Living Lies

by Natalie Walters

  Lane scooted back. “What are you doing here?”

  Annika’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at her. “I guess I could ask you the same thing. Unless what they’re saying is true. Did you kill your husband?”

  Heat climbed its way up Lane’s neck. “No.”

  Annika crossed in front of them. She paused next to Miguel, who shifted from side to side and rubbed his arm. “I knew I’d find him out here, but I didn’t think I’d find you too.” Her gaze snapped to Lane. “Walton’s two killers hiding here in the woods—”

  “That’s not true. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, but I do, my dear. I mean, your situation is slightly different since you didn’t actually drive your husband’s truck off the road and into the tree, but he’d still be here if you hadn’t swallowed a bottle of pills and called him.” Annika’s accusation swam around Lane’s head, making her dizzy. “And now, here you are hiding out with the man who killed Sydney.”

  “What is she talking about, Miguel?”

  Miguel swayed.

  “Don’t tell me that handsome deputy boyfriend of yours didn’t tell you? They found Sydney’s phone in Miguel’s house.”

  Lane’s heart stopped. That was the evidence Charlie had been talking about. The evidence that made Miguel a suspect. She was wrong. Lane looked at Miguel. How could she have been wrong? “Miguel?” Lane’s voice cracked. “Did you—”

  “No. I didn’t kill her.” Miguel shook his head and then clarity reached his eyes as he focused on Annika. “It . . . it was you. You did it. She was scared of you. She didn’t want to paint anymore, but you . . . you killed her.”

  Annika’s cackle echoed. “You think they’re going to believe you? An alcoholic veteran with mental health issues? It was only a matter of time before you snapped. Besides, Sydney’s phone wasn’t the only thing they found. The tool used to kill Sydney was found at your house too.”

  The tool? Like the one in Miguel’s pocket? But how did Annika know? Unless . . . “He’s telling the truth. It was you.”

  Annika clapped her hands together mockingly. “At least I know your mental deficiencies don’t make you stupid like him.”

  Anger bubbled inside of Lane. “He’s not stupid. And the sheriff will believe me. I’ll tell them the truth.”

  “Actually, you won’t.” Annika raised a gun. “I warned you, Miguel, that others would get hurt.”

  The despondent look on Miguel’s face morphed into an angry one as he lunged at Annika, knocking her to the ground. He wrapped his hands around her throat. Lane needed to run. To get help. But her legs felt like rubber and she couldn’t leave Miguel.

  “Miguel, stop!”

  A gunshot pierced the air. Miguel crumpled to the ground.

  “Wha—” Lane crawled to Miguel’s side. Blood began to spread from a hole in his arm. She turned to Annika. “What did you do?”

  Annika pushed herself up from the ground. She kept the gun aimed at Miguel. “Get up. Both of you.”

  “He’s bleeding.” Lane pressed her hand to the gunshot wound on his arm. He needed an ambulance.

  “He’s lucky that’s all he’s doing and that I didn’t kill him right away.” Annika plucked a dead leaf from her hair. “Now, get up.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re going to take a little trip.”

  Lane helped Miguel to his feet. His face was pale. “I didn’t kill her. Tried to protect her.”

  “I believe you,” Lane said.

  “Try something like that again, Miguel, and I’ll kill her.” Annika jabbed the gun into Lane’s temple. “Now, tell me where the painting is.”

  Miguel’s eyelids fluttered open. He looked at Lane and moved his lips, but no sound escaped.

  The cold metal of the gun dug into Lane’s temple. “Where’s the painting?”

  Tears slid down Lane’s cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The gun made a noise that sounded like Annika was about to pull the trigger again and Lane’s stomach lurched. “The painting your friend Miguel gave to you. I know you have it, so tell me where it is.”

  “I really don’t—” And then it hit Lane. The painting with no name. No label indicating where it had come from. Lane looked at Miguel. He brought her the painting? Why? Because he trusts you.

  “Five seconds and your little boy will be an orphan.”

  “N-no! I know where it is. It’s at the Benedict House.”

  Annika snorted. “How poetic.”

  “You have what you want. Let us go.” Miguel slumped against Lane’s shoulder. Salty tears blurred her vision. “He needs to go to the hospital.”

  “In a few minutes, it won’t matter.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “YOU THINK THEY KILLED MIGUEL? That’s why we can’t find him?”

  “I don’t know.” Charlie clenched his jaw, his hand gripping the steering wheel. “But I think it’s safe to assume anyone connected with Annika Benedict is in danger.”

  Charlie’s cell phone rang. It was Sheriff Huggins.

  “Frost and I were just about to call you with an update.”

  “Are you still in Savannah?”

  “About ten minutes outside.”

  “Charlie, we can’t get ahold of Lane.” The sheriff’s serious tone sent Charlie’s heart plummeting to his stomach. “I sent Byrdie to check on her after what happened at the courthouse and she said Lane seemed good. But Charlie . . . I’ve answered a suicide call or two and it almost always happened when the family thought the person was good.”

  “Do you think she’ll try—” Charlie couldn’t finish the thought. His mind went to the week before Tate ended his life when, just like the sheriff said, everyone believed he’d gotten over the hump and was on his way to recovery. The temporary lucidness in his friend’s eyes was just enough for him to plan everything, down to the note he left behind.

  Sheriff Huggins exhaled. “I just don’t know.”

  Charlie didn’t want to believe what the sheriff was suggesting. Not Lane. Not this time. “Has anyone tried calling her?”

  “There’s no answer. Her father went to her house and found her phone there.”

  Charlie’s heart wrenched inside his chest. He looked over at Frost—the jumping bridge. “Sir, Frost and I are going to search the area along Coastal Highway. I’ll call you if we find anything.”

  “What’s wrong?” Frost asked as soon as Charlie ended the call. “Where are we going?”

  “The jumping bridge.” Charlie accelerated, unwilling to let his thoughts dwell on the possibility of what Lane might be doing there. He hoped his uncle’s fears were wrong. “Nobody can find Lane.”

  Frost gripped his seat belt with one hand and used the other to grab the overhead handle as Charlie flew down the interstate at speeds that scared other drivers out of his way. The inky black night was illuminated only by the headlights of the patrol car, which turned the draping Spanish moss that Charlie once thought was beautiful into menacing tendrils with every tense minute that passed. He finally slowed when they got to the narrow stretch of road a mile or so away from the bridge.

  “What’s that?” Frost pointed at something shining a few yards in from the trees that lined the road.

  Charlie swung the spotlight in the direction of the trees. The light illuminated the silver bumper of a small SUV. He slammed on the brakes, causing the seat belt to squeeze his chest. It was Lane’s Jeep.

  “Radio dispatch and tell them we’ve found Lane’s car.” Charlie got out of the vehicle and hurried toward the Jeep, afraid of what he was going to find. His steps slowed as he inched toward the driver’s side. A breath escaped his lips. It was empty.

  “They’re on their way.” Frost jogged up behind him carrying a first aid kit. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.” Charlie looked around. “Maybe someone found her? Took her to the hospital?”

  “Or she walked?”

  “To the hospital?
”

  “No.” Frost shook his head. “Into the woods.”

  Charlie’s gaze went to where Frost was looking. A set of footprints crossed the tread left behind by the Jeep’s tires, indicating that whoever made the impression did so after the Jeep skidded to a stop. The prints led into the woods. “You got your flashlight?”

  “Yes, but shouldn’t we wait?”

  “There’s no time.” Based on the condition of her Jeep, there was no way Lane had walked away. But if she had, they needed to find her before shock set in and killed her.

  With Frost close behind, the two of them started for the woods. The underbrush scraped his pant legs with each hurried stride toward the river and the bridge. Charlie swung the beam of his flashlight back and forth looking for any sign of Lane.

  “Ouch!”

  Charlie pivoted to his right. Frost was on the ground. “What happened? You alright?”

  “Yeah. I tripped on a stump.” Frost pushed himself up. “Dropped my glasses—ew. It’s wet.”

  “Stop.”

  Frost froze. “What?”

  With his flashlight trained on Frost’s legs, Charlie looked closer. He ran his hand over the wet spot and turned his fingers over. Red. Blood. A chill ran down his spine.

  “Is that blood?” Frost’s voice sounded weak.

  The sound of sirens broke in the distance.

  “Lynch?”

  “We need to call Search and Rescue.” Charlie swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “Water rescue too.”

  “Lynch.”

  The sky shrouded them in a blanket of stars as the moon cowered behind a copse of trees. The darkness mocked Charlie. He had to find her. He wouldn’t stop until he did. He couldn’t let her down. Not like he did Tate.

  “Lynch!”

  “What?” Charlie spun around to face Frost, who was still on the ground. “What is it?”

  Frost stood up and lifted his hand. He held something. “These aren’t mine.”

  Charlie took a step toward him, staring at the glasses. “Those are red.”

  “Only one person I’ve ever seen who wears red glasses.”

  Footsteps and voices echoed behind them.

  “Did you find her?” Sheriff Huggins carried a floodlight and lit up the area around them. Deputy Benningfield wasn’t far behind him.

  “She’s not here, but I think she’s in trouble,” Charlie said.

  “What?”

  “We found these glasses.” Frost handed the glasses over to the sheriff. “We think they’re Annika’s.”

  “And there’s fresh blood.”

  “I thought Annika was supposed to be in Savannah?”

  “She wasn’t there, sir.” Charlie briefed the sheriff on what happened in the ransacked gallery, including their conclusion that someone might be after Annika and anyone associated with her.

  “We think Miguel’s disappearance might have something to do with her too,” Frost added.

  Charlie squeezed his eyes shut. He had to think. Had to stop looking at the blood on Frost’s knee. Whose was it? Lane’s? Annika’s? Why would they have been together? His eyes shot open. “Miguel didn’t kill Sydney.”

  Sheriff Huggins’s forehead creased. “How you figure that?”

  “It was Frost’s idea, actually. That video of Sydney leaving the gallery with what we believe is a painting. If Annika is connected to the drug smuggling, it’s safe to assume she’d want that painting back. What if the reason she was looking for Sydney was because of what she was carrying?”

  “Bad enough to kill?”

  Charlie nodded at the sheriff. “The gas station where Jolene left Sydney was about a mile away from where her body was recovered, which means Sydney began walking, but not in the direction of town—”

  “In the direction of Miguel’s home.” Sheriff Huggins’s eyes rounded. “She knew where she was going.”

  “Right. If Sydney was afraid of Miguel, chances are she wouldn’t go to his house.” The adrenaline in Charlie’s body surged. “The ME said the fractures in Sydney’s legs were most likely the result of being hit by a car.”

  “Miguel doesn’t own a car,” Frost said.

  Another thought occurred to Charlie. “The numbers Lane got from the car that ran her and Noah off the road. What do you want to bet they belong to Marco Solis’s car?”

  “I’m not a betting man, Charlie.” Sheriff Huggins reached for his radio. “But I’ve heard enough to know we need to be looking for Annika.”

  “Wasn’t Annika at the fund-raiser?” Frost asked.

  Heat filled Charlie’s cheeks. “What’s the number for Lane’s sister?” Sheriff Huggins gave it to him and after several minutes on the phone with Meagan, Charlie had the information he needed. “I think I know where they are.”

  “Where?” the sheriff asked.

  “Benedict House.”

  “The veterans’ home?”

  “Yes,” Charlie answered. “Meagan said that Lane gave her a painting this morning that should’ve been in the auction, but Ian—Meagan’s husband—forgot to get it. Meagan dropped the painting off at the Benedict House this afternoon.”

  “Go.” Sheriff Huggins reached for his radio again. “I’ll get backup on the way.”

  Charlie had only one prayer as he and Frost sped down the highway. God, please let me get there in time.

  “Y-you don’t have to do this.”

  Lane cast a sideways glance at the woman holding a gun to her head. The car bumped along the dirt road and Miguel groaned from the back seat. The Benedict House came into view. The empty plantation mansion would soon be the home to recovering veterans, but tonight, with its dark windows and their lives in Annika’s hands, it held an ominous threat.

  “Park the car around the back.”

  Lane obeyed, her palms sweaty and her head woozy from her own accident. Fear for her life was the only thing that kept her from giving in to the temptation to black out. “Please, I have a little boy.”

  “Funny. He wasn’t a good enough reason to stop you from trying to kill yourself before.”

  Lane hated the truth in Annika’s words. Right now, she’d give anything to see Noah again.

  “Let’s go.” Annika kept the gun pointed at Lane as she and Miguel climbed from the car. “Around the front.”

  Lane’s body trembled next to Miguel’s as they made their way to the front of the house and up the steps to the porch. His blood was thick and stained her hands as she tried to stem the flow.

  “He’s bleeding too much.”

  “That’s the least of my problems. Or yours.” Annika held the gun to her back and shoved them both inside. Only the moonlight shone to guide them into the dark house as Annika slammed the door shut behind them. A second later, illumination from a spotlight mounted on scaffolding filled the house.

  The odor of fresh paint filled the newly renovated space. The first floor of the mansion had been remodeled into one large open area separated only by a semi-circle desk that butted against the back side of a large brick fireplace. Coiled electrical wires hung from holes in the ceiling where light fixtures would be installed. In the corner were boxes. Some marked with pictures of the decorative items within. Others plain. Lane saw the painting she gave Meagan sitting behind them.

  “Move him here.”

  Lane helped lean Miguel against the stone hearth of the fireplace. His body slid to the floor. Sweat coated his forehead. There was a rag on the floor. She used her toe to drag it over and wrapped it tightly around his arm, causing him to wince. “Sorry.”

  “She was just a girl.” His fist tightened. “You didn’t have to kill her.”

  “She was a pawn.” Annika bent over Miguel and tapped the barrel of the gun against his forehead. “Just like you. And from the lucidity in your eyes, I see you’ve stopped appreciating my gifts. Those pills weren’t cheap, ya know.”

  “You drugged him?” Lane shot a look at Annika. That explained his erratic behavior. “You won’t get awa
y with it. I’ll tell them the truth. That he’s innocent.”

  “My dear, do you really think you’ll get the chance? And why would you defend this baby killer?” She paused in front of them. “Went to Nam and shot up an entire village of innocent women and children. Didn’t you, Miguel? You were a killer then and everyone will believe you’re a killer now.”

  Miguel turned to Lane. His eyes searched her face. “I tried to save them. Protect her.” He repeated it again. And again. As though if he said it enough Lane would believe him.

  “It’s going to be okay, Miguel.” There wasn’t time to figure out what Annika was talking about or to convince Miguel she believed him. Lane’s eyes flicked to the door only a couple yards away. Could she risk making a run for it?

  “You’re wasting your breath.” Annika went to the corner of the room and picked up a loose floorboard. She pulled out a black duffel bag and dropped it at Lane’s feet. “Here.”

  “Wh-what do you want me to do?”

  “Help me.” Annika’s lip curled into a sneer. “Open up the bag and get the crowbar. And just in case you think bravery will win you or your friend any chance at escape, please understand that your fates have already been sealed. Death can come in one of two ways. Quick. Or painful.”

  Lane unzipped the bag and found the crowbar. The thought of using it to smash the gun out of Annika’s hand crossed her mind but quickly passed. If she missed, she wasn’t going to be faster than the bullet Annika had promised.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because if I’d done this right the first time, I wouldn’t be standing here.” Annika shot a scathing look in Miguel’s direction. “Take that crowbar and reach it up into the chimney.”

  “What am I supposed to be doing?”

  “Just keep poking around. You’ll feel it.”

  The crowbar hit something. Not hard like stone but something pliable. She pushed a little harder and something dropped, bringing a cloud of ash with it.

  “Very good.” Annika wrenched the crowbar from Lane’s hand and tossed it across the room. “Get back.”