people in the area. As Layne sat up, her hair tumbled with carefree abandon across her shoulders. The look of sheer pleasure on Matt’s face brought heat to her cheeks. He had crouched down beside her, his arms resting on the long, corded surface of his thighs.
“W-what time is it?” Layne asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
“It’s 10:30 a.m. We’re still over Canada, heading up toward the North Pole before we start the downward leg of our journey.” He roused himself, giving Layne a tender look, and stood.
“Feel like something to eat? The stewardess keeps coming up here to feed us, and I think she’s beginning to feel rejected.”
Layne tipped her plush chair into an upright position, keeping the blanket around her lower body. Matt looked incredibly handsome standing above her, his hands resting on his narrow hips. She warmed beneath his smoldering gaze, still caught up in the evaporating magic of their shared kiss. And it had been a mutual kiss. “Let me wake up first,” she murmured.
“Take your time. I’m going downstairs to get us some juice. It’s always wise to eat lightly and drink plenty of liquids on a long flight like this.”
“Make mine tomato juice.”
Matt gave her a wistful smile. “Did you know how beautiful you are in sleep? Or in waking up?”
Layne’s eyes widened. “I—no…”
Matt walked to the stairs. “Well, you are, kitten. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Layne shakily got to her feet. She found, to her surprise, that Matt must have taken off her shoes after she’d fallen asleep. She stood and folded the blanket, placing it behind the seat, then retrieved her purse. Still in her stocking feet, she padded to the lavatory. Once there, she splashed her face with cold water, first to wake up, then to try to douse her fiery reaction to Matt’s last words.
Matt had arranged the juice on her chair tray when she emerged. Layne had deliberately taken her time in order to still her trembling fingers and racing heart. She had stared darkly at herself in the small mirror, giving herself a good lecture: He’s an agent, Layne. Never forget that! He’s used to using people. He has a talent for getting people like you to do what he wants.
“You look a little more awake,” Matt greeted her, sitting down in his recliner, which paralleled hers.
Layne grimaced and sat down. “I look better, you mean?” Nervously she slid the cool glass into her fingers, taking a sip of the tomato juice.
“No, lady, you couldn’t look better. You’re pretty in or out of sleep,” Matt assured her.
She gulped the juice, almost choking on it. Licking her lips of the salty liquid, Layne slid him a disgruntled glare. “Are you always so complimentary? Or does that go with the territory?”
Matt scowled. “I was being honest, Layne. Since when does honesty only come with certain territories?”
Gripping the tumbler, Layne stared down at it. “Brad once told me that sometimes when he lived a lie for very long, it became the truth for him,” she whispered. “He said it was that way for any operative who was undercover.” Lifting her head, Layne stared at Matt. “Yes, I question your compliments.”
Matt gauged the hurt mirrored in her eyes. How could he say, Look, you do something to me, Layne. I’m not sure what it is yet; all I know is that you make me feel like living and feeling again? If he admitted the truth, she would find it too hard to accept and call him a liar. Instead, he said, “I told you when we started this that there would be no lies between us, Layne. I’m keeping my word.”
There was a hint of apology in her husky voice. “And if I ask you about yourself? Would you still be honest?”
Matt nodded. “I’ll tell you what I can.” And then a brief smile eased his stern features. “Is this twenty questions?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why I want to know about you. You’re an agent.”
“I’m a human being first, Layne, a damn good test pilot second and a part-time agent third. But those last two are my vocations. They’re not the whole of me. Just like being a professor of Chinese doesn’t say who all of Layne Hamilton is.”
Layne relaxed beneath the timbre of his voice. “I’ll agree with you there up to a point. But Brad was the Company. His personality and vocation were identical. You couldn’t separate one from the other.”
“Tell me something, Layne. Did you ever mix with other Company wives or their families?”
She shook her head. “No. I have my academic circle of friends. Brad made it very clear that he didn’t wish to mingle with anyone else—my friends or the Company people.”
“He was a loner?”
Layne finished off the tomato juice, setting it on the tray. She pulled her legs up and placed her arms around her knees, then, resting her head against them, watched Matt through half-closed eyes. “Yes, he was a loner.”
“No friends?”
“Brad never felt the need for any. He was totally self-sufficient.” Layne grimaced. “Unlike me, who needed the help from family members and support from friends that he disdained as a sign of weakness.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So he never encouraged you to become part of the Company’s family support system?”
“A support system?” she scoffed. “Come on!”
“The Company encourages spouses to take schooling with the employees and generally helps the wives and families cope whenever possible. In one way, the Company resembles military family living and has a similar plan to that of the services.”
Layne looked at him in disbelief. So often the men in the military were away on duty and the wives had no one to turn to but one another. And if something needed to be repaired, the wife usually ended up fixing it. The lonely days, weeks and even months without a husband around to complete the family existence were eased by sharing with other military families in similar circumstances. “I doubt that.”
“Well, it’s a reality,” Matt countered.
“Brad never mentioned it.”
“He never brought home the newsletter that’s circulated monthly to show events that families can participate in?”
Some of her initial disbelief dissolved. “No….”
“Each area has a newsletter, Layne. There’s a human resource division within the Company concerned with the family of the employee. But if Brad didn’t have that newsletter sent to you, how could you know?”
Layne gave him a guarded look. “What are you trying to do? Soften my opinion of them? Or of you?”
“No. I just want to make you aware of some facts so that you can make a decision based upon more evidence than what you already have. You seem to have gotten everything through Brad—whatever he fed you, you swallowed.”
Anger stirred in Layne. “That’s right, I did. For five miserable years. One can of lies after another.”
Matt reached out, resting his hand lightly on her arm. “Brainwashing comes in many subtle forms, Layne. I met Brad Carson a couple of times. And I can tell you with great assuredness that he was unique among operatives.”
“Meaning?”
Matt didn’t wince at the tightness he heard in her voice. “Meaning he wasn’t like most of us. Listen to me, Layne. Brad lived in his own world of fantasies. He acted them out. He had one foot in the cold, harsh reality of spying and the other in his dreamworld. And because of that, Brad didn’t need any friends or—” he shrugged apologetically “—a family.”
Layne felt Matt’s fingers burning into her flesh. “After Brad was killed, I had an emotional breakdown.” Her