by Sheryl Lynn
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Books by Sheryl Lynn
Title Page
Dedication
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Copyright
“We’re good together.”
He plunged his long fingers through her hair. “You know I’m right.”
His fingers slid from beneath her hair and trailed tenderly across her cheeks. Catherine’s belly ached in repressed arousal. Her chest ached with the depth of her emotions. Her eyes and throat ached from holding back tears. Intuition nagged her soul, telling her only Easy held the power to soothe those aches.
She lifted her chin. His mouth, so perfectly shaped and sensual, weakened her resolve.
“I can’t, Easy,” she said, pleading more with herself than with him.
“I need you.” His voice was husky with sincerity. “I’ll never stop wanting you. We belong together and you know it. And I won’t let you marry another man. You’re mine.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sheryl Lynn lives in a pine forest atop a hill in Colorado. When not writing, she amuses herself by embarrassing her two teenagers, walking her dogs in a nearby park and feeding peanuts to the dozens of Steller’s jays, scrub jays, blue jays and squirrels who live in her backyard. Her best ideas come from the newspapers, although she admits that a lot of what she reads is way too weird for fiction.
Books by Sheryl Lynn
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
190—DOUBLE VISION
223—DEADLY DEVOTION
258—SIMON SAYS
306—LADYKILLER
331—DARK KNIGHT
336—DARK STAR
367—THE OTHER LAURA
424—THE CASE OF THE VANISHED GROOM
425—THE CASE OF THE BAD LUCK FIANCE
Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3
Easy Loving
Sheryl Lynn
This is for John Hawk, wherever he may be.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Easy Martel—This private eye knows investigating a murder is way out of his league, but he also knows he’s the only man who can save Catherine’s life.
Catherine St. Clair—The shy book illustrator has finally gotten her life right where she wants it, until Easy Martel reappears from the past.
Jeffrey Livman—He’s the perfect man, smooth, educated, prosperous and sophisticated. There’s also a good chance his résumé includes murder.
John Tupper—He’ll go to any lengths to bring his sister’s killer to justice.
Trish Martel—Easy’s baby sister will do anything for her family, including tracking down a lost child.
Chapter One
While hurrying across the parking lot, Easy Martel spotted his sister emerging from her Mustang. He lifted his gaze to the heavens and whispered, “Yes.” Dumb luck, his favorite ally, came through for him again.
“Trish!” he shouted and waved her toward his Chevy. She said something to the man who accompanied her. Easy urged them both to hurry. He flung his equipment bag into the back seat of his car. He slid behind the steering wheel.
Trish opened the passenger door and peered suspiciously inside. “What—?”
“Get in, get in. Your timing is perfect. I need your help. Hurry.” He glanced at his watch and prayed the traffic lights were with him. “Come on, Trish! I’m running out of time.”
She told her friend to get in the back. She sat in the front passenger seat. Easy gunned the engine and squealed out of the parking lot.
“Are you crazy?” Trish fumbled with her seat belt. “Don’t bother answering. You are crazy. What are we doing?”
“Going to the airport.” He looked over his shoulder at the stranger. The man was around forty, slim, with thinning blond hair and bulging eyes. Not one of Trish’s boyfriends, Easy surmised. She had a weakness for the tall, dark and stupid type.
“Wait a minute! I’m not helping you.” Trish emphasized the words by clamping her arms over her bosom and jutting her chin. “The last time I helped, that guy sicced a dog on me and chased me with a pipe wrench. He almost killed me!”
Trish was thirteen months younger than he, but they looked so much alike with their dark hair and eyes, people often mistook them for twins. Like him, she had an adventurous streak seven miles wide. He flashed his most winning smile. “I promise, no dogs, no pipe wrenches. I need to shoot some video. My client tipped me off. She’s positive her husband is taking his girlfriend on a business trip.”
Trish pulled a face. “You are so sleazy!”
“Me? This dirtbag tells his wife that he has to go on an emergency trip. Ha! He set it up so she can’t interrupt his fun.” He met the stranger’s reflection in the rearview. “Hi, I’m Easy Martel, the sleazy private eye.”
The man used a handkerchief to mop at his brow. “Uh, John Tupper.” He nervously eyed the passing scenery while Easy raced down Fountain Boulevard.
Trish twisted on the seat. “John, this is my brother. Easy, John works with me at the insurance company. He’s an adjuster. I told him you can help him.”
The majority of Easy’s business dealt with insurance fraud. In the past six years he’d become an expert at ferreting out cheats who faked injuries or lied about stolen property. He kept his eyes on the road, alert for any lurking cops who might object to his speeding. “What you got?” He stomped on the gas to beat a yellow light. “Fake back injury? Phony burglary?”
Trish yelped and clutched the dashboard. “Slow down!”
He turned onto Powers and checked the time again. The dirtbag’s plane departed in thirty-nine minutes. Easy hoped to catch him playing preboarding kissy face with his honey. He goosed the speed up to sixty-five.
“Uh, actually, it’s personal, Mr. Martel,” John said. He held on to the back of Trish’s seat with both hands.
“Call me Easy, John. We’re all family here.”
Trish enjoyed tagging along when he needed an extra pair of hands, and she was as good, and sometimes better than him when it came to research. Some aspects of his job repelled her, though. A hopeless romantic when it came to family matters, she’d never recommend him for a child custody case or a cheating spouse.
“How personal are we talking?”
“His sister was murdered,” Trish said. “The police say it’s an accident, but it’s not.”
Easy changed lanes to pass a semi. To his left he noted an airliner banking for final approach toward the Colorado Springs airport. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, I don’t stick my nose in capital cases. Only TV private eyes get involved in murders.”
She huffed her exasperation. “You have to hear what’s going on. You can help him, Easy, I know you can. You have to.”
He reached the airport entrance in record time. Concentrating on driving, praying for a parking spot in the usually overcrowded lot, he waved his sister into silence. He’d been after this slimeball for two weeks. His client knew her husband was cheating. Wives always knew. She wanted proof, something to shove in his face, but
the dirtbag knew his wife knew and was being very careful. The spur-of-the-moment “business” trip proved it.
So as not to get hung up at the security checkpoint, he began emptying his pockets. He tossed coins, pens, a penlight, a Swiss Army knife, a pair of handcuffs, a ring of master keys and his cell phone on the floor at Trish’s feet. She grimaced at the clattering collection.
“If you don’t chase killers, why bother carrying handcuffs?”
“My girlfriends like them.”
Dumb luck stayed with him; he found a parking spot in the first row. He grabbed his equipment bag. “We can talk inside. Hurry!” He took off at a run for the terminal with John and Trish right on his heels. Inside, he tore up the escalator. He paused at a monitor displaying departure times to find the gate he needed.
“What are you going to do?” Trish demanded breathlessly.
“Put you in the movies.” He clapped a hand on John’s bony shoulder and shoved him closer to Trish. He approved of the man’s gray suit and her soft blue dress. Nice, but not too dressy. “You two make a great-looking couple.”
Cringing away from Trish, John tugged at his jacket. “Uh, I’m married.”
“It’s only acting.”
They met up with a crowd at the security checkpoint, but fortunately airport security hadn’t limited entry to ticket holders only. Easy anxiously checked his watch while Trish peeled off her oversize earrings, necklace and an armful of bracelets before she stopped setting off the metal detector alarms.
“You wear too much junk,” Easy grumbled.
“I didn’t ask for a trip to the airport.” She trotted to keep up while she worked the earrings back into her ear-lobes.
He strode down the terminal, unzipping the bag as he went. He pulled out the video camera and turned it on. He double-checked the battery and blew minuscule pieces of lint off the lens. Everything operated perfectly.
At the gate his luck continued. Seated side by side in the waiting area, Dirtbag and his honey held hands. Even better, they faced the broad bank of windows; sun glare wouldn’t interfere with the taping. Easy huddled with Trish and John.
“Make like honeymooners.” He handed John the equipment bag. “It’s the guy over there in the checked suit sitting with the brunette. Move behind them so I can get them in the picture.”
John slung the equipment bag over his shoulder. “We don’t have to go to court or anything, do we?”
“Nope. You’re just innocent passersby.”
Trish groaned. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Hey, when you get married and your old man cheats on you, you’ll thank me when I catch him.”
Trish stiffened, arching her brows. “Any man I marry will never cheat”
“That’s right, because then I’ll have to kill him. Go on. Ham it up. Make me believe you’re in love.”
The taping went as smooth as creamy peanut butter. He even captured the dirtbag grinning at Trish’s and John’s antics. The brunette leaned over to give Dirtbag a big smooch on the lips.
He kept videotaping while the adulterous pair boarded the plane. Chuckling, he turned off the camera. “Thanks, Trish, John. I love it when a plan comes together.” He patted the camera, knowing he’d earned yet another month’s payment on his motorcycle. “I owe you lunch.”
“You owe me a lot more than that.” Trish grabbed his arm and steered him into a small cafeteria. “You have to listen to John. It’s really important.”
Forcing a sober expression he turned to his sister’s friend. “I don’t have access to the forensic tools the cops have. Besides, interfering with police investigations is a good way to end up in prison. I’m sorry, man, but I’m the wrong guy for the job.”
Trish urged the men to sit at a small table. “Shut up and listen, Easy. It’s a lot more personal than you think. Remember Catherine St. Clair? She’s back in town.” She swished away to fetch coffee.
Easy gawked at his sister’s back. Catherine…his Catherine? Never Cat or Cathy or Cee-cee or Cate—Easy had nicknamed her Tinker Bell. Even after twelve years the sound of her name turned his insides hot and cold while an odd sensation ruffled below his diaphragm.
He knew she’d moved to Arizona. Years ago, he’d traced her address and phone number—he kept them locked away in a file cabinet. Sometimes the urge to call her or appear on her doorstep grew so strong it drove him a little bit crazy. Only the still-tender shreds of his broken heart kept him from following through.
Annoyed at the way old emotions sneaked up on him, Easy cleared his throat. “How do you know Catherine?”
“I don’t,” John said. “I know the man she’s dating. His name is Jeffrey Livman. He was my sister’s husband, the man she loved. He murdered her.” He smoothed a hand over the side of his fine hair and dragged in a long, shaky breath. His voice firmed up, seething with well-nourished rage. “Jeffrey didn’t wait a full month after Roberta died before he began dating Miss St. Clair.”
Trish returned with a red plastic tray holding three cups of coffee. “I freaked when John showed me the pictures he took of Catherine with Jeffrey. I haven’t seen her since high school when you guys broke up and she moved away.”
His Catherine…“You said the cops don’t think it’s murder. What am I supposed to do?”
“You better figure out something,” Trish said. “John and I are convinced Jeffrey is going to marry Catherine so he can murder her, too.”
“WILL YOU MARRY ME, Catherine?”
Catherine St. Clair nearly choked on a spoonful of raspberry sorbet. Momentarily frightened by the sensation of her throat filled with shards of crystalline ice, she swallowed hard and followed it with a gulp of water.
Jeffrey patted between her shoulder blades. “Did I startle you? I’m sorry.”
She dabbed at her lips with a napkin and cast him a look askance. “Don’t make jokes when I have my mouth full.”
“I’m serious. I love you and want you to be my wife. We’re the perfect couple, honey. Together we’ll conquer the world.”
She searched for any hint of laughter in his pale blue eyes. He was serious.
She shifted on the seat and glanced nervously around the restaurant. She and Jeffrey dined often at the Grape and Olive, and always took the back corner booth. The few other diners didn’t pay her and Jeffrey any attention. “I’m flattered, but we barely know each other.”
He shook a finger at her. “You said we were soul mates.”
“I meant because of the house.” Five months ago she’d hired Jeffrey, a real-estate broker, to help her find a house to buy. He’d found the perfect property for her—a charming raised rancher, with fixer-upper potential, on ten acres in Black Forest—as if he’d magically conjured her dream into reality. Since it had been a cash sale, she’d closed quickly on the deal. To celebrate, Jeffrey had taken her to dinner. They’d been dating ever since.
She admired his energy and assertiveness. He liked being in control of any situation. In small doses his domineering personality suited her, acting as a foil for her withdrawing nature. He loved the outdoors as much as she. He was brilliant when it came to finances, so she often sought his advice about investments. They had fun together.
But marriage?
“I love you, Catherine, truly, madly, deeply. And—” He reached inside his jacket and brought out a velvetcovered box. “I am more serious about you than I’ve ever been about anything, or anyone, in my entire life.” He opened the box. Jewels glittered in the candlelight.
An elaborate gold setting contained a large blue sapphire nestled inside a double circle of diamonds. Her breath caught in her throat. She clutched her hands into fists, wanting to touch the ring, but not daring.
“I had this custom-made to match your eyes.” He inched the box closer to her, urging her to touch it. “Please, darling, do me the honor of being my wife.”
Gus Neci, the restaurant owner, approached the corner booth. Catherine sat in stunned silence while Jeffrey leaned
forward, his handsome face alit with eager anticipation.
“Everything is well, yes?” Gus asked. He wheeled a small cart next to the table. Atop a white linen cloth, a silver ice bucket chilled a bottle of champagne. Two slender flutes gleamed in the candlelight. A bouquet of red roses, wrapped in silvery paper, rested next to the ice bucket.
Flustered, she shoved another spoonful of sorbet in her mouth. Jeffrey had obviously planned the proposal down to the smallest detail. Annoyance tightened her forehead and chest. He had no right to spring this kind of surprise on her. “Everything is fine, Gus, thank you.”
Neither man reacted to her icy tone. Jeffrey displayed the ring for Gus’s admiration. With a grand flourish, Gus presented Catherine with the roses. She forced herself to accept them. She managed a gracious smile, but inside she seethed. While Gus opened the champagne, she whispered, “I haven’t said yes, Jeffrey.”
“You can’t say no.” He pulled the ring from the box and reached for her left hand.
She twisted on the seat and fussed with the roses. Jeffrey managed to snag her pinkie finger. In the midst of the ridiculous tug-and-pull match that ensued, Gus set the champagne flutes on the table.
“A toast to the happy couple! May you live happily ever after.”
Catherine snatched her hand free. She struck a champagne flute and set it flying. She lifted a stricken gaze to the restaurant owner. “I’m so sorry!”
Gus snapped his fingers for the busboy. “You must be shivering with joy. Such a handsome couple you are. Both so blond and all-American. You are every person’s dream, yes?” He whipped a napkin from his back pocket and began mopping up the spilled champagne.
Jeffrey offered his champagne to her. “We’re like Romeo and Juliet.”
“They died,” she said darkly. Not only was Jeffrey the only friend she’d made since moving back to Colorado, he was the first man she’d met in years with whom she felt comfortable. If she refused to marry him, he might break off the relationship altogether.
