Face Of Deception

“No. Everything happened so fast I just reacted automatically without questioning his motives. Why didn’t he come with us?”

“I suspect he knew whomever was found with him would be killed, too,” Baker said.

Tears began to streak her cheeks. “I feel as if I deserted him…abandoned him. If only I had known he was in danger.”

Waterman patted her hand. “There’s nothing you could have done to prevent what happened.”

She jerked up her head and glared at him. “I could have called the police. They would have protected him.”

“Who knows, Miss Hamilton, the police may be the very ones responsible for his death.”

“You’re wrong,” she lashed out. “French Guiana is a beautiful country—a Shangri-la. There is no corruption there. The people there have an innocence like none other I’ve seen anywhere.”

Waterman stood up. “Well, apparently not all are innocent. Mr. Burroughs’s death testified to that.”

“Clayton was not killed by one of the local citizens,” she declared adamantly. “You must have some idea why he was murdered. The CIA wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of bringing me here if you thought his death was just a…random killing.”

Waterman moved away and sat down behind a desk. “Miss Hamilton, I must have your promise that whatever I tell you will not go beyond this room.” Ann nodded. “As Burroughs’s aide you must have been familiar with the satellite the Israeli government intended to launch.”

“I assume you’re referring to the launch aborted last month because of a mechanical malfunction.”

Baker nodded. “But there was no mechanical malfunction. We have reason to suspect the satellite had been sabotaged. Burroughs was conducting an undercover investigation in an attempt to find out who was behind that destruction.”

Sabotage! Undercover investigation! Ann could not believe what she heard. “Are you saying Clayton was an agent…with the CIA?”

“Let’s say that Mr. Burroughs was engaged in undercover work for the government, but he was neither a trained agent nor an employee of the Central Intelligence Agency. He contacted us because of his suspicions.”

Ann shook her head to try and clear her befuddled thoughts. “Why would he contact the United States? The satellite was Israeli. Why wouldn’t he contact the Israeli government? It was their problem, not the United States’.”

“Whatever he was pursuing was linked to the United States. He had found out that much.”

“And died because of it,” Ann said bitterly. “Clayton Burroughs was the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever known. How dare you encourage him in this investigation?” Appalled, her voice rose to near hysteria. “If what you say is true, why didn’t you let your own operators investigate this…sabotage?” She glared at Bishop, who had not said a word throughout the whole conversation. “Lord knows you’ve got enough of them.”

Cradling her head in her hand, she refused to give in to further tears. Particularly with three sets of eyes watching her every move.

“You’re tired now, Miss Hamilton,” Waterman said. “This has been a terrible strain on you. I think you should get some rest.”

Ann lifted her head. “Your Mr. Bishop rushed us away so hurriedly that I don’t have any money, not even a change of clothing. And, as you saw, Brandon is in his pajamas.”

Waterman’s smile bordered on a simper. “Agent Bishop’s propensity for expediency is what makes him so effective in the field.” He assisted her to her feet, put a hand on her back and steered her toward the door. “We’ll see that you get whatever you need. And we’ve made arrangements for you at the Watergate.”

Ann stopped at the doorway. “What about Clayton’s body?”

“The British government is handling the arrangements. Mr. Burroughs’s remains will be returned to England for burial.”

“I would like to attend the funeral and then return to Kourou as quickly as possible. Everything I own is there.”

“Of course, Miss Hamilton. You’ll be free to move about as soon as we are certain you’ll be safe. The important thing now is for you and the lad to get a good night’s rest.” The patronizing attitude had returned.

When Bishop opened the door, Ann saw Brandon curled up asleep in a chair. Her gaze sought Bishop and locked with that of the hazel-eyed squad leader.

“Agent Bishop, come in here a moment,” Baker called to him.

Mike Bishop broke their fixed stare and stepped back inside. As the door was closing, Ann heard Baker say, “The woman’s no fool. Do you think she’s telling us everything she knows?”

The door clicked shut before Ann could hear Waterman’s reply. She glanced at Cassidy and offered a nervous smile.

Cassidy grinned and winked in understanding.

Within minutes Bishop rejoined them. Cassidy picked up Brandon and they headed for the elevator.

“We’re moving,” Bishop said into the radio clutched in his hand. The voices of Bolen, then Williams, acknowledged the message through the transmitter.

“I thought you agents talked into your lapels,” she joked lightly.

“Not since I sent my suit to the cleaners,” Bishop replied.

“Bishop, you actually made a joke!”

Bolen and Fraser were waiting when the elevator doors opened.

“Tell me, Bishop, are we all checking into the hotel together?” Ann asked when they stepped outside, and Bledsoe and Williams joined them. “I’m beginning to feel like Snow White.” The six men exchanged startled glances.

“Only thing is one of the seven dwarfs appears to be missing. Which one of the little darlings are you, Bishop— Grumpy or Dopey?”

Bishop’s face hardened into a grim frown. “Did anyone ever tell you, Hamilton, what a pain in the ass you are?”

“Oh, lighten up, Bishop, I was only joking.”

Yeah, she was right, he had to lighten up, Mike told himself. But Violet Eyes was unaware of how close her quip had hit home. Or maybe she did. Maybe she knew more than she was admitting. Maybe she knew why Tony Sardino, the seventh member of the Dwarf Squad—code name Bashful—had been killed the month before in Beirut.

Chapter 5

Brandon was still asleep in the other bed when Ann awoke the following morning. She sat up and glanced around the hotel room, her attention drawn immediately to a flight bag on the dresser. The small satchel had not been there when she went to bed.

Bishop must have brought in the bag while I was sleeping. Doesn’t he ever sleep?

Dressed only in her underclothes, Ann wrapped the sheet around her and padded barefoot over to examine the bag’s contents.

“Bless you, Bishop. I take back every nasty thought I’ve had of you,” she mumbled as she pulled out toothbrushes, toothpaste, a hairbrush, a comb, shampoo, socks, underwear for Brandon and a jogging suit for him, as well. There was even a bottle of her favorite perfume.

Ann stopped momentarily, and her face deepened in a blush when she withdrew the final articles from the bag: a lacy black bra and a matching pair of bikinis.

“Damn you, Bishop,” she grumbled, revoking her earlier benediction. “How did you know my size?”

She tossed them aside and eagerly scooped up the toilet articles. Then, frowning, she reconsidered, snatched up the lingerie and disappeared into the bathroom.

After a leisurely shampoo and shower, Ann poked her head out of the bathroom. She cast a fretful glance at her jeans and shirt hanging on the back of a chair across the room. Brandon appeared to be asleep, but dare she chance retrieving her clothes dressed in only a bra and panties? It would just be the time he’d awaken.