Merline Lovelace - Undercover Wife

She snuck a glance at the sparkling stones. She hadn’t gotten used to their weight yet. Or the odd sensation that came with even a pretend marriage to a man like Hawk.

Women always sat up and took notice when he entered a room. Their admiring glances had never bothered Jilly before. So she couldn’t explain her annoyance with the redhead who’d almost tripped over her own feet while ogling Hawk at the airport. Or her irritation when a certain flight attendant became a little too attentive.

“That’s the Peninsula ahead, sir.”

The uniformed chauffeur pulled up at a red light and tipped his head toward the venerable hotel dominating the next block.

“Unfortunately, construction of the new subway line has temporarily blocked vehicle access to our main entrance. I’ll have to let you out at the side entrance.”

Well, darn! The Peninsula was one of Hong Kong’s most revered institutions. Jilly had wanted Hawk to see the front portico with its massive white pillars, liveried doormen and fleet of Rolls-Royces at the ready. On impulse, she grabbed the door handle.

“Let’s walk from here. The driver can drop off our bags at the side entrance. I want you to get the Peninsula’s full effect.”

The noise of a large and vibrant city hit them the moment they emerged from the Rolls. Car horns honked. Street vendors hawked their wares. Jackhammers and cranes added their signature sounds to the solid mass of humanity that thronged the streets. And above the din, Jilly caught the whistle of an arriving Star Ferry.

“You have to see this.”

With a quick change in direction, she joined the crowd crossing the street. A short flight of steps led to the wide promenade that circled the Kowloon side of the Victoria Harbor.

Across the gray-green waters were the towering skyscrapers of Hong Kong Island. Victoria Peak rose above the columns of glass and steel, her summit wreathed in hazy mist. And there, just pulling into the terminal, was one of the distinctive green-and-white ferries that still served as a primary means of transportation.

Smiling at the sight, Jilly leaned her arms on the promenade’s rail and breathed in the mingled scent of salt water and diesel fumes.

“They built a high-speed tunnel to connect Kowloon and Hong Kong some years ago,” she told Hawk, “but I always take the ferries when I’m here. They’re crowded, noisy and swarming with pickpockets, but they’re quintessential China.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Hawk obviously had more important matters on his mind as he shot back his cuff and checked his Rolex. “We’d better get settled in at the hotel, then call on Mr. Wang.”

Jilly gave the magnificent skyline across the bay a last look and pushed away from the rail. Hawk put a hand to the small of her back to turn her toward the stairs. She shouldn’t have felt his touch through layers of Hermès and Emanuel Ungaro. Shouldn’t have but did. The skin under those layers tingled even as she issued another stern reminder.

Cover, girl! It’s just cover!

Preoccupied with both the thought and the touch, she didn’t see the pint-size street vendor in pink sneakers and T-shirt who’d approached them. Neither did Hawk until his abrupt turn brought them into direct contact.

“Ai-ah!”

The girl—she couldn’t have been more than four or five—landed on her bottom. The wooden cage she was carrying also hit the concrete. The cage door flew open, and the canary inside made its escape.

With another cry, the girl scrambled to her feet and tried to catch the bird, but it was already soaring on the stiff breeze off the bay. Jilly would have bet the thing would soon be gull bait if she hadn’t witnessed a similar performance during a previous visit to Hong Kong. That one had involved caged crickets, but the theatrics were the same.

Sure enough, the little girl’s shoulders slumped pathetically. When she turned back to face them, tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Hawk reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of Hong Kong dollars he’d purchased at the airport. “I’m really sorry.”

“You might want to wait on that,” Jilly advised.

“I bowled her over. How much should I give her for the bird? Five? Ten?”

“What you do to Mei Lin?”

The indignant query came from the boy who charged up the promenade stairs two at a time. He was older than the girl. Nine, maybe ten. Like her, he wore jeans and a faded T-shirt of indeterminate origin. But his AirMax Nikes, Jilly noted, looked brand-new.

“What you do?” he demanded again, but didn’t wait for an answer. Waving his skinny arms, he launched into a tirade of broken English. “You hurt little sister. You break cage. She lose bird, lose money. Lose face with Grandfather.”

The girl’s tears continued to flow, and the boy’s accusations were starting to attract attention.

“Here, kid. Will this save your sister’s face?”

No fool, the boy took the twenty and held it up to the sunlight. Counterfeit money was as pandemic in China as bootlegged DVDs and Prada knockoffs.

The boy didn’t lose his angry scowl, but his message to the girl held smug triumph. “We plucked a fat goose,” he said in swift Cantonese. “Come, we’ll buy hot dumplings to take to Grandfather.”

Jilly said nothing while he scooped up the empty wooden cage. The two took off without another word and disappeared behind the oleanders separating the section of the promenade from the next.

Obviously relieved that the fracas was over, Hawk pocketed the rest of his money. “Let’s go.”

“Hang on a sec.”

“Why?”

“Just listen. Yep, there it is.”

The chirpy trill carried clearly over the hubbub of the harbor. A moment later, a flash of yellow nose-dived into the oleanders.

The man beside her was silent for several moments. “I knew it was a scam.”

“Uh-huh.” Grinning, Jilly hooked her arm through his. “You’re on my turf now, fella. You might want to consult me before forking over any more twenty-dollar bills.”

Hawk was a whole lot more concerned with his body’s instant, instinctive reaction to the press of her breasts against his bicep than the fact that he’d been gulled by a couple of con artists.

What was with him, for God’s sake? He’d held her in his arms before. And not just at the firing range. A few months ago, he’d escorted her to a black-tie reception and used her as cover while scoping out a congressman suspected of selling government secrets. He’d nailed his target, but sweat still gathered at the base of his spine when he remembered how Gillian-with-a-J had moved in a strapless, flame-colored column of silk that bared more of her than it covered.

Damn it all to hell! He had to get his head straight. Too much rode on this op to let his fantasies about this blue-eyed siren override his common sense.

“Let’s go,” he repeated with a distinct edge to his voice. “We have business to take care of.”

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