Captured Lies

by Maggie Thom

Bailey stopped so suddenly she wobbled a bit. Who was this nut case? What could he mean she wasn't who she thought she was? That didn't even make sense. Was that how he picked up women?

  Slowly, she turned around. He hadn't moved from his position on the ground but he was leaning forward as though he was planning on chasing her if she took off again. She stiffened. Her gaze raked over him. Dark hair, blue eyes, pursed lips and a crooked nose - maybe broke once or twice. She couldn't really tell anything from that. Broad shoulders covered in a black leather jacket and jeans that encased long and what she guessed, were athletic legs. Normal. Her eyes wandered back to his face, hard lines there. His jaw clenched. The cords in his neck were taut as a newly cocked bow. He believed what he was telling her.

  He has the wrong person. "Look. I don't know who you think I am. But I do."

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "Know, that is, who I am. I don't know who you're looking for but it's not me." As she talked she walked slowly backwards. She wanted to tear her gaze away but there was something compelling in the depths of the coal black center of his. Something that begged for her trust but at the same time told her to run like hell.

  "So good luck." She balanced on the balls of her feet.

  He jerked upwards. "Wait!"

  Every nerve in her body fired up at his barked command but something about the desperation in his voice kept her where she was. He hung his head and swore but didn't make any move forward.

  "I have something I want to show you." His fingers slid into the pocket of his beige golf shirt. Bailey kept her eyes glued to his hand. Not waiting to see what he was going to do, she started slowly moving backwards.

  "Stop." He pulled out his hands and held them up in the air, like he was being held up in a robbery. The gentle wind tugged at the paper in his hand. "I want you to look at this."

  "Uh?" She shifted her gaze around from the right to the left.

  "Look. It's not a trick. I'd set it down but the wind will take it away. I promise I won't touch you."

  She immediately looked at his hands. Soft calluses ringed the palms, those of a weekend handyman. Long masculine fingers gently held the item towards her.

  "Who are you?"

  He swore again.

  She found herself almost smiling. "All I know so far is that you have a quite an extensive language that should have gotten your mouth washed out as a kid."

  "Actually it did." His lip curled upwards. "My name is Guy Turner. Please look at this." His eyes were asking her to believe him and to trust him.

  She could hear her mom screaming at her, telling her not to trust anyone. Shaking that off, she looked around. Three young guys raced out onto the grassy field, chucking a football back and forth.

  Relieved, she said, "don't lower your arms or I'll scream like there's no tomorrow."

  He grimaced but didn't move. At about four feet from him she sprinted forward, grabbed what looked like a picture and ran about twenty feet away. When she looked over her shoulder he was standing in the same ridiculous pose. She couldn't believe he'd listened.

  She watched him for a second before looking at the paper, an old black and white picture printed on new 4 x 6 photo paper, thanks to the tricks of modern technology. It was grainy and the woman's face was faded. Her head was tilted back slightly as she looked off to her right. The dimple high on her right cheek, really took away from the snobbish air or regal look she was trying for. Bailey smiled in sympathy, tempted to reach up and touch her own cheek. She'd been afflicted with the same defect. The woman's hair was neatly pulled back, not a fly-away-strand anywhere and sat high on the back of her head in some sort of bun. A single row of gems placed at an angle adorned the front of the hairdo.

  "She looks like someone who might have been well off. I mean who else could have afforded pictures back when." She looked up and studied the guy who had his arms straight out as though waiting for a basketball pass. She shook her head. "Drop your hands but no sudden moves." She almost laughed when she realized how stupid that sounded. Wild west here we come. "Okay. So what's the deal?"

  He stared at her for a minute before he looked off to his right. Bailey followed his gaze. The three guys were hooting and hollering as two of them tackled the third. Testosterone at its finest.

  "Look. I can assure you I do not have her crown jewels." Bailey looked at the single row of gems. "Such as they are. I doubt they're even real."

  His head swung back and his gaze intent. "Oh they're real, all right. Today that diamond tiara is worth about five million dollars. Give or take a million."

  Her eyes widened to their fullest extent as she took another look. It was really a simple strand of large, square cut stones. Nothing really attractive about it but age does make things priceless.

  "Since I don't have any jewel thieves in my family history you've got the wrong person." Bailey moved towards him to hand him back the picture but stopped when he swore again. She arched her brow.

  "Got it." He shoved his hand through his hair. "I'm not here because those jewels are missing. I'm here because they're rightfully yours."

  How the hell did I win this lottery? I didn't even buy a ticket. "Okay. Game's over. It's been fun but this is too weird. Even for me." She thought she'd heard and seen it all, what with trampling all over the place with her mother for eighteen years. But even this surpassed that.

  "She's your grandmother. Actually, your great-grandmother." He shifted his weight. "I'm a- I've been hired to find you."

  She felt a little light headed and dizzy all of a sudden. She reached out her arm looking for something to hang on to. The smooth leather jacket wasn't quite what she'd had in mind but she was too busy absorbing what she'd heard to argue. Her hand clutched the front of his coat.

  She had family. Could this really be her relative? She'd begged her mom on many occasions to tell her something about her relations. Her mom had staunchly refused, never sharing anything. No names. No stories and no pictures. She glanced again at the one in her hand. "Is this where I got my dimple?" For the first time, it didn't seem so bad.

  Guy snorted with laughter. "Could be." He shifted his stance. "Look. Is there somewhere we could go to talk about this?"

  She glanced up barely taking note of him. "Can I keep this?"

  He nodded.

  She turned and started walking. Could this really be my great-grandma? Wow. Bailey's fingers traced the face. How old was she? How many kids did she have? What kind of man did she marry? What kind of person was she? Did she ever smile? Not that they did that back then in pictures. Whoever decided it was bad to look lifelike in a picture? They were always so stern.

  She studied the woman's dimple, in the picture and then touched her own. She'd always thought she'd had one of a kind. Had anyone teased her about it way back when? Many times she'd wanted to fill the damn thing in. It had been too damn cute. Now it was cool that she had this connection with someone. It meant she had family. Who was she? What was her name? Were there more pictures of her? Where was the rest of her family?

  She jerked to a stop. She hadn't asked any of that. What an idiot. She turned and stared. There was no one there because she was at the blue house next door to her mom's. She wasn't sure what to do. Should she go back and try to find the guy who had given her this gift? Or wait until he found her again? Something told her he'd find her again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE