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  She was the most amazing woman he’d ever known. And the most complicated. There were so many facets to her. In the moonlight that poured into the room, he saw that her eyes were bright with excitement and triumph. He’d seen those eyes so many ways. Filled with a cool, steady courage. Lighted with laughter. And darkened by passion.

  And he’d seen the intensity in those eyes when she was thinking only of him, feeling only him. He wanted to tell her. He needed to—

  A crack split the still night air, and Chance dragged his thoughts back to the present.

  “C’mon.”

  “Was that gunfire?” Natalie asked as they raced into the courtyard.

  “Tracker’s version of misdirection. One of his men is presently escaping in the inflatable boat we were supposed to use.”

  “Supposed to use?” Natalie asked.

  Chance leaned down, scooped up the guard’s weapon, and tossed it to her. “That’s one of the reasons I don’t have much use for plans. They usually have to be changed.”

  To what? But Natalie didn’t ask the question as she stuffed the gun into her waistband.

  Chance had already moved to the wall and was cupping his hands. By the time he’d boosted her to the top and joined her, they could hear running footsteps beyond the trees that grew along the wall and farther away came the rapid cough of automatic fire.

  Together, they dropped to the ground.

  “Where to?” Natalie asked. But Chance was already drawing her in the opposite direction from which they’d come. As they edged their way between the trees and the wall of the villa, Natalie realized one amazing thing. She was almost getting used to Chance’s habit of improvising plans on the spur of the moment. Almost, she reminded herself when she realized they’d made a complete circle of the villa. By the time they reached the iron gate that closed off the kitchen wing, she could hear the music from the ballroom once more.

  Then Chance stopped and drew out the cell phone he always used to communicate with Tracker. Holding it to his ear, he said one word, “Now.”

  A few moments later, the iron gate to the kitchen wing swung open and a white van moved forward. Natalie barely had time to read the words, “At Your Service,” on the paneling before a large woman in a tight-fitting white uniform climbed out and said in a husky voice, “Catering to your every need.”

  Natalie was reaching for the gun at her waist when Chance grabbed her wrist. “It’s Tracker. C’mon.”

  He drew her with him as the “woman” opened the back doors to the van. Natalie had a hard time recognizing Tracker McBride. He was wearing a blond wig, and unless she’d known, she wouldn’t have guessed that the snug-fitting uniform hid the tough, athletic body that she knew he possessed.

  “The security is tight here. The guard searched the back of the van when I came in because I wasn’t on his list from the catering company.”

  “Do I want to know how you convinced him to let you in?” Chance asked, amusement clear in his voice as he climbed into the back of the van and held out a hand to Natalie.

  Tracker patted the blond wig he was wearing and wiggled his hips. “My charm, of course.

  We developed quite a rapport.”

  “It’ll be tougher this time,” Chance warned. “Carlo has instructed the guards that no one is allowed to leave.”

  “I love a challenge,” Tracker said with a grin before he shut the doors.

  “He seems confident,” Natalie murmured.

  “If anyone can get us out, he can,” Chance assured her.

  “He’ll want to search the van.” Tracker spoke from behind the wheel at the front of the van this time. “Think you can handle it?”

  “No problem,” Chance said. “I’ve got my partner with me.”

  Partner. The sound of the word warmed Natalie and eased the jumping nerves in her stomach. Neither she nor Chance spoke as the van moved forward and eventually pulled to a stop at the gate.

  “Lots of excitement,” Tracker said to the guard, using his husky almost falsetto voice.

  “Mr. Brancotti is a stickler when it comes to security, and there was a problem earlier today. I can’t let anyone leave.”

  Tracker laughed. “Do I look like I pose any threat to Mr. Brancotti? And you checked me out earlier.”

  There was a pause, and Natalie wondered just what Tracker was up to.

  “Be a sport,” Tracker continued. “I’ve delivered the extra food they needed, and I have a date tonight. You can check the back of the van.”

  There was another silence, but Natalie could hear the guard and Tracker walking along the side of the van. It was dark and she could barely see Chance, but they moved in unison, flattening themselves into the corners on either side of the doors.

  A moment later the doors opened and the guard, flashlight in one hand and gun in the other, stepped up into the van. Natalie slipped her foot out, and when he stumbled, Chance clipped him hard on the back of his neck. The man fell like a stone.

  “Nice going,” Tracker said as Chance leaned down to tie the guard’s hands behind his back. “You guys make a great team.”

  Natalie turned to Tracker. “How did you convince him to take a look?”

  Tracker shot her a grin. “Money. Sometimes, it works a lot faster than my charm—” he smoothed his hands over his hips “—though I can’t imagine why.”

  NATALIE DRIFTED awake as if she were surfacing from a long dive. The scent of coffee was the first thing that her conscious mind identified. Then everything came back to her in a rush. She and Chance had stolen the Ferrante diamond from Carlo Brancotti, and they’d left a fake one behind. Mission accomplished!

  Once they’d taken care of the guard at the gate, their escape with Tracker in the van had gone without a hitch. Carlo’s security team had been focused on the beach area. For a moment, she allowed her mind to linger on those few charged moments in the van when she and Chance had been so in tune about how to take out the guard. They might have been working together for years.

  The events after that had been less clear. At some point after they’d boarded Steven Bradford’s plane, the adrenaline rush she’d been riding on all day had faded, and she’d fallen asleep. She vaguely remembered that Chance had carried her into the bedroom.

  Then nothing.

  Opening her eyes, she saw that she was still in the bedroom on the plane. And Chance was gone. But he’d been here. At some point, she’d felt him lying beside her, holding her. The pillow next to hers still bore the indentation from his head. As she ran her hand over it, she realized that the plane was stopped.

  Just when had they landed? Throwing the covers off, she noted that she was still wearing her Cat Woman costume. She checked the bathroom first, but it too was empty. After taking a moment to brush her teeth and run her fingers through her hair, she moved quickly to the door.

  But it was Tracker and not Chance that she saw sitting at a table, tapping at the keys of his laptop. He glanced up immediately. “Good morning. Want some coffee?”

  “Where’s Chance?” A funny little feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach the moment she’d seen that the airplane door stood open.

  Tracker handed her a mug of steaming coffee. “I was under orders to let you sleep.”

  “Where’s Chance?” Natalie repeated.

  Tracker shot her a smile. “Promise not to kill the messenger?”

  At any other time, she might have been charmed. Hell, she might even have been amused.

  But the funny little feeling was making her stomach roll and her throat tighten. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

  Tracker sighed. “Yeah. I told him he should wake you, but he had to get the diamond back to the London office. He tried to get out of it, but there’s some red tape he has to take care of in person.”

  In some part of her mind, Natalie listened to Tracker’s explanation. It was logical, perfectly understandable. Chance’s part of the job wasn’t over. So he’d had to fly off to London to tie up loose ends. A sic
kening sense of déjà vu filled her.

  “Chance has to move quickly,” Tracker said. “He hoped you’d understand.”

  Natalie thought she understood very well. The adventure was over, and a man like Chance—a man so like her father—would want to be on to the next one as soon as possible.

  “Yes,” she said. She did understand. She’d signed on for the job, and now it was over. She felt the prick of tears behind her eyes, and she blinked—but it was too late. The first drop slid down her cheek.

  “Shit,” Tracker said as he pushed the laptop away and rose. “Natalie, don’t.” He drew her against him and held her. “I told him to wake you and explain it himself. But he—”

  Natalie held herself stiff. She had to stop crying. There was no sense to it. She never cried.

  She hadn’t, not once, since her father had left.

  “He’s coming back, Natalie. He told me to tell you—”

  Tracker broke off when suddenly she used all of her strength to push away.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She scrubbed tears away with the heel of her hand. “You called me Natalie.”

  For a second a puzzled expression crossed his face. “Yes…oh, shit. Shit. Shit.”

  “If you know I’m not Rachel Cade, then—” As Tracker continued to swear, Natalie remembered the moment when she’d been trying to hear the last part of the combination to Carlo’s safe. Chance had used her father’s exact words. “You can do it, Nat.”

  He’d called her Nat. The sharp band of pain tightening around her heart had her rubbing her chest with her fist.

  “He’s known all along, hasn’t he? That I’m Natalie, not Rachel Cade?”

  “He…I….” It was pure panic that she saw on Tracker’s face now. Later, much later, she was going to remember that with some amusement. She promised herself that. But right now, there were too many other emotions spiking through her. One of them was anger, the cold, icy kind. That was the one she latched on to.

  He’d known who she was from the beginning. And he’d played along with her because he liked the game. It had all been a game.

  “He wanted to stay and explain—”

  Holding up a hand, she said, “Enough. You don’t have to explain. I get it.” Then she held out her hand palm up. “Since I had to leave the Brancotti estate without packing, I’ll require cab fare to my apartment.”

  16

  “OOH, DETECTIVE NATALIE! Your hair! What have you done?”

  The moment Rad had caught sight of her, he’d clapped two palms to his cheeks and stared. Now the majority of the people waiting for a table at the Blue Pepper was staring at her too.

  “You’ve cut it.” Rad pressed the back of one hand against his forehead and the palm of the other over his heart. “You’ve cut your lovely hair!”

  “Yes, I’ve cut my hair.” Natalie fluffed the ends with one hand. The color was back to normal. And so was she. That’s what she’d kept telling herself during the week she’d been back.

  “It will grow in.” Rad spoke in the hushed tone of voice one might use to express sympathy at a wake.

  Because she was pretty sure he was comforting himself and not her, Natalie found herself biting back a grin. “Hair has a tendency to do that.” Maybe her sisters had been right to insist that they get together for dinner. “Are my sisters here?”

  “Sure thing.” Rad’s face brightened. “I gave them a table on the patio. They’re already enjoying the appetizer sampler.”

  Natalie drew in a steadying breath as she followed Rad through the crowd and down the three steps. Being on the patio was a good thing. Better to face all your ghosts. Better to—

  Her heart nearly stopped as she stepped onto the dance floor. The salsa band was playing the same tune that she and Chance had danced to on the night that she’d taken him up on his first proposition.

  Memories of that night and others streamed into her mind—the way he’d touched her, held her, filled her. The memories and the sensations hadn’t dimmed any more than the ache in her heart had.

  But they would, she told herself firmly. And maybe she wouldn’t let her hair grow in.

  Maybe she could never be the same Natalie Gibbs she’d been before Chance Mitchell. So what?

  Lifting her chin, she followed Rad off the dance floor.

  “Here she is,” Rad announced as they reached the table.

  Any confidence Natalie might have built up faded the moment she looked at her sisters.

  She could tell by the expression on their faces that she wasn’t quite back to the old Natalie Gibbs yet. In fact, what she saw in their eyes was what she’d been denying every time she let herself look in the mirror.

  Rory had frozen in place with a stuffed mushroom halfway to her mouth. Rory never let anything interfere with her appetite.

  Sierra had her hands clasped tightly together in front of her, the way she always did when she was really nervous or worried.

  Hell. Natalie knew she looked like shit.

  “Her lovely hair will grow back,” Rad said.

  When silence continued to stretch at the table, Rad cleared his throat and said, “Well. How about I bring the drink of the week—a frozen pineapple margarita?”

  Rory cut him off by raising her free hand. “Three very dry martinis with olives. And keep them coming.”

  “Excellent choice,” Rad said as he hurried away.

  Sierra took Natalie’s hand. “What happened to you?”

  Natalie found she had to speak around a lump in her throat. “I’m fine.”

  Rory set her stuffed mushroom down. “You have black circles the size of Wyoming around your eyes.”

  “I’ve been working.”

  “And not sleeping,” Sierra said. “Or eating. Tell us.”

  Natalie sighed. A triplet could never have secrets. Finally, she said, “Sometimes when you risk everything for something, you don’t get it.”

  And then she told them the whole story.

  “THIS ISN’T MY HOTEL,” Chance said as Tracker eased the car to the curb in front of the Blue Pepper.

  “We thought we’d have a drink first,” Tracker said. “Lucas is buying.”

  Searching his mind for an excuse to bow out, Chance stepped onto the curb. Above the traffic noises on the street came the faint sounds of laughter and music from the patio. He recognized the song the band was playing. It was the same one that he’d danced to with Natalie three months ago. That’s when everything had started between them. No, he corrected himself as nervousness twisted in his stomach. Everything had started between them the first moment he’d seen her. Had that been when he’d fallen in love with her?

  Panic slithered in to join the nervousness. “You guys go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got some business to take care of.” Truth was he had a plan to make. And he was lousy at them. “I’ll just take a cab—”

  Tracker gripped one arm and Lucas the other. “Sophie’s holding our table.”

  “And Mac will be very annoyed if we don’t bring you,” Lucas added. “Besides you owe us. I provided my boat and my chief of security for this little Florida caper of yours.”

  “Yeah,” Tracker put in. “And don’t forget the effort I put into saving your sorry ass. My arches are still sore from those high heels I had to wear. The very least you owe us is a drink and the rest of the story.”

  Chance sighed and let himself be led into the Blue Pepper. It was the last place he wanted to be. Memories of Natalie were already flooding his mind. The past week had been hectic, tying up the Ferrante diamond case in London and seeing to it that “Carlo Brancotti” was finally behind bars. Now, he needed a cool head to think.

  “Ah, Mr. Wainwright. Welcome, welcome, welcome.”

  At first, Chance couldn’t see who was speaking, but on the last “welcome,” a short man with spikey red hair burst through the throng of people waiting for tables.

  “Hi, Rad,” Lucas said. “Is my wife here?”

  “She’s w
ith Miss Sophie. This way,” the man said as he waved a hand and led them up the stairs and into the bar.

  At least they weren’t going to have to sit on the patio, Chance thought. After greeting and being hugged by Sophie and Mac, he found himself wedged between the two women in the corner of a circular banquette.

  Sophie poured a glass of beer from the pitcher in the center of the table and handed it to him. Then Tracker cleared his throat. “There’s something you ought to know.”

  Something in the tone of his friend’s voice had his stomach muscles clenching. “What?”

  He glanced around the table, noted the solemn expressions and fear streamed through him. “Has something happened to Natalie?”

  “No.” Mac spoke as Sophie laid a hand on Chance’s arm. “She’s fine. She’s on the patio right now with her sisters.”

  Chance felt his throat go dry. “She’s here.” He wasn’t ready to see her, and for the first time in his life he didn’t trust himself to improvise. “I—”

  Suddenly, he didn’t care whether or not he had a plan. He had to see her. Hold her. Maybe the plan would come to him then.

  “Let me out.” He nudged Mac. “I need to see her.”

  “There’s something you should know before you see her,” Tracker said. “I—she knows you were aware all along that she was Natalie—that you were never fooled by the Rachel Cade disguise.”

  “You told her?” Chance asked.

  “Hell, I didn’t mean to. I slipped and called her Natalie.”

  Chance took a long swallow of the beer. “I take it she wasn’t pleased.”

  “She wouldn’t even let me drive her to her apartment,” Tracker said.

  “You don’t have to lecture him,” Sophie said before Chance could speak. “I already have.

  But you should have told her yourself.”

  “Before you took her to Florida with you,” Mac added, then shook her head. “Pretending to believe that she was this Rachel Cade when all the time you knew she was Natalie…what were you thinking?”