Kiss of Deceit

by Patricia A. Rasey

  “And you wouldn’t tell Fred?”

  “No way, man. Ain’t one to get involved, unless I got proof. I got no proof.”

  “What about Snake? His wife sleep with Tony?”

  Blade’s jaw tightened. “I heard rumors he was sniffin’ about Jillian’s heels. Ain’t got no proof there, either, that he ever got any of that. But it wouldn’t surprise me any.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Jillian couldn’t keep her pants on for no one. Shoot, man, if I would have been interested—I probably could have had her. Snake should have dropped that bitch a long time ago. Not like my ol’ lady. She ain’t out sniffin’ at any man’s heels. She knows who her daddy is.”

  “How much did you hate Jillian Gallego?”

  “I had no use for her—that’s no secret. Everyone knew how I felt. I ain’t one to mix words. Snake was my brother, man. I seen what that slut was doing to him. He was so blinded by her…uh, what she could do for him in the sack that he couldn’t see what was happenin’ right under his nose.”

  “And you didn’t tell him?”

  “Shoot, man, he’d have believed that slut over his friends any day. Besides, the day she died, as I told you before, I called him. Told him I saw his no-good wife with a deputy out at Trucker’s Paradise. Sorry to say, but what happened to that bitch was the best thing that happened to Snake, man—the best thing.”

  There was no remorse for the way Blade felt in the depths of his eyes. He meant every word and didn’t think twice about voicing it.

  LeAnne shifted focus. “Do you know where Jillian Gallego was laid to rest?”

  Again, he tugged on his earlobe. “Riverview Memory Gardens.”

  “Have you visited her grave since the funeral?”

  “Why would I?”

  Bob shifted in his chair, his gaze accusatory. “That’s what we’re asking, Blade? Why would you?”

  Blade tapped the arms of the chair with his fingers. “I’d have no reason to.”

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” LeAnne said. “No,” he affirmed.

  “Miranda Holliday.” LeAnne watched him as he shifted his weight in the chair. “Did you know her?”

  Blade folded his arms across his chest and began clapping his hands against his upper arms. “Yes.”

  “How well?”

  “She hung around Jillian a bit.”

  “Did you hang around Jillian?”

  He stopped fidgeting and sat taller. “No.”

  “Then how would you know Miranda did?”

  “I’ve been to the bar a few times where she hung with her friends.”

  “Friends? As in…”

  Blade shrugged, and held his palms upward. “I don’t know, man.

  Miranda, Samantha Duncan…a few others.”

  “Cora Smith.”

  He chuckled. “Now there’s a hot number.”

  “You like Cora?”

  “Hell, no. Me? Shoot, man, I just like to look. I got an ol’ lady, but I ain’t dead. Know what I mean?” He glanced at Bob, who nodded in agreement. Probably the only thing these two men might have in common.

  “Did you ever perform certain duties for any of these women?” LeAnne asked.

  Blade glanced to the floor. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Bob stood and walked behind Blade’s chair, then leaned one hand on the table beside Blade. “Oh, I think you do, Blade. I think you were dealing to these women.”

  “Go screw yourself.”

  “We have information—”

  “You don’t have shit.”

  “Let me rephrase the question. Maybe you didn’t understand me correctly the first time.” Bob leaned in. “We don’t have squat on your dealing activities, nor do we care. But if someone wasn’t cooperating…well, we just might make it our business to know.”

  Blade shifted again. “Look, I used to deal them a little smack, a little coke. But I didn’t sleep with any of them bitches. You want to find out any more, call Tony Hargrove or that deputy who was caught with his hands down Jillian’s pants. I’m sure they know far more than I do. They hung around that group of women. Me? I was just there when they needed something. Know what I mean, man?”

  Bob stepped back.

  “I’m sure we do, Blade,” LeAnne said.

  “Great,” Blade stated, then stood. “Then I think I’m through answering your questions. Am I free to go?”

  “We told you before, you’re free to go whenever you choose. But first, I’ll need you to read through your statement as I have written it, then sign it.”

  “Good, then I’m outta here.” He grasped the pen from LeAnne’s hand, scanned the page, and hastily scribbled his name on it. Blade then walked from the room, his gate a little less arrogant, and not once glanced back.

  LeAnne looked at Bob. “What do you think?”

  “I think we bring in Allen Wymer for a little Q and A.”

  “And Tony Hargrove?”

  Bob gnawed at the inside of his cheek.

  * * *

  LeAnne slammed her car door. The more she thought about it and its implications, the angrier she became. She would get answers one way or another—the exact reason she headed up his gravel drive and toward the barn.

  A soft light illuminated part of the yard as it spilled from the door. A shadow played about the grass, indicating an occupant inside. Two black Doberman’s lay their lazy heads on their paws by the open door, barely acknowledging her presence. If it hadn’t been from their eye movement, she would have thought them unaware of her altogether. LeAnne figured they remembered her from the last time she boldly stepped foot on his property. She had been out of her mind then, too.

  Her heart beat heavily as her strides slowed. She suddenly wondered at her decision to run headlong into the night and confront

  Marcus.

  What if she had been wrong? Anyone could have painted the threat on her windshield. But Marcus had been there—something had drawn him to the alley. And why had he looked at her full of accusations and contempt? LeAnne needed answers or there would again be no sleep for her tonight.

  Taking a steadying breath, she entered the softly-lit barn. Matchbox 20 blared from tiny speakers of the small radio sitting on a shelf behind Marcus. He kept his back to her as he bent over his Harley, wrenching some poor bolt. The muscles in his triceps tightened with each torque.

  LeAnne cleared her throat, startling him.

  His gaze indurated when he glanced up from his work. He reached over the motorcycle and turned a knob on the radio. Silence echoed eerily through the barn. Aside from his motorcycle, a red chest of tools, and a few bedrolls, the building sat nearly empty.

  Marcus used a red bandanna to wipe the grease from his arms and hands, leaving black smears on his forearms, the exact type of rag which had secured Jillian and Miranda’s wrists. A shudder traveled the length of her spine as images of the two women flitted through her like stills from a thriller.

  “You wanted something?” he asked in his normal deep tone as he faced her head on, shaking her from her reverie.

  LeAnne blinked a few times; her heart fluttered madly. Why the hell had she come? She had to be crazier than a loon. Chad was in Massachusetts, and here she stood in Marcus Gallego’s barn. Not even an hour had passed since her fiancé’s phone call, letting her know he had arrived in Boston, fully intact. Secure in his hotel, he had settled in for a good night’s rest, as LeAnne stood mere feet away from a man she had no business being near.

  A smile itched at the corners of his lips. “Did you come here just to gawk? Should I be flattered?”

  LeAnne shifted her stance; heat rose up her neck and pooled in her ears. “I had a few questions.”

  Marcus shook his head, clearly agitated. Giving her his back again, he gathered his tools, placing them in an orderly fashion in the red toolbox. “It’s always business with you.”

  His comment stung more than any wasp bite, more than any third- degree burn. “It’s not always
business.”

  With a clank and a thud, he dropped the rest of his tools on the narrow shelf, then slammed the drawer. The sound echoed off the walls, testing to his rising irritation. He turned to face her, hands on his hips.

  “Tell me, Detective, why are you in my barn, at ten o’clock at night? A social call?”

  LeAnne winced. She supposed she deserved that. “Not exactly.”

  “I’ll bite. Then, why?”

  She straightened her shoulders, and swallowed her disquietude. This time, she had been the victim. “Why were you in the alley last night?”

  His expression toughened. His glare fixed her where she stood. “Do you think that’s any of your business?”

  LeAnne swallowed. This Marcus didn’t scare her, not in a frightening matter, anyway. No, this Marcus made her blood thicken, her womb convulse, her limps numb. She might fare better facing a cornered Pit Bull.

  “This time it is,” she said. “Why?”

  She took a deep breath, then leaped in with both feet. “Because someone spray-painted on my car’s windshield the same words that had been on Jillian’s marker.”

  His expression went from one of anger to astonishment. Then he laughed coldly. “And your contorted little mind thinks I did it? Surely you aren’t that delusional.”

  “I’m not saying you did.”

  “Then what the hell are you saying, LeAnne?” He took two steps forward, she two steps back. “That because I was in the alley behind the sheriff’s office yesterday, I could have been there to only cause you problems? If that were the case, then I damn well would have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I went there to see you, find out how you were doing.” His gaze took in the bruising on her cheek. “But just as I was pulling up, you come out all cozy with that fiancé of yours. A bottle of wine in his one hand, and the other in the small of your back. Not to mention that sweet little peck you gave him. I can only imagine you two in the sack. Does he make you squirm, LeAnne? Does he make your blood run hot?”

  LeAnne’s ire hit the ceiling. “What the hell does that have to do with you?”

  He gripped her upper arm, and yanked her flush against him like two planetary forces colliding.

  “You just don’t get it, do you? Everything you do has to do with me. The way you smell, the way you moan when I bury my tongue in your mouth. I can only imagine how you would sound had I the inclination to bury it elsewhere.”

  LeAnne flinched. If he were trying to shock her, he had finally succeeded. Her face heated. Her ears burned.

  “What do you expect from me?” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

  “I don’t expect anything, LeAnne. It’s what I want that has a hold of my balls and won’t let go.”

  LeAnne attempted to catch her fleeting breath. “And what do you want?”

  “What you gave your fiancé last night, what kept me up until the wee hours hard enough to drive through steel. Ah, Christ…”

  He ended his own statement by seizing her lips with his, though certainly not soft and full of affection. No, this kiss was hard, unyielding, consuming her with fire. She had no doubt where this would lead if she didn’t put a stop to it, but no longer did she care. To hell with morals and scruples.

  Tonight was about taking, worrying about the implications tomorrow, about giving what she had no right to offer. Tonight was about two people whose desire for one another had raged beyond controlling and all sane thought.

  Tonight, she should’ve just stayed home.

  Chapter 22

  She hadn’t felt this alive or free in her life. Her body arched and ached for his touch. His silky tongue ran up the soft flesh of her inner thigh, making parts of her quiver in anticipation. Something she was unaccustomed to—something the man she had left at home never took time for. He was a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sort of guy.

  But not this one.

  He made parts of her sing, parts that she wasn’t aware knew how to carry the tune. She wiggled beneath him as he slowly slid up her body, dragging his bare flesh over hers. Coarse hair met smooth skin. His erection pulsed tantalizingly where his tongue had been.

  Damn, he was good.

  Why hadn’t she met him years ago? Where had he been when she had sought the perfect mate? But time had altered her destiny and set her life into motion.

  This would have to satisfy her. This would have to be enough.

  She curled her arms around his neck and brought his lips down to hers. Though his lips were hard and unyielding, he returned her kiss, a bit harsh and tooth grinding for her taste. But maybe, just maybe, he liked it rough.

  She liked things a little more gentle, but he carried her to heights she had never before reached, and if allowing him just this bit, then she would gladly hand her life over to him. Even for a few stolen hours.

  He broke away suddenly, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His breathing cacophonous, it came in the form of shallow pants.

  She ran her palm down his freshly-shaven jaw.

  “Calm down, darling,” she whispered. “We have all night. He’s out of town.”

  A small, almost cynical smile rose on the edge of his thin lips. “Think I care?”

  “You should, darling. Unless you want to get caught.”

  “I haven’t been yet.”

  She giggled nervously. “Let’s hope I’m not the first, then. I certainly don’t relish getting caught with my legs wrapped around this fine trim waist.” She smiled, linking her ankles behind his back. “Or having my fingers running through the hair of your gorgeous chest.” Her hands splayed over his breast, her thumb and forefinger tweaking one flat nipple.

  He flinched only slightly, but enough that she caught his reaction. She purred, moving her hips so her wetness stroked his throbbing penis with deliberate slowness.

  He jerked.

  She was sure he couldn’t wait another moment and moaned with anticipation. She had waited all week for this.

  Hell, she had waited a lifetime.

  Quick of movement, he grasped her ankle, almost painfully, and jerked it from around his waist. She gazed up at him, hoping to see what caused his sudden change in temperament. Had she been imagining the whole time? Been so wrapped up in her own self, she forgot about him? His cold eyes appeared void of feeling.

  “Wh—what’s the matter?” she stuttered. Dejected. Hurt.

  He shook off her stare and reached down beside the bed, extracting a beautiful expensive-looking silk scarf, one that she was sure she had not seen before.

  Her eyes rounded. “I’m not sure what it is you…you want.” Her voice broke with creeping fear.

  “Relax,” he barked out, more an order than a suggestion. His weight rendered her inert. “I have a little game is all. I think you might just like it.”

  He lifted his bulk from her and knelt between her spread thighs. She stared in awe as the muscles in his arms bulged and he tore the scarf in two.

  She wiggled, panic fluttered within. “I’m not so sure I’m going to like this, Shawn.”

  A grin full of malice split his handsome face. “Trust me, Samantha, you’ll die loving it.”

  * * *

  Looking for a quick place hastily to settle them before LeAnne decided to flee, Snake grabbed his bedroll, shook it out, and laid it on the hard-dirt flooring of the barn. He didn’t care where they lay as long as LeAnne didn’t pick now to change her mind.

  He returned his attention to her as her hands fidgeted with the buttons of her blouse. Her fingers shook so violently, he swore she’d never get the job done, not in his lifetime. And as hard as he was, Marcus doubted he had much time before he shattered in tiny shards.

  Impatiently, he jerked his own shirt over his head and tossed it aside, before pulling her into his embrace and kissing her harshly, feverishly. Had someone picked this moment to take his temperature, surely the mercury would rise with the momentum of a sky rocket.

  His desire made him bum
bling as a schoolboy ready to shed his virginity. Christ, he had been around the block more times than he cared to count. But here, in the arms of a woman he had no right being with, LeAnne made him feel as though it were his first time.

  He grasped her fingers, and pulled them away from the buttons, then quickly shed each from its hole. Once he pulled the tails of the shirt from her jeans, he spread open the beige shirt and harshly shoved it from her shoulders, revealing creamy-white skin.

  His own fingers trembled; a lump lodged in his throat.

  He stared down on her lace-covered breasts as his tongue itched to taste each one, to lave at the hardened nipples and turn her quivering body to mush.

  His heart drummed heavily.

  Christ, he wasn’t going to live through this.

  His penis felt damn close to exploding and she had yet to touch him. He had wanted to take things slow, to leave his stamp on her. Hell, he wanted to make damn sure she never forgot Marcus Allen Gallego, for he sure in the hell would never forget her. But at the pace they were traveling, he’d be finished well before she ever got started.

  She shrugged the rest of the way out of her blouse, then he pulled her back into his embrace. Their sweat-soaked skin mingled, sending his anticipation to new heights. His greedy mouth closed over hers, his tongue sweeping the inside flesh of her mouth. Snake’s normally deft fingers seemed to abandon him as he fumbled with the closure of the brassiere. He cursed the maker in the way of a muffled groan, then the clasp gave way and the material slipped between them, joining the blouse at their feet. They stepped clumsily over both articles, stumbling like drunken fools. Reaching the bedroll, they nearly fell atop one another as their hands grabbled and grasped at each other’s remaining clothes in desperation.

  Snake finally broke the kiss, took an unsteady breath, and propped on his elbow to look down on her. The frantic desire he saw in her darkened eyes surely mimicked his own. They had waited too long as it was. This had been coming since the time she shoved his head against the bar and slapped the cuffs on him. Even then, his blood ran hot, making him want to flip the good detective on her back, right there in front of all his biker friends. He had wanted her then and wanted her now. The time to change her mind had long since passed.