Game of Lies

by Amanda K. Byrne

  “One was last Friday. The other might have been this past Monday, or possibly Tuesday. Guy leaving the house was the same one both times. I couldn’t get close enough to see who it was. Dark hair, on the skinny side. Wore a dark blue windbreaker.” There aren’t enough hiding spots for me to stick around for any length of time.

  “Might have been Michael.” Nick hits a few keys, and a picture appears on the middle monitor. “This him?”

  “Maybe. Like I said, I wasn’t very close.”

  A satellite map of the neighborhood pops up on the third monitor. He taps it with his finger. “Show me where you were.”

  “Zoom in.”

  Slowly, the houses and cars become clearer. I trace the line of the street with my finger, pausing in front of a house three houses up on the left, on the opposite side of the street. “Here. The owners have been out of town for the past week, so I’ve been able to use their yard to watch the traffic. Not ideal, but I’ve been able to track some of the comings and goings.” I point to the house directly across from Isaiah’s. “They were out one night. There’s a large shrub next to the front porch that provided some cover, though there wasn’t a lot of activity that night. Isaiah’s men seem to be in the house by eight in the evening.” I haven’t had a chance to pull an all-nighter, mostly because there isn’t any place on the street for me to hide. Smart choice on Isaiah’s part. The residential neighborhood limited what I could gather without being seen.

  “We’ll go back tomorrow night. I’ll see if there’s any traffic cameras nearby.”

  Over the next few hours, we fall into the rhythm we developed over the last few months, and it’s as though the problems of the past twelve hours never happened.

  The false sense of peace continues when we break for food. “How long should we wait?” I ask, dumping the ground turkey into the skillet. “I’ve already got him on edge. I know we need more information, but I don’t think we can risk more than a few days.”

  “At least three.” The look of fierce concentration on his face is pretty funny, like the pepper he’s slicing is going to jump off the cutting board and run away. “Given that Tris’s schedule could change at the last minute, we’ll need to be prepared. Constantine’s working on getting us into one of the houses across the street. Couple of vacant ones with people on vacation for the holidays.”

  The mention of vacation stops me cold. I set my wooden spoon aside and turn to Nick. “I would feel a lot better if my mother were here. Aunt Carol’s closest neighbor is about a half mile away, and on the off chance Isaiah decides to go after her, they’re too vulnerable.”

  He doesn’t speak, just places the knife next to the cutting board, wipes his hands, and pulls out his phone. I take it from him and find my mother’s contact information.

  It rings once, twice, three times. If it gets to five, it will automatically switch over to voicemail. The ice creeps back in as it starts on the fourth ring. She’s an adult. More, she’s the one who lived with Turner all these years. I have to trust she’ll be able to take care of herself.

  But I don’t think the broken shell she’s become is capable of doing that.

  “Hello?”

  The ice doesn’t recede completely, though it retreats enough I feel relief at the sound of her voice. “Mom?”

  “Cassidy. I’m glad you called. I’m assuming Nick told you I’ll be staying with your Aunt Carol for a while?”

  She sounds almost…normal. “He did. I’d like you to stay with us. It’s safer.”

  She’s quiet for a long moment. “I can’t,” she says at last. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I love you, but I need some time.”

  Time? Time for what? What is she sorry for? “I don’t understand.”

  Another stretch of silence, and her meaning penetrates. She needs time away from me. Her daughter.

  The ice surges and spreads, swallowing me whole. “You’ll call when you get to Aunt Carol’s?”

  “I will. I’ll call you every day at four too. It’s only for a couple of weeks, Cass. When I get back, we’ll have a long talk about what to do.” After a slight hesitation, she tells me she loves me and hangs up.

  I give Nick his phone and pick up the spoon to poke at the meat.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Fine. She’s going to check in daily until she comes back. Are the peppers ready?” Everything is not fine.

  Unfortunately, this is one thing Isaiah’s death won’t fix.

  Chapter 4

  I’ve lost track of the minutes and hours I’ve sat here staring at the house across the street. The binoculars remain clutched in my hands, though they’re mostly useless at this point. No one’s moving. If it weren’t for the lights in the upstairs and downstairs windows, I’d assume everyone is asleep. They very well could be.

  There’s a smug sort of comfort in thinking I’ve scared Isaiah into sleeping with the lights on.

  The quiet is broken up by the clicking of Nick’s keyboard and his occasional muttered responses to Constantine’s questions, something about the app launch that isn’t ready. After the virus breach a few weeks ago, they had to push back the launch. From the snatches of conversation I’ve heard, it’ll take a miracle to make the new date. He should be at work, or at least not here, but he refused to leave me alone. So he’s glued to his laptop, Bluetooth fastened to his ear, as he tries to be two places at once.

  “You don’t have to be here. I’m not going to do anything tonight.” The empty house, courtesy of Constantine, is a blessing. I have a clear view of the street and the front door of Isaiah’s current hidey-hole. A few nights of surveillance, and I’ll hopefully have the information I need to finish the job.

  “You’ll understand if I don’t trust you to stay put.” Nick continues typing.

  I stand and stretch my arms over my head, my gaze never leaving the street. I’d forgotten how quiet suburbia could be at night. I glance at my phone. Barely eleven o’clock, and no one is stirring. It’s strangely bright outside, though. It’s the sort of neighborhood where people leave their porch lights on at night, and there are streetlights every hundred feet or so.

  The last person to enter the house was Tris. He’s easily identifiable, even in the dark. It’s his walk. He’s got this way of walking that demands you watch him. Coupled with his height and muscular build, there’s no mistaking the big, burly SWAT officer.

  Nick joins me at the window. “Go take a break for a few minutes. I’ll tell you if anything changes.”

  I’d argue, but my legs are stiff from sitting still. I pick up my water bottle and wind my way through the darkened living room to the kitchen in the back. Something makes a soft click, followed by a shuffle, and I stop and press myself to the short wall dividing the kitchen from the living room.

  More shuffling like muffled footsteps.

  Someone else is in the house.

  My first thought is the owners. Supposedly they’re on vacation and will be for a couple more days. Constantine could have been wrong, or he could have lied, though the house was empty when we arrived. We went through the rooms one by one before setting up in the living room.

  I bend over and set my water bottle on the floor, then withdraw the knife from the sheath strapped to my ankle. Squinting into the shadows, I inch toward the corner, grip loose, hand steady, mind blank.

  Those are definitely footsteps. And they’re getting closer.

  A set of cabinets at the entrance to the kitchen blocks my view into the main part of the room, which means I have two choices: I can round the corner and confront the intruder, or I can wait for him to come to me and surprise him.

  The first option isn’t really an option at all. Who would willingly want to confront a potentially violent intruder?

  I soften my knees and exhale quietly as the footsteps pause near the edge of the cabinets. The intruder steps forward, and I slip behind him. I whip my hand toward his neck, blade poised to sink into his thro
at.

  He shoots out a hand and catches my wrist before I can make contact. “Careful there. Can’t get blood on the floor.” Constantine keeps his fingers locked around my wrist, gently pushing it down. “Dom around?”

  “Living room, watching the street.” He still hasn’t let go. I flex my hand around the knife handle. “Wasn’t aware you’d be joining us.”

  “Last-minute decision.” He drops my hand and steps around me. “Anything happening?”

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickle in awareness. I squint at him, trying to make out his face in the shadows. “Street’s been dead for at least an hour. All the lights are on, and no one’s come or gone in a while, unless they’re sneaking in through the back.” The timing’s off. Nick just hung up with Constantine. Their office is over a half hour away, and Constantine’s condo is even farther. “How’d you get here so quickly?”

  “Multitasking,” he murmurs. “Put the knife away, Cass. You won’t need it tonight.” He walks into the dark, leaving me frowning after him.

  For Constantine to get here as fast as he did, he would have had to be in his car, on his way here, while he was talking through the latest bugs with Nick. Unless he’s got some sort of encyclopedic brain, he couldn’t have had all that information at his fingertips.

  The puzzle threatens to distract me from the task at hand. Pushing my doubts into a box to examine later, I replace my knife, pick up my water, and continue into the kitchen.

  I skirt the dim pool of light spilling onto the floor from the light over the stove and lean on the countertop. Something scuttles across the backyard, dashing toward a small tree in the far corner. Probably a neighborhood cat or a raccoon.

  The low murmurs of Nick and Constantine’s conversation drift toward me, bringing Constantine’s odd appearance to the forefront. I tiptoe across the kitchen and edge around the cabinets, straining to hear.

  A trickle of guilt that I’m eavesdropping on my boyfriend and a man I’ve come to consider a friend tries to worm its way through. I ignore it. Constantine’s behavior in the last five minutes triggered my instincts, and the only way to soothe them is to find out what they’re talking about.

  “I get it, Dom. I do—”

  “Do you? Because it sure as fuck doesn’t sound like it.”

  An argument. Awesome. This is just what tonight needs. I let out a shallow breath.

  “Cass isn’t present. Not completely. I don’t want to stop her because she’s taking care of our problem. But I’m going to be there to keep her from derailing completely.” The quiet determination in Nick’s voice has a thick thread of steel. I curve my lips in a smile. This is why I love him. He might not like my methods, might not agree or approve, but he knows I need this, and he’ll give it to me.

  How many people can say that about their partner?

  “It’s not just her vendetta, though I have to say it’s been an education to see her in action. Only other time I’ve seen kills that clean is her father’s work.” The reluctant admiration weaving through Constantine’s words hurts. It’s the sort of compliment that would cause Turner to praise me in his faint, damning way, and I want to cling to it even as I push it away.

  “She’s a distraction, man. Guys at the office have been wondering what the hell you’re up to. We’ve got a launch in two weeks on a product that’s not ready, and you’re playing babysitter. She’s costing us money, and if she’s as out of it as you say she is, she could get you killed.”

  Each word is a paper cut. String them together as an argument, and it’s like someone’s poured lemon juice over them. On their own, they sting. Coming from Constantine? Someone I like? The sting becomes a burn.

  I ease away into the kitchen, then over to the back door. The knob’s loose under my hand, and I turn it slowly to minimize the rattle. Cool air washes over me as I edge through the door onto the porch, and the door shuts with a soft click.

  It’s a little too cool to be outside without a jacket. I rub my arms through my long-sleeved shirt and wander down the back steps to the damp grass. When this is over, I’m going to take another look at Nick’s cousin. My initial reaction to him may not have been wrong.

  I may have just interpreted it incorrectly.

  My phone buzzes against my hip, and I glance around the yard before pulling it out and answering. “Hello?”

  “Cassidy? Why are you mumbling?”

  Mom’s response is so normal, so her, I lose my cool remoteness for a minute, sudden tears burning my eyes. “Sorry, Mom. Nick’s trying to work, and I don’t want to disturb him.” The lie flows easily, and I scan the yard again, straining to hear beyond the tiny night noises.

  “I won’t keep you long, then. I’m at Carol’s now. There’s two feet of snow, and we’re expecting more by morning.”

  It’s amazing what a change of location and a few hours will do. Last night when she told me she was leaving, she sounded better, but still fragile. Twenty-four hours later, her voice is stronger. Some of my anger fades. The distance she’s put between us is a slap in the face, but if it’s what helps her heal, I’d be a selfish little bitch to begrudge her that. “Are you sure you’ll be safe there?”

  Her smile is evident, even through the phone. “The only person who could ever out-shoot your father is Carol. We’ll be all right. I’ll call you tomorrow at four. I love you.”

  A lump forms in my throat. “I love you too, Mom.” We hang up, and I slide the phone back into my pocket.

  “How touching.”

  How the hell did he get here? I turn toward my right. Isaiah remains near the fence in the deepest part of the dark.

  I wonder if he’s alone.

  “Did you sneak away from your bodyguard? And isn’t it past your curfew?” The knives are strapped to my ankles. There’s no way to retrieve them without giving away what I’m doing. I stay where I am and cross my fingers that Isaiah’s alone and not armed.

  Of course he’s armed, and if someone isn’t behind me, he’s slipping. Confronting me without a weapon is stupid, and if there’s one thing we’ve learned over the past month, it’s that Isaiah’s not stupid.

  “I underestimated you. Again. I assumed because you’d become part of my world, you’d play by my rules.” Using the dark to hide, he’s a fuzzy, vague Isaiah-shaped outline. Coward.

  But I can’t taunt him into coming at me. I do the next best thing.

  I say nothing.

  “You’ve done a good job. Kept me on my toes, and made it damn near impossible for me to go anywhere. Did me a favor too. I needed to make some cuts, keep everything lean. Easier to control that way.”

  If I remain where I am, silent and still, will he continue his movie villain act and keep talking? The longer he talks, the more time I have to figure out a plan. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. Isaiah came to me. I need his cockiness to be his undoing.

  “You’ve decided against taking out Tris, I’m guessing.”

  “The risk is a big one,” I agree. “Though I haven’t ruled out eliminating him as well. In your absence, he’s the only one that seems to have the balls to do what you’re doing. I imagine Andreas and Anton would be happy to see him gone.”

  A hand closes around my throat. “My balls are none of your concern.”

  Tris’s voice is nothing like I imagined it would be. The soft, sibilant hiss is strangely calming. “Isaiah thinks you’re a smart girl,” he murmurs. “So let’s see how smart you are. A smart girl would walk away and let the damage she’s caused stand instead of creating more.” Cool metal presses into my temple, and it takes all my willpower not to tense up.

  A gunshot will attract attention we don’t need. He has to know that. I can use that.

  Two against one, and I have to assume both are armed. Both men are taller and stronger than I am. I can’t see either of them, and of the two, I only know for certain where one of them is. Getting out of this situation unscathed is unlikely. Getting out
alive is possible—it’ll just take some ingenuity on my part. Tris won’t let down his guard, so expecting him to lower the gun is out.

  “Why are you here, Isaiah? You know Nick and Constantine are in the house, and you know Nick’s going to come looking for me any minute.” I shift my feet, bumping my head against the barrel of the gun.

  “You’re right.” The frown’s evident in his voice. I peer into the shadows, frustration growing the longer I stare at his indistinguishable face. I need to see him. Isaiah continues. “Dom’s been distracted tonight, though, hasn’t he? The launch is coming up. Has he managed to fix the app?”

  Nick has been distracted, now that I think of it. If he wasn’t, he would have forced me to change places with him more often.

  “How did you find me, anyway?” I slouch a little, my back brushing against Tris’s chest. His grip on my throat tightens in response.

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  Huh. Cryptic. I switch to a more immediate problem. “So are you going to make a lot of noise and take me out here, or do you have a plan to smuggle me out of the backyard and over to your house?”

  “The gun’s a precaution,” he says. “An insurance policy of sorts. Tris won’t have to use it as long as you cooperate.”

  Yippee.

  “You still didn’t answer my question. Why are you here? And are we going inside sometime soon because I’m getting cold.”

  The night quiet settles around us while I wait for Isaiah’s answer, Tris’s hold never wavering, the gun steady. My best shot is to drop down, away from the gun, rather than grabbing his hand and trying to pull it away.

  “I’m here to get you, Cass. So we can discuss this like adults.” Isaiah finally moves from the shadows. “We can talk here or across the street, though if we have the conversation here, it will likely be cut short when Dom comes looking for you.”

  From one heartbeat to the next, several things happen at once. The back door opens and Nick steps onto the deck. Two more men enter the yard, heading for Isaiah. Constantine comes up behind Nick, talking like they were in the middle of a conversation. I jerk in Tris’s hold, dropping to my knees to get away from the gun, Tris falling with me as he tightens his grip.