Lies I Told (7 page)

By the time we finished playing, my legs burned with fatigue and my arms felt weighted with lead. Now I knew why Rachel looked so great in shorts and a bikini top.

After the game, she took off without a backward glance while Olivia introduced me to everyone on the beach. I wasn't much of a drinker—I had to operate at full mental capacity when I was working—but I took a beer with the other girls and sipped it for show. I grabbed one of the beach chairs and was tipping the cold bottle to my mouth when Olivia plopped down next to me. Harper pulled a chair up on the other side and before I knew it, we were deep in conversation, moving between movies, fashion, guys, and finally, San Francisco. I was relieved I'd done some homework on the Bay Area before getting to Los Angeles and even more relieved that none of the girls had been there for more than a weekend.

As usual, I was lying through my teeth, but at least the odds of getting caught were slim.

An hour later, the party was in full swing, and I watched from across the beach as Rachel moved in on Parker, standing too close and flipping her hair, textbook examples of body language in full-on flirt mode. But there was something else, too. Something watchful in the way she stood, the way she angled her body. Like she was expecting an attack any minute.

Or planning one.

Olivia spoke from the chair next to her. “Don't look now, but someone's found a new target.”

I laughed. “Rachel? Or Parker?”

“Neither.” Olivia tipped her beer bottle in another direction entirely. “Logan. He hasn't taken his eyes off you since he got here.”

I followed the beer bottle until my gaze landed on Logan. He was standing at the edge of the fire, a petite blonde chatting him up as he tried to look interested in what she was saying. It might have helped if he'd actually been looking at her.

But Olivia was right; he was watching me.

I offered him a sympathetic smile. His eyes lit up from across the beach.

“Told you,” Olivia said, laughing a little.

It was the perfect segue to the dirt on Logan's romantic past. “He is pretty hot,” I admitted. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

“Not right now,” Harper answered, running her fingers through her short, dirty-blond hair. “But he does have an interesting dating pedigree.”

Olivia laughed.

“That doesn't sound good.” I sat back in my chair with a sigh. “Go ahead. Give it to me straight. I can take it.”

“He and Rachel were a thing,” Olivia said. “Until last year, actually.”

“Really? What happened?”

Olivia shrugged. “Logan's a little . . .”

“Slow,” Harper finished.

“Slow?”

The subject file didn't say anything about Logan being slow. Captain of the lacrosse team, a 3.9 GPA, and president of the school's charitable Human Services Group didn't say slow. Not to mention the way he'd seemed when we talked, the clarity and intelligence in his eyes when he'd given me a ride home.

“I guess
slow
isn't the right word,” Olivia corrected herself. “More . . . chill.”

“Everyone's chill compared to Rachel,” Harper murmured.

Olivia cut Harper a sharp glance before turning her eyes back to me. “Rachel's just . . . high-strung, you know? She likes to party, likes to go to bonfires in Malibu with people none of us know, sneak into clubs in Hollywood. Crazy stuff like that.”

“And that's not Logan's scene?” I asked, watching him
feign interest in the blonde across the beach.

Olivia laughed. “You could say that.”

I held her gaze without saying anything. Parker had taught me the tactic. It was instinctual for most people to fill silence with words. Silence made people uncomfortable. Made them feel obligated to say something. If you were patient, if you let the silence sit, most people would blab about anything and everything to make it stop.

“Logan's just laid-back,” Olivia said. “It didn't work between him and Rachel. Every weekend, she wanted to find the party, and Logan just wanted to come down to the Cove and play his guitar or hang out at Mike's with the guys.”

“Mike's?”

“It's a burger place in the Town Center. We hang there when there's nothing else to do,” Olivia explained.

“And when Rachel isn't dragging us all over LA,” Harper added, her voice thick with sarcasm and something I could have sworn was resentment.

“So . . . I take it Logan's off-limits?” I had no intention of leaving Logan alone. I just wanted to know what kind of territory I was wading into. “Because of the history with Rachel?”

Olivia thought about it. “I wouldn't say that. They're still friends, and the breakup was basically mutual.”

“Besides, Rachel dated Liam after she and Logan broke up,” Harper volunteered. “Kind of hard for her to pull the friend card when she went out with one of Logan's best friends less than a month after they split.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn't want to piss her off . . . ,” I hedged, waiting for the advice I knew would come.

Olivia laughed. “Playa Hermosa's not that big. If you make a point not to date anyone who's dated any of your friends, you're going to be single a loooong time.”

I nodded slowly, not wanting to seem too eager. “I guess . . .”

“You could talk to her about it,” Olivia suggested.

“I don't really know her that well,” I said. “What would I say?”

“Just . . . you know, tell her you're interested in Logan—if you are, I mean—and ask her if she has a problem with it.” Olivia nodded, like she was agreeing with herself. “Rachel likes it when people ask her permission for things.”

Harper snorted, and Olivia gave her a dirty look.

Hell would freeze over before I would legit ask Rachel's permission for anything, but I could play the game.

I smiled. “Thanks, you guys. You're awesome.”

Olivia stood up and performed a mock bow. “I live to serve. Anyone want another beer?”

We declined, and Olivia headed for the cooler. She was just out of earshot when Harper spoke.

“Be careful with Rachel. Seriously.”

I looked over at her. “With Logan?”

“With everything. Rachel's smarter than she looks.”

“What makes you say that?” My instincts were on full alert. Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the conspiratorial girl talk. But something had Harper feeling chatty.

She leaned closer. “Let's just say Rachel has a nose for anything . . . off.”

My heart beat a little bit faster, the way it always did when I was onto something. An idea or some piece of information that would help with the con. “Off?”

Harper nodded. “If you go after Logan, even on the sly, she'll find out. She has a lot of experience that way.”

“What kind of experience?”

Harper drained the last of the beer in one swallow. I couldn't remember if it was her second or her third.

“Rachel's dad has a way with Playa Hermosa's housewives. Rachel's gotten good at sniffing him out over the years, and it's made her good at sniffing out everything else, too.” Harper's voice turned distant. “Even stuff that's none of her business.”

I kept my face impassive. No way had I planned to get anything like this. Not so soon, anyway. It was an unexpected bonus. But also an unexpected concern.

I knew what it meant to be surrounded by liars. To be one. It meant that your instincts were honed to see deceit in others. That you believed everyone was riddled with dishonesty. That you were trained to look for all the little tics people performed—most of them involuntary—when they weren't telling the truth.

Basically, it meant that you had a nose for liars.

Which made Rachel a potentially serious problem.

A few minutes after Harper's revelation, she rose from her chair and headed toward the cooler. I hoped she wasn't getting another beer. Judging from her unsteady gait across the sand, it was the last thing she needed.

I scanned the party scene, trying to gauge the timing. Rachel was still deep in conversation with Parker. Logan was smiling politely at the little blonde. Everyone else was occupied with their own agenda: drinking, scamming, smoking, or looking for a hookup. It was as good a time as any. I'd made progress with Harper and Olivia.

Now I just needed Logan.

I stuck my nearly full beer in the sand and stood. Leaving my sweatshirt on the beach chair, I moved into Logan's line of sight, avoiding his eyes. When I stepped into the shadows, I wasn't at all surprised to feel someone fall into step behind me.

“Grace!”

I turned around. “Hey, Logan.”

“It's getting a little rowdy back there. Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” We started walking, the waves rushing up to meet our bare feet. “I've never been down here before.”

“It's kind of our spot,” he said. “Although I prefer coming here alone.”

I inhaled deeply, relishing the cold, salty air. “I can see that. It's probably therapeutic. When there's not a bunch of people getting drunk and stoned, I mean.”

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

“They seem nice, though,” I said. “Your friends.”

He thought about it. “Well, they're not all my friends, but . . . yeah. They're mostly cool.”

I pulled a strand of windblown hair away from my face. “Mostly?”

He shrugged. “You know how it is. There are a few difficult people in every group.”

I thought of Parker. Of his mercurial moods, his resentment of our parents, the self-destructive streak that made it hard for me to sleep when he stayed out too late. That made me think about the scars on his arm and what would happen if he felt too desperate, too alone.

“And every family,” I sighed.

He looked down at me. “You don't seem difficult to get along with, so I can only assume you mean your brother. Or is there another . . . challenging Fontaine I haven't met yet?”

I don't know why, but I was happy that he'd remembered
my last name. Or the one we were using right now, anyway. “No, Parker pretty much takes that title in our family.”

Logan laughed.

“What's so funny?” I asked.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing. Just . . . Rachel should keep even Parker on his toes.”

I smiled up at him. “I kind of got that impression.”

“Want to sit?” he said, gesturing to the sand.

“Sure.”

I dropped to the sand, and he sat next to me.

I turned to look at him. “Truth?”

“Truth.”

“I just about died playing volleyball with the girls. I thought they'd never stop.”

He grinned. “Your secret's safe with me.”

We sat there for a minute, watching the waves roll in and out. I'd been near the ocean in New York and Seattle, but never like this. Manhattan was too loud, too polluted by humanity to be peaceful, even down by the water. Seattle had been beautiful and serene, but the beaches were mostly rocky, the ocean so cold you had to brace yourself to go for a swim even in the summer.

This was different. The sand was soft, the air clean and fresh. The waves hurried up the sand toward us before withdrawing gently back into the sea.

I should have asked questions. Should have tried to get information to move the job forward. But the sound of the tide was rhythmic, Logan's presence next to me soothing. It
all lulled me into a kind of peaceful complacency.

“So what do you think of Playa Hermosa?” Logan finally asked.

I liked the way he looked at me, like there was nothing on his mind but me, no thoughts crowding out our moment together. Like it was just the two of us, stranded on a lonely beach in the middle of space.

“I like it. I mean, we haven't been here long, but so far, everyone seems really nice.” Other than Rachel, it was true.

He turned his head to look at me. “Like who?”

“Well . . . you seem pretty nice.” I didn't think about the smile I gave him. Didn't try to make it shy or hesitant, to make it fit into the con. It just rose to my lips like a piece of driftwood rising to the surface of the sea.

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile teasing his lips. “I do?”

“Yeah.” I spoke softly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment we'd somehow fallen into.

An ear-splitting crack echoed across the beach, and I jumped, looking back toward the light of the bonfire.

“What was that?”

Logan got up, brushing off his jeans. “Firecrackers. Those dumb-asses are going to get beach patrol down here.” He reached out a hand. “Come on, we better go back.”

He pulled me to my feet, holding on to my hand a little longer than necessary.

We headed back down the beach, walking close to the waterline, the waves rushing up and over our feet. We were
about halfway back to the bonfire when he stopped to pull off his hoodie.

He reached around me, placing the sweatshirt on my shoulders. His fingers sent a ripple of electricity where they brushed my bare skin.

“What's this for?” I asked, looking up into his eyes.

“You were shivering,” he said.

“I was?”

“Yeah.” He squeezed my shoulders and hesitated, like he wanted to pull me into his arms. Instead he started walking again.

I matched his stride. “Thank you.”

When we got back to the fire, everyone was packing up, hurriedly folding up beach chairs and stuffing sweatshirts and towels into backpacks. Liam and Raj were carrying two of the coolers toward the path that led to the parking lot.

Someone pointed down the beach. “Here they come!”

I turned and saw two white lights bobbing on the sand in the distance.

“What's that?” I asked Logan.

“Beach patrol. They comb the beach on ATVs,” he explained. “Better head out. They're always trying to bust us for drinking and smoking.”

My heart raced. I couldn't afford to be questioned, even by beach patrol. It would be a total violation of the leave-no-proof rule, not to mention risky if someone had caught onto us for the job in Phoenix. And there were only two ways off the beach—up the cliff or toward the approaching ATVs.

Something tugged on my arm. When I turned, Parker was staring into my eyes.

“Let's go, Grace.”

“I have to get my stuff. I'll meet you by the path.”

Parker nodded silently, hurrying away as I took off Logan's sweatshirt and gave it back to him. “Thanks for the walk. I had a nice time.”

“Me too.” His eyes lit up. “And hey! I'll see you tomorrow.”

“You will?”

“The barbecue? At my house? My dad said he invited you.”

I smiled. “Right. I'll see you there.”

“Grace!”
Parker barked from the rocks near the path.

I pulled my gaze from Logan's and ran.