A Just Deception (22 page)

He extended his hand to Donner. “Peter Jessup.”

“I’m Seth. Welcome.”

Peter glanced up at the house. “Nice place.”

“Thank you. We’ve put a lot of work into it.” Seth stepped back and waved Peter and Izzy by. “Come inside. Isabelle will show you where you are staying and we can get started.”

We’ll get started all right,
Peter thought as he climbed the steps of the big Victorian.

Later that day, after touring the property and talking to any available residents, even those staying in the cabins, Peter wandered back to the main house to snoop. Izzy was right about the abundance of pregnant women.

Hell, maybe her theory about not drinking the water was spot-on. He might want to keep his hands off her while here or she’d wind up with a bun in the oven. A vision of her athletic body swelled with pregnancy flashed in his mind. Normally that vision would scare the ever-loving shit out of him, but for some reason, today, he thought it kind of hot.

If he did his math right on the number of pregos running around the compound the count would be five. Two of whom were teenagers and included Mary Beth’s daughter. The other was a sixteen-year-old girl living with her parents and two younger siblings in one of the cabins.

That girl’s father didn’t just have a bug up his ass, he had a pterodactyl up there. Peter couldn’t blame the guy. Out of work, drowning in debt and busting his ass doing fundraising calls for Seth’s organization. The guy barely had time to breathe and his anger came off him like a monster truck on the warpath.

Peter reached the back door and spotted Courtney and Mary Beth in the kitchen preparing dinner. He had to forget about the guy from the cabin and concentrate on these two.

“Hello, ladies,” he said stepping into the large open kitchen. Sunlight bounced off the granite countertops. Izzy had told him about the granite and he was equally baffled at such an expense for a non-profit.

He stood on the other side of the large center island trying not to stare at the permanent scowl carved into Mary Beth’s face. The woman had some miles on her for sure. Her dark, gray-speckled hair was held back by an elastic band—an elastic band?—and only accentuated her perpetual state of pissed off.

Then there was Courtney. When her bowling ball-sized blue eyes grabbed hold, a man had to look. Had to. It was ingrained. Plus, she seemed like a girl who would take someone down or die trying. He liked it. Considering he often felt that way himself.

He’d intended to ask a few questions, but he caught sight of a door just off the kitchen. Seth had neglected to show him that area on the earlier tour of the house. He walked over and tried the knob. Locked. He rapped a knuckle against it. “What’s this door?”

“The basement,” Courtney said.

“Why is it locked?”

She hesitated. And rubbed her nose.
Let the lying commence.

“Seth keeps personal stuff there. He doesn’t want people poking around,” Mary Beth said.

“The door is always locked?”

She shot him a what-the-fuck look. Okay. Now he definitely needed to know what was behind door number one.

“Seth has the only key,” Courtney said. “Well, Kendrick had one also, but I’m not sure where it is now.”

The vibe in the room morphed into a charged current and Peter’s ears began to buzz. These ladies were not comfortable. Mary Beth had gone into rigor mortis and Courtney suddenly avoided eye contact.

Obviously, they didn’t want him asking about the basement. He absolutely had to get his ass down there. Peter copped another look at the lock. A dead bolt. On a basement used for storage? Not buying it. Lucky for him he knew how to get by a dead bolt.

He smacked his hands together and moved to where the women stood. “Can I help with dinner?”

Courtney laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

She blew out a breath. “You want to ask questions.”

A girl after his own rebellious heart. No wonder Izzy liked her. He grinned. “That’s true. But I do like to cook.”

Mary Beth stared at him, her eyes showing nothing. Nada. This woman might as well have been comatose for all the body language she offered. “Let’s wait until Seth is here.”

Peter slid his gaze to Courtney. “Well,” she said, “
I
want to get it over with. Rich boy, have at it.”

Rich boy?
Heh. She had a monster set of stones on her. All he had to figure out was just how rebellious she could be. Could he push her hard enough that she’d rat on Seth? That’s what they needed. Izzy was having trouble getting into Seth’s computer, and Peter’s own investigation of the residents had turned up squat so far. They needed a stool pigeon. And Courtney just might grow a damn nice set of wings.

Isabelle, wide-awake and all too aware of Peter’s presence on the other side of the bathroom door, studied the ceiling. She glanced at the digital clock sitting on the nightstand between the two double beds in Courtney’s room. Eleven forty-seven.

On the other bed, Courtney’s breathing came in soft jolts, and Isabelle smiled at the girly version of snoring. She sat up. The bathroom light snaked under the door. Peter was still awake.

It took her three seconds to slip out of bed and get to the bathroom. With one last peek at Courtney, she closed the pocket door on their side and slid Peter’s door open.

His head snapped up but he remained seated on the bed with a book cradled in his lap. He was bare-chested—
my stars
—with the sheet thrown over his lower body, and her blood turned to a hot, syrupy mess.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I thought you were sleeping.”

She padded into the room, sat on the edge of the bed. “No luck.”

After tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he said, “You need to shut your brain off.” He tossed the book aside, scooted over and held the sheet up. “Get in. I’ll rub your back.”

She laughed, but kept it low in case anyone happened to be in the hallway. “That’s the last thing I expected you to say.”

“I know. It’s shocking.”

With her heart thumping, she crawled into the warm sheets and rolled to her side, her back facing him. “Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me you have pants on.” Because if he didn’t, she’d want to jump him.

“Shorts. I can make them go away.”

But then, as promised, his hands were on her back kneading away the knots, and she wanted nothing more than to stay just the way they were. “This is nice.”

“Sure is.” He kissed the back of her shoulder. “You okay?”

She nodded, letting her body float into the glory of his hands. “I keep thinking about how I can get the computer passwords from Seth. I was in the office with him today, but I was too far away to see when he typed in the password. He doesn’t trust me yet.”

“Iz, lighten up on yourself. You’ve been here less than a week. Give it time.”

That was the problem. She didn’t have time. Three weeks was all she had and then, if she didn’t get back home, she could kiss her job goodbye. Besides, she didn’t think she could handle three weeks of this place. She’d already chewed her fingernails to the quick.

“How do I get into that computer?”

“I was thinking about that.” He drove his thumb into her shoulder.

“Ow.”

“Ooh, honey, that’s a killer knot right there.”

No lie there, but the piercing pain from him working the kink evaporated and the subsequent release felt sooooo good.

“I need to talk to our computer specialist at Taylor Security, but I think we can send Seth an email that’s embedded with a virus that’ll download all his files. Then I can have Janet hack into them.”

Mmmm.
Hacking. Right.

Isabelle stretched a little. “That’s good.”

He stopped rubbing. “Are you listening?”

“Not really. No.” She patted her shoulder. “Keep rubbing. Please.”

“Nope.” He rolled away. “My turn.”

So not fair. She groaned her protest and sat up, ready to repay her debt, but unlike him, couldn’t get enough leverage from her spot beside him to do a decent massage. “Lay on your stomach.” He did as he was told and she straddled him.

“Yay, me,” Peter cracked.

That earned him a smack on the head before she went to work on his shoulders.

“What do you know about the basement?” he whispered.

“Nothing. Haven’t been down there.”

“I’ll do a sneak and peek. Courtney got cagey with me today when I asked her about it.”

“She’s always cagey. Plus, she’s uptight about the baby. I don’t think she wants to give it up. I’m afraid she’s making a mistake.”

“Okay.” He lifted his head. “You need to get off me. My mind is everywhere but on this conversation, and shagging you here is a bad idea.” She climbed off him and he shot her one of his movie star smiles. “You tend to moan.”

A horrified breath lodged in her throat. “I do
not
.”

“Yeah, you do. It’s a constant loop in my brain. I’m a walking hard-on most of the time.”

Oh, now that formed a picture. Isabelle leaned in and trailed her tongue down his neck. “And the problem with that is?”

He pushed her away. “I’ll discuss the intricacies of it at another time. Back to Courtney. She got here through a counseling center. Tomorrow’s Family Network?”

“Yes.”

“I sent Billy there today. Told him to say his girlfriend was pregnant and he wanted to know about adoption possibilities.”

If Billy found something that would give them a lead they could get this thing moving and she could go home. With Peter.

Creepy Izzy started her normal chatter.
Don’t be thinking long-term. He’s a restless spirit and will be gone as soon as Vic clears him for work.

Screw off, Creepy Izzy
. At least momentarily. “Did he find anything?”

Peter rolled over, wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “They told him to bring the mother in and they’d discuss it. That place isn’t right. I can feel it.”

“They could have talked Courtney into giving the baby up for adoption. She did say the decision has already been made. I thought that was odd since she could still change her mind.”

“I’m gonna push her on that. She’ll probably clam up on me, but we’ll see.”

Isabelle inched closer, ran her hand over the springy dark hair on his chest. “She’s scared. She has nowhere to go. No family or job. I told her I’d help her, but she backed off.”

Peter grabbed her hand and squeezed. “You like her?”

“She’s spunky. Tells it like it is. Most people make you wonder what they’re thinking. I think she can do more with her life, but she needs a step up.”

Silence hung between them for a second.

“If you want to help her,” he said, “we can move her to Jersey and hook her up with my mother and her foundation. If that’s what you want.”

Isabelle sat up, and the wonder of being able to change Courtney’s life took hold. “Your mother would do that?”

He batted his eyes. “If we ask nicely.”

“Don’t tease me. I could have wound up like Courtney. Angry, promiscuous and mad at the world, but my parents—my father specifically—wouldn’t give up on me. Courtney doesn’t have that.”

He leaned over, and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m not kidding. It’s not going to be a free ride, though. If Courtney screws up, she’ll be cut loose. My mother is big on education. She’ll want her to have some sort of career plan. Does Courtney even have a high school degree?”

“No. She’s taking an online GED class, though. She’s almost done.”

He smiled. “Good for her.”

Getting Courtney out of this place, and giving her the opportunity to live a fulfilling life, one where she would know she deserved more than some quasi halfway house, suddenly became Isabelle’s mission.

“Yes. That’s what I want to do. If she agrees.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll talk to my mother. Now you need to go back to your room because I’m gonna break into the basement.”

Long after he sent Izzy back to her room, Peter tossed his book aside. Everyone had to be asleep by now.

He rolled off the bed, retrieved his T-shirt from the floor and pulled it on. After jamming his cell phone and microflashlight into the pocket of his cargo shorts, he slipped on running shoes and crawled under the bed. Upon arriving, he had loosely sewn his gun into the box spring in case the room got tossed while he was away.

Always paid to be cautious.

He secured the gun into his waist holster and draped his T-shirt over it.

His lock-picking tools were next. They were stashed in the lining of his duffle bag along with a few pairs of latex gloves. He snatched the tools and a set of gloves and shoved the bag back into the closet.

Ready to roll.

He flipped off the light and let his eyes adjust to the darkness before opening the bedroom door and sneaking a look into the hallway.

Off to work.

The silence of the house set his senses buzzing as the sweetness of adrenaline devoured him.

Thank you
. He still loved the rush. Maybe he wasn’t losing his edge.

He slammed his eyes shut.
Concentrate
. Fuck the negative thoughts.

The thick carpeting absorbed his footfalls as he descended the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. He picked up his pace, eyes darting left and right, until he reached the bottom, swung around the railing and moved down the hall to the kitchen doorway.

A peek around the corner.

More darkness.

And silence.

Nobody awake.

Nice.

Moonlight through the back windows lit the path to the basement door.
Talk about a sign from above
. He made the sharp right into the alcove and went to work on the lock.

Fifteen seconds and he’d be in.

Ten…eleven…twelve…boom
.

Daddy’s home.

With gentle hands, he turned the knob and pulled, but the door stuck to the frame and made a scraping noise. He gritted his teeth.
Dammit.

He stood motionless, waiting for any sound from the second floor.

Nothing.

Go to work.

Once behind the door he slipped on the latex gloves. He had touched the outside of the door earlier in the day so his prints on the knob were easily explainable. Once the gloves were in place, he flipped the lock. Considering his dumb luck, he wasn’t taking a chance someone would wander by and spot the unlocked door.

The staircase was standard issue with uncarpeted steps and he made sure to step lightly. He reached the bottom, pulled his flashlight and turned it on. A white tiled floor came into view under the light’s beam.

Finished basement.

For storage?

He swept the light up and around the room. Stark white floor-to-ceiling cabinets with glass doors sat on one end with some sort of supplies. He stepped closer as the hum in his bloodstream kicked up.

The beam of the light landed on a shelf loaded with gauze bandages, stethoscopes and some kind of salad-tong looking things. Also in the cupboards were bottles of saline, basins, alcohol wipes and a few boxes of iodine pads.

He spun toward the countertop and spotted jars of cotton balls, cotton tip applicators and a couple boxes of gloves.

The drawers were unlocked and he opened the top one, aimed the flashlight on the contents; K-Y jelly, a prescription pad and a wheel chart that said Birth Date Calculator.
What the hell?

Peter spun and shined the flashlight across the room. It landed on an examining table.

He hauled ass to the table and flicked the light across it. Stirrups in the upright position.

Thoughts hammered like dozens of live missiles and he surveyed the room once more. The cabinets, the supplies, the stethoscope. The exam table. Ladies and gentlemen, an OB/GYN office in the basement.

A closet on the right drew his attention. The door was unlocked, but inside he found four shelves with three drawers on the bottom. He opened the top drawer and found hospital gowns. The next one held paper blankets for covering patients. The bottom drawer was locked and Peter put his pick to work. Within seconds, he slid the drawer open, shined his light on the contents and saw women’s clothing. Carefully, he pulled out a roomy white shirt, blue shorts and a pair of white underwear. Definitely maternity clothes. A golf ball-sized stain covered the crotch of the underwear and instantly he knew.

Blood.

Footsteps sounded above and he shot a look at the ceiling. The sound halted somewhere around the kitchen-family room border.

A sudden burst of voices, then immediate quiet filtered through the floor. The television volume being lowered.

Fuck me
. Someone was watching television. At 3:00 a.m.

Un-friggin-believable.

Peter stuck the flashlight between his teeth, set the garments back and, using his pick, relocked the drawer. He dug out his cell phone and fired a text to Izzy.
Please hear your phone buzz
. Otherwise he’d be stuck in the basement all night and everyone would wake up in the morning wondering where he was.

Shit.

Thirty seconds later his phone vibrated in his hand.
Yes
.

With swift fingers, he replied:
Stuck in bsmnt. Someone watching TV. Get them out of there.

The answer was a swift and decisive
Okay.

“That’s my girl.”

He stood in the center of the basement listening for footsteps. Five minutes had passed, so any time now, she should be hitting the first floor. The sudden click of heels tapped above him. She must have put sandals on so he’d hear her. Smart girl.

He tracked her steps to the kitchen, then heard muffled voices. After a few minutes, the clicking heels started again. This time toward the front door. And then silence. He held his phone in his hand waiting for it to buzz with a text that said no go, but nothing happened.

She must have gotten the person out of there. At least he hoped so.

He made his way up the stairs, silently flipped the lock and peeked out. The kitchen light had been turned off. Nobody there.
Good signal, Iz.

After stepping out and making sure he was alone, he used the pick to lock the basement door. That took longer than he would have liked, but he finally nailed it and, with his back to the wall, crept into the kitchen and took a gander around the doorway. Nothing. The front door was open a crack and he heard Izzy’s voice.

On the porch. Damn, she was good.

He started up the stairs and heard Seth say, “I’ll get more lemonade.”

Son of a bitch.

Peter spun around and made like he was coming down the steps just as Seth came in.

“Oh, hello,” he said, his squirrely face a cross between guilty schoolboy and oh shit!

Peter continued down the stairs. “I heard voices. Everything all right?”

“Yes. I was watching television and Isabelle came down for some lemonade.”

Lemonade. Right.

He walked past Seth, stuck his head out the door and saw Izzy sitting cross-legged on the porch swing. She kept her eyes squared with his, completely unfazed. Peter checked on Seth, but he was already in the kitchen.

“Sorry if we woke you,” Izzy said, half-grinning at him.

He nodded. “No problem. Just wanted to check.”

“Everything is fine,” she said, heavy on the eye contact.

Yep. She had this handled. Still though, he’d wait in his room until he heard her shuffle back to bed. If she didn’t come up in half an hour he’d figure out a way to get her back upstairs.

“Don’t stay up too late,” he said.

Several minutes later he crawled into bed with the vision of that medical office and the bloody underwear glued to his brain.

Could Nicole Pratt have been pregnant? If so, was she killed because of it? And were those her clothes?