Truth & Lies: A Queen City Justice Novel by Elizabeth Bemis

ridiculous on a multitude of levels. First of all, he had no idea who the hell she was, why she was here, or what she was caught up in. Next, Deck Murphy had never been a sucker for “cute” before. He generally went for tall blondes. Ones with professional careers that were more important than him, so that they didn’t mind that he was on the job or out with the marines most of the time. Ones who liked having a well-built soldier and cop on their arm but didn’t really need a lot of social niceties.
    Ones who could fuck like a dream and not mind when he disappeared before dawn. Ones who wouldn’t look twice at him now that he needed a crutch to get from place to place.
    Hence why he hadn’t gotten laid since he left for A-stan over a year and a half ago and undoubtedly why “cute” was starting to look so good.
    He cleared his throat, then pointed to the kitchen, made a “follow me” gesture, and limped that way.
    She followed, sitting down at the granite breakfast bar where he indicated, and watched him throw together a few sandwiches and warm a couple of bowls of soup in the microwave. Deck tried not to notice her regard, all the while running through his options.
    Send her back to where she came from. He found himself shaking his head. Deck didn’t trust the guy who dropped her off. Hopefully the plates would turn up some more information. There was something shady going on there. The fact that they’d just leave her with him when it was clear he had no idea that he’d ordered a mail-order bride was wrong.
    Keep her here. An absurd proposition. He could put her in the guest room at the end of the hall. There was just a futon in there, but his brother, Mike said it was comfortable enough. He certainly wasn’t going to let her sleep with him.
    First, he didn’t trust himself. The last year and a half of celibacy was suddenly feeling like a mighty long time. Second, he wasn’t up to explaining why he normally slept with the lights on. And third, if he had a nightmare—which he did most nights—he didn’t want to wake her or have to explain. And then, most importantly, he didn’t trust her any farther than he could throw her.
    Help her get set up with an apartment. Her profile had mentioned a student visa. Sure the University had dorms.
    Call ICE. He rejected that thought immediately even as he realized it was probably the right thing to do. At least the most legally right plan.
    It was a legitimate solution, and he kept gravitating back to ridiculous proposition number two. He didn’t want to analyze the whys of that too closely.
    But the squidgy feeling he’d gotten when her handler had offered to take her back made him hesitate. He could always look into her past. He was an experienced cop with a lot of time on his hands. He should be able to find out her background with his hands tied behind his back.
    Decision made, he set a plate with a sandwich, a bowl of soup, and a glass of lemonade in front of her, then, taking the same for himself, sat on a barstool at the side of the island—near enough that he could read her face as he tried to talk to her, but not right on top of each other.
    “Draghana,” he said, trying out her name. “Is that what people call you?” She hesitated, and he tried to clarify. “Your name?”
    “My name Draghana. My family calls me…Dana,” she said finally.
    “Dana,” he repeated, and she nodded. She looked like a Dana. “How much English do you understand?”
    She smiled ruefully and held her index finger and thumb a short distance apart. “I take English in school. Long time ago. I try to remember fast.”
    He chuckled. “Lots of luck with that.” Deck dropped his head into his hands.
    “You not want wife?” she asked. “You were on site?”
    He looked into her face as her gaze narrowed.
    He shrugged. “I-I didn’t arrange for you to come here.” Deck hoped she’d understand.
    “Who?” she asked. “How?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yeah.