Hiding Jessica (5 page)

When she looked up again, he was watching her, and it seemed to her suddenly that he knew exactly what was going on in her mind. Damn his brown eyes.

She drew herself up straight, summoning her years’ worth of training.

“What about simply wearing padded clothing?” she queried, her eyes ruthlessly dispassionate. “Wouldn’t that accomplish the same effect?”

“Not for your face,” he replied quietly. She was starting to get tired, he realized. More and more, he was beginning to see the distant flickers of emotion in her face. Still, she did not give much away. But the icy control of this afternoon was starting to become strained. He wondered how far he should push her. He wondered what was really going on behind those icy blue eyes of hers. But even as he watched, he could see her eyes darken, gaining new strength from her growing frustration and anger.

“Fine,” she bit out curtly. “I’ll gain fifteen pounds. What else?”

“Oh, there are a lot of other things,” he told her seriously. “We will work on everything from how you walk to how you talk. Do you understand yet how dramatic the change needs to be for you? If you weren’t a celebrity, it would be one thing. But everyone knows you. They’ve seen you walk down runways, they’ve seen you on limited interviews and unlimited magazine covers. You probably don’t even realize just how ‘you’ you are. You have a way of moving, a way of gesturing, a way of carrying yourself. It’s distinct, you know. And things like a new hairdo and lines on your face won’t cover it for long. Any familiarities will tug on people’s memories. And they’ll keep trying to place why you seem so familiar until they do recognize you. The changes then, must be beyond skin-deep.”

This time he could see the strain on her face, but there was also grudging acceptance.

“Fine,” she agreed smoothly enough. “If it will save my life, I will do it. Now, then, what about protection?”

“Protection?” he echoed.

“Absolutely,” she said firmly. “You, Mr. Guiness, will work with me for two weeks. But as I pointed out earlier, what then? You move on, but I have to live my new life. I want a backup plan. If...when...Les finds me, I will not be some sitting duck. Do you understand?”

Her eyes had gone dark again, and her chin had taken on its now-familiar determined pose.

“Of course,” Mitch replied easily. He understood her concern, in fact, he shared it. Never had he dealt with a witness who was so recognizable, nor a prisoner who was so relentless. It was not a good combination.

“The FBI will keep tabs on Les’s activities even within the prison,” he told her. “While Capruccio has his network, so do we have ours. As I’m sure you know, a contract has already been put out for you. However, as of yet, no one seems to have taken up the offer. From past dealings, we know who the common Mafia hit men are, and you can be sure we’ll be keeping our eyes open. At the first sign of trouble, discreet agents will be posted nearby for your protection. They, of course, will be undercover, and at no time should you ever reveal your past identity.”

But Jessica was shaking her head. “And if something escapes your network? I won’t live my whole life depending on some agent to show up in time to save the day. I want to know how to protect myself. I want to know how to shoot a gun, I want to know how to tell if I’m being followed. Things like that.”

He looked at her for a long moment, choosing his words carefully. “While I understand your concern,” he started out slowly, “what you’re asking can’t be accomplished overnight. It takes years of schooling to develop those kinds of skills in an agent.”

“I don’t care,” she informed him flatly.

“I do,” he told her honestly. “It’s my job to train you for your safety, not to give you just enough information to be dangerous to yourself.” Her eyes darkened once more to an icy blue, and he could practically feel the beginnings of the storm.

“Look,” he said, seeing clearly where her thoughts were headed, “I know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen men who think they know how to take care of themselves become cocky, when in fact they know almost nothing. Instead of protecting them, their limited knowledge endangers them. Trust me on this one.”

It was the worst possible thing he could have said.

“No.”

The word fell like ice in the kitchen, and though her face never changed, he could see the black rage in her eyes. She leaned forward, and once again he could catch the faint scent of peaches. But mostly he could see the true coldness of her anger.

“I don’t trust you,” she iterated clearly. “Is that understood? I don’t trust you, I don’t trust the men outside that door and I don’t trust anyone in the FBI, nor out of the FBI. I want to learn how to take care of myself, and if you can’t teach me everything, then at least teach me something. I demand it.”

It was the worst possible thing she could have said.

His own eyes grew dark, but they also grew deceptively calm. While her voice dripped icicles, his became hauntingly soft.

“Well, you’d better trust me,” he drawled slowly, “because for the next two weeks, Ice Angel, your life is in my hands. And even more to the point, my life and the life of those two men out there are in your hands. Do you get that? We are all in this together. You don’t obey the rules, and we all pay with our lives.”

She wanted to retort, she wanted to reply with anger if only to exorcise the relentless nervousness she felt in his presence. But all of a sudden she could see Darold again, his back arching as the bullet hit home. So much blood on the fall leaves.

Had he had a wife, a family? She didn’t even know, and she didn’t want to know.

God, she felt tired. Tired from the stress and the strain. She had never asked these men to protect her, never wanted these men to give up their lives. All these years she’d existed on her own, relying on herself, trusting only herself.

She didn’t like how complicated it had all become since then.

It was their choice, she reminded herself firmly, searching for equilibrium once more. They had willfully chosen to become agents, to risk their lives for the law. Just as she had chosen to risk hers.

She had to keep it that simple, for her own sake.

Mitch’s eyes were still on her, practically burning a hole through her head. She forced her eyes up, even if she couldn’t quite muster the cold dispassion of before.

“Will you teach me how to shoot a gun?” she asked quietly.

He stared at her for a long moment. The ice was cracking. He could practically make out the spidery lines in her control, and he found himself leaning forward as if then he would see everything inside of her. All of a sudden, the shadows under her eyes were darker, the lines in the corners harsher. She looked worn, but still she didn’t back down.

He swore. “I can show you the rudiments,” he relented at last, leaning back with a sigh. “But damn it, you’ll need to keep practicing once you get settled. All right?”

“Where will that be?” she asked, not pushing the matter any further.

“Given this new slant of being a schoolteacher, we’ll have to work on that. I should have an answer for you in a couple of days.”

She nodded. “New England, maybe? I like the area.”

“Yeah, well, the scenery won’t mean much if Les is on your doorstep by morning. New England’s just too close.”

“Perhaps,” she said simply.

“Washington—start thinking Washington state or other places on the West Coast. We look for a good-size city, a place where a new person would attract little notice. We can discuss it when we know for sure.” He threw in the last statement because he had the distinct feeling they were going to discuss it. He had only to look at the determined slant of her chin to know that for whatever reason, she wasn’t keen on leaving the area. Rather strange, he thought, for someone who said she had no friends or family around.

And all of a sudden, he realized why he still wasn’t feeling comfortable about all of this. As agreeable and intelligent as she seemed, Mitch was willing to bet money she had other ideas on her mind. It was the only explanation he could find.

So then the question became what were those ideas, and how much would it cost him to find out? He wasn’t joking when he told her they would all bear the price of her mistakes. He’d seen it happen too many times before.

Someone made a mistake, but somebody else died.

Somebody close, somebody you cared for.

He pushed the thought away.

“Do you understand what our agenda will be?” he asked now, his voice curt as he once more scrutinized her with his eyes.

She nodded.

“I want to get an early start tomorrow. Let’s say 7:00 a.m. Meet me downstairs. And dress warm—we’ll be outside for part of the day. Do you have a proper coat?”

“No.”

He frowned. “I’ll have to see what I can do about that.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s midnight now. You should probably get some sleep.”

You?
What was he planning on doing? She didn’t feel like asking, though. It had been a long day. There was just one thing she needed to get settled.

“How much freedom do I have here?” she asked, doing her best to sound casual.

“What do you mean?”

“Before, I was never allowed near windows, never allowed outside by myself. I’m assuming this location is safer than the hotels. Can I go outside by myself?”

He considered the matter for a moment. “You can probably have more freedom,” he conceded, understanding how hard it must have been to be cooped up like that. “However, we need to know your whereabouts at all times. If you go out, find myself, Bill or Jamie. Tell us exactly where you’re going and when you’ll be back. And never wander off the perimeters of this site. You can tell that by the yellow property markers on the trees. That is the safe zone. Beyond that, we can’t cover you if there’s trouble. In all honesty, there is no reason for you to have to go farther. All supplies have been provided, and even then, the nearest town is a good twenty miles from here. Other than the occasional stray hunter, this area is completely isolated.”

She nodded, her face expressionless even as she felt her heart sink in her chest. The nearest town was twenty miles from here? How would she ever make that? Especially considering the only vehicle she knew of was the sedan, and that would be easy to track. She would have to give this more thought.

If she could even just call.

It would make such a difference.

“I think I’ll go upstairs now,” she said abruptly. “I could use a good night’s sleep.”

He nodded, rising from the table. She watched him with wary eyes.

He truly was such a large man. Irritated that he loomed so far above her now, she also rose from the table. But her five-ten height still only reached his shoulder. After all those years of towering over men—even Les—to find herself still having to look up was disconcerting. He gestured with his hand for her to go first. Reluctantly she began walking.

She could feel him behind her as she approached the stairs. She could feel the strength of his presence, the scent of his after-shave. And once again her stomach tightened with a myriad of sensations. She forced herself to walk in even steps, forced herself to keep her head up as if nothing at all was amiss.

Now if only she could get her hands to stop shaking.

At the top of the stairs, she turned, facing him as nonchalantly as possible.

“Good night, Mr. Guiness,” she said coolly.

He arched his eyebrow at her insistent use of his last name. God, but she was stubborn. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning casually against the railing.

She was standing just two feet from him, looking as cool as a cucumber. But he could still catch the faint scent of freshly washed peaches, and it was driving him half-crazy.

What was the Ice Angel doing smelling like peaches? How could one woman possibly be so sexy and so cold all at once? It really did play havoc with a man’s senses.

And he wondered then if that wasn’t exactly why she did it. This evening she had displayed a keen, impressive intellect. Coupled with her uncanny ability to remain in control, he had a feeling there was very little she did that wasn’t carefully thought out ahead of time. But even now, he had no insight to her motives. What logic was driving her? And where would it all end?

Oh, she was up to something. But he didn’t press just yet. He had a feeling Jessica Gavornée was used to having her own way and used to manipulating men, when necessary, to accomplish that. She would learn in time, Mitch promised himself, that this was one man she couldn’t play her little games with.

The next two weeks were going to be very interesting.

She was still watching him with her cool blue eyes and that faint hint of wariness. He pushed away from the railing, and she moved closer to her own doorway. He nodded to her, resting his hand on the doorknob of the second room.

“Good night, Jess,” he drawled, putting emphasis on her new name.

She had frozen in the doorway though, his words falling on deaf ears.

“Where are you going?” she demanded suddenly, the suspicion obvious in her voice.

“To my own room, of course.”

He had the delight of watching her whole face freeze over, and he was beginning to learn about her well enough to understand the darkening of her eyes. Oh, the Ice Angel was mad. In fact, she was furious!

“Aren’t there bedrooms downstairs?” she pointed out frigidly.

He shrugged his shoulders. “‘Fraid they’re for Bill and Jamie. But don’t worry,” he said gallantly, not quite able to keep the teasing tone out of his voice, “you may use the bathroom first.”

The look she gave him would have dropped another man dead in his tracks. But Mitch returned her icy blue anger with his own velvety grin.

“Sweet dreams,” he told her, and disappeared into his room.

From his room, he heard her shut her door with emphasis. Not quite slamming—she had too much self-control for that. But a definite, firm closure. The woman did know how to make a statement.

He found himself grinning once more, but then abruptly his face sobered. He’d wanted her to know he was in the room next to hers, because he wanted her to know he was watching. Mitch was the best in his job because he knew people. And after just five minutes he could usually size up and relate to anyone he’d ever met. Jessica Gavornée was definitely more difficult; he’d never met another individual—man or woman—with more control than she had.