Femme Faux Fatale

by Susan Laine

  Sheridan pleaded, “You must get it back. Whatever treasure or secret is really hidden by those statuettes, if it truly is a fabulous gem, Camille must not be allowed to get her hands on it. She could do untold damage with it.”

  While Cain had his doubts about Camille’s story of an infamous diamond, he agreed that Camille shouldn’t be allowed to profit from her illegal and unethical actions. “I’ll see what I can do. You just rest, you hear?”

  In truth, Cain already had a pretty damn good idea where Camille’s target—the gemstone of lore—was stashed. And he owed it all to Tess. Well, most of it.

  The hotel room door opened with a bang. A group of police officers with weapons drawn came in, crouched and ready to fight, shouting at everyone to put down their guns. When they were able to ascertain no one was, in fact, armed and a woman was bleeding to death on the floor, they changed strategies in an instant.

  The next half hour was a jumble of activity. The room flooded with paramedics, beat cops, detectives, crime scene unit members, and the occasional hotel staff member or guest trying to peer into the room. Sheridan and Renner were both patched up temporarily and hauled off in an ambulance, the latter with a police escort. Cain and Riley were interrogated by the police, and none too gently either.

  “Noble? Not again. What is it with you these days? Twice in two days. This does not make me happy.” The man who spoke was whip-thin, had thick dark hair, was dressed in a cheap suit and tie, and wore glasses with dull gray frames. He walked over to them, shaking his head, displeasure all over his face. “Give me the whole story this time and not the bullshit you gave us last time.”

  Riley gave Cain an odd, bewildered look, so Cain smiled shortly and explained, “This is an old friend and a colleague, Detective Paul Hall. Hall, meet Riley Lavender, also a friend of mine and an unfortunate victim of circumstance.”

  Riley smiled politely and shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hall…. Um, well, considering….”

  A sarcastic smile graced Hall’s thin lips. “I hear you.” Then he turned his attention to Cain with a knowing look that was part amusement, part resignation. “Go on. Dazzle me.”

  Cain took a deep breath and set out to reveal and explain as much as he could. Not as much as he knew, which was still up in the air. But considerable.

  He delivered a factual account (but left stuff out): How he’d been hired by Riley (but not him pretending to be a woman) to find out what happened to a missing man, Sheridan Astor (but not him actually being a woman). How Cain had followed clues that had led him to discover two corpses, Mirabel Martinez and William Woolrich. How he’d been invited by Sheridan Astor to this hotel (but not that he’d followed Riley there). How Cain had learned there were two priceless Rodin statuettes, that Camille Astor had an obsession with them (but no mention of a possible notorious gemstone), and that she and her accomplice, Dirk Renner, had attacked the three of them and shot Sheridan in the chest.

  While not the whole truth, it was an accurate report of their ordeals for the most part. Cain was pleased with himself. No need to confuse the issue with unnecessary details, he figured rationally. It didn’t help anyone solve the case to know that Sheridan had a vagina instead of a penis. That was no one’s business but hers.

  Hall studied Cain carefully. Cain had a sneaking suspicion the detective didn’t believe a word that left his lips. But a man could hope.

  “That’s the story you’re going with?” Hall asked, his slow smirk suggesting Cain had been right on the money in his assessment.

  “That’s the only official statement I’m going to make.”

  If Hall had a differing opinion on what should count as a formal report, he didn’t say. He merely shrugged. “If you say so. We’ve got an APB out on Camille Astor, and we’re staking out the mansion, though she’d be a fool to return home. She won’t get far. In the meantime, Noble, could you please stay out of trouble for forty-fucking-eight hours? You’re giving me a damn headache.”

  Hall ambled off to inspect the physical evidence gathered at the scene. Cain and Riley were waved to step outside and leave.

  As they walked down the hallway, Riley remarked, “He’s a friend of yours?”

  “Hall and I went to the police academy together. He became a cop. I flushed out, due to my impatience with the rules, and became a PI. But he’s always been supportive. We’re friendly, if not quite bosom buddies. We get drunk and catch a game at the bar sometimes, commiserating about our lives and choices.” Cain chuckled, reminiscing on happier times. “Everyone calls him Poolhall because of his name. I’m the only one he allows it from, though. Others… well, they’ll get the sharp end of a pool stick up their butt. After all, he prefers darts to pool.”

  Silence dragged on for a while between them. Cain guided Riley back to his car. Neither man spoke until they’d driven into late-night traffic.

  “I knew Camille could be ruthless, but I sure didn’t expect her to abandon Renner without a backward glance. That seems so cold. You think she just used him to do her bidding and never really cared about him?”

  Cain glanced at Riley, who was shivering on the passenger seat. He seemed like a child lost in a big chair, frightened and alone. Cain touched his knee in support.

  “I’m sure there’s a heart buried in there somewhere. Even a black one.”

  Riley chuckled a little at Cain’s jest. “You think… they killed Mirabel and Woolrich?”

  That made Cain pause. He didn’t know for certain. He suspected that was indeed the case. But he didn’t know. That particular issue hadn’t been discussed earlier. Camille had given nothing away about that. But it made sense in an effort to smoke Sheridan out of hiding. Riley and Cain had led Camille and Renner straight to her.

  “Maybe. But I try not to jump to conclusions. We’ll find out eventually.”

  Riley shook his head, appearing appalled. “I just can’t imagine that Camille would… go to such lengths. To take a life. Two lives. For some stupid rock.” He shuddered and hugged himself.

  Cain was pleased to hear that. Riley wasn’t the greedy type. That was always a nice trait in people, empathy and lack of avarice. “Listen. I need directions.” Riley glanced his way with a confounded expression on his face. Cain smirked. “To your place.”

  Riley inhaled sharply. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. Please.”

  Cain gave him a scolding stare. “Like I’d leave you alone at a time like this—or at any time ever. I’m curious about where you live, dress up… and sleep.”

  He waggled his eyebrows. He hadn’t planned to seduce Riley, only to give him comfort in the form of some flirtatious banter. He wasn’t a total heel. Cain would take Riley home and let him rest. That was all that was on the agenda for tonight.

  Riley, however, seemed to have other ideas. A slow smile spread over his face. He relaxed visibly, easing into the soft seat. “I’d like that. Very much.”

  Who was Cain to deny a beautiful man who wanted to sleep with him? Especially as they wouldn’t be doing any sleeping.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “ARE you terribly angry with me?” Riley asked as the door to his apartment closed.

  Cain didn’t reply. He stood in the narrow hallway with views to the living room and open kitchenette. Riley had forgotten Cain hadn’t yet set foot in his place.

  “I… I imagined a lot of things,” Cain murmured as he slowly stepped in. “But I admit this was not among them.” He whistled low in awe.

  Frowning, Riley looked around. He didn’t live in a dump. But neither did he live in the lap of luxury. “What’s wrong with it?” He didn’t want to sound hurt but he knew he did.

  “It’s so… minimalist.” He glanced at Riley over his shoulder, a grin on his otherwise calm and laconic face. “Almost like a prison cell. Where’s all the rainbow-colored curtains and beautiful dresses, high heels and makeup, flowers and decorations, movie posters and pink furniture?”

  “Firstly, I’m not into pink. Secon
dly, I don’t like clutter. It’s not how I was raised.”

  Austere was a good word to describe Riley’s home. Apart from foldable wooden chairs, an old, scratched coffee table bought from a thrift store, and a simple, black, worn leather couch that had seen better days, there wasn’t much in the living room. Riley had no posters, no artwork, no jewelry, not even a decorative bauble in sight.

  The only other object in the room was a black piano.

  “How were you raised?” Cain asked offhandedly, as if he wasn’t really interested and was making conversation for the sake of saying something.

  “My dad, Ian, was in the Army. He’s very strict. He brought me up to be neat, tidy, and to never abide by messes. A jumbled home leads to a jumbled mind, which leads to a jumbled life.”

  “Sounds like he drilled that lesson into you pretty hard.”

  “Yes, I suppose. He’s severe and rigorous about some things, but he’s a good man.”

  Cain shrugged off his coat and placed it neatly over the back of the couch. “I take it he had issues with you not going to the military? Or am I mistaken? If so, I apologize. Old prejudices….”

  Riley sighed, removed his own jacket, and ambled to the couch to sit, Cain coming to take a seat next to him. “I enlisted in the ROTC, and for a while I seriously considered joining the Coast Guard. But alas it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Was he very disappointed?”

  “He’s forgiven me, if that’s what you mean. But… I think he harbors disappointment.”

  “Does Ian know that you’re…?” Cain swished his wrist about in a telling gesture.

  “Waving my arms about?” Riley teased and was rewarded with Cain’s dry laugh. “Yes, on both counts. He knows I’m gay, and he knows what I do for a living. I don’t advertise either at home.”

  “Where is that? New Orleans?”

  “Fort Bragg, California, these days. So not awfully far away but not close-by either. I love the Big Easy way more.” Riley smiled at the warm memories of home. “One might think him being a military man that he practically threw me out after I came out to him. But no. He wasn’t surprised and said that all he wanted was for me to be happy. He always advised me to follow my dreams. And I have. Though he raised me with a harsh hand at times, he was a wonderful single parent. He never made it seem like he was out of his depth or overwhelmed by his son dressing up like a girl at age six.”

  Cain touched his shoulder in support. “He sounds like an amazing guy.”

  “He is.” Riley blushed, his thoughts making him nervous. “He’d like you.”

  Cain looked away, his smile dropping off. “Most parents don’t. I’m too morose.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re just smarter than most, so they get envious. I wouldn’t worry about what others think of you. Least of all my dad. He wants me to be happy, and he doesn’t dictate with whom I find that bliss.”

  Riley had to stop before he poured his heart out. He and Cain had slept together twice amid a murder case. Not exactly the stuff of legendary romances. The truth was Riley didn’t know Cain that well. But what he knew he liked. That counted for something, right?

  “How’d you end up in the burlesque circles? Was that a childhood dream of yours?” Cain asked, curiosity tingeing his tone with a slight elevation.

  Riley chuckled. “I can imagine some might dream of that. But not me. Performing wasn’t easy for me in the beginning. Back in New Orleans, I grew up singing gospel in a church choir, if you can believe it.”

  Cain’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly he hadn’t seen that coming. “You were an altar boy?”

  Riley snorted. “Stop right there, mister, before you dig yourself into a hole so deep you won’t be able to climb out.”

  Cain straightened and made a solemn pledge, hand over his heart. “I’m never not serious, darling.”

  Riley rolled his eyes. “Sure. Anyway, I sort of graduated from gospel as a kid to jazz as a teenager. It’s New Orleans after all. Seemed like the natural thing to do. I like jazz, but I love the blues. It’s the sound of my soul.”

  Cain quirked a short smile. “Nice.”

  Riley smiled at the fond memories. “Sang the blues wherever and whenever I could. Got some gigs even back then. Bars, clubs, a few social venues.” He winked at Cain. “Coincidentally that is also how I learned I was gay.”

  Cain grinned. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Riley flushed with heat. How the heck did Cain manage to make even simple statements sound like flirtatious innuendo? “One night I sang karaoke, just for fun, at the Café Lafitte, which is the oldest gay bar in the US, dating back to the 1930s. There I discovered the various facets of gay culture, among them cross-dressing. Feminine beauty in men spoke to me, and I chose a path for myself that I’ve never regretted.”

  “That’s how you decided to make a career out of it?” Cain inquired.

  Riley shrugged. “I kept singing there for a while as I learned the intricacies of dressing as a woman. I met a musician from LA out on tour, and he suggested the numerous nightclubs that were hiring new talent, especially ones that brought a twist to the game.”

  “Burlesque, huh?”

  Riley giggled, blushing at the memory. “I saw a burlesque show on my first day in LA. It was like a lightning strike. A revelation. I knew it was what I wanted.”

  “How’d you wind up at Sheridan’s club?”

  “Oh, I toured all the burlesque shows in town in search of inspiration and jobs. Sheridan and I clicked right off the bat. At first I performed with others, but when Sheridan discovered me, as she likes to call it, she gave me my own number. In a week’s time I became the headliner.”

  Cain smiled softly. “You found your niche. That’s great. Not everyone does.”

  Riley chewed on the inside of his cheek, questions bubbling inside his head like a brew in a cauldron. He longed to know more about Cain Noble, the PI Riley had picked to find his missing friend. All he had was what he’d gleaned off internet searches, most of it success stories of solved cases. That had boded well.

  Cain’s surname, Noble, had sealed the deal for Riley. And Cain lived up to his name, as recent events proved. Riley had caught precious few glimpses into the man behind the facade. At the moment, the light sparking in Cain’s eyes hinted at unexplored depths that Riley was at once mesmerized by and scared of.

  Deciding to change the subject before it got out of hand, Riley said, “You didn’t answer me. Are you mad at me?”

  Cain frowned and looked away, not answering right away. Finally he sighed. “I know now why you lied. Or more to the point, why you weren’t absolutely honest with me about everything.”

  “I promised Sherry to keep her safe,” Riley whispered, feeling rotten and guilty but also proud of himself for shielding a woman who’d essentially been in a false relationship with a partner who had murder on the brain.

  “I understand, Riley. I do. Camille’s proven she’s dangerous.” Cain growled then, startling Riley. “I’m not mad at you but at myself. I told you about Mirabel and Woolrich being dead. That basically played right into Camille’s hands. It was my fault Sheridan was smoked out. Because of me you clandestinely snuck to Sheridan’s hideout, and I followed. Camille and Renner tracked us. I led them right to Sheridan’s doorstep, and now she’s been shot.”

  Riley inched closer to Cain till their thighs touched and he was able to swing an arm over the man’s shoulders. “No, Cain. This wasn’t your fault. Camille’s ruthlessness would have led them to us eventually. I mean, they killed two people, for fuck’s sake. A bit of sleuthing and stalking was hardly above them.”

  “You’re saying it was inevitable?” Cain’s tone had a hopeful edge to it.

  Riley snorted. “If you hadn’t been there to play to Camille’s ego, we wouldn’t have a clue as to what’s going on, and Camille would have made sure Sherry was dead. And probably she would have killed me too. Thanks to you, Camille is on the run, Renner is caught, and Sherry will live. As will I.
I’m grateful, not upset.”

  A flicker of a smile rose to grace Cain’s thin lips. “You’re sweet.”

  “Contrary to what you might believe of me at this point, I’m not lying now.” Riley grinned to show his companion that he was teasing and flirting a bit too.

  Cain seemed attuned to Riley’s frequency because his smile morphed into a wicked grin as well. Then he leaned in and captured Riley’s lips in a soft but promising kiss.

  But before Riley could really get into the intimate act, Cain pulled back and nodded toward the piano. “I take it you play?”

  “Yes. That wasn’t left here by the previous occupant. I bought it with my own money after my first big paycheck at the club.” He let his playful sarcasm show since he figured Cain wouldn’t mind. And Cain did smile, responding to the cynical needling as if it were of his own making.

  “Would you play something for me?” Cain asked, his tone no longer casual as his cheeks pinked. “At the club it was hard to hear your voice with the instruments playing in the background.”

  Riley chuckled. “I don’t recall there being that many distractions. Or was it that you just couldn’t take your eyes off me, the sight of me deafening your ears?”

  Cain didn’t smile, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. Riley sauntered to the piano and sat in front of it. He lifted the lid and took in the sight of familiar keys. Suddenly he felt awfully self-conscious. “Tell me about you,” he prompted gently, unable to play without a diversion.

  Cain leaned against the back of the couch, appearing relaxed, and shrugged. “Not much to tell, to be honest. I don’t lead a particularly exciting life. Being a PI is typically rather dull.”

  “Taking nudie pictures of adulterers not doing it for you?”

  Cain laughed. “Anyway… my parents came from Colorado. That’s where I was born, near Boulder. My dad’s an accountant, a mousy type who could do his job with his eyes closed. But my mom, she wanted to be an actress. That’s how we ended up here.”

  “Wow. Is she, like, famous?”