Sherrilyn Kenyon: Whispered Lies

Gabrielle jumped at the broken silence. She had to turn off that clock when she went to bed. She never slept in the afternoon, but her body begged for the reprieve right now. Rest hadn’t been possible for the past fifty hours since receiving a postale card that almost stopped her heart in midbeat.

She rubbed her stomach where a mass of squirming nerves was doing a bang-up job of making her nauseous.

Maybe tea would settle her stomach.

Two days of sleep would do more good.

She scanned e-mails. Nothing, just mundane chatter that ranged from IT questions generated by articles she wrote anonymously for online publications to the rare personal e-mail.

Her gaze snagged on an e-mail from Fauteur de Trouble that read, “Call me soon-I’m being exiled and you’re the only one who will understand…” Gabrielle smiled. Babette had chosen an apt electronic name. She was definitely a troublemaker, but in a lovable way. Gabrielle doubted drama queen Babette, one of Gabrielle’s two half sisters from her father’s second marriage, was truly being exiled.

More likely, the rebellious fourteen-year-old faced being sent to a relative’s home for the holidays to give her father some peace. The headstrong teen was turning his hair gray, which Gabrielle found amusing.

Go Babette. Unfortunately for their father, he’d spawned another female who refused to be crammed into a mold and stamped out like a perfect child. That designation belonged to eleven-year-old Cora, Gabrielle’s youngest half sister.

She hated that term-half sister. What was the other half? Both her sisters meant the world to her, regardless of the percentage of blood they shared. If it was safe to do so, Gabrielle would enjoy seeing her sisters more often.

She’d pretended to be a recluse, which her father interpreted as her never having got over her mother’s death. She’d understood his confusion and grief, but was still hurt by how after the funeral he’d sent her to live in a school with strangers, rather than deal with a heartbroken child.

Gabrielle’s first thought upon waking each morning in school was that her mother’s killer walked free. Her second was a vow to assure that someday the Anguis paid for their crimes.

Gabrielle fingered the stiff postale card from Linette propped against her monitor base. She smiled at the memories that drifted through her mind of the young girl she’d met at the private school…Linette Tassone, her only family for several years. Who then vanished.

Where was her dearest friend now, and how had Linette known about this girl Mandy being kidnapped?

The photo of a palomino horse running free decorated the card front. Linette had loved horses, always dreamed of owning a ranch. But more than that reminder had been an absolute confirmation the card came from Linette-the tiny handwritten words at the closing, bee happee, with the double e that had taken Gabrielle’s breath.

She and Linette had agreed to only use bee happee in dire circumstances to assure the message came from one of them.

Gabrielle had laughed back then, calling the signature a secret handshake, but Linette loved the secrets they shared.

Good thing.

Anyone other than the two of them would likely dismiss the neatly written message as an odd language, not a code.

Gabrielle had started the whole code business, adding a cryptic word in each personal note to Linette, who quickly guessed the words, genius that she was. What else were two lost souls ignored by wealthy fathers supposed to do while huddled in their dorm room on holidays when most of the other students went home to their families?

The old fifteenth-century castle that housed their school in Carcassonne, France, had been torn from the pages of a fairy tale, with precious tapestries, exquisite Louis XV bedroom furniture in the dorms, and gourmet delicacies prepared by chefs. She and Linette had giggled their way through the first quarter, accepting the rigid security as necessary for their protection.

Life seemed pretty ideal until Linette disappeared along with all of her personal belongings just before her seventeenth birthday.

No one answered Gabrielle’s questions until her persistence landed her in the dean of women’s office, where she was warned of disciplinary action if she mentioned Linette Tassone to the staff again. From then on the fairy-tale castle’s stone walls had felt cold and suffocating as a prison. No wonder she’d been so easily duped by a charmer. She’d been alone so long she’d been easy prey.

For eleven years she’d searched, wondering what had really happened to Linette, unwilling to believe the story Senor Tassone had told about his daughter.

But how could she argue with no evidence to the contrary?

She’d finally buried the memories, accepting that she’d never again have anyone she could trust like Linette. Until this card arrived. Gabrielle might not be able to help Linette, yet, but she wouldn’t let her dear friend down in the meantime.

She flipped the card over, decoding the first line again.

Gabrielle-You can’t help me, but I need you to save others from ending up where I am.

She didn’t need to read the rest, knew the text by heart now, including an odd reference to the kidnapped girl being sent to the fratelli-an Italian term for “brotherhood.” The card had arrived at a postal delivery center in Peachtree City after being forwarded from her father’s ancestral home near Paris. Gabrielle quietly thanked him for forwarding the occasional mail he received for her, or Mandy might have had no chance at all.

South American kidnappers were after the young American woman, but Linette had said Mandy was in “grave danger” and “no one will know” about the kidnapping, which made no sense. Regardless, Gabrielle had faith in Linette, so she’d fed an electronic message into the right channels, those scanned by trained intelligence observers.

She’d made it beyond easy for the intelligence agencies.

So why hadn’t they posted online to confirm they were acting on the information or that Mandy had been found? If Gabrielle didn’t hear something soon, she’d…what?

Call the CIA? They would dismiss it as a crank call if she called anonymously. Sending a second e-mail would be too risky. Might as well just send the intelligence world her address since another electronic link might lead them right to her, if the first one hadn’t given her away.

Okay, so she was a bit anal about this, but she’d protected her anonymity too many years to get caught now.

She scoffed quietly at herself. Few people in the world could track her electronic trail; so far, none of which were employed by intelligence agencies had. Stop worrying.

No one had found her during a decade of hiding.

But she wouldn’t take an unnecessary risk. She’d already put herself and others on a bit of shaky ground, so the damn spooks needed to do their part.

She’d done all she could.

Few people, even those in the intelligence community, could have found out as quickly that the men in South America after the diplomat’s daughter belonged to Durand Anguis or that Mandy would be taken to a château in St. Gervais, France.

But then no one in the intelligence community would have spent the past decade committed solely to finding a way to bring down everyone connected to Durand Anguis.

Gabrielle rubbed her gritty eyes. Her skin rippled with an eerie sense of something not right. She ran her hand over chill bumps pebbling her arms and glanced around.

No sensor had been tripped or an alarm would have sounded.

She reached for her laptop, tapping two keys to bring up the digital video cameras monitoring the outside of the house. Crime was so low in Peachtree City she thought of it as Pleasantville. Her protection devices weren’t for the run-of-the-mill burglar.