Behind the Lies (A Montgomery Justice Novel) (3 page)

She couldn’t afford to doubt. Besides, why should she be surprised that another person she’d trusted was a liar?

Fallon had blown his last chance.

Her comfortable existence might be gone, but she
would
scrape a life together. She had reason to. “
You
think. I’m out of here. His flight’s already landed. He’s an hour from home.”

The breaking news flashed on the television screen a second time. The caption scrolling across the bottom said it all.
San Francisco. Joseph Romero, primary witness for the prosecution in extortion trial, murdered while in protective custody.

“Brad was in San Francisco,” she said, her voice wooden and way too calm.

“What are you talking about?”

Another lie. “I can hear the wobble in your voice, Fallon. You’re not that good.” With a quick tug, she zipped closed the surplus store duffel. “It just flashed on the news. Brad killed Joseph Romero, didn’t he? He goes to a city. Someone dies. Isn’t that the pattern?”

A sharp curse exploded through the phone. “Look, Jenna. We believe Brad got to Romero. We don’t know how, but it doesn’t change anything. We can still protect you.”

“Is that what you told Joseph Romero?”

“Damn it, Jenna. You need us.”

“I can’t trust you to protect us. I should have known better. I’ll be in touch when we’re safe. Maybe.”

She slammed the phone against his shouts of protest and hung her head in her hands. What was she going to do? How in God’s name was she going to protect her son?

“Mommy? Are you all right?” Sam’s tentative voice filtered across the room.

She pasted on a cheerful smile before she lifted her head. She clasped the locket dangling around her neck, the locket her father had given her, and squeezed it tight. She met her son’s troubled gaze. His green eyes—so like hers. Nothing like his father’s.

Her five-year-old’s presence stiffened her spine. She was doing this for him. He’d given her the strength to fill out the divorce papers and the courage to call the FBI. He’d give her the strength to protect him and the strength to abandon everything she’d believed she wanted.

Now she knew the truth. Her dream was based on a lie.

“Sure, baby.” Moving a shaking hand under the edge of the bed frame, she searched until her fingertips encountered the bundle of cash she’d taped there while Brad had been barricaded in the office on the phone. Arranging one more of his “deals.” Now she knew that “deal” had been murder for hire.

Sam jumped on her bed and tugged at the duffel. “Are we going on a trip?”

“A quick one, Sam. Go grab one toy you want to take with you.”

Oh, that hurt. Her throat thickened, but she swallowed past the regret. She didn’t want to limit Sam. He was giving up everything, too, but they had to travel light until she found a place for them to be safe.

“But Dad’s coming home today. And he’s taking me to a baseball game soon. He promised.”

“Change of plans. It’s a surprise.” She forced a big grin. “You’ll love it. I promise.”

Eventually. Maybe.
But at least you’ll be alive, and safe. Not the son of a man who kills people for a living.

She glanced at the bedside clock. Not enough time to think about any of the memories she had to leave behind. They were false anyway. All except one. She snagged a set of photos of Sam from the dresser. It would have to do.

One look at his mutinous pout and she sighed. Except for her eyes, he looked
so
much like his father. “I’m not playing around, Sam. Grab your stuff or leave it here, but we’re in the car in five minutes.”

Stomping shoes and a slamming door calmed her a bit. He was mad, but he’d do it. Thank God. Her little boy still minded. Most of the time.

She turned toward the closet filled with boundless clothes, a plethora of shoes, and all the trappings she believed had made her life complete. She’d believed in Brad, her Prince Charming. She’d been wrong.

Jenna hitched the bag onto her shoulder and hurried down the stairs. She set the duffel by the door to the garage. She and Sam would start over. Everything would be fine. It had to be.

Her heart pounded and a niggling skittered up her spine. “Let’s go, Sam,” she called up to the second floor, trying to keep her voice steady. She could do this. A few more minutes and they would be free—then she’d have to figure out how to get out of this mess. But she would—for him.

He sulked down the stairs, his chin dropped, holding a baseball glove and ball in his hand.

Not subtle at all.

“Good choice,” she said with a smile. At least she could speak the truth about one thing. Sam could play baseball anywhere. They would find a new life. Somewhere.

The sound of the automatic garage door opening slammed shut the hope. It couldn’t be. He hadn’t had time to get here from the airport. Unless he’d taken an earlier flight. Stupid, stupid.

“Sam.”

His eyes widened. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

She grabbed his shoulders. “I don’t have time to explain. Someone bad is breaking in the house. We’ve got to run. Don’t make a sound.”

She’d thought he would argue, but the panic in her voice must’ve gotten through to him. She’d scared him, but hell, she was terrified. If Brad found her, she was dead. Then what would happen to Sam?

She took one last glance toward the hallway leading to the garage. Her duffel sat there waiting. The money. Their future. But she couldn’t risk going for it.

She clutched Sam’s hand and ran to the back entrance.

“What about my ball and glove?”

“There’s no time.” She struggled with the doorknob. She sucked in a deep breath.

For Sam.

She opened the French doors leading into their large, elaborate backyard. She twisted the lock and closed the door behind them.

A waterfall trickled to the side, hiding any noise they made. Maybe…just maybe…she tugged Sam across the grass, behind a grove of trees, into what her son had termed “the jungle.”

Thank God for the dense pines.

A door slammed open. “Jenna!” A voice bellowed from the back porch. “Get in this house. Now!”

Her entire body stilled, resisting the urge to follow his orders. She’d gotten into the habit of obeying to protect her son. No more. This wasn’t how life should be.

“Daddy?” Her son peeked between the leaves.

Jenna tugged him back. Anxiety had darkened his expression.

She swallowed and knelt in front of Sam. “Listen to me, honey. I need you to help me. I’m afraid. Do you believe me?”

His gaze returned to where his father raged, kicking the patio furniture around, and nodded.

“For now, can you just trust me?”

Brad’s fierce scowl didn’t resemble the man who’d swept her off her feet. This man was definitely
not
Prince Charming. And he wasn’t father of the year, either.

Her son stared at his father’s expression. “Daddy can be mean sometimes.”

She kissed his forehead as Brad peered through the darkness. With a violent curse he disappeared into the house.

She had to move. Now. He’d already seen the duffel by the door. He knew she was on the run. He would search everywhere and use his contacts at the bus station, the airport, the train station. Without the stash of money or clothes, she’d have to be even more creative than she’d imagined.

Laughter filtered from the party next door. Jenna rubbed her temple. No help there. She couldn’t risk anyone knowing she was leaving. Brad could be very persuasive. She needed to disappear. Somewhere her husband would never guess.

She had no one to call. No real friends. She’d never been very social, and Brad had plucked her off the streets when she was so young. She was truly and utterly alone, except for her son.

A searchlight from the house behind theirs flickered on. Eight on the nose. Zach Montgomery’s automated security lights were like clockwork.

The actor’s house was empty. At least she could get out of sight for a few hours. Figure things out.

“We have to leave Daddy alone, don’t we?” Sam said, his voice so sad her heart wept.

“For a little while. Let’s go, baby.”

She guided her son another twenty feet through the designed chaos of their landscaping to the back wall. It was high, but they could climb the tree and drop into Zach’s backyard.

“Come on, buddy. Up and over,” she whispered.

“How long is Daddy going to be mad?”

He scampered up the wall. She’d answer his questions later. She was just thankful he believed her for now. Because if Brad found them, she was dead, and her son would be raised by an assassin.

T
HE
G
ULFSTREAM’S ENGINES
were too silent. If only they’d roar so Zach didn’t have to listen. He’d never returned to the set. Theresa had ordered him to the airport, not even giving him time to pack.

He hunkered down in the private plane’s butter-soft leather seat and glared at the communication screen in front of him. His entire body vibrated with fury. His knuckles had turned white. “Do you have any idea of the problems you’ve caused? How are you going to explain my disappearance to the movie’s director?”

“I’m not,” Theresa said. Even on the video call, he recognized the pained expression on her face—and the guilt.

Oh man. Zach tilted his head back and groaned. “
You
ordered me to take that gig. I told you I’m better off taking bit parts. This was an A-list movie, Theresa. You knew that. Going AWOL will tank what’s left of my acting career. I may never get another part. You do realize that if I become too flaky an actor, there’s no more cover, no more entry into sensitive countries? You lose me as an asset.”

Like he cared about the acting. He
did
care if he had no more reason to go to Turkey or Iraq or Uzbekistan.

“We may have lost you anyway,” she whispered, glancing around.

The crystal glass with two fingers of scotch stopped on the way to Zach’s lips. “Whoa. Wait a minute. What the hell are you talking about?”

“A classified file about your last mission is missing. After the blown handoff, we’re certain your identity’s been compromised. So are the powers that be. It’s not looking good for you to continue your double life, Zach.”

He stilled in the seat and his gaze narrowed on the woman who’d been his handler for the last five years. This couldn’t be happening. She’d taught him to kill, to lie, to cheat, to steal…all in the name of justice.

Funny thing was, he’d discovered he’d been born for deceit. And for this job.

Zach tossed the rest of his drink back and slammed the crystal glass on the elegant table in the middle of the cabin. “Find a way to get me back into the game, Theresa.”

He kept the desperation rising within him out of his voice, but he needed the Company. She didn’t know how much. The thought of losing the only value he had to offer—his entire body went cold. He hadn’t felt such a chill since he’d held his dying father in his arms.

His talent agent had called the day after his father’s funeral offering him a location shoot no one else wanted. In Iraq.

At that moment he’d known what he had to do. He might not ever earn his father’s forgiveness, but Zach intended to keep his promise. Even if his father had called him a liar.

Zach had phoned his brother Seth. The rest had been easy. Seth’s black ops contacts had put him in touch with the CIA. They’d been looking for someone who could get into Iraq and other sensitive countries without suspicion. Who better than a
third-rate playboy and has-been actor who could be convincing in one role in public but become someone else in thirty minutes or less?

“Theresa, don’t tell me you can’t find a way. You can make anything happen.” He prayed she couldn’t see the panic that clawed up and down his insides.

She frowned, the line between her eyebrows deepening. “I’m working on it, but unless we determine who took the file…”

She couldn’t stop the pitying look on her face.

“I’m toast.” Zach could see his entire existence slipping past like the insubstantial cloud outside his window.

“Pretty much. Look, find a place to hide off radar. I’ll be in touch. Just stay out of sight. If they know who you are and tell the wrong people…”

“I’m dead.”

“Pretty much.”

“Thanks for the positive energy, Theresa.”

“Anytime, sugar.”

She ended the video call, and Zach let out a slow sigh. He stared out the plane’s window, fighting the suffocating wave of uncertainty—not the adrenaline-rushing good kind either. No, this was an oppressive, paralyzing emotion. The kind he’d avoided for five years.

He wouldn’t go there. He glanced at his watch. They had to have crossed into California by now. To the false life he’d created with money he’d earned after
Dark Avenger
topped the box office. Had it really been a decade ago?

His house in La Jolla had cost millions. Theresa had found it for him, and he’d paid cash, wanting a place to call his own, needing a place to disappear away from the endless Hollywood
parties and temptation. But the property taxes. How long could he keep up the façade before he’d have to crawl back to Denver and prove everyone right? That he was a screwup.

He shoved the possibility aside. No way would he face his family even more of a failure.

Most of the time Zach had no problem feeding the ne’er-do-well image. Then, once in a while, one of his brothers would call, worried about him. He’d laugh off their concern. When his mom called—that was another story. Anna Montgomery would shift between blunt Irish mom and softhearted worrier. At the end of every conversation, Zach’s gut would twist with regret. He’d pushed his family away. And none of them had an inkling as to why—except Seth, who’d never give the truth away. Seth understood the risk. Not only to Zach, but his mom and brothers.

If he could find the leak, find the file, maybe, just maybe he could get back to the movie before his acting career was completely destroyed. Blame his absence on an accident—he had the scratches to prove it—or food poisoning, the flu, anything that sounded halfway reasonable. Rumors would fly over the Internet, but he’d maintain his access to Turkey.