Two Lethal Lies Read online

  ACCLAIM FOR ANNIE SOLOMON’S PREVIOUS NOVELS

  ONE DEADLY SIN

  “A book you won’t want to miss. Engaging characters, a tight plot, and plenty of sizzle.”

  —Brenda Novak, New York Times bestselling author

  “Strong emotions pack a wallop in Solomon’s latest romantic suspense.”

  —FreshFiction.com

  “One Deadly Sin is a well-written, enthralling, and fascinating read!”

  —BookPleasures.com

  DEAD SHOT

  “Solomon’s psychologically rich romantic thriller balances grisly imagery with tender moments and is entertaining, through and through.”

  —Booklist

  “A riveting and edgy romantic suspense that you’ll want to read in a single sitting.”

  —BookLoons.com

  “Annie Solomon hooks her audience with the first spilled blood and never lets go until the final Dead Shot reckoning occurs.”

  —TheBestReviews.com

  BLACKOUT

  “FOUR STARS! Fantastic story!… Tough, suspenseful, and we have a heroine who is even tougher than the special agent hero. Whew! Never a dull moment. Solomon has outdone herself this time, and that’s not easy to do.”

  —RomanceReviewsMag.com

  “Twisty and diverting, with well-written action sequences.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Talk about edge-of-the-seat! I have never read a book with such relentless suspense… A superb example of showing over mere telling of a story. I highly recommend Blackout.”

  —Romantic Reviews Today

  BLIND CURVE

  “4 Stars! Riveting and emotionally intense.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A perfect ten… nail-biting, intense drama that will leave you breathless with anticipation.”

  —MyShelf.com

  “Annie Solomon does such an outstanding job creating taut suspense. From the very first page… to the riveting climax, you can’t help but be glued to the story.”

  —RoundTableReviews.com

  TELL ME NO LIES

  “Infused with raw emotion and a thirst for vengeance. Excitement and tension galore!”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Full of simmering emotions that lovers of romantic suspense will devour.”

  —Rendezvous

  “Another success! Miss Solomon’s latest novel is a testament to her gift for crafting intelligent, sexy novels.”

  —RomanceReadersConnection.com

  DEAD RINGER

  “Just the ticket for those looking for excitement and romance.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “An entertaining… exceptional… emotionally taut tale… offers twists and turns that kept me enthralled to the last page.”

  —Old Book Barn Gazette

  “Thrilling and edgy… Dead Ringer delivers excitement, suspense, and sexual tension… Highly recommended.”

  —RomRevToday.com

  LIKE A KNIFE

  “A nail-biter through and through. Absolutely riveting.”

  —Iris Johansen, New York Times bestselling author

  “Fast-paced… exciting romantic suspense that… the audience will relish.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “A powerful character study… [Ms. Solomon] blends the elements of romance and suspense… with the skill of a veteran.”

  —TheWordonRomance.com

  ALSO BY ANNIE SOLOMON

  Like a Knife

  Dead Ringer

  Tell Me No Lies

  Blind Curve

  Blackout

  Dead Shot

  One Deadly Sin

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 by Wylann Solomon

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Forever

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  www.twitter.com/foreverromance

  Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook Edition: October 2010

  ISBN: 978-0-446-56585-1

  CONTENTS

  ACCLAIM FOR ANNIE SOLOMON’S PREVIOUS NOVELS

  ALSO BY ANNIE SOLOMON

  COPYRIGHT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  THE DISH

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank Patrick McNally for his help with the legal system and Dr. Stewart Perlman, Dr. Jeanne Ballinger, and Dr. Peter Jelsma for their help with medical issues. I must extend my apologies to Dr. Perlman as well. He came up with several clever ways to do away with someone, none of which, alas, worked out for the book. All exaggerations, fictions, and mistakes are, of course, my own.

  I’d also like to thank Beth Pattillo, who helped pull me out when I got myself stuck in the mud of plot and character. And to Larry, who always reminds me there is a way out, even if I swear there isn’t.

  1

  The man gazed down at the body stretched before him. She’d been a pretty thing. A bit scrawny, perhaps, but with the makeup removed and her face in sleep’s repose, she had the bare, otherworldly look of an angel.

  Then again, he always saw his brides that way. Sisters of Mercy. Chaste, docile, patiently awaiting the intimate piercing that would join them forever.

  He stroked her arm, caressing the limb from the shoulder all the way down to the wrist, watching the play of vein and artery below the soft skin. The sight thrilled him—as much for its own sake as for what he knew was coming.

  He tried to prolong the moment, to control his breathing and the rising excitement. Before he’d learned to have power over his impulses, he’d squandered the precious fluid. Even now he could wait only a few seconds. Compelled, he found the blue vein still pulsing in her arm, gently, carefully squeezed the needle in, and began the ritual. As the bags filled with the
deep claret blood, his heart filled with a fevered, zealous devotion. In that moment, he would have done almost anything for the creature in front of him.

  He crooned a soft hymn as he drained her. Brushed the hair back from her pale, pale skin. Sweet child. Sweet, sacred child.

  There would always be things in this world that could not be explained. Just as there would always be people who tried to explain them. A bad childhood. A bad set of genes. God’s will. He smiled. Or the Devil’s.

  But the fact was, the most important things had no explanation. Life and death were true mysteries.

  But as humans, we weren’t just empty bottles whipped down the road by the wind. We could take action. We could spurt seed into a fertile womb or steal air from healthy lungs.

  In this way we became the myth ourselves. The Creator. The Destroyer. The One Who Acts.

  Not because we hate or love, but because we can.

  There was no better reason for doing what he did.

  Because he could. Like God, the ultimate actor.

  Just as it has pleased God throughout the ages to slaughter the innocent, it pleased him to watch the life seep out of his silent sacrifice.

  When it was done, and her heart had stopped, he secured her gift in the cooler, dating it carefully.

  Then he kissed her serene forehead and her bloodless lips, picked up the blade, and carved out her eyes.

  2

  Some men were born heroes. Mitch Turner wasn’t one of them. Heroes, even humble ones, drew the spotlight. And the last thing Mitch wanted was attention.

  But when his pickup rumbled over the old wooden bridge that cut the town of Crossroads, Tennessee, in two, the universe had other ideas. So did the eleven-year-old beside him.

  “Dad—wait! Look!”

  He saw it at the same time. A small form on top of the bridge rail.

  “What’s she doing?” Jules asked.

  But it was obvious. He stopped the truck. “Wait here.”

  “But—”

  He firmed up the order. “Wait here.” He dove out the door.

  Julia Turner watched the girl on the bridge turn as Mitch raced toward her. For a minute, Julia stopped breathing. Then the air exploded out of her as the girl turned back to the river and did the unthinkable.

  Flew into the air.

  Julia gripped the dashboard, her mouth hanging open. Then her dad sailed over the rail after her.

  Julia yanked off her seat belt and leaped out of the truck. In a heartbeat she was at the railing. There he was, bobbing in the water, turning in every direction. From where she was, Julia had the better view.

  “Dad!” She pointed to her right, where several hundred yards away, long strands of scraggly red hair were sinking beneath the water.

  In seconds, strong strokes took her dad there. He disappeared below the blackness, and for a few horrible moments it looked like he might not come back.

  But he popped up at last, gasping for air and tugging something with him.

  He did it! He actually did it!

  Julia rushed back to the truck. The keys were still in it, but the engine was off. Just as she’d seen Mitch do a thousand times, she turned the key, and when the engine only coughed but didn’t start, she said the same thing she’d heard her dad say.

  “Dammit, old girl, don’t do this to me.”

  The charm worked. The engine turned over, and she wrenched the seat as close to the pedals as possible. She still wasn’t tall enough to reach them and see where she was going, but by fits and starts, she managed to get the truck down the bridge to the other side where her dad was heading.

  She set the brake carefully, then dashed out again and grabbed an old blanket from the truck bed. It was dirty and leaf-strewn because her dad used it to haul stuff, but she snatched it anyway, scampered around the edge of the bridge, and slid down the bank to the river. Her father was approaching, using one arm to swim while the other cradled the small body he’d rescued.

  “Over here!” Julia jumped up and down, waving her arms.

  At last the water was shallow enough for Mitch to stand. He shifted the girl into both his arms and carried her to the shore. Dripping wet, he stumbled up the bank and laid the girl on the blanket. Julia thought he was going to fall down he was breathing so hard.

  “Is she okay?”

  The girl’s eyes were closed, and she looked all scrunched up and tiny. More like a doll than a person.

  Mitch wiped water off his face. “I don’t know.”

  He started pumping the girl’s chest and blowing into her mouth and pumping her chest again.

  Endless minutes of nothing but the sound of her dad working on the small body. Then… another miracle—the girl coughed, groaned, and opened her eyes.

  “There we go,” her dad said softly. “Welcome back.”

  Mitch’s arms trembled with exhaustion. Every muscle ached and he wanted to collapse on the ground for a week. Not for the first time, he wished he had a cell phone. A few buttons and someone else could take over. But phones and credit cards and accounts of every kind were a thing of the past. And any kind of authority—police, EMT—would have questions he didn’t want to answer.

  “Hey,” Julia said. “What’s your name?”

  The girl startled, seemed to see them for the first time, and started to sob.

  He told Julia to wait while he got the truck, but she thumbed over her shoulder with a triumphant, mischievous look. Their dusty black pickup was already at the near end of the bridge. Half of him wanted to scold her; the other half wanted to pin a medal on her.

  He chucked her under the chin. “Good work, soldier.”

  She smiled happily, like he knew she would, and as it often did, it took his breath away. She would be a mankiller someday. Every inch of her inherited beauty was there in her face. The silky dark hair, the amazing blue eyes. He was going to have a handful if he wasn’t careful.

  But he was careful. He was always careful.

  Mitch hadn’t originally planned to stop in town. But the girl had abandoned a backpack when she went into the river. Inside, a wallet told them her name was Sara Jean Blunt and she lived in Crossroads.

  The address took them in the direction they were already heading—across the bridge to the better side of town. Her house was at the top of the hill that overlooked the river and the flats, with its sprawl of cramped homes and old warehouses. Mitch stopped in front of a large clapboard house, a well-maintained Victorian wonder, with turrets and angles and a wide, wraparound porch. The geography and the architecture told him everything he needed to know about the girl’s family and their position in the town.

  Beside him, Sara Jean was shuddering inside the blanket, sniffling and weeping quietly as if afraid to let him hear. He got out, came around, and lifted her off the seat. She shivered in his arms while Julia bounced beside them.

  “Is this where you live? Wow, it’s so big. Do you have your own room? Can you see it from here? What color is it? Do you have a TV?”

  “Down, girl. Let’s get Sara Jean inside. She’s tired.”

  He knocked on the door, and when she saw where they were, Sara Jean groaned. “Oh, God.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with tears. “Don’t tell them. Please. Promise me you won’t tell them. They’ll be so disappointed.” She hiccupped. “I’m so… so tired of being a disappointment.”

  A shard of sympathy struck him. He knew all about disappointing people. “I’m sure you’re not a disappoint—”

  “Look at me!” She threw off the blanket. “I’m too tall and too skinny, and my hair is this awful red, and everyone calls me Sara Jean Butt!”

  Clichés tumbled through his head—kids can be stupid, so ignore them; everyone goes through an awkward stage; toughen up and fight back—but sometimes the only way to protect yourself was to hide the truth. He’d spent most of his life in deep cover, so he should know.

  Fortunately, he was saved from replying by a small, trim woman with the same head o
f burning red hair as Sara’s. “Mrs. Blunt?”

  She screeched when she saw her daughter. “Oh, my God, Sara Jean, what happened?”

  Mitch pushed past her. Made a split-second decision. “She… she fell into the river.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Julia open her mouth. He nudged her with his elbow to shut up. Not that Mrs. Blunt was listening.

  “The river? Dear Lord, Sara Jean, what on earth were you doing—”

  “Where’s her room?” Mitch interrupted, turning around with the wet child in his arms. “You should get her out of these clothes.”

  With rapid steps, she led the way to a staircase, and Mitch and Julia followed her up to the second floor. “Are you all right?” she asked her daughter. “You didn’t break anything, did you? How’s your ankle? She broke her ankle last summer,” she explained quickly to Mitch.

  Sara Jean’s room was a flurry of pink and white. Ruffled pillows fluffed up the bed; balloons and teddy bears danced on the walls. It was the kind of room that made a man feel wildly uncomfortable but that little girls everywhere loved. Julia was no exception. He watched in regret as she gasped and gawked at the dolls and stuffed animals—all the trappings of the girlhood she never had and never would.

  Mitch laid Sara Jean on the bed. “You’ll be okay now.”

  An unspoken message passed between them. “Thanks,” she said.

  Mitch nodded, hoping he’d done the right thing. If nothing else, he’d done the convenient thing. The choice that would get him and Julia out of there fast. There was still time to make it to Nashville and from there head south to the Gulf. “Come on, Jules. Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Sara Jean’s mother said. She was scrambling around the room, collecting dry clothes and towels from the bathroom. “Please.”

  “That’s okay,” Mitch said. “We gotta hit the road.”

  “No, we don’t,” Julia said.

  “Jules,” Mitch warned.

  “Don’t have a job to go to, no one waiting on us.”

  “You’re out of work?” Sara Jean’s mother looked concerned. A couple of years ago, being unemployed was like having leprosy—only the poor and shiftless caught it. Now, so many people were out of work it was almost a pandemic. “Do you live in town?”