Trick Me, Treat Me

by Leslie Kelly

  Jared couldn’t deny it and didn’t even try.

  “Then seriously, man, don’t tell her.” Before Jared could reply, Mick held up his hand. “Hear me out. I’ve known Gwen longer than you. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen her. She’s loving this. Why not let her enjoy it a little longer? Long enough that when she finds out the truth, she, uh…”

  “She what?”

  Mick glanced away. “She won’t walk away, thinking you’re just a typical, run-of-the-mill slob like the rest of us.”

  Jared smirked. “Speak for yourself.”

  “Look, she likes Special Agent Miles Stone. Give her the fantasy a while longer. Later, when she cares more, it won’t matter that you’re really just a boring writer.”

  Just a boring writer. This from the guy who’d once made his living selling double-wides out at the trailer park by the interstate. “Excuse me if I’m not bowing at your feet as you dispense your great wisdom when it comes to women. If I’m not mistaken, aren’t you the guy who had to hide out in my dorm room for a week during college because three girls you were dating found out about each other and came after you? Armed?”

  “College days. I never have to hide from women now.”

  “They’re probably hiding from you,” Jared muttered.

  “Gwen always has.”

  That made him pause. He gave his cousin an inquiring look.

  “I made a move or two.” When Jared’s frown deepened, his cousin continued. “Never got anywhere. Nobody who’s tried ever got a smile half as bright as the one she’s been wearing since yesterday.” Before Jared could respond, Mick added, “Yours has been absent lately, too, by the way. Until this weekend. So maybe you shouldn’t screw this up by coming clean…at least not yet.”

  No way. There was no way in hell he could continue this charade. Jared hated dishonesty. Truly loathed it. Interacting with criminals both in the FBI and in his writing had given him a hearty distaste for all liars. Damned if he’d allow himself to become one. He’d tell Gwen the truth as soon as he saw her.

  “Jared, look,” Mick continued, obviously seeing by his expression what he intended to do. “Gwen wants the excitement of Miles Stone. She wants to walk on the wild side, live on the edge. Sure, you’re a hell of a guy, but if she finds out you’re some reclusive book nut who’s fascinated by blood spatter and entry wounds, the interest might fade away pretty fast.”

  He didn’t even want to listen to his cousin, didn’t want to consider that he might be right. He and Gwen had shared too much in their short acquaintance for it to be about nothing but thrills. She’d known the real man, even before he’d remembered who that man was. Finding out he had a different job wasn’t going to drive the woman away. He was sure of it.

  Standing, he ran a hand through his hair. “I need a shower. And I need some other clothes. Get my suitcase out of my trunk, will you? The keys are in the visor.” He winced, realizing he had, indeed, taken his own damn car on a joyride the night before.

  “No problem.” Mick was obviously eager to make up for being such a louse. “I have your wallet in my room. I’ll bring it, too.” He grinned. “Want me to bring my special shoe phone so you can check in with the Chief and Agent 99 back at headquarters?”

  “Screw you and the horse you rode in on, pal,” Jared said as he ushered his cousin out the door into the hall.

  Mick walked away, but before Jared could shut the door behind him, he noticed Gwen’s aunt standing across the hall. She looked curious, obviously having overheard Jared and Mick.

  She gave Jared a visual inspection, then winked in appreciation. “You’re looking better, Mr. Secret Agent.” The old woman’s stare grew knowing. Before he could say a word, she continued. “You have your memory back, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Feeling pretty silly right about now, I’d presume.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Mr. Winchester, if I’d been running around thinking I was a spy, climbing up buildings, breaking into rooms and stumbling into the beds of innocent innkeepers by mistake, I’d probably be rather embarrassed.”

  He froze, completely stunned. Here was another person in this crazy house who knew who he was and yet let him make a total fool of himself? Even worse, she knew a lot about what had been going on. “How long have you known?”

  “Didn’t recognize you at first. Then yesterday, Moe told me he thought you looked like the fella on the back of one of the books Sam lent me. Pulled it out, there you were.”

  “Sam?”

  “Your grandpa. He and I, well, we keep company.”

  His grandfather? And Hildy? “You…keep company?”

  She winked and gave a little cackle. “We get together once or twice a week for a can of soup and some slap and tickle.”

  Yikes. He scrunched his eyes shut and pictured crime scene photos, trying to kill the visual image her words inspired. Then he thought about what else she’d said. “Grandfather gave you one of my books? I didn’t think he acknowledged I’d written them.”

  She blew out an impatient puff of air. “Silly man. He’s proud as a peacock of you. Just too stubborn to admit it.” She turned to walk away. “I have to go up to the attic for something.” Before she left, she gave Jared a speculative look. “Moe tells me you and Gwen had fun up there yesterday. And he said the two of you forgot something.” She crinkled her brow. “Something silky and blue. Wonder what that could be.” Appearing unconcerned, Hildy gave him a little wave, then walked away.

  Jared remembered Gwen’s torn underwear less than ten seconds later. Groaning, he yanked on his jeans and shirt and hurried after Hildy, hoping her eyesight wasn’t as sharp as her wit.

  One good thing—at least this time he’d be going into the attic via stairs and a door, not a tree and a closet.

  MILES HAD BEEN MISSING for hours, and Gwen was growing desperate. “Where are you?” she whispered as she stood in his room, having come back here after searching the house yet again.

  She’d come up to bring him breakfast at nine and found his room empty. His clothes had disappeared, but his shoes were still on the floor and the bed was a rumpled mess.

  This didn’t look good.

  “Somebody’s got him.” The suspect must have figured out who Miles was and taken him somewhere. Probably at gunpoint.

  She had to do something. She would have gone to Mick for help, but she’d seen him leave with Dr. Wilson an hour ago and they hadn’t returned. So it was up to her.

  Taking a deep breath, she quietly made her way upstairs to the third floor. The elderly counterfeiters had checked out this morning, paying with a credit card that had been approved, thank goodness. Gwen passed the open door to that room and made her way to Capone’s Hideaway, the suite where the arms dealer was staying. She listened outside the room for a minute, then knocked lightly. No answer. Praying the man wasn’t wide-awake, just ignoring the knock, she opened the door and entered the room.

  “Damn.” It was empty. She didn’t know whether to be relieved she hadn’t come face-to-face with the suspect, or disappointed that she couldn’t order him to take her to Miles.

  Hoping she might find a clue to Agent Stone’s whereabouts, she decided to conduct a quick search. She hadn’t gotten past the dresser when she heard someone enter.

  “What is the meaning of this?” someone asked in a foreign-sounding accent.

  Busted! She twirled around, eyes wide, knowing she was no match for this older guy, whether he was armed or not. He had at least fifty pounds on her, and stood between Gwen and the exit.

  Stupid. She should have thought to bring Miles’s tiny silver gun, or at least have checked to see if it was still in his jacket pocket. But no, she’d been the blond bimbo in the horror flick going up the stairs toward the danger in the attic. Gwen had never been more disgusted with herself.

  She thought fast, quickly arriving at a possible way out. She had one shot at this, one chance at both getting away from this guy and f
inding out where he’d stashed Miles.

  “I’m Miss Jones,” she whispered. Well, that sounded pretty pathetic. She took another deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. “I’ve been waiting for my chance to meet with you.”

  Tossing his hat on to the bed, the elderly gentleman tilted his head in confusion. “I thought your name was Miss Compton.”

  Clearing her throat for courage, Gwen stepped closer. “That’s what everyone thinks. But I’m really…um, you know, Miss Jones.” Reaching her hand up as if to toy with her necklace, Gwen quickly gave herself a sharp pinch above her collarbone. She bit back a wince, then tugged her sweater to the side to show him the reddened spot, hoping he’d mistake it for a birthmark. “See?”

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Jones?” He stared at her as if she had two heads. “Is there someone I could call for you?”

  If Gwen didn’t know better, she’d swear he had no idea what she was talking about. But she did know better. “It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend. We both know why we’re here.”

  He merely quirked a brow, looking confused, but now also a bit intrigued. “We do?”

  “Yes. So let’s talk business. I want to buy a…a…gun.”

  His jaw dropped.

  A gun? Twit! Arms dealers sell guns in bulk!

  “I mean, a bunch of guns,” she quickly clarified. “A whole boatload of them. Highest quality. Um, you know, bazookas, that kind of thing. The best you’ve got. Money’s no object. But you, uh, you know, before we make a deal, you should tell me what you did with the guy who’s been tailing us.” She shrugged, trying to look as if she didn’t really care, one way or the other. “Strictly as a sign of faith.”

  The man looked stunned, but before he could say a word, they were both startled by a banging coming from the corner. Gwen swung around to see Miles, followed by her Aunt Hildy, emerging from inside the closet.

  “Gwen, don’t!”

  “Miles?” She rushed to him, noting the dust on his clothes and his bare feet. “He locked you in the attic?”

  “Would someone care to tell me what’s going on here?” the indignant-looking gentleman said. “Should I call the police or the madhouse?”

  “Neither!” Miles and Hildy said at the same time.

  “Gwen, he’s not who you think he is,” Miles said.

  Aunt Hildy began to laugh. She lifted her quivering fingers to her lips and her eyes twinkled in merriment. “Oh, my goodness, Gwen. You told him you were the mafia buyer? When Moe told me that, I laughed so hard I was afraid I’d finally have a need for those old lady diapers.”

  Gwen barely spared Hildy a glance. “Miles, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

  “Who, exactly, did she think I was?” the older gentleman mused to no one in particular.

  “Oh, this is rich,” Hildy said with a snorty chuckle. “She thought you were an international criminal. An arms dealer.”

  The man’s eyes grew wider.

  “It gets better. She was impersonating your customer to try to help him.” She jerked her thumb toward Miles. Then she snorted another laugh. “The secret agent.”

  The man sat down on the edge of his bed, looking dazed.

  Gwen began to feel a fluttering of unease in her stomach. The way Hildy was talking, some major confusion had been going on around here. And she still hadn’t figured out why her aunt and Miles had been in the attic. “What’s going on, Miles?”

  He shook his head, as if he didn’t know what to say, or where to begin. Finally, he spoke, addressing the man on the bed. “I am so sorry you were dragged into this, sir. I had an accident Friday night, got hit on the head and ended up with short-term amnesia. For a variety of reasons, which I won’t go into now, I became convinced I was a…” He looked away, his face growing flushed. “A, uh…secret agent in search of an arms dealer.”

  The man gave a tiny smile, pointing to his own chest. “Me?”

  Miles nodded.

  “I, Ricardo Tavares, an arms dealer? How utterly delightful.” He chuckled. “Was I a dangerous sort of fellow?”

  “Deadly.”

  “Even better. And the lady?”

  “She thought she was helping. She was posing as a buyer.”

  “Ahh.” The man’s lips twitched. “A bazooka, indeed.”

  “He’s not him?” Gwen asked, feeling like a complete idiot for confronting one of her own guests in his room. At least Mr. Tavares appeared to be taking the whole thing well.

  Then she started really paying attention to what Miles had said. He’d thought he was a secret agent?

  “I woke up this morning and remembered the truth.” Miles turned to face Gwen, giving her a look so full of regret and tenderness, she almost didn’t hear what he said next. God, she hadn’t even begun to realize how much this man meant to her until she’d feared something terrible had happened to him.

  She never wanted to feel that way again. Never.

  “Why didn’t you come tell me you had your memory back?” She wanted both to punch him and hug him tight enough to break. “Instead you just disappeared. You scared me half to death!”

  He shook his head with regret. “I’m so sorry. Hildy and I got caught up with what we were doing.” Before she could ask him exactly what that had been, he continued. His words made her forget everything else. “I’m not Miles Stone, honey. I’m not a secret agent. There’s no mission, no suspect, no Miss Jones.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as she struggled to suck air into her mouth. “None of it was true?” she asked in a thin whisper.

  “No,” he admitted. “I got an invitation to a Halloween murder weekend held in this place last year. Somehow the mail got messed up. I’ve been out of the country, and it was waiting for me when I got home. I thought it was for this weekend, so I came in character.”

  Still stunned, she mumbled, “Mick’s party. He told us about it right after we moved to town.”

  “Right. I was supposed to be coming as a secret agent. I thought, when we met in the kitchen, I assumed you…”

  Everything began to make sense. “You thought I was a guest at the party, too.”

  “Exactly.”

  Good lord. He’d been playacting, thinking she was doing the same. He’d assumed she was a guest, also pretending to be someone she wasn’t. They’d been two strangers sharing a fanciful interlude in a haunted house on Halloween, both completely mistaken about who the other had been. If it weren’t so unbelievable, it would almost be charming.

  Then, of course, the night had gone from unbelievable to surreal. “Aunt Hildy’s pennies…”

  “I really did have amnesia.” He swept his hand through his hair in visible frustration. “Mick recognized me right away and thought it would be just hilarious to let me run around like a lunatic for a couple of days. I could kill him.”

  “You’re gonna have to stand in line,” Gwen snapped.

  She turned away, looking at her own hands, which were tightly clenched in front of her.

  Special Agent Miles Stone didn’t exist. The dangerous, dashing adventurer, who had swept her off her feet and given her the most passionate weekend of her life, had been nothing but a figment of her imagination. And his own.

  She waited for the rush of relief, waited to be glad he wasn’t a daring thrill-seeker who would be whirling out of her life as quickly as he’d whirled into it. Part of her was glad. Thrilled, really, that he might, just might be the kind of man who’d stick around.

  Another part of her was utterly terrified.

  Gwen had let herself get caught up in this, had gone full speed ahead into a reckless adventure, always keeping the knowledge in the back of her mind that it would never last. It would be one daring fling she could remember all her life, long after Agent Miles Stone had swept out of it. And after he’d gone, she could go back to her safe, self-protected world. Not allow herself to be vulnerable. Keep her heart closely guarded.

  But there was no Agent Miles Stone against whom she
could harden her heart for her own self-preservation. There was only this man, whose name she didn’t even know. And if he stayed, she might just be forced to take the biggest risk of all.

  The risk of letting herself love him without fear, without reservation.

  She waited for a second, absorbing that thought, then found herself imagining it. Picturing it all happening. Them being together. Him being a normal, stick-around kind of guy who’d be happy with a quiet life here in Derryville. With her.

  Oh, please, God, let him be a schoolteacher. Or an insurance salesman. Or a minister.

  Before she could fantasize any longer, he continued. “I saw Mick this morning and recognized him right away. That’s when I realized my brain had started working again sometime during the night. I was going to find you, to tell you the truth.” He glanced at Hildy and gave her a rueful smile. “Then I ended up going into the attic with your aunt. We got, uh, sidetracked.”

  “Sidetracked?”

  “Showed him some of my old pictures,” Hildy explained matter-of-factly. “This boy knows his history.”

  A feeling of dread—the same one Gwen always experienced when someone got too close to Hildy and started asking too many questions—rose inside her. “Does he?”

  “Your aunt has had a fascinating life. Utterly fascinating.”

  She stiffened, unable to help it. A lifetime’s worth of protectiveness toward her elderly relative made her give her lover—her dark, dangerous, exciting lover—a cool stare. But before she could even begin to assess how much of a problem this could be, there was one more thing she had to know.

  “Okay,” she said, “so you’re not a secret agent. This entire weekend has been a…a Halloween game.” That wasn’t so far from the truth. They had, indeed, been role-playing their way through a mystery party weekend. They just hadn’t realized it. “But I really would like to know one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  She crossed her arms, mostly to try to remain aloof, at least until she found out what she needed to know. She was almost afraid to ask, because a little niggling suspicion had begun whispering in the back of her mind. She thrust it away.