Yes, she had called him. Hector’s plan had worked. Papa’s plan, more likely. They’d located her, and it had only cost a handful of lives. He’d been angry with Hector for the bombings, but if he were honest, he’d admit he’d take ten times more lives, a hundred, if that’s what it took to locate her.
“How is your father going to accept this?” Boyle said. “Seems to me he’s pretty ticked off already, and now you’ve killed his man.”
“He’s never going to know. That’s what the poker chip was for.”
“What poker chip?”
He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“You’ve gotten yourself into quite a pickle,” Boyle said. “I can’t see a way out. The best thing you could do is leave Rae alone.”
“That is not an option.”
“Save your own skin. As long as you’re safe.”
Julien pulled the gun from his jacket pocket and pointed it at Boyle’s head. “Tell me Rae’s last name.”
The man cringed, swallowed, and squeezed his eyes shut. Then they opened, filled with resolve. “No.”
Julien pressed the gun against the reporter’s temple. “First, I will kill your brother, Finn. Then your parents. How many more will have to die in order to protect her? I don’t have to stop at your family. I’m sure there are plenty of lovely people in Nutfield. Will they be as willing to die as you are?”
The man blinked, as Julien had known he would.
“McAdams.” Boyle exhaled a long breath. “Reagan McAdams.”
“Her address?”
“She lives near the center of town. I’ll show you.”
He pushed the gun against Boyle’s temple, and Boyle leaned away until his head was pressed against the far window.
“Address,” Julien repeated.
Boyle rattled it off, his eyes filling with tears. Fear, or grief that he’d betrayed his friend? Yes, Boyle cared for Rae. Too much. Had they been more than friends? The thought of Rae in this man’s arms made him tremble with rage.
It would be so easy to pull the trigger.
Boyle spoke again, his resolve back. Or maybe he was simply resigned to his own death. “What’s one more, compared to the lives you’ve already taken?”
He pushed the gun harder, until Boyle’s face was mashed against the window. Just one squeeze, and this friend of Rae’s would never taunt him again.
Her friend.
He pictured his wife, imagined her face whenever she spoke of Margot, another friend. The friend whose death he’d had a part in. The friend whose death had been the reason he and Rae had met in the first place.
Was that what this was about? He thought of the files he’d stored in Tunis. Could it be that simple? Had she discovered that he’d sold the explosives that killed her friend?
Was he willing to kill another?
“What are you waiting for?” Boyle’s remark was bold, his voice, tremulous.
Julien lowered the weapon and returned it to his pocket. He remembered how Rae had cried for her friend, how she’d grieved her. Had all of this been about that woman, Margot? One random woman, inconsequential in the scheme of things, killed by munitions he’d sold.
Had it all come down to that?
Fifty-Five
Brady hung up the phone in the squad room. Rae was on her way. He’d already known Rae was still in town, just like she’d promised. When she’d run him off the night before, he’d called the chief and told him about the threat. Not everything, just enough to get the man to agree she needed someone to keep an eye on her.
He paced across the squad room. He wanted to fix this for Rae, to make it all okay. But he had no idea how, and even if he could come up with a plan, she seemed determined to leave without him.
Again.
Well, they had to have a way to communicate. Two untraceable cell phones. That might work. Maybe he could follow her later. Maybe eventually she’d realize she wanted him around. Maybe someday she’d realize she needed Brady as much as he needed her.
He tried to focus on the work that had piled up since he’d been preoccupied with Rae. He didn’t usually work on Saturdays, but what else did he have to do? She’d made it clear she wanted him to stay away.
He’d visited with Laurie Nolan that morning, Caro’s older sister. She swore she’d had no idea the guy she’d met that night was a dealer. Brady warned her that he’d be keeping an eye on her, and she seemed grateful there were no more repercussions than that.
Maybe he’d been able to keep one Nutfield citizen safe. If only he could protect Rae too.
His gaze found the door about ten thousand times. What was taking her so long?
Maybe she’d changed her mind. Donny, the police officer assigned to her house, had told Brady Rae’d left Johnny with a teenager who’d been dropped off earlier. Had to be Caro. Why would she leave the baby at home? Didn’t she know Brady would have come if she’d called?
He looked again at the entrance, but a moment later, Rae and Samantha stepped in from the town offices on the opposite side of the room. Sam pulled Rae into a hug. He couldn’t hear their whispered conversation, but he saw the strength of that embrace.
Seemed Rae was saying goodbye.
Samantha met his eyes, shook her head, and returned the way she’d come.
Rae approached his desk. She carried a manila envelope in her right hand. Her keys stuck out from her jeans’ pocket. “Hey.”
He pointed to his chair. “Want to sit?”
She looked around the room. “Can we go someplace private?”
“Sure. Follow me.” He led her to a small room beside the chief’s office, which served as everything from the interrogation room to the break room. “The baby’s with Caro?”
She nodded and sat on the far side of the long laminate table.
He closed the door, sat beside her.
She wiped the tears dripping from her eyes. Her fingers were trembling.
“What happened?”
“I need you to do me a...” She twisted her hands together and lowered her gaze. Her shoulders shook a moment before she looked at him again. The tears were dripping off her chin now.
He snatched a stack of McDonald’s napkins from the table that held the coffee maker and handed her one.
“Thanks.” She wiped her eyes, sniffed, and squared her shoulders. “I have a plan.”
“I know. You’re going to—”
“Just listen, okay?”
He nodded once, and she continued.
“It doesn’t matter if Julien or his father is behind these bombings. Either way, I have no reason to believe they’ll stop. He’ll kill innocent people until he finds me. I can’t let that happen.”
“You’re ready to go to the FBI?”
“I don’t have enough evidence.”
“Why don’t you let me look at it. It’s worth—”
“The risks are too great.”
“There’s always witness protection.”
She shook her head. “Maybe it would work. Maybe it wouldn’t. But I won’t raise my son to live in fear of his father. And what happens while the feds build a case? Julien keeps blowing up buildings, killing people to find me?”
Brady had no answer for that. “So what’s your plan?”
She traced her finger around the edges of the envelope she’d set on her lap. “Will you...?” She met his eyes and swallowed. “Will you take Johnny for me?”
“Yes.” He nearly strained his neck nodding. “That’s a great idea. We’ll split up, throw Moreau off. Just tell me where to meet you.”
He ignored her shaking head. This was the perfect plan.
“Rio’s a huge city,” he said. “We can find a place there. Isn’t there some famous church or something? We could meet. Maybe two weeks. Both take different routes—”
“Brady—”
“Then we’ll disappear. Rae, we could do this.”
She covered her face and sobbed. It was a moment before he heard her whisper, “I wish we
could.”
“We can—”
“And let him keep killing people?”
There was that.
Her eyes were so sad. “We couldn’t live with ourselves.”
“We have to bring him down. We have to—”
“Please let me talk.”
He crossed his arms. Ignored the stupid prickling in his eyes.
“I need you to raise Johnny for me. I need you to change his name. Adopt him. I don’t know how it’ll work legally. He’ll have to be like...like an abandoned kid.” Her words faltered. She sniffed and continued. “Promise me you’ll never let him end up in foster care.”
Brady couldn’t keep up. Take her son? “What are you talking about?”
“You’re so good with him. You’ll be a great father.”
He fell against the back of his chair. “Father,” he whispered. He looked at the table and let her words sink in. She wanted him to be Johnny’s father. He’d imagined that, God help him. How many times since he’d seen the baby had he wished Johnny were his? How many times had he imagined the two of them playing ball or wrestling. He’d pictured teaching the boy to hunt and fish. Holding him and feeding him and raising him. Trouble was, in those fantasies, Rae’d always been in the picture.
He looked up. “You’re going to run alone? Just leave your son and take off? You think that’ll work? You’re the one who just said Julien wouldn’t quit killing people until he found you. He’ll figure out who Nate is, and once he makes the connection—”
“He’s not going to have to find me, Brady. I’m going back.”
Fifty-Six
Farah drove past the house slowly, and Julien surveyed the property. No cars in the driveway. Looked older. It stood fifty meters from the street, further from the neighboring homes. Two-story, white, with a nice porch on the front. A barn stood to its side. The property was ringed in tall trees whose leaves were just beginning to change.
Farah continued down the street, past the next house and around a bend.
“Stop here.”
She pulled over, and he stepped out. It was a lovely day. Blue skies, mild air. Birds high in the pines chirped a melody. He pulled in the scent of fallen leaves and moist soil and flashed back to Hector’s body in the woods the night before.
Served him right.
Julien’s shoulder throbbed, but the pain seemed to have lessened. He pulled his gun from his pocket and opened Farah’s door, ignoring the fresh jab of pain.
She stepped out and stretched.
“Open the trunk,” he said.
She did so.
“You have Hector’s gun?”
“Yes.” She pulled the pistol from her pocket.
“Point it at Boyle. If he tries anything, shoot him.”
She nodded, confident with the pistol. Before these last two days, he’d never seen her hold one before. She seemed to have experience she’d left off her resume. Interesting.
They circled the car and opened the back door. Julien pointed the gun at Boyle. “Get out.”
“Is this where you kill me?” Boyle stepped out, wincing with every move.
Julien looked around, then up at the canopy of maples. “A nice place for a grave, I think, but I still might need you alive.” He nodded to the trunk. “Get in.”
Boyle sighed. “I think I’d rather you killed me.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Boyle climbed in, and Julien slammed the trunk closed.
They climbed back in the car. Farah drove nearer to the house and parked about a hundred meters from the driveway.
“Stay here.”
He walked, his shoulder throbbing with every step, into the woods, then picked his way over the tree roots and bracken parallel to the road and out of sight until he reached Rae’s house.
There was a car in the driveway now. It had been empty just a few minutes before. His wife?
Julien’s pulse quickened, and he willed it to slow down. No need to push blood out of that wound any faster. He watched the house for signs of life, then noticed a man standing by the barn door.
Julien crept closer, right to the edge of the house’s grassy front yard. He stopped behind a tree and watched.
The man looked over his shoulder, first the right, then the left, before he pulled a key ring from his pocket.
It wasn’t a man at all, but a nervous teenage boy.
Julien pointed his gun at the ground and stepped into the clearing.
“Turn around.”
The boy jumped about a foot, dropped the keys in the gravelly dirt, and spun. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack.
“Who are you?” the boy said.
“I’m the man with the gun. Who are you?”
The kid looked at Julien, then at the gun.
“I’m...I’m just...I thought, because I know the lady who lives here, right? And she, uh... She like asked me to like—”
“If you’re going to be a criminal, you’re going to have to learn to lie better than that.”
The boy nodded, then shook his head and swallowed. “No. I just—”
“What is your name?”
“Trent.”
“Are you alone, Trent?”
“Yes.”
Julien walked slowly closer. “I know you told me the truth, because it didn’t take you any time to think. See, that’s the problem when you lie—the time it takes to create the story. And all the tells. You’d make a terrible poker player.”
The kid nodded like he agreed.
“Are you supposed to be here?”
Trent closed his lips tight.
“I see.” Julien stepped close enough to see the sheen of sweat on the kid’s face. “Does anybody know you’re here?”
He shook his head.
“Where are the people who live here?”
“Um...I don’t know exactly, but somewhere by the lake.”
“You know them?”
“Like, not really, but like, I’ve seen her, you know. And the kid.”
Her. The kid.
Julien was so close.
“I see,” he said slowly. “By her, you mean Ms. McAdams, right? Reagan McAdams?”
The kid nodded, and the relief Julien felt almost had him sitting down. The adrenaline from the hunt was seeping out, and he feared he might swoon like a fairy tale princess if he didn’t lean on something. He stepped to the edge of the barn and fell against it, then took two long breaths.
It all led here.
“You’re hurt,” the kid said.
“Are you a doctor?”
“No.”
“If you tell me where Rae and the baby are, I won’t call the police. I won’t tell them I caught you trying to break into her house. Deal?”
The kid was nodding before Julien finished speaking. But then he stopped. “Who are you?”
“I’m her husband.”
“Oh. That’s okay then. But I don’t know exactly where they are.”
Julien worked to stay upright. “I think you’d better find out, then, hadn’t you?” He waved the gun in the boy’s direction. “And do it quickly. And I’m trying to surprise her, so don’t tell.”
Trent nodded again, then reached in his pocket.
Julien lifted the gun. “What are you doing?”
“Getting my phone,” Trent said. “So I can call.”
The kid retrieved his phone and dialed. For all Julien knew, Trent was calling the cops.
The kid spoke into the mouthpiece. “Where are you?”
He waited, then said, “I wanted to talk to you. I wanna tell you what’s been going on. Finn’s gonna tell you anyway, and...”
Trent paused, watching Julien and the gun. Finally he said, “I’ll be there for like two seconds. I won’t even come inside. You won’t get in trouble, okay? I promise.”
Thirty seconds later, he hung up. “She’s gonna text me the address.”
“Who is ‘she’?”
“My friend, the kid’s babysitter.”
Going back to him.
The words, their terrible meaning, filled his mind. Brady pushed back from the conference table and stood, nearly toppling the chair in the process.
“You’re going back?”
“I have no choice.”
“He’ll kill you. He’ll... You think he’s just going to let me keep his son? He’ll come after Johnny. Have you lost your mind?”
Rae fought with the metal clasp of the manila envelope, her shaking fingers finally managing to get it open. She slid out a piece of paper and held it out to him.
He didn’t want to take it. Because she was way ahead of him, and he wouldn’t be able to catch up in time to stop her.
The paper hung between them.
Her gaze held his. “Please?”
He took the paper and read.
Certificate of Death.
Beneath those fancy-scrolled words, he saw the name printed. Jean-Louis Moreau. And the date of death. Yesterday’s date.
This is what Samantha’d been doing all morning, helping Rae fake her son’s death—and plan her own.
The rest of the certificate blurred. He turned toward the wall and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. He needed to think. To focus.
He tried to formulate a good argument. This was a terrible idea. It wouldn’t work. There had to be a flaw, but he only found one. Because if Rae went through with this, chances were good Johnny would be safe. But Rae...
He turned to face her. “What about you?”
“I’ll be with him again. His...” She faltered and cleared her throat. “I’ll gather more evidence. Enough to put him away. Maybe enough to bring down his father. The whole organization.”
“You could do that, Rae? Live with him? Sleep with him? Be the killer’s mistress?”
“What choice do I have?”
“If you go back, you won’t have any choices, because he’ll kill you.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. I know it’s hard to believe, but I think he loved me.”
His face must’ve registered his opinion, because her eyebrows lifted. “That’s so unimaginable?”
“That someone could fall in love with you, Rae? No. I did that fifteen years ago, and I haven’t gotten over it yet.”
Convenient Lies Page 26