The Perfect Lie

by Dinah McCall

  Jonah held them gently, trying not to show his concern, but it was no wonder the boy was feverish. The fingers were bad, as bad as he’d ever seen. They were swollen, and oozing blood and pus. And he could see the beginnings of some small red streaks running up his fingers.

  God in heaven, the kid was bordering on blood poisoning.

  He had to get him out. Another twenty-four hours, and if Calderone didn’t kill him, this damn sure would.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jonah said, then urged Evan back to the cot.

  They sat down together, and for a bit there was nothing but silence between them. Then Jonah took a deep breath and started to talk.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.

  “Ransom?”

  “No. It’s because of me.”

  Evan frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Jonah glanced away, then made himself look back, studying the strength in his son’s jaw and the intelligence in his eyes. It was obvious the kid was tough, but would he understand?

  “Do you know what I do for a living?”

  Evan shrugged. “Maybe. You work for the government, right?”

  “I’m CIA, mostly undercover. About two weeks ago, I killed the son of a very powerful drug lord. Now he wants to kill mine.”

  Evan’s heart skipped a beat. “Damn,” he said softly. A minute passed without either of them speaking, and then Evan looked up. “So I guess ransom is out of the question, huh?”

  The grin on Evan’s face was the last thing Jonah expected to see. Pride, coupled with admiration, filled Jonah’s heart, but he couldn’t afford the sentimentality he was feeling. Too much concern and they would both fall apart. Instead, he grinned and laid his hand on Evan’s knee.

  “You’re a tough nut, aren’t you?”

  Evan shrugged. “When Mother would get mad at me, she would always say I was acting just like my father.”

  Jonah straightened, closely eyeing Evan’s expression.

  “So how did that make you feel?”

  Evan shrugged again. “I guess it made me feel good.”

  That hurt Jonah’s heart even more. “For God’s sake, why? You didn’t know me. I was never in your life.”

  “But that wasn’t your fault. Aunt Macie made sure I knew that.”

  “Still, it had to hurt that I didn’t exist in your world.”

  “I guess.” Then he looked away. “I guess I would rather have been associated with someone I didn’t know than to be accused of being just like Grandfather. He uses people. I don’t like to be used.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Jonah said, then added, “still, you have every right to be mad about what’s happened to you.”

  “Oh, I’m mad, all right,” Evan said. “I’m mad at Grandfather for what he did to us, and mad doesn’t cover what I feel about the people who killed Mom. But I’m not mad at you.”

  “I would understand if you were,” Jonah said. “It wouldn’t change how I feel about you.”

  Tears welled in Evan’s eyes, but he wouldn’t look up. He didn’t want his father to see him cry, although he had to ask, “Uh…Dad?”

  Jonah took a slow breath, trying to control his emotions. It still hurt like hell to hear that word and know he didn’t deserve the title.

  “Yeah?”

  “Exactly how do you feel? About me, that is?”

  Jonah slid a hand across Evan’s shoulders and pulled him close beneath the shelter of his arm.

  “I like knowing you’re my son. I like being able to say, ‘I have a son,’ and right now, I’m pretty damned proud of you. When we get out of here, we’re going to spend the rest of our lives making up for those lost fifteen years.”

  The tears welled and then spilled, sliding slowly down Evan’s face.

  “It’s okay, kid,” Jonah said, and pulled Evan that much closer. “You go ahead and cry. Cry all you want. God knows you’ve earned the right.”

  Evan shuddered; then his shoulders began to shake. Even as he was trying to draw his next breath, it came up from his belly in a sob.

  Jonah wrapped his arms around Evan and held on.

  Carl French was running toward Ruger’s chopper even before it had landed. Macie was right behind him. When it set down, Ruger jumped out.

  “What’s going on, and where the hell have you been?” he yelled.

  “Inside!” Carl yelled, motioning for him to get back in the chopper. When Ruger complied, Macie began to follow.

  “Wait a minute,” Ruger said, as both Carl and Macie crawled into the back of the chopper. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, pointing to Macie. “And I’m not so damned sure about him, either.”

  Carl motioned for Ruger to shut the door so they could talk above the sound of the spinning rotors. Ruger slammed it shut, then ordered the pilot to hold as he turned to face them.

  “This has been a long day, and I’m not in the mood for any more games. So you better start talking and make sure I like it, or you’re out on your ear.”

  “I flew to headquarters. I know how McAllister was tracking Jonah. I can’t tell you where Jonah is right now, but get me up in the air and there’s a chance we can find him before it’s too late.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ruger asked.

  Carl opened his briefcase and took out what looked to be a small laptop.

  “State of the art. The only other one like it is probably at the bottom of the Pacific.”

  “Please,” Macie begged. “I saw the other one and how it worked. If you can get within twenty-five miles of Jonah, it will pick him up.

  “Those people aren’t stupid,” Ruger said. “If Slade was wearing a bug, Calderone’s men have already found it and disposed of it, right along with him and the boy.”

  Macie slapped him. The shock was more startling than the pain.

  “Damn you,” Macie said. “Damn you for quitting on him. He wouldn’t quit on you. If you’re not going to help, say so now. You haven’t discovered one serious clue to help with this investigation since I got here. Everything we know about this case is because of Jonah. If I have to, I’ll get my own plane and leave you out of the loop. And do not refer to Jonah or my nephew in the past tense. Not in front of me, and not until you are looking at their bodies. Do you understand me?”

  It didn’t set well with Ruger to be told off by anyone, especially a woman. But he knew he’d overstepped himself by implying that Slade and the kid were already dead.

  “I’ll take French,” Ruger said. “But you’re getting out right now. Civilians do not participate in Federal operations.”

  “Bull,” Macie said. “You people use anyone you can, however you can, as long as it serves your purpose. Get this thing in the air, or I swear to God, you won’t like the news coverage or my comments when this is over.”

  This time Ruger made no attempt to hide his rage.

  “Are you threatening me?” he growled.

  “Yes,” Macie said, and buckled herself into the seat.

  Ruger stifled a curse as he pointed at French.

  “Keep her quiet, or I’ll put both of you out.”

  Macie wouldn’t even acknowledge Ruger’s presence, which only made him that much angrier. He turned back to the pilot and gave a terse order beneath his breath that neither of them could hear, but moments later the helicopter was in the air.

  Carl glanced at the woman beside him as the chopper lifted off. From the little Jonah had told him about the situation, she’d been ostracized by her family years earlier. But he wondered, as they flew into the night, if she knew how like her father she was at this moment—willing to do anything it took to get what she wanted. It was obvious that she wanted her family back. If it was humanly possible, he would see that it happened. If not, he didn’t want to be anywhere near her when she came undone.

  Soon they were flying south, enveloped by darkness and lit only from the lights on the instrument panel and the screen of the computer that Carl held in his lap.


  Justin Blakely had the hots for Molly Dean. He’d been trying all summer to get into her pants. He’d tried every method of persuasion he knew, including some he wasn’t too proud of, but she’d still held back. Now he didn’t even know if he liked her anymore. It was just a matter of pride that he finish what he started.

  And tonight he’d pulled out all the stops. He had his father’s yacht, his father’s crew and his father’s stash of champagne. He had all Molly’s favorite foods on board, as well as some of their favorite music. At the first course, they’d headed south, and now that dessert was but a chocolate memory on their tongues, they had dropped anchor near a tiny cove, barely visible in the moonlight.

  “How about a midnight swim?” Justin asked.

  Molly glanced at her watch. “It’s almost three,” she said.

  Justin smiled, then leaned over and kissed her earlobe.

  “Then how about an early-morning swim?”

  Molly giggled.

  “I didn’t bring a suit.”

  “Neither did I,” Justin said. “Although I’m sure there are some on board if you feel the need.”

  Then he stood up and started taking off his clothes.

  Molly’s heart began to pound. She wanted Justin Blakely more than she’d wanted any other man in her life. But she didn’t want to be a one-night stand. She’d fallen in love and wanted to be his wife. She knew Justin’s reputation, though, and holding out had been her only weapon.

  But tonight seemed special. Maybe he’d brought her out here to propose. When he took off his shirt, he appeared like a young god in the moonlight, lean and bronzed, asking her for something she had yet to give.

  As she watched, he shed the rest of his clothes, then turned and paused, giving her a full view of his body before he went over the side.

  Her heart skittered. He’d been fully aroused. The sight made her ache between her legs. She glanced over her shoulder. The crew was nowhere in sight. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she slipped off her clothes and went over the side.

  Justin stifled a grin as he watched her slim, pale body momentarily silhouetted in the moonlight, and then she was in the water beside him.

  “Let’s swim to the beach,” Justin said, pointing toward the moonlit cove just past the shallow reef.

  “What if there are sharks?” Molly asked.

  Treading water, Justin cupped the back of her head and pulled her into a passionate kiss.

  “The only shark in these waters is me,” he teased, then started to swim toward shore.

  Molly matched her pace to his, and before they knew it, they were walking through the surf to the lee side of a large outcropping of rock.

  Justin had fucking on his mind, but it ended when they saw the body clinging to a small spit of stone.

  Molly screamed. Justin froze. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Of all the stupid, mind-blowing luck. The beach he’d chosen had washed up a stiff.

  Then the stiff moaned and moved, and everything changed.

  “He’s alive!” Molly screamed. “Go get help…and bring me my clothes.”

  Justin sighed. The night was obviously over. He headed back to the yacht to get help and, of course, Molly Dean’s clothes.

  Collum thought he was dead. The angels standing over him were beautiful, which he’d expected angels in heaven to be. But he was a tiny bit surprised by their nudity, until he realized that in heaven, shame would not be an issue.

  However, he hadn’t expected to still be feeling such pain, nor had he expected to ever meet a girl angel named Molly. So, ever the good agent that he was, he decided to hedge his bets. Just in case he wasn’t in heaven, he thought he should notify the FBI. He kept trying to grab Molly’s hand, to tell her to call a Federal Agent named Ruger, but he wasn’t sure she understood, or if he’d even been talking. Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe this wasn’t really happening after all.

  17

  Calderone woke abruptly, covered in sweat. Elena’s arm was draped across his chest, and one of her legs was over the lower half of his body.

  Ah, he thought, that was why he’d felt so heavy. For a moment he had believed himself to still be immobile from the poison of the curare. That in itself had been a hell on earth, and if it had not been for Elena, the ruse might not have worked. Despite the enormous amount of money he’d paid that prison doctor, Calderone believed he would have backed out on the scam if she had not been there.

  Now that he knew he had only been dreaming, he took a deep, cleansing breath, then shoved her aside without ceremony. She rolled without waking, snuggling her nose deeper into the pillow. He eyed her voluptuous curves and thick, dark hair, and thought for a moment about waking her, then changed his mind. Instead he rolled to the side of the bed, but when his feet touched the floor, he was filled with a sudden anxiety.

  Ever cautious, he picked up his gun, then strode through the ranch house, searching the moonlit grounds outside for signs of intruders. All was silent. Even the mongrel dog on the veranda was motionless in sleep.

  Satisfied that all was well, his mood shifted to what lay ahead. He knew himself well enough to know that what he was feeling had its roots in the past. He was well, he was free, but his beautiful Alejandro was still dead.

  His thoughts jumped to the coast and to the hangar where Evan Blaine was being kept. They’d used the old buildings, as well as the ruined landing strip, more than once to bring in cocaine. And when the timing was right, that would be the rendezvous point during the time of the assassination. Just because his original plan to kill the president had been delayed, that didn’t mean he’d given it up. The arrest of the other partners at his hacienda had been a source of embarrassment to him. His reputation had been damaged. It would be difficult to persuade other dissidents against the American government to join up with him again. But Calderone hadn’t gotten where he was by believing himself defeated. Not now. Not ever. When the time was right, he would find others who believed as he believed.

  For now, he had to be satisfied with exacting revenge, and using something that belonged to the United States government for illicit purposes was a huge source of satisfaction. Still, as he stood in the dark, his instincts kept telling him something was amiss. When the phone began to ring, he was not surprised. He glanced at a digital clock, then frowned as he went to answer the call.

  “Sí?”

  “Padrone… Carlos Padillo…he is dead.”

  Calderone’s hand tightened on the receiver. Padillo was the boy’s guard. If the guard was dead, then where was the boy?

  “What happened?”

  There was a moment of hesitation, as if the man knew what he said was going to make Calderone mad.

  “The man…Jonah Slade. His hands were bound and yet he…it happened so fast.”

  Calderone felt the ground falling out from beneath his feet. “Are you telling me that Slade killed one of my men—with his hands still tied—and you stood there and let him?”

  The lack of emotion in Calderone’s voice made the guard sick to his stomach, but it had to be said.

  “But, Padrone…you have given orders not to touch either him or his son, and that the honor of avenging Alejandro’s death is to be yours. What were we to do?”

  Calderone was so angry he had started to shake.

  “And you would be right, but I also assumed you had enough cojones to keep one man and one boy subdued without incident.”

  “They are safely locked up, Padrone…waiting for your arrival.”

  “Bueno, but until I get there, you stay away from that man.”

  “We will, Padrone. It was Padillo’s fault, anyway. You told us not to touch Evan Blaine, and he had beaten the boy very badly.”

  “That,” Calderone said, “is nothing to what I am going to do to him…and to his father. I will be there soon. Try not to disappoint me again.”

  “Sí, Padrone. All will be as you wish upon your arrival.”

  Calderone disconnected, then
threw the phone across the room. It shattered against the wall in a splinter of wire and plastic. He had underestimated Jonah Slade, but it wouldn’t happen again.

  “Get up!” he shouted, and started going through the house and turning on lights. “Get up! Get up!” By now the household was in an uproar. People came running with guns drawn, expecting that they were being raided, only to find Calderone issuing orders. “Get dressed. We leave now for the south.”

  One of his men, a simple man named Jaime Avila, thought Calderone was still weak, possibly hallucinating from the drug he’d taken, and tried to get him back to bed.

  “Please, Padrone…you should rest.”

  Calderone lifted the gun he was carrying and shot him, point-blank, in the chest. The stunned assembly gasped en masse, then froze as Avila fell to the floor.

  “Do what I say!” Calderone shouted. “I need to be at the hangar by daybreak or it will be too late.” Then he pointed at the man on the floor. “Get rid of him. I don’t want to be reminded of people who doubt me.”

  They scattered like quail, running to do the padrone’s bidding, because to argue was to suffer the fate of poor Jaime.

  Before the hour had passed, Calderone was in the air. He glanced down at his watch. It was ten minutes to five. It would be daylight by the time they arrived, which was perfect. He could not wait to see the look of horror on Jonah Slade’s face when he ripped the heart from his young son’s chest.

  They’d been in the air for almost two hours without getting a hit on the tracking device. Ruger was thin-lipped and silent. A thin film of sweat had beaded across Carl French’s forehead as they’d flown mile after mile without anything showing up on the monitor.

  But none of this seemed relevant to Macie. It only deepened her resolve. To her way of thinking, they’d been given a reprieve. She wouldn’t let herself believe that God would do this to her twice—to wipe everyone she loved from the face of the earth. And then they got a call from Agent Sugarman that reaffirmed her beliefs.

  “He’s alive? Where did they find him? Can he talk? Good man,” Ruger said, then grabbed a pen and began scribbling down some directions. “Great! Got it! Scramble the other choppers and get them on the move ASAP. I have no idea how much backup we’re going to need, but this is one time I’m calling out all the dogs.”