White Lies Read Free

Steve, but that wasn't their prune objective. They wanted
her to go with them, to personally identify the injured man as Steve.
                  In a dull voice she asked, "Can't they
tell if this man matches the general description of any of their own people?
Surely they have measurements, fingerprints, that sort of thing?"
                  She was looking down, so she didn't see the
quick wariness in Payne's eyes. He cleared his throat again. "Your husband—ex-husband—and
our man are... were.. .the same general size. Fingerprints aren't possible; his
hands are burned. But you know more about nun than anyone else we can find.
There might be something about him that you recognize, some little birthmark or
scar that you remember."
                  It still confused her; she couldn't understand
why they wouldn't be able to recognize their own man, unless he was so horribly
mutilated... Shivering, she didn't let herself complete the thought, didn't let
the picture form in her mind. What if it was Steve? She didn't hate him, had
never hated him. He was a rascal, but he'd never been cruel or meanhearted;
even after she had stopped loving him, she had still been fond of him, in an
exasperated way.
                  "You want me to go with you," she
said, making it a statement instead of a question.
                  "Please," Payne replied quietly.
                  She didn't want to, but he had made it seem
like her patriotic duty. "All right. I'll get my coat. Where is he?"
                  Payne cleared his throat again and Jay tensed.
She'd already learned that he did that whenever he had to tell her something
awkward or unpleasant. "He's at Bethesda Naval Hospital in D.C. You'll
need to pack a small suitcase. We have a private jet waiting for us at
Kennedy."
                  Things were moving too fast for her to
understand; she felt as if all she could do was follow the path of least resistance.
Too much had happened today. First she had been fired, a brutal blow in itself,
and now this. The security she had worked so hard to attain for herself had
vanished in a few short minutes in Farrell Wordlaw's office, leaving her
spuming helplessly, unable to get her feet back on the ground. Her life had
been so quiet for the past five years; how could all this have happened so
quickly?
                  Numbly she packed two dresses that traveled
well, then collected her cosmetics from the bathroom. As she shoved what she
needed into a small zippered plastic bag, she was stunned by her own reflection
in the mirror. She looked so white and strained, and thin. Unhealthily thin.
Her eyes were hollow and her cheekbones too prominent, the result of working
long hours and living on antacid tablets. As soon as she returned to the city
she would have to begin looking for another job, as well as working out her
notice, which would mean more skipped meals.
                  Then she felt ashamed of herself. Why was she
worrying about a job when Steve—or someone—was lying in a hospital bed fighting
for his life? Steve had always told her that she worried too much about work,
that she couldn't enjoy today because she was always worried about tomorrow.
Maybe he was right. Steve! Sudden tears blurred her eyes as she stuffed the
cosmetic bag into her small overnighter. She hoped he would be all right.
                  At the last moment she remembered to pack
fresh underwear. She was rattled, oddly disorganized, but finally she zipped
the case and got her purse. "I'm ready," she said as she stepped out
of the bedroom. •
                  Gratefully she saw that one of the men had
carried the coffee things into the kitchen. McCoy took the case from her hand,
and she got her coat from the closet; Payne silently helped her into it. She
looked around to make certain all the lights were off; then the three of them
stepped into the