Liar Read online

  Draping the subpoena over the steering wheel, my eyes dart back and forth between it and the road as I try to familiarize myself with my next target. Yes. I’m a flipping poster child for things you shouldn’t do when you’re driving. Pushing the annoying thought away, I flip to the second page of the document. Appears to be the standard stuff. Adam Lesser must attend court blah blah blah and provide testimony yada yada yada in the case of the State vs John Lieblong. So, our boy is being forced to take the stand by the state. I’m sure he’ll love that.

  Mr. Lesser’s address is easy to find, a chic new condo complex that sits right smack dab in the heart of downtown with no public parking nearby and no available meters. Across the street, Horace’s Gentlemen’s Club sprawls across most of the block, which probably explains why parking is so scarce.

  Just for shits and giggles, I hover for a minute to see if anybody leaves, keeping the car idling so I can whip into any vacating spots without worrying about someone snatching it from me and forcing me to Taser their ass in the middle of the street. As I’m waiting, Fate decides to do me one better.

  Our handsome Mr. Lesser leaves the apartment building and heads back toward the other end of town. Naturally, because God hates me, I’m facing the other direction on a one-way street. Dammit. If I’d been in my car instead of Kevin’s, I would have ditched it here, double parked on a one-way. But I can’t treat the Mustang that way. She’s too much of a lady, and I can’t disrespect her like that. So instead, I barrel down the street and cut onto the first crossroad I come to, popping out four blocks later on the other side with Mr. Lesser nowhere in sight. Against my better judgment, I pull into one of the city parking lots to hoof it from here.

  I start off at a decent pace, determined to catch up with my elusive subject. But, who am I kidding? I run out of steam before I even get off the lot. In my defense, though, it’s a pretty good-sized parking lot. Forcing myself to keep jogging a few more feet, I stop and bend over, my hands resting on my knees, and my chest heaving in and out like a Scotchman’s bagpipe. Just. Have. To. Catch. My. Breath.

  A minute later, I stand up straight again, scouring the vicinity in the unlikely event he might still be nearby. No such luck, of course. Giving up, I light a cigarette and massage the cramp that’s settled in my calf as I consider turning around and going back for the car. Son of a bitch, it’s hot out here.

  Shielding my eyes against the harsh sunlight, I can barely make out the far edge of the Oakhurst horse track from where I’m standing, panting and puffing—the ponies have already started running. That’s probably where our guy is heading, and there’s not a chance in Hell of me running that distance without dying of a heat stroke or an embolism. Screw it. I’ll walk.

  By the time I reach the hot springs bath houses, I’m already bathed—in sweat, that is—and still no sign of Mr. Lesser. But, trooper that I am, I keep trudging along toward the track, past the tipsters and the prostitutes, in between the businessmen and the Southern belles. Worst comes to worst, I’ll just pop in and place a quick bet so the trip isn’t a total loss.

  The closer I get, the more I start dreading the walk back. Maybe they’ll loan me a horse for the return trip? Or, better yet, I could just take a taxi back with my winnings. As I walk along considering my options, a hawker grabs my attention.

  “How ’bout you, pretty lady? Can I interest you in one of these here genuine zirconia diamond rings?”

  I keep walking. “Um... No.”

  “How about this beautiful leather bracelet?” He slips it on his own wrist and shakes it at me.

  “No, thanks.”

  Wait a minute. Pausing, I hold up Mr. Lesser’s photo and watch as he studies it, barely blinking. “But maybe you can tell me if you’ve seen this guy?”

  “Never seen him.” He turns around looking for other passersby to harass. He’s lying, of course.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a twenty-dollar bill, and attach it to the photo. “Look again.”

  His eyes widen, and he snatches it greedily. “Name’s Adam. Adam Moore or something like that... Less! That’s it. Or, Lesser, maybe? He lives down yon,” he says, pointing back toward town.

  “Great. Now tell me something I don’t know. Like where he is right now?”

  A crooked smile reveals his somewhat non-existent dental regimen as he points again, this time toward the gaming rooms beside the racetrack. “Look in there. Over by the slot machines or in the office near the back.”

  Office? “Does he work there?”

  The hawker shrugs, and I have a feeling he could tell me a lot more, but I’m low on cash. All I really need to know is where the guy is, anyway.

  “Thanks.” I’ll check out the office and see what I can find there.

  “Hey there, young lady!”

  Surprised, I spin around to face him. “Yeah?”

  “This ain’t altogether office hours, if you get my meaning. Maybe you should leave and come back later with yer daddy?” His dull eyes narrow menacingly.

  He’s telling me not to go in alone? So, maybe this Adam guy is a lot worse than I gave him credit for.

  “Sure. Just ask your mother to have him call me.” I give him a wink and walk away as he cackles behind me.

  Inside, I elbow my way through the crowd to the betting cages. No sense waiting until the last minute to place my wager. Plus, if I have to hit the door running on my way out, I may not get another opportunity. Waiting patiently for my turn, I watch some of the hard-ass gamblers studying their forms and tipster materials. The man beside me has his pencil busy with a math formula so complex, it looks like he’s trying to verify Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. Guys like him take all the fun out of gambling.

  There is a science to picking out a good horse, and while it does include looking at the horse’s historical stats and past performance, the current jockey and the state of the track, among other things, the most important piece of information to consider is the horse’s name. And, this morning, I found a horse with the perfect name. So what if she’s twenty-three to one odds? She just feels right.

  “Fifty to win on Lovely Liar.” Slapping my cash on the counter, I turn sideways trying to keep the guy behind me from spooning me as the crowd presses against us impatiently.

  “Fifty to win on Lovely Liar. Good luck,” she says, shoving the ticket at me without even looking up.

  The man behind me pushes me out of the way before I finish stuffing it in my back pocket. It’s a good motivator to head toward the game room.

  “Hey, baby! How’s about you come over here and sit on my lap? I need some luck.” A group of young guys congregate around one of the slot machines, laughing, while they take turns yanking on the handle.

  “If you’re waiting for me, you need a lot of luck, and a lot more quarters than that.” Shaking my head, I move on quickly before they try to talk to me again.

  I try to catch a glimpse of Mr. Lesser as I pace up and down the aisles, weaving in and out between the gaming machines. It seems luck is running thin everywhere around this place today because he’s nowhere to be found. After a few laps on the floor, I make my way toward the office where the toothless hawker suggested he might be. Ignoring all the signs that warn only employees are welcome, I wander down an empty hallway toward the back of the building, expecting a horde of angry croupiers to chase me down and beat me with a craps stick at any moment.

  Finally, after what seems like hours of walking around in circles as I cursed Philip Morris and the entire tobacco industry, I manage to find the elusive office. Pausing a few seconds to catch my breath, I raise my fist to knock, but stop short when the sound of shouting makes me rethink the soundness of that decision. Having a naturally nosy disposition, I can’t help but press my ear a little closer to the door and strain to listen.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I’m about to turn and walk away, I swear, when the door swings open abruptly and Mr. Lesser launches through it like a bullet streaking headfirst right into me, knocking me to the floor on my ass.

  “Oomph!” Sub papers go airborne, fluttering around like a pack of dying moths. Once my teeth stop rattling and I’m satisfied that I don’t have a concussion, I scramble up on all fours trying valiantly to assemble my poop in a group, or get my shit together, if you prefer, enough to at least acknowledge my attacker and find his summons.

  “Jesus! I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

  I push my hair out of my face while glancing up. Then, the breath knocks out of me again, and I sit back down. From my position on the floor, with his crotch just centimeters from my face, my eyes continue their long journey upward. This guy looks to be well over six feet tall. With ideal bone structure, his face is perfectly symmetrical and masculine. Square-jawed, with the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen, and topped with a crop of messy, dark hair, he is absolutely flawless. But, his eyes... Beautiful! His eyes are what hold me speechless. Not hazel, not blue-green, but green. Cat’s eyes. They make me think of four-leaf clovers, emeralds and the Mediterranean Sea—the greenest, most seductive fucking eyes I’ve ever seen, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away.

  Determined to ruin my fantasy, another man rushes out of the office toward us and hops around excitedly behind him. “Dammit, Adam! What the hell did you do?”

  “I didn’t mean to. She was standing right there in front of the door when I came out,” Mr. Lesser tries to explain to the man before turning his attention back to me. “Are you okay? Do you need some help?”

  Assessing my situation, I realize that I’m sprawled on the dirty floor of a casino at the race track, my Aviators dangling carelessly from one ear, and all my subs remain scattered to the four corners of the apocalypse. I give my head a little shake hoping my marbles fall back into
their appropriate slots, and then peel off my glasses, hooking them onto the front of my shirt.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” Apparently, I can speak as long as I don’t look directly at him. So I make a concerted effort to avert my eyes, looking everywhere else instead. Clambering up to my hands and knees again, I start scooping my papers together and scraping them toward me. “I just need to...”

  “Here. Let me help you.” Kneeling down, he calmly begins collecting papers.

  “Lady, if you want to file a claim, come in here when you’re done and I’ll give you a form to fill out. And, Adam, try not to kill anybody on your way out,” the other man grumbles as he retreats to his office and closes the door.

  “You don’t need to do this, really. I’m fine. I can get these myself.” Strangely, my face feels hot and my forehead is damp with perspiration. Jesus. Am I blushing? I’m not really the type to get embarrassed often. Well, ever. I never get embarrassed. That would imply that I actually give a shit, which I don’t.

  “It’s the least I can do. I want to help,” he says, picking up the last stray sub and adding it to the others in his hand.

  “Well, thank you,” I mumble, staring at his feet. Really big feet.

  He taps the edges of the papers softly on the floor and straightens them before he hands them back to me. “Here you go. There’s—” Stopping in mid-sentence, a crease forms across his lovely forehead as he reads the paper on the top of the stack. “What is—? You’re—? You—?”

  No doubt he’s looking at the subpoena with his name on it. I nod as I retrieve the papers from his hand, singling his out, and then handing it back to him. “Mr. Lesser, I’m sorry, but you’re officially served.”

  All I can do is blink at him, waiting for him to cuss me out or help me up so he can knock me back down again. Surprisingly, he doesn’t do either one. Even more surprising, he smiles at me instead, and it’s a real smile, warm, welcoming and pleasant. It’s totally disarming and wholly unnerving. So, naturally, he must be plotting his revenge.

  “Well, I guess we’re even now.”

  His voice is deep and husky, smooth even. No Arkansas twang or other discernible accent, either. It’s almost soothing, and I want him to talk some more. Honestly, I want him to say my name, to watch as those full, sexy lips say they want me.

  I exhale, wondering how long I’ve actually been holding my breath and staring at his mouth. “Oh. Yeah. I guess we are even.”

  I try to laugh, but it comes out more like some weird giggle-snort. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “Looks like we both got served. I didn’t mean to tackle you, though.”

  “I’ll live. Sorry I had to serve you, but it’s my job.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been expecting it. I just figured it’d be some big, old, bald guy in a pair of khaki shorts. I didn’t expect —” He stops talking and rakes his bright, glistening eyes over me shamelessly. Hell, I start blushing all over again.

  “You didn’t expect what?” Some clumsy, gangly girl with a hangover? A brat in blue jeans and a Clash T-shirt with a boulder-size chip on her shoulder? What?

  “I didn’t expect to get served by a... a woman. Is this some kind of a new strategy? Send a beautiful woman to serve the subpoena, so the men don’t try to run away?”

  Did he say beautiful? As in, me? I know I’m staring at him again, gaping, actually. My brain can’t seem to process this latest bit of information in order to form an appropriate response. He said beautiful. I’m sure he said beautiful.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “You didn’t.” My face is heating up again. Fuck! Stop it!

  He chuckles and hops to his feet, stretching his hand out to me. “I can see that. Let me help you up.”

  I try to refuse, but my hand reaches out to him anyway. “Thanks.”

  “Are you sure you’re alright? Let me get you something to drink.”

  “I’m okay, really. I don’t want to keep you.” Fidgeting, I smooth out my clothes and do a quick finger job on my hair, trying to recover.

  “Actually, I think it would be me keeping you since I’m not the one working right now.”

  So, he doesn’t work here, after all.

  “Yeah. And, speaking of, I should probably get back to it.” Not that I really need to. I only have a few more subs to deliver, and they’re all on my way home.

  “Tell you what, one beer and then I’ll feel better about plowing over you.”

  I honestly wouldn’t mind you plowing me, at all.

  “Um... I’m working. I can’t.”

  “Lemonade, then. One glass of lemonade.”

  Smiling, I seriously consider his offer.

  “I don’t think I can take no for an answer.” He grins.

  “Fine. One glass of lemonade. But you really don’t have to.”

  “I want to, though. I really do. Besides, if you leave right now before I even know your name, I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

  “Well, if that’s the only thing that’s going to keep you up tonight, then I don’t feel so bad about serving you that subpoena.”

  “What? This thing?” He holds the paper up, smirking. “Nothing to do with me. Not really. Come on. I know a place that has great lemonade right over here.”

  He leads me to one of the concession stands where he orders our drinks. The girl behind the counter has pretty much the same reaction to him that I did, pushing out her breasts and smoothing her hair back into her ponytail. If she bats her eyes any faster, someone is going to mistake it for a seizure. While he’s standing with his back to me, I take the opportunity to check him out a little closer.

  I’ve already gotten a close-up, personal inspection of his front, having been eye to eye with his Johnson while on the floor. Now, I can confirm that he’s just as delicious from behind. His jeans hang loosely off his hips, accentuating a nice, trim waist and a firm, round bottom. He’s got just the right amount of muscle, subtle, but definitely there. The smitten kitten behind the counter flashes him a Pan-Am smile as she hands him our drinks.

  “Outside?” He stands in front of me holding our cups in his hands and nods toward the exit behind the stand.

  “Sure.” It’s almost race time, anyway.

  Climbing the bleachers and dodging other spectators, I manage to reach the top of the stands without tripping. I can’t breathe by the time we get there, but at least I manage a somewhat graceful ascent. Thankfully, it’s fairly empty way up here in the nose-bleed section. So, I only have to hide my wheezing from him.

  “This okay?”

  “This is fine,” I pant. Taking my cup from him, I sit down. As soon as we get situated and I start to breathe a little easier, he relaxes so that his leg falls casually to rest against mine. I’m sure he doesn’t even notice, but it gets me flustered and it’s not long before I start to ramble like an idiot.

  “So, Mr. Lesser. You come here often?”

  Did I really just say that?

  “You mean, what’s a nice guy like me doing in a place like this?”

  “Something like that, I guess,” I give him a weak smile.

  “Well, first of all, my name is Adam. But I guess you already know that.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m Billie. Billie Shaw.”

  “Billie,” he whispers, causing all my internal organs to melt like goo into my underwear. “Nice to meet you, Billie Shaw. Now I can sleep tonight. That was actually my brother-in-law back there. We sort of work together. So, yeah. I guess I’m here quite a bit.”

  “Then, you do work here?”

  “No. You might say we’re partners in another venture. I run the other business. What about you? How does a beautiful woman like you get into the subpoena delivery business, Billie?”

  A chill runs through me upon hearing him say my name again. I’ve never heard my name sound so sexy before, but that’s exactly what it is. It rolls off his tongue like pure sex. And, that’s two beautifuls in less than an hour. “I... uh... I work for a private investigator. Caldwell Investigations.”

  “You’re a private investigator?” He looks at me, shocked. Or horrified. I’m not sure which.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not an investigator. I work for one. I just deliver subpoenas and stuff. Sometimes, I snap a few pictures. But I don’t really investigate anything. We have other people who do that stuff.”