Under the Covers (7 page)

* * *

Victoria Jensen gave her client, Marcus Baldwin, an encouraging smile. Normally she tended to lobby on the side of the female in custody issues, but she wasn't stupid. This man had been unjustifiably hurt and deprived of seeing his children by a vindictive, conniving, spiteful woman who did not have a heart. The poor man had been shuffled from one lawyer to the next to no avail and had actually been arrested for knocking on the door to see his children. His story was heart-wrenching, his love for and devotion to his children obvious.

If only her own father had loved her and their sisters half as much.

"I promise I'll do whatever it takes to get your boys back."

He stood, shoulders rigid, his heartache in his eyes.

"Thank you, Ms. Jensen. I appreciate this."

She rose to escort him out, promising to start action immediately, when the door swung open and Chelsea waved.

"Oh, hi, sorry. I didn't realize you had a client."

Her secretary must be at lunch.

Mr. Baldwin smiled gravely and headed to the door, the weight of his pain obvious in his slow gait. As soon as he left the outer office, she turned to her sister.

"What is it, Chelsea?"

Her sister launched forward, her jacket flapping open to reveal a yellow-and-black bumblebee outfit. Victoria rolled her eyes, wondering what Chelsea had up her sleeve—well, her costume—this time.

Chelsea leaned against Victoria's desk, a mass of bobbing insect. "I'm worried about Abby."

Victoria's heart skipped a beat. "What's wrong with Abby? Is she sick?"

"Not exactly, although I thought she was going to pass out at Egor's today."

"Egor's? Who is Egor, and why did Abby almost pass out?"

"It's a long story."

It usually was with Chelsea. "Maybe I'd better sit down."

"Maybe you could pour us a drink."

"Chelsea, it's too early for alcohol. Besides, I have to meet another client later."

Chelsea winced and Victoria realized she'd sounded like a prude. "Okay, okay. I was only joking about the drinks."

Victoria frowned at her sister, Marcus Baldwin's case fresh on her mind. "Listen, if you're in trouble and need something—"

"No, no, it's not me. Not this time." Chelsea chewed on her lip. "It's Abby."

"What about Abby?"

"She didn't want you to know...."

"Know what, Chelsea? For heaven's sake, if this is some of your dramatics—"

"It's not." Chelsea swallowed. "Lenny sent her a Dear John letter and left her for a man."

Victoria fell back into her chair as if she'd had the wind knocked out of her. "What?"

Chelsea spent the next ten minutes detailing the letter and the story about the fraudulent marriage.

Victoria pressed her fingers to her head, a migraine beginning to shoot pinpoints of pain behind her eyes. "Dear God, we have to do something."

Chelsea grinned. "My thoughts exactly. For once, sis, we agree on something."

Now, that was a scary thought. "What do you have in mind?" Victoria asked suspiciously.

"You tell me your plan first."

A diversionary tactic if she'd ever heard one. But she'd play along. Only, she had to think for a minute. "Well, I suppose I could see what I could find out about Lenny. I do have a friend on the police force." At least there was one guy who'd been asking her out. Mostly she had avoided his calls.

Normally, her life revolved around work, twenty-four-seven. In fact, nothing but the call of sisterhood could tear her away from her job.

"That's a great idea. I knew you'd help, Victoria."

Victoria folded her arms. "Now, what do you have in mind?"

Chelsea pushed herself away from the desk and practically flew across the room. "Well, first I have to finish my shoot; then I'm going to check out the gay bars."

* * *

Abby's hand cramped, her eyes were bleary, and a headache had started pulsing at the base of her neck. Forget vanity—she should have worn her glasses. At least then she would have been able to find the nearest escape without blinking every two seconds.

Her deodorant had probably worn off as well. And now a man dressed like a woman was staring at her as if he/she might be interested in her sexually. But she didn't have time to deal with the cross-dresser—she had to face the nosy reporters rushing toward her. She squinted again, wondering if that obnoxious Hunter Stone lurked in the group.

Keep calm. Don't act suspicious. And for God's sake, don't hyperventilate again.

She braced herself for the onslaught of questions. In a few minutes she'd be home, away from the hoopla, and in a few weeks the publicity would die down and her life would return to normal. A sexy man would never get the best of her again. Of course, first she had to fend off the reporters.

And keep her failed marriage a secret.

* * *

Hunter's investigative instincts roared to life. Abby clutched the table as if she might jump up and flee the scene any second.

Why would she panic? She was an instant success, her book the talk of the town, her career on a roll. Why
wouldn't
she welcome publicity?

"Just sign it generically," he told her when she winked at him again.

Her fingers trembled as she scribbled her name; the smile she aimed at the camera looked forced.

He grabbed his book, moved into the thick of the group, and watched her sweat.

Suddenly all half dozen or so of the reporters fired questions at her at once. Abby's breath seemed to hitch in her throat as she quickly signed the last of the customers' books.

Avoiding the camera, Hunter ducked into a nearby aisle, grabbed a book off the shelf, and stuck his face in it. He had to devise a plan to get her alone and get an exclusive.

A lanky man in a suit flashed his press badge, indicating he worked for one of Atlanta's local magazines. "Where did you come up with the idea for your book?"

"How do you research all your chapters?" another reporter asked.

"You're a newlywed yourself, aren't you?"

"Does your husband get involved in your research?"

"What is your secret fantasy, Dr. Jensen?"

"I..." She squirmed in her seat, dark eyes flitting toward the nearest exit. "I'm not here to discuss my personal life."

A short, dark-haired woman jammed a microphone toward her. "But you have to give us something."

"We're just doing our jobs," another whined.

"And you are the news, Dr. Jensen."

"All right, let me make a few comments." Composing herself, she folded her hands on the empty table. Hunter leaned against one of the displays and studied her in detail for the first time, deciding to hold off on his own questions until he observed her actions. She wasn't the self-assured, in-control woman who'd refused him so baldly when he'd phoned for an interview.

This woman seemed vulnerable. Nervous.

Almost like the little girl in the photo he'd found in her file.

And despite the fact that he usually preferred blondes and redheads, he had to admit she was attractive. Definitely not the bitter, wrinkly, middle-aged woman he'd hoped she'd be.

Wavy hair so dark it looked like midnight framed her heart-shaped face. She'd swept it off her shoulders into some fancy twist, but ringlets escaped and spiraled around her high cheekbones. He'd expected her pale skin to look sickly, but the porcelain white gave her an exotic look. Her lips were full and pouty, painted a delicious dark red that matched her suit. Long, slender hands curled around her book cover, reminding him of the chapters he'd read last night. And her voice rippled out, so deep and husky it made his body thrum with desire... the seductive whisper of a vamp. She'd probably perfected it.

He shifted, irritated with himself again for succumbing to her female charm.

"I wrote
Under the Covers
because I wanted to help relationships in distress. I've been counseling numerous couples for the past few years and have noticed similar patterns, which are common problem areas, lack of communication being one of the prime ones."

"So you're teaching couples how to communicate?" the magazine reporter asked.

Someone else snickered. "Yeah, between the sheets."

Abby's full lips pursed slightly, but she seemed to realize her reaction and tried to temper it, dazzling the group with a radiant smile—the kind of sincere smile that probably hypnotized her patients into trusting her with their darkest, innermost secrets. Admiration stirred inside Hunter, but he fought the feeling. He did not want to like any aspect of her, yet professionalism emanated in her demeanor.

"Both in and outside the bedroom," she said softly. "Improving a couple's love life also helps improve other aspects of the marriage, and vice versa."

A balding man from a local cable show elbowed Hunter. "I keep telling my wife that, but she don't buy it."

"If you note the chapter headings, each one incorporates the male and female viewpoint as well as ways to enhance the relationship and open communication. There's 'The Art of Seduction,' 'Fun Foreplay,' 'Body Language to Lure Your Lover,' 'His-and-Her Erogenous Zones,' 'Massaging Your Man,' 'Passionate Positions,' 'Fantastic Fantasies.' "

A heavyset woman in a bright orange dress waved her pen. "So are you advocating group sex?"

"Not at all," Abby said smoothly. "My book is designed to help couples improve intimacy in their relationship—their
monogamous
relationship." She suddenly stood and clutched her purse to her side. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm tired. And I'm going home."

The bookseller stepped forward, thanked Abby, and took her elbow, guiding her to the door. Customers stared. Cameras flashed again. The man from the Atlanta magazine followed, earning a back-off glare from the bookseller.

Hunter grimaced when he realized he'd hidden his face in a book on impotency.

"My husband had trouble, too, honey," the woman next to him said, giving him a sympathetic look. "Try Viagra. It worked wonders for us."

He grimaced, stuffed the book back on the shelf, then slid from behind the display and watched the doctor walk out into the mall. In spite of his skepticism and dislike for her, Dr. Jensen had sounded intelligent, sincere, confident, and very professional. In fact, once she began speaking, he barely noticed her hesitation in addressing the group.

But what was she hiding?

* * *

Abby collapsed into a dark corner booth beside Chelsea, accepted the glass of wine Victoria offered, and slowly sipped it. Though Chelsea and Victoria didn't even remotely resemble one another in their looks and styles, tonight they'd managed to put their differences aside.
Thank God.
The three sisters had developed a strong bond through the dark stages of their youth—a bond she certainly needed now.

"How'd it go?" Chelsea asked.

"Okay until the press arrived." Abby shivered. "Oh, and there was this one weird woman... I mean man in line."

"What do you mean, weird?" Victoria asked.

"A man dressed like a woman; I'm almost sure of it. And he kept watching me as if..."

Chelsea licked her lips, her tongue piercing glittering in the light. "As if he was into kinky?"

Abby nodded. "He gave me the willies."

"Did anyone ask about Lenny?" Victoria asked.

Abby cut a frown toward Chelsea. "Can't you keep anything to yourself?"

"Don't be mad at Chelsea. She's worried about you, and so am I." Victoria hesitated, concern lacing her voice. "I'm sorry about Lenny, sis. What a creep."

"I didn't want you to know. It's so humiliating."

"It's not your fault," Victoria said in a stern voice. "So don't apologize—you have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yeah, Lenny's the one who should be ashamed," Chelsea mumbled. "If I could find that son of a bitch, I'd cut off his balls and make a pouch out of them."

Abby chuckled, grateful her baby sister had dispelled the tension. Her shoulders and neck were one big knot.

Chelsea raised her glass for a toast. "Here's to castrating Lenny."

The sisters laughed and clinked their glasses. Silence fell while the waitress delivered a tray of appetizers and they all dug in.

"Chelsea said you've been trying to reach Lenny," Victoria finally said, after polishing off a buffalo wing.

Abby shrugged. "I need some closure to all this. If I confront him, I can have that."

Chelsea chomped on chips and avocado dip. Victoria snatched a fried oyster. Abby scanned the tray for chocolate. Where were those Reese's cups?

"I think he's in Mexico with Tony Milano," Victoria said.

"How do you know?"

"I have a friend on the force. Someone spotted Milano and a man fitting Lenny's description with him."

"He did say he was going away with Tony," Abby admitted.

Chelsea smiled wickedly. "Maybe they'll arrest both of them and put them in jail."

A classic case for the psychology books—she'd married her own father.

"I hope he stays out of the country until this publicity dies down," Abby said, thumbing a crumb from her chair and wishing she could brush the memory of Lenny's betrayal away as easily. "I'd hate for him to show up at one of my signings. Or at an interview."

Victoria toyed with her spoon, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "There's something else, Abby."

Abby's heart sank. "What?"

"What if Lenny was involved in Milano's scam?"

Abby dropped her head forward in her hands. "Oh, my God. I hadn't even thought of that."

"The police may want to question you."

"I don't know if he was involved or not." Abby grabbed her sister's hand. "I swear, Victoria. He was so quiet those last few weeks, and he was traveling all the time."

Victoria nodded, her voice grave. "I believe you. But once the police make the connection between Lenny and Milano, they may question you. And if you find anything in the house, any evidence about the investment scams or time-shares, you'll need to turn it over to them right away. I don't want you to get caught in the middle on some trumped-up charge of withholding evidence."

Abby searched her memory banks for any mention of the time-share or any papers she might have seen involving Lenny's finances, but came up blank. It pained her to admit how gullible she'd been. "I can't think of anything, Victoria. You know Lenny claimed he was trying to get his photography business off the ground, so he really didn't contribute much financially." Another clue she should have seen.