Heart of a Warrior

6

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RESCUES DIDN'T ALWAYS WORK OUT AS PLANNED. SOME of them that you thought were rescues might not even be so, might turn out to be intrusions instead.

This was Brittany's first thought when she turned to face the man whom she assumed she had pulled out of the jaws of his own personal hell. She had expected at the very least some gratitude, but she got merely a curious once-over from him. How deflating. Not that it mattered, when she was struck dumb by her own amazement.

Up close and personal put her system into overdrive. She never thought she'd see the day when a man might be too tall for her.

But goodness, seven feet tall and properly proportioned for it!

The rest of him that she could see now, from the shoulders down, defied description. She was used to bulging muscles after three years working in a spa, but the muscles on this guy seemed natural rather than a result of strenuous exercise. Everything about him was big, and yet a right kind of big. You couldn't create and mold that kind of physique, you had to be born with it.

He was also dressed in high fashion-heck, he was wearing what you might expect on a rock star, actually. A wraparound tunic with no buttons, belted at the waist, and a soft metallic blue in color. His black leather pants weren't the least baggy, nor did they have visible seams that she could find.

If she didn't know better, she'd think those pants had been poured on him, they were so skintight. Leather boots of the same color, with flat heels-no artificial height here-and just as softlooking, went up to his knees. The fat medallion that was visible in the very deep V of his neckline, hanging from a thick gold chain, appeared mystic in design. It was plated to look like it was made of solid gold, which of course it wouldn't be, when it was the size of her fist in roundness and nearly as thick.

He had a fancy-looking little radio attached to his wide belt, with all kinds of buttons on it. At least she assumed it was a radio, since it had a thin cord plugged into it that ran up to one of his ears, one of those miniature earphones, she supposed.

Her thorough examination of him came to an abrupt end when he spoke to her. A deep rumble. Foreign. The accent was strong, distinctive; she just couldn't place what country it might be from.

"Do you require something of me?" he said.

She blushed, something she strived never to do, because pink cheeks just didn't go well with copper hair. "No," she answered, "and maybe I should apologize. You looked like you were having a claustrophobia attack." At his blank stare, she added, "You know, hemmed in by the crowd and panicking because you can't find your way out-never mind. I thought I was helping, but obviously not."

He seemed to pause to listen to the music coming out of his earphone for a moment before he replied, "Ah, you assisted me. Now I understand, and offer my gratitude."

He smiled at her. She wondered if fainting was allowed in the mall. Good god in the morning, find something wrong with him, girl, before you fall instantly in love.

Now that he had relaxed, with that incredible smiles that almost doubled his appeal, his amber eyes said he liked what he was seeing, which thrilled her to the core. But then, as looks went, she had some nice ones-aside from her height. At least, constantly being hit on despite her height confirmed what her mirror said.

She had big breasts, dark green eyes that could turn murky or be crystal clear, and a thick mass of bright copper hair inherited from her grandfather that no beautician could quite match in color. Some nicely defined bones went with the package for a combination that was loosely termed a knockout. She wouldn't go that far in describing herself, but was glad she had a few nice features to make up for that last half a foot of height she could have done without.

They were staring at each other when they should be talking, or at least getting past all the standard first meeting info, like name, profession, number of children they planned to have, and so on. And since he wasn't making the effort, that left it to her to get the ball rolling on getting acquainted, not something she had much experience at, since American men had that sort of thing down pat. But it was either that or let him walk away and never see him again, which at the moment was out of the question.

So she started from the top, telling him, "I'm Brittany Callaghan, and you are?"

"Sha-Ka'ani."

"Excuse me?"

The volume must have gotten turned up by accident on his radio, because even she could hear the tinny-sounding screeching coming out of his earphone that made him wince. He yanked it off his ear, held it a moment while he glared at it, then attached it again.

"I understand now it was my name you requested. I am Dalden Ly-San-Ter."

Brittany grinned at that point. "Let me take a wild guess. That's not a radio, but some kind of language translation recording you're listening to?"

"It does indeed assist me in understanding this language of yours that I have just learned."

"Just learned? You speak it amazingly well for only just learning it."

"Yet do I not have a translation for all of your words. Some require an explanation."

"Yes, I can see where brand names and slang might throw you off, as well as first names sounding like countries, like mine does." She took another guess on the next subject. "So, did you just get signed up for pro basketball?" A blank look. "Uh-oh, if that didn't translate, then you can't be a professional player, though if you stay in this country long enough, the scouts will probably find you. Sorry for the assumption, but we don't see seven-footers every day, and those we do see tend to all be players-"

"I am not seven feet tall," he corrected her in a serious tone.

She chuckled. "So who's counting an inch or two when you're that tall? Not me."

"Is my height a problem?"

"Not a chance. Your height is absolutely perfect, just what the basketball scouts are always on the lookout for." Herself as well, though she didn't add that, and he didn't seem to be understanding anything she was saying again. "Never mind, I don't think I've got it straight yet in my head that you're not American. Heck, basketball might not even be a sport in your country. Where do you hail from, by the way?"

"Far from here."

She grinned. "That's obvious, but how far? Europe? The Middle East? I don't recognize your accent, and I'd thought television had done an admirable job of introducing us to the full range of foreign accents."

"My country would be unknown to you."

She sighed. "You're probably right. If Shaka-what-you-called-it is its name, I've never heard of it. But then, geography was never my strong point. Are you just visiting America, then, doing the tourist thing?"

"My time here will be brief, yes."

Another sigh. "Well, hell, so much for getting married." His blank stare this time brought on a chuckle from her. "Don't panic, that was just a joke to loosen you up. You don't say much, do you?"

She blushed as soon as she said it, because she hadn't been giving him much chance to say anything with her nervous, nonstop chatter. A foreigner. Of all the rotten luck. But if they were growing them like this overseas, perhaps she ought to add a trip around the world to her goal list.

Her disappointment was almost a physical ache. Just a visitor. He'd have to leave the country when his visa expired. She'd never see him again… but that wasn't confirmed yet. His "brief" might only refer to Seaview. Foreigners did still move to America and apply for citizenship these days. Marriage worked wonders in cutting through that red tape, as well. She wouldn't ask, didn't want it confirmed, that he was just passing through.

"I will have much to say to you when my task is done here," he said.

She blinked, having forgotten her question. And those words sounded so promising, they managed to push her disappointment to the side.

"No time for socializing? Man, does that sound familiar," she remarked. "What task?"

"I seek a man. His name is Jorran, though he may call himself by a different name here."

"Are you a foreign cop, or a detective?"

"Is that what is required to find him?"

"Wouldn't hurt." She grinned. "Detectives have that find what's-missing-thing down pat. I don't think we have any in Seaview, though. Plenty of lawyers and even a pawnshop, if you can believe it. But there wouldn't be much work for a professional detective in a nice quiet town like this. If this guy's a criminal, you can always ask the local police to help."

Screeching came from his earphone again, when his hand was nowhere near the unit to have adjusted the sound. What a strange translator-or was it? It seemed more like someone was actually talking to him through it, with the occasional yell thrown in, coaching him on what to say.

"Police would be more hindrance than assistance, when they would ask questions that would lead to many more questions, and have no understanding of the answers."

"That complicated, huh? Well, your best bet for finding a detective who won't ask too many questions is to head to San Francisco. "

"There is no time for detours. Nor is the assistance I need of a complicated nature." His amber eyes seemed to glow for a moment before he added, "You could help me."

Brittany's pulse rate sped up rapidly. His tone and look implied something other than help. "I could?"

"An understanding of your people is needful, and help in determining if the one in power here begins to behave in an abnormal manner."

She frowned. The one in power here? Did he mean the mayor? She turned around to glance at the platform, to see that Sullivan was wrapping up his speech. Standard political jargon. Nothing unusual in that. Abnormal? What the heck did he mean by that?

Brittany turned back to ask him, and found herself alone. She turned in a full circle. He was nowhere to be seen. People passed her. Shops were nearby. He wasn't. That gorgeous hunk of foreign masculinity had pulled a perfect disappearing act on her.

Crushed, she fell into the foulest mood imaginable. She didn't buy any jeans that day. She went home and broke a few things.