An Affair of Deceit (17 page)

“I can’t say I disagree with you. Where are you now?”

“Waiting for you in Nîmes. Are you still in Arles?”

“Absolutely. I’m eating a pizza and thinking about doing a little dancing.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Greene paused. “You with Abigail?”

“Yeah. She’s helping.”

“Oh yeah? Is she providing you with a little physical refreshment?”

“More like the opposite. She kicked me in the balls when I stopped the interrogation the other team had initiated.”

“Why? Didn’t she like being drugged and tied to a chair? I’m shocked.”

“I honestly think she would have kicked whatever was in kicking distance at that point. It’s just a damned shame it happened to be my nuts. Anyway, she’s useful. I let her sit in on the interview with McCrea and Quill.”

“Did they give you anything good?”

“I think so. I’m starting to think that Kral isn’t our average money-hungry criminal. I think there’s something else driving him, but I need to know more about his personal life before I can say what that thing is.”

“Just when I was starting to forget that you’re a psychologist. Don’t you want to come shoot some unarmed villagers with me? It’ll be fun! We’ll give you a really big gun and a new code name.”

Riley snorted. He knew Greene was only joking about shooting villagers. “Hell no. I don’t need a big gun to get my job done, though I do want to see what his place looks like. Maybe I’ll get something useful from it.”

“What, are you psychic now?”

“No, but you can tell a lot about a person by how he lives. For example, from the unpacked boxes sitting in your office, I can tell that you’re not only lazy but also afraid of commitment.”

Greene chortled. “But mostly I love the smell of cardboard. What about you? You own more artifacts than the British Museum, but you never have anyone over to look at them.”

“I like my house,” Riley said. He’d put a lot of thought into the furnishings of his simple, three-bedroom house on the outskirts of DC. Not only was it full of carefully selected antiques he’d picked up on his travels, but he’d made sure each public room had lots of places for friends to sit. In fact, he’d gone to great expense to buy a sturdy, farmhouse-style dining table that could seat ten.

Now that he thought about it, though, he hadn’t yet found the time to host a party. And the two guest rooms had never welcomed anybody but his mother, who’d once stayed over while her place was being painted. Whatever. He was a busy man. He’d have time for a social life…later. Somehow. “My collections show an appreciation for culture and a refined sense of style.”

“They show that you spend most of your time thinking about other people’s lives.”

“Am I supposed to be thinking about myself?”

“Every now and then, maybe.”

Riley heard the sincerity in his friend’s voice and forced a laugh. “Stick to shooting civilians, would you? Your psychoanalysis needs work. And get someone researching Kral’s childhood. I need every possible detail we can pull up about his family.”

Hours later, just after two in the morning, Abigail and Riley sat alone in a cargo van parked in the forested foothills of the Chaîne des Alpilles mountain range. Waves of heat pulsed off the electronics lining the walls. With all of the doors closed, the van was dark, save for the red and green glows of LEDs and occasional bursts of gunfire visualized on the main monitor.

Abigail’s gorgeous brown eyes were glued to the screen.

Riley’s eyes were glued to her.

She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Few people have.” He pulled his attention to the events unfolding on the screen. As per standard procedure, a satellite had been tasked to monitor the assault on Kral’s estate. A team approached the compound, which encompassed an entire village perched on an herb-strewn hillside capped with a limestone cliff. A narrow bridge spanning a deep ravine was the town’s only access point. So far, the strike force had encountered substantial resistance just getting to the bridge. Four units of armed hostiles had been neutralized in the forest and along the road that led to the town over the course of the last two hours. Now, all that remained was the assault on the village itself.

Six figures in black scuttled like ants onto the stone bridge deck. They didn’t stop as they dashed to the other side. There they crouched in the shadows of the town’s buildings, which were tall and narrow and created a maze of dark alleys through which clever opposition could flow like water. It wouldn’t take much for the team to be trapped on the bridge, a choke point where all trails met.

Riley thought Abigail held her breath as the team scanned the darkness. She exhaled when they began to move up an alley toward the medieval stone fortress that perched like a warty bullfrog at the top of the terraced village. Obviously enthralled by the raid, she shifted in her chair to move closer to the computer. Her skirt slipped up her thigh enough to expose her small, pale knee.

It’s just a knee
, he scolded his hormones, but he couldn’t stop his heart from quickening at the sight of it. Heroes were engaged in a real-life, real-time battle that he was privileged to observe, but all he could think of was how soft Abigail’s skin looked. If he rested his hand on his own leg, it might brush up against hers. The backs of his fingers might caress her knee; his wrist might graze her thigh. From there, it was hardly a leap to think
of pressing his hand more firmly against her, laying his palm on her warm leg, and then slowly sliding his fingers up…

His body began to respond, and he coughed to clear his head. This was definitely not what he should be thinking about.

“Did you say something?” she asked, distracted.

“Just that it looks like they’ll make it to the fortress soon.” He made up the lie quickly.

“What happens then? How soon before they’re inside?”

“It depends on what kind of opposition they meet.”

Pops of gunfire cracked through the speakers.

Her mouth was firm, but her eyes opened wide as she watched a war rage in the streets of the remote French village. When the first CIA officer was shot, her jaw muscles bulged. When a second man went down, her fists clenched. But when a third member of the assault team was injured, her whole body shuddered. Her eyes filled. One by one, tears ran down her cheeks and dripped to her skirt. Her eyebrows came together in frustration, but she didn’t look away from the screen.

“Abigail.”

She didn’t answer, didn’t move.

“Abigail,” he said again and grabbed her hand.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she squeezed his hand tightly and didn’t let go.

“Get some sleep. You’ll need it,” Greene ordered six hours later, after the assault team had cleared the village of Kral’s fighters. Now, a forensics team was sweeping methodically through the main fortress and surrounding buildings for evidence. At Greene’s request, a safe zone had been established in a tall, narrow building located just outside the fortress wall.

Exhausted and unable to drive any distance, Abigail and Riley’s only choice was to sleep there, in the crumbling house
that looked to her as though it’d been abandoned several hundred years ago.

She trudged up the narrow interior staircase, banging her suitcase against the flaking wall with every weary step. At the top of the stairs she stopped, dismayed by what she saw.

One bed and it couldn’t have been much bigger than a twin.

Riley bumped into her from behind, and she stumbled into the room, her feet sending puffs of dust into the hazy air.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

What mattered was sleep, and she would waste no time falling into it.

She walked to the bed and kicked off her sandals. The bed was lumpy and the ancient pillow smelled of mold, but it could have been a king-size at the Ritz for as good as she felt when she closed her eyes.

“I’ll take the floor.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said into the pillow.

“What?”

With a great expenditure of energy, she lifted her head. “Don’t be a prude. The floor is hard. This bed is soft, by comparison at least. I do not intend to toss and turn, and I expect the same of you.”

“OK.” She heard footsteps and the sound of a door opening. She hadn’t noticed any doors, but her attention had been focused on the bed.

“There’s a bathroom in here,” he said happily.

“Is that where you’re sleeping?”

“No, but I might take a bath.”

She didn’t care. Her eyelids felt like they’d been weighted down. From somewhere to her left came the
swoosh
of curtains being pulled. Sunlight ceased to beat upon her face.

Blessed darkness!

The pleasant droning of running water echoed from the bathroom, and in seconds, her consciousness slipped away.

Minutes or hours could have passed before a creaky shifting on the bed awakened her.

With great effort, she cracked open her eyes. Riley was climbing into bed beside her, trying in vain to be quiet. Her senses awoke as she breathed in distinctly French scents of lavender and rosemary, gloriously edible. He must have bought a new soap. She felt suddenly dirty and wished she’d taken a bath as well. There were few things as pleasurable as sliding into bed after a scalding rinse, and indeed, wet heat radiated from his body to hers.

His legs rustled under the thin cotton sheets. One of his feet connected with hers.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No problem.”

Was his foot bare? Well, that seemed perfectly normal. She surmised that not everyone wears socks to bed, particularly in this climate. She opened one eye to see what else he wore—and struggled to keep from gasping.

He wore
nothing
, at least nothing on top. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned toward her, his pretty green eyes closed. One bare, tanned arm propped up his head, and the other stretched out in front of him. His other hand rested inches from her nose. Though his wavy brown hair was still wet, he looked asleep.

Abigail, on the other hand, was absolutely awake and a little angry. What nerve he had, coming to bed without a shirt!

Damn it, she
was
a prude. She wished she’d taken off more clothes.

No.
She
shouldn’t have taken off more clothes; he should have kept himself covered. It wasn’t on her to remove—it was on him to stay dressed, for crying out loud.

She wondered if he was wearing underpants.

What a thought! Her entire body shivered. He wouldn’t be so disrespectful. Would he?

Curiosity threatened to overwhelm her, but she refused to succumb. She would…not…look!

Instead, she tugged the sheets up in a big, decisive motion, but something went wrong: the ancient cotton billowed like a sail in full wind. In the seconds it took the musty cloth to settle back on their bodies, she saw with crystal clarity that Riley wore nothing but a pair of white boxer shorts. His long legs were tanned, toned, and
naked
, mere inches from hers.

Cool sweat materialized on her forehead. She closed her eyes but couldn’t forget the perfect curve of his perfectly muscular butt under the crisp fabric of his shorts.

How dare he? Was she so easy to resist that he could sleep nearly naked next to her without a wink of interest? Irritation welled inside her.

“Did you leave your pajamas at home, Dr. Riley?” she said, her voice loud and shrill in the nearly empty room.

“What?” he grumbled. “Oh, give me a break. This is how I sleep.”

“This is hardly a normal sleeping occasion.”

“Abigail, I’m tired. I’m not going to fight with you. And I’m not getting out of bed. You said I could share. Now deal with it.”

Fine
.

Abigail hopped out of bed, grabbed her suitcase, and stormed into the small bathroom.

Her reflection in the mirror startled her. Her face, normally so pale and unblemished, was pink and wrinkled from resting on the pillow. No matter. It was nothing a bath couldn’t fix.

Except the bath water wouldn’t run hot. After waiting several minutes for it to warm up, she realized the place was lucky to have running water, let alone a heater for it. Defiant and angry, she stepped into the icy tub and splashed as best as she could, shivering and gritting her teeth through it all. She felt like her body would begin to convulse if she didn’t hurry, so she grabbed Riley’s French soap off the counter and used it to scrub her body
clean. She rinsed and stepped out, eager to find a clean towel so she could dry off.