Читать книгу Murdock's Last Stand - Beverly Barton - Страница 10

He would have known her anywhere. Could have picked her from a lineup of a hundred women. She had class written all over her. Catherine Price might as well have had twenty-two Karat Gold stamped on her forehead. She was the genuine article. He had known enough women in his time to recognize a real lady when he saw one. He remembered Lanny saying his little girl was beautiful, just like her mama, but he hadn’t paid much attention to a father’s praise of his only child. Murdock had no idea what she’d looked like as a kid, but Lanny’s little girl had grown up to be one fine-looking woman.

Her gaze met his and locked instantly. An odd sensation hit Murdock in the gut, as if a hard fist had knocked the air out of him. Her blue eyes, so much like her father’s, held him spellbound for a split second. She tilted her head, and he noted an air of snobbery in her expression, as if she’d just encountered something unpleasant and couldn’t quite figure out the mannerly way to react. With mixed emotions bombarding him, he shook off the crazy feelings swirling around inside him and marched forward to meet Lanny’s daughter.

Agent Hendricks, carrying a briefcase manacled to his wrist, followed Catherine’s quick steps as she headed straight toward Murdock. He realized that, without introductions, she knew exactly who he was. She’d recognized him instantly, as he had her.

When she drew nearer, he noticed how tall she was, a good six feet in her sensible two-inch navy heels. And although she was trim in her simple navy suit, her hips and breasts were rounded nicely, accentuating her tiny waist. Her shiny brown hair was secured in a large, neat bun at the base of her neck. A pair of large gold hoops shimmered in her earlobes and a heavy gold bracelet dangled on her left wrist.

“Mr. Murdock?” she inquired as she paused directly in front of him.

“Just Murdock, Ms. Price.”

Agent Hendricks stepped in front of Catherine and extended his hand. “Brian Hendricks,” he introduced himself. “As soon as I see your ID, I can hand Ms. Price and her briefcase—” he lifted his wrist to display the brown leather satchel “—over to you. Just standard procedure.”

Murdock whipped out his Dundee’s identification badge. Hendricks inspected the ID quickly.

“You have the key, don’t you, sir?” Hendricks asked.

Swallowing hard as she broke eye contact with Murdock, Catherine watched his huge hand as it delved into his pocket and produced the handcuff key. Then hurriedly, she rummaged in her purse for the key to the briefcase, wanting to make sure it was safe.

“Is that the key to the briefcase?” Murdock asked.

“What?” Momentarily flustered, Catherine hesitated before she replied. “Yes. Why?”

Without asking permission or making any comment, Murdock took the key from her. His big, callused fingertips brushed over the soft, smooth flesh of her palm. She sucked in a deep breath at the contact.

“Better let me keep that.” He realized that she’d felt it, too. That electrical current snapping between them at a mere touch. Damn! He didn’t like this. The last thing he had expected was to be attracted to Lanny’s daughter.

Catherine glowered at him, but didn’t respond.

Hendricks cleared his throat. Murdock hurriedly uncuffed the man and took possession of the briefcase containing a hundred thousand dollars in U.S. bills.

“Good luck, Ms. Price,” Hendricks said.

“Thank you.” Catherine extended her hand to the agent.

The minute Hendricks took her hand in his, the urge to grab her away from the drooling boy made Murdock act hastily. Without so much as a goodbye, he slid his arm around Catherine’s waist and drew her to his side. She tensed immediately and released Hendricks’s hand. Before she could voice a protest, Murdock maneuvered her around swiftly and headed her toward the baggage claims area.

“I don’t think it’s necessary for you to manhandle me, Mr. Murdock!” Catherine pulled away from him and stopped dead still.

Oh, but that was where she was wrong, he thought. You started out with a woman the way you intended to go. Catherine needed to realize that, from here on out, he was running the show.

“I didn’t realize I was manhandling you. I saw no reason to prolong your goodbyes to Agent Hendricks.” Murdock took a couple of steps forward, then paused when he noticed Catherine hadn’t moved. “The sooner we get you and this briefcase out of the airport, the better.”

She moved then, quickly and straight to his side. “You don’t honestly think I’m in any danger here in the Atlanta airport, do you?”

Murdock placed his arm around her again. This time she didn’t protest and fell into step beside him.

“You’re safe, as long as you’re with me.”

“Confident, aren’t you, Mr. Murdock?”

“Just Murdock, Catherine.”

He grinned when he felt her flinch at his use of her given name. Surely she didn’t expect him to call her Ms. Price. He wasn’t one of her students and he sure as hell wasn’t one of the refined Southern gentleman she dated.

He liked the fact that she was tall. Most women barely came to his shoulder, even in heels. But standing only six inches shorter than he, Catherine could look him square in the eye. Close enough to spit, he thought. And something told him that during this trip together, the time might come when she’d do just that—spit in his eye! Catherine might have been raised to be a lady by her Southern belle mother, but there had to be something of Lanny in her. Some streak of wildness. He’d bet his last dollar that a hot-blooded woman was hidden beneath that cool, controlled facade.

At the baggage claim, she pointed out her black suitcase and Murdock lifted it quickly, then hurried her out of the airport and to his car.

On the drive to Murdock’s apartment, their conversation consisted of such mundane matters as the details of their 8:00 am flight to Peru and the weather. When the silence between them reached the awkward stage, Murdock turned on the radio, setting the dial to a jazz and blues station. A mournful voice sang about love, loss and heartbreak.

Occasionally Catherine stole quick glances at Murdock’s chiseled profile. Hard chin and jaw. Clean shaven, with only a hint of a light aftershave. Short, neat, dark-brown hair. Confined alone with him in the small quarters of the car’s interior, she felt overwhelmed by his massive size. Aloysius Murdock was huge. And every ounce was pure muscle.

He was a much larger man than her father, who, although tall, had been lanky. But the aura of danger and power that surrounded Murdock reminded her of Lanny McCroskey. She had adored her big, macho father, even though she’d seen little of him during her young life. He had called her his kitten and even after the divorce, he had remembered her with expensive birthday presents, Christmas gifts and occasional phone calls. She had tried to hate him, had pretended that she never wanted to see him again, but when the news came that he’d been killed in Zaraza, she had mourned his death. Even now, after twenty years, she had conflicting feelings about the man who had fathered her. She both hated and loved him. But despite everything, she was willing to pay a hundred thousand dollars and perhaps risk her life to save him.

Something told her that men like her father—and men like Murdock—inspired those mixed feelings in their women. Their wives, daughters, sisters, lovers and perhaps even their mothers. Most women were drawn to big, bold, dangerous men and yet their common sense warned them to flee from the bad boys of this world. Her mother had learned, the hard way, that loving such a man caused immeasurable heartache.

Catherine had avoided men who even vaguely reminded her of Lanny, choosing instead to date the academic types. Rodney Price had been Lanny’s exact opposite. A quiet, gentle, soft-spoken gentleman who had enjoyed a night at the ballet as much if not more than an afternoon at a football stadium. She and Rodney had been a perfect match and she had been happy during the four years of their marriage. Her one regret, after Rodney’s death, was that he hadn’t left her with a child.

“We’re here,” Murdock said, his voice a baritone roar.

Catherine jumped at the sound. Jerked abruptly from her thoughts, she glanced through the windshield just in time to catch a glimpse of the renovated brick building. Murdock wheeled the Camaro into the ground-level garage and whipped it into a parking slot.

After lifting the briefcase from the floorboard, he rounded the hood and opened the door for Catherine. She mouthed a thank you, but refused his offered hand. He dropped his big paw, grinned and left her standing by the open car door. She slammed the door shut when he walked toward the trunk, then waited at his side until he’d retrieved her suitcase.

“I’ve got the loft apartment,” he said. “So, I use the old service elevator. Just follow me.”

“Have you lived here long?” Making conversation was something Catherine excelled at as a normal rule. Years as a teacher at Huntington Academy before she’d become headmistress of the school had taught her the art of speaking. She had charmed many a student and many a parent.

“I moved to Atlanta about eighteen months ago and found this place about a year ago.” He didn’t tell her that he’d bought the old building as an investment. “I completely renovated the loft.” He opened the iron-bar door of the service elevator and stood back, waiting for her to enter. When she eyed the contraption and hesitated, he chuckled. “I promise it’s safe.”

Reluctantly, she entered the elevator, then plastered a phony smile on her face, as if to say, See, I’m not afraid. But she suspected that he knew she was leery—of the elevator and of him.

The smooth ride up to the loft surprised her, but not as much as the spacious, tastefully decorated apartment that spread out before them when Murdock unlocked and swung open the double entry doors. The living room, kitchen and dining room were one huge area of painted white walls on the interior and old brick on the exterior side. Gleaming hardwood covered the floor and big wooden beams ran the expanse of the ceiling. An overstuffed leather sofa and twin chairs created a cozy, yet masculine living area in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Pleated shades allowed for privacy or sunlight. On the opposite side of the room an oil painting of a clipper ship tossing about in a storm hung on the wall behind the black lacquer table which was surrounded by six brass-and-steel chairs that mimicked Victorian bentwood chairs.

“Your apartment is…well, it’s wonderful.” Catherine wished she had been able to keep the surprised tone out of her voice. “You didn’t do this yourself. I mean, surely you hired someone to—”

Murdock slammed the door. Catherine jumped. Dammit, why was she so nervous? she wondered. Every unexpected sound made her overreact.

“Why do you assume I hired a decorator? Don’t you think a guy like me could put together something like this?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you—”

“Sure you did.” Murdock walked past her. “No need to be on your best behavior around me or try to be mannerly. We don’t know each other, but you’ve drawn some conclusions about me, just as I have about you. You figured a former mercenary who’s now a professional bodyguard has more brawn than brains and would probably live in a cluttered dump, with hot-and-cold running bimbos.”

“I didn’t say one word about bimbos!”

Murdock laughed, the sound like rumbling thunder. “Sit down and make yourself at home. I’ll put your suitcase in the bedroom.” He caught the startled look on her face and before she could protest, he said, “There are two bedrooms, so don’t be concerned that you’ll have to share a bed with me. Besides, why would I need you when I keep a bimbo on call twenty-four hours a day.”

Catherine’s eyes rounded into wide, startled, blue saucers. As Murdock disappeared behind a glass-block partition, she gritted her teeth. Only her strong willpower prevented her from stomping her foot. Damn the man! He enjoyed teasing her—another typical male trait she remembered Lanny McCroskey had possessed. She recalled when her mother had complained about his constant teasing, he’d said a man only teased a woman he liked. Then he’d kissed her mother and said or a woman he loves.

Did that mean that Murdock liked her? What did it matter? her inner voice questioned. He doesn’t have to like you to accompany you to Zaraza and act as your bodyguard. And you don’t have to like him. As a matter of fact, you’d be better off not liking him.

Just as she sat in one of the leather chairs, Murdock returned, minus his jacket. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows, revealing large, hairy forearms. A bevy of tiny nerves sent off shock waves inside her stomach. The man was so big, so overwhelmingly masculine that he took her breath away. Dear God, he intimidated the hell out of her.

“Want something to drink?” he asked. “Coffee? Tea? Cola? Whiskey?”

“Tea would be nice.”

“Hot or cold?”

“Uh-huh.” As if entranced in a hypnotic spell, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“Which?”

Warmth crept up her neck and into her face. Stop this right now! she warned herself. You’re acting like an idiot. So he intimidates you. Big deal! There is absolutely no reason to be afraid of him. Remember, he is supposed to be your protector.

“Hot tea, if it’s not too much trouble.” She deliberately avoided direct eye contact.

“Earl Grey?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.” Once again Murdock surprised her. She’d never have thought he would have Earl Grey tea in his cupboard. “By the way, did you put the briefcase in the bedroom, too?”

“I put the hundred thousand in the wall safe in my bedroom.”

“Oh.”

“You can trust me with the money, Catherine. There’s no one who wants to get Lanny out of that Zarazaian prison more than I do.”

“I wasn’t implying that you’d—”

“Sure you were, but don’t let it bother you. Despite the fact that Lanny is your father and was once my best friend doesn’t mean you and I have to be friends. Actually, to accomplish this mission, we don’t even have to like each other. All that’s necessary is for you to cooperate with me and follow my orders.”

“I’m well aware of the fact that you’re a professional, with years of experience in matters like this.” Catherine’s right hand fluttered nervously at her neck as her fingers toyed with the collar on her white silk blouse. “I have no intention of giving you any trouble, Mr. Murdock. I’m perfectly willing to accept your leadership in this matter.”

“Well, that takes a load off my mind, Catherine.” He emphasized the use of her given name and took great delight in the displeased look she gave him. But instincts warned him that her giving lip service to his leadership and actually following his orders were two different things entirely.

Murdock filled a kettle with tap water, then placed it on the stove eye to heat. Taking two black mugs and a small box from an upper cabinet, he set them on the counter and then removed a couple of tea bags and placed them in the oversize cups.

“I’d like to freshen up,” Catherine said.

“Bathroom is to your right, between the two bedrooms. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

She found the bathroom and hurried inside, then closed the door behind her. She slumped against the wall, letting her head rest on the cool glass-block surface that enclosed the small room. What was she doing here, in this man’s apartment, making preparations to fly away with him on a dangerous trip into foreign country? She didn’t have an adventurous bone in her body. All her life, she had taken the safe path, avoiding all unnecessary risks. And here she was, putting her life in this stranger’s hands, gambling her very existence on his ability to keep her safe. Had she completely lost her mind?

If you don’t go to Zaraza, your father will die in prison, her conscience taunted her. You have no choice, but to do the right thing. Somehow she knew that if her mother were alive, her mother would risk anything to save the man she had cut out of her life ages ago— A man whose name Mae Beth McCroskey had whispered with her last breath. If her mother had loved her father that much, then Lanny had to be worth saving.

Catherine wet a washcloth and patted the cool dampness over her face as she gazed into the mirror. She hadn’t slept well last night and it showed in the faint darkness under her eyes. After washing her hands, she left the sanctuary of the bathroom and returned to the kitchen area of Murdock’s apartment.

As she approached him, she said, “You knew my father very well, didn’t you?”

“He was my sergeant in Vietnam,” Murdock said. “That’s where we met. And then later, we worked together.”

“As mercenaries?” Catherine pulled out one of the round-back metal stools that lined the wide bar which separated the kitchen from the rest of the open space.

Murdock didn’t answer her immediately. Instead, he rummaged around in the refrigerator. When he turned to face her, he held a plate of sliced ham, a head of lettuce and a ripe red tomato. “Want a sandwich? It’s nearly dinnertime.”

Murdock placed the dish on the counter, puzzling over her sudden curiosity. Just what did Catherine want to know about her father? he wondered. How much did he dare tell her about Lanny’s life? About the assignments they had shared, the risks they’d taken, the bloodbaths they had been a part of more than once. He didn’t think Lanny would want his little girl to know the details of his soldier-of-fortune life.

“I know that after my father returned from Vietnam, he resigned from the army and became a mercenary,” she continued. “His job choice was one of the reasons he and my mother eventually divorced.”

“Then why ask me, if you already know?”

“Because I never really knew Lanny McCroskey.” Catherine eased down on one of the stools and hooked her feet beneath the circular rounds on the bottom. “I was barely eight years old when he came home from Vietnam and in those eight years, he’d been away from us more than he’d been with us. Then three years later, he and my mother divorced. I never saw him again.” She paused, waiting for Murdock to comment. He didn’t. Instead he laid plates on the counter and opened a loaf of bread.

“Ham sandwiches okay with you?”

“Why don’t you want to talk to me about my father?”

“Mustard? Mayonnaise? Both?”

“Are you deliberately trying to irritate me?”

“All I’m trying to do is fix you some tea and a sandwich.”

Catherine stared at the big man. The expression on his face one of total calm, Murdock met her gaze head-on and didn’t so much as flinch. What was it that he was determined not to tell her? Why was he being so evasive?

“I’ll take both mayo and mustard,” she replied. “But please, let me help.” She knew there was nothing she could do to persuade this man to talk to her, to tell her about her father. All she could do was cooperate. After all, whether she liked it or not, she needed Murdock to go with her into Zaraza and bring her father back alive. He could well be her father’s only hope for survival—and her only hope, too.

“Sit tight,” he told her. “I can throw a couple of sandwiches together.”

She nodded her agreement. They exchanged brief, hesitant looks. But she understood the significance of his quick yet penetrating stare. And she suspected that he knew exactly what she was thinking. They were strangers, two people joined in a common cause—saving Lanny McCroskey’s life. After all, her father was their only bond, the only reason they’d met. Neither wanted or needed to become better acquainted. Each feared the other, on a purely primitive level. And despite their shared interest in Lanny’s welfare, they didn’t quite trust each other.

Silence separated them as surely as if it were a tangible wall. Murdock prepared the sandwiches and tea, then placed a plate and mug in front of Catherine. He eased his large frame down beside her on one of the stools, then lifted the thick sandwich to his mouth. She sipped the tea and eyed the man-size sandwich he’d made for her.

“The war messed your father up pretty badly.” Murdock laid down the sandwich and lifted the mug in both hands, gripping it firmly. “You know. Mentally and emotionally. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be the man he’d been before…he just couldn’t be.”

“Why didn’t he get help? A psychiatrist could have—”

“All the doctors in the world couldn’t have put Lanny McCroskey back together. Believe me, Catherine, he wanted to be a good husband and father. And he did try. For a couple of years. But once he realized he was hurting your mother…and you…by being in your lives, he split.”

“And became a mercenary?” Catherine nervously circled the rim of her mug with the tip of her index finger.

“He was a trained soldier. It was the only life he knew. And…” Should he tell her? Murdock wondered. It wasn’t as if she were still a kid who needed protection from the truth. She was a grown woman. “I think your old man had a death wish.”

Her full, pink lips formed an oblong oval as she gasped softly. “A death wish?”

“I was with him the day he…well, the day I thought he died. One of the last things he said to me was that he’d been living on borrowed time ever since Nam.”

“You were with him when—”

“We were on an assignment in Zaraza. We were trying to get through enemy lines in order to get a vital message to a contact.” He couldn’t tell her details of the mission or explain that the U.S. government had been playing a part in the ongoing revolution for the past twenty years. “Your father sent me with the message, knowing that by staying behind, he was saving my life and sacrificing his. So you see, if he’s still alive and there’s some way I can get him out of Zaraza, then I’m going to.”

“Because you owe him your life?”

“Yeah. Because I owe him my life.”

Catherine lifted the mug to her lips and sipped the tea. She preferred it with neither cream, sugar nor lemon and apparently Murdock liked his the same way. They ate and drank in silence, each avoiding any eye contact. After Catherine ate half her sandwich and drank all her tea, she slipped off the stool and, with her back to Murdock, made her way across the room.

She paused momentarily and asked, “Which bedroom should I use?”

“The one on the left of the bathroom,” he told her.

“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone for a while.”

He watched her disappear into the small guest bedroom that he used mostly as a study. Perhaps he should have given her his room, which was larger and less cramped. But the bed in the extra room was an old double bed, which meant his feet would hang over the footboard. One of the drawbacks of being six foot six.

Busying himself cleaning up the kitchen, Murdock started trying to figure out just how to handle Catherine Price. A man would have to be dead not to notice how attractive she was. But a smart man would keep his distance from a lady who so obviously considered him as nothing more than a necessary means to an end. No doubt, she wouldn’t give him the time of day, if she didn’t need him to get her and her hundred thousand into Zaraza and secure her and Lanny’s safety.

He had known her type back in Mississippi, where he’d done yard work for rich families when he’d been a teenager. Sweet little innocent Southern belles liked to flirt and give poor boys ideas. And Barbara had been the society type, too. Rich and pampered. She’d led him on, making him believe she loved him, when all along she’d had no intention of making a commitment to him. That had been years ago, but he’d learned his lesson well. Barbara had been an excellent teacher.

He knew Catherine wasn’t Barbara. Physically they didn’t resemble each other at all. But her superior attitude, her air of snobbery, the slightly condescending way in which she looked at him reminded him of a woman he thought he’d long since not only cut out of his heart, but exorcised from his soul. Like the demon she had been.

If he didn’t owe Lanny McCroskey his life, no amount of money could induce him to spend the next few days with Catherine. She was the kind of woman he avoided, at all costs. The moment he’d seen her, he’d known they would mix like oil and water. He might not be the smartest guy on earth, but he had sense enough to know that dealing with Lanny’s daughter was going to be one big headache.

Even though she’d promised to take orders, something told him that if she ever disagreed with his commands, she’d buck him. Before they left for Peru, he had to make certain she truly realized the dangers that confronted them and that one wrong move could cost both of them their lives.

With loud, marching steps, Murdock stormed across the room and into the square hallway that separated the two bedrooms. The guest room door stood open just enough to give him a glimpse of Catherine lying across the bed, the red spread in place beneath her. He paused, his hand hovering in midair. Maybe she was asleep, he thought.

Their talk could wait, couldn’t it? She’d be in a better mood once she’d rested, perhaps more willing to truly accept his leadership in their joint venture. If she were a sensible woman, she’d realize that following his instructions could easily mean the difference between success and failure, between life and death—for her and her father.

The moment Murdock walked away from the bedroom door, Catherine opened her eyes. She had sensed his presence and feigned sleep. She couldn’t deal with Murdock. Not now. Later perhaps. She knew it was only a matter of time before they would have to discuss their trip to Zaraza. She suspected she would have no choice but to accept Murdock’s being in command. She dreaded the thought of letting him boss her around. She’d been an independent woman all her life. Even as a teenager, she’d made her own decisions and taken care of herself. Her mother had been dear and sweet and kind. But Mae Beth McCroskey had been a weak woman whose life had crumbled into loneliness and misery once she lost her husband. But Catherine was made of stronger stuff. She had sworn no man would ever have that much power over her—enough power to break her heart and destroy her life.

She had never needed anyone. Not even Rodney. Her husband had understood and accepted her need to control every aspect of her own life and he had never asked for more than she’d been willing to give.

Catherine sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, then let her bare feet touch the polished hardwood floor. Rising from the bed, she stretched, then lifted her suitcase and set it on the arms of the wooden rocker in the corner. The best way to avoid Murdock tonight was to take a bath and go to bed. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to deal with the big man again.

She removed her toiletries case and set it on the small, cluttered desk to her right, then lifted her pajamas, robe and slippers from the suitcase. As she reached down for the vinyl case, her hand accidentally knocked a manila folder off the desk and onto the floor. With her clothing draped over her arm and her slippers secured in one hand, she reached down and picked up the folder, intending to return it to the desk. But just as she lifted it, she noticed her name scrawled across the top in a large, bold handwriting that she felt certain belonged to Murdock. Tossing her clothing and slippers on the bed, she flipped open the folder. As she scanned the thick report, her hands tightened around the folder, crushing the edges of the papers she held.

Damn him! How dare he! What gave him the right?

In her bare feet, Catherine stormed out of the guest room and ran into the living room. Murdock sat in one of the big leather chairs, his feet resting on the matching ottoman, a book in one hand. He glanced up at her, his gaze casual.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he said.

Catherine held up the crumpled file folder as if she were confronting him with a murder weapon in a trial. Her gaze narrowed angrily on his expressionless face.

“Is something wrong?” He slid his feet off the ottoman and onto the floor, then laid his book on the arm of the chair and stood to face her.

“This is a report on me,” Catherine told him, her voice trembling with rage. “You know every detail of my life from birth to the present. You have a copy of my birth certificate, my marriage license, even my dental records. How dare you invade my privacy this way?” She rushed toward him, flung the file folder in his face and screamed, “You had no right to do this!”

“You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing.”

She hated the calmness in his voice, hated the rational, emotionless way he was acting. “How would you like it if I’d had an extensive report compiled on you? Would you like for me to know everything there is to know about you?”

Murdock moved forward, bringing his body within inches of her. When he looked down at her, she noticed gold specks in his hazel-brown eyes. She stepped backward. He lowered his head a fraction, then reached out and grasped her shoulders.

“All that’s in the report on you are facts and figures.” He glanced meaningfully at the scattered papers lying on the floor. “Those don’t tell me everything there is to know about you. Only you can do that.”

Garnering all her willpower, she forced herself not to tremble at his touch, not to allow his massive size and imposing self-assurance to intimidate her. “Why did you have the report compiled?”

“I’m going to be responsible for you, for keeping you safe, from now until we bring Lanny back to the United States. When I take an assignment, I always do my homework. When I become someone’s bodyguard, it’s my standard procedure to find out as much as possible about them.”

Titling her chin, she glared into his eyes, seeking and finding the truth of his statement. She believed him, and yet she couldn’t let go of her anger. If it was Murdock’s standard procedure to have a report compiled on all of his clients, then why did she still feel as if his knowing the details of her life was tantamount to his having stripped her naked?

He made no move to release his hold on her. His big, callused hands clutched her shoulders with gentle strength.

Feeling as if they were in a contest of wills, she refused to be the first to break eye contact. “Somehow it doesn’t seem quite fair that you know so much about me and I know so little about you.”

Easing one hand down and around her waist, while the other wound around the back of her neck, Murdock lowered his head farther, until his mouth was a hair-breadth away from hers. “Just what do you want to know about me?”