License to Lie Read online

  He walked back to the Porsche, returned the flashlight to its cubby hole, got in the car, and fired up the engine. He sat for another minute thinking about Roxy and her mother before he backed out of the driveway and drove home.

  At his condo, Skip parked the car and then went for a walk on the beach. He left his shoes and socks by the front door and rolled up his pants. The sand, like the air, felt cold and damp. Overhead, the moon’s glow cast white reflections off the ocean’s surface. His eyes slowly adjusted until he could make out shadows along the shore—clumps of seaweed that had washed up formed an endless line of sentries along the waterline.

  A small wave splashed his feet. Tonight, even the chill of the water felt hostile. The ocean, which he normally longed to be near, seemed to be telling him—no, ordering him—to leave. Go away. You’re a loser.

  The sand and water continued to suck away the heat from his feet until his calves felt numb. When the feeling extended up to his knees, he turned around and headed home. He was shivering by the time he got inside, a cold numbness flowing like sludge through his veins.

  He glanced at the clock. It was nearly two in the morning. He poured himself a shot of tequila, downed that, then had another. On his third, he offered up a toast, “Salud! Loser.” The golden liquid went down easy. Too easy. He recalled the months after the accident. At least then he’d had a goal. He’d had people who hadn’t given up on him—unlike what he’d done with the Tanners. He downed another shot of tequila, turned off the lights, and crawled under a blanket on the couch.

  The tequila would numb his thoughts, he hoped. But it didn’t. Instead, his feelings of failure intensified. He found the remote for the TV and flicked it on. He channel surfed until exhaustion took hold. The TV blurred. He muttered, “This is a chick thing. Isn’t this what they do when they get upset? Maybe I need a bucket of ice cream.”

  He fell asleep on the couch, muttering to himself about women, ice cream, and how, with hundreds or thousands or millions of TV channels available, there was nothing to watch.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Roxy

  At seven o’clock when I awoke, I realized how dark my mood had become. I hadn’t slept well and a sense of gloom permeated my thoughts. I glanced outside. How appropriate, I thought. The morning sky was still a dull and monotonous gray—another of those half-lit, foggy-mornings we know so well. Today’s marine layer hung nearly a thousand feet up in the sky. It would take a few hours, but the blanket covering the coast would burn off. Eventually. Maybe.

  Skip was right about one thing. Whatever else I did, whatever the cost, I needed to remain focused on getting my dad back.

  I had about $50,000 in my bank accounts. Mom had said she could raise another $50,000 by tapping the one source Dad hadn’t maxed out, their line of credit on the house. If I hit my credit card for a cash advance, I could probably get another $20,000. That gave us $120,000 toward the ransom. It also meant my mother would lose the house in foreclosure within a few months. I grimaced. Well, so much for squeaking by. They wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. Adding a new loan payment would tip the scales in the wrong direction.

  I took a quick shower to wake up, foregoing the usual leg shaving and tedious prep work we women have to go through. I bought coffee on my way to the office at one of my usual haunts—perhaps I was looking for some sense of normalcy in this whole crazy situation.

  It was almost eight when I got in and discovered that the office door was still locked. Stella. Up to her old tricks. Until recently, she’d always shown up late. For a couple of weeks now, she’d been coming in early claiming that she had work to do. I didn’t question her, but it led me to believe she might be looking for another job. The girl really was as dumb as a post if she thought she’d make this kind of money elsewhere.

  At my desk, I punched the button to fire up my computer. While the machine went through its cycle to come alive, I paced in front of my desk. The boot-up process took forever this morning, but the second time I checked, the machine was ready for a password. I typed that in and began to pace again. Damn it! Where was Stella? What was I going to do about the money? I needed almost $4.9 million. That just didn’t grow on trees. Unless that tree was my business clients’ money.

  I logged into my business account. The current balance had gone up just a bit thanks to the pittance in interest I was getting. The balance was now $4,838,002. Combining our $120,000 with that would give us $4,958,002—about $42,000 short. What would the kidnappers do? Was I willing to sacrifice everything to save my dad? I already knew that answer.

  It was time to call Mom. If by some miracle, Dad was home, I didn’t need to do this. If he wasn’t, I was going to be broke, a felon, and on the run for the rest of my life with nothing to show for it. I sat in the chair behind my desk and sipped my coffee while I stared off into space. Everything. Daddy, you’re about to cost me everything. My head throbbed, but I had no tears left. I was dried out. Worn out. But I’d do it. I’d sacrifice it all just to get him back. I owed him that.

  I dialed the house. The phone rang twice before Mom picked up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded weak and old.

  “Did Dad come home?” I didn’t have to ask, I already knew the answer.

  “No, honey. Maybe we should call the police.”

  “I have the money. Well, I don’t have it in hand, but I have access to it. They don’t want cops. Neither do I.”

  “How did you—”

  “Don’t ask,” I warned. “All you need to know is that I have almost all of it. You need to get the $50,000 from your line of credit.” My cell phone beeped. It was another text message.

  “Do U hv mny?”

  “I have to go, Mom. I just got a text from the kidnappers. Call the bank. Tell them you’re going to need that $50,000 today.”

  “But—”

  “Call you back in a minute.” I disconnected. My mouth went dry. It was one thing to think about giving up everything, another to commit to it. I’d really do this?

  I started typing a reply. “Hv mst. 42K shrt. OK?” My finger paused over the send key. I closed my eyes and sent the message.

  I frittered away the next five minutes, worrying about how I could come up with more money. How could I have told them we didn’t have it all? Now they were going to kill my dad.

  My cell bleeped. Another message.

  “OK. Snd dlvry nstrutsns 1 hr.”

  Tears welled in my eyes. They’d gone for it. In an hour they’d tell me how to get the money to them. I had to work fast. Given the banking laws and restrictions on large withdrawals of cash, I was certain these guys would be using an offshore account. Once that money was wired to the account, it was gone. There would be no duffel bag, no bicycles riding through the park picking up a satchel, none of that Hollywood stuff. This was real. I wouldn’t send the money until I had Dad safe and secure, but how would I negotiate that? I didn’t know.

  I locked the door behind me on the way out. I got in the car and hit the speed dial key for Mom. It’s illegal to use a cell phone while driving in California without a hands-free device. But everyone else does it and this was an emergency. The line was busy. Goddammit! Get off the phone. Shit, I’d told her to call the bank. I tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat and drove like hell.

  As I pulled into the driveway, I spotted Mom perched at the front window. No sooner had I reached for the doorknob when she wrenched the front door open. “Roxy!” She threw her arms around me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and held on tight. Oh, God, to be eight again with no worries. No cares. Before that horrible man. My cheek felt wet. I didn’t think I had any tears left—guess I was wrong about that, too. “Mom. I had a message from the kidnappers. They say they’ll take the amount I have. It’s not quite five million, but it’s close enough.”

  “How did you get that much money?”

  I glared at her. “I told you, don’t ask. You don’t want to know.”

  She wrapped me in her emb
race again, this time even tighter. “I can’t lose you, too.”

  I pushed her away.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and began to rock back and forth. She sobbed, “I can’t. Don’t make me choose between you and your father!”

  “You don’t have to. It’s done.” The pressure in my head was killing me. After today, I’d never see her again. This time, I grabbed her and pulled her close. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.” I set my jaw and pushed her away again. My eyes were wet, I probably looked like hell, but we had a lot to do.

  Her lower lip trembled and her breath came out in ragged bursts. “This can’t be happening.”

  “It is. Did you call the bank?”

  She nodded. “They wanted wire instructions. Where do you want the money sent?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll be getting a text message in about . . .” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “. . . in about twenty minutes.”

  “They said noon.”

  “That was the deadline. This is just to send me wiring instructions.”

  “You’re going to wire the money? Like they do in those movies where it goes to an account where only the bad guy can get to it?”

  “I’m assuming that’s what they’ll want. We could never get that much cash in one day. Any idiot knows that.”

  Mom shrugged. “I didn’t. I just assumed—I guess I was being stupid.”

  “Not stupid, Mom, just naive.”

  “When did you become the expert on this kind of thing?” She stared at me, the outside corner of her left eye crinkling just a bit.

  “I need one more thing.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I need something of Dad’s.”

  “Sure, what?”

  “Tell me where he keeps his gun.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Skip

  Skip sat on a boulder the size of a small car watching the swells roll into the jetty. Each tidal surge approached in a lazy march through the narrowing channel. The funnel effect compressed the waves as they pressed on through into Agua Hedionda Lagoon. Further inland from where Skip sat, the tidal surges settled into a steady current that controlled the wetland area and reinforced nature’s delicate balance.

  The waves seemed to mirror his anger with Roxy Tanner, his emotional ebb and flow perfectly synchronized with the channel’s pulse. He’d been here since before the first light of day and the steady rhythm hadn’t yet washed away his anger and frustration. He just couldn’t seem to release it. Yesterday morning at this time, he’d been walking the beach and wondering if he wanted to take on Wally’s high-paying client. Today, he sat here like a moron wondering why he wasn’t helping a woman who couldn’t pay him, had lied to him, but needed his help desperately even though she didn’t realize it.

  Another wave surged through. Skip’s anger boiled. She manipulated me. She lied. She—she was the most exasperating woman he’d ever met. And the first to get under his skin. He remembered the way she’d flashed that smile in the bar last night when she returned from the restroom. She knew he was lying to her, but she’d let it go. That’s because she’s a liar! He watched another wave’s rise and fall. Damn her.

  The clouds smothered the coast with their gray. It seemed a perfect beginning for a perfectly screwed-up day. In the distance, he spotted surfers making their way into the water with their boards. Maybe he should get his. No. He just wanted to be angry. He just wanted to curse her. Maybe then he could start to put her out of his mind.

  In the distance, he watched a surfer misjudge an approaching wave. He paddled to gain momentum. He got his knees under him, then slowly started to raise himself to a standing position. He never made it. The wave slammed into his body, his board shot from under his feet almost immediately and he tumbled into the surf. The board hit the end of its tether and jerked back toward the surfer, nearly hitting him in the head. “Serves you right—amateur.” Skip mumbled. “You were over your head.”

  He let out an exasperated explosion of air. “I suppose that means I deserve what I got last night.” He turned his attention away from the surfers toward a pair of women walking. As they crossed the bridge over the channel, the one closest to Skip motioned with her hands. It was like watching a mime act. Did her words match her animated gestures? Who knew? Just like he’d never know what happened to Richard Tanner. Unless he saw the story on the news.

  He rubbed his face with his hands. His lips tasted salty. How long had he been here? He checked the clock on his phone. Nearly two hours. What was he going to do? Spend the whole day moping around? Let her ruin his life, too? He wondered if he should call Evelyn. She didn’t deserve this. He considered throwing the phone in the jetty, then jumping in after it. Oh Jesus, was he screwed up or what? “Come on, Skip, get over it. She’s just a page in your book.” A page he’d subconsciously savored last night, but wanted to forget today.

  His back ached as he stood and balanced himself on the boulder. He traversed the rocks cautiously, aware that one moment’s inattention could trigger a fall and weeks of painful recovery. Back on the sand, he followed the shore, closing his eyes when there was no one else around and letting the crashing of waves massage his senses. Hopeless romance, he thought. Not me. He picked up a handful of wet sand and compressed it into a tight ball. He weighed it, stared at it, and then compressed it again in his hands. “Roxy Tanner, I’m letting you go. You’ll have nothing more on me. No more hold.” He reared back and threw the ball into the ocean. As the ball approached the apex of its arc, it disintegrated.

  He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of salty air. When he opened his eyes, he snickered. “They’re right. It doesn’t work.” As the next wave rolled in, he let it wash over his feet and ankles, then bent over and rinsed the sand from his hands in the chill water. He wiped his forehead and cheeks with his cold fingers and palms and tasted the salt again. Getting her out of his head was hopeless—getting over her, impossible. He let out a tired sigh with the realization that the old trite saying was true. Only time would heal this wound.

  His phone rang as he approached the condo. He checked the display. Evelyn Tanner. His pulse quickened. Should he answer? He swallowed hard. He had to. “Cosgrove.”

  “Skip, this is Evelyn. We still need your help. Roxy says she has the ransom together. She’s on her way. Skip, I can’t lose her. Can you come over here?”

  Her voice was choked. He could visualize the tears on her cheeks, the red around her eyelids, and the little blotchy patch of white on her forehead where her emotions played out. “Evelyn, I don’t know that I can—I mean, should, interfere. Roxy was very clear last night.”

  “You can’t let her do this.”

  I can’t? Was she nuts? He doubted that he could stop Roxy from stepping in front of a bus if that’s what she wanted to do. He mustered his best compassionate tone. “Why would that be?”

  “Because, I can’t lose both her and my husband. Please, I’ll do anything. Anything.”

  Skip’s eyes watered. He rubbed the back of his neck, which felt hot despite the fog’s clingy cold.

  Her voice was in his ear again. “Please. What’s your price?”

  He massaged his forehead. He had a killer headache building. He’d like to think it was the tequila and lack of sleep, but deep down he knew the real reason. It was because Evelyn was right. He couldn’t walk away. He was in free fall. He had no lifeline, no parachute, and no safety net. And he had no way to stop. “I’ll be there in under an hour. I’ll try. Save your money for the ransom, Evelyn. Bye.”

  He disconnected, jogged into the condo, grabbed some coffee and went to the bathroom. He popped two aspirin and got in the shower. The hot water spray pounded his face. He let the pelting continue as his mind wrestled with Evelyn’s news—Roxy had five million dollars. Tommy must have been right. Roxy was running a scam. The water’s pounding eventually numbed his face and sent the tequila’s aftereffects into remission. He should call Evelyn
back and tell her he couldn’t help, but knew he couldn’t do that. No, there was another option.

  As he dried off, he decided that it was time to take Herman Nordoff up on his offer. He pulled on a pair of khaki pants, a blue “Porsche” T-shirt, and grabbed his jacket. He dialed Nordoff’s number.

  “Herman Nordoff.”

  “Herman, Skip Cosgrove. Guess it didn’t take much time for me to think up a favor.”

  “You name it. I meant what I said.”

  “I’m involved in another case. The problem is, I have a client who claims to have a lot of money and I need to be sure she really does.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Your fee went up?”

  “No. It’s for a ransom. This is a kidnapping.”

  “Oh. What do you want to know?”

  “Roxanne Tanner. She runs a venture capital firm. I need to know what assets she has.”

  Nordoff whistled. “You can pick ‘em, Skip. That’s a helluva favor. But I can do it. It’ll take some time.”

  “I don’t have much. Maybe a few hours.”

  “That should be enough. I’ll call you when I’ve got something.”

  Ten minutes later, he was driving to the Tanner residence in silence, wondering how in the world he’d fallen for Roxy Tanner. Everything was wrong about her. Everything. Then why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Roxy

  Mom and I had argued about Dad’s gun, but in the end, she realized that my argument about not being able to trust kidnappers and needing protection was true. That was my argument to her. If she knew what my true intentions were, she’d never have shown me his hiding spot.

  Mom opened Dad’s side of the closet and pointed to the top shelf. “It’s up there.”

  “The blue box?”

  She nodded. “I told your father I never wanted it near me. So he put it out of my reach.”

  I had to stand on my tiptoes, but was able to finger the box out and catch it as it fell from the shelf. It was heavier than I’d expected and nearly went crashing to the floor. “He doesn’t keep it loaded, does he?”