Lost in Deception (Lost series)

by DeVito, Anita

  “Of course we will.” He noticed she wasn’t trembling with fear. She wasn’t frantically scrambling or babbling incoherently. Everything about Peach was cool and collected.

  “You’ve done this before.”

  Her smile had a twist that could only mean trouble. “I have a…unique set of skills. We’ll be fine. Come on.” She led the way, picking up the bags and positioning them next to the back door. In the dark, windowless corner…they waited.

  Both jumped when light and sound emanated from Tom’s cell phone. He fumbled the phone before pressing the speaker button.

  “Now!” One word and the line went dead.

  She opened the door and put a hand on his shoulder. “That doesn’t mean sloppy. Stay low. Move fast.”

  It was a challenge, staying in a crouch laden down with packed bags. He was thankful for those lunges he did in the gym as he hurried across the back yard. She was on his flank but slowing, the bags harder for her shorter torso to carry. He reached the back fence, tossed his bags over, and then ran back to help her.

  “Get out of there.” Jeb shouted the order from the position he’d taken up on the abutting garage. “Stupid son of a bitch.”

  He wasn’t leaving her. Racing back, he took a bag and hung it across his chest. A man came around the house. Time moved in slow motion. The man didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like a movie, with multiple warnings and witty repartee. He just pulled a gun from behind his back and aimed. Tom tackled Peach to the ground. There were two shots. He heard them but didn’t feel them.

  “Run,” Jeb yelled. “Move it, move it, move it.”

  Tom knelt up, patted his body stomach, looking for holes.

  Peach leapt up, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to his feet. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

  An engine revved, and a minivan raced up the empty driveway into the back yard. Jeb shot at it, sending one, two, three bullets through the windshield.

  The van didn’t slow.

  They sprinted to the fence; her shorter legs kept up with his long ones. He slowed to make sure she got over the fence. She leaped like an American Ninja athlete. He went over quickly, roots impeding his landing. He stumbled away from the fence, watching the van barrel across the yard with a terrifying single-mindedness.

  “Run,” Peach ordered, dragging him ‘til he moved.

  He followed her lead as the van tore through the fence like a bear through a spider web then folded like an accordion around the corner of the wooden garage. Glass, plastic, metal, and wood rained over them.

  Gathering his wits, Tom pulled her close, sheltering her with his larger frame. He flung open the Escalade’s back door and shoved her in. “Get that seat belt on.” Jumping in the driver’s seat, he did the same, then put the truck in gear and waited. In the sideview mirror, he saw Jeb drop from the wounded garage roof and run up the driveway. His weight rocked the vehicle when he landed in the passenger seat. Tom was out of there before he closed the door.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Jeb ordered, focusing on securing his weapon. “Tell them there is a man on the loose. Armed, dangerous, and wounded.”

  Pedro Morales met them at the police station. The eyes that could not see clearly still stared into her pale green gaze as his fingers traced the curves of her face before coasting down her arms to clutch at her hands. “I worried.”

  Peach walked into her grandfather’s arms and pulled him tightly against her. “I worried, too.” She looked over her grandfather’s shoulder at Tom, and he knew he had to do something.

  “Mr. Morales? Whatever happened tonight is connected to that construction site, the crane accident, and me. You granddaughter is the bravest woman I know. Without a doubt, I wouldn’t be here without her. I want both of you to come home with us, to our farmhouse in Tennessee. We’ll be safe there while we work through what the hell is going on.” He shouldn’t have sworn; it just came out.

  Poppy’s brows were pressed together, and Peach glared at him. “Poppy—”

  “That is a good solution. But no, Mr. Morales. I am Pedro, or if you like, Poppy.”

  Peach shoved at Tom and then spun her grandfather away. “No, Poppy. We need to stay here. Don’t you see—”

  “Oh yes,” he said with a small smile that belied recent events. “I see very well. Did you pack my medicines?”

  She dropped her head. “Yes.”

  Two more hours ticked by while answering police questions. Fast responding units had picked up the remaining assailant who was stupid enough to shoot at the officers, ending any debate about his intentions. Gang members from the west side of Cleveland. The small city of Painesville where Poppy lived was many zip codes away from their home turf. The men, all in their early twenties, had criminal records for drugs and assault. The minivan had contained duct tape, burlap sacks, and enough horse tranquilizers to knock out a team of Clydesdales.

  Jeb’s license as an investigator, his years in the Army, and his stint as the county sheriff got him the benefit of the doubt with respect to discharging the gun. No charges were filed since the bullets were found in the tires and the dashboard rather than the body. The driver was dead. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt and went through the windshield on impact. The surviving two were under guard at a local hospital.

  The police let them take the bags after they were thoroughly searched. The Escalade was fueled, as were its passengers, and they headed for Tennessee. Peach sat in the backseat with her grandfather, where they had extended conversations in Spanish. It irritated Tom because he didn’t need any more secrecy. Poppy’s voice was always calm and smooth. Peach’s ranged from emphatic to angry to apologetic.

  “I called your father,” Poppy said in English.

  Wondering why Poppy had chosen to switch languages then, he glanced into the backseat. Peach sat rigid, smoldering in the light from the interstate. She responded in Spanish, but Poppy stayed in English. “He needs to know about his brother.”

  She made as sound, as if she spit, laced with animosity and disrespect. “Let me know when they’re coming. I’ll make sure I’m gone by then.”

  “Tom,” her grandfather said. “Tell me about the accident.”

  “There’s a lot of work to do yet but…” He laid it out, his mind working through the facts as though solving a Rubic’s cube. The older man didn’t just listen. He participated. He speculated, hypothesized, and conjectured. If the subject hadn’t been his son, missing and virtually presumed dead, it would have been invigorating. Humanizing it kept Tom humble, made it real.

  The conversation waned with the passing miles. At nearly three in the morning, they were home.

  Tom leaned into the back and squeezed Peach’s knee. “We’re here.”

  Wednesday, April 12 three a.m.

  Peach inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the lethargy that had overtaken her in Kentucky. She leaned over her grandfather to see the sprawling house that was unlike any farm house she’d ever seen. With the long porch and balconies, it felt like they were driving into a fairytale. “Poppy? Poppy, we’re here.”

  She winced at the light inside the garage. Jeb pushed a button, and soon the garage door separated them from the outside world. She climbed out of the Escalade, stretching cramped limbs and rubbing tired eyes. A woman stepped into view wrapped in a pink robe with fuzzy slippers. A yard of spun gold trailed behind her as she leaped into Jeb’s arms.

  He hugged her tight. “God, I missed you.” She wrapped her arms around his head and buried her face in crook of his neck. Peach stared at the couple, the image completely incongruous with the impression she had of Jeb.

  Tom cleared his throat, and Peach suddenly looked at the ground, realizing she was staring. “Carolina, this is Peach and Pedro Morales.”

  “Hello,” Carolina said warmly, trying to wiggle out of Jeb’s arms. She gave up when he didn’t give. “Everything is set up in the south wing just like you asked, Tom. We moved Nate to our wing. Y’all must be exhausted. Let me take your bags.”

/>   “Tom can do that.” Jeb ushered his wife toward the door. “Say ‘good night,’ Carolina.”

  Carolina waved over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re all here safe. We’ll see ya in the morning.”

  “Good night, Jeb, Carolina.” Tom pulled the bags they salvaged from the Morales home and hung them from his shoulders. He handed Peach her computer and messenger bags, then closed the door. “I’ll show you to your rooms. They are in my wing, which is the closest.”

  Peach tucked her grandfather’s arm into hers and followed Tom into a courtyard lit by soft lamps. The two-story building surrounded the courtyard and had balconies that reminded her of New Orleans. Soft guitar music gave rhythm to the night.

  “That wing is Butch and Katie’s. Katie is my cousin by birth, sister by everything else. Her husband, Butch, is Jeb’s brother. He’s a musician.” He nodded in the opposite direction. “That wing is Jeb’s and Carolina’s. Carolina’s brother Nate is on leave from the Army and will be staying with us for another week or so.” A light in front of the wing went off, leaving only the light in the back two windows lit. “The wing in between is the farm house. That’s where the kitchen is. I’ll give you the full tour in the morning. This wing is mine.” Tom opened a door to a small foyer. “We, uh, have to go upstairs.”

  She bit her lip to avoid saying something she’d regret. He’d lied to her, betrayed her trust saying he lived on a farm. This was a farm as much as she was a princess. She guided her grandfather into the foyer, unable to do much else at that time of day. “Lead on.”

  The top of the stairs opened into a large living area that was decorated in modern man-cave. He spent money here but not garishly. She described the room to her grandfather, filling in the gaps his vision left. He didn’t absolutely need it. After all, he’d lived for years without her, but it made her feel useful. Her gaze caught Tom’s, and she changed to English. “The floor is clear. The couch is to your left. You need to walk directly to the wall before turning.”

  Tom looked at the room as if seeing it for the first time. “We can re-arrange tomorrow. Mr. Morales, um, Poppy, you can use this room.” He led them into a comfortably furnished spare bedroom and set the bags on the bed. The bedside lamps were lit, and a tray sat on an end table with two bottles of water and a light snack of cheese and crackers. “The bathroom is straight across the hallway.”

  And she was glad she hadn’t said the nasty things she had thought. Someone had thought to set a snack and turn down the bed. He offered to rearrange his furniture and chosen a room with easy access to the bathroom. They were little things, but they meant a lot. She smiled, hoping it conveyed her gratitude.

  “This is a fine room.” The room was twice as large as Poppy’s own bedroom, and the twinkle in his eyes said he liked it. “A very fine room.” Peach began to describe the room when he cut her off. “I can see, I can see.”

  She doubted he could see the details, but the room was well set. A wide leather chair sat in front of a window, leaving open floor between the bed, closet, dresser, and chair. The long, low dresser held a flat screen television. He drank the water, ate a cracker, and began emptying his bags.

  “If you need anything, I’m at the end of the hall to the right,” Tom said.

  “I’m certain I’ll be very comfortable. Thank you.”

  “Your room is next to the bathroom,” Tom said to Peach, setting her bags inside the door. She followed him into a room designed for a woman—four-poster bed, Tiffany class lamps, cream-colored and a myriad of colorful pillows. On the dresser sat another tray with water and snacks.

  He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I have another, but it’s smaller.”

  She had that fairy tale feeling again. It was like something out of “The Princess and the Pea”—except if that were true, there would have been twenty mattresses stacked to the ceiling. Instead there was just this one very thick one. She climbed up on the bed, letting her sore body sink into the white down comforter. A groan escaped. “This is incredible.”

  “I’m next door. If you need anything.”

  She just smiled and nodded as he closed the door. He was different here. Much less sure of himself. Interesting. She rolled to her feet with a heavy sigh. Unlike her grandfather, she didn’t unpack. She wasn’t going to be staying. She’d get some sleep, rent a car, and go back north. Now that she’d seen the place, she was comfortable leaving Poppy here for a few days. Even a week. Like Tom said, he owed her. This was her price.

  She didn’t know if Poppy could go back to the little house. That was on her. Stealing the drugs from Junior seemed a pittance to his father blaming Rico for a crash that killed him. She hadn’t expected Tom to be blamed or the gang connection. It didn’t take a genius to track the Beast to Poppy. The registration was in the glove compartment.

  She needed to protect Poppy after she moved on. He was a practical man. He knew it was only a matter of time before his vision was completely gone. One of those senior places where they took care of all the maintenance could be nice. He’d still be independent but with less work to do.

  Peach paced the pretty room, feeling restless and achy. Too many hours sitting still in a car. It was late; she should be tired. She’d dozed on the drive but hadn’t really slept. She was mentally exhausted, but her body wasn’t ready to call it a night.

  Tom walked into his room and shut the door. It felt like weeks since he’d been in this room instead of a few days. He stripped the clothes off and threw them into the basket. The bed looked inviting, but he felt dirty, used from the long, fucked-up day. He pulled a pair of soft cotton sleep pants from a drawer and headed for the shower. Had it only been one day? Yep. It was just this morning that he had lost twenty dollars to Jeb betting that Peach would meet them for breakfast.

  He showered, letting the hot water do its job. Aches and pains eased, and his mind slowed. So many questions and in the morning, he’d work on the answers using his equipment. He turned the water off, dried, and pulled on the pajama pants. A whump whump sound came through the floor. It was rhythmic. Every three seconds. Whump. Two. Three. Whump. Two. Three.

  “What the hell is that?” he asked aloud. His bedroom was still. Nothing moved. But still he felt it. Whump. Two. Three. Whump. Two. Three.

  He opened the door to the hallway. No light peeked out from under Mr. Morales’s door. Not so for Peach’s door. The closer he got, the crisper the sound. “What the hell?” He knocked softly. “Peach? Peach?”

  The door flew open, and a hot and sweaty woman stood in the frame. “It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing?”

  He choked on surprise. She was sweaty, her hair was frothy, and she wanted to know what he was doing. “What gives with the drum major routine?”

  She frowned, her brows pressing together. “Drum major?”

  He backed her into the room, closing the door. “The whump, whump, whump noise.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone could hear me. Do you think I woke Poppy?”

  “His room is still dark. What were you doing?”

  “Calisthenics.” She jogged in place, rolling her head from side to side. “I go old school sometimes.”

  “It’s nearly four in the morning.”

  She stopped jogging and picked up her discarded shirt to use as a towel. “I know. I just couldn’t settle. I’ll stop.”

  Tom ran a hand through his wet hair. “I know how you feel. I tried a shower.”

  “Did it work?” Peach ran her eyes over his bare chest, where her gaze lingered.

  They looked at each other for a second, which stretched into ten. Then it became awkward, neither saying anything. He should leave; he knew he should. “Guess I’ll find out.” He stepped into the hallway, fighting the urge to get his hands on the purple performance wear covering his favorite parts of her body. “I’m next door. If you need anything.”

  She patted the towel down her torso. “So you said.”

  “You know, this doesn’t have to be
weird between us because we are here in my house.”

  “It is weird to you? Having me here?”

  “No. No, it isn’t. I want you here.” He stepped close to her, fingers itching to play in her wealth of curls. “I just don’t want you to feel—I don’t know—obligated or anything because you are here.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Obligated?”

  Not what he was going for. He ran both hands through his hair and retreated. “I mean, we got together a few times, and sure, it was spectacular, but that doesn’t mean that we have to keep getting together if, you know, you aren’t good with it.”

  She smiled as he babbled.

  “So…like I said…if you need anything. Well, you know where I am.” He stepped back into the hallway. “Good night.”

  He went back to his room and closed the door. Somehow, in five minutes and fifteen feet he went from out of sorts to outright frustrated. What the hell was she thinking prancing around in those little black shorts that showed off exactly how tight her ass was? And that top! He didn’t have to use much of his over-active imagination to know what those purple cups were holding.

  A soft knock brushed at his door. His libido cheered as he covered the few feet and pulled it open. There she stood. Same black shorts. Same purple shirt. Her hair was loose now, just begging for his hands to run through it.

  “I still can’t settle. Since you don’t want me doing calisthenics, I was wondering if you had other ideas about how I could take the edge off.”

  His hands plowed into that raven veil, pulling her against him. Covering her mouth with his, he guided her in until he could kick the door closed. She tasted every bit as good as he remembered. Her hot skin heated his cooler body. Wanting more and more, he bent her back until his arms were her only support. Sweeping her legs, he carried her to bed, but she twisted and came up on top. His back pinned to the bed, she straddled him. Her movements were fast and frantic, as if she couldn’t get enough. He fed her need, giving everything she wanted and demanding more. She pressed his hands to the bed, commanding them to stay, then explored his body. Every place her hands touched, every lick of her tongue, fanned the flame of lust. That mouth found his nipple, and when she nipped, he flew off the bed and took control.