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Person of Interest
Debra Webb
Performing facial reconstruction surgeries for the CIA, Dr. Elizabeth Cameron provided new identities for agents whose covers had been blown. But someone wanted one in particular dead–and now she was in jeopardy.Her only hope rested on the too-broad shoulders of Agent Joe Hennessy–the one man she swore never to set eyes on again.Suddenly it became clear that Elizabeth was the pawn in a treasonous conspiracy–and as the danger around her escalated, she could no longer resist her sexy protector….



“Did you know I would give you the information you needed without your having to seduce me?” Elizabeth asked.
Joe sighed. “Doc, this situation isn’t the same. You came into this knowing the mission.”
Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly. “Did I really?”
He had to smile. “To the extent you needed to know, yes.”
“But you didn’t answer my question,” she countered, refusing to give an inch. “Would you have resorted to seducing me if necessary?”
“I had my orders, Doc, and seducing you wasn’t included.” When she would have turned to leave, he caught her wrist once more and drew her back. “Had I not been restrained by my orders, I can’t say I wouldn’t have tried. But the effort wouldn’t have been about the mission.”

Person of Interest
Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
There are people in our lives we encounter who make their marks. Those who leave some indelible influence on who and what we will become.
But if we’re really lucky, there are those whose presence in our lives makes a difference that goes so much deeper than the skin that our life would not have been what it was destined to be without them. This book is dedicated to one such person with whom I have had the pleasure of love and laughter and the overwhelming sorrow of loss and grief.
To my baby brother, John Brashier. You are my soul’s twin.
Never forget how very much I love you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day-care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998, her dream of writing for Harlequin came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345 or visit her Web site at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Joe Hennessey—One of the CIA’s finest field operatives. He makes Elizabeth restless in her own skin but she recognizes him for what he is, another dangerous man.
Elizabeth Cameron—The best restorative cosmetic surgeon in the country. But has her secret work for the CIA merely created a target list?
Director Calder—Director of the CIA. Elizabeth is one of his greatest assets. He will do anything to protect her.
Director Allen—Director of field operations with the CIA. He has only one goal: stop whoever is behind the hits on his agents.
Agent Craig Dawson—Elizabeth’s CIA handler. Safe, quiet, those are the two words that best describe Dawson. Elizabeth wonders why she can’t be attracted to a man like him.
Agent David Maddox—The man who broke Elizabeth’s heart even after his death. There are so many things she should have said to him…and obviously a few he should have said to her.
Agent Mike Stark—A competent agent who guards Elizabeth with his very life.
Dr. Jeffrey—One of Elizabeth’s colleagues at her private clinic. Another example of just the right kind of guy she should be falling for. They have worked together for four years.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One
Finished.
With a satisfied sigh, Dr. Elizabeth Cameron surveyed the careful sutures and the prepatterned blocks of tissue she had harvested from inconspicuous donor sites. For this patient the best sites available had been her forearms and thighs which had miraculously escaped injury.
The tailored blocks of harvested tissue, comprised of skin, fat and blood vessels, were tediously inset into the face like pieces of a puzzle and circulation to the area immediately restored by delicate attachment to the facial artery.
Lastly, the newly defined tissue was sculpted to look, feel and behave like normal facial skin, with scars hidden in the facial planes. In a few weeks this patient would resume normal activities and no one outside her immediate family and friends would ever have to know that she had scarcely survived a fiery car crash that had literally melted a good portion of her youthful Miss Massachusetts face.
She would reach her twenty-first birthday next month with a face that looked identical to the one that had won her numerous accolades and trophies. More important, the young woman who had slipped into severe clinical depression and who had feared her life was over would now have a second chance.
“She’s perfect, Doctor.”
Elizabeth acknowledged her colleague’s praise with a quick nod and stepped back from the operating table. With one final glance she took stock of the situation. The patient was stable. All was as it should be. “Finish up for me, Dr. Jeffrey,” she told her senior surgical resident.
Pride welled in her chest as she watched a moment while her team completed the final preparations for transporting the patient to recovery. Yes, she had performed the surgery, but the whole team had been involved from day one beginning with the complete, computerized facial analysis. This victory had been achieved by the entire team, not just one person. A team Elizabeth had handpicked over the past three years.
In the scrub room she stripped off her bloody gloves, surgical gown and mask, then cleaned her eyeglasses. She’d tried adjusting to contacts, but just couldn’t manage the transition. Sticking to the old reliables hadn’t failed her yet. She was probably the only doctor in the hospital who still preferred to do a number of things the old-fashioned way. Like working with a certain team day in and day out. She’d worked with Jeffrey long enough now that they could anticipate each other’s moves and needs ahead of time. It worked. She liked sticking with what worked.
Exhaustion clawed at her. The muscles of her shoulders quivered with fatigue, the good kind. This one had been a long, arduous journey for both patient and surgical team. Weeks ago the initial preparations had begun, including forming a mold from a sibling’s right ear to use in building a replacement for the one the patient had lost in the accident. The size and symmetry had worked out beautifully.
No matter how painstakingly Elizabeth and her team prepared, she wasn’t fully satisfied until she saw the completed work…until the patient was rolled to recovery. The time required to heal varied, three to six weeks generally with this sort of tissue transplanting. The swelling would lessen, the red lines would fade. And the new face would bloom like a rose in the sun’s light, as close to nature’s work as man could come.
As Elizabeth started for the exit, intent on going straight home and crashing for a couple of hours, the rest of the team poured into the scrub room, high-fives and cheers of elation rumbling through the group. Elizabeth smiled. She had herself a hell of a team here. They were the best, each topping his or her field of expertise, and they were good folks, lacking the usual “ego” that often haunted the specialized medical profession.
“Excellent work, boys and girls,” she called to the highly trained professionals who were quickly regressing to more adolescent behavior as the adrenaline high peaked and then drained away. “See you in two weeks.”
Elizabeth pushed through the doors and into the long, white sterile corridor, still smiling as the ruckus followed her into the strictly enforced quiet zone. She inhaled deeply of the medicinal smells, the familiar scents comforting, relaxing. This place was her real home. She spent far more time here than inside the four walls of the little brownstone on which she made a monthly mortgage payment. Not really a good thing, she had begun to see. She didn’t like the slightly cynical, fiercely focused person she was turning into.
A change was definitely in order.
Two weeks.
She hadn’t taken that much time off since—
She banished the memory before it latched on to her thoughts. No way was she going to dredge up that painful past. Two months had elapsed. She clenched her jaw and paused at the bank of elevators. Giving the call button a quick stab, she waited, her impatience mounting with each passing second. She loved her work, was fully devoted to it. But she desperately needed this time to get away, to put the past behind her once and for all. She had to move on. Regain her perspective…her balance.
The elevator doors slid open and Elizabeth produced a smile for the nurses who exited. Almost three o’clock in the afternoon, shift change. The nurses and residents on duty would brief those arriving for second shift on the status of their patients. Orders would be reviewed and the flow of patient care would continue without interruption.
Dr. Jeffrey would stay with her patient for a time and issue the final orders. There was nothing for Elizabeth to worry about. She boarded the elevator and relaxed against the far wall. Her eyes closed as she considered the cruise she’d booked just last week. A snap decision, something she never, ever did. Her secretary had insisted she could not spend her time off at home or loitering around her office. Which, in retrospect, Elizabeth had to admit was an excellent idea. Hanging around the house or office, organizing books and files or personal items that were already in perfect order, would not be in her best interest. The last thing she needed in her life was more order.
Making a quick stop at the second-floor staff lounge to pick up her sweater and purse, more goodbyes were exchanged with coworkers who couldn’t believe she was actually going to take a vacation. Elizabeth shook her head in self-deprecation. She really had lost any sense of balance. Work was all she had, it seemed, and everyone had taken notice. One way or another she intended to change that sad fact.
Hurrying through Georgetown University Medical Center’s expansive lobby, she made her way to the exit that led to the employee parking garage. She could already see herself driving across the District, escaping everything. As much as she loved D.C., she needed to get away, to mingle with the opposite sex. To start something new and fresh. To put him out of her mind forever. He was gone. Dead. He’d died in some foreign country, location unspecified, of unnatural causes probably, the manner unspecified. His body had not been recovered, at least, as far as she knew. He was simply gone. He wouldn’t be showing up at her door in the middle of the night with an unexpected forty-eight-hour furlough he wanted to spend only with her.
Stolen moments. That was all she and Special Agent David Maddox had really ever shared. But then, that was what happened when one fell in love with a CIA agent. Covert operations, classified missions, need-to-know. All familiar terms.
Too familiar, she realized as she hesitated mid-stride on the lower level of the parking garage, her gaze landing on her white Lexus—or more specifically on the two well-dressed men waiting next to the classy automobile.
One man she recognized instantly as Craig Dawson, her CIA handler. All valuable CIA assets had handlers. It was some sort of rule. He’d replaced David when their relationship had gotten personal. There were times when Elizabeth wondered if that change in the dynamics of the interaction between them had ultimately caused David’s death. His work had seemed so much safer when he’d been her handler.
Stop it, she ordered. Thinking about the past was destructive. She knew it. The counselor the Agency had insisted she see after David’s death had said the same. Face forward, focus on the future.
Her new motto.
Time to move on.
If only her past would stop interfering.
What did Agent Dawson want today of all days? Annoyance lined her brow. Whenever he showed up like this it could only mean a ripple in her agenda. She couldn’t change her current plans. It had taken too long for her to work up the courage and enthusiasm to make them.
Her irritation mounting unreasonably, her attention shifted slightly. To the man standing next to Dawson. Another secret agent, no doubt. The guy could have been a carbon copy of Dawson from the neck down, great suit, navy in color, spit and polished black leather shoes. The only characteristics that differentiated the two were age and hair color.
Well, okay, that was an exaggeration, the two looked nothing alike. Dawson was fifty or so, distinguished-looking, with a sparkling personality. He’d never performed field duty for the CIA, was more the “office” type. The other guy looked younger, late-thirties maybe, handsome in a rugged sort of way, and his expression resembled that of a slick gangster. At least what she could see of it with him wearing those dark shades. The five o’clock shadow on his lean jaw didn’t help. Her gaze lingered there a moment longer. Something about his profile…his mouth seemed familiar.
She rarely forgot a face, and this one made her nervous. She looked away, settling her gaze back on Dawson and the kind of familiarity she could trust. Maybe she had run into the other man before. But that didn’t seem likely since her dealings with the CIA had always come through David or Agent Dawson, discounting her rare command performance with the director himself. A frown nagged at her brow. It was doubtful that she knew the other man, yet something about him seriously intimidated her. Not a good thing in a CIA agent, to her way of thinking.
But then, what did she know? She was only a part-time volunteer agent whose existence was strictly off any official records. And she hadn’t even been subjected to the training program. Calling herself an agent was a stretch. She actually had no dealings whatsoever with the CIA other than performing the occasional professional service for which she refused to accept pay. To date, she had provided new faces for more than a dozen deep-cover operatives. It was the least she could do for her country—why would she allow payment for services rendered? Elizabeth saw it as her patriotic duty. The covert sideline was her one secret…her one departure from the dull routine of being Dr. Elizabeth Cameron.
“Dr. Cameron,” Dawson said when she made no move to come closer, “the director would like to see you.”
Elizabeth hiked her purse strap a little farther up her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going on vacation, Agent Dawson,” she said firmly as she ordered her feet to move toward her car. It was her car, after all, he couldn’t keep her from getting in it and driving away. At least she didn’t think he could.
“The meeting will only take a few minutes, ma’am,” Dawson assured quietly while his cohort stood by, ominously silent, doing the intimidation thing.
She considered asking Craig if he was training a new recruit or if he’d worried that he might need backup for bringing her in. But she doubted he’d get the joke. She wouldn’t have gotten it either until about a week ago. That’s when she’d made her decision. The decision to put some spontaneity into her life. She was sick of being plain old quiet, reserved Elizabeth who never varied her routine. Who stuck with what worked and avoided personal risk at all cost. She got out of bed at the same time every morning, showered, readied for work and ate a vitamin-enhanced meal bar on the way to the office. After ten or twelve hours at the office and/or hospital, she worked out at the fitness center and went home, took a relaxing hot bath and fell into bed utterly exhausted.
Same thing, day in and day out.
She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gone to a movie much less had a simple dinner date.
But no more.
Still, she had an obligation to the CIA. She’d promised to help out when they needed her. Right now might be inconvenient but it was her duty to at least listen to what they needed. Growing up a military brat had taught her two things if nothing else: always guard your feelings and never, ever forget those who risk their lives for your freedom. Guarding her feelings was a hard-learned skill, the knowledge gained from moving every two to three years and having to fit in someplace new. The other—well, patriotism was simply something every good American should practice.
“All right,” she relented to Mr. Dawson’s obvious relief. “I’ll see him, for a few minutes only.” She held up a hand when Dawson would have moved toward the dark sedan parked next to her car. “Anything else he needs will have to wait until I get back from my cruise,” she said just to be sure he fully grasped the situation. “Even doctors take vacations.”
“I understand, ma’am,” Dawson confirmed with a pleasant smile. But something about the smirk on the other man’s face gave her pause. Did he know her? She just couldn’t shake that vague sense of recognition. Maybe he was privy to what the director wanted and already knew she was in for a battle if she wanted this vacation to happen.
She was still a private citizen. She accepted no money for her work and she had never refused the Agency’s requests. But this time she just might.
Elizabeth settled into the back seat of the dark sedan and Dawson closed her door before sliding behind the steering wheel. The other man took the front passenger seat, snapped the safety belt into place and stared straight ahead. Elizabeth was glad he hadn’t opted to sit in back with her. She didn’t like the guy. He made her feel threatened on some level. A frown inched its way across her forehead. She had to admit that he was the first Agency staff member she’d met who actually looked like one of the guys depicted in the movies. Thick, dark hair slicked back. Concealing eyewear, flinty profile. She shivered, then pushed the silly notion away.
She wanted spontaneity in her life, not trouble. This guy had trouble written all over what she could see of that too handsome face. Upon further consideration, she decided it was his mouth that disturbed her the most. There was a kind of insolence about it…a smugness that shouted I could kiss you right now and make you like it.
Another shudder quaked through her and she reminded herself of what falling for a spy had cost her already.
CIA agents did not make for reliable companions. She knew better than most. A pang of old hurt knifed through her. She’d made a mistake, veered too close to the flame and she’d gotten burned.
Never again.
If she fell in love a second time, which was highly doubtful considering her current track record, it would be with someone safe, someone predictable.
Safe.
At one time she’d considered David safe.
But she’d been wrong.
He’d felt safe and comfortable, but it had been nothing but an illusion.
David Maddox had been every bit as dangerous—as much of an adrenaline junkie—as all the rest in his line of work. CIA agents were like cops; they thrived in high-tension situations, on the thrill of the hunt. No matter how quiet and reserved David had pretended to be, he’d been just like the rest of them.
Just like Craig Dawson and his companion.
Men willing to risk it all for their country, who broke hearts and left shattered lives.
She didn’t want that kind of man.
Never again.
Elizabeth focused on the passing landscape, refused to dwell on the subject. The skyscrapers and bumper-to-bumper traffic of the D.C. area eventually gave way to trees and only the occasional passing motorist. It seemed odd to Elizabeth that the CIA’s headquarters would be nestled away in the woods, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, like a harmless, sprawling farm. But there was nothing harmless about the vast property. Security fences topped with concertina wire and cameras. Warnings about entering the premises with electronic devices. Armed guards. Definitely not harmless in any sense of the word.
Dawson braked to a stop and flashed his ID for the guard waiting at the entrance gate while another guard circled the sedan with a dog trained to sniff out explosives and the like. Even now she imagined that high-tech gadgets were monitoring any conversation that might take place inside the vehicle. Every word, every nuance in tone scrutinized for possible threat.
The recruits here were trained to infiltrate, interrogate, analyze data and to kill if necessary. Their existence and proper training were essential to national security, she understood that. Respected those who sacrificed so very much. But she couldn’t bring her self to feel comfortable here. It took a special kind of human being to fit into this world. Her gaze flitted to the man in the front passenger seat. A man like him. Dark, quiet, enigmatic. A man fully prepared to die…to kill…for what he believed in.
A dangerous man.
But not dangerous to her…never again. No more dangerous men in her life, she promised herself as she did her level best to ignore the premonition of dread welling in her chest. Safe. Occasionally spontaneous maybe, but safe. She had her new life all mapped out and the dead last thing it included was danger.

Chapter Two
The main lobby of the CIA headquarters always took Elizabeth’s breath away. The granite wall with its stars honoring fallen agents. The flags and statues…the grandeur that represented the solemn undertaking of all those who risked their lives to make the world a safer place. The shadow warriors.
Elizabeth looked away from that honorary wall, knowing that one of those stars represented David. Though she would never know which one since his name would not be listed. Anonymous even in death.
For the first time since his death she wondered if she’d known him at all. Was his name even David Maddox?
Her heart squeezed instantly at the thought. This was precisely why she had promised herself she would not think about the past. Not today, not any day.
She had to get on with the present, move into the future.
Like David, the past was over. She was thirty-seven for Christ’s sake. Her fantasy of some day having a family was swiftly slipping away. Never before had she been so keenly aware of just how much time she had wasted. Though she loved her work, she didn’t regret for a moment the sacrifices she had made to become the respected surgeon she was; it was time to have a personal life as well.
The rubber soles of her running shoes whispered against the gleaming granite floor where the CIA’s emblem sprawled proudly, welcoming all who entered. The guards and the metal detectors beyond that proved a little less welcoming, reminding Elizabeth of the threat that loomed wherever government offices could be found. Even in her lifetime the world had changed so much. Maybe part of her sudden impatience to move forward was somehow related to current events as well as the recent past. Whatever the case, it was the right thing to do.
Dawson led her to the bank of elevators and depressed the down button. Uneasiness stirred inside her again. Somehow she doubted that the director’s office had been moved to the basement. Before she could question his selection the doors slid open and the three of them boarded the waiting car.
When he selected a lower level, she felt compelled to ask, “Aren’t we going to the director’s office?”
Agent Dawson smiled kindly. He’d always had a nice smile, a calming demeanor. She was glad for that. “We’re meeting in a special conference room this time. The director is there now waiting for your arrival.”
Elizabeth managed a curt nod, still feeling a bit uneasy with the situation despite her handler’s assurances. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end the way they did whenever she sensed a deviation in the status quo of a patient’s condition. She could always predict when things were about to go wrong. This felt wrong. For the first time since she’d agreed to support the CIA from time to time, she felt seriously uncomfortable with the arrangement. That premonition of dread just wouldn’t go away though it refused to clarify itself fully.
The other agent, the one whose presence added to her discomfort and who hadn’t been introduced to her as of yet, shifted slightly, drawing her attention in his direction.
He still wore those confounding sunglasses. Elizabeth found the continued behavior to be rude and purposely intimidating. Fury fueling an uncharacteristic boldness she opened her mouth to say just that and he looked at her. Turned his head toward her, tilting it slightly downward and looked straight at her as if he’d sensed her intent. She didn’t have to see his eyes. She could feel him watching her. Something fierce surged through her. Fear, she told herself. But it didn’t feel quite like fear.
Who the hell was this man?
She swung her attention back to Agent Dawson, intent on demanding the identity of the other man, but the elevator bumped to a halt. The doors yawned open and Dawson motioned for her to precede him. Pushing her irrational annoyance with the other man to the back burner, she stepped out of the car and moved in the direction Dawson indicated. She would likely never see this stranger again after today, what was the point in making a scene?

ON SOME LEVEL she recognized him. Special Agent Joe Hennessey couldn’t jeopardize this mission by allowing her to recognize him before the decision was made. He’d kept the concealing eyewear in place to throw her off, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t be fooled for long. He’d been careful not to speak and not to get too close.
But there was no denying the chemistry that still sizzled between them…it was there in full force. He could only hope that she was disconcerted with the unexpected trip to Langley and was off balance enough to give a commitment before the full ramifications of the situation became crystal clear.
The long corridor stretched out before them, the occasional door on one side or the other interrupting the monotonous white walls. Tile polished to a high sheen flowed like an endless sea of glass. Surface mounted fluorescent lights provided ample lighting if not an elegant atmosphere. He could feel her uneasiness growing with each step. She didn’t like this deviation from the usual routine.
Hennessey knew this was her first trip to the bowels of the Agency and she probably hoped it would be the last. The adrenaline no doubt pumping through her veins would make the air feel heavier, thicker. It didn’t take a psychic to know she was seriously antsy in the situation. Didn’t like it one damned bit.
Dawson stayed to her right, a step ahead, leading the way. Hennessey stayed to her left, kept his movements perfectly aligned with hers, not moving ahead, never falling behind. If the overhead lights were to suddenly go out and the generators were to fail, he would still know she was there. He could feel her next to him. For someone who loved clinging to a routine, her energy was strong…her presence nearly overwhelming. With every fiber of his being he knew she was even now scrolling through her memory banks searching for what it was that felt familiar about him.
Thankfully they reached their destination. Dawson stopped at the next door on the left. “The director is waiting for you inside, Dr. Cameron.” He reached for the door and opened it.
Elizabeth looked from him to Hennessey and back. “Aren’t you coming in, Agent Dawson?”
She didn’t like this at all. Hennessey could feel the tension vibrating inside her mounting.
“Not this time, ma’am.”

SHE DIDN’T LIKE THIS. Her frown deepening, Elizabeth pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and moved through the open door. She had been briefed long ago about the various levels of security clearances within the CIA. Some were so secret that even the designation was classified. In most cases, the rule that every agent lived by was the “need-to-know” rule. One knew what one needed to know and nothing more.
Clearly Agent Dawson and his friend didn’t need to know whatever the director was about to discuss with her. The door closed behind her with a resolute thud and she shivered. The sound echoed through her, shaking loose a memory from months ago. It had been dark…she’d scarcely seen his face, but she had known his reputation. The man who’d been sent to protect her that night had held her there like a prisoner in the darkness for hours insisting that it was for her own safety. He’d been rude and arrogant, had overwhelmed her with his brute strength…his absolute maleness. And then he’d been gone.
He’d almost taken advantage of her—she’d almost let him—and then he’d disappeared. Like a shadow in the night…as if he’d never been there at all. She’d known what he’d done. He’d reveled in pushing her buttons, in making her weak. But she’d resisted, just barely. If she hadn’t, he would have taken full advantage, even knowing that she belonged to David. She wondered if David had ever suspected that the friend he’d sent to protect her from a threat the nature of which she hadn’t been authorized clearance for had almost succeeded in seducing her with his devastating charm. Some friend.
But then that was Special Agent Joe Hennessey. He might be a superspy of legendary proportions, but she knew him for what he was: ruthless and with an allegiance only to himself. The guy waiting with Dawson in the corridor reminded her of Hennessey.
“Elizabeth, thank you for coming.”
Elizabeth shoved the distracting thoughts away as Director George Calder rounded the end of the long conference table and made his way to her. A second gentleman she didn’t recognize rose from his chair but didn’t move toward her.
Present and future, forget the past, she reminded her too forgetful self. Like David, Joe Hennessey was a part of her past that was gone forever. Face forward. Focus on the here and now…on the future. Director Calder took her hand in his and shook it firmly.
“I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion into your vacation schedule,” he offered, his expression displaying sincere regret.
George Calder was a tall, broad-shouldered man, not unlike the two agents waiting outside the door. Nearly sixty, his hair had long ago silvered and lines drawn by the execution of enormous power marred his distinguished face. He’d presented himself as nothing less than gracious and sensitive each time he’d requested Elizabeth’s presence. But there was more this time. Something else simmered behind those intelligent hazel eyes. The sixth sense that usually centered on her patients was humming now, urging her to act.
“Technically,” Elizabeth said succinctly, ignoring her foolish urge for fight or flight, “my vacation doesn’t start until tomorrow so you’re still safe for now.”
George laughed, but the sound was forced. “Let me introduce you to our director of operations.” He turned to the other man in the room. This one was slightly shorter and thinner, but looked every bit as formidable as Director Calder.
“Kurt Allen, meet our talented Dr. Elizabeth Cameron.”
His fashionable gray pinstripe suit setting him apart from the requisite navy or black, Allen rushed to shake her hand, his smile wide and seeming genuine. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Dr. Cameron. Your work is amazing. I can’t tell you how many of my best men you’ve spared.”
Elizabeth realized then that Director Allen was in charge of the field agents who most often needed her services.
“I’m glad I can help, Director Allen,” she told him in all sincerity. It felt odd now that she’d never met him before. Need-to-know, she reminded herself.
There was an awkward moment of tense silence before Calder said, “Elizabeth, please have a seat and we’ll talk.”
The director ushered her to the chair next to the one he’d vacated when she’d entered the room. Allen seated himself directly across the table from her.
The air suddenly thickened with the uneasy feel of a setup. This was not going to be the typical briefing. There was no folder marked classified that held the case facts of the agent who needed a new face. There was nothing but the high sheen of the mahogany conference table and the steady stares of the two men who obviously did not look forward to the discussion to come.
To get her mind off the intensity radiating around her, Elizabeth took a moment to survey the room. Richly paneled walls similar to that of the director’s office several floors overhead gave the room a feeling of warmth. Royal blue commercial-grade carpet covered the floor. The array of flags surrounding the CIA emblem on the rear wall and the numerous plaques that lined the other three lent an air of importance to the environment. This was a place where discussions of national significance took place. She should feel honored to be here. Whatever she could do for the CIA was the least she could do for her country, she reminded herself.
Elizabeth clasped her hands atop the conference table, squared her shoulders and produced a smile for Director Calder. “Why did you need to see me, Director?” Someone had to break the ice. Neither of the gentlemen appeared prepared to dive in. Another oddity. What could either of these men, who possessed the power to start wars, fear from her?
Calder glanced at Allen then manufactured a smile of his own. “Elizabeth, I think you understand how important the Operations Directorate is here at the CIA.”
She nodded. Though she actually knew little about the Operations Directorate, she did comprehend that the field operatives who risked their lives in positions deep undercover and generally in foreign countries came from that division.
“The men and women who make up the ranks of our field operatives are the very tip of the spear this agency represents,” he went on, verifying her assumption. “They are the forerunners. The ones who provide us with the data that averts disaster. They risk more than anyone else.”
Again she nodded her understanding. The knot in her stomach twisted as she considered why he felt the need to tediously prepare her for whatever it was he really wanted to say. Every instinct warned that things were not as they should be.
“During the past two and a half years we’ve counted on you more than a dozen times to provide a means of escape for our operatives. Your skill at creating new faces has allowed these men and women to avoid the enemy’s vengeance while maintaining their careers. Without your help, a number of those operatives would certainly have lost their lives.”
“There are other surgeons in your field,” Allen interjected with a show of his palms for emphasis. “But not one in this country is as skilled as you.”
Elizabeth blushed. She hated that she did that but there was no stopping it. She’d never taken compliments well. Though she worked hard and recognized that she deserved some amount of praise, it was simply a physical reaction over which she had no control. Her professional life was the one place where she suffered no doubts in regards to her competence. If only she could harness some of that confidence for her personal life.
“I appreciate your saying so, Director Allen,” she offered, “but I can’t take full credit. My ability with the scalpel is a gift from God.” She meant those words with all that made her who she was. A God complex was something she’d never had to wrestle with as so many of her colleagues did. She made it a point to remind her residents of that all important fact as well. Confidence was a good thing, arrogance was not.
Director Calder braced his hands on the table in front of him and drew her attention back to him, “That’s part of the attitude that we hope will allow you to see the need for what we’re about to ask of you, Elizabeth.”
She didn’t doubt her ability to handle whatever he asked of her. In that vein, she dismissed the uneasiness and lifted her chin in defiance of her own lingering uncertainty. There was only one way to cut to the chase here—be direct. “What is it you need, Director Calder. I’ve never turned you down before. Is there some reason you feel this time will be different?”
Two and a half years ago the CIA had, after noting her work in the field of restorative facial surgery, approached her. They needed her and she had gladly accepted the challenge. She would not change that course now.
“We are aware of the relationship you maintained with Agent Maddox,” Allen broached, answering before Calder could or maybe because he didn’t want to bring up the sensitive subject. “I believe the two of you were…intimate for more than a year before his death.”
The oxygen in Elizabeth’s lungs evacuated without further ado. She swallowed hard, sucked in a necessary breath and told her heart to calm. “That’s correct.” To say she was surprised by the subject would be a vast understatement. But, within this realm, there was no room for deception or hedging. Those traits were best utilized in the field. And the fact of the matter was Elizabeth had never been very good at lying. She was an open book. Subterfuge and confrontation were two of her least favorite strategies.
Just another reason she had no life. Real life, emotionally speaking, was too difficult. If she kept to herself, she wasn’t likely to run into any problems.
But you’re about to change that attitude, a little voice reminded. She had made up her mind to dive back into a social life…to take a few risks.
If only she could remember that mantra.
Director Calder picked up the conversation again, “Three months before his death Agent Maddox was involved in a mission that garnered this Agency critical information. He was, fortunately, able to complete the mission with his cover intact.”
Elizabeth imagined that maintaining the validity of a cover would be crucial for future use. She nodded her understanding, prompting him to carry on.
“Though the group he infiltrated at the time was effectively eliminated, two members have moved into another arena which has created great concern for this agency.”
Outright apprehension reared its ugly head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” She did fully comprehend that there were certain elements she would not be told due to their classification, but she had to know more than this. Tap dancing around the issue wasn’t going to assuage her uneasiness.
“The two subjects involved have relocated their operation here. On our soil,” Allen clarified. “They have an agenda that we are not at liberty to disclose, but they must be stopped at all costs.”
Elizabeth divided a look between the two men. Both wore poker faces, giving away nothing except determination. She hated to say anything that would make her look utterly stupid but her conclusion was simple. “If you know they’re here, why don’t you just arrest them or…or eliminate them.”
Made sense to her. But then she was only a doctor, not a spy or an assassin. She felt certain they had some legitimate reason for taking a less direct route to accomplish their ultimate goal, though she couldn’t begin to fathom what the motivation could possibly be.
“I wish it were that simple,” Calder told her thoughtfully. “Stopping the men they’ve sent won’t be enough. We have to know how they’re getting their information to ensure the threat is eliminated completely. Otherwise the root cause of the situation will simply continue generating additional obstacles.”
Now she got it. “You need these two members of the group David infiltrated to lead you to their source,” she suggested. She’d seen a crime drama or two in her life.
“Exactly,” Allen confirmed. “If we don’t find the source, they’ll just keep sending out more assassins.”
Assassins. That meant targets.
“How does this involve me?” Her heart rate kicked into overdrive. She moistened her lips as the silence stretched out another ten seconds. This could not be good.
Director Calder turned more fully toward her, fixing her with a solemn gaze that reflected nearly as much desperation as it did determination. “In order to infiltrate this group we need someone with whom they’ll feel comfortable. Someone familiar. We have an agent prepared to take the risk and infiltrate the group, but we need to make a few alterations.”
Her head moved up and down in acknowledgement. She was on the same page now. “You want me to give him a different appearance? A new face?” That’s what she usually did. No big deal. But why all the beating around the proverbial bush?
“Correct,” Calder allowed. “But just any face won’t work. We’ll be requesting a specific look.”
“Someone these assassins know, feel comfortable with,” she echoed his earlier words.
“Precisely,” Allen agreed enthusiastically. “This part is crucial to the success of the mission. If the targets think for even a second that our man isn’t who he says he is they’ll kill him without hesitation. There is no margin for error whatsoever, Dr. Cameron. That’s why your help is critical.”
She looked expectantly from Calder to Allen and back. “What is it you need, exactly?” she asked, focusing her attention on Allen since he loved to throw around those extreme adverbs. The requirements sounded simple enough.
“What we need,” Allen told her bluntly, “is David Maddox.”
Her breath trapped in her throat and shock claimed her expression. She didn’t need a mirror, she felt her face pinch in horrified disbelief. Her fingers fisted to fight back the old hurt. “David is dead,” she replied with just as much bluntness as he’d issued the requirement. What was this man thinking?
Calder reached across the table and put his hand on hers. Echoes of the anguish she’d felt two months ago reverberated through her. “I know this is difficult, Elizabeth. You must believe that we wouldn’t ask if there was any other way.”
He was serious.
“Oh my God.” She drew away from his comforting touch. Shook her head to clear it. This was too much. “How can you ask me this?”
“Dr. Cameron, there is no other option,” Allen said flatly, his tone far cooler than before but his eyes reflected the desperation she’d already seen in Calder’s. “We need David Maddox, but as you pointed out, he is dead. So we need a stand-in. We need you to do what you do best and give our agent David Maddox’s face.”
Tears stung her eyes, emotion clogged her throat, but somehow she managed to say the only thing she could. “I can’t do that.”
Director Calder leveled a steady gaze on hers. “I’m afraid my colleague is right, there is no other option, Elizabeth.”

Chapter Three
Joe Hennessey waited with Craig Dawson in the corridor outside the conference room. He didn’t have to be in the room or even watch the proceedings to know that Elizabeth Cameron would not like the idea. Not that he could blame her if he looked at it from her position but there were things she didn’t know…would never know.
“She’ll be okay with this,” Dawson said quietly as if reading his mind.
Hennessey shrugged one shoulder. “She’s your asset, you should know.” His indifference might seem cold, but he had serious doubts where this whole operation was concerned. What the hell? He had a reputation for being cold and ruthless.
Dawson cut him a look that left no room for further discussion. He had faith in the woman even if he didn’t have any in Hennessey.
Though Hennessey hadn’t known David Maddox particularly well, he had met the woman in his life once. And once had been enough. Elizabeth Cameron had cool down to a science. Maybe she was hot between the sheets, but in Hennessey’s estimation, a woman that reserved and uptight usually thought too much. Good, hot sex was definitely no thinking matter. It either was or it wasn’t.
In his line of work he’d learned to take his pleasure where he could and not to linger for too long. Dr. Elizabeth Cameron was not the type to go for a thorough roll in the hay and then walk away. She was one of those women with a commitment fetish. She didn’t do casual sex. Probably didn’t even understand the concept. From what Hennessey had seen, the woman was all work and no play. Completely focused.
If she agreed to do the job, that would be a good thing. He damn sure didn’t want a lesser surgeon screwing up his face. Not that he considered himself the Hollywood handsome type but he got his share of second looks. Including one or two from the good doctor. Though he doubted she would admit it in this lifetime. Just like before, she wanted to pretend there was nothing between them. In reality, there wasn’t, not really. Just that one night. The night he’d saved her life but she would never own up to it. She would only remember his manhandling and overbearing attitude. But something had sparked between them that night…in the dark.
The chemistry had been there. Strong enough to startle him almost as much as it had her. She’d hated it and her extreme reaction had only made bad matters worse. But then, he loved a challenge. He’d felt the electricity between them again today. But like before, she’d wanted to ignore it. What did all that attraction say about the relationship she’d had with Maddox? Maybe there was a little bit of the devil in all of us, he mused, even the straitlaced doc.
Well, she might prefer to ignore him, but if the director had his way, she might as well get used to having him around. They would be spending the next three weeks in close quarters. Not that it would be a hardship. He thought about those long, satiny legs hidden beneath that conservative peach-colored skirt. The lady had a great body. She worked out. He’d watched her. She kept a hell of a boring routine. Yet there was no denying that blond hair and those green eyes were attractive even if she did make it a point to camouflage those long, silky tresses in a bun and those lovely green eyes behind the ugliest black rimmed glasses.
Well, attractive or not, hot in bed or not, Elizabeth Cameron held the key to his future. He hoped by now she understood that. His survival in the upcoming mission depended upon his ability to fool the enemy.
The idea of sporting another man’s face held no real appeal, but if it got the job done Hennessey could deal with it. He could even manage to put up with the doc’s company for a couple of weeks and maintain the necessary level of restraint. What he wasn’t at all sure he could handle was her constant analysis.
He recalled quite well the way she’d studied him that one time. Her lover had apparently related a number of tales about the legendary Joe Hennessey, none of which had sat well with Miss Prim and Proper.
Half the stories were exaggerated and the other half were nobody’s business. But that wouldn’t keep her from holding his past, real or imagined, against him.
Hennessey put his life on the line for his country all the time. The last thing he deserved was some holier-than-thou broad, however talented, treating him like he was the scum of the earth. Throw that in the mix with the undeniable physical attraction and he came up with distraction.
He’d learned the hard way that if a guy thought with his privates in this business he ended up dead. He’d had his share of ladies along the way, but he never let one distract him from the mission.
He didn’t intend to start now.
The door swung open and Hennessey came to attention. A leftover habit from his days in Special Forces. Anytime a superior officer was about, he came to attention as was expected.
Directors Calder and Allen moved into the corridor, closing the door behind them. A frown pulled at Hennessey’s mouth. Where was the woman? He’d thought the plan was for him to be called in once they’d broken the news to her. Had she outright refused to do the job?
That would be just his luck. Damn. He wanted the best. And she was it.
“Agent Hennessey,” Calder announced without preamble, “Dr. Cameron would like to see you now.”
Hennessey blinked. “Alone?” He didn’t relish the idea of the confrontation with no one else around to temper it.
Calder nodded. “She hasn’t committed to the request. She insists on speaking to the operative assigned to the mission first. If she continues to resist, you have my authorization to enlighten her.” He qualified his statement with a warning, “Her participation is essential, but she doesn’t need to know any more than absolutely necessary.”
With a heavy exhale and a nod of understanding, Hennessey stated for the record, “Yes, sir.”
As he reached for the door, Dawson stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I know your reputation, Agent Hennessey,” he cautioned quietly, “don’t do anything you’ll regret. Dr. Cameron is a nice lady.”
“I think Agent Hennessey is aware of proper protocol,” Director Calder suggested, his tone as stern as his expression. He would tolerate no roadblocks now or later. The reprimand was meant for both Dawson and Hennessey.
For the first time since going to the hospital to pick up the good doctor, Hennessey removed his eyewear. He’d worn the dark glasses inside purposely, to remain anonymous until the decision was final. Apparently there was going to be no help for that now. He hoped like hell she wouldn’t let that one night influence her decision.
Hennessey leveled an unflinching stare on Dawson. “I have never jeopardized a mission or an asset.”
“Just remember,” Dawson persisted despite the director’s warning, “that she is a very valuable asset.”
Hennessey shoved his sunglasses back into place and opened the door. He didn’t need Dawson telling him how to do his job. He had no intention of getting tangled up with Dr. Cameron. There might be some sexual energy bouncing back and forth between them, but she definitely was not his type.
Opinionated women were nothing but a pain in the ass.
Like he’d said before, some things don’t require thought.

ELIZABETH COULDN’T SHAKE the idea that she knew the other agent. There was definitely something familiar about him. That mouth…the way his presence overwhelmed the atmosphere around him.
It couldn’t be him.
She would remember if it was him. It wasn’t like she could forget that night. That one night. She shivered. She’d tried not to think about it, but every now and then it poked through the layers of anger and guilt she’d piled on top of the memory. He’d practically held her hostage. He’d made her feel things she hadn’t wanted to feel. A hot, searing ache, a yearning deep down inside her. It had been wrong. A betrayal. And with him no less. David had told her all about Special Agent Joe Hennessey. His dark, alluring charm that the ladies couldn’t resist; his ruthless single-mindedness. An agent like no other.
She wondered if David would have spoken so highly of him if he’d known how close his supposed friend had come to seducing her…how close she’d come to allowing it?
Heat infused her cheeks, rushed over her skin at even the memory of those few hours. He’d cast a spell on her. Made her want to forget everything and everyone else. Thank God she’d come to her senses.
Chafing her arms she banished the disturbing memories. She had to figure this out…had to find a way to make them see that she could not do this. She simply couldn’t do that to David’s memory.
Only, David would want her to help.
If lives were in danger he would want her to do whatever necessary to help his fellow agents. But she needed more information. Surely they couldn’t expect her to do this without further clarification.
And, dear God, could she do it?
Could she recreate David’s face on another man?

SHE STOOD on the far side of the room, her back to the door. For about three seconds Hennessey hesitated, admiring the view. She might be a pain in the ass, but he could look at hers all day. Nice. All those hours on the stair-stepper clearly made a difference.
He closed the door, allowing it to slam just enough to get her attention. Startled, she whirled to face him.
The frown of utter confusion telegraphed her first thought loud and clear: What the hell do you want? She had no doubt expected the directors to return with their man in tow. The last person she’d expected to enter the room was him.
“Dr. Cameron, I’m Special Agent Joe Hennessey.” As he moved toward her he reached upward and removed his concealing eyewear. “If you’ll recall we met once before.”
Her eyes rounded and that cute little mouth dropped open. “You!” The single word was cast like an accusing stone.
He tossed the glasses onto the conference table and propped a hip there. “You remember me,” he offered, his smile infused with all the charm in his vast ladies’ man repertoire.
She pointed to the door then to him, her confusion morphing into disbelief. “It’s you he wants me to prepare for this mission?”
Hennessey flared his hands. “That’s right. Is there a problem?”
Her head moved from side to side as all that confusion and disbelief coalesced into outrage. “You’re nothing like David,” she accused.
Well, she had that right but he saw no point in bursting her bubble where her former lover was concerned. “I’m the same height and build. The hair color is close enough, the eyes will be an easy fix with colored contacts.” He shrugged, the control necessary to hold back his own patience slipping just a little. “I don’t see the problem.”
She blinked rapidly, her head doing that side-to-side thing again as if the very idea was blasphemy. “You’re not like David,” she argued.
He pushed off the table and moved toward her, lowering his voice an octave, slowing the cadence of his words as he recalled the numerous taped conversations he’d listened to. “I can do anything it takes to get the job done, Elizabeth.” Her head snapped up at his use of her first name. He said it with emphasis, the same way Maddox used to. “You’d be surprised at just how versatile I am.”
Her pupils flared. She shivered. But it was the little hitch in her breathing that actually got to him, made his pulse skitter and chinked the armor he wore to protect his emotions. He shook his head and looked away. How the hell had he let that happen?
“You expect me to trust anything you say?”
Well, she had him pegged, didn’t she? Apparently she’d accepted every rumor she’d heard as fact. “Bottom line, Doc, I can’t do this without you.” His gaze moved back to hers and he saw the concern and the hurt there. Dammit, he did not want to hurt her. Maddox had done that well enough himself, but she would never know it. “Will you help me or not?”
She tilted up that determined little chin and glared at him, a new flash of anger chasing away the doubt. “And if I refuse, what then?”
“People will die.”
She blinked, but to her credit she didn’t back off. “So I’ve heard. Can you be more specific? I need to know what I’m getting into here.” Her compact little body literally strummed with her building tension.
The question kind of pissed him off. Or maybe it was the glaring fact that he couldn’t keep his mind off her every reaction, couldn’t stay focused. “You know, Doc, according to Director Calder, you generally don’t question his requests. I understand this is personal,” he growled, “but do you really think Maddox would have a problem with me borrowing his face for a little while?”
Her fists clenched and Hennessey had the distinct feeling that it was all she could do not to slap him. Good. He wanted her responses to be real, wanted to clear the air here and now. He didn’t need her hesitation coming back to bite him in the ass down the line.
“David would probably say it’s the right thing to do,” she said tightly. “It’s me who has the problem.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her misplaced loyalty. He couldn’t help wondering if, when he died, anyone would think so highly of him. Not very damned likely. He was far too open to lead anyone that far off track. Well, except for his targets and that was his job.
In his personal life he kept things on the up-and-up. He never lied to anyone, most especially a woman.
He liked women. Before he could put the brakes on the urge, his gaze roamed down the length of her toned body, admiring those feminine curves, before sliding back up to that madder-than-hell expression on her pretty face.
He liked women a lot. They knew what they were getting with him. If he and the doc did the deed there would be no questions or doubts between them.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
Mainly because it would be stupid.
Not to mention the fact that she looked ready to take off his head and spit down his throat.
Fine. If she wanted to play hardball, he was game. “You want to know specifics?” He leaned closer, so close he could see the tiny flecks of gold in those glittering green eyes. “You’ve completed makeovers on fourteen operatives in the past thirty months. Two of those operatives are dead.” One being the man who taught him everything he knew, but he didn’t mention that. He had no intention of giving her any personal ammunition. In addition, holding on to control was far too important for him to let his personal issues with this mission get a grip right now. He kept those feelings tightly compartmentalized for a later time. “If I don’t stop these guys the rest of those operatives will end up dead as well.”
“That’s…that’s impossible,” she stammered, some of the fight going out of her. “How could they know who and where these people are? Who has access to that information?” Her gaze dropped to his lips but quickly jerked back up to his eyes. She looked startled that she had allowed the weakness.
Hennessey laughed softly, allowing his warm breath to feather across those luscious lips. Damn, he was enjoying this far too much. Maybe he should just cut loose and say what was on his mind. That he would do this with or without her help, but that if she had a couple of hours he would show her what she was missing if she really wanted to know how well he lived up to his infamous reputation.
Dumb, Hennessey. Focus. Apparently she was experiencing almost as much trouble as he was.
In answer to her question, he tossed her a response she was not going to like. “You want to know who has access to those names and faces? Directors Calder and Allen, of course, the president, your former boyfriend, me and you.” He said the last with just as much accusation as she’d thrown at him earlier.
She shuddered visibly, inhaled sharply, the sound doing strange things to his gut, making him even angrier or something along those lines. “Could someone else have gained access to the files?” she demanded, hysteria climbing in her voice.
He shook his head slowly and prepared to deliver the final blow. “Not a chance. Since Maddox is dead and, well, the president is the president, I’d say that narrows down the suspect list to the two directors outside that door.” He hitched his thumb in that direction. “And you and me.”
Fury whipped across her face, turning those green eyes to the color of smoldering jade. “If you think this tactic is going to pressure me into a yes, you’re sadly mistaken, Agent Hennessey.”
“Suit yourself.” He straightened, a muscle in his cheek jerking as he clenched his jaw so hard his teeth should have cracked. It took a full minute for him to grab back some semblance of control. “Then consider this, Dr. Cameron.” He glared down at her, his own fury way beyond reining in now. “If you don’t do this most likely my mission will fail, then those operatives will eventually be found and murdered, one by one.”
She held her ground, refused to look away though he knew just how lethal his glare could be. “You said two are already dead?” she asked. Her voice quavered just a little.
“That’s right,” he ground out, ignoring the twinge of regret that pricked him for pushing the jerk routine this far. “And so are their families.” He fought the emotion that tightened his throat. He would not let her see the weakness. “You see, Doc, these people aren’t happy with just wiping out the list of agents who’ve gone against what they believe in, they play extra dirty. They kill the family first, making the agent watch, and then they kill the agent, slowly, painfully.”
Her eyes grew wider with each word. The pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. She didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to know. Too bad. It was the only way.
“So, it’s your choice,” he went on grimly. “You can either help me stop them or you can try to sleep at night while wondering when the next agent will be located and murdered.”
She did turn away this time. Hennessey took a deep breath and cursed himself for being such an idiot. Saying all that hadn’t been necessary. But, on some level, he’d wanted to rattle her—to hurt her. He wanted to get to her when the truth was she’d already gotten to him. He’d lost control by steady increments from the moment the director ordered him to start watching her weeks ago.
He had to get back on track here, had to keep those damned personal issues out of this. If the director got even a whiff of how he really felt, he would be replaced. Hennessey couldn’t let that happen. He had to do this for a couple of reasons. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he said, regret slipping into his voice. As much as he’d needed her cooperation, he’d gone too far.
When she turned back to him once more, her face had been wiped clean of emotion, and her analytical side was back. The doctor persona was in place. The woman who could go into an operating room and reconstruct a face damaged so badly that the patient’s own family couldn’t identify her. No wonder she walked around as cold as ice most of the time. It took nerves of steel and the ability to set her emotions aside to do what she did.
He should respect that.
He did.
It was his other reactions that disturbed him.
“What do you want from me?”
The request unnerved him at a level that startled him all over again.
He focused on the question, denying the uncharacteristic emotions twisting inside him. “I need you to do your magic, Doc.” His gaze settled heavily onto hers. “And I need you to work with me. You knew Maddox intimately. Help me become him… just for a little while. Long enough to survive this mission. Long enough to do what has to be done.”
For three long beats she said nothing at all. Just when he was certain she would simply walk away, she spoke. “All right.” She rubbed at her forehead as if an ache had begun there, then sighed. “On one condition.” She looked straight at him.
The intensity…the electricity crackled between them like embers in a building fire. She had to feel it. The lure was very nearly irresistible.
“Name it,” he shot back.
“When this is over, I give you back your face. I don’t want you being you with David’s face.”
He wanted to pretend the words didn’t affect him…but they did. He’d be damned if he’d let her see just how much impact her opinion carried. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he insisted.
“Then we have a deal, Agent Hennessey. When do we start?”

Chapter Four
Elizabeth sat in her car as the purple and gray hues of dawn stole across the sky, chasing away the darkness, ushering forth the new day.
She’d managed a few hours sleep last night but just barely. Her mind kept playing moments spent with David, fleeting images of a past that had, at the time, felt like the beginning of the rest of her life.
How could she have been so foolish as to take that risk? She had known that a relationship with a man like David was an emotional gamble, but she’d dived in headfirst. The move had been so unlike her. She’d spent her entire life carefully calculating her every step.
She’d known by age twelve that she wanted to be a doctor, she just hadn’t known what field. As a teenager, pediatrics had appealed to her, in particular helping children with the kind of diseases that robbed them of their youth and dreams. But at nineteen her college roommate had been in a horrifying automobile accident and the weeks and months that followed had brought Elizabeth’s future into keen focus as nothing else could have.
Watching her friend go from a vibrant, happy young woman with a brilliant future ahead of her to a shell of a human being with a face that would never be her own had made Elizabeth yearn to prevent that from ever happening again…to anyone.
She’d worked harder than ever, had thrown herself into her education and eventually into her work. That burning desire to do the impossible, to rebuild the single most individual part of the human body, had driven her like a woman obsessed.
Elizabeth sighed. And maybe she was obsessed. If so, she had no hope of making it right because this was who she was, what she did. She made no excuses.
She dragged the keys from her ignition and dropped them into her purse.
But this was different.
Though she had changed faces for the CIA before, a fact for which she had no regrets, this was so very different.
Elizabeth emerged from her Lexus, closed the door and automatically depressed the lock button on the remote. The headlights flashed, signaling the vehicle was now secure.
She inhaled a deep breath of the thick August air. It wasn’t entirely daylight yet and already she could almost taste the humidity.
“Might as well get this done,” she murmured as she shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose and then trudged across the parking lot.
The CIA had leased, confiscated or borrowed a private clinic for this Saturday morning’s procedure. She noted the other vehicles there and, though she recognized none of them, assumed it was the usual team she worked with on these secret procedures. Of course, she would prefer her own team, but the group provided by the CIA in the past were excellent and, admittedly, a sort of rhythm had developed after more than a dozen surgeries.
A guard waited at the side entrance. His appearance made her think of the Secret Service agents who served as bodyguards for the president.
“Good morning, Dr. Cameron,” he said as she neared. Though she didn’t know him, he obviously knew her. No surprise.
“Morning.”
He opened the door for her and she moved inside. It wasn’t necessary to ask where the others would be, that part was always the same. Most clinics were set up on a similar floor plan. This one, an upscale cosmetic surgery outpost for the socially elite, was no different in that respect. The plush carpeting rather than the utilitarian tile and lavishly framed pieces of art that highlighted the warm, sand-colored walls were a definite step up from the norm but the basic layout was the same.
Agent Dawson stepped into the hall from one of the examination rooms lining the elegant corridor. “The team is ready when you are, Dr. Cameron.”
“Thank you, Agent Dawson.” Elizabeth didn’t bother dredging up a perfunctory smile. He knew she didn’t like this. She sensed that he didn’t either. But they both had a duty to do. An obligation to do their part to keep the world as safe as possible. She had to remember that.
The prep room was quiet and deserted and she was glad. She wanted to do this without exchanging any sort of chitchat with those involved, most especially the patient.

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