Page 21 of The Truths that Deceive

Toeing lines doesn’t come easy to me. One thing that appealed to me with the CIA is how I could find freedomwithin the perimeter of rules, how it taught me so much, got me an education on a grand scale.

But this Smith character floors me with his quicksilver rule adjustments, the tightening and releasing of freedoms.

Who am I kidding? He floors me because if he’s on my radar, everything is on the fritz. From common sense to libido. And I don’t understand it. One bit.

I strip down to my underwear and put on the first outfit, a dress that makes me look twelve and wearing my grandmother’s finest. It makes me look completely out of touch. But I hold my head up and stomp out.

His blue gaze shifts from an assistant standing nearby then back to me, and though not one thing changes in his expression, I can almost feel the inner wince.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” he says to the assistant.

I whirl and stomp off. Each outfit’s worse than the last. From skirts to pants to dresses and back again. The casual things make me look like I’ve escaped from the last century and the party clothes, if you can even call them that, are Madison Avenue matron conservative chic.

All wrong, all horrible, and that wince grows more pronounced in the air.

I’m in a twinset with a knee-length boxy skirt when something inside of me snaps. I shove my hands on my hips. “What’s the deal with this event? Are you ever going to give me details? Why do I need to look like a fucking hoity-toity country club grandma? And why are we taking a weird-ass break by going? Aren’t you on a schedule?”

“You’re in some kind of rush to get back to the States and face whatever might be waiting for you there?”

No, I’m definitely not, but I swallow down those words.

I put a hand on either side of him. “I’m not a traitor. I have nothing to fear by going back.”

“Sometimes it’s the fear you don’t realize that gets you in trouble.”

“Because someone’s after me?”

“Always operate by thinking that way.” He doesn’t answer me and he might not know for sure, but it makes sense.

But I know if I’m too eager and question him more, he’ll dig into everything, dig into me, personally and with gusto. If I’m too unwilling… that’s a can of worms, too. “Why go out, then?”

“Because I have a business reason to attend this event. And If I’m going to keep you safe until the handoff, we need to put on a front and disguise you so nobody asks questions or raises eyebrows.”

“I’m not your daughter.”

“No,” he says, “you’re not. But you’ll play that part. We’re rich, attending the Klein Art fundraiser tonight. Dinner, dancing, and we’ll be seen together.”

“Make a splash and get dismissed that way, in plain sight?”

“This one.” He gestures at what I’m wearing, and it’s a clear command for me to step back, and for some reason I do.

“This outfit?” I frown. “It’s horrible.”

He grins slowly. “I know.

A quiet buzz breaks through the insufferable soft music, the kind designed to be so inoffensive that it offends. He pulls out his phone.

“Get that and some other things.” He hands me a credit card. My eyes drop to the name. JJ Smith. Probably an alias. “I need to take this call.”

With that, Smith gets up and heads for the front entrance. He pushes through the glass doors. I watch him lounge against the window, so self-assured, so infuriatingly cocky in his movements and facial expressions.

For a split second, I think of asking the assistant where theback exit is, but he just spent the last few minutes charming her, so she won’t help me. Instead, I slap down the card on the counter.

He said to get anything I want. “For a fee, can you have some things delivered here?”

Her eyes light up. She knows I mean a private fee for her. “Ja, das kann ich machen,”she says. “Was brauchen sie?”

Of course she can do that. And what is it I want? That’s easy. I describe the items to her, each of them in detail, and then I move around the shop, leaving some of the outfits he said to get and choosing some others.

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