Sex, Lies & Lace (Sex and Lies Book 4)

by Kris Calvert

  I yanked the white tank top over my head, ran a comb through my hair and twisted the wet mane into a tight bun. I stared at the keys to the rental car for only a moment before making the decision to go.

  Using a post-it note from a welcome packet left by the hotel, I scrawled a note to Win letting him know I’d be back and not to wait for me. I wanted to speak with King Giles and I wanted to speak with him now.

  Tossing my backpack into the passenger seat, I pulled out my phone and looked up directions to the office of Dr. Kingston Giles in Shadeland, Alabama at the first red light.

  The town was small enough that I was in the parking lot of the Doctor’s Park within ten minutes of leaving the hotel. It was still early and not only was there no patients, there were no doctors. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and saw that I’d left the hotel in such a rush I’d not even bothered with mascara, let alone make up. Plain was not a good look for me.

  Pulling the small cosmetic pouch from my backpack, I swathed mascara across my lashes and gloss over my lips. With two brush strokes of blush I was fresh faced and a new woman at once—and not a moment too soon.

  Turning into the parking lot was a black Porsche Panamera 4S. After being in the opulent Rose Hill yesterday the car had to belong to King Giles.

  I watched as the tall dark and handsome man unfolded his legs and stood on the side of his luxury car. “Jesus, you’re beautiful,” I said under my breath.

  Dressed in a navy blue suit with a gray shirt, he sported a pink tie and dark aviator sunglasses. He looked like something out of a men’s magazine ad for cars, sex, money and alcohol. If all the heavenly vices of the world could be rolled into one beautiful and tempting man, it would be King Giles. I was sold from the moment he ran his hand through his dark wavy hair and the first deep, velvety word rolled off of his lips.

  I slid down in the seat as he walked around his car, pulling his briefcase from the passenger side. In his hand he held a Post it note, placing it between his full lips to shut the car door. “You’re a lucky little piece of paper,” I said watching him while biting on my own lip.

  He hustled up the concrete steps two by two in his shining black shoes and unlocked the outside door to his office. As soon as he was gone, I bloomed like a flower from my seat in the government issue car that was at the moment just like me—plain, nondescript and only good for utilitarian purposes.

  I didn’t know exactly what I wanted from King Giles, I only knew I needed to talk with him again. Now that I was sitting in front of his office, I began to rethink what I was doing.

  “You know exactly what you’re doing, Reagan,” I said to myself in the mirror. You want answers.”

  Doing a double take at my reflection, I knew one thing—if I was going into speak with him, I needed to put on more mascara and find some lipstick. Not gloss, but real woman-stuff kind of lipstick. I needed to fight fire with fire, and he was looking a little too good this morning for me to storm in like a rookie cop trying to act like a man.

  What to do…what to do, I thought as I dug through my backpack again looking for my seldom-used dark pink lipstick. After marking my cupid’s bow with the tip, I ran the dark stain across my bottom lip and pressed my mouth together while digging for my mascara once more.

  I leaned into the mirror for a better look and mumbled to myself. What I would even say if I stormed into his office. “Dr. Giles, why is the local news media telling a different story than what transpired yesterday?” I switched sides, brushing my lashes with gusto, hoping to give my swollen eyes the wake-up call they needed. “I need you to answer some questions for me King. Or…. I need you to answer some questions for me Dr. Giles.”

  Three raps rang out on my driver’s side door and I jumped in my seat, instinctively reaching for my sidearm at my waist.

  Holding his hands up in surrender, King Giles gave me a beautiful smile on the other side of the dirty car window before rolling his finger over and over asking me to drop the window.

  I opened the car door and he stepped away, still wielding his disarming grin. I stood next to him and felt my legs shake with an unsteady nervous flutter.

  “Good morning, Agent Weatherford.”

  I knew my face was five shades of red. I’d been caught. There was nothing left to do but own it. So I did. “Good morning, Dr. Giles.”

  “King,” he corrected. “Would you like to come inside my office for coffee and a visit?”

  Shoving my hands in the front pockets of my black pants I nodded. “Yes. If you don’t mind.”

  “On the contrary. I was planning on calling you.”

  King held out his arm and I obliged him, shutting the car door and walking ahead to the front of his office.

  On the glass door was his name: Kingston Giles, MD. Internal Medicine, Geriatrics. As I entered the lobby, I couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t nearly as posh as I’d expected. It looked like an upscale lobby of a hotel, but after visiting Rose Hill, it wasn’t the Four Seasons I’d thought it would be.

  “Let’s go to my office,” he said gesturing to the hallway. Last door on the right.”

  I walked past the empty exam rooms. Two women in white outfits came through the back door, jabbering to each other about what they’d brought with them for lunch and greeted King with a smile.

  Turning into his office, I noticed the painting on the wall behind his chair. The odd geometric shapes, bright colors and lines made me think of Kandinsky and my art history class at Washington and Lee. “Nice painting,” I said, hoping to back out of my embarrassing moment in the parking lot with small talk.

  “Thanks,” he replied as he began to make an espresso at the fancy machine in the corner of his office. “Espresso?”

  “No thank you. I don’t drink coffee.”

  “No coffee?” he asked as he turned and raised one sexy eyebrow. “How do you caffeinate? Or wait, don’t tell me—you don’t do caffeine—clean eating or something?”

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked with a laugh. “We’re BFFs caffeine and me. I drink a Diet Coke in the morning.”

  King stared back at me and slowly nodded. “BFFs?”

  “Um…” I searched for a way to seem professional after I’d used a kid’s acronym. “We’re best friends—caffeine and me.”

  I dropped my head and thought if I left right now maybe he’d forget everything that had just transpired. I felt like a dope.

  “Best friends forever,” he added.

  I nodded and he gave me a tiny smile as he held two fingers to his lips to hold in his laughter.

  Everything the man did was sexy, and I was pretty sure he knew it. Glancing around the room I took in all the diplomas and board certifications that hung on his walls. If I’d calculated it in my head correctly, he was at least ten years older than me. And yet, he didn’t seem older. Dr. King Giles was like expensive scotch—older and worth the time it took to make it exceptional. The face and body of a twenty-something and the mind of an old soul, I found myself drawn to him for reasons I couldn’t explain. I only hoped he didn’t find me young and inexperienced, even if I was.

  I did my best to pinpoint the one thing that made him so appealing and I thought perhaps it was his voice. The deep sound seemed to reverberate through my core each time he spoke. I tried not to focus on it, but it was impossible to concentrate on his words and not how he made me feel.

  “Reagan?”

  “Yes?”

  “I said would you like a Diet Coke?”

  I was so wrapped up in watching the man move through the room in fluid strides I wasn’t even listening to the words he was saying, only how the deepness of his voice flowed over me.

  I needed to get a grip—and I needed to get it fast. I was a federal agent and this was no way for a federal agent to behave. Especially around a man whose ex-girlfriend, the daughter of a mob boss, turned up dead in his front yard. I took a deep breath. Maybe I did need the caffeine to help me think straight. “Yes. Yes,” I repeated. “T
hat would be great.”

  Opening a cabinet under his personal coffee station, the hidden refrigerator swung wide and was filled with soda, water and snacks. I thought of my empty fridge in the West Village and felt insignificant—again.

  Handing me the soda, he closed the door and motioned for me to take a seat. “Would you like ice and a glass?” He asked.

  I popped the top of the can and took a gulp before coming up for air and shook my head. “The painting,” I said gesturing to it. “It kinda looks like a Kandinsky. Who’s the artist?”

  King swiveled in his office chair and gazed up at the colorful geometric shapes and lines only to come back to me with an inoffensive, neutral expression. “Kandinsky.”

  I tucked my lips inside my mouth and nodded, no longer able to look him in the face.

  “Reagan, you must’ve had a reason for coming to my office so early this morning,” he said picking up a stack of charts sitting on the end of his long desk and placing them in front of him. It was clear he had work to do. “What can I help you with?”

  I pulled myself together. “Well, you said you were planning on calling me,” I replied, fumbling through the words and nervously stroking my fingers across my forehead to calm myself. “What did you want?”

  He laughed and stared through me at the same time. It was unnerving and disarming and I realized King’s interrogation skills were excellent.

  “Honestly, I wanted to ask you—” he began.

  “Doctor Giles?” An older nurse said as she knocked and opened his door simultaneously. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were alone and signing charts.”

  “It’s okay, Emma,” he replied. “This is Reagan Weatherford. Reagan, this is Emma Richards, my office manager.”

  “Nice to met you.” Emma eyed me from head to toe as I stood to shake her hand.

  “The pleasure is mine,” she drawled in her sweet southern accent.

  “What did you need, Emma?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied pulling her stare from me. “Autumn Valley is calling for you on line three, but I’ll tell them you’ll call back.”

  King gave her a nod and she was out of the office as quickly as she entered. We were alone again. In the few moments his hypnotic gaze no longer held me in a trance, I allowed myself to gather my thoughts. My lifeboat that was taking on water at a rapid pace early in the conversation was miraculously plugged, and I said a silent Amen to myself.

  “You were saying?” I asked, now suddenly redirected and confident in myself.

  “Yes. Reagan, I wanted to ask you to dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  By the look on his face I knew my shock wasn’t what he was expecting.

  “Yes. Dinner. You know that thing where two people sit at an elegantly adorned table and nourish their bodies with foods that excite their palate? I mean, there could be wine, but I didn’t want to oversell the whole scenario right out of the gate.”

  He was devilishly handsome and funny, too. He was also a suspect in the death of his ex-girlfriend. But with everyone suddenly off the case, I took a beat and wondered if dinner wasn’t the best way to get inside the beautiful man’s head. I was assigned to follow the Russian mafia and someone had to believe there was a connection—why else were Win and I sent here in the first place? I wanted to know what made King Giles tick. I wanted to find out what he knew, and drinking a Diet Coke and watching him sign charts wasn’t going to cut it.

  “What time?” I asked.

  “What time is best for you?”

  Underneath my calm demeanor, I was shaking in my own skin. I was going against everything I knew to be good and ethical as a federal agent in order to weasel my way into King Giles life and story. But my dad always said that in order to catch a criminal, sometimes you had to think and act like one.

  I stood and took a long sip of my cold soda. “Seven-thirty?”

  “I’ll pick you up.” He stood as soon as I did. I had to hand it to him. He very well may be a cold-blooded killer, but he was a gentleman. “Where are you staying?”

  “The Hilton on the edge of town. Room 617.”

  He smiled from ear to ear and nodded. “Miss Weatherford, I’m delighted that you’ll be joining me for dinner.”

  “I need to be going.”

  “Let me show you out,” King drawled as he walked me out of his office down the hallway to the lobby. Each nurse looked me over from head to toe as we passed them and I had a feeling they were very curious and protective of their beloved Dr. Giles.

  “What was it you wanted to speak with me about?” King asked as he opened the door to the morning air.

  “It can wait,” I replied, turning on my heels and walking down the stairs to my car. I could feel his eyes on my body, but when I turned to unlock the dusty sedan, he wasn’t there. My phantom feelings made me aware that I was stepping into a place where my heart was leading, and not my head. The more I thought about sexy King Giles, I realized my emotions and common sense were colliding like gasoline and fire.

  I looked to my watch. I had a few minutes to make it back to the hotel without Win being too mad.

  “What the fuck, Reagan?”

  “You’re mad.” I sat on the bed and dropped my backpack from my shoulder.

  “Hell yes, I’m mad. We had orders to ship out of here today and you go off on your own and take the car leaving me stranded? Not cool. Really not cool.”

  “I said I’m sorry and I’m sorry. You have plenty of time to catch the plane and still make it back into the city.”

  Win paced back and forth through the hotel room decorated in dark earth tones and a loud bedspread. It was the late eighties décor that made the room seem a little dingy, or perhaps it was that small town hotels looked like the ugly stepchildren of bigger cities.

  “You? What do you mean, you? Get your shit together. We’re leaving.”

  I shook my head no.

  “Don’t fucking do this to me Reagan. You’re brand new in the field and I know—believe me I know how exciting it is to be out here, especially when you know you’re on the trail of something hot. But let me assure you, you’re getting yourself into nothing but trouble.”

  I sat silent and watched him pace the room like a trapped cat, constantly walking and peering out the curtains for something or someone.

  “Look Reagan.” Win stopped in his tracks, making sure he had my attention. “Do you have any idea what kind of people can make a murder go away? And very likely a mafia hit? Do you have an inkling as to who can make that happen?”

  I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word and I certainly gave him no indication that I knew what he was talking about. But I did—of course I did. I was the daughter of a beat cop and I was well aware that corruption rang deep and true in law enforcement. I also knew that government operatives could make just about anything go away—including the murder of a businesswoman.

  “Reagan, you’re messing with some very serious shit. Shit you have no business messing with.”

  Win hung his hands on his hips and shook his head, causing his unkempt blonde curls to ebb and flow with each erratic pulse of his body.

  “I don’t know why I’m staying. It’s a gut feeling, but I know I can’t go.”

  “Even if it means your life, Reagan? Because that’s what you’re talking about here—your life.”

  “I understand,” I began. “But Win, if you feel something—I mean really feel it—don’t you have to follow it?”

  “No.” It was a one word answer, but I knew Win’s true explanation was much more complex.

  “There’s something going on here.” I stood, pointing to the floor to make my point. “I know it. Now, King Giles has asked me to dinner and I’ve accepted. I may only be here one more day, and then again, I may be here longer, but I’m staying.”

  “The Bureau isn’t going to pay for you to stay Reagan. We’re supposed to be back in the city tonight.”

  I sat back on the bed, straightening the messy covers as I
tried to put on my bravest face. “Of course. You check out. Take the car with you. If anyone asks, I wasn’t feeling well and decided to take a later flight.” I stared back into his concerned face. “You’re off the hook, Champ.”

  I opened my backpack and began to sift through my notes. I’d not taken many during my interview with King yesterday, but I had a near perfect memory and I’d written the conversations down verbatim as soon as we’d left Rose Hill.

  Win stopped lecturing and sat next to me. “Reagan, I like you. I think you’re funny and sexy and smart and I want to have you in my life for a very long time. Don’t make me come to your funeral. Do you understand me?”

  His words were heartfelt, and I loved that he cared for me as a person and as a partner but that didn’t change my mind about what I was willing to do. “Thank you Win,” I said placing my hand on his shoulder. “You can just make the flight if you leave now.”

  With a heavy sigh, Win Holloway stood in his pressed khakis and his starched button down. “Fine. Will you at the very least check in with me?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  Pulling his backpack and the small bag he carried on the plane over his shoulder, he stopped before leaving. “Promise me this, Gip.”

  “What?” I stared into his bright green eyes.

  “If you get in too deep you’ll call me. I can be here faster than you might think. I have my ways and my own resources outside of the Bureau.”

  I stood again to meet his concerned face. “I will.”

  Win didn’t look back when he shut the door to my hotel room and I thought that perhaps he was doing his best to hide his own feelings. I gathered my things and headed to the front desk. I would need to check out and check back in again—I only hoped they’d allow me to keep the same room. The last thing I wanted was to call King.

  I took the elevator to the lobby and walked directly to the smiling manager in the red polyester vest and tie with the nametag, Jeb. “Hi, I’m staying an extra day, but on my own dime. Is it okay if I keep the same room? 617?”

  The manager shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t see why not.”

  “Thank you.” I truly loved the hospitality of the South. It seemed as if no one minded going the extra mile or even out of their way a bit in order to please someone else. “Everyone is so nice here.”