The Pretender

by HelenKay Dimon

  “Am I supposed to be impressed that you finally stepped up, even if it was too late and too little?” Before he could answer, she moved on. “And Damon?”

  “We both came here to get answers and to protect you.” He didn’t want to lie to her, so he said the rest. The part that truly made him an asshole. “To make sure nothing connected the murder to me or you.”

  She stared at him. There was nothing blank about the look on her face now. Pure hatred thrummed off her. He’d been relegated to some sort of mental enemies list. He was just one in a long line of people who’d shit on her. She didn’t have to say it because he could read it in the way she stood there and the stark emptiness in her eyes.

  “I didn’t know you back then, Gabby.” He meant it more as an explanation for his hesitation than a justification, but he knew it didn’t come out that way.

  “So your excuse is that it was okay to rip my life apart because we’d never been introduced? Did your conscience only kick in because once we slept together it felt shitty to watch me go to prison?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I slept with you because I wanted you.” He couldn’t keep away from her even though he bargained with his brain to try. But that answer was just as selfish as every other one he’d uttered, so he kept it locked inside.

  “Get out.”

  He stood up and lifted a hand to touch her, but she shrank away from him. “Please listen to me.”

  “Don’t touch me.” She held both hands up as if to push him away. “Ever.”

  “I care about you.” The words were so neutral when he felt anything but.

  “Care about me?” Her cheeks flushed.

  “That’s the wrong word.”

  “Get off my island. You have two minutes.”

  “If you really want that.”

  “I do.”

  “Fine.” He slipped around her, careful not to touch her. When he stopped on the top porch step to look at her, to try to explain one last time, she was already gone.

  Two hours later she found Damon walking in the fire pit area. It would have hurt to be there, in a place she’d shared with Harris, if fury didn’t hum through her. Rage still beat loud and strong inside of her and she didn’t want to turn it down. The sound blocked out the rest of the noise in her head.

  Unwilling to cower for one single second, she marched right up to him, not caring who saw or overheard them. “Why are you still here?”

  His head shot up at the sound of her voice. “I’m finishing up with the police.”

  Nothing in his expression gave away what he was feeling. He was a smooth one.

  Unlucky for him, she was done with smooth. Attractive, charming and someone pretending to be a good listener were all off her list. Men could keep on walking.

  “You’re not an investigator.” She’d battled one liar today. Why not another?

  Damon put his hands on his hips and stared down at her. If her curt tone worried him, he did not show it. “I actually am. This is what I do.”

  “Prove it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What exactly happened with Harris?”

  Nothing shook this guy. He didn’t even blink. She refused to let it unnerve her. “He’s a thief. He came here to steal a painting and almost got caught at the scene. He got lucky. Tabitha didn’t.”

  “Ah.” Damon nodded. “He told you the truth about that night. That couldn’t have been easy.”

  “That’s what he does. He takes things that aren’t his.” He’d robbed her of so much. She would have given him the painting if doing so would have spared her the rest.

  “No, not anymore. Not really.”

  Oh, please. “What kind of answer is that?”

  It wasn’t as if she trusted Damon any more than she trusted Harris. They were different in many ways but a matched set in others. They worked together . . . schemed together.

  Damon shrugged. “An honest one.”

  “Neither one of you knows what it means to be honest.” They’d lied to her from the beginning. Damon . . . She didn’t care about his choices. But Harris was a different story. He’d lured her in, told her about his past. He made her believe in him and opened up a part of her that had been closed off for so long.

  Doubt swamped her now. She was stronger than ever when it came to sticking up for herself. All of this—every rotten, scary moment—had taught her to stop living her life wallowing in guilt. But when it came to emotions, she felt more unsure and vulnerable than ever. The stable ground had been knocked out from under her and she would never forgive Harris for that loss.

  “He solved the case, didn’t he?” Damon asked. “Fourteen months in without a break, but he made it happen.”

  That wasn’t how she saw it. It had been a joint effort targeted at saving him. Not her. “So the ends justify the means? Is that your life motto?”

  Damon shifted his weight as he exhaled. His unreadable expression morphed into something else. She could almost see his mind spin as he decided what to say. Knowing what she knew now about how they operated, she guessed he was trying to determine how much he had to tell her to get her to back off. Which carefully chosen pieces he should share.

  “He gets paintings back to their rightful owners. Nazis stole art in the thirties and forties and he returns it to them now. Families sell art at unconscionable prices due to financial difficulties or threats, and he evens that score.”

  “A regular Robin Hood.”

  “He cuts through the red tape and government regulations. He understands that a lot of these transactions never had paperwork to confirm the details. He investigates and makes it happen without governments having to step in. It’s that simple.” Damon looked up, stared at the clear blue sky and helicopter buzzing off the coast before lowering his head again. His gaze was intense, almost biting. “Harris thinks he’s unlovable and undeserving because that’s what he was taught. His upbringing was a clusterfuck and, admittedly, his priorities got skewed.”

  She refused to let any of that matter. Blocked out these details and the ones Harris had shared because she needed to stay on track. Feeling sorry for people had always screwed her in the past. “We all have a sad story.”

  “He doesn’t know it but he’s a good man. Loyal and decent. Someone worth caring about.”

  Two days ago she might have used the same words. Now, no. “The scam is over. You can stop trying to sell him to me. I know better.”

  “He’s the best person I know, Gabby.”

  He sounded so genuine. For a guy who’d spoken in straightforward terms from the minute she’d met him, he sounded different now. His tone had an edge of pleading.

  Well, Harris had that skill, too. She wasn’t falling for the cute-guy-with-an-act thing a second time.

  She sighed at him. “Then you need to meet new people.”

  “Hate him. That’s your right.”

  “Damn straight.” And she intended to do just that. It might take her weeks or months or even longer to get her balance again, but she would. Then she would wipe Harris from her mind.

  Damon leaned in as if he were sharing a secret. “Remember that he could have kept walking when he got word you were in trouble. He’s the one who’s been watching you from a distance to make sure the police never arrested you. He, someone who shouldn’t give a shit about you, risked his freedom and came back to save you.”

  No, no, no. “He saved himself.”

  “I have the letter he wrote right after he found Tabitha’s body.” Damon pulled a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his long-sleeved shirt. “It sets out the things that need to be done if you’re arrested. You see, he intended to trade his life for yours. Even admit to a crime he didn’t commit if that’s what it took to keep you free.”

  Pain jammed up inside her. “He doesn’t get a medal for that.”

  “That’s the point, Gabby. He never expected one.”

  Chapter 26

  Three fucking weeks.

  That was how long it had been
since Harris had seen or heard from Gabby. He didn’t call her because he didn’t have the right. He followed her movements in the news and sometimes begged Wren for details.

  Ted’s case and all the allegations against him played for a solid three days until a new and equally horrific crime occurred and knocked it out of the headlines. Stephen actually made a public apology to Gabby on television. The two of them engaged in the most awkward hug Harris had ever seen, but at least they were moving forward. Wren kept tabs on everyone and promised to step in if they needed help.

  All Harris had to do was survive today.

  He’d been called in to provide the findings in his assessment of the Wright-family art collection. Specifically, of the authentication of the Beckmann piece. More than a year ago he’d intended to steal it and return it to the heirs of the original owners. Now he’d been called in on an actual assignment. Stephen Wright wanted to know if it really belonged to someone else. If Harris could trace it, Stephen would return it, no money exchanged and no documents required.

  The insurance company he worked for didn’t give him a choice on this job. The Wright family was a lucrative prize. They possessed a lot of important pieces and bought more all the time, which meant a lot of potential work. He agreed to do just this one painting. He was fucking out after this.

  He’d seen the painting in question in the main house on the island. Studied it in person. Reviewed all the documents pertaining to the provenance, the chain showing ownership, and knew where the holes were.

  He’d completed most of the groundwork in person. Today he provided the report. The estate insisted it be done in person and subject to questioning due to the value of the work in question.

  That meant he had to think about Gabby. Not that doing so was anything new. Her image danced in his head all the time. He could hear her voice when he sat alone in the darkness. Her laugh, that face . . . the way she talked about her sister. He loved all of it. He ached from missing her.

  He hadn’t been sure of the L word before, but he was now. The amount of time they’d spent together didn’t correlate with the intensity of his feelings. He wasn’t convinced the amount of hours spent together mattered. The kicking in his gut, the lack of an appetite, the inability to sleep more than an hour at a time—he had every sickening symptom.

  He traced the change in his priorities back to her. It was as if he’d grown a conscience after being with her. Things he didn’t care about and acts he justified previously now haunted him. He no longer just saw Tabitha’s face in those times when he couldn’t block the race of images passing through his mind. He saw Gabby—full of life and smiling until he’d ruined that, too.

  A woman peeked out of the double doors of the boardroom. He was in a typical suite of an expensive office building in downtown Washington, DC. The kind of place where the partners or the owners flashed around cash in the form of renting an overpriced space and throwing up expensive but boring art on the walls. He’d been in and out of places like this almost daily since he switched to his legitimate job.

  The smiling face on the twenty-year-old was all he could see in front of him. “They’re ready for you now.”

  She stepped back and opened the door wide. He took that as the sign he should step in first. He walked in and came to a bone-jarring halt. Men in dark suits sat around the table. Three of them, each looking more bored than the one next to him. Stephen Wright sat at one end. Gabby sat across from him.

  She didn’t look up when he came into the room. She didn’t have to. He would have recognized the curve of her neck and bounce of her hair anywhere.

  Watching her even for a second paralyzed him. She flipped the pages of his report, scanning each one. The pen between her fingers tapped against the table.

  “Mr. Tate.” Stephen announced his name then gestured around the table. “These are the family and estate lawyers.”

  That sounded like overkill to him. “Okay.”

  She looked up then. Her gaze locked on his and he lost the ability to say anything. His inclination was to walk back out of the room. He’d barely kept his head in the game since he last saw her. Writing the report, documenting it and making sure it was accurate had taken all of his energy.

  “Mr. Tate?” Stephen repeated.

  “Call me Harris,” he mumbled as he tried to pull his attention away from her and put it back on the room at large.

  Something dropped on the table. The loud thudding sound had Harris turning to face Stephen.

  He nodded. “You may proceed.”

  That sounded good but Harris couldn’t do it. There was no way he could stand in a room with her and not beg her to understand. Being near her had his brain racing for the right way to phrase the explanation. He had a past he couldn’t fix. With Wren’s help, he’d cleaned it up, but that would never be good enough for her. She deserved more.

  He looked around the table, thinking if he focused on the others he could bully his way through this. But no.

  This was why he stayed detached. Getting involved, caring, was a one-way ticket to hell. He’d been miserable every fucking minute since they’d been apart. He’d have to restart the process all over again after this.

  God, why did she have to be here? He never thought she’d show up. She didn’t care about the island or the money. Until recently, she had been locked in a battle with Stephen over every curtain and every cup. It looked as if that rift might be at the start of a repair.

  “You have my report.” Even he heard the small shake in his voice as he spoke.

  Stephen looked up. “Excuse me?”

  “The information is in front of you. I won’t insult you by reading it to you.” When Harris realized he was shifting his weight and moving around, he stopped.

  “We asked you to come here prepared to—”

  “Everything you need is right there.” That was all he had. His energy expired. He had to get out of there. “You can call my office if you have any questions.”

  He would give anything to convince her of what happened more than fifteen months ago. He ached to win her back, but this wasn’t even about that. She deserved closure and he would beg and plead to give it to her . . . to possibly get one more chance.

  He’d picked up the phone so many times to call and never did. Giving her space seemed like the right response even though the days ticked by in agony. The pressure in his chest, the kicking in his gut. He’d never felt that kind of numbing pain before.

  The worst? She hated him. Her anger thrummed off her. Tightened every muscle. She didn’t deserve to have him hash it out between them with everyone watching. He owed her the chance to punch him, scream at him.

  But he couldn’t handle sitting there and not talking to her, not trying, so he walked out. Voices called his name but he didn’t stick around to debate his position. This likely would end with the loss of his job but he didn’t care. He’d find something else to do, or maybe he wouldn’t do anything. It would be good for him to travel with all that temptation right in front of him and not take anything.

  If he really was going to be a better man, and that was the vow he’d made as he left that island on the boat that day, then he needed to be better when it was hard to do so.

  Phones rang as he walked back down the hall of glass-walled offices. Another person called out his name, but he ignored that, too. His goal was simple: get to the elevator bank. He’d almost done it. He stepped into the waiting room and pushed the lobby door to the outside hall. Once there, he let his body relax.

  At the elevator bank across from the office doors he pushed the down button. It lit and now he waited. With a hand balanced against the wall. He dropped his head and tried to inhale. He forced his breathing to slow before his heart hammered out of his chest.

  “That was quite a display.”

  Gabby’s voice had him dropping his arm and spinning around to face her. “Why are you out here?”

  “You look terrible.”

  This close he could se
e the dark circles under her eyes. They mirrored his. “I’m sure because I feel like shit.”

  “Lying will do that to a guy.”

  The chance waited right there . . . and he took it. Didn’t pretty up the words or downplay his behavior. Not this time. Not when he’d been conning her from the beginning.

  “I’ve lied my whole life. To everyone, about everything. Whatever it took. None of that bothered me until you came along.” The elevator bell dinged and the doors opened, but he didn’t get in.

  “Is this your way of telling me I’m special?”

  He didn’t have anything to lose, so he didn’t hold back. The words ripped out of him. “You are.”

  “See, that’s the problem. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s a game with you.” She shook her head. “I want to believe you but—”

  “I fell in love with you.” He held his arms out to the sides then let them fall again. “God, Gabby. Can you really not see that?”

  “Love?”

  “Yes, love.” Pain raced through him, leaving his muscles shaking. “There it is. Me, the guy who didn’t care about anyone except this specific group of guys I’ve known for fifteen years. The guy who didn’t get involved and could always walk away. I fell hard. For you.”

  “I’m supposed to believe you care about anyone?”

  He didn’t deserve to have this go easy, but to finally tell the truth and have her shoot it back to him with sarcasm . . . He rubbed the aching spot on his chest. “I’m trying to explain.”

  “Are you saying . . . Wait, what are you saying?”

  “I believe in these friends. I depend on them. I would give my life for them. Just them.”

  “For them and no one else.” She visibly swallowed. “I get it.”

  He could tell from the flatness in her eyes she didn’t. “From the minute I met you, maybe even before, I included you in that select group of people who mattered to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Really, Gabby?” It was tempting to read off a list of her qualities, but he didn’t know if mere words would convince her. “You are special. You are a survivor. Loyal, smart, amazing, beautiful.”