Private Lies

by Wendy Etherington

  He should send her with Toni. She’d be safe. But she’d be gone. And he suspected if he let her walk out that door right now, he’d never get her back.

  Selfish? Of course. But he’d never claimed to be a saint.

  “No one besides my father and a few higher-ups in the government know who I really am, Rox. No way am I telling two women in two days.”

  “I think that’s an insult to my gender.”

  “I trust you, I just—”

  “Romantic weekend, huh?” Toni commented suddenly. “Then what is this doing here?” With a pleased smirk on her face, she held up Roxanne’s engagement ring.

  6

  WELL, DAMN.

  Roxanne’s mind scrambled for a legitimate excuse, even as she tried to figure out how to cover things up without putting that ring back on. She’d made a decision, and she was very afraid of weakening—she was still feeling extremely weak where Gage was concerned—and she didn’t want to pretend with the symbol of their relationship. Last night she’d even tucked the sapphire necklace he’d given her in her purse.

  Thankfully, her smooth, quick-thinking lover—that’s ex-lover, remember—came to her rescue.

  Slick as butter sliding across a hot roll, he strolled over to Toni and took the ring, tucking the diamond into his front pocket. “Roxanne’s lost a bit of weight over the last few weeks, so her ring is loose. Of course, I offered to have it resized.” His eyebrows rose. “Really, Toni, making something out of a bit of nothing, aren’t we?”

  Then he crossed back to Roxanne and tipped her face up for his kiss. His silver eyes glinted with mischief, obviously enjoying the performance. As his mouth settled over hers, she couldn’t deny how much she craved his touch. What had she done, breaking up with him? She’d been prepared to marry him, for better or for worse. Hell, forever. She was Catholic after all.

  When he pulled away, he ran his thumb across her bottom lip. There was no denying the desire in his eyes. “I’m grabbing a shower, darling. Then let’s go shopping.”

  Good grief, that man packs a powerful punch.

  She angled her head sideways, watching him walk from the room. In a black T-shirt and blue jeans. She searched her memory, but came up blank in the Gage-wearing-jeans department. Even around the house on weekends, he was always dressed like a character from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. Of course, that was Gage Dabon, financial adviser, consummate sophisticate. She was dealing with Gage Angelini now. Rough, ruthless rebel.

  She shivered in delight.

  “You wanna tell me what the hell is going on now?”

  Roxanne turned to Toni, who had her hands propped on her curvy hips and that too-familiar determined expression on her face. “Don’t start.”

  “What are you shopping for?”

  Already tired of arguing, Roxanne sank into her chair at the breakfast table. “Clothes. I didn’t bring any with me last night, remember?”

  Toni braced her hand on the table and leaned close to Roxanne. “Just go home and get some. You only live five miles away.”

  “Toni, a man with at least three platinum Visa cards that I know of wants to take me shopping. Why would I argue with him?”

  “Ah-ha!” She waggled her finger. “I knew you were up to something. You wouldn’t know a Valentino from an Armani. You don’t even like shopping.”

  “I can’t share this with you,” Roxanne said quietly, meeting her best friend’s gaze. And saw surprise and hurt. “I’m sorry. All I can tell you is that I have to stay here with Gage for the weekend. And even on Monday, I can’t really explain everything.”

  “We’ve been best friends since we were five, Rox.”

  “I know.” Tears clogged her throat. It would be so nice to share with someone, but knowing Gage’s secret life had left her very much alone. Though she knew she could trust her life—and his—with Toni, she wouldn’t betray his confidence. Toni’s anger would burn hot, and not for long, but maybe long enough to send her home until after the weekend. She couldn’t get her friend mixed up in all this, too.

  Toni straightened, then turned away. “If that’s the way you feel.”

  “That’s the way it has to be,” Roxanne said miserably to her friend’s back.

  Toni walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Minutes later, when Gage walked into the room, Roxanne still hadn’t moved. A hollow ache had invaded her heart.

  “Where’s Toni?”

  She sniffled. “Gone.”

  “Rox, are you all—” Gage was kneeling in front of her before the next syllable was out of his mouth.

  She threw her arms around his neck and held on as the tears started with a vengeance.

  He stroked her back and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay, baby. It’s the stress. You’re going to be fine. I’m here.”

  “I’m n-not s-supposed to be t-touching you.”

  “We can make an exception this once.”

  She cried harder. Maybe she was losing her mind. Having a nervous breakdown. Other people had them. Toni’s mother had them on a weekly basis.

  “Oh, T-Toni. She’s s-so mad at m-me.”

  Gage held her tighter. “She’ll get over it.”

  Maybe. When this was all over, she could get back in Toni’s good graces, but Gage would be out of her life. Last night she was so sure she’d made the right decision, but this morning, watching his silver eyes darken with what she could have sworn was pain, she’d begun to doubt herself. If she could hurt him, he must care.

  But he hadn’t given her the assurances she needed. She’d wanted him to declare his undying love, that he’d do anything to keep her.

  And then what, Rox? He’d still be a cop. Even if he was a florist he’d be a cop. She couldn’t ask him to change, didn’t want him to. She just couldn’t live her life with him.

  Logical thinking helped her get control of her emotions. She wiped her tears with the collar of her robe. “My face probably looks like a tomato.”

  He smiled. “You look beautiful. As always.”

  “I think I’m through falling apart now.”

  “Glad to hear it. I need you in one piece.”

  Her eyes widened. “Do you really need me?”

  “Definitely. You were great last night. At the restaurant,” he added, obviously distinguishing from all that had occurred at the hotel.

  “I was really helpful?”

  “You were just the distraction I needed for Stephano.” He rose, then retrieved his gun from between the sofa cushions, where he must have hidden it when Toni arrived. “I think he let his guard down a bit, and I uncovered some promising information.”

  She followed him across the room, noting he’d changed out of the jeans and T-shirt and into an expensive-looking black silk shirt and black slacks. He was going shopping in New Orleans in that?

  Not only would he roast, she’d been looking forward to ogling his backside in those jeans all day.

  “What information?” she asked to distract herself. Ogling definitely fell into the off-limits category, right after “no physical contact.”

  “Just an aspect of the case I needed to clarify,” he said absently as he set his pistol in his briefcase before retrieving a small revolver, which he slid into an ankle holster.

  “What aspect?”

  “I need to check in with headquarters, then we’ll get going.”

  She planted herself in his path. “What aspect?”

  “I can’t really—”

  “If I’m in this, I know what you know.”

  Instead of arguing, as she expected him to, he simply sighed. “I think his center of operations is here in New Orleans.”

  That was a big revelation? She resisted the urge to say, “Well, duh!”

  He must have read the bafflement on her face. “Mettles just got here two days ago. Stephano arrived yesterday. Before that, I tracked him to Aruba, before that—”

  “Wait just a damn second. You left here five days ago. You were i
n Aruba instead of Chicago?”

  In the process of pulling a laptop from his briefcase, he paused. “I refuse to answer that question on the grounds it might incriminate me.”

  “Uh-huh. And here I thought your skin was just naturally swarthy. Ha!”

  “I had electronic surveillance set up in my hotel room. I didn’t spend my days lying on the beach except—”

  Her blood pressure shot up another few notches. “Except?”

  “Except for the few hours I posed as a hotel pool waiter.”

  “Oh, a hotel pool waiter.” She crossed her arms over her chest, reveling in the I’ve-got-him-on-the-ropes power. Her nipples even hardened. She wanted to be embarrassed by her reaction, but found the opposite occurred. She felt bold and confident. “Well…a hotel pool waiter has a strenuous job. Carrying drinks. Chatting with resort guests. Checking out babes in bikinis.”

  He grinned. “You’re jealous.”

  She stepped closer to him. Only a few inches separated their bodies. She could smell the sharpness of his aftershave. “I am not.”

  “You are.” He tucked the laptop under his arm. “It’s cute.”

  “It’s—” She was talking to his back as he crossed to the breakfast table and pushed aside the dishes to make room for his computer. She went after him, facing him and her anger. “I am not cute.” The fact that he looked sexy and sophisticated, and she was wearing a bathrobe and no makeup also irked the hell out of her. “I just want to be an equal in this. If I’m risking my ass for you, I want your respect. I don’t want to be treated like a fainting female.” She ignored the fact that she’d just spent twenty minutes crying in his arms. “I want to know what’s going on.”

  “You’re sexy as hell when you’re pissed off, Rox.”

  “Really? You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “SO, HONEY, do you think we can find Joe’s little store?”

  After much discussion, and Gage revealing more about the case than was probably wise, they’d decided on Roxanne and Toni’s original plan—tourists on the make. While searching for a counterfeiting warehouse. “We’ll see, baby.”

  Roxanne crossed her legs within the close confines of the cab, and Gage glanced out the window. If he saw another inch of her legs, he wouldn’t be able to get out of the car with any measure of decency. He’d always thought Roxanne’s legs were a never-ending, lust-inducing aspect of her body, but with her wig and contacts, he found himself delving deep into the fantasy of the sophisticated bad girl. So, his mind wandered. His libido jumped to attention, and a ball of lust had settled deep inside, ready to spring at the least provocation.

  No physical contact? Ha! He didn’t see how it was possible to stick to that little dictum.

  Of course, if he got her to touch him first…

  As the cab inched toward the French Quarter, Roxanne leaned toward him. “Where did you get this outfit? Victoria’s Secret?”

  Since she’d been wearing a bathrobe before he’d ventured around the corner from the hotel to get makeup, bronzing powder, tanning cream and find her something to wear, he didn’t understand why she was complaining. But then he glanced again at the short, skintight miniskirt and wraparound red shirt covering—though barely—her curves. Well, maybe he’d gotten a little carried away…

  “The shop had T-shirts, personalized pencils and shot glasses, Mardi Gras masks and hot sauce. Believe me, that was the best thing around.”

  “Did you have to get something so short and tight?”

  Well, no. But she looked really great in his selection. “You’re playing a part, remember?”

  “I think you’re enjoying this part a little too much.”

  He managed to look offended. “Darling, I’m a professional.”

  “A professional scoundrel,” she muttered, then turned her head to look out the window.

  Knowing she wanted to—and thought she could—dismiss him, Gage whispered in her ear, careful not to touch, but making sure his breath stirred the tendrils of hair curled along her neck. “A scoundrel who wants to get between your lovely long legs more than he wants to draw his next breath.”

  As expected, she sucked in a breath and whipped her head around to face him, bringing their faces within inches of each other. “We agreed…”

  He smiled. “No, you suggested. I agreed to nothing.”

  Her green gaze searched his face, her expression wary, but he also thought he detected a hint of longing. “Please, Gage.”

  He deliberately dropped his gaze to her lips. “Please what?”

  “Be reasonable.”

  “No.”

  Her gaze flicked to his lips.

  She’s weakening.

  “Chartres and St. Peters,” the cabdriver announced.

  Far from disappointed with the opening to his seduction, Gage slid money over the seat to the driver, then scooted out of the cab. He held out his hand to Roxanne and waited until she laid her hand in his before he assisted her out of the car. Once she stood on the sidewalk, he released her. He’d pretend to play by the rules—for a while anyway.

  Passing the St. Louis Cathedral, they started down the crowded street, skirting a crowd of college kids all sporting half-full plastic cups of alcoholic Hurricanes. At eleven o’clock in the morning. Gage shook his head at the enthusiasm of youth.

  “I’m going to break my ankles walking in these shoes,” Roxanne said.

  Gage glanced down at the black high-heeled pumps she was currently trying to balance between cracks in the sidewalk. “Shoes first, then.”

  As they continued down the street, he was careful to slow his stride so she could keep up easier, even as he scanned the area for buildings and shops large enough to hold Stephano’s operation. Since nearly everything was done via computer these days, printing counterfeit bills from plates required specialized equipment. No one used the metal plates of old, but other agents inside the investigation had received information that Stephano had gotten his hands on a pair of old hundred-dollar and twenty-dollar plates that had been stolen several years ago, then had them modified to bring them up to current standards. The original theft was what had touched off the investigation in the beginning, and Stephano hadn’t even been a suspect then. Gage had only been brought in six months ago when the lead about Stephano had come in. For the past few months, they’d run in circles, chasing Stephano and learning little to nothing about whether he had originally stolen the plates and why, since no counterfeit money had yet been circulated.

  But all the theories connected to the plates seemed moot the moment Gage had discovered Mettles’s involvement. Running the printing machines wouldn’t require an MIT-educated computer engineer.

  Though he hadn’t shared his theory with anyone at the department yet, Gage didn’t think the stolen plates had anything to do with Stephano’s operation. Maybe he had swiped them, and even tried to use them in the operation. Maybe the plates were a decoy.

  This case, though, was about technology. And if Mettles really did have the computer knowledge Gage suspected he did, this whole operation could be running with a modified laptop and printer sitting on a kitchen table. What he wanted to find today was the supply warehouse. Five properties in the area were owned by a subsidiary of one of Stephano’s dummy corporations. Both he and the department figured Stephano had slid the counterfeiting supplies in with some of his other acquisitions—stolen computers, stereos and other electronics. Gage was to check out two of the locations, with two other agents looking into the other three.

  With summer hovering on the horizon, and the city clogged with staggering numbers of tourists, who would notice a few more trucks and crates? And the timing was perfect to test the market and slide in a few fake bills. Since the mobster had commented last night about the operation lasting three months, it seemed summer was the target time.

  But what was Stephano’s overall plan? How was he going to make big money with his operation? He couldn’t go around to every high-priced jewelry store in town and
buy a million dollars in diamonds with fake money. Too obvious. Too risky. So, what—

  “Don’t you think we should, uh, hold hands or something?”

  Still lost in his thoughts, he glanced at Roxanne. “Hold hands?”

  She glared up at him out of her bright green eyes, flipping a strand of long black hair over her shoulder, and he was reminded again how well she’d slid into the role of the exotic Mediterranean beauty. “We’re supposed to be, you know…together.”

  “Do you want to hold my hand, Marina?”

  Though he could tell she’d rather slug him, she grabbed his hand and tugged him into a shoe store. “I want shoes.”

  Fifteen minutes later—and Gage had to admire the speed—she had a pair of sexy, strappy, low-heeled sandals, and he was out a hundred and fifteen bucks.

  “So, where do you think we ought to start looking for Joe’s?” she said matter-of-factly as they stood again on the crowded sidewalk.

  I told her my theory and not my boss. If he didn’t retire he’d probably get fired.

  “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  She linked her arm through his, and they walked to the corner, where they waited for the light before starting down the next block. Gage tried not to notice how Roxanne’s breast rubbed against his side with each step they took. He tried to ignore the spicy scent rising off her skin. He tried not to stare at the delicate curve of her jaw, or how the makeup exaggerated her eyes, so they seemed to dominate her fine-boned face.

  He failed miserably on all points.

  He needed to concentrate on the case. He needed to find the warehouse and be alert in case Stephano sicced a couple of his goons on their tail. He needed to be ready if the agents watching Stephano or Mettles reported anything significant.

  He needed Roxanne.

  “Close?” she asked next to his ear.

  He swallowed and fought back a new wave of desire. “Half a block, but we’re walking past then doubling back.” He just wanted to get an idea of what flanked the property in case he needed to break in later, and he couldn’t have Stephano or his people spotting Gage poking around.