Convenient Lies

by Robin Patchen

  “So the entrance to the tunnel is here,” he said, tapping the board.

  “We can’t just storm the house, though,” a man said.

  “I know,” Brady said. “First, we’re going to try to talk him out. If that doesn’t work, we use that as a distraction to get into place.”

  “How much time will we need?” one cop asked.

  “Five minutes, at least,” Brady said. “Time to get into the barn, open the trap door, and make it through the tunnel.”

  “You think this’ll work?” A curly-haired, uniformed guy asked.

  Brady leveled his gaze across the crowd. “We’re not going to do anything we don’t believe will work. We’ll call the house, try to talk him out. He’ll be watching the windows. The front windows are out of the line of sight of the kitchen, so we should be able to get in.”

  “But how do we get others in place? We are assuming he’s armed, right? And how do we know there isn’t someone in the kitchen who’ll hear us. How do we—?”

  “All good questions,” Brady said. “Truth is—”

  “I can do it.” Rae stepped forward as the crowd turned in her direction. “I’ll go. I’ll talk to him. I’ll get him away from the kitchen, somehow.”

  Brady glared at her over the sea of faces. “No.”

  “It’s the best chance,” Rae said. “You said yourself he can’t hurt me until he gets the evidence I took.”

  “Assuming he’s rational, assuming he’s thinking ahead. But people don’t always behave rationally. Especially when they’re surrounded by the police and staring down a lifetime in prison. We can’t count on him to keep his head.”

  “You’re right,” Rae said. “So even though I believe, on a normal day, he would never hurt his son, he could. Or Caro. Which is why I have to do this.”

  “Forget it.”

  The cops turned back to Brady.

  “I’m open to suggestions. Maybe we have a presence in front, someplace for him to focus...”

  The police officers continued. Their plan was decent, but not foolproof. And though she didn’t have a foolproof plan, either, there was no way she was going to sit here while those guys put Johnny and Caro, maybe Nate and the other teen—not to mention themselves—in danger.

  She patted her jeans’ pocket, felt her keys, and slipped out the door that linked the police department and the town offices. The space was empty and dark.

  Two minutes later, she was on her way to the house. She would rescue Caro and her son from Julien, or she would die trying.

  Sixty-One

  Rae pulled over in front of the closest neighbor’s house, a good fifty yards down the road. Two cops were sitting in two cruisers, blocking the drive. That was a problem, but one she could solve.

  She was going to have to get past them. And maybe there was some elegant way to do it. Brady’d probably swing through the trees or belly crawl through the woods. Forget elegance. She needed speed.

  She closed her eyes and pictured the front yard. Yes, it could work.

  But first she needed to figure out what in the world she was doing. She could get inside, and maybe she could reason with Julien. But if Hector were in there? There was no reasoning with him. What would he do to her?

  She shuddered, then forced the thought away. Julien had always held Hector on a short leash. He wouldn’t let the man hurt their son, and if Rae got hurt? Too bad. She only cared that Johnny and Caro were safe. And Nate. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought of all Nate must have endured. If only...

  No time for regrets.

  All Rae needed to do was to get inside and then find a way to tell Caro to get into the kitchen with the baby. The only door to the outside that was in the kitchen was visible from the living room, and the only window was over the sink. Not an easy place to escape, so why would they worry if she sent Caro in there? If Rae could get Caro and the baby through the passageway, Brady would take it from there. Maybe Nate could escape too. And then whatever happened to her wouldn’t matter.

  If she couldn’t do that, maybe she could make sure Julien and Hector were in the living room. Then the police could get inside.

  And then what? Would there be shooting? Would Julien be killed? Would a stray bullet kill Caro or Nate? Or Johnny?

  No. She wouldn’t let that happen. And maybe, just maybe, she could reason with Julien, get him to surrender. Because, regardless of all he’d done to her, all the lies and deception, he was still the father of her child. She didn’t want to be the cause of his death. She didn’t love him, probably never had, not like she loved Brady. But he’d given her the greatest gift she could have imagined. She didn’t wish him dead.

  Rae thought about Brady, imagined what he’d do if he knew where she was right now. He wouldn’t let her do this, no way. But not because it wasn’t a good idea. The problem with Brady was that he wanted to protect her as much as he wanted to protect her son, Caro, and Nate. Whereas Rae only cared about the others. She couldn’t think about Brady. If she did, she might never get the courage to go through with this.

  Rae took a deep breath, blew it out, and pressed down on the accelerator. Not too fast—she didn’t want to alert the cop. She smiled at him as she passed, then hit the gas and squealed into a turn. She raced into the yard and bumped down into a slight depression. For one horrible second, the wheels spun in the moist dirt before they made purchase. The car lurched forward across the grassy space. She slammed on the brake, jammed the car into park inches from the porch, and bolted out.

  She was halfway up the porch steps when one of the cops screamed, “Stop!”

  She ran to the front door and let herself in.

  Sixty-Two

  Brady stared at the white board and tried to figure out what could go wrong. Any number of things, of course, and he couldn’t account for all of them. Moreau could start firing as soon as they pulled up. He could kill Nate, kill Caro, kill his child, kill himself. He could light the place on fire. A million things could happen. But despite what he’d told Rae, in Brady’s experience even criminals behaved rationally, and Julien Moreau wasn’t some two-bit home invader. He was educated, sophisticated, and clever. He might’ve made a mistake by showing up at Rae’s house, but from what Brady could surmise, the man wasn’t suicidal. And if Rae were to be believed, he wasn’t homicidal, either, not unless there was a payday in it for him.

  The plan should work.

  He turned back to the crowd around him and met Will Jamison’s eyes. He’d expected the chief to take command, but when Brady’d tried to hand over the floor and the white board marker, the chief had shaken his head. “This is your party.”

  Next time Brady had a party, he wanted balloons, not firearms.

  The chief nodded. “It’s a good plan.”

  As the officers prepared to leave for the McAdams house, Brady checked the back of the room for Rae. Seemed she’d gotten bored, or frustrated more likely, and returned to the conference room. He stepped inside to find the Boyles seated at the table. “Where’s Rae?”

  Gordon frowned. “She left. I assumed...”

  He wheeled around. Even as he let his gaze roam the room, scanning the police officers as they checked their weapons, he knew what she’d done.

  He should’ve handcuffed her to the chair.

  “Eric!”

  The officer turned around, eyes wide. “What is it?”

  “Get Sanders on the line.” He yelled over the murmuring of the officers’ voices. “Tell him Rae’s on her way there, and he absolutely cannot let her into that house.”

  Before he’d finished speaking, Eric was calling.

  Brady grabbed his gun from his desk drawer and yanked his keys from his pocket. He was halfway to the door when Eric grabbed his arm.

  He knew from the expression on Eric’s face. It was too late. Rae was inside.

  “I’m sorry,” Eric said. “We didn’t notice.”

  “Not your fault.” He kept moving for the door.

  “We’re no
t in place,” Eric said. “You need to wait.”

  Brady yanked his arm away. “She’s inside with that madman. I have to go.”

  Eric stepped in front of him. “The plan you just came up with, it’s a good one. Now we have one more hostage. I think the plan remains the same. It’ll be easier now, with Rae inside.”

  Brady opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. The thought of what Rae had walked into...what Julien and Hector might to do her.

  But Eric was right. Brady nodded and turned around. Seemed everybody was ready. Their eyes focused on him.

  He forced a deep breath. “Slight change of plans,” he said. “There’s another hostage. Reagan McAdams went in on her own.”

  Sixty-Three

  Rae closed the front door behind her, turned, and leaned her forehead against it. What was she doing?

  “I knew you’d come.”

  At her husband’s familiar voice, she pulled in a deep breath and turned. Julien stood just a few feet away, their child snuggled on his shoulder. The sight of Johnny brought tears to her eyes.

  Julien’s eyebrows lifted infinitesimally. “Surely you knew I wouldn’t hurt our son.”

  She nodded. “You would never hurt him.”

  “And yet.”

  She swallowed. The tears dripped down her cheeks, but she couldn’t make her hands move to wipe them away. “And yet.”

  He sighed. “I’d invite you in, ma cheri, but alas, it is your home.” He turned and walked into the kitchen.

  Why the kitchen?

  She followed, peeking into the living room along the way, searching for Caro or Nate.

  Oh, Nate. What had Julien done to him?

  Julien sat at the table in what was usually Brady’s chair. Back to the wall.

  Right next to the pantry door.

  “I’m sure you have a few questions for me,” he said. “I have a few questions for you as well.”

  She slid into the chair across from him. “Where is Caro?”

  “Charming girl, but quite young to watch our child, don’t you think?” He kept his voice quiet, his tone conversational. “I’d have thought you’d be more careful.”

  “Jean-Louis was asleep, and I only planned to be gone a little while.”

  “As you can see, plans change.”

  Indeed.

  “And your grandmother? I was certain I’d meet her today.”

  Tears prickled, as if she had time for grief right now. “Gram passed away the day Jean-Louis was born.”

  His expression softened, filled suddenly with the compassion she remembered too well. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged.

  “So you came for her funeral?”

  Not exactly, but why bother to explain. “Something like that.”

  Johnny shifted slightly. His mouth opened, then closed again, and he settled into his father’s arms.

  “He is ill, no?” Julien said. “He feels as if he has a fever.”

  She nodded. “A respiratory virus. I took him to the doctor. He’s on the mend.”

  “‘On the mend,’” he repeated. “Such a funny phrase. It means he’s getting better?” She nodded, and he continued. “I see. Do you think he picked it up when you were fleeing from me?”

  She considered denying it, then shrugged. “Probably.”

  “You’ve taken a lot of risks with our son.”

  “I think the biggest risk I took was to marry a murderer.”

  His lips flattened. “I am a businessman.”

  “And my friend, Margot, you had nothing to do with that? Or maybe that wasn’t her body I identified in the morgue that day. Because it sure looked liked her.”

  That steely look remained. “I didn’t kill your friend.”

  “You sold the explosives—”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “Let’s not wake the baby. He was quite frantic earlier. It took me some time to get him to sleep.”

  She wasn’t surprised. Johnny had rarely liked being held by his father. Funny how quickly the baby had taken to Brady, though. Maybe her son already had better instincts than she.

  Rae took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “You might as well have killed her.”

  “In this country, people can buy handguns on every corner. Do you blame the people who sell those guns for all the violence?”

  “It’s not the same, and you know it. Legitimate businessmen here don’t sell explosives to terrorists, but you—”

  “The people I sold those explosives to might not have had the best intentions. I don’t ask them what they’re going to do with the merchandise I sell. I still didn’t kill your friend. Terrorists did that.”

  “Children, Julien. Those terrorists, they were teenagers. Stupid, young, ignorant—”

  “They had the money.”

  “You have no shame.”

  “A trifle I cannot afford in my line of work.”

  Her temper boiled over. “That’s it?” She wanted to scream at him, to beat him. She glanced at her son and lowered her voice. “What kind of man—?”

  “I am not like you.” His jaw was set, his teeth gritted shut. She’d seen this Julien, just a time or two, and he’d frightened her then. He terrified her now. “I’m not good. I’ve never been good. I come from killers. I was raised to take over a business that transports illegal drugs, gets people addicted. A business that steals young girls and sells them for profit. I refused to do those things.” He swallowed and looked at Johnny. A moment later, he looked back up. “Yes, I sell arms. And yes, maybe some of my clients wouldn’t pass an American background check. But it could be worse. I could be worse.”

  She shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

  His face paled slightly, and she noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, the yellow pallor to his skin. Searching for them had taken a lot out of him.

  He blew out a breath. “I took the money I made from deals like the one that led to your friend’s death, and I invested it. My father created a corporation to launder money, but I built it into something bigger. Something real. My company brings jobs to people who might otherwise starve. My business is good for the community. It’s good for Africa.”

  “You think it’s good for Africa to have buildings explode in downtown Cairo? In Tunis, your own home?”

  His gaze turned to their son. He held the boy closer. “That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t run.”

  “Because killing innocent people is the logical reaction when your wife leaves you.”

  “Those people weren’t important to you. I knew the owner of the cafe. Did you know that? That his son was killed, all because you decided to run away, run around New Hampshire doing God knows what while you leave my child with a mere child.”

  She turned and looked around again, as if the answer might be right behind her. She turned back to Julien. “Where is Caro?”

  He sighed. “You have so little regard for me. Do you think I would hurt that girl?”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “And I know you, Rachel Adams? Or is it Reagan McAdams? Or is this all a lie too?”

  “That was...”

  The house phone rang.

  His eyebrows lifted. “I would like to hear the story, but it seems your friends want to talk to me. Are they about to burst in the door?”

  It rang again. “I don’t think they’d call first,” she said, “if that were the plan.”

  Another ring. “And what is the plan?”

  “I have no idea. I left before...” The phone rang again. “Where is Caro?”

  He sighed, waited through another ring, and said, “She’s upstairs. She’s with a friend.”

  Rae imagined poor, sweet Caro stuck with Hector. Her fear must’ve shown on her face, because Julien said, “She’s unharmed.”

  She wanted to ask about Nate, but her courage failed her. Julien was possessive, and any regard she might show for her ex-boyfriend could backfire. She’d figure out what happened to
Nate after she got Johnny and Caro to safety.

  The phone quit ringing. “Your promises mean a lot to me. Ever since we stood before your friends and took vows.”

  His mouth slid into that charming smile she’d fallen for. “Perhaps, we’re not legally married.”

  “So you’re a murderer and a liar.”

  The smile remained. “When I told you I loved you, that was not a lie. I’ve never known a woman like you. I never felt for anybody what I felt for you.”

  “Lying to me? Is that how you showed me your love?”

  “You lied to me too.”

  “That was different. I changed my name and my story long before I met you. If you’d just proposed and given me some time, I’d have told you the truth before the wedding. But then, just like that”—she snapped her fingers—“we were married.”

  “You could have said no.”

  If only she could live the moment again. Her life was one long string of if-onlys. “I should have.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  She shrugged.

  “Because you loved me.”

  She met his eyes. “I loved who I thought you were, Julien. I loved a fantasy.”

  “Did I love a fantasy, too, Rachel?”

  She bristled at the name. “I am who I am. I didn’t lie to you about that. About what mattered to me. About what I believed. And I planned to tell you about my past. I just could never—”

  “Could never quite figure out the right time? And telling you I was an arms dealer, you think there was a right time for that?”

  “What about telling me you were already married?”

  He nodded, that stupid smile back in place. “Yes, yes. A good point.”

  “And you knew, you had to know, that if I found out you killed Margot, I’d hate you. You knew if I found out about your wife, I’d hate you. You knew how I felt. And still—”

  “I fell in love with you.”

  “Right.”

  He shifted the baby and cringed, his face paling further as he settled into a new position.