Deception: The Deception Trilogy, Book 1

  D ECEPTION

  Book One

  in

  The Deception Trilogy

  FALLON HART

  Published by BluHart Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 by Fallon Hart

  BluHart Publishing supports copyright. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission.

  Publication Data

  Names: Hart, Fallon, author.

  Title: Deception/Fallon Hart.

  Description: First Edition. BluHart Publishing, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Fallon Hart writes sizzling erotic romance about strong heroines and brooding heroes. She likes her protagonists flawed but loveable, her romance angsty and hot, and her plotlines just that little bit fantastical.

  www.authorfallonhart.com

  DECEPTION

  CHAPTER ONE

  Have you ever felt like someone was watching you? Felt that undeniable prickling sensation on the back of your neck or your cheek? That feeling that tells you, you’ve caught someone’s rapt attention?

  I had been experiencing that sensation for the last few weeks.

  There was no explanation for it.

  As I walked every morning to the public library in South Boston from my room on East 2nd Street, I felt as if someone was following me. I couldn’t shake it.

  But last night as I’d walked home, I felt it then too. It was starting to unsettle me. I kept glancing over my shoulder but no one seemed to be paying any particular attention to me.

  “Umbrella.” Mrs. Donovan thrust said object out at me as I came down the stairs that morning.

  When I said ‘my room’ on East 2nd Street I really meant a room. It was a bedroom with a kitchenette on the top floor of a typical Southie townhouse. Mrs. Donovan was an eighty-two-year old Bostonian born and bred in Southie. The townhouse with its blue-painted wooden shingles was her childhood home. She and her husband moved in with her parents to raise their kids in the multi-generational house. Sadly, her parents were long gone, her husband died three years ago, and her sons gave her little time or attention.

  Not that it seemed to bother Mrs. Donovan. She was a tough old bird. However, she was used to company and that was the reason she rented out her top floor bedroom to me for a steal. There was no way I could afford to live in South Boston otherwise. The arrangement was so relaxed we didn’t have a legal contract. When I secured my job as the children’s librarian at the public library, my boss kind of cottoned onto the fact that I was anxious about finding affordable housing. She knew Mrs. Donovan, a loyal library patron, had renovated the top floor of her house to rent it and matched us together.

  It worked out great.

  I know not many twenty-six-year old women would want to live with an elderly lady but I wasn’t really like other twenty-six-year old women.

  “It’s raining?” I asked my landlady.

  “Obviously.”

  I smirked at her sarcasm and took the umbrella. “Thanks.”

  “Try to be on time tonight. I’m making my meatloaf.”

  Nice. Mrs. Donovan’s meatloaf was ah-mazing. “Your meatloaf is the only reason I put up with you,” I teased.

  She winked at me and I left the house smiling.

  Thoughts of Mrs. Donovan’s cooking were shoved out of my thoughts as I strolled down the rain-soaked sidewalk and turned onto L Street. My neck burned. I glanced around, peering out under the rim of my umbrella, checking the street for occupied cars, the sidewalk for fishy-looking characters. But nothing, nada, zip.

  “So weird,” I muttered under my breath and shrugged my shoulders toward my ears as if I could somehow shake the feeling off.

  I only really let out my breath when I entered the South Boston branch of the public library.

  My boss, Angela, frowned from behind the main desk. “Mornin’, girl. This rain is killin’ my happy.”

  I grinned at her. “I happen to like the rain.”

  She harrumphed. “How’s Mrs. Donovan doing?”

  “She’s making meatloaf tonight.” I beamed at her in excitement and heard her chuckle as I disappeared into the staff offices at the back of the library. I dumped my wet umbrella in the sink in our small staff kitchen, and put my coat and purse in Angela’s office.

  As I exited the office she caught up with me. “I hate to say this, Scar, but you gotta get yourself a life. Getting excited over meatloaf is just… well, baby, it’s a little sad.”

  I rolled my eyes and strode past her. “I’m happy with my meatloaf.”

  “You are not happy.” She rushed after me and lowered her voice. “You are existing. A twenty-six-year old with your brain, that face, hair, ass and boobs should be out there getting herself a little somethin’ somethin’ that will eventually lead to you moving out of Mrs. Donovan’s spare bedroom and into a nice place with a fine piece of man meat to see to your needs every night.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Man meat?”

  “You know what I mean. You need to get a life.”

  Inwardly I winced but outwardly I huffed. “I have a life.”

  “Girl, I have a life. You’re just existing.”

  I scowled. “Is someone in a mood today?”

  “Yes. I am sick of watching you strut that fine, sexy ass into this library, totally goddamn clueless that every male from the ages of twelve onward that comes in here does so to click mental images of my hot librarian to use at a later date… if you know what I’m saying.”

  Ugh. “Seriously?”

  “You do insist on wearing those tight ass pencil skirts and screw me shoes. Not that I’m complaining. Our patronage has increased a hell of a lot since you started working here, girl. But it makes me sad and kinda mad that you’re hiding in that room in Mrs. Donovan’s instead of going out there and making a life for yourself.”

  This was not the first time Angela had berated me about my lack of social life. She was my boss. I respected her. I liked her. But my personal life was not her business. It wasn’t anyone’s business. “Number one: a woman doesn’t need a man to make a life for herself.” I began to stride away and threw a casual, “And number two: I’m fine,” over my shoulder hoping she was done with the lecture for today.

  ◆◆◆

  It was a few hours later and I’d avoided Angela while doing my work but now it was my lunch break and unless I wanted to brave the rain and head out for something to eat, I had to make do with the sandwich I’d left in the staff fridge yesterday.

  I was the only one in the staff room since we had to take our breaks separately but Angela strode in just a few minutes after I sat down at the kitchen table.

  She took a seat beside me, looking remorseful. “I should not have come at you like that this morning. But you have to know it came from a good place. I worry about you, girl.”

  “And you’re the best boss ever,” I assured her. However, my life was the way it was because it hadn’t been an easy one. I think I had a fair excuse for hiding for a while.

  Before she could reply my cell rang in my purse and I dug through it, pulling the cell out to see an out-of-state number on the screen.

  “You can answer it. Your break isn’t over yet.”

  I nodded and answered, hoping it wasn’t a spam call. “Hello?” I ignored the fact that Angela hadn’t left to give me privacy.

  “Scar.
”

  I froze at the sound of my twin sister’s voice. Melanie never called. Plus, the last time I checked she was living in Boston too. My cell said this was a New York number. “Mel?”

  “I only get one phone call so I need to be quick.”

  My God.

  My sister was in jail.

  Again.

  “Scar, you there?”

  “I’m here,” I bit out.

  “Well, I’m sure you can guess where I am. I need you come visit me. I’m… I need your help.”

  Despite everything she’d put me through my heart jumped and I suddenly felt sick. Melanie never asked for help. If she was doing it now….I needed to get to her. “Where are you?”

  “The Bronx. 42nd Precinct. Can you come tomorrow? They’re holding me here. The bail has been set too high.”

  My hands shook and for a minute I wished I didn’t care so goddamn much for her. “What did you do this time?”

  “That doesn’t matter. That’s not why I’m calling. I’m… Look, I’m serious, Scar,” her voice dropped and to my shock I heard the tremor in her words as she said, “I’m in serious shit. I need you.”

  Blood whooshed in my ears. “Maybe I should come right away.”

  “Tomorrow is fine. It can wait until tomorrow.”

  “What happened? I want to know now before I come out there.”

  There was silence and then she exhaled slowly. “My boyfriend and I robbed a gas station in New York.”

  “What?” Disbelief flooded me.

  “You still coming out or what because I need to go.”

  Discombobulated I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Good. Thanks. See you.” She hung up before I could say anything else.

  For a while I just stared at my phone in disbelief. Angela broke through my fog.

  “Who was that?”

  I blinked, focusing on my boss. “I need tomorrow morning off. Family emergency.”

  “You have family?” she frowned.

  Suffice it to say I hadn’t shared much about my past with my co-workers. They tried to dig but it wasn’t a pretty story, and although I loved my sister I wasn’t exactly proud of her.

  “Yeah. Can I get the morning off?”

  “Well you’re going to have to give me a little more to go on.”

  Ugh, no. I didn’t want to give her more to go on.

  So I lied. “My aunt. She’s had an accident. Broke her leg. She’s in hospital in New York and needs me.”

  Angela’s eyebrows flew up her forehead. “You have an aunt in New York? In an accident. Won’t you need more time than just tomorrow off?”

  I shook my head. “We’re not close but she needs me to run a few errands and sort things out for her. It should only take a day.”

  “How come I never heard of this aunt before?”

  Because she doesn’t exist.

  “Like I said, we’re not close. I don’t have much family left but we all scattered and well…” I shrugged and repeated, “We’re not close.”

  “Girl, you are such a mystery.” Angela tutted and shook her head. Then after a short deliberation said, “Sure, we can cover you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” I let out a grateful sigh and hurried out of her line of sight to do my work. But it was hard to concentrate.

  Another freaking prison stint on Mel’s record.

  I thought it was hilarious that my mother—a huge Gone with the Wind fan—named me Scarlett and my twin Melanie. She totally got those names the wrong way around.

  My identical twin maybe shared my face and body but she was my exact opposite in every way that mattered. I had been following her around my entire life trying to keep her out of trouble and cleaning up her messes when I failed.

  That evening Mrs. Donovan’s tasty meatloaf might as well have been sawdust and I couldn’t sleep for worrying about Mel. She’d robbed a gas station. And now she needed me. But for what? What mess could possibly be so bad she’d swallow her pride to ask for my help.

  CHAPTER TWO

  During the train ride to New York I rested my head against the window and tried not to remember all the awful shit my sister had put my family through. The last had been the worst and I was glad I was the only one left around to see it.

  My gut churned because I think I knew deep down inside that whatever my sister was about to tell me was going to seriously screw up my life. Mel had already turned it upside down when she did time in prison for drunk driving. She lost control of her car and swerved up onto the sidewalk hitting a pedestrian. Thankfully the woman wasn’t killed but she suffered a broken leg along with other injuries. Mel got eighteen months in prison in a Massachusetts’ women’s correctional facility. I didn’t want her to be alone so I’d moved my entire life to Boston so I could visit her every week. She got out of prison just over a year ago and other than meeting me for the coffee I demanded we have together every month, I’d barely seen her. When we did see each other she was often vague about her own life, preferring to talk about mine. I had no idea what she was up to or who she was dating. Or anything.

  Now I knew she was up to no good.

  A pretty but tough-talking Latino police officer of average height led me to the jail cell they were keeping my sister in. There were three other women in the large cell with her. My sister shot up and hurried over to the bars, flicking the police officer a wary look. The woman stepped back, giving us privacy. I studied my sister, frowning. She looked tired. Her copper-red hair was a mess but her jeans and sweater didn’t look any worse for wear. We both had full heart-shaped lips and tip-tilted eyes that gave us a seductive, sultry quality that only Mel really lived up to. However, there was a hard glint in her aquamarine eyes you wouldn’t find in mine.

  “Oh Jesus, fuck, there’s two of ‘em,” a deep, female voice said.

  I looked off to the right far corner of the cell to see a very big, broad-shouldered white woman with tight curly dark hair leering at me. My sister glanced over at her. The big woman shot her a smirk. “Don’t worry, Olive Oil, I still think you’re sexier.”

  Olive Oil. Mel was still going by her middle name of Olivia, named after the actress who played Melanie in Gone with the Wind. My middle name, surprise surprise, was Vivien. Sometimes Mel told people she was called Melanie or Olivia. It was hard to keep up.

  Right now, a shot of pride zinged through me at the way my sister curled her lip at the woman who was trying to frighten her. She didn’t have to say a word. Just a killer look and her cool façade was enough to make the woman scowl with fury that she wasn’t bothering Mel.

  I knew she probably was bothering Mel and I was worried for her more than ever as I whispered her name to get her attention.

  “Scar,” she gave me a cool chin lift, “You okay?”

  Shaking my head in disbelief, I huffed, “My sister’s in jail. Soon to be prison. Again. So I’m not okay.”

  Mel sighed heavily. “Yeah, well, shit happens.”

  “Shit happens. You robbed a gas station but shit happens, right? What the hell actually happened?”

  Leaning forward, I stared into her stunning but cold gaze.

  “Scar, I’m in trouble.”

  I heard it again. That slight tremor I’d heard in her voice yesterday. It was that tremor that got my ass on a bus to New York because only once before did I ever hear my sister sound scared. She’d never shown much emotion since then, so I knew that whatever was going down was big.

  “What’s going on?”

  Her voice so low I had to strain to hear, she leaned in and began to talk quickly. “I got a job about nine months ago working for a high end escort service here in New York.”

  I sucked in a breath at this confession. “What?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t judge. It wasn’t always about sex. I get paid to just be a companion half the time. And my clients have a lot of money and power, they treated me right, and if they didn’t my boss made sure it never happened again. And
I get paid a lot of dough, okay.”

  I glowered at her and she rolled her eyes. “White as fucking snow.”

  “Just because I don’t think a woman should sell her body to strangers doesn’t make me virginal,” I huffed.

  “Whatever,” she practically growled, “Anyway, my boss, Octavius, is not a guy you fuck around with. Unfortunately, my guy Rodrigo and I decided to fuck around with him. Rodrigo is one of Octavius’ enforcers. If a girl gets messed up Octavius’s enforcers sends a message. If a girl fucks up, an enforcer will also send her a message. Get me?”

  My gut was churning with this revelation, my throat closing with fury, so I could only nod.

  “As well as the escort service, Octavius has his hands in other pies. And we,” she lowered her voice to just a whisper, “stole a shitload of those pies.”

  Reading between the lines: drugs. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  I closed my eyes. Seriously? Seriously! I did not know what was going on my sister’s head half the time. “Mel.”

  “I know, I know, it was fucking stupid.” She braced a hand on the bars and scowled at me. “We got caught and I made a deal with Octavius. You see he had this big time, one off client in Boston. A guy he owed a favor to. A guy, that for whatever reason, even Octavius doesn’t want to fuck with. This guy has an inheritance problem, like something off a movie. He needs a wife in order to secure his inheritance before his thirtieth birthday. The guy is loaded so I don’t know how much more money he needs. Rich people,” she scoffed. “Anyway, he can’t just marry anybody. It has to be a contract so he doesn’t get fucked over by a wife he doesn’t even want. Plus, they have to prove that it’s true love so they have hoops to jump through which means he needs to hire a wife who looks good on paper and is smart enough to help him out. I may do stupid shit but I’m smart and I can look and sound high class when I want to—I just imitate you.”

  That was possibly the nicest thing she’d ever said to me.