about the possible danger rather than something more intimate. "I'll be fine," she repeated.
Devon stared at her for a moment, then bent and kissed her quickly. "If I didn't believe that," he said somewhat roughly, "I wouldn't be leaving. Lock the damned door."
She locked the door behind him, then leaned back against it for a moment. Oddly enough, there was little in her thoughts concerning faceless enemies trying to frighten her—or worse. She wandered back into the living room and looked at Ching, still sitting on the coffee table and regarding her enigmatically.
"How about that?" she murmured to him. "I have a prince."
"Yah," Ching said softly.
In his position across the street from the apartment building, the man was virtually hidden in the shadows. He watched the lighted windows on the third floor, his gaze shifting from time to time to probe the front entrance of the building. The rear entrance was barred from inside; he had checked.
The lights in the third-floor apartment went out, but the man didn't move. He barely noticed the increasing chill as the night wore on, and when muscles protested his stillness he flexed them absently and expertly without much movement; anyone passing by him in that moment would have seen nothing.
He watched, and the night passed. No one approached the apartment building across the street.
"Well?"
"She doesn't have them."
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
"Then—"
"We have another problem."
"What?"
"There's a joker in the deck."
Four
Lara worked most of the next day in her apartment. Devon called around nine, saying he'd just wanted to make sure she was all right. After saying he would pick her up at noon for lunch, he hung up somewhat abruptly. She wondered if he had guessed that, given half a chance, she would have avoided the lunch date.
The truth was Lara hardly knew what she was feeling—particularly about Devon. The sense of relief she felt in having shared her secret with him was almost overwhelming, and yet she was nagged by the awareness that she shouldn't have done it. She shouldn't have broken the most rigid rule of the federal protection program: Tell no one.
And even though her confession to him had brought relief, so much else hadn't been changed by it. She still felt isolated, alone. Separate.
And wary. Wary, especially, of Devon. He had said that he wouldn't leave, had seemingly accepted both her burdens and her unwillingness to call in the authorities; and yet, he was clearly struggling against his own desire for her.
"You've gone quiet on me again," he said.
He had surprised her by producing a picnic basket and then driving to Pinewood's single park, which was on the edge of town at a small lake. The fall day was clear and warm, the park virtually deserted, and they had spread their blanket near the lake.
Lara tried to think of a response to his remark, one he would accept. They had finished lunch, and had repacked the picnic basket. He was lying, on his side, on one elbow, regarding her gravely. She thought he looked a little tired, as if he hadn't slept much.
"Lara?"
"You have the most amazing voice," she blurted.
One of his flying brows lifted, and the sapphire eyes held a flash of laughter before shadows replaced the amusement. "Have I?"
She looked at him somewhat helplessly. When he was with her, the suspicions faded away until they didn't seem to matter; it was when she was alone that those awful doubts crept in. "Yes. It—it just isn't fair, dammit!"
"Sorry," he murmured, smiling.
Lara fumbled for another topic. Without food to occupy their attention, she could no longer even try to block out her awareness of him. And, no matter what he'd said later, she couldn't help remembering that he had virtually told her to refuse him the night before.
"Don't you have to get back to your office?" she said finally. "It's after one."
"No, there's no hurry. Schedules are very informal in the design section. I think that's usually the case on the
Devon stared at her for a moment, then bent and kissed her quickly. "If I didn't believe that," he said somewhat roughly, "I wouldn't be leaving. Lock the damned door."
She locked the door behind him, then leaned back against it for a moment. Oddly enough, there was little in her thoughts concerning faceless enemies trying to frighten her—or worse. She wandered back into the living room and looked at Ching, still sitting on the coffee table and regarding her enigmatically.
"How about that?" she murmured to him. "I have a prince."
"Yah," Ching said softly.
In his position across the street from the apartment building, the man was virtually hidden in the shadows. He watched the lighted windows on the third floor, his gaze shifting from time to time to probe the front entrance of the building. The rear entrance was barred from inside; he had checked.
The lights in the third-floor apartment went out, but the man didn't move. He barely noticed the increasing chill as the night wore on, and when muscles protested his stillness he flexed them absently and expertly without much movement; anyone passing by him in that moment would have seen nothing.
He watched, and the night passed. No one approached the apartment building across the street.
"Well?"
"She doesn't have them."
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
"Then—"
"We have another problem."
"What?"
"There's a joker in the deck."
Four
Lara worked most of the next day in her apartment. Devon called around nine, saying he'd just wanted to make sure she was all right. After saying he would pick her up at noon for lunch, he hung up somewhat abruptly. She wondered if he had guessed that, given half a chance, she would have avoided the lunch date.
The truth was Lara hardly knew what she was feeling—particularly about Devon. The sense of relief she felt in having shared her secret with him was almost overwhelming, and yet she was nagged by the awareness that she shouldn't have done it. She shouldn't have broken the most rigid rule of the federal protection program: Tell no one.
And even though her confession to him had brought relief, so much else hadn't been changed by it. She still felt isolated, alone. Separate.
And wary. Wary, especially, of Devon. He had said that he wouldn't leave, had seemingly accepted both her burdens and her unwillingness to call in the authorities; and yet, he was clearly struggling against his own desire for her.
"You've gone quiet on me again," he said.
He had surprised her by producing a picnic basket and then driving to Pinewood's single park, which was on the edge of town at a small lake. The fall day was clear and warm, the park virtually deserted, and they had spread their blanket near the lake.
Lara tried to think of a response to his remark, one he would accept. They had finished lunch, and had repacked the picnic basket. He was lying, on his side, on one elbow, regarding her gravely. She thought he looked a little tired, as if he hadn't slept much.
"Lara?"
"You have the most amazing voice," she blurted.
One of his flying brows lifted, and the sapphire eyes held a flash of laughter before shadows replaced the amusement. "Have I?"
She looked at him somewhat helplessly. When he was with her, the suspicions faded away until they didn't seem to matter; it was when she was alone that those awful doubts crept in. "Yes. It—it just isn't fair, dammit!"
"Sorry," he murmured, smiling.
Lara fumbled for another topic. Without food to occupy their attention, she could no longer even try to block out her awareness of him. And, no matter what he'd said later, she couldn't help remembering that he had virtually told her to refuse him the night before.
"Don't you have to get back to your office?" she said finally. "It's after one."
"No, there's no hurry. Schedules are very informal in the design section. I think that's usually the case on the
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