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frightened. And in the ensuing silence, he could hear the frenetic rhythm of her breathing. The pounding of her heart. "Just a little further."
    "But—"
    "Shh," he soothed. "Trust me."
    She didn't bother pointing out that she had no choice. He hadn't given her one.
    Against the back wall, Sandro reached up and knocked twice against a hollow portion. A panel slid open, granting them access to a narrow stairway. He retrieved a flashlight from the ledge where he'd left it that morning and turned it on, drenching the narrow corridor in light.
    "Straight up there," he said.
    Disbelief flooded her expression. "A secret passageway?"
    He shrugged. "Sometimes paranoia is its own reward."
    At the top of the stairs he opened another panel, this one leading to the small room where he'd slept the night before and on several other occasions when he'd needed to melt into the shadows for a few days.
    Miranda stared at the threadbare sleeping bag crammed against the far wall.
    "There's no electricity," he told her, "but thanks to a well outside, we're okay for water."
    She followed his gesture toward the small chamber off the side of the room, where a primitive toilet and shower stood in equal abandon.
    "We're staying here?" she asked, hugging her arms around her waist.
    Compassion tugged at him. Compared to the ritzy resort she'd been staying at back in town, this small dank room rated somewhere between slum and prison. "You'll be safe here, Miranda. I promise. That's what counts."
    She stiffened for a moment, then spun toward him, eyes flashing with a fire he hadn't seen since before he'd put his mouth to hers in the alley. "What did you say?"
    "This is a safe house," he explained, trying to restore the calm. "No one will find us here."
    She shook her head almost violently, sending tangled blond hair over her shoulders. "No. What did you call me?"
    "Miranda."
    "Miranda?" She stepped back from him, her stance alert. "You think my name is Miranda?"
    "I know it is."
    Her gaze sharpened, her expression pensive. "Well, that explains that," she muttered. "I don't know how to tell you this, but there's been a mistake. You've got the wrong woman."
    Now it was his turn to stare. He studied her standing there, all that blond hair spilling over her shoulders, those unusual eyes imploring. Could he have—
    No. He hadn't made a mistake. No way.
    Mistakes got men like him killed.
    "You're the right woman," he insisted, battling an admiration he didn't want to feel. "I'm a very thorough man. You're Miranda Carrington, youngest daughter of Peter Carrington, the U.S. ambassador to Ravakia and youngest granddaughter of the late Albeit Carrington, former U.S. senator and one-time presidential hopeful."
    She shook her head. "Didn't you see that man and woman kissing by the boardwalk?"
    "Yes." But only for a moment. The second he'd locked onto Miranda, the rest of the busy promenade had dissolved.
    "I overheard them talking. She's Miranda." Sincerity and conviction laced the claim. "She has dark brown hair, not blond."
    Sandro crossed his arms over his chest, wincing when the motion pulled against his shoulder. He knew she had a penchant for giving her bodyguards hell, had played enough games to recognize a pro when he saw one. She clearly thought she could play him.
    He just didn't understand why she wanted to.
    "Let me see your passport."
    "By all means." She dipped a hand into the satchel slung over her shoulder and pulled out a well-worn blue passport bearing the emblem of the United States. Flipping it open, he studied the picture of a gorgeous blonde, the accompanying name and address.
    As far as forgeries went, the ambassador's daughter had a beaut in her possession.
    "Astrid, huh?" Somehow, he kept the laughter from his voice.
    She nodded. "That's right."
    "Astrid Van Dyke of Stockholm," he mused, "who just happens to have Carrington eyes. And," he drawled, executing a lightning-quick move to bare the shoulder still covered by the crimson blouse, "her