Читать книгу Wanted Woman - B.J. Daniels, B.J. Daniels - Страница 13

Jesse had made a point of steering clear of the Dennisons since the time he was a boy. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the morning by confronting Desiree, let alone her mother Daisy.

But he stopped by the sheriff’s department just long enough to leave his Harley and pick up the patrol car Mitch insisted he use along with that damned cell phone.

The Dennisons lived a few miles outside of town not far from Dennison Ducks.

Jesse hadn’t seen Wade and Daisy’s daughter Desiree since the shooting at the Dennison house when his brother had been wounded.

But he’d heard Desiree had been frequenting the Duck-In Bar more than usual and driving like a bat out of hell in that cute little sports car Daddy had bought her before he went to jail.

The last time he was at the house he’d found them all in the pool house, Mitch lying on the floor bleeding and Daisy with the gun trying to kill Wade. Fun family. Charity had saved the day—and Mitch—and all Jesse had needed to do was handcuff Wade and haul him off to the hospital then jail, adding to the scandal that had been a part of that family from as far back as Jesse could remember. Long before their youngest daughter had been kidnapped twenty-seven years before.

Needless to say, neither Daisy nor Desiree was going to be anxious to see him again. The feeling was mutual.

He parked his patrol car near the four-car garage and climbed out, the Dennison mansion looming out of the forest in front of him.

The place had been built with one thing in mind, letting everyone know just how much money Wade had and how much more could be made through duck decoys. It was an overdone plantation house straight out of Gone With the Wind. Antebellum style with huge pillars, a massive veranda complete with white wicker and inside, a Timber Falls’ version of southern belles. Except Daisy, like her daughter Desiree, was no Southerner. Nor was either a belle.

He checked the garage first, peeking in the windows. There was Wade’s SUV. Daisy’s SUV. And Desiree’s little red sports car, the passenger side caved in. He opened the garage door and stepped in, taking the chip of paint he’d scraped from the bike out of his pocket and holding it up against the car door panel. Perfect match. As if there had ever been any doubt. Then he headed for the main house.

“Would you please get Miss Desiree up, ma’am,” he said in his best Rhett Butler imitation when the housekeeper answered the front door of the house a few minutes later. “It’s the law come a calling.” He flashed his credentials.

The German housekeeper didn’t get the accent or the humor, what little there was. Nor did she look the least bit concerned. It wasn’t as if this was the first time a uniformed officer had come to the door looking for Desiree.

“She is indisposed.”

Jesse laughed. “She’s still in bed. If I have to come back it will be with a warrant for her arrest.”

“I’ll take care of this,” said a female voice from the cool darkness of the house. Daisy stepped from the shadows. She was close to fifty and still a very attractive woman. It seemed as if the years she’d spent in seclusion after Angela’s kidnapping had made her more reserved, less haughty. Her dark hair had been recently highlighted with blond streaks and cut to the nape of her neck so that it floated nicely around her pretty face.

But Jesse would always see her as he had at the age of nine, a goddess with long dark hair and a lush body, riding bareback through the tall grass behind his house, smelling of fancy flowers and what he later realized was sex.

“Hello, Jesse. Can I offer you some coffee? Or perhaps a glass of iced tea? Zinnia just made some.”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Dennison.” He supposed it was natural he was disposed not to like the woman even if he had never spoken more than two words to her before. “I need to see Desiree.”

“I’m sure she’s still in bed. Please. Call me Daisy.”

“I’m going to have to insist you get her up, Mrs. Dennison.”

Daisy’s back stiffened. So did her features. “It’s that important?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

She sighed. “Very well. If you’d care to wait in there.” She pointed toward a small sitting room, the walls lined with books. “I’ll go get her.” Her look said Desiree would not be happy about this.

Too bad. He was a hell of a lot less happy about this than the princess of the house.

It was a good forty-five minutes later before Desiree made an appearance. Jesse had reacquainted himself with several classics in the small library by the time she burst into the room.

Her scent preceded her. She smelled of jasmine, her hair still wet from her shower, her face perfectly made-up. She was wearing all white, a blouse that floated over her curves and white Capri pants that set off her sun-bed tanned legs. She gave him her come-hither look, but being seductive came as easily as breathing for Desiree.

“Jesse,” she cooed. “You really should call a girl before you drop by so she can be presentable.”

He was struck by the color of her eyes. But it wasn’t just the eyes, he realized.

She moved past him, darting to plant a kiss on his cheek and brushing one of her full breasts against his arm as she did.

He found his voice. “This is not a social occasion and you know it.”

She turned to smile at him. Desiree Dennison had found that she possessed a power over men and she loved it.

“I’m here on sheriff’s department business,” he said. “I witnessed an accident last night on the highway by my place. I saw you hit a motorcyclist when you pulled out from Maple Creek Road.”

She drew back, gave him a get-real look, then lied right to his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Where were you at three in the morning, after the bars closed?”

A brow shot up. “In bed.”

“Anyone’s bed I know who can give you an alibi?”

She pouted. “In my own bed, alone.”

He shook his head. “Give me your car keys.”

“What?”

“Your car keys. Now.”

“I’ll have to go upstairs and get them.” Her cheeks flamed with obvious anger as if the walk was more than she was up to this morning. Or maybe it was being caught.

“I’ll wait.”

She turned her back on him to buzz the housekeeper on the intercom. “Get me some juice,” she snapped. “Orange juice. A large glass.” Then she left the room.

He half expected to hear the sports car engine roar to life, but Desiree was too used to getting out of scrapes to make a run for it. Daddy always bailed her out. Only Daddy couldn’t even make bail himself right now. And maybe Mommy was over Desiree’s shenanigans.

But it was Daisy who returned with the car keys.

“If you had told me why you were here, I could have saved you the trouble of waking Desiree. I was driving my daughter’s car last night.”

He stared at her, not bothering to take the keys she held out to him. “You were the one up Maple Creek Road? You realize that’s the local make-out spot?”

She smiled. “Is it? I’m afraid I was only turning around. I took Desiree’s car because I felt like having the top down. I pulled into the turnoff at Maple Creek Road. I didn’t see the biker. I know I should have reported it at once.”

“Or maybe stopped to see if the biker wasn’t killed.”

Daisy blanched. “Is he all right?”

Jesse didn’t correct her on the rider’s gender. “Yeah.”

Her expression said she expected charges to be filed, probably a lawsuit by the biker, maybe even her own arrest, but she was ready. Like her daughter, she’d always come away from scrapes unscathed. Except for the loss of her youngest daughter, Angela, when Desiree was two.

“Are you sure you want to take the rap for your daughter?” Jesse asked, holding her gaze. “I know Desiree was driving the car. I saw her.”

“Really? You were making out on Maple Creek Road last night, deputy?” Daisy asked.

He smiled. “No, I was standing on the deck of my cabin. I can see the highway from there.”

“From your house?” Daisy repeated. “From that distance and in the dark you are absolutely sure it was Desiree behind the wheel?”

“Yes.”

“How is that possible when I was the one driving her car?” Daisy asked.

He knew exactly what she was saying. He could call her a liar and press this. It would be his word against hers. He might be wearing a deputy’s uniform but she would be more credible—even after the shoot-out in her pool house. Maybe more so because she had come off as the victim. Plus she would hire the best attorney money could buy.

“Look, the worst that will happen is Desiree will lose her driver’s license,” he said patiently. “And you know that’s probably the best thing that could happen, getting her off the streets for a while. Next time she might kill someone. Or herself. And there will be a next time.”

“I told you I was the one—”

“I know what you told me,” Jesse interrupted. “You also told me that Wade was the one who shot my brother but it was your gun and your hand over Wade’s when the shots were fired.”