谎言书：14

Naomi. Ask him. Call him.”
It was the simplest way to find out if they knew something. But the way these
guys were watching her . . . the cold doubt in their eyes. Covenant 1 House was
a shelter for homeless kids. Kids who got lit on fire when they left their gang.
Or got sold by their dad as a sex toy for quick drug money. These kids . . .
weren’t kids.
“Cal don’t date no giant girls,” Panther Tattoo 2 challenged.
“Well, he dates me,” Naomi insisted.
“Yah? When wuz ya last date?”
Naomi didn’t even hesitate. “Two nights ago.”
“Tha’s funny — cuz he wuz here playin’ Xbox with us two nights back.”
The chubby 3 kid with the accent leaned in and pointed 4 a finger at Naomi’s
face. “You got a problem now, luv. And don’t think we didn’t spot that bloody 5
little pistol you got hidin’ behind your—”
In a blur 6, Naomi gripped the kid’s stubby finger and bent 7 it back, then twirled
him around, pinned his arm behind his back, and rammed 8 his chest and chin
against the nearby wall. A dozen different plaques 9 and commendations shook
at the impact.
“ICE agent, which means federal, which means be really bloody careful what
you do next,” Naomi growled 10, using her free hand to slide open her jacket and
show off the badge on her belt.
To her surprise, none of the gang rushed forward or mouthed off. In fact,
since the moment she came in, they’d all been standing 11 almost entirely 12 in the
same—
Crap.
“Outta the way! Now!” Naomi ordered, waving them toward the corner of the
sparse 13 old motel room and heading for the bathroom at the back.
“Lady, you can’t just—”
“Giant people can do anything,” Naomi shot back, shoving British Boy aside
and finally getting her first good look at the bathroom’s closed door . . . and
the light that was on underneath 14. A shadow flitted, then disappeared.
Someone was definitely in there.
“Get back to your rooms!” she yelled at the kids, who scattered 15 onto the
breezeway as she pulled her gun. “And Cal, I checked when I was outside. I
know there’s no window in there!”
She kicked the door and tried the handle. Locked.
“Cal, I’m counting to one!” Naomi shouted. “After that, you’re paying for
whatever it costs to get a bullet out of your—”
Click.
The door opened, revealing a man with a thick nose, an even thicker waist,
and thinning black hair that was tied back in a ponytail.
“If you need to use the can, all you gotta do is ask,” Roosevelt said with a
grin as he rolled Cal’s phone in his palm.
28
Stepping out from the bathroom, Roosevelt studied the tall woman carefully.
Cal warned him they’d send someone — and she clearly wasn’t a novice 16. But
that didn’t mean their stalling hadn’t worked.
“You switched phones with him,” Naomi said, annoyed.
“Me? I’m a man of God. I’d never—” Roosevelt glanced down at the phone in
his hand and forced a look of surprise. “This isn’t my phone! Sweet mother of
Shirley Hemphill, how’d this happen?”
Naomi’s hand jumped out, snatching the phone from Roosevelt’s palm.
“Hey! You can’t—”
Naomi aimed her gun at Roosevelt’s chest. “I can.” Without another word, she
started clicking through the menu on Cal’s phone: Call Log, Placed Calls . . .
“Here we go,” she announced. “Last number dialed: Roosevelt (Mobile).”
Naomi pushed the call button and waited.
But as the phone rang in her ear, there was another ring in Roo-sevelt’s front
pocket.
Roosevelt reached down and pulled out a second ringing phone, flipped 17 it
open, and held it to his ear.
“Hello,” he sang, watching Naomi’s face as his words echoed in her ear. “I
musta had both phones all along. What’re the oddsa that?”
For a moment, Naomi just stood there, her light blue eyes narrowing.
Roosevelt knew she could lock him up and sling 18 questions at him for the next
few hours. But by then, Cal would be long gone.
“You really a former priest?” Naomi asked.
“Former pastor 19.”
“My partner’s missing. I’m praying not dead,” she said of Timothy. “Did Cal
tell you that?”
Roosevelt stayed silent. She was smart — going right for his preacher’s guilt 20.
Years ago, Roosevelt’s superiors in the church did the same when they told
him he was hurting his parish by not being married. Back then, he refused to
fight and lost everything he loved. Not a single day went by where he didn’t
wish he could have that life back. When he didn’t think of ways to reclaim 21
that pulpit. So an hour ago, when Cal and his father had come scrambling 22 in
here, searching for help — he could see the way that Cal, even through his
fear, kept glancing over and over at his dad. At nine years old, Cal had had
his life taken from him, too. This was his chance to have that life back,
somehow, in some form. And as Roosevelt knew, that was well worth fighting
for.
“You work your side of the street, and I’ll work mine,” Roosevelt said.
Naomi just stood there. Then she turned to open the door, and with a slam,
she was gone.
After giving it a minute, Roosevelt flipped open his phone and started dialing.
It rang twice before—
“Roosevelt?” Cal answered. “I told you not to call unless—”
“They sent someone, Cal. From ICE, just like you said.”
The door burst open, and Naomi stormed back into the room. “Couldn’t even
wait two minutes, could you!?” she yelled, snatching the phone from
Roosevelt’s hand. He tried to grab it back.
She pulled her gun and aimed it directly at his neck.
As Roosevelt raised his hands, Naomi put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Cal,”
she said. “Naomi. Remember me?”
29
Ten minutes ago
Fort Lauderdale Airport
We enter the terminal separately. We get in line separately. We pick up our
tickets separately. My father’s calm. I’m not. I spent years covering every
port, including this airport. I know where all the security cameras are hidden.
I know which taxicabs out front have undercover agents in them (the ones
lingering in the limo line), ready at any moment to pick up an arriving suspect
who thinks he’s home free. But what’s got me scanning the crowd is whether
Ellis saw us leaving as we snuck out of my building.
“Here you go, Mr. Frenzel,” says the woman at the airline counter, handing
me my ticket and calling me by the name of one of the dozens of fake IDs
that had been left in the van over the years.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Sanone,” another agent says to my dad, who for once
is following my directions and keeping his head down as he leaves the
counter. By flying under fake names, we’re untraceable. But if Ellis is half the
cop I think he is — the way he got to Timothy right after I did — all he has to
do is pull airport video to be right back on our trail. That’s what I would do.
But that doesn’t mean I’m making it easy for him.
Readjusting the green backpack that holds the Superman comic in its waxpaper
protector, I keep my chin down but am surprised to see a spy cam —
flat and thin like a calculator — mounted in a fake palm tree at the end of the
airline counter. Dammit. I duck under the velvet 23 check-in rope, wishing I
could blame it on my lack of sleep. But I’m clearly rusty 24. I’ve been off the job
for over four years. Of course there’s gonna be new cameras.
Trying to be smarter as I head toward security, I glance back at my father,
but he’s barely moving. Worst of all, he’s no longer staring down, hiding his
face. In fact, the way he’s looking around . . . like he sees something. Or
someone.
On our left, by the airport gift shop, a dolly stacked with old magazines and
newspapers is wheeled out of the way, revealing a young, light-skinned black
woman in a rhinestoned Bob Marley T-shirt, dark jeans, and 80s Top Gun
sunglasses. I’ve seen her before. At the hospital.
“Serena,” my dad blurts 26 just as I reach the front of the security line.
“I’m sorry, I forgot something,” I tell the lady checking tickets at security.
Swimming upstream and squeezing past the other passengers, I fight toward
the back of the line and grab my dad by the biceps.
“What’re you doing?” I hiss 27.
“Cal, this isn’t my fault.”
“We were supposed to tell no one. As in no one.”
“I swear to you, I didn’t say a word,” my dad insists.
“He didn’t say a word,” Serena adds. “Quisiera estar aquí para ti,” she
whispers to my dad in Spanish. I just wanted to be here for you.
From the shock on my dad’s face — as I tug 28 his arm and steer 29 us away from
security — he’s just as surprised as I am. “Cal . . . son . . .”
“Don’t call me son!” I explode as every nearby TSA employee turns our way.
I don’t care.
My dad forces a smile and puts a hand on my shoulder like all is well. I jerk
back until he takes it off.
“Please don’t blame your father. Every soul needs its own flow,” Serena says,
carefully pronouncing each syllable 30. She has a tender voice that’s as calming
as wind chimes, and as she speaks, her yellow blue eyes make peaceful
contact. First with me, then my dad. Like she’s seeing something within.
“That’s the mushiest, new-agey-ist manure 31 I’ve ever heard,” I tell her, finally
stopping all three of us in front of a set of floral sofas, where there are no
cameras in sight. “Now tell me why you’re really here!”
She steps back slightly, almost as if she’s confused. “When we were on the
phone — when I heard the terror in his voice — how could I not help him? He
needed me.”
“Needed you? What’re you, his muse 32?”
She shakes her head, but I’ve been around enough addicts 33 to know what’s
really going on.
“She’s your sponsor, isn’t she?” I ask my dad.
“No. That’s not—”
The phone I traded with one of the kids vibrates in my front pocket. Only one
other person knows I have it.
“Roosevelt?” I answer. “I told you not to call unless—”
“They sent someone, Cal. From ICE, just like you sa—”
There’s a loud noise, like a door slamming. I hear some arguing, but nothing I
can make out.
“Hey, Cal,” a female voice says. “Naomi. Remember me?”
30
Silent on the phone, I leave my father and Serena by the floral sofas as I
keep scanning the area for cameras. The only good news is, it takes a solid
six minutes to track my cell. Plenty of time to find out who I’m up against.
“Sorry, not ringing my bells,” I tell the woman, hoping she’ll give me her last
name.
“Naomi Molina.”
Naomi Molina . . . Naomi . . . Naomi . . . If I knew her, it wasn’t well. Still, the
name . . . “Oh, wait — you’re the one who adopted that kid — the lesbian,
right?” It’s an old cop trick: riling her to see what she blurts.
“C’mon, Cal. The big-boned female agent who’s also a lesbo? Isn’t that a bit
overdone 34?” she flings back. “No thanks, but I like mine straight up, no twist.
But yes, I came aboard right as you were fired.”
“I wasn’t fired,” I shoot back, already regretting it. I should’ve seen it: riling
me to see what I blurt 25.
“Oh, that’s right — you took the far more honorable resign-on-your-ownand-
avoid-the-indictment. Let me ask: Were you really in love with Miss
Deirdre or was that just the story you saved for Internal Affairs?”
Once again, I stay silent. Across from me, Serena motions for my dad to join
her on one of the floral sofas. He doesn’t hesitate. And as they face each
other — their knees almost touching 35 — she whispers something to him and
he smiles with a strange, newfound calm. From the body language alone, she
knows him well.
“Aw, that bump old bruises 36, Cal?” Naomi asks in my ear. “Now you know
how we felt when we heard you were kissing one of your CIs and putting your
fellow agents at risk.”