Lie To Me: Adventures in Retirement, #5

By J L Wilson

Grace Jamison has always been unlucky in love, but this is ridiculous ...

What was supposed to be a blind date has turned into an FBI sting operation, complete with handsome Special Agent Ben Braden, a train ride and chase through the Badlands, and a final confrontation in a safe house--which turns out to be not so safe.

If Grace can survive that, she can probably survive having her heart broken by Ben ... unless she can convince him to take a chance on love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J L Wilson
• Release date: Aug 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393146926

J L Wilson

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Book preview

Chapter One

WHY DO I LET MYSELF get talked into stuff like this? Grace Jamison asked the pigeon pecking the dark brown paving stone at her feet.

The bird cocked its head and regarded her with a bright black eye. No idea, it seemed to say. But you always do.

She crossed one pale blue denim-clad leg over the other and leaned back, her curly dark blond hair flowing over her shoulders, so long it almost touched the base of the statue on which she sat. The May sunlight warmed her face despite the cool breeze washing over the Art Park outside the Carnegie Museum in Pittsburgh.

Spring had been cold and it felt more like Easter was approaching than Memorial Day. Despite the cool weather, she heard music coming from the park a block away. She tilted her head, recognizing the raspy voice of Jonny Lang singing the blues. The park was a favorite gathering place for students from the University of Pittsburgh and Carnegie-Mellon University. A little cool weather wouldn't keep their spirits down.

Grace glanced at her watch. She promised Margaret she would meet this guy, so meet him she would. After all, Margaret was more like an older sister than a cousin, and Margaret's husband, Nathan Stokes, vouched for the guy. Margaret was anxious for Grace to find the Right Man, just like she found Nathan. Grace didn't have the heart to tell her that she already found the right man. He just didn't know it.

I'm leaving town tonight so it's no big deal, Grace murmured. One cup of coffee and I can give him the old, sorry-I have-to-pack excuse. In a few hours she would board a train to begin what she hoped would be a life-changing adventure. By this time next week, I'll see Kerry again, she whispered. I'll see him and I'll finally know what he feels for me.

The bird pecked the pavement at her feet, oblivious to Grace's discussion of her upcoming blind date versus the Man of her Dreams, Kerry Songhorse. The bird and its companions were the only other warm-blooded creatures in the plaza. Several statues were spaced throughout the half-block square with trees and shrubs, but the human patrons were all inside the glass-walled cafeteria overlooking it.

Grace tugged her denim jacket tighter over her dark brown turtleneck sweater, going over Nathan's description of Ben Cochran in her mind. He's a little bit nerdy, but give him a chance, Nathan told her. He's tall, too, which is good, right?

Yes, tall is good, Grace thought. She was 5'10", so the taller, the better. It wasn't a requirement but it certainly made life easier.

He has black hair and he wears glasses—just sometimes, not all the time. And he's tall. Oh, I said that. And he's into computers. Nathan laughed nervously. He'll probably go on and on about a project he's working on. He's a game player, too. You know, those role-playing things? He's at Level Orange or something in one of those.  Ben is intense sometimes. But he's a great guy. Really great. You'll like him.

Grace sighed. Just a cup of coffee. That's all. One cup of coffee. I like Nathan. It's the least I can do after all he and Margaret did to help me. Her wrist ached, reminding her of the events a few months ago. She stared at the narrow segment of parking lot viewable in the distance. Because of the enclosing walls of the museum and cafeteria, the Art Park blocked her view of most of the lot, although she could see Pittsburgh's Schenley Park beyond the cars parked in the distance. Sunlight glistened on cars driving through the rolling terrain of the four hundred acres, making the distant trees and golf course glimmer in the late afternoon sun.

A man walked toward her, striding up the path from the parking lot with a long, purposeful gait. Was that him? He was tall, although it was hard to tell just how tall at this distance. His black hair was long and curling up on his collar. Broad-shouldered, long-legged, attractive in an athletic, muscular sort of way. Sunglasses. Grace tugged a strand of hair that caught on the metalwork behind her and pushed the curly mass over her shoulder. If that was Ben Cochran, she might want more than a cup of coffee.

When he neared, he slid the sunglasses off, slipping them into the pocket of his dark gray sports coat. His gray T-shirt was tucked into black denims, emphasizing his big shoulders and narrow waist. That Nathan, Grace thought, standing and smiling. He must have been kidding. Geeky? Good Lord, he was almost as handsome as Kerry. The thought made her blink with surprise. They even looked a bit alike with the black hair and the chiseled, sharp features. But Kerry's eyes were dark and this guy's eyes—they were pale.

I've never seen eyes like that. They're the color of ice. Grace's attention jerked away from comparisons to the man walking toward her, staring at her intently. Men often stared at Grace. It was the consequence of having a model-perfect body, waist-length honey blonde hair and a freckled, girl-next-door complexion. She'd been stared at since her body matured in puberty. But this wasn't that kind of look. This was predatory, intimidating. She took a step back when the man with the unwavering pale gray eyes came to a stop in front of her.

Ben? She held out her hand.

The man looked at it, looked at her. He was as handsome up close as he was from a distance, with an oval face, pointed chin, and straight, almost narrow nose. Thick black hair with streaks of gray curled around his collar, strands blowing in the breeze. His eyes were his most distinctive feature, like chips of metal rimmed in black, giving him a blind, icy look. She stared up at him and smiled tentatively. Ben?

Were you expecting someone else? He jerked her into his arms. He was far taller than she originally thought. He had to be at least six-six. Those icy blue-gray eyes were like cold lasers. You know why I'm here, right?

We're supposed to—

Shh. His eyes held her captive. You look like a princess, sitting here waiting for your prince. He smiled slowly, the edges of his mouth curving up. Dimples deepened in his cheeks and long creases appeared at the edges of his eyes, small flecks of white in the smooth tan of his skin. Princess.

A game player. Is this a game? she whispered.

His eyes changed, darkening like the clouds drifting on the horizon. Of course it is. I've heard you're an exceptional player, too. He tilted his head to one side and regarded her, his eyes flickering over her face. You're going away soon, right? Do you plan to have a little fun while you're gone? His sly smile told her exactly what kind of fun he had in mind.

Grace glared at him coldly. That's none of your business. Did Nathan tell this guy about her plans to visit Kerry? If he did, she'd skin him alive.

I'm sorry. Did I make you mad? He picked out a strand of her thick honey-colored hair and fingered it. No one told me how beautiful you were.

Didn't Nathan tell you what I looked like? She wiggled in his arms and he loosened his hold but didn't release her completely.

Nathan?

Nathan Stokes. Grace moved away from him, suddenly nervous. It was one thing to have a guy act like a goof, but this was weird. She managed to put a few more inches between them, leaning to her right. But the statue was at her back, preventing any movement in that direction.

Stokes. Sure. He looked distracted, his eyes narrowing and momentarily far away. I forgot about Stokes.

How could you forget about Nathan? He's why I'm here. Grace pushed at his arms and he released her, but he didn't step back. On the contrary, he moved as close as he was before. I'd rather not play this game, she said and immediately regretted the words when she heard how whiney she sounded.

You don't want to play the game. He spoke flatly, his face just inches from hers.

Grace flinched back. No. I mean, I'd rather—it's not—I mean, can't we just—?

You promised me a kiss, didn't you?

What? She stared up at him, so surprised she couldn't move.

I was told you'd give me at least a kiss. He smiled but it was just his lips that moved. His eyes didn't warm.

Who told you that? Grace pulled back and a knobby bit of statue dug into her back. She ignored it, anxious to escape this stranger's angry glare.

He jerked her into his arms and his lips came down on hers.

Grace was so shocked she hung in his arms for a second before struggling. His lips were fixed on hers, his tongue delving into her mouth, his body pushed hard against hers. Between his tight arms and his probing kiss, she could barely breathe. She wasn't an experienced kisser—far from it—but even in the midst of her chaotic thoughts, Grace realized he was very, very, good. His mouth, hands, and body all worked together, making her feel like the center of his universe. If she hadn't been so frightened, she would have been aroused. You are aroused, a little voice in her head whispered. Don't lie.

The thought was like a shock of cold water. Grace tried in vain to pull away, but he put one hand on her head, keeping her face pressed against his. His other arm was around her waist, pulling her tight against him. He stepped forward, forcing her back against the concrete of the statue base behind her.

She twisted her head. His hand tangled in her hair and tears sprang into her eyes when he jerked her head back. What are you doing? she gasped when his lips finally released hers.

His eyes were like gray chips of stone, cold and hard. You know what I'm doing. I'm doing what you suggested. I'm combining business with pleasure.

What? Grace put her right hand against his left shoulder and pushed. It was like pushing one of the statues behind her. He remained pressed against her. She realized how it must look—two lovers, meeting in the Art Park, his arms entwined around her. What do you want?

You're very good. Beautiful and good. I'd love to stay and entertain myself, but this project has to get done and soon.

Project? Grace gulped, trying to make sense out of the words he whispered in a harsh voice. Nathan said he was intense but this was insane. Who are you?

His arms slipped down to her waist, pulling her against him. She tried to look down when she felt something touching her side.

Don't look, he snapped.

Her head snapped up, almost hitting him. He reared back, his mouth tight and hard. Good try but it didn't work, bitch.

Fear, anger, and incredulity all surged in Grace. Fear won out. She opened her mouth to scream, but he must have sensed what she was going to do because he forced her face close to his. It's in your pocket. Thank you. They were watching. His eyes were blue—no, gray—no, they were blue. They were so changeable. They snared her, trapped her. It has all the information you need to make up your mind. Call me when you decide. He looked over her shoulder to the cafeteria and the patrons sitting there.

Grace twisted, following his gaze. Four or five tables were near the glass wall overlooking the plaza. Most of the people at those tables were talking to each other. Two men at the center table, though, stared out the window at them. They were too far away for her to see their faces clearly, but their interest was evident.

She gaped at him. What?

You saved my life. He kissed her again. But this time it was gentle and sweet. And once again Grace was so surprised she just stood there, her brain whirling. Thank you. He pushed a thick strand of hair over her shoulder, his hand touching her cheek with a soft caress. What's your name?

She gaped at him. Grace. You know my name. Didn't Nathan tell you?

How appropriate. Amazing Grace. He smiled at her but there was sadness in his eyes. Your looks won't help you, Grace. Pity. I wish I could see you again, I really do, but I'm not sure it will be possible. He released her and took a step back.

I don't understand any of this. Grace heard shouts coming from her right, where the parking lot was hidden by a grove of trees. She turned, trying to see what the noise was all about and when she turned back, the man was walking away from her, his head down as he focused on the uneven pavers.

A sudden chill washed over her and she looked again at the cafeteria. The two men who had stared at them were gone, hurrying through the tables to the side exit near where the man disappeared. Sirens erupted, close enough that she winced at the noise vibrating around the semi-enclosed space. Something big was happening. People ran through the parking lot, heading for a spot to her right. Grace walked toward the parking lot, peering from side to side when she emerged from the Art Park.

A crowd of people milled around a side door on the far end of the north side of the plaza. Two policemen in uniform held out their arms, keeping people from moving forward and two men were on the opposite side of the circle, keeping the people there from moving. Two other officers were near the door. One of them spotted Grace exit the plaza. Ma'am, can you wait right there, please?

Grace stopped. Me? Why?

You might be a witness. Please wait there.

Dozens of people turned to stare at her. Witness to what?

Murder. They found a woman's body near the door. He gestured toward the far side of the plaza. At that moment the crowd shifted and Grace caught a glimpse of a body on the ground. Long blonde hair covered the woman's face where she lay sprawled in a pool of dark blood.

Secret Agent Man chimed from the phone tucked into Grace's jacket. She fumbled in the deep denim pocket, her fingers first encountering a small hard object. It caught on her wristwatch when she pulled out her phone, her hand trembling. Nathan?

I'm sorry, Grace. I heard from Ben and he can't get there. He didn't have your phone number so he couldn't call you himself.

Huh? She stared down at the object swaying from her wrist.

Ma'am, we need to talk with you. Can you hang up the phone?

Grace untangled a necklace from her wristwatch and stared at a small black bear studded with rhinestones and pearls, dangling from a silver chain.

What's happening, Grace? Nathan asked.

Grace looked at the police officer in front of her. I have no idea, she said faintly.

BEN BRADEN LOOKED BEHIND him, thankful for the distraction that kept the watchers off his tail. People streamed past him, going to whatever caused the fuss, and he silently thanked curious onlookers for providing him with some cover.

What started as a lousy day was ending well. He was on this project for almost a year and it finally showed results. Everything hinged on the next few days. As soon as they wrapped it up, he could get on with the next phase of his life.

Whatever that might be.

Ben looked back over his left shoulder but the woman—G. Martin—was lost to sight. She wasn't what he expected. Her voice made her sound a lot more coarse, a lot more experienced. She called when he was near the outdoor fountain at Phipps Conservatory, at the edge of the park. All he wanted to do was get this handoff over with so he could go home and sleep. He'd been on the move for five days and it was catching up to him.

I'll be waiting for you at the Art Plaza. The voice paused then asked suspiciously, You have it, right?

Yeah.

You sound like you're in a bad mood, the voice said teasingly. Maybe I'll have to cheer you up.

Just stick to the plan, Ben snapped.

Hey, I heard you like the ladies, the voice said smoothly. I don't know if you can handle one who's had my training, though.

He ground his teeth. How long before the stories about Paris died out? We'll see. What do you look like?

I'm tall, I'm blonde, and I'm waiting near the Art Plaza. I'm your type. I'll be waiting for you, the voice said seductively. No reason we can't combine some business with pleasure. You're used to that, right? She laughed and hung up before he could snarl a reply.

Ben grimaced, remembering that conversation now. All he had to do was meet the bitch, give her the memory stick disguised as a necklace and get out. She would take the damning data back to her handlers and they could finally find the traitors they were looking for.

He didn't count on her being so young, though. Ben paused. He was starting to notice how young a lot of the agents were. Of course, he was fifty-seven and retirement loomed large in his future. No matter what anyone said about his so-called contribution to the Bureau, he would always hit a ceiling when it came to promotions. The Paris Thing would haunt him forever. There would always be talk. He knew that when it happened and he accepted it, but it still galled him.

Ben stopped on the corner of Forbes and Craig when a city bus pulled to a stop nearby, the exhaust fumes overlaying the scent of daffodils from the flower bed in front of the museum's cafeteria. A sudden chill made him hunch his shoulders and he bent to pick up a scrap of paper from the pavement, using the movement to glance behind him. He was still being followed.

He straightened and considered his options. The bus door opened a few feet from him and he got on, flashing his Metro pass at the driver. He settled into a seat near the back, getting a good look at the bald-headed man who followed him most of the afternoon. The guy was talking on his cell phone.

Ben leaned back. In the eighteen months he lived in Pittsburgh, he made it a point to learn a lot of the bus routes. There were several points along this route where he could get off, cross the street and hop another bus. He could come back and get his car later that night.

With a belly-aching growl, the bus lurched away from the corner and ambled along Forbes Avenue, one of the busiest streets in Oakland, Pittsburgh's University district. Ben looked back and saw police cars streaming toward the museum, their sirens wailing. A gorgeous red Corvette darted past the bus, a white-haired man at the wheel with a luscious-looking blonde sitting in the passenger seat.

Not as luscious as G. Martin, he thought. Good Lord, it was all I could do to let go of her. Those legs! Ben shivered. Long legs were his weakness and Martin's were toned and long, fitting right in with the rest of that beautiful body. And her hair. He shook his head. Honey-brown hair with gold highlights, so thick and long a man could get lost in it. Her green eyes were like looking into a forest and her complexion, all freckles and pinkness, shouted All American Girl.

How did somebody like that get tangled up with the biggest traitors on the planet? The thought made his stomach twist. Why the hell did she have to be so beautiful? He glanced at his watch. It was five o'clock. He'd give it a few hours, hopping buses, then go back to the office. The project was closing down and once Martin played her part, he could put it all behind him.

He was tempted to log on and find Martin's home phone number in the Bureau database. As soon as he considered it, Ben rejected the idea. She was a suspect in an ongoing investigation and any contact with her had to be strictly monitored. It took this long to dig himself out of the hole he fell into when Michelle betrayed him in Paris. He wasn't going to blow it all on Grace Martin, traitor.

Ben got off at the next stop, ducked into the parking garage across the street, and emerged on Bigelow Boulevard where he immediately caught an express bus downtown. Instead of getting off at the Federal Building, he rode the bus through the city center and to the South Side where he got off and hopped another bus that took him to a western suburb. Two more buses and two hours later, he was back downtown at the Federal Building.

He paused at security, handing his badge and gun to the guard on duty then passing through the scanners. His desk was in the bullpen on the nineteenth floor and while he waited for the elevator, he scanned the headlines in the newspaper kiosk. The elevator was almost to the ground floor lobby when his cell phone chimed.

Ben glanced at the display. Unknown. He recognized the number, though. Yeah?

Mr. Braden. The voice, precise, British, and clipped, sounded exasperated. Why did you kill our agent? That was impulsive.

Ben frowned. His contact, who he thought of as Bond because of the accent and the fact the man was in the spy game, sounded honestly perplexed. What are you talking about? I didn't kill anyone. He stood aside for a man to exit the elevator. The headline on the newspaper stand next to the door caught his eye. Ben fumbled for the correct change and got the newspaper just as the elevator doors opened. What do you mean? He skimmed the story while the elevator glided upward, his phone jammed between his shoulder and his ear.

We saw you with a most lovely girl. Who is she? Bond laughed. She certainly was kissable.

What do you mean? She's— Ben stopped, your agent almost escaping. Her name is Grace. What do you mean, your agent is dead?

Hmm. The voice hesitated. The elevator chimed on the nineteenth floor. The floor was quieter than usual. Ben glanced around, spotting Charlie Davidovitch at his desk near Ben's, staring at a computer screen. I didn't kill anyone, Ben said, his brain in