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Easy Loving
Sheryl Lynn
HER PROTECTORA WOMAN IN JEOPARDYCatherine St. Clair finally had everything she'd ever wanted–including the perfect fiancé. Then Easy Martel barged back into her life, telling her that her "perfect" fiancé was a would-be murderer. Easy spoke with conviction in his voice; he looked at her with intensity in his eyes…but was he telling the truth?AND THE MAN WHO MUST PROTECT HERSeeing her again brought back all of his old feelings…old yearnings for all he'd lost. Yet no matter how many times Easy went over his investigation, the facts brought him to one place–to Catherine. How could he convince her that she was the next victim…and the only place she'd be safe was in the shelter of his arms?A woman alone…with no one to trust. Where can she run? Straight into the arms of HER PROTECTOR
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ua757c6c3-81ec-5c00-a6c9-92f47cd1d9eb)
Excerpt (#ua2156d77-288f-5670-9041-6910191c8f33)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u9bc340df-728a-573c-9c74-4221027ba016)
Title Page (#u5f7b28b0-0919-52da-8333-7b239926b6da)
Dedication (#uea207f5e-915b-50cf-b576-28cf92ffb28a)
CAST OF CHARACTERS (#ub1b1a2b0-cf94-50ea-9ea5-cbaef9368fe2)
Chapter One (#ud61506b7-ecdc-5632-812d-cfd49d28263f)
Chapter Two (#ua1a51c8a-9d09-544a-ba04-bed5229b16bb)
Chapter Three (#u6f6b7108-2e43-5ac5-a23b-2e4c3011c0fa)
Chapter Four (#u079c0a26-a15a-5688-b9cf-693491dd698f)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“We’re good together.”
He plunged his long fingers through her hair. “You know I’m right.”
His fingers slid from beneath her hair and trailed tenderly across her cheeks. Catherine’s belly ached in repressed arousal. Her chest ached with the depth of her emotions. Her eyes and throat ached from holding back tears. Intuition nagged her soul, telling her only Easy held the power to soothe those aches.
She lifted her chin. His mouth, so perfectly shaped and sensual, weakened her resolve.
“I can’t, Easy,” she said, pleading more with herself than with him.
“I need you.” His voice was husky with sincerity. “I’ll never stop wanting you. We belong together and you know it. And I won’t let you marry another man. You’re mine.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_2f46cb4b-fe08-53f2-b631-7b48706abe64)
Sheryl Lynn lives in a pine forest atop a hill in Colorado. When not writing, she amuses herself by embarrassing her two teenagers, walking her dogs in a nearby park and feeding peanuts to the dozens of Steller’s jays, scrub jays, blue jays and squirrels who live in her backyard. Her best ideas come from the newspapers, although she admits that a lot of what she reads is way too weird for fiction.
Easy Loving
Sheryl Lynn
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This is for John Hawk, wherever he may be.
CAST OF CHARACTERS (#ulink_e5ce015b-986e-539f-be3f-1e0d05432c1b)
Easy Martel—This private eye knows investigating a murder is way out of his league, but he also knows he’s the only man who can save Catherine’s life.
Catherine St. Clair—The shy book illustrator has finally gotten her life right where she wants it, until Easy Martel reappears from the past.
Jeffrey Livman—He’s the perfect man, smooth, educated, prosperous and sophisticated. There’s also a good chance his résumé includes murder.
John Tupper—He’ll go to any lengths to bring his sister’s killer to justice.
Trish Martel—Easy’s baby sister will do anything for her family, including tracking down a lost child.
Chapter One (#ulink_2c0e92a1-95e6-57a4-af36-023eca7895ae)
While hurrying across the parking lot, Easy Martel spotted his sister emerging from her Mustang. He lifted his gaze to the heavens and whispered, “Yes.” Dumb luck, his favorite ally, came through for him again.
“Trish!” he shouted and waved her toward his Chevy. She said something to the man who accompanied her. Easy urged them both to hurry. He flung his equipment bag into the back seat of his car. He slid behind the steering wheel.
Trish opened the passenger door and peered suspiciously inside. “What—?”
“Get in, get in. Your timing is perfect. I need your help. Hurry.” He glanced at his watch and prayed the traffic lights were with him. “Come on, Trish! I’m running out of time.”
She told her friend to get in the back. She sat in the front passenger seat. Easy gunned the engine and squealed out of the parking lot.
“Are you crazy?” Trish fumbled with her seat belt. “Don’t bother answering. You are crazy. What are we doing?”
“Going to the airport.” He looked over his shoulder at the stranger. The man was around forty, slim, with thinning blond hair and bulging eyes. Not one of Trish’s boyfriends, Easy surmised. She had a weakness for the tall, dark and stupid type.
“Wait a minute! I’m not helping you.” Trish emphasized the words by clamping her arms over her bosom and jutting her chin. “The last time I helped, that guy sicced a dog on me and chased me with a pipe wrench. He almost killed me!”
Trish was thirteen months younger than he, but they looked so much alike with their dark hair and eyes, people often mistook them for twins. Like him, she had an adventurous streak seven miles wide. He flashed his most winning smile. “I promise, no dogs, no pipe wrenches. I need to shoot some video. My client tipped me off. She’s positive her husband is taking his girlfriend on a business trip.”
Trish pulled a face. “You are so sleazy!”
“Me? This dirtbag tells his wife that he has to go on an emergency trip. Ha! He set it up so she can’t interrupt his fun.” He met the stranger’s reflection in the rearview. “Hi, I’m Easy Martel, the sleazy private eye.”
The man used a handkerchief to mop at his brow. “Uh, John Tupper.” He nervously eyed the passing scenery while Easy raced down Fountain Boulevard.
Trish twisted on the seat. “John, this is my brother. Easy, John works with me at the insurance company. He’s an adjuster. I told him you can help him.”
The majority of Easy’s business dealt with insurance fraud. In the past six years he’d become an expert at ferreting out cheats who faked injuries or lied about stolen property. He kept his eyes on the road, alert for any lurking cops who might object to his speeding. “What you got?” He stomped on the gas to beat a yellow light. “Fake back injury? Phony burglary?”
Trish yelped and clutched the dashboard. “Slow down!”
He turned onto Powers and checked the time again. The dirtbag’s plane departed in thirty-nine minutes. Easy hoped to catch him playing preboarding kissy face with his honey. He goosed the speed up to sixty-five.
“Uh, actually, it’s personal, Mr. Martel,” John said. He held on to the back of Trish’s seat with both hands.
“Call me Easy, John. We’re all family here.”
Trish enjoyed tagging along when he needed an extra pair of hands, and she was as good, and sometimes better than him when it came to research. Some aspects of his job repelled her, though. A hopeless romantic when it came to family matters, she’d never recommend him for a child custody case or a cheating spouse.
“How personal are we talking?”
“His sister was murdered,” Trish said. “The police say it’s an accident, but it’s not.”
Easy changed lanes to pass a semi. To his left he noted an airliner banking for final approach toward the Colorado Springs airport. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, I don’t stick my nose in capital cases. Only TV private eyes get involved in murders.”
She huffed her exasperation. “You have to hear what’s going on. You can help him, Easy, I know you can. You have to.”
He reached the airport entrance in record time. Concentrating on driving, praying for a parking spot in the usually overcrowded lot, he waved his sister into silence. He’d been after this slimeball for two weeks. His client knew her husband was cheating. Wives always knew. She wanted proof, something to shove in his face, but the dirtbag knew his wife knew and was being very careful. The spur-of-the-moment “business” trip proved it.
So as not to get hung up at the security checkpoint, he began emptying his pockets. He tossed coins, pens, a penlight, a Swiss Army knife, a pair of handcuffs, a ring of master keys and his cell phone on the floor at Trish’s feet. She grimaced at the clattering collection.
“If you don’t chase killers, why bother carrying handcuffs?”
“My girlfriends like them.”
Dumb luck stayed with him; he found a parking spot in the first row. He grabbed his equipment bag. “We can talk inside. Hurry!” He took off at a run for the terminal with John and Trish right on his heels. Inside, he tore up the escalator. He paused at a monitor displaying departure times to find the gate he needed.
“What are you going to do?” Trish demanded breathlessly.
“Put you in the movies.” He clapped a hand on John’s bony shoulder and shoved him closer to Trish. He approved of the man’s gray suit and her soft blue dress. Nice, but not too dressy. “You two make a great-looking couple.”
Cringing away from Trish, John tugged at his jacket. “Uh, I’m married.”
“It’s only acting.”
They met up with a crowd at the security checkpoint, but fortunately airport security hadn’t limited entry to ticket holders only. Easy anxiously checked his watch while Trish peeled off her oversize earrings, necklace and an armful of bracelets before she stopped setting off the metal detector alarms.
“You wear too much junk,” Easy grumbled.
“I didn’t ask for a trip to the airport.” She trotted to keep up while she worked the earrings back into her ear-lobes.
He strode down the terminal, unzipping the bag as he went. He pulled out the video camera and turned it on. He double-checked the battery and blew minuscule pieces of lint off the lens. Everything operated perfectly.
At the gate his luck continued. Seated side by side in the waiting area, Dirtbag and his honey held hands. Even better, they faced the broad bank of windows; sun glare wouldn’t interfere with the taping. Easy huddled with Trish and John.
“Make like honeymooners.” He handed John the equipment bag. “It’s the guy over there in the checked suit sitting with the brunette. Move behind them so I can get them in the picture.”
John slung the equipment bag over his shoulder. “We don’t have to go to court or anything, do we?”
“Nope. You’re just innocent passersby.”
Trish groaned. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Hey, when you get married and your old man cheats on you, you’ll thank me when I catch him.”
Trish stiffened, arching her brows. “Any man I marry will never cheat”
“That’s right, because then I’ll have to kill him. Go on. Ham it up. Make me believe you’re in love.”
The taping went as smooth as creamy peanut butter. He even captured the dirtbag grinning at Trish’s and John’s antics. The brunette leaned over to give Dirtbag a big smooch on the lips.
He kept videotaping while the adulterous pair boarded the plane. Chuckling, he turned off the camera. “Thanks, Trish, John. I love it when a plan comes together.” He patted the camera, knowing he’d earned yet another month’s payment on his motorcycle. “I owe you lunch.”
“You owe me a lot more than that.” Trish grabbed his arm and steered him into a small cafeteria. “You have to listen to John. It’s really important.”
Forcing a sober expression he turned to his sister’s friend. “I don’t have access to the forensic tools the cops have. Besides, interfering with police investigations is a good way to end up in prison. I’m sorry, man, but I’m the wrong guy for the job.”
Trish urged the men to sit at a small table. “Shut up and listen, Easy. It’s a lot more personal than you think. Remember Catherine St. Clair? She’s back in town.” She swished away to fetch coffee.
Easy gawked at his sister’s back. Catherine…his Catherine? Never Cat or Cathy or Cee-cee or Cate—Easy had nicknamed her Tinker Bell. Even after twelve years the sound of her name turned his insides hot and cold while an odd sensation ruffled below his diaphragm.
He knew she’d moved to Arizona. Years ago, he’d traced her address and phone number—he kept them locked away in a file cabinet. Sometimes the urge to call her or appear on her doorstep grew so strong it drove him a little bit crazy. Only the still-tender shreds of his broken heart kept him from following through.
Annoyed at the way old emotions sneaked up on him, Easy cleared his throat. “How do you know Catherine?”
“I don’t,” John said. “I know the man she’s dating. His name is Jeffrey Livman. He was my sister’s husband, the man she loved. He murdered her.” He smoothed a hand over the side of his fine hair and dragged in a long, shaky breath. His voice firmed up, seething with well-nourished rage. “Jeffrey didn’t wait a full month after Roberta died before he began dating Miss St. Clair.”
Trish returned with a red plastic tray holding three cups of coffee. “I freaked when John showed me the pictures he took of Catherine with Jeffrey. I haven’t seen her since high school when you guys broke up and she moved away.”
His Catherine…“You said the cops don’t think it’s murder. What am I supposed to do?”
“You better figure out something,” Trish said. “John and I are convinced Jeffrey is going to marry Catherine so he can murder her, too.”
