by Ana Leigh
“Ricardo, you don’t understand. Mike isn’t my chauffeur. He’s…ah a—”
“Family friend, DeVilles. Sorry, but Ann’s having dinner with me. Tough luck, pal.” He took her by the arm and Brandon by the hand and led them away.
As soon as they reached the car, she put Brandon inside. “I have to talk to Mike a minute, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”
She stepped away from the car and turned on him. “What is the meaning of this, Bishop? There was no excuse for your rudeness.” She was so angry she looked ready to strike him.
“Who is that DeVilles? He looks like a pimp.”
“Ricardo DeVilles was a close friend and business acquaintance of Clayton’s. And he’s a friend of mine. Who do you think you are to insult my friends like this?”
“Like he didn’t insult me.”
“Based on the way you approached me and asked me if I was ready to leave, Ricardo made a logical mistake in thinking that you were probably my driver. His rudeness was unintentional. While yours, Bishop, was deliberate.”
“Well, the guy was all over you. My job is to protect you. So I’ll apologize the next time I see him.”
“There won’t be a next time. I never should have agreed to this arrangement. I want you out of my life, Bishop. I made the mistake of listening to you, but neither you nor the CIA have any right to interfere in my life. I can take care of myself. Furthermore, I have decided to go to dinner with Ricardo.”
She stormed away from him, walked over and talked to DeVilles who had just climbed into the seat of a red Ferrari.
Mike opened the front door of the limo and watched her as she spoke to DeVilles for a few minutes and then headed back to them. He sat down and closed the door.
The limo driver jumped out quickly and opened the rear door for her. Once she was seated, he closed the door then returned to the driver’s seat. He gave Mike a disgusted look, then turned the ignition key.
So the guy thought he was a bastard. Welcome to the clpal.
“Sweetheart, I’m going out to dinner with Mr. DeVilles tonight,” she said to Brandon.
“Can I come?”
“Not tonight, dear. But I won’t leave until after you’ve eaten.”
“Why do you have to have dinner with him, anyway? I don’t like him. Why don’t you and me and Mike have dinner?”
A three-point basket for the kid! Mike fought hard to contain a grin.
“Brandon! Shame on you. Mr. DeVilles has always been nice to you. Why don’t you like him?”
“’Cause I don’t. He’s got sneaky eyes. I don’t like people with sneaky eyes.”
A slam dunk. The L.A. Lakers ought to recruit this kid.
“Hamilton, they always say when it comes to people one should trust the instincts of kids and dogs,” Mike said.
“It’s a little late for any pearls of wisdom from you, Bishop.”
She turned her attention to enjoying the view, and they rode in silence for the next few minutes.
Suddenly the driver mumbled, “What’s this bloke doing?”
Mike glanced across him to see a large gray van attempting to pass them on the narrow road. The car almost pushed them off the road. There was a loud popping sound when one of their tires blew out and the rear of the limo began to fishtail out of control.
Ann screamed and threw her arms protectively around Brandon. The grind of gravel under the wheels was a piercing screech to their ears when the car spun and swung back onto the shoulder of the road. For the span of a held breath, the spinning rear wheels of the car hung suspended over the side. The rocking vehicle threatened to topple to the rocks below until the thrust of its powerful engine shot the vehicle forward, and all four wheels were back on the road.
The driver managed to bring the car to a halt, and the two men climbed out. A quick examination showed that the left rear tire was flat. While the driver opened the trunk to pull out a spare, Mike got Ann and Brandon out of the car, then returned to offer a helping hand to the driver.
“You do your job, I’ll do mine,” he said.
The man’s hostility was evident. “Okay, pal, if that’s the way you want it,” Mike said. “Just trying to be helpful.”
“Then help the lady and stop acting like a bastard. She’s been through a rough time.”
“How would you know?” As soon as Mike said it, the truth hit him. “I get it. You’re not just a chauffeur. It would be nice if the right hand knew what the left one was doing. But it does explain why you’re packing that gun under your jacket.”
“So you noticed.”
“Not really. But usually when a guy has to change a tire in this weather, the first thing he’d do is take off his jacket and roll up his shirtsleeves. So I figured there was something under that jacket you don’t wantto see. What are you, SAS?”
The man grinned. “Took you long enough to figure it out, Yank.” He offered his hand. “Jeremy Hollingsworth.”
“Mike Bishop.”
“You CIA?”
“RATCOM.” At Hollingsworth’s questioning look, Mike added, “Rescue and Anti-Terrorist.” The two men shook hands.
Hollingsworth whistled. “Special Ops! What in hell is a Special Ops man doing guarding a woman and kid? Isn’t that what your police or FBI do?”
“Tell my boss that, will you? My team pulled Hamilton and the kid out of a tight spot. Now I’m supposed to be on leave like the rest of the team.”
At that moment a red Ferrari pulled up behind them. “Figured he’d show up.”
Ricardo DeVilles hopped out of the car and came over to them. “Is there a problem, Señor Bishop?” he asked.
“No. We stopped so the kid could take a leak.”
“I do not find you amusing, Señor. My concern is for Ann.”
“At least we have that in common, DeVilles.”
“Is she all right?”
“Why wouldn’t she be? Unless you know something that I don’t.”
DeVilles hurried over to where Ann was standing with Brandon, who was clutching her around the waist.
“Ann, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Ricardo.”
“What’s wrong with Brandon?”
“The tire blew and it scared him. He’ll be fine. Won’t you, sweetheart?” Brandon tightened his grip on her hand. “Ricardo, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to back out of our dinner plans. This whole day has been very hard on Brandon emotionally. Clayton’s funeral and now this near accident. I don’t want to leave him in the care of strangers. I hope you understand.”
DeVilles was the epitome of concern. “Yes, of course. But why can’t he join us?”
“Do you mind, Ricardo?”
“Of course not, my dear. I’d be delighted.”
“Sweetheart, Ricardo has invited us out to dinner. Would you like that?”
He looked up fretfully. “Can Mike come, too?”
Way to go, kid! Mike leaned back against the car and folded his arms across his chest. He didn’t want to miss a minute of this.
DeVilles looked at Ann. She threw a distraught glance at Mike. Then she bent down and told Brandon to go over to him. The kid came running over, and Mike winked at him and gave him a high five.
“Until the mystery of Clayton’s death is resolved, Mr. Bishop is assigned to protect us,” Ann informed DeVilles softly, outear range of Brandon.
“Protect you? From whom?” DeVilles asked.
“From the same people who murdered Clayton, Ricardo. It’s a very long story.”
“Well then I suppose Señor Bishop will have to join us. This is not what I had in mind for tonight. Why don’t you let me drive you back to your residency, though?”
Before she could reply, Mike opened the rear door of the limo as a sign they were ready to leave. Brandon climbed into the back seat.
“Oh, that’s very kind of you, Ricardo, but that won’t be necessary. I see they’re through changing the tire.”
Mike noticed that DeVilles
’s mouth tweaked in displeasure. The guy was pissed. So DeVilles wasn’t as smooth as he liked people to think.
“As you wish, Ann. I shall call for you at seven.”
“We’ll look forward to it. All of us,” she added with a smile of amusement.
He clasped her hand and drew it to his lips. “Until then, my dear.”
“Mike, do you love Ann?” Brandon asked later that evening, as the two of them watched her and DeVilles on the dance floor.
The kid had just launched an RPG at him. He’d always heard to be wary of anything that might come out of a child’s mouth, but he never expected a rocket propelled grenade.
“Why would you think that, kid?”
“’Cause even though you yell at her a lot, sometimes you look at Ann like my daddy used to look at my mommy, and he always told me how much he loved her.”
“My job is to protect her.”
“You mean from those bad guys who were so mean to us in Kourou?”
“That’s right, pal.”
“Are they gonna come here after us?” He saw fright rising in the boy’s eyes and was sorry he hadn’t given the kid a more diplomatic answer.
“No way, pal. They wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“’Cause they’re afraid of you and the other guys in your squad?”
“That’s right.”
“But the other guys in the squad aren’t here with you.”
“Well…ah…that’s because my boss figures I can handle them alone.”
“But there were a lot of the mean guys, Mike.” The youngster’s eyes sparkled with awe. “Wow, I bet you’re the bravest guy in the whole world.”
The kid was really beginning to grow on him. “Maybe not the whole world, pal. But you can be sure I’m not going to let anything happen to Ann or you.”
Mike swung his gaze back to the couple on the dance floor. They moved well together to the rhythm of the must was plain to see they’d danced together before.
Another thing that was plain to see was that DeVilles’s interest in her was more than that of a family friend. That kiss he’d given her at the cemetery sure hadn’t been casual! She seemed oblivious to his interest, though. Her body language neither encouraged nor discouraged his attentions, and she certainly didn’t exhibit any of the unconscious mannerisms a woman often displays when she’s flirting with a man.
But Mike’s instincts told him that this DeVilles guy was bad news. Instinct was imperative in the business he was in. Instinct had often gotten him through some damn tight squeezes—and his instinct distrusted Ricardo DeVilles.
Why? Did the man present a danger to Ann…or did he resent DeVilles’s personal interest in her?
The woman was screwing up his psyche. For the first time in his adult memory, Mike couldn’t trust his instinct. That scared the hell out of him.
Chapter 11
The next day Mike accompanied Ann to the legal firm that was handling the reading of Clayton’s will. Brandon remained at the State Department. Once again Jeremy Hollingsworth was their driver, which took some of the onus off Mike’s shoulders. He knew now that in an emergency he’d have a backup, since he had his suspicions. Why would a tire blow at the same time a van almost drove them off the road?
“I’d like to check out that flat tire,” he said to Jeremy, while they waited outside the lawyer’s office.
“It’s being done,” Hollingsworth said. “And we’ve checked out the license number of the van. It had been reported stolen earlier that day, and has since been found abandoned.”
“License number! When in hell did you have a chance to do that? You were pretty busy trying to keep the limo on the road.”
“I memorized the number when it moved in on us.”
Mike grinned. “Glad you’re on board, Brit. Did you get any prints off the van?”
He shook his head. “Wiped clean. Could be whoever stole it was just being cautious.”
“Or knew we’d try to trace fingerprints,” Mike said. “Which means whomever it was knew their ID would pop up on police or Agency records, or they wouldn’t have bothered to wipe down that van.”
“Most likely,” Jeremy said.
“My guess is that Ann’s in as much danger here as she was in D.C. and French Guiana. What does SAS think?”
Jeremy snorted. “I wouldn’t be playing chauffeur if they didn’t think so.”
“What bothers me is our two agencies have us protecting her, but who’s trying to figure out who wants her dead?” Mike said.
Jeremy shrugged. “French Guiana, Washington and now London. Whoevis has long arms.”
“Or deep pockets,” Mike said with a worried frown. He glanced impatiently at his watch. “How long does it take to read a damn will?”
For a long moment after the lawyer finished, Ann sat stunned. She finally found her voice. “What about my custody of Brandon?”
“As you can see, Miss Hamilton, there is no reference to that in the will. Other than bequeathing you his villa in the northern part of French Guiana, and donations to several charities, Mr. Burroughs’s grandson is the beneficiary of the balance of the assets. Which are quite considerable. No reference is made regarding the child’s custody.”
This was too much. More than she could bear. Ann jumped to her feet. “Clayton added a codicil to his will. I saw it myself. I don’t understand what’s going on here. Common sense would tell you that he would make a provision regarding Brandon’s custody.”
“I’m sure he didn’t expect to die so soon, Miss Hamilton.”
The condescending smirk on the lawyer’s face was irritating. “Mr. Leonard, I suggest you contact Mr. Burroughs’s lawyer in Kourou. Charles Breton drew up the codicil.”
“Unfortunately, Miss Hamilton, at this present time Mr. Breton is out of the country for the next several weeks. For years our firm has been retained by Mr. Breton to handle this type of business here when he is unable to attend himself. His secretary sent us a copy of the will,” Leonard said in a patronizing tone.
“That is unfortunate, sir, but this is the twenty-first century, and we do have telephones, don’t we, Mr. Leonard? I’m sure Mr. Breton’s secretary knows where to reach him in an emergency.”
“I do not consider this an emergency, Miss Hamilton. It’s simply a reading of a will. If there are any legal technicalities, they can be resolved upon Mr. Breton’s return.”
“Well, I do consider this an emergency, sir. There is an unhappy little child who is literally being held prisoner by the British government. There is no doubt in my mind Charles Breton will be just as upset as I when he hears how Brandon is being hustled from pillar to post, and taken out of my custody for days—possibly even weeks. Especially considering Clayton Burroughs entrusted his grandson’s safety to me on the day he was killed.”
“No doubt he would entrust the child’s welfare to you, Miss Hamilton. I assume you were the child’s nanny.”
“Your assumption is wrong, sir. I was Mr. Burroughs’s executive assistant.”
A suggestive smirk appeared on Leonard’s face. “Oh, I see.”
Ann stood up. She’d had enough of men pushing her around, mistaking grief for weakness. Friendship for intimacy. The time had come to make this condescending popinjay aware of it.
“No, you don’t see, Mr. Leonard. Not at all! But that’s inconsequential. I will expect you to contact Mr. Breton’s office and get this matter resolved immediately. The sooner Brandon and I return to the United States, the happier we’ll be. You can reach me through the British State Department. Good day, sir.”
She was out the door before the astonished man could even get to his feet.
Mike had been around her enough to read her body language as soon as she came out of Leonard’s office. He climbed in the back seat next to her. “So what’s the problem?”
“Of all the supercilious…overbearing…snobs. That man wins the blue ribbon,” she ranted. “When I told you I didn’t hate men, I was wrong. I’m rescinding t
hat statement.”
“I take it you aren’t referring to Clayton Burroughs.”
She glared at him. “Of course not! I’m referring to that damn lawyer. It’s no wonder people dislike them.”
“Take a deep breath, Hamilton,” he said. “What did he say to upset you?”
She turned her head and looked him in the eyes. “Bishop, why do men assume women are incapable of common sense?”
That question was a booby trap and Mrs. Bishop raised her son to believe if you step in horse manure you’ll attract flies. She saved him from sidestepping the question and continued to vent. Between references to the lawyer’s mental condition and the actual will, by the time she finished her tirade, Mike concluded that there was nothing in the will giving Ann custody of Brandon.
“Relax, Ann. You’re killing the messenger. This Leonard’s only a grunt.”
“With an attitude!” she snapped.
“You can’t blame him for what’s in the will.”
“You men are all alike. A big fraternal brotherhood of empty-headed, chest-pounding baboons.”
Dammit! One sentence and the flies had begun buzzing around his head. He’d need a stick to clean the manure off his shoes.
“Ann,” he said calmly, “forget Leonard. You know as well as I that you’re really upset because of this setback over Brandon.” He tried a grin. “If we put our heads together, we should be able to come up with a solution.”
She eyed him sharply. “Are you patronizing me, Bishop?”
“Have I ever?”
She broke into a reluctant grin. “No, that’s for sure.”
“Good girl.” He leaned back, relieved. He had just shaken the stuff off his shoes.
“Now that’s patronizing, Bishop!” But this time her grin was genuine.
He couldn’t help thinking she’d had enough stress in the last few days to last a lifetime. She was strung tightly and needed to relax.
“You need a change of pace, Hamilton. Let’s play hooky for a couple hours.”