Deadly Deception

by Alexa Grace

When Lane hesitated, Frankie jumped in. "It's my fault, Uncle Tim. Near the front yard, I'm making a combination rock and flower garden. I'm not finished and I left a couple of large rocks out and last night Lane fell over them into my bushes." She glanced at Lane who wore a grateful grin.

  "Well, I hope your face heals before you meet with the doctor. I have your identities," said Tim. He shoved two envelopes across the table; one to Lane, the other to Frankie. "In these envelopes are fake driver's licenses, social security cards, and a couple of credit cards. Your new names are Lane and Frankie Henderson. You're a married couple who just moved to Bloomington from Chicago. You've got money, but you don't have what you both want and that's a baby."

  "What kind of work are we in?" asked Lane.

  "Lane, you're a successful investor who buys and sells foreclosed properties. You moved to Bloomington because your wife, Frankie, is an I.U. grad who loves the area. You two can live anywhere you want because most of your business is done over the Internet."

  "Frankie, you are a housewife who participates in a variety of charities. This is to appeal to the social side of Dr. Caine. Sometimes he holds charity events in his home. It's your job to get you and Lane invited to them." Tim pulled a thick manila envelope out of the stack of papers in front of him.

  "Inside the envelope is a set of car keys to a new black Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows and a red Mazda Miata convertible courtesy of a drug dealer raid last month. You'll also find a pair of wedding rings. Frankie, the diamond in yours is real. It’s borrowed from a local jeweler so please don’t lose it." Tim smiled at her and continued.

  "I've saved the best for last. My best friend in high school, Sam Webster, is selling his home in Bloomington. He and his wife, Bonnie, have already moved to Atlanta, where he got transferred two months ago. I had dinner with Sam and Bonnie last weekend and told them about this case. They insist we use their house as your base as long as we need it for this op."

  "You're kidding?" Frankie looked down at the realtor flyer of the house. It was the most incredible house she'd ever seen. A brick and stone dream home.

  "Nope. Sam and Bonnie know how to build a house. Fifteen rooms including a gourmet kitchen, two master suites, wine cellar, theatre room, and huge backyard with a lake at the far end of the property."

  "That's amazing. And they're willing to loan it to us?"

  "Yes, but there is one small catch. They have a nosy realtor. So tomorrow afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Lane Henderson, have an appointment to go through the house. Later we will submit a lease-to-buy offer that Sam and Bonnie have already approved. You can move in as soon as the realtor calls you about the signed deal."

  Jennifer Brennan removed the paper gown she was wearing in one of the examination rooms at the clinic owned by the Forever Home Adoption Agency. She looked down at her a small baby bump. She picked up her clothes and redressed. She gulped hard, hot tears slipping down her cheek.

  She'd made the toughest decision of her life and decided to give the baby growing inside her away. She hadn't seen the baby's father, Paul, in weeks and had successfully avoided his calls. He'd had his say loud and clear. How could she have been so blind? She thought they would marry after they graduated from college. She believed with all her heart he was her soul mate. Now he was a star in an ugly scene she wished she could forget. A flash of grief ripped through her.

  Jennifer missed her parents. They'd always been her shield, protecting her against the ugliness of life. Being their only child, they had high expectations for her. She needed them, but the last thing she could cope with was the disappointment in their eyes if they learned about her pregnancy. How could she tell them she'd gotten pregnant and the father wanted nothing to do with the baby? Jennifer couldn't. She'd continue to call them each week with excuses why she couldn't come home for the weekend or holiday. Having the baby and giving it away was her only answer. They’d never know.

  The doctor had told her she was beginning her fourth month of pregnancy. Soon the loose tops she wore with jeans wouldn't hide her condition. The agency made arrangements for her to move out of her dormitory on campus to an apartment that she'd share with another pregnant girl until the birth of her baby. She'd start packing as soon as she completed enrollment for the online courses she'd take during summer school.

  "Frankie, are you ready yet? We need to leave soon or we'll be late," Lane called down the hallway as he did a quick check of his watch. Frankie had disappeared to her bedroom thirty minutes ago. He wondered if she was a little nervous about the trip. It was the first time they'd use their undercover roles. He heard a door squeak open so he grabbed his navy suit jacket from the chair and slipped it on over his gray pants.

  Frankie walked into the room making his breath catch in his throat. She was looking down as she fiddled with a silver hoop earring so he scanned her body. She wore a blue and white floral sundress that accentuated her creamy skin, long neck, and ample cleavage. The dress cinched at her tiny waist and clipped off at her knees. She wore matching blue sandals with tiny pearls and crystal beads on the straps. She tossed a navy sweater on the chair near him.

  "God, Frankie, you're beautiful." As he whispered the words, he realized it was an understatement. She was exquisite with soft layered hair framing her face. Her whiskey brown eyes glittered with intelligence, and her full lips were made for kissing. She was smokin' hot in every way. Being so attracted to a woman like Frankie was foreign to him. His preference in women was usually the big-breasted cheerleader types. That all changed when he met Frankie. She was a woman who could take his breath away by her beauty and kick his ass in 2.5 seconds. Yes, it was definitely a first and was, surprisingly, a big turn-on.

  He cursed Rule #1. If he could, he'd throw caution to the wind, pick her up, and take her back to his bed. He’d start by kissing those full lips and work from there until he got her naked and beneath him. But there was good reason for Rule #1. They both needed to stay focused on the case or they'd put justice for Mandy Morris at risk. Neither of them would do that.

  She looked up at him, blushed and lowered her thick, black lashes over her eyes. She was still fiddling with the earring when he stepped forward. He reached out to brush the hair out of her eyes. And what he noticed next stopped him in his tracks. He extended a finger and rubbed a circular scar of raised pink skin on her shoulder.

  "This is where I shot you, isn't it?" Even though he knew it had been an accident, Lane didn't think his feelings of guilt would ever leave. He couldn't get past the fact that he was the one who had physically hurt her.

  "It was an accident."

  "Frankie, if you ever want to get plastic surgery to remove it, I'll pay for it."

  "No way. I'm one of those people who like scars. Each scar tells a story of a life event. This one reminds me that the woman, who was to become my best friend, was found alive that day and the serial killer, who wanted to snuff out her life, did not succeed."

  Lane smiled as he handed the navy sweater to her. "It's a good thing you're wearing this. I don't think your scar story is something you'd want to share today in your starring role as Mrs. Lane Henderson."

  Lane and Frankie arrived at the home viewing in Bloomington and immediately realized that Tim's friends were right about one thing. Their realtor, Sally Nelson, was nosy and she had an expertise in gossip. They immediately got the lowdown on each neighbor. In addition, the short, round woman with beady eyes amplified by thick glasses didn't seem to believe any questions were off limits.

  The house was tastefully decorated and furnished. According to Sally, the Websters had moved into a fully furnished condo in Atlanta and had left their furniture behind. Although the house had been built ten years prior, it looked brand-new with gleaming stainless steel appliances in the huge kitchen. The family room had warm oak plank hardwood floors and a built in entertainment center that housed a sixty-one inch flat screen television that Lane admired. The living room was cozy with a long overstuffed sofa and two matching chairs embr
acing the red brick fireplace on a far wall. A red oriental rug adorned the wooden floors.

  The many windows throughout the house gave it a bright and warm feeling. From the foyer, a grand curved stairway led the way upstairs to the two master suites and three smaller guest rooms.

  "How did you two meet?" Her glasses slid down her nose and over the rims her eyes. She did a quick, lustful assessment of Lane's body.

  Frankie's eyes widened. They hadn't practiced the answer to that question, so she demonstrated how well she could think on her feet with Lane nodding in agreement throughout the short story. "We met in a Starbucks. He ordered Espresso and I ordered Latte and they mixed up the orders. We started talking and one thing led to another."

  "That's a cute meet. Come upstairs and I'll show you one of the master suites. From the looks of you two, I'll just bet you'll spend a lot of time in there." She cackled wildly and led them up the stairs. Frankie caught Lane grinning and shot him an icy glare.

  In the master bedroom, Sally asked, "When are you going to have your first baby?"

  "As soon as we can," Lane responded.

  In one of the guest bedrooms, she asked Frankie, "Is Lane as hot as he looks?"

  "Hotter," Frankie said with a grin as she looked out the window.

  For the rest of the home tour, Sally popped an intrusive question in each room like clockwork, which gave them a workout on their background stories. Lane set up a time to call Sally the next day after she'd reviewed their offer with the sellers. While they were still in Bloomington, Lane gave Frankie a tour that included the adoption agency building, the apartment house where the pregnant women lived, as well as Dr. Eric Caine's sprawling mansion. Frankie took photos at each stop.

  When they arrived back at Frankie's house, they ordered pizza, which gave them more time to get on their laptops to search for more information about the adoption agency or Dr. Eric Caine.

  "Yeah, baby!" She called out. Suddenly, there it was — the opportunity Frankie had been praying for. "Here's an ad asking for volunteers to work phones for a charity Dr. Caine is sponsoring. They need people to collect donations for college scholarships for disadvantaged kids. There's also a dinner and dance planned at the doctor's home at the end of the fund drive to reward volunteers and supporters. If I'm chosen as a volunteer, and I will be, I'll be able to work myself into his charity but also have an opportunity to get inside his home."

  "Seriously?"

  "Very serious. Watch me as I complete this online form. I'm there."

  Someone was pounding on Frankie's front door. Lane grabbed his cell phone to check the time. Christ, it was three in the morning. What the hell? He pulled on his jeans, jerked his revolver out of its holster, and hid it in the back of his pants.

  He flung open the guest room door and moved into the hall almost slamming into Frankie, who half-asleep, just stared at him.

  Wide-eyed, he stared back. Frankie stood in front of him dressed in a tight white tank and sleep pants decorated with tiny pink hearts. He couldn't take his eyes off her beautiful, round, perfect breasts with nipples jutting through the thin white cloth. He imagined his mouth sucking on those perfect breasts with Frankie writhing beneath him. It took all the self-control he had not to pick her up and throw her on her bed and take her. He gritted his teeth and prayed his arousal wasn't as obvious to her as it was to him.

  The pounding on the front started up again, getting more forceful and frantic. Frankie moved first and raced to the front door to look through the peep hole. Crap, it was Missy Kent from her self-defense class.

  She opened the door and Missy flew past her.

  "Please, Frankie, lock the door. He may have followed me." Missy was screaming and crying at the same time. Her lip was split, and her right eye had swollen shut. There were ugly bruises on her arms and throat.

  Frankie slammed the door closed and slid the deadbolt into place. She then gently took Missy's hand and led her to the kitchen. Lane peered out the front window then went to his room to get his shirt.

  In the kitchen, Frankie pulled out a chair for Missy and looked her over for injuries but found nothing other than what she'd already noticed.

  "Missy, you need to call the police."

  "No, that's the last thing I should do. They won't do anything then he'll really let me have it when he gets home!"

  "I'm going to make some coffee and then we're going to talk about why you should reconsider calling the police." Frankie slipped a coffee filter into her coffeemaker then poured the coffee grounds. Once it was filled with water, she tapped the "on" button.

  "I'm sorry, but I already called the police. A deputy is on his way." Lane said as he sat at the table with Missy. He held up his badge. "Besides, I am the police."

  "Oh my God. Who the hell are you?!” Missy sobbed uncontrollably into her hands. Through her hands, she asked, “You called the police?”

  Frankie motioned for Lane to leave the room. He went to the living room window and watched for a deputy to arrive. Suddenly a truck whipped into Frankie's driveway, brakes squealed as the driver stopped the vehicle. A man leapt out of the truck and ran to the front porch. Lane met him at the door.

  "Is Missy here?" The man looked around Lane into the house. The guy was a couple feet away, yet Lane could smell the beer on his breath.

  Lane moved onto the porch and closed the door behind him. "Let's calm down and talk about what's going on."

  "Who the hell are you? Where's Missy? I know damn well she's here 'cause that's her car."

  Lane pulled out his badge which made the man take a step back. He motioned to one of Frankie's wicker chairs and the man sat down just as a county sheriff car parked in front of the house.

  In the kitchen, Frankie set a mug of hot coffee in front of Missy along with a box of tissues.

  "I did the de-escalation steps you showed us. He was so angry that I'd burned his dinner he left the house for the tavern. By the time he got back, he'd had too much to drink and was still furious about the meal. But I did what you taught us. I angled my body so that it was about forty-five degrees from him to make myself a smaller target just like you told us. Then I held my hands up at chest level with my palms forward."

  Frankie reached across the table to hold Missy's hand. "What happened next?"

  "I was really scared, but I tried to appear as calm as I could. I started talking to him slowly and calmly. I kept softly saying his name, without anger. But when I asked him to please leave, he belted me. Then he grabbed me by the arms and I stomped on his instep as hard as I could. It gave me time to grab my purse and drive here."

  "Missy, you did a good job. But you have to talk to the police. You have to let them help you."

  "Do you really think this is my first rodeo? Do you think I haven't called them before? They talk to him and he turns into Mr. Congeniality who has a totally different story than the one I gave them. They always take his side."

  “This time is different. You have dark bruising on your neck and arms. This is evidence, Missy.”

  Lane entered the kitchen with a deputy in tow.

  "Missy, this is Deputy Jerry Thomason. Please talk with him and tell him what happened tonight."

  Frankie immediately moved toward Jerry and shook his hand. He was one of the best deputies they could have sent for a domestic call. He cared about victims and did all he could for them. Too many deputies were burned out about domestic calls. They'd been attacked by too many victims as they hauled the abuser away.

  Lane touched Frankie's elbow and nodded toward the living room.

  "The husband's here. He's on the porch with Jerry's partner," he whispered.

  "You're kidding. He followed her here?" she asked, clearly surprised.

  "Yes. He's drunk and he's limping. He claims Missy did something to injure his foot."

  "She defended herself."

  She started to walk into the kitchen, but Lane grabbed her arm. "Frankie, do you think you could throw on a robe or something before thes
e deputies get as turned on as I am?" He stared at her breasts.

  Frankie looked down to see her emerging nipples jutting out of her thin tank top and ran to her bedroom.

  Frankie, wearing a thick, terrycloth robe, re-entered the kitchen. Jerry was now sat next to Missy who was showing him her injuries as he jotted notes on a small pad. Frankie poured him a mug of hot coffee and placed it on the table.

  She then poured another and joined Lane in the living room, handing him the mug. She sat with him until Jerry emerged from the kitchen. “I'm going to talk to my partner, and then we'll arrest the husband. He's going to jail tonight for assault. She needs to go to the emergency room, so her injuries are documented. She's calling her sister now to come here to follow her to the hospital.”

  Jerry went outside. Soon there was a loud commotion so Lane followed. He stepped onto the porch as Jerry and his partner wrestled with Missy’s husband to get the handcuffs on. He kicked and screamed in the back of the deputies’ car.