Behind the Lies (A Montgomery Justice Novel) Page 4

  Not different from most of the actors in this neighborhood. Their big breaks usually came with big purchases. Cars, boats, houses.

  A lot of them lost everything soon enough.

  She’d thought she’d been so lucky, falling for a man with money who had a normal, but very well-paying job.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Sam tried to wriggle away.

  “Don’t move, honey.”

  “I don’t like it up here,” he said with a frown.

  “You see that swimming pool? The Dark Avenger swims in that pool.”

  Sam’s eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in awe. “The real Dark Avenger?”

  “The one and the same.”

  Sam had happened upon the B-movie about six months ago and had become obsessed with the superhero.

  Jenna hadn’t known having a neighbor who was famous might come in so handy. Even though Zach Montgomery hadn’t hit it big recently, he still worked in the movie biz and was gone for months at a time.

  At a cocktail party just last week, a neighbor told her that Zach had been seen in the tabloids with his newest young starlet, all comfy-cozy on location in Turkey.

  Sam leaned forward. “Is the Dark Avenger home? Can we meet him?”

  “I think that’s a great idea.” Guilt flashed through her at the false enthusiasm, but Sam just gave her a big grin.

  “He likes kids,” Sam said, his voice certain.

  She chucked his chin. “And he’d love you.”

  Sam smiled and Jenna studied the ground below her. Fifteen feet. They could do this. She held out her hands to Sam.

  “Hold on to me. I’m going to lower you down.”

  He bit his lip. “OK, Mommy.”

  That look was so trusting, so believing. How long would it last when he realized they weren’t coming back?

  Another roaring yell pounded over the huge wall.

  Sam stared at the lights streaming toward them from their house, his eyes growing wide. “Daddy sounds really mad. He needs a time-out.”

  A permanent time-out. She couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. She hugged him close. “I know, baby. Let’s find the Dark Avenger.”

  She took a deep breath and lowered Sam as far as she could down the wall. The drop looked way too far.

  A strobe light swept toward them.

  “OK, Junior Avenger,” she said, desperately trying to keep her voice calm despite the panic prodding her, causing her heart to gallop. “We’re escaping the jungle. Can you jump down?”

  He gave her that rolling eyes look—the one he used when fear took a backseat to common sense.

  “It’s easy, Mommy. Watch.”

  His hands slipped from hers. Suddenly, he landed on the ground and stared up at her. “You can do it, Mommy. Don’t be afraid.”

  His small face gazed up at her. If her boy could do it…she took in a deep breath. She shifted her leg over the side. Her foot slipped and glass gouged into her calf. She hissed in a breath to keep from crying out. What was a little cut compared to Brad’s reaction if he caught them? She eased her legs over the wall and hung there, fingers gripping the edge. With a small prayer, she clutched her jacket and dropped next to Sam. She fought to smile. “Nothing to it.”

  Sam crouched by her leg. “You’re bleeding.”

  She looked at the deep, bleeding scrapes. A line of blood sprinkled to the grass. “It’s just a few scratches. I bet the Dark Avenger has a first aid kit.”

  Taking Sam’s hand, Jenna led him to the back door. She peered inside. A blinking light flashed on a security panel. She rested her head against the door. It looked like the same brand as hers. Brad had picked it out. State-of-the-art. Without the code, she couldn’t chance breaking in.

  She bit her lip and studied the backyard. A pool house stood vacant. “Come on, Junior Avenger.”

  “Where is he?” Sam asked.

  “He’s not home right now. Come help Mommy take care of her leg.”

  Sam nodded and followed her to the small building. Once inside, Jenna released the blinds to enclose the pool house’s interior then turned to the refrigerator. Darkness made it difficult to see, but she couldn’t risk turning on the lights. She opened the door. Alongside the expected beer was a large array of water bottles, juice boxes, and applesauce cups. Not exactly what she’d expected.

  But at least the light from the refrigerator gave her just enough to see.

  She grabbed two juice boxes, left the refrigerator door open to illuminate the room, then sat on one of the lounge chairs. Grabbing a fluffy white towel and bottled water, she dabbed at the scrape. She hissed at the tender skin. Red blotted the towel, but the bleeding soon stopped. Antibiotic ointment would have been nice. Maybe…

  Jenna rose and searched through the cabinets. She found some snacks and protein bars that might come in handy. She snagged a few, then in the last cabinet she hit the lottery. A small first aid kit.

  She pulled out the spray disinfectant, gave her leg a few squirts, and closed her eyes against the burning.

  Sam’s lip trembled. “I don’t like that stuff. It stings.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes we—”

  “—gotta do things we don’t wanna,” Sam parroted. “Like picking up toys.”

  She pulled him into her arms. The strobe lights from their backyard had gone out. The light of the refrigerator bathed the pool room in a dim glow.

  Even though Brad was only yards away, for the first time in the months since she’d called the FBI Jenna’s heart didn’t race in unending panic.

  She toyed with Sam’s locks. She’d make certain he grew up without fear. She wanted him to be secure like she’d been, before her dad died. Before she’d been forced to fend for herself. She had to find a way.

  “Tell me a story, Mommy,” he whispered. “You haven’t told me a story in a loooong time.”

  “What about last night, Sam?”

  “That was forever ago. Tell me about the Dark Avenger again.”

  She listened. The sound of summer crickets circled the pool house. No threats floated in from her backyard. She settled Sam against her, wrapping him close. She kissed his hair. “Once upon a time—”

  A bright light exploded in Zach Montgomery’s backyard.

  Jenna gripped Sam tight. Oh God. Had her husband found them?

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  THE AFGHANI WIND howled in warning through the hidden pass. Sweat beaded on Farzam’s upper lip as his captor removed the blindfold. The jagged rocks surrounding him loomed upward, and the scraggly junipers growing out of the stony landscape reached out as if to yank him from rounding the next bend in the barely visible path.

  He wished he could run, but he had no choice.

  His gun-wielding escort shoved Farzam forward. He stumbled and hit his knees. Stones sharpened with eons of desert wind dug into his skin. He winced but didn’t cry out. A show of weakness meant death. Of this he had no doubt.

  He could feel eyes watching him from the crevices to either side. His loose-fitting pants hid his shaking legs, and he stood, forcing himself not to cower.

  For his family.

  The guards had broken into the hovel he now called home and dragged him from his bed. Many never came home after disappearing in such a manner. His beloved sister Setara, along with her husband and their two daughters, had vanished in a similar fashion four months ago.

  Farzam swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. If he didn’t return, would his in-laws take his family in, or would his own dishonor infect what little remained of his life? Farzam’s only hope was that his wife and son hadn’t been taken, too. Maybe he had a chance to survive.

  The guard pushed him through a chasm. Farzam slipped on the crumbling rock and rounded a large outcropping. He sucked in a breath at the sight before him. A narrow crevice opened into a gap housing several traditional buildings formed from mud, some embedded into the edge of the mountain.


  His escort nodded to the armed guards standing at the narrow entrance. Farzam swallowed and stepped past them. Would he leave here alive?

  He paused in front of the largest building’s open doorway. A man stood before him, his bearing haughty in a way inappropriate for his traditional attire. The guard clasping Farzam’s arm bowed his head and forced Farzam to follow suit.

  “I am Khalid.”

  Farzam swallowed deeply. He recognized the name of the vicious tribal leader.

  Khalid smiled. “I see you have heard of me.”

  Farzam nodded.

  “You are brother by marriage to Pendar, the traitor?” Khalid asked.

  Farzam’s entire body sagged. They knew of him. They probably knew he and his brother-in-law had been educated together as well. He was dead.

  “Respond,” Khalid ordered.

  Nothing could be done but acknowledge the truth. Farzam nodded again.

  “Come. You shall witness the punishment.”

  Farzam’s throat tightened, his mouth and lips dry, but he couldn’t hide the relief that blew through him like a hot desert wind. A witness existed to report events. If he was only an observer, maybe he would find his way home to his family. Maybe Setara and her daughters would leave with him.

  Khalid led them through an open doorway.

  Farzam gasped. His sister stood, head bowed, hair uncovered, against a rock face littered with bullet holes. A firing squad faced her.

  Beside her, a man so beaten he was unrecognizable struggled to rise.

  The man raised his chin, his expression defeated, sorrowful, dead. “Farzam,” he choked. “Forgive me, brother.”

  The slurred words carved at Farzam like a pulwar, the traditional sword of his people. Pendar was barely alive. Then Setara turned her face.

  He bit back a shocked cry. Her cheek had been sliced open from her eye to the corner of her mouth. Dirt caked the wound. Bruises mottled her jaw. Her chadri had been sliced, leaving the skin of her arms and even her torso exposed. She wrapped her arms around her body and averted her gaze.

  Farzam’s hands tightened into fists. He wanted to rush to her, but he couldn’t move; his feet stayed still, as if cemented with clay. He said nothing. Shame burned through him with the sting of a viper’s venom.

  “For treason against the tribe, for consorting with the enemy, the United States, we condemn Pendar Durrani to death. His wife, Setara, for conspiracy.”

  “No, please! I beg of you,” Pendar pleaded with a weak croak. “Let my wife and daughters go.”

  Khalid’s gaze narrowed. He looked with deliberation at Farzam and cocked a brow.

  Farzam couldn’t speak. Where were his nieces? His tongue wouldn’t move. His throat closed off.

  “So be it.” The man nodded at the firing squad.

  Bullets sprayed his beloved sister’s body, tearing her flesh.

  She fell to the ground.

  Pendar cried out, his anguish echoing through the camp.

  “Fire,” Khalid said, with no emotion, no caring in his voice.

  Bullets pelted Pendar until he went silent, though his eyes continued to stare blankly at Farzam, even after his body lay limply on top of his wife.

  Farzam said nothing.

  Two squeals of horror from behind him penetrated his skull with the force of the bullets that had just murdered his family.

  “Mother! Father!”

  Farzam whirled around. His nieces’ eyes were wide with horror. Failure sliced at his soul, shredding the last of his dignity. He had failed them. He had failed his sister. He had failed his family.

  “Take them away.”

  Farzam could feel his mouth opening and closing, but nothing escaped. Even now.

  Khalid stared down his nose at Farzam. “You wish to speak?” he said, his voice quiet.

  Farzam shook his head in shame.

  “I thought not.”

  “May I bury them?” Farzam whispered.

  “They deserve no honor. They will become a reminder.” Khalid stared down Farzam. “You worked with your brother. You studied in the United Kingdom. You share his views?”

  Farzam swallowed. “No, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  “His daughters?” Farzam asked.

  “You care for Pendar’s children?”

  “It is my duty.” Farzam refused to let him see how much he cared.

  “It is their duty to serve. If they do well, perhaps they will be returned. Perhaps not.”

  Khalid waved his hand, walked back into the building, and closed the door. Two guards pulled Setara’s screaming daughters into what looked like a men’s barracks.

  They would be unable to wed after being held here. Of this, Farzam had no doubt.

  His eyes burned as he stared at his sister’s torn and shredded body. She had been so smart, so beautiful. His father and mother had dressed her as a boy so she could attend school. Her education had been her downfall.

  He let his gaze fall to his brother-in-law. The fool. The idealist. He had believed the CIA goon who had convinced him they would be safe, that Pendar and his family would be welcomed in the United States. Zane Morgan had caused this calamity.

  He had brought dishonor and tragedy on their entire family.

  Farzam would never be welcomed back at the university as a professor. His entire life had been ruined already. Once Pendar’s fate was learned, any hope of salvaging the life he had lived was gone. Khalid would see to that. His influence went well beyond the borders of the tribal lands.

  The guard shoved him toward the exit. He was leaving this place. He had half expected to be taken before the firing squad as well.

  He was alive.

  The guard blindfolded him and led him back through the pass, through twists and turns, thoroughly confusing Farzam. Finally, the guard removed the covering over Farzam’s eyes.

  “You can walk from here.”

  “Water?” he asked softly.

  Surreptitiously, the guard glanced from side to side. He shoved a small bottle at Farzam. “Make it last. It will be dusk soon. I wouldn’t be on the road after dark.”

  Farzam started toward Kabul. Step by step he left the bodies of his family and the ruined lives of his nieces farther behind him.

  Zane Morgan owed their family. He would pay.

  An eye for an eye.

  On his honor, Farzam would make the American suffer and die as Pendar and his sister had.

  There would be no reprieve. Except in death.

  Zach scanned the street, searching for anything out of place before stepping out of the taxi in front of his La Jolla mansion’s privacy gate. Behind the tall iron entrance lay the refuge Theresa had discovered for him six months ago. The ocean breezes swept across his face, the bite of sea air and salt nipping the tip of his tongue. Good to be home and not at the wrong end of an Uzi…or a knife…or suffocating.

  He hadn’t almost-been-killed this many times in one day since the Dark Avenger movie—if his luck held.

  Which was why he couldn’t stay. He had to outfit his truck and get to his Colorado safe house before anyone found him.

  With a twist, he slipped a few bills from his wallet to pay the cab driver. The movement tugged at the cut across Zach’s chest. A drip trickled down his skin. Great. He’d reopened the wound. He needed a few butterfly bandages before making the trip.

  The taxi revved and pulled away.

  He dug his keys out of his pocket then scanned the front of his home, checking for signs of any intruders. The vehicle gate was closed. He eased closer. The infrared sensor positioned at the entrance didn’t indicate any tampering. Zach checked the settings. A bit of movement, but the gate hadn’t been opened from the inside or outside since he’d left months ago. Wind, a dog, a cult fan trying to get in perhaps.

  He reset the sensor and pushed through the small, hidden door at the side of the driveway. Once at the front door, with practiced fingers, he ran the tips around the doorjamb and perused the sensors hid
den in the hedges on either side of the threshold.

  No sign of intruders.

  So far so good.

  He pushed inside the house and closed the door behind him. A loud beep sounded from the security system. Zach hit the code and scanned the log. No one had tripped the system.

  Safe, for the moment.

  Zach kneaded the muscles at the back of his neck in an attempt to stave off the building headache. First things first. He crossed the tile and headed straight for the bar. He placed his 1911 on the marble, pulled a longneck bottle out of the small refrigerator, and slammed a swallow of cold brew down his throat. With a flop he landed in a large leather chair and rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

  Maybe he’d let it grow out. Fewer people would recognize him that way.

  Another swig and he sighed. A beard wouldn’t stop his enemies. He couldn’t stay here. Too many people knew about the address. Hell, he was on the B-movie-star tour of fame.

  He tapped the half-empty bottle and hit the remote for the large-screen television. A scan of the national and local news revealed nothing about the abandoned airplane or two dead bodies at Montgomery Field. No locking down of the San Diego airport. No security concerns.

  Someone had to have found the plane by now, which meant Theresa had done a thorough cleanup job. Now he had to do his part.

  Thank God for his backup plan. Under an assumed name, he’d purchased a small piece of property hidden on the western edge of the Holy Cross Wilderness in the Colorado mountains. Just in case.

  He’d always hoped he’d never need it unless he retired there.

  Zach placed the bottle on the coffee table and stood. He stretched his back and made his way to the rear door. Could he afford the time for a soak in the hot tub to ease the aftereffects of oxygen deprivation?