On the hard floor of the van, Melina tried not to dwell on the way she’d felt when they made love, on the way she’d trusted him, on the way he’d betrayed her. What irony that he should be her rescuer.
Rescuer he might be, but he was no hero. He’d proven that and she would do well to remember it.
But she would find a hero. America was full of them. Yes, somewhere in this country she would find the perfect all-American town, and the perfect all-American hero to help raise the baby she now carried. A father for her baby.
And no matter what the biological facts were, Ash Thorndyke would not be that man.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE TWO MEN with military-issue haircuts and nondescript charcoal-gray suits arrived at the rendezvous point forty-five minutes early.
“Thorndyke must be good,” said the one who was built like a prizefighter gone to pot. “Not a peep of a problem at the party.”
“He’s good all right.” That from the one who looked like a college professor, thin and bespectacled. “Oughta be. Runs in the blood.”
“Yeah. What’s his old man in for, anyway?”
The professor studied the tips of his shoes, which were marred by pinpoint specks of dirt. “Counterfeiting. Ran a big real estate flimflam in Chicago, the whole thing backed by play money. Very slick. Hell, the whole family oughta be locked up. They’ve handled more hot ice than the first guys to climb the North Pole.”
“Didn’t nobody climb the North Pole, dumb ass.”
“Yeah, well, you catch my drift.”
They waited, each contemplating how he would spend the money he would receive when the Somerset woman was handed over to the guys at the Tokyo airport. They didn’t know what would happen to her then and it really didn’t matter. They didn’t even know the identity of the nutcase who wanted something to hold over Somerset’s head.
“You still planning to invest your take?” The professor glanced at his watch.
“Gotta plan for retirement.” The boxer tossed a cigarette butt onto the ground and tamped it out with his shoe.
“A waste of good dough, I say. What’s the likelihood either one of us’ll make it to a ripe old age?”
“Like spending it on some bimbo’s a wise use of resources?”
“She ain’t a bimbo,” the professor said, his carefully correct speech falling away as easily as the shine on his shoes. “She’s classy. A dancer.”
The boxer’s chuckle was gravelly. “Yeah, at Tony G’s in the Bronx. Some class.”
“Listen, pal—”
“Aw, never mind. You spend your way, I’ll spend mine. We’re gonna have too much to squabble over.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
At the appointed time, Thorndyke didn’t show. Not a huge cause for alarm. Traffic could account for that.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. Still a no-show.
The professor and his pal exchanged uneasy glances. Neither of them relished the idea of explaining why they didn’t have the woman.
They waited two hours. The professor had used up every profanity he knew and his pal had smoked every cigarette in the pack in his pocket.
The professor spit out one more string of words that his mother would have slapped him silly for using. “He ain’t coming, is he?”
“I think that’s a safe bet.”
“We gotta find him.”
“The hell with him. We gotta find the girl.”
“Then we gotta find him. ’Cause you’re gonna ruin that pretty face of his.”
“That’s right, professor.”
ASH AWOKE the next morning to find the van empty except for her discarded evening gown and the ravaged shopping bags.
He leaped up, head still groggy, eyes gritty, and stumbled out of the van. She’d been helpless enough in London; how could she survive on a busy California highway with unknown enemies on her trail?
She could be dead already, for God’s sake.
He saw her sitting on the rocky cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, legs hugged to her chest, chin on her knees. Wind off the water played with her hair, tossing it around her shoulders. The sun was already high. She wore the funny sunglasses he’d stolen for her, but her feet were bare and the hat dangled from the tips of the fingers curled around her legs.
She looked like a magazine ad for the Eccentric Traveler.
At that moment, he would have followed her anywhere. She was more appealing than he remembered, more of a woman, sensuous without trying. And he was so glad to see her, he could have scooped her into his arms and covered her face in grateful kisses.
He took a moment to remember that this maddening woman was the one who’d first stirred in him the notion of going straight, of settling down and leading a normal life. The whisper of that idea had sent him scurrying for cover. He’d thought that if he ran away from the irresistibly charming American student, the crazy notion would leave him. Instead, the idea had taken hold, kept shaking him to the roots of his hair. And all the time, she’d been deceiving him.
What a joke. The con man conned.
“Do you suppose you could steal me some makeup today?” she said without turning, without moving, without any other indication that she’d been aware of his presence.
“We’re not going to steal anything else today.” His voice was still jagged with unfinished sleep.
“We’re not? How boring. I was growing fond of a life of crime.”
She was thoroughly aggravating.
“We’re not keeping these cars,” he said pointedly. “We’re borrowing them.”
“That’s right. And my jeans? My sunglasses?”
“We’ll let your daddy pay them back.”
She stood in one fluid motion, unfolding with the lazy ease of a cat. Unbidden came the image of the way she moved beneath him, effortless, liquid, like no other woman he’d known. He hadn’t been able to forget her. He hadn’t wanted anyone since.
“I’m never going to see my father again,” she said with quiet intensity.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She strode across the rocks as deftly as a bird on a ledge and faced him defiantly. “I’m not going back there. If that’s your plan, we can part ways right now.”
“I’m not letting you go off on your own.” And why not? he wondered. Wouldn’t that be the simplest thing? The sanest thing?
“You’re not letting me?” He saw her emotions rising, saw her dark eyes go stormy with rage. “Mr. Thorndyke, you’ve got nothing to say about it!”
“You’re in danger. Someone hired me to kidnap you. You think they’re going to let you waltz around the country without—”
“I’m not in danger! And you don’t—What did you say?”
“I said someone hired me to kidnap you.”
She cocked her head to one side—as charmingly as a 1940s screen starlet—and stared at him. “Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Now she tossed her head in another classic starlet move. This time the fiery vixen. She couldn’t have done