Unauthorized Passion: Unauthorized Passion / Intimate Knowledge

“She went to school here. From what I understand, she’s still pretty tight with her old drama professor at the university. They even lived together for a while before she took off for L.A. You may want to talk to him at some point as well as to her current roommate.” Max reached for the folder and flipped through the pages. “Olivia D’Arby. She’s an actress, too, although her parts seem to be few and far between.”

“What about the client? Who is he?” Who was the guy willing to plunk down $75,000—and that was just for starters—for a “chance” encounter with Celeste Fortune?

“I can’t tell you that. The identity of our clients remains confidential, even to our operatives.” Max took another sip of his scotch. “So…what do you say? Are you in?”

Yeah, he was in. But after a week on the job, Jack was more certain than ever that he didn’t have the stomach for this kind of work. He hated to think that he might actually be giving off the same sleazy, stalker vibe as some of the low rent P.I.s who used to hang around the police department, hoping to pick up a tip.

He had to admit, however, that it was easy money. Most people would probably be amazed by the amount of their personal information that could be accessed with little more than a phone call or a Google search.

Celeste Fortune was no exception. Since Jack had taken the assignment, he’d learned all kinds of interesting tidbits about her, but the broader picture was that of a small-town girl searching for love—and fame—in all the wrong places.

The story was as old as Tinseltown itself, and as Jack finished with the first Dumpster, he wondered again why a woman with Celeste Fortune’s looks and talent had allowed herself to become such a cliché.

And now another man wanted her. Another man was willing to pay a small fortune to have her.

But in the week since he’d started watching her, it was Jack who had unwittingly fallen under her spell.

* * *

SHE STOOD IN front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom of her suite, her gaze going from her reflection to the magazine cover that she’d propped on the nearby dresser. She sighed. Who was she trying to kid? There was no way she could measure up to that airbrushed fantasy. She must have been out of her mind to think that she could ever be anything more than a small-town girl with big dreams and a penchant for trouble.

Just look at the mess she’d made of things, and she was only twenty-eight. There was no telling how screwed up her life would be by the time she turned thirty. And it wasn’t like running away was going to resolve the situation. If anything, it would only prolong the agony.

Still, leaving had seemed like a good idea at the time. “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen,” her mother had always advised, and taking that counsel to heart, she’d fled town in the middle of the night, and now here she was, holed up in a ritzy boutique hotel in Houston.

Going stir-crazy.

Honestly, what good did it do to be in the city of her dreams, trying to start a new life, if she couldn’t even leave her suite? Would it really hurt to take a brisk walk through Hermann Park or a leisurely stroll along Montrose Boulevard? What would be the harm in visiting a museum or two, or having lunch at one of the trendy eateries on restaurant row?

She’d had her heart set on taking in all those places until her cousin, Sissy, had firmly disabused her of the notion.

Sissy Fontenot aka Celeste Fortune.

“All the stars use look-alikes nowadays when they want to avoid the press,” her cousin had explained on the phone a few days ago. “So when my publicist suggested I get a decoy until this mess blows over, I immediately thought of you, Cassie. Remember how people always used to think we were twins when we were little?”

“Well, we are double cousins,” Cassie murmured, still flabbergasted by Celeste’s proposition. Could she, Cassie Boudreaux, really pretend to be a glamorous movie actress? Could she pull it off? Did she dare even try?

What a question. Of course she dared if it meant getting out of Manville, Louisiana, and away from the hateful glances—not to mention voodoo hexes—of the Cantrell clan. Leaving their golden boy at the altar hadn’t exactly endeared Cassie to Danny’s family.

“I haven’t seen you in years,” Celeste said carefully. “You haven’t…put on a lot of weight or anything, have you?”

Cassie sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the fifteen pounds she’d lost since her breakup with Danny. “Uh, no. I’m still the same size I was in high school.” More or less.

“Are you sure? Because I happened to see your engagement picture in the Manville Gazette, and I thought—now don’t take this the wrong way—I thought you might be starting to take a little after Grandma Boudreaux.”

Cassie tried to control her outrage. She did not take after that evil old woman in any way, shape or form. Not only had their grandmother possessed a nasty disposition, she’d weighed well over three hundred pounds at the time of her death. The family had had to choose her pallbearers accordingly.

“That picture was shot from a bad angle,” Cassie insisted. “And besides, the camera adds ten pounds.”

“I took that into consideration,” Celeste blithely informed her. “Anyway, I was surprised by how much you still resemble me. In the face, I mean. You’ll need to lighten your hair, of course, but for God’s sake, don’t get it done down there.” Cassie could picture her cousin’s shudder. “I’ll make arrangements with a salon in Houston. They’ll do your nails, too, and show you how to wear your makeup. Oh, and start working out, okay? From what I could see in that picture, you could stand to firm up a little, and it’s never too late to start counting the old calories. We’ve still got a few days. If you watch your carbs, you could drop ten pounds before we meet in Houston.”

Drop ten pounds? In a matter of days? Maybe in Dreamworld, Cassie thought acerbically. But in the real world it had taken a major life crisis to finally pry off the freshman fifteen she’d been carrying around since college. And as for exercise, she’d had to give up her daily walks after Earl Cantrell, Danny’s uncle, had tried to run her over one morning.

“Don’t expect me to go on some starvation diet just so I can fit into your size zeros,” Cassie said resentfully. “I like the way I look.”

“And I’m sure you look just fine.” For you, Celeste’s tone implied. “Look, it’ll hardly matter. After everything that’s happened, who would be surprised if I’m not looking my best? And besides, no one will get more than a glimpse of you anyway. You won’t be leaving the hotel except when you take Mr. Bogart for his walks.”

“Mr. Bogart?”

“My Chihuahua. I hate leaving him behind, but it might look strange if you were spotted without him. He goes everywhere with me. Don’t you, sweetie?”

Cassie heard what sounded like a whimper on the other end, then her cousin said anxiously, “You’ll take good care of him, won’t you? He likes to go out first thing in the morning and right before he retires in the evening. And he has to eat three meals a day or his little system gets all out of whack.”

“Don’t worry,” Cassie said with a grimace. “I’ll treat him like he was my own.” Which wasn’t saying much considering she really wasn’t a dog person. “Look, Sissy—”

“Celeste.”

“Look, Celeste, are you saying the only time I can leave the hotel is when I take the dog for a walk? I mean, we’re talking a whole month here.”

“A whole month in a luxury hotel. You’ll have your own Jacuzzi and steam shower, not to mention twenty-four-hour room service.”

“I know, but a whole month?” Now it was Cassie who shuddered.

Celeste sighed. “I guess you’re right. I guess that is too much to ask, even of family.”

Even as a child, her cousin had been an expert travel agent when it came to guilt trips, but this time Cassie wasn’t booking.

When she said nothing, Celeste gave another dramatic sigh. “Okay, tell you what. I’ll plan a few outings for you in advance. I’ll even make all the arrangements. That way, if any of the paparazzi should somehow find out where you’re staying—I mean, where I’m staying—a glimpse of you—me—now and then might help convince them that I’m flying solo these days.”

In other words, no Owen Fleming.

“Where will you be?” Cassie couldn’t help asking, although she already had her suspicions. Why would Celeste go to so much trouble, not to mention expense, to set up such an elaborate ruse if she wasn’t planning an assignation with her married lover?

“Don’t you worry about that. You just concentrate on convincing everyone that Celeste Fortune is in seclusion nursing a broken heart.”

Her cousin’s evasive answer did little to assuage Cassie’s qualms. If Margo Fleming got wind of a tryst between her husband and Celeste, there’d be hell to pay. It could literally cost Owen a fortune and Celeste, what was left of her career.

From everything Cassie had read of the scandal—and she’d devoured every juicy morsel she could get her hands on—Margo Fleming was a powerful woman in the film industry. She’d bankrolled Owen’s first few productions, and she could make or break a budding starlet.

Her cousin was playing with fire. But then, that was the Boudreaux way, wasn’t it?

* * *

JACK HAD JUST finished going through the last Dumpster when a noise alerted him that he was no longer alone in the alley. It was a subtle sound, kind of like a whimper. He might have chalked it up to the rodents skulking about nearby except…he’d never known a rat to snivel.

Nor had he ever seen one dragging a leash, he thought, as he watched the tiny creature ease toward him through the shadows. When the Chihuahua was close enough, Jack knelt down and put out his hand. The dog hesitated, then came prancing over.

“Are you lost?” Jack reached for the collar, then jerked back when the Chihuahua snapped at his hand.