Hiding Jessica (8 page)

“That’s impossible,” she snapped, and promptly reached for the three cards on the corner of the table, turning them up. Her eyes scanned over them. But what had once been the eight of spades, queen of hearts and three of diamonds was now the eight of spades, queen of hearts and nine of clubs. “You tricked me,” she accused. “You cheated somehow; kept the card up your sleeve—something like that.”

He took the cards from her without replying, shuffling them easily back into the deck.

“Maybe I didn’t cheat,” he told her evenly, setting the deck down on the corner of the table. “Maybe it was magic.”

He brushed by her, feeling the anger that radiated from her like icy heat even as her face remained frozen.

“There’s no such thing,” she said tersely, her hands balling at her sides in her effort at control. He had bested her in a way she had not been bested in years, and even now her mind rebelled against accepting it. There was no such thing as magic.

He stepped down into the living room, glancing at her over his shoulder. And his eyes fell almost casually to her balled fists, then smoothed back up to meet her eyes with his own level gaze.

“Maybe,” he told her, “you should believe in magic. Maybe you should believe in me.”

He could already see the retort forming on her lips, and he didn’t feel compelled to await its arrival. He calmly walked away even as he felt her eyes throw icy daggers into his back.

Behind him, he heard a dull thud, like a fist pounding a table, and as he walked up the stairs he began to grin.

Chapter 4

F
or the rest of the morning, Jess did her best to ignore Mitch. This wasn’t easily accomplished. When she went outside for a walk, it was only to hear cries of “Jessica” behind her. Already duped once, she refused to take the bait the second time. However, she also forgot to turn when Bill called out Miss McMoran, earning another knowing grin from Mitch. Still, by midafternoon she was doing better. To help herself, she trained her mind to think of herself only as Jess McMoran, thirty-year-old schoolteacher. She daydreamed possible memories of college and early aspirations of becoming a teacher while she walked through the freezing January afternoon.

It was like an actress preparing for a role, she told herself. For a few days, she would immerse herself in the other person. And then she would simply be Jess McMoran. Except this role entailed a lifetime job.

Did a lie built upon a lie become a truth?

It would, she told herself fiercely, as she huddled under the thick warmth of Jamie’s borrowed jacket. By sheer force of will, she would make it.

Mitch, Bill and Jamie had their meeting at three. True to her word, she did not attend, merely walking gracefully by on her way up to her room to read. Mitch had won the bet, though she’d be wary about being taken in again.

Her blue eyes narrowed as she topped the stairs. Magic was simply a trick, a sleight of hand. She hadn’t caught it this time because she hadn’t been looking closely enough. But next time, next time she would keep her eyes sharp. She didn’t believe in magic, only mankind’s knack for deception—something Mitch Guiness had apparently mastered.

At four, a pickup truck pulled up outside. From the upstairs loft, she could look out a window and watch as Mitch strode out to meet the vehicle. It was probably just the beautician Mitch had spoken of earlier, but that didn’t quite stop her tension from building. Abruptly, she remembered a not-so-distant fall day. A car driving up, herself trying to get in. And then the cracking sound of rifle fire, the man beside her arching, falling down from the force of the armor-piercing bullet. They hastily shoved her inside the sedan and raced off, leaving her to look through the back window as three remaining agents picked up the lifeless body and bundled it into the last car.

The blood fell upon the crimson leaves and the dull black of the smoky sedan.

She shook the image away abruptly, the scenery before her registering once more the startling white of a snowy January. And Mitch was still standing there, in the wide open like a fool, she told herself vehemently. But her heart pounded in her chest and she could feel the light moisture of sweat on her palms.

Why did he stand there like that?

Suddenly the pickup door swung open. Mitch was already walking toward it, his arms wide in welcome while in her mind she could see the easy grin on his face. Such a powerful body, she thought vaguely. Dark and strong and brimming with vitality.

And absolutely mortal under the impact of a bullet.

She suddenly couldn’t take it and turned away. Looking down, she could see her hands shaking while her body trembled with nervousness and dread. What was wrong with her? She didn’t think of these things, right? It was all a business arrangement. He took his risk like she took hers, and if it didn’t turn out, so be it. It wasn’t her fault, damn it. It wasn’t.

But for some reason, the thought of that large body suddenly arching under the impact of ferocious lead was too much to take. The past five months were catching up with her, she thought dully. And, of course, people could only take so much blood on their hands.

With a deep breath, she searched for her control. Only then did she become aware of the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She looked up in time to see Mitch emerging onto the loft, tall, commanding and very much alive.

He seemed to freeze halfway across the loft, his eyes suddenly sharpening and looking at her with keen interest. Did the strain show in her face? She couldn’t be sure, but years of training enabled her not to fidget. Instead, she steadied her gaze and looked him straight in the eye, defying him to question her mood.

He arched a black brow as if he knew exactly what she was doing.

“Dan is here,” he said. “If you’ll come to the kitchen, he’s ready to start work.”

She turned away from the window completely and brushed by him without saying a word. She felt him fall into step behind her, the warmth and vitality reaching out to her once more. And deep in her stomach she felt the restlessness stir even as she fought it back bitterly.

She would not be affected by this man. She would not, she would not, she would not.

“Ready to become a brunette?” he asked, his voice low and close in her ear. “Or do blondes really have more fun?”

“Define ‘fun,’” she replied coolly, descending the last few stairs without even a backward glance. She practically sailed into the kitchen, her head held so high and gracefully, she could pass as a queen. And behind her, she could hear Mitch’s throaty laugh as he watched.

She still didn’t turn around, but her eyes turned a crystalline blue that flashed with inner fire. She focused on the smaller man in front of her.

Dressed in faded Levi’s and a brown plaid shirt, he looked more like a hunter than beautician. But when he held up his kit, she could see his eyes were serious and professional. Indeed, he was already raking her over with a critical gaze.

“Yes,” he said shortly, his brow crinkled. “You’re definitely a model. How challenging.” He reached up a brisk hand, grabbing her chin and turning her head from side to side. “What cheeks. I have to say, most snitches don’t have your bone structure.”

He released her chin and turned immediately to his kit while she looked at Mitch with startled eyes. Mitch grinned at her.

“Meet Dan. He works for the Bureau, does all the important witnesses. Consider yourself in good hands.”

“She’s having wrinkles, correct?” Dan spoke up crisply. He was perusing the widest assortment of hair dyes Jess had ever seen.

“Yes. Next week, I think.”

“Fine, fine. I can see your point now. Hair and eyes will help, but oh, that face. Truly remarkable. Black hair?”

“Dark brown,” Jess amended.

He looked at her sharply, scrutinizing her skin once more. “Quite right. Sit. We have a lot of work to do.”

It was the last thing he said to her for the next four hours. Mostly he mused to himself, evaluating her hair and face with critical eyes. When he did have a comment or suggestion, he posed it to Mitch who sat on a nearby chair, cutting Jess out of the process completely. She didn’t question it because the interaction mirrored the modeling world and thus she was accustomed to it. A model was nothing more than a blank canvas, a passive receiver that came to life on demand. The beauticians and fashion designers were the true artists.

“What about a perm?” Mitch asked shortly. “Something soft and curly to round out her face. At least until she puts on more weight.”

Jess glanced over at him coolly, as if the words didn’t bother her at all. She’d be damned before she’d give the man any more ground.

“Yes, curls,” Dan concurred. “That will help. And shorter, too, I think. It must be a totally new look.”

And so it was, four hours later when he was done. Jess stared into the mirror at a dark-haired woman with pale, magnolia skin. Even her eyebrows and lashes had been dyed, accentuating new doe eyes of liquid brown. With a flare of rich, bold colors sweeping across her eyelids, her eyes looked huge in her face.

Huge and...soft.

Try as she might, they didn’t quite harden the way her natural eyes had. The icy edge seemed suddenly gone, tamed by richer, softer colors. She wasn’t sure she liked the change. On their own volition, her eyes swept up to find Mitch.

He was staring at her, a frown apparent on his face as his gaze raked her up and down with critical fervor. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, as if he, too, wasn’t sure of this new woman. But then he gave a short, curt nod.

“The contacts bring it all together,” Dan commented. For the first time, he addressed her in the mirror, holding up a small box. “You wear them twenty-four hours a day, then toss them at the end of two weeks. In here are enough pairs to last you the first four months. We’ll automatically send you a new supply once you’re settled.”

“Are they hard to get?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded casual.

Dan shook his head, already packing up supplies. “Not at all. Standard disposable soft lenses in brown. Ever miss a shipment, just go to your optometrist. ‘Bout fifteen dollars a pair. Just don’t let anyone see you without them.”

The front door opened, all eyes turning as Bill entered. He stopped upon seeing Jess’s new look, then turned to Mitch. “Very good,” he said approvingly. “She looks much different than before. At the end of two weeks, you’ll have her completely ready for the world.”

“Why, thank you,” Jess cut in, giving them all a pointed look for excluding her from the conversation.

“We still have to work on that,” Mitch abruptly said to Bill, and the other man nodded as if he understood completely.

“Work on what?” Jess demanded coolly, turning to Mitch.

“Your mannerisms,” he said curtly. “You look like someone else, but the minute you open your mouth you ruin it.”

From the corners of her gaze, she could see both Jamie and Dan suppress smiles. Her outrage was immediate and not quite controllable. Drawing herself up carefully, she pinned Mitch with her new, cold brown gaze. “I see,” she said in a voice so smooth, it should have warned him, “so my talking gives me away. Why is that?”

“You’re too damn cold,” he told her bluntly, even as an inner instinct warned him he was going to pay for the comment.

“Cold?” Jess reiterated, rising slowly from her seat at the kitchen table. Mitch had a brief flash of insight on what was about to happen. But he’d already set the wheels in motion and now he could merely go along with the ride.

She took a step toward him. But this wasn’t a Jessica Gavornée step. This was a hip-swinging, Marilyn Monroe style step that had three pairs of eyes suddenly looking at the long lean lines of a perfectly shaped leg. She took another luxurious step, her hands coming up to run carelessly through her new short hair. She shook her head, as if reveling in the freedom of cropped, curly hair. Her lips formed a small, teasing pout, while her brown eyes swept down to his lips, pausing one long, tantalizing second before brushing back up to his eyes.

“Cold?” she whispered this time, taking the last step toward him. She could feel Bill and Dan watching her, but her attention was only for Mitch. That tall powerful man just twelve inches away. Her hands came down to land lightly on his shoulders, like the gentle wings of a butterfly. And all the more maddening for the lightness of touch.

She leaned closer, until she could catch the faint scent of soap and feel the soft whisper of his suddenly indrawn breath. Once more her gaze came down, lingering on his lips. They were full and sensual—strong lips for a strong man. And she bet when he kissed a woman, he kissed her completely until there was no room for any other thought, any other sensation.

Her eyes came back to meet his own, and were rewarded by the low burning of reluctantly sparked desire. His breathing wasn’t so steady, either. She leaned in just a tad more, as if she might caress his lips with her own. But at the last minute she veered to the left suddenly, like a mischievous lover who decided to whisper in his ear instead.

“Cold?” she whispered in a throaty voice so close, his hair fluttered from the caress. “Why, Mr. Guiness.” Her voice suddenly hardened. “I’m the coldest thing this side of hell.”

She pushed herself abruptly away with elegant hands that had turned to fists, all signs of seductive teasing suddenly gone as her face froze into the familiar angles of the Ice Angel. Her new brown eyes were hard with her anger and outrage, looking him over now as if he weren’t even worth kicking.

And at that minute, he wasn’t sure whether to curse her for her duplicity, or admire her for her control. Because God knows his own pulse rate had nearly tripled, and when she’d bent so close to him, with that maddening scent of peaches, it had been all he could do not to abandon logic and grab her.

In the challenge of wills with this woman, the winner would never be clear.

He released his pent-up breath slowly, willing his pulse rate to ease as he looked at her with openly amused eyes that admitted their own hunger.

“Well, we can’t ever accuse you of having no talent, can we?” he said softly, crossing his arms in front of him nonchalantly.