Behind the Lies (A Montgomery Justice Novel) (6 page)

Farzam swallowed. “No, sir.”

“Very well.”

“His daughters?” Farzam asked.

“You care for Pendar’s children?”

“It is my duty.” Farzam refused to let him see how much he cared.

“It is their duty to serve. If they do well, perhaps they will be returned. Perhaps not.”

Khalid waved his hand, walked back into the building, and closed the door. Two guards pulled Setara’s screaming daughters into what looked like a men’s barracks.

They would be unable to wed after being held here. Of this, Farzam had no doubt.

His eyes burned as he stared at his sister’s torn and shredded body. She had been so smart, so beautiful. His father and mother had dressed her as a boy so she could attend school. Her education had been her downfall.

He let his gaze fall to his brother-in-law. The fool. The idealist. He had believed the CIA goon who had convinced him they would be safe, that Pendar and his family would be welcomed in the United States. Zane Morgan had caused this calamity.

He had brought dishonor and tragedy on their entire family.

Farzam would never be welcomed back at the university as a professor. His entire life had been ruined already. Once Pendar’s fate was learned, any hope of salvaging the life he had lived was gone. Khalid would see to that. His influence went well beyond the borders of the tribal lands.

The guard shoved him toward the exit. He was leaving this place. He had half expected to be taken before the firing squad as well.

He was alive.

The guard blindfolded him and led him back through the pass, through twists and turns, thoroughly confusing Farzam. Finally, the guard removed the covering over Farzam’s eyes.

“You can walk from here.”

“Water?” he asked softly.

Surreptitiously, the guard glanced from side to side. He shoved a small bottle at Farzam. “Make it last. It will be dusk soon. I wouldn’t be on the road after dark.”

Farzam started toward Kabul. Step by step he left the bodies of his family and the ruined lives of his nieces farther behind him.

Zane Morgan owed their family. He would pay.

An eye for an eye.

On his honor, Farzam would make the American suffer and die as Pendar and his sister had.

There would be no reprieve. Except in death.

Zach scanned the street, searching for anything out of place before stepping out of the taxi in front of his La Jolla mansion’s privacy gate. Behind the tall iron entrance lay the refuge Theresa had discovered for him six months ago. The ocean breezes swept across his face, the bite of sea air and salt nipping the tip of his tongue. Good to be home and not at the wrong end of an Uzi…or a knife…or suffocating.

He hadn’t almost-been-killed this many times in one day since the
Dark Avenger
movie—if his luck held.

Which was why he couldn’t stay. He had to outfit his truck and get to his Colorado safe house before anyone found him.

With a twist, he slipped a few bills from his wallet to pay the cab driver. The movement tugged at the cut across Zach’s chest. A drip trickled down his skin.
Great.
He’d reopened the wound. He needed a few butterfly bandages before making the trip.

The taxi revved and pulled away.

He dug his keys out of his pocket then scanned the front of his home, checking for signs of any intruders. The vehicle gate was closed. He eased closer. The infrared sensor positioned at the entrance didn’t indicate any tampering. Zach checked the settings. A bit of movement, but the gate hadn’t been opened from the inside or outside since he’d left months ago. Wind, a dog, a cult fan trying to get in perhaps.

He reset the sensor and pushed through the small, hidden door at the side of the driveway. Once at the front door, with practiced fingers, he ran the tips around the doorjamb and perused the sensors hidden in the hedges on either side of the threshold.

No sign of intruders.

So far so good.

He pushed inside the house and closed the door behind him. A loud beep sounded from the security system. Zach hit the code and scanned the log. No one had tripped the system.

Safe, for the moment.

Zach kneaded the muscles at the back of his neck in an attempt to stave off the building headache. First things first. He crossed the tile and headed straight for the bar. He placed his 1911 on the marble, pulled a longneck bottle out of the small refrigerator, and slammed a swallow of cold brew down his throat. With a flop he landed in a large leather chair and rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

Maybe he’d let it grow out. Fewer people would recognize him that way.

Another swig and he sighed. A beard wouldn’t stop his enemies. He couldn’t stay here. Too many people knew about the address. Hell, he was on the B-movie-star tour of fame.

He tapped the half-empty bottle and hit the remote for the large-screen television. A scan of the national and local news
revealed nothing about the abandoned airplane or two dead bodies at Montgomery Field. No locking down of the San Diego airport. No security concerns.

Someone had to have found the plane by now, which meant Theresa had done a thorough cleanup job. Now he had to do his part.

Thank God for his backup plan. Under an assumed name, he’d purchased a small piece of property hidden on the western edge of the Holy Cross Wilderness in the Colorado mountains. Just in case.

He’d always hoped he’d never need it unless he retired there.

Zach placed the bottle on the coffee table and stood. He stretched his back and made his way to the rear door. Could he afford the time for a soak in the hot tub to ease the aftereffects of oxygen deprivation?

With a flip of the floor and ceiling dead bolts, he unlocked the glass door. He slid it open. The strobe light flooded the pool and hot tub with light. Quickly, Zach shut it off. He didn’t need to advertise his presence.

He looked longingly at the water. One switch and he’d be in heaven. He tugged at his shirt and stepped into the backyard.

A loud buzzer sounded from the security panel.

Zach tensed. The front gate. He could ignore the summons. He filtered through the possibilities. He needed to know how close his enemies were—whoever they were. And truthfully, anyone really wanting to kill him wouldn’t announce their presence, they’d simply attack.

He reentered the house, crossed to the security panel, and glanced at the screen on the wall. A lone man stood at the gate, peering inside.

Zach pressed the button. “Yes?”

“This is your neighbor, Brad Walters. I need help. My wife and son are missing.”

Zach stilled. He recognized the name. He’d requested a scan of his neighbors when he’d first moved in. Nothing out of the ordinary had appeared on the initial report. Damn it. He’d hoped to come and go completely stealth, but he couldn’t turn the guy down. His family was missing. Zach pressed the code. The gate swung open. “Come in. The gate will close behind you.”

The man hesitated, then walked in. Alone. After he passed through, Zach entered the code to lock the gate.

He set the bottle on the bar, stuffed his 1911 in the back waistband of his jeans, and strode to the front door.

He peered through the peephole. The grainy view from his surveillance camera hadn’t lied. A nondescript man stood outside. Someone who would fade into the background. Not a typical look for this neighborhood with most faces either perfect from birth or sculpted to look that way.

The guy could be anyone…including the man sent to kill him. Zach would know the truth before Walters left. Poised for an attack, Zach eased open the front door, his hand gripped on the weapon.

“Thank you for answering,” the man rushed, rubbing his hands over his face. “Our backyards connect.”

He was nervous. Really nervous. And relieved.

Or a really great actor.

Zach studied his so-called neighbor. Zach rarely socialized. A few parties to keep up the appearance of his actor identity, and not much else. The guy really was forgettable until you looked
at his suit. The cut reeked of money. It would have to, living in this neighborhood.

But there was more than worry in the guy’s eyes. Intelligence, awareness, and something a bit cold. Before Zach could even process the dichotomy, Brad flashed up a picture of a woman and child.

Zach’s heart tripped like a faulty detonator. The woman’s dark hair was pulled back into a chignon, elegant and just asking to be mussed. Her emerald eyes peered out from the photo, a smile teasing their depths. She looked happy. Achingly beautiful and happy.

A hint of mischief bubbled from the expression on the boy at her side. He looked to be a bit older than Zach’s precocious niece, Joy. Maybe four or five.

The man’s expression narrowed. “You know them.”

Zach examined the photo again. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to look away. “Your wife looks familiar, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“But you
have
seen her. Today? When?”

Something wasn’t right here. A flash of caution ignited in Zach’s gut. First off, he didn’t like the coincidence. A neighbor showing up right after he arrived home. Second, he didn’t like the slight hitch of the man’s jacket on the right side.

A holstered gun could do that.

If nothing else, Zach trusted his instincts. They’d kept him alive for the last five years. The one time he ignored them…well he’d have to find another way to get Pendar and his family to safety. If they were still alive.

For now, he wanted Brad Walters away from his house.

Zach cleared his throat. “I just returned from a trip. I haven’t seen anyone today except the cabby.”

Brad’s eyes flashed from worry to irritation. “We live behind your house. Do you mind if I check your backyard?”

The request tightened the knots already tensing Zach’s shoulders. With a quick shift of his body to keep Brad at a disadvantage, Zach tilted his head, analyzing his neighbor’s expression closely. “You think your wife and son climbed into my yard? It’s a fifteen-foot wall embedded with glass at the top. It keeps the paparazzi out.”

Brad looked away. When he turned back and met Zach’s gaze, the irritation had vanished, his eyes now dark with concern.

Yeah…an actor. This guy was playing a part. The question was why.

He shuffled. “My wife is a bit…high-strung. She had a rough childhood. I don’t want my son hurt.”

In short, my wife is crazy and has taken my son. The woman in the photo didn’t look insane, but then again, Zach had seen some expert actresses over the years, and not all in the movie industry.

Something didn’t quite jibe with this guy, but Zach couldn’t come up with any factual reason to refuse a look in the backyard. To complicate matters, if the guy was telling the truth, Zach didn’t need the cops at his door questioning him. He
had
to stay off the radar.

Weighing the alternatives, Zach tightened his grip on his 1911 and moved aside. “Of course.” He led Brad through the house, studying his every move. One misplaced step and the guy would be on the floor with a .45 caliber at his head, except he didn’t make one false move…which in itself increased Zach’s suspicions. Brad was sure-footed, confident. He scanned the layout of the house but didn’t attempt to touch anything.

He didn’t plant bugs, or listening devices, or explosives. Could the guy just be worried about this wife?

Either way, Zach wanted him out. Fast.

His entire body at the ready, he cursed the situation. If he hadn’t been forced to come back for the truck, he’d never have returned home, never would have had to deal with anyone.

He opened the sliding glass door, escorted Brad into the yard, and flipped on the light.

“I saw it come on earlier,” Brad commented. “Maybe—”

“I was having a beer after a long trip and contemplating the hot tub,” Zach countered just as he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He shifted and drew Brad’s attention.

His neighbor sighed in frustration. “Jenna and I had a misunderstanding. I don’t want her to do anything rash. You have kids?”

“No. Too busy traveling,” Zach muttered, aching to get rid of the nosy guy. “I wish I could help, but I’m off again tonight. I won’t be back for a while.” He wanted anyone who asked to get the word he was gone. He didn’t need more unexpected visitors.

For the next few minutes Brad searched every inch of the backyard. Finally, he strode to the pool house and tugged at the door. To Zach’s surprise it didn’t open, and the blinds had been closed. Interesting.

Zach never locked it.

Brad’s jaw tightened and he extended a stiff hand. “Thanks for the help.”

Reluctantly Zach shook it, still not certain of the man’s motives. He trusted his gut, and instinct said Brad Walters had something to hide. “I hope your wife and son are safe.”

“Me too,” Brad commented. “Can’t be too careful. So many crazies out there these days.”

Still on guard, Zach escorted his neighbor out and through the front gate. He reengaged the locks and strode back to the bar. He snagged his beer, took a long, last swallow, and grabbed a prepaid cell phone out of the bottom drawer. Four other phones lay scattered there. He pocketed another. He couldn’t be too careful.