Liars' Games (Project Chameleon Book 1)

by Susan Finlay

  “I think I am starting to get an inkling of where you’re going,” Nancy said.

  Claire said, “Read through the research material I handed out when you have time. You’ll see that this is all interconnected.”

  “The ideas make sense,” Bill Wilson said. “But you haven’t demonstrated any expertise in dealing with people. Why should we listen to you?”

  “Fair enough. I admit I’m lacking in people skills. But I am an expert in strategic planning. Each of you has strengths, too. I’m asking all of you to combine our skills.”

  Bill nodded.

  Frank said. “Does anyone have any objections to giving it a shot?”

  No one answered. “Okay, then,” Frank said, “we should touch base again on Wednesday, after school. Hopefully, we can plan on a faculty meeting for Friday and, if all goes well, we could hold a school wide assembly on Monday or Tuesday.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CLAIRE SMILED AS she cooked dinner. Today, for the first time since she’d arrived in Denver, something had gone the way she’d hoped at work. She hadn’t flubbed her lines, and she’d won some support, tentative though it was. If they could get the outside help that Frank and Ron had mentioned, she thought, they had a great chance of success. Well, maybe that was stretching it. A good chance.

  She talked with Marcus who was sitting on a chair near the stove, watching her cook. They laughed and played a word game that he loved.

  When dinner was served and Marcus began eating, he exclaimed, “This is my favorite, Mommy. Better than mac and cheese. What’s it called?”

  “Lasagna. And I have a surprise for you. Chocolate ice cream for dessert. We’ll eat it while we watch television.”

  “Yay!”

  After dinner, she put the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and turned it on, then walked into the living room and plopped down on the sofa near where Marcus sat on the floor, playing with toys. Claire watched him for a few minutes, then closed her eyes, relaxing. Steve popped into her head. She missed him, and yet after the meeting today, she’d emailed him about the committee’s plans instead of phoning him as Frank had suggested. It was the coward’s way. But she wasn’t ready to talk to him.

  Her mobile rang, and she reached down to the coffee table and picked it up. The caller ID showed Ron Baker.

  “Hey, I’ve been talking to some of the teachers about the ideas we discussed earlier today,” Ron said.

  “Already? What did you do—call everyone?” Claire leaned forward.

  “No. The Debate team’s advisory meeting was tonight. After the students on the committee left, the rest of us stayed and talked. Looks like Nancy and I talked some more teachers into getting involved.”

  “Oh, Ron, that’s great news. Thanks.”

  “We did it for the school.”

  And not for you. He had to get that in there, didn’t he?

  “I also called my friend. You know, the guy who works as a mediator with juveniles who are in trouble. His name’s Shaun Bales. He says he’ll come to our faculty meeting on Friday, and if that goes well, he’ll come to our first assembly. Maybe even speak to the student body if we want him to.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  Ron didn’t say anything.

  “Are you still there, Ron?”

  “Uh, yeah. There is something else I wanted to tell you. This isn’t so good.”

  Claire slumped back against the sofa’s back.

  “This afternoon three students came to my office while you were in a meeting with parents. I didn’t get a chance to tell you at the school—it slipped my mind by the time I saw you in our after-school meeting. Anyway, these students reported that on Friday morning someone was at their bus stop, asking students about you. I took down their descriptions of the guy.”

  “What? Why would someone do that?”

  “Damned if I know. It gets worse. A little while later, Kelly Jacobs, came in and said she was coming back to work after a doctor appointment and she saw a man lurking on the sidewalk in front of the school. The description of him fit the students’ description.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran outside to talk to him. I wanted to know what he was doing. But he’d left.”

  “Did you call the police?” She held her breath waiting for his answer.

  “Well, no. I didn’t think there was much they could do since he was gone.”

  “Why didn’t you come and get me?”

  “By then, you were upstairs getting ready for the committee meeting. I figured I would tell you after the meeting. I forgot.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. How could he forget something like that?

  “Thanks for calling and letting me know. I’ll watch out for this guy. Can you give me his description?”

  After she jotted down the information, Ron said, “Should we call the police? Do you think it’s somehow related to your attack? The gang members aren’t going to give up easily.”

  ”I know they won’t. Let me think about this before we do anything.”

  The moment she hung up, Claire ran to the front window and looked out, but she couldn’t see much. It was dark out. She put on her shoes and coat, unlocked the door, and opened it.

  “Where are you going, Mommy?”

  She turned around. “Marcus, stay inside. I want to check something.” He nodded, and she went out. She walked to the sidewalk and looked in one direction and then the other. Nothing unusual. No sign of the man Ron had described. She walked back and shut the door behind her. Think. Brad won’t do anything. Would the police do anything? Would she have to tell them she was in witness protection?

  She went into the kitchen to find a telephone book to look up the police department. Maybe she could ask a few questions without actually filing a report.

  The doorbell rang, and she looked up, then set down the phonebook down. The bell rang again. She walked into the living room and found Marcus standing in the open doorway talking to someone. Oh, my God! She’d forgotten to lock the deadbolts.

  She lunged forward, grabbed Marcus, and looked up in surprise.

  “Mommy, let go. Put me down.” He was kicking and squirming.

  “Steve. What are you doing here,” she said as she released Marcus.

  His eyebrows drew together, and he said, “I have a better question. Why didn’t you tell me you have a son?”

  She tried to speak, but the words somehow stuck in her throat. She coughed and then said, “I . . . probably should have told you sooner. I . . . .” She paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t really know why.”

  Marcus, who had been standing next to Claire watching, walked up to Steve. “Who are you?”

  “I work with your mother. My name’s Steve. What’s yours?”

  “Marcus. Do you wanna see my room?”

  Claire put her hands on Marcus’s shoulders. “Not right now, sweetie. Why don’t you go play in your room so Steve and I can talk, all right?”

  “Okay.” He hesitated, looking back and forth between them, and then turned and ran up the stairs.

  Steve stood awkwardly with his hands in his coat pockets. His cheeks were turning pink and Claire could feel an icy chill radiating from him.

  She took hold of the door’s edge. Part of her wanted to send him away and close the door. “Do you want to come in?”

  Steve didn’t respond. He studied her in silence, a silence that grew steadily more uncomfortable. After a few moments, he took a step forward, and she backed up to make room for him. Once he was inside, she closed the door.

  Steve turned to her and said, “I don’t understand why you kept this from me. I’ve told you all about myself, but you kept this from me. Don’t you think I might have wanted to know that you’re a mother?”

  “I—you’re right, I should have. I didn’t want us to end, and I didn’t know if you liked kids.”

  “Huh? Why the hell would I be an educator if I didn’t like kids? That’s a sorry excuse, Cla
ire. You must have known the right thing to do was tell me.”

  “Well, yes, but not at first. I mean, we were only friends at first. Then, I wasn’t sure what we were. I didn’t know when to tell you, or how, and I was afraid.”

  He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Okay. I’ll accept that for now. But then why have you been avoiding me? What the hell did I do wrong? I thought things were going great between us, and then you just pulled away?”

  What could she possibly say? Of course he hadn’t done anything wrong. He was great. It was her. She’d had enough trouble keeping her story straight before the attack. She couldn’t build a relationship on lies. Not one that would be worth anything. Telling him the truth wasn’t an option, either, no matter how much she wanted it to be.

  “It wasn’t you. It was me, all right? I’ve been going through some things.”

  “At school?”

  “Yes.” That wasn’t entirely a lie.

  “I got your email about the plan. It sounds great, Claire. That’s one of the reasons I came over here tonight. I think I can help. I can make some phone calls. See if I can find some professionals to assist you and your staff. This could be a pilot program. If it works in Midland, we can use it in other schools.”

  She nodded.

  “Look, I want to try again with you, Claire. Please don’t keep pushing me away. Will you give ‘us’ a chance?”

  He didn’t get it. There couldn’t be an ‘us’. But how could she tell him that without hurting him?

  “The timing is all wrong. As I said, it’s not you. Maybe when school’s out for the summer. Right now, I have my hands full. A relationship isn’t in the picture.”

  “You don’t think I have my hands full, too? I’m swamped at work. I go home at night, sometimes not getting there until nine or ten. I miss dinner, or have to eat it in my car on the way to a meeting. That’s life. I don’t see my job getting easier. I have to make time for relationships where I can; otherwise, I’ll put it off until it’s too late.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. He was lonely. So was she. But they couldn’t be the ones to fill each other’s need for love and belonging. She wouldn’t be here long enough.

  “Claire, don’t push me away. Let’s make time for each other.”

  Looking into his eyes, she could feel the weight of his loneliness, the same loneliness she’d been feeling for the past year. How could she say no? She took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. But you’ll have to be patient. Let me get through these next couple of days at least. It’s going to be very hectic.”

  “I can do that. And I’ll make those calls and do what I can to help you and your faculty with your plan for the school.”

  “Thanks.”

  He stepped closer to her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. “I should be going. I was on my way home. Haven’t eaten yet. Say goodbye to Marcus for me.”

  “Okay. Goodnight, Steve.”

  She watched him leave from the front window, then opened the door again, and said, “Wait!”

  He turned around and walked back.

  “I have some leftovers from dinner. It’s not much—some lasagna and fresh Italian bread. If you’d like, I can heat it up for you.”

  He smiled. “Now that sounds great.”

  They talked about her school plans while he ate. After dinner, she served each of them a bowl of ice cream. Marcus took his into the living room and watched television.

  Half an hour later Marcus ran into the kitchen and said, “Can I show him my room now?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie, it’s your bed time.”

  Steve stood up. “I should be going anyway. But I’d like to see your room. How about next time, okay, Marcus?”

  Marcus nodded and smiled. “Okay. Bye.”

  Claire followed Steve to the door, they kissed, and said goodnight. When he was out of sight, she closed the blinds and locked the front door and deadbolts. She picked up her mobile phone and called Brad. He didn’t answer. Of course not. His voicemail picked up and she said, “I need to talk to you A.S.A.P. She needed to know what to do, whether she should get the police involved because of the watcher, or whether that would compromise her cover.

  GROGGY FROM A restless night’s sleep, Steve stumbled out of bed on Saturday morning and started a fresh pot of coffee, hoping it would rejuvenate him and get him out the doldrums. While the coffee brewed, he stepped outside on his front porch dressed in a plain white t-shirt and plaid cotton pajama bottoms. He looked around at his neighbors’ houses. No one was in sight. Then he stepped out onto his driveway and picked up his newspaper.

  He sipped his coffee and attempted to read The Denver Post. It normally held his interest, but not this morning. Dinner at Claire’s had been great, and as usual, he’d enjoyed talking with her. He’d gone home tired, and for a change, fairly happy. During the night, however, after waking up several times feeling anxious, he began to question himself. Why did he have to go and fall in love with Claire? He hadn’t realized how he felt until last night. What else would turn a man who prided himself on fairness and objectivity into a complete idiot?

  No matter how hard he tried to push his thoughts aside and just read the newspaper, he couldn’t. Giving up, he let the newspaper fall across his lap, and closed his eyes, remembering his surprise when he’d rung her doorbell and her little boy answered.

  How could he have been so clueless? He’d convinced himself that he knew her, and that John Richmond was wrong about her. Although he had planned to ask her about John’s accusation about an affair with the Senator weeks ago, he hadn’t. He’d convinced himself that John had made it all up because he was angry that the Senator had asked them to hire her.

  Throughout the day, thoughts intruded on Steve’s activities. They were there when he took his shower, when he threw a load of laundry in the washer, and while he sat in front of his TV, scanning through the channels with his remote control. When he realized he wasn’t even noticing the scenes passing by, he clicked it off and sat there, slouching and rubbing his temples. This lousy headache that had been sneaking up on him all afternoon was gaining momentum.

  He dragged himself out of his chair when the buzzer on his washer alerted him to move the wet clothes into the dryer. After turning on the dryer, he slogged into the kitchen, where he made a ham and cheese sandwich for lunch and grabbed a can of Pepsi from the refrigerator. He carried everything into the living room.

  Was he such a bad judge of character? He’d always prided himself on having sharp senses and spot-on evaluations of people. But what if he wasn’t as good a judge of character as he’d thought? Had she tricked him?

  He closed his eyes and folded his hands behind his head. Claire hadn’t exactly lied to him, yet she hadn’t really been open and honest either. She’d misled him by letting him believe she was a single, available woman with no family and no commitments, completely unattached. But he’d known she was keeping secrets; she hadn’t really disclosed much about herself. He hadn’t missed her use of the word ‘mum’ on several occasions. Yet he’d let it slide, telling himself that he shouldn’t push her. He’d told himself that they had a strong attraction between them and that was enough to start with.

  Did that make her deceitful, untrustworthy?

  It wasn’t entirely her fault, he conceded. He should have asked more questions. Damn. If he was really being honest, he shouldn’t even have gotten involved with one of his employees, something he’d never allowed before. He especially should have steered clear of her when he found out she was already suspected of being in an inappropriate relationship with a State Senator.

  He shook his head and took a swig of his beer, the only alcohol he had in the house, and sighed.

  He already knew the answer as to why he’d allowed himself to get involved. Claire was his counterpart, a strong and intelligent woman with whom he could talk about any subject. A woman to whom he was attracted, and with whom he wanted to start a family.


  Admitting that to himself led him right back where he’d started. He didn’t know enough about her to make a commitment. She didn’t know everything about him, either, but she sure as hell knew more about him than he knew about her. It should have occurred to him at some point that she might be hiding something big from him.

  When the dryer buzzed, he trudged back to the laundry room. He removed the clothes from the dryer, sorted and folded them, and carried them into his bedroom to be put away. He didn’t like the chore, though he liked the scent of freshly washed laundry.

  The distraction didn’t last long though. Soon he was back on his sofa with thoughts flooding his mind again. Something else that he’d pushed aside swung back into the forefront. She’d told him that her mother had died thirteen years ago. But in the next breath said that she had given a bracelet to her mother for her thirty-eighth birthday. And then, she added that it was her last birthday. He didn’t have to be a mathematician to figure out that meant her mother would have only been sixteen when she had Claire, if Claire was really thirty-five. Okay, some girls had babies at that age. Still, it seemed unlikely.

  He searched within himself for answers, and ultimately realized, in anguish, that he wasn’t going to have all the answers; that he was going to have to decide whether to trust her and let her explain, or walk away and close the door on their relationship before it was too late.

  The following morning, cooking his breakfast, he found himself humming. He wasn’t going to give up on Claire. His instincts might occasionally be off, but he was rarely completely wrong about a person. Claire obviously had some secrets, but she was a good person. He would bet his life on it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CALLUM FULLER FOUND his seat on the Delta Airlines jet, stuffed his carry-on bag in the overhead compartment, and sat down, looking out the window at the flurry of activity on the tarmac—luggage cart trains wheeled around by big engines, bag after bag hoisted onto a conveyer, a plane at another gate being eased away. In a few minutes the plane he was on would do the same and then get in line to take-off.