Free Kiss and Tell by Cherry Adair Page A

said, using his brand of shorthand. His face ruddy with the cold, his dark hair tousled by the wind, he looked good enough to eat. "You?"
    "Apparently batting a thousand this weekend." He gave her a penetrating look. "Who are your friends?"
    "You saw them?" she whispered back, relieved.
    Jake shook his head. "Felt them. Me and the dog."
    "Yeah, well, they aren't my friends. They're the type my brothers warned me to avoid like the plague. And for once I'm inclined to listen. I think they've crashed our party and come calling on you ."
    He gave her an odd look. "How many?"
    "I saw five. But there were more. I'm not certain how many."
    "Physical description?"
    "Black clothing, strange headdress. Professionals for sure. They all had Uzis slung over their shoulders, and small pistols. Their language was unfamiliar. I mean totally unfamiliar. I'm good with languages, but I didn't get a cl—"
    "Don't ramble." He reached out and touched her frozen cheek. His warm breath fanned her face. He dropped his hand and draped it over his knee. "What else did you notice?"
    "That's it."
    "Close your eyes. Tell me what you saw."
    "I told you, noth—" She closed her eyes. "Oh, wait. Each of them had a knife strapped to his leg. Right calf. No scabbard. The blades were about twelve inches long." She opened her eyes to look at him. "They were made out of some weird metal. Matte. Black. Sharp. Nasty-looking."
    "Good. Anything else?" he asked grimly, his eyes scanning her face for God only knew what. "You were unusually observant," he said roughly. "Sure you didn't recognize any of them?"
    "I'm an artist. Of course I notice details. But I can't recognize people I don't know, especially if their faces are covered. And trust me, Jake Dolan, those guys aren't in my little black book."
    She sounded indignant enough to be convincing. But then, so had good old Soledad – just before she kneed him in the balls and tried to give him a Colombian necktie.
    Marnie would have fought to the death, Jake realized, rubbing his smarting palm where she'd bitten him. But for which side?
    The woman was a mass of contradictions. She should have fainted the second he clamped his hand over her mouth. Hell, she should have freaked out when she saw the men. But she hadn't.
    Bravery or conspiracy?
    She wasn't going to cooperate with his stereotypical notion of a delicate blonde. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to be taken in again. The timing of her presence couldn't have been worse. And the similarities to the journalist six years ago were too obvious to be coincidence. Yet he couldn't believe the enemy would think him fool enough to be conned the same way twice.
    "What do they want?"
    Lord, her mouth looks like sin when she whispers.
    "My ass, sweet cheeks. My ass. You're in the wrong place at the wrong time."
    By her description of the assassins he had a damn good idea who they were. But Judas, he didn't want to believe what his gut was telling him. Believe it or not, he had to be prepared. And he would be, once he could get rid of the girl. ASAP. She was a complication he couldn't afford.
    So his enemies were upping the ante, were they? How the hell had they tracked him here?
    "You could be wrong." She shivered, and he knew it wasn't just from the frigid cold. "They could be here to...to...something!" She sounded panicky.
    "I'm going to get you across the river," Out of my hair one way or the other.
    "Good. You'll come with me?"
    "And look over my shoulder for the rest of my life? No, thanks. They started this. I'll finish it. Here. Now."
    She grabbed his wrist and held on, her fingers cold. "Who are you?"
    He hesitated. "A security expert."
    "Bull."
    "The information is on a need-to-know basis. You don't need to know. We'll wait another fifteen minutes. If there's no more activity, we'll head for the bridge."
    "What about Duchess?" The edge of fear crept back into her voice. The dog's ears swiveled, either at the sound of her name, or the tone in her mistress's