Innocent as Sin by Elizabeth Lowell

From the Publisher

Kayla Shaw is a private banker in Arizona—smart and capable but underpaid and underappreciated. Rand McCree is a haunted man painting landscapes in the Pacific Northwest, burning with the need for answers about the terrible event that shattered his world. They are two strangers with nothing in common . . . until their lives entwine—and explode.

Suspicious of each other, needing each other, they are two against the world—with unknown enemies on all sides and even the government itself suspect—as the violence of the past erupts in the present. And now innocence alone will not be enough to keep Kayla Shaw alive. . . .

Library Journal

Rand can't find the man who shot his twin brother to death, but he does find Kayla, who needs help when her employer tries to assure her silence about unscrupulous doings. With a one-day laydown. Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information.

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Innocent as Sin LP

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Chapter One

Africa Late March

Wearing dirty camouflage gear, boots, and insect repellent, Rand McCree crouched behind the tattered grass blind. His camera's extreme-long-distance lens filled the hole cut in the loosely woven grass. Even though the sun was barely above the eastern horizon, Rand was sweating. He didn't notice it. In the Demo cratic Republic of Camgeria, whether it was tropical coastland or scrubby interior, men sweated. It was how they knew they were alive.

Through the camera lens Rand watched the rebels—or freedom fighters, depending on your politics—wait next to heavy trucks parked just off the south end of the miserable, barely scraped dirt strip that passed for a runway in this part of Africa.

Next to him, his twin jerked, kicking the AK-47 lying between the two men.

"Settle down," Rand said softly. "The plane will be along eventually."

"Something bit me," Reed muttered.

"Are your shots current?"

"Yeah."

"Then what are you bitching about?"

"I feel like a bush blood bank."

Rand smiled. "You are."

"How did I let you talk me into this?"

"Me? You were the one going on about a lifetime opportunity to get a picture of the most dangerous, mysterious arms trader since—"

"Yeah, yeah," Reed interrupted. "Don't remind me."

"Not more than twice a day."

"More than that. At least twice since—"

"Quiet."

Reed shut up and heard the whining growl of turboprops. He raised his powerful binoculars and began searching the dusty sky in the direction of the sound.

"Got him," he said to his twin. "Coming in at three o'clock, flying low. And I mean low." He whistled softly through his teeth. "That's a ballsy pi lot. Or a drunk. His gear is raking leaves."

"Just one of the problems of flying without filing a flight plan." Rand concentrated on getting the unmarked, unlighted Ilyushin Il-4 in focus as it approached the dirt strip. "Keep an eye on the countryside. We don't want to explain what we're doing here."

"Nobody would ask," Reed said. "They'd just shoot us."

"Like I said—"

"He's going straight in," Reed interrupted, excitement in his voice. "You got him?"

"Yeah. Watch that you don't flash sunlight off your binocular lenses."

"Kiss mine. We're going to nail the Siberian's baby-killing ass."

Rand grinned. The thing about having an identical twin was that he was . . . identical. You talked to each other because you could. But it wasn't necessary. He'd do what you'd do in his place.

No thought required.

The plane leaped into focus. No insignia. No numbers. No identifying marks at all.

Surprise, surprise.

Silently Rand went to work.

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