White Lies

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White Lies

OTHER TITLES BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ

All Night Long

Falling Awake

Truth or Dare

Light in Shadow

Summer in Eclipse Bay

Smoke in Mirrors

Dawn in Eclipse Bay

Lost & Found

Eclipse Bay

Soft Focus

Eye of the Beholder

Flash

Sharp Edges

Deep Waters

Absolutely, Positively

Trust Me

Grand Passion

Hidden Talents

Wildest Hearts

Family Man

Perfect Partners

Sweet Fortune

Silver Linings

The Golden Chance

BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ WRITING AS AMANDA QUICK

Lie by Moonlight

Wait Until Midnight

The Paid Companion

Late for the Wedding

Don’t Look Back

Slightly Shady

Wicked Widow

I Thee Wed

With This Ring

Affair

Mischief

Mystique

Mistress

Deception

Desire

Dangerous

Reckless

Ravished

Rendezvous

Scandal

Surrender

Seduction

BY JAYNE ANN KRENTZ WRITING AS JAYNE CASTLE

Ghost Hunter

After Glow

Harmony

After Dark

Amaryllis

Zinnia

Orchid

White Lies

JAYNEANNKRENTZ

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

NEW YORK

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

Publishers Since 1838

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA • Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) • Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi–110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), Cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:

80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Copyright Š 2007 by Jayne Ann Krentz

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. Published simultaneously in Canada

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Krentz, Jayne Ann.

White lies
Jayne Ann Krentz.<
p>

p. cm.

ISBN 1-4295-2599-1

1. Arizona—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3561.R44W52 2007 2006044829

813’.54—dc22

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

For Suzanne Simmons,

with thanks for an extraordinary

and enduring friendship.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,

you are not only a fantastic writer,

you are one of the sisters I never had.

CONTENTS

Clare Lancaster sat in the café of a large bookstore in Phoenix, Arizona, waiting for the half sister she had never met. A chaotic mix of anticipation, anxiety, longing and uncertainty churned her insides to such an extent that she could not drink the green tea she had ordered.

Even if she had not seen photographs and read articles about Elizabeth Glazebrook and her wealthy, influential family in the Arizona newspapers and house-and-garden magazines, she would have recognized her the moment she walked through the door.

It certainly wasn’t because there was much in the way of family resemblance, Clare thought. At five feet three and a half, she was accustomed to having to look up, not only to most men but to many women as well. She was aware that, like Napoleon, she sometimes tended to overcompensate.

Friends and those who were fond of her called her feisty. Those who were not friends tended to go for other descriptors: difficult, stubborn, assertive and bossy. On occasion the words “bitch” and “ballbuster” had been used, often by men who had discovered the hard way that she was not nearly as easy to get into bed as they had assumed.

Elizabeth was her polar opposite: tall and willowy with a cloud of honey-brown, shoulder-length hair brightened by the desert sun and the discreet touch of a very expensive salon. Her features had a lovely, patrician symmetry that gave her an elegant profile.

But what one noticed most of all about Elizabeth was her style. Her half sister did not have merely good taste in clothes, jewelry and accessories Clare thought, she hadexquisite taste. She knew the precise colors to wear to enhance her natural good looks, and she had an unerring eye when it came to detail.

Until her recent marriage to Brad McAllister, Elizabeth had been one of the most successful interior designers in the Southwest. Things had changed dramatically in the past few months. The once thriving business had fallen apart.

Elizabeth hesitated briefly in the doorway of the café, searching the small crowd. Clare started to raise a hand to get her attention. There was no reason why Elizabeth should recognize her. After all, she had never had her work featured in glossy, high-end magazines and she’d certainly never had her wedding photographed for the society pages of a newspaper. She’d never had a wedding. But that was another issue.

To her amazement, Elizabeth stopped scanning the room the instant she noticed Clare sitting in the corner. She started through the maze of tables.

My sister,Clare thought.She knows me, just as I would have known her, even if I had never seen a photograph.

When Elizabeth drew closer Clare saw the barely veiled terror shimmering in her hazel eyes.

“Thank God you came,” Elizabeth whispered. The beautifully crafted leather handbag she carried shook a little in her tightly clutched fingers.

Clare’s anxiety and uncertainty vanished in a heartbeat. She was on her feet, hugging Elizabeth as if they had known each other all their lives.

“It’s all right,” she said. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Elizabeth whispered, tears drowning the words. “He’s going to kill me. No one believes me. They think I’m crazy. They all say he’s the perfect husband.”

“I believe you,” Clare said.

Jake Salter was standing in the shadows at the far end of the long veranda, all his senses—normal and paranormal—open to the desert night, when he felt the hair stir on the nape of his neck. It was the first warning he had that something was about to put his entire, carefully laid strategy in jeopardy.

The hunter in him knew better than to ignore the disturbing sensation.

The ominous indicator of disaster took the shape of a small, nondescript compact car turning into the crowded driveway of the big Glazebrook house.

Something wicked this way comes.Or something very, very interesting. In his experience, the two often went together.

“It looks like we have a late arrival,” Myra Glazebrook said. “I can’t imagine who it is. I’m sure that everyone who was invited tonight is already here or sent regrets.”

Jake watched the little compact crawl slowly forward. The driver was searching for a parking place amid the array of expensive sedans, heavy SUVs and limos that littered the drive.Like a rabbit approaching a desert watering hole that had already attracted a lot of mountain lions.

Good luck, Jake thought.

There was no space left in the wide, circular court that fronted the big house. The Glazebrooks were entertaining this evening. Archer and Myra Glazebrook called their annual July cocktail gala the Desert Rats Party. This evening, everyone who was anyone in the affluent community of Stone Canyon, Arizona, who had not fled the merciless summer heat for cooler climes was here.

“Must be someone from the caterer’s staff,” Myra said. She watched the compact with growing disapproval.

The little car finished one complete circle of the drive without finding a place to alight. Undaunted, it scurried around for a second attempt.

Myra’s jaw firmed. “The caterer’s people were told to park at the back of the house. They’re not supposed to take up space in front. That’s for the guests.”

“Maybe this particular member of the staff didn’t get the word,” Jake said.

The compact was sweeping toward them again, headlights bouncing off the gleaming fenders of the larger vehicles. Jake was sure now that the driver was not going to give up.

“Sooner or later he’s going to realize that there is no room left in the drive,” Myra said. “He’ll have to go around to the back.”

Don’t bet on it,Jake thought. There was something very determined about the manner in which the driver was searching for a parking space.

The compact abruptly came to a defiant halt directly behind a sleek silver-gray BMW.

Out of all the cars here tonight, you had to pick that one to block,Jake thought.What are the odds?

The part of him that he did not advertise to the world—the not-quite-normal part—was still running hot, which meant he was flooded with parasensory input in addition to the information collected by his normal senses. When he was hot, data came to him across a spectrum of energy and wavelengths that extended into the paranormal zones. He wasaware of the wild, intoxicating scents and the soft sounds of the desert night in a way that he would not have been if he were to close down the parasensitive side of himself. And his hunter’s intuition was operating at full capacity.

“He certainly can’t park there,” Myra said sharply. She looked down the veranda. “Where is the attendant who was hired to handle parking this evening?”

“Saw him go around to the back a few minutes ago,” Jake said. “Probably had to take a quick break. I can handle this for you.”

Oh, yeah. I want to handle this.

“No, that’s all right, I’d better deal with it,” Myra said. “There’s always the possibility that it’s someone who was accidentally left off the guest list. Once in a while that happens. Excuse me, Jake.”

Myra went briskly toward the veranda entrance, fashionable high-heeled sandals clicking on the tiles.

Jake clamped down on his eager senses.Try to act normal here. He could do that fairly well most of the time. He had learned long ago that people, especially those who possessed a measure of psychic ability and who understood exactly what he was, got nervous when he didn’t. Others, which included the majority of the population—most of whom would never admit to believing in the paranormal—simply became uneasy for reasons they could not explain. He wondered which group the new arrival fell into.