The front door opened and a young blonde woman stepped onto the porch. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, yet her belly swelled with pregnancy.
“May I help you?” the woman asked, her voice not so welcoming.
Here goes. Act natural.
Whatever natural was when undercover.
“Hello,” Isabelle said, sliding out of the car and moving up the brick steps. “I’m Isabelle DeRosa. Kendrick’s cousin.”
“Oh.”
The woman squinted and, combined with rigid shoulders, her body language screamed of mistrusting people. Isabelle knew the feeling.
“I’ll get Seth,” the woman—girl really—said.
She turned and hurried back into the house. A slow, snaking feeling crawled up Isabelle’s arms, but she stood motionless in case they were watching. Finally, needing to move, she stepped toward the porch rail and leaned against it.
After two of the longest minutes of her life, the front door opened again, and a man of about her height with a thick mass of light brown hair came out. His cheeks were round and ruddy and his nose too big for his face. He offered a plastic smile, but the skin around his drab hazel eyes didn’t bunch. Nothing genuine there.
He extended his hand. “Isabelle. How wonderful to meet you. I am so sorry about Kendrick. What a tragedy. We’re all still in a bit of shock around here.”
She shook his hand, and the bit of moisture there turned her stomach. He clasped his other sweaty hand over hers. Ew. The snaking feeling left her arms and went right to her midsection.
She smiled anyway and made sure it was big enough to appear natural. No sense in him seeing a fake smile as well. “You must be Seth?”
“I am.” He eyed her car’s Jersey plates. “Have you been driving all day? From New Jersey?”
“No. I drove out yesterday. I’m on my way to Chicago to visit a friend.” The cover story she and Sampson had come up with. “I thought I’d take a detour.” She stopped, rubbed her hand over her forehead and prayed she wouldn’t vomit all over this nice porch.
She glanced up at Seth and lowered her eyes again. “I guess I just wanted to see where he lived. I’m not sure why.”
Seth nodded. “I understand.”
“I don’t think you could. I don’t understand it myself.”
This wasn’t a total lie because standing on Kendrick’s porch was the absolute last place she wanted to be.
“Kendrick never said much, but I know your relationship with him was awkward.”
Awkward. Is that what they were calling it? Isabelle stifled the urge to slap him.
Seth reached forward and Isabelle steadied herself so she wouldn’t flinch when his hand touched her arm. The taste of metal filled her mouth and she swallowed hard.
Then he did it. His nasty little gaze went to her boobs and lingered there a few seconds longer than necessary.
Jackpot.
Normally, at this point, she would have given him a thorough inspection and zeroed in on his crotch. Then she would have scoffed.
For a moment, her mind drifted back to when she’d first seen Peter in the elevator. The first man in history to take the insult in stride. She moved her hand over the do-rag on her head.
Don’t think about him now.
As much as she wanted to pound Seth into the ground, she kept her eyes glued to his face. Even managed a smile.
The churning in her stomach curled upward and she swallowed the bile back.
Just get inside. That’s all you have to do.
Seth eventually stopped gaping at her boobs and looked her in the eye. And—yow—what she saw there, that burning heat, forced her to throw her shoulders back. Probably not the best action because it made her chest stand out all the more. He must have taken it as an invitation because he grinned like a pervert at a peep show.
“Why don’t you come inside? Have some lemonade?”
Double jackpot. Now she smiled. “I’d love to.”
Peter checked his watch. “She must be in.”
This would be the one and only drive past the house in the banged up eighty-five Camaro he’d paid cash for at a corner car lot near the airport. Of course, having his fake identification back, courtesy of Vic, moved the transaction along.
“Guess so,” Billy said from the passenger seat. “Let’s find a place to wait.”
A quick punch to the gas pedal and they cruised down the two-lane country road. Hundred-year-old trees surrounded them on both sides and seemed to go on forever. Lots of wooded property around here.
Plenty of places to hide a body.
Half a mile down, Peter pulled off the road and parked the car on the grass before shutting down the engine. He might just keep this relic and see if he could rebuild it.
“I’ll pop the hood,” Billy said.
“Pull the distributor wire while you’re at it.”
If any nosy cops came by, they could prove the car wouldn’t start.
“Done,” Billy said as he got back into the car. “You bring any snacks?”
“We just had lunch.”
“You know I need snacks.”
“Listen, Lucy, we won’t be here long. I told Izzy to make it short so she doesn’t seem too anxious to stay.”
Billy stuck his foot out the open window. “What’s with you two?”
“Don’t know.”
“Liar.”
“Dickhead.”
They both laughed.
“Have we kissed and made up yet?” Billy wanted to know. “This being pissed at each other is a lot of work.”
“I’m not apologizing for kicking the shit out of you. You were dogging me.”
Billy shrugged. “I always dog you.”
Yeah, well, you never did it after one of our guys died and I was on four days of limited sleep.
“Chalk it up to a bad day.” Peter reached under the seat to make sure his nine millimeter was still safely hidden in case those nosy cops came around.
His gun. Vic had sent it back. Along with the throwaway he’d confiscated from the safe.
Somehow, having the guns back made Peter feel like his old self. Like someone who could be useful in keeping people alive.
“You’re not gonna shoot me are you?” Billy laughed at his own joke. “You just got the damn thing back.”
So, okay. That was funny. Peter took a second to enjoy the rumbling laugh. He hadn’t really laughed much lately. Except with Izzy. She made him laugh. When it happened his world became a better place.
And he wanted to stay there awhile.
Seth Donner held the door open for her.
All Isabelle had to do was step in. To Kendrick’s house.
She mentally settled herself. Letting Seth see discomfort would blow the whole thing before she’d even gotten started.
She stepped into the foyer and took in the mahogany woodwork surrounding the tiled entryway. On her left was a large dining room painted a dark blue and, to the right, a library—Kendrick had a library?
In front of her, the staircase had been stained the same deep color of the trim.
Seth led her down the hallway. “Right this way.”
“What a lovely home,” Isabelle commented truthfully.
She followed Seth down the hall, replaying Peter’s words.
Don’t ask a lot of questions. Let him do the talking. Don’t appear too interested. Try not to lie. The lies are hard to remember after a while.
Seth led her to a two-story family room at the back of the house. The hunter green walls were outlined with more mahogany trim and the matching hardwood floors left her wondering if they’d hired a decorator. An oversized stone fireplace sat nestled in the corner. This house had to be big bucks.
Isabelle stopped in the middle of the room. “The house looks new.”
Seth turned right and headed to the kitchen. “It’s only three years old. Kendrick and I purchased it from the builder.”
“Wow. Great yard.” She moved to the door and scanned
the property.
The children’s swing set nearly came to life and pummeled her. Children. Kendrick and children under the same roof. Suddenly the swing set spun and she placed an arm on the door to steady herself.
“Isabelle?” Seth stood next to her holding a glass of lemonade. “Are you all right?”
She shook it off, took the lemonade and, rather than gulp it down, as she wanted to, took a dainty sip.
“I’m fine. I think it’s the heat. Maybe coming into the cool air from outside.”
Seth motioned her back to the family room. “Let’s have a seat.”
The young pregnant woman wandered in from a doorway off the kitchen, and Seth shot her a hard, scolding glare.
Interesting.
Isabelle rose from her chair, approached the woman and held her hand out. “Hello, again. I’m Isabelle DeRosa.”
“I know,” the young woman said. “You told me on the porch.”
I’m not giving up until I get a name.
Finally, she shook hands, but made it quick. “I’m Courtney…Masterson.”
Gotcha.
Before turning back to Seth, Isabelle drilled the name into her brain for Sampson to check.
Seth, with yet another of his plastic smiles, looked beyond her.
“I just needed some water from the fridge,” Courtney said.
Isabelle retrieved her seat, but glanced back at the younger woman. Might as well engage her and see what else she could find out. “It must be hard being pregnant in this heat. When are you due?”
“Uh.” Courtney’s gaze went to Seth then back to Isabelle. “In about a month. Give or take.”
“Well, good luck to you.”
Courtney glanced at the floor and appeared unsure how to respond. Just say thanks, hon.
Seth cleared his throat. “Thank you, Courtney.”
Dismissed.
What was with this guy? Was he the baby’s father? Maybe he and Courtney were a couple and he didn’t like her talking to people? Talk about emotional abuse.
Seth settled back into his chair. “Isabelle, what brings you here?”
She shrugged. “As I said, I’m not really sure. After Kendrick’s funeral I decided to take some time off, visit a friend in Chicago. I thought the drive would be nice.” She faked a laugh. “Turns out it’s boring as hell.”
Seth chuckled, but again, his smile, so small and unyielding, appeared fabricated. Gave her the creeps.
Then his eyes wandered to her boobs again.
“Anyhoo,” she said, forcing herself not to adjust her shirt so she wasn’t so exposed. “I stopped for a coffee at the rest area by the Cincinnati exit and remembered I had the address in my purse.”
“Did Kendrick give it to you?” His tone may have been casual, but his stiff shoulders said something completely different.
“I’m sure Kendrick told you we weren’t on good terms.”
“He did mention it, which is why I’m surprised to see you. He really did want to reconcile that with you.” He rested his head back against the chair. “I still can’t believe he’s dead. We built this organization together.”
Right. She had to remember this guy was grieving his friend. Even if that friend was a sick son of a bitch. Isabelle cleared her throat and wondered just how much Seth knew about her. “It has to be overwhelming for you.”
“It’s a shock.”
“The day he came to my office he said if I changed my mind I should call him. I was curious and did an internet search on your foundation. The address was listed.”
Not a total lie. She did research the foundation’s name after Sampson had given it to her.
“I see,” Seth said.
“I hope that isn’t a problem.” She scooted to the edge of her seat, leaned over a little so he could see down her shirt. Men could be easily distracted. Once she had his attention she bolted upright. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry. This is your home and I just barged in.” She stood. “I’ll go. You don’t even know me.”
He jumped from his seat. “No, no. It’s all right. I do remember Kendrick saying he had invited you to visit. It makes sense now. Please. Don’t go.”
She glanced down at the chair she’d just vaulted out of. Don’t seem too anxious. “Well, maybe just for a few more minutes. Then I should go.”
“How long will you be staying in the area?”
“I’ll probably head to Chicago tomorrow morning. It is quite beautiful here though. I may take a day and do the farm tours in the area. Maybe do some picking. I don’t know.”
“The farms around here are wonderful. We take the children every now and again.”
“Children?” Isabelle asked trying hard not to throw up.
He thunked himself on the head. “That’s right. Kendrick mentioned he never got around to telling you what we do here.”
“No. We never got that far, but the articles I found said you helped the poor.”
“Yes.” He bobbed his head and his cheeks jiggled from the force. “If you have time, I’d be happy to tell you about it.”
Oh, I have plenty of time. You rat bastard. “I think I have a few minutes.”
“How the hell long has she been in there?” Peter knew it had been over an hour. Specifically, seventy-eight minutes.
He was going apeshit. Sweating like a damned sprinter and he wasn’t sure if it was the heat or aggravation.
They were still parked half a mile down the road with the hood up. A few cars had passed, but nobody offered to help. And what was up with that? Not that he wanted help, but didn’t people have common courtesy anymore?
With the condition of this car, it wouldn’t be a shock they’d broken down. The body of what was once a hell of a nice ride looked like it had been blasted with BB gun pellets. Dents and paint chips ran amok. The wheel wells were also rusted out and nearly cried from abuse.
And the front hood was white, which wouldn’t be bad if the rest of the car didn’t happen to be gray.
But hey, the car ran damn good.
He glanced at his watch again. All that thinking ate up another ninety seconds.
“You have got to chill, man,” Billy said, still sitting with his foot hanging out the open passenger side window. “She’ll come out when she comes out.”
“It’s so friggin’ hot,” Peter said, opening the door and stepping out. The temperature hovered around ninety-five even without the help of the sun, and the humidity left him drenched.
He leaned against the driver’s side door, folded his arms. Kicked some pebbles. Checked his phone.
Nothing.
“She’ll call when she calls,” Billy said.
“Yeah, thanks, Confucius.”
“Huh?”
Peter shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Whatever.”
He bent down and looked at Billy through the open window. “Didn’t I tell her to only stay an hour?”
“Gee, Dad, I don’t know. You threw me out because I was staring into Hooterville.”
Peter flipped him the bird. Asshole. His own fault for letting Billy see his weakness regarding Izzy. After three years of Billy’s smart-ass comments, he should have known better.
Take a walk. Get away from him.
Wandering down the road a bit, he made mental notes about car parts he would need to rebuild the piece of shit Camaro to its original luster. Anything to keep his mind off Izzy, dressed like a stripper, amping up the sex with Seth Donner. His head began to pound, the throb settling behind his eyes.
Tormented. That’s what he was.
And it was only day one.
He moved back toward the car, squatting down to examine the rear bumper.
“Hillary Hooters coming our way,” Billy shouted from the front seat.
Peter peeked around the bumper and spotted the white Audi cruising toward them.
Thank you.
He stood when she drove by and gave him an inconspicuous finger wave. Making himself useful, Billy fixed the engine, lowe
red the hood, and they both jumped back in the car.
“Hillary Hooters?” Peter asked doing a U-turn in the middle of the street. “What’s that about?”
Billy grinned. “Izzy’s alter ego.”
Peter coughed up a laugh. He couldn’t help it. The irony of Billy unknowingly giving Izzy another alter ego was too mortifying. Now he’d have to deal with all three of them. Hillary Hooters, Creepy Izzy and Fun Izzy.
He’d never survive.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Peter tossed his keys on the crappy motel dresser, went straight for the locked door separating the two rooms and tapped on it.
One minute later the door opened and Izzy stood in front of him wearing long cotton shorts and a crew neck T-shirt.
Praise God.
He wouldn’t be able to stand looking at her in the stripper getup.
“Well, hell,” Billy said from behind him. “Why’d you change? You are just no fun, Izzy.”
Peter spun on him. “You wanna get bounced again?”
Billy responded with a toothy pain-in-the-ass grin.
“Children,” Izzy said, “I’ve had a rough day and I’m not in the mood.”
Pushing past her into the room, Peter said, “What happened? You were in there way too long.”
She made a low growling sound. “Don’t hassle me.”
“Yeah,” Billy said.
Maybe Peter should have tempered his statement. Women didn’t understand man-speak for “I was worried about you.”
The hideous yellow-and-brown striped side chair beside the bed suddenly looked inviting and he dropped into it. This could get ugly. Butt ugly.
He bit down hard on his bottom lip, felt that nice little zing of pain and let out a huff. Billy had formed some twisted alliance with Izzy and now he’d have to battle both of them.
“Have a seat, Billy,” she said, waving him to the other disgusting chair.
Izzy boosted herself on top of the long dresser rather than sitting on the bed.
“Here’s the deal,” she said. “He invited me back tomorrow. I told him I wasn’t sure, that I wanted to sightsee. He gave me his cell number and told me to call him when I was done.”
“Why did he invite you back?” Peter asked.
A Just Deception Page 15