Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

His stubbled jaw brushed her thigh, the sensation of scratchy heat sending jolts of desire up her spine. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’m trying to see if these cords are loose enough to free your legs.” He looked up at her, his eyes nearly black in the stripes of moonlight invading the dark room.

She gulped nervously. “What for?”

“So maybe you can get out of here.”

“Oh.” She felt oddly let down by his matter-of-fact answer. His teeth scraped against her thigh again as he tried to pull at the cords. Iris closed her eyes, blotting out her fears for the moment. Instead, she replaced them with wishes of a whole new kind-foolish, dreamy, not-in-this-lifetime kind of wishes.

Wishes that he would make love to her. Wishes that she could tangle her fingers in his dark hair and make this a very different encounter.

“Relax your thighs,” Mickey said. “Let me try this one more time.”

Iris nearly jumped out of the chair at the sensation of his hot, wet tongue sliding along her flesh and trying to work beneath the cord. She didn’t squeal, but her breathing became more labored.

Mickey squinted up at her. “Sorry, is this getting to you?” He bent his head and plucked at the cords with his teeth. But she was pretty sure she’d seen him smile.

“I don’t think this-” another gasp, “-is going to work.”

“Come on, give me a few minutes. We’re in a bedroom, it’s dark, we’re alone. Just pretend I’m making love to you.”

Iris held her breath. He hadn’t really said that. “Don’t joke about it, okay?”

“Who’s joking?” He lifted his face, his gaze roaming over her. “If this is my last night on this Earth, I sure as hell want to spend it with you.”

Trussed up as they were, Iris knew there was no way to fulfill either of their desires. And though she still didn’t believe him, she was grateful to pretend. “I want that, too, Mickey, but those guys could come in here any minute.”

“Forget those two. I could out-think them with my hands tied behind my back.” He grinned that careless, swashbuckling grin at her, almost making her believe him. “Now, where were we?” This time, his moist lips missed the cord entirely as he suckled her skin, teasing her flesh with his tongue.

Footfalls in the other room alerted Iris, and her whole body tensed, destroying the moment.

Mickey scooted away from her heated flesh. “Let me do the talking,” he whispered before Jock and Pebbles came through the door.

They stopped, silhouetted by the lights in the living room behind them, and Iris had to wonder if they did it for effect.

“I told you he’d be conscious by now,” Jock said as an aside to his partner.

“You want I should knock him out again?” asked Pebbles.

Jock waved the idea away as if it were a pesky gnat. “Nah, it’s time Mickey told us what’s really going on here. Maybe he and Miss Fortune here have got a plan.”

“I don’t even know why I’m tied up,” Mickey said.

“So you didn’t get those little gems you delivered this evening from her? Because they turned out to be first-class copies. Turner says the Boss is pissed.”

“Copies?” He turned wide eyes to Iris, and for a second he had her fooled that he hadn’t known they were copies. The liar.

“Where’d you get them made, Mick?” Jock pulled a gun from his waistband. “Turner wants to know.”

“I didn’t get them made. Who had time? Those are the stones I got from Cosmo.”

“Got ’em from a dead man, did you?”

A whole new level of numbness drained Iris’s body. Had these two thugs killed her father?

Pebbles nodded his bumpy bald head. “That’s true, Mickey. You told us yourself that you killed Cosmo and stuffed him in the trunk of your car.”

Iris drew a long, slow, silent breath between her teeth. She hoped it would keep her from fainting-or from screaming at that charming, scheming, lying killer. She’d personally make sure Mickey Kincaid paid for her father’s life with blood.

Mickey didn’t even glance her way as he explained himself to those guys. “I made Cosmo tell me where they were stashed. How was I supposed to know they were fake? You can’t pin this one on me.”

That weasel Jock laughed. “We don’t have to. Turner is coming over to find out where you disposed of Cosmo. And then I suspect he’s going to dump you and your pretty girlfriend right there with him.”

Pebbles tugged on his sleeve. “But I get to keep the bunny this time, right Jock?”

“Would you shut up about the goddamn bunny?” Jock shoved the giant out of his way so he could stalk toward them. He stuck the gun to Mickey’s temple.

Despite her anger, Iris squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the inevitable shot.

But Jock just laughed after a few seconds. “It’s been fun knowing you, Mickey, and Miss Fortune-well, I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to know each other better.” He chucked her under the chin, making her eyes fly open.

If her mouth weren’t so dry, she would have spat at him.

“Come on, Pebbles. Turner will be here any time. Why don’t you go pick us up some dinner.” Jock stalked back to the living room.

The giant remained behind. “Does the bunny like lettuce, Mickey?”

Iris opened her mouth, but then bit back the caustic comment. After all, she’d seen this guy hit Mickey. She’d better not rile him.

“Sure. He loves lettuce. And carrots.” Mickey’s tone remained relaxed and sincere. “And the rabbit’s name is Edgar. If something happens to me, you’ll take good care of that little guy, right?”

“You bet, Mick.” Pebbles grinned and left the room.

Mickey shouted after them. “Hey, if you’re getting carryout, bring us back something.”

She had to hand it to him. Even with these appalling odds, he was absolutely brazen.

The bedroom door stood open, light streaming in to paint a large rectangle on the floor near her chair. Mickey’s legs were gilded in the incandescent light, while his upper body lay in shadow. She’d been counting on this man, and he was a complete mystery to her. If he’d killed Cosmo… Her heart went numb as she wrestled with the implications.

From the living room, Iris heard muffled voices then the apartment door opened and closed. One of them had left. The television clicked on, though she tuned it out except for the occasional bursts of a laugh track.

Cosmo’s dead. He can’t help you. Yeah, right, as if Cosmo had ever… She blinked away useless, too-late tears. The painful part was admitting that somehow she’d hoped he’d mend his ways. Now, she’d never see him again. Never get her answers to so many questions.

She had to get away. Releasing her breath, slowly, she twisted her shoulder to an angle impossible for most people. Fortunately, Cosmo had taught her one element of magic-the art of escape. Why the hell had she been sitting here this long waiting for someone else to rescue her?

“Iris.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I didn’t kill Cosmo.”

The sincerity with which he said it made her turn her head and contemplate him.

“God, do you think I could even face you if I’d-” He swallowed. “If I’d done that? He’s alive as far as I know.”

“You keep telling me that so I’ll help you. But come on, who am I supposed to believe? The man who carries a gun? Or those guys-”

“You’re going to believe Jock and Pebbles over me?”

“There’s Edgar, too. He said you held him and Cosmo at gunpoint.”

“Edga-” Mickey shook his head, as if to clear it. “You’re going to convict me on the testimony of two petty crooks and a rabbit? Jesus, I told those guys I offed Cosmo because I was trying to buy your father time. The only way I could keep Turner and his men from hunting Cosmo down was to make them all believe I’d already dealt with him.”