Hart's Last Stand. Cheryl Biggs

      “It was a suicide mission, Captain, and we both know it, but somehow you pulled it off and we’re both still alive. So whatever you need, you got it. What is it?”

      “Someone’s investigating me, sir. I need to know who and why.”

      “I’ll call you back.”

      Hart replaced the phone receiver and began to pace the length of the room, uncertain whether he felt better or not. He hated asking for favors. Before he could decide which way his mood was swinging, the phone rang.

      “Evidently the feds suspect you of treason,” the senator said.

      Hart felt the breath stall in his lungs.

      “And the word murder is also being bandied about.”

      “Murder?” Hart gasped, incredulous.

      “Top-secret plans for an experimental weapons-detection device that was being tested during a covert operation you led a year ago were stolen during the mission, Captain, or right after it.”

      “Senator, you know I wouldn’t—”

      “You don’t have to convince me, Captain, but you need to know—the feds have two theories. One is that either the pilot who went down in that chopper over there wasn’t killed, his death was faked and the two of you are accomplices, along with his wife. Or, you and the man’s wife conspired to steal the plans, killed him and she’s now selling the plans through a Los Angeles gallery she’s a partner in.”

      “This is unbelievable,” Hart said. “I—”

      “Listen, Captain,” the senator said, “this could get ugly. If you need me again, call. I’ll do what I can.”

      Hart heard a click and the line went dead.

      It was worse than he’d thought.

      He remembered everything Suzanne had said, the fear in her eyes, the near panic in her voice. But was it real?

      “Dammit to hell.” He pounded a fist on his desk. His only chance to save his career now, possibly his life, was to prove both of them innocent—or the woman whose image had haunted his dreams for months guilty.

      He stared out the window on the opposite wall and contemplated the situation. Rick was dead, which meant he was innocent. But what if Suzanne was not? What if she was a spy? What if she’d used Rick? Hart swore viciously. The whole damned thing sounded too farfetched, but in the world he lived in, it wasn’t. She could be trying to set him up, could have come back not for his help, as she claimed, but to shift the blame.

      He yanked the door open and stalked through his aide’s office toward the exit. Turning to Private Roubechard, he ordered, “I want you to do a background check on Second Lieutenant Rick Cassidy. He served under me in the corps a year ago.”

      Hart paused, one hand on the exit’s doorknob. “Do one on his wife, too. Suzanne Cassidy. And I want them on my desk in an hour.”

      The anger and resentment he’d lived with for the past year burned hot in him as he slammed out of the office and strode to his car. He slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine.

      He didn’t trust Suzanne, but he had to talk to her again.

      It had seemed to take forever for the taxi to arrive. Suzanne was now halfway to Tucson when the sensation that she was being watched grew too strong to ignore. She turned and looked out the cab’s rear window. The road behind was long, winding, narrow and very empty. Nevertheless, she was unable to shake the feeling or its intensity. She’d felt it on and off over the past several days, but now it seemed stronger than ever.

      Her gaze swept the vast, open desert, and apprehension pulled on the knot in her stomach. She’d left Three Hills a little more than a year ago, and after settling in Los Angeles she had completely revamped her life.

      But it hadn’t stopped her from thinking about him.

      She trembled as a wave of hot yearning swept through her. It raced up her spine, through her arms, legs and fingers as she remembered the moment she’d turned from the plane and faced him—the instant they’d recognized each other. She could still feel the piercing stare of his eyes, the potent essence of Hart Branson as it had reached out and enveloped her.

      For the briefest of moments it had been as if his consciousness dove inside hers to probe her thoughts, uncover her secrets and search, then gently touch, her very soul.

      He had never looked at her like that before. No man had.

      Her cell phone rang, startling her and bringing her a glare in the rearview mirror from the cab driver. He hadn’t relished driving to the base to pick her up, and it was obvious even the promise of a good tip hadn’t improved his mood any.

      Suzanne pulled the phone from her purse, hoping it was Hart telling her to come back, that he believed her. He’d help her. Then she realized it couldn’t be him—he didn’t know her cell number. Her spirits instantly plunged. Please, she prayed fervently, please don’t let it be my mother. Not now. She wasn’t in the mood to defend her reasons for moving to L.A. or hear why she should start looking for another husband, which seemed to be her mother’s two favorite topics lately.

      “Hello?” she said hesitantly.

      “Suzanne, darling, what in heaven’s name is going on? Are you all right? Where are you?”

      She jerked the phone from her ear and nearly groaned aloud at hearing her partner’s high-pitched, squeaky voice.

      “I thought…” Clyde sucked in a breath. “Well, darling, when you didn’t show up at the gallery this morning, I had the most awful visions, I mean…”

      She shuddered, remembering her close call last night in L.A. She’d worked late at the gallery. The street had been deserted, but when she’d started to cross it, a car had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

      Only the fact that she’d realized she’d left her briefcase in the office and had started to turn around and go back had saved her.

      Afterward she’d felt such panic that she’d driven straight to the airport. And the terror had prompted her to take their new plane at first light and fly to Three Hills.

      “…you’re never even late, let alone a no-show…”

      “I’m sorry, Clyde.”

      “…and then Mr. Collins came in for your nine-o’clock appointment, and you weren’t here, so naturally he was upset and…”

      “I’m sorry,” she said again, hoping she hadn’t lost the gallery one of their most valued customers. “I should have called you, but…” But what? She searched for an excuse, knowing she couldn’t tell him the truth—for both their sakes.

      “Yes, you’ve said that, thank you. So where are you?”

      “Arizona,” she said before she could stop herself.

      “How did you…?” He gasped. “You took the plane?”

      “Yes, I’m sorry, but there wasn’t time to—”

      “I know—you heard of a terribly wonderful find and just couldn’t wait to get to it, right?” he said, offering her the best excuse she could ask for, even though his tone was somewhat sarcastic.

      “I’m sorry, I should have called first, but—”

      “Oh, never mind,” he said, sounding placated at the thought of a handsome sale on whatever she’d gone to pick up that couldn’t wait. “I handled Mr. Collins just fine, but I’ll expect to see something deliciously valuable when you get back, so don’t be gone long. And for heaven’s sake, don’t put a scratch on our new baby.”

      Her heart sank as she remembered their “new baby” sitting cock-eyed back at the military base, one wing wedged into the gully next to the runway. Rick had taught