Safe Passage. Лорет Энн Уайт

      “Oh, come on. It can’t hurt. So, do you like your pendant?”

      “Yes.” She moved over to make sure the lid to the larvae was properly secured. The ugly little grubs, her pride and joy, represented a fortune to Kepplar Biological Control Systems. And there was stringent protocol on secrecy. A leak could spell the loss of millions. She couldn’t understand why Marshall would clear anyone with security. Even her fiancé. It just didn’t make sense.

      “Come.” She turned to Jozsef. “Let’s get out of here before you ruin me.”

      Jozsef chuckled. “Now that would be the last thing on my mind.” He lifted his hand and brushed her cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. “Come, let’s go grab some breakfast. My place or yours?”

      Skye hesitated. “Actually, Jozsef, I’m really tired…and I’ve got a meeting with Marshall in a couple of hours.”

      He studied her face. Then he nodded. “Sure.” He took her arm. “It’s okay, I understand.”

      Skye felt everything but sure. Or okay.

      Jozsef halted at the door, grasped her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Skye—”

      The sudden severity in his eyes startled her. “What?”

      “Promise me you’ll wear that beetle always. No matter what happens. Can you promise me that?”

      She reached up, fingered the gold carapace. “Why? What’s going to happen, Jozsef?”

      “Just make me that promise.”

      She tried to read his eyes. Couldn’t. “All right,” she said tentatively. “I’ll wear your beetle…no matter what happens.”

      Scott’s phone beeped. He flicked it open. “Yeah.”

      “The plate’s registered to a Jozsef Danko.”

      “That was quick.”

      “He’s in the system. Landed immigrant, a Hungarian national. Investor, stockbroker, importer-exporter, all-round international businessman. Travels a lot. Works from an office out of his residence. Wonder why an international player like him has set himself up in a place like Haven.”

      “He found something to keep him here. He’s getting married morning after next.”

      “What?”

      “He’s the fiancé.”

      “What fiancé?”

      “Dr. Van Rijn’s.”

      Silence. “We didn’t know there was a fiancé.” There was a new bite in Rex Logan’s voice.

      Scott felt a wry smile tug at his mouth. The Bellona boss was suddenly taking this mission a little more seriously. “Well, there is one. And do me a favor. Have someone check into Danko’s recent investment history.”

      “Why?”

      “A hunch. I think these two may be working together.” Scott flipped his phone shut as two figures emerged from the Kepplar lab building. Danko and Skye.

      Jozsef Danko walked her over to her bike. Scott noticed his arm around her slim waist. Something in his stomach tightened.

      Danko leaned down as if to kiss her but she moved abruptly, positioning her helmet on her head as if she hadn’t noticed his intention. It gave Scott an unexplained jolt of satisfaction.

      Danko’s vehicle exited the Kepplar compound, turned left. Skye, on her Harley, turned right. Scott followed the bike.

      The doctor rode home at a ridiculous speed. Scott turned down a side road and approached his house from the opposite direction as pale gray fingers of dawn reached over the distant sea.

      He had just fed Honey, sunk down onto the sofa with a mug of coffee and fresh ice pack when he was jolted by a banging at his door.

      He sat up, winced. His knee felt like a bloody water-filled balloon after the box-carrying episode last night. He dragged his hands through his hair, reached for his cane, pushed himself to his feet.

      The banging got louder.

      “All right, already!” He limped over to the door, threw it open.

      And froze.

      Dr. Skye Van Rijn stood there in a soft pale pink sweater, fresh as a freaking daisy after her night of sneaking around in the dark. She smiled up at him with those lightly glossed lush lips. Her eyes were as pale silver and lambent as the monochromatic dawn sky.

      Something shifted in his belly. He pulled the door closer to his body, hiding the dossier, her personal details scattered all over his living room coffee table.

      “Mornin’,” he said slowly.

      Her eyes flicked over him, taking in his rumpled clothes. “Doesn’t look like you got much sleep.”

      He shrugged.

      She waited.

      He said nothing.

      “Your truck wasn’t here early this morning.”

      “I work odd hours. Needed to chase my muse this morning. Went for a drive.”

      She bit her bottom lip, studied him with those crystal-clear eyes. “I see.”

      He shifted slightly, held the door closer.

      “I thought you might need that.” She turned and pointed to a dolly she’d left alongside his truck still loaded with gear. “I had one in my garage.” She angled her head, looked back up at him, a twinkle playing in the silver of her eyes. Amusement tugged at one side of her mouth. “I had a hunch you weren’t going to ask anyone for help unpacking.”

      She’d floored him. Again. He scrambled for composure. “Thanks.” He said no more. Waited.

      “Well, I’m off to work, then. You coming tomorrow, around eight?”

      “Tomorrow?”

      “My wedding reception.”

      “Oh. Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.”

      “Well, have a good day, then.” Her top lip twitched slightly as if at some secret joke. “Happy writing.”

      Was there mockery in her tone? Challenge in her voice?

      “Happy doing whatever it is scientists in Haven do,” he answered.

      She halted, as if unwilling to leave just yet. She turned back to face him. “I do research and development. I work mostly with insects and design biological control measures for the agriculture and horticulture industries.”

      “You mean, you create assassin bugs?”

      She laughed that deep, smoky laugh. “That’s cute, McIntyre. Yes, I find and develop little predators.”

      “I see.” He allowed his eyes to walk slowly, obviously, over her utterly amazing body. “I’d never have pegged you for a bug lady.”

      She laughed again, a little less sure. “A bug lady? What’s a ‘bug lady’ supposed to look like?”

      Scott smiled, holding her eyes. “Not like you.”

      For a moment their gazes locked. A silent, primal current swelled, surged between them.

      Then she broke the moment. “And there I was, wondering what a typical futurist looked like.” She turned in a fluid movement and strode down the rutted driveway. Scott couldn’t help but watch the way her firm buttocks moved under the denim fabric of her jeans, couldn’t help the soft pulse of warmth in his groin.

      “Oh.” She stopped suddenly and swung round.

      He braced.

      “I meant to tell you, nice Web site.”

      Scott