An Affair of Deceit (22 page)

At her last word, Riley’s eyebrows knitted together. “What makes you think they’re a threat to us?”

“I don’t. That’s what I just said. Regardless, I meant ‘us’ in a general sense, as in the general population. Not ‘us,’ specifically the three of us.”

“I don’t think they give a shit about me and Riley,” Greene said.

He and Riley exchanged a quick glance. “DC isn’t just our nation’s capital. It’s also where you and your mother live, Abigail.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if the missiles weren’t relevant to their true intent, then we have to start looking at less obvious possibilities.”

“Less obvious possibilities? Like me?”

“Maybe. I can’t think of why you’d be a target, but I don’t think we can take the chance that you’re irrelevant to their plans.”

“I’ve been irrelevant to my father’s plans for twenty years. I hardly think I matter now.”

“Maybe you’ve always mattered,” Riley said. “Maybe you’re the one thing that does.”

She shook her head again, more vehemently, but she couldn’t find the words to disagree. Her throat suddenly constricted. Mildly concerned with her newfound inability to control her emotions, she glared at Riley, hoping to convey her desire for him not to talk about whether or not she ever mattered to her father.

Greene looked on with interest alight in his dark-brown eyes. “He could be right, Abigail. He usually is. I’m placing you under twenty-four-hour watch until this is resolved.”

“That’s absurd.”

“And I order my most trusted man to guard you,” Greene continued. “Dr. Riley, meet your new assignment.”

Abigail’s fingers went cold.
No
.

Beside her, Riley’s whole body tensed. “Absolutely.”

“No,” Abigail forced out. “That’s wholly unnecessary.”

“No arguments,” Greene said, snapping his fingers. “It’s an order. Go about your business as usual, but Riley’s gonna stick to you like glue.”

“But—”

“Like
glue
, Ms. Mason. Until I say otherwise. Unless, of course, you’d rather go into protective custody?”

Recognizing when she’d been beaten, she stood. “No. I’m quite inconvenienced enough, thank you. And if you’re going to bother supervising me, you might as well guard my mother. If Kral is going to threaten my father’s loved ones, he’ll probably start with the one he most loved.”

Greene nodded. “I’ll arrange it.”

Abigail walked away, reaching her seat just as her knees began to shake. She sank down into it and held her tongue.

Riley, in her house? She couldn’t fathom it. He wouldn’t fit.

She frowned at her vague reflection in the plane’s bright window. That wasn’t quite right. Her house wasn’t very big, but although Riley was a tall man, he was agile and slim. His head might rap on a doorframe here and there, but physically, he’d fit in her home.

She crossed her legs at the knee and stared at passing clouds. Visualizing him in her home made her think of a water balloon filled to bursting. He was sweet and kind and quiet, but still, he’d take up a great deal of space in her life. But her world was already efficiently and tightly packed. She didn’t have any room to spare.

Tugging at her seat belt, she knew she was wrong again. She had a spare room, a lovely place in which no one had ever slept. The whole house was lovely, in fact. And no one but her and a handful of workmen had ever seen the inside of it. That was part of her discomfort. She’d spent a great deal of time crafting a beautiful home, and inviting Riley into it would certainly cause something to slip out of place. He’d turn on lights that she’d
rather leave off. He’d melt candles that she’d planned to never burn.

Not that she could imagine him rearranging her belongings on purpose or doing anything to make her feel invaded. He was too respectful for that. He’d probably make a great housemate—for someone else.

She huffed, knowing she was dancing around the problem. Riley was a good-hearted man, but his sensual enjoyment of the world, his obvious interest in understanding her, and that damned sizzling wire of physical attraction between them would blow her carefully planned existence apart. She couldn’t face such instability, not when everything she thought she knew about her father was shifting underfoot.

No, not now. Maybe…no.
Never
. Riley was exactly the wrong kind of man for her. She couldn’t look at him without feeling shattered, breathless, and utterly discomfited. He was too honest and warm, and he spoke to her as though he had no agenda beyond friendship. He made her feel like she’d known him for years, not days, and that made him the sort of person she’d miss like a lost limb when he left. And he
would
leave, someday. Everyone did, if not in life, then in death.

If Abigail was going to embark on a romantic relationship with someone, she’d pick a man more like her. Quiet, formal, and reserved, so that she wouldn’t notice when he stopped loving her. Nothing lasts, so Abigail didn’t see the point in setting herself up for heartbreak by picking a man who expressed himself so fully. Loving a man like Riley for any length of time would only make the rest of her life empty and shallow once he left.

Abigail shifted in her seat, not yet convinced by her own logic. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Riley’s presence in her life was a rare kind of sunshine, and she’d best not get too comfortable basking in it.

G
REENE HAD WINKED
when he gave the order, and Riley didn’t appreciate it one bit. Abigail was wary enough without thinking that she was being played.

The order was mostly a formality anyway because Riley hadn’t left Abigail’s side since finding her strapped to a chair in Arles. He didn’t want to leave, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he thought she was in danger or because he feared he’d never see her again if they separated. She seemed like the sort of woman who could walk out on anything that threatened her ability to control her life. Right now her entire world was out of her control, so it might be the only time she’d ever be amenable to starting an intimate relationship. As awful and predatory as it sounded, Riley needed to cement their relationship before she reverted to her carefully programmed existence. She’d never let him back in otherwise.

Once they landed in the suffocating humidity of another Mid-Atlantic summer day, Riley was true to his assignment: he stuck by her even as she unloaded her suitcase and walked across the tarmac to one of the black Town Cars that sat waiting to carry the team to their respective homes or offices.

“I can find my own way home, thank you,” she said when he tried to join her in the car.

“I’m on guard, Abigail. I can’t let you go.”

“I hardly need a guard,” she said as she slid into the backseat.

“I know you can fight, but can you roundhouse a bullet?”

She didn’t flinch. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody is going to shoot me.”

“That’s right, they won’t. Not with me around.”

“Since when did you become qualified for this position? Psychotherapy is not a hands-on profession.”

“You’d be surprised to learn what I can do with my hands.”

“Oh?”

She blushed, and he grunted something between a laugh and an affirmation. “That’s right. Now move aside.”

She scooted far enough away from him that he wondered whether she was considering opening the other door and walking out to catch the next car. He gave the driver Abigail’s address and settled back into the smooth leather seat.

“No. The DC courthouse, please.”

“It’s noon on Saturday, Abigail. Take a day off.”

“I’ve taken two days off already. I need to…” she began, but an enormous yawn overtook her speech.

“You need to sleep.” Riley nodded to the driver.

The car pulled away from the curb. They rode in complete silence for many miles, he enjoying the blessedly cool air-conditioning, she staring stoically into space in her usual way. He was just starting to think of asking the driver to turn down the A/C when Abigail spoke.

“In that photograph taken at the service station, my father was looking directly into the camera. Didn’t that strike you as odd? He’s too good at what he does to make such a lazy mistake.”

Without saying a word, Riley pushed and held the button that raised the privacy panel between them and their driver. The man was CIA, but that didn’t mean he needed to know the details of their investigation.

Once the screen was up, Riley said, “You think he planned to have that picture taken? It makes sense if he’s a captive. It also explains why he’s buying gas station beef jerky.”

She smiled slightly, and her body relaxed. “Perhaps he was extraordinarily hungry.”

“No, I think you’re on to something. You realize it supports my theory that he’s a captive.”

“It supports the notion that my father acted with intention at that precise point. Maybe he wanted to direct our attention toward himself rather than Kral. Or perhaps they plan to switch cars and they wanted to be sure we were following the wrong one.”

“We had nothing on their location until this picture turned up. If he’s trying to throw us off the trail, he’s going about it in an awfully strange way.”

She started to respond, but another huge yawn stopped her. The act was lovely in its vulnerability. Even a woman like Abigail got tired, if she was pushed hard enough for long enough.

“Sleepy?” he asked.

“Exhausted. I should have slept on the plane, but…” She wrinkled her brow.

“You didn’t want to sleep while people were talking about you,” he finished for her. “I’m sorry I had to tell Greene about your father’s connection to Kral, but it’s my job. This is what I do.”

“I know. It’s your job. But it’s my life,” she muttered.

He’d never heard her mutter before. Before he could comment, the driver slowed to a stop in front of Abigail’s brick row home. She shook herself awake and exited. Riley jumped out to grab their suitcases from the driver.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually coming inside,” she said once she reached her front door, her eyes darting from him to the driver. Riley supposed she’d thought it was the driver who’d followed her up the walkway.

“Yup. Hustle in. I don’t want to stay on the street any longer than we have to.”

She rolled her eyes but opened the door to her house and stepped into the small foyer. The hallway was narrow, with a staircase just off the entry as he expected from a historic DC row home, but the dark wood floors, pale blue walls, and bright white trim made the space feel airy. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration. For its attractive but anonymous austerity, it could have been a model home.

“It’s a beautiful house.”

“Thank you. Forgive me if I don’t give you a grand tour.” She hoisted her purse onto a hook near the door and began walking up the stairs without a second glance to see if he would follow.

“There’s time for that after a nap.” He carried their suitcases as he followed her upstairs.

“Agreed.”

He kept his eyes on his feet, resisting the urge to watch her legs and backside from his unique vantage point. Good Lord, but the woman was exhausted. What sort of man would he be if he continued to make moves on her when she was at her weakest?

He dropped his eyes as he stepped up the last riser and accidentally bumped into Abigail.

She had stopped in front of a closed door and was staring at him like he was crazy.

“Sorry,” Riley said, but he had no room to back away. He wasn’t sure he would have, anyway. Bright yellow sunlight from the window behind him lit her face like she was a model on a photo shoot. Her pale, perfect skin had never looked so luminous, nor her eyes such a warm shade of brown.

“This is the guest room. You can drop your things off here.” She pushed open the door with one hand and walked farther down the hall.

“Guest bath is here,” she said and gestured to a room on her right. “My room is at the end of the hall. Any questions?”

“Just let me put your bag down and I’ll be out of your way.”

“Do you intend to sleep?”

“No. I intend to check your house for access points.”

“The fact that it’s a row home should make it less permeable than most. There’s one front door and one back door, two windows at ground level in the front, and two in the back. And they’re all linked to a motion-sensing security system.” She put her hands on her hips. “Really, I still don’t see why I need a bodyguard here. Why don’t you go home?”

“Let me do my job.” He began to walk down the hall, which was not nearly wide enough for two people to walk side by side, and she was forced to continue into her master suite.

Master suite? Hardly. He stopped in the doorway, stunned by the bleakness of her bedroom, especially after the attractively furnished spaces he’d already seen. With an unadorned bed with no headboard centered in the white-walled space, it looked like a quarantine area. Even her pillows were an icy white. The room’s only redeeming quality was the polished dark-oak floor, although it looked harsh in contrast with the snowy whiteness of everything else.

“Good God, Abigail. Don’t tell me this is where you sleep.” He took a few steps inside and set her bag down near the closet. He had a fleeting desire to pull aside the pocket door that hid her clothing and see whether she was really as orderly as she seemed.