Face of Deception

by Ana Leigh

  She’d heard enough and reached for her purse to leave. “Don’t even think it, Ann. You’re going to remain and enjoy your dinner. You asked what I was thinking. I told you.”

  “I might have known your candidness would be rude and insulting.” Fretful that if she got up to leave, he’d manhandle her the way he did on the airplane, she remained seated.

  “Well, you’re wrong, Bishop. I do not hate the male population. And just because I don’t hop into bed with every guy that hits on me doesn’t make me a lesbian. Further more, I’ve had a couple relationships with men. They just didn’t work out.

  “I figure when the right man comes along, I’ll know it. Until then I have no desire to accommodate men like you, whose only interest is getting into my pants so they can hang another scalp on their coup stick. And if I appear uptight with you, Bishop, it’s because you intimidate. That’s your forte. Who and what you are. Mr. Macho. Mr. CIA. Me Tarzan, you Jane. How old are you, Bishop?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Well as for your accusations about my sex life, I’d stake every penny I have that at thirty you’ve never had a serious relationship with a female in your life. Oh, sure, you’ve had plenty of one-night stands. No doubt there are enough sapless females in the world who’d line up for that privilege. But their names are left blank in your diary, Bishop, because you don’t remember them—much less how to spell tthe morning after.”

  Throughout her tirade his expression never altered. Finally he picked up the wine bottle and with a smile—that made her grind her teeth to keep from snarling—he leaned forward.

  “More wine?”

  “Why not!” she exclaimed with reckless abandon, and reached for her glass.

  Fortunately, Nina brought their salads, which gave Ann something to do other than rant at Mike. She forked a piece of lettuce and popped it into her mouth. It was delicious. As was the spaghetti that followed.

  They topped off the meal with a tangy Italian trifle with a lemon custard filling. Ann ordered a cup of cappuccino while Mike opted for black coffee laced with brandy.

  Ann had no desire to end the delicious dinner with another argument with Mike, so she directed the conversation to a more casual topic and found out he and the squad were on leave for the next thirty days.

  “So what are you planning on doing with your free time?”

  “I have a cabin in northern Wisconsin,” he said. “I thought I’d go up and do some fishing.”

  “No family, Mike?”

  “Nope. Folks died three years ago. No siblings. Got a couple cousins I get together with on occasion. What about you?”

  “No family—not even cousins.” She grinned at him. “Of course, you probably know that already. My ex-boss, Barney Hailey, is the closest thing I have to a Dutch uncle. Sounds like we’re a couple of ‘poor little lambs who have lost our way.’”

  He raised his glass. “‘Baa, baa, baa.’”

  They clinked their glasses together and broke into laughter. “What about the rest of the squad, Mike?”

  “The guys with folks here in the States have gone home. Williams and Bledsoe went back to England.”

  “Who’s married on the squad?”

  “None of us.”

  That was a shocker to her. “Out of six, none of you are married. That’s unusual.”

  “With our jobs, we aren’t exactly good husband material.”

  They did live dangerously. She regretted the nasty way she talked to him. He could very well be killed on the next mission he went on.

  “You mentioned Nina’s brother was killed. What kind of an accident was it?”

  “One on his part, apparently. He must have left his guard down. His throat was slit.”

  “Oh, dear God! On a mission?”

  “Not actually on the mission. He was murdered later.”

  “Murdered!” Maybe it was too much wine, but Ann’s head began to spin. Clayton murdered. Tony Sardino murdered. How did her life suddenly get so enmeshed with murders? CIA. Kidnappings. Stalkings.

  And equally dangerous Mike Bishop. His sensuality was lethal. No matter how attracted she was to him, he was right in the middle of it. Living on the edge was his kind of life, and she wanted no part of it. Once Clayton’s funeral was over and she had custody of Brandon, she’d get as far away from these people and Washington, D.C., as she could.

  However, thinking about it all did stir up the events of that afternoon in her mind. Maybe she had imagined there was someone else in that dressing room. In her frame of mind over Clayton’s death, the incident with those abductors, and then having to relinquish Brandon, it very likely could have been her imagination screwing up her head. Mike seemed convinced there’d been no one but her in the room, and he was a trained agent.

  They rode back to the hotel in silence and he insisted on seeing her to the door of her room. It was very awkward to try and thank him for a dinner, which, despite her haranguing him, had been enjoyable, and she knew would remain memorable to her.

  He unlocked the door and then dropped the key into her hand. “I suppose it would be foolish of me to suggest I come in.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t, Mike. The temptation would be too great to resist.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. You’re not the kind of woman who goes for a one-night stand.”

  “Or is crazy enough to let herself get involved with a guy who lives on the edge like you do.”

  “Yeah, right again. There’s no room in my life for anything other than a casual relationship.”

  She reached out a hand. His hand closed around hers with a warmth as stimulating as it was pleasing. “So, I guess this is where I tell you thanks for everything. Kourou. Dinner. Putting up with me when I’m at my worst.”

  He didn’t release her hand. “You don’t have to make excuses, Ann. You’ve got a lot of grit. I know the problem with the kid will work out, too.”

  “Take care of yourself, Mike, and the other guys on the squad. I’m grateful to all of you.”

  She tried to turn away to enter, but he held fast to her hand. “Dammit, there’s only one way to say goodbye to you, Ann.”

  Pulling her into his arms, he swallowed her gasp of surprise as his lips covered hers. For an instant she thought of resisting, and then, caught up in the emotional depth of her true feelings, she settled into the kiss, and their mouths found a fit.

  His lips were firm and warm, the kiss hot and arousing. Her whole being flooded with a stimulating urgency of pure lust. An urgency that settled in her groin and thighs and caused her to shift restlessly in search of appeasement.

  Caught up in her own emotional, as well as physical, need, she slipped her arms around his neck, clinging to the rock-solid hardness of his body as she matched his intensity with her own. The thought of the latent strength of that body became an added turn-on. She’d been kissed before—or had she? Certainly no man’s kisses had ever tapped an instant need for sex as this kiss did. If he didn’t break it off—because she wasn’t going to be the one to do so—they would surely end up on the bed despite the futility of any hope for a relationship between them. Whocared? She couldn’t think beyond this moment—she didn’t want to.

  She felt bereft when he broke the kiss. Reaching up, he gripped her wrists and lowered her arms from around his neck. Then he stepped away, and Ann raised her eyelids. She labored to draw a breath, and gazed up at him, her eyes drugged with passion.

  “You make a man forget his good intentions, lady. This will probably be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Goodbye, Ann.”

  “Goodbye, Mike.”

  Her heart was thudding in her chest, her legs shaking as she closed the door. With trembling fingers she turned the dead bolt and slipped the chain into place. This time to keep herself from running after him.

  Chapter 8

  Ann spent a restless night thinking about Mike. The next morning as she dressed for a jog he was still on her mind.

  There are many interesting people who come an
d go in one’s life, and Mike Bishop was merely one of the passing parade. Admittedly, she felt a strong physical attraction toward him—his kiss curled her toes.

  But there was a lot more to life than sex. In a weak moment she had almost abandoned the principles she’d lived by since she learned the big difference between a man and a woman.

  And his kiss last night sure proved there was a big difference between Mike Bishop and other men she had known.

  Thank goodness he had the common sense to step out of her life before they became more deeply involved with each other. As it was, it would still take time to get over him.

  Mike Bishop was not the kind you could wipe out of your mind with a single stroke of a brush.

  She left the hotel and headed for the Washington Monument. She’d have time to jog there and back before her meeting with Waterman. If all things went well, she should be reunited with Brandon today.

  You see, Ann, things aren’t all doom-and-gloom. D.C. wasn’t quite awake yet. Even so, there were a few joggers like her getting in a morning run before the oppressive heat and traffic closed in. By the time she reached the Washington Monument and made her turn to head back to the hotel, she was feeling the effects of the run. She hadn’t exercised for the past several days and was paying for it now. Tempted to rest, she moved over toward the grass and slowed down to almost a walk.

  Another jogger appeared behind her, and when he started to pass, he suddenly grabbed her. “Don’t scream, lady, or I’ll shove this knife into you.” He started to force her toward the elm trees lining the walk.

  Her adrenaline kicked in. In the last couple days she’d had too much of being menaced by brutes. She screamed and began to struggle with him. He was stronger than she and was winning the contest when Ann succeeded in poking him in the eye with her finger.

  He cursed and dropped the knife as he covered his eye. It was enough to enable her to twist out of his grasp and start to run. The attacker grabbed for her again, and succeeded in tripping her. Ann twisted her ankle and, screaming for help, she fell to the ground.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” a voice yelled from nearby.

  “Bitch!” he snarled. The attacker picked up the knife and took off as a young couple ran over to her.

  “Are you okay?” the man asked. His companion was already on a cell phone.

  “I think so,” Ann said. “I’m sure glad you two showed up.”

  “Let me help you,” the man said when Ann hobbled over to lean against a tree.

  Once she was seated, the woman handed Ann the bottle of water she’d been carrying. “Here, I think you need this more than I do.”

  A squad car showed up in answer to the 911 call, and one of the officers took the statements and names and address of the young couple. Ann thanked them for their help, and they left when a medical unit arrived. The ankle injury appeared minor, but the paramedics advised her to have it X-rayed for her own peace of mind.

  Ann couldn’t offer too much of a description of the attacker other than he was a few inches taller than her, dressed in black, had a thin face, dark hair and a deep voice. It had happened too fast to remember much more than that.

  “There’ve been several sexual attacks on female joggers in the past couple months, Miss Hamilton,” one of the officers said after taking her statement. “We’ve been issuing warnings for women not to jog alone.”

  “I’m a visitor to your city, Officer. I wasn’t aware of the warning, but if I told you what I’ve gone through in the past few days, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Just the same, you’re lucky that couple appeared when they did or the outcome might have ended more drastically than a sore ankle. He not only rapes his victims, but cuts them up pretty badly to disfigure them. You’re one of the few victims who have survived virtually unscathed. Do you want a ride to the hospital?”

  “No. My ankle feels better already.”

  “Then would you be willing to come to police headquarters and describe the attacker to an artist?”

  “Well, I’ll do my best. As I said, it all happened pretty fast so I didn’t really get a long look at him.”

  Ann spent about thirty minutes with the talented artist who was able to reproduce a facsimile from her vague descriptions. Surprisingly, when they were through, the sketch did bear a remarkable resemblance to the attacker. The only thing she really couldn’t recall with any distinction were his eyes. The artist drew several different shapes, but Ann couldn’t offer any more help.

  Before leaving, they had her go through several large albums of known rapists, but none matched the description of the attacker.

  By the time she was through, the patrol officers offered to drive her back to her hotel. Her ankle had begun aching slightly, and it was nearing the time for an appointment she had at the CIA.

  “I’d appreciate that,” she said.

  Returning to her room, Ann showered and was ready when the CIA limo arrived to take her to the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

  The complex was entirely different from the building she’d been brought to in the previous meetings with Baker and Waterman. The grounds were landscaped with maples, lovely flower beds and ground cover.

  If it weren’t for the tight security to get in—which involved being photographed and pinned with a visitor pass to say the least—the headquarters and surrounding grounds could have passed for the campus of a small college.

  For some inexplicable reason she felt a lump in her throat as she looked at the huge granite seal inlaid on the floor of the main headquarters, the symbolic emblem of the Central Intelligence Agency.

  Because the Agency had always been so repugned on television and the movies, she had never given much thought to the men and women who risked their lives to protect this country. Now she had faces and names to give them some identity. And once again the image of Mike Bishop loomed in her memory.

  While Ann waited for someone to escort her upstairs, she glanced over at the north wall of the lobby where an inscription read “IN HONOR OF THOSE MEMBERS OF THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES IN THE SERVICE OF THEIR COUNTRY.”

  Framed by an American flag on the left and the CIA flag on the right were rows of stars representing the agents who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. At least one of them now had a face and name to her—the image of a young man of Italian descent named Tony Sardino.

  Upon seeing the approach of Jeff Baker, she rose hurriedly to her feet, and winced from the shock of pain.

  “Miss Hamilton, a pleasure to see you,” Baker said. His ruddy face grimaced in a frown. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

  “It’s nothing serious. I hurt my ankle this morning.”

  “Would you like a wheelchair?”

  “Heavens, no! I just jumped up too fast.”

  As he took her arm and led her to the elevator, Ann told him about her incident in the park.

  Avery Waterman was waiting for them in his office. As soon as she entered, he rose to his feet. As usual he was tastefully garbed without a wrinkle in sight or a gray hair out of place.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Hamilton. Please have a chair.”

  Ann sat down, and Baker took the chair next to her.

  “We’ve received word from the British Embassy that the body of Clayton Burroughs has been returned to England and will be interred tomorrow in the family vault.”

  “Tomorrow! Then I must hurry and make my arrangements. I intend to be there.”

  “We assumed as much and have taken the liberty of making arrangements for you to accompany Brandon Burroughs, Miss Hamilton.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Waterman. I really appreciate that. I’m sure there was some red tape to cut through. Has there been any further wor when he will be released into my custody?”

  “Not at this time. The British State Department is pursuing it and said you can remain with Brandon until you return to the States. The lad will have to remain in England until his custody
is resolved.”

  Ann shot to her feet. “You mean there’s a possibility that he won’t be coming back to the United States with me? They can’t do that. Clayton’s will clearly states that his wishes are for me to have custody of Brandon.”

  “Then it should be resolved with the reading of the will. You must try to understand their position, Miss Hamilton. Clayton Burroughs was a wealthy man. If Brandon Burroughs is his primary beneficiary, the boy stands to inherit a great deal of money. You can’t blame the British government for making certain no one else will profit from that inheritance.”

  Ann felt on the verge of hysteria. “Surely you don’t think my interest in Brandon is because of his inheritance?”

  “I don’t, Miss Hamilton. And frankly I doubt the British government thinks so either. They are merely being cautious. It’s a minor delay, and we’ll do everything in our power to expedite the situation.”

  “Thank you.”

  Waterman’s phone buzzed and he picked it up. “Yes, send him in, please.”

  The door opened and Brandon stepped into the room. At the sight of him, Ann’s heart swelled with love.

  His face lit with joy. “Ann,” he cried, and ran to her.

  She sank to her knees with outstretched arms, and the youngster ran into them. For a long moment they hugged and kissed.

  “I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he said. “When can I come and live with you, Ann? Sarah is very nice, but I want to be with you.”

  His words were music to her ears. The last few days had been so full of fears and insecurities that she had even begun to doubt his love. But now he was here in her arms and nothing else mattered.

  “Miss Hamilton, your flight leaves at eight o’clock tonight. If there is anything you’ll need for the trip, I suggest you get it now, or if you prepare a list, I can have one of the staff get it for you. We will handle your checkout at the hotel, or do you prefer to keep the room until you return?”