Under the Covers

by Rita Herron

  "Are you okay with that, Lizzie?" Abby frowned, as if it bothered her to encourage the little girl to lie.

  Lizzie revealed the space where a tooth would have been as she smiled. "Yep, Angelica and I are actors like daddy." She pulled out a dollar bill from her pocket. "See, I got big bucks for tonight. And Daddy paid Angelica, too."

  Abby's skeptical look made Hunter feel about two feet tall. Some role model he was for his daughter.

  If his ex found out he was paying Lizzie to lie, she'd probably banish him from seeing her.

  * * *

  The interview went off without a hitch. Abby shook the deejay's hand, grateful one of the staff had taken Lizzie on a tour of the radio station so she couldn't hear the adult topics they'd discussed.

  Wiping a hand across her forehead, she sighed, realizing she'd been more than discombobulated by the way Harry had doted on her, too. She'd never had a man be so attentive and affectionate and downright blatantly sexual in the looks he cast her way.

  He was teasing, flirtatious, and more macho than any man had a right to be.

  During the show, they'd discussed everything from the woman who teased but never followed through to the foreplay that could make a marriage a minefield for orgasms. Through every word, every comment, Harry had watched her intently—playing the ultimate tease himself.

  He pressed a protective hand to her lower back and guided her outside, his daughter's hand clasped firmly in his other one. The fading sun painted the sky with purples and oranges, the heat dropping off to a bearable eighty-five. But just as they opened the door to exit, a reporter and a cameraman accosted them.

  "We're from the AJC; will you give us an interview, Dr. Jensen?" The rail-thin man pushed square glasses up his nose. "We heard the show and want you to comment."

  The camera flashed, and Harry pushed Lizzie and Abby behind him. He tried to grab the camera, but the cameraman shoved him away. "Leave Dr. Jensen alone. You're not from the AJC. You're from that tabloid, the Inquisitor."

  Abby grimaced. Was he right?

  The camera flashed again. Abby tried to shield Lizzie from the photos and hide her own face as well. "Daddy," Lizzie cried.

  "Get out of here," Harry shouted. "Before I call the cops for harassment."

  "It's a free country," the reporter yelled. The cameraman, a young guy who'd barely escaped adolescence and still harbored the pockmarks of pimples to prove it, ran toward a van.

  Harry hurriedly ushered his daughter and Abby into the car, dove inside, and started the engine. Traffic was thick as he veered onto the busy street. Abby buckled her seat belt. "Thanks, Harry. I appreciate your taking up for me."

  "No problem. That guy's bad news."

  Abby tried to forget about the awkward encounter with the tabloid, but Harry's comment nagged at her subconscious.

  "Harry?"

  His jaw was clenched so tightly she could practically hear his teeth grinding. Lizzie had curled up and fallen asleep in the backseat. "What?"

  "How did you know that reporter wasn't from the AJC?"

  Harry's eyes flickered with something like guilt for a brief second, but his big shoulders lifted and fell. "I'm an actor, Abby. The tabloids are always after us."

  Abby nodded and chuckled softly. "Right. Of course. I don't know what I was thinking."

  * * *

  Hunter knew exactly what she was thinking. After all, how many unknown actors were hounded by the tabloids? Luckily, Abby seemed willing to let the matter drop. He silently called himself all kinds of names, idiot at the top of the list, for almost blowing his cover. And he'd hated for Lizzie to see him fighting. The outrageous stories the Inquisitor had printed lately flashed into his mind.

  What if that picture got printed and his ex saw it and...?

  No, he couldn't panic. He'd call the tabloid and see if he could convince the editor to hold it. Whether or not he could convince them was the big question.

  When they reached Abby's house, he searched the parameters for Mo Jo Brown, but the area seemed secure. He started to get out.

  "No, don't leave Lizzie in here alone," Abby whispered. "I'll be fine."

  He struggled over what to do, but finally agreed. Besides, Abby was a big girl, and he was falling for her, and he had to slow down.

  She would hate him when she found out he had tricked her.

  "Think you'll be able to sleep tonight?" he asked, unable to resist the question as unbidden memories of the night before rushed to him.

  Abby brushed a strand of that curly hair from her forehead and opened the car door. "Yes. I'm pretty tired." She hesitated, then placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for being so gallant tonight and defending my honor."

  He swallowed, unable to reply, but his heart climbed to his throat as she sauntered up the drive. Abby had been nothing but kind to his daughter, sincere in her answers in the interview and... nice to him.

  God, he felt like such a jerk.

  Lizzie stirred as Abby slipped inside and closed the door, so he backed out the drive and headed home. A few minutes later he pulled into his apartment complex and carried Lizzie inside, the scent of baby-powder and shampoo engulfing him. She was so small and trusting, he wanted to protect her forever.

  As he'd wanted to protect Abby today.

  She snuggled into the extra bed, hugging Angelica to her chest. "Get puppy tomorrow, Daddy?"

  He kissed her pug nose and tucked the comforter over her. "Yes, pumpkin. I promise."

  "Just like Butterball."

  "We'll see." For several minutes he stood and watched her sleep, his heart aching. He wanted to be with her always.

  Then he headed to his room, talking with his conscience along the way. He wanted to write a positive story about Abby, to exonerate himself when she discovered the truth and to portray her the way he was beginning to see her, as a caring and sincere woman.

  But how could he do that and impress his boss at the same time?

  * * *

  Abby crawled into bed with Butterball, laughing when he snuggled against her arm and fell sound asleep. The night had gone much smoother than she'd expected. Harry had been fabulous, both on the set and off. His little girl was a doll, too.

  You could tell a lot about a man's character from the way he interacted with his children. And Harry was a wonderful father. Perhaps his acting wasn't earning big bucks, but love was definitely more important than money. And his daughter obviously adored him. Just the fact that she wanted to be an actor like her daddy proved that.

  Feeling marginally better about things, she lay back with her journal to record the events of the day.

  Radio show went great. Harry is super actor and stand-up guy.

  Good father to precious daughter. Accosted by tabloid reporter outside radio station. Harry saved day. Like knight in shining armor.

  She paused, then continued to write.

  Afraid am falling for this guy. Know it's crazy, but he's decent and honest and a nice guy. Not lying cheat like Lenny. Or despicable, like reporter Hunter Stone.

  Must tell him truth about Lenny soon...

  * * *

  Hunter was counting the cracks on the ceiling of his bedroom, debating whether to get a broom and knock the spiderwebs from the left corner, when the phone trilled. He rolled his head sideways and simply stared at the offensive machine for several seconds, wondering if Abby had decided to call and give him a phone massage tonight.

  Just the thought stirred his sex and sent heat rushing through his body. "Yes?"

  "Stone, it's Bobby Falcon."

  "Yeah?" He sat up, instantly alert. "Did you find something on Gulliver?"

  The cop whistled. "Did I? This guy's a piece of work."

  Hunter rubbed a hand over his face. "Okay, give it to me."

  "He got kicked out of UCLA for seducing a teacher. He's been married twice, confiscated both women's savings and checking accounts, and ran a credit card scam in Vegas, where he worked at a hotel as a photographer for newly-w
eds."

  He was right: Gulliver had conned Abby out of her money and had now deserted her. The perfect headline flashed into his mind: Dr. Abby Jensen, proponent of marriage and happily-ever-after, jilted by professional con artist.

  He balled his hands into fists. Could he print that about Abby?

  Chapter 19

  Friendly Foreplay

  "'What women want' is the topic of the TV show you'll do Monday," Rainey explained. "And Tuesday's topic will focus on what men want."

  "I'd rather cancel the whole thing," Abby said. "Last night I was almost accosted by a reporter. If it hadn't been for Harry jumping in front of the camera—"

  "That guy is turning into hero material," Rainey commented with a dramatic sigh. "And the picture in the paper this morning looks great."

  "What picture?"

  "Um..." Abby heard the telltale sound of Rainey's pencil tapping, a dead giveaway that she was nervous. "You didn't see it yet, huh?"

  "No. What paper is it in?"

  "The Inquisitor."

  "Oh, dear heavens." Abby dropped her head into her hands. "Why would you be excited about that, Rainey?"

  "Like I told you, any publicity is good. It creates a buzz, and people buy the book just to see what the hoopla is about."

  "I don't want them to buy the book because I'm in the tabloids."

  "Well, actually it's not a little article, Abby." The pencil tapped faster. "You're the feature. You and Harry are on the front page."

  Abby cringed. "Okay, I'll bite. What is the headline?"

  Rainey chuckled. "'Does the Sex Doctor and Her Hubby Have a Secret Love Child?'"

  * * *

  Hunter tossed a five-dollar bill on the checkout counter at the local QT to pay for Lizzie's doughnut and chocolate milk, frowning when the teenage girl behind the counter squinted blue-eye-shadowed eyes at him. He didn't need the hassle of some kid staring at him; he already had a headache from trying to convince the senior editor at The Inquisitor to scratch the piece on him and Abby. He hoped he'd finally gotten through to the man.

  The other cashier, a plump middle-aged woman with a bandanna around her head, whispered in Spanish to the manager behind them. Other customers milled around, purchasing snacks and paying for gas.

  "What?" Hunter asked, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Do I have toilet paper stuck on my chin?"

  The young girl giggled, and pointed to the spread of magazines to the side. Hunter gasped when he saw his face plastered on the front—well, Lenny's mustached face plastered on the front right beside Abby. And Lizzie... So much for convincing the tabloids to hold the story.

  In the photo, Hunter was poised as if he might attack the cameraman, Abby stood behind him, clutching at his arm, and Lizzie was hiding behind his legs, Angelica dangling from her hands. They looked as though they had been caught doing something illicit. Then his gaze fell on the headline and his stomach plummeted. Does the Sex Doctor and Her Hubby Have a Secret Love Child? In the first paragraph the reporter questioned the little girl's parentage: "Is the doctor hiding her child because she is illegitimate? Does the little girl belong to her husband or does Abby Jensen have a ghost lover in her past?"

  Good Lord, what crap!

  "Daddy, look! Me and Angelica are in the paper!" Lizzie squealed.

  Hunter grabbed the stack of papers and flung them on the counter. "I'll buy them all."

  The checkout team exchanged confused looks, but the girl accepted his Visa with a grin.

  Lizzie pulled at his sleeve. "Daddy, I've never been in the paper afore."

  Hunter silently counted to ten. "I know."

  "I gotta show Mommy!"

  Panic slid down his spine. "No, honey..."

  The checkout girl pushed his card back toward him with three-inch silver nails and cut him a sharp stare, then grinned at Lizzie. "You look cute, sweetie."

  Lizzie clutched one of the papers to her chest. "I'm keepin' it for my scrapbook."

  "Let's go get that puppy now," Hunter said. "We just have to make a couple of stops first." More than two hundred, Hunter thought, as he mentally mapped out every grocery and convenience store that might sell the tabloid. He had to buy as many as possible. When Shelly saw the piece, he'd have some major explaining to do.

  And Abby... What would she think when she saw the story?

  * * *

  Abby tried desperately to block out the image of the tabloid photo and the article as she jotted notes for two upcoming shows, but her gaze kept straying to the picture. How dare that reporter suggest she was hiding a child from the public?

  A nonhusband yes, but not a child.

  She shook her head, her words swimming before her.

  What women wanted, what men wanted—what did she know anymore?

  Except that she desperately wanted her life to return to normal.

  The doorbell dinged and she nearly spilled her coffee on her papers. She swiped at the hot liquid with a napkin before it completely ruined her work, and walked to the door, expecting her sister. Chelsea had volunteered to watch the puppy while Abby completed the upcoming weeklong tour.

  Butterball raced beside her, nipping at her feet, and she scooped him up, hugging him to her chest as she opened the door. But her stomach clenched at the sight of the police car in her drive and the officers on the stoop. A tall woman with German features stood stoically beside a broad-shouldered Latino.

  "Dr. Jensen?" the woman said in a crisp, no-nonsense voice.

  "Yes."

  "We're detectives Barringer and Suarez from the APD. Can we come in?"

  "What's this about?" She spotted the tabloid in the female officer's hand and winced, wondering why the police would be interested in the sleezy newspaper.

  The Latino man, Suarez, inched inside, his presence almost as domineering as his thick voice. "We have some questions about your husband, Lenny Gulliver."

  * * *

  "Daddy, why are you mad about the picture?" Lizzie asked.

  He hadn't realized he'd been so obvious. "I don't like that paper," he explained. "They print bizarre things about people. They don't care if what they write is true or not." His temper rose at the idea of their slandering Abby.

  Yet hadn't he done the same thing?

  But he hadn't fabricated a story. "In fact, if they can't get a story, they'll make one up."

  "You mean they lie?"

  His jaw tightened. "Oh, yeah."

  "But we lied when we was acting."

  Out of the mouths of babes. "That's different." Although how, he couldn't explain. "We're not trying to hurt anyone."

  "So it's okay to lie if you don't hurts someone?"

  He ran a hand over his face. "No, I didn't mean that. But radio is different from real life." Surely she should understand that.

  She scrunched her nose in thought as he wove through the outskirts of the city to the Humane Society. So far he'd confiscated as many tabloid copies as possible; his backseat was piled high. But Lizzie had gotten impatient to go puppy picking, so he'd had to calm down and stop his psychotic rampage.

  "There, Daddy, I see the doggie sign."

  Hunter pulled into the parking lot, irritated with himself for justifying his actions to his daughter when he had lied to Abby at first to get a story on her, a story born of revenge. As a responsible parent, he should be teaching Lizzie not to lie under any circumstances. Even if he had rationalized his behavior as part of his job.

  Was he really any better than that tabloid creep?

  Feeling surly, he frowned at the run-down condition of the building. What kind of place was this for animals? A few minutes later, they strolled the walkway between the tall cages, searching for the right pet. Dobermans, German shepherds, several mixed kinds of terriers and Labs, a small, yellow, floppy-eared mutt that resembled a beagle, a part Dachshund.

  "That's a wiener dog," Lizzie said.

  Hunter smiled and reached through the rungs of the case to pet the mutt, but it nipped at him. "Definitely not that guy
-"

  "Daddy, I don't see any Butterballs."

  Exactly. He hadn't expected to find a white mop-dog here. They had only real dogs, a man's kind of animal. The thought of bathing that white fluff ball after a roll in the mud made him shudder. "I know, honey, but these doggies are here because they're homeless. They need someone to love them and take them in."

  "But Butterball doggies needs a home, too. I seen 'em at the pet store."

  "I know that, sweetie. But look, there's some cute small dogs here. And if they don't find homes..." He hesitated, realizing Lizzie's ears might be too sensitive for the truth.

  "What, Daddy?"

  "Honey, pick out a couple to play with and let's see what we think then."

  Lizzie twisted her small mouth, but finally nodded. Seconds later she'd climbed inside a fenced-off area on the lawn and was rolling on the grass, playing with three different dogs: a dark brown mutt that reminded him of a bulldog, a spotted puppy with cropped ears and a limp, and a short, stout animal that resembled a cross between a beagle and a basset hound.

  His cell phone jangled and he grabbed it, keeping his eye on her and the animals at the same time.

  "Stone," his boss snapped, "what the hell is your picture doing in the Inquisitor? I thought you were getting a story on Abby Jensen, not trying to make headlines for yourself in another publication."

  * * *

  Abby's hands shook as she led the officers to her kitchen. Had they connected Milano to Lenny? Did they suspect Lenny was his accomplice? Worse, did they think she had had a part in the scam? "Would you like some coffee?"

  "No, ma'am," the woman officer named Barringer said. "This is business, not a social call."

  "Thanks, that would be great." The Latino smiled, earning a glare from the female gestapo cop.

  The male detective studied her kitchen with an inquisitive eye, a smile lining his mouth at her teapots.

  "My grandmother turned me on to collecting them," Abby explained, as she handed him an oversize mug.

  "I was close to my grandmother, too," Suarez said. "She still lives in—"

  "Can we get on with this?" Barringer asked, cutting Suarez off. "We're not here to get a signed copy of her book, Stefan, or to play, so put the boy back in his pocket."