A Just Deception (15 page)

He thunked himself on the head. “That’s right. Kendrick mentioned he never got around to telling you what we do here.”

“No. We never got that far, but the articles I found said you helped the poor.”

“Yes.” He bobbed his head and his cheeks jiggled from the force. “If you have time, I’d be happy to tell you about it.”

Oh, I have plenty of time. You rat bastard.
“I think I have a few minutes.”

“How the hell long has she been in there?” Peter knew it had been over an hour. Specifically, seventy-eight minutes.

He was going apeshit. Sweating like a damned sprinter and he wasn’t sure if it was the heat or aggravation.

They were still parked half a mile down the road with the hood up. A few cars had passed, but nobody offered to help. And what was up with that? Not that he wanted help, but didn’t people have common courtesy anymore?

With the condition of this car, it wouldn’t be a shock they’d broken down. The body of what was once a hell of a nice ride looked like it had been blasted with BB gun pellets. Dents and paint chips ran amok. The wheel wells were also rusted out and nearly cried from abuse.

And the front hood was white, which wouldn’t be bad if the rest of the car didn’t happen to be gray.

But hey, the car ran damn good.

He glanced at his watch again. All that thinking ate up another ninety seconds.

“You have got to chill, man,” Billy said, still sitting with his foot hanging out the open passenger side window. “She’ll come out when she comes out.”

“It’s so friggin’ hot,” Peter said, opening the door and stepping out. The temperature hovered around ninety-five even without the help of the sun, and the humidity left him drenched.

He leaned against the driver’s side door, folded his arms. Kicked some pebbles. Checked his phone.

Nothing.

“She’ll call when she calls,” Billy said.

“Yeah, thanks, Confucius.”

“Huh?”

Peter shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Whatever.”

He bent down and looked at Billy through the open window. “Didn’t I tell her to only stay an hour?”

“Gee, Dad, I don’t know. You threw me out because I was staring into Hooterville.”

Peter flipped him the bird. Asshole. His own fault for letting Billy see his weakness regarding Izzy. After three years of Billy’s smart-ass comments, he should have known better.

Take a walk. Get away from him.

Wandering down the road a bit, he made mental notes about car parts he would need to rebuild the piece of shit Camaro to its original luster. Anything to keep his mind off Izzy, dressed like a stripper, amping up the sex with Seth Donner. His head began to pound, the throb settling behind his eyes.

Tormented. That’s what he was.

And it was only day one.

He moved back toward the car, squatting down to examine the rear bumper.

“Hillary Hooters coming our way,” Billy shouted from the front seat.

Peter peeked around the bumper and spotted the white Audi cruising toward them.

Thank you.

He stood when she drove by and gave him an inconspicuous finger wave. Making himself useful, Billy fixed the engine, lowered the hood, and they both jumped back in the car.

“Hillary Hooters?” Peter asked doing a U-turn in the middle of the street. “What’s that about?”

Billy grinned. “Izzy’s alter ego.”

Peter coughed up a laugh. He couldn’t help it. The irony of Billy unknowingly giving Izzy
another
alter ego was too mortifying. Now he’d have to deal with all three of them. Hillary Hooters, Creepy Izzy
and
Fun Izzy.

He’d never survive.

Peter tossed his keys on the crappy motel dresser, went straight for the locked door separating the two rooms and tapped on it.

One minute later the door opened and Izzy stood in front of him wearing long cotton shorts and a crew neck T-shirt.

Praise God.

He wouldn’t be able to stand looking at her in the stripper getup.

“Well, hell,” Billy said from behind him. “Why’d you change? You are just no fun, Izzy.”

Peter spun on him. “You wanna get bounced again?”

Billy responded with a toothy pain-in-the-ass grin.

“Children,” Izzy said, “I’ve had a rough day and I’m not in the mood.”

Pushing past her into the room, Peter said, “What happened? You were in there way too long.”

She made a low growling sound. “Don’t hassle me.”

“Yeah,” Billy said.

Maybe Peter should have tempered his statement. Women didn’t understand man-speak for “I was worried about you.”

The hideous yellow-and-brown striped side chair beside the bed suddenly looked inviting and he dropped into it. This could get ugly. Butt ugly.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip, felt that nice little zing of pain and let out a huff. Billy had formed some twisted alliance with Izzy and now he’d have to battle both of them.

“Have a seat, Billy,” she said, waving him to the other disgusting chair.

Izzy boosted herself on top of the long dresser rather than sitting on the bed.

“Here’s the deal,” she said. “He invited me back tomorrow. I told him I wasn’t sure, that I wanted to sightsee. He gave me his cell number and told me to call him when I was done.”

“Why did he invite you back?” Peter asked.

“Mainly because he couldn’t stop staring at my boobs.”

Ouch. Peter closed his eyes. Did he need to hear that? “I guess the T-shirt worked.”

“He had to have been blind for it to fail,” Billy offered.

Izzy fired Billy a warning glance before Peter could blast him.

“I pretended to be interested in their cause,” she said. “He explained they help people on welfare. They have ten cabins on the property and they let people live there while they get back on their feet. Sort of a halfway house. The tenants are screened and, once accepted, they’re required to do fundraising for the organization and pay a small rental fee. He didn’t give me specifics, but said they try to secure employment for the residents. The goal is to get them to be self-supporting as quickly as possible so they aren’t at the compound long. “

“How many people live in the main house?” Peter asked.

She shook her head. “No idea. I met a woman. Her name is Courtney Masterson and she can’t be more than twenty. She’s eight months pregnant and all indications are that she lives in the house. There’s a swing set out back and Seth confirmed there are children living there.”

The idea of children living with Kendrick must have been killing her. Peter could see it in the pasty color of her face. “Give Sampson her name. He’ll run it.”

Izzy nodded. “My guess is Courtney went there when she got pregnant. She seems healthy enough, but I don’t know if she’s seen a doctor. I’m assuming so, but she left quickly. It seemed like she was afraid to say anything. She kept looking at Seth to gauge his reaction.”

“Maybe he’s the father?” Billy asked.

“Could be,” Izzy said. “But nothing about the way they acted indicated they were a couple. It was very strange.”

“Where are the cabins on the property?” Peter asked.

“Just beyond the house. I could see the roof of one of them from the back door, but the property is wooded and the trees block the view. There’s a narrow dirt road though. I’m guessing the other cabins are along the path.”

Billy stuck his bottom lip out. “You thinkin’ you want to do a sneak and peek?”

Bet your ass
.

“I’d like to know what’s on the back end of that property. Sampson needs to get us some land surveys so we can check it out.”

Izzy scoffed. “Good luck with that. He doesn’t want you within ten miles of that place.”

“He’ll change his mind as soon as we give him something he couldn’t get playing fair. When you give him Courtney’s name, ask him about the surveys.”

“I have to check in with him today. Besides, I really want to know how she got there. She must not have a family.”

Peter shrugged. “You never know about women from these small towns. With no real employment opportunities, she might have conveniently wound up pregnant hoping to land the baby’s father as a husband. The guy probably bailed on her.”

Izzy’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. “Well, that’s an interesting theory. Did you even hesitate to consider she might be lonely? She could be searching for companionship and
accidentally
wound up pregnant. Why does she have to be a hustler?”

Holy crap. Somehow he was back in the Izzy minefield again. She was working at staying neutral, but those green eyes were snappy. “I’m not saying she’s a hustler. You have to admit, it’s a possibility.”

“That’s true,” Izzy conceded. “But you shouldn’t make presumptions about her motives.”

“Yeah, well,” Billy said. “You two can fight about this all you want. It bores the hell out of me. I might as well go for a run. I’ll need some form of entertainment while we’re in this rathole.”

When Billy left, Peter wandered to where Izzy sat on the dresser. “What did I say that pissed you off?”

She stared down at her fingers wrapped around the edge of the dresser, tight enough for the skin to stretch. Yep. Izzy had something working her over.

She finally looked at him, squirmed, and dropped her head back. “When I was in high school I slept with just about any male who came within twenty feet of me, and it had nothing to do with trying to snag a husband.”

“That’s different.”

“No. It isn’t. Maybe this girl is searching for the one person that will make her feel
something
during sex. That’s all I wanted. Someone to make me feel like it was more than a fuck. I just needed someone to love me for more than the sex act. I finally gave up when it didn’t happen.”

Minefield. By now he should be getting better at detecting it.

He sat next to her, stretched his legs in front of him and slid a hand down her back. “I’m sorry I made assumptions.”

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and laughed, but nothing seemed funny.

“You just don’t get it, Peter.”

She moved off the dresser. “I’m taking a shower.”

The invisible film of lustful grime from Seth ogling her all afternoon had sunk into her bones and left her feeling a gear behind.

Plus, she couldn’t stand the way
Peter
was now watching her. Men. They always stared at her for one reason or another.

Time alone with no one analyzing her. That’s the way her world worked best and maybe, for once, Peter would leave her be. She hurried to the bathroom, and shut and locked the door. If the bathroom had a window she’d probably climb out.

What had she just done? He probably thought her a whore and Peter had standards in that area. He wouldn’t want to even touch her after
that
little admission.

Maybe that’s what she wanted.

She breathed deep craving the sensation of air filling her lungs.

Taking off her clothes, she tossed them on the cracked tile floor. The bathroom, with its brown vanity and drab green sink, was an extension of the rest of the motel and she hated every bit of it. Or maybe it was simply being there she hated.

After turning the shower on full blast, she stuck her hand into the stream and waited for the hot water.

The door flew open and crashed against the wall with a bang that rocked her. She clutched the shower curtain for balance and turned as Peter stepped into the bathroom.

“What the hell, Peter? You scared me!”

He slammed what looked like a metal pick on the sink and got within an inch of her. His blue eyes locked on hers and the steel there could have broken cement. Hard, hard eyes.

“I’m naked here,” she shrieked.

But the sickening vulnerability had nothing to do with being naked.

“You don’t say something like that and walk away,” he yelled. “If you’re pissed, you need to tell me why. I’m not a goddamned mind reader.”

Isabelle shoved the curtain back and twisted the shower knob. The faucet wasn’t providing the only steam in the tiny bathroom. She turned, gave Peter a shove and reached for the towel hanging on the rack.

“And
I
deserve some privacy.” She wrapped herself in the stingy towel.

Peter, to his credit, kept his eyes focused on her face.
He must really be mad
. Most men would have at least snuck a peek by now. Or maybe he was trying not to piss her off any further. That theory made much more sense.

She angled around him, stormed out of the bathroom and shut the adjoining room door. All they needed was Billy wandering in with her wrapped in a swatch of cotton barely bigger than a hand towel.

Peter followed her. “What’s this about?”

Damn him
.

They needed a distraction here. She spun to face him and the towel came loose. She should reach to tighten it, but maybe…if she just let it sink to the ground…his mind would move elsewhere.

Sex she could handle.

Even if she didn’t want their first time together to be manufactured because she was too terrified to admit she was losing herself. Was she that pathetic? Obviously so.

“Don’t even,” he said, somehow knowing exactly where her mind had gone. “You’re not going to get out of talking to me. I’ve been stepping in all kinds of shit this past week and I’m pissed.” He huffed out a breath, and bit down hard enough that the muscle in his jaw flexed. “I know you’re intentionally doing this. I can see it in your eyes. Creepy Izzy is barking at you and I’m trying to stay cool, but dealing with you on an emotional level can be a nightmare.”

Oh, my God
. Give up already. How could he still be standing here after all she’d subjected him to? Crazy. That’s what he was.

She scoffed. “That’s not it.”

He stuck his hands on his hips and puckered. The silence hung between them, daring her to say something, but she’d wait it out. Part of good lawyering meant knowing when to keep quiet.

Peter slowly shook his head. “You’re trying to frustrate the crap out of me so I’ll give up on you. Classic move, Izzy, but you’re
busted
.”

Her breath caught, backed up into her throat and she gasped. No air. No air.
Breathe
. But she couldn’t. Not with her nerves chewed raw. He wouldn’t go away. Wouldn’t leave her to this agony of being stuck between two worlds.

“Shut up,” she said.

“Talk to me.”

“Shut.
Up
.”

The pressure behind her eyes intensified and she jammed the heels of her palms into them. The pounding wouldn’t stop, so she dropped her hands and looked him square in the eye.

Back him off
.

“I hate you,” she said.

He didn’t flinch.

“No you don’t. You’re scared. Big difference.”

Hot tears began to pour from her eyes and she swiped at them, ran her wet hand down the towel.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
How could she have let this happen?

“I just handed it over to you,” she blurted.

He stared back at her. Clueless.

“What?”

“I told you about my being promiscuous. I shared that with you.”

“So what?”

“See! You don’t get it.”

Peter dug both hands into his hair and pulled. “Holy, holy shit. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Isabelle began to pace, keeping one hand on the knot in the towel. “Telling you not to make assumptions had nothing to do with Courtney. It had to do with me giving a piece of myself to you and wanting you to not judge me. You totally missed it. I’ve never done that before and you
missed
it!”

A sob punched free, and she covered her mouth as if that would make it stop.
Just great.
The emotional torture clearly wasn’t enough because now she got to be humiliated too.

Peter finally moved. In three strides he reached her, but she retreated and the back of her calves bumped the ugly side chair.

Trapped.

Back him off.

She swatted at him when he extended his arms.

“Stop,” he said. “Please.”

But the panic still roared at her, screaming that she should run.

Shut him down
.

Fast.

All this stress and hurt couldn’t be good.

He stepped an inch closer, blocking her from moving. She wouldn’t look up, but let him put his arms around her, her breath hitching from the tears.

“It’s all right,” he said, squeezing her tight. “I’m sorry I missed it, but I understand now. I do.”

The heat of his skin flowed into her and she inhaled to quiet the madness in her mind. “I told you I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to do relationships. It’s just too hard.”

“That’s crap,” he said, holding her in place when she tried to back away. “You’re driving me crazy. Seriously nuts.”

She tilted her head a little. “I tend to do that. I haven’t met a man yet that knows how to deal with me.”

“One that can stick you mean?”

She shrugged. “Seems as good an explanation as any.”

“I think you don’t want anyone close to you. In any way. You know people, but how many of them are friends? Probably not a lot. If they’re around too much, they might start to ask questions about your personal life. You can’t have that.”

“Peter—”

He jabbed his hand out. “Not done yet. You’ve been pushing me away since the day I met you in that elevator.” He held up a finger. “You did it with that staring at my package trick—and that’s another conversation, because I’m amazed some egomaniac hasn’t decided to prove what he’s packing after you’ve dissed his dick. But I digress.”

He held up a second finger. “You push me away every time you flip the Creepy Izzy switch because you know I’m sensitive to it.”

“But, Peter—”

“Hold up. Being scared is one thing. I can deal with that, but you need to tell me when something’s working you over.”