Undeceived (11 page)

“We think they might. And with a mole inside, they might succeed.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It does if you can help us identify this Wilhelm.”

“I can’t.”

“But once we debrief you and Elizabeth and put your information with ours, it’s possible we can. Wickham’s intelligence sources say the former Prague station chief is believed to know Wilhelm personally. You were the COS, Darcy. And if they think you can help us identify their mole, they’ll want you dead—no matter where you are.”

“But—”

“Plus there may be some retribution for the deaths of their agents in East Berlin.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“If your identity has been compromised, and on the chance that the KGB can track your assignments and location, you’re a danger, not only to yourself but to anyone who works with you. We can’t risk it. We have to take our analyst’s recommendations.”

Darcy slumped back in his chair. His expression was glum. “Very clever, Wickham. That’s the one scenario you knew would work on me—putting the others at risk.”

“No left-handed compliments are required,” Wickham said. “I would never assume you’d consider anyone above yourself. I simply recommend what needs to be done.”

Darcy snarled and turned to Bingley. “So, do you have a plan, Deputy Director?”

“We have a safe house in northern Virginia. The cover is set. We pretended to put the house up for sale, and you”—he looked down at the folder on his desk—“Dr. William Eliot, Civil War historian, on sabbatical to write a book on Civil War weaponry, are now the proud owner of a Federalist style fixer-upper. That is, you”—and here he grinned mischievously—“and your lovely wife.”

“Wife? What wife?”

Bingley looked at Elizabeth, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh no,” Elizabeth declared. “No way! Pretending to be his wild Hungarian fling is bad enough. I’m certainly not posing as his wife.” She tossed a frantic glance at Darcy, once up and down, and turned to Bingley with a pleading look on her face. “Look at him,” she whispered. “The very idea of being married to me is about to make him toss his breakfast all over your expensive mahogany conference table.”

Darcy did indeed look shell-shocked.

“Don’t fret. It’s temporary. He needs a believable cover, which you can help provide. You know the area, correct?”

Darcy spoke up. “But you said you were from Illinois.”

“I lied, okay?” She turned back to Bingley. “My dad’s family is from Taylorsville, but I haven’t been there in years—since my grandmother died.”

“You won’t be in Taylorsville. You’ll be in Fredericksburg, hidden in plain sight. You know enough of the area, the community, the social structure. So it’s perfect.” The deputy director laid a hand on her shoulder. “There’s something else you should consider.”

“What’s that?”

“If the KGB broke Darcy’s cover, then they almost certainly have broken yours as well. And if they’ve sent an assassin to the States for him…”

Elizabeth paled.

“…your life’s at risk too, Elizabeth. You simply can’t function effectively as a field officer at the current time. The decision’s been made. Think of it as a vacation.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up.
A vacation? Is he serious? A vacation is a couple of weeks on a tropical island, lounging on the beach with a romance novel in one hand, a pi
ñ
a colada in the other, and a sweet but not too bright bronzed Adonis at my feet. Not a cold, miserable existence in the middle of nowhere with the London Fog, who never looks at a woman except to find a fault.

Darcy scrubbed his hands over his face. For the first time in her memory of him, he looked…weary. Still handsome of course, but not polished and debonair the way she first saw him in Budapest or competent and shrewd as he had been in East Berlin. He rested his chin in his hand and smiled at her weakly.

“Guess you’d better go pack, honey.”

“No, no,” Bingley interrupted. “You aren’t going back home for any reason. We packed you. Your bags are waiting in the car. If there’s anything else you need, let us know, and we’ll get it for you.”

Darcy sat back in his chair, resigned. “Don’t chew your thumb,
darling,
it’s a nasty little habit, and people will think you are an unhappy wife.”

She grimaced at him and stalked out of the conference room.

“Sorry, I can’t be there for the housewarming party, Darcy.” Wickham gathered up his papers and stood. “Enjoy the thriving metropolis of Fredericksburg. Good day, Deputy Director.”

“Wickham.”

After Wickham and the others left, Darcy turned to his boss and friend. “Trusting that man is a mistake, Charles.”

Bingley sighed. “You’re probably correct in a general sense. But in this case, I think he has the right of it. You were quite chummy with Anneliese Vandenburg, and now she’s been eliminated by your hand. I’m not sure the KGB will let that slide.”

“It was self-defense. She held me at gunpoint. And she shot me, damn it!”

“I believe you.”

“You know I wouldn’t have done it if there was another way.”

“I do. I still can’t figure out what pushed her to threaten you. What did Anneliese know about you?”

“Nothing, at least, I thought she knew nothing. Sure, I spent time with her, but I didn’t make time with her. I didn’t fall into a honey trap. I’m smarter than that.”

Bingley turned cool blue eyes on him. “No one’s smarter than that if the right situation comes along.”

“Charles, if this is about Budapest…”

“But no, I don’t think you gave Stonewall classified information. Unfortunately, I have to convince the men at the top. Just give me some time on this, won’t you? I’m hoping we can get you back out there soon.”

“The chief of station in Moscow has been there for three years come January. Maybe…”

“Maybe.” Charles looked troubled. “That’s not my call though. If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a couple of phone calls.”

“Yeah, okay.” Darcy glanced back as he stepped through the doorway. Charles was looking out the window again, sipping coffee as if he had not a care in the world. For the first time in years, Darcy was on the outside looking in.

It was a lonely place to be.

Now, I wait. The CIA brass are baiting the trap, but I’m too smart to take the bait. I watch and wait, hidden in plain sight. And I’ve been thinking. I don’t think it’s enough of a punishment to turn you, to make you like me. Now, I think you must die. But how to do it? Sure, I could just take you out, no problem. Because you’re weak now. Injured. On my own, I made a try for you while you were in the hospital, and once again, my plans were thwarted. Now I wait. Perhaps that is for the best; that was impulsive on my part—impulsive, vigilante retribution for the wrongs you have done me. I’m better than that. I’m smarter than that. I don’t have my love anymore, but my mother always said money can buy excellent substitutes for happiness. So I’ll make myself a rich man. I’ve already got a good start on that. Oh, my handler isn’t pleased that I took matters into my own hands. He still thinks there’s a chance you can be turned, but I see now, you are too weak for it. Too weak, too stupid.

Chapter 16

The National Mall
Washington, DC

Elizabeth approached the blonde reading as she sat on the park bench. “
Szia
.”

Johanna Bodnar glanced up, and a delighted cry escaped her lips. “Hello to you too, Erzsebet!” She embraced her friend, clutching her around the neck as if it had been years since they had seen each other rather than five months. Elizabeth’s bodyguard advanced and then retreated when she waved him off.

“I did not know it was you I was meeting in this place today!”

“Neither did I.” Elizabeth grinned. “I suspect a mutual friend with some connections arranged it. So, how have you been? Have the doctors been able to give you some answers?”

Johanna sat and patted the bench beside her. “I am on the mend. It is not all good news though. They say I have lupus.”

“I’m sorry, Johanna. That’s difficult news. But it’s treatable, right?”

“Yes. It is serious, but there is medicine. And I have to take care of myself. Papa is insisting I stay here for treatment, but I miss him so much. Sometimes I want to go home, even if medicine is here.”

“I’m so sorry you’ve been lonely.” Johanna did indeed look unhappy, although her color was better than Elizabeth had ever seen it. “Have you not made any friends here?”

“A few,” she acknowledged. “At first, Charles and Cara were regular visitors. He, especially, came to me.”

“I see.” Elizabeth tried not to smile too much. “I knew you two would hit it off.”

“I admit, I thought we did.”

“Thought?”

“All of sudden, one month ago, all that ceased. I imagine he was out of country. He travels much, you know.”

“I know.”
And now I know why
. Although, Elizabeth was pretty sure that Johanna didn’t know her American crush was a deputy director in the CIA.

“But I thought Cara and Louis might still be in town, so I called her on the phone. Twice. I had almost given up entirely when she finally returned my call.”

“What excuse did she give for not calling you back?”

“That she had been so busy she hadn’t gotten the message.”

“Hmm.”

“I asked after Charles. She said he was well. Traveling, not under her watchful eye this time, so no telling what debauchery he was up to. I thought perhaps you might have seen him. Cara said he was in Mr. Kent’s company. I do not know if you and he still work together.”

“Oh, I haven’t seen Darby Kent in quite a while,” Elizabeth said, mindful of the ironic truth she spoke. “If those two were in cahoots, the debauchery would make sense, wouldn’t it?” She looked up at Johanna’s stricken face. “Oh no! I didn’t mean it that way, Johanna! I was just taking a jab at Darby Kent. I’m sure Charles isn’t—”

“I have no claim on him, Erzsebet. He brought me to the US, came to see me several times. But he made me no promises. Except for a few wonderful dinners and sightseeing trips, I have not met him. I simply read too much into his attention, as one might expect of naïve, lonely foreigner. He only pitied me and most likely pities me still.”

Elizabeth remembered Darcy’s disapproving stares directed Charles and Johanna’s way, and wondered whether Darcy had a hand in Charles’s recent vanishing act. She would expect interference from Cara, and maybe she could see how a sister would feel justified butting into her brother’s life, but Darcy needed to stay out of other people’s business.

“I saw how Charles treated you in Alsómező. It didn’t look like a case of pity from my point of view. He’s probably just working—you know, on his novel. Cara’s trying to cast doubts on his feelings for you, that’s all. She’s a snob.”

“She is kind to me. Maybe she warns me Charles does not feel the way I do.”

“I think you’re giving her too much credit.”

“I will know if I do not hear from them after this. I will know if he is gone on to other places, other people. I will not be sad. It is the way of the world.”

“It will work out. I know what I saw between you, and not even Cara’s snobbery will stop it forever.” She hugged Johanna. “Now, I’ve got to go.”

“Where are you off to now?”

“Amsterdam.”

She squirmed slightly at the lie. Elizabeth liked Johanna, but her new location was dangerous information to have.

“You must write me.”

“I will, if I can.”

“
Isten áldjon.
”

“God bless you too, Erzsebet.”

“Thank you, and
Jó egészséget!
”

“To your health as well.”

They embraced again, and Liz joined her bodyguard. He escorted her to the black sedan that would take her back. From there, she and Darcy would go directly to Fredericksburg, her next assignment on this bizarre mission.

Chapter 17

A
s far as hideout partners go, I certainly could have done worse.
Darcy considered his situation as he and Elizabeth rode in the nondescript black sedan. He still wasn’t cleared to drive, which was annoying, but being restricted to passenger status did give him ample opportunity to observe the lady behind the wheel as she took the winding roads with a consummate skill, born of familiarity with the region.

“Who taught you to drive?” he asked.

“Please spare me any smart-ass comment about women drivers. That’s where you’re going with this, right?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, pretending to be offended. “I’m simply curious. You’re a very good driver.” He paused. “Did you drive the car when we left East Berlin? I don’t remember.”

“I think you’re excused from the memory lapse as you were barely conscious.” She glanced over at him. “And no, I didn’t drive. Fitzwilliam did.”

“Good old Fitz. But you took care of me.”

“As best I could.”

“I don’t know if I ever thanked you.”

“You did, right after you woke in the hospital. Then you kissed my hand.” She blushed and fixed her eyes straight ahead.

“Well, I meant it. Thank you.”

“My stepfather.”

“Pardon?”

“My stepfather taught me to drive.”

“You said your father’s family is from Virginia. Do they live close to the safe house? To where we’ll be staying?”

“Yes and no. There are some cousins floating around the area, but I hardly know them. My father’s buried in the Taylorsville Cemetery.” She counted on her fingers. “Three counties over.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, but it was a long time ago. He died when I was three. My mother remarried, and her husband was wonderful to me. I grew up just fine.”

“For certain.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Does your mother know what you do for a living?”

“She knows I work for the agency. She knows I’m a linguist. She’s not happy about it.”

“I’m wondering what, if anything, we should tell her. Secrecy is of the utmost importance here—to keep us safe.”

“It won’t be an issue because we won’t see her. She and Jim live in West Virginia.”

“No siblings?”

“Twin sisters who are a lot younger than me. They’re still in high school.” Another pause. “What about you?”

“Hmm?” He jerked his attention away from the curve of her neck, the little slope of collarbone visible above the neckline of her top.

“Siblings—do you have any?”

He hesitated a long minute. “A sister. Like your sisters, much younger than me.”

“Where does she live?”

“A large metropolitan area on the Atlantic Seaboard.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks reddened. “You always nail me on that.”

“Nail you?” He sat up straight, trying to force the sudden, vivid images of nailing her out of his head.

“You get me to tell you things about myself, and then you clam up about your own life. You always ask but never reveal.”

“That’s Spy Rule Number Eleven.” He grinned at her, loving the annoyance his remark stirred in her expression.

“Even in a situation like this, you’re always in some kind of disguise.”

“I’m a master of disguise. That’s why I’m the boss.”

“You’re not my boss, Darcy.”

“Closest thing.”

“What’s the next turn off?”

“Your predisposition toward sarcasm?”

“Ha.”

“Highway 53.” He eyed the distance on the map. “Looks like about a mile or so.” He paused. “See there? That proves I’m the boss. I’m telling you where to go.”

“I’ll tell
you
where to go,” she grumbled, and he burst out laughing.

“I bet you would, Ms. Bennet, with barely a moment’s hesitation.” He looked down at the map again. “After that turn, take the next left onto Hunsford Street. Looks like our new place is in town.”

Minutes later, she turned into a gravel drive beside an old, Federal-style town house.

“The honeymoon suite,” Darcy remarked with a sigh of resignation. It was going to be a challenge, living with this woman under the same roof, even for a short while. Working with her had been trying enough; now he would see her all the time—every day and night. This small-town setting was different from the exotic places in which they’d previously found themselves and far removed from the trips they took in his dreams. Those flights of fancy were full of snowy ski slopes and warm brandy by a hot fire. Or sunny beaches and umbrellas, and walks at sunset along the ocean’s edge. Yet here they were, in real life, staking claim to an old house along an old Virginia street. Darcy and his lovely colleague were hiding out like cowards while some slimy traitor who wanted them dead was probably free to roam the nation’s capital, maybe even roam around the offices at Langley. It pissed him off.

“Stop frowning, Darcy. It’s not that bad.”

She took the key out of the ignition. With her typical business-like efficiency, she stepped to the back of the car, unlocked the trunk, and began unloading the suitcases.

“I can get my own bag if you don’t mind.”

“Got something to hide?” she joked without thinking about the conversation in Bingley’s office that brought them here.

Rage churned inside him, quick and hot like a pot arriving at a rolling boil. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in George Wickham’s opinions. Let me give you some good advice, Elizabeth. He talks a good talk, but when you ask him to walk the walk, he’ll walk away every time. Don’t trust him. Just don’t.”

“Deputy Director Bingley seems to.”

“If Charles really does trust Wickham, he’s gravely mistaken. I’ve known George a long time. I’ve worked with him too, and he’s a weak-willed, self-centered mockery of a man. Let’s just hope he doesn’t get someone killed before this is all over.”

“I think Wickham’s just making a recommendation he thinks is in the best interest of the agency.”

“He bends the facts to suit his own purposes and cast himself in the best light.”

“That’s quite an accusation. What on earth did the man do to you, Darcy?”

He glared at her, slammed the trunk, and walked toward the house with his suitcase in his good hand.

She followed. “Fine. Be that way if you want. I’m just trying to get a handle on him. And get a handle on you, too, for that matter. You can’t blame me, as much time as I’ve had to spend with you over the last few months.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

“You’re so full of contradictions. Everyone seems to see a different man when they look at you. I can’t make you out at all.”

“I don’t think these are the right circumstances under which to evaluate my character. I suspect it’s not a good time for me to assess yours either. We’re under enough stress as it is.”

“True enough,” she muttered.

“Neither of us is at our best at the moment.”

Darcy ascended the steps that connected the sidewalk to the front stoop and had to stop and get his breath. He’d always prided himself on his physical stamina, but that damn side wound sucked the wind right out of him whenever he exerted himself. And his arm hurt like hell today! Probably due to the blasted weather—cold, rainy, miserable November afternoon! He set his bag down, and she swooped in behind him, picking it up in her spare hand.

“Here, I’ll get that.”

He grunted a thank you.

“You could open the screen door if you don’t mind.”

He pulled the wooden framed door and held it open while she set her own suitcase down and unlocked the door behind it.

“Not very secure,” he remarked as he eyed the door. He leaned back to take in the windows along the front of the house. “Too much glass.”

“Well, I’m sure the original owners didn’t have safe-house décor in mind when they built it.”

The entrance foyer had a black iron chandelier suspended from the ceiling. A staircase rose along the wall to the left, and an office and sitting room were off to the right but closed off from the foyer by a set of French doors. The kitchen was tucked at the back of the house.

Elizabeth wandered through ahead of him.

“There’s a master bedroom downstairs to the left just past the stairs. You can have that one so you don’t have to go up and down so much.”

“I appreciate your concern, but if you want it…”

“I don’t. I’ll have the whole upstairs to myself—almost like an apartment—and that works for me. You can have your privacy.”

The idea of having privacy didn’t suit him nearly as well as it usually did. Darcy put his things in the bedroom and wandered back into the kitchen.

She was exploring the place, opening cabinets and peering inside. “I’m hungry. How about you?”

“I could eat.”

“Looks like they stocked the kitchen some. Staples, equipment, a few basics.” Elizabeth opened the refrigerator door. “We’ll have to shop tomorrow. I’m not much of a cook, I’m afraid.”

“Are there eggs?”

“Yes.”

“Cheese, sausage, peppers?”

“No sausage, but there’s ham. Cheese—check; peppers—check.”

“I make a mean omelet.”

She turned in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Don’t look so shocked. Omelets are easy. And I did attend two weeks of culinary school when I was undercover in Paris.”

“Can you cook with that bum arm of yours?”

“If you help me.”

“You’re on cooking duty then. I’ll clean up.”

Elizabeth busied herself making coffee and chopping while Darcy stirred and cooked, using his left hand as well as he would have his right. They worked side-by-side, speaking only to say, “Excuse me” or “Hand me that.” The companionable silence and domestic scenery had his pulse skipping. It was too intoxicating—to pretend she was his, she was happy to be here with him, that he might find her in his bed tonight.

“Here you go.” He set a plate in front of her, and she smiled her thanks. He lowered himself gently into a chair across from her. “So, what’s the verdict?” He gestured toward her plate.

“Surprisingly good.”

“And why is that a surprise?”

“Just never thought of the
London Fog
as the domestic sort.”

He rolled his eyes, and she laughed.

“I hate that name, you know.”

“Really? You’re famous for it. How did you get it?”

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

“I was stationed in England, my first assignment. Some smart ass MI6 agent of your acquaintance…”

“Good old Fitz, I presume.”

“…gave me the name after I let a target escape by mistake. He said I was like a fog because the targets saw me but I didn’t really stop them.”

She laughed heartily, and a tiny grin escaped him.

“Go ahead. Laugh at my expense.”

“And here I thought it was because you wore a trench coat or something.”

“I made up for the mistake later, and most people started to think I had the name because I could
evaporate into thin air
or some such nonsense, but it stuck, as nicknames tend to do. Do you have one?”

“A nickname? No. I’m not near interesting enough to have a nickname. Well, my mom calls me Lizzy.”

“I think ‘Elizabeth’ suits you.”

She tilted her head, puzzled, but he didn’t elaborate. Just put another forkful of omelet in his mouth and smiled at her.

They lingered after dinner. Elizabeth found a bottle of brandy, which seemed a strange pairing with omelets, but it went down easy and smoothed out the rough edges he still felt from the day. As they lounged in the sitting room late into the evening, Darcy couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so relaxed in a woman’s company. Or maybe he had actually never been relaxed in a woman’s company. At least, not in this particular way—this warm, fuzzy, euphoric state where his attraction simmered under the surface. He could almost float on the bubbly conversation and exciting undercurrents in the room. There was no agenda, no assignment rushing him, no phone calls to make, no information to gather. It was a strangely perfect ending to what had started out as a very messed up day—one he hated to see end.

“Do you like working undercover?” He had always wondered. Elizabeth didn’t seem the type to enjoy subterfuge.

She stared into her brandy snifter. “It’s fine. I originally signed up for Science and Technology, but circumstances change.”

“I didn’t know that. It would be a good place for you with your training in languages.”

“Well, the powers that be had other ideas. They handpicked me out of my recruiting class to work with you in Hungary.”

“I needed someone who could speak the language well enough to pass herself off as a local, and you needed experience, so it fit nicely. You did a fine job—played the part to perfection. No one would ever predict that you were from anywhere but the Hungarian countryside.”

“You know, I think that’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me.”

“Oh, surely not.”

“It is.”

He chuckled. “The brandy must be going to my head.”

She finished hers off and stood up. “It is getting late. Here…” she took his glass and set it on the coffee table. His pulse spiked as she reached for his hand. “Let me…”

She paused and he looked up into her eyes. Her gaze fluttered down as she took his elbow in her other hand. “Let’s do one more round on your shoulder exercises. We missed the middle of the day.”

Disappointment flooded his system but didn’t tamp down the excitement having her hands on him elicited. He smelled the oranges and gardenia that typically surrounded her—a scent he associated with her now—a scent that washed over him, leaving a terrifying lull of happiness in its wake.

Silently, she moved the shoulder in a series of positions, while he played a silent game of trying to catch her eye. When he finally did, she lowered her gaze again.

“Your eyes are blue.”

“They are,” he said. “They made me special colored contacts to wear in Budapest and East Berlin.”

“I can see why.”

“Oh?”

“I was shocked when you first opened your eyes in the hospital. They’re quite striking.” She blushed and concentrated on moving his arm.

Darcy smiled in spite of himself. “Too memorable, too conspicuous. Occupational hazard.”

She applied gentle persuasion until she met resistance. He winced.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s okay. Talk to me. Get my mind off it.”

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“I don’t know—anything. You said earlier that your mother wasn’t happy you joined the CIA. Why not?”

“Mostly because of my father, I guess.”

“I thought he passed away when you were three.”

“He did.” She hesitated. “Truth?” she asked, mirroring his turn of phrase from earlier in the evening.