Diamonds Are Truly Forever: An Agent Ex Novel 2 (8 page)

He had his theories about the shooting, none of them pleasant. But he was convinced she was safe for the moment.

“Look, don’t worry. We’re taking care of things. Now go call Mom and set up lunch. Bring her by the Hook House Ale Café. I’ll give you my employee discount.” He winked at her.

Staci shook her head. “Cheapskate. You just want to keep an eye on me.”

“You always expect the worst of me,” he said, only half feigning disappointment.

Staci stared at him in that unnerving, unblinking way she had. “I always expect you to be working and putting the job first. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Securing your cover? Introduce the wife around to show you’re just an average, happily married guy. And make sure I don’t screw up at the same time.”

Drew took a deep breath. He clearly had his work cut out for him melding Staci to do his bidding unaware. Good thing he no longer had to pretend to win her back, too. He simply had to resist the urge to strangle her. Or make love to her.

“Hook House makes a mean pale ale ice cream and some very pretty Imperial Stout cupcakes. Your mom loves cake and ice cream. It’s a win–win.” He stood, grabbed the phone from the counter, and held it out to her. “No time like the present.”

*   *   *

Staci hesitated as she reached for the phone, overwhelmed by a sudden storm of panic over the thought of lying. Successfully. To her mother, of all people.

Since finding out what Drew really did for a living years ago, Staci had left the lying to her mother to him. Drew made up the stories. Staci nodded along and gave vague answers when her mother pressed her. “Drew’s out of town on business. No idea what he’s up to. He never talks much about what he does,” was her standard answer. All too true.

After Ciudad, she’d simply clammed up, claiming shock and saying she couldn’t face the memories. Her mother and Sam believed she’d been accompanying Drew on a business trip when, as an innocent tourist, she got caught crosswise in a drug-war battle in a crowded tourist area.

Ever since her screwup and the torture in Ciudad del Este, the thought of lying sent Staci into a state of panic. She paused midreach and wiped her hand on her paper napkin. The pizza was greasy, but her palms had gone clammy on her, too.

Drew shook the phone at her with the impatience of kindergartner ready for recess.

She grabbed it away from him and tried to cover her fear with defiance. “Mom’s more of a wine-bar girl. I’ll take her to Red.”

Drew shrugged again, acting too nonchalant. What was he up to?

She took the phone from him and stared at it for a second before looking back to him for help. “I’ll never pull this off. You know I can’t lie to
my mother.
” She took a deep breath and sighed, resigned. “I never could.”

Drew pulled his chair around next to her and plunked into it. He put a hand on her shoulder. A hand that was warm and sturdy, and squeezed with strength and confidence. A touch that ignited a longing in her for what used to be.
And damn him, a longing for him.

She would have shaken his hand off, but his touch felt surprisingly reassuring. Under the assault of panic, she couldn’t afford to turn away his help or comfort in any form, no matter how casual and self-serving.

“On the phone should be easy,” he said.

For you, maybe.

“I’ll give you some pointers. What do you say to some role-playing? I’ll be you and you be your mom. Sound good?”

She looked down at the table and shook her head. It sounded hideous and made her pulse shoot up by about a hundred beats a minute, not to mention made her blood pressure rise.

Be my mom! Right.
If she had any inkling what her mom would say to her, the kind of grueling, grilling questions her mom would ask, she wouldn’t be this nervous. Mom had a way of throwing curve questions at her without warning, all with a deceptively calm smile on her face.

Breathe easy,
Staci told herself.
Stay calm. Don’t throttle Drew.

They’d been over this territory before. Again and again. Drew had been trying to teach her how to lie convincingly since she’d found out he was a spy. Without any measurable success.

Her lack of skill at lying gave fodder to speculative gossip among her friends and family. It was why so many of them seemed suspicious about her relationship with Drew and about what Drew did for a living. And about the real reason he traveled so much. Think conspiracy theories gone wild.

Staci had relatives who were convinced he was a bigamist with another family squirreled away somewhere.
A real family,
implying children were part of the equation. If they only knew Drew’s opinion on children. The man wasn’t ready for them. But her family not-so-secretly wondered how she could compete with babies. Others of her blood-is-thicker-than-water family thought he was running drugs or involved in some kind of complicated Ponzi scheme.

Fortunately, none of them had ever placed a wager on whether he was a secret agent. One of her cousins had, however, given her a book on how to tell if your husband was having an affair. And her aunt professed to be an expert on spotting lipstick, and other things, that shouldn’t be on your husband’s collar.

Every day Staci stayed with Drew she put him in more danger. A quick memory flashed through her mind.

Beto Bevilacqua standing in front of her. “Where is your husband?”

“I don’t have a husband!”

At the time, she had no idea how Beto had tracked her down, or knew she was married to Drew. Drew had kept her well hidden, and she’d been so careful about making sure she wasn’t followed.

“You do. Tell me!” A memory of Beto’s hand flashed through her mind, his fingers covered with heavy metal rings as he made a fist. The veins on his arms bulging. Beto’s eyes glittering with a kind of evil she’d never seen before.

The swiftness with which his fist smacked into her jaw when she hesitated, trying to think up a lie. The searing pain that shot up her face and the ringing in her ears.

She forced the memory away, and, without thinking, rubbed the tiny scar on her chin, the one Beto’s skull ring had left.

Drew shook his head, gently removed her hand from her chin, and tucked it in her lap, clasping her hand and bringing her focus back to the present. “No face touching. It’s a dead giveaway that you’re lying.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can.”

She shook his hand off hers and looked him in the eye. “How am I supposed to lie to her about something like this, Drew? She’ll be crushed when we separate again and divorce.”

He turned her chair to face his. “I’m sorry, Stace. This is just part of the game, something we have to live with. Collateral damage is inevitable.” He sounded sincere and surprisingly patient.

“Collateral damage. Geez, Drew.” She shook her head. “Haven’t we told enough lies?”

He didn’t answer.

She sighed. “Lying to Mom now makes me as big a hypocrite as she was when cancer was killing Dad. I’ve told you this before. They lied to me. Pretended his illness was no big deal, that everything would be okay. Until the day he died, they acted as if he’d live to be a hundred.

“Mom deprived me of the memories I would have made with him if I’d known from the beginning how little time he had left.

“Lying hurts people, Drew.”

“And saves others.” Drew’s tone was gentle. “Your mother’s not a child. And we’re not lying out of some misguided notion of sparing someone’s feelings. Your life is at stake here.”

He was right. But she still didn’t like it. She blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know how you do it. When I try to lie, it’s like I’m perpetually five and stuck in that
don’t lie to your mother
mode. There’s always an involuntary, automatic instant, a second of dead air, when I struggle with myself. I know I should lie, but lying is wrong and hurts people. The thought stops me cold and gives me away.”

He was studying her. “Yeah, I know that moment. It’s the one where you pause and look up and to the left—signaling to the world you’re making up a story.”

“It’s
still
that obvious?” She thought she’d gotten better. He’d told her long ago that when people think, they look up. When they’re remembering, they look right. When they’re creating, they look left. She tried so hard not to look up at all. “Think I could pass for a leftie?” In lefties, it’s reversed.

“I think your mom knows better.”

“Yeah, probably.” She took a deep breath and tried to put a light touch on things. “How about newly ambidextrous? Ambidextrous people have to be impossible to read. Which way do they swing?”

“Who knows? Let’s work with what we have.” He reached out and squeezed her hand.

Surprised, she didn’t pull away. Or maybe it was because he was hanging on too tightly.

“Hey. Don’t beat yourself up. Looking up is automatic, subconscious. Most people don’t know how to read it. Problem is—it gives people a gut feeling that something’s off. It’s the pause that’s killing you. We’ll have to find a way to work with it.” He rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb and grinned at her. “Have I ever told you a liar’s eyes dilate?”

He looked her directly in the eye. “So do those of people who are aroused.”

She wrenched her hand out from his, resisting the urge to give him the lip lashing he deserved. “So how do you know—lust or lie? Makes it hard for a man at a bar.”

“A lot of things make it hard for a man at a bar,” he shot back.

She frowned at him. “We were talking about lying.”

“So we were.” He grinned. “I’ve been thinking about your inability to lie a lot since…”

They both knew since what and since when.

He cleared his throat. “A lot. Honesty isn’t a genetic trait. It can be taught, and so can lying.”

“So what have you come up with, Freud?”

His grinned deepened. “A somatic response.”

“What!”

“If every time you’re faced with a situation where you have to lie you know there’s something you have to remember, you’ll automatically look up and to the right and the pause will seem natural. Follow me?”

Staci nodded. “Because I’m remembering.”

“Exactly. And then—” He pointed at her. “—while you’re remembering, you’ll remember to stare directly at your subject as you create the lie. And you will tell your lie with complete confidence. And voilà, you’re the perfect liar.”

She frowned at him, not sure she believed him. “That sounds deceptively simple.”

“Deceptive is what we want.” His eyes danced.

“What am I supposed to remember? I suppose you’ve thought of that, too?”

“Naturally.” He grinned. “Lying saves lives.”

“Lying saves lives?” She shook her head in disbelief. “That kind of flies against the old
Liar, liar, pants on fire
ideology, doesn’t it?”

“In this case, it’s true,” he said.

It was certainly true in Ciudad del Este. If she’d been able to lie convincingly then, Jack wouldn’t be dead and her friend, Willow, a widow.

“You’re remembering something,” he said, watching her.

She shook her head. “Nothing you need to know about.”

“You were remembering a time when lying would have saved your ass. Or someone’s.” He raised a brow.

She glared at him and he let it drop.

“Let’s give it a try.” He nodded encouragingly. “Test my theory. You can do this.”

She shot him a skeptical look.

“It’s tomorrow. You’re having lunch with your mom. Pretend I’m her. Our baked Brie appetizer has just arrived. We each have a glass of white wine in our hands.”

He picked up his beer bottle and held it so daintily and so uncannily like her mother she nearly laughed. He pitched his voice higher and sounded more like a bad imitation of an old woman than her mom. “You have something to tell me, dear? Don’t hold out on me. I know you’re dying to share.”

“You do not sound like Mom. She’d never say
Don’t hold out
or call me
dear
.”

“We’re pretending here,” he said. “So?”

She paused.

He jumped right in. “No, no, no! I can’t believe you’re having trouble with this part. It isn’t even a lie.”

“Yes it is.”

“Are we not back together?” he asked.

“For two seconds. It’s a lie that we’re really back together. We’re more together so that someone doesn’t kill me.”

“The why doesn’t matter, just the facts. Right?”

She frowned. “Right.”

“Okay then, back to the beginning. When I ask what’s up, you have something to remember, remember?”

“Yeah, ‘Lying saves lives.’”

“That’s right. So, here goes, I’m your mom again. You have something to tell me, dear?”

She took a deep breath.
Lying saves lives.
She forced herself to focus and look him directly in the eye. “Drew and I have reconciled.”