The Last Lie She Told

by K. J. McGillick

  Lee ran around to open our doors and instructed us to stay behind him until he was certain the coast was clear and the dog was contained. Just as we thought we had a clear shot to the house, this bolt of black lightning came bounding toward Lee, and we all braced. He was right; the dog was so wild it took three men to corral him.

  His mother was the first to introduce herself. She was a short woman, who might give the appearance of being gentle but I knew it took a formidable woman to raise the men I saw in that house. Next, his father appeared, and instead of shaking my hand, he hugged me and stood back, assessing me. Then he shouted to the others in the living room, “She’s good, boys! It’s impossible she’s a Yankees fan. You’re not, are you?” he asked with a bit of concern in his voice.

  “Benintendi and Betts, all the way.” I smiled. I’d always been a Socks fan, but when the Yankees had signed Jeter I almost wavered.

  A mischievous, proud smile spread across Mr. Stone’s face.

  “You know Lee played ball and could’ve been in the minors,” he said, giving his son a side hug.

  His mom broke in and asked if anyone wanted refreshments, and Mary offered to go help her with dinner.

  It was so noisy in there. There were at least three separate conversations all happening at once.

  By the time we sat for dinner, I felt like I’d been a part of the family for years.

  “Belle, are you a lifer with the force, or are you taking your pension at twenty?” his father asked.

  “I’m out as soon as possible,” I said, and that surprised everyone.

  “Have you got a plan, dear?” his mom asked.

  Should I share my secret with them, or would they all laugh at me? Lee’s eyes met mine and dared me to answer. Challenge accepted.

  “I write books,” I said with a bit of hesitancy.

  “The hell you say,” his father said with a laugh.

  “You mean novels?” his sister asked, putting down her fork.

  “I’ve written a few.” I smiled and caught Mary’s eye as she gave me a questioning look.

  “Are they published?” Mary asked.

  “They are,” I responded.

  Suddenly people were reaching for their phones, and I could only guess they were going to Google me or go straight to Amazon. I waited as they tried to find me.

  Lee was the first to say, “You had me there.”

  “OK, all you detectives, try searching for Cloche Hughes.” And I waited.

  Slowly each person looked up at me.

  “How’d you become an author?” Lee asked.

  “It started with a case when I first made detective and exploded from there,” I said.

  “Eight books. Not quite Lee Child but getting there,” his sister said with a wide smile on her face. “And one was a New York Times Best Seller. How do you keep it under wraps?”

  “The pen name,” I said. “Cloche is the French for bell. Neat, huh?”

  “Very,” Lee said, with admiration in his eyes.

  I became the focus of conversation, explaining how I crafted my books while everyone continued eating. I saw Mary wink at Lee and him shake his head and smile.

  By the end of the night, I appreciated Lee, who was a beloved member of a close, albeit a dysfunctional family, who embraced us as their own. I learned a lot about Lee that night, just by listening and looking around. Without having to say a word, I realized Lee had been an honorable cop who may have lost his way. But, being honorable, he knew to get out while he still had a soul. I hoped this firm wouldn’t be a long-term commitment, and after seeing his wood sculptures, I hoped he’d explore that passion.

  His ribbons for athletics spoke to his ability to commit to a team. Pictures of happy days before his wife died opened my eyes to the man who loved and loved deeply. I hoped to find that kind of love someday.

  As we left his family home, I got a text from my partner. Chuck Evans had never regained consciousness and had died an hour ago. Boston said they took into evidence blonde hairs on his jacket.

  I passed the phone to Lee whose only comment was “Fuck.”

  Fuck indeed.

  Lee

  As I approached the breakfast table, I had the uncomfortable feeling Mary and Belle were about to set upon me like hyenas. Their foreheads almost touched as they whispered and laughed, but they quieted down as I walked up. Mary’s eyes danced when hers met mine, as if she had a secret. Belle’s eyes swept up through her lashes creating a soft crinkle at the corners.

  “Good morning. Coffee’s right here on the table,” Belle said. She motioned to the seat across from her, turned my cup over, and placed it on the saucer.

  As I sat I asked, “Hear anything more about Evans?”

  Belle adjusted the napkin on her lap, then handed me the milk for my coffee. I noticed the blood-red nail polish that accentuated her delicate, porcelain-like hands. This was new.

  “What? No small talk? Thanks for inviting me to dinner. I enjoyed your family—”

  Oh no, I would not relive the teasing I’d gotten from my family last night. Belle had learned way too much information about my past for my comfort. They’d embraced her as if she had been a family member for years.

  “Belle, not to be rude, but there’s a shitload of stuff to do today to get ready for my meeting tonight. Let’s cut the chitchat,” I said. I didn’t need to be caught up in going down the memory lane my mother had shared with her and Mary last night.

  A brief look of disappointment flashed across Belle’s face, but she quickly schooled her emotions. I thought Mary would say something, but she remained still with her lips to her cup, almost smiling. I could read her expression; she was formulating a plan I was sure I wasn’t going to like.

  “Fine by me,” Belle said, and a stiff shrug followed.

  When a woman said “fine,” that was your cue to be on guard.

  “First, to get you ready for tonight, you’re going to need a professional haircut. Then, you’re going to need some new clothes. I talked to the concierge this morning. He recommended an exclusive salon, and he booked you for nine o’clock. That’s for a haircut, facial, and manicure—”

  I put my hand up to stop her. “There will be no manicure or facial,” I replied. That was my hard line in the sand.

  “Of course there will be a facial and manicure, Lee,” Mary said. “Your skin needs a good exfoliation, and with all the pollutants in the air, your pores are choking. You’re supposed to be a wealthy man who’s influential in the business world and takes care of himself. If you don’t pamper yourself, then how can you take care of little Miss Fiona? You’ve got one shot at a first impression. If you don’t look the part, she’ll sense something is off, make an excuse to use the ladies’ room, and bolt. Trust me; she seems the type who would dine and dash. Even if she doesn’t have the drive, if she smells a setup, she’s out of there. So, suck it up, buttercup. It’s a part you have to play.”

  “That should take Lee about an hour and a half, Mary, and while he does that you and I will check out the clothing store the concierge recommended,” Belle said. “Lee, by the time you’re finished with the facial, we’ll have two outfits ready for you to look at. You can meet us there, and we can choose which looks better on you. Is there a price range we need to stay in?”

  Mary jumped in with an answer. “I checked with Jackson, and we can spend up to three thousand dollars for the whole shebang.”

  “Mary, that’s insane!” I objected. “My whole wardrobe didn’t cost three thousand dollars. That’s a total waste of money.”

  “Lee, when was the last time you went suit shopping? Wait, don’t answer that because it’s rhetorical,” Mary said.

  “I understand you’re stressed because of the tight timeline,” Mary said.

  I felt like they were acting like a tag team. One of them picked up where the other left off before I could even say anything.

  “It probably seems overwhelming trying to get this all done because we have so little ti
me. Like we’ve said, though, you’ve got to look the part. I’m going with gray, linen, three-button, and no cuffs.. And, Lee, you won’t like this, but they’re putting highlights in your hair.”

  I couldn’t comprehend what Belle had just said. She wanted me to add highlights like those metrosexual men? Like Hightower? She wanted me to fit into the artsy-fartsy, champagne-sipping crowd? No way.

  She read my body language as I braced for an argument and stopped me before I could even rev my engine. Her eyes met mine; she leaned forward, and her hands gripped the table edge. Then came the dreaded words, “I’m doing this for your own good.”

  I realized arguing was futile, so I did what most men do when it comes to arguing about clothes and grooming. I surrendered.

  “After lunch, we can discuss your strategy for getting Fiona to trust you,” Belle said, as if she was in charge of my operation. She was a bossy little thing.

  “Thanks, Belle, but I’ve got that covered,” I said. One thing I knew for sure, I knew how to handle a perp.

  “Well, pray tell, how are you going to handle it? I think we should prepare by doing role-playing. Lee, this woman is a master manipulator, and you have no idea what path she’ll take you down. She won’t have enough time to do the total mind fuck, but she can do a brief version to reel you in for more,” Belle said, moving her chair closer.

  I glanced at Mary who appeared to be hanging on her every word. “Mind fuck?” I asked, turning back to look at Belle.

  “Mind fuck,” she replied.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “OK, there are three rules to trapping a man. First, you create a comfort zone through establishing a pattern. Every morning you call at eight o’clock, without fail and say you love him. It becomes a comfortable pattern. Next step to keep his interest, so you aren’t taken for granted, you create pain by breaking the pattern. Suddenly your calls stop. That makes a man wonder, Why did she stop? Is she bored? Doesn’t she care anymore? Is there another guy? Thus, you’ve now inflicted pain. The guy becomes obsessed with finding out why you broke his comfortable routine. It also puts him in a sexually competitive state. Now, the door is open. He’ll look for any bit of validation available, so you offer him a reward. That reward he’s working for will hit him hard. This game is methodical, but the keyword is ‘unpredictable.’ And that’s how Fiona works. Normally she has months to work her game. Her time with you is limited, so she’ll have to amp it up and be ready. You need to prepare for everything she may throw at you.”

  I stared at Belle thinking, Who is this woman?

  “Belle, like I said, I’ve got this,” I replied as I watched the waiter come to take our order.

  Once we’d placed our order, she continued. “Lee, the woman is a sociopath and, as you said, a genius. No offense, but do you honestly think if you go in without practice you can match wits with her? This date can’t be an interrogation; it has to be a conversation where you subtly extract information. You’ll have to flirt with her and make her feel protected and wanted. Frankly, Lee, that behavior doesn’t seem to be in your normal bag of tricks. We only have a little time to make sure you’re ready to feel comfortable engaging her and yet still manage to stay ahead of her—”

  “Belle, I said I’ve got this,” I repeated more firmly, but this time I wasn’t sure I really did.

  Mary, who had been quiet too long, finally said, “Lee, Fiona is half your age and smart as a whip. She’s looking for money for a short period, so she’s got her game in place. If she isn’t convinced you can offer what she needs with minimal effort short term, she’s onto the next mark. She may already have another date set up after you to go clubbing to hedge her bets. You have one shot; mess it up she’s on the move. Do you want to be the one to tell the client we had her right in our hands and you let her go because you were too stubborn to accept our help?”

  “Mary, I’ve been interviewing people for years,” I said with an air of confidence. “Plus, I took the FBI profiling course. Trust me, I can control this woman.”

  Belle reached out and took my hand in hers. What the hell? She slowly stroked the pad of my hand, moving her thumb in circles, and turned my palm upward. Her green eyes met mine, and her face softened as she smiled. Well, this is nice. Should I let her know I reciprocate her feeling and appreciate it? Her thumb caressed my palm as she leaned into my personal space and looked into my eyes, almost in a hypnotic manner. Whoa. My skin tingled, and my heart rate sped up. The bottom part of my body engaged, and my cock came to life. Her eyes had a certain softness, but it was her lips that got to me. Those lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear anything; it was like I was suddenly deaf. I watched her teeth lightly sink into her lower lip. All I wanted to do was reach across the table, no, jump across the table, and own that mouth. I had no other thought except I had to have her. Right now.

  Without warning, she released my hand and sat back. My hearing returned with the broken connection, but other body parts refused to comply.

  “And that’s how it’s done, Lee. You were putty in my hands. If you act like that, she’s a goner. You’ll have her where you want her,” Belle declared.

  “Lee, that was quite entertaining,” Mary said with a mischievous smile. “I could read every thought going through your mind. Belle was in total control, and she could have extracted anything she wanted from you. If you’re supposed to be a man who commands others and who’s monetarily rewarded for your business shrewdness, then you better get your shit together and up your game.”

  I cleared the fog from my head and weakly and gravely said, “I see your point.”

  “Here’s the plan,” Belle said. “We meet at the clothes place at eleven; that should give you plenty of time. An hour to finalize which outfit you’re going to wear tonight. We’ll grab lunch after that and prepare you for battling Fiona. What time is your dinner date?”

  “We’re meeting at seven thirty,” I responded.

  “OK, let’s finish breakfast and move out. I’ve got this,” Belle said, and Mary chuckled.

  This whole preparation for my role as a sugar daddy left me exhausted and needing a nap. But Belle had other plans. Her plans involved lists and cue cards. For the second time that day, I found myself wondering, Who is this woman?

  “All right, do we need to run through the psychopathy of a sociopath? Did I mention my degree was in psychology? Do I need to give you a crash course in knowing the positive triggers for a narcissistic sociopath?” she asked.

  I rolled my eyes, probably rude, but I was in no mood for psychobabble. “I’m good.”

  “Are you? Are you really? Because I don’t think you know what you’re doing, and if you don’t, you’ll botch this whole thing up. She’s our killer. Both of us know it. You’re just too arrogant to admit you’re out of your depth. You should step aside so the professionals can take charge.” Her face filled with anger, and her voice escalated with each sentence.

  “That’s it,” I said, returning her anger with my own. I stood, stalked to the door, opened it, and motioned her to leave.

  Mary shook her head and grabbed the arms of her chair, as if ready to lift herself out and leave. I motioned her to stay. I pointed at Belle and gave her the out signal with my thumb. Imagine my surprise when she leaned back into the overstuffed chair, threw her head back, and laughed. I had once again been played by Belle. First the hand rubbing, now the mind games.

  “I got it, ladies. I can’t be overconfident, and I have to stay on my toes and measure every word,” I said.

  When 7:00 p.m. rolled around, I looked like a man who owned the world. I looked at my bare wrist and worried if I had made a mistake not buying the Rolex Belle suggested. No, I could never justify that expense. I was ready to take on Fiona O’Dell. Only, I felt worried. Was I out of my league?

  Fiona

  There were only a few loose ends to tie up before I left for Europe and my new job. I’d hit the motherlode of employment opportunities. I still couldn’t fathom that a p
remier research lab in Berlin that had advanced beyond the point of manipulating DNA strands had reached out to me. My more than adequate salary would be commensurate with my abilities. I loved that they were going to cover my housing expense in a premiere part of Berlin. No doubt, by this time next year, I would hold a senior position and be working on a bigger and better product. Finally, someone appreciated my talents. But first, I needed traveling money. The money I had tucked away in an offshore account, out of the reach of the IRS, needed to stay there.

  Now, what do I do with this guy I’m meeting? How should I approach him? On paper, he looked good, but he hadn’t passed my background screen. Although PamperedSugarBabies.com assured me they’d verified him, something didn’t fit. Many people avoided social media, but this guy was a ghost. It wasn’t like I had a few weeks to work the money from this guy. I had two weeks, maximum, to secure some decent traveling money, and that meant I had to up my game. But if I upped it too quickly, he might sense a scam and bolt. I had to outthink him and do it with finesse. I didn’t like going into a meeting without a plan.

  My end game simple, relieve this sugar daddy of $10,000. But my plan needed work. The bait I would offer was my body. I was an expert at playing the femme fatale part. My dress cost a fortune, but you have to invest money to make money. The dress skimmed my skin and left nothing hidden of what I would offer him. Cutouts strategically placed in areas that should remain private were boldly displayed. The sleek, black dress had clearly been designed to have a man concentrate on every piece of available skin that could be his. I wanted him studying my body rather than thinking about how he would answer my next question. I wanted him thinking of how he would unwrap me as we negotiated terms.

  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.