3 Lies (3 page)

“Myron went somewhere else. We’ll take you to him. But you have to be quiet.”

The driver’s eyes locked with Amir’s in the rear-view mirror. “Where is the package you were supposed to bring?”

“It was compromised. I brought what I could.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his bag and lit one. Though he dragged deeply on the stick, his hand held steady.

“Compromised?” A stag appeared at the edge of the road. The driver flashed his lights, and it retreated into the trees. “How the hell did that happen?”

“He was old. What do you want?”

“To complete a mission. Not babysit.”

“His larynx was crushed. He was a liability. This—” His head motioned to the sobbing girl. “—was unexpected. I improvised.”

“I hope the controller will approve of your spontaneity.”

“This set-up was ill-conceived from the beginning. I told you that. They wanted a fulcrum. I got one.”

The driver glared into the mirror.

“If the controller wanted better results, he should have provided better information. My orders were to bring a hostage. A live one.”

The van reached the end of the ski resort property. The driver turned to the west. His mouth hitched at the corner. “Well, get her juiced.”

Amir took another few puffs off his smoke and threw it out the window. He opened a leather pouch and pulled out a syringe. “What do you figure, about half?”

“Do I look like Dr. Seuss?” The driver cut around a broken bough lying in the road. He caught Amir’s attention in the mirror. “No. I would say much less than half.”

The drug in the syringe leveled off at the fifty-milliliter mark. Amir shot most of it out the window into the snow. Four milliliters remained in the tube.

He smoothed the blanket over her contoured bottom.

“Get ready for it.” Amir said. He stabbed her through the blanket, through her pink fairy coat, through her pink fairy nightgown, and squirted the drug directly into her pink flesh.

Her little body convulsed. Vocal chords stilled while her every muscle contracted.

Then her shriek ripped.

Despite Amir’s warning, the driver’s head retracted between his shoulders as if ducking an incoming missile.

Amir lit another cigarette and looked at his watch as the seconds ticked off. She fell asleep with a live scream stuck in her throat.

Both men settled into silence.

They drove on through the morning until the sun rose, gleaming over the mountain range that loomed above them. Scorching white glittered back from every frozen facet. A green sign displayed the silhouette of an airplane, and an arrow headed to the right. The driver followed the sign.

“What’s the itinerary?”

“We rendezvous outside of Chicago and again near Philly. Then we land in Boston. I disappear after you meet your ground contact.” The driver glanced at the girl. “Is she alive?”

“So far.”

When he rounded the next curve, a short runway came into view. Along with no tower, the airport had no traffic, no fixed-base operator, and no fuel. Four decrepit hangers manned the southern perimeter.

They drove to the last hangar and parked. The driver left Amir to wipe the car. Amir took off the license plates and packed them into his case. He would drop them in a body of water at his convenience. He wiped down any surfaces the girl may have touched, emptied the ashtray, and cleared the vehicle of everything except the human bundle.

The hangar doors rolled open. The driver, now the pilot, yelled to Amir to help him push the Cessna 310 out into the sunlight. Once the plane was clear of the hangar, Amir drove the van inside and locked the hangar behind him.

The driver performed a careful pre-flight on the plane. Amir loaded their bags into the cargo hold and then carried the limp child to the twin-engine aircraft. The driver stepped up into the cockpit and finished the plane’s startup procedures before taxiing to the runway. The Cessna assumed command of the runway at the numbers and flew off into the eastern sky.

Amir checked the girl’s pulse. Sweat beaded on her pale forehead. The meperidine might wear off before they stopped to refuel. He kept the drug kit at his side for her next injection.

Paige extended a velvety hand to Clint that he took by rote. Her wedding ring still clung to her finger. She unfolded—slowly, deliberately, closely—into a long, limpid woman. Her sable hair scraped the purple silk on her shoulders as she swayed.

His chest thumped in rhythm to each of her steps down the ladder. Her signature perfume congested his thoughts. He grabbed the aft rail to steady his shaking knees and drew deeply from a salted breeze to blow it out of his brain.

Her eyes were the same color as a quail’s. He’d forgotten that. He’d known Paige for twenty-five of his thirty-two years—nine of them as man and wife—yet he’d forgotten the color of her eyes in only three months. He remembered them blacker and harder with none of the warmth that now spread over him.

Louie let out a noisy whine, then trotted over to Clint and nuzzled his other hand. Clint looked down at the dog and let Paige’s hand drop.

“What do you want?”

“Clint, darling, it’s good to see you, too.” She leaned in to pat Louie on the head. “I see you have a new friend. Exactly what you need in a confined, floating space—a large, hairy animal.”

He rubbed the dog behind the ear. “Why are you here?”

The telephone on her hip sounded. She grabbed it and put up her index finger to shush him.

“Paige Lambert.”

So. She made the full retreat to her maiden name. The trench wasn’t far. His company, CatSat Laboratories, designated her law firm as general counsel the year before she left him. She made partner and changed her last name against his wishes to Lambert-Masters. At the time, he’d wondered what last name they would give to any kids. But, the issue never conceived into a problem. The hyphen wedged itself between them.

She barked an order into the phone and snapped it shut. “So how is your hermitage?”

“Excellent, thank you for asking. And how many associates have you spayed this week?”

Her smile billowed like a cumulus cloud. “Only one. So far. Aren’t you going to invite me in?” She sidled past Louie and glided up the dock toward the prow. “What do you call this tub anyway?"

“You walked right past it.
No Moor.
” He pointed to the rear of the boat. “Says it all.”

She lifted her chin at the boat. “It looks used.”

Air expelled from his nostrils. “It was previously loved.”

Paige climbed up the side ladder onto the deck and circled the helm. “Why didn’t you buy a new one?”

“Because I didn’t want a new one. I wanted this one.” He spread his arms out and strode to the other side of the dock. “From her sturdy fiberglass hull to her teak paneled interior, she is forty-three feet of Siamese, blue-water beauty.”

“It looks so small. Where do you put—” She raised her palm toward him. “Sorry. I forgot. You’re Robinson Crusoe. No need of modern shackles.” She touched her cell phone. “But a boat, Clint? On the water? You won’t even get in a hot tub for heaven’s sake. What were you thinking?”

He spied her anew through a squint. “Like I said, Paige. What do you want?”

“I’m sorry.” Her head dropped, hair falling over her face. “I didn’t come here to criticize. Please. Can we go in? Or down. I want to talk to you.”

The knot in his stomach tightened. He climbed up to the deck with Louie trotting behind.

“Must it follow us?”

“His name is Louie and only if he wants to.” Clint went through the companionway. “Watch your head.”

“Satchmo. Of course.” She held the side of the cabin door as the boat rocked in response to their descent.

Below deck, they passed though the galley to the main salon in the middle of the boat. Paige scrutinized every detail as if she were assessing the value for auction. Louie kept his distance.

Smart dog.

A fog rolling in at night, Paige was like bad weather bringing a pallor that crept over Clint’s home like a fungus. His honey teak walls shrank around him, and the ceiling no longer seemed to offer a full measure of headroom. The air grew thick and stale. He opened the skylight to let in some relief.

Clint motioned for her to sit at the U-shaped booth. With a slight crinkle to her upturned nose, she shoved a pile of laundry further down the seat to make room. Louie hopped on the seat opposite her and chewed on his toy gorilla. Clint sat on the other side of the bench, locking his arms across his chest.

“I spoke with your mother the other day.” Paige curbed her hair behind an ear. “I told her I was coming here. She seemed pleased.”

Pleased. Mother wanted custody of Paige in the divorce settlement. Clint’s parents divorced twenty years ago, so his mother’s logic deemed all men evil. She was the kind of woman that didn’t let facts taint her opinion.

“And is Mother well?” Clint sunk back on the blue cushion and suspended his feet on the counter at the other end. Invoking his mother so quickly—whatever Paige wanted, it was going to be entertaining.

She leaned in toward him, closing the gap he created. “She’s competing in a tennis tournament next week at the club. She has some rather early matches, so she’s a bit unhappy about that.”

Of course she’s unhappy. He couldn’t remember the last time his mother was happy about anything. Unhappiness was her pastime. His dating Beth plunged her unhappiness to submarine depths.

“So what do you want Paige? Did we leave some pricey bauble off the list for the lawyers? Whatever it is, you can have it.”

“I’d like something to drink.”

He glared at her a moment and rose. “Where are my manners? I have scotch, vodka, strychnine. What’s your pleasure?”

“Water, please.”

“Water it is. I’ve got an ocean full of the stuff.”

“Todd stopped by for lunch the other day. We went to Ponder, off the Commons, but I’d wait until the menu settles before trying it. He wants you to call him.” Her eyebrows formed a stiff arch. “You are still using telephones, aren’t you?”

“I occasionally deign to use the phone here at the marina even I don’t want one on my person. I’ve worn a leash long enough.” He returned with her water and a smile. “And how is Mr. Westerfield? Still pissed?”

“Probably, but he also wants you to call him. The new division launches this week. He was off to Vegas after we met.” She took a sip. “He’s hoping you’ll come back full-time.”

Clint shrugged. “The world rotates on without my technical expertise. He only needs me for the CatSat transmissions. The rest of it, he can find a replacement. Plenty of brilliant guys would give anything for a shot at the job, including a left testicle.”

“Nice.”

“I do need to call him though to find out what happened to that Russian ballerina he was dating. Valeska. I think. Not a beauty but certainly exotic.” Clint grew a grin. “One of the gossip rags put him on the cover with some TV actress last week. That boy certainly gets around.”

Paige sniffed. “It’s mostly to keep his name in the news.”

“Yeah. Sure. That’s why men date gorgeous women.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I heard you were dating. Is it serious?”

Serious?

He finally felt like he could breathe. Not breathe again. Not breathe better. Simply breathe. For the first time. As if he’d been born under water. In the pressure of the depths, his meager lungs couldn’t expand until Beth buoyed him to the surface.

Serious.

Heat kindled in his chest. He thought it might be. Until this morning.

A sneer streaked his face. “Why do you care? It’s none of your damn business if I’m dating. Or did Mother send you here for a report?”

“No, I—”

“You weren’t concerned about my love life when I begged you to see a marriage counselor with me. No, you ran straight to one of your damned lawyers.” He strode to the galley and leaned up against the counter, finger-combing his hair.

She took her time before she spoke again. She’d ticked him off and seemed to know it.

“I understand your anger. I—”

“There’s nothing new here, Paige. Why don’t you go?”

“Because I want you. I want you back.”

His face twisted. His fingers gripped the counter. “Want me back? What the hell for?”

“We have a lot invested in each other. And I—”

“Had. We
had
a lot invested.” He shoved his hands into his jeans. “We don’t anymore.”

“We—”

“There’s no
we
anymore. Don’t you get it? You gave me no damn good reason for leaving. Give me one damn good reason why I should want you back.”

She stood before him and looked up into his eyes. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, Clint. We’ve been married nine years. And now—” She took his hand and laid it below her belly button. “We’ve got a baby.”

The pain in Beth’s hip throbbed her awake. She rubbed the tender spot, felt a knot within her flesh. Her eyes struggled to open under the assault of harsh light. With each flicker of vision, she calculated her surroundings. She wasn’t at home. Nor did she think she was anywhere she’d ever been before, not even a place she’d drifted to in the realm of her dreams.

This place, wherever it was, was unfamiliar.

She lay on a couch or cushion of some sort. She raised her head. An ache started in one temple, bridging to the other side of her skull. She fell back on the cushion. A kaleidoscopic pattern of electric black, yellow diamonds surged, merged in her brain. Each pulse brought another ripple of dizziness and nausea.

She tried to remember. Anything. The last thing. Where she was when everything changed.

A deep voice invaded. “Are you awake?”

Her stomach galloped. She stifled an urge to vomit. No. She didn’t want to be awake. Not here. Not yet. The voice gave her no comfort. She lay still until the presence above her departed.

Beth remembered something. The morning. Clint. He was at the door. Well, he was supposed to be. But, it wasn’t Clint. He was masked.

Queasiness kept rein on her champing fear.

Kidnapped. 

The thought muddied her mind. That only happened to famous people. Or insanely wealthy people. She was neither. But Clint—