Face Of Deception. Ana Leigh

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      The man’s clipped questions and reticence were beginning to make her feel as if she were on a witness stand. “I think they’re waiting for someone—or some instructions. They said something about moving us to a different location.”

      “Did they say where? Mention any names?”

      At the negative shake of her head, his jaw hardened into a grim line. “Did any of them harm you?”

      “No.”

      A trace of a smile tagged at the corners of his mouth. The glimmer was gone before she realized that it might have been an attempt at smiling.

      “Will the kid cry when you wake him?”

      “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But this has been a harrowing experience for him.”

      Bishop stood up. “Get dressed.”

      “What about Brandon?”

      “Let him sleep for the moment.”

      By now her vision had adjusted to the darkness, and she saw that the man was tall, at least four inches over six feet. He dwarfed her five feet eight inches. Most men she met didn’t.

      After collecting her clothing, she cast a prim glance in his direction.

      “What?”

      “I’d like some privacy, please,” she said.

      “Lady, this is no time to worry about privacy. Just put the damn clothes on.”

      “Then turn around, Mr.—”

      “Bishop.” Disgusted, Bishop pivoted. Ann slipped on a pair of lace panties, pulled the nightgown over her head and replaced it with a bra. Jeans and a shirt followed quickly, and as she buttoned the shirt, she slipped her feet into a pair of sneakers.

      “You can turn around now.”

      His look was one of pure annoyance. “Wake the kid, but don’t dress him. Just put shoes on him, and for God’s sake, keep him quiet.”

      She leaned over the bed and shook Brandon gently. “Wake up, honey. We have to go.”

      Brandon was too drowsy to offer an argument. “Where are we going?”

      “These are friends, Brandon. They’ve come to help us. You must do everything they tell you to do. Do you understand?” She slipped his feet into shoes and tied the laces.

      Suddenly a face filled the window. “You all set?”

      “Yeah,” Bishop said. He moved to the window. “Everyone out?”

      The man never stopped scanning the courtyard as he spoke. “All except Williams and Bledsoe, they can’t find the boy.”

      “He’s here. Let’s move out before bullets start flying.”

      “Bishop!” Ann whispered, pointing to the door that had just begun to open.

      Bishop shoved her and Brandon to the floor behind the bed, and then crouched down on a knee with his weapon pointed at the door. A dark figure slipped cautiously into the room.

      Bishop relaxed and rose to his feet. “What in hell are you doing? I almost shot you,” he hissed. “Get in here and shut that door.”

      Another man followed behind and gently eased the door shut.

      “All these bloody blokes are sleeping like babies. We’ve searched this whole house and there’s no sign of—”

      “He’s here,” Bishop said. He nodded in the direction of the bed. As if to confirm his words, Brandon peered over the top of the bed, his eyes rounded with excitement.

      “Let’s move,” Bishop ordered.

      One of the men lifted Brandon into his arms. “Hey, sonny, how’d you like to go for a walk?”

      “Is Ann coming?”

      “I sure am, honey,” she assured him.

      “Let’s go, lady,” Bishop said, and grabbed her hand.

      Once outside, Brandon, Marie and Guillaume were lifted onto the backs of three of them, and they started in a run down the jungle path. A fourth man knelt down on a knee.

      “Climb on,” Bishop said.

      “That won’t be necessary. I jog every day,” Ann said.

      She bore another one of his black glares. “Okay, but if you slow us up, I’ll have to carry you.”

      A hard run through a jungle in a rain was a far different cry from her usual jogging. Ann’s lungs felt near to bursting when they stopped and uncovered a concealed boat.

      Bishop and one of the men crouched down to guard the rear as Ann lingered, saying goodbye to the two servants who were returning to their village.

      “When those gunmen leave, we return to house,” Guillaume assured her.

      “I’ll contact you as soon as I can,” Ann said.

      “Let’s get out of here before someone gets killed,” Bishop ordered, his eyes trained on the jungle.

      “God be with you,” Ann said. Guillaume took his wife’s hand, and they disappeared into the jungle.

      An hour later, off the coast of French Guiana, Ann smiled up gratefully at the freckle-faced airman, who looked as American as a parade on the Fourth of July, as he reached out a helping hand and assisted her into an unmarked helicopter.

      Chapter 3

      A single light glowed dimly in the cabin of the helicopter. The squad lay sprawled asleep wherever the men could find room.

      Ann felt as if they’d been flying for hours, yet the sun had not risen, so she knew she was mistaken. She raised her arm to check the time and realized she wasn’t wearing a watch. She had fled Kourou so hurriedly that morning she’d forgotten to put it on.

      The whole series of events remained a mystery to Ann. Clayton’s death. The men who tried to abduct her. These men. Where were they taking Brandon and her? They all seemed friendly enough except for their uptight leader. At least she knew their names now, but nothing more.

      Dazed, she leaned back against the cabin wall and closed her eyes. How did she lose control of her life in such a short span of time? She was fleeing South America with only the clothes on her back. No money. Not even a damn watch on her wrist!

      Relax, Ann. Try to sleep. But sleep was an impossibility. The chopper’s rotors were noisy, the vibration jerked the craft, the floor was hard and her legs were cramped.

      Lord, how I hate helicopters! What am I doing in this crate flying over the Atlantic…that is, if we are over the Atlantic.

      She СКАЧАТЬ