Femme Faux Fatale Read online

  “So you’re not Camille’s friend? Does that mean she didn’t ask you to hire me?”

  Riley’s lips formed a perfect O of shock. “Absolutely not. She would have thrown a fit.”

  Now Cain was confused. “If so, why did you tell her about your meeting with me?”

  Riley cocked his head in evident bafflement. “What are you talking about? I didn’t tell her I met or hired you. She can be snarky. Her catfights with the girls at the club are legendary. I would never be so stupid.”

  The answer only puzzled Cain more. If Riley hadn’t told Camille about it, how did she know all those details about what Cain and Riley had discussed?

  He snapped his fingers. There was only one possible explanation: surveillance.

  In the Astor mansion, a security system involving covert surveillance made sense. The rich and powerful protected their assets, often at great expense. But the rest? Riley-as-Camille had done most of the talking in Cain’s office. Had he been bugged without his knowledge?

  Cain decided to check Riley’s clothes and belongings at the first opportune moment. As for the mansion up in the Hills, that he could search right away.

  But first… indulgence.

  Cain rolled Riley onto his back, with himself on top, and kissed him, taking his time to do it properly. “I’ve got to get to work soon, but….” He left the suggestion hanging.

  Riley giggled and wrapped his nimble limbs around Cain, his hips already grinding against Cain’s in a feverish rut. “Yeah, fuck me again.”

  Riley kissed Cain on the lips, and all was understood between them. Riley might not have been forthcoming with every detail, but his body certainly yielded everything to Cain.

  Briefly, Riley parted from Cain, smirking. “Later, when you get off work, you can give me a call. You know how to use a phone, don’t you? Just keep tapping till you’ve got my number.”

  Cain laughed harder than he ever had in his entire life.

  THE Astor mansion shone like white gold in the late-afternoon sunlight.

  Like Riley, Camille worked long hours at night, so it was likely she was at home asleep. That didn’t affect Cain’s resolve to search the house again, though. Last time he’d been on the lookout for a person; this time he’d have to conduct a more thorough and detailed sweep of the premises. Who knew? He might even track down a clue about the whereabouts of the Rodin statuette.

  He already knew where to start. Sheridan’s bedroom. That had been where Cain and Riley had talked the most. If Camille was indeed responsible for the spying, then bugging her husband’s room made sense.

  Although if Sheridan truly had a mistress, surely he wouldn’t have brought her to the house? Seemed like too much of a risk. Then again, people could be profoundly stupid about such things, if and when they believed they couldn’t get caught.

  Cain briefly entertained the idea of breaking in. Instead he decided to go for the direct approach. He knocked on the door.

  Not even a minute passed before the door opened. An old woman with silvery hair bound into a tight bun and wearing a maid’s black dress and white apron stared at him assessingly but not unkindly. Made for a refreshing change of pace in Cain’s opinion.

  “Can I help you, sir?” she asked in a raspy voice. Perhaps she was a smoker.

  Cain offered a short, polite smile. “I’m Cain Noble. I’m working on a case for Mrs. Astor. May I come in?”

  The woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She pursed her lips, clearly chagrined by his presence. But she moved aside and opened the door wider. Cain stepped over the threshold and studied the woman. It wasn’t difficult to ascertain her identity, based on her advanced years.

  “Thank you. Are you Bianca Banks, the cook?”

  Her eyebrows rose to her hairline and a ghost of a smile flickered on her thin lips as Cain used her name. “Yes, sir, I am. I’m sorry for doubting you—Mr. Noble, was it? You see, we get the odd prying reporter or nosy neighbor here on occasion.” She welcomed him with a sweeping arc of her hand, closed the door, and straightened up. “Can I get you a cup of—”

  “No, thank you.” Cain glanced about. Camille was nowhere in sight. “Might I have a look around?”

  “Yes, of course.” She huffed impatiently and glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. The smell of cooking meats wafted in Cain’s direction. “Please excuse me. I have a meal to prepare, and the maid’s not here today. Called in sick, I’m afraid.”

  “That’d be Mirabel Martinez?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s young and strong, but when her jewelry pieces don’t work out, she tends to drink. I suspect she’s got a hangover.” She started to move off but then waved toward the stairs. “Mrs. Astor is sleeping. She’s had a long night. I trust you won’t disturb her?”

  Cain made the Scout’s pledge over his heart—though he’d never been one. “I promise not to rouse the lady of the house from her beauty sleep, though she doesn’t need it.”

  A grateful smile gave the old woman’s face a vibrant appearance that Cain found pleasant. “Thank you, sir.”

  Before she vanished to her pots and pans, Cain asked, “Where’s the security room?”

  Bianca stopped midstep and gave him an odd look. However, in the end she shrugged and pointed down the hallway to the right. “At the end of the hall, sir. It’s not locked.”

  Cain cringed inwardly. This house certainly could have had better defensive procedures in place. Bianca had let Cain in and given him the run of the house without checking his story and even granted him unhindered access to the security systems? Sloppy and potentially hazardous had Cain been an uninvited intruder, which was sort of what he was at the moment. While the carelessness suited his purposes, the detective in him found it disturbing.

  After Bianca had disappeared behind the swinging door to the kitchen, Cain made his way to the control room. The unassuming white door wasn’t locked. Cain suppressed a sigh. This had to be the most unprotected house in the Hills.

  He pushed the door open. The room was empty. No sign of a guard or guards anywhere. Cain vowed to have a serious talk with Camille about the state of security at their mansion. Surprising that only the one piece of art was missing. People this negligent and indifferent deserved to get robbed down to their gold fillings.

  The wall opposite the door was covered in stacked rows of widescreen surveillance feeds. Black-and-white images buzzed with silent static, and none of the cameras rotated to provide a full 360-degree view. This was outdated and obsolete tech, and Cain grimaced at the sight. The cameras, though, had relatively optimal placements, covering virtually every important corridor, junction, and room in the house.

  Sheridan’s bedroom was visible from the hall outside the closed double doors. Cain scanned the camera views. None of them showed the interior of the ransacked bedroom. Curious.

  If there was additional surveillance of a more secretive nature, the control room wasn’t the place where the footage was monitored. With Wi-Fi, wires were unnecessary, as was a fixed observational station. One handheld device would suffice for that.

  But there had to be something in Sheridan’s room. A single camera with a microphone and a recorder at the very least. It was the only viable explanation for Camille’s knowledge of Cain’s previous visit. And the whole point of clandestine observation was to obtain proof of something sordid, questionable, or illegal.

  Of course, the end result wasn’t necessarily blackmail. But in Cain’s experience, it often was.

  Did extortion fit Camille’s character? Hard to say since Cain had only met the real Camille once. She’d appeared driven, cunning, mercurial. Whether Riley had performed his part adequately or superbly remained to be seen.

  Cain hurried to Sheridan’s room without further delay. The same messy interior awaited him. Nothing had been done about the disheveled state of the place. That didn’t bother Cain. If this was intended to confuse or distract him, the effort failed.

  Since the room was already tosse
d, Cain didn’t care about leaving things in disarray. He searched the room top to bottom.

  Above the doorframe, camouflaged by elaborately carved wooden moldings, he discovered a miniature wireless spy camera. Hidden in shadows, the device was virtually invisible. Cain would not have found it had he not caught a miniscule flash of light from the corner of one eye. He fetched a chair, propped it against the side of the door, and climbed atop it to fish out the tiny camera.

  The gadget’s feed must go directly to a smartphone or tablet. Cain cursed the invention of wireless technology. It made detective work impossible on occasion.

  The chair beneath his feet jerked abruptly Yelping in surprise, Cain fell backward, flailing.

  He hit the floor hard, the impact only slightly mitigated by the carpeting. His vision went white briefly as the back of his head hit the hope chest at the foot of the bed.

  Though his eyesight was momentarily distorted, Cain still caught sight of a tall, well-built man clad in black standing in the doorway. His face was covered by a ski mask, leaving only his eyes visible.

  As Cain desperately scrambled to get to his feet, the intruder pulled out a knife, closed the gap between them, and brandished the weapon like a sword, swinging it in sweeping arcs to left and right.

  Not an experienced fighter, Cain concluded as he jumped back, trying to avoid the blade. He caught the man’s arm on the backswing and knocked a fist against his elbow. The man grunted and dropped the knife.

  Instead of a fast victory, though, Cain found himself in a battle with a man who wasn’t above using dirty tricks to win. He slammed into Cain with his shoulder—a football player’s move?—and punched him in the gut. Cain groaned in pain, his ribs protesting the blow.

  The man threw more punches, connecting first with Cain’s eye, then with Cain’s jaw. Cain crashed back against the foot of the bed and slid down onto his butt. The man made a move to kick Cain.

  A woman’s sharp scream startled the intruder.

  Bianca stood frozen on the threshold, hands cupping her face in a theatrical gesture. Her horror seemed genuine. She whirled around and hurried off in a rush.

  Cursing up a storm, the man in black dashed out of the room, pausing only long enough to pick up his knife and the mini spy camera from the floor. He disappeared around the corner, his thundering footsteps pounding down the stairs. A few seconds later the front door closed with a bang.

  As Cain struggled to prevent his roiling gut from bringing up his latest meal then and there, Bianca returned, sobbing hysterically. “Oh my God, Mr. Noble. Are you all right? How horrible. In all my years in this household, nothing like this has ever happened. I can’t believe….”

  She rambled on as she supported Cain onto his feet, out of the room, and down the stairs. Near the front door, Cain stopped her by gently removing her hands from his waist and arm.

  “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Banks. Perfect timing.”

  Bianca’s blue eyes were incredibly big and frightened. “Are you all right, sir? Do you need a doctor? What can I do to help?”

  Cain offered her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Don’t disturb Mrs. Astor. I’ll talk with her later. You can call the police and file a report, though.”

  Cringing inwardly, Cain knew the police wouldn’t be happy that he hadn’t stuck around the scene to talk to them personally. But he didn’t want to waste time—theirs or his.

  He said his quick goodbyes and left before he got escorted to the kitchen for a nice cup of tea. He shuddered at the mere thought.

  As Cain limped to his car, all he could think about was the curious fact of the man in black appearing at exactly the right time to attack Cain and collect the spy camera. That could only mean that the intruder had been able to see Cain retrieve the device from its hidey-hole.

  And… he had to have been in close vicinity to get there so fast. He’d been inside the house.

  Chapter Ten

  “OH geez, not again.”

  Tess’s impatient sigh and sarcastic harrumph reminded Cain that she’d seen him hobble back to the office bruised and battered on numerous occasions. She wasn’t even surprised.

  He grunted in displeasure. “I’m fine, dollface. Thanks for asking.”

  She rolled her eyes and headed for the toilet. “I’ll get the first-aid kit. Again. Sit.” As she went, she called over her shoulder, “Oh, and you have a visitor. Not as pretty as last time, though.”

  Leave it to Tess to see through people’s disguises. Cain entered his office, blinking as his eye started to swell up. Soon his sight would be diminished. There went 3D.

  “Oh my God!” Riley exclaimed as Cain shuffled inside. He jumped off the couch, his attire that of a young man again, and helped Cain to his chair behind the desk. “What happened?”

  Cain groaned as he sat down, his sides hurting from the punch, his ribs protesting each and every breath taken. From experience he recognized the fact that his ribs were merely bruised, not broken. Stroke of luck. Full-body casts sucked.

  “Camille knew details about the discussion you and I had back at the house. We searched the house, you and I, so she couldn’t have been hiding there then. I figured she had covert cameras in the house. Turns out I was right. Just as I found one in Sheridan’s room, I was attacked by a masked man. He beat the shit out of me and grabbed the camera as he fled.”

  Tess walked in with a determined stride, gently shoved Riley aside, placed the first-aid kit on the desk, and started to clean the wounds on Cain’s eye and jaw.

  Riley retreated obediently to stand in front of the desk, harried but spirited too, his long black hair in a ponytail. “Camille must have arranged for the attack. A male accomplice to distract you so you’d think she had nothing to do with Sherry’s disappearance.”

  Riley clearly had a bee in his bonnet about Camille. Friends they weren’t, that much was obvious. But were they enemies? Riley certainly seemed eager to make Cain commit to the woman’s guilt, though no evidence suggested her involvement.

  But to be fair, Cain did have a hard time believing that Camille had just slept through an assault happening in her house. Of course, her quarters were on the other side of an extremely large mansion, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

  Cain grimaced as pain sliced through him when Tess cleaned an open gash next to his eye. “I think it’s high time you level with me, Riley.”

  Riley visibly swallowed and grew pale. After a moment spent blinking, he nodded. “Yes. I will tell you.”

  Cain had doubts about how far the man would go in his confession, but he dared to hope. Great sex didn’t ultimately change a person’s character, but it might make them more amenable to persuasion, not to mention doing the right thing. So he waited with bated breath.

  Riley sat down on the couch, released a long sigh, and fidgeted with his hands between his legs. “I wasn’t completely honest with you earlier. Sheridan and I are close friends. That was true. We aren’t lovers. That’s also true. But… Camille did know about me pretending to be her and hiring you.”

  “Before or after I met her for real at the club?”

  “Before.” Riley ducked his head, internal conflict evident on his face. “You see, Sheridan didn’t show up for work. The first day I didn’t really pay attention. But on the second day I started to suspect something was wrong. I went to Camille and asked her to call the cops and file a missing person’s.”

  “She refused?”

  Riley closed his eyes, shame coloring his cheeks and toning his voice. “I… I let her get inside my head. She convinced me Sherry was fine and didn’t need our help. But after a few more days passed and there was no sign of Sheridan, I started to doubt again. I assumed foul play and decided to take matters into my own hands.”

  “You didn’t mention that part to Camille in advance, am I right?”

  “Correct.” Riley straightened up, as he seemed to be reaching a point where he was proud of his actions. “I came to you dressed up as Camille
and hired you. I was hoping that if I involved a third party Camille would no longer be able to close her eyes, and she would admit that Sheridan was nowhere to be seen. And I was also thinking you’d be able to figure out the reason why she’s been behaving so oddly. I mean, if she’s not directly involved in Sherry’s disappearance.”

  “Basically I was leverage?”

  Riley blushed. His gaze remained unwavering, though. “You’re more than that.”

  Not at first, Cain finished in his head. “And you think Camille has a male accomplice who attacked me at the mansion today?”

  “It’s the only logical explanation.”

  “Not the only one. You could have arranged it as well. You knew where I was going, and for some reason you want me to believe that Camille is responsible for whatever’s happened to your friend.”

  Riley gasped in shock and shot to his feet, eyes wide and mouth agape. “It’s not true! I’d never do anything like that.”

  Cain studied his mysterious lover’s face. The emotions currently displayed seemed real, but Cain had been fooled before. And Riley had a history of not being forthcoming with what he knew. How could anyone trust a man like that?

  “I met Bianca Banks. She seems like a nice lady.” Cain cringed when Tess unbuttoned his dress shirt to inspect the injuries he’d sustained on his midsection. She was cautious, but pain didn’t care. “Camille was upstairs asleep, according to Bianca. I didn’t get the chance to meet either the driver, Dirk Renner, or the maid, Mirabel Martinez.”

  Riley frowned, cocking his head. “What do you mean? Mirabel is there every day.”

  “No. Bianca said she called in sick.”

  Riley huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Mirabel has never taken a holiday or a sick day in her life. She’s the most dedicated, loyal, and conscientious person I’ve ever met. Not even her sideline jewelry design job gets in the way. She’s one of those people who always makes it seem as though their day has more hours than the rest of the populace. Her work, both on and off the clock, is her life.”