by Ana Leigh
On the other hand, since Clayton’s death there had been so many disturbing occurrences that she’d be naive to believe they were just coincidences. The attack in French Guiana certainly was intentional, but not necessarily related to Clayton’s death—even if the CIA thought the contrary; the incident in the dressing room in D.C. was questionable—Mike seemed certain that someone had entered the room after she did; the attack near the Ellipsis could have been a question of being in the wrong place at the wrong time; the accident with the tire and now this incident in the hotel… She shot to her feet and began to pace back and forth. Coincidence?
Undoubtedly Mike was right: someone believed she knew something that could reveal the identity of the person responsible for Clayton’s death. And if it hadn’t been for Mike, she might very well have fallen victim to the same fate as Clayton.
But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t think of one incident or conversation in Kourou that would even hint at a possible murderer.
She’d been intimidated in one way or another since the day Clayton was killed. On the other hand, these close calls had happened in French Guiana, D.C. and now London. It was hard to believe that whoever was responsible had accomplices in all these countries.
Ann sat down on the edge of the bed. She had to take charge of her life again. But how could she if she believed she was a target of some assailant? It could take months to track down the killer or killers, and she couldn’t remain under Mike’s protection all that time, any more than she could afford to remain unemployed. Most certainly she was out of a job. Besides which, with Clayton gone she had no further desire to live in French Guiana.
In the meantime she had to find a means of support. A CIA green light or not, she’d have to go back to Kourou to pack up her belongings. Charles Breton could handle the disposing of the real estate: her condo, Clayton’s mountain villa he bequeathed to her and his house in Kourou that would be Brandon’s. She intended to raise him in the United States.
But at the moment her greatest problem to resolve was employment. And if she were going job hunting, her best bet would be to return to the profession in which she was skilled—fashion photography. At the time she quit, Barney had told her if she ever wanted to return, her old job would be waiting. The question of Brandon’s custody should be cleared up as soon as they located Charles Breton, so it shouldn’t be a problem to return to the United States. As for the attempts on her life—if they were actual attempts—it wasn’t any more dangerous in the States than anywhere else.
Ann reached for the telephone.
“Hello.” There was an edge of sleepiness to the greeting combined with the gruffness. Nevertheless her heart swelled with pleasure at the sound of the familiar voice.
“Barney, this is Ann.”
“Annie!” The grumpiness quickly changed to concern. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“I need a job, Barney.”
“A job? You wake me up at midnight to ask for a job! As much as I love you, Annie, you know I’m an early to bed, early to rise guy. Couldn’t this have waited until morning?”
“I’m sorry, Barney. I forgot about the time difference.”
“So what happened, Burroughs give you the sack?”
“Clayton is dead, Barney. Murdered.”
There was a long silence on the other end, then Barney said. “Geez, honey, I’m sorry. I’ll come down to give you some moral support.”
“I’m not in Kourou, Barney. I’m in London. Clayton was inted here the day before yesterday. I’m waiting to settle the custody of Brandon, and then I expect to return to the States.”
“And how is the youngster doing? Didn’t you tell me Burroughs was his last remaining relative?”
“He’s holding up very well. Clayton made me his legal guardian and I hope to adopt him. I love him so much, Barney.”
“You said Burroughs was murdered. Was it a robbery?”
“No. It’s very involved, Barney. I’ll explain it all to you when I see you. Question is, can you use me?”
“You bet I can, Annie. There’s a shoot scheduled here for the beginning of the week that’s right up your alley. Can you make it?”
“I’ll know shortly. There’s a legal delay here, and as soon as we reach Clayton’s lawyer, I’ll be able to straighten it out. I’d hate to leave London without Brandon, right now he’s under the protection of the British State Department.”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“Everything about this whole affair is unusual, Barney.” She glanced up when Mike tapped on the connecting door and came into the room. “As I said, I’ll explain it all to you when I see you. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. And, thanks, Barney. I love you.”
She hung up and looked at Mike. “Bishop, do you ever wait to be invited into a room?”
“I knocked, didn’t I? How about breakfast?”
He was clean-shaven, water still glistened on his hair from a shower, and he looked as if he’d slept for about eight hours, instead of three. How did the man do it?
“I’m surprised to see you up. You didn’t sleep very long.”
“I’m used to that. What about it? Are you hungry?”
Ann nodded. “Give me a minute to freshen up.”
Mike plopped down in the chair. “So was that your ex-boss you were speaking to?” he asked, as she quickly ran a brush through her hair.
“Yes. We’ve always stayed in touch.” He has a mind like a steel trap. I should have told him no just to deflate his ego.
Ann powdered her face and lightly brushed on some lip gloss. As she leaned closer to check the final results, she caught his reflection in the mirror. His gaze was fixed on her, and he looked pensive.
What was he thinking? He was such a private person, as enigmatic at times as he was challenging at others. But whatever, he was the most infuriating, frustrating individual she’d ever known—and the most fascinating and exciting to be around. A woman would have to be out of her mind to ever fall in love with him, but she suspected it would be a heck of a ride while it lasted.
Cool it, Ann. You’ve been too long without a man. Mike Bishop is starting to look better and better to you.
Since leaving the States she hadn’t missed being intimately involved with a man. Not that she’d ever been inately promiscuous. She’d never even considered Ricardo DeVilles, despite his obvious interest in her.
But now, since Mike Bishop entered your life, you’re suddenly asking yourself, when was the last time you “got laid”? Isn’t that how you put it, Bishop? You’re such a bad influence!
Lucky for her he didn’t believe in mixing business with pleasure, because that Stockholm Syndrome was chipping away at her resistance.
Grinning at her own train of thought, she turned away from the mirror and met the full force of a wide grin on that rugged face of his. On top of everything else was Bishop a mind reader?
They decided to eat breakfast right in the hotel’s coffee shop. Sitting across a table eating with him was becoming a habit.
“Tell me, Mike, how can you guard me and eat at the same time?”
“You’d be surprised. I bet you didn’t know that I can walk and whistle at the same time, too.”
“You mean while you’re eating and guarding me?”
They both broke into laughter, and suddenly they were merely two people enjoying breakfast together.
“Seriously, Mike, in movies the bodyguard is always standing silently scanning the room.”
“So what do you want to know about this room?” he asked, without turning around to look. “There are five tables, including ours, being served. The doors to the kitchen are on the right side of the room. The cashier’s in her fifties, about five-four. The waitress is about five-six, red hair, and weighs about 120. There are two men at the corner table, both are wearing black suits. The dark-haired one is wearing a blue shirt and a blue-and-gray tie, the gray-haired one a white shirt with a maroon tie. There are a woman and two small children at th
e table next to them. A just-married couple at the table in the opposite corner, and—”
“How do you know they’re newlyweds?” she asked.
“It’s easy to tell newlyweds—they always look like they’re doing something illicit. The elderly woman at another table is wearing a black hat with a large red rose, and there’s a man reading a newspaper at the table nearest the door. He’s the one I’m most concerned about.”
“Why him?” she asked.
“Because he came in and sat down after we did. Took a table nearest the door when most people in a restaurant try to avoid that high traffic area. And he only ordered a cup of coffee.”
“Maybe he’s eaten breakfast already.”
“Maybe he has.”
“So why aren’t you concerned about the two men in black suits?”
“If they were up to no good, they wouldn’t have backed themselves into a corner.”
“Okay, why not the lone woman? A woman could be a cold-blooded killer.”
“True, but if she’d intended to be trouble, she’d want to appear nondescript. That big red rosewearing calls attention to her.”
“Is this all part of your Special Ops training?” she asked.
“We’re trained to be observant, but I learned a lot from my father. He worked for the CIA.”
“Is that why you joined it?”
“It was an easy sell. I was a Navy SEAL, and they recruited me into the Agency.”
“Where are you from, Mike?”
“I was born in Milwaukee.”
“Ever been in love?”
To her surprise he looked uncomfortable. “Sure. I love a lot of things.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. Guess I just never had the time to fall in love. College, then Afghanistan and Iraq. Wouldn’t want to mess up some gal’s life—or change mine. I like what I do.”
“Living on the edge.”
“Guess you could say that.”
“Well, if living on the edge is anything like what I’ve gone through this past week, you can have it. Nice and easy is my style. The only excitement I need is in bed.”
Shocked, she brought her hand to her mouth.
Good Lord! How could I have said that? She was too embarrassed to look at him. Get your mind off of sex, Ann!
Fortunately, before she dropped dead from mortification, his cell phone went off, sparing her his response to her outrageous remark.
The last thing Mike ever expected to hear from Ann’s mouth was her last statement. He was on the verge of pursuing the remark when his damn cell phone went off. If he hadn’t been waiting for Baker’s call, he’d have ignored it.
Avery Waterman was the caller.
“I’m returning your call to Baker, Mike,” Waterman said. “He’s out of the office. What’s the problem?”
“I need the Agency to do a background check on a Charles Breton. B-R-E-T-O-N. He’s a lawyer in Kourou, French Guiana.”
“I gather this is related to the Burroughs case?”
“Yeah. He’s Burroughs’s lawyer. There’s a legal hang-up over Brandon Burroughs’s custody, and Breton is the lawyer who drew up the codicil making Hamilton the legal guardian of the kid.”
“So why are you interested in this guy’s background?”
“Because the will was read yesterday, and the codicil wasn’t attached. Now it seems Breton’s out of the country and can’t be reached. Check him out and see what turns up.”
“You said he’s out of the country. Do you know where?”
“No. That’s the big mystery. He went off on his boat
“How are things going with Miss Hamilton?”
“Not good.” Mike glanced at Ann. “There’s been another attempt on her life.” He saw her head jerk up in shock. “I’ll tell you all about it when I return.”
“When will that be?”
“Can’t say for sure. Right now we’re held up here because of that custody delay, or we would have been on our way home by now.”
“Okay,” Waterman said. “We’ll get on this Breton business and get back to you.”
As soon as he hung up, Ann said, “What attempt on my life? Aren’t you jumping to conclusions? That man in the hotel might just have been trying to burglarize the room.”
“I doubt it. Regardless, the limo accident was deliberate. The van had been stolen and…” He decided it would be better not to mention the bullet in the tire.
A shocked gasp was evidence of her distress as the reality set in. “We all could have been killed.” She cradled her head in her hand. “Oh, Mike, what is this all about, that whoever’s behind it is even willing to kill an innocent six-year-old child?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” he said. “Trust me, Ann, and you can take that to the bank.”
She dropped her arm and looked at him. “Speaking of the bank, Mike, I’ve decided to return to my old job as a fashion photographer. With Clayton gone I certainly have no further desire to work for the Space Consortium. I hope to settle in New York and get some permanence in my life again. Once I can go back to Kourou, I’ll pack up my things and stop living out of a suitcase.”
“New York! Apparently that permanence doesn’t include peace and quiet.”
“That’s where the action is and most of the shoots. With a young child to raise, I don’t intend to accept any overseas assignments.”
“Can you be that selective?”
“I think so. Barney has a couple of photographers that will jump at the chance to do overseas shoots, so I don’t expect too much opposition.” She glanced at the clock. “I’d like to go and visit Brandon now.”
“Sure,” he said, and reached for the check.
Once outside, the doorman hailed a cab for them. “I see our breakfast friend finished reading the newspaper,” Mike said as they pulled away. Ann glanced out the window in time to see the man step out of the revolving door of the hotel.
On the way she borrowed Mike’s cell phone and called Leonard. The attorney informed her that thus far they’d been unsuccessful in contacting Charles Breton, and Brandon would have to continue to remain in England. It was devastating news, and she’d now have to tell Brandon the disappointing setback.
As soon as he saw her, Brandon ran into Ann’s arms. “I’m tired of this place, Ann. I want to go with you and Mike.”
“You will, sweetheart, as soon as Mr. Breton clears it all up.”
“When will that be?” Brandon whined. “I don’t like this place. I want to be with you guys.”
Ann hugged him. “I know you do, sweetheart, and we’re doing everything we can to hurry it up.” She stepped back and smiled at him. “Guess what I’m going to do?”
“What?” he asked. With a balled fist he rubbed the tears from his eyes.
“I’m going back to the old job I had before I worked for your grandfather.”
“You mean taking pictures?”
“Yes, sweetheart. How would you like to live in New York?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Is it like Kourou?”
“Not really, dear. It’s a very large city with tall skyscrapers—and lots of fun things to do. That’s where I’ll be working.”
“Who’ll take care of me while you’re working?”
“We’ll find you a nice nanny. And don’t forget, in the fall you’ll be old enough to start school. I thought while we’re waiting to hear from Mr. Breton, I’d fly back there, find us a nice place to live, and start interviewing nannies.”
“You mean you’re going away?” His lower lip started to quiver.
“Only for a few days, darling. And I’ll call you twice a day.” She hugged him again. “I couldn’t bear to be away from you any longer than that.”
Mike had sat by in silence and clamped his jaw shut during the conversation. When they finally left two hours later Mike was near to bursting. He opened up in a torrent.
“No way, Hamilton!”
“What are you talking ab
out?”
“Going back to New York.”
“I told you all about it,” she declared.
“You never said you meant right away. It’s too dangerous right now.”
“It can’t be any more dangerous in New York than here, or Washington and French Guiana. I’m a working girl, Mike. Remember? I can’t afford to sit around idle for an indefinite length of time.”
He could see the logic to her argument, but someone was determined to kill her, and the only way she could remain safe was to keep her sequestered under guard until the CIA got to the bottom of who killed Burroughs.
“Why don’t you give this another week, Ann, or at least until the custody situation is resolved.”
“I can’t remain holed up in a hotel room for another week and let out of my cell just for meals. In another week I can find a place to live so that I can bring Brandon back to something other than a hotel room. Will you stop and think how that child’s been shuffled around since all this began?”
“I don’t deny it’s been tough on the kid, but it would be a damn sight tougher if he loses you, too, Ann.”
“Mike, what if I told you I don’t believe anything will happen to me as long as you’re with me?”
Her confession took him by surprise. For a long moment he looked deeply into those violet eyes of hers. The trust in them wrenched at his heart. It wasn’t fair. It was fighting dirty. You stand up and duke it out, not sneak into a man’s conscience with a pair of violet eyes that could haunt a guy for life.
“Ann, you need better protection than I can give you. I’m in Special Ops, and protecting you is a job for people who are trained for that kind of duty.”
“I understand, and for now, all I’m asking is for your cooperation. Please, Mike.”
Every fiber of his being warned him to refuse. He had the common sense to realize this even if she didn’t.
But she had the violet eyes.
“One condition.”
“Anything, Mike,” she said, a restored hope gleaming in those two weapons of destruction.