by Alicia Scott
She stiffened, and he could tell he’d struck a nerve. “From my perspective,” she said frostily, “two attempts were made on my life when I had been promised that I was safe, that no one would find me. So how did those two hit men find me, Mitch? If the Witness Protection Program is so good and you guys so reliable, why were there even two attempts?”
“Because Les is good, as well,” he said levelly, acknowledging her point. “And he has the money and the resources to hire the best.”
“That statement doesn’t inspire confidence in my continued well-being,” she said scornfully, her gaze raking him up and down as if he were nothing.
He didn’t take offense, though. In fact, he winked at her, then grinned.
“You forget,” he told her. “I’m a magician.”
“Too bad I’m not a white bunny rabbit, then,” she retorted smartly. He could grin all he wanted. She’d seen the true impact of bullets, and no sleight of hand could save him from that. Nor herself for that matter.
In front of her, Mitch had abruptly sobered and was looking at her once more with his penetrating brown eyes.
“‘Oh, ye of little faith,’” he quoted softly. “You’re so determined to keep the world at bay, Jess McMoran. But the truth of the matter is, you need me right now. And I don’t care what you think, or what you say. I won’t let you down. No matter what other men may have done to you in your life, I’m not them. I’m the man you can trust. And face it, sweetheart, you don’t have any other choice.”
Her posture abruptly relaxed, but this time he didn’t find it reassuring. She suddenly smiled, an expressionless smile that worried him.
“So you say,” she said quietly. “Good night, Mr. Guiness. You were right downstairs—tomorrow is going to be a long day. We both need our rest.”
She ducked into her room before he could reply, closing the door calmly behind herself. He didn’t move right away, though, but remained leaning against the wall, contemplating her door. He didn’t like her sudden acceptance of his last statement. And he didn’t trust it.
Something was up in Ice Angel’s mind. His brown eyes narrowed, his sharp mind kicking into place. Oh, she was a challenge all right. But he meant what he said. He’d keep her safe.
Even in spite of herself.
Chapter 5
“No, no, no. You still look like you’re on some damn runway. Slouch, I said. Slouch!”
Jess’s brown eyes looked slightly mutinous, but she tried to do as Mitch instructed. Unfortunately, eight years of training to stand straight were hard to undo. Frowning, Mitch crossed the snowy distance to stand over her.
They’d been out in the cold for a half hour already. Jess had actually requested that they work outside. After being cooped up for five long months, she still savored the feeling of the icy January wind mixing with the crisp winter sun on her face. Mitch had her walking back and forth so much, she really didn’t notice the chill much anyway.
“Here,” Mitch was saying. Abruptly his hands landed on her shoulders and she stiffened immediately. He frowned again, peering at her with intense eyes. “Relax, for crying out loud,” he said impatiently. “I’m trying to help you, not eat you for breakfast.”
She wasn’t sure whether she trusted that last statement or not, but she had little choice in the matter. As she’d already figured out, he wasn’t put off by her glacial looks or frosty stares. Even now as she went rigid at his touch, he simply pushed on her shoulders harder, ignoring her reaction completely. If only she could ignore him, as well. But she could smell the faint scent of his after-shave and feel the strong pressure of his touch. And this close, she had to look up at his strong, dark features, leaning much too close to her own.
“Look,” he was saying again. “Get this through your head. You are no longer a model, and life is not a runway. Okay? Now, five-foot-ten females who are not models are usually self-conscious about their height. Don’t you remember being taller than all the boys in your class? Don’t you remember any feelings of awkwardness at all?”
She merely looked at him with her cool brown eyes. He shook his head in exasperation and tried a new tact. “Remember the first night you were here,” he said, “and you said you would do whatever was necessary to keep yourself safe?”
She nodded, and he threw up his hands in mock triumph.
“Well, here you go, sweetheart. This is what we’re talking about. Now stop fighting me and start putting that considerable talent to work.”
“I am trying,” she said tightly, her eyes growing more mutinous. “It’s not as easy as you think.”
“Yes, it is,” he told her. “You simply have to relax and stop walking like you have a ruler belted to your back. Think of it as a special show, I don’t know. But do something to enable yourself to relax.”
Relax? She certainly couldn’t relax with him just eight inches away and peering at her with such intense brown eyes, she could feel her stomach clench and unclench with every breath. But then, she didn’t seem to have any choice in the matter. Taking another deep breath, she turned her concentration inward. What he’d said from the beginning was correct. She needed a new identity, which meant new mannerisms and new attitudes. This would keep her safe, and if it meant dealing with the devil himself, then she would do it.
Turning away from Mitch, she walked four steps back to get the distance she needed. Then she closed her eyes and considered his goal. Slouching, relaxing, rolling the shoulders inward. She pictured the way she’d seen other people walk on the street, latching on to one example in particular. Then she forced her muscles into imitation, a skill she’d mastered long ago. It took a few more tries, but finally Mitch nodded approvingly.
“Better,” he said, his gaze still critical as he watched her pivot and cross back in the other direction. “Now we’re making progress.”
In actuality, Jess caught on fast. But he knew her capabilities, and pushed her to meet them. A woman of her control and intelligence ought to learn fast. In fact, he’d expected her to adapt even faster than she was. But the woman seemed to fight anything that involved giving up control. Even now, her shoulders slightly forward, her steps shorter and easier, she still didn’t look quite right. He walked over to where she was standing, looking at her intently once more.
“What are we doing wrong?” he demanded to know, his eyes sweeping her up and down. This close he could catch the faint scent of peaches, something he was trying very hard to ignore. But the scent was so fresh and subtle, as if she delicately dabbed a scented oil to each pulse point in turn, never overdoing, just the right touch. And now the fragrance mingled with the fresh New Hampshire air until peaches and pine and snow all tangled his senses and left him a little bit dazed. “The peaches will have to go,” he found himself saying.
Immediately she stiffened up to her normal rigid stance, one newly brown eyebrow arching. “Excuse me?” she asked coolly.
“Your fragrance,” he said, his voice tighter than it needed to be. Damn, she could play havoc with a man’s senses. Looking like ice, smelling like summer. “It’s too distinguishable.”
Slowly she shook her head. “I never wore this for Les,” she said evenly. “He was a Chanel man.”
For some reason, that statement inordinately pleased him. Les had never gotten to smell the ripe scent of peaches of her soft, pale skin. Only he had.
He had to forcefully shake the thought away. It was none of his business. None of his business at all.
“All right, then,” he said, but he didn’t quite trust himself to meet her eyes. “The fragrance can stay. What else shall we change, then? You are still too you.”
She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “I can slouch more if you like. Walk slower, walk faster. Perhaps a habit would be good. Some people twist their rings, chew their nails, that sort of thing.”
He nodded, his mind considering the possibilities. “Yes, that would be good. You’re still too controlled. Some sort of nervous habit would be an improvement. What do you th
ink—a ring twister? Maybe you could chew on your lower lip.”
She gave him a cool look at his last suggestion. “I will twist my ring,” she said pointedly. He shrugged and had her practice it a few times. But even with the toned-down walk and rounded resting posture, it still wasn’t right. It took him a moment to hit on it, but then it came to him.
“A smile,” he said suddenly. “You need to smile.”
She cocked her head to the side, considering this. “A simple smile?”
“Exactly. A simple smile. See, you’re still too controlled. You maintain this certain air and poise of untouchability. It may be perfect for a supermodel, but how many grade school teachers have you ever encountered that looked distant? You need to relax, sweetheart. Smile a little, loosen those shoulders. When you look people in the eye, really look at them as if you’re listening. As if you care.”
The last statement came out matter-of-factly, but she could feel its sting. Jessica Gavornée never looked at people like that. Jessica Gavornée never really looked at people at all. She hadn’t been known for being cruel or petty or mean. But Mitch was right. Jessica was definitely cold.
And now, according to him, she would have to give that up.
She would have to look at people as if she cared.
A ripple fizzled through her, a ripple of nervousness and fear and unease. She felt it and tried to fight it down but it wasn’t that easy. And suddenly the implications of all he’d told her became clear. A new identity didn’t mean learning a new name, it meant becoming a new person. All the way deep down in places she didn’t really want to change.
In places she was too afraid to ever truly explore.
Jessica Gavornée had very good reasons for her control.
Mitch watched her stiffen, and in a matter of moments all his work of the morning dissolved before his eyes. The new posture was lost and her face stiffened to the remote neutrality he’d come to know too well. The only redeeming aspect he could find was that her left hand suddenly began twisting the simple silver band on her right hand.
He walked back over until he was close enough to catch the scent of peaches.
“Smile for me,” he commanded softly. “Just one simple smile.”
She looked up, and in her brown eyes he saw a myriad of flickering emotions. Then ever so slowly, her lips curved upward. But it wasn’t the gentle, easy smile he’d been expecting. Instead, it was the stiff cold smile of a painted marionette.
He shook his head.
“Come on, Jess,” he cajoled intensely. “Don’t play hard to get like this. All we want is a smile. One smile. Remember, this is your life we’re talking about here.”
She nodded, and he saw something new glisten in her eyes. It seemed suspiciously close to torment.
Once again her lips curved, once again the smile strained against her face like an alien creature, uncomfortable and unsure.
Frowning, he reached up and traced the smile with his hands.
She recoiled as if slapped, her face resorting immediately to fierce closure.
Mitch shook his head, turning away with a small curse in the bright winter’s day.
“You have to give it up,” he told her finally, running a frustrated hand through his shiny black hair.
“Give what up?” she asked suspiciously. Her lips still seemed to burn from the sudden touch, and she was stepping back as she spoke. She didn’t want him that close. She didn’t want him to touch her like that. For anyone to touch her like that. But especially him, a man that made her stomach flutter when her stomach never fluttered.
“Whatever makes you so damn angry,” he retorted sharply, turning enough to pin her with commanding eyes. “You’re starting a new life, damn it. You are a new person. The past injustices don’t matter anymore. They’re gone, too. Now focus on that. Let all that icy control of yours go. Jess McMoran doesn’t have any need for it.”
Her face never changed, her hand remaining protectively in front of her. “I will work on it,” she said finally.
He shook his head, swearing under his breath. “We’re back to the basics, Jess. This is what I told you in the beginning. Your new identity has to be more than skin-deep. Which means you don’t just work on it, you let it go. You are no longer Jessica Gavornée. Jessica Gavornée’s problems do not affect you. I’m telling you now, that’s what you have to do. I will not settle for anything less.”
“Take me shooting,” she said abruptly, her brown eyes narrowing.
“What?”
“Take me shooting,” she repeated again, her voice level and her eyes cool. Suddenly she saw an opening, and she seized it with a calmness that belied the desperate beating of her frantic heart. “Take me shooting and I promise I will smile for you.”
Mitch could only look at her incredulously. Never in all his days had he met such an infuriating creature. But the challenge of getting her to smile was too much to pass up. She promised him a smile. He would have it.
“Deal,” he said.
She nodded curtly, sealing the pact. “What time?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’ll set up the targets. Smile is deliverable upon end of session.”
She nodded again, her face serious. “It has to be a real lesson. I want to know about the type of gun, how to shoot it, how to take care of it. Safety tips. Everything.”
He nodded back, his face as serious as her own. “Believe me, Jess. I won’t be the one to cop out of the agreement. You’ll have a good, solid lesson.”
“Fine, then.” She looked away, her brown eyes focusing on the distance. She could still feel the nervousness and tension rivet through her. Funny, she’d thought this new deal would take care of all that. After all, it was one step closer to her freedom. She had her new look, except for the wrinkles, which were scheduled for next week. She had her new name and she at least understood how she was supposed to act. After tomorrow’s lesson in defense, she’d be all set. She could devise a plan tonight and hit the road the day after tomorrow.
Then she’d be free of the FBI and programs, and most particularly, this man standing just a few feet away. They might try to find her, but she would have broken the Witness Protection Program pact, and thus they would have no obligations toward her. They would leave her alone, renouncing her altogether, and she could live with her new identity in peace. While the FBI would have no reason to protect her, they certainly wouldn’t give her away, either. She’d simply be written off with a bureaucratic shrug.
They would get on with their business, and she would get on with hers. She’d take classes on her own, living off the money from her Swiss bank account. In time, she’d earn her teacher’s license, since she wouldn’t be sticking around long enough to receive one from the Feds. She would take care of herself, build a new life as Jess McMoran.
So the shooting lesson was the final step, and having secured it, she should feel relieved. In forty-eight hours, she would be gone.
But the frisson of fear and nerves snaked through her once more. Mitch said she needed to relax in order to pull off the new identity. He wanted Jess McMoran to let go of Jessica Gavornée’s troubles. And she wanted to, she desperately did. But the smile wouldn’t come to her face, nor the relief to her muscles. Because if the last two nights had been any indication, Jess McMoran still dreamed Jessica Gavornée’s nightmares—and, under all the carefully developed control, dwelled the same dark pits she never allowed herself to explore.
And she wished this man wouldn’t stand so close nor look so strong nor smell so good. She wished he’d simply go away, and yet when she’d bolted awake from the nightmares, his face was the first picture to come to mind, his easy grin the first grip on her salvation.
With a deep shuddering breath, she drew herself up once more, reclaiming her control. Sooner or later she would learn to at least fake the smile, as she had learned how to act so many other things in her life. If it meant her life, it was worth the effort. She would make herself Jess McMoran, and she would shut th
is man out of her mind once and for all.
“We should practice more,” she said tightly, her eyes still focused far away where they wouldn’t have to see his.
“Yeah,” Mitch said. “We should.”
He worked her the rest of the day. As he’d promised in the beginning, it was drill after drill after drill. Jamie and Bill constantly referred to her by changing names, anything from Jessica to Ms. McMoran to Jess Gavornée. But Jess adapted with shrewd swiftness that easily mastered the game. Never had Mitch worked with someone who could change so fast and learn so quickly. By dinnertime she’d relaxed her walk into an easy, rounded stride, mastered the art of carelessly toying with her ring and learned to look at people sideways through her soft, curly hair, making her appear more flirtatious. Or so she was told.
But with all that she still couldn’t seem to relax her facial muscles, and she still wasn’t close to a smile. It was a source of constant torment from Mitch, and by the end of the evening, a thorn in her side. She wanted to be able to smile, damn it, and she would. She swore it.
Yet, as she tried the motion time and time again in front of the privacy of her bedroom mirror, it still looked forced and artificial on her face. She had smiled for hundreds of magazines. Pouting smiles, sexy smiles and once, even a wistful smile. But here, even in the cover of the night, she could not find one natural smile.
You’ve got to leave Jessica Gavornée behind.
She truly wished she could. She wished life could be that simple, and new identities a simple process of erasing the old and sketching in the new. She wished she could will a smile as she willed everything else in her life. But the very control that had been her salvation was her nemesis now. And the control had begun so long ago and was ingrained so deep, she didn’t even know how to begin to change it.