A Just Deception (12 page)

In Peter’s opinion, her deep belly laugh could have been the sun peeking out on a gloomy winter day. Heaven. And he hadn’t experienced much heaven lately.

She straddled him and dragged her thumb over the scar near his mouth. “You’re the one who’s insisting on waiting for Fun Izzy.”

“I had her for a while.” These small hills of emotional and physical progress kept him from going insane.

“Yes, you did. It’s getting better, don’t you think?”

She continued to rub her thumb over his cheek and Monk Junior came awake.
Jeez.
This woman would kill him yet. And, unless she’d lost all feeling in her lower body, she couldn’t miss the hard-on.

“Oh, my,” she said.

Nope. Her lower body was just fine. In all aspects.

“Uh, better how?” Peter asked, trying to get back to her question.

Or, they could do it her way and she could nibble at his neck.
Oh, man.
Totally frickin’ haywire.

“It took Creepy Izzy a while to catch up,” she said, while his thoughts played demolition derby in his head. “Usually it happens right away.”

Her gaze settled on the scar. He should tell her and dissolve her curiosity. Everyone imagined he’d gotten the scar in some war-torn country.
Sorry to disappoint, folks.
“The coffee table.”

She bolted to spine-stiffening attention, the pressure causing a riot with Monk Junior who wanted to be released for pillaging.

“Excuse me?”

“The scar on my cheek. I was ten. Stephen and I were fighting and I crashed into the edge of a marble coffee table. That’s why it’s L shaped. Needed ten stitches.”

Leaning forward, she grazed her lips across the scar and his body hit overdrive again. Searing heat scalded him, but something else, maybe the quiet tenderness in her kiss left him wanting this every night. With her.

“I’ve been wondering,” she said, rolling her hips into him.

Unfortunately for him, Fun Izzy had already left the building. The inflection in her voice clued him in. Fun Izzy had a silly way of being sexy where Creepy Izzy turned into a purring seductress.

But, what the hell, he kissed her. Even held her head in place while his tongue explored her mouth. She didn’t seem to mind so much.

If he had to endure the torture of not being able to ram his aching body into her, he might as well get some enjoyment, and kissing Izzy would never be a bad thing.

He backed away, stared into those sparking green eyes and the internal battle began.

Creepy Izzy wanted him.

His
body
wanted her, but the rational part of him, the part that knew she didn’t trust men to be anything more than sex-seeking pigs, told him to back the fuck off.

Any sane man would give in to the obvious talents of Creepy Izzy. Not that Peter was sane right now, but he knew enough that he couldn’t settle for less than all of her. He wanted her body, mind and heart. Every inch.

“What’s the problem?” she asked, sliding her hand under his shirt.

She knew the damn problem. “I want the entire Creepy Izzy-Fun Izzy package. The whole you, rather than this compartmentalized version, would be worth the wait for both of us. You’re not there yet.”

Her shoulders didn’t sag, they plummeted. Too bad Monk Junior didn’t go with them. Nope. That bad boy was still on the prowl.

“I’m sorry.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Yeah, me too. We’ll get there. Just not tonight.”

“I’m afraid you’ll run out of patience.”

Oh, hell, he’d gone way beyond being out of patience.

At six-thirty Thursday morning, Peter pulled into Izzy’s driveway, parked and retrieved his board from the cargo area of the Explorer. According to the charts, high tide would be in soon.

He hefted the board and hauled ass to the back of the house. Izzy was probably awake by now—she liked to get up early and work out—but he needed the water and would catch her before she left for work.

To his surprise, he found her sitting on the deck wrapped in a blanket, fighting the morning chill while the ocean breeze smacked against her sleep-rumpled hair. Damn, she looked cute curled up in that lounge chair. His body’s radar went
beepbeepbeepbeepbeep.

Yeah, I hear you, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, still holding his surfboard. “I’m gonna catch a few.”

She jerked her head. “Tide chart says six forty-five. I checked it last night.”

Something about her checking the tide charts for him forced him to grin. “You okay?”

“I’m going to do it,” she said. “The FBI thing.”

No
.

Peter dropped his board in the sand, stepped onto the deck and sat on the edge of her chair. “You sure?”

“I was up half the night. I can’t get the kids out of my head. I keep thinking about Creepy Izzy and the havoc she’s causing between us. I might be able to save one of those girls.” She brought her gaze back to him, misery mapping her face. “Don’t I owe them that? A chance for them to be—as you said last night—whole?”

“I was talking about you. You and me. Don’t let that influence this decision. Two totally different things.”

She drew in a breath. “Maybe so, but those children could become adults and turn into me. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Peter scrubbed his hands over his face wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut. He couldn’t help admire her willingness to jump in, but she could get hurt. Or worse. And then what? “It’s not your responsibility.”

“Says the man who has taken on my problems.”

“That’s different.”

“Actually, it’s not.”

“The FBI can find someone else,” he said.

“But I have a chance to get in there faster.” She sat up, grabbed his hand and the blanket slid off her shoulder, revealing a white tank top adorned with pink flip-flops. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to call Sampson and tell him I’ll do it.”

A nagging itch trailed the back of Peter’s neck and he tugged on his wet suit’s zipper leash.
Yeah, that’s the problem
. The
zipper
was causing the itch. “You realize you’ll have to take time off of work, right?”

Yes, he wanted to talk her out of it. He wanted her safe, and sending her into that compound where all kinds of depravity could exist jeopardized that.

“You don’t want me to do this.”

He jerked a shoulder and searched her eyes for self-doubt, but he didn’t see much of it. No, he saw determination. “I understand why you want to, but for selfish reasons, I’d rather you not.”

She brushed her hand down his arm. “It’ll be fine, Peter. I’ll tell my uncle I’m taking a leave of absence. The Parker trial will start soon, but someone will to take my spot.”

A seagull landed on the sand at the foot of the deck in search of food, but Peter’s gaze went to the shoreline where high tide rolled in. The pounding waves offered an invitation to lament this on his board. Probably a good move before he said something stupid. He turned back to Izzy. “Sounds like you thought it out last night.”

“I did. It’s the children. I can’t get past that.”

He stood. “Okay then. I’m going to catch some waves and think about how I can help you.”

“Peter—”

He held up a hand. “I’m done talking about this right now.”

He scooped up his board while fast moving thoughts nearly fried his mind. How the hell was he going to avoid her entering that compound alone? On top of that, in his fucked-up mind-set, could he keep her from getting hurt?

The way his luck was running he’d create more problems for her.

His involvement would also send Vic into freakville, which wouldn’t get him back to work any time soon. Another happy day in paradise.

The bigger issue would be Izzy staying in one piece, and if she didn’t, Peter would have to live with it.

At quarter after twelve Isabelle saw Agent Sampson stroll around the path in Fireside Park, a quiet, heavily wooded area a few miles off Route 35 in Woodbridge. He had chosen the place and given her directions when she’d called him that morning. Of course, a woman alone shouldn’t walk in this park. Too many places for bad guys to hide. Maybe that was just her own paranoia, but she couldn’t deny her relief when Sampson came into view.

He spotted her and smiled just enough that the dimple in his cheek winked at her. His suit, a gray one this time, fit in all the right places and his hair was combed back with perfect precision. One handsome man.

And he knew it.

“Ms. DeRosa,” he said, giving her a little bow before he sat next to her on the bench.

She snorted at the gesture.
Yep. He’s a slick one.
“Agent Sampson.”

Their eyes connected for a few seconds. Weren’t they a pair? Two people unashamed to barter their looks for what they wanted. She liked this guy. Even if he was about to throw her life into a pit of anthrax.

Isabelle circled her sweaty hands over her black slacks, the sleepless night dragging on her like cement. “How can I help you?”

He pulled a photograph from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. Isabelle took the photo, analyzed it. A young woman with silky auburn hair smiling into the camera.

“Nicole Pratt,” Sampson said. “An Xavier University student and the daughter of Congresswoman Monica Hollis.”

Yes. The daughter had disappeared a few weeks back. “She’s missing, right? Something happened to her while she was traveling?”

“That’s the story the press has. We believe Nicole went into Kendrick Edmonds’s compound and something happened to her there. She told her mother she’d be traveling all summer with her friend Kaitlin. When her mother couldn’t reach her by cell phone, she tracked down Kaitlin’s parents and found Kaitlin at home in Ohio. Nicole wasn’t with her. Nicole told Kaitlin she was staying in Cincinnati for the summer to take classes.”

Isabelle handed the photo back. “She lied?”

“Yes. We don’t know why. Kaitlin said Nicole had been volunteering for a group called The Organization for the Underprivileged. Kendrick was the founding member. The compound is outside of Cincinnati.”

“I’m assuming you questioned Kendrick.”

Sampson nodded. “Yes. We questioned anyone who had contact with her. Kendrick said Nicole had helped with some fundraising, but they hadn’t seen her since May.”

“And you think he lied.”

Sampson leaned back, just a regular Joe enjoying his lunch hour. “We
know
he lied. Her phone is GPS enabled. I checked her records and the GPS puts her on the compound three days before her mother reported her missing. That was the last time the phone was used. Kendrick didn’t think about the cell phone giving us her location.”

A flickering snapped at Isabelle’s skin. “Kendrick was a pervert for sure, but murder? What could they be up to that he’d kill someone for it?”

“We know they lure people on welfare by telling them they can get off public aid. The residents go through an approval process before they are allowed to live on the property.”

“Does this organization really exist?”

“We think it’s a front,” Sampson said. “They recruit volunteers, let them do the bucket drives and the phoning. The residents are also required to do the fundraising.”

She held up her hands. “Hang on. I’m confused. What’s the point of this group if they aren’t helping the needy?”

“That’s what we need to know.”

Isabelle knew she was staring, but this was just too much. None of it made any sense. Or maybe she was naive, but
that
had never been an issue before. “I find it hard to believe bucket drives help them raise enough money to support this compound.”

Sampson touched his nose with his index finger. Score. “Seth Donner—the number two guy—has money of his own. He’s in his forties and has been steadily working as a software engineer. Plus, he inherited some money from his deceased parents. The other fundraising seems to be a bonus. Still though, why would this guy be the sole supporter of this group if there wasn’t something in it for him?”

“Right,” she agreed.

“We need to get an agent in there, but that will take time. You were invited to the compound and might be able to get in faster.”

Isabelle, still facing front, needed a second to absorb this.

He turned toward her, eyes sparkling, and she got a large dose of his dangerous charm. This guy was good. Anyone walking by would think they were an ordinary couple stealing a few minutes alone.

“Look,” he said, “we don’t know if it’s some sort of domestic terrorism or sex slavery, but something is going on in that compound.”

She breathed in and let the insanity work into her brain. “Bizarre.”

“Yes, it is.”

With Kendrick’s sexual history she could connect him to some sort of sex slavery ring. And the FBI wanted her, with her hang-ups, to get into the middle of it.

Heaven help her.

Risking the career she’d been building was one thing, but her emotional stability—or lack thereof—was something else. In the end, could she walk away from this a better person?

Or would she crumble from the pressure and forever turn into Creepy Izzy?

She just didn’t know.

Leaving her life in Jersey and temporarily relocating to Ohio wouldn’t be easy. Isabelle turned to Sampson and crossed one leg over the other, trying to appear casual to anyone who might be watching. “Xavier U is in Cincinnati. I thought you were based out of Newark. Why isn’t the Cincinnati field office handling this?”

He mirrored her position. “The congresswoman requested me.”

Ah-ha!
Sampson had a thing with the congresswoman. Isabelle clucked her tongue. “Friends in high places, Agent Sampson?”

It didn’t seem possible, but his eyes darkened. “Meaning, am I screwing the congresswoman?”

Isabelle held her palm up.

“No,” he said. “My brother is her senior aide. She trusts me to find her daughter.”

Shame rose inside Isabelle. Obviously, all men didn’t use sex as a tool. “Sorry, if I insulted you.”

“Under the circumstances, I suppose it’s a legitimate question. And for your information, I don’t mix business with pleasure. It gets too complicated in my line of work.”