Never Trust A Lady

swimming with the details of her latest scheme to postpone her final year of college.

“Eurail Youthpasses, Mom. Kevin says that’s the only way to go. You can go anywhere, for three months. You have to go with a companion, so that’s okay, and we can extend it, if-”

“Hey, wait, who said anything about extending?”

“How was the auction, Mom?” That was Tracy, with a yawn that sounded as if it could have sucked in the whole phone. It was followed by a sleepy snicker. “Meet lots of cute guys?”

Knowing that it was safe because they’d never believe her anyway, Jane told the truth. “A couple, actually.” She paused for a chorus of “Ha-ha’s” and “Yeah, rights,” then added her diversion. “I bought some things.”

More yawns, politely smothered this time. Then a duet: “Hmm…really?” “What’d you buy?”

“Just some small stuff.” They’d never understand about the Roy Rogers six-shooter. She wasn’t sure she did, herself. “A painting-kind of nice, I think you’ll like it. I’m going to have it appraised this morning. A gallery in Georgetown-somebody Connie knows.”

“Do you think it might be valuable?” That was Lynn, the analytical one. Jane could almost see her, suddenly sitting up straighter, back against piled pillows, her interest hooked by the tantalizing thought of money. She was David’s daughter, alas, but a darling in so many ways that it was easy enough to overlook one small avaricious streak.

“Oh, no, not really,” she said quickly, anxious to head that idea off at the pass. “I didn’t pay much for it. I’d just kind of like to know what it’s worth.”

“Good idea. Kev says you should have everything in your household appraised anyway-for the insurance. He’s got all his mom and dad’s stuff on their computer. You should do that, Mom. Kev could probably do it for you. There’s this neat program-”

“So, when are you coming home?” Tracy, of course, trying to sound casual, though Jane could almost see her daughter’s forehead creasing with anxiety, worrying about dwindling refrigerator stores. With a few more months yet to fledge, she seemed content for now to cling to the safety of the nest, feathers fluffed, plaintively chirping. Which was okay with Jane; she wasn’t in any great hurry to see her last baby fly away. One at a time was about all she could handle.

She made soothing, mother-bird noises into the phone. “Soon. Tomorrow, probably. I’ll call you when I know exactly-by the way, I’ll need one of you to pick me up at Raleigh-Durham. I just want to see a few of the sights in Washington while I’m here. I told you I might.”

“That’s great, Mom, I think you should,” Lynn said. “Washington’s really big with the baby boomers right now. Oh-and Kev says you have to be sure and see The Wall.”

“The wall?”

“The Vietnam Memorial? They have all the names-”

“Oh, yes, of course. I plan to. And the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument and all that good stuff. Listen, Tracy?”

“I think…she’s in the bathroom.”

“Oh, okay, well, remind her to keep the bird feeders filled, will you? And if you need anything, you can give Connie a call. She should be home soon-might even be there now. She left last night. Don’t forget to bring in the Sunday paper tomorrow-you’ll need it for the TV guide. And save the coupon-”

“Mom, we’ve got it covered, okay? Don’t worry about us. Have a good time in Washington. But be careful, right? I’ve read about their crime rate.”

“I’ll look both ways before crossing the street, and I promise not to talk to strangers,” Jane said, laughing. Inwardly cringing. “Listen, I’m getting a late start, as it is. You guys be good and I’ll see you soon, okay? Call you tomorrow. Love you both. Bye.”

She hung up the phone without waiting for the response, then sat for a minute or two waiting for lightning to strike her dead on the spot for telling her children such lies.

When, she wondered, did they become the parents and I the child?

In his room two floors below Jane Carlysle’s and on the opposite side of the hotel, Hawk emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and dressed for comfort in khakis and a favorite old cable-knit pullover sweater. As he stowed away his wallet and weapon in their customary places, his eyes sought out the coordinates on the GPS monitor purring away in the middle of the unrumpled bed. Thank God. She hadn’t moved.

He lit a cigarette and drew deeply on it, waiting for the nicotine to ease the knots of tension in his belly. He couldn’t afford any errors in judgment; too many lives depended on it, not the least of which was Jane Carlysle’s.

It didn’t help matters that he’d slept so badly. It was almost funny, when he thought about it, the way her face had come to him-which had surprised the hell out of him, but he’d allowed.it to stay because it had seemed sort of…comforting, at first. He’d liked having it there in his mind, the laughter in her eyes, that nice smile. Not a bad vision to carry him into sleep.

Except that somehow the vision had gotten away from him, and instead of her face he’d suddenly begun seeing other parts of her, particularly the part he’d enjoyed watching so much while she was walking away from him down in the lobby, the part that was responsible for the jolt he’d gotten just below his ribs when she’d leaned over to prop the painting on the pillows. The part he’d most like to…

Dammit, he couldn’t keep having these lustful thoughts about the woman!

Not that he’d mind, ordinarily, or that he hadn’t enjoyed his fair share of lustful thoughts during the last seven years-on the contrary, he figured he probably fell in and out of lust a couple of times a year on average. He considered lust healthy and a pretty good tension reliever. But this was different. He couldn’t remember ever being in lust before with somebody he actually liked.

So you like this woman?

The question came like a whisper of a playful breeze, skirling around the corner from the very back of his mind, stirring memories still so painful he almost cried out in agony, and instead lashed back in anger. Dammit, why shouldn’t I like her? It’d be pretty near impossible not to like her!

The whisper became a chuckle, amused and satisfied. You do, you like her…

Hawk snatched the phone, muttering curses under his breath as he punched in the number for Interpol’s Washington bureau. He reported to Devore on the previous evening’s activities and got the answer he’d expected to his request for information on Mrs. Jane Carlysle, of Cooper’s Mill, North Carolina: Clean as a cookie sheet. Nothing. Nada. At least as far as the FBI was concerned, the woman was exactly who she claimed to be.

Which didn’t mean much, of course. A well-planted agent’s cover wouldn’t be so easy to crack.

He turned off the GPS and restored it to his briefcase, then plucked a scuffed and well-worn bomber jacket from the foot of the bed and shrugged it on. Sunglasses and a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap completed his “disguise.” High-tech toys would be useless to him today; he’d play this cat-and-mouse game the old-fashioned way.

A glance at his watch confirmed what he already knew. Time to go. Time to get himself into position so he’d be certain to pick up Carlysle the minute she left the hotel. He’d use the GPS as backup in case he lost her, but he knew he wasn’t going to do that. He couldn’t afford to. As long as she had that painting, one woman’s life wasn’t worth squat to the cold-blooded killer who’d put a bullet in Loizeau’s forehead.

Jane loved subways. More than skyscrapers, more than tangled freeways, to a girl raised on a Southern California farm they’d always seemed the very essence of City, the heart and arteries pulsing away beneath the surface streets and sidewalks, carrying the endless flow of humanity that was the life’s blood of any metropolis. Nowadays, even medium-size cities had their skylines, and the smallest towns their soaring freeway interchanges. But only the grandest of cities-San Francisco, New York, Boston, Paris, London, Washington-had subways.

The Washington Metro took her breath away. First the descent, down, down, down into the earth…the gleaming caverns echoing with hurrying footsteps, and then…the slightest stirring of wind, the faintest vibration, felt with the most primitive of senses, the way animals sense a distant storm. And all at once, with a rush and a rumble, it was there. Joining the crush of people, like catching a wave…heart pounding, wait for the right moment… now. The moment of panic: Oh, God, I hope this is the right train! The euphoria as she settled into her seat, confident in the knowledge that, yes, it