Whose Lie Is It Anyway?

by Abby Gaines

  “No need to apologize.” Holly’s ability to keep her voice so pleasant while her eyes hardened to slate would have terrified a lesser man. “You said what you meant. I appreciate honesty, as you know.”

  “That’s not what I meant at all.”

  “You mean, you do want to sleep with me?”

  If someone could just hand him a shovel, maybe he’d dig this hole even deeper. “I’ve never thought about it.” But now that she mentioned it, he was shocked at the pictures that flashed through his mind. He stared at her, aghast.

  “Good,” she said calmly. “And don’t start thinking about it, either. Because I meant it when I said I don’t want to sleep with you.”

  He snickered, and she gave a little exclamation of outrage. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?” she demanded.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” No way did he believe the awareness between them was all on his side. He’d seen her stiffen at his touch, seen the flare of panicked excitement in her eyes. He knew the response of her mouth to his.

  “You’re despicable.”

  Holly getting all hot under the collar was a sight a man just had to take a moment to enjoy. Not that her green top had a collar—the heaving of her bosom was all too visible. Jared folded his arms and smirked, which enraged her all the more, as he knew it would. Her eyes sparked and her luscious mouth quivered with fury.

  “I believed you when you said you didn’t want to sleep with me,” she sputtered.

  “I lied.”

  “Well, I didn’t.” And when he laughed she added, “You know I don’t lie.”

  “True,” he said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t lie intentionally. But if you didn’t know you wanted to sleep with me…” He advanced on her, and she backed away in alarm.

  Until she reached the stove and could back no farther.

  “You really should make an informed decision,” he said smoothly, imprisoning her against the stove with one hand on either side of her.

  “Don’t you dare.” A stupid thing to say to a man who relished doing what he was told not to. All Holly had to do was to turn her head away, to get her mouth out of his path…. But for the life of her she couldn’t.

  She knew he was a good kisser, but she hadn’t expected the scorching pressure of his lips to part her own without even a second’s consideration. This was no experimental kiss, this was full-on making out. At the first thrust of his tongue, something inside her melted into heated liquid. She gasped, and the hands she’d put up to ward him off clutched his shoulders in the interests of keeping her on her feet.

  Then Jared’s hands moved to the bare skin of Holly’s waist and his touch made her jerk, the movement bringing her right up against the solid wall of his chest.

  His low growl told her just how much he liked having her there and he deepened the kiss, sending impulses out to every nerve ending until she tingled all over. He cupped her bottom with one hand, pulling her against his hardness, reminding her of the question that had started this kiss.

  Holly tore her mouth from his, gave him a shove that, catching him unawares, sent him backward a pace or two.

  “No,” she almost shouted. “I do not want to sleep with you.”

  The heat in his eyes turned from passion to anger, and for a moment she feared—hoped?—he would take her in his arms again and make her retract the words.

  Instead he laughed softly. “Liar.” Nonchalant, he picked up a mug of coffee, then left the kitchen.

  KISSING HOLLY AGAIN had been a big mistake, Jared told himself as he forced his tread on the stairs into a measured pace, rather than the full-scale retreat he felt like making.

  He headed into the office and sat down, planning to be immersed in his work before Holly got there.

  Jared wasn’t sure exactly how today’s kiss had ended up having such a powerful effect on him. Especially right after his mother had been singing Holly’s praises. That ought to have been a turn-off. He cursed as he burned his mouth on the hot coffee, and put the cup down on the desk. He felt dazed, certain of nothing except that he could’ve gone a lot further a couple of minutes ago. In his parents’ kitchen!

  It wouldn’t happen again. He didn’t doubt his own ability to pull back. He never had any trouble resisting a woman who wasn’t suitable, no matter how attractive she was. But there was no conceit in acknowledging to himself that the strength of Holly’s response meant she’d enjoyed the kiss. A lot. And if she’d enjoyed it, she would want to do it again. Women always did, in Jared’s experience.

  Normally that was a good thing, but in this case it would be bad. For both of them. Maybe he needed to behave even worse toward her—be ruder, harsher. But Holly was such an ornery creature, it was hard to predict which way she’d…

  Hold it.

  As with all his best ideas, the solution was brilliant in its simplicity.

  All Jared had to do was to convince Holly he was desperate for her, and she’d run a mile.

  HOLLY SAT OUT in the yard with her coffee, determined not to go upstairs until she was good and ready. She knew why he’d done it. Because she’d told him not to. Why else would a reputed playboy like Jared, who could get any woman he wanted, kiss her?

  Okay, maybe there was one other reason. She was the only woman, apart from his mother, within kissing distance, and he doubtless had withdrawal symptoms from his active social life. But the main reason was, she’d told him not to.

  Which meant he would do it again.

  She’d done herself a disservice by telling him she still didn’t want him after that kiss, that mind-blowing kiss. He’d be all over her from now on, unsettling her, touching her with those casual but unmistakably intentional caresses, stealing kisses….

  Holly shifted on the hard discomfort of the wrought-iron love seat that overlooked Edward’s rose garden. She fanned her face with her hands, consumed by a heat that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun beating down on her. What kind of jerk forced himself on a woman who told him she didn’t want him, anyway? Wouldn’t you think—?

  “Aha!”

  Edward lifted his head from the vegetable patch he was weeding at the side of the house. She waved and he turned back to his work, letting her nurse her brilliant idea in solitude.

  It was so obvious and so right. If Jared had kissed her because she’d told him not to, all she had to do was to pretend she wanted him, and she’d take all the fun out of it for him. And voilà. End of unwelcome attention.

  Briefly, Holly considered the possibility that Jared might want a dalliance with her, and that if she appeared willing she might land herself in more trouble. She dismissed the thought. He might be unethical, impulsive and arrogant, but Jared was a professional, and he really did want to focus on this deal they were working on. And he’d been telling the truth when he said Holly wasn’t his type. He’d be relieved not to have to prove her attraction to him.

  THE DUTY OFFICER at the FBI’s Seattle field office phoned through to Crook just before three on Tuesday afternoon.

  “There’s a Maggie Stephens here to see you.”

  Simon’s heart actually kicked in his chest.

  He put a hand to it, then, catching Slater’s curious glance, made a show of straightening his tie.

  She was probably here to lay a complaint against him. Or to spin some story that would get him off her daughter’s trail.

  But he couldn’t imagine Maggie in the sterile environment of one of the FBI rooms, so he picked up his wallet and went to meet her.

  She was standing up against the chair that he knew the duty officer would have invited her to sit in, way out of her comfort zone. Her eyes lit when she saw him.

  “Hello…Bert.”

  By now he’d figured out the rules of Maggie’s name game. She always started off with a name she somehow knew he hated, like Bert or Eugene. Then she’d work her way through a few okay-but-no-thanks offerings—maybe Raymond or Lewis. Then just when he was about to give up, she’d throw him a crumb
of cool. Ethan or Joseph or Brad. Just enough to make him feel there were…possibilities. That she saw him as a man.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am.” He addressed her formally, in the hope it would discourage her from playing her game in this public environment.

  “Can we talk, Ralph?”

  Crook felt the quizzical glance of the duty officer boring into his shoulder blades. The urge to get away from the office intensified. “Let’s grab a coffee.”

  When they were out on Third Avenue she said, “I don’t drink coffee, but I know a place that does good tea.”

  He walked alongside her, neither of them talking for several blocks, until Maggie turned into an alleyway between two buildings. A green awning gave the only indication that a café lurked down there.

  The Aromatic Leaf Tea House wasn’t a place Simon had been before. The clientele were more student and arty than professional. But he accepted Maggie’s recommendation that he share a pot of ginger tea with her.

  “You in Seattle for long?” he asked to relieve the awkward silence that fell after they’d ordered.

  “I just arrived,” she said, “and I’m going back tomorrow. A friend offered me a ride.”

  “A friend?” He feigned casualness.

  She grinned. “A girlfriend who’s kind enough to travel off-interstate. She invited me to drive up with her so I could visit Holly.”

  “But Holly’s out of town.”

  She gave him a slow smile. “I know.”

  “Then why—? Oh.” Puzzlement gave way to surprise, then pleasure, which Crook suspected translated to a goofy grin plastered all over his face. When she nodded confirmation that he’d read her correctly, Crook gulped. What did she want from him? She couldn’t possibly be interested in him that way.

  Just like he couldn’t possibly be interested in her that way. Not when he was investigating her daughter. Of course, if Maggie did want to spend time with him…Crook’s boss would kill him if he didn’t take advantage of that.

  “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MAGGIE FIGURED CROOK had justified inviting her to dinner on the basis it was work. In his mind, it probably didn’t count.

  That wasn’t good enough. She’d put herself on the line coming to Seattle just to see him. She could understand Crook’s hesitation, but it was time he admitted this was personal.

  “You know, James,” she said, “it’s been a long time since I dated. How about you?”

  His mouth curved into a reluctant, lopsided smile. “I haven’t dated in ten years,” he said. “I mean, I’ve tried, but I’m not good at it.”

  “And you’re not about to start now?”

  He nodded and his shoulders relaxed. But Maggie wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

  “You can call this dinner what you like,” she said. “But I’m calling it a date. Even though—” she voiced the thought for both of them “—it seems unlikely that you and I have much in common.”

  He tightened his grip on the fine china teacup, and his words came out tight with frustration. “But I can’t help liking you.”

  The simple statement resonated in a place long since shut up inside her, and Maggie’s next words caught in her throat.

  Like Crook, she’d tried to date over the years. But the men who asked her out were either attracted to her figure and saw overlooking her peculiarities as the price to pay for a bedroom romp, or else they were activists who thought casual sex a sign of political unity. She didn’t meet men who just liked her.

  “I smoked a joint on the drive up here,” she confessed.

  That wiped the smile off his face. “You what?”

  “I don’t do it often these days. But I was nervous, and my friend offered me one and I accepted.”

  “Did you have any of that stuff on you when you were in my car?” He sounded faint.

  “No.”

  Crook ran a hand over his face. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I want you to know I’m being honest with you,” Maggie said. “I like this…thing, this game we have between us, but when it comes to something serious, I’ll be honest with you.”

  “Is this about Holly?” he demanded. “Is she why you came to see me?”

  “I wanted to see you,” she said. “That’s separate from Holly. But now I’m here, I need to talk about her.”

  “Then talk.”

  One thing about Crook, he genuinely did listen to her. Which meant he was Maggie’s best shot at helping her daughter. “I don’t have any proof Holly didn’t do it,” she said. “And I’ll bet every mother tells you her kid is innocent.”

  “Most of them,” he agreed.

  “But you need to understand how deeply ingrained Holly’s honesty is. I swear, she hasn’t had so much as a parking ticket her whole life. She thinks overstaying on a parking meter is stealing. There’s no way she would steal from people who trust her.”

  Crook knew Maggie believed what she was telling him. He was inclined to believe it himself. But on what basis? That every time her lips moved he thought about kissing them? That he wanted her to stop talking about Holly and start flirting with him again? “Let’s assume you’re right,” he said. “But even the most honest person in the world will steal if she’s pushed hard enough, just like a mother might murder to save her child. It all depends what’s at stake, what matters most.”

  “That proves my point,” Maggie said. “Holly’s good name means everything to her. She would never risk that. I know you can’t drop the charges because I think my daughter’s innocent, but please, Crook, don’t assume she’s guilty.”

  “I wouldn’t…” he began, then stopped. He had assumed just that when he’d first met Holly.

  “What do your instincts tell you?” Maggie demanded.

  Crook flinched. “I don’t work on instinct. I work on evidence.”

  “You don’t have enough evidence to convict Holly.”

  “We don’t have any evidence against anyone else.”

  “Then find it,” Maggie snapped. “Can’t you find this Dave Fletcher? Holly says you’re not even looking for him.”

  “Actually, we are,” Crook said. “But that’s none of Holly’s business.”

  Maggie nodded. “That’s a start. Thank you.”

  “I’m not doing it for you.” Though the truth was, since he’d stayed at Maggie’s place he’d been hounding Slater to hurry up and find Fletcher. “Maggie,” he said, “I accept what you’ve told me about your daughter—that character stuff really is helpful. Believe me, it will have some bearing on my investigation.” If he stayed on it. Maybe he should just enjoy his dinner date with Maggie and tell Pierce he wanted off the case.

  She relaxed for the first time since they’d started talking about Holly. “Okay, subject closed,” she said. “Now you get to tell me more about you.”

  The lightning-quick change of topic caught him off guard. “What do you want to know?”

  “First up, are you married?” Maggie almost laughed out loud at the look on Crook’s face. She hadn’t for a moment thought he was married. He had a certain stiff-necked honor that indicated he wasn’t the adulterous kind. But it always paid to ask.

  “Sally, my wife, died ten years ago,” he said. “She got skin cancer. She had one of those moles.”

  “A melanoma.”

  “Yeah. On the back of her neck. She wore her hair loose, so I didn’t notice it until it was about the size of a quarter.”

  “Couldn’t they cut it out?”

  “They did, but the cancer had already spread. Sally had all the treatment, everything they could offer, no matter how bad it made her feel.” Simon shook his head. “I was so sure she’d be all right. I promised her it would be okay.”

  His arrogance at the time seemed breathtaking. Had he thought he was God, that he could promise his wife a cure for cancer?

  No, not God. But he’d assumed the instincts he relied on every day in the field somehow applie
d in the realm of medicine. He’d been as certain of Sally’s survival as he’d ever been of anything. As certain as he was of his attraction to the totally unsuitable woman sitting opposite him now.

  “You had a good marriage,” Maggie said.

  “Sally was the best,” he said quietly. “I’m lucky we had the time we did.”

  “She was lucky, too. No wonder you haven’t dated much. Your marriage sounds like a hard act to follow.”

  “I loved being married, and when Sally died I thought I’d want to marry again eventually,” Simon said. “I still miss her, but that’s not what’s stopped me finding someone else. It just isn’t that easy.”

  “I don’t want to get married again,” Maggie told him. “I need you to know where I’m coming from.”

  He nodded. “So, dinner tonight?”

  “Sure.” Maggie kept her agreement casual, but the stirring inside her was a far more serious matter. She cast around for another topic of conversation, something less personal. “How long have you worked for the FBI?”

  “Nearly twenty-five years. I retire in a couple of months.”

  “Retire? Aren’t you too young for that?”

  “I’m fifty,” he said. “The Bureau has mandatory retirement at fifty-seven, but I qualify for my pension now, so I thought I’d go early…. I haven’t enjoyed my job much the past few years.”

  “But what will you do?”

  Even as he told her, he wished he’d planned some thing more exciting for the rest of his life. Something that would intrigue a woman like Maggie.

  “I put a down payment on a condo in Florida. My brother and his wife live there. We’re close and…I’d like to be near them.”

  “You’re too young to move to Florida,” she protested.

  Maggie Stephens, Crook figured, would be too young for Florida when she was ninety. “It has a great climate,” he mumbled, unable to argue with her. Unable, almost, to remember why he’d ever wanted to go to Florida in the first place.