Truth & Lies: A Queen City Justice Novel by Elizabeth Bemis Read Free Book Online

that people tended to say more around those they thought couldn’t speak their language. He hefted her suitcase with no effort whatsoever. After crossing the street to the parking garage and wandering up one aisle, he stopped behind an older, black Lincoln Continental and popped the trunk before turning to her with a critical eye. “Huh. You’ll do.”
    A nervous ping went through her stomach. What could that mean? Granted, the more tired she was, the older she looked, but she still thought she could pass for early twenties, the age of all the known victims and what her profile listed. God knew she got carded to buy a bottle of wine at the grocery store often enough.
    Guido stuffed her suitcase in the trunk, shaking his head and muttering something she couldn’t hear. Opening the back door, he indicated that she should get in and said, “Go on. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
    Dana gave him a deliberately confused look, then slid into the seat.
    “You don’t speak much English, do you?”
    “English? Yes. Speak English,” Dana said in as thick an accent as she could.
    Her driver harrumphed and picked up his phone.
    “I have the new girl,” he said in a soft voice that still carried to the backseat. Dana pretended to be absorbed in the landscape as it sped by.
    Apprehension coiled in her chest as she continued to keep an ear trained on the telephone conversation happening in the front of the car. Guido sounded pissed. “I know, but this guy isn’t even expecting it. And we’ve got a deadline.” There was a long pause before he sighed loudly. “Okay, you got it.” Guido flipped the phone closed, then back open, pressed one key for a long moment, then held it to his ear.
    What the hell was that? She’d bet her next paycheck that he was using a disposable burner phone. Who else used a flip phone? So these calls would be hard to trace.
    “Hey, Sally, do you have the address for our newest guest?”
    Dana could hear a high-pitched voice speaking rapidly, but she couldn’t understand what was actually being said on the other side of the conversation.
    Guido didn’t say much. He just scribbled down an address on the back of his hand, as he drove. “Got it.” He hung up without saying good-bye.
    Once he pulled onto I-71 North, Dana took a compact out of her purse, ostensibly to check her appearance and powder her nose, but in reality to look out the back window. She took a breath of relief when she saw the FBI van—disguised as a Cincinnati Bell service truck—following two cars behind. Not that she’d had any reason to believe her team wouldn’t be there for her.
    Not this team, anyway.
    Guido pulled off at Exit 6 and crossed Edwards Road. This was the route to Deck Murphy’s house—just moments from this exit.
    “Welcome to your new home,” Guido said as he pulled up in front of an old brick firehouse whose everything had seen better days. The concrete driveway was cracked. The brick façade sported missing bricks and mortar, and the yard was brown and scraggly. Of course, it was November, so no one’s yard was at its best. The single focal point was an obviously new, dark blue door with etched windows on either side, and a brightly polished brass door knocker and handle. It gave the entire building a little hope for the possibility that better times lay ahead.
    Guido got out, opened her door without waiting for her to exit the car herself, popped the trunk, and dragged her suitcase to the ground.
    He didn’t wait to see if she followed before striding to the front door and ringing the bell. Dana caught up on the porch and waited, her stomach trembling as much as her hands.
    Finally, after a long, long moment, the door began to swing open. She lost the breath she’d been holding.
    Deck Murphy stood in the doorway looking nothing like your average psychopath. He was at least a hundred times better looking than the photo that had been part of his profile.
    If she’d been in this for a legitimate husband,