Wicked Women Whodunit

by Davidson, MaryJanice

  She said nothing, only lifted an eyebrow. Inside, she bubbled with anger.

  “And while you have him naked and happy, you’re going to find out some information for me.”

  Years of karate had taught her self-control, but Fred was testing her resistance to creating a public scene by smacking him. “Am I?”

  “You are. Or after I send this e-mail to all the newspapers, I’ll send it on to the licensing board for Marriage and Family Therapists, and they’ll have some serious questions about your ethics in trying to destroy a public figure you’ve never even met.”

  He thought he could blackmail her. Right now, she was damned glad she’d never told Fred that she had indeed met Ark once. “Keep going.”

  Fred nodded, apparently convinced he had her where he wanted her. “Here’s the deal. You know I did that series of articles on Exclusive Sex Revives Dying Town. I heard some rumors tying Ark Underwood to those places, but I haven’t been able to get any hard evidence. Now my source that helped me with those articles has evidence.”

  Annoyed at her stab of disappointment in Ark, she shoved that away and focused. Fred was going to try and use her to destroy Ark Underwood. She needed to know how and then find a way to stop him. “And?”

  “The evidence is some pictures of Ark naked as the day he was born and engaged in some wild sex with several women at once. This source is blackmailing Ark for money or the source will release the pictures to the mainstream media.” Fred stopped talking and took a long drink of his beer.

  Tess fought to hold her temper. Being a public figure sometimes had to suck big-time. Whatever Ark did sexually wasn’t anyone else’s business as long as he wasn’t hurting anyone. She winced, though, when she remembered the things she’d put in that e-mail. Erectile dysfunction, needing variety to get it up, even sexual devices ... and calling Ark shallow.

  She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. One stupid e-mail she’d written as sort of a joke, as a way to help her let the fantasy of Ark go, and look at what her actions had done. Fred had set up this whole weekend to blackmail Tess into destroying Ark. His blue eyes shined with passionate ambition. How had she missed it? She was a trained therapist, but she had ignored her own instincts. In a flat voice, Tess said, “You think Ark Underwood is your ticket from tabloid reporter to an entertainment journalist spot on TV, don’t you?”

  Fred leaned forward. “You bet your ass. First the talk show circuit, then an offer ... but first, you have to get Ark on tape talking about the pictures of him having sex with multiple women at once, and his need for orgies and sex toys. I have a little recording device in a hairpin that you can—”

  She hit her limit. So much angry adrenaline poured into her bloodstream that her arms and legs trembled as she stood up. Even her voice shook as she glared at Fred and said, “No. Go ahead and do your best to destroy my career. But I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure the media knows that e-mail is a hoax.”

  “You’ll ruin yourself if you do!”

  She looked down at the worm and hated herself for having done the very thing she often saw her patients do—she’d convinced herself that Fred’s ambition was healthy. But his interest in her opinions hadn’t been personal; it had been professional. He’d used her from the first, and she had refused to see that. So he would think she’d put her career over her ethics. She set him straight. “I’d destroy myself if I didn’t.” In a blind rage, she turned to leave and slammed into another man. Tess looked up and damn near choked.

  Ark Underwood. Could this get any worse?

  He reached out, curling his large hands around her upper arms to steady her. “Hey, sugar, you okay?”

  “Uhh ...” Tess couldn’t get her brain to work. It was his hazel eyes fixed on her with concern. And his hands on her bare skin. And—God he was a hunk. He even smelled hunky, all leather and spice. Ark Underwood in person looked like ... sex. What was wrong with her? Tess forced herself to step back. “I’m fine. And very sorry for running into you.” Not. Not a bit sorry. She kind of wished she’d plowed him down to the ground and landed on top of him.

  It was her anger. She’d let her emotions get out of control, and now she was thinking of sexually assaulting Ark Underwood.

  Tess reached out for her brimming iced tea and took a drink.

  “No problem,” Ark grinned down at her. “Run into me anytime you like.”

  Dear God, could he be flirting with her? Tess opened her mouth and prayed for a clever answer when Fred jumped up out of his chair and used his shoulder to get in front of her.

  Tess’s iced tea sloshed over her fingers as she reached out to the table with her other hand to steady herself.

  “Ark Underwood!” Fred said in a booming voice. “What’s your comment about the rumor that there are pictures of you engaged in orgies? Will you pay blackmail money to keep the pictures out of the mainstream media?”

  “Fred!” Tess yelled at him. “Stop it!”

  Then she saw over Fred’s shoulder that he held up his cell phone camera to get a picture of Ark. She lifted her gaze to Ark’s face.

  Boredom was stamped over his hard-cut features. The shallow cleft in his chin went flat with disinterest. His hazel eyes shadowed. “Get lost.”

  “Fred, please!” Tess took her hand off the table to tug on his arm.

  Fred shoved her back, then reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “And this e-mail is from a therapist who claims you have a whole list of issues. Is that why you go to sex shops? You can’t get it up without help? You have mommy issues?” He held up the paper with one hand and snapped a picture of Ark looking at it with the other.

  Tess saw it all through a thickening haze of red fog. Everything slowed into underwater motion. There was a buzzing in her ears that fed her rage.

  Fred was using her e-mail to destroy Ark. He couldn’t get legitimate facts on the NASCAR star, so he was twisting her e-mail to get the story. The story Fred thought would propel him into television journalism. She had to stop him. Now.

  “No comment,” Ark said as if Fred had asked him about the weather.

  Fred didn’t even flinch. “What about the sex orgies? I’m told the pictures show you ...”

  Tess looked down at the sweaty cold glass of tea in her hand. She lifted her arm high and centered it over Fred’s head; then she poured out the entire glass. She hoped, prayed, the tea would destroy the e-mail and the cell phone.

  Fred jumped. “Shit, what the ...” He turned around, and his blue gaze slammed into Tess. His face flamed red beneath the dripping tea. “My cell phone! You goddamned bitch!” He lunged at her.

  Two

  Ark reached out to grab a handful of the prick-who-had-to-be-a-reporter’s shirt before he could attack the woman.

  But all he got was a handful of air. He saw it and still didn’t believe it.

  The woman had seen the attack coming and stepped to the side, then swung her foot to knock the man’s feet out from under him and pinned him facedown on the table.

  She had his arm wrenched up behind his back.

  His cell phone plopped to the ground, but he still held the e-mail in his other hand. It appeared to be undamaged from the iced-tea bath.

  The woman said in a very reasonable tone, “Fred, you are seriously pissing me off.”

  Ark couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She had long, wavy brown hair, expressive brown eyes, and one hell of an attitude, all wrapped up in a kick-ass package. The dress she wore hugged her breasts and exposed her slender, muscular back. The dress covered her ass, but the way she leaned over the reporter offered him a mouthwatering view.

  She looked up at him. “This would be a good time for you to leave, Mr. Underwood.”

  The impact of her gaze slammed into him. She had to be the most unusual, and sexy, woman he’d come across in years. He closed the distance between them. “But things are just getting interesting.” He barely glanced down at the reporter. It was th
e woman that appealed to him. “What’s your name?”

  “Tess.” Then she added, “Take my advice, Fred here is a tabloid reporter trying to use you to get a headline. Leave now and I’ll help him understand that he needs to rethink his plans.” She jerked his arm slightly, twisting it farther up behind his back.

  “Ouch! Goddammit, Tess! Get off of me!”

  Ark dropped his gaze to Fred. His neck was arched up and streaked with swollen veins as he fought her hold, his face a sweaty red around blazing blue eyes. He held the e-mail clutched in his hand. Ark seized the e-mail and read through it. Then saw the signature line, Dr. Tess Collins, Marriage and Family Therapy.

  His gut went stone cold. The warmth he felt, that flicker of interest in Tess, died. He looked up at her, at the doctor. And for a second, he thought he saw a shimmer of tears and regret. But she blinked, and all he saw was determination. Just another shrink who thought she knew it all. He held up the e-mail. “This is you?”

  Fred answered, “That’s her. She wrote that e-mail! Called you a mama’s boy. Says you can’t get it up! What’s your comment?”

  Ark turned to Fred. “Shut up.”

  Fred’s blue eyes froze with fear. He shut up.

  He looked back to see Tess watching him. She said, “Yes, it’s me, and I’m very sorry. I sent that e-mail to Fred by accident, but the damage is done. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix it.”

  Ark looked into Tess’s eyes, into her brown eyes with amber flecks, and was surprised by the flash of hurt he felt. She had really intrigued him; something about the way she handled Fred made him think she was honest. Until he’d read the e-mail. Shit. Ark dropped the e-mail back on the table by Fred’s nose. “Fix what, sugar? That’s me, all flash and no substance.”

  Fred angled his head around to sneer at Tess. “Guess you won’t be getting laid by your fantasy now.”

  Ark stared at Tess. Her face flushed, and white lines appeared around her mouth. But her pressure on Fred’s arm she held behind his back never changed.

  Ark had the urge to reach out and slam Fred’s head into the table. Or ignore Fred altogether and sweep Tess away to talk about her fantasies. Turns out that he was still interested in the doc, in spite of her e-mail. But a hand on his shoulder checked the urge.

  He turned to see Giles standing there with another man. Behind them were another dozen or more people watching the scene. Damn, he’d been so intent on Tess, he hadn’t noticed the growing scene. He supposed he’d see himself in the papers tomorrow.

  Giles grinned. “This all looks interesting. Are any of us going to jail? Getting on the six o’clock news? Need an ambulance? Or maybe the nice manager, Al here, can help?”

  That was Giles, always the good guy. He swept in right on cue to solve everything with calm and reason. He was like that on the track, too, appearing like a gentleman who plays by the rules, right up until he decided to go for it, leaving all the drivers behind him stunned. Giles operated on pure charm and deceit. Ark shifted his gaze to the manager. He had his name stamped onto a white rectangle nametag pinned to his black shirt.

  “What’s the problem here, Mr. Underwood?” Al inquired.

  Ark glanced at Fred. “This reporter tried to attack the lady.”

  Al puffed out his chest. Then he had to let the air out in order to bend down and see Fred’s face. “Sir, you’ll have to come with me.”

  “Get this bitch off of me!”

  Tess let him go and stepped back, but she didn’t say a word to defend herself. She just stood there quietly while Al convinced Fred to go with him. Fred had the presence of mind to remember to pick up his wet camera phone from the floor and the dry e-mail Ark had dropped back on the table. Then he glared at Tess and said, “You can get your suitcase out of the Dumpster, bitch.”

  Tess didn’t say a word as she watched the manager steer Fred away. The crowd faded back to their drinks and Buffalo wings.

  Ark looked down at Tess and was slapped with a huge case of lust. What the hell was wrong with him? She was just another woman who somehow wanted to capitalize off his fame and money.

  But his gut told him something else. She’d tried to prevent Fred from getting a story from him. Ark wanted to know more about her.

  She met his gaze. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I’ll do what I can to make this right.”

  Before he could react, she smoothly turned and left.

  Ark watched her walk through the sports bar to the door that led to the lobby of the hotel. Oh, hell. She was going to get her suitcase before Fred got back to the room. As best as Ark could determine, Tess was staying with him, but had been somehow blindsided by Fred having the e-mail. He couldn’t let her confront that idiot again alone.

  Tess punched the elevator button six or seven times until her finger hurt.

  Damn, damn, damn. And she had no one to blame but herself. She wrote the e-mail that triggered this whole nightmare.

  Could she have been any more stupid? To actually have believed Fred cared enough about her to book a weekend around the races that she loved? Ha, he’d just wanted to use her to advance his own career, and destroy another career in the process.

  She punched the elevator button again and told herself not to think about Ark. About the look on his face when he read that e-mail.

  “You’re going to break your finger.”

  She whirled around, and her mouth dropped open. “Ark!”

  “That’s a relief. I was afraid you’d forgotten me already.” His mouth curved wickedly.

  Tess narrowed her eyes. And tried not to notice how good the short-sleeved, black button-down shirt looked on him. Or the way his jeans sat on his hips. Or the fact that his sun-streaked light brown hair looked good against his tanned skin. And his eyes ... deep mysterious hazel eyes that made her think of—

  Sex.

  She was a sick woman, and she should know. Sheesh. “Umm, is there something I can do for you?”

  Ark leaned forward, bracing his hand over her head on the wall. “Funny that you should ask. Give Giles here your keycard to your room. He’ll put your suitcase in my room while we’re having dinner.”

  Huh? “We’re not having dinner.” She glanced away from Ark to see Giles. He looked amused.

  Ark got her attention back. “Of course we are, sugar. We have to find out how accurate your diagnosis of me is. And I want to hear all about your fantasies of me.”

  Tess just bet he did. He probably got off on the idea of women fantasizing about him. “I don’t think so.” She tried not to inhale the clean scent of leather and spice.

  Ark didn’t move. “Let me put this another way. First, you’re not going up to the room to get your suitcase alone.”

  Like she was going to take orders from him. “I can take care of myself.” Since that didn’t impress him, she added, “I’m a black belt.”

  “I’m guessing Fred-the-prick didn’t know that. But about dinner, I believe we need to come up with a strategy to deal with the press—once your little e-mail gets out, that is.”

  Guilt slammed into her. What could she say? She had to go to dinner with him to help him. “That’s a dirty trick,” she pointed out while reaching into her purse for her keycard. She knew damn well he was manipulating her, but he was right; she owed him all the help she could give him. She pulled out her card. “Just let me get my suitcase, then I’ll meet—hey!” Ark snatched the card from her fingers.

  He turned and handed the card to Giles, then looked back at her. “Room number?”

  “Four-oh-two.” She relented. So she’d get her suitcase after dinner. What difference did it make? The difference, her rational brain pointed out, is that I’ll have to go to Ark’s room to get it.

  Ark put his hand on the small of her back. “There’s a steakhouse a few blocks over. We’ll take your car.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they sat in a booth at the restaurant. Tess ordered a glass of Cabernet and followed that with an order for steak cooked medium rare, baked pot
ato, and a kill-me-now chocolate cake.

  She tended to eat when she was nervous.

  Ark ordered steak and ribs, rice, cole slaw, and a slab of corn bread.

  Tess didn’t think he was nervous, just hungry. She sipped her wine, pretended it was courage, and said, “Ark, this whole thing is a big mistake. I never meant for Fred to get a hold of that e-mail.”

  He studied her in the dim lighting across the Formica table. “How did he get it, then? Why did you write it in the first place?”

  She had debated what she’d say for the last fifteen minutes. But he deserved the truth. “It was a cross between a game and self-therapy. My friends believe my ... uh ... infatuation with you is interfering with real relationships with men. Other men can’t live up to you. So we wrote the e-mail as kind of a joke, giving you flaws to destroy the fantasy.” Wow, Tess finally found something more humiliating than her yearly gynecological appointment. She took a quick but deep drink of her wine and finished her pathetic story. “So I wrote the e-mail and meant to send it only to my friends’ e-mail accounts. But I must have clicked on Fred’s e-mail by mistake.”

  He didn’t say anything, just stared at her.

  Tess knew the trick. Cops used it, and so did therapists. But still she fell for it, compelled to fill the uncomfortable silence. “I never meant the e-mail to get out! It was just a tool of therapy.”

  Ark took a drink of his wine and said, “Let me see if I understand this. You have a case of lust for me, so you wrote an e-mail to cure yourself and accidentally sent it off to Fred, a tabloid reporter. Whom you were going to spend the weekend with?”

  She had to laugh at herself. “I’m afraid that’s about it.”

  He laughed, too, and then settled his gaze on her. “Why me, Tess?”