Liquid Lies Read online

  Gwen caught only tidbits of the loud disagreement.

  “…responsibility as leaders…”

  “…have to stay out of there…”

  “…if we won’t, someone else will…”

  In the middle of the screaming, Jonah, standing at one end of the long steel and glass table, saw her and turned. Beneath his carefully moussed hair, his calculating eyes met hers and narrowed. He pressed a button on his laptop. The image projected onto the large wall screen vanished.

  But not before she saw it.

  A map of the world. Brightly colored dots speckled every continent. Places in which she’d already opened business, like Abu Dhabi and Shanghai. Places she’d targeted next, like Saint Petersburg and Montreal. And places she hadn’t tapped yet as possible markets, like Santiago and Copenhagen. Even in her brief glance of the map, she could discern no rhyme or reason to the colors over certain areas. They didn’t match her research.

  “Gwen.” Her father came around the table. The Board fell suddenly and eerily silent. Ian Carroway was still dressed in Mendacia, and she wondered if it was left over from last night or if he’d done another hit this morning before coming to the office.

  The hug he gave her was both tight and terse, meant to tell her that as her father he was glad she was okay, but as her Chairman, he had many, many questions.

  Quickly she laced her fingers into the flat prayer position simulating water and spoke the traditional Ofarian-language greeting of elders. Beside her, Griffin did the same.

  Straightening, she nudged her chin toward the now-blank screen. “Were those my territories?”

  Several Board members exchanged inscrutable looks. Jonah’s face was equally devoid of clues.

  “Ah, no.” Dad waved a hand and gave her a warm smile. “You’ll be briefed on all that later.”

  That was most likely true, but it would be the watered-down version. The one with only a few more details than Casey the secretary would get. If they would just let her pull up a chair here on a permanent basis, she was confident her fresh voice would help calm the argumentative waters, so to speak. These men and women were like lifer Congressmen, set in their ways and deaf to new ideas.

  Jonah wouldn’t look at her. He shut his computer and shuffled papers, then sat and crossed one leg over the opposite knee. She battled with Jonah almost as much as her father, but Jonah had been the very first Board member to back her proposition of expanding internationally. Jonah was her boss and he’d taught her a lot, even if they weren’t each other’s favorite person. Was he going behind her back now?

  “Sir?” Griffin asked the Chairman. “Do you need me to stay?”

  Dad frowned. “Absolutely. We need your side, too.” He sat, rolled his chair back under the table, and folded his hands on the top. “Now what exactly happened?”

  She and Griffin related their versions of the Vaillancourt Fountain disaster. Gwen then recounted every moment since the limo drove away—including the Primary. She told them every detail except that the Primary had seen her safely home. That their pretend hug had gone on longer than it should have. That he had kindled the Allure.

  Beside her, Griffin stood as still as the rock fountain by the elevators. If he suspected anything, his posture gave no hint.

  Through it all, she could feel Jonah’s sharp gaze raking her with scrutiny.

  When she was done, the boardroom erupted again, divided along predictable lines. As expected, the concern came down to Griffin’s ability to protect Gwen. Never mind that her father had also been in the limo that had driven away. Never mind that her stupidity had led to Yoshi’s attack.

  Someone even mentioned dissolving their match and aligning her in marriage to someone better suited to watching over the Company’s most valuable asset.

  She reached out and took Griffin’s hand, squeezing his fingers. To defend him would save his ass, but it would also endorse their betrothal. A decade of friendship won out. Even though the arranged marriage made her stomach sour, she certainly didn’t want to be paired with someone she didn’t know and might never respect the way she did Griffin.

  She lifted her voice above everyone else’s. “My protector did all he could.” Her father raised a hand and the Board hushed. “Do not blame him for everything. He’s not a scapegoat.”

  Griffin squeezed back. She slipped her hand out of his grip.

  “I agree,” said her father. “Griffin will remain in service to Gwen and us. The betrothal will go on as expected. Formal matching ceremony in two weeks. Elaine?” He raised an eyebrow at the Director of Travel and Client Events. “Your department will plan.”

  Elaine Montag tittered as she scribbled something on a pad. The hefty older woman was a shark in a grandmother suit. She put on incredible events created to woo the world’s elite into signing gargantuan confidentiality agreements just for the privilege of talking to the Chairman about Mendacia. Gwen could only imagine what she’d put together for the betrothal announcement of the Chairman’s daughter and the only known Translator. The thought made her weak-kneed, but not with happiness.

  “Yoshi’s memory card,” her father prompted. “Do you still have it?”

  “Yes.” She dug the shards from the bowels of her purse. The Board breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  As she dumped the little chunks onto the conference table, she stole a glance over Elaine’s large, soft shoulder. A neatly typed agenda sat in front of her. “Others” was the first item. She and Griffin second.

  Others. Other what? Ofarians? Impossible. They were concentrated in California. A few more scattered here and there to cover Company long-distance issues, but outside that, the Company kept tight tabs on its people. Even those it exiled.

  “Break for fifteen,” Dad announced, and the Board milled around. He came over and clapped Griffin on the shoulder. “Take Gwennie home. Let her rest.”

  “No.” She shook her head sharply. “I’m going to head up to my office. I have a lot of work to do.”

  Griffin gaped at her like she’d announced she wanted to evaporate the oceans. “Are you kidding? After last night? After this morning?”

  “Especially after last night and this morning,” she replied. And her father gave her such a grin of pride that she couldn’t help feeling exhilarated.

  “Fine then,” Dad said. To Griffin, “If she’s staying, come see me in my office. I need you to do something for me tonight.” To her, “Don’t leave here without a member of his security team.”

  She agreed, of course.

  Though she was bone tired, hiding in her apartment and playing weak wouldn’t get her on the Board any faster. It wouldn’t improve the Company or bolster the quality of the lives of her people. She was Ofarian and born into ruling lines. She’d serve the Company in any way they wanted, then she’d lead it into the greatest age her people had seen since their arrival.

  Everything depended on the health and success of Mendacia, and she’d do her damnedest to lift it to the top.

  SIX

  Gwen had been sitting alone in Manny’s Pub so long her second Stoli on the rocks had turned to water with a splash of vodka. This place was a hole in the wall, a narrow bar sandwiched between a shoe repair and a wig shop. It hadn’t been updated in at least twenty years, or cleaned in two. She liked it because it was unpretentious and far enough away from Company HQ that her people never came here. Perfect for when she needed to destress anonymously.

  After seven the downtown worker crowd cleared out and you could hear a pin drop out on the street. It was nearing ten.

  She wasn’t truly alone. David, the third in her and Griffin’s triangle of dear friends and part of her own private security team, watched Manny’s from the burrito joint across the way. Far enough away so she didn’t feel baby-sat, but close enough to keep her safe. She couldn’t tell him what had gone on in the boardroom that morning. Anything that took place behind waterglass was confidential. That was Griffin’s job as his boss, and she had no idea how David
had been briefed.

  Griffin had been sent away on Dad’s errand, whatever it was. Knowing Griffin’s skill set, she could only imagine.

  She played with the lime in her drink, watching it swirl around the clear liquid. If she wanted to, she could separate the water from the vodka. Make it jump out of the glass and do a little jig on the bar. Just that tiny bit of melted ice called her, begged her to touch it. If she were alone at her house, she might do just that—stick her finger into the chill and connect with what made her unique.

  Remind herself of who and what she served.

  “Guinness,” rumbled a deep voice at her right shoulder.

  A half second later, she recognized it.

  He pulled out the chair next to hers, wood scraping over tile. She turned slowly in her seat, allowing herself a full-on, toe-to-temple gape. Him.

  She glanced at the door, waiting for David to burst in. Then she realized she’d never given Griffin or the Board a physical description of the Primary who had broken Yoshi’s leg. She hadn’t really needed to—he hadn’t witnessed anything to compromise Ofarian safety, and she’d spoken Japanese to Yoshi. And then the stranger had disappeared.

  Only to reappear now.

  He’d thrown a black, half-zip sweater over the gray T-shirt, but he still wore those faded jeans and scuffed boots. The sweater made a valiant attempt to soften his appearance, but in the end served only to add to his hard bulk while intensifying his eyes, currently the color of ocean shallows. Above the sweater’s neckline, the tease of tattoo curled just below his ear.

  He threw her a small, unsure smile and gestured questioningly to the chair.

  She should tell him to leave. He hadn’t been in danger before, but if David walked in here and questioned who he was, could she lie? Would she lie? How could she ever explain seeing the Primary again who’d saved her ass?

  The Board would see through any story. At best, they’d recognize the Allure. At worst, they’d think he knew about the Ofarians, and then he’d be hunted.

  Even with those possibilities hanging over her head, even with the way his presence practically consumed the bar, and even though she noticed several patrons toss him nervous glances and make mental notes to avoid him…he brought her an undeniable sense of calm. It was like the moment on the street when he’d pulled her against him. She’d been tense and jittery all day, and at last she finally exhaled.

  “Sure. Yeah. Okay.”

  Another glance at the door. No David.

  The stranger settled on the edge of the chair and leaned his forearms on the bar.

  Her heartbeat kicked up a few notches. “Did you follow me? Because I come here all the time and I’ve never seen you.”

  He pursed his lips. “Maybe you just never noticed.”

  “No. I’d remember you.”

  He seemed pleased at that, inhaling long and slow through his nose, his mouth curved in a hint of a smile. “Coincidence is a funny, funny thing, isn’t it? I’m actually supposed to meet some people here in a bit.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, right. People who live around the corner don’t even know about this place.”

  He held up his hands. They were big. Devoid of rings, wedding or otherwise. “I swear. They told me to come here. Stick around if you want me to prove it to you.”

  What kind of crazy was she to want to do just that?

  Manny, the bartender and owner, came over and placed a pint of Guinness in front of the guy. Manny was short and lean, and even though he didn’t employ a bouncer, Gwen had seen him kick out an unruly customer or two. Before he wandered off to the end of the bar, he eyed the newcomer suspiciously.

  Gwen turned to her companion, who was watching his pint settle in slow, smooth, black-and-cream waves. It made her think of the ocean creeping up on sand.

  They looked up at the same time. Their eyes met. He cleared his throat and stretched out a thick arm to tug up his sleeve and glance at his watch. A Cartier Chronograph, a real beauty. A real expensive beauty. She blinked at the piece, thinking it might be a fake given the wear on his boots and the apparel she would have considered ordinary. Then there were the facts that he’d been wandering the San Francisco streets before daybreak, broke a guy’s leg without so much as a blink, and then eluded the cops with eerily good skill.

  Yeah, the watch intrigued her, but it was safe to say it wasn’t the only thing. The Allure made no judgments, only identified targets.

  He opened his wallet to pay for his beer and she noticed the state of Washington stamped on his license. “Just visiting, I see.”

  Brow furrowed, he snapped the wallet shut. As sharp and fast as a clap, the dark look of the bruiser she’d met in the alley returned. Then, just as quickly, it disappeared.

  “In town on business.” He shrugged and shifted his gaze to the yellowed painting hanging above the saw-toothed lines of the liquor bottles. One of the paintings had tilted to reveal the darker wall behind it.

  He skimmed the scene in the bar at a measured pace, taking in the five other customers scattered toward the front, near the single window. It was too methodical to be leisurely—she’d seen Griffin and the others on his team do the same—though this guy put on a good act.

  “Been thinking about you today.” His eyes meandered back to her. “How are you doing?”

  Thinking about her? What did that mean? And what could she say? She couldn’t tell him about Yoshi’s death, or that the Board was continually shutting her out of decisions she was desperate to be involved in.

  “Better,” she said. “Things are…better.”

  “Better, huh?” His eyebrows were sandy brown, giving her a clue as to what his hair might look like, if he had any. Would it be curly? Thin?

  “Thank you for helping me. Before. I don’t think I said that.”

  He shrugged like she’d thanked him for passing the nuts. He leaned an elbow on the bar, his torso twisting toward her. “You speak Japanese.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah.” She shifted on her seat, resisting the urge to dive directly into her drink and mix with the vodka. “It’s for my job.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Sales.” Her standard line to Primaries.

  “Sell a lot in Japan, I guess.” His pale eyes glinted.

  She recognized a challenge when she saw it. What surprised her was that she was willing to meet it. “Sometimes.”

  “Must be interesting work, doing business in alleys before sunrise. Looked like a decent presentation to me. Hope you get the sale.”

  So this was how it was going to go down between them. Secrets hovered in the air, creating a twisted game. Who will crack first and ask what the other was doing in the alley at sunrise? Who has more to hide and does the better job of covering it? How little can we actually say about ourselves and still talk?

  Gwen liked games.

  “So what brings you to town? Surely it’s not to play Superman to ladies in distress.” She heard the smile in her voice before she felt it on her face. Was this flirting?

  His eyes narrowed slightly, but he seemed eager to take the bait. “Work.”

  “And what do you do?”

  Mr. Tattoo smiled so widely she thought the dimple might open a hole in his cheek. “I’m a freelancer.”

  “Freelancing what?”

  “Hey, you’re in ‘sales.’ I’m in freelance.”

  She saluted him with her diluted drink. Point for him. “Fair enough.”

  The mysterious freelancer lifted his pint glass to his lips, but watched her out of the corner of his eye.

  “I don’t know how I feel about you being here right now.” She spoke the truth.

  “Yes, you do.” He smiled into his beer, carefully, skillfully, keeping his eyes off her. “You could’ve left when I sat down. You still could.”

  Yes, she could have. And should have. They both knew that.

  The Allure opened its jaws and devoured her whole.

  Manny ambled over and pointed to her gl
ass. “Want another?” Code for: You okay with this guy?

  She pushed her water-vodka away. “What he’s having.”

  Manny shuffled off to pull another pint, and she tilted her head to take in the man who didn’t quite feel like a stranger anymore. She wouldn’t call him beautiful, not pretty like a celebrity. He was a man, gritty and real. He was a Primary, the thing her mom and dad had warned her about. He was the cookie jar on top of the fridge, and she was an immature child, waiting for her people to turn their backs so she could make a grab for it.

  Mr. Tattoo turned slightly toward her. She loved the little rolls of skin where his neck met his scalp when he tipped back the glass to sip. It was a private spot that wouldn’t have been visible if he hadn’t shaved his head. She pretended he’d done it just for her.

  Her phone, sitting idly by her elbow, jumped to life with a buzz and flash of light, blasting the wallpaper image of a painting by her favorite artist. Her first, panicked thought was that it would be David, questioning her status, wanting to know if she was ready to go.

  A text message popped up: So sorry about today. Home now. David says you’re good. Come to my place? Griffin.

  “Let me guess,” Mr. Tattoo said. “You have to go.”

  She slid a sideways glance at him, and he was obviously trying not to look at her phone. Now was the time to exit. The perfect opportunity.

  The thing was, she wanted to talk to her curious freelancer—and wasn’t that telling, that she was already thinking of him as hers?

  She wanted to know, if only for an hour or so, that there was life outside the Ofarian world. She may love her people and its culture more than anything, but it was so very insular. All Ofarians knew it; it was why they were warned about the Allure and then turned a blind eye when one of their own tasted what they could not have. As long as it was not permanent. As long as the Primaries never, ever caught a glimpse of the man behind the curtain.