Longing and Lies

by Donna Hill

  He turned slightly to his right. His jaw clenched. He extended his hand. “Pleasure,” he murmured taking her hand.

  Ashley offered a tight-lipped smile and a short nod of her head.

  Elliot pulled up an available seat.

  “We were briefing Ashley on the situation and the plan that we’ve designed. I want you both to know that we understand perfectly that this assignment is out of the norm for you. I know you had your reservations, Elliot about working with someone.”

  “It’s not what I do,” he said tersely. He turned to Ashley. “No offense, but I work alone.” His hard gaze dared her to refute him.

  Ashley lifted her chin. “I feel the same way,” she tossed back ready to go toe-to-toe.

  “But as you both know,” Jean cut in, “in this business it’s what’s best for the operation and not our personal preferences.” Her stern green gaze went from one tight face to the other.

  “If we didn’t think the two of you were the right ones for this assignment we could have easily gotten someone else,” Bernard firmly stated. “Your expertise with uncovering information and taking on whatever persona necessary is going to be an asset,” he said to Elliot. Then he turned to Ashley. “You have an excellent record of getting suspects to trust you. That was apparent on your last assignment. Those are some of the skills we need,” he added, addressing them both.

  “And we needed two operatives who didn’t have any personal attachments that would hamper the assignments,” Jean said.

  “You mean, ‘Who didn’t have a life,’” Elliot said, his tone sarcastic as he tossed a meaningful look at Ashley.

  Her eyes flashed. She pushed up from her seat. “Look, I’m sorry that you went to all of this trouble, but I’m not the one for this job.” She snatched up her purse.

  Bernard caught her wrist. “Wait. Please, sit down.”

  She drew in a long breath, cutting her eyes at Elliot before returning to her seat.

  “Short temper is a hazard in the field,” Elliot said in that low-key timbre, as he fingered the stud in his ear.

  “Elliot,” Bernard said, the one word more a warning than a salutation.

  “I don’t see how this is going to work,” Ashley said, crossing her long legs. “It’s clear that we won’t be able to get along.”

  “You’re going to have to find a way to work it out,” Jean admonished. “This can’t be about the two of you. This is about saving families from tragedy and young children from a life of misery or worse. So put your personal differences aside and keep your eyes on the prize—finding out who is behind the black-market baby operation in New York City. Are we clear?”

  Silence enveloped the room.

  “Well?”

  “Fine,” Elliot conceded.

  Ashley smiled inwardly over the fact that he caved first. “Of course.”

  “You’re both professionals. You’ll work it out,” Bernard said. “You’re going to have to, especially since you will not only be working together, but living together as well.”

  “What!” they yelled in harmony, simultaneously leaping up out of their seats. Their choreography was so perfect, if the situation weren’t so absurd it would be funny. They glared at each other.

  “Sit down!” Jean slapped her palm against the desk. She snatched her glasses off and pinned them both with a withering gaze. “Enough. If the two of you thought this was some sort of democracy, you’re wrong. It’s not. You are a federal agent, Mr. Morgan. You don’t get to pick and choose. Ashley on the other hand is not.” She looked at Ashley. “So if you think you can’t handle this assignment, leave now.”

  Ashley was so furious that her insides shook. He was an arrogant bastard! And it was clear from everything he’d said and the way he’d addressed her that he didn’t think much of her or her abilities. How in the world were they going to live under the same roof? But she wouldn’t let him get the best of her. And she certainly didn’t want Jean to think that she couldn’t handle the likes of Elliot Morgan. If she did, it would compromise anything she was assigned in the future.

  “Two separate bedrooms,” Ashley demanded more than stated.

  “Fine with me,” Elliot said, a twinkle in his dark eyes.

  “Of course,” Jean said. “Now, can we get back to the business at hand without any more outbursts?”

  Ashley and Elliot settled back in their seats and listened to the plan.

  More than an hour later the meeting ended. Ashley and Elliot each had a folder of information that they had to commit to memory, because once they opened the envelope the contents would evaporate from the page after more than an hour in the open air. It detailed their cover—who they were pretending to be until the case was solved—and several possible scenarios to gain access to the list of fertility clinics and adoption centers around the city.

  Before they left they were told to stop in and see Jasmine, The Cartel’s techno whiz. She would provide them with their new identification, and the dummy bank account they would share. Jean was making arrangements for the apartment that they would move into within the week. Everything was falling into step except Elliot and Ashley.

  “After you,” Elliot said as they left Jasmine’s office.

  Ashley looked up at him and caught the half grin on his lips. She brushed passed him. “Don’t play the gentleman for my benefit,” she snapped.

  “Still testy,” he murmured as he followed her up the stairs to the first-floor exit.

  She stopped in her tracks and spun around nearly colliding into his hard-muscled chest. The heady scent of his cologne clouded her thoughts. For a moment she forgot her retort then her good sense returned. “Look, the less we have to say to each other the better. Just do your job and I’ll do mine. How’s that?” She didn’t wait for a response but turned and strutted out leaving the door swinging on its hinges.

  Elliot stepped outside and watched her as she walked down the street with her head high, looking neither left nor right. He leaned against the fence, took out his pack of cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth. He lit the tip and watched a curl of smoke float into the air. He’d been in enemy territory before. Ashley Temple would be a walk in the park. He strode off in the opposite direction.

  Ashley gripped the steering wheel so hard her palms began to sting. She couldn’t get the smug image of Elliot Morgan out of her head. The way he looked at her. The way he moved. The way he…smelled. Her heart thudded and she frowned in annoyance.

  But if she was honest with herself, it was more than Elliot that had her mind spinning. It was the assignment: missing children. Did Jean know the truth? The nightmare was still as fresh in her spirit today as it was more than two decades ago. Her throat clenched as those horrible days bloomed anew.

  Chapter 3

  Ashley found a parking space a block away from the office. She took the time walking to compose herself before Mia read the anxiety all over her face. Living with a man she didn’t know! Even for The Cartel that was asking a bit much. What made them think that she and Mr. Arrogance could ever in this lifetime work together?

  She was going to have to do some serious meditating in order to ready herself for the assignment. Even if it was the highest of compliments to be chosen by Jean for two assignments in a row, she wasn’t sure that she was cut out for this one.

  Ashley pushed open the door to MT Management, Mia Turner’s event-planning business and was pleased to see Savannah and her baby daughter, Mikayla.

  “Hey! This is a surprise.” Ashley dropped her purse on one of the desks and went straight to Mikayla and scooped her up for a kiss. “How’s my girl? Look at you, looking all beautiful.” She nuzzled her neck to squeals of delight.

  “Can’t a sister get some love?” Savannah asked in mock hurt.

  Ashley waved her hand in dismissal. “Later.” She went on kissing and hugging the baby before finally setting her back down in the stroller. “What brings you here? Off today?” She kissed Savannah’s cheek.

  “Took
an R&R day. My boss was working me to the bone.” She laughed good-naturedly. “Plus I needed to spend some time with my pumpkin,” she added, stroking her daughter’s curly head. “Thought we could do lunch. Danielle is on her way.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “I hear you got another assignment.”

  “Word travels fast in this town.” She plopped down into the seat opposite Savannah and stretched her legs out in front of her.

  Savannah giggled. “What’s a little espionage between friends.”

  “Yeah,” she said halfheartedly.

  Savannah tilted her head to the side. “Problem?”

  Ashley blew out a breath of frustration. “Something like that.”

  “Hey, Ash,” Mia said breezing into the waiting area from her back office. “How’d it go with Jean?”

  “Since we’re doing lunch today, why don’t I wait until we’re all together.”

  As if on cue, Danielle came sailing in, fashionable as always and dramatically swept off her sunglasses. “Hey all.” She looked from one face to another. “Gee, I feel like I walked into an intervention. What’s up?”

  “Ashley said she’d tell us over lunch,” Mia offered.

  Danielle arched a brow. “Sounds serious.”

  “Not that bad, but bad enough,” Ashley said.

  “So why are we all sitting around,” Danielle said. “I want to hear this.”

  The stunning quartet, gathered purses, keys, cell phones and stroller and headed out.

  They arrived at their favorite eatery, The Shop. They’d been coming as a group for so long, they had their own booth and the waitstaff knew them by name.

  The quartet settled down in their seats and flipped open their menus.

  “Does this little gathering call for drinks?” Danielle asked.

  “I could sure use one,” Ashley said. “But it’s still early. Oh, what the heck. Let’s order a round.”

  “That serious, huh?” Savannah asked.

  Ashley sighed and leaned back against the worn brown leather seat. “I’m probably making more out of this than necessary, but the whole thing just rubs me the wrong way.”

  Phyllis, the waitress, came to take their orders. It was a round of their favorite, grilled salmon salad with tahini dressing and mojitos. With that out of the way, all eyes were on Ashley.

  She told them about her meeting with Jean and Bernard.

  “So far so good,” Mia said.

  “Then in walks Elliot Morgan.”

  Three pairs of eyes widened as Ashley described their meeting and the not-very-subtle animosity that flashed between them.

  “He’s pompous, arrogant and so full of himself,” Ashley groaned. “And they want us to live together!” She folded her arms and pouted like a three-year-old.

  The women broke out into laughter.

  “Girl, your problem is you haven’t had a man in your air space in so long you don’t know how to handle it.” Savannah chuckled.

  “For real,” Danielle concurred.

  Ashley was visibly appalled at the lack of support from her girls. They were supposed to be on her side. Sure, she hadn’t had a real relationship in longer than she cared to admit. She knew she had commitment issues, deep-seated fears of loss. Loss that she hadn’t shared with anyone, not even her girls. There was a part of her that believed she didn’t deserve someone to care about her and her about them. The guilt of all those years ago still haunted her.

  They all nodded, biting back smirks. Even little Mikayla was laughing and kicking her feet in her stroller.

  Mia leaned forward, schooling her expression. “Look, sis, no one knows better than me how weird it can be living with a man. When Steven and I got together it was tough at first.”

  “Yeah, but he’s your man. Now your husband. That’s something completely different. I don’t know this jerk from a hole in the wall.”

  “You did say he looked like Idris Elba, didn’t you?” Danielle said, egging her on.

  Ashley rolled her eyes.

  “Look, it’s just an assignment. You’ll have separate rooms and separate lives outside of the case,” Savannah said, always the practical one. “Just worry about the job.”

  That was just it, Ashley thought. The job. But maybe Savannah was right. Focus on the assignment. It may well lead her to what she’d been searching for over the past twenty years—answers.

  Elliot turned the key in the door of his third-floor walk-up on West Eighth Street in the Village. He’d found the place after a less-than-exhaustive search, but fell for it right away. His apartment was in a prewar building, with vaulted ceilings and enormous rooms. His one-bedroom apartment in any other neighborhood in Manhattan would go for three times the amount with the rooms cut down to bite-sized pieces. The neighborhood was an eclectic blend of class, culture, language and age, from seedy to high end and everything in between. It was a mecca for the artsy and a paradise for lovers of music, avante-garde shops and cozy cafès. The perfect place to blend in, able to see and go unseen.

  He locked the door behind him and began tugging his fitted T-shirt over his head as he strolled from the front hallway, through the mostly unfurnished living room to his bedroom located in the back, facing the park. He tossed his shirt on the bed and absently rubbed the raised, circular scar on his shoulder, the result of a gunshot wound from a man who wished he’d been a better shot. Elliot clenched his teeth. He’d been distracted that afternoon in the alley, by memories of the argument he’d had with Lynn the night before.

  It’s the first rule in his line of work; relationships are a distraction. Hit It and Quit It, was the slogan among the guys. He should have listened. Then what happened later would not have mattered as much, wouldn’t have hurt him so much. It changed him. Now he was a poster child for the boy’s club mantra.

  Elliot pulled the envelope he’d gotten from Jean out of his back pocket. He unfolded it and tried to flatten it out on the bed by running his fist over it. It refused to succumb to his manipulations and curled back up.

  “Figures,” he groused, flopping spread-eagle across the bed. He tossed a thick, muscled arm across his eyes and a crystal clear image of Ashley popped behind his lids with such preciseness, the near-reality shot a jolt of denied longing to his groin. He felt his shaft throb and jump against the zipper of his jeans. “Down boy,” he grumbled, and forced his mind to the issue at hand—a new, unwanted assignment. He was a field operative. His specialty search and dispose. As a former Navy Seal he’d been trained for combat, for dealing swiftly and with stealth against the unseen enemy before he joined the FBI and worked as a part-time handyman for the CIA in their even shadier operations. This assignment was a slap in the face. Missing babies! He didn’t even like kids. They were a nuisance. Not to mention messy and noisy.

  He ran through a laundry list of higher-ups that he may have pissed off to get saddled with this assignment and couldn’t come up with anyone. He lurched forward and sat up, snatched the envelope and opened it.

  It pretty much laid out what Jean and Bernard explained earlier. But in reading the documents, he got a sudden chill when he went over some of the pain-filled stories of the parents whose infants went missing. Included in the envelope was a list of adoption centers, fertility clinics and local hospitals.

  A deep frown creased his brow. What kind of person would steal a baby from its parents? But he knew the answer. Money and greed were great motivators, and combined with persons of no conscience made for ugly scenarios. He released a heavy sigh as the ink began to fade on the pages.

  These parents deserved some justice, he concluded. So he’d just suck it up and bring a clean and quick end to this madness. A half grin lifted the side of his full mouth. As a minor benefit he’d get to play hubby with the very sexy Ashley Temple, whether she liked it or not. He chuckled at the thought.

  Chapter 4

  “So are you feeling a little better about things?” Mia asked once she and Ashley had returned to the office.
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  Ashley gave a slight shrug of her shoulder. “I suppose.” She turned to Mia, her hand planted on her slender hips. “I’ve never lived with a man. Let alone a perfect stranger.” She frowned. “I like my independence.”

  Mia dropped her oversized purse on the desk and looked at her friend. “Is that all that’s really bothering you?”

  Ashley glanced away for an instant then looked at Mia. She almost smiled. “He is kinda fine in a pain-in-the-ass sort of way.”

  They both giggled.

  Ashley dropped her tense shoulders. “I guess it will be all right. The main thing is finding out who is behind the stealing and selling of babies.” A shiver ran through her.

  “Exactly.”

  Ashley pushed a smile onto her face, highlighting her prominent cheekbones. “So,” she said on a breath, “what’s on the agenda for today?”

  But even as Mia ran down the list of upcoming events they had to take care of, Ashley’s mind was elsewhere. Elliot Morgan. Babies. Twenty years. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

  Ashley walked through her small one-bedroom apartment, which she’d worked diligently on to transform from the drab place she’d originally rented into her cozy abode. Being an R&B music buff, she had one wall in her living room dedicated to some of her favorite artists: Smokey Robinson, Stevie, Luther, Gladys, Anita Baker, The Temps, James Brown, Michael Jackson, Jazmine Sullivan, Earth, Wind & Fire, Frankie Beverly and Maze, and Maxwell to name a few. Her collection was extensive, going back to some classic 45s and collector’s items album covers.

  The sparkling wood floors were dotted with oversized pillows, low tables and standing plants. Rather than curtains or blinds in the windows, they were covered with hanging philodendrons.

  But her bedroom was truly her sanctuary. Her queen-sized bed with its downy pillow-top mattress took up much of the small space. But it was truly fit for a queen. To conserve room, she had her flat screen television mounted on the wall. The one great amenity was the walk-in closet that housed her extensive wardrobe, another one of her addictions—clothes.