Liar, Liar

by Winter Austin

  She whipped her car into the small space like an expert stuntwoman yet with a little more caution. Impressive. As he exited the vehicle, Shane grabbed his black leather jacket and slid into it. He hadn’t been sure he’d wear it, but he was going to need something to conceal his weapon. The shirt wouldn’t be enough. Liza had foregone wearing her weapon and had it tucked inside the purse she slung over her shoulder.

  The faint thump of bass pulsed across the parking lot. The owners had done a respectable job of soundproofing their business.

  Liza stared up at the historical building. “How in the world did they convince the powers that be to let them open a place like this so close to a residential area?”

  “Lots of money and promises to keep the noise way down.” He offered his elbow. “Ready?”

  She looked at his arm, pursed her lips, then hesitantly threaded her hand inside the crook of his elbow and gripped his arm. The coat blocked the feel of her hand, but his hyperactive body could sense it.

  Lock down, Hamilton. You’re on the job.

  Escorting her to the main entrance, they passed a handful of smokers getting their nic fix. The rancid stench of cigarette smoke hit Shane’s memory like a ton of bricks. Oh God, this was too much like the last time he was with a woman in a bar.

  June 2001

  Cheyenne pushed him away. “You’re being a prick.” She flipped her honey-wheat hair over her shoulder and backed up.

  Shane followed. “Babe, I’m being anything but. He’s trespassing on my territory.”

  “Damn it, Shane. I’m not your possession.”

  “That ring says otherwise.”

  “Shane, dude, drop it. Nothing’s happenin’.”

  He jabbed a finger in his traveling partner’s chest. “Go to hell, Trigger. You’ve got you hands all over my woman.”

  “I’m dancing with her because you’re too damn drunk to stand.”

  Weaving, Shane pushed at Trigger’s chest. “Am not.” He stumbled forward.

  “Whatever, dude.” Trigger reached for Cheyenne’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”

  Shane grabbed Trigger’s hand and flung it back. “I said to leave her alone.”

  “Shit! I always knew you were a horse’s ass.”

  Shane swung. The next thing he knew he was standing over his buddy and his hand was throbbing. Trigger came up off the floor with a roar.

  “Shane?”

  Blinking, he stared at the double doors and then the woman next to him.

  “Are you all right?” Liza asked.

  The bass was somewhat louder this close to the building. Shane could just make out the music, and it was nothing like what had been playing that night in the bar.

  “I’m good,” he said, then pulled open one of the doors.

  Any rebuttal Liza might have made was drowned by the blast of music. Thank God for small miracles. This was the first time in a long, long time outside of his ritualistic anniversary that he’d had a flashback to that night. He was not about to explain himself to Liza.

  They descended a short flight of stairs and pushed through another set of doors. The music was louder yet as they entered what was once the factory floor where the machinery had stood. Now it was crowded with bar tables and stools and people, some dancing while others hovered around the tables, drinking and talking. All the grinding bodies and energy pouring from the room made it look like a mosh pit.

  The music switched, and this time a song with a beat Shane was more familiar with started. The crowd screamed their approval and began jumping around with their hands raised over their heads.

  “Is that supposed to be a country song?” Liza yelled over the noise.

  “It’s the new country.” He spotted an emptied table. “Hurry before it’s taken.”

  Settled on a stool, Shane leaned closer to Liza. The intoxicating scent of cinnamon and vanilla filled his senses, electrifying his nerve endings. Oh, how he wanted to lip the hallow of her neck and drink her in.

  Liza cocked her head. “Do you see something?”

  He cleared his throat. “Not yet. Do you want something to drink?”

  “If they have it, a coconut water would be great. If not, ginger ale or whatever they have that passes as fancy water.”

  “I’m sure they’ve got something along those lines. Right back.” He slid off his stool and plowed his way to the bar.

  As he passed a quartet of young women dancing together, he stiffened as someone squeezed his rear. The group gave him a few seductive winks.

  “Hey, cowboy,” a dolled-up brunette said. “Come dance with us.”

  They horseshoed him, beckoning for him to step into the center. He shook his head at the women and then pointed at Liza. The group peered over the crowd to see his “date.”

  One woman shrugged. “Bring her over.”

  “Maybe later. Ladies.”

  He escaped their siren call and made it to the bar unaccosted. Good God, the younger they were the bolder they got. He couldn’t recall the women of his generation being this gropey. Then again, he was a horny male at the time—what did he care what a woman did or didn’t do to him as long as it led to a night of tangled sheets and sweaty bodies?

  A smiling pixie with wild pink hair and an eyebrow ring leaned on the counter behind the bar. “What can I get ya?”

  Used to seeing a tattooed and heavily muscled Xavier Hartmann in the bartender position, Shane was taken aback by the young woman in front of him. Shaking free of the shock, he gave her Liza’s order.

  “We’ve got coconut water. And do you want anything?”

  Why not? “Make it two of those.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Glancing down the bar, Shane did a double take. Next to a blonde woman, who was definitely not his wife, was Derek Schofield. The two looked chummy. Real chummy. As the couple shared a kiss, Derek wrapped an arm around the blonde’s waist, pulled back, and then guided her out into the dancing mob. Shane watched them get right cozy until they disappeared in the sea of writhing bodies.

  “Here ya go.”

  Shane gave Pixie an appreciative nod, tossed a ten on the bar, and, taking the tall glasses of mostly ice, he headed back to the table. Liza was conversing with a young African American male who leaned much too close to her, probably to look down the front of her blouse. Shane’s blood simmered at the kid’s audacity. However, Liza seemed interested in chatting with him. There was no logical reason for his jealousy. None. She was a colleague, not his girlfriend.

  The young man placed a hand over hers and bent closer, and that’s when it all fell apart for the poor sap. Liza flipped her hand out from under his, grabbing his wrist in deft move that made Laila Ali look slow. Liza twisted the kid’s arm around and bent it in a painful, awkward position. His knees buckling, the kid folded away from her. Liza leaned with him and spoke into his ear. There was a vigorous head nod, and the kid was free. Rubbing his wrist, he took off like a man in desperate need of the bathroom. As he passed Shane, their shoulders bumped.

  Juggling the glasses—hell, this stuff was too expensive to slosh on the floor—Shane spun to frown at the young man.

  “Watch where you’re goin’,” the kid barked. He clamped his mouth shut, and his eyes bugged when their gazes locked. “Sheriff, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

  Well, there went his disguise. “Hey, Ziggy. Aren’t you supposed to be in Iowa City at school?”

  Ziggy grimaced. “Uh, we have a few days off.”

  Translation: I’m here where I’m not supposed to be; don’t tell my mom. “Sounds good. Tell your mom I said hi.”

  “Uh, sure thing.” Ziggy made like Houdini and escaped.

  Shaking his head, Shane finished his trip to the table. Liza’s perplexed expression was enough to tell him she saw the exchange with Ziggy.

  “You know that kid?”

  “All his life. He’s a local. Good kid, just makes the typical dumb male mistakes.” Shane placed her glass in front of her. “You
r coconut water.”

  “Did you get some for yourself?”

  “Had to see what all the fuss is about.”

  Shrugging, she pressed her lips around the straw and sucked. Shane about lost his marbles. Ripping his gaze off her, he bypassed the damn straw and gulped down the sweet liquid. Not much of a coconut person, he thought it was just okay.

  “So far, I’ve found about five different ways to get in and out of here,” Liza said. She pointed at the red neon exit sign. “Bathrooms are that way. Do you want me to check those out?”

  “In a minute.” He set his glass on the table and drew closer to her—a mistake when he caught a whiff of her scent, but he powered through the desire. “I spotted someone here who shouldn’t be.”

  “I’m pretty certain there are a lot of people here who shouldn’t be here and are.”

  “True, but not when he’s with someone other than his wife.”

  Liza’s brows rose. “Do tell.”

  “Pamela Frost has a receptionist from Oklahoma. The gal married a local boy, and they live around here. Rumors have been flying that there’s marital strife. I think the rumors aren’t rumors anymore.”

  “Does this local boy have a name?”

  “Derek Schofield; his wife is Emily.”

  “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Liza, I know the people in my county. That boy is fooling around on his wife, and she’s figuring it out.”

  Her features wrinkled into a perplexed look. “I wonder . . . ”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know if this is any correlation to my mysterious note or not, but could it be possible that I was sent here to see that?”

  “How would your note leaver know this?” Shane held up a finger and wagged it back and forth. “Scratch that. I can’t discredit any possibilities. Nothing about our cases has made sense. Why not send you here to spy on Schofield.”

  “But how does his affair connect with our cases? Outside of the fact that Emily works for Pamela, whose husband was murdered, and who represents the widow of a scam artist, who was murdered, too.”

  “One more thing, his mother is on the school board that connects with Gene Avery. We’re going to have to see how your meeting plays out.”

  “I guess.” Liza stood, smoothing out her blouse and pants. “I’m going to scope the bathroom exits.” She gave him a nod and then left.

  Against his will, he watched her strut away. Well, damn it, she was too fine looking not to stare at.

  A hand ran across his back. He flinched and damn near whipped around and throat punched the threat. His muscles seized, screaming for release, relaxing the second the owner of the hand came into view.

  The dolled-up brunette who had boldly grabbed his ass smiled. “Well, cowboy, you’re all alone. Why is that?”

  Her friends joined them, swarming the table like a horde of honeybees.

  “Howdy, again, ladies.”

  They all grinned, baring their canines. Shane’s neck tingled.

  This was not going to end well.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Liza examined the exit door. A wire ran up alongside the frame and connected with a black box overhead. The whole thing was rigged to sound an alarm if the door opened. Probably a way for the owners to keep people from entering uninvited through the back way. She liked to hope that they weren’t trying to keep people in.

  Rubbing her chin, she turned to face the hall and the four doors that marked her path to get here. Two of the doors were for the men’s and women’s restrooms, one was a storage closet—marked as such—and the other was an employee’s only room. Both of those doors were locked. So were the other exits rigged with sensors?

  The women’s bathroom opened, and two giggling girls spilled out. When they saw Liza, they sobered and straightened up. One wiggled her skin-tight dress down and avoided eye contact. With a shake of her head, Liza left the two to their guilty consciences and headed back to Shane. She didn’t have time, nor the desire, to deal with whatever activities they might have been engaging in inside the bathroom. Not her circus, not her monkeys.

  She cleared the hallway, did another scan of the building. Above the old factory floor, protruding from the walls, was a wide walkway. There had to be a staircase or an elevator to reach that level. If Liza had to take a guess, there were offices and such up there at one time. It could be that the Riker’s owners turned those into special places for VIPs, or party rooms. Liza had to get up there.

  It wasn’t lost on her that a building such as this had become the death trap for her witnesses. Her lone consolation: Mr. Ripley was dead, and he wouldn’t be setting any more traps.

  She checked the time on her phone. T minus one hour until her mystery person came looking for her. She wasn’t ready for this. She hated the unknown, despite its consistency in her job. The unknown had never been kind to her.

  Shouldering her slipping purse strap, she entered the fray of people. The sheer mass of bodies surprised her still. Didn’t these kids have classes or work tomorrow? Coming upon the table, Liza halted.

  “What the hell?”

  A quartet of women had trapped Shane in his seat. The look on his face was utter panic. One of the women seemed more insistent than the others as she was all but crawling into his lap. He clutched one of her arms, keeping her at bay, and said something to her. The others were enjoying the struggle but let their friend make all the moves.

  Liza should go to his rescue, but her inquisitive side wanted to see how he got out of this. He was a big boy. That twig couldn’t be more than 110 pounds soaking wet. Yet when that twig leaned forward enough to lick Shane’s cheek, Liza snapped.

  “Oh, no, not on my watch she ain’t.”

  Liza was on the table in two shakes of a tail. The other women took one look at her and backpedaled. Twig, however, was too absorbed in her struggle with Shane and didn’t notice a pissed off black woman until Liza took a firm grip on the scrawny shoulder and yanked her back.

  “That’ll be enough, ya li’l tart.”

  Twig threw up her hands and gave Liza the once over. “Excuse me. I didn’t see your tramp stamp on him.”

  Liza scoffed. “Oh, honey, is that the best you can do?” She prowled closer to Twig. “You best be gettin’ your skinny li’l ass outta here before I snap you in two.”

  “Ladies . . . ”

  “Hush!” Liza snapped at Shane. “What’s it gonna be, honey?”

  Twig’s eyes darted to her friends, who had deserted her, and then back to Liza. Twig’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession, she swallowed, then took a side step. “You can have him. He’s an old fart anyway.”

  “Hey, now!” Shane came out of his chair.

  With a snap of her finger, Liza made him freeze in his tracks. “Scat, li’l cat.”

  Twig gave Liza a disgusted sneer and bolted. Keeping an eye on the skinny bitch’s backside until she merged with the dancers, Liza used the time to calm her temper. When she faced Shane, his eyes were bugging.

  “What was that?”

  “A rescue operation by the looks of things.”

  “I had it handled.”

  Rolling her eyes, Liza hooked a hand on her hip. “Oh, did you now? I’m pretty certain if I hadn’t stepped in and you’d managed to dislodge Twiggy’s arms, one of her three friends would have pounced.”

  For the briefest moment, his features turned contemplative, then it faded. “You know, it’s not that important. We avoided a disaster.”

  The fast and upbeat music ended, and the DJ moved the crowd into a slower pace. Couples were now pressed close, arms draped around waists and shoulders as they swayed seductively.

  “We should keep up our appearance of a couple on a night out,” Shane said.

  “What? And dance?”

  “Might as well. We’re not drinking, and if we stick out here, we’re going to attract more unwanted attention.”

  She shouldn’t want it. He was an exasperating man and not her
type—if she had a type. Did she have a type? God, who knew? She was the queen of non-dating.

  “I don’t know, Shane, this . . . ”

  “Have you ever done an undercover operation?”

  She frowned. “Sort of.”

  “In this situation, you’ve got to blend in and not cause waves. So far, we’ve done a poor job of it. Besides, if we don’t go out there and dance, someone else is going to come asking either one of us. And we can’t turn them down all night.”

  He had a point. That Ziggy kid had been insistent that one did not come to a dance club and not dance. It was possible, though Shane hadn’t confirmed it, that Twiggy had been trying to get him on the floor in order to convince him she wanted in his pants. Liza’s body warmed. Her gaze started to move south, but she brought that to a screeching halt.

  Be a professional.

  “No dirty dancing.”

  He grinned. “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  They left their table and headed for the edge of the dancing couples. Facing Shane, she stiffened. Up close, she was acutely aware of how tall he was. No slouch in the height department, she could easily drape her arms over his shoulders, but he would still look down. And . . . she peeked at the top of her blouse. Yep, this shirt had been a mistake to wear.

  “Liza, I’m not a pervert.”

  After a little crazy twitch of her eyes, she stared at him. He had an uncanny sense in reading her mind. No not uncanny . . . disturbing.

  He held out his hands. Sighing, she stepped into his personal space, took his offered hands, and found herself drawn close. Shane led her into a slow two-step instead of the almost middle school kind of dance like the younger couples around them were doing. The pace had a sexy quality to it, and Liza liked it.

  “You’re a man who knows how to dance.”

  “My momma said there was nothing sweeter in the world than a man who knew how to lead a lady. She taught me everything from the waltz to the two-step.”

  “Bet you were a hit at all the school dances.”

  He chuckled. She could listen to him do that all day.

  “I was at that. Though what passed as dancing in those days was a disgrace.”