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DEADLY DECEIT
By
Lisa Diaz
© copyright December 2006, Lisa Diaz
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright December 2006
ISBN 1-58608-995-1
New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Melanie Harris couldn't believe her eyes. She stepped inside her office and came to an abrupt stop, drawing in a sharp sudden breath as her jaw dropped in shock. Bitterness quickly replaced the fresh taste of her mint lifesaver. Surely she imagined that this was her cousin's murderer seated behind her desk at Harris Development.
She blinked as he rose from "her" chair. As she refocused, the tall, lithe man with jet-black hair casually sauntered towards her. All the while, she wondered how on earth he got in here.
"Good to see you again, Melanie." Mark Richards gave the office a quick visual survey and nodded in approval. "I couldn't help noticing your decor. Nice. You've remodeled." He glanced at the stark white walls before his gaze landed on her built-in shelf housing her prized Navajo pottery and two beautifully plumed Kachinas.
"Who let you in?"
"Your secretary was away. The door was open." His voice was cool and steady as he stuck out his hand in a greeting.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "I can't believe you have the nerve to show up here."
His hand fell to his side. "I wanted to see you."
"I don't want to see you. You're not welcome here."
He paused. "I didn't kill Shauna. And the DNA evidence in my case was mishandled. I was released on a technicality."
"I'm well aware of that. Your release was big news. And I was notified of every step of the proceedings. But let me tell you something. You may be free, but that doesn't make you innocent. I'm calling security." She quickly strode to her desk and picked up the phone.
"There's no need for that. We're partners."
"Partners?" She returned the phone to its cradle. "What do you mean?" she asked stiffly, raising her chin. She didn't like feeling trapped and wasn't about to let him intimidate her. Their gazes locked, and a long silence ensued as she studied his penetrating eyes and the deep green flecks on the irises.
He took a confident step forward. "I'm a major stockholder in this company. Shauna willed me her share of Harris Development."
His statement hit Melanie with the force of a freight train. As she tried to find her voice, her gaze drifted past him where large windows revealed the soaring buildings outlining the San Diego skyline.
Her Mikasa desk clock ticked at an even cadence. Next to it, the calendar showed April first. But she knew this was no April fool's joke.
The phone rang, but she ignored it. She'd thought Richards would be in prison forever, and by law, a felon wasn't allowed to hold office in a public company. So, his stock ownership hadn't been a threat. Now things were different. The thought hit her hard, and, suddenly, the coffee she'd had for breakfast turned sour in her stomach.
"I knew you'd be surprised to see me."
He expelled a long breath. "Look, you need someone to blame for Shauna's death. And I could spend the rest of my life brewing over your court testimony against me. But dwelling on the past will get us nowhere. I say we put our differences aside and move forward."
Melanie nixed his suggestion with a firm shake of her head and gave him a sharp glance. "You mean work together?"
He confirmed her question with a confident nod. "I'd like my position as VP of Development back."
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she touched her gold Rolex wristwatch, the last Christmas gift from her late cousin, Shauna. The haunting visage of the woman she'd considered her younger sister flashed before her, making her throat go dry as if it were stuffed with cotton. She blinked away the salty tears that stung her eyes.
"After what you did to Shauna? You've got to be kidding. I'm sure you're aware that being reinstated would take a majority vote from the board. Believe me, I'll make sure it doesn't happen." She swallowed a knot of emotion and added, "Besides, allowing you that privilege would be against tradition. I'm sure you're aware this company was started by my great-grandfather. Even after Harris went public, it continued to be run by family. You're no longer family. Got it?"
"I never was considered part of the Harris clan, was I?" A combination of resentment and sadness filled his voice. Regret swept across his face.
"Your marriage was over long before Shauna died." Her throat caught.
Jaw set, his face took on a defensive expression. "We never had a chance. According to public opinion, I married your cousin for money. But, that wasn't true. I didn't have enough blue blood in me to pass for a Harris. No matter what I did on my own, I've always been thought of as the guy who lucked into money. Spending six months in a prison cell gave me plenty of time to think. But I still can't accept Shauna's death."
"Spare me the act. You were angry at her."
"Angry? Hell, yes. I never wanted a divorce."
He gave an impatient shrug of his broad shoulders. "Like I said, no use dwelling on the past. I'm ready to get my life back on track, but that won't happen until I find out the truth about her murder."
He fixed his hands firmly on his hips and set his jaw in determination. "I will clear my name."
Melanie threw him a disapproving look. "That's a stirring speech. Now it's my turn. If you plan to come in here and reclaim your old position, think again. You should be behind bars. Not here in this architectural firm. And especially not in my office."
Silent tension mounted between them. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Incorrect on both counts. An innocent man doesn't belong in prison, and I've already reminded you of my stock."
After a poignant silence, he rationalized. "Look, I understand your surprise, but when you think about it, my goal's the same as yours. We both want Harris to prosper."
"Running a company isn't my only objective in life. I intend to ensure my cousin's murderer pays for his crime."
"Then we have two things in common."
In a frustrated gesture, she threw her hands in the air and spoke in a firm voice, "Let's not play games. I certainly won't pretend you're my partner."
He darted her a fox's grin. "You won't have to pretend."
"Excuse me."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. "Have you forgotten my contributions to this company? How about those rave reviews on my plans for the Harris Plaza? It was my architectural designs that catapulted Harris Development to the top."
Melanie rubbed her forehead. She wasn't sure what to say or do. She only knew she couldn't stay and work with him. For the past six months, she'd tried to cope with the loss of her younger cousin. The night Shauna was murdered, two witnesses had overheard her and Mark having a hell of a fight. The following morning, Shauna was going to file for divorce. Instead, she was found slain. The letters MAR were drawn in her own blood next to her body.
At some point, Melanie had managed to get on with her life. Until today. She'd struggled for years to measure up to the Harris name, and all indications were that she was finally accomplishing her goal. Harris' stock was at an unusual high, and the firm was in the black. They were on the verge of closing a thirty million dollar deal with the Bernstein Hotel chain. This was the contract they'd waited for. The deal that would put them in the big time.
The Union-Tribune had even written a glowing review on her and her role as president of the company. Now, she faced a huge problem.
It suddenly became clear one option was available. She waved a hand in automatic dismissal. "I'm headed to my attorney's office. And I suggest you buy a newspaper."
"What?"
"Check out the want ads. You think you're going to work here? No way in hell."
* * * *
Mark was innocent. But unfortunately, Melanie didn't believe it. Her reaction to his release didn't surprise him. But who had killed his wife? And why? Finding the murderer had become the driving force in his life. The killer would not go free.
A fax machine beeped, interrupting his thoughts. The pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the waiting lounge of Breilton, Lewis, and Drexler, Attorneys-at-Law. High heels clicked against vanilla-colored floor tiles. Phones rang at a constant pace. Papers in hand, busy secretaries scurried from office to office.
Mark stared at the flurry of activity, which became a blur as his mind drifted to his conversation with Melanie Harris. Automatically, her visage flashed before him.
High cheekbones. Hazel eyes that bespoke steely determination. Harris Development's president wore her auburn strands up in a bun. Conservative-looking clothes framed her tall, fit body.
He admired the way she'd left the office on such a confident, determined note, but inside she was scared. He knew it. He nodded his head in confirmation. He hadn't missed the signals. Her voice had sparkled with vexation.
The pulse on her slender neck beat at a strong, quick pace as if she were completing a sprint. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts. The concern in her eyes. Flushed cheeks.
With a groan, he dragged his hands down his face as he considered her reaction to his visit. Regardless of her opinion, he should be happy. For months, he'd gazed past his prison cell bars, dreaming of freedom.
Now he had it. He took in a deep, satisfied breath and closed his eyes for one glorifying moment. Fresh air. No musty, staunch smell of a prison cell. It felt so good to be home. He could read the newspaper at the kitchen table, watch the evening news in his living room, take long walks. He could eat his fill of Mexican food again in Old Town. The thought of flour tortilla chips and hot, spicy tomato-based salsa made his mouth water.
He ran the tips of his fingers over the crisp pleat in his charcoal dress trousers. He certainly didn't miss the faded prison garb. He eyed the sleeves of his black designer silk shirt and smiled a little.
His wardrobe was a far stretch from the Salvation Army stuff he'd worn as a kid. He enjoyed nice clothes. They were a reminder that he'd made something of himself. The days of washing dishes after school to pay for his lunches were history. He wore his garments like a security blanket.
"Hey, Mark." Griff Drexler extended his age-spotted hand, and Mark stood and shook it. The famed defense attorney motioned him down the wide corridor to an open door, and Mark stepped inside the office.
Drexler closed the door and seated himself behind a large oval cherry desk. He directed Mark to sit opposite him. Wire-rimmed glasses perched half-way down his nose, Griff regarded a stack of papers in front of him. At the same time, he spoke in a heavy Brooklyn accent. "How's your first day as a free man?"
"I can't complain. I appreciate things I'd never really given much thought to."
"Like?"
"Driving. Looking up at the sky. Talking on my cell phone." He furrowed his brows in doubt. "But life's no cakewalk. I just left Harris Development."
Griff looked up and gave a crooked smile. "I'll bet your re-appearance was a surprise."
"That's an understatement. Melanie's going to fight hard to stop me from getting my job back. But I'm up for the battle."
The attorney refocused his attention on the work in front of him and slid the stack of papers to Mark, handing him a burgundy Mont-Blanc pen.
"This is the last of your release forms for titles and properties you turned over to our firm. The highlighted areas need signatures."
Mark glanced over the material and signed on the dotted lines. He handed the stack to his attorney. As Drexler flipped through the pages, Mark leaned forward and tapped his foot in anticipation. "I wonder how Ms. Harris Development will react when the real killer's caught."
With a sigh, Drexler put down the information in front of him and slid his chair away from his desk. "Want some advice?"
Mark shrugged. "Sure."
"Take advantage of your second chance. You can't change the past, and looking back will cause you to be a bitter man." With a slow shake of his head, he frowned. The lines in his forehead deepened. "Look forward."
The phone beeped. "Excuse me." Griff answered.
Agony welled inside of Mark's chest as he considered the advice. An unidentifiable ache swept through his body. Bitter? Hell, yes, he was.
Someone had slain his wife. And he'd been framed for murder. He squeezed his eyes closed in pain, then opened them. He stiffened as his lungs struggled for air.
His life had taken a drastic turn, but he swore to get the truth behind Shauna's death. In the meantime, there was one small consolation. He was a major share holder in Harris Development.
And Melanie? He pressed his lips together in satisfaction. There was nothing she could do about it.
* * * *
She had a job to do. Melanie stepped on the accelerator of her silver Lexus. When the speedometer reached sixty-five, she pushed on the cruise control. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly.
Unfortunately, her company's attorney hadn't eased her mind. She'd most likely be able to prevent Richards from reclaiming his former position since a majority vote from the board was necessary. But there was nothing she could do about his majority ownership. Well, almost nothing.
Buying Richards out was the solution to her dilemma. Mentally, she ticked off the obvious reasons for her well thought-out decision. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to his sudden re-appearance.
Their photograph on the front page of a newspaper wouldn't be good PR for Harris. And she didn't want anything to blow the almost-closed Bernstein contract. Running the company with an ex-con would bring question to Harris Development's credibility. The corporation's immaculate standing had been hard won over the years, and she didn't intend to ruin its reputation.
Was her safety in jeopardy? No, she decided. Her instincts told her that Richards wouldn't harm her. He intended to clear his name, and he would have to stay clean in order to do that. Besides, she'd never been a coward.
She had no phone number for him and didn't know where he was staying but guessed his beach house. To Melanie's knowledge, the condominium he and Shauna had owned and his other assets had been sold to pay legal fees.
The only way to the place was via a single-lane road. Melanie tapped the brakes as she exited the freeway ramp. Loose gravel crunched under her tires as she rounded the corner to the drive. Her hunch was confirmed by the lights in the small, single-story dwelling. Melanie had always loved the teal green shutters over the large front windows. The tiled roof made the cottage take on a Southwestern look.
As she slowed her car to a stop, uncertainty welled inside of her chest. What if he rejected her offer? On the other hand, a buyout might be just what he was waiting for. She was used to business conflicts, but this particular situation held higher stakes.
Her hands shook. Her heartbeat was erratic. Richards was responsible for her cousin's death, wasn't he? She gave a quick nod of her head. No, working with him was out of the question.
With a groan, she got out of the car and followed the saltio-tiled path to the entrance. As she walked, she automatically brushed her hand over the silky beige material of her skirt.
She enjoyed the feel of the soft fabric and loved subtle colors. Shades that were soft and elegant. She liked to portray herself as a professional and dressed to be taken seriously.
Two tall, eloquent Madagascar palms stood proudly on each side of the entryway. Behind them, overgrown bougainvillea with bright pink leaves snaked their way around the trees, overlapping onto the tiled area in front of the door.
It was a cool evening. Ocean waves casually brushed the shore. When a light breeze loosened the bun on top of her head, auburn strands of hair floated across her face. She shoved them out of her eyes, stopped and squared her shoulders. After pushing out a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked.
The door opened, and she stood face-to-face with Richards. His long-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned at the chest, revealed a mass of black, curly hair. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing muscular arms.
Maybe it was the lighting that made him seem taller and darker and usual. She had never denied his good looks, but wasn't about to respond to them. She kept her expression impassive.
"Come in," he invited. She did, giving a quick glance at the living room. Everything looked as it had before Shauna had died. A large, colorful reproduction of Monet's flower garden loomed above the brick fireplace. A foot-tall bronze statue of a Greek horse guarded the entrance.
In the center of the room, a set of expensive tan leather recliners and a matching sofa encircled an oval glass coffee table with rounded legs.
Finally, she looked at him. When their gazes locked, the intimate setting hit her, and she swallowed a knot of embarrassment.
To her relief, he motioned to the couch. "Have a seat."
She raised a hand, sending two loose gold bracelets sliding down her arm. She managed a smile and spoke with forced confidence. "No thanks. This isn't a social call, and I don't intend to stay long. I have a proposition to make."
Curious eyes honed in on her, and he raised a dark brow in amusement.
She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her stomach, meeting his gaze. "I'll get right to the point. I'm sure you won't argue that under the circumstances, working together will be impossible. Therefore, I've come up with an alternative."
"And that is?"
"To buy you out."
Throwing his head back, he let out a deep, hearty laugh. Uncertainty welled inside her chest until it ached. Finally, he looked firmly into her eyes. "I can't be bought."
"I'm willing to pay double market value for your shares."
He grinned, obviously enjoying her struggle. "Maybe you didn't hear me."
"But ...."
"Perhaps this will surprise you, but a leading role in Harris means more to me than cash. For years, I helped build that company. Even you can't deny my contributions to Harris."
Melanie's patience was running out, and she anxiously tapped her foot. "You can't be serious about not accepting my offer."
His voice softened. So did the stern look in his piercing eyes. "Mel, I know how you feel about me, but you'll change your tune when I prove my innocence. I'm in no way responsible for Shauna's death."
Before she could say anything, he continued, "I understand how pissed you are at not being able to get more information about what happened, and I'm equally pissed that you testified against me. However, I really doubt that your hearsay evidence contributed much to my conviction."
"But what I said was true. Shauna had called me and said you were livid. That she was afraid of what you might do."
"How can I forget?" A sad expression crossed his face, and he shook his head in dismay. He was definitely a good actor. "Hell, yes, I was livid."
Suddenly, unable to hold back her emotions, she raised the pitch of her voice. "The facts are against you."
"I don't deny that we argued. I didn't want a divorce."
"You were the last person to have seen her alive."
"You're wrong about that. Whoever it was killed her."
"Let's not forget the letters she'd drawn with her own blood. MAR."
He blew out a deep frustrated breath. "I believe someone tried to frame me."
"It was no secret that Shauna planned to change her will immediately after the divorce papers were signed. That certainly provided a strong motive for you wanting her dead." The stormy look in his eyes stopped her.
"You're referring to my stock?
"Of course."
"You think everything revolves around the company, don't you?" His eyes darkened. "Money's always motivated you. Hell, you've made your work your life, and it's a shame. I always admired your drive to put Harris at the top. But Melanie, there's more to life than cash."
He paused, then in a lower tone added, "Trust me."
He'd struck a nerve. Cash wasn't what motivated her. For years, the Harris name and wealth had made establishing her own identity impossible.
In school, she hadn't been able to cultivate an honor without hearing from her classmates that money had bought her accolades. She'd had to try doubly hard to be taken seriously. Her inherited standing made her the envy of many. And envy sparked jealousy.
In turn, her accomplishments were swept under the rug. Not many had looked at her for the hard worker she really was. Yes, the Harris name had worked against her.
Without warning, he stepped closer and lowered his voice to a mere whisper. "Didn't anyone ever tell you money can't buy happiness?" His warm breath caressed her face.
She wondered if the blood rushing to her cheeks was in defense of what he implied or from the seductive way the words drifted over his tongue.
She raised her chin. "You have no right to lay a guilt trip on me. You don't know me at all."
"Sorry. I've hit on a sensitive subject." He paused. "You know what I think?"
"I don't really care."
"Look, my old lady split when I was a kid. My dad was an alcoholic who couldn't hold a job. I've had to climb gutters for everything I got. I'm not about to stop now."
She swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want your pity. Besides, how could you ever understand what I am and who I am? You've had everything handed to you, and you're afraid of me because I've made it on my own." His eyes traveled to the over-sized ruby on her finger.
She clenched her hands into fists. "How dare you."
For long moments, their gazes locked as a silent battle ensued. The tension between them was so thick, it could be cut with a knife. All of a sudden, a loud explosion rocked the house, knocking them to the floor.
The dwelling burst into angry flames, and smoke filled the room. Melanie started to rise to her feet, but the haze made it impossible to see and difficult to breathe.
Richards coughed and pushed her down. "Stay low." Automatically, she followed his orders, pulling her shirt over her mouth to stop the smoke from filling her lungs as they went for the front door.
As he reached the handle, a second explosion jolted them. She fell backwards, landing hard on her tailbone, but desperation to get away from the smoke and fire overcame the acute ache in her back.
"The door's jammed." He choked on the words.
She wheezed, aching for air. Her head pounded at the temples with the intensity of a jackhammer blade penetrating the ground. The heat was unbearable, and her skin burned as if it were on fire.
The place was bathed in smoke. Blinded, they had to get out immediately or they'd die. But how?
She refused to surrender to the hot flames. Her survival instinct took over, and she managed to get to her feet. She grabbed the bronze statue brushing her right leg.
With every breath left in her smoke-filled lungs, she lifted the heavy object. On the verge of delirium, she swung the statue in an effort to break the front window, but the Greek horse fell from her hands. The room tilted, and her knees buckled.
In that instance, she felt a strong hold around her waist. But her thoughts ended abruptly. Blackness overcame her.
* * * *
Mark's adrenaline flowed like a swift river current. His heart pumped as hard as that of a sprinter's nearing the finish line. His mind was on alert. Stamina had always played on his side, and this evening was no exception as his days spent in the military took over.
With all of the energy he could muster, he kicked the front door open. Air was a relief to his tight, oxygen-deprived lungs. But there was no time to celebrate. He rushed back inside. The smoke thinned just enough to spot Melanie slumped in a pile on the floor. Bending, he scooped her up into his arms.
The moment he stepped outside, flames overtook the entire house. His skin burned as the wood crackled. Loud popping sounds filled the air. He had to get himself and Melanie far from the fire in case of another explosion.
His surroundings seemed oblivious to the home engulfed in relentless wicked flames. Bright stars filled the sky. Sultry ocean waves casually washed up on the sandy shore, gently caressing and teasing the beach before they receded back into the vast Pacific. The full moon illuminated a path.
Moving quickly, he clung to the hope of survival. But in spite of his steely determination, his body felt the affects of the smoke and heat. His lungs ached as if they'd been bruised by a dull instrument.
His eyes burned. His energy level slipped, and his breathing grew extremely labored. He covered as much distance as he could before his knees began to buckle.
Coughing hard, he laid her on the sandy beach. As he stared into her blanched face, his concern for her survival quickly replaced his own pain.
He knelt beside Melanie and shook her. The bun on top of her head had come loose, and soft strands of auburn hair fell over her shoulders. Eyes closed, her body remained still.
"Melanie! Can you hear me?" Terrifying moments passed as he tried for a response. Nothing. Lightly putting pressure on her forehead, he tilted her head back, placed his ear over her mouth and listened for any sign of life. He sighed relief when he heard a faint breath.
Out of nowhere came loud, piercing sirens. Bright floodlights blinded him. "Thank God," he muttered.
Like a fairytale ending, two fire trucks appeared, coming to a sudden halt. Not wasting a moment, several firefighters jumped from the vehicles, unwinding black hoses.
"Help! Over here!" Mark hollered, frantically waving a hand. The rescue crew gathered around her.
"We were inside the home when the fire broke out. She has a faint breath."
To allow the technicians better access to Melanie, Mark stepped back and watched as one man checked her pulse and hooked up an IV to her right arm. Fear gripped his heart. She looked so fragile and helpless. He couldn't explain why he felt the way he did. He only knew he didn't want her to die.
"Heart rate's dropping," the technician said, his voice urgent. "We've got to get her stabilized."
An eerie tingle crept up Mark's spine as he watched her being strapped onto a stretcher and transported to an emergency vehicle. Stepping quickly behind the rescue crew, he watched them do their jobs, but his mind was working in high gear.
Memories of his wife's death flitted dangerously through his head and his heart, tugging at him in every direction until he thought he'd go crazy. Like a ghost, Shauna's visage flashed before him, bringing salty moisture to his eyes. He blinked away tears.
All of a sudden, the devastating past overcame him like an avalanche. The funeral. His arrest. The trial. Prison. He squeezed his eyes closed to shut the ugly events out of his mind, but they persisted, breaking in like uninvited guests crashing a party.
His pulse zoomed. The flood of pain rushed to his head and put pressure on his temples until they ached. He shuddered until reality slapped him in the face like a cold splash of water.
He took a slow, deep breath to calm himself and blew it out. He had to get a grip on himself. Shauna's death was an ugly fact of life. He'd have to learn to deal with it.
He willed himself to focus on the present. This victim wasn't Shauna. It was Melanie. Would she live?
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