Truman Page 6

  Katie’s eyes widened as she battled the hot flush spreading from her tingling breasts to her neck.

  Truman leaned down and nuzzled her cheek with his chin.

  “Cupcake?” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Couldn’t you come up with something better than that?”

  “How about ‘perky’?” he whispered back, gazing pointedly at her chest where her erect nipples were making a distinct impression through her bra and blouse.

  “Truman!” She stared at the floor and tried desperately to ignore her embarrassment and the growing weakness in her knees.

  “Name’s Zack, remember?”

  Katie faked a laugh, pretending he’d said something funny, but the noise sounded artificial even to her own ears. What in the world had she gotten herself into? She couldn’t be objective. She couldn’t switch her feelings on and off like tap water.

  Think like Tess, she coached herself. Forget Katie. For the weekend Katie Prentiss is dead.

  She lifted her face and gave Truman a sassy look. “Don’t think this”—she swept her hand at her chest—”has anything to do with you. I’m chilled. That’s all.”

  Truman pressed his lips together, suppressing a grin. “Oh, yeah?”

  She haughtily raised her chin and didn’t reply.

  “What about this?” he asked.

  “What?” She turned to stare at him again.

  Without another word, he dipped his head and captured her mouth. Right there in the lobby. In front of a hundred strangers.

  Time ground to a screeching halt, and suddenly Katie was fifteen again. How many countless teenage hours had she spent pressing her lips against her pillow and pretending it was her handsome next-door neighbor? Giddiness floated through her like champagne bubbles. Truman’s kiss was everything she had ever imagined it would be and more.

  So very much more.

  Someone pinch me.

  Lips, warm, firm and inviting, sucked a gasp from her throat. His arm pressed her closer, his fingers curled around her waist.

  Every thought left Katie’s mind as she absorbed the sensation and floated on a cloud of exhilarated disbelief. Attraction crackled between them. She returned the kiss with a fervor she didn’t know she had.

  Then, as swiftly as he’d begun it, Truman ended the kiss, pulling back and studying her face. His hazel eyes met hers. Katie melted. Had any man ever looked so tempting?

  “Oh, my,” she breathed huskily. “What did you do that for?”

  “I think I spotted them,” he said.

  “Spotted who?” she asked dreamily, oblivious to their surroundings.

  “Our targets.”

  Oh yeah, them. Reality intruded like crunched glass beneath bare feet. Their targets. The reason they were at this romantic hotel. Truman’s only reason for kissing her. Not because he wanted to. Not because he thought she was sexy. Not because passion swept him away, but because they were pretend newlyweds.

  Her disappointment overwhelmed her. This assignment would be harder than she thought.

  “My lipstick smeared your collar,” she whispered.

  “All the better.” He grinned down at her. “Makes us look impulsive and out of control.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Don’t be obvious about it, but there are two men standing about ten feet directly behind you. I’m not sure which woman is with them. Or if their female accomplice is even with them at this point.”

  Curiosity replaced disappointment. She needed to deal with these feelings for Truman before they interfered with the case.

  Casually, she dropped her purse.

  “Oops,” she said and bent over to retrieve it. When she raised her head, she glanced briefly toward the two men Truman had pointed out.

  One was a middle-aged balding gentleman dressed in an ill-fitting gray pinstripe suit. He had a chin like a mallet, flat and hard and rounded. The other was fifteen years younger and quite handsome. His hair slicked back off his forehead revealing a dramatic widow’s peak that lent him a Draconian air. He wore an expensive sports jacket over faded, starch-creased blue jeans and eel skin cowboy boots. Texas chic.

  The two were speaking to a small circle of women gathered around them. The drugstore cowboy was grinning broadly and making eyes at the ladies.

  The line moved, and they shuffled forward.

  “Did you get a good look at them?” Truman asked.

  “Uh-huh. What’s our next move?”

  “Lie low for now. We’ll get checked in, then head down to registration. If they’re our targets, those two will be there. You can count on it.”

  “I could join their circle while you check us in.”

  He shook his head. “We can’t approach them. They have to come to us.”

  “I didn’t know that. Is it so they can’t holler police entrapment later?”

  Truman smiled her. “Beautiful and brainy to boot. That’s what I love about you.”

  Love.

  Katie’s heart torqued. Love? Truman loved something about her?

  He didn’t mean it. Not the way she wanted him to mean it. Stay calm. Read no hidden messages into anything he says. You’re undercover in a pretend marriage. Never forget that for a moment.

  “What do we do if they don’t approach us?” she fretted.

  “Not to worry. If it’s them, they will. We’ll tell everyone within earshot we’re eager to part with our money for the sake of your career and see what happens.”

  “May I help you?” the clerk at the front desk asked.

  Truman smiled and moved up. “Yes, sir, we need to check in.”

  “Name?”

  “Zack and Tess Dupree.”

  The clerk took the information and typed something into the computer. He frowned. “I’m sorry, sir, I have no reservation under that name.”

  “But I called...” Truman stopped as if realizing he’d made the reservation under his own name and couldn’t really backtrack at this point. “Never mind. Do you have a double room available?”

  The clerk clicked the keys again. “No, sir. No double.”

  “A single then.”

  A single? The two in one bed? Katie gulped. She’d been wondering how she would survive in the same room alone with him. That she might have handled. But the same bed? God was testing her resistance.

  “As you can see, sir, we’ve got a convention going on.” The clerk inclined his head at the overpopulated lobby. “I’m afraid the only room we’ve got left is the honeymoon suite.”

  “That’ll do me and my beautiful bride just fine,” Truman said loudly. He grasped her waist and pulled her close to him. “We’re here for the convention, too. My wife’s gonna be a model. You think she’s pretty enough to be a model?”

  “Yes, sir,” the clerk said, his face expressionless. “Your wife is quite lovely.”

  “Why, thank you,” Truman said.

  Katie turned her head slightly, trying to locate the two men. She glimpsed them from the corner of her eye. They were watching her and Truman with interest.

  “You’re darn tootin’ she is,” Truman continued, playing his part of eager, uneducated stage husband. “And I’ve got the money to back her up. My daddy just died and left me three oil wells and six thousand head of cattle. That little inheritance is gonna see my baby to the top of the modeling world.”

  “How nice for you.” The clerk’s voice was as arid as the Chihuahua Desert where they’d come from.

  “You can say you knew her when.” Truman gave the clerk an exaggerated wink. “Tess Dupree. Remember that name. You’ll hear it again.”

  Truman’s raised voice brought attention from more than just the con men. The other conference goers were staring at Katie now, some with jealous expressions.

  Suddenly, Katie wondered at the wisdom of using fictional character names for their undercover assignment. At the time she’d suggested it, she’d thought it would be fun to pretend to be Tess and Zack, but now she wasn’t so sure. Someone here mig
ht have read the mystery series.

  But something told her this wasn’t the time to mention it to Truman. Not since he’d announced her name to everyone within hearing distance. Like it or not, their new monikers stuck.

  She was probably worrying for nothing. The Tess Dupree mysteries were out of print and had never been bestsellers. The author was long dead. No one other than a librarian or ardent mystery buff would likely have heard of the books.

  “The honeymoon suite it is,” the clerk said. “How would you like to pay for that, Mr. Dupree?”

  “Cash.”

  “We’ll still need a credit card for incidentals.”

  “How about I put down enough cash to cover any incidentals? My pappy told me to avoid credit cards at all costs.”

  “That’s highly irregular, sir.”

  “You telling me you won’t accept cash?”

  “No, sir, it’s simply that we’ve found—”

  “You just tell me when I’ve counted out enough to suffice.” Truman whipped out his wallet and peeled out one-hundred-dollar bills until the clerk nodded his approval and accepted the money.

  Katie glanced over her shoulder. The con men were practically drooling, their eyes trained on Truman’s wallet.

  “Have the valet bring up our bags,” Truman said, and accepted the room key.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Truman palmed the plastic key card, then took Katie’s hand and led her to the elevators. The sea of women parted to let them through, but all she could think was, We’re on our way to the honeymoon suite.

  6

  “We’ve got an audience,” Truman whispered under his breath.

  They stepped into the elevator. The two men and an attractive red-haired woman who looked to be in her early thirties got in behind them. Katie wondered if this was the con woman working with the two men.

  “Howdy, folks,” Truman greeted them. “You here for the fashion convention?”

  The woman gave a stiff smile. “Why, yes.”

  “That’s just great. How ‘bout you fellas?” Truman eyed the men.

  “We are,” the middle-aged balding guy acknowledged.

  “From out of town?” Truman continued his cornpone drawl.

  “Uh-huh,” the bald man replied.

  “Me and my wife here, we’re both Texas born and bred.” Truman threw an arm over Katie’s shoulder. “Ain’t we, hon?”

  “Never would have guessed,” the woman muttered under her breath.

  “But we like to travel.” Truman acted as if he hadn’t heard her sarcastic dig. “Got our own plane, and I fly like a demon, right, hon?”

  “Like a demon,” Katie echoed.

  “Really?” The woman raised an eyebrow. “How nice for you.”

  “My wife’s gonna be a model. I know she’s pretty enough. And will you get a load of her figure?” Truman winked and clicked his tongue, a parody of the clichéd oil-rich Texan. “Now, you can’t tell me that’s not something special.”

  “Oh, bunny rabbit.” Katie cast her eyes down to the floor. It didn’t take much of an effort to work up a blush. She had no idea undercover work could be so embarrassing. Or that Truman would be so good at playing crude and dumb. “I’m not near pretty enough. This lady here is much prettier than me.”

  “She’s pretty all right, cupcake, and no offense, ma’am, but my wife’s a few years younger than you.”

  “None taken.” The woman pressed her lips tightly together.

  “I think you’re exquisite,” the younger man said, leering at Katie. “You should have no trouble getting modeling jobs.”

  “Really?” Katie gave him a coy smile. “Do you honestly think so?”

  “Absolutely. In fact, my partner Karl and I”—he jerked at thumb at the bald man—”we happen to own a modeling agency in New York City and we’re in Fort Worth scouting homegrown talent. Texas women have a reputation for being the prettiest in the country, and after meeting you, I’m inclined to believe it.”

  “No fooling?” Katie tried her best to look naïve, but his ingratiating flattery was making her uncomfortable.

  “No fooling.”

  “Don’t that beat all! We’re in the elevator with talent scouts, cupcake. Talk about lucky! We’re sure pleased to meet you.” Truman reached out to pump the younger man’s hand. “Zack and Tess Dupree. I think my wife is a natural, but Tess, well, she’s a little shy.”

  The younger man smiled. “I can tell. She has that innocent quality the camera loves.”

  “What did you say your name was?” Truman asked.

  “Paul. Paul Smith and this is my partner, Karl Tandy.” He didn’t introduce the woman. Was she with them or not?

  Truman shook Karl’s hand, too. The elevator dinged. “I sure want to talk to you folks,” he said. “Maybe at the reception tonight? But this is our floor.”

  “Absolutely,” Paul said. “We’ll look for you at the reception. Nice meeting you folks.”

  Karl smiled and nodded.

  The woman was studying her fingernails, a bored expression on her artfully made-up face. Katie couldn’t decide if she was with the two men or not. She’d seemed far out of their league.

  “That,” Katie said, after the elevator doors had slid closed and they were halfway down the hall, “was a piece of artful deception, Mr. Dupree.”

  Truman frowned. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, sweetheart. We’re on the right track, but until they take our money and skip town, we’ve got nothing on them.”

  “You were great. Playing the loud, obnoxiously rich Texan to the hilt.”

  “You weren’t too bad yourself, Mrs. Dupree.”

  They grinned at each other.

  “Here we are.” Truman halted outside the door of Room 2062. “This is us.”

  Katie’s mouth went dry. She’d been so caught up in the scene in the elevator she’d forgotten where she was.

  The honeymoon suite of a luxury hotel.

  Strange as it seemed, she felt like a new bride, nervous with anticipation and ecstatic about being alone with her groom. Had her sister, Jenny, felt this way on her honeymoon? Except where Jenny’s experience was real, Katie’s was a charade.

  Truman touched the plastic card into the apparatus on the door handle. It flashed a green light. He opened the door and stuck his foot inside to keep it from closing.

  “Come here.” He motioned for her.

  Katie moved closer. “What is it?”

  “I want to carry you over the threshold.”

  “What for?” She hung back.

  “Never know who’s watching.” Without giving her time to refuse, he scooped her into his arms and whirled her into the room.

  Katie pressed her head against Truman’s chest, relishing the close contact with her teenage crush. The object of her unrequited love. How many times had she imagined a scenario just like this one?

  Ten years ago, she had lain across her bed in her parents’ house on Lee Street, peering out her window at a sexy young Truman as he had washed his pickup truck or raked fallen leaves or cleaned out the gutters. Katie would watch him for hours on end, sighing frequently, while her mind played out many romantic situations.

  Sometimes, Katie imagined that they were embracing on a warm, tropical beach with the ocean’s surf crashing against the rocks, palm trees swaying in the breeze, the scent of coconut hanging on the air as the sun dipped below the horizon in a spectacular display of color. In her fantasies, Truman would hold her tight, squeeze her tenderly, and tell her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her.

  Sometimes, they were kissing in a mountain cabin high atop the Rockies, a bearskin rug on the floor beneath them, snow piling in knee-high drifts outside the window, the aroma of stew bubbling on the stove as a roaring fire crackled in the stone fireplace. In her mental creations, Truman would kiss her neck, nibble her earlobes, and tell her how much he wanted to make love to her.

  Sometimes, they were in Paris dining in a small outdoor bi
stro, sipping wine and gazing into each other’s eyes while a slight breeze caressed their skin and the smell of fresh-baked bread wafted around them as the lights from the Champs-Élysées glittered in the distance. In her mind’s eye, Truman would pull a ring box from his pocket, get down on one knee, and ask her to become his bride.

  The places and details often changed, but Truman had always been the man of her most heartfelt dreams.

  And now, here she was, in his arms, feeling his heart beating through his shirt, inhaling his unique blend of cologne and man. So close, and yet, so far. She had Truman in her grasp, but he was not really hers.

  What if? Katie wondered.

  What if, by being with her for the whole weekend, Truman came to appreciate her for the woman she was on the inside, not the glossy body she’d achieved through a strict diet and rigorous exercise?

  Would he like her then? Maybe he would even ask her out after the investigation. She knew he was attracted to her physically; the desire in his eyes was hard to miss, but what she wanted was his respect.

  Katie’s spirits lifted as she clung to Truman’s neck. Yes. What if?

  Ha! As if that could happen, the ugly niggling inner voice that had demeaned her since childhood challenged. He’s only attracted to you now because you lost weight and ditched the glasses. You didn’t impress him before that.

  Katie’s old anxieties and insecurities returned. She wasn’t good enough for Truman. He

  deserved someone much prettier. Someone like Rhonda McKnight. What if she went on an eating binge and put the weight back on? Would he find her so desirable then?

  Gulping back her fears, Katie wiggled in his arms, desperate to get away from him. It was foolish to hope that Truman could fall for her. It was a silly dream. She’d realized it ten years ago. Why, oh, why couldn’t she accept it now and stop with the fantasies?

  Pain for what she could never have stabbed through Katie. This was too cruel, too torturous. She couldn’t stay here. Not for a whole weekend, not alone with him, not when she still carried a torch for the man.

  The door snapped shut behind them, and Truman settled Katie on the floor, oblivious to her inner turmoil.