I had already Googled the restaurant and determined the best seating position in each of the areas if things didn’t go well and I had to leave undetected. How easily would he give up control? Men like him were usually control freaks. He wasn’t on social media, and that was concerning because it squelched my ability to find something I could fake that I liked so I could bond with him over a “mutual” interest.
The mirror reflected what I wanted to portray, a desirable woman, every man’s sexual fantasy. This dress transformed me into a living fantasy, possibly even a taboo one. Satisfied I’d hit the mark, I picked up my purse and headed for the lobby. Ah yes, as I swept across the lobby, heads turned and eyes followed me. I was ready.
The high-end restaurant in downtown Boston he’d chosen was acceptable. The elegant Japanese restaurant offered small portions of food for high prices and was highly sought after for nearly unattainable reservations. The glass and low light bathed its wealthy patrons in a golden glow. Yes, the ambience was perfect, and the tone thoughtfully set.
He saw me before I saw him and stood to the side of the table. I was going to have to rectify the seating arrangement. His chair faced the front doors, which limited my ability to leave undetected. Where he’d positioned himself gave him an unobstructed view of the entire room. If I were to leave, he would see it.
This seating arrangement wouldn’t allow me to monitor who came and went from the place. What if someone from my past arrived, and I didn’t know he was there until I felt a tap on my shoulder? I was well aware certain people make a point not to have their backs exposed, like law enforcement or controlling men who don’t want other men looking at their dates. I watched him as he watched my every move. Did the position he was trying to place me in mean he wanted control of the situation? He didn’t scan the room, envious of his prize, to see if any other men were watching me. Instead, he was tracking me like prey walking toward his trap. The look in his eyes concerned me.
My date had a roguish air about him, yet he could have easily graced the cover of GQ. His brown highlighted hair was perfectly styled and accompanied by the requisite expensive suit. So far, nothing should have triggered an alarm, but something, difficult to identify, had shifted me off-balance. His body was stiff and guarded, as if he didn’t feel comfortable in his own skin. For some reason, it made my skin prickle. Unlike most men, who undressed me with their eyes, this man seemed like he was trying to find the seat of my soul.
His stilted greeting offered no warmth. Didn’t he realize a cheek-to-cheek greeting, not a handshake, was the norm? As I shook his extended hand, I noticed he wasn’t wearing a watch or any other jewelry, another tick that something was off.
“Ms. O’Dell, a pleasure to meet you. May I call you Fiona?” he asked with a bit of a rasp to his voice.
I nodded and smiled with a warmth that put most men at ease and had them begging for more. It didn’t work on him. I did, however, continue capturing the attention of the men three tables over who watched my every move, so I wasn’t off my game.
“Please, call me Mykus. Here, let me help you,” he said and moved toward the chair behind me.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to change places with you.” He tilted his head questioningly, and I didn’t explain. Why should I? I should be able to sit where I wanted. I needed to set the tone for the night, me controlling the situation.
“Whatever makes you more comfortable,” he said. He offered an insincere smile that soon flattened out to lips pressed together. As I walked past him, his body stiffened, as if he was on guard.
He didn’t come around to push my chair in but waited for the wait staff to do it. Could he be married and have lost all sense of manners? Or was he placing himself in a dominant position? What the hell was going on? As I sat, I spied the bottle of wine already chilling. Had he already chosen the wine without giving me an opportunity to peruse the selection? Just as I collected myself from his faux pas, he asked the server to bring the menu and stated we were ready to place an order. The least he could do was compliment my dress or admire my appearance. No chitchat? He was cutting off my ability to find my bearings and set the tone.
This was ridiculous.
“If you’d give me a moment, I’d like to review the selection,” I said to the server who bowed his head and departed. I needed some time to regain control and set the pace.
OK, so he wanted to play mind games? Then we’d have a go at it. I decided to see how far he’d permit me to push him.
“Mykus, I’d like to get business out of the way so we can enjoy our meal and time together.”
He stopped and held the napkin he was about to place on his lap. His eyes engaged mine and remained focused.
“To be honest, I’ve never done this before,” he confessed. “So why don’t you lead me through this transaction.”
Transaction. Oh, that stung. My gut screamed that this meeting was off, but no, I decided, I was just on edge to close the deal and was being paranoid. The man obviously felt awkward in this situation, and this was my chance to gain control.
“I prefer to think of it as an adventure,” I said, licking my lips to put him off-balance and draw his mind to them. But my plan didn’t work. He remained focused on my eyes.
“I’m game,” he said, reaching for the prechosen wine to fill our glasses.
“Perfect,” I said, leaning forward to give him an eyeful of my cleavage. “Pull out your telephone and open your browser.” As I waited, I savored the wine. Merlot would have been preferable, but this Cabernet would do.
He looked perplexed but complied.
“Now, open your banking app, and once that’s opened, go to the tab that allows you to access your FICO score.”
His staged smile disappeared.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Fiona, but I have no intention of giving you access to my financial information. I’m here for a nice meal, and I feel we’re already off to a bad start.” His tone reflected annoyance as he put his phone back in his jacket. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
He let the silence hang, and I accepted the challenge. I offered a sigh of defeat and smiled.
“Surely you understand that taking precautions is necessary.”
His eyes met mine with such intensity I felt the need to reposition myself.
“Fiona, we both know that’s not true. The service thoroughly vetted me, and we wouldn’t be sitting here if I hadn’t passed every checklist. This is a meet and greet to decide if we want to take this further. I’m not a desperate man seeking companionship, and I do not appreciate the way you’ve conducted this so far. I’m looking to spend time with a bright, engaging woman, not some high-end hooker. If I’ve misunderstood what the service offers, then I apologize, and we can end this meeting.”
A “high-end hooker”? He’ll pay for that if we leave together tonight. I’m going to have to up my game.
“All right, my apologies, Mykus, but as I said, I’m a cautious person. I certainly didn’t mean to come across as you’re painting me. Please, tell me about yourself. I want to know everything about you.” I willed my body to relax; although, every nerve in my body fired as if electrocuted. He wanted the upper hand? So be it, but only because I was allowing him to have it under my conditions.
Mykus signaled the waiter to return to take our order. Once we had ordered, he turned his attention back to me.
“Ladies first. Please, Fiona, tell me about you. You’re a beautiful and intriguing woman. Is Boston your hometown?” he asked, lifting his wine glass to his lips.
“Yes and no. I’m a graduate student at Harvard and live in Cambridge.” If I’d had the funds, I could have attended an Ivy League school. So a lie but still some truth.
His eyebrows almost hit his scalp, reflecting genuine surprise. Maybe I had played this wrong and should have chosen Boston University. Had I overplayed my hand? He’d said he wanted a bright companion. Harvard fit the bill.
“I see,” he said as the server
placed our appetizers before us.
“What are you studying?” he asked, not at all interested in the food.
“Oh, Mykus, academia is a boring subject. I’d rather hear about you.” I wasn’t about to reveal anything that had the potential to trip me up.
“What can I tell you that wasn’t already provided in the vetting process? What secrets can I reveal?” he asked, leaning back, not reaching for a fork.
This was all wrong. Red flags flew up all around me. What happened to banter and flirting as foreplay? He was way too defensive and tight. On paper, the man had looked like an absolute winner. Was he really just socially inept with women? I’d give him a bit more rope before I left and move on to the next mark.
I softly giggled and tilted my head. “Whatever you tell other women you go on dates with.” I wanted him concentrating on the way my lips moved and my mouth savored my food to bring his thoughts around to what my mouth could do to him later. If he thought he could unnerve me, he was wrong, so wrong.
“Harvard, that is quite a coup for your resume,” he said, avoiding what I’d said and bringing the conversation back to me. “You look like you’d be more a west coast girl. I’d guess LA or Seattle.”
I nearly choked. “No, I’ve never been to either place. I like the traditions of Boston.”
He picked up his fork to spear a shrimp but stopped midair before it reached his mouth. “Fiona, you appear to be anything but a traditional woman. In fact, I’m fairly certain you like to live on the edge and dip your toe into the wild pond.”
This was getting out of hand, and I fought to maintain my cool. I needed to bring it back to neutral territory, retake control, and set the narrative.
“Wild? Oh absolutely not. I’m a real bookworm; I worked hard to get accepted into my PhD program. All my energy is focused on paving the way for my future.” I leaned toward him to whisper a secret. “My passion always was and still is forensic psychology.”
His facial expression remained the same, but by the way his eyes dilated, I knew he was more than a little interested.
“I’m impressed. A super brain and beautiful woman. Quite the deadly combination. What does a forensic psychologist do?” he asked.
After wiping my lips, I took a moment to gather my thoughts before I responded.
“I can give you the American Psychological Association’s definition, but it’s short and boring. The APA’s line is that it’s the application of clinical psychologies to the legal arena. However, I like to make it more of a personal interpretation. My training as a forensic criminalist allows me to study crime and criminals. I want to know what makes people tick and get into their minds. Own their minds.” A response crafted for a purpose.
He nodded, so I continued. “I identify and predict psychological, sociological, and economic characteristics that may lead people to commit crimes. And from there, I can control them. I find the human brain fascinating.” I shrugged and waited.
“Do you have much experience with criminals?” he asked.
“Enough,” I answered.
“Care to share?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“We keep talking about me, and it’s you I want to focus on. What type of position do you hold in your company?”
God this had hit the territory that involved too much work. Without his eyes leaving mine, he failed to set his fork back on the table and dropped it. I think he purposefully dropped it to avoid my question. Or could he be as clumsy as he was dull?
“I own the company,” he said, not giving much away.
Most entrepreneurial men liked to boast about their accomplishments. Not him. He patiently waited for the staff to remove the plates and brought the conversation back to me.
“I suppose your education brings you into contact with new medical discoveries associated with treating criminals.”
“Such as?” I asked, not understanding where this was leading.
“Such as a gene-editing tool to manipulate behavior and illnesses. Isn’t that all the rage?” he asked.
OK, that was it. Was he trying to commit some corporate espionage? Had my false profile somehow led him to discover I had worked for a company that was heavily invested in genome re-engineering? Whatever his reason, this was my cue to leave. Nothing good could come from this.
“How about we continue this when I get back from the ladies’ room?” I asked. “We can discuss it over dinner.”
He stood as I stood, and I made my way to the restroom, but a quick left took me outside the restaurant and on the curb hailing a cab. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was why I always have my mark’s back to the door.
Annabelle
Why the hell is Fiona leaving the restaurant? Oh my God, she’s ditching him and hailing a cab. Before I thought it through, I started my car and began following the cab. Once I had her clearly in my sights and could safely follow her, I called Lee.
“So, how’s it going with Fiona?” I asked.
“What the hell is wrong with you? She went to the bathroom and will be back any minute,” he said. “I have to go.”
“I doubt that,” I replied with a smug tone.
The silence was deafening.
“OK, I’ll bite,” he said.
“I’m right behind her in the cab she left in about five minutes ago. You might as well pay the tab, and when the cab drops her off, I’ll head back,” I said.
“Shit. Call me when you get back.”
After Lee hung up, I called Mary who laughed and said she’d order coffee and cakes, and we’d meet in her room.
When I returned, Mary and Lee didn’t seem upset, and I didn’t sense any elevation of tension.
“Well?” Lee asked, turning off the TV.
I flopped into a soft chair, waiting for the onslaught of questions.
“What the hell?” Lee started.
“Pretty open-ended question,” I said, and he glared.
“Look, my gut said things would go south. You didn’t want to listen to me, and I felt you weren’t ready to take Fiona on. I followed my gut and parked outside.”
“Brilliant,” Mary said. “If Belle had told you what she planned you would’ve been on edge.”
He mulled it over, and I saw him struggle not to argue.
“Well, where is she?” he asked as he threw himself into the chair across from me. His posture was cocky.
“I have no idea,” I replied, tucking my feet under me.
“What do you mean? You followed her somewhere.”
“That’s correct. However, by the time I’d parked and went into the hotel, she’d already left by another door.”
“There you go; if that doesn’t say guilty I don’t know what does,” Lee replied.
“No, it means the girl is street smart. Something you should have expected from her years in foster care. You probably set off her radar, so she bailed and used diversion tactics,” Mary said with a shrug.
Lee took out his phone and opened an app. The app had a map with a grid, and on the grid was a blinking red dot. “There she is,” he said.
I was stunned stupid. “What? How?” I babbled.
“I attached a tracking device to her purse when I dropped my fork while we were eating,” he said way too nonchalantly.
“So why did you let me follow her to the hotel?” Anger built in my voice.
“Hey, I didn’t tell you to follow her; I said I’d meet you back here after you had accomplished what you’d decided to go do.”
“So you let me follow her and waste my time so you could have a laugh?” I was pissed.
“Do you see me laughing? Your little adventure helped,” he said.
“How?”
“You said she used diversion tactics,” he said with a shrug. “We wouldn’t have known that about her if you hadn’t followed her. Now we need to figure out her next move.”
“OK, I guess all we can do is sleep on it. Maybe tomorrow we can catch her off guard. Anyway, nothing more to do tonight,” Bell
e said.
“Can you send me the app and login information? That way I can follow her too in case we aren’t together or if I’m up before you,” I said to Lee.
With a few thumb strokes, I had the login information, installed the app, and left.
It was impossible to sleep. I had no reason to believe Fiona had killed anyone or committed a crime. And oh, by the way, Belle, are you doing something illegal by using this app? Are you stalking this woman? God. I’ll think about that later. She’ll never find the device, so no harm no foul. Right? Keep telling yourself that.
With nothing else to do, I opened the app, and low and behold the dot was moving. Moving at 4:00 a.m. Where the hell was she going at 4:00 a.m.? Should I wake Lee?
I threw on my sweatshirt and pants, and as I was walking to his door, I called his cell.
He answered immediately. “What?”
“Fiona’s on the move.”
“I know,” he responded.
“I’m standing outside your door. Open up,” I said.
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m following Fiona. Gotta go, I’m parking,” he said.
“Where are you?” I asked before he hung up.
“The airport, and I’m about to—shit, I just lost the signal. She must have checked her purse in her luggage. Let me see if I can catch her in the airport departure area before she passes through the security gate. I’ll call you back.”
We were once again in the dark.
Lee
I scoured the area of the airport that was open to the public, but it proved fruitless. Fiona was gone, out of my reach until her plane landed and the tracking device re-engaged.
The sudden shrill of my phone ringing broke my concentration, and I answered.
“Good morning, Lee,” Jackson said. “I spoke to Mary already, and I’m up to speed. She told me about the fiasco last night, but we’ve hit a bit of luck. Fiona called her old roommate, Claire, out of the blue and asked if she could stay with her for two nights. After that, she told Claire, she’s leaving the country. All Fiona would tell Claire was she was in Boston, and when she’d returned from a date, her room had been searched. She was frantic. She’d sensed someone had been stalking her, and this break-in validated her fear. Apparently, Fiona has arranged a meeting with someone in LA who’s going to help her with some business. Claire called me looking for you and told Fiona she’d try to help her. Fiona’s supposed to call Claire when she lands. I’m texting you Claire’s number. Touch base with her, and let me know your plan,” he said.
The Last Lie She Told (Lies and Misdirection Book 1) Page 9