Face Of Deception

“How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“I’m having a good time, Ann. Mrs. Millen—but she said I should call her Sarah—is real nice. She’s the one taking care of me. We’re playing a game of Old Maid now, so I gotta go, Ann. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, honey. I’ll be there.”

“Bye,” he said, and hung up.

Ann slowly put the phone aside. She felt more depressed than ever. He sounded as if he was having such a good time that he didn’t miss her. Like she never played Old Maid with him. Dear God, what if they found some legal loophole to take him away from her? It would be more than she could bear to lose Clayton and Brandon, too. They were as near to a family as she had. Ann lay back dejected, thinking what her life would be like without Brandon.

Chapter 7

Ann woke up with a start. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was almost six o’clock. Bishop was picking her up at seven. And her instinct told her he was the kind who was always on time. She didn’t have that much to choose from as to what she would wear, since she hadn’t bought anything really dressy. Bishop wasn’t the candlelight-and-wine type anyway, so she selected the pair of black crepe slacks and a white silk blouse with flowing sleeves cuffed at the wrists. She was glad now she’d bought the pair of black sandals, which were nothing more than a few straps on three-inch heels. They would dress up the outfit.

She took a quick shower and then brushed her hair. Fortunately the weather in French Guiana provided a year-round tan that necessitated only a light dusting of blush, powder and a touch of lip gloss. She took greater pains with her eyes. She’d photographed enough beautiful models to know that the eyes were the focal point of any woman’s face. When properly made up, they could detract from a large nose, weak chin or thin lips.

As she applied the finishing touches of mascara to her eyelashes, she thought of Bishop. No doubt he preferred his females devoid of any makeup at all. She ought to paint it on heavily just to irritate him.

She dropped her arm and stared into the mirror. Why, Ann? Why do you want to irritate him? Because he’s domineering, arrogant, and the…“Sexiest man I’ve ever known,” she mumbled, disheartened. Face it, girl, you’re scared of him. CIA! Covert missions! Megamale. Why would she want that kind of complication in her life right now? Not only was Clayton’s death an emotional heartache to her, there was the problem of Brandon’s guardianship to resolve. The last thing she needed was this hazel-eyed walking hunk of testosterone, whom she couldn’t look at without thinking midnight kisses and the soft strains of a Sinatra love song in the background.

Doggone it, Ann. You spent too much time in that French Guianian jungle!

Promptly at seven there was a knock on the door. Ann released the chain and dead bolt and opened it. Bishop leaned on the doorframe.

“What is the sense of using a chain and dead bolt if you’re going to open the door to the first person who knocks?” he asked.

“I knew it would be you.” He looked like a Ralph Lauren ad in a tan cashmere sport shirt and khaki slacks.

“How can you be so certain?”

“Bishop, I’d stake my life savings on a bet that you came into this world on the exact month, day, hour and minute that the doctor predicted you would.”

“I like punctuality.”

“Tell me, are you going to be your usual grumpy self, or are we going to have a pleasant conversation over dinner?”

“It all depends on what we’re going to discuss.”

She grabbed a purse and shawl and stepped ahead of him. “I can hardly wait to find out.”

Once outside the hotel, he hailed a cab. “You like Italian?” he asked.

“Sounds good.” She glanced askance at him. Maybe dinner would be candlelight and wine after all.

He was his usual reticent self, but that was fine with Ann. She was enjoying the sights and sounds of Washington again. It seemed a lifetime since she had seen the familiar landmarks of the city.

The cab pulled up in front of a brownstone that looked no different from the other ones that lined the block. A small flight of stairs took them down to the entrance of a restaurant where a neon sign above the door glowed Sardino’s.

The restaurant was delightfully heavy on atmosphere with a cozy, intimate ambiance. Red-and-white checkered tablecloths covered the tables. The smell of hot wax and spaghetti sauce permeated the air, and hazy smoke rose from empty wine bottles coated with dripping wax that served as candleholders. Breadsticks protruded from jelly glasses in the center of the tables, and there was even a strolling concertina player who nodded at Bishop when they entered. Ann loved it on sight.

Angelo Sardino greeted Bishop like a long-lost son. He gushed over Ann’s beauty when Bishop introduced her, and then the owner led them to a corner booth. Very cozy. Very secluded. And very lethal in its intimacy.

“This is wonderful. I never found a really good Italian restaurant in Kourou. Seems like everything was French cooking. I hope the food lives up to the atmosphere.”

“I’m strictly a spaghetti man,” Bishop said, “so I can’t vouch for anything else. But I’ve never heard any complaints.”

“Do you live in D.C., Bishop?”

“It’s Mike, Ann.”

She laughed lightly. “So you do have a first name.”

“We don’t throw our names around on a mission. Never know who might overhear.”

“You mean you work undercover, too?”

“No. Our mission is usually to get in and out in a hurry.”

At that moment a waitress came over to take their order. “Glad to see you back home safely, Mike.”

“Thanks, Nina. How are you doing?”

“Getting married in two months. Hope you and the squad are in town for it.”

“If we are, we’ll be there. How’s Mama doing?”

The girl’s eyes saddened. “Missing Tony. We all are. Poppa covers it up better than the rest of us do. My wedding plans are helping Mama to get through it.”

“That’s good. Danny’s a lucky guy. Nina, this is Ann Hamilton. Nina’s Angelo’s daughter,” he explained to Ann.

Ann smiled warmly. “Hi, Nina.” For a moment Ann had been afraid she would have to go through the awkwardness of meeting an ex-girlfriend. Not that there was anything other than business between her and Bishop. It just would have been uncomfortable.

“Glad to meet you, Ann. Hope you know you’re out with the best guy in the world.”

“Other than Danny, of course,” Ann teased.

Nina’s eyes widened with pleasure. “Do you know Danny?”

“No, but it kind of shows when you mention his name.”

Nina giggled. “Am I that obvious? Are you ready to order?”

“The spaghetti comes recommended, so I’ll try that.”

“Sausage or meatballs?” Nina asked.

Ann arched a brow and looked at Bishop for his preference.

“Meatballs,” he said. “House dressing on the salad, and a bottle of Chianti.”