Unauthorised Passion/Intimate Knowledge Read online

Besides, giving his stepmother fashion advice was pretty much the equivalent of a death wish. He’d left home a long time ago, but he still knew better than to cross Betty Fury. She could live up to her name, and then some.

  She had Stu’s number, too, but he’d never admit it. After nearly twenty years of marriage, he still tried to pretend he wore the pants in the family even though he, and everyone else, knew better.

  They were as different as night and day, but somehow, to Jack’s amazement, their relationship worked. Betty had been a twice-divorced cocktail waitress and Stu, a widower with three rowdy boys to raise and a struggling business to run when the two of them had hooked up. Jack could still remember the day she moved in. She’d shown up at the restaurant with a suitcase in each hand and decked out in her finest hoochie-mama outfit.

  Jack had been outraged at the thought of his father taking up with such a woman. Or any woman, really, because no one could possibly live up to the memories of his mother. He and his brothers had immediately set about to run off Pop’s new wife, but they’d soon learned that a riled-up Betty Fury was not someone with whom they wanted to tangle.

  They’d also learned that all that ferocity could just as quickly be turned on the poor, unfortunate soul who decided to pick on her stepsons. Betty was nothing if not loyal, and Jack had come to appreciate that trait more than any other over the years. She’d always been someone he could count on, and that meant a lot. He couldn’t imagine now having grown up without her.

  He hugged her back, then held her at arm’s length and gave her a long appraisal. “You’ve had something done.”

  She swatted his hand. “You know better than that. The only way I’d go under the knife is on a mortician’s table. And even then, he better be careful with the face.” She patted her cheeks.

  “Well, you’ve done something,” Jack insisted. “Because you look ten, no twenty years younger than the last time I saw you. You sure you didn’t have a little nip and tuck?”

  “I’ll nip and tuck you,” she warned, “if you keep up that nonsense. Now go on over and say hello to your daddy. It’s high time you showed your face around here. You don’t call, you don’t come by. We’ve been worried about you, Jackie.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Stu grunted as Jack stepped up to the bar. “You don’t look fine. You look like a damn fool with that hair.”

  “Now, Stu, leave him alone,” Betty scolded. “I like his hair.”

  “You would,” Stu grumbled. His gaze narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken to the streets since you lost your job. You’re not one of those—what do they call them?—man-whores, are you?”

  “Stu, for heaven’s sakes!” Betty said in outrage. “Men have every right to color their hair if they want. Some of them even wear makeup nowadays and get manicures and facials. Metrosexuals, they call them. I’ve always thought you boys could stand to get in tune with your feminine sides a little more—”

  “For the love of God, woman, do you hear what you’re saying?” Stu gave Jack a resigned look. “We have Oprah to thank for all that touchy-feely crap.”

  “I don’t need Oprah to tell me how to think,” Betty informed him. “I have a mind of my own, thank you very much—”

  “Look,” Jack cut in, knowing the two of them could go at it for hours. “I’m working undercover. That’s why I colored my hair, and that’s why I’m here. I need you to help me out.”

  Betty was instantly intrigued, but Stu looked suspicious. “Undercover? I thought you got your ass fired.”

  “I’m not working for the police department,” Jack explained. “I’ve got a job with a private detective firm.”

  Betty squealed in delight. “You mean like Magnum? Or Rockford? Oh, I just adore James Garner—”

  “Woman, zip it.”

  “Stu Fury, don’t you dare speak to me in that tone of voice—”

  “Are you two going to help me out or not?” Jack said impatiently.

  “Of course, we’ll help.” Betty gave Stu a warning looking. “Just tell us what to do.”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” Jack said. “I’ve got a client out in the car. We need a quiet place to talk, so I’m going to bring her in here for a drink. But I don’t want any interruptions, and I don’t want you asking her a lot of questions. Got it?”

  Betty nodded. “Sure, Jackie, but can I ask you something?”

  He shrugged.

  “Is she your girl?”

  Jack’s mind instantly flashed back to Celeste’s breasts pressed against her shirtfront. Girl? She was all woman.

  “Are you deaf?” Stu said. “He just said she was a client.”

  Betty didn’t miss a beat. “I know what he said, Stu, but men often say one thing and mean quite another. Take you, for instance. You always pretend to be so cold and unfeeling, but in bed, you’re a regular tiger—”

  “Okay, I don’t need to hear that,” Jack said, and he sure as hell didn’t want the mental image or else he might just have to gouge out his mental eyes. “I’m going to bring her in and I expect you both to be on your best behavior. Oh, and one more thing.” He slid off the barstool. “She has a dog. All right if we put him in the courtyard?”

  “Why, sure it is. The place seems so empty now that my little Phoebe’s passed on.” Betty sniffed. “Be nice to see a dog enjoying my garden again. Won’t it, Stu?”

  He grunted.

  “What kind of dog is it?” Betty asked.

  “A Chihuahua.”

  Stu snorted this time before he turned back to the game. Betty patted Jack’s hand and said conspiratorially, “Don’t mind him. He’s happy to see you. He just doesn’t like to show it.”

  Jack shrugged. “I’m cool with that.”

  Betty nodded. “You always were. I’ve never known a boy so self-possessed. Or one who tried to be. You’re just like Stu. You don’t like to show your feelings, and you sure don’t like the idea of needing someone. I can understand that after what happened to your mama, I guess, but I sometimes think Stu would be happier puttering around this place all by himself.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Jack said. “He’d be lost without you. He’s just never going to admit it.”

  “I’m cool with that.” The two of them shared another smile before Jack turned and left the restaurant.

  As he went out the door, he heard his father say, “What the hell do you think he’s up to?”

  “Oh, Stu, stop fretting. You know he’s a good boy. They all are.”

  “Thanks to you,” Stu said gruffly.

  Jack glanced over his shoulder just as the two of them shared a kiss, and something tightened inside his chest. He wondered, suddenly, if Betty was right. Maybe he wasn’t quite as self-sufficient as he liked to think.

  JACK OPENED the door and stuck his head inside the air-conditioned car. “Everything’s all set.” Reaching in, he shut off the engine, pocketed the key, then grabbed Mr. Bogart’s leash. “Come on, boy. I’ll show you where you can kick back and relax while Celeste and I have a little chat.”

  “Are you sure he’ll be safe out here?” Cassie asked worriedly as she followed him to the back gate. As they walked through to the courtyard, she glanced around in amazement. Apparently, the place was not only safe but a veritable paradise, complete with dappled sunlight and a sparkling waterfall. The fence was lined with oleander and jasmine, and Spanish moss dripped from the gnarled branches of a water oak.

  “This place is incredible,” Cassie breathed as she reached down and unclipped Mr. Bogart’s leash from his collar. For a moment, he didn’t move a muscle. He’d been cooped up for so long in the hotel room and beach house that he didn’t quite know what to do with his first taste of freedom.

  Then he went over and sat down tentatively next to a tiny pond. His tail began to twitch as he tracked goldfish through a maze of river rock, water lilies and maidenhair fern.

  “Can’t we stay out here, too?” Cassie wondered aloud.

  “Let’s get
a drink first,” Jack suggested. Carefully, he fastened the gate, then lead her into the restaurant.

  They chose a booth by the windows, and no sooner were they seated than a platinum-haired waitress approached their table. She was dressed in one of the most outlandish getups Cassie had ever seen on a woman of her age, but rather than being offended by a customer’s frank stare, the woman smiled warmly.

  And Cassie took to her immediately. The woman didn’t look a thing like her mother, but there was something about her genuine manner and kind nature that reminded Cassie of Felicity Boudreaux. She was surprised to find that for the first time in a long time, she didn’t tear up when she thought about her mother.

  “My name is Betty,” the woman said as she bent to straighten the silverware. “I’ll be your server today. What can I get you to drink?”

  Her tone was surprisingly formal considering her attire, and she looked a little nervous, Cassie thought.

  Jack said, “Celeste, I’d like you to meet my stepmother, Betty Fury. This is Celeste Fortune.”

  Betty looked crestfallen. “I thought you said you were working undercover. I was going to pretend I didn’t know you.”

  “Miss Fortune already knows who I am.”

  “Oh.” Betty hesitated. “She knows…everything?”

  She and Jack exchanged glances, and Jack said quickly, “About my work with Interpol? Yes, she does.”

  “Inter—?”

  “I’ll have a glass of iced tea,” he said quickly. “How about you?” He glanced at Cassie. “I can highly recommend Pop’s margaritas.”

  “Speaking of Pop…” Betty turned and called over her shoulder, “Stu? Get over here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  The man at the bar reluctantly tore his attention from the game and lumbered over to the booth. He looked to be around sixty, tall and beefy with sunburned skin, thick, white hair and blue eyes that reminded Cassie of Jack’s.

  Betty linked her arm through his and drew him forward. “This is Jack’s friend Celeste Fortune. She knows all about his work with…Interpol.” Her eyes twinkled as she glanced at Jack.

  Stu merely scowled.

  “Celeste would like to try one of your margaritas, Pop.”

  “They come highly recommended,” Cassie said. She reached out to shake the man’s hand.

  His grip was very firm, and he looked her right in the eyes when he said, “Watch out for that boy of mine. He’s a real slick talker. Always has been.”

  A tiny thrill shot up Cassie’s backbone. From any other father, she would have thought that such a remark was spoken in jest, but there was nothing in Stu Fury’s eyes but a gleam of steel. Cassie had a feeling he was a straight shooter, a straight talker, and in spite of his gruff demeanor, she liked him. And trusted him.

  “I will,” she murmured, and he nodded in satisfaction.

  Now it was Jack who frowned. “How about that margarita?”

  “Coming right up,” Betty said brightly. “Come on, Stu.” She tugged on her husband’s arm. “Let’s give these kids a chance to talk.”

  The glance that Stu shot Jack before he turned and strode back to the bar could only be interpreted as a warning look. A few minutes later, Betty returned with the drinks. As she placed them on the table, she leaned in and said softly to Cassie, “Don’t pay Stu any mind. He likes to give Jackie a hard time, but he’s crazy about that kid. We all are.”

  Betty straightened and patted Jack’s shoulder before turning to join her husband at the bar. Stu appeared to be engrossed in the ball game once again, but Cassie could tell that Betty was giving him an earful.

  She glanced at Jack. “I like your folks.”

  “They have their moments.” He picked up his tea, eyeing Cassie over the rim of the glass. “What about your family?”

  “I don’t see much of them. I more or less cut my ties when I moved to L.A.” Cassie had always suspected that Celeste was embarrassed by her humble roots, and had been only too happy to leave her past behind her. That was why Cassie had been so surprised when Celeste had called out of the blue, and even more surprised to learn that she’d seen Cassie’s engagement picture. She wondered now how Celeste had come by it because she seriously doubted her cousin subscribed to the Manville Gazette.

  She sipped her drink. “Hmm, you’re right. This is a great margarita.”

  Jack nodded absently. Shoving his own glass aside, he folded his arms on the table. “Who has it in for you, Celeste?”

  His directness sent another shiver up Cassie’s spine. “I don’t know. Maybe someone has it in for Professor Gold, and I just got in the way.”

  Jack frowned. “Do you really believe that?”

  Cassie shrugged. “I’d like to.”

  “What exactly is your relationship with Gold?”

  “Like I told you earlier, we kept in touch after I moved to L.A., but there really isn’t a relationship.”

  “But there used to be.” His blue gaze drilled into hers.

  Cassie said reluctantly, “We lived together for a while before I moved to L.A.” For some reason, she didn’t want to admit her cousin’s past indiscretions to Jack. She didn’t want him to think ill of Celeste, and by proxy, her.

  “How did he take it when you left?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jack glanced up. “His young, beautiful protégée deserting him for greener pastures. That had to hurt.”

  Cassie quickly averted her gaze before she gave herself away. Did he really think she was beautiful?

  Or was that compliment based solely on Celeste’s screen image?

  “You think he could still be nursing a grudge?” she asked doubtfully.

  “I’ve seen it before. Besides Gold, who knew you’d be at his beach house this weekend? Or on his boat?”

  Cassie thought for a moment. “No one that I know of, except for my cousin—” Too late, she realized her mistake and stopped just short of giving herself away.

  “Your cousin?”

  She flicked salt from the rim of her glass. “My cousin…Cassie. We spoke recently.”

  “I thought you said you’d cut yourself off from your family.”

  Was that suspicion she heard in his voice? Cassie drew a breath. This was getting tricky. “I did. But like I said, Cassie and I spoke recently. I may have told her about the beach house and the boat.”

  “Is it possible she could have followed you there? Does she know anything about explosives—”

  Cassie gasped. “What? No, of course not. And even if she did, she’d never try to hurt me. Why would she?”

  His gaze flicked over her. “Look at you. You’re a gorgeous woman in a glamorous profession. You think that’s not going to create some jealousy and resentment in the people you left behind?”

  “Not in Cassie. She’s not like that.” Cassie leaned toward him. “Let me tell you something about my cousin. All her life, she wanted to be an artist, but when her mother got sick, she gave up all her dreams to take care of her. Does that sound like the type of person who’d deliberately hurt someone else?”

  Jack’s expression hardened. “Do-gooders are sometimes the ones you have to watch out for the most. All that pent-up rage and resentment has to boil over at some point.”

  Cassie’s anger erupted before she could control it. “My cousin is not a do-gooder! She happens to be a decent human being who wouldn’t hurt a flea. If you can’t see that—”

  “Hey, relax,” he said softly. “I’m not attacking your cousin. I don’t even know her.”

  “That’s right, you don’t.” Cassie lifted her chin. “So let’s just drop the subject. I really don’t want to talk about her anymore.”

  “Nor do I,” he agreed. “I’m not interested in this Cassie person because I happen to think you’re right. I doubt she’s behind any of this.” His tone implied that she wouldn’t have enough on the ball to plan such an elaborate scheme. “Let’s just try to figure out who is.”

  Cassie nodded, b
ut inside she seethed. A dogooder? A do-gooder? How dare he? He didn’t know anything about her. How dare he dismiss the years she’d spent lovingly tending her mother as the resentful actions of some…do-gooder?

  “You didn’t mention to anyone else that you’d be at the beach house or on the boat, even in passing?” he pressed.

  “No, but there is someone else who may have known about it,” she admitted. “My roommate in L.A. Her name is Olivia D’Arby. She called the other night to tell me that she’d found my itinerary on the computer. That’s how she located me at the Mirabelle. There may have been something about my trip to Galveston as well.”

  “May have been?”

  “I don’t really remember,” Cassie said.

  “Do you and this roommate get along?”

  Cassie gave the question a moment of consideration. From their brief phone conversation, she’d gathered the relationship was strained at best. “I wouldn’t say that. I think…well, she seems to think that she saw Owen Fleming first. I get the feeling she may resent…my relationship with him.”

  Cassie cringed. The last thing she wanted to talk about with Jack was Celeste’s affair with Owen Fleming. She might resent his callous dismissal of her cousin—which was really her—as a do-gooder, but she still didn’t want him to think of her as the kind of woman who was perfectly willing to involve herself with a married man in order to advance her career. But that’s exactly what Celeste had done, wasn’t it?

  “Did you ever argue about him?”

  Cassie had no idea, but she shook her head. “No, not really.”

  “What about the wife? According to the tabloids, she made some pretty ugly threats.”

  Cassie looked up in surprise. “You read the tabloids?”

  Something flickered in his eyes. “I read a lot of things. Why?”

  “It just seems strange, that’s all.” An Interpol agent who read the gossip columns? Didn’t ring quite true, somehow.

  “Is there any way Margo Fleming could have known you were in Galveston?”

  “I don’t see how…wait a minute.” Cassie thought back to her conversation with the roommate. “Olivia said that someone had been by the apartment asking a lot of questions. She figured Margo had hired a private detective to dig up dirt on me. I suppose he could have followed me—” She gasped. “Oh, my God. I know who did it. Why didn’t I think of it before? I know who blew up the boat!”