The Perfect Liar Read online

  The Perfect Liar

  A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

  Debra Lynch

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part II

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part III

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  A note from Debra

  Acknowledgments

  Editor’s note

  About the Author

  Credits

  Prologue

  He’s going to kill me.

  He speaks, his mouth moving in slow motion, disgusting saliva stuck to his tongue and teeth. “How about a little more of my famous cocktail?” He cocks his head to examine me. “Your eyes look glassy, but I don’t think you’re there yet. Drink up.”

  How could I have been so stupid? He drugged me. And now he’s going to kill me. I bat the drink away, and the glass cracks on the coffee table. “I wouldn’t drink with you if I was dying of thirst in the desert.”

  He shakes his head. “Not very ladylike of you. But there are other ways.”

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a shiny, sharp tool. “Recognize this?” No. It can’t be. But it is. The creepy, ruthless, screwed up bastard. He holds up the deadly object and runs his finger along the razor-edged gleaming blade. “I had it all sharpened up so it slices real good. If you don’t take your clothes off right this second I’ll start with a small piece of your flesh.”

  No. No way in hell am I taking my clothes off. The freak can kill me right now. Let the coroner see my naked body. I’d rather die than let him see me naked.

  He smiles a rictus grin. “Just enough to spill some blood on this pretty white sofa. Then we’ll work up to your carotid artery.” His yellow teeth are straight out of a horror movie.

  The grisly look on his face tells me he’s dead serious, and panic shoots through me. Calm down, calm down. Get a hold of yourself, Rachel. You’ve been through worse. Much worse. There has to be a way out. All I need is one opening. Just one opening and I’ll take that blade and slice the freakshow to death.

  My body feels weak, and something is seriously wrong with my reflexes, but I muster every last ounce of adrenaline-filled energy I have. I lunge toward him and knock him to the ground. The blade flies out of his hand and skitters across the wooden floor, but he scrambles, his grip closing around the handle.

  He’s deranged, his face contorting into a sadistic mask. Panic roars through me as his scream pierces the night.

  “You bitch!”

  His bony white fingers close around the tool, and he stands, wielding it over his head. The light catches the murderous glint of the sharp blade. “I’ll kill you!”

  The panic is a million times worse than anything I’ve ever felt, and Jesus, I thought I won the prize for screwed up life of the century. I’m never getting out of this room alive, am I? First, he’ll slash me up until I’m a hacked up mess, then he’ll rape me. Even if I don’t die, I’ll wish I did. There has to be a way out, but I’m weak. The drug rushes through my veins. My body feels like a rag doll, and my thoughts are all screwy.

  I pull myself groggily to my knees, my heart pounding in my ears.

  My throat fills with acid, and my stomach churns. Is this how it’s going to end? Right here in the living room of my beautiful Laguna Beach home?

  Full body tremors grip me. The room tilts, my brain dizzy and confused.

  He lunges and slams into me. I crumple, sinking to the floor. His breath steams down with an acrid smell that reminds me of rotting corpses, and I cringe, anticipating the first deadly cut.

  No, no, no! I can’t go yet. I’m not done. What about Levi? What about Madeline? They need me. I need them. Please God, get me out of this alive, and I promise I’ll be good. I’ll never steal again. I’ll never lie again. I’ll never take on another deranged psychopath. Never again. I promise.

  The sadistic weapon hovers, his repulsive face wild and harried. I squeeze my eyes shut, whimpering, then I cover my face and let out a primal scream. “No!”

  Part One

  RACHEL

  One

  About six weeks earlier

  I’ll just start with what happened when Dennis caught me stealing. That’s all I plan on telling Levi, and I tell him everything. Most things. Okay, some things. Some things are just too hard to discuss. Levi knows what happened to me when I was nine. Well, at least the parts I told him.

  First things first. Let’s get this straight. Shoplifting was not part of my normal routine. I’d only done it a few times. Twice. Three times. Fine, no more than four.

  I knew it was wrong, but my pilfering of trinkets was a harmless vice, nostalgia, part of how I grew up. Some people played cards, some shopped, some even ate too much chocolate to relieve stress. I stole things.

  The day started like many others when Levi and I recorded The Namasté Getaway, our wildly popular yoga lifestyle video blog. But I wasn’t into it. My heart thumped, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there and head down to The Treasure Trove. My fingers itched for a bit of soul-soothing crime, and I had the perfect plan.

  We’d just finished recording the show, where we’d performed our yoga hearts out on my ocean-view deck, the Pacific Ocean shining like a jewel. In the background, the dramatic cliffs and spectacular hillsides boasted multimillion-dollar homes. Our quaint artist’s community of Laguna Beach was one of the gems of the OC, and people flocked from all over the world to vacation in what some called the California Mediterranean. Or maybe it was just me who called it that. Hey, whatever it took to get new subscribers.

  Levi turned off the camera. His head tilted, and he stared at me with his hypnotic green eyes. “You okay?”

  I brushed back my hair and gave him a nervous grin. “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You don’t seem yourself today.” If he only knew the half of it. Levi was a great partner and he didn’t deserve the likes of me. I’ll be better one day. Hand to heart. Just not this day.

  “Then who do I seem like?”

  He touched his chin. “Umm, Blake Lively?”

  “Haha. Just because somebody asked me for her autograph the other day?”

  “It’s not your fault if you’re a dead ringer for the chick.”

  “Much as I love your flattery, I need to scoot.” I tapped my watch. “Hair appointment.” Okay, so I didn’t really have a hair appointment. I hated having to lie to Levi. But I couldn’t tell him that I needed this fix. I told myself this was the last time I would ever steal something—if only so that I wouldn’t have to lie to Levi again.

  He gazed at me, a look of playful appreciation in his eyes, stro
king my long tresses. “How can they improve on this perfect mop?”

  I swallowed over a lump in my throat. Why did he have to be so sweet?

  We laughed, and I bade Levi goodbye with a friendly kiss on the cheek.

  Thirty minutes later, I sat in my car in the parking lot of The Treasure Trove in El Toro with a smile spread across my face. I felt that familiar pull of excitement that came with—One: nobody knowing where I was. Two: the shedding of my professional persona and the donning of the real me.

  Glancing down at my smartphone in its sparkly pink case with the Om symbol silk-screened on the back, I did what I always did before a heist.

  Listen to me, thinking about this foray into The Treasure Trove—a mom and pop store that I was certain had minimal surveillance (I did my research)—like I was part of the team of Oceans Eight. Ha! If only they’d hired me for that movie, they may’ve actually shot a decent heist film. Not that cheesy movie that was a cross between models from the cover of Vogue and one long commercial for designer dresses.

  First, I pulled up my favorite picture of Daddy and me and performed a small blessing. This one’s for you, Daddy. I promise I’ll only use what you taught me for good.

  Daddy and many others might disagree that I used our grifting techniques for good. But hey, my denials are what put food on my therapist’s table. That had to be a good thing, right?

  My fingers tapped against the steering wheel. I tried to joke and convince myself I was the picture of calm. Yep, the centered yogi that all the viewers who watched our show wanted to be. But my shaking fingers told another story. Step right up folks and heck freaking yes! You too can be a complete and total mess just like me. All it takes is a few glorious people in your life. Let’s throw in a murderer for good measure, maybe a gropey foster care uncle or two, one long and I do mean long parade of state-funded shrinks. And you too can be a small-time crook who tells the world she’s perfect.

  I shook my head and took care of business. I set my phone to call me in fifteen minutes and hiked into the store.

  The Treasure Trove was one of my favorite shops in the dreary little town of El Toro in Orange County. Here, there was no sign of the trendy stores like Apple, Nike, the Amazon bookstore, or loft apartments like you’d see in Irvine or Newport Beach. Here at The Treasure Trove, life felt slow, like I’d stepped back into a time warp with its delightful antiques, retro clothing, and rustic metal signs. One of the signs that I thought would look especially nice on my living room wall advised me to “Relax.” I suppressed a chuckle. As baggy as my cargo pants were, no way would that sign fit in my pocket.

  I strolled through the shop and shook out the tension in my hands, enjoying the fragrant air that smelled of vanilla, this emitting from a candle as a young girl who manned the counter smiled at me. “Help you find anything?”

  I gave her an engaging smile. “Thanks, but no. Just looking.” She nodded and went to help another customer, a woman who loudly scraped jeans across the rack of a clothing display.

  That was when I noticed the letter opener. Its sharp silver blade glinted at me under the lights, winking, begging me to pick it up and give it a quick caress. The designer had cast the handle into the form of an alluring mermaid goddess. And the best part? It would fit in my pocket. My heart actually skipped a beat.

  My phone rang, and I made a big to-do of annoyance. This was the part I’d practiced in front of the mirror hundreds of times till I got it just right. Picking up the letter opener in one natural movement, I reached into my pocket. I slid the phone out, replacing it with the letter opener. “Hello? You mean right now? … I’m in El Toro, can’t this wait? … Okay, okay… I’ll be there in twenty… See you then.”

  The weight of the letter opener felt secure and solid in my cargo pants as I headed for the door. I took one step outside and spotted my car like a beacon in the parking lot, beckoning me. And that’s when I felt the cold hand on my arm. “Miss? Can I have a minute?”

  Busted.

  My heart beat like a jackhammer when the creepy security guard locked me in his hotter than hell office. He hadn’t exactly locked me in. It was him and me, staring at each other, but the walls felt like they were closing in on me just the same. God, I didn’t think I could stand to look at the man. He gave me the willies with his pale skin that had suffered a horrible bout of teenage acne, horn-rimmed glasses, unkempt facial hair and thin mustache.

  I could talk my way out of anything.

  “I’m sorry, mister… What did you say your name was?”

  He checked me out in a way that made me feel dirty—his gaze crept over my body, starting at my feet, winding its way to my breasts and ending on my face. He stared so long I could hear the ancient wall clock ticking. I brushed my hair forward, covering my chest, and crossed my arms tightly. Don’t look at me like that! I was probably one of hundreds of females he’d treated to the hard stare-down. I could deal with him. I had to deal with him.

  He tapped his pen on his legal pad. “I didn’t say. But it’s Dennis. Dennis Smith.”

  I mustered up my acting bravado and gave him a nonchalant grin, hoping he’d fall for my line. “I got distracted. It was an accident.”

  He waited a few beats before answering, reviewing his legal pad, which included my phone number.

  “Sorry, Miss… ” He held my driver’s license between dirty fingers and peered at it like it was the holy grail. “ …Miss Goodman.” He pointed to the sign big as day that hung over his computer. “It says right here. Shoplifters will be prosecuted. I’ll have to call the police.”

  Police? I would’ve acted alarmed, I’m a great actress, but the feeling was real. “No!”

  Dennis shook his head. “Sorry. Nothing I can do. You’ve been captured on CCTV.”

  My fingernails bit into my palms. I’d get this power-hungry sicko to see things my way. “Can’t you let me off with a warning?”

  He let out a chuckle. “Wish I could. But there’s another problem.”

  He looked like a harmless dork who probably got beat up in school all the time and was now looking for a power trip. “What’s that?”

  He picked up the letter opener and fingered the handle. “This thing here? It’s worth eleven hundred dollars.”

  This was not good. My overly warm hands grew sweaty. “It can’t be.”

  “Oh, but it is.” He smirked. “Can’t say why anyone would pay that much for this ancient piece of junk.”

  Shoot, shoot, and triple shoot. I couldn’t believe how I’d messed my heist up so horribly. “Eleven hundred? Why was it sitting out there in the open?”

  His posture grew rigid, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. The air felt still. “You had best stop acting so damn cocky because I hold the cards. Do I really have to describe the exact details of my job?”

  He addressed me like he was a schoolteacher explaining something to an incredibly slow student. And much as I tried to maintain an allure of calm, I knew I was screwed. “See this right here?” He turned his computer so I could read his things-to-do-today list. “Every morning the owner of the shop sends me my jobs for the day. That hunk of junk was all set to go to the auction house.”

  Next to the task: Retrieve silver mermaid handled letter opener from the sales floor, was a note. It stated the name of the auction house that promised to pay eleven hundred big ones for the piece of art.

  “Boss would’ve done it himself. He’s at a trade show in Vegas.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Why was it still out there?”

  A redness crept up his neck, and his left eye twitched. If he had a yardstick, he probably would’ve smacked it down on the desk. “I didn’t get to it yet, okay?” He jabbed a finger at his chest. “I’m the one asking the questions here. Got it?”

  I blinked as though he’d thrown acid in my face. Oh, Jesus. He was going for the full-court press with his fancy badge and minimum wage job power play. “Yes.”

  “As I was saying, the item in question is worth eleven hundred
smackeroos. And you know what that means? If you don’t, allow me to, how do you say it? Enlighten you.” He stood up straight and towered over me. “California law says that customers caught shoplifting items worth over nine-hundred-fifty dollars are slapped with a felony.”

  Holy … I jerked my head back. “Felony?”

  “You didn’t hear me the first time?” He sat down and leaned forward. “Here’s how it goes. First, I’ll walk you outside. It will be a spectacle.” He pointed to the computer monitor. “You’ve been captured on CCTV. It gets recorded on a security program.”

  Felony? This was not what I intended. I’d only ever stolen small items. My mind raced through my knowledge of the law, and it was just as I’d feared. He was right, of course he was, and I could’ve kicked myself for my error. I could still con my way out of this. My face felt hot, and I sputtered out, “I’ll pay you.”

  “You’ll what?”

  “I mean I’ll pay for the letter opener. It was an honest mistake. Like I said, I got distracted.” I reached into my pocket and fumbled around for some cash, pulling out a C-note. I gave him my movie star smile, and I think he almost fell for it. “Here, I’ll get the rest of the cash from the bank, twelve hundred dollars in all and whatever’s leftover, you buy yourself something nice.”