Marilyn Pappano - Criminal Deception

Liz had to squint to see the still figure beyond. She wanted to scream at Joe to get back in the truck and race away, to demand of him why he’d taken so dangerous a risk, to apologize, to tell him she loved him.

Of course she couldn’t tell him anything, so it was Wallace who broke the silence. “Turn off those lights and come closer. Show us which Saldana we’ve got.”

Joe reached inside the truck, and the lights mercifully went dark. He closed the door with a thud and started across the field, so familiar and yet…not. The way he moved, the way he held his head, the smug self-assurance that radiated from him-to say nothing of the way he hardly even glanced at her…if she didn’t know better, she would think he was Josh. But no way Josh was in Georgia, and no way he’d be out here offering to trade himself to the people who wanted him dead.

Nausea swept over her. It was Joe pretending to be Josh, and he was just good enough at it to get himself killed. For her. With her. Oh, God.

“So?” Wallace prodded. “Which one are you?”

Joe stopped alongside her, maybe ten feet away, arms extended in a casual gesture. “Which one you think?” His clothes were different, all in black: jeans, a T-shirt a size too small so it fitted snugly, heavy boots and leather jacket. His voice was different, too, subtly, but in ways a perceptive person would notice.

“It’s a shame,” Wallace said, his own voice coming from behind the bright lights of the SUV and the car. “Identical twins can be so difficult to tell apart. It would be nice to think that Josh is man enough to take responsibility for himself and save his former girlfriend from death, but when has he ever taken responsibility? The odds of him coming here to rescue Liz are probably about nil. Joe, on the other hand, is the responsible brother. The one who would put his life on the line for the woman he loves. The one who would die in his brother’s place so that she might live.”

Liz tried to speak in spite of the tape, managing a few shrill sounds that only Joe heard.

He gave her an insolent look eerily like the looks Josh had given her countless times over the two years they were together, then he turned his attention back to the unseen Wallace. “Yeah, yeah, Joe’s the responsible one, the good one. He never does anything wrong, and I never get anything right. I’ve heard it all before, trust me. But I figure I kind of owe him after your guy shot him instead of me, so here I am. You let her go, and we’ll deal.”

“Let her go,” Wallace echoed. “You know it’s not that simple. As you mentioned, the last time, our people shot Joe instead of Josh. This time we need to be sure.”

Liz tried frantically to get Joe’s attention again. The man had just admitted to, at the least, conspiracy to commit murder in Joe’s shooting. He wasn’t planning on letting either of them walk away after that, but Joe could still save himself if he’d just look at her, if he would just think rationally.

“And how’re you gonna be sure?”

“Fortunately, I’ve brought someone with me who knows both of you well. She can tell me who you are.”

Liz looked at the confusion evident on Joe’s face-who did he and Josh have in common these days besides her and their mother?-then twisted to watch as a figure emerged from the darkness of the pavilion. Long stride, graceful, familiar in her quiet wallflower way.

“Son of a…” Joe murmured as she came closer, separating enough from the brilliance of the lights that they could make out details. Short brown hair. Waifish. Eyes that changed color as easily as her mood. Pistol clasped in one hand as casually as if it were Bear’s leash.

Dear God. Natalia.

“Natalia?” The rushing in Joe’s ears was so loud that he wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken her name. What was she doing here? Why was she with Wallace? How the hell did she know Josh?

Another liar. She’d come to town right after Josh escaped custody, feeding Joe sad stories, playing on his gullibility, earning his trust and his affection, and the whole time she was working for the Mulroneys.

His stomach heaved, and for a panicked instant, he thought he would puke out his guts there in front of everyone. But he swallowed hard, forcing down the fear, concentrating on the cops who were out there, unseen, doing their best to protect him and Liz.

“You lied,” he muttered when Natalia drew close enough. No use pretending with her. Like Liz, she knew him too well to fall for the act.

Her eyes were black tonight-mourning? he wondered sarcastically. Her pale face still looked about fifteen, still looked innocent, although her features seemed locked in an emotionless mask.

“You work for those guys?” He jerked his head toward Wallace but included everyone all the way back to Chicago.

“Sometimes.” As she slid the pistol into the holster on her belt, she moved in a slow circle around him, looking him and up down in a measuring manner, as if she hadn’t known he was Joe before she’d left the cover of darkness.

She circled him again, moving so close that their clothes rubbed, then she rose onto her toes and kissed him. Startled and disgusted, he jerked back, but she simply gripped the back of his neck with iron strength, rose and kissed him again, with her mouth, her tongue, with hunger.

Fury pounded through Joe with every beat of his heart, holding him rigid. He was hardly aware of her free hand fumbling at his waist, pulling at his shirt. When her fingers slid under the fabric and across his ribcage, he realized she was looking for the scars. She touched one, then the other, then slowly broke the kiss and turned to face Wallace.

“It’s him. Josh.”

Joe’s anger drained as he stared at her. She’d lied. Again. The lie would get him killed for sure, but maybe it would give Liz a chance to escape.

“On your knees,” Natalia ordered, and he numbly obeyed. A few feet away, she was pulling Liz to her feet, steadying her. She unfolded a wicked blade from her pocket and sliced through the plastic securing Liz’s wrists, ripped away the duct tape from her mouth, then gave her a push toward the car.

“You’re free to go, Ms. Dalton,” Wallace called from his hiding place.

Liz stood where she was, battered, stunned, as if she hadn’t heard the words. She started to rub one wrist, then looked down numbly at the raw, ragged skin. Even though her voice was little more than a whisper, Joe understood her easily. “Bastard.”

“Get out of here, Liz,” Joe said. It was too easy to imagine her arguing that she couldn’t go, that deputy U.S. marshals didn’t save themselves by leaving others to die.

She looked at him then, her injuries somehow worse in the faint light. “I am so sorry.”

He smiled a little. “So am I.”

“I don’t suppose you left a weapon in the car.”

He shook his head-his own lie. Decker had given him a gun. I don’t know how to use that, Joe had said, and Decker had brushed him off. Liz does.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured again as Natalia took her arm and began pushing her to the car. “I love you.”

He grinned. “Don’t you think last night would have been a better time to tell me that?” Then none of this would have happened, because they’d still be naked in the back office at the coffee shop.

“You know, you could have said it then, too.”

He couldn’t grin now, pardon the expression, to save his life. “I love you, Liz.” First time he’d ever said those words.

Likely to be the last.

“Sweet,” Natalia said as she hustled Liz toward the car.

“How could you-”

“Shut up and listen to me. Get in the car and drive back the way he came. There’s a sign just after the curve. Go exactly one-tenth mile, and there’s a trail that goes off the road on the left. It comes out at the lake’s edge about twenty feet from the van. Don’t go back to the main road. They’ve set up an ambush at the park entrance. Wallace has no intention of letting you leave here alive.”