Kiss of Deceit

by Patricia A. Rasey

  Winning over my opinion can only be a plus to you.

  If he were ever to get out of here, he knew the key lay in LeAnne McVeigh’s hand. She would be his ally. He had no one else.

  Keys rattled, drawing his attention. A woman of average build and height stood at the door. A bun secured her brown hair at the nape of her neck. Her blue uniform top stretched taut over large breasts. He supposed, with her warm brown eyes and pale young skin, she could be deemed pretty, though not his type. He more preferred blondes.

  The steel door swung open easily on greased hinges as she stepped into the cell, accompanied by an officer wearing a blue blazer with a gold patch attached to the breast.

  “Marcus Gallego,” she said, looking at his commitment paper, which contained his case number and what he had been charged with. “On your feet. We need your prints and mug shot.”

  Silently, Marcus followed her out of the cell. She led him to a pale blue Touch Print machine to take his fingerprints. She first took his right hand and rolled the tip of each finger over a plate of glass, electronically taking a picture of his prints, then finished with his left. He was asked to stand in front of a poster on the wall, used as a background and a measurement for his height in the mug shot. He looked straight into the video camera, then turned to the side; his case number would be added to the bottom.

  She handed him a blue property bag and a red uniform, then led him down a long hall to a small room. She handed him a blue mesh bag.

  “Strip. Put your belongings in the bag. Any money you have will be put in a commissary account for necessities. If you do not have any money, you’ll receive a complimentary packet for your hygiene needs. Questions?”

  “Just one,” he said, narrowing his gaze. “When can I see Detective LeAnne McVeigh from the Henry County Sheriff’s Office?”

  * * *

  Candles lit the small dining area of her home as she entered the house. A forest-green cloth draped the table with her grandmother’s china dishes and crystal wine goblets decorating the surface. An opened bottle of red wine sat at room temperature in a silver bucket.

  A rich, roast beef aroma drifted about the room, causing her stomach to growl, proving her hunger. The door to the kitchen opened. Chad came into the room carrying two food-laden plates, steam rising from them. Her old, patched apron draped the front of him, protecting his sweater and pleated trousers.

  “Smells delicious,” LeAnne said, shrugging her arms from her blazer. “Beef Burgundy?”

  “Your favorite,” Chad said.

  He set down the plates, then hastened over to LeAnne, helping her out of her jacket. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  “This is quite a surprise, Chad.” She took the offered seat. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Chad jerked the apron over his head, tossed it aside, and then took his own chair. He grasped the deep red wine and poured them each a glass. “You closed one of your biggest cases today. I thought I’d make supper and help you celebrate.”

  She grinned, wishing she felt as lighthearted. Truth be told, the boulder on her shoulder weighed even more now that Marcus Gallego sat behind bars.

  “The case is in your hands, Mr. Prosecutor.” LeAnne was not about to tell Chad she hadn’t exactly closed it. A fact he would not welcome, wanting to prosecute this case as expediently as possible. He viewed it as an easy win.

  “Exactly.” He punctuated his statement with a broad smile. “All the more reason you should be smiling. But I detect this bliss is only a facade. What’s the matter, babe?”

  Anyone would consider Chad Baker an attractive man and quite a catch. Most woman in Henry County would be lucky to call him her own. He stood six feet tall, with a sculptured body that came from years of lifting weights. Seemingly vain about his appearance, Chad always checked the mirror before leaving the house and glanced in store windows to see if his dark blond hair, lightly streaked with gray, was out of place.

  But these were little things, things LeAnne overlooked. He offered security, companionship, and, of course, love. Chad never failed to show her how much he loved her. And with their fast-approaching wedding date, he had been all the more attentive. Chad Baker stated on many occasions, he could not wait to make LeAnne his wife.

  LeAnne at first thought it odd that he would select her over someone who could stay home, clean the house, and have his kids. With LeAnne, work always came first; it had to.

  Chad assured her, though, it was perfectly all right with him if they never had kids. LeAnne had yet come to the same conclusion.

  “I was just talking to Joe this morning,” she began, toying with the California blend of vegetables, before popping a steamed carrot into her mouth. Between bites, she added, “I’m not sure Marcus Gallego murdered his wife. Something doesn’t feel right about it.”

  “It’s not up to you anymore. Let the jury decide.” He cut a piece of beef in two and plopped it into his mouth, then said, “Christ, babe, you’ve worked this case for three months. You said you thought the husband did it; you just needed proof. Now you have it: the DNA results. Let it go. It’s over.”

  LeAnne stared at her plate. How could he be so flippant about the life of another human being? What if she had been wrong, and Marcus Gallego didn’t do it? There were too many unanswered questions for her liking: the third found pubic hair, the latex residue.

  Obviously detecting the path her thoughts had taken, Chad stroked her cheek. “You did the right thing, babe. You’ll see. Just yesterday you had thought so, too. What caused the sudden change of heart?”

  “I was the one who arrested him today.”

  “You? What on earth for?”

  Her gaze came back to his. “I know the guys could have done it themselves, but it was my first big case.”

  “This gave you a change of heart?” He clasped her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s only anxiety. Let it go. Forget it. Let me do my job now.”

  “I know.” She tried her best to give him a reassuring smile; she shrugged. “But after meeting the man…I don’t know.”

  “Okay.” He placed his fork on the table and took a large swallow of wine. “It’s obvious we aren’t going to get through this meal unless we talk about it. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  She suddenly felt silly. Chad was right. Until this afternoon, when she had walked into the bar and handcuffed Gallego, she, too, thought him guilty. The sheriff’s warning traveled through her thoughts. Don’t let his handsome face distort the facts. Exactly what she had been doing for the past few hours.

  “I’m sorry, Chad. You went to all this trouble, and all I’m doing is ruining it. You’re right, as always; let the jury decide his fate. If Marcus Gallego is found guilty, then he’ll have to pay the consequences.”

  “I’m going for the death penalty on this one.”

  LeAnne nearly choked on her food, sending her into a coughing fit. She grasped her wineglass and took a long pull, then blotted her lips with her napkin.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She paused, containing her surprise. “You can’t be serious. On what grounds?”

  “Committing murder in the process of perpetrating a felony—rape.” LeAnne narrowed her gaze. “That’s quite a stretch, isn’t it? He’s her husband, for crying out loud. You don’t think a jury will buy that for a minute, do you? Maybe killing her during the heat of passion…”

  His cheeks flamed. “Who the hell’s side are you on? This man tied his wife to the bed, tortured her, then killed her. Does that sound like something done in the heat of passion?”

  “Well, no. But the death penalty? What if we are wrong? What if the jury convicts an innocent man?”

  Chad shook his head in disbelief. Standing abruptly, he took the plates from the table and entered the kitchen, his jerky movements showing his sudden change in temperament. Moments later, he returned with two bowls of fresh-cut strawberries and whipped cream, the agitation still prominent acro
ss his stern face.

  LeAnne knew she owed him yet another apology. She had no idea what had come over her. “Look, I’m sorry. I guess it’s because my work has never before sent a man to his death. I’m not so sure I could handle it.”

  “Come here.” He smiled, the tension already alleviating, softening his gaze. He took her hand and led her into the living room where he pulled her down beside him on the couch, still holding one bowl of berries. He set it on the coffee table, then pulled her legs over his. LeAnne snuggled into the pillows forming the corner of the sofa.

  He took a berry, dipped it into the cream, and then held it to her lips. LeAnne bit into the sugary delight and licked the remaining cream from her lips.

  “You drive me crazy, you know,” Chad said, smoothing the stray hairs away from her face. “I could spend eternity staring into those green eyes of yours.”

  The smile left her face. “You’ll get the chance,” she said, thinking of their forthcoming nuptials.

  “I know,” he whispered, then pulled her into his embrace, his mouth slanting over hers. LeAnne wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, desperation spurring her kiss. Security—her safety net.

  A growl escaped his throat as he slipped one arm beneath her legs and one behind her back, rising from the sofa. Breaking the kiss, he said, “I know it’s still early—”

  The phone rang, cutting off his words.

  LeAnne smiled at the bad timing. “I better get that.”

  He lowered her feet to the floor, then patted her on the derriere. “Be quick about it,” he said with a wink.

  LeAnne picked up the receiver, keeping her eyes on Chad as he pulled his sweater over his head. Heat spread through her like warm honey. LeAnne clipped a quick “Hello” into the phone.

  “LeAnne, Joe Drake here. Sorry to bother you at home, but I just received a call from CCNO. Marcus Gallego wants to talk to you.” LeAnne’s gaze flitted from Chad’s to the wall opposite her.

  “What?” she asked in astonishment. “Why?”

  “Don’t know—may want to give us a confession.”

  “Hasn’t he sought a lawyer yet?”

  “He’s waived his right, thus far. Anyway, I think you better get over there right away. He was adamant about speaking to you.”

  LeAnne glanced at Chad, whose hands were on his hips. “I’ll leave now.”

  Chapter 3

  LeAnne’s fingers shook in anticipation as she sat in the small closed room off the visitation area at CCNO. She toyed with her pen, doodling on the pad in front of her to alleviate some of the mounting tension. What on earth could Snake Gallego want with her that was too important to wait until morning?

  The air conditioning unit blew a steady stream of air into the room, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms. LeAnne ran her palms down her forearms, trying to smooth out the bumps.

  The door opened, and Marcus Gallego stepped in, followed by two officers. Even without the officers accompanying him, his presence alone would have filled the room. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into his angry, deep-brown eyes.

  His face had been etched in stone, every curve, every line made of granite as he glared back, his gaze unwavering. A day’s growth of beard littered the hollow of his cheeks, making the cleft in his chin less prominent. His brown hair lay freely over his shoulders.

  The prison uniform stretched over his broad chest, the color red only calling attention to the already large size of him. A tattoo of a snake wound up his right biceps, the head disappearing beneath the sleeve of his uniform.

  “Please, have a seat,” LeAnne said, finding her voice. She looked at the two officers behind him in blue blazers and tan pants. “May I speak to him alone?”

  The first nodded his gray balding head, “We’ll be just outside the door if you need us¸” then walked out behind the other.

  The door slammed shut, making LeAnne jump. All the doors in CCNO clamored closed, the sound echoing down the long corridors. No one would move about quietly within these walls.

  Marcus folded his handcuffed hands on top of the table, the soft soles of his shoes scuffing across the tiled floor.

  “You wanted to see me?” LeAnne asked, still unsure about her decision to run headlong into the pre-dusk hours to see a man she had charged with murdering his wife. Yet something had drawn her here.

  LeAnne depressed the record and play button on her microcassette. A small light glowed red. “Do you mind if this is recorded?”

  He shook his head.

  “You have the right to seek an attorney, Snake. Maybe you should have one present when speaking to me. I’m not so sure I’d be acting on your best interest.” If not for the sake of being honest with him, she had to protect her case from a legal standpoint.

  His jaw tensed as he narrowed his gaze. His eyes seemed to bore through her, read her every thought. Finally, in his deep, throaty voice, he said, “I told you, Lady, I’m innocent. I didn’t kill my wife.”

  “Then you need an attorney, Snake, not me. Do yourself a favor.”

  He shifted in his chair, glanced over his shoulder at the door, then leaned in. “What I need is someone to believe me. I think if you review your facts, maybe, just maybe, you might come up with another possible angle.”

  “Give me an angle to look at, Snake. I don’t want to see you convicted of a crime you didn’t commit either.” The sincerity in his eyes astonished LeAnne. Here sat a man with no alibi the night of his wife’s death, with every possible reason to commit the wrongful doing and evidence stacked against him, and yet she believed him. “It’s just—”

  Marcus sat back in his chair, his movements abrupt and angry. “What? Because I ride a Harley? Hang out with the wrong kind of people?”

  His jab at her character struck a nerve, bothered her that he would suggest she had stereotyped him. “Of course not. I look at the facts. And right now, there isn’t a whole lot to point in another direction.

  “Jillian was having an affair. She is at home screwing some guy’s brains out while you’re at work repairing bikes at the Harley-Davidson shop in Napoleon. You find out, you go home to confront her, and what? Make love to her? You have to admit it seems a bit of a stretch. Especially after you told your boss—in front of his wife, no less—that you wanted to wrap your fingers around her pretty little throat and strangle the life from her.” She paused. When he said nothing in his defense, she asked, “It wasn’t her first infidelity was it?”

  Snake’s face reddened; his gaze snapped to hers. His brown eyes sizzled like burning coals. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

  “Are you suggesting…?”

  “In a million years, I couldn’t fathom why Jillian would want to be unfaithful to you. Then again, I don’t know you. But this wasn’t her first time, was it?”

  Marcus inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “My wife had never been good at keeping her legs together, Detective. All it took was a look in her direction, and she was promising favors to people she had no business being with.”

  “So why stay married to her?”

  He chuckled. “I loved her.”

  She sat back in her white plastic, molded chair and stared at Marcus. Of course he loved his wife, but this bordered on blind devotion. If she ever caught Chad sleeping with another woman, she would send him packing faster than a bullet leaving the chamber of a gun.

  Not really wanting to examine his admission, LeAnne continued. “If what you are telling me is true, and let’s say I believe you, then I’m going to need proof—solid proof. The county prosecutor already has a good case against you. Do you know who Jillian was seeing?”

  “It’s not like she paraded them in front of me.”

  “Do any of your biker buddies know?”

  “Damn, lady.” He chuckled. “Don’t you think if they knew, I would? None of my friends would have kept that knowledge from me.”

  “What about family? Hers? Yours?”

  His demeanor went from luk
ewarm to ice cold. LeAnne sensed his withdrawal.

  “I don’t have any family.” A muscle in his cheek ticked. All tension she had eased from him returned full force. “Jillian’s family disowned her when they found out what she did for a living. Do you think she’d go running home to Papa about every Peter, Paul, and Mary she slept with?”

  LeAnne’s brows shot heavenward. “Mary?”

  “What?” Marcus chuckled again as he brought his wrists against his abdomen and leaned back in the chair. “My wife’s being bisexual comes as a shock to you?”

  “I wasn’t expecting it, if that’s what you’re getting at. But you knew about this?”

  A smirk grew on his face. “Sometimes I watched. Does that bother you, Detective?”

  “Why should it?” Even though for some unknown reason it did, she would never admit as much. “Did you ever have sex with the other female?”

  “Hell, no.” Snake rolled his eyes at the irony. “Jillian would have thrown a fit. One thing Jillian Gallego was, was jealous, green with it. I could watch, but intercourse with the other woman was out of the question.”

  “Sort of double standard.”

  His expression darkened. “Had I known she was straddling half the men at the club, I might not have cared what she thought and taken advantage of the situation when I had the chance.”

  Snake stood abruptly, sending his chair crashing to the floor, giving her his back. LeAnne wondered what thoughts flitted through his mind. One of the guards peered into the window, but LeAnne motioned him away. Snake’s shoulders heaved and, for a moment, LeAnne feared he might be breaking down. Then suddenly, he turned to face her, his gaze distant, haunted, his eyes dry.

  “Would you have slept with any one of them had you known?” LeAnne asked quietly.

  His teeth clenched. “No.”

  “Is there anything else you can think of that might help you?” Snake glanced back at her. “Do you believe me?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered in all honesty. “But I do have doubts of my own. Someone called 911 from your house the night Jillian was murdered. Do you have any idea who that might be?”