“Of course. Which explains your innate Anglophile nature.” His tone made it sound like a disease.
Mr. Edwards scooted a brown envelope towards me. In it perched a Texas driver’s license and a new social security card. The number in no way resembled mine, except it did start with a four-six. Also, a debit card and two credit cards with my new name on them gleamed back at me. I took the Florida identifications and debit card out of my wallet and handed them to him.
With a sharp grin, he placed them in the shredder. “Shall we continue?”
For the next half hour he briefed me on my new identity, background and travel plans. I’d graduated from the University of Texas in Austin with Masters in Education with an emphasis in Texan and 1800’s U.S. history. My thesis had been on the influence of Texas’ early years on Sam Houston’s eight children while he served as the first President, and then, when Texas became a state, the first Governor. An e-tablet filled with interesting historical facts, along with my thesis, was the next thing placed in my hands.
“We figured it would make sense. You did spend two undergraduate years at U.T. before deciding you preferred a smaller private college environment in which to earn your teaching degree.”
“That’s right.” I shot a glance to Becky. She gave me a quick smile back.
He cleared his throat and opened a folder. “While at U.T., you became a Capitol and Governor’s Mansion tour guide, correct? So you do have some knowledge and expertise to work in th.e American Museum. Which is why we lined up your employment at that location. It won’t be hard for you to adjust to the role.”
Did his eyes just twinkle? Dear Lord, the agency had done their research—which left an unpleasant taste in my mouth, like going two days without brushing my teeth. What else had they researched about me?
* * *
At the airport, the look in Becky’s eyes reminded me of my mother’s the day I left for summer camp. “Take care, Jen, my dear. Oh, I mean Niamh, of course.” She gave me a quick smile before she cast her gaze away for a moment.
I squeezed her hand. “You, too. I wish you’d come with me.”
She returned her attention to my face. “You’ll be in good hands. All will be well.”
Something in her eyes made me question her response, but maybe my imagination had been getting the better of me. Everything had happened so fast. To think this morning I walked to work to the sound of thunder. I choked back the growing emptiness. “I’ll miss you, you know. You have been a great friend.”
She drew me into a tight hug. Chanel No. 19 wisped into my nostrils. “My pleasure. You remind me a bit of my own daughter.” She sniffled, and then waved the sorrow away with a flick of her wrist. “Now, off you go.”
I squeezed her hand one last time as a tear trickled onto my cheekbone. “Thank you, Becky. For everything. You and Tom Cat be good to each other.”
She slipped a loose bang behind my ear. “You’ll find a lovely one in England. I just know it.”
I peered at her through blurred eyes. “There will never be another Tom.”
Her smile revealed she understood I meant the man as well as the kitty.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The commuter flight to New York packed us in like raisins in a box. I sat next to a burly man in a suit with the same sunglasses as my taxi driver. He tipped his head in my direction and then, with specs slipped to his nose, pointed with his eyes across the aisle where two similarly dressed men sat. They acknowledged me in unison with a slight nod and a tight-lipped glare. My bodyguards sat in place. More pawns?
A woman’s voice called out. “Niamh? Hi, my name is Glenda. I’m with the National Crime Agency.” She extended her hand. Her cheery British accent seemed polished, but half-hidden by an East Coast nasal tone. She scooted past my bodyguard and me to take the window seat. “We’ll be stopping off in New York for a few hours. There we will go shopping for more appropriate clothes. It can be rather damp and chilly in southern England, even in early June.”
“Thanks.” I guess I was supposed to clap my hands in giddiness, but instead I shot her a weak smile and rested my aching head back on the chair cushion. Exhaustion took over as my eyelids closed off the plane, Glenda, my bodyguards, and the last twelve hours, which no longer existed, according to WITSEC protocol.
* * *
We landed in New York at 8:32 p.m.
“Come on.” Glenda grabbed my arm. “We only have two hours.”
Terminal 7 resembled a mini city crammed with shops and eateries connected by narrow walkways. Glenda and I spent the next hour and a half dashing in and out of department stores. Her manner appeared to be pleasant, her taste in clothes impeccable, and her American Express card unlimited. She had a keen sense for colors and fashions. The end result? A varied, layered wardrobe, which would take me from weekends to workdays without appearing too far out of my class, as she put it. Her tone of voice indicated the importance of status to the British. I guess the world of Jane Austen still had residual effects, even today.
I giggled as I noticed one of our male watchdogs try to blend in without acting bored. The two others perched outside the store on a bench.
“Yes, poor chaps.” Glenda shrugged. “They pay them well, though. Come on. Last chance to eat American. The British replicas are not quite the same, despite the invasion of fast food chains.”
After chomping on a juicy cheeseburger, ketchup-drenched French fries, and swigging down SoHos, we slipped easily through British Airways customs and boarded our overnight flight to London Heathrow at 10:45 p.m. Forty-five minutes into the trip, Glenda smirked at a British Comedy on her monitor as I tried to concentrate on reviewing my thesis. The illuminated words on the e-tablet kept swimming, so I moved my fingers to increase the font. A half hour later, after reading the same sentence five times, I gave up and shut my brain down. A deepening dark veil of sleep overtook my thoughts.
* * *
Something woke me. The plane seemed quiet except for the soft snores of passengers and the hum of the engines. The aisle indicator lights had dimmed and the shades drawn to prevent the rising sun’s glimmer from the Atlantic Ocean streaming in on us. Glenda turned from me, cuddled in one of the airline’s blankets, one knee tucked near her chin. My body guard, two seats away, sawed wood, mouth open and chest heaving.
Maybe my full bladder had jolted me awake. With a sigh, I eased out of my row, and then found my air-legs as I wobbled towards the front of the economy class section. As I reached the last row before the facilities, a man whispered in a strong Texas accent. “Well, well. Lookie here. Enjoying the flight, Jen?”
My brain splashed a chill of recognition through my chest. I turned to the aisle seat and stared into eyes I thought I’d never see again. Robert’s old boss was on board. But, with the hair dye and cut, how did he know it was me?
Then I remembered the dim light. Perhaps it obstructed his vision. My posture or my stride may have given me away. But why would he recognize me at all? I’d only met him a few times.
His wife had found me my job when Robert and I moved to Fort Worth. The one where Tom also had been assigned to work so he could protect—and later kidnap—me. All those times I thought Robert had been traveling for business, he’d been underground schmoozing the cartel for the CIA. Until he turned dark, as they say.
A shuddering flowed through me. Who was this guy―an agent, an innocent dupe like me, or worse? Had Robert been his boss instead of vice versa?
I had to think quickly. “Excuse me?”
The man’s eyes narrowed in on my facial features. “You’re not Jennifer Westlaw?”
I lowered my face and replied, “Jen was my cousin’s name. She died in a car accident. Everyone says we looked alike. But she had reddish-blonde hair, from the Irish side of the family.” I swallowed an ounce of sorrow for effect. “Not dark brown, like mine.”
The man muttered apologies, nearly tripping over his own words. I gave him a brief smile and ducked into the stall. With tremblin
g hands I turned the latch to “occupied.” As the light came on, I stared back at me, but with short brown hair and skin as pale as if I’d seen a ghost. Perhaps, in a weird way I had.
How many more legitimate lies would I have to tell to protect myself? The answer was already in my thoughts. No matter if Robert lived or died, as long as I drew breath, there would always be a chance the clammy fingers of my past might brush my shoulders. Tonight proved it.
I asked God for forgiveness before proceeding with the reason I’d gotten up out of my seat in the first place. When I came out, I purposefully avoided facing his direction. He let me pass in silence.
As I edged back to my row, I wondered. Should I tell Glenda, or let it slide? What could she do about it? But, what if he was a really good actor and had been hired by Robert? My head argued with itself as I made my way to my row.
My scooting into position woke Glenda. She half-opened an eye and grunted a hello.
“Glenda, I have to tell you something,” I whispered barely loud enough to be heard over the engines.
Tussled-haired, she yawned, and sat up. “Okay? What?”
I told her.
“You did well, Niamh. Very well indeed.” She reached into her bag for her IPad and texted a message. Bodyguard number one’s lap lit up. He snorted, focused onto his tablet and nodded in her direction.
Glenda hit delete. “All’s well. Don’t worry.” She tugged on her blanket. “Now get some shut-eye.”
I watched the soft glow of the monitor that displayed our flight pattern. The little plane image followed an arch from New York to London. It inched barely over Iceland, moving southwardly. The graphics indicated we were only half-way through the trip. So, with a yawn, I scrunched the small of my back into my seat cushion and let dream-voided sleep wash over me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Movement jolted me out of my hibernation. Someone in the row behind bumped the back of my chair. I pushed the armrest button to return it to its upright position. The smell of coffee and soft murmurs permeated my brain. Everyone else was returning to life.
“Good morning, sleepy head.” Glenda had awakened, blanket neatly folded in her lap and hair in place. “They’re starting to serve breakfast.”
“What time is it?” I yawned.
“9:22 a.m. In London, that is. We land in about ninety minutes.”
I squinted. The little plane on the arched path now pointed at the British Isles. My bladder wanted attention again, but I didn’t want Robert’s boss to notice me in daylight. I turned and observed two stalls at the back of the plane, with a long line of course. It seemed as if everyone had to go when they woke up.
I decided to join the crowd and had a nice conversation with a young Brit behind me. He had that Oxford disheveled, but intelligent, collegiate look about him. Wheat-colored hair and fair skinned, he seemed lanky in his faded jeans and button-up shirt with its tails dangling out under an olive green sweater vest. He introduced himself as Andrew and stated he lived near Lacock, a quaint southern England country village where, I learned, some of the Harry Potter movies had been filmed. He told me the ancient ruins of the medieval nun’s abbey had been transformed, thanks to the magic of computers, into Hogwort’s hallowed halls. His sister worked in a bakery there, and his mum helped in the used clothing charity store. Surprisingly enough, Avon wasn’t far from Lacock. He knew the museum well and wished me luck.
“Absolutely fab chocolate chip cookies served there.” He grinned as we inched up in line. “Though for the life of me, I can’t figure out why you Yanks love bloody wieners on a stick. Corn dogs? That’s the name, what?”
I laughed and said it was. “At the State Fair in Texas, everything is dipped and fried, even ice cream and Oreo cookies.”
He scrunched up his freckled nose, and shrugged his lean shoulders. “Well, I’ll take me rashers n’ chips any day.”
I took my exit, rather entrance, into the stall. I hoped most Brits were this friendly. This jaunt might turn out to be okay after all.
* * *
The moment the steward said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to England,” my pulse thumped a bit harder. Having been weaned on Earl Grey with sugar and cream, I guess I qualified as a bit of an Anglophile after all. Under any other circumstances, this trip would have been a dream come true. So, I decided to buck up, as my dear ol’ Irish dad used to say, and make it just that. Not everyone gets to take a temporary job in England, and an all-expenses-paid trip, thanks to their government.
Maybe the few hours of deep sleep and hearty breakfast with two cups of strong coffee had elevated my mood. I became all smiles and wide-eyed as we stepped off the plane into the organized chaos of Heathrow. Glenda seemed pleased with my reaction. Her tour-guide mode kicked into full gear. As we left the terminal, I noticed Robert’s boss texting into his phone. Maybe he was here on business after all. I’d been way too paranoid. How silly.
Customs went easier than I thought, but then again, the fact that Glenda and two sun-glassed faced goons accompanied me may have had something to do with it. Once my passport had been stamped and the rote questions answered, I headed for the turnstile to gather my luggage.
“They’ll get it for you, luv.” Glenda nodded to our stronger companions. “Let’s head for the auto hire. They’ll meet us there.”
Off she traipsed, and like a good puppy, I tagged along behind her as we weaved through the cacophony of folks of all races and creeds wheeling suitcases. A brief moment of mild panic hit as I realized I had no bearings. I was in a foreign country, and didn’t know a soul except Glenda and the young man named Andrew, both of whom I’d only recently met. Glenda glanced back, slowed her pace and grabbed my arm.
“Poor dear. This is all too overwhelming, isn’t it? Never you mind. We’ll have a two hour car trip ahead of us. You’ll see lots of lovely countryside. We will even dine at an authentic pub in Chippenham. Would you like that?”
“Yes. Sounds fine.” With an elongated breath of airport air-conditioned atmosphere, my senses sharpened.
My escort’s smile widened to meet the slight crow’s feet at her eyes. “Good. They have the most marvelous bubble and squeak.”
I had no idea what that was. Guess I’d find out soon enough.
Suddenly, something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention as we angled for the rental counter. Robert’s boss stood off to the right and three steps behind us. Then, just as we entered the roped-off line, he stopped and leaned against the wall. Another man, non-descriptive in manner and dress, sauntered up to him. Robert’s boss acknowledged him with a nod in my direction.
My gaze froze on them both. The build, the stature, the way the other one walked up to him―it all set off alarms. The second guy slightly turned. The nose may be different. His hair blondish instead of black. But, his eyes flashed at me as a sneer oozed across his mouth—an expression I recognized all too well.
My heart leapt into my throat and yanked my breath out of it. No doubt about it. Robert had landed in England. And he knew I had, too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Glenda’s arm locked around my elbow. “Dear, you look as if you have seen a ghost.”
Though I willed my eyes to peel from his direction, my shoes super-glued to the airport floor. If I tried to walk, I feared my knees would give way.
Glenda yanked me as a woman in uniform said, “Excuse me. Are you hiring a car? Please move forward in line.”
I scuffled my feet and whispered to Glenda, “He’s here. My husband.”
Glenda’s eyes became bone china-saucer sized. Then the calm, collected agent demeanor returned to her face. She got out her compact and began to apply lipstick. “Where?”
She glanced at me, and back into the mirror. I nodded to the right. “Against the wall with the older, bald man in the tan coat. Tall, nicely built. His hair is now blond instead of black, but it’s him.”
She angled the mirror and humphed. “Well, I can see why you fell for him, my dear.”
A quick smile edged the sides of her now-ruby lips. “He almost fits the description the agency gave me as they read me in on your file. Except, as you say, for the hair color. Maybe the nose? You’re sure it’s him now, eh?”
I gave her an incredulous look. My pulse pounded in my ears. Yet she acted so matter of fact.
She snapped her case shut and raised her eyebrow. “Audacious, isn’t he?”
“What do we do?” The question barely squeezed through my trembling vocal chords.
Glenda pushed me forward in line. “Nothing right now. We are in a crowd. Safest place, you know. Hmm.”
A man and his wife at the counter ahead of us engaged in a heated discussion with the attendant over the size of motor coach they wanted. The rental agent eyed them with a clenched-jaw smile. I took the deepest breath I could and told my eyes not to dart back in Robert’s direction. In the gleam of the metal ball on the rope stand, I spied him, arms crossed and legs straddled, watching like a lion watches a gazelle in the Serengeti—waiting for the right moment to pounce. But would he be so bold, as Glenda said, here in a crowded airport?
I had to defer to my companion’s expertise. She’d been trained for this sort of thing, not I. Finally the couple signed their papers, and the clerk handed over the keys. They moved off and the rental agent motioned us to the counter.
“Name’s Mrs. Hensley. I believe you have all the paperwork in order?” Glenda’s accent took on an authoritative air as she flipped her scarf back over her shoulder.
The agent almost clicked his heels. “Yes, ma’am. Just a moment.” His fingers sifted rapidly through papers. “Ah, yes. Here we go. Only need your signature.” He handed her a pen and shot me a polished, customer service grin.
Glenda leaned in as she wrote. “Now, young man. I won’t embarrass your intelligence by asking you if you recognize this woman. Obviously, you keep up with the tabloids.”
The young man’s brows began to knot, but his face quickly returned to a professional stance. “Of course.”
Legitimate Lies Page 6
