Girl of Lies

 The Thompson Family

Richard Thompson 

Adelina Thompson 

Julia Wilson (Thompson)

— Crank Wilson 

Carrie Thompson-Sherman

— Ray Sherman

— Rachel Sherman 

Alexandra Paris (Thompson)

— Dylan Paris 

Sarah Thompson

Jessica Thompson 

Andrea Thompson 

The Wakhan File

Roshan al Saud

Leslie Collins

Mitch Filner

Vasily Karatygin

George-Phillip Patrick Nicholas

Chuck Rainsley

Diplomatic Security

John “Bear” Wyden

Leah Simpson

The Washington Post

Anthony Walker

A
NDREA THOMPSON shivered as Javier’s hands slid up the back of her shirt, his fingers curled, raising goose bumps and sensation as they ran down her spine. She gasped a little as his lips touched her, his stubble rough against her neck.

“
Te quiero,”
he said as her back arched, pressing her chest against him.
I want you.

“No,” she replied. “
Abuelita
expects me home.”

He sighed, lifting his head. His eyes were dark, too dark, easy to get lost in. “You know you’re the only girl I want, ever.”

She put her lips to his ear, the faint, aquatic smell of his cologne gratifying her senses. “You say that because your
verga
is hard and I’m in the car with you. You want every girl you see, Javier. Take me home.”

He smiled, his full lips curving up a little more on the right side, and said, “
Sí,
Andrea.”

One second later, she felt the buzzing of her phone in her pocket, and then the ringtone that represented her sisters.

He sighed, and broke away from her, his smile wistful. She returned the smile as she dug in her jacket pocket for her phone. As Javier started the car, she got the phone out.
Mierda!
She wasn’t in time.
 

“Which one of your sisters is it?”

“Carrie,” she said as she unlocked the phone. “She lives in Washington, DC.”

As Andrea dialed the phone, she counted the hours back. It was close to ten pm in Calella, so that would make it about four in the afternoon in Washington. She hadn’t expected to hear from Carrie. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected to hear from any of her sisters. Julia, the oldest of her sisters at thirty-two years old, was the only one who called her regularly.
 

“Hello?”
 
Carrie’s voice. A little breathy.

“Carrie? It’s Andrea.”

“Andrea! Thank you so much for calling back so quickly! Your number didn’t show up on my phone.”

Andrea shrugged. International calls could be weird sometimes. “How are you? How’s the baby?”

Silence. Just long enough that Andrea sat up straight in her seat, her eyebrows scrunching together, and then she said, “Carrie? What’s going on? How’s the baby?”

Andrea felt a shiver down her spine at the sound of a sniffle from Carrie. Carrie, the foundation of her family, the daughter who’d always taken care of all of them. Carrie, who lost her husband to murder and tragedy less than a year ago.
 

“Andrea… I need help. Rachel needs help.”

“Anything,” Andrea said without thinking.

“Can you come? To Washington?”

Andrea swallowed. “I have school…”

“Andrea. Rachel is very sick… she needs a bone marrow transplant. And I’m not a close enough match. I just… will you come get tested?
Please?
”

Andrea had seen little Rachel’s pictures on Facebook. A beautiful, tiny, five-week-old baby. Carrie and Ray’s daughter, who would never know her father.
 

Carrie couldn’t take any more pain.
 

“Of course I’ll come.”

Andrea shivered at the sound of a sob on the other line. She looked up and met Javier’s eyes. He raised his eyebrows, and she mouthed the words
llévame a casa.
Take me home.

Javier nodded and put the car in gear. A moment later, he was driving through the narrow streets of Calella. “I’m going home now, Carrie. I’ll talk with
Abuelita
and get a flight home right away, okay? I promise.” As she spoke the words, she couldn’t help but see in her mind how much of a mess her sister had been eight months ago. Everything had been a disaster. Her husband Ray was in the hospital alongside their sister Sarah, both of them badly injured in a car accident that turned out to be intentional.
 

Murder.
That’s what it had been. Ray, her brother-in-law who she barely knew, had been brutally murdered. And now his daughter was sick.

Andrea sighed. She would figure out something for school. Right now she needed to make arrangements to get back to the United States.

Javier turned the car onto Carrer Diputatio, the tiny one lane street two blocks from the beach.
Abuelita,
her grandmother, had her flat here, a third floor apartment above the
don Panini
snack bar. The snack bar was still open when Javier pulled the car to a stop in front of it, and patrons were crowded into the open restaurant and spilling out onto the sidewalk. Bared midriffs, short skirts, coverall dresses, sweat and carnal intentions. Loud music blasted out of the Isard restaurant and pizzeria across the narrow lane. A car came to a stop behind Javier’s and the driver immediately honked the horn as more traffic backed up behind it.

“You’re going away?” Javier asked, ignoring the honking.

She signed. Then nodded. “I have to go to the United States.”

“You’ll be careful?”

She thought the question seemed odd. Of course she’d be careful. “I’ll be back soon. My niece needs a bone marrow transplant. I’m probably not even a match. But I have to go to my sister.”

The driver behind them honked his horn again, shouting obscenities out the open window. The street was too narrow for him to drive around unless he went onto the sidewalk in front of the
Gaviota
bar, which had a crowd of twenty or more people crowded outside.

“I have to go,” she said.

“
Te amo,”
he said softly.

Andrea shivered, even though she knew he didn’t mean it. Because… what if he did? She leaned forward and kissed him goodbye.

“
Despedida,”
she said.
Farewell.
Then she slipped out of the car, shutting the door behind her.
 

The driver behind Javier, an angry, frustrated man in his mid thirties with a remarkable mustache, had laid on the horn, letting it continuously sound. She gave mustache-man a scornful look, slapped her left bicep with her right hand and raised her left fist in an obscene gesture. Then she slipped into her grandmother’s apartment building.