The Perfect Lie

by Dinah McCall

  Macie turned around, her expression blank with surprise.

  “A mole…as in a traitor?”

  Jonah nodded.

  “Who?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be so concerned about keeping this a secret.”

  Macie sighed. “Okay. It doesn’t make it any easier to face, but at least now I understand why.”

  “That’s my girl,” Jonah said; then he looked at Collum. “Let’s get rolling. I want to get out of here before everyone comes back.”

  “Where to first?” Collum asked.

  “I’m going to pay a visit to a gardener. I checked with the tail Ruger put on him. He’s still there and he’s my link to Calderone. After that, it may take a bit before things start moving.”

  “What do we tell the agents downstairs?”

  “That we’re going out for breakfast?”

  “What about me?” Macie asked.

  “You stay here,” Jonah said.

  “What if this mole, as you call him, figures out what’s going on and comes after me?” she asked.

  Jonah frowned. He’d thought of that, too, but their choices were limited.

  “He can’t take you out under force—not with all the Federal agents on the premises—so if you don’t leave with anyone, you should be okay.”

  “Fine, but when everyone comes charging to the rescue, I’m not going to be the sweet little woman who stays behind and wrings her hands.”

  “You don’t leave this house,” Jonah said.

  Macie’s chin jutted. “I won’t if you won’t.”

  “I’m just going to step out in the hall while you two thrash this out,” Collum said, and left the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

  “Macie…please,” Jonah said.

  Macie threw her arms around Jonah’s neck and kissed him soundly. His breath was soft on her cheek as they finally pulled back.

  Jonah cupped her face, studying its curves and planes intently, as if he’d never seen it before.

  “Macie.”

  “What?”

  “You know I love you.”

  Tears welled. “I love you, too. Now go find Evan…and come back to me.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” he said.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Macie said.

  “I know it’s too soon to make plans for a future,” Jonah said. “But I—”

  Macie put her hand on Jonah’s mouth, then shook her head.

  “You don’t need to make promises to me. We’ll talk when this is over.”

  He raked a hard, angry kiss across her mouth one last time, then walked out of the room without looking back.

  The gardener was getting used to answering to the name Felipe Sosa. He liked Sosa’s job. He liked the little house he’d rented in Sosa’s name. He especially liked his neighbor, Amelia Ramos. If it wasn’t for the padrone, he would never go back to Bogotá. And yet, like all good things, the perfect little world he’d fallen into had to come to an end.

  Felipe, as he called himself now, was in the small kitchen making coffee the Colombian way—thick and dark—when the knock sounded on his door. Not once in the weeks that he’d been here had anyone ever come calling. He thought about ignoring the sound, but when it came again, there was nothing to do but answer it.

  The fact that it was a gringo surprised him; then Felipe realized he looked familiar. He leaned forward, eyeing the man’s dark, short-clipped hair as well as his clothes. The plain cotton shirt was ordinary, as were his blue jeans and hiking boots.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” Jonah said.

  Felipe frowned. “I’m sorry, señor, but I do not know you.”

  Jonah pushed his way inside the door and grabbed Felipe by the collar.

  “Sure you do, you little bastard. My name is Jonah Slade. Calderone has my son, and I want him back.”

  For a second Felipe’s heart stopped. He tried to pull away, but it was no use. The man was too big and his grip far too strong.

  “Easy there, buddy. You’re not going anywhere,” Jonah said. “Let’s give the padrone a call and tell him you’ve found me, what do you say?”

  Felipe felt sick. He peered past the man in the doorway, expecting to see at least two carloads of policemen come storming up the walk, but there was no one in sight.

  “You surely have mistaken me for someone else,” he mumbled. “I do not know a Jonah Slade, or anyone named Miguel Calderone.”

  Jonah shoved the man forward, quickly closing the door behind them.

  “You don’t? Then what are you, psychic?” Jonah asked.

  Felipe frowned. “I do not know what you mean.”

  Jonah pulled the man a little closer, giving his anger free rein. “Don’t lie to me, you little bastard. If you don’t know Calderone, then you have to be psychic. Otherwise, how would you know his first name?”

  Felipe’s heart sank. Madre de Dios. He’d screwed up. “Please, señor, go away. I’m just a gardener. I know nothing of which you speak.”

  Jonah pointed to the tattoo on Sosa’s arm. “All of the padrone’s men have one of those, so quit lying to me. We’re running out of time.”

  Sosa didn’t know what to do, but denial obviously wasn’t working.

  “Out of time? I don’t understand,” he said, still pretending ignorance.

  “You work at the estate. You know Evan Blaine is missing. You know where he is.”

  Sosa took a step backward, reeling from shock. Now he remembered where he’d seen this man—in the company of Miss Macie Blaine, and again outside the toolshed. Still he blustered, refusing to admit any connection.

  “I don’t know any such thing,” he argued. “I only mow grass and weed flower beds.”

  Jonah’s patience snapped. He grabbed the man by the neck with one hand and shoved him against the wall.

  “I’m tired of playing games with you. Get on the phone. Call your people. Tell them you found Jonah Slade. Trust me. They’re going to thank you for the call.”

  Felipe’s heart was pounding. He wanted his machete and all he had were his fists. Against this man, that meant nothing.

  “All right, all right,” he mumbled, aware that he’d admitted his connection to Calderone by no longer denying it.

  Felipe continued to hesitate, but only for a moment. Suddenly he was punching in numbers, then speaking rapidly in Spanish, unaware that Jonah could follow the conversation easily. Jonah stifled a snort when he heard Felipe saying he’d captured Jonah Slade. He didn’t care what Sosa told them if it got him to Evan.

  As he continued to listen, he realized that Felipe was having a hard time selling his story. Frustrated with the delay, Jonah grabbed the phone from Felipe’s hand.

  “This is Jonah Slade,” he said. “Is my son still alive?”

  There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and then a man spoke.

  “You think we are stupid? We come to get you, we get ourselves arrested.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Is my son still alive?”

  “Sí.”

  “Prove it to me,” Jonah said. “Let me talk to him. If I can talk to him…if I know it’s really him I’m talking to, then I’ll give myself up to you.”

  “How do we know—”

  “Look, you stupid son of a bitch. I want my son. Do you think I would do anything that would endanger his life even more?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay you’ll let me talk to my son?”

  “Stay there. You will get a phone call soon.”

  “If I haven’t received the call in five minutes, I’m gone,” Jonah warned. “Then it’s on your head when the padrone finds out you let me go.”

  “No, no. You stay. The call will come,” the man said.

  Jonah disconnected without answering. The more nervous he could make them, the more likely it was that they would grant his request.

  He grinned at Felipe and pointed toward an easy chair.

  “Hav
e a seat, Felipe…or whatever the hell your name is. We’ve got ourselves a little wait.”

  It hurt to draw breath, but Evan did it anyway. In a twisted sort of way, the pain was vindication. He’d fought his captors. The fact that he’d lost was immaterial. It was the first time since they’d taken him hostage that he didn’t feel like a victim.

  The food that had been on the tray the guard had dropped lay scattered all over the floor. Evan had confiscated a small can of pears, pulled off the pop-top lid and drunk the juice before eating the slices with his fingers. It had taken him longer to find the bottle of water, which had rolled under his bed, but after he found it, he took off his T-shirt, poured some of the water on the fabric and used it for a washcloth to clean his face.

  Without a mirror, it was hard to tell what he looked like, but he knew it wasn’t good. He’d only started shaving about a year ago, and then no more than two or three times a week. But he could feel the growth of his beard. It seemed fuller—even thicker. It was ironic that none of his family was there to witness another sign of maturity.

  He ran his fingers carefully across his cheekbones, testing the length and depth of a gash just beneath his right eye, then down the side of his face to his mouth and chin. He didn’t need to feel it to know his lower lip was at least twice its normal size, but he was surprised by the knot on his chin. There was a lot of the beating that he didn’t remember, which was probably just as well.

  He tossed the shirt across the end of the bed and then leaned over, pouring a bit more of the water onto the back of his neck as a means of rejuvenation.

  The sensation immediately reminded him of his daily swims in the family pool and of his mother in her red bikini, lying in her favorite lounge chair with a stopwatch in her hand, cheering him on. Blinded by an unexpected gush of tears, Evan straightened, then took slow, steadying breaths. Now was not the time to let them see his weakness.

  He glanced toward the window, trying to guess the time of day, but the slits were too narrow. All he could see were dust motes doing faint pirouettes within thin slices of sunlight.

  He kicked at a package of crackers that Harold had been sampling, then toed it the rest of the way into the rat hole. Since the rat had already started eating it, Evan figured he should have the rest. He stumbled into the bathroom, holding his breath against the stench as he relieved himself, then hastened back out. The smell wasn’t a lot better on the other side of the room, but enough that it was worth the effort to hurry.

  Just as he was contemplating a bit of exercise, he heard footsteps, then frowned. The guard was coming back. He never came back this often. Something must be happening. The thought of another beating was almost more than he could bear. Fear spiked, leaving him weak and shaking. Was this it? Was this going to be the day he finally died?

  The door swung inward. The guard had a gun in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

  “You. Come here,” the guard ordered.

  Evan stood his ground.

  “I said come!” the guard yelled. “You talk!”

  Evan couldn’t believe it. They were giving him a phone? Except for his aunt Macie, there was no one alive who would possibly care about him. He moved quickly, then stopped abruptly when the guard swung the gun in his face.

  “You do as I say or you die,” the guard muttered.

  Evan nodded, then held out his hand. The guard frowned but laid the phone in his palm and then took several steps back, still keeping the gun aimed at Evan’s face.

  After all this time, it felt strange to be holding something as ordinary as a phone, when before, he’d rarely been without one.

  “Hello?” The word cracked coming up his throat and came out in a croak. He cleared his throat and tried it again. “Hello? Who is this?”

  He heard the sound of a swiftly indrawn breath and then the deep rumble of an unfamiliar voice.

  “Evan?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “What’s your mother’s middle name?”

  It was the last thing he had expected to hear, but somehow, he knew it was a test. Then he realized that whoever it was needed to know he was still alive.

  “Felicity. Her first name was Laura.”

  “Well, hell,” the man said.

  “I answered your question, now you answer mine,” Evan said.

  “Ask.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Jonah Slade. Do you know it?”

  Evan’s knees went weak, but he wouldn’t let the guard see the emotion he was feeling.

  “Yes, I know the name…but not the man.”

  Jonah winced, but it was no more than he expected.

  “You stay strong for me, Evan. I’m coming to get you.”

  “But—”

  The guard yanked the phone from Evan’s hand and then disconnected.

  Evan moaned when the connection was broken, but he stood his ground, staring at the guard with a go-to-hell glare.

  The guard glared back but didn’t touch him. Instead, he slammed the door shut and walked away.

  Evan dropped down to the side of the bed and then stared at the floor, trying to comprehend what had just happened. After a few moments, he started to grin, then winced as the motion shot pain through his jaws.

  I’m coming to get you.

  It was more than Evan had hoped for, yet everything he’d ever dreamed. Ever since he’d known of his father’s existence, he’d wanted to see him. Slade was a strong-sounding name. Now he had a strong, steady voice to go with it. And if he could believe what he’d heard, soon he would see the man. It was almost more than he could hope for—but hope he did.

  Jonah hung up the phone, then looked at Felipe.

  “Now we wait.”

  Felipe wasn’t all that keen on waiting, but no one had given him any choices. As he sat, the small clock on a nearby table chimed. It was only eight o’clock in the morning. How could so much have happened in such a short time when he had yet to eat his breakfast?

  “Got any coffee around here?” Jonah asked.

  Felipe jumped to his feet.

  “I will get some.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Jonah said, and followed the little man into the back of the house.

  Less than thirty minutes later, there was another knock on the door. Felipe’s heart jumped again, this time with relief. Surely this would be the padrone’s men. The sooner they took this man away, the happier he would be. Of course, once he was gone, Felipe had no choice but to run. It was obvious that his cover was blown. When he saw the two men on the doorstep, he knew it was time, whether Calderone gave the order or not.

  “Where is he?” one of them asked.

  “I’m right here,” Jonah said, sipping his second cup of coffee. “Had your breakfast? Old Felipe here makes a pretty good cup of brew.”

  “Shut up,” the man said, and knocked the cup from Jonah’s hand, then pushed him face first against the wall. “Spread your legs,” he said.

  Jonah grinned. “Take it easy, guys. All you have to do is ask. I’d be happy to oblige.”

  The two newcomers looked at each other and frowned. This made no sense. The padrone was probably going to cut this man’s cojones and fry them up to eat. He shouldn’t be laughing. He also shouldn’t be making this so easy. But they were ready for him.

  “Esteban…test him.”

  Esteban took what looked like a thick black wand from his pocket and began running it up and down Jonah’s body, just as if he was at an airport being checked with a metal detector. Only this time, it wasn’t metal they were looking for, it was electronic bugs—tracking devices—anything that would alert them that the authorities would be trailing their every move.

  But the wand didn’t give off a signal, and the other guard could find no wires.

  “He’s clean, Raoul,” Esteban said.

  “Fresh as Irish Spring,” Jonah quipped.

  Esteban frowned. “Que?”

  “Never mind,” Jonah said. �
�It’s an inside joke.”

  “I don’t hear anybody laughing,” Raoul said, then slapped Jonah across the face. “Now that was funny,” he said, and began to laugh rudely as he tied up Jonah’s wrists.

  Jonah stifled the urge to kill him now, which he could. But it would solve nothing. Evan would still be missing, and he would have missed his chance to get to him.

  “You through?” Jonah asked.

  The guard seemed taken aback by Jonah’s attitude.

  “You shut up now,” the guard muttered.

  “You take me to my son,” Jonah said.

  “We’ll take you where we choose,” Raoul muttered, and pushed Jonah toward the door.

  Jonah stopped in midstep, then turned around, facing both of them—unarmed, but deadly just the same.

  “If, when we get to where we’re going and my son is not there, I will kill both of you. Know that now.”

  Esteban looked at Raoul and tried to laugh, but the sound didn’t quite make it past a grunt.

  “You go now,” Raoul said, and pushed Jonah toward the door.

  The sun was already hot as Jonah walked outside. He eyed the van, then stopped at the door on the passenger side.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of riding in the front seat?”

  “Shut your mouth,” Raoul said, and shoved Jonah inside the van, then crawled in and tied him up.

  “There’s really no need to do this,” Jonah said. “I won’t make any trouble for you—unless, of course, you’ve lied. You see, I’ve got a real problem with people who lie to me. In fact, that’s what caused this whole mess. So you play straight with me, and I’ll be straight with you.”

  Raoul glared, and then, to be on the safe side, after tying Jonah’s feet together, he tied him to a railing in the back of the van.

  “Didn’t bother investing in seat belts, huh?” Jonah asked.

  Raoul crawled out of the van, slammed the side door shut and hurried around to the driver’s side to get in.

  “What do I do now?” Felipe asked.

  Esteban stopped, then turned around, eyeing the small, dark-skinned man.

  “If you have to ask, then you don’t belong to the padrone.”

  Felipe spun around and headed back inside the house to pack.