Read the book: «Wife By Deception»

“What do you want?” Kate asked

“I want what’s mine.”

“And what,” she asked haltingly, “do you consider yours?”

“Don’t worry, chèr’. Not you… I meant my daughter.”

The world tilted crazily around her. He had to be Mitch. Her sister’s husband.

She had to come up with a plan. She couldn’t let this stranger carry her niece off to an unknown future. Yet what could she do? She had no idea where he’d sent the little girl…had no idea where he lived.

If he disappeared now, she might never find Arianne again.

Should she tell him her twin had died? Perhaps he’d soften and handle the matter with compassion and reason. Then again, he might simply leave, glad to be rid of his ex-wife once and for all.

“Pack a suitcase for Arianne,” he ordered her, interrupting her thoughts, “and one for yourself. We have a date with a judge. You left before our divorce was final. And guess what? The attorney you hired hadn’t even passed the bar yet. He had no authority to act on your behalf. Nothing he handled was valid.”

Kate stared at him. That meant… Oh, God, this man was Camryn’s husband. And now he believed her to be his wife!

Dear Reader,

I wrote this book with deep affection for the offshore shrimpers in the Gulf of Mexico—men who face incredible dangers in their work, and do so with pride, a strict code of honor and an uncanny communion with nature. During my eighteen months of living and working on a commercial trawler named the Lady Leone, I came to admire Gulf shrimpers as true masters of the sea.

The hero of this book, Mitch Devereaux, is one of this breed, and of another proud race—the Cajuns of Louisiana. They’re known for their strong family ties; distinctive music, food and dance; making a living off the land, swamp and sea; and an abiding love of a good party. They value zest for life, or, as they call it, joie de vivre. Mitch, however, lost his joie de vivre when his estranged wife ran off with his daughter. Nothing will stop him from tracking them down, bringing them home and forcing his wife to honor their joint-custody agreement.

Little does Mitch know that the woman he finds with his daughter is not his wife, but her identical twin, intent on protecting the baby she loves. This is the story of how Mitch regains his joie de vivre, and how Kate Jones finds the precious spice that has been missing from her life.

As you curl up in a comfy chair to read their story, I hope you laissez les bons temps rouler. A Cajun motto, it means, “Let the good times roll!”

Sincerely,

Donna Sterling

Wife by Deception
Donna Sterling

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I dedicate this to the Kozma clan, especially Eddie,

for “reading every word”; Kenny, for getting me to

the express mail office in time; and Michelle,

for venturing with me into the swampland…

and the Cajun dance hall. We passed a good time, chèr’.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to Ron “Black” Guidry, for his swamp tour;

Jesse Lecompte Jr., for answering questions; Doug Lambert,

who has a great little shop in the French Quarter;

and Joe Cruse of The Stormy Seas, who will always

have a place in my heart. And special thanks to

Jacquie D’Alessandro, Susan Goggins, Carina Rock

and Ann White, for their insightful critiques.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PROLOGUE

Tallahassee, Florida

Early January

CAMRYN LISTENED for sounds in the early-morning stillness of her sister’s household. She heard only the patter of rain on the roof and the rustling of Florida wind through the palm tree near her window. No one seemed to be awake.

She climbed out of bed in stealthy silence.

Today was the day she’d hit the road for New York City. And Kate would discover she had a baby to watch for the next couple of weeks. Kate Jones, Ph.D., college professor, no less, should be able to figure out how to take care of a three-month-old.

Quietly Camryn dressed in the dark. The baby had bawled for hours after she’d brought her to Kate’s house last night. Stunned to learn of her niece’s existence, Kate had insisted they spend the night, then took charge of rocking, feeding and soothing the baby.

Camryn had expected she would. Despite the years they’d spent apart, she knew her sister. They were, after all, identical twins, and the only family each other had…other than the baby now. Kate would take good care of her until Camryn returned. She would have asked her to baby-sit if she hadn’t been afraid Kate would put a kink in her plans. Much safer to force her cooperation.

After gathering her purse, her suitcase and Kate’s car keys, Camryn tiptoed through the darkened house, tossed a letter onto the kitchen table, then hurried outside through the chill January rain to Kate’s rather stodgy BMW. Camryn’s Mustang convertible had given her problems. She didn’t trust it on another long road trip. The BMW would have to do.

Moments later, she turned out of the elegant Tallahassee subdivision and onto the open highway, headed for New York City…and television stardom. Prime-time soaps, here I come! Everyone who knew anything about show business had assured her that the soap opera producers would take one look at the pictures of her with the baby and write them both into the script—mother and daughter. Her exceptionally gorgeous baby girl was just the gimmick she’d always needed to break into show business big-time.

And once she did, she’d have the means to solve her other problems, too. The one that had been driving her nuts lately was the need for a baby-sitter. The crying, the smelly diapers, the continual demand for attention were more than she could take. She’d originally intended to bring Arianne with her to New York right away, but after a hellish time on the road, she’d decided to leave Arianne with Kate, then come back for her after she made the all-important contacts and found a place to live near the studios.

Being free for a while felt good. Who knew mothering would be so difficult? She’d thought it would be an adventure…a new, exciting phase in her life. Movies and television had made motherhood seem so desirable. So…easy. And while her ex and his family had been around to help, it hadn’t seemed too difficult.

But the weeks since she’d struck out on her own had been torture. She supposed it wouldn’t have been as bad if she hadn’t lost all her money at poker. She’d had to take a singing gig in Atlanta, which hadn’t paid enough for her to hire a baby-sitter and recoup her losses. She’d brought the baby to the club with her every evening until the manager put an end to it…and to Camryn’s job.

She wasn’t about to let Mitch know she needed help, though.

Give me full custody of her, Cam. Arianne would be better off.

Her hand clenched the steering wheel and she fumbled to light a cigarette. Flicking her gold lighter with a vengeance, she tossed her heavy blond hair over one shoulder and leaned toward the flame. Her professionally manicured nails shimmered crimson in the flickering light; her jeweled rings and bracelets flashed. She drew in a biting lungful of smoke.

She’d be damned if she’d give up her rights in their joint-custody arrangement. In fact, when she had more money, she’d take him to court for full custody. Arianne was her ticket to stardom. But she couldn’t let Mitch know about her plans, of course, until contracts were signed with the television producers. Otherwise, he’d try to stop her.

Mitch was touchy when it came to Arianne. He’d made a big deal out of every mistake. Like when Camryn had taken the baby to New Orleans one night. If she’d known the crowd in the French Quarter would grow wild, she wouldn’t have had all those margaritas. Even so, she’d been perfectly capable of handling the situation…except for the bail money, which, admittedly, Mitch had to bring. The public drunkenness charge had been so unfair.

And then there was the time she’d left Arianne in the car while she placed a few quick bets at a casino. The security guard had called the phone number listed on the car’s registration. Mitch had answered…then blew the whole incident way out of proportion. He told her that he would start proceedings to take her custody rights away from her.

She changed the phone number and address on the car’s registration information the very next day. Mitch and she were divorced, damn it. What she did or where she went was none of his business. Later, after she’d left town in the dead of night with Arianne, she’d traded that car—her beloved ’Vette—for the Mustang in Birmingham. She hoped the switch would stop Mitch from tracking her down.

He might not appreciate her style of parenting, but she was still Arianne’s mother. She had sacrificed her flawless figure and several months of her singing career to bring her into this world. For a few of those months, she’d even given up drinking and smoking. Or most of it, anyway. The baby was hers, and she’d take her wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

She wondered how Mitch had reacted to finding them gone. He was probably furious.

Served him right. He’d changed drastically from the first few weeks she’d known him. They’d had great times together at the start. But then she got pregnant, and he insisted she marry him. And all the fun stopped. He no longer tried to please her. All he cared about was the baby. Oh, and his precious shrimp boats.

Well, that was where he’d made his mistake. If he didn’t care about pleasing her, he wasn’t going to have his daughter.

Besides, she had plans for Arianne. Big plans. She and Arianne were going to be television stars. Then she’d have money to hire a full-time nanny, as well as a powerful attorney to represent her in a custody hearing.

Feeling empowered, she took the next curve faster, leaning with the wheel to keep the car on the road. The effort won her a dark thrill. Things were definitely looking up.

She hoped Kate wouldn’t be too angry that she’d left the baby with her. Kate had already been upset that Camryn hadn’t contacted her about her marriage or the birth of her daughter. In a way, Kate herself was to blame for Camryn’s failure to call her. She was always telling Camryn what to do. Even when they were growing up in the Tallahassee Methodist Children’s Home, Kate had tried to run the show. She had such strong views on “what’s best.” Few people had the strength to swim against that particular tide. She’d wear a person down before he knew the fight had even begun.

Like when she persuaded Camryn’s first husband to turn himself in and serve out his sentence for insurance fraud. Or when she talked her second husband into admitting he was sleeping around. Could anyone blame her for hesitating to tell Kate about her third marriage?

She hadn’t even mentioned to Mitch that she had a sister, let alone an identical twin, for fear that if they met, Kate would complicate matters. Camryn had been careful not to tell Kate much about Mitch, either…especially that he’d been granted joint custody. She might feel obligated to contact him.

Disturbed at the thought, Camryn pressed harder on the gas and took the curve in the slick, two-lane highway a little faster than she’d intended. The tires hydroplaned, and she fought to keep the BMW from fishtailing into the woods. Fear heated her insides. Her mouth filled with an acrid taste. Exhilaration gunned through her. Aah, what a rush!

She was feeling alive again! She wanted to celebrate. Maybe she’d stop at a convenience store for a wine cooler.

The next curve in the road came quicker than she expected, though, and she veered across the center line. She barely had time to focus on the oncoming headlights before her world spun…and screeched…and rolled…

And ended in thunderous conflagration.

CHAPTER ONE

Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana

July 4

THE CALL CAME during the Fourth of July crawfish boil in his parents’ front yard on the bayou. The cell phone in his shirt pocket rang, and Mitch’s heart paused.

No one but the detective would call him on this phone. The captains and crew members of his shrimp boats didn’t know the number; they always contacted him by the radio he wore on his belt. So did his neighbors on the swamp. It had to be Chuck Arceneaux, the investigator he’d hired. And if the call wasn’t urgent, Chuck would have left a message on his home answering machine.

The adults at the long picnic table fell silent, their gazes shifting to Mitch. They knew the significance of that ringing cell phone. His brawny, apron-clad father turned from the simmering crawfish kettle to watch him in sober expectation. His mother froze in the act of ladling jambalaya from a huge serving bowl, her eyes widening with hope and fear. The children seemed to sense the sudden tension, and all but the youngest of his nieces, nephews and cousins quieted. Even the hot Louisiana breeze seemed to halt its sighing through the willows and moss-draped cypress trees.

Mitch drew the phone from his pocket and answered it.

The investigator’s flat, nasal voice greeted him. “All the dough you’ve been shelling out for those mailers finally paid off, Mitch. We got a possible lead.”

A possible lead. Mitch shut his eyes and clenched his jaw, overcome with relief that the news hadn’t been bad. Immediately following that relief came disappointment that the news hadn’t been better. He’d been praying so damn long for the words I’ve found your daughter. She’s okay. “What kind of lead, Chuck?”

“A man in Florida said he recognized a neighbor from the photos on a mailer. Said she goes by the name Kate Jones. He doesn’t know much more than that about her. I’ve been staked out in front of the house, and a few minutes ago, a blonde stepped out onto the porch. She looks a lot like your wife.”

Mitch grimaced at the term. He’d have preferred “ex-wife,” although it wasn’t technically correct. Camryn had taken off before they’d corrected major glitches in their divorce proceedings. Legally, they were still married—a situation he would remedy the moment he got his daughter back from her and knew that he’d be awarded custody. Full custody, this time. “Does she have a baby with her?”

“Haven’t seen one yet, but I noticed a stroller in the garage.”

Mitch’s blood roared in his ears with a fierce surge of hope. Please, God, let it be Camryn. And let Arianne be with her, safe and sound. “Watch her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“This gal ain’t going nowhere without me on her tail.”

“Where are you in Florida?” Mitch demanded, rising from the bench at the picnic table. He couldn’t waste a moment. He had to get there before Camryn ran again.

“Tallahassee. But don’t go off half-cocked. Think about how you want to handle this. You and I know she ran illegally with your kid, but you can’t be sure how another state will deal with custody disputes. The law at home might be on your side, but you don’t have any guarantees outside of Louisiana.”

“That’s why I’m bringing her back. And I’m not about to call the cops, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Mitch knew better than to rely on anyone except himself. Camryn would flash her pretty smile and have the cops falling all over themselves to do her favors before he had a chance to show his joint custody papers. They’d probably arrest him and let her go free—to run with Arianne again.

If she still had Arianne. Mitch refused to put too much stock in the stroller the detective had noticed. Camryn could be staying with someone who had a baby. During her six months on the run, she might have left Arianne with a baby-sitter, or forgotten her outside a casino, or…

Mitch refused to think about the possibilities. The woman had a warped maternal instinct and absolutely no sense of responsibility. He believed she’d taken Arianne from him out of spite for what she considered his “interference” in her life. She’d resented the restraints imposed on her by marriage—as brief as their marriage had been—and even more, the demands of motherhood. She lived for fun and thrills. The risks she took in search of those thrills made Mitch’s muscles clench. What a sap he was! As furious as she made him, he couldn’t keep from worrying about Camryn as well as their daughter.

Their sweet baby daughter. Arianne. He hadn’t seen her in six months. She’d be nine months old by now. Did Camryn still have her? If so, was she taking decent care of her? He couldn’t imagine her taking care of anyone for that long, let alone fulfilling the constant needs of a baby.

Then again, Camryn could do or be anything she set her mind to, at least for a while. She was a chameleon, changing colors to suit her mood or to get her wherever she wanted to go. He hoped her current whims included mothering Arianne.

If only he’d known Camryn before he’d gotten involved with her! But he’d been pretty damn irresponsible himself. He, too, had taken foolhardy risks in search of excitement. Like sleeping with a gorgeous stranger.

But he had to admit, it had been more for him than just thrill seeking. He’d been poleaxed by the sight of her. In that first blinding flash of reaction, he’d been sure she was the woman of his dreams. Her face, her eyes, her voice. Her body. Everything about her seemed so damn right…as if she’d stepped directly from his fantasies, custom-made for him alone. He’d honestly felt that fate had brought him to this one golden moment in time so that he could meet his soul mate. Never before had he been overcome by such a powerful certainty.

And never since.

Her beauty, vivaciousness and fun-loving spirit had kept him flying high through the first couple of weeks of their relationship. But gradually he realized that the deeper, more profound qualities he craved in a life partner simply weren’t there.

She was like flauteau—the lush stretches of Louisiana grass and greenery that looked as solid as earth but were actually nothing more than vegetation floating on the surface of a swamp. A man foolish enough to step onto flauteau would sink beneath the dense foliage into stagnant, muddy water without leaving so much as a trace.

All flash was Camryn, without an inch of solid ground. And now he was drowning in his own foolishness over her.

When she told him she was going to have his baby, he insisted that she marry him. Old-fashioned of him, maybe, but he’d wanted at least the appearance of love for their child’s sake, once she was old enough to understand things like parenthood and marriage.

It turned out that Camryn herself didn’t know much about those things. She carried on a fairly convincing charade of wife and mother for as long as she could, but her true nature soon got the best of her. She craved fun and thrills and self-gratification, and when the conflict with him became too much for her, she filed for divorce. And then left town…before that divorce had been properly finalized…with Arianne. She’d barely been three months old.

And now, as he tried to track Camryn down, he was amazed at how little he knew about her. According to information gleaned from Arianne’s birth certificate, Camryn had been born in Pennsylvania, but his search there proved fruitless. She’d said her parents were dead; he didn’t know if she had any surviving family members. Her maiden name of “Jones” didn’t help much in a computer search; every state in the country had thousands of them.

He hoped to God that he’d finally found her.

Mitch finished his conversation with the detective and returned his cell phone to his pocket, his mind whirling and his heart pounding. He had strategies to plan and preparations to make.

“Mon Dieu! Have they found our Arianne?” His mother’s breathless question and anxious expression jarred him from his thoughts. Every pair of eyes around the table reflected the same deep-seated concern.

“Maybe. I’m about to go find out.” His throat nearly closed with emotion. “I might be bringing her home.”

The prospect awed him. He’d missed her so damn much—holding her, feeding her, making her smile. Watching her bloom into the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen. His daughter. Had she needed him? Had she wondered where he was? Could she possibly even remember him?

His eldest sister whispered a prayer in French and made the sign of the cross. His younger sister hugged him. His father gripped his shoulder in silent support. His brother-in-law insisted on going with him, and everyone else chimed in with offers of help.

A small hand tugged on his shirt. Mitch glanced down at his four-year-old nephew, who stood on the picnic bench, his dark eyes wide with concern. In incredulous tones, he asked, “Are you cwying, Uncle Mitch?”

Mitch blinked back the sheen that had blurred his vision and swallowed against the swelling in his throat. “Nah. Too much hot sauce on my crawfish, that’s all.” He caught the boy to him in a playful hold and scrubbed his knuckles across his head, tousling the dark curls. “You didn’t sprinkle more hot sauce in my jambalaya while I wasn’t looking, did you, Claude?”

Claude giggled and swore that he hadn’t.

Sensing a potential for roughhousing, the little boy’s older cousins sprang from their seats. “I did it, Uncle Mitch! I put more hot sauce in your jambalaya!”

“No, I did!”

“I did.”

Their impish grins and teasing claims eased some of the tightness in Mitch’s throat. Allowing himself the luxury of a moment, he captured as many kids as he could at one time, tickling each one he caught. They shrieked with laughter, scurried around him and mounted their own attack, some leaping onto his back from behind.

Mitch swore to himself that he’d bring his daughter home to join in the fun with her cousins. To dance to her uncle Mazoo’s fiddle. Eat her grand-mère’s jambalaya. Wrap her papa around her little finger.

He’d bring Camryn back here, too—to resolve the legal glitches in their divorce proceedings, and to face the judge who had granted them joint custody. Despite the failed divorce, they were legally separated, and that custody agreement was legal and binding. She’d had no right to leave the state of Louisiana, or to keep his daughter away from him.

Yes, indeed, she would face the judge and pay whatever price he set for violating a court order. Maybe that would stop her from running away with Arianne again.

LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, KATE rolled the stroller up to the gate of the clubhouse area just in time to watch parents clamber out of the swimming pool with infants and toddlers in their arms, rivulets of water trickling from matted hair, slick swimsuits and sagging diapers. As everyone headed toward lounge chairs and beach towels, the instructor called out reminders of next week’s class.

Drat. Kate had been hoping to watch at least some of this afternoon’s swim class in session. The walk through the two adjacent subdivisions had taken longer than she’d expected, though. There’d been so many distractions along the way—flowers to sniff, kitties to pet, neighbors to enchant with Arianne’s sunny, drool-shiny smile. And then there was Arianne’s fondness for flinging her toys out of the stroller, just for the fun of having Kate retrieve them. The walk had taken considerably longer than expected.

Which was fine with Kate. It seemed to her that the journey itself was just as important as the destination—and they’d had a lovely journey. Maybe they would watch the swim class next week. At the neighborhood Fourth of July party yesterday, the lifeguard in her own subdivision had recommended this particular instructor for infant swimming lessons. Kate wanted to see for herself what methods the woman used.

She peered at the parents trudging past her toward the parking lot. A few moms and dads were talking and smiling. Others looked exhausted and harried. And…frustrated? Not a good sign.

Kate approached one young mother who had emerged from the pool area with a towel-wrapped infant huddled against her shoulder. Smiling at both the baby and his mother, Kate introduced herself as a resident from the neighboring subdivision. “I’m thinking of enrolling my nine-month-old for swim lessons. Are you happy with the classes so far?”

“Oh, absolutely.” The deeply tanned brunette, who smelled of chlorine and suntan lotion, lovingly towel-dried her son’s reddish, downy-fine curls. “Davey has learned so much in just two months. He can already hold his breath underwater. And he’s only ten months old.” She fairly beamed with pride.

“That’s great. Does he enjoy the lessons?”

“Enjoy them?” She sounded surprised at the question. “Well, actually, he’d rather just play around in the pool with his toys than do what the teacher says. I suppose that’s only to be expected.” A flicker of frustration disrupted her smile. “And for some reason, he resists floating on his back.”

Warning bells sounded in Kate’s head. If any amount of coercion was involved in teaching a baby to swim, the instructor was probably teaching at her pace rather than the baby’s. And, from the articles Kate had read on the subject, she’d learned that back floating was a skill to be explored later in a baby’s progression.

No, she wouldn’t subject Arianne to the stress of these particular lessons. She wanted her to enjoy learning, not shy away from it. She wanted the lessons to be a happy, peaceful time. An opportunity for physical and spiritual enrichment. A chance for her and Arianne to grow closer.

Maybe she should look into mother-baby yoga lessons, instead. “Thanks for the information,” Kate said. “I think I’ll wait another month or so before I sign Arianne up for swim lessons, though. You know, I’ve read some highly informative articles about infant swim lessons on the Internet.”

“Really?”

Unable to resist the chance to save Davey from distressful lessons that might negatively affect his attitude toward learning, Kate told the woman how to find the articles she’d read.

Arianne, meanwhile, dropped the teething ring she’d been gnawing on, emitted a joyous squeal and pointed a stubby little finger at the pool. “Fwim!” Shifting her bright brown eyes to Kate, she repeated, “Fwim?”

Kate smiled at her with all the pride, warmth and tenderness brimming in her heart. Only nine months old, and she could already say fwim. She clearly had genius potential. “No, sweetie. We can’t swim today. Tomorrow, maybe. In our own pool.”

Arianne returned a still-hopeful gaze to the pool. Kate pulled a small foil-wrapped pack from her purse, knelt beside the stroller and distracted the little brown-eyed blonde with a teething biscuit.

Davey’s mother shifted her towel-swathed son to her other hip and smiled at Arianne. To Kate, she said, “She’s adorable. And she looks so much like you. You couldn’t deny she’s yours even if you wanted to.”

Kate felt her smile falter. Couldn’t deny she’s yours. If only that were true. “Thanks. I…I guess I’d better head back home. It’s quite a walk.” After wishing the woman luck with Davey’s lessons, Kate wheeled the stroller toward the sidewalk.

And tried not to let the innocent remark hurt too much. Hard to do, though, when the wound was still so raw. Because regardless of the fact that Arianne resembled her—same honey-blond hair, same brown eyes, even the same little cleft in her chin—she wasn’t Kate’s. Not biologically, or even legally, as of yet.

Her real mother had been killed.

Camryn.

A bittersweet pang went through Kate, as it always did when she thought of her sister. Then the grief set in. She was gone—her glamorous, high-flying rebel of a twin who had vexed her, angered her, worried her sick, but always brought tales of wild urban adventures that made Kate’s own life seem boring in comparison. Camryn had been a dreamer, outrageously self-centered and as flighty as a kite in a high wind. She’d always gravitated toward the wrong crowd, set her sights on impractical goals and gone about reaching them in the hardest possible way. They’d argued more often than they’d laughed together, but her rare visits had added a certain zest to Kate’s workaday life. There would be no more surprise-packed visits from out of the blue.

After six months, the grief had only begun to mellow.

At least she still had Arianne. A simple glance at her niece filled her with warm, comforting love…as well as concern. It had taken Kate more than five months—until last Friday, to be exact—to ask a lawyer about adoption proceedings. Because Arianne’s father presented an unknown variable, she’d felt she had too much to risk by bringing Arianne to the attention of the courts.

Government bureaucracies always worried her. The Department of Family and Children Services had ruled her and Camryn’s lives from the age of five—when they lost their parents in an automobile accident—until the day they turned eighteen. As humiliating and dehumanizing as that experience had been, they’d actually fared better than many of the children trapped within that frightening system. At least Cam and she had had each other.

Now Kate hesitated to contact the authorities for fear that some obscure regulation would result in their taking Arianne away from her. She shuddered to think of her dear little niece at the mercy of the heartless court system. Kate swore that Arianne would be raised by her— not shuffled around between foster homes or dumped into an orphanage, as Camryn and she had been.