Killing Truth: A Leine Basso Thriller Prequel

by Berkom, DV

  A moment later, Leine opened her eyes and remembered to breathe. Mindy knelt in front of her, concern evident on her face.

  “Leine, are you all right?” she asked. “Please tell me you’re all right.” Her hands fluttered ineffectually through the air.

  “I’m fine,” she answered. Her voice sounded far away and hollow. Even though she had suspected the outcome, the news chilled her. Ignoring Mindy’s attempts at consolation, Leine rose from the chair and started for the door, her anger at Eric shoved aside to make way for the cascade of grief threatening to overwhelm her.

  “Leine, wait. Maybe this will help...” Mindy hurried to her desk and picked up a thick folder lying on top. Leine paused and waited as she carried it to her and slid it into her hand.

  “It’s a copy of Carlos’s file. Eric asked me to archive the information, but I always make a copy for my records. I just don’t trust them down there.” She meant the file clerks several floors below them. “It might help to bring you peace, when you’re ready. The report says he didn’t suffer.” Her voice softened with the last sentence.

  Leine barely glanced at the file as she turned to leave. “Would you do something for me, Mindy?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Yes—anything.”

  “Would you not tell Eric I’m here? At least, not yet.” Leine turned her head. “I need some time to myself to process this. And you know how he is. He’ll expect me to go straight back to work. Thinks that’s the way to get past things, and I—I just can’t right now.”

  “Of course. This never happened. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Somehow, Leine made it down the hallway and took the elevator to the lobby. She exited the building and started to walk, unaware of where she was headed. She just needed to move, to escape the Agency and Eric.

  Unsettling images crowded her mind, and she walked blindly, only semi-aware of the people she passed. A numbness had formed in her chest and spread to the rest of her. When she finally came back to the present, she found herself next to a bench in Crissy Field. The sun was just beginning to set, tinting the grass and casting a rose-gold hue over the orange-colored Golden Gate bridge. Dark clouds building in the west signaled an approaching storm. Waves lapped at the bulkhead, lulling her emotions into a fragile calm.

  She sat on the bench and set the folder beside her.

  Carlos is dead.

  The words kept coming back: Carlos is dead. She’d known it could happen. They both did. It added an urgency to their love for each other which otherwise might not have been. But they were invincible. At least, that’s what they’d thought. So many close calls, so many injuries. Still they survived, giving them both an unreasonable expectation of living.

  Together.

  The sun sank lower, silhouetting a pair of lovers walking hand in hand along the edge of the breakwater, oblivious to the anguish squeezing Leine’s chest. Her brain told her it was impossible for anyone to know her thoughts, but her heart couldn’t believe the whole world didn’t notice her pain, didn’t stop to acknowledge that the man she loved was gone from her life forever.

  The Golden Gate Bridge stretched across San Francisco Bay, beckoning. How many people had taken their own lives when faced with a devastating loss? Now she understood. How could she live with such pain?

  Then again, how could she not? April would need her now more than ever.

  Shadows stretched toward her, encasing her in darkness. One by one, lights flickered on, casting her surroundings in a harsh glow. The cold damp of early evening seeped through to her bones, and she roused herself, her gaze falling to the bench and the file Mindy had given her. She picked it up and paged through, stopping at his picture, which had been paper-clipped to the notification of his death. She stared at his handsome face, the hot prick of tears threatening to spill over at what could have been. Almost against her will, she skimmed the report. One word stopped her cold.

  Campeche.

  She blinked, not believing, but there it was. Unable to breathe, Leine forced herself to read further, the horrifying realization cascading through her at the impossibility.

  Local authorities found the operative floating in the Bay of Campeche in approximately twenty-five meters of water. Cause of death: exsanguination from laceration of aorta; fishing harpoon puncture. Killer unknown.

  Leine threw the file to the ground and sprang to her feet, backing away from it as if it were on fire.

  I killed Carlos.

  But you didn’t know it was him, a voice inside her said.

  Doesn’t matter. I killed him, another voice screamed.

  Yes, it does. You know what you need to do. He sent you to kill him. He knew.

  He KNEW.

  Clenching her fists and breathing fast, her heart hammered inside her chest as blinding, hot rage formed in her belly and rose, coursing through her.

  “Game. Over.”

  * * *

  Leine sprinted across the open lawn, coming to rest at the base of the kitchen window. She’d disabled Eric’s security cameras, an easy task since she’d installed them. The weight of Carlos’s gun grounded her, reminding her why she was there.

  An appropriate choice of weapon for what she was about to do.

  Dishes clanked together inside the house, telling her Eric was tidying up after dinner. He had a housekeeper but usually sent her home before dinner, preferring to have his nights to himself. A creature of habit, Eric would then retire to his study to look over current security briefings.

  Keeping to the shadows and using the surrounding shrubbery, Leine continued around the stately home, the sound of waves lashing the beach below. Lucky for her, Eric preferred to live far from his neighbors.

  No one would hear a thing.

  She reached the back patio and stopped near a large hydrangea bush. Light shone from the windows of Eric’s study. The room was empty. Leine made her way to the pair of French doors that led inside.

  They were locked.

  She pulled out a set of picks she’d found in Carlos’s apartment and had the door open in less than a minute. She’d gone back to get his car and to pick up another magazine for the 9mm, and figured they’d come in handy.

  Easing the door open, she slipped inside the study, moved past the massive wooden desk, and sat down in a wingback chair opposite the fireplace.

  And waited.

  Chapter 19

  Leine turned toward the sound of footsteps padding down the hallway, and trained the gun on a point just inside the door. Eric walked into the room, head down as he paged through the file in his hands.

  “Eric.”

  He froze mid-step. Leine rose from her chair and walked toward him.

  “Leine.” The wariness in Eric’s voice was telling.

  She circled him, sure to keep enough distance as well as block his access to the desk. True, he didn’t work in the field, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a gun in his desk drawer.

  “Surprised to see me?” she asked, stopping directly opposite his position.

  “Not really.” The set of his shoulders told her otherwise.

  “No? But what about those two men you sent after me in Amsterdam? I’ll bet you thought they succeeded, didn’t you? Really, Eric. You should know better than to use thugs like that. They weren’t very imaginative.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What men?” The tiny flicker of his eyelid gave him away. She wouldn’t have caught the slip if she hadn’t known him so well.

  “Cut the bullshit. I know you’ve been trying to kill me since Glushenko. I assume the bombing at the café was supposed to finish me off, along with the Frenchman, right? I’m surprised you left such an important job to an inexperienced kid. Or did you think Volkov would do the honors himself?” Leine narrowed her eyes as a flame of anger ignited in her chest, its intensity all but consuming her. Not killing him instantly took every ounce of control she had.

  Let’s see how he tries to slither ou
t of this one.

  Eric remained silent. He watched her, giving the impression that he was calculating his odds. She could almost hear his thoughts—she hadn’t killed him yet. Maybe there was a chance to talk his way out of it. Or get to a gun.

  You just keep thinking that, Eric. All the way to your grave.

  His expression changed slightly, and his shoulders inched lower. He sighed before he spoke, as though he thought he might as well confess.

  “When I didn’t hear from you, I assumed you were dead. I sent Grant and Rogers to collect your things. I never gave the order to kill you.”

  “You’re a shitty liar, Eric. Always have been.”

  “I’m not lying. Your account went inactive. I—”

  “Ah yes. My account. I assume you’re referring to the tracking program on my phone. Just when did you install that little device?” Leine was itching to squeeze the trigger. Answers first, Leine.

  “A few months ago. It’s an agency-wide procedure I recently implemented, so don’t go off half-cocked.” He nodded toward the gun.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I rarely do anything halfway.” I could just shoot him and leave. Why not? She raised the gun.

  Eric’s eyes darkened and he clenched his fists. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Why have you been trying to kill me?”

  “I haven’t.” Something flashed behind his eyes.

  Leine moved quickly, feinting left with her cast as she swept her leg behind him and threw him to the floor. He landed on his side with a grunt, and she flipped him onto his chest. With her knee in his back and her cast against his neck, she shoved the 9mm into the back of his head.

  “I see you’ve been keeping up with your martial arts training,” he quipped, his words muffled by the thick carpeting.

  “Isn’t that just like you? Make a joke when you’re on the losing end of the equation.” Leine leaned in, putting more pressure on his neck. “How could you send me to kill Carlos?” She grimaced at the crack in her voice. Don’t lose it now, Leine.

  “I needed the best operative for the job.”

  “Fuck you.” Memories cascaded through her mind of Carlos floating in the black sea, a spear—the spear she’d used to kill him—sticking out of his chest, a trail of blood streaming from the wound. She felt as though someone had reached in and ripped out her beating heart. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fought through the torment.

  Carlos is gone. You can’t bring him back, but you can avenge his death. Kill Eric. Now.

  Leine blinked away the tears and aimed the gun, barely registering the deep intake of breath near the doorway.

  “Mom? What are you doing?” Eyes wide and her mouth agape, April stared at them in horror. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “April?” Confused, Leine looked from her daughter to Eric and back again. She pushed to her feet and backed away from both of them, still aiming the gun at Eric. She couldn’t kill a man in front of her daughter. Especially her father, whether she knew it or not.

  “What the hell are you doing with my daughter?” Leine demanded.

  “What are you doing to Uncle Eric?” April ran to help him up. Eric climbed to his hands and knees and rotated his head, stretching his neck.

  “Are you going to tell her or should I?” Eric asked, allowing April to guide him to a chair near the desk.

  “Tell me what?” April asked, the pink in her cheeks deepening as she looked from one to the other.

  “Your mother is a killer, April. She killed your Uncle Carlos.”

  “She what?” Disbelief flickered in her eyes as she turned to look at her mother. Leine’s tenuous hold on her emotions shattered at the pleading in her daughter’s expression.

  “Don’t listen to him, April. He’s trying to blackmail me.”

  April glanced at Eric, doubt replacing a portion of the disbelief. “Is she telling the truth?”

  Eric shook his head and gave her a sympathetic look. “Honey, she’s been lying to you all along. For years.”

  “April, don’t—”

  April held up her hand and asked Eric, “Did she kill Carlos?” Her voice wavered.

  “I’m afraid so.” Eric looked at Leine, triumph gleaming in his eyes.

  “No. She couldn’t have. She—she loved him.” Her anguish obvious, April turned to her mother. “Didn’t you?”

  “More than you can ever imagine,” Leine said, her voice quiet. She closed her eyes. She’d never lied to April before. She couldn’t start now.

  “Your Uncle Eric sent me to—kill him. But he tricked me and told me it was someone else.” There. It was done. She’d just admitted to her daughter that she was a killer. Let the chips fall where they may.

  April stepped closer to Eric, conflicting emotions vying for dominance on her young face.

  “She’s lying, April,” he said. “She knew it was him.”

  “You mean—” Panicked, April backed toward the door. “You’re her boss. That means that you’re as much a part of this as she is.”

  “Aw, honey, no. That’s not how this works.” Eric raised his hands, a sad smile on his face. Leine would have killed him then and there if April hadn’t been in the room.

  “Then how does it work?” April shook her head. “No,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “You’re monsters. I hate you both,” she cried and ran from the room.

  A gaping silence filled the hole where April had been standing. The urge to run after her was strong, but Leine stayed where she was. She wouldn’t put anything past Eric. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if he had the chance, whether April was here or not.

  “Still going to kill me?” Eric asked, flicking imaginary dust off his trousers.

  Leine ignored the question. “What is April doing here?”

  “I thought it best that someone she knew and trusted was nearby when she learned the news of her mother’s death.” He shrugged. “Either way, I doubt she’ll want to live with you now.”

  “You’re not in any position to dictate where she lives or doesn’t live. She and I will get through this, somehow.”

  “Oh? And what do you mean by that?” he asked, a smug look on his face. “I’ve already begun paternity testing. I’m pretty sure the judge will see things my way when I tell him what you do for a living. April will be much better off with me.”

  “You forget—April is old enough to have a choice, and besides, you’d expose your role in the Agency. I don’t think a judge would want either of us raising her.”

  “Ah, but you forget, too. I know people, Leine.”

  That was true. Eric had an entire network of judges who owed him favors. But she still had one last card to play.

  “What about the information Carlos discovered?” Leine asked. Eric stiffened. “Turns out, he found quite a bit of material on your off-book dealings. Especially with a well-known black market arms dealer named Adrian Volkov. And yes, there are photos. I doubt the vice president will be happy when he learns about your dealings with such a notorious criminal. If I were a betting woman, I’d say he’ll want to know where all that money went. You know, since the Agency’s essentially funded by the taxpayers and all.” Not only that, but if he was found guilty of running his operatives as guns for hire, he’d do hard time.

  She had to hand it to Eric, he kept his face impassive. The only tell she could see was a slight twitch in that same eyelid.

  “So. It appears we’re at an impasse.” Eric steepled his fingers as he thought. “I could assume you’re bluffing, that Carlos only mentioned his suspicions rather than giving you proof.”

  Leine reached inside her jacket, withdrew the CD from Carlos’s locker, and tossed it on the desk.

  “There’s proof.”

  “Okay. Let’s say you’re telling the truth and that CD contains your so-called evidence of these alleged dealings. How do I know that once you’re gone you won’t hand a copy over to Henderson?”

  “You don’t. But I’ll give you my word the info
rmation stays with me as long as you agree to three conditions.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Condition one: I no longer work for you or the Agency. I’m out, Eric. I hate what I’ve become, and I hate you.”

  “Hate’s such a strong word.”

  “Not nearly strong enough.” What are you doing, Leine? Kill him. April will forgive you, someday.

  No, she won’t. And she’d never withstand police questioning once they found Eric’s body. I’ll go to prison for murder, and she’ll be handed over to Social Services.

  “Condition two: You never divulge to anyone that you’re April’s father, including April. And, that you never, ever attempt to take her from me.”

  “Go on.”

  “Three: you scrub my past so clean it would take an army of forensic investigators and IT specialists to figure out who I am and what I’ve done.”

  It was a good deal and he knew it. He’d be safe, at least for now, and he wouldn’t have to have Leine killed or raise April, both of which were problematic. Raising a daughter wasn’t easy, and the operatives he’d send to kill Leine would be loose ends, which he rarely left. Even so, Leine wasn’t fool enough to believe she could live without looking over her shoulder.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Deal.” He held out his hand. Leine ignored him and strode to the door.

  “And don’t think that killing me will save you. I’ve made sure that in the event of my death all materials in a certain safety deposit box are to be sent directly to your boss, as well as to a reporter I know who works for a reputable news agency.”

  With that, Leine walked out the door to find her daughter.

  Chapter 20

  April 2007—Manarola, Italy

  Powerful waves crashed against the rocks below her as Leine sipped a glass of the local white wine. She was seated alone at a small table in an idyllic outdoor café overlooking the Mediterranean. A gentle breeze played with a lush stand of bougainvillea climbing up the nearby wall of the restaurant, and brilliant sunlight danced across water an unimaginable shade of turquoise. People here laughed often and spoke in lyrical languages like Italian, Portuguese, and French. It had the rhythm and flow of a life, and Leine needed life after so much death.