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Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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before the other three team members had fallen in to place. It wasn't that the first man had been careless, but rather that Catlin had lived too long in enemy territory ever to forget his vulnerable back.
Without seeming to, Catlin picked up the pace. His stride was long, powerful, difficult for a less fit man to equal. Because his life had depended on reflexes or strength too often in the past, Catlin had honed himself into an efficient fighting machine. Although he no longer lived in enemy territory, the habits he had learned there were too deeply ingrained to be discarded. Today he was as hard and potentially as dangerous as he had been long ago and half a world away.
The men behind him were fit enough for most purposes, but they hadn't been through the kind of wars Catlin had. Within a mile they were sweating heavily in Washington's smothering humidity. Within two miles they were dragging. By the time Catlin took pity on them and turned back to his apartment, a new team had been called in. Catlin watched the handoff, gave everyone involved high marks for professionalism, and vanished into his apartment for a shower. He had learned all he needed to know.
The FBI computer had finally caught up with Catlin, Jacob MacArthur. The shit had well and truly hit the fan.
Catlin assumed that Lindsay Danner had an honor guard, too. The thought made him smile as he lathered himself beneath the pulsing needles of water that all but filled the steamy shower enclosure. At least the men following Lindsay would have something good to look at. Her walk was clean, resilient, subtly provocative, the kind of movement that made a man want to pull her close around him while he found other ways for that sleek body to move.
Idly Catlin wondered if Lindsay would bring half the skill and intensity to bed that she had shown with the bronzes. She had touched that incense burner with an unconscious sensuality that had intrigued him at the time. But when O'Donnel had tested by crowding her gently, she had eased away. No fuss, no sidelong glances, no protests of dismay or disinterest. Just the discreet withdrawal of a woman who didn't rub up against men on a casual basis.
That, too, intrigued Catlin. Beneath her social polish and gentle smile, Lindsay Danner was a rather private person. That could be a real problem. For the charade he had in mind, he would have much preferred a woman who had the casual sexuality of a singles bar on Saturday night. Lindsay didn't come across like that, either on the surface or at the level of reflex, as O'Donnel had discovered. Which meant that Yi's shanghaied dragon was going to get a workout trying to stay close enough to Lindsay to keep her from getting killed.
With a muttered curse Catlin shut off the water and reached for an oversize towel. Beyond that cryptic statement, Yi had refused to say anything about himself in relation to Lindsay Danner. Nor would he say anything more about Lindsay herself, no matter how Catlin had pressed. He had been forced to seek information in other ways. Sooner or later, Lindsay's file would arrive at his apartment. He hoped that it was sooner rather than later. He didn't doubt that her file would arrive, though. He knew too many powerful people in Washington and Langley for such a simple request to be disregarded.
A buzzer rang just as Catlin was buttoning up the conservative white shirt that he trotted out of his wardrobe for Washington visits. With quick movements of his hands he tucked in his shirt, fastened his slacks and pulled a gun from the holster lying on top of the bed.
The sound of knuckles meeting wood substituted for the sound of the doorbell.
Catlin crossed the living room silently and stood to one side of the door. He didn't put his eye to the little spy hole installed by building security. That would have been like standing in the center of a target and begging someone to shoot.
"Who is it?" asked Catlin.
"Bradford Stone, FBI."
"Who else?"
"No one."
Catlin
Without seeming to, Catlin picked up the pace. His stride was long, powerful, difficult for a less fit man to equal. Because his life had depended on reflexes or strength too often in the past, Catlin had honed himself into an efficient fighting machine. Although he no longer lived in enemy territory, the habits he had learned there were too deeply ingrained to be discarded. Today he was as hard and potentially as dangerous as he had been long ago and half a world away.
The men behind him were fit enough for most purposes, but they hadn't been through the kind of wars Catlin had. Within a mile they were sweating heavily in Washington's smothering humidity. Within two miles they were dragging. By the time Catlin took pity on them and turned back to his apartment, a new team had been called in. Catlin watched the handoff, gave everyone involved high marks for professionalism, and vanished into his apartment for a shower. He had learned all he needed to know.
The FBI computer had finally caught up with Catlin, Jacob MacArthur. The shit had well and truly hit the fan.
Catlin assumed that Lindsay Danner had an honor guard, too. The thought made him smile as he lathered himself beneath the pulsing needles of water that all but filled the steamy shower enclosure. At least the men following Lindsay would have something good to look at. Her walk was clean, resilient, subtly provocative, the kind of movement that made a man want to pull her close around him while he found other ways for that sleek body to move.
Idly Catlin wondered if Lindsay would bring half the skill and intensity to bed that she had shown with the bronzes. She had touched that incense burner with an unconscious sensuality that had intrigued him at the time. But when O'Donnel had tested by crowding her gently, she had eased away. No fuss, no sidelong glances, no protests of dismay or disinterest. Just the discreet withdrawal of a woman who didn't rub up against men on a casual basis.
That, too, intrigued Catlin. Beneath her social polish and gentle smile, Lindsay Danner was a rather private person. That could be a real problem. For the charade he had in mind, he would have much preferred a woman who had the casual sexuality of a singles bar on Saturday night. Lindsay didn't come across like that, either on the surface or at the level of reflex, as O'Donnel had discovered. Which meant that Yi's shanghaied dragon was going to get a workout trying to stay close enough to Lindsay to keep her from getting killed.
With a muttered curse Catlin shut off the water and reached for an oversize towel. Beyond that cryptic statement, Yi had refused to say anything about himself in relation to Lindsay Danner. Nor would he say anything more about Lindsay herself, no matter how Catlin had pressed. He had been forced to seek information in other ways. Sooner or later, Lindsay's file would arrive at his apartment. He hoped that it was sooner rather than later. He didn't doubt that her file would arrive, though. He knew too many powerful people in Washington and Langley for such a simple request to be disregarded.
A buzzer rang just as Catlin was buttoning up the conservative white shirt that he trotted out of his wardrobe for Washington visits. With quick movements of his hands he tucked in his shirt, fastened his slacks and pulled a gun from the holster lying on top of the bed.
The sound of knuckles meeting wood substituted for the sound of the doorbell.
Catlin crossed the living room silently and stood to one side of the door. He didn't put his eye to the little spy hole installed by building security. That would have been like standing in the center of a target and begging someone to shoot.
"Who is it?" asked Catlin.
"Bradford Stone, FBI."
"Who else?"
"No one."
Catlin
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