Behind The Mask. Metsy Hingle

      

      As Lily pushed her son on the swing, Michael noticed there was an edginess to her movements. And that her eyes were continuously moving, searching, watching. When she stared over in the direction of the trees where he was parked, Michael held his breath a moment and wondered if he had been spotted. Then her gaze moved past him and seemed to search some spot beyond. Had that been fear in those green eyes? he wondered.

      The notion that she was in trouble—and not just for robbing her husband and kidnapping her son—gnawed at him, stirring old feelings and protective instincts he thought he’d buried a long time ago. Yet even as he tried to shake these feelings, he struggled once again with the image of the calculating woman Webster had described. He wanted to believe Lily was a coldhearted female and not this seemingly delicate woman playing with her child.

      “Metsy Hingle…will delight readers with her skill at storytelling in this charmer.”

      —Romantic Times on The Wager

      Dear Reader,

      For those of you familiar with my work, you know that many of my books are set in my own hometown of New Orleans. As you’ve probably guessed from the title, Behind the Mask takes place in that magical city during the height of the Mardi Gras season. I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

      One of the best things about being a writer is hearing from readers, and I’d love to hear from you. In fact, as a special thank-you, I’ve had a commemorative bookmark created just for Behind the Mask and, while supplies last, I’ll send one to each reader who writes and requests one.

      I look forward to hearing from you.

      Best wishes,

      Metsy Hingle

      P.O. Box 3224

      Covington, LA

      U.S.A. 70433

      www.metsyhingle.com

      Behind the Mask

      Metsy Hingle

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      For the very special friends who bless my life:

      Sandra and Michael Brown, Brenda and Jim Gelpi, Mary and Fred Dummett, Mary Ann and Louis Lahners, Nancy Wagner aka Hailey North, Linda Kay West aka Dixie Kane and Karen Young.

      And my very best friend—my husband, Jim.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      While my name as the author is listed on this book, the finished product in your hands would not be possible were it not for the help of many people. My heartfelt thanks go to the following people for their help in bringing Behind the Mask to life:

      Valerie Gray, my editor, whose guidance and patience were invaluable to me in the writing of this book.

      Dianne Moggy, editorial director of MIRA Books, for her belief in me and this project.

      Karen Solem, my agent, for her continued guidance and support.

      Ricardo Coštales, Lancôme makeup artist and genius at finding the beauty in all women.

      The incredible MIRA staff for their support.

      Tara Gavin and Joan Marlow Golan at Silhouette Books for their continued support and enthusiasm.

      My fans, who enable me to live my dream because they allow me to entertain them with my books.

      And, as always, very special thanks go to my children and family, whose love and support enable me to spin my tales of love, hope and happily-ever-after.

      Contents

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

      One

      “I’ll pay you one million dollars to find my wife.”

      “All right, Webster,” Michael Sullivan replied from the other end of the phone line. “You’ve got my attention.”

      Adam Webster smiled in satisfaction at the excop’s change in attitude. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said as he gazed at the view of the Miami skyline afforded him from his penthouse suite of offices. He was glad, but he wasn’t at all surprised. He’d learned a long time ago that money talks—even to a man like Sullivan. A man who, according to his sources, had been among Houston’s best and brightest police detectives until five years ago when he’d resigned abruptly following his partner’s death. Now he hired himself out as a detective, bodyguard or bounty hunter—whatever the situation called for. The man was said to be as mean as a rattlesnake and twice as dangerous. He also reportedly had the instincts of a bloodhound when it came to tracking down someone who didn’t want to be found. It was Sullivan’s latter skill that he needed now. “You’ve been a difficult man to get in touch with, Mr. Sullivan,” Adam said, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. “My assistant tells me she’s left you several messages.”

      “I’ve been out of town handling something for a client. The truth is, the only reason you caught me now is because I had to swing by to the office to pick up some reports.”

      “I see,” Adam said tightly. “I’m not accustomed to being ignored, Mr. Sullivan.”

      “No one’s ignoring you, Webster. But since I’m pressed for time, why don’t we dispense with my lack of good manners and you tell me why you’re willing to pay me a million