Deceiving Derek by Cindy Procter-King Page A

sugar bowl. Maybe she was paranoid. What a
shame .
    She hoisted a gigantic shopping bag off the
floor. Derek’s lips tugged into a smile as she plunked the bag onto
his desk, dug inside, and pulled out a skimpy lingerie top. She
tossed the G-string—pardon him, thong —and pink lingerie onto the desk, then
rummaged through the bag again.
    “Damn it, I wanted to make sure he—I’m pretty
sure the thief is a he—didn’t steal more samples, so I grabbed as
many as possible before catching the bus over.” Out flew blue
underwear and a yellow slip thing. “Trouble is, these prototypes
take up so much room I’m having trouble finding my wallet.” The
shopping bag coughed up a purple bra and some flimsy, pale green
panties.
    Derek put down his pen. “Don’t worry about
the wallet.” Did she think she had to pay him?
    “I see it!” She continued emptying the bag
until an explosion of frothy colors littered his desk, reminding
him of his twin sister Janie’s rooftop garden after her
ex-boyfriend broke her heart and she’d weed-whacked every blossom
formerly planted in honor of their love.
    It occurred to him Janie would like Miss
DeMarco. He could visualize the two of them whacking blossoms
together.
    “Ah ha!” The blonde produced a slim wallet. A
cell phone clattered out of the bag, bouncing across the lingerie
and clunking his jar of pens. Amid the chaos, she opened the
wallet, withdrew a business card, and handed it to him.
    A flowery script on creamy stock announced: Lacey’s Little
Underthings. Lacey DeMarco, President and Head Designer .
    “Lacey?” Derek muttered. “Give me a break.” Yeah, she’s a
wing-nut .
    A blush stained her face. “That’s right,
Lacey DeMarco. My mother, Cather—uh, Christina DeMarco, is the
famous lingerie designer out of Milan. My sister is Silken and my
brother is Teddy. My mother believes in theme names.”
    “Does she now?” Placing aside the card, Derek
pressed down another smile. He’d never heard of Christina DeMarco.
Or Cather-uh DeMarco. “Look, I need to understand the situation. If
someone’s stealing your underwear, what’s all this?” He sifted his
fingers through the pile.
    She gazed at the heap. “This is...what’s
left. What I’ve rescued.”
    “Mm-hm. From the culprit, you mean?”
    “Yes.” Her voice rose. “This hasn’t been
stolen. Yet.” She stuffed the cell phone and lingerie back into the
bag.
    Derek picked up the green panties and studied
the inside label. Well, lookee here . The hand-stitched label read Lacey’s Little
Underthings , like her business card.
    Maybe his sexy wing-nut was on the
up-and-up.
    “Okay.” He tossed her the panties, which she
caught with surprising deftness. “Please sit.” He indicated the
chair in front of his desk. On his computer, he saved the grid he’d
drafted showing a week of vehicle thefts. “Tell me what happened,”
he said as he logged out of the computer and reached for his
notepad.
    She remained standing. “I’d rather tell you
on the way over.” She shoved the wadded panties into the bag.
    “The way over where?”
    “My place.”
    “Your place?”
    “My design studio—it’s in my apartment.
That’s where the theft occurred. Don’t you want to inspect the
scene of the crime?”
    “I’d rather take notes first.”
    Her eyebrows high-jumped. “I don’t have time!
I never know when he might strike again. He’s already plundered me
twice!”
    Derek chuckled. “The panty thief?”
    “The corporate panty raider,” Lacey returned in an uppity
tone he swore she employed to disguise her obvious jitters.
Because, if her dress was anything to go by, she didn’t look the
uppity type.
    “Lacey’s Little Underthings is a legitimate
company, Detective McAllister. I’ve produced my business card. I
demand your respect.”
    Derek tapped the pad against his palm.
Finishing the vehicle theft grid could wait. While he didn’t buy
into Lacey’s business-card definition of respect, she