Match Play (5 page)

“Here, let me do that.”

Taking the bottles from her hand, he twisted off the caps and passed one back. His eyes held hers as he offered a neutral toast.

“Here's to another round like the one you shot this morning.”

When they clinked bottles and he tipped his to his mouth, the past crashed right through Dayna's firm resolve to remain in the present.

Her ale halted halfway to her lips. With a sudden wrenching in her belly, she watched the smooth play of muscle and tendon as Luke took a long swallow.

Oh, God! How many times had she nuzzled that warm niche just under his chin? How often had she licked her way up, then down the strong column of his throat? And how many times had she kicked herself for falling for someone who could put her out of his life so easily?

Never again, she vowed fiercely as she downed the dark, fruity ale.

W
hat the devil was Dayna involved in?

The question ricocheted around in Luke's head as she waved him to a seat with the same lack of enthusiasm she'd shown when she'd offered a drink.

He took one of the overstuffed chairs. She sat across from him on the couch. Her white sweater and gray slacks formed a stark contrast to the colorful flowered cushions. Exercising iron will, Luke ignored the shadowy swell of her breasts displayed by the V-necked sweater and kept his gaze on her face.

“I'm sorry about yanking you out of the B-2 detachment. I know how much your career means to you.”

She should, her tone implied. He was the one who'd suggested they put their relationship on hold so he could focus on his flying.

Luke let the dig slide. This wasn't the time to rehash old hurts. “Yeah, well, I probably didn't help matters by grabbing you on the street yesterday. Or by showing up at the practice round this morning.”

“No, you didn't.”

He waited while she worked through her way around to the explanation he'd demanded. It was slow in coming.

“I told you Mike and I work special projects for the government.”

He tried to imagine what kind of special project would involve a charity golf tournament, an Olympic gold medalist and a military sharpshooter. The possibilities put a kink in his gut.

“What are you? CIA? FBI?”

“Neither. We're employed on an as-needed basis by a small agency, one you've never heard of. Our boss reports directly to the President.”

Good God! Was that Dayna sitting there, calmly informing him she operated only one step removed from the President of the United States?

“Okay, here's the deal.” Leaning forward, she deposited her ale bottle on the coffee table. “Our government thinks there's a possibility Wu Kim Li and her father may want to defect.”

“Tigress Wu?”

Luke gave a low whistle. Like everyone else in the universe, he'd been bombarded by visual images of the teenage megastar since she'd first exploded onto the international sports scene. North Korea touted her as their biggest export since white rice. Luke could only guess at the millions she brought her country in terms of PR
and
cold, hard cash. They'd lose more than face if the girl jumped ship.

“Mike and I are here to determine if the possibility has basis in fact,” Dayna said crisply. “If so, we'll make it happen.”

“Just like that? The two of you will simply whisk the Wus away from their entourage?”

“We'll have backup available if and when we need it.”

Luke was struck by the difference between this contained, self-assured woman and the girl he'd known. His Dayna had held nothing back. She'd been all heart, as passionate when running the river or swinging a club as when she tumbled into bed with him. This Dayna both baffled and intrigued him.

So did her “special project.” Frowning, Luke mulled over what she'd told him.

“Something doesn't compute here.”

She stiffened. “You think I'm blowing smoke at you?”

“Or not telling me the whole story.”

Luke's bottle joined hers on the coffee table. Pinning her with an intent stare, he reasoned out his doubts.

“Wu Kim Li is North Korea's darling. She's as big there as any rock star or movie idol is in the U.S. Giving her and her father asylum in the States would put a serious dent in North Korea's ego, not to mention their relations with the United States.”

“Relations between North Korea and the U.S. can hardly get much worse.”

“My point exactly. With all the saber-rattling going on over Pyongyang's stated determination to develop nuclear weapons, I can't see our government wanting to make matters worse by stealing away their sweetheart. There's got to be more. What aren't you telling me, Pud?”

The nickname just slipped out, and the fact that Dayna didn't jump down his throat feetfirst told Luke he'd struck a nerve.

Lips pursed, she hesitated for long moments. Weighing her words. Judging his trustworthiness. Luke was about to remind her the United States government trusted him enough to put him at the controls of a super-secret, two-billion-dollar aircraft when she finally unbent.

“Kim Li's father is one of North Korea's foremost nuclear engineers.”

“Whoa! I didn't know that.”

“Few people do. His government keeps him and his work under pretty tight wraps.”

“And now he wants to defect?”

“That's what Mike and I are here to determine.”

Well, damn! This was right out of James Bond. A top nuclear scientist seeking asylum. His glamorous daughter going over the wall with him. Dayna smack in the middle of it, orchestrating the whole show.

No wonder she'd been so pissed when Luke had laid that kiss on her and initiated the media clamor over their past affair. She had enough to worry about without having to field questions about an old boyfriend.

“I'm sorry I put you in a box with all this unwelcome publicity,” he said gruffly. “Any thoughts about how best to get out of it?”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she raked a hand through her hair. Luke slammed back the memory of all the times he'd feathered his hands through that silky, sun-streaked mane.

“I think the best option is to play it the way I did at the news conference this morning,” she said after a moment. “We have a history. We bumped into each other on the street by mere chance. We got carried away by the moment. We rehashed old times. We went our separate ways. End of story.”

“Except we both know it won't end there. Or have you forgotten our Dumpster-diving friend?”

Her face twisted in disgust. “Not hardly.”

The incident would have been laughable if it wasn't so outrageous. The controversy had started when some lame, talking head of a commentator expounded on the subject of sexual abstinence as practiced by ancient Olympians. His commentary spawned a fierce media debate as to whether sex relieved stress or diminished the strength of athletes.

The questions put to the modern-day Olympians got so personal and embarrassing that many, including Dayna, refused to respond. Her tight-lipped silence only fueled the speculative fire. Determined to find out how often the Golden Girl had sex with her boyfriend, one of the tabloids had hired some sleazoid to dig through Luke's trash in search of used condoms.

A neighbor had spotted him climbing into the Dumpster and alerted the cops. The resulting publicity had infuriated Dayna and rattled her coach so much that he'd phoned Luke and laid it on the line. He and Dayna had to cool it for a while, let the hype die down, or she could kiss off any hopes of bringing home gold.

History, it seemed, was repeating itself. Same players, different stakes. Except, this time, Luke vowed, he and Dayna would do the manipulating.

“I think we should give them what they want.”

“Come again?”

“The media wants a show. We give 'em one.”

“I am
not
playing kissy face with you in public, Harper.”

“Think about it. You want to deflect attention from your business with Wu Kim Li and her father. I don't want reporters digging too deeply into my presence in the U.K. So we revise our story. Bend the truth to work for both of us.”

“No.”

“We have to feed them something. It might as well be what we want them to have.”

“No.”

Exasperated, he folded his arms. “Okay, let's hear some alternatives.”

“I can think of several. The first involves you ejecting from your cockpit without a parachute.”

“What's number two?”

“You ejecting through the canopy without a helmet.”

His lips twitched. “Is there a number three?”

No, dammit, there wasn't. Not one that didn't require death or dismemberment, anyway. Dayna fumed for several moments before admitting as much.

“So where does that leave us?” Luke asked.

“Playing kissy face in public,” she conceded, sulking.

 

They spent the next twenty minutes hammering out a believable blend of fact and fiction:

Sports Illustrated
had run an article last month about Dayna's work at the outdoor sports clinic. True.

Luke had read the article and e-mailed her. False.

She'd entered the Pro-Am Charity Tournament at the last minute, thinking they might hook up while she was in Scotland. Also false.

They'd bumped into each other unexpectedly on the street outside her hotel. True.

The meeting had released emotions they'd thought long dead. True again, except the emotions so released were anything but loverlike.

Now Luke was on leave, taking ten days away from his military so he could watch Dayna compete in the tournament. A quick call to his boss would make that true.

“With a little luck and a lot of grandstanding,” he said when they finished firming up the details, “that should keep attention focused on us instead of what type aircraft I fly or your side conversations with Wu Kim Li.”

It was the grandstanding that worried Dayna.

“Just don't get carried away,” she warned. “We'll tell them we learned from our past mistakes. Insist we're taking it slowly this time, not rushing in as fast or as recklessly as we did before.”

“Right.”

He leaned back in his chair, surveying her from beneath his lashes. His hazel eyes conveyed both speculation and anticipation.

“When do you want to kick off the campaign?”

“This is as good a time as any,” she conceded. “I'm doing an autographing at Cockburren's Golf and Antiquities Shop. Kim Li will be there, too, so we can count on some press. You might as well accompany me.”

“You'll have to display a little more enthusiasm for my company if you want to make this believable.”

“Don't push your luck, Harper.”

“Luke,” he countered sardonically. “C'mon, Dayna. You can say it.”

“Don't push me,” she warned again. “Wait here. I need to brief Mike on the new game plan.”

He used the brief interval to decompress. Sitting across from Dayna, watching her shoulders hunch when she leaned forward to make a point, doing his damndest to keep his glance away from the shadowy V of her sweater, had just about wrung him dry.

“Mike thinks putting up a smokescreen is a good idea,” she informed him curtly when she returned. “You want to call your boss and arrange for leave while I change?”

She'd have to display
considerably
more enthusiasm for his company, Luke thought wryly as he pulled out his cell phone.

 

With the wind still raking in off the sea, Dayna exchanged her thin cotton sweater for a pink cashmere turtleneck and a Pendleton wool jacket in soft heather tweed. Her fanny pack rested comfortably on her hip as she and Luke walked to Cockburren's.

It was a short walk. St. Andrews was a small university town with a population that normally hovered around eighteen thousand. Major tournaments like the British Open or the Women's International Pro-Am Charity swelled that number greatly but took nothing away from the charm of the ancient town.

The granite buildings lining its streets had been aged by the centuries into a patchwork of gray and black. Every second or third shop window, it seemed, displayed equipment, art or clothing for the sport the Scots claimed as their own. Sandwiched in between the shops were lively restaurants and pubs.

The ghostly spires of St. Andrews' once-magnificent abbey thrust into the sky at the upper end of Market Street. On the lower end of the street, the towers and turrets of the university dominated the view. Dayna and Luke threaded their way along the walkway, bumping elbows with tourists and students sporting heavy backpacks slung over their shoulders and iPod cords snaking from jacket pockets.

Luke put a hand to the small of her back to steer her past a boisterous group of students. “I don't know how much you know about the university,” he commented.

She was wearing several layers of wool and cashmere, for Pete's sake! There was no reason on earth she should feel more than the slight pressure of his hand. Disgusted by the shivers that danced down her spine, Dayna disguised her reaction to his touch with a shrug.

“Only that it's one of the oldest in Scotland.”

“
The
oldest in Scotland. Best I recall, it was founded somewhere around 1400.”

Why did he leave his palm resting just above the swell of her rear? Was he already slipping into his role in their agreed-upon act?

“John Witherspoon, one of the signers of our Declaration of Independence, graduated from here. So did William Arthur Philip Louis Mountbatten-Windsor.”