Table of Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1: The Morning After
Chapter 2: The Drop Off
Chapter 3: Meet the Mark
Chapter 4: The Candidate Surprise
Chapter 5: Keeping Secrets
Chapter 6: The Keating Five
Chapter 7: The Campaign Stop
Chapter 8: Stuck
Chapter 9: The Dysfunctional Motel
Chapter 10: Nighttime Rituals
Chapter 11: Sweet Dreams
Chapter 12: Regrets
Chapter 13: Making Peace
Chapter 14: A Cry for Help
Chapter 15: News Break
Chapter 16: Spin City
Chapter 17: The Mystery Date
Chapter 18: Pop Quiz
Chapter 19: Whatever it Takes
Chapter 20: House Call
Chapter 21: The Fallout
Chapter 22: Good Intentions
Chapter 23: Gone Wrong
Chapter 24: Ticking Time Bomb
Chapter 25: Media Frenzy Take One
Chapter 26: Getting Dirty
Chapter 27: Progress Report
Chapter 28: Bait
Chapter 29: Curiosity
Chapter 30: False Start
Chapter 31: Political Espionage
Chapter 32: Secrets
Chapter 33: Help From a Hacker
Chapter 34: Confessions
Chapter 35: The Disappearing Act
Chapter 36: Daddy Issues
Chapter 37: Intersections
Chapter 38: Bad Intentions
Chapter 39: The Hail Mary
Chapter 40: Creative Bargaining
Chapter 41: Election Day
Chapter 42: Deal with the Devil
About the Author
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
DIRTY LITTLE LIARS. Copyright © 2013 Melissa Long.
Cover photo by Allesandro De Leo
www.dreamstime.com
Ebook ISBN 978-0-9890171-0-7
All rights reserved under International and Pan American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express permission of Melissa Long.
Acknowledgements
This book would not have been possible without the ongoing love and support of my friends and family. Special thanks to my best friend, E, for always reminding me to feed my soul. Life is always so much more exciting when you are around.
To my little sister Brittany, who occasionally teaches her big sister a thing or two. Thanks for inspiring me to dream big dreams.
Thanks to the fabulous ladies of the Ohio Writers Network, for their encouragement, support, and the occasional margarita. Michelle, Linda, Laura, Faith, Rachel, Emily and Jillian, it has been a pleasure to write with you.
Lastly, to the students and faculty at the Seton Hill Writing Popular Fiction program. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and passion for the written word. And to the class that shall remain nameless, thank you for taking this journey with me. Here’s to many more impromptu sing-a-longs.
Chapter 1: The Morning After
Juliette woke up, naked, in a strange bed. That was never a good sign.
A hand was draped loosely across her waist and the steady deep breaths of sleeping filled the room. Juliette glanced at Mr. Blue Eyes and noted she was not the only one lacking clothes.
Terrence’s skin was rich and buttery, his chest smooth and bare. Her eyes trailed over his well-toned, rock-hard stomach and quivered at the memory of their bodies pressed together. Juliette longed to reach out to him, to pull him close and greet him with a little morning romp. But the heavy pounding on the door broke through her thoughts.
“Yo, T!” a man’s voice yelled. “Come on man, open up. You’re late.”
Juliette sprang from the bed and grabbed the sheets to cover her bare chest. She could hear the doorknob jingle followed by a soft beep of a key card being rejected. Did this guy have a key? Was he going to come in and find her here, naked in Terrence’s hotel suite?
Terrence grumbled something incoherent into the pillow. He didn’t look anywhere near waking up.
Juliette climbed out of bed, dragging the top sheet off the mattress, and made a mad dash for the bathroom. Only the bathroom turned out to be a closet. Clenching the oversized sheet tight around her body, she searched the room for her clothes: bra, panties, skirt, blouse, and heels. It was challenging to say the least. She finally gathered all her belongings and made her way into the main room, just as the door to the suite opened and an Asian man in his mid-twenties stepped inside.
Juliette froze. There were two closed doors on the other side of the sitting room. One of them was bound to be a bathroom. Of course, the only way she could get to them was to sprint across the suite, right past the kitchenette and Terrence’s new guest.
“Come on, T! What the hell, man? Get up.” He moved farther into the room, letting the door close behind him, and tossed his keycard on the counter. He still hadn’t spotted her. Maybe she could make it back to the bedroom.
Nope. Too late. The man was headed right for her. Juliette attempted to run but her feet got caught up in the bed sheets.
“Oh, hi,” he said.
She gave a slight wave then clutched the sheet tighter. “Hello.”
“So you’re the reason my guy is late.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I was just getting ready to leave.”
“Right. Well, bathroom is that way,” he said and pointed across the room.
Juliette took the exit option and shuffled across the room. She dressed as quickly as possible and then made a desperate attempt to clean herself up. She wasn’t about to use a stranger’s toothbrush, even if they had gotten up-close and personal the night before. Instead, Juliette reached for the bottle of mouthwash and took a swig. The minty plaque remover would have to do. She washed her face and then pulled her hair into a loose braid. There. It wasn’t perfect, but she might not be picked out of the walk-of-shame lineup.
Juliette counted to three and pulled the door open. Terrence and the new guy were huddled around the counter. Terrence had managed to put on a pair of boxers, but that wasn’t enough coverage to make her forget about the night’s naughty activities.
“Your phone keeps beeping.” The Asian guy with the spiked hair tossed a cell phone in her direction. Juliette caught it in her left hand. Thank God for quick reflexes.
“Oh my God.” Juliette stared in amazement at the blue and white text message overlaying her flowered screensaver and couldn’t believe her eyes. It was a text message from Dean Covington. It was so short and simple.
You’ve got the job. 1776 K Street NW 9 a.m.
Juliette glanced at her watch. It was a quarter to nine now.
“Shit!”
The two men were now staring at her.
“Is something wrong?” Terrence asked.
“I got the job!” Juliette grinned before practically skipping over to Terrence and kissing him on the cheek. “I got the job.”
“Congratulations.” He gave her a tight squeeze.
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“I have to go.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to be there in less than fifteen minutes.”
He took a closer look at her. “If that’s the case, you might want to wear a clean shirt.”
Juliette looked down at the white blouse. “I don’t have time to change.”
But Terrence wasn’t listening. He disappeared into the bedroom and came out with a gray button-down shirt. “It’ll be a little big, but I think you can pull it off. Just roll up the sleeves or something.”
The other guy stared at him. “Did I go to sleep and wake up on Project Runway?”
“Hey, don’t hate on me because I know something about fashion.”
Juliette dropped her phone and purse on the counter, pulled the day-old blouse over her head, and grabbed the shirt from Terrence.
“Stop staring,” she warned, and Terrence and the unnamed guy spun away. Terrence was right. If she rolled the sleeves up, left the last three buttons undone, and tied the ends into an eighties-style knot, she almost looked trendy.
“See, perfect,” Terrence said when she allowed them to turn around again.
“Yeah, oddly sexy.” The other guy agreed. But Juliette was no longer listening. She picked up her bag and the worn shirt and made a beeline for the door.
Chapter 2: The Drop Off
Juliette wasn’t certain what to expect as she stood at the corner of K Street and Connecticut Avenue. Was Covington going to magically appear and give her the details of her new assignment?
No. Nico Bertoletti, one of Dean’s thugs, stopped in front of her and held out a manila folder. Nico was a big Italian guy with short graying hair and a handful of scars that lined the side of his face. When Dean didn’t want to get his hands dirty, Nico stepped in. If she remembered correctly, torture was his specialty. He was dressed in business attire: black suit, black leather jacket, black suede shoes. Not the attire she’d expect if he were here to bring her harm.
“What is this?” She asked, feeling a little 007.
Nico smirked. “If you have to ask maybe you shouldn’t be in this line of work.”
Juliette studied the folder. It wasn’t a thick file, probably only a dozen or so pages inside. She flipped the top cover open and Nico clenched his hand around it, clamping the pages shut. “Not here.”
“Then where?”
“I don’t care.” He shoved the folder at her. “Just not here.”
Nico shook his head and grumbled something incomprehensible before he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Thanks for your help.” Juliette shoved the file folder into her purse and headed for the metro. As the escalator glided deep into the underground belly of D.C. Juliette felt the folder calling out to her. What did Covington have in store for her—stealing art like her parents, or perhaps impersonating a buyer?
Juliette followed the crowd of travelers to the subway platform. When the tourists stopped right at the foot of the stairs she pushed forward, headed for the less deserted section. She leaned against the cement column and reached for her bag. Now that Nico was out of sight she could examine the contents in peace. Inside there was a four-by-six picture of a young woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, and the perfect California tan. Her name was Courtney Anderson. Her father was Governor Davis Anderson. She was a third-year law student at George Washington University, the editor of the school’s law review, and captain of the crew team. Where in the world did this girl find time for crew?
Juliette skimmed the rest of the memo, her eyes landing on a highlighted sentence in the last paragraph about a campaign rally at McPherson Square on August 25th. She glanced down at her cell phone.
Great. That was today. Looked like she was going to have to jump right in with a little morning recon. No wonder Covington had wanted her so damn early.
McPherson was only a few blocks away—in the opposite direction.
Juliette whipped the folder closed and headed back to the stairs. If she could get to the other side of the platform before the next train arrived she could hop off at the next stop and be right at the park. She huffed up each step, darted between a handful of tourists, and made her way across the bridge. A tone sounded, alerting the arrival of an oncoming train—her train. Juliette picked up the pace, as did a few other regular commuters around her. Together they ambled down the escalator and onto the already overcrowded platform.
The train screeched to a stop just as she reached the second car door. The doors trudged open and the crowd filed in. Inside it was hot and smelled like sweat. The air conditioner was either turned off or broken. Good thing her ride was short.
Juliette braced herself against the metal arm-rail as the train began to move. She turned her attention back to the file folder and began to study the rest of the contents. There was a copy of an article about the governor of Virginia. Apparently he was a big shot and more than one political pundit expected that he might run for the presidency in 2016.
Juliette glanced back at the picture of the girl.
So was Anderson the real target?
She flipped the next page and got her answer. It was a GWU Fall Semester class schedule for Courtney with a sticky note attached. The note read: Become Courtney’s best friend and await further instructions.
The brevity of the note was all Covington. One line, nothing else. No mention of why or how. No mention of the bigger job at stake, and there was most definitely a bigger job on the line. What use would Covington have with a college coed?
A tone rang out and the train driver mumbled something garbled into the intercom about the next stop. How tourists managed to get around using the metro when conductors barely spoke a coherent word into the microphone was beyond her.
Juliette shoved the papers back into her bag and moved toward the sliding doors. When the train came to a stop and the doors slid open she was the first one onto the platform. She used her New York City walk to brush past the casual onlookers and slightly weary travelers who were already dreading the heat of the hot August summer. She bypassed the tourists, took the middle of the three escalators, and trudged up the left side with the other overeager pedestrians—who used the hike as a good excuse to skip the gym.
When the escalator stairs curled around the sidewalk and leveled out with the pavement Juliette stepped out into the welcome sunshine. She spotted her destination immediately. It was hard to miss, actually, with the red, white, and blue balloon arch that spanned over the lower entrance to McPherson Square. A large banner hung a foot beneath the highest point in the arch and it read, “Tyler Chase for U.S. Senator”. The name was unfamiliar. The photo beneath it was not. The brown curls, the dimpled smile, and those godforsaken blue eyes.
Chapter 3: Meet the Mark
Juliette stared back at those familiar blue eyes. There had to be some explanation. Tyler Chase was a U.S. Senator, running for re-election in November. The man she had slept with was a bike messenger named Terrence.
Her stomach clenched. She never asked him what he did for a living; she just assumed he was a bike messenger or intern because of his dress. And he was way too young and dreamy to be a politician. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw any politician on the national stage who wasn’t well into their forties or fifties. And Terrence—well, Tyler, she supposed she should use his real name—looked at least a decade away from hitting the big four-oh.
There had to be an explanation, she argued with herself again.
Well of course there was. She was drunk, he was horny. They did what drunk and horny people do—lied to each other and had hot sweaty sex on the kitchen counter.
She wanted to be mad at him for keeping his true identity a secret. But then again she hadn’t been completely forthright about her identity either. Who was she to get her panties all twisted up in a bunch?
The more she thought about Tyler—with his smooth smile, charming words, and the ability to completely woo her back to his apartment within a matter of hours�
�the more certain she was. Tyler Chase was either a politician or a crook. They were really one in the same.
Juliette was half tempted to skip the event altogether. But then she remembered the real reason she had come to the park. She was supposed to be looking for her mark, Courtney Anderson. She must have been attending the event with the governor.
One deep breath and a few shoulder rolls later, Juliette was pumped up and ready to go. She stepped under the sea of balloons and entered the world of politics.
Before she could even scan the area a handful of volunteers accosted her. “Vote for Chase,” two blonde sorority girls said as they thrust a stack of stickers and postcards her way. Juliette took the swag without thinking and shoved it into her bag as she continued on with the crowd. The last thing she needed was another reminder of her one-night stand.
The event appeared to be well underway. There was a makeshift stage to the right of the McPherson statue where a podium, more balloons, and several men in dark suits had gathered. To the left of the stage, standing near some not-so-safe looking stairs, was her girl. Courtney Anderson looked every bit the part of a politician’s daughter. She could have been plucked right out of a Ralph Lauren ad in her sheer Carolina blue blouse, cream slacks, and navy flats. Her hair was knotted up in a loose bun. If she had a rebellious streak, she hid it well. There was no sign of a party girl in her past, present, or future.
Great. Getting to know this girl was going to be loads of fun.
Courtney turned and stepped into a crowd of guests. Juliette kept her distance, choosing instead to let the girl come to her. That meant Juliette needed to blend in. Everyone else seemed to be toting around water bottles with red and white “Chase for Change” labels. So she made her way to the coolers. They were also red, white, and blue. Because any other color might be unpatriotic. She reached into the cooler and flinched at the ice-cold water.
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