Free The Face of Deception by Iris Johansen

thousand years had passed since she had walked to her lab that morning. She had a sudden pang of homesickness. What was she doing here? She didn't belong in this strange house with a man she didn't trust.
    The Adam Fund. It didn't matter whether she belonged here or not. She had a job and a purpose. She came toward him. “I meant what I said. I won't do anything criminal.”
    “I know you meant it.”
    Which didn't mean he accepted it. She flicked off the overhead light and moved past him into the hall. “Are you going to tell me why you brought me here and why I should do what you want me to do?”
    He smiled. “Why, it's your patriotic duty.”
    “Bull.” Her gaze narrowed on his face. “Politics?”
    “Why do you assume that?”
    “You're known for your activities in public view and behind the scenes.”
    “I suppose I should be relieved that you no longer think I'm a mass murderer.”
    “I didn't say that. I'm exploring all options. Politics?”
    “Possibly.”
    A sudden thought occurred to her. “My God, are you trying to smear someone?”
    “I don't believe in smear campaigns. Let's say things aren't always what they seem, and I believe in bringing the truth to light.”
    “If it's to your advantage.”
    He nodded mockingly. “Of course.”
    “I don't want to be part of it.”
    “You're not part of it . . . unless I'm right. If I'm wrong, you go home and we forget you were ever here.” He was preceding her up the stairs. “What could be more fair?”
    Maybe his reason didn't involve politics. Maybe it was entirely personal. “We'll see.”
    “Yes, we will.” He opened her door and stood aside. “Good night, Eve.”
    “Good night.” She went inside and closed the door. The room was country comfortable with a canopy bed with a rust and cream quilt, simple pine furniture. The only thing in it that interested her was the telephone on the end table. She sat down on the bed and dialed Joe Quinn's number.
    “Hello,” he answered sleepily.
    “Joe, Eve.”
    His voice lost all trace of drowsiness. “Is everything okay?”
    “Fine. I'm sorry to wake you, but I just wanted to tell you where I am and give you my phone number here.” She rattled off the number printed on the extension. “Got it?”
    “Got it. Where the hell are you?”
    “Barrett House. Logan's place in Virginia.”
    “And this couldn't wait until morning?”
    “Probably. But I wanted you to know. I feel . . . disconnected.”
    “You sound uneasy as the devil. You took the job?”
    “Why else would I be here?”
    “And what's scaring you?”
    “I'm not scared.”
    “The hell you're not. You haven't called me in the middle of the night since Bonnie—”
    “I'm not afraid. I just wanted you to know.” She had a thought. “Logan has a driver, Gil Price. He used to be in the Air Force Military Police.”
    “You want me to check him out?”
    “I . . . think so.”
    “No problem.”
    “And you'll watch out for my mother while I'm gone?”
    “Sure, you know I will. I'll ask Diane to go over and have coffee with her tomorrow afternoon.”
    “Thanks, Joe. Go back to sleep.”
    “Yeah, sure.” He paused. “I don't like this. Be careful, Eve.”
    “There's nothing to be careful about. Bye.”
    She hung up the phone and stood. She'd take a shower, wash her hair, and then get to bed. She really shouldn't have woken up Joe, but hearing a familiar voice made her feel better. Everything about this place was low-key and unthreatening, including likable Gil Price, but she was still on edge. She couldn't tell how much was authentic and how much had been layered on to disarm her, and she didn't like being so isolated.
    But now she had a link to the outside world.
    Joe would be her safety net while she was walking this tightrope.
             
    “Eve?” Diane Quinn rolled over in bed and propped her head on her hand. “Is everything all right?”
    Joe nodded. “I think so. I don't know. She took a job that may not be—