Undercover Bachelor

by Rebecca Winters

  “You, too,” she muttered, and hurried down the steps alone to the hotel lobby where a large group of students were congregated with a couple of teachers, Donald Bowen included. To her relief, she was surrounded by so many of the tour group, he couldn’t take her aside without drawing unwanted attention.

  Throughout their morning-long souvenir hunt and lunch on the hotel terrace, she made sure he never got close enough to make any remarks for her ears alone.

  When it came time to board the bus, Hank was there ahead of schedule, holding three seats for her and the boys. She sat with Roger and pretended interest in his postcards until Donald Bowen passed them in the aisle.

  They didn’t reach Strasbourg until seven that evening. After their tour group settled in the hotel, Hank arranged for a minivan to take them and several other students over the border into Germany for a Wiener schnitzel dinner followed by mouth-watering apple strudel and a German slap-dancing show for the tourists.

  Hank was as fluent in German as French and kept up a running monologue of hilarious language anecdotes until everyone was convulsed in laughter. Despite her fears of what lay ahead, Whitney couldn’t remember when she’d been so entertained.

  It was all because of their fascinating, intelligent, sophisticated host and chaperone whose charisma charmed young and old alike. There weren’t enough adjectives to describe him. She was so in love with him it terrified her.

  They didn’t arrive back at their hotel until well after midnight. Whitney couldn’t wait to be alone with him, but that didn’t happen until everyone had said goodnight. When the hall was clear, he motioned for her to come next door to his room with her things.

  In the dimly lit interior his attractive face appeared darker. The laughter and funning had long since gone to be replaced by a sober expression. The man facing her looked big and powerful. Dangerous.

  “All right,” he murmured in gravelly tones, straddling the only chair while she sat down on the end of the bed. His eyes narrowed on her features.

  “Here’s the plan. Once we arrive in Paris tomorrow, go straight to your room and stay there. You’ll be watched every minute, and you’ll be wearing a listening device to pick up all conversation with Bowen. I’ll leave it out for you to put on in the morning.

  “This is one time when I can’t tell you what to do. You’ll have to play it by ear. If he tries to come on too strong or attempts to overpower you, I’ll be right next door ready to run interference.”

  She nodded jerkily.

  “Remember this... As much as he wants to make love to you, he must carry out his transaction and will stop at nothing to accomplish his objective. Because of your desirability, you’ve been chosen as his tool this trip.

  “Try to act natural and follow his instructions. A vulnerable eighteen-year-old in love with him would never ask questions or show undue interest in his private business. He’ll probably send you to the shop by taxi.

  “Rest assured that undercover police will be all over the hotel and all over the shop. The second you pay for the package and start to leave with it, the shop owner and Bowen will be arrested. Neither you or innocent victims like your sister will ever have to deal with him again.”

  “Thank heaven.”

  “Amen. Now I suggest we both get some sleep. We’re going to need it.”

  With a sense of déjà vu, she got ready for bed wearing the same flannel robe as the night before. She disappeared into the bathroom after he did. While she was otherwise occupied, he rolled out his sleeping bag near the door. Once she crossed the room and had slid under the covers, he turned out the lights.

  She’d only been given a glimpse of his magnificent physique clothed in a T-shirt and sweats. It was enough to keep her awake for the rest of the night.

  The man on the floor didn’t seem to have the same problem. Within minutes she could heard the slow, even tenor of his breathing. He sounded like someone in the deepest throes of much-needed sleep.

  Because he’d been so busy playing chaperone, keeping her safe and tailing Donald Bowen at the same time, she doubted he’d had any rest to speak of throughout the entire trip.

  The great personal sacrifices he made on a routine basis as a PI, and more particularly on this tour, brought out her most compassionate instincts as nothing else could do.

  For the rest of the night she lay on her left side so she could keep a close vigil over him. Throughout the dark hours she allowed her wildest fantasies free rein until she heard his alarm and watched his long legs stir beneath the protection of his bag.

  She loved him with all her heart. Now that he’d been able to rest without interruption, she felt content and turned on her other side to give him his privacy. The next thing she knew, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder urging her to wake up.

  On a groan, she rolled over and surprised those little green lights in his beautiful gray eyes, the same burst of illumination she’d seen in that sensuous gaze the first time she’d caught him staring at her.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. “Hank?” she finally whispered. “W-what time is it?”

  Just as quickly, his eyes grew shuttered. He raked a hand through his dark blond hair and straightened to his full height.

  “Almost seven. Everyone will be boarding the bus in a few minutes. You’re going to have to hustle if you want any breakfast. I’ll meet you downstairs. No doubt Bowen has arranged for you to sit by him on the drive to Paris. Do it willingly.”

  He started to leave, then paused midstride. “Whitney?” There was an unusual cadence in his tone.

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful.”

  “I was going to say the same thing to you,” she responded in an aching voice.

  After he left the room she died a little inside because he hadn’t said the words she craved to hear.

  And what words would those be, Whitney?

  This is just a day’s work to him. As you’ve found out, he’s an honorable man. Not once did he try to take advantage of you or make a move toward you. Not once did he suggest there could be a future. Face it. You mean nothing to him personally. Get over him or it will destroy you.

  “Donald? Are you sure you’re not too sick for a visitor? On the bus I was so worried about you.”

  “You don’t need to be, Whitney. I’m fine. Come over here on the bed and let me have a good look at you.”

  Perspiration beaded Gerard’s forehead as he listened to their conversation from the room next door to Bowen’s.

  “Is this close enough?”

  “No.”

  No more words were forthcoming. Only breathing noises, little moans and groans, the rustle of sheets, the sounds of two people kissing each other in passion.

  Gerard felt bile rise in his throat Pictures filled his mind until all he could see was blackness.

  “Are you frightened?”

  “No. Not exactly. Yes.”

  Bowen’s low laughter filled Gerard with such rage, he knew he wasn’t going to let Whitney sacrifice herself this way much longer. To hell with the assignment. This was one time he didn’t care if he blew his cover.

  “How adorable you are. How incredibly sweet and beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful to me, too, Donald.”

  Whitney’s acting was so superb, Gerard couldn’t believe she wasn’t an agent. Now was the time to put his second plan into action. Without hesitation he rang Bowen’s room on the hotel phone.

  Seconds later Gerard could hear Bowen’s phone ringing.

  “Don’t make a sound, Whitney.”

  Gerard could visualize Bowen reaching for the phone.

  “Oui?” came the terse greeting.

  “Don? It’s Gerard. We’ve all been worried about you. How’s your stomach?”

  “Better now that I’m lying down.”

  He gripped the receiver tighter. “I’ve asked the kitchen to prepare you some warm milk and tapioca pudding. It works for me when my ulcer acts up.”

  “You shouldn�
��t have done that.”

  “Hey—you’ve done plenty of favors for me this trip. I think it’s my turn to repay you. I’ll bring the tray by in a few minutes.”

  “Merci, mon ami.”

  Gerard turned off his phone and finished listening.

  “Who was that?”

  “Mr. Smith. I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave for a while. Under the circumstances, would you mind going to that shop we visited before and pick up the puppet I ordered for my daughter? Just in case I’m too sick to go anywhere tomorrow?”

  The ploy had worked

  “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “You’re a treasure, Whitney. After your return, stay in your room. I’ll phone you when the coast is clear and we’ll spend the rest of the day and night together.

  “Now, the money is in that manila envelope in my suitcase. The address is on the front. Just tell the taxi driver where you want to go and ask him to wait so he can bring you back. Here are some bills to pay the fare.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  “Please hurry, Whitney.”

  “I will. When we make love, Donald, I want you to speak French to me the whole time.”

  Gerard shook his head in wonder. She’d said the perfect parting line to convince Bowen she was a starry-eyed teenager who didn’t have a clue what was going on.

  Two minutes later Gerard’s cellular phone rang. That would be one of the agents in the surveillance van following her.

  “Yes?”

  “She’s left the hotel.”

  “Good. Stay right with her. Don’t let anything happen to her.”

  “She’s important to you, this woman?”

  His eyes closed tightly. “You have no idea.” He clicked off.

  Now it was his turn to go to work. Bowen was in for the surprise of his life! This part was going to be fun.

  When Gerard thought about it, he hadn’t had fun since the first moment he’d laid eyes on Whitney. Quite the reverse. Every minute had been a lesson in agony. Emotional, physical, mental and spiritual agony. But that was about to end...

  “Ms. Lawrence?”

  At the sound of her name being called out, she slowed her steps and turned in the direction of the male voice.

  An attractive, dark-haired man stood just inside the door of the Salt Lake airline terminal where all the first-class passengers were deplaning the jet from Atlanta. He flashed her his credentials. Roman Lufka, Private Invesdgator.

  Her heart began its galloping rhythm once more. “Are you a colleague of Hank’s?” she cried out, desperate for news of him. “Is he all right? Please—I have to know.” Damn her tears.

  Her last day in Paris seemed to be part of some weird dream that had no basis in reality. One minute she’d been walking out of the puppet store with Donald Bowen’s package. The next minute the police had rushed her to the airport in a van and had hustled her on board a 747 headed for the States.

  There’d been no opportunity to say goodbye to Hank or to know if he was safe. The flight home had been pure torture for several reasons, not the least of which was this gut fear that she’d never see him again.

  The light of compassion flared briefly in the other man’s eyes. Damn and damn again. She’d revealed far too much of her feelings and could add embarrassment to the growing list of emotions which were tearing her apart.

  “An hour ago I was informed by a reliable source that Mr. Smith is in New York taking a well-earned vacation.”

  “Thank heaven.” Her voice shook.

  The answer came as a mixed blessing. Knowing he was out of danger answered one of her prayers, the most important one, of course. That of being alive and unharmed. Still...

  “Does he work here in Salt Lake? I—I’d like to thank him personally for all his help.”

  “I’m sure he would appreciate that, but I’m not at liberty to discuss any aspects of the case.”

  She swallowed hard. “Then could you tell me if he’ll be coming to Salt Lake anytime soon?”

  “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t know his plans,” the other man answered not unkindly. “I’ve been authorized to meet your plane and make sure you get home safely. Please come with me. I have your luggage.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The ride from the airport was accomplished in unnatural silence, but she felt too desolate to make conversation. It took all the willpower she could muster not to break down sobbing until after Mr. Lufka had driven her home and had thoroughly checked out her condo as a courtesy before saying goodbye.

  Though Gerard had a drink in hand, and was comfortably ensconced in Yuri and Jeannie’s study with two of his favorite people, he couldn’t relax. The fear that Whitney had no romantic feelings for him had all but destroyed him.

  Not at any time during those last two nights in his hotel room had she indicated that she desired him. Hell. They’d had all the time in the world to resume the intimacy they’d shared during the earlier part of the trip. But apparently it was all sham on her part. Once they’d flung away their masks, she’d wanted nothing more from him.

  He was devastated.

  He needed to hear from Roman that she was at least home and safe. When the call came in on his cellular phone, he practically dropped his glass reaching for it.

  “Comrade? Is that you? Did she get off that plane? Is she all right?”

  The quiet coming from Roman’s end began to sound more and more ominous. Gerard’s body turned to ice. He lurched forward.

  “Roman? What in the hell is wrong?”

  At this point Jeannie and Yuri were on their feet, obviously alerted by the alarm in Gerard’s voice.

  He heard a heavy sigh coming from Roman’s end. It had the impact of a blow to his midsection. “Tell me, dammit.”

  “Comrade?” Roman’s grating voice was the worst of signs. “This is something I don’t want to talk to you about over the phone. I think you’d better catch the next flight home. Let me know which one you’re on. I’ll meet your plane.” The line went dead.

  Jeannie rushed over and put an arm around his waist. “What’s the matter? You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never heard Roman sound like that before. Something tells me Whitney might have been hurt or possibly kidnapped in retaliation for my capturing Bowen.” His voice broke. “I’ve got to go.”

  Yuri reached for his keys on the coffee table. “We’ll drive you to the airport.”

  When the phone rang, Whitney had barely said good night to her family who had come over to her condo to welcome her home and hear about her trip to Mexico. Christine had been appreciative of the string puppet. The whole time they’d talked, she’d dangled it in front of Greg whose little fingers got all tangled in the strings. No one was the wiser.

  As for Whitney, she was too heartbroken over her loss to worry about the lies she’d told them and reached numbly for the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Lawrence?”

  Instantly alert, she thought she recognized the man’s voice. Her heart started to hammer worse than before. “Mr. Lufka?”

  “I shouldn’t be giving you classified information, but you seemed so overwrought earlier, I thought you should know that Hank Smith will be arriving at the airport at eight-thirty p.m. tonight on Global Airlines’ flight number 1240.”

  There was a disturbing pause. “I received a tip that he’s not in the best shape. He may even require special care after he gets here. That’s not the kind of news I like to give, but because you were directly involved in the case, I thought you deserved to know. Good night.”

  “Wait—” she cried out in panic, but he’d hung up.

  She glanced at her watch. He’d be arriving within the hour. There was no time to lose. She had to get to the terminal ahead of him.

  Thanks to Mr. Lufka, she would find a way to tell Hank how much she loved him before he was whisked off to some undisclosed location, possibly out of her sight forever.r />
  Fortunately she’d been home since noon. Long enough to have showered and washed her hair. No longer needing to look eighteen, she wore it loose and flowing. The makeup helped her feel normal again. Every time she happened to pass the mirror, she hardly recognized herself.

  A quick search of her closet produced her favorite summer dress, an elegant outfit she hadn’t taken on the tour. The thin black crepe with a muted gold print motif was a straight midcalf length and sleeveless. It tied at the back of her waist and could be dressed up or down with jewelry.

  She chose to wear a chunky gold necklace above the modest neckline, and a matching bracelet with her watch. Her black leather sandals added the right touch. A dab of her favorite floral perfume and she was ready.

  Tonight she needed to be sure she stood out in a crowd so Hank couldn’t possibly miss her. No matter the state of his condition when he arrived, she wanted to look so beautiful for him he would never look anywhere else.

  Alternating waves of fear and excitement held her in their grip as she drove her Jeep to the airport. The flight from New York would be crowded, which meant the terminal would be full of waiting loved ones as well as people anxious to board. Whitney intended to be at the head of the line, even if she had to bribe someone for space!

  Before the jet had taxied to a stop, Gerard was out of his seat and ready to exit the first-class compartment. He’d tried repeatedly to reach Roman on the cellular phone, but there’d been no answer.

  The flight had given him too much time to conjure various dangerous scenarios involving Whitney. Each one grew progressively more insupportable until he was sick to the pit of his stomach.

  The second the passengers were allowed to disembark, he leaped into the opening ahead of the others and raced along the connecting walkway to the terminal.

  As he ran into the lounge, a blur of black and gold entered his side vision. Because he was looking for Roman, it took a second for the vaguely familiar feminine image to register.

  He slowed down and turned his head to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. That’s when his feet came to a complete standstill.