by Rita Herron
"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 cut
e 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."
Abby stiffened at the woman's crude suggestion, and Suarez's smile vanished, his dark eyes flashing with temper. "There's no need to be rude, Barringer. We're here to ask questions, not harass her." He winked at Abby. "Besides, I happen to know Dr. Jensen's sister, Victoria."
"You do?" Relief spilled through Abby. Maybe they weren't going to arrest her.
Barringer glared at Suarez, then spread the tabloid photo on the table. "Ma'am, where is your husband? We'd like to speak to him."
Oh. They thought Harry was her husband. "He's... he's not here."
"When will he be back?"
"I... I really don't know." Abby sank into the wooden chair, eyeing them both warily.
"Can you tell us where he is, Dr. Jensen?" Barringer took the chair beside her. "Will he be at your next interview?"
Abby hesitated, her pulse racing. She couldn't lie to the police. "Yes. No. Actually that man in the photo..." She paused, gauging their reaction. "He's not my husband."
A dark eyebrow rose above Suarez's inky eyes. "He's not?"
"No, he's a double."
Barringer patted her side as if she were ready to handcuff Abby any second. "An actor."
"Why would you hire an actor to play your husband?" Suarez asked.
"Because Lenny's not around."
Barringer made a clucking sound with her teeth, waving her hands jerkily. "Just spit it all out, Dr. Jensen. We need the truth, and we can do it here or down at the station."
She did not want to have to go to the police station. "Why are you looking for Lenny?"
"We believe he may be involved in a scam with a man named Tony Milano." Suarez sipped his coffee, his voice steady. "You and Mr. Gulliver were married by Mr. Milano?"
Abby knotted her hands in her lap, inhaled, then nodded. "Maybe you'd better sit down. This may take a while." The officers joined her at the table and she related the entire story, praying they would believe her. Relief to have the truth finally out in the open, at least on some level, filled her.
"Don't feel so bad." Suarez patted her shoulder in an effort to console her. "This isn't the first time Gulliver has conned a woman."
"What?"
Sympathy for her was evident in the detective's handsome face. "He was married twice before and stole money from both wives." Suarez shrugged. "We never would have caught the connection if some reporter hadn't started snooping around asking questions about him."
"A reporter?"
"Yeah, some guy named Stone."
Abby balled her hands into fists. Hunter Stone, the man who had already tainted her reputation in the paper, had now turned the police on her tail.
Even worse, now he had the rope to hang her; he was on to Lenny.
* * *
Hunter settled the black mutt with the pudgy face and crooked tail into Lizzie's lap. They had finally decided on the cross between the beagle and the basset hound, but Lizzie still didn't seem convinced they'd made a good choice. "He's not a Butterballs." The mutt stuck its butt in her face, and aimed its head at the window.
"But he's friendly, and he needs us."
"He don't got much hair."
"Then he won't shed all over the furniture."
Lizzie patted his stout back. "He gots a smashed-in face."
"That just makes him more lovable."
"Can we takes him by to see Butterball?"
Hunter cranked the engine and veered from the parking lot. "I guess so. Let's see if Abby's home."
The dog dropped down on his belly, spread out all fours, and began to snore. Lizzie folded her arms cross her chest, gave him another skeptical look, and sighed. Hunter just hadn't been able to bring himself to buy a sissy dog. After all, a man's dog should reflect something about his personality.
Another sound rippled through the air, and Lizzie squealed. "Eww, Daddy, he farted."
Well, maybe not everything about a man's character. Hunter rolled down his window. "He's a guy dog," he said, as if that explained everything.
Lizzie pinched her nose and scooted the dog off her lap, her fingers extended as if she'd just touched a sack of garbage. The puppy crawled between Hunter and Lizzie and stuck his nose into Hunter's crotch. Hunter squirmed and pushed the dog from his sniffing venture. The puppy collapsed between them with a sigh and let another one rip.
Lizzie giggled. "Gross!"
The dog responded with a loud snore.
A car horn blared and Hunter jerked his mind back to the road. Bright sunshine nearly blinded him as he wove along the azalea-lined drive to Abby's house. Flowers decorated the suburban neighborhood like brightly colored balloons, dotting the lawns with a hominess missing from his apartment complex.
He needed to buy a house, even if it was a small one, so when Lizzie came to visit, she felt more at home. Where the dog could have a place to run and roam. But how he could finance it?
"Daddy, why's the police at Dr. Abby's?"
He spotted the squad car and grimaced. Good question.
Had something happened to Abby, or were they here about her husband?
* * *
"Will you let us know if you hear from him?" Barringer asked as Abby escorted the officer to the door.
"Yes." Humiliation stung her face at the woman's suspicious glare. It was bad enough that she'd had to admit that her husband had left her and charged up her credit cards, but to admit she'd paid someone else to pretend to be him had stolen the last vestiges of her dignity.
The policewoman had grilled her like an FBI interrogator, certain Abby had been involved in the resort scam. Apparently Lenny's name had been tied to a joint account with Tony Milano, so they'd figured out the connection.
"Take care, Dr. Jensen," Suarez said in a sympathetic tone. "Oh—" he leaned forward—"and tell Victoria hi for me."
"I will, and thanks." As the police walked down the driveway she sighed in relief, but her stomach hit the floor when Harry's Explorer coasted by her house. Obviously having spotted the police, he rolled down the street as if he didn't know whether to stop or flee. He probably didn't want anything to do with her troubles.
The sun baked her as she watched the police pull away. Harry returned within seconds, climbed out, and strode toward her, his da
ughter holding Angelica and dragging some ugly mutt behind her, her big floppy T-shirt and pink sandals flapping.
"Come on, Snarts," Lizzie cajoled. "We gots to go see Butterballs."
Harry's dark gaze met hers. "I hope you don't mind that we stopped by."
The mangy mutt stopped to sniff and trample the flower bed Abby had diligently planted by the mailbox. Harry reached out and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. "Is everything all right, Abby?"
No, she wanted to scream. Nothing is right. First the tabloid, then the police.
But his concern touched her, and Lizzie and her dog bounded toward them, so she bit back a harsh retort. "Everything's fine."
His expression made his disbelief evident, but she ignored it. Instead, she dropped down to a squatting position to speak to Lizzie. "Hey, sweetie." She slowly reached out so the animal could sniff her hand. "Who's your new friend?"
"He's my dog," Lizzie said with a huff, as if Abby wouldn't recognize him as such. "They didn't got no Butterballs. And Daddy said we should give this guy a home 'cause he's homely."
"Homeless," Harry corrected gently.
"He says he's a real man's dog."
Abby lifted a brow and stared at Harry, watching him squirm.
"He says dogs 'sposed to detect what a man's like." As if on cue, the dog flopped down on his fat stomach and whined.
"I said a dog is supposed to reflect what a man's like," Harry said tightly.
"So are you going to flop down on your belly and whine?" Abby asked.
Lizzie giggled. "Yeah, Daddy, do it."
Harry's direct gaze promised retribution to Abby later. "I don't think so."
Abby stroked the dog's nearly hairless back. "What's his name?"
"Snarts."
"Why did you call him that?"
" 'Cause he snores and—"
"Lizzie, I don't think Ms. Abby wants to know."
Abby grinned.
Lizzie blew a gust of air, sending her bangs fluttering. "Can he play with Butterballs?"
Abby nodded and gestured for them to follow her, but the dog bounded off and ran through the house. Suddenly the sound of crashing glass rent the air. Lizzie raced after the dog, Hunter and Abby on her heels. When Abby found them in the kitchen, Lizzie was staring wide-eyed at one of Abby's teapots on the floor.
