Big Easy Temptation (26 page)

How had she ended up dating a man prettier than her? “It depends. Who do you think
he is?”

“Captain Daxton Spencer, one of the president’s closest friends, but more important,
the man who dumped you for your best friend.”

“I didn’t dump her. She dumped me and I ended up in a drunken marriage,” Dax yelled
from the bathroom, proving that while she couldn’t hear anything outside her apartment,
the walls were superthin inside. “So really when you think about it, it’s all Holland’s
fault. Did she send me a happy divorce present? Nope. Not even a card.”

She had something she could send him. Holland yanked a pillow off the sofa and threw
it at the door, wishing it had been Dax’s head. “You jerk.”

Chad ignored their byplay. He turned her around, hands tight on her shoulders. “That
man used you and made you look like a fool. Everyone knows it.”

“Really?” She wasn’t able to keep the bitterness from her tone. “Everyone? I think
there are some people who don’t know. Maybe in Antarctica. And it’s none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business. I love you, Holland. I’m the man who stayed with you,
the one who watched out for you. Not him.”

She let go of her anger. It was misplaced. “You’ve misunderstood the situation, Chad.
Captain Spencer and I are working together on a project. That’s all. We worked late
and he ended up sleeping on the couch. But the truth of the matter is, my love life
is no longer your concern. I appreciate that you came here to check on me, but it’s
not necessary.”

He strode to her dining room, looking to the whiteboard she’d set up and the documents
they’d printed out and pinned there. Despite the fact that they each had a laptop,
it was simply easier for them to look at everything together on a whiteboard. She
preferred it because it often gave her an overview she didn’t have when she looked
at pieces of evidence separately.

His eyes flared as he turned to her. “Do you know what kind of trouble you could get
into for giving that man access to those documents? Did you even run it by your supervisor?
Some of these are NOLA PD documents. Did you get them transferred to you through proper
channels?”

Chad was big on proper channels. “My uncle gave them to me. You can ask him yourself.”

“If he did, it wasn’t so you could call up that manwhore and lure him back into your
life. This case is closed. It’s been closed for years. If Captain Spencer wants to
stir up trouble again, let him do it on his own time.”

“Would love to, but apparently I’m now on a presidential task force and Dax is my
boss.”

Chad stopped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means she can’t talk about it.” Dax strode back into the room. At least this time
he was wearing a pair of jeans. He seemed to have forgotten his shirt again. “This
case is classified. I’ll let you know if we need the help of the New Orleans PD.”
He turned her way. “Sweetheart, do you still like your eggs over medium?”

“I like my eggs alone. They’re so much happier that way.” When had she completely
lost control of the situation? This scene was like something out of a terrible comedy
of errors, especially when Dax walked into the kitchen and proceeded to prove he knew
exactly where she kept everything. How did he remember where she stored her skillet
after three years?

Chad frowned and took her by the elbow, hauling her back. “You need to explain to
me what’s going on right now. Why is that man here?”

“You need to get your hands off her,” Dax said, following them. He looked awfully
masculine for a man with a cast-iron skillet and spatula in his hands. Somehow he
made both ordinary kitchen tools look like the weapons of a predator.

“I can handle Chad, Captain Spencer.”

“Yes, Captain Spencer.” Chad curled one arm around her shoulders
in a possessive move. “This is between me and my fiancée. So back off. I’ll put my
hands on her whenever I like.”

Dax started to puff up in that caveman way that shouldn’t be so damn sexy. But it
was. Still, as interesting as it might be to see him take Chad down, she could do
it herself.

Holland grabbed Chad’s wrist to prod him to let her go. When he tightened his hold
instead, she flipped him neatly onto his back, his weight hitting her floor with a
loud bang that hopefully didn’t upset Madame Delphine in the unit beneath her.

Chad leapt to his feet faster than she would have liked, his face now a florid red.
“You’re going to regret this, Holland. When he fucks you over again, you’re going
to wish you had chosen differently. You’re going to look back and regret ever leaving
me.”

He stormed out of the apartment.

Dax grinned her way. “Or would you rather have an omelet?”

She barely managed not to
scream.

D
ax couldn’t help it. He knew a smug grin sat plastered on his face since he was still
standing inside Holland’s apartment and that dumbass was currently running away with
his overly stylized tail between his legs. “Is your uncle recruiting officers at Abercrombie
and Fitch these days?”

She locked the door and took a deep breath before she turned around, a warning glare
in her eyes. “Don’t even start. What the hell was all that preening peacock routine,
Spencer?”

Ah, they were back to Spencer. So she’d regrouped during the night. “I was just getting
clean, partner. I intend to be a very good coworker to you, and part of that is keeping
a good grooming ritual. And if you need any help at all with yours, I am here for
you. I seem to remember there’s a place right at the small of your back that you struggle
to reach. I can help.”

She flushed and he was almost certain that pink color wasn’t all about anger. “I can
handle it, Captain. After all, I’ve been handling it on my own for the last three
years. Did you help your wife bathe?”

She knew exactly where to stick the knife. “Do you want to talk about Courtney?”

“No. I told you. I don’t care about your marriage or your divorce. Or anything but
the case.” She huffed, a frustrated sound. “I’m going to get dressed and then we can
start working. The faster we solve this thing, the quicker you’ll be out of my life.”

She turned on her heel and stomped away.

For a woman who didn’t want to talk about his marriage, she brought it up an awful
lot. He sighed and went to her fridge to figure out what to make for breakfast. Maybe
she would be in a better mood if he fed her.

Dax really wished he’d punched that asshole. Carbs after noon? Was he fucking serious?
Had he made Holland feel bad about her curves? She was a gorgeous woman, and he adored
every inch of her. No one should ever make her feel like she wasn’t perfect.

Though he did intend to get her to eat more.

He opened the fridge and realized he would have to actually buy her some food to accomplish
that. There was nothing in the fridge except a bagged salad, some condiments, and
a small container of milk.

What the hell? He put the pan down. He wouldn’t be showing off his culinary skills
today. They were going to the damn grocery store, because he couldn’t survive on rabbit
food.

His cell phone rang. He’d already spoken with his mother, so it was likely either
one of his friends or . . . “Hello, Gus. Are you doing all right?”

“I’m great. I got to eat reporter for dinner last night. Dumbass kid thought he could
sneak into a press conference on his boss’s credentials. Have I ever properly explained
how much I enjoy ruining the lives of the completely stupid?”

His sister was a pistol. “I know it’s a hobby of yours. Now ask me what you know you
want to ask me.”

She let loose a long sigh. “Fine. How is she?”

Gus had missed Holland and had given him holy hell for their
breakup and his impulsive marriage. “She’s Holland. She’s strong, but I hurt her.”

“Asshole, you practically eviscerated her.”

“You know at the time I thought she’d betrayed me in the worst way possible.” They’d
been over this before, but he still felt the need to defend himself.

“At the time, I believe I told you there was something fishy going on, but does anyone
listen to me? You all think I’m just a gorgeous warrior woman, but I have deep feelings,
too. Well, not really, but I appreciate it when others have them. And I know when
someone is hiding something, which Holland definitely was. Women like Holland don’t
change, not for money or sex or fame. So you need to get on your knees and beg like
a good man should.”

“Do you think I wouldn’t try that? She won’t listen to a word I say whether I’m on
my knees or not.”

His sister scoffed and he could practically see her rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t talking
about words, silly. I was talking about oral sex. You need to get down there and not
let up until she’s had so many orgasms she’s too exhausted to fight you anymore. Trust
me. This is a tried-and-true technique. I had to deal with a very obnoxious foreign
ambassador last week. No one thought I could get him to move on trade concessions.
But three hours later and the U.S. of A. had the deal of a lifetime.”

Dax’s ears burned. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m a motherfucking patriot, brother. So I know of what I speak. Get on your knees
and beg properly or I’ll come down there and make the noogie incident of eighty-nine
look like a walk in the park. I want Holland as my sister-in-law.”

Damn, Gus really was mean. “And I want to give her to you, though for my own selfish
reasons. But I don’t think she’s going to give in so easily. I really hurt her.”

“And she hurt you.” His sister’s voice softened. “Don’t give up. She loved you enough
to let you go. You need to remind her that she loved
you. She turned down that super cheesy engagement for a reason. Most women wouldn’t.
That ring alone would have swayed the majority of women, but Holland didn’t even look
at it. She just shook her head the whole time. You still have a shot with her.”

Did he? He couldn’t stand the thought that he didn’t. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Do. You’re a damn Spencer, Dax. It’s time you started acting like one.
We don’t back away from the things we’ve done wrong. We fix them. You’ve spent the
last three years of your life hiding and let everything slip away. I want my brother
back.”

Damn, Gus was right. He had hidden away and licked his wounds and tried to forget.

He’d been an idiot. He should have stood strong, dug deeper, and figured the situation
out. He should have been right back on her doorstep. He loved her. He’d never stopped
loving her. If she’d kept up the ruse that she’d betrayed him, he should have made
it plain that was unacceptable behavior and dealt with it. He should never have run.

Dumbass
.

He’d left Holland all alone, abandoned. He’d left everyone who mattered to him when
he really thought about it. And he’d done his father a grave disservice. Gus was right.
Spencers didn’t shrink back when they’d done wrong. They faced it. Like his father
would have faced a trial and fought like hell to reclaim his name and reputation.
“Have you seen the pictures?”

He’d sent them to Connor and Roman the night before.

“Oh, yes. Roman tried to pretend they weren’t there. I guess he wanted to protect
my delicate disposition.” She laughed. “But I know his passwords.”

“Augustine!” a masculine voice shouted.

So she was hanging out with Roman. Her voice went low. “You know the man has a weird
Magnum P.I.
fixation. So yes, I’ve seen them and I don’t believe them. They’re doctored in some
way or he was drugged. Look at the sheets and the bedding. Do those look like they
belong at a cheap motel?”

He strode to the table and pulled out the file. In seconds, he located the printed
pictures, blown up to reveal the image’s finer details. He hadn’t paid any attention
to the actual furnishings or appointments, only the two people. “I don’t know a lot
about sheets, Gus.”

“Well, I do. Do you see how the sheet has a bit of a gloss to it?”

“Like it’s satin or something? You don’t think the motel had satin sheets?”

She made a gagging sound. “No one has satin sheets, brother. Seriously, leave the
seventies behind. I’m saying that the sheets have a nice thread count. Higher than
the crap they would have at a no-tell motel. Beyond that, I examined the corner of
the third photo.”

He flipped through until he found the image she referred to. It was a picture with
the sheets gathered around the couple on the bed. All of the photos had been taken
from a single location in the room and captured the same general view. In this one,
his father seemed to be on top of the young girl, his body pinning her to the bed.
There was no way to miss the scar on his back. He’d taken fire once and the shrapnel
left a silvery section of scars on his back, winding around to his chest. For a moment
that was all he could see—the seeming proof that his father had been unfaithful and
criminal. “I’m looking at it.”

“First off, this photo doesn’t look very active. Stop looking at it like a son and
put your thinking cap on. I’m putting you on speaker because Roman’s poking me.”

“Hey, first off, I did not put her up to that crap with the Brazilian ambassador.
I knew nothing,” Roman said quickly. “Secondly, I think she’s right about this picture.
If these two are engaged in sex, why are his muscles so slack? She’s the only one
who seems to have any motion in these photos. Hell, she’s the only one who looks coherent.”

Dax put his cell on speaker and laid out the photos. He’d spent so much time focused
on that scar that identified his father. He’d seen these pictures through the eyes
of a son betrayed and hadn’t truly studied them as an investigator. He forced himself
to pull back.

The muscles of his father’s back were completely at rest. In every
photo. The only movement he could discern was the girl’s. She pushed at him as though
trying to fight off an attack. But Dax wasn’t convinced that one had actually happened.

“He’s drugged,” Dax said.

“We can’t know that beyond all doubt, but the lax state of the musculature leads me
to believe that your father wasn’t as engaged physically as the people who sent these
photos want us to think,” Roman said.

“Let me translate the lawyer speak for you,” Gus offered. “These pictures are complete
bullshit.”

Roman sighed. “She’s probably right.”

“Of course I am. And I’m also right about the hotel,” Gus insisted.

“What about the motel?” Dax couldn’t think of what she was talking about.

“No. Not motel. That’s the whole point.” His sister was like a dog with a bone, but
she seemed to be thinking without all the anger and disillusionment he had been.

“You think these photos were taken somewhere else?”

Dax turned because the voice had come from behind him. Holland stepped in, looking
down at the photos.

“Holland? Hey, girl. You understand that you have to fucking answer my fucking calls
now or I swear to god I’ll send you a strip-o-gram an hour until you do,” Gus vowed.

Roman cleared his throat over the speaker. “She really will do that. I thought she
was kidding. Imagine having to explain to White House security why ten strippers were
requesting access to my office.”

Holland sniffled a little, and he could have sworn tears had welled in her eyes. “Hey,
Gus.” She turned her attention right back to the task at hand. “What were you saying
about the motel?” She touched one of the photos. “Oh, I see what you mean. Look at
the clock. That’s not a cheap piece of crap. That’s a docking station.”

“Yes, it is,” Gus replied.

“Hell, I missed that,” Roman said, disgust in his voice. “I had one of those a few
years back. They get outdated pretty quickly, but for the
time it wasn’t cheap. I think one of the big luxury chains used to have those in every
room.”

“The same one that uses Italian-made sheets.” Gus’s tone rang with triumph. “Look
at the corner of the photo. There’s a tag hanging off. It’s hard to see but if you
look through a magnifying glass that’s the logo of a very expensive Italian sheet
maker. The sheets themselves are made of expensive percale. Hence the pretty sheen.”

Holland whistled. “She’s right. I splurged on some myself. They’re pricey. A seedy
motel would never have the budget for these. The pictures must have been taken elsewhere.”

Dax thought back. He’d gone over his father’s every move a thousand times. “He’d been
in London the week before.”

“You’re right,” Gus agreed. “He told me he’d been feeling really run-down while he
was there, like he’d been on the verge of getting the flu or something. But what he’d
been was drugged, and that’s when all of this went down. He’d been at a conference.
Let’s check into that, see if we can find out anything.”

“No, Gus. There’s no point.” He hated to have to disillusion her. “I’ve already checked
into the timeline.”

“There was no conference,” Holland said.

Dax speared Holland with a surprised glance.

She shrugged. “I made a timeline, too. I have notes on everywhere your father went
for the six weeks preceding his death.”

“No conference?” Gus asked. “You think he was meeting one of his mistresses? If so,
I can try to find out. I don’t recall him having one in Europe, at least not one that
Mom knew about. But it’s possible.”

“Or he was there for another reason entirely and that’s what got him killed,” Dax
said with finality. The truth seemed right at his fingertips. That trip to England
must play into this.

Holland nodded his way, giving him support. “I know he stayed at a Gately Resort Hotel.
They use the same sheets and bedding worldwide. Only the colors change. Roman, I’m
going to bet you have some killer MI5 contacts.”