Convenient Lies

by Robin Patchen

  He turned and smiled. “You’re up.”

  “His fever is back. You don’t have to babysit me. We can manage.”

  “I’m not going to leave you here unprotected.”

  She was too groggy to argue.

  He stared at her. “Johnny’s sick. You can’t leave now. You know that, right?”

  She nodded, and tears stung her eyes. She was still so tired, she couldn’t think straight.

  “Sit. I’ll get his medicine.”

  She studied the space. More log walls all around. Hardwood floors stretched across the living room and into the small kitchen, which was separated by an island covered with black granite countertops. A round table and four chairs were nestled in the alcove at the back of the cabin in front of the bay window, which looked out over the lake.

  Rae turned back to the living room. She’d expected rustic couches, maybe plaid. She walked to the back of one and touched it. Butter-colored microfiber so soft and squishy, Rae wondered if it might swallow her whole. A coffee table that looked like the cross-section of a huge tree sat in front of the larger sofa. The gray stone fireplace stretched to the ceiling. Its hearth had a stack of firewood on one side, fireplace tools on the other. Above the simple wood mantle hung a giant flatscreen TV.

  “It’s... Wow.”

  “Not what you expected?”

  She hadn’t realized how close Brady was until she heard his voice in her ear. She turned to find him right behind her.

  “When I think cabin, I think rustic.” Rae turned back to the big room. “This is anything but.”

  “Sam doesn’t do rustic.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Please sit.”

  She chose the sofa that faced the bay windows. It was as soft as she’d expected. Brady sat beside her and gave Johnny his medicine. The baby wailed.

  “A bottle, I think.” She started to stand.

  “I’ll get it.” Brady was halfway to the kitchen before Rae could react. She rocked the baby and listened to the sounds of Brady preparing the formula just beyond the kitchen island. Through the bay window, trees swayed in the soft breeze, water lapped against the dock that stretched into the lake. Johnny whimpered but seemed too tired to do much more. Rae was thankful for that.

  If only she could stay here forever. It wasn’t home—nothing would ever feel like home as Gram’s house had—but this was a close second. And she felt safe here.

  But that was a lie.

  It was only a matter of time before Julien found Nate, and Nate knew where she was from. Julien would come to Nutfield, and when he did, he’d find her.

  Brady sat on the sofa and handed her the bottle.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  She coaxed the baby’s mouth open. Finally, Johnny settled in with his formula. “How can I look for the gold if I’m stuck here?”

  “Sam and I are working on that.”

  “No. You two need to stay as far from me as possible. I don’t want Julien coming after you.”

  “Nate won’t tell him anything. You’re safe here.”

  “Julien won’t play nice.”

  Brady slid his arm around her shoulder, and she fell into him and fought a fresh round of tears. What if Brady hadn’t come over yesterday when she’d talked to Nate? She’d have left, and then when Johnny had gotten sick, where would she have been? In some lousy cash-only rat-infested dump, too scared to visit a hospital. What if Johnny had stopped breathing? A sob bubbled up at the thought. What if...?

  Brady tightened his hold. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t. She couldn’t do this alone. She needed Gram. She needed Brady. Johnny needed someone in his life besides Rae. She didn’t know what she was doing. She’d disappeared once, but that had been easy. It had just been her. Circumstances had worked in her favor. Meeting Rachel Adams had felt like a gift from God. And back then, if she’d been found out, she only risked media exposure. Not death. Not the loss of her child.

  Brady caressed her shoulder and whispered, “Shh.”

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her sweatshirt. Johnny paused his eating to look at her. “It’s okay,” she told him. “You’re safe here.”

  He stared another minute, then returned to his bottle, his tiny red lips puckering with each sip.

  “Tell me about Julien,” Brady said. “Why do you say he won’t play nice?”

  Rae sat up and took a deep breath. “There was this guy who works for him, Hector del Bosque. He’s dangerous.”

  “How so?”

  She thought back to the first time she’d seen Hector. He’d been reading a newspaper at an adjacent table at the cafe the day she met Julien. She’d had no idea the man was with Julien until Julien snapped his fingers. “Hector.”

  The man stood beside them an instant later, as if he’d been listening to their conversation all along. And he must have been, because how else would he have heard Julien’s quiet summons?

  “Please have all the information you have on the Spaniard sent to Miss Adams right away,” Julien said.

  Hector had rattled off something in Spanish, and Julien had tsk-tsked. “English in front of the lady, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” And then Hector had held her gaze. It had taken all her self-control not to lean away.

  Hector was always there, doing Julien’s bidding. When she’d told Julien he gave her the creeps, he’d laughed. “As well he should, ma cherie. Hector is not somebody you want to cross.”

  When Rae had discovered Julien’s illegal business, Hector’s presence in their lives made more sense. Julien was the brains. Hector was the brawn.

  Brady nudged her with his elbow. “You still with me?”

  She scooted away and lifted her knee to the couch so she could face him. She had to deal with this, and she’d have to figure out how to do it alone. Leaning on Brady, physically or metaphorically, wasn’t going to help. “Hector is dangerous. Like I told you, Julien always had people at the house. I’d come home from working on a story and there’d be ten, fifteen people sitting around the pool or sipping wine on the back deck or eating in the dining room. Half the time, Julien wasn’t even home. The housekeeper knew who was allowed in and who wasn’t, and Julien liked the open door. The people were mostly European. He was buddies with some Americans from the embassy. A few locals were welcome, but even they almost all wore western clothes and spoke English.”

  “Okay.”

  “Once last winter, a man came to the house. Looked like all the other visitors. Older guy, gray hair, wearing khakis and an orange golf shirt. He had a white cardigan slung over his shoulders. The kind of guy you could picture with a martini in one hand, a putter in the other. Know what I mean?”

  Brady shrugged.

  “An older woman, a regular, brought him. Apparently the man wasn’t welcome. Julien nodded to Hector, and then Hector...” She shuddered as the scene filled her mind’s eye. There’d been ten or twelve guests on the deck. Glasses shimmering with French wine, trays of cheese and caviar and crackers and seafood. Typical Tuesday appetizers. Someone had just told a joke, and the laughter still hung in the air when Hector grabbed the man from behind. Then gasps, the crash of a wine glass on the deck, the sound of designer heels tapping on wood, then clicking across the marble floor as people scurried to get away. Shocked expressions, the debris of a party gone horribly awry. Rae’d stood frozen. She hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away.

  Julien had watched the scene with a terrifying insouciance.

  Brady listened patiently as she shared the story.

  “The guy’d brought a gun. He’d hidden it in the waistline of his pants, against the small of his back. Hector spotted it. He dragged the man down the patio steps where the guests couldn’t see what was happening, and then beat him with the gun. I didn’t appreciate the guy bringing a weapon into my home, but still... I wanted to call the police, but Julien wouldn’t let me. When the guy was unconscious, Hector tossed him
over his shoulder and carried him around the house. The guests never knew what happened. I never saw that guy again.” Rae ran her fingers through her hair, shocked to find them trembling at the memory. “I can still see the look on Hector’s face when he was hitting that guy. It was the first time I’d ever seen him smile.”

  Brady nodded once. He looked away for a moment before he looked back with narrowed eyes. “So Julien employs psychopaths.”

  She shrugged. “Just the one, as far as I know. He said he needed to make sure we were safe, that our home was safe. Before I knew the truth about Julien, I appreciated the guards he always had around.”

  “But Hector is more than just a guard.”

  “I’d been suspicious before, but when I found Julien’s files, I saw references to problems he’d had eliminated. The problems were people’s names. Most of the names, I didn’t recognize, but one stood out. He’d been a business associate of Julien’s, and the story was that he killed himself. But now I know that Julien...” The tears filled her eyes again. “The man I’d vowed to share my life with—he ordered people killed, and I’m pretty sure Hector did it.”

  “And if Julien asked him to, you think Hector is capable of hurting you?”

  She uttered a dark chuckle. “Capable? The guy hates me. He’d love it.”

  Forty-One

  Walter Boyle refused to talk, and Julien wasn’t surprised. Rae garnered that kind of loyalty in people. Fierce. Dependable. In Walter’s case, suicidal.

  Maybe in Julien’s case too.

  No. Julien wouldn’t be brought down by a woman. Not even his wife.

  Farah had located a dingy motel right off the highway. This was Julien’s first visit to a by-the-hour hotel. It stank of stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. Julien didn’t want to think about all that had transpired in the bed he was lounging on. Not that he’d pull back this terrible multi-colored, polyester bedspread and touch the sheets. The very thought made him shudder.

  His legs were crossed at the ankles, his head was leaning against his crossed arms, propped on the lumpy pillows, as though he witnessed torture every day. He could tell by the way Hector kept glancing at him and smiling that none of Julien’s horror was showing on his face.

  Hector derived far too much pleasure from hurting people. Still, after all of Hector’s blows, Walter Boyle insisted he had no idea where Rachel was.

  Obviously, he was lying. Even Julien could tell that.

  The reporter’s phone had rung and beeped all day. Most of the calls came from the same person. Finally after an Internet search, Farah discovered the caller was another reporter at the Times. She’d texted the woman from Boyle’s phone that something had come up, and he’d call later.

  They read texts and listened to the phone messages, just in case they should get lucky and hear from Rachel. One text came from someone named Finn, and after a little persuading, the reporter admitted it was his little brother. They allowed Walter to answer those, general texts Julien approved before the man hit send.

  No reason to alert anybody that Walter was missing.

  Most of the time, Farah stayed in the car, and Julien was glad for that one small mercy. He might not love the woman, but he would never subject her to such terrible violence. She was an efficient assistant, but she was also a woman, and by the look on her face when she saw Boyle’s injuries, she was squeamish. Julien knew how she felt. If he thought he could do so and still save face, he’d be in the car too.

  He was surprised when Hector stood and wiped his bloody hands on his jeans.

  “I have another plan. It will make him talk.”

  “What is it?”

  Hector looked at Boyle with an ugly sneer, then back at Julien. “You don’t want to know.”

  Julien swung his legs to the floor. “What are you going to do?”

  “You won’t approve, mon amis. But it needs to be done.”

  Julien looked at Rae’s friend’s bruised face. One eye was nearly swollen shut. His lip was thick, and blood dripped from both nostrils. When Boyle noticed Julien watching him, he returned the stare. Fearless or stupid, Julien wasn’t sure.

  He turned to Hector. Julien had known about Hector’s evil streak since grammar school. He could still remember the older boys who’d taunted Hector, who was just seven years old, for being the scholarship kid. A school full of rich kids and the little orphan, Hector. They’d hurled insults, and Hector’d taken it silently. Waited until the boys moved on. Then tackled the ringleader from behind. He’d landed on top of him, straddled his back, and crushed the boy’s face against the concrete sidewalk while other boys stood in a circle and watched. Hector had grabbed the boy by his hair, lifted his head, and smashed it down again. And again. By the time the teachers pulled him away, the bully’s face was bloodied, the bully unconscious. The kid had needed plastic surgery to repair the damage.

  Hector had been suspended for a week.

  He’d never been bullied again.

  Julien should insist that Hector tell him his plan, but he probably wouldn’t approve. He turned to Walter again, studied the swollen lip and bloody eye. Julien didn’t think he could watch any more, and out of the one eye the man could still open, Boyle seemed to be pleading for a reprieve.

  This wasn’t Julien. Kidnapping, torture, murder. This was the sort of thing his brother did. Taking out enemies was one thing, but this man wasn’t an enemy, just guilty of knowing Rachel.

  She was so close. He had to get to her, to get her back to Tunis. To keep her. To break her.

  Julien forced his gaze back to Hector. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Couple hours.”

  “And then?”

  Hector’s rare smile widened. “And then he will tell us everything.”

  Julien glanced at the reporter as the man dropped his head to his chest.

  “Tie him to the bed so he can get some rest while you’re gone.”

  Hector’s smile vanished. “Why bother? The chair is—”

  “Because I said.”

  Hector stared at him a moment before nodding once. “Oui.”

  Forty-Two

  Brady had slept a couple of hours when he woke on the sofa that afternoon.

  Rae and the baby were still resting in the other room, so it seemed a good time to call Samantha. Rae wouldn’t like it, but he needed more information, and since he was without his computer, Samantha was his best bet. He filled her in on what he knew and asked her to do a little more digging about Julien Moreau’s business, his father’s illegal activities, and Hector del Bosque.

  “Are you looking for anything specific?” Samantha asked.

  “We need to figure out a way to defeat this guy. Rae thinks she has to run, but maybe we can come up with something to fight him with.”

  When Samantha responded, her voice was soft. “Maybe Rae should run.”

  He started to argue, then stopped. Samantha’s honesty was refreshing, if frustrating.

  Fine. If Rae had to hide from Julien, Brady would hide with her. Whatever it took to keep her and Johnny safe. “We can’t run forever.”

  “We?”

  He exhaled a long breath. “I can’t lose her again.”

  A pause, then, “Brady?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know this doesn’t mean much to you, but I’m praying. God can make a way for you to be together and safe.”

  Together and safe. Would that ever be possible?

  He slid his phone into his pocket and paced. There had to be a way for Rae to defeat this guy. Running was too dangerous. Moreau would eventually catch them. Would he kill him and Rae, or would he simply kill Brady and reclaim Rae and the baby? Did Moreau marry her for love, or was there another reason, a more sinister reason?

  And how could Brady protect her if he didn’t understand the threat?

  He’d been covering the same ground both in his mind and across the carpet for an hour when he heard the baby cry. He tiptoed into the bedroom and lifted Johnny from
his nest beside Rae. As soon as Brady held him, the baby settled into a low whimper.

  On his way out of the bedroom, Brady paused to look at Rae, snuggled beneath the blankets, one strand of hair falling across her cheek. He resisted the urge to brush it back. She hadn’t stirred at Johnny’s cry. She had to be exhausted after the events of the previous two nights. First the prowlers, then the sick baby. Not to mention the fear she’d lived with for months after discovering Moreau’s secret.

  Brady crept out of the room and set Johnny in his bouncy seat on the island in the kitchen. He took the baby’s temperature. Slightly high, but not alarmingly so.

  “Hungry, little man?”

  Johnny watched him, expressionless, while Brady fixed Johnny’s bottle and lifted him again. “Let’s see if I can do this as well as Mommy.” He carried the baby into the living room, sank on the couch, and fed him.

  The memories came flooding back. He might not have loved his ex-wife the way he should have, but Charlie? Brady’d fallen head-over-heels with his son the instant he’d laid eyes on him. He’d have stayed with Ashley forever just to make a home for his child. And though Johnny looked nothing like Charlie, Brady had already fallen in love all over again.

  The last time, he’d lost the baby and the girl. He couldn’t imagine losing either one this time. He wouldn’t lose them.

  A couple hours later, Rae stumbled out of the bedroom, eyes wide and frantic, and burst into tears when she saw her son sleeping soundly in the bouncy seat.

  “When I woke up and he wasn’t there, I thought...” She turned to Brady, sitting on the sofa.

  “You were so tired, Rae. I fed him and changed him.”

  She wiped her tears. “You took care of him?”

  He nodded, studied that perplexed expression. “It wasn’t so long ago I had my own son.”

  “I know. I just... Julien never did that. Johnny’s not even yours.”

  He shrugged. “Julien is an idiot.”

  She nodded. “Obviously.” She felt the baby’s forehead. “He seems better.”

  “I took his temperature. Fever’s gone right now. It’ll probably come back later, but it’s a good start.”