Page 7 of Master of Lies

“Fuck off, Sandee,” I said. “I mean it.”

“James, please! Please, let me be sweet to you. It’s all I want.” Eyes wide. Begging, sweetly. In a heartbeat, she’d decided not to get her feelings hurt about him giving away her porno pix.

I shook my head.

Sandee tilted her head to one side. She sure could turn it on and off. The look in her eyes was almost like dreamy fascination. “You’re trying to act super mean,” she murmured. “But you know what? I can tell it’s all just an act.”

Fuck.I gritted my teeth until my jaw hurt. “You’re wrong. Don’t fool yourself.”

“I can see right through you.” She lifted her hand, and put her spread-out fingers delicately against the glass. Her nails were painted a glittery, opalescent blue.

I had the crazy urge to touch my fingertips to hers, just to see if her body heat transferred through the glass, but I killed it in time. “You only see what you want to see. You’re living in a fantasy world and you’re gonna get slammed.”

“No.” That luminous smile again. “I see more than you think. I could see more if you shared with me. Let’s start over. Go slower. We can write to each other. Talk on the phone before I visit again. We could be, you know. Intimate. On the phone.”

“No, we couldn’t.” My voice was getting thick. “I’m not interested.”

“I could know you, James.” Her throaty voice was low, caressing. “Like no one ever has. And you could know me.” Her hands caressed the glass, silently pleading for contact. “You want to be known, underneath your super tough-guy act. And I think…I think you’d like it. If you tried it. To have someone…love you. For real.”

A shudder jolted through me. Oh, please. Stop. As if this crazy shitshow was for real. As if this silly, painted doll of a woman could see inside my head. See the gears grinding in my private darkness, and then turn around and talk to me about love.

I was getting all flustered. Breathing hard.Get real, Clearwater.Two possibilities. One: Sandee was a honey-pot, sent to destroy me. Two: Sandee was a lonely, dippy girl with a wild imagination and incredibly poor judgment. Either possibility was a disaster, because being cruel to her exhausted me. This chick needed to get out of my face. Right. Fucking.Now.

“Fuck off, Sandee,” I said. “Go home. We’re done here.”

Her mouth tightened. “Please,” she pleaded. “Don’t do this. I love you.”

“You’re nuts. Get lost.” I stood, and a CO took notice, moving toward the cubicle.

“No! I won’t give up on you! I won’t—”

I put the phone down. Sandee leaned forward as if she could reach through the barrier and hold on to me somehow. She knocked frantically on the glass.

A female guard appeared at her side and took her by the arms. Hustling her out, heading off trouble. An old pro.

And I felt like I’d just kicked a kitten to death.

The shackles hobbling me on the walk back to the cellblock bugged me. I’d been playing it cool, keeping my inner garbage ruthlessly organized. Keeping things slotted into their appointed boxes. Bill’s and Hank’s and Franco’s murders, the fiery clusterfuck at the Ready Line complex. Being betrayed by a former comrade in arms. Being framed for murder. My best friend, Shane, kidnapped and dragged off to God knew where, suffering God alone knew what. And his brother, Ethan, also my friend, convinced I had sold Shane out.

Like I’d ever given a fuck about money in my life. Like I’d betray a brother for it.

The timeline just got moved up. I couldn’t articulate why, but I had stayed alive in deadly hot zones around the world by following my gut instincts, and right now, my guts were screaming at me to move, move,move.Get the fuck out of here. Tonight.

Sandee’s arrival was a terrible omen. Even if she genuinely was exactly who she purported to be, the fact that I’d caught her attention made me feel like a fucking neon sign. If a bubblehead like Sandee had glommed on to me, who else might have? Who else had noticed James Craig’s mugshot, splashed all over a public website frequented by lonely hearts? The whole thing was dangerous as all fuck, and not just for me.

I made straight for the hiding place for the cell phone I had bought from a smuggler as soon as I got here. The plan had been to contact the Drake brothers, Amos, Remy, and Darius, ten days from now, when they were scheduled to be waiting right nearby. I didn’t have ten days. Maybe it was instinct, maybe just my poor delicate nerves, but I was sure of it. That hammer was coming down. Any second now.

I counted ceiling tiles from the end of the east wing, to the blind spot in the security camera, and made sure no guard was looking. I reached up, popped the tile on one side, letting the phone slide off into my other hand. When I turned it on, it still had some charge. I punched in Amos’s number. He picked up swiftly. “Dude. All good?”

“It goes down tonight,” I told him.

Amos whistled. “Shit, dude. We can’t get there in time. You’ll be on your own.”

“Where are you guys?”

“Nairobi. On a mission for Hobart. Back in three days. Can it wait?”

“No,” I told him, wondering how the fuck I was so sure. “Has to be tonight.”

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