Dead Ringer (10 page)

Finn woke with a fierce headache and a raging attack of conscience. The minute he opened his eyes, he remembered what he'd almost done the night before and with whom.
Of all the stupid.
..

Christ, he should know better. Hadn't Suzy taught him anything? But Angelina wasn't Suzy, and the fact that she was in the next room should prove it. His wife would never have come this far. Not without falling apart. And if anyone had fallen apart last night it was him.

Groaning, he staggered out of bed and ambled into the luxurious hotel bathroom. At least he remembered it as luxurious. The light would only make his headache worse, so he didn't turn it on. But he didn't need a light to tell him he looked a mess, because he felt like one. Overnight, a crop of cotton had grown in his mouth; a marching band played Sousa in his head.

What the hell had he been thinking?

He hadn't been thinking. At least, not with his big head.

With a grimace, he turned on the water and showered in the dark. The needles of hot water brought back some semblance of humanity, enough to let him turn on the light and shave. As he dragged the razor across his still-pasty face, he mulled over how to handle Angelina.
Try
not
handling her.
Apologize, be professional, move on.

The door to the suite opened and closed, and he heard the sound of her moving around. Rinsing the last of the shaving cream off, he went into the bedroom and slipped on his slacks. Might as well get this over with.

When he stepped into the living area he saw she was back in costume, her dress an understated cream knit, her heels low, a strand of pearls at her throat She'd tied her golden hair back into a loose bun, but as always, some of it had come free in a soft, sexy frame around her face. Her makeup was subtle, her lipstick a mere slick of color. She looked elegant, moneyed, and very beautiful.

And more than anything he wanted to strip every tailored stitch off her, throw her on the bed, and have the wild goddess of the night before back in his arms.

Get a grip, Carver.

He clenched his hands to keep from reaching out for her. "Did you go somewhere?"

Back toward him, she busied herself with something on the coffee table in front of the couch. The dress clung to her rear as she bent over, outlining her curvy shape. He took a breath and damped his gaze on a swath of drapery as she straightened holding a silver carafe. Coffee splashed into a cup.

"I didn't want to wake you, so I went for a walk."

He heard the unspoken message.
I didn't want to see you.
He cleared his throat. "Look... about last night."

"You were drunk. You're sorry."

"It won't-"

"-happen again. I know."

"Angelina..." He stepped toward her and she stiffened.

"Better get dressed. There was a message for you. We're supposed to be somewhere called CP in"-she checked the slim gold watch on her wrist-"twenty minutes. I assume you already have your secret decoder ring and know what CP means and how to get there."

He poured himself a cup of coffee, relieved at her businesslike tone. "Command post. And I hope you can put aside what happened last night, so we can resume our professional relationship."

She mocked him with a smile, the first one of the day. As her gorgeous lips tilted up, he realized how much he'd wanted to see them do that.

"Is that what we're calling it?" She pushed back the stray strands of hair-a gesture that also set off her perfect breasts-and gave him that sea-green, challenging look, the one that said,
I know what you want, soldier.

Did she ever.

"I am sorry," he said. And he meant it, too. Sorry he'd been so tough on her, sorry he'd let his own weakness take over. Sorry he'd touched her, and most of all, sorry he wouldn't do it again.

* * *

Angelina stared at the elevator door, not daring to faces Finn,

Sorry, he'd been sorry.

Well, really, what else did she expect from an uptight straight arrow like Special Agent Carver?

And what did she care anyway? The sorrier he was, the farther away he'd stay. And wasn't that exactly what she wanted?

Never mind that it had taken every ounce of strength not to run her hands over his broad bare chest when they were in the room. It seemed like a year before he'd put on a shirt. And the smell of him. Man and soap, shaving cream. She'd wanted to press her face against his skin and inhale him.

He was back in uniform now, thank God. Dark suit, white shirt, maroon tie. If only he didn't look so damn good in it.

She kept her eyes straight ahead as they walked through the lobby and out to the car waiting outside. A bellman ran to open the door for her and she slid into the back while Finn got in beside the driver. She had only a moment to wonder how he'd gotten a car there so fast before the driver turned around and grinned at her.

"Ms. Mercer. Nice to see you again."

Agent Saunders. He'd traded his Hawaiian shirt for something western and denim, but it still looked like he'd slept in it. She threw him her best smile and watched title flustered look come over his face, exactly as it had in the motel room in Memphis. Exactly as she expected it to. "Nice to see you, too, Jack."

Finn waved an impatient hand. "Stop flirting, Jack. We have work to do."

Jack cleared his throat and turned back to the front. "Yes, sir."

"Where are we going?" Finn barked.

"I set up a command post in a nondescript office building. Nothing to make it stand out, like you said. The place is fully furnished; used to be an insurance office. We've got it for the month. Longer if we need it."

"Good. What about Roper? Has he shown up yet?"

Jack shook his head. "He's in Washington, but we expect him tomorrow or the day after."

During the brief drive, Angelina glimpsed hills to the south. They rolled and tumbled like the spine of a colossal prehistoric creature waiting to come to rife. The car turned a corner and a snow capped Mt. Helena came into view. Incised into a crisp blue sky, it dominated the landscape, as inescapable as her meeting with Victor Borian.

A few minutes later Jack pulled up in front of a low building that was as unremarkable as he'd promised.

"Treadwell Insurance, third floor," he said to Finn. 'The door is open."

Angelina followed Finn into the building while Jack parked the car. All through the elevator trip and the trek down the hallway to the door marked Treadwell Insurance, excitement prickled like nettles.

Finn led her past low couches covered in dull aqua and fake wood coffee tables scattered with out-of-date magazines. Like the office in Memphis, no one sat at the receptionist's desk, and he marched past it into the inner offices.

A very different sight greeted her there. Stripped of everything but the necessities, the room contained only a couple of desks, phones, what appeared to be a complicated computer system, and a dark bear of a man who descended on Finn the minute he walked through the door.

"Carver! About time you showed up."

Finn pumped the other man's hand, then turned to Angelina. "This is Agent Howard. Mike, meet Angelina Mercer."

"Our secret weapon." He shook her hand and whistled. "Yessir, I do think she looks the part."

He found her a seat in front of the computer, then Jack came back from parking the car and they got down to business.

"Everything set up?" Finn asked.

"The governor's been informed and you've been officially attached to his staff," Mike said. "Borian has his usual reservation for lunch today. Noon at the Saddle House. That's a local steakhouse," he added for Angelina's benefit.

Her heart lurched. She checked her watch. Three more hours until lunchtime. Three more hours until this whole charade became real. A shower of apprehension ran up her spine and she looked at the hands in her lap with their trim, virginal nails. The masquerade had already begun.

"Okay, good." Finn put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

The shock of his touch sent her heart thumping for a different reason. She sucked in a small bream.
What was that all about?
He couldn't possibly know how nervous she felt, and even if he did, she doubted he'd care. And yet the weight of his hand on her shoulder, even for a minute, was like the comfort of a thick, warm blanket.

"What about the clothes?"

Jack thumbed over his shoulder at an inner door. "In there. On hold for a fitting."

"Great. Angelina?" Finn held out a hand to help her rise, but she ignored it, not wanting to feel that heart-racing touch again.

Slowly, she stood on her own and to hide the fluttering in her stomach gave them all that killer smile. "More new clothes? A girl could get used to this." She sauntered to the office, but Jack raced ahead, and with an eager expression, opened the door for her.

She glanced over at the other two men. Agent Howard was amused; Finn frowned. He crossed to the door and passed through, all innocence. "Why thank you, Jack, that was very nice of you."

Howard guffawed and Jack flushed.

"Yes, it was," Angelina said softly and followed Finn into the room.

A thin-faced woman with a tape measure around her bony shoulders glanced up from a newspaper folded at the crossword puzzle. She was sixty if she was a day, sucking on a cigarette, with dangling earrings peeking out from flyaway gray hair that reached her shoulders.

"Hey, Smitty, let's see what you've got for me."

She squished the cigarette into a tin ashtray. "Hello to you, too, Carver." The woman's voice grated like sandpaper, but she grinned at Finn, then turned her attention to Angelina. "Got a humdinger here, I see," She walked around Angelina, inspecting her from all angles. "Hard to believe in this age of less is more that those measurements I got were right, but looks like they were."

Angelina felt her face heat and raised her chin in spite of it. "I gather you two know each other?"

If Finn noticed her discomfort he didn't say. Instead, he put a friendly arm around the other woman's shoulders. "Smitty's got the gig with the TCF sewn up, no pun intended. Costumes, special clothes, hair-whatever you need, she can do it."

The older woman winked at Angelina. "But not on a moment's notice." She opened a closet and removed three outfits on hangers, each one in different stages of completion. "I got one done, Carver. Stayed up all night to do it, too, so you better appreciate it The rest you can have tomorrow." She laid all three across an empty desk. Angelina recognized the completed outfit as the navy suit from the photo of Carol Borian.

Finn took out a couple of snapshots from his inside jacket pocket and compared them to the clothes on the desk. "These are great."

"The suit probably needs a nip and a tuck, but that won't take too long." She thrust the suit at Angelina. "Try this on, honey." And to Finn, she nodded over her shoulder. "Make yourself scarce, Carver."

When Finn left, Angelina changed into the suit. Smitty hummed through a mouth pursed around pins as she cinched the waist a little tighter on the jacket and pinned the raw hem on the skirt.

While Sraitty worked, Angelina thought about Finn's hand on her shoulder. Was it kindness or just a random gesture? Did it mean he was finally starting to believe in her?

She gazed at the kneeling woman's steel-gray head. "How long have you known Sharkman?"

Smitty looked up, her brows quirked in surprise, and took the pins from her mouth. "Sharkman?"

"Agent Carver."

"Oh." She shrugged and returned to the hem of the skirt. "I've been dressing TCF undercover agents for the last fifteen years or so. Carver's one of my best customers." She gave Angelina a close look. "You getting ideas about him, honey? Don't break your heart."

"Why? Doesn't he like women?"

She laughed. "Oh, he likes 'em. Just not enough to stick around. He was married once if you can believe it."

Angelina couldn't. Sharkman didn't seem like he'd trust anyone enough to go steady, let alone marry. "What happened?"

"Oh... turned out pretty bad. She was no good. Into drugs and wildness. He poured his soul into her and she sucked him dry. Almost cost him his career."

Angelina blinked, surprised. If she had to guess she would have imagined Sharkman falling for someone more like Carol Borian. Someone whose heels, not necklines, were low.

Suddenly a whole new side to Finn Carver opened up. He was a man after all, not a machine. And what do you know-he made mistakes.

Smitty tugged at the hem, smoothing it out. "Here now, I think that's got it. Go on out and see what the boys think."

But Angelina was suddenly nervous. "What do you think?'

Smitty levered herself up and grinned. "If I were a man, I'd be a train wreck. Here, see for yourself." She swung open the closet where a mirror had been tacked inside the door.

Angelina saw herself and someone else at the same time. The navy material made her appear even more pale and fragile than the dress she'd put on that morning. Chaste. Like herself if her life had taken a different direction. But also like her mother. The two women stared back at her, the images blending, and for an unsettling moment it seemed as though a fine hairline crack had fractured her world.
Who are you ?

"You all right, honey?"

She tore her gaze away from the mirror with a shaky laugh. "Of course. I'm fine."

"Let's put you to the test." She opened the office door and pushed Angelina out

A bubble of excited talk greeted her. Agent Howard sat at the computer, deep in a heated discussion with Jack. Finn was frowning over papers in a folder and throwing his two cents into the conversation over his shoulder.

Smitty cleared her throat, and one by one the men looked up and stopped what they were doing. The talk died, and they stared as Angelina walked toward Finn, his cool sapphire gaze wanning to an admiring glow that for once he didn't bother to hide. Her heart did a little flip of hope.

"Jesus, will ya look at that?" someone whispered.

She waited for a word of praise from Finn. She saw it in his eyes, but she wanted to hear it out loud. Wanted to hear him admit that she could do this. That she could be as good as him. Instead, his gaze slipped from hers to somewhere over her shoulder.