Kiss of Deceit
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Reviews for KISS OF DECEIT
KISS OF DECEIT
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
KISS OF DECEIT
Book 1
PATRICIA A. RASEY
© 2001 by Patricia A. Rasey
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. (v4)
* * * * *
Don’t miss the next book in the series:
EYES OF BETRAYAL
Book 2
On sale July 28, 2015!
* * * * *
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Reviews for KISS OF DECEIT
“4 Stars…a well-written thriller where the characters expose their flaws and weaknesses. Ms. Rasey has real potential for suspense.”
—Jill M. Smith, Romantic Times
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“…Another racy romantic thriller by Pat Rasey, will keep the heart pounding, the blood boiling, and the most hardened of readers entertained. Combining extremely sexual and sensual moments with the pursuit of a ruthless killer who's parting deceitful kiss means murder, this novel is a must read.”
—Cindy Penn, WordWeaving
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“I liked this book and would put it on my keeper shelf. It’s not for the faint-hearted and the author gets into the mind of the killer very well. She gives us a riveting story that is hard to put down and you’ll find yourself busy turning the pages to find out the identity of the killer and cheering for the unlikely love between LeAnn and ‘Snake.’”
—Brenda Gill, Simply eBooks
KISS OF DECEIT
Marcus "Snake" Gallego lives in the fast lane. Play hard, ride fast, die young. Nothing seems to touch him, that is until his faithless wife turns up dead, and his only hope lies in the detective who slams his head against a bar top, cuffing him.
Detective LeAnne McVeigh has a murderer to catch and Snake is a prime suspect according to her fiancé, the County prosecutor. Snake’s freedom depends on her belief in his innocence. She fights her growing attraction to the bad boy biker, but the pull becomes too strong to ignore. Now they must team up to catch a killer as he becomes her friend in adversity.
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Dedication
To my two teenage sons, Nick and Tory. I love you guys!
To Pete and Arlene Miller, a more wonderful set of parents I could not have been blessed with and loved by.
And to Harold and Wanda Rasey, who accepted me as a daughter-in-law, but loved me like their own.
And to my Lord and Savior—Jesus Christ.
Acknowledgments
To Sheriff John Nye, who lent his time and knowledge to me, and gave me an inside peek as to how the Sheriff’s Office is run.
To Linda Schambarger, Dennis Wheeler, and Greg Kieffer who were all instrumental at giving me a tour of the Correctional Center of Northwest Ohio (CCNO), so that my descriptions in Kiss Of Deceit could be as authentic as possible.
To Marv Yagel, owner of the Napoleon Harley Davidson Shop, who gave me a tour and answered my endless questions about motorcycles and mechanics. And to Steve “Red Dot” Kemp for answering my questions about bikers. May you both RIP.
Any mistakes are of my own making and are indeed at no fault to those who lent their hand to answer my questions.
And to Trace Edward Zaber, my editor, my friend, who lent his time, skills, and many talents to help me perfect Kiss of Deceit.
Prologue
Two years prior…
His hands shook, blue veins standing out against white skin. They weren’t overly large hands by any means, but oh, the power they possessed.
And what they had actually done—as if they weren’t a part of his own body. As if they had acted on their own accord.
Of course, they had.
Certainly he could not be guilty of something of this magnitude. But the excitement—nothing compared. Just thinking about it again brought on a rock-hard erection.
From his vantage point in the bathroom, he looked back at the bed. She was perfect in every way. Her blond hair cascaded over the side of the bed like a waterfall, one curl falling gently into another. Her face was turned away from him, but he had memorized every curve, every line.
Her body, though slightly flawed with stretch marks telling of an earlier pregnancy, was almost faultless. Her nipples, large and distended, areola darkened from passion, pointed slightly out to the sides. Her hips flared gently to her legs, long like those of a ballerina.
He released a small groan as he remembered how quickly her face had gone from sanguine to full of terror. Her eyes actually bulged like something from a horror scene. Her mouth opened, gasping for air, and her hands grabbled at his, wrapping tightly around his wrists.
But he released her before she passed out; killing her had not been in the plan. Watching the color return to her face as life rushed back full force had been half the fun. And she had liked it, too. She said she loved the way it kept him hard. He didn’t tell her that without the danger, she left him cold, flaccid.
Never in his menial life had he maintained an erection for such a long period of time.
For once, he was in control.
And just when she had begun to relax, he slipped his hands deftly around her slender throat as he pumped furiously into her. She gripped his wrists, drawing blood as her nails ripped the surface of his skin. He liked the sting, the feel of his blood as it trickled down his arm, the sound of her red acrylic tips snapping off in her struggle.
When he finally collapsed on top of her, sweat dripping from his brow, he waited to hear her gasps of air, her intake of much-needed oxygen. This time it wasn’t there. Her chest lay still. Her eyes were open, but they stared blankly at the ceiling. Had he actually killed her?
Panic seized his gut like a vice. He slapped her face a few times, jerking her head to the side. He tried to resuscitate her, breath life back into her.
Nothing.
Perspiration trickled into his eyes, stinging them. Dumb bitch, why didn’t she tell him to stop? She wasn’t supposed to die. What a weak, stupid slut. He chuckled—half disbelieving, half amused—but then his gaze strayed down to her pale face and lifeless eyes. His stomach began to revolt. He ran to the bathroom, and retched into the toilet.
Now, as he stared at her from the opened doorway, she almost looked serene lying there as if she were sleeping and would wake at any moment. Funny, how death had made her somehow prettier, even sexier.
At least, this way, she would never again open her mouth.
The thought left him smiling. After jerking his pants up over his hips, he tossed the used condom into the toilet and flushed. He grabbed a towel and made quick work of wiping every s
urface he may have touched, then threw the cloth aside.
No one could ever know.
After grasping a rose from the vase on the bathroom counter, he pulled the sheet over her naked body. In mock salute, he kissed the blood-red flower and haphazardly tossed it atop the sheet. Then, with a remorseless chuckle, he stole into the night.
Chapter 1
Present Day
“Marcus Gallego.”
Marcus’s ominous form turned slowly on his bar stool, then rose to his full six-foot-four height, glaring down on LeAnne McVeigh. His eyes, dark as night, bore something akin to evil.
Clearing her throat, she continued. “You are under arrest for the murder of your wife, Jillian Gallego. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right…”
Her gaze swept the bar as her voice went through the motion of reading him his rights. She had done this many times before and could probably do it in her sleep. Except, this time was different—this time the man was strong enough to take off her head, and good-looking enough to sweep her off her feet.
Marcus simply chuckled, mocking her. The sound, deep and rumbling, seemed to travel from the soles of his worn leather boots up through the broad expanse of his chest.
Of course, the two deputies accompanying her could have done this, saving her the trouble, if not the embarrassment. But she had wanted to be in on the arrest. This was her case.
Besides, the deputies were here to watch her back. LeAnne knew better than to enter a bikers’ bar alone to arrest one of their kind, and certainly would not have dared, had the bar been full.
“Place both hands on the bar, Gallego,” she instructed, motioning for one of the deputies to pat him down.
He simply crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “You got the wrong man, lady.”
LeAnne clenched her teeth. Sure, she was a woman, but she would be damned before she would allow him to think her any less of an adversary than the deputies accompanying her.
“Hands on the bar, Gallego,” she repeated, taking a step forward. The two deputies fidgeted, obviously nervous at her putting herself within the tall man’s reach.
His jaw twitched as he seemed to weigh his options, then finally did as she instructed. Tom, the larger of the two deputies, kicked Gallego’s feet farther apart, then frisked him. Tom laid Gallego’s change, keys, and wallet on the bar as murmurs from the other patrons increased.
Tom stepped back. LeAnne grasped Marcus’s wrist, wrenching his taut arm behind his back. She slapped the cuff around it, the sharp clack easily carrying through the now-hushed room.
“What the…” he gritted between his clenched teeth as he jerked on his arm, nearly tearing it from her clasp.
But with a strength someone her size could not seemingly possess, she pulled his arm back behind him, pushed his chest down on the polished but scarred bar, and cuffed his wrists together.
“Don’t push me today, Gallego,” she hissed. “I sure as hell am not in the mood.” Then snatching a fistful of his worn brown leather, she jerked him upright. “You’re going downtown.”
“What about my bike?”
LeAnne wanted to laugh. Here she was hauling his sorry hide to the station for the murder of his wife and the only thing he could think about was his precious Harley.
“Not my problem now, is it? Get someone else to take it home,” she stated in a stern voice, daring him to argue.
She knew she posed no threat to a man of his caliber, but with two armed men accompanying her, he might think twice before harming her.
He nodded his dark head at a salt and pepper-haired biker with a beard reaching to his chest. A beer-belly parted his vest as the sides of his rear spilled off the stool. This man held no similarities with the one she held in her grip; she doubted Marcus Gallego sported even an ounce of fat.
“You take my bike home, Rebel,” he stated more than asked. “Lock up my house—feed the dogs.”
“No problem, buddy.” The man smiled a missing-toothed grin. “Just need your keys.”
Marcus turned his head to look down on LeAnne, a sneering smile on his face. LeAnne’s heart flipped in her chest. His smile could melt the coldest of hearts; his gaze could turn any warm-bodied female’s insides into a pile of quivering mush. This man could charm the skin off a snake.
“My keys”—he tugged on his arms—“would you mind?”
LeAnne grasped them from the surface of the bar and tossed them to the gray-haired biker, who caught them in mid-air.
“You know I would have enjoyed this even more had you taken the keys from my pocket yourself, sweetheart,” Gallego said, his smile growing to full-blown. “We’re among friends here; no reason to be shy.”
Hoots and hollers grew in intensity as the bikers seemed to mock the law’s presence. Heat traveled up her neck and warmed her face. The best plan of action was to get Marcus Gallego out of his habitat before the scene turned ugly.
LeAnne raised a brow and grinned at the formidable opponent. “Don’t flatter yourself, Gallego. If I had the notion to reach into your pocket, I doubt there’d be much there to find.”
Laughter filtered about and the noise of the bar amplified.
“I think she’s got something for you, Snake,” a tall, thin man with stringy hair and a sparse beard called from his stool at the end of the long bar, earning him low chuckles. Tattoos littered every inch of his bare skin.
“Lady Pig,” came from beside Rebel, while yet another said, “Hey Snake, she looks good enough to eat.”
Having had enough, LeAnne jerked on his wrists, causing him to groan slightly from the pain as the cuffs tightened. She pushed him through the bar, ignoring the catcalls. Definitely not one of the better parts of the job. Female deputy sheriffs around Henry County were rare—not to mention she was their sole homicide detective.
* * *
Snake paced his six-by-eight-foot holding cell like a King Cobra backed into a corner. Pale yellow bars held him captive from three sides. A yellow, cement wall completed the back quarter.
He couldn’t stand still, had he wanted to. Blood pumped furiously through his veins as his agitation grew. They had the wrong man. And now, because of it, no one was looking for Jillian’s real murderer.
He stepped up to the steel-barred door, centering his anger in each long stride, and tightly clasped the cold metal, his knuckles blanching white. How the hell would he ever get out of this one?
Three years ago, he had walked into Deja Vu, a strip club in Toledo, Ohio. An event which irrevocably changed the course of his life. Now, looking back, he wondered, had he the power, would he change a thing?
Doubtful. The night he had first laid eyes on her was still fresh in his memory, as if it had been only yesterday.
A leggy blonde with large breasts that could have only come from silicone danced in front of him as he took a seat at the bar with his buddy, Blade. The rest of his friends opted for the bar next door that served liquor.
The dancer’s small rib cage tapered to an even tinier waist, which Snake could easily span with his two hands. Turning her back on him, her small fingers unhooked the clasp to her lace brassiere as her hips swayed in time to Warrant’s “Cherry Pie,” a song he could no longer hear and not think of Jillian. Toying with the audience, she slowly slid the fabric away, purposely keeping her back to Snake. She tossed the bra aside, turned around, then ran her palms down her chest and abdomen, hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties and pushed them down her slender legs to lie in a silky pool at her feet, never once taking her eyes off Snake.
His eyes held fast; his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He had never before been so close to a full-blown erection in public; he normally had a will of iron and self-control. He shifted uneasily in his chair, not wanting to embarrass himself, and looked at Blade, who whistled through forefinger and thumb from the chair beside him.
Glancing back at the stage, Snake watched as she gyrated to the music and wrapped her slender body around a
chrome pole. He could easily imagine her long legs encompassing his waist as she seemed to put on a show solely for him.
One year later, standing in front of his Harley and dozens of other bikers, Snake pledged to love, honor, and trust the stripper he had come to know as Jillian until death parted them. And love her, he did—like no other.
Now Snake rattled the old yellow bars in aggravation. Jillian Gallego lay six feet under, and in here, Snake could do nothing about it. He, too, wanted to catch the killer, probably more so than the cops, but now his hands were tied.
His two-year marriage had certainly been a rocky one, and more times than not, Snake wanted to ride off into the sunset and forget the day he ever laid eyes on his wife. But he could not change his heart had he wanted to. The fact remained, he fell hard for Jillian.
And if for nothing else than that love, he vowed to find who had taken her life and see that the SOB paid with his own.
“Damn,” he cursed the cell. How the hell did he ever expect to uphold that vow if he was found guilty and sat the rest of his rotten days behind bars?
Snake resumed his pacing. He had to find a way to get out of here—prove his innocence. But how? None of his friends, outlaws in their own right, would dare come within feet of the sheriff’s office, let alone the Corrections Center of Northwest Ohio, CCNO, where the cops were probably, at this minute, preparing to send him.
No, in this one, he was completely alone.
The door to the main part of the sheriff’s office opened, then slammed shut, sending a draft of cool air down the hallway and into his cell.
Soft-soled shoes made contact with cement as someone made their way to his cell. Snake stopped his pacing, hooked his thumbs in the band of his jeans and waited for the approaching deputy.