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with the name Ferrare. As did Joe.
    Her horrified gaze swiveled to him. Why hadn’t she seen this before? She’d guessed he was Charlie Squad, but she’d let her attraction to him blind her to the reality of who he was. Joe said he was here to help her. To rescue her. But was he really? Was it possible that Joe had been setting her up as bait this whole time so he and his buddies could draw out her father and kill him? From what her father said about these American soldiers, they were fully capable of harming a noncombatant like her to get at her father.
    Nah. No matter how little she knew Joe, there was no way he’d hurt her. She’d bet her life on it.
    Joe interrupted her distressing thoughts, saying mildly, “Don’t take that bet, Carina. You are right—Judge Cabot will absolutely make a phone call to your father first. The thing is, I’ve arranged for a little intervention in the phone lines at the good judge’s house.”
    She searched the darkness, trying to see his eyes. “What sort of intervention?”
    “An actress I’ve hired for the occasion will take the call, which will be conveniently diverted from the regular phone lines. She’ll pose as a housekeeper in your father’s home and will tell the judge that Señor Ferrare is not available at the moment. There’s some sort of uproar over the fact that Carina has disappeared with her fiancé and nobody knows where they’ve gone. Señor Ferrare is threatening to make them get married tonight if Mr. Joe does not bring Miss Carina home soon.”
    She stared at Joe. Blinked a couple of times. And then burst out laughing. “That’s brilliant!”
    He flashed that devilishly charming smile of his and, for the first time since they’d gotten into the car, her panic abated a little. They might just pull this off after all. But then something else struck her. If Joe had hired an actress and already spliced into the judge’s home telephone line, he’d definitely been planning to do this tonight. He hadn’t exactly lied to her outright about having planned this little excursion in advance, but he hadn’t been completely square with her about it, either.
    But then, it wasn’t like either one of them was being blindingly honest with each other here. She’d been careful to keep up her spoiled-little-rich-girl act, and who the heck knew who Joe Smith really was beneath that easygoing, I’m-just-a-friend-of-your-sister’s act?
    They made a good pair.
    The car slowed down, turned into a driveway and stopped at an electronically controlled gate.
    The driver leaned out the window and announced, in flawless Spanish, “Miss Ferrare to see Judge Cabot.”
    The security man on the other end of the intercom sounded startled as he answered, “Come up to the house right away, of course.”
    Amazing the reaction the Ferrare name garnered in this town. God, she hated being her father’s daughter. But, as always, she schooled her facial expression to one of casual acceptance of the guard’s reaction.
    The driver closed his window and the car rolled forward smoothly again. She noticed him staring at her in the rearview mirror. “They always jump like that when they hear your name?” he asked.
    She shrugged. But keeping the move nonchalant took some effort. She replied, “Pretty much.”
    As they came into view of the floodlights illuminating the front of Judge Cabot’s house, Joe muttered, “Stay in the car. I want to have a look around before you get out.”
    She was used to the procedure. The only surprise this time was how quick Joe was about it. By the time he’d slowly walked around from his side of the car to hers and opened the door for her, she heard him mutter to the driver, “All clear, Tom.”
    Tom? Her gaze snapped to the back of the driver’s head. Was that the legendary Colonel Tom Folly? Heck, her father had supposedly crippled the guy’s leg just last year. Ruined his field career for good, by all accounts. It would certainly explain his