The Pretender

by HelenKay Dimon

  Good fucking question. “As a witness.”

  It was the best excuse Harris could come up with. In a way it fit with the cover they’d already established. No one believed the art-valuation story, even though it was sort of true. At this point it might make more sense to dump it, but at least he was actually qualified to perform that sort of work. This investigation stuff was well out of his area of expertise.

  Kramer frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m a neutral party. I listen in and provide testimony in case there’s a question later.” Harris ended the comment with the same fake confidence he’d been practicing his entire life. It must have worked because Damon only shot him a quick glance.

  Kramer made a show of exhaling and half groaning as he stood up. The wrench he dropped into the toolbox made a loud clanking sound. “Don’t you think it’s time you admit you two are working together for Stephen?”

  “You like to ask a lot of questions.” Harris switched strategies. Forget reason. He flipped into attack mode. Putting people on the defensive tended to change the conversation. “Is it just the answering that’s an issue for you?”

  “What’s your problem, son?” Kramer asked.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Damon walked on the edge of the pool. Only inches from falling in. “Where were you last night?”

  Kramer threw out his arms. “We’re on an island. Where the hell do you think I was?”

  “That’s a fair question.” It was the same one Harris kept running up against. The island meant limited movement. People couldn’t get off a boat and blend in. Anyone visiting would be seen, which meant they had to be a known quantity . . . unless they snuck on like he did. That meant skills or training or a hell of a will to get in and out.

  “It really is.” But Damon continued to stare at Kramer. “Now try answering. Did you leave the island?”

  “I had dinner, checked on the boat slip, like I always do, then watched some television until I fell asleep around nine.” Kramer flicked his hand, as if waving them away. “Now you can leave.”

  “Alone?” Damon asked.

  “Son, do you see other people on the island?”

  Damon looked at Harris. “He’s a joy to talk to.”

  “I’m happy you’re the investigator.” Harris did much better with jobs that didn’t include humans. Security systems, blueprints, plans filed with the city—he handled all of that with ease. The fewer people involved in a job, the better.

  He didn’t take on partners. That was the one thing that tripped up his mom and shined a spotlight on her after years of getting away with it.

  Ted balanced the pool skimmer against the edge of the pool. “Let’s shortcut this since it’s probably my turn next. I left the island with Craig last night. We went to a few bars and had some dinner in Baltimore. We got back here after one and I told him to stay. He left about seven this morning.”

  “You two slept at your dad’s place.” Harris didn’t have to phrase it as a question because he knew. He’d seen Ted go in and out of the cottage every day.

  Ted nodded. “Yeah.”

  “And your dad was there when you got back last night?” Damon asked.

  Kramer stepped in front of his son and aimed all of his ire at Damon. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Someone broke into the main house last night,” Damon explained.

  “Probably him.” Kramer switched his attention to Harris as he pointed. “I don’t trust you.”

  That wasn’t exactly news. Kramer hadn’t exactly been a one-man welcoming committee, so Harris wasn’t surprised. “You’ve hidden it well.”

  Kramer reached down and closed his toolbox. When he stood up again he had it in his hand. “Are we done?”

  For a few seconds Damon stared at Kramer, looked him up and down. “For now.”

  “Excellent.” Kramer pushed past Harris and walked across the patio and into the grass.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Ted sat on the edge of one of the teak deck chairs. “He wants all of this to go away.”

  It sounded reasonable enough but Harris didn’t quite get it. “What about you?”

  “Tabitha is dead. It’s hard to say we should all move on when her murder is so unsettled.”

  Damon stood at the end of Ted’s chair. “What can you tell me about Craig?”

  “Craig?” Ted stumbled over the name then fell silent.

  Points to Damon for leading with a question Ted didn’t expect. Harris appreciated the strategy. “That’s what he said.”

  “For the record, you sound like an investigator right now,” Ted said.

  Damon nodded as he eyed up Harris then looked at Ted again. “He could use some work, but yeah.”

  “Craig is a great guy. He grew up not far from here, spent a lot of time on the water as a kid. We all did. He went out and tried to do the day-job thing, following his dad’s footsteps and all that, but he knew it wouldn’t work. He missed the open water and managed to make that into a career.” Ted looked at the patio beneath his feet. “Actually, I think . . . well, that doesn’t matter.”

  “You know you can’t just drop that comment, right?” Damon asked.

  Ted hesitated for a few seconds but then started talking. “It’s not my place to say, but he had a thing for Tabitha.”

  Damon’s stiff stance eased as confusion crossed his face. “What?”

  “Did they date?” Harris asked at the same time.

  “Tabitha didn’t really date anyone in the sense of going out to movies and such. Craig spent a lot of time here.” Ted shook his head and looked around, as if he were uncomfortable talking about any of this. “He was devastated when she was killed. We all were, but his reaction seemed even more, I don’t know, personal?”

  “Did you talk with him about Tabitha and how he felt about her?” Damon asked.

  “Not really.” Ted shrugged. “I mean, come on.”

  Harris didn’t remember anything about Craig in Wren’s reports except for a few lines. That likely meant the police overlooked him, which could mean an opening. “Was he here that day?”

  “I don’t think so. Who knows?” Ted shook his head. “I’m probably not the one to ask since I wasn’t either.”

  “Let’s try it this way. Did anyone else know about Tabitha and Craig’s relationship?” Because Gabby hadn’t mentioned it and there was nothing about that in the police report, and there would have been because “the boyfriend” always became a person of interest.

  “You’re blowing this up bigger than it probably was.” Ted looked from Harris to Damon. “He had a crush. I think she reciprocated it.” When no one said anything, Ted started talking again. “Look, she was beautiful, like Gabby. She had a life. It was just a very structured one. People assume she was agoraphobic but she wasn’t.”

  Harris looked at Damon. “He means a fear of leaving the house.”

  “I read,” Damon said without breaking eye contact with Ted.

  “My dad blames her parents. After what happened with Gabby . . . well, they suffocated Tabitha. Armed guards, no friends, schooled her at home with tutors. She was young and it had an impact.”

  “Do you believe Gabby arranged for her own kidnapping?” Harris asked, dreading the answer.

  “Hell, no.” Ted made a face like he couldn’t believe Harris even asked. “Guys, you are looking in the wrong direction. Craig and Gabby? They both loved Tabitha. We all loved Tabitha. She was really lovable. No, this was a random thing or someone in her online group.”

  And there it was. The mention of that group again. A piece of the puzzle that had taken on much more significance over the last few days.

  “What do you know about the group?” Harris asked because he had to.

  Ted shrugged. “Nothing, really. She talked about the cases and showed me posts. That sort of thing.”

  “Lots of dangerous people in the internet.” Damon finally stepped back from the end of Ted’s chair. “Craig probably drives some of t
hose people around.”

  “He didn’t bring a killer here, wait for him to stab her then ride back to Baltimore with him.” Ted swore under his breath. His expression said he was done. “Is there anything else?”

  Damon shook his head. “No.”

  Mimicking his father, Ted got up and picked up the tools he’d been using. He brushed by Damon and left the patio. More like stormed. His feet fell in heavy, loud steps as he dragged the pool skimmer behind him.

  Harris stood next to Damon and watched Ted go. “There seems to be a lot of support for this online forum idea.”

  “Wren is compiling all the records right now.”

  Of course he was. “I’m guessing he didn’t get a search warrant to collect all the internet data.”

  Damon’s eyebrow lifted as he looked over at Harris. “Do you get one when you break into people’s homes?”

  Since there was no way to win that argument, Harris skipped it. “So, tomorrow we go through video and paperwork.”

  “That is the plan.”

  Necessary work. Harris got that. But the idea of poring over files and chat forum transcripts made his eyes cross. “Boring.”

  Damon smiled. “Do you want me to find a vase for you to steal instead?”

  “Maybe.”

  Damon patted Harris on the shoulder. “Go find Gabby.”

  That sounded like a pretty great idea, but Harris didn’t understand why Damon was suggesting it. “I thought you were the one who warned me about getting too involved with her.”

  “I figure you’ll fuck it up on your own.”

  “Thanks for the support.”

  Damon shrugged. “What are best friends for?”

  Chapter 13

  Gabby glared at the clock—midnight—then went back to staring at the ceiling. She vowed to paint the walls of the guesthouse after tonight. If she ever saw the color eggshell again she might get violent.

  It was cool outside. She could hear the wind rolling off the water. She was pretty sure it was ninety degrees in the bedroom. She wanted to glare at Harris, blame him for heating up the mattress, and not in a good way. Heat thrummed off him. Probably had something to do with his size and how he sucked up most of the space. She would have pointed that out to him but they hadn’t said a word all evening.

  They’d eaten dinner with Damon and Ted. Not her choice, but Damon insisted. Ted clearly hadn’t liked it any more than she did because he barely looked up from his hamburger all meal.

  She folded her arms over her chest then let them slide to her sides again. She was locked in a battle with the most uncomfortable bed in the world. It had been fine before tonight but now . . . no.

  Harris let out a big dramatic sigh. “I wonder if this is what it’s like to be married.”

  “You’re not funny.”

  He rolled to his side and faced her. “Hey, I’m just trying—”

  “What?”

  He put a hand on her stomach. “I’m not the enemy here.”

  The soft touch erased some of her anger. She knew she was being unreasonable by blaming Harris for everything that had gone wrong on the island during the last few days. For asking questions that needed to be asked and for pushing her to analyze all she thought she’d known about what happened here fourteen months ago. Despite all the frustration and confusion, she could still recognize she was the problem right now.

  This thing where he talked in that hypnotizing voice or treated her to a gentle caress and her defenses tumbled . . . she didn’t get that at all. She’d dated men before, some good and some pretty terrible. She’d experienced good sex and had no trouble taking care of that issue herself, if needed. It wasn’t as if he wiped away her past and every insecurity with a mind-blowing orgasm. She didn’t believe life worked that way.

  But he did have this thing. Being around him calmed her. Engaging in banter, seeing how the verbal sparring excited him as much as it did her, ignited this dormant need inside her. She craved the energy and the challenge. Loved the rush she got when he kissed her and when his fingers slid through her hair.

  All of it, wanting to be with him and the vulnerability that came with that, sent her into a full-body shake. It scared her and rocked what she believed to be true about herself. Left her open to feeling something for someone again after she’d committed to a lifetime of keeping her emotions shallow.

  “You’re still lying to me,” she said to the quiet room.

  God, she didn’t even know why she cared. If the time with him was about sex and burning off some of the spinning inside her, they really didn’t need to talk that much.

  He was driving her to distraction. Just by lying there, a few inches away with his warm breath blowing against her cheek. She couldn’t keep her shield up against him and she hated that. Mostly, she hated that the feeling only went one way.

  His thumb moved back and forth over her stomach. “Honestly though, have you told me everything?”

  “No.” Of course not. She couldn’t . . . shouldn’t.

  He tucked a hand under his pillow and raised his head higher. “Then what’s the difference?”

  She turned into him then. Flipped on her side, letting the sheets fall low on her hip, and stared at him. “I have no idea.”

  He looked at her as if she’d lost it. “Okay.”

  “I’m in the mood to be irrational.” And that wasn’t far from the truth. Part of her wanted to poke at him, get him riled.

  A smile appeared on his lips and disappeared just as quickly. “Is that really your answer?”

  “Yes.” She reached out and dragged a finger over the scruffy start of his beard. “How did we both get so messed up?”

  “Years of practice.”

  Since she thought that was his serious answer, she didn’t fight him on it. “Probably.”

  “Listen.” He moved closer and draped his arm across her waist. “I never talk about my mom, but I told you.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t do that just to have great sex.” He wouldn’t be the first guy to use that tactic. She’d been fed lines over the years. Some idiots tried to use the kidnapping to get close to her. As if that wasn’t one of the worst moments in her life.

  Harris’s story, shocking as it was, felt genuine. She believed him.

  He ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “I told you about my mom because I wanted to tell you.”

  That voice. It broke through her every single time. “That’s why I shared about the kidnapping. People look at me a certain way, like a victim or a criminal. I didn’t think you’d see me as either. You know the world isn’t made up of only black-and-white choices.”

  “Any chance you’ll tell me the rest of the kidnapping story?”

  He knew. Of course he knew. They were both survivors, walking wounded. She’d recognized that from the start and a part of her reached out to him.

  For the first time in years an automatic “no” didn’t slam into her head as a response to the kidnapping question. The idea of sharing the burden brought her relief, not panic.

  Tabitha was gone. She would understand. But a promise was a promise.

  “Maybe when you tell me what you’re really doing on the island, I’ll finish the story.” He might know art but that wasn’t why Stephen brought him to the island. It was the bit of truth that lingered behind every action, every moment, she shared with Harris.

  He was paid to be here and handle things. It could be that she was the thing he was brought here to handle, and that thought made her stomach flip over in horror.

  “What if I told you I came here, now, for you? To help.” His thumb traced the outline of her mouth. Smoothed over her lips.

  “I have no idea what that means.” She didn’t want to break the contact so she whispered the words.

  His gaze searched hers. “You ever make a mistake and feel like you’ll probably spend a lifetime trying to fix it?”

  That question . . . it meant everything. The relief that soared through her didn’t m
ake any sense, but there it was. Chalk it up to the hope that he really got her. No one had ever totally understood her, not even her parents. “You just described my entire adulthood.”

  He leaned in and touched his lips to hers. A soft press that barely amounted to a kiss, but she felt it spiral through her.

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “Now I really do think you’re saying things to get me into bed.”

  “We’re already in bed.”

  He really kissed her then. Treated her to a long, dragging kiss. One that had her shifting on the bed and curling into him. When he lifted his head her hands were pressed against his chest and not even a whiff of air separated them.

  “Then maybe you’re just trying to get my clothes off,” she said as she kissed her way over his chin.

  He slid his hand under her T-shirt. “How long would that take exactly?”

  “We should try it and see.”

  He rolled to his back, taking her with him. Her body slid over his and she loved every hard angle. Their clothes didn’t provide any barrier to the combination of heat and delicious friction. His hands slid under her shirt and kept going. Warm palms cupped her breasts. He caressed with a gentle kneading and her skin caught fire.

  She lifted up just long enough to rip the shirt over her head and off. By the time it fluttered to the floor she was on top of him again. She speared her fingers through his hair and held his head there for her kisses. She didn’t hold back or play it cool. She kissed with all the pent-up emotion she’d been burying and ignoring all day.

  In that moment, doubts blew away. This was about him and her and a heat that had her aching for more.

  As they kissed, his hands plunged into her pajama shorts. He tugged her up higher, until her softness rubbed against his growing bulge. She wanted to ride him. Just climb on top of him and let her inhibitions fall away.

  Her hair cascaded around her shoulders when she lifted her head. It brushed over his shoulder and he caught a handful of the strands and balled them in his fist. With a soft pull, he brought her mouth back down to his. This kiss seared through her. She actually felt her temperature rise and her skin flush.