Lies_simple Page 3

  The fancy lingerie I could have done without, however. Nothing wrong with sensible, comfortable, unsexy grandma panties. Especially in my current predicament. Not that Thom is prone to getting carried away at the sight of me scantily clad. Another dead giveaway about the validity of our romance. I’m such a fool.

  “So what, you’re all ex-military or something?” I ask, in the hopes that information will make me less of an idiot. At least pertaining to this particular situation.

  “We’re recruited from all over the place. It’s not really something we can talk about.” Crow leans against the wall, arms crossed. “No one’s attempted mixing real life and work before. You being here is quite a first.”

  “I don’t know how real it was, considering Thom lied to me about everything,” I say. “But this is your life? What happens later? Do they expect you to just disappear into retirement and never discuss what you’ve done or the things you’ve seen?”

  “Pretty much. Though retirement’s not usually an issue,” he drawls. “Few of us live that long. Governments adore handing over the hard cases to people it deems expendable with complete deniability.”

  Thom’s eyes tighten. “That’s enough. You’re scaring her.”

  “I’m not scared,” I lie.

  “Sorry,” says Crow, heading for the door. “I’ll give you two lovebirds some privacy.”

  “Thanks for all this, Crow.”

  “Anytime, Betty.” He winks before slipping silently out the door.

  The room goes quiet and it’s just us again. It takes me a moment to find my voice. For my brain to make sense of all the new snippets of information.

  “How many times did you nearly not make it home?” I ask, fussing with the tiny satin bow of a thong I’ll never wear. “The truth, Thom.”

  “Often enough to be thankful every time I walked back through the door. Remember when I said the ceiling had caved in on me when I was doing a fire-damage assessment in Idaho?”

  “I remember complaining when you were back at work in two days, before the stiches had even healed over.”

  “You should have seen the other guy.” He shrugs. “But I’m good at what I do. Try not to worry.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “I should check in with Badger.” Thom rises to follow Crow, grabbing a shirt off the floor. “I’ll bring back some food and coffee.”

  “Okay.”

  He just stops for a moment, studies me.

  “What?”

  “You’re handling this well.”

  I laugh. “Oh, really? Because inside my head, I’m basically alternating between this freaked-out, endless, high-pitched screaming noise and an all-consuming need to kill you for all the fucking lies.”

  “Huh. Well, it doesn’t show too much so…good work.” He just watches my face, his own impassive. But then, Thom’s always been what you’d call detached. Another strike against our faux romance. “I know this is difficult, Betty, trusting me after everything. But I’m your best chance of getting out of this alive.”

  “And yet you’re the reason I’m in this situation.”

  He says nothing.

  “You’re right; it’s very hard to trust you.”

  A nod. “I’ll be back soon.”

  As I told Spider, I met Thom in a bar downtown one particularly crappy Saturday night. The thing is, it was all my fault. Exactly how bad my day had been. A bride had smilingly asked what floral arrangements I’d have if it was my wedding. Just being friendly-like. With my usual unthinking need to please, my mouth opened and it all came out. Peony roses. Lily of the valley. Everything I’d ever wanted for myself. She leapt at my ideas and accordingly, I’d just spent the whole day making all of my dreams come true for someone else’s wedding. And it looked more amazing than I’d ever imagined. Damn me for being good at my job.

  A more reasonable person wouldn’t have minded sharing. It was only some stupid bouquets and boutonnieres after all. Table arrangements and so on. But for some reason I minded. A lot.

  I was twenty-five then, had never had what I would term a serious boyfriend, and felt like utter and complete shit. No amount of vodka and sodas was going to make it better, but I was willing to try. That’s when Thom found me. And how he’d insinuated himself into my life with such minimal effort. Because on that particular day, I’d given up. I didn’t truly believe I deserved any better than a half-hearted love with a nice-enough guy.

  Melodramatic and drunk are never a good combination. Eventually I came to my senses, of course, and realized someone’s clothes hanging alongside yours in the closet didn’t a relationship make. That was about four or five weeks ago. A quick learner, I am not.

  I dress in a pair of skinny blue jeans, knee-high boots, and a black tee. I tie back my hair in a low-slung ponytail. Loose enough so it doesn’t irritate my headache and assorted wounds. Even if I’m not tough like Fox, at least I can appear mildly capable. Maybe.

  Nothing I can do about the butterfly bandages, but concealer hides the worst of my bruising. The black winged eyeliner and mascara I apply make me feel a bit more normal even if my life is spinning out of control. When it comes to makeup, I don’t tend to bother with the natural look. I prefer a 1960s vintage vibe. Give me Sophia Loren with her hips and tits espousing the glory of pasta and wine. She knew what was what. There are way more important things than having a tiny waist. Take loving yourself and enjoying life, for instance.

  As for the rest of the shopping, I condense it into the duffel bag also provided and also designer. The tag says it was purchased for the bargain price of only three thousand dollars. Crow definitely enjoyed burning through some of Thom’s money. At any rate, it feels good to get dressed and organized. Like I might actually have a little control in this insane situation.

  Coffee doesn’t arrive within a reasonable amount of time. Therefore, it’s time to go in search of some. Thom would probably prefer I stay hidden away. But I hate having no idea what’s going on out there. And with half a day’s distance between me and the whole interrogation thing, I’ve built up enough courage to go exploring.

  No sign of anyone in the hallway. Scuffed terracotta tiles lead off in both directions. The quiet rumblings of conversation are coming from the left, however, so that’s where I go. Curiosity compels me to stick my head in any open doorways along the way. Only a bare mattress and some bedside tables in the next room. And the one after that. Still no pictures, personal items, or anything resembling actual signs of habitation.

  Voices float down the hallway uninterrupted. I am totally creeping up on a bunch of spies. Go me in stealth mode.

  Hang on. A suspicious-looking stain marks the beige carpeting outside a closet door in the second room. Someone’s left their mark. With the curtains pulled, leaving the room in shadows, the stain appears black maybe. Or dark brown. But the closer I get, the less sure I am about that. A metallic tang fills the room, the rich scent of copper, and my stomach turns over queasily. I have a bad feeling about this.

  Seems the closet hasn’t been fully shut, the topmost edge of a boot is sticking out. I should call for Thom. Reverse thrust and get the hell away from this. Only, what if whoever it is bleeding out on the floor isn’t dead yet and my delay is what kills them?

  Oh, God.

  With a shaking hand, I grab the handle, pulling the door open.

  The body inside is dark and bloody and awful. Same goes for the knife sticking out of his chest. It stinks of all sorts of bodily fluids left to rot, and I swallow down bile. Puking again is not the answer. I’ve never seen a dead body before. My eyes can’t look away while my brain doesn’t know what the fuck to do with the awful information. Probably I should tell someone. Yes. Right. That makes sense.

  “Thom?” I say, my voice weak and useless. I take a step back, followed by another. Not panicking, because panicking won’t help. “Thom!”

  Footsteps, more than one pair, race down the hallway. Then firm hands are grabbing my shoulders, pushing me
gently out of the way.

  Thom takes in the contents of the closet and sighs. “It’s Spider.”

  Someone swears behind me.

  “Should you, ah, check if he’s alive?” I ask.

  “No one loses that much blood and gets up again.” He looks back, taking in those assembled. More people have apparently joined the party while I was sleeping. Fox and Badger are still here. But there’s also a tall blond Thor-like individual and a woman with cool red hair.

  “Wasn’t me,” says Fox. “He was alive and well, if somewhat unconscious, when I dumped him in the last bedroom down the hall yesterday. Wasn’t there when I went to check on him later, so I figured he’d slunk off somewhere to get away from Wolf.”

  “Wolf and Spider got into it?” asks the redhead.

  “I gave him a warning, that’s all.” Thom’s jaw tightens. “This is not good.”

  “Roger that,” says the big blond man.

  Badger’s eyes are red, his fingers constantly tapping against his side. God knows how long he’s been going hard at it with his search engines and energy drinks. He’s younger than the others, wiry and wired. “So I’m just going to come right out and say what we’re all thinking. It’s one of us.”

  “Possibly,” says Thom. “Probably, even. If someone breached our perimeter, then they wouldn’t have just taken out one of us. They would’ve kept going. At least, that’s what I would have done. It feels like someone’s picking us off for fun. Plus the security system on the house hasn’t shown any sign of other entries.”

  The Thor dude turns to me, holding out a hand. “Hey. You must be the fiancée. I’m Bear.”

  “Betty.”

  His grasp is gentle, his gaze serious.

  “I’m Hawk,” says the redhead, wiggling her fingers at me with only vague interest. She’s wearing a little green dress with a large knife strapped to her thigh. “With two down that still leaves six of us alive as possible suspects. Seven if we count Betty.”

  Thom takes up position standing in front of me, hiding me from view. Guess his protective instincts are real. Or at least they seem to be.

  “This is real bad. Nothing against y’all, but I’m relocating until further notice.” Badger shakes his head and wastes no time squeezing past Fox and Crow to get out the door.

  “Try one more time to get that message through to HQ before you leave,” orders Thom. “If they’re cutting coms until this is sorted, we all need to know now.”

  Hawk frowns. “Those fuckers.”

  “Nothing like a little loyalty to let you know where you stand,” says Bear.

  No one seems to disagree with the sentiment.

  “Complete deniability. It’s safe to assume there’ll be no help from on high.” Thom gives me a quick glance over his shoulder. He doesn’t seem worried exactly, but he’s not happy either. “Let’s not forget the job. We need to figure out whoever this is and stop them before we all wind up dead.”

  Fox rolls her eyes. “A rousing, spirit-raising speech as always, Wolf.”

  Instead of answering, he grabs my hand and leads us back to the room we’d been using. He points to the packed duffel sitting on the bed. “This everything?”

  “Yes.”

  The duffel bag goes over his shoulder and he takes off in long strides down the hallway, leading me into an attached garage. Two vehicles sit waiting. A sleek Lamborghini and a bulky SUV. He, of course, bundles us into the SUV. No sexy sports car for me. A pity. I’d like to ride in something like that before I die.

  Because it’s feeling like that may not be so far off.

  “I can put on my own seat belt.” I smack his hands out of the way. “Jesus, Thom.”

  He deposits my bag in the back, withdrawing a jacket, pistol, and an extra magazine from some hidey-hole back there before closing the door. Every move he makes is swift, economical. Graceful in a way. The gun goes into the waistband of his jeans, the mag in a pocket, and the garage door starts rising. While doing something on his cell, he slips into the driver’s seat and turns on the engine. Old Thom was shit at it, but this Thom can clearly multitask and then some. I bet he could juggle knives if I asked him.

  “Are we going to die?” I ask, just making conversation.

  Gaze on the rearview mirror, he backs out the vehicle. “You’re not going to die.”

  “But you might?”

  “Do you care?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know.” I laugh.

  Nothing from Thom.

  “I need to call Jen and let her know I’m okay.”

  “Betty, it’s not safe for you to be contacting anyone. Not right now. Not Jen. Not family. Not anyone.”

  “Everyone at work will be wondering where I am.” I frown. Mom would tell me it causes way more wrinkles than smiling, but it seems to me that being forced to abandon your life and possibly face an early death is worth a line or two. “Surely we can at least get a message to them that I’m alive.”

  “Too risky.”

  “But they must be so worried.” My throat tightens, my eyes burn. “God, this is insane.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it right now,” he says, voice firm. “Just try and stay calm.”

  Easy for him to say. My mind won’t stop racing. Fear apparently makes me chatty. Or maybe some part of me thinks more information will make this situation easier to get a grip on. “So you’re in charge of the zoo? They all seem to look to you for direction, follow your orders.”

  “I’m the current most experienced operative.”

  “Who’s Scorpion? Was she your real… Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

  We speed away from the house on dirt roads, dust rising all around us and the sun beating down. No idea where we are. No idea what’s going to happen. And the scent of blood still fills my lungs. The visual of Spider’s corpse remains lodged inside my mind.

  “Calm your breathing, Betty. I don’t have time for you to have a panic attack right now.”

  The asshole’s got a point. My chest is heaving. A sheen of sweat covers my whole body. He turns up the air-conditioning, blasting me with cold air. It helps a little. So does taking long, slow breaths.

  “Never seen a dead body before,” I say quietly.

  “I know.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  He glances over at me, his mouth a firm line. “No.”

  “All right.” I nod. It probably makes me an idiot, but I believe him anyway. “Why am I still alive? I was asleep just a couple of rooms down, with no one between me and Spider. It would have been easy.”

  “The killer would have no reason to want you dead at this point. Whoever it is has probably marked you as a strategic liability, thinking it will be easier to deal with me if I need to focus on protecting you.”

  “Is that true? That I’m a liability?”

  He swallows. “You’re going to a place where I know you’ll be safe. Then I’m going to go deal with this.”

  “You’re dumping me somewhere?”

  “I thought getting away from me was what you wanted.”

  “Really, you want to do this now?” I turn in my seat, all the better to face him. “Thom, you were never home. If it was your physical presence that pissed me off, all I had to do was stay right there. But it wasn’t. Our relationship itself was complete and utter bullshit.”

  “In what way?” Now he sounds almost angry. This is quite possibly the most honest emotion that I’ve had from him in forever. “Because I had to travel for work? To earn a living?”

  “Because even when you were home, you were never really with me. Mentally and emotionally, you were elsewhere.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “To be fair, this whole discussion is pretty absurd.”

  The dirt road ends and we turn onto something resembling civilization. More houses. Occasional people and other cars. Signs of life, normal life. People going about their mornings without their whole world turned upside down and the threat of imminent death
hanging over their heads.

  “How was I not with you?” he asks, definitely getting testy. “Every time you wanted to bitch about some idiot at work or talk about who Jen was banging, I listened. Even when you were just repeating yourself, I was attentive and supportive.”

  “You know, I don’t think you’re as good at pretending to be interested in things as you think you are.”

  “I always let you pick what we watched on TV, let you decide what takeout we got.”

  “Is that all a relationship is to you?” I ask, any hint of a panic attack long forgotten. This insight into Thom’s mind is fascinating. And somewhat disturbing.

  “It wasn’t all a lie, you know.”

  “Honestly?” I arched my eyebrows. “What part of it was real?

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I love you.”

  I laughed. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. “Well that’s ironic. Because that was the one thing you said to me that I didn’t believe.”

  “Why not?” He scowls. “There was intimacy. We had sex.”

  At this, I scoff. I can’t help it.

  “What?”

  “Our sex life was not amazing.”

  It takes him a moment to respond. “The average cohabitating couple has sex approximately fifty-one times a year. When you deduct time spent away due to work, we met the average.”

  “We met the average? Huh,” I say. “How I aspire to always meet the average. It’s my life goal, really.”

  “Bring on the sarcasm. What a surprise.”

  “Oh, yeah? How’s this for sarcastic, Thom? More often than not the sex sucked—and not in the good way.” So there. “I bought lingerie and read all of the stupid articles about tips for the bedroom. I tried to keep things interesting.”

  His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “Most women don’t manage to climax every time they have intercourse with their partners. I’m sorry, but I had to maintain the median…the illusion of us being a normal couple.”

  I just blink.

  “It’s a well-known fact. Studies show that—”

  “Wait a minute,” I say, my brain on fire. “Are you actually saying you researched the average relationship, worked out how often we should be having sex, and then only occasionally bothered to give me an orgasm when it suited your purposes?”