Ana Leigh - Face Of Deception

“Oh, lighten up, Bishop, I was only joking.”

Yeah, she was right, he had to lighten up, Mike told himself. But Violet Eyes was unaware of how close her quip had hit home. Or maybe she did. Maybe she knew more than she was admitting. Maybe she knew why Tony Sardino, the seventh member of the Dwarf Squad—code name Bashful—had been killed the month before in Beirut.

Brandon was still asleep in the other bed when Ann awoke the following morning. She sat up and glanced around the hotel room, her attention drawn immediately to a flight bag on the dresser. The small satchel had not been there when she went to bed.

Bishop must have brought in the bag while I was sleeping. Doesn’t he ever sleep?

Dressed only in her underclothes, Ann wrapped the sheet around her and padded barefoot over to examine the bag’s contents.

“Bless you, Bishop. I take back every nasty thought I’ve had of you,” she mumbled as she pulled out toothbrushes, toothpaste, a hairbrush, a comb, shampoo, socks, underwear for Brandon and a jogging suit for him, as well. There was even a bottle of her favorite perfume.

Ann stopped momentarily, and her face deepened in a blush when she withdrew the final articles from the bag: a lacy black bra and a matching pair of bikinis.

“Damn you, Bishop,” she grumbled, revoking her earlier benediction. “How did you know my size?”

She tossed them aside and eagerly scooped up the toilet articles. Then, frowning, she reconsidered, snatched up the lingerie and disappeared into the bathroom.

After a leisurely shampoo and shower, Ann poked her head out of the bathroom. She cast a fretful glance at her jeans and shirt hanging on the back of a chair across the room. Brandon appeared to be asleep, but dare she chance retrieving her clothes dressed in only a bra and panties? It would just be the time he’d awaken.

He who hesitates is lost, Ann. She dashed across the room and grabbed the garments. When she turned to run back to the bathroom, she stopped abruptly, and the clothes dropped to the floor. Her mouth gaped open in a scream that froze in her throat when she recognized Bishop.

“What…what are you doing here?”

Ann instinctively wanted to cover herself with her hands, but she fought the reflex. After all, she had photographed dozens of lingerie ads, and lingerie revealed less than today’s swimsuits.

However, standing in the intimacy of a hotel room, dressed only in a skimpy bra and panties that he had bought, somehow did not equate in her mind to the impersonal professionalism of a photo shoot. Especially with Bishop’s hazel-eyed gaze fixed on her.

His damn eyes are like the lens of a camera. They don’t miss a detail.

Bishop slowly rose to his feet, bent over and picked up her jeans and shirt and then held them out to her. “I see they fit.” His eyes glimmered with smugness.

She snatched the garments out of his outstretched hand and pulled on the shirt. “I don’t appreciate this intrusion of my privacy, Bishop.”

“Only doing my job, Hamilton.”

She jerked up her head. “I thought your job involved rescue operations. Do your responsibilities extend to selecting women’s lingerie?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” He plopped back down in the chair.

“Funny, Bishop.” She moved to the dresser. “How did you know my size?”

“I’ve got eyes.”

That you have, Bishop. Disturbing eyes. She could feel the sweep of them as she worked the jeans past her hips.

Dabbing on a few drops of the Chanel he had brought, Ann asked, “And my favorite perfume?”

“I’ve got a nose.”

“And a big mouth.” She grabbed the comb and brush and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door in frustration.

The noise woke Brandon. The youngster sat up and grinned when he saw Mike. “Hi, Mr. Bishop.”

“Morning, kid. Do you always sleep this late?”

“Not always. Just the mornings I don’t wake up early.”

It was that kind of children’s logic that had convinced Mike he’d never make a good father.

Brandon’s smile quickly vanished as he glanced around the room. Panic began to flood the boy’s features. “Where’s Ann?”

“She’s in the bathroom. She’ll be out in a minute.”

Brandon’s face puckered and he began to cry. “I want Ann. Where is she?”

Hearing Brandon’s cry, Ann hurried out of the bathroom and rushed over to gather him into her arms. “I’m right here, honey.” She glared accusingly at Bishop. “What did you say to upset him?”

Mike moved to the door and opened it. “Get the kid dressed, Hamilton. We’re due back at the Agency.”

Baker and Waterman were waiting in the same room, in the same positions as the day before. Only their clothing had changed. Waterman was now wearing a dark-gray, three-piece suit that didn’t have a wrinkle; Baker had on a brown suit that looked as if he had put it on before going to bed last night.

This time she had a strategy. Before either man could try any of their intimidating tactics on her, Ann took the offensive.

“Gentlemen, how much longer must Brandon and I endure these stringent security measures?”

Waterman offered an ingratiating smile. “We understand, Miss Hamilton. My associate and I have conferred on this matter and have reached the decision that any threat to you was left behind in French Guiana.”

She felt a sense of relief until hit by a sudden thought. “Are you suggesting I not return to that country?”

Baker nodded. “Not at this time. I certainly wouldn’t advise you to do so until we clear up the mystery behind Mr. Burroughs’s death.”

“But everything I own…”

Cutting off her protest, he handed her an envelope. “We’ve made whatever arrangements are necessary. Your account has been transferred to a bank here in Washington.”

Ann opened the envelope and stared dumbfounded at the contents. It contained her checkbook, credit card and passport. “Where…how did you get these?”

“We have our ways, Miss Hamilton.” Baker continued to speak as if by rote, sounding like a police officer reading the Miranda warning to a suspect. “We appreciate your past cooperation and apologize for any inconvenience you may have suffered while under our protection. We only had your interests at heart.”

Ann couldn’t believe how these arrangements had been made so quickly, but she felt a great burden had been lifted off her shoulders. “Then Brandon and I are free to leave.”

Her exhilaration was quickly squelched when the two security heads exchanged a guarded glance. Waterman cleared his throat and began to hedge.

“Well, one minor problem still exists, Miss Hamilton. Legally, Brandon Burroughs is a British subject. Her Majesty’s government prefers he remain at their embassy.”

She tightened her grasp on Brandon’s hand. “I won’t hear of it. I’m the only family he has now. He’ll be frightened without me.”

“It will only be for a few days, Miss Hamilton, while a proper investigation is made to determine if the child has any other living relatives. If not, we are recommending he then be placed in your custody.”

“I can tell you right now Clayton Burroughs was Brandon’s last remaining relative. His parents were killed in an accident. His mother had been an orphan. Brandon’s father had been Clayton’s only son. Clayton’s wife and daughter were both dead, and Clayton had no siblings. I’ve seen his will. He’s appointed me Brandon’s legal guardian.”

Waterman offered an indulgent smile. “Then that should simplify the matter, Miss Hamilton. But we still must follow the proper procedures to determine the legality of the situation for ourselves.”