First Lie Wins(78)

I’m out of the room in five minutes. Moving back to the reception area, I nod to the girl at the desk. “You’re all good, enjoy your day.”

I’m leaving Eden for the last time ten minutes later.

Calling Devon, I say, “It’s done,” the moment he answers.

“Sending you a screenshot,” he says. “The Coach Mitch gamble paid off. We know who Smith is now.”

My heart rate skyrockets and I pull over on the side of the road as I wait for the image to load. And there he is. Even though the screen is tiny, his familiar face is all I can see. I stare at it longer than I should.

Finally, I put the phone back to my ear. “We deal in facts now,” I say.

“Yes, we do.” He pauses then says, “This doesn’t have to change anything, L.”

I swallow hard. “I know. Make the calls. I want to get through the cops first. Then I’ll worry about the bank. If I can’t shake the cops, the rest of it doesn’t matter, so they are the priority right now.”

“Okay. Remember what I said. It is never too late to bail. Just start walking.”

I’m nodding even though he can’t see me. “And you’re handling things in Lake Forbing?”

“Already done. Got in the house without a problem. I’ll tip the police off first thing in the morning,” he says. “And the next river you pass, toss that phone in. Don’t have it on you when you meet with the cops.”

“Will do. I’ll grab another one when I get to Atlanta so next time you hear from me should be after I’m done with those detectives. And if I can’t call, you’ll know . . .”

“Nope, no doomsday talk just yet. I’ll wait to hear from you.” And then Devon ends the call.

I stare at his image a few more minutes before deleting it.





Alias: Regina Hale—Six Months Ago


It’s the first time I’ve been bored on a job. I’m in Decatur, Georgia, and the only thing I’ve been given was my new identity, a membership number for the local country club, and the name Amy Holder, along with a set of instructions:


Amy Holder is in possession of some extremely sensitive information regarding Victor Connolly and the Connolly family business. She is threatening to use the information against Victor in exchange for money. I cannot stress to you enough how crucial it is to retrieve this information before she can make good on her threat. You are being trusted with this job and confidentiality is imperative. Neither of us want to get on the bad side of a man like Victor Connolly. You are to watch Amy Holder and learn everything about her. Do not engage until I tell you to but be ready to act at a moment’s notice.



Like clockwork, Amy pushes through the double glass doors of the bar at 5:25 p.m. For the last two weeks, she has stayed home until around five in the evening, then she commutes a measly two miles to this country club, where she’ll drown herself in vodka martinis until closing.

Amy is five foot seven with an athletic build and honey-blond hair that hits right below her shoulders. The makeup is light, the jewelry is nonexistent, and she rocks a perpetual resting-bitch face.

By the time she slips onto her favorite stool, a bartender with a name tag that reads Morris, in a pressed button-down shirt with the club’s logo, delivers the first of many drinks with a warm smile and a cheerful hello. Devon has definitely gotten more comfortable in playing an active role over the last few years.

“Would you like to see a menu, Miss Holder?” he asks.

“Maybe a little later,” she replies.

“Of course, just let me know when you’re ready,” he replies as he walks away.

This exchange is also a constant: same question, same answer. She won’t ask for a menu, and he won’t offer one again, but all it takes is a slight nod and her glass will be refilled within seconds.

I’ve been in and out of this bar for the last eleven days, but it’s the third night in a row that I’ve settled in for the duration, not bothering to hide anymore. She sips her drink and ignores everyone around her. If she has a phone, she has not once taken it out and looked at it. There’s not a single person here, myself included, who hasn’t glanced at their phone at least once, even if it is just to check the time.

But not Amy.

Amy will sit at the bar and drink anywhere from four to six martinis, then she’ll grab her purse and drive the short distance home, some nights swerving back and forth across the yellow line the entire way. She lives in a townhouse that is worth more than it should be because of its location. She’ll wake up the next morning and start the whole process again.

And since there is no way to get inside her house without losing sight of her, hanging around this club is my only option.

From my place across the room, I track groups as they come and go just as I’ve done night after night. The bar area fills with members heading in from rounds of golf and tennis as they either celebrate or commiserate over the day’s game. The restaurant caters to the families looking for a dinner out. Both areas are loud and chaotic.

This sitting around and waiting is getting to me.

Usually, I get a little lead time before a job starts, but within twenty-four hours of getting word from Mr. Smith, I was crossing the city limits into Decatur. Because of the frantic nature of my arrival, I assumed I would be making contact immediately, but I have been instructed to do the exact opposite. And now two weeks have gone by and all I’ve done is watch her drink her dinner.