The Liar

And there was an engraved plate on the stock that read “William C. Bounty.”

She relaxed her fingers, started to slide her hand toward her pocket, let it lie still again when Richard walked back, sat across from her.

“Isn’t this cozy?”

“How did you do it? How did you survive the boating accident?”

“Surviving’s what I do. Melinda was getting out. I didn’t count on Jimmy busting out, complicated things a bit. I didn’t think he had that in him. But Melinda, I knew she’d be a problem. She always was a dog with a bone, just never let go, so she’d need to be dealt with before I cashed in.”

He settled back, obviously relaxed. “I always figured on the five years—and it was close enough. So . . . a little vacation with the fam, tragedy strikes, and I’d be off the grid again.”

“We’d have been with you if Callie hadn’t gotten sick.” When his eyes gleamed, understanding struck her with true horror. “You were going to kill us. You were going to kill your own baby.”

“Young family’s holiday vacation ends in tragedy. It happens.”

“You couldn’t have gotten away with it. If the authorities hadn’t hunted you down, my family would have.”

“Not if I died trying to save you. It should’ve played out that way. I’d have spent a couple days painting us as a happy little family—people tend to believe what they see. Good-looking couple, pretty little girl. Then we’d make a day of it on the boat. Go out far enough, get some wine in you, wait until dusk.”

He took a slow sip of beer, smiled at her. “I toss the kid over, and it’s easy money you’d go right over after her. I wouldn’t have to put a mark on either one of you.”

“You’re a monster.”

“I’m a winner. I’d scuttle the boat, get my scuba gear. With my new ID and a change of clothes in a waterproof pouch, I’d have made it to Hilton Head in a few hours. Which is what I did—without you along.”

“The squall.”

“Unexpected bonus.”

“You could’ve died out there. Why risk dying?”

“You don’t get it, never will.” He leaned toward her, that light glowing again. “That’s the point, that’s the rush. All I had to do was dump the tanks, catch a cab and pick up the car I had waiting in long-term parking at the airport. Drive to Savannah and my drop box there. Wouldn’t have needed that if I damn could have found the key for my box in Philly.”

He watched her while he took another sip of beer. “You got into that. Where was the key?”

“In the pocket of your leather jacket, the bronze one I gave you for your birthday two years back. It had gone through a little hole and into the lining of the jacket.”

“Well, son of a bitch.” He gave a half-laugh, shook his head as he might over a missed putt on the green. “That key would have saved me some time and trouble. Either way, I’m dead. The way it turned out, you got to play the grieving widow for a while. How did that suit you?”

“I wish it had been true.”

He laughed, toasted her with his beer. “Coming back to the boonies brought some of that sass back. Let’s see if a little housework knocks it back out of you.” He rose, went back in the kitchen.

When he picked up a bottle of bleach and a scrub brush, she got to her feet.

“You want me to clean up the blood?”

“You’re going to clean up the blood, unless you want to clean up your own along with it.”

“I can’t—”

He swung out with the back of his left hand, quick as a snake, striking her across the cheekbone hard enough to send her stumbling back and into the chair again.

She didn’t know why the blow shocked her, now that she knew him. Really knew him. But he’d never hit her before.

“God! I’ve wanted to do that for years!” The furious pleasure on his face iced her blood. He could, and would, do more than knock her down if she bucked him. Even as he stepped toward her, she held up a trembling hand.

And again it was more rage than fear.

But she let only the fear show. “I just meant I need a bucket. I need a bucket of water and—and a mop. I can’t get it cleaned up with just the bleach and a brush. That’s all I meant. Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you say so?”

She let her head hang, and thinking of never seeing Callie again, her family, never seeing Griff, let tears come.

Let him see the tears, she thought, let him think that’s all that’s in me.

“You start sniveling, I’ll give you worse than a love tap. Go find a damn bucket. Make a move I don’t like, you will be mopping up your own blood.”

She went into the kitchen, scanning, scanning. No knife block, but surely there was a knife in a drawer. And there was a good cast iron skillet still on the stove, and a coffeepot. Filled with hot coffee that would make a weapon.

She looked under the sink, considered her options there, then in a skinny closet. There she found a broom, mop, bucket. Some old cord, some rusty chain, butane lighter fluid, bug spray.

She considered grabbing the bug spray, aiming for his eyes with that as the pepper spray was in the purse she’d left in her car. But he was nearly on top of her.

She took out the mop, the bucket, filled the bucket with hot soapy water.