Ana Leigh - Face Of Deception

A light glowed from a front window of the house. As the squad huddled in the shrubbery, the front door opened and two men stepped outside carrying automatic weapons. One relieved the guard on duty while the other crossed the patio, passing right by the concealed team. Mike motioned to Bolen and Fraser, and the two men followed the gunman.

He gave Cassidy a signal to take out the guard at the front door and his second in command moved away. Bledsoe and Williams worked their way toward the back of the house to check for any other sentries.

Overcoming the guards proved a simple task, and with the perimeter secured, their objective now was to find the prisoners.

Each of the men moved to a window at the rear or sides of the house. Mike selected the one where Williams had discovered a sentry. Raising the window carefully, he peered into the darkened room and could see a figure in the bed. The light was too faint to distinguish whether it was male or female.

Moving cautiously, he climbed into the room, drew the Trident and crossed the room to the bed. He froze in his tracks when he was close enough to identify the sleeping figure.

He’d found Snow White. Boy Blue was asleep beside her.

Bishop slipped the knife back into his boot and leaned over the woman. The sensuous combination of French perfume and woman drifted up in a seductive titillation. He was tempted to clamp his mouth—instead of his hand—over that wide, generous mouth of hers. Objectivity, hell! He’d been in the jungle too long!

Her eyes popped open in alarm and she struggled to rise, but he forced her back down.

“Quiet. We’re here to help you.”

Incredulity replaced Ann’s initial shock and panic. He sounded American! She peered up at the frightening apparition. The room was too dark to see anything except the faint figure of a man dressed in black. But there was nothing faint about the firm hand clamped over her mouth.

“I’m removing my hand. Don’t make a sound. Do you understand?” he whispered.

No doubt remained; that voice was American. She nodded, and couldn’t have cried out if she wanted to. She was too numb with shock.

He removed his hand and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered. “We’ll get you out of here. How many men are there?”

Ann wanted to break out in a chorus of “God Bless America.” When she finally found her voice, her heart hammered so loudly in her ears, she couldn’t hear what she was saying. “I saw eight of them, but I think there were others.”

“Is there anyone else in the house besides you and the kid?”

She nodded. “Two servants. The last time I saw them they were tied up in the rear bedroom.” Now that the shock had worn off, once again she could feel hysteria mounting within her.

He must have sensed her rising agitation and tried to relax her. “You’re doing fine. Now tell me, were all the men armed?”

“I think so. At least all of the ones I saw. Who are these men? Are they the same ones who murdered Clayton?”

“I’ll explain everything later. Just remember, they’re dangerous, and won’t hesitate to kill you or the kid. Do exactly what I say. Did any of them speak English?”

“Poorly.”

“Could you understand anything said?”

The man’s clipped questions and reticence were beginning to make her feel as if she were on a witness stand. “I think they’re waiting for someone—or some instructions. They said something about moving us to a different location.”

“Did they say where? Mention any names?”

At the negative shake of her head, his jaw hardened into a grim line. “Did any of them harm you?”

“No.”

A trace of a smile tagged at the corners of his mouth. The glimmer was gone before she realized that it might have been an attempt at smiling.

“Will the kid cry when you wake him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But this has been a harrowing experience for him.”

Bishop stood up. “Get dressed.”

“What about Brandon?”

“Let him sleep for the moment.”

By now her vision had adjusted to the darkness, and she saw that the man was tall, at least four inches over six feet. He dwarfed her five feet eight inches. Most men she met didn’t.

After collecting her clothing, she cast a prim glance in his direction.

“What?”

“I’d like some privacy, please,” she said.

“Lady, this is no time to worry about privacy. Just put the damn clothes on.”

“Then turn around, Mr.—”

“Bishop.” Disgusted, Bishop pivoted. Ann slipped on a pair of lace panties, pulled the nightgown over her head and replaced it with a bra. Jeans and a shirt followed quickly, and as she buttoned the shirt, she slipped her feet into a pair of sneakers.

“You can turn around now.”

His look was one of pure annoyance. “Wake the kid, but don’t dress him. Just put shoes on him, and for God’s sake, keep him quiet.”

She leaned over the bed and shook Brandon gently. “Wake up, honey. We have to go.”

Brandon was too drowsy to offer an argument. “Where are we going?”

“These are friends, Brandon. They’ve come to help us. You must do everything they tell you to do. Do you understand?” She slipped his feet into shoes and tied the laces.

Suddenly a face filled the window. “You all set?”

“Yeah,” Bishop said. He moved to the window. “Everyone out?”

The man never stopped scanning the courtyard as he spoke. “All except Williams and Bledsoe, they can’t find the boy.”

“He’s here. Let’s move out before bullets start flying.”

“Bishop!” Ann whispered, pointing to the door that had just begun to open.

Bishop shoved her and Brandon to the floor behind the bed, and then crouched down on a knee with his weapon pointed at the door. A dark figure slipped cautiously into the room.

Bishop relaxed and rose to his feet. “What in hell are you doing? I almost shot you,” he hissed. “Get in here and shut that door.”

Another man followed behind and gently eased the door shut.

“All these bloody blokes are sleeping like babies. We’ve searched this whole house and there’s no sign of—”

“He’s here,” Bishop said. He nodded in the direction of the bed. As if to confirm his words, Brandon peered over the top of the bed, his eyes rounded with excitement.

“Let’s move,” Bishop ordered.

One of the men lifted Brandon into his arms. “Hey, sonny, how’d you like to go for a walk?”

“Is Ann coming?”

“I sure am, honey,” she assured him.

“Let’s go, lady,” Bishop said, and grabbed her hand.

Once outside, Brandon, Marie and Guillaume were lifted onto the backs of three of them, and they started in a run down the jungle path. A fourth man knelt down on a knee.

“Climb on,” Bishop said.

“That won’t be necessary. I jog every day,” Ann said.

She bore another one of his black glares. “Okay, but if you slow us up, I’ll have to carry you.”

A hard run through a jungle in a rain was a far different cry from her usual jogging. Ann’s lungs felt near to bursting when they stopped and uncovered a concealed boat.

Bishop and one of the men crouched down to guard the rear as Ann lingered, saying goodbye to the two servants who were returning to their village.

“When those gunmen leave, we return to house,” Guillaume assured her.

“I’ll contact you as soon as I can,” Ann said.

“Let’s get out of here before someone gets killed,” Bishop ordered, his eyes trained on the jungle.

“God be with you,” Ann said. Guillaume took his wife’s hand, and they disappeared into the jungle.

An hour later, off the coast of French Guiana, Ann smiled up gratefully at the freckle-faced airman, who looked as American as a parade on the Fourth of July, as he reached out a helping hand and assisted her into an unmarked helicopter.