Roan by Jennifer Blake Page A

advantage of his brief moment of remorse. She couldn’t afford to ignore any possible advantage.
    Swallowing her reluctance, she reached up to wipe moisture from the corner of her eye in a gesture she was surehe couldn’t miss. “I was just so glad to get away from those creeps,” she said, allowing her voice to turn husky. “I thought I was free. Then to be shot was—well, it was a shock.”
    â€œI suppose it must have been.”
    â€œBut it was so dark, as you said. I really can’t blame you for thinking I might be one of the criminals.”
    His eyes narrowed a fraction. “I’m glad to hear it. Especially since there’s something I need you to do for me.”
    â€œOh?” It was possible she had laid it on too thick.
    â€œNothing major. In fact, it shouldn’t hurt a bit.” He tapped the molded black case he’d placed on the foot of the bed.
    She glanced at the featureless box, then back up at him again. “I don’t think I understand.”
    He smiled with a slow curving of his lips that banished the sternness from his sun-bronzed features and lit his eyes with silver glints. “Sorry. I thought you might recognize the drill. It’s your basic identification process. You know, fingerprints?”

3
    â€œI ’m not a criminal.” Tory curled her fingers into fists in a gesture of unconscious protection.
    â€œPeople are printed for a lot of things that have nothing to do with crime,” Roan answered as he began to lay out his kit. “It’s part of the drill for high-risk jobs, plus the state of Louisiana requires it for liquor licensees and people connected to legalized gambling. Men and women have it done as a safety measure, and we go into schools every year to print kids for the same reason.”
    â€œNone of which applies to me.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    She looked away. “I think so. Who knows?”
    â€œExactly. If we run your prints through the computer and come up with a match, we won’t have to guess anymore. That makes it worth a try.”
    He was so reasonable and so right. She hated that. In stiff tones, she said, “It’s the principle of the thing. Besides, computers make mistakes.”
    â€œYou have nothing to worry about if you’ve lived a blameless life.”
    â€œRight,” she drawled in imitation of his dry certainty. She was being manipulated and she knew it. It was possiblethere was a reason. “Am I under arrest?” she demanded. “Is that what this is about?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say that.”
    â€œAnd I suppose you didn’t stay here all night to make sure I didn’t escape, either?”
    â€œNot much chance of that.” A smile creased his lean jaw.
    He hadn’t denied the charge. He’d just been doing his job then. “That’s no answer,” she said sharply.
    His smile faded. “You’re listed as Donna Doe for the moment, and you’re in my custody. You’ll be charged, or not, depending on what we turn up in the investigation of your alleged kidnapping.”
    Alleged. Nothing she’d said so far had made the least impression on the man beside her bed. The only way to prevent herself from becoming entangled in legal complications was to cooperate fully with him. Yet how could she?
    For an instant, she let herself think of telling Roan Benedict everything for the pleasure of seeing his face when the phalanx of her designer-suited lawyers descended on this one-horse town with a veritable snow of writs and a private jet to whisk her away. But her fiancé would be on hand as well, with bushel baskets of flowers and murderous intentions. She might be coddled and petted and her every whim instantly gratified, but she’d be terrified to fall asleep on the journey back to Florida for fear that somehow, some way, Harrell would see to it she never woke up again.
    No, she couldn’t risk