Niall Jones’s life depended on him blending into the background wherever he was. Moving through the shadows as if he was a shadow himself. And no one was better at it. Others came close, but he was the best. He’d lost track of how many disguises he’d donned. How many aliases he’d used. How many lives he’d led. When he assumed a role, he became the role. Until the next time.
Which was exactly what he was doing now. He watched his target through seemingly sleepy eyes, but he knew every breath she drew. Every rise and fall of slight breasts that wouldn’t normally attract his attention. Her face, too, was unremarkable. Not unattractive, but not the kind of face that would automatically draw a second or a third glance.
And yet...there was something about her mouth. Something that piqued his interest and held his gaze. Sweetly curving lips that smiled more often than not, but also hinted at restrained passion. Lips that made him wonder what they’d taste like, feel like beneath his, if he kissed her.
Not that he had any intention of kissing her...unless it was necessary. Dr. Savannah Whitman was his target, and he couldn’t lose sight of that fact. She might look sweet, innocent and far younger than the thirty-six years he knew her to be—that delicate skin of hers, the lack of makeup and the way she wore her hair might have something to do with it—but she could very well be a cold, calculating traitor. And if there was one thing Niall hated, it was traitors, people who would sell out their country for any reason.
He knew more about her than most of her friends. He knew the relevant details about her life, from the day she was born until now.
He knew exactly how much money she had in the bank, that she hadn’t attended her high school senior prom, that she had three patents to her name with a fourth pending. He knew the phobia she’d struggled against for most of her life, and when and why it had first afflicted her. And he knew she’d resigned her top secret job with an international defense contractor the day after her parents’ funeral.
What he didn’t know was what made her tick. What was going on in her head. Why she’d resigned and what she intended to do now with the highly classified data stored in the memory banks of her mind. Data the US government would love to erase...but couldn’t. And most important, if she really was a security risk as the government feared.
Which was why he was here, shadowing her footsteps as she took this fifteen-day land tour and river cruise through northern China. Which was why he might very well be called upon to romance her, as a way to get close enough to compile evidence that would stand up in court to convict her of espionage. Which was why...as a last resort...he just might have to kill her.
Savannah Whitman stood on the ramparts of the Great Wall of China, staring up at the sea of humanity ascending and descending the steep incline to the top of this section of the wall in the Badaling Hills north of Beijing. It was a work day, so she couldn’t understand why so many people were here. This was not the way she’d envisioned it would be when she’d spent thousands of dollars on this guided tour. She’d picked this specific tour in large part because the pictures in the brochure made it appear as if she’d be mostly on her own as she crossed several items off her bucket list of things she just had to see once in her lifetime—the Great Wall and the Forbidden City in Beijing, the terracotta warriors in Xi’an. And the Yangtze, of course, the longest river in the world that began and ended in the same country.
She sighed softly as she was jostled by those eager to pass her and begin the climb to the top of this well-preserved section of the fabled wall. She wanted to go up there, too. She did. But...
Coward, she jeered at herself. Coward, because she didn’t deal well with crowds. She’d thought she’d be practically alone on the Great Wall, with only thoughts of her parents to keep her company, but now her breath came in little panicked spurts as she tried to fight back her enochlophobia. You spent good money to see the Great Wall, she reminded herself. You can do this. You can! Just take a deep breath. Lots of deep breaths. Then put one foot in front of the other and climb up there, damn it!
But the unreasoning fear had such a hold on her she couldn’t move. Not even to escape by struggling through the crowd to the gondolas that had brought her and the rest of her tour group this far.
Then from above her head she heard a warm, deep voice speaking English. “Just breathe,” the man said gently as he herded her away from the crowd and against the stone railing. “Breathe deeply.”
When he said that, she realized somehow she was no longer being pushed, bumped or elbowed. Her rescuer had used his body to create a tiny space for her in the crowd, and she closed her eyes in thankfulness. Yes, her back was pressed against an ungiving stone wall that had been built millennia ago, but at least she wasn’t hemmed in by people. And the man wasn’t squashed up against her, either—some distance separated them, as if he knew she couldn’t bear to be touched at this moment.
She opened her eyes and stared at a broad chest wearing a light, khaki-colored jacket. And on the jacket she spotted a familiar badge, exactly like the one she was wearing but with his name on it instead of hers—he was one of her tour group. “Oh, thank God.”
He must have heard her fervent whisper because a laugh rumbled out of him. But she knew instinctively he wasn’t laughing at her. At least, he wasn’t laughing at her fear.