Metsy Hingle - Behind The Mask

As Lily pushed her son on the swing, Michael noticed there was an edginess to her movements. And that her eyes were continuously moving, searching, watching. When she stared over in the direction of the trees where he was parked, Michael held his breath a moment and wondered if he had been spotted. Then her gaze moved past him and seemed to search some spot beyond. Had that been fear in those green eyes? he wondered.

The notion that she was in trouble—and not just for robbing her husband and kidnapping her son—gnawed at him, stirring old feelings and protective instincts he thought he’d buried a long time ago. Yet even as he tried to shake these feelings, he struggled once again with the image of the calculating woman Webster had described. He wanted to believe Lily was a coldhearted female and not this seemingly delicate woman playing with her child.

“Metsy Hingle…will delight readers with her skill at storytelling in this charmer.”

—Romantic Times on The Wager

Dear Reader,

For those of you familiar with my work, you know that many of my books are set in my own hometown of New Orleans. As you’ve probably guessed from the title, Behind the Mask takes place in that magical city during the height of the Mardi Gras season. I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

One of the best things about being a writer is hearing from readers, and I’d love to hear from you. In fact, as a special thank-you, I’ve had a commemorative bookmark created just for Behind the Mask and, while supplies last, I’ll send one to each reader who writes and requests one.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Best wishes,

Metsy Hingle

P.O. Box 3224

Covington, LA

U.S.A. 70433

www.metsyhingle.com

www.mirabooks.co.uk

For the very special friends who bless my life:

Sandra and Michael Brown, Brenda and Jim Gelpi, Mary and Fred Dummett, Mary Ann and Louis Lahners, Nancy Wagner aka Hailey North, Linda Kay West aka Dixie Kane and Karen Young.

And my very best friend—my husband, Jim.

While my name as the author is listed on this book, the finished product in your hands would not be possible were it not for the help of many people. My heartfelt thanks go to the following people for their help in bringing Behind the Mask to life:

Valerie Gray, my editor, whose guidance and patience were invaluable to me in the writing of this book.

Dianne Moggy, editorial director of MIRA Books, for her belief in me and this project.

Karen Solem, my agent, for her continued guidance and support.

Ricardo Coštales, Lancôme makeup artist and genius at finding the beauty in all women.

The incredible MIRA staff for their support.

Tara Gavin and Joan Marlow Golan at Silhouette Books for their continued support and enthusiasm.

My fans, who enable me to live my dream because they allow me to entertain them with my books.

And, as always, very special thanks go to my children and family, whose love and support enable me to spin my tales of love, hope and happily-ever-after.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

“I’ll pay you one million dollars to find my wife.”

“All right, Webster,” Michael Sullivan replied from the other end of the phone line. “You’ve got my attention.”

Adam Webster smiled in satisfaction at the excop’s change in attitude. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said as he gazed at the view of the Miami skyline afforded him from his penthouse suite of offices. He was glad, but he wasn’t at all surprised. He’d learned a long time ago that money talks—even to a man like Sullivan. A man who, according to his sources, had been among Houston’s best and brightest police detectives until five years ago when he’d resigned abruptly following his partner’s death. Now he hired himself out as a detective, bodyguard or bounty hunter—whatever the situation called for. The man was said to be as mean as a rattlesnake and twice as dangerous. He also reportedly had the instincts of a bloodhound when it came to tracking down someone who didn’t want to be found. It was Sullivan’s latter skill that he needed now. “You’ve been a difficult man to get in touch with, Mr. Sullivan,” Adam said, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. “My assistant tells me she’s left you several messages.”

“I’ve been out of town handling something for a client. The truth is, the only reason you caught me now is because I had to swing by to the office to pick up some reports.”

“I see,” Adam said tightly. “I’m not accustomed to being ignored, Mr. Sullivan.”

“No one’s ignoring you, Webster. But since I’m pressed for time, why don’t we dispense with my lack of good manners and you tell me why you’re willing to pay me a million bucks to find your wife.”

“Because she’s missing,” Adam said sharply, angered by the man’s insolence. Biting back his temper, he reminded himself that he needed Sullivan to find Elisabeth and the disk she’d stolen. With his temper making him edgy, he turned away from the sweep of windows and stalked over to his desk. Sitting down, he picked up the framed photo of Elisabeth. “I understand your expertise is in finding people. And, as I said, I’d like to hire you to find my wife.”

“How long has she been missing?”

“Six months.” And after six months it still gnawed at him like a festering sore. He detested mistakes, refused to tolerate them. Yet he had made a mistake in underestimating Elisabeth.

Never in a million years would he have believed that sweet, docile Elisabeth—the girl he’d fed, clothed and molded into a woman worthy to be his wife—would have had the guts to defy him. To steal the disk from his safe. To actually drug him and run away. Even more infuriating was that she’d not only gotten away from the idiots he’d hired to guard her, but that he’d doled out a considerable sum of money for private detectives, and some not-so-reputable business associates, to find her. And though they’d come close to grabbing her twice, she had still managed to escape. But not for much longer, Adam promised himself. If Sullivan was half as good as the reports on him indicated, Elisabeth’s rebellion was about to come to an end.

“Webster? You still there?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m here,” Adam repeated, dragging his thoughts back to the present. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you’ve filed a missing persons report with the police?”

“No,” Adam advised him. “I don’t want the police involved.”

“Why not?”

“Aside from the fact that I can do without the publicity, I don’t want any charges filed against my wife.”

“Last I heard, it wasn’t a crime for a woman to leave her husband,” Sullivan informed him.

“No. But stealing cash and jewelry from my safe and kidnapping my son are crimes. If I had brought the police into it, they would have issued an arrest warrant for her. I prefer to handle things myself.”

Sullivan swore.

“My sentiments exactly,” Adam told him.