White Lies (24 page)

“Brokenhearted lover plunges into despair upon learning of the death of her boyfriend, quits job and goes back to wherever she came from? Maybe. But my instincts tell me there’s more to the story.”

“So do mine.” Jake handed her one of the glasses of wine.

“We really need to find Kimberley Todd,” Clare said.

“It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Unless she’s trying to hide because she is a potential witness or maybe even a suspect in an unsolved murder.”

“That could complicate things,” Jake agreed. “But I know someone who is very good at tracking people online. I’ll give him a call tonight.”

“Someone back at your home office?”

“Sort of.”

When he did not offer anything further, she decided to move on to another subject.

“Elizabeth and I are going to talk to Dr. Mowbray tomorrow,” she said. “He was the one who treated her during her so-called depression episode.”

“Did you make an appointment?”

“No. I thought we might have better luck if we surprise him. I don’t want to give him time to prepare. If he saw Elizabeth’s name on his schedule, he might be worried that she’s contemplating some legal action for the lousy diagnosis he gave her and call his lawyer.”

Jake leaned back in the lounger. “I like the way you think.”

“Thanks.” She was oddly pleased by the compliment.

He drank some wine and munched a cracker saddled with a slice of cheddar. “Got to say that you really do have a flair for this kind of work.”

“I told you, I’ve had some experience with scam artists. And when you come right down to it, that’s what Brad McAllister was.”

“Looks that way. But the thing that’s bothering me is why he was willing to go to so much trouble to get control of Glazebrook, Inc. It was a huge gamble at best, not a sure thing. And it involved a hell of a lot of risk, what with trying to make Elizabeth think she was crazy and then planning a couple of what would have been very high-profile murders.”

“Brad wasn’t a typical scam artist, that’s for sure,” she said slowly. “They usually hang around just long enough to collect the money and then they vanish.” She put down the notepad and pen. “Maybe he just liked the idea of being a major player in the business world. If he had gained control of Glazebrook, Inc., he would have commanded a lot of power and respect here in Arizona.”

“Or maybe he had another agenda,” Jake said quietly. “One we haven’t figured out.”

She waited for him in a swath of moonlight. He turned off the bathroom light and walked toward her, a towel around his hips.

When he reached the bed he stopped, indulging himself in the sheer elemental satisfaction the sight of her gave him. Her hair was a dark wave on the white pillow. In the shadows her eyes were even deeper and more mysterious than they appeared in daylight.

She smiled, welcoming him.

He did not try to examine too closely the unfamiliar hunger and urgency that drove him. He accepted the sensations, the same way that he accepted the predictability of the sunrise.

He got rid of the towel, pulled back the covers and looked down at her. The nightgown reached just to the top of her thighs. He could see dark, inviting shadows between her legs.

He lowered himself slowly on top of her, opening up his senses to fully savor the moment. The world around him took on another dimension. He became aware of colors that had no names and sounds that were otherwise muffled. Sensation intensified. The heat of Clare’s body compelled him. Her scent was a powerful, arousing drug. But it was the knowledge that she wanted him as much as he wanted her that had the most exhilarating effect.

Energy pulsed in the atmosphere around them.

“You’re running hot, aren’t you?” he asked, sinking down along the length of her body.

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll know I’m telling you the truth when I say I want you so badly I think I would go crazy if I couldn’t have you tonight.”

“Jake.”

Her arms went around him. He felt her nails sinking into his back. He liked the fact that she was leaving her marks on him. He intended to leave his own on her tonight. The need to bind her to him, to imprint himself on her in such a way that she never forgot him was vital. He wanted her and she wanted him. That was all that mattered.

He slid one hand down her side and up under the hem of the nightgown. He kissed her, long and deep, and cupped her firmly. It only took a few strokes of his fingers to bring forth the telltale dampness that let him know she was aroused.

His body ached with the need to sheath himself inside her tight, wet heat but he forced himself to wait until she was twisting beneath him, until her soft pleas became sharp commands.

“Now.” She clutched him. “Do. It. Now.”

Glorying in the small triumph, he rolled onto his back, dragging her with him. When she was astride his body he used both hands to tug off the nightgown. He dropped the garment on the rug beside the bed and gripped her waist.

The feel of her inner thighs pressing warmly against the sides of his body was enough to push him to his limits. It took everything he had to stay in control.

He was about to guide her onto his erection when she surprised him by changing position. Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. Then she moved her lips to his chest.

He was enthralled by the sight of her dark hair spilling across his bare skin. Her mouth was wet and hot. He shuddered.

“I think I know where you’re going with this,” he managed. “But now isn’t a good time.”

She raised her head and looked at him through a veil of silken hair.

“Why not?” she asked.

It was, he realized, the same question he had asked her when she tried to resist. He wanted to laugh but the sound came out as a husky groan.

“Because I’m already on the edge,” he admitted. “I’ll be lucky to last long enough to get inside you.”

“Doesn’t sound like a good reason to me. Got any other excuses?”

“I thought that was a pretty good one,” he said.

“Nope. Speaking as one control freak to another, may I suggest that you just lie back and enjoy it?”

“You’re going to make me pay for that crack, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah.” She lowered her head and went back to what she had been doing.

A moment later her mouth closed over him. He sucked in a lungful of air and discovered that the oxygen level in the room had declined markedly in the past few minutes. It was all he could do to breathe, let alone drag her away from his erection.

He reached down and gripped her head with both hands, intending to pull her free and reposition her where he wanted her.

But her tongue was coiling around him and she was stroking the tight, sensitive skin at the base of his erection with her fingertip.

He hovered on the precipice, knowing he could not last much longer. He was torn between the fierce need to take her and the unfamiliar, equally urgent desire to let himself be taken.

The hot urge to brand her as his own won out. He tightened his grip on her head, hauling her up the length of his body. She struggled but he could tell that the erotic combat was only making both of them more excited.

It was one of those situations where sheer muscle power dictated the outcome. He knew from the expression on Clare’s face that she understood that as well as he did. But it only made her more determined.

He heaved upward and forced her down onto her back, pinning her to the bed.

“You ever hear of the concept of taking defeat gracefully?” he asked.

“Heard about it.” Her teeth gleamed in a wicked, seductive laugh. “But I don’t buy it. What about you?”

“Can’t say that I’m a fan of it, either.”

“I’ll bet you like variety, though, don’t you?” she asked smoothly.

“Variety, huh? Now that sounds interesting.”

She smiled again. “That’s what I’m offering here. A little change of pace.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

He rolled onto his back. She came down on top of him.

It didn’t take long. They were both too close.

“Jake.”

He felt her constrict around him and knew that she had made the leap. He wanted to luxuriate in the sensation of her climax but the pulses of her release pulled him over the edge with her.

Together they fell, weightless, into the night.

“So Brad was screwing his massage therapist?” Elizabeth asked.

“By all accounts, yes,” Clare said.

They were sitting in Elizabeth’s Mercedes, which was parked in the lot in front of a sleek steel-and-glass office building. The nine-story commercial tower that housed the practice of Dr. Ronald Mowbray glinted like armor in the hot sun.

“And she just up and disappeared around the time Brad was killed,” Elizabeth said. She tapped a forefinger on the steering wheel. “Well, well, well. Isn’t that interesting?”

“There may be nothing terribly sinister about it,” Clare cautioned. “At this point we simply don’t know much about Kimberley Todd.”

“You’re wrong,” Elizabeth said. Her fingers closed tightly around the steering wheel, whitening her knuckles. “We do know one thing about her for sure.”

“What’s that?”

“Whatever else she is, she must be a very, very good massage therapist.”

“Only the best for Brad?”

“Only the best.” Elizabeth opened the door on the driver’s side and got out of the car.

Clare popped her own door and emerged into the full glare of the sun. She examined the landscaped commercial park through the protective shield of her sunglasses. It was mid-morning, not yet eleven o’clock. The pavement was already radiating steady, palpable waves of heat. The sparkling fountains and impossibly green lawns that graced the office tower looked like an artificial oasis.

She glanced at Elizabeth across the roof of the Mercedes. “Nice real estate.”

Elizabeth’s smile was brittle. “Nothing but the best shrink in town for Brad McAllister’s poor, mentally ill wife.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve been dreading it since you suggested it,” Elizabeth said. “When I woke up this morning, coming here was the last thing on earth I wanted to do. But now that I’m actually here, I’m looking forward to telling Dr. Mowbray what I think of his third-rate medical skills.”

Clare walked with her toward the heavily tinted glass doors of the lobby. “Probably can’t blame him entirely for being taken in by Brad. Everyone else was, too.”

“I’ve read that sociopaths can even fool lie detectors.”

“Heard that, too.”

Elizabeth smiled. “But he didn’t fool you.”

“No.”

Clare braced for the blast of icy, machine-chilled air that she knew awaited her and followed Elizabeth inside the building.

The lobby had the sleek, polished feel typical of modern office buildings. Walls of black glass that reduced the intense sunlight to a comfortable level and gleaming slate floors generated the impression that only dignified, important business was carried on here.

Elizabeth did not pause at the directory. She marched straight toward the bank of elevators and punched the button.

“Dr. Mowbray’s office is on the fourth floor,” she said. “Not something I’m likely to forget.”

Clare followed her into the elevator. She glanced down at the white-knuckled grip Elizabeth had on the strap of her purse. She didn’t say anything, just reached out a hand and touched her sister’s arm.

Elizabeth gave her a tremulous smile. “I’m okay. Really.”

“I know,” Clare said.

The doors opened on the fourth floor. They went along a carpeted corridor, passing two small accounting firms and a law office.

“I don’t see any other doctors’ offices or clinics on this floor,” Clare said. “Don’t medical professionals tend to hang out together?”

“Depends on the type of medicine they practice,” Elizabeth explained. “It isn’t uncommon for psychologists and psychiatrists to establish their businesses in office buildings like this one. It allows patients more privacy when they arrive for appointments.”

“Makes sense. A person walking into that lobby downstairs could just as well be on her way to visit a lawyer or an accountant or a stockbroker. No need to advertise that she’s seeing a shrink.”

“Not that Brad went to any great effort to conceal the fact that I was being treated by a psychiatrist,” Elizabeth added bitterly.

She led the way around a corner and stopped in front of number 410. Squaring her shoulders, she reached for the doorknob.

Clare glanced at the sign on the door. It read “J. C. Connors, Attorney-at-Law.”

“Hang on,” she said. “Wrong door.”

Elizabeth’s hand froze on the knob. She, too, stared at the sign.

“This is the right door,” she whispered. “I’m positive.”

She opened the door. Clare followed her into a modestly appointed reception room. The middle-aged woman behind the desk had been filing her nails. She looked up quickly.

“May I help you?”

“We’re looking for Dr. Mowbray’s office,” Clare said.

“This isn’t it,” the receptionist said. “Did you check the directory downstairs?”

Elizabeth took a step closer to the desk. There was a brittle tension about her that worried Clare.

“I’m sure this is the right office,” Elizabeth said. “I remember coming here. I know this was the place.”

The receptionist was starting to look uneasy. She reached for the phone. “I’ll call the manager’s office. I’m sure he can tell you where Dr. Mowbray is.”

“This is his office,” Elizabeth insisted.

“I’m sorry.” The receptionist gave Clare a pleading glance.

“How long have you been here?” Clare asked, moving to stand beside Elizabeth.

The receptionist hesitated. Then the glimmering of relief appeared in her eyes. “Miss Connors opened her office about three months ago. She hired me at that time. Perhaps Dr. Mowbray was the former tenant.”

“That explains it,” Clare said. She smiled. “My sister came to this office over six months ago. Obviously Dr. Mowbray has moved his practice.”

“Obviously,” the receptionist said. She gave Elizabeth a wary look. “That explains the mix-up.”

Elizabeth relaxed visibly. “Yes, it does. Sorry to have bothered you. Do you have any idea where Dr. Mowbray went?”