To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense)

TO DECEIVE IS TO LOVE

BY

LYNNE KING

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

TO DECEIVE IS TO LOVE

COPYRIGHT 2011 LYNNE KING

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

Contact:
www.lynnekingauthor.co.uk

First Published in 2008 by The Wild Rose Press.

Reviews:

“I liked this story enough to read it twice. It has the things that I like. The story is about planes, intrigue, adventure, excitement, terrorism and counter terrorism. Those things are all my
favorites
to read for pleasure.”

Verbena L.A.S.R REVIEWS 4.5

“This book pulled me in and kept my interest riveted to the tale from first page to last.”

Dee Dailey THE ROMANCE STUDIO 5 hearts

“Lynne King
tells a story, not only spellbinding, but engaging from the first page to the last. Her descriptions of the players, the scenery, and landscape, are so vivid the reader is in awe. This action-packed suspense is exciting, and never has a dull moment.”
Reviewed by: Linda L.

FALLEN ANGEL REVIEWS 5 angels

Author’s Note:

I’d like to thank
This England
magazine for permission to quote from John Gillespie Magee’s poem,
High Flight.

Lynne King

Chapter 1

“Where is my car, Danny?”

His hands came up, giving her a helpless gesture, and that sorrowful pitying look crept over his boyish features. “Chantelle, I’m so sorry, it wasn’t my fault.”

“I’ve been standing here in a deserted airfield for half an hour in this blistering midday heat, haven’t seen one living thing.” She drew breath. “And furthermore, your phone is switched off. Then you pull up in a taxi, the driver still cursing you by the look on his face as he sped off.”

“Blasted crook, I could have hired a car for that price. As for my phone, well that’s another story. Anyway, how was France?
Your mother okay?
Flight nice and smooth?”

Chantelle Duvall shook her head in disbelief. Danny Bishop was the guy she worked and entrusted her life with and yet, she should have known better than to lend him her car; he was also unreliable and foolhardy. She lost count of the times he had wormed his way out of sticky situations of his making with his persuasive boyish charm.

“Danny!” Chantelle’s voice rose. “Tell me where my faithful little car that I have loved and cared for all these years is.
Now!”

His eyes rose skyward. “Scrap metal heaven.”

“Why you…” Picking up her heavy canvas bag, Chantelle swung it toward him. She was so caught up in her anger at her unreliable partner that she never heard the approaching footsteps. It wasn’t until Danny side-stepped the bag that she realized her mistake. The bag left her grasp and Danny managed to duck as it whizzed around his head. Two men walking from the direction of the private airfield’s offices both dived apart as the offending missile flew between them, dropping on the tarmac with a heavy thud.

“Crazy, bloody crazy!
That car was due for retirement long ago.”

Hearing those words from Danny, Chantelle forgot about the two men she had nearly bowled over with her bag and went after him again, prodding his chest with her finger. “Danny, how am I to get home?”

“What the hell is going on here?” a voice shouted above theirs. The owner stepped forward and firmly encased her protruding finger and hand in his larger one.

Falling silent, she whirled around, her finger immediately released. The man who had spoken was dressed in loose-fitting khakis with an olive top and the tanned muscular arms on display were enough to make her feel a little dizzy. His midnight hair was cropped army style and a day’s stubble simply added to his appeal. She looked up and found herself staring into piercing blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. He was good-looking in a dangerous sort of way – just her type. She quickly turned back to Danny, who watched her with a strange expression on his face.

“Chantelle, this is my brother, David.” His tone was resentful as he added, “I don’t doubt he will have an answer to our problem.”

For a moment, Chantelle was speechless. Appearance-wise, they couldn’t be more different. Danny with his loud Hawaiian shirt, denim shorts and tawny hair pulled back into a ponytail acted like he dressed: young, carefree and totally irresponsible. His brother looked at least ten years older and had a serious, powerful presence.

“Has he brought me another car to drive home?” She couldn’t help the sarcasm. Maybe she had overreacted, but after flying in from France, getting tired and hot waiting on the tarmac, hearing she had no car anymore was the last straw.

“No, but he can give you a lift to London and drop me off en route, can’t you, brother?” Danny gave him a challenging look.

An awkward silence followed and Chantelle wondered about the tension between the two brothers.

“I’ll help the lady out, but you can make your own way home, Danny. By the sound of it, you deserve some retribution.”

“Too right.
The way I’m feeling, it won’t be good for your health to be in a confined space with me,” Chantelle added, glad her problem was solved. Then she realized what she was agreeing to: traveling the hour-long trip to London with a total stranger. She was about to relent and forgive Danny when his next words sealed his fate.

“You can’t do that. I could have left her stranded; instead, I paid for a taxi to get here.”

“That wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t wrecked my car.” Grabbing her travel bag, she swung it over her shoulder and tried not to laugh when Danny side-stepped out of her way. Then, she turned to David. “Your brother can hitchhike back for all I care. Shall we go?”

As Chantelle followed David to his Jaguar, Danny called after them. “What else should I expect? You’ve never done me any favors, David.” He shouted the rest.
“Unless there was something in it for you!
Watch yourself, Chantelle; my brother has quite a reputation and none of
it’s
good.”

Danny’s parting words caused her to question her acceptance again; the ugliness in his tone was unlike Danny.

Climbing into the passenger seat and throwing her bag into the back, she gave a small sigh. “You should know your brother. He can try the patience of a saint, but it’s not deliberate. We can’t leave him here.”

“Tony will give him a lift; he lives in the same direction - unless, of course” -- he paused, his hands resting on the steering wheel -- “You’re worried about what else he said.” A small smile appeared.

Tony was obviously the man who had stood by David’s side, had said very little and worn a permanent frown. She wasn’t sure if he disapproved of her, Danny or all three of them.

“Should I be? Do you often pick up stranded women and have your wicked way with them? If so, I warn you I’m a black belt if you prove a disappointment.” The words simply slipped out and Chantelle immediately wished she could call them back. She couldn’t tell by his side profile what his reaction was. To change the subject, she immediately added, “Anyway, I never take anything Danny says seriously and he’s prone to exaggeration.”

“Obviously you’ve known him for some time?”

As David drove out of the car park, Chantelle glanced back and confirmed Danny had his lift. “Good grief.” She gave a short laugh. “We’re not an item, if that’s what you’re asking. We’ve been part of the team for about a year. Before that, I used to bump into him occasionally at the air shows.”

“What team?”

“The Swift Flying Circus.
Surely he must have mentioned us?” She raised her eyebrows. “Mind you, I didn’t even know he had a brother. No offence, but Danny talks about everything to do with himself except family.”

“Let’s say we don’t have a typical brotherly relationship and leave it at that.”

Chantelle sensed he regretted his sharp response when he immediately switched on the radio and asked if she had a preference.

“Heavy rock, the
Grateful Dead
, that sort of thing.”
She smirked at his open-mouthed expression.
“Only joking.
No, anything is fine as long as it’s cheerful.”

It was a relief when he smiled as he switched it to a local radio station. “I watched you land the Cessna. You’re obviously an accomplished pilot. Is the plane yours or do you lease it?”

“I didn’t know I had an audience.” She couldn’t help the teasing smile in his direction. “My father left it to me. I guess he realized I was as obsessed with flying as he was. It was his life, the air force, and in his spare time, the Cessna was his love. Apart from my mother, that is.” Chantelle stopped short. She still felt that bitterness mixed with sadness; it never went away.

“I’m sorry about your father. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Chantelle turned to stare out the passenger window at the green open spaces, which stretched for miles broken only by hedgerows and clusters of trees. The motorway was an ugly intruder, carving its pathway through. “You didn’t upset me, I’m just tired,” she finally murmured. Closing her eyes, her head rolled about the headrest, all thoughts slipping away.

“Chantelle, wake up. We’re entering West London now and I need some directions.” His hand reached out and gently shook her shoulder.

Sitting up abruptly and realizing where they were, Chantelle immediately blurted out, “Oh! I’m so sorry for being such a lousy passenger. I was so tired. I didn’t snore, did I?”

“Well, let’s just say I had to turn the radio up pretty loud to hear what was playing.”

“No!” Her hands flew to her mouth.

“And then there was the muttering. That must have been some dream you were having.”

He seemed so serious until the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, the amusement revealing itself in those intense blue eyes as he glanced at her.

Chantelle’s face lightened with relief as she shook her head. “Nice one and yes, actually it was a pretty good dream, not one to share though.”

“That’s a shame; shared experiences are usually the best.”

“Not with my imagination! It’s for my entertainment only.”

It was his silence and what her words implied that had Chantelle blurting out, “Anyway enough about me, what’s your story?”

“There isn’t one. Now, how about directing me to this flat of yours?”

“Fine,” she muttered. There was no denying it; she quite fancied getting to know a lot more about David Bishop. Obviously it wasn’t going to happen, so doing as he asked; she guided him to her flat in Shepherds Bush. Looking across at David, her words of thanks were interrupted.

“Friend of yours or boyfriend?”
David motioned at the man running toward them, an alarmed look on his face. “Either he’s the jealous kind or something is up.”

“That’s Paul,” she said, opening the door.

“Chantelle, thank goodness you’re back. That damn cat of yours is stuck out on the roof.
Been there all night screaming its head off like a baby.”

Staring up in the direction he was pointing, Chantelle viewed her Siamese cat three stories high huddled on the roof edge, the gutter its only support. “Why didn’t you do something?”

“I called the fire brigade, but they wouldn’t attend, not yet anyway.”

“Oh, Paul, I’m so sorry. I must have left the skylight open.”

As she raced off to rescue him, she heard Paul telling David, “I think you might have to assist the lady. Knowing Chantelle, she’ll be out on that ledge with the cat and I’m of no use. Up in a plane, fine; out on a roof edge, no way.”

That was all she heard before she was up the stairs and in the converted attic where her Siamese had gotten out the skylight. She pulled herself partway out the window, her gaze on her petrified cat, huddled up against the gutter. But he was out of reach. She slid her body a bit farther through the window, fighting to keep her grip on the window and reach her cat. She almost let go when she heard David behind her.

“What the hell are you trying to do, get yourself killed?” His hands gripped her hips as she tried to edge her way out even farther.

“Let go of me, dammit! Another few inches and I can reach him.”

“Another inch and you’ll be joining him. Come back and let me try.”

“That’s silly, you’re heavier. Besides, Chat doesn’t know you and won’t understand you’re trying to rescue him.”

“I guess not, with a name like Chat.”

“And what’s wrong with his name? It’s French for cat. Now let go of me!”

“I know it’s French for cat; now stop kicking out.”

They continued arguing, David trying to hoist her back while she kept struggling to the point where she was in more danger in trying to resist his help.