Dangerous Lies (37 page)

Because I didn’t want to feel alone, I let him gather me in his arms.

“You’re in witness protection,” he repeated, his voice mostly steady. “And your name’s not Stella. Am I allowed to ask questions? Because I’ve got a few. But they can wait. If you’re not ready, I can wait.”

He had questions. I hadn’t thought about those. My hands were shaking and I squeezed them into fists. Opened, closed.

He said, “I don’t know much about witness protection, but I’m thinking the crime wasn’t run-of-the-mill. I’m thinking drugs, human trafficking, weapons, terrorism—something serious. Organized crime. Run by dangerous people.”

I nodded, and while Chet tried to keep his expression normal, ice-cold fear seized his eyes.

I said, “The U.S. attorney’s office sent me to Thunder Basin to hide. Because the man who’s hunting me? The man I agreed to testify against? He’s very dangerous.”

“This man—he’s in Philadelphia.”

“Yes.”

His eyes were glued to mine, and the worry hadn’t faded. “Is he Mafia?”

“Cartel. One of the largest controlling drug trade on the East Coast.”

“Are you safe?”

“I think so. Carmina thinks so too. She’s part of my cover story. I’m sorry I lied to you. I wanted you to know the real me, but I was scared.”

Chet shook his head. “Don’t say that. I know the real you. I haven’t spent the entire summer with a stranger. You may think you’re a good actor, but no one can keep up a charade for that long. I know you,” he repeated, each word spoken with confidence.

“I’m glad you think so,” I said quietly. “But there’s more I lied about. A lot more.” Dredging up courage, I drew a supporting breath. “The crime I witnessed was murder. In my house. I had come home late, very late, and there was blood everywhere. A man had been shot—in the head.” I squeezed my eyes to flush out the horrific, unwanted memory. “There were pieces of him splattered on the wall. All that blood . . . it painted the walls.” My breath came choppy and quick.

“Breathe,” Chet instructed me. He took my hands, squeezing them gently, rubbing circles over my knuckles. “Nice and easy. Deep breaths. You’re not there anymore. You’re here with me.”

“The dead man—I knew him. He was my mom’s first dealer. She called him the Pharmacist. He’d fronted her a lot of prescriptions, but she’d never paid him back. She dropped him hard and fast when Danny Balando came into her life. Danny supplied her with heroin and put on a show of being interested in her, probably to get her to buy more. She thought he was her boyfriend. The night the Pharmacist was murdered, he came to our house demanding money. My mom left the room, pretending to get cash, but instead she called Danny. Trigger was telling the truth, Chet. My mom’s an addict. She isn’t dead. She spent the summer in rehab.”

I paused, giving him a moment to reply, but he watched me in silence, a ghost of something dark and strained shadowing his eyes.

“My boyfriend, Reed, was at my house that night too. He was upstairs, asleep in my bed, waiting for me to come home. He heard the shot and ran downstairs. Danny dragged him outside and beat him to make him forget what he’d seen and threaten him into silence. At least, that’s what I used to think.” I pressed my fingers to my eyes, trying to alleviate the sting. “Now I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything. Part of me thinks Reed might have been selling my mom OxyContin and Danny found out. If Reed was selling my mom OxyContin, it would have competed with Danny’s heroin. What if Danny beat Reed to scare him off his turf? That’s how he viewed my mom—as property. She thinks he was her boyfriend, but he wasn’t. He was a criminal. A dangerous, manipulative, lying criminal. He was the worst thing that ever happened to her.”

Chet dragged his thumbs over my cheeks, drying them. “That must have ripped you up, seeing your mom treated that way. And it must have angered you to watch her allow it.”

“I knew Danny Balando was dangerous, but after I called the police to report the murder, and they took me to the station, I found out they’d been trying to catch him for years. They believed he was deeply embedded in the cartel, but they didn’t have proof. They’d never been able to make a case stick.”

“You helped them catch him.”

A new wave of shame rolled through me. “When I came home that night, the night of the murder, my mom was sitting in a chair, feet away from the Pharmacist’s dead body. Her face was sheet white. Mascara had run down her eyes. She was shivering. And she was holding a gun in her lap. The murder weapon.

“I panicked. There wasn’t time to think. I didn’t want to lose her—I was scared of being alone. And in some messed-up, twisted way, I was used to taking care of her, so the urge to protect her was my first instinct. The gun—I took it. I got in my car and drove. I knew where the remains of an old colonial mansion were. Downhill from the ruins, deep in the woods, I knew there was an icehouse cut into the hillside. An iron grate barred the entrance, and vines and weeds had grown to cover the facade. No one played there, not even children. I tossed the gun through the iron bars. No one would ever find it. Then I drove home and called the police. I told my mom to take whatever drugs she needed to pass out. For the first time, I wanted her high. I told her that when she woke, the police would question her, and she should say she knew nothing. I told her I would handle everything. I called the police, and when they came, I—I—”

“You told them Danny Balando shot the Pharmacist.”

“I lied to the police to cover for my mom. I never imagined they’d put us in witness protection. I never imagined I’d have to lie to the prosecutor, the U.S. marshals who risked their lives to guard me, and a whole townful of people I’d grow to care about. Over and over I had to lie, each time feeling more guilty and ashamed and trapped. I thought the police would arrest Danny and he’d be out of my mom’s life for good. There wasn’t time to think it all through. I had to act. Danny Balando was a horrible person. It seemed fair that he should go to prison. I told myself I was doing the right thing.” I looked into Chet’s eyes, too lost in my grief to see what emotions were playing out on his face. “Danny Balando is a terrible man, but he isn’t guilty of this crime. My mother is.”

“You covered for your mom because she was all you had. You loved her, and you wanted to protect her. That’s what love does, Stella. It makes us loyal. Fiercely loyal.”

“I lied to the police. I could be charged with perjury. I could go to prison. If I come forward, my mom will definitely go to prison.” I stared helplessly at him, wishing he could tell me it wouldn’t happen that way, but I’d had the entire summer to think it through from every angle. I was backed into a corner. There wasn’t a trapdoor I could help my mom escape through. She’d committed murder. If I came forward, she would go down for it.

If I didn’t come forward, she’d continue hurting people. She would steal, lie, and cheat. Anything to get high. If the cravings became bad enough, I feared her crimes would become more dangerous and destructive. I was being forced to choose between my mom and strangers I might never meet. But those strangers were someone’s daughter. Someone’s boyfriend. Someone’s loved one.

Chet took my face in his hands, resting his forehead against mine. I could feel the sweet softness of his breath. His hands were cool and steady, and as he stroked my hair behind my ears, I had no choice but to look at him. “I wish I could make it go away, or take it from you and deal with it myself,” he said. “I wouldn’t think twice—if I could take this off your shoulders, I would. It’s agony to see you hurting, especially since all I ever wanted was to make you happy. To love you.”

“How can you love me?” I said, crying softly. “I’m a liar.”

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t say that again. Early on this summer, back when you and Carmina used to fight every chance you got, I stood quietly by. Because I knew the two of you would work it out. You didn’t need me. Well, you need me now. You need me to tell you the truth, because you’re in too deep to see what’s plainly in front of you. Your mom made some lousy choices. I don’t know the whole of it, but I’ve heard enough to know she made your life hell. It scarred you and messed you up. I’m not going to tell you what I think of her, because nobody deserves to hear those things about their own mother. I don’t care how sorry or pathetic her life was—she had a responsibility to you. You were a kid, a girl who needed her mom. She shouldn’t have put that weight on your shoulders.”

“Carmina told me her addiction is to blame, it’s the disease—”

“Yeah?” he said harshly. “Carmina’s a better person than me. The hell with your mom. She hurt and neglected you. She put you in this position, and it kills me to see you in pain.”

“Tell me what to do, Chet. Please help me.”

“You know what you have to do.”

I shook my head sorrowfully. “If I tell the truth, they’ll arrest her. She’ll go to prison. And I’ll be alone. I’ll be completely alone.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentling as he tilted my chin up. “You have me. You have Carmina. You have people who care about you here in Thunder Basin. Did I mention you have me? In case I failed to make it clear, you can count on me. Not just today, but always. I’m
here
for you, Stella.”

Through the tears, I felt choking guilt. He was here for me, but I was gone tomorrow. Why couldn’t I tell him?

Because I didn’t want to break his heart. No. Because I didn’t want to break my own. I was still searching for some way to avoid it. Tonight, I reminded myself, was for exorcising the past. Tomorrow I would face the future. Tomorrow I would be strong enough to tell him.

He said, “I’m sorry your mom put you in this hard place. I know you think you can’t do the right thing, but I’ve seen you be brave too many times to doubt you.”

Exhausted, I climbed to my feet. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to loosen the knots of tension. Chet rose too and wrapped his arms around me from behind. He kissed the base of my spine softly, then nestled his chin on my shoulder, his eyes seeming to pinpoint the same part of the swimming hole where I was staring absently.

“Going home?” he asked.

“I have to tell Carmina the truth. All of it. Tonight. Before I lose my courage.”

Despite the somber mood, he smiled. “Well, hop on, then. I’ll give you a piggyback ride home.”

It felt wrong to smile back, but I felt myself do it anyway. Chet had a way with me. I was going to miss him, really miss him. I jumped on his back, and he grasped my legs and hiked me higher. I took a mostly deep breath. Everything was going to be okay. At least for tonight. I believed it, because when I was with him, all my fears seemed to fade.

CHET AND I SAUNTERED HOME,
our clothes and bodies dripping water. He took my towel, tossed it over his shoulder, and reached for my hand. After everything we’d done tonight, it seemed silly to feel a thrill over such a small gesture, but I wanted to remember the little and big things equally.

As we walked under the boughs of the cottonwood trees, their leaves rustled and whispered like old ladies gossiping at the sight of late-night lovers sneaking home. Earlier, I’d promised myself there would be no regrets tonight, and I’d kept my word. I’d wanted to share something true and real with Chet before I left. And I’d wanted something real from him, too. I’d wanted
him
. He was the only one I wanted. Even now, as I glanced at the moonlight dancing in the hollows of his cheekbones, I felt a warm stirring of desire. I’d never felt like this before, and the contrast between Chet and Reed was as clear as comparing summer to winter.

I’d been attracted to Reed because I was lonely and scared and I needed someone to help me forget about my problems at home. He’d listened and taught me how to be tough—by example. In return, I slept with him. Looking back, I thought it felt more like a business transaction than a wild, heart-stopping romance. Fear and desperation weren’t reasons to love someone. Love shouldn’t need a reason, I decided. It was a deep bond, a commitment. It should steal your breath away. It should never make you compromise yourself.

When we reached Carmina’s, her truck wasn’t in the drive.

“What time is it?” I asked Chet.

“Nearly ten.”

I exhaled, nodding to myself. I’d hoped she would already be inside so I wouldn’t have time to lose my nerve, but I wouldn’t have to wait long. She’d be home from Bible study soon.

He walked me to the door, then took both my hands, twining our fingers. “Want me to stay until Carmina gets back?”

“No. I need a minute to gather my thoughts.”

He laid a hand on my cheek. “Tell her what you told me. You’ve already done it once. Hard part’s over.”

Logically, I knew he was right. If only my thundering heart felt the same. This was it. I was coming clean and owning up to the consequences. I was relieved and maybe even a little proud to discover it was nervous anticipation I felt, not fear.

“I’ll come by tomorrow. Take you to breakfast,” he offered.

“That would be nice.” And at breakfast, I would tell him. I would not spoil tonight. It was the last of the selfish things I would do for myself, and I wasn’t compromising. Weeks, months, years from now, I wanted to remember this as a perfect night. My perfect night with the first guy I’d ever loved.