Free Liars' Games (Project Chameleon Book 1) by Susan Finlay Page A

by surprise.
    “Oh, uh, I like a variety: classical, pop, rock, electronic, oldies. My grandfather was a musician, so I went to many classical music concerts when I was young.”
    “Really? A famous musician?”
    Claire felt her face grow hot. Oh bloody hell! She definitely should have tried to make up something. She’d been so worried she would make a mistake and get caught in a lie, and instead let down her guard and let her mouth flap. “Uh, no. He was just a local musician, one who never really made a name for himself in the business. I thought he was wonderful all the same.”
    “I’ll bet he was,” Steve said. “Who needs fame when you’ve got a good family? I’m sure his children and grandchildren are his pride and joy.”
    Claire smiled, and touched the rim of her wine glass. Her grandfather wasn’t ever proud of his son, Claire’s father . She wouldn’t go into that subject tonight.
    They went on to talk about politics, history, and science . Even when their points of view differed, they didn’t argue, refreshingly, but discussed rationally. It was such interesting conversation. When she got home, after Nanny Kate left, she checked on Marcus. He was fast asleep. She went to her bedroom, undressed, and then went into the bathroom. In the mirror, she was smiling broadly. She touched her lips. It was then that she realized she’d been smiling for much of the evening, and that for the first time in a very long time she didn’t look or feel fatigued and stressed. This—engaging conversation with an intelligent and handsome man—was what she’d been missing. Her smile slowly faded. This was something that she couldn’t afford.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    CLAIRE SHOWERED, GRADUALLY feeling the tightness in her muscles ease under the caress of warm water. She dried herself off, then wiped the steam from her bathroom mirror so she could survey herself. Slight bags under her eyes betrayed her lack of sleep and uneasiness. Not good on a normal work day, and more problematic today, Wednesday, when she wanted to make a good impression at her first Superintendent’s Round Table Luncheon meeting.
    She dabbed make-up on her face, and then blew-dry her shoulder-length golden-brown hair into a pile of natural curls. When she’d first entered the program, Brad had insisted she cut her waist-length hair, declaring that her extra-long hair made her stand out like a ‘palm tree in a pine forest’, and that was unacceptable for someone in witness protection. That was the first time he’d told her she needed to be a chameleon and blend-in. ‘You’re my responsibility,’ he’d said. ‘One of my chameleon projects, as I like to call them. I can teach you the ropes, but you’ve gotta be willing to learn and play the game.’ She sighed once again at the loss of her beautiful hair. Grabbing her straightening wand, she straightened her hair and then picked up her curling iron and began curling the ends at her shoulders. While doing so, she thought about her dilemma for the umpteenth time and again couldn’t decide which was worse: feeling like a fictitious character or feeling like an impostor principal. Probably not a lot of difference between the two.
    Did it really matter? She missed her old life, dearly missed teaching college students who truly wanted to learn, and most of all, she missed being happy.
    Claire opened her wardrobe , pushing aside her casual clothes, and selected a dark blue business suit and a light gray blouse from the back of her closet where she’d stowed them on her fourth day of work.
    She grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer and cut-off the price tags, not because she was a shopaholic, but because she and her son had been whisked out of Albuquerque with nothing more than the clothes on their backs.
    She shook her head. Buying clothes used to be fun. Funny how that changes when you’re forced to shop, especially when you have no idea what to buy for a new identity and a new job. After her