Behind the Lies (A Montgomery Justice Novel) (13 page)

“Is this your secret hideout?” Sam’s voice piped up from the doorway.

He hovered. Zach could tell the boy was itching to enter. With a quick swivel, Zach faced the awestruck boy.

“Do you like it?”

Sam nodded and shifted from foot to foot.

“You wanna come in?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You’d let me? My dad never lets me near his stuff. One time—”

The boy paused and looked down at his feet.

Zach leaned toward Sam. “What happened?”

“He yelled. Really mean. Then Mommy yelled back.” Sam lifted his gaze to Zach’s. “I don’t like when they yell.”

“Sometimes grown-ups yell, Sam.”

“I know. But I still don’t like it.”

Zach ruffled Sam’s hair. “Do you like video games? I’ve got some cool ones upstairs.”

Sam nodded. Zach turned off the system. If he wanted information about Brad, he’d have to find another way.

The question remained, who’d removed his access to the secure systems?

Farzam entered his cramped Kabul home after bouncing over dirt roads up the hills surrounding the city. He shouldn’t be living in this pigsty. He was a scientist. An educated man. But he’d fallen mightily over the last six months. From a well-respected member of the community to practically a beggar. And all because his brother-in-law had been stupid enough to deal with the Americans. Their CIA had promised Pendar the world.

Look what it had gotten him and his sister. A spray of bullets, and their daughters taken as slaves.

A loud knock sounded on the door.

Farzam’s entire body shook as he turned to the flimsy barrier. What if he didn’t answer? Would they go away?

The next pounding shook the door on its hinges. He had no choice. He swallowed and slowly opened to the outside.

A man with an AK-47 shoved two filthy girls at him. “Khalid sends his regards. They’re yours now. They’ve done their duty.”

The guerilla fighter grinned, and his nieces fell to the floor in front of him.

He lifted the chin of Aliya, the older daughter. He winced at the shamed expression in her eyes. She’d been used, fully and painfully. She would never have a husband now.

“Uncle?” the girl whispered, using one hand to cover the torn clothes. “Please, don’t turn us away.”

“Go to the kitchen. Your aunt will care for you.”

The older girl held the hand of her sister and led her out of the room. His wife let out a shocked scream.

Farzam turned so as not to reveal the sting in his eyes to the man who had delivered what was left of his sister’s family. They had been on the cusp of something wonderful. Now she was dead and he was left to clothe and feed her two daughters along with his own son. His nieces would have no life. Even if they recovered from this abuse, word would disseminate. They were ruined.

“You have a son,” the gun-wielding intruder snapped. “Bring him.”

His wife gasped from the kitchen. “No, Farzam. No.”

“Khalid wishes to be certain of your loyalty.”

Farzam bowed his head. “I am loyal.”

“You were educated in the West. Your words mean nothing. Khalid wants proof.”

Proof
? What could Farzam possibly offer? He no longer had funds, or a decent job, or access to equipment and information from any of his Western contacts.

Twelve-year-old Hamed walked into the living room, his hand in his pocket, his chin held high. “I am here, Father.”

Farzam closed his eyes. He could see the beginnings of the man his son could become. If he lived that long.

“The boy has more courage than his father. Come. If your father proves his worth perhaps you will return to this hovel. Unless you find your calling with us.”

Hamed followed the man from their house down the dusty road, the shacks and hovels framing his son’s brave figure. In triumph, the guerilla looked back at Farzam. Hamed raised his chin, but Farzam recognized the fear.

He slammed the door and kicked at the flimsy chair in the corner. The thing shattered into pieces at his feet.

He blamed Pendar, but truthfully, his brother-in-law had simply been a fool. The true cause of everything happening he could name. One man had caused his family to lose everything.

Zane Morgan.

Proof.

If Farzam killed the CIA operative, maybe he could buy back Hamed’s life and soul. Of course, Zane Morgan had disappeared in the way of all lying devils, but Farzam would find him. There had to be a way.

His wife came out of the kitchen, tears rolling down her cheeks, disappointment in her gaze. He had failed her. He wouldn’t fail his son.

Slowly Farzam conjured a plan.

“Get me a traveling bag,” he ordered his wife.

In silence, she complied.

Slowly, he packed a change of clothes and what little money he’d managed to hide away. He knew what he had to do to succeed in his quest. Bargain with those he despised, those who cared nothing for life. He would find Zane Morgan, and the man would pay just as Farzam’s family had paid. With his life. And his soul.

Jenna hadn’t intended to sleep. She glanced at the window, but no light trickled between the shutters. Darkness had fallen on the cabin. She fingered the bandage on her forehead. How long had she been out?

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet warm on the heated floor. Zach Montgomery spared no expense for his creature comforts.

Zach. The man made her flutter with conflicting emotions, and she refused to acknowledge the strange attraction haunting her. She felt safe with him, and she couldn’t believe she’d revealed so much to him. She still couldn’t understand why he wanted to help them. Who did that for someone he’d only just met?

Jenna rose from the bed and took a survey of her body. Sore, but steady. The ache in her head had muted into a dull throb,
and nausea no longer gurgled in her belly, threatening to rise to her throat.

Which meant she would leave tomorrow. Into the unknown. With her son.

Swallowing down the trepidation, Jenna padded toward the kitchen. Sam’s laughter trickled out to her, the sweet voice yanking on her heart. When was the last time she’d heard her son giggle quite that way?

A low belly laugh followed and she pressed open the swinging oak door. Sam sat on a stool and threw mushrooms into a big pot. Spaghetti sauce laced with oregano wafted across the room. Her stomach rumbled.

Forcing herself to smile despite the awkward way Zach had left her room, Jenna stepped to the stove, peering into the simmering pot. “So, a man who can cook, too? Are there any more surprises?”

Zach gave her a wicked wink. “None with a G rating.”

This was a different man from the one she’d met—he was a charmer and a flirt. Zach’s gaze slowly scanned her T-shirt and jeans. Heat rushed to Jenna’s cheeks. Nothing was sexy about this outfit, except that Zach seemed to pause on each and every curve. Jenna crossed her arms in front of her and focused on her son, anything she could do to keep her attention from the man who seemed to compel her gaze toward him with every movement.

She flicked the hair off Sam’s forehead. “What are you doing, baby?”

“The Dark Avenger is making
sketti
, Mommy. I’m helping.” Sam tossed in a few more mushrooms.

“I can see that.”

“Do you feel like being a sous chef?” Zach asked. “We could use a salad.”

Jenna nodded and walked over to the counter where fresh lettuce and tomatoes waited on the counter.

“Did you go to the store?”

“As a distraction while you were in the CAT scan. Sam here said spaghetti was your favorite.”

“Oh, he did,
did he
?” She nuzzled her little boy’s cheek. “It couldn’t be that
someone
here decided I liked spaghetti, because it’s
his
favorite food.”

Sam gave Zach a sheepish look. “It’s really
my
favorite.”

“I got that.” Zach grinned and sprinkled in a bit of cheese.

So strange. A family cooking together. Like evenings she’d spent with her father after her mother had died. She’d wanted this with Brad, but she’d learned that first week of their marriage that Brad had very specific ideas of her role as a wife. At his beck and call. A hot meal when he chose to come home. She’d shoved the disappointment aside in exchange for her so-called
perfect
life. And yet, today, a movie star in a cabin in Colorado made her feel more a part of a family than her husband ever had.

Jenna finished putting together the salad and set it on the table. “Anything else I can do?”

“You must be feeling better. How’s the head?”

“Could be worse.”

A timer rang.

“Grab the garlic bread from the oven,” Zach said. “The basket’s on the table.”

Jenna tried to align the man she’d imagined to a man who had a bread basket. She quirked an eyebrow.

“My mother. She gave all of us one for Christmas a couple years ago. Said since the only dish my brothers and I knew how to make was pasta—despite her desperate tutorials in the kitchen—the only way we’d get a girl to stay past one night was if she thought we were halfway civilized.”

Jenna would love to meet the woman who clearly held the power in the Montgomery clan. “I think I’d like your mother.”

“Everyone does,” Zach said.

“Do you see her often?” Jenna asked as she carried the bread to the table.

“Not enough.” His face fell a bit. “After my dad died. Well, it was hard.”

Silence spread between them. Jenna could only offer the standard sympathy. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Zach’s mask fell away. For a moment, Jenna caught sight of something she hadn’t expected. Real pain. Real suffering.

An uncomfortable quiet settled over the kitchen, with the bubbling of sauce and Sam’s quiet humming the only sounds.

Jenna cleared her throat. “I lost my dad, too. When I was fourteen. Car accident.”

Zach touched her arm. “That must have been tough.”

His hand was warm and comforting against her arm, but she couldn’t let herself lean into him. She had to be as strong as she’d been then. “I survived. Just like I’ll survive now.”

Zach nodded, a speculative expression on his face, then he directed his attention to Sam. “OK, buddy. Time for dinner.”

Sam yelled his approval then shot across the room to the table while Zach drained the pasta. He mixed in the sauce, then
carried the steaming bowl over and set it next to the Romano cheese.

Without comment, he pulled out Jenna’s chair for her and she slipped into the seat. His mother had definitely taught her son manners.

In the next half an hour, Jenna laughed more than she had in years. Zach told her story after story about strange and unusual happenings on movie sets and location shoots. None of which answered the question of why he would have an elaborate escape plan ready. Should she ask him? Brad had taught her to be careful about questions.

Dampening her aroused curiosity, she pushed her chair out. “First we do the dishes, then it’s time for bed, Sam.”

“Aww, Mom.”

“I mean it.”

He bit his lip. “Where do I sleep?”

“You can sleep with me,” she said, at the same time as Zach chimed in, “Down the hall.”

She was dubious. “I don’t think—”

“There’s a room with bunk beds. If Sam wants—”

“Yes. Can I, Mommy? Please?”

“Clean the dishes and no lip.”

She’d never seen her son more eager. After helping with so much enthusiasm that several puddles had to be mopped, Sam brushed his teeth—with the toothbrush Zach had purchased because he really
had
thought of everything.

Jenna tucked her son into bed and settled down beside him. She toyed with his hair.

He gazed up at her with not-completely-innocent eyes. She hated that he’d lost some of his childhood because of
Brad’s temper…and that he’d lose more innocence once their life changed.

“A story,” he pleaded. “Please.”

She kissed his forehead. At least she could give him the gift of her father. Stories and dreams. She glanced over her shoulder. Zach wasn’t there. She let out a long breath. Searching for inspiration, she noted an outline of an iron bear hanging on the wall. “Once upon a time, in the forest of a magical land, a boy lived with his mother…”