Rafferty's Wife (3 page)

However, the status of the couple might have undergone a change in the eyes of the hotel staff if any had overheard the groom’s muttered words in the elevator going up to their suite on the twentieth floor.

“Why do we have to start this
now
?”

Sarah gazed at the bellman’s back and said nothing, but Rafferty’s question brought the quick, inevitable tears to her eyes. Hagen, she thought, should be shot for subjecting this poor man to such a charade. It was cruel. Anyone with even a shade of sensitivity must have
known
how hard it would be on Rafferty to pretend a loving, happy marriage so soon after his own was destroyed.

She said nothing, fighting to suppress her compassion while the bellman brought their bags into the large suite, and she wandered about the rooms automatically exclaiming at the view and the lovely decor. She listened as Rafferty thanked and dismissed the man.

Then she turned and faced her “husband”—for the duration.

Keeping her voice even with an effort, she said, “According to all the information Hagen—we—have, there shouldn’t be any undue suspicion directed toward us. But there’s no reason to take a chance on that. There’s too much at stake. We have to make sure our cover is solid. So we begin now. And we keep it up
until this is over. Hagen believes it’s vitally important that no one question our marriage.”

Rafferty moved toward the window and stared out, looking at anything else because looking at her affected him oddly. “And if someone does question it? I suppose our marriage has been duly documented and registered?”

“Yes, it has. We were married two months ago in New York, after a whirlwind courtship.”

“How romantic.” He didn’t intend to sound so sarcastic, but Rafferty was still incensed with Hagen for choosing such a cover for Sarah. The callous bastard!

Sarah dropped her purse on a loveseat nearby and sent a glance through the doorway into the bedroom; it boasted a king-size bed, but she felt it wasn’t big enough. Not big enough, at any rate, for a man and woman separated by a charade and a tragedy one of them had suffered.

“There’s still time for you to turn the assignment down,” she reminded him quietly.
“Hagen very likely has someone else waiting in the wings in case you do. He has a reputation for not leaving much to chance.”

He turned slowly toward her, his face still. His gaze moved from her burnished hair to her small feet, taking in every delicate feature and the throat-tightening curves in between. “No, I suppose he doesn’t.” Rafferty drew a breath. “Well, he believes I’m the man for the job, for whatever reasons. So I’m in. We’ll spend the next two days here, and then board the yacht. What’s it called, by the way?”

Sarah linked her fingers together. “An odd name for a yacht. It’s called the
Thespian
.”

Rafferty’s eyes narrowed, but a smile curved his lips. “Maybe not so strange. We’re actors—I suppose the yacht is as well.”

Sarah’s gaze skittered away from that smile, and she reminded herself again of why they were here and what their relationship was to one another. Professional partners. Actors playing roles. For the duration.

He cleared his throat, not surprised that it
was beginning to feel raw from all the tightening and clearing he was doing. Nodding toward the bar in one corner, he suggested, “Drinks?”

Sarah sat on the loveseat, wondering a bit desperately how she could possibly get through this without making a fool of herself. It didn’t look especially promising. “Please. Anything will do.” She watched beneath her lashes while he poured their drinks, her gaze clinging to broad shoulders, and long-fingered hands that moved with natural grace. When he brought her glass, she took pains to avoid touching him, so much so that of course she
did
touch his fingers and nearly dropped her drink.

Rafferty didn’t seem to notice. He sat at the other end of the loveseat, her purse the only barrier between them, and half turned to face her. “I don’t suppose it’s necessary that we know much about each other,” he said slowly, “but we’d probably be more comfortable if we do. Do you agree?”

She nodded. Rattled, she spoke at random. “Yes, I—Probably. Hagen said you were once a district attorney.”

He nodded. “Once. But I wasn’t exactly suited to playing political games. So when a businessman asked me to work for him, I jumped at the chance.”

“Joshua Long.”

“Yes. Since you know the name, you probably know he’s a financial wizard. My partner and I handle most of his legal problems, not that there are many considering the size of his empire. He has other interests, though, and so does his half sister, whose legal work we also handle.”

“Other interests? I heard that he was not only philanthropic, but also involved in fighting things most people aren’t even aware exist.”

Rafferty laughed a little. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. Josh hates dishonesty and believes everyone should fight against anything that’s wrong.
He
does. And, because I work for him, I’ve had occasion to fight as well.”

Sarah sipped her drink and smiled, feeling more relaxed now. “According to your file,”
she went on, “you’ve fought a few times on your own. And for the Justice Department. On crime commissions. You went undercover as a special agent once to gather information on corruption in a state-level attorney general’s office, didn’t you?”

He nodded, but said dismissively, “I had the background for the job. Still, it was satisfying to be able to do something about a serious problem. I guess that’s why you’re in this business?”

Sarah wasn’t evasive, but her tone was offhand. “I’ve always been good with puzzles, and that’s an ability that people tend to notice even before you leave school. Hagen’s people found me in college, and when I graduated there was a job waiting for me.” She looked at him for a moment, then added dryly, “An
office
job, I’m afraid.”

Rafferty swallowed part of his drink. He needed it. Then he looked at her. “In other words, you’ve never had a field assignment before this?”

“That sums it up nicely.”

“I was hoping,” he murmured, “that at least one of us knew what we were doing.”

“Sorry.”

He sighed and tried not to feel appalled. “So you sit in an office and unravel puzzles?”

“More or less. Decipher messages, break codes, invent them and transcribe them. Things like that. And I’m Information Retrieval too.”

Rafferty blinked. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Probably. In our office—which is disguised as a research company, by the way—you come to me for answers. About anything. Want to know how much grain the U.S. has stockpiled? Just ask me. Want to know how many passenger miles are flown by the world’s aircraft each year? I can answer that for you. Want to know the total cost of obscure research projects on such topics as why cats purr? I’m the one you ask.”

Fascinated, Rafferty said, “Computer data banks?”

“If I need them. I don’t, often.” Her smile was faint. “I have an unusual memory.”

“Unusual in what way?” He thought he knew.

“I remember things. In fact, I remember everything I’ve ever read or heard or seen. And I see patterns in things; that’s why I’m a good cryptographer.”

He stared at her for a moment, then asked briskly, “What’s the population of New York City?”

Without hesitation and in an automatic tone, she replied, “Seven million, seventy-one thousand, six hundred thirty-nine, according to the 1980 census.”

Refusing to admit defeat, Rafferty racked his brain for trivia. It distracted him from other things. “The Cougar Dam is on what river?”

“The South Fork McKenzie River. It’s in Oregon. Constructed in 1964.” Sarah was beginning to smile.

“Who’s on the one-hundred-thousand-dollar bill?”

She blinked. “Wilson. Have you been associating with the Treasury Department or Federal
Reserve System? They’re the only ones who see that one.”

He ignored the question. “Who invented the third-rail system used in subways?”

“Granville T. Woods.”

“Who was the twenty-fifth Vice President of the U.S.?”

“Theodore Roosevelt.”

Rafferty closed his eyes. “And I suppose you can tell me who made a trip around the world in 1889?”

“Nellie Bly. Seventy-two days, six hours, eleven minutes.”

Rafferty finished his drink. It seemed appropriate. “I can see,” he stated, “why you’re such an asset to Hagen. I bet you read very fast too.”

She shrugged. “Well, I don’t always read; I just look. Statistics mostly, going as far back as there were records. You have to understand, I’ve been doing this as long as I can remember. Teachers used to accuse me of cheating, until I proved to them that I remembered facts verbatim.”

After a moment, Rafferty said slowly, “I
imagine that was difficult for you. Being different from other kids.”

Sarah smiled faintly. “Yes. But my parents were terrific. They made me feel that I had a gift rather than a curse. It helped make … other opinions … easier to take.”

Rafferty nodded. “And so you grew up to become the answer person for a secret government agency.”

“There are worse jobs.”

“Agreed.” Rafferty stirred, abruptly restless. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Since we’re supposed to be visible, why don’t we go out somewhere for dinner?”

“That sounds good.” She rose to her feet and then hesitated, glancing toward the bedroom.

Rafferty got up and said matter-of-factly, “I’ll call for reservations while you get ready, all right?”

“Fine.” Avoiding his eyes, she went into the bedroom and closed the door. Leaning back against it, Sarah swore very softly.

At least her make-believe husband had some
experience in sharing bed and bath with a partner; she felt distinctly uncomfortable and embarrassed about the entire situation. What was the protocol, for heaven’s sake? Did they draw straws or flip a coin to decide who used the shower first? And what about the bed?

What, indeed. She doubted that Hagen would approve of a call to housekeeping for an extra pillow and blanket so that one member of the happily married couple could bunk down on the couch.

Uncertain as to how long it was supposed to take for her to change, Sarah hastily unpacked toilet articles and a dress suitable for evening dining, then went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower.

On top of the practical worries inherent in the situation were other concerns. Under orders from Hagen, she had kept certain information to herself, and she wasn’t happy about doing that. It was alien to her nature to deceive anyone, and secrecy placed an added strain on nerves that were already stretched taut.

Sarah was still a bit bewildered at being in
the middle of this; she couldn’t recall exactly how it had all come about. Somehow or other, Hagen had made it seem utterly natural that she should be the “operative” involved.

Her unusual life had made her somewhat introverted, shy, and unsure of herself in many ways. She spent too much time alone. There hadn’t been a lack of masculine offers in her past, but her natural reserve had nipped many overtures in the bud, and her lack of self-confidence had prevented her from opening up with others.

This situation was totally foreign to her from beginning to end. She had no idea how to play the part assigned to her, and was half frightened at the thought of living in such intimacy with a stranger, even if that stranger
did
attract her. Especially
because
that stranger attracted her.

There was something about Rafferty Lewis, something … leashed. His features were handsome, set off by those extraordinary gold eyes. Like herself, he apparently tanned instead of freckled, despite being a redhead. He was
tall and broad-shouldered, and moved gracefully. He was quite obviously intelligent, and his voice was deep and warm.

But none of that quite explained what Sarah felt, what she sensed, when she looked at him. For all his cool intelligence and relaxed physical movements, what Sarah sensed was power. Not the power of sheer muscle, but something else, something far more understated, and therefore much more dangerous. It was the power of an iron will and a dynamic personality.

Some men, she thought shrewdly, would underrate him because of that, failing to glimpse what lay beneath his almost lazy surface. But she doubted that many women would make that mistake. More intuitive than men, most women would sense something powerful within Rafferty. She made a mental note to ask him if he had tangled with women attorneys in his work and, if so, who had won. She was curious to discover if her assessment of him was close to the mark. She thought it was. And, believing that, she had to wonder about the next few
weeks even more. How would Rafferty react to the deceptions and the dangers?

Troubled and nervous, Sarah quickly dried off after her shower and dressed in the coral silk dress she had chosen. She piled her long hair loosely atop her head and secured it with a few pins, then hastily applied makeup with an unsteady hand. Perfume was an afterthought, as were the diamond studs in her ears. Then she studied herself in the long mirror on the bedroom closet door. What she saw gave her no courage at all.

She looked scared to death, she decided. She drew several deep breaths, trying to vanquish the fright in her green eyes, trying to square her shoulders and straighten her spine.

Then she turned and headed for the other room.

What was she
doing
here?

W
HAT WAS HE
doing
here?

Rafferty fixed himself another drink and went over to the window, no more pleased than before to confront the sparkling white expanse of beach outside. He wasn’t happy. What was he doing here pretending to be married to a woman he’d just met, and about to stroll casually into a hostile country to retrieve stolen information?

Damn
Hagen.

He could admit the truth to himself. And
the truth was that he was less bothered by the coming foray into Kadeira than he was by his pretended marriage to Sarah. Only a fool, of course, would have discounted the dangers of going into Kadeira, and Rafferty wasn’t a fool. He had found himself in physical danger before and knew that his instincts and reactions were good, reliable. And that was all a man could depend on.