Dangerous Deception

by Beverly Barton

  “Insurance.” Dom handed her the clean spoons.

  Lausanne stared quizzically at Dom as she dried the spoons. “I don’t get it.”

  “She probably knew that whoever paid her off was a dangerous person, a person capable of murder, and she wanted some insurance to protect herself.”

  “Oh, I see. If this person knew she’d written a letter to me, to be forwarded only if she died, then they would be less likely to kill her.” But it hadn’t worked out that way, had it? Someone had strangled Megan Reynolds before she could write the letter. “Where do these go?” Lausanne held up the dried spoons.

  Dom took them from her, opened a bottom drawer and laid them in the silverware tray. “Apparently Megan never got a chance to finish the letter.”

  “Why didn’t the killer take the letter or destroy it?” Lausanne asked. “Why leave it for the police to find?”

  Dom shrugged. “Maybe he figured that since the page was blank except for your first name, the letter was of no significance. Or maybe he had to leave quickly for some reason, before he got a chance to take the letter.”

  “But he must have seen it, right? After all, he was sent to kill her before she could write it.”

  “Which means she had threatened whoever had paid her off, otherwise they wouldn’t have known.” After drying his hands, Dom turned Lausanne to face him, gripped her shoulders and looked right at her. “You realize that you’re the only loose end the killer needs to tie up, don’t you?”

  She shivered as the truth of Dom’s statement sank in—whoever had paid an assassin to kill Megan Reynolds had probably already hired someone to try to kill her. Again. Third time charm?

  “Aren’t I special.” A shiver of pure fear rippled through her. “The police suspect me of murdering two people and the real murderer is after me, too.”

  Dom cupped her face with his hands. “No one is going to hurt you. Not the police. Not some hired killer. The only way anyone will ever get to you is through me.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. “Oh, Dom…” She sniffled, trying her damnedest not to cry. “You’re too good to be true, you know. I just don’t have this kind of good luck, especially not with men.”

  “I’m the lucky one.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers.

  Lausanne cried, holding nothing back, permitting herself the freedom to truly feel.

  Dom hugged her to him, whispering softly in her ear. She melted into his strength, giving herself over to her emotions, a luxury she had not allowed herself in years. She had been alone for such a long time, with no one who truly cared about her. But now, with Dom, she felt safe.

  After she’d cried her last tear, she lifted her head from his chest, wiped her damp eyes and looked up at him. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being you.”

  Dom grinned, then reached down and took her hand in his. “Come on, honey. We’ve got a long flight home. Why don’t we go cuddle on the sofa and swap life stories?”

  “You don’t want to hear mine. It’s a sob story practically from beginning to end.”

  He led her back into the lounge and over to the sofa, then sat and pulled her onto his lap. She curled up against him, loving the feel of him, knowing that for now, for these next few hours, no harm could come to either of them. On the Dundee jet, high in the sky, soaring over the Atlantic Ocean, she and Dom were in their own little world.

  “You go first,” she told him. “Domingo Shea was born in Texas. How many years ago?”

  “Thirty-seven.”

  “Ooh, you’re an old man. Nine years older than I am.”

  “Does that make me too old for you?”

  She rubbed her hand over his chest, the feel of his cotton shirt smooth under her palm. “No, I think that makes you just right for me.”

  Dom chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been just right for someone.”

  “Well, you’re just right for me,” she told him. “What about me? Am I too young for you? Too wild for you? Not good enough for you?”

  He grasped the back of her neck and forced her head up so that she had to face him. “I don’t ever want to hear you put yourself down like that, not ever again. Not even jokingly. Understand?”

  Her heart caught in her throat. She nodded.

  “You’re just right for me, too,” he told her. “No one else has ever been so right.”

  “Damn it, Dom, you’re going to make me cry again.”

  He tickled her in the ribs, which made her giggle and squirm, then he wrapped her in his embrace and said, “Promise not to cry again and I’ll regale you with tales of the life and times of Domingo Ronan Shea.”

  Twisting around just enough to gaze up at him, she asked, “Ronan?”

  “Ronan. ’Tis a fine old Irish name, me girl. Ronan Shea was my great-grandfather, born and bred in County Tyrone.”

  “Someday when you have a son, that’s what you should name him—Ronan Shea.”

  Dom pressed his cheek against her temple. His warm breath fanned over her ear and wafted through her hair. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “If I have two sons, I might name the second one Ronan,” Dom said. “But if and when I have a son, I’d like to name him after my brother Raphael and call him Rafe.”

  “That’s a wonderful name, too.”

  Dom remained quiet for several minutes.

  “Tell me about Rafe,” she said.

  Dom kissed her forehead. “Rafe was my big brother and a lot like our old man. Big, rugged, rough. As Irish as the day is long. He and our father were as close as any son and father could be and so much alike in looks and personalities.” Dom grunted. “Me, I was Mama’s son. Too pretty to be a boy. That’s what the old man told me. I had inherited Mama’s Mexican features, except I got Dad’s height and build.”

  “Were you jealous of the relationship between Rafe and your father?”

  “Yeah, I guess I was, in a way, but it didn’t keep me from loving them both. I idolized Rafe. And hell, we both thought the old man hung the moon.”

  “What happened to Rafe?”

  “How do you know—”

  “I heard it in your voice.” She laid her arms over his where he held her around the waist. “Rafe’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah. He was killed in the Gulf War, that first damn war with Iraq. He was making the army his career, so as soon as I finished college, I joined the navy. He was a Ranger. I was a SEAL. We were always competing.”

  “I didn’t have any siblings, but I hear healthy competition is normal between brothers or between sisters.”

  “When Rafe was killed…” Dom swallowed hard.

  “Nothing has ever been the same since then.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, but how did you know?”

  “Because when my mother died, my life changed and nothing has ever been the same since.”

  “I’ve spent the past fifteen years living the life I thought Rafe would have wanted to live. The guy was a hell-raiser, a womanizer and the apple of the old man’s eye. I tried my best to step into Rafe’s shoes, but…Hell, I’m not Rafe. I’m Domingo, but I’ve lived in Rafe’s shadow for so long, I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

  “I understand.” Lausanne nestled closer to Dom, wishing she could lose herself in him. “My mother’s precious twelve-year-old Lausanne was a sweet, naive little girl adored by both her parents. She lived an idyllic life, with a beautiful room filled with toys and dolls and pretty clothes. Then one day her mother died and her father became a cold stranger who married a crazy woman. And that wicked stepmother made Lausanne’s life a living hell.”

  “And you ran away from home to escape this crazy woman.”

  “Out of the frying pan and into the fire. If I’d stayed in Booneville and endured Renee’s abuse, I’d never have met Brad White, the good-for-nothing. Of course, it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, but Brad was worthless.”

  “Brad White was your child’s father?” Dom as
ked.

  Huffing out a cleansing breath, Lausanne replied, “He got me pregnant, but I never thought of him as my baby’s father. He wasn’t around long enough to be anything other than a sperm donor.”

  “You must have loved him, in the beginning.”

  “I thought I did, but let’s face it, I was seventeen, alone, scared and needed somebody. Anybody would have done. It just happened to be Brad.”

  “How could a man leave a woman who was carrying his child?”

  “Brad wasn’t a man. He was a nineteen-year-old boy who loved beer and motorcycles and girls. I was just one of his girlfriends. The last thing he wanted was to get tied down with a wife and baby.”

  “How did you manage, being a kid all alone and pregnant?” Dom hugged her comfortingly.

  “I didn’t manage, not very well. When I was seven months pregnant, I swallowed my pride and went to Brad’s house to ask him to help me, to help us, the baby and me. I was desperate. That’s when I found out he was dead. His sister told me he’d been killed in a motorcycle wreck less than a month earlier. His mother had died when he was little and he had a stepmother, just like I did, but she was a nice woman. Brad’s father was dead, too, so it was just the sister and the stepmom.”

  “There was no one to help you.”

  “That’s why I gave her away, you know. My baby girl. I wanted her to have a good life, the kind of life I’d had before my mother died.”

  That incurable, gut-wrenching pain she always felt when she thought about her daughter clutched Lausanne’s heart. For a few seconds, she couldn’t breathe.

  Dom turned her in his arms so that he could see her face. “Lausanne…”

  “I wanted to keep her. You don’t know how much I wanted to be a mother to her, but…” She choked back the tears. “That’s why I agreed to impersonate Audrey Perkins. That’s why I took the fifty thousand dollars.”

  Dom curved his index finger and thumb around her chin and jaw. “You lost me, honey. What did the money have to do with your baby?”

  “I gave her away to strangers. I’ve always wondered if the people who adopted her cherished her as the precious gift she was, if she has the life she deserved. A good life. I promised myself that when I got out of prison, I’d turn my own life around and I’d save up enough money to do whatever it took to find my little girl.”

  Releasing his grip on her chin, Dom narrowed his gaze, giving her a hard stare. “You want to find your child and take her away—”

  “No!” Lausanne covered his mouth with her fingertips. “I would never try to take her away from two loving parents and a happy life. I just want—no, I need—to know for sure that she’s all right, that she does have the wonderful life I wanted for her.”

  He captured her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. “Lausanne…ah, honey.”

  Dom kissed her lips. Tenderly.

  That tormenting ache in her heart eased the slightest bit, as if sharing the pain with someone who truly cared how much she had suffered lessened the severity.

  “I thought taking the money and impersonating Audrey would be a slam dunk, that I’d not only get the money I needed to search for my daughter, but I’d get to enjoy the kind of spending spree vacation most women only dream about.” Lausanne grunted in self-disgust. “I should have know I’d only wind up in an unholy mess. No matter what I do, how hard I try, I just keep screwing up. And this time, instead of somebody else dragging me down, I’m the one doing the dragging. I’m dragging you down into my personal hell.”

  When she lifted herself, intending to get off his lap, Dom wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her down and turned her around so that she sat sideways, her side to his chest. She wiggled, trying to free herself from his hold, but he enfolded her in both of his big, strong arms and pressed his cheek against hers.

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he asked. “There is nowhere I’d rather be than with you. In heaven or hell or someplace in between.”

  Lausanne’s heart stopped. She knew it did. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t react in any way. Then suddenly her heartbeat drummed inside her head. She gasped for breath, sucking in deep gulps of air.

  “You’re crazy, Dom Shea. You know that, don’t you?”

  She jerked away from him and this time he let her go. When she made it to her feet, she turned and glared at him. He looked up at her, love and passion in his eyes.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” she said. “I don’t deserve a wonderful man like you. I’m not good enough for you. You’re one of the good guys. I’m one of the bad girls who just keeps fucking up her life and I don’t think that will ever change. My advice to you is run like hell.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do. If you stay with me, keep on trying to help me, you’ll wind up regretting it.”

  Wanting to run away and hide, she turned her back on him; then she realized that there was no place to run. They were aboard the Dundee jet. If she wanted to escape, she’d have to find a parachute and jump.

  Dom came up behind her, but he didn’t touch her. She held her breath, a part of her wanting him to hold her again, to tell her that he loved her and they had a future together. And the other part of her, the realistic woman who knew there was no such thing as happily ever after, didn’t want him near her. If he touched her, she’d be lost. She wanted him so much that she’d be powerless to resist.

  And you love him, a wicked inner voice taunted. You’ve gone and fallen head over heels in love with Dom Shea.

  “If you want some time alone, there’s a bedroom in back,” Dom said. “There’s a CD player and a case filled with books and a private bath. You can hole up in there until we reach Chattanooga, if that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you. I’d like a little time by myself.”

  “Want me to call you for supper? I thought I’d whip us up a bite in four or five hours.”

  “Yes, thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll be glad to help you prepare dinner.”

  “Okay.” He offered her a wavering smile.

  Lausanne forced herself not to run from him. Instead, she walked slowly toward the bedroom door and with every step, she wished he’d ask her to come back to him.

  “MEGAN REYNOLDS has been eliminated,” he said.

  A deep sigh. “And the letter? What did you find out about the letter?”

  “I was told that he saw a letter lying on her desk at the hotel and—”

  “Did he get the letter and destroy it?”

  “No, there was no reason to remove the letter. All that was written on the stationery was the greeting Dear Lausanne.”

  Another heavy sigh. “Good.”

  He wished the man in Buenos Aires he’d hired to kill Megan Reynolds had found a completed letter, one naming his client as a killer. If there had been a letter, something incriminating, he could have used it to blackmail his client, if he ever needed that type of self-defense weapon. “Then you’re satisfied with the outcome?”

  “Very satisfied.”

  “Will you require anything else?” Would the Raney woman need to die, now that Megan Reynolds was dead and there was no letter naming his client as a murderer?

  “Yes, I want Lausanne Raney eliminated. And the sooner the better. If by some chance Megan wrote another letter…I can’t afford to take the chance.”

  “If that’s what you want, then—”

  “It’s not what I want, but it’s necessary. Do you think I wanted to have Megan killed? I didn’t. And Audrey…” Silence.

  “I’ll make contact with my sources in the morning and arrange for a specialist to go to Chattanooga and handle the hit.” He needed Corbin for this job. Only Corbin.

  “No more screw ups. No more near misses. Understand?”

  “It could take several days to make the arrangements. And if you want one of the best, it’ll cost you a mint.” The best didn’t come cheap.

  “Damn the cost. Just get it
done this time.”

  FIVE AND A HALF HOURS later, Dom knocked on the bedroom door. Lausanne didn’t respond. He eased open the door and peered inside the room. A dim bedside lamp glimmered softly. She lay atop the covers on the bed, curled into a fetal ball, and appeared to be sound asleep. He had prepared the meal himself, taking a prepackaged dish of Eggplant Parmesan from the small freezer and heating it in the microwave. He’d set the small dining table, placed salads and bread sticks and wineglasses on the sleek surface and lit a couple of fat candles that he’d put in the middle of the table.

  As he entered the bedroom, he called to her in a whisper. “Lausanne…”

  She whimpered, as if halfway hearing him, but unable to fully awaken.

  “I have dinner ready,” he told her

  Moaning softly, she uncurled and flipped over on her back. “Dom?”

  “Yeah, honey, it’s me.”

  Her eyelids fluttered. “I must have fallen asleep.” She opened her eyes. “How long have I—”

  “About five hours.”

  “I must have slept really hard,” she said. “I feel slightly hung-over.”

  Dom ventured several feet into the room. “You needed to rest.”

  “I needed to escape.”

  “From me?”

  She pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But as it turned out, I needed to escape from myself. From who I am. From who I don’t want to be. But you know what—you can’t escape from yourself.”

  “Honey, don’t do this.”

  “God damn it, Dom, stop being so nice to me. I don’t deserve it.”

  Dom stomped across the room. “I’ve had all of this I can take. I’m going to tell you one last time, I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down, ever again.” He paused by the side of the bed. “I won’t stand for it.”

  Lausanne gazed up at him, her beautiful green eyes wide with wonder. “You won’t?”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and confronted her. “No, I won’t. Okay, so you’ve made a few mistakes. Who hasn’t?”

  “A few mistakes?” She laughed sarcastically. “I got pregnant at seventeen and had to give my baby away, then at twenty-one, I wound up being arrested as an accomplice to an armed robbery and serving five years in the pen. Those aren’t your typical mistakes. Those were whoppers. And just when I thought I’d turned my life around, I went and did something totally stupid—I agreed to impersonate a rich society woman who wound up dead, along with her boyfriend, and now I’m one of the chief murder suspects.”