Questions and Lies

POV: Vincent

My fist slammed into the wall hard enough to crack the concrete.

"Dammit!"

Pain shot through my knuckles, but it felt good. Real. Everything else about tonight felt like a dream that had turned into a nightmare.

I stared at my laptop screen for the tenth time in an hour. Every search came back empty. Sarah Miller was a ghost. No birth records. No school files. No medical history. Nothing.

But ghosts didn't bleed. And I'd seen the thin line of blood on her throat where my knife had touched her skin.

She was real. She was terrified. And she was lying through her perfect teeth.

I walked back to the room where I'd left her tied up. Through the small window in the door, I could see her pulling at the ropes. Smart girl. Too bad the knots were tied by someone who'd been taking prisoners since he was sixteen.

When I opened the door, she stopped struggling and lifted her chin. Brave little liar.

"Find what you were looking for?" she asked.

"You know I didn't."

"Because there's nothing to find. I told you, I'm nobody special."

I pulled my chair closer to hers. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her green eyes. Close enough to smell her shampoo. Something clean and sweet that made my chest feel tight.

"Everyone is somebody to someone," I said. "Question is, who are you somebody to?"

"No one."

"Your parents?"

A shadow crossed her face. "Dead."

"Both of them?"

She hesitated. Just for a second. But I caught it.

"Car accident when I was eighteen," she said.

Another lie. She was getting sloppy.

"What were their names?"

"John and Mary Miller."

I pulled out my phone and pretended to type. "Let me just check the accident reports from four years ago."

Fear flashed in her eyes. "Don't."

"Why not?"

"Because..." She bit her lip. "Because it still hurts to talk about."

The pain in her voice sounded real. For a moment, I almost believed her.

But I'd learned a long time ago that the best liars mixed truth with their lies. Made it harder to sort out which was which.

"Tell me about them," I said.

"What?"

"Your parents. If they're dead, it won't hurt to remember the good times, right?"

She stared at me like I'd asked her to solve world hunger.

"My father was..." she started, then stopped. "He was a good man. He tried to keep me safe."

Truth. I could hear it in her voice.

"Safe from what?"

"From people like you."

That stung more than it should have.

"People like me?"

"Dangerous people. Violent people. People who hurt others for money."

"Is that what you think I am?"

She met my eyes. "Aren't you?"

Yes. I was exactly that kind of person. I'd killed men for less than the price of her shoes. I'd broken bones and ended lives without losing sleep.

But something about the way she looked at me made me wish I was different. Made me wish I was the kind of man who saved people instead of destroying them.

"What did your father do for work?" I asked, changing the subject.

"He was..." Another pause. "He worked for the government."

"Doing what?"

"Paperwork mostly. Boring stuff."

"What kind of paperwork?"

"I don't know. He never talked about work at home."

More lies. But these felt different. Sadder.

"You miss him," I said.

"Every day." This time, the truth nearly broke her voice.

I found myself wanting to untie her hands. To pull her close and tell her everything would be okay.

Which was insane. I didn't comfort people. I threatened them. I hurt them. I made them afraid so they'd give me what I wanted.

But this girl with her green eyes and stubborn chin was making me feel things I'd buried years ago.

"What about boyfriends?" I asked.

"What about them?"

"Ever been in love?"

She blushed. Actually blushed. Like a teenager instead of a woman being interrogated by a killer.

"That's none of your business."

"I'll take that as a no."

"You'd be wrong."

Now I was curious. And jealous, which made no sense at all.

"Tell me about him."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Name?"

"It's over."

"Why?"

"Because..." She looked away. "Because he said I was too dangerous to love."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Someone had hurt her. Someone had made this brave, beautiful girl believe she wasn't worth loving.

I wanted to find whoever had said that and show them what dangerous really looked like.

"His loss," I said quietly.

She looked at me with surprise. Like she hadn't expected kindness from a man like me.

Neither had I.

My phone rang, cutting through the moment. I glanced at the screen. Tommy Romano.

"What?" I answered.

"We got a problem, Viper. Big problem."

"I'm busy."

"Not anymore. Someone put a million-dollar bounty on your head tonight."

The world stopped. "What?"

"Million dollars, cash. Dead or alive. Word is you killed Rico Valdez and took something that belongs to his boss."

I looked at the girl tied to the chair. She was listening to every word, her face pale.

"What does Rico's boss want back?" I asked.

"A girl. Young, dark hair, green eyes. Sound familiar?"

My blood turned cold. A million dollars. For her.

"Who's paying?"

"That's the million-dollar question. No one knows. But half the killers in Chicago are heading your way right now."

"How long do I have?"

"Maybe an hour. Maybe less."

I hung up and stared at the girl. Sarah Miller, my ass. Whoever she was, she was worth enough money to start a war.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"You really want to know?"

She nodded.

"Someone just put a million-dollar price on your head. Every killer, thug, and desperate criminal in the city is about to come looking for you."

Her face went white as paper.

"Million dollars," I continued. "You know what kind of people that attracts? The kind who'll burn down half the city to collect."

"I don't understand."

"Sure you do. You're not Sarah Miller. You're not nobody. You're someone very important to someone very powerful."

"No, I'm not."

"Then why is half the criminal underworld about to kick down my door?"

She opened her mouth to lie again, but I held up my hand.

"Save it, sweetheart. Time for honesty is over."

I cut the ropes binding her to the chair and pulled her to her feet.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Keeping us both alive."

I could already hear vehicles outside. Engines. Car doors slamming. Angry voices giving orders.

"Time to go, sweetheart," I said, grabbing my guns and her hand. "Your friends brought backup."