True Deceptions (True Lies) (2 page)

Struggling to breathe, she stared at him as though he was a monster, until her eyes shut, and she faded away from Bermuda and the glamorous life she’d never have.

No one was supposed to know his location. He’d stayed hidden for the past eight months. It was time to relocate and hide somewhere new.

The next few hours involved moving her body to a vacant room in his hotel. The task was easily handled with the help of a laundry cart and knowledge of the security cameras. He cleaned off the champagne bottle and left it by her side for the local authorities to play with.

When he returned to his suite, he had a visitor. An unexpected and unwanted visitor.

“Simon Dunn. On a stakeout, are you?” Dressed in white trousers and a pink polo shirt, Tucker Magee looked like a pretty boy on a modeling assignment instead of a spineless intelligence officer.

“I’m on vacation.”

“For eight months?”

“How the hell did you find me, Tucker?”

“The problem with shagging every sexy woman on the island is their love of social media. The boys at headquarters have had the facial recognition program scanning for you for months.”

“Glad to know the vast resources of the Secret Intelligence Service are used for employee retention instead of actually protecting the commonwealth. You could simply offer more vacation time and a better benefits package.”

Tucker glanced at the back of his hand. No doubt he’d just had a manicure and was admiring the handiwork. His image had always taken priority over his actual job requirements. “Her name was Sarah, here on break from university.”

“I don’t remember her.”

“A picture of her in a bar with her friends showed your ugly face in the background. They tagged you ‘hot guy.’” He smiled, the snotty prat.

“What the hell do you want?”

“My assignment is to bring you back to London.”

“I’m not ready.”

Tucker’s eyebrows rose. “Word on the street is you killed Luc Perrault after he stole away your latest piece of ass. They even say you snuffed Nicola in a rage of passion.”

His accusation fueled Simon’s anger. “I didn’t kill her.”

“Doesn’t matter. The rumor will increase your influence brokering arms deals. Everyone’s going to mind you now that you’re a known murderer, and that makes it even more important that you return to your post.”

“I’m done.”

“I don’t think you understand your options. Come back immediately or stay here and face a murder conviction.” Tucker tapped his fingers together beneath his chin and grinned. “Choose wisely.”

Simon’s heart accelerated to full speed, drugged by adrenaline and fury. The bastard had framed him, killing a beautiful someone in order to punish him for leaving a job that slowly burned away his soul. He stormed over to Tucker’s chair, intent on ripping his heart out. Before he reached him, Tucker pulled out his revolver and pointed it directly at Simon’s crotch. His eyes narrowed, and he waved Simon back with the barrel of the gun.

“What makes you so sure I won’t disappear again?” Simon asked.

“You’ve always hated collateral damage. It’s your biggest weakness. We don’t have time to insert anyone else into the game right now. Return to work or we’ll create a bloody trail behind you so deep you’ll drown in it.” Tucker rose from his seat and strode to the door. “I expect to see you back in your flat by tomorrow.” He left the room without looking back.

Chapter Two

O
ne transatlantic flight later, Simon paused in the hallw
ay outside of his flat. Nicola had lived there with him for five years as his pretend lover. He’d hoped she’d become his real lover. It never happened. She’d died first.

The muscles in his face tightened. He needed a strong drink to get through the night. Alcohol and women were his panacea. Female companionship, however, would only remind him of Anna Marie, and that was a memory best left alone for a while.

He flicked the lights on and made his way to the kitchen. The flat smelled like window cleaner and furniture polish—too clean after being vacant and locked up for months.

Fresh food and beer filled the refrigerator. Probably compliments of the lying rat bastards at MI6 who were blackmailing him to return to his former position. He grabbed a bottle and went to decompress in an old leather recliner. One refreshing sip cooled his throat. He shut his eyes to filter out the lingering memories of his former partner who gave everything for her country and received permanent anonymity in return.

The click of a gun and a tap against the back of his head woke him up. Usually, he’d be prepared to counterattack. This time, however, he didn’t care.
Go ahead, asshole. Kill me.

“Don’t move.” A voice, soft and unsure, revealed all Simon needed to know.
How wonderful, more estrogen.

“If you’re going to kill me, do it now. If not, get the hell out of my flat.”

She hesitated. The fool.

He reached behind him, grabbed her hair, and pulled her over the back of the recliner. She squeaked as she flipped forward into his lap. The gun flew out of her hand and skidded across the floor, landing under the coffee table. His fist kept a secure hold on her hair, and he tugged her face where he could see it—as wholesome and innocent as Anna Marie’s. Blonde hair, blue eyes, American accent. She looked exactly like the future collateral damage Tucker had warned him about. Beautiful until poisoned with cyanide and left to die.

Maybe this was a nightmare and the blonde would disappear after a few minutes.

“Simon?” she whispered.

“Have I ever shagged you?” He brushed his hand over her jeans to the top of her thigh. Her rock-solid muscles tensed.

She shook her head.

He would have remembered. Model pretty, but not as thin. Long denim covered legs ended in bare feet with blue nail polish decorated with daisies.

His hand slid over her shoulder and rubbed the back of her neck. Her shiver shot across his limbs and into places Simon didn’t want awakened. “Will I ever?”

She shook her head again and proved how useless she was to him at the moment. He pushed her off his lap, sending her to the floor.

“Then get the hell out of my flat.” If someone wanted him dead, they’d hired an imbecile to handle the job.

His aggressive actions sent her fleeing from the room. She had five minutes to leave before he picked her up and tossed her out the door. Distractions would delay him from finishing his assignment and disappearing again permanently. His hand rested on his holster in case she decided to try to kill him again. Part of him hoped she’d succeed.

A minute later she returned from the kitchen with a glass of wine. Why the hell would she stay if he’d threatened her? The liquid rippled in her shaky hand. She wore a brave face—chin tilted up, lips closed and frowning—but if he yelled “boo,” she’d hit the floor face first. He was certain of it.

“Why are you still here?”

“I’m Cassie Watson.” She sat on the couch, all six feet something of her, dressed in loose jeans and a pink T-shirt. “They told me you’d be a jerk, but I thought they were kidding. They weren’t.” She took a deep breath and a swig of wine. “Anyway, I’m your new partner.”

“I work alone.”

She took another sip. “I was told to report to your flat and wait. They said it would be weeks until you arrived.” She frowned, probably in response to
his
frown. “I understand if you don’t want me, but—”

“I
don’t
want you.”

She ignored him and drank more wine. “I have no place to live except here. I was told that, once embedded, I wouldn’t be coming out for a while. So if we’re not colleagues, perhaps we can be roommates?”

“You want to be my chum? Are you daft?”

She swallowed hard. “The service won’t let me return to my old job until I complete whatever assignment they placed me here to do.”

She was right. In his world, you succeeded and moved to the next assignment or you died.

“You’re American.”

“No. I’m British. My father and mother divorced when I was five. Mom moved me to Southern California soon after. The service said sounding American would be better, because you wouldn’t want an English woman after your last partner died.”

He overlooked her comment about Nicola. It was in the past—a past he wanted to forget.

He phoned a contact at MI6 to confirm her identity, and that she had, indeed, been assigned as his new partner on a job the service wasn’t ready to reveal. She remained on the couch, drinking wine and trembling. It was like they were now recruiting Sunday school teachers to be spooks. She spoke too softly, acted too timid, and drank her wine as though it was soda. She had nothing on Nicola, who was focused, smart, and sexy as hell. There was only way out of this situation—murder Tucker. He must be laughing his ass off. If Simon didn’t accept this Cassie person, they’d eliminate her and send over some other annoying recruit.

He stood up and stretched to his full six feet, five inches. In two steps he stood over her. Her earrings sparkled the same color as her eyes. Aquamarines. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the back of the couch, one on each side of her shoulders. She tried to pull back, but the couch kept her blocked in. His nose stopped an inch from hers.

“
If
you insist on staying here, you are under my control at all times. You do as I say, go where I tell you to go, and
never
talk to headquarters without my permission. Screw with me once, and I’ll throw you and all your pretty things onto the sidewalk, embedded or not.” Obedience and perseverance were the two most useful skills a new agent could possess, especially when lacking competence.

She nodded and held her glass almost steady. “I understand. I’ve trained for months for this. I’m ready.”

Her gaze focused on his chin. Neophyte. She’d never convince anyone they were lovers. Her training must have consisted of watching James Bond movies and playing Risk, the game of world domination.

“How many assignments have you worked on?”

“Including this one?”

“Sure.”

“One.”

“You have a lot of catching up to do.” He could smell merlot on her breath. So damn tempting, but thoughts of Anna Marie and her final kiss stopped him cold.

“I learn fast.” She lifted her glass to take another sip, forcing him to pull his face away from hers. “Do you have our assignment?”

Even if he knew, he wouldn’t tell her until she’d earned his trust. “I have no idea. I’ll be told within the week. Can you stay out of my way until I learn why you’re here?”

“Absolutely.” She placed her hand on his chest to push him back. “I guess I’ll be going to bed now.”

He didn’t move. He hadn’t thought this far. “There’s only one bed, and I don’t sleep on the couch. Ever.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep on the couch.” Her eyes became shiny, and she swallowed hard, making him feel like a callous idiot.

But he couldn’t back down. She’d think he cared. He didn’t.

“Fine.” Pushing away from her, he stormed out of the room.

O
h. My. God.

Cassie exhaled all the stress she’d hidden from her new superior. Or maybe not
actually
hidden.
If he was as good as everyone had told her, he’d have seen how scared she was. After three years as a technology specialist, she received an order to do field work. They insisted her skills were necessary for the success of the assignment. Although she didn’t want to leave her post, the request came with an ultimatum. Take it or find a new job. She couldn’t blow it, no matter how hostile Simon had turned out to be. The sooner she finished, the faster she could return to the work she loved. She hoped.

Retrieving her weapon from under the coffee table, she placed it on the couch and stared at the black finish. The gun still had the safety on, to prevent her from accidentally shooting someone. Guns killed. They shouldn’t be issued to people who refused, for ethical reasons, to eat animal products.

She rubbed behind her ears, trying to ease the sore spots. Simon had pulled her hair hard, but what choice did he have with someone threatening his life? If only headquarters had told her he’d be arriving so soon. On the other hand, he could have simply turned around and seen she wasn’t a real threat.

She wasn’t a threat to anyone. She hadn’t even argued when they’d reassigned her. After months of intense training, she still hesitated to shoot at inanimate objects and had never developed the calm, cool demeanor necessary for undercover work. She acted like a spacey schoolgirl from Southern California. No wonder he’d shown her no respect. Secret agent stuff didn’t appeal to her. She much preferred working at headquarters over this grungy apartment.

Her ineptness became clear when she’d failed the firearms training and barely made it through one-on-one combat. Her only skills aside from computer science were her ability to memorize a hundred different faces shown to her in random order and her speed through the obstacle course. Not exactly skills Simon seemed to care about.

Several times in the training process, she’d argued with her superiors about her lack of ability. They’d disagreed, insisting she’d be an asset in the field. By the time she’d entered her third month of training, they refused her request to go back to her old job until she successfully completed her mystery task. She could accept her new position or leave the service. It was like they’d removed her from her job permanently. She wasn’t even allowed to speak to her old colleagues in her department.

Instead of dwelling on the negatives of the situation, she needed to get practical. Her suitcase with her pajamas and toothbrush sat on the floor in the bedroom.
His
bedroom.

She got up and went to the bedroom, then opened the door and tiptoed into the dark room. The light from the hall illuminated a path from the door to the center of the bed. Simon was stretched out atop it, wearing boxer shorts and nothing else. His jeans and T-shirt lay in a heap on the floor. He watched her in silence, hands resting behind his head.

If the devil came to tempt her, he’d arrive in the form of Simon Dunn.