Page 16 of Master of Lies

Holly responded instantly.

finally. where r u?

I laughed softly under my breath. That girl was a Masters, through and through.

I’m out taking care of business. Home soon. Just checking in on you. hugs&love

But where?

Holly demanded.

I’m in a diner, getting food. If you could call it that.

I snapped a quick pic of my uninspiring meal and sent it, after making sure there were no identifying symbols in it, on a napkin or a menu or a placemat, or whatever. Holly was laser sharp. She would focus right in on that.

Not loving my meal, but whatever. Is Uncle Ethan with you?

No he’s gone 2. Sally and Angelo and Camilla are staying with me. come home please I miss you

Holly typed.

Tears prickled in my eyes. So neither of us were going to be there tomorrow for Holly’s birthday. That sucked. Shitty timing, but visiting days at the prison were what they were. And when Jed finally agreed to meet, I had to jump at the chance.

Be there soon sweetheart. Signing off. Love u.

I disassembled my phone and tucked it back into my coat hem. Time to brave the weather. I paid for my uneaten food, and braced myself for the blast of bitter cold outside the front door, which slashed through my coat as if it wasn’t there. I was grateful to get into my old Mercedes and crank up the heat. The Dew Drop was close, only a half a mile down the highway. I could have walked, if there were a shoulder on the road. If it weren’t so cold. If I weren’t wearing those high-heeled boots. Silly Sandee footwear.

Ironic, that I’d packed my Badass Bitch Bag of defensive doo-dads into the hidden hem pocket in my quilted coat before going to the diner. It was childish, but I felt braver and smarter when I had it on me. But I hadn’t thought to change into my combat boots, which genuinely could make a difference if I had to fight or run.

By this, one could observe the Jed Clearwater effect on my brain. Like a monster dose of psychedelic drugs.

The bag was too big, puffing out the bottom of my coat, but I’d taken out all but the absolute essentials. Rose and Milla would laugh at me. I had dubbed our trio “the Badass Bitches” years ago. An aspirational name, but we did our best. Milla was the daughter of a colonel who my brothers had served under in the military, so I’ve known her since I was a teenager. Rose we met when we were in college. Milla was an artist, Rose was a chemist, and I had done my best to corrupt both of those fine, talented, upstanding girls into naughty badassery.

To that end, I came up with a gag gift for them three years ago. The Badass Bitch Bag. One for each of us, and I was constantly adding bits and pieces.

The BBBags, as we called them, were ostensibly travel make-up kits. Rigorously pink, decorated with hearts, stars, kittens, and rainbows, and vague and pleasant statements along the lines of “If you can dream it, you can do it.”

God knows, I could definitely dream it, as paranoid and defensive as I was.

The BBBag had lots of goodies, some of which genuinely functioned as high-quality make-up. A boxcutter blade made of super-hard resin was hidden in the pressed powder of a very nice trio of rust, bronze, and gold eyeshadow. The case itself became the boxcutter’s handle, and the blade snapped into its plastic housing once the powder was knocked out. There was a lipstick case—pink, of course—with a decorative ring that could be slipped onto a fingertip. It braced a sharp, serrated pop-up resin blade that a girl could hide behind her fake fingernail. There was a glittering bottle she could spray on her nails that would change their color if she stuck them a drink that had roofies in it. There were perfumed make-up wipes treated with a powerful sedative that could bring a strong man down in seconds if she slapped it over his nose. There was a packet of eco-friendly tampons, the cotton carefully wrapped around an aerosolized bottle of Tamloxid 343, a drug I’d learned about from Rose, which worked like a truth serum, in concentrated doses. There were tracers, for tagging people who needed to be watched. All kinds of crazy stuff. Whatever would fit in the silly looking little girlie bag.

Of course, I had not brought my BBBag to the prison. Chances are, I would have made it through security with it, considering how carefully I had designed everything, but there was no point in risking it. Nothing in that bag would ever be useful to me with Jed Clearwater. There would always be a wall of glass between us.

But I liked to keep it with me whenever I could. When I had my BBBag, I felt as if I had my Badass Bitches right there with me, on my side, keeping me strong. Also, the BBBag represented Sandee’s persona to a tee. Pretty and harmless, frivolous and feminine, maybe even a little silly…but underestimate her at your peril.

Of course, it was all just a mind trip to make me feel tougher. But what the hell. If it worked, I’d use it. So the BBBag lived in my coat, along with my Freya phone, my extra cards, my emergency cash.

I pulled into the Dew Drop and drove around to the small parking lot in back. The streetlight that had illuminated the lot was no longer lit. It had been when I’d left the hotel, even though it was barely dusk. I had noticed how the snowflakes blowing every which way had been lit up by its sickly orange glow.

Not anymore. The only light now was over the back door of the hotel, and with the snow blowing this thick, I could barely see it. I fished out my keycard.

The only parking spot was next to a big black van. Brrr. Classic no-no for a girl alone. I thought about driving back out in front of the Dew Drop, but the signs said No Parking, and I was too tired to be paranoid tonight. Besides, sleazy predators wouldn’t be out on the prowl in weather like this. They’d be snug and warm at home, watching unsavory stuff on their computers and sipping hot tea as they plotted their evil deeds.

I was still dressed like Sandee, with those stupid shoes, so I can’t even sprint to the back door. I was going to have to slip and slide, wobble and mince.

I couldn’t wait to peel the damn things off and stuff them definitively into the garbage.Come on, Masters. Shake your ass.

I pushed the door open, and the wind caught it and slammed it violently wide. The snow swept in, a full frontal attack, burning against my face, blowing up my pleated skirt, stinging my bare legs. Down my neck, up my cuffs. I steadied myself against the blast and struggled out, digging my heels into the snow so I could stay on my feet in the wind. And suddenly, I heard that sound. A woman’s worst nightmare.

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