Ring of Lies

by Howard, Victoria

  Headlights flared on the track. She tugged at his shirt. ‘Jack—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think they’ve found us.’

  Jack swung round and glanced at the approaching lights. He pocketed the spare clips, stuffed an old jacket and a bottle of water into a duffle bag, along with Grace’s purse, his cell phone and the Sat-Nav. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the river of grass.

  The moon vanished, swallowed by clouds. Within minutes, the rain turned into a deluge, plastering Grace’s shirt to her skin. Water seeped into her shoes and soaked the bottom of her jeans, as they moved deeper into the marsh. She lost all sense of direction as she blindly followed in his footsteps.

  Jack kept up a relentless pace, but she couldn’t ask him to slow down or stop, not when there was a chance they could outwit their pursuer. Sweat mingled with the rain, and trickled down her face and neck and between her breasts. She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and stumbled on. Sawgrass rattled in the breeze. Fox? Turtle? Man? She strained to pick up the slightest sound. But all she could hear was her own rapid heartbeat.

  Suddenly, a sharp cracking sound came from her left.

  ‘What was that?’ she hissed.

  ‘Probably a gator eating dinner. Keep moving.’

  She envisioned those huge jaws ripping into her flesh. Her mind froze. Panting in terror, she thrashed at the sawgrass, impervious to the pain from the sharp-toothed blades as it sliced at her skin.

  Jack caught her in six strides and clamped his arms around her waist. She screamed and kicked out.

  ‘Stop it, Grace. You’ll give our position away.’

  She tried to remain calm, but the panic attack had taken hold. Her lungs burned as she fought for breath. A roaring sound filled her ears and blackness threatened. Shuddering, she buried her face in his shoulder.

  Jack gentled his hold and stroked her back. ‘We’ve got to keep moving.’

  ‘I-I know. I’m sorry,’ she said in between shallow quick gasps. ‘The thought of an alligator—’

  ‘Understandable. Can you manage without your medication?’

  Gradually the tightness in her chest eased and her heart rate slowed. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. Gathering her strength, she forced herself to step back.

  ‘I think so.’

  Jack took her hand and guided her through a small pond and up the bank on the other side into a hardwood hammock. Here the air was damp and smelled of peat. Southern live oak, royal palm and palmettos grew in dense clumps, blocking out the moonlight.

  Bushes sprang up to block their path. Sharp leaves tore at clothes and flesh. The deeper into the marsh they went, the more difficult it became to penetrate. They forged on for what seemed like hours until Grace was tired, so tired her feet dragged with every step.

  ‘We should be safe here until morning,’ Jack said.

  Grace sank to her knees, and rested her head in her hands. Under the canopy of trees, the surrounding vegetation was so thick that Jack melted into the undergrowth, until he became just a voice in the night. At least the bushes offered some shelter from the rain, but they couldn’t stop the shivers that racked her body. Nor could she stop the tears. They merged with the rain that ran down her cheeks.

  Jack settled her against his chest, covering them with his jacket, but not even his re-assuring warmth could dispel the overwhelming sensation she had of being helplessly trapped.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Catherine Peterson straightened the jacket of the business suit she wore, then strode up to the glass booth, and handed her passport to the immigration official. Her gaze never wavered as he compared her to the photograph on the back page, and passed it through the barcode reader. The passport was new and she’d been assured it was good enough to pass close scrutiny. It had cost enough—the last of her savings and the gold watch that had been a gift from her lover.

  ‘How long are you staying in the United States?’

  ‘Two weeks, possibly three.’

  ‘And what is the purpose of your visit?’

  ‘I’m here on business.’

  The official flicked through the pages, examining each one for signs of tampering. He flipped forward… backward… looked at the front and the back and glanced up at her. Then he said, ‘I’ll be right back.’ And left.

  Oh shit, she thought. Other officials waved people behind her to their booths. What was so suspicious about her for God’s sake? A family of Muslims, women draped in black burkas walking dutifully behind, was ushered through without incident.

  A minute ticked by. Two. Perspiration gathered on her forehead.

  The bearded passport agent returned. He looked her in the eye for what seemed like forever. Then, wordlessly, he stamped the visa page, added a squiggle, and then handed it back. Catherine let out the breath she she’d been holding and nearly ran away.

  Once clear of customs, she entered the first ladies room she came to. She slipped into an empty stall and locked the door. After travelling non-stop for the last seventy-two hours, she was so jet-lagged that she struggled to remember where she was supposed to be let alone stand. Rome, Dublin, London, Amsterdam, and then Paris, she’d lost track of time and places, but had finally made it to Atlanta without being followed. Even now, she knew she couldn’t afford to take chances.

  When Grace started leaving messages on her cell phone, she knew something was wrong. She’d ignored her sister’s numerous calls and had gone to work as normal, attending a conference for a group of surgeons in Rome. As soon as it finished she checked out of the conference hotel and into a small, inexpensive guesthouse near the Vatican City. But with her money fast running out, she needed cash and there was only one place to get it.

  She opened her small overnight bag and pulled out a short black skirt, a bright pink ruffled necked blouse, and a pair of killer heels, the sort of clothes a high-class hooker would be proud of, and quickly changed. The smart business suit and low heels she’d worn to travel from London, along with the trilby she used to conceal her blonde hair, went into the bag. She’d find somewhere to dump it once she got out of the airport and onto the open road.

  She placed an ear to the door but could only hear the sound of a running tap. Cautiously, she slid back the bolt and opened the door a fraction. The room was deserted. She grabbed her case and wash bag, and crossed to the basin. Leaning toward the mirror, she opened a small box and removed a blue contact lens and a small bottle of eye drops. Her hands shook so much it took three attempts to insert the lens into her right eye. She blinked, and then repeated the process for the other eye, adding some drops of artificial tears from the bottle. Satisfied her eyes were dry enough for re-touching, she pulled a mascara wand out of her bag and gave her long lashes a quick brushing.

  When she looked in the mirror, she doubted anyone, even her sister, would recognize her. She reached for her oversized purse and removed the chin-length black wig she’d purchased. It was a tight fit and would make her scalp itch, but it was easier and quicker than using hair dye. She took her time applying the rest of her make-up, accentuating her now blue eyes with a brown shadow and eyeliner. A last coat of mascara and her transformation from a brown-eyed blonde to blue-eyed mystery woman was complete.

  The door to the ladies room swung open. Her heart leapt, and she spun around. A small, dark-haired woman with two young children entered and rushed past her, chattering to them in some strange, guttural tongue. She quickly gathered her belongings and left, merging into the crowded concourse, full of families heading home for Christmas.

  Home.

  Quiet nights in, boring television and Sunday roast dinners. The place she’d run away from at the first opportunity and had no intention of returning too—ever. She wanted to enjoy life, see the world, and not settle for anything other than a five-star lifestyle.

  And no one was going to stand in her way.

  Especially not her sister.

  She pushed her way through the crowds towards the car rental
desk and adopted what she hoped sounded like an American accent. ‘I’d like to rent a car, please. Nothing too big or flashy.’

  The pink-faced young man behind the desk offered her a stunning smile. ‘Let me see what we’ve got. Are you on vacation?’

  Catherine tapped her fingers on the desk, and looked anxiously over her shoulder. ‘What? Oh, a vacation… yeah, that’s right.’

  The clerk clicked keys brightly. Suddenly he hit the space bar. ‘Sorry. The system’s kind of slow today. So where you from?’

  Great, a nosy one. Think, Catherine. Where am I from? ‘Kansas,’ she said, knowing no more about it than any other state.

  The clerk scratched his chin. ‘Never been there myself.’

  Thank you, God. ‘So do you have anything available?’

  ‘Ah…yes. We’re up and running now,’ he beamed. ‘Yep. I’ve got a compact. A real steal. I have a two door Chevy Aveo for $110 a week plus insurance. That is unless you’ve already got a car. We can tag it on your policy, so that reduces the weekly rate somewhat.’

  ‘No. I don’t. Does it have air conditioning?’

  He looked stunned. ‘Yes…well, of course, ma’am. We don’t rent cars without A-C. I don’t believe anyone does, come to think of it.’

  ‘Oh, sure. Guess I’m just a little tired—jet lagged, you know how it is. And I don’t rent cars often.’ She mentally counted the hundred dollar bills in her purse. Renting the car would take most of her cash, but driving was the quickest way to get to Miami. ‘I’ll take it.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll need to see your drivers’ licence and a credit card please.’

  Heart pounding, she turned away. Breathe slow and deep, this is the easy bit compared to getting through immigration. ‘I’d prefer to pay cash.’

  ‘I’ll still need to see a credit card.’

  Her hand trembled as she slid back the zipper on her purse and pulled out her wallet. She let out another long breath and placed her licence and the fake credit card on the counter.

  The clerk tapped the pink licence with a fingertip. ‘This is a British Licence.’

  Catherine forced herself to remain calm. She squared her shoulders and looked directly at the clerk, giving him a radiant smile.

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘You said you were from Kansas.’

  Anxious to escape from the clerk’s probing questions she settled for half-truths. ‘I’ve been working in London for a couple of years. I’ll re-apply for a US licence once I get settled in my new job.’

  ‘Just checking. You’d be surprised how many people try to rent cars with false or out of date documents.’

  Colour flooded her cheeks, but thankfully the clerk was too busy tapping away at his keyboard to notice.

  ‘Sign here.’ He pushed the rental agreement across the desk. She hastily added her signature.

  ‘Okay, you’re all set. Enjoy your stay in Atlanta.’

  ‘You can count on it.’ Catherine snatched up the keys and marched through the terminal to the parking garage.

  Outside the rental agency, she doubled over and took a few deep breaths, feeling like an exhausted long-distance runner.

  Another hurdle overcome.

  Too many more to go.

  She jogged down the lanes until she spotted her rental. It was small, grey, and entirely uninspiring. She opened the right side door and slid in, only to realize her mistake. Hoping that no one had seen her gaffe, she squeezed over the hump in the middle, including the gearshift, tucking her long legs under the steering wheel.

  Her skin felt clammy, and her body ached. Exhausted, she pressed both hands over her eyes and tried to scrub away the weariness. The relentless travel had taken its toll. All she wanted to do was stretch out in a king-size bed and sleep for a week, but she had to reach Miami by morning.

  She opened her purse and took out a small bottle of pills. Working as a sales executive for a pharmaceutical company meant she had access to all sorts of drug samples. She flipped open the top with her thumb, shook out one of the pills, and rolled it in her palm.

  One tiny capsule would keep her awake for another twenty-four hours. But she already taken two and swallowing another one would be risky. Reluctantly, she popped it back into the bottle and replaced the cap.

  She inserted the key into the ignition and stepped on the accelerator. The little engine responded with a tinny growl. She put the car into gear and drove out of the parking lot.

  An accident on the slip road of the Interstate leading south cost her thirty minutes while she waited for a tow truck to clear away the damaged vehicles. Once free of the accident, she kept rigidly to the speed limit. No point drawing attention to herself this late in the game.

  After five hours, her body screamed with pain, her eyes burned with fatigue. Ahead lay miles and miles of near empty highway. She leaned back against the headrest and felt her neck muscles relax, the rhythmic hum of the tyres strangely comforting. Her eyelids slowly drifted lower and lower.

  A truck roared by, the blare of its horn startling her awake. She threw the wheel to the right, the Chevy swerved out of the truck’s path. A few more inches to the left and she would have been killed instantly. Body shaking and covered in sweat, she pulled on to the shoulder, and rested her head on the wheel.

  Five minutes passed before her heartbeat returned to normal, and she felt able to move. She fumbled in her purse and took out her cigarettes, dropping them twice before she finally stuck one between her lips. Her hand trembled so much that it took her several attempts to light it. She shuddered the smoke into her lungs.

  The clerk at the rental agency had given her a map. She unfolded it and tried to work out exactly where she was. She remembered passing a gas station some miles back, but didn’t recall seeing any houses. Two cars roared by, rocking the small rental, making her gasp. One thing was certain—she couldn’t stay where she was.

  Catherine stepped out of the car. She rubbed her arms unsure whether it was the cool night air making her shiver or her near death experience with the truck. Empty and drained, she knew that eight hours sleep in a comfortable bed, would lift her weariness.

  With a long sigh, she climbed back behind the wheel. She cranked the A-C up to full with the hope that it would keep her awake and set off once more. Half an hour later, she crossed the state line, and drove into a small town. A cluster of houses lined one side of the main street, the other bordered the railroad. A quarter of a mile further on, she came across a billboard advertising the name of a motel.

  She pulled in and drove up to the manager’s office. Greasy haired and unkempt, the woman behind the desk was huge. Catherine instantly regretted her decision to stop, but with so little cash in her purse she had no choice but to stay in this run down and seedy motel.

  ‘I’d like a room, please.’

  The woman tapped the sign on the wall. ‘No hookers here.’

  Momentarily rebuffed, Catherine lowered her gaze in confusion. ‘I’m not… Oh! You mean my clothes. I’ve been to a party and I’m too exhausted to drive home,’ she lied. ‘I’ll be gone in the morning.’

  The fat woman looked her up and down and grunted. ‘Just one night, but that’s it. Number four. Down the drive, second block on your left.’

  Catherine counted out five ten-dollar bills and collected the key. If the outside of the motel looked run down, the inside of the room looked as if it hadn’t been touched in over fifty years. She dragged her suitcase inside and locked the door. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a yellow glow on the peeling walls. The scent of damp, filthy carpet and old cigarettes pervaded the air. The carpet stuck to her feet, and in places appeared threadbare, while the floral comforter on the bed smelled of mothballs and made her think of old ladies and charity shops. She pulled it back to reveal yellowed wrinkled sheets.

  A deep rumble rocked the room as a train ran along the track behind the building. Smothering a sob, Catherine freed her blonde hair from the black wi
g, dropping it in the trashcan, then kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the bed. How had she come to this?

  She gulped hard and wiped her eyes. Too tired to undress, she dragged the quilt over her body and was asleep within minutes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘How long do we have to stay here?’ Grace whispered.

  ‘Long enough for whoever is out there to assume we’re gator food. Thirsty?’

  She nodded and shifted position. Jack offered her the bottle of water from his backpack. She took a few sips. Lukewarm, it did little to quench her thirst.

  ‘Kennedy and Anderson will contact Mike when we don’t show up at the house,’ said Jack. ‘He’ll organize a search as soon as it’s light.’