Black Lies(74)

Chapter 60


Jillian lives in Nobb Hill, the snooty area of San Francisco, if I have any right whatsoever to call anything snooty. I pull into her drive and park, shutting off the engine and staring at the house. There is a late model BMW parked on the pavers beside me. I look at it with new interest, trying to remember if it had been there yesterday. Coming up blank, I step toward the front door. Pause and consider the fact that it is five thirty in the morning.

Extremely rude to knock at this hour. My manners stop my reach toward the door. I step back. Think. Step forward and try the knob. Locked. Big surprise. I wince, then reach up and pound the shit out of the door.

My trepidation disappears the moment Jillian answers the door, fully dressed, makeup on. Her puzzled look turns to an impressive show of alarm upon seeing me. “What’s wrong? Is it Brant? Did you find him?”

I stare at her, slack jawed, my mind furiously working, something it should have done during the drive here. She’s continuing the fa?ade. I had expected, upon my early morning arrival at Casa Jillian, for her to be contrite and honest.

“No…” I say slowly. “I haven’t. May I come in?”

Her mouth closes and a regretful look passes over her face. “It’s awfully early, Lana. The staff isn’t even up yet.”

I can call bullshit on that. Jillian demands secretaries at BSX arrive by 6:30 AM. I’m pretty sure her house staff starts their day before the sun rises. I also notice her use of ‘Lana’—an endearment never extended before. If she thinks I’m that pliable, I’m going to dissuade her right now. I step forward, pressing a firm hand on the door and squeeze by her, a huff of annoyance heralding my entrance. “I just need a minute, Jillian. I’m going crazy with worry.” I allow my voice to wobble, hoping that it passes as hysterical.

“Well, please keep your voice down,” she says stiffly. “This needs to be a short visit, Lana.”

Short visit, my ass. I wait for her to shut the door. Watch her turn to me and gesture toward the closest chair.





I have underestimated this woman. Faced opposite her for three years but I haven’t known the level of her deceptive abilities until now. Now, in a situation where I know the truth yet am almost persuaded by her acting. I sit in her home, listen to her lie, and feed her rope. I feed her foot after foot of rope and watch her, seated in a plush red upright chair, tie a complicated noose around her neck and hang herself.

It is a masterful act. One that goes through irritation, then sympathy, then a full-breakdown of tears over ‘where our boy may be’. Her worry for him. Her terrified portrayal of a loving aunt. Played to perfection. I watch her performance with dead eyes, horrified by the ability of this woman, one who has orchestrated Brant’s life for two decades. Ran BSX during that time. Protected secrets while spinning lies of her own. I sit before her, grip the arm of a chair, and wonder where in the home Brant is.

Once the noose is tied.

Once I know her selfish loyalties.

Once I understand my enemy.

I stand.

Throw back my head and scream Brant’s name as loud as humanly possible.





Chapter 61


Jillian shoots to her feet, confusion in her eyes, her gaze darting to the right, and I take off running, up the staircase, my Uggs taking me faster than a high-heeled senior citizen can even think about moving. I scream for him, scream his name over and over as I tear down a marble hallway, my feet slamming to a halt when I hear my name, called from a few doorways back, and I whip around, bursting into a bedroom as my eyes catch sight of Jillian’s entry from the top of the stairs.

I don’t at first understand the scene. A man I’ve never seen, standing at the edge of a bed, the thrashing figure before him a tangle of sheets and movement. I come to a stop, the stranger and I staring at each other for a brief moment, then my eyes are on Brant and he smiles and it feels as if my heart will explode. “Lana,” he gasps. “Get me out of here.” Then he jerks his hands and I see restraints and my entire world goes red.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” I whirl, Jillian’s entrance into the room skirted by two employees, three flushed faces who stare at me as if preparing for battle.

“Layana,” Jillian starts, her hands patting the air in a calming fashion.

“WHO THE FUCK HAS THE KEYS TO GET HIM OUT OF THOSE?” I point to the shackles *ohmygod* that hold Brant down. Hold him down, as if he is f*cking dangerous. Or insane. Or anything other than Brant, my gorgeous brilliant man, currently tied down like an animal.