In Safe Hands. Linda Conrad

thought of obtaining the automatic from his embassy before embarking on this personal mission. The secretive man he was supposed to meet claimed to have information that would be the most vital clue in Colin’s search to date. According to other local contacts, this man was covertly employed by the Americans. His job was to keep tabs on just the sort of thing Colin wanted to find. Allowances had to be made for that kind of knowledge.

      Covert was one thing, though. Being stupid was quite another.

      Impatiently awaiting the creak of floorboards on the stairs outside his door, Colin wasn’t sure how much longer he could bide his time in this godforsaken hovel. Once again he wondered why the man had been so insistent that they meet in this place and on this date.

      But obtaining information about his brother, John, from the mystery man who called himself “El Cuervo” was important enough to keep Colin right here, freezing his bum for the duration.

      A sudden soft knock from the other side of the door took Colin by surprise. At last. An end to this ridiculous waiting.

      Blowing out a pent-up breath and deciding that his best defense was the element of surprise, he ripped open the flimsy wooden door, only to find a curly headed leprechaun standing in the shadows of the threshold.

      “What?” he asked irritably and half turned away. This person resembled one of his annoying mother’s fairie creatures. It couldn’t be the man he’d been expecting.

      “Colin?”

      That word caught his attention, and he swung back. A low and sexy female voice had come from the short, lumpy body—and that voice had spoken his name.

      Colin did what his gut told him to do. He grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her off her feet as he popped her into the room. Using his foot, he slammed the door behind them. Then, reaching out with a steadying hand, he turned her around so that he could better study the small, odd female in the combined glow from an overhead bulb and the dusty lamp on his makeshift desk. Was she carrying a weapon?

      “Hey!” she complained as she batted at his hands. “Cut out the manhandling.” She sounded as surprised to be here as he’d been when she appeared at his door.

      No gun. And at an inch or two over five feet tall, she posed no immediate danger.

      “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded.

      She took off the mannish, gray fedora and a tumble of auburn curls spilled out over her shoulders and halfway down her back. Colin revised his original opinion. Not a leprechaun at all. No. Even in the shadowed glow of lamplight, the sight of this woman’s wide and frightened eyes sent a sucker punch of heat straight to his gut. She was actually quite beautiful underneath the ugly green covering. But that doe-eyed look made her appear vulnerable—and too much like the very thing he’d long ago vowed to steer clear of. A lovely woman in distress. Trouble.

      He needed to get his head in the game. She knew his name. Perhaps she had been sent with information. She seemed benign, if disconcerting, but she could turn out to be as potentially deadly as one of those beautiful, deserted passes belonging to mujahadin fighters in Afghanistan.

      With his senses strung tight, Colin tried to ignore his primal response to her. He was certainly experienced enough to maintain appearances.

      Except for her hair. Colin lost focus again, as he stared at that glorious hair. Even in the dim light he could see a hundred different colors shining throughout her mass of curls. Reds and chestnut and ebony. Even a few sprinkles of burnished gold. His hands ached to glide their way through that silken, shiny mane.

      She stared at him, and the bare overhead bulb shot a single glimmer of light into her eyes. They were forest-green. The color was blinding.

      Whoever the woman was, her body came in a riot of colors under the drab garments. Perhaps she truly was a leprechaun in disguise, sent to guard the pot of gold.

      At that wayward thought, Colin took a sharp breath. Was John the pot of gold?

      “Answer me, woman. What do you know?” Furiously he blinked away the guilt and pain that always came when he thought of John.

      She simply stood there, eyes wide. A compulsive urge to lift a hand to her face and brush aside a flyaway strand of hair had Colin balling up his hands and gritting his teeth. He forced himself to step back and think clearly, reminding himself why he was here.

      “My name is Maggie Ryan,” she finally said with a lilting voice and an odd accent. “I’ve come a long way to seek you out. You hold the key to a child’s future.”

      As the tall man gaped at her from out of those steely gray–blue eyes, Maggie tried to take in the whole picture with one quick glance, the way she’d trained herself to do. Age about midthirties. Clean-cut, with a strong chin. A touch of gray at his temples, and an expression that seemed both sharp and wary. Her initial impression was of a man both sophisticated and deadly. An odd combination.

      But Maggie Ryan wasn’t one to turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. Even as a kid, she’d stood her ground against both her older brothers and against the magic forces in nature that swirled around their Texas family. She felt tough enough to get any job done. Especially one this important.

      Absently, she fingered the protection charm that was tied to a leather thong around her neck, reminding herself of the alternate ways to defend herself, in lieu of wielding ordinary weapons. Her thoughts turned to her Mexican grandmother, Abuela Lupe, and all the lessons in witchcraft and magic she’d learned at her knee.

      Maggie had also learned a few lessons in self-defense from her Irish-American private-investigator grandfather before he died, and those would serve her well. But right now she thanked goodness for Abuela Lupe. Her Mexican curandera grandmother had located this dangerous-looking man in her crystals and then told Maggie where and when to find him.

      All that Maggie knew so far was that his name was Colin and he was the key to solving all of her problems.

      He took her by the arm and dragged her closer. “I expect an explanation—now,” he demanded in his clipped English accent. “What’s all this nonsense?”

      His touch sent heat scorching through her body. She couldn’t remember a time that she’d had such a spontaneous, emotional response to a man. Well, not since the idiocy of an ill-advised engagement during her college years. If she’d had a mind to start that kind of thing again, this intense man, with his quiet British accent, his tailored slacks and expensive black leather jacket, would not be her choice of fiancé.

      “Can we…um…sit down? To talk.” Looking around, she found that the only chair had papers stacked on the seat.

      He scooped up the papers and moved them to the bed. “Sit, then.” Folding his hands behind his back in military style, Colin began to pace up and down the tiny room.

      “What or who could be so important, Maggie Ryan,” he said with an arrogant half smile, “that you sought me out through…a…” He shot his hand in the air as if lost for words. “What? How did you find me? A magic spell?”

      He didn’t know how close to the truth that was.

      Maggie sat on the shaky chair with its one leg shorter than the others and stared up at him. “I’ve come all the way from south Texas to find answers about a lost child. It’s the most important thing in the world. I’m trying to locate relatives for the orphaned baby girl in my custody. It’s vital that—”

      “Why me? Why come looking for me?”

      Instead of answering she threw a question back at him. “You don’t live in this room, do you? This can’t be your home.”

      It was a good guess, since her grandmother had been so specific about her arriving at this place at just the right time. Besides, this man didn’t look as if he belonged in a dump like this one.

      She sucked up a breath and took a chance. “Why are you here?”

      Colin’s whole body