Face Of Deception. Ana Leigh
the gray-haired saleswoman remarked.
“Yes, I think I’ll try it on.”
“The dressing room is right back here.” The clerk led her to an alcove at the rear of the store and pushed aside the curtain of one of the stalls. “My name is Janice. Just call out if you need any help.”
Ann had just removed the blouse and put her shirt back on when the room was plunged into darkness except for a red exit sign over the door. She quickly buttoned her shirt-front and then groped for her packages in the dark.
Suddenly she had an uneasy feeling that she no longer was alone. Someone had entered the darkened room, and she doubted it was Janice, or the clerk would have identified herself.
Ann felt a sense of peril. Her heart hammered and her senses attuned sharply to every noise around her. She heard a soft shuffle of footsteps at the same instant the distant drone of Janice’s voice carried from somewhere farther out in the store. Whoever was there in the darkness with her definitely wasn’t the sales clerk.
Her nerve ends tingled as footsteps moved stealthily across the floor. Ann held her breath, but the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears was so loud she felt the mysterious intruder could hear it as well. Frozen with fear, she was fearful of moving lest she reveal her whereabouts.
No, I’m not going to surrender to fear again. Whoever’s following me is in for a surprise. I’m not going down without a fight.
She groped for her purse in the dark. It was the only weapon she had, and as soon as those curtains parted, she’d swing it at the person’s head.
She heard the faint slide of the curtains. He was checking the stalls. If only he wasn’t between her and the door she’d make a run for it. But not knowing his exact whereabouts, she might run right into his arms.
And where the hell was that clerk? She should have come back to check on her customer. If I get out of here alive, I’ll be damned if I buy that blouse!
She heard a footstep, this time nearer. Now he couldn’t be more than a few stalls away. She raised her purse in readiness.
Suddenly a flashlight beam pierced the darkness. “Ann. Ann, where are you?”
She recognized Bishop’s voice at once. “Here. Over here,” she shouted in relief. The light swung in her direction.
She heard his running footsteps, and the drapes before her parted. With a sob of relief she collapsed against the hard wall of his chest, and his arms closed protectively around her. For several seconds she savored the comfort and strength she felt from the arms enfolding her.
“Let’s get out of here.” His voice was a husky whisper at her ear. She nodded her response against his chest, and his warm grasp closed around her hand.
Once out of the dressing room, the store was dimly lit by light filtering in from the atrium in the mall. Ann turned to look back at the darkened dressing room. Nothing stirred. She wanted to bolt out of the store, but forced herself to take a deep, calming breath.
“What are you doing here, Bishop?”
“I…ah…”
“So you’re the one who’s been following me. Damn it, Bishop, you almost scared me to death back there.” Anger replaced her former fear. “Why did Mr. Baker lie to me? Lead me to believe it was all over, if he intended to continue playing these cloak-and-dagger games with me?” Her voice cracked. “I was frightened, Bishop. Really frightened.”
He didn’t offer any word in defense. Instead he took her arm and led her over to a restaurant opposite the shop.
“I haven’t been following you, Hamilton,” he said, once they were seated in a corner booth, cups of steaming coffee on the table before them as they waited for their sandwiches and fries. “I happened to have been shopping in the same store and saw you enter the dressing room. When the lights went out and you didn’t show, well…I…” He faltered in embarrassment.
“Ran to my rescue,” she interjected in a voice rife with skepticism.
Irritation flashed in his hazel eyes. “Believe what you want.”
“Well, do you have reason to believe it was foul play?”
“Foul play?” He snorted. “Did you pick up that phrase from a Charlie Chan movie, Hamilton?”
“All right then, why did you suspect I was in danger?”
“I’m suspicious by nature.” He picked up the cup and took several swallows of coffee.
He has nice hands, Ann reflected, observing his fingers wrapped around the cup. “Am I still in danger?”
“Agency thinks not,” he answered in his irritating, succinct fashion.
The answer was too ambiguous for her satisfaction. “And what do you think, Bishop? Because if you weren’t following me, someone else sure was.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because I wasn’t alone in that dressing room.”
She now had his full attention. “Why do you say that?”
“Someone was stalking me. I heard him.”
“Hamilton, I didn’t see anyone else enter that dressing room but you.”
“I know what I heard. There was someone else in there.”
The hazel-eyed gaze locked with hers. “How in hell did you get into this mess, Hamilton?”
The question forced her thoughts back to Clayton, and her voice softened with poignancy. “I met Clayton Burroughs four years ago. I was a fashion photographer and had gone to French Guiana on a shoot. The funny thing about it, I didn’t want the assignment in the first place. I felt burned out, after five nonstop years of living out of suitcases and accumulating frequent flyer points. I didn’t want to see another camera or any more gorgeous women in Gucci gowns for the rest of my life. My boss, Barney Hailey, talked me into it by promising me a month off when I finished. So I agreed.”
The waitress brought their order, and as soon as she left Bishop asked, “And how did you get mixed up with Burroughs?”
“Barney wanted authentic, outdoor shots on Devil’s Island. Well, our plane developed mechanical problems, and Clayton was on the island at the time. He offered us a ride back to Kourou in his helicopter.”
Deep in reverie, Ann smiled, remembering Clayton’s thoughtfulness in the weeks that followed. “When we wrapped up the shoot, Barney and the crew returned to the States. Clayton coaxed me into remaining in Kourou.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
His suggestive tone snapped her out of her reflections. “What’s that supposed to mean, Bishop? You don’t get it at all. From the beginning Clayton and I were kindred souls. He was lonely. He had lost his wife and daughter fifteen years before. He thought of me as a daughter, and I envisioned him as the father I had never known.”
“Until you found yourself alone with him one night with his hand up your skirt.”
Her eyes flashed in anger. “You’re pathetic.” She started to gather up her parcels to leave.
“Okay, I apologize. Sit down and finish your lunch. So the old guy was dead from the waist down and the relationship was purely platonic. So how did a photographer get into the rocket business?”
“I doubt that you’re really interested, Bishop.”
“I said I was sorry.” Irritation had crept into his voice. “Finish the story.”
Although she doubted his sincerity, Ann did want to finish the story—for her own sake, not his. Once started on this sentimental journey, it was difficult to stop. This was the first chance she had since Clayton’s death to talk about her feelings to someone…even if that someone was as cynical as Bishop.