Sense of Deception (5 page)

When I got in the door of our beautiful home on the far west side of Austin, I wanted nothing more than a quick power nap, followed by a quick(er) shower and some quick(est) quality time with our two miniature dachshunds, Eggy and Tuttle. But as I stepped into the foyer, I was struck by the overpowering scents prevalent in a typical man cave: smelly cigar mixed with eau de gym bag. “Gah!” I said, waving a hand in front of my nose. “That is
ripe
.” At the sound of my voice, Eggy and Tuttle rushed out from the kitchen and I got down on all fours to hug and kiss and cuddle with their wriggly selves. Then I got up and opened all the windows in the living room, even though the mercury was already climbing into the mid-nineties.

I found the source of much of the smell in the kitchen, where an ashtray sat in the middle of the table with the remnants of three cigars, and glasses containing a few drops of scotch were parked at each of the six chairs. Poker chips were displayed like polka dots across the surface of the table, along with some dirty paper plates and wadded-up napkins. In the corner by the door, pizza boxes were stacked atop the stainless steel garbage can. Crumbs littered
all four sections of our granite counter. “Ground zero,” I said, putting my hands on my hips and offering the disastrous scene a frown.

Dutch is normally a very neat guy, but on occasion he likes to take a holiday from the domestic orderly bliss that is our home-sweet-home, and from what I could tell, the night before, he'd taken that license to extremes.

I nearly left the mess for him to take care of, but then I thought about some advice my sister had given me shortly after Dutch and I had come back from our honeymoon.

“Abs,” Cat had said with that stern look that all older sisters adopt when dispensing advice to a younger sibling. “The key to a happy marriage is this: Every day when you wake up, commit yourself to making him feel like Superman. Light up when he enters the room. Let him know as often as you can how much you appreciate him and everything he does for you. If he wants to get it on, honey, get it on. And when he's tired, or ill, or grouchy, take care of him in any way you can.” When I'd offered her a (very) skeptical frown, she'd added, “That doesn't mean turning yourself into June Cleaver, Abby.”

I'd arched an eyebrow. “Sounds a little Stepford Wife–ish to me.”

Cat had shaken her head and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It's not. It simply means being his partner. His champion. His other half. Find ways every day to appreciate him, to love him, to let him know he's your one and only, and you two will be the married couple that all other couples dream about.”

I'd thought about what she'd said off and on for several days afterward, when I'd actually taken her advice as an almost defiant challenge, as if I wanted to prove her wrong. But the darnedest thing started happening. From the very beginning, Dutch had been the one to take care of me. He'd always been the one to clean
up my messes, cook for me, come find me when I didn't make it home at the usual hour. Soothe me when I was sad. Tell me how beautiful I was when I felt schlumpy. He'd always been there for me and my needs, but I began to see how little I'd been there for him and his.

It was a sobering thing to realize that in all the time we'd been together, I'd been avoiding getting too close to him. Oh, sure, I loved Dutch more than anyone in the world, but I'd held him at arm's length for our entire courtship, never really, truly letting him in.

It didn't take a degree in psychiatry to know why. I'd been terribly abused by my parents growing up. My mother and father, Claire and Sam, were somewhat despicable in character and they'd adamantly and consistently withheld their love and affection for my entire childhood. My mother especially had done little else but tear me down both physically and mentally from the time I was a toddler through to when I finally escaped home to go to college. So of course, as an adult, I remained a little guarded. A little distant. A little unobtainable.

But Cat had known that's what I was doing, and she'd likely known how hard that would be on a marriage. After all, Cat had been raised by the same two people, and her marriage had been through a rough patch or two. At times, Cat also knew me better than I knew myself.

Her words affected me like no advice I've ever been given, because in realizing why I kept Dutch at arm's length, I clearly saw for the first time that I was doing exactly what my parents had done to me. I was withholding.

So I began to follow her sage words. I immersed myself in my relationship with my husband, in little ways at first. Dutch would come home from his morning workout and I'd bring him coffee as he stepped out of the shower. He'd slip into a crisp white shirt
and dark slacks and run a little goop through his hair, and I'd eye him in the mirror with desire and a sultry smile that he couldn't miss. He'd head to work and I'd put a love note in his bag—just a line about how proud I was of him. How beautiful he was. How happy I was as his wife.

He'd come home and cook dinner and instead of camping out in front of the TV while he fussed in the kitchen, I'd keep him company at the kitchen table and we'd talk about our days, about our future, about whatever came to mind. After dinner, he'd clear the table and I'd do the dishes, making sure to compliment him on the meal. On those weekends when he'd head outside to mow the lawn, I'd bring him an ice-cold beer. And, in those times when Dutch was in the mood and maybe I wasn't, well, I got in the mood and we had fun.

As the weeks passed and I kept discovering little ways to open myself up to him, the most amazing thing happened. I found myself falling madly, deeply, passionately, head-over-heels in love with my husband. I'd loved him as much as I thought I could love anybody before I'd married him, but in treating him like my own personal Superman, I discovered how much of a superhero he actually was. How giving he was. How generous. How kind, caring, and considerate. How passionate. How loving. How genuinely
good
. And whatever wounds had never fully healed from my childhood finally, at long last, formed scar tissue. It was like being able to take a full breath of air for the first time in my life. It was transformative. And it likely would save our marriage, because, at some point, all that withholding would've turned a loving man bitter. On some level I think I'd known that and yet I'd needed my sister to point it out to me and help me change.

Sometimes it's good to have people in your life that know you better than you know yourself.

However, sometimes, when you're faced with the remnants of a late-night poker game, it can be a pain in the keister.

I set to work cleaning up the kitchen, grumbling maybe just a little, but it didn't take me all
that
long. I also dug out some scented candles from the linen closet and set them around the house to disperse the cigar smoke.

By the time I was done, the place looked nice and tidy again, but I was still a mess.

Candice showed up just as I was heading to the shower, and I let her in with an apology. “Sorry,” I said. “The boys had poker here last night and it apparently went late enough that nobody cleaned up.”

Candice smirked. “Yeah, I know. I got a two a.m. phone call from Brice. Your husband broke out the good scotch and my husband wisely decided to crash here for the night.”

“Is that the real reason they weren't at the jail this morning to spring me out of the slammer?”

Candice laughed. “Oh, no. They showed up. Hungover and looking like hell, but they were there.”

At that moment a noise from down the hall made us both stiffen. My BFF looked sharply at me and pointed to the corridor leading to the guest rooms, silently asking me if I knew of anyone else in the house.

I shook my head.

Another noise came from the corridor and I gasped and edged closer to Candice. “Someone's in the house!” I whispered.

Candice withdrew a gun from her purse, raising it in a defensive stance as she spoke softly to me. “Stay behind me, Sundance. This could get messy.”

T
he second Candice went into her “I'ma kill you, bad guy!” stance, I moved to the credenza just to her left and withdrew my own gun. My BFF's brow rose in surprise. I met her gaze without blinking. Gone were the days when I refused to wield or even hold a gun out of principle. I mean, you have enough encounters with people who want to kill you, and your principles tend to get rearranged.

I checked the chamber on the revolver. It was loaded, and I nodded to Candice and stepped close to her back. If she dropped low, I'd be ready to shoot.

Another sound came from down the hallway and Candice motioned for me to follow her. We walked forward cautiously, sticking to the left of the hallway before stopping at the wall, where Candice and I both flattened our backs for a moment. Candice then peered around the corner and pulled her head back. She made a motion with her hand that she was going to move forward and I nodded.

We rounded the corner and I moved to the other side of the hallway, just behind her with my gun held in front of me, mirroring her stance. We proceeded one slow step at a time.

We stopped just a few feet into the hallway because we both heard the sound of running water. I pointed to the closed door of the bathroom at the far end of the corridor. “Someone's in there!” I whispered. Abruptly the water turned off.

She nodded and moved to my side of the hallway. She then quickly walked to the bathroom and raised her foot. Before I could tell her not to, she gave the door a tremendous kick and it blew open. Steam floated out and I rushed forward to cover Candice, who began yelling,
“Do not move, scumbag!”

My heart was hammering in my chest and sweat coated my hands, while the gun trembled a little. And then I saw at whom Candice was yelling.

A naked man stood in the doorway, his back to us, his arms raised, and a whole lotta butt crack showing.

A towel was puddled at his feet and his black hair dripped onto his shoulders. The mirror he was standing in front of was completely fogged over, so luckily we didn't have a clear view of the full monty. Candice stepped forward and put the gun right to the back of his head. “Do. Not. Move,” she growled.

“Got it,” he said.

My brow furrowed.

“Sundance,” Candice said to me. “Call the police. I'll hold him here.”

I didn't move. Instead, I studied the man's shoulders, which were shaking slightly, but not out of fear. He appeared to be laughing. And then my eyes drifted to the back of the man's head and that black hair. And I caught the sound of his voice.

Candice leaned in a little, pushing the muzzle of the gun into his neck. “Something funny, asshole?” she snarled.

I lowered my gun and shook my head. Candice still hadn't realized who was in my bathroom.

The “intruder's” shoulders began to shake a little harder, and slight snorting sounds came from the effort he was making to quash what I thought might be a howl of laughter. Candice looked back at me as if to ask if I could believe that this guy was actually laughing about having a gun shoved to the back of his skull, and that's when she saw my lowered gun and maybe the smile on my lips.

“What?” she asked me.

“Very funny, Oscar,” I said.

Candice's reaction was a bit priceless. She immediately sucked in a breath, pulled her gun back, and yanked Oscar's shoulder so that she could see his face. “Rodriguez?”

He saluted. “Hello, ma'am. Tonight, when you and my boss get together for dinner, maybe you shouldn't mention that you saw me naked today, eh?”

“Gah!” Candice said, turning at once to stalk out of the bathroom, her cheeks decidedly pink.

I covered my mouth to try to hold in a laugh, but some of it leaked out. I also turned my eyes away from Oscar and his bare-butt nakedness, grabbing the handle of the door to pull it closed. “As you were, Agent Rodriguez,” I told him.

I attempted to shut the door, but Candice's kick had caused it to come off its hinges a little. The best I could do was tug it partly closed and hurry away down the hall.

I found Candice sitting on the sofa, leaning her elbows on her knees and shaking her head. “Did you know he was here?”

“Nope. He must be a leftover from last night's poker game.”

Candice's pink, embarrassed glow had faded completely, and I swore she looked a little pale. “I almost shot him, Sundance.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, you did not. You had him cornered—I'll give you that—but you weren't about to shoot him.”

“But I could have.”

“But you didn't.”

Candice set her gun on the coffee table, her hands shaking slightly. “I think I've just been up against too many people trying to kill either you or me or both of us. I see an intruder in the house and my first reaction is to shoot first and ask questions later.”

I sat down next to Candice and took up her trembling hand. “Hey,” I said. “Cassidy, that
isn't
your first reaction. Your
first
reaction is to take the suspect by surprise, disarm him if need be, and send me to call the cavalry. You didn't almost shoot anybody, and you did nothing wrong.”

Candice took a deep breath and blew it out. “How's the door?”

I grinned. “Lucky for you, I have a handyman on speed dial.”

“Sorry, Abs. I'll pay for the damage.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “Don't be ridiculous. The way I see it, it's Dutch's fault for not telling us that Oscar was here. We can dump all of this at his feet and he can pay for the door.”

Candice reached forward and lifted a folded piece of paper off the coffee table. It had my name on it, but something told me she'd read it in the moments before I came out to the living room. I opened the letter and it said,

Edgar,

1. Oscar's in the spare bedroom, sleeping it off. He was the big winner last night, so if he's not awake by noon, feel free to kick his butt out.

2. Don't worry about the mess in the kitchen, I'll clean up when I get home. (Sorry!)

3. Can I take you to dinner tonight to celebrate getting sprung from jail?

Text me.
Love you.

D

I smiled at the note. “My hubby's pretty cute,” I said, setting it aside.

“He has his moments,” Candice agreed. “Just wish you'd seen the letter before I got here.”

“I was busy cleaning up the kitchen,” I said, nudging her in the arm.

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. Just then Oscar came out from the hallway. He was fully clothed at least, in a raggedy T-shirt and baggy cargo shorts that had definitely seen better days. His feet were bare, but he carried his sandals in the crook of his arm, while hefting a gym bag. He offered us a sheepish wave. “Hey,” he said shyly. I felt a little bad for him. How embarrassing was it to have not just your coworkers but your bosses' wives walk in on you while you're naked? I resolved not to give him a hard time about it.

“Nice ass,” Candice said.

Oscar blushed. “Thanks, Fusco. I'd return the compliment, but I might get shot.”

Candice crossed her arms and leaned back against the couch. “That'd be a safe bet.”

An awkward silence followed, which I broke by saying, “Well, now that
that's
out of the way, aren't you working today, Oscar?”

He took a seat in a wing chair to put on his sandals. “Nah. I'm
off today and all next week. Harrison ordered me to take my vacation time before I lose it.”

“Why would you lose it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Once you accrue too much vacation time, the bureau starts to take it away.”

“How much time have you accrued?” Candice asked.

“Twelve weeks.”

My brow rose. “Whoa. When's the last time you took a vacation?”

“Three years ago.”

I blinked. I got itchy if I went longer than four months without a break. Even if it was just a staycation, I still thought it was smart to take time off from the grind now and then. “Oscar, that's not healthy,” I told him.

He shrugged again. “That's what your other half said too.”

“So where're you going on your vacation?” I asked.

Oscar blinked. He seemed stumped by my question. “Uh . . . hadn't really thought about it. I'm not much into traveling. I'll probably just stick close to the apartment.”

I frowned. My radar had flipped on and I was assessing Oscar's energy. “Dude, not to be blunt, but you need a life.”

He smiled. “Thanks for the subtlety.”

“I'm not kidding,” I insisted. “I told you three months ago to look around for a house or a condo and get out of that dingy apartment, which isn't doing anything for your love life.”

Oscar's lids slid down to half-mast, as if he didn't want to hear it, but I'd done an impromptu reading for him a few months back when I'd felt real heartbreak around him, even though he was putting on a good front. When I'd pointed my radar at him, I'd seen that his girlfriend had recently dumped him. It was so clear why too. She'd gotten tired of waiting for him to grow up and take
life a little more seriously—I mean, he lived in a one-bedroom apartment close to UT in a neighborhood populated mostly by students, and he drove a beat-up old pickup truck, and his wardrobe left a
lot
to be desired. Mostly, Oscar liked to work, go home, order pizza, and play video games until two in the morning. It was a rut he'd gotten himself stuck in, and one both me and his ex-girlfriend really wanted him to get out of.

So, I'd given him a reading and laid out all the many ways he could rather immediately improve his life. I'd told him in no uncertain terms to get his act together, find a house, buy it, get some new furniture that didn't scream “frat house,” furnish said home, and show the girls how grown-up he could be.

I mean, Oscar was a really good-looking guy and he'd been with the bureau since he was in his early twenties. Now in his mid-thirties, he had to be making some great coin, and he was otherwise a very responsible, kind, and decent man. I knew most girls would think him a total catch until he took them home. Then I suspected they'd suddenly remember a cat at their apartment that needed feeding.

“I've been busy,” he said in reply to my remark about house hunting.

I glared at him. “You
do
know I've got an inboard lie detector, right?”

Oscar sighed. He knew he wasn't gonna win this fight. “Change is hard for me, Cooper.”

Candice was watching our back-and-forth with interest and a little gleam in her eye. “You know,” she said casually, “Abby has a pretty great eye for real estate.”

I turned to her. “I do?”

She ignored me. “And she's also got a great eye for decorating.”

Oscar's brow furrowed and he leaned in. “She does?”

Candice waved her arms around the house as if my living room spoke for itself. I took it all in, and I kinda had to admit, the place did look pretty good, but that was as much my flair as Dutch's. Our styles blended nicely together.

Oscar too was looking around and nodding his head. And then, as if he'd suddenly caught on to exactly what Candice was hinting at, he said, “Cooper, would you help me look for a house?”

“Uh . . . ,” I said.

“She's got a really busy week next week,” Candice said for me.

Now it was my turn to furrow my brow. What point was she trying to make?

“She's taken on a new case, and all of her spare time is going to be spent chasing down leads.”

“Oh,” Oscar said, and I swore he looked disappointed.

“Then again,” Candice said, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to her, “if she had help chasing down those leads, she'd have more free time to devote to your cause.”

I rolled my eyes, but Oscar still looked puzzled. I decided to spell it out for him. “Oscar, if you want to spend your vacation helping me on a cold case I've just taken on, then I'll help you hunt for a house and the furniture to fill it.”

He perked right up. “Really?”

“Yes. But I'll also need to take you to a department store. Or maybe the whole mall.”

“What for?”

“A new wardrobe, dude. Seriously.”

He looked down at himself and grinned. “When you have a body this good, Cooper, you don't need fancy clothes.”

I crossed my arms and sat back on the couch, mimicking Candice's pose. “Just out of curiosity, how many dates have you gone on lately?”

His grin faltered. After a pause he said, “Okay, but just a couple of shirts and some shorts. Nothing too crazy.”

Candice and I traded a look. “We'll see,” was my only promise.

We gave Oscar a lift to the garage next to the bureau offices, as he'd ridden to the poker game the night before with Dutch. Before leaving us, he promised to catch up with me later, after he'd taken another nap. Meanwhile, we girls drove just down the street to our new offices.