Everything But The Truth (7 page)

“It’s this one,” he said, nodding to the little white cottage with green shutters. When they’d almost reached the front porch, he stopped her, touching her arm briefly. “What made you decide to become a…”

“A hooker?”

He blinked. “Yeah. I mean, you’re obviously not doing it for drug money, and you seem fairly educated. Surely, you could get a job doing something else. So, why would you choose to be a hooker?”

“I’m not sure. At the time, though, I thought I had no other choice,” she said, remembering the way Jane had convinced her to change her image completely.

Reeve scowled, but didn’t bother to ask any more questions. And for that she was grateful.

****

Reeve volunteered to cook the burgers and hot dogs. Since he wasn’t much of an idle conversationalist, he figured Peyton could chat with Stacy and Jared while they waited for dinner to be ready.

He listened while Peyton explained her choice in shoes.

“Since we decided to elope at the last minute, I didn’t get a chance to pack much. I totally forgot about a change of shoes.”

Reeve noticed that she’d neglected to mention having only one set of underwear as well.

“Well, that’s understandable. When a woman is being rushed off to the altar, the last thing she’s thinking about is her clothes,” Stacy reasoned.

They ate at the picnic table in the backyard. He and Peyton sat next to each other on the bench while the Lutzs sat across from them.

“Wine, anyone?” Stacy asked, waving a bottle of Chianti.

“I’ll have a glass,” Reeve said, sliding his plastic tumbler to Stacy. After filling his cup, she poured some into her husband’s glass, then looked at Peyton. “Did you want to try a little?”

“Please, but just a little. I’m not much of a drinker.”

Reeve decided to keep an eye on her. She’d had enough trouble walking in those heels sober. He could only imagine what would happen if she tried to walk in them after a few drinks. He’d probably have to carry her back to the cabin, and he wanted no part of holding her in his arms. His body had already started reacting strangely to her. It was as if it had a mind of its own.

“A cheap date,” Jared said, grinning and raising his glass in a mock toast. “I like that.”

“Oh, hush,” Stacy told him, slapping his arm playfully. Then, she turned her attention to Peyton. “He’s just saying that because I can drink him under the table. On our first date, he tried to impress me by ordering Manhattans. He had two, passed out, and I had to drive him home.” Rolling her eyes, she grinned.
“Some date.”

They all laughed.

“That’s the one thing I miss about being pregnant,” Stacy went on. “No more wine. But hey, she’s worth it.” She rubbed a hand over her belly, then took a bite of potato salad.

“He,”
Jared said, nodding his head. “Jared Junior.” He bit into his burger and chewed.

Stacy elbowed her husband.
“Molly,”
she said, correcting him with a sidelong glance.

Peyton stole a look at Reeve and smiled, throwing him off guard. Her green eyes sparkled with pleasure. She was obviously enjoying the camaraderie between the Lutzs. Without smiling back, he concentrated on his dinner, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when she’d smelled the daisies and as she’d watched the butterfly.

“That’s the funny thing,” Stacy said. “They have so many pre-natal rules. No drinking, no smoking, get plenty of rest, take your vitamins…” Her voice trailed off, and she took a swallow of milk. “But where are all the rules telling you how to raise children? Jared and I are both schoolteachers, and believe me, it just breaks our hearts to see kids getting into trouble. And, of course, everyone always blames the parents.”

“Or the teachers and counselors,” Peyton chimed in and smiled sadly.

“I think you just have to do the best job you can, and hope for the best,” Reeve said. “Kids naturally want to please their parents. If you let them know you’re pleased, they’re usually happy, and nine times out of ten, they want to impress you more.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Jared said.

Nodding, Reeve said, “I have an eleven-year-old son, Kevin.”

Stacy’s eyes darted toward Peyton. “So, you’re a stepmom?”

“I—yes,” Peyton stammered.

“What about Kevin’s real mom?” Stacy asked Peyton. “Do you two get along?”

“I…”

Peyton glanced at Reeve, leaving him no choice but to answer for her. “Kevin’s mother died four years ago.”

That news put a damper on the evening. No one bothered to ask how Emily had died, which was just as well. Reeve didn’t want to talk about Emily’s cancer and the effects her illness and subsequent death had had on their son.

After the customary condolences, they ate mostly in silence. Conversation was limited to generic subjects, which was the way Reeve liked it.

He hated pretending he was a couple with Peyton. Every time she’d smiled, he felt guilty for not smiling back. After all, they were supposedly on their honeymoon. He should be smiling, but he couldn’t find anything to smile about.

Whenever Jared had complimented Stacy, Reeve felt as if he should be doing the same, but he couldn’t think of anything to compliment Peyton about. Unless he told her how pretty her eyes were. Or that he liked the way her blunt-cut hair skimmed her shoulders. But neither sounded like a smart idea.

When her knee had accidentally bumped his under the table, you’d have thought she’d committed a crime the way she’d apologized. Not just once, but twice. He remembered the few times he’d touched her. She’d always squirmed out of his reach. Apparently, she didn’t like being touched. Or she didn’t like being touched by him.

All in all, the night had begun to drag. Outside, Reeve and Jared finished off the bottle of wine, while the women cleaned up the kitchen mess. He found himself wondering what cockamamie story Peyton could possibly be telling Stacy. Not that it should matter. After a few days, they were never going to see the Lutzs again.

Swatting at a mosquito, Reeve finally announced he and Peyton should be getting home.
Home.
Just the sound of the word felt awkward coming from his mouth.

Stacy and Peyton stood at the kitchen sink, their backs to him. He’d been about to pull the screen door open when he heard Stacy ask, “Do you and Reeve plan to have any children of your own?”

“I hope so,” Peyton answered in a dreamy sounding voice. “I’d love to have three—maybe four—children.”

Reeve snorted. She sounded so convincing, he almost believed her. Opening the screen door, he stepped inside and let the door slap hard behind him. Both women jumped and turned around to face him.

“Honey,” Peyton said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Honey?
Why did she have to call him
honey
? Probably because they were supposed to be newlyweds, he reminded himself and tried not to look bothered by the term of endearment. “Obviously. Are you ready to go? It’s late.”

“Sure.” She set the dishtowel aside and hugged and kissed Stacy on the cheek. “Thank you for everything. Next time, it’s at our place.”

Our place?
He didn’t bother to say anything.

Jared came inside to say good-bye, and after Peyton hugged Stacy one last time, they were on their way.

****

They walked in strained silence, with only the sounds of nature for company, until they reached the Brozack cabin. When Reeve went to pull the door open, Peyton laid her hand on his arm and said, “I’m really sorry.”

Hundreds of bugs swarmed around the porch light above their heads. Crickets chirped wildly, and off in the distance, an owl hooted softly.

“About what?”

“About your wife. You could have told me, you know.”

“I
did
tell you.”

“I meant, you could have told me earlier. I’d just assumed you were divorced.”

“Why would you assume that?” he asked. “Did you think my wife ran off and left me because she couldn’t stand my charming personality?” His dark eyes glittered with the reflection of the light.

That was exactly what she’d thought. Smiling, she smoothed her hair away from her face. “Something like that.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he answered bluntly.

“Okay,” she said. “But if you ever change your mind…” She chewed on her bottom lip.

“I won’t.”

Of course, he wouldn’t. How could talking about his feelings possibly help? Hookers didn’t have feelings. They weren’t real people. So, therefore, they couldn’t possibly understand anything.

He stood staring at her for a long time, and then, sighing, he reached for the door handle and froze.

Peyton heard a noise—a rattling sound—coming from the back of the house. Obviously, Reeve had heard it, too.

Before she realized what was happening, he shoved her into the bushes, bringing a finger to his lips to quiet her. With one hand, he motioned for her to stay put, and with the other hand, reached behind him and pulled his gun free from the waistband of his jeans. She hadn’t realized he’d had the gun with him all evening. No wonder he hadn’t bothered to tuck in his shirt.

On her hands and knees, she watched as Reeve flattened himself against the cabin, made his way to the far end, and peered around the corner, the gun directly in front of him.

Peyton’s pulse kicked up, and her hands started to tremble uncontrollably. With a shiver of vivid recollection, the memories of Detective Brozack being shot flooded her brain. She remembered, too, how helpless she’d felt. She’d been torn between leaving him and running, like he’d ordered her to do.

What if something happens to Reeve?
What on earth would she do then? She had no car, and she didn’t know how to operate a motorcycle. Just how far would she get on foot, wearing Jane’s shoes?

Besides, could she leave Reeve behind if he was hurt while risking his life to save her? Somehow, she didn’t think so. Before she had a chance to explore her thoughts any further, she saw him smile. Then the smile turned to laughter.

Chapter Seven

“It was nothing but a couple of raccoons digging around in the garbage can.” Reeve clicked the safety on his Glock and stuck it in the belt clip holster on the waistband of his jeans.

“Are you sure?” Peyton asked, her head peeking between the bushes. Fear, stark and intense, glittered in her eyes, and the color had drained from her face.

Reeve offered her his hand. “Yes, I’m sure.”

After studying him for a moment, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Then, she flung herself against him. Her thin arms circled his waist, her head resting in the crook of his neck, while her small breasts pressed against his chest. He felt her uneven breathing and her trembles.

“Oh, Reeve, I was so scared they’d found us.”

Wanting to comfort her, he touched her hair, feeling the silkiness between his fingers. Then, bringing his chin to rest against the top of her head, he breathed in her scent. She smelled like sunshine and shampoo.

“You’re safe,” he said softly, feeling her body relax somewhat.

Slowly, she tilted her head back and stared up into his face. It was easy to get lost in the way she looked at him. His heart began to hammer against his ribs, and he had the strangest urge to kiss her. There was no denying the spark of excitement at the prospect.

Leaning slightly forward, he felt her warm breath against his mouth, and just when he was about to touch his lips to hers, he stopped, coming to his senses, and pushed her away from him.

What the hell had happened?
He couldn’t get involved with her. She was a hooker, for God’s sake. And it would do him good to remember that, no matter how innocent and vulnerable she seemed.

Taking a couple deep breaths, he ran his hands through his hair and avoided her eyes. “We should probably go inside.”

“Yes, I was just thinking the same thing,” she stuttered.

He watched as she brushed the dirt from her knees, hurried up the steps and opened the front door. “Sure you were,” he muttered quietly.

****

When Peyton came down the stairs the next morning, the first thing she noticed was the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The second thing she noticed was Reeve, standing at the picture window, staring off into space. She had to say one thing for him; he sure filled out a pair of blue jeans nicely. His hips were lean, his legs long. The expansive contour of his shoulders strained against the fabric of his black T-shirt, giving him a rugged, able-bodied look.

Holding a cup in one hand, he didn’t bother to turn around, nor did he bother to greet her. Not that that surprised her any. Well, he wasn’t going to spoil her good mood.

“Good morning, Reeve,” she chirped. “I slept great. How about you? Did you sleep well?”

When he finally turned around and looked at her, she lifted her freshly washed hair from her shoulders and let it fall back into place. Since she’d washed her bra and panties out the night before, she was able to put them on after her shower this morning. There would be no reason for any of his off-color remarks today.

Offering him a huge smile, she asked, “Any coffee left?”

Mumbling something that sounded like a yes, he nodded toward the kitchen. If he was in a foul mood, Peyton knew why. He was angry because he’d almost kissed her last night.

Well,
she
was angry because she’d almost let him, but that wasn’t any reason to sulk, like he was doing. Turning away from him, she thought,
Who are you trying to kid, Peyton? Of course, you would have let him.
Although she couldn’t think of a single reason why.

Whatever the reason, she wasn’t going to dwell on it. What good would it do? So, he’d tried to kiss her? Big deal. Even if he
had
kissed her, would it have been so bad?

In the kitchen, she grabbed a cup from the dish drain and filled it with what was left of the coffee. As she went to set the empty pot aside, she remembered to wash it. After all, she was in charge of dishes, or so he had said. She didn’t want him accusing her of not pulling her weight, which would be just like him.

Thinking about their “almost” kiss, she had to admit she’d been hurt when he’d pulled away at the last second, even though she realized it was silly of her to feel that way. Why would she want someone as demanding, bossy and rude as Reeve Sinclair to kiss her anyway? She continued to wonder about what was happening between them as she headed back to the living room.

After taking a sip of the hot brew, she settled on the sofa, tucking her bare feet beneath her and making herself comfy. At least he knew how to make a decent cup of coffee. Not too strong, not too weak. Just the way she liked it.

She spotted several outdated magazines, and setting her coffee aside, picked one up and started flipping through the pages. Quietly, she hummed a few bars of the theme to
The Sound of Music
.

“What are you so happy about this morning?” he grumbled, dropping into the well-worn, brown, tweed recliner across from her.

“Hmmm?” Keeping her eyes trained on the magazine, she picked up her coffee cup. “Did you say something?” she asked, slowly meeting his eyes.

“You know damned well I did.” His face was set, his eyes fixed on her. He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning. The black stubble on his cheeks and jaw gave him a dark, dangerous look.

“Why shouldn’t I be happy? I’m alive. And I’m safe with you,” she said, “or at least that’s what you’ve been telling me.” She refused to give in to her fears. Not after last night’s false alarm. Because she’d panicked, she’d ended up in Reeve’s arms, and he’d almost kissed her. Though
almost
, she reminded herself, wasn’t the same thing as him
actually
kissing her. There was a huge difference between the two.

She resumed her humming and concentrated on the magazine in her lap. Turning the page, she found an article on PMS that looked interesting and wondered if men suffered from the syndrome too.
Or at least one man
. She glanced up at Reeve. He behaved as if he was constantly affected by it, or something similar.

“Do you mind?” he asked. “I have a headache.”

She looked up and frowned. “I’ll bet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leaning forward, he set his empty cup on the coffee table. A muscle flicked in his jaw.

Lifting a shoulder, she said, “It means I don’t believe you.”

He snorted. “Why not?”

She gave him a long look, and then asked, “Why don’t you just admit what’s really bothering you?”

“I already told you. I have a headache, and your constant singing and chattering aren’t helping any.” He brought a hand to his forehead for emphasis.

Shaking her head and cradling her cup in her hands, she said, “You’re a terrible liar.”

He dropped his hand to his lap and glared at her. “Well, you know the old saying…it takes one to know one.”

She stiffened slightly and swallowed hard. “What would
I
have to lie about?” she asked, suddenly feeling guilty for being dishonest with him.

“I’m not sure, but something about you isn’t right. There’s something you’re not telling me.” He scrunched his brows tightly together in an agonized expression. “I was a cop once, remember? Cops know these things,” he said, tapping his temple with his forefinger. “Tell me again what happened between you and Santini.”

She hadn’t been prepared for that one. Averting her eyes for hopefully no more than a second, she said, “I already told you. I stole ten thousand dollars from him.” She gave him her haughtiest smile, hoping to disarm him, and took a sip from her cup.

“I thought it was five thousand?”

Whoops
, her eyes widened as it dawned on her what he was doing. “You’re right. It was five.”

He stared at her for a long time before saying, “Something about you doesn’t add up.”

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

“First of all, you don’t look, or act, like a hooker.”

Peyton just shrugged, like she couldn’t care less what he thought.

“Second, there has to be more to your story. Pimps don’t kill over five thousand dollars. Santini would certainly want his money back, but I think he’d try roughing you up rather than kill you.” He pinned her with a look. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

Feeling as though she’d been backed into a corner, she asked, “Are all cops as distrusting as you?”

“Nice try,” he said, his mouth twisting wryly.

She feigned innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”

He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re trying to change the subject.”

“You mean the way you did a few minutes ago?”

His jaw twitched again. “I never—”

“Yes, you did,” she said, cutting him off. “You invented that story about having a headache when it’s perfectly obvious you’re angry because you tried to kiss me last night.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she regretted them.

“Peyton,” he said, pausing for a moment, “don’t try to psychoanalyze me, because you don’t know anything about me.”

“I know
everything
I need to know.” Counting off the fingers on one hand, she said, “You’re antagonistic, morose, indignant, cynical, and barbaric.” He started to say something but she raised a hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You thought hookers were stupid, right? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. You see, I not only
know
big words, but I can use them in a sentence. Impressed?”

“Hardly. And I am
not
morose.”

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t morose, but he certainly hadn’t argued about the rest. Shaking her head slightly, she wondered why she was wasting her time talking to him. They didn’t like each other, and they certainly couldn’t have a civil conversation, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to stop probing him. Besides, if they didn’t argue, what else would they do to pass the time?

“So, are you going to try to convince me you weren’t angry for trying to kiss me?”

He half laughed. “You’re something else.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “I think that’s the first time you’ve complimented me.”

“Like
you’ve
been complimenting me?”

“Didn’t I just name all your finer points?” she asked, raising her hand and wiggling her fingers to remind him.

His eyebrows shot up in amazement. “Oh, you mean that list of adjectives you rattled off were compliments?”

“Yes,” she teased. “I was trying to be kind. I know how sensitive you are, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

He threw his head back and laughed a rich, hearty roar. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh. He did it well, she thought, feeling a warm glow flow through her. She couldn’t help but smile.

Reeve adjusted his position in the chair and brought his hands to rest behind his neck and head, his smile fading the longer he stared at her.

Well, his good mood certainly hadn’t lasted very long.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she asked, “So, you wanted to kiss me last night, didn’t you?”