Lethal Lies

by Lara Lacombe

  “You have no idea,” he murmured.

  She kept still, waiting to see if he would continue, giving him the space to explain—if he wanted it.

  He didn’t. After a few seconds he shook his head, physically shrugging off the darkness that had settled over him at the mention of his undercover work. He looked up and gave her a wry smile. “I can’t feel my shoulder anymore. I suppose that’s a good thing?”

  Jillian recognized his attempt to change the subject, nodding in response. Part of her was disappointed—she’d quickly become fascinated by Alex, and found herself wanting to know more about him, what he’d been through. The rational part of her brain recognized this was a foolish desire. They’d been thrown together by desperate circumstances—he wasn’t exactly going to stick around after the danger to them had subsided. Better for him to remain a mystery than for her to learn too much and get drawn into wanting more. Everything about him practically screamed “stay away,” and she would do well to heed the message.

  She poked experimentally at his shoulder, checking to make sure the area was fully numb before she started.

  He watched her, shaking his head slightly. “It’s the strangest thing,” he said, tracking her progress with his eyes. “I can see you poking me and I know I should feel it, but I don’t.”

  “That’s the idea.” The corner of her mouth quirked up as she turned back to the table to pick up the forceps. “Better living through chemistry,” she muttered.

  “Beats the alternative,” he agreed.

  He was silent while she worked; a fact for which she was grateful because it meant she wasn’t distracted by the rumble of his voice. Fortunately for him, the bullet wasn’t embedded too deeply in his shoulder—she was able to grasp it with the ends of the forceps, and a steady pull was all it took. It came free with a faint pop, a squishy, wet sound that made him wince.

  She held the bullet up to the light, checking for any cracks or splinters that would indicate it had fragmented inside him. The small bit of metal shone dully, a red gleam coating the surface. Jillian turned the forceps to check from several angles, breathing out a sigh of relief when she confirmed it was whole and undamaged from its foray into Alex’s shoulder.

  “Hold out your hand,” she instructed, dropping the round into his open palm when he complied. “A souvenir for you,” she murmured, turning her attention back to the operation at hand.

  “Thanks,” Alex said, sounding somewhat dubious.

  Jillian spared him a glance, smiling at his expression of distaste as he studied the bloody metal in his hand. “I once took three bullets out of a gangbanger,” she said, using the forceps to probe the wound in search of the small bit of fabric from his shirt that had inevitably traveled with the bullet. She had to remove it, or it would cause the wound to fester. “He asked for them after I was done, and since the police said they were too destroyed to use for ballistics, I handed them over.”

  “Wonder what he wanted with them.”

  “I wondered that myself.” She pulled the forceps out slowly, grinning when she saw the bit of cloth trapped between the prongs. Success. “Saw him a few months later, for another gunshot wound. He’d made rings out of the bullets.” She shook her head and set the forceps on the table, picking up some gauze to blot at his shoulder, which had begun to bleed again.

  “Rings?” Alex shook his head. “I’ve seen guys wear them on a chain around their neck before, but I’ve never seen them made into rings.”

  “It was quite the fashion statement.” She lifted the gauze, frowning at the trickle of blood that showed no signs of stopping. She’d need to put in a stitch or two to close up the hole. “He had soldered each bullet onto a metal band. The finished product looked like a misshapen solitaire.”

  “Sounds classy.”

  “Definitely. And now you, too, can have your very own bullet ring!” She spoke in the voice of an As-Seen-on-TV announcer and felt a small flush of pleasure at his laugh.

  “Let me guess—just three easy payments of $19.95?” She felt his eyes on her while she worked and had to force herself to keep her gaze on his shoulder and the stitches she was placing. She could look at him later, when there was a safe amount of distance between them. This close to his lips, it would be all too easy to lean over and kiss him.

  “That’s the idea.” Her voice sounded a little shaky to her ears, but fortunately Alex didn’t seem to notice.

  He shook his head. “Thanks, but if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll save this one for ballistics.”

  Jillian dabbed at his shoulder, mopping up a few residual drops of blood. “Okay,” she said, leaning back and stripping off the gloves. “You’re all set here.”

  She began to gather the debris into a tidy pile as Alex rolled his shoulder experimentally. She watched him while she cleaned up, noting that the pinched lines of strain around his mouth and eyes had eased. Signs of fatigue had taken their place, though—his lids were heavy and dark smudges under his eyes testified to his general state of exhaustion. When was the last time he had slept?

  Or bathed, for that matter? His hair hung in limp, greasy strands across his forehead, and now that her adrenaline had faded, she could smell him—unwashed male mixed with the potent chemical stench of drugs.

  “Why don’t you get cleaned up while I fix us something to eat?”

  He blushed, a faint pink that colored his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Sorry about the stink,” he muttered. “Part of the job.”

  “I understand. But we have some time before morning, so let’s put it to good use. Sit tight for a minute—I think I have some clothes that might fit you.”

  She left him at the table and headed for her bedroom, pulling down a dusty gym bag from the top shelf of her closet. Her brother Jason had left it here after his last visit.

  He’d come to stay with her for a few days after completing his latest bout of rehab. Her throat grew tight as she pictured him as he’d been then—painfully thin, his eyes burning bright with the zeal of the recently converted, the set of his bony shoulders conveying hope and determination.

  “I mean it, Jilly. This time I’m going to stay clean. I’m not going back—never again.”

  His resolve had lasted three days. She’d taken a few days off from work, and they’d spent the time playing tourist in the city, going to museums, monuments, the zoo—all the things they’d never made time to do before. It had been wonderful, and Jillian had started to believe her brother had truly turned a corner.

  But when she’d returned home from work on the fourth day, Jason was gone. He’d given her no warning, no explanation other than the scrap of paper left on top of the pile of neatly folded bedding.

  I’m sorry.

  She pulled the note out now, running her fingertip across the strong, bold writing. It had been two years since that visit. Two years since she’d seen her brother. Where had he gone? Why hadn’t he come back, or at least contacted her to tell her he was okay? Not a day went by that she didn’t think of him, feel a stab of guilt that she hadn’t seen any signs of his impending slide back into darkness. As a doctor, she knew she couldn’t save everyone, but the rules were different for family—she should have known.

  Ignoring the hollow feeling in her chest, Jillian tucked the note back into the side pocket of the bag, then unzipped the top. Neatly folded stacks of clothes greeted her, and she rummaged through the collection until she found a pair of boxer shorts, a T-shirt and some red-and-black-plaid flannel pants, which she eyed critically. They looked a little short, but they would do for now.

  Grabbing the bag with her free hand, Jillian returned to the living room. “Here you go,” she said, setting the bag by the couch. Alex turned when she entered the kitchen, accepting the clothes from her with a look of mild surprise, as if he hadn’t expected her to return with men’s clothes. She c
ould see the question in his eyes and spoke quickly to distract him.

  “Let’s get you some towels.” She pivoted on her heel and led him down the hall, stopping at the linen closet along the way.

  “Are you sure I can take a shower with these stitches?” Alex gestured to his shoulder with his chin as he followed her into the bathroom.

  Jillian shook her head. “You need to keep them dry, if possible.” She set the towels on the counter and then turned to face him. “Which is why you’ll be taking a bath.” She grinned at the expression of distaste that spread across his face at this news.

  “I haven’t taken a bath since I was a kid,” he protested. “Can’t you put a bandage on my shoulder so I can shower?”

  “Nope.” She pulled out a fresh razor and placed it on the counter alongside an extra toothbrush. She always kept a spare set of toiletries in case Jason ever returned. She knew it was naïve, but a small part of her believed that as long as she had the things he would need, there was a chance he would come back to use them.

  She slipped past Alex into the hall, leaving him standing in the bathroom looking bereft. “I’m going to heat up some soup and make some toast. Come out when you’re ready.” With that, she shut the door, grateful for the barrier between them. It was hard to think straight when she was close to him, and the night had already been a roller coaster of events and emotions. She needed a few moments to herself to regroup and catch her breath. Then she could start thinking about what to do next.

  * * *

  “He’s not here.”

  Dan tightened his grip on the phone, refusing to give in to the urge to hit something. Preferably the man on the other end of the line. “Any sign of where he might have gone?”

  “Maybe. But that’s where you come in.”

  “Excuse me?” Like he hadn’t already done enough for these punks—now they wanted him to do their jobs, as well?

  “We found Tony. He’s been shot.”

  “Oh?” If Tony died, it would mean one less link between him and the gang, one less thread tying him to their illegal activities. He tried to muster up some sympathy for the thought of such a young kid meeting a violent end, but his own sense of self-preservation won out.

  “Yeah. Seems Malcom took him to a motel just on the other side of the river, had some lady doctor treat him.” He rattled off the address and Dan typed it in, pulling up the location on a city map.

  Dan felt his anger rise again as he stared at the screen. How had Malcom managed to escape? And how had he found a woman to help him so quickly? “Did Tony catch her name?” Maybe he could use this to his advantage—if he knew her name, he could use her to track down Alex.

  “Nah.”

  Of course not. That would make things too easy.

  “I’m beginning to wonder why I help you,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “I asked you to do one thing, and you failed. Tell me why I shouldn’t use what I know to end you and your pathetic organization.”

  “Tony said Malcom kidnapped her from a hospital parking lot. If you call around, you can find out who she is, where she lives. We’ll take it from there.”

  “I don’t think so,” Dan replied, knowing all too well what the gang would do if they found the woman. “I’ll find out her name, but you won’t be the one to question her. You’ve already made too many mistakes tonight.”

  “Fine. But at least let us have some time with Malcom. He shot Tony and hit two of my guys with a truck tonight, broke their legs. He needs to answer for that.”

  “And he will.” Dan smiled as he imagined Alex’s treatment at the hands of the gang. They didn’t take kindly to traitors, and their revenge would be long and painful—just what Malcom deserved. “You can take as much time as you want with him. But you have to keep him alive. I get the pleasure of killing him.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Dan ended the call and turned back to the computer screen. DC had several hospitals, but he was willing to bet Malcom wouldn’t have gone far from the motel to find help. That made his search a little easier.

  Enjoy your freedom, he thought while he typed. It won’t last.

  * * *

  Alex slowly lowered himself into the tub, biting his lip to stifle a groan at the sheer luxury of soaking in the steaming water. It had been ages since he’d felt truly clean. No matter how many times he showered or washed his clothes, a thin layer of sweat and drug residue constantly clung to him, as though it had been baked into his pores. It was just another aspect of being undercover, one that he hated. And after everything that had happened tonight, he’d figured it would be days before he’d see a bar of soap. Now, he almost couldn’t believe his luck. If not for the nearly painful heat of the water, he might have thought he was hallucinating, like a man in the desert imagining an oasis.

  His body was taken care of, but as Alex leaned back, he had to wonder if his soul would ever feel clean again. After what he’d seen, what he’d been forced to do... Shaking his head, he quickly corralled his thoughts before he fell into an abyss of regret and recrimination. No sense in diminishing the pleasure of a soak in the bath with bad memories—there would be time to punish himself later. Now, he was going to enjoy this particular indulgence, because God only knew when he’d get to experience something like it again.

  Never, if the gang has its way.

  He reached for the shampoo and took a cautious whiff. Vanilla. He’d smelled it on Jillian before, but the scent that had wafted off her body had seemed somehow warmer, the natural perfume of her skin mixing with the homey aroma to create a new, complex odor that both tantalized and soothed him.

  She’d been so close, leaning in to focus on his shoulder with a startling intensity. And lucky for him, too, because it meant she hadn’t caught him staring at her, hadn’t seen the growing desire he felt for her shining in his eyes. He had no business entertaining such feelings—there was no chance of a relationship between them, and any attraction was due to the stress of the moment. Besides, he’d kidnapped her. Even though he’d tried to be gentle, he had physically forced her into the backseat of a car, using his strength to overwhelm her defenses. The memory of it made his stomach turn. Not exactly his finest moment.

  He massaged the shampoo into his scalp, frowning slightly as the movement pulled his shoulder. The drugs were beginning to wear off, and while his shoulder didn’t exactly hurt, he could tell the pain was coming. Maybe the good doctor had some aspirin she’d share, just to take the edge off. He wasn’t afraid of pain—he welcomed it, in fact, as it would help keep him awake—but too much would dull his senses, making him an easy target.

  The bathwater turned scuzzy as he washed, and he felt a flash of guilt over the fact that he was getting Jillian’s nice clean bathtub dirty. He’d have to rinse it out when he was finished—the thought of her cleaning up the residue of his filth was too shameful to contemplate. She’d already done enough for him. He wasn’t about to insult her by leaving another mess for her to deal with.

  Not wanting to soak in his own grime, he finished bathing quickly. He stood as the water drained, eyeing the towels she’d stacked for him. Clean, fluffy and soft. Not something he should use to dry his still-dirty body. He glanced around for an alternative, but didn’t see anything. Although he hated to ruin her towels, he couldn’t stand there and drip dry. That would take all night.

  With a sigh, he grabbed one off the top of the stack and began to pat himself dry. Maybe if he didn’t rub, the grime wouldn’t smear onto the fabric. He made a mental note to buy her new towels when this was all over. It was just another item on his growing list of things he needed to do to put her life back to normal.

  While he shaved, he eyed the clothes she’d provided. Where had they come from? They were clearly men’s clothing, but he hadn’t seen any sign of a male presence in her apartment—no shoes, no stray jacket,
no toiletries to suggest a man lived with her, or even stayed over on a regular basis. Furthermore, no man had stepped from her bedroom demanding to know where she’d been. He felt an odd sort of pleasure at the conclusion that Jillian was single, even though he had no right. She would never look twice at a man like him, especially after the way he’d treated her tonight. Still, he couldn’t deny the primal satisfaction washing over him—although he didn’t have a chance with her, he didn’t like the thought of another man’s hands on her body.

  Perhaps the clothes belonged to an ex-lover? That made more sense. But why would she have kept them? Did she still have feelings for the man? Did she secretly hope he would one day return and they could pick up where they’d left off? Alex shook his head and splashed his face to rinse off the residual shaving cream. He was spending way too much time pondering the relationship status of his hostess when he should be working on a plan to keep her safe. Relationships and undercover work did not go together. Hadn’t he already learned that lesson the hard way?

  A familiar pang pricked at his heart at the thought of Shannon. They’d met at the Academy, and had hit it off right away. He’d thought she was the one, until he’d gotten his undercover assignment.

  “Won’t you wait for me?” he’d asked, gripping her hand as if to keep her from flying away from him.

  Shannon had blinked back tears and offered him a watery smile. “You don’t need the thought of me hanging over your head while you work. It’s better this way.”

  And so she had been the one to walk away. It had hurt like hell, but looking back on it, he could understand why she had left. It wasn’t fair to ask her to put her life on hold for the years he would be on assignment. And now that he knew how much he had changed, he was glad she had ended things. He wasn’t the same man he’d been, and their relationship probably wouldn’t have survived the challenge. Better to have fond memories of their time together.