Читать книгу Face Of Deception - Ana Leigh - Страница 13

After the relatively arcadian existence she had been living for the past four years, the sights and sounds of metropolitan Washington were a new experience for Ann. She dodged people and traffic for an hour and then entered a mall. To her surprise the shops were not open, but she saw people using the hallways to do their morning walking and jogging. Ann joined them, perusing the shop windows as she passed.

By the time she finished, she had mentally noted several outfits to try on, and sat down to wait for the shops to open. As she listened to the pleasant music in the mall, her thoughts wandered to Brandon and how he was faring. Remembering the earlier conversation, Ann grinned and shook her head. Good heavens! I wonder if they actually did stop for ice cream at this hour of the morning.

Suddenly she felt an uneasy twinge at the nape of her neck—someone was watching her. She looked around. Several of the nearby benches were filled with the joggers and walkers whom she remembered seeing previously. None of them appeared to be paying any attention to her.

Ann turned back, but the uneasy feeling continued to nag her. So much so, she decided to leave and return later. Just as she rose to her feet, the mall began to echo with the rattle and clang of iron grills as the shop owners began to unlock and open their stores. So instead of departing, she went to the ATM machine and got some cash, then headed for a small boutique to make her first purchase. However, she couldn’t lose the feeling of being followed.

Once engrossed in shopping, her anxiety was forgotten with the pleasure of picking out several outfits, hosiery, shoes and nightgowns. She even stopped and selected a few pieces of lingerie. “Without your assistance, Bishop,” she mumbled in satisfaction.

Ann immediately chastised herself for allowing her thoughts to stray to that overbearing agent when she should have been thinking about Brandon.

To ease her conscience, Ann hurried to the children’s department and bought him several pairs of sweatpants and shirts. As she continued to browse through the store, a gold silk blouse caught her fancy.

“Isn’t it lovely? It just came in yesterday,” the gray-haired saleswoman remarked.

“Yes, I think I’ll try it on.”

“The dressing room is right back here.” The clerk led her to an alcove at the rear of the store and pushed aside the curtain of one of the stalls. “My name is Janice. Just call out if you need any help.”

Ann had just removed the blouse and put her shirt back on when the room was plunged into darkness except for a red exit sign over the door. She quickly buttoned her shirt-front and then groped for her packages in the dark.

Suddenly she had an uneasy feeling that she no longer was alone. Someone had entered the darkened room, and she doubted it was Janice, or the clerk would have identified herself.

Ann felt a sense of peril. Her heart hammered and her senses attuned sharply to every noise around her. She heard a soft shuffle of footsteps at the same instant the distant drone of Janice’s voice carried from somewhere farther out in the store. Whoever was there in the darkness with her definitely wasn’t the sales clerk.

Her nerve ends tingled as footsteps moved stealthily across the floor. Ann held her breath, but the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears was so loud she felt the mysterious intruder could hear it as well. Frozen with fear, she was fearful of moving lest she reveal her whereabouts.

No, I’m not going to surrender to fear again. Whoever’s following me is in for a surprise. I’m not going down without a fight.

She groped for her purse in the dark. It was the only weapon she had, and as soon as those curtains parted, she’d swing it at the person’s head.

She heard the faint slide of the curtains. He was checking the stalls. If only he wasn’t between her and the door she’d make a run for it. But not knowing his exact whereabouts, she might run right into his arms.

And where the hell was that clerk? She should have come back to check on her customer. If I get out of here alive, I’ll be damned if I buy that blouse!

She heard a footstep, this time nearer. Now he couldn’t be more than a few stalls away. She raised her purse in readiness.

Suddenly a flashlight beam pierced the darkness. “Ann. Ann, where are you?”

She recognized Bishop’s voice at once. “Here. Over here,” she shouted in relief. The light swung in her direction.

She heard his running footsteps, and the drapes before her parted. With a sob of relief she collapsed against the hard wall of his chest, and his arms closed protectively around her. For several seconds she savored the comfort and strength she felt from the arms enfolding her.

“Let’s get out of here.” His voice was a husky whisper at her ear. She nodded her response against his chest, and his warm grasp closed around her hand.

Once out of the dressing room, the store was dimly lit by light filtering in from the atrium in the mall. Ann turned to look back at the darkened dressing room. Nothing stirred. She wanted to bolt out of the store, but forced herself to take a deep, calming breath.

“What are you doing here, Bishop?”

“I…ah…”

“So you’re the one who’s been following me. Damn it, Bishop, you almost scared me to death back there.” Anger replaced her former fear. “Why did Mr. Baker lie to me? Lead me to believe it was all over, if he intended to continue playing these cloak-and-dagger games with me?” Her voice cracked. “I was frightened, Bishop. Really frightened.”

He didn’t offer any word in defense. Instead he took her arm and led her over to a restaurant opposite the shop.

“I haven’t been following you, Hamilton,” he said, once they were seated in a corner booth, cups of steaming coffee on the table before them as they waited for their sandwiches and fries. “I happened to have been shopping in the same store and saw you enter the dressing room. When the lights went out and you didn’t show, well…I…” He faltered in embarrassment.

“Ran to my rescue,” she interjected in a voice rife with skepticism.

Irritation flashed in his hazel eyes. “Believe what you want.”

“Well, do you have reason to believe it was foul play?”

“Foul play?” He snorted. “Did you pick up that phrase from a Charlie Chan movie, Hamilton?”

“All right then, why did you suspect I was in danger?”

“I’m suspicious by nature.” He picked up the cup and took several swallows of coffee.

He has nice hands, Ann reflected, observing his fingers wrapped around the cup. “Am I still in danger?”

“Agency thinks not,” he answered in his irritating, succinct fashion.

The answer was too ambiguous for her satisfaction. “And what do you think, Bishop? Because if you weren’t following me, someone else sure was.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because I wasn’t alone in that dressing room.”

She now had his full attention. “Why do you say that?”

“Someone was stalking me. I heard him.”

“Hamilton, I didn’t see anyone else enter that dressing room but you.”

“I know what I heard. There was someone else in there.”

The hazel-eyed gaze locked with hers. “How in hell did you get into this mess, Hamilton?”

The question forced her thoughts back to Clayton, and her voice softened with poignancy. “I met Clayton Burroughs four years ago. I was a fashion photographer and had gone to French Guiana on a shoot. The funny thing about it, I didn’t want the assignment in the first place. I felt burned out, after five nonstop years of living out of suitcases and accumulating frequent flyer points. I didn’t want to see another camera or any more gorgeous women in Gucci gowns for the rest of my life. My boss, Barney Hailey, talked me into it by promising me a month off when I finished. So I agreed.”

The waitress brought their order, and as soon as she left Bishop asked, “And how did you get mixed up with Burroughs?”

“Barney wanted authentic, outdoor shots on Devil’s Island. Well, our plane developed mechanical problems, and Clayton was on the island at the time. He offered us a ride back to Kourou in his helicopter.”

Deep in reverie, Ann smiled, remembering Clayton’s thoughtfulness in the weeks that followed. “When we wrapped up the shoot, Barney and the crew returned to the States. Clayton coaxed me into remaining in Kourou.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

His suggestive tone snapped her out of her reflections. “What’s that supposed to mean, Bishop? You don’t get it at all. From the beginning Clayton and I were kindred souls. He was lonely. He had lost his wife and daughter fifteen years before. He thought of me as a daughter, and I envisioned him as the father I had never known.”

“Until you found yourself alone with him one night with his hand up your skirt.”

Her eyes flashed in anger. “You’re pathetic.” She started to gather up her parcels to leave.

“Okay, I apologize. Sit down and finish your lunch. So the old guy was dead from the waist down and the relationship was purely platonic. So how did a photographer get into the rocket business?”

“I doubt that you’re really interested, Bishop.”

“I said I was sorry.” Irritation had crept into his voice. “Finish the story.”

Although she doubted his sincerity, Ann did want to finish the story—for her own sake, not his. Once started on this sentimental journey, it was difficult to stop. This was the first chance she had since Clayton’s death to talk about her feelings to someone…even if that someone was as cynical as Bishop. She settled back down in the seat, and after several sips of coffee Ann continued.

“Clayton was a marvelous raconteur, always relating little anecdotes about the history and culture of the country. When the time came to return to the States he persuaded me to remain as his assistant. He said intelligence and common sense were the only essentials needed to succeed in the position. Well, the whole space program was fascinating to me. I had naively believed that only the United States and the Soviets were involved with outer space. I soon discovered that European markets launched satellites as well. And after the frenetic pace of my old job, working with the relaxing atmosphere provided by Clayton soon cured me of burnout. I even began to enjoy taking photographs again.”

“You gonna finish those fries?” She shook her head and handed him the plate. “What about the kid? Did Burroughs raise him?” he asked, popping a French fry into his mouth.

Her face softened in sadness. “Two years ago Clayton’s son and daughter-in-law were killed in an airplane tragedy, and that’s when Brandon came to live with his grandfather.”

She finished her coffee and smiled. “Well, you asked for it. That’s the whole story.”

Whatever doubts he still harbored remained concealed behind an enigmatic gaze. “More coffee? Dessert?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll see you back to your hotel.” He threw down some bills on the table, then gathered up her packages.

Once outside the mall, he flagged a cab and they returned to the Watergate.

“Mind if I come in and check your room?” he asked when they reached her door.

“I thought you said you were off the case, Bishop?”

“After the incident today, I put myself back on it, Hamilton.”

He entered the room ahead of her, and after a quick check in the closet, bathroom and even under the bed, he walked to the door.

“What do you intend doing about dinner?”

“I’m intending to eat it,” she said. He ignored her flippancy.

“Well, there are two selections on the menu—with me or with me watching you. Which do you prefer?”

“Are you inviting me to have dinner with you, Bishop?” she asked, amused.

“Pick you up at seven. Lock this door after me.”

Her gaze followed his broad shoulders and tight buns as he walked away. “I haven’t heard the click of that dead bolt, Hamilton,” he called back without turning.

Smiling, she closed the door, turned the dead bolt and then slipped the chain into place.

The hotel room was lonely without Brandon. In the past two years he’d been such a big part of her life that she’d come to think of him as her son.

Ann plopped down on the bed, grabbed the telephone and dialed the number of the British Embassy, which Avery Waterman had given her. After being shifted from one extension to another, she finally heard Brandon’s “hello” on the other end.

“Hi, honey, this is Ann.”

“Hi, Ann.” He sounded glad to hear her. And just hearing his voice lifted her spirits.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“I’m having a good time, Ann. Mrs. Millen—but she said I should call her Sarah—is real nice. She’s the one taking care of me. We’re playing a game of Old Maid now, so I gotta go, Ann. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, honey. I’ll be there.”

“Bye,” he said, and hung up.

Ann slowly put the phone aside. She felt more depressed than ever. He sounded as if he was having such a good time that he didn’t miss her. Like she never played Old Maid with him. Dear God, what if they found some legal loophole to take him away from her? It would be more than she could bear to lose Clayton and Brandon, too. They were as near to a family as she had. Ann lay back dejected, thinking what her life would be like without Brandon.