The Gold Digger Gambit: A Honeytrap Inc. Romance

by Tabitha A Lane

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marco

  The chauffeur’s apartment at Casa Nostra is a distance from the house over the garage. I have no business ever being in the house unless summoned—and no way of contacting Kristie. She was angry today, after the way we left things.

  Tough. I can’t waste any more time thinking about Kristie, so I push her from my mind and trawl through the recent service records for Montgomery’s fleet of vehicles.

  As suspected, all the paperwork is in order, and the cars have been professionally maintained. There’s nothing here that explains an oversight. I move from the apartment to the toolshop in the back of the garage. I don’t know what I’m looking for—I guess I’ll know it when I see it.

  I’m struck with a serious case of tool envy as I run a fingertip down the teak-handled files mounted on the back wall. Twelve of them, arranged in descending order of size. Seven along, the file is slightly off-level. Something only an obsessive might notice. And I’ve lived in Robert’s life enough to know he can’t stand to have anything out of place.

  I activate the flashlight function on my phone, shine it over the metal. Detect a trace of silvery dust on its surface.

  Stephen needs to see this, so despite the hour, I call his cell. “I think I’ve found something. In the garage.”

  The security chief doesn’t waste time asking me to explain further, just grunts out a command that I shouldn’t touch anything. Minutes later, he’s by my side, clutching a baggie.

  “That file.” I point at it. “It caught my eye at first because it’s not completely straight...”

  “Robert wouldn’t be able to bear that, he color codes his DVD collection, for fuck’s sake.”

  “There’s a trace of silvery dust on it.”

  Stephen snaps on a pair of latex gloves. Lifts the file, and secures it in the baggie. “I have a tame forensics guy, I’ll get this to him in the morning. You need to keep quiet about this.” Stephen crosses his arms and stares me down. “I appreciate you finding this evidence—if evidence it turns out to be—but I didn’t intend to share any of my security concerns with you. You were just at the right place at the right time to find that bolt.”

  “I’m not who you think I am.” This assignment is shot to hell, and it looks like Stephen needs some advice. “I’m a private investigator. You need to get the cops involved, not hand potential evidence to a friend.”

  “You’re an investigator?” Stephen’s mouth gapes. “Mr. Patten brought you in without telling me?” He’s angry. More than angry, betrayed. “I’m working my butt off here. When you called I was out checking the perimeter for Christ’s sake.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I have a team in place—if he has no confidence in me he should have fucking said so, not gone behind my back.”

  His indignation makes no sense. There is obviously more going on here than meets the eye, and the likelihood of Charles Patten calling the shots with his father’s security chief tips me off to the real situation.

  “We’re talking about different Mr. Pattens. Charles Patten retained me to honeytrap Kristie. He’s determined to save his father from a gold digger. But there’s clearly something else going on here, something a lot more dangerous than an old guy losing his fortune. Kristie told me about the first murder attempt, and I witnessed the second.”

  “Kristie told you?”

  “She told me her husband is in danger. And for me, murder trumps greed. I’m not concerned with the morality of her marriage. I don’t know if Charles Patten is involved so I’m abandoning my mission and staying around to find out.”

  I don’t know what I expected his reaction to be, but it wasn’t for him to throw his head back and laugh.

  When he finally stops I ask: “Want to share the joke? Because nothing about this situation seems funny to me. Why were you checking the perimeter, has there been another security breach?”

  The implied insult rapidly sobers his bouyant mood. “There was an intruder in Kristie’s bedroom earlier.”

  Anger roils through me, clenching in my stomach, and making my hands curl into fists. “Is she okay? Did you catch him?”

  “He got away.” He regards me with a curious expression, as if my reaction to hearing that Kristie was in danger is out of proportion. “She’s fine. I’d never let anything happen to her.”

  “I’m going.” I shove my hands in my pockets and turn to leave. “I need to talk to her.”

  “You can’t.” Stephen blocks my way. “Listen, I don’t know what you think you’re doing with Kristie, but...”

  “My relationship with her is none of your business. You’re trying to keep me away from her, and I’m not sure your intentions are squeaky clean either.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me, right? She’s young enough to be my daughter.”

  His face twists as the irony of that statement hits home. “Okay, sure. But I tell you straight up, I knew Kristie’s mother, I know Kristie’s dad. And I promised to watch over her and keep her safe.”

  “You knew Kristie before she came here?” I don’t think Charles was aware of that fact—and make a mental note to check the portfolio of notes later.

  “We were looking for a nurse. A carer.” He stares me down. “Kristie was qualified, and I put her forward for the position.”

  “You said you knew Kristie’s mom?”

  “She died eleven years ago.” He jams his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. “Listen, I understand you’re upset, but it isn’t your place to worry about Kristie. I’ll take care of it.”

  I cross my arms. Glare. “The car was tampered with. And someone was just in her fucking room. You could do with some help.” I don’t care if I sound rude. They guy has no right to keep me away from Kristie.

  He winces. “Right now, Kristie’s at dinner with the family. What are you going to do, just storm in there?”

  The last thing she needs is for everyone to suspect me and her of having an affair, but I’m not sleeping tonight till I’ve seen for myself that she’s unharmed.

  “Get me into her room undetected. If you want to make sure she’s okay with me being in her room, intercept her on her way upstairs, and let her know I’m there. If she wants me to leave, I will. But the choice is hers.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kristie

  I’m so glad that my union with Montgomery is a role I’m playing, not a real, legal marriage I’m living. I wear his rings, but they’re props, on loan. To be returned to Harry Winston when this whole thing is over. I got to wear a full-length snowy-white Vera Wang and pose with Montgomery for photographic evidence, but I never had to walk down the aisle towards him—or exchange vows. I’m not sure I ever want to marry anyone.

  I’ve always thought my parents’ marriage was solid, but now I’m playing a role I see how easy it is to fool people. Isabel is convinced. As are my stepchildren; they believe I’m in it for the money, but they swallow the bigger lie—that we’re husband and wife—easily.

  Marco thinks I’m married too and that I’m sleeping with Montgomery. I find it so easy to fool people, it makes me wonder just how often I’ve been fooled in the past. How the person I am has been formed by the things I thought I knew.

  I was an army brat, growing up in military housing with only my mother for company most of the year. The times my father was home were idyllic. I thought being in love meant never fighting, always being happy with whatever time they could be together.

  Dad was away: I did my schoolwork, met with my friends, swam in the community pool while my mom sat in a huddle with her friends talking.

  Dad was home: I did the same—only I went to the pool with my friends while my parents had some ‘grown-up time’. She tidied up our house when Dad was coming home. Got her hair and nails done, and bought us both new clothes.

  When Dad was home, everything was perfect. We played the parts of perfect wife and perfect daughter. Any arguments, any disagreements between us were shoved onto the back bur
ner for the golden time when my father was with us.

  There was real life and perfect life. Everything that didn’t fit the perfect picture had to be hidden when Dad was home. Maybe Mom thought we had to live that way because he worked so hard he deserved a perfect life for the times he made it home. Maybe she was afraid he wouldn’t like the real us. That he’d want to leave if we weren’t perfect.

  After she died, I learned to know my father for the first time—to really know him day in, day out, when he left the army to be my only parent. I don’t know if he’d love me if I weren’t perfect, I’ve never failed at anything in his eyes. Never put it to the test.

  Being married for real? Living with someone every day? Even the idea of being that exposed breaks me out in a sweat. And the examples of wedded life I’m being subjected to over dinner are enough to turn the most romantic woman in the world right off the institution.

  Felicity and Sebastian ignore each other so completely, it’s as though they aren’t even aware the other is in the room.

  Jerry picks at his food, and picks at his wife—criticising everything about her constantly. The way she eats, the wrinkles in her dress. The caliber of her jokes. He’s a good-looking guy, but a total pain in the ass. Even given that Amber’s a complete monster, there’s the stirring of sympathy for the way he treats her. Because she seems desperate to keep his interest.

  And the way he keeps offering to fill my glass and shooting me what he must consider his sexiest smiles across the table is more than embarrassing for her, it’s hurtful. I don’t play along. But that doesn’t matter. Him flirting with her new stepmother is humiliation enough.

  If my reality were to spend the next few decades sitting around here with this lot, I’d be hitting the bottle, just as Charles is. He’s commandeered his own bottle of red, a special bottle, if the way he’s guarding it is any indication. But like the others, he’s paying close attention to me. Trying to glean any information he can about me from the stilted conversation around the dining room table.

  The only person who has shown any real concern about Montgomery is Isabel. The housekeeper whose place is very firmly in the kitchen with the rest of the staff, rather than around the giant dining room table. Unless she’s serving.

  I wonder was this family so dysfunctional when their mother was alive?

  Unfortunately, there’s no one I can ask.

  I came down to dinner to learn more about them. But all I’ve learned is that they’re a bunch of self-involved whiners leaching off a guy none of them seem to even care about.

  Once dessert is finished, I’m ready to leave and can’t make my goodbyes quick enough.

  Stephen meets me in the hall. “A word?”

  I follow him to the bottom of the stairs—far away enough from the dining room that we won’t be overheard. “I’ve taken Marco up to your room.”

  I can only imagine the look on my face at that revelation. A booty call delivery?

  “I had to tell him about the intruder. He insisted on checking that you’re okay.”

  “You could have just told him I was fine. I don’t see...”

  “Have you ever tried telling that man something he doesn’t want to hear? He’s as stubborn as shit.” He eyes me with calculation. “But if you want me to get rid of him, I’ll go right up there and make him leave. It’s your call.”

  “I’ll deal with him.”

  He’s the first thing I see when I enter the room. He’s turned the light on, and is sitting at the end of the bed, facing the door.

  “Changed your mind?”

  He ignores my words. Rises, and walks right up to me so that there’s barely a hair’s breadth between us. “Did you see him? This intruder?” His voice is hoarse. “I hate that there was someone in here.” His arm snakes around my waist. “I should have been with you.”

  His mouth touches mine. Firm and sure. As though there’s more to us than there is. As though he’s someone who cares about me. As though I’m the only thing he cares about. The last time we kissed, I damn near burst into flames from the touch of his hands on me. Now, the warmth that fills me is different. Deeper, less urgent, more real.

  I ease away while I still can. “Your job isn’t to look after me. It was to seduce me, remember?”

  “That was then. This is now.” He touches my face. Does that staring into my eyes thing that makes something inside me melt. “I don’t want to care about you, but I don’t seem to be able to help myself.”

  “I’m on my honeymoon.”

  “That mattered. Hours ago, that mattered enough to make me walk away from you, even when I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman before. I thought a piece of paper saying you belonged to another man was as powerful a barrier as a sheet of steel between us. This is the bed you’ll share with him. The first person who will kiss you in this room, should be him. The first person to take off your clothes and...”

  Enough. I can’t keep up the pretense any longer. Can’t let him torture himself about messing around with a married woman.

  “Montgomery has never seen me naked, and he never will.”

  Marco’s arms fall to his sides.

  “He’s never so much as kissed me. Our marriage isn’t real. I’ve been paid to pretend—just as you have.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Marco

  “Not married.”

  There’s a sour taste in my mouth. I’m not the only one deceived—Brian never thought to check that the wedding was real when we took on this case, we just took our client’s word for it. I reach for her left hand, rub my fingers over the huge diamond engagement ring and its matching gold band.

  “We had to fool everyone. The rings are real. One hundred percent genuine diamonds and gold, but they’re just part of my costume. To be returned at the end of my assignment.”

  “Were you ever his nurse?”

  “No. But Montgomery thought that would be the best role to play to introduce me into the household. He thought meeting me at a party or something would be unbelievable.” She breathed out, walked over to the bed and kicked off her shoes. “I’m exhausted.” She climbed onto the bed and leaned against the headboard. “I work for my father’s firm of private investigators. He and Stephen are old friends, they served together.”

  My last interaction with Stephen makes sense now. He couldn’t help but laugh when I said I didn’t care that Kristie was married, because he knew she was single. Knew she’d shared only half truths.

  “This is the most important assignment of my career, I can’t fail.”

  She’s been laughing at me, all this time. Playing the part of wife, and watching as my fucking conscience lances through me every time I touch her. I haven’t felt so betrayed since my ex walked out the moment she realized her meal ticket was more hamburger than fillet mignon. When will I learn that women aren’t to be trusted?

  There’s an ache in my chest. Probably heartburn, rather than heartbreak.

  “You’re single and unattached.”

  “I am.” A smile tilts her lips upwards.

  “There’s nothing to stop you from going to bed with me.”

  Her smile widens. “Not a single thing.”

  “Good to know.” I sit next to her. “So tell me about this recording device.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You’re angry.”

  “That you played me for a fool? Yeah, actually, I am angry. I’m more than angry, I’m disgusted.” Just how far has she gone to keep this illusion real? They sleep in the same room, do they share a bed too? Does she dress him every morning and undress him every night? Somehow the thought of her lying in bed with him pretending to be his wife is even more objectionable than her being a gold digger with a piece of paper to make it legal.

  “Says the guy who seduces women for a living.”

  I’ve kissed them. Led them to believe there will be more. Have even booked a room for afternoon delight that turned out to be afternoon what-the-fuck? I want to say I’ve never gone too
far with a target. That I’ve always known where the line is, and never crossed it.

  But then I remember holding this woman on my lap, palming her breasts. Wanting her so badly my cock ached. And turning her away—not because fucking her is a conflict of interest, but out of a misplaced sense of doing what’s right. Not defiling a bride on her honeymoon.

  She must have found the whole thing fucking hilarious. “You seem to have everything under control here. You made your marriage bed, I’ll let you lie in it.”

  “You can’t go out there now. The family is still up. What if someone sees you?”

  She’s right, but damn, I don’t want to admit it.

  “Truth is, I didn’t want to lie to you. I should never have said what I said under that tree today; should never have let things go so far. I wanted to tell you, but I had a job to do. And I wasn’t sure I could trust you.” She takes a step closer.

  “Nothing’s changed since this afternoon.”

  “Everything has.” She places a hand flat on my chest and stares into my eyes. “You’ve proved you wouldn’t fuck me just because I desired it. You’ve blown your assignment wide open and risked your job by choosing to help us rather than get evidence that I’m prepared to be unfaithful. And when Stephen told you about the intruder, you’re here. I can trust you.”

  “So this whole thing—this fake marriage. It’s to goad the family into action?”

  “Partly.” She pats my chest once as though she can’t help herself, then her hand drops to her side. “But mostly it’s to provide an enhanced level of security to Montgomery. Someone slipped into this room while he was asleep and forced a pillow over his face.” Her lips thinned. “They attacked a defenseless old man when he was sleeping. It had to be someone in the household. Both Montgomery and Stephen thought that having a wife sleeping beside him would deter anyone from trying that again.”

  “Sleeping beside him.” I rub the back of my neck where the muscles have tensed.