Page 19 of The Truths that Deceive

Which means I’m very close to being completely fucked.

Chapter 6

Calista

Fuck Smith. And fuck his stupid event.

This morning after I woke up in his guest room, he told me he wants me to pose as his daughter at some event. What a fucking joke that is when he can’t even keep his hands off me. He didn’t give me any details about where we’re going, why, or who’s going to be there, just that I needed something appropriate to wear.

And then he told me about his own daughter. Nothing beyond her name and age, though. He must’ve been really young when she was born since she’s close to my age.

Dakota’s her name.

My mind flashes back on his map tattoo and curiosity knots my brain. I want to know more but dammit, I hate myself for even letting that thought percolate.

I heave a deep sigh while he leads me through store after store. Shopping’s not one of my favorite things, and the red wig he basically threw at me back in his apartment itches. Red hair should be sexy, but this thing is a pageboy and I think itwas made before I was born. What I need is the internet, but he only hands me a burner phone with one number programmed in.

If I could get online, I’d order clothes, make him pay.

The man’s obviously got plenty of money and he didn’t make it on CIA wages.

Also… shopping? Like, what the fuck?

I blow out a breath and stare at my reflection in a shop window and troubled gray-blue eyes look back.

Yes, I need to get back home, but not until my ducks are in a row. Not until I have everything I need and know what I’m up against.

Someone somewhere just might be out to get me or pin shit on me. And with Johnny missing, I…

I’m stuck.

With a Smith-shaped problem.

What he doesn’t know is I’ve got a spare SIM card I can slide into any phone. It has numbers on it I might need so I’ll swap out the cards as soon as I get the chance. It won’t do much, but it’ll make me feel better, give me a little more control.

And I have information, a copy of everything hidden away. Close enough that I can grab it quickly and run if need be.

One of the stores we go to is exclusive and the dresses are beautiful. He steers me toward the dressing rooms. “Strip.”

The word filters in through the red velvet curtain and I glare at the top of his head, clenching my fingers and making no move to do anything he asks. “I’m not your toy.”

“And I’m not fucking in there getting an eyeful,” he says.

He disappears and I switch the cards in the phone. The SIM is simple, a set of emergency numbers I need, like Henry’s CIA HQ and some other contacts. I come up on the name Johnny and run afinger over the screen.

It remains like it’s been for the past week. Silent. No texts.

Nothing from my brother.

I slide the phone away and pace in the small space. Smith is… argh. Smith gets under my skin. I want to label him a disease, a virus. Fast-moving, probably deadly. I already know he’s CIA. And based on some of the things said, he’s about as in the dark as I am. Except that I’m wanted.

This is a government kidnap job. I’ve heard CIA “water cooler gossip” about how they go down. I’d never know otherwise. Those jobs are way above my pay grade. I also have a guillotine blade hanging over me for my past teenage crimes, the type that are harmless but things those in power don’t forgive and forget. I was spared because of my knowledge and skill set, bribed to work for the CIA and offered a chance to have my slate wiped clean if I agreed to their terms.

I broke into unbreakable governmental sites. Left my stupid footprint, a digital graffiti tag. Fourteen-year-olds are idiots.

So are twenty-four-year-olds, judging by the position I’m in. Under some kind of lock and key with a man I inexplicably want and don’t trust.

A man who got into my sealed documents and is willing to throw past crimes in my face.

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