Deadly Deception (8 page)

Though there were lights on in various rooms in the house, but no cars in the driveway.  He started to get out of the vehicle but heard the hum of a car motor approaching.  He slipped back inside in time to see a red Ferrari Enzo turn into the drive and stop in front the white gate.  The car window went down and someone punched in the security code, then the car sped through the open gate toward the house.

Damn.  Talk about money.  The Ferrari Enzo was one of Lane's dream cars and he knew it didn't sell for under $650,000.  The expensive car and the 2.5 million dollar home pissed him off.  Medical doctors make good money but not this much.  Selling babies must be more profitable than he thought.  And Lane wouldn’t stop fighting for Mandy until the bastard went down.

Lane considered the thick woods on either side of the house for cover before he decided to get a closer look.  He crouched along a line of trees less than a hundred yards from the house.  A light flipped on in an upstairs window and he could see that the good doctor had a lady friend in the bedroom with him.  Though she wore scrubs, he could tell she was shapely.  She pulled the elastic from her ponytail and her golden hair flowed about her shoulders.  In no time, the doctor had his arms around her waist and lifted her shirt over her head.

A black Lincoln Town Car pulled in the drive.  A tall man with shaggy, blonde hair got out of the car then walked to the front door and slammed his hand on the door bell.

Upstairs, Lane could see the doctor left his lady friend on the bed and rushed out of the room.

The front door flew open and a very angry Dr. Eric Caine came outside.  They began shouting.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" 

"I figured you'd want to know about it as soon as possible."

"Don't you know how to use a cell phone?"

Caine closed the front door and joined the man on the front porch. They lit cigarettes and talked. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it seemed as if the visitor was doing some back peddling.  He kept wiping his brow with his hand and nervously raking his fingers through his hair.  His body language indicated he was trying to calm the doctor down.  His efforts didn't work because the doctor was still angry, yelling and waving his arms.  They ended their conversation and blonde-haired man got back into the Lincoln Town Car and left.

Staying in the wooded areas of the property, Lane moved around the house until he'd covered all sides.  He wanted to see if there was a separate entrance to the basement level.  There wasn't.  As he lowered himself to a more comfortable position, he heard a pop and bark burst from the tree he was beneath, possibly four to five inches from his head.  What the hell!  He dove and flattened himself to the ground.  Someone had just shot at him.  A shot that could have blown his head off had missed him by mere inches.

Lane looked carefully in all directions as he pulled out his Glock.  Judging from the gouge in the tree, the shot came from an area directly across from him in a section of thick trees.  He focused on the area and saw nothing until the moon emerged from a drifting cloud.  A figure ran toward the road, crunching leaves and branches under his feet as he ran.  Lane flew after him.  He reached the road in time to see the dark Lincoln Town Car racing in the direction of town until it blended in with the inky-black of the night.

Two things were clear.  Dr. Eric Caine had hired protection, but why? The second thing was Caine would soon know someone was watching him.  Caine just didn't know who.

Chapter Three

Lane Hansen headed for his supervisor's office for the tenth time in two weeks.  He was on a mission.  Lane had debriefed his boss about his interviews with Mandy Morris's friends, his suspicions about Dr. Eric Caine and his Forever Home Adoption Agency.  But his boss was still pondering Lane's idea for an undercover op. 

Lane had explained to him the case was a heavy hitter that involved a well-known physician who was suspected of running a shady adoption agency.  He'd learned that Eric Caine had powerful political ties in the state so there was an element of risk for his boss, who had just been elected to the sheriff position.  But it was a risk Lane wanted him to take to put this baby-selling and victimizing, murdering agency out of business and get justice for Mandy Morris.

Lane had suggested that he and a female partner go undercover posing as a couple interested in adopting a baby to get inside Frank's operation to solve Mandy's murder as well as expose a possible baby-trafficking ring.

 “Lane, I know you think you're ready to do undercover work, but with this case I need two cops who can pose as a married couple.  Unfortunately, we’ve got three women on the team. One is built like a linebacker and the other two
are
pregnant. So we have no one to play the wife role in your scenario."

“Sir, for this case, why don’t we go outside the department?  I know a private investigator who can handle herself on a job like this."

Sheriff Tim Brennan’s brows drew together.  “What’s the P.I.’s name?”

“Frankie Douglas.  I worked with her last year on the Charles Beatty serial killer case.  She’s a former sharpshooter for the Army.”

“Is this the same Frankie Douglas you shot?”

Lane’s face flushed with the guilt he still felt about the shooting.   “Yes, sir.  It was an accident.  We were heading down the stairs of Beatty’s cellar to apprehend him when one of the steps gave way.  When I fell, my gun went off and the bullet hit Frankie.”

“Has Frankie Douglas done police work before?”

“I heard she’s a former detective so undoubtedly she's done undercover.”

“I think I’ve heard about her.  Isn’t she a pretty, tall blonde woman?”

“Oh, she’s more than pretty. Think Victoria Secret hot.”  Lust shot through him as a vision of Frankie appeared in his mind.

“Is that right?  Do you have a personal thing going with Ms. Douglas?”  The sheriff asked the questions with a raised brow and clenched jaw.

“No, sir.  Strictly professional.”  Of course, if given a chance, he’d make it personal in 2.5 seconds.  But did his boss need to know that?  Nope.

Brennan glared at Lane then picked up his phone and pushed a number on his speed dial.  “Hello, Frankie.  This is
Uncle
Tim.  I may have a job for you. Would you please drop by my office sometime this week?”

Lane slumped down in his chair and wished for a hole he could crawl in.  Damn it.  How was he to know his new boss was Frankie's uncle?

Brennan hung up the phone and glared at Lane for what seemed like an eternity.  He pushed back in his chair, and said, "I'm Frankie's uncle and I'm also kind of a stand-in dad since her father died when she was fourteen."

"Sir, I meant no disrespect."

"That's good news, Lane.  Because if you choose to mess with Frankie in any way, I will personally kick your ass and you can find another place to be detective.  Do you understand?"

"I believe so." 

"And when I talk to her about the undercover job, if she has any reservations whatsoever about doing this with you, it's off.  And if she
does
agree to do it, you damn well better make sure your relationship with her on the job stays professional.  Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"There's this saying, 'You don't screw with your partner and your partner won't screw with you.'  Understand?"

"I believe so."  Lane nodded as he stood, then slowly walked back to his desk.  Ideas were swirling in his mind like a mixer in cake batter.  There was only one thing he could do.  He'd have to convince Frankie that it was a good, if not a great idea, to go undercover with him.  He could behave himself and keep things on a professional basis.  Couldn't he?

Frankie tapped her long fingernails on the steering wheel.  The Monday after a long weekend was never her favorite time for surveillance, but the money was good.  Just last night she realized her private investigation company was in the black for the first time in two years.  So she wasn't going to whine about being bored and tired.

Finally two hours later, after tracking her for three long weeks, she had "Church Lady" in her sights.  The woman approached the Marriott at noon with a tall, dark and handsome man who was definitely
not
her husband, whose photo lay on her dashboard.  Church Lady was the nickname her partner, Ted, had given their newest client's wife, Beverly, because her excuses to her husband for being out at all hours of the night and unavailable many times during the day was that she was preparing Sunday school lessons.

Frankie took five photos of the happy, clinging couple entering the hotel.  That was an hour ago and Frankie couldn't wait a second more.  She flew out of her car and ran into the hotel lobby to use their ladies' room.

Lane Hansen found Frankie's car after threatening her partner, Ted, with a speeding ticket if he didn't give him her location.  Unfortunately, Frankie was not in the car.  Since it was unlocked with the windows down, he made himself at home in the passenger seat.  He had waited ten minutes and had gotten bored, so he snagged her backpack from the back and pulled it into the front seat to have a look.  He rummaged inside, pulling out a makeup kit, a stun gun, pepper spray, tape recorder, binoculars, her Glock 21, a plastic bag filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies, and a thermos.  He knew Frankie was a huge Starbucks fan and was obviously on a stakeout for a client so he opened the thermos to discover the fragrant, delicious aroma of hot Espresso with a double shot — his favorite.  He was in the midst of pouring himself a cup, when in the distance Frankie came out of the Marriott Hotel.

He watched her as she strode toward him.  Their gazes locked, causing her face to twist into a distrustful expression.  Long flowing hair, whiskey brown eyes, peaches and cream skin, she was gorgeous as ever.  He got turned on just looking at her.

"Lane Hansen, what are you doing in my car?”  She eyed the thermos in his hand and then shifted her glare to his wide grin.  “Besides drinking my Espresso and snagging a chocolate chip cookie from my backpack?"  She snatched the backpack out of his lap and tossed it in the back seat. 

"Is that any kind of a welcome?"  He sipped the Espresso then bit a chunk out of the cookie.  "Did you make these cookies?  They're pretty good."

"Those were left on my car during the night by a psychotic stalker I've been trying ditch.  Last time the fool left food, he left brownies with chunks of laxative baked in."  She grinned as she watched his expression as the lie sunk in and he shoved the cookie back in the bag. 

"There's something we need to discuss."

"And I'm interested, why?"

"I'm serious, Frankie.  Did you hear about that young woman that was murdered and dumped in the woods near Kramer?"

"Actually, I did.  I think that's an odd place to dump a body unless you're from the area."

"Yeah, I thought so too.  Her murder is my case.  Her name was Mandy Morris and she was a nineteen year old student at I.U.  When I saw you in Bloomington that day, I was there interviewing her friends.  Turns out she gave birth about six weeks before she was killed.  I think the adoption agency she was associated with may be trafficking babies and someone at the agency murdered her."