Stepping back, she shrugged out of the blouse she wore over her tank top, exposing the revolver holstered to her left side that he hadn’t known she carried—if the sudden raising of his brows were any indication. Tossing the gauzy garment onto the nearby bed, she unsnapped the leather strap to free the weapon as an added intimidation tactic, though her stomach rolled at the thought of having to withdraw or use the gun. Especially on Dean, whom she truly liked, despite his criminal status.
His gaze traveled from the gun to her face, his initial surprise replaced by something far more playful. “And here I thought I was the only one with a concealed weapon,” he teased, a slow smile easing across his lips. “Is that thing loaded?”
His sexy innuendo was reminiscent of the provocative banter that had passed between them when she’d patted him down in his garage—before he’d realized that her cop act was for real. “I do believe that’s my line,” she shot right back.
“Touché,” he acknowledged, then groaned in relief as he rolled his stiff shoulders and shook out his cramped arms. “My hands were starting to tingle and fall asleep. Thank you for releasing me,” he said gratefully, then flashed her a sinful smile. “Though I have to admit that I was really looking forward to being hand-fed. You’re taking all the fun out of this captive fantasy for me, Jo.”
She rolled her eyes at his outrageous, flirtatious comment, then retrieved their bags of food and drinks from the dresser and slipped into her own seat across from him. “What can I say? Fulfilling fantasies isn’t in my job description, and fun isn’t a top priority for me when I’m on assignment.”
“Too bad, on both accounts.” Feigned disappointment touched his voice as he reached into a bag with his free hand for one of his double western bacon cheeseburgers and supersize fries. “So, you’re an all work and no play kind of girl?”
She poured the container of Caesar dressing over her salad. “Yeah, something like that. Too much work and not enough time for play.”
Which was her own fault, she knew. For the past few years she’d deliberately made work her sanctuary, a convenient way to dull the pain of the past that seemed to be her constant companion. Her cases kept her mind focused and her emotions sane…yet those same assignments were also responsible for keeping her secluded in an office during the day and crawling into a cold, lonely bed at night. Single and very much alone, if she didn’t count the awful nightmares that sometimes woke her in the darkest recesses of the night and haunted her until the break of dawn.
He considered her remark for a moment as he took a big bite out of his burger and chewed. “Seems you and I have something in common.”
She stabbed a forkful of lettuce and cast him a dubious glance. A cop turned P.I. and a felon couldn’t be more opposite in her opinion, no matter how attractive, sexy, and tempting said felon was. “Now that’s hard to imagine.”
“No, really, we do,” he insisted. Tearing open a small pouch of ketchup with the edge of his straight white teeth, he squirted the sauce onto the wax paper liner so he could dip his fries. “Too much work and not enough time for play is exactly the reason why I was taking off for a week in the mountains. And I have to tell you, Brett is going to get one hell of a good laugh when I tell him how I spent my vacation and how I mistook you as my birthday surprise.”
She squeezed lemon into her iced tea and stirred the amber liquid with her straw. “Again, I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”
“I’m not disappointed, Jo,” he said softly, then shook his head. “Let me rephrase that. Yeah, I’m disappointed that I didn’t get the show I was expecting, but my birthday isn’t for another six days, and I’m still hopeful.” He winked at her.
Heat suffused her skin at the thought of being this man’s private stripper and slowly, gradually peeling away layers of clothing while he watched with those intense green eyes of his. “Only in your dreams, Colter.”
The metal cuff around his left wrist clanged beneath the table as he leaned forward in his seat. “I’d be happy to share the details of tonight’s dreams with you tomorrow morning if you’d like.”
Judging by the wicked gleam in his gaze, there was no mistaking what visions would be dancing in his mind once his head hit the pillow—the very same provocative images she’d just visualized herself. “You can spare me the details, thank you very much.” Plucking a piece of grilled chicken from her salad, she bit into the tender meat and rerouted the direction of their conversation. “So, who is Brett?”
“He’s one of my best friends, and he also works for me.” Swiping three french fries into the pool of ketchup, he popped the trio into his mouth, then took a hefty drink of his soda.
She stared at him for a long moment as she mentally analyzed his statement and came to the most logical conclusion. “So, the two of you are partners in crime and steal cars together?”
He chuckled, though she couldn’t imagine what he found so humorous. “No, Brett’s the CEO of my company, Colter Traffic Control.”
“Really?” she drawled, wondering what kind of story he was trying to concoct. “Interesting name for a company, unless it’s a front for the cars you’ve stolen.”
A heavy sigh unraveled out of him. “No matter what you might believe about me, no matter what those police reports say or how similar I look to that guy in that mug shot you showed me, I’m not a thief.” A sudden impish look passed across his features. “Well, not when it comes to cars, anyway. When I was seven I stole a pack of Juicy Fruit gum from the grocery store. When I got home and my mother found out what I’d done, she immediately took me back to face the store manager and return what I’d taken. After the lecture I got about shoplifting and being prosecuted to the full extent of the law, which terrified me at the time, I swore I’d never steal anything ever again. And I haven’t. Gum or otherwise.”
She smiled, and pushed her salad around on her plastic dish in search of more chicken. “Cute story, but you have to admit that ‘Colter Traffic Control’ sounds like a clever way of saying that your solution to controlling traffic is by taking high-dollar cars off the road so they can be taken to a chop shop or sold to a foreign market.”
“Interesting theory, Ms. P.I.,” he agreed, unwrapping his second burger to devour, “but totally off the mark, I’m afraid. ‘Traffic Control’ is the name of the company I inherited from my father when he died a few years ago.”
He seemed so serious, his story almost too well-thought-out for a first-time felon. She wondered how far he planned to take this charade, and was curious enough to play along to see what he revealed. “Since you claim the business is legit, what, exactly, does your company do?”
He held up a finger to ask for a minute as he chewed the big bite he’d just taken, and she figured he needed the extra time to invent something believable. Done with most of her salad, she pushed the plate aside and rested her arms on the table, waiting for his explanation.
“Sorry ’bout that,” he apologized when he could speak again, then swiped his napkin across that full, sensual mouth of his. “We rent, lease, and sell traffic control devices to general contractors for highway and freeway projects.”
She had to give him extra points for originality. “Devices such as?” she prompted, certain she’d eventually back him into a corner that would leave him stammering for answers.
“Highway medians and barriers, traffic lights, signals and divider cones, parking meters, and even those big lighted signs they use during freeway construction to reroute traffic,” he replied easily. Finished with his dinner, he sucked a smudge of sauce from his thumb, then opened the lid on his chocolate mousse cake. “Those are just a few of the more popular items we supply.”
Propping her elbows on the table, she rested her chin on her laced fingers. “And supplying these traffic control items is such a stressful job that you needed a week-long vacation at a secluded cabin in the mountains?”
Dean pushed his plastic fork through his dessert, slipped a slice of the rich, chocolate concoction
into his mouth, and met Jo’s gaze, which brimmed with undisguised skepticism. Considering she was used to dealing with hardened criminals on the lam, he couldn’t blame her for being suspicious and cautious—even if that lack of trust was at his expense. The damning evidence and reports she carried with her about “Dean Colter,” coupled with what she’d witnessed back at his house led her to believe he’d been on the verge of eluding authorities.
No matter how personal and private his reasons were for needing the time off, he opted to stick with the truth. Hopefully, when his real identity was revealed in a few days, she’d remember how honest he’d been with her from the moment she’d taken him into custody. Besides, he had no reason to lie.
“I haven’t had a real vacation in years and I needed time away from work and life in general to think about an important decision I need to make. So, yes, I suppose on some level stress does come into play.” He turned his attention back to his mousse cake for another bite, then continued. “When my father passed away from a heart attack three years ago, the responsibility of Colter Traffic Control became mine, whether I wanted it or not. And every bit of my time and energy since then has been spent making sure the business remained profitable and successful, to the point that I’ve sacrificed a personal life, among other things.”
“You don’t sound like you were too thrilled about taking on the reins of the family business,” she commented lightly.
Did she believe his story? He searched her carefully composed expression for some kind of sign, found none, and guessed that she was just catering to what she no doubt assumed was a big, elaborate tale. “I’m not sure how I felt at the time, honestly. After graduating college I went to work at CTC because that’s what my father wanted and it seemed like the right thing to do. But I can’t say that it would have been the choice I would have made if I hadn’t felt pressured into it.”
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, which drew his gaze to her shapely breasts and the enticing way they pushed against her cotton tank top. “Why did you feel pressured?”
He ignored the stirring of desire making itself known and finished the last of his cold soda with a loud slurp. In that moment, it dawned on him that he was on the receiving end of a subtle interrogation. She was bombarding him with questions, waiting for him to crack or reveal an inconsistent thread in his story. Hard to do when everything was the bottom-line truth.
“I’m an only child, and spent most of my life listening to my father tell me that the sacrifices he’d made, all the late hours and weekends he spent at work, and all the Little League games and even my high school graduation he’d missed, were all for me, because he wanted to make sure he left me with a legacy, unlike his own dad who’d skipped out on him when he was ten and left him and his family with nothing.” Unfortunately, that pressure and guilt his father had instilled in him at such an early age had lain heavy on his conscience as an adult.
“So, when Dad died, I had this misguided notion that I had his legacy to carry on. Not only that, but one of the biggest lessons my old man ever taught me was that you don’t shirk your responsibilities, and this was a huge obligation for me. There was no other person to take over the business, and my first concern and priority was making sure that my mother was taken care of financially so she wouldn’t ever have to worry about money. She received a nice chunk of life insurance that she used to pay off the house they’d bought a few months before Dad’s heart failed, but she was also accustomed to the steady income that came in from the business. It was only logical, for so many reasons, that I keep the company and make the best of an unwanted situation.”
It was a choice that had caused a whole lot of dissension between him and his fiancée at the time, until Lora finally came to the conclusion one night, when he’d had to cancel dinner plans once again for work, that she couldn’t handle being second to a business that was absorbing more and more of his time. Their breakup had been painful and hard on both of them, yet Dean hadn’t been able to slow down long enough to make amends. And eventually, he’d found himself sucked into the same vicious cycle that had consumed his father—working late, spending weekends in the office, bidding on every job available and gaining contract after contract until his days and nights became one big blur of paperwork centered around the company.
“All things considered, that was a very selfless choice you made.” Her voice was quiet, without the sarcasm he would have expected if she still believed he was trying to deceive her. Despite that small concession, ingrained caution and realistic uncertainties still lingered in the depths of her blue eyes.
“At the time, it was the only choice I could make,” he told her, stretching his long legs beneath the small table. His calf accidentally brushed hers, and he could have sworn her breath hitched before she scooted back about two feet, moving her own legs out of his reach. “Three years later, things have changed. I’ve changed, and I don’t want to make the wrong choice this time out of obligation to anyone but myself.”
She digested that, silent and contemplating, staring at him in a way that made him feel as though she was scrutinizing him from the inside out. Her long, slender fingers fluttered against her cheek, then absently pushed wispy strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail away from her face. Which made him envision that thick mass of rich brown hair loose and spread around her shoulders, draped like silk over a pillow, wrapped tight around his long, seeking fingers as he moved over her…
“So,” she finally said, bringing him back to the present with a jolt that made him aware that he was undeniably turned on by his private, tantalizing fantasy. “This important decision you claim you need to make, does it have anything to do with your company?”
“As a matter of fact, it does.” She was sharp and perceptive, not that he’d expect anything less from her. “A few months ago I received a call from another traffic control company in San Francisco that expressed interest in buying out CTC so they can corner the traffic control market in Seattle, as well. That’s why I was heading off for a week in the mountains, to rest, relax, and consider my options and figure out if I want to keep the company because it’s all I know, or pursue another unknown career before I’m too old to do so.” And regain a personal, social life in the process, he added inwardly.
He stuffed his trash into the paper bag and pitched it into the nearby trash can, enjoying that he could talk so openly with Jo about the issues that had plagued him for months, even if she did doubt his sincerity. “The one thing I do know for certain is that I want to slow down this hectic pace I’ve been keeping for the past three years, because I don’t want to end up having a heart attack like my father. I’d also like a life of my own that doesn’t include eighty-hour workweeks. Last month I spent a week in San Francisco with this company hashing out details and legal and monetary issues, and they recently came back with a multimillion-dollar figure I’d be a fool not to at least consider….”
His voice trailed off as a glaring realization struck him hard. He sat there, momentarily stunned, unable to believe he hadn’t drawn such an obvious conclusion sooner to explain this entire misunderstanding he’d become a part of.
“I just thought of something,” he said, experiencing a bout of frustration that he couldn’t stand up when he wanted to pace off the sudden energy buzzing through him. “Something really important that could explain this mess I’m in.”
Her gaze narrowed on him, sharp and watchful. “And what’s that?”
She was offering him the benefit of any doubts she might harbor about him and his alleged arrest, and he jumped on the opportunity to reveal his theory. “During that last business trip to San Francisco, my briefcase was stolen, which held my wallet and ID—my driver’s license, social security card, credit cards. All of it,” he said, waving his free hand in the air between them. “The theft happened in the hotel where I was staying, on the day that I was checking out to come home. It was a Friday afternoon, the lobby was packed with guests
who were checking in, and I didn’t think twice about setting my briefcase down beside me at the registration desk. When I was done with the transaction, my briefcase was gone and nobody in the general vicinity saw anyone take it.”
Silent and thoughtful, she chewed on her lush bottom lip, and the slender, jean-clad leg crossed over her opposite knee bounced restlessly. He took her contemplative mood as a sign that she was at least mulling over his story.
He continued on while he still had her full attention, before she decided he was feeding her yet another well-crafted line. “At the time it happened, I thought I was just a victim of a random theft. But after seeing all that stuff you have on file for Dean Colter, including the driver’s license that was stolen, I’m not so sure.”
A slight frown turned down the corners of her mouth. “What, exactly, are you getting at?”
“Jo…someone used my ID to assume my identity,” he said, unable to mask the insistence in his tone, or the underlying plea for her to believe him. “Someone who looks very similar to me, with dark hair, green eyes and the same features. Except he’s a felon, and I’m not. It’s the only explanation that makes sense because the guy in that mug shot you have on file sure as hell isn’t me.”
She stood and cleaned up the remnants of her own dinner, a light, feminine sigh escaping her. “You know, I have to admit I’m finding it very difficult to argue your logic, mainly because I’ve been on the road for nearly ten hours, and I’m flat-out exhausted and my mind is feeling sluggish. However, even if what you say is true, there’s no way to verify your claim on the road. You’re going to have to wait until we’re back in San Francisco and we can get you fingerprinted.” She dumped her empty soda cup into the trash and looked back up at him, meeting his gaze. “I’m really sorry, Dean,” she said softly.
He held her stare, his cuffed hand curling into a tight fist beneath the table. “Do you believe me, Jo?”
A Wicked Seduction Page 5
