Arizona took the stone from her and returned it to Jimmy. After thanking the guard, he led her out of the exhibit hall. There was a small garden behind the building. Stone benches surrounded an inverted fountain.

Still confused by what had happened, she settled on one of the benches. He took a seat next to her.

“What did you think?” he asked.

“It’s very impressive. I can see why you enjoy your work and why you have such a following. You’ve brought a great find to national attention.”

He dismissed the compliment with a wave. “I haven’t done anything that special. I followed a few clues, refused to give up when other people did, but I’m no hero. There are a lot of great scholars out there. I’m just some guy interested in pretty rocks and religious icons.”

“You’re selling yourself a little short, aren’t you?”

“Not really. When I met Joseph Campbell I was so impressed, I couldn’t talk. He was my idol. I don’t say that lightly. I’ve met many impressive people, but he was the best.”

Interesting. She made a mental note. That information could add some depth and human interest to her story. “Are there any important people you haven’t met yet who intrigue you?”

His smile was slow and lazy. It should have warned her. He relaxed back in the bench. “Yesterday I would have said yes, because until yesterday I hadn’t met you.”

It was a line, she reminded herself. But it was a good one. “Not bad.”

His smile didn’t fade, but something dark and dangerous crept into his expression. “I wasn’t kidding, Chloe. I know you felt it, too. The energy when you were holding the diamond. Did the stone glow when you closed your eyes? That’s supposed to be significant.”

She tried swallowing, but her throat was too tight. When coughing didn’t clear it, she decided to ignore both the sensation and the question. She opened her briefcase and pulled out a small handheld tape recorder.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” she said.

He eyed the machine. “Obviously we’re on the record.”

“We have been all morning.”

His gaze sharpened. “Really? That surprises me.” He crossed his ankle over his opposite knee. “Ask away.”

The sun was warm, but the heat filling her body came from the inside. There was something about him, about his relaxed posture. She angled away from him, but even so, the bench was suddenly too small. She felt confined and much too close. She could inhale the masculine scent of his body. Her mind didn’t want to focus on questions or interview techniques. She wanted to move closer still; she wanted to run away.

Neither possibility was wise, she reminded herself, so she dug out a list of questions she’d prepared the previous night when she couldn’t sleep.

“You traveled with your grandfather for most of your formative years,” she said.

“That’s right. He showed up one day when I was about three or so, and took me with him. One of my first memories is riding a yak somewhere in Tibet.” He stretched out his arms along the back of the bench. His strong tanned fingers lay within inches of her shoulder and she tried not to notice.

“Grandfather traveled in style,” he continued. “At heart, he was an adventurer. Fortunately the family had money, so he was able to go where and when he wanted. He’d run guns into Africa before the Second World War. He knew heads of state, from Nixon to obscure tribal elders in kingdoms the size of a grocery store. He would decide to spend a summer somewhere or maybe a winter, but we never stayed longer than a few months. Grandfather loved to be moving on.”

Chloe knew this from her research. “He arranged for tutors?”

Arizona nodded. “Sometimes several at once. I studied for hours every day. When I was fourteen, he put me in university, Oxford, then I moved to Egypt for a year or so. India, South Africa. I have an assortment of degrees.” He grinned. “None of them practical.”

“Are you an adventurer, too?”

“In a manner of speaking. I’ve tried to be more methodical, to use what I know to discover the past. Grandfather wanted to travel for the sake of being gone. I want to accomplish something.”

She looked at him. From where she was sitting, he looked like a fairly normal guy. Perhaps he was a little too good-looking, but otherwise, he seemed to be much like the rest of the world.

“You’re staring,” he said. “Is there a reason?”

She shook her head. “You’re so different from anyone I’ve ever known. My family is one of the founding families of this town. My mother’s maiden name is Bradley. The Victorian house has been ours for generations. I’ve traveled some, but not like you. Bradleys have been in this valley for more than a hundred years.”

He shrugged. “Roots aren’t a bad thing.”

“I know. I’m not unhappy with my life. I’m just wondering what it would be like to have lived yours.” She tried to imagine always moving around, never knowing where one was going next. The thought wasn’t pleasant.

She remembered the running tape and the fact that this was supposed to be an interview. “Okay, next question. I know your mother died shortly after you were born. When did your father pass away?”

If she hadn’t been studying him so closely, she wouldn’t have noticed the subtle stiffening of his body. “My father is alive and well. At least he was the last time he called me.”

“But you grew up with your grandfather. He took you away when you were three.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you stay with your father?”

“It just worked out that way.”

The journalist in her jumped onto the detail. Questions sprang to mind. Had there been a problem? An estrangement? Some legal issues? Why had Arizona’s father let his only child be taken from him and subjected to such an odd upbringing?

“You’re going to pursue this line of questioning, aren’t you?” Arizona sounded more weary than annoyed.

“Yes. I’m figuring out which way to go.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he raised his head to the sun. “It’s warmer than I thought it would be,” he said.

“We’re about ten degrees above normal for this time of year.”

“I should have dressed for it.” He reached for his right cuff and undid the button.

All the questions and strategies about how best to handle the interview fled from her mind. The entire world disappeared as she focused her attention on those long fingers and his casual act.

He finished rolling up the right sleeve and started on the left. She knew what she was going to see there. Despite the fact that she’d only met the man yesterday and that he’d been wearing long sleeves then, too. Despite the fact that none of the photos in her research files showed him in anything but long sleeves. She knew about the scar because she’d seen the man na**d in her dreams.

That wasn’t real, she reminded herself. It hadn’t really happened. So when he rolled up the sleeve, there wasn’t going to be a knife scar on the inside of his left forearm. Except she knew that was exactly what she was going to see.

She stopped breathing.

He made one fold of the fabric, then another. The tail of the scar came into view. She told herself this wasn’t really happening, except it was and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

He caught her stare. “It’s not so bad,” he said, motioning to the scar. “Want to hear how it happened?”

“I can’t,” she said, her voice tight. “I can’t. I have to—” She couldn’t think of a real excuse so she didn’t bother making one. Instead she gathered up her notes and her tape recorder and thrust both into her briefcase.

It was too much to take in. The dream and the man and the fact that she’d known what the scar looked like before she’d even seen it.

“I’ll be in touch,” she managed as she scrambled to her feet and headed for the parking lot.

“Chloe? Is something wrong?”

She held him off with a wave. As soon as she was on the far side of the garden, she began to run. It was only when she tried to fit her key in the lock that she realized she was blinded by tears she could neither explain nor understand. What on earth was happening to her?

CHAPTER FOUR

CHLOE FINISHED STACKING the folders into neat piles. She’d already dusted her computer, rearranged her pencil cup and answered all her messages. Even the boring ones. Still, the busywork wasn’t enough to keep her mind from scurrying around like a frantic chicken, scuttling from place to place, or in her case, subject to subject.

She’d tried lecturing herself on the importance of being professional. She’d scanned a couple of articles on maintaining one’s cool during interviews. She’d taken countless deep breaths, tried a bit of stretching in the ladies’ room and had even sworn off coffee.

It wasn’t helping. The truth was she was scared.

Something strange was happening to her. She didn’t want it to be true, but she could no longer ignore the obvious. Fact number one. Before yesterday, she’d never met Arizona Smith. She didn’t think she’d even seen a picture of him or known who he was. Fact number two. Night before last she’d had a long, detailed, highly erotic dream about Arizona. A dream so intense just thinking about it sent a quiver of excitement through her belly. Fact number three. In said dream, she’d pictured Arizona na**d. She knew what the man looked like na**d. That was fine. All men sort of looked the same without their clothes. The basic working parts had a lot in common. But it was more than that. She knew about his scars. The one on his knee and the one on his forearm. Fact number four. That very morning she’d had confirmation that her dream had some basis in reality. After all, the scar had been exactly as she remembered it.

Fact number five. Maybe she was going crazy.

Chloe folded her arms on her desk and let her head sink down to her hands. She refused to consider insanity as an explanation to her problem. It had to be something else. Something logical. Maybe along with seeing his picture and not remembering it, she’d also read an article that mentioned his scars.

Or maybe the nightgown was real.

That last thought made her shudder, but in a whole different way than when she thought about making love with Arizona. Anything mystic was just too weird for her. She didn’t want the nightgown to be real. She didn’t want to know her destiny and she sure didn’t want to have to get involved with a man like Arizona Smith. He had a woman in every port. He didn’t even believe in love.

She straightened in her chair. He was wrong about love. It did exist. Unfortunately it wasn’t worth the pain it brought along, but it was definitely real.

“I don’t want this,” she murmured to herself. “I want my life to be normal, like everyone else’s.”

She suddenly remembered she was in the office. Talking to herself in the car was one thing, but in front of others, especially coworkers, was quite another.

This has gone on too long, she told herself firmly and silently. She had to pull herself together. She reached for the pad of paper she always kept by her phone and then grabbed a pen. She would make a list. List making always helped.

First, she would pretend the dream never happened. Every time she thought about it, she would push it to the back of her mind. Eventually she would forget. Second, she was going to act like the professional she was. No more personal conversations, no more freaking out because she saw a scar. She didn’t even want to imagine what Arizona must think of her.

“Professional,” she muttered. It was time to work on her article.

She glanced at the list she’d made, figured she could remember both items on her own and tossed the paper into the trash. Next, she reviewed the background material Nancy had left her. There were a couple of points that hadn’t been clear. Chloe picked up the phone and dialed the reporter’s home number.

When Nancy answered, Chloe introduced herself and politely asked about her pregnancy. They talked about work for a few minutes, then Nancy mentioned Arizona.

“I’ve been seeing the man everywhere on the local news. Is he as impressive in person?”

Chloe thought about her own reaction to Arizona and bit back a sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.”

The two women laughed.

“Gee, Mark and I have wanted children for a long time, but now I’m feeling a little left out of it. I’m getting stretch marks and a daily afternoon backache while you’re out playing with the new guy in town. It’s not fair.”

“But in a couple of months you’re going to have a baby, and all I’ll be left with is a story.” And a broken heart.

The last thought came without warning and Chloe firmly ignored it. She was not going to get involved enough to get her heart broken. In fact she wasn’t going to get involved at all.

“Speaking of the story,” she said. “I have a few questions on a couple of your sources.”

“I figured you would. My system of taking notes is tough for people to follow. You’d think after all this time I’d be more organized, but I’m not.”

Chloe went through her questions and wrote down Nancy’s replies. When they were finished she said, “From what I can tell you were angling your story toward telling about the man and his myths.”

“Right, but I was never happy with that. Have you thought of something better?”

“I don’t know if it’s better, but I have another idea. I’d like to write about the man behind the myths. Arizona has traveled all over the world. He has a strong belief in the mystical and spiritual. From what I’ve seen he has an image the media loves. But who is the man underneath? How does he decide what he’s going to pursue? What are his influences now and what were they in the past?”