Convenient Lies

by Robin Patchen

  “Wow.”

  Rae stopped and looked at him as though she’d forgotten he was there.

  Brady clamped his mouth shut.

  She paced again. “Julien and I started seeing each other. He…” She blushed and looked away. “Swept me off my feet, I guess. Six weeks later, he invited me to join him on his yacht.” She stopped, stared at the cold fireplace, and fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. She pulled it up to the knuckle, then pushed it back. Over and over. “He’d invited all his friends. They were mostly European, a few locals, but they all spoke English. They were funny and smart and so...cosmopolitan. That’s the world he lives in.” She shook her head. “Lifestyles of the rich and...” Her voice tailed off. “In the few weeks we’d been dating, I’d gotten to know his friends. It felt like, for the first time since...” She looked at Brady, nearly smiled, and turned back to the fireplace. “For the first time in a long time, I had a group of friends, a place where I almost fit in. I was educated. I could keep up with their discussions. I got along with the women, joked with the men. I was one of them.”

  Rae paused in her circuit.

  If only Brady knew what she was thinking.

  “He asked me to marry him in front of everybody.” Rae blushed. Beautiful, radiant.

  Not his.

  Brady kept his expression blank and nodded for her to continue.

  “When I said yes...” She shook her head and stared at the fireplace again. “He had it all planned out. He’d bought me a gorgeous dress, and the rings. My friends whisked me downstairs to the stateroom and dressed me, did my hair and makeup.” She looked at the floor. When she looked up again, her gaze had hardened. “We were married that day, on the boat. It was a surprise wedding, a surprise to the bride. I thought...”

  She started pacing again. “It wasn’t what I thought.”

  Rae crossed to the wall, then back to the fireplace, four times, then five.

  “I’d made some stupid decisions back in college, decisions with”—her eyes flicked up, met his, then turned away—“with a guy.”

  She seemed to be waiting for a response. “I won’t judge you, Rae. You and I did everything but back then.”

  She shrugged.

  “I’ve been no saint,” he said, “believe me.” The heartache of those choices still haunted him. Maybe if he’d been a stronger man.

  “Anyway, I’d decided not to be intimate with anyone...” She stopped in front of the empty fireplace and shrugged. “I’d decided not to. And then I got married.”

  Brady willed himself to push away the image of Rae with the man on his computer screen.

  She turned to face him, tears in her eyes. “If I’d had a little notice, I’d have done my homework. I’d have known...”

  He thought of the information Samantha had dug up, the photograph of the real Mrs. Julien Moreau. Brady stood, walked around the coffee table, and stopped beside her. “You might as well tell me the rest. I think I already know.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “You didn’t know, right? About...?” Maybe she still didn't know, though. Maybe he was about to drop another pile of bad news on her that he thought she already knew, like he’d done with the news of her grandmother’s death.

  “What would you have known if you’d done your homework?”

  She stepped back. “What did you do?”

  He raked his hands through his short hair and groaned. “We did some checking. It looks like—”

  “Who is we?” Her voice rose, and the baby squeaked.

  “Um, well, because we both love you and want to make sure you’re okay...”

  She took another step back. Her eyes were wide. “Who. Is. We?”

  “Samantha and I... She’s really good at research.”

  “You had Samantha investigating me?”

  Crap. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut? “I just... She’s so sorry, and she loves you, and I knew you were in trouble, and Samantha’d be able—”

  “What did she do?”

  “She just made some calls.”

  Rae closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “We just wanted to find out what was going on with you,” he said. “Protect you from whatever it is you’re running from.”

  She opened her eyes. They were wide and fearful now. “Who did she call?”

  He thought back to their conversation. Samantha hadn’t said much. “She said something about a court clerk in Toulouse. But I think there were others.”

  The color drained from Rae’s face, and she sat heavily on the hearth. She dropped her head into her hands.

  Brady crouched beside her. “I shouldn’t have brought Sam into this without asking you.”

  “You have to go.”

  “You can trust me, you can.” He grabbed her hands. They were freezing, and he rubbed them to warm them. “You need to trust me. I don’t know what the deal is with this guy, but if you and Johnny need protection, I can help.”

  She yanked her hands away. “You have to go. Now.”

  He stood and blinked. How had they gone from there to here, so fast?

  “I don’t understand.”

  She stood and walked toward the door. “No, you don’t.”

  He followed. “Explain it to me then.”

  She opened the door. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Please, don’t make any more calls to anybody, and don’t tell anybody you’ve seen me. And tell Samantha the same. In fact, you both need to tell everybody...something. How you reached out to me and I turned you away. How I’m the same old Rae, closed off and distant. Everybody will believe that.”

  Closed off and distant? Nobody would believe that.

  “You need to tell anybody who asks that you don’t know anything about me.”

  “I don’t know anything, Rae.”

  “He won’t believe that.”

  “Julien?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Rae, tell me what’s going on.”

  She glared at him. “Get. Out.”

  He seemed to have no other option. He stepped outside and turned back to argue.

  “Goodbye, Brady.”

  She closed the door in his face. A moment later, the deadbolt clicked.

  Twenty-Five

  Julien arrived back at his Manhattan hotel at nine o’clock that evening. Farah and Hector were waiting by his door.

  “You have found her?”

  Farah shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  He bit back the ugly retort and went inside. He stepped into the bedroom. The bed had been turned down, and the room smelled faintly of the fresh flowers the staff had left on the bureau. The curtains were drawn, blocking the view of Central Park. From this floor, he could barely make out the noises of the city below. He returned to the living area and sat at the round table. He nodded to the other chairs. “What did you learn?”

  Farah joined him at the table and pulled out a notebook. “Hector did much of the work.”

  Julien turned his attention to Hector, who was leaning against the wall, his meaty arms crossed, his bald head glistening in the artificial light. “I managed to find a file in the university’s storage facility.”

  “You broke in?”

  “I left no evidence.”

  “And?”

  Hector nodded to Farah, who consulted her notes.

  “The most recent address the university had was an apartment near campus. We spoke with the young men who live there now. Students. They’ve never heard of her.” Farah brushed a few loose strands of her dark hair behind her ears. Her hands were trembling. “We spoke with the landlord, and he recognized her photograph. He assured us that she moved away years ago. He had no forwarding address.”

  Julien grabbed a bottle of Evian from the mini-fridge, downed a long swig, and snagged a can of macadamia nuts off the shelf.

  “Surely you have more information than that. I asked you to find her family’s address.”

  Farah swallowed. “Oui. The addr
ess the university has is the La Jolla house.”

  “You’re looking into the wrong Rachel Adams.” Did he have to do everything himself? “The girl from La Jolla didn’t even graduate. Surely you can find the Rachel Adams who did.”

  “Monsieur, this is the information we have on the Rachel Adams who graduated twelve years ago from Columbia.”

  He looked from Farah to Hector, who shrugged.

  “How do you explain that?” Julien asked.

  Farah closed her notebook. “The real Rachel Adams died in California of a drug overdose. The mother identified the body. She was the Rachel Adams the university believed was attending. The woman claiming to be Rachel Adams changed the contact information, had everything mailed directly to her at that address here in the city.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “That our Rachel stole her identity.”

  Julien let those words sink in. Seems he wasn’t the only one in their marriage with secrets. Why would she lie, if not to throw him off her track? Which meant she’d intended to betray him from the very beginning. Their entire marriage had been a lie, some kind of ruse. For what? To steal the paltry evidence she’d found against him? Or did she have some grander purpose. To bring him to justice? To sell him out to his enemies? Or perhaps just to get a juicy story.

  He thought of all the times they’d made love, limbs intertwined, sharing secrets. Whispered words of affection and devotion. In his case, those words had been true. Yes, he’d lied, but his love for her had been real.

  And what part did his son play in all of it? Why have the child only to snatch him away? But perhaps she’d needed access to his Paris apartment, and by the time she arrived, her pregnancy had prevented her escaping. The moment she’d gotten her chance, she had.

  She’d made a fool of him.

  He stared at the wall as a swell of rage gushed over him. When it passed, he schooled his voice and said, “That...complicates things.”

  “Indeed.” Farah’s gaze flicked to Hector. The man’s jaw was clenched.

  He turned back to Farah. “Anything else?”

  She shook her head. “Forgive me.”

  Julien glanced back at Hector, then turned to her. “Would you excuse us?”

  “Mais oui.”

  After the door closed behind her, Julien turned to Hector. “Before you start, what did you hear from Carson?”

  “I had him pass along your suggestion that Aziz put our deal back on the table, explained that Aziz has placed himself in a precarious position by pitting brothers against each other, and reminded him of your handshake. I also suggested that Aziz might not want to make an enemy of the elder brother if he wanted to continue to do business with the Moreau family.” Hector shrugged. “And if he wanted to continue to breathe.”

  This debacle with Aziz suddenly seemed more than what he’d originally thought. Could Carson put the deal back together, or was this more than just a play to save money? Was Rae working with the terrorist? Had she been in communication with Geoffrey too? Was it all connected somehow, and if so, how?

  All of those questions would be answered, but now, he had to deal with the crisis before him. “Go on.”

  “Carson is to meet with Aziz tomorrow.” Hector checked his watch. “We should know something soon.”

  “And you’re sure Carson is loyal?”

  “As sure as I can be.” Hector stepped to the table and laid a revolver and a box of ammunition in front of Julien.

  Julien eyed it. “You know I don’t like guns.”

  “Don’t tell your clients that.”

  Julien turned his glare to Hector.

  “Just in case,” Hector said. “You may need it.”

  Julien lifted the gun. For an arms dealer, he didn’t know much about pistols. His clients preferred more powerful munitions. Julien turned the cold, smooth weapon in his hands and saw it was loaded.

  Hector leaned against the wall again.

  “You have something to say?”

  “I warned you about her, whatever her name is.”

  “Very helpful.”

  Hector pushed off the wall and took Farah’s seat at the table. “I told you Rachel was too American. Too independent.”

  “You’re a wealth of observations tonight.”

  “If you had done even a cursory check of her background—”

  “I indulge your comments because of our friendship, but don’t forget your place.”

  Hector nodded once. “It’s like with Claire. You remember?”

  Ah, Claire. Julien had fallen hard for her. Would have given her the moon, if only she’d asked.

  “I was fifteen, Hector. Surely you can understand the whims of a foolish teenager. Not that you ever had any.”

  “I had whims. I satisfied them. I moved on.”

  “Are you even capable of love?”

  “I’m capable of loyalty, unlike your wife.”

  Julien let the insult to his wife go because Hector had been his best friend since they were schoolmates. He’d attended the private academy on a scholarship he received from the orphanage where he’d been raised. They’d been best friends since before their voices changed. Even Farah’s devotion was questionable—Julien had broken her heart. Hector was the only true friend he had. Which was why Julien let him get away with challenging him.

  “Let’s get past all my flaws,” Julien said, “and figure out how to fix this. Looks like we’ll have to involve the reporter.”

  “Thousands of people work at the Times. The reporter, he was in Africa on a story, yes?”

  “That’s what Rae told me.”

  “We know what her word is worth. Did you learn anything in Paris?”

  Julien hesitated a moment before pulling the crumpled note from his pocket. He handed it to Hector.

  The man’s jaw clenched. That vein in his forehead throbbed. “I will take care of her for you.”

  “Find her. That’s all I ask.”

  “Surely you aren’t planning to let her live.”

  Julien snatched the note and slid it back into his pocket. “What I intend to do to my wife is none of your concern. The plan?”

  A moment passed before Hector spoke again, though his rage played across his face. “Farah and I will search the Times website and narrow the list, then show you photographs. It’s too risky to try to plant bugs in the building. I presume this friend of hers doesn’t know where she is. We’ll have to get her to contact him, and to do that, we’ll apply pressure.”

  “What kind of pressure?”

  “She is an American. Sentimental. It is her weakness.”

  Twenty-Six

  Rae sat up in bed. It was nearly four in the morning. She’d worried for hours after Brady left. What danger had she put him and Samantha in by seeing them? What if people found out Brady had been over so often? Would Julien ask around, try to figure out who Rae had spoken to?

  Would he track Brady down? Would Sam get pulled into it?

  She had to escape, and soon. The less time she spent here, the less chance Julien would hunt down her old friends. She’d give it one more day of searching, then she’d give up. If she didn’t find her father’s treasure by this time tomorrow, she’d leave with what she had.

  At least she had Johnny.

  She’d finally fallen asleep after Johnny’s midnight feeding. So what had woken her now? She stretched, leaned across the bed, and looked at Johnny in his cradle. Sound asleep.

  She strained to listen for anything that didn’t belong, but all she heard were the sounds of the night slipping through the closed window.

  She thought about the chest in her parents’ room. Rae stood, slipped on her socks, and padded to their bedroom, where she flipped on the light and climbed on their bed beside the old chest. She unlatched it and opened the top.

  Photo albums.

  She pulled out the one on top, a picture of her parents at their wedding. Her mother was gazing up at her father with the most loving expression. He
was looking back at her, eyes twinkling as if he had a secret.

  Oh, he’d had plenty of secrets, some good. The treasure fit in that category. Others, not so much.

  Not that she didn’t understand the temptation. Her mother had been beautiful and enchanting and wondrous. Sometimes. Other times, she’d been ugly and angry and accusatory. Hurling insults and slurs like stones into a lake, and Rae still felt the ripples today. The difference was that her mother couldn’t control her mental health. But her father—those women had been his choice.

  Rae was turning the page when a creak startled her. She set the album on the bed beside her, then listened.

  A whispered word. “Hurry.”

  Rae’s pulse raced. Had Julien found her? Had she waited a day too long?

  She slid off the bed and tiptoed down the hall and into the bedroom where her phone was charging. She closed the door behind her, then grabbed the cell and dialed 9-1-1.

  “What’s your emergen—”

  “There someone in my house,” she whispered. “At least two people.” She stepped in front of the cradle, stared at the door, and recited her address.

  After the operator had asked all the required questions, Rae dropped the phone on the bed. She flipped on the closet light. The baby snored gently while Rae searched her old closet for something, anything... She grabbed an award she’d won for an article in the local paper—an oversize brass pen on a stone stand. That might do some damage. She returned to her place between the door and her child, lifted the award in her right hand, and prepared to swing it.

  Seconds ticked by. She heard nothing. No voices. No footsteps. No doors opening or closing. Minutes passed. Years. She pleaded with the silence. Protect Johnny, please. Just keep him safe.

  The silence didn’t answer.

  A door creaked downstairs, then another, and then a slam. Footsteps pounded across the hardwood, and another slam.

  Rae rushed to the window in time to see two figures running across the backyard. They both wore black clothes and black hats and disappeared into the forest. A larger man bolted across the lawn. She watched him until he, too, was lost in the shadows.