Sweet Deception

by Angel Nicholas

  “Dare I ask why you were seeing a shrink?”

  Ally shrugged, studying a microscopic smudge on the windshield. “A few years ago, a drunk driver killed my family. My mom, dad, grandma and little brother were coming home from the Olympics.” Despite the grief weighing down her soul, a small smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “My brother had just won the gold medal in snowboarding.”

  Greg snapped his fingers, startling her. “Nicholas Thompson. I heard about that. The gold medal, the accident…”

  “The surviving sister, too terrified of flying to accompany her family, therefore missing out on sharing Nick’s greatest moment.”

  “And missing out on dying.”

  Her shoulders hunched and she wrapped her arms around her ribcage. Survivor’s guilt. For the most part conquered, but sometimes the ugliness crept up and blindsided her. “Actually, I was driving. I picked them up from the airport.” Enough about her life. “I don’t get why anyone would…Michael is…was a sweet guy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. It doesn’t make sense.”

  He frowned at her but let the subject change stand, to her relief. “Maybe he was involved in something, and whoever had him killed thinks he told you about it. Were you two dating?”

  His voice sounded odd. She glanced at him. His hands were tight around the steering wheel and the skin around his eyes and mouth was tight.

  Huh. “No, we weren’t dating. We were just friends.”

  He nodded, shoulders relaxing.

  Too bizarre.

  “What about any mutual friends, then? Someone he could have offended.”

  “Michael and I worked together. We didn’t socialize outside of that. I don’t know anything about his personal life.”

  Greg steered the car back into traffic. Several blocks later, he pulled into a parking spot outside a police station.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “I need to see if they’ve gotten anything out of the guy we brought in yesterday or if Weasel became chatty.”

  She trailed along behind him, like a forlorn puppy, into the stuffy interior of the building. Scuffed and scarred floors, gray walls, and old desks set a mundane backdrop for the bustling activity. Uniformed officers and men in uninspired suits mingled with tattooed women and grungy males with bitter eyes.

  Greg ushered her past the front security and down a hall while she gaped at the scene. She swallowed a sigh of disappointment when he led her into a sedate room, minus the criminal element. He pointed her toward a desk with his favorite order, “Stay put.”

  Glaring mutinously, she sat and refused to dwell on his broad back. Nor did she notice the easy way he wove through the desks before disappearing down the hallway.

  She crossed her legs, brushed lint off her dress and looked around. All heads faced her. Conversation ceased. Ally swallowed thickly, tummy tightening painfully.

  She pasted on a smile, doing her best to ignore the onset of nausea.

  The man seated at the desk nearest her had his eyes glued to her bare legs. Despite the admiration on his handsome face, she longed for a pair of blue jeans. She shifted her legs to the side and kept him in her peripheral vision. His gaze made its way to her face.

  Appreciation warmed his baby-blues. “Why’s a fine-looking woman like you hanging out with Marsing? You have way too much class for him.”

  She reluctantly faced him. Under normal circumstances, she’d appreciate his attention. Well-dressed in a mocha suit and red power tie, his smile a flash of white in his tan face, emphasizing a dimpled chin and strong cheekbones, surrounded by neatly cropped golden curls. Today? Detective Goldilocks’ over-the-top flattery fell flat.

  Her smile stretched tight. “Thanks.”

  “So,” he leaned back in his squeaky chair, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, “You’re ol’ Marsing’s flavor of the month.”

  She flinched. Her lack of experience in handling overt rudeness sucked. Eyeing his badge and gun, she opted for placid agreement. “Apparently.”

  “You don’t seem like his type. You’d be a lot better off with someone like…” He glanced around the room then looked back at her with a smug grin. “Me.”

  Is he for real? As if. Good looks didn’t compensate for totally corny lines. Okay, so amazing looks. Still.

  “Can I get you a drink while you’re waiting?”

  “That would be nice.” Anything to get rid of him.

  “What would you like?”

  “Uhm, what are my choices?”

  “Maybe you should come along, so you can pick out whatever you want.”

  Ally glanced toward the doorway where Greg had disappeared. A police officer had tried to kill her yesterday. Going for a walk with Goldilocks didn’t seem like a brilliant idea.

  “Come on. It’ll be fine. We’ll be back before Marsing. He can’t have every second of your day. Besides, you’re surrounded by cops. Safe as a baby in a buggy.”

  With a mental shrug, she rose. She was in a police station. The detective clearly didn’t know who she was. Just—how had he put it?—Greg’s flavor of the month. She so adored that description.

  Goldilocks whipped around a corner and she broke into a trot. Why did men have to walk so darn fast? She’d like to see how well they walked in four-inch heels. A mental picture of Goldilocks in a dress and stilettos flashed and she grinned as she rounded the corner.

  Detective Goldilocks grabbed her elbow. Tight. Alarm bells went off. She tried to wrench her arm free and stomp on his foot as she opened her mouth to scream.

  Chapter Seven

  “Oh no, you don’t.” He slapped a damp palm over her mouth and yanked her close. “I heard about that move.”

  How many dirty cops did this department have, anyway?

  “That’s right, just stay calm and everything will be fine.”

  “Do I look stupid?” she mumbled into his hand, glaring at him.

  He held her tight to his side and started walking. Tension radiated off him like too much cheap cologne.

  Sticking close to the wall, he half-walked, half-carried her down the deserted hallway. The deserted hallway in a police station. Her quiet life had become a black comedy of errors. Or this police department was really that inept. Seriously, were all the other cops sipping coffee and inhaling donuts in the break room?

  A red exit sign glowed above the metal door ahead. She wriggled harder. If only she’d thought to grease herself down earlier, ’cause no way was she going outside with him.

  The door loomed. She whimpered, searching desperately for rescue. He reached for the door and Ally went limp. Goldilocks staggered and her head bounced off the wall. Sharp pain shot through her skull and down her neck. She moaned into the hand clamped over her mouth.

  Spots danced across her vision and she drove the heel of her shoe backward, aiming for his shin. The wedge met with solid muscle. His hold loosened and she jerked free, stumbling as she turned to run.

  Goldilocks swore. His solid weight punched into her side, slamming her against the opposite wall. Her head bounced off the wall again, hazing her vision. He hauled her through the door. Pain exploded at the bright sunshine and forced her eyes closed.

  Bright spots flickered against her closed eyelids. His arms banded tight around her diaphragm. She struggled to draw a full breath.

  He let go and she collapsed. Not in a lovely, graceful swoon, either. Just dropped like a stone, her legs rubbery from the wild spinning in her head.

  The smack of flesh meeting flesh and blistering curses roused her. She rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes.

  Greg had Goldilocks on the ground, pummeling him. Other men ran up, grabbed Greg and dragged him off Goldilocks. Several more men helped Goldilocks to his feet and into handcuffs. Greg shook off the restraining hands and stalked toward her, furious color high in his cheeks and an unholy gleam in his eyes.

  Ally struggled to her feet, narrowing her eyes when the world tilted and pain crashed through her head. She didn’t d
are take her gaze off the six feet plus of angry male approaching.

  “Are you okay?” he growled, toe-to-toe with her.

  She nodded, resisting the urge to back up, instinctively knowing doing so would be a mistake.

  “What the hell is so hard to understand about ‘stay put’?”

  Man, he was hot.

  Before she could respond, or kiss him senseless, the same older man who’d been at Greg’s condo came up and laid his hand on Greg’s arm. “Greg, this isn’t the time or place. I don’t see how this is Miss Thompson’s fault. We didn’t know Scott was dirty. How was she supposed to?”

  Greg glared at her, obviously hoping to sear his message of complete, unquestioning obedience into her brain telepathically.

  After everything she’d been through, his dominating, insufferable attitude was too much. Even if she was twisted enough to find him unbearably sexy, attitude and all. Issues. Serious issues. She blamed her family.

  Crossing her arms, she glared back. “I’m not a dog, Greg. Lose the attitude.”

  “Greg.” The older man had more steel in the word this time, his impressive white eyebrows lowering over his eyes.

  Greg stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Captain. Guess I got a little carried away.”

  “The stress of the job getting to you, son? You’ve earned a few days off. We can assign Miss Thompson to another detective.”

  Greg went rigid. “I’m fine, sir. I don’t like to leave a job unfinished.”

  Ally frowned. He was forever amused or annoyed with her. Surely he’d welcome getting rid of her. Except…he’d said this case could make his career. Her tummy flipped and she lowered her gaze. Whatever the cause, she was glad he wasn’t going to hand her off to some other guy. He’d proven he could keep her safe. Well, safer than every other guy she’d spent more than two minutes with, at least.

  “If you’re sure. We can’t have you cracking on the job.” At Greg’s nod, the captain turned to watch Scott disappear inside the building with his escort and shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with this department. Pardon the language, Miss. Scott’s been with us since he graduated from the police academy thirteen years ago. And Smith…” Tension lined his mouth and eyes.

  Empathy welled, but what could she say? She didn’t know the police captain.

  “I can’t say, sir,” Greg said. “I guess we should be glad we’re finding the holes.”

  “Maybe, but I’d prefer there weren’t any holes to find. There’d damn well better not be more. Especially since we don’t have Smith in custody.” His sharp gray eyes focused on Ally. She fidgeted. “Miss Thompson. It’s been a rough couple of days for you. You okay? Does your head hurt?”

  Grimacing, she rubbed her throbbing temples. “You could say that. Nothing half a dozen Tylenol won’t take care of.”

  “Greg, take care of her. And find whoever’s behind this mess. I want him brought in a.s.a.p.”“Yes, sir.”

  With a nod at Greg and a fatherly smile at her, the captain disappeared into the station behind the last of the stragglers. The door swung closed. A sudden fascination with the blacktop overtook her.

  Greg sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper. I could blame it on adrenaline, but the truth is…”

  She glanced up through her lashes.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I lost it when I saw an empty chair. Every time I turn around someone’s grabbing you. I assumed the worst. And I was right, damnit.”

  Ally shrugged. She didn’t know how to take his comment. Did he care about her as a person, a woman or was he just doing his job? Did he care at all?

  He pulled her against him, smothering her surprised yelp as he enfolded her in his arms. He rubbed the back of her neck, easing her headache. His other arm wound around her waist, clasping her tight. He surrounded her so thoroughly her brain short-circuited.

  The same couldn’t be said for her body. Her nipples pebbled against his hard chest, her stomach quivered, her womb clenched and she grew damp between her thighs. The warm scent she already associated with him infused her every nook and cranny like a high-grade aphrodisiac. One tiny, still-operating brain cell buzzed, “Danger! Heartbreak ahead!” but she was too drunk on sensation, on Greg, to care.

  He drew in a deep breath and squeezed her, shooting off mini fireworks. As abruptly as he’d pulled her close, he released her and took a step back. He rubbed a long strand of her dark hair between his thumb and forefinger. Her silly romantic heart saw the gesture as symbolic of his struggle with his longing for her and his subsequent inability to bridge the distance.

  The hair slipped free and he sighed. “We’d better head out.”

  She nodded and brushed off her dress. When she looked back up, Surfer Dude had returned. Relaxed, loose posture, a slight grin, green eyes warm and amused; carefree persona restored in full. After five seconds of full-frontal contact, her composure evaporated like a wisp of smoke on a brisk fall day.

  He held the door open and she slid into the passenger seat. The low rumble of the engine was the only sound as they wove through the city streets. Gradually, her brain reordered itself. She stared out the window, trying to make sense of the last day and a half over the dull throb in her head.

  There had to be something she was missing. Maybe she’d been mistaken for someone else. Had she seen something she didn’t realize was important? She sighed.

  “We’ll figure it out, Ally.” The annoying man was reading her mind again. “Maybe we should sit down and go over your last week. There must be something.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. I can’t figure it out. It’s so frustrating.”

  “Sometimes all it takes is fresh eyes. Or ears.”

  “That would be great.” Ally bit her lip, but what the heck? “Sooo, where are we going to have this conversation? Driving down the road? Another motel?”

  He chuckled. “Nah. I thought we’d go somewhere out of the way and peaceful.”

  “Sounds like heaven.”

  Greg pulled into a drive-thru coffee shop and glanced at her. “What’s your poison, Sugar Lips?”

  “Nonfat chai tea latte, please.”

  The buildings grew fewer and farther between as they left the city behind. He turned onto a dirt lane, babying his Camaro down the road. Around a curve, the trees thinned to reveal a beautiful, sparkling lake framed by thick pine trees and a sweeping shoreline dotted sporadically with houses.

  “Wow,” she breathed.

  “Yeah. This is my favorite place to get away.”

  “Really? You need to get away from things?” For the first time in two days, she felt light-hearted enough to tease. She fought giddiness. Freedom.

  He laughed, steering the car down the twisting hillside to the lake below. She threw open the Camaro’s door before he’d come to a complete stop.

  Fresh, cool air poured over her, soothing overwrought nerves. Breathing the pine-scented air, she surveyed the surrounding scenery. The lake water shone, drawing her down a path.

  Two days ago, the wobbly dock would have sent her scurrying for shore. Now, she didn’t pause until she’d reached the very end. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face to the warmth of the sun and smiled.

  “This place never gets old.”

  He walked up beside her, his nearness deepening her contentment. Beauty surrounded her—he pulse of life in the water gently lapping against the boat dock beneath her feet, the rustling of leaves, the gentle breeze caressing her skin and the trill of birds. All of it more effective than any sedative.

  “Okay, I’m officially jealous. If I had a place like this, I don’t think you could drag me away.” She turned and caught an odd expression on Greg’s face. His mouth opened then snapped shut.

  The look fled, replaced by the casual happy-go-lucky attitude she now recognized. An attitude remarkably similar to a carefully erected shield. The buffer provided Greg with distance and minimized the risk of getting too close.
>
  Not that she had room to talk. Her walls were thick and miles high. She protected them by keeping a safe, familiar and admittedly boring environment wrapped around her like a blanket. Never taking any risks, any chances.

  The two of them made quite a pair. She shook her head and looked beyond Greg to the home on the rise.

  A massive wall of windows faced the lake, framed by Victorian cottage accents of white wood siding, curled cornices and a gabled roof. Rooms jutted in every direction, giving the house the rambling air of an absentminded professor. Sprawling rose bushes and masses of flowers mingled sociably with the natural bushes and trees. Breathtaking.

  “Come on. I’ll show you the inside, Sugar Lips.”

  She followed him back up the narrow path and onto the whitewashed wrap-around porch. He unlocked the door and gestured her inside with a bow. Rolling her eyes, she swept past Sir Galahad.

  High ceilings with ornate treatments and spacious architectural design mixed with dignified paneling, rim and wide-planked floors. The grace and beauty touched a musty, unused corner of her soul.

  She turned in a slow circle, vowing to savor every second she spent in this lakeside dream. Assorted gorgeous rugs sprinkled the floor and the furnishings and décor combined to create a cozy cottage. Oh yeah, she could hide out here forever.

  Hiding. Her bubble of euphoria burst. If only she were on vacation. If only Greg wasn’t a wealthy detective only doing his duty.

  “You can use this room.” Greg gestured toward an open door. “It has an attached bath. Celia uses this bedroom, so hopefully you’ll be able to find some more clothes to use.”

  “I’d rather not borrow more of your sister’s clothes.”

  “You’re welcome to…” He grinned. “Anything you like.” His lecherous perusal left little room to mistake his offer.

  “I might take you up on that, smart aleck.”

  “Please?”

  Turning away to hide her smile, she wandered into the bedroom. Rose prints, lace and ruffles were everywhere; the exact opposite of the cool elegance of the condo. She loved it. The bathroom screamed 1950s. Pink tile with cream accents, a pink sink and bathtub. Even the toilet was pink. Smiling, she turned and about jumped out of her skin. Greg lounged against the bathroom doorjamb, a foot away.