Bewitching: His Secret Agenda

by Carla Neggers

  “I like being here,” Allie muttered. “And so what if I hang out with my family and a few close friends? I love you all.”

  “God.” Kelsey’s eyes welled with tears. “No fair getting sappy around the pregnant lady.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Stupid hormones.”

  Allie patted Kelsey’s knee. “Aww...you’re nothing but a big softie.”

  “Be that as it may, I do love you,” Kelsey said, surprising Allie by squeezing her hand. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  “Now you’re going to get me started,” Allie complained, blinking furiously. “Are hormonal fluctuations catching?”

  “No, and you can’t use my pregnancy as an excuse for your weepiness, so suck it up and focus.” Her mouth thinned. “I’m not so sure hiring Dean was the best idea.”

  “Weren’t you the one who wanted me to hire him to begin with?”

  “Hey, I’m allowed to change my mind. Which I did after witnessing you two last night. But, since you hired him, I think you should be careful. When a man looks at a woman like Dean Garret looks at you, he wants something. Something more than getting you into bed.”

  Allie twirled her straw between her fingers. “I think Jack is rubbing off on you. And not in a good way.”

  What else could she say? That she’d had the same concerns about Dean last night when he’d made that comment about discovering her secrets? About having his work cut out for him? Why should both of them worry she’d messed up?

  Besides, she’d already decided to watch herself around Dean. Maybe his comment had been harmless. After all, she’d started that conversation as a way to get him to open up, to somehow forge a friendship between them. Maybe that had been his way of responding in kind.

  But in case it wasn’t, Allie would be sure to keep her guard up around him, and keep her secrets to herself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “WE HAVE A PROBLEM,” Dean said at work Wednesday night as Allie walked by him on her way to clear tables.

  She brushed her hair from her face. “If it’s another drunk who’s being unreasonable, you are not to punch him. Not under any circumstances.”

  He motioned for her to follow him to the back of the bar, where they could talk in private and he could still keep an eye on everything. Tonight was even slower than Tuesday had been—which was saying something—but there were two couples who’d stuck around after dinner, and a group of college kids playing darts.

  Of course, it wasn’t even eleven. Still early. And on Tuesday, they’d had a decent-sized crowd by midnight.

  “I don’t go around punching every drunk who annoys me,” he said. What did she think he was? Some newbie recruit on his first mission? “Just the ones who deserve it.”

  “There’s nothing I like more than a man with his own warped code of honor,” she said drily. “So, what’s this problem we have?”

  “I guess I shouldn’t have said we,” he clarified, curling his fingers into his palm. “More like you have a problem. Or at least, that guy you have doing dishes has a problem.”

  One of the college kids came up to the bar and Dean went to take his order, gesturing for Allie to follow. After getting the student a beer, he rang up the order on the cash register.

  “Your assistant’s using,” he told her quietly.

  “Who? Richie?” She looked over her shoulder. “That’s ridiculous. He’s been clean for more than nine months now.”

  Dean raised his eyebrows. So, she knew the guy was an addict, but had hired him anyway?

  “Then he’s using again. Have you seen him today? He’s on something.”

  Her hand shook as she picked up the rag and wiped the bar. “He’s sick,” she insisted, “not stoned. He’s probably just loopy from the cold meds he’s taking.”

  Was she for real? While Dean appreciated her trusting nature—it made his own job that much easier—he sure didn’t like the idea of anyone else taking advantage of her.

  He shoved his sleeves up and washed a glass, scrubbing harder than necessary. Not that he was taking advantage of her. He was doing his job. He wasn’t using her. And after he found out for sure whether or not she knew where Lynne and Jon were, he’d be on his way.

  But it wouldn’t affect Allie. She wouldn’t get hurt.

  That Richie guy was another story.

  She was watching Dean expectantly, as if waiting for him to agree with her. “I’m sure his pupils are dilated because of his cold,” he said sarcastically. “And he’s probably picking at his arms because of his medicine’s side effects.”

  “You’re wrong.” She seized hold of the bottle of spray disinfectant and, even though they had three hours until closing, squirted cleaner. “I know Richie.” She vigorously wiped the bar. “You don’t.”

  “True.” Dean stepped back when she started spraying again, saving himself from asphyxiation by taking the bottle out of her hand. “But just to be certain, when you go back in the kitchen, why don’t you take a good look at him? His hands are trembling and he can’t meet anyone’s eyes.”

  “Maybe you intimidate him.”

  “Me?” Dean laid his free hand on his chest. “Darlin’, I’m harmless.”

  “That’s not quite the word I’d use to describe you.”

  “Check it out. The guy’s got all the signs.”

  The glare she sent him told him she wasn’t too happy with his pressuring her about this. Or about the possibility of him being right.

  Good thing he didn’t care if she was happy with him or not.

  “I’m not going to accuse a trusted employee—and someone I consider a friend—of doing drugs,” she said coldly. “Especially when I don’t have proof. And I’d appreciate it if, in the future, you keep your baseless accusations to yourself.”

  He ground his teeth together to keep from blasting her. She didn’t want his help? Fine. He had better things to do.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He handed her the cleaner. “I’ll be sure to mind my own business from here on out.”

  With all the disdain and superiority of a queen to a peasant, she snatched the bottle from him and stalked off.

  Guess she hadn’t liked his conciliatory tone.

  A woman who’d entered the bar while he and Allie were talking requested a glass of white wine. Dean filled the order and fought his growing irritation. So what if Allie had an addict working for her. She was an intelligent and capable woman. Sooner or later she’d figure out that she needed to get rid of Richie.

  If she didn’t, Dean was sure her brother would protect her.

  He glanced over to where Allie was wiping off a table. Today she had on a deep green top, snug dark jeans and black heels. The college kids were having a great time checking out her ass. But she either didn’t know she was fueling their fantasies or didn’t care.

  More than likely she was too ticked off at him to notice.

  Not that she had any reason to be angry. He’d only been trying to help. It’d taken him two days to say anything about his suspicions in the first place.

  After his slipup Sunday at her parents’ house, he’d taken a step back. Hadn’t wanted to give Allie any reason to think he was more than what he seemed. Especially after he’d taken her cell phone, noted all outgoing and incoming calls, and gotten enough information for Nolan to hack into her personal account. Dean had then slipped over to her house late that night, broken into her vehicle and planted the phone where it would look as if she’d dropped it.

  The way this case was going, though, he shouldn’t worry about having his true motives revealed. He wasn’t any closer to proving Allie knew where Lynn and Jon were hiding. Maybe he should just confront her.

  Nolan had discovered two phone numbers Allie had called frequently over the past year. Both were to cell phon
es and when he and Dean had learned the first belonged to a Sheila Garey in Salem, Oregon, they thought they’d caught their first real break.

  Sheila, it turned out, wasn’t an alias for Lynne Addison, but a friend of Allie’s from law school.

  The second number was from a prepaid cell phone account. Since the phone, and the card to add minutes, had been purchased at a discount store, there was no way to trace it. The number had a Cincinnati area code—where Lynne and Jon were last spotted—but when Dean tried to call it, it was no longer in service.

  In his pocket, his cell phone vibrated. He pulled it out and checked the number before flipping it open. “Hey there, darlin’,” he said into the phone. “I was hoping you’d call.”

  “I have that information you asked for,” Katherine said, as usual, getting right to the point. “Is this a bad time?”

  “I need two minutes to get somewhere less crowded.” He covered the mouthpiece as Allie set her tray of dirty glasses on the bar. “Mind if I take my break now?”

  She shrugged, which he took as a yes. He rounded the bar and went outside, the cold hitting him like a right jab.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” he told Katherine as he hurried to his truck. “What did you find out?”

  He climbed inside and started the ignition. He’d dug into Allie’s past and kept her under surveillance the past three days, but hadn’t discovered anything new except that she speed-walked four miles every morning—no matter how cold—and if her stopping by the local bakery afterward was any indication, had a serious sweet tooth. Neither of which led him to Lynne and Jon Addison.

  “Allison Martin worked for the public defender’s office a year before being offered a job at Hanley, Barcroft, Blaisdell and Littleton,” Katherine said.

  “I knew that. Guess the bigwigs there had been impressed with the number of cases she’d won.” Dean sure had been.

  Katherine grunted. “Every case she won was a check mark in the loss column for the good guys—you know that, right?”

  The good guys in this case being the NYPD. “Now don’t take it personally. Besides, you have to admit, she was an excellent attorney. She’d been on the fast track for a partnership even before she took on Miles Addison as her client.”

  “I don’t have to admit any such thing,” Katherine said. “And if you know so much, why’d you ask me to check her background?”

  “Because that’s all I could find out—her background—when what I need to know is about the Miles Addison case.”

  “Not much to find out. From what I can tell, Allison Martin may have been right to take his case.”

  “Wasn’t he accused of molesting a young boy?”

  “Yeah, but it was a tough one to prosecute. For one thing, Addison had public sentiment on his side. He’s successful, wealthy, handsome and intelligent. He’s also a well-known name in New York. He serves on the boards of numerous charitable organizations, donating millions of dollars to those in need each year.”

  “Sounds like a real prince. So, his popularity kept him from going to prison? Or was he really innocent?”

  “You think I have a crystal ball or something? All I know is that there was no physical evidence, just the kid’s word against Addison’s. Addison claimed the boy’s mother had been blackmailing him for the past six months, that she’d threatened to bring him on up these charges if he didn’t pay her.”

  “He go to the cops?”

  Katherine snorted. “Nah. Turns out at the time all of this happened he was debating a run for public office. He figured if he didn’t pay her, she’d force her son to lie and he didn’t want anything to derail his ambitions. Phone records indicated the mother called Addison at his office twice a month for the preceding six months, which supported his claim. He also had bank slips showing large withdrawals on the same dates as the phone calls. He maintained that after she called, he’d get the money—in cash as per her orders—and meet her at a bar in Brooklyn. The defense team even got one of the bartenders who worked there to testify he saw Addison and the mother together at least twice.”

  “If he was paying her, how’d he end up in court?”

  “I guess she asked for more than he was willing to give. When he balked, she threatened to tell not only his wife what he’d allegedly done but also the newspapers. He realized how much power he’d given her. He told her he wasn’t giving her another cent and he just had to have faith that the truth would win out. The next day, the charges were filed.”

  “Sounds like Allie had more than enough evidence to prove there was reasonable doubt at the trial.”

  His comment was met with silence. “‘Allie’?” Katherine finally asked. “You’re not getting too friendly with this girl, are you, Dean?”

  He tugged on his left ear. “You know me. I’m playing my part.”

  “I hope so,” she muttered. “But you’re right about Ms. Martin proving reasonable doubt. After she cross-examined the mother on the stand, it looked as if the woman had set Addison up. If you ask me, the prosecution rushed the case to trial. They had no physical evidence so it came down to the kid’s word against Addison’s. It took them three hours of deliberation before acquitting him.”

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Do you think Addison really was innocent?”

  “Anything’s possible,” Katherine said. “And it’s equally possible he was guilty.”

  That was why Dean had wanted more information about the case. He needed to know what Miles Addison was capable of. Robin had told Nolan her son-in-law was dangerous, and if that was true, Dean had to find out how many resources Addison had. How far he’d go to get his wife and son back.

  He needed to keep Lynne and Jon safe once he found them.

  He thanked Katherine for her help, promised he’d be careful, and then shut the ignition off and got out. So, now he knew how the case against Addison had gone down. Too bad it didn’t prove anything. He shoved his hands into his pockets and ducked his head against the wind. He still didn’t know why Allie had defended the man—because she’d believed him innocent? Because she’d wanted a tough case to prove her worth? And it sure didn’t give her motive for hiding Lynne and Jon.

  Unless there was more to the story.

  He pushed open the door to The Summit with enough force for it to bang against the inside wall. Several heads turned his way but he ignored the patrons.

  Worse than being wrong or not solving the case was the idea of walking out on Allie. Leaving her alone with her denial about Richie and her savior tendencies left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  He needed to remember the number one lesson of undercover work: don’t get involved.

  * * *

  “IF YOU DON’T WANT TO believe what’s happening under your nose,” Dean told Allie over an hour later, “that’s your business. But I think you should be careful.”

  “Are we still talking about Richie?” He nodded as she unloaded empty beer bottles and a dirty wineglass off her tray. “You’re the second person to give me that excellent advice this week.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Kelsey. She’s... concerned about my hiring you.”

  He kept his expression carefully blank. “Her husband doesn’t trust me—”

  “That has nothing to do with it. Kelsey’s not swayed by Jack. Or at least, not much. She’s the most independent person I know. She doesn’t trust you.” Allie met his eyes. “And she doesn’t think I should trust you, either.”

  Shit. “What about you? Do you trust me?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I trust you to do your job. So far you’ve been nothing but an asset to my business.”

  He almost smiled at her thinking of The Summit’s bottom line. He put the empty beer bottles in the recycling bin. “I’ve only work
ed for you two days.”

  “Three if we include Saturday, which is already one day longer than either of the previous two bartenders I hired.”

  “I’m not going to leave you hanging,” he said even though that’s exactly what was going to happen. He already had a replacement bartender lined up for when the job was over.

  Someone Allie really could count on.

  She crumpled up a few paper napkins. “That’s still to be decided, isn’t it?”

  Damn, why couldn’t she accept him for who he said he was?

  What the hell was he doing wrong?

  At the end of the bar, the same gray-haired man who’d been sitting there last week when Dean first walked into The Summit, raised his empty glass. Dean pulled a beer and took it down to him as Allie threw away napkins behind the bar.

  He needed to figure out how to play this. How to work this to his advantage.

  “I thought we were friends,” he said when he came back. “Wasn’t that what you wanted? For us to be friends?”

  She jerked one shoulder. “I was wrong.”

  “So, you’ll trust Richie, the drug addict—”

  “Recovering drug addict.”

  “—but not me?”

  It bugged him only because it compromised his cover.

  She studied him. He waited for her to smile. To tell him of course she trusted him.

  But she just picked up the tray and walked away.

  Well, Allie didn’t have to trust him, to like him, for him to get the information he needed.

  But it would make his job a lot easier.

  One of the braver college kids approached Allie as she cleaned off the table the couple had vacated. He said something to her and she laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Dean’s eyes narrowed.

  The kid she’d turned on the charm for looked as hopeful as a tyke on Christmas Eve. Like if Allie stuck a bow on her head, his holiday would be complete.