Dangerous Lies

by Claudia Shelton

  Might be the conversation with Drake had her on edge, but she could swear someone’s footsteps seemed to be headed in her direction. Not the normal sound, more like a whisper of sound against the floor. The footsteps stopped.

  She glanced over her shoulder, and there stood the man who’d hit on her. For all that’s holy, couldn’t the guy take no for an answer? “Back off, Dance Man. I told you before, I don’t care what song you play. And I don’t want to dance.”

  “That’s good. Real good.” The corners of his mouth quirked upward, along with the tilt of his head and lift of his eyebrows. He chuckled as he slipped into the seat across from her. “Never been called that before.”

  “You must really be desperate to keep hitting on someone like me.” Pointing her finger for emphasis, she gritted her teeth and spoke loud and clear in his direction. “Now, leave my table or I’m calling the police.”

  The stubble on his jawline caught the light, emphasizing the dark, weathered tan of his now serious expression. His blue eyes focused on her with the intensity of someone looking for clarity before bidding on a rare diamond. She was drawn to the muscles in his forearms as he flexed his fingers back and forth, back and forth.

  Caught in his stare, she shivered, then noticed the barely visible earbud. She’d seen those on Secret Service agents when she’d visited the White House for an environmental briefing. She’d also seen the earbuds on people not so glad to see her as she dug for dirt on a corruption story. People who didn’t exactly play nice when she got too close to what they were hiding.

  Without looking, she reached her hand into her purse leaning against her side, hoping to grab her keychain mace without him noticing. The purse tilted, and the vial slipped from her hand, landing on the floor with a slight thud.

  He didn’t flinch. “You need to practice that move.”

  What if he were the danger? She was alone. In the corner of an almost empty restaurant. No one was at the house to expect her home. No one even knew—

  Drake. Drake knew. He was right there on the phone. He had to be hearing what was being said.

  She wrapped her hand around her phone, ready to use it as a weapon. “If you don’t go away, I’m going to scream.”

  The man sighed loud and heavy as he leaned against the high back of the wooden booth, then tapped his earbud and motioned to her phone. “Drake, you should tell this lady who I am before she rips my head off.”

  Glancing at the phone, still on FaceTime, there was Drake holding a photo of the man sitting across from her. She lifted her gaze to the actual man and met his blue-eyed stare with one of her own. Evidently, her life had notched up in things that were out of her control. “You’re who’s supposed to protect me?”

  “You got a problem with that?” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table in front of him.

  “No. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “Because you were too busy calling me Dance Man.”

  She leaned forward in rebuttal. “Listen. I’ve had a very, very bad week. So, if I’ve upset you, that’s too damn bad.”

  He popped the side of his fingers on the table. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s had a shitty week, lady.”

  “Hey, you two want to put a lid on the sarcasm?” Drake sounded like he meant business.

  They both took a breath.

  “That’s better,” Drake said. “This is your protector agent, Mitch Granger. And, this is Elizabeth—”

  “Liz,” Mitch stated.

  “My name is Elizabeth Walkert.”

  “Liz. As long as I’m your protector, your name is Liz.”

  She might need his protection, but he didn’t get to tell her everything to do. Didn’t get to change her name on some whim of his, either. “Whether you like it or not, my name is Elizabeth.”

  As she said Elizabeth, he rattled off the names “Liz, Josh, Reese, Drake.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  Mitch narrowed his eyes. “Hypothetically, let’s say I found out ten gunmen are closing in on our location. I need to warn the team. I shouted. I saved four people. How many did you save, E-liz-a-beth?”

  She felt herself swallow as she slowly closed her eyes. “One.”

  “So, your name is Liz. Agreed?”

  Her protector was going to be a hard taskmaster. But how could she argue with his logic? His hypothetical had been a valuable lesson. One that enforced this whole cloak-and-dagger affair that had started with her dad’s first text. She had a lot of questions, but for now, she’d focus on not getting in the way.

  “Agreed.” She held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Liz.”

  He engulfed her hand with his and grinned. “Nice to meet you. I’m Mitch. You might want to pick up that mace off the floor before we leave.”

  The warmth of his touch mingled with hers as they shared the handshake. She had to admit, his smile was nice. His eyes were nice. The way he said his name, with a hint of gravel in his voice, was…nice. He might be her protector, but he was also out of her league. Personally and professionally.

  She released her hold on his hand. “What’s the plan for finding my father?”

  “Our first step is to get the hell out of here. You can hang up, Drake, I’ve got this now.” The call ended. “By the way, get your keys out. We’ll be taking your car.”

  Guiding her to the Mariner’s front door, he kept his hand on her arm or at the small of her back at all times. And when they stepped outside, he did the same as they walked out into the halogen-lit parking lot. She clicked the snazzy key fob that came with the car that had been waiting for her when she arrived back at the house on Captiva.

  The car’s lights flashed a second before two men stepped out from the side of the building. The men moved closer. One brandished a gun. One a knife.

  She tensed. “Do you see—”

  “You see this, Keith?” Mitch kept guiding her forward.

  “See what? Local police made me move across the street,” Keith said. “Got a big panel truck stopped at the traffic light. Damn thing’s blocking my view of the parking lot at the moment. You need help?”

  The two men kept coming. No words. Just a steady pace that said they weren’t there to leave empty-handed.

  Mitch blew out a sigh. “No. I got it. Call the police and tell them they’ve got two men in the Mariner’s parking lot that need to be processed and booked. May need an ambulance.”

  Her gut clenched, and she felt like she might be sick. “Who?”

  Mitch wheeled around. Charged the guy with the gun. Gave him a one-two-three punch that landed the man on the ground. The man groaned and didn’t open his eyes. Mitch kicked the knife guy in his balls, slammed his head against the hood of the closest car. The guy crumpled to the ground and didn’t move.

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  Mitch pointed to the passenger door on the car. “Get in, Liz. I’m driving.”

  “Are…are you just going to leave them there?” She slid into the seat, closed the door, and pushed the lock.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Are…are they dead?”

  “Nope.” He revved the engine. “Buckle up.”

  “Are…are you sure?” She slipped the seat belt in place.

  “Yeah. They lucked out tonight.” He shifted into drive. “Time to go.”

  She vise-gripped the passenger door’s armrest. Felt her breaths flowing in fast and faster. Heard herself grunt to force them out. Scared? Was this what being scared felt like? No, she’d been scared before, even panicked. This was different. As a writer, she used lots of synonyms.

  Terrified—now she knew how terrified felt.

  Her hand trembled as she pressed her fingers against his arm. “Were…were they here to grab me?”

  Chapter Three

  Mitch knew the drive to Sanibel Island from Fort Myers wouldn’t take long. But once Liz and he hit the island, traffic would slow as they made their way to San-Cap Road then acr
oss a short bridge to the safe house on Captiva Island. Even considering the late time of night, people would be out on the main road most vacationers used. Good thing he knew back roads. Bad thing was that no matter what, sooner or later he’d end up on the main road again.

  “Once you’re on Sanibel, I can direct you to the house my dad leased,” Liz said.

  “I know where you’re staying.” He glanced in her direction then back at the upcoming Sanibel Causeway toll booth, located right before the island. “The house belongs to Drake.”

  She shook her head, followed by a long exhale, then a clicking of her tongue as she pursed her lips. From the tense set of her slender neck as she rolled her head from side to side, he figured she’d about reached her limit on being kept in the dark.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

  “Which one?” Hell, he knew which one he’d ignored. Had been waiting for her to ask again. At least now she’d calmed enough to listen and, hopefully, understand.

  “Who were those two guys in the parking lot?” she asked. “Were they there for me?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Turning to face him, she drew her shoulders back in defiance. “You don’t know? Or you won’t tell me? This arrangement will work much better if we’re both on the same page all the time. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Fair enough. The sooner he gave her the specifics, the sooner she could do her crying or screaming or cursing jag, and he could get on with the job.

  “Bottom line, until the police run them through the system and let OPAQUE know their identity, I have no idea who they are. They sure as hell didn’t attack like CT agents. Didn’t fight like them, either.” He shot her a sideways glance. No reason to tell her he doubted she and he were random targets. “Now, tell me about yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “Helps me understand what might be going on.”

  “I thought Drake already told you everything.”

  He’d need to figure out why she was so adamant about not talking about herself. Maybe if he asked her to write everything down, that would help her communicate better. “Drake told me about the case. Now, you tell me about you.”

  “I grew up in Utah. I’m an only child. My mother died when I was in middle school.” Batting her eyelids, she stretched her neck and swallowed. “I went to college at UCLA. Came out with a major in journalism and political science. And, if it hadn’t been for French, I’d have had a 4.0 GPA.”

  GPA? Was she kidding? College flashed in his mind, landing straight in the middle of homework, working two part-time jobs, and ROTC.

  “And, if it hadn’t been for math, English, and science, I’d have nearly had a 3.0.” He laughed, then regrouped to protector mode. “What happened between middle school and college?”

  “Since we’re sharing info, why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” she asked.

  “That’s a need-to-know basis. You don’t need to know.” He raised his eyebrows as he shrugged. “I asked what happened between middle school and—”

  “My dad just became more of an ass than when my mother was alive.” Her tone was now laced with venom. “A scholarship to UCLA got me out.”

  She tilted her head in his direction, eyed him as if daring him to ask anything else. Finally, she turned back to watch the road.

  Long, uncomfortable silence filled the drive. He made a note to ask Drake if he knew what had happened to her during that period in her life. This wasn’t the time to keep pressing the issue. Besides, crashing her world with what he had to tell her would be about all she could take today.

  On his flight to Florida, he’d checked out her online presence. She was an award-winning journalist. One who did good research, didn’t back away from a good story, and was known for staring down anyone trying to feed her a lie. He wouldn’t.

  “What did Drake tell you about all of this that’s going on?” she asked.

  If he talked fast enough, they could have this all out of the way before they reached the house. “Once upon a time—”

  “For all that’s holy. Now you’re going to tell me a story?”

  “Yes, I’m going to tell you a story. And you’re going to pay attention. Got it?”

  She crossed her arms over her seat belt. “Fine.”

  After turning on one of the Sanibel side roads, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Looked clear. He eased on down the road, pacing his speed to hold back on getting to the next curve in the road.

  “Close to thirty years ago, your dad was making good money working for a fast-rising tech company in the Chicago area. Gradually, he noticed some strange dealings at the company, so he shared his suspicions with Drake, his best friend from college, who’d gone into law enforcement.”

  Mitch sped up once he saw his own surveillance car turn onto the road. “Drake convinced your dad to turn state’s evidence on what they thought might be some mob dealings.”

  Liz nodded then looked over her shoulder and out the back window of his car. “Are we being followed?”

  “The headlights you see are okay. That’s the team member who had been stationed outside the Mariner’s.”

  She nodded again.

  “Don’t worry, it’s the ones you don’t see who are the problem.”

  “We saw the ones in the Mariner’s parking lot.” She pressed her hands against the seat belt tightened across her waist. “Seemed like a problem to me.”

  “Not really. They were probably just a couple of thugs out to make a quick cash withdrawal from us. I said no.” At least that’s what he hoped. And until he knew different for sure, he was sticking to that story. Besides, once they’d crossed the bridge, there’d been no sign of the car he could have sworn had followed them from the Mariner’s parking lot.

  “Finish your story,” she said, as if asking a classroom professor to repeat an assignment.

  “In exchange, your dad and mom were put into the Witness Protection Program. You may have heard it called Witpro. Your family was relocated to Utah. Had some good years. There were no signs of being found, so they just lived their life. Had a baby girl they named Elizabeth. You’d have been eight—”

  “My family was not in Witness Protection,” she snarled. “They’d have told me.”

  “As I said, you’d have been about eight or ten the first time CT showed up at your home. And after your mother died of cancer when you were in middle school—”

  “Stop it. Stop it…please.” She pumped her hands on the dashboard as she stared out the windshield. Tears made crooked paths down her cheeks. Her forehead scrunched in lines as she tightly squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  He hated parts of this job. Hated it almost as much as taking a bullet in the side. Both hurt like hell. Both left a mark on his soul.

  Without thinking through his actions, he slowed the car, reached over, and laid his hand on her arm. Waited for her to regain some semblance of the woman he’d met at the Mariner’s. When she had herself under control, he sped back up.

  “Look, I hate that I’m the one Drake put in charge of telling you your life story, but it’s my job,” Mitch said. “Understand?”

  Nodding, she folded her lips in on themselves. “Go on. Get it over with.”

  Moving his hand back to the steering wheel, he checked his rearview mirror again. “After your mother died, your dad contacted Drake. Evidently, he refused to tell you about Witpro—”

  “Why?” She blotted her eyes with her fingers. Brushed her cheeks dry with the palms of her hands.

  The same question kept running through his mind. “I have no idea. All I know is that he and Drake agreed to spend some vacation time together. Maybe your dad was afraid you’d be alone if something happened to him, so he brought someone he trusted into your life.”

  Mitch rolled Drake’s earlier words around in his mind again. Remembered the pause when he’d asked if there was anything else. That pause had spoken millions, and he didn’t much like the
conclusion he kept reaching. Drake had at least texted a few specifics on background so Mitch would be able to give Liz a few specifics. His boss might have had good reasoning behind his actions, but he’d screwed up by staying in contact with a Witpro person, especially since they’d been friends.

  If any of that came out, he couldn’t begin to list the repercussions waiting to fall like bricks on his boss’s head. “So, tell me how you met Drake.”

  She smiled slightly. Batted her eyes as she sucked in a breath. “After my mother died, my dad started taking the two of us on actual vacations. Once a year. Sometimes twice. We’d go to unusual places. Do unusual things. Spend time with Drake, who my dad referred to as his ‘friend from St. Louis.’ Said he was ex law enforcement turned security-firm owner.

  “Anyhow, we’d all have fun. Was nice to have a little fun in my life for a change.” She paused. “One time, I asked Drake what type of security his firm handled, and he all-out ignored my question. Wouldn’t even look at me. Just grabbed his keys and took us to get ice cream instead.”

  Mitch could see that happening. Last year’s OPAQUE annual get-together had had tubs and tubs of different flavors of ice cream. “Drake does like his ice cream. Especially on a hot summer day.”

  “Tell me about it.” Nodding, she finally seemed at ease for the first time since they’d met. “Funny thing was, I had a scoop of chocolate chip with fudge sauce, and my dad ordered a small waffle cone with two scoops of vanilla. But Drake? He ate every last bite of an oversized banana split with four different ice cream flavors, five different syrups, whipped cream, lots”—she laughed—”with tons of maraschino cherries and extra nuts.”

  Drake had done everything to help his friend during the past years. And now, everything to keep Liz safe at all costs. That spoke of his boss’s personal ethics when it came to risking his own well-being. Mitch could relate to that. Somehow, together, they’d all make this right in the end. It was the getting there that might be the problem.

  She gulped a couple breaths, choked on a smile, as a tear ran down her cheek. “You know what he said?”

  “What?”

  “Enjoy life while you can. What if tomorrow never comes?’ That always seemed to be the way he lived, too.” Mumbling, she swiped her fingers at the runaway tear then braced her elbow on the center console. “Too bad I never remembered to live his advice.”