Microsoft Word - FortunesFool.rtf (38 page)

and enough evidence to bring down the counterfeiters in one fell swoop.

The storeroom resembled something from a bad cop show, down to

the single bulb swaying back and forth overhead from a wooden rafter. A

bulky basin appeared overfilled with a pungent bleach concoction that

permeated the room mixed with a fresh inky smell from a recent press

run.

What caught his attention in the dimly lit room were the sturdy

wires tightly stretched across one corner of the room to the other. The

counterfeit bills were hung side-by-side to dry. The odor would have

worked out his gag reflexes if not for the open door helping to air out the space.

Miss Gypsy turned to meet his gaze and a look of confusion flashed

across her eyes. What a brilliant actress. He almost fell for her look of innocence.

Matt walked the expanse of the room, inspecting the various tainted

machinery. Stained ink bottles and empty bleach containers lay around in a haphazard mess. Dark stains blotted the floor like a Jackson Pollack

painting. He turned to the right side of the room and noticed the stacks of 247

D'ARC, GALE, KENT, MARCH

crisp white paper tightly shrink wrapped and piled high on industrial

shelves along with additional supplies.

Matt whirled and gave her a suspicious stare. "I hope you've got one good alibi."

"This isn't what it looks like…" she sputtered defensively. "I'm not involved in…whatever this is," she said, gesturing helplessly to the evidence.

Matt looked her squarely in the eyes. "I thought that's what you'd

say." He frowned at the tears brimming at her eyes. God, she was good.

She made him feel guilty for what he was about to do.

Reaching behind his back, he pulled out the handcuffs tucked away

in the waistband of his jeans. Matt reached for her hand and held firmly to her wrist.

"I'm sorry about this," he said before flipping the cuff open and securing it around her wrist. "But you have the right to remain silent.

Anything you say or do may be held against you…"

Miss Gypsy shrieked in alarm, "Wait. Who are you? What are you

doing? I haven't done anything. There has to be something I can do to fix this."

"Lady, from the looks of things, you've done more than enough

already."

"For your information, my name is Miranda. Not 'lady'! And I've

never committed a criminal act in my life. Except for the time when I

was five and stole a Tootsie Roll from Marvin's Short Stop and my dad

made me go back and pay for it. Otherwise, you can do a background

check on me and I swear it'll come up clean."

He reached for her other wrist and Miranda didn't try to resist when

he pulled her hand in front of her before snapping the cuffs together.

Matt couldn't believe she was cooperating with him. He had imagined

she'd try her best to get away.

"I'm telling the truth! I just got this job. I know I'm not a real

psychic…"

"You don't say…"

Miranda gushed, "But I needed the money! I needed the research for

work or else my landlord was going to evict me."

"And what kind of con job are you researching here?"

"I'm a women's fiction author." He quirked a brow and she frowned.

"All right, I write romance for a living. I spin tales of love and, and, and…adventure! And I needed to discover the inner workings of a

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psychic for material on my next novel."

He wasn't convinced in the least. "Grasping for straws, are we?"

Miranda blew away a loose tendril of hair that fell across her

forehead and the frustration on her face made him bite back a smile.

"It's the truth. You can find my books on Amazon.com.
The

Seaman's Concubine
, by Miranda Franklin! And
Wrangling the

Rancher's Daughter
comes out this summer!"

Matt let out a rip-roaring laugh. "Somehow I don't think they'll be making it to my must read list." He quickly stifled his enjoyment at the spark of annoyance in her expression.

"I'll have you know
Concubine
has gotten a number of five star reviews."

"Impressive. I'd love to continue this idle chatter, but I actually have a job to do. I'd advise you to stay still for a few seconds."

Wanting to document the evidence before her back-up returned,

Matt withdrew a palm-sized digital camera from his front jeans pocket

and proceeded to snap pictures of all the faux loot. His eyes caught sight of several large trash bags hidden behind the door. He walked over and

untied one of the bags and a slew of scrapped bills spilled onto the floor.

He bent down and scooped up a handful of the papers, tossing the

misprinted bills aside after taking snapshots of the counterfeit proof.

Matt turned around and Miranda collided against his chest. "What

the hell?" The nosy twit, she appeared to be just as eager to see what he had discovered.

"Do you mind, Miranda?" Her name rolled off his tongue all too easily and the slight tingling fired up again. His stomach squeezed at her nearness and he had the urge to kiss those lush lips.

Don't look at me like that!

Those big round eyes were begging for it. She licked her lips and

his cock jolted to life. He gnashed his teeth together, not comprehending why his body flared up at the very sight of Miranda. There was

something absolutely surreal about his lust for her and it puzzled him.

She wasn't his type. Or was she? A spark of memory captivated

him. Miranda naked before the mirror, touching herself in all the places he ached to taste. Matt wanted to feast on those perfect breasts and

explore every inch of this Gypsy who put a spell on him.

That's it. It had to be it. Shit! All that mumbo jumbo she did must

have worked.

"You're in enough trouble as it is," he barked at her in frustration.

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"I'm going to have to ask you to step back."

Miranda didn't budge. Her sudden look of innocence took on a

wicked gleam. She peered at him through thick, dark lashes. "What do I need to do to get out of this…
trouble
?"

Fuck.

It couldn't be. Miranda was trying to trade sexual favors to get out

of this mess and he was salivating to take her up on the proposition.

Matt swallowed hard at the thick lump lodged in his throat.

Think, damn it, think.

He was on suspension, so
technically,
he wasn't on the clock. Which left him to consider his options. Was he fool enough to fuck her blind

and deal with the consequences later? Or should he just turn her in and

get her out of his hair once and for all?

Bad time for him to gain a conscience.

Matt had always chosen the right path, or at least not the dead-

wrong one, so why did he suddenly find himself compelled to let his

cock dictate his choice? And why in the name of hell did he find himself believing her far-fetched alibi?

God, she had begun running her mouth again while he deliberated

with his conscience.

"…can't have my name blemished by an arrest. I can't ruin my

reputation as a writer when I've worked so hard to promote myself."

"I suppose there may be one way…"

"Anything. I'll do anything! I swear I'm innocent of whatever you

think I'm involved in," she pleaded with hope-filled eyes.

Was it just him or did the room suddenly grow warmer? Matt

couldn't stop staring at her luscious lips as she spoke, her face filled with passion, the steady rise and fall of her chest. Perfect mounds he would

quite enjoy feasting on.

"Anything?" He quirked a brow in interest.

"Anything."

Matt crossed his arms and heaved a deep sigh. "Well, perhaps there

is something you can do." He dropped his arms and stepped in closer to Miranda.

He watched her ecstatic expression drop as a blush of alarm spread

over her fair skin. She stammered and took a quick step back. "I…I didn't mean that kind of
anything
."

He found this little game immensely entertaining. He took a step

forward and trapped Miranda against the wall.

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Leaning in close, Matt practically purred against her ear, "So which is it? Your freedom or your reputation up in flames?"

What?
His mind screamed.
What the hell did I just say?

He felt a warmth surround him, growing hot and fast as a light

perspiration beaded across his forehead. What was going on? Matt

couldn't explain his attraction to this woman. Miranda had a sexual hold over him and he didn't know what to think any more. Maybe the minx

had
put a spell over him. For fuck's sake, he was starting to fall for the mumbo jumbo. Even if she was a fraud.

He held his breath when she bit her lower lip, milling over the

decision in her head. She flicked her tongue over her lips and his cock

saluted in attention. When she finally spoke, his heart nearly lunged out of his chest.

"Yes. Yes, I'll do it."

* * * *

body for freedom. Boy, was she wrong. She had been as bold as to close

her eyes and lean in for a kiss that never came.
Moron!
All he wanted was for her to cooperate with him.

A part of her had been relieved, but the other half felt a deep

disappointment. She had to admit the thought of hot, sweaty sex with this man was just the thing she needed to add to her novel. Sex with a

stranger in a dark and forbidden place. It would have been perfect!

Instead, they were sprawled on the floor sifting through mounds of

paperwork and comparing findings against the books. How lame was

this? She blew out a frustrated breath. It seemed like hours. Every time he shifted, his thigh would brush up against her and she felt the world

whirl on its axis. Once, he reached over and his arm connected to her

breast. Her nipples had hardened to pebbled peaks and her thighs tingled from the contact.

He had unlocked one side of her cuffs to make it easier for her to

review the papers, but she still felt the subliminal incarceration.

Miranda was beyond frustration.
Why don't you touch me already?

Why don't you rip off my clothes and ravage me with kisses?

She didn't realize she had been grumbling under her breath until he

gave her a questioning look, his mouth quirked into a smile. "Something you wanted to say?"

Her brows drew together at the hint of laughter in his voice. "How

would you feel if the roles were reversed? I don't think you'd enjoy being 251

D'ARC, GALE, KENT, MARCH

handcuffed like a common criminal."

His rich laugh added to her brewing anger. "Based on the evidence,

Miranda
, you are a criminal until proven otherwise."

She gripped a receipt in her hand and felt it crumple in her palm.

"Ooh, I really don't like you."

"I don't need to be liked. Look, I want to find the evidence I'm

searching for and wash my hands of you. I'm sure you want to be rid of

me, too."

Miranda scoffed. "Oh, I want to be rid of you all right. I am
so
going to kill you off in my next novel. You'll be immortalized forever."

The thought cheered her up.

"I will definitely expect an autographed copy, then." Archer's smugness only enhanced her growing disdain for him, but her rebellious

body seemed to find him extremely attractive. Unhappy with her reaction

to him, she realized her only course of action was to find the proof he

had wanted on Farra's Fortunes and get far,
far
away from him.

The sooner the better.

"I said I'd help you, but I never said I'd engage in conversation." Her perverse mind wouldn't leave those words alone. Thoughts popped to

mind of
engagement
in several positions, with handcuffs intact. She felt her cheeks flush and hoped he didn't notice.

His face softened as he stared at her for a long while. "Hey, you all right? Are the fumes getting to you?"

She saw the genuine concern on his face. Miranda shook her head.

"Everything's fine, although it's kind of hot in here." She only wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Never had she been so

magnetically drawn to anyone as she was to Archer.

"All right, then. Let's go through these last set of ledgers." He grabbed several black, leather bound books and handed them to her.

His fingers brushed against hers and that familiar tingle worked its

way through her body and stirred every nerve ending to arousal. Miranda

made the mistake of looking at him and their eyes connected. In those

brief moments, she fell victim to the fiery lust blazing within those

intense hazel depths.

"Ma?" a husky, male voice called from the foyer. Archer froze, his hands wrist-deep in the filing cabinet.

"Oh, shit…" Miranda hissed. "I hope you're packing heat."

"Ma?" came the voice again. "You back there?"

"Oh, sh—"

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"Quiet," Archer commanded. He wordlessly pointed to the small

cabinet embedded in the wall.

Miranda knew he wanted her to hide there, to wait out the ensuing

showdown between Ma Edith's dopey son and Sheriff Archer. He didn't

even have the proof he needed and he had no plausible story for being

there that would allow him to continue to collect evidence. If for some

bizarre reason Archer didn't have a gun, he could wind up dead.