The Seductive Impostor

by Janet Chapman

“I didn’t sneak him in,” she said, gently patting his face. “Oh, God, Willy, you killed him.”

  “I did not,” Willow defended, prodding him in the shoulder.

  Kee groaned, shook his head, then suddenly exploded into motion. He grabbed Rachel and threw her to the floor, rolling until she was behind him and he was kneeling to face the threat.

  “No!” Rachel screamed, groping for his arm. “It’s Willow!”

  His hand stopped in midswing, and he let out a curse foul enough to singe the air. That lethal hand changed direction to cup the back of his neck. “Sweet Jesus,” he growled, lightly poking the lump beginning to rise just below his hairline. “What in hell did you hit me with?”

  Willow, her eyes rounded in stark fear, her face pasty white with tinges of green around the mouth, only squeaked as she sat pressed against the wall.

  Rachel reached up with a corner of the sheet and dabbed the cut oozing blood down his neck. Kee turned, scowled hard enough to knock her over, and grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around his waist as he stood up.

  He tucked the sheet into a precarious knot, then crossed his arms over his chest, planted his feet apart, and stared down at the two of them.

  Willow’s clouded hazel eyes widened even more, and she scooted along the wall until she bumped into Rachel.

  Rachel put her arm around her trembling sister and smiled up at Kee. “I’d like for you to meet my sister, Willow. Willow, this is Keenan Oakes.”

  Willow squeaked again, darting a frantic look at Rachel. Rachel patted her arm. “He only looks like a caveman, Willy,” she assured her. “He won’t bite. I promise.”

  “I might,” he growled.

  But he sighed instead, and rubbed the back of his neck, closing his eyes and slowly shaking his head. “I’m beginning to think the safest place for Mikaela is right here with you two deadly little Amazons,” he muttered.

  He looked back at them, glaring again. “Willow, go to the bathroom and throw up. And Rachel, get some clothes on!” he snapped, spinning on his heel and stalking around the bed, grabbing up his pants and shirt and striding out of the room.

  Willow still wasn’t breathing. Rachel hugged her and rocked her back and forth. “It’s okay, Willy,” she whispered. “He’s not mad at you. He’s mad at himself for getting caught with his pants down,” she ended with a chuckle that turned into a moan, as her head started pounding with the force of a jackhammer.

  Willow hung her own head in her hands, covering her face and letting out a shuddering breath. “God, my head hurts,” she croaked. “I’m never eating another strawberry.”

  Rachel snorted and took hold of the side of the bed and stood up. “I don’t think it’s the strawberries giving us headaches,” she told her. “I think it’s two bottles of rum.”

  Willow also stood, took down Rachel’s robe from the peg by the closet, and tossed it to her. “What time is it?” she asked.

  Rachel looked at the clock by the bed. “Hell, it’s only four-thirty.”

  Willow was also looking at the table by the bed, and her eyes rounded again. She walked over and picked up the three foil packets, turned, and held them out to Rachel.

  “Three?” she asked in awe, only to suddenly frown at her hand. “They’re all here.” She looked at the floor near the bedside table, then back at Rachel. “All three are here.”

  Her eyes widened in horror again. “And if I remember right, he wasn’t wearing anything when I…when…Rachel! You didn’t use anything!”

  But before Rachel could answer, Willow was stalking out the door. Rachel chased after her in a running limp, but Willow was headed downstairs. By the time Rachel caught up with her, her sister was just entering the kitchen, shouting Kee’s name.

  Standing by the sink, holding a towel under the faucet, Kee shut off the water and slowly turned and faced her. Willow threw all three packets of condoms at him, and Rachel could only watch, speechless, as they bounced off his chest and fell to the floor.

  “You do not have unprotected sex with my sister,” she told him, carefully enunciating each word. She stepped forward and pointed her finger at him. “And so help me God, if you get her pregnant, Mr. Oakes, I will come after you with a shotgun. Got that?” she snapped, taking another threatening step forward.

  Kee merely nodded.

  “Hey, now wait a min—” Rachel started.

  Willow whirled on her. “No, you wait, you idiot! You do not have unprotected sex!”

  “Oh, for the love of God, Willy.” Rachel hissed.

  Willow whirled again, this time at the sound of Kee’s laughter. “It’s not funny, Mr. Oakes!”

  He held up his hands in supplication. “I know it’s not. It’s just that the two of you make such a pair, fearlessly determined to protect each other.”

  Rachel gasped and slit her hand across her throat at Kee behind Willow’s back. Willow turned and caught her. “What is he talking about?” she demanded, stepping toward her. “What are you protecting me from?”

  Rachel shook her head at Willow while glaring at Kee. “He’s not talking about anything, Willy. He’s just still mad at being blindsided.”

  “I’m talking about a million-dollar set of stolen emeralds suddenly appearing in my vault,” Kee said, drawing Willow’s attention. “And millions of dollars of art being stolen from Sub Rosa over the last three years.”

  “What?” Willow whispered, looking at Rachel, then back at Kee. “And you think Rachel is responsible?”

  Kee shook his head. “No. But she’s into it up to her pretty little neck, and she’s trying to protect you by not telling you about it.”

  “How is she into it?” she asked, turning and asking Rachel her question. “You said the emeralds were fakes.”

  “Not the set we had,” Rachel explained. “I found the fakes in the vault when I returned the real ones.” She shook her head in self-disgust. “I should have just left all of them there.”

  Willow turned back to Kee. “This is all a misunderstanding. We didn’t steal those emeralds from Thadd. He gave them to our father to give to our mother for their anniversary.”

  “I realize that. Thaddeus Lakeman is the one who stole them,” Kee explained. “Along with a few other items,” he added, looking past Willow at Rachel. “A painting of a Scottish castle, a bronze statue, a ruby ring—the list goes on.”

  Rachel glared at Kee, but he just kept on talking. “Your sister brought everything to Sub Rosa the night I arrived and caught her in the library.”

  Willow turned to Rachel. “Did you know Thadd had stolen the emeralds?” she asked, stepping toward her. “And you’re trying to protect me? Why? From what?”

  Rachel walked to the cabinet beside the fridge and took down a bottle of aspirin. She shook three pills into Willow’s hand, and three into her own. “From our name being linked with stolen goods, Willy,” she quietly told her. “It could ruin your political future.”

  The aspirin clutched in her fist, Willow turned back to Kee. “Thadd was a thief?” she asked in disbelief. “But why? He had more money than God. He didn’t have to steal anything.”

  Kee shrugged. “People like Thaddeus Lakeman don’t steal for profit. It’s the fun of possessing, and the excitement and challenge not to get caught.”

  Kee held the towel up to the back of his neck and continued. “And I doubt he did the actual stealing. He likely commissioned it done.”

  Rachel took down two glasses from the cupboard, walked over to the sink, and glared at Kee until he moved out of her way. She filled the glasses with water and carried one over to Willow.

  Willow sat down at the table with a tired sigh, and Rachel sat down beside her. Kee moved closer, but leaned against the center island.

  Willow took her aspirin, then stared at her empty glass. “You said someone’s been stealing from Sub Rosa for the last three years,” she said without looking up. “Is all the stuff in Thadd’s house stolen?”

  “No. Everything there is legitimate. The only
stolen items I found were the ones Rachel put in the vault.”

  Willow looked up at Kee, her eyes worried. “Are you going to press charges against her?”

  “You tell me, counselor. What can I have her charged with? I’m the one in possession of stolen goods.”

  Willow found her first, tentative smile. “That is true.” She looked at Rachel. “How did you know the emeralds and painting and other stuff were stolen?”

  That question put Rachel in a quandary. What to say? How much should she say? “Wendell Potter brought me Dad’s strongbox the other day,” Rachel told her. “He’d forgotten to give it to me when he died.”

  She reached out to Willow, squeezing her arm and smiling into her suddenly misting eyes. “There was a letter in the box from Dad, Willy, that told me the items were stolen. He asked that I not tell you or Mom, but just quietly dispose of them.”

  “Dad knew?” Willow whispered. “He knew Thadd was giving him stolen goods and he accepted them?”

  “It was a game, Willy. The two of them were just playing a game that they thought was harmless.”

  “I want to see the letter.”

  “I burned it,” Rachel told her. “I read it, burned it, then gathered up all the items and took them to Sub Rosa.”

  “To protect me.”

  “Yes,” Rachel softly admitted, squeezing her arm again. She looked up at Kee as she continued talking to Willow. “All Kee has to do is crate them up and send them to whatever authority is in charge of recovering stolen goods—no return address, all fingerprints wiped clean. That way nobody has to know anything.”

  “Why didn’t you do that?” Kee asked.

  Rachel just stared at him, stunned. “I…I don’t know,” she finally said. “I thought of taking everything to Portland and leaving it on the police station steps, but I was afraid I’d get in an accident and get caught. I…I guess I wouldn’t know how to go about shipping something anonymously. Everything today has a paper trail a child could follow.”

  “But you don’t mind my taking the risk,” he returned, his expression benign. “But the stolen items in the vault are not our most pressing problem at the moment,” he said. “The fact that Thadd’s legitimate art is being stolen is what concerns me.”

  Willow’s defenses rose. “Rachel has nothing to do with that,” she said fiercely.

  Kee shook his head. “I don’t believe she does. But somebody knows about the tunnels, and has been coming and going quite regularly.”

  “Then call the police,” Willow snapped. “And leave Rachel out of it.”

  “I intend to. It’s your sister we need to convince.” He looked at Rachel. “I have a favor to ask you, but first I need your promise that you’ll stay away from Sub Rosa, the tunnels, and anything that has to do with any of this.”

  Rachel glared first at Willow, then at Kee, only to realize that glaring made her headache worse. “What’s the favor?” she asked softly.

  “Mikaela,” he said. “She’s due to arrive tomorrow, and I don’t want her at Sub Rosa.”

  “Then make her stay wherever she is.”

  He shook his head with a self-abasing grin. “I can’t. Ahab will have our throats if he has to put up with her another day.”

  “Ahab?” Rachel asked, lifting one brow, only to realize that hurt, too.

  “He’s my captain. And his real name is Jonathan French, but somebody read Moby Dick to Mikaela a year ago, and she renamed him Ahab—and it stuck.”

  “And you want me to babysit your daughter, whom Mr. French can’t take any more of,” Rachel repeated, just to make sure she’d gotten it right. “And you think she’ll be safe here with me.”

  “You won’t be alone. Mickey will be here, and there will always be one of us with you.”

  Rachel looked down at the table and frowned. Kee walked over and lifted her chin.

  “She’s my whole world, Rachel,” he said softly. “And I want her safe and happy and protected. I want both of you protected until we can find out what’s happening at Sub Rosa.”

  “I don’t know anything about little girls.”

  His smile was warm and tender. “She’s not a little girl. Mikaela’s just a tiny adult. You can bake cookies or something,” he suggested. “And take her to the library and into town for ice cream. Just hang out with her, doing…doing female stuff.”

  “She’s a heathen, isn’t she?” Rachel asked with a grin.

  “No, she’s a tyrant,” he returned, his own grin more proud than debasing. “But you’re going to love her anyway.”

  “She’ll watch Mikaela,” Willow interjected, standing up and taking her glass to the sink.

  “I will?” Rachel asked.

  Willow filled her glass, then turned back to face them. “You’ll do it because Mikaela needs a safe place to stay,” she said. “And because I like the idea of your not being able to stick your nose in this mess.” She directed her attention to Kee. “Someone will stay here at all times?”

  Kee rubbed the back of his neck where Willow had hit him. “Only if I get a promise from you as well,” he said. “Not to attack my men.”

  Willow’s cheeks flushed. “I heard her scream,” she defended, lifting her chin.

  Kee looked at Rachel. “Yeah, I heard her, too,” he said softly, his eyes heating with remembered passion.

  Rachel pushed her glass away, folded her hands on the table, and dropped her head onto her arms with a pain-filled groan.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It should have taken them only an hour to shower and dress and clean up last night’s mess, but it had been four hours since Kee had left, and all they’d managed to do was take showers. Rachel hadn’t even dried her hair, but had simply braided it wet. They were on their third pot of ginger tea, and their stomachs still wouldn’t settle down, and their heads still ached.

  The strengthening morning sun helped, and the loungers on the ocean side of the porch were so damned comfortable that nothing seemed pressing enough to make either of them move.

  Willow pushed her sunglasses up on her nose and yawned. “Do you think Larry will notice if I nod off on our date tonight?” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry I set you up,” Rachel said, also whispering in deference to the sledgehammer in her head.

  Willow softly snorted. “I understand, after meeting Keenan Oakes. I probably would have done the same to you if I had met him first.”

  Rachel lifted her sunglasses and looked over at Willow, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “He scared you spitless.”

  Willow also lifted her glasses. “The man was naked, Rae, and trying to kill me.”

  Rachel dropped her glasses back on her nose, snuggled deeper into the soft cushion of the lounger, and stared at the ocean. “Only after you nearly killed him,” she said. “But you didn’t stay scared very long. You threatened to take a shotgun to him.”

  “I was mad. And you can’t be mad and scared at the same time. I think it’s impossible or something. Why did Dad leave the letter only to you?” she asked softly.

  “Because of your hopes for a political career,” Rachel told her. “And to protect Mom. He left the letter with Wendell two years before he died.”

  “That was quite a burden to dump on your shoulders.”

  Rachel shrugged, still watching the ocean, and wondered how much she should tell Willow. Maybe mentioning the blueprints for the smuggling boats would be okay, since she could use some help finding them. But the secret room in their own house?

  No, she needed to get inside the room first and see what was there, and then decide whether or not to expose something that might possibly be incriminating.

  “Do you remember that Dad dabbled in boat designs?” she asked, shifting on the lounger to face Willow.

  Willow lifted her glasses again. “Yeah. Why?”

  “I think they were special designs, Willy—for boats with secret compartments for smuggling in the stolen goods to Thadd.”

  Willow sat up in her chair.
“Smuggling boats? Dad?” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t do something like that. Daddy was not a criminal.”

  “No, but he was an architect,” Rachel returned, also sitting up and taking off her sunglasses. “And he wouldn’t have been able to resist redesigning a lobster boat with hidden compartments.” She swung her feet over the lounger and sat facing Willow, leaning toward her. “When I found him, he said something to me, Willy, just before the paramedics arrived.”

  “He told you he’d killed Mom. You said he told you something about Las Vegas and that he’d killed Mom.”

  “He also said ‘Norway night,’ and ‘see dancer,’…and ‘find her.’ I thought he meant I should find a dancer in Las Vegas, but it sounded so silly I ignored it. But I can’t ignore that he said ‘Norway night.’ ”

  “Norway night,” Willow repeated, mouthing the ear-piece of her sunglasses. Her eyes widened. “That’s the name of the boat that just burned.” She suddenly frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me this three years ago?”

  Rachel looked down at her hands, twirling her own glasses through her fingers. “I don’t know. It didn’t make sense to me at the time, and I just figured it was nothing.” She looked back at Willow. “But if he was referring to the lobster boat the Norway Night, why was it important enough to be his dying words? Do you think it’s because his name is on the designs and that he wanted me to find them?”

  “It could be,” Willow whispered. “What about the letter? Did he mention the Norway Night in that?”

  Rachel shook her head. “He only said that he’d designed three boats for Thadd.” She finally stood up. “We have to find those blueprints before someone else puts two and two together.”

  Willow also stood, facing Rachel across the lounger. “You gave your promise to stay out of this.”

  “I promised to stay away from Sub Rosa,” Rachel rebutted, lifting her chin. “I did not promise to sit here and do nothing while the Foster name gets tangled up in this mess and your future gets ruined.”

  “My future is not worth the risk,” Willow said fiercely, her face flushing with anger. “It’s not worth you getting in trouble.”