When Hurley and Rome had met, there’d been an instant assessment on both sides. Sure, Rome had seen a photo of Hurley, but it hadn’t captured the powerful presence of the actual man. He was wearing an ancient, tight-fitting gray muscle shirt cut off at the shoulders that showed his impressive upper body and outlined his six-pack abs. He wore loose pants like his students, old black sneakers on his long feet. His eyes were dark, his teeth whiter than white against his ebony skin. His face was rough-hewn and his head was shaved. As he walked in front of his eight students, he used his hands to make a point, always assessing their form, pointing out their weaknesses. He was light and graceful on his feet for a man his size.
Rome said to Elizabeth, “I know the companies pay a small fortune for the three weeks their people spend with Hurley, but it’s well worth it if their training could prevent another kidnapping. I remember sitting through the films of situational survival Hurley filmed at Quantico—how to escape from the trunk of a car, how to hide in a tree’s foliage, how to survive in a swamp or a rainforest, how to take cover in a dust storm. I bet this group will watch some of those same films, depending onwhere they’ll be sent.” Rome eyed her. “You spent three months with him, not three weeks. I’ll bet your training wasn’t all that different from mine at Quantico, since Hurley developed a lot of it.”
“Different enough for me to kick your butt, Foxe.”
His brow shot up again. “You think so?”
Before she could mouth off, they heard a small boy’s voice from outside the gym door, whispering, “Papa’s teaching beginners, Major, stay still and watch. Look, there’s Elizabeth.”
“That’s Jean-Pierre. Major’s a big black Lab.”
“Hurley’s nodding to you, probably wants you to demonstrate something. Go ahead. I want to check this out.” Rome slipped out the open door to see a small boy about Sean’s age, talking earnestly to the black Lab, running his small hands down his back as he talked to him. He saw a tall woman with a head of thick black curls down to her shoulders dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt walk toward them from Hurley’s house, her eyes set on the little boy. Elizabeth was right. She was gorgeous.
“Uh-oh, Major, Mom doesn’t want us here.” The boy ran to her, Major racing beside him.
Rome grinned when the woman hugged the boy to her side, took his hand, and led him back to the big house. She said something to the boy, and they both turned and waved to him.
Rome walked back into the gym and stood next to Elizabeth. She was tucking in her shirt. They continued to watch Hurley work his clients until their clothes were sweat soaked and several were flopped on their backs trying to breathe. He couldn’t imagine Elizabeth going one-on-one with him for three months, with all his attention, all his focus, on her. It must have cost a fortune, but then, she was the daughter of an aristocrat and probably never had to pay for a thing in her pampered life, not to mention taking up with a monster—his thought died in its tracks when she said, “Oh, how I feel forthem. So many days I couldn’t get up, all my muscles simply dead, but for me, it was worth every penny.” She laughed. “My banker was horrified when I cleaned out my entire savings.”
He was an idiot. She was amazing. She’d survived three attempts on her life, and she’d faced her situation head-on. No more thinking in stereotypes, even if she did talk like English royalty. And she could fishbone-braid her hair. Fact was, he was beginning to like her.
Late that afternoon, when some of the eight recruits were in their first session with an ice bath, Rome and Hurley sat around the desk in his techno-wonder office. Hurley said, “I’ve spoken to Dillon Savich. He filled me in on what’s been going on in London since Elizabeth left here and went into the Hoover. I’m very pleased he and Sherlock have her staying with them. More protection for her.” He paused a moment, searched Rome’s face. “You’ve only known her for a day, but you’re aware of what she did to save herself before she came to me. Now, her skills match her fast brain. What do you think of her?”
Rome said slowly, “I have to admit when I first met her I wondered if I should call her Your Highness and bow, and from what I’d been told about her, I believed she was a spoiled aristocrat stupid enough to sleep with an assassin.” He paused. “Then I heard what she did in London, how she cut ties, looked you up, and came to you. Only a day with her and I’m impressed. I think she’s—solid. The time she spent with you gave her skills and confidence.” He shook his head. “Still, that accent of hers makes you wonder whether to bow.”
Hurley grinned. “I know what you mean. Did you know she told me why she’d taken Samir Basara as a lover? Did she tell you?”
Rome nodded. “Yes, she spit it right out. It all had to do with her love-hate relationship with her dad. I heard you said she’s a brick.”
Hurley grinned, showing very white teeth. “When shearrived here I wasn’t at all sure I could help her, much less make that much of an impact, but by the end of the first week, let me say she’d already made a greater impact on me. And after three months? She never gave up, no matter what I demanded of her, even when she could barely move. She even learned how to curse in American. Yeah, she’s a brick.”
Rome said, “Can you tell me any weaknesses I should watch out for?”
“Good question. When she first arrived she was so scared I could smell the fear on her. That’s never good. But that changed, and it worries me. She’s maybe overconfident now, maybe too sure of herself, like a lot of fresh recruits who haven’t seen real combat. Sometimes she almost seems to be hoping they’ll come for her again.”
In the living room, Elizabeth and Angelique both had half an eye on the three boys playing softball outside. Angelique said in her lilting French-accented English, “Hurley is seldom wrong about people. He likes your FBI agent, and you know that means a lot.” She patted Elizabeth’s arm. “And the boys were so excited to meet an actual FBI special agent. He’s good with them, and it’s sincere. You said he’s not married?”
“Don’t give me that look, Angelique.” Elizabeth was smiling as she watched Eric whack a ball and send it off into the maple trees. One of his brothers ran after it. “He has a wonderful home in Washington. He’s rehabbing it himself.” She jumped to her feet and started pacing. “The truth is, I just want all this to be over, Angelique, over and done so I can go home and live my life again.”
Angelique watched her long-legged stride. She radiated vitality and confidence, so different from when she’d first arrived. She said slowly, “I wonder what normal will mean to you when this is all over. You’ve changed, Elizabeth. You see people more clearly. To me, you seem ready to take on the world. Hurley is very proud of you. And so am I.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Thank you, but you, Angelique, you and Hurley, you’re the amazing ones.”
Angelique rose, raised her hand. “I see the men are through with their talk. I smell cinnamon, so that means the rolls are ready to eat.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I must speak to Hurley for a moment.” She passed Rome, who was sniffing the air and heading toward the wonderful smell. “I’ll be right there,” she said to him, and stopped Hurley. “A few minutes?”
He eyed her, tilting his head in that way of his, and waved her back into his office.
Elizabeth closed the door. Once she was seated in front of his desk, Hurley said, “Rome agrees with me you’re better off here than in London. Both he and Savich believe the terrorists, if that’s what they are, would be waiting for their chance at you there. Savich had an interesting question: Do they want to kill you or kidnap you?”
Elizabeth said, “He asked me that too. But their hatred, Hurley, I felt it, tasted it, and one of them had the knife raised to sink into my heart. What good is a dead kidnap victim?”
Hurley raised a big callused hand. “I know you believe that, and Savich could be wrong, but one thing I know for sure. If they try for you again, Elizabeth, it will all become clear.”
Elizabeth’s heart beat in slow deep strokes. She drew a deep breath.
He arched a thick dark brow. “I see. You have something else to say. Come on, spit it out.”
