Lethal Lies

by Lara Lacombe

  She sighed, the action pulling her white coat tight across her chest. He swallowed hard, keeping his eyes glued to her face. No way was he going to let her catch him ogling her, especially when she was clearly delusional. She seemed calm right now, but if she thought he was going to assault her, there was no telling how she’d react.

  “Being nice to me won’t make me trust you,” she said, speaking slowly, as though he were a small child.

  “I don’t expect you to trust me,” he replied truthfully. “I just want to know your name.”

  “Why?” Her expression was wary, like she thought he could use her name against her somehow.

  He spread his hands, palms up, in a gesture of supplication. “So I know what to call you.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip, as if that possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you.”

  He clenched his jaw, biting back the retort that sprang to mind. It was his fault she was so jumpy, and snapping at her for it would get him nowhere.

  “Fair enough. But we’re going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future, so I thought it might be nice if we were on speaking terms. Unless you think you can ignore me for the next few days?” He raised a brow in challenge.

  “Days?”

  The color drained from her face and for a second he thought she was going to faint. Alarmed, he half rose from the bed, but she held up her hand to keep him in place.

  “No, it’s fine. Stay there. I just... I need to go to the bathroom.” She bolted up and dashed off before he could do so much as nod.

  Poor thing. He’d worked with guys who threw up before an op, the stress and nervous energy settling in their stomach where it couldn’t do any good. He’d never had that problem himself, but he knew she’d be fine once she got it out of her system.

  Wanting to give her a bit of privacy, he stood and stepped closer to Tony’s bed. The medical supplies were still strewed across the other half of the mattress, a jumbled mess of syringes, gauze and glass bottles. He could tidy this up, at least, so she wouldn’t think he’d been sitting here listening to her the whole time.

  He tossed the wrappers from the supplies they’d used and then set about collecting the items and putting them back in the paper bag. He moved methodically, gathering all the supplies of one type at a time in an effort to keep the bag somewhat organized, to make it easier to find what was needed in case there was another emergency. He hoped they were done for the night, but he couldn’t be sure.

  His hand paused as he began collecting the vials of medication. There were only two bottles on the bed. He closed his eyes, thinking back to his frantic search through the cabinets of the vet clinic. Most of the medication had been locked away, but he distinctly remembered finding three bottles that had been left out. He’d grabbed them along with fistfuls of other supplies and run, not bothering to stop to read the labels of what he’d taken.

  Where was the third bottle? He felt along the bed, checking to make sure it hadn’t rolled against Tony. It wasn’t under the pillows, and a quick search of the floor didn’t turn up anything. He paused, suspicion making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Had she taken it?

  He silently moved to the bathroom door, listening for any noise that would indicate what she was doing in there. It had been disturbingly quiet since she’d entered the bathroom, with no sounds of retching or water running. Almost as if she was trying to be too quiet, so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

  Alex grasped the door handle, hesitating only a second. If he interrupted a private moment, he’d apologize. But he doubted she was in there trying to regain her composure.

  With a twist and a tug the door opened, making her shriek. She jumped and he heard the musical tinkling of breaking glass as the third vial of medication hit the tiled floor. Just as he’d thought—she had taken it. Probably thought to drug him and make her escape. It wasn’t a bad plan, all things considered, and a small spark of admiration flared to life in his chest.

  He leaned a shoulder against the door jamb, crossing his arms and legs as he studied her. She glowered at him, a half-filled syringe in one hand, her other clenched in a tight fist.

  “I’m curious, Doctor,” he said conversationally, striving to keep the amusement from his tone. “What would you have done if the first dose didn’t knock me out?”

  Chapter 3

  He wasn’t dead.

  The bastard must have been born under a lucky star, because by all rights, he should have been killed tonight. That had been the plan. That was how things should have gone.

  Alexander Malcom, former golden boy of the Bureau, turned traitor and killed by the very gang he had infiltrated. Pity the Bureau hadn’t gotten to bring him to trial, but everyone knew you didn’t cross an organization like the 3 Star Killers. Street justice was bloody and swift.

  Or at least it should have been.

  Dan Pryde pasted on a somber expression, shaking his head over the loss of life. Yes, it was a shame that so many promising young men and women had been injured or killed tonight. Even more shameful that they had died in vain, since the primary target was still alive.

  He’d checked and double-checked the identity of the bodies, called all the hospitals to make sure Alex hadn’t slipped through the cracks. There was no sign of him. While some of the casualties were still being collected, he knew in his gut that Malcom wouldn’t be among them. The man had vanished like a ghost.

  Nodding to the other agents around the table, he wheeled out of the room and down to his office. Let them point fingers at each other and rant about operational security—he had bigger things to deal with.

  Such as finding Malcom before the man had a chance to expose him as a double agent.

  Dan paused just inside his office to shut the door behind him. He needed privacy for this call, and although it was late and the halls were empty, he couldn’t take a chance that someone walking by would hear him. He motored to his desk, the whir of his wheelchair a soft hum in the otherwise silent room. It was a nice chair, provided by the Bureau, but after all, they owed it to him to provide the best in wheelchair technology, seeing as how it was their fault he was in the damn chair in the first place.

  No, he corrected silently, not their fault. Not the faceless entity that was the FBI. One man was responsible for the paralysis that had rendered his legs useless and made him a prisoner in this chair, and now, after too many years, Dan had decided to enact his revenge.

  I set the wheels in motion.

  Shaking his head at the awful pun, he dug into his jacket pocket and retrieved his burn phone. Time to check in with his friends on the other side; find out just what the hell had happened out there tonight.

  He hesitated a brief second, debating who to call. That punk kid Tony or someone a little higher on the food chain? Tony was his eyes and ears on the ground, but he was always a little too brash, too cocky for Dan’s liking. Although he provided good intel, he was still just a seventeen-year-old kid with a big mouth and a hot head. Like all teenage boys, Tony thought he was immortal, a testament to the power of denial, since he saw his friends gunned down on a regular basis. He was on his way to a gang leadership position, but he wasn’t there yet. If he’d managed to keep himself alive during tonight’s fiasco, he’d be one step closer to the position he craved.

  No, Tony wouldn’t provide him with the information he sought. If he really wanted to know what had happened tonight, he needed to go all the way to the top.

  He dialed quickly, loosening his tie as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end of the line. Hopefully his contact hadn’t been killed in the shootout. He frowned at the thought, but dismissed it quickly. Despite their reputation, the leaders of the 3 Star Killers were not brainless thugs. They were too smart to get in the middle of a firefight between the government and the gangbangers.
But as the phone continued to ring, cracks of doubt began to mar his conviction. Why weren’t they answering?

  Finally someone picked up. They didn’t speak, but he could hear the raspy sound of their breath on the other end of the line. “What happened?” Dan didn’t bother with preliminaries, nor did he offer any kind of identification. He thought of the gang as a tame beast—under his control for now, but capable of turning on him in a heartbeat. He wasn’t stupid enough to give them the ammunition they’d need to ruin him.

  There was a scratching as the phone was passed and then a familiar voice greeted him. “Mr. Hoover.”

  It was the gang’s pet name for him, something he’d suggested they use. It was nice being called by the same name as the father of the FBI. He usually got a small thrill out of it, but tonight he was too wound up to notice.

  “Why’d you call? We’re busy.”

  Dan bit his bottom lip, refusing to give voice to his thoughts. I know you are, you little shit. And the only reason you’re busy is because I saved your ass tonight. Instead of pointing out that they should be thanking him for the fact they were still alive, he silently counted to five before he spoke again. “Did you take out Malcom?”

  There was a pause, which made him grit his teeth. He started counting again. One... Two... Three...

  “Haven’t seen him yet.”

  “Which means he’s still alive.”

  “Nah, man, it means I haven’t found him yet. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

  “You’d better hope he is, because that was the price for the information I gave you.” When there was no response, he hardened his voice. “Do I have to remind you of the terms of our deal?”

  “Nah, I got it. Look, he’s probably dead. We’re out looking for him and Tony now, to make sure.”

  Tony was missing, too? That was disturbing news. Although the kid couldn’t identify him, Malcom could still get information from him. Information that would have him asking questions and stirring up trouble.

  Why couldn’t you just die?

  “I’ll call back in an hour. You’d better have good news for me.” He hung up before the man on the other end of the line had a chance to respond. Things were even worse than he thought.

  Dan tucked the phone back into his pocket with a sigh. He knew better than anyone that life didn’t always go as planned. While he hoped the gang would turn up Malcom’s body, he had to prepare for the very likely possibility they would not. It was a setback, but he wasn’t about to let Alex go that easily, not after all these years.

  Not when he was so close to getting his justice.

  * * *

  Jillian stared up at him, her heart pounding so hard she felt as though it might beat right out of her chest. So much for her grand escape plan. She’d only managed to fill the syringe halfway before he’d barged in. She glanced down at it now, still clutched in her right hand. With a sigh, she set it on the sink. It wouldn’t do her much good, and she didn’t want to antagonize him further.

  He was already intimidating enough, taking up the width of the doorway as he leaned against the jamb. He blocked her exit, but he didn’t seem threatening. His stance was casual, arms and ankles crossed, like they were having a normal conversation and he hadn’t just caught her making preparations to drug him. His expression was open and curious, and as she watched him, she could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched. She focused on his lips, caught the movement again. Was he—? He was! The jerk was laughing at her!

  “This is funny to you?”

  He sobered at that, his gaze sharpening as he regarded her. “Not at all. But I admire your determination. Not many people would be so resourceful.” His eyes cut to the syringe, then back to her. “Or so brave.”

  “If you’d just let me go, I wouldn’t have to resort to such desperate measures.”

  He shook his head before she’d even finished speaking, which had her temper flaring.

  “Why not? I’ve done what you asked. I saved your friend, and now I want to go home.” Her voice broke and she bit her lip, blinking furiously. She would not cry, especially in front of him.

  “Not yet.” His voice was flat, his jaw clenched. She could see that he was upset, but she pressed on, hoping she could get through to him.

  “Is it money? Is that what you want?” When he didn’t respond, she took a deep breath. He needed to know the truth, even though it would probably upset him. “You should know I don’t have any money. Residents don’t make much, and most of what I do make goes to paying off my school loans. I can barely afford my apartment, much less pay you.”

  “Don’t you have family?” There was a flash of something in his eyes—Interest? Calculation?—but then it was gone, making her wonder if she was imagining things.

  “No.” She didn’t like to talk about her brother on the best of days, and she certainly wasn’t going to discuss him now. “So if you were hoping to use me to get rich, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

  He smiled then, a brief curve of his lips. It transformed his face, making him look friendly. In other circumstances she would have found a smile like that on a man like him attractive.

  “I’m not interested in money,” he told her.

  “Then let me go.”

  He shook his head, shifting slightly. “Can’t do that. It’s not safe.”

  “What do you mean?” She felt a chill on the back of her neck and reached up to rub the sensation away. What could be worse than this?

  He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. “There are some bad guys after us,” he said, uncrossing his feet and scuffing the toe of his boot on the stained linoleum. “We need to lay low for a while.”

  “Bad guys?”

  He nodded. “Have you heard of the 3 Star Killers?”

  Heard of them? Oh, yes. She saw the results of their handiwork on a daily basis, treating gunshot wounds, stabbings and overdoses with a regularity that broke her heart. They were a major presence on the streets of DC, and the news that they were after her kidnapper did nothing to alleviate the knot in her stomach.

  “You have a gang after you?” She should have known—the smell of the car alone should have tipped her off. The 3 Star Killers were the major meth suppliers for the city, and the heavy, cloying stench emanating from the upholstery wasn’t due to casual drug use. She’d probably been riding around in a mobile meth lab, a thought that made her skin crawl.

  Watching her captor now, she was struck again by the thought that he didn’t look like a typical user or dealer. How was he associated with the gang and what had he done to bring their wrath down on his head?

  “Something like that.” He ducked his head, the gesture of a little boy in trouble. His refusal to meet her eyes made her stomach clench. He was hiding something.

  “There’s more.” It wasn’t a question and he knew it.

  “You don’t need to worry about the details now.”

  She considered his statement, wondering if he was right. It would be easier to remain ignorant of the danger facing them, but what good would that do in the long run? Better to know, so she could be prepared for the worst. Maybe there was a chance she could slip away before the gang even realized she was with him. The 3 Star Killers weren’t known for their subtlety, and she knew that if the gang found them, they wouldn’t distinguish between the one who had wronged them and the one who was in the way.

  “Please,” she said, her voice quiet. “If you’re not going to let me go, at least tell me what’s really going on.”

  He looked at her then, his dark blue eyes sharp and focused, glinting like twin sapphires in the dull bathroom light. “Why should I tell you? How do I know I can trust you?”

  Jillian felt her eyes grow round with the question. Trust her? He had doubts about trusting her? After everything he’d done to her? Sh
e fought down a wave of exasperation and tried to see things from his perspective. She’d probably be a little paranoid if a gang was after her, but still. Who was she going to tell?

  “Seeing as how you kidnapped me, and not the other way around, I don’t know why you’d have trouble trusting me.”

  He raised a brow, regarding her skeptically. “Seeing as how I just found you filling a syringe with a whopping dose of sedative I can only imagine you meant for me, you can see why I’m a little worried.”

  She felt her cheeks heat with a blush, but refused to look away. “Can you blame me?”

  He smiled again and she couldn’t help but return the gesture. “No, not really. I’d probably do the same thing.”

  “But you’d probably be successful,” she muttered.

  His smile broadened as he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “Please tell me,” she whispered.

  The smile faded from his face as he regarded her, his expression sad. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said softly.

  How could she get him to talk? What could she say that would convince him she needed to know what was going on? She deserved to know—her life was in danger too, dammit!

  She wanted so badly to yell and scream, to rail at him until he gave in. But she knew he wouldn’t respond; if anything, her temper would only cause him to shut down. No, if she wanted answers, she would have to extend some kind of olive branch. What did she have that he wanted?

  When someone offers their name, it’s customary for you to offer yours in exchange.

  Did he still want to know? Would that be enough?

  “Jillian,” she blurted, breaking the silence between them.

  He tilted his head, studying her like she was some kind of talking monkey.