Laura and the Lawman Read online

  Her near unmasking wasn’t the cause of her distress. She’d come close to being unmasked numerous times. She had also been in more immediate danger on those occasions than the one in the park. The difference between this morning and every other time was the fear that had jolted her, or more specifically her reaction to it.

  While she had felt fear before, hundreds of times, it had never incapacitated her. This morning, however, when Michael had uttered those fateful words, fear had literally struck her dumb. Oh, she’d managed to pull it off, just barely, but in the process she had totally lost her cool.

  What was wrong with her? Why was she feeling so raw, so close to the edge? She had a reputation for having nerves of steel, and this morning those very same nerves had turned to gelatin.

  When the truth hit her, she shivered. Before today, on each case she had worked, she hadn’t cared whether or not she came out alive. And because she hadn’t cared, any fear she felt had seemed, if not unimportant, definitely secondary to the job she had to do. But she cared now. What did it mean?

  It meant that the changes she had felt inside herself over the past few months were growing and mutating. First the rage had gone, then her hormones had reawakened and now her immunity to fear had disappeared. What would be next? Laura had no idea. But she did know that, when this job was over, she would have to assess whether she was still fit for undercover work.

  She huddled on the floor of the shower stall for a full five minutes. Then she gathered what was left of her composure, climbed to her feet and got on with the business of showering.

  Okay, so she wasn’t at the top of her game anymore, and might never be again. She’d also made some inexcusable—some might even say sophomoric—mistakes. But all wasn’t lost. She could still pull this job off. And the next time she was in a situation that produced fear? It was a handicap that, now she had acknowledged and accepted it, she would deal with appropriately. She wouldn’t allow it to catch her off guard again.

  A fine tremor shook her hand as she applied mascara to her eyelashes. Though she felt a renewed urgency to hurry—her actions that morning had already cost precious time—she forced herself not to rush. After all, when it came to applying the face she wore in public, Ruby would never allow herself to be rushed.

  For the first time since she had undertaken the job of playing Ruby, Laura didn’t resent the time and effort it took to put on her makeup. This morning it felt like a layer of protection between her and Michael Corsi’s knowing eyes. If she couldn’t wear a Kevlar vest, at least she could put on foundation.

  When she emerged from her room a full hour after their return from the park, she wore hot-pink Irish linen cropped pants and a matching sleeveless square-necked top. On her feet were a pair of pink leather sandals. At least with her toes open, and with the heels only an inch off the ground, her feet shouldn’t be in agony by the end of the day.

  There was no telling, however, what the state of her emotions would be.

  Michael was pacing impatiently in the parking lot, but he halted in his tracks when he saw her. The look on his face, and the gaze he raked over her, told her more loudly than words that any care she might have taken in prettying herself up for him was totally wasted. Not that she was trying to impress him. She might be undergoing some inner transformation, the extent of which she couldn’t yet predict. Her hormones might have awakened with a vengeance. Still, it didn’t mean the changes she was undergoing encompassed a relationship with this man. The last thing she wanted on this morning that had so shaken her confidence in herself was for Michael to notice her as a man would a woman.

  And if she told herself that enough times, she just might start believing it.

  “You should have kept the jeans on,” he said, practically snarling. “It would have saved some time.”

  He was obviously spoiling for a fight. Well, she wasn’t going to give it to him. Not yet, anyway. Not until she was feeling a lot more collected. She couldn’t risk making any more stupid mistakes.

  “I always dress for the job, Michael. I told you that before.”

  “Glad to know you remembered we have a job to do.”

  Ouch. “Trust me, that is one thing I never forget.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it.” He headed for the truck. Over his shoulder, he added, “Ready?”

  As she’d ever be. Squaring her shoulders, Laura let out a long breath.

  “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Chapter 8

  B y the time they arrived at the Bickham estate, Laura had regained her composure. Michael, on the other hand, seemed positively morose. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the motel, and had driven, grim-faced, down the long, winding, bumpy road to the mansion with total disregard for any damage his truck might sustain.

  The first thing she saw when they entered the huge living room was the portrait hanging above the stone fireplace. Fascinated, she placed the laptop and the box of sequentially numbered tags she carried on an elegant Victorian sofa before crossing the room to stand beneath it.

  “Serena Bickham, age forty-two,” she read aloud from the brass plaque fastened to the frame.

  Moving back, she studied the oil painting with a critical eye. The artist was a man who had enjoyed quite a bit of notoriety during the 1960s, for both his flamboyant lifestyle and his uncanny ability to capture the essence of his subjects. From an artistic standpoint, it was an excellent rendering and should fetch a good price at auction. Joseph would be pleased.

  Laura, however, was more interested in the woman the painting portrayed. Serena Bickham wasn’t beautiful, she wasn’t even all that pretty, but her spirit radiated from the canvas; so much so, it was almost possible for Laura to imagine she was viewing the actual woman in the flesh.

  There was a light in Serena’s eyes, and a serenity to her bearing, that was compelling and true to her given name. Laura had no doubt she was gazing at the face of a supremely contented woman. Apparently Vincent was as devoted to his wife as Joseph had described, and it showed.

  Lucky Serena.

  “So this is the woman who inspired Vincent Bickham’s everlasting devotion,” Michael murmured.

  She’d been so absorbed in her study of the portrait, she hadn’t heard his approach. Sparing him a glance, she asked, “Are you speaking to me?”

  “You’re the only other person here. Who else would I be addressing?”

  He still sounded grumpy. And his remark about everlasting devotion had definitely held a snide undertone. Because he didn’t believe in lasting love? Or because he was out of sorts? Probably a combination of both.

  She turned to face him. “Just thought I’d ask, since I got the distinct impression I was the last person you wanted to talk to.”

  He shrugged. “It’s either you or the walls.”

  One thing was certain. She was in no danger of getting a swelled head whenever she was with him.

  Laura waved a hand at their surroundings. “I suppose I should be grateful you find me more interesting than the walls. I mean, look at this wallpaper. Have you ever seen such an interesting pattern? And is that real gold leaf painted on it?”

  Michael made some sort of grunt she assumed signaled his agreement. Then again, it could have been indigestion, although how he could be suffering from that particular ailment on an empty stomach was beyond her.

  “Keep frowning so fiercely, and your face will freeze that way,” she warned, using a phrase she had heard countless times as a child.

  This time he didn’t even grunt.

  Putting her thumbs in her ears, Laura stuck her tongue out at him and wiggled her fingers.

  His brows furrowed even closer together. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think I’m doing?” She lowered her hands. “I’m trying to inject a little levity into the situation. Notice the big words, inject and levity? As you can see, I’m keeping my end of the bargain. I’m no longer pretending to be vocabulary impaired. We’re g
oing to be spending the next three days together in this house, Michael. We might as well try to get along. Wasn’t it you who said, just yesterday, and I quote, that it’s more fun to laugh?”

  “Hoist by my own petard.” His smile was rueful. “And yes, Ruby, I’m grateful you’re not going to pretend you don’t know what a petard is.”

  Laura chuckled. “Since you brought it up, I know what the phrase means. But what, exactly, is a petard? Have you ever seen one?”

  Laughter sparkled in his eyes, and her stomach did a weird little flip-flop. “Damned if I know, either.” He sobered. “I’m sorry, Ruby, about my behavior this morning. I guess skipping breakfast didn’t do much for my disposition.”

  Scouting out her whereabouts and then waiting another full hour for her to get ready when they were already late hadn’t helped matters, either. Michael wasn’t used to waiting on a woman, she would wager. Most likely he crooked his little finger at one and said woman came running. On the double. These next few days would most likely prove a further test of his disposition.

  And, undoubtedly, hers.

  “I told you I didn’t mind if you wanted to stop and eat,” she said.

  He shook his head. “We wouldn’t make up any time that way. I can wait for lunch.”

  Since she hadn’t eaten, either, by all rights she should be ravenous. This morning, however, perhaps because of her inner turmoil, the mere thought of food made her nauseous. As things stood, she sincerely doubted she’d be hungry when lunchtime rolled around. Maybe not even by dinner.

  “If you insist,” she said.

  “I insist.”

  Laura wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t revise her opinion of Michael, just a little bit. After all, a man who could laugh at himself and who apologized for being ill-tempered, couldn’t be all bad. Could he?

  “Mind if I ask you something that’s been bugging me?” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “When I got back from my run last night, I saw you in the lounge. I also saw the two men hit on you.”

  “Yes?” she said cautiously, wondering where this was going.

  “What did you say to make them hightail it away like that?”

  She relaxed. “You really want to know?”

  “I really want to know.”

  “I told them it was my first night out after my sex change operation, and I couldn’t wait to try out the new equipment.”

  He gave a hoot of laughter. “That’s priceless.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  Still chuckling, he nodded to Serena’s portrait. “So, what do you think of her?”

  He was standing close enough for them to rub shoulders, and she had never been more aware of his presence. He smelled good, too, a combination of lime-scented aftershave and deodorant soap. The skin of his cheeks looked temptingly soft and glowed with disgusting good health. Worse, he had the most incredibly long eyelashes. Ruby, Laura knew, would kill to have eyelashes that gorgeous. As for his mouth…

  The painting, Laura, she reminded herself. He asked you about the painting.

  “She’s not very pretty, is she?” she offered, knowing this was how Ruby would have evaluated the woman, and that Michael was just waiting for her to point out the obvious.

  “No, she’s not.”

  Picking up the laptop, Laura searched for a place to plug it in. She set up shop with it on the opposite side of the room, on a mahogany desk located between a pair of twelve-foot-high windows that were draped in green velvet.

  “I haven’t seen a picture of Vincent,” she said, “but maybe he wasn’t all that good-looking, either.”

  “Does it matter?”

  Michael had moved to a Chippendale corner chair and was studying it intently. She knew he was formulating the preliminary dollar amount they would enter into their records to use as a reserve, the minimum amount Joseph would accept at auction before withdrawing the piece from consideration. If they had any problem coming up with a valuation, they would simply hook up to the Internet and do the necessary research to get what they needed.

  “Of course it does.” She brought up the program they would use to record the estate’s inventory. “Because if Vincent had been handsome, he would have gone after a much prettier woman.”

  “You think so?”

  Laura liked to believe men were attracted to women for more than their outward appearance. In a perfect world, they would consider intelligence to be the ultimate aphrodisiac. At least, on second glance, anyway, after the pheromones had dissipated somewhat on the air. Ruby, on the other hand, was far more realistic.

  “Don’t you?”

  “He had a lot of money, Ruby. He could have had his pick of women, pretty or not. And still he chose Serena.”

  Michael took a tag and affixed it to the chair. Laura moved aside while he recorded the description and dollar value he’d assigned to it.

  “I don’t know whether I told you or not,” she said, placing a tag on Serena’s portrait. “But Vincent didn’t make that money until after he and Serena were married.”

  “That changes things, then.” Michael moved on to another chair. “Believe it or not, some men actually look beneath the surface to the person inside. Maybe Vincent was one of them.”

  “Are you?”

  Michael’s smile was sardonic. “I said some men.”

  She was not disappointed, Laura told herself. This was exactly what she would have expected from him. In fact, she would have been astonished had he said anything else.

  “So you wouldn’t have given Serena Bickham a second glance?” she pressed.

  “Probably not.”

  At least he was honest enough to admit it. “But Vincent did.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Why, do you think?”

  He shrugged. “Why is the sky blue?”

  Because, she thought, blue light gets scattered around more than all the other colors from the sun.

  “What kind of woman do you give a second glance?” The words were out of her mouth before she could call them back.

  Michael’s head came up, and his gaze collided with hers. For a tense, heart-stopping moment, he stared at her searchingly.

  “Want to know if you qualify?” he finally asked.

  “Who, me?” Laura hoped he’d chalk up her breathiness to surprise. It took all the skill she possessed to widen her eyes at him in mock innocence. “I have Joseph. Remember?”

  She didn’t know who she was trying to remind more: herself or Michael.

  “And you are one hundred percent faithful to him.”

  “I turned down those men in the lounge, remember? I’m as faithful to Joseph as Serena was to Vincent.”

  “How do you know she was?” he challenged.

  “Look at her, Michael.” Laura indicated the portrait with a sweep of her arm. “She was faithful.”

  “Why?” There was an unmistakable bite to his voice. “Because she was plain? Because you assume her plainness meant she never had the opportunity to cheat?”

  “No,” she corrected, not caring that her answer was more suitable to her way of thinking than Ruby’s. “Because she looks so supremely happy to be the lady of this manor. Besides, if she had cheated on him, Vincent wouldn’t have been so devoted to her. He wouldn’t have stopped living when she did.” The way Laura would have done after Jacob and Jason died if she hadn’t poured all her energy into police work.

  “That’s assuming he found out she cheated.”

  “When you’re that close to a person, Michael, you know.”

  His gaze seemed to sharpen on her. “And the reason you know this is because of your relationship with Joseph?”

  “Of course.” She’d been thinking of Jacob, and the depth of the love they had shared, but she could hardly tell Michael that.

  She began entering information about the portrait on the laptop. “As for my question.” She shrugged. “I was just passing the time, Michael. Consider it idle chitchat. You don’t have t
o answer—” Laura left a deliberate, provocative pause “—if you don’t want to.”

  She hoped he would take her words as a challenge, and he didn’t disappoint her.

  “What kind of woman makes me take a second look? That’s what you asked, isn’t it?” He stroked his cheeks as if pondering. “I like blondes. I like blondes with blue eyes, narrow waists, round hips, long legs and big…” He shut his mouth as heat crept up his throat.

  It was the second time he had blushed in her presence. As she recalled, the first time he had actually had his hand on the body part he was so judiciously not mentioning by name.

  Asking him how a man who had spent two-plus years behind bars could still blush would definitely increase his discomfort level. But she could think of another way to increase it more.

  “I believe the term you’re looking for is breast,” she supplied sweetly. “You like women with big breasts.”

  “I was going to say feet,” he replied.

  She knew she should have laughed out loud at the blatant lie. She should also have felt a spurt of triumph that she had succeeded in making his flush deepen. But right now she didn’t feel in the least like laughing or celebrating. Oddly, what she felt was…depressed. And outraged. Once again, as was the norm with them, their conversation had deteriorated.

  “Know what you just described?” she said, unaware of the accusatory note that had entered her voice.

  “What?”

  “Every adolescent’s fantasy. Your perfect woman is a dream. Congratulations.”

  “Something wrong with dreams?”

  Yes, if real women could never hope to measure up to them. Laura’s physical attributes certainly didn’t come close, a fact over which she had agonized many an hour during her youth. Nor had it escaped her notice that Michael had mentioned nothing about character or intellect. The man was totally superficial, a perfect match for Ruby.

  But not for Laura. Not that she was looking.

  So why was she spitting mad? Because, on behalf of all the intelligent, thinking, real women in the world, who were much, much more than the sum of their body parts, she felt she needed to take a stand. And she couldn’t take a stand; not without stepping out of character. While Laura always struck out against perceived injustices, Ruby never did, unless her own welfare was at stake.