Dangerous Lies

  "Breathe," Chet instructed me. He took my hands, squeezing them gently, rubbing circles over my knuckles. "Nice and easy. Deep breaths. You're not there anymore. You're here with me."

  "The dead man--I knew him. He was my mom's first dealer. She called him the Pharmacist. He'd fronted her a lot of prescriptions, but she'd never paid him back. She dropped him hard and fast when Danny Balando came into her life. Danny supplied her with heroin and put on a show of being interested in her, probably to get her to buy more. She thought he was her boyfriend. The night the Pharmacist was murdered, he came to our house demanding money. My mom left the room, pretending to get cash, but instead she called Danny. Trigger was telling the truth, Chet. My mom's an addict. She isn't dead. She spent the summer in rehab."

  I paused, giving him a moment to reply, but he watched me in silence, a ghost of something dark and strained shadowing his eyes.

  "My boyfriend, Reed, was at my house that night too. He was upstairs, asleep in my bed, waiting for me to come home. He heard the shot and ran downstairs. Danny dragged him outside and beat him to make him forget what he'd seen and threaten him into silence. At least, that's what I used to think." I pressed my fingers to my eyes, trying to alleviate the sting. "Now I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything. Part of me thinks Reed might have been selling my mom OxyContin and Danny found out. If Reed was selling my mom OxyContin, it would have competed with Danny's heroin. What if Danny beat Reed to scare him off his turf? That's how he viewed my mom--as property. She thinks he was her boyfriend, but he wasn't. He was a criminal. A dangerous, manipulative, lying criminal. He was the worst thing that ever happened to her."

  Chet dragged his thumbs over my cheeks, drying them. "That must have ripped you up, seeing your mom treated that way. And it must have angered you to watch her allow it."

  "I knew Danny Balando was dangerous, but after I called the police to report the murder, and they took me to the station, I found out they'd been trying to catch him for years. They believed he was deeply embedded in the cartel, but they didn't have proof. They'd never been able to make a case stick."

  "You helped them catch him."

  A new wave of shame rolled through me. "When I came home that night, the night of the murder, my mom was sitting in a chair, feet away from the Pharmacist's dead body. Her face was sheet white. Mascara had run down her eyes. She was shivering. And she was holding a gun in her lap. The murder weapon.

  "I panicked. There wasn't time to think. I didn't want to lose her--I was scared of being alone. And in some messed-up, twisted way, I was used to taking care of her, so the urge to protect her was my first instinct. The gun--I took it. I got in my car and drove. I knew where the remains of an old colonial mansion were. Downhill from the ruins, deep in the woods, I knew there was an icehouse cut into the hillside. An iron grate barred the entrance, and vines and weeds had grown to cover the facade. No one played there, not even children. I tossed the gun through the iron bars. No one would ever find it. Then I drove home and called the police. I told my mom to take whatever drugs she needed to pass out. For the first time, I wanted her high. I told her that when she woke, the police would question her, and she should say she knew nothing. I told her I would handle everything. I called the police, and when they came, I--I--"

  "You told them Danny Balando shot the Pharmacist."

  "I lied to the police to cover for my mom. I never imagined they'd put us in witness protection. I never imagined I'd have to lie to the prosecutor, the U.S. marshals who risked their lives to guard me, and a whole townful of people I'd grow to care about. Over and over I had to lie, each time feeling more guilty and ashamed and trapped. I thought the police would arrest Danny and he'd be out of my mom's life for good. There wasn't time to think it all through. I had to act. Danny Balando was a horrible person. It seemed fair that he should go to prison. I told myself I was doing the right thing." I looked into Chet's eyes, too lost in my grief to see what emotions were playing out on his face. "Danny Balando is a terrible man, but he isn't guilty of this crime. My mother is."

  "You covered for your mom because she was all you had. You loved her, and you wanted to protect her. That's what love does, Stella. It makes us loyal. Fiercely loyal."

  "I lied to the police. I could be charged with perjury. I could go to prison. If I come forward, my mom will definitely go to prison." I stared helplessly at him, wishing he could tell me it wouldn't happen that way, but I'd had the entire summer to think it through from every angle. I was backed into a corner. There wasn't a trapdoor I could help my mom escape through. She'd committed murder. If I came forward, she would go down for it.

  If I didn't come forward, she'd continue hurting people. She would steal, lie, and cheat. Anything to get high. If the cravings became bad enough, I feared her crimes would become more dangerous and destructive. I was being forced to choose between my mom and strangers I might never meet. But those strangers were someone's daughter. Someone's boyfriend. Someone's loved one.

  Chet took my face in his hands, resting his forehead against mine. I could feel the sweet softness of his breath. His hands were cool and steady, and as he stroked my hair behind my ears, I had no choice but to look at him. "I wish I could make it go away, or take it from you and deal with it myself," he said. "I wouldn't think twice--if I could take this off your shoulders, I would. It's agony to see you hurting, especially since all I ever wanted was to make you happy. To love you."

  "How can you love me?" I said, crying softly. "I'm a liar."

  "Don't," he warned. "Don't say that again. Early on this summer, back when you and Carmina used to fight every chance you got, I stood quietly by. Because I knew the two of you would work it out. You didn't need me. Well, you need me now. You need me to tell you the truth, because you're in too deep to see what's plainly in front of you. Your mom made some lousy choices. I don't know the whole of it, but I've heard enough to know she made your life hell. It scarred you and messed you up. I'm not going to tell you what I think of her, because nobody deserves to hear those things about their own mother. I don't care how sorry or pathetic her life was--she had a responsibility to you. You were a kid, a girl who needed her mom. She shouldn't have put that weight on your shoulders."

  "Carmina told me her addiction is to blame, it's the disease--"

  "Yeah?" he said harshly. "Carmina's a better person than me. The hell with your mom. She hurt and neglected you. She put you in this position, and it kills me to see you in pain."

  "Tell me what to do, Chet. Please help me."

  "You know what you have to do."

  I shook my head sorrowfully. "If I tell the truth, they'll arrest her. She'll go to prison. And I'll be alone. I'll be completely alone."

  "Hey," he said, his voice gentling as he tilted my chin up. "You have me. You have Carmina. You have people who care about you here in Thunder Basin. Did I mention you have me? In case I failed to make it clear, you can count on me. Not just today, but always. I'm here for you, Stella."

  Through the tears, I felt choking guilt. He was here for me, but I was gone tomorrow. Why couldn't I tell him?

  Because I didn't want to break his heart. No. Because I didn't want to break my own. I was still searching for some way to avoid it. Tonight, I reminded myself, was for exorcising the past. Tomorrow I would face the future. Tomorrow I would be strong enough to tell him.

  He said, "I'm sorry your mom put you in this hard place. I know you think you can't do the right thing, but I've seen you be brave too many times to doubt you."

  Exhausted, I climbed to my feet. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to loosen the knots of tension. Chet rose too and wrapped his arms around me from behind. He kissed the base of my spine softly, then nestled his chin on my shoulder, his eyes seeming to pinpoint the same part of the swimming hole where I was staring absently.

  "Going home?" he asked.

  "I have to tell Carmina the truth. All of it. Tonight. Before I lose my courage."

  Despite the somber mood
, he smiled. "Well, hop on, then. I'll give you a piggyback ride home."

  It felt wrong to smile back, but I felt myself do it anyway. Chet had a way with me. I was going to miss him, really miss him. I jumped on his back, and he grasped my legs and hiked me higher. I took a mostly deep breath. Everything was going to be okay. At least for tonight. I believed it, because when I was with him, all my fears seemed to fade.

  34

  CHET AND I SAUNTERED HOME, OUR CLOTHES AND bodies dripping water. He took my towel, tossed it over his shoulder, and reached for my hand. After everything we'd done tonight, it seemed silly to feel a thrill over such a small gesture, but I wanted to remember the little and big things equally.

  As we walked under the boughs of the cottonwood trees, their leaves rustled and whispered like old ladies gossiping at the sight of late-night lovers sneaking home. Earlier, I'd promised myself there would be no regrets tonight, and I'd kept my word. I'd wanted to share something true and real with Chet before I left. And I'd wanted something real from him, too. I'd wanted him. He was the only one I wanted. Even now, as I glanced at the moonlight dancing in the hollows of his cheekbones, I felt a warm stirring of desire. I'd never felt like this before, and the contrast between Chet and Reed was as clear as comparing summer to winter.

  I'd been attracted to Reed because I was lonely and scared and I needed someone to help me forget about my problems at home. He'd listened and taught me how to be tough--by example. In return, I slept with him. Looking back, I thought it felt more like a business transaction than a wild, heart-stopping romance. Fear and desperation weren't reasons to love someone. Love shouldn't need a reason, I decided. It was a deep bond, a commitment. It should steal your breath away. It should never make you compromise yourself.

  When we reached Carmina's, her truck wasn't in the drive.

  "What time is it?" I asked Chet.

  "Nearly ten."

  I exhaled, nodding to myself. I'd hoped she would already be inside so I wouldn't have time to lose my nerve, but I wouldn't have to wait long. She'd be home from Bible study soon.

  He walked me to the door, then took both my hands, twining our fingers. "Want me to stay until Carmina gets back?"

  "No. I need a minute to gather my thoughts."

  He laid a hand on my cheek. "Tell her what you told me. You've already done it once. Hard part's over."

  Logically, I knew he was right. If only my thundering heart felt the same. This was it. I was coming clean and owning up to the consequences. I was relieved and maybe even a little proud to discover it was nervous anticipation I felt, not fear.

  "I'll come by tomorrow. Take you to breakfast," he offered.

  "That would be nice." And at breakfast, I would tell him. I would not spoil tonight. It was the last of the selfish things I would do for myself, and I wasn't compromising. Weeks, months, years from now, I wanted to remember this as a perfect night. My perfect night with the first guy I'd ever loved.

  Leaning me back against the door, he kissed me softly. "I'm not going to sleep tonight."

  "Because of earlier, at the swimming hole?"

  "Because I'm worried about you. But yeah, what happened at the swimming hole? I'm not going to forget it any time soon. It's seared in my memory. Thank my lucky stars."

  I laughed in spite of myself. "You did that to make me smile."

  "I like making you smile. You'd be amazed at the things I'd do to keep you happy."

  "You're awfully good to me, Chet."

  "Just getting started." He kissed my hand, and once again, I quashed my guilt. I would not let it rob me of this moment. I watched Chet walk away until the darkness closed around him.

  Flopping in the porch swing, I pressed a hand to my chest. I wondered if I was entitled to feel this happy. This deliriously, wondrously, steal-your-breath happy. Everyone deserved to feel this way at least once, I decided. A light to cling to when things got dark. One sliver of happiness, to give a person hope that the light would come again.

  Shortly after, I let myself in, fumbling for the light switch several paces down the hallway. Still basking in the afterglow of being with Chet, I didn't register right away that the lights didn't turn on.

  When it finally hit me, the hairs on my scalp rose.

  Suddenly I was back in Philly; it was late; it was dark. Something was very wrong.

  I heard a soft wheezing behind me.

  I spun around to see Trigger. He sat in the chair Carmina kept at the bottom of the staircase, his breathing shallow, his chin slumped on his chest. He clutched his abdomen, blood trickling out between his fingers.

  He lifted his head, his face screwed in a tight grimace of pain, his eyes blazing with hate. "It . . . shoulda . . . been me who . . . killed you," he gasped.

  I didn't understand. But I knew I was in danger. I could feel it vibrating all around. I stumbled toward the front door, my body shaking with fear. I had to get out. Chet. I had to get to him.

  But a dark, looming shape stepped into the hall, blocking my path.

  35

  "ESTELLA, ESTELLA," THE MAN SAID. HE DIDN'T SPEAK with the flat, gliding accent I'd grown accustomed to hearing in Thunder Basin. His was Eastern European. One of a hundred accents I'd heard on the streets of Philly.

  I shrank back.

  "You do not trust me?" he said, his tone amused. "You think I am a bad man? Why would you think a bad man is hunting you?" His voice turned taunting. "Maybe you have been a bad girl. Maybe you screwed with the wrong people."

  My blood ran cold. No. No, no, no.

  I had to get out. I had to run. But my legs felt slippery, watery.

  "You called Sandy Broucek," he chided. "Tsk, tsk. They did not tell you not to do that?"

  I shook my head in disbelief. I'd turned off the phone immediately. I'd done everything right. It was a stab in the dark for Danny Balando's man to find me.

  "Technology is sophisticated, yes? I tapped the phone of your mother's friend. I traced your call. I came to town and showed your picture. This boy"--he gestured dismissively at Trigger--"led me right to you. Easy, so easy."

  "Shoulda killed you . . . at the Sundown," Trigger rasped.

  The man turned and fired on him. It happened so fast. The bullet was quick and popping. Trigger's body sank sideways and the wheezing sound stopped.

  Black dots crowded my vision. I felt myself sliding into shock. I had to stay alert. But Trigger's body was right there, dead. This was just like Philly. Death was everywhere. I could smell it, hear it rushing in my ears.

  "I'm not going to testify against Danny." My voice quivered. "I know he didn't kill that man, the man they called the Pharmacist. I'm going to tell the prosecutor the truth and they'll let Danny go."

  "Ah, but I do not believe you."

  I shuffled backward, deeper into Carmina's dark, dark house. The blinds were closed and the drapes drawn for night; there was very little light for our eyes to adjust to. "Please. Don't do this."

  He rushed forward. I had my house keys in my hand, and I slashed them at his face.

  He made an enraged, animal-like sound and doubled over.

  He fired at me, but I was already fleeing out the back door.

  Outside, moonlight bathed the yard. There was nowhere to run. He'd find me in the open fields. The barn door didn't lock. Chet's house was too far.

  I heard him staggering through the house, knocking into furniture as he came for me.

  In a state of blind panic, I ran. I tripped over a low structure that materialized out of the darkness. The storm shelter.

  My hands slid the bolt on the doors leading underground. I lifted one, then the other. The smell of cold, wet earth wafted through the opening. A stairway of railroad ties descended into utter darkness.

  Climbing in, I shut the doors noiselessly behind me. With each downward step, the ice in the pit of my stomach expanded. Down, down, down. It was so inescapably black at the bottom. I couldn't see. But neither could he.

  Feeling my way throug
h a second door, I felt a lock and turned it behind me. Carmina would be home any minute. I just had to hide for a bit. I tried to slow my panicky, racing thoughts. I could smell sweat. My sweat.

  The metal doors above groaned open. I felt dizzy with dread. Next came footsteps, methodical and heavy, descending. When the doorknob on the door rattled, my breath turned to hard, dire pants.

  In dry-mouthed terror, I listened to him bang the door. He was kicking it in. I heard the splinter of wood, louder with each thrust.

  And then I was listening to his soft breathing.

  "Estella," he called softly. His shoes scuffed over cement as he felt his way inside. "Do you remember Mr. Balando's promise after you identified him to the police?"

  How could I forget? Danny's words had ripped through the one-way glass at the police station. Even now, his crazed voice growled in my ear. I will kill you. I will find you and I will kill you. You'll never be safe.

  Danny's voice had risen above the officers' shouting to have him hauled away. Even after the guards wrestled him from the small room behind the one-way glass, I could hear him shrieking my name in that awful, bloodthirsty snarl.

  "Danny would prefer to be here," the man cooed chillingly. "But no matter. He gave me instructions. I know exactly what to do to you."

  Every part of me rattled with fear.

  A deafening bang! split my ears.

  I cupped a hand over my mouth, willing myself not to whimper, not to make a sound. I pressed my back to the wall, my legs shaking too hard to hold me up. Dread and blind, wild desperation coursed in my veins.

  "Maybe I start shooting bullets, yes? This way and that. All around the room. You will scream when I hit you. I will find you, Estella Goodwinn."

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Tears streamed down my face. I hugged myself tightly. I was trembling to the bone. He was going to find me. Just like he'd found Reed. Just like he would someday find my mom.

  Danny Balando would keep his promise.

  "Put the gun down."

  Chet's voice sliced through my dizziness. I lifted my head, eyes searching the black, black room. Had I imagined hearing him?