Living Lies (2 page)

“Hello again, foxy lady.”

Completely absorbed in the activities of her friends, Melanie hadn’t noticed Malik standing beside her.

He had a strong Middle-Eastern accent with eyes that looked right through her. He wore shiny shirts with wide collars, unbuttoned down to an uncomfortable level. Melanie had dated sporadically, mostly study dates, but her usual type was of the geek variety. Her friends were surprised when she agreed to go out with Malik and, because of his gruff behavior, confused that she kept dating him. Here was a man who regularly struck the “gotcha” pose, interrupted any conversation and honked from the car instead of ringing the bell. But to Melanie’s surprise, Malik was funny and at least polite, if not gentlemanly when they were alone. Guarded about his life, Malik pressed for each of their dates to end back at her apartment. Finally, after three weeks of charm and diligence, Malik invited her to his house, where he cooked her dinner and she slipped him the sleeping pill the CDD had provided. That evening had been the most intense of her life and she loved every scary, sweaty second of it.

“How did it go?” Agent Gary Collins asked, not looking up from the paper as she sat down next to him and tied her shoe.

“Task completed,” she muttered, masking her delight.

From the pocket of her red hoodie Melanie took out a small brown bag that held the tiny camera and an energy bar. She ate the bar and left the crumpled bag on the bench between them.

CHAPTER 2

The window from the second story room gave a perfect line of sight. It was spring and the sleepy town in the Italian Alps was about to awaken. This was only the second time his target had been a woman. He took one last look at her photo – an elegant blonde with bright blue eyes and red lips – before stashing it inside his large backpack along with the rest of his gear. The hotel room had been wiped clean of fingerprints and any other signs of his existence.

He waited patiently, keeping vigil through the night and watching for her to emerge, ready to fire the fatal shot.

Every task, even murder, became routine if done often enough, and eight years was a long time. He no longer felt the fear or the horror of his work, no longer cared who or why a hit had been hired. Payment – it was all about the payment.

His blood was icy and his heartbeat slow and steady as the woman, in a sable coat, appeared in his scope. Her scarlet lips were now a pale pink but the blue eyes were unmistakable. The barrel of his gun rested on the wooden flower box as his gloved finger caressed the trigger.

An uncharacteristic uncertainty flashed through his mind as he gently squeezed. The victim dropped heavily to her knees, dead before her head cracked on the wet cobblestone street. Blood sprayed the vibrant flowers outside the chic inn and ran down the street like water. Her small entourage screamed in unison and crowded around the collapsed, lifeless body.

Indifferently, he collected his few possessions and walked past the fallen target, noticing her eyes, still open, staring up at him accusingly.

Quickly, he left the scene, ignoring his reflection in the blood-spattered window. Three blocks later he ducked into a dusty tavern as police cars and an ambulance screeched through the quaint streets. The weapon, tucked into his backpack, leaned against the sturdy wooden chair as he ordered breakfast.

A stout blonde woman, sitting alone, flashed him a yellow smile.

CHAPTER 3

Melanie’s holiday plans were always the same: Christmas at her parents’ house in La Jolla, sleeping in her old bedroom before being drained of tolerance by her parents’ idiosyncrasies, and leaving for the peace and freedom of an empty apartment. By the end of her winter seclusion, she’d be eager to ditch the hermitage and impatient for the return of her roommates.

Traveling beneath the canopy of tree branches that blocked the clear blue sky, Melanie drove Carla’s run-down Toyota and dreamed of snow and blizzards. Instead, green front lawns showcased their holiday spirit with festive lights winding their way up the tall palm trees and garnished gates with wreaths of holly and pomegranate.

The steep roads descending from downtown La Jolla to the cliffs at the shore were lined with multi-million-dollar homes, granting them an unobstructed view of the Pacific Ocean. Moderate family homes were nestled among the ostentatious, all of them painted in an array of pastels and adorned with neat lawns and flowering shrubs. Often tourists in search of sea lion coves found themselves pointing from the windows of their family vans, admiring the quaint and grand neighborhoods.

The Ward home did not overlook the ocean.

Melanie climbed the porch steps to the pale yellow two-story home with the white shutters, careful not to drop the bundle of presents for her mom, dad and little brother, Brucey. Bruce Ward was only two years younger than Melanie but as the baby of the family, he was still treated as if he were 10.

“Merry Christmas, dear,” her mom said with her expected big, warm hug and kiss.

Rita Ward’s hair was cut stylishly short at the nape, newly colored a strawberry blonde, and she wore her trademark knit vest over a colored turtleneck with a long, heavy gold chain. Roger Ward’s thick brown hair had grayed at the temples and the hours working in his garden were evident from his tan skin.

“Annie!” Her father called, using her pet name when seeing her in the hall. His eyes sparkled and Melanie returned the same smile.

Without fail, Melanie knew that Christmas Eve morning the family would go out to breakfast before hunting down the largest tree left on the lot. A struggle would ensue between the family members, the tree and the top of the car. In the end the family would emerge victorious, only to repeat the struggle with the front door and then again with the hallway to the living room, where the tree would stand for the next week.

“Honey, when are we going to meet your boyfriend?” Rita interrogated innocently as she opened a box of ornaments.

“Right after I meet him,” Melanie said, gritting her teeth and bracing for the aftershock.

It was such a small sound, her mother’s tsk, but it held the force to rattle her foundation and raise her blood pressure.

Ignore it,
she repeated silently – her mantra.

“Why don’t you ask Trish for help, she’s very popular.”

Melanie counted to 10, still hooking silver orbs onto the evergreen branches.

“That’s a good idea, Mom.”

“Your Aunt Paulie will be here in the morning with her kids. You don’t mind giving up your room for a night, do you?”

“No.” Melanie sighed.

The next morning, Melanie sat on a hard pew wedged between her mother and a fidgety Bruce. Rita and Roger were weekly members of their congregation but had long ago surrendered in forcing their children to attend, saving Christmas Day.

“I’ve got a date,” Bruce announced four days after Christmas. He’d been on the phone all week and the ominous cloud that had been hanging over her head broke. “I won’t be here for New Year’s.” He grinned and struck his fist against Melanie’s shoulder.

She glared.

“Well, I’ve got a date, too.” She was a miserable liar.

“Now that’s just pathetic,” Bruce said, taking a bite out of an apple.

“Hush,” Rita reprimanded but with her eyes filled with suspicion. “You know you’re welcome to come to the lodge with your father and me.”

Melanie tried her best to look offended. “Really, I have a date with a guy in my econ class.”

“Hah, what’s his name?” Bruce probed.

“Felix. And shut up.” Melanie turned back to her mom. “Really. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It’s just a date.”

“Dear, that’s wonderful.”

Rita followed her children. “Are you certain you’re going to be all right?” She asked when they reached the curb.

“I’m fine, how about you, Brucey?”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“At least take some of the leftovers,” Rita begged.

“I’ve got some,” Melanie tapped the box she carried in one arm. With her other hand she yanked her jeans up. She always lost weight when she came home. Her mother was a horrendous cook whose feelings could be hurt with even the slightest remark. Bruce’s waistline had the opposite effect. He snuck in Hostess powdered doughnuts gobbling them with Doritos and washed both down with Mountain Dew.

“Call when you get to your apartment,” Rita waved as Melanie drove away.

Melanie was grateful to have her family so near – and even more grateful to be on her own.

New Year’s Eve, wearing old, bleach-stained jeans and a threadbare T-shirt, Melanie got to work. She spent the afternoon scrubbing the kitchen floor on her hands and knees, cleaning out the refrigerator and reorganizing the cupboards. She was exhausted by nine.

With a bowl of milk and a can of tuna, Melanie whistled outside her building.

“Happy New Year, Felix,” she said, scratching the tabby on the head.

Plodding up the stairs, her date over, she settled in front of the television, a book in one hand and a fork in the other. Steam rose from the microwaved macaroni and cheese she balanced on her lap. A glass of milk rested on a coaster.

Her phone never rung, there were no knocks on the door and she left the apartment only to retrieve food and a slew of epic movies from Blockbuster. In her flannel polar bear pajamas she stretched out across the couch. The soft cushions contoured to the curves of her body, and she sank in deep and comfortable charmed by Cary Grant in
The Bishop’s Wife
. The disruption of the phone ringing startled her awake.

“Hello?” She yawned.

“Hi, is Melanie home?” a deep voice asked.

“This is Melanie,” she reached for the remote to turn down the volume.

“Hi, Melanie, this is Dan Ashe.”

Melanie bolted upright and turned off the television.

“Hi,” she said, more like a question.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s fine.” Melanie’s heart and stomach both synchronized a leap to her throat. “Are you, um, still in Denver?”

“No. I just got back. Hey, I was wondering if you were busy tonight?”

“Well, um,” microseconds ticked off loudly in her head. “No, I’m not busy at all.”

“Great. How about I pick you up at 7?”

“Okay.” A tentative smile stretched across Melanie’s face.

“I’ll see you then. Bye, Mel.”

“But,” she said, limply, into the dead receiver, “I have questions.”

Her melancholy, fluffy sock day was replaced by panic and fear.

What could he possibly want?
Cary Grant was forgotten, the laundry that waited for her downstairs was forgotten, all that she had left were questions. Questions flowed in an endless torrent, and hours of mulling caused her brain to ache. Melanie swallowed three aspirins with a single gulp of water and laced her running shoes.

The fresh air helped. It didn’t stop the burning, nagging, uncertainty mixed with insecurity, but it did make her tired enough to stop thinking.

After a long shower, Melanie dressed in a skirt and blouse she found in Jenny’s closet. Taking great care, she primped and prepared for a heart-stopping, mind-blowing date with Danny Ashe. The excess energy flitted up from her belly and traveled as a soundless scream out her mouth. She added curls to her hair and applied makeup. It was the stranger with her eyes that brought her back to reality as she scrutinized her reflection.
What had been his exact words?

She was fuzzy on the specifics and now she worried that she might have mistaken his intent. She strained to recall the precise words he had used when he called.

“Maybe he’s returning some notes or a book he had borrowed,” she pondered out loud.

What if,
she thought, filling with horror and humiliation,
he shows up at the door with Carolyn on his arm?

“You’d look like a complete idiot,” she said, looking down at her legs, bare to mid-thigh.

Melanie reconsidered her outfit and purposely put a damper on her excitement. Pulling on a pair of dark jeans and a red sweater that was warm though less fashionable than Jen’s outfit. Tying the laces of her black work boots that had never seen a day’s work, she grumbled at her lack of confidence and slipped back into student mode.

Combing out the curls and clipping back her auburn hair, she scaled down the makeup and looked more like the girl he saw daily in class. She glanced at her watch. It was 6:58.

He’ll be late
, she thought just as the doorbell rang.

“Oh, shit,” she said, dragging all the cosmetics off the counter and back into their basket. “I’ll be right there.”

The thick rubber soles of Melanie’s boots barely hit the tiled hallway as she bounded to the door. Sucking in a deep breath with every intention of letting it out slowly, an unsubstantiated remedy to cure erratic nerves, she forced it out in one sharp gust and opened the door. Danny Ashe. Her heart swelled as she stole a quick glance over his shoulder, verifying that Carolyn was nowhere in sight.

“Hi,” he said, looking around. “Are you expecting someone else?”

“No, come inside,” she giggled. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, excitement and nervousness.

“These are for you.” He smiled, the light catching golden streaks in his brown eyes, she embraced the flowers she hadn’t even noticed he was holding.

“Thank you, I’ll put them in water.” She tucked her face into the petals and breathed in the fragrance. Trish had half a dozen vases in the kitchen cupboard and Melanie knew exactly which one she would use.

He trailed her into the kitchen where she contemplated hopping onto the counter to reach the top shelf before he asked, “Can I get that for you?”

“Please, the blue one.”

As he brought down the vase they were just inches apart and Melanie could feel her blush rising from beneath her sweater.

“You look really beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she felt awkward accepting the compliment distracting herself by unsystematically arranging the flowers. “I need a second.”

“Take your time,” he said, his hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his heavy canvas jacket.

Oh My God
, she cautiously glanced at him before gliding back to the bathroom. She held her breath, unplugged the curling iron, took one last look in the mirror and smiled.

It is a date with Danny.
Her heart sputtered as she unclipped her hair and grabbed her lipstick.

Danny had draped his coat on the back of a chair, his back toward her when she returned. Melanie took a moment to admire the Levi’s that lightly hugged his muscular contours.