Private Lies. Wendy Etherington
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who’d sought to punish Roxanne’s father for sending him to prison.
Roxanne had felt abandoned without her mother and had no desire to run into the kind of people who had killed her. Accounting, not law enforcement was her calling. Numbers didn’t lie, numbers made sense…numbers didn’t die.
Wimpy, her sister had once accused. Practical, Roxanne had argued back. Of course, practicality was obviously missing from every Lewis’s genetic makeup except hers.
“So, what’s the plan?” Toni asked, leaning forward, her blue eyes twinkling with anticipation.
“What plan? I’ll ask him what he was doing in the Quarter last night and why he didn’t bother to call me. Or come home.”
Toni tapped her long, acrylic nails—currently painted hot pink with green palm trees and bright yellow suns on each one in anticipation of the busy summer-tourist season—against the table. “Uh-huh. You? Miss Nonconfrontation. You’re going to ask Gage why he lied, who he was meeting.”
“Yes.” She banged her fist against the table, knowing she needed this pep talk to urge her on. “Do you think I should act angry and demand an answer, or be sly and attempt to catch him lying?”
“You’ve already caught him in a lie, and I think you should be angry.”
“I am.”
“Then why are your hands shaking?”
Sighing, Roxanne immediately linked her fingers. “I can’t help it. I won’t know what to say.”
“Where the hell were you last night, you lying bastard? works for me.”
“Be reasonable, Toni.”
“Why?”
Roxanne rubbed her temples, unable to come up with a reasonable argument at the moment. She’d no doubt think of something hours from now, but the impact would be lost. How did people train themselves to think on their feet? After a lifetime of friendship with Toni, shouldn’t some of her sass have rubbed off?
“Since you don’t have a plan, mine is perfect.”
Roxanne instinctively shook her head. Oh, no. Toni’s past plans had included everything from giving the dog the keys to her mother’s brand-new Mercedes—which he’d promptly buried in the backyard—to sawing off the legs of Sister Margaretta’s desk in the seventh grade, to disguising the two of them in black wigs and red lipstick to sneak into fraternity parties at Tulane.
As usual, Toni ignored Roxanne’s protest. “I think we should follow him.”
“No.” If Toni was surprised by her direct, one-word refusal, she didn’t show it. And, dang it, she’d been practicing.
“You have a right to know what’s going on,” Toni continued.
“I will. I’ll ask.”
“And if he denies it?”
“I’ll—” She stopped, breaking her friend’s direct glare. Gage was smooth, sometimes almost too smooth. Roxanne had no doubt the man could say he’d been called into New Orleans for an hour, then directed back to Mars, and somehow effectively convince her that was the absolute and complete truth.
“Come on, Rox. We’ll disguise ourselves. It’ll be just like college. I’ve got the perfect disguise picked out at the shop already.”
The shop—aka the Tacky Diva. When she’d attended the splashy opening of Toni’s store, Roxanne was sure Toni had used her trust fund to open the lingerie, costume and party-clothes store just to piss off her conservative family. But her friend’s shop had survived for nearly ten years and was now courted by the trust-fund babies for ammunition in catching the perfect husband, then those same women shopped for their wedding trousseaux.
Roxanne often wondered how many seasoned trust-fund lawyers blanched at the Visa charges from the Tacky Diva, instead of Saks.
“No disguises,” she said firmly—she’d been practicing that tone. “No following. No videotaping. No tracking devices. No bugs.”
“Why the hell not? You have a right to the truth.”
“A sentiment undoubtedly not shared by Sister Katherine after you bugged her office phone, then told our tenth-grade English class she’d been dialing 1–900–HUNKMAN in her spare time.”
“I can get a bug so small it’ll slide alongside the battery of his cell phone.”
Roxanne’s stomach rolled. This morning she’d been blissfully happy, planning her wedding, and now she was contemplating bugging her fiancé’s cell phone? “No. And isn’t bugging someone’s property without their knowledge, or a court order, illegal?”
“Why in the world would you bug someone with their knowledge?”
“I—” That girl was nearly as slick as Gage. Roxanne fought hard against the urge to run back to her office and hide under the desk until this whole storm passed. She didn’t want to spy on her lover. She didn’t want to confront him. She wanted…
To be a fool.
“Just think about my idea,” Toni said, her usually animated face dead serious. “Remember, with my plan you can avoid confronting him for the moment. You can find out the truth.” She squeezed Roxanne’s hand in a gesture of complete fidelity and understanding. “You deserve the truth.”
“I know, but—”
“Speak of the devil.” Toni leaned back against the red, leather-covered booth. Her face relaxed, but her eyes narrowed at a spot over Roxanne’s shoulder.
Roxanne didn’t have to glance back to know who’d entered the restaurant, but she did anyway, unable to resist the temptation of simply watching Gage Dabon move.
She turned in time to see the maître d’ pointing out her table. Gage’s broad shoulders and trim physique were encased in an expensive-looking dark blue suit. His gorgeous, sculpted face and his confident, almost arrogant manner—no doubt delivered to him via his Creole ancestors—caused more than a few heads to turn. His thick, slightly wavy hair gleamed blue-black under the crystal chandeliers, as if an enhancing spotlight followed every step he took, every muscle he flexed. He moved with purpose, with an almost predatory gait. Nothing would sway him from his path. Deny him what he sought.
What the hell was he doing with her? she wondered, and not for the first time.
“Oh, God,” she said in a low tone to Toni. “I’m not ready to face him.”
“Be strong. I’m here. Ask him where he went to dinner last night.”
“Afternoon, babe.”
Roxanne reached deep for some Lewis nerves and lifted her face for Gage’s light kiss. His lips lingered just a bit on hers, longer than was really appropriate for lunchtime affection. But then they hadn’t seen each other in four days, and their reunions weren’t usually so public.
She craved him with a hunger that had everything to do with sexual need, and yet she knew there was so much more.
“I missed you,” he said against her lips.
As always, the wonder of his touch and his voice exploded in her stomach, rolled through her blood, making her glad she was sitting, as her knees would never hold her weight. He stroked her jaw with his thumb, his silvery gaze meeting hers. “You look tired. Not sleeping well without me?”
Lack of sleep was the least of her troubles. Her stomach clenched. “I’m fine.”
He continued to stare at her for the space of two heartbeats, as if deciding whether or not to accept her answer, but obviously choosing not to push. He glanced across the table. “Hello, Toni. I’m pleased to see someone can convince her to take time for lunch.”
He’s so cool, Roxanne thought, watching him unbutton his suit