Page 11 of Deceptive Lies

“Exactly. He’s getting married and yet happens to remember the face of a woman he doesn’t know eighteen years later. Doesn’t sound believable,” he agreed. “The fact it was two decades ago, and he should have had other priorities that day tells me it’s a lie. Even if he wasn't invested in the marriage and wedding, I don’t think he’d notice Mom enough to remember her this many years later.”

“Mom has those green eyes that are hard to forget,” Cole suggested.

“He mentioned the eyes, and they were amazing, but I still find it hard to believe that they would stick in his mind that long that he could pick her out in a picture,” he said. “It was more than that, though, I can't put my finger on it, but there’s something else going on there. I rattled his cage, but he looked more fearful than he should have, considering he knew I believed him to have information I needed. I don’t know what, but he knows something, I'm sure of it.

“We’ll figure out what he knows,” Connor said confidently like it was already a foregoneconclusion.

Right now, he needed his twin’s optimism because he was feeling pretty tapped out.

“Was there something else?” Jax asked.

“Nothing to do with Mahmoud. There was just this figure dressed all in black in the corner of his kitchen. I just … got a weird vibe about it.” When he’d been getting ready to leave, he’d sensed that whoever was in the corner had been going to say something, but they hadn't.

“Probably nothing,” Cade said, brushing it off. “They do things differently over there. I wouldn't worry about it, remember what you're there for.”

His big brother was right. Whoever the person was, whatever they were doing there, whatever was going on, it wasn't any of his business. If the person wasn't safe, he hated leaving them to their fate, but he had to focus on what was most important. Clearing his mother and stepfather’s names so they could all finally move on with their lives.

If he messed up this chance at getting intel, they might not get another.

July 10th

6:24 P.M.

The sounds of the trapdoor being opened to her overheated prison told Willow that her time was up.

When the American had left Professor Mahmoud’s house this morning, she’d been prepared to take the beating she knew was coming. But she’d been given a reprieve. No sooner was the stranger out of the kitchen, the front door closing behind him, than the backdoor was opening, and a half dozen men she’d seen before had come barreling in, demanding to know what the American had wanted.

She knew what the professor had been afraid of.

Like her, he’d wondered if the American had come for her.

Just because he had connections in both the US and Egypt didn't mean that Tarek Mahmoud was completely above the law. He did hisbusiness quietly, hiding who he really was behind his enigmatic personality and love of his parents’ country.

But if you looked closely enough you saw the truth.

Like she had.

While it seemed on the surface like the American was here solely to learn answers about his mother and presumably what had happened to her, that didn't mean there weren't other reasons.

Please be other reasons.

Because if there weren't, if he really wasn't in Egypt to rescue her, or because he too knew what Professor Mahmoud was really doing, then it was as good as over for her.

Feet appeared in the hole and even though she knew it was pointless, instinct had Willow pressing her back against the concrete wall of her cell. There was no escape. From the coming beating, from her inevitable death at the hand of the man she had been attempting to bring down, from the likelihood that no one would ever recover her body.

That she’d just disappear, and in the end, nobody would truly grieve her.

Even though her father was proven innocent and the real killer brought to justice, it didn't undo the damage that had been done. Her ability to trust grown-ups had been shattered. Not only had those men been content to kill her father right in front of her, but her mother hadn't done anything to try to stop it from happening. She’d believed in her husband’s guilt.

Which had left lasting damage to her mother’s psyche when the truth came out.

Ostracized by the other children, no longer trusting anyone, and taking on the role of caretaker when her mother became too depressed to function, Willow had changed, too. No longer was she carefree and outgoing, now she held her cards close to her chest and struggled to make friends. At the back of her mind there was always a question of whether or not the person could be trusted regardless of their words or actions.

Luckily, she supposed, she didn't have that problem with Professor Mahmoud.

She already knew he couldn’t be trusted.

At least he wore his intentions on his sleeve. He was angry that she’d managed to see through his façade and had the audacity to actually take him on. He wanted to punish her, enjoyed her pain, and got off on her fear. It made him a sadistic psychopath, but at least she could read him easily. There was no guessing, which took away a little of the fear.

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