Fool Me Once (4 page)

So
much for hearts and flowers. “Aha,” she said. “The Rules. That rather takes the
romance out of it, wouldn’t you agree?”

He
chuckled softly. The sound was like dark, liquid velvet. “That’s up to you,
Olivia, but we both have to know where we stand.”

“Well
yes, of course.” She bristled slightly. What had she expected? Happily ever
after? After all, she had her own agenda now. She needed to get a grip. “So
what did you have in mind?”

“I’ll
be introducing you as my fiancée. If anyone asks, we met in Scotland and I’ve
been pursuing you ever since.”

A
small smile flirted with her lips and she nodded her head. “That’s such a
ridiculous story, people just might believe it.”

“And
we’ll have to sleep together. After all, if we’re engaged…”

She
couldn’t believe her ears. “Let me get this straight. Not only do you expect me
to open doors for you, but you expect me to sleep with you as well?”

“A
poor choice of words.” He seemed to be enjoying himself. “We have to at least
occupy the same suite or our cover story will be blown.” His voice lowered.
“Ideally, we should sleep in the same bed, but I suppose that’s too much to
expect on such a short acquaintance.” He stood up, towering over her.

Olivia
jumped to her feet. “You know, I thought I could get to like you, but you’re
just another cocky American, aren’t you?” She walked a few steps down the hill,
then turned back to him, shaking her head. “I was insane to think that this
would work. For a moment there I actually thought I might enjoy your company.”
She stopped abruptly, surprised at the words that had just come out of her
mouth. Why was she speaking so openly to this infuriating stranger?

 A
gust of wind blew her hair forward, into her eyes. Reaching out, he raked his
fingers though it, tucking a piece behind her ear. “I shouldn’t have teased
you, Olivia. I’m sorry.”

Her
rage subsided and was replaced immediately by a stab of disappointment. “You
were teasing?” A fluttering sensation settled in the pit of her stomach as his
fingers brushed her cheek.

He
nodded, looking at her as though seeing her for the first time. “You know, I
didn’t expect you to be so attractive.” His voice was raspy with emotion and he
stood up, seemingly engrossed by the activity in the hayfield far below.

Olivia’s
mind reeled. Either he was genuinely sorry, or he was an excellent actor. “Is
it too late to hear the rules?”

He
didn’t answer for a full minute, and she wondered if he’d changed his mind.
When he spoke, his voice was flat. “The most important rule is that I can’t
fall in love with you.”

Biting
back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips, she spoke to his broad back.
“Sorry to disillusion you cowboy, but I don’t want you to fall in love with
me.”

His
response came back quickly. “Good, because no matter how I may act toward you
in public, I need you to remember that.” He sat down again, his expression
devoid of emotion.

“Okay,
but I’m not sure I understand.” She really didn’t.

He
picked up a small pebble, examined it then tossed it aside. “Because high
stakes poker can be exhausting and I’ll need every scrap of energy to focus on
the games. I can’t do that if I get involved.”

Olivia’s
throat closed up, and she hoped that her disappointment didn’t show on her
face. She tossed her head, tried to appear casual. “So that speech you made
earlier was all a come-on?”

“And
which speech would that be?”

“The
one about sex being optional.” She couldn’t believe she’d just said that!

“Ah,
that
speech.” His face came alive again. “Nothing’s changed in that
department, but it would have to be your idea. Even then, you need to know that
I won’t fall in love with you.” His jaw tightened. “I can’t.”

She
nodded slowly. “I think I get the picture.” Her voice sounded hollow. “When do
you want to leave, and where are we going?”

“I
leave for London late this afternoon. Can you be there the day after tomorrow?”
His tone was surprisingly businesslike. “I’ll be at the Dorchester. Call and
let me know when you’re arriving.”

Olivia
thought quickly. That would give her time to plan her wardrobe and enjoy a nice
long visit with Justine. “That’s fine,” she said, standing up and brushing off
her trousers.

Josh
unfolded himself and stood up. His jeans clung to him in all the right places
and for an insane moment she wondered what he would look like naked. He turned
to her, and she dragged her eyes away from the sinewy muscles of his thighs.

“I
thought we’d try Monte Carlo first. Then perhaps Marbella. That is, unless you
have any other suggestions?” He hovered over her, blocking out the sun.

“That
sounds good. I know people in both places.” She was having difficulty
breathing, with him standing so close.

“I
thought you might.” He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers against
her cheek. The caress was so delicate, so gentle she might have imagined it.
“You really are a beautiful woman,” he said huskily. “Thank you for agreeing to
go with me.”

Olivia’s
knees threatened to buckle, but she managed to remain upright. She lifted her
chin.

“Alex
said he would trust you with his life.” Her gaze didn’t waver.

He
looked deeply into her eyes. “You can too,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“You have my word on it.”

Olivia
nodded, wondering how he would react if she’d told him what she really felt.
That it wasn’t her life she was worried about – it was her heart.

* * *

“And
that was it?” Justine’s voice rose. “You agreed to go with him after what Alex
told you?”

Olivia
slid off the bed where Justine was still recovering from a bout of flu. She
wandered over to the window. “Yes, I did.” She ran her fingertips over her
cheek, recalling Josh’s delicate touch. “There’s something about him, Justine.
He’s…oh I don’t know what it is precisely, but I trust him.” She turned back to
the bed. “I also sense a deep sadness in him. He tries to hide it, but a couple
of times…” She shook her head.

Justine
pulled up the duvet and lay back on the pillows, watching her friend through
eyes that were half closed. “I hope you know what you’re doing. You say you’re
going because you feel there might be a story there but are you sure you’re not
kidding yourself about that? So what if you have a good time? At least you know
where you stand and he’s certainly easy on the eyes.”

“He
is rather delicious, isn’t he?” Olivia smiled. “And the air around him crackles
with excitement. At the very least I can write a story about a rich American
gambling his way through some of the most exclusive clubs in Europe.”

Justine
looked at her friend, suddenly serious. “I want you to promise me one thing,
Liv.” She frowned. “No, two things. Promise me you’ll enjoy yourself. Lord
knows, you’ve earned a holiday. Have fun.”

“And
the second thing?” She knew what was coming.

“Remember
what he said. Don’t fall in love.”

For
a brief moment it was as if Josh was in the room with them, waiting for her
response. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Falling in love is the last thing I’ll be
doing on this trip.”

Chapter Three

Josh
made his way unerringly through the warren of streets surrounding Covent
Garden, dodging the ever-present throngs of tourists and kamikaze bicycle
couriers. He slipped into a small side street and made his way to an
unremarkable old building, the granite façade stained and pitted by decades of
London smog. Speaking into the intercom he announced himself, aware that he was
being scrutinized over the high-tech surveillance camera. The procedure was
repeated in the foyer and he was admitted to the headquarters of IATO, the elite
international anti-terrorism organization.

“Hello
Colin.” He shook hands with the head of British Operations. “Good to see you
again.”

“Welcome
back.” The Englishman’s piercing green eyes seemed to see right through him.
“The team is waiting for us in the conference room.” The wall slid silently
open, and three heads turned in unison.

“Hello
Sir.” A tall black man sprang up, a smile of greeting on his face. “Thank you
for requesting me for this assignment.”

Josh
clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. “Hello, A.J.” A member of his
former team, the pilot’s skill with helicopters was unmatched. He, more than
anyone, knew how important the mission was to Josh.

Josh
turned to greet the two remaining men at the table.

David
Miron, an intelligence officer with Mossad nodded hello, his dark, penetrating
eyes signaling acceptance. The third man rose, his movements assured. “Glad to
have you on board,” he intoned smoothly, his firm handshake across the table a
mere hint of the strength hidden beneath the elegantly cut jacket. Josh
recognized Dirk Grant, sensing immediately that the stories he’d heard about
the legendary SAS agent had their basis in fact. Each of the men at the table
had been on more dangerous missions, had seen more horror than any group of men
should have to witness in a lifetime. Theirs was a deadly business. Josh had
lived with that knowledge ever since he joined the Special Forces
anti-terrorism unit many years ago, but nothing had prepared him for the
searing anger that changed his life when the senseless destruction of
terrorists touched him personally. He took a chair next to A.J. and settled in
for the briefing.

Colin
strode to the head of the table, tapping a gold pen in the palm of his left
hand. “All right gentlemen. I don’t have to tell you that the market in illegal
small arms has grown by leaps and bounds in the past ten years.” His eyes
rested on Josh and Dirk. “Even those of you who are no longer on active duty
will know that after the breakup of the former Soviet Union, arms dealers–and
I’m speaking mainly of the middlemen–became billionaires practically overnight.
We simply can’t police it all.” His eyes met Josh’s. “Good men are killed every
day. That’s why this organization was formed. We have the silent backing of our
various governments for the key aspects of our operations; financial,
technical, and intelligence. However we operate without the political
constraints that hobble too many other efforts.” He paused, making eye contact
with each person in the room. “Do I make myself clear?” They nodded as one.
“Right, then,” he continued. “Since this is the first time we’ve met as a team,
I’ll review the mission. Some of you may have heard this before but bear with
me.” A smile flirted with his eyes. “We all need to be on the same page, as you
Americans are so fond of saying.”

“With
the threat of terrorism sweeping across our borders like a plague one thing has
become startlingly clear. Small arms are responsible for many more deaths than
larger weaponry. Forget what you’ve heard about ‘loose nukes’. Our young men
and women are being killed at an alarming rate at the hands of terrorists armed
with RPGs, AK-47 assault rifles, explosives and more recently shoulder-fired
heat seeking missiles.” He glanced down at a thin stack of files on the table
in front of him.

“Since
the end of the Cold War, the profile of the arms broker has changed. More often
than not, he’s a businessman. His motives are anything but political. He’s in
it for the money, and he profits by taking advantage of the loopholes in the
compromised regulations of many countries. He is familiar with international
banking, he is able to arrange covert transportation, and he relies heavily on
personal contacts.”

Sliding
the files down either side of the table he continued talking. “Rather than cast
a broad net, this mission will focus on one man. Thanks to the unparalleled
intelligence gathering efforts of Mossad, David has worked up a rather decent
profile of the man we believe is responsible for selling massive amounts of
arms to the re-emerging Taliban, as well as to Al-Qaeda. This man deals mainly
in RPGs and Semtex, but he’ll broker anything. Our sources inform us that his
success is due in large part to his impeccable paperwork. His organization
provides the all-important ‘end user certificate’ that enables the shipment of
arms.” Opening the file, his eyes hardened as he glanced at the picture clipped
inside. “Gentleman, meet Jiri Blazek. We need to stop this man. He has defied
our best efforts to prove that his activities are illegal. So we’re going to
put him out of business by using his strengths against him.” He stabbed a
finger at the photograph. “We intend to expose him, discredit him. His entire
network is built on personal contacts and his ability to operate discreetly.
Potential buyers seek him out at the gaming tables in Monte Carlo, or at
private clubs in Marbella. By the time we’ve finished with Mr. Blazek, his
buyers will disappear faster than a drop of rain in the Sahara.”

He
closed the file and raised his eyes. “While conducting his research, David came
across a critical piece of information. He discovered that Blazek’s daughter
Eliska attended an exclusive girl’s school in Switzerland in her teens. While
there, she roomed with Olivia MacMillan, daughter of Martin MacMillan, a
respected London financier. Olivia MacMillan is the only person we know who has
had social contact with a member of the family. Some years back, she was
invited inside the family compound in the Costa del Sol.”