WIFE BY DECEPTION Read online

  Neither of those things had happened. This, more than anything, puzzled him. Why did she continue to want Arianne? A baby would only cramp her style and curtail her freedom. She had to have some ulterior motive other than motherly love. He honestly believed Camryn was incapable of such unselfish devotion.

  What was on her mind? Or, more appropriately, up her sleeve?

  It was then, as he sat staring out his passenger window and pondering the question, that he felt an odd little tug at the back pocket of his jeans. He froze in absolute incredulity.

  She was lifting his wallet.

  The idea was too ludicrous to believe. Did she think he wouldn't notice it missing? Did she intend to take his cash and credit cards?

  Too curious to work up much of an anger, he allowed her to gradually pull the wallet free of his pocket, and through the reflection in the passenger window, watched her slip it into the pocket of her khaki shorts.

  "Um, excuse me, but—" she was speaking to Darryl rather than him "—could you please stop at the next exit? I'd like to find a ladies' room."

  Maybe she was hoping to escape him with the "ladies' room" ruse and skip out with his money. Nothing too new about that, he supposed. She'd maxed out his credit cards and spent all the cash she could before she divorced him. She'd then left town with his daughter. About the only thing he hadn't lost to her was his small house on the swamp, his fleet of shrimp boats and his heart. His heart remained strictly his own, thank God.

  "Cap'n, you want me to stop?" Darryl asked him.

  "Pull over here."

  Camryn's lips parted in dismay as Darryl swerved the van onto the shoulder of the highway.

  "We're stopping here?" she said. "You expect me to … to go in the woods?"

  He lifted a shoulder. "It's up to you, chèr'. But we're not stopping anywhere else, and we still have quite a ways to drive."

  Although clearly dismayed, she nodded and sat forward in the seat.

  He clicked a handcuff around her wrist, and the other around his own. "Ready?"

  She gaped at the handcuffs binding her wrist to his, then stared at him in patent horror. "You don't mean that you're … you're … coming with me!"

  "You didn't think I'd let you loose in those woods, did you?"

  He had to admire her acting ability. He could swear her objection was based on outraged modesty rather than a foiling of her escape plan. But he knew damn well she'd never been overly modest, even before they'd been married. At times she hadn't even bothered to close the bathroom door.

  An oddly convincing blush crept into her face, and she pressed her lips into a thin, white line. "You will not come with me," she decreed, her tone imperial and her bearing regal. "I won't allow it."

  She really had that lady-of-the-manor act down pat. "You think I should just let you out and, uh, trust you to return?"

  "Absolutely."

  "So … you're trustworthy, are you, chèr'?"

  Something flickered in her pretty brown eyes. Looked a little like guilt. Imagine that. She recovered quickly enough, though, and tilted her chin at a haughty angle. "Yes, I am."

  "Then why do you have my wallet in your pocket?"

  The color drained from her face, and she silently stared at him. Never had he seen her more at a loss. Not a lick of her former arrogance remained.

  He held out his hand—the one that wasn't chained to hers.

  Color rushed back into her cheeks as she dug into her back pocket and placed the wallet into his palm.

  He nipped it open, glanced to see that his credit cards and cash remained in place, then slipped the wallet into his pocket. His shirt pocket, this time. "What were you planning—to skip the country, compliments of my American Express?"

  "No. Of course not. I … I wasn't going to take anything from your wallet. I just … I just…"

  He waited, curious as to what explanation she'd come up with.

  She seemed fresh out of creativity, though. At least, for the moment. She bit her lip, looking utterly humiliated.

  Something about her reaction bothered him. Crazy as it sounded, she seemed too mortified. The old Camryn would have been merely upset at being caught. A subtle difference, but one that he couldn't easily shake off.

  Why did the change in her seem so deeply ingrained?

  He didn't know, and he didn't like not knowing. He'd have to watch her every move. Good thing he intended to transport her by boat most of the way rather than car. Even if she succeeded in some trickery along the way, she couldn't do much damage in the Gulf. No one out there would interfere.

  "You want to use the woods or not?" he demanded.

  "No. I'll just wait."

  He shrugged and sat back in his seat, forcing her to do likewise, since her wrist was cuffed to his.

  "Could you please release my wrist?" she asked, her dignity back in place.

  "Don't try to steal my wallet again," he warned as he unlocked the cuff from his own wrist, then from hers. "Won't do you any good, anyway. Cash and credit cards won't mean much to you out there in the Gulf."

  "The Gulf? Of … Mexico? Do you mean, we're going on a boat?"

  Another odd response. "I damn sure wouldn't try crossing on a raft."

  She digested that quip in silence, then asked, "What kind of boat?"

  He turned and searched her face for signs of mockery or sarcasm. She had to know the answer to that question. Why had she asked it? "The Lady Jeanette," he told her.

  And though he realized Camryn was a good actress and hesitated to believe anything she said or silently conveyed, he also knew that his reply hadn't told her a damn thing. The question was still as bright and bothersome in her eyes. How could she not know he'd meant one of his shrimp boats?

  More perplexing still, he detected fear in her expression. Fear. Why would the thought of traveling on his boat frighten her? She'd enjoyed herself the last time she'd gone out to sea with him. She'd enjoyed herself a little too much, actually.

  "Why are we going on a boat?" An almost undetectable tremor reverberated in her voice.

  "Because I don't want you causing problems along the way. On the water, there's less chance of it."

  Looking troubled, she searched his face, as if she suspected some hidden meaning.

  Darryl called over his shoulder, "Is Joey gonna meet us at the dock, Cap'n?"

  Before he had time to answer no, that he'd instructed Joey to head straight for home, Camryn cut in, "Joey? The same Joey who has Arianne? Will he bring her, too?"

  That question, more than anything, convinced Mitch that something was going very wrong here. Even Darryl glanced back through the rearview mirror to frown at the woman who'd asked the question.

  "You know Joey, Cam," Mitch answered, watching her. "Why would you ask a question like that?"

  From the blankness of her stare, he knew she hadn't caught his meaning. She clearly had no clue to what she'd said wrong.

  "Do you mean—" she hesitated "—he won't be bringing Arianne to the dock?"

  What in the hell was going on?

  "I mean," said Mitch, "that Joey isn't a he. She's my sister."

  His sister.

  In the tense silence that followed, the facts of the situation rearranged themselves in Kate's mind. The person keeping Arianne was not the shady gangster character she had envisioned but a woman who held the same family relationship as she herself—Arianne's aunt. A measure of relief came with that knowledge, but only a slight measure. She had no solid reason to believe this Joey was any more competent or caring with babies than a strange man would be.

  On the heel of those thoughts came the understanding that she'd made a huge mistake in referring to Joey as "he." Both Mitch and his driver were waiting for an explanation. You know Joey, Cam. Why would you ask such a question?

  And this was just the beginning. If Mitch was taking her to "his neck of the woods," as he'd called it, she could be facing a community of people whom Camryn should know. How could she possibly bluff her way th
rough this impersonation?

  The answer occurred to her in a flash of unprecedented brilliance—an explanation that would cover her latest blunder and any she might make in the future, as well as offer Mitch an explanation that might help soften his attitude toward Camryn.

  And though it would be a lie, it would be more of the truth than she'd told so far.

  Meeting his frankly suspicious gaze, Kate said, "I wasn't going to mention this, since I doubt you'll believe me. But I suppose I do owe you an explanation." Taking in a stabilizing breath, she chose her words carefully. "In January, I was involved in an automobile accident. I sustained a head injury. Since then, there have been things I can't remember. Like, um—" she braced herself, half afraid to utter the rest of the explanation "—Arianne's last name. Or, where she was born … or—" she finished in a quieter tone "—who her father was."

  She then waited for the bomb to hit target.

  At first, his face didn't register a reaction. As the moment dragged out, his brows converged in a frown. "Are you trying to tell me…?"

  He didn't finish the incredulous question, so Kate finished it for him. "That I don't know you. Or where you're from, or anything about you." When he continued to stare in stupefied silence, she added with fervent honesty, "That's why I took your wallet. I wanted to see your license … to find out your name."

  * * *

  Chapter 4

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  Stunned into speechlessness, Mitch merely stared at her. Did she actually expect him to believe that she didn't remember him?

  Thoroughly annoyed, he jerked his attention away from her to meet Darryl's eyes in the rearview mirror. His expression reflected Mitch's feelings perfectly. Couldn't remember. Right! Mitch squared his jaw and trained his gaze on the expressway ahead of them. He wouldn't waste his time responding to her nonsense.

  What, he wondered, was the motive behind this ridiculous new claim of hers?

  As they exited the expressway and sped down the two-lane rural highway toward Florida's Gulf Coast, her soft, hesitant voice broke the quiet. "When I first saw you today, the name 'Mitch' came to me." She paused and studied him with wide, beautiful, troubled brown eyes. "Is that your name?"

  Mitch couldn't stop his lip from curling in derision. "No. It's Andre."

  "Andre!" Her brows lifted, like golden wings poised for flight. Those brows soon converged above a frown of bewilderment. "Did anyone ever call you Mitch?"

  "No."

  "But … you are Arianne's father, right?"

  That was about as much as Mitch could take. "You know damn well I am. I have no idea what you expect to gain by—" He broke off as the reason for her amnesia ploy occurred to him. By claiming she couldn't remember him, she'd found an excuse for keeping the baby away for those six months. Despite the fact that she'd disobeyed the custody order by leaving Louisiana with Arianne, the judge might go easier on her.

  He clenched his jaw and struggled not to curse. Clever of her. Very clever. But she wouldn't get away with it. He'd call his attorney and the investigator who'd found her. By the time she told her story to the court, he'd be prepared to expose her as a fraud.

  "Your lies won't get you anywhere, chèr'."

  "I believe you're the one who's lying," she charged with quiet conviction. "I think your name is Mitch."

  Again, she'd managed to astound him. The intensity of her words and the suspicion in her gaze raised the hairs at the back of his neck. She suspected he was lying. But, of course, she had to know…

  He searched the depths of her bewildered stare. "What is it you want, Cam? Out of life, I mean. What would have to happen to make you 'happy ever after'?"

  She looked surprised at the question. "Well, I'd take Arianne home, and … and…"

  "And what? Have some baby-sitter keep her while you sing in bars at night, sleep during the day and sneak off to drink and gamble in between?"

  She gaped at him with an expression that only confused him more—as if the picture he'd painted horrified her; as if she resented his unflattering assumptions; as if he were doing her a grave injustice by reaching those conclusions.

  But the Camryn he'd known wouldn't have found anything wrong with that scenario. She'd always tried to defend that very lifestyle.

  "Is … is that what I did?" she asked.

  Mitch knew then that he was in trouble. Deep trouble. Because even though he knew she was lying about the amnesia and couldn't possibly have changed her attitude and lifestyle that much in a span of only six months, he also found it hard to believe she was this good of an actress. She almost had him questioning his basic assumptions about her. Almost.

  How the hell could he expect a judge to understand that she was, in fact, incorrigible? That motherhood ranked low on her priority list, far below personal gratification. That her desire for custody sprang from some self-serving ulterior motive. He absolutely knew all of this to be true about her, yet he could clearly see how a judge might be persuaded otherwise.

  "By the time my attorney and witnesses get finished with you in court, you'll look like the worst kind of liar," he warned. "Take my advice and drop the act now."

  "Is that what you think? That I'm claiming not to remember you in order to sway the court?"

  "If that's not the reason," he said softly, "then tell me what is."

  Feeling trapped and uncomfortable in her role as Camryn, Kate grappled with the impulse to tell him the truth—that his wife had died, and that she, Kate, was horrified to think of anyone raising a child in the manner he'd described. She hadn't known that Camryn had gone back to drinking and gambling. She'd thought her sister had sworn off both addictions years ago.

  But it seemed Camryn had reverted to her old ways. Had Mitch's abuse pushed her back into those destructive behaviors? Or … had she considered him "mean" for trying to stop her from them?

  If only she could be sure!

  All she knew for certain was how Mitch had treated her—forcing his way into her home, handcuffing her, kidnapping her. More than once she'd felt a fearsome anger simmering in him. Until she knew without a doubt that he wouldn't abuse Arianne, Kate couldn't confess the truth. Because if she learned that he'd deliberately hurt Camryn or the baby, she would use any edge she had—no matter how devious—to get Arianne away from him.

  No, she wouldn't tell him her true identity. She'd save that for the judge. She'd then charge Mitch with false imprisonment, assault, kidnapping and any other offense her attorney could level against him. Unless, of course, she discovered that Mitch hadn't been abusive. What would she do then? Give up Arianne?

  The thought hurt too much to contemplate. And so far, she found it impossible to believe that he could love Arianne more or give her a better life than she would. In fact, she had only his word that he was her father. She couldn't change her strategy now.

  '"Is Joey going to bring Arianne to the dock?" she asked, hoping against hope that she would.

  "No. I don't trust you anywhere near Arianne. And I don't want her upset by anything you might do."

  She glared at him, and they nursed their mutual animosity in silence.

  Nearly an hour later, the van veered off the rural highway onto a crushed-shell driveway that ran alongside an abandoned, boarded-up seafood-processing plant. Behind it, the outriggers and mast pole of a shrimp boat came into view. The van then rounded the corner to the back parking lot, where a weathered wharf bordered the glimmering, dark green waters of a small cove.

  At the wharf was docked a large commercial trawler. "Is that yours?" Kate asked in surprise. "A shrimp boat?"

  Mitch answered only with a scornful quirk of his mouth. She supposed it had been a silly question. The trawler was, after all, the only boat at the dock. And as they drove closer, she saw the name painted on the stern. The Lady Jeanette.

  The driver parked the van beneath scraggly palm trees near the end of the rickety wooden wharf, and Mitch reached for the door. "Stay here until I check out the boat, Darryl. Keep a clo
se watch on our, uh, guest. Who knows how creative she might get? And don't let her loose, no matter what she says."

  "Got 'er covered, Cap'n." The cold-eyed man with thinning black hair, a full mustache, well-trimmed goatee and anchor tattoos decorating his impressive biceps leaned his back against the driver's door and shifted a narrowed gaze to Kate. "She ain't going nowhere till you're ready."

  With a brisk nod for Darryl and one last warning glare at Kate, Mitch left the van and headed toward the shrimp boat.

  Fear stirred in her at the thought of being forced aboard a seagoing vessel by hostile men and taken far beyond the reaches of civilization. Not to mention the fact that she'd never been on anything larger than a ski boat, and that had been during her college years, in the relative safety of a bay.

  "I don't understand why we're going by boat," she said, hoping to glean information from Darryl.

  "Because Mitch is boss on da water. No one gets in his way." He spoke in a heavier, more distinct version of the dialect she'd noticed in Mitch's speech—a piquant blend of southern, French and possibly Canadian. It had to be Cajun.

  "So his name is Mitch," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

  Her captor snorted. "You got some nerve, lady. Saying you don't remember Mitch. If he'd let me, I'd take you way out yonder—" he jerked his head toward the sea "—and drag you in da try-net."

  The fear Kate had been fighting spiked sharply in her breast. She had no idea what a try-net was, but she certainly didn't want to be dragged in one.

  Undisguised animosity blazed from Darryl's coal-black eyes. "You know what you did to him. We all know. You stole his daughter, wasted all his money and broke his heart. He don't laugh. He don't joke. He don't dance at the fais do do. You took all da fun out of him. All his joie de vivre. He ain't da same Mitch no more … because of you."

  Kate flinched at his hostility. Never before had she been the brunt of anyone's hatred. She didn't like the feeling. But surely a man who valued laughter, joking and dancing couldn't be all bad, could he?