And Brady—well, Rae probably had seemed insane to him. He’d been an eighteen-year-old kid. He’d had no idea how to fix it—and Brady had always been a fixer.
And maybe, for a moment, Rae had been as crazy as Mom.
Rae looked down at little Johnny. No, she was sane. She’d talked to a psychiatrist about her fears once, and after explaining the life she’d had, the trials she’d gone through, the shrink had patted her arm reassuringly. “If you were prone to the disease, I believe it would have shown itself by now. All that stress…”
Little Johnny was just two generations removed from Rae’s mother’s illness, but Rae refused to worry about it. He would be sane and healthy. She had to believe that.
Whatever Brady’s mother’s fears had been, they didn’t matter. One more safe place had been ripped from Rae’s life. As she walked back through her childhood, she asked herself—had she ever felt secure? Even before she’d reported her mother for kidnapping, the kids and teachers had always known Rae’s secrets. The town itself was no better. She’d felt their stares, their hate. Maybe that’s why she’d always been so bent on exposing everyone else’s secrets. To level the playing field.
Rae rocked Johnny and considered that. Had it been hate in the eyes she’d seen back then? Had she been wrong? She’d always felt they blamed her for the town’s notoriety. Reporters filling the few restaurants, their news vans lined along the once-quiet streets. In retrospect, that didn’t really make sense. She’d been put in a position no eleven-year-old should find herself. Had Rae read into the townspeople’s looks something that wasn’t there? Had that condemnation simply been her own guilt mirrored back to her?
Was it possible those looks had been filled with compassion?
Rae shook her head and paced again. What did it matter now?
New York City had been the perfect hiding place, Columbia instead of Cornell. Meeting Rachel Adams had seemed a gift from heaven. A girl her age, also about to begin at Columbia but who instead wanted to disappear. Rachel had been a drug addict, and from what Rae could determine, she’d been abused by her stepfather for years. The girl just wanted to get away, to hide where he could never find her. Rae was more than happy to give her money in exchange for her identity. With Dad’s life insurance policy, she’d had plenty of cash.
When the real Rachel Adams’s folks had shown up searching for her, Reagan had been summoned to the bursar’s office. She’d met them, acted like their identical names had been an odd coincidence, and told them she had no idea where their daughter was. A clerical snafu, the woman in the office said.
And just like that, Rae was a new person. Nobody recognized her from those old news reports. And Brady and Samantha had never found her.
The light from the TV flickered. What was the point of this bombing? If the first had been designed to smoke her out, to get her to call Nate, then it had worked. If it had been a warning, was this another one? Was Julien trying to scare her? To get her to surrender? To show her what he was capable of?
And was it even Julien? She couldn’t imagine the man she’d loved would be capable of such a thing, but how well did she know him?
A car drove by on the gravelly street. She lifted one of the slats on the wood blinds and peered into the dark night. Headlights headed toward the main road reflected off something shiny. Tall and shiny.
Brady’s truck.
She laid Johnny on his blanket, grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter, and returned to the window. Definitely Brady out there. Brady thought he could take on Julien, and maybe he could. But Hector too? She wasn’t willing to take that chance.
The 9-1-1 operator answered right away.
“I need to report a suspicious vehicle.”
After she gave the dispatcher her name and the address of the cabin, she leaned against the window.
All her ruminating about that bombing wasn’t going to make a bit of difference. Fact was, she couldn’t let people die in order to save herself. Not even to save her son.
But she couldn’t sacrifice Johnny. Julien wouldn’t hurt his child, not physically. But he would raise him to take over the family business. Hadn’t he been thrilled Johnny was a boy so he could do just that? “An heir to inherit all I’ve built.”
Julien would turn their child into a killer, just like his dad had done to him.
Rae wouldn’t have it.
A few minutes later, she peeked through the blinds again and watched a black-and-white cruiser stop on the street in front of the cabin. A uniformed police officer approached the driver’s side window. A moment later, Brady stepped out and stood at the end of the short gravel driveway, hands on his hips, facing her.
She dropped the blinds and stepped away from the window.
Rae was packing when Johnny woke again. The child needed sleep, but he’d barely slept more than an hour at a time all day. She managed to get some food into his belly before he rejected it with a cry, then she rocked him until he drifted off again.
She settled him in the middle of the bed. While she packed, she formulated her plan. Wrestled with it, more like. When she came to her decision, she put it out of her mind. She’d never be able to function otherwise.
Another attempt at contacting Nate. He hadn’t been answering her calls, but she was confident he’d gotten her messages. Still, she’d feel better if she spoke to him.
No answer.
She should have expected that, but her heartbeat kicked into high gear. If anything happened to Nate, she’d never forgive herself. Trembling now, she dialed the phone again. Nothing.
She ended the call, then typed a text. Please call me. I fear you’re in danger.
She set the phone down and waited, willing it to ring. A moment later, it did. “What do you want?” Nate’s voice sounded tight, angry. Strained.
“Thank God you’re all right.”
A short pause. “What did you mean in your text? What danger?”
He was irritated, obviously. “Did I catch you in the middle of something?”
“You could say that.”
“You haven’t had any questions about me?”
A short pause. “I told you I’d call.”
“Nothing suspicious, unusual?”
“I’m having a really bad day. What do you want?”
“Look, I’m afraid I’ve put you in danger. It’s a long story, and it doesn’t matter, because it’s almost over. Would you consider coming home for a couple days? Or just get out of the city, a vacation, or maybe you can go somewhere to investigate a story.”
This time, the pause was longer before he said, “What happens after a couple of days? Does it all go away?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to fix this, but I’ll need three days. Can you go somewhere? Please?”
“Fix it how?”
“I don’t have time to explain. Come home, and I’ll tell you everything.”
He blew out a long breath. “Maybe.” The word sounded... Resigned. Good.
“Promise me you’ll think about it. Please?”
“Rae, you need to...” There was a muffled sound, and then he hung up.
Need to what? Explain, probably, and Nate deserved an explanation. Maybe he’d call back, and she’d give him one. She glanced at the clock. He’d probably been on the subway or something. He’d sounded strange. And he was angry with her, that much was evident. But he was considering getting out of New York. If she could put her plan into place, she should be able to keep him safe. She should be able to keep them all safe.
Fifty
The echo of Rae’s voice hung in the room.
Hector’s knife still rested against Boyle’s neck. A trickle of blood dripped from its tip, a result of Hector’s warning a moment earlier. Hector’s breathing was loud and fast, his eyes bright, anticipating what he thought would come next.
Julien said, “Let him go.”
Hector frowned, though the knife stayed put. “Why?”
“Now.” Julien kept his
expression impassive. He couldn’t let Hector see the effect Rae’s voice had had on him.
Hector lowered the knife, and Boyle’s head sagged. He sobbed silently, the emotions of a defeated man.
Julien was glad Farah wasn’t there. He’d sent her to grab some snacks from the vending machine before they’d had Boyle call Rae back. They’d ignored other calls from that number. It was the word danger that had them dialing. If the person who answered hadn’t been Rae, they’d have hung up.
But Julien would know Rae’s voice anywhere.
He looked at Boyle. “I assumed you two met at Columbia.”
The man looked up and met his eyes. “You know what they say happens when you assume.” The words were bold, the tone, resigned. The man had given so much to protect Rachel only to have her expose herself. He’d almost warned her too. Thank goodness Hector had hung up.
Julien felt sorry for the guy. “No, what do they say?”
“It makes an ass out of you—”
Hector backhanded him. Boyle’s head sagged as Hector reared back to hit him again.
Julien stepped forward. “Stop.”
Hector lowered his arm, though that seemed to take more effort than the blow had.
“We have what we need,” Julien said. “There’s no point in hurting him further.”
“He shouldn’t talk to you that way.”
“I think it was an expression,” Julien said. “And my feelings are quite unharmed.”
Hector stepped into the restroom to wash the blood from his hands.
Now that they had the means to find Rae, Julien couldn’t let Hector alert his father. He had to keep him busy. He stepped to the open bathroom door. “Bring a glass of water.”
Hector dried his hand, filled a glass, and carried it toward Julien.
“Give him a drink.”
Hector glared at Boyle, seemed to be wondering why. But he lifted the glass to the man’s lips. Liquid dripped down his chin, thanks to Hector’s inability to do even that one thing right. He was good at hurting, not helping.
Julien grabbed his cell and pretended to fumble it. It flew over the bed and crashed against the radiator on the far side of the room, then landed on the floor between the bed and the window. Julien circled the bed and, just before he reached down to grab the phone, stepped on it, hard. Then he lifted it up and swore in French.
Hector set the glass on the bureau. “What’s wrong?”
He lifted the phone so Hector could see the cracked screen. “I broke it.”
“How did that happen?”
“It hit the radiator.” He tossed the ruined phone on the bed. “Give me yours.”
Hector stared at him a moment, then reached into his pocket. “What do you need? I can—”
“You need to put Boyle in the car.”
“Why not just kill him and leave him here?”
“Our fingerprints are all over this place. I don’t feel like wiping it down, do you?”
The man shrugged his giant shoulders.
“Give me your phone and move him to the trunk.” He could feel Boyle’s gaze. “We’ll dump him on the way.”
“Where are we going?”
“Give me your phone, and I’ll figure it out.”
Hector reluctantly handed the phone over, then untied and lifted Boyle.
Julien pressed the button on the phone to bring the screen to life. A passcode. Of course. “What’s the code?”
Hector froze, Boyle slung over his shoulder like a sack of wheat. He started to put the man down.
“Just tell me,” Julien said. “I’m not going to read your love letters.”
Hector forced a smile and gave him the code.
Julien keyed it in, committing the digits to memory while the phone unlocked. He navigated to the Internet and typed in Nathan Walter Boyle. Julien scrolled to a Wikipedia entry. He clicked on it and read until he discovered Boyle’s hometown.
Nutfield, New Hampshire.
Julien lowered the phone and let the answer roll over him. He’d caught Rae’s scent. By tomorrow, he’d have her back. He clicked on the town, hit the map, and saw the directions. Four-hour drive. But first they had to make a pit stop. He entered the location and waited for a new map to fill his screen.
Hector returned to the room, Farah on his heels.
Julien shut off the screen and slid the phone into his pocket. “Grab everything and get in the car. I’m driving.”
Fifty-One
Julien exited the highway. The sun had set, and the temperature had dropped in the two hours since they’d left the hotel. He glanced at Farah beside him. She sat straight, despite the hours they’d spent in the car. Julien checked the rearview to see Hector stretched out in the backseat, eyes closed. The drive had been silent. Hector had asked once where they were going, but Julien had only told them about this first stop.
Since Hector had no cell phone and Farah didn’t know what Rae had revealed about living in Boyle’s hometown, neither of them should know their final destination. They didn’t have an easy relationship, Hector and Farah. He was too brutal, she too gentle. They worked together because Julien required it. He didn’t think Hector would enlist Farah’s help. In any event, Julien didn’t intend to give either of them the opportunity to update his father.
The passenger in the trunk had kept quiet. Boyle’s hands and feet were bound tight, so he shouldn’t be able to maneuver the trunk open or push out a taillight. Nor did he have the strength to do either, not after Hector’s beating. Had he bled to death, or was he unconscious?
Julien pulled into the vast parking lot and parked. He turned to Farah. “I assume you’d like to use the restroom?”
“Oui, if there’s time.”
“Of course.” He met Hector’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Stay with the car. We’ll be right back.”
He noted the slightly narrowed eyes when Hector nodded. The man was dying to get his phone back, but Julien wouldn’t offer it. And Hector didn’t dare ask. Did Hector know Julien had figured him out? If he did, then this could be a very dangerous game. A fatal game.
Julien offered a smile. “We’ll be right back, and then we’ll find a place for you to use the facilities. I don’t want your face recorded on the many cameras inside, in case you were seen this afternoon in New York.”
Hector nodded again. “Okay.”
Julien and Farah walked into the Foxwoods Casino in Connecticut. Here, he could find what he needed.
He left Farah at the restroom. “Wait for me here. I need to talk to you before we rejoin Hector.”
“Oui, monsieur.”
He rushed to get what he needed, feigning patience as he waited in line with the Friday night crowd for the cashier’s cage. Funny how people went about their business as if everything were normal. He overheard one couple talking about the bombing that day in New York, heard another group of guys boasting about what they’d do if they ever caught the guy. But mostly, it seemed people at the casino wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. Pretend they were safe, that terrorists weren’t on their soil right now. In these people’s case, the terrorist was standing beside them in line.
He wasn’t used to thinking of himself as a terrorist. The bombing had been Hector’s doing. His father’s doing. He would never have killed those people.
Though he admitted that, by his inaction, he’d allowed it. But it was Rae’s fault, not his. She’d brought him to this.
Finally, he got what he needed and returned to the restrooms, where Farah stood near the wall. In Tunis, she always wore an abaya and hajib, but in Paris and here, she donned Western clothing. Right now, she wore black slacks and a silky red blouse. Her hair was up, though as the day wore on, more little strands fell, softening her features. She really was striking. Pale skin, silky black hair, and the biggest, most innocent eyes he’d ever seen.
The area teemed with people, but nobody paid Farah or him any notice as he maneuvered through the crowd and approached. He stopped near
her, and the scent of her perfume reminded him of long, sensual nights. There was a reason why he rarely got this close to her. He stood like he had when he’d taken her as a lover. After he’d parted from Martine and before he’d found Rae.
Farah kept her gaze on the floor, as had always been her custom. Her father and her late husband had taught her that obedience, and after all her years in his employ, she still practiced it. Her subservience was alluring, and he found himself stepping closer until they nearly touched. He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted her face to look in her eyes.
“You have been with me a very long time.”
She blinked twice, her mouth forming a little O. Finally she forced a “Yes.”
“You have remained loyal. And even after we returned to this...business relationship, you stayed with me.”
“Of course, monsieur.”
“You used to call me Julien.”
She shook her head slightly. “It wouldn’t be right.”
True. But he needed to know.
“We are alone now. Just once, for me, say my name.”
She swallowed, lifted the corners of her mouth in a slight smile, and said, “Julien.”
He closed his eyes and let the word roll over him. No, he’d never loved Farah, but he did adore her adoration. She loved him, always had. He knew it. And he had to use it.
He stared down at her. “Are you on my side, Farah?”
Her smile vanished. “What do you mean? Of course.”
“When you left with Hector, did he make any calls?”
“Um...” Her mind seemed to race to catch up with his. “Yes. He walked away, though, and told me not to follow.”
“And you obeyed?”
“Of course. It wouldn’t be right to—”
“Yes, yes. Do you know who he called?”
“I thought he called you.”
“Why?”
She blinked, looked past him a moment, then returned her gaze to his face. “I could see that he was talking to someone he respected. He stood straight and tall. You know how he nods when you tell him to do something? He did that two or three times.”
Convenient Lies Page 23