Page 2 of The Perfect Deception

Adam’s eye­lid twitched, and he rose and walked to­ward the door.

“Oh, and Adam? I know you’re work­ing to­ward that pro­mo­tion to ju­nior part­ner, but with this lin­ger­ing over your head…”

Adam gripped the door­knob, will­ing his tongue to lis­ten to his brain and re­main silent. No one who ar­gued with his fa­ther ever won.

Dina pulled her car out onto the busy Mor­ris­town street, her lat­est pile of li­brary books on the seat be­side her. The best part of be­ing a li­brar­ian was her ac­cess to books—thou­sands and thou­sands of vel­lum-smelling, page-crack­ling books. She smiled as she came to a traf­fic light. Shab­bat ser­vices tonight fol­lowed by a week­end of read­ing. It was just what she wanted to do on the cold­est week­end of the year.

As she left the town proper and headed into the out­skirts, she drove over one of the many huge pot­holes the county had yet to fix. Her car con­tin­ued to bump af­ter she’d passed it and she pulled over onto the shoul­der. A freez­ing driz­zle was fall­ing and she hugged her coat tighter around her.Great, just what my frizzy hair needs, she thought as she bent down to look at the tire. Flat.

She popped the trunk and rooted around for the jack. With her warn­ing lights flash­ing, she po­si­tioned the jack be­hind the rear wheel and be­gan pump­ing, watch­ing the car rise. She rubbed her chilled hands to­gether be­fore try­ing to re­move the spare from its com­part­ment. Head­lights lit her view of her trunk and she turned as a car pulled up be­hind her. A man got out of the car and she fin­gered her cell­phone in her pocket. At rush hour, there were plenty of other cars on the road, but she backed up a lit­tle and reached for a crow­bar, also in the trunk.

“You look like you could use some help,” the man said as he ap­proached. He wore a wool over­coat, which flapped open, re­veal­ing a dark suit and a pressed blue shirt. His hands were stuffed in his pock­ets. The icy driz­zle speck­led his shoul­ders and his tawny hair with a sil­ver halo. Moss green eyes glowed in the dim light from the pass­ing cars. He re­minded her of a moun­tain lion.

“Nope, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s freez­ing out here. I can have you back on the road in a few min­utes.” He was a head taller than she was, and he smelled like cloves. De­spite his un­needed as­sis­tance, Dina had to fight the warm feel­ing of home his smell sug­gested.

“Fifty per­cent of women know how to change their tires, and I’m one of them.” Dina picked up the crow bar, pre­par­ing to change the tire her­self.

He backed away, hands up, the vein in his neck puls­ing. “I was just try­ing to help. Never mind. I se­ri­ously can­not win with women,” he mut­tered.

She swal­lowed. Maybe she’d been too harsh. Be­fore she could soften her tone, or ask him what he was talk­ing about, a po­lice car pulled up and rolled down the driver side win­dow. “Ma’am, is ev­ery­thing okay? Sir, is there a prob­lem?”

“I’m fine, but thanks. It’s just a flat,” she said to the of­fi­cer.

“Sir?”

He grinned. “Noth­ing, of­fi­cer, I was just of­fer­ing to help her change her tire.”

The of­fi­cer nod­ded, but turned to Dina any­way. “Ma’am, do you need as­sis­tance?”

“I’m al­most done.” Why did no one be­lieve she could do this?

“Are you sure?”

“Of­fi­cer, I re­ally am fine and he was just try­ing to help me.”

The of­fi­cer scanned the other man. “What’s your name?”

“Adam Man­del.” He stood up straighter, thrust­ing his shoul­ders back.

“Ma’am?”

“Dina Ja­cobs.”

He ex­ited his car and ap­proached them. “Can I see some ID?”

The man named Adam tipped his head, be­fore dig­ging his ID out of an ex­pen­sive-look­ing leather wal­let and hand­ing it to the of­fi­cer. Dina gave hers as well. The of­fi­cer scanned them both be­fore re­turn­ing them. “Okay, I’m just go­ing to wait in my pa­trol car un­til you two get on your way.” He pulled up past her car and waited.

Dina looked at the Good Samar­i­tan and felt bad for him. Chances were he hadn’t had any other mo­tive than to help her, and now he was be­ing eyed sus­pi­ciously by the cop. He strode back to his sports car, and she heaved a sigh. “Wait!” she called out.

She jogged to­ward him, try­ing not to slip on the icy pave­ment. “I didn’t mean to get you in any trou­ble. I think I over-re­acted. I ap­pre­ci­ate your try­ing to help me.”

His stance re­laxed and he smiled, warm­ing her de­spite the cold weather. “I didn’t mean to come on too strong, hon­estly. Last chance if you want me to help you with the tire, though. You look cold.”

She was, even if his green-eyed gaze acted like a heat ray. “That would be great.”

He handed her his keys. “Sit in my car and get warm. You can turn on the mu­sic if you want. I’ll be done in a jiffy.”