Shayne: The Pretender Page 4

  “That’s not my way.”

  No, it wasn’t. Although all three O’Malley brothers could be accused of being stubborn, Shayne had always thought Mike was undoubtedly the most tenacious. And, unfortunately, the most honorable. Which made this situation even stickier than most.

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you that it’s a matter of national security.”

  “I might believe it,” Michael allowed, “but I wouldn’t accept it. We’re brothers, Shayne. And since I almost blew your head off, I figure that entitles me to some answers. Even if they’re supposed to be classified.”

  “What makes you think you would have ended up getting off the first shot? I’ll have you know I passed my last marksmanship test with flying colors.”

  “Remembering how you always enjoyed getting all those shiny gold stars on your papers back in school, I’m willing to believe you do just fine shooting at paper cutouts of bad guys. But the difference between you and me, baby brother, is that I’ve actually shot bad guys. While you, on the other hand, have spent your life talking your way in and out of trouble.”

  It was, of course, all too true. “Anyone ever tell you that your tendency to be right is damn annoying?”

  “All the time. But it’s one of those little crosses a guy has to bear.” Michael’s grin faded; his expression became deadly serious again. “Is Bliss in trouble?”

  Shayne forced himself to meet his brother’s eyes. “Maybe.”

  “Hell, is it that rat of an ex-husband? The guy’s a weasel, Shayne. Not only was he unfaithful, he’s no more a polo-playing, Grand Prix-driving jet-setter than you are. The guy was born Bernard Thompson in Minneapolis and ever since he got expelled from Northwestern for selling stolen exams, he’s been living by conning women into bed and out of their trust funds.”

  “I wasn’t aware Bliss Fortune even had a trust fund.”

  “She doesn’t. At least not anymore. The weasel managed to fritter away what little savings she did have before she kicked him out.”

  “Sounds as if you know a lot about her.”

  “She tried to hire me to get her grandmother’s money back after Fortune raided her mutual funds.”

  “Tried? Are you saying you refused to take the case?”

  “I refused any payment,” Michael corrected. “After all, it wasn’t all that difficult. After I had a little talk with the guy, he saw the light and wrote the old lady a cashier’s check for the money he’d embezzled.”

  “Why do I get the impression that you did a bit more than talk?”

  Michael’s grin told its own story. “Can I help it if the creep slipped and broke his jaw?”

  It was obvious that his brother liked Bliss a lot. And since Shayne had always trusted Mike’s instincts about people, he wondered if the Company could be wrong about Bliss Fortune. But then again, he reminded himself, there was a helluva lot of evidence piling up against her. Including that little matter of the phony jewels disappearing from the party she’d attended in Paris.

  Of course, her husband had been there, as well. Perhaps, despite the little matter of his alleged infidelity, the two of them were working together. Greed, Shayne knew, was a powerful, age-old motive.

  “Does Fortune ever come around?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding? Bliss would probably throw one of those antique battle-axes at his head if he tried to stick it in the door.”

  “That’s not the impression I got when I saw them together in Paris.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed once more to cold blue slits. “There’s no way in hell she’d allow herself to become emotionally involved with the bastard again. Which can only mean one thing...are you implying that she’s tangled up with the guy in some sort of scam?”

  “I’m not implying anything.”

  “Believe me, if the weasel’s implicated her in any way, it’s only because he’s trying to keep his own tail out of the wringer.”

  “Despite Fortune’s admittedly spotty reputation, I don’t think he’s involved in this.” Other than the fact that he’d shown up unexpectedly at the party, there was nothing to link Bliss’s former spouse to the jewel thefts.

  “Then what—”

  “You gotta keep this one under your hat, Mike.”

  This time Michael’s curse was ripe and hot. “You know, Roarke recently said the same thing to me when he got himself into a jam. At the time, I was tempted to punch out his lights. The same way I’m tempted to remind you that no matter how old you get, I’ll always be the older brother. And the stronger one.”

  That remark triggered old knee-jerk competitive instincts. “Bigger, perhaps,” Shayne acknowledged. “But that doesn’t mean you could still whup me. I’ll have you know, I have a black belt in karate.”

  “I’m quaking in my boots.” The broad grin took the sting of sarcasm from Michael’s words.

  “Go ahead, sneer all you want. But one of these days, brother mine, I’m going to knock you down a peg or two.”

  “You’re welcome to try. I haven’t had a good knock-down-drag-out fight since I left the force. Probably be healthy to get rid of some aggression by punching that pretty face.”

  “At least my face doesn’t look like ten miles of bad bayou road,” Shayne countered. In truth, all three O’Malley brothers looked a great deal alike, although Mike’s features were definitely the most harshly drawn.

  Mike hit him—not lightly—on the shoulder in a gesture of fraternal fondness. “I’d almost forgotten how much I’d missed you, kid. Welcome home.”

  “It’s good to be back,” Shayne said, avoiding the H word. He hadn’t lived in one place more than six months since he’d graduated from college nearly a decade ago. He wasn’t certain that any place would really feel like home.

  “You know, it’s starting to feel a lot like the old days around here. Roarke’s back.”

  “So I heard. I also heard rumors he’d quit the network.”

  “He’s writing a book. About his adventures as a globe-trotting war correspondent.”

  Shayne had heard that, as well. “It’ll probably sell like hotcakes,” he decided. “Especially if the publisher sends him on the road for book signings. I can definitely envision hordes of gorgeous women standing in line to get themselves seduced by the famous O’Malley brother.”

  “They may get to meet him. But that’s all. He’s given up bed hopping.”

  “What?” This was definitely news. Both of his older brothers had taught Shayne many things during his early years. Mike had taught him about honor and responsibility while Roarke’d passed on a great deal of what he knew about the opposite sex. The rest Shayne had picked up on his own, using Roarke’s guidelines as a starting point. “Don’t tell me he’s joined the priesthood like Uncle Gabriel?”

  “Roarke a priest?” Mike’s deep laugh reverberated around the cluttered room. “That’d be the day. I didn’t say he’d taken a vow of celibacy,” he reminded Shayne. “He’s just monogamous these days.”

  Shayne felt a vast sense of relief. “That’ll never last.”

  .“I wouldn’t bet the farm on that one. I think he’s serious this time. Of course Daria Shea’s special. In that respect she’s a great deal like Bliss.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed and hardened with renewed warning. “Which brings us back to the original subject. What the hell are you doing here?”

  As he attempted to face down his big brother’s scrutiny, Shayne realized exactly how Mike had garnered a NOPD record for confessions. It was not easy escaping that steady, all-seeing gaze. There was also the little matter of his being like a pit bull gnawing on a particularly juicy bone. Once he got his teeth into you, he just didn’t let go.

  Shayne jumped as something brushed against his legs. “What the hell?”

  “It’s just Hercules,” Michael muttered, glaring down at the huge ball of orange fur. “Bliss Fortune’s single flaw.”

  The cat was weaving its way in figure eights between Shayne’s legs
. “I remember you liked animals.”

  “Most animals. This one’s the devil reincarnate.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit of an exaggeration?” When Shayne absently leaned down to stroke the bright fur, the cat arched its back, hissed, and a paw swiped at Shayne’s hand, deadly sharp nails fully extended.

  Shayne tried to pull away, but proved too slow. “Damn!”

  “I warned you,” Michael said as they both watched the thin red line appear across the back of Shayne’s hand. “And now that I’ve been proven right yet again, how about telling me what you’re doing here?”

  Shayne’s skin was stinging as if it had been attacked by fire ants. Apparently satisfied, the cat strolled away with feline arrogance, jumped up onto a Queen Anne settee and began washing its huge paws.

  The glare Shayne directed its way was a copy of his brother’s earlier one. “It’s a long story.”

  “That’s convenient. Since I’m not going anywhere, why don’t you come upstairs to my office, I’ll pour us both a drink and—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, there was a rattling of keys in the front door look. A second later they were no longer alone.

  “Shayne?” Bliss stared in confusion and disbelief at the man she’d never expected to see again. “What on earth are you doing here in New Orleans? And how did you get in?”

  She was looking at him as if she’d just caught him plundering her merchandise. As his mind whirled to come up with a halfway believable answer, the part of him who’d been hoping that he’d exaggerated her appearance these past ten days realized that she was even more appealing than he’d remembered.

  Her curly cap of hair flashed like fire and her complexion resembled ivory silk. The shadows beneath her eyes suggested she hadn’t been sleeping well since their time together in Paris.

  Reminding himself that he hadn’t come all the way to New Orleans to catalogue this suspect’s feminine attributes, he wondered if Bliss’s lack of sleep could possibly stern from a guilty conscience.

  “You said if I was ever in the vicinity, I should drop in,” he said. “So—” he held both arms out from his sides in an innocent, palms up gesture “—here I am.”

  Although she’d be the first to admit that she’d behaved uncharacteristically that romantic, stolen evening, Bliss was certain that she’d remember if she’d invited this man to “drop in.”

  “It’s way past closing time,” she stated.

  “I know. I was planning to show up in the morning,” Shayne improvised blithely, “but I was sitting in my hotel room, thinking about you, and I decided just to see what your shop looked like. When I saw the light on—”

  “The light was on?” Bliss’s gaze shifted to Michael.

  “I heard something downstairs,” Mike mumbled, his inherent aversion to lying obvious to Shayne, who hoped that Bliss didn’t notice her tenant’s reluctance to get involved in this discussion. “I figured it was Hercules, so I came downstairs—”

  “And heard me knocking.” Shayne deftly jumped back into the conversation. “And when he heard I was a friend of yours, he was good enough to let me in.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her puzzled gaze moved back and forth between the two brothers. “Why would you let Mr. Broussard into the shop in the first place, Michael?”

  Mike shot Shayne a sharp look. Broussard? it seemed to question.

  “We’re old friends,” Shayne said.

  “Really.” Skepticism touched her eyes. “Michael?”

  “As unbelievable as it sounds, that’s true. Although I’ll admit the last thing I expected tonight was to open the door and see Shayne standing there.”

  “I can imagine,” she murmured, still obviously distracted. She bent down and scooped up the cat who’d uncurled himself from the chair and come over to stand in front of her. “What are you doing here, Michael, by the way?”

  When she began stroking the black-and-orange fur, Hercules’ resultant purr sounded like a small motor in the nighttime silence of the shop.

  “I got back late from a stakeout and after writing up my report, I decided to crash on the couch.”

  That made sense, Bliss decided. She turned back toward Shayne, trying not to reveal how pleased she was to see him. Or how disconcerted she was by the feeling. “How about you?”

  “How about me, what?”

  “What are you doing here in New Orleans?”

  “Oh, that’s easy.” He lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “I came to see you, of course.”

  “You came all the way from Paris just to see me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, reminding herself yet again that this was additional proof that Shayne Broussard was a rich man, accustomed to following his whims. “Why?”

  Ignoring his brother’s laserlike stare, Shayne gave her a slow perusal, his gaze rife with masculine approval as it moved from her bright hair down to her feet, clad in high-topped sneakers, then back up to her face again, lingering on that sweet soft mouth he’d been unable to get out of his mind.

  “I’d think that should be self-evident.”

  Bliss was not unaccustomed to having men look at her. She was, however, not used to being so vividly aware of her own femaleness as she was whenever this man treated her to one of his blatantly appreciative looks.

  Belatedly aware of how disheveled she must look after her long hot day, with her lipstick chewed off, and her unruly hair undoubtedly springing off in all directions, she had a horrible feeling she must look exactly like Little Orphan Annie.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” She was proud that her voice remained amazingly steady, considering the circumstances, but it definitely lacked authority.

  “Want me to throw him out?” Mike asked easily. He didn’t have to look so damn eager, Shayne thought.

  “I don’t think that should be necessary.” She turned back toward Shayne. “I’ve had a long day and I’m exhausted. I’m certain Mr. Broussard was just leaving.”

  With Mike seeming to have switched allegiances, it was now two against one. Preferring better odds, Shayne reminded himself that a tactical retreat was not necessarily a surrender.

  “How about breakfast?” he asked. “At Brennan’s.”

  “That’s horribly touristy.”

  “Ah, but I’m a tourist, remember?” Shayne said, ignoring Mike’s muffled grunt of disbelief.

  “I have to work. I’ve been away from the store too much as it is, lately.”

  “Lunch, then.”

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “I’ll pick something up. We can eat in your back office, so you can hear if any customers come in.”

  “How do you know I have a back office?”

  Damn. She was quick. Too quick, Shayne realized. He’d have to be more careful in the future.

  “Doesn’t every shop?” he asked mildly. “How about it, Bliss?” He dropped his voice to its deepest, most appealing register. “What could a little lunch hurt?”

  What indeed? she asked herself knowing, as she did so, the answer. The truth was that Bliss had thought about Shayne Broussard a great deal during the past ten days. Too much for comfort

  She’d be poring over her accounts, seeking an answer to her financial problems that she might have overlooked when his outrageously handsome face would suddenly swirl up in front of her eyes on the lettuce green ledger sheets.

  She’d thought about him during the day at work, in the evening while Zelda was chattering away, during much of the drive out to Lafayette today. And heaven help her, she’d dreamed every night of that brief kiss, dreams that had only had her waking up wanting more. Much, much more.

  “I don’t know...” she vacillated.

  To Shayne’s immense surprise and gratitude, Mike chose that moment to speak up. “I can vouch for Shayne,” he said. “He may be uglier than homemade sin, but he’s not such a bad guy, Bliss.”

  “Thanks for the sterling recommendation,�
�� Shayne said with good-natured sarcasm.

  “Just trying to help you out,” Mike drawled. “Poor boy always has been a mite shy,” he told Bliss. “I think it comes from his deep-seated feeling of inferiority.”

  Bliss laughed while Shayne shot his brother another mock glare. “Since you’ve come all this way, I suppose the least I can do is have lunch with you.”

  “Terrific.” Shayne rubbed his palms together as if he’d never expected any other outcome. Which, in fact, he hadn’t. “I’ll be by about one.”

  “Make it two.”

  Although he suspected she was simply trying to establish equality right off the bat, Shayne nodded and said, “Two it is.” Without giving her time to back away, he lowered his head and brushed a kiss against her forehead. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

  “Lord, no wonder the poor boy has such bad luck with women,” Mike said, laughing. “With lines like that.”

  “You’re just jealous.” Shayne’s self-satisfied grin widened as he turned toward his brother and held out his hand. “It was nice to see you again, Mike. Perhaps we’ll run into each other while I’m in town.”

  Mike’s fingers tightened in a way designed to cause pain, but Shayne refused to flinch. “Count on it.”

  It could have been a promise. But Shayne knew his brother well enough to know that it was a threat. He may have avoided Michael O’Malley’s famed third degree this time, but he hadn’t escaped. All he’d succeeded in doing was earning a reprieve. And postponing the inevitable.

  He let himself out the door, resisting the impulse to take Bliss in his arms and kiss her properly. There’d be plenty of time for that later.

  Shayne had kissed suspects before. Once, a few years ago, he’d even established a relationship of sorts with a former East German spy. Helga had been smart as a whip, a rare natural blonde with a body she’d honed to rock-hard perfection by working out three hours a day.

  He’d spent two months feeding her disinformation, knowing she was doing the same thing to him. And the entire time they’d been falling into bed together at every opportunity. Such mixing of work and pleasure hadn’t particularly disturbed him. On the contrary, there were occasions when he considered sleeping with the enemy one of the perks of an admittedly deadly business.