The Seductive Impostor

by Janet Chapman

  “This is not a speeding ticket,” she snapped. “It’s Larry Jenkins’s home phone number. It seems I have a date with him tomorrow night.”

  “I owe you.”

  “You owe me?” Willow repeated, clearly surprised by Rachel’s answer. “So Larry wasn’t just making it up? You really did promise I’d go out with him?”

  Rachel slowly rose from the couch, every muscle in her body protesting. Who would have known lovemaking was such strenuous work? She walked over to Willow, hugged her nonplussed sister, and gave her a crooked smile.

  “Larry owns a pickup truck, Willy. And if you’re real nice to him tomorrow night, you could probably borrow it.”

  “Why do I want to borrow Larry’s truck?”

  “For Puffy. How else are we going to get him into town?”

  Willow stepped back, incredulous. “You want me to borrow a deputy sheriff’s truck to sneak an illegal statue into the town square?”

  Rachel nodded.

  Willow sighed and finally found a tentative smile. “It would serve him right if his truck is recognized leaving the scene of our crime. What’s Larry got on you that he’s stooping to blackmailing me for a date?”

  Rachel headed into the kitchen, deciding she needed a cup of tea—no, something stronger—for the fireworks that were about to begin.

  “Rae?” Willow questioned, following her.

  “I offered to go out with him first,” Rachel thought to clarify, getting the rum down from the top cupboard. “But apparently I don’t hold the appeal I used to,” she added with a snort, going to the fridge and opening the door, looking for some soda. “He said it had to be with you, or he was writing the ticket.”

  “A ticket? You?” Willow gasped, her eyes rounded in mock horror.

  “Not me,” Rachel said, popping her head out of the fridge long enough to roll her eyes at Willow. “It was Keenan Oakes he was threatening to ticket.”

  “Keenan Oakes! I’m going out with Larry Jenkins so Keenan Oakes doesn’t have to pay a ticket? Rae, the man’s a billionaire! No, here, give me that,” she said, taking the soda from Rachel. “I have something better in the car. Get out the blender and some ice.”

  Willow was out the door, the soda bottle still in her hand, before Rachel could even ask what she was talking about. So she got out the blender, set it on the counter, and plugged it in.

  Willow used her foot to open the screen door and came back in carrying four boxes overflowing with plump, deep red strawberries. Rachel squeaked in delight and immediately grabbed one of the berries and popped it in her mouth.

  “Oh, man. It’s strawberry season,” she moaned, squishing the succulent fruit between the roof of her mouth and her tongue.

  “No,” Willow said, popping a berry into her own mouth. “It’s strawberry daiquiri season.”

  Rachel went to the fridge and pulled out two trays of ice cubes, dumped one in the blender, and poured in a healthy amount of rum. “Quick. Get the hulls off those puppies,” she urged, getting a knife and starting on them herself.

  More of the berries from the first quart went into their mouths than into the blender. “I have four more quarts in the car,” Willow said around a mouthful. “I couldn’t resist when I saw Bickford’s roadside stand. I think I ate a whole quart on the way home.”

  Rachel hit the button on the blender, and the berries and rum and ice swirled into a tornado of bright red decadence. Willow got down two daiquiri glasses and stood watching the whirlwind with Rachel. “It’s done,” she declared, holding out the glasses.

  Rachel hit the switch and poured both drinks, then took one of the glasses and held it up for a toast. “To strawberry season,” she said, clinking her glass to Willow’s.

  “And to sisters,” Willow replied.

  Each took a sip and both moaned in unison.

  “Now,” Willow said, giving Rachel a threatening glare that was thoroughly ruined by her strawberry mustache. “I believe you were about to explain why I’m paying Keenan Oakes’s ticket.”

  “It’s…complicated,” Rachel said, going to the table and sitting down. She waited until Willow was seated across from her before she continued. “It just sort of happened. Kee was driving Thadd’s Ferrari, which is unregistered, and he parked in a handicapped zone on the pier.”

  “And you were with him…why?”

  “I was hungry. He offered to take me out for lobster.”

  “Sounds chummy,” Willow muttered over the rim of her glass before taking a sip. “I thought we agreed you would stay away from him.”

  “He was rather insistent,” Rachel whispered, quickly taking her own sip. “And that’s when we made the deal that I’d help him reopen Sub Rosa. And Larry…Larry just showed up, and before I knew what I was doing, I promised him a date.”

  “How thoughtful of you.”

  “Hey, we do need a truck for Puffy. It’s a win–win deal. See if you can get it for tomorrow night.” Rachel suddenly frowned. “You are staying, aren’t you? It is Friday, isn’t it?”

  “What in hell have you been doing all week?” Willow asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “I’ve been opening Sub Rosa.”

  “And returning the emeralds?”

  “Ah…well…sort of.” Rachel quickly decided that this was not the time to lie to Willow—at least not a full lie. “Kee found them. But he didn’t say anything,” she rushed to explain. “It turns out they were fakes.”

  “The emeralds were fakes?” Willow echoed in a whisper, leaning closer. “All that worry, and they were fakes?”

  “Do you have any idea how much a good forgery costs?” Rachel asked her. “A couple hundred thousand bucks at least. Either way, I wanted them off our hands.”

  “And he didn’t say anything?” Willow asked in disbelief, leaning even closer. She suddenly sat back in her chair, her eyes widening in horror. “You slept with him!”

  “What!” Rachel choked, spitting out a mouthful of strawberry daiquiri. “How can you think that!”

  “You did!” Willow shouted, standing up and pointing her glass at Rachel. “I’m gone less than four days, and you run right over there and jump into bed with the man!”

  Rachel also stood. “Will you calm down? It’s just…I didn’t mean for it…oh, dammit, so what if I did! I’m a big girl,” she said, repeating Kee’s words from this morning. “I’m entitled to a bit of fun. And you know what? It was the best damned fun I ever had!”

  Rachel wanted to smack herself in the forehead the moment she heard her own words. Willow was staring at her in stunned silence.

  “Willy,” Rachel said quietly. “I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s…he’s real.”

  “Puffin Harbor has real men,” Willow countered, just as softly.

  “I know. But haven’t you ever looked at a guy and your insides just turned to mush? Or found yourself looking into eyes so beautiful that you just melted? Have your palms ever itched so much, Willy, that you think you’ll just die if you can’t run them over his face?”

  Willow could only stare at Rachel and slowly shake her head. “Oh, man,” she whispered. “You’ve been so careful, so…so protective of yourself.” One corner of her mouth slowly lifted. “I’m happy for you, Rae. Really, I am. I’ve been so worried these last three years, watching you shrivel up inside yourself and not being able to help you.”

  She moved around the table and stopped in front of Rachel. “But does it have to be Keenan Oakes? Couldn’t you get all hot and bothered over someone a bit…a bit safer?”

  “He’s safe, Willy. He’s real.”

  “He’s going to break your heart.”

  “Probably,” Rachel quietly admitted. “But isn’t that better than feeling nothing? How does that saying go? ‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’?”

  Willow sipped her drink, staring at Rachel over the rim of her glass, her eyes clouded with concern as she contemplated Rachel’s question.

  “And what if he doe
sn’t break my heart?” Rachel quietly asked. “What if I run from this? Wouldn’t wondering what might have been be worse than never experiencing it at all, even for a little while?”

  Willow let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t know, Rae. Maybe. Probably. I just don’t want you to get hurt. You were so devastated after Mom and Dad died. A second blow to your heart might be fatal.”

  “You know what I think?” Rachel asked.

  “What?”

  “I think it’s going to take all eight quarts of strawberries and a whole bottle of rum to answer my questions,” she said, going over to the counter and dumping the second tray of ice cubes into the blender.

  Chapter Twelve

  Luke sat on the ground in the shadow of a giant maple tree, grinning like the village idiot as he listened to the rhythm of quiet conversation, a whole lot of giggles, and sudden bursts of laughter coming from Rachel Foster’s porch.

  It was ten o’clock and fully dark, and just cool enough that mosquitoes weren’t a problem, thank God. His shift had started the moment Kee had decided Rachel needed watching, and wasn’t due to be up for another two hours. But even if he wasn’t on duty, he wouldn’t have missed this show for the world. He’d been contemplating whether or not he should call and tell Kee, but hadn’t been able to decide whether Rachel’s privacy took precedence over Kee’s need to know what was happening.

  “Come on, Rae,” the woman said, jumping up and running down off the porch with a glass full of what Luke now knew was ice and rum and strawberries.

  They’d brought out the blender about an hour ago and started making the daiquiris right on the porch so they wouldn’t have to keep running back inside every twenty minutes.

  “It’ll be like old times,” she urged. “Come on, push me!”

  Luke had watched her arrive earlier, and assumed the woman was Rachel’s sister, Willow. They looked quite a bit alike, though Willow’s hair was stylishly cut at shoulder length, and her clothes were more businesslike.

  Well, not at the moment—Willow was growing noticeably more disheveled with each passing hour. Hell, so was Rachel, for that matter. They’d both tossed off their shoes quite a while ago, Willow’s suit jacket was inside out and hanging over the railing, and both their shirts were untucked and covered with strawberry stains.

  Luke shifted to get a better view as Rachel came teetering down the steps, also with a glass in her hand, following her sister to the swing tied in an old oak tree on the ocean side of the house.

  Aw, to hell with nobility. Kee and the others needed to see this, if only as a reminder that life was still full of surprises. Other than Mikaela’s antics, it had been eons since any of them had seen such impulsive and completely unrestrained joy—especially from grown women.

  Luke pulled out his cell phone and punched in Kee’s number.

  “What?” Kee said.

  “I’m calling to thank you for the supper you sent down,” Luke said, covering the phone’s mike when Willow screamed in laughter as Rachel spilled her drink down her back trying to push her in the swing.

  Kee’s sigh came over the phone. “Hell, I’m sorry. We’ve been exploring the tunnels all afternoon. I’ll send Peter with some food. Everything okay down there?”

  “Ah, you said you wanted to know if she so much as chips a fingernail, but does getting rip-roaring drunk count?”

  There was a heartbeat of silence. Then two. Then three.

  “Excuse me?” Kee whispered. “Did you say drunk?”

  “Her sister arrived home a little after three,” Luke said.

  “Did you say drunk?” Kee repeated, even more softly.

  “There was a bit of shouting at first,” Luke said, continuing his report. “But then Willow came running back out to her car and carried several boxes of strawberries inside. And then there was some more shouting, and then it went quiet.”

  “Luke,” Kee growled in warning.

  “Willow Foster’s quite a looker,” Luke continued. “And a happy drunk. And Rachel gets to giggling so hard she ends up snorting. I swear, boss, if I wasn’t a disciplined man, I’d be tempted to join the party.”

  The phone suddenly went dead. Luke smiled and shifted again, settling more comfortably against the maple tree in a position with a better view of the women. His stomach let out an impatient growl just then, and he hung his head at the realization that he wouldn’t be getting any supper tonight.

  Utterly speechless, Kee could only crouch in the bushes and watch Rachel and Willow Foster throw rocks at the ocean. Fog was slowly inching its way shoreward, and even though the floodlights on the front of the house were enough to illuminate the entire lawn, the women couldn’t see their impressively launched missiles hit the water.

  There would be several minutes of searching for just the right rock, a bout of bragging when one was found, then a collective silence as the rock sailed through the air. There would be a whoop of triumph when it hit the water with a muted plop, and then a rather animated discussion about whether or not it went farther than the previous one.

  The contest had been going on for nearly twenty minutes.

  “Your woman can’t hold her liquor, I’m afraid,” Duncan whispered from beside him, amusement ruining his insult.

  Kee looked toward the house and counted five empty ice cube trays, seven empty strawberry boxes, and two empty bottles of rum littering the ground and the porch. He looked back at Duncan. “Hell, I can’t hold that much liquor.” He shook his head. “They’ll be paying a painful price tomorrow.”

  Kee turned to Luke, the floodlights barely reaching him in the shadows. “Could you make out any of the shouting when Willow arrived? Do you know what they were arguing about?”

  “Something about a date with some guy named Larry Jenkins,” Luke said, the slash of his grin perfectly visible. “And I heard your name shouted once or twice.”

  Kee stifled a snort. He just bet his name had come up.

  Mickey whined and tried to inch forward through the bushes toward the women. Kee grabbed a fistful of fur and held him in place. “No,” he said in a firm whisper. “Let them have their fun.”

  “Have ya noticed how partial he’s become to Rachel?” Duncan asked.

  “I’ve noticed,” Kee admitted with a sigh. Even the damn wolf had fallen under her spell.

  “They say animals are good judges of character,” Duncan continued, his voice soft. “Children have that gift as well. I wonder what Mikaela will think of Rachel.”

  Kee didn’t rise to the bait. The women were finally winding down from their marathon of daiquiris, rock throwing, and general disorderly conduct. They were stretched out on the grass now, their arms thrown out in exhaustion, staring up at the stars slowly disappearing behind the fog and quietly talking to each other.

  “If they fall asleep, they’ll catch colds,” Duncan worried in a whisper—in his typical mother hen mode.

  Luke’s stomach growled, and he finally stood up, keeping in the shadow of the maple tree. “I’m hungry,” he said, rubbing his belly. “And it looks like the show’s over. I’m headed back. You want me to send Matt down to keep an eye on things?”

  Kee had told Luke he could leave more than an hour ago, when he and Duncan and Mickey had arrived, but Luke hadn’t said anything and hadn’t left.

  “No, I’ll cover this shift,” Kee told him. “Duncan, take Mickey back up with you.”

  Duncan also stood, but hesitated. “You’ll want a jacket.”

  Kee shook his head. “I’ll be warm enough on Rachel’s couch.”

  “Ya plan to sleep inside?”

  Kee nodded toward the women. “You really think they’ll know I’m there?” he asked. “Once their heads hit their pillows, an army could camp out in their house and they wouldn’t know it.”

  Duncan tapped the side of his leg and clicked his tongue. “Come on, then, Mickey. Let’s go home.”

  Mickey looked at Duncan, then back at the women, and whined.

  “Go,�
� Kee said, nudging him with his knee.

  In the end, Duncan had to grab the wolf by the scruff of the neck and drag him back up the path to Sub Rosa.

  Kee turned and settled himself against the maple tree Luke had been using, saw that the women were now sitting up and still talking, and shook his head with a chuckle.

  Rachel Foster was certainly full of surprises. When she wasn’t trying to make the world think she was a nice, demure, worthy member of society, she was attacking him in the library, lying like a Trojan, and then attacking him again with that hot and delicious and very passionate mouth of hers.

  But for as many surprises as she had, she also had secrets.

  Kee agreed with Duncan that Rachel was probably protecting Willow. The bond between the two sisters was obvious, especially after tonight’s little demonstration. And as near as he could tell, from his background check and subtle inquiries in town these last few days, there simply wasn’t anyone else in Rachel Foster’s life close enough to warrant such a grand charade.

  No, the only thing that could have made Rachel return to Sub Rosa—considering what had happened there three years ago—was a powerful and unconditional love for her sister.

  And Kee was pretty sure he knew what she was protecting. She hadn’t been stealing from him that first night—she’d been returning the emeralds, a valuable painting, a ruby and gold ring, some silver items, and a bronze Asian statue, all stolen years ago. He’d found everything in the vault, and none of them had been there when good old Uncle Thaddeus had died.

  Yes, it was sisterly love that had compelled Rachel to set up the new heir of Sub Rosa for a very unpleasant fall.

  Kee actually admired her cunning.

  It was nothing personal—she had no idea who was inheriting Sub Rosa. Rachel was just trying to protect Willow’s political future by making sure the scandal of Thaddeus Lakeman’s illegal doings could never be linked to the Foster name.

  And wouldn’t he do the same thing for someone he loved?

  Damn right. He would walk through the fires of hell for Mikaela. And dammit, wasn’t he compromising his own personal code to protect Rachel right now, by not demanding she tell him how she’d gotten the stolen items?