Kitabı oku: «Taming the Lone Wolff»

“Dammit, Winnie.”

He stopped and then spoke in a voice that sounded like rough steel. “I find you attractive. That complicates things.” His eyes were impossible to read in the harsh shadows.

Suddenly her heart pounded in her chest. “Is that the truth?”

“Why on earth would I lie?”

His shocking candor made her want to be brave. And that desire gave encouragement to long-sup-pressed yearnings. Here was a man she wanted. And he wanted her.

“I find you attractive, too, Larkin,” she whispered. “Very.” Daringly she traced the curve of one sculpted biceps. His skin was warm to the touch. Arousal sang through her veins. Her gaze settled on his lips.

Larkin shuddered. “This can’t happen.”

“What?”

“This.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with raw desperation.

About the Author

JANICE MAYNARD came to writing early in life. When her short story The Princess and the Robbers won a red ribbon in her third-grade school arts fair, Janice was hooked. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and now is so very happy to also be part of the Harlequin Books family—a lifelong dream, by the way!

Janice and her husband live in beautiful east Tennessee in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. She loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books.

Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website, www.janicemaynard.com, or email her at JESM13@aol.com. And of course, don’t forget Facebook and Twitter. Visit all the men of Wolff Mountain at www.wolffmountain.com.

Taming the Lone Wolff

Janice Maynard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Stacy Boyd, editor extraordinaire!

I love working with you on each new project.

You are efficient and insightful, and you have a

genuine love for the romance genre. Your sharp eye

makes my stories shine. I think we make a great team.

One

Larkin Wolff stopped at the computerized video panel, pressed a button and showed his ID. After a brief pause, a light blinked green and the gate swung open. He passed through onto a long winding driveway constructed of almost pure-white crushed stone. Many of his clients surrounded themselves in acres of insulating property, but seldom had Larkin seen anything as peaceful and idyllic as the emerald fields, stately oaks and copses of weeping willows that lined the banks of a meandering creek.

Despite the sense that time stood still here, his skin tingled with a hint of warning. He’d built a career in high-tech surveillance, electronic security systems and even sophisticated cyber protection. Along the way, he’d developed what his siblings and cousins laughingly called a keen Spidey sense.

Larkin went along with the joke. Growing up on Wolff Mountain had made a man of him, and despite being a middle child with a troubled past, confidence was woven into his DNA. But something about today’s meeting made him itchy. And he didn’t know why.

At long last, he pulled up in front of the house. The surrounding real estate, sprawling outside of Nashville proper, was home to country music legends, recording industry moguls and anyone else to whom money was no object. The two story Georgian redbrick lady in front of him sat gracefully on the land, her many windows glistening in the afternoon sun.

Larkin grabbed a notebook and his laptop and got out, inhaling the scent of roses and freshly turned dirt. He had grown up in what many would call a modern-day castle, but this serene facade impressed even him.

Much of his work took him to city high-rises and aesthetically bland corporate headquarters. Today’s setting would be a pleasant change. The summons had been a bit odd and nonspecific. But perhaps he was imagining trouble where there was none. Families with lots of money often felt the need for protection. He should know.

Ringing the bell shaped in the head of a lion, he waited calmly. For a man in his occupation, patience was a prerequisite.

Suddenly, the large door swung inward and a woman stood before him. She was small, barely reaching his shoulder. Barefoot and wearing denim overalls cut off at the knee, the fabric neatly cuffed midthigh, she looked about eighteen. Her untamed hair was the color of corn silk, but it fuzzed out in a mass of unruly waves that almost overpowered her narrow face. Wary green-and-amber eyes surveyed him, even as her pointed chin lifted slightly. “Hello,” she said, her voice low and melodic.

Larkin gave her a brief smile, trying not to notice that the thin white T-shirt beneath the overall bib seemed to indicate she was braless. The curves of her generous breasts peeked out the sides. “My name is Larkin Wolff,” he said. “I’m here to see Ms. Winifred Bellamy. She’s expecting me.”

Winnie felt a sudden need for either smelling salts or a quick belt of whiskey. It had been a long, long time since a virile, handsome man had crossed this threshold. “I’m Winifred,” she said, looking him up and down. “But please call me Winnie.” She stepped back and waited for him to enter, leading him to the nearby salon.

It was one of her favorite rooms. She had furnished it simply but comfortably, and the small baby grand in the corner was one she played when there was no one around to hear. Audubon prints graced the walls, and a pale green silk Persian rug, enormous in length and width, cushioned her feet as she sank her toes into the pile. Its intricate pattern reminded her that someone, somewhere, had labored over its creation for days, months, years. Winnie admired such single-minded devotion.

She curled into an armchair and waved her guest to the sofa. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Wolff.”

He shrugged. “Your note indicated some urgency.”

“Yes.” Fear and anxiety clenched her stomach, but she fought them back. She was not a victim. She was in charge. “I suppose you read the article I enclosed?”

He nodded with a grimace. “I did.”

Winnie Bellamy hated being robbed. Money was one thing…she had plenty of it. But when Arista Magazine listed her as one of the twenty wealthiest women in America, Winnie lost something she valued more than anything else…her privacy…and her anonymity.

She placed her hands on the arms of the chair, deliberately displaying an air of confidence. “Where do we start?”

Larkin Wolff was not sure what she wanted from him. So he decided to push a little. If part of his line of questioning had more to do with sheer curiosity than actual necessity, well…that was his business. He settled back and drummed his hands on his knees. “Tell me about you and your family… . How did you end up on that wealthiest-women list?”

Ordinarily, he’d have opened his computer by now and would be making notes. But he didn’t want to miss the nuances of expression that danced across Winnie’s open-book face. Her posture and graceful movements projected dignity. She carried herself regally, as if she had spent her formative years at exclusive Swiss finishing schools. And perhaps she had.

She took a moment to almost visibly compose her thoughts before speaking. Her demeanor seemed pensive. “My parents had me when they were well into their mid-forties. The pregnancy was somewhat of an embarrassment to my mother. She and my father were academics, both with IQs off the charts. My ‘accidental’ conception made them look human, I think, and I’m sure they hated that.”

“They are deceased?”

“Yes. Both had advanced degrees in anthropology and archaeology. Their careers and their marriage were spent crisscrossing the globe. They were much in demand as speakers at colleges, universities and basically anywhere that could rustle up the money to cover their exorbitant fees.”

“And that’s how they amassed a fortune?” He lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

“No, of course not. The money was always there. My mother’s great-great-grandfather invented and patented some kind of engine during World War I, and my father’s family owned a large publishing conglomerate in London.”

“Where were you during all their travels?”

Trained to note small tells, he witnessed the brief moment her hands clenched on the chair arms before relaxing again deliberately. “I had governesses, tutors, semesters at boarding schools, an Ivy League education. Everything a child could possibly need.”

“Except parents to tuck you in at night.” The compassion sparked by her terse narrative was born of his own dark memories.

“No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t have that. But there are worse problems, I assure you.”

“Indeed. But having grown up myself without a mother and with a father who was all about business, I sympathize, Ms. Bellamy.”

“I’d appreciate it if you would call me Winnie. Ms. Bellamy is too formal and, quite honestly, I hate the name Winifred. It makes me sound like an old-maid librarian.”

He grinned. “You’re far from that.”

“I had you investigated, Mr. Wolff.” Her cheeks were pink, and he was pretty sure his implied compliment had flustered her.

“I’ve got no problem there. You need to be able to trust who’s doing your security work.”

“Why is your firm called Leland Security? I would think using the Wolff family name would draw in clients.”

“I have all the work I can handle, and besides…”

“Yes?” Her steady gaze dissected him.

“Well, in the beginning it was because I was a typical middle child. I didn’t want to be overshadowed by my older brother or my cousins. Wanted to make my mark in the world. That kind of thing. Thankfully, I outgrew such posturing long ago, but I discovered in the meantime that if I was going to be handling discreet, sensitive matters, it made sense to fly under the radar. Leland is my middle name.”

“Tell me, Mr. Wolff…”

“Larkin,” he insisted.

“Larkin, then. Are you available for a large job? Do you have the manpower? The openings in your schedule?”

“Before I answer that, I have one last question of you. How and when did your parents die? Are you fearful for your personal safety because of the article? Is that it?”

She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The childlike pose did nothing to detract from her natural beauty. Without a speck of makeup on her lightly freckled, ivory-skinned face, she reminded him of a young Meryl Streep. “My parents have nothing to do with this,” she said tightly. “They were killed in a tsunami. At that time they were living with native peoples on one of the more remote islands of Indonesia. They never stood a chance.”

“Were their bodies recovered?”

“Eventually. But there wasn’t much left to bury. I had them cremated and flown home. DNA testing confirmed their identities. Lawyers aren’t willing to turn over a billion-dollar fortune without definitive proof.”

The horror of her tale was in no way minimized by her flat, deliberately emotionless recounting. Larkin had his own demons to battle, but here was a woman who knew what it meant to suffer.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, wishing there was something he could do to ease the tension from her slight frame.

“It’s been almost a decade,” she said. She stood up and wandered the room, pausing to run a hand over the top of the piano. It was a loving gesture…sensual…appreciative. Without warning, his body reacted. He’d never met a woman less inclined to accentuate her looks, and yet Winnie Bellamy fascinated him.

“Do you play?” he asked.

When she looked up, it almost seemed as if she had forgotten his presence, so lost in the past as she was with memories. “For myself…on occasion.”

“I’d like to hear you sometime,” he said.

She pursed her lips. “Probably not.”

“Why?”

She stared at him in silence, not deigning to answer his question. Perhaps she thought him impertinent. She turned and crossed the room to a small antique secretary. Pulling a silver skeleton key from her pocket, she unlocked the center drawer and extracted something he couldn’t see.

When she returned to his side, she laid a piece of paper on the table at his elbow. His jaw dropped. Though his own personal financial portfolio was in the high seven-figure range (and that was not counting the portion of Wolff Enterprises that would be his in the future), it wasn’t every day that someone tossed a check at him for half a million dollars. Though Winnie had signed the document, the pay to line was blank.

He picked it up gingerly. “What’s this?”

She sat back down, this time crossing her legs and kicking one foot lazily. “That should cover everything I need from you. But I have to know that I am buying your utmost discretion. Nothing you learn about me or my estate can be shared.”

There it was again, that tingling Spidey sense. He dropped the check. “I’m not a priest, a doctor, a shrink or, thank God, a lawyer,” he said gruffly. “If you’re involved in something illegal, I’ll go straight to the police. You can buy my loyalty and discretion, but not a blind eye. Sorry.”

She blinked, her pale lashes only a shade darker than her hair. “Wow. You shoot from the hip, don’t you?”

“I won’t take your money under false pretenses.”

Winnie was not threatened by Larkin Wolff’s displeasure. Instead, she was fascinated. When it was his turn to stand and prowl, she studied him. He was built like a baseball player, long and lean and athletic. Though his looks were pleasing, he wouldn’t be called handsome. There was too much of a permanent frown line between his eyebrows and an unmistakable bump on the bridge of his nose that indicated a past break.

His eyes were a shade of steel-blue that could burn or chill given his mood. The man’s body was a walking testament to working out, his biceps flexing beneath a thin dress T-shirt. He had removed a navy sport coat, and clad only in the oatmeal-colored knit, he looked powerful and intensely masculine. His short wiry hair was mostly black with a few strands of premature gray.

She knew from her files that he was barely thirty. But his visage and demeanor made him seem much older. “Sit down, Larkin. I can assure you that I am a law-abiding citizen.” She was shocked to hear herself ordering him around—shocked even more when he obeyed.

His gaze locked with hers in unspoken challenge.

She sighed. “Since that article came out, I have been inundated with phone calls, packages and more than a few unwanted visitors. At one point, we even had to call in the bomb squad. Fortunately, it was a false alarm, but I can’t endanger my staff’s safety and well-being. I’ve received no less than six proposals of marriage, one of those from a convicted sex offender serving prison time. My personal email account was hacked last week, and the perpetrator sent pornographic images to everyone in my contact list. This has to stop…and soon.”

Larkin leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I can take care of all of that for a fraction of your big check. Why so urgent? What aren’t you telling me? Stuff like this blows over in a matter of weeks. New gossip arrives, fresh meat scents the air. In a month or two, I’m pretty sure you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “Even if I am overreacting, I have the right to hire you and ask for certain things…correct?”

There was that scowl again. “Of course you do. But part of my job is to advise you. And throwing away your money isn’t necessary.”

“I won’t be throwing away a cent,” she said, her throat raw with emotion. “For starters, I need you to do the obvious. Install whatever we need to guard our perimeter. And I want you to contract your people to be on duty 24/7 for an indefinite period of time.”

“And deal with phone and internet issues.”

“Yes.”

“What else?”

She hesitated. Everything she had read about this man inspired confidence. But trust was not easily won for someone in her position. “I need you to fill out the check and accept it before we continue.”

His eyes iced with suspicion. “I’ve told you. It’s too much.”

“Then I’ll write two checks…one to Leland Security and one to a charity of your choosing. I want half a million dollars’ worth of protection. Can you or can you not provide that for me?”

“Has anyone ever called you paranoid?”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t imagine a man like you understands what it means to be physically vulnerable. Women are stronger than men in many ways, but we will always face the threat of an attacker’s size and strength and come out on the short end.”

“Have you felt physically threatened since the article ran?”

“No. But there are other issues. As soon as you are sure the house and grounds are secure, I want you to take me somewhere safe for a couple of weeks, three at the most. We’ll leak the fact to the press that I’m running, but I’ll be trusting you to make sure my bolt-hole is secure.”

“I’ve got to tell you, Winnie. You’re confusing me. And I don’t like it.”

She chewed her bottom lip. Larkin Wolff was not a puppet to be manipulated by her will. He had brains and brawn and a surprisingly keen intuition that told him she was lying, at least by omission. She could see it on his face. “Before we go any further, do I have your solemn promise that my personal life and affairs are to be guarded as zealously as my physical well-being?”

He didn’t like being dragged by the tail in the dark. And he was pissed. A shiver worked its way down her spine. If he abandoned her, what would she do?

“Fine,” he said curtly. “Top secret. Need to know.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Surely you understand that my employees will have to be kept apprised of any potential threats.”

She didn’t like it, but he had a valid point. The more people involved, however, increased the opportunity for exposure. “I understand,” she muttered. “And I’m assuming you do thorough background checks.”

He snorted. “What do you think?”

The impasse was clear, at least in her own mind. She needed Larkin Wolff. And the only way he could help her was if she trusted him with her sworn secret.

Abruptly, she stood up, feeling her knees go weak and her palms sweat. If she made a mistake, the consequences could be disastrous. “Follow me, please.”

He rose, as well, his expression inscrutable. “Whatever you say.”

The check still lay on the table. Trying to buy his silence had been a mistake. Larkin Wolff had a personal code of ethics that she prayed to God was the real deal.

When they made their way through the house to the back and out onto a cool, screened-in veranda, Winnie stopped and waited until he stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder. The view was pastoral, a warm spring day basking in a benevolent sun.

“Over there,” she said, pointing until she realized her hand was shaking. She lowered it slowly. “That’s my primary concern.”

The building, a smaller version of the main house, sat the length of a football field away. Larkin studied it, his jaw rigid. “What’s so special about that spot?”

Tremors shook her, making her limbs weak as water. So many people counted on her. She cleared her throat, tears burning her eyes. “It’s a safe house for battered women and their children. Aside from a handful of trusted staff, myself and now you, only two other people know it even exists.”

Two

Holy hell. Larkin struggled to reassess the mental picture he had painted of a slightly paranoid, vulnerable, eccentric rich woman. “You’re not worried about your own safety at all, are you?”

Winnie never took her eyes off the house in the distance. “No. I can take care of myself.” The stubborn tilt of her chin was an angle he recognized. Growing up, he’d seen it every day in one of his siblings or his cousins. An attitude that acknowledged life’s unfairness, but a determination to spit in the wind anyway. Winnie continued, “It’s my job to make sure those women and children stay out of harm’s way. That stupid article has threatened the security I promised them.”

“Why you? Aren’t there sanctuaries in the city for abuse victims?”

She shot him a sideways glance. “Government shortcomings aside, such situations demand physical distance. Once we bring our clients here, it’s much more difficult for angry husbands and boyfriends to track them down.”

“So you deliberately court danger on your very doorstep.”

She leaned back against a column, one bare foot tucked behind her as she balanced on the other. “You disapprove.”

He shrugged. “Clearly you don’t have the necessary precautions in place.”

He could almost see her hackles rise. “We’ve never had a hint of trouble. Still haven’t, for that matter…at least when it comes to my guests. But the article has opened a Pandora’s box. I need you to nail shut the lid.”

“I have to be honest with you, Winnie. You’re damned naive.”

Her eyes flashed and her hands fisted at her sides. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. I’m hiring you for security, not judgment.”

“Too bad,” he said, the dual syllables terse. “My protection comes with a whole complement of advice. It’s what I do.” He looked out across the neatly mowed lawn. “Take me down there.”

Winnie flinched. “Absolutely not. The women and children in the building are terrified of men…any men.”

“I won’t hurt them. Hell, I won’t even scare them.”

“You don’t know that. Everything about you screams macho alpha guy. You practically ooze testosterone.”

He grinned, the male in him reacting to her interest, even if it was reluctantly given. “Give me a little credit. I can do lowkey. Part of my job is surveillance, remember?”

“I’ve never let anyone step over that doorstep except me and a handful of other professional women.”

“Like who?”

“Doctors. Psychologists. A social worker.” Her unease was palpable.

“You trusted me enough to hire me. Now let me do my job.”

Their eyes locked, determination in his…enormous reluctance in hers. “Perhaps we could save that for tomorrow.”

“Now, Winnie. There’s no reason to wait.” He hadn’t yet had time to fully evaluate possible threats, but he needed to see the whole picture. Protecting the weak and helpless was a calling for him, perhaps not in his personal life, but definitely as a businessman. He would do everything in his power to make sure that Winnie and her charges were safe.

He kept his gaze steady, implacable. Sometimes people didn’t understand how precarious their safety really was. He had a hunch that Winnie was fairly self-aware, but the notion that evil could strike at any moment was a difficult concept for most normal people to accept.

Larkin had seen things that chilled his blood, some of them in his own backyard. He never allowed himself to be lulled into complacency. The world was full of monsters, even on a day that seemed as lovely and serene as a midsummer night’s eve.

At last, his dainty employer cracked. “Fine,” she said, her expression irritated but resigned. “Let me get my shoes.”

She was gone barely a minute. When she returned, something in his stomach tightened in appreciation. Her footwear was an odd cross between practical and quirky. Flat gold sandals made of an infinite number of narrow straps encased her feet and ran halfway up shapely, toned calves. The lick of arousal he experienced disconcerted him.

He swallowed, trying not to look down. “You ready?”

She lifted her chin, nose in the air. “Follow me.” By her voice and expression he saw that she was determined to be in charge. Her contrariness amused him. He’d let her take the lead, but when it came to the job, he’d do it his way, even if she balked. Winnie was paying him for his experience and expertise. Whether she liked it or not, he would take care of whatever or whoever was causing problems.

The stroll across the lawn was accomplished without words. Birds twittered, wind rustled in the trees and somewhere in the distance a lawn mower hummed. Winnie, however, maintained a stiff-lipped silence. Once, when she stumbled briefly, he touched her elbow automatically. She jerked away, no surprise, but not before the feel of her skin was burned into his fingertips. Soft, warm…delicate. Focusing his attention elsewhere was surprisingly difficult.

All the while they walked, he scanned the area, cataloging deficiencies in her security. Unless she had some kind of electrical perimeter, the low split-rail fencing in the distance was nothing more than decoration. With her hand on the front door handle of the neat brick structure, Winnie paused. He saw her throat move as she swallowed. “The children haven’t been able to play outside,” she said, “since the article ran. And I’m responsible.”

He saw pain in her eyes. Regret. Frustrated helplessness. All emotions he had known intimately as a child unable to protect his siblings. “You’re not responsible,” he said, touching her shoulder briefly in what he told himself was a gesture of comfort. “The situation is regrettable, but easily fixed.”

“What do you mean?” Hope and suspicion warred in her striking eyes.

“We’ll string up a camouflage tarp tomorrow…the kind of thing they use on army posts in the Middle East. From the air no one will be able to see the kids.”

“It’s that easy?”

“Let’s just say that’s the least of our problems.”

She worried her lower lip. “Promise you won’t talk to them.”

He mimed locking his mouth and tossing away the key. “Am I allowed to take notes?”

“Is it absolutely necessary? You strike me as the kind of man who keeps a lot of stuff in your head.”

He grinned. “Whatever the boss wants.”

Stepping through the doorway into a house full of women and children was not what he expected. Winnie had told him there were eight bedrooms and currently twenty-one clients. Instead of noise and confusion, an eerie silence reigned.

“Did they know we were coming?” he asked, sotto voce.

“They knew,” she whispered. “Someone is always looking out the window.”

Not a soul appeared to greet them.

Winnie took him room to room on the main floor. “We have an alarm that is set at nine each evening. It’s programmed to ring in the house…my bedroom actually.”

He frowned. “Not the police?”

“Things are pretty spread out around here, in case you haven’t noticed. I guess you could say I’m the first responder.”

“And what exactly do you think you could do?” he asked, not bothering to hide his incredulity.

Winnie stared at him with the haughtiness of a duchess. “I can shoot to maim or to kill, whatever the occasion demands. Don’t worry, Mr. Wolff. I protect what’s mine.”

He felt his anger rise and had to swallow it back. “You’ve hired me,” he said mildly. “No need anymore for you to mete out vigilante justice.”

“You don’t believe me.” It was a statement, not a question.

He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m not disputing your ability to handle a firearm. I’m merely suggesting you let me handle intruders from now on out.”

“And how will you do that from the comfort of your swanky downtown office?”

“You know nothing about my office.”

“Wrong,” she said, her expression triumphant. “A trusted friend of mine made a fake appointment two weeks ago, met you and scoped out your operation.”

“The hell you say…” His indignation mushroomed.

“It’s not unethical.”

“No, but it’s…” He trailed off, unable to articulate the exact mix of emotions he felt. Had a man done the same thing Winnie had done, Larkin would have applauded his thoroughness. Then why was he so taken aback? “Am I allowed to know what your spy uncovered?”

She chuckled, correctly reading his pique. “He told me you ran a tight ship and that your offices indicated a healthy bottom line. Satisfied?”

Larkin shrugged. “I expected nothing less. That’s all true.” He turned away, determined to regain control of the situation. “I’ll ramp up the security measures already in place, and I’ll install cameras. With your permission, we can set up a monitoring station somewhere in your house.”

“What happens when you spirit me away?”

“My best people will be on the job. I swear to you, Winnie, you’ll be in good hands.”

Winnie hoped she wasn’t blushing. Her fair skin was a curse. Being in such close contact with Larkin Wolff was making her act like a flustered sixteen-year-old girl.

She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them out of mischief. Larkin’s broad shoulders and lean torso were made to cushion a woman’s weary head. Winnie liked the idea, but depending on a man was dicey. It was one thing to hire a professional. That made sense in the most pragmatic way. But fantasizing about close contact on a daily basis shouldn’t—couldn’t—be allowed. Even if handsome blue eyes filled with keen intelligence were her own particular Achilles’ heel. She’d predicated her life on being a good girl…on not rocking the boat. It was disconcerting to realize that she was suddenly contemplating the tantalizing benefits of being bad.

“I’d prefer that you not go upstairs,” she said abruptly, trying to corral her hormones. “I don’t want to upset my guests unnecessarily.”

“I suppose it can wait.” He appeared calm, but she picked up a vibe that said he was completely alert, ready to react in a split second to any sign of danger. A hundred and fifty years ago, he would have been the gunslinger seated in the corner of a saloon with his back to the wall.

All that intensity gave her the shivers. “What next?”

“I need to make a few phone calls, arrange for a security detail overnight while I’m getting other odds and ends set up. And if it’s not too much bother, I could use something to eat. I skipped breakfast.”