Lies Lovers Tell (2 page)

Sean Wynn sat back in a plush leather chair and pondered his new identity as Samuel K. Walters. As one of the most sought-after private investigators in the world, he was used to assuming identities. Few, however, had been trickier than this one.

He’d had to study for two straight months just to get up to speed on all the real estate and investment lingo that would have to roll off his tongue naturally in the myriad of meetings he had scheduled for the upcoming week. Even though he’d invested heavily in real estate, and was a silent partner in a company that acquired premium properties, he hadn’t become well-versed in the market’s lingo until now. He’d had to research Canaccord Adams, the financial services company under which he’d assumed identity, and memorize their many global investment opportunities, which thankfully included real estate. His clients had set this cover up for him, obviously having some pretty extensive connections with them to be able to do so. They’d done an excellent job; he’d been given the name of one of the partner’s uncles, and all subsequent information, with the exception of birth date photos, which obviously had to be of him, had been transferred from a white, obscure, and anonymous South African businessman. That their initials were the same was a lucky coincidence.

For the physical transformation from Sean Wynn to Sam Walters, Sean had chosen a conservative, human hair, black Afro wig lightly sprinkled with gray. He’d also purchased a mustache and beard, having learned from a top makeup artist years before how to apply such disguises professionally. He’d gotten so good at using the faux fuzz that his own mother had once mistaken it as real. Finally, Sam had adopted a spot-on perfect British accent.

Looking over at the couch, he frowned slightly at the midsection paunch he’d purchased from a Hollywood costume shop. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing to wear, but it did give him a convincingly sloppy-looking midsection, one he’d cover at all times with an ill-fitting designer suit coat. His plan was to give the appearance of a rich, yet bumbling businessman, ripe for the pickings of his smooth-talking, more debonair American counterparts.

Sean rose from the chair, stretched his lithe frame, and walked into his large, stainless steel kitchen. Upon hearing his assignment was in California, he’d informed his assistant to immediately begin looking at beachfront properties. After living in London the past two years, he knew he wanted to be near the ocean. His assistant had done a fine job of obtaining just what he’d requested: an impressive yet unobtrusive ocean-front property with a stretch of private beach, pool, Jacuzzi, and space between the houses. His was a corner property, with only one close neighbor on the east side. The west side and back of his home was surrounded by ocean—the front, a gated, private drive. The furnishings were simple, yet elegant, perfect for the bachelor status Mr. Walters claimed. Sean claimed that status as well, but here, for all intents and purposes, he was strictly Sam Walters. All matters that didn’t have to do with the task at hand, especially matters of the personal kind, like thinking of his bachelor state, would have to wait.

Sean walked into the kitchen, poured himself a large orange juice, and returned to the living room. He reached for a folder lying on the table next to the leather chair and took it and the juice outside to the patio. It was a beautiful summer California evening, with a cool breeze coming in off the ocean. A few sailboats drifted lazily on the water, children splashed in the waves closer to shore, and a couple of fishermen sat perched on a rock at the end of the marina. Sean stared out at the picturesque scenes for a moment before reclining on a chaise lounge. He thought of the irony in the contrast: how to those on the outside, his appeared to be a serene, lazy life of leisure while in reality, it was a life filled with suspense, mystery, intrigue, and, occasionally, danger. The mystery and intrigue thrilled Sean; the danger, he could do without.

Finishing the orange juice, he set the glass down and opened the folder. An eight-by-ten photo of a distinguished-looking gentleman was taped to the left side. He wasn’t attractive as much as he was commanding: angular facial features, a thick head of wavy salt-and-pepper hair worn combed back from his face, clean shaven, piercing green eyes. His suit was immaculate, with smart matching shirt and tie. A large gem sat in the signet ring worn on his left pinky, displayed prominently as his chin rested between the forefinger and thumb. Beneath the photo, a name: Zeke Brennan.

Sean rubbed his chin as he reread the report he’d studied for weeks now. He’d basically memorized everything there was to be found on Brennan & Associates, or B&A as it was known in like circles, their projects and acquisitions of the past several years, primary competitors, and key personnel. Flipping through the pages, he pulled out another one with several photographs lined up on the left, descriptions on the right. His eyes rested on the information regarding Zeke’s executive assistant, Maya Jamison. Sean studied the attractive yet serious face, brown eyes partially covered by blunt-cut bangs, high cheekbones, medium-sized lips, and smooth mocha skin. Her hair was pulled back in a conservative ponytail, her suit an equally subdued navy blue with high neckline. She wore little if any makeup. He shook his head.
Definitely not my type.
He had started to go to the next page of key staff descriptions when a thought came to him and he looked at the picture of Maya again. Was this the rude woman who’d snapped at him earlier today? He tried to remember the woman who had demanded he finish his transaction and move out of her way. He had purposely gone to the Brennan Building to scope out the place before his meeting with Zeke Brennan two days from now. But where there was fire emitting from the woman he’d encountered earlier, the woman in the picture looked as cold as ice.
She’s probably a bitter workaholic with a cat for company,
Sean thought, before tossing the paper aside and finishing his study of the company, and more specifically the man he’d been hired to bring down.

“Can you believe it? Can you believe he actually formed his mouth to suggest I be a flipping housekeeper?” Maya, who’d maintained a calm demeanor in Zeke’s presence, was now releasing her anger. Her black Persian cat, Lucky, might have been sympathetic but as is often the case with cats, one never knew. He raised a paw, licked it, stared at Maya for a moment, and then pranced out of the room with his tail high in the air.

“Great, just great,” Maya said to the now empty room. “The one person I can talk to, which is actually a cat, just walked out on me. Lucky, I was talking to you!” Maya pulled back her comforter cover and plopped down on the bed. Her head was reeling from the early morning meeting with Zeke. The rest of the day had passed in a fog as she quickly brought Jade, the first assistant under Maya, up to speed on various projects and details she was handling for him. There had been another quick meeting in which Zeke had informed key staff members that Maya would be mostly working out of the office for the next several weeks, and that Jade would be the one to report to on all matters for Mr. Brennan. There were a few questioning glances sent Maya’s way, but everyone knew better than to question Mr. Brennan about anything. Maya was definitely not offering any information. Her coworkers would just have to wonder.

The worst part about the whole clandestine affair was that Maya had been sworn to secrecy, prevented from discussing what she was doing with anyone except Zeke. Maya desperately wanted to talk to her best friend about it; she and Trish usually shared everything. As if summoned, her phone rang. Trish.

“Hey, girl.”

“Ooh, what’s wrong with you? Was it a stormy Monday?”

“Yes, and Tuesday will be just as bad,” Maya responded, quoting the popular blues tune.

“What happened? Zeke lose his mind with the workload?”

“Something like that.”

Trish waited for the details she knew would follow; except they didn’t. “So…what’s he got you doing now?” Trish almost felt she worked for Brennan sometimes; that’s how much she’d discussed the company goings-on with Maya. Trish had even dabbled with the thought of going into real estate. “Maya, you there?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, guess I’m preoccupied.”

“Obviously,” Trish said, a smile in her voice. And then, “Ooh, girl, I met a fine honey today, name’s Tony.”

“Really?” Maya wasn’t in the mood to talk but hoped Trish’s chattering about her love life would take Maya’s mind off her own.

“Yes, and I think this one could be a keeper.” Trish went into detail about how Tony looked, what they’d talked about, and the fact that they were going out Saturday night.

“That’s great,” was all Maya said in response to Trish’s long rambling.

“Girl, you are not paying me any attention. Why don’t we hook up tomorrow? I just got an assignment that will have me downtown for the next two weeks. Let’s do lunch.” In between Trish’s quest to become the next Angela Bassett, she supplemented her income with temp jobs.

“Uh, no, I won’t be in tomorrow. I’m, uh, working from home.”

“What?” Trish asked with a hint of incredulity. Maya hadn’t missed a day of work in three years, except for the day when her brother, Stretch, was sentenced to prison. “Maya, what is going on?”

“It’s no big deal, really. I’m just working on a personal project for Zeke, and I have to do a lot of research on the Internet. He thought I would have fewer interruptions at home.”

“Oh, okay. What about Wednesday?”

Maya took a deep breath. Keeping this maid mess away from Trish was going to be harder than actually being a maid! “This is a pretty big project. I might be working from home all week.”

Trish tried to read through what Maya said and find what she meant. But she knew Maya could shut up tighter than a paint-closed window. She decided to drop it, for now.

“All right, then, girl, let me know when you want to hook up.”

“Okay, I’ll call you.”

Maya hung up, glad to be off the phone. She and Trish could talk for hours and often did; this was definitely a change of events. Maya rubbed her shoulders, tense from the pressure of dealing with a situation that was only hours old. How would she hold up acting like somebody else? And just how long was she expected to? Maya got up from the bed and began pacing. She’d never even thought to ask Zeke about that. How long was this charade supposed to go on?

That thought made Maya revisit just what this charade entailed. She was to act as one of Sam Walters’s housekeepers. Just what that meant, she’d find out tomorrow, when she met with the woman who until now had been cleaning the home. Maya could only guess what kind of favors Zeke had called in to get this whole thing to work. She knew that because of his many real estate holdings, Zeke had access to most of the major cleaning companies in the city. But how he worked it out to find which one cleaned the house that Sam Walters was renting was anyone’s guess. Zeke seemed to know everything. It was one of the reasons he was where he was…on top. But where would this “assignment” put Maya? She’d get that answer soon enough, but tonight it put her in a frenzy, tossing and turning, alternately dreaming about a man with a bushy beard and mustache, and another one with lick-able lips, a cleft chin, and dark glasses.

The next day, following Zeke’s instructions, Maya telephoned the cleaning company and introduced herself as the Martha Jones who’d been referred to them for the Walters home. She spoke with Maria Hernandez, the friendly and efficient office manager. Maria went over the basic assignment, and included a list of Maya’s duties: dusting, mopping, washing, changing bed linens, and washing any dishes left by the client, Mr. Walters. Maria informed her that she could fill out the required paperwork when she arrived at the house the next morning, and told her a woman named Cecilia would be there to help her get started. Maya, who was practically stunned into silence, said little.

“Any questions, senorita?” Maria asked. “You seem worried. Well…don’t be, I think you’ll do very well.”

Maya managed to find her voice, and a little friendliness. After all, Maria was simply doing her job. It wasn’t Maria’s fault that a corporate executive was trading her designer duds for dishwashing gloves. Inside, Maya cringed.
This is not what I signed up for when I joined Brennan & Associates’ elite staff. What in the world am I doing?

She was still asking that question when a half hour later she found herself in the aisle of a Goodwill thrift shop. Maria had suggested she wear sturdy, comfortable clothes and tennis shoes. Maya couldn’t think of anything in her closet that would suffice for cleaning. She usually wore cutoffs and an old T-shirt when tackling her abode. But since she thought it best to somewhat hide what she really looked like, she needed something frumpy, plain and big. The less attention she drew to herself, the better. Remembering the plot of an old movie, she also decided to buy a wig and scooped up a pair of old, thick prescription glasses. How she wished she could discuss this with Trish. Her friend was the actress, after all.

Several hours later, Maya was back home, her purchases spread across the bed. Looking at the motley ensemble stirred her anger again. Here she was, an honors graduate from the University of Southern California with a bachelor’s in business administration, getting ready to mop a floor for money? It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
Just do your job Maya
, she reasoned, while holding a large, wrinkled dress up to her fit, curvy frame.
You’ll get your payday sooner or later. I owe Zeke now. Maybe after this, he’ll owe me
.

Maya owed Zeke, literally. He’d loaned her over a hundred thousand dollars, money that had paid for the high-powered defense attorneys who’d kept her brother out of federal prison and a twenty-five year sentence. Zeke had alluded to ways she could work off the loan, one being of the horizontal nature. Maya wasn’t trying to be anybody’s mistress. She’d opted to pay back cash with cash, and through bonuses had already lowered the bill to just over seventy-five thousand. When she left B&A and formed her own company, she wanted to leave with her self-respect. She wanted to stand on her own two feet, not spread them for Zeke Brennan.

With renewed resolve, Maya reached for another outfit, this one a big pair of sweat bottoms and a large T-shirt. She picked up the wig and glasses and headed to the bathroom to do a dress rehearsal. In just a few hours, it would be showtime.