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think of everything."
    "We try."
    Jake laid the robe on the bed, then removed his jacket and exchanged it for the robe, which he tossed over his shoulder. Dr. Brooks watched him closely as he walked out of the room, into the hall and straight to the bathroom door.
    He glanced over his shoulder. "Coming in with me?"
    "You seem awfully glib for a man in your situation." She narrowed her gaze speculatively. "You do realize your life is in danger, don't you? Unless you do exactly as you're told and cooperate fully—"
    "Tell me. Doc, how did a woman like you get involved with the Coalition?"
    "You don't know what kind of woman I am, Mr. Ingram."
    "You're right, I don't. But if I'm here for a few days, I might get a chance to find out."
    When she didn't refute his comment, he studied her expression. There it was again—that hint of compassion in her eyes. Or was he imagining it, simply seeing what he wanted to see?
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    Jake went into the bathroom, closed the door and stripped completely, then cracked open the door. "Here they are."
    He poked the clothes through the opening.
    When Dr. Brooks reached out to take the clothes from him, he grasped her wrist. She tensed, but made no move to retreat or attack. Their gazes held and locked.
    "Let go," she told him. "I really don't want to resort to violence, but I will, if necessary."
    He released her immediately. She took the clothes, turned and headed for the stairs.
    "Hey, Doc."
    She halted, but didn't turn around. "Yes?"
    "You should know that I bend, but don't break. Whatever little mind games you have in store for me—they aren't going to work."
    "I guess we'll see, won't we, Jake?"
    So that was how she intended to play this. Like a chess match. Each step of the way, seeing who could outsmart and outmaneuver the other. He could probably handle Burgess and Lester. But this woman posed a real problem.
    Whoever she was and for whatever reason she was working for the Coalition, she was no mere flunky.
    "Yeah, I guess we'll see," he said. "By the way, if you get to call me Jake, then what should I call you?"
    "Dr. Brooks."
    He shook his head. "What's your given name?"
    She glanced over her shoulder, but said nothing. He thought maybe he'd already lost this round. Then just when he started to close the door, he heard her say in a soft, whispery voice, "Mariah."
    Before he could respond, she rushed down the stairs. With her name echoing inside his head, he closed the door.
    Mariah. The name suited her. Somehow he sensed that beneath that cool, controlled exterior, a wild, untamed woman existed. But was she a woman who could be persuaded, with the proper inducement, to change alliances?
    Figuring the odds, Jake decided that if Mariah was as much woman as he suspected she was, she could definitely be his best hope of getting out of this predicament, not only alive, but free from the Coalition.
    Two
    Mariah had been handpicked for this job because of her background in the Intelligence Division and her doctorate in psychology. If she succeeded at this crucial assignment, a promotion wasn't out of the question. Being young—
    only thirty—and female, she had to work twice as hard to prove herself. But competition and hard work were in her blood, inherited from her parents and instilled in her by her three older brothers. Her reputation as a hard-nosed professional who gave as good as she got only scratched the surface of the person she really was, the woman inside her who had spent a lifetime trying to prove she was the equal of her brothers and every man in her line of work. Her physical appearance alone intimidated some men. After all, at five-ten she was as tall as half the male population, and her physical prowess and expertise in the martial arts as well as practically every type of weaponry made her the equal of and often superior to a great many men.
    As she removed Jake Ingrain's clothes from the washer and