Face Of Deception. Ana Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      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.

      He who hesitates is lost, Ann. She dashed across the room and grabbed the garments. When she turned to run back to the bathroom, she stopped abruptly, and the clothes dropped to the floor. Her mouth gaped open in a scream that froze in her throat when she recognized Bishop.

      “What…what are you doing here?”

      Ann instinctively wanted to cover herself with her hands, but she fought the reflex. After all, she had photographed dozens of lingerie ads, and lingerie revealed less than today’s swimsuits.

      However, standing in the intimacy of a hotel room, dressed only in a skimpy bra and panties that he had bought, somehow did not equate in her mind to the impersonal professionalism of a photo shoot. Especially with Bishop’s hazel-eyed gaze fixed on her.

      His damn eyes are like the lens of a camera. They don’t miss a detail.

      Bishop slowly rose to his feet, bent over and picked up her jeans and shirt and then held them out to her. “I see they fit.” His eyes glimmered with smugness.

      She snatched the garments out of his outstretched hand and pulled on the shirt. “I don’t appreciate this intrusion of my privacy, Bishop.”

      “Only doing my job, Hamilton.”

      She jerked up her head. “I thought your job involved rescue operations. Do your responsibilities extend to selecting women’s lingerie?”

      He shrugged his broad shoulders. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” He plopped back down in the chair.

      “Funny, Bishop.” She moved to the dresser. “How did you know my size?”

      “I’ve got eyes.”

      That you have, Bishop. Disturbing eyes. She could feel the sweep of them as she worked the jeans past her hips.

      Dabbing on a few drops of the Chanel he had brought, Ann asked, “And my favorite perfume?”

      “I’ve got a nose.”

      “And a big mouth.” She grabbed the comb and brush and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door in frustration.

      The noise woke Brandon. The youngster sat up and grinned when he saw Mike. “Hi, Mr. Bishop.”

      “Morning, kid. Do you always sleep this late?”

      “Not always. Just the mornings I don’t wake up early.”

      It was that kind of children’s logic that had convinced Mike he’d never make a good father.

      Brandon’s smile quickly vanished as he glanced around the room. Panic began to flood the boy’s features. “Where’s Ann?”

      “She’s in the bathroom. She’ll be out in a minute.”

      Brandon’s face puckered and he began to cry. “I want Ann. Where is she?”

      Hearing Brandon’s cry, Ann hurried out of the bathroom and rushed over to gather him into her arms. “I’m right here, honey.” She glared accusingly at Bishop. “What did you say to upset him?”

      Mike moved to the door and opened it. “Get the kid dressed, Hamilton. We’re due back at the Agency.”

      Baker and Waterman were waiting in the same room, in the same positions as the day before. Only their clothing had changed. Waterman was now wearing a dark-gray, three-piece suit that didn’t have a wrinkle; Baker had on a brown suit that looked as if he had put it on before going to bed last night.

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