Bait & Switch (24 page)

 
Don’t what? Say hello?

She rapped a tat-tat-tat on the driver’s side window as she jogged alongside the car, which was rapidly running out of road.

“Get away from there, Peyton!” Mitch grabbed her arm, but she’d already stopped because she and the car had reached the dead end.

“Really, Mitch.” She rolled her eyes at him before transferring her attention to the car. The window rolled down and she leaned forward.

“I thought that was you.” She beamed at the driver. Even in the darkness, she could detect his five o’clock shadow. He often joked that he had more hair on his lower face than on his head, which was covered with his customary fedora.

“Peyton,” he said with a nod.

“You know this man?” Mitch was so close it seemed as though he were standing guard over her. His protective instincts were sweet, but unnecessary.

“I wouldn’t have approached his car if I didn’t know him.” Peyton stated the obvious. “Mitch, this is Vincent Carmichael, my uncle. Uncle Vincent, Cary Mitchell.”

Uncle Vincent, who was usually so polite he did Miss Manners proud, grunted a greeting. Mitch did likewise, leaving Peyton to fill in the conversation.

“Uncle Vincent is my mother’s brother,” Peyton explained to Mitch. Her mother’s black-sheep brother, but she didn’t need to delve into that during a midnight curbside conversation. “He has an office around the corner in that strip shopping center.”

She beamed at her uncle, trying to communicate that she was proud of his profession even if her mother thought it undignified. “He’s a private detective.”

“Is that right?” Mitch asked in a considering tone. He put his hands on the top of the car and leaned down to peer at Uncle Vincent. Neither man looked happy. “I wondered why you were following me. Now I have the answer.”

“Following you?” Peyton interjected, whirling to face Mitch. “Uncle Vincent’s not following you.” She whirled back to her uncle. “Tell Mitch you’re not following him, Uncle Vincent.”

The damning silence from the car spoke volumes, and Peyton felt her jaw drop. So it was true? “But why would you be following Mitch?” she asked.

Again her uncle didn’t answer, instead pretending great interest in readjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.

“My guess is that your parents hired him,” Mitch said.

“My parents?” Peyton shook her head, not able to make sense of it. Her mother barely tolerated her uncle, but her father. . .

She shoved Mitch aside to get better access to her uncle. “Did my father hire you to follow Mitch, Uncle Vincent?”

“No,” he said, but the word lacked conviction. Anger rose in Peyton, like lava from an erupting volcano. She reached through the window and grabbed her uncle by his shirt front. “Tell me the truth, Uncle Vincent. Did my father hire you?”

“No,” he choked out, his hands going to her wrists. She held tight, her anger fueling her strength.

“Peyton,” Mitch said, “maybe you should let him go.”

“Not until he tells me the truth,” Peyton said, shaking him.

“Not your father. Your mother,” Uncle Vincent said, gurgling. “Now will you let go of me?”

She released his shirt front, letting the information sink into her stunned brain. Her mother didn’t consider Uncle Vincent’s profession respectable yet she’d gone to him to dig up dirt on her daughter’s lover.

“Of all the dirty, underhanded tricks,” she muttered. “How could you do this to me?”

Uncle Vincent rubbed his brow and sighed. “I needed the cash, honey. And Amelia said it was for your own good. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Peyton swiped at her damp eyes, determined not to let any tears fall. How could her mother and uncle have teamed up on her this way? Without another word, she pivoted and headed down the street for her car.

“Peyton, stop,” Mitch called but she kept walking. He reached the car door seconds after she’d settled behind the driver’s seat. She pressed the button that automatically rolled down the window.

“Where are you going?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “What I should do is wake up my mother and give her hell.”

“Will you?”

“Not tonight,” she admitted, inwardly cursing the ingrained good breeding that wouldn’t allow her to pound on her parents’ door in the wee hours of the morning.

“Good.” He reached into the car and cupping her cheek. In an intangible way, she immediately felt better.

“Don’t you want me to give her hell?” she asked.

The corners of his mouth lifted. “I sure do, but I’d rather you do it tomorrow.”

“Why’s that?”

He moved his hand from her cheek to her lips and traced them with a delicate touch. She shuddered in reaction.

“I have other plans for you tonight.” He lowered his head, ducked inside the car window and gave her a gentle kiss that made her want to weep.

“Follow me?” he asked after he drew back.

The knowledge that she would follow him to hell and beyond hit her hard, but not as hard as another truth. With the words stuck in her throat, all she could do was nod.

“Good.” His face creased into that devastating smile that flipped her insides. “I’m parked behind the warehouse. Wait here until I get the car and then I’ll see you at my place.”

He turned and she wanted to call him back, wanted to blurt out her realization. But it was too new, too precious, too extraordinary. She hugged the knowledge to herself, savoring it.

Confronting her mother could wait until tomorrow.

Tonight was reserved for Mitch, the man she’d only now discovered she loved.

AMELIA MCDOWELL TOOK A SIP of her mint julep, crossed a silk-clad leg and gave her daughter an unhappy look. “Honestly, darling, I thought you understood that you and your father are the most important people in the world to me. I would never do anything to deliberately hurt either of you.”

She and Peyton were sitting on the elegant veranda that wrapped around the second story of the McDowell home and provided an excellent view of the Charleston harbor. Beyond them, white sails billowed in the breeze against the night sky.

When Peyton had showed up at the house after her shift at the carriage company wanting to talk, her mother had insisted they do so over cocktails. Peyton’s drink, another of the mint juleps she couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother she detested, sat neglected on a wicker end table. For the first time in memory, Peyton was tempted to take a swig of the vile liquid.

“You should be grateful you have a mother who cares enough to look out for you,” Amelia continued.

“I have a mother who hired her brother to spy on my boyfriend,” Peyton said, careful not to show her anger. Her mother and countless hours of etiquette training had taught her never to exhibit wrath.

“Your boyfriend?” Her mother raised expertly made-up eyes, which looked pained. “A few weeks ago, you told me you two were casually dating. And now you’re calling him your boyfriend?”

Peyton hesitated, knowing her mother wasn’t ready to hear she loved Mitch. She hadn’t yet told the man himself, but she’d showed him as they gave themselves to each other the night before.

“Our relationship has taken a turn for the better,” she said.

“Oh, dear. I was afraid you two were getting too close too fast.” Her mother raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows. “Don’t you understand that’s why I had to hire your uncle? If Mitch had been from Charleston, there wouldn’t have been a need. But we don’t know anything about him. Somebody needed to check up on him.”

“Mitch can tell me whatever I need to know,” Peyton said while she struggled to hold onto her temper.

“But the kinds of things your uncle uncovered are not subjects he’ll be eager to discuss,” she said.

Peyton squared her shoulders. “Save your breath, Mother. I’m not interested in hearing what Uncle Vincent found out.”

Her mother laid a manicured hand on Peyton’s arm and sighed. Fine lines showed on her usually smooth face. Peyton realized that however misguided her intentions, her mother truly did want what was best for her.

“Oh, darling, you really should hear what’s in your uncle’s report. Vincent may not be very good at tailing people but he is good at finding the truth. I know it won’t be easy for you, especially with Mitch being such a handsome young man, but I’ll help you through it.”

“Mitch is as handsome inside as out,” Peyton declared stubbornly.

“I’m sure you think so, dear. I don’t blame you. How could your head not be turned by such a good-looking, charming man? The fact that Mitch is so handsome is one of the reasons I had your uncle look into his affairs. And thank goodness I did.”

Her mother took a breath, giving Peyton the opening she needed. Interrupting was impolite, but speaking up before the other person finished their train of thought wasn’t quite so grave a sin.

“Mother, I’ve already told you I don’t want to hear what Uncle Vincent found out about Mitch.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I trust him.”

Her mother took another swallow of her mint julep before setting down the glass. “Then you know about his second job?”

“Of course I do.” Even though Peyton did trust Mitch, she was relieved her mother hadn’t thrown out a zinger that caught her unawares. “He’s a bartender at a club in North Charleston.”

“Epidermis,” her mother said.

“Excuse me?”

“Epidermis is the name of the club.”

Peyton nodded as though that didn’t come as a surprise, but her feeling of dread was so powerful she felt as though she’d stepped from the sunlight into the gloom.

“So it does not bother you that he’s around all those naked women night after night?” her mother asked.

Peyton closed her eyes briefly, because she’d known what sort of club Epidermis was the moment her mother had provided the name. Why hadn’t Mitch ever mentioned he bartended at a strip club?

“Of course it doesn’t,” she managed to answer.

Her mother looked confused. “You’re fine with him being around Debbie Darling?”

All Peyton could manage was a shrug, because her mother obviously knew something she didn’t. That Debbie Darling was a stripper was evident. Her connection to Mitch wasn’t.

Her mother shook her head and put a hand to her frosted blonde hair. “Oh, Peyton. I don’t think you should be this understanding, especially since Mitch didn’t stop sleeping with her until about three weeks ago. You were already dating him by then, weren’t you?”

Bile rose in Peyton’s throat while her gut churned. It couldn’t be true. The man she loved wouldn’t sleep with a stripper, especially not while dating her.

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

“Oh, darling, why would I lie to you? I’d rather you choose a man other than Mitch, but I’m not blind to how you feel about him. Telling you this hurts me, too.” Her mother rose, smoothing the lines of her elegant silk pantsuit. “I’ll get your uncle’s report. There are other things you need to know.”

Before disappearing into the main part of the house, her mother reached out and stroked Peyton’s shoulder, as though she thought her daughter needed comforting.

Peyton stared into the night-dark sky, thinking about what she’d learned. A part of her yearned to reject the news. Another part wanted to know why Mitch hadn’t confessed that he worked at a strip club.

Glancing down at her watch, she saw it was past nine. That meant Mitch was already at work with the naked women. Who Peyton was sure he never touched.

She bit her lip as she remembered that only nine days had passed since she’d impulsively hopped out of her carriage, stranding her group of tourists as she’d stalked to Mitch’s door, intending to break up with him.

She’d believed him to be self-centered, egotistical and inconsiderate, exactly the kind of man who would dally with a stripper.

But instead of breaking off their relationship, she’d fallen in love with him. She refused to believe the man she loved would cheat on her. She brightened, because there was a way she could prove it.

She went back into the house and nearly ran down the stairs in her eagerness to put her plan in motion. Her hand was on the doorknob when her mother realized she was leaving.
 

“Peyton.” Her mother descended the stairs leading to the foyer, waving Uncle Vincent’s report. “I’ve got the report, darling. Please don’t leave until you read it.”

“I’m sorry, Mother, but I’ve got to go,” Peyton answered before she opened the heavy oak door and slipped into the night. Before she closed the door, she heard her mother’s parting question.

“What could possibly be more important than reading the report?”

“Finding out what’s fact and what’s fiction,” Peyton answered aloud before she got into her car, called information on her cell phone and asked for the address of Epidermis.

Then she went off in search of the truth.

G. Gaston Gibbs III tapped the side of his nose as he regarded Mitch from his seat on the leather arm chair in the corner of his office. The room was so quiet it was difficult to believe that only a few feet away women were shedding clothes to clamorous music and loud whistles.

“You’re saying I was right? That Vincent Carmichael is investigating me?” Gibbs asked.

Mitch nodded once, feeling not the least bit guilty for lying. He could have confessed that he himself was the target of Carmichael’s investigation, but he wanted to shake things up. Who knew what might lead to the evidence he needed to go to the police about Gibbs?

“Where are the reports?” Gibbs asked.

“I already told you. I’d located the file when I heard someone coming. I had to get out of there fast or risk getting caught.”

Some more lies. Mitch had intended to fight his law-abiding nature and break into Carmichael’s office. That was the real reason he’d been west of the Ashley at midnight. After Carmichael admitted why he was following Mitch, breaking and entering hadn’t been necessary.

Flash let out a harsh, angry breath. “Why didn’t you take the file with you?”

“It was too risky. If I’d gotten caught, Carmichael would have known you sent me.”

“Did you see enough of the file to know who hired him?”

“I didn’t see much of anything.” Mitch watched Gibbs carefully. Why didn’t the man ever give anything away? “Just your name and some notations about money laundering and bookmaking.”