Mistake Me Not E-Book

Scarlett Finn

• Herausgeber: Moriona Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Above all else, Lacie Hart believes in loyalty.

Her best friend, Sorcha, is in a family way and needs help tracking down the baby's father. Following Sorcha's instructions, Lacie hires a PI. One who also happens to be Sorcha's ex… or so she thinks.

In the wrong place at the right time, Ryder Stone keeps up the façade when the little brunette mistakes him for someone else. What else should he do when caught in the middle of a little B&E?

One misstep and they fall into a web of treachery and deceit. A simple case? Maybe there's no such thing.

Warning: Contains explicit language and imagery. Suitable only for ages 18 and over.

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2014, 2021, 2023 Scarlett Finn

Published by Moriona Press 2014, 2021, 2023

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

First published in 2014

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. It may not be used to train AI software or for the creation of AI works.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.scarlettfinn.com

STONE INVESTIGATIONS

Mistake Me Not

Sleight Mistake

Read them in order for maximized reading pleasure.

For other titles from Scarlett Finn, please read on after the story.

Click here if you’d like to leave a message for Scarlett.

Enjoy!

For Leoni

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter One

“Pregnant?” Lacie asked.

“Everyone will think I’m such a hussy.”

“Well—”

“What?” Sorcha snapped.

“I didn’t say anything,” Lacie said, placing a calming hand over her best friend’s knee.

The women sat together on Lacie’s moss-green couch in the middle of her living room; the piece positioned like an island. An enviable notion.

“How am I going to explain this to my father?” Sorcha asked.

The peace of her day had been shattered when Sorcha phoned from the car to say she was on her way over.

Lacie hadn’t lived in her apartment for long, but she enjoyed the quiet street and the unassuming neighbors. Making a final decision had been easy when she’d been introduced to the trapdoor in the bedroom floor, which led to a secret cellar. The mystery of it appealed to her curious side.

Sorcha had been on at Lacie about certain throw pillows that were required to “disguise the couch” that came with the apartment. Ordinarily Sorcha was observant about the most benign things. The sincerity of her friend’s panic was amplified when Lacie realized Sorcha hadn’t commented on the throw pillows she’d finally gotten around to purchasing. Having now heard the news, Lacie could understand why.

“I don’t understand how it’s possible,” Lacie said. Sorcha narrowed her eyes. “I mean I understand how but… I didn’t know you’d been with anyone.”

“It’s Bruce’s,” Sorcha said.

“What?” Lacie exhaled. “But I thought… he left town when you broke up… that was about…”

“Three months ago,” Sorcha said.

“It took you three months to notice?”

“I think I was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening,” Sorcha said. “I got a test, in fact I got a few. They all came back positive.”

“When did you take them?”

“This morning,” Sorcha said, retrieving her purse from the floor behind her feet to dump the contents on the center cushion of the couch.

Dozens of the pregnancy tests lay between them. Though Sorcha waited for a reaction, Lacie had nothing.

“Wow,” Lacie said, overwhelmed by the white plastic sticks scattered amongst Sorcha’s usual purse paraphernalia. “You got more than a few.”

“How am I supposed to tell my father?” Sorcha asked. “I’m Catholic! He’ll go crazy.”

“He can’t think you’re still a virgin,” Lacie said. “You’re twenty-eight.”

“I don’t… I doubt he does believe that, but we don’t talk about it. He’ll expect me to get married! How can I get married when I don’t have a baby daddy, or rather a groom?”

“Will Bruce marry you?” Lacie asked.

She and Sorcha had been close friends since they met in college. Lacie was new to the country at that time; Sorcha had educated her in all things American. While Sorcha was tall, elegant, and perfect, Lacie was a few inches shorter, much less refined, and far less confident with the opposite sex. Sorcha simply had to walk into a room to get the attention of every man there, which had always been fine with Lacie. She wasn’t sure what to do when a male paid her any attention, but then she had different priorities.

Sorcha Reynolds was the eldest of two daughters to Lawrence and Amelia Reynolds. They were high society, and Sorcha still slurped from her silver spoon occasionally. As a result, Lacie was used to digging Sorcha out of any dirty pit she found herself in. Except, this time, there was little she could do for her friend.

“He won’t have a choice when I get hold of him,” Sorcha said.

“Are you sure you would want to marry him? He always seemed a little self-absorbed to me.”

“And thus ends your introduction to the pretty boy. He’s hot, and he’s rich, he doesn’t need a decent personality.”

“Is that your opinion or your mother’s?”

“What else can I do, Lace?” Sorcha said, snatching Lacie’s hands to pull them to her lap. “I have to at least find him. I have to tell him.”

“There are options if you don’t want to…”

Sorcha was visibly startled. “I wouldn’t have thought that was your type of thing.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Lacie said, steering away from the subject of her sex life, which had been non-existent for more than a while. “This would be your decision.”

“I don’t know,” Sorcha said on a long inhale. “I’m terrified of my father, but I’m twenty-eight, what if this is it? My last chance.”

“Last chance at what?” Lacie said on a laugh.

“You know,” Sorcha said. “I have to find Bruce. We have to get married before my father finds out about this.”

“Okay. So where is he?”

Sorcha slumped back on the couch in the most unladylike pose Lacie had ever seen her in; usually Sorcha was the epitome of poise. “I have no idea.”

“Can you call his work?”

“And say what?” she said. “He told me he got a big promotion somewhere. He’s not even working for Lewis Fund and Investment anymore.”

“What about family?”

“I never met them,” she said. “I suppose I could ask my mother but… I don’t really want to talk to my family about this until… you know.”

“So you don’t have a clue where he is,” Lacie said, trying to find a different route of information for her friend. “Hey, what about that guy?”

“What guy?”

“I don’t remember his name, I never met him… The guy you were seeing when I was in the UK.”

“What guy, I don’t—oh, you mean Shep.” Sorcha’s blanched expression regained some of its rosy hue as a smile curled her lips. “He really was something… it’s just a shame about…”

“About what?”

“I told you,” Sorcha said. “The man was useless in bed. I tell you it’s a waste on someone as hot as he was.”

“Didn’t you say he was some kind of investigator?”

Sorcha sat bolt upright. “That’s right. Yes, he does private investigations.”

“Hire him. He can track Bruce down for you.”

“I can’t,” Sorcha grumbled. “He was really pissed when I broke up with him. I can’t go back to him now and ask him to look up another of my ex-boyfriends.”

“Isn’t it better that than facing your father without knowing where Bruce is?”

Sorcha considered it for a moment. “You could hire him.”

“Hire who?”

“Shep,” Sorcha said. “Just tell him I referred you. He’ll want to help when he hears my name.”

“And what do I tell him?”

“Tell him you need to find an old boyfriend. He’s hardly going to ask any questions about your motives. All he has to do is find Bruce. So it’s not like you’ll have to actually talk to Bruce. Shep can give you the information, and then you give it to me. Bingo, everyone’s happy.”

“I don’t like it,” Lacie said.

“It’ll be easy. All you have to do is go down there give him the name, the money, and the information. After that, he can phone you with the results. Boom, done. One conversation.”

“Sorcha, how can you be sure he’ll—”

“Money,” Sorcha said, raking in her purse. Producing a pen then her check book, Sorcha scrawled out the details. “I’ll pay you, and you pay him.”

“But what about—”

“That ought to be enough.”

Lacie glanced at the check her friend had handed over. “Ten thousand? You think it will cost ten thousand dollars to find out where someone is?”

“I don’t care about the money,” Sorcha said. “But Shep will never turn down money, he’ll see that, and all his other questions will go away.”

“I’m not sure about this.”

“Trust me,” Sorcha said. “I’d really owe you if you help me out.”

How could Lacie say no to her best friend who’d found herself in this pickle. They’d been through a lot together, and Sorcha was always there when she needed a friend. Boom, done. One conversation… she could handle that.

Ryder opened the top drawer, and then the middle one, raking through each in turn. It was a sad situation when one investigator had to poach off another. But being that he was poaching from Seth Sheppard, the world’s laziest investigator, he didn’t half mind. Shep took his fee and then some, sleeping with most of the wives who came in for information on their cheating husbands. On top of that, Sheppard had stolen more than a few potential customers from Ryder and his partner Jamie. Undercutting them on price only to lump extras on the final bill. Usually, Shep’s information wasn’t extensive or accurate either.

This time Ryder had happily taken a job from the husband of a former client of Sheppard’s. The client, Rich Gillespie, wasn’t interested in whether his wife knew he was cheating. He was interested in information Sheppard may have found regarding some dodgy business deals. Deals related to a certain white powder that supplemented the respectable Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie’s income.

Ryder knew Sheppard’s habits. Like clockwork, Sheppard had left to go on a “job,” which meant hanging out at a pool hall a few streets over. Sheppard’s nineteen-year-old assistant, Tiffany, toddled out a few minutes later, heading to the nail salon in the mall. Tiffany took as much advantage of the client’s money as Sheppard. Ryder figured they were sleeping together too.

Knowing all these facts, Ryder watched from his truck as events played out just as he predicted. Sheppard should have noticed him sitting there. The fact that he didn’t spoke to his inherent detecting skills, or lack thereof. Ryder waited a respectable time then got out of his car, crossed the street, and walked into Sheppard Investigations like he owned the place. The small entryway opened from the glass storefront. Their reception consisted of a desk, computer, and a few personal items of Tiffany’s. In the corner were four plastic chairs, and a fake ficus. Sheppard really was the last of the big spenders.

On the back wall, there were two doors, one led to a small restroom, the other Sheppard’s office. In the office, piles of files, paperwork, discarded magazines and newspapers, lay in every corner. It was a wonder Sheppard got any business at all.

Never known for loitering, Ryder ignored the mess and got searching. When the filing cabinets weren’t fruitful, he went to the desk angled in one corner in front of a closet. Seating himself in the leather captain’s chair, Ryder hunted through the drawers for the Rich Gillespie file. When raking through the last drawer, he heard the squeak of hinges. He anticipated Sheppard or his assistant had come back early but was wrong.

The brunette in the doorway displayed the same disgust he too had on his face when walking in. He’d put her height at five six, maybe five seven. Her sun-bleached hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders. When her attention landed on him, he noticed striking green eyes that were a little unsure of themselves. Whatever it was, or wasn’t, his dick jumped to attention in two seconds flat. What it was ready for, he didn’t know. The woman was still a clear twenty feet away. He didn’t know her name, her business, what she felt like… what she tasted like. He hadn’t had such an impulsive and instant reaction to a stranger in, well… ever.

“I’m sorry,” she said in smooth honeyed tones. “There was no one out there, and—”

“What can I help you with?” he asked.

This was a woman with business; business she was apparently taking to Sheppard, or so she thought.

“I don’t know. I need to find someone.”

“Well, you came to the right guy,” Ryder said, though wanted to point out she’d come to the wrong office.

An investigator was an investigator. Yet Ryder couldn’t imagine stretching the definition to encompass Sheppard.

“Can I…?” she asked, taking another step, pointing at the seat opposite him at the desk.

“Um… yeah.”

This might be risky, but he couldn’t tell the woman in the little blue dress that she’d caught him in the middle of a little B&E.

She crossed the room and took the seat, smoothing her dress over her knees. All the while not making eye contact.

“This is the easy part. I’ve heard it all. Don’t worry about saying anything you might think is inappropriate or shocking.”

After a few fortifying breaths, she looked at him. “I have to find a man.”

“Need a little matchmaking?” he asked.

On her next breath, her expression relaxed. With her more at ease, his dick tried to jump through his zipper again. Thank God there was a desk between them… or not.

“I’ve never done this before. I don’t exactly know how—”

“It’s easy. You tell me who you’re looking for, give me as much information about possible whereabouts as you can, and then I go to work.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m looking for a man called Bruce Booth. He used to work for Lewis Fund and Investment in town.”

“I know them,” Ryder said.

Linking his fingers, he rested his forearms on Sheppard’s desk. The pose wasn’t typical, but for some reason, he was concerned his hands would act on their own. Overcome with the need to touch, to feel, his fingers tingled. He’d have to lunge over the desk to do it. That wasn’t exactly professional, though was probably the norm for the man who usually occupied this chair.

“He got a promotion, or a better job, or… something. He left town and I need to know where he is.”

“What about his family? Friends?”

Her eyes slunk to the corner behind him; a classic sign that she was hiding something. “I’m trying to stay under the radar.”

“Right,” Ryder said. “Does he owe you money?”

Her brows came together in a show of curiosity rather than irritation. “Why would you—?”

“Sometimes people don’t want to be found, and a guy in his industry…”

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that,” she said, shifting to the edge of the chair, flattening her fingers on the desk.

Her nails were short and neat, but there was a faint sign of color around her cuticles. A smoky dust not quite removed. She’d awoken his dick the minute she walked in, now his mind was buzzing with a dozen questions. What was behind those mesmerizing eyes? Where did the chalk on her fingers come from?

“Listen, Dusty, I don’t care about your motives. I need to know if I’m getting into anything illegal or that’s likely to give me trouble.”

“Dusty?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

Her whole face was expressive. She shifted the angle of her head. The pout of her lips. The gap between her eyelids. The muscles of her cheeks. Her forehead. Like a child curious about a world they knew nothing of. How her expression would change if he kissed her? How would those wide, inquisitive eyes look when he sheathed himself inside of her?

“Mr. Sheppard?”

It took him a good eight seconds to realize she was talking to him. “Sorry, what?”

“I can completely understand that you wouldn’t want to jeopardize yourself or your business by getting into any trouble. But, perhaps, this would be an appropriate time to tell you that a good friend of mine referred me to you.”

“A friend?” he asked, wondering if he was about to be made.

“Yes,” she said and blinked as though sorting through her thoughts before speaking. “I wouldn’t want this to be awkward. I can assure you that I would never bring any aggravation to your door. I’m assured that your services are top notch, so I…”

He hadn’t noticed the small strap over her shoulder attached to a tiny bag under her arm. She slid it down into view and opened the clasp to draw out a slip of paper, a check.

“I didn’t know if I should make it out to you personally, or if I should make it payable to a company name.”

She pushed the check the width of the desk. For the first time since she’d entered, he took his eyes away to look at the paper under her fingertips.

“Whoa,” he said when he read it. “This is way too much.”

“Like I said, I want to go under the radar and it’s important.”

When he took his attention from the check, their eyes locked, she didn’t blink. The tip of her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Her shoulder came up as her head tilted. That innocent little expression… He gritted his teeth against the pain in his jeans. Had she ever been taken? A woman like her couldn’t be real.

She sure wasn’t like the women he was used to. Those women knew what they were and how to use their sexuality to their advantage. That worked for him. He got off and didn’t feel guilty about not calling the next day. Both parties knew what they were getting into. Either this woman in front of him took a different angle completely and did it to leave men like him panting like desperate dogs, or she had no idea how luscious she was.

“If it’s not about money, it’s about sex,” Ryder said, watching her mouth when her lips parted, then she wriggled in her seat. Jesus, this woman was going to have him shooting his load in his pants if she moved again. A man couldn’t be with a woman like her. She didn’t sit still, her eyes, her mouth, her neck… Her body loosened, and he had another first: he wished he was that goddamn chair. “He’s your boyfriend.”

Words were on the tip of her tongue, but she held them in. A curious frown flashed to her face only to be erased when her eyes rolled upward. Her lips moved silently, and then her gaze fell back to his.

“You could say that,” she said.

“This guy ran out on you?”

“Mr. Sheppard, I appreciate that we’re acquainted by proxy but it’s a very difficult situation to explain.”

“Acquainted by proxy,” he said, reminding himself of the referral.

“I do hope that your break-up won’t flavor your angle on this case.”

“My break-up.”

“Yes,” she said. “I told you Sorcha referred me.”

“Sorcha,” he said, wondering when he’d become a parrot.

“She is very sorry about the way things ended between you.”

“Sorcha.”

“Yes, Sorcha Reynolds…” she said. “She assured me that you would be fair. I would hope that the fee would settle any misgivings you may have about working on my behalf.”

Again, Ryder read the zeroes on the check. “Will Sorcha be involved in this case?”

“Oh no,” she said. “No. She’ll stay far away from this. She’s on vacation at the moment, she left just this morning.”

Ryder would hate to see these zeroes in Sheppard’s bank account. Given the chance, Shep would take it. He’d do his best to sample this delectable client too, even in spite of the previous relationship with her friend.

Ryder couldn’t refuse her. If he did, the chances were she’d show up on his actual doorstep. He didn’t want her to know he was in Sheppard’s place unlawfully. What choice did he have? The woman needed honesty and guidance that Sheppard would give for an overinflated price while pawing her.

Ryder had no intention of cashing the check. Chances were that a quick computer search would locate this Booth guy. He folded the check in half and slid it into his back pocket as he stood up. She fumbled with her bag and pounced to her feet. Five seven, but he hadn’t noticed if she was wearing heels. At six two, he was used to towering over women. Usually, he’d prefer his women taller. By itself, height difference didn’t usually prompt him to feel protective. But he wanted to tuck this woman close and keep her there for as long as possible.

“We’re having a problem with our phone connection,” he said. “Our phones and our internet are down. Do you have a pen?” She nodded and retrieved a pen and a receipt from her bag to hand them over to him. He tore it in two, wrote down his cell number, then handed it all back to her. “Write down your number.”

She nodded and scribbled it down. “You’ll call me?”

He took the number. “As soon as I have something,” he said. “One more thing, what’s your name?”

“Lacie,” she said. “Lacie Hart.”

“It’s a pleasure,” he said, extending his hand.

Immediately, he wanted to take it back. She tilted her head to the side like a confused puppy, examining the offer for a second before her hand leaped to his. His fingers hadn’t curled all the way around hers when his dick pulsed again. Busy mentally chastising himself for his reaction to the simple touch, he wasn’t ready for the moment their eyes met.

Neither was she. He saw her feel what he felt. A heat zinged through him, and their hands sprang apart. Damn, that was unsettling.

“Miss Hart,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest, quelling his urge to grab hold of her.

“Mr. Sheppard.”

She thought he was Shep. Fuck, he’d forgotten about that. If that zap was anything to go by, this sensation wouldn’t disappear in a hurry… He’d known her five minutes and was already in deep. This ought to be interesting.

Drying her hands, Lacie was satisfied that her heart rate had returned to normal. After that meeting with Sheppard, she’d come home, taken a shower, and worked. Her way of trying to forget the chemical reaction that had fizzed in her belly from the moment his dark eyes first touched hers. Seth Sheppard seemed uneasy but confident. Cool but aware.

His certainty wasn’t what made her fizz. It was the heat in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated desire. Though unvoiced, somehow, she’d known what was on his mind, which wasn’t like her at all.

Under normal circumstances, such an understanding would torment her anxiety, but this time was different. This time she was disgusted with her own body’s reaction to the knowledge of his longing. Part of her wanted to skirt that desk, straddle his lap, and let actions say what words didn’t. In her entire life, she had never been bold. She’d certainly never wondered what a stranger would look like naked or if he would let her touch, to trace his lines with her vocational fingertips.

Throwing the towel to the back of the couch, she drove her fists into her eyes trying to erase her own traitorous libido. For months, she hadn’t been with a man… no, years. Did she still remember? Yes, the sensation of impotent frustration as her lover grunted and rutted over her for a few minutes before collapsing in a heap at her side. She wouldn’t make a sound, and he wouldn’t even notice.

Sorcha had said Sheppard was good-looking; Lacie was used to good-looking men. She was used to men of flash and no substance. Sorcha had told her Sheppard was useless in bed, so why was she thinking these thoughts? Sheppard was her friend’s ex-lover. Lacie would never go there, not in a million years. Sheppard would have to compare them. If a man was used to prime venison like Sorcha, he’d never be satisfied with Lacie, the fast-food burger by comparison.

Except she’d never go there. The unspoken code wouldn’t allow her to lust over her best friend’s cast off. The man was shallow and not at all her type. Yet she closed her eyes again to relive the moment their eyes met over their joined hands. It was physical, visceral. So much more intimate than a handshake, but she didn’t know what it was.

Sorcha was on vacation and would be until this was over. Her best friend had never been a good liar. She wouldn’t want to be near her father, mother, or sister because she’d drop herself in it. No doubt about that.

Darkness formed around the grey clouds. Lacie figured she should think about eating. The thought of anything made her stomach roil. Descending to the floor, she lay flat on her back dropping a hand over her eyes. She liked the floor, she liked firm, unyielding surfaces that offered security and stability. The squeal of her phone came from within her purse that lay only inches away.

She reached over to retrieve it. The number on-screen was unfamiliar. Hello?”

“Miss Hart,” the deep male voice sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m the investigator you spoke to this afternoon.”

“Yes,” she said, annoyed that her thoughts had somehow conjured him. “That was very quick. Have you found him?”

“I’ve got a couple of hits. But I can’t ID him. Do you have a picture that you could send?”

“A picture,” she said, lifting her torso to prop herself against the front of the couch. “If you give me the addresses, I can check them out for myself.”

Amusement floated in his tone. “That’s not how this works,” he said. His voice had gone from drilling her deep to light-hearted. “You gave me a very big check today. I intend to earn it.”

“I don’t have a picture,” she said. “Honestly, if you give me the addresses, I can check them out. If it’s not him then I’ll get in touch, and—”

“One address is relatively local,” he said. “The other is not. I appreciate that you are hesitant to give me the details. But I won’t send a woman such as yourself into unknown territory.”

“Bruce isn’t violent,” she said, wondering what “a woman such as yourself” meant.

“Not the one you know maybe. But I could be giving you dud addresses and maybe those Bruces aren’t as docile.”

“That’s a point,” she conceded. “Is it your plan to go there?”

“To the addresses? Yes. But there’s no point in me staking them out if I don’t know who I’m looking for.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said. No response. “We might not know each other very well, but Sorcha trusts you, and I have no reason not to. It’s about the only thing I can think that will solve the problem.”

“This guy was your boyfriend?”

“I can assure you that you’re not being drawn into a lovers tiff.”

“That’s not what concerns me,” he said.

“What are your concerns?” she asked.

There was a pause before he asked, “When can you leave?”

“Ready when you are,” she said.

“I can pick you up if you give me your address.”

“That is very generous of you. I could meet you at your office if—”

“No,” he said. “I’m not at work. If you’re uncomfortable giving me your address—”

“It’s nothing like that. Sorcha trusts you. I just wouldn’t want you going out of your way on my behalf. If there are any expenses incurred—”

“I think your check today will cover everything. Give me your address.” She did. “I’ll be fifteen minutes.”

Chapter Two

In fact, he was nine minutes. A dark pick-up truck lumbered to the curb. He got out, but she was already running down the stoop from her communal entrance.

“You’re on the first floor,” he said, putting a hand to the small of her back to guide her to the truck.

“I would’ve thought you would drive something more inconspicuous.”

“I go for comfort over discretion in cases like this. Space to stretch out can be an advantage.”

He helped her up into the cab then rounded to his own side. In the time it took him to get in and start the engine, she looked around in wonder.

“This thing is huge.”

“Size matters,” he said, winking then pulling out of the space. “So are you ready to tell me what this guy did to you?

“It’s not like that, it’s… complicated.”

“It’s revenge or reconciliation,” he said. “They are the only two reasons a woman wants to go after an ex. Sometimes it’s compensation. Rarely. Most women let money stuff go; men chase the woman for that.”

“You must see everything in your line of work,” she said. “It’s a fascinating insight to human character.”

“Are you a psychologist or something?”

“No,” she said, pushing her head back to the headrest only to find she barely reached it.

“So what do you do?”

“I’m a sculptor,” she said.

“What?”

“I know. Most people don’t understand it. I’ve been in love with shape, and form, and proportion all my life. I like angles and curves, planes, and ridges. Watching the clay take shape is what I love; it’s what I’ve always loved.”

“You can’t make much money.”

“Money isn’t everything, Mr. Sheppard,” she said. “But I’ve been lucky enough to draw some attention to my work. I’ve had a few wealthy patrons, and I have several commissions on going at the moment.”

“So you don’t need compensation from Booth… is it revenge?”

“Are my motives significant?” she asked.

“I don’t suppose they are.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“A few years now,” he said.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“I do. I like a good puzzle.”

“Who is your typical client?”

“There isn’t such a thing,” he said. “We get all sorts. It’s one of the good things about this line of work: the variety. We get a lot of couples, one trying to catch the other out, looking for proof of infidelity.”

“Do you enjoy those cases?”

“I’m good at what I do which means I can pick and choose which cases I want to take. If I think something will go sour, I can turn it away. I’m not interested in helping damage anyone. But if you’re doing something wrong, it’s not my fault that you get caught, even if I am the one doing the catching.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“What?” he asked.

Lacie examined the dark sky around them. Their jet-black vehicle pierced the ink of night. Black chased black, perpetually enveloping and succumbing to each other.

“Being in a marriage where one party has to go to a third party to seek fault,” she said.

“You’re a romantic?”

“Oh no,” she said, her smile stretching. When he glanced in her direction, the truck swerved out and her hands leaped for stability. His grip on the wheel tightened to bring them back into the correct lane. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Are you sure?” she asked, placing her hand to his bare forearm. A static sting zapped her, and she snatched her hand away.

“You’re electric,” he said. Keeping his focus on the road, his knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. “If you’re not a romantic, what are you?”

“I believe romance exists,” she said. “Somewhere out there.”

“Bruce doesn’t romance you?”

“What about you?” she asked, deflecting his question.

“Not much time for romance in my line of work.”

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” she said. “The world we live in. Everyone’s so materialistic and practical. We ignore our instincts.”

“I believe in instinct. Instinct has kept me alive.”

“Alive?”

“Instinct is a requirement in the Marines.”

“I had no idea,” she said. “Sorcha never said anything… though I wasn’t in the country while you two were together.”

“Out of the country?”

“My family live in the UK,” she said. “I was over there for a couple of months at the start of the year.”

“But you live over here now?”

“Yes,” she said. “I went to school here. Like I said, I was lucky enough to have support here.”

“It must be difficult to be away from your family.”

“Sometimes,” she said. “But we talk regularly, and we email. I like my life. And I get my freedom over here.”

“Freedom?”

“It’s a long story,” she said. “What about you? Do you have family?”

“Not much in the traditional sense. But I have colleagues I consider family.”

“Do you miss her very much?” Lacie asked.

“Miss who?”

“I know you took the break-up hard. Sorcha is a dynamic and an alluring woman. Was it awful for you?”

“It might be best to stay off that subject,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Of course, I’m sorry. Do we have far to drive?”

“Another ten miles or so,” he said. “Not long.”

She nodded and took her attention outside again. Maybe talking wasn’t so wise. She didn’t want to like this man any more than she already did. To like him would be betraying a friend. Plus, she wasn’t exactly being honest herself. The fewer lies she told, the better.

“You didn’t tell me if it was revenge or reconciliation,” he said, taking an exit and driving back towards streetlights.

“It’s neither,” she said. “Well, I suppose…”

“You don’t sound very sure yourself,” he said. “I don’t see a man walking away from a woman such as yourself voluntarily. Did he steal something from you?”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“What?”

“That’s the second time you’ve said a ‘woman such as yourself,’ what kind of woman am I?”

He signaled onto a busy road, and they drove for a few hundred yards. “You’re beautiful.”

“I would disagree, but that’s not what you meant.”

“How do you know?”

“The first time you said it was in relation to Bruce being violent, that has nothing to do with beauty.”

“You’d disagree?” he said, wearing a frown. “You don’t think you’re beautiful.”

“What I think is not important,” she said.

Signaling again, he drove into a parking area in front of a three-story apartment block, each with its own terrace.

Pulling into a parking space, he killed the lights and engine, then brought all his attention around to her. “If you’re not beautiful, what are you?” he asked.

“You haven’t uncovered a deep seeded self-loathing. I don’t think I’m ugly, but I wouldn’t put myself anything above passable.”

He scoffed a laugh. The light in his eyes was unthreatening this time, not desire, but… some kind of disbelieving joy.

“I almost crashed the truck back there because you smiled.”

“Because I smiled?” she asked.

“Yeah, Dusty, the first time I see your smile, and I almost drove off the road. I’ve never crashed a vehicle in my life.”

“I thought you had a tick.”

“Not until I met you.”

“Well,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure what to say.”

“Bruce never told you that you were beautiful?” he asked.      

“No,” she said. “I can certainly say he did not.”

To process the exchange, she took her focus outward, so she hadn’t anticipated his hand touching her face. He smoothed his thumb back and forth on her cheek to soothe her startled reaction to the contact. It left a fizzing trail in its wake. Only this time neither of them were surprised, this time she was ready for it. They both were.

“Bruce is a lucky guy.”

The bubbles in her gut turned to lead. Pushing away from him, she plastered herself against the passenger door.

“Charming me won’t distress Sorcha,” Lacie said. “Men have tried it before.”

“What?”

“She’s moved on, Mr. Sheppard. I’m sorry.”

“Sheppard,” he muttered. His hand fell away, and his head hit the headrest with a thump.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“Whatever,” he said. “I’m going to take a look around. Wait here.”

Shoving out of the car, he slammed the door, and the reverberation made her uneasy. Watching him stalk across the parking bays, she felt the sting of pity. Sorcha intoxicated men and Lacie had seen more than a few embarrass themselves when Sorcha ended their relationship. It was a shame for them, but it was a shame for Sorcha too.

Suitors would line up around the block yet none of them measured up and Lacie usually had to agree with Sorcha’s conclusions about potential futures with these men. Men wanted to parade her, they wanted to show her off, and eventually she would make someone the perfect trophy wife. Lacie didn’t envy her friend’s position.

Except choice had been blown out of the water for her friend. Lacie’s pity welled. Sorcha would end up with Bruce because she wouldn’t disappoint or embarrass her parents. The burden was unimaginable. A lot had been expected of Lacie too, but her parents would embrace her choices, even if they didn’t agree with them.

Her parents had been mortified when she wanted to study in the US. Her uncle had married a woman from the States. At the time she moved, Lacie hadn’t known them well. Lacie was sure to this day that her parents only consented because Aunt Elise agreed to look after her. Uncle Wilbur had died only a year after she’d moved, drawing her and Elise closer.

Sorcha’s chance to choose her own suitor had been eliminated because of one careless choice. Sorcha could be reckless, but to find yourself pregnant had to be the epitome of poor sense.

How someone could be so overcome with passion was a complete mystery. Either she’d been doing it wrong this whole time or she just wasn’t the type of woman that men lost their head over. She’d certainly never worried about being unprotected. In Lacie’s experience, the very conversation about protection served as the sum total of foreplay.

The driver’s door opened, startling her out of her reverie. “Come on.”

“What?” she asked.

“I’ve got the apartment number. Come with me.”

“You want me to come with you?” she asked.

“How else do you plan to ID this guy?”

“Oh, uh… I thought I could just look, you know, from afar.”

“You want to find this guy, but you don’t want to talk to him? What are you doing? Arranging a hit?”

“No!” she squealed. “Who knows what he’s doing in there? What if he’s with another woman?”

“Then he’s in for a shock.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, releasing her seatbelt, and slinking out of the truck.

Sorcha had assured her that she wouldn’t need to see Bruce. But Sheppard was right, there was no good reason for her to refuse without telling him the truth, and she couldn’t do that to Sorcha or to Sheppard. Clearly, he was still hung up on Sorcha. Lacie couldn’t tell him that Sorcha was pregnant with another man’s child or that she intended to marry him.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, and she was still slinking across the parking lot. This was awful. Bruce would think that she was insane, and he would be right. Why would your ex’s friend hunt you down with a private detective who also happened to be another ex?

“What number is it?” she asked. “I’ll go up myself.”

“Like you said, this guy might not be happy to see you,” he said, taking her arm to drag her up the stairs.

“I doubt he’ll be any happier that I’m showing up with another man.”

“He doesn’t have to worry. If there was romance between us, Dusty, I wouldn’t be taking you anywhere near any of your exes. I’d be clearing up any mess for you while you were safe in my bed a dozen miles from here.”

His frown hadn’t shifted. He focused straight ahead moving with a determined gait, yet for some reason Lacie was touched by the sentiment. Though she knew it wasn’t specifically for her, it was nice to know that such fierce resolve to protect existed.

She was still going when he stopped, so she pinged back against him as though his gravity was a bungee rope connecting them. “Are you going to leave me here?” she asked when he lifted his hand to knock.

He stopped and looked down at her. “Do you want me to leave you here?” he asked. She shook her head without thinking her reaction would probably encourage more questions than she could answer. “Are you sure your ex isn’t violent?”

“We don’t even know if he’s here.”

“That wasn’t the question I asked,” he said.

That frown was still there. It read of a severe anger… and something else she couldn’t identify. Her hand ascended, but she wasn’t sure where it was going or what it was doing. There wasn’t time to find out because the door he’d been about to knock on opened.

The man, in his late fifties, looked between the pair loitering outside his doorway. “Get away from my door if you want to get all gooey eyed over each other,” he asserted. “I won’t have this in our building. This is a respectable neighborhood.”

“Do you live here?” he asked.

“No,” the guy said. “I’m just here in my bathrobe at nine p.m. for kicks.”

“The buzzer said Booth, and we—”

“That’s me,” the man said. “What is it? What do you want?”

“Sorry,” he said. “We’ve got the wrong place. Sorry for the intrusion.”

He didn’t say anything else, just grabbed hold of her arm to pull her down the stairs, and brusquely boosted her into the truck.

“Where next?” she asked when he slammed into the driver’s seat.

“Put your seatbelt on,” he said, screeching back out onto the road.

This woman had been sent to him by Satan himself, she was a test, or a punishment for the wrongs he’d done in his life. Ryder couldn’t fathom any other explanation. She just sat there stinking out the place with that fruity scent she exuded from every pore. His dick was past the point of aching. The sharp pain worsened every time she wriggled.

“Do you have any boiled sweets?” she asked. “Hard candy?”

“What?”

“I need something to suck on.”

His knuckles cracked as he tightened his hold on the wheel and eased off the gas. His frustration made him want to speed up, but this woman had a habit of catching him off guard with the simplest maneuver. He doubted she’d want his suggestion of what she could wrap her mouth around.

“Well?” she said. “My mouth is dry. Do you have any—”

“Try the glove box.”

She reached forward with those dainty fingers and popped open the compartment. His mind was on the fall of her hair when she screamed and bounced up in her chair pulling her feet up under her.

“Jesus!” he hollered and swerved them to the next lane between a couple of screeching cars blaring their horns.

He brought them to a lurching halt on the shoulder.

“Sorry,” she said, panting with her hand against her heart. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “You don’t scream like that when a guy is driving with the boner of the century! My mind ain’t on the ball! You get it! Don’t scream like that! What the hell happened?”

Though her hand remained over her heart, her attention was firmly on his lap. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He cursed his revelation. “What is it?” he demanded.

The pulse point in her throat hammered. “Nothing, I just—”

“What is there a snake in there or something?”

He reached over and lifted the driver’s manual to see the Beretta nestled in plain sight.

“No, I—I’m British.”

Such a simple explanation, his anger dissolved, and he smiled at her. “You’ve never seen a weapon?”

“Of course I have,” she said. “I watch movies.”

“You don’t have to worry. It’s perfectly safe.”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” she said. “I’m looking for a humbug and I come across that humdinger instead.”

“It won’t hurt you. I can show you how to use it sometime if you like. A woman should know how to defend herself.”

“I have a rape alarm,” she said.

“That’s a good start. But chances are, if the guy is holding a gun, you’re not going to get much of a chance to pull the pin.”

“I love living in this country. There are so many ways in which your society is virtuous but…”

“You’re not a fan of the second amendment.”

“I believe in each to their own,” she said.

Her feet slithered down from the seat; her shin made contact with his forearm because he was still holding the compartment flap. It slid across her knee to her thigh. Although she wore skinny jeans, the contact wasn’t any less potent with a denim barrier. Or rather, he had to believe that it wasn’t. The shock of awareness that bled to his every nerve had him sitting immediately upright again. Easing his hips down to try alleviating the pressure in his groin, he groaned and closed his eyes to the agony. It was all he could do to try to relieve it… baseball, burnt toast, England.

“Is that normal?” she asked.

When his eyes popped, he saw her looking at him with that tilted head innocence again. “The gun?”

“Your discomfort,” she said. “You don’t look happy.”

“Let’s just get on the road.”

“Can I help?” she asked, and he groaned again. “I mean… do you take medication or something?”

“The kind of relief I need, you don’t get on prescription.”

He put the truck back into gear and slammed the glove box as he merged back into traffic.

“What were you looking for back there?” she asked a few minutes later. “When you left me here.”

“Back door,” Ryder said.

“What kind of back door?”

“It’s always best to get the lay of the land when you don’t know what you’re walking into. If possible, you should always have at least two exit scenarios. It’s a good idea to check for cover, which may also provide cover for others. It’s good to know what you’re walking into.”

“Did you think he was going to hurt us?”