Gathering Lies. Meg O'Brien
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The woman sat tied to an upright chair, her arms bound from elbow to shoulder. She no longer squirmed to get free. By now she knew that wouldn’t help.
“Don’t you understand?” the man said again as he paced before her. His tone was distraught, worried. “You’re never getting out of here if you don’t tell me what I need to know.”
“I’ll die first, you son of a bitch,” she managed through dry, cracked lips.
“It’s beginning to look like you just might,” he said.
But his voice shook. She knew he was close to breaking, too.
The woman bowed her head and closed her eyes. Her neck ached from holding it stiff with fear, and her eyes burned from the too-bright light she’d been under for more than seven hours. She didn’t know how much more she could take.
The man knelt in front of her and whispered in her ear, all the while stroking her knee softly, then her thigh, where a bruise darkened by the minute.
“I don’t want to have to hurt you, Angel. You’re a beautiful woman. Just tell me. I promise I’ll let you go.”
“You’ll let me go?” she whispered. “Really?”
“Yes,” he whispered, rubbing her thigh more seductively now. “I promise. I’ll let you go. Just tell me.”
In a flash, the woman jerked back her right foot, then swung it forward with incredible force. Her pointed, high-heel shoe connected with his groin.
“Go to hell!” she yelled, her face contorting. “Go to goddam hell!”
Also available from MIRA Books and MEG O’BRIEN
CRASHING DOWN
SACRED TRUST
Gathering Lies
Meg O’Brien
I would like to thank the following people, without whose help this book could never have been written:
My son, Greg, whose editorial skills are truly excellent, and who saved my neck during the infamous “end of the book” when nothing was making any sense.
All my children—Robin, Greg, Amy, Kevin and Kate—who put up with me when the muse takes over and I’m miserable to be around.
Cathy Landrum, who is not only an excellent research assistant, but who, along with her husband and very patient designated driver, Randy, is an adventurous traveling companion, as well.
Heather Iker, for being my expert legal reader and keeping me straight on the ins and outs of the justice system. Thanks for all the hours, Heather, and for being a great lawyer and friend.
Al Wilding, retired Seattle police officer, resident of the San Juan Islands and new friend. By some twist of fate I found him on the Net, just when I needed another expert reader. Many thanks, Al, for your advice and support throughout the past months, and to your beautiful wife, Lotte, who puts up with our constant e-mailing. Thanks, too, Lotte, for spreading the rumor around Shaw Island that Al and I were having an online affair. I can only imagine what that’s done for my reputation at Our Lady of the Rock Priory!
Rick Boucher, owner of San Juan Web Talk, the Web site about the San Juan Islands—which was where I “met” Al Wilding in the first place. Thanks, Rick. Your Web site is an invaluable source of information about the islands.
Last and certainly not least, Amy Moore-Benson and Dianne Moggy, my editors at MIRA, who keep me wanting to write even when I’m ready to hie me off to a nunnery and hoe beans for the rest of my life.
CONTENTS
Prologue
ANGEL
April 7
The woman sat tied to an upright chair, her arms bound from elbow to shoulder. She no longer squirmed to get free. By now, she knew that wouldn’t help.
“Don’t you understand?” the man said again as he paced before her. His tone was distraught, worried. “You’re never getting out of here, if you don’t tell me what I need to know.”
“I’ll