Her Dark Lies Page 13

  He pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. I can see his eyes flying, processing. “Her LinkedIn profile is pretty bare bones. The website is as well. But that’s not unusual for these dealers. I don’t know the name, maybe Anton will. I’ll ask him.”

  “Jack? Are we going to talk about what happened at the house? And why? Someone’s been spying on us. That man was spying on us. He broke into our home, and now he’s dead. And I—I still don’t remember everything, but really, I think—”

  Jack’s brow furrows but he smooths his thumb across my mouth in a startlingly intimate gesture, considering the topic at hand. “Darling. You let me worry about this, all right? My parents and Elliot need to know what’s happened, both with the house and with this mysterious art buyer, and though Karmen’s on it, I want to mention the squatter in the cottages. Karmen will get to the bottom of things. She will handle the police going forward. Don’t worry yourself anymore.”

  “But—”

  He cuts me off with a kiss.

  “Trust me. It will all be okay. Do you want to wander around the house while I talk to my parents?”

  “I could come with you?”

  He smiles, but I can already see the answer is no. And to be honest, I’m relieved. I need some headspace. I need to process.

  “Never mind. I’ll just...go back to the room. I’m exhausted. Tomorrow is a new day. Everyone will be here, we can get back to normal. Right?”

  “That’s right, darling. I’ll be up in a few minutes. Do you know how to get back upstairs?”

  “I do.”

  I trust Jack with my heart, with my life, and with my art. I need to trust him all the way, to give him every piece of me. I need to be alone. I need to arrange my thoughts.

  A break-in. Cameras. Strangers. Cover-ups.

  A little voice that has been screaming in the back of my mind since we sat down with Karmen is finally barging in, wanting to know why, exactly, the Comptons made me sign so many forms saying I won’t reveal anything I know about them, under risk of being prosecuted?

  What else might the family be so intent on hiding?

  And what was the predator who put cameras in my house trying to learn?

  25

  The Dying of the Light

  Jack always was naive.

  From the moment we met, I knew how easily he could be led. Of course, I underestimated him in the end, but while I knew him, he was as malleable as a child.

  For the longest time, outside of my habit of spying on strangers through virtual peepholes, he was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. In the moments I wasn’t trying to get him to fall in love with me, when I could step aside and observe him, I thought that he was a good match for me in so many ways. Smart. Elegant. Moneyed. Cultured. We had fun. Spoke the same business language. But soon enough, I was bored. So, I pushed him. Accused him of keeping secrets.

  When his real personality emerged, showing him as a devious, sly man who lied about everything, pathologically so, I admit, I found him twice as attractive. We had more in common than I thought. For a while, things got better between us. I liked walking the draglines of the spiderweb he wove for me, knowing if I made only one misstep, I’d be consumed.

  Our short life together was intense. There were explosive fights. There were frenzied makeups. No apologies, ever, from either of us, just physical collisions and exquisite release.

  I will say this, fucking him was like driving a really good car a hundred miles an hour. Once you got going, you wanted to go faster and faster, give yourself over to the experience, ignoring the speedometer, the very real threat of death a specter over your head. There was an edge of fear involved to bedding him; he was volatile, and unpredictable. And I liked taking chances.

  And then, for reasons I had yet to ascertain, he proposed. I accepted. It was...anticlimactic.

  Without the grand pursuit to love and be loved, it was boring. He was boring. Our life was boring. The fights felt prosaic. The sex, too. He spoke about wanting children. How maybe we could start trying now, before the wedding, since we both wanted a family of our own so badly.

  I have no idea what made him think I wanted a family. I wanted a fucking race car and miles of open road, not a loud, messy, disgusting passel of leeches sucking at me and dragging me down.

  He had no idea it was never, ever going to happen.

  Therein lies the power of the female prerogative. We can hold off motherhood through any number of means, physical, chemical, or otherwise. So, I smiled and cooed at the thought of imminent stretch marks and cribs and nurseries and chapped nipples and said of course, darling, we should start trying immediately, how about right now? And I took down his fly.

  Like I said, naive.

  Then I died, and he pretended to mourn, and he went on living his life, and the family went on being the unethical creeps they are, and then he met Claire.

  Of course, I had to add her to my repertoire.

  Watching him with Claire was like watching my own life replayed without me at its center. Hearing the same words, the same sack of lies, the same pressures applied—we’re engaged now, let’s forgo the birth control, I can’t wait to make babies with you—enraged me. I’d made sure nothing like that was going to come about for me. I’d had my tubes tied before I met Jackson. But for her... How to stop her from getting pregnant kept me up at night. Lace her daily pots of tea with contraceptive pills, or Plan B? Bump into her in a crowd and inject her with Depo-Provera?

  No option I came up with was feasible.

  In the end, I needn’t have bothered. When I followed her to her annual exam, moved up the moment Jack started talking about his baby fever, I learned her lovely little secret. My God, the nurses and doctors talk so loudly, it hardly takes ten seconds to ascertain exactly what’s happening in the room next door.

  Despite agreeing to start trying right away, Claire was there to get the implant, and there was no way she was removing it until she was good and ready. That would buy her three years at least.

  Score one in my column for Claire. At least she wasn’t as easily seduced by his begging as she’d played to be. Perhaps she was more of a worthy opponent than I thought.

  26

  La Familia

  Jack walks the familiar halls of the Villa to his parents’ rooms. Though it’s late, he barges in without knocking. The suite on this side of the Villa is similar to the bridal suite though the terrace faces the other direction. It is a sunrise catcher, not a sunset.

  Jack had fought against his parents giving up their rooms for him and Claire, but Ana was adamant. It was tradition that the eldest son took the Venus suite as a newlywed. Period.

  Elliot had groused that they hadn’t given it up for him and Amelia, but Ana simply cast her gimlet eye on her second son and shook her head. Tradition was tradition, and she preferred the sunrise view anyway. Better for sun salutations on the terrace.

  Brice sits at the desk by the French doors to their terrace, his computer out, Elliot by his side. Both have earpieces in, both are nodding at the same time. They are absorbed enough not to notice Jack’s grand entrance. The server issue is being handled, and Jack feels some tension leave him. Whoever is trying to break them won’t succeed. He won’t let them.

  Ana is lying on the chaise, long legs crossed at the ankle, the latest issue of Endless Journey in her lap, a book of poetry by her side, and a glass of champagne at her elbow. The very picture of relaxation.

  Rattlesnakes relax, too. They curl up in the sun to warm their skin, completely harmless to passersby. If left alone. If they are not threatened.

  The champagne bottle is half empty. Ana and Brice have been indulging more than usual lately. He’s tried not to notice, but it’s been hard to miss. Not that Jack is one to talk—he’s been drinking too much, too. A bottle of wine in the evening instead of a glass. Doub
le scotches instead of singles. He’s blamed it on the stress of the wedding, of not telling Claire everything, convincing himself that’s what is getting to him.

  Keep lying to yourself, Jack. Keep pretending. That always works.

  “Any word on the servers?”

  Ana puts a finger to her lips and gestures toward his father and brother, then crooks her finger in a come with me gesture, swinging her legs off the chaise. Jack follows her toward the terrace. Ana pats Brice on the shoulder as they pass. He twitches at the intrusion and keeps on talking. Jack hears “More trouble in Tanzania?” as he follows his mom outside.

  That is not good news. The Tanzania project was one of Jack’s babies—one he’s stepped away from for the wedding. If everything goes south...

  Not your problem today, Jack. Let them handle it.

  The terrace is sheltered but misty; the rain has died down to a gentle patter from the night sky. Soon enough, the patter will be a roar again. The island’s early summer storms are impressive.

  Ana closes the door gently and lights a cigarette.

  “When are you going to quit that nasty habit?”

  Ana smiles languorously and blows a stream of smoke over his head.

  “We all have to die of something, Jacky. I might as well enjoy myself until I go.”

  “One day, you might come to your senses and realize you’ll live a bit longer if you stop now. What’s gone wrong in Tanzania? Is it related to the server issue?”

  Ana waves a hand. “Nothing we can’t handle. Elliot’s working on it. You’re off the clock, remember?”

  “I remember. It doesn’t mean I need to be cut out of the loop.”

  “Elliot has this,” she repeats, taking another drag. “Besides, you said you wanted out of the main business after the wedding to spend more time on the Foundation. Let your brother step up. It’s time. Now, what’s the problem?”

  She has left no room for argument, so he changes tack.

  “We have another problem,” he says. “It seems someone’s been spying on us.”

  Now he has his mother’s full attention. Her dark eyes flash with suppressed anger, but she nods. “Explain.”

  Amazing, that tone. She can turn him from thirty-eight-year-old accomplished man into five-year-old quivering child with a single command.

  “Claire was approached by an art dealer’s agent a few weeks ago. She asked to see a painting for subsequent purchase. By name. You know how Claire is about her work. She hasn’t shared the name of the painting with anyone but me. We have to assume the two are connected. And whoever is driving this server issue probably planted the cameras, and sent the man to the house to hurt Claire and me.”

  Ana isn’t easily rattled. She is always strongest in a crisis. But at the last sentence, Jack sees the blood drain from her face.

  “You think he was sent to kill you?”

  “It’s a strong possibility. The police found his car, and a murder kit in the trunk. I don’t believe he was there to rob us.”

  “Was he after Claire? Or you? And how the hell did he get past our security to plant cameras?”

  “I don’t know the answer to any of that. Somehow, our security footage was conveniently overwritten. Karmen’s working it. She can fill you in on her thoughts.”

  Ana is silent for a moment. “All right. How compromised are we?”

  “I haven’t shared anything about our business dealings with Claire yet, if that’s what you’re asking, so the family is not compromised. I was waiting for her to sign the prenup before discussing our situation. And I don’t do business from home. I’m not reckless, Mother.”

  “I know you’re not. When were you planning to reveal your true position to her?”

  He laughs. “If I’m stepping away...never?”

  “That’s not an option and you know it. Claire isn’t stupid, nor is she a frivolous girl. She will understand business is business. Don’t start your lives together on a lie, Jackson.”

  “Irony alert, Mother. I’ve had such an excellent track record in that regard. You want me to tell the truth about our business, but lie about Morgan?”

  Ana softens. “Honey. Stop. You can’t undo the past. The door on your first marriage is closed, especially now. You should be relieved, actually. You’re moving forward and that’s the smart, healthy choice. Claire is a wonderful girl, and she will support you. Will support us. There’s no reason for her to hear about Morgan, but the family business, that, she must be told. It’s already been agreed to.”

  Against his will, but yes, it had. Jack wanted to keep Claire out of the family business. He’d been overruled. Now that she’s signed the prenup, Jack is expected to sit down with his fiancée and explain the family’s longstanding relationships with the governments of the US and the UK. Explain how Compton Computers had been designed with one end goal in mind: use their technology to spy on enemies of the governments they worked for.

  Claire is his safe harbor. Jack knows she will never expose him, nor the family, and the paperwork demands her privacy as well. But he’d been against bringing her in, instead offering to leave the business entirely and take the Foundation straight. The family made a compromise: the first year of his marriage, he will step back and let Elliot take the lead on his projects. After that, he is expected to be back to full force.

  Jack is their best asset, after all.

  Claire will have to be a part of the deception, too. Her art, and the connections she makes through her sales, will get the family into places they’ve never been before. Allow them access to the homes, offices, private lives of Claire’s buyers. Slipping a mic or camera into a picture frame? Easy as pie.

  Claire isn’t simply getting married. She is being conscripted.

  He feels ill at the very idea of telling her how complicit she will be, how she won’t have a choice but to work alongside them. How she will be used. All the ways they practice to deceive.

  Will she feel he targeted her because of the possibilities she presented? And when she wraps her head around her new role, will she ever forgive him? He doubts it. Claire isn’t the manipulative type. She doesn’t have dark, dirty secrets. She doesn’t exist on lies.

  “I should get back—” Ana begins, but Jack, internally roiling at the situation, catches her hand.

  “Wait.” There is a sharp crack of lightning followed by an intense drumming of thunder, and at the same moment, the lights go out. The island stands alone and quiet in the darkness.

  He rakes a hand through his hair. “This weekend isn’t going as planned.”

  “It’s just the electricity, darling. Give it thirty. It will come back on once the generators are engaged. And the storms will end, as they always do. Try not to worry too much.”

  “It’s not the lights I’m worried about. Claire’s freaked out by what happened in Nashville. The remains. And now her dress is ruined.”

  Ana nods. “Poor girl. It’s been quite a disturbing week.”

  “Oh, that reminds me—has Karmen found out who’s camping in the cottages?”

  Ana sighs. “No, but no doubt it’s one of the restoration people. We’re handling it. I have a meeting with Karmen shortly, we’ll discuss everything.” She stubs out the cigarette. “You, my darling boy, are the groom, and you need to enjoy your weekend with your adorable bride. Go to Claire, Jack. She needs you. Get some rest. Everything will be fine. I swear it.”

  27

  Foundational Aspects

  Allow me to explain how the Compton’s pet project really works.

  What William Compton hath wrought in the forties with his friends in DC who were determined not to let another despot ruin the world was carried on in a variety of aspects as the family grew in both power, influence, and money. William developed the initial infrastructure, Eliza right there at his side with the international component, bringing in i
nformants from Europe and beyond during the war. Their son Will took it through the artistic community. Their brilliant, quirky grandson Brice expanded the family fortunes into IT, developing software that lived on pretty much every computer in the free world, which gave them access to everything and everybody, and by marrying Ana, was able to continue within the artistic community through the magazine, Endless Journeys.

  Jack and the youngest Compton brother, Tyler, were the ground invasion, working to further the family business and disguise it as altruism. On the surface, the Foundation was their own version of Doctors Without Borders, addressing both medical needs and technological innovations for impoverished nations. The Computer and Band-Aid Brigade, Jack called it, when he was in a self-deprecating mood. Though he rarely joked about it, because running the legitimate side of the Foundation was serious work, lifesaving work, backbreaking and heartfelt, terrifying at times and gloriously fulfilling in others. Jack and Tyler took it to the streets, hitting the deepest cesspools and elegant ballrooms of the world.

  Below the surface, it allowed the Comptons access to an infinite number of sources.

  Elliot, the middle child, stayed closer to home, working with Brice Compton in the IT business, running the AI branch—artificial intelligence—that serviced government facial recognition and biometrics. Though Compton had a massive consumer branch, their most lucrative contracts were all top-secret government work, just like all the major firms.

  And there you have it. Four generations, reporting for duty, sir.

  Oh, was I not supposed to say that?

  Fuck their NDA. I’m dead, remember?

  I can’t be forced to keep their nasty little secrets.

  But Claire, eager, people-pleasing free-spirit likes-it-from-behind Claire, has now agreed to be their bitch. And in so doing, has started a cataclysmic shift in her universe.

  That’s how it always happens with the Comptons. The stroke of a pen, the stroke of a clit, and boom, they have you wrapped in spider silk, ready to be sucked dry.