True Deceptions (True Lies) (5 page)

She picked up the blanket from the couch and sat in the recliner. Her outburst would accomplish nothing—only distract her from the mission. Whatever that was. She hated being angry and frustrated. After several deep-breathing exercises, her stress decreased, and she nodded off.

Sometime after the sun fell below the horizon, Simon and Pauline emerged, fully clothed. Pauline’s makeup was intact, and her dress appeared wrinkle-free. Still, Cassie didn’t want to acknowledge them. The exclusion hurt too much.

She needed to get a grip. She didn’t have the experience to make demands.

Simon immediately went to the office and closed himself in.

Pauline, smiling like a woman who’d spent hours in the arms of a hot, sexy man, waved to Cassie with all the sincerity of a cheerleader toward the school computer geek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You will?”

“We’re going shopping. It’ll be fantastic, you’ll see. When I’m done with you, you’ll feel like a million pounds. Don’t worry, Simon’s paying.”

Wearing clothes picked out by Simon’s lover would
not
be fantastic. “What time should I expect you?”

“Nine o’clock sharp. Don’t stay up all night with Simon.”

Cassie smiled, trying to act more confident and saucy than she felt. “I’ll try, but he’s insatiable.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Pauline laughed, but for some reason it came across as artificial.

When Cassie finally shut the door on Pauline’s back, she headed for the office. Before she reached it, the door opened and he stepped out. He was no longer smiling. With his tight black T-shirt, fitted jeans, and sullen expression, he looked like a bouncer ready to remove a troublemaker. She caught her breath and almost turned to flee.

His rigid gaze, however, froze her in place. “I don’t care who placed you on this job, if you can’t control yourself or respect my need for privacy, then you need to be replaced. Immediately.”

“Excuse me?”

He held up his phone and played a video—with accompanying sound—of her sneaking around the flat and putting her ear to the door.

“You could see me?” She appeared incredibly foolish on the video. Why couldn’t she have taken a walk or made dinner?

“I told you before, nothing happens in my world that I don’t know about. And if I ever catch you trying to listen to a conversation you do not have the authorization to hear, I will pull you from this assignment faster than you can throw yourself on the floor and cry.”

“How will I complete the assignment if I don’t know what it is?”

“You need to do what I tell you, and you will know only what I determine you need to know. With too much information, you’ll endanger yourself and everyone around you. Trust me when I say clueless suits you.”

“I’m sorry. I thought Pauline would tell us our task together.”

“Pauline is not permitted to speak to anyone but
me
about the logistics. If she did, she would be terminated. She takes her job seriously, and so do I. As for you… Why the hell are you here? You obviously don’t like violence, and you have the seductive ability of a Teletubby. I’ve honestly never encountered an operative like you in all my years working in the field.”

He took a beer from the refrigerator and returned to the office, leaving her behind to feel even more useless and incompetent.

Chapter Five

W
hy the hell are you here?

Simon’s words played in Cassie’s head over and over. She had no idea, and apparently he didn’t either.

She didn’t sleep that night. Her mind rewound and replayed the events with Simon and Pauline again and again. Neither one had done anything wrong. She, on the other hand, had decided to promote herself to the moral
authority. With zero field experience, she’d challenged her superior’s judgment. Instead of showing her preparedness, she’d proven her ineptness.

Simon had left for some unknown place before she could rouse herself from the couch. No matter. He probably wouldn’t speak with her anyway. She took advantage of the solitude and gained some perspective during a five-mile run along the Thames. By the time she returned to the flat and showered, she was ready to deal with Pauline again.

She threw on a pale pink knit dress and flat canvas shoes. Pauline arrived dressed in a sophisticated black skirt and ivory silk blouse. With her dark features and petite frame, she carried herself with a cool elegance Cassie envied.

Pauline embraced her in the same cold manner as the day before. “Ready?”

“I guess.”

“Trust me.” Her dark eyes perused Cassie’s tall frame. “You’ll be beautiful when I’m done with you. I haven’t failed yet.”

They left for Bond Street in a chauffeured car. Pauline ignored her and spoke on the phone, setting up appointments for the day. At their first stop, she hustled Cassie into a day spa.

“Is this necessary?”

“Simon only dates women of a certain caliber.” She lifted Cassie’s nails, bitten down to the quick during crunch times at work. With a shake of her head, she waved over a manicurist. “She needs acrylic tips, medium long, and make the color blood red. Same color on the toes. Get rid of the daisies.” The words came out as a command, not a suggestion.

“Red?”

“Trust me. You’re not going anywhere that pink or blue would be appropriate.”

According to the stylist, Cassie’s hair color—golden blonde with natural sun-kissed highlights—was perfect, but Pauline told the woman to remove two inches from the ends and add some layering at the bottom.

“Trust me. This is what I do.” Pauline said “trust me” so often, she sounded like a philandering husband hiding his lies.

As a treat, Pauline arranged for Cassie to enjoy an hour-long massage—her first massage since leaving California. Her calm and relaxed state evaporated, however, when she emerged and couldn’t find either her clothes or shoes. The salon staff wasn’t talking, except to tell her to wait for Pauline to reappear.

After Cassie had waited twenty minutes dressed in only a terrycloth robe, Pauline strolled in with several bags. “These are for you. They should fit.”

“I don’t understand. Where are my things?”

“Cassie, do you think Simon would date a hippie girl with sensible shoes?” She shook her head and sighed. “No. He requires sophistication.
Your
things, however, scream folk music and country fairs. I promise to replace everything I took, both here and in the flat, but you must start over.”

Her meager property just became nonexistent, as did the size of her confidence. “You took everything?”

“Trust me. You didn’t have anything worth keeping.” Easy for Pauline to say. She had a complete wardrobe and a credit card. Cassie had nothing. All her possessions had been confiscated. And who would own the clothes Pauline had bought for her? Simon? The British government?

Pauline pushed a few bags into Cassie’s hands. “Stop acting like a child. This is strictly business, not anything against your style. Not really.”

For all Pauline’s faults, most of which were related to her relationship with Simon, she had an amazing fashion sense. Cassie emerged from the dressing room in a long black Donna Karan cashmere sweater and a tight wool skirt that conformed to her every curve. Even her cotton underwear had been replaced by silk lingerie. Every bit of her new clothing had been harvested from some sort of animal.

“Shoes?” She lifted her pedicured red toes toward Pauline.

“In the large white box.” She pointed to a box marked “Jimmy Choo,” a designer Cassie could never have afforded on her past salary without foregoing food or heat.

Inside the box, long black leather boots with shiny gold heels—tall enough for Cassie to look Simon in the eye without tilting her head—peeked out of tissue paper. “These are beautiful, but I don’t wear leather.”

“Simon’s girlfriend does. That’s you, by the way. You need to make a fashion statement and be unforgettable in a short amount of time. This should do it.”

Her job required her to take on a new persona, but in the process, her essence was being systematically stripped away and replaced by someone functioning according to a different paradigm. Her insides began to tighten, twist, and moan, one part in hunger and the other part in fear. She didn’t like the new Cassie. She wanted comfortable clothes, a desk job, and a bed. But she resigned herself that once the assignment was over, she’d sprint back to her roots. And her Birkenstocks.

The day continued at a fast pace. Despite her earlier misgivings, she enjoyed Pauline’s company. How could she complain? The woman acted cordial the entire day and was carrying an unlimited credit card she used exclusively on Cassie’s purchases.

They shopped at the best shops in the Bond Street area. Not only did Pauline not question the moral or economical wisdom of paying three thousand pounds for a pair of flimsy leather stilettos, she also decided Cassie should have the handbag to match.

They skipped lunch to visit Burberry. No time to eat for the fashionable. Cassie’s stomach, however, protested. Pauline tried to help by offering her fruit at the Chanel boutique. It wasn’t enough, but she carried on with the hope she’d be back in the apartment in the next few hours.

After hitting every major designer in the area, she’d accumulated enough clothes to open a small boutique of her own—Versace gowns, Chanel suits, shoes with long Italian names, and every accessory possible.

By six o’clock, Cassie needed a break. Pauline, it seemed, had had enough as well. With a wave of her hand, she summoned their car. They traveled toward Notting Hill. When the car pulled up in front of
Assaggi
, a small Italian restaurant, Pauline prodded her out the door.

“Go. Find some food. I’ll send your purchases to your flat.”

Cassie remained in her seat. “You don’t have to go through the trouble. I can go home to eat. I’m pretty tired.”

“This isn’t a suggestion. It’s an order. Have a great time on your trip. I’ll stop in when you return.” An elegant finger pointed to the door.

She wanted to hug Pauline, because she’d been the closest thing to a friend Cassie had known since leaving California. Pauline, however, seemed to prefer a quick exit.

When Cassie emerged onto the sidewalk, she ducked her head back inside the car for a final good-bye. “Thank you for everything.”

“Go.”

At the order, Cassie shut the door. As soon as the car sped out of sight, she remembered she had no money and no phone with her. Stranded across town, hungry and broke. She’d have to carry her killer boots on the walk back to the flat.

“Amazing.” Simon’s baritone voice wrapped around her and pulled her back from the edge of the busy road.

Cassie spun around. For the first time since they’d met, Simon wasn’t dressed in jeans, workout clothes, or boxer shorts. He wore a black suit rivaling her new designer clothes. His white shirt was open at the neck, but the total effect made him seem overdressed. She strode toward him, but the boots had created quarter size blisters on her feet, and her sexy strut turned into a wounded man’s limp. Simon held her around her waist and steadied her gait. She sank into his embrace—almost melted into it when he kissed her cheek and murmured in her ear how much he liked her new outfit.

Some of the crowd behind them had turned to look. They must be staring at Simon. His presence diminished everyone else’s. Cassie couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

She straightened to her full height plus three inches, rising above the crowd. Together they must have appeared like two well-dressed giants. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“I know everything. Have you forgotten already?” His breath tickled.

She tilted her ear into his shoulder to brush off the sensation. “Apparently I did.”

“I decided Italian food would be perfect for dinner.”

“That’s fine. I can have a salad.”

“No. You need more to eat than that. Consider this our first date as a couple. I’ll be acting the part of a domineering boyfriend and will pick your meal for you. You’ll eat everything on your plate and enjoy it. That’s an order.” His expression did not allow for resistance, so she nodded.

Her acquiescence brought a slight grin to his face, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. Darn, it was sexy. If she had to follow someone into hell, he might as well look like Simon.

The maître d’ embraced Simon and led him past a line of impatient people, to a private table in a corner of the dining room under a large orange and gold contemporary painting. “Mr. Dunn, we’re glad you’ve returned. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long, Tony.” Simon pulled out Cassie’s chair and waited for her to be seated, then took the seat next to hers. “Please bring me a bottle of the 2000
Famiglia Anselma Barola
.”

“Certainly.” The man hurried away in search of whatever Simon had just ordered.

A few patrons stared in their direction, but Simon ignored them all, focusing his attention on Cassie. He reached out and covered her hand.
So it begins. Our playacting.
She couldn’t let him down, so she allowed her hand to rest comfortably under his. Acting as lovers wasn’t so bad.

His thumb rubbed the top of her hand absentmindedly… or maybe on purpose. “I’m glad you met me here tonight. I need to go somewhere, and I thought you’d like to drive with me.”

Did she have a choice? “Sure. I need a field trip. It’ll be fun.”

“If everything goes as planned, you’ll wait in the car while I pick up what I need.”

“Not so fun.”

“I’d prefer to have you bored in the car rather than transported to the morgue. Although more exciting, it’s not quite as satisfying.”

Nope. Not fun at all.

Cassie hated death. She’d spent months by her mother’s side as cancer slowly murdered her. Would a quick killing be any less horrifying? Her nerves curbed her appetite. She didn’t want to eat. She’d never wanted a career in subterfuge and violence, but her only choices had been early retirement or spy school.

The maître d’ returned with a bottle of red wine, uncorked it, and poured them each a glass. Simon didn’t touch his, so Cassie left hers sitting in front of her as well and smiled at the waiter who had arrived to take their order.