Page 12 of The Truths that Deceive

“At least the rain washed that makeup off.” Her eyeliner and mascara ran down her face in streaked puddles of black, but she used a tea towel to wipe her face clean. She looks older now for some reason. No longer the little girl pretending to be grown up.

“Hooray for me.” Her gaze flickers from me to her glass, then she takes a swallow, grimacing. “So when are your superiors coming for me?”

I cross over to her and crouch down, boxing her in. “What the fuck are they after and where’s your agent?”

There’s a flicker of something that crosses her face. I’m tempted to say it’s a chink in her armor, but I don’t think so. This is more like… honesty.

“I don’t know what the CIA wants. Or where Johnny is. All I know is he went missing and…” She stops, then drags in a breath. “I took too long to report it.”

Something’s missing from her story but it’s not my business. All that matters is getting her to focus, to trust me enough so I can get her back to the States, and pick up the paycheck Enver doesn’t want.

“Who pulled up outside that Mitte hellhole you were staying in?”

“I don’t know.”

“CIA? BND? FSB?”

She doesn’t look happy with those options, but who the hell would in her position?

I continue to throw out names of government agencies, of big criminal groups. Then I swerve. “What about MI6?” Her eyes roll. “Or maybe the Bolivian Front?”

She jerks, a spasm that’s beyond her control. It wouldn’t be the Front. As a political group or intel collection agency, they’re as efficient as soaked bread.

But I know there are groups in Bolivia being watched. Groups up to unsavory things, just like the ones I took out in that Scottish castle.

I cast my mind over everything big and small and eye her carefully for any telltale signs that I might have hit on something. “Bolivia.” I pause, thinking of information that’s trickled my way. “You’ve been reading the chatter about weapons. Some new type, I’m betting.”

“That’s classified.”

Rising, I put a hand on the table and one on the chair and lean right in close. “I don’t give a fuck about classified. I want to know what I’m dealing with.”

It’s like a light goes off. She sits up straight, looking up at me, her mouth close. Too close. Not close enough.

“You’re not CIA.”

My drowned rat of a jailbait throwback moves. And fast.

She slams her glass into my temple, sending me staggering backward. More from surprise than anything else. Then she runs, darting past me.

“Fuck.”

I bolt after her, ignoring the streak of fire, of desire that surges through me.

Before she can make it to the door, I grab her and she turns, tugging my shirt, pulling me in, and kissing me.

Calista’s lips brush mine, and I twist my hand into her wet hair, some of the strands cascading down over her undercut and I grip. Hard.

“You want to play, little doll? Because this is a big girl game and I’m not sure that you are up for the challenge.”

Chapter 4

Calista

Heat coils through me. My throat closes, the inside of my mouth turning into dust like the Sahara during a drought.

What on the fucking planet Earth am I thinking?

My goal was to distract, run, hide.

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