“I vowed that when I grew up, I’d travel to Switzerland and see the real town for myself. That’s why I took French in the first place. Have you ever been to Montreux?” Her earnest gaze darted to his once more.
“Many times.” Her description had enchanted him. “It’s called the jewel of Lac Leman.”
“I wish our tour were going there, but I know we can’t see everything.”
“Maybe something can be arranged,” he murmured.
“I don’t think so.”
“Not for the whole bus certainly. But it’s possible you could get away from the regular tour for the day and return to the group in the evening.”
“Not alone.” Her voice trembled.
“Naturally someone would have to accompany you.”
“I wouldn’t want to put anyone out.”
“Why don’t we wait until we reach Geneva and see what can be arranged.”
She bit her lip. “Both cities are on the same lake, aren’t they?”
“That’s right. Too bad we’re not traveling to Switzerland in the fall. At that time of year there are wildflowers in bloom on the hillsides above Montreux the exact color of your eyes.”
The second the words were out Gerard realized his mistake, but the damage had already been done.
Instead of blushing or turning her head as an embarrassed young person might do, she continued to look at him through half-veiled eyes. “No one ever made that comparison before.”
“Then we’ve both surprised each other today.”
As recognition dawned, her mouth widened into a smile that reached a core deep inside him. Suddenly he experienced an inexplicable explosion of excitement that coursed through his veins like an adrenaline rush, only much headier.
What are you doing, Roche? What in the hell is wrong with you? She’s a teenager.
“Excuse me, sir. We’re serving breakfast. Would you care for coffee, tea, milk or cranberry juice?”
Gerard hadn’t even noticed the steward. “Coffee, please. Black.”
“And you, miss?”
“Juice, please.”
For the next little while Whitney occupied herself with enjoying her breakfast in silence, content in the knowledge that Mr. Smith was going to be a pushover to set up. He’d already compared the color of her eyes to flowers. No doubt his mind was busy planning the big seduction scene in Montreux. She could hardly wait until his denouement began.
Little did he know she was wearing a mini microrecorder behind the collar of her blouse. It had picked up every incriminating word he’d spoken since greeting her at the gate.
Too bad the microphone couldn’t pick up the man’s unforgettable looks or his incredible masculine sex appeal. But it did capture that amazing line of his, a silken line so long it could reach around the world twice, and make any girl or woman feel she was the only person on earth.
Soon she would get him to start talking about his fictitious personal life, his fictitious estranged wife and his poor little fictitious daughter who by now was supposed to be five years old.
Whitney had made up the story about the Swiss village in the hope that he might talk about his child and the new toys he was planning to buy her on the trip. She presumed he always used the same story about his daughter to entrap his victims.
When the two of them reached Montreux—and they would because he would personally see to it—he would feign illness and require a hotel room to recover. Then she would be dispatched to pick up his child’s gift. When Whitney returned, he would invite her into his room to thank her.
Perhaps after they enjoyed a drink together, one thing would lead to another and she’d have it all on tape, even his suggestion that they go to bed together.
At that point she would introduce herself as Christine’s sister and inform him he had a son. Next she would tell him that every moment of their conversation since the start of the tour had been taped, and those tapes were in the hands of an attorney in Salt Lake.
Finally, if he dared to take the tape recorder she was wearing off her body, it wouldn’t do him any good since she would have arranged for a policeman to block the door in case he tried to escape with it.
That would be the end of Monsieur Smith’s teaching career, at least in the State of Utah.
Before long the steward came by to remove their breakfast trays. Whitney noticed that Mr. Smith had put his head back and had closed his eyes. Now that they’d eaten, she felt sleepy herself and followed suit.
About two hours later she awakened and decided to go visit the ladies’ room. As she got out of her seat, she had to step past Mr. Smith’s hard-muscled legs and couldn’t resist another glance at the strong lines and angles of his facial features.
The sun must have lightened his dark-blond hair in the front, making an arresting contrast to his burnished skin. More than a suntan, she had the impression he spent a lot of his free time in the mountains, whether winter or summer.
She had to admit he was an exceptional male on many levels. Christine could be forgiven for getting involved with him. What Whitney found unforgivable was the man’s penchant for teenage girls.
There were hundreds, thousands, of single, willing, available older women like Ms. Ashton who would love to date such an attractive man. But he wasn’t interested.
Whitney was positive that if he’d known she was an attorney, and they’d met at a legitimate business lunch or some such affair, he wouldn’t have given her the time of day. It made her sick how some young, innocent girls were exploited by men who looked and acted like him, but were loathesome monsters beneath their suave veneers.
Bitterness made her body stiffen before she looked away from him and set out for her destination more determined than ever to make him pay for his sins.
“Oh, no,” she groaned inwardly as she emerged from the rest room a few minutes later to find Ms. Ashton waiting for her. From the look of those dark brown eyes glaring at her beneath a fringe of dark brown bangs, something told Whitney this accidental meeting had been planned.
“Hi, Ms. Ashton.”
“You did it again, didn’t you.”
The gloves were off. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Like hell you don’t. You purposely came late like you did at the library meeting so you could monopolize Mr. Smith’s time. But we’re on to you, young lady, and we won’t allow this tour to be ruined by a selfish, manipulative, spoiled little teenager like you. There’s always one on every bus.”
Whoa. Like Whitney’s sister, Ms. Ashton could be forgiven for having it bad for Mr. Smith, but the woman was unconscionably cruel and ought not to be a teacher if she could treat a student like this.
“I’m not trying to cause any trouble,” she answered back as sweetly as she could. “How could I help it that Mr. Smith would be waiting at the gate to get me on board? It certainly wasn’t planned.”
“Lie all you want, Whitney Lawrence. I can see right through you. Enjoy the flight, because when we arrive in Paris, things are going to change. Trust me on this one.”
Whitney shook her head in feigned bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t put on that airheaded act for me. You’ve got the instincts of a predator. Think about it awhile and I’m sure the answer will come to you.”
Without so much as an excuse me, she brushed past Whitney in a fury and slammed the rest room door shut.
Schooling her features not to smile at so much pent-up frustration on the other woman’s part, Whitney started back to her seat.
“Hi,” Mr. Smith murmured as she found her place and sat down once more. “You were gone a long time. Are you all right?”
Whitney had a sudden flash of inspiration and kept her head slightly bowed, not looking at him.
“I—I’m okay.”
“What’s wrong?” The authoritative tone of his question told her he wouldn’t let this go until he’d received the answer he wanted.
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“I saw Ms. Ashton headed for the rest room, Whitney. What did she say to upset you?”
“Please, Mr. Smith. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. I’m your chaperone this trip and if you’ve got a problem, we need to discuss it.”
“It’s a girl thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember when I told you that other girls don’t like me around for fear I’ll take away their boyfriends?”
“I do.”
Whitney lifted her head so he could see into her eyes, which were brimming with unshed tears. “Well, it isn’t just girls who don’t like me.”
His features darkened. “Tell me what she said to you exactly.”
“I told you before. She’s made it no secret that she likes you a lot. She’s angry at me because she thinks I manipulated things so I could sit by you on the plane.”
Whitney had injected just the right amount of wobble in her voice, as if she were fighting not to break down in front of him. “Mr. Smith—I mean, Hank.” She’d purposely waited to use his first name until now for its sheer impact value. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come on this trip at all.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“WHITNEY?”
“Yes?” came a whisper veiled in tears.
“Take my advice and forget what’s happened.”
“That’s hard to do.”
“You’re not alone, you know. I’m here and I’ll make certain no one bothers you anymore.”
A long silence ensued. Then he heard a quiet, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Why don’t you try to sleep again. I’ll wake you when they serve lunch.”
“I’d like that. I was up all last night cooking meals to put in the freezer for my grandmother so she wouldn’t have to worry about preparing a lot of food while I’m gone. I guess I’m more tired than I realized.”
Her concern for her grandmother touched Gerard deeply. He reached for one of the pillows above their heads and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She took it from him. “How did I get so lucky?” The wet eyes she raised to him shimmered like rare amethysts.
He felt his chest constrict. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a wonderful man. I’ve never met anyone like you. For the first time in my life, I feel...safe. Cherished. It’s the best feeling in the world.”
Then her eyelids closed and she sank back into the pillow. He watched her for a moment, mesmerized by her words and the aura of inner beauty that paralleled her physical attributes.
Fran Ashton’s jealousy was easily understandable. Even so, Gerard wondered if Whitney weren’t being manipulated between Fran and Donald Bowen like a pawn in an elaborate chess game.
In light of the uncalled-for focus on Whitney, Gerard’s theory that Donald could be using a female student to accomplish his objective was taking on more and more credibility. Maybe Fran was a plant who worked with him to zero in on the most likely female candidate and coerce her into making and picking up deliveries containing sensitive material.
If on each trip Donald resorted to seducing one of his female students first as the standard operating method of getting her into his power, then it only made sense the lowlife would pick the most appealing girl to sign up for the tour.
Whitney Lawrence won that contest hands down.
If Gerard’s theory was right, then Donald must be seething by now because Ms. Lawrence hadn’t been cooperating like his former students had done in the past. Otherwise he wouldn’t still be in business.
So far, Whitney had shown amazing courage by standing up to both adults. Something told Gerard that even without the protection he’d given her so far, Whitney would have balked at their intimidation tactics. She had an independent spirit. He’d seen her in action. Up to this point she had refused to be patronized.
He couldn’t help but admire that trait in her. Yet because of that exact quality, he had a hard time remembering she wasn’t his equal in all the other ways that counted. Except for her clothes, she didn’t look or act like a teenager. She presented a baffling mystery. Face it, Gerard Your attraction to her is more than skin deep.
Because of that attraction, he was having a hard time separating his emotional response from the facts in the case.
Was his justifiable anger over her precarious situation coming from his personal feelings? Would he have felt this protective of her if he hadn’t been affected by the almost overpowering chemistry between them?
He didn’t have answers to those questions, but he did know one thing. Donald Bowen would never be allowed to get his tainted hands on her. Not even close.
It had been a long time since Gerard had felt this kind of rage against another human in his line of work. But nothing got to him more than to see a man who used his age and power to prey on the young and the helpless.
Whitney Lawrence was by no means helpless, but she had unknowingly walked into a trap and was up against a cold-blooded professional who would let nothing stand in the way of achieving his goal.
Fran Ashton’s part in the scheme of things was still questionable. All he needed to do was phone the right party, and he would have answers by the time they reached Paris.
After another quick look at Whitney who had followed his advice to try and sleep, he levered himself from the seat and went to the rest room to make the call.
Once the door was locked, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in Roman’s home number. Brittany’s cheery voice answered on the third ring. After greeting him warmly, she said she’d take the phone to her husband who was in the shower. Gerard could hear their baby making happy noises in the background.
“You’re a blessed man,” Gerard murmured as Roman came on the line.
“Tell me about it,” his boss responded just as emotionally. “What’s going on?”
“Since I hate interrupting you and your wife on a Sunday, I’ll make this short. I need a background check on a Fran Ashton. She could be named Frances, Francine, maybe even Francesca. I want anything and everything you can find. It’s possible she’s Bowen’s accomplice. She’s a French teacher at Rosemont High in the Valley School District.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Won’t Brittany mind?”
“No. I had already planned to run to the office for a few hours to do some work on another case. She’s going to take Yuri for a visit to his grandparents. Later in the day we’ll be going on a picnic up the canyon.”
“Like I said, you’re one fortunate Ruskie.”
“Hey, Comrade. Are the memories starting to get to you after all?”
At times, Roman’s intuition was uncanny.
“No.” Gerard’s emphatic answer surprised even himself. “To be honest, my mind hasn’t been on the past.” Not at all. Another startling truth for which he had no explanation.
“Well, it’s evident that something’s wrong. Why do I have the feeling it doesn’t have anything to do with Donald Bowen?”
He ground his teeth. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Lord, Roman—There’s thi—”
A tap on the door prevented him from saying anything more. Maybe it was just as well. How in the hell could he admit to Roman that he was attracted to a girl who was young enough to be his offspring? He couldn’t believe the intensity of his feelings after so short a time. None of it made sense.
He lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. “Someone’s here. I can’t talk now. I’ll phone you before we land in Paris. Maybe by then you’ll have some news for me.”
“You can count on it. Maybe by then you’ll be able to spill your guts to me. I’ve been there. Remember, Comrade?”
“I do.” Gerard took a steadying breath. “Thanks. I may take you up on it. Over and out.”
Gerard clicked off and opened the door. Anxious to get back to Whitney, he brushed past one of the male students waiting outside. The last few incidents had
made him paranoid to leave her alone. But his fears that Donald Bowen might have taken the opportunity to bother her again proved to be unfounded.
When he returned to his seat, she was sleeping soundly. Under the circumstances he thought it would be a good time to check on Jeff and Roger.
While moving forward in the aisle, he happened to pass Fran’s gregarious group. She darted him a furtive glance. Instead of acknowledging his greeting, she looked away again with a perceptible chiseling of her features.
Her reaction was more typical of a woman who knew she’d been rejected and was hurt by it. An agent wouldn’t have allowed personal feelings to show or interfere. It caused him to rethink his hunch that she might be working with Donald.
Then again, she might be a master spy playing the perfect part of the rebuffed woman to throw him off the scent. Whatever the true answer, he wasn’t about to take any chances. Once he’d learned what Roman’s research had uncovered, he would decide how to handle Fran for the rest of the tour.
“Monsieur Smith?”
“Bonjour, Roger. Salut, Jeff.”
They both answered in kind. “Where’s Whitney? We thought she’d come to say hi by now.”
“She’s asleep, but I have no doubts she’ll want to walk around after lunch. Are you enjoying the flight so far? Since we left the Rockies, it’s been smooth as glass.”
Jeff frowned. “It’s boring.”
“Yeah, and there aren’t any girls around to compare to Whitney. She’s hot! You know what we mean?”
I’m very much afraid that I do, Roger. “When we get to France, you’re going to find out there are lots of attractive French girls for you to admire.” He winked.
Both teens chuckled and nodded their heads. They were intelligent and nice. Gerard was impressed with them and grateful he’d inherited a couple of male students who wouldn’t cause any problems.
“In case you guys need anything, come and find me at the rear of the plane. À bientôt for now.”
“See ya, Mr. Smith. And tell Whitney we want to talk to her.”
“I’ll do that.”
Undercover Bachelor Page 5