Men of Intrgue A Trilogy by Doreen Owens Malek

job at a firm in New York. I had a big salary, a flashy apartment and a fast sports car. I dated blondes and redheads with names like Sharon and Tracy and Beth.”
    “And Helen?” she supplied softly.
    He nodded. “They thought I was exotic, primitive, dangerous. What a laugh. The most dangerous thing I did in those days was forget my slide rule.”
    “As opposed to now, when your life is a powder keg,” Helen said unhappily.
    He ignored that. “And then one day I was assigned to go to Puerta Linda on a job, to scout out a location for a new bridge near San Jacinta, the capital. I hadn’t been back in so long—not since my mother’s funeral, and then only for a couple of days—that I almost felt like a foreigner myself. But the management thought I would be able to deal with the natives better since I had lived there, so I was on my way.”
    He paused, staring into the distance. “And something happened when I got there. I went to visit my mother’s sister and saw again the way she lived, saw what I had been actively trying to forget since I was ten. And I knew why I had never become an American citizen, why the engineering degree and the G. Fox clothes had polished me but never really changed what was inside of me.” He shrugged. “I resigned my job and stayed.”
    “And you started to work to change the government,” Helen said.
    He folded his arms. “At first I was naive. I actually thought I could organize the vote, the way I had seen my friends do for a campus election. Then it gradually became clear that there was no vote, that it was all fixed and controlled from the top and that the only chance for change was revolution. So I went underground and got together with others who felt the same way I did.” He lifted one shoulder eloquently. “That was eight years ago.”
    “ And now you are the leader.”
    He made a deprecating gesture. “So they tell me on American television. You know the media, they like to hang tag lines on people.”
    “And with all the Sharons and Tracys you knew, there’s no one you could ask to go to Puerta Linda with you?”
    Matteo knelt on the floor before her and took both her hands. “Not one of them could do what you did for me when I broke into your house. You’re the one I want.”
    “Oh, Matt.” The directness of his plea was disarming.
    “I wouldn’t ask this of you if there were any other way, Helen. I have to get home.”
    “I know you do,” she responded softly.
    “The terms would be the same as when I stayed at your house,” he added. “If you’re caught, I’ll say you were my hostage and that I forced you to go along in fear for your life.”
    Helen didn’t answer, wondering if it was possible that he was proposing this scheme, and even more unbelievable, that she was actually considering it.
    “I would offer to pay you,” Matteo said finally, a note of despair creeping into his voice, “but my men have investigated your background. I know that your family is wealthy and that money would not persuade you. I hope the cause of freedom will.”
    “You investigated me?” Helen asked incredulously.
    “It was necessary. I had to know more about you before I asked you to help. I could see that the house where you were staying was expensive, and I knew that your family must be well off, but there’s rich and there’s rich.” He smiled thinly. “I used to see the name Demarest on the trucks delivering fuel to my dormitory at school in New York. I didn’t realize you were that Demarest until I got the report.”
    “And you still trust me?” Helen asked. “I would think that would be difficult for you now.”
    “Why?” he asked, his brows knitting. “I know you; I know what you did for me. Information about what your father has in the bank or in stocks doesn’t change that. I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t have any... encumbrances.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like somebody who would come after you if you left the country.”
    “Oh,