Deadly Little Lies

by Jeanne Adams

  “Stop him,” the older man said quietly, his words barely discernable over the curses as Dav stumbled forward, bent on destruction.

  Hands immediately jerked him to a stop, pinioning his arms and banding around his chest. The agony of his ribs and back were a dash of sanity in his madness, stopping his headlong sprint for his brother.

  The older man clucked with disapproval. “Now, now, is that any way to greet your long-lost brother, eh? No love for the risen dead, the prodigal son?” He tut-tutted again. “And such language. Why would you greet him with these hateful epithets?” The faint disapproving smile dropped away, replaced by cold indifference. “If you cannot be civil, be silent,” he ordered coldly. To the men holding Dav, he said, “Put him there, in that chair. Tie him well. The woman too.”

  They were both bundled into their chairs and bound, arms to sides, then arms to chairs. Dav’s only consolation was that Niko was also bound.

  This then, was the real threat, this man. He stared at him, searching his mind for any shred of recognition, any glimpse of who he was or why he was doing this.

  While something about him was familiar, he couldn’t place him.

  Carrie had no such problem. “Mr. Kerriat, why are you doing this? What have we ever done to you? You’re my client, you know me. Why would you hurt Dav, or me?”

  The older man smiled and it was a bitter, knowing smile. “Yes, yes. Your gallery was quite the pivot point in my plans over the years, my dear. You see, I saw young Dav here, mooning after you, years ago. I was already cultivating my long-term strategy, considering how to hurt him before I eliminated him. Then you got in trouble.” He frowned. “I had thought you useless to achieving my ends.”

  “Why?” Dav could not fathom this. “What have I done that you should want my death?”

  “Ah, that is the question, isn’t it?” the man drawled, uncorking a bottle of red wine that sat on a nearby table and pouring himself a glass. He swirled it, sniffed, and drank with a deep appreciation before answering.

  “There are so many reasons,” he allowed with a teasing smile.

  “Sir?” one of the men from the road came in, interrupting.

  Anger crawled over their captor’s features before he schooled them. “What?” He lashed the man with the word.

  The man winced but continued. “We have more company. Two SUVs. It seems to be his security team.” The man pointed Dav’s way and despite the fact that these newcomers, too, were under the gun, Dav felt hope lift his heart. Gates. Could it be Gates?

  “Bring them in. I might as well deal with them all at once.”

  Within minutes there was the sound of additional vehicles and their captor smiled as he sipped his wine, at ease in the hard wooden chair he’d chosen.

  Slamming doors and the thud of feet heralded company. The door opened and Gates, Ana, and five of their team were prodded in at gunpoint.

  “Hello, Gates,” Dav said, almost merrily, knowing he sounded like an idiot. He couldn’t help himself.

  “Hey, Dav. I thought you were going to let Ana and me check out this part of the world for you, before you bought up the whole thing.”

  “You know I am frequently hasty.” A patent falsehood, but it made a good comeback. Dav smiled, pleased at the thought. “I’m a bit feverish, so please forgive my ... repartee.”

  “It’s just good to hear your voice,” Ana added.

  “Be quiet, all of you,” the older man ordered, evidently tired of the banter.

  “Hello, Mr. Gianikopolis,” Gates drawled, turning to the older man. “Dav, meet your uncle. I don’t know what name he goes by now, but his birth certificate says his name is Miklos Gianikopolis. He’s your father’s bastard brother.”

  Dav stared, astounded. Now that he knew, he could see why the man seemed familiar. There was the same tilt to the head, the same arrogant set to the shoulders. A similar look in the dark eyes.

  It all made a sick kind of sense now. His father’s pitting of him against Niko.

  “He fought you for the family business and you lost,” Dav guessed.

  The man spun his way, menace in every feature. “I did not lose. I won, but our father still chose him.”

  “Just as my father initially chose Niko,” Dav said, nodding. For the first time, Niko spoke.

  “What are you talking about? What are you saying?”

  “You had won, Niko, until you got Theresa pregnant and her family had to be bought off. Father didn’t want any more bastards mucking up the works, no matter what he told you.” Dav said the words mockingly, knowing they would twist in his brother’s gut. A little payback for all Niko had done.

  Niko struggled to rise up, to come after Dav, since the old man was long dead and beyond his reach.

  The older man sighed and turned to him. “This is why you fail, Niko,” he said with false sorrow. Stepping closer, he slapped Niko hard enough to whip his head back. “Hasty action leads to mistakes.” Slap. “Stupid folly, misplaced trust.” Slap, slap, slap. “Foolish risks.” With a last vicious slap the old man stepped back, shaking his hand. The anger cleared from his face like a storm cloud flying across the sky. “Nothing that leads to success in the end,” he said sententiously. He tsked once more, and shot Niko, point-blank, in the head.

  Everything stopped, every breath, every movement—even sound.

  They all watched in horror as Niko slumped forward, dead in an instant as the bullet pierced his brain.

  “He was so tiresome toward the end,” the older man said, conversationally. “I had hoped he would shape up to be my heir. I even eliminated his previous connections to bind him more closely to me, but”—sadness now colored his tone—“alas, it was not to be. He got too wary, too concerned for his own safety. It really was too bad.”

  He patted Niko’s bowed head with a look of distant affection, or as one might pat a dead dog one would miss somewhat.

  “Now, who is it that managed to kill my assassins? Niko here told me that my second set of watchdogs, who were supposed to kill you”—now he walked around behind Dav, leaning down to hiss the words in his ear—“the very ones who killed Niko’s team so efficiently, were also taken down.”

  There was a moment of silence; then he shouted. “Who was it! Tell me!”

  There was total silence for a moment, and then Holden spoke. “I did, sir. I was the first-in scout,” he said. “When I saw they were going to fire down into the, uh, the holding pen, I took action.”

  Aghast, Dav looked at Gates and saw that Holden was lying. No one else might know, but Gates’s eyes were furious. He, Dav and Ana knew that Dav’s newfound uncle might treat Holden to the same fate as Niko.

  The man stood up smoothly, with just a brief cuff to the back of Dav’s head. Turning, he eyed Holden with interest.

  “Good shot, I hear,” the man complimented, setting down his weapon to pick up his wine.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Another interruption from outside had him snarling again. “What?”

  The armed man blanched, but his voice was steady as he said, “We’ve turned back a motorist, but we shouldn’t stay more than another hour, sir. Also, there’s been some disturbance up the hill. I’ve dispatched men to check it out.”

  “Yes, yes, don’t bother me with these details.” He glared at the man. “And I will be finished when I am finished.”

  As closely as he was watching Gates, Dav could tell there was something either amiss with this new information, or unexpected. The barest quirk of the lips, the narrowing of his eyes gave him away. Hyperaware of everything, Dav knew he would pay for the stress on his body. Regardless, he forced himself to think.

  Gates was straining against the need to look at Ana. Deliberately not looking. Interesting. He knew it meant something but even with adrenaline-sharpened senses, he couldn’t make his brain con out what that elusive meaning might be.

  The thought of life and hope flitted into his mind again, as another wave of heat flowed over him, diverting
what focus he’d achieved. Sweat broke out on his neck and shoulders, burning its way down his back once again. He lost all notion of what Gates or Carrie or anyone was doing, for a moment.

  “So, Davros.” The now-hated voice filled his ears, closer. He opened his eyes, wondering when he’d closed them. He was losing time to the fever now, which was dangerous.

  “Yes, Uncle,” he accorded the old man the title, in Greek. “You said something?”

  “Did you ever suspect? Ever know that I was there?”

  Dav shook his head, probably not the wisest move as his senses whirled. “No. I never knew.”

  It seemed to be the right thing to say, because the man nodded and turned back to his wine.

  “Just as well. If you had no idea, then you left no evidence linking me to anything. What about you, Mr. and Mrs. Bromley. Whom have you told about me? Eh?”

  Gates smiled. “No one. Who would we tell? We’ve been following the trail to Dav.”

  “Ah, yes, the trail to Davros,” he repeated agreeably. “You should not have been able to find him.” The man smiled and cocked his head to one side, as if he were just giving them a gentle reprimand before letting them off for good behavior.

  “It is too bad. You are better than I thought, but that means you will have to die too. Such a waste. Especially you, Mrs. Bromley. Before I kill you, let me say bravissimo on your brilliant handiwork last year. Very keen intelligence work.” He sighed. “Although I suppose I have you to thank for this debacle.” He waved his hand at Dav’s team, lined up with their hands linked on top of their heads, a gunman behind them to keep it that way. “Your ability to find information is legendary.”

  Dav saw the twitch in Ana’s shoulders. There it was again. Through sheer force of will, Ana had managed not to look at Gates. There was a smile in her voice as she answered. “Thank you, but I can’t take all the credit. There are just so many wonderful databases, you know.”

  The man nodded. “Quite true. So. We must move on,” he said with a determined note entering his voice as he poured himself some more wine, and picked up his weapon.

  “Ms. McCray, your grandfather still has influence on the Ways and Means Committee in Congress. I would be willing to let you go, if you will assist me in persuading your grandfather to make some recommendations.”

  “Do it, Carrie,” Dav hissed, praying that she would, praying she would survive.

  “I don’t think so,” she answered, firmly, with conviction.

  Then Dav heard the old man’s chuckle. It even sounded like his father.

  How strange he thought as he fought off yet another wave of sick heat and cold.

  “What is it you want?” Dav croaked, thinking he could buy the man off. Probably not, given all that his uncle had done to bring them to this point, but worth a try. “If it is money,” he began, but the man cut him off.

  “Oh no, young Davros. It has nothing to do with money. I have plenty of that. It seems—” He used the gun to lift Dav’s chin, force him to meet the hard, cold and bitter old gaze. “That our family has a knack for making money. And a lot of it. Who do you think financed the interesting operation that brought you here, eh? Niko?” He spat the name with disgust. “I don’t think so. My brother, curse his name, was right about one thing. Niko was definitely the weaker son, unworthy to inherit.”

  There was a sound outside and the man looked up, annoyed, but left the gun under Dav’s chin. Oddly, the cool barrel felt good on his hot face. If he was going to die, at least the gun was cool.

  The bleak thought snapped him back to reality for a moment. He didn’t want to die. Not now. Not with Carrie unrescued, unsafe.

  “You.” The barrel lifted away, to gesture at one of the armed men. “Todd, go see what that’s about.”

  “Yessir.”

  Another of their guards left. Dav flicked the barest glance at Gates. His friend was frowning and resolutely not looking at any of his team. Dav managed to count them.

  Not enough. As his gaze passed over Callahan, he smiled at the fiery woman. She looked mutinous, but was holding steady. He recognized the others as well, but couldn’t find all their names in his bleary brain. He managed to catch each of their gazes, however, give them a tiny nod and a smile.

  They were there for him. How sad. And how strong.

  There was another sound outside, but they heard someone call out, “All clear.”

  “About time,” Dav’s uncle declared, twitching the barrel of the gun back under Dav’s chin so that his head bobbed a bit with the forceful shift. “Now, to business, young Davros.”

  His open hand cracked forcefully into Dav’s cheek, rocking his head to the side and wrenching his neck. A fresh wave of sweat, pain and nausea exploded within him as every nerve registered the pain and echoed it in a thousand sensory shouts.

  “Ms. McCray.” He distantly heard the hated voice addressing Carrie. He had to concentrate. He had to save Carrie. He loved Carrie, and that was very important for some reason. More important than anything. “I’m sorry, but you are being very uncooperative. It is a shame to kill you, but I’m afraid I must.” He turned the gun her way and Dav, as blackness threatened to overwhelm him, rose up, chair and all, to thrust his shoulder under the man’s gun arm.

  The room exploded in gunfire. Bodies spun and fell, and for Dav, everything blurred but the need to get between Carrie and the man with the gun.

  Dav landed heavily on his uncle, but that wasn’t enough to stop the spry, older man, who shifted under him, taking aim at Carrie once more.

  When he fired, however, his howl of frustration blended with Dav’s scream of denial.

  “Nooooo!”

  “Oheeeee!”

  The Greek and the English slurred together, as Dav wrenched the arm of the chair out of its mooring, using the freed arm, with its wooden attachment, like a club.

  Grappling with him, the other man took hold of his bandaged hand and squeezed with wrenching force.

  Agony blinded Dav, and he retched in instinctive reaction. But he could not let Carrie die.

  Would.

  Not.

  Hardly cognizant of his actions, he braced his legs, kicking upward as his uncle brought the gun to bear again. The shot went wide and hit one of the old man’s henchmen square in the chest. The look of surprise on the other man’s face was the last thing Dav saw before the fearsome darkness swallowed him up.

  Chapter 21

  “What the hell?”

  Dav heard the voices swimming in his mind, but couldn’t identify them as he faltered in and out of consiousness. That had been Gates. What was Gates doing here?

  “McGuire?” Now Ana. Was she here too? Where were they?

  “Cover those two.”

  He didn’t know that voice, he decided as he sagged into the arms of sleep again.

  There was rustling and chaos in his mind even as he sank deeper into his agonized stupor, but he was jerked back to the moment when someone cut his bonds.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhh,” he moaned, struggling to hold onto consciousness he’d so forcefully regained. Urgency filled him with sudden fear.

  He had to know. Had to. “Carrie? Carrie?”

  “Hang on, Dav. We’re checking her.”

  Who was checking her? Where was she? He couldn’t clear the blurriness from his vision. He heard the sounds, but they made no sense. He tried to move, felt something within him tear anew, and pain engulfed him from head to toe like a blaze of fire.

  His last thought was of Carrie.

  “We have to get him out of here. He needs a hospital, now.”

  “I’ll handle this fuckup here. I can wait for the cavalry as well as anyone,” McGuire grunted.

  “Hurry,” Ana urged.

  The team improvised gurneys, and lifted the unconscious Carrie and the equally unconscious Dav into them for the short journey to the back of the waiting SUVs. Thank God they were now on smooth road.

  “How’d you find us?” she asked McGuire as the injured p
air were loaded up.

  “Shot Hines, back up a ways,” he said casually, waving off in the distance. “Ran into this fella who said he knew where you were.” McGuire paused long enough to turn and spit a stream of tobacco juice from the chaw in his cheek. Ana tried not to wince. “Wasn’t sure it was legit, but I checked it out and saw your mark.” He nodded at Ana.

  “You left a mark?” Gates said as he lifted the end of their makeshift stretcher, settling it gently into the cargo area, where the seats had been flipped down. Gear and blankets were packed around their patients for stability.

  “Habit,” Ana managed, trying not to think about the damage to both Carrie and Dav.

  “So, I ran into this guy again up here, before I got to this locale,” McGuire drawled. “And he said you were in fat trouble. Since we both had our sniper gear”—he lifted the sleek, scoped weapon off his hip in salute to the unknown assistant—“we figured we’d help out.”

  Ana gave McGuire a look. His khaki shorts and Hawaiian print shirt weren’t exactly unobtrusive. “He took point,” McGuire said innocently, defending his see-it-a-mile-away attire.

  “Ready, boss,” Holden said, jumping into the driver’s seat.

  Ana hugged McGuire. “The cavalry’s already on its way, but we’ll give them the exact coordinates.”

  “Young Franklin and I can handle it,” he said cheerily. “You get going.”

  She could see him waving in the side-view mirror as they pulled out, for all the world like a happy grandparent seeing “those kids” off on their way home.

  “He’s a piece of work,” Gates muttered, bracing himself against the sway and speed of the SUV as he started cataloging the injuries to his friend, and to Carrie.

  “The best.”

  He grinned, but it quickly faded as they looked back. They’d brought emergency medical supplies, of course, and Holden had hooked both Carrie and Dav up to IV fluids, but said he didn’t dare do anything else without knowing the extent of their injuries.

  “We’re going to have to risk a local hospital.”