Lost in Deception

by Anita DeVito

  “I’m going to channel Marilyn,” she said.

  Katie dressed in an empire-waist dress from Carolina’s closet that settled in over her baby bump. The scoop neck showed off the amazing breasts the pregnancy hormones had loaned her while her arms and legs were still long and trim. It was topped off with a silk scarf in a muted floral pattern. “You should come with us. We’ll make it a girls’ day out.”

  “That would be fun, but I’m booked. I’m going to help Tom with his work today, you know, since he helped me yesterday.” Peach shimmied into a short dress from Katie’s closet. The green leafy pattern drew attention to the vivid green of her eyes. Fancy attire wasn’t required for working behind a computer, but she’d woken up feeling pretty. The dress matched her mood exactly.

  Katie snorted. “Sometimes I ‘help’ Butch with his music. Carolina, she’s always ‘helping’ Jeb with his work. Aren’t you?”

  Carolina sat on the chair in front of Peach. “We’re newlyweds. We’re supposed to ‘help’ each other.”

  She worked quickly on Carolina’s hair, pinning and spraying and twisting sections until she looked like she’d walked out of a magazine. Katie’s hair she left down but curled it so it was soft and as fun-filled as the woman. For her own hair, she pulled it into a long tail and then wrapped a section around the base. It looked fancier than it was and did the job of taming the unruly strands.

  “Where did you learn how to do all of this?” Katie asked as Peach worked the concealer over Carolina’s black eye. “Your mother?”

  “Oh God, no. My mother has been MIA most of my life. Poppy raised me.” She laughed a little. “The sight of lip gloss made him nervous. I wasn’t sure he would survive me getting my first bra. He had our neighbor, Mrs. Hernandez, take me.” She dabbed gently with her pinkie finger and then applied powder.

  “It’s disappearing,” Carolina said in amazement.

  “My roommate in Virginia always said dressing well was as much a woman’s weapon as a gun or a knife. She is a federal agent. She taught me how to use all my assets to my benefit. So you guys know I’m dying of curiosity…how did you get it?”

  Carolina sighed. “Katie started a bar fight. I slipped on spilled beer and hit my face on the back of a chair.”

  Peach’s gaze snapped to Katie’s belly. “You started a bar fight?”

  “This brainless numb nuts insulted me and Butch, talking about him ‘liking fatties.’ I calmly pointed out I was pregnant and that it was rude to talk about any woman like he did.”

  Carolina snorted as Peach read between the lines. “The women in the bar surrounded the man. Next thing you know, purses were flying and the police were hauling the man out.” She paused while Peach touched a pencil to her lips. “Things definitely got out of hand, and I got a black eye.”

  “If anyone asks,” Peach said, “and they will, don’t say the part about slipping. Stick to the bar fight. There. Perfect.” With the efficient hand that came with practice, Carolina and Katie were finished ten minutes before they had to leave. Peach spared the time for her own make up.

  “You have beautiful eyes,” Carolina said. “They look like spring leaves.”

  It was a nice compliment. One of the best she’d ever had. She added more mascara, then touched up her lips. “Thank you. You both look great. A fine job, if I say so myself.”

  They stood shoulder to shoulder, surveying the finished product in the long bathroom mirror.

  “Amazing,” Carolina said. Her baby blue eyes were haunting amid the dark shadow and long lashes.

  “You know who we look like,” Katie said, her eyes trimmed in an ocean of colors and her lips glistening in pink bubblegum.

  “Charlie’s Angels,” Peach said, her own eyes piercing from the dark trim and underscored by a deep red lip stain. She smiled. “That means I’m the smart one.” She left the room, a noisy debate hot on her tail.

  The computer program had finished an hour ago, producing a two-digit megabyte file that now needed the analysis of a human brain. Running simulations allowed Tom to induce flaws at different points in the crane structure to estimate which set of circumstances resulted in the outcome that most closely matched the actual. Wind was a factor. It decreased the lift capacity of the crane to the point that the weight of the steel frame would have been seventy-five to ninety percent of the limit, depending on the wind gust rate. He had isolated the area; now he needed to isolate the component. The catastrophic failure meant that the strength of at least one component of the crane had been exceeded.

  It shouldn’t have been the bolts. So many would have had to fail. He was confident he had zeroed in on the area of the failure. Structurally, the location didn’t make sense. It was too low. He remembered Hawthorne’s comment about the “melted paint.” Was there more to it than a surface blemish? He said he noticed it on two of the supports. Did that mean the other two were undamaged or that he didn’t look? He scrolled through the images he collected and the progress photos from Hawthorne’s computer. Photos had been taken nearly every day, but he had to sift through to find the ones with the area he wanted. Images of human ingenuity were displayed on the wall-mounted monitor.

  In his peripheral vision, his door opened. He was in no mood for small talk, plus he was knee deep in data that demanded his full attention. “Go away.”

  “Room service,” Peach called out.

  “Not now.” He hunched over his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard, demonstrating he was working. He didn’t want to see her. Didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to be left alone.

  “Rumor had it you skipped breakfast. That’s the most important meal of the day.” She set a platter on the empty corner of his desk.

  He scowled at the food, but his stomach rejoiced at the aroma. He glared harder, resenting that she knew he was hungry. “I…I’m busy.” He glanced at her and did a double take. “What are you wearing?”

  “Oh, this old thing?” She twirled, the skirt flaring out to show off long, toned legs.

  She crossed behind him and started working on his neck. “Wow. You are really tense. You were putty in my hands last night. What happened?”

  Panic squeezed his heart. Did she know Poppy had picked him out as the father of their children? Her children? Crap. She didn’t look like she had a clue…but she was wearing a dress that sent his body into overdrive. There was nothing innocent about that. Maybe she had planted the idea in Poppy’s head. She couldn’t tell him she wanted to stay so she tricked her grandfather into it. Oh, yeah, she played it well. If Poppy told him she was leaving, then he’d have to step in and stop her, making him the one who said stay. That made sense. She was using reverse psychology on him. Well, it wasn’t going to work. He was going to use double-reverse psychology.

  “Figuring things out?” she asked.

  “Oh, I think I’ve figured things out all right.” He pried her hands from his shoulders and pushed his chair back, forcing her to step away.

  “You’ll get farther with some fuel in that body of yours. I was worried I depleted it last night.”

  “I’m fine.” He wasn’t playing her game. When he played a game, he made the rules. No babies. Simple rule. Then he choked on his own spit. He hadn’t used a condom. He’d believed her that she had them protected but what if…

  “You need food to—”

  “I don’t need anything.” He jumped to his feet, turning to glare at her. “I don’t need a massage. I don’t need breakfast, and I don’t need you.”

  She stepped back, an eyebrow raised. “You think you don’t need anything?”

  “That’s right.” He said it cruelly. It took every bit of testosterone in his body to withstand the onslaught of those radiant eyes. But he did it. He stared her down, daring her to contradict him.

  “You’re wrong.” She picked up the breakfast, smashed it into his chest, and let the mess fall to the floor. She knocked over everything possible on her way to the door. In the doorway, she turned back. “I don’t know w
hat the hell just happened here, but you better get over it. Asshole.” Door slam.

  Get over it. Right. He kicked the platter, sending it into a steel base where it shattered into a million pieces.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Friday, April 14 ten-thirty a.m.

  Peach stalked into the courtyard, her rigid arms ending in tight fists. A litany of curse words fell off her tongue, all perfectly describing the self-absorbed idiot. To think she worried that he was hungry. An extreme exercise in misjudgment on her part to give the bastard the number of orgasms she had. She didn’t want to be locked inside his stupid laboratory. Not when she could be out in a world that appreciated her. Ahead, Katie tugged Carolina across the courtyard. Peach swept her arm around Carolina and ushered her into the garage. “I’m driving. We need to take this,” Peach said, stopping by a vintage GTO. “This is the car for angels.” She was going to have a good day, she decided, no matter what she had to do.

  A scant three hours later, three glasses of clear liquid—two Grey Goose, one water—were raised in a toast. “To Carolina Walker, the interview diva!” Katie’s voice rang out loud and proud, filling the empty space of Steel Strings. Donny, the owner and now Butch and Katie’s partner, worked behind the bar, drying off freshly washed glasses, as he watched over the one man sitting at the bar. It was only in this bar, with the oversize pictures of Butch McCormick on the wall, that Peach put it all together.

  “Oh my God,” Carolina said as she set the empty glass down. “I did it. I really did it. And I was good. Wasn’t I good?”

  “You kicked ass,” Peach said then threw down her vodka.

  “Can’t wait to hear it,” Donny said. “Where can I get one of your books?” A bell dinged. Donny collected three plates of barbecue and set them with sets of real silverware.

  Carolina beamed at the weathered bar man as she accepted the plate. “I’ll bring you one. Signed by author. This looks delicious.”

  Peach slammed her glass to the table. “Did you see that producer’s eyes when you said you’d been in a bar fight? That was respect.”

  “That was awesome.” Carolina’s blue eyes danced with joy. “I’ve never been a badass before.”

  Katie leaned over her belly and gave her sister-of-the-heart a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “Ignore the crying. It’s just hormones. That and I haven’t had sex for two months.”

  “Yikes.” It escaped before Peach realized the thought was out loud. “That’s a long time. You know you don’t have to wait for a man to make the move. You can make it. I’m surprised that you haven’t already.”

  More tears fell. Bigger ones. “If he finds me disgusting—”

  Carolina squeezed Katie’s hand. “He doesn’t think you’re disgusting. Your husband is a good man, and he’s going to be a great father. But right now, he’s over educated. Over informed. There’s only one cure for that.”

  “Screw his brains out,” Peach said, straight a pin, sharp as tack. “It’s the only known cure. You have to fuck him stupid.”

  Katie bit her non-existent fingernails and measured the serious look of the two women. A fiendish little grin grew on her face. “He’s my husband. It’s my duty to take one for the team.”

  “Ladies,” said a deep bass that was as rich and low as a lion growl.

  Peach lifted her gaze to the man moseying from the bar. She had never appreciated the nuance of the word until this man. He was six-foot-five with a chiseled jaw that still wore yesterday’s shadow. His light brown eyes shined from under a weathered, tan cowboy hat, and his Levis were painted on.

  By Michel-freaking-angelo.

  Carolina cleared her throat. “Can we help you?”

  He took off his hat. “I’d like to buy y’all a drink, maybe sit a while. Ya see, I’m a man who appreciates beauty in this world. And since I walked in that door, I have not been able to take my eyes off your table.” The man looked at Katie.

  Carolina smiled. “We really appreciate the offer, mister…?”

  “Solomon Davis. Friends call me Sol.”

  “Well, Sol, we do appreciate the offer, but we’re married, and well, I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate your wife keeping company with another man.”

  Sol bowed slightly, his eyes on Katie again. “Of course. Say no more. But you will accept a drink on me?”

  Carolina looked at Katie and then at Peach, who answered. “We will. Thank you.”

  Sol put the hat back on his head and walked with a swagger back to the bar, where he paid Donny for the order. He tipped his hat as he kept swaggering right out the door.

  Katie picked up her napkin and started fanning herself. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but that was hot.”

  Peach picked up another napkin and fanned the both of them. “How is there a wrong way to take that? It was hot. He was hot. And I’m single. He could have kept me company.”

  Katie and Carolina exchanged glances. “Everyone knows it’s you and Tom, and by everyone…we’re including the fire department,” Katie said.

  Carolina covered Peach’s hand. “You don’t really think it’s a secret? Do you think you’ll get married in the courtyard? We rented the big vases, but we can buy them if you like them. They’ll give us a good price.”

  Sound was sucked out of the room like water down the drain. Carolina’s lips were moving, but all Peach heard was static noise. Her brain was on the fritz. She slapped her palm to her temple when Katie grinned and nodded like a bobble-head. Were they planning her wedding? This was Tennessee; maybe they did things different here. Crap. What if they had a shotgun wedding? Well, if Katie was holding the gun, she’d have a chance of escape. With her luck, it’d be dead-eye Carolina.

  This confirmed it. She’d hung around too long. It was Tom’s fault. If he wasn’t so good in bed, she’d have been gone. Hell, she never would have come. Come. Yeah, he made sure she did that.

  A woman approached the table. She was as tall as Carolina with a wild, matted mass of orangy hair that was not a color found in nature. She had the blue eyes, full, pouty lips, and a pair of torpedoes stuffed into her bra that could bring down a submarine. All in all, she had a package that got noticed.

  Katie’s hand wrapped around the fork until her knuckles were white. Peach laid a hand over it and demanded her hearing work again. With a whoosh, sound was restored.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Kate McCormick. Killed anyone lately? Oh, wait. Your husband is out of ex-wives.” Stacked red heels detailed with Swarovski Crystals tapped an open toe on the scarred oak floor.

  Katie lifted her head and bore her teeth. “Abbey McNeil. I would have thought the daylight would have kept you in the sewers. What made you crawl out this time of day?”

  A cold, sinister grin grew across Abbey’s face and was quickly wiped away, replaced with a wry, quirky smile. “Just checking out what the wanna-be-cool kids do for fun.”

  “Bullshit. You know Butch and I bought in to this place.”

  Peach put McNeil in late-twenties and dressed like she cashed over a hundred grand a year. Peach wondered if she was doing it on her mother’s or her sugar daddy’s credit card.

  “Oh,” McNeil cooed. “Is this the place? I had heard something about that.” She looked around, appraising the bar. “This place is very…you.”

  Donny came out from behind the bar. “You’re not welcome here. Leave or I’ll call the police.” He wore a curled smile that said he hoped she didn’t go quietly.

  “I make and break people in his town. I’m not someone you want as an enemy.”

  “I made this town before you existed.” He picked up the phone. “I’m not someone you want as an enemy.”

  She spat threats left and right as she backed herself out the door.

  “I’m sorry about that, Donny,” Katie said resignedly.

  “Never have liked reporters,” Donny said, winking at Katie. “Too damn nosey.”

  “Okay,” Peach said, using he
r hands to call time out. “What the hell was that all about?”

  Carolina patted Katie’s hand. “Abbey McNeil is a reporter for a local tabloid, The News and Views. The news is thin and shady. The views are warped and tasteless. She seems to be of the opinion that if Butch McCormick is going to be with a blue-eyed redhead, it should be her.”

  Peach came to her feet, her palms flat against the table. “You just let her get away with treating you like that?”

  “Butch doesn’t want a scene made.” Katie said it like she was fighting to keep a pit bull leashed.

  Decision time. Let it ride or take a drive.

  Tom defiantly stayed bent over his computer, refusing to acknowledge the mess on his spit-shined floor. He was making progress with the photos, with the simulations. He induced the failure in the program where it knew it should happen. The tower still fell toward the job site. In fact, if his calculations were correct, it would have landed across the trailers where the offices were. Reluctantly, he loaded the video. He wasn’t fast enough, and her voice rang out. Happy and full of life. Very different than it had been with her parting words. Asshole.

  “Clyde, you got woman troubles.”

  He jumped. He hadn’t heard Jeb enter. “What do you know?”

  He grinned. “I know that you got egg on your shirt, egg on your floor, and despite the night I know you had, egg on your face.”

  He dropped a heavy fist on the desk. “Did you want something, or are you just here to annoy me?”

  “Annoying you is gravy. Made some calls like you asked. Boys will be here around seven-thirty to take your money.”

  He forgot he’d asked them to set up a poker game. He had thought Peach might enjoy playing. That was before he and Poppy talked. She could play, didn’t mean he had to. “Wait. Here? I thought it was Doc’s turn?”

  “It is,” Jeb said, making himself comfortable in a guest chair. “But Doc’s wife’s quilting bee is at his house tonight. Oil and water, being what they are, I agreed playing here was a better idea. Timmy and Jimmy were visiting when I called, so they’re coming too.”