A Wicked Seduction (12 page)

His
wife?
Visiting
family
in San Francisco? Jo had to physically restrain herself from gaping at Dean for his blatant lie.

“Nope, there isn't much on this stretch of road,” Frank agreed, scratching his temple. “In fact, the nearest service station is in Medford, about fifteen miles ahead on the interstate.”

“Frank, mind your manners,” Iris scolded gently. “There's no sense in them standing out in this damp, muggy weather after everything they've been through.” She stepped in front of her husband and opened the screen door wide in a friendly small-town welcome. “Come on in, and we'll see what we can do to get you back on the road and safely to your family.”

Dean inclined his head gratefully. “Thank you, ma'am, we really do appreciate that.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jo said, and followed Dean inside the small but cozy house.

The rich, redolent scent of hearty meat and vegetables curled around them, along with something sweeter, like baked apples and cinnamon. Not surprisingly, Dean's stomach growled loudly, obnoxiously, making Jo bite back laughter and Dean extend an apology for his rumbling belly.

Iris's eyes widened at the ravenous sound, though she waved away Dean's embarrassment. “There's absolutely nothing to apologize for. You must be starved after waiting out the storm then walking to our place. Let's get the two of you fed.”

“Oh, no, really, that's not necessary,” Jo insisted, certain she felt the very hungry man standing beside her squeeze her hand in protest.

“There's plenty, and we insist, don't we Frank?” Iris didn't give the other man a chance to answer. “What with living out in the country and no neighbors nearby and my children scattered about the state with their own families, it's not very often that we
get company. And it would make me feel so much better knowing that you two left here with full stomachs.”

“Then we'd love to join you for supper,” Dean said eagerly before Jo could refuse again.

“Wonderful.” Iris beamed happily. “You two have a seat in the dining room right in there. Frank, you come help me put everything in serving dishes and bring it out to the table.”

The older couple disappeared into the kitchen and Dean led the way into an adjoining room where they sat next to each other at two of the six chairs at the oak table. Jo turned to Dean and took the opportunity alone to express her disbelief over his fabrication of their relationship.

“Your
wife?
” she whispered incredulously as they waited for their hosts to return. “What was
that
all about?”

He blinked guilelessly. “Would you rather I told our only source of help that you'd taken me into custody believing I was a felon waiting to stand trial for grand theft auto and that you're taking me back to San Francisco to clear my name?”

She swallowed laughter at his matter-of-fact tone and acceded to his point. “No, I guess not. But acting like a married couple is a bit extreme, don't you think?”

“What can it hurt?” He shrugged lazily and brought the back of her hand to his warm lips for a kiss—for show should their hosts be watching, or out of genuine affection, she wasn't sure. Either way it
felt good and she enjoyed the attention. “Frank was leery enough of us showing up on his doorstep, and it probably put them at ease and gained their sympathy for our situation, so why not?”

She sighed as he let go of her hand, unable to argue with his logic. “And you get a free meal out of the deal.”

“Which you nearly sabotaged,” he said, sending her a mock disgruntled glance. “After the physical exertion you put me through this afternoon, I need sustenance. And whatever Iris is cooking smells so much better than the fast food you've been feeding me.”

She wrinkled her nose at him, not the least bit insulted by his complaint. “Poor baby. Enjoy supper, and don't expect any gourmet meals when we get to Oakland, either, because it won't happen.”

He looked disappointed. “You don't cook?”

“I can microwave a frozen meal really well.” Picking up the paper napkin at her place setting, she spread it on her lap. “I learned that particular talent from Cole and Noah when I was about ten.”

“That's certainly not a skill to be proud of,” he teased. “Even
I
can do better than frozen dinners.”

“Quick and easy is my motto. I don't have the time for anything more.”

He draped his arm along the back of her chair and leaned close so that it appeared they were having an intimate conversation. “I'm thinking you spend way too much time on the go chasing bad guys and not enough time giving slow and thorough a try.”

Were they talking about cooking, sex, or nurturing a relationship? She wasn't certain, but either way she bristled at the insinuation that her job and choice of lifestyle were affecting any of the three, no matter how much it might be true. “It's all by choice.
My
choice,” she clarified.

The defensive note in Jo's voice caught Dean off guard. He held her gaze, which glimmered with too much stubborn pride. The woman was way too sensitive about her occupation and the need to defend what she did for a living. He'd only meant that she might try and open herself to other possibilities, ones that might include more than their brief time together, but he lost the opportunity to explain when Frank and Iris entered the dining room carrying platters of fragrant food.

Minutes later, Dean was digging into a plate filled with tender pot roast, potatoes, buttered vegetables that no doubt had been homegrown, and fresh buttermilk biscuits. His moans of appreciation and verbal compliments made Iris blush, though it was obvious that she enjoyed his praise.

Iris poured more iced tea into her glass and refilled her husband's. “Be sure to save room for apple cobbler.”

“Not a problem there,” Jo said, casting Dean a sweet smile that contradicted the playful provocation he saw in the depths of her eyes. “My
husband
is like a bottomless pit when it comes to food.”

“There's nothing wrong with a man having a
healthy appetite,” Iris said, defending Dean's voracious hunger.

Dean bestowed one of his most charming smiles on his hostess. “I just don't get meals like this very often at home,” he said truthfully, though his statement also served to goad Jo, his
wife,
right back. “So it's a real treat for me when I do.”

“Consider this an open invitation to stop by anytime you're passing through to visit family.” Iris broke open a biscuit and slathered butter on one steaming half. “Now tell me, how long have the two of you been married?”

“Just a few months,” he replied, not missing a beat.

“I knew it!” Iris glanced excitedly at Frank, who was busy concentrating on his meal. “Didn't I tell you that these two still had that newlywed glow about them?”

A small smile quirked the older man's mouth, softening the harsher lines etching his features. “Yep, you certainly did.”

“Oh, to be young and in love and to experience the bliss of being newly married again.” Iris placed a hand over her heart and sighed dreamily, obviously remembering those early days with Frank. “Though our first year together was the best in so many ways, I do have to admit that it was also the toughest.”

“In what way?” Jo asked as she pushed her fork through her vegetables, her tone curious. “That is, if you don't mind me asking.”

“Not at all.” Iris dabbed her mouth with her nap
kin, warming to the subject. “My Frank has always been the strong, silent type and a man of few words. He prefers to think of it as being contemplative, but a good amount of it is due to sheer stubbornness, I've come to learn—and accept.”

Frank
hrmph'd
in response as he ate a bite of roast, but didn't deny her claim.

She placed a hand on her husband's arm in a loving, soothing gesture. “We didn't have much when we first married, and times were certainly very lean. Through the hardships we had many disagreements, and one of the most important lessons we learned was that in order for us to make our marriage last and be happy together we had to compromise on certain issues. Give and take equally, and find a common ground.”

Her words struck a chord in Dean, one that made him realize that compromise had been one of the essential ingredients missing from his own parents' marriage. “That's very sound advice.”

Iris smiled gently. “It's made a huge difference in our relationship, and has carried us through forty-three happy years of marriage.”

“Forty-three years,” Jo said, her tone soft and wistful. “That's wonderful.”

“We think so,” Iris said, speaking for both her and her husband. “And don't forget to make sure you both take time in your busy lives for each other, to keep the romance in your marriage fresh and exciting.”

Dean set his fork on his empty plate and pushed it
aside. “We'll be sure to do that,” he said, wishing his own parents had had someone like Iris to offer them that particular piece of advice somewhere along the way. Not that his father would have made the time easily, but possibly their marriage would have been much different if his mother had insisted on more attention, and his father had compromised even halfway.

Frank took a long drink of his iced tea, then swiped his napkin across his mouth, done with his supper. “I think the boy here is ready for some of your apple cobbler, Iris.”

Dean recognized a switch in topic when he heard one, and apparently so did Iris, who said no more on the subject of love and marriage. “I'd love some cobbler,” he replied, unable to pass up such a delicious treat.

“I'll clear the table while you serve up dessert,” Jo offered. Standing, she stacked their dirty dishes then followed Iris into an adjoining room.

While the two women were in the kitchen, Dean addressed the problem of Jo's Suburban being stranded. “Do you know of a local towing service I could call?”

“No need to call anyone,” Frank said, shaking his head. “I have a towing hitch on my truck and I'll take the two of you and your vehicle into Medford.”

“You really don't have to do that.”

Frank's brows rose comically. “After everything you just heard during supper, do you really think that
Iris would let me get any peace if I didn't see you two newlyweds safely into town myself?”

Dean laughed at the other man's dry sense of humor that held so much truth. “No, I suppose not. Thank you. You both have been very kind and hospitable considering you weren't exactly expecting company.”

“I should be thanking you.” Frank leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile making an appearance. “I think you made Iris's evening, and I'll reap the benefits.” He followed that up with a sly wink.

The four of them spent the next half hour enjoying warmed apple cobbler with French vanilla ice cream and light, friendly conversation. Too soon it was time to leave, and Iris insisted on sending them off with a care package of leftovers should Dean get hungry later that night, which Jo assured the other woman was a definite possibility. After a round of warm hugs from Iris, she pressed a piece of paper into Dean's hand with their phone number and extended an invitation to stop by anytime.

With one last wave, Dean climbed into Frank's truck next to Jo, his
wife,
and wondered if he was the only one feeling an indescribable tug of longing after their visit with Iris and Frank, the only one coveting the special relationship the older couple shared.

He sighed. Considering Jo's practical, independent views when it came to men and relationships, probably so.

T
HEY DROPPED THE
S
UBURBAN OFF
at a service station in Medford to be repaired first thing the following morning. By the time they'd checked into a motel one block over, another thunderstorm had moved in. Leaving the registration office, Jo and Dean hightailed it to their assigned room just as another downpour hit, dampening their hair and clothes all over again.

Laughing at their bad luck, Jo closed the heavy metal door, locked the bolt, and put Dean's wrapped package of food on the small table in the corner for him to feast on later. He dropped their bags at the far end of the king-sized bed and turned to her with the same private grin he'd been wearing since leaving Iris and Frank's place.

They were alone, spending yet another night together, and her belly fluttered with renewed awareness. “What are you smiling at,
husband?
” she teased as she unclipped her cell phone from the waistband of her jeans. Finally, a signal, and three voice mail messages waiting for her, she noticed. No doubt Cole had tried to contact her. She needed to call her brother to give him an update on her whereabouts and
Dean's innocence. She wasn't looking forward to their conversation.

Dean's shoulders rolled in a lazy shrug. “I just keep thinking about Iris and her matrimonial lecture.”

“Her advice seems to have worked well for her and Frank for the past forty-three years. You don't see relationships like theirs very often,” she said, remembering too well her own mother and father's inability to compromise and work through their problems. Setting her phone on the dresser until she had a few moments alone, she tipped her head curiously at Dean. “Were your parents like Frank and Iris before your dad died?”

He sat on the edge of the mattress, clearly hesitating before answering. “Unfortunately, no. My parents remained married up to the day my father died, but for as long as I can remember, their relationship was strained.”

Intrigued, she leaned her bottom against the dresser and propped her hands on either side of her hips. “Do you know why things were strained?”

He untied his shoelaces and tugged off a shoe, a damp sock, then worked on the other pair. “Mainly because Colter Traffic Control was my father's mistress. He spent just about every waking hour at the business, leaving me and my mother alone for the most part. In a lot of ways, he was like a stranger to us. Then again, I can't ever remember my mother insisting that my father spend more time with us. She just accepted things for what they were, though there was no doubt she resented how much time he devoted
to the business.” He combed his fingers through his thick, dark hair, dragging the unruly strands away from his face. “Hell, even as a kid
I
resented my father being a workaholic and not showing up at my softball games, or missing an important event or holiday, and not getting home until after midnight most weekdays.”

She listened to his story and applied it to her own parents' rocky marriage. Different circumstances, but the end result had been a couple who'd drifted far, far apart, just as Dean's parents had. “Don't you think your mother and father were equally at fault for their relationship deteriorating?”

“Oh, most definitely. My mother should have insisted on more quality time, and my father should have been more aware of his family's needs. But he was so caught up in the fear of being poor like his own father had left his family when he'd split on them that he couldn't see past the driving need to
work,
no matter the cost to me and my mother.” His gaze met hers, filled with emotions she couldn't fully decipher. “And would you believe that
my
biggest fear is that I'm going to end up just like my father. Sounds like a vicious cycle, doesn't it?”

From what she'd learned about his dad, and from what she'd seen firsthand with Dean, she couldn't envision this sensitive, ethical man in front of her forsaking a wife and family—for any reason. “I can't see that happening, not when you're taking steps to make sure your life ends up differently than your father's.”

“It
did
happen, Jo.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, which did nothing to wipe away the regret etching his features. “I led a relatively carefree life before taking over the company. I went out with friends, had a good time, and was even a bit of a rebel. I might have been sucked into the business out of pressure and guilt, but I lost a fiancée because I wasn't able to make room for a relationship along with the demands of the company.”

Her chest expanded with startled shock. He'd been engaged. Oh, wow. The news hit her in her midsection and made her experience a twisting bit of jealousy toward the woman who had once been this man's significant other. The sensation threw her off-kilter because it was such an unfamiliar emotion when it came to men. And she had no business experiencing it with Dean, who was only in her life temporarily.

“Maybe it just wasn't the right time for you to settle down and get married,” she said, more reasonably than she felt.

“Maybe not, but looking back, no matter how I sum things up, I was more like my father than I cared to admit.” He exhaled hard, as if trying to release some of the self-condemnation bogging him down. “I sacrificed a woman I cared a great deal about for a business that consumed me as much as it had my father. I've spent the past three years solely focused on work, to the exclusion of all else. I want part of my old life back, and now I'm determined to make changes that suit
me.
”

Her fingers curled tight over the edge of the dresser. “You deserve that.”

“We all deserve to be true to ourselves.” He stared her straight in the eyes, connecting with her in a way that pulled at deeply buried emotions. “Don't you think so, Jo?”

She swallowed the tight knot that suddenly formed in her throat, feeling as though his question was dealing with the two of them directly. “Yes, I believe everyone deserves that chance.”

But other than working on her abduction cases, she didn't know what she wanted out of life, was ultimately afraid of taking risks that meant openly putting her emotions on the line and possibly losing an integral part of her soul in the process, as she had with her partner, Brian. He'd been the only man who'd believed in equality amongst colleagues, and never once coddled her out in the field. He'd had faith in her abilities as a female cop, had become one of her most trusted friends, and had given Jo the confidence to believe in herself…until the night her courage had been put to the test and Brian had paid with his life.

Her chest expanded with the dull, familiar ache of pain and loss. That kind of emotional sacrifice she never wanted to experience again. And knowing that, could she ever be true to herself as Dean was asking? It was a tough question considering she no longer trusted her feelings on an intimate or personal level. She found it easier, safer, to maintain her carefully controlled existence and not let anyone close enough to see her own doubts, the guilt she carried, and the
vulnerability she hid behind a durable and resistant facade.

A clap of thunder rumbled in the distance as a long silence descended between them. Finally, when it was obvious that there was nothing left to say, Dean stood and peeled off his wet T-shirt, then went to work on the button and zipper of his jeans.

“I'm going to go take a long, hot shower,” he said, pushing the denim down his muscular legs and stepping out of them.

Jo's mind went on sensory overload, and her breath whooshed out of her lungs. After their tryst in the truck he hadn't put on any briefs beneath his pants. Now he stood before her, magnificently naked except for a lazy, all-male smile gracing his lips. He was completely at ease with his nudity, as well he should be, considering what a gorgeous, made-for-sex-and-sin body he possessed.

She lifted her gaze back to safer territory—his face. Though he hadn't outright asked her to join him in the shower, the invitation in his bright green eyes was unmistakable. He wanted her to come with him, but he was leaving the final decision up to her, seemingly not wanting to push for more than she was willing or ready to give.

She appreciated his insight, his sensitivity, because she had no idea where her boundaries with this man lay anymore. And that realization frightened her. Her mind was filled with confusion, her heart playing tug-of-war with emotions she'd never intended to allow into her affair with Dean. What had begun as satiating
mutual desires had somehow, some way grown into a bittersweet longing that threatened all those barriers she'd erected after Brian's death.

Knowing just how close she was to ditching the business call to her brother in lieu of pleasure with Dean, she picked up her cell phone and held the unit in her palm like a lifeline. “I, um, need to call Cole and let him know what's going on.”

He nodded, accepting her excuse gracefully and seemingly sensing her need for privacy during her conversation with her brother. “If you need me for anything, you know where to find me.” He winked at her.

She bit her bottom lip as she watched him walk to the bathroom with his shaving bag in hand. She admired his backside, from his wide shoulders and smooth back, all the way down to a world-class butt that was toned and defined and breathtakingly sexy. He disappeared into the adjoining room, and seconds later the shower turned on.

Banishing the provocative images forming in her mind and knowing where they could lead if she allowed her fantasies to take flight, she checked her voice-mail messages. All three were, indeed, from Cole, and she winced at his brusque tone. He sounded none too pleased that he wasn't able to contact her, and told her to get in touch with him on his cell phone as soon as she retrieved his call. Using her speed dial, she punched in Cole's number, and he picked up on the first ring.

“Sommers here,” he said, his voice deep and gruff and highly irritable.

Here we go,
she thought. “Cole, it's Jo.”

“It's about goddamn time!” he bellowed, loud enough that she had to hold the unit away from her ear. “Do you realize that you should have been home by now, and that I've been worried thinking the worst—”

“The Suburban broke down outside of Medford and I've been without a cell phone connection,” she interrupted his tirade, knowing from experience just how long-winded her brother could be with his lectures if she let him. “I finally got the truck towed to a service station, but the blown radiator hose can't be fixed until the morning.”

He grew quiet as he digested what she told him, which only heightened Jo's anxiety of what was to come. “Do you have Dean Colter with you?”

“Yeah, I've got him.” She tugged the elastic band from her hair and massaged her fingers along her tight scalp. “I picked him up at his residence in Seattle, exactly where you traced him to.”

“Is he giving you a hard time?”

Well, now, that all depended on how she interpreted the word “hard,” she thought with a bit of private humor she knew her brother wouldn't appreciate. “No, he's fine, Cole, and not any trouble at all. And I'm fine, too.”

“I'll head out to Medford,” he said, obviously choosing not to believe her and exerting too much of
that overprotectiveness she resented when it came to her doing a job. “I can be there in a few hours—”

“Cole, I can handle it. This isn't my first recovery case, so stop treating me like a novice.” Annoyance vibrated through her and spilled into her voice. Knowing she had to tell him the truth about Dean sooner or later, she opted to get the discussion over with now. “Besides, Dean Colter is an innocent man.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he barked into the phone.

Cringing, she sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed the sharp ache starting to throb in her temples. “You need to call Vince and tell him that he's after the wrong guy. The felon he's looking for isn't Dean Colter, and the real culprit is out running free.”

“Goddamn it, Jo, are you nuts?” His clipped tone clearly implied that she was off her rocker. “Do you or do you not have Dean Colter in custody?” he asked succinctly.

“Yes, I do,” she replied calmly. “But this is a case of mistaken identity.”

“Is that what he's convinced you to believe?” Cole snorted derisively. “That's the oldest trick in the book, and if you so much as fall for that line this will be the last recovery case I ever send you on.”

She bristled defensively, hating her brother's inability to trust in her. “I believe him, Cole,” she said, willing to put her own reputation and sanity on the line for a man who should have been long gone after cuffing her to his bed last night, but had remained
behind to convince her of his innocence. “And before you blow a gasket, at least listen to me. Dean Colter, the
real
Dean Colter, had his briefcase and wallet stolen on a recent trip to San Francisco. His social security card, credit cards, his driver's license—the same driver's license Vince has on file for him—all of them were taken. The guy that was arrested might look like Dean Colter with dark hair and green eyes and similar features, but he assumed his identity.”

“You don't know that for certain,” he shot back. “And it's not up to you to determine his innocence. Get his ass back here ASAP so we can get him fingerprinted and verified.”

“I intend to do just that.”

“Good. Keep him cuffed at all times…” Cole's voice trailed off as a sudden realization struck. “Jesus, you do have him restrained, don't you?”

Her pause in answering was enough for Cole to come to his own conclusions. She couldn't and wouldn't lie to her brother, but neither was she about to explain how Dean had managed to get his handcuffs off…how he had transferred them to her wrists and secured her to his bed…how her dreamlike state would have made her vulnerable to a man less honorable than Dean had been. But that incident had ultimately led to proof of his innocence, not that she'd ever expect Cole to understand her reasons for believing and trusting in Dean. And her brother certainly wouldn't condone just how far she'd allowed things to go with a man whose name was linked with grand theft auto.