Dangerous Lies (Shades of Leverage)

by Claudia Shelton

  As if a light switch had been flipped on, the men were off talking jargon once again. All she could do was try to figure out how she’d ended up in this mess. Who had given her the lead on the publishing job? Had she seen it in the paper? Online?

  “Maybe this will help,” she said. “I was contacted by a recruiter. The job sounded like it fit me to a T, plus it was a lot more money. They flew me to Chicago, put me up in a five-star hotel, wined and dined me. A week later, they offered me a contract.”

  Mitch glanced in her direction. “No offense to your journalistic talent, but it sounds like you were set up.”

  “Meaning?”

  “They needed you to do something big.”

  “Like what? All they ever gave me were fluff stories in the southwest part of the United States.”

  Reese leaned forward. “They were probably testing you. Needed to see if you could be trusted. See if you might be the type to convert to their side.”

  “You became a problem the moment you said you wanted to stay and talk to the lady,” Mitch said. “Evidently, she had good info.”

  Liz didn’t like what she was hearing, and even less what she was thinking. “So, bottom line, the woman in Arizona is dead, all because of me. It was like I killed her the moment I gave her name to my editor.”

  “In this business of good and evil, there are casualties,” Mitch said. “You can’t blame yourself for what happens.”

  “Don’t you tell me not to blame myself. Don’t you dare.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Liz needed to get out of the room. The air in the small office had become stifling. Walls were too close. Lights not bright enough. The Skype of Reese and Josh on the computer screen too realistic. She jumped to her feet, pointing defiantly at Mitch.

  “People are dying because of me.” She swung her finger in her own direction. “First Keith. No, evidently first there was this woman in Arizona, then Keith. Maybe even my dad. All because of me!”

  Mitch rose and tried to wrap his arms around her, but she shoved away from his hold.

  Breathing heavily through her nose, her chest pumping with each inhale-exhale, she came to a decision. A decision that made no sense. But a decision she would not be talked out of. “I want to go for a walk on the beach. Right now.”

  “No.” His expression blanked as he shook his head.

  “Either you promise to take me for a walk on the beach in the morning, or I’ll sneak out tonight and go by myself.”

  “We’ll talk about it in the morning, Liz.”

  His tone was Mr. Protector now, hard and clipped and authoritative. She didn’t like it one bit. She understood, but he needed to understand her, too. This was nonnegotiable because ultimately, it was her decision.

  The Arizona woman had died because of her. That beautiful woman with the perfect complexion and high cheekbones.

  “And, tomorrow evening, I want to go to dinner at one of those restaurants Reese has checked out.” She sucked in a breath, deeper and deeper, feeling as if it might be her last. Even slower, she released her breath. “I need to dance. I need to laugh.”

  “No.” Mitch shook his head one more time.

  “You told me dying was not an option. Well, the longer I’m cooped up with all these OPAQUE rules…the more you struggle to keep me safe…the more I feel as if I’m dying a little bit each second.” Reaching out to Mitch, she touched his arm. “Don’t you understand? This protection is slowly closing in on me. It’s like being locked in a safe room.”

  “You’re not in a box, Liz. This house is not a box. Not a safe room without windows.”

  Panic rose, and she struggled to fight the edges. “I need…need…to go outside. I really—”

  “No.” Mitch didn’t shake his head this time, and there was no sign of the tenderness he’d given her this afternoon. “Like it or not, you will do what I say. When I say. No questions asked. That’s the way it has to be. I’m sorry.”

  She felt him hold her in his arms. Felt him lay his cheek against the top of her head. Felt him kiss her forehead.

  “I’ve got you,” he said. “Everything’s going to be okay. Everything—”

  “No. No it isn’t. I…I can’t breathe.” She shoved him away and ran out the bedroom door.

  …

  Mitch glanced at the computer screen. “I’ll get back with you guys.”

  “Panic attack,” Reese said.

  “Yeah.” Mitch nodded then clicked the disconnect before racing downstairs. “Liz, where are you?”

  The security siren beeped, louder and louder. The secondary security system whistled as the lights in the house flashed on and off. Evidently, she’d run outside. Forgot to turn off either system. But which way had she gone? At the bottom of the stairs, he clicked off the sirens and flashing lights then noticed the doors to the deck had been opened.

  There she was…on the deck…leaning against the far rail. Facing out toward the Gulf, she had her head tilted slightly upward toward the moon…her shoulders heaving with obvious gasps for air. He quickly reset everything then grabbed a can of sparkling water from the fridge, opening the top as he walked outside.

  He stepped up beside her, pressing the can in her hand. “Can I do anything for you?”

  Calmer, she shook her head, sucking in fewer and fewer deep breaths. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but not from the temperature or mist from the Gulf. She rolled the cold can around her face then finally drank some of the sparkling water. “I’m better now. I just needed to be outside.”

  “Panic attacks are a bitch. Running from one isn’t the best idea,” he said.

  “I forgot.” She smiled weakly. “It’s been a long, long time since I experienced that feeling.”

  “Did you used to have them often?”

  “That’s the first one since I went away to college. Of course, there were some pretty close calls when I’d go home for the holidays. I worked summer breaks or took extra courses, anything to stay away.”

  She sat down at the patio table and leaned back, propping her feet on another chair. “The attacks became worse after my mother died. Once she wasn’t there to reason with my dad, he became even stricter on what I could do. And when. And with who. And, no you can’t spend the night at your friend’s house. No, you can’t have friends over to our house. And on and on and on.”

  Mitch sat next to her but far enough away to not intrude on her space. Some things were beginning to make sense, like the fact she said she hadn’t gone home often. There was always a story when people stayed away. He should know—he’d stayed away for more than twelve years.

  “Did CT show up more often after your mother passed away?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. There were a lot of times my dad would tell me to get lost for a while.” Her brow wrinkled, and she softly grunted. “I made the mistake of forgetting once and had to go in the safe room. All night.”

  Mitch’s expression hardened. “Did he lock the door?”

  She shook her head. “No. But by then I was afraid of what or who I might find if I left the room, so I locked the bolt on my side, curled up, and went to sleep. After that, you can bet I never forgot when I was supposed to be gone.”

  They sat in silence for quite a while. He had all the time in the world to listen or just sit. For him, keeping his client safe meant rules. Evidently, his restrictions had made her insides cry out in panic.

  One question nagged at his mind. “Why did you decide to be a journalist?”

  She glanced in his direction, raised her eyebrows.

  “It’s just a question.”

  “I became a journalist for a few reasons. First, I like to write, and I’m good at it. Second, I love doing research. Finding out all the things I never knew.” Drinking down the remainder of her water, she stood. “And third, my job would take me on all kinds of assignments, to all different places in the world. Wouldn’t leave much time to go back home.”

  Mitch understood her reasoning, all too
well. But his departure was to save his siblings. Who was she saving? “Did you miss being away from your dad?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Liz, I need you to answer the question.” He wasn’t prying, he was stacking each clue.

  “Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” She headed for the open doorway into the living room. “I loved my mother…”

  “What about your dad?”

  “I loved him…sometimes. Sometimes he could be mean.” Her voice softened. “Let’s just say I grew up. Realized I didn’t need someone ruling my life; I needed to find a way to live my life. To take care of me.” She lifted her face toward his. “Losing the panic attacks was taking care of me. Staying away from him was taking care of me.”

  His chest seemed to become one giant hole. “I didn’t mean to cause you to have another one.”

  “Like you said before, you can’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you, either. But I do have to take care of myself.” Her expression held such sorrow as she blinked rapidly a few times. “Do you understand? No matter…how I feel about you…I have to take care of me.”

  How could he explain to her this wouldn’t last forever? That once the link between her and CT was broken, he could be himself. “The idea that CT has been tracking you for an extended period of time pushes every button of protection I’ve been trained to use. You’ve got to understand. I don’t know how not to do my job. Not to be responsible.”

  “I swear if you say you’re responsible one more time, I’m going to rip your head off.”

  His first instinct was to say the word just to aggravate the hell out of her. But she looked stone-cold serious.

  “All I hear from you is ‘do this, do that. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.’” She exhaled loudly. “You’re as controlling as my dad. Telling me what to do and when. I won’t stand for it. Never again.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “You act like you’re the only one who can save someone.”

  She seemed to hate what he stood for. What he’d stood for his entire life. She equated control and responsibility as one and the same. And she hated both. His insides felt like he’d been gut punched.

  “And what if I am?” he asked. “What if I’m the only chance someone’s got and I fail? What then, Liz? I’ve been in that place. I’ve missed a shot. Taken the wrong turn. Almost lost a client. And it feels like the fires of hell.” Clenching his jaw, he forged ahead with his personal defense. “But I keep doing this damn job every damn day because it’s what I’m damn good at, and I’m one of the very few willing to take on that kind of responsibility.”

  She looked taken aback. A glaze of wetness glistened in her eyes. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I understand what you said, I truly do, but lots of people feel responsible. You seem to live, eat, and breathe it every day. Yet when I felt guilty for the woman in Arizona’s death, you couldn’t even let me have that. There’s something wrong with that opposite thinking.” Shaking her head, she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, appearing to search for the right words to say. “You act like you came out of the womb responsible.”

  “Maybe I did.”

  “Oh, by all that’s holy, Mitch, listen to yourself. Don’t act like a martyr. Nobody’s that responsible.”

  He’d told very few his story, but she’d just called him on his life. He didn’t deserve that.

  “When I was fourteen, my mother had to quit her job because she was sick. That left bills to pay. Food to buy. So, in addition to his full-time day job, my dad took on a second job at a convenience store in a neighborhood no one wanted to work in. Volunteered for third shift because it paid extra. That’s responsibility.”

  Mitch rummaged in his mind for the images, the memories. “I knew he got tired at the job, so some nights I’d tag along to help stock and clean. He and I would share a deli sandwich and a couple sodas…and we’d talk and joke and dream of the future before I’d end up falling asleep behind the counter till time to leave for school.”

  Even in the semidarkness, he could see that she paled a little, her brow scrunched. “That must have been hard on you.”

  “Hard? Hard was the night a strung-out gun-carrying SOB confronted my dad, demanding all the money in the register. As Dad opened the register, the punk grabbed me and shoved the gun to my head.” Mitch swallowed the anger lodged in his throat. “My dad knocked the gun to the floor to save me, but the punk beat him to the weapon, aimed, and fired point-blank at his chest.”

  He clenched his eyes shut for a moment and brushed the wetness from his face. “And then I held my dad as he died. And I made my promises.”

  Liz’s face was covered in tears he hadn’t meant to cause her; her chin quivered as she hugged her arms against her chest. Part of him said stop, leave things the way they are. Another part yelled end everything now and don’t run like he had so many times before. Running was easy compared to sharing.

  “Want to know who was responsible from then on?” He slammed his finger at his chest. “Me. I worked two jobs after school. Rummaged through trash bins to find stuff to sell. Stood by the back door of restaurants to vie for food being thrown out. I shoplifted. Sold drugs. Filched money from the collection plate at church.”

  He’d never said this much to anyone else about his past. No one. For some reason it felt cleansing, and he needed it all out in the open. Out from the walls he’d built around the past. “I did what was needed to keep my family going. Things I’m not proud of when I look back. But everything I did was on me. Nobody else. I put food on the table for my brothers and sisters. Clothes on their back. I bought the medicine for my mother. And when she died, I paid for the funeral.”

  Liz’s expression lost the tightness that creased her face moments ago. “I’m sure your siblings appreciate all you did.”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea. You see, I was sixteen by then, and a distant relative said they’d take the other four as a family unit, but not me. I’d caused too much trouble keeping us all alive. So I left that night. Never went back.”

  She touched his hand. “That took a lot, to be so…so…”

  “Responsible. That’s the word you’re looking for, Liz. That’s the word you don’t like. And that’s the word I am.”

  Quietly, they stood, staring out into the darkness filled only with the glow of the half-moon. He needed to clear his mind. Too bad he couldn’t go for a long, long swim in that water less than a hundred yards away.

  The Gulf waves rolling into shore had a different sound than they’d had when he walked into the Mariner’s Bar and Grill back in Ft. Myers. That was before he’d met her. Before he’d let himself consider a life with someone. Before this assignment meant everything in the world to him. Had it really been only a week ago?

  “I’m sorry about your dad. Your mom,” she said. “I know how hard it is to—”

  “There’s the problem. You do know what it’s like to lose someone. But you haven’t taken time to realize everyone has a story behind who they are.”

  “Still, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want your sympathy.” To put distance between the two of them, he moved farther down the deck. “I wanted you to see me for who I am, and have that be enough. It’s not.”

  “You don’t know that.” She took a step in his direction.

  He turned toward her, then stopped her with a slight raise of his fingers. “We had a nice day today. Had some fun. But this”—he moved his fingers back and forth between them—”isn’t going to work. So, we need to stop before one of us forgets you’re the client and I’m the protector.”

  “Mitch?” she whispered, pleading.

  “No. We would never work. I do take pride in the fact I face my responsibilities head on. Nobody is ever going to take that from me.” He glanced back out at the Gulf. “On the other hand, you see responsibility as control. That’s the furthest thing from my mind. I never w
anted to control you, Liz. I only wanted to…” He sighed. “Never mind. Good night.”

  She sniffled, swiping her hands against her cheeks before rubbing her palms against her shorts. “I’m going to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning. We can talk more then.”

  He moved to the table, sitting there long enough for her to get upstairs, then he locked everything once again and reset the alarms before heading up the stairs, back to his computer. There was nothing he could do about the way he was wired. Nothing he could do about his past, except keep sending five hundred dollars a month to the food pantry and church in his old neighborhood.

  Every day he woke up, knowing he could live with himself and what he’d done in life, even when, occasionally, the awful memories of what had been required of him came to visit. Those thoughts could gnaw a hole in his heart and soul and mind, but he always survived their attack by knowing he’d done what was needed to keep the client in the right alive…and free.

  Time to finish the conversation with Reese and Josh, so he clicked on their signal and, within moments, they were both back on OPAQUE’s secure Skype.

  “With all the info Liz gave us on the Arizona connection, I assume you guys realize everything else has changed.” Mitch scribbled on the notepad next to the keyboard. “I think she’s the target. Her dad’s the leverage against her.”

  The men nodded.

  “Everything okay there?” Reese asked.

  “Yeah, she’ll be okay. Let’s get on with this.” Mitch began to check off his list of objectives. “Whether Drake finds Russ or not, the main priority is Liz. CT wants her. Let’s focus on finding out why.”

  “Reasoning says a journalist has lots of contacts. Goes lots of places. They can be used to someone’s advantage in a variety of ways.” Reese’s CIA background seemed to be a basis for his thoughts. “They can be used to ask questions. To plant thoughts. Twist a statement or clean up a reply.”

  “In other words, CT could embed her in companies or law enforcement. Government agencies or—”