Tell No Lies Read Free

her were their secret plans—maps with red circles, schedules gleaned from months of surveillance, confidential files painstakingly collected.
    “Ready?” he asked.
    “Mouth now,” she said. “Come on, baby.”
    He palmed the back of her head and struck her, a hard tap of the knuckles, enough to split her lip. Her grin gleamed darkly, red filling the spaces, framing her lower teeth. She tasted her lips, her loose gaze radiating a deep, almost sexual ache. “More,” she said. “Give me more.”
    Again.
    This was the really sweet part. The sacrifice. The lengths they were willing to go to.
    The grief had caught up to her now, rushing in with the pain. Tears glittering, feather of blood on her chin, her shoulders shuddering.
    Sheets of fog stirred at the window, ghost raiments forming and re-forming, diffusing the streetlight’s glow. The rumble of a Muni bus down the hill reached them, another hollow stomach, another city beast out to feed.
    She breathed wetly. Her eyes glinted like dimes.
    Overcome, he lowered his arms, and his fingers flexed at his sides, trying to grasp the ungraspable. He looked at the scattered maps and folders, the underlined addresses, the names on printouts. So much work, so much careful planning, years in the making. He tried to draw strength from it all, tried to let it fuel him.
    She hooked his neck with a hand, pressing her forehead to his, the warmth of their sobs mingling.
    “I love you, baby,” she said. “I love her. ”
    He nodded, swiped at his cheeks with the worn cuff of his sweater. “Me, too,” he managed.
    Her fingertips touched the blood at her lips, checking. “Then make me hurt for her. Make me feel it.” She pulled away a half step and raised her head regally, bracing.
    Still crying, he drew back his fist.

 
    Chapter 3
    Quarter to eight and the November sky was already as dark as midnight. For Daniel, navigating the smart car across town felt a bit like driving a shopping cart, but it got great mileage and could ratchet itself into any parking space that might improbably come available. He headed south of Market, weaving through municipal buildings, rusty warehouses, and dilapidated apartments, the worsening neighborhood still a four-star upgrade from the danger zone it used to be. The 22 Fillmore bus, nicknamed the “22-to-Life,” rumbled past, heading even farther south to real high-risk territory.
    Daniel’s workplace loomed ahead. A colossal mausoleum of a building implanted in the mid-seventies, Metro South was as cold and bare-bones functional as an insane asylum or a Soviet ministry office. A subterranean gate rattled open, and then Daniel pulled in to the dungeon of the parking level, complete with sweating concrete walls and flickering fluorescent overheads. He pulled in to his usual spot, then got on the elevator, redolent of industrial cleaner. As the car rose, he drummed his hands against his worn jeans, praying it wouldn’t get stuck again.
    The five-story building housed Probation, Parole, and various related social services. Last year the city had moved about half the occupants north into newer quarters, so now Metro South gave off a condemned-building vibe—empty halls, groaning pipes, loose floor tiles. The only departments remaining were those purposefully left behind. Like the one Daniel belonged to.
    He had a job very few would want. A job that tested his patience, courage, and sometimes his sanity. And yet here he was. No one ever said he didn’t love a challenge.
    The elevator shuddered on its cables. What a far cry from his past life in a penthouse office managing the family portfolios. He vividly remembered Evelyn’s response when he’d told her that he was switching career tracks—to this one in particular.
    *   *   *
    “Isn’t that just like you. The world at your feet, and you trip over it.” She turns, buries her nose in her gimlet. “A shrink.” She snorts. “Oh, that’s rich. Well, I suppose I gave you plenty of