The Liar

The country-dark road twisted like a snake as it climbed, and gave her an excuse to ease off the gas. She let the fear show—no point in pride—and the show of fear could be another weapon. Or at least a shield, she thought, as she slipped her hand into her pocket, and prayed she could manage a coherent message.

“Why didn’t you just run?”

“I don’t run,” he said with that same self-satisfied smile on his face. “I navigate. You were just what I needed to make my new ID solid after the Miami job. It didn’t take me long to realize you’d be useless on the grift, but you made for a good temporary cover.”

“Nearly five years, Richard?”

“I never figured to keep you around that long, then you got knocked up. I think on my feet,” he reminded her. “Who’s going to look for a family man, a man with a hick wife and a baby? And I had to wait for the take to cool down. And for Melinda to get out. She made a hell of a deal—you have to give her credit. I’d thought she’d get double what they gave her, and that would’ve been plenty of time for cooling off and covering my tracks. But she always could surprise me.”

“You killed her.”

“How could I? I’m dead, remember? Make this right. Nearly there.”

Nothing back here, she thought, but a couple of cabins—at least that’s all there’d been when she’d left the Ridge.

She hit Send—she hoped—because she had to put her left hand back on the wheel.

“But you’re not dead, and you killed her.”

“And who are the assholes looking for over it? Jimmy. I’m in the clear. I’m going to stay in the clear. And when I pick up what’s mine Monday morning, I’ll be in the clear with millions. Long-range plans, Shelby, take a lot of patience. This one cost me a little more than a year for each five million. That’s a damn good deal in the world of big pictures. Pull up right beside that truck.”

“Who else is here?”

“Nobody now.”

“My God, Richard, whose place is this? Who did you kill?”

“An old friend. Turn off the car, hand me the keys.” Once again, he jabbed with the barrel of the gun. “You’re going to sit where you are until I come around for you. Try anything—anything—I’ll put a bullet in you. Then I’ll go get Callie. I know people who’d pay a premium for a pretty girl her age.”

She hadn’t known he could sicken her even more. “She’s your child. She’s your blood.”

“Do you actually think I care?”

“No.” Her hand was back in her pocket, frantically tapping. “I don’t think you care about anything or anyone. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep Callie safe.”

“Then what’s left of the weekend should be easy on both of us.”

She considered locking the doors when he got out, just to give herself more time to send the next message. But it would only spike his temper. It had to be better to make him believe she was utterly helpless.

It wasn’t too far from the truth.

When he came around, opened her door, she got out compliantly.

“Here’s our little home away from home.” He used a penlight to shine a thin beam, showing the way to a small cabin, roughly built.

Her shoes crunched on the short gravel walk leading to a sagging front porch. A couple of old chairs, a rickety table. Nothing she could see that could be used as a weapon.

He dropped the penlight back in his pocket, handed her a key.

“Unlock the door.”

She did what she was told, and at the prod of the gun, stepped off the dark porch into the dark cabin. She jolted when he turned on the light—couldn’t help herself. It came yellow and dull from the globes on a wagon wheel dropped from the pitched ceiling.

“I call it the Hickville Dump. It’s not much, but it’s ours. Sit down.”

When she didn’t move fast enough he shoved her toward a chair of red-and-green plaid. She caught herself, turned to sit, and saw the blood on the floor, smears of it leading to a closed door.

“Yeah, you’re going to clean that up, then I’ve got a shovel with your name on it. You’re going to bury Jimmy, save me the sweat.”

“All of this for money?”

“It’s always the money.” The excitement, the light that had first drawn her to him, beamed out. But she saw it now for what it was. Hard and false.

“It’s always the money,” he repeated, “but it’s the ride, too. It’s knowing you’re the smartest one in the room, no matter what fucking room. It’s knowing if you want it, you can take it.”

“Even if it belongs to someone else.”

“Especially, you moron, if it belongs to someone else. That’s the ride. I’m going to grab a beer.” He sent her a wide smile “Get you something, honey?”

He backed into the tiny open kitchen when she said nothing.

So sure she was paralyzed, she thought, he didn’t even bother to restrain her. She kept her hands clenched together in her lap, the knuckles white. But it was as much a rising fury as fear now.

The lamp, she thought, the one on the table with the black bear hunched by the trunk of a tree. It might be heavy enough if she could get her hands on it.

There’d be knives in the kitchen.

She imagined the Winchester rifle over the fireplace was unloaded. But maybe not.