoff was pressing a b.u.t.ton that would send the elevator rocketing to the top floor. "Let's go!" he said, catching hold of her and pulling her with him through the closing doors.

They rushed through the gloom of the garage, past Randy's car, and up the ramp that would take them to the street level. Randy was thoroughly winded by the time they reached Geoff's motorcycle and too dazed to protest when he lifted her up and settled her on the bike's pa.s.senger seat.

He swung onto the bike, twisted the key, and stomped the kick start, but even the roar of the powerful engine couldn't startle Randy out of her dazed state. They'd gone several blocks before she was clearheaded enough to fully comprehend what was happening. Geoff Dias had just rescued her and now she was flying off into the dark heart of the night with him on his motorcycle.

She hated motorcycles! But there was no way to remind him of that now. He was going much too fast, and the wind was whistling so loudly in her ears, she couldn't have made herself heard anyway. She knew they must be breaking several laws-the speed limit for one, the helmet law for another, but she couldn't concern herself with that now. Her first priority was staying alive, she told herself, which meant hanging on and praying.

She clutched him tighter and ducked her head down, burrowing into the shelter of his powerful shoulder blades. His long blond hair flew around her like a protective cloak. She hadn't had any reason to be grateful for his size before, but right now she was glad he was a big man. He felt rea.s.suringly strong and warm, and she actually allowed herself to relax for a moment, to trust that he would deliver her safely to wherever they were going.

It was an odd feeling, trusting a man. She didn't plan to indulge the sentiment long. Especially with a man like Geoff, who was too much like the men who came and went in her mother's life. Randy had often wondered if witnessing Edna's romantic disasters had left her incapable of trusting the male gender. She'd thought she trusted her fiance completely, but her suspicions about Hugh's fidelity had been immediately aroused when he hadn't returned as planned from Brazil.

A horn blared and Randy gripped Geoff tighter, forgetting all about moral dilemmas. They shot through an intersection, and the bright lights and crowded streets reminded her that her predicament was more than merely life-threatening. It was embarra.s.sing. Her skirt had crawled up so high, the control top of her pantyhose was showing, her blouse was ripped open, her collar was flapping in the breeze, and she was wrapped around Geoff Dias like a Band-Aid on a blister.

The bike tilted suddenly, arcing into a curve. Randy closed her eyes, astonished at the torque of the huge machine and the strength of the G forces pressing down on them. It felt as if Geoff were going to lay them out on their sides. Images of tumbling bodies and b.l.o.o.d.y, broken limbs screened through her mind. But a moment later they'd come out of the turn, straightened, and were whooshing into the darkness again.

He'd gone off the beaten track, Randy realized, looking around her. They were on a road that was largely residential and very quiet at this time of night. As he slowed the bike down, she became aware of how deeply her fingers were digging into his flesh. He was wearing a T-shirt, but she could feel the tension in his stomach muscles, the heat and resilience.

She relaxed her hold, aware of vibrations in her fingertips. Was it his body quivering? Or hers? The warm, tingly sensations buzzed in other, more sensitive places as well, such as the part of her anatomy she was sitting on. She could see where a long ride on one of these machines might be quite stimulating. Perhaps that explained what had happened to her the last time she'd been on a motorcycle behind him. Somehow in that night's wild ride, she'd found her hands in an area much more dangerous than his ridged stomach. But how she got her hands all the way down there she still didn't know.

He would probably say she did it intentionally, that she was looking for forbidden thrills. And considering the other things she'd done with him that night, a jury would undoubtedly have agreed with him. But Randy was convinced some dark force had taken possession of her will that night. From childhood she'd been haunted by the fear that a destructive impulse was lying in wait to prove to her that no matter how hard she tried to fight it, she really was a bad girl, a pushover for a handsome scoundrel, just like Edna.

"What are you doing?" Geoff yelled back at her, gunning the engine as they headed for a steep hill. "Hang on!"

Randy hadn't realized she'd let go. She grabbed hold of him as the bike surged upward, clinging to great handfuls of his cotton T-shirt and fighting to anchor herself.

"Hang on to me," he shouted. "Unless you're trying to rip my shirt off. In which case, help yourself."

She clamped her hands to his midsection and glued her body to his, hugging him with her thighs as they shot over the crest of the hill, went airborne, and literally flew down the other side. There was no way to avoid gluing herself to him! It was that or get thrown off the bike.

They landed with a resounding thud halfway down the hill. But it wasn't until they'd swooped to the bottom and leveled out that Randy realized her fingers had worked their way inside one of several large holes in his T-shirt. He was perspiring lightly, and the feel of his moist, bare skin sent her mind reeling back again to that other time when her hands slipped.

When she'd first realized what part of him she was touching that night, she'd jerked her hands away. But by then it was too late. Her senses had been awakened, her imagination aroused. Excitement had streamed through her in a quivering current, galvanizing her like an electrical shock.

Before she knew it, she'd been touching him there again, perhaps even caressing him, fascinated by the heat and hardness pouring out of him, by the havoc she could wreak with her hands. She hadn't been able to control herself. And then he'd lost control too. He'd found a dark place to park the bike, and he'd taken over from there- A dark place? "Stop!" she cried out as Geoff turned off onto an even more isolated street. "Where are you taking me? What are you doing?"

He slowed down the bike and glanced over his shoulder. "Unless something's changed," he said wryly, "I'm rescuing you from the bad guy."

"Oh ... yes, right. And don't think I'm not grateful," she a.s.sured him, wondering if it was safe to let go of him now. The memories of how magnificently aroused he'd become that night, of what they'd done in the dark alley where he'd pulled the bike, were whirling in her mind.

"Are we going to stop anytime soon?" she asked him breathlessly. "I'm sure he's not following us, and I'd like a moment to collect myself." And get off this rolling vibrator.

He pulled the bike over to the curb and cut the engine. He'd stopped by the playground of a school yard, and in the sudden silence Randy's hearing sharpened. The playground was deserted, but she could discern the soft creaking of the swings in the night breezes. The sounds sent a strange rush of longing through her. As a child living in a musty and depressingly tiny walk-up, she'd fantasized about a house with a backyard and a swing set. Somehow those things had signified a normal life, with all the love and security of a close-knit family. At times the yearning had been so acute, she'd stolen into more affluent neighborhoods and watched the children at play, imagining she was one of them.

As she gazed at the playground, Randy sensed Geoff Dias was staring at her. He'd twisted around on the bike and was studying her as if he understood about back yards and swing sets, maybe even about yearning. She returned his gaze for a moment, surprised. It was the first time she'd ever thought of him in that way, as having a childhood.

He'd always seemed like some dark and sinister figment of her imagination, not a real man, but a demon sent to test her. If everyone had a day of reckoning in their lives, a moment of coming to terms with the past, then Geoff Dias was her day of reckoning. She could almost believe that he was her destructive impulse come to life, destined to prove her unworthy, to remind her where she'd come from, what she'd been.

And yet now he was gazing at her with curiosity, perhaps even some small measure of sympathy.

"You remind me of someone," he remarked, idly touching the torn silk of her collar, taking it between his fingers.

"I do?"

He drew the silk over her lips, as if he could banish the slight droop at each corner of her mouth. "You look like the gypsy bride in white lace who got on the back of my bike one night. She was sad too."

His voice felt like a physical touch. The huskiness seemed to slide over her skin, a feathery pressure. It made her shiver inside and wonder about him. Why had he gone to so much trouble to track her down? With another man she would have chalked it up to male ego. But Geoff Dias didn't look like the sort who needed to use women to prove his virility.

Still, the words emblazoned on his motorcycle spoke volumes. They said he was an incorrigible rogue and womanizer. Even now his gaze was drifting to the gaping neckline of her blouse where her heart was beating furiously and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were spilling out of her scanty bra. She must have looked a sight with her blouse hanging off her shoulder and her skirt hiked up. Just the sort of sight he undoubtedly liked, by the way he was slowly undressing her with his eyes, removing what little clothing she had left.

Her flesh shivered and swelled, responding as if out of some biological instinct, a leaf opening to the light. She breathed in deeply, loving the feeling, hating it because it made her feel so weak.

"I wasn't sad," she countered, determined to distract him as much as to explain. "I was heartbroken. I was out of my mind that night. I never would have done those things if the circ.u.mstances had been different. You must know that."

"I don't know what you would have done. I only know what you did." The strip of silk he'd been holding fluttered down her throat and landed on her breast. He reclaimed it, his fingers loitering, softly violating her bare skin. "We both know what you did, sweetness."

She flushed hotly and looked away. Now she understood what he liked about her, why he'd come back ... He thought she was easy.

Deep inside her, the shivery sensations increased, fanning out like ripples over water. Why did he make her feel this way? So weak inside, so loose? Why was she so quick to respond to him? She clutched the strip of silk, trying to pull it out of his hands, but he tugged back, releasing it only when she looked up and met his eyes.

"I'm not what you think," she said.

His gaze darkened, contradicting her. "Oh, baby-" He laughed softly, drawing the husky words out until they all but curled up and sighed. "I hope you're wrong about that. Because I like what I think you are."

She wanted to defend herself, but it wouldn't have done any good. He knew her fatal flaw. He'd seen the wild streak that no one else even knew existed, certainly not Hugh.

Suddenly his hair caught the moonlight, flaming in the darkness as he tilted his head. "When do we leave?" he asked, swinging his leg over the handlebars and sliding off the bike.