Twisted Lies Read online

  Rick could still remember the jolt of recognition when his father's eyes had looked back at him from the little boy's face. All thoughts of seducing Jessica fled, and he'd poured himself into becoming friends with the little guy.

  His brother.

  He liked the role of big brother. He was a lot better at it than his own brothers were. Andrew and John had never had any feelings for him beyond disdain.

  They'd probably be surprised Rick knew the word disdain.

  Andrew and John never gave a crap about Rick, not the way Rick cared about Hunter.

  Coaching soccer had come easily to him, too. Rick had established himself as integral to the team, and he and Jessica had settled into a friendly acquaintance. Rick had grown close to Hunter and his friends, buying them ice cream, playing basketball with them in the off-season, taking them to the movies sometimes. Always, there was a group. Always, there was at least one mom tagging along to make sure he wasn't some child molester. As if.

  Often, he and whatever mom had tagged along hit it off, and more than one of them had landed softly in his bed.

  But never Jessica. Once he'd met Hunter, he decided to keep that relationship pure. In the process of getting to know her, he'd become convinced she didn't have Charles's money. That's when he'd moved on to Leslie.

  According to Jessica, Hunter missed him and wanted to see him. He hadn't seen his brother in a few weeks, and he missed the kid, too. Next week should work fine. He'd finish the business with Marisa and Nate this weekend, and by next week, he'd have his money secured in an offshore bank account where nobody would ever find it. He'd hang around for a few more weeks, just to make himself look innocent. If anyone ever came sniffing around, he'd act like he had no idea what was going on. If he had the money, he'd just ask the cops why he'd still be there if he was a crook. And what did he need the money for, when his family was loaded?

  It was true, too. Mom still was loaded. She'd just cut him off. Told him to make his own way in the world.

  Look, Mother. I'm making my own way. Not what you expected, is it?

  He swallowed the rage. Focused on the plan.

  When the hubbub died down, he'd move away. Southern California had always beckoned him. He'd buy a place on the beach and spend the rest of his life sipping cocktails and meeting blondes. If anyone asked him about the money, he'd remind them about his trust fund. Not that the money in there could ever have afforded him the life he wanted to live. But nobody else knew that.

  And maybe he'd coach soccer for fun, give back a little. Though he'd been shocked to discover it, he really enjoyed hanging with the kids. And who'd suspect a volunteer soccer coach of all this?

  It wouldn't be long now before he enjoyed the life he'd planned before his father got sent away. The life Rick deserved.

  A far cry from the life he was living right now. The stink of dried blood filled his nostrils and turned his stomach. As soon as he knew where his targets were headed, he'd get out of this dump for good.

  Chapter 24

  NATE OPENED THE CABIN's front door the next morning for Rae, who stepped inside carrying a diaper bag big enough to carry three small children and their tricycles. Behind her came Brady with the car seat and a sleeping Johnny.

  "He looks peaceful," Nate whispered

  "Don't get used to it." Rae set her bag on the sofa. "He's busy these days. And mischievous."

  Brady set the baby's seat on the coffee table. "We'll be at the kitchen table, right?"

  Neither of them had kept their voices down, and the baby hadn't stirred. "Yeah." Nate rounded the bar to the kitchen. "Coffee?"

  While Rae and Brady made their coffees, Marisa trudged out of her bedroom, hair wet from the shower, braided as usual. Dark rings surrounded her bloodshot eyes.

  Nate left his friends and joined her. "You holding up?"

  She nodded, though she looked haggard.

  "You didn't sleep well."

  "How could I?" Marisa had seemed hopeful when they'd left Jessica the day before. He'd called Brady, given him Rick's phone number. Brady had been trying to ping it. It had only come on for a moment the day before, not long enough to get a read on it. According to Brady's text an hour earlier, the phone had been off ever since.

  As they'd driven back to New Hampshire, her hope of finding Ana had drifted off, replaced by despair, which seemed to have nested on Marisa's shoulders, heavier by the minute. By the time they reached the little cabin, she'd been curled up on the seat, weeping.

  Not that he could blame her.

  Nate wrapped her in his arms, and she folded against him as if he could fix it all. If only it were true. He rubbed her back and whispered in her ear, but there was nothing he could say to alleviate her fear. He waited until the latest round of tears was spent, knowing there were more.

  Tears were the world's only unlimited resource.

  "Come on." He stepped away and took her hand. "Let's get you some coffee and figure out what to do next."

  He walked Marisa to the bar, made her coffee, and chose a muffin from the assortment Sam had brought earlier in the week. She shook her head.

  "You haven't eaten since the salad yesterday."

  "I'm not hungry."

  "You want me to warm it up for you?"

  Her eyes filled. "Is Ana eating?"

  Rae stepped behind her. "How will starving yourself help your daughter?"

  Nate set the muffin on a plate and slid it across the bar. "Eat."

  She sighed and broke off a tiny bite.

  At the sound of a knock, Brady answered the door, and Sam came inside, her laptop case over her shoulder. "Sorry I'm late. Been busy."

  Brady took her coat and tossed it across a sofa. "Did you learn anything?"

  She headed for the kitchen table. "A little." She set up her laptop. Rae set a notebook and pen on the table, and Nate slid his little notebook from his breast pocket. Brady probably stored everything he needed to know in his brain, and if he forgot anything, Nate figured his wife would gladly fill him in.

  Marisa's hands were clenched together and white-knuckled.

  Nate bumped her shoulder. "We're going to figure it out."

  A glimmer of hope sparked in her eyes, but it faded fast. He couldn't blame her. Her daughter had been gone for six days. A long time. Too long.

  Why had the kidnapper given them so much time? Nate thought the whole thing must have been planned on the fly. How much of it had been Leslie's idea, and how much Rick's? And what would Rick do, now that Leslie was gone?

  There were too many unknowns.

  Brady looked at Sam. "What'd you learn?"

  "Richard Gray manages a copy shop in White Plains. He has an apartment not too far from there that he leased a couple of years ago."

  "A copy shop?" Nate looked at Marisa. "Doesn't seem like the ideal place to 'find yourself.'"

  Rae asked, "Which means?"

  "That's what his mother told us, that Richard was finding himself." Nate turned back to Brady. "Maybe that was her way of saying that he wasn't doing anything worth mentioning. She seemed proud of her older boys, but Rick was definitely the sheep wearing the black suit in the family."

  "Right, but..." Marisa's voice trailed off.

  Sam was furiously typing on her computer. "Looks like his oldest brother, John, followed in their dad's footsteps. He's a banker, and a very successful one, according to this website." She typed some more. "Andrew's an attorney who specializes in"—she scrolled down, reading the screen—"business and finance law." She looked up. "Again, a lot like their dad."

  "But Mrs. Gray told us Rick didn't work." Marisa looked at Nate. "Remember. She said something like, 'When he decided not to work, I decided not to support him.'"

  Nate nodded, impressed. "She did say that." He turned to Sam. "But you're saying he does work?"

  She typed, then maneuvered her mouse. "Yup. The copy shop's website lists him as the manager, and according to his bank account, he gets paid every two weeks."

 
; "He didn't tell his mom he has a job," Rae said. "He probably figured she wouldn't be impressed."

  "And maybe the fact that he was sniffing around Jessica wouldn't have made her happy either." Brady addressed Nate. "You suppose she knows where Jessica lives?"

  Nate looked at Marisa, who shrugged. "No idea." He turned to Brady. "What about the car. Did you—?"

  "You asked me to look for a silver sedan, right?"

  Marisa turned to him, eyes wide. "Why? What didn't you tell me?"

  "I didn't think of it until you'd gone to bed. I couldn't figure out why Rick looked familiar to me. Even before you asked me to snap his photo, I was trying to place him. Last night, I realized that he was the guy who was trying to steal your sister's purse. It was all a set-up."

  Marisa's eyes filled. "From the very start. Of course it was, but still... I never knew she could be so devious."

  "Wait, though," Sam said. "Why would she go to all that trouble? Why not just knock on your door?"

  Nate shrugged. "We'll never know for sure, but what better way to get me on her side than to have me rescue her first? Not only did I help her, but I brought her into my house. I was tending her wounds when she told me she was there to see me. She set herself up from the very start as the victim. It's pretty ingenious, if you ask me."

  "Diabolical," Marisa said. "And you know what else? Leslie came to Mexico with that frizzy hair and no makeup, baggy clothes, but at her house, I saw high-end clothes and all sorts of makeup and hair stuff." She looked at Nate. "She wanted us to see her as this... Well, victim is the right word. A frumpy, powerless victim. When really... And now she's dead."

  Nate squeezed her hand and looked at Brady. "What's next?"

  Brady said, "Richard Gray owns a red Audi A5."

  Sam typed quickly and turned the computer so he could see the photo she'd pulled up on Google.

  "Definitely not the car I saw that day."

  "Your sister, though"—Brady nodded at Marisa—"owned a Chevy Impala." He looked at Nate. "Silver."

  Sam typed again, turned the computer so Nate could see the sedan. Looked just like it.

  Brady cocked his head at Nate. "That's the car you saw?"

  "Yup."

  "Good," Brady said. "Good thinking. Helps to know what we're looking for. About the job... We should call and see if he's there."

  Rae stood. "I'll do it. You guys keep talking."

  Nate watched as Rae glanced at Johnny, found her phone, and dialed. Seemed a waste of time. Obviously, the guy wasn't at work. He turned back to Sam. "The apartment's probably our best bet. Can you see if he has a landline?"

  She shook her head. "Already checked."

  "We need to get somebody there to check on it." Nate looked at Brady. "Know anybody in that area who could see if anybody's home?"

  Brady shook his head. "I don't. Never been to that neck of the woods. I could call the police department—"

  "No!"

  Brady nodded at Marisa. "Figured you'd say that." He looked around the table, waiting for ideas. When nobody supplied any, he said, "We could call a private investigator."

  Nate started to agree when a memory filled his mind. Two very scary men in a minuscule house in a tiny village in Mexico.

  He looked at Marisa. "Would your friend help us?"

  She tilted her head.

  "Ramón. Remember, he gave us a phone number of a guy in New York. Said the guy could help us."

  "Oh. I don't know. Should we get them involved?"

  "Ramón's on your side, right? He wants to help you find Ana. All we need is for someone to knock on the guy's door and see if he's there. If he's not there, maybe he could go inside, get a look around." He looked at Brady. "An investigator probably wouldn't do that for us, but I bet this friend of Ramón's knows somebody who would. They could see if Ana's there, or if there's any trace of her."

  Rae slid back into her seat, and Nate looked at her. "Just hung up with the assistant manager, who said Rick took a week of vacation." She lifted her eyebrows. "Who are we talking about?"

  Brady cleared his throat. "Someone Marisa knows." His gaze flicked from Marisa's to Nate's.

  "He's a man from my village," Marisa said. "We saw him the night..."

  The night Ana was kidnapped, but Nate didn't supply the words.

  "Before we came here," Marisa said. "He runs the local drug cartel. He gave us the name of a man he works with in New York"

  Brady grimaced. "Doesn't seem like the kind of guy we want to be involved with."

  Rae said, "Exactly. Which makes him a perfect candidate." She looked at Marisa. "Would you be willing to call him?"

  Marisa sat a little straighter. "I'll do whatever I have to do to find my daughter."

  "I have his number." Nate stood and headed for his room. "Be right back."

  When they'd been in line for security back at the airport in Acapulco, he'd found the note in his pocket and shoved it in his wallet. He pulled out the paper and read it. Both names and numbers had been printed in neat, block letters.

  Was this a good idea? What if this Julio or one of his men actually discovered Rick at the apartment. What should they do? Maybe Julio could tail him or put a tracker on the silver sedan or something. Or just call the police. Marisa wouldn't like that idea, but it was the best choice. They'd take it seriously—the guy was a murderer.

  He carried the paper back to the table, where he picked up on his friends' conversation.

  "Whatever you do," Brady was saying, "don't let on that you know who he is."

  Marisa nodded as Nate slid into his seat. "We talking about when Rick calls?"

  "Yeah." Brady met Nate's eyes. "Why do you think he gave you this much time?"

  "I've been thinking about that. I think the first few days, like you said, they were trying to get back. And then, they didn't really have a plan."

  "And Leslie was probably urging him to be patient with me," Marisa said.

  "Right." Nate found himself pulling her hand into his. She rarely shrank away from the physical contact, and if he wasn't mistaken, it helped her relax. He could hardly help touching her. Maybe when this was all over... He couldn't even let himself think it. If they got Ana back, and if he didn't screw it up in his attempts to help, maybe Marisa might see him as more than just the guy who'd led the kidnappers straight to her. But there was no way to know right now, and even if he could trust his own feelings, hers were all out of whack. No, Nate needed to support Marisa with his feet firmly planted in the friend-zone.

  He squeezed her hand. "You ready to call Julio?"

  Marisa turned her attention away from Brady and onto him, and even with her eyes red and puffy, no makeup, and grief etched on her face, he barely kept himself from wrapping her in his arms.

  "What should I ask him to do exactly?"

  They'd been over this a few times already, but Marisa seemed to be having trouble concentrating. No sleep, drenched in fear and worry, it was no surprise. "Knock on the door, see if Rick's there. If he's not, and if Julio doesn't object, maybe he could step inside, see if he sees anything fishy, anything that might tell us where he is now." Nate looked at Brady. "Can you think of anything else?"

  "I'm not about to endorse breaking and entering."

  Sam shot Brady a look. "The man's a kidnapper and a murderer."

  "I know that. But if this Julio gets caught, he'll be guilty of a felony. I'm just saying—"

  "If he's willing," Sam said, "we should let him do it."

  "Aren't you supposed to be the Christian here? All moral and..."

  Sam glared at Brady, and he shut up.

  Rae addressed Marisa. "Do what you think is best, but I'm with Nate and Sam. If he's willing to step inside and have a look around, that'd be great. Just encourage him to wear gloves and not to leave a trace."

  Marisa nodded, pulled her hand away from Nate's, and slid her chair back. "Can I borrow you phone? I don't want to use the one Rick gave me. Just in case."

  "Of course." Nate
handed it to her, and she walked away. She'd chosen a different pair of jeans and a lightweight sweater that hugged her curves. She silently paced on the hardwood floor in the living room as she waited. A moment later, he heard her melodic voice, though aside from Julio's name and hers, he didn't understand a single word. If he were going to stay with this woman, he might have to take Spanish lessons.

  Stay with her? Sheesh, Nate. Get a grip.

  "Are you okay?" Sam asked.

  Nate realized he'd been staring and turned back to the table. "I'm fine. Just worried about her. And Ana."

  Her face took on some sort of knowing glow, and Rae's matched it. Nosy women. He pushed back in his chair and stood to refill his coffee mug. The coffee had just finished brewing when Marisa disconnected the call.

  "He said he'll do it. He's leaving the city now."

  Brady, Rae, and Sam joined them around the bar.

  "How did he sound?" Nate asked. "Like he was helping because you used Ramón's name, or—"

  "Actually, Ramón contacted him a few days ago and told him to expect my call. He also said that Ramón told him he owed me a great debt because of my service to his town and that Julio should do whatever I asked." She shook her head as if she couldn't understand the man's attitude, but Nate got it. Wherever she went, Marisa would be a blessing.

  "Julio sounded"—she tilted her head to think—"honored. And eager to please."

  "Good news," Rae said.

  "Not only that." Marisa shifted to face her. "But I'd sort of expected him to sound like a thug. He's one of Ramón's colleagues, and Ramón is... Well, he's well respected, but he's a criminal." She turned to Nate. "You know what I mean?"

  "I do."

  "But Julio sounded educated. In fact, he answered in English, and his accent was nearly perfect. We just spoke in Spanish because I offered."

  "Drug dealers need lawyers and accountants, too," Brady said.