Undercover Bachelor

by Rebecca Winters

  At least the boys’ reactions to Whitney were normal and healthy. Not like mine, he muttered in self-deprecation. You’re nothing but a lecher, Gerard.

  Whitney had reams of material she should be reading in connection with a troubled restaurant franchise case she was dealing with back at her corporate law firm, but under no circumstances could she afford to let Mr. Smith catch her indulging in her occupation.

  Lunch had been over ages ago and she needed to do something or go stir crazy. She thought of getting into a novel she’d bought at the airport gift shop, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate. It disturbed her that the man lounging in the next seat took up all of her thoughts.

  He was the enemy, she had to keep reminding herself.

  If they were in a court of law, he’d be sitting at the opposite table with his defense attorney fighting a losing battle.

  Mr. Smith was going to lose because she could produce a living witness who would testify that he had no principles. Since Whitney knew that, why was she having such a hard time believing it?

  Because he’s good at what he does. So good, in fact, you’d better be careful he doesn’t get to you, too.

  Upset at the trend of her thoughts, she reached for the crossword puzzle magazine she’d purchased. Turning to the difficult section at the back, she immersed herself in deciphering the definitions of obscure words. For the next few hours it provided a much needed distraction.

  “Stuck on a word?”

  Apparently he’d been watching her. It was paying off to leave him alone. However, there was one problem. When he did speak, his low, vibrant voice produced an involuntary quickening of her body. That reaction wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Where he was concerned, there wasn’t supposed to be any reaction at all.

  She’d been acting out this elaborate charade to catch him and make him pay for what he’d done to Christine. So what was wrong with her that she was getting emotionally involved?

  “I’ve done the whole puzzle except for one item that needs ten letters.”

  “What’s the definition?”

  “‘Additional territory deemed necessary to a nation. ’” I keep thinking annexation, but the word is supposed to end in an ‘m.’”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Not at all.”

  She handed him the magazine. In the process, their fingers brushed against each other. Licks of fire shot through her hands and up her arms, but she had to pretend his touch hadn’t affected her. After a moment, he gave it back.

  “Try lebensraum.”

  She asked him to spell it. When he did, the word fit perfectly. “I’ve never heard of it. Lebensraum sounds German.”

  He nodded. “It’s a term often associated with the Nazi’s.”

  “Do you speak German, too?”

  “Yes. My father came from Heidelberg, my mother from Lausanne.”

  “But you sound totally American.”

  “That’s because I was born and raised in Utah.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “Salt Lake. But all of my free time was spent at my parents’ cabin in the Peruvian basin in Alta.”

  Whitney’s favorite place to ski. It seemed to her that if he’d really been up there, she would have noticed him in the ski lines or on the slopes. He’d be impossible to miss. It was just another lie.

  “When did you go off to Europe?”

  “At eighteen. Just like you. I stayed with various relatives and graduated from university there.”

  “You’ve had an amazing life so far. I hope this doesn’t sound too personal, but are you married?”

  “I was.”

  Was?

  “Hank...you don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to.”

  “You confided in me about living with your grandmother. It’s only natural you would want to know something about my life. I was married, but no longer,” came the vague response.

  Oh, brother. Since being with Christine, he’d probably changed his story so his victims wouldn’t feel guilty about having an affair with a married man.

  She noticed that he’d deliberately left the rest of his comment to speculation. He was a real pro at this.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him about his fictitious daughter, but she decided she’d asked enough questions for now. The rest could come later.

  “I’m sorry. It must be awful for you. My grandfather died prematurely. I’m afraid my grandmother never got over it.”

  For a long interval he didn’t say anything. Finally, “I’m sure that for older people, it’s much more difficult to find yourself unexpectedly alone. I won’t pretend it’s been easy, but I’ve discovered that when I’m around young people, I feel better because their excitement is contagious.”

  I’ll just bet it is.

  “That’s one of the reasons I decided to come on this tour.”

  And we both know what the other reason is. Little do you know you’re as transparent as glass.

  “Well, I’m certainly thankful you volunteered to be a chaperone. In fact, I don’t know what I’d do without you now.” She put just the right amount of throb into her voice, but it took all her willpower not to laugh.

  “You won’t have to find out, so don’t worry about it.”

  Those are words to thrill a maiden’s heart. You’re a master at what you do, Mr. Smith.

  “Maybe we can help each other?” she suggested in a shy tone.

  “You already have.”

  “Are you talking about Ms. Ashton?”

  He turned to her, eyeing her narrowly. “How did you know”

  “Because I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Forgive me, but you don’t look at her the same way back. She must have heard you weren’t married anymore. Maybe that’s why she’s disappointed you haven’t paid more attention to her.”

  “The attraction has to be mutual.”

  “I know. It’s the same reason I haven’t gone forward to visit with Roger and Jeff. Nice as they are, I don’t want them to get any ideas that I’m interested. The fact is, I’m not and never could be.

  “For the time being I’m anxious to see a little of the world, and am perfectly content to experience Europe with a man of your sophistication. I know I’m going to learn a lot.”

  Emboldened by his silence she said, “Forgive me if I sounded outspoken just now about Ms. Ashton. My grandmother says it’s a fault I need to work on.”

  “It’s a refreshing quality, not a fault, Whitney. You have a wisdom beyond your years that makes me tend to forget you’re only eighteen.”

  Really. Now we’re getting to the part you used on Christine to break her down.

  “Men always think I’m older, probably because they’re the only ones who try to get to know me. As I said before, girls are always afraid I’m going to infringe on their territory, so they set up barriers to keep me out. But I’ve learned to compensate for their rejection in other ways.”

  “Does that mean a special boyfriend?”

  “No. I’ve never been able to relate to guys my own age. They’re too immature. You’re probably thinking I am, too.”

  Taking advantage of the fact that his gaze was still on her, she sighed and stretched as provocatively as she dared. When she looked at him again, his gray eyes were glittering with a strange green light that caused her breath to catch. Another reaction inside her she cou/dn’t seem to control.

  “On the contrary.” His voice grated. “You’re not anything like the others.”

  The tension between them had become electric.

  Whitney started to tremble. She knew when a man wanted her. Desire wasn’t something you could fake. This man showed all the signs. She could sense it, feel it.

  There was another problem, even more serious. Despite the whole purpose of this vendetta against him, there was a part of her that wanted him, too. So much so, she could taste it.

  Something was wrong here. Terribly, terribly wrong.

  �
��Hey, Whitney?” a voice called out. “They’re starting to serve dinner already. How come you haven’t been to see us? We’ve been waiting all day.”

  Jolted out of her dazed condition, she turned her head to discover Jeff in the aisle. For once, Roger hadn’t accompanied him.

  “Hi, Jeff. I just woke up. I guess I’ve been more tired than I realized.”

  In the next instant Mr. Smith had risen to his feet. “Sit down for a while, Jeff, and have dinner with Whitney. After I stretch my legs, I’ll eat with Roger.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Bien sûr.”

  A smile wreathed his face. “Thanks, Hank.”

  Stifling a moan, Whitney watched him disappear down the aisle. She understood why he’d allowed Jeff some time with her. This way none of the teachers in their group could accuse him of monopolizing her time or vice versa.

  What she didn’t understand was this tumult of unexplained feelings he engendered in spite of everything bad she knew about him.

  “He’s cool, isn’t he?”

  Cool? Oh, Jeff. You poor thing. You don’t have a clue what’s going on here. Unfortunately, neither do I.

  The charter flight would be landing at Orly airport outside Paris within the hour. Gerard had stayed forward with Roger through dinner and a movie, then excused himself. Before there was a rush on the rest rooms, he found a vacant one to make the next phone call to Roman.

  His boss answered after the second ring.

  “What have you got for me, Roman?”

  “You’ll know better than I if anything sounds suspicious, but I’d say she’s clean. Named Francine Mallory Ashton, born to Ira and Lucille Mallory Ashton from Murray, Utah. Raised in Murray, attended Murray High School, received her B.A. degree in French education from Westminster College in Salt Lake.

  “Did a French summer workshop in Quebec, Canada, with other teachers from Westminster. In case you were trying to make a connection, Interpol has established that Donald Bowen never attended Westminster, and can furnish proof he was in France and Switzerland at the same time she was in Canada.

  “Taught junior high French one year in Alpine, Utah. Has taught French four years at Rosemont High School. She’s never been married. Lives in an apartment with a female physical education teacher. She took out a passport three years ago to travel with STI, and has made three student/teacher trips to France and Switzerland with them in the summers.

  “There have been no driving citations or outstanding warrants for her arrest. She drives a used Honda Civic registered in Salt Lake County. She files her income tax every year, on time. Her gross income is $36,000. She’s an active member of the Valley and Utah Education Association. Is not a member of any known activist groups of any kind. She attends the Presbyterian Church.”

  Gerard had been listening intently. “You’re right, Roman. Everything sounds pretty straightforward. If there’s a connection and she’s working for him, then he probably recruited her after they met through their association in the Valley School District.”

  “What else can I do for you?”

  “Donald Bowen says he was born in Seattle, Washington, that his wife was from Orem, Utah. He admits attending school in Charleroi, Belgium, which is the only thing he told me that might have some veracity.”

  “I’ll check it out. Anything else?”

  Whitney’s image, her intelligence, the way she expressed herself refused to leave his mind. It was a good thing Jeff had come along when he did. Gerard had been enjoying her company far too much. If he didn’t know she was eighteen, he would place her anywhere from twenty-five to thirty years old.

  “Comrade? Are you still there?”

  “Ja.”

  “I’ve got time if you do.”

  “You’re a good man, Roman.”

  “My instincts tell me you’ve met a woman.”

  A groan escaped. Whitney was all woman. “As usual, your instincts are right on.”

  “Is it Fran Ashton?”

  “Lord, I wish it were!”

  “Are you saying it’s one of your students?”

  “I swear nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

  “Some eighteen-year-olds can be very mature for their age. I take it her attraction for you is equally strong.”

  He sucked in his breath. “That part is easy to explain. It’s hero worship, Roman, nothing more. Whitney Lawrence has always lived with her grandmother up in Box Elder County. There’s been no male role model in the home.

  “She’s one of those straight-A students who has always had to earn her money if she wanted something. This trip represents being on her own for the first time in her life. She’s totally innocent and vulnerable. The problem lies with me and what I’m feeling.” He raked an unsteady hand through his hair.

  “What exactly are you feeling?”

  “What aren’t I feeling might be a better way to describe my condition.” His voice shook.

  After a pause, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Hell, Roman. Remember how you felt about Brittany the first time you met her?”

  Another silence ensued. “You should have dated someone else after Annabelle.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d dated a dozen women. Whitney’s so different, you’d have to see her and talk to her to understand why I’m in turmoil.”

  “Look, Gerard—If you don’t think you can keep emotional or physical distance from her, then Interpol needs to line up another teacher who can meet your plane in Paris and take your place for the rest of the tour.”

  “I’ve been thinking about doing just that for the last couple of hours, but things are getting complicated. Donald Bowen is all over Whitney right now. I know he wants to get her into his bed, but I also think he plans to use her to pass information, probably to some Middle Eastern faction.”

  “So that’s how he does it.”

  “I’d stake my career on it.”

  “Trust you to figure things out this fast. What tipped you off?”

  “Bowen hasn’t left Whitney alone since the meeting at the library. She was supposed to have been assigned to him, but his group was full so I inherited her. Now he wants her back and has been fairly ruthless about it. He acts driven, which is the reason I’ve grown suspicious.

  “At first I thought maybe she was a plant, that she had disguised herself as a teenager to help Bowen as soon as the two of them reached Europe. But after getting to know her, I dismissed that theory.”

  “Never disregard a theory no matter how much you might not like it or how much it doesn’t make sense. The few times I ignored what I presumed was an inconsequential idea, I lived to regret it.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Why don’t I check her out, just to be on the safe side.”

  Part of Gerard rebelled against the idea.

  “If you’re hesitating, it means you’re still entertaining reservations about her.”

  “Oh, hell, Roman. I don’t know what I think. She doesn’t look or act like an eighteen-year-old, but appearances can be deceiving.”

  “That’s true. What high school did she attend?”

  “Union. She graduated with a four point grade average.”

  “Her last name’s Lawrence?”

  “Right.”

  “Give me a description.”

  Gerard’s eyes closed tightly. “She’s five-nine, five-ten, medium-length ash-blond hair, lavender-blue eyes.”

  “Body type?”

  “Voluptuous.”

  “Any marks or scars?”

  “None. She has flawless skin. Flawless everything. ”

  “I’m beginning to understand your dilemma,” Roman muttered.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” The scent of her skin, the way she breathes when she talks, the movement of her body, those firm, shapely legs that go on forever. Gerard had thought the attraction for his wife had been intense... “I’ll phone you from the hotel in Paris, probably eight hours f
rom now.”

  “Good. That will give me enough time to check on her and Bowen.”

  “Roman—”

  “I know. No matter what we learn about her, the answer’s going to be unpalatable.”

  “You got it in one.” His voice rasped.

  “Like I said, you can be replaced and come on back home.”

  When Gerard had taken this assignment, there was always the possibility that memories of Simone might interfere with his concentration.

  But what he hadn’t counted on was being forced to return to Salt Lake because of an attraction to an eighteen-year-old girl. The fear was growing that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her. He’d never come up against a situation like this in his professional career. Talking to Roman seemed to help him come to a conclusion.

  “If it turns out she’s who she says she is, I’ll be on the first plane home.”

  He could hear Roman reading between the lines. “Since I don’t want you getting into any trouble, Comrade, I’ll contact Interpol and alert them to have someone else ready to take over for you by tomorrow morning, if necessary.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “BONJOUR tout le monde. Soyez le bienvenu à Paris. Welcome to Paris. I am Jean-Luc, your tour guide and liaison with Student Teacher International.

  “This is Enrico, your bus driver. We will be your family on wheels for the next eight days. Anything you need, you talk to us.

  “Your hotel rooms will not be ready before two o’clock in the afternoon. Until that time, we will follow the itinerary and enjoy a morning tour to the forested town of Fontainebleau whose château we will visit before we take a break for lunch. Your luggage has been taken care of. Before we go, are there any questions?”

  While some of the students asked about changing their money into francs, Whitney stayed close to Mr. Smith and studied the two men who had been responsible for conducting Christine’s tour the year before.

  Jean-Luc had the dark looks of a typical Frenchman, rather lean, medium height, a slightly Roman nose, his age anywhere from thirty-five to forty.

  Enrico had to be in his mid-forties to early fifties, a short, wiry Italian with thinning brown hair and eyes, whose body English was as expressive as the several languages he spoke. A cigarette dangled continually from his lips.