Tell Me No Lies. Kathryn Shay
from the pool, “Mom, look!”
Glancing over, Tessa saw her little daredevil do a backflip off the diving board.
Tessa’s chest tightened. “Be careful, honey.” Too protective, she knew. She had to lighten up.
Janey stood and yelled something to Molly about being careful. She wore a white swimsuit, high-cut at the legs. Tessa was in a navy Speedo swimsuit, with a wraparound skirt tied at her waist…
Buy this bathing suit, Trix. It’s sexy as hell.
I don’t want to. It’s too revealing.
I want you revealed, doll.
No, Frankie.
He’d grabbed her arms.
You’re hurting me. What’s wrong with you?
Don’t say that. Nothing’s wrong with me. Why do people keep sayin’ that to me?
Although the day was warm, Tessa shivered.
“Honey,” Dan called from the grill. “Come on, steaks are ready.”
“Be right there. I need to get more drinks.” She fled into the kitchen. Her life was wonderful, and she was going to enjoy it. She put on a big fat smile as she took the lemonade concentrate out of Janey’s freezer and brought them to the sink.
ALLISON MARKHAM was a striking woman. Her auburn hair, caught up in a twist, accented the flawless perfection of her face. She was dressed in her customary tailored suit. At one time, Dan had loved the cool sophistication Allison seemed to have been born with. He chuckled to himself at how he ever thought this woman could make him happy.
“I won’t plea down on this case, Dan. Your offer is insulting.”
He shook his head. “It’s the only one you’re going to get. Your client is a criminal, Allison, no matter how white his collar is. He cheated senior citizens out of their pensions.”
Her expression softened, and she hitched a hip on his desk. He got a hint of the French perfume she always wore. “That’s why you’re being such a hard-ass about this. Because it kicks in to what your father did.”
“No, because Sam Albert belongs behind bars. You should be working to keep scum like him out of business, not set him free so he can trick more people on a fixed income.”
Anger sparked in her gray eyes. He should have known better. Allison gave as good as she got, both in her professional and personal life. “Doesn’t it get tiring, keeping that halo in place?”
Looking down at his desk, Dan counted to ten. You’d think after all this time, Allison would let up on him. But, no, she was still steamed that he’d broken it off with her for Tessa. And her attitude had seemed to worsen in recent months. Probably because Allison’s marriage had ended not too long ago. Rumors had spread that it was an acrimonious split. He guessed that would make anybody sour. And maybe it made sense to take out her issues on Dan—in truth, they could have been married and she’d never have gone through the divorce.
Regardless, he wasn’t going to back down on this case. He looked her square in the eye. “This meeting is over. I refuse to discuss my personal life with you or anyone else. The offer on Albert stands. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“It’s only on the table for today.”
Damn it, he hadn’t planned to say that. But Allison could push his buttons.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Sorry, I’m not.”
She pushed off from the desk and glowered at him. “Someday, something’s going to bring you down, Dan. You’re going to find out you’re no better than everyone else.”
“I don’t think I’m better than anyone else. Far from it.”
“Get real. I hope you and your perfect wife are ready for the fall when it happens.”
Man, that divorce really had soured her. For a minute, he was frozen with fear. He’d never be able to handle it if something caused him and Tessa to split. Hell, why was he worrying? Things had never been better between them. Nothing was going to change that.
THE FREAKIN’ TOWN could have come off a postcard. From the bus, Frankie watched the quiet streets pass by—quaint houses alongside the downtown businesses. It reminded him of a picture book he’d had when he was little. He was sick a lot as a kid and had to stay in bed. Once, a priest from the church near his house had brought him a book. It was about God and how He helped a little town. Frankie loved that story. When he was alone at night and scared, he still talked to God.
He got off at the Orchard Place Station, wondering what the hell must have happened to make Trixie leave Iverton. He felt for the letter in his pocket. The last time she wrote to him, she asked him to come to Orchard Place and rescue her. He smiled as he navigated the steps. That was what Frankie was going to do here—save Trixie.
Though it was four in the afternoon, he put on his sunglasses and the fishing hat that he had bought at one of the places the bus had stopped on the trip east. No need to make his presence known yet; just his luck he’d bump into Janey. He looked the same as he had when he’d last seen her, screaming at him after the trial.
I hate you, you bastard.
Shut up, bitch.
Maybe on this visit he could get back at her for saying those things to him, and for poisoning Trixie’s mind against him. She must have brought Trixie here. His beloved wouldn’t have come of her own free will. It made him sick inside not knowing where she was and what she was doing. He had to find out what Trixie had gotten herself into in this Hicksville.
He went inside the station proper and up to the counter. He hated places like this. They suffocated him. That’s why, all his life, Frankie had had to own a car, so he could avoid depressing places like this. He’d had beauties when he was on the outside, which always made him feel like somebody. First thing he was going to do when he found Trixie was get some new wheels.
“Can I help you?” the man behind the plastic asked. He was a weasel of a guy with a bad comb-over.
“Yeah, I need a room to stay for a few days. Where’s the nearest hotel?” He didn’t have a lot of money, but he expected Trixie could get what they’d need to keep them going for a while.
“There’s a couple of bed and breakfasts on the outskirts of town.” The guy shrugged. “Nice if you like company. They serve communal meals.”
That was the last thing Frankie wanted. “Nah, somethin’ with more privacy.”
“There’s a hotel in the center of town. It’s not the newest, but it’s clean and private. Name’s Heritage House.”
“Thanks.” Frankie started to walk away.
“What’s your business here?” the guy called after him.
“None of yours.”
He wouldn’t give himself away—he wanted to surprise Trixie. He could picture her running to him like in those old TV commercials and throwing herself into his arms. And later, the sex would be hot and rough like she liked it.
As he left the bus station, a man in tattered clothes came up to him. “Any spare change, buddy?”
Frankie looked down at the guy. Homeless probably. Because Frankie remembered what it was like to be hungry and have nowhere he belonged, he dug in his pocket. Handing the guy a bill, he said, “Don’t spend it on booze.”
“Sure thing. Thanks, mister.”
The thought of some booze right now sounded good to Frankie. He glanced up and down the street. Then he saw a bar two doors over with a dark interior and a neon sign announcing Zip’s Café. In the window was a beer sign.
Dodging