Kiss of Deceit

by Patricia A. Rasey

  Frank chuckled non-humorously. “Dead.” He paused and glanced out the kitchen window into the distance. His gaze came back to LeAnne, then he took a drink from his coffee. He sighed. “I took my glass upstairs with me, walking softly. I didn’t want to disturb Miranda. She’s a light sleeper.”

  “When did you notice her?”

  “We have an exercise room right off our bedroom.”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “I thought I’d jog on the treadmill awhile, burn off some of the frustration of working the ER. When I turned on the light, it illuminated part of our bedroom. I noticed the way Miranda was lying, that she had no clothes on.

  “I called out her name. When she didn’t answer, I turned on the overhead light. You know the rest.”

  “The red bandanna, Doc,” LeAnne rubbed her wrists, “the pieces tying Miranda—did you own any like it?”

  Doc stared at her for a brief moment, saying nothing. Finally, he replied, “No, and I’m pretty sure Miranda didn’t either. But you can check her drawers. If she had one, I’m sure there would be others. But, no, I’ve never seen it before last night.”

  He pulled on the cigarette again, then blew a ring of smoke into the air. “She’s with the angels, now,” he said as if he linked his ring to a halo.

  “Was your wife faithful, Doc?”

  His gaze snapped to hers, anger flaring like that of a struck match. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Detective?”

  “Please, Doc, we’ve known each other for years. Drop the formalities.”

  “Exactly! So why insinuate Miranda was having an affair?”

  “I have to look at all possibilities, Doc. You said yourself, Miranda was a stickler for security, especially living out here in the country. Why would she just leave the back door unsecured while the front was dead bolted? There was no sign of forced entry. That means the killer simply walked in the back door.”

  When Frank only stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray, LeAnne continued. “Statistics show eight out of ten murder victims know their assailants. By the looks of this crime scene, Doc, I think Miranda knew who did this to her.”

  He slumped his shoulders, clasped his hands in front of him, and stared at the black-and-white tiled floor beneath his feet. “I had suspicions,” he said in defeat. “How?”

  “Just the last couple of months. I’d call home and get the answering service, call her mobile—same response. She never had a good answer for where she had been. Only told me I was being overbearing.” He sighed deeply through his nose, then sat back in his chair and stared at LeAnne. “Am I a homely man?”

  She narrowed her gaze, bringing her brows together. “Excuse me?”

  He ran a hand down his smooth, square-cut jaw. Round glasses perched high on his nose, his warm brown eyes large behind them. His soft curly hair lay in waves combed back from his forehead. “Thirty- two years is not ancient.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Miranda was only twenty-one. Did you know that?” he asked; LeAnne slowly nodded. “I met her at a bar uptown, three years ago. She had a hot body, a great face. And me, being a young, single doctor, I didn’t have any trouble snaring her at all. But I always wondered if she regretted it—marrying me at nineteen. She still had her whole life ahead of her.”

  Frank pulled out another cigarette and let it hang from his lips. “I’m trying to quit, you know.”

  “You suspected she might be seeing someone else. Any ideas?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Places she frequented?”

  “I kept a loose rein on her, LeAnne. I knew she needed a lot of freedom. In some ways, she was still a kid. I had no choice, but to trust her. If I didn’t allow her that, she would have left me in a heartbeat. And that I couldn’t have handled.”

  Tears slipped from his long lashes and down his cheeks. He tossed the unlit cigarette to the table, then ran a hand down his face to rid it of the trail of tears.

  “God dammit,” he said, firmly rubbing his jaw as if attempting to stop the wave of emotion. “Who the hell would want to do that to my beautiful Miranda? Damn him to hell!” His fist struck the table, causing coffee to slosh over the rim. He ignored the mess, glancing at LeAnne. His eyes brimmed with sentiment. “I just want her back, LeAnne…I just want her back.”

  LeAnne covered his fist with her hand, choking back her own need to cry.

  Chapter 6

  “Did you get anything on Gallego’s past girlfriends?” Joe asked as he walked into LeAnne’s office on the second floor.

  Unlike Joe Drake’s office on street level, no plaques or certificates graced her walls. They were painted a pale green with a forest-colored wall border streaking about the surface, reminding LeAnne of a continuous lightning bolt gone mad.

  Abstract art.

  Papers scattered her desk from both the newest case and that of Jillian Gallego. A black phone and a silver intercom sat in the corner next to a ceramic cup containing a menagerie of pens and pencils. The room smelled of rose-scented potpourri, as LeAnne had set about a few bowls. Each and every male deputy complained, when entering her space, and never stayed long for chit-chat. The exact reason she had done it. LeAnne preferred to work alone, without distractions, and wanted to keep it that way.

  She swiveled in her worn, black-cloth chair to face the sheriff. “I haven’t had the time.”

  Joe took a seat in the chair beside her desk and leaned one elbow on the scarred oak. “I checked into his background. No priors involving any sexual oddities. Drugs, DUI’s, reckless driving, public disturbance—all misdemeanors.

  “But in the last two years, he seems to have been straight. No arrests. Nothing that would warrant our attention. Nothing that would seem to lead him in this direction. But you never really know a man until you’ve ticked him off.”

  “Come on, Joe,” LeAnne scoffed at the idea. “You think Jillian is the first person to have ticked off Marcus Gallego? He’s thirty-two, for crying out loud.”

  The sheriff’s brow rose. “I believe that was your job, to check out the past girlfriends.”

  “And I will, the moment I get a chance. As you recall, I have another crime I’m working on.”

  “Miranda Holliday,” he stated, rubbing his freshly shaved jaw. “How’s Doc holding up?”

  “Under the circumstances, pretty well.”

  “What turned up in the way of evidence? Anything we can go on?”

  LeAnne glanced over her paperwork. “I don’t have the autopsy report yet, but my guess is strangulation. Her hands were tied just like Jillian’s—red bandanna. Purple bruising on the throat area.”

  “Look like the same MO?”

  “Yes and no.” Joe sat quietly as she leafed through her papers and the crime scene photos. She pulled out a full-length shot of Miranda Holliday and pointed at the picture. “Bob thinks the difference is in the way the legs are positioned. Miranda lay crucifixion style, Jillian wasn’t.”

  Joe studied the shot. “So?”

  “So, Miranda was posed, like an offering or something. The killer was making a statement.” LeAnne pulled out another photo showing a close up of the perp’s lip prints. “A calling card of sorts.”

  “Jesus. You got to be kidding.”

  “Afraid not. We fumed the tube of lipstick we believe he used, but it came up clean. Plus, we have a difference in the choice of victims. Jillian was high-risk, being a dancer; Miranda wasn’t. I mean, why kill a stripper, then go after a doctor’s wife? There’s no connection between the two, no similarities. Jillian’s hair was blond, her eyes blue. Miranda had auburn hair and brown eyes.”

  “They both had long hair,” the sheriff pointed out. “Both young. But you don’t think this is the work of the same man, do you?” When she neither denied nor affirmed the charge, he continued, “Christ, LeAnne, one minute you’re trying to prove Gallego’s innocence, where here you have the perfect opportunity—the next you’re telling me you don’t think the same man killed both
women, a copycat of sorts.”

  “I still don’t think Gallego killed his wife.”

  “I take it he didn’t confess last night, when you went to see him.”

  “Just the opposite. He wants me to help prove his innocence by reexamining the case. He thinks there has to be another angle.”

  “And he still refuses to get a lawyer. Is he nuts? The courts will crucify him. He had opportunity, motive, and no alibi. He has no case. He gets up in front of the judge refusing representation. Jesus! His arraignment is coming up. Chad will eat him alive.”

  “He’ll plead not guilty.”

  “I figured as much. What did he have to say? What was the whole rush to get you out there?”

  “Unfortunately, Snake believes his salvation lies in my hands.”

  His brows rose ever so slightly, but LeAnne hadn’t missed the small gesture. “Does it?”

  “I’d hate to think so, because I helped put together the case we built against him.” LeAnne brushed her bangs from her forehead as an ache from her tense jaw traveled to her temples, ending with one atrocious headache. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

  “You’ve done all right so far. I promoted you, remember?”

  LeAnne chuckled. “I’ve only had one suicide so far, and that was open and shut.

  “You’ll do all right,” Joe repeated, patting her shoulder as he rose.

  “You’ll hang with the best of them.”

  “Wymer wouldn’t think so,” she grumbled, already feeling the weight of defeat. If she lost this case, he would never let her live it down.

  “Wymer still lives with the whole Brotherhood mentality. No woman can do the job as well as a man.”

  “And if I screw up this case?”

  “You’re a good detective, LeAnne. Don’t let anyone convince you any other way. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have given you the job.”

  “There you are,” a deep voice boomed, drawing both of their attention. Judge John Hargrove and his son Anthony entered the office. “I’ve been looking all over tarnation and back for you. Hell, Joe, those secretaries of yours don’t even know where in the devil you are.”

  “Dispatchers,” Joe corrected, shaking the judge’s hand. He slapped John’s shoulder with his free hand. “What brings you by?”

  “My son, Tony, here. We’re having a little engagement party for him. Seems the boy finally snagged himself a woman. There for a while, I didn’t think I was ever gonna get them grandbabies.”

  Tony Hargrove’s complexion went from a healthy tan to a ruby red. Joe smiled, and shook the young man’s hand. “Well, isn’t that the best news we’ve heard all day. The next will be when you pass that bar exam. Chad Baker could probably use the help. Once he and LeAnne marry, I don’t think he’ll want to continue his sixteen-hour days.”

  Tony Hargrove’s dark brown hair was cut short around his ears, parted in the middle, his bangs falling mischievously across his forehead. His deep brown eyes looked like two chocolate drops plopped into a cloud of whipped cream. The contrast was stunning.

  High cheek bones and a straight thin nose accented a square jaw. His lips, as lush as they were, had no right being on a man.

  Whomever his fiancée might be, LeAnne thought, she was one lucky woman. Hell, this man could have been a model. The last time LeAnne saw him was some six years ago. He had been merely a boy.

  “My goodness.” LeAnne stood. “Aren’t you all grown up?” His smile warmed his face, his complexion dark.

  “You do remember me?” she asked, suddenly feeling the fool if he hadn’t.

  The corners of his eyes turned up as his dimples made deep crevices in his cheeks. “LeAnne McVeigh,” he said, his gaze traveling the length of her. “The hottest deputy in Henry County.”

  Heat rose up her neck and surely reddened her face. “The only female deputy in Henry County,” she corrected.

  “I remember, as a boy,” Tony continued, “us guys would try to get into trouble, just so it was you who had to answer the call.”

  “Did it work?” LeAnne asked, only remembering a few times being called out to a disturbance involving the judge’s son.

  His smile returned, this time lopsided. “Mostly not. But there were a few times.”

  “So who’s the lucky girl?” LeAnne asked. “Julie Hensly.”

  “Little Julie? The fire chief’s daughter?” Joe asked. “She went off to Bowling Green State University, a couple of years ago, didn’t she?”

  “That’s the one.” Tony nodded. “She’ll graduate next spring. We’re planning a mid-June wedding.”

  Adoration shown in Tony’s dark eyes. LeAnne wished that just once Chad would look upon her in the same way. But then, again, she and Chad were years older—much too old for puppy love.

  “So,” Tony continued, “Did I hear the sheriff right? You and Prosecutor Baker are going to tie the knot? When’s the big day?”

  “The end of August,” she replied, not feeling the elation she should.

  “But don’t worry, you’ll be invited if I ever get around to sending out those invitations. So when’s this engagement party?”

  “Sunday,” Judge John Hargrove’s deep voice boomed in. Had he got any heftier, LeAnne thought, they wouldn’t find a black robe large enough for him. “Out at my place. Gonna have a cookout: steaks, burgers, brats—you name it.” He reached out one beefy arm and gave his son a bear of a squeeze. LeAnne winced in imagined pain.

  “He’s my one and only—pride and joy. His good-for-nothing mother skipping out on us some twenty years ago. He’s all I got.”

  “You have Julie.”

  “And a finer choice I couldn’t have made.” He chuckled, the sound rumbling up from his barrel chest. LeAnne envisioned a volcano ready to erupt. John returned his attention to LeAnne and Joe. “One o’clock, Sunday afternoon. Bring yourself a date, Joe, and you, LeAnne, bring that ornery prosecutor with you. Half the county’s likely to be there. A party not to be missed!”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” LeAnne said, and meant it. Tony Hargrove may be only six years her junior, but she felt as though she had watched the boy grow up. Going to a party in his honor would be a pleasure.

  * * *

  Snake nodded toward the white receiver hanging on the wall beside the clear Plexiglas window separating them. At thirty-six years of age, Debra Lewis still could hold her own with the best of them. She wasn’t a knockout, by any means, but Snake considered her attractive in a motherly sense. After all, the woman had three children of her own, all boys.

  With an unruly husband like Snake’s boss and best friend, Kip Lewis, Debra had to be a strong. She had been in her share of bar fights, defending her honor, no less, over some Harley woman claiming to have been in Kip’s pants. The rumors, of course, were mostly true, but she loved her man nonetheless and stood by his side for eighteen long years. She, however, had remained faithful—that is, until recently, and no one should be made to feel guilty for that one. But damned if Snake didn’t.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he growled.

  “Jesus, Snake, glad to see you, too.” Her eyes centered on the dark purple bruise marring his jaw. The damn thing still hurt like hell. “What happened?” she asked, touching the glass as if she wanted to caress the mark.

  “Some guy tried to use me as a punching bag. Nothing I can’t handle. You didn’t answer my question. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Even though the Lewises had been put on his list of visitors, it was Kip he expected to see, not Debra.

  Tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t watch you go down for something you and I both know you didn’t do.”

  “What the hell you going to do about it?” Snake scowled. “Christ, Debra, you’ll lose your old man. And me? I’ll be out of a job, not to mention lose my best friend. Shit, me and Kip go back a long ways.”

  Debra swiped away the tears, making a watery mess of her makeup. “I know you’re only trying to protect me, Snake, but I
can handle the pressure. Sure, Kip’s liable to be pissed at both of us, but this is your life we’re talking about. And look at you! My God! Your jaw is nearly twice its size. What would I do, if you went down for this? I couldn’t live with myself.”

  Snake raked his hair back with his fingers. “I have a detective looking into this for me. LeAnne McVeigh with the Sheriff’s Office…”

  “Isn’t she the one who arrested you?”

  “But right now, I think she’s all I have.”

  “You have me.”

  Snake shook his head, his jaw tightened. The ever-so-slight contraction sent shards of pain up his jaw line. “I won’t allow you to tell them what happened that night. There has to be another angle. Let Detective McVeigh find it.”

  “What angle, Snake?” She swiped away another pesky tear. “You may not be willing to go forward with this, but I have to. It was an accident. It should have never happened,” she glanced away, “but it did.”

  “If I had that night to do all over again…”

  Her brown gaze came back to his. “We don’t, Snake. There’s no use in pretending.” She tucked her blond hair behind one ear. The gesture made Marcus want to reach out and touch her. If she did this…

  “Think about what you might be giving up.”

  “You and I both know Kip’s gone out on me more times than I care to count. He’ll have to forgive me this once.”

  “But I was his best friend. If he can’t trust me—who can he trust?”

  “Don’t beat yourself over this. What happened, happened. You came to our house for comfort, someone to talk to. Kip had gone to Florida for dealer training and God-knows-what-else. When you went to leave and kissed me…”

  Snake flinched. He had started the roller coaster ride. And once started, there was no stopping it. He had needed her, and she had obliged.

  “I’m sorry. I had no right.”

  She slammed her palm down on the table surface. “Dammit, Snake, stop apologizing. We made love. And you know something? I don’t regret it, not one moment.” His gaze locked on hers. “If I had to do it all over again, I would. It’s that simple.”