Chicago, Dallas and Houston were a blur. During the day and sometimes in the evening, Veronica sat in the surveillance van, feeding information to Joe via his earphone, praying that the man she loved wasn’t about to be killed in front of her very eyes.

Joe would look into the hidden, miniaturized video cameras and smile—a sweet, hot, secret smile meant only for her.

At night, Joe came to her room. How he got out from under the watchful eyes of the FInCOM agents, Veronica never knew. How he got into her room was also a mystery. She never heard him. She would just look up, and he’d be there, smiling at her, heat in his eyes.

In Dallas, he came carrying barbecued chicken, corn on the cob, and a six-pack of beer. He was wearing jeans and T-shirt and an old baseball cap backward on his head. He wouldn’t tell her where he got the food and beer, but she had the feeling he’d climbed down the outside of the building to the street below and walked a few blocks over to a restaurant.

They had a picnic on her living-room floor, and made love before they’d finished eating, right there on the rug in front of the sofa.

He always stayed until dawn, holding her close. They sometimes talked all night, sometimes slept, always woke up to make love again. But as the sun began to rise, he would vanish.

Then in Albuquerque, there was another “incident,” as Joe called them. Veronica sat in the van, her heart in her throat after one of the FInCOM agents thought he saw a man with a concealed weapon in the crowd outside the TV station where “Tedric” had been interviewed.

The SEALs and the FInCOM agents had leapt into action, ready to protect Joe. They’d hustled him into the limousine and to safety, but Veronica was shaken.

She sat in her hotel room, fighting tears, praying Joe would arrive soon, praying his quicksilver smile would make her forget about the danger he was in, day in and day out, as he stood in for the real prince. But she had to remember that he was no stranger to dangerous situations. His entire life was filled with danger and risk. Even if he survived these particular assassins, it would only be a matter of time before he’d be facing some new danger, some other perhaps-even-more-deadly risk.

How could she let herself love a man who could die—violently—at any given moment?

“Yo, Ronnie.”

Veronica turned around.

Joe. There he was, still dressed in his shiny white jacket and dark blue pants, his hair slicked back from his face. He looked tired, but he smiled at her, and she burst into tears.

He came across the room so quickly, she didn’t see him move. Pulling her into his arms, he held her tightly.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey.”

Embarrassed, she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go—

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Joe, I’m sorry. I just…”

Joe lifted her chin and kissed her gently on the mouth.

“I’m all right,” he told her, knowing, the way he always did, exactly what she was thinking. “I’m fine. Everything’s okay.”

“For right now,” she said, looking up into the mysterious midnight depths of his eyes, wiping the tears from her face with the heel of her hand.

“Yeah,” he said, catching a tear that hung on her eyelashes with one finger. “For right now.”

“And tomorrow?” she asked. ‘’What about tomorrow?“ She knew she shouldn’t say the words, but they were right on the tip of her tongue and she couldn’t hold them back.

He gently ran his hand through her hair again and again as he gazed down into her eyes. “You really that worried about me?” he asked, as if he couldn’t quite believe her concern.

“I was scared today,” Veronica admitted. She felt her eyes well with tears again and she tried to blink them back.

“Don’t be scared,” Joe told her. “Blue and the other guys aren’t going to let anything happen to me.”

Nice words and a nice thought, but Blue and Cowboy and Harvard weren’t superhuman. They were human, and there was no guarantee one of them wouldn’t make a very human mistake.

Tomorrow at this time, Joe could very well be dead.

Tomorrow, or next week or next year…

Reaching up, Veronica pulled his head down and kissed him. She kissed him hard, almost savagely, and he responded instantly, pulling her against his body, lowering his hands to press her hips closer to him.

She found the buckle of his belt and started to unfasten it, and he lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom.

Veronica pulled him tightly to her and closed her eyes, trying to shut out her fears. With the touch of his hands, with his mouth and his body against hers, tomorrow didn’t exist. There was only here and only now. Only ecstasy.

But when morning dawned, and Joe crept out of bed trying not to wake her, Veronica still hadn’t slept. She watched him dress, then closed her eyes as he kissed her gently on the lips.

And then he was gone.

It was not beyond the realm of possibility that he could be gone forever.

Phoenix, Arizona.

The April sunshine was blazing hot, reflecting off the streets, heating the air and making it difficult to breathe.

Inside the protection of the limousine parked on the street in front of the brand-new Arizona Theatre and Center for the Arts building, Joe was cool and comfortable.

But he was glad for the sunglasses he wore. Even with them on, even with the tinted glass of the limo, Joe squinted in the brightness as he sat up to get a better look at the morning’s location.

A broad set of shallow steps led to a central courtyard. It was flat and wide and surrounded by a series of marble benches placed strategically in the shade of flowering trees. The lobby of the theater was directly behind the courtyard, and the Center for the Arts offices surrounded it on the other two sides.

There was a stage in the courtyard, set up in the shade of the theater. That was where Joe—as Tedric—would go for the theater’s dedication ceremony.

People were already milling around, trying to stay cool in the shade, fanning themselves with copies of the arts center’s events schedule.

Joe could hear Veronica over his earphone as she sat in the surveillance van.

“Please test your microphones, Alpha Squad,” she said.

Blue, Cowboy and Harvard all checked in.

“Lieutenant Catalanotto?” she said, her voice brisk and businesslike.

“Yo, Ronnie, and how are you this fine morning?” Joe said, even though he’d spent the night with her, even though he’d left her room mere hours earlier and knew exactly how well she was.

“A simple check would be sufficient,” she murmured. “Cameras?”

Joe grinned into the miniaturized video camera that the FInCOM agent sitting across from him was carrying. God forbid someone should find out about the incredible steamy nights they spent together—the high-class media consultant and the sailor from a lousy part of New Jersey. Veronica always played it so cool in public, often addressing him as “Lieutenant Catalanotto,” or “Your Majesty.”

Actually, they’d never talked about whether or not she wanted their relationship to go public. Joe had just assumed she didn’t, and had taken precautions to protect her.

Of course, Blue and Cowboy and Harvard knew where Joe went every night. They had to know. Without their help, it would have been too damned hard to get out from under the FInCOM agents’ eyes. But aside from the ribbing he endured when the four SEALs were alone, Joe knew his three friends would never tell a soul. They were SEALs. They knew how to keep a secret.

And as far as Joe was concerned, Veronica St. John was the best-kept secret he’d ever known.

She’d been upset last night. That incident in Albuquerque had really shaken her up. She’d actually cried because she’d been so afraid for him. For him. And the way she’d made love to him…as if the world were coming to an end. Oh, man. That had been powerful.

Joe had thought at first that maybe, just maybe, the impossible had happened and Veronica had fallen in love with him. Why else would she have been so upset? But even though he’d tried to bring up the subject of her concerns for his safety later in the night, she hadn’t wanted to talk.

All she’d wanted was for him to hold her. And then make love to her again.

Joe smiled at the irony. He falls in love for the first time in his life, and for the first time in his life, he’s the one who wants to talk. Yeah, it was true. He had been in bed with a gorgeous, incredibly sexy woman, and what he wanted desperately was to talk after they made love. But all she wanted was more high-energy sex.

Of course, Joe reminded himself, he sure had suffered, making Veronica happy last night. Oh, yeah. Life should always be so tough.

Joe closed his eyes briefly, remembering the smoothness of her skin, the softness of her breasts, the sweetness of surrounding himself in her heat, the hot pleasure in her beautiful, bluer-than-the-ocean eyes, the curve of her lips as she smiled up at him, the sound of her ragged cry as he took her with him, over the edge…

Joe opened his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it quickly out. Oh, yeah. He was going out in public in about thirty seconds. Somehow he seriously doubted that old Ted would appreciate Joe pretending to be the prince with a raging and quite obvious royal hard-on for all the world to see. And he had a job to do, to boot. It was time to go.

Joe climbed from the limo and felt the sudden rush of heat. It was like opening an oven door. Welcome to Phoenix, Arizona.

As the FlnCOM agents hustled him across the courtyard, Joe tried to bring himself back to the business at hand. Daydreaming about his lover was good and fine and—

Lover.

Veronica St. John was his lover.

For the past four amazing days and incredible nights, Veronica St. John had been his lover.

The word conjured up her mysterious smile, the devilish light in her eyes that promised pleasures the likes of which he’d never

known before, the softness of her sighs, the feel of her fingers in his hair, their legs intertwined, bodies slippery with soap as they kissed in the hotel’s oversize bathtub.

But…

Did she think of him as her lover? Did she ever even consider the word love when she thought about him?

God, what he would give to hear her say that she loved him.

Damn, he was distracted today. He forced himself to look again at the buildings. Pay attention, he ordered himself. Hell of a lot of good it’ll do you to realize you’re in love with this woman and then get yourself killed.

Joe looked around him. The roofs of the office buildings were lower than the theater roof. They were the perfect height and distance from the stage—perfect, that is, for a sniper to shoot from. Of course, the office windows—if they could be opened—wouldn’t be a bad choice for a shooter, either.

Joe snapped instantly alert, instantly on the job.

Damn, the Arizona Theatre and Center for the Arts dedication ceremony was the ideal setup for an assassination attempt. The crowd. The TV news cameras. The three buildings, forming a square U, with the courtyard between them. The glare from the sun. The heat making everyone tired and lazy.

“This is it,” Joe murmured.

“You bet, Cat,” Blue’s voice came over his earphone. “If I were a tango, I’d pick this one.”

“What?” Veronica asked from her seat in the surveillance truck. “What was that you said?”

The FInCOM agents were hurrying Joe to the relative safety of the theater lobby. Once inside, he couldn’t answer Veronica, because the governor of Arizona was shaking his hand.

“It’s a real honor, Your Majesty,” the governor said with his trademark big, wide, white-toothed smile. “I can’t tell you how much it means to the people of Arizona to have you here, at the dedication of this very important theater and arts center.”

“Dear Lord,” Joe heard Veronica say over his earphone. Then there was silence. When she spoke again, her voice was deceptively calm. Joe knew damn well that her calm was only an act. “Joe, you think that the terrorists are going to be here, don’t you? Today. Right now.”

Joe couldn’t answer. Ronnie had to know that he couldn’t answer. She could see him on her video screen. He was standing in a crowd of government officials. She could hear the governor still talking.

Joe smiled at something the lieutenant governor said, but his mind was focused on the voices of his men from the Alpha Squad—and the woman—his lover—sitting inside the surveillance van.

“Damn it, Joe,” Veronica said, her voice breaking and her calm cracked. “Shake your head. Yes or no. Is there going to be an assassination attempt here this afternoon?”

Inside the surveillance van, Veronica held her breath, her eyes riveted to the video monitor in front of her. Joe looked directly into the camera, his dark eyes intense—and filled with excitement. He nodded once. Yes.

Dear God. Veronica took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. As she watched, the governor of Arizona said something, and the entire group of men and women surrounding Joe laughed—Joe included.

Dear God. She’d actually seen excitement in Joe’s eyes. He was excited because something was finally going to happen. He was ready. And willing. Willing to risk his life...

Her mouth felt dry. She tried to moisten her lips with her tongue, but it didn’t help.

Dear God, don’t let him die. “Joe,” she said, but then couldn’t speak.

He touched his ear, the sign that he had heard her.

She could hear Blue’s unmistakable accent, and the voices of Cowboy and Harvard as the three men tried to outguess the assassin.

Cowboy was on the roof of the theater with high-powered binoculars and a long-range, high-powered rifle of his own. He did a visual sweep of the two lower roofs, reporting in continuously. No one was up there. No one was still up there.

“Windows in the offices don’t open,” Kevin Laughton said, from his seat next to Veronica. “Repeat, windows do not open.”

“I’m watching ‘em anyway,” Cowboy said.

“You’re wasting time,” Laughton said. “And manpower. We could use you down in the crowd.”

“The hell I’m wasting time,” Cowboy muttered. “And if you think this shooter’s going to be standing in the crowd, you’re dumber than the average Fink.”

On-screen, Joe was still talking to the governor and his aides. “The theater and these arts buildings are very beautiful,” he said. “All these windows—it’s quite impressive, really. Do they open?”

“The windows?” the governor asked. “Oh, no. No, these buildings are all climate controlled, of course.”

“Ah,” Joe said in Tedric’s funny accent. “So if someone inside absolutely needed some fresh air, they’d have to have a glass cutter, yes?”

The governor looked slightly taken aback, but then he laughed. “Well, yes,” he said. “I suppose so.”

“Roger that, Mr. Cat,” Cowboy said. “My thoughts exactly. Court-martial me if you have to, FInCOM, but I’m watching those windows.”

“Okay,” Veronica heard Blue say. “They’re coming out to the stage. Let’s be ready. You, too, Cat.”

“Shall we go to the stage?” the governor asked Joe.

Joe nodded. “I’m ready,” he said with a smile.

He was so calm. He was walking out there to be a target, and he was smiling. Veronica could barely breathe.

Two of the FInCOM agents opened the doors that led to the courtyard. Outside, a band began to play.

“Joe,” Veronica said again. Dear Lord, if she didn’t tell him now, she might never get another chance.

He touched his ear again. He heard her.

“Joe, I have to tell you… I love you.”

Joe stepped outside into the sunshine, and the heat and brightness exploded around him. But it wasn’t all from the sun. In fact, most of it was coming from inside him, from the center of his chest, from his very heart.

She loved him. Ronnie loved him.

He laughed. Ronnie loved him. And she’d just announced it to everyone who was working on this operation.

“Hell, Ronnie, don’t go telling him that now,” Blue’s scolding voice sounded over Joe’s earphone. “Cat’s gotta concentrate. Come on, Joe, keep your eyes open.”

“I’m sorry,” Veronica said. She sounded so small, so lost.

Joe touched his ear, trying to tell her that he’d heard her, wishing there was a way he could say he loved her, too. He touched his chest, his heart, with one hand, hoping that she’d see and understand his silent message.

And then he climbed the stairs to the stage.

“Come on, Cat,” Blue’s voice said. “Stop grinning like a damn fool and get to work.”

Work.

His training clicked in, and Joe was instantly focused. Damn, with this warm sensation in his heart, he was better than focused. Veronica loved him, and he was damn near superhuman.

He checked the stage to make sure the cover zones were where FInCOM had said they would be.

The podium was reinforced, and it would act as a shield— provided, of course, that the shooter didn’t have armor-piercing bullets. Down behind the back of the stage was also shielded. There was a flimsy metal railing to keep people from falling off the platform, but that could be jumped over easily. The stage was only about eight feet from the ground.

Joe scanned the crowd. About six hundred people. Five different TV cameras, some of them rolling live for the twelve o’clock news. He knew with an uncanny certainty that the assassin wouldn’t fire until he stepped up to the podium.

“Roof is still clear,” Cowboy announced. “No movement at the windows. Shoot, FInCOM, maybe you better keep watching that crowd. I got nothing yet.”

Joe sat in a folding chair as the governor approached the podium.

“We’re going to make this dedication ceremony as quick as possible,” the governor said, “so we can get inside that air-conditioned lobby and have some lemonade.”

The crowd applauded.

Veronica’s heart was in her throat. Joe was sitting there, just sitting there, as if there weren’t any threat to his life.

“Without further ado,” the governor continued, “I’d like to introduce our special guest, Crown Prince Tedric of Ustanzia.”

The sound of the crowd’s applause masked the continuous comments of the SEALs and the FInCOM agents. On Veronica’s video screen, Joe stood, raising both hands to quiet the crowd.

“Thank you,” he said into the microphone. “Thank you very much. It’s an honor to be here today.”

“I still got zip on either roof,” Cowboy said. “No movement near the windows, either. I’m starting to think these tangos don’t know a good setup when they see—”

A shot rang out.

One of the big glass windows in the front of the theater shattered into a million pieces.

The crowd screamed and scattered.

“Joe!” Veronica gripped the table in front of her, leaning closer to the screen, praying harder than she’d ever prayed in her life.

He was gone, she couldn’t see him. Had he ducked behind the podium, or fallen, struck by the bullet?

On her headphones, she could hear all three SEALs reporting in, all talking at once. The roofs were still clear, no shooter visible at the windows.

Beside her, Kevin Laughton had rocketed out of his seat. “What do you mean, you don’t know where that came from?” he was shouting over the chaos. “A shot was fired—it had to come from somewhere!”

“Do we need an ambulance?” another voice asked. “Repeat, is medical assistance needed?”

Another shot, another broken window.

“God damn,” Laughton said. “Where the hell is he shooting from?”

Joe heard the second shot, felt the impact of the bullet as it hit the stage, and knew. The assassin was behind him. Inside the theater. And with all of the shielding facing out, away from the theater, Joe was a damn sitting duck. It was amazing he was still alive. That second shot should have killed him.

It should have, but it hadn’t. The son of a bitch had missed.

Joe dove off the stage headfirst, gun drawn, shouting instructions to his men and to the FInCOM agents who were surrounding him. Cowboy was on the roof of the theater, for God’s sake. They could cut the shooter off, nail the bastard.

Inside the surveillance van, the video monitors went blank. Power was gone. Lord, what was happening out there? Veronica had heard Joe’s voice. He was alive, thank God. He hadn’t been killed. Yet.

The gunman was inside the theater. Upper balcony, above the lobby, came the reports. The back door was surrounded, they had the assassin cornered.

Veronica stood, pushing past Kevin Laughton and opening the door of the van. She could see the theater, see the two shattered windows. She could see the FInCOM agents crouched near the front of the theater. She could see three figures, scaling the outside of the theater, climbing up to the roof.

God in heaven, it was Joe and two of his SEALs.

Veronica lowered her mouthpiece into place. She hadn’t wanted to speak before this, afraid she’d only add to the confusion, but this…

“Joe, what are you doing?” she said into the microphone. “You’re the target! You’re supposed to get to safety!”

“We need radio silence,” Blue’s voice commanded. “Right now. Except for reports of tango’s location.”

“Joe!” Veronica cried.

One of the FInCOM agents leaned out the van door. “I can’t cut this line,” he said to Veronica, “so unless you’re quiet, I’m going to have to take your headset.”

Veronica shut her mouth, watching as a tiny figure—Cowboy—helped Joe and the rest of his team up onto the theater roof.

Up on the roof, Joe looked around. There was one door, leading to stairs that would take them down.

You all right? Cowboy hand-signaled to Joe.

Fine, he signaled back.

The gunman surely had a radio, and was probably monitoring their spoken conversation. From this point on, the SEALs would communicate only with hand signals and sign language. No use tipping the gunman off by letting him know they were coming.

Harvard had an extra HK submachine gun, and he handed it to Joe with a tight smile.

Another shot rang out.

“Agent down,” came West’s voice over Joe’s earphone. “Oh, man, we need a medic!”

“T’s location stable,” said another voice. “Holding steady in the lobby balcony.”

“Get that injured man out of the line of fire,” Laughton commanded.

“He’s dead,” West reported, his normally dispassionate voice shaken. “Freeman’s dead. The bastard plugged him through the eye. The sonuvabitch—”

Let’s go, Joe signaled to his men. I’m on point.

Blue gestured to himself. He wanted to lead the way instead. But Joe shook his head.

Soundlessly he opened the door and started down the stairs.

Another shot.

More chaos. Another agent was hit with unerring accuracy.

“Stay down,” Laughton ordered his men. “This guy’s a sharpshooter and he’s here for the long haul. Let’s get our own shooters in position.”

Silently, with deadly stealth, fingers on the triggers of their submachine guns, the SEALs moved down the stairs.

Veronica paced. She hadn’t heard Joe’s voice in many long minutes. She could no longer see any movement on the roof.

“One of the cameras is back on,” someone said from inside the surveillance van, and she went back in to see.

Sure enough, the video camera that had been dropped and left on the stage had come back to life. It now showed a sideways and somewhat foggy picture of the theater lobby. Behind the reflections in the remaining glass windows, Veronica could see the shadowy shape of the assassin on the upper balcony.

It was quiet. No one was moving. No one was talking. Then…

“FInCOM shooters, hold your fire.” It was Joe’s voice, loud and clear, over the radio.

Veronica felt herself sway, and she groped for her seat. Joe and his SEALs were somewhere near the gunman—in range of the FInCOM agent’s guns. Please, God, keep him safe, she prayed.

A door burst open. She heard it more than she saw it on the shadowy video screen.

The gunman turned, firing a machine gun rather than his rifle. But there was no one there.

Another door opened, on the other side of the balcony, but the gunman had already moved. Using some sort of rope, he swung himself over the edge and down to the first floor.

Veronica saw Joe before the gunman did.

He was standing in the lobby, gun aimed at the man scurrying down the rope. She knew it was Joe from his gleaming white jacket. The three other SEALs were dressed in dull brown.

“Hold it right there, pal,” she heard Joe say over her headphones. “We can end this game one of two ways. We can either take you out of here in a body bag, or you can drop your weapons right now and we’ll all live to see tomorrow.”

The gunman was frozen, unmoving, halfway down the rope as he stared at Joe.

Then he moved. But he didn’t drop his gun, he brought it up, fast, aimed directly toward Joe’s head.

The sound of gunfire over the radio was deafening.

The gunman jumped to the ground—or did he fall? Who had been hit? And where was Joe…?

“Joe!” Veronica couldn’t keep silent another second as she leaned closer to the blurry screen.

“Do you need medical assistance?” a voice asked over the headphones.

“Alpha Squad, check in,” Blue’s voice ordered. “McCoy.”

“Becker.”

“Jones.”

“Catalanotto,” Joe’s familiar, husky voice said. “We’re all clear. No need of a medic, FInCOM.”

Veronica closed her eyes and rested her head on her arms on the tabletop.

“This stupid sonuvabitch just made himself a martyr for the cause,” Joe’s voice said into her ear.

Joe was alive. It was all over, and Joe was alive.

This time.