Deceiving Derek
LOVE & OTHER CALAMITIES
Story 1
by
Cindy Procter-King
Copyright 2012 Cindy Procter-King
Published by Blue Orchard Books at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Cindy Procter-King
All rights reserved
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright Notice
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical re-views and articles. This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or per-sons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Deceiving Derek Publishing History:
October 2012 Blue Orchard Books – Revised & Updated Author’s Cut
March 2007 Chippewa Publishing
June 2002 NovelBooks, Inc.
Cover by LFD Designs For Authors
Also By Cindy Procter-King:
Where She Belongs
Borrowing Alex
Head Over Heels
For more information, visit http://www.cindyprocter-king.com/
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
About this Story
Deceiving Derek
About the Author
Sneak Peek at Catching Claire
Sneak Peek at Head Over Heels
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Deceiving Derek was first published in 2002 by NovelBooks, Inc. as a stand-alone short story and re-issued by Chippewa Publishing in 2007. In 2012, I decided to revise and update Deceiving Derek as the first in a five-part romantic comedy short story series called LOVE & OTHER CALAMITIES. The series follows the mishaps and adventures of a group of girlfriends as they prepare for a wedding. In the process, each heroine finds love.
For Deceiving Derek, I am indebted to my dear friend, Mary J. Forbes, author of women’s romantic fiction, for her insightful critique and research advice. Thanks also to Shannon Sessions, Public Information Officer for the Lynnwood Police Department in Washington state, and Detective Brian McIntryre with the Edmonds Police Department, who answered my many research questions promptly and patiently.
Any mistakes or fictional liberties are mine.
ABOUT THIS STORY
Lingerie designer Lacey DeMarco livens up her life by finagling an unsuspecting police detective into attending a funky bridal shower. She needs one last item to complete a scavenger hunt list, and handsome cop Derek McAllister is it.
But a little trickery is at work. Both Lacey and Derek are being hoodwinked…in the name of love.
DECEIVING DEREK
“Someone’s stealing my underwear! I need to find out who!”
Arching an eyebrow at the indignant female voice, Detective Derek McAllister raised his gaze from his computer screen. Hello. A slim blonde in a slinky red dress stood on the other side of his desk in Rosewood’s police station. Sparks radiated from the woman’s blue eyes as she dangled a scarlet G-string inches from his nose. Her hand jerked. The scrap of silk flipped off her fingertip, bonking his Mariners coffee mug and plopping onto his notebook.
Derek glanced at the front counter. Both Biggs, the balding desk sergeant, and Harding, a lanky patrol officer who shadowed Biggs like a starved-for-attention sidekick, looked back at Derek and chortled. Biggs twirled a finger near one cauliflower ear, mouthing, “Craaazy.”
Like Derek needed Biggs to tell him. Thanks a lot, boneheads. Sending me the kook, huh?
Both uniforms were working the night shift. Although Derek had reported a slow afternoon, there was still plenty to do before the bars closed and mid-July crap hit the fan. For instance, Harding. Instead of chuckling over the Funnies, the dope could be checking parks and alleys. And Biggs…rather than playing Sudoku and flirting with the female clerk, the guy could at least check email.
“Well?” The blonde at Derek’s desk stared him down. “Are you going to shuffle me off like they did—” she flicked a hand toward Biggs and Harding “—or take me seriously?” Her golden hair shimmered beneath the bright lights in feathery layers.
Hell, why not? Elbows on his desk, Derek hunched forward in his swivel chair. Taking initial theft reports wasn’t his responsibility. His job was to investigate. However, he sensed frazzled nerves beneath the woman’s righteous ire. And, considering the nature of her complaint…
He wanted to get a good sense of the problem and who she was so he wouldn’t need to do a second interview later. If kook-job poured off her in bucketfuls, he’d rather pacify her and escort her safely home than subject her to potential ridicule by directing her back to the guys up front. Sending her away to roam the Seattle suburb in her current state of agitation was out of the question.
Derek calmly eyed the G-string. He slipped a pen beneath a lacy strap and lifted the lingerie as carefully as if he were handling a piece of forensic evidence.
“Is this the underwear in question, ma’am?” he asked.
Her chin tipped up. “I’m a Miss. Miss DeMarco.” Her blue gaze darted away a moment. “No, that’s not the underwear I’m talking about. That underwear isn’t missing. Is it, Detective?”
That depends on whether you’re wearing any. Derek stifled the urge to lean across the desk and check the presence or absence of panty lines beneath her luscious red dress.
“All right, then. What underwear of yours is missing?” A question he certainly hadn’t anticipated asking upon his return to the station. On a seedy street corner, maybe.
“My lingerie designs. The prototype samples.” The blonde snatched back the G-string. “This thong is a prototype, too, but thankfully the thief didn’t nab it.”
“Are you sure it was a thief?” Derek still had panty lines on the brain.
“Yes, Detective McAllister,” Miss DeMarco said with strained patience. “You are Detective Derek McAllister, right? That’s the name she—I mean, the men at the counter gave me.”
Derek arrowed a glance to the desk. Biggs, looking back again, rolled his eyes. Harding scratched his stomach and snickered.
“They would be right.” Derek tapped the cheap brass nameplate beside his computer. Miss DeMarco’s nervous gaze tracked the movement.
Her shoulders squared. “Well, Detective McAllister, usually when there’s a burglary, there’s a thief involved. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Yep. Usually, I would.” Unless she’d imagined the whole thing. Anxiety hopped off her slender curves like ants attacking a sugar bowl. Maybe she was paranoid. What a shame.
She hoisted a gigantic shopping bag off the floor. Derek’s lips tugged into a smile as she plunked the bag onto his desk, dug inside, and pulled out a skimpy lingerie top. She tossed the G-string—pardon him, thong—and pink lingerie onto the desk, then rummaged through the bag again.
“Damn it, I wanted to make sure he—I’m pretty sure the thief is a he—didn’t steal more samples, so I grabbed as many as possible before catching the bus over.” Out flew blue underwear and a yellow slip thing. “Trouble is, the
se prototypes take up so much room I’m having trouble finding my wallet.” The shopping bag coughed up a purple bra and some flimsy, pale green panties.
Derek put down his pen. “Don’t worry about the wallet.” Did she think she had to pay him?
“I see it!” She continued emptying the bag until an explosion of frothy colors littered his desk, reminding him of his twin sister Janie’s rooftop garden after her ex-boyfriend broke her heart and she’d weed-whacked every blossom formerly planted in honor of their love.
It occurred to him Janie would like Miss DeMarco. He could visualize the two of them whacking blossoms together.
“Ah ha!” The blonde produced a slim wallet. A cell phone clattered out of the bag, bouncing across the lingerie and clunking his jar of pens. Amid the chaos, she opened the wallet, withdrew a business card, and handed it to him.
A flowery script on creamy stock announced: Lacey’s Little Underthings. Lacey DeMarco, President and Head Designer.
“Lacey?” Derek muttered. “Give me a break.” Yeah, she’s a wing-nut.
A blush stained her face. “That’s right, Lacey DeMarco. My mother, Cather—uh, Christina DeMarco, is the famous lingerie designer out of Milan. My sister is Silken and my brother is Teddy. My mother believes in theme names.”
“Does she now?” Placing aside the card, Derek pressed down another smile. He’d never heard of Christina DeMarco. Or Cather-uh DeMarco. “Look, I need to understand the situation. If someone’s stealing your underwear, what’s all this?” He sifted his fingers through the pile.
She gazed at the heap. “This is...what’s left. What I’ve rescued.”
“Mm-hm. From the culprit, you mean?”
“Yes.” Her voice rose. “This hasn’t been stolen. Yet.” She stuffed the cell phone and lingerie back into the bag.
Derek picked up the green panties and studied the inside label. Well, lookee here. The hand-stitched label read Lacey’s Little Underthings, like her business card.
Maybe his sexy wing-nut was on the up-and-up.
“Okay.” He tossed her the panties, which she caught with surprising deftness. “Please sit.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk. On his computer, he saved the grid he’d drafted showing a week of vehicle thefts. “Tell me what happened,” he said as he logged out of the computer and reached for his notepad.
She remained standing. “I’d rather tell you on the way over.” She shoved the wadded panties into the bag.
“The way over where?”
“My place.”
“Your place?”
“My design studio—it’s in my apartment. That’s where the theft occurred. Don’t you want to inspect the scene of the crime?”
“I’d rather take notes first.”
Her eyebrows high-jumped. “I don’t have time! I never know when he might strike again. He’s already plundered me twice!”
Derek chuckled. “The panty thief?”
“The corporate panty raider,” Lacey returned in an uppity tone he swore she employed to disguise her obvious jitters. Because, if her dress was anything to go by, she didn’t look the uppity type.
“Lacey’s Little Underthings is a legitimate company, Detective McAllister. I’ve produced my business card. I demand your respect.”
Derek tapped the pad against his palm. Finishing the vehicle theft grid could wait. While he didn’t buy into Lacey’s business-card definition of respect, she deserved his attention and protection as much as any other Rosewood citizen. Even if he wasn’t technically on-duty.
“Just a minute,” he told her. He got up and strode to the counter. “Harding. I need a ride-along. You available?”
“Sorry.” The guy plunked on his hat. “Just got a call.”
Biggs backed away, hands raised. “I need to write a report.”
Derek nodded. Typical.
He glanced back at Lacey. She stood at his desk, clenching the shopping bag and nibbling her lip.
He drew in a breath. Okay, then. He’d poke around her design studio, call in the crime scene techs if necessary. Volunteer an hour of his time toward her peace of mind, tops.
He motioned her over. “Not to worry, Miss DeMarco. I’d be happy to take a look.”
~*~
Lacey DeMarco shot a sideways glance to the handsome plainclothes detective sitting behind the wheel of the beige compact car. Exhilaration raced through her as he maneuvered the vehicle through Rosewood’s twilight-hued streets.
She’d done it! She’d really done it! When Alicia had read out the most challenging item on the scavenger hunt list—one policeman—every guest at Tanya’s bachelorette party had groaned. Except for Lacey. Thanks to her new friend Janie McAllister’s devious skullduggery, Lacey would drag this sexy cop to the festivities and win the scavenger hunt.
Yee-haw! Staid Lacey DeMarco had lived her last days. Go-for-the-gusto Lacey had been born!
An aggravating barb of guilt stabbed her. Shifting on her seat, she angled another glance to the detective, who shared his sister Janie’s ash-blond hair and stormy-ocean gray eyes.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely kosher that Janie had peeked at Alicia’s scavenger hunt list a few hours ago while Alicia, Janie, and Lacey had decorated for the party. Nor was it entirely acceptable that Janie had informed Lacey where and when to locate her brother, who, Janie had said, wouldn’t cooperate if he suspected Lacey’s visit to the police station was a lark. And Lacey knew that her heads-up on the scavenger hunt items wasn’t fair to the other party guests. They were probably scouring toy stores for cop dolls this very minute. However, Janie had volunteered to assist Lacey on her quest to liven up her life, and what could be livelier than finagling a hottie cop to a funky bridal shower?
When it came to learning how to break out of her shell, Lacey needed all the help she could get. She’d made great strides lately, though. Tonight was her crowning achievement.
“Turn right at the next corner,” she instructed.
The detective followed her directions. The car slowed as they approached a red light.
“When did you notice your designs were missing?” he asked in a deep voice that rolled over her like a warm wave.
She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her daring new dress and smiled. Her dream to market her lingerie designs had come in handy. She’d fabricated the spiel about her mother and conjured the poorly named siblings, but her plans for Lacey’s Little Underthings were genuine. Her new image would boost her confidence for her upcoming meeting with a group of trend-setting Seattle investors.
“I realized something fishy was going on about ten days ago,” she answered honestly. Her friend, Alicia—the hostess for the party—lived across the hall. Lately, whenever Alicia had dropped in for girl talk, her ancient dachshund in tow, several of Lacey’s lingerie samples had gone missing.
It had taken Lacey forever to solve the mystery. For a while, she’d remained convinced somebody was stealing her samples...until she’d discovered them stashed in the pile of discarded fabrics on which Spazz loved to nap. She’d donated the samples to Alicia—after a thorough washing. Spazz, much to his whining displeasure, was no longer permitted access to the tiny second bedroom Lacey used for her studio.
“Do you have any idea who the thief might be?” Derek asked as the traffic light turned green. The car motored down the street.
Derek. Lacey loved the sound of his name. With his muscular build, the intelligence Janie had remarked upon, and the sultry intensity Lacey had noticed when he’d looked up from his computer, they’d make beautiful babies together.
Her pulse tripped. Babies? Sure, she’d always wanted a family and a career, but it stood to reason that if she ever were to become pregnant, she’d better start dating again first.
“Miss DeMarco?” The detective slid over a concerned look.
“Call me Lacey.”
“Okay. Lacey, do you have any ideas?”
Did she ever! But all of them suddenly revolved around slipping i
nto her latest black lace Merry Widow design and dragging Derek the Dashing Detective to bed.
“Yes, there might be someone.” She pointed out the turn to her apartment complex. “My mother’s arch-rival, Sp—sorry, saying his name freaks me out. P-Pietro Spazzitori.”
One of Derek’s eyebrows lifted. Amazing. He could really do that. Like Dwayne Johnson, The Rock.
“Have you confronted Mr. Spazzitori?” Derek the Amazing asked.
Indeed. Hence the closed door to her studio.
“No.” She steeled her conscience against the additional lies. “He’s short but fierce. And he still hasn’t forgiven my mother for marrying into the DeMarco family dynasty instead of running off with him.”
“I see,” Derek said in a tone relaying that he didn’t see at all. He steered the car into the parking lot for Lacey’s building, one of three structures in the complex.
“Y-yes. They were lovers, but she gave him up for my father’s money and he’s been intent on revenge ever since.”
“Uh-huh.” Derek’s incredulous tone indicated her believability quotient was suffering.
“That’s my space.” She jabbed a finger toward the nearest empty parking spot. She hadn’t the foggiest to whom it belonged. “You can park there.”
Derek pulled the car into the space. Before the detective could change his mind about accompanying her, Lacey scrambled out of the car and hauled the strap of the shopping bag onto her shoulder.
Deceiving Derek Page 1
