True Lies by Ingrid Weaver Page A

that take up two walls of this cabin.”
    “My apartment in Chicago’s the same way,” Bruce said. “Only my bookshelves overflowed onto the floor a few years ago.”
    “I think we have a lot in common.”
    He hesitated. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on. You were telling me about what happened today.”
    She turned her face toward the window and looked over the lake. “I've always tried to smooth things over for my brother. It’s second nature to me to pull him out of one scrape after another. But this time he’s mixed up in something deadly serious, and I'm not sure if either of us can handle it.”
    “What’s the problem?”
    “He’s been lying to me. Not that the fact that he lied is such a big surprise—he’s been pulling my strings for years. But now he’s in serious trouble with some very nasty people.”
    “Is he into something illegal?”
    She flinched. “I don’t have much respect for legalities, Bruce. It’s like my basic loathing for the police.”
    He was silent for a moment. “I remember. You said you hated cops.”
    “My family was destroyed by the police and our justice system. I know what my father did was wrong, but he paid for his mistake. He gave the money back, he served his time in prison, but that wasn’t enough. The law had to take it all. His self-respect, his reputation and his future were ruined the moment he was convicted. The press considered it open season on the entire Duprey family. My mother couldn’t live with the scandal. She retreated into her own private cocoon, getting more and more dependent on the tranquilizers the doctors prescribed. I tried to help her. I pushed her into one rehab program after another, but she chose to escape permanently.” Emma broke off and swallowed hard before she went on. “She didn’t even leave a note. Her suicide killed my father, but it took him two more years to die. He became an alcoholic the day he left prison.”
    “I'm sorry, Emma.”
    “Simon and I are all that’s left.”
    “But if your brother is in trouble, maybe it would be best to go to the police.”
    “No. I can’t. That’s out of the question.”
    “Maybe you should reconsider.” Bruce pushed himself up from the table, awkwardly knocking his chair backward. He grabbed it before it could topple over and moved to her side. With a hesitant, tentative motion, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’d like to help you, Emma.”
    She reached up and covered his hand with hers. “You have. You held me while I cried. Did you know that I'm twenty-eight years old, and no one has ever done that before?”
    His grip tightened. He exhaled harshly, his breath stirring her hair. “I have no business taking advantage of you this way.”
    “You're not doing anything that I don’t want you to do.” Still holding his hand, she rose from her chair and turned to face him.
    He ducked his head, raising his free hand to scratch his beard. “Maybe I could help you with your brother. I've done work for all kinds of people. I remember the name of one man who had some sort of job in the justice department, a guy by the name of Jones. If Simon is mixed up in something illegal and he wants out, you could call this guy and say you were a friend of mine. I bet he would help you.”
    “You're a truly kind man, Bruce,” she murmured.
    “No, I'm not.”
    She was startled by the vehemence of his denial. Stepping closer, she angled her head so that she could look into his face. “Yes, you are. You're also very handsome.”
    “Emma, I don’t want to take advant—”
    “Oh, stop it.” She shook off his grip and raised her hands to frame his face. “You are. I saw it from the start. You have a handsome nose, and a broad forehead and strong, thick eyebrows and beautiful, long eyelashes and your beard can’t completely cover those sexy hollows beneath your cheekbones.”
    “Sexy?” he said, his voice unsteady. “Me? Heck, how can you say that? I know what I look like.”
    She