Whose Lie Is It Anyway?

by Abby Gaines

  “So you’ll, what, sit by the pool all day? Play golf?”

  “You make it sound like a death sentence. I see it as a new beginning.”

  “The beginning of the end.”

  “No. I want something different from life, Maggie. I haven’t met anyone I want to marry, but I want to be near people I love. That makes it Florida or Florida. And though I won’t be working, I intend to be busy. I’m going back to college to study photography.”

  “Photography?” She smiled, and he felt he’d redeemed himself. “That’s like art.”

  “Not the stuff I want to do,” he said. “I’m thinking technical photography—the kind of thing we use in law enforcement. Crime scene pictures, photos of fire damage…” His cell phone rang and he answered it.

  “Hello, Slater.”

  Slater was the younger agent who had also visited her. Crook cursed under his breath, and she looked sharply at him—he wasn’t the cursing type. Maggie waited, a chill seeping through her bones.

  He switched the phone off. “There’s been a development in Holly’s case.”

  She knew better than to ask him for privileged information. “Will you go see her?”

  Crook nodded. “I’ll drive out to Kechowa.” He paused. “Maggie, I’d better take a rain check on dinner.”

  That’s when she knew the news was really bad.

  HOLLY DIDN’T LOOK UP when Jared arrived in their makeshift office on Wednesday morning, the day after he’d kissed her so thoroughly in the kitchen. Happy not to make small talk, Jared immersed himself in his work.

  “Um…Jared?” she said a few minutes later.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She gave him a brilliant smile and leaned across the desk to pass him a spreadsheet.

  He caught a glimpse of the creamy swell of a breast edged with hot-pink lace beneath her shirt and averted his eyes, trying not to recall the exact details of that particular item of lingerie.

  He sat back in his chair, forcing his gaze up to her face, but carefully avoiding her lips. “Did you have a question?” he asked, suddenly dry-mouthed.

  “The figure I’ve circled, what does it refer to?”

  He scanned the page. “It’s…uh…”

  “Shall I show you which one I mean?” She leaned across the desk again.

  “No,” he snapped. Should he point out she’d left too many buttons undone on that blouse? He decided against it. She’d probably accuse him of sexual harassment. “I’ve found it.”

  He gave her the answer she needed, only to find she had another question. And when he handed the spreadsheet back to her, she walked around and perched on his side of the desk to ask something else. For a second, he entertained the crazy notion that she was coming on to him, sitting here like this with her short navy-blue skirt riding up her thighs so that if he reached out, like so…

  Just in time, he pulled his hand back. He shoved his chair away from the desk, putting a good three feet between them. “I’ll go make us coffee,” he said, and bolted from the room.

  In the kitchen, he almost convinced himself that anything provocative was the product of his imagination. On the other hand, what if his theory had been right? That now she’d had a taste of him she wanted more? Jared was taken aback to think that Holly was just like other women. But if he was right, now was the perfect time to put his plan into action—to scare her off with his attentions. Yet he was strangely reluctant to take that step.

  Thankfully, when he arrived upstairs with two mugs of coffee, Holly was back on her side of the desk. He deposited his cup, then handed hers over.

  “Thanks.” As she took it from him, her fingers brushed his, quite deliberately, he was sure. He couldn’t let go of the mug fast enough, and slopped hot coffee over his thumb for the second time in two days.

  He didn’t make a sound, but she must have seen him wince.

  “Are you okay?” Holly put her cup on the desk and grabbed his hand. She pulled a tissue from the box in front of her and wiped Jared’s thumb. He gritted his teeth and waited for her to finish. Willed his body not to respond to her touch, to her worried, soothing noises.

  But he hadn’t prepared himself for her to lift his hand to her mouth and plant a gentle kiss on his thumb. He gave a strangled sound and tried, not very hard, to pull away.

  “Just making it better,” she said softly and, as if to prove her point, did it again. For a moment he couldn’t remember any injury. He certainly felt no pain, though he didn’t recall any of his mother’s kisses having such a powerful analgesic effect during his childhood.

  Just as he was about to tell her he was fine and retrieve his hand, she nipped the pad of his thumb between her teeth, and desire swept through him like a brushfire, burning reason in its path. She’d asked for it.

  He hauled her closer and joined his lips to hers with a ferocity designed to terrify her.

  Holly’s abandon was even greater than yesterday’s, as she welcomed his entry into her mouth, burying her fingers in his hair to pull him closer, her body straining against him.

  Her seductive warmth enveloped him, and he wanted more. He tugged her shirt out of her waistband and with his fingers traced circles on the bare, satin skin of her back, eliciting a shuddery groan from her.

  He’d never felt anything like it.

  His hand moved for the clasp of her bra. He fiddled with it, for once in his life too crazed to manage it easily. She whimpered with impatience, and the sound brought Jared back to reality.

  He pushed her away—the movement too abrupt for courtesy or dignity—and moved across the room. “Yesterday you said you didn’t want to do that.” His voice croaked as he ran a hand through his hair, disheveled by her hands.

  “You said I was lying.” Her face was aflame as she tucked her shirt in.

  “We can’t do this, Holly.” Jared paced the office to avoid meeting her eyes. Boy, had he read her wrong on this one. He had to douse this right now. “You were right, this is business, and there are some things you don’t mix with business. Just because there’s an attraction, we don’t need to act on it. We can be sensible about this.” Was this him talking? Jared Seize-the-Day Harding?

  “If that’s what you want,” she said with a meekness that might have made him suspicious if he hadn’t still been trying to clear his head.

  “Definitely,” he said. “Are we agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  He thought about shaking her hand to seal the deal, but that might be asking for trouble. He’d achieved what he wanted, even if it hadn’t exactly gone down the way he’d planned. Jared nodded curtly, let out a long breath and sat at his computer.

  Holly did the same, but she stared unseeing at her screen. She felt as if she’d played with fire and narrowly escaped an inferno. Right up until he’d taken her in his arms, she’d been in control. But when his lips claimed hers, she’d lost all memory of why she was doing this and given herself up to the longing that engulfed her.

  Of course, she would have pulled back in the end. Just like yesterday.

  Oh, yeah? When, exactly? She shook off the thought. It didn’t matter now. While she wasn’t usually an advocate of the end justifying the means—that was more Jared’s philosophy—she’d succeeded in terrifying him into a professional relationship. Round One to her.

  Safe on her side of the desk, she allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SOUND OF A CAR pulling into the Hardings’ driveway on Friday morning was so unusual that both Jared and Holly glanced out the window. Holly groaned at the sight of the man scrambling out of a middle-aged Ford Mustang.

  Jared pulled the reports that had arrived by overnight courier from the Harding Corporation office into an almost orderly pile. “Looks like your friend from the FBI.”

  “Maybe it’s good news,” Holly said hopefully as they walked down the stairs. “Maybe they’ve found the money.”

  Beth had admitted Special Agent Crook, now wai
ting for them in the hallway below. He must have heard that comment, because he rolled his eyes in that annoying way he had, as if Holly might have said it just for his benefit.

  She introduced Crook to Jared, who guided them into the dining room.

  “There’s no need for you to stay, Mr. Harding,” Crook said as he sat.

  “No problem,” Jared returned pleasantly. “Holly would like me here.”

  At the agent’s questioning glance, she nodded. “Did you find Dave?” Holly asked.

  “It would appear that way.”

  The answer was too obscure for Holly, but Jared picked up on the agent’s implication right away. “Fletcher’s dead.”

  When Crook nodded, Holly made a strangled protest.

  “The car Fletcher rented in Mexico was found burned out on the edge of the jungle. The Mexican police found his wallet under the driver’s seat…and human remains in the back of the car.”

  Jared frowned. “Why in the back?”

  “He may have been killed elsewhere and driven to the site where the car was set alight.”

  Holly found her voice. “Why would someone kill Dave? Do you think he had the money on him?”

  Crook shook his head. “Unlikely.” He straightened in his chair and looked Holly in the eye. “Ms. Stephens, where were you on the weekend of August seventh and eighth?”

  That was almost two weeks ago. Jared had kissed her that Friday evening, and she’d forbidden him to come back until Sunday night.

  Jared spoke first. “She was in the apartment next to mine all weekend. We were working on a major deal.”

  He hadn’t exactly lied, but he was implying he’d been there with her. Crook, however, was alert to any evasion. “Did you actually see Ms. Stephens over the course of the weekend, sir?”

  Jared scowled. “No.”

  Holly wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that he’d told the truth. “I was there all weekend,” she said. “I certainly wasn’t in Mexico. You’ll know that if you talk to Immigration or the airlines.”

  Crook sighed with what almost seemed genuine regret. “It’s not that simple. If you’re planning to kill a guy, you’re not going to fly under your own name. As I’m sure you know, the border with Mexico is rife with illicit traffic.”

  “What makes you think Holly was involved?” Jared demanded. “Fletcher could have been in any kind of trouble. We still don’t know why he took the money.”

  Holly decided now wasn’t a good time to suggest Dave might be innocent. Besides, she hadn’t believed it herself for some time.

  For once, Crook didn’t insist that Holly had taken the money. No, it was far worse than that. “Fletcher was staying in a village nearby. He spent some time in the local bar. Witnesses say he had a loud argument about money with a woman who arrived to see him.” Crook fixed an unblinking stare on Holly. “A woman whose description matches yours.”

  There was a minute’s silence while Holly and Jared digested the information. Crook didn’t seem in any hurry to break it.

  “No one saw me that weekend,” Holly finally said. “I didn’t leave the apartment. I didn’t make any phone calls.” How she wished now she hadn’t refused to meet with Jared all weekend.

  “You don’t have any evidence linking Holly to Fletcher’s death,” Jared said.

  “Not beyond the assertion of witnesses that Fletcher argued with a woman who looks like Ms. Stephens,” Crook agreed. “But that’s enough for me to take her into custody for questioning. We could keep her in a cell for a couple of days while we find that evidence. If it exists.”

  Only that last qualifier kept Holly from moaning. It didn’t sound as if Crook was convinced she was guilty.

  “Let me tell you the theory my colleague, Agent Slater, has,” Crook said conversationally. “Slater has great instincts—he’s usually right.”

  Jared’s eyes narrowed. “Go ahead.”

  The two men spoke as if Holly wasn’t there.

  “Slater reckons Fletcher and Ms. Stephens were in on this together. Fletcher took the money and got out to Mexico. Ms. Stephens planned to follow him there. But Fletcher double-crossed her, tipping off the FBI about the theft. If we hadn’t had that mystery call, it might not have been discovered for weeks, giving them plenty of time to set up a new life in the Bahamas or wherever.”

  Crook sat back, his finger splayed on the table. “When she realized what Fletcher had done, she knew it was too risky to run. She stayed put and hoped a lack of evidence meant she wouldn’t be convicted. But she had to deal with Fletcher and secure the money. So she flew down to Mexico on a fake passport, met up with Fletcher and killed him. Probably shot him—”

  “I don’t know how to use a gun,” Holly protested.

  “—then she drove into the jungle, torched the car and flew home, ready to start work on Monday.”

  “Sunday night. Jared and I met on Sunday night… Not that I flew back in from Mexico,” she added hastily.

  “Gee, and I thought that was a confession,” Crook said.

  “What do you think of your colleague’s theory?” Jared asked.

  Crook rubbed his chin. “Slater does have a talent for understanding the devious criminal mind, and he’s not often wrong. But on balance, I think he’s wrong this time.”

  “Why?” Holly asked.

  Jared groaned. “Don’t push your luck, Holly.”

  “Some people don’t have it in them to commit a crime,” Crook said. “You’re lucky to have a very convincing character witness.”

  “I am?” Holly had no clue whom he meant.

  Crook looked annoyed. “Your mother.”

  Mom! Holly’s jaw dropped and she quickly shut her mouth. Jared had been right about there being something personal between Mom and the FBI agent.

  “Who would know Holly better than her own mother?” Jared said smoothly.

  “I’m not saying you didn’t do it,” Crook warned her. “I’m saying the evidence to date doesn’t convince me that you did. You don’t have an alibi for that weekend, and we’ll be searching for more evidence. Chances are I’ll be back with more questions.”

  “But for now, you’re finished,” Jared suggested helpfully.

  Crook’s glare was baleful. “For now.”

  The FBI agent saw himself out. When he’d gone, Holly buried her face in her hands. Jared’s fingers found the nape of her neck beneath her hair, rubbed it in a way that was reassuring, soothing rather than erotic.

  The door from the kitchen opened and Beth entered the dining room bearing a tray of cookies and coffee. She looked around, bewildered. “Has your guest left already?”

  Beth was too polite to ask why the FBI had visited her house, Holly knew. But she felt bad hiding the truth from Jared’s parents when her problems had encroached upon their peaceful home. “He decided not to arrest me for murder, I guess,” she said with a shaky laugh.

  She felt Jared start next to her. “Arrest you?” Beth said. “Goodness, dear, why would he do that?”

  “Um…I should warn you, Beth, he may be coming back. So I’ll understand if you don’t want me here, if you’re worried I might give you and Edward a bad name.”

  Edward appeared in the doorway, stripping off his gardening gloves. “Do I smell coffee? And what’s this about a bad name?”

  Holly turned to Jared. “I’d better tell them the whole story.”

  Jared shut his eyes, gave her a do-what-you-want wave, knowing nothing he said would make any difference. Knowing his mother would not doubt Holly’s innocence for a moment. Knowing that, in Mom’s eyes, she would attain martyr status, and Mom would love her all the more for it.

  Holly talked at length about what had happened, her words punctuated with cries from Beth and the occasional grunt from Edward. When she’d finished, she sat back and waited.

  “My dear.” When Beth reached across the table and took Holly’s hand in both her own, Jared knew he’d guessed right. “That’s simply awful. You must stay he
re as long as you need to—mustn’t she, Edward?”

  Jared leaned back, arms folded, and waited for his father to pour cold water on Mom’s excessive offer. Dad would hate it if word got around they were harboring a suspected fraudster, let alone a murderer. Jared didn’t want Holly’s feelings hurt, but it was time someone calmed Mom down. He looked to his father expectantly.

  “Quite right,” Edward said. He cleared his throat and added gruffly, “And if they want to arrest anyone, well, they’ll have to get past me first.”

  Jared groaned. His parents and Holly ignored him as hugs were exchanged, tears wiped, noses blown.

  BACK UPSTAIRS in the office, Jared perched on the edge of the desk and pulled out his cell phone. “With Dave dead, I might as well call off Colonel Briggs.”

  “Who?”

  “The private investigator I’ve had looking for Fletcher.”

  “You’ve had a— Why?” Holly sat forward in her seat and shot him an accusing look.

  “Let’s just say I didn’t have a lot of faith in the FBI’s ability to look farther than the end of its nose.”

  “But the FBI found him,” Holly pointed out.

  “Yeah, well, even they get lucky sometimes.” Jared turned away and dialed the number before she could castigate him for hiring a detective without consulting her.

  “M’boy.” The Colonel had obviously recognized Jared’s number. “I was just about to call you myself. Great minds, et cetera.”

  “Thanks, Colonel, but your services are no longer required. Dave Fletcher’s turned up dead.”

  “Dead?” For the first time in Jared’s memory, the Colonel sounded flummoxed. “He looks perfectly healthy from where I’m standing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your man Fletcher is sitting not fifty feet away from me. Unless dead men drink coffee, he’s very much alive.”

  “Are you certain?” Jared struggled to regroup.

  “Absolutely. He’s calling himself David Jenkins and he’s got gray hair and a mustache, but there’s no doubt it’s your man.”