by Rita Herron
*~*~*~*
Marci shuddered as she stared at the papers in front of her. Her tuition hadn’t been paid.
Her bank accounts were wiped out.
Paul had…lied to her. Cheated those innocent, sweet little ladies out of their savings.
Cheated her out of hers!
The door swung open, and that female cop clomped in. “Pendergrass was spotted at the airport.”
“Did they catch him?” Detective Muller asked.
“No, he saw the cops and he got away. He’s in the wind now.”
Detective Muller looked back at Marci. “Where’s your lover boy going now?”
Marci ripped the rest of the hem off her dress. “I don’t know but I’m going to kill him when I find out.” In fact, she might save this dress and choke him with it when she did.
CHAPTER FIVE
Marci woke up with a crick in her neck, then realized Dottie had curled up behind her on the same cot and was spooning her. She twisted sideways and stared at her, the idea of sleeping with another woman so close reminding her that she should have been having wild sex on her honeymoon last night instead of sharing a prison cot with another inmate.
Then she reminded herself that Dottie was in here by mistake, too. She had a right to slug her no-good, two-timing bastard of a husband.
A rumble echoed off the walls, and she extracted herself from the woman’s chunky arms.
Bless her heart. Dottie must have sleep apnea because she was snoring like a hippo.
Birdie Waller from the Curl Up & Dye where she’d been doing her practice work said her mama told her to put a butter knife under her mattress and that had helped her snoring. But the guards here probably wouldn’t let Dottie have a butter knife.
She sat up and stretched, her muscles yearning for her morning yoga. But reality hit her with a vengeance, the horrific events of the day before flashing through her mind on speed dial as she looked down at her disheveled wedding dress which was torn, thanks to her nervous energy, and wound around her ankles.
The orange jumpsuit Detective Muller had offered her to sleep in mocked her from the floor. She’d told him in no certain terms that orange wasn’t her color and asked for pink or blue but the SOB had just grunted.
The man didn’t have a heart.
But he sure did have some sexy bedroom eyes.
And a body that made a woman break out in a sweat. Very unladylike, but hey, some men just had that effect on a girl, and Detective Muller with his dark-as- sin eyes, and that chiseled face, and that stupid lock of hair that kept falling across his forehead, and that big…gun could almost make a girl forget she had a ring on her finger.
She glanced down at her hand.
Well, technically now she didn’t have that diamond because the cops had confiscated it, but she was engaged.
Not really, a tiny voice whispered.
Because her fiancé had fled from the altar like a bat out of hell.
Or a guilty man…
Images of the paperwork the detective had shown her haunted her. Her dream house…not hers at all. Her paid tuition…non-existent. Her bank account, all those tips she’d worked her butt off to earn…gone.
Her future…in shambles.
What if she was convicted and sent to jail?
The sumo guy sat up, rubbing his eyes, but the drunk old man across from her was deep in never-never land, the smell of booze reeking off of his dirty clothes and beard. She wondered what he’d look like cleaned up.
Was his son really a lawyer?
If so, she needed his name. She just hoped he’d take an IOU since she was broke,
Suddenly footsteps echoed on the cement floor, and the low rumble of voices in the distance. Two guards.
The one who’d frisked her and taken her ring the night before appeared with Detective Muller by his side.
Embarrassment flooded Marci as she realized she must look a fright. Where the handsome cop – irritating as he was – was dressed in a dark blue shirt that looked decadent against his olive skin, and he’d shaved and his hair was still damp from the shower.
God, she wanted a shower.
His dark gaze raked over her, then he gave her his deadpan cold stare. “Your sister is here to see you.”
Relief warred with disappointment. Kim must be furious. She’d had to deal with the fallout from the runaway groom and the bride in handcuffs and handle the details of the wedding that didn’t happen.
What had they done with all those drinks and that beautiful wedding cake?
Oh, wait, the memory returned. Paul had knocked the cake off the stand when he’d raced through the ballroom with the police on his tail. As far as the drinks, she wished she had one now.
God. Kim hated publicity and had made a reputation in the community for helping kids.
She’d probably hidden out all night in shame. Once again because of her.
How was she going to face her today?
*~*~*~*
Cade rolled his shoulders as he escorted Marci to the front. Protests from the others in the neighboring cells echoed in his ears. The same group that she had won over the night before in her cellblock rallied to free her this morning.
Hell, they’d been singing Kumbaya and holding hands through the cells like they were at some kids’ camp before the guards had finally made them shut down around midnight.
“You’d better not hurt her again!” Dottie yelled.
“She’s innocent,” the sumo guy shouted.
The drunk reached for her hand as she passed his cell. “Remember to call my son Harry. He’ll take care of you.”
If the man’s son was a lawyer, why he hadn’t come to bail his father out?
Marci was rubbing her wrists, and he winced as he glanced down. The bruise on her arm had turned a nasty purple. She must bruise easily.
He had not hurt her.
At least not intentionally.
That stupid dress swished again, then got caught in the door as he opened it.
“Darn it,” Marci muttered as she tried to pull it free.
He growled in frustration then opened the door again, crinoline bunching up in his hands as he shoved the miles of fabric through the opening. Still, three inches of the white lacy stuff ripped and remained wedged in the door edge when he closed it again.
“Thank you,” Marci said primly.
He simply glared at her because she was being so damn nice to him, and he knew she had to be uncomfortable after sleeping on that cot with the bubba woman.
Besides he had a bad feeling he might have lost Pendergrass again.
And if the scene he’d watched with Marci leading that sing-along was any indication, the only thing Marci was guilty of was being snowed by the smooth-talking bastard just like his other victims.
Which meant she’d been jilted at the altar by the man she loved, and he’d stolen all her money.
Yep, Pendergrass was a real stand-up example of male DNA.
Hell, was he any better? If she was as innocent as she appeared to be, he’d publicly humiliated her in the worst possible way.
“Where are you taking me now?” she asked, sounding deflated.
“Your sister posted your bail,” he said flatly.
He omitted the fact that this morning her sister had reamed his ass out with a few choice words about what a monster he was for dragging Marci off in handcuffs from her wedding in front of her friends and the press.
Instead he remained stoic, reminding himself he had only been doing his job as he led her past security through another set of doors to the front desk where Kim stood pacing like a frantic mother hen. For God’s sake, he’d been terrified she’d go into labor while he went to get her sister.
She took one look at Marci’s disheveled appearance and burst into tears. “Oh, my god, Marci, are you okay?”
Marci blinked rapidly as if to stem a breakdown, then Kim dragged her into a hug as if she hadn’t seen her in years. “Tell me, sis, did they hurt you in the
re?” Kim pulled back to exam her, checking her face and body as if she’d expected Marci to have been beaten.
“I’m fine,” Marci said with a fake I’m-trying-to-be-brave smile.
But Kim spied the bruise on Marci’s arm and gasped. “My god, what happened to you in there?”
“Nothing,” Marci rushed to assure her. “He gave that to me --” She turned and gave him a pointed look – “when he dragged me into his car.”
Kim swung toward him, her hands fisted on her hips, which only yanked her damn maternity top tighter across her belly. He knew pregnant women were hormonal and sometimes trauma could cause problems and hoped to hell her water didn’t break right here on the floor.
“You brute, you’re going to be sorry you hurt my sister,” Kim said, her tone fuming. “She should sue you for police brutality.”
Cade gritted his teeth. He was sorry for the bruise. But it had been an accident. Marci must have some medical condition that caused her to bruise easily.
Kim started toward him, but Marci caught her. “Don’t sweat it, Kim. He’s not worth it.”
Cade’s temper boiled. He had just been doing his job.
And had they forgotten that Pendergrass was the lying, cheating crook, not him?
Still, Marci’s mussed hair and swollen eyes did make her look vulnerable. For a second, he was tempted to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear.
God help him. He knew better.
If he touched her, he might forget that she was a suspect in an ongoing investigation.
“Am I free to go now?” Marci asked him in a low voice.
He gave a clipped nod and gestured toward the desk adjacent to them. “You can pick up your belongings at the desk.”
“Come on.” Kim took Marci’s arm. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”
Marci nodded, and the two of them walked over to the desk. Cade stood to the side while Marci signed for her belongings, then he handed the envelope to her.
She glanced inside, eyes narrowed in suspicion, as if she expected they had stolen her jewelry.
A second later, the muscles in her face relaxed as she pulled out the ring. The enormous diamond glittered beneath the lights.
He waited to see if she’d tuck it back on that finger, but she turned it over in her palm and examined it, suspicious again, as if she thought they might have switched out the stone for glass while she spent the night in the clinker.
“For God’s sake, it’s the same ring,” he muttered.
Finally satisfied, she gave a disheartened sigh then stuffed it back into the envelope.
Then she and Kim linked arms, huddling together as they disappeared out the door.
Georgia rushed toward him, her expression animated. “Cade, I just talked to forensics and they were checking Marci’s cell phone.”
Right. They’d confiscated her personal items from the country club bridal room. “What did they find?”
“No proof,” Georgia said. “But it looks like Pendergrass called Marci after he ran.”
Did the man really love Marci?
“What did he say?”
“That he’d call her back.”
“Did you get a location on him?”
Georgia shook her head. “No, he was calling from a burner phone.”
Shit. Cade’s mind ticked over what to do. “Keep the trace on her cell and put one on her home phone. When Pendergrass calls back we can nab him.”
“You think they had a back-up plan? Maybe a place to meet so they can escape together?”
Cade frowned. “I don’t know, but we can’t dismiss the possibility.”
If Marci had lied, she might be meeting Pendergrass. Which meant she might know where he’d hidden his money.
Or where he was going next.
Adrenaline kicked in. Hell, he’d run surveillance on Marci and find out just what that sweet-looking little vixen was up to.
If she intended to catch up with Pendergrass, he’d catch both of them red-handed.
Then he’d never ever have to think about Marci Turner again.
*~*~*~*
Marci sank into the passenger side of Kim’s new mini-van, shoving the crinoline around her to fasten her seatbelt. Right now all she wanted was a hot shower and a change of clothes.
She buried her hands in her dress and dipped her head, too ashamed to even look at her sister. Kim was the director of a home for needy children and depended on donations to keep the place running.
What if some of her supporters saw the news story about her and pulled their backing?
Worry darkened Kim’s face as she chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she’d seen her sister do countless times before.
When she’d had to bail her out of trouble.
“You really are all right?” Kim asked.
Marci nodded, then realized Kim’s eyes were glued to the road so she mumbled yes. “I’m sorry, Kim.”
“Sorry?” Kim said, with an angry shake of her head. “Marci, please tell me you didn’t have any idea what Paul was doing.”
Marci wrung her hands together. “You honestly think I would cheat those people out of their money.” That really hurt.
“I didn’t say that,” Kim said, although her voice cracked as if she doubts had crept in.
The familiar tone -- Kim being the good twin and always doing the right thing -- echoed in her voice.
The Kim she could never live up to.
Marci’s anger sprouted. “So you automatically assume Paul is guilty?”
Kim’s eyes blazed as she swung her head toward her. “Don’t tell me you’re going to defend him. He left you at the altar and ran from the cops.”
“Maybe he has an explanation,” Marci said, although she hadn’t slept all night for wondering what that explanation could possibly be.
And if Paul was exactly what Detective Muller had said he was – a cheat and a liar.
Of course, she didn’t want to admit that to Kim.
But her insecurities mounted. Had Paul ever loved her?
Was she such a big fat fool that he could have duped her?
“Good heavens, Marci,” Kim muttered. “If he was innocent, he would have stayed and defended himself. He would have protected you instead of leaving you holding the bag.”
Marci winced and turned to look out the window.
A tense heartbeat passed, then Kim sighed. “You didn’t tell the police anything, did you? I mean, you know not to talk without a lawyer.”
“I didn’t need a lawyer,” Marci said. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Good grief, you did talk.” Kim moaned.
“I told the truth,” Marci said, her chest pounding.
Kim wove through traffic, then turned down Peachtree toward Marci’s condo. “For God’s sake, I tried to bail you out last night but they wouldn’t let me. But I thought you’d have enough sense to keep your mouth closed and request a lawyer.”
Marci folded her arms and clamped her mouth shut. She knew Kim was just worried about her, and she’d vowed never to put her in a spot like this, but it wasn’t her fault she’d been falsely arrested.
Kim veered into her condo complex, and Marci groaned at the sight of the news vans outside the building.
“How did they know I was coming home now?” Marci muttered.
“They’ve had someone camped there all night waiting for your story.”
“Well, then I’ll give it to them,” Marci said as she reached for the door handle.
“No, you won’t.” Kim gripped her arm to stop her. “Austin is waiting to help us get in. You’d better not say a word until we get you an attorney.”
“But I can’t let all my sweet customers think I stole their money. The press can tell them that.”
“Marci,” Kim said, her eyes narrowed. “They can also twist everything you say and find some way to hang this crime on you. So I’m warning you, keep your mouth closed for once.”
Tears stung Marci’s eyes. Did her si
ster really think she was so stupid?
Austin wove through the reporters, fending them off with a terse “no comment”, then appeared at her door. Kim jumped out, and she and Austin surrounded Marci, herding her toward the entrance to her unit.
The reporters flocked around them, pummeling her with questions.
“Do you know where Paul Pendergrass is?”
“Did you know he was stealing money from people?”
“Did you help him escape?”
Marci bit her tongue. If she’d helped him escape, she wouldn’t have spent the night in the pokey by herself!
Austin threw up an arm to ward them off as they rushed up the steps to her second floor apartment. Two of the blasted reporters trailed them like rabid dogs, but Kim and Austin managed to keep them at bay while Austin unlocked her door.
Marci practically fell inside from Kim’s push, then Austin slammed the door in the vulture’s faces. But instead of relief, her stomach lurched.
Someone had broken into her apartment and ransacked it. The couch cushions were scattered on the floor, the cabinets and drawers wide open, papers littering the floor as if they’d been pawed through.
Then she glanced inside her bedroom and moaned. The destruction in there was even worse.
Her clothes had been rifled through, underwear hanging from the drawers, the bed tousled, her satin comforter stripped and tossed on the floor, the mattress askew.
Who had been here? And what had they been looking for?
*~*~*~*
A smile curved his mouth. Marci Turner was out of jail. It looked as if her twin and her husband had bailed her out.
He slid deeper into the seat of his car and focused his camera on her apartment as she entered. The cameras he’d installed while she’d wrestled on that cot in her cell last night would come in handy.
He would know everything little Miss Turner did. Every conversation she had. Every phone call. Every visitor.
And when she connected with Pendergrass – which he had no doubt she would – he’d follow her pretty ass right to the man.
Then he’d have them both right where he wanted them.
