you get any really good pictures we can put them on our Web site,’ she had announced when Suzy had tried to protest.
The camera was obviously expensive, and Suzy had said as much, but Kate had dismissed her concern, shrugging it aside as she reassured her, ‘It’s insured—and if you do lose it—which I know you won’t—then we shall replace it.’
Dutifully Suzy had photographed everything she thought might be of interest to her friend, and she knew that Kate would love this wonderful villa in its beautiful setting. From her vantage point Suzy could see the layout of its formal gardens within the high walls surrounding them, and the lake that lay beyond with its picturesque grotto.
Carefully she focused on the villa, pausing for a moment, as sunlight glinted on the metal casing, to stare in bemused awe at the sight of four imposingly large men in military uniform heading for an even equally imposing large black Mercedes, almost hidden from view beyond the entrance to the villa. What an impressive sight! She had to get a photograph of it—and of them! Who on earth were they?
On his way across the courtyard—having escorted the private security officers who had arrived to check out the villa without giving any warning, and against Luke’s strict instructions, to their huge Mercedes with its blacked-out windows—Luke froze as he caught the unmistakable glint of sunlight on metal. Automatically he reached for his binoculars, training the powerful lens on the steep hillside above the villa.
He had done everything he could to avoid having to take on this commission, but pressure had been put on him, via his old commanding officer and certain other people, and reluctantly he had given in—although not without first enquiring grimly why on earth MI5 operatives could not be used.
‘Because it is so sensitive, old boy,’ had been the wry answer he had received. ‘And because we don’t have anyone in the field of your calibre.’
Reluctantly Luke had bowed to the pressure he’d been under.
Making sure that the Foreign Secretary was able to conduct a very politically sensitive meeting with the President of a certain turbulent African state, without either arousing the curiosity of the press or certain factions within the African state required optimum vigilance. And why on earth anyone had ever thought it a good idea to conduct such an exercise so close to a popular Italian resort—visited by the rich and famous and followed there by the paparazzi—Luke had no way of knowing.
Of course he had tried to initiate a change of venue, but he had been overruled.
A smooth-talking suit from MI5 had announced that no one would suspect that the Foreign Secretary would be seeing anyone political whilst enjoying a holiday with his children.
Children? Luke had baulked furiously at that point. No matter how many reassurances or platitudes the MI5 suit might choose to utter, this was potentially a dangerous mission.
The African President was insisting on bringing his own private guards with him, and he was a man who was obsessed with a fear of betrayal—both at home and abroad. If things should go pear-shaped Luke did not want to have to worry about two young children as well as their father. He had said as much to Sir Peter Verey when they had been introduced, suggesting that his children might be better left with their mother.
‘My dear chap,’ had been Sir Peter’s drawled response. ‘I wish I could oblige, but you see my ex-wife is insistent that they come with me. Thinks I’m not doing my fatherly duty and that sort of thing.’
Luke knew all about Sir Peter Verey’s ex-wife. She had left him for a billionaire industrialist who had little liking of his predecessor’s offspring, with the result that she had placed both children at boarding school.
Luke frowned as he swept the hillside for whoever had been responsible for that telltale glint.
The resort less than a couple of miles away seethed with celebrities and minor continental royals, all of whom seemed to be followed by their own pack of predators, feeding off them as if they were carrion.
It didn’t take Luke’s trained eye long to find its quarry—in fact, he reflected in disgust, it did not need a trained eye to spot her at all. She was standing there openly photographing the villa. She? Luke frowned as he studied the familiar features. Suzy Roberts! It was as little effort for him to conjure up her name as it had been for him to recognise her face. Suzy Roberts, reporter for Down and Dirty magazine. Automatically he swept the area around her to see if she was on her own, before focusing on her once again.
She looked thinner, paler—and what the hell was she doing standing in the strong sunlight without the protection of a hat when any fool could see that she had the kind of delicate skin that would burn?
How on earth had she got wind of what was going on? The editor of the magazine she worked for got his stories by trawling in the gutter for them.
Luke’s mouth compressed. The gutter, maybe, but then Roy Jarvis did specialise in ‘revealing’ the failings and vices of those in power, as well as breaking some extraordinarily sensitive news stories. Someone was supplying him with his information, and Luke knew that if he had been in charge of finding out who it was the leak would have been stopped a long time ago.
Luke refused to believe that anyone could have got through his own rigorous security, but he was not the only person who knew what was happening. Somehow Roy Jarvis had been given a tip-off about the upcoming meeting, and he had obviously sent Suzy Roberts to find out what she could and confirm the story so that he could publish it. After all, a reporter like Suzy had the extra assistance of her sexuality to help her get her story—and she would have no qualms about using it!
Lucas had seen it happen over and over again in the theatre of war, and of course he had already discovered for himself that there were no lengths Suzy Roberts was not prepared to go!
Silently Luke slipped out of the villa grounds, moving quickly and stealthily towards his quarry.
Oblivious to the danger, Suzy pushed her hair back off her face. The villa really was a gem. She paused to admire it again before lifting the camera to take another shot.
Luke, who had circled up behind her, waited until she had raised the camera before making his move.
As Suzy focused the camera he reached for it…
Someone was trying to steal the camera!
Instinctively Suzy turned round, and then froze in shocked disbelief whilst Luke took it from her.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded as soon as she could speak.
Lucas Soames—here! She could feel the colour leaving her face and then surging back into it. Her heart was thudding in panic, and she felt as though she was trembling from head to foot. Emotions she had assured herself she had totally destroyed were taking a frightening hold on her, threatening to swamp her.
Frantically she tried to ignore them, to focus instead on what she should be feeling. These emotions had no right to exist. Lucas Soames meant nothing to her, and one of the reasons she was here on holiday was to make sure she was fully recovered from whatever it was she had experienced six months ago.
Willing her physical reaction to him to subside, Suzy demanded sharply, ‘Give me back my camera!’
Her eyes widened as she watched Lucas delete the pictures she had just taken.
‘No!’ she protested, trying to snatch back the camera, to stop him ruining her photographs.
Luke reacted immediately, fending her off with one deceptively easy movement that kept her at arm’s length from him, his fingers locked around her wrist as he finished what he was doing.
Despairingly Suzy closed her eyes, trying to blot out the physical reality of him in an effort to protect herself. But almost immediately she realised her mistake. Deprived of sight, she felt all her sensory receptors focusing instead on the feel of Lucas Soames’s hand around her wrist—the texture of his flesh, the powerful strength of his grip, the coolness of his skin against the heat of her own. Weakening