A Wicked Seduction by Janelle Denison Page A

together?”
    He chuckled, though she couldn’t imagine what he found so humorous. “No, Brett’s the CEO of my company, Colter Traffic Control.”
    â€œReally?” she drawled, wondering what kind of story he was trying to concoct. “Interesting name for a company, unless it’s a front for the cars you’ve stolen.”
    A heavy sigh unraveled out of him. “No matter what you might believe about me, no matter what those police reports say or how similar I look to that guy in that mug shot you showed me, I’m not a thief.” A sudden impish look passed across his features. “Well, not when it comes to cars, anyway. When I was seven I stole a pack of Juicy Fruit gum from the grocery store. When I got home and my mother found out what I’d done, she immediately took me back to face the store manager and return what I’d taken. After the lecture I got about shoplifting and being prosecuted to the full extent of the law, which terrified me at the time, I swore I’d never steal anything ever again. And I haven’t. Gum or otherwise.”
    She smiled, and pushed her salad around on her plastic dish in search of more chicken. “Cute story, but you have to admit that ‘Colter Traffic Control’ sounds like a clever way of saying that your solution to controlling traffic is by taking high-dollar cars off the road so they can be taken to a chop shop or sold to a foreign market.”
    â€œInteresting theory, Ms. P.I.,” he agreed, unwrapping his second burger to devour, “but totally off the mark, I’m afraid. ‘Traffic Control’ is the name of the company I inherited from my father when he died a few years ago.”
    He seemed so serious, his story almost too well-thought-out for a first-time felon. She wondered how far he planned to take this charade, and was curious enough to play along to see what he revealed. “Since you claim the business is legit, what, exactly, does your company do?”
    He held up a finger to ask for a minute as he chewed the big bite he’d just taken, and she figured he needed the extra time to invent something believable. Done with most of her salad, she pushed the plate aside and rested her arms on the table, waiting for his explanation.
    â€œSorry ’bout that,” he apologized when he could speak again, then swiped his napkin across that full, sensual mouth of his. “We rent, lease, and sell traffic control devices to general contractors for highway and freeway projects.”
    She had to give him extra points for originality. “Devices such as?” she prompted, certain she’d eventually back him into a corner that would leave him stammering for answers.
    â€œHighway medians and barriers, traffic lights, signals and divider cones, parking meters, and even those big lighted signs they use during freeway construction to reroute traffic,” he replied easily. Finished with his dinner, he sucked a smudge of saucefrom his thumb, then opened the lid on his chocolate mousse cake. “Those are just a few of the more popular items we supply.”
    Propping her elbows on the table, she rested her chin on her laced fingers. “And supplying these traffic control items is such a stressful job that you needed a week-long vacation at a secluded cabin in the mountains?”
    Dean pushed his plastic fork through his dessert, slipped a slice of the rich, chocolate concoction into his mouth, and met Jo’s gaze, which brimmed with undisguised skepticism. Considering she was used to dealing with hardened criminals on the lam, he couldn’t blame her for being suspicious and cautious—even if that lack of trust was at his expense. The damning evidence and reports she carried with her about “Dean Colter,” coupled with what she’d witnessed back at his house led her to believe he’d been on the verge of eluding authorities.
    No matter how personal and