Always

a single bound. Now I'm in big trouble.'

'You're damn right you are,' Clancy said. 'You weren't only stupid, you were careless. I'm tempted to send you back to Sedikhan. A rookie operative would have shown more savvy.' He jerked his thumb at the two guards. 'Replace them, and see if you can find anyone on the island with eyes in their heads.' He was propelling Lisa across the courtyard toward the French doors that led to the bedroom. 'And until you can find someone, I expect you to roost outside these doors yourself. Understand?'

Galbraith nodded. 'I won't be able to replace them until tomorrow. I hope to hell we don't get one of those charming tropical showers tonight.'

'Maybe it would wash some sense into that head of yours. Looking like a schoolboy is a professional advantage, acting like one is professional suicide.' He ignored Galbraith's grimace as he closed the French doors behind them.

He released Lisa's arm and turned away. 'Galbraith won't make that mistake again. You won't even be allowed into the courtyard without permission.' He strode toward the door across the room. 'This is the only other exit, and I'll be on the other side. I assure you that I'll be a hell of a lot more careful than Galbraith.' He looked over his shoulder, and for an instant there was the hint of a smile lighting the grimness of his expression. 'I know you better.'

'You don't know me at all.'

'You're wrong. I don't know you as well as I'm going to, but I do know you.' He opened the door. 'I'm going to get you something to eat. You'll probably feel better if you wash some of that sand off. However, if you don't feel up to it, I'll be glad to help. It's a valet service I'm always willing to provide when I kidnap a lady.' The door closed behind him with a soft, decisive click.

Three

Lisa stared blankly at the closed door. The abrupt change from brisk, threatening incisiveness to half-humorous sensuality had once more caught her off guard. How many sides were there to, the man's personality, anyway? She drew a deep breath and turned toward the bathroom. Even if she hadn't felt abominably gritty, she would have obeyed Donahue's last suggestion. He was too unknown a quantity for her to be certain that he'd been joking, and she definitely didn't want to be exposed to any more intimacies. She was still too bewildered and wary about her reaction to Donahue just now on the beach to take a chance of repeating the scene.

Forty minutes later she had finished showering, shampooing and drying her hair. Another ten minutes and she was dressed in baggy white linen slacks and a loose thigh-length cotton sweater in a warm melon shade. She coiled her hair in a careless knot on top of her head and nodded with satisfaction at her reflection in the mirror. No one could say there was anything in the least provocative about her appearance, and that was just what she intended. She thrust her feet into white canvas sandals and was ready for the fray. For a moment she stood there, trying to gather her composure. She had to come to an understanding with Donahue, and she hoped that understanding would bring them to terms on her release. If she could maintain the same aggressiveness and cool control she had noticed in him, perhaps he would see that she wouldn't permit him to keep her here. The only problem was that aggressiveness wasn't exactly her area of expertise. If it had been, she wouldn't be having this painful dilemma with Martin. She had always been too soft, and Martin had known exactly how to manipulate that weakness to his own advantage.;

But Donahue didn't know about that regrettable softness, and if she put up a bold-enough front, perhaps he wouldn't discover it.

Well, she couldn't sit meekly in her own room and wait for Donahue to come to her. That would automatically place him in a position of psychological power. She strode swiftly to the door through which he'd disappeared and tried it. It was unlocked. She threw it open and went in search of Donahue.

The living area of the villa was as quietly luxurious as the bedroom, with thick carpets in a shade of antique gold and contemporary furniture inhues of brown, ranging from deepest chocolate to creamy beige. Everything was sleek, beautifully decorated, extremely expensive, and somehow… impersonal. Yes, that was the word. It had the impersonal air of a hotel room.

The kitchen where she found Donahue was equally efficient and impersonal. Stainless-steel and cool blues predominated, but they were no more icy than the glance Donahue threw her as he whirled to face her when she walked through the louvered door. For an instant his face was wary, his stance as ready for action as a cocked pistol. Then he recognized her and obviously forced himself to relax. What kind of experiences and how many years living on the edge of danger had bred that wariness? she wondered with a fleeting sympathy. 'I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought we should get that discussion out of the way.'

'I didn't expect you.' He pointed to the breakfast bar across the room. 'Sit down. I've made you a chefs salad and a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. Do you want coffee or milk?'

'Coffee.' She hesitated a moment, then walked over to the navy-blue cushioned stool he'd indicated. So much for her aggressive, businesslike behavior. Donahue was treating her with the casual intimacy of an invited guest, making it impossible for her to respond with the belligerence she would have chosen to display. 'This isn't necessary. If you'd just let me go back to the hotel, you wouldn't have to bother with KP duty.'

'It's no bother.' He crossed the room and set the wooden salad bowl in front of her. 'All we have onhand is a bottle of Italian dressing. Will that be all right?' 'Yes, but…'

He wasn't listening. He was at the refrigerator taking out a bottle of dressing and a container of cream. He set the two items before her. 'I usually make coffee a little strong. I hope that's all right.' 'Fine.' With barely contained impatience, she watched him pour two cups from the pot on the counter. 'I'm not really hungry. I want to talk- ?'

'Eat. We'll talk later.' He smiled faintly. 'You'll need your strength.'

Lisa cast him a rebellious glance and reached for the coffee. She almost choked as she took a sip. 'A little strong! Good Lord, what did you use to brew it? Tar?'

He frowned and tasted his own coffee, then immediately made a face. 'Sorry. I've had to have it this strong to keep me awake for the last twenty-four hours. I must have automatically made it the same strength this time.'

'You haven't slept for over twenty-four hours?' she asked, startled.

'Closer to forty-eight, not counting the catnap I took on the plane from L.A.' He took her cup to the sink and poured it down the drain, then did the same with the coffee in the coffee maker on the countertop. 'I'll make a fresh pot.'

'Why?'

He glanced over his shoulder. 'What?'

'Why did you stay awake? You couldn't have been afraid I'd escape. I was practically a zombie.'

'I made you a promise,' he said simply. 'You seemed worried about…' He paused. 'Aboutbeing alone when John brought you to the villa. I promised I wouldn't leave you.'

She felt a sudden flutter of warmth, which she was quick to suppress. 'That sounds remarkably sentimental for a man in your profession.' She looked down at the plate in front of her. 'Are you sure you weren't just afraid I'd kick the bucket and leave you to face a murder charge?'

He frowned. 'I'm sure. I don't lie, Lisa. If I make a statement, then you can be damn sure it's the truth as I see it. I don't deny I was worried about you, even though the doctor at the lab assured me you'd safely sleep off the effects of the overdose. You could have been more obliging and reacted as they predicted. First you woke up earlier than they said you would. Then you zonked out again and proceeded to sleep like Rip Van Winkle. I've never been so scared in my life as when you decided to oversleep the lab boys' estimate, but it was for you I was frightened, not myself.' He reset the strength level on the coffee maker and turned to face her. 'Alex told me the other night that he thought I'd finally run across something I couldn't handle. I denied it. I wouldn't deny it today.'

She averted her eyes and took a bite of her sandwich. 'Not many men could handle a kidnapping with aplomb.'

'The kidnapping I can handle. It's what happened between us on the beach that I'm having problems with. I think you know that.'