Read the book: «Aim for the Heart»

“What do you know about my work, Captain Fox?”

“You research nuclear fusion.”

“My goal is to develop fusion power as an economically viable energy source. Two days ago, a representative from our government visited me at my lab in California. He requested that I continue my research under their supervision. All my results would be exclusive property of the Department of Defense. I turned them down.”

“Surely you don’t think the government is trying to kill you simply because you wouldn’t work for them.”

“No. They don’t want my death. They want my work. And what better way to get it than to place someone, say a bodyguard, in a position where they had a reason to stay with me night and day? Even better, what if they sent a beautiful woman who would have unlimited opportunities to gather information?”

He could see the exact moment she understood his point. Twin spots of color bloomed in her cheeks—and he would bet it wasn’t because he’d called her beautiful.

Her lips thinned. “You think I was sent here to spy on you.”

Dear Reader,

This year may be winding down, but the excitement’s as high as ever here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. National bestselling author Merline Lovelace starts the month off with a bang with A Question of Intent, the first of a wonderful new miniseries called TO PROTECT AND DEFEND. Look for the next book, Full Throttle, in Silhouette Desire in January 2004.

Because you’ve told us you like miniseries, we’ve got three more for you this month. Marie Ferrarella continues her family-based CAVANAUGH JUSTICE miniseries with Crime and Passion. Then we have two military options: Strategic Engagement features another of Catherine Mann’s WINGMEN WARRIORS, while Ingrid Weaver shows she can Aim for the Heart with her newest EAGLE SQUADRON tale. We’ve got a couple of superb stand-alone novels for you, too: Midnight Run, in which a wrongly accused cop has only one option—the heroine!—to save his freedom, by reader favorite Linda Castillo, and Laura Gale’s deeply moving debut, The Tie That Binds, about a reunited couple’s fight to save their daughter’s life.

Enjoy them all—and we’ll see you again next month, for six more of the best and most exciting romances around.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Aim for the Heart
Ingrid Weaver

INGRID WEAVER

admits to being a sucker for old movies and books that can make her cry. A Romance Writers of America RITA^® Award winner for Romantic Suspense and a national bestselling author, she enjoys creating stories that reflect the adventure of falling in love. When she and her husband aren’t dealing with the debatable joys of living in an old farmhouse, you’ll probably find Ingrid going on a knitting binge, rattling the windows with heavy metal or rambling through the woods in the back forty with her cats. You can visit Ingrid’s Web site at http://www.ingridweaver.com.

This book is dedicated to Susan Litman and Kim Nadelson, two extraordinary editors who helped bring Eagle Squadron to life.

Thank you both for sharing the adventure.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Chapter 1

“Dr. Lemay, get down!”

The cry was muffled by the lap of water in the canal below him and the noise of traffic at his back. Hawk couldn’t be certain he’d heard it. Curious, he pushed away from the stone wall that bordered the canal and turned around. The last rays of afternoon sunlight gilded the gabled windows and copper rooftops of Gamla Stan, Stockholm’s Old Town, but the street level was already cloaked in dusk. Headlights bored through puffs of exhaust. Against the glow of shop windows on the other side of the road, pedestrians were swiftly moving shadows, their shoulders hunched against the breeze.

“Dr. Lemay!”

Hawk spotted her then. A woman was running along the sidewalk. He had a quick impression of blond hair and an athlete’s stride before she disappeared behind a bus. As soon as the bus had passed, she leaped off the sidewalk and darted through the traffic toward him.

Tires screeched as a taxi braked to avoid her. There was a thud and the crunch of metal as a boxy delivery truck plowed into the taxi. It spun into the woman’s path. Without breaking stride, she hurdled over the taxi’s hood, slid down the front fender and kept running.

Hawk held up his palms and started forward. Was she suicidal or just plain crazy? “Stop!” he shouted. “Watch out!”

“Get down!” she repeated. She dodged past a station wagon and reached the curb just as Hawk did. She didn’t stop. She launched herself through the air, hitting him square in the chest.

Hawk staggered backward at the impact. She wasn’t a large woman but her momentum was too much to counteract. Off balance, he hit the sidewalk hard on his butt. His hands smacked the pavement behind him. His teeth clacked together, cutting off the oath he muttered.

Instead of apologizing, the woman threw her weight against his shoulders to knock him flat on his back. Before he could catch his breath, she spread-eagled herself on top of him. “Stay down,” she ordered. “The shooter is on the second floor.”

He lifted his head. “What—”

“Building across the street.” She slapped her hand to his forehead and pushed his head back down. “The traffic will provide us some cover as long as you stay low. Keep still while I call for assistance.”

“Ma’am—”

“Captain Sarah Fox,” she said. “United States Army.”

Army? Hawk twisted his head to look at her, but all he could see was her left ear and the curve of her cheek. She wasn’t wearing a uniform. She wore a black wool coat. A silk scarf in a swirl of tropical colors was knotted at her throat. The fringe brushed his nose, bringing with it an aroma reminiscent of cinnamon.

She shifted, taking her hand from his head to reach into the pocket of her coat and withdraw a phone. With her forearm braced against his chest, she used her teeth to yank up the antenna, then thumbed a button. She spoke rapidly in what sounded like Swedish.

As a rule, Hawk didn’t take this long to work things through. Sure, he liked to be confident of his facts before he drew any conclusions because he hated to be wrong, but he wasn’t normally at a loss. He could blame it on jet lag, or on the shock of being tackled by a strange woman…or on the sensation of warm, spicy-smelling female draped over his body and silk tickling his nose.

With an effort he forced his brain into gear. She was an American; she said she was from the army. She knew his name. She said there was a shooter. She had spread herself over him as if she were trying to shelter him…

Damn! She was trying to shield him with her own body. The realization wiped everything else from his mind. Hawk clamped his arm around her back, hooked his leg over hers and rolled them both toward the stone wall he had been lounging against only seconds ago.

She grunted as his full weight settled on top of her. She shoved at his chest. “Dr. Lemay, you have to get off me. Your life is in danger.”

“First of all, I don’t believe the government’s story,” he said. “And second, even if I did, I don’t consider my life worth more than yours.”

“It’s my job to protect you.”

“I never hired you.”

“This is hardly the time to debate my orders.” She bucked beneath him, folding her arms in and her knees up. With a move too quick to follow, she flipped him to his back, then scrambled over him to crouch at his side. Keeping herself between him and the street, she reached into her pocket once more. This time she withdrew a handgun.

The two-tone bleat of a siren sounded in the distance. Voices came from the street. The taxi driver was arguing with the driver of the delivery truck. More cars screeched to avoid them. A crowd was gathering.

But the woman appeared oblivious to the commotion she had caused. She sat back on one heel, bracing her elbow on her upraised knee to steady her gun. Her head moved from side to side as she scanned the area.

Hawk sat up behind her and followed her gaze. He saw plenty of faces turned toward them, but he couldn’t see any threat. He moved close to the woman’s shoulder. “Whatever you think you saw, ma’am—”

“Captain Sarah Fox,” she said again. “United States Army. I would show you my identification but I’m occupied right now.”

“I don’t think anyone’s shooting at me. If they were, we would both be dead.”

“Which is why I knocked you down, sir. I saw a rifle.”

“Where?”

“The dark-yellow brick building. Third window from the left, second floor above the antique store.”

The truck that had hit the taxi blocked his view. Hawk leaned to the side and scrutinized the window she had described. It was a multipaned casement style, divided vertically by a black frame, identical to all the other windows in the quaint, centuries-old structure. One side had been cranked open, which was unusual, considering the chill in the air—it was November —but nothing was visible inside. “I don’t see anything.”

“Chances are he would have retreated when he realized he couldn’t make his shot, but he could still be in the area.” The siren grew louder. She raised her voice. “With the wall and the canal at our backs and the truck giving us cover in front, this is a good defensive position. It would be safest to stay where we are until the police get here.”

Hawk moved his gaze from the open window where there might or might not have been a gunman and focused on the woman at his side.

She had twice identified herself as Captain Sarah Fox. Her military bearing, her physical agility and the ease with which she handled her firearm supported her claim. Yet she didn’t look like a soldier. Her features were a study in classic softness, like something from a painting by Rembrandt. Wisps of hair the color of ripe wheat had pulled loose from the clip at the back of her head to tease her cheeks. The slim fingers that gripped her gun were delicately feminine. Her voice, even when it was barking orders, had a smoky timbre that evoked images of dimly lit bars rather than battlefields.

Hawk wasn’t accustomed to following orders. He didn’t have the temperament to obey blindly. He always preferred to work things through for himself.

But he was no fool. Although he didn’t believe the government’s story about a hired killer out to get him, this woman obviously did. What if he was wrong?

He might be willing to gamble his own life, but he had no right to gamble with hers.

The warm air hit Sarah like a fist the moment she entered the hotel lobby. Until now, the pain had been numbed by the cold. This was supposed to be light duty, an easy breather while the injury she’d suffered during her previous mission finished healing. It shouldn’t have presented a problem, but she hadn’t anticipated needing to tackle her subject within minutes of her arrival.

“Captain Fox, are you all right?”

She paused to glance at the man beside her. She didn’t want to tilt her head, so her gaze only reached his chin. “That’s what I should be asking you, Dr. Lemay.” She began a careful visual sweep of the lobby. The marble-and-gilt old-world elegance of the King Gustav Hotel was illuminated by wall sconces. Great for atmosphere, not good for visibility. “I’ll arrange for a doctor to check you over in case you got a concussion when you hit the sidewalk.”

“I don’t need a doctor. You’re the one who seems to be in discomfort.”

He was more observant than most people, she thought. That didn’t surprise her, considering the number of degrees Hawkins Lemay had the right to string after his name. He was a Nobel laureate, a bona fide genius. He wouldn’t be an easy man to deceive. “No, I’m fine. I regret having to knock you down, but it was necessary.”

“Was it? I thought the police didn’t find anything when they checked that building where you saw the gunman. They appeared to give us a ride to my hotel out of courtesy for your rank rather than out of a need for security.”

Satisfied that the lobby didn’t hold any immediate threat, Sarah started forward. “That’s true, but I hadn’t expected them to find any trace of the shooter. By all accounts, we’re dealing with a professional.”

“Could have been a mop handle.”

“What?”

“The object you saw in the window. It could have been some innocent cleaning crew at work instead of this alleged assassin.”

“Trust me, Dr. Lemay. I do have some experience with firearms and am able to recognize one.”

“It was dusk and you’re probably jet-lagged like me.”

“I’ve been informed of your skepticism. We can discuss this further once you’re somewhere safe.” She gestured toward the front desk. “Let me pick up my bag first. I left it here when they told me you had gone for a walk.”

He put his palm on the small of her back as they moved toward the desk. It was a courtly gesture. It went along with the faint trace of the South that tinged his deep voice, a holdover from his early childhood. It also fit with the gallant way he’d tried to protect her out there on the sidewalk…even though he claimed not to believe her.

Sarah was accustomed to working with men as her equals. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been treated with gallantry. She had to admit it was a pleasant change, but she couldn’t allow it to distract her attention.

She was here to protect him. Those were her orders. Work with the local authorities, organize security and take whatever measures were necessary to keep Hawkins Lemay alive while he attended the Stockholm Energy Conference. Once the conference ended, so did her mission.

She retrieved her suitcase from the desk clerk and turned toward the elevator.

Lemay took the suitcase from her grip before they had gone two steps. “Please, allow me.”

She decided not to argue with the courtesy—she preferred to keep both hands free, anyway. Besides, the weight of the gear in her suitcase was substantial. “Thank you.”

“How did you know where to look?” he asked.

“I was scanning the buildings as I walked and spotted the glint from the sniper’s scope.”

“I meant how did you know where to look for me?”

“Your hobbies include fishing. Since Stockholm is built on islands, I deduced you would likely gravitate toward water so I chose the route that led to the nearest bridge.”

“That’s very astute reasoning, but how did you know about my hobbies?”

“I assembled a background file on you when I accepted this mission and I memorized it on the flight over.” She stopped in front of the elevator. It was an old-fashioned model with frosted glass doors and a folding metal gate. The visibility it provided was an asset—Sarah could see at a glance it was empty.

“Background file?” Lemay asked as they stepped into the car.

“It’s standard operating procedure, Dr. Lemay. Nothing personal. Unfortunately, it appears as if the shooter we encountered this afternoon has acquired information about your habits, as well.” She closed the doors and slid the gate into position. She pressed the button for the fifth floor, which was the top story of the historic building that served as the hotel’s main wing. The elevator started upward with a jerk. “As I said before, we can discuss this once we’re somewhere more secure.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Since I’m your bodyguard, I’ll be staying with you.”

“Wait a minute. I never agreed to this.”

“It’s the only way to do my duty properly. Until the conference is over, I’m your shadow. You don’t go anywhere without me.”

He hit the emergency stop button. The car shuddered as it clunked to a halt between the second and third floors. “This has gone far enough.”

“You have a two-room suite consisting of a bedroom and sitting room. I realize the rooms in the King Gustav are small by North American standards, but there should be adequate space for both of us.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’ll bunk down in the sitting room. I’ve already arranged to have a cot sent up.”

He set her suitcase on the floor and grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I didn’t agree to any of this. Who sent you? Let me talk to your commanding officer.” He paused. “Captain?”

She had tried to keep her face expressionless but she hadn’t been able to stop the wince when he’d touched her bruises. She shrugged off his grip and stepped back. “My C.O. for this mission is Major Mitchell Redinger. You can reach him at Fort Bragg. I’ll give you his contact number once we’re in your suite.”

He leaned down to bring his face level with hers. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

There was no point lying—even someone who wasn’t as intelligent as Lemay would be able to see she was in pain. “I took a round during my previous mission,” she said. “My body armor stopped the bullet but the impact of the high-caliber round dislocated my left shoulder.”

He returned his hand to her shoulder. He didn’t touch her. He held his fingers a breath above her coat, then caught a stray lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

The gesture was so unexpected, so…tender, it took Sarah a moment before she could continue. “There was some bruising so the joint is still somewhat sensitive,” she said. “I assure you it won’t interfere with my ability to do my duty.”

He dropped his hand. “You hit me with your left shoulder when you knocked me down,” he murmured. “You reinjured it because of me.”

“My comfort is immaterial. My duty is to protect you.”

“My God, you don’t even know me.”

He was wrong, she thought. She knew every fact about Hawkins Lemay that could be gathered by Army Intelligence. The background file she’d assembled had been impressively thick and contained far more than a list of his hobbies. And it had been a long flight.

His credentials as a scientist were beyond repute, his accomplishments in the field of particle physics were astounding. At only thirty-five, he was the world’s leading expert on nuclear fusion, respected by his colleagues, courted by foreign governments and ambitious businessmen alike…and considered important enough by the American government to warrant personal protection. Major Redinger’s orders had come straight from the Pentagon.

Still, there were things the file hadn’t told her. She’d known Lemay was six foot two, 198 pounds, physically fit because of his daily jogging, but she hadn’t known how gracefully he moved, or how long and tanned his fingers were, or how the battered, brown leather jacket he wore creaked subtly with his motions and smelled so deliciously of fresh air and man…

“You’re the man I’ve been assigned to protect, Dr. Lemay,” she said. “That’s really all I need to know.” She stretched past him to restart the elevator. It resumed its slow ascent with a jerk. Lemay reached out to steady her, but she ignored him and took a quick step sideways.

He picked up her suitcase. His voice was low and tense. “I’m sorry I hurt you. Would it help to put ice on your shoulder?”

“No problem. I’ll be fine.”

“Who were you protecting that time?”

She kept her attention on the passing floors. “Excuse me?”

“When you were shot?”

“It was a hostage rescue. A seven-year-old boy.”

“Since when does the Army do hostage rescue… Ah. I should have seen it.” His voice took on a curl of interest. “Hostage rescue, bodyguard detail. You’re no ordinary soldier, you’re with Delta Force.”

His insight didn’t surprise her. After all, he was a genius. “Yes, sir. Here’s our floor. Stay back until I check the corridor.” She opened the gate with one hand and slipped her gun from her pocket with the other. She listened first, but she heard nothing from the hall. She held up her palm, motioning Lemay to remain where he was, then stepped out of the elevator. When she assured herself the way was clear, she glanced behind her.

She had half expected him to defy her order and follow her, but he was still standing by the elevator, her suitcase tucked under one arm as if it weighed nothing. His jacket gaped open, exposing a wrinkled denim shirt. The lighting in the corridor was as subdued as it had been in the lobby, yet the shadows couldn’t hide the sharp glint in his gaze.

The striking blue eyes he’d inherited from Cynthia Hawkins, his New England mother. The midnight-black hair and strong bone structure had been passed down from Pascal Lemay, his Cajun father. Those were facts she had known since she’d memorized his face from the photograph in his background file.

But the photo hadn’t shown that gleam in his eyes. It was a glimpse of the power that dwelled behind the distinctive features, a hint of Dr. Hawkins Lemay’s awesome intellect.

He held her gaze as he closed the distance between them. His big body moved with the careless ease of a predator, another fact that wasn’t contained in his file. He paused in front of her, once more filling her senses with the scent of leather and man. “Tell me the truth, Captain Fox,” he said. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”