Merl shakes his head and gives a soft laugh, bouncing on his toes so the curls escaping from his bun dance around his shoulders. “Are you going back into one of your ‘I’m going to go live on the beach and not fight for justice anymore’ phases?”
I frown. “I’m not saying that. I know that wouldn’t work for me.”
“Ah, growth.” Merl laughs. “I do love it.”
I jab with my right fist and he steps back, maneuvering out of my reach and lashing out with his back leg, forcing me onto the ropes. He steps forward and into me, pummeling my middle with several swift punches before jumping back and grinning. I spin away from him, recovering easily—he didn’t even try to hurt me.
This is just a friendly spar, a little action to keep us both in shape. “How is Mo-Ping?” I ask, inquiring about Merl’s girlfriend. She left last week to visit friends in New York. Mo-Ping is a member of Falun Gong, a persecuted religious and martial art organization outlawed in China. Merl and I freed her from imprisonment last year, and this is the first time the two have been apart for any length of time.
“She’s good. Having fun visiting her friends, but of course, there is a sadness to it with so many of their fellow Falun Gong members gone.” Either in prison or murdered. Merl frowns and loses his concentration for a moment. I jab, and he steps easily out of my range, returning his focus to me again.
“You must miss her,” I say.
“Not so much that you’re going to land one.”
I laugh and shrug a shoulder. “You never know…I might get lucky.”
“Have you gone to see Hugh yet?” Merl asks, jolting me out of my focused zone for a moment. The bastard.
“No,” I mumble.
“What’s holding you back?”
“What makes you so nosy?”
He touches his nose with a glove and grins. “I care about you.” I don’t answer, just frown. “And Hugh does, too. Why haven’t you gone to see him?
“Well—” I stop mid-sentence and strike out with my front leg. My foot grazes Merl’s chin then lands on the mat, and I spin on it, striking out with my back leg and getting him right in the gut. Merl oomphs out a lungful of air and spins away. I prance back to my corner on the balls of my feet. That’s one way to avoid a conversation. Ha!
“Don’t look so satisfied,” he says, grabbing a water bottle and taking a long sip. “I’m not letting this go.” Shit. “I want to see him, and I’m not interested in lying about your whereabouts.” I grab my own water and take a long slug, not looking at Merl. “Look.” He drops his voice into something conciliatory. “Go see him tonight. Or I’m going to. And I won’t lie. I’ll tell him you’re avoiding him. And that will hurt him.”
“Fine,” I bark.
“Hey, don’t get pissy with me. He’s a good friend. You love him. You’re going to have fun.”
That’s what I’m afraid of…
I come in through the back door of the kitchen. The heat and speed of the place envelop me before I’ve even stepped fully into the small space. Hugh is at the center of the swirling vortex, his head bent over a pan, his white chef’s jacket crisp and starched. I stay by the door, just watching him.
He’s so graceful—grabbing plates and checking them before they go out, speaking softly to his sous chefs, moving through the cramped space as if it were a grand dance hall. His eyes are lit with humor and joy as his mop of dirty blond hair swings and bounces, giving him an almost Muppet-like quality. If Muppets could be handsome and sexy, as well as goofy and fun.
My heart fills, watching him, just drinking him in. Hugh’s happiness is infectious. He looks up suddenly, his gaze riveting on me, his eyes going wide, and then a grin breaks over his face like a wave crashing onto the shore. In four long strides he’s in front of me, and then I’m in his arms, wrapped up in his warmth and comfort.
Tears spring to my eyes as I take in the scent of him: roasting tomatoes, onions in butter…home. “Joy,” he says, his voice tight with emotion. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too,” I say, finally getting it together enough to wrap my arms around him and hug back. "It's been too long."
"Isn't that usually my line?" Hugh says, stepping back but keeping his hands on my shoulders. He looks down at me, examining my face, his gaze running over the fading scars around my left eye, the hint of color in my cheeks from my recent roller blading, and the tan line on my shoulders from sunbathing by the pool. "You look good," he says.
"You sound surprised."
He laughs and squeezes my arms. "I just mean, you look relaxed." His eyes narrow. "Peaceful."
"I've been working on that."
"I want to hear all about it. Can you hang out? I've got to finish dinner service." Hugh turns, looking back into his kitchen. "Let me make you something to eat."
“I'm good. I don't wanna be a bother. I can come back.”
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not letting you out of my sight." He laughs. "I better text Santiago. He'll be pissed if I don't let him know you're here."
“I’m glad to hear you two are still together,” I say, meaning it. Hugh deserves to be happy.
Hugh blushes, his eyes returning to mine, and an almost embarrassed smile taking over his face. "Yeah, me too.”
"What?" I ask, cocking my head.
"Santiago will kill me if I tell you before he gets here."
“What!” I slap him on the shoulder.
Hugh spins away from me back into his kitchen, laughing—the sound as robust and full as the scents floating through the room. "Take a seat over there." He points to a tiny table with two chairs pushed into a corner. "Santiago will be here soon enough."
I navigate through the tight kitchen, feeling Blue’s absence keenly. He should be right behind my left leg. But showing up in Hugh’s kitchen in the middle of the dinner rush is rude enough without bringing a giant hairy mutt with me.
I sit at the table and watch Hugh melt back into the madness. He puts a pan on a burner and drops a dollop of butter into it before pulling out his phone and shooting off a quick text.
By the time Hugh is serving me a gorgeous plate of mushroom risotto, Santiago bursts through the kitchen door. “Sydney Rye!” he yells, crossing the space and pulling me out of my seat into a tight embrace. I squeeze him back, his affection and warmth so damn welcome I can barely take it. “You have been gone too long!”
“I missed you.”
Santiago releases me and laughs. “Not so much that you came to visit though, huh?” I shrug, my cheeks heating. “Don’t worry about it, we know you’re busy.” He winks at me—Hugh and Santiago know I’m a founding member of Joyful Justice, but they have no idea what I’ve been up to for the past year…and I have no plans to tell them.
A waiter arrives with a glass of red wine for Santiago, and he notices my plate of food. “Sit, eat,” he commands, moving to the other side of the table and taking the empty chair. He is a big man, broad-shouldered but slim, with radiant black hair pushed off his brow—it looks wet, like he just got out of the shower—and his golden complexion shines under the harsh lighting. He’s gorgeous and smart and fun, and I really do enjoy his company. Watching Hugh move on from James is painful and yet healing. Life does go on. I’ll never have another brother, and Hugh will never have another first love, but we can both find happiness and joy none the less.
“Hugh says you guys have some news,” I say.
“He managed not to spill the beans, huh?”
“Tell me already! I’m dying over here.”
Santiago laughs, the sound bold and somehow brave, as if his happiness is a testament to his character and cannot be laid at the feet of any circumstance. “Let’s wait until Hugh gets off work, okay?”
I narrow my eyes and frown, but the magical buttery scent of the risotto draws my attention. “Eat!” Santiago points at the bowl.
So I do, slipping into the pleasure of sustenance, of nourishment…and of a taste that is just so close to home it brin
gs tears to my eyes and warmth to my chest.
I’m so lucky.
“I heard about your mom,” Santiago says, turning the rice in my mouth to sand. “I’m sorry.”
I cough and take a sip of my wine to wash the food down. “Thanks, but I’m sure Hugh told you, we’re not close.”
“Not even after all the work she’s done to spread the message of the Her prophet? I would have thought you two reconciled.”
I shake my head. “Some things cannot be forgiven.” My voice comes out strange, low…almost like that old thunder.
“Amen, girl, amen. How is Mulberry?” Santiago asks after another founding member of Joyful Justice…the man who helped me escape New York. The man I love. The man who doesn’t remember me.
Another painful question. I smile weakly. “He’s doing well.”
Santiago cocks his head, clearly not believing me. “Really,” I say, forcing myself to believe my own words. “He got back together with his ex-wife. They are really happy. Mulberry is living a normal, good life.”
Santiago’s eyes narrow. “And that’s making him happy?” he asks, skepticism dripping off each word.
I nod. “Sure, of course. He’s not in mortal danger anymore. Is in—” I have to swallow before I can continue. “He’s in love. Happy. I’m happy for him.”
Santiago spins his wine glass stem, eyeing me across the table. But he doesn’t contradict me. And I don’t share any more details. I don’t tell Santiago that Mulberry lost much of his memory, and part of his left leg. That he’s living a safe, normal life that’s one big, fat lie. That I want him to be safe and happy so badly I can’t dwell on any of that. So instead, I turn to my food. And I eat it.
I start a second glass of wine while Hugh finishes up dinner service. Once it’s winding down and only the pastry chef is still moving at speed, Hugh comes to our table. “So,” I say, feeling pretty buzzed. It’s the first time I’ve had more than one drink in a few months, and the wine is going straight to my head. “What is going on with you two?”
Hugh and Santiago look at each other sharing a silent communication. Then Hugh turns to me, his gaze bright and yet tinged with a hint of worry. “What?” I say, anxiety brewing in my chest, fueled by the wine and that crinkle around Hugh’s eyes.
“We’re getting married.” He says it quietly, a happy hush over his words.
My voice freezes in my throat, and I open and close my mouth a few times like a fish struggling to find water. “That’s so great.” I cough and have to take another sip of wine before continuing. “That’s really…I’m so happy for you two.” My gaze bounces between them—they are radiating happiness, and their hands find each other on the table, like water molecules, drawn together by nature. They belong together.
“You should have the wedding at my place,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
“Your place?” Hugh asks. “You’re in Miami?”
I nod, looking up at him. “It’s gorgeous. On Star Island.”
His eyes narrow. “Wait, are you staying with Robert Maxim?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“What?” Santiago’s voice rises. “That guy?”
“Yeah,” I hold his gaze. “He’s changed actually.” Santiago’s eyebrows are up at his hairline. “I swear.” A laugh escapes me. “And his house is ridiculous. Come by tomorrow for drinks. You’ll see what I mean.”
The two men turn to each other and share another silent communication that makes my heart ache. It’s Hugh who answers me. “We’d love to come for drinks.”
I smile, something inside me loosening. I can help give them a beautiful wedding. I can be a part of this.
Reaching for my wine I fight back tears. I’m not sad. I swear. I just can’t seem to swallow the lump in my throat. Because…James is gone. And Hugh is marrying someone else. And people do change. And life does go on.
But sometimes I just don’t want it to.
Chapter Eight
Declan
I’m in a small rental boat. I’ve got a fishing pole, and I’m watching Robert Maxim’s mansion. This is a free country, and I’ve got a right to be out here. But he doesn’t have a right to do whatever he wants, to just live his life like he hasn’t destroyed thousands of others. Like he hasn’t killed.
The sun beats down—I’m getting seared under its rays. It reflects back from the water, catching in my eyes, bronzing my skin…it’s all good, though. I can handle the heat.
Sun glints off the glass walls of Robert’s mansion. My heart skips a beat as one of the doors opens. A figure, wearing a long white dress that swishes around her slim legs and a wide brimmed hat, steps out, followed by a giant dog. Sydney Rye and Blue.
She leans up against the rail and looks out to the horizon. Her attention is drawn back toward the house, and Robert appears, holding a phone. He passes it to her. She takes the handset and turns back to the horizon.
But she doesn’t see me. She’s not afraid of me. She should be.
Sydney stands straighter and turns back to Robert. Blue presses up against her side, his head as tall as her hip, his gaze on her face. She speaks to Robert, and they all move indoors.
I settle back into my seat. The sun drifts below Miami’s jazzy modern skyline, and the sky blushes pink. I wait until darkness settles and electric lights glow to life all along the shore before starting up my engine and heading back.
After returning the boat to the rental place, I throw my fishing rod and cooler in the back of my rental car and head back to my apartment, a sterile, short-term place with a balcony and views of a bay. The water shimmers under the moonlight as I drink a beer on my couch, sitting in the dark.
A plan is slowly formulating. Its emerging picture reminds me of watercolor painting. My mother used to paint gardens and seashores, places we visited. Often, my siblings and I would be added to the picture: tiny splotches of fast-moving arms and legs in a great big world of swirling colors—blossoms and waves undulating around us.
My phone rings, pulling me out of the memories. It’s my mom. “I was just thinking about you,” I say as a greeting.
“That’s sweet. How are you?”
“Great,” I lie.
“You know I worry.”
“Yes Ma, I know.” A silence stretches between us. She hated that I got shot. Hell, I hated it too, but she hated it worse. “I’m okay, I promise.” She sighs, and I hear the clinking of ice against glass as she takes a sip of something. “How’s Dad?”
“You know him, keeping busy.” He retired over a decade ago but still serves on several boards and stays active. Once a rich and powerful man, always a rich and powerful man. “Are you liking Miami?”
“I am. The weather’s great.”
She laughs, low and throaty. “It’s miserable here. Gray and cold…maybe I could come visit?”
I sit up, adrenaline flashing through me. “Not a great time. I’m working a lot.”
“Well, you should take a break.”
If only she knew.
“That’s not how cases work, Mom.”
“I know, I know. The bad guys never take vacations.”
“Well, they do.” I laugh. “But that’s the best time to sneak into their mansions and gather evidence.”
She laughs again, and more ice clinks. “When will you come visit, then?”
“When I close this case.”
“Do you think it will be soon?”
I stand and pace to the wall of windows, looking out at the bay—boats bob in gentle waves. “I’m not sure. But I hope so.”
“Good.” The glass thunks onto wood. She’s probably in her study, surrounded by leather-bound books, the windows frosted, a fire roaring in the hearth. My chest aches at the image I’ve built in my mind, and a part of me wants to just lay my head down in her lap and cry. She never judged me for not going into the family business—for turning down an easy life in exchange for the danger and difficulty of law enforcement—but it didn’t make her happy
or proud.
She wanted me safe above all else.
“Have you met any nice women?”
I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the glass. “I’m working too much for that.”
“Your sister is pregnant again.”
“That’s great,” I force enthusiasm into my voice.
“That makes six children.” There is judgment in her voice. What kind of people have so many children? “All girls so far.”
“Maybe this one will be a boy.”
“Well, you know I don’t get involved.”
A smile pulls at my lips. “No, of course not.” I open my eyes and stare out at the moon. “I should go.”
She sighs. “Okay, I love you, honey. Call me soon. You know I worry.”
“Yes, Mom, I know you do. I love you, too.”
I hang up first and turn back to the sterile living room, pushing my family out of my mind. There is no room for them now. Once I corner Sydney and Robert, then I can spend time with my mother, find a wife, do all that normal shit. But not yet. Not now.
Chapter Nine
Sydney
“You’re sure Robert can’t hear us?” is the first thing Dan says. He and Anita are sitting next to each other at Dan’s desk on the island, video conferencing into the meeting, their image split with Lenox’s on a large monitor. This is a meeting of the Joyful Justice council, the governing body of our organization.
“Yes.” Merl answers Dan’s question. He’s sitting next to me, both of us in rolling chairs. We’re in the office space we’ve rented in downtown Miami under the name “Dog Trainers Inc.,” which helps explain all our freaking dogs, who are curled up around the room, sleeping lightly as they wait for our next move.
Across from us, floor to ceiling tinted windows face another tall, shining office building—we can usually see office workers buzzing around, living their ordinary lives. It’s late now, so there are only a few brightened windows, a few hunched figures typing at desks. We headed straight here after Dan called the secure line at Robert’s house, but it took a while to get everything set up.
Betray the Lie Page 7
