Counterfeit Wife by Rebecca York

Author:Rebecca York [York, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: 0373225253
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

“Set up a trap?” Marianne asked. “Why don’t we just call the police?”

“Why didn’t you call them when Duvalle first came after you?” Tony shot back.

She considered the question, settled for a shrug.

“Maybe you didn’t remember your father’s criminal career. But on a gut level, you knew that calling the cops was a bad idea,” he said. “Now you understand that explaining your background could be a problem. What if the police think the same thing as Duvalle—that you know where to find the stolen money?”

She bit back a sharp answer and pushed her eggs around the plate. Tony was trying to come up with a solution to their problem. What’s more, he was trying to act as if nothing embarrassing had happened this morning.

But she was having trouble coping with something as simple as sitting across from him.

“I can go into town and pick up some things I need while you’re looking through your father’s stuff,” she ventured.

“No.” The answer was instantaneous and decisive.

She raised her eyes in surprise. “Why not?”

“Too dangerous. The fewer people who know you’re in town, the better.”

Despite the morning heat, she felt a shiver sweep over her skin. “You don’t think Duvalle is going to show up at paradise Beach, do you?”

“I hope not. But I’m not going to take any chances. If you need anything from the store, I’ll get it.”

She thought about the things she wanted to buy. Clean underwear. Deodorant. Other personal items. Sending Tony with that kind of shopping list was out of the question.

“I—I guess I’ll just wash some stuff,” she murmured as she rose and carried her plate to the counter. Setting it down, she began to run water in the pan.

Behind her, she heard his chair scrape back. “Then I’ll start on the research project.”

She nodded, waiting to hear his retreating footsteps before turning around. Like her, he’d hardly touched his breakfast—a pretty good sign that he wasn’t quite so calm, cool and collected as he pretended.

She had intended to stay out of his way for the rest of the morning. But her plans had changed on her way back from washing her underwear and sticking it in the dryer. When she spotted the telephone, she stopped short. She was supposed to be at work today, and her boss was bound to be worried if she didn’t call in.

Hesitantly, she tapped on the closed study door.

“Yes?” Tony called out.

She pushed open the door but didn’t move into the room. He was sitting on the leather couch, cardboard boxes spread around him on the free cushions and the floor.

“Is it safe to use the phone here?” she asked.

“For what?”

“I forgot about the Light Street Foundation. I should call them. They’re probably wondering what happened to me.”

His face turned thoughtful. “Tell them you had a sudden emergency—with a sick friend. If they ask for the number, say you don’t know it, and you’ll get back to them.”

She hesitated. “I don’t like lying to them.”

“I know, but it’s necessary. Suppose when Duvalle can’t find you, he starts nosing around your building.

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