The Perfect Lie

by Dinah McCall

  He opened the packet as he walked. There was two pictures and a small, hand-printed note inside.

  Find Jonah Slade but do not alert him. Instead, call this number for further instructions.

  He laid the note aside and then picked up the pictures. One was of a bearded man with his hair pulled back in a ponytail. In the picture he was standing beneath a banana tree holding an assault rifle. The other was of the same man, but the long hair and beard were gone, and he was wearing a suit. Had he not known it was the same man, it would have been difficult to believe.

  He studied the pictures for a few seconds, then laid them on top of the note and picked up a box of hamster food before going to the cage. He poked his finger through the tiny bars, smiling as the hamster nibbled at his fingers.

  “Hey, Arnold, how’s my little buddy? You smell supper, don’t you, guy?” He opened the cage, took out the feeding dish and filled it up, then refilled the water, as well. “Looks like you’re going next door to stay with Jennifer again. You like that, don’t you, guy?”

  The Snowman had never intended to be someone who killed men for money, but along the way, the occasional marijuana cigarette had turned into a need for something stronger and harder. With that addiction had come problems that he couldn’t control. He’d made friends in all the wrong places and owed favors to people who could ruin his world. Rather than admit to himself he was in so far over his head that he’d already drowned, he’d chosen to bend laws, which had then evolved into out and out breaking them. By the time he killed his first man, he was immune to the guilt and dwelled only on the relief he felt, knowing that, once again, he was the one in charge and the people he owed were, for the time being, off of his back. Added to that was the growing numbered Swiss bank account held by a dual identity that was also his.

  Given his true nature, it made no sense that his fondness for the hamster was real, but it was. When he had to go away, which was often, he paid his neighbor’s ten-year-old girl to care for Arnold. It was an amiable arrangement, even though he was getting tired of the chase.

  Reluctantly he shut the door to the cage, made a call to his neighbor for Jennifer to come get his pet, and then went to change clothes.

  The next morning

  Evan moaned in his sleep, fighting against an unexpected pressure on his shoulder.

  “Boy. Wake up. You wake up now!”

  Startled by the sound of a voice, he sat up and then scooted back against the wall, putting himself as far away from his captor’s reach as possible.

  The guard shoved a tray of food in Evan’s lap, then pointed.

  “You eat now.”

  The scent of warm tortillas and beans made Evan’s stomach ache and his mouth water, but eating their food wasn’t something he was willing to do. He had no control over what was happening to him except for this.

  “You eat it,” he said, and shoved the tray away.

  The guard frowned. The boy had been in captivity for three days now, and except for a couple of small cans of food they’d given him earlier, he had yet to eat. He kept the water they gave him, but little else. But the guard had his orders. Keep the boy alive and healthy. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to him if something happened to the boy before the padrone gave the word. Frustrated, he shoved his gun in Evan’s face.

  Evan was so light-headed and weak from lack of food that he’d gotten past the point of fear. His only weapon against them was not eating. They wanted him to eat. But they were going to kill him? To hell with them all.

  “So shoot me,” he muttered, and leaned forward until the barrel of the gun was resting against his forehead.

  Suddenly frightened that the gun might go off, the guard yanked the gun back and slapped Evan instead.

  Evan’s head snapped backward, thumping sharply against the wall. The coppery taste of fresh blood was in his mouth, and he could feel a sharp pain where his tooth had cut the inside of his lip. Without saying a word, he leaned over the side of the bed and spat. A splatter of blood and sputum landed near the guard’s shoe. He resented the hell out of the man for bringing tears to his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them see his fear—not anymore.

  “You can beat me. You can shoot me. You can do whatever the hell you choose, but you can’t make me eat. You doped the food, you son of a bitch, and I will not make myself any more vulnerable to you than I already am. Understand?”

  The guard set the tray down on the floor with a thump and stomped out of the room. The walls vibrated from the impact as the door slammed shut. Evan staggered to his feet, took the bottle of water from the tray, then carried the remaining contents to the hole in the floor. With one last lingering sniff, he dumped the food into the hole. At least the rat is getting fat, he thought, then moved back to the bed and crawled in, wincing as his hands took too much of his weight.

  Three of his fingers were horribly swollen. He knew they’d gotten infected from the splinters beneath his nails, because they were seeping a thick, bloody pus. All he could do was pour a little water on them from time to time and then ignore the pain. Moments later he rolled over, curling up into a fetal position and willing the pain to a deeper part of his consciousness.

  He could hear metal panels of the roof popping in another part of the building and knew the wind must be rising. He thought of all the carefree days he’d spent in the sun and surf, vaguely aware that this kind of evil was in the world but never imagining that it would invade and destroy his life, and wished to God he could turn back time. He would never take life for granted again.

  Somewhere in the distance he heard the sound of an approaching car engine. Someone was coming. He stood with his ear to the door, listening until he heard voices. They were faint, but close enough that he could just make out the words.

  “What do you mean, he isn’t eating?” the man asked.

  “Just what I say,” the guard answered.

  “Why not?”

  “At first we drugged the food. It was only to keep him sleeping. But somehow he knew. Now he won’t eat.”

  The man laughed. “So he’s smarter than you. What else is new, buddy?”

  Evan gritted his teeth. He recognized the guard’s voice, but not the other one, although he would swear the man was an American. He wasn’t speaking Spanish, and he didn’t have an accent.

  “Why did you come?” the guard asked.

  “You tell the padrone that I’m on the job.”

  “Yes. I will tell him.”

  “Good man,” the stranger said. “Oh, and, buddy? Don’t take any wooden nickels.”

  “What?”

  The man laughed. “It’s just an American saying.”

  A few moments later, Evan heard the sound of a car engine starting, then driving away. He tracked the sound as it disappeared into the distance and decided that he must be in an isolated place. Not once since they’d brought him here had he heard traffic or sirens or anything that would lead him to believe they were anywhere close to civilization.

  He pushed himself away from the door and crawled back onto the bed. When he finally closed his eyes, the tears he’d been holding back welled and spilled out from under his lashes. He needed a miracle.

  Finally he slept in the small, airless room and dreamed that he was home.

  Dominic Cosa had made a mistake. He’d underestimated Donny James’s wife. Not only had she gone to the police, but she’d fingered him. He could get rid of her now, and he was tempted. But it would not undo the damage that had already been done. His lawyer had assured him that what the police had was purely circumstantial. The woman had assumed the car was Dominic’s, but she hadn’t seen the tag. She had not seen Cosa inside her house. She had not seen him come out, nor had she heard the gunshot that had killed him.

  But there was plenty of evidence that Donny had been a user and his wife had been present when Dominic had ordered Donny to plant the bug on Macie Blaine. In accordance with his lawyer’s wishes, he was lying low, not taking phone calls, n
ot making phone calls. Truth was, he was more afraid of his cousin Miguel’s anger than of going to jail, and that was why he was packing, and why he had a chartered plane waiting at LAX. Miguel Calderone did not suffer fools, and what Dominic had done was not only foolish but careless.

  “Joey!” Dominic yelled.

  Moments later, Dominic’s bodyguard appeared in the doorway.

  “Carry these bags downstairs. I’m ready to leave for the airport.”

  But Joey didn’t move.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Dominic asked.

  “I’m real sorry, boss, but you ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Joey said, and pulled a gun from the holster beneath his jacket.

  Dominic was stunned. “What the hell are you saying?”

  “I can’t let you go, boss. I got my orders.”

  Dominic felt the floor tilting beneath him. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him. Miguel wouldn’t do this. Would he? They were family.

  “You got orders? Bullshit! Miguel would never do this to me. Who told you to do this?” he yelled.

  “You know who, boss. We all take orders from the padrone.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Dominic said. “Miguel would not kill his own blood kin.”

  Joey shrugged. “I don’t know nothin’ about that. All I know is I got my orders.”

  Despite what he’d told Joey earlier, the man was big and dumb and single-minded. He could do only one thing at a time, which was why he made a good stooge. Give him an order, and he latched on to the words like a bulldog with a bone. If someone had told Joey to take him out, then it was over. At that point, Dominic panicked.

  “Listen to me, Joey. For once in your life, just think. Someone is tricking you. Miguel is in a Federal prison. There is no way he could still be giving orders when he’s behind bars.”

  “Sorry, boss, but you know that’s not true. It’s plenty easy to run the business from inside. It’s done all the time.”

  Dominic’s underarms started to sweat. To his shame, he heard himself beg.

  “Don’t do this, Joey. I got money. Lots of money. Let me go. Just let me go.”

  Joey took the silencer out of his pocket, just as he’d done at Donny James’s house, and screwed it onto the end of the barrel with quiet precision.

  “There ain’t enough money to hide me from the padrone, and you know it, boss….”

  Dominic couldn’t believe this was happening. Not to him. He took a step forward, his hands outstretched.

  “Come on, Joey. You know me. How many years we been together, huh? You can’t do this. Not to me. You know you can’t.”

  Joey pointed the gun. “Just stand still, boss. I’m real good. Trust me, you won’t feel a thing.”

  Dominic thought of all the things he’d planned to do in life and still hadn’t done. Somewhere alone the way he’d meant to get married. His madre wanted grandchildren. He’d kept putting her off, telling her someday it would happen, but his someday was never going to come, and all because he’d misjudged a woman.

  He took a deep breath and then sighed. His Eden was coming to an end. Dominic Cosa’s paradise was over because he’d made an error in judgment. He’d expected that a weak man like Donny James would be married to a woman who was just as vulnerable, but he’d been wrong—so wrong. Joey was right. He’d made the mistake, and in this business, mistakes got you killed.

  Suddenly a calm came over him—an acceptance of the inevitable. He straightened his jacket and then palmed his hair with both hands before holding his arms out to his sides.

  “Okay, Joey. Do it right, and no hard feelings.”

  Joey smiled. “Thanks, boss. I knew you would understand.”

  The sound of Dominic’s skull exploding from the back made more noise than the shot itself, but Joey had been right. Dominic Cosa never felt a thing. He was dead before the bullet that passed through his body hit the wall behind him.

  Joey unscrewed the silencer, dropped it back in his pocket, holstered his gun and walked out of the house without looking back. He didn’t feel anything—not even remorse. It was, after all, only business.

  It was nearly three in the morning, and Jonah still hadn’t slept. The knot in his gut was tightening. Hour by hour, the helplessness of the situation was making him crazy. Miguel Calderone was in a Federal penitentiary, locked behind a mountain of concrete, iron and steel, and yet his presence was as real as if he were here in the room with him. He got up from the bed and began pacing the floor. He should have killed him. He’d witnessed the atrocities that he’d committed. When the choppers arrived and the fire fight started, he should have killed him then. God knows he’d thought about it. It would have been so easy. Bullets were flying, men were dying. All he would have had to do was—

  The scream came without warning, almost stopping his heart. He bolted for the door and out into the hall. One of Ruger’s men was already halfway up the stairs.

  “What the hell was that?” the agent asked.

  “I think it came from Macie’s room,” Jonah said.

  The agent pulled his gun and followed Jonah across the hall. Just as Jonah got to the door, he heard a moan and then what sounded like a muffled sob. He opened the door and then stepped inside. There was a night-light on in the bathroom. It shed enough light for the men to see that Macie was obviously in the throes of a nightmare. She was rolled up in her covers and curled into a fetal position. Even in the dim light, Jonah could see her trembling.

  “I’ve got this,” he whispered.

  The agent nodded, holstered his gun and went back downstairs, leaving Jonah alone with Macie. Jonah closed the door, then moved to the side of her bed. He switched on the lamp and patted her shoulder.

  “Macie…honey…wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

  The unexpected voice, along with the pressure of a hand on her shoulder, woke Macie instantly. Blinded by the light, she tried to sit up but was too wound up in the covers to move. When she realized it was Jonah, she sank back against her pillows in shock.

  “What’s happened? What are you doing here?”

  “You screamed.”

  “Oh, Lord,” she mumbled, and swiped her hands through her hair, roughly combing it away from her face. Her voice quavered, then broke, as she started to talk.

  “I was dreaming about Felicity. They were putting her into the crematorium, but she was still alive. I kept telling them to stop, but no one would listen.”

  Jonah sat down beside her, then, without asking, scooped her into his lap. When she tucked her head beneath his chin and pulled his arms around her as she might have a blanket, he sighed. God. She felt so damned good in his arms.

  “It was only a dream, Macie. You know it wasn’t true.”

  She nodded, but she couldn’t help but add, “It just seemed so real.”

  “Yeah, dreams can play with our fears in a way nothing else can.” Then he leaned his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes. Her hair was like satin against his cheek, and she smelled sweet—so sweet.

  Macie sighed, taking comfort in Jonah’s presence and willing her mind to a better place than where it had been.

  Several minutes passed without either one of them speaking. Jonah thought she’d fallen back to sleep and was just at the point of laying her down when she spoke.

  “I didn’t eat dinner, did you?”

  Jonah grinned. “Yes. When you didn’t come down to eat, Rosa seemed pretty ticked off. I was afraid to tell her no.”

  Macie leaned back and looked up at Jonah’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For having that fit. I was just so upset about what Declyn had said to me, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry…really sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” Jonah said. “Now, about the dinner you didn’t eat. I’m guessing you’re hungry.”

  She nodded.

  “Is it permissible to raid the kitchen?”

  “It never used to be,” she muttered.
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  “So what are we waiting for?” he asked.

  Macie stared at him, silently mapping that face for the time when he would no longer be in her life.

  “You,” she said softly. “I was waiting for you.”

  The words hit him like a fist to the belly, and it was one of the few times in Jonah Slade’s life when he was at a loss for words. He was afraid to read something deeper into her statement, but before he could think what to say, Macie wiggled her way out of his lap and grabbed a sheer blue robe from the back of a chair.

  “So, are you coming with me?” she asked, as she headed for the door.

  Jonah stood, and in that moment, he knew that if things had been different, he would have followed her to the ends of the earth.

  “Yeah, I’m coming,” he said, and swallowed past an odd lump in his throat.

  Macie strode toward the stairs, her floor-length robe billowing out behind her as she walked. Her hunger had suddenly dissipated, but she would never have admitted it. The little deceit was nothing if it meant she was going to spend a quiet hour in the middle of the night with the only man she’d ever loved. Then she snorted beneath her breath at the drama of her thoughts. What she’d felt for Jonah had been a childish crush. What was happening to her now was completely different. Before, she’d dreamed of gentle touches, soft smiles and tender kisses. Her limited experience with boys had never let her imagination past that point. But now she knew him as a man. She’d seen him naked. She’d seen the power in his body, and she was no longer an innocent child. She’d known the overwhelming surge of sexual climax, and thinking of him naked between her legs, his body hard, his skin slick with sweat as he rocked against her, made her weak at the knees. There was where her true hunger lay, but tonight it would not be fed. She was going to have to settle for a sandwich instead.

  And while they were digging into Rosa’s leftovers, the Snowman was letting himself into Jonah’s apartment.

  The Snowman was tired. Flying back and forth from coast to coast got old, especially when you were catching the red-eye, but a job was a job. He picked the lock on Jonah Slade’s apartment, then let himself inside and was halfway across the foyer and heading for the living room when something rattled off to his right. He pulled his gun and froze, half expecting to see Slade himself. He slowed his breathing and waited. As he stood in the darkness, he heard another, less distinct, sound and frowned. He knew that sound. He’d heard it…