In Serena's Web by Kay Hooper Read Free Book Online Page A

Brian realized dimly, know Stuart Jameson
at all
.
    “Why,” he wanted to know, “wasn’t I told this from the start?”
    Serena hesitated. “I’m sorry, Brian, but that was my idea. I didn’t know you, remember. And—to mangle a quote—I’ve
never
relied on the kindness of strangers. Or looked to strangers for protection. Daddy wanted it known you were traveling with me, and he sent you straight to London to give himself time to arrange things back here. When we reached New York we were registered at the hotel for four days—and left after two. They lost us after that; Daddy got a call placing me in New York, but they haven’t mentioned me in the two calls since.”
    Shaking his head, Brian said incredulously, “Why
me
, for God’s sake? If he wanted it known you had a companion, why not at least one bodyguard? One unobtrusive bodyguard, with an unobtrusive gun or two?”
    “I don’t like guns,” Serena said firmly. “And no matter
how
unobtrusive he tries to be, a bodyguard always
looks
like a bodyguard. And that provokes questions. ‘Why on earth d’you suppose the little lady needs a watchdog? Maybe she’ssomebody the local paper would pay a few dollars to find out about.’ And so on. I’ve seen it happen. This way, all anyone knows is that I’m traveling with a very handsome man important enough to garner a few front-page headlines, whom my father happens to work for.”
    Then, a suddenly mischievous glint in her eyes, she added blandly, “A man, moreover, who’s well known for his ability to take care of himself, and anyone else who rears a troublesome head. He’s athletic, has a black belt in karate, and is a licensed pilot capable of flying any and all private aircraft. He earned a few marksman’s medals in the army, where he distinguished himself remarkably for peacetime, by the way.”
    Brian had a dim feeling his mouth was hanging open.
    “His favorite color is blue,” Serena went on gently, “he drinks Scotch but prefers wine, takes his coffee black and strong, and loves Italian food and semiclassical music. He keeps his very nice condo neat without benefit of anything but once-a-week help, the leaning toward neatness possibly a holdover from the army but more likely theresult of being raised by a Scots-Irish mother and a German-English father, who is presently a retired general who does the Sunday
Times
crossword in an hour
flat
.”
    “Serena—”
    “Their paragon of a son,” she finished innocently, “is also adept at difficult crossword puzzles—and other kinds of puzzles—since he boasts an I.Q. that ranks him as something of a minor genius.”
    “Minor—” He stared at her. “What’s your I.Q.?” he demanded abruptly.
    “Same as yours,” she murmured.
    Brian drew a deep, slow breath. “D’you mind telling me,” he managed to ask politely, “just where you got all that information about me? I don’t recall being asked to fill out a questionnaire.”
    “Oh, here and there.”
    “That’s no answer.”
    “I asked Daddy.”
    “Stuart’s never been to my condo, and he doesn’t know my favorite color. Try again.”
    “Daddy. Seriously, Brian. He knows an awful lot that he doesn’t
seem
to know. And a man inhis position, well … he found out all he could about you before he ever signed on; it’s habit, after all these years.”
    Brian was trying manfully to grapple with all the surprising, disturbing information that had capped a deceptively peaceful meal. “Let me get this straight. Person or persons unknown intend to hire your father away from my company by fair means or foul. The ‘fair’ includes dollars on a scale I don’t want to ask about; the ‘foul’ includes possible kidnapping and/or bodily harm threatening yourself. Right so far?”
    “That was just lovely. You do have a way with words,” she said admiringly.
    Brian ignored the plaudits. “In an attempt to remove you from circulation, your father has sent you on a cross-country jaunt