An Affair of Deceit (13 page)

A murmur of male voices confirmed the presence of more than one person in the room.

“Tell me why you came to France,” the same questioner repeated. “I know you’ve been showing a picture to locals. Who’s in the picture, Miss Mason?”

“What a stupid question. If you don’t know who’s in that picture, you really must get someone more informed in here. Is there a supervisor with whom I could speak? Lead inquisitor, perhaps?”

He laughed. “No, there’s no supervisor. You aren’t at a fucking McDonald’s, and I didn’t screw up your order. It’s just me. And you. And all the time in the world.”

She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t a threat to her. A real threat would have been on her like flies to honey, getting close and making her fear him. “That’s a shame. I could really go for a large french fry right now. When in Rome, right?”

Somewhere off to her right, a door opened. Crisp footfalls echoed into the room. More murmuring reached her ears, this time argumentative. Then the intense light switched off.

Thank goodness. Things always improved for detainees once the bright lights went black.

Didn’t they?

She gulped back a fresh wave of fear.

Several pairs of footsteps left the room, and then one pair walked toward her. Slowly. Ominously.

Her vision was fuzzy, and her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the quick loss of light. Her nose picked up the scent of a fresh cup of double-bergamot Earl Grey with a lemon wedge on the side.

Dr. James Riley.

Thank God.

Relief made her slump forward in her chair, her wrists pulling against their bindings. Surely if Riley was here, everything would be OK. Of all the men in the world, he was the least likely to hurt her.

That unlikely thought floated directly out of her subconscious and shocked her almost as much as the interrogation had.

She focused on his face as he slowly came into view.

His pale brown hair curled wetly around his face, just like it had two days ago when she’d sheltered with him from the rainstorm. Today, though, he wasn’t wearing one of his wrinkled black suits that screamed “government agent.” Instead, he’d gone casually Continental in a pair of slim-fitting gray pants and a white, Cuban-style guayabera shirt.

But even as her body warmed to see his familiar face, fresh rage flooded her veins. He was involved with the people who had knocked her out and tied her to a chair. How dare he!

She glared, her ire intensifying with every step he took closer to her.

Then he made the mistake of standing directly in front of her. “Abigail,” he began. “I—”

She had no interest in speaking. Like a striking snake, she kicked her right foot out and embedded her big toe in his crotch.

Riley yelped and dropped like a rock. A ragged, bestial moan echoed in the now-empty room. Abigail watched in satisfaction, expecting him to shout a few obscenities as he clutched his offended bits in pain, but apparently he needed to focus his energy on breathing.

His shoulders heaved with enormous intakes and exhalations of air. Strangely, he wrapped both hands firmly around one knee, seeming to completely ignore the more obvious source of pain. Why he held his knee instead of his testicles she could not begin to guess, but it was all very awkward and she began to feel
a little bad for having kicked him so hard. He had probably been about to release her, after all.

“Untie me,” she demanded sternly, not at all sure that he was even capable of such a thing at that moment. She could have timed this better. Next time she found herself tied to a chair, she’d wait to be unbound before attacking her savior.

He waved his hand in a gesture she interpreted as meaning “not now.”

More silence. The situation was more than awkward. It was embarrassing.

“Now, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you,” Abigail said, endeavoring to sound not sorry at all. “But you seem to be a part of this degradation, and I cannot let that go unpunished.”

He took a deep breath before speaking, and even then, his speech was faltering. “I didn’t know.”

She frowned. “You didn’t know that I was going to be assaulted, kidnapped, and interrogated? Well, I should hope not. I’d be doing more than kicking your…private bits if that were the case.”

He turned to glare at her, and she was shocked to see tears in his bright green eyes. “Then why
did
you kick me?”

“Because I was angry, and you were the only thing within kicking distance.”

A strangled chuckle escaped his bluish lips. “I should have known better, right?”

“Yes, you really should have. Perhaps you can’t exactly move at the moment, but do tell me what in the hell is going on.”

He breathed deeply again. “You wandered into the wrong alley on the wrong day. This one is under investigation. Not by my team. By another team, or else this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I didn’t wander into the wrong alley. It seems like I strode intentionally into the right one.”

“From your point of view, maybe. Not from mine.” He winced and raised his head, but very slowly, his usually tanned and healthy face now an unlikely lavender.

“What’s wrong with your knee?”

He stabbed a glare at her, looking like he wished he had something to throw. “Nothing. Grabbing my knee keeps me from grabbing my—never mind. It’s a guy thing.”

This did nothing to advance her understanding of male physiology. Testicles were to knees like…hell, she had no idea what the relationship was. She cleared her throat. “So, the murder of Officer Durand does relate to my father’s disappearance?”

“Yeah, Abigail, it does. Congratulations. You get a gold star.”

“There’s no need to be snippy. I apologize for kicking you, but only because it seems to have hurt you more than I estimated it would. You still deserved to be kicked.”

“Why?”

She wiggled against her bindings. “Because you forced me to do this. You forced me to undertake this investigation on my own. You’ve been hiding information from me from the start, and you continually block my efforts at cooperation.”

“Cooperation?” he asked fiercely. “You want cooperation? Stop kicking me in the balls, and we’ll go from there.”

“I could say the same thing to you, except not the…balls part,” she said, with as much dignity as such a word could be uttered. “You knew my father had been visiting my mother all these years, and yet you didn’t think that information was worth sharing?”

The little crease between his brows deepened as he frowned. “Did you follow me to your mother’s house?”

“Not exactly. I simply guessed that you’d be there and ensured I was nearby.”

He sighed. “You get off on a technicality.”

“How else am I going to know what’s going on in this investigation if I don’t take it upon myself to gather information?”

“You can’t do that anymore. Especially not in France. You don’t have the same protections in foreign countries that you do in America. If you only knew…”

“I’ll do whatever I must to resolve this issue.”

“Resolve this issue? You think you’re talking about finding your father, but there’s more to it than that. This is not an
issue
, Abigail. It’s a serious international crisis.”

“Surely. One that I can help solve.”

“No, one that you know nothing about. You’re sticking your hand in a hive full of angry bees, and I can’t protect you if you continue down this path.”

“Then fill me in on the details. You’ll find I’m rather good at solving crises.”

Riley took his time answering. “You’re really not going to stop, are you?”

“No.”

He carefully rose to a crouch. “Then you’re coming with me.”

“Good. Now would you just untie me already? I cannot have a conversation while my hands are tied behind my back.”

His lips curled in a wicked smile. “Are you sure?” he said. “I think I like you restrained.”

She glared by default, internally bewildered. Was he flirting with her? Men didn’t flirt with her. She frightened them. She didn’t entice them. “Untie me at once!”

He stepped widely around her legs, exaggerating his desire to avoid contact, but once behind her he knelt down so that his forehead rested lightly between her shoulder blades as his fingers fiddled with the knots that bound her. His soft breaths heated her spine; his dexterous hands caressed her wrists as he assessed the knotted rope.

He certainly seemed to be taking his time, and she wondered whether he was getting more pleasure from the situation than was gentlemanly.

There was nothing sexy about a woman being bound and tied. Yet, when he took her hands into one of his, pulling her arms even more tightly together to get a bit of slack in the rope, she responded to the increased tension with a surprising flash of heat between her legs.

“Does that hurt?” he murmured.

Her breath caught. She shouldn’t find this arousing. “No,” she stammered. “It’s fine.”

“Just a little more, then.” One of his hands ran up her arms to her elbows, and he gripped them together between his fingers.

Her back arched against the hard chair.

“Still all right?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She thrust her chest forward to ease the tension along her spine.

His lips brushed her neck. “Sorry. Just a few seconds more and I’ll have it.”

“Well, hurry,” she said, except she didn’t exactly want him to hurry. She didn’t let herself be touched very often—she seemed to give off a “do not disturb” signal that kept most people well away—but here, tied up, she had no choice. The bindings had taken away her options, and in doing so, they’d freed her.

Riley loosened the rope at her wrists, gently gliding his fingers along her pinned-down palms as he worked the knots rhythmically. Up, down, he rubbed her hand, a barely perceptible motion, except her whole body was focused on that one center of sensation. His other hand at her elbows stayed firm, the warm, dry pads of his hand solid and unrelenting against her skin.

She found herself beginning to rock with the motion. The heat between her legs became wet. “Nearly done?” she choked out, her words sounding like a cry for release.

“Yup.” The rhythm ended. The ropes dropped free.

“Good,” she said, quite needlessly, for obviously she had wanted to be untied.

Except as he helped her stand on shaky feet, she glanced back at the chair and its dangling ropes with a feeling damn close to desire.

Riley hated himself sometimes. The girl had just kicked him in the balls and he was still falling head over heels for her. Hell, maybe the kick in the balls had made him fall even faster, because her outrage had brought out a haughty beauty and emotional depth that made him beg for another kick just so he could see her seethe a little more.

Further kicks in the nuts were probably all he could expect from her. But even though the chances of her reciprocating any warmth were nil, and he just
knew
she would squish his soft heart, he couldn’t stop himself. When he’d walked into the interrogation room and saw her tied to the chair with her hair wild and her eyes murderous, he’d never felt so compelled to kiss a woman.

Maybe that was a little sick, but there it was. Riley was never one to ignore an emotional fact.

If only she would say something false or pretend to be someone she wasn’t, maybe he’d have a shot at forgetting her. He didn’t care for heavy makeup or fancy hairdos, hated cheap flattery and contrived touches. He was a sucker for honesty and insight, which meant the aloof and repressed Abigail Mason shouldn’t do a thing for him. But it was exactly the opposite. Her reluctance to reveal herself made her the most tantalizing woman he’d ever met.

He realized how fruitless it was, how psychologically messed up it was, but that didn’t change a thing. Greene had been right. Riley was doomed to love a woman who wouldn’t—who
couldn’t
—love him back. Even though her father had left her when she was eight, her formative years had been spent under the firm thumb of one of the most cold-blooded spymasters the world had ever known. Fat chance she could come out of that environment with the ability to trust, let alone love.

Now, she marched before him down the small, narrow alley from which she’d been kidnapped earlier that day. He resolved to put the brakes on his increasing adoration, but her butt, so pert under her thin cotton skirt, mesmerized his hungry eyes.

She probably thought the knee-length hemline was demure, but she couldn’t see herself from behind.

He shook his head, disappointed at his lack of self-control. With all his psychological training and carefully cultivated self-awareness, he really should be able to avoid having his heart trampled upon.

“You sure you want to know what’s behind this door?” They’d come to the end of the alley, where Abigail had been standing before she was knocked unconscious.

“Don’t play games with me. Open it.”

He shrugged and without ceremony tugged the steel door open, its recently installed hinges silent and smooth. Three high-powered lights—unfortunately identical to the one that had been shining on Abigail while she was under interrogation—illuminated the space within, making an ordinary concrete-walled storage room look like a movie set. Empty steel shelves lined the walls and formed aisles that extended several feet into the room. Dark blotches stained the walls and floor. A metal garage door rested shut on the far wall.