Savage Deception

by R. T. Wolfe

  "He's explaining what happened to my partner as we speak." Not. "Please tell us your side so we make sure not to miss anything."

  "Chris is talking?" she slurred, and gazed around the room. "Can I see him?"

  "No, ma'am. You need the doctor right now. He's coming any minute. I want to help you, Mrs. Hendrix. How old are your children?" Cruel tactic, but it needed to be used.

  "My babies? They're six and eight." She started to sit up. "What time is it? They get out of school soon."

  The nurse was there fast, gently pushing her back to horizontal.

  "We've got time before school gets out. Do you have family that can care for them?"

  She closed her eyes. Not sure if she was falling into a drug-induced sleep, Nickie bumped her good side.

  "Yes. My mom. She can meet them at the bus stop. My phone." She tried to sit up again. This time Nickie did the honors.

  "Listen, miss. I need to know who did this to you and I need to know now. I can call your mother for you or I can call Family Services. I'm sure they'd be interested to know the only two parents your babies have are both in the hospital with holes in their shoulders."

  Instant tears started rolling down her cheeks.

  The nurse started to protest, but Nickie held up a finger.

  "Chris is talking?"

  "As we stand here."

  "Slippery Jimbo was going to help us. We needed some money."

  "Slippery Jimbo? James Spalding?"

  "Yes, yes, that's him." Her head fell back against the pillow. "We were late. Chris had a deal. We had the mon—"

  Nickie knew she could poke her all she wanted, but Mrs. Hendrix was fast asleep. She pulled out her phone and took another picture. Slippery Jimbo. Nickie was going to enjoy hunting him down. She glanced at her watch. Too early for that. About ten hours too early for that.

  Chapter 4

  "It's too dark to go for a ride, girl. Don't be angry with me." Abigail turned her head away from Duncan as he brushed her bare back. He lifted her hooves, checking her shoes as his brother's wife taught him to do.

  Andy and Rose kept their barn in impressive shape. The stalls were clean, and the barn had designated spots for saddles, blankets, halters, and pitchforks. A ladder in the corner of the barn led to the loft where bales of hay lay waiting to be tossed to the trough below.

  Every horse on the Reed Ranch, as Duncan liked to call it, was well-fed and exercised daily. Abigail, however, was known to hold grudges when Duncan didn't show for several days in a row. When he lived mostly out of L.A., he might miss riding her for weeks and on a few occasions, months. He cringed at the memory of how long it took her to forgive him.

  The golden brown in her mane was nearly the color of Nickie's hair.

  Nickie.

  She consumed his thoughts. At first, he convinced himself it was the novelty of involvement with someone so completely different from his usual type. It would wear off, and he would get on with life as usual.

  It was all quite the opposite.

  His agent limited the number of portraits of Nickie in his next showing to six. More would be too many of the same subject, he told Duncan. Duncan never had to force himself to paint, or in this case keep from painting what he wanted in his life.

  He agreed to let his agent decide which portraits to use, sent jpegs of each and washed his hands of the decision. His agent gave Duncan his usual jesting about moving from L.A. to the middle of upstate New York without an opera or an acceptable Broadway stage within a two-hour drive. Flying in and out of L.A. was a worthwhile inconvenience. Which was why he bought the plane.

  However, this latest art show was conveniently booked in Rochester. His agent said Duncan had a number of Canadians interested in his landscapes. Other than his show in Manhattan, it was the only time he would be able to drive to it instead of fly. And since it was close enough to almost ensure Nickie could make it, they'd decided to showcase her.

  He ran his palm down Abigail's single white leg and lifted it, checking her shoe. She snorted but didn't pull away. It would be nice to take a peek at the matching white spots between her eyes if she would quit pouting and face him.

  "I'll be back this weekend. I promise."

  "You shouldn't make promises to a woman you can't keep." The alto voice was sultry and confident. Unrefined, yet warm. It was a voice he heard in his sleep.

  Abigail turned at the sound of it. Figures.

  "Hey, girl. I brought you a present." Carrots. That's cheating.

  Nickie walked to his horse and rubbed foreheads as Abigail ate her treat. A tan, short leather jacket hung over a loose coral eyelet cover that draped over a matching camisole. Light brown jeans hugged Nickie's shape from low on her hips and into a pair of beige boots with thicker, four-inch heels.

  Her phone hung clipped to her hip. He would have thought it ruined the image, but this was his detective. He liked her the way she was. Smart, messy and complicated. The slight scent of sophisticated lavender completed his image, and he understood how much he was exactly where he wanted to be.

  Stepping to the two of them, he lowered his lips to Nickie's ear. "Do I get a present?"

  She rubbed the spots high on Abigail's snout as she turned her steel gray eyes to his. They were cautious. Not the expression he expected.

  Keeping a hand on Abigail, she leaned back against the side of the stall and crossed one ankle over the other. Yes, she knew how to use her sexuality.

  He placed his hands up in surrender. "I give. Trail ride this weekend. It's Thanksgiving. We'll have time. Now, your turn."

  Slowly, her chest expanded before she let out a long breath. "How did you know my former captain and the fire chief were involved in the kidnapping of the girls?"

  He could take a hint. He kept his distance and stood with his legs out, the hand with the brush resting on Abigail's back. "I had a hunch."

  She lifted her brows.

  "I had a hunch," he repeated, "and kept an eye on them."

  Her arms slithered together and crossed. She wasn't smiling.

  "I watched their emails. I felt like it was someone in the department who was involved. Too much was happening from the inside. So, I kept an eye on them."

  "You didn't tell me."

  Uh-oh. He forced his gaze to remain steady. "You don't believe in hunches."

  "I never said that."

  This time he did look around and up.

  "I said I don't like them," she amended. "Not that I don't believe in them. They cause misunderstandings, useless errors and get cases thrown out in court. You kept this from me."

  He had. Why was that? He always told himself it was because of her hatred for hunches. "I hurt you."

  "Yes. You did."

  "I'm sorry, then."

  "Don't let it happen again." Pushing away from the wall, she closed the distance between them, grabbing the front of his shirt and stopping inches from his face.

  Her eyes dropped to his lips before she pressed hers to his. It was more of a threat than a kiss, deep and seductive. It was effective.

  He wrapped his hands beneath the swell of her backside and dove in. He'd spent years of his life with stick figures carrying globe breasts. That was a distant memory. Nickie was real on more levels than he could count.

  Anxious arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him against her. She was warm and firm and woman. Sliding his hands to the backs of her thighs, he lifted, wrapping her muscled legs around him.

  Their lips and tongues didn't miss a beat.

  Her thighs tightened around him. Her boots crossed behind him. Heat pressed against heat.

  And Abigail butted her nose between them, nearly toppling them to the floor.

  They sucked air. Nickie leaned over, resting the palms of her hands on her thighs as if she'd sprinted a half-mile.

  Ignoring his horse, she lifted her head and carried that damned sexy, seductive smile toward him.

  He pointed a finger at her. "Stop."

  She
didn't.

  "Wait. Nickie, I have something to tell you."

  Grabbing one of his belt loops, she pulled and said, "So do I."

  "It's about the FBI."

  That worked. She took a deep breath as she ran her hand over the top of her hair, the long, sexy hair that draped around her shoulders.

  He shook his head clear of the image of the curtain it created when they were... "In light of our recent conversation, I think I'd better tell you this now." He reached down and picked up Abigail's discarded brush. "You won't like how I retrieved the information I need to tell you."

  Her chest stopped moving. It was a short pause, but he noticed.

  "I searched some of the Vegas reports." Don't do it again, he reminded himself. "I searched all of the Vegas reports."

  "Searched?"

  He ignored her rhetorical question. "There is some information they're keeping from you."

  She paced now. "They're keeping loads of information from me. Duncan, you can't just do that. It's not legal. I'm a cop."

  "I'm not," he interrupted, and put the brush away. "Come." He clasped their hands together and led her near the entrance where no noises or horse snouts could interrupt them. Taking her shoulders, he placed her against the wall, then held out his hands, palms facing outward in a silent request for her to stay there.

  Her brows lifted high, but she didn't move.

  "There is information they're keeping from you that pertains to you."

  Her brows sunk and she crossed her arms, waiting. It was her suspicious look. That was a good thing.

  "Information that pertains to you on a personal level."

  That did it. She pushed away from the wall, opened her mouth, but then must have thought twice about it, because she leaned back and waited for him to finish. It was difficult to focus as she lifted a boot and propped it behind her on the wall of the barn. So damned seductive. At that moment, he couldn't look at her and think coherently at the same time. He leaned over and took her boot, placing it back on the ground. There. That was better.

  As a result, he did something else that never happened. He paced.

  "They know about your missing year."

  He opened his eyes and sunk deep into the steel gray. Her eyes weren't red. Weren't glossy. Her lids were half open as she looked back at him. "I figured."

  Pulling his head back, he tried to comprehend. "You figured?"

  "They were suspicious. Careful. One of them felt sorry for me and shared more than his partner wanted him to. I'm a smart woman. I'm sure if you're the FBI, it isn't that hard to dig up my past. I don't give a flying fuck one way or the other. Who are they going to tell?" She took her knuckles and pressed them along the side of her jaw until it cracked, then did the same on the other side. "Let's get inside."

  "Wait."

  "No. Rose said she had something she wanted to show me, and I don't feel like talking anymore."

  She kicked off the wall and turned to the door.

  "There's more," he said, and watched as her feet stopped two beats before the rest of her.

  Turning slowly, she glared at him through eyes of stone. Her defense.

  "In the FBI report, it reads there was a file they couldn't find. They called it a ghost file. They could see where it had been, but nothing was there." He sighed, trying to think of a way to explain. "It's like noticing that a fireplace mantel has a perfect rectangle free of dust. You know something was there and now it's not, but you don't know what was there."

  "Did you... search for the missing file?"

  "No." He considered. "Not yet."

  "Don't."

  "You can't—I won't—"

  "Just don't."

  He contemplated and decided now wasn't the time to cross that bridge. "There's one more thing."

  "Shit, Duncan. What else?"

  "Andy was with me when I ran across the FBI reports. He saw, Nickie. He knows."

  It was hard to watch the expression on her face. It was one of shame.

  "I can't—I'm leaving. Make something up for me."

  Grabbing her by the shoulders, he dipped his head so their eyes were in direct contact. "It's nothing compared to... but you know what Andy and I have been through. And Rose too. We get keeping secrets, Nickie, and we get... we get it. Andy is a good man."

  "Duncan?" It was Rose. Nickie's eyes widened.

  "I see Nickie's car," Rose yelled. "I'm trying to stomp loudly on my way in. Don't want to interrupt anyth—Oh, there you are." Rose threw her arms around Nickie, glanced at him, then back to Nickie who was still frozen. Rose tucked her arm in the crook of Nickie's and pulled her along. "We made a plate of fresh fruit and the biggest apple chicken salad you've ever seen. You have no excuse not to eat."

  Chapter 5

  Nickie wasn't sure exactly what was happening. She didn't have girlfriends. Didn't have friends really. And as of yet, no one, other than her parents, knew about her missing years. Her foster mom didn't even know, and she was the closest thing to family Nickie had. And then Duncan found out, and Strong and Lewis. Now, Andy and Rose?

  A fog settled around her as Rose pulled her along, talking about their new baby. Nickie's ears were ringing loudly and she honestly didn't comprehend much of it. Her legs moved on autopilot toward the ranch home.

  Andy was in the kitchen. Nickie felt someone pull the jacket from her shoulders, but all she could focus on was her hands. She willed them not to shake. She knew she was staring at Andy. Knew her eyes were as big as gray moons. Except he didn't stare back. He stood at the kitchen sink, explaining how long the baby had been asleep as he cut broccoli.

  "Hey, Nickie. We heard your car," he said and wiped his hands as if nothing had changed. Like he wasn't standing in a room with a woman who did what she did to survive. He walked over, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek before opening a cupboard that held plates and cups.

  He gestured to Rose, and she took his place cutting vegetables at the kitchen sink. It was like an unspoken dance between two people who worked as one. "Rose was determined to run out to the barn and catch the two of you fooling around. I told her Duncan was too much of a geek."

  Without changing expression, Duncan gave Andy a swift elbow to the ribs. Like friends. Like brothers.

  Andy had learned her secret. Her disgusting secret. They knew what she was, what she did. Yet here they stood as if Nickie was a normal person having dinner in their lovely home. Duncan and Andy jeered like they were high school boys.

  Tears tried to well in her eyes. She wouldn't let them.

  "I changed my name." It just came out. It was like a confession, and for some reason made her shoulders lighter.

  At that, everyone stopped. "My birth name is Nicole Monticello." She wanted to keep going. It was incredible. Turning to Andy and Rose now, she stepped toward him as Duncan's hand slithered around her waist and rested at the lower part of her back. "I was taken from my home when I was fourteen. I fought. I fought for eighteen months as they made me... work."

  Rose dropped the bowl she had in the sink. Andy hadn't told her.

  "I'm so sorry, Rose. Andy inadvertently discovered this with Duncan, and I feel... I want to explain." It was like sunlight struggling to find a break in the clouds.

  "They called me Savage. I was the only one I know of who ever escaped. My parents didn't want me after they found out what I'd done. In fact, they never publically acknowledged what happened to me. To the world, I was a rich, spoiled teenage runaway." The hand at her back flexed. She closed her eyes as she finished. "I moved around foster homes until I was eighteen years old, when I changed my name in honor of the girls I left behind."

  Andy's expression was unreadable. Rose turned to face her with red eyes.

  As she wiped her eyes, Rose tossed the towel from her shoulder into the sink. Nickie watched, not sure what to expect. What had come over her? This was their home. They had made her dinner, and she—

  "Well, aren't we a group of misfits," Rose said and walked to Nickie
. "Duncan and Andy grew up without parents and gave their aunt and uncle years full of shit as they sorted through that. I was held at knifepoint by my extortionist biological father." Rose threw her arms around her neck and whispered in her ear, "You're in good company," before pushing Duncan in the center of his chest and ordering him to set the table.

  * * *

  "You have more work tonight?" Duncan protested as he sandwiched Nickie against her car. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard him groan before. Cold metal pressed along her backside, heated steel against the front of her. It was clear he wasn't happy to be sleeping alone that night. His warm breath tickled her neck as he worked to persuade her to stay.

  It was... convincing.

  Magic hands traveled over her hips and inside her jacket. The cold car quickly became a welcome method of regulating her temperature. The air in a town the size of Northridge was never polluted, but out here, the trees and open fields made it surreal.

  Her head fell back as his lips trailed a line along her jaw and down her collarbone. She opened her eyes to millions of stars against a backdrop of ink black.

  "You could come back later," he purred.

  "Mmm. Tempting. We both have work in the morning."

  He pulled back and ran his thumb across her lips. "The responsible one."

  The irony. "I need to catch up with an informant. A wannabe informant," she corrected, "who's maybe an informant. He's only out at this hour." That wasn't all of it. She was revitalized and ached for a fresh lead in the Hendrix case.

  It was the strangest sensation. She had friends. She'd spent an evening with people who knew who she was—who she really was—and still wanted to spend time with her. She was in love and had friends. Two things she'd never expected or thought she wanted.

  "Slippery Jimbo?" he asked.

  Tilting her head, she looked into his chocolate eyes. "You remember him?" she asked, momentarily forgetting who she was speaking to. "Actually, I can't believe I asked that." Digging in her pocket, she found her keys.

  "I'm coming with you." He took the keys. "We can take my car."

  She stuck her hand in his pocket and took them out again. "Lynx is on this case with me. He's waiting for my call."