Deadly Deception

by Alexa Grace

  Frankie walked with Lane to her car suddenly feeling a little awkward. She hadn’t expected to be ordered to move in together so soon.

  She tossed her briefcase into the backseat of her car and turned to face Lane, who stood with his hands in his pockets, exposing the very mean- looking gun plastered to his hip. She decided to dive right in. "Let's use my house as base for now. When do you want to move in?"

  "I have a couple of things to wrap up in the office then pack at home. I can be there by 8:00 tonight if that's okay."

  She nodded and got into her car, her idiot heart flipping over. As she drove away, she thought that moving him into her house was possibly the worst freaking idea she'd ever had.

  Jennifer Brennan walked across the I.U. campus preparing mentally for the most important conversation she'd had with anyone in her twenty years of life. For someone who consistently made the Dean's List every term, she felt incredibly stupid. This happened to other women, not to her.

  She was early and sat on a bench in front of Paul's dormitory, grateful for the extra time to think of what she had to tell him. Jennifer was convinced that Paul Vance, star football player here on a generous scholarship, was her soul mate. They'd spent every available second with each other since they'd met. She'd noticed him come out of the dorm’s front door and her pulse leapt as it did every time she saw him. She loved everything about him from his lean, wide-shouldered build to his unruly, dark hair.

  As soon as Paul reached the bench, he pulled her into a kiss sending a warm shiver through her body. "I don't have much time, babe. I've got a psych test tomorrow and an early practice."

  "Can we at least go someplace that's more private?"

  "Sure. Let's walk."

  The campus was beautiful in the spring. At night, it appeared magical. The stars glittered through the tall tree they sat beneath. The cool air swished through her hair and slightly chilled her so she scooted closer to his warmth.

  "Do you love me, Paul?"

  "Of course I do."

  "How much?"

  "More than the sun, stars, and the moon." He kissed her on the cheek and thought of the many times he'd said that to her. "So what's going on?"

  "I'm pregnant." The words were out and she could feel his body stiffen against her.

  He gave her a sidelong glance of utter disbelief. "You can't be. We used protection."

  "We did. Except for that time you forgot your jacket with your condoms inside the pocket in the dorm. We couldn't wait."

  "Oh, shit." He scrubbed his hands over his face and shook his head. Why in the hell did this have to happen? Shit. Shit. "This can't be happening, Jenny. It just can't. I'll lose everything. I'll lose my scholarship and we both know my folks don't have the money to send me to school. I'm a year away from a degree. Besides that, I'll get kicked off the football team. You know the coach said I have a chance at going pro someday."

  "I'm sorry, Paul. It's not like I planned this."

  "Are you sure you didn't?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You've been hinting about us getting engaged for six months."

  "I didn't get pregnant on purpose. How could you say that? Do you think you're the only one who has something to lose? I'm only a year away from a degree too. Don't you think that means something to me?"

  "Maybe we should think about the alternative."

  She was stunned by his cool tone. "What are you talking about?"

  "Abortion. I could scrape up the money for it."

  She halted, shocked. "No. Not an option. I cannot and will not kill my baby."

  "Jenny, I don't want a baby now. Not now."

  "You've made that pretty clear. Don't worry about it." She got to her feet and walked away forcing him to run to catch up with her.

  "What's that mean?" He pulled at her arm and she jerked it out of his hand.

  "Fuck you, Paul. Oh, I forgot, I already did. And what a monumental mistake that was."

  "Jennifer, stop."

  "Stop what? Breaking up with your sorry ass?"

  "You're breaking up with me?"

  "Absolutely. Stay completely away from me. You are such a disappointment. You actually just asked me to kill your baby. You are not even close to the man I thought you were."

  Lane arrived at Frankie's house promptly at eight o'clock, dragging in two large suitcases. Trying to appear perfectly calm, even though she was shaking inside, she directed him to the guest room that was located right next to her bedroom. She left him to unpack and went into the kitchen to finish loading her dishwasher. After about ten minutes, the front door opened and closed. Then it opened again and Lane popped into the kitchen holding a big white wrapped box with an equally big red bow on top.

  "It's for you." He unloaded the box on the breakfast table. "Come here and open it."

  "Lane, why would you get me a gift?" She felt a little uncomfortable. This kind of behavior from Lane was so unexpected she didn't know how to react.

  "Actually, it's for both of us."

  Now she was curious. What in the world was he up to? Joining him at the table, she pulled off the red bow then dug her long nails into the white wrapping paper until she could read the black lettering on the box that read Cappuccino and Espresso Machine. She didn't know if it was her nervousness or that she remembered the rule she'd made him agree to — stay out of her backpack. Frankie started laughing. She laughed until tears filled her eyes. She started to hug him, then remembered the professional part of the deal, and stiffly put her arms to her side and backed away.

  "Good one, Lane. Do you know how to use that thing?"

  "I'm great in the kitchen. I'll have this set up and brewing in no time."

  "Since we have a lot of research to do yet tonight, I'll leave you to it while I get my laptop. Meet me in the living room when you're ready. Let's start with a debriefing on what you learned during your interviews in Bloomington."

  "Someone shot at you near the doctor's house?!" The thought of Lane being shot tore at her.

  "Yeah, the bullet hit the tree I was under."

  "You act like it was nothing. You could’ve been killed. Why would someone shoot at you because you were in a wooded area near someone's house?"

  "I think Dr. Caine has hired protection. I saw the shooter drive away in a Lincoln Town Car, the same car I saw earlier at the doctor's house. He and the doctor had a heated discussion about something. He must’ve seen my SUV when he left and double-backed and searched the woods for me."

  "So we add this hired protection to our research list. Once we start surveillance, we'll get a photo to run."

  Spread out on Frankie's sofa, Lane peered over his laptop and looked at Frankie who sat with her own laptop in a chair near him. "I can't find any criminal records for Eric Caine in NCIC."

  "That's the National Crime Information Center, right?"

  "Yeah, I want to look a couple more places until I give up. Do you have anything yet?" He grinned when he noticed a line of dried whipped cream froth from her cappuccino on Frankie's upper lip and decided not to tell her. He had the urge to pull her to him and lick it off. Definitely not a good idea and would qualify as a violation of Rule #1: Keeping things professional not personal.

  "Yes, but I'm still looking. Did you know he has six adoption satellite offices with clinics in this state? It looks like the location in Indianapolis is the largest one. I wonder why he chooses to live in Bloomington instead of Indy?"

  "No clue."

  "Apparently, Dr. Caine is quite the social butterfly. I've got five articles with photographs from several Indiana newspapers. In each one, Caine is hosting or attending a charity event with women who look like models on his arm."

  "No kidding." He drained his mug of the last drops of espresso.

  "Nope. Evidently, the good doc is into blondes big time. This guy looks like a material-boy. He wears a lot of designer suits. My guess he's into money, fast cars, and image. I bet that's why he wants to be photographed at these char
ity events."

  "I can attest to the fast car part. He drives a red Ferrari Enzo."

  "No way! That used to be my dream car. Those things cost over six figures."

  Lane just stared at her. She had the same dream car? What the hell were the chances of that? He shook his head and went back to his laptop. Soon he announced, "There's nothing in ViCAP on the bastard either. He's squeaky clean so far."

  "He's just flying under the radar. We'll get him, Lane."

  She spent a couple more hours doing one Internet search after the other. Her back started to cramp so she stretched and checked to see what Lane was doing. He was lying on her sofa fast asleep with his laptop balanced on his chest. She watched him for a long time then quietly put her laptop on the ottoman and went to a closet for a soft blanket. She slowly removed the laptop from his chest and covered him with the blanket. He looked so peaceful with every muscle in his face relaxed. As tempted as she was to ruffle his hair and wake him with a kiss, she resisted. She wasn't going to be the one to break Rule #1. She turned off the lights and headed for her bedroom.

  Frankie lay in her bed for the longest time unable to sleep because she was thinking about Mandy Morris. The poor girl was only nineteen and had already had to mourn the loss of both her parents, loved a man who didn't love her back, and bore his rejection of her pregnancy with his child. It was a lot of sorrow for someone so young to have had to experience. And that someone had snuffed out her life and dumped her young body like garbage made her furious. She agreed with Lane. They had to get justice for Mandy Morris.

  Hours later Lane tossed and turned on the couch in the living room. Was he dreaming or was he really hearing a shrill screech outside the window? He put a pillow over his head, but he could still hear it. The sound was escalating and now added to it was a bumping sound that grew louder. He cursed and threw the pillow across the room before sitting up, at first wondering where he was. His gaze traveled over the living room that didn’t belong to him. Then he remembered being at Frankie's house working on his laptop which now sat on the coffee table. He yawned and stretched. He must have fallen asleep.

  Something bumped against the front door again. Lane got up to check it out. He opened the door and a huge, bruiser of an orange cat raced inside and bolted into the kitchen. Frankie hadn't told him she had a cat. The thing must be hungry. He sleepily headed to the kitchen to find the cat food.

  Once he flipped on the kitchen lights, he scanned the room for the cat but didn't see it. From the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. In an orange blur, the cat streaked from one end of the kitchen counter to the other propelling itself toward Lane like a missile. Suddenly, the cat was airborne, a hissing, spitting, and scratching demon that landed on his chest and clawed its way to the top of his head that it used as a springboard to escape to the living room. Lane stumbled, hitting his head on the kitchen cabinet. What the hell was that?

  Rubbing his head, he stepped into the living room to look for the cat. Without warning, the cat launched himself from behind the sofa. This time he latched onto the zipper of Lane's jeans and hung on as Lane did a frantic dance to get him off. Finally, he was able to remove the cat then made a beeline for Frankie's bedroom.

  Knocking wildly on her door, he shouted, "Frankie! Let me in!" He saw the cat crouched and ready to spring from the end of the hallway. Lane twisted the doorknob to her door and jumped in, slamming the door behind him.

  "Oh my God, Lane. Can't you get through the first night without trying to break Rule #1?" She slid up to a sitting position, and then turned on the lamp on her small bedside table. “What’s going on? Why are you pressed against the door like that? Do we have a burglar?”

  "Frankie, something's very wrong with your cat. I think he may have flipped out or something if cats do that. He may be completely insane. He was throwing himself against your front door so I let him in. He raced to the kitchen so I thought he was hungry so I went in there to get him some food. That's when it happened."

  "Lane, there's something I need to tell..."

  "Not now. You've got to hear this," he interrupted. "I was in the kitchen when suddenly he launched himself at me like an orange fur ball missile! I think he was aiming for my eyes. I could’ve been blinded!"

  "Lane..." She got out of bed and moved toward him. His eyes were wild. She watched him as he turned and locked the door.

  "No, it gets worse. I tried to find him in the living room. Like a flying ninja, he shot out from behind the couch and nailed himself onto my crotch. Once I fought him off, I ran to your door and started knocking. I looked down the hall. There he was, in a crouched position, ready to launch at me again. That's when I came in here. Like I said, something is very wrong with your cat."

  Standing directly in front of him, Frankie gently rested her hands on his arms and said, "Lane, I don't have a cat."

  "Then whose maniac did I let in?"

  "I don't know." She examined his face. "Your face is really scratched up and bleeding. Sit down on my bed while I find my first aid kit."

  "I don't need first aid. I need your Glock."

  "No way. You are not shooting a cat in my house." She found a small first aid kit in a dresser drawer and opened it on the bed. She took out a couple of foil wrapped alcohol swabs."

  "Frankie, I don't need you to do this."

  "You don't want to get cat scratch fever, do you?"

  "What's cat scratch fever?"

  "I'm not sure, but every time I got scratched as a kid, my mom would talk about cat scratch fever as if it were the plague." As gently as she could, she swabbed the scratches on his face. "Are there any more scratches?"

  "Check my chest. He landed there first," Lane said as he unbuttoned his shirt.

  "Damn. He really scratched you." She opened up another alcohol swab and dotted each scratch. "Any more?"

  He started to unzip his pants and she slapped his hand. "Seriously? You're hell-bent on breaking Rule #1, aren't you?"

  A mischievous grin sliced across his face as he pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. "Just kidding, sweetheart."

  Her brain told her to break away, but her body refused. She loved the feel of his strong arms holding her against the warmth of his body and a brief shiver rippled through her. She ran her hands up his back loving the feel of his hard muscles and the indentation of his spine. His closeness was so male and the scent of him, musk and man drove her crazy with need. She looked up into his eyes to see a flicker of desire as he bent to claim her lips in a kiss that was so hot and driving it took her breath away. He pulled way far too soon.

  "I just had an ugly thought," Lane said.

  "What?"

  "Rabies." Yes, that was a word that could dampen the libido. "We've got to trap that cat."

  With a blanket in hand, Frankie crept softly out of her bedroom with Lane close behind, moving toward the living room. They heard movement under the chair, and then the cat bounded toward the kitchen.

  "I think that might be Miss Francis' cat. She lives down the street." She went into the kitchen to get a better look with Lane right at her side with the blanket. "It is. That's Fluffy."

  "I can think of a better name for it like, cat-from-hell or Chuckie."

  "I don't think Fluffy has ever been outside before. He's an inside cat. I bet Miss Francis doesn't even know he got out. I'm going to call her." Frankie ran back to her bedroom and returned with her cell phone.

  "It's three o'clock in the morning. Aren't you afraid you'll give her a heart attack by calling this early?"

  "I think she'll have the heart attack if she discovers Fluffy missing before we tell her." She punched her neighbor’s number in her cell phone.

  "Frankie, about that kiss. Do you think we need to worry about that as a violation of Rule #1?"

  "No. It was kind of an emergency situation and our adrenalin was spiking. It meant nothing to either of us." It was such a lie she almost choked getting it out.

  The next day the
y sat in the sheriff's office at his conference table. They had briefed him on what they'd discovered about Dr. Caine. Tim had been staring at Lane and finally asked, "What in the hell happened to your face?"