“Sure thing.”
“Later.” Dom closed his cell phone and clipped it to his belt.
“I take it that was a report on Lausanne Raney,” Desmond said.
Dom nodded. “You knew she had a record, that she’d spent five years in the TPFW.”
“Yeah, I knew.”
“And you didn’t share that info with me because…?”
“I thought it best for your agency to fill you in about Ms. Raney’s background,” Desmond said. “I got the impression that your interest in the lady went beyond the professional. Was I wrong?”
Dom started to vehemently deny the detective’s assumption, but knew the guy was too intuitive to fool. Honesty with a man like Lt. Desmond was the best policy.
“You weren’t wrong,” Dom admitted.
“Then you have a conflict of interest, don’t you?”
Dom huffed. “My only interest is to find out the truth.”
“For your client or for yourself?”
“For both of us.”
“The truth is what I’m interested in,” Desmond said. “Where’s Audrey Bedell? Is she all right? If she’s not okay, then what happened to her and who’s responsible for her disappearance?”
“Any theories?”
“Too many.”
“I realize that you’re on this case because Sawyer McNamara wanted you to handle things, so I’m assuming you two go way back or something.”
Desmond shook his head. “Not really. I think the commander and McNamara go way back and Commander Crowell recommended me when he was informed y’all might need the police on a certain case involving someone living in my precinct.”
“I assume you’ve already filed a missing person’s report, per Edward Bedell’s request.”
“I’m sure you’re working with the same info,” Desmond said. “Physical description and photo. The identity of the last person who saw Ms. Perkins. Any knowledge of her plans, habits, routines and personal interests. And—”
“And any suggestion of foul play.”
“What are your gut instincts telling you? Is Audrey Perkins alive or dead?”
“Dead.”
Desmond nodded. “Murdered?”
“Probably.”
“Suspect?”
“Suspects,” Dom said.
“Hmm…The husband, of course. The spouse always heads the list.”
“And then there’s the stepmother. Did you know Patrice Bedell recommended Bobby Jack Cash for his job at Bedell, Inc.?”
Desmond grinned. “No, I didn’t.”
“Dundee’s is looking into the possibility that there’s a past history between those two.”
“Just as there’s a past history between Cash and Ms. Raney?”
“She said they had two dates, weren’t intimate and—”
“And you really want to believe her, don’t you?”
“Like I told you before, all I want is the truth, whatever that truth turns out to be.”
Desmond took a swig of cola, then looked right at Dom. “I’m bringing Ms. Raney in first thing tomorrow morning for further questioning.” Desmond held up his hand. “And before you ask, the answer is no, you cannot be there when I question her.”
“She’s going to need a lawyer, right?”
“Yeah, she’s going to need a lawyer.”
CHAPTER NINE
AFTER CONTACTING eight law firms and being politely refused by each, Lausanne came to the conclusion that somehow the Bedell family had put the word out that they didn’t want any reputable firm to represent a woman suspected of possibly murdering Audrey Perkins. Call her paranoid, but she couldn’t figure out any other reason. She had cash to pay up-front to retain a decent lawyer, so why had she gotten one rejection after another? That is, until she’d gone for broke and called the most prestigious criminal attorney in the city.
“Yes, Mr. Oliver is in,” the receptionist had said. “I’ll put you through to him.”
“Ms. Raney, what can I do for you?” Berton Oliver had asked.
After she recovered from the initial surprise of him taking her call, Lausanne explained her situation. Then she received an even bigger shock when he told her he would represent her, if it became necessary.
Well, it had become necessary. At precisely eight-thirty this morning, she had received a call from Sergeant Swain requesting that she come to the police station for questioning. So, here she was in the interrogation room with her lawyer beside her and Lt. Desmond sitting across the table from them. His partner stood quietly to the side, a condescending scowl on his face.
The moment she phoned Mr. Oliver’s office this morning, she’d been assured that her message would be relayed to him ASAP. Frantic, knowing that with the way her luck ran, things were bound to end badly, she’d paced the floor, waiting and praying. Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Oliver had phoned to tell her that he was on his way to her apartment to pick her up, that he would escort her to the police station.
Berton Oliver looked very much as she had expected. A man in his early fifties, dressed in a tailor-made suit and sporting a Rolex on his wrist. He was short, no more than five-eight, apparently in superb physical condition and was rather good looking for a man his age. He had a mane of salt and pepper hair and the bluest eyes Lausanne had ever seen.
They had been at police headquarters for the past two hours and she had answered questions the entire time, many of the questions simply repeated more than once or worded in a slightly different manner. She suspected they were hoping she’d slip up, get confused, change her story. But the police were working under the premise that she was lying. She wasn’t. No matter how many times they asked her how she’d wound up in Palm Beach with Audrey’s credit cards, her reply never changed because she was telling the truth.
Lt. Desmond remained calm and in total control despite the fact that by now he was undoubtedly frustrated at being unable to shake her. There had been a time in the past when she’d have fallen apart under this kind of pressure. But she wasn’t that same green kid who’d wanted so badly to believe that sooner or later life would give her a break. She had learned every lesson the hard way. She’d taken her lumps, paid her dues and wasn’t about to show any weaknesses. Especially not now.
She had let her guard down with Dom Shea and just look how that had turned out. If she hadn’t been enjoying her disguise as Audrey Perkins so damn much, hadn’t gotten such a kick out of pretending to be a carefree heiress, she would have protected herself from becoming emotionally involved with a stranger.
“Lieutenant Desmond, I can’t see that this line of questioning is getting us anywhere,” Berton Oliver said in his authoritarian voice. “Ms. Raney has answered every question you’ve asked her. She’s been honest with you about everything. But she cannot tell you what she doesn’t know. No matter how many times you ask her or in how many different ways, her reply to your question about Ms. Perkins’s whereabouts will remain the same. She does not know where Audrey Perkins is or what, if anything, has happened to her.”
Wearing a pensive, sympathetic expression on his face, Lt. Desmond leaned forward and focused directly on Lausanne. “If Bobby Jack Cash coerced you into helping him—”
“My client has repeatedly denied any involvement with Mr. Cash other than two casual dates that occurred months ago,” Mr. Oliver said.
Lt. Desmond scooted back his chair, took a long, hard look at Lausanne and grunted. “Don’t leave town, Ms. Raney. And if you can think of anything you’ve forgotten, anything that might help us find Audrey Perkins, please contact me immediately.”
Before she could reply, Mr. Oliver said, “I can assure you that she will.” He rose from his chair, clasped her arm and helped her to her feet. “Gentlemen.” He nodded to each detective in turn, then escorted Lausanne out of the interrogation room.
“He thinks I’m guilty,” Lausanne said. “They all think I’m behind Audrey Perkins’s disappearance.”
“Don’t say anything else until we�
��re outside and in my car,” Mr. Oliver told her.
She hushed immediately.
Should I tell him the one little bit of information that only I know? Lausanne wondered. But I’m not the only person who knows that Audrey Perkins was not the woman who hired me to impersonate her. That other woman, whoever she is, also knows the truth.
No one would believe her if she told them the truth. Going by experience, she figured that the police would find a way to use the information against her. After all, she’d been so adamant, to Dom and to the Bedell family, that Audrey had hired her to impersonate her, to lead any PI her father or husband might hire on a wild goose chase. If she changed her story now, told them that the woman wasn’t Audrey Perkins but someone else, wouldn’t that make her look like a liar?
She was already in enough trouble as it was. The police thought she was involved in Audrey’s disappearance. No one believed her.
Once seated in her lawyer’s Mercedes, she turned to face him. “Thank you, Mr. Oliver. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your taking my case. I can admit to you that I’m scared. If I didn’t have you in my corner, I’d be even more frightened than I am.”
He patted her hand in a friendly, supportive manner. “You can count on me, my dear. The police have no case against you. As a matter of fact, at this point all they’re working on is a missing persons case.”
“May I ask you something, something that I’ve been wondering about?”
“Of course, ask me.” He patted her hand again, released his hold and sat back in the cushy leather seat.
“Why did you agree to be my lawyer?”
He smiled. “You really don’t know, do you?”
She shook her head. “What do you mean—”
“I believe you’re acquainted with Domingo Shea.”
Lausanne tensed. “Yes, I am. What does he have to do with your agreeing to be my lawyer?”
“Mr. Shea contacted me on your behalf,” Mr. Oliver said. “He wanted to make sure you had the best legal representation possible if you needed it. And as it turned out, you did need me.”
“Why would he…? Why would you…?” Lausanne tried to collect her thoughts, tried to make sense of what she’d been told, but it didn’t make any sense. First of all why would Dom help her? He thought she was a murderer, didn’t he? And secondly, how had Dom persuaded such a prestigious lawyer to take her on as a client?
“As for why he contacted me on your behalf and agreed to pay your legal fees, I don’t know. That you’d have to ask him.” Mr. Oliver smiled, a devilish twinkle in his eye. “As for why I agreed to take you on as a client…well, let’s just say that I owe the Dundee Agency, and Mr. Shea in particular, a favor and leave it at that.”
Lausanne felt as if her world had tilted on its axis. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
He nodded. “All you need to know is that whatever happens, I’ll take good care of you legally. And Mr. Shea is picking up the tab.”
“I have my own money. I can pay you.”
“You have fifty-thousand dollars given to you by Audrey Perkins,” Mr. Oliver told her. “I don’t want you to touch that money. Keep it where it is—in your savings account. At this point, it’s the only sort of proof, flimsy as it is, that Ms. Perkins hired you to impersonate her.”
“I can’t take money from Dom. There has to be another way to—”
“Why don’t you speak to Mr. Shea before you make any rash decisions?”
He was right. She needed to talk to Dom, to find out just what he thought he was doing, why he was paying for her lawyer.
MR. OLIVER DROPPED Lausanne off at her apartment complex in East Brainerd, once again urging her to be sensible about her situation.
“I’m only a phone call away, if you need me,” he told her. “Day or night.”
With her mind jumbled, all kinds of crazy thoughts duking it out for attention, Lausanne climbed the exterior stairs leading to her apartment. So mentally engrossed in the what-ifs dominating her life right now, she didn’t notice the man standing outside her front door, not until he spoke to her.
“How’d it go?” Dom Shea asked.
Lausanne gasped. “Damn it, you scared me. What are you doing here? No, don’t answer that. I don’t care.” She marched right up to him, glared furiously and demanded, “What did you think you were doing hiring me a lawyer?”
The corners of Dom’s mouth lifted with amusement. “I thought I was helping you.”
“I don’t want your help.” Yes, you do, an inner voice reminded her. More than anything, she wanted Dom to believe her, to believe in her. From the moment they boarded the Dundee jet to return to Chattanooga, she’d started hoping that once he learned the truth about her, he would stand by her.
“If you wind up being charged with a crime—any crime—you’ll need the best defense money can buy, not some court-appointed lawyer.”
Lausanne stared at him in disbelief. “Explain something to me, will you? You think I killed Audrey Perkins and yet you hired a lawyer for me. Why?”
“I don’t think you killed Audrey Perkins,” he told her.
“You don’t?” Hope welled up inside her. “You believe me, believe that I’ve told you the truth?”
Shuffling his feet, Dom glanced down at the floor, avoiding eye contact with her. “I want to believe you.”
Anger replaced hope. Anger and disappointment. Lausanne whirled around and put her back to him; then she unzipped her shoulder bag and delved inside to find her key. “Go away and leave me the hell alone. If it becomes necessary, I’ll take my chances with a court-appointed attorney.”
“The way you did the last time you were charged with a crime?”
Lausanne tensed, then snapped her head around and shot him a go-to-hell look.
“Didn’t take you long to find out about that, did it? I suppose Lt. Desmond told you.”
“Nope. You forget, honey, I work for the Dundee Agency. We can find out facts just as quick, sometimes quicker, than our law enforcement counterparts.”
“Okay, so you know I served five years in the TPFW. So what?”
“You have a criminal record. If you’re arrested for another crime—”
“I didn’t have anything to do with Audrey Perkins’s disappearance. End of discussion.” She turned away from him, inserted the key in the lock and opened the door.
“Lausanne?”
“Go away and leave me alone,” she repeated. “And I don’t want your lawyer!”
She went inside her apartment, but before she could close the door, Dom stuck his foot over the threshold. She pressed the door against his foot. He didn’t budge.
“I know a lot more about you than the fact you spent five years in prison,” he said.
“Good for you. Now go away.”
“Let’s talk.” He shoved against the door.
She put all her strength into closing the door, determined to keep him out. “I don’t…want…to…talk.” Shoving as hard as she could, strained and out of breath, she cried out, “Damn you, Dom Shea.”
Realizing she couldn’t win a battle of brute strength, she stopped fighting him and choked down tears she absolutely refused to release. She walked away from the partially open door, raced through the living room, into her bedroom and straight through to the bathroom. After slamming the bathroom door and leaning back against it, her breathing labored, she sucked in huge gulps of air.
Don’t trust him. Don’t lean on him. Don’t expect anything from him. Whatever he says, whatever he does, reject him. No matter what he promises, don’t fall for his lies. He’s just another good looking, sweet talking man. He may be older and more sophisticated than Brad or Clay, but he wants exactly what they wanted. He wanted to fuck her. Plain and simple.
And what did she want? God help her but she wanted what she’d wanted when she was seventeen and gave her virginity to Brad White, what she’d wanted when she was twenty-one and became involved with Clay Terry. She wanted to be
loved.
Not going to happen. Love and happily ever after were not in the cards for her. She had to face facts. If she thought for one single minute that Dom Shea was the answer to her prayers, she was an utter fool and deserved whatever happened to her.
“Lausanne?”
Please, please, please go away.
“Honey?”
Leave me alone. Haven’t I been hurt enough for one lifetime? Can’t you understand what you’re doing to me?
He rapped repeatedly on the bathroom door.
“I’m not leaving until we talk,” he told her.
Sooner or later, she’d have to leave the bathroom, so she might as well get this over with right now.
Lausanne checked her appearance in the mirror. Lordy, she looked pale. Really pale. Even though she was naturally fair—strawberry blonde fair—and had never had a tan in her life, today she looked almost ghostly, despite the rich russet bronze lipstick and matching blush. A hint of dark circles beneath her eyes reminded her that she hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours last night.
You look fine, she told herself. She wore one of the new outfits she had charged on Audrey Perkins’s credit card. The straight brown skirt in a soft, moleskin fabric coordinated perfectly with the gold silk blouse and the brown and tan hound’s-tooth check jacket.
What difference did it make how she looked? She wasn’t walking out of here to meet her lunch date. She was going to meet her fears head-on. She was going to stand her ground with Dom Shea.
Lausanne opened the bathroom door, squared her shoulders, tilted her chin and prepared to do battle. When she emerged, Dom stepped backward.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She gazed at him incredulously, wondering if it was possible that he actually did care. Stop right there. One look into his gorgeous black eyes and she was already wishing for the impossible.
“I’m okay,” she replied and marched straight into the living room.
Dom followed her; and when she spun around to face him, they stood there and stared at each other for a full minute before he asked, “Were the police pretty rough on you? I figure Desmond for a good guy, but he has to do his job.”
Dangerous Deception Page 9
