Secrets and Lies (Crimson Romance)

by Lacy, Shay

  Where he came up with the whopper that Juliana was pregnant with their first child she didn’t know, but it allowed most of the women to cluck over her and give her advice. She barely had to say a word.

  After several of these conversations, she began to daydream about what it would be like to have a child. Charlie’s child. Dark-haired, with her dark eyes. His son would be a heartbreaker . . . like him.

  A slender blonde woman in a mint green silk dress made her way through the room. “If everyone would move into the back yard and find a seat, we’ll begin the wedding.”

  The couples Juliana and Charlie had been talking to headed toward the foyer. Charlie held her back from following, instead grabbing a glass of champagne. He watched the hallway nearest them with feigned indifference. After a few minutes a couple headed that way and Charlie followed them.

  The sculpture pulled like it was tied to her with a rope. Charlie held her to a slow pace, his arm around her waist. He had to feel her body trembling.

  When they reached a doorway on her left, she gasped.

  “Breathe, Camille.”

  She clutched his arm. “In here.”

  “As I suspected,” he whispered. Louder, he said, “Here, hold onto me.”

  Juliana heard more people in the hall behind them. Frustration gripped her. The sculpture was right in front of them but they couldn’t get to it.

  Charlie pulled her forward. The couple in front of them was already out of sight, but he seemed to know the way. Of course, he’d been here last night.

  They entered a large indoor patio. The furniture all faced the green lawn where a large white tent stood, the blue ocean providing a gorgeous backdrop. Guests filled hundreds of white chairs. White-haired women were taking seats indoors.

  “Perhaps you should stay out of the sun if you’re feeling faint,” Charlie suggested aloud. “You wouldn’t want to cause a stir during the ceremony.”

  Several women looked their way. “She’s pregnant,” Charlie told them, his face glowing. The women gave her knowing smiles.

  Why was he drawing attention to them? How were they going to slip away unnoticed?

  The music began, and the crowd inside quieted. Everyone focused behind the chairs. The bride appeared wearing a gorgeous white silk gown, and there were exclamations of appreciation from the crowd.

  Charlie leaned toward her. “You’re going to feel sick. Frown and clutch your stomach.”

  She nodded, doing as she was told. He pulled her from her chair, and they headed toward the door. When they were in the hallway, Charlie said aloud, “I know we passed a bathroom. Hold on.”

  Juliana followed him to the left. But as they neared the kitchen, she could hear people talking. It had to be the caterers. Charlie flattened against the wall and peered around the doorway. He held his hand up to wait, then signaled her to move toward the hall on her right. She walked on her toes to limit her high-heeled sandals from clicking on the floor.

  When they reached the room with the sculpture, she felt nearly faint with relief. Charlie let her pass him. She went to the large mahogany desk and her hand reached out to touch the bottom drawer. “In here.”

  Charlie produced lock picks and got the drawer open. Moments later he opened the door of the safe. Inside was an object wrapped in cloth. She reached past Charlie to touch it. Her hand tingled.

  “Yes,” she sighed.

  He unwrapped the object. It was smaller than she’d expected, about the size of a paperback book. The carving was very detailed. He placed it in her hands while he returned the cloth, locked the safe and the drawer.

  The sculpture’s violent history swamped her, and she swayed beneath the onslaught. She shoved the information to the back of her mind, where it was like a dull buzzing. She couldn’t afford to be distracted now. They had to hide it. She should have brought a bigger purse.

  Charlie tugged his shirt from his pants and the action drew her attention. What was he doing? He’d pushed the door nearly closed. Was he planning to have sex now? Here?

  He produced a small roll of black electrical tape from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Tape it to my chest.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the safest way to get it out of here. Hurry.”

  He held the sculpture in place while she circled him, taping it to his chest. The black tape made almost no noise when she pulled it from the roll.

  “Several more times,” he ordered.

  Juliana did as instructed with shaking hands. Any moment she expected the door to fly open and Montgomery’s men to rush in with guns drawn.

  “Enough?” she whispered.

  Charlie tested it. “Yeah.” He tucked his shirt back in and stuck the tape back in his pocket.

  “Now we leave. You’re ill, remember?”

  “Yes.” She felt ill. They had to get away.

  Charlie opened the office door and looked out. Then he wrapped his arm around Juliana. She laid her head against his chest as they walked toward the living room.

  Juliana didn’t remember the hall being this long, the living room so wide, or the foyer so deep. Then they were outside. The hot sun beating down on her couldn’t warm the cold pit of fear inside her. It seemed to take forever to reach the gate, yet all at once it loomed in front of her.

  “My wife is feeling ill. I’m sorry to leave so soon,” Charlie told the guard.

  Juliana murmured, “Honey, please.”

  “Hold on. You can lie down in the car.”

  Then they were on the street. Her nerves screamed at her to run. Her back felt hot, like it was branded with a target.

  The walk took forever. Any minute she expected a shout from Montgomery’s guards. Her body trembled against Charlie’s.

  “Hold on,” he reassured her.

  At last they reached the car. “Stay in character,” Charlie warned her, “in case they’re watching.”

  She allowed him to help her into the car and recline her seat. Sweat beaded on her forehead and at the back of her neck. He started the car and pulled out of their parking spot. The car accelerated. Juliana held her breath. Were they going to get away?

  “No pursuit, but stay down.” He sounded calm but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

  When they’d gone several miles, he flexed his fingers. “You can sit up now.”

  Juliana raised the seat and let the air conditioning blow full force on her. “God, that was nerve-wracking. I feel drained.”

  Charlie flashed her a smile. “But I bet you never felt more alive.”

  “True.” Since he’d walked back into her life.

  “I’m going to drop you at your apartment, get my car, and then I’m going straight to the airport.”

  Disappointment swamped her. “Won’t they be looking for you there?”

  “With security nowadays, they won’t be able to bring guns into the airport. And they won’t know what airline I’m using. I’ll change my appearance.”

  She wanted to beg him to wait a few days but knew her motives were selfish; she hadn’t had enough of Charlie Ziffkin. She feared she never would.

  Too soon they entered her apartment’s parking lot. These were their last moments together, and all of them would be public ones. No making love for the final time. She gulped back tears. She’d known all along this moment was coming. She’d been a fool to give Charlie her heart again.

  Juliana caught her breath. Had she lost her heart to him? She’d thought they were having an affair. No, he’d always had her heart. She’d given it to him when she was thirteen, long before she’d offered him her body, and she’d never taken it back. She was such a fool. She loved him.

  Charlie pulled into her parking spot. “We made it.”

  “Yeah.” Juliana climbed out and watched as he opened her trunk. He grabbed his luggage. Charlie traveled light, mostly clothes to slip into his different personas.

  Juliana knew her heart was in her eyes. She felt the stupid tears and tried to will them aw
ay. Charlie hadn’t asked for her heart. He hadn’t asked for more than to share her body, and she’d given that willingly.

  He looked up from his bags and froze. “Jules. Juliana. Don’t.” He dropped his bags.

  Juliana stepped into his opening arms. His mouth descended to hers.

  “Freeze! Miami P.D.!”

  CHAPTER 14

  Charlie’s arms closed around Juliana as two plainclothes cops with guns surrounded them. His mind raced. These had to be Juliana’s narcs. They wanted the sculpture. Her betrayal had found him at last.

  “Let go of the woman,” one barked.

  Charlie gripped her harder, the sculpture pressed into both their bodies, a reminder of what was at stake.

  “I’ve committed no crime,” Charlie said.

  “Charlie,” Juliana begged.

  “Say nothing.”

  “Shut up, Ziffkin. I said let her go,” the dark-haired Latino cop ordered.

  “You’re not going to risk Captain Sanchez’s daughter,” Charlie said.

  “Charlie.” Juliana squirmed. It should have been erotic, but with the sculpture grinding into his chest, it wasn’t. “Detective Montoya, stop this nonsense.”

  So it was Juliana’s narcs.

  “We want the relic. It’s too important to leave in this amateur’s hands,” Montoya responded.

  “I don’t have any relic, and I don’t have anything that belongs to the Miami P.D.,” Charlie said. “You’re making a mistake pointing guns at an innocent civilian.”

  “This is no mistake. Juliana, move away from him,” Montoya ordered.

  “Don’t move,” Charlie pleaded. He saw the torn loyalty in her face. Could she break a lifetime’s conditioning of being a policeman’s daughter?

  Her look of anguish crushed that hope. She jerked against his wounded arm. Charlie grunted in pain, his arm contracted toward his chest, and she slid from his grasp.

  Instantly the two cops were on him, spinning him against the car. One of them jammed a gun into his neck.

  “I said freeze, dirt bag!” Montoya snarled.

  “Detective Montoya, there’s no reason to use force,” Juliana protested.

  The other cop jerked Charlie’s arms up behind his back. Fresh pain stabbed through his wounds, but he gritted his teeth to prevent a groan.

  “You’re under arrest,” the second cop said.

  Juliana gasped. “For what?”

  “Obstruction of justice.” Detective Montoya kept pressure on the gun at Charlie’s neck.

  His partner snapped handcuffs on Charlie’s wrists.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she exclaimed. “Detective Montoya, put that gun away.” There was steel in her voice. Amazingly, Montoya listened.

  The other cop emptied Charlie’s jacket pockets, but when he tried to frisk him, Juliana slid between the two men, pressing against Charlie’s body.

  “Detective Hunt, that’s completely unnecessary. I swear to you on my mother’s grave he’s not armed.”

  “Juliana, get out of the way,” Montoya growled.

  “No. I told you the truth. He’s not armed.”

  Hunt managed to search around Juliana, but couldn’t reach the middle of Charlie’s chest where the statue was taped. Charlie grinned bitterly. Small mercies.

  Hunt told his partner, “I got lock picks, a roll of tape, a wallet, and a set of keys.”

  Then he pulled Juliana off Charlie and spun him around. Charlie stared at Juliana.

  Montoya kept his gun trained on Charlie. “Check the bags.”

  Hunt crouched and searched the bags. “Nothing. I’ll check the car.”

  Charlie kept his gaze on Juliana, willing her not to say anything. She gripped her hands together as she watched the detectives. Her color was high. She’d already done more to protect him than he’d thought she would.

  Detective Hunt returned looking angry. “Not there either. Maybe they didn’t get it.”

  “They got it,” Montoya snarled. “Where is it, Juliana?”

  “Jules,” Charlie begged.

  Her brown eyes softened. Her lips parted. Without looking away from Charlie, she said, “I can’t tell you.”

  “Juliana,” Montoya snapped. “He can’t hurt you. Tell us where it is.”

  “I’m not worried about Charlie hurting me. He’s not a threat to anyone. There’s no reason to handcuff him and hold him at gunpoint.”

  “Juliana, you’re a cop’s daughter. You know how important this evidence is to us. Cops are dying.”

  Anguish twisted Juliana’s face. Charlie braced himself for her familial loyalties to snap into place. Her eyes pleaded with him. He would do anything for her . . . anything but this. He gave a small shake of his head.

  She crossed her arms across her chest. “I plead the fifth.”

  Charlie sagged with relief. She hadn’t betrayed him . . . again.

  “You’re coming to the precinct with us.” Montoya’s voice was a growl of anger. “And I’m putting a call into your father, Juliana.”

  Several emotions chased across her face—shock, fear, and then mulish determination. “Fine.”

  The cops closed her trunk, grabbed Charlie’s bags, and loaded him and Juliana into the back seat of their nondescript sedan.

  “Charlie, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t talk to him, Juliana,” Montoya ordered.

  Her chin lifted. “Are you all right?” she asked in a louder voice.

  “Yeah. Arrested twice in one week. Miami cops sure know how to show a guy a good time.”

  “Twice?” Detective Hunt asked, craning around the seat back.

  Charlie ignored him. He didn’t have long to win Juliana’s support. He needed her help to escape this trap. She’d been raised with the moral right of law enforcement. He’d use that against the two detectives. “It’s strange, don’t you think, Jules, that I’ve been arrested more times than Montgomery.”

  “Stop it,” she chided. “Hunt and Montoya aren’t the bad guys.”

  “I’m not either. But they’re sure treating me like I am. False arrest isn’t a charge to be taken lightly.”

  “Neither is obstructing justice,” Montoya said from the driver’s seat. “Now shut up.”

  “You think he’s feeling guilty about something?” Charlie’s arm throbbed from the pressure of his cuffed hands behind him. “He crossed a line, Jules, you know that. Are you going to condone his behavior?”

  “Shut up,” Montoya repeated.

  “Did your papá ever cross the line like that, Juliana? Sergeant Sanchez was all about right and wrong, wasn’t he?”

  “Charlie . . . ”

  “He wanted to whup me himself that day he caught us, but he let my dad do it because that was the right thing to do.”

  Juliana’s eyes widened with surprise. “Your dad beat you?”

  “Hell, yes. I didn’t touch another girl till senior year.”

  Her face softened. “I didn’t know that.”

  “How could you, when you moved so far away?”

  “It wasn’t my choice.”

  “You know why I moved to California?” he asked her.

  “To be an actor.”

  “Uh-uh. ’Cause you weren’t there anymore.”

  Her eyes were huge with uncertainty and pain. “Don’t play,” she whispered. Her face was inches from his.

  “I’m not,” he whispered back. “It hurt too much to look at your house and know you didn’t live there anymore.”

  She leaned her head against his chest, and he nuzzled her hair. He caught Detective Hunt’s wide-eyed look. Take that, copper.

  The detectives installed him in an interrogation room, one with a two-way mirror, separating him from Juliana. After telling them he wouldn’t say anything unless she was returned to him, he sat in the straight chair and endured an hour of badgering. But he said nothing.

  Every minute they kept him here made it more dangerous for him to go to the airport, but he didn’t let that sh
ow on his face. And every minute Juliana was separated from him was time for them to break her. He thought her father might be able to obtain the truth. Her family loyalty was strong.

  There was a knock on the door. Charlie tensed. His heart raced. Had they broken her?

  Montoya opened the door. “Thanks for coming.” He moved aside.

  “In trouble again, bro?” Rick asked.

  Oh, shit.

  • • •

  Juliana faced her father across the scratched metal table in the interrogation room. She’d risen when he entered to face him on equal footing, literally and figuratively.

  “Detective Montoya says you’re withholding evidence,” he accused.

  “It’s not evidence.”

  “Don’t play word games with me, m’hija. This is police business. You tell them what they need to know.”

  Juliana crossed her arms across her chest. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t? Because you’re sleeping with Charlie Ziffkin?”

  “No! Yes. No.”

  “Which is it?” he demanded.

  “What I do with Charlie in the privacy of my home is no one’s business, including yours.”

  He waved that away with a big hand. “This isn’t about him.”

  “Isn’t it? You’re angry not only because I have a lover but because it’s Charlie.”

  “This is about evidence.”

  “Right. That’s why they sent for my father. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  “These are adult charges we’re talking about.”

  “Nobody’s charged me with anything. Because I’m not guilty of anything. And neither is Charlie. Talk about trumped-up charges.”

  “You listen to me, m’hija—”

  “No, you listen to me, Captain Sanchez. Charlie’s got a right to sue Miami P.D. for unlawful arrest, and if he does, I’ll testify, truthfully, that Miami P.D. was wrong. Dead wrong. How will that look for a captain’s daughter to be a star witness for the prosecution?”