Criminal Deception Page 7

  “Better than sex.”

  She took a long sip, her gaze locked on him, then shook her head. “If you think that, you’ve been sleeping with the wrong women.”

  Pink tinged his cheeks even as he frowned at her. A grown man who still blushed. How cool was that?

  “That’s the name of a drink at this little shop I used to go to in Chicago,” he explained. “Coffee, ice cream, hazelnut, chocolate—I don’t know what all went into it. But it was pretty damn impressive.”

  “And you haven’t tried to duplicate it?”

  “It was their creation, not mine.” He gestured out the window. “You just missed Natalia and the dogs.”

  “I saw them drag her around the corner. She’s a very good friend to take care of them for you.”

  Joe snorted. “She’s the one who brought them home. It’s only fair that she share the responsibility.”

  Liz used the tip of the straw to scoop some whipped cream off the top of her drink. “I heard you calling them last night. Bad Dog? Worse Dog? You should be ashamed of yourself. They need proper names.”

  “They have names. The fuzzy one’s Bear, and the female…We decided she’s rather regal. You know, queen of all she surveys, so she needed a queenly name.” Humor glinted in his blue eyes. “I chose Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth,” she repeated.

  “It was either that or Latifah, and she doesn’t look like a Latifah to me. Elizabeth just seems to fit her.”

  “So…” She took a long moment to lick every bit of whipped cream off the straw—too long if the sudden paleness that crept into his face was any indication. “Is there supposed to be some subtle message in naming your dog after me? Like, oh, I don’t know…that we’re both bitches?”

  He looked far too innocent for any male over the age of ten, especially one who’d grown up since the womb with Josh Saldana. “I would never call you that.”

  “But you might think it.” He shrugged, and she laughed. “I’ve had worse insults than having a dog named after me. Besides, your Elizabeth is pretty, runs you ragged and is totally beyond your control. Sounds good to me.”

  “That’s what they make dog trainers and crates for—to put her completely under my control.”

  It was Liz who snorted this time. “Not that one. For a puppy, she has a very strong sense of self. It’ll be easier for you to bend to her will than to bend her to yours.”

  “Probably so.” He rested his head against the window behind him, eyes closed. “Like it would be easier to tell you where Josh is than to convince you I don’t know.”

  Her gut clenched and her hand developed a fine tremor. Excitement, she told herself, because the last couple months’ work might pay off. Not disappointment at all. Hadn’t she told Mika that she didn’t believe Joe’s claim about not knowing where Josh was? Hadn’t she thought he was lying?

  But thinking and knowing were two different things.

  With her pleasure in the coffee gone, she set the cup on the table. “So you do know.”

  He opened one eye to look at her, then both. His gaze was steady, nothing in its blue depths. No guilt, no regret, no shame. Just a cool, even, unwavering look. “No, I don’t.”

  “But you said—”

  He shook his head. “It would be easier to lie to you than to convince you that I’m not lying.”

  Relief and irritation and the faint niggling suspicion that he was still lying made her scowl. “Do you really expect me to believe that your identical twin brother who has relied on you to save his ass all your lives hasn’t been in touch with you for more than two years?”

  The bell announced two customers, and he glanced their way, greeting them with a nod, before turning his attention back to her. “See, that’s the problem, Liz.” He stood, scooted the chair back up to the table and picked up his glass before he leaned close. “I don’t care what you believe.”

  She breathed in, catching a whiff of his cologne beneath the scent of sweetened coffee, and resorted to a shallower, insufficient breath as he walked away. He moved easily, comfortably, giving no hint to his customers that he had recently been the least bit flustered.

  Proved he was a good liar, didn’t it?

  Business picked up, giving Joe a legitimate reason to keep his distance from her. She finished her drink and considered ordering another, weighing a few more minutes of coffee heaven against the workout required to keep the calories from going straight to her hips, and regretfully decided against it.

  Instead, she stood, left a tip anchored under the cup, and strolled across the dining room to the door, outside onto the sidewalk and out of sight.

  When Liz got home, Mrs. Wyndham was kneeling near the flower beds that marked the border between the main house and the cottages. Shading her eyes against the sun in spite of the floppy hat she wore, she gave Liz half a second to get out of the car, then called to her. “Don’t you look pretty today?”

  “Why, thank you, Mrs. Wyndham.” Liz headed her way, pausing to kick off her shoes once she reached the grass. As she passed the pink cottage, movement inside caught her eye—a shadow at the screen door, flanked by two smaller shadows. She wiggled her fingers in greeting, though she couldn’t see if Natalia responded.

  The color surrounding the old lady was provided by flats of flowers awaiting planting, at least a dozen or more. Wiggling her toes in the lush, sun-warmed grass, Liz said, “You’ve got almost enough flowers here to make my mother happy.”

  “Is your mother a gardener?”

  “Only part-time, but she has a very green thumb, which I didn’t inherit. I’m lucky to keep a cactus alive.”

  “I don’t believe in green thumbs,” Mrs. Wyndham said seriously. “Gardening is a science. Plants have certain requirements, and if you meet them, they flourish. If you don’t, they die.”

  “Oh, but it’s an art, too. Shaping the beds, mixing colors, knowing what looks good where…and you’re a master artist, Mrs. Wyndham.”

  “I’d better be. I’m one of the cofounders of the horticultural society in town.” Removing one dirt-encrusted glove, the old lady lifted a flat of zinnias from a cart that doubled as a bench and shoved it in her direction. “How’s Joe?”

  Liz obediently sat, laying her shoes on the grass beside her. “The last time I saw him, he was fine.”

  “That’s what all the girls think. They all like him, but you know, I can’t recall him going out on a single date the whole time he’s lived here. He danced once with Sophy Marchand at the Halloween festival last year, but I think that’s as far as it went. You don’t suppose he’s gay, do you?”

  If Liz had been standing in her heels, she would have toppled out of them. “No,” she said hastily, breathlessly. Then she gave herself a mental shake. “Not dating doesn’t mean a person doesn’t like the opposite sex. I mean, I like guys, but I don’t date much. It’s been more than two years since I went out with anyone.”

  Mrs. Wyndham’s hands stilled, a clump of yellow-and-orange lantana dangling from them, and she fixed her gaze on Liz. “That’s a shame. Did he break your heart?”

  “Who?”

  “Joe. It’s obvious, isn’t it? You two used to know each other, he’s been here nearly two years and hasn’t gone out with a single woman, you haven’t gone out with another man in two years, you come looking for him…”

  “No,” Liz said with a bit too much emphasis even to her own ears. “The timing is just coincidence. We weren’t involved.”

  Who was lying now? That night in Josh’s kitchen…She’d been cleaning up after dinner; Joe had come in to get a beer. She had just shut off the lights and turned, and there he was, near and handsome and strong and decent and everything his brother wasn’t. And the sizzle…Damn that sizzle. From the first time they’d met, it had been there, skipping along her veins, dancing upon her nerves, tempting her to forget her job and her case and everything she was for just the chance, the smallest chance, to explore the attraction to him.

  They’d sto
od there in the dimly lit room, everything else faded, mere inches from touching, and everything in her had ached for that touch. She’d wanted it so much and so badly, and so had he; she’d seen it in his face, had felt it in the tension radiating off him in waves. It had taken every bit of strength she possessed to remember why they couldn’t have that touch.

  Remember Josh.

  The words had been for herself, but they’d had the right effect on Joe. He’d looked stunned.

  And an instant later, Josh had barged down the hall.

  “Tommy—that’s my grandnephew by marriage—he’s a detective for the local police—says there’s no such thing as coincidence.” Finally, Mrs. Wyndham plunged the lantana into the soft dirt and patted the soil around it.

  In the moment the woman’s attention was on the plant, Liz seized the opportunity to send the conversation on a tangent. “I thought maybe Joe and Natalia were involved.”

  Mrs. Wyndham pursed her lips in thought. “I don’t think so. I think she’s more like the sister he never had. She’s an odd girl. I never met anyone who seemed more alone. I don’t even know why she stays here. She keeps to herself except for Joe. And now she’s brought home those strays. I think she identifies with them. Someone threw them out, and someone threw her out, and now Joe’s taking care of all three of them.”

  Liz resisted the urge to point out that, so far, Natalia had done most of the taking care of the dogs. Joe had bought food and given them a place to spend the night, but Natalia did the actual feeding, the walking, the playing, the loving.

  “Where is she from?” Liz asked instead.

  “She’s never said.” Mrs. Wyndham pulled another clump of lantana from the plastic flat and dug a hole for it a few inches from the first.

  “I don’t use typical standards for renting the cottages,” Mrs. Wyndham went on. “I don’t ask for driver’s licenses or credit or personal references. I’ve known Pete all his life. Credit references couldn’t tell me anything about him that I don’t already know. And Joe…well, you can just look at Joe and know that he’s a good guy. Everyone in town adores him. Half of his friends are cops or lawyers, the churchy people like him a lot and the kids love him.”

  Liz thought of the pictures of Josh loaded on her computer. Using Mrs. Wyndham’s logic, he would appear to be a good guy, too. After all, he shared Joe’s trust-inspiring face, and was charming, as well. He could charm their socks right off, and steal their shoes for good measure.

  “Joe tells me Natalia needs a place to stay, he vouches for her, and I say sure. Any friend of Joe’s…” The woman flashed her a smile that made her feel about six inches tall. Apparently, Joe hadn’t yet told their landlord that Liz was no friend of his. She’d lied, and he’d let her. Because he’d thought she needed a place to stay? Because he’d thought Josh had let her down and she needed someone to take care of her, like Natalia and the puppies?

  She would prefer that Joe think of her differently than Natalia. She’d really prefer that he not consider her a stray like the puppy who now shared her name. She was strong. She had a good job. She’d spent two years taking care of herself and his worthless brother.

  “Does he ever have visitors from out of town?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed, though he does borrow my car on occasion to go somewhere.”

  “Where?” To Savannah to visit his parents? Mika had mentioned that he called them regularly, but she hadn’t said anything about him showing up in person.

  “Just day trips that he can’t make on his bike. He always returns it to me washed and with a full tank of gas. And when I ask if he enjoyed himself, he always says he had a very good time. Maybe he’s got a girlfriend we don’t know about.” Mrs. Wyndham’s shrewd gaze turned on Liz. “Was he visiting you before you came here?”

  “No.” It was likely his parents. They’d always been close. It was reasonable that he’d want to see them as often as he could.

  “That would certainly explain why he’s never shown any interest in the women around here,” Mrs. Wyndham mused. “Because his sweetheart in Atlanta or Augusta or wherever already has claims on him.”

  It was possible, Liz grudgingly admitted as she mumbled something about the time, grabbed her shoes and headed for the cottage. Joe was a grown man who’d led an active life in Chicago, professionally and personally. There was no way that getting shot would make him swear off women. According to reports, a stream of them had visited him during his recovery in the hospital, all sympathetic, all wanting to take care of him. He probably did have a girlfriend somewhere, and it didn’t matter to her.

  As soon as she stepped inside the house, she flung one shoe across the room so hard that it clattered and skidded until the kitchen cabinets stopped it.

  It didn’t matter to her in the least.

  The clock on the coffee shop wall was just shy of nine by the time Joe began shutting off lights. He’d been about to walk out the door nearly three hours earlier when Raven had pleaded for the evening off so she could go to a concert in Augusta with the “awesome guy” who’d transformed her into a normal-looking teenage girl. Figuring she could do normal only for a week, maybe two max, then the boy would probably move on, he let her go. Fifteen hours on the job wasn’t so bad. He’d done it for months when he first opened the place.

  He slid the bank deposit into his backpack, then wheeled the bike into the alley, stopping long enough to secure the door. The bank was only two blocks south. It wouldn’t add more than a couple minutes to his ride home.

  He crossed onto Oglethorpe, coasting, listening to the sounds of customers leaving Ellie’s Deli at the other end of the block. The night was cool, the humidity low, barely noticeable. Whatever he missed about Chicago, he loved the Georgia nights.

  He was passing the square when a familiar noise came from the shadows of the park: half bark, half demanding yip. He heard it each night when he forced Bad Do—Elizabeth—back inside after her last trip out, when he moved her from his spot on the couch or his side of the bed and again when he disturbed her sleep when he got up in the morning. Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d escaped Natalia and found a new owner who couldn’t bear to return her.

  “Elizabeth,” a voice admonished from the dark. “Play nice, or I won’t take you for a walk again.”

  He wasn’t that lucky.

  Small feet scrabbled across the walkway, then the dog appeared through a break in the bushes. Dragging Liz behind, she darted toward him, forcing him to steer sharply away to avoid her, nearly losing his balance. She didn’t look the least bit repentant when he righted himself and the bike, but jumped up, front paws muddying his jeans, and started licking him.

  “Oh, look, Elizabeth, it’s Daddy,” Liz said sweetly as she reeled in the extra-long leash.

  He scowled as he pushed the dog away. “What are you two doing out here?”

  “We’re working off a little excess energy.”

  “Where’s Natalia?”

  “She was with us, but Bear doesn’t have Elizabeth’s stamina. She had to take him back.”

  “Was she carrying him again?”

  “Not when we split, but I think she was just waiting for us to get out of sight before she picked him up.”

  “God, she’s a sucker.”

  “She’s just got a soft place in her heart for Bear.” Liz reined in the puppy a little more, then smiled. “I think I’m developing a soft spot for this one. We have so much in common.”

  Yeah, he could think of a few things. He kept them to himself, though. “I don’t think you’ve burned up enough energy. She’s still pretty wired.”

  “I imagine she stays wired even in her sleep. Where are you headed?”

  “Bank.” He nodded toward the red-white-and-blue sign for Fidelity Mutual. When she and Elizabeth turned that way, he swung his leg over the bike frame, removed his helmet and hung it from the handlebars, then began pushing it one-handed alongside the curb.

  “Long day, huh?”

  “Yeah.�
�� Funny, though, he didn’t feel as tired as he had ten minutes ago. What was that about?

  “Mine was leisurely. After brightening your morning, I went home and talked with Mrs. Wyndham while she planted a ton of flowers.”

  She was smiling broadly, the teasing smile of a woman who’d heard interesting things. But not about him. The last time he’d done anything interesting was when he’d gotten shot. In Copper Lake, he’d lived like a monk.

  But because she was waiting for a response, and he didn’t see any reason to disappoint her, he said, “You know Natalia isn’t the only one who calls Mrs. Wyndham the old windbag.”

  “That’s not nice. I found everything she had to say terribly interesting.”

  “Like what?”

  “She thinks you collect strays. Natalia, the puppies, me.” She shrugged as if being considered his stray didn’t bother her at all. While the thought of her being his anything bothered him a great deal. “And she wonders if you’re gay.”

  He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, but the laugh that escaped him settled it. “For the record, I’m not. And I’m not offended by her wondering.”

  “For the record, I didn’t think you were. And I don’t know if I expected you to be offended. A lot of men would be.” She paused as the dog trotted off to thoroughly sniff an azalea. The nearest streetlamp cast yellow-tinged light over Liz’s curls and gave her white T-shirt a faint matching hue. The shirt clung to her curves and ended at her waist, an inch above her khaki shorts. Heavy green tennis shoes should have looked clunky, but instead they emphasized the lean muscles of her calves.

  Keep your mind on the conversation—Mrs. Wyndham, you, gay. “My college roommate was gay. We stayed in touch until I came here. He’s smart, successful, has great clothes, has been in the same relationship for ten years and started a family a few years ago by adopting a little girl. What’s offensive about being compared to him?”

  “Living with him didn’t make you uncomfortable?”

  He snorted. “I’d lived with Josh for eighteen years. That was a hell of a lot more uncomfortable. God only knew what he might do.”