Genuine Lies

His kiss grew more avid, more needy. “Just don’t walk away from me.”
    “I’m so scared, Paul. I’m so scared.”
    “We’re going to make it right. Believe it.”
    For a moment she could.
    Drake was feeling like a million dollars. Or at least a quarter million. Within twenty-four hours he’d have the cash inhis hand and the world at his feet. He was dead sure Julia would go to trial, and, with any luck, be convicted. Once that happened—and with money in the bank—he figured it wouldn’t be to hard to get his piece of Eve’s estate. He resented Paul getting half, but he could live with it. With a good lawyer Drake was sure he could cop Julia’s share.
    The law wouldn’t let her touch it. And anyway, where she was going, she wasn’t going to need it.
    All and all, things had worked out fine.
    Pleased with himself, he turned the stereo on blast and settled down with a racing form. By the weekend he was going to have a nice little stake to take to Santa Anita. He’d play it conservative, but with a few thousand on the nose of the little filly he had a tip on, he could finesse that first payment into the big time.
    Of course, his backer didn’t know it as only a first payment. Drake hummed along with Gloria Estefan and figured he could milk his source for plenty over the next year or two. By then, his inheritance should come in. After that, he was taking off. Riviera, Caribbean, the Keys. Anywhere where the beaches, and the women, were hot.
    He picked up a glass of champagne. The Dom Pérignon was an early celebration. He had a date to meet a sexy little number at Tramp, but the action wouldn’t start for an hour or two.
    Christ, he felt like dancing. While he tried out a little conga, wine sloshed over his fingers. Gleefully, he licked it off.
    He thought about ignoring the doorbell when it rang, then chuckled to himself. It was probably the lucky lady of the evening. Who could blame her for wanting to start things off early? Instead of meeting at the club, they would get things going here and now.
    When the bell rang again, he brushed his hand over his hair, and on a whim unbuttoned his shirt. He had the champagne glass in his hand when he answered the door. Though it wasn’t tonight’s lucky winner, he toasted his guest.
    “Well now. I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow. Butthat’s fine. Just so happens I’m open for business. Come on in. We’ll do this over a glass of champagne.”
    Grinning to himself, he led the way back to the bottle. It looked like he wasn’t celebrating early after all. “What do you say we drink to dear Julia?” He poured a second glass right to the rim. “Dear cousin Julia. Without her, we could both be standing in some deep shit.”
    “Maybe you’d better check your own shoes.”
    Drake turned, thinking that a great joke. He was still laughing when he saw the gun. He never felt the bullet that plowed between his eyes.

Spectators and press crammed together on the courtroom steps. Julia’s first test of the day would be to walk through them. Lincoln had instructed her on how to do that. To walk briskly, but not to appear hurried. Not to bow her head—it looked guilty. Not to keep her head back too far—it looked arrogant. She was to say nothing, not even the ubiquitous “no comment,” no matter what questions where hurled at her.
    The morning was warm and sunny. She’d prayed for rain. Rain might have kept some of the curious and accusing inside. Instead, she climbed out of the limo into a cloudless southern California day. With Lincoln on one side and Paul on the other, she moved into the wall of people who wanted her story, her secrets, or her blood. Only the fear that she might stumble and be swept away by them helped her ignore the painful clenching in her stomach, the uncontrollable trembling of her legs.
    Inside there was more air, more space. She shuddered off the nausea. It would be over soon. Over and behind her. They would believe her, they had to believe her. Then she would be free to start her life again. Free to take that one slim chance on making a new life.
    It had been years since she’d been in a courtroom. From time to time during summer vacation, she’d been allowed to watch her mother or father work a jury. They hadn’t seemed like her parents then, but larger than life. Actors on a stage, gesturing, manipulating, strutting. Perhaps that was where she’d gotten that first spark to take to the stage herself.
    But no, she