Kylie Brant - Dangerous Deception

“You have an overactive imagination.”

She refused to take offense. “Uh-uh, just an ability to connect the dots. The FBI never did catch whoever kidnapped your sister when she was a toddler, but she was found safe and sound before your family paid a ransom. So it’s doubtful that you’re interested in that particular investigation. That leaves the one you hired my Dad for. Since you’ve waited this long, something must have happened recently to convince you there was more to the story.”

His face was impassive. “Are you finished?”

“Almost.” Something about his still air had a chill skittering down her spine. She’d trailed unsavory characters through the back alleys of New Orleans and never experienced this level of unease. Shaking off the reaction, she went on with more confidence than she felt, “You may not have gotten what you came for when you stopped by my office, but I can get it for you.” When he started to speak, she held up a hand to stop him. “I understand you’ve got a brother who has made a name for himself as a detective for the NOPD. He’s probably capable of acquiring certain types of information, as well, but it occurred to me that had you wanted to involve him, he would have been the one to show up at Landry Investigations, instead of you.”

She reached into her briefcase again, surprised to see her hands trembling, just a bit. Handing him a file folder, she said, “You came to me looking for answers of some kind, Mr. Tremaine. Whether you know it or not, you need me if you hope to find them.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek was a nervous habit she’d outgrown when she was twelve, so Tori willed herself to stop doing it now. But that flinty-eyed stare Tremaine arrowed at her after glancing at the pictures in the file folder would have mowed down the firmest intentions. “Where did you get these?”

“From a scumbag photojournalist who’s a great admirer of his own work.” Kiki Corday wouldn’t blink at the description, as long as he’d made a buck on the deal. He also never threw away a shot he’d taken as long as there was the remotest possibility he could still cash in this time. He’d certainly cashed in on it. “He assured me they wouldn’t have been part of the police file.”

“They weren’t.” Tremaine snapped the folder shut and thrust it toward her again. She felt twinges of sympathy and regret. Sympathy, because looking at old photos of the automobile wreckage that had killed his parents couldn’t be pleasant. And regret that she’d been the one to make him do so. “They also don’t prove a thing.”

“I disagree. They prove that I have sources you don’t.” She lifted her shoulders, then let them fall. “They prove you need me, or someone like me, if you want information. Check out the other contents in the folder.” With a visible show of reluctance, he did so. It took conscious effort for her to push aside a sneaky blade of guilt. James Tremaine was on a quest that was bound to stir up more than a few old wounds. She shouldn’t, wouldn’t feel responsible for his pain. She looked away from him, concentrating on the century-old oaks outside while he flipped through the reports and pictures in the file.

When he spoke, there was a strange note to his tone. “You have a copy of the sheriff’s accident report in here. How’d you get your hands on that?”

Her brows skimmed upward. “It’s what I do, ace. That’s why my license says Investigator. I investigate stuff.”

“I’ve always made it a point to avoid working with smart-asses,” he said mildly, continuing to flip through the file. “Bad for the blood pressure, and who needs the aggravation.”

It took a great deal of effort on Tori’s part to avoid a delighted grin. Not over the smart-ass comment, although truth be told it wouldn’t be the first time the description had been applied to her. But his comment could be interpreted, in a roundabout, insulting sort of way, that he might be considering working with her, couldn’t it?

Adopting a more conciliatory attitude, she said, “If you hire me you’ll have every bit of information that I come across. But I won’t always be able to divulge my sources.” That brought his gaze snapping up to hers, and she didn’t flinch from it. “The sheriff’s report was easy enough. All motor vehicle accident investigations are a matter of public record. But I’m thinking that the answers you’re looking for won’t be found by going through old records, will they?”

He stared hard at her, long enough to have her decide that those deep-blue eyes of his could be strangely hypnotic. Not that Tori was prone to instant mesmerization from a mere look, she thought uncomfortably, but she was a trained observer. She couldn’t help but notice things like that.

Nodding toward the file he still held, she said, “My purpose in coming here was to show you what I can do. I put those contents together in a day and a half. But if you’re looking for information other than what was included in my dad’s original report to you, I’m going to have to tap completely different sources. And some of them have to remain confidential. It’s a condition for their talking to me at all.”

Tremaine flipped the file closed, tapped the edge against his open palm. “No offense, but I know countless individuals I can hire to look into this for me. Why would I need you?”

She’d been ready for this question, and her answer came smoothly. “I already know why you need a private investigator, which means one less person you have to share the information with. The fewer people who know, the easier it will be to keep quiet. And it was my father you wanted to talk to. I learned the business from him. I know who a lot of his contacts are…were,” she corrected herself, ignoring the pang that accompanied the reminder. “With him gone, I work alone, except for some services that I contract out. You could go with a bigger company, one with more manpower, but that just means more people are going to know about your private affairs.”

The last was a gamble. By the flicker in his eyes, she could assume it had paid off. James Tremaine was, by nature, a very private man. And his quest was an intensely personal one.

“You don’t look old enough to have acquired all that much experience.”

“I’ve had my license three years, but I’d worked for my dad on and off for years before that. My mother died when I was six. I was raised in and around his business.” She stopped then, one of her dad’s favorite sayings drifting through her mind. Put your cards on the table and let the client decide if he wants to talk or walk.

Dragging a matching chair to face hers, he sat, more elegantly than she had. Somehow she managed to suppress a sneer when she noted the care he took with the crease in his trousers.

“Decision-making time, Mr. Tremaine.” Tori leaned back into her chair, the relaxed pose belying the nerves scampering along her spine. “That folder proves I’m capable of conducting the investigation you’re interested in. I’m also tenacious and a good listener.” Because that last had him raising his eyebrows, she shrugged modestly. “People tend to talk to me. That’s a plus in my line of work. And it might be to your advantage to use a woman on this case, did you ever think of that?” At his arrested expression she knew she’d scored a direct hit. “I’m assuming you’ll want this kept quiet.”

“Discretion is imperative.”

She nodded. She offered nothing less to her clients. “As a female I’m apt to rouse less suspicion in certain circles. I can go places, do things, that men can’t.”

He was silent long enough to have disappointment welling inside her, a slow steady surge. Until that moment she hadn’t let herself think of failure, but it faced her now, stark and uncompromising. It was the first job she’d pitched since her dad had died. The first door, since then, to be shut in her face. His death had become a yardstick by which she measured a lot of firsts these days. And lasts.