Loe raamatut: «Undercover Bachelor»

CHAPTER ONE

“ARE you saying it was a man on your tour of France last year who made you pregnant?”

Whitney Lawrence tried to hide her shock in front of her half sister Christine who was trying to keep Greg, her little five-month-old son, quiet by giving him another bottle.

They’d met for a quick lunch at a crowded downtown Salt Lake restaurant near the law firm where Whitney worked.

Up until this second, Christine had patently refused to tell the family who Greg’s father was. But all along Whitney had suspected it was one of the boys on Christine’s same tour bus, or a French boy she’d met in Paris or Nice. One moreover who didn’t have a clue he was now the father of the adorable little baby Christine was feeding right now.

After a long interval Christine nodded. “He was wonderful to me, Whitney, and so good-looking. When he told me he loved me, I was so happy, I—I couldn’t help myself.”

Bile rose in Whitney’s throat. “Did he force you?”

“No. It wasn’t like that. Just the opposite in fact.” She tossed her head back to reveal tear-stained cheeks. “When he confided to me that he was separated from his wife who’d been seeing another man for a long time, I—I didn’t feel as guilty about getting close to him.

“He said their marriage had been over for ages, and the only reason he hadn’t divorced her yet was because he was waiting until their four-year-old daughter was a little older and could handle it.”

At that revelation Whitney’s hand froze around the extra baby blanket before she pulled it from the diaper bag to give Christine. There seemed to be a slight draft where they were sitting. Greg needed a little more protection.

“Toward the end of the tour he thanked me for listening to him and admitted that he was falling in love with me. But he apologized for saying anything because he knew I was too young for him.

“I told him I loved him, too, and I kissed him to prove it. One thing led to another, and you know what happened. The day before I had to fly home we planned to shop and spend some time alone together. But he wasn’t feeling well so I volunteered to pick up a toy he’d ordered ahead of time for his daughter.”

“Did you end up paying for that, too?” Whitney was heartsick for her.

“No. He gave me an envelope of money. When I returned with the package, he was feeling better. We made love again, but that was the last time. He never called or wrote me after I got back to Salt Lake.

“That’s when I realized I’d been used. I vowed never to tell anyone. But then I found out I was expecting Greg.” Her voice broke. She lifted the baby to her shoulder to burp him.

Whitney was proud of Christine, who had turned into a wonderful mother. But it had to be an overwhelming job without a husband’s support.

“Oh, honey—” she murmured compassionately. To a naive, foolish eighteen-year-old teenager seeing the world for the first time, an attractive man’s exclusive interest meant love at first sight, no matter what fairy tales he told. It all went with the territory. And some unscrupulous male had preyed on that knowledge.

“He didn’t even mention the word protection, did he?”

The moment the question was out, her sister’s pretty features hardened. Whitney knew she’d hit a nerve. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I wish I hadn’t brought it up. Promise me you won’t say one word of this to Mom or Dad.”

“I promise.”

Whitney knew better than to press the issue. She wouldn’t get anything more out of her sister. In fact it was a miracle she’d revealed this much.

Sitting back in the chair, Whitney toyed with her burrito, unable to eat it. Either a male teacher, the driver, or the tour guide was Greg’s father.

The more she thought about it, the more she figured it was probably Christine’s French teacher, Mr. Bowen. After taking French from him for three years, she’d talked their mom and Whitney’s stepfather into letting her go on one of the student trips to France he organized twice a year. She’d been so crazy about him, she’d even nominated him for teacher of the year.

What was the saying? These kinds of situations generally happened to people you knew well?

The fiend was still running around loose with his students. No telling how many other willing teenage girls he’d talked into bed.

As Whitney sat there eyeing Christine and her precious baby, her attorney’s mind conceived the idea to nail that lothario for seducing her young, vulnerable sister. He’d left her pregnant, alone, and would never have to pay a penny of child support.

A stolen moment of pleasure for the jerk had changed the entire course of Christine’s life! He didn’t care that she had a reputation to preserve. Greg, at least, deserved to be given his father’s name.

If nothing else, Whitney would find out who he was and make sure he got fired to prevent him from ever using his job to exploit other female victims again.

Already she had a plan in mind to expose him. She couldn’t wait to get back to the office and put things into motion.

“Tell you what, Christine. After I get home from work this evening, I’ll come over to the house. You can get out with your friends, maybe go to a movie. I’ll tend my cute little nephew. I love to bathe and feed him. What do you say?”

The suggestion seemed to brighten Christine’s spirits. “That would be wonderful. I’m so thankful I have you and the family. I’d never make it through otherwise.”

“You’re not only going to make it through, you and Greg are going to have a wonderful life. I swear it.”

“Comrade? Phil said you wanted to see me.”

“I’m glad you got the message, Comrade. Come on in and shut the door. Someone from Interpol has been anxious to reach you.”

Gerard Roche sat down in the chair opposite Roman’s desk. “So what’s new, boss? They hound me all the time to go back and work for them again. I always tell them I’m not interested. I like the skiing here just fine.”

Roman smiled. “Amen to that. Besides, I’ve gotten used to my best PI solving the toughest cases. I refuse to lose you. If Yuri thought you were going back to Europe to work for Interpol again, I’m afraid you would have to answer to him, as well.”

The mention of Roman’s elder brother Yuri brought a grin to Gerard’s face. Roman and Yuri Lufka, short for Lufkilovich, denoting their Russian ancestry, were two of Gerard’s best friends.

There was nothing Gerard loved more than getting out on the ski slopes with both brothers who were not only great sportsmen, but phenomenal linguists. Together they managed to slaughter Russian, German, French and a few Slavic dialects at once, much to the amusement of their friends and colleagues. Yuri and his family flew to Salt Lake from New York every month for business and pleasure.

Between all of them, plus the other PI’s and Gerard’s parents who resided in Alta, a mountain town thirty minutes from Salt Lake, Gerard’s life was full. If he moved out of the country, the opportunities to visit the people he loved would vanish.

No way would he ever live in Europe again The avalanche that had claimed his wife’s life in Switzerland years ago had brought an end to many dreams. He had no desire to go back.

“I’ve just finished tying up the loose ends on the Burrow’s case and am ready to take on a new one, Roman. How about a witness protection assignment in the mountains where I can trade off with one of the guys and still get in some serious rock climbing?”

“When that case arises, you’ll be the first one to hear about it.”

Gerard stretched his long legs out in front of him. “In other words, you’ve got something on the docket I’m not going to like.”

Roman’s gaze scrutinized him. “I’m not sure. You don’t have to take it.”

“Now you’re intriguing me.”

“Interpol has had its eye on a man suspected of being a plant for a foreign government, probably eastern Europe, but they’re not sure. The name he’s currently using is Donald Bowen. The man has a wife and child. They’re still checking on the status of his wife.

“For the last seven years he’s been posing as a French teacher at a high school here in Salt Lake. During that period, he’s been part of a group of teachers taking their students to France and Switzerland in the spring, summer.

“It’s believed that during these trips, he acts as a go-between for an agent selling classified American military secrets to a Middle Eastern government. Unfortunately he has eluded Interpol’s best efforts.

“Though you’re a civilian now, they’d like your cooperation and are willing to pay for your time to help catch him in the act. They’ll supply all the backup you need. It would mean traveling to France and Switzerland in June.”

Roman eyed Gerard soberly. “If the memory of your wife, Simone, still hurts too much, then forget I said anything.”

“It’s all right, Roman. I let go of her a long time ago. Otherwise I wouldn’t have enjoyed female company since then, particularly Annabelle’s—when she would let me.”

At that remark, both of them chuckled. Gerard had liked Annabelle Forrester, another PI with the firm, more than any woman since Simone.

It had been the now-very-married Annabelle who, when she’d first come to work for Roman, had found out Gerard had been christened Eric-Gerard because of his German father and French-Swiss mother. At that point in time Annabelle had insisted that everyone stop calling him Eric and start referring to him as Gerard. She thought his French name sounded much more exciting and romantic.

Soon Diana, Roman’s private secretary, was calling him Gerard. What started out as a joke became the status quo as one PI after another followed suit. Roman finally made the decision that everyone call him Gerard so there would be no more confusion.

Not only did Gerard find Annabelle highly amusing, she was smart and adorable, but a little too elusive at times. Or maybe he used that as an excuse because he hadn’t been ready to make another commitment that could end in tragedy.

All the same, it was a bitter pill to swallow when Rand Dunbarton, Annabelle’s ex-fiancé and client, had moved to Salt Lake from Phoenix and had ended up marrying her. He was a lucky man and Gerard envied him.

“My problem is, I haven’t been to Switzerland since the accident.”

Roman folded his arms. “The trip will definitely stir up memories. For that reason I’m not pushing you on this one.”

Gerard was pensive. “Maybe it’s time to face my ghosts.”

“Only if you want to. Interpol will probably pay any fee you ask within reason to obtain your help. I’m told they’ve looked at other private detectives in the area, but naturally you’re their first choice because of your excellent work record with them, not to mention your fluency in French and German and your knowledge of Europe.”

“Spare me the litany,” Gerard interjected. “Even I have to admit I’m a natural for the assignment.”

“You are. No one else on this staff or any other would begin to qualify.”

“Tell me what my cover would be.”

“A divorced high school French teacher.”

“You must be joking. A sort of glorified Kindergarten Cop?”

That drew another chuckle out of Roman. “According to Brittany, and I quote, you bear ‘a superficial resemblence to Arnold Schwarzenegger, only you’re much better looking.’”

Gerard’s brows lifted. “Your beautiful wife said that about me?”

“She did.”

“Were you jealous?”

Again, the two men shared a quiet laugh.

“Interpol has decided that only a teacher on the same tour can monitor this guy’s movements day and night without suspicion. He uses a local company called STI, Student Teacher International.

“This agency flies a busload of Utah teachers and students to Paris where they connect with their European tour guide. Your job would be to help chaperone the students and get chummy with Bowen at the same time.”

Gerard sat forward. “I’ve gone undercover in hundreds of ways, but I don’t like the idea of using kids to get the job done.”

“Your target has no such compunction. That’s one of the reasons why Interpol wants to get the goods on this traitor so they can put him away permanently.”

“When is all this going to happen?”

“The tour leaves June fifth from Salt Lake International Airport on a special charter flying to Paris. You’ll be gone ten days for a tour of Eastern France and Switzerland.”

“I assume Interpol has done all the paperwork?”

“Take a look.” Roman pulled a passport out of an envelope sitting on the desk and handed it to him.

They stared at each other. “I was their first choice? Hell, I was their only choice!”

“That’s because you’re the best,” his friend said with convincing sincerity.

Gerard didn’t have to peer inside to know his own picture had been put there along with all the false identification. Deciding to get this over with, he opened the cover and saw his image staring up at him. Hank Smith, age thirty-eight, male from Utah, issued by the San Francisco office.

“Hank Smith? I wonder which idiot came up with that one?”

“Hank suits you, and there are more Smiths living in Utah than any other name. It all makes sense.” Roman winked. “According to the rest of the documentation, you’re a French teacher from St. George, Utah, who decided too late to sign up your own students. You’re willing to take any other teacher’s overflow and will pay full price for the opportunity so you’ll know how to organize for next year’s tour.”

“High school kids, huh?”

Roman flashed him a wry smile. “From what I understand, foreign language students are the better, more well-behaved bunch, but I have no doubts it will still be a challenge.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Gerard bit out

“There’s a meeting next Wednesday night at the Salt Lake Library downtown where the students and teachers get acquainted. Then there will be a final meeting a week from Wednesday night at the same place to go over last-minute instructions and give out tickets. It’s all in here.” Roman handed him the thick envelope.

“That next meeting is only four days from now.”

“I won’t assign you anything else to give you time to prepare.”

“I don’t know, Roman.”

“If you can’t make a decision yet, then don’t. I’m still giving you the time off. Go rock climbing for a couple of days. That’ll clear your head. Call me when you know what you want to do. I’ll deliver the message to Interpol, whatever it is.”

“Thanks, Roman. I’ll think about it.”

“Next, please. Your name?”

“Whitney Lawrence. Union High School.”

“I don’t see... Oh, yes. You’re one of the students wishing to travel with Mr. Bowen, but he’s full. We’ve assigned you to Mr. Smith’s group.”

“But I have to be with Mr. Bowen! One of my friends was on tour with him last year and loved him. That’s the only reason I signed up.”

That was the whole point of the situation in which Whitney had purposely placed herself.

“Everyone wants to be with Mr. Bowen because he’s such a popular French teacher. But you signed up too late. His students were already organizing for the trip last fall. Fortunately, Mr. Smith has room. He’s a fine French teacher, too. Don’t worry,” she said when Whitney made a long face. “You’ll all be on the same bus together.”

“Oh. Okay,” Whitney sighed out loud dramatically, hoping her reaction was that of a typical teen. Inwardly, she felt instant relief at the news.

“Everyone is meeting in the room at the far end of the hall. Here’s your name tag. Put it on so you’ll be recognized.”

“Thanks.”

Whitney took the tag and pinned it to the vest she wore over her short-sleeved blouse. Wearing sneakers, white socks and thigh-length cutoffs, her outfit resembled those of every teenage girl lined up in the hall of the library.

With her hair falling to her shoulders, the top portion caught near the crown with a clip, her hairdo blended with all the other hairdos which were more or less the same. Minus any makeup and blessed with her mother’s young skin, Whitney prayed she looked the eighteen years she was purporting to be. Only her passport would betray her, and she wasn’t letting it out of her possession for any reason.

She’d deliberately waited until this last meeting to show up, wanting to keep as low a profile as possible.

Everyone at the Sharp and Rowe law firm would be shocked to see their newest attorney, who had just passed the Utah bar, passing herself off as a teenager. But no one could know she was on a mission to expose the man responsible for getting Christine pregnant.

Of course it was possible her plan wouldn’t work. But better she use the vacation time coming to her since studying for the bar to try and track down the culprit, than stay at home brooding over her sister’s pain.

It wasn’t fair that a man got off scot-free in a situation like this. It happened all the time, all over the world, but that didn’t make it right. If she could carry out this tricky scheme for her sister’s sake and discover his identity, it was possible the father might suffer an attack of conscience and help pay child support. If nothing else, Whitney felt it would have been well worth the subterfuge for that much satisfaction.

Her family believed she was taking off to Mexico with a couple of friends she’d met while going to law school. If she couldn’t find Greg’s biological father, Whitney didn’t want to tell her family what she’d done. But if she was successful, that would be a different story.

Therefore, instead of sending the occasional postcard home which would give away a European location, she intended to make a couple of phone calls to the family so they wouldn’t become suspicious or worry. Christine had promised to go by Whitney’s apartment every day to check the mail and water the plants.

John Warren, a fellow attorney who’d been one of her study partners through college and had passed the bar at the same time as she had, was the only person who knew her plans.

When he heard what had happened to Christine and listened to Whitney’s idea to catch the teacher responsible, John applauded her plan, but he didn’t buy the teacher theory. Rather he tended to believe that the tour guide or the driver had been the one to charm her sister into bed.

To Whitney’s surprise, she discovered that John didn’t like or trust European men. Apparently he’d had a cousin who’d gone to Europe on a music tour and had gotten involved with some Austrian tour guide in Vienna who had only been playing around. It ruined her life for a long time.

Happy to help Whitney even the score, he volunteered to subpoena STI’s records on some pretext to obtain the names of the tour guide and bus driver on Christine’s tour.

Armed with the necessary information, Whitney had been able to request a tour that included the same teacher, driver and tour guide who’d been on Christine’s trip. It was leaving June fifth.

That day was almost here, Whitney mused as she stepped inside the doors of one of the library meeting rooms. At a glance it seemed forty or so students were standing in separate lines before tables placed around the room.

Pennants in different colors with teachers’ names had been mounted alphabetically on the walls above each table: Ms. Ashton, Mr. LeCheminant, Mrs. Donetti, Mr. Hart, Mr. Grimshaw, Mr. Smith, Mr. Bowen and Mr. Sorenson.

The teachers hadn’t come in yet.

Whitney was probably the last student to arrive and took her place behind a couple of boys talking animatedly about how much spending money they were taking with them.

On their tags she saw that the one named Jeff from Ephriam High was her height, five feet nine. The other named Roger from Dixie High was maybe an inch taller with a more robust build. Both had dark brown hair and they were cute.

As soon as they saw her, they stopped talking and just stared.

“Hi, guys.”

“Hi!” they said in unison, their faces breaking into huge smiles. “Are you one of Mr. Smith’s students?”

“No. I had planned to go with Mr. Bowen’s group, but I signed up too late, so they put me with Mr. Smith.”

“The same thing happened to us.” They spoke in unison again and the three of them laughed congenially.

“Where’s Union High?”

“Up in Park Valley. Box Elder County.”

“How many years of French have you taken, Whitney?” Jeff asked.

“Two.” Junior high seemed an awfully long time ago. “How about you?”

“Six years for me.”

“Me, too,” Roger chimed in.

“Wow. You guys must be good.”

“Of course.” Jeff grinned.

Roger said, “My French teacher goes over to France every summer, but she doesn’t want to take kids around, so she called STI and they assigned me to Mr. Smith who teaches in St. George.”

“We thought we were the only ones going with him. Looks like we thought wrong.” They grinned as if they’d just won the lottery.

Had she ever been this young and immature?

“I was afraid there would only be girls on the tour,” Whitney murmured, deciding she’d better start doing her share of flirting. That’s what teenage girls did all the time. Shamekssly. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“This is already turning out to be a great trip and we haven’t even left yet,” Roger enthused.

“Since the three of us will have rooms by each other and eat meals together, we can help you out with your French in case you have any problems.”

“Thanks, Jeff. I might have to take you up on that.” She smiled into his eyes.

“No problem.”

“Have you guys met Mr. Smith yet?”

“Yeah. He’s awesome.”

“I like him a lot better than my own teacher,” Roger stated.

“I’m glad you said that because my teacher in Park Valley was an old battle-ax.”

“Battle-ax?” Jeff laughed

Uh-oh. Whitney realized that wasn’t a word today’s teenager used. “That’s what my dad called her when he had her for French.”

Before her father had died of a stroke and her mother had married Christine’s father, Whitney adored listening to her dad’s amusing tales about his school days. She would always miss him.

“Your French teacher used to teach your dad?” Roger demanded incredulously.

That part was a lie, but Whitney nodded without any compunction. The guys thought it was hilarious and both of them laughed. While she waited for them to calm down, the teachers filed in the room toward the tables, carrying stacks of manila-colored packets.

There were eight adults, but Whitney saw only one person—a man with dark blond, fairly short-cropped hair and a bronzed complexion who had to be at least six feet three inches of hard muscle.

He was dressed in a silky-looking gray suit with a charcoal-colored shirt open at the neck, very sophisticated and cosmopolitan. Sporting an expensive-looking gold watch, he didn’t look like any teacher she’d ever had.

Strong and fit, he moved with unconscious male grace, like someone who was used to being in the out-of-doors rather than a schoolroom. Probably closer to forty than thirty, his bone structure was reminiscent of western European ancestry.

The square jaw with its hint of five o’clock shadow and his straight nose kept him from being handsome in the accepted sense, yet his features made him much more interesting. He exuded confidence and an unconscious masculine appeal that called to everything feminine in her.

Whitney couldn’t remember the last time a man had made this kind of an impact on her. No woman young or old could remain immune to such unquestioned masculinity.

If he affects you this way, can you imagine how devastating his sex appeal had been to Christine? A seventeen-going-on-eighteen-year-old girl alone in Europe on the verge of womanhood?

Whitney’s instincts had been right all along. Christine’s French teacher, Mr. Bowen, was the father of her baby! Greg’s fine baby hair was the same dark blond color.

The guys were talking again, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying because a comment her sister had made at lunch that day came back to haunt her.

He’s so good-looking, and we grew close on the trip. When he finally told me he loved me, I—I couldn’t help myself.

In an effort to get a grip on her emotions, Whitney leaned over and retied her shoelaces. She didn’t need to go on the tour for answers. The man she’d been damning to hell since learning that the liar had taken advantage of Christine, had already entered the room, looking larger than life.

“Hey, Whitney?” There was a tap on her shoulder.

“Yes, Jeff?” Expelling the breath she’d been holding, she slowly stood up and turned around to see what he wanted. Looking past the smooth faces of the two teens, she received her second shock of the evening.

A pair of light gray eyes dotted with translucent green flecks held her gaze, trapping her as surely as if she’d been physically caught in a vise of some kind.

Christine had spent three years in a French class looking into those eyes? No wonder she’d never stood a chance.

For a lightning moment the world spun out of control. Sometimes in her dreams Whitney felt herself falling. That was the sensation she was experiencing now.

“Bonsoir, Whitney. Je m’appelle Monsieur Smith C’est un grand plaisir.” His deep male voice spoke in flawless French. She felt its resonance to her bones.