Dangerous Deception

by Beverly Barton

  He removed his jacket, hung it on the back of a bar stool and grinned at her. “Never let it be said that Camila Shea’s baby boy doesn’t know how to treat a lady.”

  Lausanne’s heart stopped for a millisecond. He’d referred to her as a lady. Did he mean it or had he used the word lightly?

  Lausanne approached him, feeling strangely timid. Having a man spend the night in her apartment was unusual enough, but having him cater to her this way seemed really odd. She was unaccustomed to a man treating her with such respect and with such care. “I take it that your mother taught you good manners.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that she did.” He opened one sack and then the other. “What’s your preference this morning? Or would you prefer some of each?”

  “Just coffee right now. I usually can’t eat anything when I first get up.” She moved past him hurriedly and went straight to the coffeemaker.

  “That’s good to know,” he said. “I’ll file that info away for future reference.”

  Dom came up behind her, his chest almost touching her back. Her breath caught in her throat. He reached around and above her, opened the cupboard and removed two white mugs. His arms brushed against hers, sending a tingling sensation through her entire body.

  Why did she react so strongly to his mere touch? What was it about him that ignited such passion in her?

  “You pour the coffee, honey,” he said, easing backward. “Remember, I take mine black.” He moved over enough to open the second cupboard and remove two plates. “I want a couple of cinnamon rolls now, but I’ll just leave your plate on the bar until you’re hungry.”

  With slightly unsteady hands, she lifted the coffeepot.

  “I called Bain Desmond on my way to the bakery,” Dom told her.

  “And?” She poured two mugs to the brim with the hot coffee.

  “He’ll be here around eight-thirty.”

  “What time is it now?” She glanced at the electric clock, circled with a black plastic case, that hung on the kitchenette wall. “Oh, it’s not quite eight. I thought it was later.”

  “You have plenty of time for coffee and a bite to eat before changing out of your pajamas.”

  She handed Dom one of the mugs, then glanced down at her silky attire. “So, you don’t think I should entertain the detective in my sleepwear, huh?”

  Dom set his mug on the bar alongside his empty plate, then took hers and placed it next to his. Commanding her attention with his dark stare, he slipped his right index finger between the lapels of her silk robe and spread the lapels apart. She sucked in a startled breath. With their gazes locked, he glided his finger inside her pajama top. Leisurely. Seductively. The tip of his finger stopped between her breasts.

  “I don’t want any other man seeing you like this.”

  Her heartbeat accelerated, the quick rhythm pounding in her ears. “You don’t?”

  Grinning sheepishly, he slid his finger up and out of her pajama top, then retrieved his mug from the bar. “Better drink your coffee and eat something before Lieutenant Desmond gets here.”

  Coming out of the romantic haze Dom’s words and touch had created, Lausanne followed his lead, picked up her cup and sipped the strong, hot brew.

  “You make good coffee,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded so calm because, inside, she was a quivering mass of emotions.

  “When you get to know me better, honey, you’ll discover that I’m very good at a lot of things.”

  “And very modest.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, there’s that, too.” After taking a couple more sips of coffee, he removed a cinnamon roll from the sack and bit into it.

  “It must be nice to have so much self-confidence.” Damn, why had she let her thoughts pop out of her mouth that way?

  “It’s hard to believe you have a self-esteem problem. Most beautiful women—”

  “Haven’t lived my life.”

  He stared at her and she knew he was trying to analyze her comment. “Sometime you’ll have to tell me about it…about all of it. I’d be very interested in learning what made you you.”

  “I thought Dundee’s was conducting a thorough check on me for Mr. Bedell. That should tell you everything you want to know.” She grunted. “Hell, no need to wait for the report, I can give you the pitiful tale of Lausanne Raney’s life in a nutshell.”

  “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.” Dom narrowed his gaze, focusing on her flushed cheeks. “I’m personally interested in you and therefore in your past. My interest has nothing to do with the case I’m working on.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “Are we back to not trusting each other?” Dom asked.

  She grumbled under her breath. “I’m trying.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “So, do you want the nutshell version of my life or not?”

  “Only if you want to give it.”

  “I was born to two loving parents and had a wonderful childhood. Then my mother died and the world as I knew it ceased to exist. My father shut himself off from everyone, including me. Then a little over a year later, he remarried. Renee was a cruel, jealous woman. She made my life so miserable that I ran away when I was sixteen.” She sighed deeply as the memories washed over her. “Somehow, I managed to survive without turning to drugs or prostitution. I met a guy not much older than I was, we hooked up, he fed me a line of bull, I slept with him, got pregnant. Yada-yada-yada. I gave my baby girl up for adoption, steered clear of good-looking, sweet-talking guys and drifted from place to place.

  “Then right before I turned twenty-one, I met another good-looking, sweet-talking guy. This one talked love and forever after. I believed all his lies and wound up being arrested as his accomplice when he robbed a convenience store.”

  “I’d say it’s past time you got a break,” Dom told her. “And if you think I’m just another good-looking, sweet-talking man, you’re wrong. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you.”

  “We’re back to that little matter of trust again.”

  “You can’t rush it. Trust takes time to build, especially when a relationship starts out the way ours did.”

  “Yeah, with lies and lies and more lies.”

  “No more lies between us. Agreed?”

  She nodded. “Agreed.”

  BAIN DESMOND LOOKED a little too handsome to suit Dom and a little too friendly with Lausanne. What was the detective up to by being so nice?

  Desmond sat on the sofa with Lausanne, sipping on the coffee she’d poured for him, and the two were chatting about the weather, about how at this time of year, it can feel like summer one day and winter the next.

  “I know you don’t have time for idle chit-chat.” Sitting across from Desmond, Dom glared at the detective. “So, maybe we should get down to business.”

  “Whenever Ms. Raney is ready,” Desmond said.

  Dom gritted his teeth.

  “I’m not sure where to start,” Lausanne admitted. “So I’ll just start with the morning Dom brought me back from Palm Beach.” She looked to Dom for approval.

  When he nodded, she continued. Desmond watched her closely. Dom was beginning to wonder if the detective’s interest in Lausanne, like his, was as much personal as professional.

  “Perhaps I should say first that I truly believed the woman who hired me to impersonate Audrey Perkins was Audrey Perkins,” Lausanne said.

  With an inquisitive look in his eyes, Desmond lifted one eyebrow. “And she wasn’t?”

  “No, she wasn’t, but I thought she was. I didn’t realize the truth until I saw a portrait of Audrey in her father’s study. That’s when I knew that she—Audrey—hadn’t hired me, that the person who did was someone else.”

  Desmond didn’t respond immediately, just sat there staring at Lausanne.

  “You can see how this changes things,” Dom said.

  “Hmm…” Desmond nodded.

  “Find the woman who hired Lausanne and you’ll find out what happened to Audrey Perkins.” Dom
studied the detective’s face for a clue as to what he might be thinking. The guy’s face was blank.

  “If Ms. Raney is telling us the truth.” Desmond looked directly at Lausanne. “Are you being completely honest with me, telling me everything?”

  Dom barely stopped himself from answering for her. He wanted to bellow out the reply. Yes, damn it, yes, she’s telling you the truth.

  “I’ve told you the truth about everything,” Lausanne reiterated.

  “Why should I believe you?” Desmond asked. “What proof can you give me? What evidence do you have?”

  Seemingly stumped by the detective’s questions, she sat there thinking, her green eyes reflecting her deep concentration. Dom held his breath. Desmond waited for a reply.

  Finally, Lausanne said, “I can identify the woman who hired me and I don’t think someone wants me to do that. I’ve been attacked twice.” She hesitated, then added, “And I have fifty thousand dollars in my bank account. If I wasn’t paid that amount to impersonate Audrey Perkins, then where did I get hold of so much cash?”

  “You or Bobby Jack Cash could have stolen the money from Audrey Perkins,” Desmond said. “And as for your being attacked twice—there’s no reason to believe either incident was connected to Ms. Perkins’s disappearance.”

  “Are you being obstinate on purpose or are you just plain stupid?” Dom barked the question, anger in every word. “Why would Lausanne deposit stolen money in a bank account under her own name? And being attacked twice in less than two weeks is no coincidence. Any fool could see that. And didn’t you hear her say she can ID the woman who hired her? Whoever this woman is, she’s your lead to finding out what happened to Audrey Perkins.”

  “So, you’re saying that you believe everything Ms. Raney has told you?” Desmond asked point-blank.

  “Yes, I believe her,” Dom said without giving his response a thought.

  He did believe her. With his heart, with his gut and with every ounce of testosterone in his body.

  “Okay, let’s say I believe you, Ms. Raney,” Desmond said. “I’ll need a description of this woman and—”

  “She was between twenty-five and thirty-five. Tall, slender, pretty and had red hair. But her hair could have been dyed or it could have been a wig.” Lausanne spoke rapidly. “Her accent sounded pretty much like everybody else’s who lives in this area and there was nothing distinctive about it. She seemed a bit nervous, but I chalked that up to her being eager to run off with her lover.”

  “If you saw her again, are you sure you’d recognize her?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Do you think you could ID her from a photograph?”

  “Yes, I believe I could. Why? Do you have any idea who this woman might be?” Lausanne asked.

  “Not really,” Desmond said. “But a good place to start looking would be with the people closest to Ms. Perkins.”

  “We know it wasn’t her sister or her stepmother.” Dom gave Lausanne an encouraging glance and noted her immediate response. Momentary relaxation. Temporary relief. And gratitude. “You should look beyond Audrey’s friends. You need to check out the employee data for Bedell, Inc.”

  “Bedell, Inc. employs thousands of people worldwide,” Desmond said.

  “Just check out the females under thirty-five who are employed here in Chattanooga,” Dom suggested.

  When Desmond stood, Dom did, too, and then Lausanne.

  “Keep this revelation to yourselves for now,” Desmond told them as he headed for the door. “As soon as I come up with something, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Lausanne said as she stood between Dom and Desmond. She offered the detective her hand.

  Desmond took her hand, shook it and held it a little too long to suit Dom.

  “You be careful coming and going, especially at night,” Desmond told her. “I’d be glad to keep check on you—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Dom said. “I’m staying here with her.”

  Desmond’s mouth lifted in a why-am-I-not-surprised smile. “So does this mean you’re working for Ms. Raney now instead of Edward Bedell.”

  Dom clenched his teeth tightly.

  Lausanne glanced back and forth between Dom and Desmond, then when neither man spoke again, she stepped in to defuse the tension.

  “May I see you to the door, Lieutenant?”

  “Thank you, Ms. Raney.”

  When she closed the door and turned to Dom, he huffed loudly. “He’s got the hots for you.”

  Lausanne rolled her eyes. “He does not.” Then she smiled broadly. “But I love it that you’re jealous.”

  “Me jealous? No way.”

  She came up to him, wrapped her arms around his waist and stood on tiptoe to look him square in the eyes. “You’re going to get in trouble, you know that, don’t you? You can’t be my protector and continue working for Mr. Bedell.”

  “Then I’ll just have to contact my boss and tell him to assign another agent to the case.”

  “You mustn’t do that.” She released him and stepped back.

  “Why not?”

  “I won’t let you jeopardize your job for me.”

  “Your life is a lot more important than my job,” Dom told her. “Besides, I doubt I’ll lose my job just because I resign from this case.”

  “If Mr. Bedell finds out why you resigned, he won’t like it. He may demand that your boss fire you. I’ve heard Mr. Bedell can be a very unforgiving man.”

  Dom took her hands in his. “No matter what happens, I’m not going to let you go through this alone. Until we unearth the truth and know that you’re safe, dynamite couldn’t blast me away from you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AT 1:20 THAT AFTERNOON, Lieutenant Desmond arrived at Bedell, Inc., along with his partner, Sergeant Mike Swain. When they asked to speak directly to Mr. Bedell, they were informed the big boss had gone home early, but that Mr. Perkins was still here and taking all of Mr. Bedell’s afternoon appointments. As soon as they were announced, the secretary escorted them down the hall and directly into Grayson Perkins’s huge, swanky office. Having grown up dirt poor on his uncle’s farm in Dayton, Bain possessed an innate distrust of the rich, especially the filthy rich. Even though Mr. Perkins wasn’t wealthy in his own right, his wife stood to one day inherit at least half of an estate estimated in the billions. That is, if Ms. Perkins was still alive. And Bain definitely had his doubts about that. He’d be interested in taking a look at Audrey Perkins’s will. He’d bet his pension that her husband was the major beneficiary.

  “Please be seated.” The secretary indicated two plush leather chairs. “Would you care for coffee or tea?”

  “No, thanks,” Bain replied.

  Mike shook his head.

  “Mr. Perkins will be right with you.” The secretary exited discreetly.

  “Think he’ll give us what we want without a search warrant?” Mike asked.

  “Possibly.”

  “You’re going to ask first, huh? Then if he doesn’t agree, you’ll—”

  A side door to the inner sanctum opened and an elegantly attired Grayson Perkins breezed into the room. “Gentlemen, what may I do for you?”

  “We need to ask you a few questions,” Bain said. “And we also need to see the Bedell, Inc. personnel files.”

  “Ask me whatever you need to ask.” Grayson propped his slim hips against his massive desk and crossed his arms over his chest, the movement revealing his shirt cuffs and the sparkling diamond links.

  “Who, other than her sister and stepmother, are the women closest to your wife? Her friends, employees, that sort of thing.” Bain studied Grayson, wondering just what went on inside the guy and if there was anything else to him other than his GQ body and cover-model face.

  “Audrey doesn’t really have any female friends,” Grayson replied. “Numerous acquaintances, but no friends. She and Cara live very different lives, but they care about each other. And they both despise Patri
ce.” Grayson mused for several seconds then said, “We have several female employees. There’s the cook and the housekeeper, but neither live in and aren’t there every day.”

  “Either of those women thirty-five or younger?” Mike Swain asked.

  “No, Vivian and Cathy are in their late forties.” Grayson frowned. “I’m puzzled by why you’re interested in the women in Audrey’s life. What does this have to do with her disappearance?”

  “I’m just covering all the bases,” Bain said. “Can you think of anyone else, any young woman more connected to your wife, someone who possibly had a key to your penthouse?”

  “Well, there’s Audrey’s personal assistant, Megan Reynolds.”

  “Is she under thirty-five?” Bain asked.

  “Yes, I think so. My guess is that she’s around thirty. Why?”

  Disregarding the question, Bain continued. “What about female employees under thirty-five here at Bedell, Inc.’s main headquarters? How many—”

  “You expect me to answer all your questions, but you won’t answer even one for me?” Grayson uncrossed his arms and pushed himself away from the desk.

  “I’m going to need photo IDs of all female employees under the age of thirty-five,” Bain said. “And that includes all personnel employed in your home and Mr. Bedell’s home.”

  Obviously frustrated by having his demands ignored, Grayson glowered at Bain. Their gazes met for half a second before Grayson looked away and said, “I don’t believe that will be a problem. Everything is computerized. I’ll call our personnel department and tell them what you need.”

  “What about the people who work in your home and in—”

  “They’re all paid through the Bedell, Inc. payroll department, so their records are on file here at company headquarters.”

  “We appreciate your being so cooperative, Mr. Perkins.” Bain stood and held out his hand.

  Grayson Perkins had a firm, confident handshake. “My secretary will show you to the personnel office. I’ll inform them to cooperate with you in every way.”

  A few minutes later, when the secretary left them outside the double doors leading into the personnel office suite, Mike paused and said, “So, what do you think about Mr. Perkins? He just up and agreed to give us whatever we wanted. Guess that makes him look less guilty, right?”