Deadly Deception (2 page)

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"  She glanced at him as he leaned against the car.

"Yeah. I grew up around here. I used to know every inch of these woods,” he said. He pointed to a dirt trail that wound through some trees. "See that path over there?  It leads to one of the most beautiful fishing ponds you've ever seen."

"Really?"  Not that she cared, but this was the first friendliness he'd shown her and she wanted to keep things pleasant for the drive back.

"Hey, we've got time.” He headed to the path at the edge of the woods then looked back at her to see if she was following. “Come on, I'll show you."  When he saw that she was, he waited for her to reach him then turned to walk ahead. "It's this way."

They'd walked for what seemed to her to be a couple of miles when she asked him, "How much farther is it?"  As if the drive wasn’t tiring enough, this hike to the pond was exhausting. 

"Almost there," he said.

She trudged forward, clutching her small purse to her side. He stopped suddenly and she almost slammed into him.  Her head jerked up.  His expression was odd, his eyes dark and flat.  She had a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.  Something was very wrong.

He pulled out a revolver.  "End of the road, Miss Morris. Turn around."

"What in the hell are you doing?"  She turned away from him, her body trembling so hard she feared her legs would give out.  “Why are you doing this?”  The bullet slammed into her head with a loud explosion and darkness clawed at her as she sank to the ground.

David walked to the car, but had to stop several times to throw up.  He attributed his physical reaction to the fact that it was his first kill at close range.  He hadn't counted on the blood that sprayed onto his face, clothes, and shoes.  In the army, all his kills had been done at distance.  He’d found his target through the scope of his rifle and shot.

It was part of his job, he told himself as he wiped his face and shoes with a towel from his trunk.  This was what he signed up for ten years ago when he assumed bodyguard duties for Dr. Caine.  Serve and protect.  Of course, when he signed up he didn't know he'd have to kill to protect the lucrative business the doctor had built.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket and pushed a button on his speed dial.  "It's done."  He'd be meeting with Caine very soon.  This turn of events would mean a higher percentage of the profits, whether the doc liked it or not.

Frankie Douglas sat under the white wedding tent with the other guests.  It was a beautiful spring day.  The breeze caressed her face and blew through her long, blonde hair. The sweet scent of the roses in Anne Brandt's rose garden was incredible and reminded her of the times Anne taught her how to tend the bushes with exquisite care and love. 

She’d been to weddings where the bride looked beautiful; but Anne was breathtaking. Her long ivory gown was silk with hand-sewn pearls.  It had an empire waist with a long train. She had a glow about her that seemed to radiate from within. Michael Brandt, the groom, hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she’d arrived at the altar to join him and the minister.  His focus remained on his bride while he seemed unaware of the hundred or so guests watching the ceremony. Frankie had never seen a couple this much in love.

Although the happy couple had eloped last November, the groom’s mother and Anne’s friend, Daisy, had their own ideas about the celebration of matrimony.  The two
would
have a formal wedding — period.  Both women loved Anne as the daughter they didn't have. So the young woman who'd lost her mother years before ended up with two.  They planned the wedding with zeal, enjoying every second of the planning.

It’s funny how things happen, she thought.  She was in the hospital last November with a gunshot wound that cut through one side of her shoulder and out the other when Michael pushed Anne in a wheelchair into her room.  After he introduced them, Anne clasped her hand, thanking her for protecting her from a serial killer who had her pegged as his next victim.  She had explained to Anne that it was her job as a private investigator to protect her but Anne would hear none of it.

They’d become fast friends, which was surprising to Frankie. She never had a female friend before nor had she wanted one until Anne.  She and Anne had gotten together at least once a week at Anne's wind farm or at the Front Page Bar for drinks ever since.  She'd found that she and Anne shared the same off-the-wall sense of humor, a love for Lady Gaga, as well as cravings for junk food when stressed. 

The ring bearer pranced up the aisle holding the handle of a basket in his mouth.  Tucked inside the basket was a black velvet jeweler’s box.  Harley, Anne’s Giant Schnauzer, aimed for Michael and sat in front of him as Michael removed the ring from its box.  Harley then took his place with Hank, Anne’s farm foreman who sat at the end of the first row.

After the usual wedding vows, the minister pronounced them husband and wife. The couple kissed and then turned toward their guests.  Frankie watched Michael kiss Anne again as he briefly rested his hand on her baby bump, and the guests erupted with applause. She had never met a couple who wanted a baby more.

Frankie joined the rest of the guests as they made their way inside the house for the reception.  She scanned the crowd and saw Lane Hansen, the star of her erotic dreams. Her stupid heart slammed against her chest.

Lane had the dubious distinction of shooting her the year before.  Guns drawn, they'd been creeping down some rickety storm cellar steps to stop a serial killer from killing Anne.  One of the steps gave way under Lane.  As he tumbled down the stairs, his gun went off, piercing Frankie's shoulder.

It had been six months since she'd seen Lane and seeing him now didn't exactly make her day. In fact, it pissed her off. 

Last November, after three days of unconsciousness, Frankie had awakened to find six foot five, decidedly gorgeous Deputy Lane Hansen asleep in the chair next to her hospital bed with his hand clasped around hers.  He had spent three days in her hospital room watching, okay more like hovering, over her before she woke up.

When she was released from the hospital, he dropped by her apartment for five straight days equipped with enough food to feed an army. After dinner each night, he'd ignored her protests and insisted on looking at her bullet wound and changing her bandaging.  They'd relaxed on her sofa; played music, watched television, or just talked.

By the third day, though she'd never have admitted it, she was looking forward to his visits.  On the fifth day, after he changed her bandaging, he'd kissed her.  She'd played it in her mind a million times.  She remembered the moment as if it had just happened. 

He’d taken her lips tenderly, tentatively exploring her mouth with his tongue.  Breaking off the kiss, he’d looked into her eyes as if asking for permission to kiss her a second time.  She’d responded by snaking her arms around his neck and pulling him to her.  Then she was kissing him and he was kissing her back as he swept her off the couch and onto his lap, stroking her with his wonderfully large hands.  His mouth had tasted like the wine they'd had for dinner and his intoxicating scent was a mix of musk and man.  

The kiss deepened.  His tongue had explored the inner recesses of her mouth, sending a surprising, urgent need that flowed through her veins like molten lava. She’d leaned into him, tightening her arms around his neck and pressing her soft breasts against the hardness of his massive chest.

A heat swept through her as she remembered how he'd carried her to her bedroom and gently eased her down onto the bed. They'd made wild, turbulent love for hours and hours that night and then she'd slept in his arms.  In the morning, he was gone.  Just like that.  No good-bye.  Nothing.  Like a ghost, he'd disappeared; leaving her like a victim of a one-night stand. 

Frankie was so angry she'd punched a pillow then screeched as pain from her shoulder wound shot down her arm.  Damn him.  She'd broken her own rule of not dating cops and look what had happened.  Hadn’t she learned the hard way cops found it way too easy to lie?  And obviously, this one found it quite easy just to screw her and leave.

She glared at Lane who stood talking to a familiar looking cop. Lane was dressed in a navy suit, white shirt, and red tie looking like he'd just left a photo shoot.  Her stupid heart leapt. Her first instinct was to leave, but she'd promised Anne she'd stay throughout the reception and dinner.  It was going to be a long night.

Lane didn't see Frankie at first, but rookie Deputy Edward Smith pointed her out.  "Isn't that your sister, Frankie, over there?"

His eyes followed Ed's index finger that aimed at one of the most gorgeous women he'd ever seen standing next to Anne Brandt in a low cut, lavender silk dress that provocatively skimmed over her body. The garment ended at her knees, revealing her endless long legs.  Damn, had he really forgotten how sexy she was?  He started counting to ten and prayed his arousal wasn’t obvious.

"I told you before.  She's not my sister.  She said that at the crime scene so she could get information out of you." 

"Are you doing her?  Because if you're not, I'm going to be all over her like a dog on a sausage salesman at a dog park."  He stared at Frankie across the room.

"I don't kiss and tell.  Anyway, I heard she was in a relationship."  Okay, that was a lie, but he found he didn't like the idea of Ed Smith or any other man making a move on her.

"I don't care if she's in a relationship or not.  He's not with her right now, so she's fair game," he said as he moved toward her.

Lane clenched his jaw and scowled as Ed now stood next to Frankie pulling her into a conversation.  She crossed her arms across her chest and looked more uncomfortable than pleased and looked toward him.  When their eyes met, she sent him an icy glare.  He needn't wonder whether or not she was angry with him.  That glare said it all.  Damn it.  He'd screwed up badly with her and had no idea how to fix it.  And he
did
want to fix it, because awake or sleeping, he couldn't get her out of his head.  He'd relived making love to her a million times in his mind and taken as many cold showers. 

If she was haunting him, it was his own damn fault.  What kind of a bastard had he become?  Leaving her after a night of mind-shattering sex?  The truth was, he'd never experienced the emotions she made him feel before and it scared the crap out of him.  Figured that he’d take the easy way out by walking away.  And now there was nothing he regretted more. 

It was the bottom of the eighth inning and Detective Lane Hansen was up to bat.  The pressure swirled around him like a thunderstorm. The bases were loaded with two balls and two strikes. The Cop Team needed a hit or there was a good chance the Fire Fighter Team would win the game.  The Fire Fighters hadn't beaten the Cops for five years and he certainly didn't want to be the reason his team lost.

The pitcher unrolled a curve ball that surged past him and clapped in the catcher's mitt.  Ball three.  A cell phone went off in the dugout and Ed Smith announced it was Lane's.  The pitcher aimed another one and Lane's bat cracked like a whip.  The ball sailed over left field and out of the park.  Lane flew to first base, raced to second and then third following his teammates before him.  The crowd in the bleachers stood up to let out an ear piercing cheer.  He slid into home base creating a cloud of dust that coated his eyes. 

“Safe!” called the umpire. Suddenly his team surrounded him, patting him hard on the back.  Lane rubbed his eyes and noticed Ed running toward him from the dugout with
his
cell phone in his hand. 

"It's the sheriff.  A couple of hikers found a body in a wooded area near State Highway 55 off of U.S. 41 close to Kramer. He said for you to get your ass out there ASAP.  The crime scene techs are there and the medical examiner is on his way.  Call dispatch for the exact location."