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  Her shoulders went from stiff to slumped in a split second. “That is impossible,” was all she offered before she swept from the room like a queen dismissing her subject.

  Travis felt shards of china crush under his boots as he stalked across the room and out into the hall. Robin Locksley’s retreating form disappeared into the bright morning sunlight. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said as he raced after her.

  Chapter 5

  The feelings swirled about and flustered Robin, causing her to seek out the nearest hiding place, notably the arbor or perhaps the boxwood maze. Ideally she could have fetched the hoe and shovel and worked out the issue by her favorite method. Like her Lord, praying in the garden seemed a most foolproof way of doing away with her worries.

  With the specialist on her trail, she could only wish for a quiet moment to consider the possibilities. Had the American found out her secret? Dared she imagine that the Locksley bow had been sold?

  It was all quite impossible. Mr. Simpton-Wright was an acquaintance of Grandfather’s and a holder of the royal seal. He had been in business for a quarter of a century and wouldn’t dare sell an item he knew would soon be retrieved. At least she hoped it would be soon.

  Straight away she must ring up Mr. Simpton-Wright to investigate. In the meantime, she had more pressing business. She must fend off the inquisitive Mr. Gentry without causing suspicion.

  She looked about for the American and found him nowhere in sight. Ducking into the maze, she pressed herself near the edge of the boxwoods and allowed a sigh.

  “What were you planning to do with it?”

  Robin whirled around to confront the man who had somehow followed her into the hedges. Where had he come from? Only moments ago she’d been alone.

  Standing like an old west gunslinger, the specialist slowly brought his arms up to link them across his chest. All denim and attitude from the tip of his boots to the top of his head, the man looked positively intimidating.

  Old fears surfaced along with the need to run. But where? Travis Gentry stood between her and freedom, and the opposite end of the maze lay too far away to consider.

  Trust him, a gentle voice said. She cast about for the source but found only the American in attendance. He is My child, the voice whispered. Trust him.

  “I’ll repeat the question,” he said as he inched a bit closer. “What were you going to do with it?”

  “It?” Robin took two steps back and collided with the prickly leaves of the boxwood hedge. The need to escape still rode high in her mind, but the voice continued to whisper a litany of calming affirmations.

  The American moved a bit closer. “The Locksley bow.”

  Fear once more ran cold in Robin’s veins, obliterating the bite of the boxwood against her arms and the gentle voice in her ears. “What do you know about the bow?” she managed.

  “Past, present, or future?” he asked slowly.

  She shook her head. “Excuse me?”

  “How bad did you need the money?” he asked. “Do you drink? Or maybe you’ve got a problem with gambling. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen something valuable lost to vice.”

  “Of all the. . .” The ability to speak left her, and she stood mute before the specialist. Finally she sank to the ground, defeated. “It was for the children,” she stammered before she dissolved into tears.

  * * *

  Tears. Travis gulped. He could handle just about anything else, but not a woman’s tears.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “Stop that.”

  The redhead looked up, her eyes bright and glittering. Even now she looked every bit the aristocratic English lady, and it was all he could do not to scoop her into his arms and promise her anything just to get her to smile again.

  “Forgive me. I’m hardly a woman who bursts into tears without. . .”

  She swiped at her eyes and ducked her head. Rust colored curls obscured her face, but her heaving shoulders gave away the fact she hadn’t stopped crying. Before good sense could stop him, Travis knelt and pushed back the curtain of hair hiding her face to reveal a beauty that took his breath away.

  His knuckles grazed her jawbone and traveled across the softness of her wet cheek as he searched for the words to erase her sadness. To his surprise, she nearly fell backward in her scramble to escape him.

  He saw an almost primal fear in her eyes when she tilted her head. Travis took a quick glance over his shoulder to be sure he was the one who caused it. He looked back in time to see her disappearing around the corner at the end of the hedgerow.

  “Hey, come back here,” he shouted into the empty expanse of leaves and dirt.

  Only the sound of retreating footsteps answered him. The gentleman in him said to let her go and cry in peace, but the investigator said to hunt her down and ignore her tears. He decided to compromise and pray for her while he followed her path. Asking for discernment and advice seemed to be the right thing to do, but a map of this human trap might come in handy too.

  Again the clatter of footsteps on hard packed dirt rushed past, this time sounding like it came from the other side of the hedge. Travis thrust his hand, shoulder, and right leg through the greenery only to have its sharp branches and pointy leaves bite back. The footsteps slowed, then picked up speed again, and Travis realized she must have seen him try to take the short cut.

  He checked the damages. Other than a couple of minor scratches on his good hand and some leaves stuck in his hair, only his pride had been hurt.

  Then he made a request for patience; the one prayer he soon came to regret. As the sun slipped higher overhead and several hours passed, he walked deeper and deeper into the oblivion he’d been told was known as the Lowingham maze.

  Even stopping to stand on the occasional stone resting-bench gave him no idea where he was. The hedges stood twice his height, and in some places their limbs met overhead, obliterating the sky. Going through them had already proven both dangerous and impossible, and using his generally keen sense of direction had proved useless.

  Finally Travis sank onto a bench to reconsider his options and thought of the bow sitting in his safe at the office, wrapped in brown paper and packed for mailing. He considered the redhead and tried not to dwell too much on her shimmering green eyes. Last of all, he stared at the endless walls of prickly plants and the lengthening shadows on the dirt.

  The sound of the soft afternoon breeze became a roar in his ears, and he could almost feel the bite of the green branches as they tore between the layers of protection he’d worn so long. A feeling long gone yet never forgotten came rolling toward him, and he had to stand and dart past it to keep from a sure collision.

  Being stuck in a maze in the middle of the English countryside was trouble enough without borrowing more. The last thing he needed to consider was the past; his little problem was something he would handle someday when he had time. But how would he take care of the present?

  The answer came in the form of an unexpected chirp from his cellular phone. Travis stared down at his pocket and laughed aloud through three rings, then answered on the fourth.

  “Mr. Gentry, this is Constance. The courier is here from the embassy. Shall I have him take the package?”

  Immediately he knew what to say. “Yes,” he said and then swiftly ended the call with trembling fingers. By nightfall the weapon would be halfway to New York in a sealed embassy pouch, and by tomorrow afternoon, it would be stored in the vault at GSI headquarters awaiting further instructions. For better or worse, the Locksley bow was his, and the Locksley lass was. . .

  Yours to love as well, the voice said.

  Travis nearly fell off the bench. His phone clattered to the ground, and he reached to pick it up, stuffing

  it into his pocket as he scanned the perimeter for signs of life.

  The soft words hit him like a linebacker at the goal line. He shook his head. “But I only wanted the bow.”

  That’s not true.

  A recollection rose. “Look, I’v
e been meaning to talk to You about this. What’s all this ‘she’s the one’ business? She is not the one because I know absolutely nothing about her other than that she’s afraid of me, likes plants, and lives in the middle of nowhere.”

  But I know her.

  “Okay.” Travis searched his brain for a rebuttal. “Regardless, You and I have never discussed women before.”

  That’s not true either.

  He paused to think.

  “Okay, I’ll admit I’ve had a thought or two about being lonely since I hit the down side of thirty.”

  A time or two?

  Travis shrugged. “Well, You know more than I do about that.”

  Yes, I do.

  “I figured You’d take care of it by bringing me more work.”

  You have more than enough work.

  He scratched his head and pulled a piece of the hedge out of his hair. “Well, what about another Sunday school class to lead to get me out of my predicament? I mean when I thought of companionship to fill my time, I never expected. . .”

  A vision appeared at the end of the row and moved slowly toward him. He rose on legs that barely held him upright.

  “Miss Locksley?”

  “Yes.”

  Late afternoon sunlight dappled shadows across her face and lit up her sweater with pinpoints of bright apple green. Travis tried not to remember what it had done to her eyes earlier in the day. He also tried not to remember the conversation he’d just had with the Lord.

  Unfortunately he failed miserably on both counts.

  “Lord, are You sure?” he whispered as the redhead approached.

  I am.

  Travis studied the woman and wondered if, for the first time in recorded creation, God had made a mistake. Beauty she had, of this there was no doubt. But exceptional outer beauty had never been a big draw, at least not after his hormones settled and his walk with the Lord matured.

  An errant thought flew past, and he captured it, mulling it over as he watched the sunlight wash over soft curls and pale skin. I could get used to her, maybe, but could she get used to Houston?

  He pushed away the idiotic musing and turned his mind to more concrete thinking. You’re going to have to show me a sign before I make a move like this.

  Again the soft voice tickled his ears and blew past him on the breeze. She will rescue you from your predicament.

  The horticulturist held her hands out as if to fend him off. “I am merely here to rescue you from your predicament.”

  Travis said something. He must have because she nodded a response and turned to walk away. When she disappeared into the hedges, he hurried to catch up.

  “Sorry, am I losing you?” she called over her shoulder.

  Travis fell into step with her and shook his head. “Nah,” he said, “I’m kind of hard to lose.”

  She actually smiled. “Too bad.”

  “Oh yeah?” Travis shook his head. “I didn’t think I’d ever get out of here. When my secretary called I. . .” The words he meant to say were lost as he remembered his reasons for being at Lowingham in the first place.

  The mysterious sale of the Locksley bow.

  He stopped short and tugged at her hand, bringing her to a halt. “There’s a matter I’d like to clear up before we part company.”

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at him as if she knew a secret. “The bow.”

  Travis nodded. “Do you know where it is?”

  She looked away, only to swing her gaze back to meet his. “I don’t know how you found me out.”

  He gave her no indication of an answer. This seemed to spark anger and something else. Could it be fear again?

  “The bow is on loan for a specified period of time. I’ve the papers to prove it, but I dare say I shan’t fetch them to show the likes of you.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” Travis said. “But you don’t have to fetch them. I’ve already read them.”

  Her face paled. “What do you mean?”

  “You were paid a sum of money in exchange for the Locksley bow.” He shrugged. “As a collector of these things, I’m interested in knowing why you would let it leave the family.”

  “It’s not leaving the family. I had an agreement with—”

  “Mr. Gallagher Simpton-Wright.”

  She gave no sign of what the name meant to her. Then the veneer cracked, and she shook her head. “I rang him up. He’s on holiday.”

  This came as no surprise to Travis. Before making the appointment with Simpton-Wright, he’d had the man thoroughly checked out. The first thing he’d learned was that the antiques dealer had already booked a flight out of Heathrow to Dubai. A connecting flight would take him to Lagos, Nigeria, then on to Mexico City.

  From there, the reservations paper trail ceased, but he had his best guy investigating the possibilities, something he’d be doing himself if he hadn’t been out in the middle of nowhere wasting time on the redhead. He shook his head and pressed the irritation away.

  “And?” he said.

  A flustered expression crossed her face. “And since the magistrate’s postponed the return of the money, I assumed this gave me a bit of leeway in the time I had to. . .” She paused as if to gather her thoughts. “My family bow has been sold, hasn’t it?”

  He braced himself for the tirade, then spoke the truth in as spare a way as he could. “Yes.”

  Before his eyes, her backbone straightened, and the confusion and concern left her face. Only a look of determination remained. “Tell me what you know.”

  “I’ve said all I intend to.”

  “Fair enough.” She turned on her heels and stalked away. “Then I’ve led you as far as I intend to.” In a flash, she slipped between the hedges and disappeared.

  Travis set off after her, trying in vain to follow the retreating footsteps. “That’s right,” he shouted over the sound of blood boiling in his ears, “run away again. You’re really getting good at that.”

  No answer.

  Travis took a deep breath and said a quick prayer to subdue his anger. He chose his next words carefully and picked a tone of voice designed to soothe and not to beg.

  As soon as he opened his mouth, however, all his careful planning went out the window and he shouted the first thing that came to mind. “Surely you’re not going to leave me out here. It’ll be dark soon.”

  “You’re the specialist,” she called from what sounded like a great distance away. “Perhaps you should scan the perimeter and investigate the possibilities.”

  Chapter 6

  Three phone calls and more than an hour later, Robin stormed into the maze and practically dragged the American out by his ears. She said nothing of what she’d learned from the authorities—in fact she said nothing at all. The wheels had been set in motion for the return of the family bow and the incarceration of Mr. Simpton-Wright—and quite possibly Mr. Gentry as well.

  She might have been a bit late in obtaining the funds to retrieve the bow, but the contract she signed required the antiques dealer to inform her of any pending sale so she could match the offer. Simptom-Wright had conveniently forgot this bit of detail.

  Torchlights flickered along the path to the manor house, spreading tongues of golden flame against the purple-blue sky. A single star twinkled in the north, with the promise of more to follow. In all, it should have been a beautiful sight.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Gentry’s presence prevented it from being so. Rather than tell him this, she opted for a more generic farewell. He stood perplexed while she, trembling in anger, found the path toward her flat above the mews.

  “I have the bow,” he said in the Rhett Butler voice that had charmed her not so long ago.

  Robin whirled on her heels and stared at him in disgust. “Then return it, and I shan’t seek prosecution.”

  “Prosecution?” He shook his head. “What’re you talking about? I checked every detail. The sale is legal and binding.”

  “Here’s a detail you missed, Mr. Gentry.” She look
ed past him to where a slender moon held court at the edge of the night sky. Around it lay a scattering of pinpricks, the first of the constellations that would soon fill the heavens. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to the American. “I’ve a solicitor in London ready to prove that you were in collusion with Mr. Simpton-Wright to defraud me, and the magistrate in Malmsbury agrees.”

  Utter shock registered on his face and for a moment, Robin felt the old fear return. He easily could hurt her, this man. He could also, under other circumstances, cause her to hurt herself.

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Is it?” She didn’t know, although believing so made disliking the American easier. And disliking the American made everything else easier. “We’ll leave it to the solicitors to sort through then.”

  The specialist pulled a cellular phone from his pocket and began punching numbers into the dial. All the while he kept his gaze directed on her. After a few terse statements into the phone, obviously directed toward someone’s answering device, he rang off and shoved the phone into his pocket.

  “You’re pretty well connected for a gardener,” he drawled. “I’ve got a message on my voice mail telling me my passport’s been pulled and my tickets for home tomorrow are no longer any good. Seems I’m wanted back in London for questioning on a matter of the utmost importance.”

  He said the last few words in a mock British accent, complete with the appropriate serious scowl. If the situation had been less grave, she might have laughed.

  “Then I shan’t keep you, Mr. Gentry. Mr. Sudbury’s making the arrangements, so I suggest you report to him forthwith for your return trip.”

  “Under the circumstances,” he said in an even slower drawl than before, “you might as well get used to me then.”

  An inkling of trouble worse than the loss of a family heirloom tickled the corners of her mind. “Under what circumstances?”

  He reached for her elbow and guided her toward the path leading to the mews and the door to Sudbury’s office. “If I’m going, you’re going with me, Robin.” He flashed her a rather out-of-the-ordinary smile. “I can call you Robin, can’t I?”