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the restaurant. She caught a glimpse of the two of them in the decorative wall mirrors as the maître d’ led them to their table. They made a fine couple, she sleek in her black dress and heels, he in his custom suit and Armani tie. This should have been the happiest time of her life.
    She’d never been so miserable.

CHAPTER : 4
    E than entered the offices of Bindle Brothers at Fifth Avenue and Virginia, brand-new briefcase in hand, shoes polished to a spit-shine. Dressed in a navy pin-striped suit and paisley tie, he looked every inch the young, confident businessman he was pretending to be.
    The dark blond wig he wore itched, as did the fake blond goatee, but he didn’t think the interview would take long. Colored contact lenses had changed his eyes from their natural light gray to hazel. A small amount of latex, carefully applied around his nose in thin layers and blended into his real skin with professional movie makeup, added width to his nostrils and bridge, transforming his face in a more dramatic way than anyone would ever expect. Slight changes to the nose could have a major impact on the look of the face—ask any one of the millions of people who’d had rhinoplasty.
    Expertly applied bronzing powder completed the look—not too much, just enough to give him the illusion of a tan without looking powdery. He’d scrutinized himself under harsh lighting before he left home and knew he looked perfectly natural. This was one of his lighter disguises; anything heavier was unnecessary. He’d only met Morris for a few moments,and enough time had passed that he doubted the big man would remember.
    But it was better to be safe than sorry. Ethan pulled out a pair of nonprescription eyeglasses from his breast pocket and casually slipped them on. The trendy black, rectangular frames were just thick enough to create shadows across his eyes, obscuring their shape a little.
    He caught a glimpse of himself in the lobby mirror. Perfect.
    Disguises were so much fun.
    He strode through the impressive lobby of the investment bank, all high ceilings and cornice moldings and marble. Well-dressed employees rushed around looking important, their BlackBerrys glued to their hands, creating an aura of tempered frenzy.
    The round mahogany desk in the center of it all had two receptionists. The one with the frizzy hair and fifteen extra pounds smiled at him first. At his approach she sat up straighter, quickly taking her glasses off and primping her permed hair.
    “Good morning.” Another big smile showcased a poppy seed stuck dead between her uneven front teeth. “Can I help you?”
    Ethan smiled down at her, taking a long look at her freckled cleavage before meeting her eyes. “Good morning, Stacey,” he said, reading the name off the tag pinned to her shiny blouse. “I have an appointment on the tenth floor. I’m Tom Young.”
    Stacey’s pale cheeks flushed. “I’ll call up and let them know you’re here,” she said, slightly breathless. “Just a moment.”
    He thanked her and stepped away while she murmured into the phone. He was dying to scratch his head but couldn’t risk shifting the wig. Instead he grinned at Stacey, who blushed and pointed the way to the elevators.
    The bank hummed with activity. Ethan weaved his way to the back of the lobby and to the elevator doors. An attractive woman followed him in, giving him an appreciative once-over before taking her place in front of him. He took a moment to enjoy the view from behind. Bare legs, no panty lines. Either she was going commando or she was wearing a thong. He chuckled. Both scenarios were acceptable. She exited on the eighth floor, her ass cheeks flexing like two well-oiled pistons underneath her tight business-length skirt.
    On the tenth floor, he exited the elevator and another woman at another mahogany desk greeted him.
    “Mr. Young?” she said, her voice crisp. Her gray hair was fashionably cut and her suit looked more expensive than his. “Please have a