Lies I Told(43)

“Here you go,” she said, turning to leave.

“Thanks, Graciella,” Rachel said. She was standing at the kitchen island, her laptop open in front of her as she poured two glasses of what looked like lemonade. “Thirsty?”

“Sure.” I walked into the room, careful not to look around. The slate countertops, custom tile backsplash, and commercial-grade appliances were standard for the rich. Even noticing them could be a red flag for someone like Rachel, who would expect me to be used to it.

She pushed one of the glasses my way and took a drink of her own, eyeing me over the top of it. The silence was like a vacuum, sucking all the air outside the room. It got under my skin, and I had to remind myself who I was, what I’d spent the last few years doing. It’s not like I was an amateur.

“Want to work outside?” she finally asked. “We can turn on the patio heaters if it gets cold.”

“Sounds good.”

She picked up her laptop and we headed for the patio just outside the French doors. She dropped casually into one of the wicker chairs, setting her drink and computer on the coffee table in the middle of the seating group. I chose the love seat across from her and pulled my laptop out of my bag.

“Any ideas for the board game?” she asked.

“A few,” I said. “The instructions say we should pattern it off a game we know. I was thinking maybe Monopoly? Depending on the era we decide to work with, we could have players buy different commodities?”

She picked up her computer. “True. Or different pieces of land.”

We tossed ideas back and forth, finally agreeing to focus on the Reformation. She was surprisingly agreeable. Not exactly friendly, but minus the super-icy vibe I’d gotten used to. I wondered if she’d finally given up on freezing me out. Maybe she realized how futile it was now that Logan and I were official and I was in with the rest of the group.

We’d been working for about an hour and a half when Graciella came out with a plate of gourmet cupcakes. Rachel closed her laptop and reached for one of the cupcakes, her hand hovering over the plate until she finally chose what looked like red velvet.

“So how are you liking it here?” She glanced down at Selena’s bracelet on my hand. “You seem to have settled in quickly.”

I set my computer aside and chose a vanilla cupcake with lilac-colored frosting. I didn’t really want it. I just wanted to keep my hands busy. I was still a little off-balance, still wondering if this was really Rachel being friendly or if she was just on some kind of bipolar upswing.

“I like it.” I laughed. “It’s a lot warmer than San Francisco.”

She nodded. “How long did you live there?”

“Not long.”

She finished the cupcake and set the wrapper down on one of the dessert plates Graciella had left. “Sounds like you move around a lot.”

“You could say that.”

“Where did you live before San Fran?”

“Atlanta,” I answered. We’d never worked in Atlanta, which was kind of the point.

“How was that?” she asked.

I smiled. “Sticky.” Not hard. The whole South was hot and humid.

She nodded. “Where else have you lived?”

I recited a few of the cities we’d never lived in, then laughed with a shrug. “I can hardly remember them all.”


Winging it wasn’t exactly protocol. Our backstory was airtight, rehearsed both individually and as a group when we’d been in Palm Springs prepping for the Playa Hermosa job. But that was before Rachel. Before I’d lost the Chandler ID card. I’d broken a big rule by keeping it and carrying it around. I didn’t want to make it worse by handing her any of the cities we’d worked in, but if she had picked up the ID, I didn’t want to rule it out and look like an outright liar either. Better to be vague, hedge my bets.

“Crazy,” she said. “It must be kind of exciting, though. To be able to reinvent yourself so often.”

I smiled. “Not really. I mean, this is me. It doesn’t really matter where we live. It just sucks having to make new friends all the time.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever lived here.” She stood. “I’m running to the ladies’ room. Can I get you anything while I’m up?”

“No, thanks.”

She headed back inside, shutting the French doors behind her. I sat there, feeling like a rock was lodged in the pit of my stomach. There was nothing overtly suspicious about her line of questioning. In fact, it was less intense, more conversational than the questions she’d lobbed my way when we first met.

Somehow the thought didn’t comfort me. I couldn’t help feeling like she was up to something, like her newly pleasant demeanor was a facade for the suspicion she’d been so open about until now. If I could play the game—working to win Rachel over for my own agenda—it stood to reason that she could, too. And if I wanted to know something about someone, wanted them to slip up because I suspected them of lying, I’d have a better chance of getting information by being nice than by alienating them.

I stared at Rachel’s laptop on the outdoor coffee table. If she was suspicious, would there be something on her computer? Something that would tell me if she had anything substantial?

Glancing back at the doors off the patio, I confirmed that the kitchen was empty. I guessed she’d been gone about a minute, and I looked at the clock on my computer to mark the time before I set it aside and reached for Rachel’s laptop.