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Undercover Husband
Rebecca Winters


BACHELOR TERRITORYShe's his clientRoman Lufka is a rough, tough private investigator. He's been hired to protect Brittany Langford. The easiest way to be by her side, twenty-four hours a day, is to go undercover–as Brittany's husband.…and his wife!But if protecting his "wife" is easy, living with her isn't. They're perfect strangers–and for Roman, Brit is all too perfect. It seems this confirmed bachelor is facing his toughest assignment yet–falling in love!"Rebecca Winters writes from the heart…"–Debbi MacomberThere are two sides to every story…and now it's his turn!







Letter to Reader (#u08607865-d19f-58ff-b003-2ddf033b5273)Title Page (#u56de7e82-aace-5212-8325-d5a27e0a07f4)CHAPTER ONE (#u92930d5d-5fad-51cf-ba1d-cb48e177279e)CHAPTER TWO (#ucdf132bf-a478-52d8-946a-25c205b0994d)CHAPTER THREE (#u48643518-5b41-52c7-bb2f-f66b50599c2a)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Roman could hear the water running while he locked up the house and turned off lights. Much as he tried to concentrate on anything else, he couldn’t prevent vivid images of the woman in the shower from passing through his mind.

He’d entertained houseguests on numerous occasions.

This was different.

No way could he forget that Brit Langford was standing under that water. With clothes on, she was breathtaking. The sight of her without—

Stop right there, Lufkilovich.

Realizing it was going to be a long night, he headed for the kitchen and pulled a can of beer from the refrigerator. He rarely drank anything alcoholic, but tonight he needed something to offset the adrenaline running through his body.

You’re losing it, Lufkilovich. That woman has slipped past all your reliable defenses and has somehow worked her way beneath your skin. You’re not the same man you were before you took this case.


Dear Reader,

Get ready to meet the world’s most eligible bachelors: they’re sexy, successful and, best of all, they’re all yours!

This month in Harlequin Romance


we bring you the first book in a great new series, BACHELOR TERRITORY. These books have two things in common—they’re all predominantly written from the hero’s point of view, and they all make wonderful reading!

This month’s book is Undercover Husband by Rebecca Winters. Every other month we’ll be bringing you one BACHELOR TERRITORY book by some of the brightest and the best Harlequin Romance authors. Included in the lineup are Emma Richmond, Lucy Gordon. Heather Allison and Barbara McMahon.

In March it’s Val Daniels’s turn with #3497 Marriage on His Terms.

Happy Reading!

The Editors






There are two sides to every story... and now it’s his turn!

P.S. Look out in Harlequin Presents for our “brother” promotion Man Talk! starting in April with bestselling author Charlotte Lamb.




Undercover Husband

Rebecca Winters







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHAPTER ONE

BRITTANY LANGFORD, better known to her friends as Brit, anxiously scanned the hundred or so listings of private investigators in the Yellow Pages of the phone directory. Most of the ads didn’t mention stalking. She turned the page where her attention was immediately drawn to one particular advertisement near the bottom.

LFK Associates International. If you need peace of mind, or simply proof. * Background Checks * Surveillance * Stalkings * Decoy * Undercover * SecurityBodyguard

* Experienced Former Federal Law Enforcement Security * Investigations * U.S. Marine Corps Special Tactical Surveillance Unit.

Brit didn’t have to look any further. Everything about the ad and professional credentials felt right to her. No address had been given. She jotted down the phone number, then got up from the table on shaky legs and walked to the phone booth at the rear of her favorite Mexican restaurant.

After a few minutes she heard, “You’ve reached LFK-5555. May I help you?” a pleasant female voice spoke up.

“Yes. My name is Brit Langford. I—I’m being harassed by a man I met in Europe this summer and I’m so frightened I don’t know what to do. Lieutenant Parker of the Stalking Unit at the Salt Lake Police Department is handling my case. He says it’s pretty routine, but—”

“But you need further assurance so you won’t lose your sanity,” the receptionist finished for her.

“Exactly. The thing is, I don’t have much money. I can get it. I’ll apply for a loan and—”

“Before money is discussed, I need to take down all the pertinent information you can give me. If one of the investigators decides he wants to handle your case, an affordable fee payment plan will be drawn up. How does that sound to you?”

Brit clutched the receiver tighter. “It sounds wonderful.”

In the next few minutes she’d told the receptionist every detail she could think of.

“All right, Ms. Langford. I have your phone and work numbers, and the times when you can be reached. No matter the answer, one of the investigators will get back to you before the day is out.”

“Thank you very much.” To her embarrassment her voice wobbled. “I hope someone there decides to help me.”

“I hope so, too. Be expecting a call.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Nevada Police Academy—with our other business out of the way this morning, I’d now like to present the man you’ve been waiting to hear from. He’s here in Las Vegas for a well-deserved rest after helping mastermind the stakeout which resulted in the capture of the notorious Moffat brothers, two killers who’d managed to elude the best officers in six western states until now.”

Ear-splitting applause broke out.

It was part of a front for a top secret, covert operation out in the Nevada desert.

Though it was an operation of which he could approve, Roman had gone from being an idealistic soldier, to a disillusioned officer in the military, to a disenchanted CIA agent.

For a variety of reasons—not the least of which was his distaste for the growing corruption within the system—he was thinking of getting out.

“The man’s credentials speak for themselves. After serving in the Marines in a special tactical surveillance unit for a number of years, he went to work as a law enforcement officer with the New York City Police Department.”

Correction. My time in the New York City Police Department was another cover to gather information about drug-trafficking coming out of South America. What I found was a number of people within the community of law enforcement who were involved and it has sickened me.

“He’s a special agent of the International Police Congress, the Associated Licensed Detectives of New York, Bureau of Missing Children, American Society of Industrial Security, National Association of Chiefs of Police, Academy of Security Educators and Trainers and International Association of Law Enforcement Intelligence Analysts.”

But I’m rarely given the time to do the P.I. work I love.

“He founded Professionals International, and at present is the owner, licensee and executive director of LFK Associates International, a private investigation firm located in Salt Lake City, Utah.”

That’s right. My latest temporary cover until they send me to South America. Maybe I’ll retire before that day comes. When I’m no longer associated with a system that isn’t doing the job, then I can be exclusive as a P.I. and fight other problems plaguing society right here at home.

“Without further ado, we’ll now hear from Lieutenant Roman Lufka.”

Another burst of applause accompanied Roman’s short walk to the rostrum. He looked around his audience of a couple of hundred law enforcement people.

For the most part, this group in front of him—whether on or off duty—were hardworking, law-abiding citizens themselves, the cornerstone of goodness in the whole scheme of police work.

Unfortunately, the higher one climbed, be it a member of the FBI or the CIA, there was a tendency to get bogged down by a corrupt bureaucracy.

Roman. You’re tired...

“It seems the only thing Chief Wilson didn’t tell you is that the name written on my birth certificate reads Romanov Vechiarelli Lufkilovich. My great-grandparents on my father’s side were Russian immigrants who arrived and settled in New York. My mother’s people were of Italian ancestry who also settled in New York.

“When I came home from grade school with my tenth nosebleed in a row, my parents agreed to let me shorten my name to Roman Lufka, which incorporated a little of the best parts of all the blood flowing through my veins.

“Of course by then, I’d begun to learn how to take care of myself. The other guy ended up in the hospital. I suppose I have my parents to thank for putting me on the road to my particular and peculiar destiny, no matter how ignominious and self-serving its start.”

A roar of laughter filled the conference room. Someone called out, “How come you ended up in Salt Lake?”

If you only knew...

“That’s an interesting question,” Roman responded when quiet reigned. “Would you believe, skiing? The rumors are true. Utah has the best snow on earth. To this New Yorker anyway,” he added with a smile.

That part was true. The skiing was fabulous. He was already addicted...

Judging by the shouts and whistles, a large portion of the audience agreed with him.

“I could go on all day about my favorite sport. However, Chief Wilson has a reputation, if you know what I mean, and he expects us to get some work done here.”

Again the room exploded with good-natured guffaws and laughter.

“As you know, in the past, the image of the private investigator hasn’t been the best. I’ll be the first to admit that incompetent bunglers, less-than-professional idiots who couldn’t find their way out of an unlocked closet, have riddled our noble profession with holes which the media has picked up on and exploited in the worst possible light.

“We’ve been made out as uninformed, uneducated riffraff, rising from the dregs of society in our rumpled clothes which wreak of cigarette smoke and garlic from yesterday’s leftover pastrami sandwich eaten out of a rundown ’72 Chevy we haven’t finished making payments on. The exhaust pipe, by the way, long since confiscated by local hoodlums.”

Again everyone laughed and clapped in agreement because the picture he painted was too real and hit too close to home.

“I’m here to tell you that this image is changing. No longer is there room in the private investigation field for those of us choosing this line of work to be anything but professional. In fact, we’re approaching the year 2000 where we’ll be wiped out, eliminated from the competition, unless we become the absolute, total professional.

“This means you have to be dedicated to a higher degree of commitment as you study and learn everything possible to navigate and win in our specialized and technical society. As crime spreads like the incurable ebola virus, mutating in hideous new forms, we have to be equipped to handle the awful and unprecedented tasks besetting us, testing us to the last atom of our cognitive thinking powers.

“That’s what being professional is all about. That’s why I’m here today, to provoke you to be better than you’ve ever been before, to reach inside that core of you which will not stand for mediocre or slovenly service, but will respond to the highest call to be your brother’s keeper in the noblest sense of the word, defending the helpless, even to the giving of your own life, if necessary.

“But the chances of that happening diminish in direct ratio to the degree of your professionalism, and that’s a fact you can take to the bank.”

There was absolute quiet before the room suddenly erupted into thunderous ovation. When Roman could get a word in he said, “That’s it. That’s my speech. I’d rather turn the rest of the time over to a thirty-minute question and answer period before I have to get back to Salt Lake on the noon flight.”

“Another call on line two, Brit!” the secretary spoke up.

Brit’s gaze darted to the wall clock. Ten after three. Maybe this was the one she’d been waiting for.

She left the drafting board and rushed over to her desk. “Brit Langford, here.”

“Ms. Langford. This is Diana from LFK.”

Her heart plummeted to her feet. Maybe the receptionist was calling to tell her they wouldn’t be able to take her case.

“Y-yes?” she answered, dry-mouthed.

“Hold on. I’m putting you through to Lieutenant Lufka.”

Brit gripped the receiver more tightly.

“Ms. Langford? Roman Lufka here. From what my secretary, Diana, has told me, it sounds as if you’ve got a serious problem on your hands.”

The deep cultured voice whose accent suggested an East Coast education and sophistication came as much of a surprise to her as his assurance that her fears were justified. The police had shown her relatively little interest or compassion.

“I get a pit in my stomach just anticipating looking at the mail. When the first letter came, I thought it had to be some sort of hideous joke, but it has gone on too long. I was feeling so desperate I decided to call your office.”

“I’m glad you did. Can you meet me at Lieutenant Parker’s office in say, twenty minutes?”

She breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, yes. Does this mean you’ll take my case?”

“It does.”

“Thank you.” Her voice trembled.

“You’re welcome. See you soon.”

She heard the click before she put the receiver back on the hook. Thank goodness she was going to get some help.

Roman drove the tan Ford he used on the job into the underground carpark of the metropolitan hall of justice.

Unfortunately, there was no anonymity here. By the time he’d reached the third floor of the complex, he’d shaken hands with a dozen officers and exchanged shoptalk with a dozen more who wanted to discuss the stakeout he’d been on.

He broke it off as soon as he could and headed for Parker’s office. The head of the stalking bureau possessed a need to be in control at all times. Since he was on the phone, Roman used sign language for permission to get into the files. The other man hesitated, then expelled a frustrated sigh and nodded his go-ahead.

On his way to the cabinet, Roman theorized that this had to be one of Parker’s better days, or else the phone call had distracted him.

His client hadn’t arrived yet. He decided to get started.

Lam, Lamoreaux, Landau, Landrigan, Langford. Roman pulled her file and sat down at a table against the wall.

The first item to meet his gaze was a copy of her passport photo, and a large color photograph of her tour group assembled on the steps of St. Peter’s in Rome.

A hairy-faced figure among the group had been circled with black marker. Obviously he was the man who’d been harassing her.

Roman’s eyes darted to the other people in the crowd until he found Brittany Langford, a budding new architect according to Diana.

With her ash-blond hair long enough to be pulled back in a medium-size ponytail, she looked about nineteen rather than twenty-six, and very attractive.

Putting the pictures aside, he began studying the information from the report taken by investigating Officer Green. It was sparse at best.

Glen Baird. White male, approximately six feet, medium build, medium-dark brown hair and brown eyes, resident of Madison, Wisconsin.

If the man’s hair were shaved off, the description could belong to hundreds of thousands of men in the U.S. The letters would tell Roman a great deal more.

Oftentimes it was during the initial perusal of evidence—when his brain seemed to be in free-association mode—that his creative side took over. As ideas sprang into his mind—ideas to be followed up on at a later date—he would make verbal notes into his pocket recorder.

The process of assessing, digesting, analyzing random bits of information generally revealed a pattern, sometimes a whole picture of a mind that didn’t function in the normal way.

He started to pull the recorder from his pocket when he heard his name called out in a familiar feminine voice with that slightly husky tone. He looked up to discover that his newest client was even more beautiful than the picture had revealed.

Those vibrant blue eyes and flawless young skin, all part of her classic features, would draw any man’s gaze. But combined with the full curves of her figure and long slender legs the blouse and skirt couldn’t camouflage, she would definitely be the star attraction anywhere, let alone on her tour bus.

“Ms. Langford.” Rising to his feet, he put out his hand for her to shake, then flashed her his credentials to identify himself.

The top of her head reached his chin. A subtle, flowery fragrance emanated from her.

As a rule, when Brit tried to match a face with a voice, she was totally off base and inevitably disappointed. For once in her life, the reality surpassed the image of the bodyguard-type she’d conjured in her mind.

His hazel eyes stared directly into hers. The attractive, dark-haired man stood at least six feet two, maybe three. He had a lean, powerful build and was probably in his midto late-thirties. With a name like that and his olive complexion, he was definitely of European or even Eastern European extraction. Yet he was as American as she was. The combination took her breath.

There weren’t any men of her acquaintance who looked remotely like him, not even a few of the striking foreign males she’d met on her tour.

Her gaze quickly reverted once more to his company credentials which contained his picture and description.

“Please. Sit down.”

“Thank you.”

He helped guide her to a chair before he sat opposite her. There was an air of unreality about the whole situation. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her?

“I appreciate your being willing to talk to me this afternoon, for making it possible for me to pay you in installments. I’m very grateful.” Damn. Her voice quivered.

“It’s my job,” he murmured with a quick smile. That, plus his attire of polo shirt and chinos, gave him a humanness lacking in the uniformed police officers she’d talked to thus far. Brit wished she could achieve the confidence and calm he exuded.

“From what Diana told me on the phone, you’ve never been in this kind of a situation before. A virtual stranger has invaded your life totally unsolicited. I don’t blame you for being frightened.”

“It’s horrible.” Her voice wobbled again. “Have you read the letters?”

“Not yet. I only arrived a few minutes before you did. Let me look through them first. I’ll be using a tape recorder, making verbal notes. Will that bother you?”

She’d been watching him, fascinated by his totally male aura and professional demeanor. “No. O-of course not,” she stammered.

“Good.”

Roman spent the next few minutes perusing the first of six letters written on lined paper a student would use.

Brittany—

Everyone on the tour called you Brit, but when I saw your full name on the address sheet most of the people signed, I realized that I preferred your full name and plan to call you that. It has a French origin. I know because I spent time in France several years ago.

I have lots of pictures of you, even from behind. I recognize your backpack. What was the name of that shampoo you use? I didn’t write it down. Was it, Swiss Formula? I ordered that polka tape from the library. I’m just getting over the flu. How’s Denise? Ask her to give me her address and phone number. I want yours, too, so I don’t have to sit down and write letters.

In regard to the stuff I’ve sent in this letter, the Salt Lake Youth Hostel was a supplemental accommodation which means it lacks one or more basic elements of a hostel. It was open when I came through Salt Lake before. It couldn’t be much more than eight miles from your place. Some of the hostels listed on the map I’ve enclosed are no longer open.

This is what’s new. I heard yesterday that my section at work is closed until there’s more funding which reading between the lines means I’ll probably be off work longer. Tuesdays are my rest days, so I will have enjoyed fifty-three days of happiness. Waiting for your letter.

Until later, much love,

Glen Baird

5972 Washington Court,

Madison, WI 53701

Roman read through the others and made a few brief comments into the mike, alternately appalled and fascinated by the disjointed, too intimate personal remarks interjected at random. Each letter became progressively angrier because it was obvious she hadn’t responded to anything.

Finally he lifted his head, focusing his gaze on her once more. Brit met his level glance. Since reading the letters, his eyes seemed to have darkened a fraction.

“You’re right. Considering that these letters are from a virtual stranger, they are terrifying.”

“But Lieutenant Parker said—”

“Forgive me for interrupting—” He lowered his voice. “The police get so many calls from people being harassed, it’s difficult for them to do a detailed investigation unless the situation warrants it, unless there’s an implicit threat to the victim.”

“And my case isn’t like that.”

“Let me finish looking at everything before I answer that question,” Roman murmured, applying himself once more to the task.

The papers smelled of lilies. He picked up a plastic bag containing two dilapidated-looking trumpet lilies.

“Those came in that Express Mail overnight letter this morning, along with the sympathy card. He obviously received my postcard.”

Roman’s head flew back in consternation. “What postcard? I see no mention of it in the report.”

“The one the investigating officer suggested I send to him, telling him I was getting married.”

“Are you?” he fired back.

“No. I don’t even have a boyfriend right now.”

With a woman as intelligent and attractive as she was, it seemed a little hard to believe.

“The officer thought a note like that might discourage him,” she continued to explain. “I picked a card with Sego Lilies on the front. They’re the state flower. I thought it would be impersonal, that he wouldn’t be able to read anything into it.”

Roman’s lips thinned. To some weirdos, that would send up a red flag like nothing else.

His reaction produced a moan from her. “It was the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it? I knew it.”

“Let’s not worry about that now.”

He picked up the sympathy card, which smelled heavily of the flowers.

Those we hold most dear, never truly leave us.

They live on in the kindness they showed, the comfort they shared,

And the love they brought into our lives.

May beautiful memories give you strength in those difficult hours ahead.

Beneath the printed words on the inside was a line written in the man’s own hand. “I will write you no more. Forever!”

The man writing this was acting like an adolescent who couldn’t handle rejection. Between the lines Roman could read the hurt.

His hand reached for the letter folded inside the card. Unlike the others, this one was white type paper with pasted pieces of printed text to form the author’s macabre message. Each piece was a different shade of white, indicating he’d gotten his material from many sources.

Brittany—

The language of flowers may be combined and arranged to express the nicest shades of sentiment.

Moss rosebud and myrtle a confession of love.

White, pink, canary and laurel, your talent and perseverance will win you glory.

Mignonette and colored daisy, your qualities surpass your charms of beauty.

Columbine and lily, your folly and coquetry have broken the spell of your beauty.

Did you know red rose means love, yellow rose friendship, white rose fear, pink rose indecision, green rose I’m from Mars, lily I’m dead, Crabgrass I just escaped from a mental institution, scallion I’m clueless.

If a flower is offered reversed, its direct signification is likewise reversed so that the flower now means the opposite.

Throughout the morass of cryptic lines, the word “lily” kept reappearing. Roman pondered the entry again.

“‘Lily, your folly and coquetry have broken the spell of your beauty.’” He spoke out loud, feeling her eyes on him. “We can assume this was the author’s way of telling you he couldn’t handle your rejection.”

“The postcard made him furious.” Her voice shook.

Roman nodded. “I agree.” His gaze darted to the next lily entry. “Lily means, I’m dead.”

His frown deepened. But it was when he reread the last line that his heart did a drop kick. “If a flower is offered reversed, its direct signification is likewise reversed so that the flower now means the opposite.”

He raked a hand through his hair. The opposite of I am dead...

His eyes sought the plastic bag and he opened it. Two dead lilies stared up at him. But the petals had been folded downward.

If the flower is offered reversed, the flower now means...you’re dead.

Roman absently tapped the paper against his cheek. This guy was definitely certifiable. But whether he was really dangerous, or just enjoyed threatening his victims, remained to be seen.

To his shock, he was rocked by a savage, unprecedented desire to make certain the lovely woman sitting across from him wouldn’t suffer any more fear at the stranger’s hands.

Already a plan was forming in his mind. Where the idea came from he had no clue, unless it had leaped straight from his gut. Some primeval instinct was warning him this was no ordinary case, nor she no ordinary woman. Diana had sensed the same thing when she’d begged him to take it, rather than give it to one of the other P.I.s.

Though he doubted that this psycho would actually do more than harass her, Roman could never rule out the possibility that Baird meant what he said. If so, Brittany Langford needed help, and she needed it now.

“What are you thinking?” she asked in an anxious voice.

Roman closed the file, schooling his features to show no emotion. “I need to do a little preliminary work first. Are you going home to stay?”

“Yes—”

“Then expect me around seven and we’ll talk.”

“All right.” She got to her feet. “I—I’ll see you then.”

He watched her progress from the room, unconsciously admiring the singing lines of her body while he put everything back in the drawer. With a swift motion he closed it, a little too soundly because it drew Parker’s attention.

“Find what you were looking for?”

“Heaven forbid, I did,” Roman ground out.

“It’s a mail harassment case, nothing more. One of these days the guy will give up.”

That’s why you never made chief, Parker.

The man despised private investigators, especially Roman, the outsider from New York City. But he didn’t have the courage to call him something uncomplimentary to his face.

“Just doing my job according to Hoyle.”

Roman knew his response would pass over the top of Parker’s head. Maybe in six months he’d figure it out. By that time, Brittany Langford could be in serious trouble if her tormentor had the potential for menace.

Once he returned to his office, Roman would fax Pat Flaherty in New York. Pat and he had been partners way back when life had been vastly different, when Roman was still full of noble ideas about changing the world...

The cocky Irishman was still on the force and had active contacts who could put out feelers on Glen Baird in a matter of minutes. Roman had one concern at the moment. To find out if Baird still resided in Wisconsin.


CHAPTER TWO

WHEN the doorbell rang a little after seven, Brit knew it was Lieutenant Lufka. For some unaccountable reason, her heart began to hammer. She’d been counting the minutes until he arrived, wondering what conclusions he’d come to about her case.

Oddly enough she’d been loathe to leave the police station. To leave him. He engendered such a strong feeling of safety, she found that she didn’t want to be out of his sight.

After one brief meeting it was ridiculous to feel that way, but she couldn’t help it. The situation with Glen Baird had been going on almost a month. Her nerves were shot. It was heaven to be able to pour out her fears to someone like the Lieutenant who protected people for a living.

She hurried across the living room and opened the door to her condo. He nodded with a hint of a smile, making her feel a little breathless.

“Come in.” She stepped aside as he entered, then shut the door behind him. He brought the faint nip of the Fall night air with him. It mingled with the scent of the soap he used, bringing her to a strong physical awareness of him.

Startled by this reaction, she knew she sounded too brusque when she asked him if he’d like a drink or coffee.

“Maybe later,” he murmured, taking the upholstered chair opposite the velvet couch after she sat down.

Brit clasped her hands nervously. “Did you find out any new information?”

He nodded, sending her a penetrating glance. “You have every right to be alarmed.”

She had trouble swallowing. “So what are you saying?”

He eyed her soberly for a moment. It made her heart skip a beat. “You’re paying me your hard-earned money. This means I have to call the shots as I see them without wasting any time.”

She could read between the lines. Perspiration broke out on her hairline. “I’m in danger, aren’t I?” Her voice shook.

“It’s only a feeling on my part, but I believe you could be.”

Brit moaned and stood up, rubbing her arms with her hands to get the circulation going.

“I’ve done the preliminary work. There’s no warrant out for his arrest in any of the counties in the State of Wisconsin. But he does have a long history of disturbing the peace, disputing with his neighbors, torturing animals who’ve had the audacity to cross his path.

“He was recently fired from his job for creating trouble with other employees and damaging some merchandise in the warehouse where he worked. His last known address was a trailer court in Madison, but he moved out of there a week ago and drove off in a vintage maroon van with everything he owned.”

The Lieutenant had learned that much already? Brit was in awe of him, and more horrified than ever to think that lunatic wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“I have a plan, Ms. Langford, but we’ll have to move fast.”

Her fear was so great, she could scarcely form words. “What plan?”

He stared at her through narrowed eyes. “The one you put into play when you sent him that postcard. In my opinion, you were given the wrong advice. But since it’s a fait accompli, we’ll turn it to our advantage.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a long shot. But if my hunch is right and he’s headed here, we’ll be able to catch him and prevent him from doing this to anyone else. If I’m wrong, and he’s just another loser who has finally tired of sending you letters because he’s become obsessed with someone else, then no harm has been done. Either way you’ll achieve peace of mind, which is my job to give you, leaving us both satisfied.”

Peace of mind...

That meant everything. That’s why she’d sought a private investigator in the first place, wasn’t it?

Her womanly intuition told her that if this man couldn’t provide it, no one could.

She lifted her head and faced him squarely. “Since those letters started coming, I have to admit I haven’t felt safe. Until something’s done about him, I’ll never feel safe again.”

A strange silence filled the room. He rose to his full height, his intelligent eyes with their black lashes never leaving hers.

“No plan is infallible, but the one I’ve conceived guarantees I won’t be leaving your side until the culprit is caught, or goes away for good.” He paused. “For this assignment, I’m going undercover as your husband.”

A thrill of emotion totally foreign to Brit shot through her body. She started to tremble.

His dark brows knit together. “Before you fall apart on me, hear me out.”

“I’m listening,” she said in a quiet voice.

He put his hands in his pockets, studying the refined features of her upturned face. “We don’t know if he has done this kind of thing to another woman before, but I would imagine he has.” She shuddered at the prospect. “If he has set up some elaborate scheme, it might take weeks, even months, for him to carry it out.”

“Months?”

He nodded. “If you recall, he told you he wouldn’t write you again. It could be a bluff, and he’s going to wait until you think he’s forgotten about you before he makes another move.

“If that’s the case, I need a justifiable reason to be around you twenty-four hours a day. Marriage will accomplish that, protect your reputation and allow both of us to get on with other work we need to do at the same time.”

She couldn’t argue with his reasoning.

“On the other hand, this might be over in a matter of days. According to what you told me earlier, you are single, and don’t have a serious boyfriend. Thus it means that on your tour, no one heard mention of a man in your life, let alone a fiancé.

“Glen Baird knows this. When he received the postcard telling him you were making plans to be married, he knew you were- lying.”

Brit nodded.

“Don’t forget you rejected him throughout the five week tour. Then you ignored his letters. According to the report you gave Officer Green, none of the acquaintances on your tour bus would give him your phone number. He couldn’t reach your best friend, Denise Martin, the woman who went on the tour with you. All doors were closed to him. When he finally received the postcard which told him goodbye forever, he couldn’t take the rejection.

“Unfortunately, it’s my belief that your message represented something else. You betrayed him with a cheap lie, and so doing committed the unpardonable. Now you have to pay for the sin of not loving him. What we don’t know is whether or not the lilies and sympathy card represented the zenith of his rage.”

Everything Roman Lufka was saying made a horrible kind of sense. Her stomach clenched in fear.

He cocked his head to one side. “That’s the quandary, isn’t it? Waiting for the game to begin or be over... Isn’t that why you called my office? Because the suspense is killing you?”

His questions demanded bald honesty from her.

Brit nodded again, and thought she saw a glimmer of satisfaction in the depths of his eyes.

“If he feels further retribution is necessary, then it’s only a matter of time before you’re made aware of it. He may or may not decide to come to Salt Lake. He could appear at your condo, or at work, or just follow you around for a long time, showing up at places you least expect. Though he’s probably harmless, the fact that he hasn’t yet given up on you means you’re going to continue to be frightened.”

She was starting to feel sick to her stomach.

“Unfortunately this is the time where most victims make their mistake. They don’t want to believe such a thing could happen, so they don’t plan ahead and often become immobilized by fear.” His voice had dropped to a lower register.

It sent another shiver down her spine.

“That’s where I come in. My job is to set a trap for him in case he decides to come to Salt Lake. He has already demonstrated that he’s cunning enough to trick you with the mail by sending it from various other states or even countries.

“I hope I’m wrong, but it’s my opinion that postcard probably upset him enough to make him want to see you in person. In his twisted mind, if he can’t wring a response out of you through the mail, then he’s going to make sure you pay because he knows you didn’t tell him the truth.”

She bit her lip. “I regretted sending that postcard the minute I slipped it in the letter drop. To be truthful, I’ve been terrified of him suddenly appearing on my doorstep, or worse, watching me without my knowledge.”

“Unless I miss my guess, he’ll come. If he’s angry enough over your lie, he’ll arrive here soon.”

She buried her face in her hands. “I think he will, too.”

Brit had been going over this in her mind until she couldn’t function anymore. That’s why she’d sought help. Roman Lufka was a professional. If he thought this was the best way to handle it, then she needed to place her faith and trust in him. But—

“Mr. Lufka?”

“Roman,” he came back swiftly. “The sooner you start thinking of me as a husband, the better.”

Adrenaline made her body surge.

“Roman—I don’t have the kind of money it would take for long-term protection.”

He frowned. “Let’s get something straight, Brit. That’s what I’ll be calling you from now on,” he added in an aside. “If my suspicions are right, he’ll make his move soon, so let’s not worry about the money angle right now.

“To those observing from the outside, ours will be the epitome of the loving marriage. On the inside, we’ll be friends, and one of the other P.I.s will always be assigned to guard you when I’m not there. We’ll share everything except the bedroom. That means cooking, cleaning. I plan to get my money’s worth, so let’s agree not to talk about it again.

“When this is all over and we’ve caught him, you can explain the truth to everyone, that you’re not married, and life will get back to normal.”

Another silence ensued before Brit ventured, “Have you ever gone undercover as a husband before?”

“No. But I’ve done just about everything else.”

“I—I’ve never been a wife.”

“The way you’re worrying, you sound like one already. I’m certain you’ll get the hang of it, given enough time.” The teasing mockery in his tone didn’t escape her, but then he grew sober.

“If Baird is on his way here right now, we don’t have a lot of time. Playing the part of your husband makes the most sense because it gives me the optimum ability to keep you safe until we find out exactly what he’s up to.

“If you don’t feel you can go along with my plan, you’re welcome to approach another P.I. I’ll be happy to refer you to several with outstanding credentials. The decision is yours. Remember that a P.I. operates according to the way he or she sees a case. I have to do it my way, or not at all.”

Though his conditions disturbed her in ways she was reluctant to identify out loud, Brit had to admit she looked upon Roman Lufka as a savior.

“I-if you can make the boogeyman go away forever,” she whispered, “I’m willing to commit to your plan, whatever it is.”

“Good. Now tell me about Glen Baird.”

She’d just made the monumental decision to pretend to a bogus marriage, yet he behaved no differently than before. For an undercover investigator, this was all part of a day’s work.

Brit wished she could view it the same way. After all, he wanted to protect her the best way he could. As her husband, he had the legitimate right to be with his wife day and night.

When she really thought about it, his plan was ideal. She’d be a fool to worry about anything else when she believed him to be a totally honorable man. After all, she’d come to him asking for his help, not the other way around.

“Glen Baird is the kind of man who says and does whatever he wants, whenever he feels like it,” she began. “On the trip he kept trying to sit by me, and he’d follow me everywhere. People on the tour instinctively started crowding around me so he couldn’t have access.

“But when we reached Paris, several of them left our tour. I know it was because of him.”

Now that she’d gotten started talking, she couldn’t seem to stop. “He was moody, and didn’t appear to like the tour. None of us could figure out why he’d come. He had a powerful set of binoculars. Sometimes they’d be trained on me from a distance. It was awful.”

“That’s another piece of information that wasn’t in Officer Green’s report. What else do you remember?”

“I’m not sure. Early on, Denise and I considered joining another tour, as well, but because of the wonderful Australian friends we’d made en route, we decided to ignore him as best we could and enjoy the trip anyway.

“That was the difficult part. The first time I saw him loitering in the lobby of our London hotel, he just stared at me out of blank eyes. With all that hair on his face, he scared me.”

Taking a shuddering breath she cried, “I wish to heaven Denise and I had obeyed our first instincts and left the tour.”

A murmur of compassion escaped his lips. “If your guide had had any idea of the terror you’re going through right now, I’m sure she’d regret having given everyone free access to the names and addresses of the people on your bus. But it’s done now, and chances are he would have found another way to get to you.

“Let’s thank providence you had the wisdom to obey your instincts this time and get help. If and when he comes to Salt Lake to look you up, he’ll meet with a surprise he wasn’t planning on.”

Brit shivered at the chilling sound of his voice.

After a brief pause he said, “If he follows the profile, and I happen to believe he does, he’s lost all concept of the guidelines normal people live by. According to his letters, he’s been to Salt Lake before. Sending you brochures of hotels near your condo, plus his old map of Salt Lake, circling the street where you live, was his way of telling you that he knows all about you, that you’re not going to escape him. He believes he’s invincible, and has only one thought—to make you suffer as he has perceived you’ve made him suffer.”

Her eyes played over his well-formed features, noting the lines of experience around his mouth. He sounded so sure. “You’re the one whose credentials are listed in the Yellow Pages. It’s your company, isn’t it?”

A flash of white teeth unexpectedly set her pulse tripping. “Guilty as charged. There are twelve of us.”

“Have you covered a lot of these kinds of cases?”

Oh, sweetheart. You don’t have a clue.

“Too many,” came the grudging admission. “But let’s not dwell on that. We have a wedding to plan. Guests to invite. One of the P.I.s will serve as the minister. We need to talk to your parents and explain the situation.”

At that pronouncement her head reared back, swishing her hair over her shoulders. He moved so fast she couldn’t keep up with him.

“My parents don’t know anything yet. I’ve been afraid to tell them for fear of upsetting them. Dad has heart trouble.”

“We’ll proceed carefully. When they learn the truth, they’ll probably be more amenable to my plan. In any event, your parents are going to have to know, because tonight you’ll be staying with me,” he said in an authoritative voice.

At her startled look he explained, “Before I rang your front doorbell tonight, I checked out your back door and windows. I could have gotten in any of them without your being aware of it. If I could do it, so could he.”

Brit had no idea Roman had been wandering around outside her condo.

“Some voyeur types like to enter their victim’s premises and look at their personal things, touch them, even steal some of them to make a shrine. Baird mentioned your shampoo because he likes the smell of your hair.” So do I. “He might want to take something like that as a remembrance.”

“That’s horrible!” The possibility that Glen Baird could creep into her home anytime he wanted almost paralyzed her with fear.

“Safety isn’t the only issue. If we’re going to make your impending marriage look real to everyone, except your family and Denise who will already know the truth, then it’s probable you’d be making preparations to set up residence with your future husband.

“Assuming your tormentor is en route to Salt Lake, the fact that you’ve changed addresses will lend credence to your claim that you’re getting married. To make it stick, you’ll have to give your landlord notice. It’s possible Baird will case the complex first, even talk to people to learn your habits. I’ll have a mobile unit here on guard day and night, monitoring his activities on tape to give to the police.”

A shiver racked her body. “After what you’ve just told me, I’ll be glad to get out of here so Glen can’t find me, but I’ve signed a year’s lease. I was going to renew it in December.”

“If my hunch pays off, this man will make an appearance shortly. We’ll be ready for him and you’ll be able to resume your normal life without too much delay. In the meantime, my firm will take an option on your place so you can move back in after everything is over. At that point, we’ll explain things to your landlord so that you won’t lose any money.”

He thought of everything! “W-where do you live?”

“In Olympus Cove.”

One of her favorite neighborhoods situated at the base of the mountains.

“Don’t you have a family?”

“No. I’m on my own. Why don’t you call your friend, Denise? Since she was on the tour and Glen Baird mentioned her in the letter, she’s involved, too, and needs to know the truth. I’d like to talk to her tonight. She might be able to remember something important to the case.”

“She’s home tending her younger brother while her parents are away on a trip. What about him? I don’t want him frightened.”

“He won’t be. You can introduce me as your fiancé.”

“But he knows I don’t have a boyfriend.”

A mysterious gleam entered his eyes. “You do now. Tell him I’m the man who once stole your heart, then moved away. Now I’m back to reclaim you.”

This time she felt a quickening inside her, and had the strongest conviction that if he had been her old boyfriend, and had moved away, he might very well have gone off with her heart.

“See if it’s convenient for us to visit Denise before we drop by your folks. You can call them from her house and alert them that we’ll be over around nine tonight.”

Within five minutes they were on their way across town to Federal Heights where both the Martins and her parents lived. En route she was once again seized by the enormity of the decision she’d just made. Only fear could have caused her to enter into a bogus marriage with a stranger, never raising any major objections.

“You probably think I’m the world’s greatest coward,” she blurted in panic.

He sucked in his breath. “On the contrary, any woman who is working in a male-dominated profession like architecture couldn’t possibly be lacking in the courage department.”

Her gaze fastened on him. “You’re one of the few men I’ve ever met who had any understanding of what it’s been like for me.”

“Maybe that’s because in my profession, I have to be a student of human nature. To do my job right, it’s imperative I get close to my clients, whether male or female. So close, I can tell what they’re made of, what strengths and weaknesses form their character. That way I can do my best to protect them. Rest assured I respect your fear, Brit.

“You’re the one who was trapped with that man for five weeks, sensing he wasn’t normal. I’m convinced God has instilled different survival instincts in a woman. Fortunately those instincts drove you to seek help.”

After a thoughtful pause she said, “Then those same instincts are telling me you’re too good a private investigator to take on just any case. What do you know about this man you haven’t told me? Imagination has a lot to answer for as the saying goes.” She lowered her head. “I need to hear the whole truth.”

So help me, I need the answer to that question myself. “That’s the hard part, Brit. I’ve given you the facts. What I’m going on now is like flying blind with no radar.”

She sighed. “I know what you mean. When I’m trying to solve a problem of space and design, and I’ve exhausted every known possibility, sometimes I just have to start playing around, not knowing what I’ll find, but not satisfied until the answer is staring me in the face.”

His mouth quirked. “How well I know what you’re saying. You’ve put it better than I could have myself. The one thing we can agree on is that you could be in danger. We’ll take it from there.”

She nodded before telling him they needed to turn right on South Temple. He followed her directions until they passed Reservoir Park and entered the Federal Heights area where many of the ivy-covered mansions built by the mining magnates of old were elegantly preserved.

“Is Denise prepared to go along with our plan in order to spare her brother?”

“Yes. She said she’d follow our lead, then send Rod on an errand. That will give us enough time to talk in private.”

“Good.”

“Here’s her house.”

Roman pulled the car to a stop at the curb in front of a large, Italian renaissance-style home, then flashed her a probing glance. “From everything you’ve told me, Rod will be a difficult person to fool. Get ready to put on the greatest acting performance of your life. If we can convince him, then we’re home free where anyone else is concerned.”

She watched him reach in his trouser pocket and pull out a solitaire diamond ring. “I picked this up to make everything look real. Let’s hope it isn’t too big. Give me your left hand.”

Brit’s eyes grew huge as he slid the engagement ring onto her finger. To her surprise, it fit just fine. “Now we’re official, but you look as if you could use a little shock treatment to get things going.”

Before she realized it, he’d leaned across the seat and kissed her mouth. “That was for Rod’s sake, in case he’s watching.” He kissed her again, applying more pressure. “You taste of strawberries.”

She drew away, hot-faced. A large blue-white stone sparkled up at her.

“Have you ever been in love, Brit?”

“There was one boy in high school, but like most first love relationships, it couldn’t flourish because we were too young. I met another man in college. I liked him a lot, but not enough to marry. When I realized how serious he was getting, I broke it off.”

“Did you live together?”

“No.” After a tension-filled silence she said, “I don’t intend to sleep with any man until I’m married first.”

“You’re a wise woman,” came the deep-sounding rejoinder.

He slid his arm around her shoulders and they walked to the front porch of the oak-shaded, two-story mansion together. His solid strength felt good to her.

“I’m afraid moving in with me will raise some eyebrows.”

A blush swept over her face. “Yes.”

“We’ll be ‘married’ in three days’ time, which should circumvent any gossip. To outsiders, our marriage will look real.”

He held on to her and rang the bell, his nearness playing havoc with her emotions. Suddenly the door opened.

“Brit!”

She smiled at Denise’s fourteen-year-old brother. “How are you doing, Rod? Can we come in?”

“Sure.”

They moved inside. Rod called to his sister that they had company.

“I’ll be right there,” came a shout from the rear of the house.

“Rod? This is Roman Lufka. Remember I told you that I had a really serious boyfriend in high school?”

“Yeah?” His interested gaze was fixed on Roman.

“Well, it was Roman.”

“That’s right,” Roman broke in, nestling her even closer to his body. “I had to move back east with my parents and then I went in the Marines. But I never forgot Brit, and decided to come back to Salt Lake to live. We’ve been talking since I returned. One thing led to another, and we’re going to get married right away.”

“That’s great. Where are you going to live? I hope it’s close to us.”

“Afraid not, Rod. I bought a home in Olympus Cove. Do you know where that is?”

“Sure. Near the turnoff to Alta and Brighton. Do you ski?”

“It’s my favorite sport,” Roman asserted with a grin.

“Mine, too.”

“When the snow flies, Brit and I will take you with us.”

While Brit digested that amazing announcement, Rod’s excited gaze darted to hers. “Brit doesn’t ski.”

Roman turned to her, a loving expression in his eyes which could have deceived anyone. “Then I’ll have to teach you.”

“I hope I’m included in that invitation,” Denise chimed in, a pert brunette who breezed into the room wearing cutoffs and a blouse. Though she knew the gravity of the situation, she wore a sunny smile which almost deceived Brit.

“Hey, Sis—Did you know Brit’s getting married?”

“She told me over the phone.”

Denise gave Brit a hug, then shook Roman’s hand. “I knew you were the important person in Brit’s past. That’s why no man has ever been able to get to first base with her. It’s been a long time since high school, Roman.” She winked one of her appealing brown eyes at him, then grabbed Brit’s hand to inspect the ring at close range.

“It’s absolutely breathtaking, Brit. You lucky...” she murmured under her breath.

Brit and Denise had been best friends since they were ten years old, long enough for Brit to realize Denise had just sent her a private message.

Roman’s mouth turned up at the corner. Obviously he was amused and pleased that Denise was playing her part so well.

“Denise—” Brit interjected at last “—since Roman is my fiancé, I want you two to become close friends.”

“That won’t be hard,” Denise exclaimed. “Rod? I think we should celebrate. Why don’t you run to the store and bring home some drinks and donuts. Dad left money in the drawer in the kitchen.”

“Okay. I’ll go.”

“You have a nice brother,” Roman said as soon as Rod disappeared out the front door. “In fact you did a masterful job of covering up the truth, Ms. Martin.”

“Denise,” she urged him before her expression grew solemn. “Thank you. So did you. I mean—you and Brit—Well, let’s just say that you both could have fooled me.”

“That’s good.”

“Please.” She spread her hands. “Make yourselves comfortable. Rod will be back before we know it.”

“I’m glad he’s out of earshot. Just so you know, I’ve assigned some of my colleagues to keep round-the-clock surveillance on you and your brother. As I told Brit, no one knows how much information Baird picked up on the two of you that you’re not aware of. We do know he mentioned you in the letters to Brit, so I’m not taking any chances.”

“Thank you, Roman.” Denise’s voice shook. “Like Brit, my parents and I will be willing to pay any price for peace of mind.”

“We’ll worry about the bill later, all right?”

She nodded. “You’re very kind. What can I do to help?”

“For one thing, we’ll want you and Rod to witness our wedding in three days’ time. I’m thinking we’ll do it at Brit’s parents’ home, if they agree.”

“Three days?” Denise blinked.

“That’s right,” he murmured. “We have to move fast.”

Brit spoke up. “I—I’m sure it will be fine with Mom and Dad, Roman.”

He nodded approvingly before his gaze switched back to Denise. “What we need from you is to throw us a party day after tomorrow. Let’s make it an evening affair, informal. I’ll pay for the pizza. Phone anyone you want. Brit’s friends from work, from her church, your mutual friends.”

“Like a couples’ shower?”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “You know the kind.”

Denise’s eyes looked mischievous. “I do.”

“When we leave here, you can get on the phone to people. As for right now, I want you to tell me everything you can remember about Glen Baird from the very first moment you saw him. I want to hear any details you can share, no matter how insignificant they may have appeared to you at the time.”

She shared a private look with Brit. “I’m sure she’s told you everything. He gave all of us the creeps. But when everyone shied away from him, I felt kind of bad for him. That is until we got home and he started sending Brit those ghastly letters.”

Roman nodded. “I can understand that. Most stalkers are disgruntled humans reaching out for love or attention in the only way they know how. In the course of their actions, they make mistakes a child could follow and are soon caught.

“The large percentage don’t have intentions of causing physical injury, though they put their victims through unquestionable hell and emotional anguish. Unfortunately Baird is an unknown commodity, which is why we need to assume he could be dangerous to Brit and you.”

Brit stirred restlessly. “I think being stalked is one of the most awful things that can be done to a person.”

Roman’s gaze flicked to her. “It’s the reason for the anti-stalking laws. But in the end, it comes down to money. Our local law enforcement agencies don’t have the funds to pay for extended stakeouts and surveillance.

“This last year I’ve been gathering information to prepare a bill for the Utah legislature which asks that public funds be granted to known stalking victims to bring their perpetrators to justice in the shortest amount of time possible. Bills like this are being initiated in other states, as well.

“But enough of that for now. You two need to help me understand Baird. Try to remember. Any little detail could help.”

You’re an amazing man, Roman Lufka. One in a million. How was I lucky enough to have picked you out of all the other private investigators?


CHAPTER THREE

“YOUR parents are delightful people, Brit.”

In the darkness his deep voice reached out to touch her as they drove along Wasatch Boulevard toward his home. The thought of living with him filled her with an inexplicable excitement. Try as she might, she was having trouble remembering that he was simply a private investigator hired to guard her. On both an emotional and physical level, no man had ever affected her this profoundly.

“Thank you. They were very impressed with you, too.” So impressed, in fact, that they were willing to put their faith in his hands. Not once did they raise an eyebrow over the unorthodox situation.

Brit wasn’t surprised. Roman made a powerful impact on people. Even Denise hadn’t been immune to his commanding, virile appeal.

As for her parents, their eagerness to comply with Roman’s wishes and put on a wedding in so short a time—despite her father’s heart condition—was nothing short of miraculous. They acted almost as if it were going to be the real thing, conversing animatedly with Roman, treating him like a true son-in-law to be.

The specter of Glen Baird seemed to have taken a back seat to the wedding preparations, all of which Roman assured them he would handle down to the last detail. Tonight Brit, herself, could be forgiven for thinking the unsolicited letters sent by that freak were a figment of her imagination.

“We’re home,” he murmured at last, slowing down to turn into the driveway of a home hidden by trees on densely wooded property. He pressed the Genie on his sun visor and they slid quietly into the double car garage where she saw a slate-blue BMW convertible parked.

The modern glass-and-wood house on Spruce Hollow Drive, aptly named for its many pine trees, was definitely a man’s domain. No feminine frills anywhere, yet it invited.

When Roman came around to help her from the car, her arm accidentally brushed against his solid male chest, sending another dart of awareness through her body. On trembling legs she followed him through a door at the side of the garage into an entry hall where framed graphics of surrealistic drawings hung on the walls, capturing her attention.

Brit fell in love with the hardwood floors stained in a dark walnut color. The wood moldings and wainscoting against the off-white walls of the main living areas came as a surprise and added a traditional flavor. The same dark stained shutters at the windows gave total privacy, while the leather easy chairs and sofas, modern lighting and glass dining table off the kitchen with its own bar counter and stools gave the interior warmth.

A book-lined study complete with cherrywood desk and computer software, also contained a large television and VCR. Everything was tasteful, comfortable and unpretentious.

“The bedrooms are along this hallway. Mine is in front. I’ll put you in the middle bedroom because it has a comfortable queen-size bed, and the bathroom is just across the hall. I’ve been using the last bedroom as a storeroom. It needs to be decorated and furnished. Unfortunately I haven’t had the time to see about it yet.”

Because of people like me, she mused guiltily.

He sounded very matter of fact, but Brit couldn’t stop thinking about the sleeping arrangements. During the night, a mere wall would be separating them. Except for her father, she’d never lived in the same house with a man.

Sleeping in Roman’s home would be a very different proposition. Somehow she was going to have to forget that his bed was so close to hers. But try as she might, she knew she wouldn’t be able to prevent certain intimate pictures of him from forming in her mind.

His strong, whipcord frame and dark good looks made her think thoughts she’d never entertained about a man in relationship to herself. They brought the heat to her cheeks as he paused at the door to the middle bedroom.

She felt his narrowed gaze wander over her. No doubt he’d noticed her flushed face. “Make yourself at home. I’ve already done up your bed with fresh linen and put clean towels in the bathroom for you.”

She swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. “Thank you again. It seems like that is all I ever say to you.”

“It’s nice to hear,” came the low-pitched response. “Just remember. If you didn’t need my services, I would be out of a job. I should be the one thanking you.”

At that comment she couldn’t help but smile, then shyly met his level gaze. It was a mistake. In the semidarkness of the hall, their proximity, combined with his masculinity, was all too potent. “Your point is well taken. Nevertheless, I am grateful.”

She noted the quick rise and fall of his chest, wondering what exactly was going through his mind. After all, it was almost midnight.

Most likely he was anxious to do whatever it was he did when he was alone. Providing living quarters for a client who was going to be underfoot around the clock had to be a new experience for him, too. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden.

“I—I’m sure you’re tired, Roman. I know I am, so I’ll say good-night and see you in the morning.”

She’d moved halfway into the room when he said, “Why don’t you join me for a nightcap first?”

Much as she would have loved to say yes, she didn’t dare. For a lot of reasons she was afraid to explore, it would be better if she went straight to bed. Besides, he’d only mentioned the idea out of courtesy to a guest. “I appreciate the offer, but I had a soda at Mom and Dad’s.”

His unreadable expression didn’t change. “All right then. Sleep well.” After hesitating a moment longer, he disappeared down the hall, leaving her feeling out of sorts.

Though her body was exhausted, she couldn’t imagine being able to sleep. Maybe a hot shower would help her mind as well as her body to relax. Grabbing a nightgown and robe from her suitcase, she crossed the hall to the bright, modern bathroom and shut the door.

The fluffy towels, a black, beige and white stripe, reminded her of him, making it impossible for her to turn off her errant thoughts. The soap and shampoo he supplied, everything carried his stamp, increasing her cognizance of his vital, living presence in her life.

She slipped out of her clothes and submitted herself to the spray, wishing she could blot him from her consciousness. Eight hours ago she hadn’t known of his existence.

How could one man have changed her life so drastically since four o’clock this afternoon?

Roman could hear the water running while he locked up the house and turned off lights. Much as he tried to concentrate. on anything else, he couldn’t prevent vivid images of the woman in the shower from passing through his mind.

He’d entertained houseguests on numerous occasions, mostly his brother and sister-in-law and their children.

This was different.

No way could he forget Brit Langford was standing under that water. With clothes on, she was breathtaking. The sight of her without—

Stop right there, Lufkilovich.

Realizing it was going to be a long night, he headed for the kitchen and pulled a can of beer from the fridge. He rarely drank anything alcoholic, but tonight he needed something to offset the adrenaline running rampant through his body.

When the beer didn’t give him the relief he craved, he had a strong urge to call his elder brother, Yuri. But it was two in the morning in New York. Out of the question!

He could phone his best friend, Cal Rawlings, Diana’s husband. Unfortunately it was past their bedtime and he hated waking either of them.

The only other person he felt inclined to confide in was Chief Wilson. Nevada was an hour earlier than Salt Lake. Maybe it wouldn’t be too late to give him a jingle and discuss Brit’s case with him.

The older man reminded Roman of his deceased father. They’d hit it off during the stakeout. Crazy as it was, he wanted the chief and his wife to attend the mock wedding. Or maybe he just wanted verification that he’d done the right thing in going undercover as Brit’s husband.

To his chagrin, when he made the phone call, there was no answer and no machine asking that he leave a message. It could mean the chief had gone to bed. Or he and his wife were out somewhere.

Frustrated, Roman turned off the kitchen light and headed for his ensuite bathroom to brush his teeth. He’d have to phone him in the morning.

All was quiet in the house. Brit had gone to bed. By the time he’d slid under the covers, he was angry with himself and glad he hadn’t talked to anyone.

You’re losing it, Lufkilovich. The woman asleep in the next room has slipped past all your reliable defenses and has somehow worked her way beneath your skin. You’re not the same man you were before you took this case.

Far into the night Roman wrestled with his own particular demons, then shot out of bed when he heard a scream that sounded like the fabric of a blood-curdling nightmare.

Brit!

He entered her room without knocking and turned on the overhead light, forgetting that he wore nothing more than the bottom half of his sweats.

She was thrashing about under her covers, making terrified moaning sounds, obviously deeply disturbed.

Cursing the hairy-faced monster who had done this to her, he sat down on the side of the bed and called her name, urging her to wake up.

Her eyes suddenly flew open. Through the curtain of her disheveled hair, he could see they were glazed over. She didn’t recognize him.

“Brit—It’s Roman.” He smoothed the ash-gold strands from her pale face. Right now she possessed an almost ethereal beauty. But it was the moisture on her cheeks that brought out his protective instincts like nothing he’d ever experienced in quite the same way before. “You’ve had a nightmare.”

His voice appeared to bring her back to some semblance of reality. “I—I don’t understand.”

She was disoriented. “You’re at my house, Brit. Remember? I heard you cry out.”

She blinked before realizing the state of her undress and lifted the sheet to cover herself. During her struggle, the pale blue nylon gown she was wearing had become somewhat twisted, the sleeve having fallen down her arm to the elbow. He’d seen enough to guarantee that he’d never get to sleep now. Maybe never again.

A deep rose color tinted her dewy skin.

She knew what he’d seen. Lord.

“I’m all right now,” she whispered, averting her eyes.

The hardest thing he’d ever had to do was get up from that bed. Looming over her, he said, “I’m sorry to have burst in on you like that, but the terror in your voice wouldn’t let me ignore you.”

She shook her head. “I-it’s all right, Roman. I’m sorry that I disturbed you. Since those letters started coming, I’ve had a lot of violent dreams. Living alone, I guess I didn’t realize just how bad they’ve become.”

“Can I bring you some tea, or some hot chocolate? Something to soothe your nerves?”

She moistened her lips. “No, thank you. I’ll be all right. I brought some books with me. Reading always helps.”

“You’re sure? If you want, I’ll stay with you awhile.”

“No,” she said a little too forcefully for his liking. “I’ve imposed on you enough. Please—go back to bed. I’ll be fine.”

He sucked in his breath, fighting the almost overwhelming desire to climb under the covers and hold her so she wouldn’t be frightened anymore.

“If you need me during the night, call out and I’ll hear you.”

Slowly she lifted her gaze to his, those orbs so dark with turbulent emotion, they looked closer to black than blue. “I pray I won’t disturb you again.”

“I don’t mind,” came the words from deep inside him.

Her eyes closed. “But I do. Good night, Roman.”

He turned on the bedside lamp. “Good night.”

As soon as he’d flicked off the overhead light and shut the door, she reached for the novel she’d put on the nightstand. Twenty minutes later, after she’d read the same page for the tenth time, she gave up, turned out the light and sank down under the covers.

Her body felt alive in a brand new way, like it was on fire...

When he’d looked at her just now, something had ignited in the recesses of his eyes, turning the flecks in those green irises to gold. It was as if a charge of electricity had leaped clear of his body to find a place in her own, energizing her with his life-giving force.

Though he hadn’t touched any part of her except her hair, she felt a connection with him as real and vital as something tangible. Filled with more intimate thoughts of him, her eyelids finally drooped and at some point she knew no more until she heard him call her to breakfast.

Through bleary eyes she glanced at her watch. It was ten to nine. She never slept in this late, but after the events of last night, Brit realized her body needed the extra sleep. Still, she was embarrassed by what had transpired. Furthermore she felt selfish, especially when she’d kept Roman awake part of the night and knew there was a huge amount of work to be accomplished today.

After scrambling to make her bed, she freshened up, then dressed in jeans and a blouse to join him.

Cereal, eggs, juice awaited her at the dining room table. She tucked right in and told him food had never tasted so good before. Fortunately she caught herself before she blurted that he looked good, too. Especially in that black T-shirt and hip-hugging Levi’s.

Last night all he’d been wearing were the bottom half of his pajamas or some facsimile. He was a gorgeous male. She could hardly breathe just remembering the sight of him when she’d first been awakened by his voice.

With difficulty, she finished eating, then took her plate to the sink. “Let me do the dishes, please.”

His enticing mouth curved upward. “That’s what I was hoping to hear, but they’ll have to wait. I’ve phoned a moving company. They’re sending a small van to your condo within forty-five minutes. We need to get over there right now so you can pack what you need to bring here. The rest we’ll put in storage.”

“I won’t want much.”

He studied her for a brief moment. “Bring anything you like. There’s plenty of room.”

“Even for Tiger?”

“Tiger?”

“She’s an alley cat who comes around once in a while for food and a little love.”

A smile hovered at the corner of his mouth. “If she’s there, bring her along, too.”

“I didn’t mean it, Roman. She’s a wild cat and knows how to survive. But thank you anyway,” she said softly, rubbing her palms together before looking away.

So far there was nothing about Roman Lufka she didn’t like. She’d been trying to find something—anything—which would help her keep her perspective in this situation.

“I’ve already arranged for your phone and fuel to be disconnected. The post office now has a hold on your mail. We’ll pick it up every day at the Foothill outlet. In case this weirdo changes his mind and sends you something else in the mail, I want the postmaster to open it. That kind of corroborating testimony will weigh heavily, if and when charges are brought against him.”

She experienced relief knowing she would never have to open a letter or package from Glen Baird again.

“Roman—I—I realize I sound like a broken record, but I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It’s my job, Brit.”

“One that puts your life in danger all the time.”

“Not all the time,” he insisted wryly. “If you want to know the truth, it was inevitable that I was born with a desire to live life on the edge.”

She blinked. “Inevitable?”

“Hmm... Perhaps you’ve heard of C and G Surveillance Products, Inc.?”

“No. I presume you’re talking about bugging devices and the like.”

“That’s right. My grandfather, Constantine, and his brother, Gregorio, started the business before WWII broke out. Later, when the military came to them with a contract, the company grew into an enormous enterprise which my father and uncles expanded. By the time my brother Yuri and I, and all our cousins came along, it had gone national with outlets all over the country.”

Brit was fascinated. “You mean your company makes suitcases that blow apart like we see in the James Bond movies?”

He smiled. “Can you imagine what heaven that was? Two little boys growing up, playing with every spy gadget and camera known to mankind?”

“I can. It’s something which would have appealed to me, as well. For a period of time in my young life, I wanted to be a boy because they had more fun. That is until Lance Crawford, the marble king of the fifth grade, told me I was a better player than all the boys, and gave me his favorite steelie marble. From that point on, I was kind of glad to be a female.”

His chuckle joined hers and they stared at each other, fully enjoying the moment.

“By the time we were adults,” he finally continued, “Yuri wanted to keep inventing stuff.”

“Like what, for instance?”

“Have you got all day?” Roman quipped. “The truth is, there’s every kind of camera known to man out there, and some you haven’t even thought of. If you’re really interested, I’ve got brochures. You’re welcome to devour the contents.”

She gave him the benefit of an unguarded smile. “So he invents, and you try everything out.”

His lips quirked. “That’s right. Today my brother is the CEO of the company. I’m a major stockholder, but I have my own life and I’m very content as I am. So you see? There’s nothing noble about what I do for a living.




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