The Pirate & The Adventurer & The Cowboy

trying to build a relationship without sex," Gideon muttered. "It wasn't natural, Sarah. I felt you were trying to manipulate me by withholding yourself and then when Savage popped up again, I—"

    "
Savage
." Sarah's eyes widened in belated anger as reality came back with a thud. "Good grief, I almost forgot. How could I? The man's a thief."

    "I'm in agreement with you on that point. But you didn't really believe all those things he was saying about me, did you?"

    "Of course, I didn't believe him. But that's not why I'm furious with him now. I'm mad because he broke in here and stole all my extra copies of the map, Gideon."

    Gideon's eyes hardened. He reached slowly for his shirt. "The bastard."

    "He's going to dig up the earrings," Sarah said with a sigh. "I know he is."

    "He won't find them."

    "Gideon, I keep telling you, I can almost feel him finding them. My intuition tells me he's very close to getting his hands on them. Maybe he couldn't get close without the map, but now that he's got all ten copies of the thing he's bound to figure it out."

    "Sarah, be reasonable. Ten photocopies won't do him any more good than one. They're all the same. I guarantee you he won't get the earrings."

    She gave him a speculative glance. "You're very certain of Jake Savage's incompetence."

    Gideon grinned briefly. "As I've always said, he's got his talents, but finding treasure isn't one of them." His grin vanished as quickly as it had come. "But he's gone too far with this business of breaking into your place."

    "That's certainly the truth. I won't have it. What are we going to do, Gideon? Call the cops? How will we be able to prove it was Jake who broke in?"

    "We probably won't be able to prove it." Gideon shrugged into his shirt. "But I think it's time I had a private chat with my ex-partner. I've had it with him."

    "What are you going to do?" Sarah asked anxiously.

    "I'm not sure yet, but one thing's for certain, I liked him a lot better when he was supposed to be dead."

    "Gideon, you wouldn't, would you? You can't be serious. I mean, you can't actually, uh, that is… "

    "See that he goes back to being dead? Permanently this time? It's an interesting possibility. As a solution, it definitely has its merits."

    "Gideon."

    "Weren't you going to fix me some coffee?"

    Sarah wasn't certain what to make of the blandly innocent expression in his cool green eyes. It occurred to her that on some level she had always understood that Gideon Trace was dangerous. She just hadn't ever expected to see that side of him. She still wasn't sure she was seeing it. There were definitely parts of this man she did not completely know or understand yet. The knowledge was disconcerting.

    "I'll be right out," Sarah mumbled. Clutching the remainder of her clothing, she hurried off to the bathroom.

    Gideon watched her until she disappeared down the short hall. He felt a lot better now than he had when he'd first arrived, he realized. Everything was going to be okay again. He could relax. Sarah had just succumbed to a brief storm of feminine emotion, that was all. She hadn't done anything drastic like change her mind about him.

    She still thought he was some sort of romantic hero and apparently he had only reconfirmed her belief by chasing after her.

    As if he'd had any alternative, he thought as he got to his feet and pulled on his jeans. He would never tell her, of course, but the truth was, it hadn't been any grand, romantic impulse that had brought him to Seattle. He'd been operating on instinct and his instincts had told him that he could not let her disappear from his life.

    Gideon fastened his jeans and began wandering around Sarah's colorful, modern living room. The place fascinated him. It was so completely different from his own home. Everything was bright, breezy and exuberantly chaotic. Magazines that ran the gamut from
Cache
to
Vogue
were piled willy-nilly on the second level of a two-tier glass coffee table. A collection of bizarre paperweights occupied the top of the table. An unwashed mug or two stood proudly amid the clutter.

    The furniture all looked as if it had been designed in an art studio, with more emphasis on abstract lines than functionality.

    The walls were filled with posters of the Pike Place Market, photos of Sarah with two other women and framed book covers. He paused in front of one, studying it more closely.

    The cover of
Dangerous Talent
showed a rugged-looking, dark-haired man braced at the