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coming in quick gasps.
    “What the hell are you doing?”
    She whipped around to see Cullinane charging toward her from a side path. 
    “Lady, are you crazy or what?” The driver of the car that had nearly hit her leaped out, his expression thunderous. “Do you know how close I came to hitting you?”
    Her head swerved from side to side as she backed away, her pulse sky high.
    “I’ll take care of it. Are you all right?” Cullinane asked the driver, his voice sounding faint in her ears.
    “Yeah, I’m all right, but your girlfriend here better watch where she’s going. She could be dead right now.”
    She heard Cullinane’s deep voice murmuring to the man as he escorted him back to his car. The man soon pulled away.
    Oh, man. Here it came. 
    But he stopped in front of her and said nothing. Her attention caught on one drop of sweat rolling from his throat down tanned skin, disappearing into the dark hair above the neck of his tank. 
    When he remained silent, she raised her eyes to his.
    The usual steely gaze studied her. His jaw flexed. “Are you all right?” An odd huskiness tinged his voice.
    She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I was...preoccupied. Sorry.”
    He started to speak, then stopped abruptly. Nodding his head, he glanced down the road, back in the direction she’d come. “Let’s head back.”
    Jillian watched him as he turned away, still surprised that she’d escaped a lecture. Cullinane glanced back, one imperious eyebrow lifted, and she snapped to attention, determined not to show him weakness.
    He slowed his steps enough for her to catch up, then stride for stride, they matched their styles to one another, an odd sort of kinship she’d never expected to feel with him. For a mile or so, they covered ground simply as fellow athletes, and she slipped into the zone that so often sustained her, Cullinane a welcome companion.
    The sight of the compound abruptly reminded her that this man was her enemy. His success would mean her failure. The thought that she could respond at all to a man who’d protect a vicious beast like Hafner shook her deeply. Drawing upon her last reserves of energy, she sprinted ahead of him, covering the final yards to the gate, reminding herself that she could afford no distractions.
    She had responsibilities. She had a mission.
    She could not fail.
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    Drake drove toward Metairie on auto-pilot, restless and uneasy. Good thing that his regular contact with his handler from the Bureau was today. He had too much on his mind and arranging to be away for special meets was a challenge. He needed the contact with a world that sometimes felt too unreal.
    Hafner thought Drake was meeting a hooker on these outings. Drake grinned; Frank Campbell might resent being thought of in those terms. It was a good cover, though—Hafner took delight in chiding him for not bringing women to the compound, offering to provide him with all the free company he could ever want. He sneered at what he called monkish restraint, considering it a weakness that Drake would keep that part of his life so private, since, as he said, “It’s only women.” But Hafner’s smug complacency served his own purposes, so Drake didn’t object.
    The high regard of a slimeball like Klaus was a dubious honor, anyway.
    Drake rubbed the bridge of his nose. Soon. It would all be over soon. Then he could start washing away the years of filth staining his soul from close contact with vermin like Hafner.
    Pulling around the seed motel, he parked the car and headed for the ground-floor room which the clerk would have checked in a half-hour ago to a stunning blonde who would soon be watching television in one room while he met with Campbell in the connecting room.
    The door swung open before he could knock. Slender arms wrapped around his neck for the benefit of anyone tailing him, one long, black-stockinged leg rubbing against his as ruby-red lips met his own.
    When he realized that