Beautiful Deception

by Morgan James

  Anger coursed through me. I hated that he was right. Storming into the bathroom, I turned on the shower and stripped off my clothes, then stepped under the hot spray. Though I couldn’t close the door, at least I was concealed from his view in here. I soaped off, shame filling me once more as I cleaned the stickiness off my legs.

  The scene in the office replayed through my mind in vivid color, and it sent a shudder down my spine. What if he’d accidentally shot me? Would he have cared? Probably not, though I knew his intention wasn’t to end my life. He’d wanted to scare me—and he’d succeeded. The bullets had all been over my head, carefully placed, and I’d reacted exactly the way he’d wanted. He derived great pleasure from my fear, and I hated myself for showing my weakness.

  Uncle Massimo’s words came back to me. “You don’t have to worry about your cop anymore. You know how much I despise loose ends.”

  Was Eric really gone? Despair assailed me. My heart wanted to believe that Eric was still alive, but I knew better. Uncle had no reason to lie. My back hit the cold tile, and I slid down until I was seated. The water beat down on my back as I pulled my knee to my chest and curled into a tiny ball. Then the tears came.

  I cried for myself. For Eric. For the future that had been so ruthlessly ripped away. I couldn’t imagine life without him. It was like my heart had been torn to shreds, and all that remained was a gaping, aching hole.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, but the feel of cold water pouring over me finally jerked me back to reality. I felt numb, dead inside. Slowly, I pushed to my feet, the motion seeming to take the last reserve of energy I had. My motions were slow and labored as I toweled off.

  Anger and sadness swirled inside, battling for dominance. Anger won out. The pain of loss was still there, a sharp, aching reminder of everything I’d lost. It served to fan the flames of my fury. I would find a way to avenge Eric’s death if it was the last thing I did.

  Not bothering with the towel, I dropped it to the floor and turned to leave. The motion in the mirror caught my attention, and I paused. I leaned against the vanity and stared at my reflection. My face was pale, dotted with blotchy patches, and dark circles had bloomed beneath my eyes, reddened from my tears. Dark hair. Green eyes. I was my father’s daughter, through and through. I lifted my chin and steeled my spine. Ignacio Capaldi wouldn’t have gone down without a fight, and neither would I.

  I hated Uncle Massimo. He’d stripped me of my innocence, taken away my confidence and the one person I’d loved more than anything. Never again would I allow him control over me. As much as I despised the idea, perhaps marrying was for the best.

  I wasn’t stupid; Uncle would never relax his guard around me. My new husband, though... he would never see it coming. I would play the perfect, obedient wife. I would win him over, make him trust me. Then I would find a way to bring them both down.

  Deciding to leave my face bare and my hair to dry on its own, I left the bathroom. I refused to doll myself up for whatever my uncle had planned. While I was in the shower, someone had set a tiny black dress on the bed. Keeping my back to Johnny, I covered my breasts with one arm as I scooped up the dress and stepped into it, then tugged it into place. I struggled to pull the zipper along the side but finally managed to get it closed. With the weight I’d gained, the dress now hugged every curve, acting almost like a corset and making it hard to draw in a full breath. A tiny pair of panties had been set out, but no bra, and I quickly shimmied into them. A pair of ridiculously high stilettos that I’d once adored sat in their box on the bed; now I eyed them with loathing as I slipped them onto my feet.

  I could feel Johnny’s attention focused acutely on me, I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Enjoy the show?”

  He blinked once, completely unaffected by my bitter tone. His voice was soft, almost inaudible when he spoke. “Dissociate.”

  I jerked back at the single word and swallowed hard. It was he who, after witnessing my uncle’s cruel punishments, told me to retreat to a fantasy within my mind to escape my dismal reality. I swallowed hard and straightened my spine.

  He studied me, his expression unreadable. “Stay strong.”

  Easier said than done, but I was sure he knew that. I choked back the tears, pushing down the pain. My gaze fell once more to the scar on his cheek as I neared him, and I met his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He stared for a moment, then tipped his chin infinitesimally, apparently accepting my apology. He fell into step beside me as I made my way downstairs, to whatever fresh hell awaited me tonight.

  Fourteen

  Eric

  I sighed and scrubbed at my tired eyes. It’d been fifty-six hours since she’d disappeared, and each minute that ticked by without answers was excruciating. I’d wasted an entire fucking day stuck in the hospital, and our questioning yesterday and today hadn’t yielded a damn thing. I swore we’d spoken with every single person in Pine Ridge and the valley beyond, but no one admitted to seeing anything or anyone out of the ordinary. There were only so many databases I could access, only so many threads I could pull before I hit a dead end. I wasn’t too proud to admit it—I needed help.

  Something deep in my gut told me I needed to focus around the Chicago area. Thankfully, it was where I’d grown up, and I still retained some contacts there. I knew several of my former SWAT teammates still lived in the area, even if they weren’t still active on the force. A glance at the clock on the wall told me it was just after six p.m.

  Picking up my phone, I dialed a number I hadn’t used in more than three years. My stomach dipped with disappointment when it went unanswered and rolled over to Frankie’s voicemail. I left him a quick message asking him to call me when he got a chance. I gave no other details before I hung up, and I prayed that he would take the time to get back to me.

  Leaning back in my chair, I stared at the decades-old water stain on the ceiling. Two months ago, I’d sat here on Christmas Day, staring at that same goddamn broken heart-shaped stain, thinking of her. Everything reminded me of her; I couldn’t get Jules off my mind. I’d asked myself a million times what I’d missed. What was she going to tell me in the car?

  “Before I came here, I... I was supposed to be married.”

  I could only surmise that it was her fiancé she’d fled from months ago. She’d been terrified of men when she first arrived, and she constantly had one eye over her shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. During her time with me, she’d begun to relax. But all that had changed the day before she’d disappeared. Why? Had she suspected he’d found her? She didn’t keep in contact with anyone from her previous life that I was aware of, so what had tipped her off? I wondered if she’d seen him somewhere, either in town or at Briarleigh.

  Jack was reviewing camera footage from around the resort to see if Jules had come into contact with anyone matching the man’s description. I hoped he found something—anything—because we had less than nothing to go on.

  Whoever the hell had kidnapped her must have some serious resources at their disposal to track her down; she practically lived off the grid. If he were wealthy, it would explain the armored vehicle and ability to find her. I suspected long ago that she’d come from money, yet she didn’t have a single thing to her name. She refused to keep a bank account, didn’t have a valid driver’s license, and the car she was currently driving was unregistered. I’d strongly considered putting it in my name, but if the person hunting her had the kind of connections I speculated, then doing so would have pointed right to her location.

  Goddamn, I wished she’d been able to tell me before everything went down. The worst part was, there wasn’t a single damn thing to give me any indication of where she might be or with whom. My phone rang and I picked up. “Donahue.”

  “Hey, man, how’s it goin’?” Frankie sounded winded, like he’d just gotten done running ten miles. Knowing him, it was a good possibility.

  “Good. What’s up with you?”

  After some obligatory sm
all talk, I cut to the chase. “Need your help with something. You still have friends in the bureau?”

  “Whatcha need?”

  Steeling my heart and voice, I told him about Jules, reciting the facts as I would any case.

  Frankie’s tone was hard when he spoke. “Let me put out some feelers, and I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

  I thanked him and hung up, frustrated. I felt like all I’d done over the past two days was hurry up and wait. Each thread I pulled raised a hundred more questions I didn’t have the answers to. I knew she was twenty, and I knew her height and weight, the color of her eyes and hair. Beyond that, her past was a blank slate. I didn’t know her last name, her heritage, her hometown. I could guess, but I didn’t have the resources to even begin to accurately narrow it down. I needed someone with computer experience who could access databases across the government channels. She had to be in there somewhere, I just needed to find the person who could help me with that.

  It was frustrating as fuck being stuck in limbo like this, with no answers and no leads to follow. While my deputies were covering the daily shit that popped up, I’d been focused entirely on Jules. It wasn’t fair to them, but they understood. This was personal, and they hadn’t hesitated to help one of their own. I would burn down the world to find her, and I would never give up on her.

  All I knew was I couldn’t sit here any longer, and I pushed out of my chair. O’Neill nodded to me as I left, and I knew he was still dedicating his spare time to finding Jules, leaving no stone unturned. I climbed into the cruiser and headed toward my house. I kept putting off going to the cabin, unable to bear the thought of going home and not seeing her there. I’d seen every article of clothing she’d brought with her. There was no cell phone, no laptop or tablet—not even a fucking journal.

  I parked in the garage, then entered my house for the first time in more than a month. I’d left the heat on low so the pipes wouldn’t freeze, but most everything else had been moved into the cabin. It felt dark and empty and lifeless. There was no fucking way I was going anywhere near the bedroom. Instead, I collapsed on the couch, propping one foot over the armrest so I could stretch out. It was the first time I’d lain down since I was released from the hospital. I’d gotten a total of about six hours of rest over the past couple days, catching short naps in my office when my body refused to stay awake any longer. My eyes burned, but I refused to admit that it was anything more than lack of sleep causing the moisture there. I threw one arm over my face and tried to turn my brain off. I just needed a few minutes, then I’d get up and get back to work.

  The vibrating of my phone jarred me from sleep, and I bolted upright, grabbing for the phone that rested on my stomach. My body’s internal clock told me I’d slept for about an hour, and I felt more exhausted than I had when I laid down. I fumbled it for a moment before sliding my thumb across the screen and lifting it to my ear. My voice was scratchy with sleep and rougher than normal. “Donahue.”

  “Hey, man. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

  I scrubbed a hand over my face and shook my head as I pushed to a sitting position. “No, no. You’re good. What’s up?”

  “I reached out to a friend of mine from the bureau and told him your story. He’s retired now and working for a private firm in Texas, but I think he’s the man you need.”

  “That’d be great,” I replied.

  “I’ll shoot you his contact information now. He’s expecting your call.”

  Almost as soon as he said it my phone pinged with a notification, and I saw Jason Doyle’s phone number pop up on my screen. On the other end, Frankie continued to speak. “I’ve got some friends here on the force who might be able to help too. If we can get Doyle to narrow down her ID and possible location, they may be able to track her down for you.”

  “I really appreciate this,” I said softly.

  Frankie cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Let me know how it works out, and don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

  I hung up with the promise to do so, then tapped the contact information he’d sent my way. A man answered seconds later, as if he had been waiting for my call. “Doyle.”

  “Sir, this is Sheriff Eric Donahue from the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office in Montana,” I introduced myself.

  “I figured that was you,” the man spoke. “Heard you need my help with something.”

  “Yes, sir. I need the full name and possible location of a young woman—my fiancée,” I added.

  If he thought my request odd, Doyle didn’t say a word. “The more I know, the better I’ll be able to help you. Start at the beginning.”

  I drew back to two months ago, and relayed everything that had happened since her arrival. I told him my suspicions that she had once lived in or around the Chicago area from a conversation we’d once had.

  “Physical description?” he asked.

  “Five-foot-two, approximately one hundred fifteen pounds. Dark brown hair, green eyes. Twenty years old.” Jules had celebrated her birthday right before Christmas, and I gave him the date. She had no reason to lie about that, so I assumed December twenty-first was her true birthdate.

  He made a thoughtful sound. “Anything else you can think of?”

  I shook my head. What I really knew about her was pitifully little. “No, sir. I just... I’ll appreciate anything you can dig up for me.”

  “Give me some time and I’ll get back to you.”

  I fucking hated waiting for answers. But more than that, I hated not having her here with me. I wanted her back in my arms, her skin pressed to mine, right where she belonged. I prayed that I’d have another chance to hold her, because a future without her wasn’t worth living.

  Fifteen

  Giuliana

  Guards flanked us in a diamond shape as we exited the car and made our way into the restaurant. Two more soldiers were posted outside the doors, and one held the door open as we approached. I threw him a beseeching glance, but he pointedly ignored me.

  Desperation crawled up my throat as we stepped into Richie’s, the small Italian bistro that my family had owned for decades. Surrounded by so many of my uncle’s men, there was no way I could even make a break for it. They hadn’t let me out of their sight during the two days I’d been home, and I knew my uncle had insisted on their vigilance. A combination of humiliation and anger coursed through my veins. If he thought I would go down without a fight, he was dead wrong. I just needed to wait for the right moment to act.

  Uncle still hadn’t given me any details about tonight’s outing. All he had said on the ride over was that we were meeting someone for dinner. Matteo had been less than pleased, but I couldn’t tell if it was the idea of the dinner itself or the fact that Uncle had dressed me up like a whore to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

  The skimpy black dress bared most of my breasts, and it clung to my ass, riding high on my thighs as I walked. I could feel the men’s eyes on me as we filed through the back door of the restaurant, and I discreetly tried to tug the fabric back down into place. I swallowed hard, forcing down my humiliation. I felt... dirty. Part of me was amazed that I could feel anything but grief. Every inch of my body ached with it, and my blood felt thick and heavy as it flowed through my veins, like my heart was loath to continue beating.

  I blinked away the tears burning my eyes as I glanced around the familiar space. Richie’s was separated into two areas; the front was designated for patrons only. This portion—the back—was reserved for family only. For business.

  A handful of men I didn’t recognize stood inside the entrance, their vigilance palpable. I knew they didn’t belong to la famiglia by their features, but they didn’t appear to be Russian either. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad. As far as I knew, my betrothal to Nikolai had been declared null after my disappearance—but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be resurrected. If Uncle Massimo handed me over to him, I would appeal to my new husband. But if he was truly as awful as the
stories made him out to be, I might be forced to stand up against him. My stomach roiled at the thought. Could I kill him if need be? If it came down to my life or his, I wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; I would have to.

  Uncle gripped my biceps and practically dragged me along to a table in the middle of the restaurant. I stumbled in the five-inch heels that had been selected for me, and I began to tumble forward. Digging his fingers into my skin, he drew me up and pulled me roughly to my feet. In a flash, his arm drew back and he delivered a slap to my cheek that made my head spin. Without waiting for me to recover, he forced me forward until we reached a table in the middle of the room.

  I blinked several times to clear the stars dotting my vision before my gaze fell on the man seated across from us. In a deliberate show of entitled defiance, he didn’t bother to rise for our arrival. His eyes were deep as the depths of hell and just as dark. The absolute absence of emotion I saw there sent a chill down my spine. If this wasn’t Nikolai, then who...?

  My uncle shot the man a winning smile. “Good evening, Fox. Thank you for joining us.”

  I felt the blood drain from my body as the man’s name registered. My stomach dropped to my toes and clenched so tightly that I thought I might throw up on my shoes.

  Those emotionless black eyes flicked to me, and one dark brow arched toward his hairline before he turned his gaze back to my uncle. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Uncle moved his grip to my shoulder and shoved roughly. “Show some respect. Kneel for the gentleman.”

  I hit my knees hard under the force of the movement, and pain shot through my kneecaps and up my spine. Uncle pulled out a chair and seated himself at the table, and Matteo followed suit. “And how do you find your accommodations so far?”

  Uncle waved one hand around to emulate the restaurant, but Fox’s expression never changed. “Fine, thank you.”