A Necessary Lie Read online

  The Investigative Collection Unit is one of the world’s most renowned agencies, solving cases with—or without—the law on its side. And the Unit’s men are special agents in more ways than one, with secrets that can make or break them—and the hearts of those who fall for them …

  He’s known only as Cowboy. A successful rodeo star with a string of women behind him, the ICU has given him a chance to stay put instead of constantly running away—from the past, from love, from the blood on his hands. And he’s not going to screw that up, even if it means going back home to Texas to investigate the disappearance of the woman who made him start running in the first place …

  The political exposé of a popular senator should have been Grace Irvine’s story, but she thought it would be good for her best friend Jessie’s career. Now, Jessie is missing and Grace will do anything to find her. But her path keeps crossing with a mysterious and charismatic cowboy who has his own reasons for finding Jessie. And as intrigue draws Grace and Cowboy deeper into danger, passion starts to play by its own rules—making promises it might not be able to keep …

  Also by Lucy Farago

  Sins that Haunt

  Sin on the Run

  Sin on the Strip

  Novellas

  Sin and the Millionaire

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  A Necessary Lie

  Lucy Farago

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Lucy Farago

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Lucy Farago

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: July 2017

  eISBN-13 : 978-1-5161-0292-1

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0292-4

  ISBN: 978-1-5161-0292-1

  Chapter One

  Cowboy stared at the name in the file handed to him by his pain-in-the-ass boss. Was this a joke? If so, what the fuck? Then again Ryan Sheppard wasn’t one to play games, at least not when someone’s life was at stake. “What would you like me to do with this?”

  “Read it. It involves your new case,” Ryan said, looking up from the pile of papers on his desk, apparently confused by Cowboy’s reaction.

  Maybe he was totally clueless as to what that name meant to Cowboy. You could never be certain how much the dickhead knew.

  He slid the file across the black marble desktop, back to Ryan. “I don’t do missing people.” That wasn’t entirely true, but his expertise was more about being the go-to guy. Whatever the team needed to get the job done, Cowboy found. A tank, halfway across the world by noon? No problem, he had a guy. Time-sensitive explosives? He knew a guy who knew a guy. Shit, he knew a guy for most anything. That metaphorical little black book had become his way of life because if you couldn’t do it yourself, you had to find someone who could. It had been this way since he’d started surviving on his own at fourteen. But taking a lead on a missing person, especially this missing person, nope, not his thing. Although he had to admit he was curious—ok, more than curious—why Jessica Cook went missing.

  “It’s not what we’ve been hired to do,” Ryan was saying. “Not entirely. You’re to keep an eye on the missing woman’s friend.”

  “And nor am I a babysitter.” That was a job for Dozier. Strong and silent, with hawk eyes; compared to him, panthers were pets that slept on your bed.

  “You are now. Everyone else is either busy or not qualified.”

  “Then give this to Beck. It’s what he lives for.” His fellow operative, Christian Beck, had a knack for finding and retrieving missing or kidnapped victims and dealing with damsels in distress.

  “Can’t. He’s asked for time off. His wife is expecting their first child and he doesn’t want to leave her side.”

  “It’s a baby, not a ticking time bomb.” Sheesh, he’d met Christian’s wife. She was no shrinking violet. He slung a booted ankle across his knee to stop it bouncing, hoping to God he wasn’t coming off as antsy as the name on that file made him.

  “I’m not about to recall him when I have you doing nothing. Jesus, Cowboy, what’s the problem?”

  He wasn’t going to admit he knew the missing woman because then Ryan, nosy prick that he was, would want to know how he knew her. “Nothing, but what I do for ICU doesn’t involve a pulse.”

  “Since when? True, everyone on the team has their niche, but you’ve done security detail before. Is that what this is about? You don’t think you can handle it?”

  “Shit no.” After living on the street, he sure as hell could handle anything Ryan threw his way. He opened his mouth to argue but his boss cut him off.

  “Good, because I wouldn’t trust you with this,” he said, sliding the file back to him, “if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

  “Trust? What is this, personal?”

  “Not really. Chief Irvine asked for our help.”

  “Since when do we help the cops?” At least openly anyway.

  “Since my father told me they went to school together.”

  And that was that. Cowboy dropped it.

  Ryan’s father had retired after twenty years on the force prior to opening ICU, and Ryan may have had control of the company for the past five years, but when Sheppard Sr. spoke, his son tended to listen. It was a matter of mutual respect, Ryan said. Unlike Cowboy’s father, Sheppard Sr. had earned it. Ryan had complete autonomy to run the agency as he saw fit. Hell, he’d turned his old man’s Investigation Collection Unit into one of the most sought-out agencies in the world. With Ryan at the helm, the tentacles of the company reached further than his father dreamed, beyond the blurring of rules and legalities, solving the cases no one working within the law could. If a case was mission impossible, Ryan made it possible. The governments were happy to look the other way if it got the job done. And ICU got the job done. It wasn’t that they broke the law, only that they didn’t allow red tape, policies, and protocols to impede their hunt. So the cops took a hear no evil, see no evil approach when it came to Ryan and his team, though open cooperation was rare.

&nb
sp; “And,” Ryan continued, “this is personal for the chief.”

  “The missing girl? Or the one you want me to babysit?” If Ryan made him take the case, having the law monitoring his every move while he tried to pretend he didn’t know Jessie Cook wasn’t sitting high on Cowboy’s to-do list.

  “Jessica Cook, the missing woman, is a friend of his daughter, Grace Irvine. Both women work for the Dallas Star. She convinced her editor it was a good idea to allow her friend to write this political piece. Two weeks later, Jessica Cook falls off the radar. Time is not on Ms. Cook’s side and Irvine knows his daughter well enough to believe she’ll get it in her head to look for her friend on her own. And she needs to stay out of it.”

  “And he doesn’t want her to know I’m her paid guardian angel?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And he doesn’t want our help finding the girl?”

  “He claims to have that covered. But… if along the way you find anything useful, he’d appreciate you sharing.”

  He should be relieved he wasn’t being hired to find Jessie. But this wasn’t the type of missing person case Ryan normally took on. For starters, their missing people weren’t usually missing, but rather misplaced by some not-so-nice folk, as in taken for ransom or bargaining purposes. Unless Jessie’s circumstances had drastically changed, he doubted she’d disappeared for either of those reasons. This looked to be a job for the police, not ICU.

  As for playing bodyguard to a woman who didn’t know daddy had hired a watch dog… Well, getting his ass chewed out by an angry woman wasn’t high on any of his lists. “Have the cops linked the story Cook was working on to her disappearance?”

  “It’s complicated. His daughter’s apartment, one she shared with Ms. Cook, was broken into two days ago. One day after Ms. Cook failed to return home. Irvine doubts it was a robbery. Read the file.”

  “Okay, then tell me how I’m supposed to keep the other one from going missing without her knowing I’ve been hired to watch over her?”

  “You’ll figure it out. Now get your butt out of my office and on to this case.”

  He opened his mouth to argue but if the Sheppard men shared one thing, it was the don’t fuck with my orders scowl. He could tell Ryan off, but he liked his job. It and his boss had given his life focus when he’d needed it the most. He’d been so hell bent on proving to the world he was better, faster, and stronger, that he hadn’t cared if he killed himself doing it. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth and grabbed the file.

  “See Elaine.” Ryan picked up his phone and started dialing. “She has everything you need and your plane reservations.”

  “Dallas?” he asked, not bothering to turn around.

  “San Antonio.”

  Cowboy froze, his hand on the door handle. “Why San Antonio?” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Could this get any worse? He dared a glance over his shoulder, hoping like hell his body language didn’t read full-blown panic.

  “That’s where she disappeared and that’s where Irvine’s daughter is heading to ignore her father’s orders. A couple of months ago, the women relocated from Atlanta to Dallas so Ms. Irvine could take a promotion with the Dallas Star. But Ms. Cook’s assignment was in San Antonio, her hometown. And Chief Irvine lives in San Antonio. Don’t get arrested and make me look bad.” Ryan’s call went through. “This is Sheppard,” he said to whoever was on the other end of his call. “Hold on.” Ryan, Mr. Too Observant for Cowboy’s good, gave him a hard look. “Anything wrong?”

  “No.” And he left before his boss caught on to how much he hated this assignment.

  San Antonio. Of all the shit-ass luck. And damn, what or who had happened to Jessie Cook? He picked up the envelope with his boarding pass and hotel information, headed for the stairs, and walked the three flights down to the lobby—anything to exert energy into something other than thinking about the pile of shit his boss had just shoved him into. Never in his life had he planned to return to his hometown, at least not in broad daylight.

  He consoled himself with the fact that San Antonio was a big city and no one would recognize him. He’d just stay far away from ranch life. Sixteen years was a long time and he wasn’t that pip-squeak who’d run with blood on his hands. Not only had he grown beyond five foot nothing to seven feet tall, but he’d also stopped searching for unattainable approval. For starters, he didn’t give a shit anymore. He was his own man and if you didn’t much care for him then it was tough titties for that person. Just because barroom brawls were a thing of the past. Someone looking at him the wrong way no longer detonated the bomb in his head. His self-destruct mode was permanently disabled. Still, what was left of his family, if you could call them that, lived near San Antonio.

  He got into his car telling himself the gloom and doom hovering over his head was his imagination. He’d snuck back for his father’s funeral to check up on his mom and hadn’t been caught. He’d dragged Monty from one of his many computer screens and forced ICU’s top hacker to return home with him. While Cowboy watched from a distance, he’d shoved Monty into the crowd of mourners to act as his eyes and ears. It wasn’t that Cowboy gave a hoot about what the town thought of him. He simply hadn’t wanted his mother to have to deal with his sins on top of burying her husband. His father had been a well-respected rancher and in the eyes of the community could do no wrong.

  Well, that wasn’t true. He’d done one reprehensible thing. He’d had him, the troubled son.

  Cowboy returned to his Manhattan condo. Because New York was the busiest office followed by Vegas, he’d decided to purchase a place six months ago, and the apartment served its purpose nicely. All those years on the run, Cowboy had lived in hotels, motels, and dumps not even worthy to be called dives. If Louis, the rodeo clown who’d saved his ass, hadn’t come along when he had who knew where his life would have taken him. Now the only time he paid for a room was when he was sipping margaritas south of the border.

  Packing, he reminded himself he owed Monty those flying lessons he’d promised in exchange for scoping out his dad’s funeral. As it turned out, it had been pointless. As far as his hometown was concerned, he was no longer worth the black paint they’d enjoyed smearing him with. As for his mother, the only words she’d spoken throughout the service were thank you and nice of you to come. Say what you will about his parents, they’d loved each other. If only his father had thought to spread that love to all his children.

  Bag in hand, he left the condo and headed to the airport. He really should come up with a contingency plan. What if someone did recognize him? He’d had Monty hack into the old police records. Edward Stanton’s killer was never found. The only blood on the scene had been Jessie’s and Stanton’s. Any sign that Cowboy had been there, he’d disposed of in the river, including the rock he’d used to kill Stanton. He’d been wanted for questioning because his disappearance coincided with Stanton’s murder. As for Jessie, that little girl had kept their secret, although he suspected that was more for her sake than his.

  As far as the world was concerned Edward Stanton was a savior, the one who’d stumbled upon Jessie being attacked and nearly raped. The scumbag had a hero’s funeral and Cowboy took off before the story he and Jessie concocted unraveled.

  He’d left partly for Jessie, partly for himself. Neither had started out wanting to lie. As a preacher’s daughter, she’d been taught better, and although he’d done a lot of things deserving of a whooping, he’d never lied. But would the locals believe he’d acted in her defense? Considering Edward’s family practically owned the town, odds weren’t in their favor. And to rule out Jessie’s skin color would’ve been foolish and naïve. And him? He’d been the troubled teen who was destined for jail. She’d have been painted a whore and he a murderer.

  He paid the cabbie and went inside the airport, wishing it were him who’d be flying the plane. He shook off the silly fear no pilot in his right mind would admit to because then his friends would razz him until he’d want to return to his old ways and kick the
ir sorry hides. Assholes.

  He handed his airline reservation to the pretty blonde smiling up at him from behind the airline counter. It wasn’t too long ago that he’d have asked her for her number. But he didn’t do that anymore. Mindless, never-see-you-again sex was fine as long as no one painted it for what it wasn’t—love. But lately he’d had his fill of one-night stands. When she could no longer think of another reason to detain him, he tipped his hat to her and went on his merry way.

  He cleared security and found a quiet spot to review the file. Jessica Cook, age thirty, born in San Marcos, fifty miles north east of San Antonio. Parents: Reverend Thomas Cook, 58; Emily Cook, 55, homemaker. He knew them and hadn’t had a hard time believing her parents would blame Jessie for what had happened to her. Maybe if he himself had come from a loving home, he’d have convinced her she was wrong, but he’d been a kid, two years younger than her. What the hell did he know? Then again, maybe she was right. Maybe her father was the laying blame kind of preacher. What he definitely hadn’t known was that her parents were both dead. No date as to when or how they died. He’d have to ask Monty.

  He scrolled through the papers and read about her life. She’d done well for herself, and he was glad. She’d been employed with the paper for three months, doing what looked like human-interest stories mostly. Yeah, that sounded like Jessie.

  The one picture in the file looked like it had been taken at a birthday party, streamers and a crowd of people in the background, a half-eaten cake on a table. Jessie had her arms wrapped around another woman, both smiling with such an expression of joy that he was a little jealous. He’d never had a best friend, could never risk anyone getting that close to him. He flipped the picture over and written on the back was “Grace Irvine and Jessica Cook.”