Bait & Switch (28 page)

Mitch told him, figuring the only way to get Carmichael on his side was to reveal the entire truth, which included the twin switch. When he was through, he sighed.

“Look, I wouldn’t be coming to you if I hadn’t hit a brick wall,” Mitch said. “I know Gibbs is laundering money through his club but I don’t know where it’s coming from. I’ve staked out his business and his home. And nothing.”

Carmichael tapped his chin with the eraser of a pencil. “How do you know I won’t hit a brick wall, too?”

“I don’t,” Mitch said, “but I’m betting you’re better at snooping than I am. Are you in or not?”

Mitch heard the wall clock tick five times before Carmichael nodded. “I’m in,” he said. “But are you sure your information’s correct? Gibbs is a model citizen. A philanthropist. He buys dilapidated properties and renovates them, for God’s sake.”

“What did you just say?”

“That Gibbs is a model citizen.”

Mitch shook his head. “No. The part about the dilapidated buildings.”

“He buys them and renovates them,” Carmichael said. “He’s been doing it for years.”

Mitch’s mind clicked and whirled. He’d known that, of course. He’d been puzzling over it just that afternoon, but it hadn’t occurred to him then that the break he was looking for might be linked to the properties.

“Those buildings are abandoned when he purchases them, right?” Mitch was so preoccupied he hardly saw Carmichael’s nod. “And they probably stay vacant for at least a couple months, maybe more, until he hires the workers.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So I want you to call Peyton and get the addresses of those places,” Mitch said. “I think we might have ourselves a lead.”

Lizabeth Drinkmiller walked through the historic part of Key West with the late-morning sun so blindingly hot the drop of moisture trickling down her cheek could have been perspiration.

By all rights, it should have been.

She was a woman pretending to be someone she wasn’t, and she had the gall to dress down a man for impersonating someone
he
wasn’t. She didn’t have the right to cry.

Lizabeth wiped at the offending tear with the pad of her forefinger and veered off one of the major shopping streets to take the path that led to the bed and breakfast where Cary Mitchell was staying.

Not only shouldn’t she cry, she shouldn’t be nervous. She meant to have her say and be done with it. She’d hardly linger long enough for it to seep in that she was never going to see him again.

Cary wouldn’t want her to stick around in any event. Not after he realized that self-assured, flamboyant Leeza was gone and in her place remained boring, old Lizabeth. A simple, silly woman who hadn’t realized the man she was falling in love with wasn’t the object of her high school crush.

She glanced down at the clothing she’d bought the previous afternoon. The lightweight khaki slacks paired with a simple short-sleeved top in white cotton were along the lines of what she normally wore.

She’d packed away her flashy Leeza clothes inside the suitcases she’d take on her flight back to reality later that day. She could just as well have pitched them into the Atlantic.

She certainly couldn’t wear them again without thinking about Cary. She was already aware that, in the future, thinking about Cary would hurt far too much.

She felt the wetness on her cheeks again and blinked rapidly. When her vision cleared, the black SUV she’d seen a few nights before on the boat landing came into view. So did the suitcase an achingly familiar dark-haired man was heaving into its truck.

Cary was leaving, too.

She stopped where she was on the sidewalk, used her fingers to sweep her cheeks clean of moisture and tried to wipe the sadness from her face. Then she marched determinedly on.

“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” she asked when she was close enough to the SUV for him to hear her.

His head whipped around, and her heart panged at the way his blue eyes seemed to drink her in.

Silly woman
, she chided herself. No man looked thirstily at a woman in khakis and white cotton.

“I already said goodbye. I didn’t think you’d want me to do it again,” he said.

That was true. She wanted him to say he’d developed a penchant for colorless research librarians with retiring personalities.

Instead of telling him that, she reverted to her pre-Leeza ways and said nothing at all. She must have been staring, though, because he gestured to the open trunk of the SUV.

“There aren’t any crates in there, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t—”

He didn’t let her finish. “I went to the police yesterday to give myself up. Turned out the crates were full of Star Quest action figures. Can you believe that?” He scratched his head. “So I’m not a smuggler.” He shrugged. “Still a cad, though.”

Two beautiful women clad in skimpy outfits and self-confidence passed by, sending long, bold looks at Cary. She waited for him to return their stares. He kept his eyes locked on her.
 

“Could I talk to you before you go?” Her throat seized at the thought of him leaving. A boy on a bicycle whizzed by, so close she felt wind in his wake. “Away from the street?”

“Sure.” The muscles in his biceps bulged as he slammed the trunk, reminding her that he worked in physical education. Not law enforcement. “The place I’m staying has a courtyard. We should be able to get a table in the shade.”

Moments later, they sat catty-corner from each other underneath the canopy of a yellow-and-blue-striped umbrella. The pool area was deserted except for a couple of towheaded boys, the larger of whom couldn’t have been more than nine or ten.

“Hey, Cary, watch this.” The older boy yelled before he jumped into the deep end of the pool. “Cannonball!”

Water shot into the air like a geyser and sprayed out in a fan shape. Refreshing, fat drops hit the edge of the table and splashed onto Lizabeth and Cary.

The boy came up for air. “Cool, huh?” he asked.

Cary gave him a thumbs-up sign. “Do me a favor, Billy. Keep the water inside the pool and give us a little privacy. We’re trying to talk.”

“Anything you say, Cary.”

“Yeah, anything you say,” the younger boy parroted. He and his brother headed for the shallow end of the pool with flat, inexpert strokes that emptied the pool of more water.

“They like you,” Lizabeth observed.

“They’re good kids,” Cary said. “I figured out yesterday their parents were leaving them here while they went sightseeing. The boys seemed a little lonely, so I let them talk me into playing Marco Polo.”

He lapsed into silence. The only sounds Lizabeth could hear were the laughs of the two brothers as they splashed each other. She told herself to spit out her apology, but in typical Lizabeth fashion, her tongue froze.

“Go ahead. Cary crossed his arms over his chest. “Let me have it.”

He looked so miserable that she forgot about being tongue tied. “Let you have what?”

“The tongue-lashing. You didn’t get it all out yesterday. I understand that. So go ahead. Call me a snake. A player. A jerk.” He turned one side of his face to her. “You can even slap me.”

“Would you stop that?” Lizabeth commanded in a strident voice she hardly recognized.

He blinked. “Stop what?”

“Belittling yourself. I’m sick of it.”

“But I’m—”

“Just shut up, okay?” She leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. “You are not a bad man. Bad men don’t turn themselves into the police. Bad men don’t learn the names of strange kids at the pool or teach kids they don’t know how to play baseball. I would not have fallen in love with a bad man.”

His mouth gaped open. “You’re in love with me?”

Lizabeth bit her lower lip and averted her eyes. Her heart had acknowledged that she still loved him long before she said it aloud. That didn’t mean she should have blurted it out. She couldn’t possibly be any more gauche.

“Is that what you came here to tell me?” he pressed.

She felt the full impact of his blue gaze. What a fool he must think her.

She shook her head. “I’m cutting my vacation short and leaving this afternoon. I came to say goodbye.” She took a deep breath for courage. “And to tell you I’ve been lying to you.”

“About being in love with me?”

She ignored the question and stared down at her hands. “I’ve been lying about who I am. My name isn’t Leeza, it’s Lizabeth. I’m not a buyer for a department store, I’m a research librarian. I’m not bold and daring, I’m meek and quiet.”

“But are you in love with me?”
 

“Would you forget I said that?” she cried.

“I don’t want to forget it.” He leaned closer to her and tilted her chin up with a forefinger so she had to look at him. She felt the traitorous moisture well up in her eyes and blinked it back. “I want to hear you say it again.”

“I’ve been lying to you.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Not that part.”

“It’s the important part. I lied to you, Cary.”

“I already knew that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How could you know?”

“I’d have to say my first inkling that you weren’t a femme fatale was when you blurted out that the black lemur was the only primate with red eyes.”

“Blue eyes,” she corrected automatically. “The only animal with red I can think of is a species of tree frog, but frogs are amphibians, not primates.”

He grinned. “I love it when you spout facts like that.”

“You’re teasing me,” she accused, feeling her lower lip start trembling again.

“No, I’m not.” He cupped her cheek. “I like that you’re a walking reference book but not quite as much as being your first lover.”

Everything inside her went still as she thought of the night they’d first made love and the pains she’d taken to make him believe she was sexually experienced. She backed away from his touch, a sense of betrayal stealing over her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew I was lying?”

“That would have been a bit like Pinocchio casting stones, don’t you think?” Cary rustled his hair, put his elbows on the table and began to hope. “Getting back to the part where you said you loved me—”

“I can’t believe you keep harping on that.” She looked adorably miffed. “A gentleman would forget I said that.”

“You’re confusing me with my brother Mitch. He’s the gentleman of the family.” Cary swallowed, suddenly nervous. Too much was on the line with his next question. “Speaking of my twin, are you sure he’s not the one you’re in love with?”

She shot him a look filled with irritation. “Honestly, Cary, how could I be in love with someone I don’t know? I had a crush on your brother ten years ago, and I didn’t know him then either.”

“He’s a good man. Better than me,” Cary said. “Don’t say anything. Just hear me out. I shouldn’t even be here in Key West. The only reason I am is that I talked my brother into taking the heat for me.”

He inhaled slowly, hardly believing he was about to willingly tell her the story that would kill any love she had for him. Before he could lose his nerve, he launched into the tale, not holding anything back.

When he finished, the only sounds were the splashes the brothers were making in the shallow end of the pool. Cary had dropped his eyes to the table. Now he slowly raised them, fearful of what he’d see in hers but knowing he deserved her censure.

“If your brother told you he didn’t want you to return to Charleston, why are you going back?” she asked.

Cary blinked, because it wasn’t the question he anticipated. Hell, he’d been prepared for her to get up and walk away without a backward glance.

“I guess because it’s time I started taking responsibility for my actions,” he said.

“It’s because you’re a good man.” She reached across the table and taking his hand. He hadn’t realized his was cold until her warmth enveloped him. “Right from the beginning, I could see the goodness in you.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t my imitation of Mitch you were seeing? I’m not a cop, Lizabeth. I work in recreation. I drink. I swear. I don’t like wearing plaid. And I hate driving a SUV.”

He waited. Even though Lizabeth hadn’t budged, he still couldn’t quite believe she wasn’t about to toss her head, get to her feet and saunter out of his life.

“You weren’t the only one who could see beneath the surface.” Her brown eyes fastened on his. “I didn’t know you were pretending to be your brother, but I knew you were putting on an act. It was the man underneath the act I fell in love with.”

“Ah, Lizabeth, you shouldn’t say such things to me.” Cary turned his hand over so that their palms were touching and gently squeezed her hand. “I’m probably heading straight to jail, but I’m not above holding you to what you said about loving me.”

“If you do go to jail, all you have to do is say the words and I’ll wait for you,” Lizabeth breathed.

“Wait for me,” Cary said.

“Those are the wrong three words.”

Cary smiled, stood up from the table, took her hand and drew her into his arms. “I’m starting to suspect that the shy research librarian I’m in love with isn’t so shy after all.”

“So you do love me?” she asked, her eyes glued to his. “Even though I’m nothing like Leeza?”

“I don’t know about that.” He fingered the ugly octopus broach he’d given her. “I think there’s always been a little bit of Leeza in you. If there wasn’t, you wouldn’t have asked me if I loved you.”

“I wasn’t asking as Leeza. I was asking as Lizabeth. Just plain Lizabeth.”

“I’ve been out with plenty of women like Leeza, but I’ve only been with one Lizabeth.” Cary traced the bridge of her nose. “Yes, I love you. More than I ever thought it was possible for me to love anybody. More than I love myself.”

“I’ll teach you to love yourself. In the meantime, I’ll love you enough for both of us.” She pulled his head down to hers.

The heat of the day mingled with the heat of the kiss until Cary felt as though he were aflame, with love, with desire and with awe. He was so wrapped up in the unfamiliar feelings that the gleeful shouts from the pool hardly registered — until a cascade of water hit them.

“Got ya,” a young voice yelled.