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Ricco hadn’t returned. He must have left from the terrace.

  Thomas found Paul to say good night. The section chief jerked his head towards the French doors leading to the veranda. “What happened out there?”

  “I think he had another engagement.”

  Paul wrinkled his brow in a deep frown, but he let it go. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Thomas tucked Traci’s hand in the crook of his arm, and they left the ballroom. On the ride back to the hotel, he glanced over at her. He needed answers, preferably not in Daniel’s presence. “Why did you go out on the terrace with Rossellini?”

  She twisted in the seat to face him, her eyes glistening in the semi-darkness. “Rather, like you in Bermuda, he didn’t ask.”

  “What did he want, other than the obvious? He took a chance knowing you were here with me.”

  “He thinks Traci has some photographs he wants.”

  “What kind of photographs?”

  “He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t have a chance to ask. I just wanted to get away from him. Do you think you’ll be in trouble for hitting him?”

  “Ricco won’t press charges, if that’s what you mean. Not a man with his pride. I think...I owe you an apology, and I accept the fact you quite possibly may be who you claim to be. I brought you away from Bermuda against your will without giving you a chance to explain.” He paused before continuing. “Why didn’t you run? In your place, I would have.”

  “I considered it. But people would have thought I was mad, considering all the madcap things Traci did in Paris and elsewhere. And, we made a bargain.”

  His gaze found hers in the limo’s dim lighting. “I have to be away for a while, hopefully not more than a couple of weeks. It’s important, or I wouldn’t go. I need you to take care of Daniel while I’m away. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “I would do that without your asking and without your money.”

  He relaxed against the seat, watching her. If by some strange twist of fate, she told him the truth, and she truly was Mercy Lawrence, he’d have to release her. That would hurt Daniel beyond redemption. And if she was Mercy Lawrence, where was Traci? How had she remained out of sight for so long, without funds?

  The worst of it was he would have to begin the search for Traci all over again. Find her for Daniel’s sake, and do something about their unraveled marriage. He had to do it soon. He was falling in love with Mercy and that wouldn’t do. Despite the obstacles, he didn’t want to lose this woman.

  She was a better mother to his son than Traci had ever been.

  

  Ricco Rossellini rubbed his jaw and headed to his Ferrari. He climbed inside and slammed the door with vicious force, ignoring the pain in his jaw. How dare she attack him! Treat him like a common pervert. Pretend not to know him. Juvenile.

  For what reason? Because her husband was there? Thomas Wallace had to have known about their affair for years. The tabloids had made it an open secret.

  What he couldn’t fathom was why she failed to turn over the photographs to the authorities. Had she lost her patriotic fervor and had a last-minute change of heart? Planning to blackmail him? Sell to the highest bidder? That was more like the Traci of old. If so, she overestimated her charm.

  Whatever the scheme, he was finished with her—and her interfering husband. He’d take care of Thomas Wallace personally. But that was another matter for another day. He punched a number into his cell phone. “Have you found the pictures, yet?”

  “No,” Lorenz answered. “My island contact searched her room—everywhere. They’re not at the villa. She must have stashed them somewhere. Could have put it in a safety deposit box in Naples, sent it into cyberspace, who knows? We may never find them.”

  “Forget about the pictures, for now. I want Traci Wallace dead.”

  10

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Sunday, May 21

  Exhaustion settled over Mercy as the jet touched down on the island runway and came to a stop. The flight home was quiet, but she was too restless to nap. The scene at the hotel and at the embassy rewound and replayed in an endless mind-loop. She picked up the book she’d brought along, hoping to distract her thoughts. But it didn’t work.

  The whole Paris experience, her encounter with Rossellini, Doubting Thomas’s near u-turn, from grim accuser to sensitive protector, left her with more questions than answers. The emotions she felt while they danced made her realize her precarious position—desperately attracted to a married man.

  Thomas had been charming at the hotel, admiring the gown she selected. He’d given her the exquisite jewelry to wear, not to keep, but to compliment the dress. At the embassy, he stood beside her, a gallant defender in front of a disapproving crowd, making her feel secure in his presence. It was a new experience. No one had ever made her feel safe until that moment.

  When he stalked onto the balcony and saw her in Ricco’s arms, she caught a flash of not just anger, but jealousy. She didn’t kid herself. The jealousy was for Traci, not her. Somehow, it didn’t matter.

  Throughout the flight home, Thomas and Fergus huddled in a corner of the aircraft cabin, speaking in low voices, their faces grim.

  Whatever the topic, both men were disturbed about something, apparently having to do with the trip Thomas planned. He hadn’t told her why he was leaving, or his destination, but she’d overheard “unarmed” and “Saudi Arabia” in hushed tones. This wasn’t his usual business trip. Of that, she was certain.

  The request that she stay with Daniel was a mere formality. She couldn’t leave the island if she wanted to. That he asked, rather than demanded, made her feel better. Taking care of Daniel wasn’t a chore; it was a pleasure.

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Thursday, May 25

  Thomas’s mood appeared bleak after their return from Paris, and he went out of his way to avoid her. Their paths crossed only at mealtime, and then he closed himself in his office or worked out with Fergus in the basement gym as if training for a marathon. Any spare time, he spent with Daniel, swimming or playing catch on the beach.

  His distance stung.

  She’d considered the attraction mutual, but apparently it was one-sided. Hers alone. She told herself Thomas had chosen the wisest course of action. There could be nothing between them. He was married. But that didn’t keep it from hurting.

  She awoke next morning at loose ends, tired of reading, unused to the lady-of-leisure role foisted upon her. With Thomas spending so much time with Daniel, the minutes and hours dragged.

  After breakfast, she went upstairs and changed into running shorts and a T-shirt. Exercise might revive her spirits. A hot wind blew in off the sea. The clouds vanished, leaving the sky a crystal blue canvas above.

  Tennis shoes pounding the sand, she ran two miles on the beach and then returned to the villa. She showered and changed into a swimsuit. One of Traci’s. A one-piece, but with a French cut that left little to the imagination. At least it came with a matching beach robe. The pool water was cool, and she swam half a dozen laps, climbed from the pool, and fell into a lounge chair. Eyes closed, she lay on her stomach letting the sun’s ray warm her skin. After a while, her back felt hot, and she applied a thin layer of sunscreen.

  Laughter coming from the path that led to the pool made her look up. Thomas and Daniel approached from the villa. Daniel skipped along in front of his father. As they reached the pool, he squealed and did a cannonball into the water spraying the deck with fine droplets.

  Thomas pulled up a chair beside her. “How’s the water?”

  She twisted to her side and rose up on one elbow. “The temperature is perfect. I highly recommend it.” She adjusted the lounge chair to a sitting position “When will you be leaving?”

  His gaze ran the length of her body in the wet suit, came back, and then settled on her face.

  Uncomfortable, she slipped into the robe.

  He diverted his attention to Daniel. “Ca
n’t say for sure. I’m waiting to hear from Paul. Could be any time now.” He removed his shirt and joined his son in the pool.

  After a few laps, he returned to the chair, water dripping from his hair.

  She tossed him a towel. “When will you be back?”

  He toweled his hair and leaned back. “I don’t know. I’m not trying to be evasive. I truly don’t know.”

  She nodded towards Daniel. “He’s an amazing swimmer. Have you worked with him?”

  “Yes.” He gave an embarrassed laugh. “I was on the U.K. Olympic Swim Team my sophomore year at university.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  He grinned. “Don’t be. I didn’t win an individual medal, but our team won silver in the relay.”

  “Still, it’s quite an accomplishment just to make the team and bring home a medal. You must have spent a lot of time training.”

  He grinned and nodded. “Endless hours in the pool. I thought I’d grow fins.”

  Footsteps on the path made them turn.

  Fergus cleared his throat. “Thomas, ye have a phone call.”

  

  With a slight nod to Mercy, Thomas rose and went into the villa. Under normal circumstances, his mentor would have brought the phone to him, but Fergus understood Thomas would want to take this call in private.

  He hurried into the office and picked up the phone.

  “Thomas, Paul here. You ready to roll?”

  “I’ve just been waiting for your call. When and where do you want me?”

  “Leave Sunday. A plane will pick you up at Heathrow in London and bring you to North Carolina. We have three weeks before the oil summit. I want you to spend some time getting in shape. You looked a little soft in Paris.”

  “I’m not soft. And I’m not going into battle, just taking a package from an agent.”

  “You know my philosophy; expect the best, prepare for the worst.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You going to be in North Carolina?”

  “Yes. We’ll finalize the plans once your training is finished.”

  Fergus waited by the door until Thomas disconnected. “Yer’re leaving?”

  Thomas nodded.

  Minutes later, he returned to the pool area and reclaimed the chair he’d vacated. He inclined his head towards the villa. “That was the call I’ve been waiting for. I’ll be leaving Sunday. But tomorrow, Daniel has a scheduled checkup with his surgeon.”

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Friday, May 26

  Mercy grabbed her bag and Daniel’s hand and then hurried to the upstairs landing.

  “You ready for a visit to see your doctor, Danny?”

  His face scrunched into a frown, and he shot her a wide-eyed look.

  She squeezed his hand. “It’ll be OK. He only wants to make sure you’re healing well after the surgery. I’ll hold your hand all the way.”

  “No shots?”

  “I can’t promise, but there shouldn’t be. It’s only a checkup.”

  Thomas stood in the downstairs entryway, pointedly glancing at his watch. “I thought I’d have to come and get you two.”

  When Daniel skipped ahead with Fergus, Mercy leaned close to Thomas. “He’s getting very independent. He wanted to pick out his clothes. Doesn’t he look adorable?”

  And he did, in navy shorts, striped turtleneck, and a white sweater with the family crest on the pocket. Knee-high socks and black loafers completed the outfit.

  “He did select more than one outfit, right? We’ll be gone overnight. Raincoat and umbrella? That’s required equipment in London.”

  She preceded him up the stairs into the aircraft. With a glance over her shoulder, she smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of. He’s good to go.”

  

  London, England

  Friday, May 26

  They arrived at the surgeon’s suite promptly at two o’clock and the nurse ushered them right into his office.

  Mercy and Thomas waited in the doctor’s office while he gave Daniel a thorough examination.

  When he finished, he brought Daniel into the room and sat on the edge of his desk while he read the test results. Dr. Able Abrams was in his early fifties, tall and slim, with a receding hairline. Dark eyes peered through steel-rimmed glasses, and a well-trimmed salt and pepper beard covered the lower half of his face. He folded the report, looked up, and extended his hand to Mercy. “You must be Daniel’s mother. I’m happy to finally meet you, Mrs. Wallace.”

  Mercy sensed an underlying reprimand in the comment, and heat warmed her cheeks. “How is he doing?”

  “Excellent. Vast improvement since his last visit.” He lifted his glasses, massaged the bridge of his nose, and then gazed directly into her eyes. “I don’t know if your husband told you, but I was concerned about Daniel after the operation. His health was good, but his mental outlook wasn’t. I told your husband he needed to fix whatever was troubling the boy. Looks like he did just that.” Dr. Abrams thumbed through the report again and gave them a confident grin. “The incision is completely healed, and the X-rays indicate his physician did an outstanding bit of surgery.”

  Thomas laughed and shook the surgeon’s hand. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  It was almost five o’clock when they checked into the hotel overlooking Hyde Park.

  After they’d settled in their suite, Thomas pulled her aside. “How would you like to go out to dinner, just the two of us? I could use some decompression time.”

  She’d enjoy a night out in this famous old city, but her resemblance to Traci made public appearances hazardous. “Sounds like fun. But what about the reporters and flashbulbs?”

  “The good news is that Traci is not that well known in London. Which isn’t to say you might not be recognized, but it’s much better than Paris and Rome. And I discovered a little known restaurant that serves fantastic seafood with a small dance floor. ”

  “Should I change?”

  “It isn’t formal, but you can if you wish. I have an appointment I need to take care of, first. Shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock.”

  

  Thomas strode into Heathrow Airport terminal and into the coffee shop. A big man wearing a ball cap sat at a booth near the back. Chip Nelson, the appointment he told Mercy he had to keep.

  Chip had been a star linebacker for his university and first round draft choice for the pros before he came to the agency. Couldn’t hack pro-football, joined the Navy, and went on to become a SEAL. Now he ran a CIA supply depot out of London, and organized clean-up crews when needed. A native of Austin, Texas, Chip usually dressed in western boots, but today he wore field boots.

  Chip stood and stuck out his hand. “Hey, Wallace, I thought you were too smart to get sucked back into this business.”

  Thomas shook his hand. “I guess you overestimated my intelligence.” He motioned towards Chip’s footwear. “What happened to the western gear?”

  “European ladies don’t go for the cowboy look.” He grinned. “I roll with the flow. You back for good?”

  Thomas shook his head. “No, just this one gig. You bring the stuff I asked for?”

  Chip patted the dark backpack in the seat beside him. “Black ops spy kit 101, minus the P-229 Sig weapon you usually carry. Redford said to give you whatever you wanted. Why no weapon?”

  “Can’t take it where I’m going.” In fact, he would have to send the kit into Riyadh with the Wallace freight for the showroom setup.

  “Then why do you need the other gear?”

  “You know Redford. He’s a stickler for being prepared for anything.”

  “Whatever.”

  A slim, redheaded waitress walked over to take their order. “Would you like to order now, sir?”

  “Just coffee and whatever my friend would like.”

  Chip winked at her. “I’d like to have your phone number.”

  “My husband doesn’t like me to giv
e it out. He’s cranky that way. Is there anything else you want?”

  “Guess I’ll just have to get a refill on the java.” He turned his attention back to Thomas. “You still married to that gorgeous model?”

  Thomas nodded, not wanting to expound on the subject.

  “I would love to live your life for about six months.”

  Thomas picked up the coffee cup and took a long sip. “Be careful what you wish for, my friend.”

  

  Mercy slipped into a black silk suit and heels while she waited for Thomas’s return.

  He arrived promptly at seven.

  “What will Daniel do while we’re away?”

  Thomas held out her lightweight coat. “Fergus is the best babysitter you’ll ever meet. He’s had loads of practice with me.” He laughed, leaned in, and whispered in her ear. “And it didn’t stop when I was out of short pants.”

  From the outside, the restaurant looked like an 18th Century pub, with rustic wooden siding and lanterns. Inside, it was small, with discreet tables in alcoves looking out over the river. Table candles and a live band in the corner near the postage-stamp dance floor added a subdued ambience to the occasion.

  Thomas ordered the chef’s special for both of them, a taster’s platter of all the restaurant’s signature seafood entrées. Enough food for four people, but he managed to put away half. When he finished his last bite, he shifted back in his chair. “After that, I need some exercise. Shall we dance?” He led her onto the dance floor.

  Two other couples moved to the haunting strains of a romantic ballad. He pulled her close and spoke into her ear. “Tell me about your life, Mercy. I know next to nothing about you. My life is an open book.”

  “It’s boring. You’d fall asleep.”

  “Try me.”

  “My grades were good, but not good enough for a scholarship. I went to college on student loans, which covered tuition and books. You’ve heard the story a thousand times. I worked to pay for housing and food. No time for anything but study, and work.”