Hiding Jessica (4 page)

“Dinner will be in two hours,” he informed her over his shoulder as he left. He didn’t bother to see if she agreed or not.

Somehow she thought that might be a sign of things to come.

Chapter 2

“Y
ou realize, of course, that if you ever reveal your true identity, you will be eliminated from the Witness Protection Program,” Mitch was saying in clipped tones. For the last hour and a half he’d been going over all the guidelines of the program, guidelines she’d heard enough times in the past five months to recite in her sleep.

She didn’t bother to hide her impatience as she nodded yet again.

“I’ve been over all this before,” she pointed out coolly. “Since it’s getting late, I’d just as soon cover new ground or no ground at all.”

Mitch frowned at her. “I know you’ve heard it before,” he replied firmly. Fifteen years of Northeast living had eliminated most of his North Carolina drawl, making his words curt and fast enough to match her own. “But the point is, do you absolutely understand? Because up until now it’s just been talk. Here is where the rubber hits the road. We’re talking about a new name, a new identity. We’re talking about cutting all your ties with the past. Your family, friends, lovers—they don’t exist for you anymore. Can you do that? Are you truly committed to that process?”

Her blue eyes remained emotionless. “I’m committed to staying alive,” she informed him levelly. “As for friends, family and lovers, you ought to know as well as I do how few of those there are.”

This was true, and he was aware of it. What amazed him was that not only was she aware of it, but it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Then again, if dinner had been anything to go by, she certainly wasn’t a social creature.

She’d come down when he’d requested her for dinner. By then she’d changed into a pair of designer jeans, covered by a long, thickly woven sweater. She’d accented the off-white sweater with a crimson-and-blue scarf draped artfully around her neck. She looked at once earthy and elegant, a look he was sure only someone like herself could ever completely pull off. And whereas the sweater should have made her look shapeless and bulky, it had a habit of moving with her, offering short, tantalizing glimpses of curved hips and rounded breasts before it swung back into place. He realized he was much more aware of these things than he really should be.

On the other hand, she seemed totally oblivious to him. She’d hardly spared him a glance upon sitting at the table. She’d simply passed around the food, eating in complete silence that was only occasionally interrupted by a polite “Please pass the rice.”

She’d eaten her small, sparrow-size servings of everything. Then she’d sat back and, with her cool, expressionless features, patiently waited for everyone to finish.

The only redeeming quality he could find was that once everyone had finished, she’d risen silently and begun doing the dishes without discussion. At least the supermodel wasn’t spoiled.

She seemed determined to make up for that in stubbornness, however.

“What about family?” he pressed on now. From all his research, he’d never come up with anyone. But then again, he knew nothing of the woman before age sixteen. “Is there anyone that can be held against you? Anyone Les can use to manipulate you?”

“No,” she informed him coolly, her chin coming up defensively. This, of course, was a blatant lie, but she had no intention of telling him that.

“What about other lovers? Friends?”

“Look,” she stated flatly, her patience clearly running out as her blue eyes darkened. She didn’t want to be pressed and quizzed. Despite the long years of practice, lying disturbed her. Deep down inside, she knew it wasn’t right, even as she knew wrong could become right, and right become wrong, all depending on the circumstances. “I have no ties, no commitments,” she said out loud, keeping her eyes focused on the tabletop in front of her. “Which was one of the reasons I considered the Witness Protection Program such a viable solution,” she continued. “Now let’s move on.”

“Fine,” he answered curtly. He should be glad she didn’t have any family or friends left. That simplified matters considerably. But for some reason he didn’t feel comfortable about the subject yet. Still, it was getting late and they did have a lot of ground to cover.

“I want to start training you on your new life in the morning,” he informed her bluntly. “Tonight we’ll go briefly over the profile so you know what it is. Tomorrow the drilling will begin. At the end of the two weeks, you will be your new identity. Is that clear?”

“I’m not an idiot,” she said in clipped tones, her eyes flashing arctic fire.

Her rest certainly hadn’t improved her mood at all, Mitch thought dryly. At least she wasn’t as dispassionate as before. Instead, she seemed to be driven by some icy anger he did not understand any more than he could avoid. Funny, the way she was acting, one would have thought he was her enemy, rather than the man working to save her beautiful blond life. At least public relations wasn’t a required part of the job.

Keeping his own mood curt enough to match hers, he tossed her a manila file.

“There you go, Jessica,” he informed her. “Meet the new you.”

The expression in her eyes was wary as she picked up the folder. She looked at him once, but he merely sat there at the kitchen table, arms folded across his broad chest. The other agents had gone out on rounds, leaving the two of them alone in the kitchen.

She didn’t like just the two of them, Jessica thought as she opened the file. She didn’t like sitting with this man a scant two feet away. He was too big, too powerful. His presence filled the tiny space, crowding her. The effort at maintaining her control was beginning to drain her, and that made her even more resentful.

Why did he have to keep staring at her with such all-knowing eyes? Why couldn’t he just do his job and leave her in peace?

She needed some time to herself, desperately. Some time away from this man. Besides, she had business to attend to.

Very soon, she promised herself.

She scanned the file.

“Jessie McMoran,” she read aloud. “Isn’t that name too close to Jessica?”

“Has anyone ever called you Jessie?” he quizzed.

Silently she shook her head.

“Good,” he told her. “And actually, we didn’t want to change your name too much. It makes slipups less probable. This way, no one can try to trap you by calling you Jessica. Though, by the end of the two weeks, you’ll be polished enough not to automatically respond to anything other than Jessie.”

She nodded, though her eyes remained critical. “How about Jess? I’m not so sure I like Jessie. No one calls me Jess, either, for that matter.”

With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Mitch agreed.

“Saleswoman,” Jessica read under the occupation title. “No,” she said abruptly, “that won’t do. I want to be a schoolteacher.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I want to be a schoolteacher.”

“Sweetheart,” he drawled once more, his voice definitely impatient, “this isn’t fantasy life. You can’t just choose whatever occupation you’ve ever dreamed about. You have to actually do it, which means you have to be qualified. And considering the fact you never went to college, you’re not in the position to be a teacher.”

“I know this isn’t a fantasy life—that’s exactly my point. Whatever this occupation is, I’ll be living it day in and day out. Which means I want something I would enjoy doing. Schoolteacher. Second grade would be nice. But I’m willing to teach anything in grade school. As for qualifications, I happened to have taken a number of classes by mail during my career.” He nodded, having discovered that himself. “While none of them add up to a degree,” she continued, “I believe that’s beside the point. It doesn’t matter what Jessica Gavornée has, only what Jess McMoran does. I presume that proper credentials will be provided as part of the new ID package.”

He nodded slowly, reluctant admiration filling him. She certainly caught on to the game quick enough. Still, he wasn’t convinced.

“But you’ve never actually taught a class,” he pointed out. “And taking classes doesn’t equal teaching classes.”

“I taught adult literacy,” she responded smoothly, “once a week for two years. While it was more of a one-on-one interaction, it taught me a lot of the principles of teaching. Besides, at the age of twenty-four, people would expect me to be inexperienced.”

“What if you’re not twenty-four?”

“Pardon?”

“Look,” Mitch said, leaning forward in earnest now, “everyone knows you’re in the Witness Protection Program. So they won’t be looking for you. They’ll be looking for someone that fits the general characteristics of you. For example, someone with your height and build. Someone with your mannerisms and your age.”

There was a long period of silence. She sat there, her blue eyes giving nothing away, as she appeared to be considering what he had said. She shifted once, bringing her hands down to her lap.

Her hands were trembling—she could feel the tiny tremors—but she didn’t have the concentration just now to make them stop. There were so many things to think about, so many changes to be made if she was going to pull this off. It would be easier to handle if he wouldn’t keep looking at her, easier to take if he would stop leaning forward like that.

She could see the stubble on his cheeks once more. It would feel rough and raspy to the touch. Really, he had a strong face. As a model, she could appreciate that. The cheekbones were well sculpted, his jaw square. His black eyebrows and black, glossy hair added to his masculinity, while definitely giving him an untamed edge. Women probably found him very appealing.

But not her, she reminded herself squarely. He was much too large for her tastes, too powerful looking. And his eyes were much too intelligent when they skimmed over her. He seemed to understand her tricks better than she did, and she couldn’t afford that right now. Earlier today, when she had pulled back her scarf, she’d gotten the impression he’d known exactly what she was doing. Even worse, he’d found it amusing.

This man was much too dangerous.

And he made it very hard for her to think.

She composed herself once again.

“So what do you propose?” she asked as calmly as possible.

“We want to make you a thirty-year-old,” he told her evenly, watching her carefully for her response. “With cosmetic surgery, we can add some wrinkles around your face and mouth, perhaps a few lines in your forehead. Nothing drastic, but enough to alter your current, smooth-skinned appearance.”

He waited for her to protest. Surely a woman that made her living off her looks would resent deliberately destroying them.

But instead she nodded. “Good,” she said. “My looks must definitely be altered. They are entirely too well-known.”

He nodded, trying to keep the surprise off his face. Where was the anger, or even the fear? He was used to dealing with people who logically accepted the program, but were still emotionally fighting the change. This kind of deep-rooted transformation was very traumatic. Yet the woman across from him examined it with the same logical scrutiny she’d displayed on the witness stand.

He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or worried.

“Then,” she was continuing out loud, “we can simply have Jess graduate from college later than most. Of course. We’ll incorporate both ideas. Graduated from high school, worked as a salesperson and then, at twenty-five, went back to college to become a teacher. Thus, I can be older and still be inexperienced.”

Damn, the woman was amazing. Slowly he nodded his head. “That will work, then, if you are sure you have the ability to teach. I’ll make the arrangement for the teacher’s license in your new state.”

“Perfect,” she said evenly.

“Well, then,” Mitch continued, “about further changes to your appearance. We’ll dye your hair, of course—probably dark brown—and give you brown eyes.”

“The hair should be very dark,” she told him, “almost black. That way it will look natural with my fair complexion. We’ll have to do my eyebrows, as well. I can also wear darker, richer colors in clothing. Given my traditional choice of pastels, that will further enhance the difference.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” he observed dryly. Indeed, in all his years he’d never quite met anyone like her.

“It’s my life,” she informed him simply. “Of course I’ve given it a great deal of thought. Besides—” she shrugged “—when you’re shut up in a hotel for five months, it’s not like you have anything else to do.”

“Was it that boring?” he asked softly, watching her intently for her response.

But once again she seemed determined to keep her distance. “It’s over” was all she said.

He didn’t push this time. Really, his only concern was acclimatizing her to her new life. The past was irrelevant to that. He continued. “You’ll also need to gain weight,” he told her. He gave her a critical glance, even though she was seated. “Probably a good fifteen or twenty pounds. It will add to the image of your new age, as well as soften the lines of your face and body. Right now, anyone could spot you as a model a million miles away.”

She looked more reluctant this time. “Fifteen to twenty pounds?” she quizzed.

He nodded relentlessly.

“I don’t gain weight very well,” she told him.

“Judging by how much you ate tonight, I can believe it,” he replied dryly. “Surely after all the years of being on a restricted diet, there are some things you’d like to indulge in.”

This statement seemed to confuse her. Finally she shook her head. “Not really.”

He looked at her skeptically. “Come on, now. What about a hot fudge sundae? What about brownies or croissants? There’s got to be something. Something sweet, something forbidden.”

Abruptly she felt that shiver fizzle up her spine again.
Something forbidden.
She wanted to shut out the words, but they kept echoing in her mind, and every time they did, she could feel her stomach clench and unclench.

What was wrong with her? She didn’t feel these things. But as she looked down at her lap, she could see her hands still trembling.