All In (The Naturals, #3)(33)

Sloane didn’t quite grasp the intricacies of the game, but she knew that she was supposed to say two true statements and one false one. She twisted one hand into the other in her lap. Even if her truths hadn’t been obvious, it was clear she was preparing to lie. “The man who owns this casino,” she said, the words coming out in a rush, “is not my father.”

Sloane had spent her entire life keeping this secret. She’d told me. She couldn’t bring herself to tell the others—but she could lie. Badly, obviously, in a game devoted to spotting lies.

I could feel the others brimming with questions, but no one said a single word.

“You have to guess.” Sloane swallowed, then looked up from her lap. “You have to. Those are the rules.”

Michael poked Sloane’s foot with his. “Is it the one about the beagles?”

“No,” Sloane said. “No, it is not.”

“We know.” Dean’s voice was as gentle as I’d ever heard it. “We know which one the lie is, Sloane.”

Sloane let out a long breath. “Based on my calculations, now would be an appropriate time for someone to hug me.”

Beside her, Dean opened his arms, and Sloane melted into them.

“Raise your hand if you didn’t realize Dean was a hugger,” Michael said, raising his own hand. Lia snorted.

“This hug is now completed.” Sloane pulled back from Dean. “Two Truths and a Lie. Someone else go,” she said fiercely.

I obliged. “I’ve never been hypnotized.” True. “I’m double-jointed.” Lie. I thought of Sloane, baring her heart. “The authorities found a body they think is my mother.”

Sloane had come clean with the others. I owed them the same—even if Dean and Lia already knew.

“I’ve never seen any physical indication that you possess hypermobility,” Sloane said. Her hands stilled in her lap. “Oh.” The realization that I’d been telling the truth about the body washed over her, and she hesitated. “Based on my calculations…” she started to say, and then she just launched herself at me.

We might as well start calling this game Two Truths, a Lie, and a Hug, I thought, but something about the physical contact threatened the wall I’d put up in my mind, the one that stood between me and the dark place.

“My turn again.” Michael met my eyes. I waited for him to say something—something true, something real. “I’m sorry about your mother,” he told me. True. He turned to Sloane. “I’d be happy to punch your father, should the occasion arise.” True. Then he leaned back on the heels of his hands. “And I’ve magnanimously decided against shaving my initials into Dean’s head.”

Dean glowered at Michael. “I swear to God, Townsend, if you—”

“Your turn, Lia,” I cut in. Given Lia’s uncanny ability to make anything sound true, her rounds were by far the most challenging.

Lia tapped her fingertips along the edge of the coffee table, thinking. The steady rhythm of her tapping had my eyes drifting back toward the clock on the wall. We’d been playing for hours. Midnight was drawing closer and closer.

“I killed a man when I was nine years old.” Lia did what she did best—provided a distraction. “I’m currently considering shaving Michael’s head while he sleeps. And,” she finished, her tone never changing, “I grew up in a cult.”

Two truths and a lie. Lia’s distraction took hold. By the age of thirteen, just before she’d come to the program, Lia had been on the streets. I knew that the ability to lie tended to be honed in certain kinds of environments—and none of them good.

I killed a man when I was nine years old.

I grew up in a cult.

Judd came into the room. I was so caught up in what Lia had just said—and trying to figure out which of those statements was true—that it took me several seconds to process the grim look on Judd’s face.

I looked at the clock—a minute past midnight. January sixth.

Sterling called, I thought. My heart beat in my throat, my palms suddenly sticky with sweat.

“What have we got?” Dean asked the older man quietly.

Judd cut a brief glance at Sloane, then answered Dean’s question. “Nothing.”





The FBI continued to monitor the Majesty’s Grand Ballroom. Nothing on January sixth. Nothing on January seventh. On the eighth, Agent Sterling was in our suite when I woke up. She and Dean were sitting in the kitchen talking softly. Judd was at the stove making pancakes. For a moment, I felt like I was back at our house in Quantico.

“Cassie,” Agent Sterling said when she saw me hovering in the doorway. “Good. Have a seat.”

Glancing from Sterling to Dean, I did as I was told. Part of me expected news, but the rest of me took in the way Agent Sterling had greeted me, her posture, the fact that Judd slid a plate of pancakes in front of her, as well as Dean and me.

You didn’t come here because you have news. You came here because you don’t.

“Still nothing?” I said. “I don’t get it. Even if Sloane was wrong about the location, there still should have been…”

Another body. Possibly multiple bodies.

“Maybe I saw the FBI and pulled back,” Dean said, easing himself into the UNSUB’s perspective. “Or maybe I’ve just taken to hiding the bodies.”