Page 3 of Master of Lies

I needed him to let down his guard, and let slip something that could help us find Shane. A new avenue of inquiry, a clue, no matter how slight. It was a long shot, but why not try? The guy was stuck here. Defanged. It’s not like he could hurt me.

Of course, my brother, Ethan, would go ballistic if he knew. But I’d slipped my personal security detail yesterday in Portland. Ethan was probably ripping them new ones, and that was a shame, but I had never liked being shadowed by bodyguards. Or shoved around by my big brothers.

Jed gazed at me calmly, waiting for me to start. It occurred to me that he might have done this before. Gone as far as he wanted with a prison groupie. His mugshot had made the rounds, and been much noticed and remarked upon. Those piercing eyes, those amazing cheekbones, that chiseled jaw, those sensual lips. I’d seen the comments. Hell, he’d probably had refused my requests to meet before because he was already double-booked. Conjugal visits weren’t allowed at Kalaharee, but they could be arranged, with the appropriate bribes, and after selling out my brother, he damn well had the money. Even if someone else managed it for him.

Yes, he’d certainly toyed with other vulnerable women before this. Because he could.Sick opportunistic bastard.I let the irrational anger energize me, and gathered my energy to speak.

“Um. Hi, James,” I faltered.

“You made it. In spite of the weather.” His voice was so deep. Resonant.

“I couldn’t miss my chance to see you,” I said. “You’d finally said yes.”

He shrugged, a faint, amused smile at the corner of his lips. Asshole. Ironic, that I pretend to be a ditz on purpose, and then get pissed at him for buying it it. So I’m contradictory. Complicated. Sure. I’m also very smart. Smarter than him.

I hope so, anyhow. Jed Clearwater was nothing if not smart. He’d decieved my brother, Shane. They’d served together in the Rangers Regiment, and went into business together afterward. Jed, Shane, and three others from the Unredeemables group from their Ranger Regiment had founded Ready Line Security after they’d left the military.

Then last year, Shane persuaded Ethan, my oldest brother, to let him use SmokeScreen, Ethan’s latest and most powerful intel gathering algorithm, one that could penetrate any kind of encryption like a hot knife through butter. Ethan had agreed, on the condition that Shane alone possess the necessary security codes to operate it. According to Ethan, SmokeScreen was too powerful a tool to share. Not with national defense, not with private citizens, and certainly not with the criminal underworld. Ethan was convinced the whole world would devolve into anarchy if SmokeScreen got into the wrong hands. He hadn’t wanted anyone to use it, not even his own brother.

And maybe Ethan was right, and this was a harbinger of things to come, because our lives had certainly devolved into anarchy eight months ago, when a private army had attacked the Ready Line headquarters, mowing them down and burning the place to the ground. Shane had been taken, and everyone else had been killed. Carbonized, identifiable only by dental records. Except for Jed Clearwater, who’d escaped unharmed.

Jed had insisted he had no idea what had happened to Shane. Then, scant weeks later, he’d dropped off the face of the earth. Which looked pretty damn guilty to us.

Ethan’s working theory was that Jed had sold Shane to someone who wanted SmokeScreen. For the purpose of torturing the codes out of him.

And I spent my nights thinking about that, as I stared up at my bedroom ceiling.

Hacking was more restful than trying to sleep under those conditions, so I dived deeper than I’d ever gone. I hit pay dirt after I started cyber-stalking the remaining Unredeemables, when I intercepted messages between Darius, Amos and Remy Drake about placing someone in a prison. No names were mentioned, but I used facial recog to direct my search of mugshot databases, and bingo, I’d found him in the Kalaharee Correctional Facility For Men, under a fake name. Accused of first degree murder, held without bail, and still awaiting trial, according to the Kalaharee database.

I had no clue why he was there, and I didn’t really care. All I wanted was to find who had taken Shane, and so I could grind those fuckers into fine pink paste.

Including Jed himself. And the Drakes, too, for siding with Jed. I’d never forgive them for that. Selling my brother out, for money?

I hadn’t shared my findings with Ethan, since he never shared his with me. Bitter experience had taught me that going my own way was simpler than arguing with a hyper-protective, know-it-all big brother, and I was wasting no more time.

I had patience. I could remote-work from space, or the bottom of the ocean. I had bottomless reserves of motivation. I could travel to the prison on visiting days for as long as I needed to. Build a relationship with him. Have long, winding conversations with him. Have phone sex with him. Declare my undying love. Make him dependent on me emotionally. Or on Sandee. It was important to keep Freya and Sandee very separate. Distinct.

And who knew? Something might come of it, eventually.

Of course, it was tissue-paper-thin, as plans went. The only thing that could be said for it was that it was something, not nothing. I had to do something, or I’d snap.

So far, Jed had only sent me a single brief reply to her letters, before finally agreeing to see me. A sheet of yellow legal paper, and a bold, brief penciled scrawl.

Sandee,

Thanks for the photos. You’re very pretty and you seem like a nice girl, but you’re wasting your time with me. Find someone who will treat you right. Don’t settle.

Good luck,

James Craig

Thehell?It was the kind of thing a good guy might have written. To an idiot. Using small words. Where the hell did he get off, acting decent and principled? It was a lie, and it pissed me off. Condescending, too. Who the hell did he think he was?

He’d had practice pretending to be a good guy. Years of it. He’d fooled Ethan and Shane. My brothers were not stupid.

So far, I hadn’t seen recognition on his face, but this guy was impossible to read. I fluttered my eyelash extensions. Good thing Jed had never paid much attention to me back in the day. He sure was paying attention now, though.

Toughen up. Play the part.I gave my bleached locks a flirtatious toss. I’d paid big bucks for this style. The platinum color, the bold cut that half-covered my face. A choppy, punky look that took a good thirty points off my IQ. Very different from my usual messy ash-blonde is-it-a-ponytail-or-is-it-a-bun. I might have overdone the vampy vibe a little, but it was in keeping with the racy selfies I’d printed out for him. And I needed to look as different as possible from the Freya Masters he might or might not remember. That shy, chubby geek teenager with the braces, the zits, and the frizz.

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