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“Why do you confuse my honesty with wanting something from you?”
Layne frowned and clutched her leather purse more tightly between her hands. “Since when did agents become honest?” she retorted scathingly.
“I’m an officer in the Air Force, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“You also work for the Company.”
“Sometimes.”
“Like now. You’re working for them now. This minute.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve got the nerve to ask me why I don’t trust your compliments?”
He slid a lazy look in her direction, then returned his attention to the driving. “Did you question your husband’s compliments?”
Tears drove into her eyes. She felt as if someone had struck her in the chest with a fist. “That’s unfair!”
“Any more unfair than questioning that I might compliment you because I think you’re attractive?”
Her nostrils flared with anger as she glared at him. “You’re very good at slipping a dagger between someone’s ribs, Major Talbot. Did someone teach you to use personal assaults to net the desired response from the other party, or does it just come naturally?”
His eyes turned glacial. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re paranoid?”
“It comes with the territory.” Layne’s knuckles whitened, and she stared straight ahead.
“There’s an old axiom that the more paranoid the agent, the better he or she is destined to be—” Matt gave her a keen look “—but it’s not recommended behavior for the family of the agent.”
“It rubs off,” she replied, tight-lipped.
As they walked into the elegant French restaurant located in a popular section of Georgetown, Matt leaned over. His voice was low, vibrating through her. “I owe you an apology. It’s been one hell of a rough day, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Am I forgiven?”
One look into his eyes and Layne’s retort melted. She avoided his searching look. “Let’s just call it a draw, shall we?”
Matt laughed softly, guiding her into the darkened foyer of the establishment. “Now you see us as sparring partners in a boxing match.”
“Aren’t we?” she needled him.
He gave her an amused look, saying nothing.
Layne was not surprised when Matt shifted into fluid French with the maître d’, and she reluctantly admitted his accent was excellent. As they approached a quiet, intimate table, Layne noticed that Matt was the only uniformed guest. The noontime trade at La Fleur mostly consisted of Hill people.
“You’re getting quite a few daggered looks, you know,” she said when he’d completed the wine order.
Matt’s gaze settled hungrily on Layne. He liked her husky, warm voice. It reminded him of melting honey. “Does it bother you?”
She shook her head, folding her hands and resting her chin on them. “No. They probably think you belong back over at the Pentagon and not on this side of the Potomac.”
He smiled, placing the menu aside and resting his forearms on the table. “There wasn’t a restaurant like La Fleur over there. You deserve the best, Mrs. Hamilton. And if my uniform causes any of the patrons a bit of discomfort, I can live with that if you can.”
“Men in uniform don’t bother me, Major. It’s agents in plain-clothes that I distrust,” Layne reminded him sharply.
“Then I’m glad I’m in uniform.”
Layne had the grace to blush. And then she recognized the sincerity in his softly spoken words. She felt as if he’d reached out and caressed her, the vibrant warmth of his voice again soothing her emotions. Last night she had lain awake a long time remembering his comforting words in her ear as she’d sobbed against his chest. And she remembered with vivid clarity the strength of his arms around her body, rocking her, caring for her simply because she was hurting and alone. Layne felt confusion rise within her as she met and held his gaze.
“Please,” she begged softly, leaning forward, “why are you going to all this trouble? I know you want something from me.”
Matt cocked his head, studying Layne with raw intensity. She was warm and outgoing by nature. And he had known her late husband, Brad Carson, off and on for years. Brad had been as cold as they came. Matt couldn’t imagine Layne in Carson’s arms. She was a woman of vulnerability, her sensuality as natural as moonlight. And Carson had never shown any response to others’ feelings or emotions. How had they come together? Matt wondered.
Rousing himself, he forced a slight smile. “For you, I’m an open book.”
Layne gave him a careful look that implied skepticism. “Oh, sure you are!”
He opened his hands in a gesture of peace. “Try me.”
The waiter came, interrupting them, and Matt ordered their lunch. Once the waiter had left, he picked up his wineglass. “Shall we toast, Mrs. Hamilton?”
She picked up her glass filled with the chilled Chablis he’d ordered. “To what?”
“To the future.”
Layne looked at him over the raised crystal. “What future?” she asked carefully.
Matt grinned, clinking his glass against hers. “On our assignment. Salut.”
She nearly dropped the wineglass, and her lips parted in stunned surprise as she set it down. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you know how beautiful you become when you’re angry?”
“Stop it! Answer my question.”
“I told you, I’m an open book to you.”
“If you think you’re going to con me into doing anything with you or—or—”
He reached over and gripped her hand gently between his fingers. “Rule number one—we don’t mention any names.”
She jerked her hand away, muttering an oath under her breath that raised his eyebrows. “I ought to leave. You’re such an arrogant, self-assured—”
“Where did all this temper come from? I thought you had very little backbone when it came to fighting for yourself?” he teased, trying not to smile.
Matt watched her eyes darken to the color of ripened wheat. “That’s none of your business, Major Talbot! Now, either you stop this little game or I’m getting up and leaving.”
Settling his features into a more serious expression, he said solemnly, “Okay, start asking your questions.”
“You’re taught to lie.”
“I won’t lie to you.”
“There isn’t an operative alive who doesn’t lie. That uniform could be nothing more than a cover!”
“I’m a major in the Air Force. And I am a pilot.”
Her lovely eyes narrowed. “Be careful, Talbot. My father was in the Air Force. And he was one of the finest test pilots they ever had.”
“I know that.”
“Of course you would. You have my whole life history on microfilm somewhere in the vaults.”
“I’ve read your file.”
An Air Force pilot, indeed! Layne thought angrily. How many times had Brad assumed other careers, other covers to suit the purpose of his job? “What do you fly?”
He gave a lazy shrug of his broad shoulders. “Anything they’ll let me get my hands on.”
“Any idiot knows you’re either a fighter or a bomber pilot, Major! Don’t hedge on that with me. I’m afraid you don’t know your cover very well. I’m not impressed.”
“I’m a test pilot. Is that acceptable?”
Layne sat back, surprise followed by sadness welling up in her. Memories of her father came rushing back. She remembered his taciturn face as he’d climbed into the cockpit of the aircraft that would kill him on that hot October day. She forced herself to look at Matt Talbot again. Yes, he had that same look she had seen on other test pilots—the “look of the eagles.” These men had an arrogant pride melded with the unshakable confidence that they could fly anything with wings attached to it.
“Where are you stationed?”
Matt sipped his wine. “Nellis Air Force Base.”
Layne’s mind ranged over the myriad bases her father had been assigned to during the twenty years he had been in the Air Force. “Nellis isn’t a testing base. Edwards is where they test all the new aircraft.” She watched him, waiting for an answer, but his face remained impassive. He said nothing.
“Well?” she prodded.
“I’m assigned to Tactical Air Command, Layne,” he said, using her name for the first time since that evening. “Other than that, there are some things I can’t tell you, so I’ll remain silent rather than fabricate a story.”
Her lips compressed as she glared at him. “Nellis is home of the Red Flag. It’s where our fighter pilots sharpen their skills against specially trained U.S. pilots who fly like Soviets.”
He gave her a nod of his head. “Yes. They’re called Aggressor pilots and spend at least five hundred hours learning Soviet fighter techniques to use in training flights against American fighter pilots.”
“But you’re not an Aggressor pilot?”
“I was once, many years ago.”
“But not now?”
“No.”
“Nellis is right outside Las Vegas. It’s all desert and sagebrush. What’s a test pilot doing there?” she demanded. She felt frustration nestling in her throat. This conversation was reminding her of talks with Brad. Only Brad had always smoothly handed her a story, treating her like a child. Matt Talbot was at least telling her he wasn’t lying to her, even if it meant withholding information. Which was better? she thought angrily. “Wait a minute, I saw an article in the Washington Post just last week about…” Her voice trailed off, then she straightened. “RAVEN. They say the RAVEN prototype is at Nellis for testing because the airspace there is off-limits to all civilians.”
Talbot’s face revealed nothing, but his azure eyes calmly met hers.
Layne grimaced. “All right. Don’t say anything. By saying nothing you’re practically admitting to me you’re one of the men testing the RAVEN bomber!”
“I’d rather talk about why we need your help, Layne,” Talbot returned quietly.
She slid her fingers around her wineglass. “I’m listening. Not that it’s going to do you any good. I can say no to you just as easily as I did to Chuck Lowell.”
The waiter arrived, bringing each of them a crisp salad topped with a special vinaigrette-and-baby-shrimp house dressing. Perhaps he wasn’t lying. Why did part of her want so much to believe he was telling the truth? Because, her suspicious mind said, he held you last night when you were hurting so badly. He could even have taken you to bed and made love to you…. Layne gasped softly, stunned by her realization. Bed? Matt Talbot running his lean, powerful fingers over her hungry body?
“Chuck was right, we do need your services as an interpreter of Chinese,” Matt said, breaking into her tumultuous thoughts. A self-deprecating smile tugged at his mouth. “I don’t speak one word of Chinese, and we need someone who can.”
Unwittingly, Layne found herself lulled into the conversation. “You’re going to China?”
“I’m going, yes. But not to China. To Hong Kong.”
She blotted her mouth with the napkin, intrigued. “I know Hong Kong like the back of my hand. My father made many friends over there while I was growing up.”
Matt put the half-eaten salad aside, resting his elbows on the table, concentrating on her. “That’s another reason why your name came up, Layne. One of your old friends contacted us while trying to reach you.”
She frowned. “Who?”
“The last time you and your husband took a vacation, you went to Hong Kong and ended up writing a series of articles. Do you remember?”
The old hurt came up again. That had been the last vacation she had shared with Brad shortly before his death. “Y-yes, of course I remember it.” And she also remembered Brad’s cold, biting anger because she had insisted upon doing the articles. He had wanted to relax around the Princeton Hotel, taking it easy, while she’d been as excited as a child at Christmas at an offered chance to meet Kang Ying, lao-pan, or leader, of the notorious pirates of the South China Sea. During the interview she and the lao-pan had developed a warm friendship that had endured, although they had not seen each other again. Brad had been furious with her for abandoning him.
Matt saw her face contort, her topaz eyes darkening with momentary pain. Out of instinct he reached across the table, briefly capturing her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Are you all right?”
The husky tenor of his voice was like a balm to her aching heart. For once she didn’t pull away from his touch. His fingers were warm, caressing the coolness of her own. The moment he moved his hand away she felt a stab of loss. Layne raised her head, trying to understand his actions. Either he was a consummate actor and knew when to touch her to gain her trust, or—she took a sharp breath—or he was a sensitive, caring man. Chewing on her lower lip, Layne fought to corral her emotions, not trusting her voice just yet to answer.
“I’m okay,” she said finally.
Matt could see that Layne was upset and wondered why she’d suddenly withdrawn. “I didn’t mean to stir up any muddy waters,” he apologized. “Kang Ying sent a message through one of our agents on Kowloon that he desperately needed your help.”
“The lao-pan himself?” Layne couldn’t hide the concern and anxiety in her voice. “Why would Kang want my help? This doesn’t make sense.”
Matt watched the waiter approach with the main course. “Here’s our meal, Layne. Let’s talk later.”
She couldn’t resist a smile. Matt Talbot had shifted from an engaging luncheon companion to all business in those split seconds. He wouldn’t want a shred of what they were discussing overheard by anyone—including a waiter. Oddly, though, his presence gave her a sense of security. As the waiter approached, setting Layne’s plate before her with a flourish, she offered Matt Talbot her first genuine smile. And she saw a brief look of surprise flare in his eyes. Let him wonder why she’d smiled at him. Let him stew in his own juices for a while. She laughed to herself, suddenly feeling lighter and happier than she had in years.
Chapter 3
Matt watched Layne covertly as she picked at her meal. After awarding him that heart-stopping smile, Layne had visibly relaxed. Was she excited about the reference to Kang? Her love of the Chinese and the Far East was well documented throughout her personnel file. Or was she beginning to like him? He shut off those hopes ruthlessly, as quickly as they arose. There was no room in his life for any kind of emotional entanglement. His brother was either dead or had been captured, and his need to get to Hong Kong and find him was paramount. This elegant, attractive woman sitting across from him could lead him to Kang and, he hoped, to Jim and his copilot, also lost in the crash.
Layne waited until the waiter had cleared the table before resuming their serious topic of conversation. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Kang knows your people. The Company has its tentacles into everything and everyone.”
“Kang’s a criminal, we know that. But he also has access to the tongs and triads over there, as well as to agents looking for information.” Matt rested his chin against his folded hands. “Time’s at a premium, Layne.”
Despite herself, she responded when he used her name. It felt like a caress. Trying to ignore her reaction to him, she frowned. “It’s not a normal ploy to drag a civilian into your cloak-and-dagger stuff, Major.”
He shrugged. “I agree with you. But we’re not running this show, Kang is. The incident that occurred has made him a necessary middleman through whom we have to deal. And he said he wouldn’t consider working with us unless you act as intermediary.” Matt’s frown matched hers. “Apparently he puts great trust in you, Layne.”
