Sweet Seduction Shield (Sweet Seduction, Book 5)
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Sweet Seduction Shield
The Sweet Seduction Series, Book Five
By Nicola Claire
Copyright © 2013, Nicola Claire
All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 978-0-473-27036-0
nicolaclairebooks.blogspot.com
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Cover Art by Nicola Claire
Image credit: 123RF Stock Photo
Image #4894124
More books by Nicola Claire:
Kindred Series
Kindred
Blood Life Seeker
Forbidden Drink
Giver of Light
Dancing Dragon
Shadow's Light
Entwined With The Dark
Kiss Of The Dragon
Mixed Blessing Mystery Series
Mixed Blessing
Sweet Seduction Series
Sweet Seduction Sacrifice
Sweet Seduction Serenade
Sweet Seduction Shadow
Sweet Seduction Surrender
Sweet Seduction Shield
Sweet Seduction Sabotage (Early 2014)
Elemental Awakening Series
The Tempting Touch Of Fire
The Soothing Scent Of Earth
The Chilling Change Of Air (Early 2014)
For: Those romantics that like a whole lot of suspense
wrapped around their love story.
Chapter 1
Where Was My Shield Now?
"Marie, there's a cop here to see you."
My head connected with the underside of my desk in a loud thunk.
Fuck! I gritted my teeth and rubbed the lump I was so sure would be forming, then dropped the tangle of electrical cords I'd been holding and backed out on my knees to reach up for the intercom button on my desk.
My hand shook. I purposely ignored the movement.
"Just give me a few minutes, Suze, then show them in," I instructed from my still kneeling position on the floor. There was a crackle in reply, followed first by static, then a loud piercing beep.
"Friggin' wires," I muttered, crawling back under the desk and coughing through the dust motes that my adventures were dislodging.
Whoever had set up the computer, phone and intercom systems in my office was surely a sadistic bastard. The tangle that met my fingers was better than any sailor's knot. I started laboriously threading one dust encrusted cable out after another. My back started to complain from the angle I was at, but I was determined to get at least one thing sorted today.
And I needed a moment to settle my nerves.
A cop. To see me. Definitely not words I wanted to hear.
I concentrated on the task in front of me and not the fear that threatened to choke my throat closed. There could be any number of reasons why a cop was here to see me. It didn't necessarily mean anything bad. It could just be a uniformed cop, hence Suzy mentioning his vocation, looking for an accountant to file his tax return.
I growled at a particularly gnarly twisted and tangled bunch of wires, knowing my anger was being fuelled by more than just ridiculously poor electronic safety measures at Whitcomb & Associates Ltd.
"Fuck it all to hell!" I muttered, yanking on a particularly stubborn black cord and hearing the computer monitor skid ominously and eagerly across the desk above my head. I glanced up, expecting to see the base of the monitor hanging precariously over the edge of the desk, but when nothing looked like it was about to whack me on the noggin, I breathed out a sigh of relief.
That was quickly inhaled as a throat was cleared behind me, announcing someone was in the room.
I froze, realising I must have looked a sight. Bum in the air, head under the desk, dust bunnies collecting on my - oh dear God - tight knee length skirt.
I have for too long now been the type of person who shuns fear. I've lived fear. I've almost drowned in it. I will never succumb to it again. Harsh lessons have made me shield my emotions from all but one person in my life. I wasn't about to start showing discomfort of any sort now.
My shield rose to the fore. Confidence. An emotionally detached person's best friend.
"I'll be right out," I announced in my signature assured voice.
"Don't mind me," a male voice said, hints of amusement in the gruff, deep words. "Please, take all the time you need."
An incongruous smile curved the corners of my lips. It took more effort than it should have to banish the reaction to my visitor's obvious delight at my current position. I wanted to glance over my shoulder and see what the man looked like attached to that sexy and sinful voice. I knew it had to be the cop. Either Suzy didn't hear my answer over the intercom, or knowing her idea of a joke, she ignored it.
I forced myself to focus on the knot of cords in my hand. It was going to be an impossibility to sort this out in a minute or two. This would probably take a normal person the better part of the morning to straighten and reconnect each plug, each lengthy cable, into some semblance of order. But two excellent reasons made me straighten my back and refuse to bow to convention by crawling out and facing the owner of that sexy voice. One, I needed more time to prepare for what was ahead. And two, I'm an obsessively clean and organised person. Dropping the tangle of wires now would set my teeth on edge. Not the best emotional state to face off against what could be the end of my world as I knew it.
"Do you need a hand?" the voice asked pleasantly. He still sounded like he was over by the door, hadn't approached at all.
Maybe the view was better over there?
"No, I've got it. Just take a seat and I'll be right out," I advised, yanking on stubborn cables and beginning to sweat.
I don't sweat. I don't show reactions. But I was doing both of those things this morning and I hadn't even faced the cop yet.
Why was he here? A cable came free and slammed into the side of the desk with the momentum of my tug. It could be something routine. A second cable released its hold on the tangle, bouncing off my thigh and ricocheting against my chest. I made a disgruntled sound. It's probably nothing. More than five years have passed since then. Cable three slipped free of its prison and rewarded me with a thwack against my elbow, right on the bone. I gritted my teeth. If he hasn't followed through with his threats by now, he never will. We were safe. I'd been sure of it. Number four refused to budge, but with shaking fingers, which were quickly becoming numb from the strain, I pried t
he bastard free. So, the cop was here for something else. Something mundane. Nothing to do with my former life. The last few cables untangled all at once, as though they finally realised the futility of fighting back.
I could sympathise.
I let a long breath of air out in a mixture of dread and resignation. My back was killing me. My knees felt bruised and over sensitive. And my nose was twitching with the need to sneeze. Dust hung in the air, swirling around my hands and up into my face as I methodically reconnected each plug into the correct wall socket. Then reaching for the plastic cable ties at my side, I made quick work of lashing the cords all together, neatly arranging them by colour and location, so they all lined up perfectly under the desk.
I'd need to vacuum later. If later actually came.
I stared at the neatly arranged cables and swallowed past a dry throat. There was no further reason for me to be kneeling under my desk when a person was waiting to talk to me in my office.
One last longing glance at my distraction and I started to shuffle backwards from out beneath my short lived haven. Oh, I was sure the cop was getting a nice view, especially when he cleared his throat again, as though in some sort of discomfort.
I stood upright, dusted what I could of the 'bunnies' off my skirt and blouse, and stretched my back, getting the kinks out of my muscles.
Then I turned to face my visitor.
Holy fuck he was cute in a bad-boy kind of way. Tall, extremely fit looking, what with the stretch of his jacket and shirt across his chest, and the snug fit of his jeans over impressive thighs. In his mid-thirties I'd guess, with curly brown hair and a fashionable goatee beard. But it was his eyes that told me I was in deep trouble. I'd always been a sucker for guys with intense brown eyes. These ones seemed bottomless. Even as I watched them caress over every inch of my body, from my slightly flushed face, to my carpet tattooed red knees, to the long length of my naked legs.
He'd undressed me with that look. As though he'd been desperate to do so from the moment he entered the room and saw me on my knees. Oh, did that realisation cause an internal reaction I had to work hard to not show.
His gaze slowly rose back to my face. It wasn't exactly reluctant, but he was definitely enjoying the view.
"How can I help you?" I asked in my usual Marie Cox fashion. Before he could answer, I started toward my side of the desk. Better to put space and an object between us. The hand sanitiser I keep in my desk drawer was out and permeating the air with its acrid bite before he even opened his mouth.
"Mrs Costello. I'm Detective Sergeant Ryan Pierce of the Auckland CIB."
Well, I'd guessed he wasn't a beat cop, seeing as he was in plain clothes. But the Criminal Investigations Bureau meant this impromptu meeting was not going to be mundane. I held his gaze, refusing to show anything other than mild curiosity, and indicated the seat across from me for him to take. Sitting before he'd even taken a step toward me, I began shuffling papers on my desk, tidying what was already tidy, in an effort to marshal my thoughts.
This could not be happening.
The Criminal Investigations Bureau was exactly the division of the Police Force I wanted to avoid the most. Those detectives who prided themselves on cleaning up New Zealand's criminal elite. A group I was unfortunately once familiar with.
But what was worse, in this nightmare unravelling before me, was the name he had used. A name I hadn't called myself for over five years. A name, no one here at Whitcomb & Associates Ltd even knew of.
My eyes skipped across the desk's surface and landed on the small framed photo off to the side. The need to reach out and grasp it reassuringly, and then follow that up with hiding it in my top desk drawer, was too great to deny. I cleared my throat, started to snake my hand out towards the picture frame and then at the last second realised what a monumental mistake that would be. The detective couldn't see the subject of the photo from where he sat, drawing his attention to it was just plain stupid.
I lifted my gaze back to his face, noting the keen and undoubtedly observant eyes, in a façade that gave nothing away. I was sure he hadn't missed a thing, but like me, he shielded his reactions from those before him. A genial and attentive man sat in front of me.
He may have been attentive, but I was guessing right now, friendly and cheerful were not emotions he felt.
"My name is Marie Cox," I said, eyes steady, face relaxed, blood and adrenaline thundering through my veins.
The detective stared at me unmoved. An unusual stand off existed across my work desk. One that if shattered could ruin more than just me.
Finally he broke first.
"I expended a lot of police hours hunting you down, Ms Cox," he said.
I didn't show a reaction at all.
"I'm part of a taskforce," he added, neither of us shifting uncomfortably in our seats, even though I knew we both were feeling it, "which successfully brought the drug lord Roan McLaren down three months ago."
Oh Christ.
"You've heard of him," he said, watching for a reaction he was not going to get. "Head of a mob syndicate in Wellington."
Breathe Marie. Just breathe.
"You used to live in Wellington, when you were Mrs Costello, correct?" he asked, voice level, determined, but somehow still soft.
Every cell in my body wanted to lie. A headache had started behind my right eye. I reached up and rubbed my temple, feeling the floor fall out from beneath my seat. Feeling my world shatter and crumble.
Feeling like I might vomit.
I forced myself not to glance at the photo on my desk. It took every ounce of self-possession to deny myself one desperate last look.
"Yes," I finally managed to murmur.
There was no confidence in my tone. Just utter defeat.
"Are you all right?" The detective 's voice came from right beside my chair.
My eyes flicked open, directly looking into the concerned gaze of Detective Pierce. I must have zoned out for a moment. I had no recollection of him moving.
"Ms Cox, can I get you something? Water, perhaps?"
I shook my head to say no. There was nothing that could save us now.
Nothing.
The detective hesitated, still crouched down at my side. Then letting out what seemed like a frustrated breath, he rose and returned to his side of the desk, sitting back down in the chair there. I didn't want him to sit. I wanted him to leave. I wanted my past to not have come back and haunted me this day. My mistakes to not have been thrust in my face reminding me of what I now had to lose.
"We're tidying up loose ends," Detective Pierce said, sharpening my focus, making me bring my attention back to the room and out of my sordid past.
I didn't say anything, just waited for him to go on. There was nothing I could do to stop this now. He knew who I was. He knew I was connected to Roan McLaren. He knew exactly what sort of man McLaren is.
"There are certain events," the detective said, speaking carefully, softly still. Making me wonder why he was taking such care. Shouldn't he be more judgemental than this? Shouldn't he be reading me my rights? "That we need to clarify further, before we shut the case for good."
His dark brown eyes held my gaze. I hadn't moved since he'd returned to his side of the desk. I hadn't said a word of encouragement or in my defence. I was a wall of nothing. Even my customary confidence was shattered, but at least I was still sitting tall.
"We need your help to fill in the blanks," he announced, making the cogs in my head begin to splutter and whirl.
"Help?" I asked, and cursed the surprise that was obvious in my tone.
The detective sat forward on his chair. Right. We were getting to crux of this conversation. The real reason why he was here.
This was it.
"What happened the night your husband was killed?"
There was no way on earth I could hide my reaction to those words. All air left my lungs, my fingers grasped the edge of my desk so hard, my knuckles soon became white. No doubt matching the colou
r of my cheeks. Saliva pooled in my mouth letting me know I was about to be sick. A small pained sound slipped free of my pursed lips.
I shook my head. Once. Twice. Three times.
"I'm sorry, Detective, but you've got the wrong woman," I forced myself to say.
"You know as well as I, Marie," he said so softly, so gently, "that I have not."
What was this? If he knew Richard had been killed, then he had an idea of why. If he was fishing for my part in the whole wretched, vile mess that unfolded resulting in Rick's death, then why was he being so kind about it? If he actually knew what I had done that led to the murder of my husband, he would not be as nice.
So, maybe he didn't know.
"I have nothing to say," I advised, standing from my chair and pulling my shoulders back.
This had been a false alarm. Too close for comfort, certainly. And now knowing McLaren had been brought down and would pay for his crimes, a warning that it was time to leave the country.
I hadn't been hiding as such. Cox was my maiden name. If Roan McLaren had wanted to exact more revenge for what I did, he could have found me. But with his back to the wall, things might change. Would the drug lord use me to garner a better result in court?
I wasn't going to wait around to find out.
There was more at stake here than my own neck.
The cop leaned back in his chair and stroked his goatee beard contemplatively. Completely and utterly ignoring my inferred request for him to leave. His keen brown eyes never left my face.
"What are you afraid of?" he finally asked, voice low and gentle. He was concerned for me. I shook my head to dispel that thought. He was a cop doing his job, which ultimately could mean our ruin.
"I can't help you," I replied, confidence finally returning to shield my true emotions right then.
Sweet Seduction Shield Page 1
