Deadly Little Lies

by Jeanne Adams

  “The team took him and his lady friend to Belize, five miles from the next dig site. Nothing there yet but the basic block building and the initial dig-out. Ecologic Reserve guards don’t care what we bring in or out, given the stipends we provide to them. In fact, we’ve not seen the guards at all this trip. The team pulled out for a two-day hiatus, to let my unlamented brother stew in his cell.”

  “Left with food, though?”

  “As per your suggestion,” Niko was quick to reassure. Much as he’d wanted Dav to suffer, along with his woman, he’d followed the guidelines they’d agreed on. So far. “No pain, no starvation.”

  “Water?”

  “Four canteens.”

  “Good.” A faint frown still wrinkled the other man’s brow. That worried Niko. He wanted this man happy, not concerned. Before he could say anything, the older man continued. “Let’s talk about the next moves. Come, sit.” He motioned Niko to a chair. The guards stationed just inside the office door shifted to behind the desk as Niko sat down, ensuring that he would die before he could pull a gun and make any attempt on their boss. The man had a tendency to inspire mortal fear, blind loyalty or searing antagonism.

  Niko was man enough to admit that he came down heartily on the side of mortal fear. As smart and dangerous as he knew himself to be, this man was ten times smarter and at least that much more dangerous. Certainly smarter than their father had ever been, and smarter than Dav in the real ways of the world.

  “Here’s the plan,” Niko began, outlining the next steps, watching for the frown or smile that would signal his direction.

  “What’s the sit-rep?” Ana snapped out the question before they even cleared the door of San Francisco General’s chapel. Inside were gathered ten men and women, six of them Dav’s team, four “interested observers” from two federal agencies.

  “Declan’s out of surgery. He’s hangin’ in. Damon and Thompson’re bandaged up, treated and released, but they’re both doped up pretty good. Queller and Georgiade are patched up, they’ll be here any minute.”

  “Good. What else?” Ana knew she’d cry for Declan before the day was over, but for now, she had to focus all her energy, all her attention, on getting Dav back. If they lost Dav—she couldn’t even think it. He was Gates’s friend, and he’d become hers as well. He’d earned not only her respect, but her loyalty and affection as well.

  “No further sign of the small plane we tracked on radar crossing the border heading south,” one of the interested parties chimed in.

  “Thank you. Gates, you want to fill them in on the data you pulled up?”

  Gates began outlining the division in the Gianikopolis family ranks that had started in Dav’s childhood. “Right now, it’s the most plausible scenario. I’ve spoken with our contacts in Colombia. They are waiting for our contract employees, and eager to get started. They are disconcerted”—he made quotes marks in the air—“by Dav’s difficulties and will let me know as soon as possible if any informants or troops hear anything about a captive American being held anywhere. Same with—” Gates stopped short, then smiled at the Bureau and Agency suits. He amended whatever he’d been about to say, finishing simply with, “Several of our other colleagues around the world.”

  “We’ve always admired your resources,” one of the men said. “I’m Sewell, by the way.” The man half rose to shake Gates’s hand, did the same with Ana’s.

  The other strangers introduced themselves as well.

  “Bickman, FBI,” a tallish woman said.

  “Trout, Agency,” an equally tall, dark-skinned man said, nodding to Ana. “Worked with you in Barcelona.”

  “I remember,” she said. “Great to have you here.” Trout had a sharp mind and never said a word that wasn’t weighed and measured. If he spoke, you’d better listen.

  “Carlisle, Agency.” The last brusque introduction came from a gray-haired, round-faced man. His physiology looked jolly until you saw his eyes. Those eyes had seen too much, grieved too many. Ana repressed a grimace. That kind could be either an asset or a liability. They’d had too many ops go bad and tended to be negative. She and Gates couldn’t afford any negativity in searching for Dav.

  They’d have to see how it went with Carlisle.

  “Here’s what we know.” Gates picked things up as Ana sat back and watched the dynamics. Dav’s security team was feeling defeated, worried and anxious. Already laying blame on their own hearts and playing the “if only” game in their heads. They’d have to shake all of them out of that. The Feebs were alert, attentive. Sewell was taking notes. Trout looked half asleep, but Ana knew he was taking it all in, processing.

  A door opened behind them and as one, twelve people pivoted and nearly drew down on the baffled minister who walked in.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, wide-eyed and startled. “I...” He glanced at the door, at the altar beyond them. “I’m supposed to start service in forty-five minutes. Are you here for a loved one?”

  “Sorry to startle you, Reverend.” Gates was quick to soothe. “We’ll be out of your way in ten minutes if you’d indulge us.”

  “Certainly, certainly,” the man said, backing out the door, letting it fall closed. They heard his footsteps hurrying away.

  “Let’s wrap this up, then.” Gates strode back to his position facing the group, standing in the aisle, leaning on the side of a pew. “Sewell, if you and Bickman would coordinate with the locals, see what they’re getting from the dupes hired as distractions? Trout and Carlisle, if you could check in with your sources, anything you find would be helpful.”

  “Will do.” Sewell closed his notebook with a soft snap, tucked it away.

  Trout just gave a short nod, saying, “On it.”

  “Dav’s team—” Gates called their wandering attention to him. “This is not your fault. Stop second-guessing or going over it. Leave it. It’s done. Focus on what we can find out, where we go from here. It’s the only way to save him. Got me?”

  So he’d seen it too—the distraction, the self-blame.

  A ragged chorus of “Yes, boss,” and “Got it” answered him. It would be a while before they did get it, but they had permission—orders even, from someone they trusted—to let it go and focus on the now.

  “Ferguson, go check on Declan’s status. Meet us in the waiting room. Ana and I will stay here for a while. You and Callahan will take second watch at around”—he checked his watch—“eight o’clock. We’ve got permission to have someone here round the clock. We’ll set up turn and turn about, so Jenkins, find somebody and take the watch after Ferguson and Callahan. Now, let’s get out of here before they throw us out.”

  Volunteers for watches called out, and there was shuffling and general noise. Ana noted that Ferguson stopped long enough to genuflect and cross himself before leaving. Callahan and Jenkins, looking baffled, followed him out, headed for the cafeteria to eat before their watch.

  Within minutes the chapel was empty of all but Ana and Gates.

  “Gates,” she said, softly bringing his attention her way. “I need to hear you say it, say that you think we can find him. I know the stats, so do you. I’m not some mush-minded, puppy-eyed optimist, but I know I can go on, do this, and do it right, if I hear you say it.”

  “We can find him,” Gates said, taking her into his arms. “We will find him.”

  The door opened again and a San Francisco detective, his badge clipped to the pocket of his sport coat, looked in and spotted Gates and Ana. Kit Baxter didn’t smile, although he held out a hand to them both in turn, giving each of them a brisk, strong, professional grip.

  “Detective,” Ana said, shaking his hand. “I’d say ‘good to see you,’ but under the circumstances...”

  “Yeah. Sorry to hear about this,” Baxter said. He’d worked with them the previous year, so the detective knew them both well. “And sorry to add more bad news, but there’s been a murder at Carrie McCray’s gallery. A young woman.” He referred to his notes. “Inez Martin, a new
clerk.”

  “New?” Ana questioned sharply, flicking a glance at her husband. “How new?”

  “I never figured I’d feel cold in Mexico,” Dav murmured into the darkness. Night had fallen with tropical suddenness as they gathered up their meager food and finished sharing out the first canteen. Carrie had said nothing about his declaration. Not yet.

  “Do you think that’s where we are?”

  “Mexico or somewhere south of it, could be Guatemala or Belize, perhaps Honduras. Either way, never thought it would get cold.” He smiled at her. “Resorts don’t get cold, you know. Not on the gold coast.”

  “True. It’s always bikini weather there.” She looked around. “We’re underground, which drops the humidity and makes it feel colder,” she said. He must have looked quizzical because she laughed and said, “You store art in underground vaults sometimes, because it’s cooler and dryer, usually.”

  “Yes, I have heard that. I’m thinking we may be in the mountains too, which would be cooler. Remember when we were driving in the truck? It was always at an upward angle.”

  She gave an affirmative grunt. “Unfortunately, I remember.”

  They sat in silence, listening to the noises beyond their cage. Night-calling birds, the distant roar of some predator, were the music of the night.

  “Carrie, about what I said earlier, and what happened—” he began.

  “Dav, I think we need to—” she said at the same time.

  “Ladies first,” he offered, wondering what she was going to say, feeling his gut clench. It was annoying that being in this circumstance made him feel young and inadequate again.

  She moved, maybe nodded, but he couldn’t be sure in the dark. He heard her sigh. “It’s easier to talk about it when I can’t see you, and you can’t see me.”

  “Really? So, you don’t like seeing me blush?” he said, hoping to lighten her mood. She sounded so serious, so somber.

  When she didn’t laugh and didn’t speak, he reached out, found her hand. “Carrie, there is nothing you could say that would upset me or make me think less of you. Nothing.”

  “I didn’t cheat on Luke,” she whispered. “But I wanted to. When he cheated on me with what seemed like every intern, every female artist, I really wanted to. He would come home, give me a brotherly peck on the cheek and say good night. I could smell the sex on him, the other woman’s perfume. It was like he was coming home to his mother after a long night playing the prince.” Anger rushed out in waves he could almost feel. “I wanted to make him see me, flaunt a lover in his face as he so often did in mine. I kept thinking, what about me? Why not me?”

  Dav’s anger at Luke was a cold, powerful thing. He wanted to go back in time and kick the man’s ass for treating Carrie with so little regard. He was about to speak, but Carrie wasn’t done.

  Acceptance and a faint note of defeat flavored her tone as she said, “Then I realized he wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t impact him at all.” She paused for a long moment. “You have to care for someone, for them to hurt you, or hurt for you, and he just ... didn’t. Not enough, anyway.”

  “Ahh, my flame, I am so sorry that he hurt you,” Dav murmured, squeezing her hand, wanting more than anything to snatch her up, make her forget the terrible blows to her self-confidence.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. There was a long pause and Dav wondered if he should speak, fill the void with additional reassurance, but when she spoke again, he was glad he’d stayed silent. “I came to realize that he didn’t,” she said obliquely, pulling her hand free to gesture. He couldn’t see it, but he felt the air stir as she gestured.

  “That he didn’t—?” Dav asked when she was silent. He wasn’t following her thought.

  Her laugh was strained. “Hurt me,” she explained. “He didn’t actually hurt me, emotionally or physically. Not really.”

  “What do you mean?” His concern that she still carried a torch for Luke had bothered him. The man was long dead. However, if he was understanding these words, it was a triumph in some ways. He wouldn’t have to compete with a ghost.

  She sighed, a gusty, defeated sound in the velvet darkness. “I came to realize that it wasn’t him I cared about, that his infidelities weren’t what bothered me. His ignoring me was painful, but I came to realize, after he was gone, that it wasn’t him, personally, that I missed. It was having someone who was supposed to be there. If you have a husband, you’re supposed to have love, passion ... someone who asks about your day and cares about the answer.” She paused again. “And I didn’t have that. I was hurt and angry and flat-out pissed that he was there. He was my husband, but he wasn’t what I wanted or needed as a husband or a lover.” Another sigh, but lighter this time.

  “I also came to realize that if everything hadn’t happened with the fraud, I would have found my spine eventually. We would have divorced and probably remained business partners.”

  He considered that before he spoke, and was surprised to feel a huge surge of relief.

  “I remember meeting him for the first time,” Dav said, grudgingly admitting his reaction that day. “I didn’t like him. I seldom spoke to him, because I knew I wouldn’t be... nice. I wanted what he had,” he growled the last. She was right, the dark did allow you to say things you might not say otherwise.

  “In some ways I’m glad I didn’t know that,” she laughed softly. “When we met you, you were so self-assured, so confident. I remember thinking—” She hesitated, and Dav found her hand again, squeezed it in reassurance. “I thought, ‘There’s a man with confidence. That’s the kind of man who wouldn’t cheat,’” she declared. “That was just after I’d talked to a divorce lawyer. I was going to file for separation. My second appointment, had I kept it, was scheduled for two days after the authorities showed up at the gallery door.”

  Dav couldn’t believe it. His heart leaped up, knowing that she’d found him attractive, that she’d thought of him at all.

  What a woman he had found. The determination to get them out, somehow, someway, rose like magma within him.

  “Then everything fell apart.” He heard the tears in her voice. She sniffled a bit and he patted his pockets, found his handkerchief, and passed it to her. “Thanks.” She pulled her hand free again, and he heard the hiccup in her breathing. “That’s done, though. I’m done with that.”

  “You never really got to move on, did you?” Dav questioned, with the deepest sympathy. Now he understood her reluctance, her distance. As Gates had surmised, her sorrow had all been renewed, this last year. The worry, the betrayal had been unearthed, literally, to solve the dangerous attacks on Ana, Gates and his own estate. “It took you years to get out from under the suspicions, yes? You said so yourself, last year when it all came to a head.”

  “I can’t tell you how much it meant to me that you believed in me.” She found his hand again, squeezed his fingers, then brought them to her cheek. “You never wavered, did you?”

  “Never,” he said, because it was true. He couldn’t help it, he had to touch her, hold her and ease her sorrow. Using the anchor of the hand she held, he moved closer, found her face with his other hand. “Carrie, you’re like a dark flame to me, with your beautiful black hair, your sapphire eyes and your brilliant mind and wit. I carry a picture of you in my head.” He caressed her cheek, felt the dampness of a tear, but didn’t let that deter him. “I measure other women against you and they always come up lacking.” He admitted it without thought, without worry about how she could use his admission, or the repercussions if she did.

  “Dav,” she breathed his name in surprise. He laughed, a bit ruefully, knowing how much power he willingly put in her hands.

  “Yes, my flame? Was there something you wanted?” He found her mouth with his, murmuring the words as he brushed kisses over her lips. He wanted her to respond to him freely, come to him again, so he kept it light, teasing. “There is little enough I have to provide at the moment, but what I have is yours.”

  Triumph flooded thr
ough him as she rose to meet him, on her knees, bringing them together in a rush of heat. Her mouth was hot on his; her hands raced over the silk of his shirt. As they had before, they came together with the fierceness of a summer storm, all crash and fire.

  Within seconds he had her shirt off, and she his. Her hands were like erotic butterflies, flitting over his skin, leaving a raging need for more in their wake. He wanted to devour her, take her in enormous, greedy bites.

  Her clothes fell away under his onslaught, as did his. He didn’t know how she’d undone his belt, freed him, but when she grasped him as she had earlier, he growled her name and dragged her closer.

  “Come here, come closer,” he demanded, his hands lifting her into his body, wanting to meld them together.

  “Let me—” She wriggled free for a moment, and the cool air swept between them. He reached for her just as she moved into him again. She was naked, her slim body open to him in every way. His triumph nearly undid him. Breathing heavily, he reminded himself to slow down, not to frighten her.

  “Carrie, I’m rushing you, I’m—”

  “Shut up, Dav, and kiss me again.” It was her turn to demand, to devour. She pushed at him, and he followed her direction, lying back on the coat and letting her pull his trousers free. Then she was back, sliding up his body, her smooth skin a delicious tease, a tantalizing note in the resounding symphony of need.

  When she moved up, then down over him, his body quivered, rising, pushing, needing her, needing completion.

  “Shhhh,” she soothed, leaning down to kiss him as she rocked over him, sliding the softness of her breasts and hair over him, but not yet taking him inside. Her kisses were hot, the movement of her body, her breasts along his chest, was agonizingly slow, drawing out the pleasure as she arched away, then brought them together in a long, brilliant sweep along the length of him, legs, hips, belly, chest.

  Madness hazed his mind. She was torturing him with her glory, she was...