Hero Under Cover

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Pete Taylor was sitting at the kitchen table.

  Annie felt her mouth drop open, and she looked at her watch. It hadn’t even been three minutes, let alone five.

  “How the hell did you do that?” she finally said.

  “I climbed up to the attic,” he said. “Came in the window.”

  “But—”

  “I think I’ve proved my point,” he said. “Now, can I use your phone?”

  Annie was staring at him, her blue eyes troubled. “You just climbed up…that quickly?” she asked. “It was that easy?”

  “Yeah,” he said, all amusement gone from his eyes. “It was that easy.”

  She nodded, looking away and frowning thoughtfully. She met his eyes and nodded again. “Use the phone down in the office,” she said.

  Pete stood up.

  “So you’re a climber, huh?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You ever touch it? You know, the sky?”

  He smiled then. “Not yet.”

  ANNIE LAY IN THE DARKNESS, listening for any sound at all from Pete Taylor.

  Nothing.

  No movement, no breathing, nothing.

  But she knew he was there. He’d been there, lying on his bedroll, next to the wall by the bathroom when she’d turned out the light.

  “Taylor—you awake?” she finally whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  His voice was soft and resonant, thick, like the darkness that surrounded her.

  “This is weird,” Annie said. “Kind of like the first night of college, when my freshman roommate was still a stranger.”

  From where Pete lay on his bedroll, he could hear the rustling of her sheets as she sat up in bed.

  “Except we didn’t go to sleep,” Annie’s musical voice said, cutting through the darkness. “Instead, we stayed up, talking until dawn. It was my first all-nighter.”

  She was silent for a moment, then she asked, “You ever pull any all-nighters, Taylor?”

  All the time, over in ’Nam. And twenty-four hours without sleep was a breeze. More often, it was seventy, eighty hours with nothing but caffeine and nicotine to keep him awake, to keep him alive—But Peter Taylor had supposedly gone to NYU, not Vietnam. “Yeah,” Pete said softly. Still, it wasn’t really lying, was it?

  “I suppose in your business you still do it all the time,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. That was closer to the truth.

  “When’s your birthday?” she asked.

  “February 6th,” he said.

  “How old are you going to be?”

  “Thirty-nine.”

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  Pete had to think about it. “Blue,” he said finally. Yeah. Blue. The color of the sky, the color of the ocean. The color of Annie’s eyes….

  “Mine’s red,” she said. “Who’s your favorite singer?”

  He shook his head in the darkness. “I don’t have one,” he said. “I don’t listen to music much these days.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I used to be into the Beatles….”

  “I hate to break it to you,” Annie said, “but they split up.”

  His laughter rolled through the darkness. “I said I didn’t listen to music. I didn’t say I didn’t know what was going on.”

  “When you were a little kid,” Annie said, “what did you want to be when you grew up?”

  Pete was quiet for a moment. “Honestly?”

  “Of course.”

  “I wanted to be a priest.”

  Annie didn’t laugh, the way most people would have. “What happened?” she asked.

  He sat up, leaning back against the wall. She could barely see him in the darkness, but despite that, his quiet strength seemed to radiate out into the room.

  “I found out about the restrictions that went with the job,” he said, laughter in his voice. “So I changed my career goals—I decided I’d be president.”

  “Of the United States?”

  “Yep.”

  She saw the white flash of his teeth as he smiled, and she lay back in her bed, afraid to look at him, afraid of the reaction her body had to him.

  “How about you?” he asked. “You must’ve always wanted to be an archaeologist, right?”

  “Well, no,” Annie said, lacing her fingers behind her head as she stared up at the dark ceiling. “When I was eight, we came back to New York for a few months and I realized that most kids didn’t live out of suitcases, in tents. I discovered that most kids didn’t speak five different languages or have a monkey for a pet, and I developed a rather strong longing for what I now call ‘TV normal.’ It has nothing to do with reality, but, well, to make a long story short, I wanted desperately to grow up to be Mrs. Brady.”

  “You mean, the mother in ‘The Brady Bunch’?”

  “Bingo. I wanted suburbia, lots of kids…”

  “A maid named Alice,” Pete said.

  Annie laughed. “A tall, handsome husband who kissed me on the forehead and called me ‘dear’ as he left for work,” she said. “Fortunately for my parents, my fascination with a ‘Brady Bunch’ lifestyle lasted only a few months. I think after that I wanted to be an astronaut. Yeah, that was when we moved to Greece, and I caught reruns of ‘Star Trek.’ You know, I can say ‘Beam me up, Scotty,’ in seven different languages.”

  “Very impressive.”

  “Thank you. I’ve always been easily influenced by television and movies. I saw so little of them, and they seemed so magical. You know, I’m still affected by movies. I just saw A Few Good Men, and it made me want to go back to school and become a lawyer.”

  Pete laughed again. “That would be a major career switch,” he said.

  “Not as major as trying to be a suburban housewife,” Annie said.

  They were both quiet for a moment; then Annie said, “It’s fantasy, you know? I mean, I love what I do. I really love it. It’s not work to me. It’s play. But still, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to do something different.”

  She was silent again for a moment. “Do you like your job, Taylor?” she asked.

  Pete didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. Yeah, Pete Taylor liked his job. He loved his job, since it meant lying there in the dark with Annie Morrow, talking to her, finding out that he liked her and that he wanted to keep finding out more about her.

  But he wasn’t Pete Taylor. He was Kendall Peterson. He was sent to spy on this woman, to uncover her secrets and betray her confidences. And Kendall Peterson had never hated his job more in his entire life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE MORNING PASSED QUICKLY. Annie stretched and, for the first time in hours, looked up from the test she was running. She caught Pete’s eye and smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, but that was okay—she hadn’t expected him to. Instead, he pulled off the headphones of the Walkman she’d lent him, and pushed the button that stopped the tape he was listening to.

  “Lunchtime,” she said.

  “Does this mean you’re actually going to eat?” Pete asked, his eyebrows moving slightly upward. “Or is this going to be a replay of breakfast where you just wave a mug of tea in front of your face?”

  Annie’s smile turned into a grin. “I’m starving,” she admitted. “I better get a chance to actually eat. Although, first I’ve got to hit the office, check the fax machine and return all the phone calls I didn’t take this morning.”

  Pete trailed down the hallway after her.

  “You must be going nuts,” she said. “Sitting there watching me all morning. Not too stimulating, I’m afraid.”

  On the contrary, Pete thought. He’d had an entirely enjoyable morning just watching her and listening to her collection of cassette tapes. He’d heard everything from Bach to a band called the Spin Doctors, and he’d enjoyed it all. It had been a long time since he’d taken the time to listen to music. The headphones Annie had didn’t cut out the room noise, so he
felt secure knowing he could hear everything that was going on around him.

  And watching Annie was never a chore. Even when she was sitting, she was in motion. A foot was always jiggling, a pencil tapping, fingers moving…. He’d particularly enjoyed memorizing every little worn spot in her faded jeans. There was a place on her left hip where the seam was starting to tear….

  It was Sunday, and Cara was spending the day with Jerry, so the answering machine had been on all morning. Annie pushed the message button, then went to the fax machine. Something had come in. She tore the sheet of paper free and looked at it as the messages played.

  There were three calls from people whose names she didn’t recognize, then Nick’s familiar English accent came on, reminding her of their date at the Museum of Modern Art bash. He wanted her to call him. No doubt he had some new find that needed to be authenticated with utmost haste and great urgency. And gratis, as a favor to an old friend, of course. He wasn’t a client, but somehow he always brought her work. He would ask her to squeeze it in, offer to stay up late into the night with her as she ran the tests, ply her with wine and promises of dinner….

  There were messages from the buyer and the seller of the copper bowl she was working on, and five other messages from other clients.

  Annie dialed the first of the clients who had called, and after saying hello, spent the next ten minutes listening to questions he had about her latest report on a piece he was trying to sell.

  So much for lunch.

  Annie’s stomach growled. “Can you hold on a sec?” she asked, and pushed the hold button.

  Annie looked up at Pete. “Will you do me a big favor?” she asked. “Will you go up to the kitchen and get me the bread, the peanut butter, the jelly, a plate and a knife? I’m never going to get off this phone.”

  “I’ll do even better than that,” Pete said. “I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said, surprise in her voice.

  “I know,” he said and smiled. “And believe me, I wouldn’t do it for just anyone.”

  But he’d do it for me, Annie thought, a shiver going down her spine as she looked into his dark eyes. The guy had a killer smile, on top of his being drop-dead handsome, and so far, she’d only found things to like about him. He couldn’t possibly be perfect, could he? As unrealistic as it seemed, she found herself praying that he was. Peter Taylor, security consultant, a.k.a. bodyguard, had appeared in her life totally out of the blue. Was it possible to hope that he might be here to stay?

  He backed out of the door, his eyes not leaving hers until the last possible moment. Annie found herself listening to his footsteps on the stairs as she reconnected the line to her client. She glanced at her watch. Quarter to one. She was actually looking forward to tonight—to locking herself in her bedroom with Pete Taylor. And talking, she reminded herself. Just talking.

  Ten minutes later, Annie stared at the telephone. One down and five to go. She exhaled fully, and glanced up at the calendar on the wall. October. It was only October. Could she really keep up this pace until December?

  A flash of movement at the window caught the edge of her vision, and she turned.

  What the heck…?

  Something was hanging from the tree right outside the window. Something red, and…

  Very dead.

  A carcass.

  A very dead, very skinned carcass of an animal hung gruesomely from the tree, and she caught another streak of movement, as if someone were running away.

  “Pete!” she shouted, rocketing out of her chair and scrambling toward the window. Whoever had been out there disappeared around the side of the house. She saw only the back of a black jacket. Or was it long black hair? “Taylor!”

  She ran toward the front door, but Pete was already down the stairs, moving down the hall toward her with speed normally reserved for smaller, more compact men. He caught her in his arms to keep from plowing her down as he skidded to a stop on the slippery hardwood floor.

  “What is it?” he said sharply. “Annie, what’s wrong?”

  “Someone was outside,” she gasped. “Hurry! Maybe you can still catch him.”

  “Stay here,” Pete ordered, then ran for the door. He drew his gun from his shoulder holster as he went out into the crisp afternoon air. Orange, yellow, brown and red leaves blanketed the wide lawn, and he could see the path the trespasser had made through them as he ran away from the house. That path led directly into one of the neighbors’ yards, through a windbreak of tall bushes.

  Pete raced up to the bushes, peering through them. The other yard was empty—no sign of anyone. He glanced back at the house. He didn’t like leaving Annie alone, unprotected. What if this were only a diversion, designed to draw him away from the house, away from Annie?

  She stepped out onto the front porch, and he felt a flash of annoyance. He trotted back toward her. “I thought I told you to stay inside,” he said coldly. But his anger melted instantly as he saw the look on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, hugging her arms across her body, trying to stay warm in the chill air. Her blue eyes looked even bigger than usual. “I, um, got spooked all alone in there.”

  Pete reholstered his gun. “Come on,” he said, not unkindly. “It’s cold out here. Let’s get back inside.”

  But Annie was walking determinedly around to the other side of the house. “We have to cut it down,” she said. “We can’t leave it there.”

  Puzzled, Pete followed her, then stopped short at the sight of the animal hanging from the tree. He swore under his breath.

  “I think it’s a rabbit,” Annie said, swallowing hard. “Was a rabbit, I mean. Do you have a knife?”

  “Wait,” Pete said. “We can’t cut it down.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s evidence,” he said.

  Annie stared at the skinned animal, blinking back the tears that suddenly appeared in her eyes. “It’s hanging right outside my office window,” she said, unable to keep her voice from shaking.

  “I’ll call the FBI,” Pete said gently. “Hopefully they can send someone down to take care of it right away.”

  “And if they can’t?”

  “Annie, we’ve got to do this by the book.”

  “I don’t know which is worse,” she said. One tear escaped, rolling down her cheek before she brusquely wiped it away. “The fact that someone hung that thing there, or the fact that I can’t cut it down when I want to.”

  “I’m sorry,” Pete said, stepping toward her. He reached out toward her, well aware that this was exactly what he’d been so carefully avoiding—all physical contact. He wouldn’t be able to hold her in his arms without wanting to kiss her. And if he kissed her, he’d be lost. He reached for her anyway, wanting only to stop her tears.

  But she pushed past him, heading back into the house.

  He followed her into the lab, where she ignored him completely, concentrating intently on the work at hand.

  Pete went into the office and called the FBI, then brought Annie the sandwich he had made for her.

  It lay on the counter, untouched, all afternoon.

  ANNIE LAY SOAKING IN HER BATHTUB with her eyes closed. The water turned from hot to warm to tepid, and she was considering letting some of it out and running in some more hot when a knock sounded at the bathroom door.

  “You all right in there?” Pete’s husky voice asked.

  She sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Take your time,” he said, but he heard the sound of water spilling down the drain.

  Five minutes later the bathroom door opened, and Annie came out, dressed in a pair of plaid pajamas. Her face was scrubbed, and she was brushing her hair. Her eyes found Pete, who was standing by the bedroom door.

  “Can I lock this?” he asked.

  She nodded, sitting cross-legged on her bed, still brushing her long, shiny hair. “How long till the motion detectors are installed?” she asked.

&nb
sp; Pete knew that what she meant was, How long till you’re out of my room? “With any luck, they’ll be up in a couple of days,” he said.

  She nodded.

  He used the bathroom quickly, washing up with the door open, so he could hear her if she needed him. He hung his towel on the rack next to hers. Annie’s towel was damp from her bath, and smelled like her. The entire bathroom smelled like her—fresh and clean and sweet.

  Pete turned out the bathroom light and went into the bedroom. He sat down on his sleeping bag, leaning back against the wall.

  As he watched, Annie put her hairbrush on the small table next to her bed, then turned off the light.

  Darkness.

  It surrounded him completely, and he waited patiently for his eyes to adjust. He took advantage of the privacy the darkness provided and pulled off his T-shirt and slipped out of his jeans. He’d slept in his clothes the night before, and woke up much too hot. He lay back against his pillow, listening to the rustling of sheets as Annie moved about, trying to get comfortable.

  There was silence then for several long minutes before he heard Annie ask, “Taylor, you still awake?”

  He smiled into the darkness. “Yeah.”

  “I was wondering…”

  “Mmm?”

  “When do you get a day off?” she asked.

  “I don’t,” he said. “Not until after the job’s finished.”

  “But that’s probably going to be at least six more weeks,” Annie said. “Doesn’t that get a little intense? You watch me all day, and all night. Aren’t you going to burn out?”

  “No.”

  It was said so absolutely, Annie had to believe him. “Is your job always like this?” she asked. “You know, round-the-clock? What about your social life?”

  “I don’t have a social life.”

  “By choice?” she asked.

  He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said. “How about you? You work all the time, too.”

  “I have a social life,” Annie said defensively. “I go…places, and do…things.”

  Who was she trying to convince? she wondered. Pete or herself?

  She frowned up at the dark ceiling. When was the last time she’d had a date? It was when Nick had last been in town. He took her out to a little Italian restaurant in the city and tried to convince her to come back to his hotel room afterward. She’d had too much wine, she remembered, because she’d almost given in….