Page 48 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)
Samantha
The air is thick with the smell of garlic, old olive oil, and something sharper—pickled turnips maybe, or yogurt left too long in the heat. The sink overflows with dishes crusted in lentils and charred onion, while a single fly loops lazily around a sticky jar of tahini.
Apparently the terrorists have been too busy hunting me through Miami to worry about doing the dishes.
Gathering my composure, I sit opposite her.
“You knew.”
Amusement dances across her face.
“Darling, I was the one who told you about the senator. Did you really think I was just giving him to you?”
I wince as I recall the night she called me and casually mentioned the conference.
“You set me up. You knew he had the memory card.”
She pouts.
“I told you not to trust me, but you didn’t listen. You were so desperate for a mommy. Poor little unwanted Samantha. Still so gullible.”
I smile sweetly, forcing my face to lean into it rather than show her how much her words still hurt.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised, really. At your age, work is hard to find. You should be planning for your retirement.”
The smug smile slips from her face, and her nostrils flare.
“Careful, darling, the only thing stopping these men from shooting you is my guarantee you have what they need to finish the job they started.”
Her eyes flick to the man behind me, widening as she puts on a show of fervor.
“And what glory awaits. This will be the attack that changes everything. Allah willing, Sharia will reign.”
The man behind us replies in Arabic, and she offers him a pleased smile before turning back to me, her tone shifting.
“I know you took it out of the fridge. Where did you put it after that?”
I blink, slowly. Buying everyone more time. The darker it gets outside, the easier it’ll be for them to approach without being seen.
“You told me I brought this on myself, but I didn’t. You brought it on me. You recommended me.”
A horrible thought strikes me.
“Did you choose Mick?”
She looks down her nose at me.
“He was such an obvious target, darling. So arrogant and pathetically patriotic with that ridiculous tattoo on his arm.”
My stomach muscles tense as fury starts to build in me. If there weren’t an armed man behind us, I’d punch her. Instead, I lazily lift a shoulder.
“Where is it, Samantha?”
she asks again.
This time, I’m ready for her.
“You tell me. I sent it from Hawaii just like you asked me to.”
Her eyes widen, and I catch a moment of panic as the man behind us shifts his weight. She laughs lightly, but there’s a hefty element of fear in her eyes as she lowers her head, feigning reverence.
“Don’t be foolish. I don’t have it.”
I lean forward, knowing that every word I utter will confuse the situation even more.
“Is this why you asked me to send it to your alternative address?”
Her eyes flick to Hamza, who rounds the table, uttering what I can only guess are Arabic obscenities at her. She shrinks back in her chair, angling her body away from him as though genuinely afraid. He jabs a finger at her, rattling something off before stalking out of the room.
The minute we’re alone, she reaches across the table and grabs my shirt, yanking me toward her.
“Tell them where the memory card is, or we are both going to die.”
I grab her hands and dig my fingernails into her skin until she lets go.
“What makes you think I’d do anything to save your life? You used me. Just like you’ve always used me.”
She throws her hands up in the air.
“You think if I hadn’t come along when I did that you wouldn’t have wound up somewhere worse? Your parents were ready to sell you to perverts for drug money! I did you a favor, and this is the thanks I get.”
I choke out a bitter laugh.
“A favor? You robbed me of the last part of my innocence and stole my chance at a normal childhood.”
Her lips curl in a pitying smirk.
“You’re pathetically soft and sentimental. You had so much potential. Don’t you get it? This is the con, the final one. I’ve been waiting all my life for a payout this big.”
I gesture around the grimy kitchen, smirking at her.
“I can see why you’re right at home with the rest of the reptiles and snakes.”
As fury builds on her face at my insults, I gesture to the fabric covering her head.
“It covers the grey, but no amount of money is worth losing your soul.”
Thunder rumbles overhead just as Mona’s face twists into a mocking sneer.
“My soul? Is that what that ridiculous Coast Guardsman told you? He wants you for your beautiful soul?”
Lightning flashes outside, lighting up the room as she cackles. I recoil, disgust twisting in my gut. There’s nothing left but revulsion for the woman I once thought loved me. She’s like a polished apple—shiny on the outside, but bite into it, and a worm’s already hollowed it out from the inside, leaving only a shell behind.
Too focused on the laptop in front of her, she’s oblivious to my disgust as she sits back down and spins the computer around so I can see a bank account in the Cayman Islands.
“You see that number, darling? That’s what my soul is worth,”
she hisses.
My gaze drops from her face to the savings account deposit—stacked with more zeros than I can process.
Her face brightens as she taps the screen.
“Be smart. Fifty thousand is a drop in the bucket for organizations like these. Imagine what you could do with another five million.”
The number spins through my head. I try it on like a new identity, just for a moment—five million.
I picture the things I could buy: a penthouse with thick curtains and unlisted keys. A burner phone that never rings. A new passport with a name I actually chose. Enough clothes to reinvent myself in every city from Barcelona to Bangkok.
I imagine a safety deposit box in Zurich. A studio in Prague. A bolt-hole in Morocco. The kind of life where no one’s tracking me, no one’s using me, and I never have to run again unless I want to.
Freedom. Power. A future.
And all I’d have to do is bury the last piece of myself.
But at what cost?
I know exactly what’s on that memory card. Selling it might mean the deaths of millions of innocent Americans. People like Mick. Like Brooke.
No amount of money could make up for that.
And no matter how many zeros were in my account, it would never be enough to fill the hole inside me.
A woman’s voice floats down the hallway, catching us both off guard. For a moment I think Brooke’s calling, but she isn’t.
She’s praying. Loudly.
“‘Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.’”
Heat rushes through my body. Footsteps clomp down the hall before someone bangs on the door, presumably to tell Brooke to be quiet.
Mona waves her hand in the air.
“And that one. They should have taken the frumpy mother instead.”
I shift my hands under the table so she won’t see my fists curl. I will not give her the satisfaction.
The odor of garlic wafts toward me, followed by heavy footsteps, but it’s not Hamza who’s in the room, it’s the man who’s running the show. I angle my body upward, just in case, so his face is clear before he fixes his gaze on me. He slowly pulls out his handgun.
Opposite me, Mona jiggles in her seat.
“Time’s up. Hand it over, he kills the sister, and we’re done here,” she says.
No. No. No.
His eyes lock onto mine before the gun swings toward my chest.
“I do not have patience for this.”
My mouth is so dry I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. Once again, through the door, Brooke’s voice wafts down the hallway, except this time, she’s not praying, she’s singing.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I'm found.
Was blind, but now I see.
“I can’t,”
I say quietly.
“I can’t do that to Mick.”
Seemingly oblivious to the man holding a gun on me, Mona scoffs.
“Oh, darling. He doesn’t care about you. A man like that can’t love women like us.”
Somehow, for whatever reason, Brooke continues to sing unfettered, and every word stirs something inside of me until I’m struggling to breathe.
'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace my fears relieved
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed
Tears fill my eyes, and I don’t bother to hide them from her. What’s the point? I’m going to die anyway.
I straighten my back.
“Maybe not, but God does. He sent His Son to pay for all my sins.”
Mona’s whole body jerks, and the mask drops. The face I once thought was the most beautiful I’d ever seen contorts into a sneer as she shoots to her feet and points at the door.
“Will you do something to shut her up!”
she snaps.
The man’s face darkens, his eyes blazing.
“You dare speak to me like that?”
She doesn’t get a chance to backtrack.
He raises the gun to her head—and pulls the trigger.