Dangerous Passions. Brenda Harlen

had lied to her, and as this man hadn’t hesitated to prove his identity, she had to believe it was the other Michael Courtland. The one who’d kissed her until her head was spinning, who’d touched her boldly, intimately, stoking the flames of her desire until she’d been sure they would consume her. The man with whom she’d almost had wild, passionate sex.

      Her stomach churned again. Why had he lied?

      What reason could he have had to pretend to be someone else? And why hadn’t she thought to ask him to prove his identity?

      The answer to the last question was obvious—because she didn’t want to know. Because she’d wanted only mind-numbing, bone-melting sex without any complications.

      “Ms. Vaughn?”

      The question from outside the door broke through her self-recrimination. She felt the heat of shame flood her cheeks and pushed aside all thoughts of the other man as she opened the door—but only a few inches.

      “I’m sorry,” she apologized, handing back his identification through the narrow opening.

      “There’s no need to apologize for being cautious.”

      He smiled at her, and she realized he was more attractive when viewed directly. Close to six feet tall, she guessed, with sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and a square jaw with just the hint of a dimple in the middle.

      “Mr. Courtland—”

      “Call me Drew.”

      She frowned. “I thought your name was Michael.”

      “It’s also my dad’s name,” he said. “Andrew’s my middle name. My mom started calling me Drew when I was a kid—it made things less confusing around the house.”

      “Oh.” She relaxed again at the easy explanation. “Okay, now I know who you are, but I still don’t know why you’re here.”

      “Lieutenant Creighton didn’t call you?”

      “No.” Bony fingers of fear slid along her skin. “Has something else happened to my sister?”

      “No,” he responded quickly to her obvious panic. “Natalie’s fine. I’m here because of you.”

      “Why?”

      “Because Creighton is concerned that Zane Conroy’s associates may have followed you to Florida.”

      She remembered the strange feeling that had persisted over the past couple of days, the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. She’d finally discarded the idea as paranoia, but now she wondered.

      “In fact, you may have been tracked to this hotel.”

      She swallowed. “I think someone was in my room tonight. Earlier. While I was out.”

      His gaze sharpened. “Then we need to get you out of here as soon as possible. If they’ve already been here, confirmed you’re staying here, they’ll be back.”

      The chill went through to her bones. “Why?”

      “Because they’ll be seeking revenge for his murder.”

      “But I had nothing to do with anything,” she protested. “I didn’t even know Conroy.”

      “Your sister did,” he reminded her. “And that puts you at risk.”

      His warning shook her to the core. Shannon had thought Conroy’s death was a blessing, but if what this man said was true, not only could she be in danger, but Natalie and Jack might be, as well.

      “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “But you need to understand why Creighton wants you out of this hotel.”

      “Where—” she swallowed “—where am I supposed to go?”

      “I have a safe house ready.”

      It was all too much for her to comprehend, but she wasn’t quite ready to run off with a total stranger just because he’d flashed his ID. “I want to call my sister before I go anywhere.”

      “Of course.”

      Somewhat reassured by his response, she closed the door again, leaving him outside in the hall. She moved across the room to the phone, her hand trembling as she picked up the receiver. She took a deep breath before dialing.

      Natalie answered on the second ring, sounding groggy and slightly panicked. “Hello?”

      She cringed. “I forgot what time it was.”

      “Shannon?”

      “Yeah. I’m sorry I woke you.”

      “What’s the matter?”

      “I, uh, is Dylan there?”

      “Dylan?” Natalie was obviously awake now. “No. He was paged about an hour ago. What’s going on?”

      Shannon hesitated. Her sister had been through so much in the past two days and she didn’t want to cause her any more concern. But she also didn’t want to go off with Michael Courtland without confirming the information he’d given her.

      “Did Dylan mention anything to you about sending a private investigator to Florida?”

      “Oh, yeah. I meant to tell you about that when I spoke to you earlier.”

      “Tell me what?” Shannon prompted.

      “Just that Dylan asked Michael Courtland to keep an eye on you while you were on vacation because of Conroy’s connections down there. But I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about now.”

      “The P.I. seems to think otherwise.”

      “Why?” Natalie asked.

      She didn’t want to worry her sister further by telling her about the break-in of her room, so she only said, “I’m not sure, but he’s suggesting that I go to a safe house with him.”

      “Oh, Shan. I’m so sorry. I never expected any of this to affect you.”

      “It’s not your fault.” As shaken as she was by recent events, Shannon didn’t want her sister to feel responsible for something over which she had no control. “I just wanted to know what you thought of his plan before I agreed to it.”

      “Dylan didn’t say anything to me about this,” her sister admitted. “But maybe he didn’t have a chance.”

      “What do you think I should do?”

      Natalie didn’t hesitate. “Go with him. If Dylan trusted him enough to send him, you can trust that he’ll take care of you.”

      Shannon wasn’t comfortable with the thought of anyone taking care of her, but after the recent attempt on her sister’s life, she was willing to make some concessions. At least until she had more details about what was going on.

      “Okay,” she agreed. But because her suspicions weren’t completely alleviated, she asked, “What does Michael Courtland look like?”

      “Why are you asking? I thought you’d already met him.”

      “No, um, he called me,” she hedged. “I just want to make sure I don’t run off with the wrong man.”

      “If this situation wasn’t so serious, I might be able to laugh at the thought of you running off with any man,” Natalie said. “But under the circumstances, I’m glad you’re being careful.”

      “I’m always careful.”

      “I know,” her sister agreed. “As for Michael, I’ve only met him once or twice, but I remember that he was tall—around six feet, maybe a little taller—brown hair, blue eyes.”

      Her sister’s response didn’t alleviate Shannon’s uncertainty. Both of the men who had identified themselves as Michael Courtland had been at least six feet. The first one had brown hair,