excerpt from Love, Lies & Crime

Chapter 1

On a cool damp Saturday evening, I exited the cab in front of the Claiborne Club, the fanciest dinner dance venue in San Francisco. With my mouth set in grim determination, I walked up the steps. I'd only agreed to this so-called date, because my best friend Josie couldn't make it, and I owed her a debt of gratitude. If it hadn't been for her, I'd be dead or crippled.

Trying to control my jitters, I toyed with the low-cut bodice of my black dress with its sapphire-blue bolero jacket and matching belt. Normally, my wardrobe tended toward tailored suits or simple sheath dresses, but Josie insisted that for tonight's charade something more alluring was needed. She'd loaned me one she'd kept after a modeling gig. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, pulled at the jacket's lapels, and entered the club.

The tastefully decorated lobby and a large fireplace of glowing embers welcomed me. I approached the maitre d' and stated my rehearsed lines: "I'm meeting Mr. B. My name is Josie." When I mentioned Mr. B, the man didn't raise an eyebrow. This was another part of this strange arrangement. The president of the modeling agency were Josie worked was the instigator of this subterfuge. She refused to give out the man's name lest Josie should google him. Apparently, Mr. B wanted to remain anonymous until the last moment.

"Mr. Baxter is expecting you. Please, this way." At least now I knew the name of my date before meeting him. Feeling anxious, yet curious, I followed the maitre d'. The private club, a haven for the elite of San Francisco, was not my usual haunt. The dimmed lights of the chandeliers made the high ceiling less intimidating. The deadened acoustics muted the talk and laughter while the orchestra's music floated over the crowd. A woman's diamond necklace glittered, and I reached for the single strand of pearls around my neck. I wasn't averse to wealth, but my lifestyle and paycheck didn't lend themselves to expensive taste.

The maitre d' stopped in front of a table. "Sir, your guest."

A tall man impeccably dressed in a navy blue suit stood. Hesitantly, I smiled, but he pulled me into an embrace. Unable to extricate myself tactfully, I whispered, "My name is Erin, not Josie."

He released me and stepped back. "Nevertheless, you're a delightful surprise."

Oh, God. He's one of those charmers a woman should never take seriously. "I'll explain," I said.

"Please do." He pulled out a chair for me, then sat with an expectant expression. He had a strong face, a firm chin, neatly trimmed ash-brown hair and dark blue eyes with long eyelashes a woman would kill for.

Before delivering my prepared speech, I took a breath. "My friend couldn't make it. Under duress, I agreed to take her place." My dry throat gave my voice a lower pitch. "Josie's boss, your friend, explained what you wanted of your date this evening. I'm willing to flirt as you requested, but under my ground rules."

"You agree to flirt with me, outrageously." His grin was mischievous.

"Ah, yes, with the understanding that you give a good report to Josie's boss as if she were here tonight. And I will not kiss you on the lips or anything else like that." I thought that was a clear enough reference to any sexual activity without having to say it.

"What do you mean, anything else like that?"

"You know what I mean."

"Spell it out."

Although his words sounded harsh, he smiled in a kind way.

I shifted in my chair, but kept my gaze on him. "I will not go to bed with you."

"Of course, understood." I placed my hand across the table to seal the deal, expecting him to shake it. Instead, he turned my hand over and kissed my palm. "If I shook your hand, my act for this evening would be lost." He released my hand. "I'm Paul Baxter, and I look forward to a very entertaining evening."

I relaxed, thinking this odd, so-called date might work out after all.

"What would you like to drink?" he asked.

"A glass of light red wine, perhaps a pinot noir." "Good choice." He ordered a bottle of 2020 J Rochioli before turning to me.

"Now tell me who you really are and what you do for a living other than help out friends."

"You mean why's a nice girl like me doing meeting a strange man who needs a friend to get him a date?"

His smile was hypnotic. "I hope I'm not too strange."

"We'll see," I said. "I'm Erin Hahn, a lawyer."

"I hope you aren't planning to sue me." His deep blue eyes twinkled.

"Only if you break the law or become obstreperous."

"Never." He took my hand and traced his thumb across my wrist. It was unsettling, but I'd agreed to a flirtatious evening and allowed his familiarity.

"Now, tell me why a man with your looks and obvious outgoing manner needed a friend to get him a last-minute date?"

"You think I'm good-looking?" He waited for my reply, but I demurred. The wine arrived, was approved by Paul, and poured. We raised our glasses and toasted.

He winked at me. "To a fascinating night."

The word night caught me off guard, and I responded, "To a pleasant dinner." Warmth flooded over me, and I unbuttoned my jacket. He stood and put it on the back of my chair. When his lips touched my bare shoulder, I sucked in my breath. The invasion of my privacy galled me, but I accepted it as part of tonight's act.

My stomach growled. "Could we order an appetizer? I haven't eaten much since breakfast."

"You worked all day?"

"No. I bicycle with a group on Saturdays and our route took longer than usual."

His eyes narrowed as if puzzled. "Interesting hobby." Without further comment, he summoned the waiter. He chose zucchinis and tomatoes with hummus, crackers with a vegetable pâté and roasted cauliflower with cambozola cheese on the side as the appetizers.

"Thank you. I wouldn't want to faint and ruin your chance to make someone jealous."

"Good guess. I needed a special woman for tonight. Someone she wouldn't know. I'll explain after we eat something."

When the order arrived, he held up a fork with the stuffed zucchini and fed it to me. I held up a cracker with pâté and returned the favor. We sipped our wine in between bites. His smile was infectious.

"You were going to tell me the reason for tonight's charade," I reminded him.

"You were correct in your assumption. I want to make a woman uncomfortable and jealous, but not for the reason you might think. My heart is not broken, but I'm a little angry. At the last minute, the woman in question accepted a dinner invitation here with another man, even though she knew I'd made reservations for the two of us at this very club."

"So, your male ego is bruised, and she's here tonight watching you flirt with another woman."

"Exactly, although I wouldn't put it quite that way." As if to ignore further discussion of the woman, he fed me a cracker with cheese.

After swallowing the tasty morsel, I said, "Delicious." Then I glanced around the room. "This woman must have really hit a nerve. Asking a friend to get you a last-minute date is not easy for any man."

He popped a cracker with cheese into his mouth. "You're right. These are very good." He wiped his lips with the linen napkin before he continued. "When said woman learned I was a shopkeeper, she looked for greener pastures. Greener in the way of dollars."

"Do you want to point her out to me?"

"Not now. It would be too obvious. A more reasonable time is while we're dancing."

"Oh."

"You do dance, don't you?"

"I follow a good partner."

He stood and held out his hand. I took it and followed him to the dance floor. When I faced him, he pulled me close, and we fell into a swirl of steps. I felt every movement of his body as we swayed to the rhythm. Playing my flirtatious role, I moved my hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck. My breasts were tight against his chest, and I felt his heartbeat. He was no ordinary dance partner. My hips were glued to his, making each step provocative. Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

With his lips close to my cheek, he whispered, "I like the way you move with me." To avoid further innuendos, I switched the topic. "So, where's this ex-girlfriend?"

"Charlene, a blonde, dressed in a low-cut pale green dress. When I turn you toward the diners, she'll be on your left, sitting with an older, rather short gentleman."

When I spotted the woman, the word cheap came to mind, but I only said, "The man she's with is Frank Klosen, very wealthy, married three times."

"How do you know him?" "One of our lawyers represented him in his divorce from his third wife."

"Hmm, interesting. I think Charlene hopes to be his fourth."

"He'll want a prenup."

We stopped dancing, and as we returned to our table, he held my hand. We ordered our main course, rack of lamb for me, and filet mignon for him. When the waiter left, he said, "So neither of us is a vegetarian."

"I avoid red meat, but once in a while I'll succumb, if I know it will be very good."

He reached over and gently pushed a strand of my auburn hair behind my ear.

"You don't have pierced ears."

"You notice details. Most men don't."

Paul seemed to be too good to be true. "What type of store do you have?"

"I own the Rare Antiques and Antiquities Shop. It's south of the financial district."

Who he was fell into place. "I often walk by that store but never went inside. A little rich for my pocketbook." I laughed. "And to think your Charlene thought you were an ordinary shopkeeper."

"When I saw her reaction to the word shop, I didn't bother to enlighten her."

"If she's that shallow, I'd say you're better-off letting her latch on to another man." Out of the corner of my eye I saw his ex-girlfriend walk toward the restrooms. I picked up my small evening purse. "Excuse me, I'm going to the ladies' room before our main course arrives."

He stood. "You aren't planning to pull a disappearing act on me, are you?"

"And miss a tasty dinner? Not a chance."

In the powder room, while I was at the mirror reapplying my lipstick, Charlene appeared at my side. "You're with Paul Baxter," she said in a brusque tone. "You're from an escort agency, aren't you?"

I pretended that I had no idea the woman was talking to me and frowned at Charlene.

"Are you speaking to me?"

"Well, duh. Yeah."

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else. Yes, I'm dining with Paul Baxter. I'm a lawyer with Goodwin and Son."

"Oh, sure you are. No way he got a date at the last minute with an attractive woman like you. Honey, I can spot a fraud a mile away."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you." I didn't like this woman and decided to go for the jugular. Feigning surprise, I said. "Oh, I know who you are. Paul mentioned you. I should thank you for stepping out of the picture. Now I have no competition for his attention. And I love the expensive antiques he sells." I put my lipstick in my purse. "Ask your dinner partner about me." I left an open-mouthed Charlene.

When I returned to the table, Paul stood.

"You're wearing a Cheshire grin. What happened?"

"I met Charlene. After what I told her, she might be very angry with you."

"What did you say to cause a ruckus?" After we sat, I repeated the conversation.

"When I left, she was in rather a dither." He leaned back and laughed.

"Woman, I love it. That was perfect."

Our salads arrived while we continued exchanging information about our families. He loved his parents, his two older siblings, and their respective spouses and children. Unfortunately, I did not have the same relationship with my father.

In a few words I told him that my mother had died in a car crash when I was twenty-one. "I have an older brother in the military who's far from home most of the time. My father's a music teacher and taught me to play the piano when I was three. I enjoyed it and became rather accomplished, but he wanted me to become a professional pianist. It wasn't the life I wanted. He's never forgiven me, and he's disowned me."

"What about now that your father is a widower?"

"He has a lady friend who caters to his every whim and shares his love of music. She and I are not friends, and I never see them." I clutched the linen napkin in my lap.

Perhaps he caught the hurt in my voice and avoided continuing to ask about my family, and said instead, "You're a lawyer and a musician."

"That depends on who you ask. I'm the backup pianist for the San Francisco Symphony."

"You amaze me."

"My father doesn't see me that way. I'm a big disappointment to him. But enough about me. Your family sounds wonderful."

"Later, let's dance."

On our way to the dance floor, Charlene rushed toward us, glaring at Paul.

"You rat. You didn't say your store dealt in expensive antiques." She glanced at me before turning her ire back on Paul. "And you forgot to mention you had a girlfriend."

Charlene's date, Frank Klosen, arrived and took her elbow in a firm grip. "You're causing a scene, my dear. I think it's best you sit down." He nodded to me before he guided his date back to their table.

Paul took my hand and said, "That went well."

"If that's what you hoped to accomplish tonight, you succeeded."

"Yes, and with a bonus. You."

I had no reply and continued to the dance floor feeling his hand on the small of my back. When he took me in his arms, I once again let my body react to his every move. Maybe it was the wine, but I didn't care. I was unable, or perhaps unwilling, to control the situation. Then I thought of my ground rules he'd agreed to, smiled to myself, and concentrated on dancing. I would enjoy the evening.

When we were once again seated, the maitre d' escorted a group of Asians past our table. The man stopped and spoke to Paul in Japanese. Paul stood, answered in the same language, and introduced me to Hiko and Taeko Matzumi. "They own antique businesses here and in Tokyo."

Taeko smiled. "My husband speaks very little English." She nodded toward Paul. "We have many years of working with Mr. Baxter," she said before introducing the beautiful Asian woman accompanying them. "This is Lin Zhao, a friend and fellow collector of antiques and antiquities."

Lin nodded and spoke in clear, unaccented English. "I'm pleased to meet you both. Mr. Baxter, I know of your expertise in antique Asian vases. May I visit your shop while in town? Unfortunately, I'll be returning to Shanghai at the end of the week, so perhaps Tuesday or Wednesday."

Paul bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Although I have nothing of great interest to show you at the moment, I'd be honored. Your reputation in Chinese antiquities is well-known. Would Tuesday afternoon suit you?"

"Lovely. I'll be there at two."

Hiko bowed, took his wife's hand, and the three of them moved on to their table. I turned to Paul.

"I'm impressed. Japanese is not an easy language."

"I spent several years there, learned the language, and made contacts with art collectors like the Matzumis. I also spent time in China, but my Mandarin Chinese is limited."

"Miss Zhao is gorgeous and wears the traditional cheongsam dress like a queen. She made quite an entrance. Every man salivated when she walked by their table."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed."

"Don't be obtuse." I laughed. "You did too."

He grinned. "The same could be said about your entrance."

"Your flirting is way over the top."

"No. I'm serious. Your movements are understated, where as she flaunts her assets as if strutting before an audience."

"Well, she did have an audience." The conversation was getting out of hand, and I needed to put the brakes on his flirting. "I'm curious. What do you know about Miss Zhao?"

"As you heard, she's well-known in the business of collecting art, antiques, and antiquities. Single, wealthy, and well-connected to the Chinese government. I discovered that a ceramic vase her government claimed was from the 205 BCE Han dynasty was fake. Although that helped my career in the world of antiques and antiquities, it embarrassed the Chinese government. I'm surprised Miss Zhao wants to talk to me."

"You make her sound interesting, but what does she have to do with a fake vase?"

"She touted it and was at the forefront of bringing it into the US." He shrugged. "I'll see what she has to say on Tuesday." He pursed his lips. "But I find her request to visit my shop odd."

While we enjoyed our main course, we talked as if we'd known each other for years, and momentarily I forgot what had brought us together. I liked the way his eyes twinkled when he talked about family incidents where he was the butt of a joke or being teased. He seemed to be pragmatic about himself without any pretenses.

"You have a healthy appetite," he said. "I like that. Most slender women are obsessed with a diet."

"Healthy habits and bicycling have become a passion of sorts."

"Hum. Interesting word. I think you're passionate about everything you do."

"And what are you passionate about?" I countered.

"Your good at reversing my comments back at me. I can see you're a very good lawyer. You must do well in court."

"You're evading my question."

"Yes, I am." He placed his knife and fork on his plate and leaned back. "I care deeply about my family, the study of antiquities, reading, and languages."

"I thought you'd say women," I blurted out, then pushed my empty plate aside.

"No one special, other than Miss Bimbo?"

"She's not special. But to answer your question I'll be blunt. I enjoy women, but none have been intellectually stimulating. That woman I could love." He paused before adding, "I may have found her tonight."

I emitted a short guttural humph but refused to be drawn into a discussion fraught with dangerous implications. "I gather your parents and siblings are all happily married."

"Like most married couples, they've had their ups and downs, but their commitment and love for one another has so far won the day." He studied me. "Your parents weren't happy?"

"In their way, I suppose they were. But my father is of the old German school and believes he must be obeyed. My mother was from Bavaria and had a lightness about her. She refused to allow my father to tie me to the piano bench, and insisted I be involved with other activities. She gave me a balanced life. Without that perspective I'd be neurotic."

"I thought I detected a subtle accent, but I couldn't quite decide what your background was."

"I was born in Los Angeles, but we lived in Germany for the first five years of my life. My father never spoke English to me until I was an adult and then only grudgingly. Thank goodness my mother insisted I speak English."

"The more I learn about you, the more interesting I find you."

"You are an impossible flirt, but then that's what this evening is all about, isn't it?"

"It was." He emphasized the was, then took my hand and once again traced his thumb across my wrist. I caught my breath as his eyes fastened on mine. I withdrew my hand and put it in my lap.

He picked up his wine glass. "To unexpected meetings," he said.

I joined in his toast without uttering a word.

"Let's dance." He stood and held out his hand.

Although I knew dancing with him would undermine my practical approach to the evening, I took his proffered hand. He led me toward the bandstand and asked the conductor to play a tango.

"Oh, no." I took a step back. "I've never danced that. I don't know the steps."

"I've always loved the tango." He took my hand. "Follow my lead. I'll tell you the steps before we take them. Like this." Holding my hand, he told me to pivot away, until I faced away from him. "When the music starts, you'll spin back to me." The music started and when I twirled back into his arms, he moved me a little to the side facing his shoulder. I followed his every step. Before he changed directions, he gave a slight pressure on my back with his hand and a slight nod. It became magical. When we swirled around in circles, I felt his confidence, his power. The steps were repeated until I became familiar with the movements. When he momentarily stopped and told me to arch backward, I did and felt as if I were in another time, another era. The dance was seductive. We repeated the routine until the band reached the final note. He spun me away, then back into his arms. He held me tight to his chest with my face buried in his neck.

We separated, breathing hard. Diners, the band leader, and the musicians clapped. My face flushed. Paul seemed unconcerned with the reaction we'd caused and beamed. "Perfect."

I would hate to see him dance the tango with another woman. That thought stunned me, and I knew I'd fallen under Paul's spell. Back at the table the waiter brought the dessert menu, but we declined and ordered coffee. Normally, I'd have decaf, but tonight I had to be aware and focused. Blindsided by feelings I hadn't expected, I badly needed a sober approach for the remainder of the evening. Averting my eyes from him, I sipped my coffee.

He must have sensed my mood switch. "It wasn't my intention to embarrass you, but I love to dance the tango and knew you'd be the perfect partner."

I managed a weak smile. "Who taught you?"

"My father."

"Your father? Really? You are full of surprises."

"He insisted we all go to dancing school. My sister and brother hated it, but I loved the freedom of movement. When I heard the tango, I was enthralled, but the teachers wouldn't or couldn't teach me, so Dad did. He claimed that when you danced the tango with a woman, you'd know if she was the right one."

"Now you're putting me on. Did he teach you how to flirt, too?"

Paul winked. "That I learned on my own." He paid the bill, helped me on with my jacket, and we went out to the lobby.

"I'm going to the ladies' room before I leave. Would you call me a taxi?"

When I came out, he stood with a fedora in his hand and a red plaid scarf around his neck. How old school could he get?

"It's a nice night. How about a walk to the City Lights Bookstore? It's only a few blocks away and it's a reasonably safe area." He glanced at my shoes. "Can you walk in those heels?"

"They aren't that high." I hesitated. "It'll be late and not many taxis trolling where the bookstore is located."

"Not to worry." He took my hand in his warm one. "I'll call an Uber."

Giving myself the excuse that the store would have the sheet music I'd ordered, I acquiesced to his suggestion to walk. When we stepped outside, I shivered and clasped my arms together. "It's gotten much cooler."

He pulled off his cashmere scarf and draped it over my head like a babushka. "If your head and hands are warm, you won't feel the dampness so much. That's why I wear a fedora. It's not quite as geeky as a beret." He laughed. "Well, it's nerdy in a different way." He put his arm around my waist, and I felt the warmth from him as we walked in step. Even our breathing was in sync. Lulled by the comfort of the stroll, I relaxed and enjoyed the moment.

At a corner we waited for the light to change. "I'd like to renegotiate your rules for the evening," he said.

Caught off guard, I glanced at him.

"You agreed to the terms."

"But counselor, there are now extenuating circumstances."

"Rules are rules."

"Rules can be broken." His eyes twinkled. His lips parted in a smile.

I looked away before saying, "Only if both parties agree."

"So we are now negotiating."

They crossed the intersection. "I didn't say that."

"It was implied."

"Who's the lawyer here?" I asked, somewhat perplexed at the turn of events.

He didn't answer. We continued to walk and cut through a well-lit park. He stopped, slipped his arm from around my waist, and faced me. "Counselor, there are times for rules to be broken. If one party is hesitant, but the other party convinces the first party to ease a rule, shouldn't that be honored?"

"You are an outrageous flirt."

When his face drew close to mine, I put my fingers against his lips. "We're negotiating."

He smiled, relented, and we continued to walk through the park hand in hand, crossed the street, and entered the bookstore. He went to the front desk, gave his name, and picked up the book he'd ordered.

When Paul finished, I moved toward the clerk, "I believe you have sheet music for Fredericka Hahn."

Paul scowled. "You gave me a false name?"

"No. I use Erin for friends and business, but in my music world I go by my birth name."

"Every time I think I know you, I learn something new." He nodded and stepped away to call for an Uber.

The clerk handed the package to me. "The manager said this was difficult to find."

"I knew it would be. He's my go-to guy for rare sheet music. Please, thank him for me."

When I walked over to Paul, he'd just hung up from calling an Uber. "It'll be about twenty minutes." He pointed to the book stacks. "Shall we browse?"

We started on different aisles. I felt bemused, as if I'd drunk too much. I pulled a book off the shelf and leafed through it but was unable to concentrate on the words. What's the matter with me? I knew Paul wanted to go to bed with me. I liked him. No, it was more than that. I was shocked to admit I desired him. I hadn't been with a man since Lloyd's cruel abuse over three years ago. Was it time to let down my barrier? Could I trust Paul?

He came up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist. His breath teased the side of my neck. "What's it about?"

"I have no idea." I put the book back on the shelf.

"Does that mean we've renegotiated your rules?"

"I—"

His cell phone beeped. "Our ride is here."