Deceived Read online

  “I told you, Diane . . . things will calm down soon, and we’ll pick up where we left off. It’s just been a rough week.”

  “Yeah, it has. By the way, Todd had one of those bad dreams you mentioned a few days ago too.”

  Silence.

  When Greg finally spoke, his tone was cautious. “What kind of dream?”

  “Nothing to be concerned about. It may even have been fever-induced. It was about some woman on an escalator. He was quite agitated at first, but he’s fine now.”

  This time the silence on the line stretched so long she wondered if they’d been disconnected.

  “Greg?”

  “Yeah. I’m here.”

  Her fingers tightened on the phone. Those three words held an odd combination of emotions. Frustration. Anger. And . . . apprehension? She wasn’t certain about that last one, but the first two were right on. After living with Rich all those years, she’d become an expert at discerning nuances. Her survival had depended on those precious few seconds of warning before he exploded, which gave her a chance to prepare for his blows.

  “Has he had this dream before?” She did her best to keep her tone casual and conversational.

  “A few times. I’m sure it will go away eventually. The sooner the better, though, as far as I’m concerned. It always upsets him. Did he say anything else about it?”

  “Not much, except he seemed to think he knew her. Oh, and he mentioned she had hair the same color as his. Isn’t it kind of odd he’d dream about some stranger?”

  “Yeah, but who knows how kids’ minds work?” She could tell he was trying to joke, but a subtle thread of tension sabotaged his effort.

  Diane’s heart went out to him. Here he was, a widower trying to raise his adopted son alone in a new town. A son he clearly cherished. He didn’t have to pretend with her, or try to be macho. She understood his worry.

  “Hey . . .” She gentled her voice. “It’s normal to be scared when someone you love is sick or troubled. But Todd will get over the flu, and the bad dreams will pass. I think kids go through phases. And after living in the country in Montana for most of his life, St. Louis has to be a huge adjustment. Things will get better.”

  He sighed. “That’s what I keep telling myself too. Listen . . . thanks for being there for us—and for the pep talk. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  Her heart warmed again. “Anytime. You still planning to be home around four?”

  “Yeah. Until the heat breaks we’re sticking with the earlier starting time. Look, I know four is early for dinner, but I could grab a pizza if you’d like to stay for a while.”

  The snarl of tension in her shoulders relaxed. “I’d like that a lot. And I’ll make some cookies to go with it.”

  “That sounds great. Gotta run, but I’ll see you soon.”

  A sudden buzz in her ear told her he’d severed the connection, and she replaced the handset in the cradle. The phone link might be broken, but as she retraced her steps down the hall to Todd’s room, she felt a whole lot more optimistic about a different kind of link.

  Connor emailed the final batch of photos from the morning surveillance session to Kate, took a swig of soda, and set the printout of the little boy beside his computer. One by one, he compared each of today’s images to the photocopy.

  No matches as far as he could see—and he doubted Kate would find one, either.

  Their great lead appeared to be tanking.

  Not the best way to end the workweek.

  “How goes it?”

  At Dev’s question, he swiveled around in his chair. The other man stood on the threshold of his office, holding a piece of what looked like caramel pecan coffee cake. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Dev strolled into the room and set the generous portion on his desk. “Since I ate the last piece on Wednesday when you were starving, I thought I’d make it up to you.”

  “I hope you kept some for yourself.”

  “I’m already two pieces in.” He dropped into the chair across from the desk and motioned to the printout. “How’d it go this morning?”

  “Unless Kate spots a resemblance I’m missing, no match.” He took a big bite of the cake. “I’m going back once more on Monday.”

  “Then what?”

  He shrugged. “Send the bill and write it off.”

  “You going to write off the client too?”

  Connor narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nikki thinks you two would make a cute couple.” Dev smirked at him.

  “Cute?”

  “Her word, not mine.”

  Leaning back, Connor linked his hands over his stomach. “So was there a purpose for this visit—other than the peace offering and a dose of harassment?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Dev’s demeanor grew serious. “I took a call this morning from a potential client who has concerns about possible abuse at a nursing home. This might require some undercover work, and I wanted to get your take on strategy. I’ll run this by Cal after he gets back too.”

  Dev’s rapid-fire transformation from office cutup to cool, competent pro was, as always, amazing. He might like to joke around, but he knew when to be serious. Like Cal, he was as solid as they came—reminding Connor yet again how fortunate he’d been to team up with his two college buddies. He’d trust either of them with his life—and had done just that on more than one occasion.

  “What do you have?”

  As Dev briefed him on the new case, it was clear his partner had already thought through the options and developed a preliminary investigative plan.

  “That all sounds logical to me. And Kate’s case is the only hot one I have at the moment, so I can assist wherever needed.”

  His phone began to ring, and Connor glanced at the display. Smiled.

  “Speaking of hot . . .” Dev’s inflection went from serious to amused in a heartbeat. “Your smitten expression suggests that’s her.”

  Connor flattened his lips. His partner had great instincts too. A valuable resource in dicey situations—not so good on the personal front, as he was discovering. In the past, he’d always been discreet about the women he dated . . . but it was hard to be discreet when a woman who interested you also happened to be your client.

  “No need to answer. I’m out of here.” Dev rose and strolled to the door. “And remember what Nikki said. Cute couple.” With a wink, he disappeared.

  He was going to have to have a long talk with their office manager.

  Shaking his head, he picked up the phone. “Hi, Kate. You got the photos?”

  “Yes. I’ve already reviewed them. No matches.”

  “I didn’t think so, but I wanted you to take a look just in case.”

  “Are you still planning to try again on Monday?”

  “Yes. Then we’ll need to regroup.”

  The silence on the other end of the line told him she knew what that meant. If the boy didn’t turn up, their options were limited.

  But they did have a couple.

  “We’re not giving up yet, just to put your mind at ease. If nothing pans out at the daycare center, there are one or two other things we can try.”

  “Like what?”

  “I could approach the birthday girl’s mother and see if she’ll give me the names of the party guests. It might be a challenge to come up with a credible pretext for the request, but we could consider it.”

  “What’s a pretext?”

  “A story.”

  “You mean . . . a lie?”

  He’d had a feeling that question was coming. Although he’d worked out the moral rationale long ago, Kate struck him as the type who might view the technique as unethical.

  He rested a finger on the Secret Service motto he always kept close at hand. “We try to keep lying to a minimum, but we do a fair amount of playacting in this job, very much like what undercover law enforcement operatives do. James Devlin, one of my partners, worked undercover for t
he ATF before joining Phoenix, and that allowed him to help put some very bad people behind bars. We use the same principle in PI work. No one gets hurt from our pretexts, and we only use the technique in the pursuit of justice.”

  “I’ve never bought the end-justifies-the-means argument . . . but in light of the way you presented it, it’s hard to argue.”

  She didn’t sound convinced.

  “We do have another alternative. I could approach the woman, show her my credentials, and hope she simply tells us what we want to know. Unfortunately, there are a fair number of PIs with questionable principles, and they’ve given the profession a less-than-stellar reputation. As a result, it’s often hard to get people to cooperate when we’re up front. Plus, it can backfire. If the boy at the party is the one you saw, and if she knows the parents, she could alert them to our investigation. That makes it much more difficult to do surveillance, which is a key tool in a case like this. I’d suggest we use that only as a last resort.”

  “I agree.” She expelled a breath. “I’m fine with the pretext idea.”

  “Good.” He leaned back in his chair. “In the meantime, I’ll be back at the daycare center on Monday.”

  “I hope the weather breaks by then. It was brutal in the car by the time we wrapped up yesterday.”

  And today had been worse . . . but he left that unsaid.

  “By the way . . . are you missing a key? I found one on the passenger side floor of my car.”

  “So that’s where it went. Yep, it’s mine. My house key’s been slipping off the ring lately. I keep meaning to get a new holder.”

  “Would you like me to run it by your office?”

  “No, I keep an extra one hidden on my back deck. I can get the original next time I see you.”

  Hang up, Sullivan. She probably has a full schedule, and you have a pile of background checks to do.

  But he didn’t want to.

  “Well . . . I should let you get back to work.” She took the initiative, but she didn’t sound any more eager than he was to break the connection.

  He fought a sudden urge to suggest they meet after work for a frappuccino to discuss the case. But that excuse was lame—and she’d know it. It also broke Phoenix’s unwritten rule about socializing with clients.

  It was time to end the call.

  “I’m sure you’re busy too. I’ll be in touch Monday, after I get back from surveillance. Have a nice weekend.”

  She returned the sentiment, and as he dropped the phone back into the cradle, he swiped a smear of caramel off the paper plate with his plastic fork and sucked it off the tines. It dissolved on his tongue, leaving a sweet flavor behind.

  Kind of the same effect Kate had on him.

  Grinning, he finished off the rest of the coffee cake in two large bites. Lucky thing the rest of the Phoenix crew wasn’t privy to his thoughts or things could get as sticky as the caramel on his fingers.

  But he’d better get used to their teasing.

  Because once this case was over, he intended to put Nikki’s cute couple theory to the test.

  8

  A company picnic was the last place he wanted to be on a Sunday afternoon.

  Juggling a hot dog in one hand and a can of soda in the other, Greg nodded politely as his foreman droned on about his upcoming vacation, keeping one eye on Todd. Maybe he should have used his son’s bout with the flu as a reason not to show, but the twenty-four-hour bug was gone and it wasn’t smart to blow off an event hosted by the owner of the family-run company. Not when you were new and still trying to make a good impression.

  “. . . get used to it?”

  At the raised inflection, suggesting his boss had asked a question, Greg refocused on the stocky man across from him in the cushy pavilion beside the private lake. “Sorry. I got distracted by the kids.” He gestured to the group of youngsters whacking croquet balls.

  “Yeah.” The man shaded his eyes and looked toward them. “They seem like they’re having a lot of fun. Me? I’ll take a dog and a beer and a shady spot any day.” He lifted his plastic cup in salute. “I was asking if you were starting to get used to this heat and humidity.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  The man chuckled and took a bite of his relish-slathered hot dog. “Maybe—if you’re a native. So what did you do out in Montana?”

  Greg sipped his soda. This was why he avoided socializing. People asked too many questions. But he had his standard brief answers prepared. No one was going to learn any more about his past than he wanted them to—and that was very little.

  “I was the caretaker for a guy’s summer home.”

  “Yeah? Must’ve been one of those rich executive types.”

  “I imagine he had a few bucks.”

  “Big place?”

  “About 250 acres.”

  “Nice. Were you there long?”

  “Almost three years.”

  “So what brought you to St. Louis?”

  An unkind twist of fate, in light of his encounter with Kate Marshall. But he left that unsaid.

  “I wanted to be closer to better schools for Todd. One of my old construction buddies heard from his brother you were hiring, and I liked the idea of living in the Midwest. Good, solid values and all that.” He shrugged. “So here I am.”

  “Does your buddy live here too?”

  “No.” Before the man could press for more information, he gestured toward Diane, who was fanning herself with a paper plate as she chatted with the woman beside her on the picnic table bench. “I need to go see if my friend wants another drink.”

  “Good idea. Always keep the ladies happy.” He winked and wandered off, chomping on his hot dog.

  A bead of sweat trickled down Greg’s forehead as he walked toward Diane, and he lifted his arm to wipe it on the sleeve of his T-shirt. Would it be rude to leave the party after only an hour?

  Probably.

  Resigned, he gave her a small smile as she scooted over to make room for him, only half listening as she introduced the woman beside her.

  “Don’t let me interrupt. I’m going to concentrate on this hot dog for a few minutes.” He held it up and proceeded to eat—not because he was hungry but because it gave him an excuse to distance himself from any more conversation.

  The two women continued to chat, and he tuned them out to focus on the dock, where the company owner and his college-age son were uncovering two paddleboats. The youngsters crowded around them—all but Todd, who stayed at the fringes of the activity.

  Greg stopped eating. There’d been no occasion in Montana to spend any time near the water, and that had been fine with him. Eventually he’d take Todd to a pool, see how he reacted, teach him how to swim. But he was in no rush—especially now that he was picking up a distinct wariness from his son. While the other children surged onto the dock, Todd hung back.

  “All right, kids . . . who wants to go first?” The owner of the company turned to the cluster of children, laughing as they all waved their hands and shouted “Me, me!”

  All except Todd.

  The man surveyed the group. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to let the last be first. The four of you in the back . . . you get the first ride. You two girls”—he pointed them out—“and you two boys.” He indicated Todd and the boy in front of him.

  The boy grabbed Todd’s arm and tugged him forward.

  Choking down his bite of hot dog, Greg stood.

  “Greg?” Diane touched his arm.

  He didn’t even look at her. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Without waiting for a response, he wove through the pavilion, hurried down the steps, and strode toward the dock.

  By the time he arrived, the owner had strapped the two girls into child-sized orange life jackets, helped them scramble into the first paddleboat, and given them operating instructions.

  “One lap, then we change places. Ready?” At their eager assent, he pushed them off and stood. “You’re next, boys.”

  Greg scruti
nized Todd. He was frowning as he inspected the water, his posture stiff.

  “Bob.” As the company owner looked his way, he gestured to his son. “Todd doesn’t know how to swim.”

  “Not a problem. The lake’s not deep, and I have my certified lifeguard standing by.” He tipped his head toward his strapping son. “But I never put kids on the water without taking extra precautions.” He crossed to the other side of the dock, leaned into a storage bin, and pulled out two more life jackets.

  Greg’s heart stuttered as he glanced at his son. The frown was still on his face, and he seemed to have gone a shade paler.

  “Let’s go!” The boy beside Todd grabbed his arm and pulled him forward again. “You don’t have to be scared. I know how to swim too.”

  “Todd.” As Greg moved beside him, his son looked up. “You can just watch if you’d rather.”

  It wasn’t difficult to read the conflict in the boy’s eyes. He didn’t want to get in the boat—yet he didn’t want to come across as a wimp in front of the other children, either.

  But better a wimp than . . .

  “No need to worry. Everything will be fine.” Bob put his hand on Todd’s shoulder. “Let’s try this on for size.”

  His son gave a hesitant nod.

  Greg considered refusing to let Todd participate, but that would call attention to them—and he’d spent the past three years doing the polar opposite. Staying as far under the radar as possible. They hadn’t even gone into town very often.

  But it had been a whole lot easier to lay low on the spread in Montana.

  Perhaps he’d waded back into the mainstream too soon.

  And running into Kate Marshall hadn’t helped, either.

  “Perfect fit.” Bob straightened up, then helped the two boys into the boat.

  Too late to intervene. He’d just have to hope this unexpected turn of events didn’t shake loose any more vague memories.

  He moved off the dock, to the edge of the water, watching as the boat circled the small lake, fists jammed in pockets, holding his breath.

  The circuit seemed to take forever. But when at last they began to approach the dock, Greg started to breathe again.