True Lies

by Ingrid Weaver

  “But I'm not—”

  “Enough lies. It’s too late. From now on I'm going to do my job, and the hell with the way my body happens to react around you.” He reached across the cramped space between them and grasped her chin in his hand. “I'm through trusting you. I almost blew this whole operation because of you, and that’s not going to happen again. From now on, I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

  She jerked away from his touch. “What are you talking about?”

  He draped one arm over the steering wheel and braced the other on the back of her seat. “Don’t you think I saw the exact moment when you made me? I'm not going to give you the chance to tell your pals who I am. Until this is all over, I'll be sticking to you like glue, sweet thing.”

  He must be crazy, Emma thought. He wasn’t making any sense. This entire situation didn’t make any sense. Why? her mind screamed. Why, why, why? It became a litany, the question repeated so many times it began to lose its meaning. Why would a drug dealer assume another identity like that? Why would he need to? Why did he stop her from revealing what she knew about him to Harvey and McQuaig? And why had he told her to play along or they’d both be dead? Emma remembered the concern he had shown the day before, and how he had tried to convince her to go to the police.

  Why would a drug dealer want her to go to the police?

  The police?

  The truth was too glaring, too huge to take in all at once. Emma felt her reeling thoughts converge into the only possible answer.

  No. Oh, good God, no! Not Bruce.

  But there was no other explanation. He had lied. He had masqueraded as a clumsy tourist to put her off guard. He had manipulated his way into her confidence, had faked a friendship, had even kissed her. And she had blindly opened up to him and given him information about herself and her brother....

  She focused on the incredibly handsome face that was so close to hers. And in that moment, she felt the tender feelings that had once begun to grow wither and die.

  “You're a cop,” she said finally, woodenly.

  “That’s right.”

  If he had reached out and slapped her, it wouldn’t have hurt worse. “Prendergast or Primeau?”

  “It’s Prentice, Bruce Prentice.”

  “It’s cop. That’s who you are. You're a damn cop.” She pressed back against the door. Tears burned behind her eyes, but whether they were tears of anger, or disappointment or hurt, she didn’t want to know. The one thing that she was certain of was that she wasn’t going to let them fall. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Not again.

  “A damn good cop, until I met you.”

  “A lying, sneaking, dirty—”

  “Whatever you think of my job, it’s a hell of a lot cleaner than yours.”

  “I'm not—”

  “Oh, no. I'm not falling for the lies anymore, Emma. That was a good act you put on for me. I almost bought it, too. I almost believed you were innocent. I tried to ignore your background, and the way you lied to the sheriff. I even admired your skill with that airplane, the Cessna you're using to smuggle cocaine into the country. It’s a neat little operation you've got going up at that private lake. How long have you been flying for them?”

  She clenched her jaw, trying to keep her chin from trembling.

  “And what’s the story with your brother? Was he following in his big sister’s footsteps? Did you suddenly have conscience pangs about what you got him into?”

  At the mention of Simon, a new anxiety knifed through her mind. Bruce was a cop. What would happen if McQuaig found out? They might think that she had led Bruce to them. They had already told her that they would kill Simon if she went to the police. But even if they didn’t find out, what would happen to Simon if Bruce stopped her from doing that run? His interference could cost Simon his life.

  Emma could feel the anger radiating from his tense body. He wouldn’t believe her if she told him she was innocent. And to explain her innocence, she would have to admit Simon’s guilt. She couldn’t do that. The police had brought nothing but misery to her and her family throughout her life, and this cop was no exception. How could she even consider telling him the truth? He had lied to her from the very beginning. He had lied to her when he’d told her his name, and when he’d made her laugh and when he’d held her face between his palms and kissed her. The closeness had all been a lie. The feelings she’d had for him had been based on illusion.

  “I asked you a question, Emma.”

  She gazed into the startling blue eyes that held no warmth or mercy and studied the man that she had thought she’d known. She remembered her father, and her mother and her own lost dreams. And just as she had when she was eighteen and her world had crashed around her, she straightened her spine against the pain and stared back into the face of the law defiantly. “Go to hell, Bruce.”

  Chapter 7

  Bruce hung up the telephone and watched Emma warily. She stood by the front window of the cabin, her shoulders rigid beneath the wrinkled linen of her rust-colored suit. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her legs braced slightly apart, her chin tilted up combatively.

  She had been standing there looking out at the darkness of the silent lake since they had arrived here almost an hour ago. Although she hadn’t resisted when he had taken her back to the warehouse and instructed her to drive home, he had followed her cautiously, alert for any surprises. She’d had a few colorful words to say when he’d stored his Corvette in her shed and removed the distributor cap from her pickup, but she hadn’t tried to stop him. Still, he wasn’t fool enough to take her compliance for capitulation. He didn’t want to underestimate her or misjudge her again.

  He gave Emma’s back a final glance before he squatted down and unplugged the telephone cord from the receptacle in the wall.

  She pivoted to face him. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” he snapped. He picked up the phone, wrapped the cord around it, and walked to the desk where he disconnected the modem and stacked it on top of the phone.

  He’d done a thorough check of the layout of the place. The cabin might look rustic, but it wasn’t primitive—the rolltop of this large desk had concealed a computer setup that could have belonged in a high-rise office. Besides the multipurpose main room, there was a bathroom with a deep, oversize tub and lush hanging ferns, a small spare room with colorful, woven wall hangings and a single bed, and Emma’s bedroom, which was dominated by a big four-poster with a comfortable-looking mattress.

  He headed toward her bedroom now. Forcing himself to ignore the traces of the woman who inhabited it, the discarded tube of lipstick on the long dresser, the pair of jeans that lay in front of the open closet, he crossed the floor to the phone that rested on the bedside table. He unplugged it like the other, then straightened up and turned around.

  “I told you I wouldn’t contact McQuaig,” Emma said. She stood in the doorway, her face carefully expressionless. “I have my own reasons for not wanting anyone to know I was conned by a cop. This isn’t necessary.”

  “I'll decide what’s necessary and what isn’t.”

  “Why don’t you just gag and handcuff me and get it over with, Mr. Policeman.”

  “I think removing the telephones will be sufficient for the moment, but I'll keep your suggestion in mind, Miss Duprey.”

  She clenched her fists and spun around, muttering something under her breath.

  Bruce followed her back to the main room and stuffed the phones into the large bag that he’d brought in from his car. Cutting off the communications was only temporary—he’d need to reconnect at least one of the phones in the morning so that McQuaig could contact her about this week’s run.

  His hand shook as he zipped the bag closed, and he paused to take a calming breath. His anger wasn’t yet under control. It had been building since the moment he’d walked across that warehouse floor and had seen Emma through the office window. With her hair styled sedately and her feminine body subdued by that
severely tailored power suit, she had looked every inch the cool professional. And that’s exactly what she was, a professional businesswoman making a deal.

  Xavier had been right about her all along. It had been nothing but mindless chemistry that had drawn Bruce to this woman, and like a fool he had been blinded by it. He’d mistaken his hormones for his conscience, and he had allowed dangerous doubts to disorder his thinking. From this point on, things were going to get back on track. No more confusing himself with his personas. No more questions about the morality of his job or the right and wrong of his duty. He wasn’t going to let his professional detachment slip again.

  He stored his bag under the rolltop desk and walked over to throw the bolt on the front door. “I think we’d better get a few things straight.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Then I’d like you to leave.”

  “I'm not leaving until I'm finished with you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He moved to one of the overstuffed chairs and perched on the arm. “Sit down,” he ordered, pointing to the couch.

  She glared at him defiantly, then raised her hand and wiggled her middle finger.

  “Emma, you can make this as difficult as you want. It’s up to you. Don’t you want to know my plans?”

  “Oh, yes, please, Mr. Police—”

  “Dammit, you keep that up and I'll gag you after all.”

  She didn’t sit on the couch. She pulled one of the ladder-back chairs from the table by the window and set it in the middle of the floor. With the poise of a princess presiding over a garden party, she sat down, pinched her slim skirt and crossed her legs demurely. Clasping her hands together on her lap, she looked at him expectantly.

  God help him, he didn’t want to cover her mouth with a gag, he wanted to cover it with his lips. Even now that he knew the worst about her, he still found some uncontrollable part of him responding to the challenge she presented. Ruthlessly he forced himself to concentrate on the plan he had just hammered out with Xavier. “I know you're using your plane to transport cocaine for McQuaig’s group, Emma. You're not going to waste our time by denying it, are you?”

  She lifted a palm regally, motioning for him to continue.

  “When I started this investigation, I was after the people at the top. I still am.”

  “The big ones,” she said. “I remember you telling me that when I asked you what kind of fish you were after. What was that, a little cop humor?”

  “I can make things easier for you if you cooperate. I want nothing to interfere with the next shipment that comes in. When McQuaig gives you the time and place, I want you to make the pickup and the delivery just the way you always do.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why?”

  “I already told you. I'm after the people at the top.”

  “And you want me to lead you to them.”

  “Put simply, yes.”

  “You know where the warehouse is. You've met McQuaig and Harvey. Why don’t you arrest them?”

  “I need proof that will stand up in court.”

  “Ah, yes. The law and our wonderful justice system.” She shifted, recrossing her legs with a whisper of nylon. “You want to catch them with the goods. That’s why you demanded to test the merchandise. That’s why you took on this latest masquerade. Let’s see, what was it you said? We all have good reasons for the masquerades we choose to employ? Another very fitting comment, now that I know who you are.”

  “Whatever your reasons are for running those drugs, whether it’s the money or the thrill or some inner need to defy authority, I'm going to shut you down. But not before I make use of what you're doing. When you get the call from McQuaig, you're going to do exactly what he tells you.”

  “Believe me, I wouldn’t have let you stop me.”

  “I won’t stop you, I'll be right beside you.”

  She waited, letting a tense silence spin out between them. “So you get what you want, but what about me?”

  “Xavier authorized me to offer you a deal. A lighter sentence if you cooperate.”

  Another silence stretched out. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her clasped hands. “That’s not acceptable. I want full immunity and time to collect the payoff McQuaig promised. You give me one hour after I deliver the cocaine before you move in.”

  “That’s out of the question.”

  “Without me, you've got nothing. Take it or leave it.”

  “Why? What are they offering you?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “I'll have to think about it.”

  “There’s more. You leave my brother out of this. He hasn’t done anything. You were right before. I got him involved in the drug smuggling and then had second thoughts. Immunity for me, an hour to collect my payoff, and no charges against Simon. Those are the conditions that will guarantee my cooperation.”

  “Why should I give you an hour before we make our move? That would be suicidal. With that much warning everyone in the entire ring would have enough time to—”

  “I wouldn’t warn anyone. I have no loyalty to those people. This is a business deal to me, nothing more. If the whole mob ended up in prison I wouldn’t mind. I’d welcome it. As long as you're using me to get what you want, I might as well use you. My only concern is my brother and myself.” She rose to her feet, her fingers twining restlessly in the first outward show of nerves she had so far allowed. “Forget the hour. The second you see Simon and me leave the drop-off point, you can move in.”

  “Why would your brother be at the drop-off?”

  “He’s staying with them temporarily, and I want to be sure there won’t be any retaliation against him when your people move in.”

  “So as long as you and your brother go free, you'll give us what we need to nail everyone else?”

  “Yes. I'll fly you to the pickup, I'll lead you to the drop-off, everything you want, as long as you don’t move in until you see Simon and me walk out.”

  It was all he could hope for, if he could believe her. “Give me a minute to think about it.”

  Emma turned away and dragged her chair back to the table, braced her hands against the edge and gazed blankly at the polished wood. Her body was shaking from the emotions she struggled to suppress. This was a deal, just like the one she’d been forced into with the criminals. She had to think. And she couldn’t do that while she was looking at Bruce. There was no warmth in his spellbindingly beautiful blue eyes, no compassion in his hard, uncompromisingly masculine face. The lips that had once molded to hers were carved into a stony slash. He hadn’t needed to rip her phones out of the wall to demonstrate his lack of trust. It was written in every line of his body.

  She raised her head and looked past the reflection on the window to the blackness outside, forcing herself to assess the situation. Things might not be as bad as she had feared. She was still going to make the smuggling run that would free her brother. She hadn’t had a plan of her own for what to do afterward, but if the cops moved in and arrested the entire drug ring, her problem would be solved. She didn’t care what Bruce thought of her, as long as she got what she wanted.

  Tell him the truth.

  Gritting her teeth, she ignored the weakness she felt. For Simon’s sake, she couldn’t explain her situation. Her ingrained, instinctive protectiveness toward her brother wouldn’t let her risk the possibility of prison for him simply to clear her name. She’d been through this before, and it had worked out all right. She was in a good position to negotiate. This deal would get her brother out of danger as well as keep him out of prison. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than full immunity for herself, so it didn’t matter what Bruce thought of her. He was a cop, part of the unfeeling system that had destroyed her family. Why should she care what he thought?

  At the sound of movement behind her, she shifted her focus to the r
eflection in the window. It still jarred her perception of reality each time she saw Bruce move that lithe, powerful body. In the soft light from the lamp behind the couch she could see the subtle play of shifting muscles in his arms and shoulders as he lounged against the back of the chair. She had no control over the quick tightening of her stomach as she looked at him. With those black jeans clinging to his slim hips and that skimpy undershirt leaving half his torso bare, he was simply magnificent, a sleek male animal in his prime.

  Her anger rekindled. He had lied to her and used her and made her like him. She’d been a fool, a lonely, trusting fool.

  “I'll take your deal,” he said, staring straight into her eyes through his reflection. “You give me your employers, and I'll let you and your brother walk.”

  She pushed away from the table and turned to face him. “Fine. I'll hold you to it.”

  “I guess this just goes to prove the old saying.”

  “What saying?”

  “The one about no honor among thieves,” he said, contempt plain in his deep voice.

  “Honor?” she repeated, taking a step toward him. “You, of all people, dare to mention honor?” The iron control she had kept on her feelings throughout this endless evening was crumbling. Business deals were one thing, but what he had done to her as Prendergast wasn’t business, it was personal. “Tell me something, Mr. Honorable Policeman. Do you get paid overtime for having to kiss your suspects?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What about listening while they unload their family problems? Did you get yesterday afternoon’s conversation on tape? I hope so, especially that part where I tried to convince you that you were actually handsome. You might get a bonus for that if you played it around the station house.”

  Bruce thought he heard a trace of pain beneath her angry words, but he wouldn’t let himself be affected by it. This woman had made a fool of him too many times. He crossed his arms tightly and leaned toward her. “I don’t get extra pay, and I don’t get bonuses. And if I recall correctly, you were the one who wanted to take our relationship beyond friendship, not me.”