Page 65 of The Liar

“Maybe,” he allowed. “But most people don’t have gaps in their ID.”

I clasped my hands together behind my back so he wouldn’t see them shake. “Excuse me?”

He nodded. “It’s a convincing fake, but it’s just that: fake. Westley Gallo isn’t real. I don’t know who the hell you married, but he’s hiding things from you.” His expression became even grimmer. “It gets worse.”

My head was spinning, and his voice was beginning to sound muffled. I was dissociating. I dug my fingernails into my palms and forced myself to focus on the present. The interview room smelled faintly of cigarettes and antiseptic. The floor was solid beneath my feet, the air cool. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I’d bit the inside of my cheek.

“How can it get worse?” I asked, feeling strangely distant from the situation, even though Hanson was less than two meters from me.

Hanson laid his hand on my arm. Warmth soaked through the fabric of my shirt. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I shook myself. I was a professional, damn it. I would not fall apart just because West’s tower of lies was crumbling. “You were saying?”

He gave my arm a slight squeeze. “West has been in contact with known associates of the Ortez crime syndicate. If you need proof, I have it. Joanna, I need you to consider this carefully. Is there any chance that your husband could be using you to help Ortez stay ahead of the law?”

“No.” The denial escaped before I could think throughwhether it was the right course of action. Perhaps it was better for Hanson to think West worked for Ortez than for him to know he was investigating the police force itself. “I mean, I don’t understand. How could you possibly know that West has been associating with criminals?”

Hanson’s cheeks turned splotchy and red, and he scratched the back of his head. “I’ve, uh, been surveilling him on and off since you said you were working things out. I didn’t want him messing around on you.”

My heart swelled. I’d never have expected him to care about me so much. “Thank you. That’s very sweet.”

I just hoped he hadn’t seen me and West speaking with Portia.

“Yeah. Well.” He cleared his throat. “You’re my partner.”

“That means a lot, Denny.”

The blush deepened. “You don’t seem as upset as I thought you’d be.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, debating how much to share with him. He’d already put a lot of it together himself, and while I was on the fence about his involvement with Ortez, the fact he’d come to me with this rather than using it against West went a long way toward assuring me of his innocence.

“Damn.” Hanson stilled. “Did you know all of this already? Are you in on it with him?”

My breathing stuttered. He thought I was the dirty cop?

Incredible.

“No,” I told him. “I’m not. But West isn’t who you think he is either. Yes, he lied about his identity, and I didn’t know that when we met, but I do now. I just can’t tell you the details.”

He looked confused. “The guy pretended to be someone he’s not and you stayed married to him?”

I groaned. Of course he’d question that. My low tolerancefor deception was well known. “I left for a couple of nights to get some perspective, but once I had all of the information, things changed.”

His jaw jutted out, bulldog-like. “But you won’t tell me what’s going on?”

“Not won’t,” I corrected. “Can’t. I’m sorry.”

His nostrils flared, but he managed to keep his temper in check. Considering how he’d gone out on a limb for me and in return, I was keeping him in the dark, I was impressed by his self-control.

“Just be careful,” he warned. “Maybe you think you know what he’s up to, but you can’t be certain you aren’t being played.”

I didn’t reply to that because honestly, however much I might believe West’s claims, Hanson had a point. The only other person I’d dealt with directly who was associated with West’s cover was Portia, and she had all sorts of reasons to lie if West asked her to. No matter how much I might want to, I couldn’t trust anyone.

WEST

My phone rang as I stirred the beetroot risotto that was simmering on the stove. The savory aroma of herbs and cheese wafted through the apartment, and my mouth watered. I leaned over the counter to check my phone. My heart lurched at the sight of a familiar number in the center of the screen.

I raised the phone to my ear. “Mamma? How did you get this number?”

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