Just Like a Man by Elizabeth Bevarly Page B

wasn't that a cryptic statement? Hannah thought. Even more cryptic, however, was Adrian's reply.
    "No, I don't suppose you did," he said. "Nor will you ever. There will always be something of the Indiana boy in you, won't there?"
    Hannah was about to open her mouth to ask something else—though, honestly, at that point she had no idea what would come out of her mouth next—when Bitsy Wainwright stepped onto the patio and rang a delicate crystal dinner bell, the soft
ting-a-ling-a-ling
carrying surprisingly well across the quiet murmurs of the crowd. And until that moment, Hannah had genuinely forgotten where she was, and what she was doing, and in what capacity she was expected to behave.
    But Bitsy reminded her then, calling out in a voice as clear and delicate as the dinner bell had been, "Attention, please! Attention! Welcome to the Emerson Academy fourth grade potluck! So fortunate to have director Hannah Frost tonight. So delighted." And then she turned to Hannah and extended her hand, palm up, in what Hannah supposed was meant to be an invitation. "Hannah?" she prodded. "A few words?"
    And then Hannah had no choice but to separate herself from Adrian and Michael and make her way through the crowd toward the steps where Bitsy stood. It couldn't have taken her more than fifteen seconds to make the trip. But after climbing the creekstone steps, when she turned around again, directing her gaze at the spot where she had just stood, it was to find that Adrian and Michael had retreated to opposite corners of the patio.
    Like two boxers in the ring, she couldn't help thinking. Because although they had parted, they continued to gaze intently at each other from their respective places, as if they were sizing each other up to…
something.
Hannah had no idea what. But there was no sense of camaraderie in their positions, no suggestion of friendliness at all. On the contrary, she couldn't help thinking that the next time Bitsy rang her bell, the two men would come out swinging.
    Very odd indeed, she thought. Odder still was her rampant curiosity about the two men's relationship. But the oddest thing of all was that instead of being more curious about Adrian, whom Hannah knew fairly well and should have cared more about, she found herself more focused on Michael. Michael Sawyer, CPA.
    Michael Sawyer,
Can't Prove Authentic.
     
    Michael wasn't surprised, when he left the potluck early, to find Adrian waiting for him by his car. Nor was he surprised that Adrian knew which of the scores of cars parked outside was his. Nor was he surprised that Adrian had slipped away from the party without being noticed or missed. Adrian had always been good at all of those things. Better, alas, even than Michael had been. And, of course, where Michael had left all the subterfuge and stratagem and sneakiness behind, Adrian had continued honing and refining his skills for future endeavors.
    Like, for instance, this one. Whatever the hell it was. For all the agents assigned to Adrian over the past six months, OPUS still couldn't pinpoint what the guy was up to. He truly did seem to be an average Joe, marketing software for CompuPax during the day, pursuing women—like Hannah Frost, damn him—at night. He kept regular hours, held a membership at a country club where he played tennis on the weekends, subscribed to the opera, held a position on the board of directors of the Emerson Academy. He hadn't had so much as a parking violation since surfacing in Indianapolis. His whereabouts prior to his reappearance remained a complete mystery, as did his identity prior to that. Oh, he'd forged some excellent credentials for himself, credentials that had enabled him to be hired by CompuPax in the first place, but as Adrian Windsor, the man appeared to be living a perfectly normal life.
    And now he stood, as he had so many times before, in the shadows, a tall yet indistinct figure leaning against Michael's car. And it occurred to Michael with uncharacteristic