Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

“Working on it. Hey, is Dad there?”

“No, he’s gone to midnight bowling. Can I have him call you when he gets home?”

Mickey doubted he’d be alive for two ten-frames and a pitcher of beer with the boys. Worse, he had to find a way to get Mom to hang up. He couldn’t reach his phone under the table, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her listening to what would happen to him when Turner arrived. “Mom, I do need you to do something for me-”

The apartment door’s handle jiggled.

“What is it, dearie?”

Mickey froze, all the horrors of his brother’s murder fresh in his mind. It grieved him to put his mother through all that pain again. Dying wouldn’t hurt him, it was the family he’d leave behind who would suffer.

“Hang up the phone. I need to go.”

He was about to die. What a hell of a time to discover just how much he wanted to live.

The door opened, and Mickey peeked over the dining table to confront his executioner.

Iris stood in the doorway holding Edgar’s square box. Her hands were still tied together, and her cheeks were streaked with tears.

“Hang up? Why? Michael? Are you still there?” Mom’s thin voice carried from beneath the dining table in the stillness.

Iris raised her brow at him.

“Yeah, I’m here. Can you hold on a sec?” He never took his eyes from the copper-headed siren approaching him. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your neck.” She put the box on the dining table and peered inside. “Edgar all but spoke out loud. He clearly wants you to come with us.”

Mickey sighed. He hated to admit it, but the rabbit had saved his hide more than once.

Iris crawled under the table to retrieve the phone, which had come to life again.

“Michael? Is everything all right there?”

Mickey allowed himself one appreciative glance at Iris’s backside and creamy legs in that short, tight skirt of hers as she retrieved the phone. Just his luck to get Iris in a position like that and have his hands tied behind his back. With an effort, he dragged his mind back to his more pressing problems. “Give me the phone.”

But instead of holding it up for him to speak into it, Iris put the phone to her own ear. “Hello?”

“Who’s this?” In the quiet room, Mickey could hear his mother’s surprise.

“I’m Iris Fortune. Who’s this?”

“Deirdre Kincaid. I’m Michael’s mother.”

Iris raised a brow at Mickey.

“Gimme the damn phone,” he mouthed silently.

Iris’s lips turned into a hint of a smile as she stepped away. He had to strain to hear his mother’s voice in the quiet room.

“Is Michael still there?”

“Yes, but he’s, er, rather tied up at the moment.”

Ha ha. She was so in for it when he got loose.

“That’s Michael. Always working. But it was so nice of him to call me twice this weekend. Are you, um, a special friend of his?”

Iris hesitated, and Mickey realized she didn’t want to lie to his mom. Even over the phone, with someone she was never likely to meet, she couldn’t bring herself to outright lie. And she’d come back here to help him. He had to get her out of here.

“Gimme the phone now,” he mouthed again.

“Nice talking to you, Deirdre. Here he is.” Iris held the phone up to his ear.

“Mom, look, I’ve gotta run, something’s come up.”

“Something, or someone?”

Mickey looked up at Iris and knew she was hearing every word of this conversation. “It’s work, okay?”

She sighed heavily into the phone. “Such a shame. She sounds nice. Why don’t you bring her home sometime?”

He watched Iris’s brow rise slightly again. “I think flying her back to Boston to meet the parents sends a pretty strong message. Not sure either of us is ready for that. Look, I’ll try to call later this week.”

“It’s not necessary. I’m doing much better with Brian’s…well- Don’t forget to call Suze. She wants to talk to you.”

Iris’s brow wrinkled at the mention of another woman’s name.

“Yeah, I will. Say hi to Dad for me.”

“I will, dearie. Now you be careful. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom.” He dared another glance up at Iris to find her contemplating him. The wariness in her eyes was still present, but it had softened. “Close the phone,” he whispered to her.

That seemed to shake her from her reverie, and she folded the phone shut.

“Get me untied, and let’s get out of here,” he said.

She nodded. Setting the phone on the table, she stepped behind him. He felt her fingers on the cord at his wrists. They fumbled for a second, then stilled.

“You’re from Boston?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He tried to look over his shoulder, but all he saw was some of her hair.

“Who’s Suze?”

“Iris, we don’t have time for this. We need to get out of here.”

“Then tell me who she is, because I’m not untying you until you do.”

He thought about lying, but that seemed like a cheap thing to do now that he understood it wasn’t in her code. “She’s my sister-in-law.”

“And Brian?”

He swallowed. “Brian was my brother. He was murdered by a gang member. Suze is his widow.”

There was silence behind him. Mickey waited, and then he felt her fingers working the cords on his wrists again. Once his hands were loose, she kneeled down to untie his ankles.

He flexed his fingers, the painful tingle of returning blood flow a welcome sensation. “Here, let me untie your wrists.” He turned to pick at the cord around her hands. “You’re helping me because the rabbit told you to?”

Her brandy-colored eyes lifted to meet his. “You were facing certain death, and you called your mother in Boston?”

He shrugged. “It was that or call the local police.” Once her hands were loose, he watched her shake out her arms and rotate her shoulders. The tight lines around her mouth eased, and he realized she must have been in pain from that crazy escape stunt she’d pulled. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, except my hands tingle.”

“Not enough circulation.” He covered them with his, massaging blood back into them. The cord had torn her skin, and bruises marred her wrists. She had to be scared out of her wits, yet she’d come back here for him. “I swear to you, I didn’t kill Cosmo.” He dared another look at her.

Seconds stretched as she scanned his face. “I want to believe you.”

“Then do.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips before tugging her to her feet. “Come on, my car’s downstairs.”

They gathered their things and Mickey scanned the hall before ushering Iris toward the elevators. Elevators were always a risk, but they were eight flights up, and Iris looked exhausted.

She leaned forward to punch the down button, but he grabbed her hand. “What?” Her eyes met his as they both heard the telltale sound of a winch in operation. One of the elevators was already moving.

“Stairs.” He took the box from her and put it on the floor.

“We can’t leave him,” she whispered.

Mickey gritted his teeth. Not that he’d expected her to make this escape easy. He yanked open the top of the box.

Edgar stared up at him, his beady red eyes glowing like a demon under the bad hallway lighting.

“Let’s get this straight, pal. You bite me, and you’re staying behind.” Mickey reached in and withdrew the rabbit.

Edgar seemed to sense the danger. He curled up until he wasn’t much larger than a football, his ears pressed close to his body, and let Mickey tuck him close.

With the rabbit safely in one hand, Mickey held out his other. “Give me my gun.”

Without hesitation, Iris reached into her bag and handed him the weapon.