First Lie Wins(93)

“Well, then I guess we’ll never know,” I say.

Amy lets out a laugh. “Seriously? You’re not going to ask him?”

I can’t help the grimace that takes over my face. “I can’t ask him!”

“Sure, you can,” Devon says, his focus once again back on the laptop.

“What would be the point? The job is finished. And I’m on the straight and narrow from here on out. No more illegal activities for me.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Going straight doesn’t mean you have to be finished with him. He’s morally gray, you’re morally gray. Plus he’s superhot and probably great in bed.”

“I give her three months before she’s calling me and saying, ‘Devon, so there’s this job . . . ’?” His high-pitched impression of my voice has me laughing as I roll my eyes.

“I give her one month,” Amy says.

I throw a couch pillow at both of them.

We stay in the cabin another three days while Devon digs through the rest of Mr. Smith’s files he copied from his computer. But this time away from the real world can’t last forever.

“Okay, ladies, I’m out,” Devon says, loaded down with his backpack and bag. His car is already packed with his equipment. He’s the first one to leave, and Amy and I take turns giving him hugs, but I’m the only one who follows him out to the porch.

“We did it,” I say.

His smile stretches across his face. “That we did.” He pauses before saying, “When you get over thinking you’re done with this life, let me know.”

“I am done,” I say, although it lacks conviction. “And we can get together for fun! It doesn’t always have to be work related.”

Devon walks to his car, laughing. “Of course we can. I’m ready when you are.” He throws his stuff in the back seat before taking off.

Amy is the next to leave. “You’ll text me when you get settled, right?” she asks me.

“Yes. And then I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” I help her get her bags to the car, then we throw our arms around each other and stay there for a long moment.

Then she, too, is gone.

I stay a little longer at the cabin. There are things to do, plans to make, decisions to consider, but for one blessed week there is quiet.





Alias: Evie Porter—Four Months Ago


It’s Thursday and Ryan Sumner is right on time. He pulls up to the gas pump on the farthest side, just like always.

He’s a bit casual today, his usual button-down replaced with one of those pullover golf shirts with the logo of the local club. I wonder what made this Thursday different.

I tug my skirt up just a fraction higher and run my hands through my hair, making sure it falls just the way I want it to.

I knew coming in that this was going to be my most dangerous job. Mr. Smith sent me here to break me.

I’m going to play this one by the book. I won’t step out of line, won’t get ahead of the game. I will let it unfold around me. And wait for Mr. Smith to hit me with everything he’s got before I hit back.

“Hello,” I say, as I walk up to his car.

He’s startled but hides it quickly and easily. “Hey,” he replies, a grin spreading across his face. He’s cuter in person.

I tilt my head in the direction of my car, which is sitting off to the side, its left rear tire completely flat. “Any chance I can get some help with that? My dad taught me how to change my tire years ago, and in theory, I remember the basics, but it’s a little more daunting when you’re faced with it in real life.”

His smile grows and it lights up his whole face. And it’s a very lovely face indeed.

“Of course,” he says. “Let me just finish up here and I’ll pull around.”

I give him a high-wattage smile right back, then return to my car.

He parks beside me and eyes me when he gets out. I’m leaning against the side of the car, showing off in just the right way. Ryan goes to his trunk, retrieving his jack, before kneeling down in front of my flat tire. I crouch down beside him, his eyes lingering on my legs a few seconds like I hoped they would.

I know from my research that he likes to play golf and tennis, though he’s not exceptionally good at either one. I know he went to LSU and was social chair for his fraternity. I know he dated a girl through sophomore and junior year but that she broke it off before she left to study abroad.

“You look really familiar,” I say, as he loosens the first lug nut off my tire.

He glances at me and says, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Did you know Callie Rogers? We were friends at LSU.”

From his expression, I know he recognizes the name but can’t place her. I studied the girls who had been in sororities around the same time he was there, girls who were tagged in posts of his friends’ friends but never with him. Their names would be familiar but not familiar enough that he would ever ask them about me.

“Was she friends with Marti Brighton?”

“Yes!”

“I think I met her a time or two when she was with Marti,” he says, then gets back to work.

Once the mutual connections have been made, I’m no longer thought of as a stranger and the conversation is easy. Even though Ryan has finished changing the tire, he lingers. We’re both leaning against the car now, turned toward each other.