When Roman was here, his guard was up. It was vital that he maintain the illusion of being a loyal administrator. But it made life damned inconvenient.
Though he’d contacted Anya, he hadn’t been able to honestly discuss the proposed contract with her. Even if they had been able to talk on a secure basis, he couldn’t provide factual evidence that Legate was up to no good. To all appearances, the contract was a great opportunity for Charlie. But Roman’s instincts told him it was wrong for her to be here.
He hurried past the maze toward the stables. Then he saw her. Astride a dappled mare, Anya rode at the edge of the trees. Her long, silky blond hair swirled in the breeze, and she was laughing—more carefree than he’d seen her since Jeremy’s death.
Riding at a gentle pace, she held Charlie in front of her on the saddle. The mother and son were beautiful together. The boy’s hair was a darker blond and his eyes were gray, but he was clearly a part of her. Roman felt an aching need to gather them both in his arms and carry them away from here, away from all these damned intrigues.
She saw him and waved, guiding the horse expertly toward him. As they approached, Charlie bounced in the saddle, talking a blue streak. “Hi, Roman. We’re here, and I’m going to learn how to ride all by myself. This horse is Peggy for Pegasus, but she doesn’t really know how to fly.”
Anya reined the mare to a stop beside him. The smallish palomino was well trained and groomed to perfection. Everything at Legate was first-class.
Charlie dived off the saddle into Roman’s arms. “Make me a helicopter,” Charlie demanded.
Roman lifted him high and twirled him around in circles before placing him on the ground.
With a giggle, Charlie shook off his dizziness and said, “We’re going to live here.”
“Are you?”
“I’m going to learn how to build my own helicopter and other stuff, too. And then…”
As Charlie continued to chatter, Roman looked up at Anya. Silhouetted against the sky, her eyes were a breathtaking blue. The exertion of their horseback ride flushed her cheeks. Erect in the saddle, she was tall, long-legged and fantastic.
Gracefully, she dismounted. Holding the bridle, she gave Roman a one-armed hug that was altogether unsatisfying. He wanted to feel her body molded against his, to stroke her slender shoulders and the curve of her waist.
“I decided,” she said. “I signed the contract.”
He nodded, wishing he could tell her she’d done the right thing. “There wasn’t any other choice.”
“And I’m going to be working here as a translator. I guess that means you’re my boss.”
An interesting twist. Slater must have realized that Anya would be bored without employment. Plus, if she worked here, Legate had even more control of her life. “I should warn you that I’m very demanding.”
“No problem.” Her nose crinkled as she grinned. “I’m very good.”
Charlie bounced up beside them. “Put me back on Peggy. I want to ride some more.”
“Whoa, Charlie,” Anya chided. “Even cowboys are polite.”
“Please, Roman,” he said. “I want to ride more.”
He lifted the boy into the saddle. “It’s hard to keep your balance so you hold on to this thing right here. It’s called a pommel.”
“Got it,” Charlie said. “Let’s go, cowpoke.”
Roman brought the reins around to the front to lead the mare back toward the stable. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the microwave dishes installed above an outbuilding. Every word of their conversation could be picked up. Surveillance cameras from three different angles might be watching.
Anya strolled beside him. “This arrangement is going to be perfect. I don’t know why I hesitated so long before signing the contract.”
“It’s a big change, moving from your home in Denver.”
“I’ve moved before. Often. I went to four, no, five different high schools. We had to go where Mother’s consulting work took us.”
“How is Claudette?” Roman didn’t like Anya’s mother. She was as cold as an ice cube, the very opposite of her emotion-driven daughter.
“Mother rented a house across the bay. I guess she’s planning to stay in San Francisco for a while.”
“To be close to you and Charlie.”
“Seems odd.” She gave a tight laugh. “Claudette isn’t exactly the doting type.”
“Not a cookie-baking grandma?”
“No way. I don’t think she’s ever even read a fairy tale, much less believed in one.”
“But you do.”
“Yup.” She tossed her head, sending a ripple though her hair. The sunlight picked out strands of pure platinum. “I believe in fairy tales. No matter what else happens, there’s got to be a happy ending.”
Though her words sounded simplistic, he heard determination in her voice. She was willing to fight for her happily-ever-after.
“Maybe here,” she said. “Maybe Legate is what I’ve been looking for all my life.”
He didn’t want to encourage that fragile hope. There were too many signs to the contrary. In fairy-tale terms, Legate was the evil kingdom, ruled by an ogre named Slater. “I understand that you’ll have a cottage on the premises.”
“It’s adorable. All furnished.” Anya glanced up at him, looking for answers he couldn’t give. “I keep thinking it was weird that Jeremy never mentioned this plan to me. He had all these details in his will.”
Roman wasn’t even sure Jeremy’s will was valid; it had been prepared by the Legate legal staff. “He never discussed it with me, either.”
“Weird,” she repeated. “I mean, Jeremy and I spent two weeks talking about what kind of sofa we should get. Then he makes this huge, life-altering plan without a blink in my direction.”
“It’s not totally out of character,” he reminded her. “Once, Jeremy bought a car without even a test drive.”
“Because he liked the hood ornament.”
“He was capable of snap judgments.”
“That’s true,” she said. “The new will was dated only a few weeks before his death, and he probably meant to discuss it when he came back to Denver.”
When she talked about Jeremy, the blue of her eyes grew dim. Her shoulders caved slightly. She was still grieving, and it troubled Roman to see her suffer. Her husband shouldn’t have died. If Roman had been smarter, he might have prevented the tragedy.
He believed that the explosion at Building Fourteen had been rigged, but he still didn’t know why. Why would Slater kill four scientists who worked for him? They were good employees—productive and nonconfrontational. Why did they have to die? After eight months of digging into the various global projects these scientists were working on, Roman still didn’t have the answer.
“It’s good to see you,” Anya said.
“And you,” he said. “You’ve put on weight.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s