Everything But The Truth (4 page)

Package?
She had no idea what he was talking about. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind. Why do you need protection? Who’s after you?”

Peyton started to tell him about Father Mike being murdered, about Sonny Donatelli and his men, but quickly changed her mind. How did she know she could trust this man? What if he was on Donatelli’s payroll, too? What if he called Donatelli and sold her out for money? Deciding not to trust him with the truth meant she would need to play the hooker a while longer. She met his questioning gaze and straightened her spine. Only she had no idea what to tell him.

Reeve shook his head and massaged the back of his neck. “This has something to do with your pimp, doesn’t it?”

Grateful for the spark of an idea, she said, “How did you know?”

Snorting, he asked, “Who is this guy, and why’s he looking for you?” He ripped out the words impatiently.

“Carlos Santini,” she blurted, remembering the name of Jane’s pimp. “I stole money from him. Money he was going to use for drugs. He was really mad at me.”

A shadow of annoyance crossed Reeve’s face. He swore, shaking his head slowly back and forth. “Carlos Santini,” he mumbled. “Nice guy.”

“You know him?”

“I used to. How much money are we talking about?”

“Five thousand,” she said, hoping the amount sounded believable enough.

“That stupid jerk is shooting at people over five grand?” he asked incredulously.

Peyton shrugged. “You know how pimps are when someone messes with something that belongs to them. They’d just as soon shoot you as look at you. So, are you going to help me?”

“I’m not a cop anymore.” He looked at her, frowning. “When I see Matt, I’m going to kill him for involving me in this.”

“Well, it may be too late for that. Your friend might already be dead. I told you he’d been shot.”

“He’s alive.”

“How do you know that?” she asked hopefully, resting her elbows on the red speckled table top. She liked the detective. He was a nice man, and he’d risked his life to protect her.

“He called me earlier today. He said he was sending me a package, a birthday present.” His gaze came to rest on her breasts for a moment and she fought the urge to cover herself. Putting on a front, she simply met his eyes, as if he hadn’t affected her.

“Matt must have thought I’d enjoy…looking after you, but like I said before, I—”

“Yes, I know, you’ve already told me. Don’t worry, Mr. Sinclair, you’re not my type anyway.” She wanted to reach across the table and slap the smirk off his face, but instead all she could do was sit there and stare back at him. She thought about all the young women she’d counseled. So many of them had said the same thing.
“Men only see what’s on the outside. Once they find out you’re a prostitute, it’s as if you don’t have any feelings whatsoever.”

Peyton had argued with them. She’d always believed a decent man would want to know the person on the inside. But then, whoever said Reeve Sinclair was decent?

“Will you help me or not?” she asked impatiently. She’d had enough of Mr. Personality.

He studied her again, making her extremely aware of his scrutiny. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said, showing no signs of relenting.

“What if I wasn’t a hooker? What if I was a school teacher, or a secretary? Would you help me then?”

He let out a long sigh, as if he was thinking.

“If you’re not interested in helping me,” she said, sliding to the end of the booth, “then I’m leaving. I can probably take better care of myself than you can anyway.”

“Wait a minute.” He took her wrists in his hands. “Matt saved my life once,” he said quietly. Meeting his eyes, she waited for him to expand, but he didn’t. “All right, I’ll help you, but I’m only doing it for Matt.”

Well, that was putting it bluntly.
In other words, he didn’t give a hoot about what happened to her.
Great. Just great.
Now, she not only had to worry whether or not she could trust him, but also if he was going to do his job and protect her.

Her shoulders slumped slightly forward while she contemplated what to do. She supposed she could get up and walk out, then remembering her aching feet, she changed her mind. “Do you think I could trouble you for a glass of water?”

“Yeah. I’ll see what I can scrounge up for you to eat, too.” His mouth pulled into a sour grin. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
So, maybe he wasn’t all bad.

He slid out of the booth and stood. “By the way, what’s your name?”

She hadn’t given it any thought until now, but she supposed the name Peyton didn’t fit her hooker image. Quickly, her eyes darted back and forth. She noticed the salt and pepper shakers on the table and smiled to herself. Looking up at him, she said, “My name is Pepper.”

Raising his brows, he shook his head and said, “That figures.” Turning his back on her, he walked away. She thought she heard him mumble “Pepper” as if he’d never heard anything as ridiculous as that. Well,
she
liked it, and that’s all that mattered.

When he disappeared through a swinging door that she assumed was the kitchen, Peyton couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. She hadn’t done anything wrong, yet he made her feel as if she was some kind of criminal with an infectious disease.

Well, what did she expect? Just because Detective Brozack liked and trusted this man didn’t mean she had to like and trust him as well. The less he knew about her the better. Her hooker image had worked once for her already, so she didn’t see why it would hurt to continue the charade. Besides, she refused to share anything with him.

Just because he was good-looking didn’t mean he had any redeeming qualities. Unlike Reeve Sinclair, Peyton cared more about what was on the inside of a person than what was on the outside.

Chapter Four

“Do you think you can handle things here on your own for a while?” Reeve asked his brother, picking up a ripe tomato, slicing it, and placing a slice on a bun.

Brad brought his hands around his face to peer through the glass window of the swinging door, obviously gaping at the hooker sitting in the booth. Then he turned around and settled his gaze on Reeve. “How long is a while?”

Reeve shrugged. “I don’t know. A few days, a week maybe.”

“What are you going to be doing?”

“Babysitting,” he said, flipping a burger on the grill. “Seems the lady found some trouble. I need to hide her in a safe place.”

“You’re not a cop anymore,” Brad said, as if Reeve had forgotten that fact. “You’re doing this as a favor to Matt?”

“Yeah.” He’d already told his brother about the strange phone call from his ex-partner.

Brad shoved his hands in his pants pockets and leaned his hip against a counter. “What about Kevin?”

“Do you think you and Genie could keep him overnight and see that he gets to soccer camp in the morning?”

“Sure. You know we’d do anything for him. But that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Reeve knew exactly what his brother was getting at. He’d promised Emily on her deathbed that he’d find a new career. One that didn’t involve risking his life every day. “After all,” she’d said, “Kevin is already losing his mother. Don’t make him lose his father, too.”

Four years ago, right after Emily had died, he’d given up his career to serve and protect and bought the tavern with Brad. Although he missed being a cop, he’d never regretted his decision. At least he’d be around to watch his son grow up.

“Matt wouldn’t have asked me to help if it wasn’t important. I owe him. You know that.”

When Brad didn’t say anything, Reeve went on. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I can take care of myself, and the woman too. I was a damned good cop once.”

Brad let out a long sigh before saying, “I know you were. Don’t worry about Kevin, or the tavern. You do what you have to do.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

Brad walked by and thumped Reeve on the back. “Just come back in one piece,” he said as he left the kitchen.

Reeve and his brother had always been close, and he supposed if the situation were turned around, he’d feel the same way as Brad.

Lifting the burger from the grill, he slid it onto a bun and carried it out to the dining room. Pepper looked as if she were ready to doze off. Setting the plate in front of her, he said, “Here. Eat this.”

“You didn’t have to cook for me. I would have eaten anything. Some crackers. A piece of bread…” Her voice trailed off. Staring at the burger, she inhaled and smiled. “It smells delicious. Thank you.”

He watched as she bit into the sandwich, chewed and swallowed. Her facial bones were delicately carved, her lips full. The bright red hair had come from a bottle and she hadn’t done a very good job of it. There were streaks of honey blonde mixed in, which he assumed was her natural color.

She was thin, even a bit lanky, and small breasted. He wouldn’t call her beautiful. In fact, he’d bet that underneath all the make-up she was only average looking at best. But she had the most amazing green eyes. And a killer smile.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ll go get you some more water.” Heading for the bar, he thought, if it weren’t for the way she was dressed, he would never believe she was a prostitute. She had an innocent look about her. A soft side. He’d been a cop for ten years and he’d never met a hooker like her.

But if she
wasn’t
a prostitute, then why the hell was she pretending to be one? It didn’t make sense. Looking over his shoulder, he stared at her some more. When she met his gaze and smiled shyly, he quickly looked away.
Get a grip, Sinclair.
Of course, she’s a hooker.
No one would lie about something like that.

****

“Where are we going?” Peyton asked, climbing into the passenger side of Reeve Sinclair’s car. After she’d finished eating, he’d simply said, “Let’s go,” and she’d followed him outside.

“I have to stop by my house and pick up a few things,” he said, climbing behind the wheel and starting the engine.

“And then where are we going?”

He turned his head her way, but didn’t answer.

She rolled her eyes, then stared out the window as he drove, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. The man tried her patience, and it was all she could do to pretend she wasn’t going to be stuck with him for long.

He didn’t live far from the tavern. In fact, it was only a three-minute drive.

It was an older neighborhood with several remodeled homes amongst the bunch. He pulled into the driveway of a pretty blue Victorian with a wrap-around porch. Out front the annuals and perennials added a nice homey touch. It wasn’t the sort of house she’d expected a man like him to live in. But then again, she hadn’t considered the possibility he was married. That was probably it.

“Your wife must have a green thumb,” she said.

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Oh.” It didn’t surprise her any, not with the way he acted. The poor woman had probably had enough of his cocky attitude and ran off and left him. Good for her.

He turned off the ignition and threw the door open. “You can come in, if you want.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll use your bathroom to freshen up.”

He kept his gaze on her as she got out of the car. Those deep penetrating eyes spoke volumes. It was obvious he didn’t trust her.

“Don’t worry, I promise not to touch anything,” she said as they walked around to the side of the house.

After unlocking the door, he held it open for her, obviously forgetting she was a hooker and didn’t expect common courtesies.

Peyton stepped inside the kitchen and surveyed her surroundings. It was bright, cheery, and had an old-fashioned breakfast room surrounded by windows. The light oak cupboards and hardwood floor contrasted nicely with the black granite countertops. It was lovely. Full of character and charm.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No. I was just admiring your kitchen.”

“There’s a bathroom at the end of that hall,” he said, pointing his index finger and ignoring her compliment. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

After she finished in the bathroom, she glanced around the dining room and then the living room. Reeve Sinclair had nice taste for someone so rude. He’d blended several antique pieces with traditional items. The decor made her feel right at home. She loved all the crown moldings and pocket doors. It was exactly the kind of house she’d like to have one day.

“You finished nosing around?” he asked, startling her.

She hadn’t heard him come down from upstairs. He must have used the stairway that led to the kitchen. She noticed he’d changed into jeans and sneakers, making him look even more rugged and masculine.

“Yes.” When she saw him glance at the canvas bag draped over her shoulder, she said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t take anything.”

“I didn’t think you had.”

“Do you live alone?” she asked.

“No. My son Kevin lives with me.”

She’d seen pictures of a boy at different ages hanging about the living room. “How old is your son?”

“Eleven. Look, this isn’t a social call,” he said impatiently. “We need to be on our way.”

Bringing her hands to rest on her hips, she stared at him. “Does being rude just come naturally, or do you have to work at it?”

He grinned. “I guess it just comes naturally…sorry.”

Sure you are
. She turned around in a huff and headed back toward the kitchen. Reeve grabbed a black canvas duffel bag from the counter and herded her out the back door, locking it behind him.

For the second time that day, she wondered if she’d be better off on her own.

****

Once outside, Reeve spotted his next-door neighbor Mrs. Dwyer. The old woman raised her hand as if she were about to wave, then quickly dropped it to her side when she noticed the woman standing behind him.

“Mr. Sinclair!” She raised a finger and shook it at him. “I hope to God your son isn’t home.” Then she made the sign of the cross and said something he couldn’t quite make out—though he knew it was some kind of prayer. After giving him another haughty look, she went inside her house and slammed the door.

“What’s wrong?” Pepper whispered.

He turned around and looked at her. “Nothing.”

“She thinks you brought a hooker home with you, doesn’t she? And she thinks we just—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God.”

Reeve snorted. Of all the hookers in the world, he’d gotten one with morals. It was so comical he almost laughed.

She turned and walked away from him in her red, wobbly heels, but when she went to make her way back to the car, he stopped her. “We’re going to take my Harley.”

Spinning around, she stared at him open-mouthed. “A motorcycle? You want me to ride on the back of your motorcycle dressed like this?”

Glancing at her short, red leather skirt, he supposed she had a point. Besides, he didn’t want her riding behind him with her long legs gripping his hips and thighs with her skirt hiked up to her—

Great
. “I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes in that little bag of yours, do you?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

Sighing, he said, “Maybe Kevin has something that’ll fit you. Come on.”

They went back inside the house and upstairs to his son’s room. Reeve pulled open several drawers until he found a pair of shorts. Holding them up, he quickly changed his mind. Maybe something that would hide her black stocking covered legs instead. Finding a pair of gray sweatpants, he tossed them at her. “Here, put these on.”

She just stood there, looking at him, as if she didn’t understand.

“What?”
he asked when she didn’t move.

“Could you give me some privacy?”

“Sorry.” So, she was modest too. If that didn’t beat everything, he thought, shaking his head. Knowing she’d need some clothes besides the ones she was wearing, he grabbed a few of Kevin’s T-shirts and a pair of jeans shorts and stepped out in the hall. “I’ll be downstairs.”

A few minutes later, they were ready to go. He put his duffel bag on the back of the bike and strapped it down. He gave Pepper a helmet and helped her with the chin strap, before putting his own helmet on. Climbing on the bike, he turned the key and stepped on the starter. The Harley came to life with a loud rumble.

“Climb on,” he said.

She wavered for a moment. “Are you sure that thing is safe?”

“Safest thing you’ll ever have between your…” He sighed. “Yeah, it’s safe.”

Holding onto his arm with one hand, she swung her leg over the seat, then wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.