of any flowers that are black.”
“There are black roses. A friend sent some to his wife once, for their anniversary.”
“Black roses?”
“They were supposed to be red,” Adam said, grinning. “Deep red. Unfortunately, the red was so deep, the wife identified them as black and took his romantic gesture another way.”
“You have to admit, it doesn’t sound good,” Leonie said, interested in spite of herself. “What are black roses supposed to mean?”
“According to her, they implied a death curse.” Adam was laughing, even as his warm, appreciative green gaze rested on her face. “He spent about three nights at my place, thanks to a flower shop clerk who refused to call his wife and admit that she’d interpreted ‘deep red’ a little too deeply.”
“The wife must have been rather superstitious.” Leonie found herself unable to meet Adam’s intense gaze for very long. “Who would ever think of something like that?”
“You aren’t superstitious?” Adam asked, watching her.
“Who, me?” She suspected Adam was quizzing her to see if she was easily spooked. “I’m always crossing paths with black cats and walking under ladders. So far, so good.”
“I’ll bet you even open umbrellas in the house.”
Leonie faced him. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“Never mind.” Adam chuckled, still gazing into her face with an intensity Leonie found uncomfortable. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do, either.”
Before Leonie could reply, the teacher called for their attention. It was a good thing. Another moment of that intense stare, and she’d have painted that moustache on Adam’s face anyway.
She hoped Zara called that evening. Leonie had a few things to say to her about the alleged safety of her current job as a stand-in—and a lot to ask about Zara’s relationship with Adam Silverthorne.
• • •
The man in the boat across the lake from Zara Daniel’s property relentlessly cast his fly and watched the cabin. Around noon, his partner trolled up in an aluminum bass boat, dragging a full stringer of fish behind him.
The partner, Bolt, halted his motor. Observers would have noticed nothing but two dedicated fishermen, comparing catches.
“We got a problem,” Bolt said.
“Says who? The guy didn’t spend the night. In fact, he left at ten. Far as I could tell, they sat at the kitchen table eating cookies the entire time.”
“Smith says the woman isn’t Zara Daniel.”
“What the hell does he know?” the fly fisherman, Lloyd, exploded. “I’m the one sitting out here throwing this stupid bug all over the water and hanging around outside her windows, and I say it’s Zara Daniel.”
“An operative saw Zara Daniel early this morning in Istanbul. He’s certain it was her.”
“He’s wrong,” Lloyd stated, and cast his fly again.
“Smith thinks we’re wasting the organization’s time and money.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Lloyd said in sour tones. “I’ve been on her two days, and so far the most exciting thing she’s done is swim in the lake.”
“That was exciting, all right.”
For a moment, the two men dwelled on visions of Zara Daniel in her tiny bikini.
“So what are we supposed to do now?” Lloyd asked. “If Smith doesn’t think we’re keeping Zara Daniel under surveillance, then why are we still here? This was all his idea in the first place.”
“I argued with him, said the operative didn’t know what he was doing, needed to get his eyes checked, the works,” Bolt said. “So Smith’s going to take a few days and check it out further. In the meantime, he’s hinting that we’re incompetent and he might need to replace us. He seems to think we should have noticed the switch.”
“He can replace me anytime,” Lloyd growled. “I hate lakes and fishing poles.”
But both men knew the kind of replacement Smith had in mind had nothing to do with
“There are black roses. A friend sent some to his wife once, for their anniversary.”
“Black roses?”
“They were supposed to be red,” Adam said, grinning. “Deep red. Unfortunately, the red was so deep, the wife identified them as black and took his romantic gesture another way.”
“You have to admit, it doesn’t sound good,” Leonie said, interested in spite of herself. “What are black roses supposed to mean?”
“According to her, they implied a death curse.” Adam was laughing, even as his warm, appreciative green gaze rested on her face. “He spent about three nights at my place, thanks to a flower shop clerk who refused to call his wife and admit that she’d interpreted ‘deep red’ a little too deeply.”
“The wife must have been rather superstitious.” Leonie found herself unable to meet Adam’s intense gaze for very long. “Who would ever think of something like that?”
“You aren’t superstitious?” Adam asked, watching her.
“Who, me?” She suspected Adam was quizzing her to see if she was easily spooked. “I’m always crossing paths with black cats and walking under ladders. So far, so good.”
“I’ll bet you even open umbrellas in the house.”
Leonie faced him. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“Never mind.” Adam chuckled, still gazing into her face with an intensity Leonie found uncomfortable. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do, either.”
Before Leonie could reply, the teacher called for their attention. It was a good thing. Another moment of that intense stare, and she’d have painted that moustache on Adam’s face anyway.
She hoped Zara called that evening. Leonie had a few things to say to her about the alleged safety of her current job as a stand-in—and a lot to ask about Zara’s relationship with Adam Silverthorne.
• • •
The man in the boat across the lake from Zara Daniel’s property relentlessly cast his fly and watched the cabin. Around noon, his partner trolled up in an aluminum bass boat, dragging a full stringer of fish behind him.
The partner, Bolt, halted his motor. Observers would have noticed nothing but two dedicated fishermen, comparing catches.
“We got a problem,” Bolt said.
“Says who? The guy didn’t spend the night. In fact, he left at ten. Far as I could tell, they sat at the kitchen table eating cookies the entire time.”
“Smith says the woman isn’t Zara Daniel.”
“What the hell does he know?” the fly fisherman, Lloyd, exploded. “I’m the one sitting out here throwing this stupid bug all over the water and hanging around outside her windows, and I say it’s Zara Daniel.”
“An operative saw Zara Daniel early this morning in Istanbul. He’s certain it was her.”
“He’s wrong,” Lloyd stated, and cast his fly again.
“Smith thinks we’re wasting the organization’s time and money.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Lloyd said in sour tones. “I’ve been on her two days, and so far the most exciting thing she’s done is swim in the lake.”
“That was exciting, all right.”
For a moment, the two men dwelled on visions of Zara Daniel in her tiny bikini.
“So what are we supposed to do now?” Lloyd asked. “If Smith doesn’t think we’re keeping Zara Daniel under surveillance, then why are we still here? This was all his idea in the first place.”
“I argued with him, said the operative didn’t know what he was doing, needed to get his eyes checked, the works,” Bolt said. “So Smith’s going to take a few days and check it out further. In the meantime, he’s hinting that we’re incompetent and he might need to replace us. He seems to think we should have noticed the switch.”
“He can replace me anytime,” Lloyd growled. “I hate lakes and fishing poles.”
But both men knew the kind of replacement Smith had in mind had nothing to do with
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