The Borrowed Ring

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?No.” She couldn't help noticing the gold band on his left hand. “So where is your real wife?”

“I'll explain later.” Reaching inside the collar of his white shirt, he fished out a thin gold chain, which he swiftly unfastened. A moment later he had her left hand in his again. His eyes locked with hers as he slid a ring onto her finger.

Dazed, she looked down at the simple, aged-looking gold ring. “This is a wedding ring,” she said stupidly.

A sharp rap on the door barely gave warning of Bernard's abrupt entrance. He caught them still standing close together, seemingly holding hands. “Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but we really have to get under way.”

“There has been a problem, Bernard. My wife was just telling me she can't join us.” Daniel's voice held a touch of regret as he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Bernard's heavy face settled into a frown. “What's the problem?”

“Her luggage has been misplaced by the airline. The only garments she has with her are the ones she's wearing.” He spoke so smoothly B.J. almost believed him herself.

Bernard scanned her casual camp shirt and khakis, nodding as if something had just been explained to him. “That's not a problem. You can buy everything she needs when we get there. We've got several of those fancy boutiques the ladies like.”

After only a momentary pause, Daniel said, “She has some things in her luggage that have sentimental value. She's reluctant to leave without tracking it down.”

His frown deepening, Bernard shifted restlessly. Suspiciously. The movement made his ill-fitting jacket gap just enough for B.J. to catch a glimpse of the shoulder holster beneath. “I'm sure the boss can take care of everything. Why don't we get going and I'll make some calls on the way.”

B.J. thought she detected the slightest hint of apology in the look Daniel gave her then. “There's really no need to go to that much trouble. You have our home address on your luggage tags, don't you, sweetheart?”

Remembering the chilling sight of Bernard's weapon, B.J. nodded mutely.

“Then I'm sure it will all be sent to our home as soon as it turns up. In any event, there's really nothing all that valuable involved, is there?”

She shook her head, as he clearly expected of her.

Daniel gave her an encouraging smile.

Bernard's face cleared. “That's okay, then. You'll see, Mrs. Andreas. Everything's going to work out just fine.”

She wished she could believe that.

Daniel could almost feel months of scheming crashing around his ears. Not to mention that his life was pretty much flashing in front of his eyes. One significant memory from his past had apparently materialized and was now sitting right next to him on Judson Drake's private jet.

She looked pale, he noted. And no wonder. Her head was probably spinning.

He knew his was.

He had thought himself prepared for any eventuality on this trip. He had not been at all prepared for Brittany Jeanne Samples to walk through that door—and directly into his arms.

She hadn't really changed in thirteen years, he mused. Oh, there were definitely signs of maturity. She had worn braces the last time he'd seen her. Now her white teeth were perfectly straight. Her glossy brown hair had fallen almost to her waist back then, and it was now cut into a short, shaggy style that suited her.

Her figure hadn't developed significantly since her teenage years, but rather than the gawkiness of adolescence, she now moved with the lithe grace of womanhood. And her eyes were still an amazingly rich blue, still framed in ridiculously long, lush lashes.

Some might call her cute or even pretty. However one defined it, her look appealed to him as strongly now as it had when he was sixteen.

He had never expected to see her again—certainly not under these conditions. He hadn't had a chance yet to analyze how he felt about having her here, other than fear for her safety and concern about the plans he had spent so long putting together. Still, at the back of his mind was the uncomfortable awareness that Brittany Jeanne Samples was the only living soul who had ever seen him cry.

Thirteen years ago, she was the only one he knew, other than his foster parents, who hadn't been at all afraid of him. She wasn't afraid now. Quietly furious, yes. Healthily cautious, definitely. But not afraid.

Yet he reached out to pat her hand, giving her a bracing smile. “I know how much you hate flying in these small planes. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“Don't you worry, Mrs. Andreas,” Bernard said with a heavy-handed attempt at sympathy. “Mr. Drake hires only the best pilots.”