by Lisa Harris
“Oh, yeah. Ben’s come a long way as an operative. He kept his emotions in check, and he was totally focused on the mission. I was actually pretty impressed with his role-playing ability. I think he’s a lot better at it than I am, plus he’s a lot more outgoing.”
“That’s good to know. The next time a situation comes up where I need a youthful, good-looking guy, with plenty of charisma, I’ll put Ben in charge of the operation.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Not very often. I usually need a middle-age guy, who keeps to himself and is hard to pick out of a crowd.”
“Well, then, I’m your guy, and I hope that means you’ve got my next assignment already lined up.”
“Nothing immediately comes to mind, but I’ll give you a call if it does. Didn’t you say you were taking Nikki and Eleanor down to Barbados in August?”
“That’s right, but I’m still free the whole month of July.”
“Good to know.”
He got up from his desk and gestured toward the hallway. “Let’s go see if Millie baked a new batch of chocolate chip cookies. I understand you and Frank cleaned out her cookie jar when he was here yesterday.”
“Me?”
Never The End, Always A Beginning
Acknowledgments
Although many people have given me support and encouragement in the process of writing Ben in Love, first and foremost, I wish to thank my husband, James, and my daughter, Karis, who have never failed to uplift me with their prayers, strengthen me with their love, and bolster me with their confidence.
* * *
In addition, I’m grateful for my beta readers, especially for their critiques and suggestions, and for Lenda Selph, my editor/proofer. A special word of gratitude goes to Mark K., Simon W., Gregory S., and Andrew R., plus other sources who shall forever remain nameless.
* * *
Last, but not least, I’d like to thank all of my faithful readers, many of whom write to me on a weekly basis. Your love of Titus Ray Thrillers and Mylas Grey Mysteries keeps me writing past midnight. May you never stop asking, “When is your next book coming out?”
* * *
All of you serve as my inspiration.
A Note To My Readers
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Ben in Love, Book I in the new Ben Mitchell/Titus Ray Thriller Series. The next book in this series is Ben in Charge, coming in Spring 2021. If you enjoyed this book, you might also enjoy reading the other books in the Titus Ray Thriller Series. You can find out more about Titus Ray Thrillers and also learn about my Mylas Grey Mystery series on my website, LuanaEhrlich.com. On the final pages of this boxed set collection, you will find a short bio about me and see a listing of all the books I’ve written.
I’d love for you to do a review of Ben in Love as part of the Dangerous Deceptions boxed set. Since word-of-mouth testimonies and written reviews are usually the deciding factor in helping readers pick out a book, they are an author’s best friend and much appreciated. One of my greatest blessings comes from receiving email from my readers. My email address is [email protected]. I look forward to hearing from you!
Now, you’re in for a real treat! The next book in this collection is Liar Like Her, written by the award-winning author, D.L. Wood, whose books never fail to leave her readers wanting more.
To whet your appetite, here’s a short description of Liar Like Her: When disbarred attorney Quinn Bello discovers a dead body that inexplicably vanishes, no one believes her except Ian Wolfe, a newcomer to the beach town of Seaglass Cove who mysteriously refuses to hold Quinn’s past against her. When the two join forces to expose the truth, will they succeed before Quinn becomes the next victim?
Turn the page to read Liar Like Her by D.L.Wood.
Liar Like Her
A Secrets and Lies Suspense Novel
by D.L. Wood
LIAR LIKE HER
A Secrets and Lies Suspense Novel
Copyright ©2020 by D.L. Wood
All rights reserved.
Liar Like Her is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
First edition
D.L. Wood
www.dlwoodonline.com
Huntsville, Alabama
For Manna House-Huntsville, and For Life Ministries-Huntsville, and all the other wonderful, dedicated persons and organizations who work tirelessly to meet the needs of others in this world so that they are not left hungry for either bread or hope.
Chapter One
“It isn’t possible for three girls to vanish into thin air, Nate.” From behind the closed door of her bedroom, twelve-year-old Quinn Bello heard her mother in the hallway, speaking to her father in hushed tones. Her raspy voice quivered, betraying the panic Quinn knew she must be feeling.
Tucked in her bed, Quinn stared at the purple polka-dots on the sheet pulled up over her head. The fresh-linen scent left by the fabric softener filled her nostrils and she breathed it in, trying to calm herself.
Please don’t let them come in here.
Please don’t let them come in here.
But they did. Her mother shook her, apparently attempting to wake Quinn from what she thought was a deep sleep.
“Quinn, honey, wake up,” her mother urged, her delicate fingers grasping Quinn’s shoulder.
Quinn ignored her. Lying still, tucked beneath her down duvet in her second-floor bedroom in their house in Seaglass Cove, Florida, she feigned sleep.
Her mother shook her harder. Realizing there was no avoiding it, Quinn rolled over. “Mom! What?” she groaned, sounding more tired than she was. The rainbow-colored digits of her alarm clock read 12:30 a.m.
“Quinn, your friends are missing,” her mother said, her voice now riddled with anxiety, all pretense of calm gone.
Quinn grunted and scooted away, but her mother pulled her back, turning her by the shoulder until Quinn was finally looking at her. Even in the dark, Quinn could see the worry etched into her mother’s face. “Quinn, it’s important. Annie, Jess and Gina are missing. Do you know where they are?”
“What?” Quinn groaned and noticed her father standing behind her mother, his clean-shaven face every bit as grim as hers.
“Do you know where they are?” her father said, punctuating every word, palpable tension in his voice.
“Who?” Quinn grunted, sleepily rubbing a fist into one eye for dramatic effect.
“Quinn!” Her mother barked. “Pay attention. Annie, Jess, and Gina. Were they headed somewhere after you left Annie’s house?”
“I don’t know. Why are you asking me?” Quinn replied.
“Because they’re gone. They aren’t in Annie’s house. It’s after midnight and Annie’s mother can’t find them anywhere. Jess’s and Gina’s parents don’t know where they are either. Do you really not know where they went?”
“They’re probably running around the neighborhood or something—playing ‘Murder in the Dark’ or whatever.” Quinn yanked the duvet over her head and turned away again.
“They’re not in the neighborhood,” her mother said. “Their parents have been driving around looking for them. Quinn, if you know something, please tell us. They shouldn’t be out in the middle of the night on their own.”
“How would I know where they are?” Quinn said, her breath hot on her face, trapped beneath the sheet. “I’ve been here for hours. They’ll turn up. They’re not in danger or anything. Their parents are being stupid—just worried for nothing.”
“You’re sure you
don’t know?” her father pressed. “They didn’t tell you where they might go?”
“No,” Quinn moaned. “Now, pleeeaaase—let me go back to sleep.”
She sensed her parents hovering by the edge of the bed as if debating whether to push harder, but eventually they left, shutting the door behind them. Quinn remained motionless, pretending to have dozed off, in case one of them checked on her. Sure enough, the door squeaked open five minutes later, only to squeak shut again. Apparently, whichever parent it was believed she had fallen back asleep.
But she wasn’t asleep. Still buried beneath the sheet, Quinn’s eyes were wide, the th-thump of her heart against her ribcage so loud in her ears that she wouldn’t be surprised if her mother could hear it in the hallway. She could feel the tide of stress rising, and fear drove a flash of heat across her skin because she knew what that meant. Stress brought on migraines and the last thing she needed right now was one of those. A feverish nausea broiled in her center, making her stomach turn.
She had told her parents that she didn’t know where her friends were. That she had no idea what they were doing. That she was sure they weren’t in danger.
But that wasn’t true.
As usual, every single word she had uttered was a lie.
Chapter Two
Thirty-year-old Quinn Bello’s hands trembled as she gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel of her 3 Series BMW with one hand and lifted the other to take a long, last drag on her cigarette. She inhaled deeply, praying for the nicotine to kick in, to soothe…but there was nothing. She crushed the end in the makeshift ashtray of her cupholder. There was no calm to be found in the cigarette, or in the anxiety medication Dr. Bristol had prescribed, or in the alprazolam she had topped it all off with an hour ago to soften the jagged edges.
The cabin of her car seemed to grow smaller by the second, the heat of her own body and electricity of her nerves filling the space to the point of suffocation. The air seemed to be evaporating. Though she sucked in lungfuls, she could not catch her breath. She punched the blue button on the dash to lower the temperature, but the chilly air spilling from the vents did nothing to stave off the sweat that was beading at her brow, then forming tiny rivulets down her hairline. It was a comfortable day in Tampa for November—just seventy-nine degrees—but she would have sworn it was over one hundred degrees in her car even in the shaded garage.
Half an hour ago she had pulled into the parking garage on Twiggs Avenue adjacent to the Hillsborough County Courthouse in downtown Tampa. And there she still sat, paralyzed in the driver’s seat, waiting, hoping—striving—to bring herself under control. Tremors rippled through her as her eyes flashed to the briefcase on the black leather seat beside her, then to the dashboard clock.
9:15.
They would call the civil docket at 9:30. Her motion was scheduled to be one of the first.
Pull yourself together, Quinn.
She slapped down the vanity mirror on her sun visor and barely recognized the haggard person in the reflection. Dull, ashen skin had replaced her normally fresh and fair complexion. Bruise-like shadows covered the puffy skin beneath her eyes. They had lost their bright, emerald cast, and now better resembled a drab, army-green. Even her red hair, typically shimmering with golden highlights, was lackluster. She flipped the mirror back up, disgusted.
Tracy Norwich was counting on her. Tracy was the plaintiff in a wrongful death suit against a local cab company for an accident that caused the death of her husband. One of the company’s drivers, permitted to continue working despite two DUIs on his record, had struck George Norwich as he crossed the road in broad daylight. Tracy hired Quinn’s firm, Cable & Hearn, to represent her in the matter, or more specifically, hired Quinn. She had cried in Quinn’s office as Quinn comforted her and promised to do all in her power to make things as right as they could be under the circumstances. The hearing today was on the motion for summary judgment filed by the defendant cab company which, if successful, would end Tracy’s two-million-dollar claim for compensatory and punitive damages. And with all that at stake, Quinn Bello—Attorney at Law, plaintiff’s counselor, champion for tragic victims of unjust offenders—was completely losing it in her own car, with just fifteen minutes to spare.
This case wasn’t the only thing riding on the outcome of today’s motion. After only four years of practice, Quinn was being considered for a junior partnership at Cable & Hearn. Whether or not she got it depended in large part on today’s result. So she had to be on. But her body was not cooperating. She could sense the beginning of a migraine pressing on her temples. Chills ran over her skin, triggering a shiver that pulsed through every muscle in her body, shaking her to her core. She gasped once, then let her breath escape in spiky, uneven releases—then gasped again when she saw something move at the edge of her vision in the shadows of the far right corner of the parking deck, about a dozen cars away.
Her head snapped to it.
It wasn’t the first time today she had seen shadows where they shouldn’t be—flickers of movement in what ought to be empty places.
Someone is following me.
Just an hour before, in the parking garage of her Channel District condominium, she had gotten a creepy vibe from the man who rode the elevator down with her. She didn’t recognize him as a resident and she could just feel him watching her as she stepped out. Even without looking, her intuition told her he was following her as she walked to her car’s assigned spot. Her heartbeat accelerated as his steps drew nearer and nearer, until she finally spun around and screamed at him.
But he hadn’t been behind her. In fact, he was actually several car lengths away headed in the opposite direction. Panic mounting, and wondering how in the world she could have gotten it so wrong, Quinn had climbed into her BMW without offering an apology or explanation and peeled past the man, leaving him wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
Remembering the exchange only quickened the pace of her breathing. She closed her eyes and inhaled, trying to rein it in. Then she opened them again, squinting at the spot in the far corner, searching for something, anything, that could have caused the movement she had detected. But there were only vehicles, unmanned, empty.
But something had moved. So what did I see? And where did it go?
Fear swelled but she worked to swallow the panic. To shove it down. To bury it. Because she had to.
She wanted to call her fiance, Simon, and tell him what had happened. Have him reassure her that everything would be okay and that she was safe. She wanted to hear him say he would leave the hospital right then and come to her, just to check things out, just to make sure she was all right and nothing was amiss.
But there was no point in calling Simon because Quinn knew he wouldn’t say any of that. Instead he would tell her she was seeing things. That she was losing it and had better get it together or get some help, or it would kill their relationship. The same things he had been telling her for weeks.
“It’s nothing,” she hissed, shaking her head as if that would dislodge the dark thoughts from her brain. “There was nothing there. It was just a trick of the light.”
So had it been a trick of the light earlier, too, in my own parking garage?
Her heart skipped a beat at the thought—a premature ventricular contraction—the way it did sometimes when her nerves were overwrought. Her hand flew to her chest and she held her breath, waiting to see if there would be another irregular beat. There wasn’t, thank goodness, and her heart thumped in time again, the force of it resuming its rhythm feeling like a horse kicking her from the inside.
9:17.
She was going to be late. Another shiver consumed her and she desperately glanced at the glove compartment. There was a flask in there. One last hope for calm. For peace. But if anyone smelled it…
She abandoned the notion, snatched up the briefcase and slammed the car door behind her, resolutely jogging toward the elevator. She’d already had one swig this morning. A second would be tempting fate.
>
Like the BMW’s cabin, both the parking garage elevator and the short hallway leading to the back entrance of the courthouse seemed stiflingly smaller today, as if they were closing in on her too. She breathed heavily, fighting for her lungs to accept the air, as she swung open the glass door to the courthouse and slipped inside.
The heat there was even worse than in the car.
Is the air-conditioning broken? How can it possibly be warmer inside?
The heaviness of the sultry air pushed down on her, threatening to drop her to the floor. She dragged the khaki sleeve of her suit jacket across her forehead, leaving a long sweat stain on the forearm, before flashing her lanyard badge at the security station. A grey-haired deputy motioned her through the roped-off lane for courthouse personnel that bypassed both the walk-through metal detector and the conveyor-belt x-ray machine for her belongings.
“Quinn, you all right?” The question came from behind her after she barreled through, uttered by the same deputy. She swung around, noting the deep furrows in his brow, his eyes crinkled in concern.
“What? Yeah, Henry, I’m fine, I’m just late,” she said, and forced a smile, but knew it couldn’t have looked genuine. Then her stomach turned again and she was fighting off crippling nausea as well as the draining urge to simply pass out.
“Judge Richter’s court?” Henry called after her, but she kept going without offering a response. She knew why he was guessing that she was headed to that particular courtroom. Judge Richter was notorious for calling out attorneys who appeared after the docket had started. Henry was likely assuming that was why she was so frazzled, since she only had five minutes to get inside courtroom nine before the hammer would fall.
