by Dinah McCall
“Why are you here?” Jonah Slade asked.
“Can we talk?”
Instantly Jonah’s defenses went on alert. Fifteen years ago Mercedes Blaine had been nothing but a kid, but she was obviously a very grown-up woman now, and that meant, based on his experience, no more to be trusted than her sister, Felicity, had been.
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about,” he said shortly.
There was too much at stake for Macie to quit. “Please, Jonah, you have to listen to me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, damn it, you do! Felicity is dead…murdered. My father is in L.A. in intensive care, and Evan has been kidnapped.”
The floor swayed beneath Jonah’s feet. Finally he managed to mutter a response.
“I’m sorry, but none of that has anything to do with me.”
Macie took a deep breath. “Yes, it does,” she said. “There’s still Evan.”
“Evan? Who the hell is Evan?” Jonah asked.
“Your son.”
Also by DINAH McCALL
WHITE MOUNTAIN
STORM WARNING
THE RETURN
MIRA Books is also proud to publish Dinah McCall under her real name SHARON SALA
OUT OF THE DARK
DINAH MCCALL
THE PERFECT LIE
Oh, what a tangled web we weave,
when first we practice to deceive.
—Sir Walter Scott
1771-1832
When I was small, my mother seemed to always know when I was embellishing the truth. At the time, I could never figure out how she knew it.
Now I understand that it comes from the same motherly instinct that warns a woman when her child is in peril.
A lie is the beginning of danger. Caught early, it becomes nothing more than a shame to overcome. But let go, it can grow into something dark—even evil. Then only God can make it right.
So I’m dedicating this book to my mother, Iris Smith, who taught me the value of truth.
To the truth in all of us.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Prologue
Bel Air, California
The words Felicity Blaine had yet to speak already left a bitter taste on her tongue, although God knew she’d practiced them long enough that they should have spilled out without a qualm. She’d chosen the opulence of her father’s library to give Jonah the news because it represented everything she didn’t want to lose. Granted, Jonah Slade was more man than she’d ever had before, and she loved him as much as she was capable of loving someone other than herself. But when her father, Declyn Blaine, had confronted her with her choices, she’d been more than a little appalled at how easily she’d been swayed.
She shrugged, reminding herself not of what she was losing but of what she would gain. Then she heard the sound of an arriving vehicle and turned toward the library window just in time to see Jonah getting out of his car. There was a moment of regret as she watched him striding toward the door. In the sunlight, his hair was as dark and shiny as a raven’s wing, and she knew all too well how beautiful his body was beneath his sport coat and slacks. When she was being brutally honest with herself, she could admit he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. It didn’t matter. She drew a deep, shuddering breath. It was over, and there was no easy way to say what had to be said.
Moments later, she heard the sound of his footsteps coming down the hall toward the library. She turned toward the doorway, bracing herself for the confrontation as the man who loved her came into the room.
Jonah patted his pocket as he strode down the hall toward the library, making sure the engagement ring he’d purchased yesterday was still there. No matter how many times he’d been with Felicity—and God knew there had been plenty—the sight of her still made the breath catch in the back of his throat. And now, knowing she was carrying his child…words failed him. He’d thought all night about what it would be like to be a husband as well as a father. The responsibilities were great, but he was more than ready for them.
Moments later, he entered the library, smiling as he saw Felicity standing at the window. He hurried toward her, his voice lowering huskily as he took her into his arms.
“Hey, baby…you look beautiful,” he said, then laid his hand on her belly. “Feeling okay?”
Felicity stiffened, then pushed herself out of his arms. She needed distance between them to say what had to be said. When she pulled away, Jonah frowned.
“Felicity…honey…is something wrong?”
She lifted her chin and tossed her hair, giving Jonah a brief, brittle smile.
“Not anymore,” she said briefly. “As of nine o’clock this morning, there is no baby.”
If she’d pulled out a gun and shot him point-blank, Jonah wouldn’t have been any more shocked.
“You miscarried? My God…why didn’t you call me? Are you all right?”
Felicity’s stomach turned. The hurt on his face was actually making her nauseous.
“No, I didn’t miscarry, and of course I’m all right. I wasn’t ready for motherhood, that’s all. And before you say anything else, this thing between us just isn’t going to work.” She frowned, then pouted when Jonah’s expression went flat. “Don’t fuss. You know how I hate it when you fuss.”
“Fuss?” Jonah’s voice was just above a whisper. “You think I’m going to fuss?”
Suddenly the look on his face was frightening, and Felicity wished that she’d let her father stay with her, as he’d wanted to do. Subconsciously she put her hands to her throat, as if protecting her most vulnerable spot, and then took a step back.
“I wasn’t sure how you would—”
“You had an abortion. Without a word to me first?”
Felicity was getting nervous. It was time to cry.
“You don’t understand,” she said softly, knowing full well how luminous her blue eyes looked filled with tears. “I’m too young to settle—”
“Jesus Christ,” Jonah muttered, more to himself than to her, then shuddered as he turned away. He had to get out. Now. Before he put his hands around her throat and choked the life out of her—just as she’d killed their child.
When Felicity realized he was leaving, she knew she would never see him again. There was a part of her that regretted that more than anything else she had done. Before she could stop herself, she called out.
“Jonah, wait!”
He paused, then turned, and as he did, she wished she’d never called him back, because she would forever remember that the last look on his face had been one of pure hate.
“We were good together…weren’t we?” she asked, and then was ashamed.
Jonah shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts, then stared at Felicity as if seeing her for the first time.
“You were nothing but a fuck,” he said, and then he was gone.
Felicity gasped. The ugliness of what he’d said was not as painful as the truth of it. And it was truth that sent her to her knees. She heard the car door slam as he got inside, heard the sound of his engine rev as he sped out of the driveway, and then he was gone. Hot tears spilled out from beneath her eyelids as she covered her face with her hands.
“Sissy…what’s wrong
? Why were you and Jonah fighting?”
Felicity looked up. Her little sister, Macie, was kneeling at her side.
“Get out,” Felicity sobbed. “Leave me alone.” So she did. Moments later, Felicity was left with nothing but dreams of what might have been and the echoes of the perfect lie.
1
Sixteen Years Later
“Agent Slade, please have a seat.”
Jonah Slade sat. When the director of the CIA ordered, his men were trained to obey.
“We have some intelligence from the DEA that is causing some concern on the Hill,” the director said.
Jonah sat up a little straighter. From time to time, different branches of the Federal government got information that was out of their jurisdiction. He wasn’t surprised that the Drug Enforcement Agency had come up with information. Quite often the people they arrested were willing to make a deal to lessen their own sentences. Obviously something like that had occurred.
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re familiar with Miguel Calderone?”
“The Colombian drug lord of the moment…yes, I am.”
“There’s a rumor that he’s going to back an assassination attempt on the president. If this is true, at the least we need to know how, when and where. If you can find out how many are involved, so much the better. You know the drill.”
Jonah nodded.
“You speak Spanish fluently. All your previous undercover work has been in the Middle East, so your face is not known in South America.”
“That’s correct.”
The director looked up from the file on his desk. “Start working on a look. Don’t shave. Don’t cut your hair. Immerse yourself in the language so you won’t miss a nuance of the conversations. In two weeks, your papers will be ready. You’ll show up at the Calderone hacienda as a mercenary looking for work.”
“What guarantee do I have that they won’t shoot me on sight?”
“None.”
Jonah grinned. “Thank you, sir. Just what I wanted to hear.”
The director sighed. “It’s not an ideal situation, but it’s vital that we learn what we can. Be prepared to stay under for several months, if need be. Your contact will find you, so don’t worry about passing on any information that you learn.”
“Yes, sir,” Jonah said. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes. I would appreciate it if you did not get yourself killed.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”
“Good. Then that’s all for now. We’ll be in touch.”
Six months later
“Juanito! The padrone wishes to speak with you.”
Jonah laid down the rifle he’d been cleaning and brushed off his hands as he stood and followed a woman named Elena into the house. She was Calderone’s woman of the moment, although, to be fair, she’d lasted longer than the others had. If gossip was to be believed, she’d been living in the Calderone stronghold for almost two years and had even borne Calderone a daughter. A child who had stolen his heart.
And, like every other man here who wanted to see the next sunrise, he ignored her sexual teasing and the sway of her hips as she led the way into the hacienda.
Jonah took off his hat as he entered the home, welcoming the cooler temperatures inside the vast, high-ceiling rooms. His footsteps echoed on the red Spanish tiles as he followed Elena into the main room.
Calderone was dandling a baby girl on his knee as Jonah walked in. Calderone laughed as he looked up, then stood abruptly. He kissed the baby soundly on her cheek, ruffled her thick, black curls, then handed her to her mother.
“Chica, it is time for her siesta.”
Elena took the baby but gave Calderone a sultry look as she ambled out of the room with the baby on her hip.
“Juanito…you have children?” Calderone asked.
Jonah shook his head. “No, Padrone, I have none.”
Calderone shrugged. “Myself, I have four. My sons, Alejandro and Miguelito, an older daughter Juanita, who is studying in a convent, and my little chica, Raphaella, who is the child of my heart.”
“She’s very beautiful, Padrone.”
“Of course she is, but that’s not why I asked to speak to you,” Calderone said.
“How can I serve you?” Jonah asked.
Calderone beamed. If he had more men like Juanito, his organization would be perfect. As it was, there were too many lazy Indians on his payroll, but he needed the hands to process the cocaine.
“There are some very important men who will be coming here tomorrow. I want you to make sure that security is tight before their arrival.”
Jonah nodded. “Will they be staying in the hacienda?” he asked.
Calderone frowned, then realized that Juanito would need to know their locations to assure their safety.
“Sí. All four will be here with me.”
“Bueno. It will make security much easier.”
Calderone nodded, reminding himself that he was going to have to get over this constant feeling of danger. At least here, in the depths of the jungle and beneath his own roof, he was safe.
“Do what you have to do. When it’s time, I will ask you to accompany them back to the airstrip. The time is drawing near when our plans for the future will need to be put in place.”
Jonah nodded, but his heart began to race. Months ago he’d learned that Calderone was indeed harboring dreams of killing the U.S. president, whose policies and their stringent enforcement were hurting the drug trade. In Calderone’s mind, getting rid of the man would get rid of the rules. Jonah would have liked to explain the way democracy and justice worked in his country, but he didn’t think Calderone was ready to hear it. Now this meeting led him to believe that the plan to take the President’s life was about to be put into motion. He had to find a way to alert his contact without getting himself killed.
“Padrone…if I might be so bold as to ask.”
“What is it?” Calderone asked.
“We are running low on ammunition. If I could take a truck to Bogotá, pick up the necessary supplies and whatever special foodstuffs you might want to serve your guests, I think it would be a good idea.”
Calderone hesitated only briefly, then waved his hand.
“Take Alejandro with you.”
The last person he wanted along was Calderone’s eldest son, but he nodded agreeably.
Jonah nodded. “Is there anything special you wish us to bring back?”
“I will have the cook make a list, but I know for certain that we will want some of the finest Russian Vodka, as well as the most expensive Saki to be found in Bogotá.”
Saki? Vodka?
Lots of people drank both, but he would bet a year of his life that the men who would be coming to see Calderone were connected to the Japanese Yakuza and the Russian Mafia. If that were was true, the president was in a world of trouble.
Eighteen hours later, the four men arrived and Jonah knew he’d been right. Now all he could do was hope that his contact in Bogotá got word to the right people before it was too late.
It was siesta, the hottest time of the day, when it all came apart. One minute Calderone’s men were lolling lazily on the veranda and beneath the huge trees—anywhere there was silence and shade—and the next all hell erupted.
Calderone came running out of the hacienda only moments before the first of the helicopters came into sight. It was a bloody battle that was over almost before it began. The DEA was all over the place, taking people into custody, confiscating computers and log books.
Ostensibly, Jonah was still one of the bad guys, and he was in the act of being handcuffed by a fellow agent when a shot rang out. Suddenly Danny Cordell’s brains were all over the legs of his pants. That was when he lost it. He grabbed Cordell’s rifle as he spun. Alejandro Calderone was standing on the roof with an assault rifle in his hands, grinning at Jonah for what he’d just done.
Jonah swung the gun upward and fired. Blood sprayed out from behind Alejandr
o’s head, and then he dropped out of sight onto the roof. And Miguel Calderone saw it happen.
It was unfortunate, but not earth-shattering. Calderone had no idea of Jonah’s true identity or what he really looked like beneath all his hair and beard, and he had no family of his own for Calderone to hurt. Even as Calderone was calling down every curse he knew on Juanito’s head, Jonah was walking away.
A week later: Bel Air, California
A black van with heavily tinted windows pulled up to the iron gates of Declyn Blaine’s estate. A hooded man jumped out and aimed a can of spray paint at the lens of the security camera, while another man short-circuited the gate controls. Seconds later the gate began to open. The men jumped back into the van as it started up the driveway.
The thick growth of trees and shrubs provided much desired privacy: a high selling point for the owners of the exclusive estates in the area. But now the privacy had become an accomplice, hiding the van and its occupants.
There were five hooded men inside the van. They sat quietly without talking, awaiting the moment when they would reach the main house. Each knew his role in the event that was about to take place, and failing was not an option. Not if they wanted to live to see another day.
Thanks to the skill of a famous Hollywood surgeon, Felicity Blaine’s forty years had yet to show on her finely toned body. As the eldest daughter of multibillionaire Declyn Blaine, she had never turned her hand to a day’s work or wondered where her next meal was coming from. She was a perfect hostess, a better than average tennis player, and although she’d never been married, was the mother of a fifteen-year-old boy. She’d named him Evan for no other reason than it did nothing to remind her of the man who’d fathered him.
A series of nannies had fed and diapered Evan, and when he was older, Declyn had stepped into the role of surrogate father, grooming the young man for the day when he would take over the reins of the massive fortune and all that entailed.
Felicity glanced at the clock, blew herself a kiss in the mirror, then turned to pick up her tennis racket and bag as she left her bedroom and started down the stairs. She had just enough time to drop Evan off at school before her court time at the country club, and she was halfway down the stairs when the doorbell rang. Although she was closer by yards than the family maid, Felicity had not been raised to answer her own door. She paused on the stairs, waiting for Rosa to appear.
