Page 25 of An Honest Lie

She jumped, then relaxed when she saw it was just the bartender. He was middle-aged with a receding hairline that was charming on his angular face.

“Another beer?” He pointed to her empty glass. He had a New England accent and he looked like a talker.

“Nah, switch me to your cocktail of the night, if that’s okay.”

He nodded. “I made this one up myself. It’s on the sweeter side if that’s okay...?” He was mimicking her, but in a friendly way.

She gave him a thumbs-up and he came back two minutes later with brown sludge in a martini glass.

“Coffee-flavored,” she said, taking a sip. “It’s good.”

“You know where I get that? Rhode Island, baby. It’s coffee syrup. Grew up on that stuff. I call that a New England Russian. I tried this out on another guy who came in here, and he loved it. Makes sense—he was from New England, too.”

“Coffee syrup?” She said it out loud, though she hadn’t meant to.She’d heard that before...

He showed her the bottle and Rainy had a sudden, dizzying sense of déjà vu.

“I drank white Russians in college,” she said. “It’s my kind of drink.” He looked pleased enough that he wandered away to offer his New England Russian to some fresh new faces on the other side of the bar.

“You waiting on someone?” he asked, coming back around fifteen minutes later.

“Four female someones,” she answered.

He nodded. “Bachelorette party?”

Rainy played along. “Sure.”

He scooped up her empty glass. “Another?”

She shook her head. “I’ll close out.” His concoction was curdling in her belly as she signed the receipt.

“Hey, I know you girls like to party hard when you come here, and I like you. So, listen up—whatever you do, do not buy drugs from Barry. He works at the Bellum, but he comes around to all the hotels within a few blocks.” He was pouring someone else’s beer but looking at her. “Last week, that little bastard sold roofies to four girls here. He told them it was cocaine, and they all ended up in the ER. I served them before they left—just like you. I told them to stay away from Barry, too, but do you think they listened?”

Rainy gave him a look that was part fear for what was happening in her stomach, and part interest. He glommed on to the interest part.

“He’s a New Englander, too. You’ll know that slimebag because he wears a fanny pack. But don’t worry about it. You’re a nice girl.”

The nice girl felt better when she got up from the bar stool to walk around some more. She’d just bought herself a water at a little grocery in the lobby when Braithe texted her to say they were coming down.

“I can do this,” she said to no one. “Maybe not well, but I can do it.” She sped up when she saw them step off the elevator. She was definitely underdressed. Why hadn’t they told her?

Get over yourself, Rainy.Tucking her hair behind her ears, she presented her best smile to the night ahead.

10

Then

Summer had not been crushed when the RV rolled forward, its brakes hissing. She’d lain flat on her stomach, cheek pressed to the road so hard she could feel the heat of the asphalt digging into her skin, and she’d been praying like hell. And then she’d felt the breeze on her back, lifting her shirt, and she realized she wasn’t pavement paste, after all.

Taured had driven the monstrous thing straight over her body. When she dared look up, it was turning at the maintenance shed. And that’s when she understood he meant to turn the RV around: cut a U-ey, as her dad would have put it. In a few seconds, he’d back the behemoth up and turn the wheel left. He’d see her lying in the middle of the parking lot, covering her head like the sky was falling. The other cars in the lot were parked neatly alongside the building, and she ran in a half crouch for those, diving between the BMW and the Chevy just as the thing came rolling back around. Sammy had said something about the envelope being in Taured’s car—the very car her right hand was resting against. Summer scuffled backward, opening the car door as the Airbus neared. She probably had about sixty seconds before one of them spotted her. She reached her arm inside to feel the passenger-side seat and her fingers caught the edge of an envelope. It was heavier than she expected; she pulled it toward the opening in the door and adjusted it to slide out sideways. A door slammed. Sammy had jumped out of the passenger side of the RV and was asking Taured what he thought of it. Summer tented the envelope and reached inside.

“Everything’s good,” Taured said. “I drove the Airbus home from the dealership. Jon signed the papers, no problem. If you get pulled over, show them the paperwork, everything’s clean.”

The envelope rattled. Her fingers grasped something hard and square. She pulled out a floppy disk—one of several in the envelope—holding it up to her face.

“Sure, boss.”

She had just enough time to slide the envelope back onto the front seat. She was about to close the door when she saw another envelope, this one spilling its contents—what looked like Polaroid photographs. She could only manage to take one. It was a much easier grab, but it almost cost her. Sammy’s steps were heading toward her. There was no time to hide. Summer stuffed the disk in the waistband of her jeans and crawled under the Chevy. She was breathing so loud she was sure Sammy was going to hear her, but lucky for her, the guy never stopped talking.

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