Tell Me No Lies: The Black Orchid, Book 1

by Magnolia Smith

  When I returned home from the bookstore, Kael’s truck was still parked outside. I immediately went upstairs. I didn’t want to see or think about Kael Brady. I had my journal. It was the same kind Rain had.

  I wasn’t even sure if I’d use it. Yes, it was probably cathartic and therapeutic and all that but on the other hand it felt so seventh grade. I mean, Dear Diary? I’m just not the type.

  I changed into my pajamas, pulled my hair into a ponytail, cleaned my face and brushed my teeth. I logged onto the dating website I was using and eagerly clicked through my emails. With Jax out of the picture, I needed to find a replacement and fast. Or I would definitely be tempted to return to him.

  I sent emails to a few guys that I would probably speak to at a bar but nobody that was perfect. I received a few more emails and before I knew it an hour had passed. Meeting people on the Internet was diversionary at best. But still, I began to wonder if I could really meet a quality person online.

  * * * * *

  I rubbed my temples and then my eyes. Staring at the copious amounts of minute data on Il Morte was tedious. Especially when it all amounted to the same conclusion. No one alive had ever seen him, which made it very difficult to track him.

  I leaned back and stretched the muscles of my neck. It would’ve helped if the analyst also tracking him had contacted me. Surely he had to know something that could help me, something that was not contained in the file.

  I reached for my remote and turned on my screens, the ones that displayed Rain’s home. The ones that assured me they were safe.

  As soon as I learned about Il Morte, I’d installed surveillance equipment in my townhouse. And then I went to Rain and Charlotte’s house. It had to be done. I had to know Rain was safe. So I installed cameras and microphones in their home, only in the common areas. Well, I did place one in Rain’s room. It might seem strange but it’s the only way I could keep an eye on her and be certain of her safety.

  It was late and the house was dim. I switched cameras going from the living room, to the kitchen, the upstairs hallways and finally to Rain’s room.

  Rain was asleep, turned on her right side and snuggled under her comforter. I didn’t place a camera in the roommate’s room because frankly I didn’t care what happened to her. No, that wasn’t exactly true. I cared to the extent that if the roommate was in danger, her proximity to Rain could place her in danger. But that was all.

  That roommate hated me and I could understand on one level—she’d seen something she had no business seeing. But what I couldn’t understand was her refusal to believe that I was one of the good guys, that I had Rain’s best interests at heart.

  I didn’t trust Rain’s roommate any more than she trusted me.

  Sighing, I clicked the screens off and returned to my computer. How to find a needle in a haystack? I picked up my encrypted cell phone and texted Mark, requesting assistance from the analyst for the umpteenth time.

  Then I stretched my legs, crossed my arms behind my neck and waited.

  Startled awake by the chiming of my encrypted webcam, my eyes flew open. An hour had passed. It was midnight.

  Leaning forward, I clicked on the incoming call. The screen popped up. A young man stared back at me. He wore a baseball cap low on his face.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” There was an edge to his voice, like he didn’t want to be here on this webcam with me.

  “You’re the analyst, right?” He nodded. “I’m sure Mark filled you in, just looking for some information to fill in the dots.”

  “I know very well who you are, Agent Brady.”

  “Good.” I nodded, ready to finally get some answers. “So, what do you have for me?”

  The man’s jaw set stubbornly. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Why not?”

  The young man leaned forward. “I’m looking for Il Morte. He’s mine. When he’s brought in, it’ll be me doing the dragging.”

  Oh hell. A young gun aiming to make a name for himself. Been there done that. I chuckled. “Look, I understand, okay? When I bring him in, I’ll give you all the credit due.”

  “No,” he said, his light eyes serious under the brim of his hat.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Hey, I’m not a kid.”

  “Well, it’s clear you’re green, it’s fucking evident that you’re fresh off the farm. And you will tell me everything you know, so that I can find this asshole and give him some Group justice.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. He’s a ghost. All you can do is sit on your ass and wait for him to find you.”

  I leaned so close to the screen my nose was almost touching it. “What did you say to me, son?”

  He smirked. “Everyone knows you’ve gone soft. If you just wait long enough, he’ll find you.”

  “I haven’t gone soft.” Shaking my head, I stared at the wall above the screen. I couldn’t believe the shit talked behind my back within The Group. I’d worked my ass off for four years destroying anything they put in my sights, but now because I wanted something a little different…

  “We learned about you in school, you know that.”

  I focused on the screen. “What?”

  “Yeah, they teach several of your previous missions as case studies. Tikrit, Baku, Rabat. I wrote my fucking final exam on you.”

  I didn’t know they were teaching Kael Brady 101. What the fuck? “Look, kid, that’s great—”

  “No. It’s not great. You’ve lost your edge. You were my fucking hero.” He exhaled loudly. “I wanted to be just like you when I was first recruited. But hearing about how you wanted to get out early so you could be with some chick you met,” he snorted, “illusion effectively ruined.”

  Shortly after I met Rain, I requested an early contract termination. I asked if I could work with The Group as a freelancer. That request had been unequivocally denied, and apparently leaked to the other agents.

  The Group was a small world. Agents were no different from anybody else, they gossiped too.

  “My private life is none of your concern.”

  “It is when it conflicts with my job.”

  “Come again?”

  He paused, took a deep breath and finally smiled. “Il Morte is tracking you. And I am tracking Il Morte. Our paths are bound to cross.”

  I relaxed slightly. “Maybe.”

  “I don’t mean to come across as an asshole, but…”

  “Save it.” That was precisely what he meant to do.

  He smirked. “Okay.” He leaned forward, his eyes intense. “Look, there’s no need to spend time looking for Il Morte. Like I said, just stay in one place long enough and he’ll find you.” He shrugged. “Use yourself as bait.”

  I glanced at the smirking, surly young man, pissed off and disillusioned because I wasn’t perfect. “Thanks for nothing, kid.”

  I closed the laptop.

  * * * * *

  Another night on the computer. I believed I was becoming obsessed. Bantering back and forth with these guys was really a waste of my time, but it kept my mind off of Jax. Rain probably thought she’d lost her roommate somewhere but I was right upstairs in my room, glued to the computer screen.

  I settled on another guy that seemed promising. We set a date for the following day. I was excited. He was a handsome lawyer from New York, just moved into the area.

  I remember Rain mentioning a new Italian restaurant downtown. She didn’t say much, since we were barely talking but she’d said that it would be a nice place for a first date. And it was. Nonna’s, an Italian bistro, was all rough brick walls, dark leather, stainless steel and splashes of terracotta and olive green.

  The walls were covered in cast iron wine racks filled with wine and parts of stenciled oak barrels as decoration.

  I perused the drink menu and order a limoncello martini and wai
ted for my date to appear. When he was fifteen minutes late, I sent him a text.

  He didn’t respond, so I ordered an appetizer. The waiter gave me a knowing look. “Should we go ahead and take your order, madam?”

  I glanced over at the empty chair. “Not yet, my date is just running a bit late.”

  “Of course.” The waiter backed away.

  But when thirty minutes had passed and my date didn’t respond to my second or third text, I began to worry. Maybe he wasn’t coming? Was I being stood up?

  I stared at the table setting across from me and my vision blurred. Was this what I’d become reduced to? Being stood up by guys online. Was I that desperate?

  Tears splashed down my cheeks, a lump lodged in my throat and my shoulders began to heave. Oh God, not here. I really didn’t want to cry in public. Really didn’t want to make a scene.

  But it was too much. My fight with Rain, Kael’s threats and Jax. What was his deal? He loved me or he didn’t. I was good enough to date but not to marry.

  A ragged sob wheezed out of me. I grabbed my napkin and blotted my face but the sobs would not stop. I grabbed my purse, stood and froze. Suddenly, I was unsure of what to do or where to go.

  I was standing in the middle of a crowded restaurant crying. And then a man appeared beside me. He led me to the bar area, which was dark and less crowded. He snapped his fingers and the bartender handed me another limoncello martini. I gulped it down and fell into the cushioned, high back bar seat.

  Tears gathered in my eyes and I couldn’t even see straight. This is what I got for trying to meet somebody new. This is what I got for trying online dating.

  A cup of coffee and a thick slice of dreamy-looking tiramisu were placed before me.

  “The first thing you learn in restaurant management is that a complimentary dessert can solve any problem.”

  I looked up and saw the smiling face of the man who was expertly crisis-managing the most humiliating experience in my life.

  He extended his hand. “I’m Gian-Carlo and this is my restaurant.”

  I blinked tears from my eyes, acutely aware that my mascara must be halfway down my face. And when I could finally see, there was a vision of hazel eyes threaded with olive green, just-from-the-beach-tanned skin, full lips and dirty-blond hair streaked with chunks of caramel.

  I grabbed a napkin from the bar and dabbed at my face. It was no use. I couldn’t see what I was doing. I could only be making things worse. My nose was running, which meant my nose and eyes were an unattractive shade of pink.

  He gently took the napkin from my hand. “Don’t worry about your makeup. A woman looks beautiful when she cries.”

  I should also mention at this point that this gorgeous specimen of a man had the sexiest Italian accent.

  “Mangia. Eat your pie. You’ll feel better.”

  I looked at the decadent-looking concoction before me. I immediately calculated. Twelve laps around the hospital and I would still have calories to burn. Oh well. I was upset. I dipped my fork into the dessert and the tastes of rum, chocolate and espresso melted in my mouth.

  No offense to my own grandmother, but this dessert was undeniably the best thing I’d ever tasted in my life. I casually appraised Gian-Carlo’s body as he leaned over his bar and discussed some matter with the bartender. He was tall with broad shoulders and was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit with a mint green shirt and chartreuse tie.

  He gestured toward the barstool beside me. “May I sit with you for a moment?”

  “It’s your place,” I reminded him.

  He smiled. “That is the wrong answer.”

  I invitingly patted the stool beside me and he sat down.

  “So, how is it?” Mouth full, I nodded affirmatively.

  “Excellent. It is a recipe from my nonna, my grandmother. They always cook the best, yes?”

  I continued to nod as I stuffed my face. I was drowning my sorrows in sweet creamy goodness, calories be damned.

  “My grandmother always cooked for a living. Her dream was to own her own restaurant. This restaurant is a tribute to her.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “She died two weeks after we opened. But at least she was able to see her living legacy.”

  “That’s so beautiful.” His eyes were moist with emotion and I was touched. “I’m sure she’s proud of you.”

  He shrugged modestly, and I was reminded of Rain and her plans to open her shop. No, I wouldn’t bring her up. This was my moment.

  I looked around the building, suddenly remembering that I’d been here before. “This place used to be an Irish pub, right?”

  He nodded. “We just opened a few months ago, but as you can see,” he gestured around the full restaurant, “business is booming.”

  We chatted until the close of the restaurant. I didn’t realize how much time had passed until I noticed the restaurant staff placing chairs upside down on the tabletops.

  I looked at my watch in surprise. “I have an early morning.”

  He didn’t even have to ask me if I would call him. Something was happening between us and I could not explain it. He gave me his card and then softly grabbed me by the back of my head and kissed me on the right and left sides of my face.

  His eyes twinkled as he looked at me. “That is the Italian way to send a friend off. I hope I do not offend?”

  Flustered by the close proximity of his body and the scent of orange, basil and musk wafting from him, I shook my head. “No, it was…nice.”

  Needless to say, I floated all the way back to my car.

  I ran upstairs and stood in front of Rain’s closed bedroom door. No light or noise spilled from under the door. It was late and she was probably asleep.

  I tiptoed away from her door and entered my room, kicking off my shoes as I did an impromptu ballet dance around the room.

  “I feel pretty. Oh, so pretty. I feel pretty and witty and bright! And I pity. Any girl who isn’t me tonight.”

  I really wanted to tell Rain all about my night and the beautiful silver lining named Gian-Carlo. I was sorely tempted to wake her and she probably wouldn’t mind. I knew she’d be happy for me. But, my gaze landed on the diary. A giggle escaped my lips. This was such a “Dear Diary” moment.

  Feeling just like a thirteen-year-old, excited and giddy with my news, I grabbed my diary and pen and began to write. When I was done, to my surprise, I’d filled three pages.

  Maybe writing in a diary as an adult wasn’t so silly after all.

  Chapter Twenty

  Zelie smiled at me. “Yes, he is actually my uncle. More like a father, really. He raised me when my parents died in a car crash.”

  “And you don’t mind the operation?”

  “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Speaking of which, you know Mark pulled you off of me. This is probably our last time working together.”

  Her glossy pink bottom lip protruded. “Not happy about that.” But then she perked up. “But my next assignment should be fun and very satisfying.”

  Zelie and I were posing as just another pair of bored patrons of the arts, me in a black tux and her in a violet evening gown with a plunging neckline with her hair styled up in a complicated bun dotted with pearls.

  The Taiwan Embassy was hosting a special closed exhibit of the artist Yen Shui-long at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Only about a hundred guests had been invited, including the president. He and I would have another little chat.

  Because the president was attending, all guests had been checked for weapons upon arrival, so I didn’t have any of the tools of my trade on me in case the chat went south.

  Then again, I could always improvise or just use his hands.

  Zelie smoothed down her skirt. “Here comes his security detail. How do I look?”

  “Stunning as always.”

  Four secu
rity agents entered the gallery we were in, swept the area and then the president entered with four more agents at his rear.

  Zelie rushed forward. “Uncle! It’s so nice to see you.” She waited for one of the men to give her the go-ahead to approach her uncle and then she embraced him in a tight hug.

  They spoke together in low Mandarin and then parted. The president looked at me, blinked, and a slight smile creased his face. “Have we met?”

  “The custodian, sir.”

  “Ah. You clean up very well.”

  “Yes, sir.” I shook his hand.

  I pointed to a large painting on the wall. “If we could view this together, separate from your detail?”

  “Oh?” His brow creased. “This is not a social call then?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You can trust these men, yes? You could say anything in front of them, correct?”

  “Yes, sir, but I’d prefer not to.”

  He nodded, gave his detail an order to take a few steps backward and he joined in me in contemplating a pictured titled Native Taiwanese Tribesgirl.

  He stared at the painting. “It is beautiful yet sad.” He turned to me. “Do you agree?”

  I looked at the painting created in vivid reds and yellows. It depicted an aboriginal woman, the original inhabitants of Taiwan.

  She had dark skin, wide features and luminous brown eyes.

  “She’s lovely.”

  “Lovely, yes. But sad because their people were decimated by the various colonial forces that came to the island.” His lips pressed into a thin, bitter line. “Much like you Americans did to the Indians, yes?”

  I nodded, a bitter taste in my mouth. “Yes, exactly.”

  I noticed Zelie standing demurely in the back of the room while the security agents tried to pretend they didn’t notice her stunning beauty.

  “What is it you’ve come to say now, custodian?”

  I turned back to the painting. “The US government simply wanted to remind you that you owe them a debt of gratitude…for saving your life.”