Page 61 of Wicked Lies

“You do what I ask, and Nick lives. You don’t—”

“I’m listening.” Her hand tightened on the phone.

“In about twenty minutes, a package will be dropped off for you. You’re going to take the package, hide it from Nick, then plant it on him when I tell you to.”

“What’s in the—”

“Enough coke to get him locked up.” Frank sighed. “I’ve been very clear about my opinion of him branching out, but he’s not getting it.”

She assumed his hints included using Nick and Samson’s faces as a punching bag.

“I have some connections in the South Florida courts, and by the time he sees the light of day, his new club will be a distant memory. Plus, he won’t be able to get a liquor license with a felony conviction, especially once I pull out all my contacts.”

“Sounds like you have it all figured out.” She marveled at his devious mind.

“Nick’s getting way ahead of himself, starting to believe his own press. When I took him in, he was nothing but a punk looking for a big favor, but he’s seemed to forgotten where his loyalties lie.” Frank huffed out a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, Nick has too much heart. Punk couldn’t even kill his deadbeat father. I had to step up and do the job.”

Wow, the psycho was proud of killing someone in cold blood, secure in his own insanity to brag about it. She wasn’t surprised after what she witnessed him do to Jimmy, which told her he’d act on this deadly threat without a second thought.

“You stepping into the picture just enhances the deal. Who better to carry out my plan? Someone he trusts with skeletons of her own. You see, I know what you’ve done in the past, what you’re capable of, and where and what you came from.” He spat out an evil laugh. “A mother who abandoned you to give ten-dollar blowjobs and spread her legs for a hit of meth.”

Cheryl drew a deep breath. Time after time, she put her mother and loveless childhood out of her head, pushing it so far down it could never resurface until bastards like Sal, Jimmy, and now Frank threw it in her face. Then the floodgates opened, releasing all the anguish, fear, and wretched heartbreak.

“Sounds more like a circus freak show than a family.” Frank’s words cut her, but she refused to bleed.

“I’m sure you have people here in Miami—”

“A job like this is expensive, and you have so much more to lose anyway, which makes you very useful.”

“How will I know you won’t hurt Nick even if I do this?” Cheryl couldn’t let herself use the word“kill.”

“You don’t. But what’s the alternative?”

“Why are you doing this?” The slight whine in her voice sounded weak, which annoyed her even more.

“Because I can.”

“And don’t go telling Nick about this phone call because if anything goes wrong, neither of you will make it out of Miami.”

Cheryl slumped against the bed, still gripping the dead phone. She played back Frank’s every word in her brain, thinking perhaps she missed something. Her mind spun with ways to alter the plan, to twist it around. After all, she’d spent most of her life contorting the truth to her advantage, but no matter how many ways she spun it, the threat was plain and clear. She was to plant enough drugs on Nick to get him arrested, or Frank would have them both killed. There weren’t too many other ways to spin this horrific situation.

Cheryl was startled when the door chimed, sending a new swarm of locusts to her stomach. She peered through the peephole and saw a nondescript man in his early forties.

“I have a package for Cheryl Benson,” he said through the door.

She exhaled and undid the lock. The man handed her a manila envelope, then turned toward the elevators without another word.

After shutting and locking the door, she pulled at the adhesive closure. Inside the envelope was a clear plastic baggie filled with fine white powder. She’d never indulged, but this was a substantial amount of cocaine with a high price tag and a long arrest time.

She dropped the baggie back in the envelope, then frantically searched for a hiding place finally settling on the inside pouch of the suitcase Nick had given her for the trip. She sat on the unmade bed, laid back, and stared at the ceiling fan’s blades. They still spilled cool air over her, but now everything felt chilled and different. The spooky sense of being watched invaded her space.

Frank’s low, harsh threats echoed in her ears, and the guilt of even thinking about betraying Nick made her sick. There must be a way around this, but soon her head hurt from the endless loop of dead ends. Frank Barnett had a reputation as a dangerous man unafraid of consequences and crazy enough to make his threats a reality that rattled even the most brutal thugs.

Now she’d have to set up the most difficult con of all—acting normal when Nick returned—not conspiring with a ruthless monster only moments ago.

* * *

As Nick promised,they toured South Beach in the afternoon. How ironic he appeared more relaxed, while her every nerve vibrated with tension. He dedicated the day to treating her like a tourist. They scoped out the glitzy souvenir shops on Washington Avenue, and he indulged her with Jimmy Choo’s and Louboutin’s in Bal Harbour. Every woman’s dream shopping spree, but it only fueled her guilt.

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