Behind the Lies (A Montgomery Justice Novel)

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2013 Robin L. Perini

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781611098853

  ISBN-10: 1611098858

  In loving memory of my wonderful great-aunt, Lillian Bailey, the original storyteller. For special moments filled with spicy tacos, a warm feather bed, and fairy tale after fairy tale. Though I lost you too soon, your generous and beautiful heart gifted me with the love of story and the belief I could tell one. I love you, Aunt Daddee. Each word in my stories is laced with your inspiration.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  * * *

  Prologue

  * * *

  The last time Sergeant Patrick Montgomery had seen his third-oldest son, Zach had been on the cover of a tabloid cavorting with five naked women.

  Every twenty-seven-year-old male’s fantasy, perhaps, but between those pictures and the rumors of wild parties, alcohol, and God knew what else, even Zach’s brothers had voiced concern, not envy. Last night they’d finally revealed the location of Zach’s favorite blues bar to Patrick. A sure sign they were troubled by the daredevil brother who had scaled the imaginary mountain peak of Hollywood and now dangled on a zip line over a crevice of jagged temptation. If the rope frayed any more…no one could save him.

  Patrick’s steps thudded across the cracked concrete in the war zone in downtown Denver. His hand settled over the Kimber 1911 tucked in his pants. He’d walked this beat as a street cop plenty of times, but unease tightened his trigger finger.

  Could it be the sense someone was watching? Or could it be his wife’s strong grip on his arm just before he’d left home? Even though Anna had spent countless nights in silent tears over the troubling tabloid articles, she hadn’t wanted Patrick to go out tonight. One of her infamous feelings.

  She was never wrong, damn the woman.

  The streetlamp above him flickered, its fading light reflecting off the tequila in the liquor store in a glimmer of enticement. Sirens squealed down the block. The smell of old booze and urine permeated his nostrils.

  A small grunt sounded from a darkened alley to his right. Patrick didn’t hesitate. He clasped his weapon and whirled around, ignoring the twinge in his hip where a twenty-two-year-old bullet was still lodged.

  “I’ve got the time, sugar. I could rock your world.”

  A hooker. Patrick’s hand released the gun as he made out the crow’s-feet around her eyes, the desperation in her gaze. A woman trying to look a decade younger than she was, and not succeeding.

  She hitched her spandex-covered hip and did her best to smile. “You’re a handsome guy. I’ll do you for half price. Tonight only.”

  Patrick raised his left hand and tilted the gold band at her. “Sorry, honey. I’m taken.”

  “Most of my customers are,” she muttered with a drawn-out sigh. “Suit yourself.” She lifted her chin, stuck out her chest, and strutted on four-inch heels to the sidewalk’s edge with a fake smile and clenched fists.

  He could’ve pulled his badge and run her in, but what would be the point?

  “There’s a shelter down the block,” he called out as a Lincoln pulled up next to her.

  She flipped him a third-finger salute and slid into the vehicle. The luxury car sloshed through a puddle, spraying oil-laced water on Patrick’s boots, then passed by. She stared out the window at him, her expression sad and haunted.

  Nothing he could do. She’d made her choice.

  Just like Zach. His son had come to town for his latest B-movie publicity junket. He hadn’t taken the time to see the family—whether he was embarrassed or just didn’t care, Patrick didn’t know. He feared he may have waited too long for this conversation.

  His son had run away. From home, from his family, from his faith, from his soul. Only one thing to do when a black sheep lost its way—and it wasn’t throwing a welcome-home party.

  Call it an intervention, call it a kick in the pants.

  Which was why he was heading toward a bar he had no business being near instead of cuddling with his wife in front of a roaring fire, enjoying a shot of whisky, and maybe even getting lucky. Not that Anna would have needed much persuading. Even after nearly thirty years of marriage, his blood ran hot for his wife whenever he saw her pretty ginger hair and piercing green eyes. She felt the same. His heart warmed at the certainty. They’d had their rough patches over the years, but these days…no man could ask for a better life. A fulfilling job as a cop, the love of a woman, and six strong sons.

  Most of whom were on the right track.

  Patrick crossed the street and settled in just outside a small convenience store. Zach would show up at the blues bar eventually. From what Patrick had seen in the tabloids, his wayward son couldn’t resist booze, smoke, and sex.

  “Hey, Pops. You Sergeant Montgomery?”

  Patrick turned and studied the teen who stood in an open stance at the corner of the building. A large birthmark stained his face. Thatch of black hair. Tattoo on his arm. A pretender’s Special Forces tattoo. Nothing like the one Patrick had had removed. He labeled him quickly. Punk.

  Make that…scared punk.

  The kid’s hands shook.

  He held a gun.

  Patrick grabbed for his 1911.

  A hot blast from behind pelted his back. Where the hell had that come from? He sank to his knees. The .45 caliber slipped from his hand.

  His head dropped and he stared down at his front. Blood pooled over his chest, soaking his shirt.

  The kid ran, but he’d been a distraction. Who…?

  Patrick keeled over on his side, his forehead slapping the concrete sidewalk. The sounds of the city muted. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  He tilted his head and blinked. White spots circled his vision.

  A cold but familiar face stared down at him, a gun in hand. He’d seen the man once. That last confrontation. Damn it. He hadn’t believed they’d go this far.

  “Why?” Patrick whispered.

  “You know too much.”

  The figure melted away.

  Far-off screams barely penetrated his mind. His phone rang. He couldn’t pick up. His body tingled, then went strangely numb. And he knew.

  “Aww, Anna. I’m sorry, my darling.”

  Each breath turned into a struggle. A gurgling bubbled in his chest.

  “Dad?” His prodigal son’s voice shouted from the darkness.

  Strong hands grabbed him. “Oh, God, Dad. Someone call an ambulance!”

  “Zach,” he whispered, struggling to form the word.
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  “What are you doing here?” Zach choked.

  Patrick’s strength poured from his chest, but he rallied his heart and forced his eyes open. His boy stared down, in that moment looking so much like Anna. Her hair, the shape of her eyes. He looked up into his son’s face.

  Tears streamed down Zach’s cheeks. Bloodshot eyes laced with fear…and regret. He cradled Patrick close, but Patrick could no longer feel his son’s touch.

  “Hold on, Dad. Please.”

  It was too late.

  “Tell…Mom. Love her,” he gasped. A gray cloud closed in on him, washing out life’s color.

  “Don’t do this, Dad.” Zach clutched him, rocking him back and forth. “Please. Caleb said you were looking for me. God, I’m sorry. I’ll make this right. Somehow.”

  “Robbery,” a voice shouted from nearby. “We got him.”

  Patrick clutched Zach’s neck.

  “Lies.”

  Patrick wanted to say more. To tell his son the truth. So many secrets. Too many secrets. They’d killed him.

  His eyes fluttered closed. He wanted air. Needed air. He tried to breathe. Something huge and horrible clamped down on his chest.

  He panted. He tried to speak.

  Then an odd warmth flowed through him. The pain twisting his insides vanished. He wished he could tell Zach it would be all right. He didn’t want to leave his family, but he had faith. In his family, in his wife, in his children.

  They would be OK.

  He and Anna had done their job.

  And Zach. Zach would find his way.

  * * *

  Chapter One

  * * *

  Five Years Later—Istanbul, Turkey

  HIS WORLD WAS no more than a façade.

  Zach Montgomery strolled across the intricate parquet floor of the Dolmabahce Palace. The Ottomans certainly knew their opulence. Gold ornamented the nearly forty-foot-high walls and molding on either side of him. The crystals of the gargantuan chandelier winked as if knowing all of his secrets as he passed under the baroque dome.

  A sea of well-groomed, preening penguins milled around him. They were the beautiful people, too perfect to be real.

  Zach tugged at his bow tie. The supposed Armani tuxedo did look damn good. Of course, like his surroundings—like Zach himself—nothing was as it appeared.

  “Action,” the director shouted.

  Zach picked his way through the crowd, focused on every blocked step, every movement. The timing had to be perfect. A glimmer of metal shimmered to his right. His muscles tightened like a puppet string pulled taut.

  A gun’s barrel pointed directly at him.

  With a quick shift on his right leg, he twisted his body and shoved his sleek, blonde costar to the floor. He covered Anastasia and tugged the fake Sig Sauer from his waistband, the gun’s weight perfectly balanced in his hand.

  Two quick shots and the movie’s villain smashed into the champagne fountain. Blood pooled on his white tuxedo shirt. Under his weight, the huge gold structure crashed over, its sparkling liquid turning into a waterfall.

  Screams ripped through the elegant mansion. The flock of extras dove toward the exits, sloshing through the amber liquid, avoiding the predator.

  Zach tucked Anastasia to his side and maneuvered through the panicked throng. A dark-headed man grabbed at her with a scowl. Zach didn’t hesitate. He shoved his elbow into the guy’s nose. Synthetic blood spurted. Howling, he fell away.

  Zach grabbed Anastasia and slid under a silk-covered table, with her nestled against him. He jumped to his feet, reached one of the prefabricated panels that protected the palace walls from the movie’s more destructive special effects, and shoved it open, ducking them inside.

  “Cut!” the director shouted.

  Anastasia sagged against him. Zach smiled down at his costar. Her eyes couldn’t hide the relief. She hadn’t mastered the acting craft, but at least she had a soul blazing from her eyes. Unlike so many others in his plastic Hollywood world.

  He softened his smile and tilted her chin up. “You all right?”

  She stared at her Christian Dior dress, now soaked with fake champagne. “I just hope we don’t have to do that again.”

  “Don’t bet on it, but it’ll take a while to reset the stage.”

  “We go again in three hours,” the director yelled.

  Zach chucked Anastasia’s chin. “You better get to hair and makeup, honey.”

  She blinked her baby blues at him then licked her lips. “We could spend part of the break…together. They gave me a private trailer. It’s in my contract.”

  The come-hither words might have been tempting at one time. Five years ago, he’d definitely have taken her up on the offer, but these days…she was too young. Too innocent. An oxymoron in the movie business, but everyone was too innocent for Zach. “Thanks for the offer, Ana, but I have a call to make.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Not hardly,” he chuckled.

  She raised a brow. “Boyfriend?”

  He didn’t bother to respond. One more false rumor about his lifestyle might piss off his brothers and disappoint his mom, but it kept him alive.

  Anastasia flipped her hair and pushed through the door where the director oohed and aahed over her performance.

  Zach just snorted. He skirted around the corner toward the series of rooms the film crew had taken over as dressing areas. He threw the Armani suit at one of the gofers and slipped into black leathers and a jacket over a white T-shirt.

  “But, sir,” a young intern squeaked. “You have hair and makeup soon.”

  Zach shrugged. “I’ll be back. Have a small errand to run,” he said, and winked at the guy. The kid’s eyes grew wide. He probably thought Zach was going out for a bang in a back alley…or maybe a line.

  Let them think what they wanted.

  He exited the nineteenth-century Turkish palace on the opposite side from the Bosphorus Strait, though the blast of salt and sea still hovered in the air. The water would have been a stealth exit, but he didn’t have the time. He hit the velvet lawn in a run, his feet sinking into the sod after the unusual afternoon rain. The palace glowed golden in the dusk, illuminating his path—and him. He had to get out of sight. Quick. He dodged behind a nest of foliage before tugging a small beeper out of his coat pocket. Damn. Less than thirty minutes. It’d be tight.

  Under cover of the trees, he pulled a kit from beneath his jacket and quickly donned his disguise. With one last look in the small mirror, he frowned at Zane Morgan, with his goatee and scar on one cheek. Ten years in the movie business had taught him how to make himself into a man who would never be connected to Zach Montgomery.

  The skill came in handy. The disguise kept his family safe, but these days Zach found it increasingly difficult to maintain the façade of his alter egos. Zane Morgan, CIA operative; and Zach Montgomery, B-movie hack.

  The movie business did provide Zach the perfect cover. He could travel into the most sensitive countries in the world with very few questions. Once he entered as Zach, once he’d played his part, he could get down to his real job—becoming Zane Morgan, a spy who could filter into a location, gather information, and leave unnoticed. Most of the time.

  Minutes later, he reached the edge of the palace estate and eyed the high stone wall. They’d clearly landscaped the place for looks and not protection. Not unless armed guards patrolled—which they normally didn’t these days, except for show. Zach eased along the rough wall’s edge, past the empty guard post, until he reached a locked gate. He snagged one of his cooler toys from his zippered pocket. With a quick snap, he picked the lock.

  Man, what he wouldn’t have given to have this gadget when he was a teenager sneaking in and out of the house for a night on the town. Trying to avoid his dad had probably been the best training he’d ever had. The guilt embedded in Zach’s skin like a splinter rubbed raw, exposing a sorrow he could never shake. He couldn’t do anything about the past…or gain his father’s respect, bu
t he still might be able to save the man who had risked his life to expose a terrorist.

  Pendar had wanted a better life, particularly for his daughters, so the Afghani had come to Zach and volunteered to provide information. On his own, Pendar had infiltrated a group that dealt closely with Khalid—a leader known only by one name, but that name struck dread in so many. Pendar had recognized the mass murderer must be stopped. Despite Zach’s concern that Pendar had been in over his head, Zach had admired his contact’s courage. He’d allowed the situation to develop. Now Pendar, along with his family, was missing. They’d vanished four months ago. Too long. Zach had no one to blame but himself.

  He made his way to a large hedge just beyond the palace’s perimeter. Behind it, he found the motorcycle he’d stashed there earlier. He snagged the helmet and pulled out his phone and earpiece before starting the engine.

  The bike roared to life between his thighs, and Zach steered the machine onto the road. He tapped his earpiece.

  “I’m en route,” he checked in over the rumble of the engine.

  “You’re late.” Theresa’s silky-smooth voice caressed the phone.

  How was it she could make getting chewed out sound like foreplay? On the other hand, Theresa had black belts in two martial arts disciplines. She’d trained Zach. Taught him how to kill and how to hide his identity.

  “I told you this director has his own timetable,” Zach snapped. “You should have given me more leeway.”

  Theresa laughed. “I know better. Besides, our pigeon is high maintenance.”

  Zach rounded the corner and leaned into the curve, twisting the gas and ripping through the narrow city streets. “How does a Turkish informant have information about Pendar? When was your contact in Afghanistan?”

  “He says they were still alive as of a month ago. He claims he saw Pendar and his family brought into a militant training camp run by your favorite terrorist.”

  “Khalid.” Zach’s grip tightened on the gas. “Khalid is why you got me on this movie so quickly. It’s an A-list job, and I can’t believe Matt just bailed. What did you have to do, Theresa?”