True Lies Read Online Free
caught and held his attention.
Against the background of dark, towering evergreens, Emma’s flowing white shirt and pale face made her look like a nymph that had just stepped out of the woods. The camera had captured the delicate features beneath the broad hat brim and Bruce found himself staring, entranced.
He had seen beautiful women before, had worked closely with a number of them. What was it about this one that made her so special? What had happened on her doorstep when they had parted? It had been nothing but a handshake, a polite, impersonal way to seal a business arrangement. It had held him rooted to the spot the instant her skin had touched his.
That was twice in one day. In the short time he had been with Emma, she had managed to get past his persona twice. What was the matter with him?
Maybe the strain of the continual undercover jobs was beginning to take its toll. Xavier Jones, his contact at the task force headquarters, had been trying to convince him for months now to take a vacation. Maybe Bruce Prentice wanted to be like Bruce Prendergast and have nothing to worry about other than lounging in a canoe all day with a fishing rod in his hand. If fatigue was responsible for those inexcusable slips he had made today, then perhaps after this operation was wrapped up he should think seriously about using some of that time off that he had coming to him.
He pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned closer to the photograph of Emma. He’d taken out his contacts and stripped down to his shorts as soon as he’d locked the door behind him for the night. She didn’t know what color his eyes were, or what his true size and shape was, or what the contours of his face looked like. Yet she had flushed when he had held her hand. He’d seen her eyes widen, and felt the tremor in her fingers, and he’d known that she must have been experiencing at least a hint of the mindless pull that had raged through his body. It was crazy. It was unbelievable.
It was damned inconvenient and wouldn’t happen again.
The background check that he’d initiated this morning was far from complete, and the preliminary findings were too sparse to either condemn or exonerate. He had learned that her cabin and the ten acres that surrounded it were mortgage-free and her property tax was always paid on time. Her plane was her own, her license was a recreational one, as she had said, complete with the extra provision to allow her to fly a float plane. He’d had no more than a brief glance at the pile of envelopes that he’d deliberately knocked off her desk, but it had been enough to note the return addresses. Her sole visible means of support were the occasional fishing charters she flew, so what business would she have with the managers of seven banks from here to Connecticut?
Handling the damp print carefully, Bruce unclipped it from the string and carried it to the bed in the other room. The springs creaked as he lithely settled himself cross-legged in the center of the mattress, propped his elbows on his knees, steepled his fingers and studied Emma’s image.
Even in this cheap motel room, with the yellow glare from the overhead fixture and the stale traces of a previous occupant’s cigarette smoke, Bruce merely had to look at her face and he felt as if he were back on that hillside with the pine-scented breeze. And even though the image in front of him was black and white, he could feel the impact of her clear blue gaze.
He leaned closer, pleased to see that his trusty old camera had captured the smattering of freckles and the delicate indentation in the center of her chin. No more than a few stray wisps of hair were visible against her cheeks. A hint of a smile softened his mouth as he remembered how the deep brown strands shone with auburn highlights, and how the locks she had tucked behind her ears had swung loose when she had leaned over the table to show him the map, and how that loose white blouse had gaped....
His smile
Against the background of dark, towering evergreens, Emma’s flowing white shirt and pale face made her look like a nymph that had just stepped out of the woods. The camera had captured the delicate features beneath the broad hat brim and Bruce found himself staring, entranced.
He had seen beautiful women before, had worked closely with a number of them. What was it about this one that made her so special? What had happened on her doorstep when they had parted? It had been nothing but a handshake, a polite, impersonal way to seal a business arrangement. It had held him rooted to the spot the instant her skin had touched his.
That was twice in one day. In the short time he had been with Emma, she had managed to get past his persona twice. What was the matter with him?
Maybe the strain of the continual undercover jobs was beginning to take its toll. Xavier Jones, his contact at the task force headquarters, had been trying to convince him for months now to take a vacation. Maybe Bruce Prentice wanted to be like Bruce Prendergast and have nothing to worry about other than lounging in a canoe all day with a fishing rod in his hand. If fatigue was responsible for those inexcusable slips he had made today, then perhaps after this operation was wrapped up he should think seriously about using some of that time off that he had coming to him.
He pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned closer to the photograph of Emma. He’d taken out his contacts and stripped down to his shorts as soon as he’d locked the door behind him for the night. She didn’t know what color his eyes were, or what his true size and shape was, or what the contours of his face looked like. Yet she had flushed when he had held her hand. He’d seen her eyes widen, and felt the tremor in her fingers, and he’d known that she must have been experiencing at least a hint of the mindless pull that had raged through his body. It was crazy. It was unbelievable.
It was damned inconvenient and wouldn’t happen again.
The background check that he’d initiated this morning was far from complete, and the preliminary findings were too sparse to either condemn or exonerate. He had learned that her cabin and the ten acres that surrounded it were mortgage-free and her property tax was always paid on time. Her plane was her own, her license was a recreational one, as she had said, complete with the extra provision to allow her to fly a float plane. He’d had no more than a brief glance at the pile of envelopes that he’d deliberately knocked off her desk, but it had been enough to note the return addresses. Her sole visible means of support were the occasional fishing charters she flew, so what business would she have with the managers of seven banks from here to Connecticut?
Handling the damp print carefully, Bruce unclipped it from the string and carried it to the bed in the other room. The springs creaked as he lithely settled himself cross-legged in the center of the mattress, propped his elbows on his knees, steepled his fingers and studied Emma’s image.
Even in this cheap motel room, with the yellow glare from the overhead fixture and the stale traces of a previous occupant’s cigarette smoke, Bruce merely had to look at her face and he felt as if he were back on that hillside with the pine-scented breeze. And even though the image in front of him was black and white, he could feel the impact of her clear blue gaze.
He leaned closer, pleased to see that his trusty old camera had captured the smattering of freckles and the delicate indentation in the center of her chin. No more than a few stray wisps of hair were visible against her cheeks. A hint of a smile softened his mouth as he remembered how the deep brown strands shone with auburn highlights, and how the locks she had tucked behind her ears had swung loose when she had leaned over the table to show him the map, and how that loose white blouse had gaped....
His smile
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