Undercover Mistress

shuffled over to a table covered with clutter, picked up a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, stuck it between his lips and lit it with an unsteady hand.

Celia paused in her pacing to glare at him. “Let me have one of those.”

“I will do no such thing!” He looked at her as if she’d suggested he give crack to a kindergarten class. He inhaled deeply, sighed through a stream of smoke and, thus fortified, coughed and said, “Now, love…tell your Uncle Doc-what has our Roy done to put your back so far up?”

Celia told him. And was more than a little miffed when he merely shook his head and chuckled.

“And you haven’t a clue, have you, why he would do such a thing?”

“No. I haven’t. I don’t understand. I thought I’d done a brilliant job, quite frankly. I thought-” I thought we were good together.

Doc shook his head and gave another sigh. “God, it is true what they say, isn’t it? Love truly is blind.”

Once again she paused to glare at him. “What do you mean?”

“My dear, the man is in love with you.” She was shaking her head. “Yes, I’m afraid he is-completely besotted. He’s only trying to do what strong men do when they love someone a great deal-he’s trying to protect you, of course.”

Celia whirled away from him and covered her face with her hands, desperate to hide her face from him because she’d somehow lost the ability to control it. Lost the ability to keep all the powerful and confusing things she was feeling from showing there. Joy. Something overwhelming that felt like grief.

He loved her. And she loved him. What a lovely fantasy it was…a beautiful story! It would make a terrific movie, wouldn’t it? It would have a happy ending, of course-a “happily ever after” ending, as all good love stories do.

Except this wasn’t a story, it was life. Her life. And nobody knew better than she did that things didn’t always work out that way in life. This…whatever it was she and Roy were involved in together… would end. He’d go on to his next undercover operation, she’d go on to her next role, and no doubt fall in love with her next leading man.

But I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to move on! I want this…just this. I want him…Roy… forever.

She wanted very much to cry, but since she wouldn’t do that-she’d die, first-she whirled back to Doc and said snappishly, “That’s no excuse. All the more reason he should understand how I feel.”

“Yes, he should,” Doc said softly, “but as I said, love is blind.” He smiled his ironic smile and lit another cigarette.

All things considered, during the next few days Roy decided it was just as well Celia wasn’t speaking to him. Solved the problem of his wanting to take her to bed every time he got near her-or anyway, it prevented the taking. Definitely not the wanting.

At least, it made it a whole lot easier to keep his mind on what lay ahead of them.

And a whole lot harder to sleep at night.

During the day, he spent most of his time with Max, going over diagrams and blueprints, familiarizing himself with every inch of the yacht Bibi Lilith. Committing photos of known terrorists to memory, in case any of them turned up as members of the Bibi Lilith’s crew. Learning how to operate the various instruments they’d be taking on board the yacht with them.

“Speaking of which,” he said to Max during one of their joint briefings, “how are we getting this stuff on board? I can’t imagine they’ll be searching everybody’s luggage, but I’d hate to stake my life on it.”

“Won’t have to. We’re having some special luggage put together for you-complete with secret compartments, well shielded…should stand up to all but the most sophisticated sweepers. That’ll hold the laptop and other big stuff.”

“Weapons?” Max looked at him. He could feel Celia’s eyes on him, too, and he knew she’d be remembering what he’d said to her. We don’t kill people. He rubbed absently at his healing ribs and felt a chill go through him. “Just in case.”

“Sure,” Max said. “By all means. Okay. So, the small stuff, things you’re gonna want to keep with you at all times-bugs, GPS tracking devices, chemical, biological and radiation sensors, things like that-they’ll go in this.” He held up a woman’s leather handbag. “Celia, I’m assuming this’ll be your responsibility…” He held it out to her with a smile.

Roy shook his head and held up a hand. “Uh-uh. She doesn’t carry a pocketbook.”

“I do now,” Celia said as she took the purse, giving him an offended look before she began to inspect it inside and out with avid curiosity.

And a funny thing happened to Roy as he watched her, listening with somber attention to Max as he explained the various hidden compartments and bells and whistles in the custom-made bag. He felt most of his anger, and at least part of his fear, evaporate, and a more than grudging admiration for her come to take its place.

She means it, he thought. This isn’t a game to her, any more than it is to me. And she’s good at it. Damn good.

He was still afraid for her safety, of course. He was always gonna be that. Terrified. But at least he didn’t have to be afraid of having her as his backup. Fact was, she was good. She’d be okay.

He just hoped he’d be able to say the same for himself.

Evidently, Max had the same doubts, because after the briefing, when Roy walked with him out to his car, he dragged off his sunglasses, gave him a piercing look and asked, with a little motion of his head back toward the house, “How you doing? You gonna be okay with this?”

Roy dug his hands into his pockets and dragged in a breath. “Oh, sure. Hell, yes.”

Not looking much reassured by that response, Max said, “She’s gonna be fine, you know. She’ll do okay.”

“I know.” But he couldn’t keep some of the worry he felt from showing; Max knew him too well.

With his car door open, Max hesitated, squinting against the lowering sun. “Look-all you need to do is find us something-you know that. Anything that’ll give us a reason to move in. That’s all. No unnecessary chances, nobody needs to get hurt.”

“I know.”

Max nodded, got into his car and slammed the door. Roy stood where he was, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and watched him drive away.

Celia was on the upper starboard deck of the yacht Bibi Lilith, stretched out on one of the Balinese sunning beds-though “sunning” was hardly the right term, given that she was wearing slacks and a sweater, with a scarf wrapped around her head, a cashmere jacket buttoned to her chin and a lap robe covering her bottom half, from waist to ankles, against a biting December wind.

She was pretending to read, although a considerable amount of time had passed since she’d last turned a page of the book in her lap. Behind the cover of sunglasses, her eyes kept darting nervously toward the boat’s stern. It was from there that Roy, according to their arrangement, was to come to join her, once Abby had finished showing him around the “backstairs” part of the yacht.

He and Celia had both been given a grand tour of the yacht’s guest amenities shortly after boarding, of course. Then, using the pretext Celia had already planted for him-that he was planning to buy such a yacht for himself-Roy had asked to see the engine and control rooms, kitchens, crew’s quarters, storage holds and the like. Abby had seemed delighted to show off his new toy. Even better, several of the other guests-all male-had asked to be included, as well, which nicely diverted any undue attention from Roy.

There was absolutely no reason for Celia to feel nervous and apprehensive because he was fifteen minutes late joining her. But she did. Tension skated over her skin, crawled through her scalp and gripped the back of her neck like teeth. She told herself he was in no danger-how could he be? It was broad daylight, they were on board the sleek and beautiful yacht Bibi Lilith, cruising toward Mexico on a sparkling sunny sea, and on board with them were fifty or so other people, nearly all of them world-famous for one reason or another. What could happen to them here?

But she felt the danger. Felt it all around her.