Behind the Lies (Montgomery Justice #2)(3)

“Girlfriend?”

“Not hardly,” he chuckled.

She raised a brow. “Boyfriend?”

He didn’t bother to respond. One more false rumor about his lifestyle might piss off his brothers and disappoint his mom, but it kept him alive.

Anastasia flipped her hair and pushed through the door where the director oohed and aahed over her performance.

Zach just snorted. He skirted around the corner toward the series of rooms the film crew had taken over as dressing areas. He threw the Armani suit at one of the gofers and slipped into black leathers and a jacket over a white T-shirt.

“But, sir,” a young intern squeaked. “You have hair and makeup soon.”

Zach shrugged. “I’ll be back. Have a small errand to run,” he said, and winked at the guy. The kid’s eyes grew wide. He probably thought Zach was going out for a bang in a back alley…or maybe a line.

Let them think what they wanted.

He exited the nineteenth-century Turkish palace on the opposite side from the Bosphorus Strait, though the blast of salt and sea still hovered in the air. The water would have been a stealth exit, but he didn’t have the time. He hit the velvet lawn in a run, his feet sinking into the sod after the unusual afternoon rain. The palace glowed golden in the dusk, illuminating his path—and him. He had to get out of sight. Quick. He dodged behind a nest of foliage before tugging a small beeper out of his coat pocket. Damn. Less than thirty minutes. It’d be tight.

Under cover of the trees, he pulled a kit from beneath his jacket and quickly donned his disguise. With one last look in the small mirror, he frowned at Zane Morgan, with his goatee and scar on one cheek. Ten years in the movie business had taught him how to make himself into a man who would never be connected to Zach Montgomery.

The skill came in handy. The disguise kept his family safe, but these days Zach found it increasingly difficult to maintain the fa?ade of his alter egos. Zane Morgan, CIA operative; and Zach Montgomery, B-movie hack.

The movie business did provide Zach the perfect cover. He could travel into the most sensitive countries in the world with very few questions. Once he entered as Zach, once he’d played his part, he could get down to his real job—becoming Zane Morgan, a spy who could filter into a location, gather information, and leave unnoticed. Most of the time.

Minutes later, he reached the edge of the palace estate and eyed the high stone wall. They’d clearly landscaped the place for looks and not protection. Not unless armed guards patrolled—which they normally didn’t these days, except for show. Zach eased along the rough wall’s edge, past the empty guard post, until he reached a locked gate. He snagged one of his cooler toys from his zippered pocket. With a quick snap, he picked the lock.

Man, what he wouldn’t have given to have this gadget when he was a teenager sneaking in and out of the house for a night on the town. Trying to avoid his dad had probably been the best training he’d ever had. The guilt embedded in Zach’s skin like a splinter rubbed raw, exposing a sorrow he could never shake. He couldn’t do anything about the past…or gain his father’s respect, but he still might be able to save the man who had risked his life to expose a terrorist.

Pendar had wanted a better life, particularly for his daughters, so the Afghani had come to Zach and volunteered to provide information. On his own, Pendar had infiltrated a group that dealt closely with Khalid—a leader known only by one name, but that name struck dread in so many. Pendar had recognized the mass murderer must be stopped. Despite Zach’s concern that Pendar had been in over his head, Zach had admired his contact’s courage. He’d allowed the situation to develop. Now Pendar, along with his family, was missing. They’d vanished four months ago. Too long. Zach had no one to blame but himself.

He made his way to a large hedge just beyond the palace’s perimeter. Behind it, he found the motorcycle he’d stashed there earlier. He snagged the helmet and pulled out his phone and earpiece before starting the engine.

The bike roared to life between his thighs, and Zach steered the machine onto the road. He tapped his earpiece.

“I’m en route,” he checked in over the rumble of the engine.

“You’re late.” Theresa’s silky-smooth voice caressed the phone.

How was it she could make getting chewed out sound like foreplay? On the other hand, Theresa had black belts in two martial arts disciplines. She’d trained Zach. Taught him how to kill and how to hide his identity.

“I told you this director has his own timetable,” Zach snapped. “You should have given me more leeway.”

Theresa laughed. “I know better. Besides, our pigeon is high maintenance.”

Zach rounded the corner and leaned into the curve, twisting the gas and ripping through the narrow city streets. “How does a Turkish informant have information about Pendar? When was your contact in Afghanistan?”

“He says they were still alive as of a month ago. He claims he saw Pendar and his family brought into a militant training camp run by your favorite terrorist.”

“Khalid.” Zach’s grip tightened on the gas. “Khalid is why you got me on this movie so quickly. It’s an A-list job, and I can’t believe Matt just bailed. What did you have to do, Theresa?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Zach urged the bike forward. “I guess not.” Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “So, is the information credible?”