First Lie Wins(29)
She beams at the invitation.
“We’d love that,” James answers for them. “What can we bring?”
“Nothing! We’ve got it.” I look at the woman. “Can’t wait!”
Alias: Izzy Williams—Eight Years Ago
This is the first job where my fake name and background has the backup to support it. I even googled my new name, Isabelle Williams, Izzy for short, and found that I was listed as a member of the cross-country team who competed at state for a local high school a few years ago. Somehow the picture that accompanied the article included a grainy group photo, and I could swear I was the third girl on the right, complete with short blond hair, like the wig I’m wearing right now.
It makes me wonder how many people Mr. Smith has working for him. Not just people being sent on jobs like me but those working behind the scenes, altering images that show up on internet searches and creating identities from thin air.
The only other person I’ve dealt with is Matt, but it feels like whatever this organization is, it’s much bigger than just him and Mr. Smith.
There was a lot to do to get ready for this job. I was given instructions on how to pull my natural hair up and secure it under the wig so that there was no chance any of my strands would be left uncovered. I was also told to apply a thick layer of liquid bandage to the tip of each finger so no matter what I touch while I’m here, I wouldn’t leave a fingerprint behind. I’m to reapply it every couple of hours. I rub my fingers together, still trying to get used to the lack of feeling there. I added the contoured makeup and colored contacts on my own. Mama taught me how a few strokes of powder can change the shape and look of your entire face—although I know she would only have wanted me to use those tricks to enhance my face, not to make it unrecognizable.
It’s the first day of my first job for Mr. Smith, and I have to admit, I’m a little nervous. As far as Greg and Jenny Kingston know, I’m the new nanny for their son, Miles. But in truth, Greg has something in this house that my boss wants, and I’m here to get it for him.
There were a lot of instructions of how to handle items, as well. The second I retrieve the item I’m sent for, I am to drop it at a predesignated spot as soon as possible. It’s harder to get caught if you aren’t in possession of what you stole when they catch you.
Walking up to the front porch, I smooth down my shirt and shorts before ringing the doorbell.
Greg opens the door immediately, as if he has been waiting for me to arrive. He’s wearing a gray suit with a darker gray tie, and his hair looks like it hasn’t changed since he was a young boy. Short and combed to the side, not a strand out of place.
“Isabelle Williams?” he asks, then looks me up and down. I’m dressed exactly as instructed. Khaki shorts that hit two inches above the knee and a pink polo shirt. I look like I’m ready for a round of golf.
My hand reaches out for his and we shake. “Yes, sir. Mr. Kingston. You can call me Izzy.”
He nods and gestures for me to come inside. He checks his watch for the second time since he’s opened the door, then yells toward the wraparound stairs that curve up the foyer wall. “Jenny! She’s here!”
Both of our gazes are trained on the upper landing as we wait for Jenny to show herself.
She doesn’t.
Greg booms her name out again and again we wait.
He’s irritated. And slightly embarrassed. “Excuse me one moment,” he mutters, and then he’s gone. Taking the steps two at a time, he is out of sight within seconds.
“Are you the new babysitter?”
I spin around to find Miles behind me. He’s in the middle of a doorway that leads to the dining room, then eventually the kitchen, according to the blueprints I studied.
Moving toward him slowly, I stop when I’m a few feet away and squat down until I’m on his level. “I am. My name is Izzy. What’s yours?” I ask, even though I already know his name and just about everything about him. Matt gave me a packet that covered every detail about this family when I agreed to work for Mr. Smith. Miles is five years old, an only child, and I’m the fourth nanny that he’s had already this year.
His thumb pops back into his mouth as soon as he tells me his name, even though he looks a little too old for that.
I point to his shirt. “Iron Man is my favorite.”
He pulls his shirt away from his body to look down at it as if he needs a reminder of what he’s wearing. It’s a shirt with all the Marvel characters in their fighting stance poses.
“I like the Hulk. He smashes things,” he says, then adds the growl and fists his hands.
I’m about to ask another question, but there’s movement on the stairs that draws our attention.
Greg has located Jenny and is now pulling her down the stairs. She almost stumbles once they clear the last step, as if she’s unaware there are no more in front of her.
“Izzy, this is my wife, Mrs. Kingston.” His grip on her arm seems to be the only thing keeping her standing.
Jenny looks at me and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
Another thing I know—Jenny likes her Xanax in the morning, her Chardonnay in the afternoon, and a vodka or three in the evening.
I reach out my hand and she clasps it with both of hers. “Izzy, it’s so nice to meet you!”