Kiss of Deceit

by Patricia A. Rasey

  Chad chuckled, placing a long arm across the back of her chair. “That’s my LeAnne. She won’t divulge any more than she’s told to. Don’t bother trying; she’ll budge as easily as a two-ton stone.”

  Steve’s substantial brow rose heavenward. “A woman to be admired. She has her standards, and follows them to the letter. You’re a lucky man, Chad.”

  His smile wide, Chad kissed her cheek. “Don’t I know it,” he said. “You are coming to the wedding?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Steve said, glancing at his wife, who until this minute seemed to have ignored them altogether. “Would we, dear?”

  “Of course not.” She looked with her mousy brown eyes at LeAnne.

  Even during the car ride, since they rode with the mayor and his wife, Tamara had said little.

  LeAnne returned her smile. “I’m glad to hear it, but if you’ll excuse me,” she said, wanting to politely bow out of the group, “I’d like to congratulate the lucky couple.”

  “Of course, babe,” Chad said, patting her rear as she rose. “Don’t be gone so long you forget about me.”

  LeAnne laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, then walked off. She approached Tony, who stood beside the large cake, downing yet another glass of champagne. His warm brown gaze took her in as she approached; starting at her ankles, traveling up her legs, to finally meet her eyes.

  “Detective McVeigh,” he said, his voice husky from the effects of the alcohol. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  LeAnne grinned. “I do believe this is your party. Where’s your fiancée?”

  His gaze heavy-lidded, he indicated the back door of the mammoth house with his empty long-stemmed glass. “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  “I think you’ve had one too many glasses of champagne.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed, his eyes glassy and his full lips still wet from the alcohol. “I don’t normally drink.”

  “So, why start today?”

  He grinned, the amusement glittering in his gaze. “It’s my party. Remember?”

  LeAnne laughed, then looked back at Chad, who seemed more interested in his conversation than hers. She returned her attention to Tony, leaning on the corner of the brick house, one foot propped on the wall.

  “I’m the one who pointed that out to you.”

  “So you did. What is it you want, Detective?”

  “Please, call me LeAnne. If you’re going to be working for Chad, I think it’s only appropriate.”

  “All right, LeAnne.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Are you here to see you’re the first to kiss the happy groom?”

  “You’re not married yet,” she pointed out, suddenly rethinking her decision to approach Tony on her own.

  The screen door of the house slammed, drawing their focus. Julie walked down the stone sidewalk toward them. “All refreshed?” he asked, holding out his arm.

  She tucked neatly under his arm and cuddled up beside him. Her gaze fell on LeAnne. “LeAnne McVeigh, right?”

  LeAnne smiled. “I suppose my reputation precedes me.”

  Julie smiled, then glanced at Tony. “Actually, I’ve been jealous of you for years. Seems Tony has had a crush on you for a long time. I could never get his attention.”

  Heat rose in LeAnne’s face. She hoped the elevated temperatures didn’t allow her blush to be seen. “I didn’t know.”

  “It took me years, but I finally got him,” she said, then kissed his cheek.

  Tony wrapped both arms around her. “Looks like you have me now.”

  LeAnne smiled. “Congratulations to both of you. Maybe when Tony passes the bar, Chad and I will have you two over for supper. We can discuss Tony’s coming to work for him.”

  Julie returned the smile. “We’d like that.”

  A rumble in the distance interrupted the hushed murmurs of voices, making the hairs on LeAnne’s arms raise. Without the benefit of sight, she knew who it would be. A black Harley made its way around the bend in the road, Snake Gallego sitting tall on its back. When it turned into the drive, a sense of doom washed over her like the waves of an impending storm.

  Snake parked the bike. One leg swung over the impressive piece of machinery. Wearing nothing more than a thin white tank and a pair of cutoff Levi’s, he headed in her direction.

  LeAnne glanced quickly at Chad, who had stopped his conversation to stare at the man approaching. LeAnne turned back to Snake.

  He took the silver glasses from his face. “I thought I might find you here. I know this isn’t a good time, but I was hoping I could speak to you for a second.”

  LeAnne grasped his biceps, her hand wrapping around the viper on his arm, and led him away from the guests of honor, her gaze continuously drifting over her shoulder at Chad.

  He remained seated, but his glare fixated on them.

  “You’re right, Snake,” LeAnne whispered. She dropped her hand from his arm, fearing the tattoo or the man sporting it just might bite. “This is not the right time. What is it that couldn’t possibly wait?”

  “There’s something I’d like you to see.”

  LeAnne looked past Snake to Chad, who seemed ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.

  Snake nodded in Chad’s direction. “A boyfriend?”

  “Worse,” she grinned, though her amusement had abandoned her upon Snake’s arrival. “My fiancé.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Who is he?”

  “Chad Baker.”

  “As in Prosecutor Baker?”

  “Yes.”

  Snake chuckled, his eyes full of disbelief. “You’re engaged to the guy who was ready to send me away?”

  “You never asked.”

  He grasped her hand. “Where’s the ring?”

  “We decided on just exchanging wedding bands.” LeAnne pulled her hand from his grasp as Chad headed in their direction. “Besides, I don’t think it’s any of your business who I am engaged to.”

  “It is, if it involves me. Were you going to just let him send me up for something I didn’t do?”

  “You’ll recall, I was the one who tried to prove your innocence.”

  “Only after you put me away.”

  “Do you hate me for doing my job?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

  “Marcus Gallego,” Chad said as he reached them. “What brings you here to interrupt my fiancée’s day of leisure?” He placed a possessive arm over her shoulder.

  Marcus grinned. “That’s between the detective and me.”

  “Babe?” Chad asked. LeAnne knew that all Chad needed to cause a scene was her approval.

  She laid a hand in the center of his polo shirt. “Give me a second, Chad. Marcus has something he wants to discuss with me concerning the case.”

  “Maybe I should hear it.”

  “Afraid not, Counselor. Not until I’m ready to present it to you.”

  Chad’s jaw tensed. “Then make it brief,” he clipped short his words, and walked away.

  “I guess that answers my question,” Snake said, eyeing her carefully.

  LeAnne shifted her stance. “Which question is that?”

  “Like I said, there is something I want you to see.” His tone went from cocksure to distress. “I want to take you someplace. Will you come?”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re the only one who might care.”

  “Contrary to what you might believe, the sheriff’s office is not out to get you, Snake. Why me?”

  “I have reason to believe whoever did this to my wife might have visited Jillian’s grave.”

  Her breath caught in her throat; her heart skipped a beat. She knew killers often visited the graves of their victims. This could be a major break in the case. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  “You’ll go?”

  “Let me break the news to Chad and I’ll follow you out to her grave.” She stopped suddenly and turned back. “Oh, shoot—we came with another couple, the ma
yor and his wife.”

  “No problem, you can ride with me.” He held his hand out in front of him, a grin splitting the growth of whiskers on his face. “I’ll bring you right back. No funny stuff, I promise.”

  This would not sit well with Chad, but LeAnne couldn’t help but take the risk. After all, what if this was the piece of the puzzle she was looking for? And certainly, she didn’t want to take the chance of any evidence being tampered with before she got out there. Once she determined she did indeed need to collect evidence, she would have Snake take her to the sheriff’s office to retrieve her detective’s car. What damage could possibly be done?

  “Give me a minute,” she said, her gaze darting to Chad.

  She headed for her fiancé. Chad was going to be more than furious. But just this once, he would have to understand. After all, what trouble could she get into on the back of Snake Gallego’s Harley?

  Chapter 12

  The hot July sun beat down on the top of Marcus and LeAnne’s heads, as the sleek, black Softail sped down State Route 424. The bike handled the curves in the road like a schooner cutting easily through the waters of Lake Erie.

  The muscles in Snake’s shoulders flexed as he leaned into each turn of the asphalt. His white tank whipped in the wind, reminding LeAnne of her own state of dress as she cautiously tucked her short rayon skirt beneath her thighs. Snake glanced back briefly when her hand left his side, then returned his gaze to the road. Neither spoke a word since leaving the engagement.

  Placing her hands again at his sides and resting her back against the sissy bar, LeAnne kept a proper distance from Marcus Gallego. She certainly did not want to give him false impressions. She went with him simply because someone had tampered with Jillian Gallego’s grave.

  LeAnne had left her fiancé, furious and disgruntled, back at the Hargrove’s with the promise to return as quickly as possible, though it did little to assuage Chad’s wounded pride. He was liable to pout for a good many days over this escapade.

  But to LeAnne, her job came first.

  Wind blowing through her hair, she tilted with Snake into every curve. She could easily get used to this, she thought with a grin. No wonder bikers rallied against wearing helmets when the state legislature threatened to pass a law forcing the use of them. It was impossible to match the freedom of the open road with the wind in your hair and not a care in the world. Traveling down some state highway with no real destination in mind and no commitments certainly had its appeal. Everyone, at some time in their life, craved to pack up and walk away from their responsibilities; people like Snake did it on a daily basis. LeAnne found herself envying his lifestyle. Hers had always been full of complications, if not trials and tribulations.

  Snake downshifted gears as they neared the entrance to Riverview Memory Gardens and pulled into the drive. The gravel crunched beneath the weight of the tires as they drove up the slight incline and around the back of the mausoleum where he stopped the bike, using the muscles in his thighs to hold the heavy machinery beneath them. The rumble of the engine cut short as Snake turned the key.

  LeAnne lifted her leg and stepped from the bike, trying her best to hold down her skirt. Not exactly appropriate attire for riding motorcycles.

  She tried to wait patiently for Snake as he kicked the stand into place and stepped from the motorcycle. Anxiety plucked at the taut strings of her nerves. LeAnne could hardly stand still as she waited for Marcus to lead her to Jillian’s grave.

  Snake looked at her for the first time since their arrival. His gaze appeared haunted and distant, the hollows of his cheeks more prominent. Marcus Gallego seemed much older than he had only moments ago at the party.

  Although she barely knew this man, LeAnne had never seen him quite so solemn, even while in CCNO. His dark brown eyes appeared a fathomless black, his jaw taut from the pressure of his clenched teeth. Every muscle in his body seemed carved of stone, reluctant to move.

  LeAnne fought the urge to pull him into her arms and soothe away the pain. But certainly, he would not welcome her comforting. This was something he had to deal with on his own, just as she had when her mother slowly passed away from the cancer that ate at her spirit. LeAnne missed her mother terribly—but her father, she never would.

  She shook off the last thought, knowing now was not the time to dwell on it, then touched the back of his hand. He narrowed his gaze, and for a moment LeAnne thought he might jerk away from the contact. Instead, he turned his hand and grasped her fingers, intertwining them with his. His gaze softened minutely.

  Without a word, Marcus made a path across the freshly-cut grass, heading between the copper markers of other graves, other past lives. Faded silk lilies and daffodils, weathered ribbons and bows sorely in need of changing, sat about in copper vases attached to the markers of resting places, people forgotten in time. LeAnne followed closely behind Marcus, holding onto his grasp as she was mindful of where she stepped. Her eyes scanned the grounds, always looking, always seeking. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, nothing seemed amiss.

  Her attention on the path they traveled and not where they headed, she collided with Marcus’ solid form. His grasp tightened on hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, before her gaze landed on the marker at his feet.

  The hairs rose on her nape. A sense of evil whispered across the winds and hung in the air like mist falling from the clouds of an impending storm.

  The words, “Straight to HELL,” were scrawled in red spray paint across the bronze plate, the raised name of Jillian Gallego on the plaque now barely legible. Red roses sprayed black, stuck in a pool of liquid, filled the center vase.

  “My God,” LeAnne whispered.

  Marcus let go of her hand, but not before she felt the slight tremble of his fingers. He hunkered down in front of the marker. His hand reached out to the red paint when LeAnne realized his intention.

  She gently grasped his outstretched forearm. “I’m sorry, Marcus, I can’t let you touch it. This is evidence.”

  Snake sat heavily on the ground and he drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. His gaze never strayed, fixed on the words marring the bronze surface.

  Straight to HELL.

  LeAnne sat back on her heels beside him. “When did you first find this?”

  “This morning,” he said, his tone husky. “When was the last time you were here?”

  “Yesterday,” he said, finally glancing at her. Though his eyes were dry, they brimmed with emotion. Pain, loss—fear. “Why?”

  “It could be important.” She kept her tone light, coaxing. The last thing she wanted was Marcus clamming up on her. “So it wasn’t this way yesterday?”

  His brows formed a crease over the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you think I would have told you if it was?”

  “I suppose so.” She laid a hand on his knee. “I’m trying to establish a time that Jillian’s murderer had been here, if indeed he is the one who did this.”

  “You actually think someone else might have done this? What would be their reasoning?”

  “I don’t know, but it is a possibility.” She paused. When he did not add to her thoughts, she continued, “Let’s just say for now it was him. Then it’s highly unlikely that he did this handiwork during the day, and if you hadn’t been here for a couple of weeks—we would have been talking any number of nights. As it is, we know he came by sometime after dark last night.”

  Snake chuckled somberly. “Did you have to go to school to learn that?”

  LeAnne glared at him, then stood. “You really are a son of a bitch, Gallego.”

  Not waiting, or caring, what his reaction might be, she stormed off, no, stomped off, in search of a pay phone. She would have one of the deputies bring her the detective’s car, collect her evidence and be done with Marcus Gallego. And good riddance. She’d had about all she could take from him in one lifetime.

  LeAnne reached the spot where they had left his motorcycle and headed down the drive toward
the caretaker’s house. Hearing the crunch of gravel behind her, she looked back about the time Marcus grasped her wrist and spun her around, yanking her against his unyielding form. Her chest slammed into his, and if it wasn’t from the sudden impact, it was from the intensity in his eyes that her breath caught in her throat.

  Suddenly, without warning, Snake grasped her by the neck and brought his lips down to hers. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not like the ones she had read in a sweet romance. This was full of lightning and electricity. Her joints numbed and her insides turned to lava. Never in her life had she been kissed with so much emotion. Desperation, frenzy, and, yes, hunger.

  She heard the growl from his throat as her lips yielded to his. Her body melted against him, her hands slipped around his neck.

  His tongue slid between her lips. Had he not had a hold on her, surely she would have fallen to a pool at his feet. Suddenly, she wondered if she wasn’t in more danger from the enigma that had wrapped her so thoroughly in his cocoon, or the evil that had played out in the graveyard the night before.

  Marcus let go of her wrist only to rest his hand upon the small of her back and anchor her lower abdomen against his groin. His erection lay between them, a reminder of his intentions, as his kiss turned more carnal in nature.

  Something about being in this man’s arms made the act the most natural in the world—like they were meant to be. And at the moment, a convent full of nuns would not be able to tell her otherwise.

  * * *

  He had been wrong. There lay passion beneath the stiff exterior of LeAnne McVeigh, but words could not describe the fire and magnetism between them. He had followed her, angry at her parting words.

  Damn her for not understanding, damn her for not caring.

  His wife lay dead a mere fifty feet away, and here the sweet detective was, making him forget.

  But he was a man of passion, a man with needs. Debra Lewis had been his only affair before or after Jillian met her fate, and he had regretted that—every last minute.