Lies (Deceit and Desire Book 1)

by Cassie Wild

  She laughed at me. “Don’t take that tone. I’m just wondering if that’s ever going to be you.”

  “Mom, I’m twenty-eight. I’m hardly about ready to roll over in my grave.”

  She frowned at me. “But you never seem to be serious about anybody. It’s hard for you to settle down with one girl when none of them seem to catch your eye.”

  I don’t know what pulled it out of me, but I found myself saying, “My eye gets caught on occasion.” I thought of Suria, and without thinking about it, I said, “Actually, I met a girl. This club the other day. I liked her. A lot.”

  To be honest, like didn’t quite touch what I felt when it came to Suria. Liked, wanted, wanted again. And again.

  But I struggled to keep a casual smile on my face as my mom clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “Oh really, what is she like?”

  Shit. I should have kept my mouth shut. I didn’t know enough about Suria to know what she was like. “She’s funny. Likes to dance,” I said, improvising as quick as I could. “She’s got a cousin.” That slipped free without any real, conscious thought because I barely remembered her mentioning the cousin.

  “A lot of people have cousins, baby,” Mom said, looking amused.

  I made a face at her, while mentally, I thought, Shut up. If I didn’t stop soon, I would end up floundering, and Mom would figure something was up. Or worse, she’d push, and I had the hardest time telling her no.

  I didn’t want to tell her I’d taken this girl to a hotel after dancing with her a couple of times.

  “Are you serious about this girl?” Mom looked hopeful. “I love her name. What kind of name is Suria?”

  I fumbled a bit and went with the truth because I hadn’t asked. “I’m not sure.”

  “Are you going to see her again?”

  “I’m not sure,” I repeated. Then I grinned at her. “But I want to.”

  “Well, then you need to ask her out again.” She gave me such a mom look, I almost started squirming.

  I’d love to, I thought sourly. But I sort of hadn’t gotten around to asking for her number. I just shrugged instead of saying anything.

  Mom laughed and waved a hand. “You know, I don’t know who I am to be giving relationship advice to anybody. It’s not like I’ve got a stellar history behind me, now do I?”

  “Mom…” Covering her hand with mine, I squeezed.

  “I’m not feeling sorry for myself,” she assured me. “I’m just stating a fact.” Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned forward. “Since you’re being so closed-mouthed about this new girl, let me tell you about my plans for the week. A friend of mine recommended this new psychic…I’m going to try her out. I’ve got a good feeling about this one, Kian.”

  She rubbed her hands together.

  Sitting across the table from her, I had to fight the urge to rub my eyes and tell her not to. I understood why she kept chasing after answers. Losing her brother so mysteriously had forced her to live a lifetime with nothing but questions. I just knew she wasn’t going to find the answer with some charlatan.

  But she was happy.

  She continued to chat, unaware of my misgivings. “You know my friend, Lois? Well, her mother’s cat got out and was lost. She tried everything to find the poor dear, rewards, calling the pound, you name it. Then she goes to this psychic and what do you think happens?”

  “The psychic tells her where to find the cat,” I said, fixing a smile on my face.

  “Yes!” Mom patted her heart. “And you wouldn’t believe how quickly she did it. It was poof...like magic.”

  I swallowed my groan, because I knew it was nothing of the sort, but I wasn’t going to crap on my mother’s happiness. She wasn’t going to move past this…thing. If she hadn’t by now, she wasn’t going to.

  Some part of her just believed she would be able to reach out and find her little brother, talk to him, somehow. Maybe not physically, but to his ghost or whatever was left. Find him in the beyond or whatever line they handed people like her. It pissed me off that people could take advantage of a person’s grief, but I didn’t know what to do about it. “That’s good, Mom. I hope it works out okay. But…be careful.”

  Ten

  Suria

  When you grew up watching people run the con, then started doing it yourself before you were even fifteen, you got a good idea who had money and who was only going to be able to pop over twenty bucks or so, including the tip.

  Don’t get me wrong, money was money, and I’d take it wherever I could get it. But it wasn’t as hard to squeeze somebody for money when they had plenty of it.

  Maybe some of my cousins and others in the clan didn’t mind squeezing somebody for their last two bucks, but that wasn’t me. It was just easier for me to take somebody for a ride when I knew they had plenty to spare.

  I knew the look of money. I knew the smell of it, the feel of it, the way it moved and the way it talked. I’d been fooled a few times but not too often.

  Standing in my doorway was the very picture of classy money. The woman wasn’t flat-out wealthy, but I didn’t need somebody who was so bloated with money, it all but leaked from their pores. And sometimes, the very wealthy were the stingiest sons of bitches around.

  No, this was a woman who was…comfortable. Very comfortable.

  She was slender and pretty, probably in her mid to late forties, but she could have passed for younger. She looked damned good for her age, whatever it was.

  She carried a Coach purse, and although I couldn’t quite see her shoes, I would imagine they were another classy designer. She had on a pretty pants suit, and there was a strand of pearls around her neck.

  Maybe a bit dressy for a trip to a local, neighborhood psychic, but I’d bet dollars to donuts this was just her everyday casual wear.

  Smiling at her, I moved out from behind my table and offered my hand. “Hello, I’m Sirene. How may I help you?”

  I hadn’t had any appointments on schedule, but I was always willing to make time for walk-ins. Especially walk-ins who looked like this.

  She was everything I had been hoping for…and dreading.

  It put a whole new slant on the old saying, be careful what you ask for.

  “Yes…” She hesitated a moment as she looked around, acclimating herself. She was a little nervous, but she didn’t feel terribly out of place. As she slid a hand up then down the strap of her Coach bag, she met my eyes levelly. “You were recommended to me by a friend of mine. Her name was Lois?”

  I shook my head. “I’m terrible with names. I’m sorry. I’m great with faces though.” I grinned at her, then added with a shrug, “And the job. I’m usually pretty good at remembering the job although my jobs are confidential. Whatever it is I did for your friend, I can’t discuss it.”

  “Oh, you just gave her some job advice, which she took. But she was really blown away by how you helped her grandmother…she’d lost her cat. You helped her find him. He was exactly where you said he’d be.”

  At the shelter, I thought, smothering a smile.

  “She found him at the shelter just a few blocks from her home. It was just so odd…she’d called there almost every day since he ran off and he was never there. Then she comes to see you and…poof.”

  “There was no poof to it, I promise.” I lifted a shoulder and stepped aside to reveal the coffee table. It was, as always, set with a single teacup. “I was just about to have some tea. Would you like some? We can talk about your...needs?”

  She gave me a grateful smile. Sometimes it was hard for people to find the right way to approach things.

  I never had that problem, but then again, this was a job for me. And it was one I was good at.

  “While the tea gets going, why don’t you tell me your name?” I asked, getting a second cup down and plugging in the electric teapot.

  “Tamara,” she said, taking the wingchair and putting her purse on the floor next to her feet. As she crossed her ankles, I caught sight of her shoes. Yep. De
signer. “It’s Tamara Robson.”

  “Well, Mrs. Robson–”

  “It’s miz, and please, call me Tamara,” she said with a laugh. “Ms. always makes me feel my age.”

  “Please, you can’t be more…” I put my finger to my lips as I gave her a contemplating study. “I’d guess you’re forty at the max.”

  “Honey, you’re officially my new best friend, but I’m not sure if you’re a very good psychic,” she said, smiling and wagging a finger at me. “I’m forty-eight – just last month.”

  I made a mental note as I shook my head. “That’s unbelievable. So, is it good genes or good skin cream or good living?”

  “A little of all three?” She chuckled and accepted the tea I offered, as well as the sugar bowl, but she turned down the cream.

  I loaded my cup with both sugar and cream. I’d never much cared for the taste of tea, but it went with the image. As I stirred, I said, “Why don’t you tell me what brings you to me, Tamara?”

  She took a small sip of her tea, her eyes flitting around nervously.

  Still reluctant. Okay.

  “You’ve been to see psychics before, haven’t you?” I asked.

  She blinked, surprise in her eyes.

  “How did you know?”

  “Oh, no big secret. You would be more nervous, more skeptical if this was your first time,” I said, winking at her. “You get to be a good judge of people after you’ve done this a while.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re too young to have been doing this too long,” she said with her bright laugh.

  “You might be surprised.” But I waved my hand, dismissing her question before she could ask. “Come, let’s talk about why you’re here.”

  She didn’t jump straight into it though.

  “Is it okay if I move around?” she asked, rising without waiting for an answer.

  “Of course.” I sipped my tea as she started to pace. She came to stand in front of a shot I’d taken of footsteps in the sand just before the surf would have washed them away, studying the image, but I had the feeling she wasn’t really seeing the picture itself. “Whoever the artist is, she is quite talented,” she said after a moment.

  “Thank you.”

  She glanced at me. “They’re yours?” she asked, moving down to look at the piece I’d drawn of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “Yes.” I didn’t let the rancor I felt about it show in my voice. “It’s a hobby.”

  “It should be more than that.” She huffed out a faint sigh, then murmured, “I’m procrastinating. Forgive me.”

  As she came back to sit in front of me, I wondered if she’d been burned before. If that was the case, I’d have to tread very carefully here, and I didn’t have the time to be too careful. I had no idea when Papa planned to go through with his plan to marry Joelle off, but Ephraim wasn’t the most patient of men, so I doubted it would be too long.

  She sniffed a bit, and it hit me abruptly that whatever had her hesitating had more to do with something emotional than anything else.

  That wasn’t exactly…good.

  I hated it when I had to deal with something really gut-wrenching.

  Stay focused, Suria, I thought grimly.

  “This is a little harder than I thought it would be,” Tamara said, her voice soft. “I guess because it would have been his birthday just the other day. But it’s been so long…”

  Without even thinking, I reached for her hand. The colder, more clinical part of me tucked away the information she’d just given me. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “Do you want to tell me about him?”

  She shot me a look, then slowly, she nodded.

  “It’s my brother. He was my brother, but it’s been so many years…” She took a deep breath, then blew it out. “He’s gone now. I know that. But it was my fault, and I was never able to tell him I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t offer any of the empty platitudes about how it wasn’t her fault.

  I wanted to hear her story first.

  Eleven

  Suria

  After Tamara left, I turned off the open sign and went over to the couch, throwing myself down on it so hard, small plumes of dust rose from the old piece of furniture. Shabby chic, indeed.

  What a heartbreaker.

  My eyes were dry, thankfully, but the knot in my throat felt like it had lodged there permanently. A backhoe might move it, but I didn’t know for sure.

  How did somebody adjust to something like that?

  I couldn’t imagine being a teenager who snuck out for a date, leaving my kid brother alone, thinking everything would be fine, then less than an hour later, coming home to find him missing.

  Just gone.

  “Stop thinking about it,” I muttered, my voice thick, thanks to the boulder in my throat.

  I couldn’t afford to think about it.

  I had to think of Tamara as a job. A mark.

  I couldn’t think about her as a person, as somebody who’d lost so much already, because if I did, the one chance I had to get Joelle away might slip through my fingers. And I’d risk anything to get my sister away from the kind of life she’d find with Ephraim.

  Bile churned in my throat as I forced myself to sit up.

  I hadn’t even started, and I already didn’t like the person I was going to be after this. But I’d like myself even less if I waited around and did nothing while my baby sister was forced to marry a man more than twice her age – a cruel man who’d treat her like shit.

  Joelle might not even survive it.

  God knew my mother hadn’t survived marriage to my father, and while he was petty and vindictive, I didn’t think he was as bad as Ephraim was.

  Pressing the tips of my fingers under my eyes, I willed back the headache that pressed in.

  The seconds on the clock had spun away quicker than I’d realized, and I had an appointment with a regular coming up in less than ten minutes. She was almost always early, too, so I had to get that door unlocked.

  “You can do this,” I told myself.

  After all, I really didn’t see that I had much choice.

  Maybe I’d get lucky, and some piece of shit would walk through the door this afternoon.

  But if not…then I had to start planning out the job on Tamara Robson.

  My regular was a bored housewife in her forties who cheated on her husband while he was off cheating on her.

  They both knew the other cheated.

  They both pretended otherwise.

  They both wanted out of the marriage, but neither of them wanted to be the first one to make a move, thanks to a rather tight prenup. I’d figured all of this out within the first two meetings.

  She wanted to know if she’d meet a tall, dark stranger who’d take her away from her miserable life.

  She asked the same thing every month.

  I told her the same thing every month.

  Every month, she met a new tall, dark stranger and for a few days, she thought she was happy.

  But then she was always back in here a few weeks later.

  Part of me was tempted to shake her and tell her to get a grip. Even with the prenup, she’d end up with five hundred thousand dollars. I’d give almost anything to have that kind of money right now, but she’d gotten used to having an unlimited bank account at her disposal.

  If only I could figure out a way to bilk her for more than the few hundred she dropped on my table every month. But she was a known client, and that made the thought of doing anything extra with her even more problematic.

  “Celeste…” I smiled at her as she let her palms rest in mine. She was more fidgety today than normal. “I can’t help you if you don’t try to clear your mind.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She snapped her gum and then went still, clearly trying to focus. Less than sixty seconds passed before she was back to squirming around again.

  Biting back a sigh, I tugged my hands away, and her eyes flew wide. “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?” She sounded like
a valley girl from some eighties movie gone bad.

  “I can’t help you when your mind is so clouded. Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so worked up?” I suggested.

  “I…nothing!” She shifted around a little, and even though there was a low table between us, I could see the skirt she wore riding up. “It’s just…never mind. He doesn’t matter, okay? Let’s do this.”

  But I didn’t take the fingers she wiggled beseechingly at me.

  “I can’t help when you’re so clearly distracted. What is it?” I asked again.

  “I…okay, fine. You’re worse than my therapist.” She rolled her eyes. “It was the guy I met last month. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.”

  Last month’s TDH – tall, dark and handsome. “What made him so unique?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding me?” She blinked, looking shocked that I didn’t know. “He was hung like a horse.” But then a funny smile curled her lips. “And he was…I dunno. Funny. I think I kinda liked him. Not just the sex stuff, but all the stuff. He was…he was funny.”

  “Funny enough to see again?” I suggested.

  “Hell, no.” She rolled her eyes. “The guy is a mechanic.”

  “What’s wrong with being a mechanic?”

  “Nothing, if I just need my car fixed. That’s great and all.” She pushed back from the table a little and crossed her legs, started to swing one back and forth. The skirt crept higher. I was going to see butt cheek before too long. “But he’s not…hell, why would I want to get serious about a mechanic?”

  “Because he made you laugh?” I suggested. “Because he’s hung like a horse?” I paused a beat, then added, “And because I’ve seen you smile in a way nobody else has ever made you smile in all the time you’ve been coming to see me.”

  The swaying leg stilled, and she looked up at me, her gaze naked.

  “Honey…” I said in a gentle voice. “This is going to sound terrible coming from me, because I love money more than I love myself.” I crooked a smile at her as I continued, “But there’s more to life than just money. There’s being happy with a guy who can make you laugh, somebody who might want to take care of you and be there for you. Did he seem like that kind of guy?”