True Lies Read Free Page B

leave?” he asked eagerly. His chair scraped loudly as he pushed himself to his feet. The map he had been holding rolled shut with a snap. For a moment he appeared to tower over her, but then he took a shuffling step away and bumped into the corner of the desk. Although the desktop was closed, there was a handful of unopened mail that was stacked on the top ledge. “Oh, heck. I'm sorry,” he mumbled, squatting down to gather up the letters he’d knocked to the floor.
    She watched his clumsy movements, restraining the urge to offer her help and risk insulting him. “Can you get here half an hour before sunrise?”
    “Sure. Great.” As he straightened up and replaced the mail, the strap of his camera slid from his shoulder. He juggled it awkwardly as he reached the door.
    Poor soul, she thought again. He was so painfully nervous and clumsy. She had strong doubts whether he’d be able to catch anything at all. Well, she took advantage of any excuse to fly, and he would be paying for her fuel. He’d even be paying her to lounge around fishing all day, and she could use the time off. She held out her right hand as he stepped outside. “Until tomorrow, then.”
    He wiped his palm on his pants and reached for her hand. “I'm really looking forward to this, Emma.”
    “The weather should be...” Her words trailed off as his fingers closed gently around hers.
    It was startling, that contact of flesh on flesh. Her skin tingled where he touched her, as if a connection were forming between them, as if some part of her was responding to...to what? What could she possibly be feeling for this awkward, painfully shy stranger? He wasn’t remotely her type, if she even had a type. He was soft, and sloppy, and...
    He straightened, and her gaze locked with his. It was difficult to do at first. The brown of his eyes seemed flat and elusive, as if she weren’t really seeing him. Gradually she looked past the color to the long, thick lashes and the bold, straight eyebrows. She hadn’t noticed them before. Until now he’d kept his head tilted so that the brim of his baseball cap had shielded him. Was it an illusion, or were his eyes really as compelling as they seemed? Were those actually hints of masculine strength and determination in the depths? Was the fragment of vulnerability she glimpsed real, or was it a reflection of her own?
    The odd moment of connection lasted less than a heartbeat. He dropped her hand as awkwardly as he had taken it and shoved his fists into the deep pockets of his jacket. Stumbling backward, he tripped on the rock step again before he made it to the lawn. “Uh, I'll see you tomorrow morning.”
    She curled her fingers into her palm as she watched him move across the hill to the driveway. His shoulders slouched beneath the baggy coat, his scuffed running shoes stirred puffs of dust from the dry gravel. He was as clumsy and unappealing as he’d been before. Yet even after he had disappeared into the shadows of the pines, his presence seemed to linger.
    A frown tightened her brow. She must have imagined it. Determination? Strength? Vulnerability? Tingles? She barely knew him. How could she possibly have felt anything at his touch?
    Rubbing the lines from her forehead, she turned to go back into the cabin. Only the wind heard her whispered question. “What kind of man are you, Bruce Prendergast?”
    * * *
    Bruce lifted the last print from the rectangular tin and let it drip into the bathtub for a moment before he clipped it to the string with the others. He stepped back and hit the switch on the wall, flooding the tiny motel bathroom with light. Stark black-and-white photographs hung in an orderly line, marking the progress of his first day in Bethel Corners. The shots of the property by the lake would be useful if he needed to coordinate a team assault. Several shots he got of the white plane were detailed enough to make future identification easy. But it was the last print that he had developed that