Kiss of Deceit

by Patricia A. Rasey

  She smiled back. “Yes, but it can wait.”

  LeAnne indicated for him to retake his seat, as she took the padded Italian leather chair across from his mahogany desk.

  “What can I do for you then?” He toyed with the fountain pen lying in front of him.

  From his black desk plate, Chad A. Baker, Henry County Prosecutor, stared at her in bold white letters. LeAnne felt a sense of pride for what her fiancé did for a living. He was the one to prosecute the guilty, see them put behind bars, in a way, all to protect the innocent. They were not much different; they worked the same side of the law, always had the same goal in mind. Almost always.

  Chad closed the case file in front of him. “Gallego’s arraignment,” he said, indicating the folder.

  “I know,” LeAnne agreed, her smile faltering. “That’s precisely the reason I came.”

  Chad narrowed his gaze; his pale blue eyes took on the quality of steel. “Christ, babe, don’t tell me you still think this scumbag is innocent. He has the right to be arraigned within seventy-two hours or he walks. Don’t make me delay this anymore.”

  She grimaced.

  “For crying out loud,” he grumbled running a hand down his tired face, then fixed her with his glare. “All right—out with it. I know that look, and usually I don’t like what you’re going to have to say.”

  LeAnne fidgeted, feeling much like the little girl sent to the principal’s office, knowing the end result would be the broad side of the paddle across her behind. She hated disappointing Chad, and since he hoped for the death penalty in this one, he was not going to take her news lightly. This case would likely secure his votes in the next election.

  “Gallego is innocent,” she finally said.

  His gaze sharpened. “Care to elaborate?” he asked in a controlled voice, highly honed like the sharp edge of a katana sword.

  She knew she should tread carefully lest she find herself hacked cleanly in two. This definitely had to be the downside of being engaged to the county prosecutor.

  “Debra Lewis…”

  “His boss’s wife?” Chad broke in.

  LeAnne squirmed to the side of her chair. “She’s come forward.

  Seems Gallego was with her the night his wife was killed.”

  Chad sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest and grinning smugly. Patronizing her, he said, “Of course, babe. Why wouldn’t she? After all, she’s his best friend’s wife. She comes forward and gives Gallego an alibi. Marcus goes free. Come on, LeAnne, I know you’re too good of a cop to fall for that.”

  LeAnne leaned forward, her ire rankled. “You think I don’t check these things out? You think I have tunnel vision and just because a part of me believes Gallego might be innocent, I won’t check all the facts?”

  “Come on, babe,” Chad sighed, holding his palms up in front of him. “I know you want to believe—”

  “No, Chad, it’s your turn to listen. I’m not here as your fiancée. I’m here as the detective running this case. If you want, I’ll call the sheriff in, and he can give you the facts himself. Marcus Gallego is innocent. He has an airtight alibi.

  “He was with Debra Lewis until the wee hours of the morning the night Jillian was killed, well after her time of death. I even found a neighbor willing to testify she had seen a black Harley in the drive. The nosy woman had thought it strange to be parked there so late, knowing Debra’s husband was out of town. While he was screwing his best friend’s wife, someone else was choking the life out of his.”

  Chad paled, but only slightly. “And Debra’s husband? What’s he got to say about all of this?”

  “Don’t think he isn’t highly ticked off. Who wouldn’t be to find out your best friend is doing your wife? He was in Florida at the Harley University, out of town for a few days. Debra said Gallego came over for company and comfort.”

  “He got more than that,” Chad said, sarcasm oozing from each word.

  “Even her three boys remember Uncle Snake tucking them in.” She paused, watching Chad’s face. The anger dissipated as he seemed to close himself off, becoming unreadable. “It’s time to hang it up, Chad. It’s over. Gallego is innocent, and until I find out who did do it, we don’t have a case.”

  Not saying a word, he grasped the file on his desk, opened his cabinet drawer, and deposited the blue folder into in, slamming the drawer closed.

  LeAnne jumped.

  “You win,” he said, his smile cut short.

  Chad Baker had always been a winner. Above all else, he hated losing, even if it was nothing personal.

  She stood, walked around the desk, and pushed on his shoulder until his chair rolled away from the desk. Taking a seat on one leg, she ran a finger down his jaw, then placed a tender kiss on his lips.

  His arms wrapped around her.

  Tracing the spot she had just kissed, she said, “Think of it this way, Counselor, we’ll have much more time to spend together.”

  “In my dreams,” he scoffed. His hands on her waist, he repositioned her so she straddled his lap. “You still have this case to work on. And now with last night’s homicide, you now have another.”

  “But I’ve always found time for my favorite guy.” She put on her best pout, then kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose.

  “You know…” he paused making a show of looking around the empty room, “the office is empty. And Sherrie? She always locks up on her way out.”

  His smile turned up the corner of his lips; two small dimples creased his cheeks. Even at his age, there were times he could still look like an over-eager boy who had just discovered the naughty secrets of the opposite sex.

  She returned his smile. “Why, Counselor, I do believe your intentions aren’t of the honorable kind.”

  “Only of the naughtiest kind,” he growled, then covered her lips with his.

  * * *

  The air-conditioning unit blew a steady stream into the car as LeAnne drove down State Route 34 on her way to CCNO. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the black leather steering wheel of Chad’s Lexus, blanching her knuckles white.

  She left Chad at her house, putting together a late supper, trying his best to understand why she had to deliver the news to Gallego personally. After making love in his office, LeAnne enlightened him that she needed to see Marcus. She felt the need to apologize, not to mention feeling indirectly responsible for the bruise he sported on his jaw that Debra Lewis informed her about.

  Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer” blared through the airwaves as she turned into the parking lot of the correctional center. Though the words would have any mother running to wash out their son’s mouth, there was a sensuality about them, sending a dull ache to those parts that should have been thoroughly satisfied.

  Marcus Gallego came to mind.

  Disgusted with the path of her thoughts, she turned the key, cutting the engine, and quickly exited the car. Once inside, she sat at one of the tables in the small visitation room, waiting for Marcus to make his appearance. Hell, she thought, she would fare better in the woods with nothing more than a tree with too tall branches between her and a giant grizzly.

  Marcus Gallego was going to be thoroughly peeved, and she could not blame him in the least. Here she was, the one who put him behind bars, waiting to expound the wonderful news that she had made a mistake. Surely, he would understand. Wouldn’t he?

  Red caught her eye first, as he rounded the corner in his bright- colored uniform, hands cuffed in front of him, his face a mask of solemnity. Two officers ushered him into the room, then, upon her suggestion, left them alone.

  Cocksure, Marcus leaned back in his chair as if he already knew what she was there to tell him. His swollen and purple jaw looked worse than Debra had let on.

  “Does it hurt?” LeAnne asked.

  “What the hell do you think?” he grumbled, his split lip no more than a straight line.

  “I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say, feeling as though she had done the damage herse
lf.

  He chuckled non-humorously. “For what?” he growled.

  LeAnne looked to the glass window behind him, unable to look him in the eye. She tucked one side of her hair behind her ear, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Why hadn’t she the foresight to pull back her unruly hair before coming here? After her escapade with Chad, surely she must look like she just crawled out of bed.

  Glancing back at him, she said, “I was wrong.”

  His gaze bore into her, held her mesmerized. Snake had the kind of eyes that, when they held hers, she had no other option but to stare back.

  “You were wrong,” he mimicked sarcastically, the last word rising in pitch.

  Even she could see the irony of the statement. She could have been responsible for ruining an innocent man’s life; she could have been the one who had sent him to the chair. I’m sorry would never cut it. The fact was Snake Gallego loved his wife and would have never been able to kill her.

  Snake would always belong to Jillian.

  A lump threatened to choke the life from LeAnne, leaving her as dead as Snake’s wife. She secretly desired something she could never have as Marcus desired the one thing he could never bring back.

  LeAnne stiffened her spine and pulled back her shoulders. She would face the grizzly head-on. After all, she had just been doing her job. “The county prosecutor will be dropping the charges. There will be no arraignment.”

  His face remained impassive. “So when do I get out of here?”

  “Probably tomorrow. I wish I could tell you now, but these things take time.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “It didn’t take much time to put me in here.”

  “I know,” she said barely above a whisper. She didn’t know why it should matter, but it did. “Will you forgive me?”

  “Debra Lewis—she’s the reason the prosecutor is dropping the charges.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell me why I should forgive you?”

  “Because,” her voice rose in pitch, “I was the one who went to bat for you.”

  A hint of a smile itched at his lips. He baited her. “You were also the one to arrest me.”

  “True enough, but I put the leg work into this. I wanted to see you found innocent as much as you did.”

  Snake leaned in, his face mere inches from her. LeAnne did not back from his foreboding presence, refusing to be cowed. He whispered, his tone husky, “Tell me why, Detective.”

  It wasn’t an order. Had it been, she might have turned and stormed from the room. Instead, she moved not an inch.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. Simple enough—but the truth.

  “Sure, you do,” he said, his gaze fixing her to her chair more firmly than his hands ever would. Marcus sat so close his breath fanned the fine hairs on LeAnne’s cheeks.

  “And how would you know what I want?”

  “You want the forbidden fruit—you want what Eve wanted so many years ago. Careful, LeAnne,” her name rolled off his tongue like a finely-tuned harp, “or you might just get what you’re asking for.”

  LeAnne rose from her chair, sending it rocking precariously on all fours, much like she felt as she stood so close to the edge. “You’re full of it, Gallego.”

  He leaned back in his chair and raised one brow. “Am I…LeAnne?”

  She quickly motioned for the guards to take Gallego back to his cell, then fled the small room before Gallego could even get out of his chair.

  How could he possibly know what she desired?

  At the front desk, she retrieved her gun, stuffed it into the back waistband of her jeans and pulled her jacket over it. A quiet supper with Chad was the only thing she needed.

  Walking out of the correction center, she didn’t glance back. With any luck, she would never have to see Marcus Gallego again.

  Chapter 10

  The sun shone brightly, no clouds to be seen, warming Snake’s face as he tilted it skyward. He could not remember a time when it had felt quite so good. The elevated temperature had to be near ninety with no existing breeze, humidity close to reaching an all-time high. Normally, Snake might be tempted to grumble about the heat as sweat dripped between his pecs and gathered in the ripples of his abdomen.

  But not today.

  He had spent only a few short days locked away in CCNO, which wasn’t long by any standards. Truth be told, he spent more time behind bars in the past than his brief stay here. This had been nothing more than a motorcycle trip through the hills of Kentucky. But, coupled with the niggling fear of never being free to ride his Softail again on the open roads, it had seemed an eternity.

  And all because of…what?

  LeAnne McVeigh slammed into his thoughts. He wanted to hate her, wanted to forget her. But he knew he could not. Instead, he desired her with the force of an oncoming tornado. And just like the twister, there would be no stopping it.

  One day he would find out just how hot the frigid detective actually was. He would lay odds, beneath the stiff exterior she carried around like a badge, she would purr like a finely-tuned evolutionary V twin engine.

  Slinging his brown leather jacket over his shoulder, leaving no shirt on his back, Snake walked to the battered pickup and climbed into the passenger side of the cab, slapping the driver’s hand in midair, then grasping his fingers in the way of a handshake.

  “Shoot, man, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Looks like someone in there took an instant dislike to you.” Blade chuckled, noting Snake’s swollen jaw and split lip. Giving it no more thought, the way Snake preferred, he turned the key in the ignition. The old truck rattled and sputtered, then roared to life. He shifted the three on the tree into gear and took off down the road.

  Snake never glanced back.

  “If I ever see the inside of those walls again it will be too soon,” Snake grumbled, staring ahead through the cracked windshield.

  Blade left an unlit Camel dangling from his lips. “Keep hanging around the same sorry bunch of friends you keep, I doubt you won’t wind up back in there again someday.” He guffawed.

  Snake smiled. “You seem to keep your ugly mug out of jail, Blade. How the hell do you do it?”

  “Ain’t no one smart enough to catch me yet. You gotta stay one step ahead of them. Know what I mean?” he asked, his grin mischievous.

  Snake was not about to doubt the validity to his wisecrack. Blade withdrew a disposable lighter from his vest pocket, wearing no shirt himself, and lit the cigarette. The tip glowed red as he inhaled deeply, then blew twin streams of smoke from his nostrils.

  “Where to?”

  “First things first. I need a shower and shave.”

  Blade smirked, threw the pickup into third gear, and rumbled off down the road.

  Moments later, the two pulled into the long driveway leading back to Snake’s house, just off of County Road 13, not more than a mile from the county line. A two-story, white house with a Victorian tower and black shutters sat about two football fields off the road. Two black Dobermans bounded toward the vehicle, barking and jumping at the truck like two kids on a trampoline.

  “Shoot, man, you better train them damn dogs of yours, before one of them gets run over,” Blade said, a disgruntled look on his face. Blade never really took much to animals, though he probably, unwillingly, kept several pets in the way of mice in the mess he called home.

  “I wouldn’t do that, Blade, because then I’d have to take you out back and shoot you.”

  Bringing the old truck to a reverberating halt, he chided, “You’re sure in one helluva hurry to return to those damn walls, then.”

  “Not in this lifetime.” Snake laughed as he slid from the seat of the cab.

  Both dogs ran around the side of the pickup and lapped at their master’s face. “Rebel been feeding you guys?” He knelt on one knee, lovingly scratching each head.

  “You think I’d let them starve?” a heavy-set man grumbled as he rounded the corner of the house, coming from the back yard. Seeing Rebel, his b
eefy arms out, his bulk not allowing them to lay flat against his sides, Snake was tempted to believe that the human race actually did evolve from apes.

  He gathered Snake in a bear hug and slapped him on the back a few times. Snake stepped from his embrace, patting the dogs on the head as they came to sit, one on each side of him.

  “Glad to see you’re out, man. Glad to see it,” Rebel continued.

  “Hell, them sons of bitches would eat you out of house and home.” Rebel chuckled, then led the pack to the house. “And took care of that bike of yours. I parked it and covered it in the barn over there.”

  Snake raised a brow. “You didn’t scratch it?”

  Rebel chuckled again. “Hell, you and that damn bike. I swear it’s your only love. And by the looks of that face of yours, you didn’t make many friends in the joint, either.”

  Inside, Rebel grasped a beer from the refrigerator and tossed it to Snake.

  Snake popped the top and took a long pull, then wiped his perspiring brow with his forearm. “Shit, it’s hot.”

  “I can take you back—” Blade began before Snake cut him short. “Yeah, you can go to hell, too, Blade.”

  “Shoot, man! I’ve already been there. Ain’t any of them that can keep up with the likes of me.” He rubbed his fur-covered abdomen.

  “I don’t doubt that a bit,” Snake said, then took another pull from his can. He easily tossed the empty into the basket by the counter.

  “Shoot, man, as much as I’d like to stay and shoot the breeze, my ol’ lady’s expecting me.”

  “Ain’t no one asked you to stay,” Rebel chided. “You better get in that old battered truck of yours and hightail it out of here, before that bitch sends a posse after your ass.”

  “Screw you,” Blade sneered at the heavier man; then a smile grew on his burly face.

  “That woman’s got you wrapped tighter than a ball of string. Ain’t no woman can tie down the old Rebel.” He tapped the center of his soft chest.

  “Ain’t a woman alive who’d want to.” Blade slapped Snake on the shoulder. “Gotta go.”